About 13 years ago some work colleagues of mine thought that it would be a good thing to do a triathlon together. They proposed that we enter the BRW Corporate Cup event with each of us completing one of the legs. They’d volunteered for the run and the bike legs and suggested that perhaps I’d like to do the swim for them. Foolishly I agreed. I say foolishly because I hadn’t really done any swimming and apparently I didn’t really start doing any prior to the event because ‘it’s only 400m’.
As the day of the event drew closer, it came out in conversation that they’d not entered us in the team sprint event, but had in fact entered us in the main event where each person completes the entire race.
Now at this point, panicking and doing a bit of training probably would have been better than the approach which I took, which was to say ‘oh shit’ and yet do nothing.
On the day of the event, my two team mates did admirably and then passed over to myself. I managed to complete about half the swim before resorting to less effective than freestyle strokes (yes, I did side-stroke some of the swim) partially because I’d swum so far of course that I probably added another 50m to it. I staggered out of the water to the bike transition where I was abused by my team mates because I was taking the time to put socks on.
On the back leg of the bike ride I was seriously forced to consider what the protocol was for vomiting whilst riding a bike. Was it lean left and pedal or get off and hurl? Fortunately I never found out. Whilst abusing my team mates at the half point of the ride I nearly ran over a marshall and when it came to the run, well there was a little bit of walking involved.
Overall we completed the event in under 3 hours but I was informed that just because we did that didn’t mean that we’d each completed it in under an hour. It was quite a point of note.
Although I’d survived the triathlon, I swore never to do another one as long as I lived.
Anyway, having been conned into the Corporate Cup run and City to Bay last year, this year the same group from my client suggested that we tackle, you guessed it, the BRW Corporate Cup Triathlon. Stupid said yes.
This time, I trained. I even went through a couple of practice triathlons with friends to make sure that I’d be ready. I bought elastic laces, I practised transitions and I was determined not to be the one that was being abused in the transition area for putting socks on. The same cannot be said for my comrades. This time around, I was determined to post a time that I’d be happy with where as they were both of the ‘finishing is the goal’ mindset. I tried not to give them too much shit for it.
I opted to go second, to avoid the thrash and bash in the water at the start and so I had a clear run into the water to start (especially since by the time our first competitor came through (he’d breast stroked the swim and then completed the ride on a Big W mountain bike) there weren’t too many teams hanging around the team transition area. I managed to over take a couple of people in the swim, had good transitions and had a good solid ride on the bike. In fact, of the people that completed the triathlon on the same leg as I did, I had the 23rd fastest swim and 26th fastest ride of the 147 or so people competing. If the event had stopped there, I would have been ecstatic about my place. As it happens, there’s the run leg on the back end that has to be added to it. I didn’t quite manage to fare so well in that part. I overtook plenty of people as I ran, but also had a couple overtake me as well. I needed some better motivation I think to kick my run harder earlier in that phase.
In the end I completed my section in 44:33 which I was more than happy with given I’d set myself a target of about 50 mins. The distances weren’t quite what was advertised in the ride and run which helped, but it meant that I’d been about on target and so walked away happy.
Far from my reaction of never again the first time, this time around I’m actually a little disappointed that I don’t get to do it again in say 2 weeks to try and improve on that time! Maybe next year.
Mar 27, 2012
Nine (the fourth)
Last week, our darling little pink thing turned 9, the last of the tribe in her last year of single figures. Quite scary and just a little bit sad really.
The joy of turning 9 is that there is still much excitement involved in the whole process. There was much anticipation, menu demands (spit roasted lamb, pork AND beef thank you very much) lack of sleep and even a lost tooth on the eve as she went to bed, which of course delayed the whole process and started another entire round of delays.
Emily is still very much the confident young thing, particularly in her own environment. She seems to be at the stage where she wants to do anything and everything. She’s playing softball in summer and netball in winter, but would desperately like to play hockey. She’s playing the violin, participating in ensemble, although the expected practice may have put paid to that as I’ve not heard the strains of practice for some time.
There’s also been lots of interest in singing lessons, which could be a good thing. She’s not a bad singer, but it does tend to drive the boys absolutely nuts when she wanders around the house singing to herself about anything and everything. With the addition of an iPod to her arsenal as a result of birthday wrangling, music is often to be found pumping from her bedroom through the little dock she bought herself. Now we just have to teach her about volume, though given the lack of control on the internal volume of her own vocals, I don’t hold out a lot of hope for that to come off.
