RWYA

Remember Where You Are....

My mantra for living up here.

Yesterday, 4 workers at a local Engineering company went on strike.

4 workers out of a workforce of 200.

Their idea of a strike was to sit outside the company offices, on a planter box, smoking, for about an hour.

No placard, no chanting, no asking the passing-by community to support their ideals.

Now, as an old leftie hippy I completely support their right to strike.

I love to get my "we will not be moved" swerve on.

However, my inner beige to-the-right-of-Ghengis-Khan upbringing was the persona that actually got a run when I heard WHY they were on strike. In a country where the average wage is US$1.19 per hour, and most people still live at subsistence level, these people were on strike because:

THEY DIDN'T WIN ANYTHING IN THE COMPANY XMAS PARTY RAFFLE.


I have it on good authority that everyone in this company, particularly the strikers, recieved gifts in the company-organised Secret Santa. I also know that the strikers attended the company-funded Xmas Party, where they partook in the company-funded luncheon. They also recieved vouchers to the value of K100, from the company as Xmas gifts.

The company, as part of the Xmas Party entertainment provided raffle prizes and the cost to enter the raffle was nil.. everyone got a ticket.

So, again I mention, they were on strike because THEY DIDN'T WIN A PRIZE IN THE XMAS RAFFLE.

I weep for the future of PNG sometimes.

And then I roll me eyes and mutter "RWYA"

Health Care

 

(Photo by Jenny Griggs)

This  sign, and the underlying chair are possibly the cleanest things at Angau Hospital. Angau is the place that Betti the Wonder Mari went recently, with suspected malaria. 30+ hours of lying on a flithy mattress, with no food, water or toilet facilities, she had her BP taken. 

And was sent home. 

15 minutes later, I'd bought her Quinine at the local pamasi, jabbed her in the bott, and started her on a course of anti malarials. For the cost of K17.

And the Aust Government, in its infinte wisdom:

From www.abc.net.au

The Federal Opposition says a Government plan to extend the life of two tuberculosis (TB) clinics in the Torres Strait, off far north Queensland, is a "small stay of execution".

The TB clinics treating Papua New Guinea nationals were due to wind up yesterday as the Commonwealth shifts its funding of TB services from the Torres Strait to PNG.
The Federal Opposition's Indigenous health spokesman, Andrew Laming, says the Government's proposed three-month extension does not allow enough time to train clinicians in PNG to take over.
"Papua New Guinea's a very tough place to treat TB because of the remoteness and inaccessibility," he said.
"We need a 12-month handover minimum, it's not that expensive to continue these TB clinics and it's certainly a lot cheaper than getting infected TB patients turning up in Australia.
"We understand that Queensland Labor, together with Julia Gillard, are talking about two extra clinics that will go through until September but it's completely impossible to train clinicians in Papua New Guinea in that time.
"What's needed is an investment in Papua New Guinea that builds up services, but we must not stop the Torres Strait clinics - they are the clinics that stop tuberculosis island hopping from Papua New Guinea down and infecting Australian citizens."

and from SBS

The federal and Queensland governments are being accused of unnecessarily exposing mainland Australia to virulent new strains of tuberculosis, with the closure of specialist clinics in the Torres Strait.

Two clinics, on Boigu and Saibai islands, near Papua New Guinea, have been treating PNG citizens infected with TB.

However they are due to close at the end of the month, leaving island patients to seek treatment in Daru in Papua New Guinea's Western Provnce.

But head of the Australian Institute of Tropical Medicine, Professor Ian Wronski says PNG's health system isn't capable of treating the patients.

Professor Wronski told Stefan Armbruster, the closure of the clinics will leave far-north Queensland exposed to the disease.

TO HEAR INTERVIEW USE THIS LINK

Daru. Hmmm... Daru hospital is where my blogger friend Malum's wife went, three years ago, for (by Australian standards) fairly simple post-natal treatment. And died. Daru hospital. Where they can't control the current cholera outbreak. Here's a little bit more of what Malum has to say about Daru:

Daru, the once-thriving former capital of Western province, has sadly become a forgotten backwater despite all the riches from the Ok Tedi mine.

It is a dismal-looking town covered by bush, potholes and very basic services such as health are wanting, as exemplified by the town’s hospital.

Head over to his blog, to read more.

So, the Australian Government, in its wisdom, is closing down services that scientists say are keeping new and virulent forms of TB from entering Australia. And their justification is that PNG can host them "in house" (hmmm.. that means "off shore" for Australia. Sound familiar??)

