Late-night googling..

.. is never disappointing.  Look at this..

I'll say it again...

.. one of my favourite four-letter words is

H
O
M
E.

even tho we don't have The Cat.. Shhh!!!

Muddling along...

Howdy. It's all a bit of a f**'n shambles, as my friend Wilf the old fart across the hospital hallway used to say..

The lovely old 1940's flat had major rising damp (carefully hidden behind furniture, which I moved; I was MOST unimpressed) so I left a week after I moved in. Dreadful waste of energy and hope.. I retreated to the dear old Lodge, and tried their patience with the large amount of stuff I put into their very little bit of storage space.

My M has moved too, from ICU to the rehabilitation ward. Initially he only lasted 5 days there before having a major setback, but after 3 weeks of careful extra monitoring and masses and masses of chest physio (he has continuing lung/breathing problems) he returned to rehab and hasn't looked back. Recently he's had a problem with a haemotoma on one calf, but was only stuck back in bed for a few days until he was able to start getting out again for a few hours each day. He's tried about six different manual and electric wheelchairs so far, as the OTs gradually work through their differences and sort out what will be best for him long-term. He'll have one of each, eventually. As he says, Manuel in the morning when he's fresh, and Electra in the afternoon.

He is now spending 5-6 hours a day in active rehabilitation - physio, gym, OT, wheelchair training, body movement strengthening, fine motor and strength skills, etc. We are all tremendously grateful that his hands and arms have regained far more dexterity and mobility than is generally found with his level of injury. He's able to use a mobile phone and laptop, and is feeling more connected to the world after so many months of four grey walls and not a lot to feel good about.

I am currently house-sitting for a family friend, in an old house extremely close to the hospital. This house-sit also comes with resident burmese, Sir Fritz to you. He has taken to me as if we've been together for years. He has a loving purrsonality and a strong prefurence for laps and beds. The loud yowling that comes with a failure of service and comforts is most entertaining! There was, briefly, a chance I could stay on here indefinitely, living with the owner, but sadly that is not to be. I was about to begin searching for a chic little studio apartment with water views, when my dear friends (of my first, long house-sit) announced another overseas trip and it seems I am to have the privilege of another stay in their sunny haven. The three flights of stairs will be very good for me, won't they?? I think this means I'm not homeless again until at least halfway through November. What a very strange life.. we won't be home for quite a few more months. As I thought from fairly on, we'll be here all year and then some.

I've gone through the process of gathering quite a bit of household stuff, using it, not using it, storing it without a backward glance, and lugging it all back home. Now I'm in pared-down mode, having got well and truly over the sore back that comes with every load of woollies bags that has to be shoved into the car. Oh, about the car! A couple of months ago my brother visited me to help me buy a car. We had a couple of very entertaining days toying with car salesmen, until I settled on a small wagon, and bargained for as much extra as I could. I did very well! My new Hyundai Tucson and I fit very well together and importantly is very easy to drive the longer trips home and back. I've loaded up the cd player with lots of rock n roll, and some exquisite classical pieces, for private car karaoke on the highway.

Our house will have to be extensively modified to make it wheelchair-accessible. By a stroke of fortune, the existing back yard pathways and garden beds are pretty much ok, just need a solid surface rather than the scoria we have. The deck will be extended and I think will become a sunroom/garden room. Nice. NOT so nice is the major re-fit including widening the hallway, demolishing an existing bathroom, moving the front wall, and door.. and, sob, the end of my existing kitchen, which was renovated with great love and care only 6 years ago. I am fighting a rearguard action against the insurance company's project manager, who is blithely walling-in doors, demolishing cupboards, and announcing that we won't have a kitchen table any more. Oh yeah??

Unfortunately this planning process means I must go home nearly every week, for I think at least the next six weeks, which is terribly tiring and a great strain on us both. For various good reasons, family members and friends are not so able to spend time here supporting us, and I find myself thinking that round about now would be a good time for me to be cloned. M needs me; I need to be with him; I also need to be at home being business-like and purrfessional and making the right decisions. Without my M to add a note of reality to my wilder fantasies (height-adjustable benches come in marble don't they?); talk over colour and texture and generally be a delight to have around, I'm stuck with my demons and my somewhat over-organised inner self. I've been looking at home gorgeous magazines, and most of the 'simplified' modern kitchens come in under $90,000 . Surely we don't need all that??

Somehow or other, through all of this; with exhaustion, heds of deth, M's fragile return to better health and mobility; with responsibilities unwanted and many; homesickness and cat-withdrawal and being lost most of the time if I go further than one kilometre from wherever I'm living; purrfume has stayed on the agenda. I gave myself a very VERY fabulous Jo Malone 'Wild Fig and Cassis' candle for my birthday recently. Bliss. And the discount chemist on the corner has some quite desirable purrfumes on special, so I've lashed out and tried two new scents - HER, by fcuk (that's french connection united kingdom to you, thanks), an interesting sort of dry floral which has oomph without sweetness; and a new unisex Bvlgari which treads a very fine (and successful) line between a powdery citrus after shave and a fairly intense acid/floral freshness. I like this one particularly, as it tends to draw comments when I wear it, which suggests it isn't nasty, and probably that it suits me. I have no statistics from the general public to confirm or deny, but it feels good!

Keep thingers and fumbs crossed for us please.

Easterage, festivalling, and quiet repose..

We've had "overflow guests" - friends who usually stay with a mate came to us, cos the mate's new bathroom is looking very spiffy but has no actual plumbing. Tricky to manage dry showers at the best of times.. our guests spent truly amazing amounts of time (their stamina!!) at the Folk Festival, and in between times ate satisfyingly large quantities of the food I made in a big splurge of cooking on good friday.

