Therapy

There are some things that should never, ever change in this world. Terry Wogan should always be the commentator for the Eurovision Song Contest, roast beef should ALWAYS be served with Yorkshire Puddings, bacon sarnies should have HP sauce on them and the Sound of Music should always be shown on at least one Bank Holiday Monday during the year. Thankfully for me, this particular occurance was during this Bank Holiday. Because I really, really needed it! Not only is it traditional but as things go it's as close to free therapy as you can get. I mean, you can't NOT feel better about whatever's making you down, or stressed or anything after watching it and having a good old sing-a-long. There's nothing like belting out 'Climb Every Mountain', 'Eidelwiess', 'The Lonely Goatherd' or 'I Must Have Done Something Good' to lift the spirits although I think that 'So Long, Farewell, Aufweidersien, Goodnight' can be safely buried deep in the mines of Salzburg without too much fuss. That is, however, a very minor blip on a very feel-good film. Who hasn't watched it and wanted to meet their own Captain Von Trapp? It has got me in the mood for musicals though, I think I may have to hunt out Seven Brides for Seven Brothers next time the weather's bad...'Bless your beautiful hide, wherever you may be. I ain't met ya yet but I'm a-willin' to bet you're the gal for me...'

Wish fulfilled

I'm not sure why, I think it's got something to do with having watched too many American school reunion dramas or films with them in (like Grosse Point Blank...mmm...John Cusack...), but I've always wanted to go to a school reunion. Possibly it's out of a desire to turn up, looking all fit and hot and blonde, with loads of confidence, and go 'Look! This is me, despite all the bullying and nastyness and stuff, I'm ME! I'm happy being me, I'm good at being me and although I may not be as successful as some of you, as married, or parenty as some of you, I'm probably a damn sight happier than a lot of you and it's all in SPITE of you. So, take a good look, this is me. And I'm proud of it. I'm also emigrating to Australia.' It's entirely possible I have some unresolved issues with my secondary education. With my primary education however I have no such compulsion and so it was with slight nervousness I walked this afternoon to my old primary school in the village for it's 145th anniversary. Would they recognise me? Given that when I left the school in 1991 there were 4 people in my year and only 16 in the entire school, would there be anyone there who should be able to recognise me? Or would it all be different years? Oddly enough, my year was one of the only complete years to show. All four of us were there (the year 3 years below mine doesn't count as the one pupil to show up was the only pupil in his year) which was really lovely. I think it must be one of the very few times, if not the only time, when all four of us have been in the same place, at the same time, since we left the school 15 years ago. I saw my old teachers, my old headteacher even recognised me straight off which I think deserves a medal as the last time she saw me I had long hair, all one colour (no roots showing as it is now), and was a bit overweight. Most people don't recognise me because of the short back and sides hair style so I was really, really impressed. It was, overall, a really lovely way to spend an afternoon, seeing people who it's been over a decade, nearly 2 in some cases, since we last saw each other and reminising about stuff (playground games, school lessons, they still even have the old desks and chairs, which meant that a search for the desks with our names carved on then ensued...). My old nursery teacher said that she's always had a soft spot for me and the lad in our year, which was nice to hear. Am not sure why I was so memorable but she assures me it was for good reasons so that's all ok. You may have heard the phrase 'There's always one'? Well, it's true, there is. Unfortunately, it's almost certain to be me as well. Seeing the old school photos has brought that home with a bang. It's not like I intended to be the one looking the wrong way, or laughing too much, I never did anything on purpose but it just happened that way. *sigh* It was good to see people. And they had a bar. All in all, a good reunion.

Interesting things

This is an interesting meme :) Welshy did it and didn't tag me (grrr) but I thought that I'd do it anyway! On my Birthday (but not year, I'm not THAT old) these things happened... Events 1653 - English Interregnum: The Protectorate - Oliver Cromwell becomes Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland. 1773 - American Revolution: Boston Tea Party - Members of the Sons of Liberty disguised as Mohawks dump crates of tea into Boston harbor as a protest against the Tea Act. 1850 - History of New Zealand: The Charlotte-Jane and the Randolph bring the first of the Canterbury Pilgrims to Lyttelton. Births 1485 - Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England (d. 1536) 1770 - Ludwig van Beethoven, German composer (d. 1827) 1775 - Jane Austen, British writer (d. 1817) 1899 - Sir Noel Coward, British playwright, actor and composer (d. 1973) 1917 - Sir Arthur C. Clarke, British writer 1928 - Philip K. Dick, American writer (d. 1982) Deaths 1859 - Wilhelm Grimm, German writer and folklorist (b. 1786) 1916 - Grigori Rasputin, Russian monk (b. 1869) 1921 - Camille Saint-Saëns, French composer (b. 1835) All you have to do is type your birthday (as it April 14 or March 23) into Wikipedia. There were lots and lots of people and informations but only one person was actually born on the exact same day and year that I was that it knew about and I'd never heard of them. Grr. Anyway, Welshy, if you're reading this I hope you like the first entry! Altogether now 'O-o-oliver Crromwell, Lord Protector of England (Puritan!)...) :) I'm not going to tag people, but if you're reading this, and you do it, please let me know!

