Thugs

< rant >

I’ve been playing organised soccer since I was about 8 (yes, a bloody long time ago) and have seen some crazy shit in that time. I’ve been involved in two games that were abandoned, one due to its descent into an all out fight (that I didn’t bother getting involved in) and another because it was only a trial and the opposition were so far from playing within the spirit and rules of the game that our coach called it off early before someone got hurt.

They are the only two times in my career that I can recall not shaking hands with the opposition. This weekend makes it three.

The last couple of games we’ve played, we’ve played some thugs. Guys that don’t particularly go out of the way to stay within the laws of the game and that will take every advantage accorded them when the referee is lax on a rough tackle. I’m kind of getting used to be kicked and pushed and held every time I go near the ball. After all, it’s not tiddly winks and I’ve played some hard games of soccer in my time. Hell, I’ve even hurt some people with some tough tackles, but it’s always been accidental as I’ve always gone for the ball.

This weekend the ball was down the far end of the field, our opposition having cleared it out and I was making my way back to the half way line as the defence pushed us out when someone decided that it would be a useful tactic to come from behind and plant a full-blooded fist into the middle of my back. It fucking hurt. I didn’t see who it was as I dropped to the ground in pain and because it was so far behind the play, no one else saw what happened either. It pissed me off even more than it hurt and it still pisses me off a couple of days later.

This is amateur sport. I don’t get paid to be there but I show up because I enjoy the game. It’s actually the first time I’ve ever really even remotely considered the ‘R’ word (that would be retirement of course) and even then simply because of how much it destroyed my enjoyment of the game. I mean, had I been scoring a heap of goals, or even threatening to, or perhaps been the most outstanding player on the pitch, I could consider it a compliment that someone thought they needed to go that far to take me out of the game. Had I been an utter bastard and previously crash tackled one of their players or something, I could explain it as revenge. The reality is though, I can’t think of a single thing that I did during the preceding 20 or 30 minutes that warranted such an attack.

It was quite simply utterly piss weak and gutless of the fucking wanker that did it; behind play and without provocation and perhaps that is what shits me most of all.

< /rant >

The Pub with no Grub

On the Queen’s birthday weekend, with no sports commitments for once, we decided that we’d drag the caravan and the kids away and go see something other than the inside of our house for a day or so. After much debate we decided to stay in Meningie on Lake Albert. We left reasonably late in the afternoon, and arrived just after sunset, setting up in the fading light before heading into town to find something to eat.

I was looking forward to a good country pub counter meal and was happy when it was actually open as it hadn’t appeared to be when we’d driven past it an hour or so before hand.

At the outset, things looked good. Not a bad menu and 6 choices of kid’s meals as well. It was when we started to order that we became a little suspicious. Sam decided he’d have the mini hot dogs, but they were out. Neither did they have the mini pizzas, nor the chicken satays. By the time half of the kid’s menu had been eliminated, he’d basically given up and settled for a bowl of chips and some garlic bread.

We went to the salad bar whilst we waiting for our food to arrive, but that was a short-lived revelation. They’d run out of bread rolls (more were in the oven) the salad selection was less than desirable and the vegetables … well let’s just say that I didn’t bother.

I think Emily’s food was the first to arrive, a plate of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. That’s it. No chips, no sauce, nothing; Just a pile of little dinosaurs on a plate.

Sam received his bowl of chips and happily there wasn’t too much wrong to report in that little piece. Michael’s schnitzel was fine and Thomas had a score. The kid’s schnitzel had been delivered as an adult meal. Twice the food, 1/3rd of the price!

My steak arrived next and I have to say there’s nothing quite like splashing out on a nice piece of fillet … and having them serve up over-cooked porterhouse. At least the pepper sauce was ok. Caroline was good enough to complain on my behalf whereas I was at that point already where I was just going to eat, run and never return. Somewhere between my almost finishing my steak and Caroline’s arriving Sam was informed that they didn’t have any garlic bread!

After wondering if Caroline’s steak was still at the abattoir, it finally arrived, resplendent in it’s seafood sauce, though strangely, lacking anything else. Mine came with chips, Caroline’s did not. One wonders if they’d run out. Her fillet was also a porterhouse and whilst she ate it, we listened to the table next to us complain about all the issues that they’d had with their meal to the poor waitress who had to cop all the crap. Apparently there also wasn’t any pavlova.

