The Doggies

After M and I sold our business, we made good on our long-threatened outing to the greyhound races. 

Why, I hear you all chorus and yes, good question. Always ones to get amongst it, we'd had some dealings with the sport's peak and felt we should expand our horizons.

The greyhounds, as I'm sure you know, get a pretty bad wrap - often referred to as  the 'dish lickers', the races have been described as perfect for those with a very short attention span, because unlike horses, they run for seconds rather than minutes. They also had a highly explosive enquiry by the NSW government that led to the entire industry being momentarily banned - before it was realised how many people it employs - so was reinstated with some stricter controls.

So when M said she and the other ladies from the office were going for a Wednesday lunch, I was there in a shot! Actually, that's not true at all, as the venue is in an outer suburb so I was there in about an hour, fifteen.

The first thing that struck us was that although the venue was a scaled down version of the horse races, with manicured gardens, clean and tidy grounds, and newly refurbished interior, the people were a lot more casual in their attire. There was a table of people with special needs having a fabulous time and pretty much everyone else was in hi-viz. We, on the other hand, were in our usually 'creative corporate wear', with some extreme fashion, spiked heels and full make up. We didn't blend in.

This is the actual venue 

The first challenge was drinks. Apparently wine isn't usually purchased by the bottle (there were five of us) and establishing a price to charge for the entire thing was a bit of a challenge. Once that had been established the next hurdle was the 'no glass' rule - yes, at lunchtime on a Wednesday. We were issued with plastic glasses while our bottle was held behind the bar - for the safety of everyone - and we had to trot over to get a refill as required. Luckily this was a mid-week lunch, so that wasn't often!

Lunch itself was a bain-marie affair of tandoori chicken, rice and veg. The ladies serving, who also ran the bar, were just delightful - and very generous, so we literally had to beg them to hold back on the man-sized portions of chicken and rice, and up the steamed veg which most people seemed to think was a garnish. The meal, we all agreed, was very tasty! And at less than $15, excellent value.

Back to the main event - the races. We thought to really experience the thrill, we needed a bet - and liked the sound of a 'quaddy'. Having studied the form guide one of our number, a single gal, insisted she couldn't go past 'Empty Box' as that had been her plight for quite a while. We all contributed our gold coins and M nominated one of the  girls to place the bet.  I don't know how, the selected one claimed in panic. None of us do, explained M, just ask at the betting desk. They'll explain it as they want our $14.

Off she went and minutes later, returned looking flustered. Well that was embarrassing, she reported. Apparently 'Empty Box' was not the name of a dog, but the status of the starting box - as in it's empty and there is no dog. Bet you didn't know that!!!

Back to the form guide to select another. I think we collected but if we did, we put it on another race and that was the end of our collective pool of funds.

So for the sum total of about $24.50 each, we had a great time before we waved goodbye to our hostesses and headed back to town.

The Gambler

Are you a gambler? It seems for a lot of people - perhaps more blokes - it's a pretty popular pass time. I wouldn't call myself a punter. Yes, I like the Spring Racing Carnival and if I'm at the track, I'll have a flutter, but I confess, if I have three straight looses I totally loose interest and stop betting. 

And it's not like we're talking sheep stations - five or ten bucks either way (win or place) is my modus operandi. And if someone far more informed than me wants to 'chuck on a quaddie', I'm in! 

Oh - and there was the time the girls from the office and I went to the greyhounds - which I cannot believe I didn't blog about so stand by for a post on that outing.

Anyway, having never thought of myself as a gambler, I surprised myself with the bets I've been prepared to make during lockdown; notably travel. 

Back in May, I decided to book a holiday for January 2022 - hiking in New Zealand. I asked the kids - one was keen, one was reluctant so I pretty much bullied the reluctant starter into committing. Now, I'm not sure if you're a hiker but these organised walks aren't inexpensive so I was pretty annoyed when, at the end of lock down, the enthusiastic one had lost interest claiming we'd all spent waaaay too much time together this year. Not wrong, but still.

Then one of the two hikes I booked was cancelled. This left us in a bit of pickle - do we hope the whole thing gets cancelled and get all our money back? Book something else to fill in those extra days? Cut our losses and cop cancellation fees? In the end, I managed to change Geoff and my hikes to a longer one and cancel the girls with no penalty - yay! Elle has a friend with a house at Queenstown so they're using the girls' non-refundable flights and Sass didn't ever want to go anyway - winners. Although let's wait and see what's next with COVID...