Emily as a baby was a sleeper; a nice deep, long sleeper. She still is very good at sleeping once you get her to that state, but right now, it’s all about 47 ways to avoid getting to sleep, which leads to a gradual emptying of her room of anything that can entertain her. Unfortunately, with the fact that she’s so easily amused, that means there’s a hell of a lot of stuff that sometimes have to be removed (or threatened to) before she’s off in the land of nod.
Also at 9, Emily is a magical little tornado of mess. It doesn’t seem to matter what she’s doing, there’s a small path of destruction in her wake. From undertaking private craft projects, to experiements or even something as simple as colouring in or making chocolate milk, the activity is diverse the result is the same … mess.
So having bagged my little girl, I have to say that I am still insanely twisted around her little finger and love her to bits for all her little flaws as equally for the many smiles and pieces of joy that she brings to my life. At 9, there’s still a good chance of a running leap and hug when I come in the door, there’s the “I’ll miss you Daddy,” when I announce that I am going to be away for work for a day and there’s nothing quite like it when she’s well rested and happy and you get to spend some time with her and she announces at the end that she loves you very much and it’s been ‘The Best Day EVER!”
Happy Birthday Emily.
The joy of turning 9 is that there is still much excitement involved in the whole process. There was much anticipation, menu demands (spit roasted lamb, pork AND beef thank you very much) lack of sleep and even a lost tooth on the eve as she went to bed, which of course delayed the whole process and started another entire round of delays.
Emily is still very much the confident young thing, particularly in her own environment. She seems to be at the stage where she wants to do anything and everything. She’s playing softball in summer and netball in winter, but would desperately like to play hockey. She’s playing the violin, participating in ensemble, although the expected practice may have put paid to that as I’ve not heard the strains of practice for some time.
There’s also been lots of interest in singing lessons, which could be a good thing. She’s not a bad singer, but it does tend to drive the boys absolutely nuts when she wanders around the house singing to herself about anything and everything. With the addition of an iPod to her arsenal as a result of birthday wrangling, music is often to be found pumping from her bedroom through the little dock she bought herself. Now we just have to teach her about volume, though given the lack of control on the internal volume of her own vocals, I don’t hold out a lot of hope for that to come off.
Emily as a baby was a sleeper; a nice deep, long sleeper. She still is very good at sleeping once you get her to that state, but right now, it’s all about 47 ways to avoid getting to sleep, which leads to a gradual emptying of her room of anything that can entertain her. Unfortunately, with the fact that she’s so easily amused, that means there’s a hell of a lot of stuff that sometimes have to be removed (or threatened to) before she’s off in the land of nod.
Also at 9, Emily is a magical little tornado of mess. It doesn’t seem to matter what she’s doing, there’s a small path of destruction in her wake. From undertaking private craft projects, to experiements or even something as simple as colouring in or making chocolate milk, the activity is diverse the result is the same … mess.
So having bagged my little girl, I have to say that I am still insanely twisted around her little finger and love her to bits for all her little flaws as equally for the many smiles and pieces of joy that she brings to my life. At 9, there’s still a good chance of a running leap and hug when I come in the door, there’s the “I’ll miss you Daddy,” when I announce that I am going to be away for work for a day and there’s nothing quite like it when she’s well rested and happy and you get to spend some time with her and she announces at the end that she loves you very much and it’s been ‘The Best Day EVER!”
Happy Birthday Emily.
Mar 7, 2012
Taylor Pt 2
I broke this up because it really fits best in two parts. The first was of course all about Emily, as that was really the whole point of going. This second bit is what I took away from the night.
I thoroughly enjoyed the show and couldn’t help but admire the poise, presence and performance of such a young performer. When she first appeared, she did little more than stand at the front of the stage and bathe in the adulation of the crowd. Far from appearing as if it were an ego trip though, she seemed to be genuinely delighted that the crowd cared enough to be there and even somewhat amused by the fact that a simple glance would launch them into a renewed frenzy.
Part way through the performance, she descended from the stairs and walked around the outskirts of the general admission area, high fiving and shaking hands with the punters who surged from one side of the area to the other as she made her way to perform at the back of the area for a few songs, before returning down the other side. I can’t remember going to a concert where that has been done before (not that I’ve been to that many) but it must certainly have only helped endear her even further with her loyal fans.
