Preston!

2007-11-27T19:53:00.000Z

Blogging Comeback Marred By Tragedy

So I return to the world of blogging again, spring-boarded into action by the demise of another relationship.

I could really let loose on this one, for I am sure that the ex doesn't read mine, nor any other blog. He doesn't get them.

What I can say though, is that I received a text from him today, letting me know the date we can move out of the flat we shared. Great timing! The day before my 40th birthday is the day we move out.

He sux.

2007-06-03T09:05:00.000+01:00

Oh the Irony of it all

So it seems I have been diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis. OK, I can handle that.

I have been prescribed a medication, Methotrexate, to deal with the pain and swelling in my joints.

It seems, that I can only drink limited amounts of alcohol, if any, with this drug.

I have moved to Dorking (keep reading, it will all make sense soon).

I catch the train to work, from Dorking to Earlsfield.

The train route takes me through a vineyard - vines to the left of me, vines to the right...

That indeed, is a bitter bitter pill to swallow.......

2007-05-20T16:58:00.000+01:00

Catch Up Part two

1. My dad's coming to town for a month.

2. My brother's marriage has broken down.

3. Am moving to Surrey.

Speaking with my dad on the phone yesterday, he mentioned that David had news for me. David is my brother.

Immediately, what came to mind was that he was having a baby. Why that came to mind first I'll never know? Since his wife had a complete hysterectomy about 10 years ago.

The next thing that came to mind was that his marriage had broken down.

Bingo.

Strange how two opposite sides of the spectrum can offer themselves up as viable alternatives. Reminds me of the time my top mate Andrew came out. We were driving along in Sydney, when he said he had something to tell me. It was an ominous intro, therefore my mind raced to topics that were important/touchy.

In reply I said that it was one of two things - either he wanted to start dating me or he was gay. He said gay and I was instantly relieved. Not that he's not a great catch or attractive (he's very much both), but he was such a top friend, and overstepping that line would have been wrong.

Dad coming to England will be great. I have already started planning the itinerary which includes an airshow at Duxford and a trip to Paris. It seems that climbing the Eiffel Tower is top of dad's 'Things To Do' list.

On the moving front, my next port of call is Dorking, Surrey. A lovely town.

It seems you can take the girl out of the city but..........

My reason for Dorking and choosing the flat we are moving to? Why, it's only 5 minutes walk to the high street which offers up a smorgasbord of unimaginative chain stores, supermarkets and coffee shops. "It has a Costa coffee", I cooed, whilst secretly despising myself for liking the fact that some bland coffee chain which is regurgitated up on many a high street around England is my symbol for success of an area.

We looked at a couple of other flats. One was just outside of Dorking. Just outside.....I shudder at the thought. As we drove, each second that ticked away seemed like an hour. The beautiful trees that form a canopy over the road, the lush gardens, the wide open spaces, the lack of bus stops, the absence of tube stations....the appalling lack of street-after-street of terraced little boxes and no greenery. Oh god, I was crawling within fighting the urge to scream. Of course Iain was in love with the place, ready to say yes, even before we had seen it. This would take a miracle for me to get out of.

And the miracle happened.

It was a dive. Three shades of brown and a kitchen that defied speech, and we were out of there as quick as you could say " You expect £1000 a month for that piece of shit?"

Anywho, here we are, in the process of moving, from being a city girl to a country girl (kind of), and although I am looking forward to it, I cant help singing the following to myself (Thomas you will get this)....

New York is where I'd rather stay
I get allergic smelling hay
I just adore a penthouse view
Darling, I love you,but give me Park Avenue.

Stay tuned.....

2007-04-20T14:32:00.000+01:00

Time to catch up

Well, since the last blog quite alot has happend. Unfortunately, as I still take a 'vigorous' view to my intake of alcohol, I cant remember most of it.

But here's a breakdown.

1. Got a boyfriend

2. Went to Oz

3. Almost had an operation (knee)

4. Got diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis

5. Am moving to the country

Not bad for a four month break eh!

I will probably go into more detail in future posts, but needless to say, I feel like I'm juggling chainsaws here. Cant move around properly, am a little fearful of moving from the city to the country, and have to give up my job promotion and return to my former position as I need to concentrate on my health for a bit and limit my stress.

Anywho, if anyone actually reads this and knows someone with psoriatic arthritis, then I'd love to hear from you.

2006-12-13T21:34:00.000Z

God - Courtney Love is presenting a British Comedy award???

And Charlotte Church just won it??

Am I in the twilight zone? Shit. So, I'm lying on the lounge for the 3rd day in a row after being knocked sideways by the flu. I have had the TV on for company. I feel like I'm sleeping with the enemy. Hour after hour of brain-numbing crap, topped off with the comedy awards.

So, an update for my regular listeners since I haven't written for a while. My job is so stressful, I feel like my head may explode, my knee has blown up again, I have been placed in a 'at risk' group for glaucoma (after 3 hrs of tests) and am now on eye drops for life.....oh and it seem it seems I have found love....

What I hear you say. A bit quiet about that one I hear you say. Well, don't wanna jinx it but it does seem to be going swimmingly. Witty, smart, goodlooking, sweet....enough about me....ok...he is too.

Reason for me to love him: I'm laid up on the lounge at a DEFCON 2 viral outbreak...when my dearest IM's me asking how I am and if I have anything for it (meaning drugs!). I reply none.He came to me in his lunch break (works near Liverpool St and I live in Balham) to bring me medication, soup and juice.

Reason I may need to kick his ass: As he's approaching the flat he rings me....I remind him of my house number and tell him to be careful as I look like a horror. He replies "Nevermind darling, I'll try and act surprised".

Now I gotta love that.

2006-11-19T16:07:00.000Z

Prestons' Back

Wow, it's been a while. I guess I haven't written because I couldn't be bothered and didn't think anyone was really listening. But as a person who consistently talks to herself, I guess I could extend that to writing to myself as well.

Although, I did have a 'listener' comment on a past blog about my being 'gay boyfriendless.' And in answer to your question - no, I haven't found myself a gay boyfriend. Although I'm getting to gasping point. I really need someone who can co-bitch about men.

Why do I need to bitch about men I hear you ask? Well.....I'm a few months down the track on an internet dating quest and feel completely jaded. I've come across some nice guys and a couple (in my opinion) of closet mysogynists.

I've developed a gut instinct that alerts me to when they're not interested. It hasn't failed me yet. I can tell when they say goodbye as to whether they're interested. My favourite was when one guy, grabbed me in what can only be described as the grip of death - both hands cutting off the circulation to my lower arms when he gripped me on both upper arms, and kissed (or assaulted me with his lips) on my cheek. Ohhhhhhh, I felt soooooo sexy.

Then there's the 'I'll give you a call' line. I wish I had a shit detector which when hearing stodge, dispersed electric shocks to the purveyor of such spineless lines.

I could write more but........it's hardly worth the effort.

2006-10-12T20:30:00.000+01:00

Lazy Preston

God, since I last wrote, I have been up to much. Cycling, drinking, eating good food, meeting non-committal men. Pack of prats.

So, what can Preston talk about?

The Madonna Adoption
So the material girl is adopting a child from Malawi. Why is she adoptng a child where the father is voluntarily still on the scene and obviously loves his child. Is there not an option of providing support for the father so that the family remain together? There is the serious question of taking a child out of their birth country and reinstating in an alien country. And why adopt from abroad? There are more than enough adoption options in the UK. I dont get it. Really.

2006-09-25T12:24:00.000+01:00

Jason E. Sabbag
Age 26

Born April 30, 1975, in New York City, Jason Sabbag was the son of Ralph and Brigitte Sabbag of Greenwich, CT. He was raised in Greenwich and graduated from Greenwich High School in 1993, where he was an honor student, captain of the men's tennis team and a state open doubles tennis champion. In 1997 he graduated with honors from Georgetown University, where he received a degree in Economics and German.

After graduating, he worked as a high-yield fixed income portfolio manager for Citigroup, Inc., in New York City. Later he moved to Fiduciary Trust, where he was an assistant vice president and associate portfolio manager for European small/mid-cap portfolios. In addition to his parents, Jason is survived by his fiancé, Sarah Hare, his brother, Cliff Sabbag, his sister, Laurence Hagan, and his brother-in-law, Mark Hagan, all of New York City.

Ok This tribute is late. It's late because on the anniversary of 9/11, I happened to be supporting a man with Aspergers syndrome to fly from London to Dublin. It was his first time flying. I had no net access whilst away. I had no idea how the man I was supporting would react to flying. he and I had gone through what to expect, step by step, from the check in procedure to the fact that the wheels make a banging noise when they are lowered in readiness for landing

But it’s the thought, and on 9/11, I thought a lot about that terrible day 5 years ago.

I thought about Jason. I wondered what his day normally looked like. Did he have a favourite café or deli that he stopped off at each day to pick up an obligatory pre-work coffee or croissant? Did he like going to the movies? What was his favourite music? What did he like to eat?

All I know about that horrible day is what I watched unfold on the television. At the time, I lived in Sydney Australia. I had just got home from work, and was getting ready to tune into The West Wing, when I found some news bullitan instead. There were reports that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Centre. I thought ‘Wow’ to myself and wondered what happened. I then watched the 2^nd plane crash into the 2^nd tower. I watched for the next 4 hours into the wee hours of the morning, appalled, horrified and tearful. I was moved to tears by the commentary. Moved by the bravery of the emergency services. I thought about the impact this would have on the world. I felt for the people in the building and goosepimples appeared on my arms.

Jason was part of that. I felt it better to quote a tribute from people that knew him. The following is a tribute from his workmates:

Jason made the best of every day. He was our big smile, our teammate and our friend. He was also a major contributor to our success. We will miss Jason, his kindness, his calm demeanor and his sense of humor. But he lives on-in our hearts, our minds and in our work.

And although the anniversary reminded us about that terrible day and how so many lives came to an end at once, 9/11 2006 saw a new beginning with a man who ordinarily would never fly, breaking down a new barrier to find a greater level of social inclusion. Lets look to new beginnings.

2006-08-31T14:40:00.000+01:00

Oh, My Beautiful Calluses – Gone All Gone

So, several of you will recall that Preston took up learning the guitar several months back. Out she went, hippy braids intact, Birkenstock firmly on feet, out into the wide world of music. She bought a guitar. She signed up for lessons. She went to several lessons. And then the new job kicked in. Complete stress, lack of coping capacity and a healthy amount of afterwork drinking meant that the guitar started gathering dust. The lessons ceased. Preston was doomed to be one of those people that buys a guitar and it sits firmly in the corner – a constant reminder of what could of been.

But Preston has picked up her game! As of the other day, she started strumming again. And now I have to start from scratch at building up the calluses on my fingers. Oh the pain!

I will probably have to apologise to both Thomas and Young now, for the constant buggered up chords that weakly resemble Tracey Chapmans’ ‘Revolution’.

Sorry guys.

2006-08-30T13:36:00.000+01:00

Clever Kitty

I was catching up with my brother David the other day. He got talking about his relatively new family member - Charlie the cat. A 7 month old moggie, who is quite a character.

David already has a dog Max. Max is a Staffordshire Bull Terrier who looks like he could tear a man limb from limb. He is the most even tempered dog I have come across. Nothing phases him. He has never bitten a person or fought back when another dog has attacked him.

He idolises my brother. David used to take Max down to the beach to walk him. Max was afraid of the sea. He wasn't fond of swimming. David surfs, so sometimes he would take Max down and leave him on the beach whilst he went surfing. Max would watch him from the beach, running, barking and almost getting wet, but constantly driven back by the waves lapping at his paws. One day, as David was paddling out on his board, he heard something. He turned around to see Max, swimming behind him, coughing up sea water he'd taken 'on board' and generally looking a bit distressed. Max couldn't stand not being with David. He now loves the water.

Anyway, back to Charlie the cat. Introducing Charlie to Max was always a no-brainer. Max wouldn't lay a paw on Charlie. At the beginning, as David explains, there was much hissing and back-arching, but they fast became firm friends.

Charlie will wait behind a curtain until Max walks past, then launch himself spiderman-style from above to take Max by surprise. They play bite each other in front of the fireplace and then curl up together to sleep.

So David told me a most amazing story. A couple of weeks ago, David asked his daughter to put the kitty litter tray inside the house before she left for school. David returned home from work to find the kitty litter tray outside the house.

Charlie had been inside the house all day alone.

Charlie had been prone to bouts of diahhorea.

Uh-oh.

With trepidation, David entered the house and put his nose into action to find any offending material (my brother has a prize hooter so this should be a walk in the park). After scanning the house and not finding anything, he turned his attention to the master bedroom. As soon as he got near it, his heart sank. An offensive odour had infiltrated his nostrils and beckoned him inside. As he scanned the room, there was no obvious sign. He looked high and low, but nothing. He then turned his attentions to the ensuite bathroom. A quick scan produced nothing until he ventured towards the toilet. And there he saw it. Charlie had done a crap IN THE TOILET!

Now that's what I call a smart kitty.

2006-08-28T11:35:00.000+01:00

Growing Old Disgracefully

I may have blogged about this already, but every once in a while I have to vent my anger at the beauty industry. A billion dollar industry which takes aim at the desperate and gullible, and scores hit after hit.

OK. I'm not saying that I'm not above such expert marketing techniques. There have been days where I have woken up, taken a look in the mirror, and thought 'shit, where did that line come from?.....better get me a cream that will patch that little horror up'. But seriously, deep down I know that it's not gonna work.

So what sparked off this tirade I hear you ask? Why, the ad on TV this morning which was heralding the scrub that actively seeks out black heads and sweeps them away within 3 days! Yes folks, we now have intelligent creams which ask the 'hard questions', which do all the work for you. The ad was of course aimed at teenagers. Picture the girl, pretty as a button, prancing around, her world complete as she walks away blemish-free because of her blackhead scrub. Never mind that she has a lifetime ahead of her full of grief and taxes.

Takes me back to the ad, flogging a Ponds cream of some sort. It was based at 'The Ponds Institute', and had lots of beautiful women walking around in white labs coats with clipboards. Apparently, they had a cream which tackled the 'seven signs of aging'. Wow!!!! We have a cream that actively shuts my mouth as I start whinging like my father? I'll buy that! Wow!! A cream that replaces the worn joints in my body, stopping them from 'clicking' every time I wake in the morning. Here's my money - please take it and give me that goddam cream!!!!! A cream that has a serious chat with my digestive system, convincing it to allow my to eat copious amounts of garlic without the adverse reactions??? I'm there!!!!! How much? A million dollars a pot? Do you accept cheques?

Oh come on people! We all know the only way to avoid looking old is either:

Die young

or

Lead a life devoid of late nights, sun, alcohol, cigarettes, hard drugs, children....basically a life where we avoid fun (except for the children - they cant be fun).

That last sentence was a checklist for the last 20 years of my life (except for the hard drugs and children - though if I have children I will turn to hard drugs).

A couple of months ago saw Preston walk into The Body Shop, and ask for advice. I decided I wanted a foundation cream (for the unititiated - that's a flesh coloured base that is supposed to match your skin colour). The girl was nice. She was helpful. Here I was, sat down in a chair as she tested different bases to see which one matched my skin colour. I hadn't worn base for years. I can be quite lazy with make up. I'm very lazy with stuff like cleansing and toning my skin. I never remove makeup when I get home from a night out, often waking up resembling a racoon. After about 15 minutes and several different colour attempts, the girl suggested I was probably a blend.
Preston: 2What's a blend mean."
Girl: "You will need to blend two different colours to match your skin."
Preston: "Can you really see me doing that?"
Girl: "Hmmmmm"

We tried a few more and took the one that was best fit.

Yet that horrid blackhead advertisement guilted me into grabbing The Body Shop scrub that I bought the same time as the foundation (and have only used twice), and giving my face some treatment. It's safe to say that the scrub will return to its hiding place for another 6 months until I am subjected to some lowbrow advertisement which will prompt my inner-voice to berate me for my beauty routine apathy.

2006-08-27T11:47:00.000+01:00

Just Desserts

On many occasions, I have been woken by the downstairs neighbours talking very loudly. About some inane stuff. I mean really inane stuff. The accoustics of our flats means that there are some fairly sound repelling walls that bounce that little conversation right into my bedroom.

They are a couple. They fight....or talk...sometimes I am unsure of the difference. She has one of those voices that sounds 'put on'. It's nasally and reaches unfathomable heights in pitch, volume and intonation. You keep waiting for her to revert back to her speaking voice, but, amazingly, it IS her speaking voice.

Anyways, one of the mornings, when they were 'talking' in what seemed like a volume-level reserved for nightclubs, I overheard the following conversation:

Him: "Hun, put on some music."
Her: "Ok" (off she skips, to the stereo I assume)
Her: "What do you feel like listening to?"
Him: "I don't mind"

About 30 seconds elapses; then.....

Him: "But not fucking Jack Johnson. I fucking hate Jack Johnson".

A broad smile breaks on the face of Preston as she hears this.

Preston has 3 of Jack Johnson cds.

Preston loves Jack Johnson.

