Lorna Lino Out of Office (and out of men too whatdya know!)

Alone and immobilized

How many Roadside Assistance vehicles does it take to change a battery? It takes 3, now I know. Approximately 100 metres from my place of work in a suburb we shall call Armageddon my car has a major coronary and dies. Fortunately it has enough gasp to weave into a nearby driveway before the queue of major haul vehicles behind me turned me into bitumen naan bread. After a 40 minute wait my first "roadside assist" man arrives and if I use that term any more loosely it will fall off the screen, opens the bonnet and scratches his head and says "battery hot". Well at least that's all I could understand of him other than "car no good" and "bye". Another 50 minutes later and the sun is sinking into the earth like my despair and the second man arrives. He parks behind me and rings me, "where are you?" he says. I say "I'm in front of you", waiting for the pantomime audience to join in and say "nooooo he's not, yes he is". He places his traffic cones strategically and sets up his flashing light while dedicating another 5 minutes entering information into his hand held. By this time the cones have been sent flying by a procession of lawless ten tonners. Fresh out of the call centre he struggles to open the bonnet. More head scratching and eventually decides a new battery might be worth a try. He can't get the old one out and then can't get the new one in. Eventually he connects it up with much pushing and poking, and .... nothing. So he takes it out and turns it up the other way and puts it back in....still nothing. He says I need another man in a van to fix the immobilizer and takes off at a rapid speed. Almost 3 hours have passed and the suburb of hell is in darkness and I sit and wait. I pass the time delivering a tirade of abuse over the phone to a Frenchman, and so is the make of my car so therefore he must be to blame, you can't make good cheese, great wine, and cars what the hell were they thinking, Concorde anyone? Third van arrives. No language barriers this time, and man number 3 clearly knows his way around this car...and he's never worked in a call centre. He puts the key in the ignition and it starts. The car had decided to mobilize itself. So a little roadside assistance banter and then I'm home nearly four hours later. So the next time my fantastic car insurer offers me the opportunity to pay extra for all the buckets of service they offer like car hire, free taxi or pony ride whatever is cheaper etc., I will suggest I would be happy to pay extra if they just provided an experienced, trained mechanic in the language of my choice. If I went into hospital I wouldn't expect to be examined by a truck driver, then a baker and finally if I wait on a trolley long enough a medical professional, so wake up insurer either provide sufficient training for your staff or get the mechanics off the phones. Weekend whinge now complete, immobilizer mobilized.

*&%$# it's cold

Why is it so bloody cold? In Melbourne right now it's 8 degrees. And if you answer that question by saying "well it is winter ACTUALLY" I will come through this computer and slap you about. I had work colleagues down from Sydney yesterday and we had to cross the road to go to the ever greasy truck stop cafe for lunch. I found myself apologising for the freezing climate and non stop rain. I shouldn't feel responsible for weather but it really has been a wet one and to make matters worse a night by the fire or more likely standing under the Fujitsu screaming "heat you useless piece of plastic, heat!", leaves us left with the god awful television choices of the moment being whatserface and whatsisname in red - select a) hair or b) speedos. I WANT MY TELEVISION BACK you painful boring trollops that think everyone buys into this electioneering crap that is so highly processed and manufactured it might as well come in a subway sandwich. Why don't we talk about the drought anymore...

