Monday, 15 January 2018

Real Estate minefields.



I was happy in my Big House bubble. Oh sure there was too much cleaning and the drive up to Brisvegas on the M1 was a bit of a pain, and then there was the fucking noise of the fucking night works for more than a year which is still going on - how long can it take to build a bit of road?, but at least we could close the door to the outside world and not have to interact with people who almost certainly are not gonna be truthful, cos it's the business of lies that pays their mortgage. Yeh I am talking AGENTS.

Over the last month and a bit I have had more than a gutful of Agent double talk. Firstly with finding a rental place, 'Yes - No - Maybe - No Sure' and then settling on a place with no communications possibility even though on inspection it was guaranteed. Hours and hours of shouting and going red in the face to establish what the owners already knew. Telstra were never gonna install the internet cabling. Ho Hum. Come on down the wee Vodafone thingie.

And in this month we have not let the grass grow in terms of looking for a place to buy. We are being very picky right now. There are only a dozen or so streets we want to live in and some of are stupid expensive and some of the houses are hideous and too big or too small or one was soo claustrophobic I had to do a runner. Looking out the bedroom windows all you could see was the neighbour's side wall. I said to Stevie it reminded me of prison, even though I have never been to prison, either as an inmate or a visitor, I was only imagining. The view made breathing difficult.

'What's going on out the back there?' I have asked, to be told 'Nothing at all, just an old people's home and they are very quiet.' We all had a giggle, and then later I found out that said Home was waiting to be demolished to be replaced by a 3 storey oldie home, which probably was gonna wrap all around the house that we had been keen on. Now I suppose you'd get used to the smell of burning tenna lady pads and the occasional siren blasting as Mr Jones' absence was finally noted, but what I had trouble with was the LIES.

I am over completely the second guessing, the trying to translate the Agents' speak, the inspection of innuendo and the motivation questioning.

We have made 2 offers on the same house. We ripped up the first one after some Agent jiggery pokery and the second was counter signed by the owners but now we wonder about the likelihood of being able to do the renos we want cos of regulations and Council shit, so as I am typing there are surveyors hard at it at the house, trying to tell us what's possible before the 5pm deadline. It all just leaves a bad taste in my mouth, cos I am pretty sure that the owners KNOW and the Agent KNOWS what the impediments are and it would be so much easier and cheaper if this info could be shared. Oh sure it might be a deal breaker, but if I were them, I'd prefer to rip the bandaid off quickly rather than edge it off hair by fucking hair. I've twice been to the house now and the owners have got painters working inside and out, and watching the progress I reckon it's all just a tosh about anyway, again trying to con people. Ho Hum.

I fancy being settled and NO I am not being patient.



Wednesday, 10 January 2018

The End of an Era




Back in 1991 I was a skinny pert breasted single mum to a wee girl, working my arse off and paying a mortgage and filling my spare time with netball and improvised theatre. I was learning to date as an adult because all my other dating had be teenage romping which I very soon discovered was not at all the same thing. I met blokes who I have now long forgotten, but by far and away my very favourite fella was Dr Geoff.

Being diagnosed with breast cancer as a youngster is very confronting, and my wish for women in that situation is that they stumble across a Dr Geoff, not the wanker at the Mater Hospital who shouted at me through a closed door that no further tests were necessary cos he could see clearly that I had cancer and so had better get onto a surgeon. Yeh he wasn't a prince!

So I cracked on with the help of my Darling Dad's medico mates and found a wee team of people who were gonna help me out. And all these years later Dr Geoff is the only one  I still see.

We have grown up together. Our children have become adults and we have now got the odd grey hair, well Ok, Geoff has more greys than me but then I have put on enough weight for 3 people and he is still at his racing form, so we are different but the same.

He is the standard I set for all doctors. He always runs to time even though he is literally dealing with life and death. He has always taken my frantic phone calls and has always always offered pragmatic sensible advice because he knows that's the way I like it.

When I first met him, it was to discuss the course of Chemo I was gonna endure. The meeting lasted more than an hour and he recorded the whole thing on a cassette player so I could play it back if I couldn't remember it all. - Yeh that's how long ago it was - a cassette! He talked numbers and percentages and then TOGETHER we decided and moved ahead.

Every time I fronted for the Chemo, which was no picnic, he'd pop his gorgeous head in to see how I was going. I reckon I was the envy of all the other baldies cos my doctor fella came to visit me and they suffered along on their own.

Usually people stayed in hospital the night after their first jab just in case there was some problem, but I was young and impulsive and perhaps a little in denial and wanted to continue my normal life which meant getting dressed in something silly and being part of an Impro performance. Geoff wasn't best pleased when I said I wanted to NOT stay but with a bit of argy bargy, we agreed to the offskie with a bag full of 'just in case' drugs and phone numbers to call, from a landline you understand, cos indeed it was that long ago.