Preston has discovered the neighbours' achilles heel.

MWA-HA-HA-HA

And off Preston skips to play some 'Jack' at a level that can be reasonable enough to....oh let's say.....filter into the downstairs flat?............

Tra-la-la-la-la.

2006-08-26T06:40:00.000+01:00

Ground Control To Major Wrong!

Apparently, the most dangerous time when flying is on take off and landing.

If I could use that analogy in terms of my love life, then I would have to agree with this.

The amount of carnage at the end of my relationship runway is amazing. And folks, you all know I'm talking about take off.

The last guy? Didn't clear check-in.....at 39, he lived with his parents still....

Guy before that? Had so much excess baggage (a shrink, 3 cats and an estranged wife), the plane couldn't take off...

Guy before that was like sitting next to the hairy, fat sweaty talker guy - as soon as we landed my seat belt was off and there was an imprint of my silhouette (running) carved through the fuselage.

A couple had to make emergency landings due to running outta fuel.

At least 5 were subject to cancellation due to poor weather conditions.

And now, with all the extra security surrounding check in, I can only expect more troubled times ahead.

Wow, I know I've been harping on about guys lately but it's a hot topic when your not 'getting any'.

Thought for the day: Retrospect is just one's inner voice saying 'I told u so.'

2006-08-25T12:54:00.000+01:00

Thomas

I thought I should report this morning whilst the sight of Thomas is still in my mind.

The first contact with Thomas this morning was at 6:45am, when she passed me in the hallway, draped in a towel, heading for the bathroom. She grunted (my interpretation of that grunt was, "god help me...I wanna die"....)

My next contact with Thomas was about 20 minutes later. She entered the TV room, draped in a towel. She grunted. (I interpreted this grunt to say, '...morning').

I knew that it wasn't a code red, as with each grunt, Thomas had a hint of a smile.

Thomas got home this morning at 2:43am.

It's safe to say, Thomas was celebrating last night.

Thomas later told me, that she got home so late because she fell asleep on the night bus and travelled all the way to Morden. Immediately, my mind leapt to the scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, where at roll call, a student is asleep at his desk, dribbling.

Disclaimer: In no way has Preston ever implied, or wll ever imply that Thomas is a dribbler. Any inference to this is made entirely by the reader.

2006-08-24T17:18:00.000+01:00

Preston - The Serial Fare Evader

Well, Brighton trip over, and I can look back on certain aspects with...........malice.

So here we are. Me with luggage, and my companion ( an elderly service user with a learning disability) with a large case as well, boarding at Clapham Junction station. We get on and sit down in a couple of free seats. We get into East Croydon. After taking off from the platform, we are confronted with ticket inspectors. I show our tickets. It seems like we are sitting in the first class section.

Wha-wha-wha-WHAT????????

You must be kidding if that is first class. It's not too different to the regular seats, but there is a sign so I guess I should have seen it.

But the inspector was in a class of his own. A complete arsehole. And no, I don't think all ticket inspectors are arseholes. When I was accosted by an inspector at East Croydon, (a blemish on the butt of a geography map) several months back, and told that my Oyster card, which I'd just topped up that day by £25, didn't cover my traveling on British rail, I realised he was doing his job and it was just the complete arsehole system that was F*****. Of course, I could have pleaded my case and got that £18 fine reimbursed, if my busy schedule had of taken time out to remind me to get my appeal in within the 21 day limit (bugger).

It cost us an extra £26 each, to go one way to Brighton.

Back to the arsehole inspector. I could have used his face as a punchbag. His manner had a supercilious air to it. His matter-of-fact tone was infused with a smug 'ha-ha-I got you' slant. He kept reminding me what made it the 1st class section, emphasising the word madam at the end of every sentence. I ended up losing my cool and saying, "Stop calling me madam. In fact, just stop talking to me and bloodywell give me the fine".
To which he answered "I'm only being polite" (dont believe that for a minute).
To which I answered " Well, I'm obviously not, so just give me the damn ticket".

In my defence, I didn't raise my voice once. But believe you me. Preston was PISSED.

2006-08-23T17:13:00.000+01:00

Brighton, Beards, Bellisimo!!!!!

Well, so far Brighton has proved to be quite fun. It's a place that definitely appeals to me. It has a big gay community which always suggests a tolerant open-minded population. It has a hippy culture which I love as well. Dread locks, vegetarian shoe shops (yes....you heard me right), organic cafe's. I'm completely in my element. I could see myself flinging convention aside and setting up shop in an eco-friendly house, growing my own vegetables and wearing tie dye.

And some of the men. What can I say. I've developed a new found love for the beard. I found a cafe in one of the backstreets. Fabulous coffee and an Italian barrista that is just to die for. Cheeky smile, fiery personality......dark looks...dark eyes....hmmmmmmm. If only I lived here. I think I would make it my mission to be THE regular there, establishing lock-in rights and hopefully winning a date or two with Mr Italy.

But I head back to London tomorrow so I have one more chance to look into those eyes and say.."one americano with milk please".......

2006-08-22T18:02:00.000+01:00

Brighton

Am sitting in the palatial lounge area of a Brighton hotel, looking over Brighton Pier, and obviously, blogging.

Brighton Pier is shambolic. It needs to be torched, just like its counterpart eastwards. Walking along there yesterday, my mood went from happy to grey to ‘mass murderer’. Simply put, I hate funfairs. They spook me. They give me the creeps. All those (oh shit, Kenny Loggins just started playing……), cheap thrills rides coupled with shitty arcade games and topped off by flashing lights and bad music, just make me wanna run. It’s (oh shit, it’s a duet with Dolly Parton), one thing about summer that is a downer. All the funfairs come out of their winter hibernation and invade the available park space and commons. Except Brighton funfair. That’s a permanent fixture.

Sitting at breakfast, I found myself surrounded by the grey brigade. In a sea of wrinkles I dogpaddled, just keeping my head above the murky middle-aged waterline. As I head for 40, I wonder if I will be seated at a table, amid fellow octogenarians, piling my plate high with bacon and croissants and marveling at the seaside like its some big unknown quantity.

Hardly likely. For one, I will probably take the ocean for granted since I grew up in a place that has beaches aplenty.

But I can’t say that ageing doesn’t somewhat scare me. Not so much the inevitable dried fruit appearance that my features will take on. More so the where will I be? Will I be scabbaging for pennies from my pension, trying to make ends meet? Will I be alone? Will I have kids? Will I be living in England, Australia or somewhere else? Will I be in a council flat or in a country house surrounded by cats, dogs, a horse and a couple of otters? Love otters. Did you know that they’re the only mammals who keep playing once they reach adulthood? I love that. I guess one thing is for sure is that as I reach my older years; I will still have my sense of humour.

2006-08-21T20:14:00.000+01:00

Vigilante Pat Down - The New Airport Security

So. This is great. A plane from Malaga to Manchester is held up because there were two Asians on board. But not just two Asians. Two Asians on board who were acting suspiciously. And who deemed their actions suspicious I hear you ask? Why, the other passengers on board the plane. Of course, all these other passengers were experts in the profiling of terrorists. Of course they were. There's no other reason for it. I mean, it's not like a knee jerk reaction to ANYONE of a Middle Eastern appearance being ANYWHERE near a plane, tube or bus.

I just love this. How were they acting suspiciously? They were looking nervous, speaking Arabic and checking their watches all the time. This just cracks me up! HONESTLY! From the land of the impatient, we have a few pots calling the kettle black here. From the land where the everyday tube passenger runs for a train, when one comes every 2 minutes!!!!!!!!!!!! And they (those nasty suspicious looking Pakistani's), are called suspicious? I guess, it's fine to run for a tube..........UNLESS YOU'RE BRAZILIAN.

And don't get me started on the speaking Arabic part. It's sheer stupidity. How about the fact that all but a handful of Asian people are just as worried as the non-Asian community that we are vulnerable to terrorism.

How about, that the biggest terrorist attack in the USA, prior to 9/11, was committed by a white American (Timothy McVeigh).

It's so easy to label a group. To create an us and them mentality. A good and bad. A cowboys and Indians bullshit outlook. The actual picture is, save for a few fanatics, (I refrain from saying religious fanatics as these terrorists are a slight on the true muslim community) we are all in this together.

From what I can tell, because all the other passengers kicked up a stink, the plane was prohibited from taking off and the two men were taken into custody. This, all because of their appearance? This kind of heightened public awareness and subsequent vigilantism is a hindrance to any kind of multicultural harmony. How sad for us all, for I'm afraid that this is only just the beginning.

2006-08-17T22:14:00.000+01:00

When Will I Ever learn?

Probably will piss off any male readers, but I really wonder if I need someone to beat some sense into me.

Preston has a formula for meeting men. It goes something like this.

Meet someone......stupidly think he's great.....ridiculously think that he thinks about ANYONE other than himself....convince myself he's half-decent......end up wondering what went wrong.

So....I am convinced that I am predisposed to only meet guys who are:

Emotional cripples

Sexually selfish

Game players

Emotionally unavailable (fine line between that and cripples)

Arrogant shitheads

So I'm hearing the thud of many a male jaw dropping. I'm sure if a few of you lobbied me with supporting statements proving that all men aren't bastards, then I may reconsider.

At the moment, I'm thinking I've just cornered the market in crud.

Actually, I think I'm pissed off I even wasted precious time on these turds.

But have no fear (well men maybe)...Preston is an optimist! Preston is a romantic deep down.Preston thinks there is a chance she may meet someone who isn't on par with excrement. Someone who is nice even. Someone with a sense of humour. Someone who doesn't HAVE ISSUES.

I mean really! C'mon! There's gotta be someone.....anyone....hello...is anyone there...is anyone listening.........humph.................................................

2006-08-15T18:38:00.000+01:00

WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Sometimes you just have to dance. Sometimes you have a song that just makes your ass move. I have been listening to You Got The Love by Candi Staton. If you don't know it DOWNLOAD IT NOW!! It's an oldy but sometimes they're the best ones (just look at me!).

Sometimes I feel like
Throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you
Sometimes I feel like saying
Lord I just don't care
But you've got the love I need
To see me through

Sometimes it seems that
The going is just too rough
And things go wrong
No matter what I do
Now and then I feel
That life is just too much
But you've got the love
I need to see me through

When food is gone
You are my daily meal
When friends are gone I know
My saviour's love is real
Your love is real

Every once in a while
I say Lord I can't go on
Every once in a while
I get to feeling blue
Every once in a while
it seems like I am all alone
But you got the love
I need to see me through

Occasionally
my thoughts are brave and friends are few
Occasionally
I cry out Lord what must I do
Occasionally
I call up Master make me new
You've got the love
I need to see me through

Sometimes I feel like
Throwing my hands up in the air
I know I can count on you
Sometimes I feel like saying
Lord I just don't care
But you've got the love I need
To see me through

And Preston shakes her arse around the room listening to this on repeat. As I said before.......

WOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

2006-08-14T19:41:00.000+01:00

Funny thing happened on the way to a blind date........

So, those of you who know me, know that I have met guys through internet sites in the past. For the record it has NEVER worked out. But you never know....I will throw caution to the wind and keep trying.

So here I was, on the way to meet up with a guy. I was waiting on the platform at Kennington, waiting for the Charing Cross branch tube. It was about a 15 minute wait as the tube workers walked up and down the empty train talking into their walkie talkie's and looking serious. Anyway, I look down the platform and notice a woman. A woman dressed in a cowboy hat, long fluro pink wig and HUGE white sunglasses. I smiled to myself and thought 'It takes all sorts'. I kind of like the 'out there' people in London. I don't look and snigger. Don't look and judge. Anyway, I went back to waiting, not thinking about the pink-wigged woman. Then the tube was ready. The doors opened and we all piled on. Without knowing it, I made for the seat directly opposite the pink-wigged woman. I glanced at her and glanced away and went back to listening to Depeche Mode. I then happened to glance at her again but this time she smiled at me - A HUGE SMILE! I smiled back. She then started waving and smiling at me. I smiled back whilst thinking (dear god - don't create a scene lady - I only smiled at you). She then pushed her feet across at me and played footsies with me whilst laughing maniacally. It went something like this - MWA-HA-HA-HA!!!!!!!!

There was nowhere to run - nowhere to hide. Bystanders were looking at me as if to say 'better you than me luv'.

She then whipped off her sunglasses.

I knew her! It was Leah - a chick I know from a regular girls night out I go on. She's a friend of a friend of a friend.

We then both laughed maniacally as my reaction was loud and proud and her reaction was.... well...... a continuation of the previous maniacal laughter. It turns out we were both on the way to blind dates. What a hoot. Apparently she had posted a picture on a dating site of her in the wig and glasses. The guy had responded to her fun photo. Apparently when they were arranging to meet up he had asked her how he would recognise her. Her reply was 'Oh....Don't you worry. You'll recognise me'.
So what's the chances that we would meet each other, both on the way to blind dates.

Oh, and for those wondering. My date went great. I have great respect for a guy who smacks me on the arse in the middle of a restaurent! Especially when it is in response to a great 'pay out' from me. Excellent stuff.

Stay tuned.

2006-08-06T22:04:00.000+01:00

Showgirls Lives On

Those of you who know me, know that Showgirls is up there on my most favourite films list. Simply so bad it's good. There are several other contenders to the 'throne', but so far nothing comes close. Bad script, bad direction, bad acting, gratuitous nudity, and LOTS AND LOTS of 'jazz hands'.

So what does an attractive vivacious young lady with ALOT going for her do on a Saturday night? Why host a 'Showgirls' party for herself and fellow female flatmate - Thomas (another lady who has alot going for her but alas is married).

We decided to watch and partake in the Showgirls drinking game. With UNFORGIVING rules which go:

If someone says "dancin'," take a drink.
If someone says "darlin'," take a drink.
If someone makes jazz hands, take a drink.
Whenever Elizabeth Berkley smacks something (whether person or inanimate object), take a drink.
Whenever someone falls down, everyone must do a shot.

I had orchestrated the evening to perfection.
That is, I had bought the movie, hired a mystery shit movie and set the dress code (all attendees must wear sparkles).
I had my outfit set. Thomas had gone and bought coloured glitter glue. We had enough alcohol to render the most hardened alcoholic comatosed.

Then the drinking began.....and didn't stop.....

Thomas ended up talking on the porcelain phone. I ended up passed out in front of the mystery shit movie (which to Thomas's disgust was Glitter with Mariah Carey). Thomas burst a blood vessel in her eye from the intense 'conversation' she had with the toilet.

So I guess once again its a story of Showgirls - 1, lucid non-suspecting law-abiding citizen - 0

2006-08-04T09:45:00.000+01:00

Really Bad Movies

There are movies out there that defy reason. Ok You can see the concept pitch would have been almost plausible........

Quirky beautiful woman meets arrogant money-hungry arsehole with an anger problem. She stalks him, (over the course of 48hrs) asking him to move in with her for a month. He does, he changes, they fall in love.....she dies.

Add in the left of centre Scottish cross-dressing gay neighbour and an insightful 8yr old fatherless loner kid and you have a recipe for ............hmmmmmmmmmmm........a c grade movie.

Things I learnt from the movie.

I too can be quirky if I wear oversized jumpers, dresses and workboots.

A man can fall in love with me if I stalk him. I mean, eventually he will see the light. Even if we are diametrically opposed on all levels.

An arrogant shit of a guy can turn all lovey and considerate if he justs throws away the suits and wear jeans and oversized hoodies.

Thomas and I watched this film last night. Ok. It was my call. When I mentioned I wanted to watch it, she groaned. She had every right to groan. During the course of the movie we exchanged many nervous glances.

Sorry Thomas. But I'm thinking. maybe we should start some kind of system for these films. After 20 min, we should pause it....then both write our imagined synopsis of the thing, then at the end, read out each others and see who got closest.

I think Thomas would have won last night. I would have written that, after having suffered from non-Hodgkin's lymphoma for a year and on deaths door, she would have some miracle recovery. Afterall, it was Hollywood.

2006-07-14T19:12:00.000+01:00

Big Brother Blues

Firstly, can I state CATEGORICALLY, that I do not watch Big Brother!!!

Whilst having my hair cut (thanks Angel - nice job luv), she started spouting about how tonight was eviction night and how she was hurrying home to watch it.

I mentioned I didn't watch it and how it was just a poor social experiment in place to test the breaking point of every misplaced, misguided, borderline head case in the house. She agreed......kind of...

This led to her talking about some contestant named Shaz.....(something), who was a 'bit of a nutta', who at one stage was on suicide watch.

I, (wittily I think), replied ".....what, the viewers watch to see how and when he's going to neck himself...."

She replied, "No, they watch to stop him from doing it".

I dont think she got my joke.

2006-07-12T21:44:00.000+01:00

My First Management Decision

Talking to a fellow senior manager (oh lah-de-dah) the other day, she asked me if I'd made any 'power' decisions yet (she, like me, has no trouble taking the mick).

I replied yes (rather earnestly).

With raised eyebrows (and a certain amount of discomfort as I answered without humour), she asked me what.