The kids were keen to stay for dessert, but Caroline and I vetoed, telling them we’d go to the service station and buy them an ice cream, because at least there was a good chance that they wouldn’t have run out! We were probably right, but won’t ever know because it had closed. D’oh.

On the way back to the caravan park we did find somewhere else open (ironically a lot closer as well) and they even did dessert. So we stopped and bought the kids ice cream. A shame that when Sam and Thomas ordered the lime topping that they’d run out though!

So that was our adventurous first meal in Meningie. Suffice to say that for the second night, we went to the supermarket, bought some nice fillet steaks and I cooked them perfectly at the van.

Open for Inspection - Part 2

There are times when I’ve probably been considered to be over-sharing information. Just so you’re warned; this is likely one of them.

As noted previously, I left work early enough to go home and go through the preparation process in the splendour that is home rather than at the office. I had been considering attending soccer training prior to the actual experience though I was a little concerned that my energy levels would be low having not eaten for most of the day.

The time came around for the first part of a 3 step process of ingesting ‘cleansing agents’ for want of a better word and I mixed up this substance that looked kind of like milky water. After staring suspiciously at it for a while, I faced my demons and skulled it. I couldn’t face the thought of starting slowly only to find out that I couldn’t stand it and yet be faced with the ingesting the remainder.

It was probably a wise choice. Although not overly offensive in terms of taste, it didn’t sit particularly well and did rebel enough to put the thought of puking in my mind. I managed not to though and went back to sitting around to wait for it to take effect.

Well before we reached that point though I had to go through preparation ‘b’; another concoction that this time had to be drunk over the course of an hour … a whole litre of it.

It had a kind of lemon flavour to it was a little more viscous than water and quite simply, didn’t hold any sort of appeal at all. A bit later again and I had to do a second dose of preparation ‘a’. Second time around I knew what to expect. The fear of the unknown had been resolved only to be replaced by the fear of the memory that was still so recent in my mind. I survived.

Then it was back to the waiting. It’s not a fun waiting time because you know what is supposed to happen. You’re just not quite sure how long it will take or just exactly how it’s going to be.

We’ll chalk it up as ‘not fun’. You know those horror days in your life when you manage to contract diarrhoea and can poop through the eye of a needle? When you have no choice but to shit even though its really only going to produce a warm stream of unpleasantness from the anus? Yeah, well now you’re getting the picture. Now you know how I spent the rest of the night. Afraid to fart because quite simply, nothing good was going to come of the experience, not wanting to crap but having too, knowing exactly what’s coming out and knowing that as much as you might like to hope so, it’s not the last time.

Caroline and the kids ate dinner, I hid in another room, biding my time between visits to the dunny and wishing that it was all happening to someone else. At least I was eventually allowed to sleep.

I’d hoped that by morning I’d have been done with it all because I’d cleansed the system enough the night before. Such wishful thinking! Of course I wasn’t done. I was mostly done, but like Miracle Max said, mostly dead isn’t all dead. Neither is mostly done all done.

Eventually it was time to go in for the actual inspection.

Having undressed the lower portions of my body and donned that stunning piece of attire that is the hospital gown, I was wheeled into the room where all the action was to take place. The anaesthetist stuck a needle in my vein, pumped something into it and waited a while to ask me if I was feeling sleepy (I was supposed to be sedated, not complete zonked). I hadn’t noticed a thing and told him as much. This resulted in something else being stuck in my vein and beyond that I really don’t recall a thing until I woke in the recovery room. I’m quite happy about that, as should you be. It means no graphic description of the actual inspection itself.

After a while, when I felt less woozy I got to see the specialist who advised that they’d only found a single polyp that had been removed and that would be sent to the lab for analysis. Only one is possibly good, none would have been better. And couldn’t he have asked if I wanted to see it rather than just waving the little sample jar in front of me?

Then came the rest of the day which involved eating again at last as well as waiting for that joyful moment when would be able to once again let rip with a joyful toot without fear of soiling myself! What a wonderful moment it was.