In addition to travel, we had dinner at a friend's recently and I offered to bring dessert. Living on the edge, I chose a chocolate tart with orange ice-cream and orange jam from Gourmet Traveller that I'd never made before, and against the odds - thanks to my Aldi ice-cream maker, it worked out pretty well!

So there you go.  As someone who proclaims not to be much of a gambler, I'm taking some pretty big bets!!

How's work?

I have come to the end of a job that was meant to last two or three months and in fact, lasted a year. The job itself has been been fabulous and I've really enjoyed it but I won't lie - I'm tired - very tired. My analogy would be expecting to run a sprint and then said sprint unexpectedly evolved into a marathon - and not really adjusting my pace.

It's been such a totally crazy time in Melbourne - now officially the most locked down city in the entire universe - and we've finally been told we're being let out on Friday. Yippee! 

During the long lockdowns of last year, I didn't have a lot of work on so I did a course on Governance and Risk (yes, please don't judge - and worse, I really enjoyed it), started learning Spanish (hola!) and my house was very clean and tidy.

There's a lot to be said for keeping busy in a lockdown and for many, work - or a lack of it - has had a defining impact on their experience. That's because our world's have shrunk - to our houses and a 5km radius. The novelty of House Party and Zoom catch ups wore off long, long ago and even mustering up the bother to organise a walk with one other person has deteriorated. 

Other than COVID numbers, complaining about the government and what you've been streaming, there's really not much to say even when you do catch up. No-one has been anywhere or done anything - so there's no FOMO I guess.

For some, work has been a saving grace - a reason to get up in the morning and get going. I can only imagine how difficult that has been for single people who live alone. But I also spare a thought for those who have been locked down with small kids and a big job - home-schooling and zooming - just not sure that's anyone's idea of living their best life. I'm also slightly concerned about the impact of a generation of kids who've been homeschooled for almost two years by parent/s who are struggling to remember what an improper fraction is. 

At the other extreme, there are people who lost their job and had nothing to do. I can only imagine that motivation in that camp, especially for those living alone, was a daily struggle. And while the internet has been full of self-care and awareness of mental health issues, if you've lost the will to get up or shower, a meme with a sunburst and some snappy words is unlikely to provide it.

As someone who's had too little work in lock down and too much, I'm seeing the Goldielocks analysis here and am now hoping for 'just right'!!

I'm living with reptile!

Before I get started on this cracking tale of incompetence, let me give a brief explanation of my patchy posting. I took on a fairly senior full-time job that was meant to be 'filling in' for two or three months. I thought this would be fine, as although I still had quite a few other commitments with other organisations, I could juggle - for a while!

As it transpired, said job has turned out to be quite a lot more than keeping the seat warm, and along with the other roles, it hasn't really allowed the brain-space to blog regularly and for that, I am sorry.

If I have any readers left - at all - hello!! And a special shout out to Ruth for the nudge on FB.

Back to the story....

So - COVID vaccinations. Where do you stand? I am pro-vax, but for some reason (probably the stats) my partner was very insistent - in fact, adamant - that he wanted Pfizer. Both being over fifty (yes, please act surprised!) we weren't eligible. Other than the remote chance of clotting (I do know you've got more chance of winning division one with the Powerball in the lottery, and that's not a strong argument), it was more around the level of protection. 

He said he was going to wait. I said I'd give it a few weeks and if I couldn't find the Pfizer, I'd be stepping up for the AZ. I rang a few places with no luck. And, as mentioned, I've been a tad busy...

And then, lo and behold, the government changed the rules to allow Pfizer for under 60s! I certainly didn't see that coming. To Geoff's credit, he got straight onto it, called some hotline and got us a booking - apparently on a cancellation. It was for Wednesday last week at precisely 8.41am. 

We got there a bit before 8am and while we waited, Geoff took a screengrab of the booking with the booking number. When we filed in, it was like an airport procedure! Hand sanitiser and mask instead of security, then driver's licence and Medicare card instead of passport control. We separated for this last bit and I confessed to the check-in person that I didn't have the booking number. The lady said fine, she could find my name. Hmmm, she said, they've spelt it wrong. Quite wrong as it turned out and my email was also incorrect.