I replied......"I will write a new policy on, and enforce the new company rule, that NO SOUTH AFRICANS SHOULD BE IN CHARGE OF ANSWERING PHONES!"

After laughing, she asked me why.

I replied, "...because they make hello sound like fuck off...."

C'mon....get off your politically correct high horse people. South Africans, whether trying or not, lack diplomacy. It must be a combination of things like intonation in speech coupled with accent, but they really annoy me, (well...on the phone anyway).

And as for answering the company phone? Well, if I were ringing a housing organisation, needing help on a housing or benefits issue, would I want to speak to someone who, by misfortune, sounds like someone who wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire??????

2006-07-09T09:01:00.000+01:00

When In Rome

Was meeting up with a friend last night and as usual, I was on time and they weren't, so I ducked into a bar to pass the time (seems they were running 30 min late!!!!!!!).

I was in Fulham. The bar I ducked into was called Belushi's (I think). It doesn't matter as I'm never going there again.

So I sashay up to the bar, order a drink, sit down and scan the joint. To my horror, I realised it was an Aussie bar. Oh, not a blatant 'Walkabout' pub, but a bar which lulls one into a false sense of security (from the outside), only to wallop you with the overt markings of patriotism inside.

You know. The telltale signs such as the Aussie flag hanging up over a window, a stuffed kangaroo on a shelf behind the bar (whaaaaaaaaattttttt!!!!!!!!!!!), and a room filled with Aussie's.

This is what I really really don't get. Why would you move to the other side of the world just to hang out with your fellow countrymen. Surely to experience and fully learn about a culture, means that the friends you make, and the people you live with, all mould and guide your understanding of that culture.

So when I first moved to London in 1999, I bought The Loot, and trawled the shared accommodation pages, looking for a shared flat, with an English person. Ok, I admit I was open to sharing with anyone really, but I did not want to share with a couple of Aussie's, or Kiwi's. I found Lynda, who lived in Clapham Common. An English lass who hailed from Newmarket (near Cambridge).As it turned out, after I harassed her solidly for about 5 days, she agreed to let me move in (true story that. After meeting me she was concerned I may be too loud - which of course, I am).

So, it's 7 years later, and I consider Lynda to be one of my best mates. Someone I meet up with regularly for dinner, drinks and gossip. Someone I go on holidays with. Someone I trust and love. She has shown me parts of London and England that I never would have known about if hanging out with antipodeans.

Oh, and that antipodean thing is a labeling nightmare as well. Australians, New Zealanders, and South Africans, all thrown in together. It's as if the only difference between us is our accents (which most people cant differentiate between anyway). Frankly, I don't care what the differences are. The fact is we are different. I don't possess the supposed resentment for Kiwis. I don't hate those who come from Melbourne (another assumption of domestic rivalry).

I do love the fact that I live in a multi-layered, multi-racial city that has less of a racist undercurrent than I'm used to. Australia tends to be quite narrow-minded in terms of immigration. I am constantly hearing the bleatings of others about immigration and how the foreigners are taking all the jobs. Blah, blah, blah. Well, I guess the same can be said about me in London then. I can hear it now. 'Send her back to where she came from'.

Speaking with my friend last night, they mentioned how they now worked in an office full of Kiwi's and Aussies. They mentioned how both never stop whinging. About work, about the weather, about anything I guess. And that's the problem. Get a group full of people together in a room, all from the same country, and some kind of group dynamic happens where they immediately feel superior. They have a sense of security because they're all reading from the same page. I've heard it before. Brit bashing that is. I've said it once and I'll say it again. If you don't like the place. If you don't like the weather. If you feel Australia or New Zealand (or any other country for that matter) is far superior in many ways........... THEN GO BACK THERE.

I admit. I'm guilty of the odd jibe. Am even guilty of a little patriotism. Just a little. But I love Britain. And when asked why on earth do I want to live here rather than sunny Australia, I answer 'The sum of a country is more than that of it's climate'.

Nuff said.

2006-07-07T20:09:00.000+01:00

Surrounded By Idiots

I had every intention of blogging on anothetr topic this evening, but I took an e-detour just prior to writing and ended up in Brain Dead Central!!!!!

I HAVE TO BLOG ABOUT THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok. My sordid TV-watching past has included reality shows. I admit it. I was addicted. I knew it was wrong. Like any addiction, I kept it very well hidden for quite some time.

But I overcame it, and, like an ex-smoker (well, a smug pious ex-smoker), I looked down on the reality watcher. I outspokenly heralded the error of their ways.

So tonight, on the way to Blogspot I stopped off at the Big Brother website. Why you ask? Well, was switching channels when I accidently came across the Big brother Little Brother TV show. I tuned in for about 2 minutes. I then thought....what the heck...I will go to the website and check what the contestants are like.

And I was faced with the most mundane, egocentirc, brain-dead group of people known to man.
I went straight to the profiles to get an idea of what part of the pond, the scum came from.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....as predicted, looks like the bottom.

So what I did. I clicked on a face. I looked at their age, their occupation, their desciption of themselves and then what their favourite books and fims were. Oh bless. The complete moronity of it all actually surprised me.

One girl in particular who describes herself as intelligent but hates jokes because she doesnt get them, listed her favourite book as Victoria Beckham's Learning to Fly.

Really?

No....I mean REALLY??????

NO REALLY....I MEAN REALLY?????????????????????????????????????

Firstly, I had no idea Ms Beckham had a book. Secondly, if you were intelligent would you read a Victora Beckham book? Thirdly, if you were intelligent, wouldn't you get jokes. I mean, humour is a lateral way of thinking. Yes, there are jokes I dont get due to local idiosyncrasies. There are jokes that takes a few seconds for the penny to drop for me...but overall I get them.

Another girl, (a model/dancer which probably translates as a hooker), cited her favourite films as Clueless and Legally Blonde, and her favourite books as The Sport, The Sun, The Star, and The Complete Rule book to Find Mr Right. Hmmmmm...maybe that should read...The Complete Rule Book to find Mr Trite.

For those unfamiliar with these titles, I can only say that I am almost too upset to keep blogging. The first 3 titles are very right wing tabloids that cater to every sub-intelligent, tit-oggling, football hooligan type's dream. Tabloids which exploit women, and marginalise the significance that women contribute. Brain dead front pages which exploit people's fears.

Front pages which promote vigilantism by presenting skewed subjective pseudo-facts. I simply cannot express in words the disdain I feel for the gutter press that is the British tabloid.

But getting back to my original blog.

Other favourite books are 'Not known' (my guess because they've never read one) and 'Jordans Autobiography'...................hold on....what's that? Is it just me or has this contestant not only named that book as her favourite but....low and behold...not even known the title of it?????

Oh....and dont get me started on their favourite movies.

I have always wondered what stupid people think about when they are pondering to themselves. Maybe what they are thinking is.......how can I become a contestant on Big Brother.

2006-07-05T08:59:00.000+01:00

Thank you Germany, Thank you Italy

So the World Cup has been with us for almost a month now. I have been watching match after match, getting excited, jumping up and down, and generally surprising those who know me due to them not realising what a football buff I am.

OK. I'm not a fan who wears the colours, flies the flags, and boos national players because they play abroad (what the hell is that all about.....stoopid Brits).

But I am a fan, who loves the game, who does indeed think it's the beautiful game. That is, when players aren't diving, stomping on other player's 'packages', and generally behaving like degenerate thugs.

The semi final last night reintroduced me to 'The Beautiful Game'. A game where players play with respect for each other. A game where red and yellow cards aren't being passed around like a parcel. A game where diving was not the main tactic. Shots on goal a many, and extra time where both teams didn't sit back and play in their own half. A scoreless game that felt like there had been 3 goals scored a piece.

So Italy scored in the last 2 minutes of extra time. A beautiful goal, that deserved to be a winning goal. Not a goal scored from a bogus penalty given in the last 30 seconds (bitter and twisted referral to Australia's ousting from the World Cup).

The British press doesn't help either. Never before has the 'lowest common denominator' been so evident as when the World Cup is on. The lead up to the World Cup reached the sharp end about 2 months ago. Is Rooney going to play? Is his 4th metatarsel ok? Is Becks fit enough? What designer is Posh wearing? Oooohhhh...looky here....Posh seems to have lost more weight. Blah....blah....blah.......

After the Portugal match, one of the leading tabloids front page was a huge picture of Christian Ronaldo on a dartboard.....which was indeed dartboard size. Oh? Ok! Of course. The reason why England lost the match was because of Christian Ronaldo. Not the fact that England played without any passion or vigour. Not the fact that in not one match, did England look comfortable (except the Portugal match).

Ok. If I were laying blame, then I would say that Sven Goran Erikson's choice of team was very questionable. The formation he played with every match, was ludicrous. Playing with one striker up front, when its obvious that those strikers work better in a 4-4-2 formation as opposed to a 4-5-1. Crouch up front is fabulous, when coupled by another striker. Same with Rooney. Playing Beckham was an obvious choice, but I think his fitness let him down. He should have been subbed for Lennon, who has great speed, agility and youth. And don't get me started on Theo Walcott. Please dont get me started. Ok....that's it. Walcott? Never played in the premirership league. Erikson had NEVER seen him play. He was never used. He was one of 4 forwards taken on the squad. Two of the 4 had questionable fitness. I'm completely gobsmacked. This guy is the highest paid coach in the world coming in a 5 million a year (that's Brit £ folks). And for what????? I reckon that somewhere, there is a million £ bet going for England not to make the final. Sven MUST have put money on that.

Then again.....I feel it's about time that Australia won the World Cup (warning: cocky Aussie comment coming right up)......After all, its probably the ONLY main sporting event that we haven't won.

2006-07-04T18:35:00.000+01:00

Social Scare
Chapter 2

So Preston goes into work today. Just for the morning as I'm currently at a Preston DEFCON 3 (see previous blog for explanation).

I had to conduct interviews for the position of team Leader for a Mental Health Team. So I'm sitting there, feeling a bit crappy, when the first interviewee enters the room. Before sitting down, she announces that please excuse her if she looks uncomfortable or tense as 'it's the time of the month and she is quite heavy at the moment...'

WHAAATTTTTTTTTT??????????

She's interviewing for a leadership role and she asks that? I almost choked on my bottled water.
Not only is she interviewing for leadership, but the interviewers are her potential Area Manager (moi) and the goddamn Operations Director.

Since working in London in social care, I have had to set the bar at such a low height. Imagine the caliber for support staff if potential team leaders come out with such socially and professionally unacceptable comments.

In two days I am spending a day shortlisting for support staff positions. Apparently we have 52 applications to sift through. I have every intention of setting the bar high enough to sort out the crap from the cream. This means my criteria for binning potential applicants will be extremely harsh. This includes:

If they don't address the person specification in point form - BIN.
If they use a capital letter every time after a comma - a grammar lesson and then - BIN
Any trace of matriarchal or patriachal tendencies - BIN

I fully expect to only be interviewing a maximum of 6 people. I would be surprised if even that many meet my criteria. Social care is not menial work. Vulnerable people deserve people supporting them who respect them, support them to learn new skills, and can think laterally and creatively.

I fully intend to be the Ghengis Khan of the interview panel.

2006-07-03T08:05:00.000+01:00

PRESTON'S DEFCON

Woke up today feeling like I'd been battered around the head and body with a wet mackeral. Seems like Preston's supremo immune system has given the all-clear to a virus that has wiped the usually 'can't touch this' health.

What does this mean, I hear you all ask? What does it look like? Well, I have adapted the US weapons readiness system DEFCON to paint a most vivid picture.

PRESTON'S DEFCON

DEFCON 5 - Normal Preston health (climbing mountains/fighting crocodiles/giving lip)
DEFCON 4 - Normal Preston health without mountains, an increased tendency to whinge, if fighting crocodiles the croc may win
DEFCON 3 - Increase in whinge readiness. Verbally citing how crap I feel.
DEFCON 2 - Further increase in whinge readiness, visibally scary, eyeballs red, complexion pasty
DEFCON 1 - Maximum whinge readiness, fully prepared to walk onlookers through how crapulent I feel , unable to eat, flat out like a lizard drinki n

I am teetering between a 2 and a 1 at the moment, and I must say that Preston is most unimpressed. I hate getting sick, especially when it's hot. Yesterday, I could only stare out the window, and wonder what it would be like to experience the 30 degree temperatures that the rest of London were enjoying. Today, another 30 degree day. What this means, is that I'm confused as to whether my temperature is real or if it's just my body reacting to the 'once in a lifetime' London temperatures.

Typical I say. Even as a child, I used to shrug off the winter challenges and forge ahead like a thoroughbred, sickness free, only to find that on came summer with all its joys, and Preston would catch something or another. For years, I have fended off lurgy's left right and centre, feeling very full of myself indeed. 'Moi? Oh I never get sick. I have a supreme immune system'.

Bugger.

2006-07-03T00:00:00.000+01:00

Turn left at the Dead Badger

I bounce between extremes where my bedroom is either quite tidy or complete squalor.

At the moment it's squalor.

Note - title of blog refers to the Black Books (another good site is this one), episode 'Manny Come Home'. Fran returns from holiday to find the bookshop in complete disarray because Bernard has fired Manny. She enters the shop to mounds of rubbish. Bernard calls out directions from the back of the shop. Goes something like this:

"Go past the bin bags........turn left at the mouldy George Elliot......turn right...go straight ahead....turn left at the dead badger...."

Well, at the moment there could be a dead badger somewhere in my room.

My mound of clothes moves from one section of the room to the other, depending on what part I'm using. If I need to go to bed, then I move all of it to the mound in front of the cupboard. When I get up, I make my bed, then pile everything back onto the bed. It's a fabulous system. Sometimes, I become motivated to actually tidy. Such a mundane business tidying. Some people take great pride in doing such menial chores. Very tidy people scare me. Too orderly. Too regimented. On the other hand, the type of person who grows cultures in obscure places (under bed, on old food, in their navel), also scare me.

Finding a happy medium is good. I think I've found it. I'm a quirky cleaner. That means I clean when I want.

Unfortunately this leads to several problems. I lose my keys...in my room...at least twice a day. I misplace work stuff, where it usually resurfaces somewhere under the bed (where I must say...it probably bloodywell belongs).

On the other hand, it has benefits. I have honed my bloodhound-like skills at finding things (especially keys). I am physically fit from constantly doing laps of the combat course which makes up the route from my bed to my door.

If I ever hook up with a guy who is a neat freak, then I will schedule time out for relationship counseling in readiness for the disagreements we will have. I can see it now. Me walking around like Pigpen out of Peanuts cartoon, surrounded by a cloud of dust.Him following me around the house with a dustpan and brush, picking up my clutter. Alphabetising my CD collection. Organising my food cupboard into rows. Throwing out food from the fridge that is only 1 day past its use by date (a crime!!!!). He could gasp at my 5 second rule to spilt food.

I could be the Oscar to his Felix (The Odd Couple). In fact, it could be a complete role reversal. He could cook and clean for me. I could try my hand at DIY and put the garbage out. What a match!!

Then again, I'm not that bad. When I was in my teens and early twenties, I had (actually have still but I wont mention your name), a friend whose house resembled Noah's Ark (on crack). How could I ever forget the times I would go to use the iron (I practically lived there), but beforehand had to spray insect repellent on my legs to protect against the fleas that would literally jump up at you for fresh blood. You see the ironing board was situated upstairs, on a natural seagrass mat. The fleas lived in the mat and, if the room was quiet, you could hear the little beggars jumping and landing. At the time they had 2 dogs and 2 cats. Even with all the fleas, I loved that household.

Aaaaah.........Good times. Good times.

2006-07-02T16:00:00.000+01:00

Wiped Out

No sooner have my two friends (Jon and Scott)left for fairer shores, I have collapsed in a screaming heap.

Lying here in bed I can reminisce about the past 5 days and only dream of a day when I get more than 5hrs sleep and a clear bill of health.

Cut back to 5 days ago. I was in the process of skipping out of work, spring in step, no more a tachycardic mess, for some annual leave days off,when I caught a glimpse of the latest phone lists that were posted out to ALL care projects and offices of Threshold. My deputy, Spencer, mentioned that they had me on the list.....a sharp pang gripped my heart......to myself, I was saying 'They wouldn't would they?.....Surely not...' I gingerly took a closer look only to find that yes...indeed the bastards had....POSTED MY PERSONAL MOBILE NUMBER AS MY CONTACT NUMBER!!!!!!!!!!
And I reiterate - THE BASTARDS!!!!

This means that at least 16 services have me as their fall back guy just as I go on annual leave. Is there no reprieve from this shit of a new job. I am completely frazzled.

So I get a call on Friday regarding some revenue agreements for a recently acquired project in Hampton Wick. Its the deputy manager going on (and on, and on and on and on), about how Kingston PCT are talking about wages not being paid and what is going to happen and how will they be paid and...and...and............ Firstly, can I just say, that I'm new to the role and have no idea of what agreements are in place, what has been promised etc. Secondly, I have no idea about the revenue agreements. Thirdly, I HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT THE REVENUE AGREEMENTS. Fourthly, Im on A/L. (just to point out, I thought this, I didn't say it).