We also spent time at the Festival, M more than me. I had no energy thurs/fri/sat morning, thanks to a change-of-weather hed of deth. Honestly, my body is so sensitive I'll have to resort to shorter lists of what isn't a problem, and soon. Weird. The time I spent at the festival was as usual divided about equally amongst music, food and crowd-watching. I'm always amazed at the numbers of middle-aged women who sport the most eccentric and generally rather ugly outfits. I guess it's just that silly-hat-and-mad-stockings kind of vibe which makes it happen. And yes, *I* bought a hat. A rather tame, teal-green crocheted almost-beanie but no pom-pom. I have my limits.

The music I enjoyed the most was a group called Vardos, from Melbourne, which is a trio of gels who play Romanian /Hungarian /Latvian folk on a violin, piano accordion and double-bass. Very good, very clever, and also very funny, because the violinist is a natural clown, and plays up to the music and the crowd quite shamelessly. Fun..

My favourite food was the Spanish potato tortilla, which was served with a pureed salsa of herbs, vinegar and onion. Very, very good. I returned on Monday evening for another serve but sadly they had sold out of every speck of their food. Told you it was good.

Now I am having a quiet couple of days preparing for a colonoscopy on Thursday. Erk. I've never had one before, but have watched (uneasily) as various close friends and rellies have gone through the process. I'm apprehensive but apparently I needn't be. I'm not so sure - it's a very unnatural thing to do, is all I'm saying.

On Friday I hope to go to the coast with the Good Wimmin again, for quite a few days of coastal repose, eating, walking, bonding, textile-age, and probably some well-considered shopping. I think we have enough time to do a day trip if the Wimmin are of a mind to do such a thing. Maybe up to Kiama? Or the blue/black/raspberry farm? We'll see. At least one posh dinner is on the list of must-dos. I'm just looking forward to being near the sea, in the eucalypt forest, and the peacefulness.

We are still mourning our dear Maccy, hearing squiks and seeing shadows. But we are more resigned to his loss now. I go out every day to sprinkle some petals or catnip on his grave, and say hello. Our other cat, Miss Wendy, has taken to sleeping on the bed with us most nights, which we find very comforting. A bed without a cat! Sacrilege. She is no tamer, but during the night can be heard sitting and having a little purr to herself. Nice.

Today, and many days previously, brought to you by the delightful aromas of fresh earth and gardens, thanks to some very good rain over the last 5 days. Even the very dusty plastic cover on the garden table is looking shiny. As for me, I am continuing my love affair with Jo Malone scents. I'm torn, totally torn, between her Amber and Ginger cologne, her Amber and Lavender body cream, and her Vintage Gardenia cream, which is truly, deliciously blissful. Try it soon, lavishly, and see.

:-(

I am not a happy camper.

This makes it harder to write, unless you care for more comparative lists of my attempts to first vent and then attempt counting blessings.

This week? - I'm only putting blessings in, cos I'm sick of feeling whingy.

So...

There's been a LOT of culture - saw 'The Reader' on Saturday, a most compelling and somewhat upsetting film. Saw Teddy Tahu Rhodes and David Hobson perform on Tuesday night, a very most wonderful concert. Quite the thing for making all of us wiggle a little in out seats! Bought the CD, got it signed by both of them, very fabbo. Tonight went to see a satirical performance of '39 Steps'. Very clever, lots of slapstick, very funny. Noisy. We will all be speaking in fake-o German, British, RRRRussian and Scorts accents for weeks.

In between, M took me to Manuka to help me get over a fit of the blues. He achieved this most adeptly by first plonking me in Ironbark, a cafe which specialises in Aussie tucker (and very good coffee); and joining in a visit to Paperchain bookshop before AND after the meal. I gots lovely bookies. I shall list them in a minute. He didn't hold back either. It was good. Easy, shameless spending. We rounded out the day by stopping at the Electric Shadows Bookshop where I found several dvds and a really wonderful card which shows a woman breaking through a barrier labelled 'Self-Doubt'. It says

SHE LET GO,
FORGING A HOLE THROUGH THE AIR,
AS SHE SCREAMED PAST HER LIMITATIONS.

Yeah.

I've had the deep pleasure of walking back and forth on my new circle path. I've noticed the carnations are STILL flowering, and that I can now enjoy their scent.

I spent a most wonderful two hours with Ness, who inspired (ordered, bossed and bullied) me into digging out bits of upholstery fabric to make two big boofy cushions. AND she fed me home-made bread with good cheese. She is A Goodie.

Today lunch with sis involved the bacon-iest BLT yet, and a gentle garden-viewing (of my place). She's an excellent gardener, and has helped me sort out a lot of garden puzzles with her wisdom and encouragement. She was very impressed with my quince crop - ONE purrfect fruit! Then St Beth arrived for a 'crafty', wherein she sat on the new couch, admiring Maccy as he slept, snored, rolled, squikked and wuffled next to her. She knitted very neat white baby things while I excavated every box, bag, drawer, pile, drawer and bundle of textiles in the room. We threw things onto the floor for inspiration. We stroked silks and unrolled braids and bindings and rattled little tubes of glass beads. We averted our gaze as I 'accidentally' dropped an unwanted knit square firmly in the bin. I enjoyed removing lots of little bits of dead daddy-long-leg legs. Wendy slept on the mat outside the deck door, keeping close to marmy as she does. I felt a mixture of embarressment at the amount of stuff I have, and some energy about how to get started again. We ate dates and apricots and it was GOOD.

Now my M says "if we sleep now we'll get 9 hours before we have to wake up" and that is another thing to be pleased about. So I shall stop packing my fukken pill containers, hunting for scripts to get re-filled, heat up the milk I want to put my bourbon into, and find a cat to squish me into one corner of the bed.

