Salt and corrosion

I have been out and about in the countryside today. I saw lambs, spring lambs. They were gambolling. It was good.

It has been a funny old week. I didn't take my photo of the day on Wednesday. I forgot all about it until I picked up the camera to take Thursday's photo. Shameful, I know.

But then, Wednesday was busy. Busy, busy, busy. Wednesday morning, my boss beckoned me as I passed his office. 'I've just had Angela in here,' he said, 'telling me she's concerned about you.' What? It turned out she had seen the rat's nest of paper on my desk and on the floor and thought it seemed out of character. So our boss had a look at my desk, realised I was in the middle of doing the half-yearly reports and told her not to worry.

I've just signed up for an advanced Excel course in September. Partly because I have Excel 2010 at work and I'm sick of not knowing where to find anything on the ribbon, partly because it sounds interesting. Custom controls! Conditional formatting! Using the Solver! I actually know how to use the Solver, but I just don't get to use it. Homework will be so exciting.

There was a knock on the door today: a middle-aged woman. I said, 'Oh, you're here to collect the census.' She sighed.

'I'm getting a lot of that today. No. Would you like a copy of The Watchtower?'

Today I sat down with the Diggers catalogue for heirloom vegetable seeds. They have got seeds for parsley parsnips, which is the mullet haircut of vegetables: parsnip on the bottom and parsley on the top. No waste! That's what you want in a vegetable. They also offer radish watermelons, which are, sadly, simply radishes that are round like very small watermelons, not some sort of freaky half-radish, half-watermelon hybrid. Also, a yard-long cucumber, which is just slightly less than a yard more cucumber than I would ever want.

I have a sore spot on the side of my left calf, and I can feel a small bump coming up, which is a worry. I must have run into something and bruised it, although I can't remember what, which is also a worry. I mentioned it to my mother, thinking she would pop my hypochondriac bubble with some of her no-nonsense nursing skills, but she went into an unexpected panic. 'It might be a blood clot! Has your foot swollen up?'

So that wasn't very reassuring. Anyway, the lump is still sore, which I know because I keep poking it to see. Yep, still sore and lumpy.

Here is a bonus photo of the day: Melbourne's Southern Cross station, via a tilt-shift maker to make it look like Toytown.



( This week in photos )

Here is a thing: Ryan O'Neal getting some bad news.

I have gone for a little theme with this week's photos. It is: Things That Are Red (Or Red-ish). Obviousy I didn't exert myself too much coming up with that. Other Things That Are Red that I could have photographed, but didn't: my velour ottoman, my slippers, the rug in my living room, the rug in the laundry, the quilt on my bed, my kettle, a cast iron saucepan, the knitting needs I'm currently using, a... actually I could have stretched this theme out for the rest of the year.

( Things that are red(ish) )

Day 191. Short and stout, Day 192. Pencil sharpener, Day 193. Brian's larynx, Day 194. Cat and bracelet, Day 195. Bags of trees, Day 195a. Army of gnomes, Day 196. Filling up, Day 197. Row of trolleys

The bracelet from day 194 is from my mother. She found it on the street outside the post office and handed it in to the police station (which was across the street from the post office, so it wasn't like she went out of her way there). Three months later, they rang and said no-one had claimed it, so it was hers. She gave it to me and I found out why it was lost in the first place: the catch just won't stay shut. I wore it three or four times, and each time I found it on the floor after just a few minutes.

Day 192 is a pocket knife, obviously, given to me by my mother when I was in primary school for the purpose of sharpening pencils. According to her, normal pencil sharpeners are bad for pencils. Is this true? At any rate, I have been sharpening pencils with it for nearly thirty years. I do have a normal pencil sharpener and I feel a bit naughty every time I use it. I'm such a rebel.

Any ideas for a theme for next week?

Making my shopping list today for the rest of the week, I flipped though a food magazine to get some ideas for meals. There was an article on how to get the most out of your plastic wrap, which seems like quite a niche interest. Anyway, to get the most out of your plastic wrap, store it in the freezer so it unwraps easily, then let it thaw and it will wrap just like it would if you'd never frozen it in the first place. Give it a try, and do let me know how you get on.

Or just keep it in a drawer like I do, which is much less faffing about.

( Halfway through the the photos of the day )

Look, a unicycle!


(Originally from geekologie.)

My oven is fixed. Finally! After one day short of four weeks. Now it's back, I can't think of anything I want to do with it.

( A non-event )

This week's photos have a bit of a theme: dullness. No, things about town. Plus two extras to make up the numbers in the grid.

( This week: around town )

Here is a thing that is baffling and brilliant. Why is the crowd so underwhelmed by it?

I have been doing a mystery knit-a-long recently, for which a new piece of pattern comes out every week. I always get a bit of a thrill to see things as they take shape, but this time it's even better because I genuinely don't know what it's going to be. It's a surprise every few rows. Ooh, it's got a scalloped edge! Ooh, it's got a diamond pattern in it! Such excitement.

On to the photos of the week. Day 151 has the distinction of being the first photo this year not taken with my little Canon Ixus, due to a memory card problem. So that was momentous.

( Photos of the day )

Yesterday's mystery item wasn't much of a mystery, was it? Everyone guessed this:



My mother rang me at work to say she has a cold and could I pick up some throat lozenges for her. No Throaties, she said, she doesn't like them. No Butter Menthols either, nor Strepsils, nor Anticol, nor Fisherman's Friends, and she already has some VapoDrops. After careful examination of the throat lozenge shelf in the supermarket, I found some tubes of Soothers. I rang her to say that's what I'd be bringing round after work and she said, oh, perfect, they're her favourites. It would have saved a bit of time if she'd said that in the first place, but I suppose she's sick, so I'll cut her some slack.