The next call I received was regarding a disciplinary that's going on, which kicked off 2 days after I took on the new role, when both my supervising managers decided to take A/L. Well timed huh!!!!

So Preston is juggling a chain saw of indecision, a flame thrower of ignorance and a machete's worth of WHOOP-ASS.

I have had quite a few days of fun over the last 5 days. I woke up this morning, ready to see off Jon, and get in an afternoon of rest, relaxation, and some preparation time for the oncoming work week. Alas, after only 2 hours of sleep, due to waking up in a complete flu-like sweat coupled with nausea and a brain numbing headache, I feel like crud...What's more - I look like crud. The upcoming week will be full of many firsts - conducting interviews for 2 care manager positions, running a Threshold induction seminar, attending senior manager plus meetings and being handed over the information on 2 of the projects I will be overseeing, I feel like I will be tackling it from a position of complete feverish nausea. Oh joy!!!!

Must say though, the boys being over brought with them a little slice of Oz. A couple of gay boyfriends who definitely call a spade a spade. Guys who don't mince words and tell things to me pretty much straight.

Nice.

2006-06-26T13:07:00.000+01:00

You've Got to have Friends

Well, yet again, I find that good friends always show themselves when one is going through a bad time.
Alas, a potential new relationship hit the skids (a collective dejected sigh is uttered by the masses as they realise that Preston has hit yet another dead end).

As news of my latest stumble was passed around the group via texts etc, I had friends forming a posse at the town square, complete with fire and weapons, ready to run the guy outta town vigilanty style. Once I had calmed them down, then assured them that this wasn't a case of a 'bastard doing me wrong' but of a 'nice guy at the wrong time', I had a few friendly shoulders to sniffle on.

Of course, one realises that they have good friends, but these friends really shine when they are called upon.

So yesterday, Preston spent the day playing 'killer frisbee', drinking beer, lying around in the sun, then drinking red wine in the pub watching football. Then, after the last call, found herself sitting in the middle of Clapham Common, complete with full wine glass that she had simply walked out the pub with (actually Richard had it up his shirt).

Can I just say now, that Richard - you did wonders for me yesterday. You're a good friend and someone I can trust and rely on. It's good to know I have a sturdy shoulder. Oh, and the only person, other than my brother, who I can peg a frisbee at with force and have returned to me at force.

Now, getting back to this hang over. I feel downright sick, the vision in my left eye is blurred, my body is rejecting several of its own organs, and my brain continues to boggle out one ear to try and boggle back in via the other ear, only to find it has returned to the substandard accommodation it just fled from.

I'm suffering the sweats, have the shakes, and am finding it hard to be in the same hemisphere as food. I rang in sick for work and am dividing my time between lying on the lounge with a 'blanky', and crawling under the duvet in the throws of a death squirm.

I have decided to take a break from alcohol (after my friends visiting from Oz leave next weekend), and get my life and health sorted. What does this mean? Hell, I don't know. But one thing for sure is, that the alcohol is outsky for the time being (yet another collective sigh - this time from some long-suffering organs).

Maybe it will look something like this......long rides in the country on sunny weekends, picnics in the park, concerts, taking in movies, drinking lots of mango smoothies...hmmmmm, going out dancing, eating fabulously naughty food, having a facial.........aaaaahhhhh the skies the limit.

So......would anyone care to join?????

2006-06-23T19:06:00.000+01:00

Australia are Through! You Little Beauty (pronounced beauuuuudy)

So Australia, after having had a dry spell for 32 years, make it into the World Cup (that's World Cup Football to you sporting philistines out there). I am unsure whether Australia have ever made it to the 2nd round. I will do some research on that and get back to you.

So, last night when Australia played Croatia, I became rather excited whilst watching the match. Instead of tell the tale of my excitement, I will refer to the blog my flatmate Nicole posted on her site last night. Rather accurate I feel.

GOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLL!
Posted on @ 9:04 pm
Jen is ordering a Thai takeaway while watching the Australia v Croatia game.
Jen is Australian.
Score is 1-0 Croatia.
“Oh, yes, Hello. I’d like to order a takeaway. . . For pick-up. . . Cash. . . Ok, Chili Pepper Squid and–”
Australia gets a penalty kick.
“Yaki– Oh! Wait, Oh, wait! OH WAIT!!! They have a penalty kick! I’m sorry, I’m Australian! And OH! OH! OHH!”
Australia scores.
YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! And Yaki– I’M SORRY! YEEAAAAAAAAHHH! I’m so SORRY! And Yaki Udon! I’m sorry!YEAHHHHH! GO SOCCEROOS! Udon! Yaki Udon! WOOO-HOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Sorry! YEAHHHHHHHHH!”
She is bouncing around the room, the walls are vibrating.
It has made the top ten funny things I have witnessed thus far in my life.

Needless to say......Preston was well impressed with the outcome of the match...

2006-06-16T17:17:00.000+01:00

Peeeeeeeuuuuuuuuuwwwww!!

Ok. I realise that London has a fabulous transport system. No...that isn't tongue in cheek. All you whinging poms can come to Sydney for a bit to see that an average wait between trains is 15mins. Try that in 38 degree heat. Still bitching about London Transport? I think not. On a recent trip to Oz, I had the painstaking wait of 23 minutes for a train that would take me 7 stops. I was so appalled I took a photo of the timeboard for proof. Sad but true. Preston does indeed have too much time on her hands.

Back to the reason for this blog. I have to admit that for the past year, I have been spoilt in terms of transport. I have cycled everywhere, avoiding the major human congestion that seems to pool around anything that helps them get their fat asses on a seat with wheels (or to that effect).

So with my recent knee problems and job promotion (leading to me having to wear adult clothes), I have been catching PT at peak times. Maybe I should rephrase that to 'being herded onto PT'.

Squeezed into tight spaces with people is bad enough, but couple that with a 30 degree day and an obvious absence of 'working' deodorant, I am simply beside myself. The other morning, whilst pressed up against a girl with 'Frankenfurter' make - up, I felt quite ill, as the concoction of alien smells hit my nose like a swarm of flatulent bees. I sniffed.....I coughed....I sniffed again. 'What the hell is that smell?', I thought to myself. Then it dawned on me. It's a cocktail of stale clothes and morning breathe (I can hear you all heaving at this point). Inside my head I was screaming 'GET A TOOTHBRUSH AND A WASHING MACHINE'.

And don't get me started on the plain shittiness of the mobile phone conversations going on around me. 'I fink Spain will be brilliant'....and Miss Queen of the Mundane's obvious fashion dilemma...' They didn't have my size so I got a smaller one which really makes my bum look be**ar (better without the t).

Oh....and the girl who got on my semi-packed train at Putney last Tuesday. Can I just say that honey....if you're wearing a backpack, it increases the the circumference of your TURNING CIRCLE! Therefore, any sudden moves left or right, take out the people in your immediate vicinity. DUH!

Needless to say, Preston is very much looking forward to hopping back on Ruprect for the majority of her travels. Now, my only problem is how to negotiate turning up to work in sweaty lycra and maintaining a professional image....hmmmmmmmmm

2006-05-31T12:06:00.000+01:00

If I were a horse they'd put me down.

Damn, damn, DAMN!!!

Looks like Prestons' dodgy ligament worries are back. Bring on the zimmer.

Yep, felt a twinge in the knee about a week back but tried to ignore it. I guess I just wanted to believe that, like the rest of the population, I could walk around quite freely NOT resembling a war vet whose taken a hit of shrapnel to the leg.

So it's back to the smarmy consultant. He'll take one look at me, shake his head, reiterate that I am alas too young for a knee replacement, and then continue on to offer me a series of dire options.

My first consultant (not smarmy and actually treated me like I had some modicum of intelligence), suggested that I was in this predicament because I'm aussie. Yep, if I was english then I'd be a fat lazy git who never got their ass from the lounge. The type of person who would catch a bus and only travel 2 stops (why, why WHY?).

So I now realise the error of my ways. I should have just been a lazy git for the past 20 years. The type of person who, thinks back to the days before the remote control, and shudders at the thought of changing channels manually. The type who considers sport to be somethoing you look at but dont touch. The type who can multitask a beer AND a fag at the same time. The type who is looking forward to 'pegging out' at a young age via a huge vascular accident (as opposed to a huge white van accident - something I'm faced with every time I jump on Ruprect and cycle London).

The choice is easy.

Be a lazy git who although, can walk quite easy minus the limp, probably wont cos why walk when there's a perfectly good bus to catch....

or...

Be a sporty dynamo, who, although is a dab hand at most sports will be looking into wheelchair tennis as an option at the ripe old age of 45.

Crap (sob)

2006-05-27T19:39:00.000+01:00

Let's call a spade a shovel and dig a nice deep hole for me!

Great news folks! I have recently met a lovely guy. We get on very well (translate: he laughs at my jokes).

Both he and I have been subject to a 'torture-style' line of questioning from friends. Alas, only the other day did I realise that my group of friends are in a class (ironically) of their own.
Let me explain.

My new 'friend', has been exposed to a few sessions of questions. These questions have gone along the lines of....lets say.....a modest interest. He has been subjected to such questions (I assume) as:

"What is she like?"

"What type of books does she read?"

"What music is she into?"

I, on the other hand have been subjected to the following:

"Did ya snog 'im?"

"Did ya do 'im?"

"What base have ya gotten to?"

Now I know what you're thinking. All legitimite questions right? But it has got me to thinking.............

When it comes to me introducing a new beau to my friends, it's not so much a case of 'introduce' as it is 'expose' him to them.

I can see it now. We walk in together, a couple, happy and content with each other's company. I 'expose' him to them. Then we leave........separately. He has developed a nervous twitch and a stock standard repetetive answer to the question that has been thrown at him all night. He spends the rest of the night, tossing and turning in bed saying "...no....no.....no more pints for me....I REALLY have drunk enough......".

I, on the other hand, am subjected to the ridicule of my friends....
....."he's a bit of a lightweight isn't he.....I mean...it was only the 12th round and he opted out....call him a man?"

So I am faced with a dilemma. Introduce him to my friends and hence lose him due to the harsh reality that both myself and my friends are a group of socially unacceptable misfit lushes....

or

Suggest that I have no friends which leaves me looking like a a misfit social outcast incapable of not only not making friends but not maintaining friends due to my inexcusable ability to call a spade a spade (yes you DO look like an ageing hooker in that outfit).

Hmmmmmmm

Maybe I could come up with a great and believable reason for not having friends. One that could see me maintaining my friends (that is, till they read this blog), and maintain a normal relationship (which reads as an oxymoron when pertaining to a Preston heterosexual relationship).

Possible reasons why I dont have friends:

The dog ate them

They're lost in the mail

My 'Preston is a like-able person' potion wore off.

It's against my religion

10 years ago, they went out to pick up some milk and never returned home

I'm a conservative supporter

And the list goes on. In the meantime, I will kick back with a bottle or ten of wine, think about the future, and .............cry.......tears of Shiraz since that is what's running through my veins (would be a 1992 Barolo if I had £ though).

2006-05-02T20:50:00.000+01:00

Read This And Try Not To Laugh Till You Cry!!

This email was cc to me from my friend Scott (otherwise known as Beryl Motion). It was sent from Greg (otherwise known as Elizabeth Hitler).

Firstly some background.Quite some time ago, long enough that the remedial and cognitive therapies are seeming to help me forget, Scott donned a wig and frock, and became the worst female impressionist I have ever had the misfortune of being associated with.

Read on.......

Hi everyone,

By now i'm sure it's general knowledge that the
infamous original Beryl Ursula Motion wig is no more,
the red curly wonder that looked as if it had been
platted, threaded and knitted from Nicole Kidmans own
welcome mat has gone, vanished forever.

I'm sure a nest of rats scammpered up the outdoor
shitter and carried it down from the cistern, i have
visions of the rats using Beryls wig as a birthing
facility, and i'd like to think that the rat that will
be gnawing away at Beryls court heeled ankle when
she's collapsed in the gutter outside the shift* will
have sprung from the curls of Beryls original hair
piece .. call me old fashioned, but i find something
romantic, if not 'just' in that.

Of course Beryl is never one to let the grass grow
under her feet .. or worse, so she is on the hunt for
a new polyester comb over, she was beside herself with
glee when i showed her my latest purchase, an original
Eva Gabor wig! needless to say she had ripped open the
box and foisted the lice ridden piece onto her head
before i could say 'You are my wife, GOODBYYYYYE city
life'

If you see Beryl adorned with this anytime soon on
Oxford street .. hit her with a stick, chase her down
the street thrashing at her the whole way, swish at
her ankles! .. she is the reverse pied piper of
Hamlin, instead of leading the rats out of the city
she is bringing them in!!

Liz xoxo

* The Shift - An extremely nasty low down gay bar on Sydneys main 'pink parade' - the beloved Oxford St. When patrons arrive a requirement is to check their morals at the door.

2006-04-27T15:28:00.000+01:00

Wolfmother - Back from the musical era that civilisation forgot!!

Last night I dragged my flatty - Thomas, to see a fab band called Wolfmother. These guys have to be seen and heard to be believed. As Thomas describes them, they are a mix of Led Zeppllin meets The Doors meets AC/DC meets White Stripes. A fairly accurate description I feel.

I cant remember the last time I saw a guitarist jump off stage speakers and slide around on their back as part of the act. Great stuff.

The band are Aussie, so of course, we were surrounded by Aussies. Aussies have such a sense of fair play. Whilst at the bar, which was rammed with thirsty Aussies, the bartender went to serve a guy next to me. The guy deferred her to me because I was there before him. I, in turn, deferred to the guy to my right, who was before me. Quite a funny scenario. We all had a chuckle.

So often you hear about people who, when faced with a queue jumper, will choose not to confront them. Not Preston. The sheer rudeness and audacity of them! I am not afraid to not only confront them, but to point out where the queue starts....for them. I have been faced with quite a few responses to this scenario. One is the ignorance plea....'ooohhhh sorry I didn't realise', which usually will elicit the Preston response,(head tilted to one side oozing rhetoric) '....really?'

Then there's the complete ignore job, which happened in Superdrug Brixton. This chick completely pushed in front of me after I had been waiting for about 5 minutes. Not a chance. The exchange went something like this....

Preston: 'Excuse me, but I'm next.'
Ignorant Pushy-Inny Bitch: (nothing - no recognition that I had spoken)
Preston: (tap on the shoulder) 'The queue starts back there........'
Ignorant Pushy-Inny Bitch: 'Dont touch me....that is assault.'
Preston: (spluttering laughing) 'Your kiddin right?' (facing the rest of the queue or witnesses as I like to call them) 'Does anyone reckon that was assault?'
Ignorant Pushy-Inny Bitch: (nuthin....is completely ignoring I exist now)
Preston: (realising that she needs a new tack, addresses the cashier) 'You're gonna serve me next right?'
Wide eyed cashier: ( mouth open and looking nervously between me and Ignorant Pushy-Inny Bitch calls for security)

Security I ask you!!!!!!!!!!

Preston: (to security) 'Listen, she pushed in, I'm next, and she's a very rude person.'

By this stage, the rest of the queue are finding their voice and backing me up. Also, the cashier is ready for the next customer. Ignorant Pushy-Inny Bitch is now being questioned by security. Preston steps up to the counter and promptly gets served. Preston then slips away without being seen leaving an impending riot unraveling behind her!!!

Mwa-Ha-Ha-Ha

It's a principal thing guys. I hate queues like the rest of you, but they serve a purpose. It just comes down to plain good manners. If you let someone push in then you condone their actions by your lack of voice. Also, I wouldn't feel true to myself if I let someone get away with such rudeness without pointing out their obvious folly. If it gets me nowhere, then at least I have said something rather than being an ineffectual drone who, will not only not challenge people, but then moan and whinge about them.

I guess the moral of this story is....

DONT MESS WITH PRESTON!

and

WOLFMOTHER RULE!

2006-04-25T20:07:00.000+01:00

Vunderful, Vunderful,.....Hold on....that's Copenhagen!

Aaahhh Bugger it...Vunderful, Vunderful Amsterdam!

Preston took in another part of the world last week. Yep! Spent about 5 days in Amsterdam and loved every minute of it!

It was a right knees up!

Slightly scary highlight of the trip? That would have to be on my first morning there, where, going beyond normal Preston boundaries, I got lost. Now how did it go....left at the flower markets, right at the main shopping street...and...wait a minute...what a fabulous pair of shoes,....oh...and check out that interior design shop...and I might just stop in a bar now.....and...where the hell am I? So Preston goes troddling off in a direction that looks nice. Aaaaahhh nice canal, nice architecture, nice bars. I'm really lost now.