Tomorrow, you know, I might just go nuts. It could be MUCH easier. Today brought to you by fairly large amounts of Jo Malone "Parma Violet" Linen Spray, and also her "Dark Amber and Wild Ginger" Cologne. Both of them luscious. Next? I needs a dorter. Dorter???? I'm-a comin!

Long time ago...

.. in a little town called... hang on, that was in December. And now it's, oh gosh, it's practically the end of February and here I am still mulling over the difficulties of making a commitment to even one New Year's rez. Even half a one... dammit, maybe like Cath (hi) I'll just declare that the new year hasn't started yet, not til I'm ready. She only delayed hers by one month; hell, watch me top that!

I've been to the coast and back, and missed the heat in Canberra. Then just a few days here, and we jumped on planes to go to Adelaide for my next visit to the uberdoc. Adelaide had the Most Amazing Heatwave recently, and I was fervently hoping it would be over and nice and cool for me. I got a happy compromise - the first few days were pleasant, only late 20s, but by Tuesday this week it was heating up again. Wednesday was hot enough that at 6pm we sought shade for an evening picnic at the beach. We used the aircon in the motel and the hire car lavishly, and I field-tested a number of iced coffees. The best one was made with cold espresso, ice cubes and milk shaken together, then poured into a chilled glass and topped with genuine coffee gelato and just a little cream. It was FABULOUS. Cool, slightly sweet, and the gelato meant the drink had that icecream feel without any extra richness. I loved it. But the other, more usual iced coffees were all pretty good. I don't really like icecream, but a scoop of vanilla diluted by espresso and milk isn't exactly a problem.

The news from the uberdoc is that my poor old sinuses are 'odoematous' and I need lots of topical steroid to help fix that. You don't want to know how I'm going to achieve this. All I'm prepared to say is to quote some of the paperwork accompanying the meds: 'adopt the Mecca position'; 'remain kneeling for at least 10 minutes'; and 'lie down immediately afterwards' ... preferably 'on retiring for the day'. This means, loosely, that I have to go to bed after I 'do' my nose every evening. M is delighted cos it means I can't go on faffing around after I 'do' the 'doing'. I can fix that. I'll just delay the 'doing' til I've finished faffing.

A good consequence, afaic, would be the return of my sense of smell and taste, which are both quite compromised atm. Can't smell my new gorjussness from the Jo Malone shop on King William Road (Hyde Park darling, only rich useless types shop there). Can't taste the iced coffees properly, or the ro-zay, or the fennel-smoked black pig charcuterie. Couldn't tell if I needed extra showers. Also didn't realise for several hours that the large and expensive bottle of cold-pressed extra virgin McLaren Vale boutique gourmet oil that I knocked onto the concrete floor of a wine cellar-tasting room, was lemon myrtle flavoured. Later in the day I was wondering what the lemon smell was and where it was coming from (I was in a non-lemon-laden car at the time) and eventually realised it was my oil-soaked right canvas shoe. I washed it and washed it, and when dry it was still oily. Now the inner fabric sole has come away. But the colours on the canvas are notably brighter than the left shoe, so I expect I'll have to mix up a cup of good olive oil, seep a packet of dried lemon myrtle in it, and then pour it over the shoe somewhere. Purrhaps I'll do it on the bit of front path which is about to be dug up and removed forever. It could be a sort of farewell anointing of the path for all the years of good use it's had and given as a means of getting to our front door without having to negotiate mud, crud and cats.

I enjoyed spending time with quite large bits of my family - I do appreciate Gerald Durrell's incisive titling of one of his 'remembered youth' books - the 'Other Animals' concept applies most aptly! There are inter-brotherly grouches, partner-pickling, view of the offspring from afar ruminations, and some feedback about and to me, about and to me. All very entertaining and mostly not a worry. My fave three things were: dinner with bro #3 and his sweetie. They're on a diet. He cheats. She scolds which makes him smile a lot. Heh. Next? - dinner with bro #2 and his family. Sitting on their new couches after dinner fixing the world while youngest dorter made a play for a late night while falling asleep on my feet. And finally: speaking to my mother about a problem and hearing her response - "I'm gonna come over there and beat them up. How DARE they say that to my favourite dorter???'. She's only GOT one. Bro #3 complained that it's not fair and he wants to be a favourite dorter too. Oh sigh...!

Other good Adelaide things were the funny little car we hired - a Renault Megane. You use a sort of credit card thingie instead of a key, to open/shut things, and turn on/off the engine. A bit tricky til you get used to it. And it's another small black thing to easily lose amongst books and papers. How do I know that??? And driving in a very very right-angled city. All NSEW easily identified, not to mention being able to SEE where you are - between the hills and the sea, duh.

The regional gourmet/specialty shopping of edibles and drinkables. We sent home two boxes of wine, and collected another of other things like oil (yes, see above for why we guiltily bought so much of this!), vinegars, chutneys and sauces. We had an excellent picnic of cheeses, dried meats, amazing dried fruit (pears par-dried with vanilla beans, YUM). A soft cheese, very sheepy, wrapped in prosciutto - we ate it cold but this can be put in a hot oven for 7 minutes to crisp the meat and soften the cheese. I imagine it would be damn luscious spread on some springy bread. Barossa grapes all over the shops, and small dark figs. Really excellent tomatoes even from supermarkets. And plenty of splendid plonk. I found a great bottle for bro #2 - he has a frog 'theme' (no I can't explain why, any more than I can explain why *I* have a watermelon theme) - 'Arrogant Frog' Merlot named 'Ribet Red'. Heheheheheheh...

