Chocolate.........

........my wish:

swirling around in the whirlpool that is Alan Rickman!

The Big Wet

I had completely forgotten about it. After all it hadn't been a presence here in months. Sure, there were fleeting visits but they were sporadic and half-hearted. Nothing really to get your knickers in a twist. So imagine my surprise when I looked out of the window at work this morning and saw that it was going to be an extended visit?

The rains had started.

As I walked outside after my shift, the dusty parched earth smell had been replaced with the lush smell of the grass and trees. The freshness was intoxicating.

Somehow in the past few months, I'd managed to forget how rain could, at times, be unrelenting and cold as it fell and stung your face. How the drops would collect to form icy trickles down the back of your neck. The way it would encourage my already wayward hair to frizz and kink in all the wrong places.

Driving home, I had to wind down the windows to prevent them from fogging up. The best thing about working nightshifts is that if the weather is bad outside the rhythm of the rain lulls you into sleep inside. The dreakness outside seems to seep into the bedroom and cloak you with darkness. Snuggling up under the duvet feels like absolute bliss!

I haven't slept this well since my days of nightshifts in deepest winter in Aberdeen where you wake and you have no idea of whether it's day or night as the dusk lasts all day.

Two more night shifts to go.....

Lynden David Hall

May 7th 1972- February 14th 2006



Why am I the last to know? And why do I have to discover such information from a three month old Q magazine shipped over from the UK?

Such talent, gone

Cancer. It's a bastard.


Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Wallabies Kick Some Irish Arse

Rugby, I'd never thought much of it until last night. Last night I went to see the Australia v Ireland game at Subiaco Oval.

Was flipping brilliant.

The score? Ah, you know, I wouldn't want to get all smug about it but.....




Wooohooo! Am definitely going to become a proper aussie now. They win things. A lot!

Now I have never seen a rugby game before and had no idea of the rules but thanks to some last minute coaching from a rugger bugger mate in Sydney, I at least knew the essentials of the game and which team member to scream and swoon over.



Swoon No. One. The big fijian guy...Lote Tuqiri. Mmmm


Swoon No. Two. Captain George Gregan.


So the game started off by cuddling a lot and then Ireland were very kind to keep the ball up my end of the game so I could see what was happening (the Aus goal end). I jumped up and screamed loudly when I thought some bloke had got one of them try thingys but apparently he was offside. Filthy bugger!

More cuddling ensued and then Aus scored the first try at about 25 minutes into the game. There was much dancing and cheering from the crowd and then australia seemed to really warm up for there was more skidding along the grass, more shirt pulling and more neck grappling.

When Dave went to get beers there was a real live fistycuffs on the pitch. First of all it involved the really short aussie and the really short irish guy. Irish tried to punch aussie then aussie got a swing in and then some other irish guy got strangled (the irish with the big blue earphones on....does he have sticky out ears or something?) and the the bouncers (refs) stepped in and there were many mean looks from the players on both sides.

In the second half Irish caught up for a while and for a short time were actually winning. Luckily Aus came back to kick their arses and scored many more tries and conversions although all up the other end of the field cos they had swopped sides (bah...many photo ops missed!)

I had a fantastic time and hadn't realised how great live sport is to watch. The telly always deadens the excitement for me. And to be honest, how can you possibly take part in a full blown mexican tsunami at home on your sofa?

The Randomness Met When Drinking

I have to say that it all started with these boys (the three from the left....the tshirted one never made into my gang!).


Hazel and I had spent a delightful day, swigging wine at V99 sniggering at Sporty Spice replacing the immortal lyrics of the Sex pistols' with 'I am an anarchist, I am a sporty spice'!


She just didn't understand why that was pure comedy.


So these guys turn up at the place where we were staying, still luminous from the green and pink spray, asking for a cup of tea.


Naturally we invited them in!


The friendship was cemented by..




this...




this...





and this!

(my bra by the way!)


And so began the Great Snapshot of Randomness When Drinking, Routine....





And so came Majorica. Many men in frocks were met. Only one tried to show us that he was a true lad-eee as he had 'no willy...honest'!





And sometimes you stumble upon a real live six pack, albeit one adorned by someone who may or may not be far too fond of eye makeup!


These guys were working in a 'kebaberie' somewhere in London. This was their seductive Iron Man pose.

No six packers need apply!




Jesus?




No, this is Jesus?


Freo..... the BEST place to live!


The old guys that got thrown out of a pub for buying me alcohol when I was already 'showing signs of intoxication'!

The white bearded guy was doing his best Steps dance routine for me!





Gay night at the mustang bar...


The only clue to the previous drunken debauched night is to consult thy camera!

Weekend Woes

Dave's Weekend...



Going bush....



Drinking beers....



And chasing kangaroos.



Natalies Weeekend...




Drips....



Bedpans....



And arses!

Nurse, I'm Having Palpitations....

Have had to make a mad dash to the shops for a job lot of white vests.

Unbeknownst to me, for the last eleven months whenever I have bent over to take a patients bloods or blood pressure, they have been able to see ALL the way down my uniform top...to my sparkly belly button ring!