duh

I was going to write something here, not sure what, but it would have been witty and intelligent and generally amusing. However, I've just plowed my way through the terms and agreements of the Australian Immigration Website and although it does, amazingly enough, use simple words and phrases, it has fried my brain. I seem to recall this happening the first time I applied too. When I was out in Australia I read that site so many times that it ceased to make sense at all. Now, it is merely brain straining. And, in all the waffle and information, repeated in several different ways, I still don't know how I get to show my form that my employers signed to prove that I've done the work to the application people. My application will be done online, what I have are printed out and signed pieces of paper. Will I have to fax them in which case what's the point of an online application? Will I be able to scan them in which is rather a big assumption on the part of the immigration office that people have access to a scanner (I do, but that's not the point). All this makes my brain not hurt like some documents do, it's more like anaesthetic. My brain is surrounded by a mass of pink cotton wool, it's thick, comfortable, warm and bloody difficult to escape from. If you need to go to sleep and can't, read this website. Trust me on this.

The greatest contest ever!

It's Saturday night! I'm young! I'm pretty! I'm sexy! What am I doing? I'm watching the Eurovision Song Contest of course... I love this program. There's no way round saying this, it's fantastic (possibly even amazing) and just unmissable! It's the ultimate in cheese and 'how to poke fun at every other countries crap song (apart from ours which is merely cringworthy, not even laughable)' and definately course 101 in European politics. There is one thing though that makes it completely, utterly and definately compelling viewing though. The one thing that, should it be lacking, would make a hilarious cheesy night simply very, very sad viewing. That is of course *queue dramatic music* Terry Wogan, the god of Eurovision, that endless stream of ridiculous comments, views on voting (most of which are correct), and - as the evening progresses - that endless stream of alcohol fueled comments as well. He is phenomenal! A wonderful person to whom I could listen talking inane bollocks all day long. He's just got that kind of voice. It's always been a battle during the Eurovision as to when to go to the toilet. The songs are, and, lets face it, always have been, complete rubbish but you can't move because you're laughing so much and then by the time you've recovered, Terry's talking again and you don't want to miss it. Thankfully this year, a solution presented itself. Mum has digital tv. It's great, it's fantastic, we can get channel 4 rather than S4C. We could also get subtitles and translations to all the songs and, every so often, they would block out ol' Terry and have a very, VERY annoying voiceover about how you could txt or phone in your votes and good luck messages to Daz. I quickly realised that this was the time to scarper if I needed to. Or, actually, even if I didn't need to, anything to escape that man! How dare he talk over Terry?! Anyway, my vote, personally, for the night went to the Lituanian entry. Anyone with the guts to enter the contest with a song that goes 'We are the winners of the Eurovision contest, vote, vote, vote, vote, vote!' deserves to win for sheer cheek alone. Besides, they made me laugh.

Decisions decisions decisions

As both Welshy (though she still appears with her proper name on my comments, not sure why) and Pomgirl have been heckling me a little for answers, all I have to say is that I went out for dinner on Tuesday night with a very nice, charming man. We talked an awful lot, have lots in common and he even gets my sense of humour and can make a decent stab at following my train of thought which is frankly medal-worthy (for the uninitiated in Ellie-ness, though I do actually tend to tone my randomness down, even for this blog. I ramble. A lot. There is usually a point but it can take a while). I will be seeing him again and that, I think, is about all I'm going to say for the moment*. Apart from that, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Well, for the last 2 1/2 months actually. I came home for a specific reason. I was hurt and upset and mildly concussed. I wanted family and comforting familiar things around me and, since coming home, I've had these in spades. Thinking of the CTG and what he did to me no longer brings on feelings of terrible hurt, anger and not a small amount of guilt (it must have been my fault, he'd never hit anyone before so it MUST have been something I'd done, etc...). These no longer happen. Home is wonderfully healing and very good for the soul (as, incidentally, is meeting a man not immediately inclined to knock me out). So, the question is, what to do next? Well, my goals haven't changed. This country, I feel, is not for me. A small part of me has been able to see that life here in the countryside could be wonderful but I know that I can't afford to live here so that's really out of the question. The larger part of me still wants to live out in Australia. I can't put it into words all that I feel, but it can be simply summed up as I love that country. I love the people, the climate and the cities (and from me, that's a big statement). I love everything about it and I can't wait to get back. So, back is what I'm going to do. As soon as possible. I've got a concert I think I've got to do, really, and then I'm going. *I'm taking the view on this one that it's not really fair for me to say an awful lot given that he doesn't know I'm writing about him, although he knows I write a blog so may actually manage to track it down somehow.