So there was the intravenous shit every fortnight, followed by 2 weeks of oral truly awful shit. And we tracked along for 3 and a half months. I had just barely managed to hold it together at work for the 2 weeks of shit  and then enjoy the 2 weeks off, until one morning I woke up, took the oral green pills and was just rendered fucked. I had a little cry and a vomit and another vomit and then I called Geoff. He just calmly said he thought it was time to give it a miss and we laughed cos I had already taken the dose for the day - BUGGER!

The next visit, he reassured me that the very latest research seemed to indicate that 3 months of the regime might well be enough, so since then we have just cracked on together.

I have seen him every 3 months then every 6 months then every year for the last 27 years!

We have laughed that I must be one of the oldest or longest or something patients cos, you know most others have died. I think he likes it that I am tenacious.

He was my advocate when 'My Case ' was being discussed by rando hospital doctors who knew me not at all, when they were making an argument for extra investigation and research which would help them but provide me with nothing. He voted NO to all this extra shit cos he knew ME not just 'the case'.

His pragmatism and honesty are my doctor bench marks, and the fact that he has always treated me, not the disease, makes him my Patch Adams.

Anyway Geoff told me yesterday at our annual 'Get your Tits Out' sojourn, that he is retiring and no-one could deserve a happy stress free retirement more than this wonderful man. He has tried in his inimitable fashion to find a suitable replacement who of course is medically knowledgeable but who also is interested in treating people long term. His concern yesterday was that I would be OK with someone new. 

I am very happy that he will be able to spend time pleasing himself as he has been enabling people to do exactly that for more than 3 decades.

I wish him ridiculously well.

I wish him joy.

I thank him for all he has done for me.

I will miss him badly.   

Tuesday, 9 January 2018

Selfie Stick V Mind's Eye.



My Darling Boy is off on a grand adventure. He's in Japan skiing with his Grandfather! It's his first Big Trip. Oh sure he's been on planes up and down the east coast like east coasters do, but he had nerves about how he was gonna manage the long long time on the plane to get to the snow. He was nervous and excited in equal measure.

I can't remember too much about my first Big Trip plane ride. My then hubster ( Zig's grandfather - who has taken him off skiing) and I went to Singapore for a couple of weeks. Yeh people thought that was a little nuts, cos Singapore was just a stop over place good for sleeping away some jet lag on the way home from somewhere fabulous, hardly a destination in it's own right. But I tell you simply it was dead easy to spend a fortnight in that fantastic city. It rained every day at 3pm and we'd walk off the wet and be dry by 5. Of course the touristy spots all got a look in but because we had plenty of time we got to explore the back streets too. I reckon those streets and alley ways are long gone replaced by glass and flash, but I remember the old stuff, and I am pleased to have those pictures in my mind, if not memorialised on Facebook.

I don't remember the plane ride though.

Years later when it was just my girl and me, we took off for the holiday of a lifetime - 6 weeks in Europe. This was back in the day when planes weren't crowded and we luckily plonked ourselves in the back row and she stretched out and slept both coming and going. Yeh I remember that. Oh and I remember that smoking was allowed on the plane! Can you imagine that NOW? It was truly disgusting, and I say this even though at that time I was a stinking smoker.

But the ride to foreign places was only the start. The adventures we had are where the memories were built. Oh sure we did all the touristy stuff and we have real photos on real paper that were developed at the chemist, at great expense,  in a photo album, and then there are the mind's eye memories that are just ours. Like the afternoon we spent on a local bus riding out into the backwaters of Hong Kong and getting out at the terminus with no clue where we were and no idea how to get back and to add to the excitement some bloke with a sinister face started to follow us. No photos of that afternoon, but the suburban food markets and the crowds and this horrid bloke are etched in the back of our brains.
Oh and then there was another local bus ride when my girl threw up and threw up and threw up some more, into my dress and her jumper, and we had to go to the police station to clean ourselves up because in the alternate public loos, her chunder would have been the cleanest most pleasant thing there.

Stevie and I have literally hundreds and thousands of digital photos of our adventures, that we almost never re-visit, but the memories of losing a train in Hungary, or living through the Tsunami in the Maldives, or acting like lunatics to clear a space on the bus in Croatia, and heaps more bits of silliness and strangeness are never far from mind.

I guess my point is that I hope my Darling Boy is taking time to etch some brain pictures as well as give his camera and phone a work out.

The selfie-stick nutcases who have photos but see nothing are just sad cases I reckon. Far more long lasting are the memories of the smell of the salt water spray or the street food, and the feel of the icy wind and the taste of the snow. Just leave the Yellow Snow well alone, walk away from the Yellow Snow.