But guys...that's not the scary bit...I mean....it's not like I made a wrong turn in Oz, and ended up a thousand miles from....say....running water. No! I was lost and exploring. What was scary, was the fact that during the time I was lost, I needed sustenance, so bought a drink and a banana. Whilst walking down the street, eating the banana, a guy with a huge................................telephoto lense (apologies for the pregnant pause alluding to a sexual pun), started snapping away whilst I was mid-mouthful. I was stunned and almost choked myself with laughter (and the strategically placed banana). The guy got a photo of that too. Now I really started laughing. I said words to the effect of....'that was mean'....but he wagged his finger, and with a cheeky smile said something in a foreign language and blew me a kiss. Hmmmmmmmmmm will chalk that one down to 'Only in Amsterdam'.

So during my trip, I decided that I never want anyone to refer to my dress style as quirky. Cos Preston saw alot of 'quirky' and realised quirky is the last stop on the train bound for Fashion Disaster!

The place I was staying in was amazing to say the least. 12 foot ceilings. A kitchen about 4 times the size of my bedroom in London (and in Sydney St in Oz). It was over 3 floors and about 5 minutes walk to....well....everywhere. Huge doors opened up onto a balcony. Because the flat is a home away from home for a friend, this means it is sparsely decorated. So picture a huge room, decked out with a three seater sofa, a couple of arm chairs, a coffee table....and that's about it. We would drag the sofa over in front of the huge doors to the balcony, and take in the sun....well...what there was of it.

And no folks!!! Preston abstained from drugs! There were too many other good things to be doing like....beer....and....shopping.....and going to dance clubs.....and beer.....and cracking open bottles of red. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

And dont get me started on the bikes. The bikes rule there! Wow! Ruprect would be so excited! Though there's no way in hell I would take him there because he would be stolen and pimped out!

So Preston must say.....Thank you Jon. You were the perfect host. Maybe next time we can have our hash cookie picnic as planned.....

2006-04-16T17:54:00.000+01:00

Cycle Diaries
Episode 1
The Aussie Strikes Back

Cycling London can be such fun. It can also be a health hazard.

Preston has committed many traffic offences while giving the proverbial 'finger' to all the lowly car-drivers caught in traffic.....Mwa-Ha-Ha-Ha!!!

Preston has been.....pulled out on, car-doored, knocked off her bike, spat at, yelled at, whistled at, glared upon and downright hated.....by motorists and pedestrians alike.
And Prestons just gotta say.

Right back at cha PEOPLE!!!!

You see, my view is, the Preston express is comin' through and aint no-one gonna stop her.

That's why I have to say, that this morning, I had one of the nicest rides. Was on my way to work, was Sunday morning at about 9:30am, mid easter long weekend.Sun was out, there was a crisp feel to the air. It wasn't cold. I had my 'fast'shades on. The kinda shades which say I'm up to no good.

There was practically nobody on the road....just how I like it.....using the road like it's my own.Which it is!

Only problem is, that the people you do get out on the road are OAP's (for the unitiated, that Old Age Pensioners). Yep, I reckon they're all on their way to church.All driving like the OAP outta Ferris Buellers Day Off.

I overtook one. No....not one walking along the street....she was driving along Garrett Lane, (a main road in Wandsworth). I couldn't believe it! At first I didn't know what or who I was dealing with.I was waiting for her to speed up, thinking she must of been applying lipstick or lighting a fag. But no, no speeding up. So Preston has a better look, and the silhouette of that ill-fitting afro-type wig gave away that she was a paying member of the Grey Brigade. Preston thought to herself.....is this a chance for me to brag (well....cmon....just a little bit guys)....brag that she has become so strong on Ruprect, that she overtakes cars now!!!!

Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!!!!

I have! Damn good knee is still performing. Lungs are still giving out a performance close to that of Phar Lap.

I overtook and sped off! Laughing maniacally whilst listening to Soundgarden's Burden in My Hand.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh the pure freedom of it.

Except....I was on my way to a 29 hour shift.

SHIT!

I just came back to ground level (sob).

2006-04-14T17:38:00.000+01:00

Preston - The Corporate Whore

Preston has been making some changes of late. The incredible procrastinator that I am, I have looked into doing some things I have wanted to do for ages. You know about the guitar playing.....that seems to be coming along slowly. Have booked in for a ten week beginners course. Am excited about that because so far its just been Preston, her guitar and the laptop.

Lessons online are good, but the human factor of course is missing. The part where someone comes along and corrects your hand, or winces at the sound of a dodgy note....well they are invaluable.

I have also just booked in for lessons in Tai Chi. Have wanted to do these for years. I imagine myself, centred in meditative mode, going through the flowing motions..... anywhere...a beach....a park.....a forest. Somewhere near water would be great. Feeling at one with yourself and the world.

So, taking up the guitar and doing Tai Chi? Signs of a wannabe hippie you may say? I would be proud to be a hippie. But maybe I need some balance! Maybe with all the tofu eating and organic paper using, I need something that will balance the scales so I don't enter into some self induced hippie rebirth?????

I know!!! PRESTON WILL BECOME A CORPORATE WHORE!!!!!

I have the opportunity to take on a temporary promotion with an option to go permanent. I may step up into a senior management position where I sit in an office, work 9-5pm Monday to Friday. I will attend budget meetings and schmooze with some big wigs high up in social services. Hmmmmmmm will Preston do it? Will she go for it? Will I become the very person that my co-managers bitch about because I don't seem to know whats going on or am outta touch with residential care at the ground level???

Shit yeah!

A pay rise, the opportunity for after work drinks along with the inevitable day where I do nothing and yet seem so, so busy? I could do that! The chance to get my teeth into some things without being interrupted by....ohhh lets see....a knock on the door from the police dropping off one of the tenants I manage when they have gotten into a pub brawl. Hmmmmm attractive. How about the chance to write some reports without 2 tenants going at each other 'hammer and tongs' because one has accused the other of stealing her olive oil. Oh yeah....that's my bag! And the fact that I will be directly managing actual intelligent people? Wow, what a novelty.

So Preston is going for it. If I don't like it I can go back to the 'front line' again. Cross all your fingers that i get it eh!

2006-04-13T09:01:00.000+01:00

Totally Believable Plot Lines

I have a confession. I'm an addict. Have tried to kick the habit several times, but to no avail.

I'm addicted to Home and Away. I remember watching it years ago when I lived in Oz. I seem to recall watching the very first episode. cant remember much about it, apart from a couple of actors.

I started watching it again last year, around about September or October, because it gave me a glimpse of Oz, which at the time I was sorely missing. I was due to visit Oz in December, and was gearing up to my beloved home by having a taster.

Home and Away is filmed in Sydney. The beach and cafe of 'Summer Bay', is filmed at Sydney's Palm Beach. I can see places I used to visit, roads I used to ride on, the sea pool I used to swim laps in.

Yet, when watching, all the alarm bells goes off.

Several recent plot lines:

Twenty two year old heavily pregnant woman, with a potentially fatal heart condition, decides to take time out, (days before she is due), telling no one where she's going, hangs out at an isolated caravan with NO mobile signal.

Hmmmmmmm what may happen?

Young police constable, turns out to be deranged psychotic serial murderer, bumping off people who were jurors on his fathers fraud trial.

Local young doctor and all round nice guy, finds out he has terminal cancer. Stay tuned for that story kids, as, whilst in Oz, I got a glimpse of the future and MAYBE by some miracle, the cancer goes into remission against all odds?????

So, the tenants at my workplace watch shows like Eastenders and Coronation Street. For a little while, a couple of years ago, I watched Eastenders. I realised after a couple of months, that it was just plain depressing. Have never watched it since. But from time to time, I will catch a glimpse at work whilst the tenants are watching. The effect is amazing. It makes me feel really down. Sad or angry characters, no sunshine, a social life that evolves around a dingy lifeless pub.......etc etc. At least Home and Away has sunshine. At least it is centred around a place that is vibrant.

There is an abundance of trailer trash in Eastenders. I loathe it.

I do wonder where I will be in five years. I'm certain it wont be London. I wont continue to live in a place where the sun is considered a luxury. maybe I took the Oz weather for granted. I definitely took the Oz way of life for granted. An open and down to earth culture which lacked arrogance.

Anywho, I will continue to watch Home and Away, even though after each episode, I feel just that little bit dirty.......

2006-04-08T15:47:00.000+01:00

Social Scare

G'day listeners.

As you all may well know, I work in the heady field of social care. Not for the faint-hearted I tell you! I have decided, that from time to time, I will write a regular 'column' on my experiences.

Here is the first installment

When is a meat, not a meat?

Getting 'bums on seats' in social care is a hard one. That is, getting people into the job and convincing them to stay! Because of the high turn over of staff, we often rely heavily on agency staff.

Over the years, I have come across agency staff who are good, bad, blatantly rude, incredibly ignorant and just plain stupid. STOOPID!!!!!!!!!!

Why would one turn up to a shift wearing high heels, then, when asked to shower someone, say they cant because they're not dressed for it? Because they're both STOOPID and lazy.

How about this one. I informed an agency worker that she couldn't use her mobile phone whilst on duty. Now I hear all of you gasp at this one, but it's a sad case of give them an inch and they take a mile. You have workers who will talk non-stop on their mobiles for hours, not giving a shit about the time they are NOT giving to the people who need it. The residents whose home these workers are working in!

Anyway. Back to the story. I told her she couldn't use the phone. So the next day, when she was handing over to me details of her shift, she proudly stated that she had not used her mobile. Oh no!!! She had called her boyfriend on the office phone she stated!!!!
Preston stared at her in disbelief. Preston lost it and started laughing. Only briefly. Then Preston pointed out the premise to the non-mobile rule.

This same agency worker, when counting the money on hand over , shifted my ideas on the definition of a moron. Money has to be counted on every shift change to ensure internal financial controls are adhered to....that is....no ones stealing!

So, there was about £70.25 in the petty cash, as well as three tenant personal monies. After she had counted, she filled out the required paper work. Only, after she filled it out, she stated that the money was incorrect. When asked if she had counted £70.25, she replied 'no', she insisted that there was £7,025 in there. Wide eyed, staff pointed out the wonders of the decimal point and how she had left it out. But no! She insisted that she had counted £7,025. This girl had only just finished her A levels. Hmmmmm

How about this one. Another manager told me this story a couple of years back. They had a tenant who, due to the families religious and personal beliefs, did not eat meat. He was in a high care scheme. This means that he needs assistance with most daily living skills therefore cooking and feeding were done by staff. It happened one day, that a staff member fed him meat. She had fed him chicken. The shift leader at the time discovered this and reported it to the manager. The manager and the deputy called for an informal meeting to address several issues in this workers performance. When it came around to discussing the 'Meat Incident', the worker had a very legitimate defense!

Oh yes listeners.....wait for it.... She claimed that chicken is not a meat?????

STOOPID STOOPID STOOPID

I am so disgruntled at the lack of intelligence, creativity and dedication of staff. It pisses me off to the point that if I don't laugh, I would just become bitter.

I am now about to pilot training in certain areas for new starters in the company. Maybe I start with pointing out the 5 food groups to new staff.

2006-04-02T17:34:00.000+01:00

Twang.....Twang.......
Twang.....Ouch!

Preston has big ideas! Preston is gonna be a star. She's gonna take on the world.... one country at a time.

Ok. I'm dreamin', but I've just done something I've wanted to do for years. Bought a guitar!!

Damn my procrastination!

I tried learning the guitar about 10 years ago. Had a friend that played and he wanted to teach me. I wish I had of capitalised on that opportunity. But it fell through, and at the time I was gleaning my skills in other areas......playing pool, drinking beer and generally having a fucking good time (excuse the language, but its the ONLY way to describe that time in my life).

So here I am, murdering the sound of a beautiful instrument and pushing the boundaries in human tolerance (my neighbours and flat mates).

Just about every one I've told has been like....'go for it girl'. Except one friend who suggested I was going through a mid-life crisis. I didn't expect that comment or even think about it like that. Age is such a contentious issue with people. Actually it shits me! Being the procrastinator I am, I guess I will get a lot of that along the way. Other things I want to do, like get my motor bike license, study drama, take singing lessons, scuba dive, and travel the world like a hippy, will probably incite similar comments. So can I just say now...........

PISS OFF!!!!!

Youth is wasted on the young and if I wanna take up something new at the age of 40, 55, 68....or who knows when...then thank god, because it means I'm not stagnating in my own age discriminating bubble!

Aaaaaaargh... got that gem off my ample chest!

So, back to the guitar, my aspirations of many a male groupie, and world travel/domination.

I have chosen the first song I wanna learn. In a few days, I'm sure you will see that I have been listening to a band named Dashboard Confessional (check out my links). They have a song called 'Vindicated', which I have been listening to the acoustic version of. It seems like easy chords (once I can play the bloody things), and the lyrics are fab. The way he sings it seems raw and strung out. I love it. I wanna go somewhere like a beach or a field. Somewhere where I am alone with only the birds to cover their ears. Then I wanna belt that tune out!

And belt it out I will!

Heard another song the other day. I'm starting to listen out for songs that have an acoustic edge and seem to be just chords. Heard a song by Jose Gonzalez called Heartbeats. That will be a song I will attempt as well. The lyrics and singing are smooth. I love him! Would like to work up to playing like him.

I want to write songs and lyrics. Maybe put some of the poems I have written to music.I get impatient - excited to get home quickly, so I can practise. My fingers are sore, but I take it in 15 minute stints so I can give them relief. I have noticed in the last 2 days, that my fingers are curling more naturally over the strings. I'm having to correct them less (but still I am constantly fluffing it - which I expect - so I'm on track). When I play a chord back, string by string, I'm holding the chord more accurately. Yaaaaaaaay!!!

But the road is long......with many a winding turn......

2006-03-31T16:53:00.000+01:00

I'm starting to feel Whole Again

Yesterday I had an appointment with Chelsea Westminster Hospital. Orthopaedics clinic. And the news made me wanna cry.....for joy.

Of course, Preston rode to that clinic! Here I was, sitting around in my lycra, holding my bike pump, looking sweaty, surrounded by people on crutches and with limbs in castes. Before I had the procedure, I would turn up on my bike, and hobble into the clinic. I imagined everyone thinking....'well what ya expect....riding a bloody bike with a limp!'

So, sitting in that clinic felt good yesterday. When they called my name, I strode in. I imagined everyone thinking '...what the hells wrong with her...she looks fine to me..'!

It's been so long since I strode with confidence.

You see, about 8 or so years ago, I damaged my knee. I tore a ligament in the back of it. I had an operation in 2001 to fix it. It didn't work. I then had a cyst removed. That didn't work. I had an operation last year in May. May 13th to be exact. Friday the 13th.That didn't work. Then about two weeks ago, I had another cyst removed. For some reason, it feels really good.

And much to everyones disgust, I have tested my knee in the last week. Of course Preston just cant take all that well meant advice. Stuff like...'now take it easy wont you', and 'don't do too much'. For the record, thanks everyone for that advice, but I hate hearing it. Hate being told what to do. Hate living in 2nd gear. Never have, so why start now

So Preston went to a party last week and danced her heart out. Half way through the night I thought....'bet Ive screwed my knee up tonight'. It doesn't matter when I took the plunge, whether it be now or in 6 months...if the knee is gonna screw up, its gonna screw up.

So I woke up last Saturday morning, and wow......it didn't hurt!

So riding the other day, I decided to push it. A few sprints outta lights and cranking it up a hill in the saddle oughta do it (if its gonna go). Nup. It still felt good the next day.

So many times in the past, I've felt that sick feeling go through me as I felt the knee twinge...showing signs that all was not well. Its kept me awake, aching after a ride or a night out. Maybe all that will happen again. But for now, I feel better than I have felt for years.....

I'm not limping. Not favouring my good knee.

On the way home from work last weekend, I rode past some people practising softball. I decided to ride right up to them and ask if they were a team. They were. Its pre season and they're looking for players. I joined in for a bit. I told them that I have a knee problem so possibly would have to play on a base and not run when batting. Wow. Maybe Preston will get into a team sport again!! Have wanted to play softball, baseball, and fencing among other things for a while. But that damned knee.

I have always had a romantic view of cycling Europe. Imagining myself doing the Alp 'Duez. Maybe that idea is not 'off the table' yet.

I'm starting to feel whole again. And Preston is excited. It's time to put life into 5th gear again!!

2006-03-29T19:12:00.000+01:00

What Makes Preston the happiest of all!!!!!!

Since I was about 19 years old, cycling has been a huge part of my life. I didn't have a bike as a child. Not sure why. I asked for one so many times. I guess my folks thought it wasn't that important. Maybe they were scared I'd do something silly...like go and get myself killed. I used to watch my neighbours ride around. They had a bike to spare sometimes, so I would ride it. As usual, learning was a case of my brother saying...'just ride Jenn...I'll hold you up from behind', only for me to hear him laughing in the distance and shouting out 'NICE ONE JENN', as he hadn't been holding me at all.

I started commuting to work on my first bike....a road bike. Cant remember how much it was. It was my main source of transport. I loved the freedom it gave me. I realised I could go anywhere...there were nothing I couldn't do. Remember my friend Andrew and I riding into the centre of Sydney. Was about 14km. We took the main roads. I was amazed we had ridden that far. I was tired yet had a sense of achievement. Didn't really look back from there.

