New Purchase.

A couple of weeks ago, I purchased off Ebay a learn touch typing program. The thinking behind this was, naturally, to improve my typing skills.

I think it's going to work out. Now, instead of having to watch where my fingers are going, I can look up at the monitor and make twice as many mistakes twice as fast.

Never Judge A Hook By Its Cover

Everybody knows about clothes hangers. You know the legend; leave one alone in a dark wardrobe long enoungh and it will multiply. This is especially true of the wire species of hanger. And we all know that when a piece of toast slides off your plate, it will always land on the side that's spread. Actually, when you think about it, it's amazing how so many inanimate objects go out of their way to annoy us. Glasses are never where you last left them. Keys always go missing when you need them the most (I believe socks use the same tactic, especially with men). And how many tales of horror have you heard about furniture attacking toes in the middle of the night?

Let me tell you about one of the lesser known, yet just as evil, objects de torture; the crochet hook.

Ha! I hear you scoff. Nothing could be more inoffensive. Yeah, right.

A couple of weeks ago, S, my partner, knitted herself a lovely scarf. To finish it off, she wanted to put a fringe on each end. To do this, she needed a crochet hook. As she doesn't possess one, she rang her sister, B, and asked if she could borrow one. A couple of nights later, we subsequently paid B a visit, and picked it up.

The next morning, as I got into the car to go to work, I noticed the hook sitting on the floor of the front passenger's side. Obviously, it had fallen from S's lap unoticed in the dark. It's amazing how we notice omens after the fact, isn't it? I should have been warned then but, instead, I simply picked the hook up, took it inside and gave it to S.

Admittedly, the hook performed the rquired task admirably, and S is now in possession of a really warm looking scarf with a boisterous fringe.

Then came last weekend.

Youngest daughter, E, and I wanted to go to JB Hi Fi. S, who isn't a big fan of browsing through such places, thought she might spend the time with her sister. It would give her a chance to catch up on gossip and, of course, return the crochet hook. This sounded like a plan, so off we went. We had to stop at the police station on the way to fill out some legal forms, but eventually we dropped S off at B's house, and E and I went on to spend a pleasant hour or so looking at music and movies and such.

When we finally made our choices, we went back to pick up S. On walking in the front door, S informed me that she couldn't find the crochet hook and asked if it was in the car somewhere. I went out to have a look. It didn't leap out at me straight away, so I got down low and twisted and turned, trying to see if it was under either of the front seats. Nothing, zip, nada, zilch. No hook.

S was upset at this; she doesn't like the thought of borrowing something then losing it. B said not to worry about it, but S isn't one to let something like this go easily. On the way home, she said how she felt really bad about losing the hook. She swore that she had it in her hand, and couldn't understand where it could have got to. I suggested we just buy another one, but S thought maybe it had fallen out of the car at the police station and could we please go and have a look, and see if we could find it?

Back we went to the police station. I was able to park in the same spot we had previously parked, and S got out and began inspecting the ground. She began to move ahead of where we were parked and I said something about how we didn't park up that far, but I was beginning to suspect that the blasted thing might actually have a life of its own, and had decided to torment us by absconding. S searched diligently, but eventually had to admit defeat. The crochet hook was nowhere to be seen. E suggested maybe somebody had found it and handed it in at the police station. Somehow, though, I think the thought of actually walking up to the officer behind the counter and asking if someone has handed in a crochet hook proved too embarrassing for all concerned, and we just wrote the item off as lost.

We finally arrived home. E opened up the house, and was first through the door. I was next. I happened to look down, and lo and behold! Sitting on the threshold, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in its crook, was the elusive crochet hook. The damn thing hadn't even left home. And I swear it was bloody smiling.

So, the next time you haul out that unfinished crochet project, or are about to start one, remember this tale and take precautions. Put your crochet hook on a short leash before it starts heading for the hills. Or wherever it is that inanimate objects go when they don't want to be found.

The Time Has Come ...

... To speak of many things.

Well, not so much speak, as write.

S, my lovely partner, has suggested more than once over the last couple of weeks that I should take up my writing again. And I have to be honest here; I have been incredibly slack about it.

As usual, when it comes to things like this, S is right, so I've made the move. I have created a new blog where I am going to post chapters of my novel as it progresses.

There is one slight problem, however. I have more than one book running around in my head, and each one is clamouring as loudly as it can for attention. I might have to give serious consideration to allocating each its own blog, and then contributing to them as the ideas come.

Hey! Why do something simply when you can make it more intricate than Damascene cloth?
I think I'm going to be a very busy boy.

Oh dear.

And Another Thing ...

I hate shaving.

That's it. Pure and simple. No great profundity. I just hate shaving.

You Know You're Not Really In The Mood To Go To Work When ...