Geoff seemed to be taking much longer.

After the jab, we met in the 'wait 15 minutes' bay and I asked why he'd been so long. He said he'd nearly been turned away as they couldn't find him in the system. Luckily he had his booking number where they discovered the person making the booking, instead of Geoff Clifford, had recorded his name as Geoff Lizard!! 

Needless to say, his email was also incorrect. I was reminded of the Starbuck's video, where employees deliberately spell your name wrong - just because they can! It's pretty funny... enjoy!

I'm a weakling!!

The other week I had a business trip to Canberra for a couple of days. It's probably been more than a year since I had to get up early, drive to the airport and catch a plane - and I was a bit concerned I'd forgotten how. For the record, it's like riding a bike.

What didn't help was that Qantas cancelled my civilized 8am flight and put me on the very uncivilized 6am. That meant getting up at 3.45am instead of 5.45am and people, that's just rude.  In my book, that's not the morning; it's still the middle of the night.

But what I had forgotten, was the need to queue and get onto the plane quickly, rather than loitering and getting on last. Yes, your seat is reserved and yes, we all get there at the same time - but getting space in an overhead locker is cause for the rush.

Unlike the way back, I found a space not too far from my seat on the way up. It's probably why I was complacent and spent the return journey with my legs jammed over my bag to hide it from the flight attendant who would have taken it away and made me wait at the other end. I'd be having none of that!

Anyway, I was probably last on, found a space and went to toss my cabin bag into the locker. Admittedly it had two computers, a pile of cords, my make-up bag, hair straightener, change of clothes and books, so was quite heavy, but for the first time in my life, I had the horrific realisation that I might not be able to get it over my head. Sheer panic.

Naturally, I mustered up everything I had and got it in - whilst trying to make it look casual and effortless. But it gave me a fright. I am not that woman (yet) who needs to ask for assistance to get her bag into the locker.

During the lockdown, I did a lot of running and walking and a bit of strengthening. Now back at the gym, I have been tossing some weights around but with very little commitment - until 'the incident'! Now, as I'm lifting weights above my head, I'm picturing an overhead locker. I've lunged, I've squatted, I've sat up and curled - I will NOT be that person!!! Give me until July and I'll be offering to fling everyone's luggage up!

The sample

 If you're like me, the word 'sample' conjures up images of tiny bottles of shampoo, perfume and body lotion, or tasty morsels stabbed through with toothpicks and proffered by middle-aged women in branded aprons at the supermarket.

But no - in this instance, I'm referring to urine.

Now that I'm of a certain age, I'm obliged to go to the GP for an annual check-up. That happened a few weeks back, but apparently, my urine sample was 'contaminated' (that doesn't bear dwelling on) and needed to be repeated.

I was back at work so getting away from my desk to get it done took a few weeks, so I rang first to make sure the local clinic was still expecting me - but really to save the embarrassment of having to announce my purpose at the none-too-private reception. They said sure, come on up.

Turns out the call was a wasted effort. When I got there, I still had to tell them - loudly due to both face masks and a barrier to force social distancing - why I was there. I was handed a specimen jar and told to bring it back to reception.  What?? Normally you drop it in a hutch at pathology and job done. 

I did question it, but she insisted she needed pathology to organise labels, so I needed to bring it back.

Having collected said sample, I slunk back to reception, trying desperately to be nonchalant about the entire ordeal. A man was talking with my receptionist so I was forced to loiter, sample in the jar in a clear zip-lock bag at my side - for what felt like an hour. The man suddenly turned to me to point out the other receptionist was off the phone and now free. I sidled over. Of course, then I had to explain, loudly, the whole thing again. 'And what's your name?' she asked. There went any possible anonymity that my mask may have provided in the now almost full waiting room. She called pathology - I waited - and was finally instructed to go and drop it in the hutch.

As I returned to reception, she flagged me over to ask me to write my name on a Post-it note. When I turned around, I heard 'MWW! Hi! How are you?'  and there was a mum from school, who I'm very fond of, right behind me in the waiting room with her three kids, including one of Sass's friends.  O..M..G. They MUST have witnessed this entire event! I chatted briefly (not mentioning the wee situation) and when another mum arrived who she knew and I didn't, made my escape.

I know I shouldn't be embarrassed - but I was!!!