Uninspired

I have been a little quiet of late, mainly because working as a checkout chick does not exactly give inspiration to deep and meaningful thoughts. I have been known to achieve a trance-like state whilst scanning things, my brain in far off places whilst my arms work on automatic (almost like packing tomatoes really) but the sound of the Noddy machine going off or, as happened today, customer announcements about deals every 15 minutes for 6 hours, tends to disrupt my peaceful state of mind from thinking too much about anything. Or, as is generally the case, I end up singing the theme tune to Noddy without realising - much to the amusement of my customers. There are occasional moments to lift me from my catatonic state though. Last Saturday I had not 1, but 2 people walk in and ask 'Do you do the Lotto?'. I have, so far, resisted the urge to reply 'No, we have a bloody great big machine, a large stand and ooh, let me see, 3 posters that all have Lotto and the fingers crossed logo stamped across them JUST FOR FUN'. I also got rather imperiously ordered to do something about the fact that the other members of staff round the corner on the tills were very busy and needed help. Given that I had an even LONGER queue than they did and was on my own I thought that that was possibly asking a bit much but the customer in question was quite adamant that this girl (still with a 'trainee' badge on) was the one to sort out the problem, not the numerous members of staff down every bloody other aisle doing sod all throughout the rest of the store. The best one of late though was the customer announcements today. Unfortunately the poor girl obviously didn't have much in the way of French and for several annoucements managed to tell customers that we were selling pain au chocolate* until someone told her otherwise. Made me smile anyway :) *This doesn't really work written down, try saying it out loud with English pronunciations...

Cultural differences

I've noticed recently, through other blogs and through recent conversations, that the things we remember even though tiny and meaningless can escalate to meaning lots when other just don't get it. And it's the oddest little things that suddenly have to have a label attached like 'home' or 'British' or 'Good grief I'm getting old' . I'm not writing this very well but you must know what I mean. Adventuring Jen recently wrote about being excited about seeing Ant and Dec on TV and how no-one in NZ could understand quite why she was so excited. That is what I mean.* There was a comment too on Pomgirls most recent post too (the one about sweet shops) about the Club biscuit theme tune (all together now 'If you like a lot of chocolate on your biscuit...') and it got me thinking a bit. Not really about much, but a bit. I had a conversation not long before I left Bowen with Graham about the fact that it was Baldrick voicing an advert. I was terribly excited - this was a British well known voice in Australia - and it immediately made me want to watch Blackadder. Graham was, quite understandably, confused. Mind you, he got his own back when I didn't know the Vegemite advert which is apparently a classic that every Australian grows up knowing. I refrained from pointing out that I did not, in fact, grow up an Australian but he seemed to think that EVERYONE should know it. Well, I think that everyone should be able to sing the Club biscuit theme :) Anyway, I got to thinking about HOW MANY of these little things there are, things that pin point your age, that stick a little label on you that says 'British' or 'Australian' without you even realising. How many of you out there know all the words to the Ferrero Rocher advert, the one that starts 'The Ambassador's reception...'? How many of you can tell me the phone number to Going Live? Or sing the theme tune to Dogtanian? Or, on the other hand, how many of you know the song all about happy little vegemites? When I'm in Australia, sometimes its these tiny little things, these miniscule events, that make me suddenly come crashing to a halt with a feeling of 'these people speak my language and look the same but Britain this is most definitely NOT. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing but it does take a little getting used to. Especially not only the lack of prawn cocktail crisps but the complete inability to comprehend that there could even BE such a thing. *ok, I've been drinking, please take this into account...oh, and if someone would please help me get the Club biscuit advert out of my head I'd be most grateful... p.s. I know the advert, the number and the theme to Dogtanian, please feel free to test me and/or come up with well known things of your own ;)