Let's just remember that Papua New Guinea is consistently ranked in the top most-corrupt nations in the world, by Transparency International’s (TI) 2009 Corruption Perceptions Index (along with Somalia, Iraq, Sudan, Afghanistan and Myanmar).

Here's a joke old timers tell up here.

The Australian Government give 10 million dollars to PNG for new roads/hospitals/schools. "Great!" says the PNG Government, "Thank you very much! But we're not going to spend it straight away, we're going to think about the best way to disperse the funds and wait a year. we're going to get together in 12 months to talk about it"

So, in 12 months time, the powers that be, here in PNG get together to discuss how best to spend the 8 million dollars. And they can't come to an agreement, except to wait 6 months and have a think about it.

So 6 months later, they meet, and the 6 million dollars is a big responsibility. Maybe they need to get more feedback from "grasroots" before they allocate?

So in another 6 months, they meet, and the 4 million dollars, so wonderfully donated by Australia, and they can't come to a decision because the Head of the working committee on how to spend this money has had to fly home to his remote tokplace for a haus crai.

So a few months later, they FINALLY decide what to do with the 2 million dollars. They'll use it for its intended purpose of roads/schools/hospitals!

So 2 years after the money is donated, a whopping big $600,000 is donated to **insert random Province's name**.


But now, the local Provinical Governemt must use it wisely. And guess what? They need to think about the $400,000 very carefully.


They'll get back to us in 12 months.

My, my!

Wow. What a ride. The past two years have been all sorts of dreadful. But the good news is than kharma really does come to those who wait (to mix a metaphor and a couple of different dogmas). I've taken a few months off blogging to concentrate on my little business and also work in the UK for a few months.

It's not only me and mine that have been put through the ringer. This poor little blog has copped its share of trauma as well.

So I give you advance warning.

If you don't like it, don't read it. If you think it's about you, I can pretty much guarantee you it's not. Maybe it's time to re-visit my blog "rules". Hmmmm?

I very nearly closed AGITK down, until I realised that no matter how many apologist posts/emails/phone calls I make, there are those who will always make it about them, regardless.

So, I'z back.

AGITK will be heading in a new direction. Previously, it's been all about the food, but now that I'm living back in Papua New Guinea, I find myself becoming more and more political. More and more involved in social justice issues up here.

So if you were, previously, just here for the food, you might want to have a good hard think about whether you REALLY want to be reading the blog of an opinionated, tattoo'd  leftist feminist foodie with hippie tendencies who like to swear (albeit with perfect diction).

At the end of the day, it's up to you.

Good Lord!!

Has it REALLY been that long since I posted?

stand by for a FULL report on food, fun and frivolity soon.

pee ess.. met a fellow blogger here in Lae, whodda thunk??

Check her out:

Educating Wendy

Last day in Paradise.

Will blog more later. Off to the aiport to catch a flight back to Gatwick, and London for a few days.

One step closer to going home. (**happynixiesigh**)

Just needed to share the **headtilt** moment of the tour.

Posted this FB update.

Sitting on the beach, listening to P!NK's " Get the party started", 'cept it's being sung... by a Shirley Bassey wanna-be... and sung all "James Bond Theme Song" styles. Think the theme song from "Goldfinger", but with P!NK's lyrics....  **headtilit".. while watching Eurotrash women and old fat men in budgy smugglers.

Well, it turns out it IS a Shirely Bassey cover version.

My head just might explode.


Press HERE if you dare.

Needful things

I'm not a particularly aquisitous person. I like beautiful things, but I don't often have a need to own them. I'm in the UK right at the mo (as evidenced by my STUNNING pic of The Crescent in Bath, above), so maybe the post shouldn't be 'needful' so much as 'meaningful things'

I was in Oxford the other day. At the Ashmolean. And with all the hooplah here over yesterday's Royal Wedding, the place was almost deserted.

I spent a full half hour alone with the Stradivarius's 'Messiah' (and if you have to Google that, you're an idiot who's parents clearly didn't love them enough to educate them properly and when my Revolution comes, you will be retrospectively aborted based on my drive-by eugenics programme, where stupid people will be dealt with al la 'Soylent Green')

**the irony that some people who read this will, in fact, google some of the above, simply out of envy and spite does not escape me**

Anyway, I digress.

I got the most delectable look from a docent, when I lay on the floor of the pre-Raphelites room, and just allowed tears to pour down my cheeks, all the while feeling just a little like Millais' Ophelia.