Now it’s the wait for the results.

Open for Inspection

I went to the doctor recently just because I needed to be told that I’m fat again to have a check up and although there was nothing really wrong with me (I won’t bore you with the intimate details) due to family history, we decided that it was probably time that certain things were checked.

Now when I say certain things, let’s be specific. We’re talking about the last bits of the digestive system. Yes, its time for a colonoscopy. Can we say excited? Today is preparation day which means that since 10am I have been unable to eat (good for the diet, not for the soul?) and later today I get to drink some fluids that will apparently assist with the cleansing of the bits to be inspected. Given that this commences during work hours, I made the decision to leave the kit at home and meet it there, rather than bring it to work and experience the full joy in the confines of the office environment. It’s probably kinder for everyone that way.

So there you have it. Part 1. Before the real fun begins. I’ll be sure to keep you updated.

PS – some posts here just lend themselves open to way too many titles. This was one of them!

Over Excited

Saturday night just gone was the Swiss Club of South Australia’s annual fondue night. It’s something that we’ve been going to for a number of years with the obvious pause in attendance due to living out of the country. It’s always been a pretty good night and certainly guaranteed to get you just about the best cheese fondue that you can.

Last Saturday though, Caroline had spent most of the day in bed with flu-like symptoms and I had played a game of soccer in the afternoon and I simply didn’t really feel like making the effort to get there.

Caroline dearly wanted to go, but wasn’t sure that her health was up to it, but in the end we both soldiered on, knowing that once we dragged our sorry arses out of the house that we’d have a good time.

The cheese lived up to expectations and all was good up until the point that Caroline’s mum had a bit of a turn. One minute she was sorting out money for cocktails, the next her hand was shaking a little and suddenly she blacked out. I immediately grabbed my phone and called for the ambulance whilst Caroline propped up her mum.

The last time that I had called an ambulance it had been for Thomas when he’d managed to spurt blood in large quantities from his head on a wet and rocky path near Port Lincoln. I was caught somewhat by surprise when they started asking for the address. I knew that we were at the Austrian Club, but they wanted a specific address. Having rushed outside so that I could be heard when making the call, I then had to run around inside to find someone that knew the actual street address, the whole time not being able to check on how Connie was doing particularly because as with any crisis a crowd had gathered.

It seemed somewhat counter productive to me, when someone is clearly in distress, to surround them and add to the confusion, heat and noise in the room, but there wasn’t a lot I could do whilst on the phone to the ambulance. Fortunately by the time that I had finished talking to them, Connie had already regained conciousness, though was sick and disorientated.

The Ambos duly arrived, did their thing and loaded her into the back for ride into hospital to be checked out and monitored for the night. Given the riot of emotions that accompanies such events, the rest of us decided to call it a night.

Happily I can report that after the night of observation that Connie returned home, though it was certainly more excitement than we’d bargained for from a fondue night!

HI ho, hi ho, its off to camp we go

This morning, Michael left for camp. It sounds like it will be a fun camp, though I can understand that he has some trepidation. After all, they’re hiking in the Flinders Rangers and have to carry everything with them. That means that all the water that they’ll be drinking for three days is weighing down his back pack. Part of me wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he’d drunk 5 litres of water today just so that he didn’t have to lug it the entire distance.

I wasn’t impressed when the 7:30am drop off that I was expecting this morning was shifted to a 6am drop off, especially because that meant getting out of bed at 5:20am on a day when I would be driving several hundred kilometres for work.

We chucked the back pack in the car and headed off to the school only to have Michael say 5 minutes up the road that he had forgotten his packed lunch. Given that we were on something of a tight time line to get him there on time, I advised him that he’d just have to dip into the additional muesli bars that he’d taken along and deal with it.

It was all good until we got to the school, drove inside and found that there wasn’t a single, bus, teacher, student or parent anywhere to be seen. We quickly whipped around to the alternate entrance, but there was still no sign of anyone. I started questioning Michael as to whether he could have the time wrong, or the location only to find out that he wasn’t sure. So we called Caroline at home because the piece of paper we needed wasn’t in his locker and was suspected to be on the floor of his bedroom.