The Humourless Empire

And a warm welcome back to the Victorian era where punishment reigns supreme and any touching of bra straps shall be at the judgement of the masses. For those who have been fortunate enough to embrace a life free from media intervention it appears that the retailer David Jones is to punished for the actions of the former CEO who allegedly did something stupid involving failed attempts to attract and bed an employee and the touching of a bra strap. But that aside, let's also punish all those who dare to make a joke of such alleged naughty event. Fashion designer Alannah Hill made a joke about it and was forced to publicly apologize. Why? And when did we ban humour? And for the high pitched hysteria and public statements of "I won't shop at David Jones in the foreseable future" by Laurel Papworth social network strategist (which is what exactly?) in today's Sunday Age firstly I don't think punishing the employees of this organisation through reduced sales resulting in job loss is a well thought out strategy and secondly does "foreseable future" mean up until the Boxing Day Sale? Had the former CEO kicked a football for a living it seems the story would have been and gone without appearing as constant wrapping of every newspaper. Where was this temperance movement in punishing Rugby League and AFL after reports of gang rape...(insert sounds of crickets chirping). The figure of $26 million is about maximum publicity and who knows what motivations sit behind this but to be sucked in to a culture of humourless hysteria sends us back to a darker era. When they gave women the right to vote it was meant to be for government and not about department stores. I'm going to shop at David Jones, in fact I will be going straight to the lingerie department and asking for the CEO special. Shock, horror. Off with her head!

Just saw me in half before the coffee

I just got back from a 2 day industry seminar in Sydney whereby each day is fun filled with my own games of sleep wake and bullshit bingo. When your facilitator leaves before the end of the seminar you know it's a lost cause. And just when I thought I was done with the butchers paper and commitment to do nothing 'calls to action', I'm faced with the industry dinner. I'm in it for the free food yes, but when the lamb holds up better than the sole of your shoe the night turns to time watching over sticky date pudding (or was that the leftover lamb in a butterscotch sauce?). Mostly women, I listen to tales of how smart the children are and I have no reason to doubt that very fact given because I've listened to not one but three witty tales of exactly how smart the children are. There needs to be an unwritten rule on this one. You get one witty tale tell time or two if you spread it over dinner. Three without an interval or subject change is just plane rude when your audience have either lodged the prawn skewer through their hand to escape or are pretending to take a call from an important person when we all know it's message bank. Towards the end I began to lose a grip of politeness and like a car accident happening in slow motion I could see myself rising from the chair, handbag in hand making a beeline for the door as soon as I heard the words "I know my mother never wanted me as a child..." wooooosh and I was gone. In hindsight I know that would have appeared rude and I feel very bad about that but after a day of useless acronyms and fake management speak I had worn out the polite buffer zone. If only I could just disappear without anyone noticing. Poof. Gone. Hotel room, pyjamas, tv, bed. Why can't we have technology for that.

Survival of the thickest

I was speaking with a person who has a job that is to ensure everybody is safe and healthy in their occupation. Well I think that was the original concept anyhow. We were talking about speeding fines as I was telling him about the ever changing speed limits on my route to work which includes a 40km zone on a freeway at certain times of the day in case of some kid who might choose to avoid more than 3 sets of traffic lights and 1 pedestrian overpass to hurl him or herself in front of 4 lanes of traffic before being worked over by a tram, in which case they probably deserve it. The OH&S guy said "Oh you are another one of those reverse Darwin theorists". Apparently someone had said to him that because of his occupation (this was one of those 'the trouble with you people is...' type of conversations) his industry is causing us to eliminate all of the common sense thinkers therefore creating a species of non thinking beings that would step out like zombies into 4 lanes of early morning traffic. But is it really about safety? Having never been one to drive above the speed limit I must admit even I was pretty pissed off to see two high viz wrapped traffic police pointing their speed camera gun at me in the hope that I wasn't sure when the 40 zone ended and the 70 zone started, which I wasn't. If speeding fines can be issued on the basis of trickery they might as well dress up as cigar smoking Mexicans in ponchos and point rusty AK47's in our face and say 'give us your money you dirty scumbag'. Because doing 43 kms instead of 40 kms (or let's just say get out and push) is not about the possibility of running over the school children, it's about, well you know the answer to that. I didn't give much more thought to the reverse Darwin theory, until I turned on the television of course. The species is doomed.