I almost had a swim twice, but both times refrained because it was SO hot that the amount of Factor 30 needed was just too hard. I survived discovering (on the day) that the appt. with the uberdoc was indeed for 11.30 on the 18th - of MARCH. A booking mix-up which we didn't identify cos of course February has a Wednesday 18th as well. But no drama, we got in anyway. They wouldn't turn us away once we said, lip a'tremble, but but we came over from Canberra. Ahem. Not sure I can blame myself entirely for this one, but I do wonder..

Little cat here in the window says 'let me outoutoutOUT!!!l' there is buffaloes to biff and heffalumps to hunt and sweet night air to whisk my whiskers'. Natch. She can swish her tail all she likes, cats are IN at night and that's that. Oh god, now she's attempting to claw down the fly screen. I shall depart.

... leaving a trail, I hope, of Jo Malone 'Dark Amber and Ginger'. Sounds like dessert! Try it and see. Do you find yourself reaching for a spoon and some cream to schloop it all over your chest? Then maybe it's not for you.. unless you start wearing chocolate t-shirts, anyway.

Noxious weather too.

Hot, hot wind, blistering sun, fading garden, failing ppls, house getting lovely n warm if you like sweating like a bloody sweater all the time. I've had wet hair for days.

We used the portable aircon thingy in the lounge for a few nights, blowy but cool. Last night we even lugged it into the bedroom to cool it down before bedtime.

Now it's muggy, blowy and trying very hard to be a huge thunderstorm. To encourage this, I've washed windscreens, left some washing out, and watered the pots. The only thing left in my armoury of how to make it rain is to have all the nappies in the house on the line. But as none of us use nappies and in fact I don't have any left (well, it HAS been about 20 years since they were required)... that's tricky.

Today brought to you by a cool shower at 2am, the hope of a g and t later on, and two floppy, sacked out cats. Bloop.

Cautious re-entry...

So... 2009.

We returned from our coast holiday this evening. Somehow getting home was not entirely joyous, even tho we had to push the car all the way cos it was so full of xmas purrchases and gifts! Our dear Maccy has been incompletely cared-for, and has lost weight and condition. He's been found outside a lot, so I suspect he's suffering food allergies again. Poor kitty. Little Miss Wendy however is looking shiny and sleek and VERY pleased to have the staff back. I was even granted a chin rub.

We enjoyed bringing in our new toy, a kitchen trolley - a rather spiffy beechwood trolley with removable cheese board, tray and drawer, includes bottle and glass holders, brakes on the coasters n all.

I am concentrating on optimism. I have read and read and read, and slept and slept, and cooked some lovely food, and rested and failed to engage in any projects except for the most personal and gratifying. I have talked to my darling dorter a lot. Not enough but a lot. I have successfully avoided quite a bit of the festive event, and enjoyed the rest. I have been expurrtly and thoroughly spoiled by my darling M, and the list of goodies is too long for me to print without embarrassment. A good season, then.

It's fun catching up with email, f***book, random spams and so on. Nearly three weeks off the webs! It may be the cure you know. The world has managed purrfectly well without me.

Tomorrow being another day, and all that. Today brought to you by Mugler's 'Angel'. Spicy, strong and encouraging. Always a good mix!

Sorry!

I have been informed that my blog is not being updated frequently enough. Oops! I've been letting mere life get in the way... I'm very distracted by worries over my darling dorter's health, but frequent phone calls are keeping my maternal urges more or less under control. She's very patient with me! I keep thinking that as I'm the mother, I should be doing the supportive nurturing, but apparently it works both ways. She's a darling girl.

We've been enjoying the beginning of a major paving/landscaping project around the house - Mr Brown has been very busy with other jobs, but has finally found the time to start our much-anticipated 'circles' design. We have a rectangular house on a long rectangular block, with a very square back yard and a very right-angle L-shaped front yard. Our plan is to introduce as many curves, arches and circles/half-circles as possible, to soften the look and make the garden more organic - if that's not a contradiction in terms. We have some pathways already in place, curved and looping around the L-shape. Now we are adding a wide, curving path from street to front door, replacing a narrow line of old concrete. Mr Brown himself said it would be much better Feng Shui! And I found, at Amber Tiles, a wonderful 'mat' of pale grey cobblestones, arranged in a mosaic circle, within a square. We'll cut the circles out and put one between the front gate and the steps to the front door (only a few metres, so a circle should help offset the fact that there isn't enough room to make a curving pathway without making it stupidly too winding for anyone to follow); the other circle will go in the centre of a much larger paved circle in the back yard, which will be the only flat area there. No lawn! Just paving, pathways and garden beds. And trees, and roses, and ginormous artichokes, and masses of seaside daisy...

We'll end up with two distinct areas - a cottage garden with fruit and veggies mixed in, at the back of the house; and a much drier native garden in the front. This garden includes a copse of fruit trees in the sunniest corner, and a whole wall of climbing roses outside those windows - they are quite close to the road so we're using thorny plantings against the house to discourage burgulers. Eventually the beds will be filled with native ground covers and probably some more herbs - I like using rosemary, thyme and perhaps even some curly kale to fill in little flat spots. I want all the garden to be rich with scents, for those days when I can smell things!

Earlier in the year my father drilled into the mortar above the cup-of-tea seat, to hang a wrought-iron mandala - yes, another circle. This will eventually be the centrepiece of a wall covered in ficus. I feel it should also include two more smaller decorative pieces. The hunt is on for things I 'feel' are right there.. a small trickling water feature will have pride of place next to the seat, so a happy person can sit there under the gum and the mandala/s, listening to the soothing trickle of water and drinking tea, whilst watching a bad cat run up the gum tree and try to catch a currawong. What more could you ask for suburban bliss?

