Okay, there's really nothing happening

Except painting. Sanding and coughing.
But it's on my list to update the bloody blog tonight so best get to it. Now, there was something I have been mulling over lately but for now it eludes me.
Ned (half of Ned and Dulce from over the fence) was today hospitalised because his kidneys are failing. He will need dialysis from now on, poor man. Even their cat looked dejected this morning. I wish him good luck and told him today I might sneak around to see him if he's in for a while. He's been feeding me passionfruit from their vine. I come out of the house in the dark and there, by the car door is a bag of them. I love 'em and eat four or five in a single sitting. They are lovely neighbours and are very much aware what goes on around them. They know if I am working late, and enquire about how my wog is going if I've been coughing too much. It's nice to know someone is looking out for me as we had a bit of a run in with a drunken painter which unnerved me for a little while. I am sure it was just pi** talk but I got my chisels sharpened just in case I have to defend our little investment from the threatened vandalism.

Trevor and I have been sort of babysitting Maree, wayward NZ'er and has been roaming around the world for a while. She had a job for a while but has decided to return home and face her problems head on. She fell off a stool at some nightclub night before last, knocked herself out and had to go to the Hospital for observation. Life with Maree is one big merry go round and never dull.

Hey, how about Kevin's jaunt to the strip club? Revealing it is a strategically intriguing move, pretty much guaranteed to get him some votes just for being one of the boys. In sunny Augathella we have a euphamism for these visits. The boys all start ringing each other up discussing the "Landcare Meeting" they must attend. They seem to have thought up this thin disguise as a way of putting us wives off the scent. But then they spend the next two weeks giggling amongst themselves and give the game away completely. And as for 'what goes on tour, stays on tour' that lasts about five minutes and they give it all up about who did what. Our strip club is just a back room of the pub where a few nubile women put it about. They may dangle a few streamers from the walls and play some bump and grind music then the girls pack up and go to Blackall.

Moving on, our little skinny S has been excelling on the sports field. She's made it to the squad for high jump and we wish her lots of luck at the Regional trials.

K has found out exactly how loud she may play her new stereo that Daddy bought. It was confiscated (always going to happen, otherwise how will she know what's the loudest she can play it?) and we hear whispers of a glad wrapping episode recently. Bash rang his baby and a familiar but not genetically familiar voice answered and told him to call back, K is busy. Some poor kid comes back to a plastic bedroom. I do hope Ms Makin doesn't read this before the dust settles. Naturally, to protect the guilty I have used only the first initial so there can be no recriminations!

Better blow this rathole as I am rapidly running out of suds.

Ok, so I have to eat some words.

Soo. it's been a while.
You all remember when I poked gentle fun at my husband a few entries ago? About the cow. Well that was a bad move. I have managed to replicate this feat. It was traumatic and dark and we are lucky the repairers didn't write off the poor old Effie. Sure sent me into a tailspin for a while but life marches on and I couldn't very well sit in a cupboard for the rest of my life. I still feel sick thinking of it. So on to the present.

Am back in Mackay under cloudy skies which for once, I don't resent. Am currently weathering a bout of nasty flu which sent me to bed for 3 days. Floors are being sanded at present. By me. I had to let the very very expensive but likeable painters go. Which leaves me with a lot of work, when I start to look around. Oh, well, work never killed anyone. I have been lucky enough to secure the services of a painter for a few hours over the weekend. I hope he doesn't have the same work ethic as Bruce.

So, now I've dipped my toes back into blogging am sure there will be regular updates from here on in...

Better jet, there is a sander waiting patiently for me at 227.

Plumbing certification is complete and I just have to pick up the paperwork. Yay...

Notes from Mackay

Hello toilers and spoilers and causers of pain.

Today we shall explore the exquisite pain of waxing as experienced by Russell (shown above). Firstly as you know I was boarding in Mackay with a friend we shall call Trevor. I can't imagine why he agreed to let the hair hating maniac we call D'rell (spelt Darrell) loose on his nose hair. The prospect of an attractive young redhead sitting in his lap might have done the trick. It was quite a spectacle and Russell was heard wandering around Trevor's house next morning like a lost ghost, moaning softly about his nose. Sandra, whose heart is way too kind, was sympathetic and as for Trevor the traitorous brother - that's his Balinese silver encrusted wrist holding a mobile phone for photos. Seems cruel in retrospect but it started small and we didn't know how bad it would be until it had gone beyond the point of no return.

Ironing cement

Well, here we are, cementing the donga posts. Ready for Graeme and Al to turn our pumpkin into a luxurious friend friendly accommodation venue. Bash reckons I lost the concreting trowels so has repaid me by using my iron. That's okay. I'll have the vengeful pleasure of watching him get early dementia from smoking. That's what they said on the ABC Radio this morning. So, the iron did the job anyhow - and it was just sitting there in the shearing shed covered in dust.

Today we put the whole show on the stumps. Bash tells me it will go like this: He climbs into monster D9 and lifts one end. I climb into elderly blue truck crane and we lift and inch forward in perfect synchronicity (thanks Sting) then deposit the load gently onto new posts. This is just the general idea. Too romantic by far. There will be much befouling of the fresh country air with diesel fumes, language and dust. One or both of us will again be covered in hydraulic oil and dust. One of us (me) will probably drop my end or something. But we're made of stern stuff, we country people. We shall end up with all 55 feet of this thing on posts and level. I have the gin and tonic ready in case things should go terribly wrong.

Will post photos.