I saw a real kore (and silently thanked Miss Passmore for the finest classical education I could ask for)

Anyway, the point is, at no time did I actually wish to OWN any of these things. The mere fact that they exist in this world, and I have seen them with my own eyes is enough.

The fact that I didn't have to share the experience with anyone, let alone gormless American tourists or snotty public school children, was the gilding on the pre-raph frame.

**side note.I DID come across a gormless American couple in the Fauves Gallery, the woman declaring loudly I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE BIGGER. YOU KNOW, LIKE WE SAW IT ON THE TELEVISION'**

**sigh**

So, finally, to the point of the post.

When I relocated to PNG, I wrote a maudlin, rambling post on what I'd decided to keep and what I chose to throw away. Read it here if you are so inclined.

What I did choose to keep.after 45 years, those things I chose? They were MY needful things. Some were beautiful, some were practical.

And some were both.

And even further, some were priceless.

 And some, no matter how heavily insured they were, can NEVER be replaced.

You'd think a container filled with cups and saucers and glass bowls and vases.. well, you'd be a twat if you thought that you'd get it from Melbourne to Lae with no breakages.

So then, please tell me , oh moving company, WHY the only two items to be damaged, were my two most beloved, favourite NEEDFUL, irreplaceable things in the whole world?

You know, the things I SPECIFICALLY TOLD THE MOVERS TO BE CAREFUL OF, AS THEY WERE UTTERLY IRREPLACEABLE.

My great-grandmother's marble pastry slab, used by 4 generations of women in my family, the slab on which I created my own wedding cake, the slab on which I knead the bread to make banana and nutella bread for my beautiful (step) daughter, the slab on which I taught my son to make chocolate cornets and pastry, and how to test the temperature of caramel, the slab I told the Herald Sun Food interview that 'In a fire, I'd rescue my slab before my children... and they know this and are perfectly alright with it'

THE SOLID CARRERA MARBLE SLAB, WEIGHING 8KGS, GIVEN TO MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER AS A WEDDING PRESENT IN 1899.

Yup.You guessed it.

smashed.

And the other thing those useless arse-wad, douchenozzle oxygen thieving ANKLES destroyed?

Two wrought iron table lamps given to me, bought for me,... CHOSEN for me by my beloved hobbit.

If you'd lined up every single one of my needful things, and picked the three I'd die for, well, the movers got 2 of them.

I AM LIVID.

Attack of the Killer Ninja Puppeh

 

(Insert David Attenborough voice) 2 unsuspecting maris are unaware of the fate about to befall them. The only give-away is the ferocious paw in the left foreground

As they pass by, blissfully unaware, the vicious killer ninja attack puppeh POUNCES!

One mari manages to escape, yet the other, valiantly trying to continue her work, is helplessly pinned by the raptor-like vice grip of Ninjah Puppeh.

And finally, the Ninjah Puppeh lures both maris into her den, where they heplessly attempt to fend her off. Too late, and despite their attempts, the Ninjah Puppeh will later feast on their bones

Get me outta Dodge.

Where I'm living is quite nice. Actually, it's awesome. I'm 30mtrs above sea level, and given that Lae was under tsunami warning over the weekend, that's a good thing.

However, even I can have too much of a good thing, and after 3 weeks of compound living, AND living in Lae (which is PNG's 2nd largest city, yet only about the size of an average suburb  in Melbourne) I just had to get outta Dodge. Particularly, as behind the compound,they're building a new ramp for the hospital, and the generator goes SEVEN days a week, from 8 to 5.

So this weekend, I was offered the opportunity to take a drive to Bulolo.  Here in PNG, distance in kilometers is pretty much irrelevant. Bulolo, despite being only about 100kms away, is a good 2-3 hour drive. The drive includes some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever witnessed, and some of the roughest roads known to man.

Road doesn't look too bad, does it?That's because this is a photo of the approx 3kms in the whole journey without a pot hole.

This is what 99% of the journey is like. In fact,here in PNG, THIS bit qualifies as a good stretch.

There's a river crossing or two.


The landscape changes from pure PNG  jungle, to rolling hills so green they would rival Ireland, past remote villages where naked pikaninnis line the road, holding up the clearly universal "peace" sign.

Sunday isn't a bad day to go driving in Lae. It's a well-known fact that the raskols adhere to "Church on Sunday, Murder on Monday" so the roads were lined with people in their Sunday best, and while we took every precaution, we were met with only smiles and friendly waves.

Any picture I take just cannot convey the sheer size of this place. The hills (because we're still only in the coastal lowlands.. and nowhere near the Highlands) are impossibly huge. And impossibly steep.