Oh dear...

I'm lost for words. Actually, completely, and utterly speechless. I havn't blogged in the last couple of days because I have simply had absolutely sod all to say. Given that I'm going out for dinner in 2 days with a man who I've met once but emailed a few times who thinks I'm gorgeous (the pub must have been dark) and funny (lord only knows how that one happened) and blonde (question, should I tell him about the definately LESS peroxide blondeness than the last time he saw me, or surprise him?) and I'm at a complete loss as far as anything is concerned, let alone witty, intellectual and amusing conversation I'm starting to get just a wee bit frantic. All that keeps springing to mind is that TAB, in an effort to catch out a friend of his whom he suspected of spreading rumours and lies and anything horrible she could think of, was going to tell her all sorts of nasty things about me and see if anyone repeated them back to him. One of these was that I couldn't hold down an intellectual, or even vaguely interesting, conversation even if I had it scripted in front of me. He hastened to reassure me (after a very indignant squeak) that this was, of course, totally untrue. Nevertheless, the fact that he came up with it in the first place has stuck in the deep dark recesses of my mind. One thing I know for certain, my fingernails are not going to survive until Wednesday night.

Wierd things

I have yet again been tagged to do something. This time, I have to name 6 wierd things about me. Now, I'm having a little trouble with this one as I think I'm perfectly normal. In each and every single way. But, here we go anyway. 1. I sing. Whenever I'm concentrating on something else (driving, doing the washing up) I have to sing. Even when I can't sing aloud I've usually got a little tune going on in my head. Usually to the beat of something I'm doing, like walking. TAB used to say that I could go on Australian Idol but only if they allowed props like a sink. I think I drove him a wee bit mad with this habit but I don't always know I'm doing it. 2. I don't step on the cracks in the pavements if I can possibly help it. I'll even take tiny little steps or really stretch to avoid stepping on the cracks. I think is has something to do with those bears waiting behind all the railings to eat me if step on a crack. 3. I can't stand raw tomatoes. Even the feel of them makes my skin crawl. This is mainly due to having packed them for a couple of months and working 12 or so hours a day in a shed smelling of rotten tomatoes will send you a wee bit strange. Cooked ones are fine though. 4. I'm hopelessly organised in some ways but incredibly untidy in others. All my books absolutely have to be in order and my cds too. Even the glasses in the cupboard have their order. My clothes however are strewn across the floor. 5. I know Pomgirl has already said this but I agree. I cannot drink things out of the wrong thing. Water and cold drinks have to be drunk out of glasses. That goes for alcohol too. I'll wash up glasses rather than use a clean cup. Hot drinks in glasses are just wrong. 6. I love to throw myself out of planes, surely that counts as wierd?

To Dad

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more, day by day, You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. Christina Rossetti xxx

Summer lightning

I love storms. The wild and windy ones that you draw the curtains against but can still hear beating the window panes into submission. The heavy downpour ones where you can lie awake for hours on end listening to the rain on the roof (especially handy if you have, like I had for most of my childhood, an attic bedroom with a sloping roof). And, the case in point at the moment, the eerily silent ones. Where the wind has dropped, the night is silent as can be and you can watch the clouds light up over the horizon but still not hear a thing. Today has been a lovely, warm, summers day. Even before the clouds rolled in this evening we heard far off rumbles of thunder, an ominous sound when the sky is still blue. Now, sitting in a darkened room, I'm occasionally lit by those massive bursts of silent lightning way over the other side of the valley. It's still warm though. At times like this, I'm reminded of sitting on the veranda watching the flashing clouds roll in after a muggy day in Central Victoria. And I miss it. There's also an earlier memory though, underlying everything. Me, with my skylight open, perched on the end of my bed leaning out as far as I can, watching the storms on the mountains opposite. And when I'm not here I miss that too. But I know that whatever happens, wherever I go, storms are storms and they are amazing. I find them endlessly enthralling and that will not change.