I was left wondering how someone so young manages to maintain such a wholesome image and deal with the reality of being a celebrity. As she said at one point during her performance, if she goes on a date with someone, she doesn’t need to ask people’s opinion because whether she wants it or not, the whole world will tell her what they think of the match for good or ill. It’s hard to imagine being subjected to such scrutiny that even such small choices as the clothes you choose to leave the house in become cause for international scrutiny, let alone the pressure that must be on her to maintain a lifestyle that doesn’t conflict with the image that she’s built up.
As a father, you can’t help but think that she’s one of the better celebrity role models out there and I’d be much happier if Emily aspires to be like Taylor than say a Miley Cyrus. Or perhaps I should be glad that Emily observed recently that she doesn’t think that Thomas should become a famous soccer player because he’d have to deal with the paparazzi. Maybe it’s a reflection on the fact that she doesn’t aspire to such lofty heights of stardom herself!
Taylor Pt 1
A couple of years ago, Emily discovered the music of Taylor Swift. It’s been her first musical love and has resulted in endless hours of time on country roads listening to and singing along with Love Story and other Taylor Swift songs, usually amidst groans, complaints of headaches, tears and even threatened mutiny from her four brothers
I’m not very good at keeping up with who’s touring the country in a music sense, particularly if Triple J isn’t promoting them, but somewhere along the line late last year it was mentioned that Taylor Swift would be touring and even coming to Adelaide. Where ever it was mentioned, Emily heard about it and of course from there, fate was really sealed.
So at Christmas, the very last present that the little pink thing opened was concert tickets to Taylor Swift and her face lit up like it was … well, like it was Christmas. Then she had to give the tickets straight to me for safekeeping and wait.
Last night the waiting was finally over and one incredibly excited little pink thing went to her first concert with Mum and Dad along for the fun. I have to say that the look on her face at the moment that Taylor appeared on stage was well worth the price of being there to see. Emily was rapt and belting out the tunes along with the rather large number of screaming adolescent girls that made up the majority of the audience.
It was to be a late night for the pink thing and clearly the excitement had done something to take its toll because near the end of the set, whilst Taylor sang a couple of her quieter tunes, Emily decided to put her head in Caroline’s lap, curl her feet up and all but fall asleep. She didn’t nod of though fortunately and certainly when Taylor launched into Love Story for the closing song of the night, she perked right up again, that delirious smile once again pasted across her face from ear to ear.
The Fifth Dependent
Something changed at home this week. The tension in the house in the days preceding the week slowly grew. I don’t think it quite reached that palpable ‘cut it with a knife’ level, but then I tended to try and be very diplomatic to offset that potential.
The fifth dependent arrived. Technically she was already with us and already a dependent, but it all became more official this week as Caroline commenced her Masters in Accounting. The difference between a wife that’s dependent and a student wife that’s dependent is yet to be fully realised, but is forecast to be significantly more effort for me (the fact that as always what it means to me will pale in comparison to what it will mean to Caroline is irrelevant – this is, after all my blog and therefore, about me!)
Already I’ve noticed changes. We’ve never really needed designated study areas for the kids as they tend to either do their homework at the kitchen table or in their rooms. Most of the time, it’s even complete by the time that I want to do something like sit down and watch TV or use the PS3. But with an adultdependent student in the house, there are worrying trends. If focussed and at the table, I feel bad if I put the TV on. If semi focussed, study starts to happen in front of the TV. I’m sure that channel flicking will be even more frowned upon than it already is and of course, the time when Caroline will be studying will coincide with the time that I like to do nothing a lot more than it does with the kids.
If I’m not careful I’ll be reduced to filling that time with replacement activities amongst which number the really fun things like folding washing, doing dishes and god forbid … cleaning house!
(but in all seriousness, despite the fact that I question her sanity and find myself asking like so many others – “Why accounting?” I applaud the fact that she is pursuing it and am proud of her for doing so – even if she could be earning money!)
The fifth dependent arrived. Technically she was already with us and already a dependent, but it all became more official this week as Caroline commenced her Masters in Accounting. The difference between a wife that’s dependent and a student wife that’s dependent is yet to be fully realised, but is forecast to be significantly more effort for me (the fact that as always what it means to me will pale in comparison to what it will mean to Caroline is irrelevant – this is, after all my blog and therefore, about me!)
Already I’ve noticed changes. We’ve never really needed designated study areas for the kids as they tend to either do their homework at the kitchen table or in their rooms. Most of the time, it’s even complete by the time that I want to do something like sit down and watch TV or use the PS3. But with an adult
If I’m not careful I’ll be reduced to filling that time with replacement activities amongst which number the really fun things like folding washing, doing dishes and god forbid … cleaning house!