With all respect to everyone who fought in any war, it's a common saying up here: "Who thought it would be a good idea to walk across Papua New Guinea and then pick a fight?"

My mari asked me about my weekend this morning. I told her "I drove to Bulolo, bought a packet of Twisties and drove back"

She thinks I'm aptly named  crazy dim-dim mari got im buai in gras bilong het.

Even Bubbles, the Vicious Killer Attack Ninja Puppeh is know as crazy lady guard dog mari!

And this is how a Vicious Killer Attack Ninja Puppeh guards her mistress on the long drive home.

 

Next week, I'm going to try to get even further, and drive up to visit friends in Wau. 

What's important?

I've got to a point in my life, where I am currently assessing what's important. What matters and what doesn't. Sorting through what's real and what's habitual. What's worth my time and what wastes it.

And this applies as much (perhaps more so) to things as it does to people.

Last week I forgot the anniversary of my Hobbits death. 

I have a myriad of excuses, but the fact remains that for the previous 5 years, the first week of Feb has loomed large and treacherously, from Xmas onwards.

And this year it passed by in a flurry of "other things".

So, in making an active decision to spend more time on the good, and less (if not none) on the bad, and PARTICULARLY, the ugly, I've sorted my life into what's important and what isn't.

And when you are authentically.. I mean REALLY committed to this process, it's quite confronting. From the ring my first real boyfriend gave me, to the very last thing my Hobbit purchased for me, I've gone through my life and discarded what I no longer need.

And in some cases, kept what I thought I didn't.

And, because this is a food blog, and this post is in SERIOUS danger of becoming a self-indulgent, maudlin middle-aged emo sook-fest,I give you a small taste of what, after 45 years on this planet, is important to me.




A wine rack, a coffee plunger, a print of Monet's garden in Giverny, my stick blender, a mirror overlaid with KwanYin, my antique marble slab,my silicone cooking gear (but only because my non-stick ripple pan is my most prized possession!) and my cookbooks. My Aqua Sulis and a bag filled with mezzalunas and my antique butchers knives.

And my PNG panga and my hand-made bilum.

The rest was dross.

AGITK and I will be taking a wee hiatus, because this blog IS one of the things I have decided is important to me, and when we return, in about 2 week, things, my friends, will be very VERY different.

As they say in the classics, "strange things are afoot at the Circle K"

See you all on the flip side.

He's gone.

Ok, it's now official. He's moved to Saudi.

For the past three months, we had nothing.. nada.... to hang our hats on. While all this talk of "moving to Saudi" has been the focus for us, the reality has been that nothing's been in writing.. in reality we hadn't actually had a "real" job.

The contract was signed was dependant upon the visa, which was dependant upon the medical which was dependant on the whims and vagaries of the Saudi Consulate... which at one stage rejected the visa..

On the grounds that their own paperwork was out-of-date.

And while he's in the air, winging his way to Dubai, we're still far from home and hosed.

His actual employment.. that thing he does that will earn us money.. will be dependant on FURTHER "requirement" being met once he hits the ground in Riyadh.

The issuing of his iqama.

Everything hinges on that.

So, while I dropped him off at the airport last night, and we're all full of the hope and possibility of this new life.. we do have a small way to go yet before he is officially "employed"

Still, that meant nawt last night when I had to do the kerbside drop, knowing it could be MONTHS before I see him again.

And in true Instant Kharma fashion, I turned on the radio to cover my sobbing on the way home.

Did I get "Bohemian Rhapsody"?

Did I get "Tainted Love"?

Did I "Too Drunk to F**CK", or some other uplifting, quirky and funky mindless 80's one hit wonder to whom I could have sung away my tears?

No.

My drive home playlist consisted of:

Lou Reed's "Dirty Boulevard" ("fly, fly away...")
Hunter's and Collectors "When the Rivers Run Dry" ("You got nothin' but your soul to sell, you got nothin')
Foo Fighters "Next Year" (pretty much the whole damn song")
Nickleback "Far AwaY" ("I keep dreaming that you'll be with me and you'll never go")

I swear I was waiting for REM's "Everybody Hurts" to come on and suck my soul dry.

"Nothing Compares 2U" would have made me punch myself in the throat.

So, today, I sit at work, with eyes like a sad panda with hay fever AND conjunctivitis, counting down the minutes until he lands and we can skype. I'm like a 16 year old waiting for the phone to ring.

If I start doodling  hearts over my i's and writing "Mrs Lee 4 evah" in cursive script on my pencil case, you have my permission to kill me.