I also had to stop at the chemist to get some cough medicine for her. There was quite a queue, so I amused myself while I was waiting by looking at the perfume counter. They were out of the little cardboard testers, so I had to think carefully before choosing one to spray on my wrist. I eventually decided on Gucci (by Gucci, you'll be astonished to learn) and sprayed it in the air, waving my wrist through it for a light scent. Until I got back to the car, that is, when the warmth of the car re-activated it and it exploded around me. Honestly, if it had been visible it would have been a mushroom cloud, and it had much the same effect. I had to wind the windows down and when I got back to work I scrubbed my arm. Several hours later I can still smell it. At least it smells nice. Not like the one I tried a few years ago that was so vile I contemplated cutting my arm off to get away from it.

Medical news today: the Australian Medical Association (the doctors' union) wants to crack down on non-doctors using the title 'doctor' to describe themselves. Which starts off sounding reasonable, but it gets all tied up in knots because most of the people we call doctors actually don't have a doctorate (the standard Australian medical degree is the MBBS, which consists of two bachelor degrees) and most of the people who actually do have doctorates aren't medical professionals. Anyway, there was a delightful and absolutely serious response to this article online by a (medical) doctor who suggested that anyone calling themselves doctor should also have to add bits to their title to demonstrate what it is. This culminates in the idea that someone with a PhD, a medical degree and a doctorate in something else should be referred to as 'Medical Doctor Professor Doctor Doctor Doctor Smith'. This can be abbreviated to MD Prof Dr Dr Dr Smith. And if members of the general population, for example, flight attendants, are trained to recognise the difference between an MD Dr, a Prof Dr and a Dr without additives, then that will save time on flights when they need to find a doctor in an emergency. As opposed to, say, just asking what sort of doctor someone is.

I have been playing with polymer clay this weekend. I made a sleeping dragon. It still needs some varnish, but otherwise it's finished and it looks, well, like a first attempt at making something with clay. But not too bad. So that's one of next week's photos sorted.

I thought I might do seven days of photos of buildings this week. That plan lasted two days. Wednesday was so cold and wet and miserable, I didn't have the heart to roam the streets looking for interesting buildings. And that was the end of that.

( Photos of the week: Not a lot of buildings )

The magazine that comes with Saturday's paper did a 'women's issue' yesterday. I never realised the other issues weren't for women. Anyway, it was an odd read. Here are the cover stories:

Portraits of Power: Our pick of the 50 most influential women in the world
Serving it up: Sam Stosur's will to win
Biggest Loser: Does weight loss equal happiness?
Reach for the Sky: The real appeal of the high heel
Thank, Mum!: Our annual Mother's Day gift guide

That's a mixed bag, isn't it? It was the shoe story that really grated. This consisted of little paragraphs by a variety of women 'who just can't live without a bit of lift'. These were their jobs: PR agent, three magazine editors (Harper's Bazaar, Grazia and Vogue), three fashion designers, jewellery designer, two stylists, Video Hits host, fashion editor and shoe designer. That's not really what I would call a representative spread of women. Where's the article on the importance of support and comfort in duty shoes for nurses and policewomen? That's a shoe story with something new to say.

Also, there was a jewellery shop catalogue tucked inside the newspaper, offering Mother's Day Specials. This included a pendant that said 'Daddy's Little Princess'. What sort of person buys that for their mum?

Day 114. A line of boats


( Days 115 - 120 )

( Extras )

For my whole life, my mother has sung the praises of Betadine (a povodine-iodine solution). There is no injury that cannot be helped by a dab of this magical liquid, or its even more magical cousin, ointment. It fixes everything. I wouldn't be surprised if topical application of Betadine cures cancer. It's only a matter of time until someone tests this.

This morning my mother declared it was time to replace the dressing on my burn. Removing the clear dressing pulled the skin off the top of the blister, revealing that my arm is looking pleasingly pink and healthy underneath. I got out the Betadine; imagine my surprise when my mother scoffed. 'No,' she said, 'I bought this yesterday.' 'This' was a box of 'SilverHealing aqua protect' elastoplast. Waterproof bandaids, in other words, with silver in the padded bit, which does away with the need for Betadine. Gosh. Technology, eh?

Today is also my mother's birthday. Tomorrow she's having a colonoscopy. So that's dampened her celebrations somewhat. We're having birthday cake tomorrow night instead, after which she will be returning home. It's been fun, even if she does enjoy watching old episodes of Heartbeat far more than I do. Incidentally, UK f-listers, what's Nick Berry doing these days?

Another of her viewing choices was an ancient episode of The Good Life, which I enjoyed more than I did Heartbeat, particularly because Penelope Keith was wearing a bright red, flared jumpsuit, topped off by a Hermès headscarf. It sounds horrible, but it looked fantastic. On her, anyway, in the 70s. I suspect I'd look foolish decked out like that today. Anyway, it was odd watching it now. When I was little, I thought the Richard Briers character was pretty much the perfect man, but this time I found him a bit irritating. I still want to be Felicity Kendall when I grow up, though. (I've just looked up Wikipedia to check I had the right decade and found out that, in real life, Penelope Keith was once High Sheriff of Surrey. I hope that means she got to arrest people.)

Day 100. I like this gnarly tree in my neighbour's garden


( Days 101 - 106 )

( Extras )