(but in all seriousness, despite the fact that I question her sanity and find myself asking like so many others – “Why accounting?” I applaud the fact that she is pursuing it and am proud of her for doing so – even if she could be earning money!)
Mar 2, 2012
Breeding like the proverbial
Did I mention that we have four more rabbits? That means a total of 8 of the little critters currently inhabiting our backyard. The worst thing is that I think there’s more on the way.
After all, the first lot of little ones came about when the mother and father were left to mix for a few minutes. It surely wasn’t longer than that, but it was apparently long enough for them to breed like … well, you know the saying. Whilst Dad is now a sports model and therefore should be able to safely occupy the same living space as Mum, there’s the small matter that there’s two boys from the first litter still about the place and they haven’t been de-sexed. That’s fine when Mum and litter number 2 are safely ensconced in their little area under the cubby house, but that hasn’t been entirely successful.
About a week ago as I was getting ready for work Caroline happened to mention that it appeared there’d been an escape. We found that all five of the rabbits that are usually in the compound were gaily bounding about the yard. Fun ensued as we chased them down, captured them and blocked off the area they’d managed to escape through.
Then a couple of days later I was woken up the sound of a small child yelling (with a little too much glee and enthusiasm) “Bunny Escape!” Someone had managed to leave a door open and off they went again.
So given that Mum has now had about 24 hours of time alone with two fertile male rabbits, I’m pretty sure there’s only one likely conclusion.
To top it all off, this morning when I looked out the window, there was once again a small rabbit bounding about. I went outside to check up on things and found Mum (Pepper) sitting very demurely just outside the cage. I found out why she was sitting there so calmly at the point that I realised she’d managed to stick her head through the vertical bars of the enclosure and become wedged! I don’t know how long she’d been like that, but I can certainly imagine the stress it must have put the little thing under. I felt very sorry for her as I bent the cage to free her and was rather glad that the small pink thing wasn’t there to witness it.
Lucky we didn’t get a dog?
After all, the first lot of little ones came about when the mother and father were left to mix for a few minutes. It surely wasn’t longer than that, but it was apparently long enough for them to breed like … well, you know the saying. Whilst Dad is now a sports model and therefore should be able to safely occupy the same living space as Mum, there’s the small matter that there’s two boys from the first litter still about the place and they haven’t been de-sexed. That’s fine when Mum and litter number 2 are safely ensconced in their little area under the cubby house, but that hasn’t been entirely successful.
About a week ago as I was getting ready for work Caroline happened to mention that it appeared there’d been an escape. We found that all five of the rabbits that are usually in the compound were gaily bounding about the yard. Fun ensued as we chased them down, captured them and blocked off the area they’d managed to escape through.
Then a couple of days later I was woken up the sound of a small child yelling (with a little too much glee and enthusiasm) “Bunny Escape!” Someone had managed to leave a door open and off they went again.
So given that Mum has now had about 24 hours of time alone with two fertile male rabbits, I’m pretty sure there’s only one likely conclusion.
To top it all off, this morning when I looked out the window, there was once again a small rabbit bounding about. I went outside to check up on things and found Mum (Pepper) sitting very demurely just outside the cage. I found out why she was sitting there so calmly at the point that I realised she’d managed to stick her head through the vertical bars of the enclosure and become wedged! I don’t know how long she’d been like that, but I can certainly imagine the stress it must have put the little thing under. I felt very sorry for her as I bent the cage to free her and was rather glad that the small pink thing wasn’t there to witness it.
Lucky we didn’t get a dog?
Jan 26, 2012
Card bits …
We were playing “May I” with my nephew the other day and in what can only be called a classic “Jason Moment” he excitedly laid his cards on the able, declaring that he hadn’t realised he’d had the 5 of clubs to make up his run and that it was now all good. It was all good except for the fact that the rest of his run was actually in spades and that even though he had the five, the other cards he had were 3, 4 and 7. So had the five actually even been of the right suit, he was still screwed!
Much mirth followed.
Much mirth followed.
Dinner Date
We have just returned from our annual week at Aldinga with friends. One of the traditions that has developed in the time that we’ve been doing this is that once a week, each couple gets to abandon leave their children in the care of the other parents and head out for a nice dinner.
And so being something of a special occasion, or even just an excuse that we could, we ventured down to the cellar to investigate the highly rated collection that they supposedly had on offer. There was certainly plenty to choose from and after quite a bit of indecision, a ’94 Shiraz was elected for consumption and we returned to our table. They decanted the wine appropriately and we allowed it to sit for some time whilst waiting for our entrees which duly arrived.