Syncronicity

A few weeks ago, I needed some serious R&R.. like "if'n I don't get outta Dodge, I might go postal" kind of R&R. And in one of those random moments of epiphanatious-ness, I completley, 110% knew EXACTLY where I had to go to heal myself.


Over 18 months ago, the girls and I had headed up to Nojee for a Goddess Weekend, and I had met Sue, the owner of Nana's Place. I hadn't actually stayed there, but I'd seen it and had fallen in love and promised myself I'd come back and stay there... one day.

But when my gaskets were screaming on mach 11, for some strange reason I felt inexplicably called to go there. So after some random hunting (cos I actually had NO idea how to contact this person, who I only knew as "Sue from Nana's in Noojee", I had a phone number and my weekend was organised.

Three totally relaxing, delicious, self-indulgent days later, my nerves were screaming less, my shoulders were where there should be, in relation to my neck.. not somewhere up around my temples, making me look like a transvestite version of The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, and I had ALMOST convinced myself NOT to kill certain people (yes, I AM talking about you, Furry)...

And, as you do in these social-media-savvy times, Sue and I exchanged Facebook details.

Which meant she read my previous note about what happened with Stella and Mrs Peaches.

So guess what?

Mrs Peaches is going to live at Nana's Place, in Noojee, with Sue!

We went up yesterday, and they met, and fell in love.. and Mrs Peaches frolicked (off her lead!) in the wild dandelions, and sniffed to native orchids and discovered the delights of rolling in duck poo.

And was hand fed corned beef and a wee bit of Jindi triple cream brie, with a dried cranberry in it, and was loved and snuggled and tickled.. and even Sue's wonderful partner, Wayne fell in love with her and those stupid fucking fairy wings!!!

So she's back at home with us, as yesterday was just the first meeting, but Sue is coming for dinner on Wednesday for a love-in.. and then next Saturday, Mrs Peaches will be ready to go and live in Noojee as a single dog.

And if you could have seen Mrs Peaches yesterday, leaping through the lupins, with her ewok smiley face on, you'd be as completely and utterly as happy and contented as I am right now.

You can follow Mrs Peaches story here

Tarcutta

On the way back from Sydney, after I'd calmed down, we stopped in a place called Tarcutta... it's a dodgy outback town, famous for being 1/2 way between Sydney and Melbourne.


So it's a famous long-haul truckie stop. It even has a "Trucker's Museum" and a monument to the brave truckies killed on the highway **eyeroll*
BUT that also makes it a great place for truckie stop food...

BUT, It also makes it a place frequented by truckies... wife-basher blue singlet wearing, speeding of yer tittties, bigoted anti-everything Neanderthals with barely a functioning synapse between the lot of them.

So we're in Tarcutta, with a dog who's shit-faced stoned on Valuim, wearing a pink tutu and a pink fairy wing harness, and I need to pee... So I get out and go and pee and come back.. and Furry and Peaches aren't in the car... and I look around, and Furry is carrying Peaches, and exiting the men's loo.

This is a man who took a small fluffy lap dog, dressed as above, into the men's toilets ar Tarcutta MEGA Trucker's Stop... and survived.

And when I asked him why he didn't just leave her in the car while he had his pee, he answered " I don't think she's ready to be left on her own, for the first time in her life, yet"

Despite the fact, that at that very moment in time, we didn't have a ratified employment contract, so we were giving away our babies on a hope and a prayer, he's pretty hard to hate, sometimes.

Oh, and by the way, the Tarcutta Chicken Shop, the mainstay of my kids childhood trips to and from Sydney, is gone. **sad panda**

It's not always about the food...

Man, Saudi Visa land is a place you can get lost in.. I seriously haven't even been on here in over a month. But in my defence, I have been busy. And sometimes things happen in my life that are NOT about food.

I know, crazy talk, right?

Well... I've spent the past month doing the hideous deed of re-housing my beloved dogs, so I hope you'll forgive me for my absence.

Ok, here is the BRIEF version of my weekend… We set out for Sydney (about a 10 hr drive from us) at 2.30am on Friday morning. I was pretty much hysterical the whole way. Stella is VERY sensitive to my moods, and so I had to suck it up.. but basically I told Furry that if I was giving away my babies, and he FUBAR'd this Saudi thing, I would kill him for making me do this.

In his defence, he was also in tears.

So we make the long trip to Sydney and arrive at their new owner, Helga’s at about 11.30am and proceed to meet Helga and her Mum.