Grin

He replied! Gave me a minor heart attack by claiming not to know who I was but we're going out for dinner next week so that's all ok. Ooh, a proper date! You know, I can't actually recall the last time I had an honest to god, dress up a bit and get picked up sort of date. What can I wear?!

Eek

I am quite unsure as to whether I have been a bit unwise or not. Having finally, after 6 weeks (you've got to admire his persistance here) aquired my phone number, he has now had it for at least 3, possibly 4 days. Still no phone call at this end (not so admirable persistance there). I can be a bit slow at times and finally today realised that I know his name, what he does, that he owns his own business, and where he lives. What else is the internet for? So I went looking. I didn't have to go very far and I found his website. Complete with email address and mobile number. I ummed and ahhed over this new and startling information all day. After enjoying (and, I must admit, enjoying quite a lot) being chatted up that evening in the pub, and then hearing that although he'd forgotten my name, he thought I was a hottie (still gives me a warm glow that one) and then persistantly asking for my phone number (according to sources) I was quite prepared to leave the chase entirely up to him. I wasn't going to run, not very fast anyway, just enough so that he could catch me quite quickly and with a minimum of effort on my part. I would also know that he thought enough of me to warrant chasing. This was not a problem as long as I didn't have the means at hand to do a wee bit of chasing back. Finding the website today changed that. So, a dilemma. Do I wait still for him to call? Do I wait in the hope that he will yet again talk to my friends about how much he liked me? Or do I email or text him. This was a slightly more difficult situation that it would normally be as the last person I actively chased relationship-wise gave me a black eye, concussion and chased me from a country I love so I could have a hug from my mum. I trust my reasons for indecisiveness are clear? With a little bit of persuading from mum I have actually emailed him. Just a short one as I'm still not entirely certain I wasn't being teased or wound up by those who said he was interested. Any fingers out there available to be kept crossed would be greatly appreciated.

Hmmm

It's raining so slightly bored. I'm looking up old maps of where I live at the moment, it's rather thrilling. At least it stops me sitting waiting for the phone to ring as I now have no nails left to speak of.

Silly grin is back

I'm fairly old fashioned and, to be perfectly honest, I just lack the confidence to believe that men could possible like me enough to even half-heartedly pursue me (I mean, look at TAB, then the CTG, not the best track record here) so I like men to chase me before I'm certain they might actually like me. I'd just about given up on the guy who called me a hottie at the pub last month as it wouldn't be too hard to get hold of my number so when I went out this evening I wasn't really expecting to be told, infront of my mother, that someone had been quite interested in getting my number and meeting up with me and who had been rather complimentary. This is, however, what happened. Once the blushes had subsided (fair skin can be a curse) the silly grin was back. And of course, permission for the number to be given granted.

Just call me Bob...

Mum and I have had a fantastic time in the last few days. The weather has been fairly good and we've been out in the garden waging our war again ivy. This of course led to me straining my shoulder on Friday but there you go, I'm a walking disaster area as usual. The garden here is, well, slightly overgrown. We're very proud though because we've managed to clear a path through from one side of the paddock to the other, battling ferocious brambles, piles of rubble from various building projects and even rediscovering the long lost ty-bach (it's a 2 seater, very posh!) which is amazingly enough still standing. We've also cleared out several walls around the place which has been lost behind dark depths of ivy and other bushes and, having gone wall mad, we've even started to build another one today. Having dug up a sloping area of, well, rubble and nettles, mum thought building a wall and a level garden behind it would be nice. This involved having to shift breezeblocks (why are they called that, does anyone know? Are breezeblocks particularly breezy?) and lots of earth and roots. My back now seriously aches. And we're only half way round the wall's projected route. I think I dislike breezeblocks. The fires however have been fab. We had a HUGE bonfire (making up seriously for missing Bonfire Night last year) on Friday and when we piled more stuff up on the ashes on Sunday it spontaniously combusted, which was fun. Sorry to bore you all with the gardening adventures, it's just that I do enjoy being out there and working with my hands and body and spending time with my mum, it sure beats sitting in an office all day! Also, not much else is going on right now in my world. I'm quietly enjoying not having to deal. This will of course come to and end, probably fairly soon, but am reveling in it while I can.