Sunday, 7 January 2018

Colmslie Beach Reserve




There are many of excitement when you move to a new city, even if you move back to the city of you girlhood, cos stuff changes fast and what was there then is gone and new stuff is at every turn.

Our lovely girl Dibley Dog has been a bit discombobulated with the move. The Wee house is now where near as comfortable or interesting for her. She can no longer lie like Cleopatra on her high floor and survey her minion dogs in the park and then high tail it out to the front gate and give them a rousing barking off. She has lost all of her doggie park friends and I do believe she has been missing them. Oh sure we have tried to woo her with treats and extra cuddles but really there just isn't anything quite like going the big sniff of a dog's bum, if you are indeed a dog that is.

So we've been taking her just about everywhere with us, coffee and dinners are OK, but for house inspections even though she is a real consideration about what we can buy, well she needs to stop at home. I mean these places that have signs up saying 'Please remove your shoes.' Well it doesn't even bare asking the question, 'Are dogs OK' The agents would go into melt down and even though I would giggle at the sight, we don't want to push our luck. So at home she stays. She is not best pleased with this arrangement. As soon as I go to grab my bag she starts herding my up. She stands next to her collar and lead. She arse plants herself away from the back door and refuses to leave. It reminds me quite a lot of leaving a toddler at day care, except that when we get home she is absolutely all forgiving as she rushes at us all but knocking us to the ground.

So she has been our driving force in searching the local area for a play spot. Of course she was spoiled for choice at the Coast, even though all we doggie folk whinged about the lack of facilities. There was the park next door, the park around the corner and the best beach in the world. The big smoke is different, and not always in a good way.

The off leash dog areas are hardly parks. They are mostly small barren bits of yard fenced by chicken wire. They house a variety of agility type erections and almost no grass. Sure dogs can sniff and piss on the frames of the slides and stuff, but that just doesn't compare with a wide open space and a new stink under the shade of a lovely tree.

But as the Wee House has a pocket handky bit of grass, we have been scouting something lovely for her,and a couple of days ago we stumbled on The Colmslie Beach Reserve. It's a bloody marvellous place! It feels like it has been there a very long time with an avenue of beautiful mature trees reaching across to each other creating shade for us and sniff and piss interest for her. There is a field where she can play chase the ball, and there is a track along the river, the Brisvegas River and yesterday we were treated to the Tug and Pull of a big passenger ship being turned around and sent on it's way off to the open seas for another adventure. It was all a bit exciting.

I think we have found our place. Sure we have to pop in the car to get her there but she is happy and naturally that is our goal.

Tuesday, 2 January 2018

HNY



Happy NEW Year. The abbreviation HNY is a bit shit I reckon. When I see it I think someone is calling me honey and then I have to wonder what I have done to deserve something sentimental and mushy like that, and if I am going for full disclosure, it took me a while to work it out so maybe I just am not a fan cos it made me feel pretty stupid.

I am breathing a sigh of relief that all the formal festivities are done and dusted, and now we can see about finding a groove in the big city.

Except of course Telstra has still not come to the party with any of the 2018 basics, so in that regard we are badly missing the Optus run Big House. I am doubtful that anything will ever get sorted especially as we don't plan to be here for long. I am only hoping that when we find THE ONE, the house of our dreams, it will come with phone and internet lines already up and running. Everything I have is crossed on this. It might even be a deal breaker, cos if I have to speak to one more overseas call centre person I might have to run around the streets - well ok, wobble around the streets starkers trying to drum up attention and protest. The guy in Sydney who staged a sit-in in the telstra shop made some head way, so nothing is out of the question.

The kids are popping in this arvo for a swim and some dinner, and this is the best part of being here. I didn't mind the drive up and back every week before, but it just somehow sort of brought pressure to the visit, cos it required such and effort, but this little pop in is easy and not fraught with expectation. Yippee.

The grass is refusing to grow in spite or all the rain - well not much really, more noise than water, and plenty of attention from me. But we got some stuff to try to kill the nut-grass around the pool so fingers crossed there. We didn't get the NUT BUSTER, stuff my girl who knows all stuff about the green stuff said to get. It was just too bloody expensive to spray onto someone else's nuts. Nah we got some ordinary killer stuff, and now we will have to wait and see.

Stevie has got a plan going for his golf, and Dog is settling in well. That must mean we are getting sorted I reckon.

And we have not missed the fucking TMR noise at all, even though mates in the area have said that it has been terrible, except for the respite over the holidays, so I suppose they must be lamenting the end of the festive time, as it means the bastards will be back.

Yeh it's beginning to feel a bit more like coming home.


Sunday, 31 December 2017

Yomping into 2018



We've been IN for 8 days, and it's Sunday so that's washing the sheets day. I have no idea why I still wash sheets on a Sunday when I have 6 other perfectly good days to wash 'em but I suppose the habits of a lifetime are difficult to break. Just because I have found this washing routine I guess I can say we are getting settled. Yippee.