Next post I'll rave on about the nature strip plantings and my plan to begin attacking my patchwork pile of possibilities. It's all about blocks of colour you know.

Today brought to you by analgesia, coffee, and a long cuddle with Maccy. I can't smell anything today. I guess this doesn't stop me from spraying a big squirt of something on, does it? Hm.... I think ... I feel like....Prada, cos it's spicy and warm and that is a good thing to smell AND to feel!

From Seoul to Hong Kong

Getting here was ok. Aiports didn’t throw any wobblies at us, unlike leaving Helsinki where I had to watch the nice security lady guard throw my L’Occitane face wash that cost at least half a big bomb, into the bin cos of the regulation that says ‘Nothing liquid in a container bigger than 100ml’. The container said 150ml, but it was half empty. Visibly half empty. Duzzenmadder, roolz is rools and my choices were to take it back out to check-in and check it in (one liddle tube???? I assumed I’d therefore have to put it into a bag, and bugger me I didn’t seem to have one teeeeeeeeny little Louis Vuitton bit of lockable luggage in my back pocket for just such moments), or watch it get binned. Waaahhh.. I was polite but puzzled, and the fierce lady guard person was quite polite, but when I waved goodbye to it, saying ‘bye bye, little tube, I love you’ she actually said sorry.

But JEEZUZ.

Packing to leave Seoul I inspected every unguent for signs of being in too big a container. Based on the Helsinki experience, they shoulda impounded M’s toothpaste tube even tho it was visibly nearly empty. But NO, his poxy toothpaste passed without a quiver of anybody’s anything. No fair I say.

This hotel, however, is rather porsh, and has L’Occitane miniature bathroom products. Which I have confiscated immediately and packed so M can’t touch them. Mine all mine!! It is the least I deserve.

See, I told you I was speechless.....

A cat can.. and frequently does. But this little purrfect puss is going offline for a week or so, to recover my energy, whip my whiskers back into line, and lie in the garden.

For the loyal followers of T and S, never fear, opinions’r’us will return. I have plenty of them waiting in the back of my mind, just waiting to be aired and shared. Just gotta catch meself up with meself first.

Today brought to you by quite a lot of Stemetil, so I could actually leave Seoul (that’s another story), one last whiff of Asian drain in the morning, and a quite large squirt of Guerlain’s “Very Irresistable”, which I was anointed with at the airport while doing my duty in Duty Free before leaving for Honkers. [Of course I bought some, it was 20% off!!!]

Remarks on Russia and Reverie on Retailing; 26th August

Thoughts... as I walk to the Autobank to fund lunch and interwebs...

Russian young women are GORGEOUS - slim, beautiful skin, graceful. They walk along Nevsky owning the city.. one prevaling fashion is a fitted dress with a fullish skirt, worn quite short over long, long tanned legs and high, high heels. Many of them are wearing high-heeled Mary Janes, which is a demure look on the feet making a strong comparison to the luscious legs and body above!

Another look, although even here it is fading out, is the skinny jean with bare midriff. Most of the women who wear this look overdo the trimmings, especially with high-heeled pumps, sparkly tops, major makeup and fussy hair. I have even seen a few Paris wannabes wearing a dog in their handbag!

Many of the more mature women wear tailored pantsuits; as I have remarked before they fit incredibly well, and the fabrics are high quality and as up-to-date in fashion terms as anything I see in a Vogue magazine. The men, by contrast, are mostly blokes. They wear jeans and hoodies and loafers or sneakers. From time to time I see a fella in a gorgeous suit; the favoured look is a slightly shiny grey fabric (sometimes it’s the gloss of silk), a purrfectly-ironed white shirt, and a quiet tie. Woven leather loafers and an honest to god leather briefcase complete this look. The other prevailing look for men is rather handsome - very short (but not clipped) hair, a thin black jumper, very form-fitting (slight drooling by writer), and dark jeans with leather shoes. They look great, a bit dark and dangerous , their strong features are enhanced by the short hair and the trim look they have because of the fitted clothes. I much prefer it to the slouchy jeans and hoodie look, although I reckon that might be THE most comfy gear on the streets.