Unemployed love

What do you think of the office romance? It's fun for the participants in the early days of a shared touch on the green photocopier button or perhaps a not so secret email (IT are always watching) but in the light of corporate policy and policing the affair is lost somewhere between conflict of interest and your integrity falling fasting than your trousers. In this country there is a collective euwww at the moment the colleague hook up becomes public. When a once trusted mate who could be relied on for Monday morning tales of wild weekend debauchery that could only half explain his appearance resembling an over baked sausage roll, has gone and hooked up with the chick from accounts who everyone thought was a little bit weird, he is off the funny email list faster than deleting the deleted. Mate no more. In some countries the office romance is encouraged like in Japanese organisations which have a sole department dedicated to assisting you in finding a lifelong partner without ever having to go passed reception. Do we need to adopt a more welfare like approach similar to the jobless. A person without a partner for say, more than 6 months could be a long term unenpartnered and could qualify for various financial assistance for speed dating nights, online dating subscriptions and a New Start allowance for those who have been through bitter divorce. Just because you have become redundant in your partnership doesn't mean that there isn't another partnership out there recruiting furiously. Hopefully not so much that they develop a rash. I once was advised to recruit 2 colleagues that were required to get along because there were sitting side by side in the Purchasing Department. I was successful in my quest and recruited 2 who not only got along well (well done to me) but became engaged and got married (what was I thinking) soon afterwards. Apparently I did a little too well on the order. But it goes to show that we are all romantics at heart. Just not in the workplace.

Put more pork on your television

You can't stop people doing dumb stuff. No matter what laws, rules and guidelines we hand out there will always be those to whom common sense will not prevail. Apparently it even happens in the animal kingdom. According to today's ever reliable Northern Territory News a group of wild pigs plunged into croc infested waters with a nearby crocodile sunning on the very same banks 'Intrepid porkers run croc gauntlet'. The 66-year-old Aussie Adventure Tours guide was on a jumping croc cruise with one of his groups when he witnessed the unexpected show.
"The pigs were just about to scramble up the bank into the undergrowth when the croc came into the water," Mr Pettit said. Fortunately no pigs were injured in this event but there was a great 6pm news story wasted here, we should have heard from eye witnesses and there should be at least a police commissioner around to give a quick 5 second statement about how disappointed he is with this type of irresponsible behaviour. Speaking of pigs, tonight we are told is the finale for a cooking show that really doesn't have a lot to do with learning how to cook but judged by a bunch of porkers who clearly should be moving towards the biggest losers for their next television appearance. It's not that Master Chef is a great television show, it's more about there is stuff all else to watch. Or if you want real porkies, you know what comes on after that???

Tell 'em they're dreaming

I'm interested to see how people decorate their homes. Actually, let me be honest here. I've developed a new addiction for watching home reno shows. Location, Relocation, Dislocation whatever, so long as I get to peer inside the front door and cast a critical eye over the floating floors, occasional rugs and those weird gourd looking things that just seem to appear in a corner -I'm glued. The makeover shows are the best. Particularly the ones from the UK where resident hosts include a man who just needs an excuse to go to the local pub to talk about location and a loud woman in a bright coat bursting through the front door shouting knock this through, push that out, open up this room until their home resembles a warehouse and some poor person a few years later needs to put all the walls back in again because it's so damn cold. With heritage listed buildings Ms Knock That Wall Down has to keep her mouth shut while the poor purchasees have to build a dream home with not much more than a Roman wall and a bit of grass. Pass the Tim Tams this stuff is priceless. This week Mr and Mrs I'm a Clinical Psychologist and my extra good looking husband who has no say in ANYTHING is apparently a GP and they both earn so much money they can afford to buy most of Wales and a smallish apartment next door to the Queen. All was going according to plan until they came across the mansion of her dreams and Mrs Psychologist is filmed jumping up and down waving her arms on a trampoline that doesn't belong to her, yet. There goes that career. So many homes, so many duck egg walls. So very few pool rooms.