Dust not sweat

That's the discovery for yesterday, as I idled along behind the mob. In Mackay you sweat when you work but end up relatively clean. In Augathella paddocks you don't sweat but get covered in dust. Still, it was nice to work with cattle again.
It's been a busy few days since I got home. Cold too. We have fired up the wood heater and all is very pleasant until you step outside. The oats is in, after more than it's share of dramas. Bash and Davey had to pull off one of the front idler tyres (Cat Challenger 75) which unlike those of a steel tracked dozer are filled with air. You just loosen off the track adjuster then ease the tyre out from inside it. Putting a repaired air filled tyre back in is a different thing. Lucky Jason the local stock agent called by for just the right amount of time. Thanks, Grant Daniel and Long. For once Bash didn't calibrate the air seeder. Oops. She went in a bit heavy at about 44lbs/acre which cousin Phil the NSW farmer believes is about what we should be planting at anyway. We now really really hope for rain and warmish weather. Pigweed vines kept clogging up the gear which means you have to stop and lift the planter, give it a shake then continue. So now, the risk part where you worry that you've just wasted $20grands worth of seed if it doesn't rain in time.
So today, I will ring the broker and sell all my shares. I owe some money to Bash's family for getting the building project finished quickly and need to square up before the end of June.
I did some thinking while filling those endless nailholes with putty. Mum helped me make up the deposit for my first house, against dad's wishes at the time. When I was about 15 Dad showed me how to buy and sell shares and put me onto his broker to buy some MIM with some money I had saved. Both of these bits of help are what started off my investing. I have decided that the starting and tending of a share portfolio is a bit like learning how to grow a garden from scratch. Mine has been pretty haphazard but the big trees have formed a canopy so now it's all quite nice in there. Won't do any harm to have a clean out though. Next time I'll know exactly which plants do well and that i can rely on Mark's judgement. You can get out there every day and dig about if you wish to have it perfect. Otherwise, provided it gets minimal attention with some judicious pruning, things run along by themselves. Bash being the language reducer that he is calls my account/share trading the TAB betting account.
We've also engaged the services of a Mortgage broker. With the constant turnover of staff in Banks now, it is difficult to maintain an ongoing relationship. Robert has all our information now so if we want to borrow some more, we just call him and update a few bits and pieces and sool him onto the Banks to find us a good deal...
Have just received a few emails from a girl who has recently gone to South America to teach english to spanish speaking children. They are very entertaining and I'd like to figure out a way to link to them. Hmm. Any ideas Jensav?

Home again Home again Jiggity Jig

Looking about on the internet for permeable paving which was tricky to find until I typed in 'Grass Pavers'. Problem solved. After some reading I have come to the conclusion that the cement grass pavers tend to heat up in the sun and affect the healthy growth of grass. The plastic ones don't appear to have this issue so will look at cost tomorrow. Concrete pavers cost $45 per square meter. Don't want to consider the all up cost yet as it scares me.
And so to the packing...

Moo. (hee hee)

Hi fellow internet users. It is my sad duty to inform you that Bash has hit a cow in the 'Effie'. That makes us square after he dined out frequently on my own cow incident a few years back. Poor cow, they had to destroy her as she had broken bones. Not too much obvious damage to the vehicle but the bull bar is pushed back into the bonnet and doesn't look bent which leaves the chassis. Oh dear.
On the Mackay front, found out through a friend of Trevor's that the new house is known locally as the Big Brother house. I dunno why because we haven't voted anyone off yet and there are no cameras. And there's no prancing about in our pyjamas.
Anyway, the plumbers showed up today bless 'em. Josh the tiler has put down some floor tiles, Graeme collected the stainless balustrading and Russell will be making his sober inspection on Saturday morning so he can come up with some landscaping ideas. Painting continues and will for at least a week.
Trevor's ex boarder, J (who shall remain nameless in case they work out who he is and search his bags) will be attending 'happy school' as a guest of Mr anThony Robbins the motivational guru. He is considering smuggling contraband into the precinct because he's not sure he can be good for three days. The upshot is that he will also be getting his 48th motorbike. Has the scars to prove it too. I remember Granny Savill telling me that if you laugh, the world laughs with you. I was a depressing child sometimes, perhaps she was trying to tell me something for free. Anyway, the scientific community is getting in on the act by attempting to measure whether the physical act of smiling leads to an improvement in emotional state. It seems that it does. Go Gran. I think Mr Robbins can fill us in on the secret of life which would be handy. Although it is handed out in $3500 doses of a letter at a time. Sort of demonstrating via it's own example that you CAN make money out of anything at all, even the pursuit of happiness.
And so to the weekend which was wonderful although had it's odd moments. As we drove into the motel I realised it was in fact the place where our brother died in the 80s. As there was a group of us booked and paid for, and it all happened a long time ago, Bash and I agreed not to mention it to anyone as we didn't want to spoil the mood (enjoyable and relaxed). In the end the ghosts were quiet and the place itself isn't holding any bad memories for me. We had a good time together, watched the kids play sport and ate and laughed.
There was an incident at the airport which was funny afterwards. I left Toowoomba late and in my rush to fuel up the hire car, I somehow ended up in the International spare taxi area where there were lots of Ukranian and foreign looking people who stood in groups and wouldn't talk to me. They basically told me to get lost which I was already. I decided to jump the kerb (in the brand new Prius hire car) but a nice man who spoke some English decided to help. Ended up late in the airport with a knife in my bag which was originally going on as check in luggage. The Qantas people were very nice about it; at 42 and overweight I don't look like an assassin but it did scare me a bit when I realised I might lose my beloved Leatherman. They charge you $7 and give you a post pack so you can send it to yourself.
Nina, Trevor and I imbibed some truth serum last night and I have left the heel of the bottle to help unweld Sandra's undies for Russell. Not that I am on his side, of course. Go Sandra. Sorry I won't be there to side with you... Send him to the bear cave, I say.