And I'm happy to report that I haven’t seen so many little girls dressed up as pole-dancers, as one does in Australia. I’m glad to see that fashion seems unpopular, although I did see padded bra tops in a children’s clothes section in the big department store, the other day. Pffft I say.

~~~~~~~~

Later... I’ve had a shopping fix of my own - I asked Olga and Ivan (staff at the hospital) where to go to buy ordinary clothes, not tourist trap shops, and they sent me off to the wonderfully-named “PIG” shopping mall, which is where I bought my watch the other day. First I have to buy M a b/p machine. Easy! I find the 24 hour Apotek (chemist) and the pharmacist demonstrates a wrist-machine - I note that HER blood pressure isn’t so good; the reading is quite high! Anyway, purchase #1 successfully made. Next door is a huge supermarket, so I wander in, looking for bananas (nyet, of all the rather wonderful fruit and veg on show, the bananas were the only poor quality item, bugger). I found the washing powder but. I noticed a security guard watching me closely while I queued for the till - I had my pack with me, and I thought he might challenge me outside to check that I hadn’t nicked anything (has HE been reading the blog and seen the confession about the geraniums? - and no, Miss B, I am NOT returning them to the Astoria. If you could see the obscene displays of wealth in that hotel! - why even in the entryway they have fantastically ornate and expensive porcelain-ware on display, and the boring old windows opening the cafe to the street have gold leaf urns on the ledges, ick). The guard didn’t stop me, I’m glad about that even though I know I didn’t have contraband in me bag...

I go upstairs to all the clothes shops, to see if I can find a cardie for me, a pair of jeans, or a jumper for M. The boutiques are full of tiny clothes, being inspected by tiny people. Hm... even the English clothes store has a limited range of sizes - their idea of a size 16 is my idea of a small 14, unless we 16s are meant to wear our clothes so tight that every teeny bulge and freckle shows. NOT for me. Even the ‘sloppy’ cardies are made to be worn with a waist belt (a disastrous look for me), and not really done up, the buttons are for show. No point to it, in my pragmatic view; what’s the point of a cardie if you can’t wrap it around you like a hug?

Next stop is a jeans shop - one of my worst nightmares for years. However I am delighted to report that in spite of the language barrier, I have purchased a pair of jeans which fit very well, and (gob drops to the floor in disbelief, cos I got loooooooong leggies) they are even too long! I think this might be only the second time in my life that I’ve been able to buy daks that are too long. It will be my pleasure to sew the hems up, one day soon. When I can bear to not wear them! Yes, I have them on now, of course I do! The shop assistant was a very non-standard person for a jeans shop (cf Australia I mean) - she was in her 30s, quite pregnant, and not even wearing jeans herself. She understood me well enough to find different shapes and sizes, and I understood her well enough to be able to make decisions about colour, and all those different leg choices you get in jeans (straight, boot, regular, comfort, etc... huh? I just avoid anything which says ‘skinny’, never wear boots, and hope for ze best..). Ta-da!!! I am delighted. [I think I really put my finger on it earlier when I described jeans as ‘so normal’. Normal is good. It’s a dangerous word in nearly all situations I reckon, but applied to putting yer daks on in the morning it’s ok I think.. hey while I’m writing this, on the teev there’s some sort of history of Russian/Baltic ancient buildings, and the background music is something I recognise with great delight (is this the gods sending me an apologetic early birdy offering???) - it’s Arvo Paert’s ‘Fratres’, oh swooon. I love this spare, elegaic music. Wowee....]

Where was I? Oh yes, in shopping mode. Well, on the strength of the successful jeans purchase (not cheap, in fact it’s the most I’ve ever paid for mere denim .. nyup I’m not gonna think about that. It seems really REALLY bad in roubles, cos to get the cost of roubles from Aussie dollars, you multiply by 20. Puts the numbers into the thousands!), I looked in a few menswear shops and found a good cotton jumper that M and I can share. It’s maroon cotton knit, cables all down ze front, maybe a touch fancy, but cotton is good, long man-shaped jumper is good, and maroon is a lovely colour for both of us. I left M wearing it at the hospital, after I staggered back there with all my stuff. It was fun unpacking all the loot, and he’s delighted with his new little travelling b/p machine. Even Olga the nurse had a play with it.

Yeah, retail therapy. As I stomped home in the rain at 9pm, I was thinking “am I shallow; easily-led; a mere money-laundering machine in human form?” - this being one of the eternal worries that women berate themselves with (I don’t know if men do it, I’m only generalising about women cos I’ve never discussed it with a bloke). But I dunno, if shopping IS a wasteful, indulgent, shallow, mindless and self-deluding pastime, it sure works. And I don’t think we can ALL be these negative things. I came round to thinking (as I passed the rich, useless gleam of the Astoria doorman’s waistcoat button) that shopping functions as a diversion, which can be a very merciful thing. And being good little capitalists, we are programmed to acquire, accumulate, enhance ... and when one has money too, it seems quite a natural process. I’m not going to enter the debate about the moral issue, if it IS a moral issue, of consumerism, I’m sticking to my point which is wondering why *I* felt better after I’d been shopping. And one can read as much into this as one likes, it’s an old, old debate which can have all sorts of irksome lurking guilts and depths of moral turpitude attached to it. Nyet to that. I think I felt better because I’d ACHIEVED something I needed to achieve - the b/p machine and the wash powder -; I was happy to get good service AND to find something I wanted - the jeans -; I was feeling affectionately happy about being able to give M another jumper, and feeling satisfied that it was a good discount for what I could see was a decent quality item (that old Virgo gratification of value for money, the elemental practicality!); and then I found an excellent giftie for my darling dorter. Which of course I can’t describe or it won’t be a sprise for her.. and the thing about THIS purchase was that it was a total impulse buy, and the young woman who tempted me into it had excellent if eccentric English, and was happy to discuss with me various words she needed to describe her wares, and to have a little sisterly sort of chat, and we were best friends in five minutes. AND it was a good price and so pretty.... heh, darling dorter, is all this driving you nuts not knowing? Sowwy...

AND my reward for all this money-for-jam activity was to see an actual cat, the second one in 10 days. This guy was a short-haired torty, quite dark, wearing a most attractive yellow collar. He eschewed any contakt with me, speaking purrfekt Russki kat in his total ignore. I didn’t want to pat him in case I got germs, this is NOT the time for me to get sick. But I went ‘puss puss’ and he went ‘staring in opposite direction because I am too supurrior to notice a mere wet stranger’. And then a woman walking a bloody great bear of a German Shepherd monster went past, and the cat had to give it a really hairy eyeball. I noticed that the dawg looked away first! This evidence of the natural order cheered me, too.

