I am steadfastly ignoring the fact that I am harbouring a criminal (in the form of my laptop). Why I didn’t think a bit quicker and just say that it blew up and I sold it to an unknown person at a garage sale is beyond me. I have been kicking myself up and down the street as penance for my idiocy. Grrr.
It looks like I’ll be flying down to Melbourne in August for a work conference and the Bidston Moss cd launch (BM page is currently AWOL as I didn’t re-register it straightaway and now they are holding it for $100 ransom – they call it a ‘redemption period’ and they can kiss my arse. I’ll wait the 30 days ‘redemption’ and then get it for the usual $10 US – I’m sure the rest of the world is really going to be clamouring to register bidstonmoss.com..not.) M established that getting the boat and bringing it to Queensland is not a financial option at this stage, so it will stay sad and sorry in Williamstown in it’s little storage place :o( Thus there is no reason for us both to drive down and blow about $600 on petrol (round trip). So all my records, the wheelbarrow, coffee table, clothes etc will have to find a home (that means “Hello Dad, can my stuff stay with you?”
So now I’m browsing the flights that are available – and of course at such short notice there are no Virgin mid-week cheapies available, and as usual, Qantas turn out to be better value. Humph. If anyone wants to offer me a bed while I’m in Melbourne, feel free…Christine has offered (after some blatant suggestion by moi), but I’m sure she’ll get sick of me after a while. It is a shame M can’t come, both in general and also because now Bidston Moss have to find a mixer. My brain hurts.
Last night I attended one of the most bizarre gatherings of my life! I went to the first meeting of the local residents association. I went out of morbid curiousity and also to see if there were any cool people living nearby. It was so extraordinary! I was the youngest person there by at least 15 years, except for an eight-year-old that a couple brought along – they left when the yelling started. I am usually so bad at doing anything like this, I hate scary new people – but I just decided to check it out. I didn’t want it to be like my last house, where we just got to know our neighbours just before we left and it was a shame. So I went in to the Booral Fire Station and sat down with about 30 other people; there were about six men outside the door who stayed there and muttered amongst themselves for the majority of the meeting. One guy called another guy ‘a mug’ and I was instantly transported into 1950’s film noir, and then the newly voted president brought everyone to order, and I was snapped back to primary school. I was agog. I may have mentioned my love for the series on the ABC, Grassroots? Well last night, I lived it.
I even stuck my oar in during the first five minutes of the meeting. I was sitting next to some weird eccentric man (the place was full of them, most of them with hearing impairments) and the bloke who was running the meeting suggested that everyone who wanted the group to be called the Booral Enterprise Association should raise their hand. As no one had been given any other option, most people raised their hands, but the guy next me (of course) made the first interjection of the evening (there were to be many). He said that he didn’t like the word ‘enterprise’ and it sounded like a business. There was awestruck silence. The bloke who was running things was obviously pretty peeved, but at the same time was saying stuff like,
“OK brother [?!] that’s what we’re here for, we welcome any discussion…but buddy [!?] I just wonder whether you appreciate the actual definition of the word ‘enterprise’?”
Eccentric Man: “Well, no I don’t know the exact definition, but I’m just telling you how it appears to me…that’s the purpose of the meeting isn’t it? To exchange opinions?”
Bloke Who Is Running Things: “Look buddy, the work enterprise is defined as ‘willingness to undertake new ventures; initiative’.
SuperBeth (arking up from the back of the room): “The definition is irrelevent, what matters is how people percieve the word.”
Gulps. Loudly. Everyone and their dog turns around to see me looking pinkly mutinous. T
The name was changed to the Booral Community Association.
(If there is one thing I have learned to hate in my current job, it’s wankers talking in complicated prose not because it communicates a message, but merely because it sounds good. And then acting surprised when people don’t understand what they’re on about.)
So then I got voted secretary. I have the Fear.