I was about 20 when my brother bought a bike with clipless pedals. What is this? You lock your feet into the pedals? But what if you fall off? That's weird? I bought a bike about 6 months later with clipless pedals. Of course, Preston started riding even more, throwing myself into the challenge. I would ride to work, ride to the pool, ride to parties and of course ride to the beach. The only thing was, the beach was about 20-30 km away.

I started training, cycling about 60-80km a day. My friends just accepted that Preston was into another sport. But cycling wasn't just another sport. It was my time. My thinking time. My time to push myself, whilst taking in the sights, smells etc.

I quickly became quite fit. Quite strong on the bike. I started going cycling with a guy, who, although a bit of a loose canon, was incredibly fast and fit and an A grade cyclist riding for 'Northern Suburbs' Cycle Club. When we rode, we would climb hills and descend like mad people. I would try to maintain the same line through a corner as he did.....but that was scary. He never used the brake and just leaned into the fastest, scariest corners. But he taught me how to corner fearlessly. Years later, I would find myself riding that same route. There was a 1-2km downhill section. I had met a couple of guys on the road, a few k's back who I ended up riding with...seasoned guys. We were doing the downhill, and I was on the front, taking those crazy corners, thrilled at the freakish speeds and lovin them descednts. When I reached the bottom, I had lost the guys. When they finally caught up, they couldn't believe how I had taken those corners. I guess I had a good coach.

I started going on cycling holidays. A couple of trips to Tasmania and a 2 week tour around the south island of New Zealand. Magnificent views, amazing climbs....even more amazing descents.
I met a guy, Peter, on that trip, who I ended up falling for. He became my partner in everything, including cycling. He got me into racing. Except, when I got into racing, my enjoyment of cycling diminished. I'm competitive. But when I realized I was beating myself up, busting everything so that I could become the best, I stopped. Racing that is. Not cycling. I guess I know my limitations. So Preston was back on the bike.....cycling excessively, and loving every minute of it.

I find London a hard place to live for cycling. I cant get on my bike, Ruprect (named after a character from the movie Dirty Rotten Scoundrels), cycle for 10kms and be out of the big smoke like I could In Sydney. Have to throw it on a train. And don't get me started about the weather!

So friends that know me, know that I have had a knee problem for about 8 years now. Bloody thing has stopped me from enjoying my cycling. I have even taken a few years off because of it. But I have decided that the pain I have from cycling is far outweighed by the pleasure! I just cant ride like I used to. Used to be able to climb mountains, in the saddle, but now, I have to not push myself too hard. if I do, then I am hobbling!

What the hell!! I don't care! I will cycle till the day I die. It makes me happy. Nothing can beat the feeling of knowing you have reached somewhere on your own steam.

Watch this space. Preston has plans to start cycling Europe and the rest of the world!!!!!

2006-03-17T21:45:00.000Z

My Childhood Experience

Please bare with me on this. This is quite a cathartic experience. I don't talk about my mum. I probably need to. Sometimes people who have known me for ages, stumble upon the fact that she is dead. I don't offer the information. One thing for friends reading: I'm not writing this so that we can talk about it. I don't wish the subject to be brought up. Period. I don't want sympathy. Maybe some will understand me more. This will pretty much be one of the only times I have talked about her illness without being drunk.

Growing up, I never felt that my mum was ever truly happy.
She was homesick. Missed her family, and friends, not her birthplace, England. Maybe the same will be for me. My self-fulfilling prophecy.

I remember my mum having strange episodes when I was as young as 10yrs old (or around there). I remember trying to get her to sign a sick note because I had been off from school ill at home the day before. She forgot how to sign her name. My brother and I became frustrated with her, wondering why she couldn't do something so simple.

I used her memory lapse to my favour in future times, convincing her that she was signing for my being sick, when I wasn't. Convincing her because she literally couldn't remember.

I remember her losing her handbag practically everyday. We would search for it. I was angry she had lost it again. Looking back, maybe I was actually scared. Did other mothers have problems like this?

We found her hand bag in the washing machine. Among other strange places.

She used to get names mixed up, getting stuck to remember mine and David's (my brother) name, sometimes calling us each others name.

Dad was never home. He worked two jobs from 6am in the morning until 9pm at night. Until recently, I didn't realise how much David and I covered up from him, not telling him the problems we were having with mum.

I heard stories recently from neighbours. They had previously kept them from us. One day, they found mum, frantic on their doorstep, saying that a strange man was in the house and she didn't know what to do. Turned out it was Dad.

I pretty much have blanked a lot of what happened. The forgotten names and faces; my intolerant reactions to such obvious problems. Guess I wanted to believe that this was just a case of a bad memory. When I found out it was early-onset Alzheimer's, my first question was, 'how is it treated'.

Alas no treatment.

There are certain times that, when I think back to them, bring me to tears. Some just make me feel sick. I arrived home from school one day, walked in the back door, and mum started screaming at me. She was demanding that I left the house. She didn't recognize me. She was afraid of me. I was afraid for her. I was deeply affected. She eventually calmed down. She eventually realised who I was.

People with Alzheimer's start to lose their short term memory first. Long term memory stays with them for a while. That's why bilingual sufferers always revert back to their mother tongue. Although mum wasn't bilingual, she did revert back to experiences from her years growing up in England.

When studying for the HSC, I would wake up, get mum up, get her in the shower, wash her urine soaked bed down, wash her, sit her down to breakfast, and go to school. She would sometimes fight me in the shower. Sometimes she would look at me in despair, and I would see a glimmer of fear in her eyes. A look that asked, 'What is happening to me?'David and I kind of shared the burden. I cant really remember it...exactly. I just know that I was guilt ridden by my reaction to it. Resenting my mother for being sick. Resenting my father for not showing her love in the years leading up to her illness. Hating myself for not being the dutiful daughter.

She eventually was admitted to a nursing home. The day they took her, she knew something was wrong. Nursing home staff were there, convincing her she was going on holiday. She looked at me with resentment as if I was the culprit. I resented my neighbour, Jenny for being there. Taking over the situation, explaining to mum that it was just a short trip. Inside I was screaming..'fucking-well butt out bitch....This is something you should not be a part of'.
I felt guilt because I wanted mum to go, while my heart ached for the wonderful woman she had been. The sickly ache in my chest was almost too much.I didn't want to face it anymore. I didn't want her to forget me. Didn't want her to look at me with contempt. Wanted to feel normal. Maybe I will never feel quite normal.

The years that followed would find the lapse in time between my visits growing longer. I would leave it for months between visits. This was fairly heart wrenching for me as the longer I left it, the more obvious the deterioration. Forgetting to walk. Forgetting to chew. Eyes that only showed recognition of who I was in mere fleeting moments. Eventually, eyes which never showed recognition.

I think I have denied so much about it, that I am unable to remember what happened and what it was like. To this day, I will start to remember mum, and feel a little sick, because remembering her means remembering her illness. I cant seem to divorce the two.

We got the call that she had taken a turn for the worse. My father, David and I rushed to the home. We stood around her bed as her laboured breathing slowly came to a halt. Her final breath was a long sigh. It was over. I felt guilt, relief, pain. Lots of pain. I felt like a fraud. How could I mourn her death? I had hardly visited her in her final years. I'm sure David felt the same.
I was studying nursing at the time. I had an assignment due in that week. The day she died, I went to my university lecturer to ask for an extension. She gave me 2 weeks. I failed that semester, and hence the whole year. I failed 5 out of 9 subjects. I did not return to nursing.

I was unable to accept people's sympathy. Didn't want them to ask me how I felt. Didn't want them to hug me. Didn't want to talk about it. After all, this was no big surprise. We knew she was going to die. I tried not to cry, but to no avail. I did though, keep it to a minimum......in public.

My experiences have seemed to shape my future relationships. I seem to put up an independent front. I am afraid that if I come to rely on people, then if they leave, I will experience the same feelings of loss I have felt from the loss of my mother. I would love to place my trust in someone. To let them shelter me. Alas, this scares me so much.

I will opt to do things by myself. Afterall, I started looking after myself from the tender age of around 14yrs I think.

Mum was a very jovial character. Always smiling. Or so I'm told. I resent the fact that I never got the chance to have an adult relationship with her. Have girly chats. Get her approval/disapproval on boyfriend's. Go for coffee. To say sorry for not being the helpful daughter she had expected. I think we would have been great friends. We would have been almost best friends. She could have told me childhood stories. She could have been proud of me for my achievements.

Losing a parent when young is a hard thing to deal with. I'm beginning to realise that watching a parent die slowly without dignity is even worse.

2006-03-16T16:04:00.000Z

Tipping the Balance

After my tirade on a host of song lyrics I feel duty-bound to bring to your attention, some truly fabulous lyrics.

Please indulge me. The following lyrics are romantic and just make me feel schmoopy. And I have to ask. What woman wouldn't want her nearest and dearest to think like the lyrics of this song. One can only dream........

The Luckiest
by Ben Folds

I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

What if I'd been born fifty years before you
In a house on a street where you lived?
Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike
Would I know?

And in a white sea of eyes
I see one pair that I recognize
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you

Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away

I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong
That I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

2006-03-15T09:49:00.001Z

Lyrics Which Should Be Banned

The other day, I was listening to a Jon Bon Jovi song (please don't mock me), when some of the songs lyrics wafted through my consciousness. I thought to myself.....did he just sing ....'she was a Venus de Milo in her sisters jeans'? As I was online, I raced to a song lyrics website and lo and behold, there it was. An example of such appalling lyrics, that I was knocked sideways.......let me share with you my discovery

That night I made a move, man I felt hard
When I put my hands in her cookie jar
She was more than a girl, she was a cabaret star
I was a deer in the lights of a speeding car
Nothing's what it seems
She was a Venus de Milo in her sister's jeans

The song is Jon Bon Jovi's 'Queen of New Orleans', (I said DONT MOCK ME!).

I know, I know. You're wondering why Preston is listening to this. Can I state for the record, that Preston is not perfect (contrary to popular belief). Sometimes I get it wrong. Horribly wrong. So much so, that Preston may have to resort to self flagellation as penance for such a vulgar crime.

Anywho, I got to thinking about how many songs out there are flagrantly pushing the boundaries in standards. After some research, I came across a whole load of bad rap lyrics (who would've known). I decided to bypass these as there were far too many.

So..... I have some major contenders here. Have a read.

Open a soda pop, watch it fizz and pop

The clock is tickin' and we can't stop

Open a soda pop, bop-shi-bop-shi-bop

The clock is tickin' and we can't stop

Britney Spears, “Soda Pop”

When the rainy days are dying, Gotta keep on, keep on trying
All the bees and birds are flying Ahhhh...
Never let go gotta hold on and Non stop 'til the break of dawn and
Keep on moving, don't stop rocking Ahhhh...

5ive, "Keep on Moving"

You're the one who makes me feel alright

When I look into your eyes, you know you're really out of sight

I'm for you and you're for me We could stay together so easily

POP POP POP POP POP POPSICLE!

Girl, can't you see? You're the one, you're the one for me!

[Chorus ]

POP POP POP POP POP POPSICLE!

[repeat to fade out]

New Kids on the Block, "Popsicle"

Ok.....I admit. It's easy to find crap lyrics with these particular artists. So just to prove that Preston doesn't just pick on crap boybands and talentless popsters, here are some lyrics from a more respected bunch (well, up until u read these lyrics...then u decide if ya still respect them).

Sitting in an english garden waiting for the sun.

If the sun don’t come, you get a tanFrom standing in the english rain.

I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.

I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.

Expert textpert choking smokers,Don’t you thing the joker laughs at you?

See how they smile like pigs in a sty,See how they snied.

I’m crying.Semolina pilchard, climbing up the eiffel tower.

Elementary penguin singing hari krishna.

Man, you should have seen them kicking edgar allan poe.

I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.

I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob g’goo.

The Beatles "I Am The Walrus"

Whilst flying through an azure cloud

A crystal girl I'd spy

She kissed the blue bird's honey tongue

And stuttered as she sighed

I wish to sing the chicken song

Ching-A-Ling song is fine

I'd give my jewels and caviar

To make this daydream mine

Ching-A-Ling, Ching-A-Ling, Ching-A-Ling, Ching-A-Ling,

Ching-A-Ling, Ching-A-Ling, Ching-A-Ling

Doo dah doo doo dah dah, Doo dah dah dah dah dah dah dah

David Bowie "Ching-A-Ling"

And I couldn't POSSIBLY leave this blog without reference to this song. Read the lyrics. Weep. Read them again. Thank Christ this is probably the only time you will EVER come across them.

I stab people, 4, 5 people everyday

I tried to see a shrink to stop that shit but it ain't no FUCKing way

I stabbed him, stabbed his nurse and his fucking cat

Stabbed them! Stabbed them all like that

I stab people I know, I stabbed Alex, my manager

He was like, "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

I stabbed him in the gut!

I order food just to stab the guy when he gets there,

I don't care

I stab anybody anywhere

(uh, uh) thereI stabbed the mailman, he was pissed, he tried to mace me

I'm to quick with the stabbing, come on, come on, taste me

I stabbed Twizted, Jimmy Madrox, I stabbed 'em

Myzery stabbed me OWW!! Goddamn him!

I stab old people, ladies, little kids,

I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!

I stabbed a fat guy in the but (hehe), what?

I met Pete Rose and stabbed him, twice in his nipple

I'm Violent J, I stab people.Maybe somebody can help me [4X]

Insane Clown Posse, "I Stab People"

Goodness! Their mother's must be proud!

2006-03-11T22:31:00.000Z

My Friend Fritzy

I have a wonderful friend named Fritzy. She's Austrian. She's Jewish. She's approximately 4'7 tall (or short whichever way you look at it). She's 85 years old.

Firstly, I'd like to state my dismay at how many of my friends (after hearing I have an 85 yr old friend), have asked me if she's financially well off! Shame on you.

I first met Fritzy when I was working in home care for a West London nursing agency. I was debriefed at headquarters. Apparently, Frederica was 80 years, and needed assistance with her daily routine because she had broken her arm after falling off a sun lounge whilst holidaying in Switzerland. On ya Fritzy!! My immediate thoughts were that I was going to meet a live one here. Possibly a haughty type.

So off I rode.....A-Z in hand...off to find this thrillseeking granny.

When Fritzy opened the door, it was like a comedy....I was looking straight ahead to say hello and slowly averted my eyes down....down....down further. She came up to just below my chest. I felt like an amazon in her presence. Her thick Austrian accent intrigued me and brought a smile to my face everytime she uttered the word 'Und' (apparently German for 'and').

I helped her bath, get dressed and get her breakfast prepared. I also had to put her arm in a sling. She didn't ask me to do this. She just referred to the cloth tie that she was supposed to wear but no worker prior to me, (there had been 4), could manage to put on her correctly!!!! So Preston was like...."do you have the triangular bandage?" She was impressed I knew the correct name. After I had fixed her arm in it correctly, she showered me with praise....went something like this......'Und, und...you're AMAZING.....you're so c-l-e-v-e-r......so smart...und...und'.

For the record, can I just say that Preston does not think she's clever and amazing for correctly applying a sling. Shame on my predecessors for not knowing something so simple. They must of trained in the dark. Ha...there goes my sense of humour again...like they trained.....hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah.

Anyhow, Fritzy and I developed a friendship over the following months until it was time that she didn't need me anymore. Except, Fritzy pretended that she still needed help, so I would get to her place, where she would make me coffee and we would sit around and chat from 9-10am every morning.

Piece by piece, I found out about her life. Growing up in Vienna. Escaping the Nazi's by fleeing to England, (her brother to Sweden). Her parents didn't escape. How she met her husband (a Polish Jew). Her life in London. Her travels. Her friends.

I think people underestimate the aged. In a youth-infatuated society, we overlook the wealth of information the elderly possess. Fritzy doesn't have to consult with a history book to remember the war. She can reminisce about London over the last 60 years, commenting on how it has changed, both for the better and worse.

She has thoughts and feelings like everyone else. And Opinions!!!!!! Dont get her started on Blair and his bogus alliance with Bush!!!

Just the other day, she was down about the fact that she has had to give up bridge because she has trouble remembering the cards played and feels she lets her team mates down. I was trying to console her, saying that at least she got 50 or so years playing time behind her. But she set me straight....she first learnt it at age 70! What a dynamo!

Fritzy and I go walking in summer. We catch a couple of buses from her place in Shephards Bush to either Hyde Park or sometimes to Regent's Park. The pace is slow....extremely slow...but we walk along, taking in the sights and smells, marvelling at the frantic pace that revolves around us.We often walk from Lancaster gate to one of the cafes, where we order coffee. She never lets me pay. I never protest. She loves treating me. I love that she loves treating me.

She has been mugged three times in the last 4 years. It makes me sick to think that people would take advantage of such an obviously frail and open target. But I guess thats why they do it.

I love Fritzy.

2006-03-09T23:36:00.000Z

We're Dealing with People's Lives Here!

In my many years experience working in the field of social care, I have come across some situations that would make your toes curl. Some situations that were downright appalling and abusive. Situations where the quality of care, was non-existent.