Who are, without doubt, the most beautiful, wonderful dog owners in the world. Helga has an illness that stops her from working and her Mum is her full-time carer, so they are both pretty much always home. They have made notes over the past few weeks, while we’ve been talking via phone and have gone out and bought Stella’s favourite chips (lime and black pepper Kettle chips) and a coat for Mrs Peaches to wear when it rains.

The coat is pink and has fairy wings.

They’ve roasted a pumpkin for the girls, bought some Bach Flower rescue remedy for them and made Furry and I a cake.

They bring out their boy, Bailey, who is a neutered male Briard, who was also abused and abandoned… so they know what they’re taking on with Stella.

Stella and Peaches and Bailey do some sniffing and there is a bit of growling and teeth baring.. but that is TOTALLY normal with Briards.. It’s what they all do whenever they meet.. but there is NEVER and contact….

So after a while, we let the kids off the lead.. and Bailey is showing keen interest in Mrs Peaches butt.. he keeps sniffing it…


Now for those of you who don’t know.. Mrs Peaches is a fluffy black lap dog.. and Briards are pretty much the size of a BIG German Shepherd…. With long long LONG hair.. and the blonde ones look pretty much like male lions.

So Peaches gives him a bit of a growl and he backs off.. and I mention to Helga that if he keeps doing that , she WILL nip him.. but they need to work it out.. and I am sure that all will be well.

So in the end, Furry and I leave…

We’re hysterical.. we can barely see thru the tears.. but we also feel like we have TOTALLY done the right thing.. These women are just lovely and our girls are going to be so so SO loved.

We ring that night and apparently Peaches and Helga’s Mum have totally bonded and she is had feeding her roast chicken… and Stella and Bailey are getting along famously and all is well… and Helga and her Mum (who are both vegetarian Buddhists) have bought chicken Marylands for the girls and apparently Stella didn’t like the raw carrot sticks for snackies so they’re going to STEAM them tomorrow for her.

And Furry is TOTALLY like “Can I come and be your dog, too?”

So we go to our friend's place with a really REALLY good feeling about this..

Furry and I proceed to have the FUNNIEST night of out lives and it ROCKS.. and we go to bed ad I say to Furry “Who knew that THIS night was going to be as easy as it has been?”.. and we go off to sleep knowing our girls are just going to be so loved and spoilt.

So on Sat morning, we ring them up and get a report.. and Peaches and Stella have slept on Helga’s bed and being hand fed doggie chocolates. And Peaches is getting a bit growly with Bailey, but they’ll work it out.. and Helga has a spray bottle of water called a “boo boo” and every time Peaches gets a bit too growly she gets a spray… “because we don’t ever raise our voices are smack”

And I am like “WTF? I want to go and be their bitch, too!!

And we decided that we won’t drop past on the way home, as it won’t be good for the girls.

It's done.. and we are actually a LOT more ok about it than we thought.

So off we go and hang out, up in the Blue Mountains and we have a picnic and we are totally hanging with friends and picnicking in the mountains on luscious food and our girls are happy and loved.

And we get a call that night that Bailey and Stella are totally in love and Mrs Peaches LOVES beef minced by hand and doesn’t really like the doggie chocks but LOVES being hand fed strawberries..

And now we’re ALL like “Can we come and live with you?”… and I end by saying:

We’ve poured so much love into those girls and now they’re with you, so our love is with you now.. so you're family…

And I go to bed thinking that everything is going to be juuuuuust fine.


Until…..







The phone goes at 6.15 AM on Sunday, and it’s Helga’s mother and she is HYSTERICAL… and I mean it in the medical sense of the word… She’s crying and screaming and we can barely get a word out of her…


There’s been a fight… and Helga and her mum tried to separate the dogs… and they couldn’t.. and there was a total all out dog fight in Helga’s bedroom…

Between…. STELLA AND Mrs PEACHES.

And I am like: WHAT THE ......?


These are the dogs that can’t even be bathed separately because they get anxious when they can’t see each other?

They have NEVER EVER fought.. growled over a piece of food maybe. But fight?

And drawn blood?


Apparently Bailey and Stella and Peaches were on Helga’s bed and Peaches just LAUNCHED at Stella… and there was a full on to-the-death fight…. And Helga and her mum couldn’t separate the girls and in the fray, one of them BIT Helga’s mum… and there was blood everywhere.


Eventually they got the girls apart and took Peaches outside and loved her up and calmed her down.. and had them apart for a good 20 mins and then bought her back inside… and Bailey and Stella had moved to the couch together and when Peaches saw Stella she just  LAUNCHED at her and it was on again.