Gold Logie for the silver wig

I don't think I will be watching "Hawke" tonight. It would take more than a silver perm and a remake of the America's Cup to get me to tune into another cringe worthy Australian DRAMA (and the word drama needs to be in capitals because so many of them are so very HIGH DRAMA). A large proportion of Australian drama series consist of scene after scene of screaming hysterical women (followed by big fire and loud explosion) and very serious men with deep voices who say mate a lot and only use one side of their mouth to speak. The highlight of tonight's HAWKE DRAMA will no doubt be the too often repeated quote of the day of the America's Cup win. I think at that point you can turn off if you haven't all ready, it's a bit like watching ELVIS, the life story until the part comes where he dies - there is no point continuing on. Apollo 11 they land on the moon. Show's over folks, nothing more to see here. Significant events in history have been largely lost on me as I can vividly remember the collection of so called milestones and exactly what I was doing and the little reaction it registered with me at the time. I was in the backyard swimming pool when I heard that John Lennon had been shot. I remember saying "Oh" and doing another lap. Considering I was quite a fan of him at the time it was an underwhelming response at best. I remember being at school when someone wrote on the blackboard that Elvis had just died. I don't think I said anything and thought oh that's that guy in those bad movies wonder what's in my bag for lunch. Looking back I have a glimmer of guilt on my lack of reaction to such events in history and hope that when another one pops up if I could get a reminder email or an SMS to tell me 'significant event - take notice' and I might make sure I'm doing something more memorable or that my reaction is a better effort that 'oh ... right'. Perhaps I just need more DRAMA (insert large fire graphic and loud explosion noise here). Or call more bosses 'bums' or something.

High fashion versus high viz

Do you remember watching the opening ceremony of the last Olympic Games with the parade of athletes by country walking towards the camera, waving, one with a big flag? Do you remember what they were wearing? Probably not, and for very good reason. The national Olympic fashions are generally not worthy of keeping for a repeat season. Looking somewhere between a road sweeper and a lollypop man the athletes walk into the stadium wearing something that is looking a size too big for them and is usually so bright can probably be seen from space. The UK have announced the appointment of designer Stella McCartney to be creative director for the London 2012 games according to today's Herald Sun. Smart move. I recall the Manchester Commonwealth Games where the uniform of choice was a brightly coloured vest that was made from old sofas and a funny hat that gave you the impression that they might start a funny dance any minute or wave a stick of black pudding around. It was a bit too culturally significant for anyone to get I think. So well done UK. I just hope the Olympic track won't be too damaged by the high heels.

Please ensure all passengers are locked into an upright position

Dannii Minogue had a baby. Apparently we care. That's Dannii with two i's (you can see where this is heading can't you). She called the baby Ethan as in Ethan Hawke and not short for Ethanol. I was a bit worried there that he would have two e's or worse, they actually meant to call him Ether which came in so handy during the delivery they thought they would name the baby after it. You just never know these days, and yes I hate to say it but when I went to school if you had a name that was anything outside the little book of Saints you would probably get your head kicked in at some point. Times have changed. Or have they? Budget airline Ryanair is to offer vertical seats for those people who are happy to stand strapped into something that resembles a cross between an ironing board with restraints or an upright sun lounge that wasn't properly assembled. I remember a time not so long ago when you could actually stand at the back of the plane on long haul flights and smoke and drink there for as long as you liked. Some of the best parties happened somewhere over an ocean near the rear exit door, you met the most interesting people and you could still watch the movie at the same time (one descending screen for everyone remember). The drinks flowed and the exit door had a teeny tiny ashtray - at least I think that's what it was meant for. Now it's all changed and they are going to charge you to go to the loo. "Michael O'Leary, the Irish airline's chief executive, will fund the controversial move by charging customers to use the restroom during flights, reports the UK’s Daily Telegraph". I don't believe Ryanair do long haul flights but knowing some passengers as soon as that seat belt sign goes off they move that fast to the bathroom you'd think it was an olympic sport. So how exactly do you charge someone to use the bathroom? Do you need to prebook? Is there a rate difference between intended purpose and time required (mile high club could get very expensive). So when I next fly a budget airline I now need to pay for my own food, drinks, luggage carriage, in-flight entertainment and the dunny. It's only a matter of time before we pay extra for flight attendants, come to think of it, do we really need them anymore. Oh sorry, the life jacket and whistle are extra too.