Well guess what? It wasn’t there. What was there however was the cutlery, plate and tea towel that Michael was supposed to have packed with his gear. At this point the emergency measures kicked in and Caroline put together a lunch, grabbed his remaining gear and set off to deliver it even though we were still unsure as to whether we were in the right place or not.

Fortunately in the time that it took Caroline to get there other people slowly started to arrive and when the first bus showed up I think we both breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Caroline made it in time and off we went, abandoning him to his adventure.

I just hope the raspy throat that he said he woke up with doesn’t turn into the flu that seemed to have hit Caroline over the weekend given that I’ve been driving somewhat close to the Flinders Ranges today and have seen nothing but patches of light to very heavy rain. With the weight of all the food that Michael packed, I’m not sure that he was overly generous with the whole clothing concept!

Eeek

Easter at Pt Hughes was a little different this year to those gone by. Normally, we along with our families, friends and acquaintances occupy about 7 or so sites at the caravan park and of course contribute significantly to the population of the park over the Easter Weekend.

This year, we may have been outnumbered and all because of the rain. After several years of drought, there’s been quite a bit of rain in the last 12 months or so and this has meant that the crops are doing well, the insects are doing well and of course there’s plenty of food around for mice. The mice are doing particularly well.

Apparently they were about last year, but we were traipsing around the USA, so didn’t have to worry about them. This year, as dusk fell and we sat about having a quiet drink, they quickly became apparent as they’d hop along under the cars, or dart about seeking a bit of sustenance. We didn’t really worry about it much until the morning following our first night of cards. We’d left a pack of Cheetos in the annex (unopened) without really thinking about it as we stumbled off to bed. That following morning we found the bag of Cheetos and it had been substantially attacked, the foil wrapper nibbled through in several places. That certainly put us on alert.

Over the course of the weekend, we discovered just how pesky the little blighters could be and it was with much mirth (on my part at least) that you’d hear the occasional screech as one of the women in the party would discover a little field mouse somewhere unexpected. Michael and Sam weren’t particularly enamoured with them either given that they were sleeping in an extension of the annex and had quite a few visitors.

At one point I decided that we needed to clean up to ensure that they weren’t getting to cosy with us and lifted up the flap of the annex. Well, bugger me if 8 of the little blighters weren’t having a quiet little rest under there. You should have seen (and heard) Caroline as they all scrambled for another place of safety! Almost every single one of them seemed to runs straight for her.

Even our kayaks weren’t safe as when we unrolled one to put it in the water, there was a dead mouse in the bag. That meant that the second one needed to be unrolled the following day to be sure that we weren’t taking any home. Imagine my surprise when four were discovered.

When we packed up, we were very careful to shake everything and inspect it closely (not always sufficient as I found one morning after shaking Caroline’s shoe violently – nothing came out, but when I stuck my hand in, there was indeed a mouse clinging to the lining!) so that we could hopefully get home mouse free.

Well, boy did we fail that little test!

The morning after our return, Caroline informed me that the kids had left some bags of lollies in the car overnight and that it was very clear that mice had been at them. The holes in the bags were a definitive clue. I suggested that some mouse traps might be required and they were subsequently set. Over the course of the next 3 days, we managed to trap 9 mice in the car! NINE! Bloody ridiculous, but we got them and now the car is significantly more pleasant to be in than it was for a couple of days.

So far, there’s been no sign of any in the caravan and I sure as hell hope it stays that way!

Fourteen

The 28th of April saw the commencement of Michael’s 14th year on the planet and as has become the norm, I thought I’d share a couple of thoughts on the milestone.

At 14, Michael is still transitioning from boy to young adult. I wouldn’t say that he’s an early bloomer, but he’s certainly maturing. As with most teenagers I suppose, he flicks between the states of responsible and regressive. He flicks from being happy to help out with chores (when requested) to utter outrage over some minor infraction of inconvenience. I guess its one of the true markers of this part of his life as hormones tear around inside with little regard for the rational.

Michael continues to do well at school, though is perhaps a little scarily like me in that he does well at the things that he’s good at, whilst not perhaps maintaining the focus in those things that are seen as peripheral to his immediate interests. He continues to devour books rather than simply reading them and all I can say is at least Sam, Caroline and I all read them as well so that we get value for money when we destroy the Australian publishing industry by shopping online!