Caroline had elected to have a salad; a pork and prawn salad, with a tantalising list of ingredients, whilst I’d gone for something more of a staple, the salt and pepper squid. After a bite or two of her salad, Caroline mentioned that it was a bit spicy. In fact, she didn’t say it was a bit spicy so much as it was bloody hot. I had a taste to see just how hot it rated, thinking “it’s a salad, how hot could it be,” and sure enough it didn’t really seem to be all that hot at all. I went on with my squid and Caroline went back to the salad. She made it about half way through before decided that it was simply too hot to continue. Being the valiant gentleman that I am, I offered to swap and let her finish my squid and I’d tackle the salad.
We swapped plates and I tucked into the salad, starting with a nice big leaf of lettuce. Nothing much can really go wrong with a nice leaf of lettuce can it? Apparently one can coat a lettuce leaf in quite a bit of chilli. I managed to eat my way through the salad and even enjoyed it mostly, but I have to say, one really doesn’t expect a salad to have a heat rating that would match a sturdy vindaloo!
Having survived the trial of the salad that in its list of enticing ingredients never ever mentioned anything about chilli or potentially being hot (must have been that gan sun sauce (that’s not what the sauce actually was, but it was something I’ve never heard of that didn’t hint at being hot))it was time to think about the wine. I had really been looking forward to it and so poured a small measure into each of our glasses that we might have a first taste and check that there was nothing wrong with it.
Raising it to have a nice big whiff, I was more than a little disappointed to detect aromas that reminded me more of mould and cork than a nice red wine and wasn’t particularly happy when the taste wasn’t any better. Letting Caroline try it as well, her impressions weren’t any better and so I sent it off to the bar letting them know that I wasn’t happy with it. The girl that took it from me had a smell and the look on her face was confirmed by the fact that she too stated that it didn’t smell too good. She referred it to her manager and I sat down to await his report.
He of course came back saying that there was nothing wrong with it, which left us in the decidedly uncomfortable position of having forked out for a bottle of wine that we simply didn’t want to drink. Fortunately, this turned out to be one of hospitality’s better moments and he didn’t force us to pay for it, nor drink it. We selected another bottle from the cellar that was substantially better and enjoyed it immensely. I only worried ever so slightly after Caroline had mentioned how hot the salad was (and the fact that nothing had been mentioned on the menu board) and we’d sent the wine back that our mains would come out with a nice saliva glaze, but they were up to the expected standard and we were more than happy with the remainder of the meal.
They must have really loved me when I went up to pay though and produced the coupon for a discount! Here’s hoping that the staff enjoyed the wine that the manager did admit in later conversation should have been drunk about 5 years prior!
And so being something of a special occasion, or even just an excuse that we could, we ventured down to the cellar to investigate the highly rated collection that they supposedly had on offer. There was certainly plenty to choose from and after quite a bit of indecision, a ’94 Shiraz was elected for consumption and we returned to our table. They decanted the wine appropriately and we allowed it to sit for some time whilst waiting for our entrees which duly arrived.
Caroline had elected to have a salad; a pork and prawn salad, with a tantalising list of ingredients, whilst I’d gone for something more of a staple, the salt and pepper squid. After a bite or two of her salad, Caroline mentioned that it was a bit spicy. In fact, she didn’t say it was a bit spicy so much as it was bloody hot. I had a taste to see just how hot it rated, thinking “it’s a salad, how hot could it be,” and sure enough it didn’t really seem to be all that hot at all. I went on with my squid and Caroline went back to the salad. She made it about half way through before decided that it was simply too hot to continue. Being the valiant gentleman that I am, I offered to swap and let her finish my squid and I’d tackle the salad.
We swapped plates and I tucked into the salad, starting with a nice big leaf of lettuce. Nothing much can really go wrong with a nice leaf of lettuce can it? Apparently one can coat a lettuce leaf in quite a bit of chilli. I managed to eat my way through the salad and even enjoyed it mostly, but I have to say, one really doesn’t expect a salad to have a heat rating that would match a sturdy vindaloo!
Having survived the trial of the salad that in its list of enticing ingredients never ever mentioned anything about chilli or potentially being hot (must have been that gan sun sauce (that’s not what the sauce actually was, but it was something I’ve never heard of that didn’t hint at being hot))it was time to think about the wine. I had really been looking forward to it and so poured a small measure into each of our glasses that we might have a first taste and check that there was nothing wrong with it.