No wonder so many of my elderly male patients have been complaining of chest pain when I'm on duty!

To Pee Or Not To Pee

Government Health Warning: Please do not read if you want to look me in the eye ever again!!



As some of you might have gathered, I rather like living in Oz and want to stay, at least until my hoose is finished anyway.

I could be here for a while!

To do this, I need permanent residency. Anyone who has been through the visa process will completely understand when I say that it's a huge pain in the arse and it's mostly undertaken telepathically. No one tells you what you need to collect and send off so it means you spend far too much time in the presence of the local Justice of Peace in some local magistrates court trying to certify copies of birth certificates, nursing qualifications and love letters from 1992.

So on Friday, as part of my visa requirements, I found myself at the visa medical place for a thorough once over.

...but if they even attempted to perform a TUBE (Totally Uneccessary Breast Examination) on me, someone would be getting a very nasty slap!

As part of the whole thing, I needed to be tested for all sorts of lurgy including Hepatitis B and C and HIV. I had to take the same tests for my working visa over a year ago so I wasn't worried about all those needle stick injuries from my dirty, scrubby patients I had obtained over the years. However, the last time I had these tests, the mother hubbard doctor had given me this pre test counselling (is the law and everything)....

" ah, you look all right. You'll be fine"

What if I had lied about not being a junkie?

The nurses took the bloods whilst teasing me about using the extra large needles just cos I was a fellow nurse and then sent me on my way into the doctors office. I was asked to undress and don a gown so he could do the physical examination (minus the TUBE...phew). He pulled the curtain around me and I stripped off down to my lovely new black burlesque styley bra and contemplated the flipping gown. I know I'm a nurse and so therefore I should have experience with all stuff 'drapey' but this thing had THREE arm holes!

On my last count, I only had use for two arm holes. What the flip was I going to do with a third? As I glanced around me for some divine intervention I happened to notice something which jolted my head practically off it's hinges.

In a very large mirror behind me, I could see the doctor trying desperately to scribble on his very important doctors scribbling pad while pretending to not look at my half naked reflection.

When will I stop taking my clothes off in front of strange pension-age folk?

Anyway the doctor did the examination which consisted of making me do some ballet moves from Grade One, including touching the ground, making "pretty toes" and holding my arms in first position (I suspect that was to see if I had any alcoholic tremblings!) before sending me off to the toilets for the dreaded wee sample.

Now, I'm not good with the old 'hover and pee' thing at the best of times. I won't indulge my ways with peeing in a public loo for fear that you'll whisper 'freak' at me whenever we meet in a corridor or hospital canteen.

So anyway, I was locked in a strange toilet with a full length mirror?! Off putting for two reasons.

• I simply cannot walk past a mirror without either admiring my hair or fixing my hair. Clearly I wasn't in quite the right place to be playing with strands of my growing out fringe. And having to watch yourself whilst you pee? Weird.

• I had convinced myself that it was actually a two way mirror so the nurses could make sure that I wasn't substituting my (obviously) drug addled wee with some thirteen year olds clean living specimen.

So I tried to push all thoughts of stage fright out of my head and concentrate on cascading waterfalls, babbling brooks and rippling streams.

Minutes, maybe hours passed. Nothing.....

Hmm, Niagra, Angel and Victoria perhaps?

As the *cough* waters began flowing I was jolted by a knock at the door. As I confirmed that I was 'indeed in fine health, thank you so much for enquiring Mr Nursey Man', I realised a great horror. In the fright and commotion..

I had peed on my buggery-bastard jeans!

Eurgh.

In my panic I tried to sluice soapy water through the jean leg and then I spent a few frantic minutes desperately trying to dry the offending wet patch.

I spent the next twenty minutes backing away from people as I bid them Adieu for fear of them spying the "Nat-spacca mark"

If there is a next time, I'll be bloody well using the 'She-Pee' Chuz and Rho sent last year from Glastonbury



(The She-Pee is a revolution in continence management in festival goers! Just unzip, place and pee!)

Home, Sweet Home

Things are finally happening on the piece of dirt Dave and I like to call Chez Nous. No longer are the builders standing around sucking air through their teeth and proclaiming the weather to be of not a high enough quality to commence building works.

I got the first hint last week. When we went for our weekly jaunt into "t'country", past our land. We spied a sign stating that 'trespassers will be slapped' (I can't actually remember what was said. I was too busy jumping up and down about the fact we had a REAL sign on our land!).

Hmmm, seems someone got a teensy bit ahead of himselves when it came to the ordering of 'stuff' though. On closer inspection we discovered that our window frames had also been delivered. We need foundations, sewage and drains and walls before we can start thinking about the bloody windows? Surely?

Anyway, a couple of days later a porta loo was erected ( a sure sign?) and then the following day all these plastic tube things appeared out of the ground...

We've got somewhere for our bath water to go! Yippee. I have never been so excited to see sewage pipes in my whole life.

...until this week, anyway. This week we have actual concrete down. That means the foundations have been laid and the brickies are queueing up to lay their bricks for us.

Ain't she beautiful?