My thoughts on the value of shopping have not exactly coalesced, but I wonder why we put a moral value on it as an activity (as we do eating, ‘fatness’, purrfectly normal variations in body bits, sex, gender relations of certain kinds - eg having doors opened for one, or not; getting paid less as a workforce if you’re not a bloke; drinking ‘too much’, etc etc.). I don’t understand the moral value bit - why is it a good thing to spend money and then feel guilty afterwards? Why bother? Guilt is paralysing and leads to nothing much in the way of a good thing in my view. I prefer to examine what conscience I have and try to take a less emotional approach - if I feel ok, then I think it’s ok to feel ok. If I don’t, cos I’ve broken the Visa or paid more than I know is within my means, or is what the product is worth, then I reckon a bit of self-admonishing is about right. ... I think I’m saying the same thing in different ways, and getting PROFOUND. This is an alarming manifestation which occurs when I am tired, and/or pissed, and/or being allowed to talk too much. So I’m off to me bed, happy, OH so happy, to know that M will be released from room 2, 4th floor, American Medical Clinic, St Petersburg, tomorrow morning some time. We have until 4pm to loll about and get ready for the bus, and we’ll be in Tallinn by 11pm. Yoiks tally ho!

Today brought to you by mild cheese, the aroma of my lunchtime grilled chicken, and a few more buckets of Chanel No. 5. And I’d like it noted that I went PAST a purrfume shop at “PIG” - I dearly wanted to go in and buy a bottle of Chanel No. 5 ‘Huile Sensual’ AND I DIDN’T. I’m sorry now but.

NOT in Estonia, Saturday 23 August

eYesterday M was fine at breakfast, but tired. Both of us needed more sleep .. he was suddenly rushing to the bathroom, then shaking violently and in a cold sweat. We layer him with every warm thing we have, stuff him into bed and hold hands. In half an hour or so the shaking has stopped and he is not so pale. I take his temperature, not good at 37.5.

Little by little, we try a few sips of water, a cracker or two, then two disprin. After about an hour I take his temp again, and it’s gone up to 38.2. Ok, we’ll need a doctor. The women in reception give me a flyer for the American Medical Clinic, which is not far away. I call and politely refuse to go away until they give me an appointment almost immediately. They first said 7pm but I am not prepared to wait with M’s temp possibly shooting up even higher, and him maybe not even well enough to get in a cab. I shudder to think what it might take to get an ambulance, even thru the American clinic (whose staff are incredibly helpful).

Meantime I start ringing our Russian travel agents and try to see what might happen if we can’t get on the bus to Tallin, which was booked for an 11am Saturday departure. No good with the phone calls; I can’t get through. There’s no time to pursue this, we go off to the clinic in a taxi [getting a lecture from the driver when we get there - something has got up his nose about the way we asked or what we said or something. ‘There are million taxi driver in here city; only one or two I know where you are meaning’. Ok. Huh?].

We are sent to a consultation room very quickly, and in comes the doctor (whose name I have got spectacularly wrong, calling her Doctorovsky, which is the masculine form. Ooops.. ).. Her diagnosis is that M has a ‘tyoxick infyektion’ and should stay overnight to have a drip for rehydration. She’s taken blood and the initial results show a high white blood cell count - sure sign of bacteria at work.

He has a room to himself (and we think he is perhaps the only customer, it’s very quiet in the corridors). The doc comes back with a bit more news: he is to have a rehydrating drip with potassium and some antibiotic. The first bag runs through very quickly, and he has I think three of them before 10pm. I go back to the hotel to get him some clothes and such, and start to sort out the change of plans.

The hotel people are wonderful; they assure me that they have a room for Saturday night; they are very concerned for me as well as M, and offer to help in any way they can. They fluff around me a bit, giving me coffee and clean towels and we have a talk about how people are just people wherever you go; this is so true.

I get onto the travel agent and she too is very concerned for us and keen to offer help. She can’t guarantee reservations on the bus, and the very clear inference is that we aint going nowhere until Monday - it’s going to be very difficult to leave on Sunday, if that’s how it works out; no offices open on ze weekend of course... Then I try to ring the Tallinn hotel to tell them of the delay, but no dice with the phone number. But, aha!, I have a Tourist Helpline flyer, so I ring them and very quickly Zhjenny sorts out my problem - I need more dialling codes (a country code and then a city code, to add to my area code and local number). I get through after that, no worries.

The travel agent rings me back with a solemn message - we know that M can have his visa extended via a letter from the doctor. But MY visa is also expiring and I must be very careful to make sure I too am certified as having to stay longer. She says a few dire things about “pyenalties at ze border” and I see myself hauled off the bus and left whimpering in the guard house while M sails off to Estonia...

Back to the clinic with M’s supplies, and to see what administrative progress we can make. The nurse (Olga) says we’ll have to talk to the doctor in the morning. I check with their reception staff and they say ‘We do this all the time; don’t worry; can we help you with a hotel room or would you like to stay here?” etc etc. I can’t fault the generosity of everyone I’ve spoken to, if I need any assistance all I have to do is blink and I will be overwhelmed.

And now it’s 10.30 pm and I haven’t really eaten since breakfast; a quick stop at a cafe earlier was only partially helpful because all their savoury food was sold out. Except for some rather oily-looking slices of pizza sitting in an unchilled cabinet. Nyet for me. I charge down to Nevsky (a quick charge down the canal, which is looking very pretty in the night lights). Suddenly, the revolution is upon me, I can hear loud bangs and crowds roaring. What?? I never!.... but then my brain starts working again and I remember that M told me it’s Russian Federation Flag Day, and what I can hear is fireworks. Phew, though.

At Nevsky the cafe I want is closed, so I give up and go to Maccas. There is a time and place for it, I know this from life in Beijing.. sometimes you just have to know exactly what you’re going to get. The queue is long and unmoving, and it’s HOT. After about 15 minutes, a woman in the crowd yells out - seems pretty obvious to me she’s saying ‘Why isn’t anyone serving??’. It’s certainly the slowest and least efficient Macca’s I’ve ever been in... a bloke pushes through the crowd to join his mate and no-one objects - that’s because he’s nearly 7 feet tall and looks EXACTLY like a Mongolian warlord - the arched brows, the slightly Asiatic facial features, not to mention the shoulders about five feet wide! He seems a nice enough bloke for a warlord...

Eventually, eventually, after at least 30 minutes, I get served. I order enough for two people, because I find Maccas doesn’t ‘stick’ very well, and because I’m exhausted and half-dead from worry and responsibility and thinking hard about what to do. And if ever a woman DESERVED a soft serve icecream with hot chocolate fudge sauce....NOM.

Back at the hotel I deliver another report to the reception women; retrieve my tin of gin and tonic, snarf down my fabbo junk fix, and begin packing. Because, at this stage, the doctor is saying if M’s tests look alright in the morning, we can shake a leg or three and leap onto the bus to Estonia. It takes me two hours to wash out some stuff we need and pack all our stuff, going more and more slowly because I’m soooo tired. I’m helped along by having the ‘lympix on, and I see the big Aussie redhead win the men’s pole vault, yay! And I see a bit more of the diving, thank you whichever goddess sent that .. I finally fall into a cool shower at 2am, kick a towel over the puddle which forms under the wardrobe if I run the shower for more than 30 seconds, and fall into bed.

I don’t care any more if there’s a revolution.