Except this time Peaches had Stella by the throat and Stella is SCREAMING.

So eventually they separate the girls, lock Peaches in the bathroom, where she just lies down and is totally calm, and ring us.

So Furry and I are running around Gabby’s apartment in the nude, trying to pack and clean up and I am pretty much hysterical and Gabby offers to come with us and sort this shit out and we jump in the car and take off.

And we get there and the Mum comes out of the house holding Peaches who looks TOTALLY subdued and has her naughty face on, and Furry shoved 1/2 a Valium down her throat and throws her in the car.


And Gaby and Furz and I go in, and Helga’s Mum’s hand is bandaged and Helga is rocking foetally in her bed and Stella…. My precious, beautiful baby…

Looks at me totally like “oh, it’s you”.. and lies down and totally starts MAKING OUT with Bailey!

And I search her all over for damage and there isn’t any and I tell her I love her and I hug her and Helga, and Bailey gets in on the love in.. and Stella is like “whatever, nice to see you but YOU never bought me chicken Marylands”.. and totally snubs me and starts cuddling her new squeeze.

I swear it was "Talk to the dew-claw, lady"

And they’ve changed her name to Isabella.. and I swear, it’s like “I am totally grown up now, and I have a boyfriend and I am in lerve and I am going to change my name and move in with him” and she has totally dropped Peaches, Furry and I like a hot potato.


We are totally living in the Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie saga, except the Nicole character is a little black fluffy dog, wearing a pink tu tu and fairy wings, munted on Valium in the back seat of my fucking car!

So we just leave.. we just hug Gabs and say goodbye and leave… and Peaches is off her tits and so groggly. And it takes us hours to get home and she won’t eat or drink and I am completely BESIDE myself.. and I am getting all anthropomorphic and starting to HATE Stella. And I ring the Tanya,  who organised this and she confirms what we suspect. Stella has bonded with Bailey and abandoned Peaches.

So we get back to Melbourne and Peaches is a total mess.. She is so so so SO sad.. she is all whimpery and cowering (as your would be after your best friend and soul mate that you had NEVER been parted from ALL YOUR LIFE tries to gnaw your goddamn head off)

And she’s so bruised and sore and so sad and forlorn.

And I remember something that Gaby said “Where do you think the word “bitch” comes from?”

And I am just so incredibly sad for my little fluffy “chew toy”

......TO BE CONTINUED.........

Lost.

This is the coat of arms of Saudi Arabia.. the place I am planning to move to sometime in the next few months. We've expatted before.. the last time to PNG. Where, and I kid you not, you jump on a plane with your Aussie passport and turn up at Port Moresby airport, wherein you ask the customs man "May I buy a visa, please?". You hand over 100K (that's Kina, not short hand for thousand) and off you go. In fact, they are so laissez-faire about it, that on my first trip up there, they didn't have change, so HAND WROTE IN MY PASSPORT.. "Please buy one on the way out".



I kid you not.



So we were HORRIBLY unprepared for the lengthy hell that is the Saudi visa process. Furry was offered the job, signed the contract more than 3 weeks ago, and to date, we STILL don't have a date for him leaving.



Our paperwork has yet to be submitted to the Embassy.



We've spent the past 3 weeks collecting various bits of information about ourselves to submit for perusal by the Saudi Embassy, who will then decide whether we are fit to enter The Kingdom. Then and only then, will the employment contract become binding. So, right as of now, we're still no better off than we were a month ago.

**sigh**

So far we have had to provide chest x-rays, blood tests, urine and stool samples, original documentation of qualifications, prove our HIV/AIDS status (which will be re-tested again once we enter Saudi, just in case ). We've been tested for bilharziasis, had malaria screens, had our eyes, our ears, our stomachs poked and prodded. I've been fitted for and bought my first abaya (being 5ft 9 was a bit of a problem, cos with the abaya it's ALL about the length)

And all just to get in to The Kingdom.

Friends I have made on various Saudi forums tell me this is par for the course, but it's driving me batty.

And we STILL haven't received the requisite paperwork from Saudi to even begin to submit all of the above to the Embassy.

And now that Furry's generic blood screen has thrown up some odd LFT's. we have to get a 2nd opinion from an heptologist as to why. (Don't sweat it, its all elevated because of his cholesterol meds!)

Meanwhile, we're packing up GW and plan to rent it out ($400 pw, if you know anyone) and are re-housing the pups (again, if you know anyone...)

So, if you wonder why there has been so little activity here, that's why. I am lost in the ongoing and never-ending hell that is organising a Saudi visa.