Something new this year and somewhat unexpected is that Michael is now the current reigning school Junior Chess Champion. It was something of a surprise to us given that we didn’t even know that he’d entered. Apparently one of his friends was entering and as that reduced his options for something to do at lunch time he decided to have a go as well and went through undefeated! Nerdvana?

Overall there’s a lot to be proud of with where Michael’s headed. So far, he even continues to appreciate my humour, something that surely cannot last, but which I will enjoy for as long as it does. Although he’s a thinker, he still enjoys getting outside and playing sport, even though cricket was probably a disappointment for him this year (something about not being up with the growth spurt rate of his peers and having had 3 years off the game in Canada I think). The soccer season is coming and I think that he’ll get a lot more enjoyment from that, so we shall wait and see, cheering from the sidelines.

Happy Birthday Michael.

A Very Special Vintage

We’d been drinking the night before and I had left what I thought was an empty bottle of white wine in Jason and Bel’s annex. As I’d thought it empty, I was somewhat surprised when Bel brought it back in with about a glass of wine left.

Not thinking anymore of it at the time and being busy with the dishes, I put it next to the sink and forgot about it. Later in the day Caroline said something about the fact that it should probably be in the fridge, but neither of us bothered to act at the time.

It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when Jason came in and asked to have a quiet word. As I was in the middle of getting changed, I wasn’t in a position to leave the caravan and asked him what he needed. He quietly asked if I had the bottle of wine that Bel had given back to me earlier in the day. I did and showed him at which there was something of a relieved look before he started laughing and explained that he’d been up in the middle of the night and didn’t want to face the walk down to the amenities block, so had picked up the empty wine bottle and quietly relieved himself.

He’d then gone fishing with Caroline early in the morning with neither Bel nor I any the wiser.

Thank all that’s holy that I hadn’t tossed it in the fridge and opted for a quiet glass at lunch time!

Another Easter holiday

After the spectacular trip that we took last Easter, taking in the Grand Canyon, some rather tall trees and the like, it might be considered a little mundane to be towing the caravan off to Pt Hughes, but in reality, there was probably more excitement amongst the family this year than last.

That excitement translated to an off and on again decision as to when we should depart – Tuesday night after work or Wednesday morning? Three out of four children decided that Tuesday night would be the better time to go and so it was to be.

Now anytime you think that you’re going to leave for a trip straight after work, you hope that everything is going to be packed and ready other than all those really awkward and heavy things that become the job of the family pack horse to get into the caravan. With a 2 hour drive to reach our destination, I’d secretly hoped that we might have been able to get away before 6:30pm, but of course am a little more realistic than that given our history with departures. At 7pm I was still comfortable, but by the time we actually left at 7:40pm, tempers were starting to fray (well mine was).

At least we were underway. It was on Main North Road that things got a little sticky. We were cruising along quite happily when an apparently juiced up cat decided to streak from the side of the road and play chicken. Given the weight that we had behind us, swerving and stopping were equally undesirable in the sort of time frame that could have made any difference.

Feeling three solid hits as the cat used up nine lives in very quick succession, I felt pretty terrible, but was in something of a quandary as to what to do. There was no way in hell the poor little bugger survived and we were in the middle lane, so I couldn’t exactly stop without having a massive impact on traffic anyway. Not to mention that had I stopped there would have been all sorts of questions as to why it was that we were stopping.

I really didn’t want to have to tell Emily that we were stopping so that I could scrape the pancaked remains of some poor family’s pet cat from the road. I felt bad enough without adding that to the occasion. So we continued on a somewhat less merry way at least as far as a dinner stop, where I made the mistake of crossing the road. Only when I went to come out again did I realise that you couldn’t turn right to get back to where we were headed. Hence, a scenic detour ensued, through the back streets of North Adelaide, weaving the caravan through bloody annoying speed restriction devices.

We did get here though. It was late and it was windy, but we managed to eventually get to a point where we could sleep in the van, ready to tackle the full set up in less windy and daylight. We at least got the daylight part of the equation right!