I would say, on the whole, that when it comes to front-line staff I have deducted a foolproof (pardon the pun), formula for the make up of staff. Basically, take the average IQ of a society.....then deduct approximately 20. Scary huh.

Reminds me of a really good put down I once heard. Goes something like this,'...Can I get the blueprint to your brain....cos I'm building a fuck wit...'

Good social care workers are like gold dust. Keeping them motivated in their job is a managerial nightmare.

My sense of humour keeps me going. I laugh at the idiotic questions, responses, and general ineptitude of workers. I laugh while secretly being dismayed at the lack of initiative and standard of care. I try to not think about the fact that a close family member was probably subjected to a standard of care that was rushed and lacked the humanity that is so, so necessary. Something as small as the stroke of someones hair, the gentle touch of their hand to show that you care. Maybe when their relatives seem not to care.

I started out working with aged people. I shudder at the 'production line' care that I was trained to give. Time restraints and under-staffing meant that those poor people were subjected to rushed care. I rebelled to some extent, taking more time when getting people ready for their day. Alas, a belligerently stubborn hierarchy would forgo my approach, in favour of a tragically efficient routine, which meant that people were given less choice, less care, less humanity.

I moved on to learning disabilities, working for government run group of residential care homes. I ended up working for a power-hungry manager who was abusive to both staff and tenants. Am glad I worked in that environment, because I always gauge my managerial performance against that twit of a manager.

Anyhow.

I have been beaten up, beaten down, chased up a street on New Years Eve, while trying to dial 000 (Oz emergency number), kicked, stabbed, had hard objects thrown at me, called a bitch, slut, cunt, and Aussie cunt (a favourite of mine). And you reckon I've had enough? Not a chance. Cause when it all blows over, these guys need people to support them. I'm no mater. I get frustrated like anyone else. And when something works.....like a breakthrough where someone learns a new skill, well the rewards are immeasurable.

So, it irks me, that front-line staff lack the initiative to think outside the box. When a tenant/client raises their voice, it is branded as 'challenging behaviour'. "Ooh....lets get the aggressive disabled person on a behaviour modification programme..." So I'm faced with 'trigger happy' staff who take offense when being called a 'bitch'. ???? I take issue with this.

God....I could go on forever, but no doubt will return again and again to this topic. To end on a light note. An agency staff member rang me at home yesterday morning...at 0745 hrs, to ask me whether she should call an ambulance or the police, because a female tenant had been slapping herself very hard in the face. My response?

Preston : Has she knocked herself out?

Agency worker : No

Preston : Does she want to press charges against herself?

Agency worker : No

Then my guess is you don't need an ambulance or the police.

True story.

Stay tuned for more to come soon.

2006-03-04T14:30:00.000Z

My Life In Two Boxes (not including my books)

Came across some photos that I brought back from my recent trip to Oz. Old photos. My brother and I as children. Me through the years. My friends on various nights out. My gorgeous mother. Got me upset. Remembering old times makes me both laugh and cry. I did more of the latter.

When recently in Oz, I had to sort out the possessions I had stored at my fathers house. He is moving and cant take my stuff with him. I can be a hoarder at times, yet when sorting, I am ruthless. Boxes and boxes of possessions were discarded. In the back of my mind was'...well, if I ever move back, I can just start again...' Sometimes I feel my life has been a series of starting again. I limit my possessions so that when I move on next it will be easier to move. I limit my friends so that its easier to move on.

In the two boxes were items that represent particular times. Old photos, a stuffed toy, love letters, an old jewellery box. Old books are a particular favourite of mine. I can remember receiving them, how they smelled, how they felt. Old children's books like 'The Muddle-Headed Wombat', 'Princess Tales', 'The Magic Pudding' and 'Blinky Bill'. I would read them over and over again. I remember my mum telling me that if I rubbed a particular picture with my finger, it would bring the smell of that picture alive. My imagination was great, and I conjured up smells and feelings that I would never forget. Sounds silly, but I found that time magical, stable, safe.

So, there are two boxes, sitting at my dad's place in Australia, that represent about 35 years. When I go back there next, I will look through those boxes and smile. Read my books and conjure up smells. Hug my teddy bear, (Commander Crumbcake). Rifling through photos, I will remember the sandpit and how my beautiful brother would look out for me and protect me. Remembering how as a child I would lie down in the front garden of our house, looking up at the clouds, and make pictures. So simple really.
Remember the times I sat around with my friends in that amazing Oz weather, laughing, playing charades, getting drunk, falling in love etc etc etc.

If you would allow me to be all whimsical and romantic, I can say that the soundtrack playing in the background of my life, as I rifle through those boxes conjuring up memories both happy and sad, would be Hoppipolla by Sigur Ros. I have no idea what the song is about as it is sung in Icelandic, yet it has much emotion, with backing orchestra and a cute percussion bell. Kind of represents my childhood that bell. As the photos fly in and out of my line of vision, I feel the music helping to tell a story.

If I were to move now, I think I could fit my last 5 years into a 1 box,(not including my books).

And I think that is how I like it. For the time being.........................

2006-03-02T11:53:00.000Z

I want her DEAD. I want all her family DEAD! All her pets.....DEAD!!!!

Today, I got to thinking about a character from my past. Someone who, was so intrinsically evil, that if I was playing some weird life game with my maker, and was given the choice that, before I move on to my next life stage, must put a name forward to be contract killed.....it would be this person.

And no! Its not an ex-boyfriend (I only have the utmost respect for each and every one of them......hahahahahahahahahahahahah).

To protect myself, I will refer to her as K******.

Thinking about her, I recall a story my friend Julie told, after attending K's 21st birthday party. After having been there for several hours, Julie turned to her friend Sue and said, "look at the people here....half of them hate her and the other half have fucked her...." (nice one Jules....I will always respect you for that comment).

How true that was.

Now, I hear you saying....'hello....is there a little jealousy going on there Preston?' Well hell yeah. The girl was good looking, popular with the boys AND had great hair!!!! Though, what she did with that hair was a tragedy......the wedge undercut was a complete travesty!!!!!

I remember my first 'dealing' with K. Standing in line at the school canteen, I was 12 yrs old. She was in front of me. Someone pushed me from behind, which had the knock-on effect of me going up the back of K. She turned around and sneered "Fuck off" at me. I was mortified. Nobody had ever sworn at me before, let alone use the 'F' word. She was a bully. But not a dumb bully. A reasonably intelligent bully. AND, she was in all my classes. Oh god the pain!

Did I want to be like her? Popular? No! I just wanted her to leave me alone. Now, I know several of you are probably saying...'But Preston......why didn't you just combat her with your rapid fire wit?' Well, I was a bit more of a quiet one at school. I actually paid attention in class and often would sit up the front of the classroom. No, I didn't have the confidence to take her on.

She could smell my fear.

She hunted in a pack as well. Her fellow dogs included A****, J***, A*****, S** and S*****. A couple of them turned out to be nice people. Of course they always need the back up of others. But, I'm not saying they constantly bullied me. I wasn't really bullied at all. Not by bullying standards of today. They just made some of my school life harder.

It is with great pleasure, that I can report, that at our 10 year school reunion, she wore the most appalling grey taffeta pants suit. The girls at Go Fug Yourself would give her a roasting!!!

That whole reunion thing is something I never want to do again. The reason it is a reunion, is because you have fallen out of touch. And that is FOR A REASON! Cos you never want to see half the dumb-asses again. Its not like you choose your schoolmates. Your thrown into the 'ring' and expected to fight your way out somehow.

Fortunately, I happened to be thrown together with some truly wonderful people! Andrew, Tim, Yulia and Julie.......you are much loved and cherished. You are all on my wavelength(poor you).

Thank god that I came away from school with some truly great friends and experiences!!!

Now.....does anyone know the number for any decent contract killers out there?

2006-02-26T11:05:00.000Z

Dating Tips Revisited

Ok people. If you have a squeamish cringe-worthy stomach, turn away now. The following is an account of a date that has provided me with SO MUCH material, I don't know where to start. And B**, if you're reading, I don't mean you, am looking forward to seeing you again!

Hoke (ok pronounced with a Sth American accent)...

I meet up with this guy at a salsa club. We are chatting for an hour....everything seems above board.....then it took a turn for the worse.

Point of realisation when I thought 'uh-oh....I've got a live one here', was when he announced he doesn't wear underwear BUT.....he keeps himself clean!!!!!

At this stage, Preston is thinking, '......hoke...a slight blip on my shit radar...but I allow for 1 to 2 errors so will give him the benefit that it was a wayward comment, that will never be matched again.

Point of first snog contact? Immediately after I reported that I love baby octopus, char-grilled with chili and lime?????? He literally launched at me! I was wrong-footed totally! In his defense, he was a great kisser, which I encouraged for the rest of the evening, safely knowing that I may never see this guy again. Hey, a girls got needs.

Also, I realised that I have a natural ability to salsa. Phew!! Was worried about that as I recall being on a dreaded salsa date a couple of years back. A date where I can only describe my dance style as 'ironing-board like'.

But, I digress, back to the date! Hoke....... So, we are dancing for hours, up close, having fun, when he whispers in my ear....'let me love you tonight'......

Arrrrrrrrrrrrgh......come on!! That's soooooo cheesy!

Gotta say though. Salsa clubs are complete 'meat markets'. Every time I went to the ladies I was grabbed, propositioned, pelvic-thrusted etc, etc, etc. To be serious, I found the experience quite eye-opening, and a little scary at times. The sheer 'liberties' some men will take in those situations are endless.

Again, I digress.Getting back to my cheesy Argentinian date. I think there is a complete culture difference between us. Maybe the 'let me love you tonight' comment would go down well with a feisty Latin-American woman. With me, it had me inwardly making like Munch's 'The Scream'.

And at 38yrs old, when someone says to me '...come back to my place, nothing has to happen....', well...... hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

Can we make it very clear at this point, I went home alone and sober.....(sober from lack of alcohol consumption....not from the the very sobering comments from my 'wanna-be' Latin lover).

Oh....and one last things guys. If you're gonna lie, at least do it well.

Don't......
1. Lie about your height on the website......women notice if you're wearing pumps. I have had the experience, in the past, of meeting up with the shortest 5'11 guy ever!

2. If you message a girl, and your profile says your 36, then....say a day before you meet up with that girl, change your profile age to 33....then, when you meet up, announce your 37........when you actually look like you're in your 40's.........well, need I say more? Really????

2006-02-24T14:43:00.000Z

Completely Unmotivated and Mooching Around House

Cant be bothered writing today. Am tired, hung over, tired. Just cant be arsed! So instead of firing up any synapses, I will simply direct all my adoring fans to some silly, crazy and downright rude sites. Enjoy.

Dick Cheney a Killer?

Arse or Elbow?

Are You a Real Man?

When Will You Die?

Have fun guys!

2006-02-20T09:13:00.000Z

One small step for White society....One large foot on the head of a drowning ethnic minority.

I find it a supreme irony that Sir Ian Blair is pointing the finger at the British media and screaming Institutional Racism, given the appalling history of the Metropolitan Police.

Black people are SIX TIMES more likely to be stopped and searched. Why? Is the ratio of black to white crime so disproportionate that this tactic is necessary? That would be impossible, as according to the National statistics website,(as of 20th Feb. 06), 92.1% of the population are white!

Ok.....he has a point. I just love it when the media reports 'black on black' crime as if to say....look now....... they're doing it to each other!

Why is it that crimes where ethnic minorities are the victim, receive less coverage then white victim crime? Has anyone ever read a reference to white on white crime?

In 1999, commissioner Condon acknowledged that there was indeed institutional racism in the force. Unfortunately, he also tried to create a diversion away from this ingrained prejudice by suggesting that there is much in-fighting between minority groups. God.......how to sidestep, back-peddle and incite racial hatred in one ignorant instance!

The following is an action plan adopted by the Met in 1999.

How to create an anti-racist police force(in 5 easy steps)
By Paul Condon (Met police chief), David Wilmot (Manchester police) and John Newing (Derbyshire police)

1.'I have sinned'
Organise a press conference and confess your sins. Admit that 'like society, Greater Manchester Police has institutionalised racism'. Admit that your police stop and search a disproportionate number of black people. Refuse to comment on any specific cases of police racism. Say you're doing your best to end police racism.

2.'Listen to the people'
Organise meetings around the country to listen to the views of the people. Make sure that the meetings are stage-managed so that they are dominated by local authority groups and the police themselves rather than providing a forum for local people to relate their experiences.

3.'Turn the tables'
Whenever possible turn the tables on the critics. Instead of responding to accusations of racism, present evidence of conflict between different ethnic groups, eg Muslims and Sikhs in west London. Use this to reject critics of the police as having a 'narrow and simplistic' view of racial conflict.

4.'Bring in management consultants'
Bring in a private management consultant firm to provide specialist police 'race relations training'. Get '6 million over three years from the Home Office to 'integrate community and race relations awareness' throughout the national police training curriculum. Meanwhile continue to make cutbacks to community-based racism monitoring groups.

5.'Organise a conference'
Then organise a conference called 'Working Together Towards An Anti-Racist Police Service'. Invite VIP guests from outside the police to discuss how the police can be made into an anti-racist force. Invite delegates to take part in 'facilitated group discussions' on such subjects as 'anti-racist stop and search operations'. Pretend that the conference will make a difference.

So, what we have is two major parties in bed with each other, flagrantly flipping the bird to ethnic minorities whilst pointing the finger at each other in a 'It wasn't me' gesture!

2006-02-19T09:59:00.000Z

Breaking up and Breaking Out!!!!!!!

Speaking with my close friend A, this morning, I discovered that he is going through a break-up. Sorry A. What a dreadful time that can be. A time where it is rare that both parties are going through the same emotions. The 'breakee' is usually looking for answers whereas the 'breaker', (although possibly battling with their decision), is still likely to be getting a decent night's sleep.

Of course I have been in both situations.

It's so hard to get it right isn't it? To find someone who not only makes you weak at the knees, yet understands you, knows what 'makes you tick' and is your closest friend and confidant. So many ingredients. So few good cooks.

But, enough with the melancholy....... that's just for wimps!!!!

Breaking up is hard to do...especially when you share the same major!
written by ADAM LASNIK

PSYCHOLOGY: Girl accuses guy of just using her as a substitute for his
Mother.
SOCIOLOGY: Each claims to have been oppressed in the relationship.
RELIGION: Each prays for reconcilliation and/or curses God
ARCHAEOLOGY: One tries to bury the past, and accuses the other of trying
to dig it up.
THEATRE: "OH MY GOD! Life is... ENDED... as we KNOW it!"
BIOLOGY: "You just wanted to get in my genes!"
PHYSICS: Both resign themselves to the fact that what goes up must
come down.
JOURNALISM: "Today was the end of an era. Jack, 19, and Jill, 18, called
an end to their relationship of 2 weeks..."
WOMEN'S STUDIES: "HE did it!"
BUSINESS: Both decide that they're spending way too much money
together, and that it's simply cheaper to be single.
ITALIAN: "Mama Mia!"
HISTORY: Each party argues the breakup was caused by something the
other party did in the past.
GEOGRAPHY: Both people decide to simply move far away to avoid each
other.
ANATOMY: "I never liked your body anyway."
ECONOMICS: One party demands more than the other can supply.
ENGLISH: Each writes the other a perfect breakup letter, complete with
introduction, thesis, body, and conclusion, that doesn't
really say anything substantively intelligible.
EDUCATION: Both concede that the relationship was a learning experience.
COMPUTING: "Man, this bytes -- we just couldn't interface" and/or
"His hard drive was more like a floppy."
E. ENGINEER.: "It's just so shocking... I'm sure there are positives and
negatives, but..." [okay, yes, I know you're groaning ;-)]
ARCHITECTURE: "There just wasn't much to build on anyway..."
JEWISH STUDIES: "OY! You should feel so guilty!"
PHILOSOPHY: If 2 people break up in a dorm and there's no one to witness
the breakup, are they really single?
ZOOLOGY: They were able to mate like banshees, but lacked
sophisticated communication skills.
PHYS. ED.: They punch each other out in frustration.
CHEMISTRY: They turn to hard drugs to relieve the pain.
COUNSELING: Each urges the other to "get help!"
MUSIC: Each utilizes an operatic lament (or, in Tennessee, a country
song) to express his or her sorrow.
LAW: They sue each other for breach of a pre-dating agreement.

Enough said! Cheer up A....and when I'm out there again (hopefully not too far away), we will have a beer and 'dis' him till our hearts content!!!!

2006-02-17T16:13:00.000Z

Oh........ The Embarrassment!

Thinking back to my illustrious history of embarrassing moments, I can recall several stand out moments. One time, whilst on the tube during peak hour, I felt the eyes of many on me. Thinking myself paranoid, I shrugged it off. But......there was something wrong and I felt it. Getting off that packed tube, I bent down to pick up my bag, only to notice not one, but two strategically placed buttons open on my blouse. Oh the shame! All those lascivious 'suits' staring at my very exposed cleavage! Not even a 'sister' lent over and suggested that I was exhibiting flesh. Thank Christ I had a really nice bra on.