Hopefully, soon, I'll be back posting more on my ongoing learning journey to master Saudi food!

Oh, and I can't possibly post here without some reference to food, so:

Did you know that nutmeg is illegal in Saudi as it is considered an aphrodisiac?

ANZAC Day '10

It's 9.16, and the old Diggers are marching from the RSL, to the wreath-laying ceremony at the Cenotaph.

It's ANZAC Day, today.

I have mixed feelings about ANZAC Day. I am not much for the "mateship forged on blood-soaked foreign shores" myth. That belongs to another generation. The ones who actually fought. Neither am I one for glorifying the war machine- for a while there, in my 20's I was a card-carrying member of Women Against Rape (In War). The "great sacrifice" confuses me, as does the "fought for our freedom" line of thinking. (But that might have more to do with the fact that Australian History was an elective when I was at school, and the subject "History" was solely focused on British and European schools of thought). The ANZAC march is something that calls me on a completely visceral level, and I am not too sure what it is or why.

But, I defy anyone not to be moved by the image of a single beam of light, and a sole bugler playing "The Last Post". There is something poignant about the simplicity of this ritual.

What I think about during the minute's silence, is the fresh-faced pictures of the young men, who honestly believed they were off on a "lark". Whether that be in Vietnam, or Fromelles or Kabul.

I think about the ages of my children, and the pictures of the reality of Villiers-Breteneux and Rabaul and Mogadishu.

I think about the complete senselessness of battles like Gallipoli, Kokoda and Guadalcanal.

And that's probably it, for me. The sheer senselessness of the whole war caper. Yet, I have the acknowledge, that there is SOMETHING about the whole ANZAC myth that pervades us, culturally. It's why I still cry when I hear Albinoni's "Adagio" (the music played at the end of the movie "Gallipoli"). It's why the simple few lines of "The Ode" leave me trembling.

When I go to War Cemeteries, it's always their ages that upset me the most.

That whoever the were, as young as they were, They died. And I need to, in some way, remember them.

So today, I got up at sparrows, to rug up against the brutal wind coming straight off the sea, and stood with other people of my community, to attend the Dawn Service at Dromana RSL.

And, in true Aussie spirit.. the spirit that speaks to me so much more than the Gallipoli myth, after the Service.. the poignant, visceral, moving, simple but brutal service, we all trooped into the dining room and eat. And laugh. And drink (free beer for breakfast and a not-so-subtle bottle of Bundy doing the rounds). And THAT larrikin spirit, where a profoundly anti-war ageing hippy can sit next to a decorated Navy vet, and his soon-to-join-the Army grandson, eating pretty dodgy eggs, bacon, snags and beans provided by CFA vollies.. THAT is what the "Aussie Spirit" means to me.

BOOBQUAKE!!

The deliciously irreverent Jen McCreight from Blag Hag has recently come up with an awesome response to Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi's claims of:

"Many women who do not dress modestly ... lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which (consequently) increases earthquakes."

Sedighi is Tehran's acting Friday prayer leader.

Enter "Boobquake"

This little bit of supernatural thinking has been floating around the blogosphere today:

"Many women who do not dress modestly ... lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which (consequently) increases earthquakes," Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi was quoted as saying by Iranian media. Sedighi is Tehran's acting Friday prayer leader.

I have a modest proposal.

Sedighi claims that not dressing modestly causes earthquakes. If so, we should be able to test this claim scientifically. You all remember the homeopathy overdose?

Time for a Boobquake.

On Monday, April 26th, I will wear the most cleavage-showing shirt I own. Yes, the one usually reserved for a night on the town. I encourage other female skeptics to join me and embrace the supposed supernatural power of their breasts. Or short shorts, if that's your preferred form of immodesty. With the power of our scandalous bodies combined, we should surely produce an earthquake. If not, I'm sure Sedighi can come up with a rational explanation for why the ground didn't rumble. And if we really get through to him, maybe it'll be one involving plate tectonics.

So, who's with me? I may be a D cup, but that will probably only produce a slight tremor on its own. If you'll be joining me on twitter, use the tag #boobquake! Or join the facebook even

And, given that it's a public hol, here in OZ, there are no excuses of "but I can't do that at work".

Get the girls out in the name of rational thinking!!

Join the Double D train to enlightenment!

Let the puppies run free for free-thinking!

My girls, known throughout the land as "Anapurna I" and "Anapurna II" will be doing their bit this Monday. So you might want to avoid the Mornington Peninsula, just incase ol' Sedighi's right!!