Raising it to have a nice big whiff, I was more than a little disappointed to detect aromas that reminded me more of mould and cork than a nice red wine and wasn’t particularly happy when the taste wasn’t any better. Letting Caroline try it as well, her impressions weren’t any better and so I sent it off to the bar letting them know that I wasn’t happy with it. The girl that took it from me had a smell and the look on her face was confirmed by the fact that she too stated that it didn’t smell too good. She referred it to her manager and I sat down to await his report.
He of course came back saying that there was nothing wrong with it, which left us in the decidedly uncomfortable position of having forked out for a bottle of wine that we simply didn’t want to drink. Fortunately, this turned out to be one of hospitality’s better moments and he didn’t force us to pay for it, nor drink it. We selected another bottle from the cellar that was substantially better and enjoyed it immensely. I only worried ever so slightly after Caroline had mentioned how hot the salad was (and the fact that nothing had been mentioned on the menu board) and we’d sent the wine back that our mains would come out with a nice saliva glaze, but they were up to the expected standard and we were more than happy with the remainder of the meal.
They must have really loved me when I went up to pay though and produced the coupon for a discount! Here’s hoping that the staff enjoyed the wine that the manager did admit in later conversation should have been drunk about 5 years prior!
Dec 20, 2011
Not even close to Ferris
It’s amazing sometimes how something long kept secret comes out, even if it is by one’s own hand. The other night I was around at Mum and Dad’s having dinner and over a quiet glass of red or two, Dad and I got around to discussing cars. There’s a not so secret project brewing for me to acquire an early model 911 and it was part in due to discussion of this that the top of Dad’s Triumph Spitfire came up.
Dad referenced the fact that I’d told him about the time that I’d taken the car for a spin and only very much later had ever told him about it. I think it had something to do with the fact that I said if I ever actually owned the Porsche, the keys would travel with me everywhere to prevent my boys from doing the same thing. It was only part way through that conversation that it became apparent that the time that he was referencing was a different time to the one that I was. Oops. The direct result of that of course was that I had to tell him all about ‘the other time’ that I’d taken the Spitfire (and admittedly there really are only two occasions that I recall doing so).
The time he referenced was an uneventful affair when I took Caroline for a spin up to Belair National Park only briefly fearing that perhaps the hills were a bit much for the 1960’s ailing little car.
The ‘other time’ that I had to reveal on this occasion was the day that Ron and I decided to take the car down to the beach. Ron wasn’t so keen, the car only being a 2 seater and the fact that Ally was with us for the ride, but I assured him we’d squeeze him in behind the seats and we’d be all set. Ron insisted that he’d only do so if he could do a ‘Ferris’. Thus, we took off for the beach, Ally and I in the front, Ron in the back. As we cruised down Oaklands road, he sat up on the back of the car all Ferris like.
All was good until we went around the corner onto Diagonal road. As I came out of the corner, I eased off on the clutch and dressed the accelerator only to have the car completely die.
I rolled to the curb and started having a bit of an ‘oh shit’ moment. Let’s face it, I knew less about cars then than I do now and there’s still no way in hell I could ever do much to get it going if the same thing happened today. I decided to do one of the more technical things that I could manage and popped the hatch on the fuel lid. ON the spitfire, fuel is poured in just behind the seating compartment, at the top and in the middle of the car. I peered down and all I could see was bare metal. Not a hint of fluid of any kind. Fortunately we’d stopped directly across the road from a petrol station and so I ran across and grabbed a small tin’s worth of gas.
With that in the tank, I held my breath as I turned the key and uttered a small prayer of thanks when the car roared to life. With the clouds closing in and the weather not perhaps looking quiet as beach worthy as when we’d set out, I took the whole thing as a sign and drove us straight home again, putting the car back in the garage where it belonged and never saying anything of it again. Well, not until a couple of wines and 20 odd years later at least!
One of these days, I’m now going to have to get a copy of Ferris Bueller’s Day off and watch it with Dad. At least we didn’t have an elevated, glass walled garage!
Dad referenced the fact that I’d told him about the time that I’d taken the car for a spin and only very much later had ever told him about it. I think it had something to do with the fact that I said if I ever actually owned the Porsche, the keys would travel with me everywhere to prevent my boys from doing the same thing. It was only part way through that conversation that it became apparent that the time that he was referencing was a different time to the one that I was. Oops. The direct result of that of course was that I had to tell him all about ‘the other time’ that I’d taken the Spitfire (and admittedly there really are only two occasions that I recall doing so).