Freshly baked sole

Just when you thought team building activities had disappeared off the motivation radar it appears that in Italy, taking off your Ferragamo shoes for a quick (and I do mean quick) stroll across some hot coals for team building is still in fashion. Unfortunately when it goes wrong and the corporate event participants are running on the sides of their feet to the nearest reporter then companies should sit up and take notice. According to today's online Age newspaper 'a motivation day organised by one of Italy's biggest real estate agencies ended in tears and scars when nine staff had to be treated in hospital after walking barefoot on a bed of hot coals'. Well what did you expect if you go around stomping on a barbecue, isn't that the point? I detest corporate team bonding events and still bear the scars of one too many blind folded guided walks across a team made paper cup and pipe cleaner bridge whilst Japanese drumming and writing down my 'barriers to success' using brightly colour pen on shiny butchers paper. They are pointless. I once met a woman who had been working in the UK and she told me about a team bonding event that required all of her department to jump of an oil rig platform in the north sea or somewhere. She was relentlessly pressured by both activity leaders and colleagues to the point of any decent relationship she had with these people being reduced to name calling and bullying. She stood firm and didn't strap an inflatable life raft to her head and also didn't stay with the company. I think losing employees over these one size fits all activities is often understated. Who are these people who are so devoid of interest in their lives that they must act out their GI Joe fantasies with the assumption that it's good for everyone. If you failed scouts then you move on! The next time someone requires a team motivation activity I am going to suggest either a day of shoe shopping or if that doesn't grab you, go off on a peacekeeping mission to Afghanistan where you can get you dress up and jump out of any number of moving platforms screaming "yes, I am the man" until someone takes a pot shot at you - and may or may not miss. The whole point of these exercises is to take people out of their comfort zone. Well yes, they leave their comfortable homes every day to come to work in a place with people they may or may not like knowing the company may or may not continue to keep them and pay them to be there. That's enough action for me for one day. As for the hot coals, I prefer to use them for the baked trout and potatoes, not corporate stinky feet.

Holidays by the hour

In the hope of spending a toasty Saturday night in front of the telly, I made the brave decision to turn it on only to find a pseudo advertising/travel program along the lines of Australian destinations. As per the majority of travel programs in this country it was served up by the now too old and fat for footy guy and the stick thin vacuous model who gets excited about eating a piece of cheese. I was horrified to see on another show recently the main presenter after almost an hour of "tucking in" to at least 3 full meals, various cakes, wines by the vat load and chocolates only to interrupt the program to tell us he had been diagnosed with bowel cancer and we should all go and get ourselves 'checked out'. If he keeps doing this show he will be checking out permanently. Last night the thin on personality model was attempting to tell us that she came to this spot just for the scenery (yeah right and flew out within the hour). She was wearing some spray on shorts and a brightly coloured band-aid wrapped around her top and we all had to suffer through the quintessential shots of her diving into the camera ready clear waters - I swear I have a bracelet wider than her. As usual there is little regard for what else there is to do in these remote locations. We are given the impression that bringing the family along to pat the wildlife will bowl them over with excitement and standing atop a lookout point will gladly fill at least half a day. Unfortunately a lot of these places come with poor standards of food and accommodation that proprietors have been riding on the coastal spectacular for too long. Just because your faux fish sticks comes served with a cracking smile and a cheerful 'there ya'go love' don't make it edible. Motels are less than basic and transport around the town other than bring your own is none existent. So while Mr former sporting hero and Ms I've got my own line of lingerie put on their smiley faces and do their very best to convince us they've stayed in these places for more than a few hours, some how I just wasn't convinced. So there ya go...love.

How many circus acts does it take to get a job?