~~~~~~~~~

I’m at the clinic at 8.45am on Saturday, at the very second the doctor (a different one) arrives brandishing test results for M. There’s a lot of mulling over of possibilities and explanation of what the tests show .. high white blood cell count; very low potassium; liver function all over the place. On the good side (!) M’s temp is down, and he feels ok - there’s been no cough, pain, tummy trouble or headaches. The doctor says we can go if we like, sign off here and resume medical treatment in Tallinn. Which means finding a doctor there on a Sunday. He’s not very keen on this choice; he wants to give M quite a lot more treatment, so we assure him we’re prepared to stay until Monday. We mention the visa issue again; he says ‘It’s not my chob but ze attministrayshn will hyelpp’. Okay...

M is to have another blood test to see what has changed. And while that’s cooking, he will have four more bags of rehydrating fluid, with masses of potassium added (low potassium levels are dangerous for people who have heart problems), antibiotics, and several doses of ‘a soll-yution” to clear toxins from the digestive system. [This is charcoal - he said it was disgusting, chalky grey stuff. As long as it WORKS!]

As I write, at 7pm on Saturday evening, he’s had his buckets of fluids, several light meals, and his temp and bp are steady - temp down but not all the way to normal I don’t think. He’ll be in the clinic until Monday morning, when Plan B will be formed. We hope this might be ‘leap onto the bus to Tallinn’, but the travel agency has given me a weekend contact number which isn’t connected, so I have no idea if they can sort out the tickets. We may have to stay another night, and go on Tuesday... what is it with the karmic forces keeping me away from Tallinn? Is there something I don’t know????

I just hope we get there by Wednesday, cos that’s my birthday, and that’s where I want to be! Even if Arvo (Paert) doesn’t make it to meet me at the bus station, I can cope with the rejection, but sheesh.. I just wanna have a look.

Next post I’ll tell you about Thursday, which started off kinda low, but improved to quite something. I’m at a cafe which proudly advertises “WiFi” but nyet, not working. Ditto the wireless webs at the hotel, I have passwords and stuff but the connection won’t .. well .. connect. I may trot down past the three canals which cross Nevsky, to the dear old smoky Cafe Max, to let youse know what’s happening, but first I must trot over to see my dear M for some husband therapy.

Today brought to you by ‘Enjoy’, because I need to remember to do a bit of this.

[PS For the first time in this city, I saw a cat this morning as I charged off to see M - it was a little short-haired grey with a few white splodges, including one big milky one splashed across its moosh. It didn’t speak, but gazed at me in Russian to hint mutely of depravations, denials, poor service and a general downturn in the standard of living. How come all cats say this, every time,every language, everywhere? Skivers, the lot of them AND it wouldn’t have a pat... ]

PS..

... attitude adjustment purrformed successfully via ICanHasCheezburger. What ROCKS!

All that matters...

... is a cat. And after a pretty damn purrfect afternoon - details in next blog entry - we were graced by a visit from a very fluffy tabby/torty cross Norsk pussk. He had a lot to say, and because we have been here 5 days, we understood purrfectly. I quote: "Neglected, misunderstood, starved and forced to suffer indignities like cruising strangers at a bus stop for a bit of attention. Waaa.. "

I, sook sook, took lots of photos and a movie or two (on Le Camera) to prove that Norwegian catspeak is not unlike feline dialects across the world.

We are packing tonight, ready to abandon our luggage twice tomorrow - once at the hotel foyer, for the afternoon, and then again at the Hurtigruten tent at the Fish Market, ready to embark!!!!! at 6pm, and sail!!!!!!! at 8pm. I can't really quite believe we're going to do it, but now M has the grog (what pisspots we must sound, and how anal are the Bergenese with their two wee liquor shops, and their 6pm beer-selling closing time at the supermarket. Is there a problem??? *I* aint got one)... we can sail away and, if we like, not set foot on land unless we need more tonic water. Wowee!

The Prada was purrfect. I hope you out there, my dear ones and my unknown readers who I would like to know more of, are all well, warm or cool enough, and within grasping distance of whatever it is that soothes you most. G'night fur now.

Another STOOPID day.

The Numba Wun post!

It has often been said of me that I am never short of an opinion.  So here is an official blog for me to share this frightening talent and allow the rest of you to have your say.

Thoughts and Snorts is an outlet for brain downloads, deep and shallow observations, complex remarks on the perils of living with cats, and raves about gardens, friends, food, and the stuff that is generally known as 'what the @**! is the universe doing to me NOW!'

And perfume.