The time he referenced was an uneventful affair when I took Caroline for a spin up to Belair National Park only briefly fearing that perhaps the hills were a bit much for the 1960’s ailing little car.
The ‘other time’ that I had to reveal on this occasion was the day that Ron and I decided to take the car down to the beach. Ron wasn’t so keen, the car only being a 2 seater and the fact that Ally was with us for the ride, but I assured him we’d squeeze him in behind the seats and we’d be all set. Ron insisted that he’d only do so if he could do a ‘Ferris’. Thus, we took off for the beach, Ally and I in the front, Ron in the back. As we cruised down Oaklands road, he sat up on the back of the car all Ferris like.
All was good until we went around the corner onto Diagonal road. As I came out of the corner, I eased off on the clutch and dressed the accelerator only to have the car completely die.
I rolled to the curb and started having a bit of an ‘oh shit’ moment. Let’s face it, I knew less about cars then than I do now and there’s still no way in hell I could ever do much to get it going if the same thing happened today. I decided to do one of the more technical things that I could manage and popped the hatch on the fuel lid. ON the spitfire, fuel is poured in just behind the seating compartment, at the top and in the middle of the car. I peered down and all I could see was bare metal. Not a hint of fluid of any kind. Fortunately we’d stopped directly across the road from a petrol station and so I ran across and grabbed a small tin’s worth of gas.
With that in the tank, I held my breath as I turned the key and uttered a small prayer of thanks when the car roared to life. With the clouds closing in and the weather not perhaps looking quiet as beach worthy as when we’d set out, I took the whole thing as a sign and drove us straight home again, putting the car back in the garage where it belonged and never saying anything of it again. Well, not until a couple of wines and 20 odd years later at least!
One of these days, I’m now going to have to get a copy of Ferris Bueller’s Day off and watch it with Dad. At least we didn’t have an elevated, glass walled garage!
Nov 28, 2011
13 and 11
Somewhere back in time I started to write posts for each of the kid’s birthdays. This year I’ve been somewhat slack and for some time haven’t written anything at all. It’s one of those odd things where sometimes things happen and scream at you to be written about and other times, life quite simply takes over and you’re too busy enjoying it to stop and write about it.
So what was once almost a weekly endeavour on my part has slipped to be something less than that. I don’t want to stop, it’s probably more about not writing just for the sake of filling space, but continuing to do so when there’s something I want to write about.
The other influencing factor is a widening audience. When I started this thing up in its original form back in about 2001 or so I had no audience in mind. It was somewhat random, full of whatever happened to appeal to me at the time and it was probably only ready by about 3 people. Hell, I don’t even know how many people still read when I post now. The fact is though, that with the advent of facebook there’s a new avenue for keeping in touch with people. It has supplanted a small piece of what this started out as. Casual observation in short form fits very well in the facebook space even though I find myself doing less of that as well. The fact that I now advise of updates via that medium as well as through the list of ‘subscribers’ that I collated before we left for Canada means that all sorts of people have access to what I write – kids, friends of kids, extended family, work colleagues … the list goes on. Being aware of that audience and quite possibly a more mature approach to what I write certainly has limited me some times when I’ve felt like bashing out an expletive laden rant about something that has riled me.
Anyway, none of that was actually the point of why I put fingers to keys. What I realised was that both Sam and Thomas had birthdays back in October and some sad neglecting parent didn’t even mark the occasion. Well not here at least.
So Sam has turned 13, entering the teenage years whilst Tom turned 11 and begins to navigate those in between times, not yet a teenager, but working through double figures.
Sam continues to be himself, pursuing interests that he chooses and not really being influenced by others as to what he should or should not be interested in. He’s mostly a generous spirit, though he seems to reserve a special little criticism for the little sister that knows just how to push his buttons. He’s popular with his peers and more often than not when the phone rings its someone asking Sam over for a play. Despite dropping money on his ‘own PS3’ after the influx of wealth that followed his birthday, he’s not become obsessed with it to the extent that his older brother has. His personal obsession at this time appears to be mine craft. If you don’t find him in his bedroom with a book, he’s likely behind the computer exploring the world that is mine craft and experimenting with what can be done. He’s continued to play tennis this summer, though again, not on a competitive basis. He enjoys it if the two of us can get around to the park and have a hit, especially if no one else decides to come and he doesn’t have to share the court. I think it’s still something of a not wanting to be seen to fail thing that keeps him from playing competitively and perhaps with some coaching we can get him to a point of competence that will see him participate at another level.