Having recently performed the big top acts of finding a job whereby I have jumped through the required hoops whilst standing on top of a horse swallowing a sword and smiling at the same time, I thought I had come to the part where I take a final bow and sign on the dotted line until it hit my inbox. The psych test. Personalty assessment and numerical reasoning (pahh!!). The first 100 questions of repetitive 'do you prefer to be alone or be with friends' questions gets regurgitated and presented again in the next 100 questions only to find you are so bored by the whole exercise you start to develop a twitch and begin answering questions that infer you are either trying to skew the results or actually do have the personality of a body snatcher. After 50 minutes of a) prefer to be alone b) prefer to be with people c) like conflict and d) have an extensive collection of surface to air missiles in my garage, the end can't come soon enough and your personality is now only a shadow of its former self. The numerical reasoning provided a mere curiosity for a short time where I would ponder the scenario of 'if Nigeria's current monthly rainfall for November exceeded its GDP then how many tonnes of grain does it take to change a light bulb?' but only briefly as I selected 'b' for all questions to be followed by Next, Next, Next and Finished. What a waste of time. Suspecting that Nigeria has probably been in drought for years I put as much credence in these assessments as I would my horoscope. Psych tests tell me more about the interviewer than the candidate. Make a decision or just line up the candidates and paint letters on their foreheads from a to d or none of the above. Next.

New Era or Just New Carpet?

Like everyone else this week I awoke to hear news of a new Prime Minister. For a moment there I felt like I had been out of the country. How quickly they can accomplish change when they want it! Whilst I'm not a fan of any politician really I am warmed about the realisation of a female leader. I'd like to feel that times have changed but I know it's just a matter of time before we get wall to wall reviews of her lifestyle choice, hair colour, favourite lipstick or flower - all the ground breaking journalism that is required to remind us that she is not a man. On an evening out last night a now very rare opportunity came up to see a band at a Fitzroy pub. The usual men in gorilla suits were on the door trying to be testing until they came to me and got a response that reminded them that mother still can be scary and that he was not too old to be slapped on the legs. The pubs I went to during the early pac-man era had gaffer tape on the floor to hold the sticky beer carpet together and at some point during the night there would be a skinhead fist fight over who exactly did come from Brighton England and not from the well to do south eastern suburb in Melbourne. In the pub of last night the punters sat quietly on the non gaffer taped floor and listened to the band swathed in the swirling sounds of reverb pedals and sparkling laser lights. The lack of cigarette smoke and movement from the audience was eerie. It was however an enjoyable gig and standing at the back of the room it was only then that I felt a sense of a new era coming in. At least until a sustained moment in the middle of a song when my reminiscing same age colleague yells out "US forces give the nod..." For him the pub will never change even if the carpet does.

Dial #1 for No Responsibility, Dial #2 for Couldn't Give A Shit

It's wrong to yell at call centre operators. It's wrong, it's not their fault and they are only doing their job. Yawn. They are just a front for the evilness of (insert telco/insurance company name here) that hide behind them with their no care policies and piss of disclosure statements. If more people scream down the phone (sorry 24 year old Customer Care operator) at these companies the more they might sit up and take notice. Why is it that your customer care operator can care until his nose bleeds but he can't ACTUALLY help you? "I'm not authorised to that ma'am but if you call back tomorrow...". Why pick up the goddamn phone if you can't actually do anything, and why get paid for it? Like yelling at the television every time an overpaid 'hero' gets away with another criminal act sprouting they made an 'error of judgement' (which to me would be making a wrong turn into a dead end street, not assaulting someone), somehow it just feels right. So the next time someone gives you the 'sorry the accountability department have gone for the day' keep them on the phone and see if you can get them to actually DO something for you. Remember, nice people are poor people...oops did I say that out loud? Sorry, error of judgement.