And it seems at the same time a blink of the eye and a very long long 8 days indeed.

Moved house, unpacked, had Christmas, found a bit of the Brisbane River for Dog to swim in, though I admit that it makes me sufficiently nervous that I leave that adventure to Stevie, cos of the City Cats whipping by and the currents and rocks and once this week there was a huge Cruise ship doing a Uee. Yep there is plenty of traffic here and it the old canal at the Big House look pretty tame in comparison.

Stevie heard from the newbies there about a plumbing issue, but apart from that we reckon they must be settling in well - I do hope that the fishie girls are doing OK.

We have trotted out to Oxford Street a couple of times. It is THE eating place in these parts. It's doggie friendly so once we left Dog at home and once we took her with us. I think she is struggling to come to terms with her new home, so we are spoiling her badly, and yesterday we found a Turkish place for lunch down the road in Hawthorne which was just yummo fab.

The local Woolworths has easy parking and we've had to pop in there a few time for groceries, and we are so spoiled for choice when it comes to morning coffee that we are yet to settle on our favourite. Laurence you are still our favourite.

Stevie has checked out 2 golf clubs and has almost settled on the prettiest even though it's a few kilometres further away.

I found a lovely doctor called Jane and that really about made my week. Yippee.

We still have no internet or pay TV because Telstra is rubbish. Now they are talking about the 8 or 9th of January, but as they have been lying to me since the 6th of December, not the same lie you understand, a different one for each of the literally dozens of people I have spoken to, I rather doubt that too. Ho Hum.

We are trying to grow some grass here at the wee house, cos the agents made a big deal of the new turf in the inventory, but I think we are flogging a dead horse. The soil is builder shit contaminated and very boggie, and I rather doubt anything is gonna grow, but watering is a pleasant way to spend time in the afternoon so fingers crossed.

It's been hotter than at the Goldie so the air con has been getting a work out, and I think the Pom is Stevie is a bit shocked, cos after all it took him a decade to get used to the heat at the beach.

We have no plans for NY eve. I reckon I will be lucky if I get to drive to the nearby hill to watch the crackers for the kids at 8.30pm, but that's the plan.

Happy New Year to all who stop by here, and I hope that 2018 is exciting and fulfilling and unexpected and entertaining for us all.

Thursday, 28 December 2017

GP shopping



It's no secret that I see loads of doctors, some of 'em I like enormously and some I just rub along with cos they deliver news that is needed and their bed side manner is of little consequence, but my favourite by far is my GP Dr Jane, and sadly we have left her behind at the Goldie and I just can't see her making a house call even though she is perhaps one of the kindest smartest people you could ever hope to meet. But I had reconciled that I would continue to pop down to see her for scheduled shit and as I am almost never 'normal' sick, I reckoned I could go a long time without finding a GP up in the big smoke.

But today I woke with a bloody great blister on my arm, which only became apparent to me when I scratched the shit out of it and ooze happened. Yeh that was a bit shitty.

You see, after 10 years I had become used to the sand flies and bugs at the Big House and so we lived without screens and would just give a bit of an Aerogard spritzer before we took dog out in the twilight cos that's when the buggers were looking for blood.

But I haven't yet managed to get a working relationship with the Brisvegas buggers and they have bitten me from arsehole to breakfast, and being of little self control, I have been itching up a storm. There is something very satisfying about scratching an itch isn't there? Surely it can't just be me? So I scratch til I am raw - ah - and then it really fucking hurts. Bugger.

I had a bite on my foot that I have managed to scratch at during my sleep that has produced a big ugly sore which needs a bandaid if I choose to wear any shoes or thongs at all, so it's taking a long time to sort out, and now I have this walloper my arm. Bugger indeed.

So I reckon I need to find a doctor who will prescribe something stronger that Sting Goes or those other useless tubes of shit that the chemist sells just as sort of stocking stuffers.

So I had a look see at doctors around here, and the first one was staffed by 3 geriatric men. Now this couldn't be further from what I was looking for. Sure these fellas might be bloody marvellous, but what I wanted was a woman - younger than me, so if I do get to like her, she probably won't be dead while I am still kicking around, and that's important cos I don't want to spend precious time breaking in an another one if I can help it.

Then I happened on to a centre with a female doctor called, wait for it - JANE. I am hoping this is a good sign. And I am hoping she will send me off with more than advice and a smile. Yeh I will have to go into all the CML shit and she more than likely will never have heard of it and I will have to outline all the side effects of the meds which may or may not limit what she would like to do, but all this should be a good interview for the job. If she can get through this shit without me getting up and doing a runner then she might be a keeper.

Fingers crossed.