Shopping

Mum and I went shopping this afternoon – a certain special kind of shopping involving lots of satin and, let’s face it, dresses that were well deserved to be called after a fluffy type of dessert*. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I had fairly certain ideas about what I wanted, the style and shape and colour (namely not a meringue, flattering – therefore not slinky, I don’t do slinky and white without extreme ornamentation, I’m not a glitter person either). I expected that this shopping venture would eventually culminate in the dress but only after long soul searching, agonizing between dresses, visiting many different shops and trying on lots, and lots, of ensembles. I was quite looking forward to it to be perfectly honest. What I didn’t expect was that on our first tentative footsteps into this strange world, we would not only be surprised about just what did look right, but at how easy it was. Practically the first thing we were told was that, whatever we thought looked good or not on me, the best thing to do would be to try it on before making any decisions because something that looks horrendous on the hanger and you think you would never, ever wear, may actually turn out to be the one that brings tears (of happiness, that is) to your eyes. Normal rules are thrown out for wedding dresses. Many dresses were taken off the racks including one café coloured with small roses on the upper right hand side of the bodice and left hip, one with ruffled up fabric going across the bodice (what’s the rule, never wear horizontal stripes? See above for treatment of ‘normal’ rules) and a large rose on one hip, a 2 piece bodice and skirt that had layers of net and a satin bodice and lots of beading, one with an empire waistline (which I normally avoid like the plague due to it falling in just the wrong places for my figure and making me look 6 months pregnant) and straps which were all ruffly and even one off the window dummy. Some were white, some were ivory, some pale gold. Most had huge trains, some did not. And you know what? They all looked wonderful. The one with the large rose could have done without the rose but other than that was very flattering. I did find my dream dress. The moment I put it on I felt magical (and my waist looks TINY) and I can’t wait for Graham to see me in it...I’ll leave it to you to work out which one it was though :) *alright, it's fixed now, is that better?

Sorrow

I think I lost something tonight. Something that I hope is not lost forever. It may be that it was lost the moment I came home but that the absense had not been noted until now and in the noticing has grown to huge proportions*. A family friend of long standing, from whom I would expect on greeting after an absense, be it of one day or one year, a hug and a kiss on the cheek and an equiry about how I was doing to say the least. These were noticibly lacking. I didn't even feel acknowledged until I had been in the company of said person for over 2 hours when the subject of my emigration entered the conversation. Whilst avoiding my eyes he said 'I'm know why you're going and I'm glad for you but I have no wish to go to Australia'. That in itself is fair enough and I understand that. Not everyone wants to go to the other side of the world and, if I had not got a wonderful fiance over there for whom I would do anything, I probably would not be going back either. Should I choose it, there is a life for me here - a wonderful life. But there is where my love is and there is where I shall go, happily. I may be over-reacting, I may be reading into things that aren't there but I know what I felt and I felt excluded. Tonight I felt I was an outsider looking in, a stranger to this most familar group of people where once I had been a part of it and all because I seem to have lost the good opinion of one who means a lot to me. *I know what I mean

Guide to living 12,000 miles apart - part 1

First things first - do NOT, under any circumstances, read anything along the lines of Cosmo or really any magazine that mentions sex a lot (but without a doubt those that say how to have EVEN BETTER sex, more orgasms, better positions, etc) because this will do nothing but make you severely uncomfortable for quite a while. Really, truly not a good idea whilst at work.

Countryside living

I was going to write a terribly nostalgic post today about the wonders of living in the countryside, in particular the wonderful scents that you get on a warm summer evening, the deep heavy perfume of the honeysuckle being my one of my favourites. The world cannot be truly bad whilst it contains honeysuckle. Unfortunately, today has been a constant reminder of one of the other ‘scents’ of the countryside which has quite put me out of the mood of being descriptive and wondering outside smelling the roses and the honeysuckle. Instead I’ve had to dig around to find my oil burning tea light thingy and, upon discussion with mother, have been desperately trying to get the scent of sandalwood to fill the house, rather than the smell which currently does because, you see, today the farmers around the village have been muck-spreading. In vast quantities. And it reeks. Unfortunately it’s even worse inside the house today than it normally would be because I didn’t realize that they were going to be muck-spreading when I set off this morning, this lovely, sunny, warm summers’ morning, for my walk to the next village to get the paper with a neighbour. This morning which was so perfect for leaving the windows open upstairs and in the conservatory and getting some fresh air into the house (given how cold and miserable it has been recently). All I can say is I’m glad I hadn’t hung my washing out before we left or work would not have been best pleased with me in the morning. I’m not sure ‘eau de manure’ would be the most popular perfume in a supermarket…