Thomas remains the joker. It’s hard to see that changing as he really does like a good laugh. This year he’s been diagnosed with dyslexia, which whilst disappointing, is at least something that can be worked with. When I consider all the problems that people go through in life, this is one that many people have overcome, lived with, conquered etc and I know that Thomas will do the same. He retains his hard work ethic in that regard which is something I’ll always be proud of him for. It means that he works longer and harder to achieve less of an outcome than perhaps his older brothers, but he retains pride in his accomplishments and we’re certainly very proud of them ourselves. He’s played soccer through the winter and is now the last Temby to be playing cricket this summer. I hope that he continues to do so. He’s not been the star of the team, but he continues to improve. He’s bowling less wides (down to about one an over now) and he’s really taken to fielding which has been great to see. Maintaining enthusiasm for that part of the game can be tough, but he seems to love nothing more than an excuse to sling himself across the ground in a slide to stop the ball. Now we just need to teach him that he doesn’t need to slide every time he gets near it. His batting needs work, but mainly on the run-scoring front. He’s been not out in two innings so far, so it will be interesting to see if he can maintain the trend!
So what was once almost a weekly endeavour on my part has slipped to be something less than that. I don’t want to stop, it’s probably more about not writing just for the sake of filling space, but continuing to do so when there’s something I want to write about.
The other influencing factor is a widening audience. When I started this thing up in its original form back in about 2001 or so I had no audience in mind. It was somewhat random, full of whatever happened to appeal to me at the time and it was probably only ready by about 3 people. Hell, I don’t even know how many people still read when I post now. The fact is though, that with the advent of facebook there’s a new avenue for keeping in touch with people. It has supplanted a small piece of what this started out as. Casual observation in short form fits very well in the facebook space even though I find myself doing less of that as well. The fact that I now advise of updates via that medium as well as through the list of ‘subscribers’ that I collated before we left for Canada means that all sorts of people have access to what I write – kids, friends of kids, extended family, work colleagues … the list goes on. Being aware of that audience and quite possibly a more mature approach to what I write certainly has limited me some times when I’ve felt like bashing out an expletive laden rant about something that has riled me.
Anyway, none of that was actually the point of why I put fingers to keys. What I realised was that both Sam and Thomas had birthdays back in October and some sad neglecting parent didn’t even mark the occasion. Well not here at least.
So Sam has turned 13, entering the teenage years whilst Tom turned 11 and begins to navigate those in between times, not yet a teenager, but working through double figures.
Sam continues to be himself, pursuing interests that he chooses and not really being influenced by others as to what he should or should not be interested in. He’s mostly a generous spirit, though he seems to reserve a special little criticism for the little sister that knows just how to push his buttons. He’s popular with his peers and more often than not when the phone rings its someone asking Sam over for a play. Despite dropping money on his ‘own PS3’ after the influx of wealth that followed his birthday, he’s not become obsessed with it to the extent that his older brother has. His personal obsession at this time appears to be mine craft. If you don’t find him in his bedroom with a book, he’s likely behind the computer exploring the world that is mine craft and experimenting with what can be done. He’s continued to play tennis this summer, though again, not on a competitive basis. He enjoys it if the two of us can get around to the park and have a hit, especially if no one else decides to come and he doesn’t have to share the court. I think it’s still something of a not wanting to be seen to fail thing that keeps him from playing competitively and perhaps with some coaching we can get him to a point of competence that will see him participate at another level.
Thomas remains the joker. It’s hard to see that changing as he really does like a good laugh. This year he’s been diagnosed with dyslexia, which whilst disappointing, is at least something that can be worked with. When I consider all the problems that people go through in life, this is one that many people have overcome, lived with, conquered etc and I know that Thomas will do the same. He retains his hard work ethic in that regard which is something I’ll always be proud of him for. It means that he works longer and harder to achieve less of an outcome than perhaps his older brothers, but he retains pride in his accomplishments and we’re certainly very proud of them ourselves. He’s played soccer through the winter and is now the last Temby to be playing cricket this summer. I hope that he continues to do so. He’s not been the star of the team, but he continues to improve. He’s bowling less wides (down to about one an over now) and he’s really taken to fielding which has been great to see. Maintaining enthusiasm for that part of the game can be tough, but he seems to love nothing more than an excuse to sling himself across the ground in a slide to stop the ball. Now we just need to teach him that he doesn’t need to slide every time he gets near it. His batting needs work, but mainly on the run-scoring front. He’s been not out in two innings so far, so it will be interesting to see if he can maintain the trend!
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