You go to the drawer looking for the cling wrap to wrap your lunch, and end up standing there wondering why the hell you've got a garbage bag in your hands.

Sigh.

Don't Forget To Pack Your Toothbrush

In view of the recent debacle concerning our immigration minister, Amanda Vanstone (for those unfamiliar with the case, the minister's department somehow managed to illegally detain one citizen of this fine country, and illegally deport another), I thought it would be interesting to listen in as the Prime Minister gives her a call.

'Hello, Amanda? John Howard here ... No ... No ... No. Amanda! Not the actor. The Prime Minister ... Yes, that John Howard.

'Anyway, I'm ringing to see if you've sorted out the problems in your department yet ... No ... No ... Amanda! I'm not talking about that ... No. If The toilet's backed up, call a plumber ... Yes ... Tell you what, I'll get my secretary to get in touch with you, and give you the name of one. Apparently he's done some work for the Packers, and they highly recommend him. Okay? ... Good.

'No, what I really called about was this sudden run of stuff-ups you've been having ... Oh, you wouldn't, huh? ... Well, what would you call them? ... Teething problems ... I see ...Yes, well. I can't really see how you could possibly consider illegally imprisoning one person, and illegally deporting another, as teething problems. I mean, how long have you been the Minister for Immigration now? Four, five years? ... Really? That long? ... Gee! Time flies, doesn't it?

'But that's beside the point. Don't you think you should have ironed these wrinkles out by now? ... Um ... Amanda ... Amanda, stop! You're forgetting something. I'm the Prime Minister. I know exactly how slow government works, and I reckon you're milking it a bit, now ... Yes, well. Make sure you do. As soon as possible please.

'Now, any progress finding a scapeg ... I mean finding out who's responsible for this mess? ... Your chief advisor, huh? ... He failed to keep you fully informed ... Uhuh ... Uhuh ... And you were unaware of the complete picture ... Yes, there seems to be a lot of that going around. Happens to me all the time ... Maybe you should send him over so I can have a word with him ... Oh, he's not there any more ... You already got rid of him ... Put him on a slow boat to China, huh? ... Hey! Stick with what works, I say.

'Also, the head of ASIO informs me that they've identified a young German couple who might turn out to be a security risk ... You got the memo? ... Yes, that's them. The Kohls ... You've already detained them ... On the next flight back to Germany ... Oh, good. I was worried for a minute there, that you might try sending them to Newcastle ... Kohls ... Newcastle ... Get it? ... You don't get it ...Just a little Prime Ministerial joke there ... Now you get it ... Ha Ha! ... Um ... Amanda ... Amanda ... You can ... Uh, Amanda ... It wasn't that funny ... You can stop laughing now.

'Well that just about covers everything, except ... Well, there’s something you might be able to help me with ... A little favour I need ... Right up your alley ... There's this bloke, you see ... I've been keeping an eye on him, and I reckon he could be bad news ... Oh, yes, very dangerous ... I was wondering if you could deport him for me ... You can! Great! ... I'll give you his details ... Got a pen? ... His name is Kim Beazley ... Leader of the Opposition, that's the bloke ... You'll get onto it today? Terrific ... Only, Amanda? ... Just make sure you get the right person, okay?'

Beginnings

The air is sharp and crisp; crystal. Every breath is cool and fresh.

In the west is a full moon, an unhealthy yellow as it begins to sink below the horizon. In the east a faint glow marks the ascendency of its assassin. Power lines become elevated freeways as possums scurry to their daytime hideouts. A car, headlights stabbing at the darkness, slowly moves down the street, spitting newspapers.

A magpie begins to pipe in the new day. Noisy minahs resume their squabbling. The clouds are tinged with red, as if smeared with the blood of the dying moon. Crickets switch off their night-time hold music as the daylight penetrates the gloom. Birdsong has taken its place.

It's a beautiful Autumn morning, and it's going to be a gorgeous day.

Pity I have to go to work.

Philosophy

Read on a novelty item found inside a bag of crisps;

If at first you don't succeed, redefine success.

Who's On First?

I always find it amusing when our politicians find themselves embarrassed by their own. Consequently, this week started with a big grin.

Our "beloved" Prime Minister, John Howard, again revealed his arrogance by announcing over the airwaves his intention to still be at the helm come the next federal election.

Upon hearing this, heir apparent, Federal Treasurer Peter Costello, promptly threw a hissy fit, and dire hints of a "leadership challenge" swept through parliament like a tsunami. It has long been known that Mr. Costello covets the top spot, and Little Johnny did say at the last election that he was more than likely going to step aside and pass the reins to his Treasurer. Like interest rates and the Medicare Safety Net however, Prime Minister Howard has reneged on yet another promise.

I honestly can't understand why Peter Costello should be so upset. Surely he didn't expect one of his own, a consummate politician, to keep an election promise?

Memo