Game on

Is anyone excited about the world cup this year? Is it lacking some robust discussion or has our patriotism hit the dumpster faster than a used vuvuzela after the 4 nil result? Having a deficit knowledge of sport myself, I can only guess the decisions leading to the recent showing of a shiny red card to some of our better players and the resulting effects on the rest of the game. I am sure however that there are some learnings we can take from the beautiful game. Wouldn't it be good if we could have a red card in many other daily activities. At the deli counter if some women pushes in front of you a man in tight shorts appears and shoots his hand up in the air and a red card is shown. Woman sent off to the carpark. The man in front of you at the bar spills beer over your new shoes, the ref appears, man sent home in a cab. This could be useful. However there will be protests, I can imagine the arms going up "I didn't touch her, she knocked me", sorry sport, the ref has spoken, home you go. When I think of it we have a sort of red card in place already. A recent incident (of which we are yet to get the gory details) of a local retail CEO who was red carded about some bad behaviour got the 'sorry mate' and told it's time to walk the walk of shame. We desperately need a political red card, in fact we need a whole pack for them and for the NRL and AFL they need to be red carded for life, sorry love you have no respect for women and you think black people are not equal to you, off you go and become a call centre operator if you're lucky. Failing that we should be able to just sit in their homes and blow loud plastic horns at them until they learn to behave better.

We are ze people in your neighborhood

It's time to think about travel. I am heading off to France in January and need to start making plans. This will be about my fifth time to the pastures of pastry and to date have only made petite attempts at any language learning. I can navigate enough French words to eat, drink and shop in fact I probably have a collection of at least 10 French words that revolve around my favourite wine, food and basic greetings. My usual approach is to sit around and wait until one of my 10 words comes up and then I say 'oui sil vous plait' and I'm sorted. I've tried listening to the french language CDs in the car but they are usually circa 1980 and the voice overs sound just a little bit 'Allo Allo' for me. I don't think it's been really helpful. When I travel I can't imagine any situation where the opportunity would arise where I would ask 'how do I get to the camping ground?' or when I'm visiting the local market where the women at the cheese counter would sooner stab me in the eye with an artichoke before letting me in, and all I can say is 'I like dancing'.

I'm considering private tuition only because I've tried the group classes and for some reason they believe that when you walk through the door you have reverted to a toddler and Sesame Street learning skills are the way to go. I actually attended a language course where the teacher asked everyone in the room to form a circle while he asked us to throw an Elmo toy to each other in order to learn how to count. This happens so often in Paris. I want to be able to string a sentence together with some of my 10 words and not have to stumble for the point and smile fallback position. I need to know how to hurl good french aussie abuse at a rip off taxi driver and be able to have a conversation with the man who brings his dachshunds into the restaurant to sit at the same table every night. That's life and language. I can find my own way to the train station.

If I could turn back time

I was speaking with my Chiropractor today whilst he was working on my leg that somehow fell off and ended up being put on backwards. We were talking about how our memories of ourselves and our fitness levels often remain stagnate. In my mind I am physically capable of everything that I was 20 years ago and will attempt to lift furniture and conduct spontaneous fits of exercise without any adjustment or thought put into natural degeneration, hence the good relationship with a Chiropractor. It's true of so many people that suddenly decide to run the marathon as they did 10 years ago or play tennis like they can still get away with wearing white shorts. I have a similar theory with parents. I believe that parents have their children firmly wedged in an era of childhood in their minds that no matter how many times you marry, divorce, have children again and again, to your mother and father you will always be 12. In my case it's my father who carries a photograph of me and my sister in his wallet to show to enquiring friends (they don't really enquire, it just happens). In this photograph I'm with my sister and I'm holding a teddy bear. When I visit my parents and we decide to go out for the day I will be placed in the back seat of their car because in my parents mind I'm not old enough to drive a car. They'll check on me to make sure I'm not getting car sick and ask me if I can feel the heater/air conditioner every few kilometres. I'm sure if I look hard enough there are probably colouring books under the seat somewhere. I will be told to eat all of the food on my plate and I'll be criticised for spending money and not saving it (for what, my funeral I'm already grown up?). So with the long weekend and a visit to parentville coming I'm already mentally preparing for the reverse degeneration and anti aging atmosphere. I wonder if this is what Cher was singing about?