A friend of mine realised, after having walked the distance from Town Hall to Wynyard, (along one of Sydney's busiest streets), that she had done so with her mid-thigh skirt tucked securely into her black pantyhose, exposing her pantyhose-clad arse. A distance of about 1.5km! Bastards! Not one slight tap on her shoulder accompanied by an 'ahem, you might want to re-address your post-toilet skirt tuck there'.

Yet neither of these 'Kodak moments' compare to the embarrassment that happened yesterday at the Winter Olympics.

Lindsey Jacobellis. Tut...tut...tut...tut.

Guaranteed Gold medal. On her second last jump in the snowboardcross, decides to do, (what I have on good authority is called), a 'backside method grab'. Loses it, coming down on her 'showy-offy ass', giving the lead away and going from gold to silver in one fabulously flawed swoop.

How can she ever show her face again! That's the equivalent of the 'pantyhose saga' being done at the Oscars.

All I can say is better her than me.

2006-02-16T08:21:00.000Z

Australian Princess

I'm sitting here watching yet another reality tv show called Australian Princess. God knows what they win, who cares really? Somehow a reality show without an elimination element, personal challenges, tears and bitchslap-worthy judges, just isn't a reality show. Of course, they're clinging to the bootstraps of the real life story......

Australia's claim to royalty fame? A fairytale meeting in a trendy Sydney bar, leads to a romance between a Danish prince and a girl-next-door Sydney chick, eventually leading to marriage and world fame.

Ahem. Translated.

Danish prince, on the pull, meets horny Sydney chick at....wait for it....the 'Slip Inn'. They end up married, giving the entire of Australia a delusion of royal grandeur. One can only imagine (and shudder), about how many times the Australian press have referred to her as Cinderella.

Australia has a habit of doing this. Adopting people. Sports men and women, celebrities or indeed any person who can raise the profile of my dear country.
Lleyton Hewitt’s ex-girlfriend Kim Cluisters is Australia’s adopted daughter, after having dated Hewitt for a couple of years. Screw the adoption….give the girl a medal for putting up with that ignorant tennis brat.

Russell Crowe Australian? Think again. He’s a Kiwi. His passport is Kiwi. But aaaaah he lives in Australia now and, well, he sounds Aussie…….so we’ll have him thanks. Yet as soon as he...... say…….throws a telephone at a hotel concierge…….well, he is referred to as the ‘fiery New Zealander’.

I do love that about us Aussie’s. The ‘maybe they wont notice’ approach to things. The ‘if we say it with confidence they will believe it’ approach. I use it all the time with great results.

Getting back to the original argument, I find Australia’s infatuation with royalty saddening. We are still a constitutional monarchy, after (in 1999), 55% of the population voted to retain the monarchy over the creation of a Republic. Of course, Prime minister Howard voted to retain the monarchy, therefore practically sealing the fate of the referendum before a vote was cast. I guess I will always be a labour party supporter. I will always believe that the strength of a country lies in its people and its culture.

"It is needless to spend much time in exposing the folly of hereditary right. If there are any so weak as to believe in it, let them promiscuously worship the ass and lion, and welcome. I shall neither copy their humility, nor disturb their devotion." Thomas Paine. Common Sense. Published 1776

2006-02-12T19:36:00.000Z

Tighty tight tight Lycra

Yet again the time has come to sink into the sofa with a cup of strong coffee and marvel at how grown people can pull off the tight fluro-coloured lycra look without being boo-hooed off the world stage.

It's Winter Olympics time again!

Where fashion leaves nothing to the imagination, showing every muscle(yes....every one!), every ripple, every curve. A weight watching nightmare to boot! It's just one long anatomy lesson in technicolour.

Which brings me to a couple of events which defy sanity. Firstly, the ski jump. A 100 meter ramp, which skiers launch themselves off in a 'human cannonball' style, landing around 100 meters down the slope.

Sheer madness! What brings these people to the point where they think...'yeah...that's a good idea..'Are they driven by some wild deathwish? My theory is, any sport which requires a full helmet, yet doesn't require a vehicle, is insane.

The Luge? Reaching speeds of 130 km/hr on a sled. Hurtling down an oversized drainpipe(once again in lycra), with the only thing separating them from death being a full face helmet and what looks to me like sheer luck. The closest I've got to this would be my athletic water slide days. I didn't need a helmet though.

Maybe countries which impose capital punishment could make a sport out of it. Instead of the modes being lethal injection, electric chair, or firing squad, we could see Luge, ski jump, and Super G. Candlelight vigils outside prisons would be a thing of the past,replaced by people holding scorecards trackside.

Just a thought.

2006-02-11T12:02:00.000Z

Woman Seeks gay Man

I was sitting around last night, scoffing down some dinner and knocking back a glass of very lovely Chilean Shiraz, talking to my flatmate 'Thomas',(an American chick who has moved from the states to London to marry my other flatmate 'Young').....and we got to talking.

She, like me, has a bevy of gay male friends back in her country of origin, and we were laughing at some comments they had posted on her blog. I started telling her a story about when I went to a Drag Ball, (another story to tell you all), with a couple of my close mates.

We both agreed that indeed we are a couple of 'Fag Hags'. Suddenly, the penny dropped and I blurted out....."Oh my god.......we are Fagless Fag Hags...." All our gay mates are back in our respective birth countries, but we are yet to make any gay friends here! God, I knew something was missing in my life, but who knew?

And now we are both faced with the predicament.....we have to find gay boyfriends. Thomas suggested we put out an ad in the personals. I suggested we 'trawl' a couple of the bars on Old Compton Street.

If I had a gay boyfriend here, my life would definitely have taken a different turn. Firstly, they would have NEVER let me leave the house in several of the outfits I have worn in the past. It would have been ".....nah-hah girlfriend....not with those shoes and jacket...."

I would of had a party to celebrate watching the Eurovision Song Contest and people would have actually come to it! I would have had a guy to cry my 'men woes' to, who would have empathisized - 'sweetie....they're ALL BASTARDS!' I would get free haircuts.... I would have a guy to go out dancing with who can actually dance (as opposed to the embarrassing shuffle I have witnessed from my hetero-male friends).And the list goes on.

If there are any gay men out there, for gods sake, put the gay word out. Thomas and I are desperate!

2006-02-10T12:31:00.000Z

Make Mine a Super Delux

Chatting online to a girlfriend this morning got me to thinking about men (yet again I hear you say).

She was describing a guy she had started seeing. After meeting online, knowing each other for several months, and having met up a few times, he is now moving from Brisbane to Sydney to 'set up shop' with her.

The conversation went something like this (please excuse unsavoury subject matter):

Preston: well...before too long, you will be picking his skidmark undies outta the laundry bin on washing day.
Girlfriend: Actually, he is a neat freak so he will probably be picking up my skiddies.
Preston: Great!...you got the latest model, with inbuilt cleaner......I want one of those
Girlfriend: It's a selling point....believe me!

This got me to thinking. How great would it be if men came in models. I mean, you could just set out your market criteria, and search for the make and model that best suits your needs. Ebay would never be the same!

The following is a breakdown of models as I see them.....

B401 Upright man....1200W motor, microfresh filtering system, does dishes, puts out garbage, can do up own shoelaces.

ARG101-2 Upright, 1200W motor, in built deodoriser, cooks simple meals, hangs towel up after using, remembers your birthday..

T5200E 1600W motor,fully automative, including cooking, cleaning and garbage disposal modes. Offers massages, is sexually unselfish, laughs at my jokes, romantic, thoughful, marches alongside me against the social injustices in the world, and makes a killer cheesecake and carrot cake....

Ok....I admit, I'm coming across as something of a misandrist, but I have had my fair share of duds!

Fortunately boys, I do love men. It's one of those things. Us women complain about you, but in the end, if you didn't annoy us from time to time, there would be no-one to ridicule when on girls nights out!

Disclaimer All model numbers coincide with vacuum cleaner makes. Any similarity is purely coincidental.

2006-02-08T17:31:00.000Z

Folks.........We have a rival!!

I just love a good film. I also equally love a bad one. But not just bad. Unbelievably bad. The kind of bad, that after watching it, you have a satisfied feeling in your stomach, knowing that you have just experienced something truly horrific. Something that you can host parties around, set competitions to and award prizes for. Prizes like...most fluffed line, most cringeworthy moment, most overacted facial expression and last but not least most tragic scriptwriting.

My most loved bad movie is of course Showgirls. I will never forget my friend Tim, prepping me for the impending theatrical disaster by daring me to pick out the defining moment which heralded to me how truly bad this movie was about to be.

I watched it with about 8 other people, all crammed into a small lounge room in the inner city suburb of Erskineville (Sydney). We often had to pause the movie for not being able to hear the dialogue over the laughing. Funny thing that, as there was not one intentional funny moment in the whole film. The whole experience, with tears streaming down our cheeks whilst awaiting the next 'clanger' of a line, was truly fulfilling.

Upon comparison, several of us had different defining moments. Mine was when Elizabeth Berkley, in complete overact mode, threw herself onto the top of a car crying, with her fries and coke flying everywhere. Terrible....just terrible. My friend Tim's defining moment was, after being hit on by a driver who had picked her up hitchhiking, she pulled a flick knife on him. That girl could not act her way out of a New Zealand soap I tell ya.

So, it is with great joy, that I announce that I think we have a rival! Oh yes, Showgirls may well have an evil twin. Now, it may be slightly premature of me to report this, but from what I've seen, it has all the markings of a true clanger.

Its name is Domino. I caught about 40minutes of it on a recent long haul flight. Apparently what I was watching was a directors cut.

The premise of the film goes along the lines of....poor affected ex-catwalk model, public schooly and rich girl becomes a blood thirsty bounty hunter. Sounding good isn't it? Get this.......Keira Knightly plays lead.

Fabulous moments
1. Keira in teenage distant deep thinker mode, sitting on the edge of the pool in their beverly Hills mansion playing with numchuckers and perfecting her ninja style knife throwing technique.

2. Keira (in a flashback) being bumped on the catwalk by a fellow model and reacting by dragging her to the ground by her hair.

3. Keira defusing a mexican stand off involving about 20 guns, by offering the head crim a lap dance

Just APPALLING!

What could really seal the fate of this flick??? You guessed it. Mickey Rourke co-stars.

Now...i must admit. I had to turn it off after 40min as I was so tired and felt that this was a flick I would have to watch with friends. But if the first 40min is anything to go by...why friends...we have a gem on our hands

2006-02-07T08:20:00.000Z

Dating the Modern Way

I can recall a time when dating consisted of being introduced to someone through a friend. Not very technical, yet it seemed to work. Modes for dating also consisted of meeting people through.....joining a class, playing a sport, meeting at a party...just to name a few. Very sound ways for meeting people because, on the chance that its not love at first site, you can often get a few 'goes' at getting to know them. More often than not, one didn't realise that friends had set them up.Due to the stealth-like qualities of my friends, it was only realised way into the night when, upon perusing the crowd, I would find that yes.....indeed only two of us seem to be single. I really hate set ups....you know the ones....where at a dinner party it is painfully obvious that the guy sitting opposite you is a 'plant'.....single, willing....actually very single and too willing. And yet, this situation still enables you to be polite, excuse yourself and slip away from the situation with both participants with dignity intact.

So........I hear you say....get to the point.

Well........for the past few years, I have been 'resorting' to internet and phone dating. And folks, its a social jungle out there.

A couple of months ago, I got back on a couple of sites after some time in hibernation. I feel the need to point out some absolute no-nos done by some of the men on the sites.

Absolute No-Nos

1. Your main photo should not EVER include a prop. My definition of prop covers basically anything that isn't the guy. For example, guns, fish, dogs, cats, fishing rods, cars, children, ex-girlfriends, propellor planes and superhero capes. What earthly reason would lead a guy to post a photo of himself leaning against the bonnet of a car toting a rifle? A photo where you are holding your girlfriend, yet, have just erased her face from the shot screams....and I quote "....You took away the headstones but you left the bodies....." (Poltergeist 1982).

2. Dont ever wear plaid in the photo. Why on earth should you alert the girl to poor dress sense even before meeting them? Wait till the first date, where possibly you can win her over with witty repartee.

3. Semi naked photos are wrong....just wrong. Poor taste guys. It screams 'love myself' and 'you've got buckleys of me loving you more than I love myself'.

4. In your write up, dont just simply use 50 adjectives to describe yourself. Eg affectionate, solvent, confident, adventurous. It's just a wank. Adventurous? Adventurous in what? Do you trek mountains or just cross the road when the red light is flashing?

5. When stating what you want in a woman, try not to make it too shallow. Quoting body measurements is just plain rude. Stating that you dont do fat,plump or slightly overweight will not only limit you to less than 50% of the women on the site, yet rule out those with slim figures on the basis that they think you're a wank,(well....it does for me anyway).

What I look for in a guy? A write up that gives me a little glimpse of them. Whether it be a hang up they have or a passion for something. I like men who are creative, intelligent, kind and gentle. Guys where it is a possibility they will cry in a movie. Its not a pre-requisite though....they only have to seem like they will.

It is not uncommon for me to find the same men on the sites that I did several years ago, still with the same photos(toting guns, fish and girlfriends). With any luck, they will read this blog and realise the error of their ways!!!

So all up, I will continue my intrepid search for a man who will both put up with me whilst truly believing I'm fabulous.

2006-02-06T07:10:00.000Z

Footballers or Brats?

I love football. It's a beautiful game. Somehow, growing up in Australia, I developed a love of the game as a child. Those of you unfamiliar with the sports culture of Australia, and in particular, the culture in the 70's and 80's, should note that football at that time was not a loved sport. we were inundated with Rugby League and cricket. I tried to watch League but found it clumsy and brash. The season seemed to last forever with the only reprieve arriving in summer with a 'caseload' of cricket.

My brother and I were limited to a one hour show on a Sunday morning which gave an overview of all the weeks matches. For some reason, the FA Cup final was always televised live even though none of the years cup fixtures had been televised! I would stay up late, surrounded by newspaper paraphanalia commenting on match and player stats, and yell my heart out at the screen.

At about age 13, I began buying the english magazines Shoot and Match, reading voraciously about the players and clubs. I developed crushes on several players. This I could not talk about with my girlfriends as a) they wouldn't of had any idea who these guys were, and b) they didn't belong to the bands Duran Duran or Adam and the Ants!
My love for the game probably started as a seed planted in my head from my mothers stories of living in England and the fact that although she lived kilometres from the football field, could hear the fans singing and chanting like they were next door. I remember thinking, '....no way mum, that couldn't happen....they're only singing...'. How little I knew!

So, why have I titled this blog 'Footballers or Brats', I hear you ask. Well. I was watching the Chelsea v Liverpool match yesterday. The game was a good one with tight passing and lots of shots on goal from both sides. Yet, in the closing minutes of the match an incident occurred which disapointed me greatly. Jose Reina (Liverpool keeper), made a fair challenge on Eidur Gudjohnson (Chelsea forward) Shortly after, Chelsea winger Arjen Robben, whilst walking behind Reina, provoked him to turn around and shove him in the face. Ok, I dont condone that shove but we need to put this in perspective. It was a little shove. I would be surprised if it would even knock a 5 yr old off balance! But what happened? Arjen Robben went to ground, holding his face and making a 'meal of it'.

The guy I was with, who happens to be a Rugby Union fan, made the comment,"...that would never happen in Rugby...". And let's face it, it wouldn't. It embarrases me that grown men, with incredible skill, combine this with such amateur theatrics. Ok...its a contact sport, so people are going to be tackled. They are going to go down. But this overcompensation they seem to have adopted over the years is getting out of hand. I think they should be yellow and indeed red carded more often for this.

With the World Cup coming up, I reckon I will run a competition for the best 'dive'. I will award the player with the most elaborate and uncalled for dive, with an award(I am yet to come up with a name for it yet), and will award the country with the highest average of dives an award too.

2006-02-05T10:04:00.000Z

Wow...what to write? The skies the limit. But I must ask myself.....who would possibly read this?

So, I just returned back to my (now) home, London the other day after having returned to my original home, Sydney, for a 5 week visit. Now I must ask myself, where is home, where is my heart, where is my future?
In Oz I feel so free, so alive. I feel confident that I am surrounded by people who truly love me. Yet i crave the culture and history that I am surrounded by daily in London. I often jump on my bike and travel around marvelling at the incredible old buildings, luscious parks, the interesting people..........

So i guess its a case of, watch this space!!!

Incredibly poor attempt at a pick up line inflicted on me last night......" have your eyes always been such an amazing blue....."
Ok...the guy was trying...yeah right....trying to be an ass!!! I mean really, how was he supposed to recover from my obvious reaction of horror. Now....guys out there reading this may be 'poo-pooing' me as I speak....branding me a heartless emasculating bitch, but I guess my inability to cope with the initial mating rituals that indeed, once navigated, may lead to a meaningful relationship, has rendered me the career single that I am today!!!!