Advice Part 14- Camping

(This post is dedicated to my friend-and camper extraordinaire-Stan)

Camping. 

The word brings to mind pictures of the great outdoors, roasting marshmallows around an open fire, and “communing with nature.” Right? 

My advice to young players is- DO NOT be misled by the camping fantasy. The reality is VERY different. 

A few years ago, in a moment of madness, I decided to embark on a TEN DAY camping safari to New Zealand’s South Island, casually disregarding the (highly pertinent) facts that I had never been camping before, and I loathe physical activity.

Suffice to say, but by the end of Day 1, my enthusiasm had vanished. 

I would have phoned for help, but there was no phone reception in the NZ wilderness.

Typical.

So, what did I learn in the course of my ten days of torture?

• If you are going to be spending 5 days without having a shower, make sure you have EXTRA strong deodorant. And lots of it.

• This is particularly important if you are travelling in a mini-bus with 9 other similarly unclean individuals. And sleeping in the same tent as one.

• Camping requires a somewhat “relaxed” approach to toileting habits. Digging a hole in the ground is the norm, and “privacy” typically consists of hiding behind a tree or well-placed rock. And hoping no one catches you in the act.

• Setting up a tent is an art form. Particularly when it is dark. And you have just spent 10 hours walking. 

• Whilst “fancy dress” hiking sounds amusing, attempting to climb a rocky crag clad in a skintight polyester dress is NOT fun.

Needless to say, I haven’t been camping again since, although I must admit that I wouldn’t mind toasting marshmallows. 

On my gas stove.  

Anyone?

Advice Part 13- Big bottoms

And so this blog descends to an even lower level (literally AND metaphorically)....

One thing I have ALWAYS been aware of is that I have a big backside. A VERY big backside.

My advice to young players in a similar predicament to myself is that if you, too, are "blessed" with a "bootylicious" rear end, it's best to accept it sooner rather than later.....As it sure as hell won't be vanishing anytime soon.

I first became aware that my backside was, err, "larger than average", when I bought a mail order T-shirt many years ago.

The shirt was WAY too tight, and when I walked out of my bedroom, the following exchange occurred:

• Mum: "OK, it's too small, but what's that you've stuffed up the back?"
• Me: "Nothing. I haven't put anything up there."
• Mum: "Don't be silly. What is it?"
• Me: "Umm, it's my bum."
• Mum: "Oh. Oops."

Oops. EXACTLY.


Over the years, I have tried EVERYTHING to minimise the "junk in my trunk", including:

• Diets. BIG failure. I only seem to lose weight off my top half, whilst my rear remains obscenely large. This leads to me having no breasts, but an even more out-of-proportion bottom. 
• Exercising. Similarly unsuccessful. The "junk" just won't be shifted.
• Special "curvy" jeans. Amusingly, these aren't curvy enough for my rear. Quite an achievement.

Still, I guess it's not ALL bad.

I might one day run into Sir Mix-A-Lot, who did, after all, write an entire song devoted to big backsides.....

Advice Part 12-When NOT to catch the bus

Aah, Sydney's public transport- what a source of delight!

There are few things which inspire me more than boarding a filthy, overcrowded, late-running peak hour bus and enduring a (wait for it) 45 MINUTE ride to travel 4 KILOMETRES! I would have been faster in my horse and carriage.

But at least I'm not pregnant.

My advice to young players is that if you ARE expecting a baby, or are not able to stand for extended periods of time, DON'T catch the bus. Because you can be almost guaranteed that none of the other passengers will stand up for you.

Case in point. Yesterday, I caught the bus at 5:40pm, and although I got on at the second stop, I still had to stand. Nevermind. I wasn't too fussed.

However, when we reached Railway Square, a HEAVILY pregnant woman decided to board. She was OBVIOUSLY expecting, and looked totally exhausted.

But did anyone offer her a seat? No, of course not- that would have required a modicum of human decency....

So she took hold of the post next to the seats which are SPECIFICALLY MARKED for less mobile people, and prepared to stand for the trip.

After about 5 minutes (!!!!!) the businessman (!!!!!) on the "mobility seat" looked up and noticed the lady.

• Businessman- "When is the baby due?"
• Woman- "2 months"
• Businessman- "Wow, good luck with it".

He then (wait for it) RETURNED TO READING HIS BOOK!

Wow. Just wow.

All I can say is that in the (extremely unlikely) event that I ever decide to have a child, I WILL NOT be catching the bus when pregnant.

Advice Part 11- Dating age differences

When is someone "too young" or "too old" to be seriously considered as a dating prospect? This is a question which has bothered me for AGES (ha ha ha, notice the pun?)

Guilty admission from myself- I have only ever gone out with people younger than me. I have no idea why, but would like to think it is due to my exceptionally youthful exterior, rather than my immaturity.

Hmm.

But how young is "too young"? Or "too old"? When do you cross the line from "a bit of an age difference" into "downright sleazy" territory? What advice can be given to all the young players?

One commonly cited "rule" is to halve your age, and add 7, and anything below that is "not appropriate". So for me, "too young" is 22, "too old" is 46. Initially, this seemed kind of plausible. But when I thought about it, some of the implications were decidedly disturbing.....


If I dated a 22 year old

• I would have been in Year 12 while they were in Year 6 (which means I could have taken them to my Year 12 formal- and probably been arrested)

• I would have been finishing uni when they had just started high school (just imagine the scene at my graduation ceremony....)

If I dated a 46 year old

• They would have finished Year 12 when I was still learning how to walk (I guess they could have taken me to the formal in my pram....)

• I would not have even been in kindergarten when they were having their 21st (no alcohol for me at that party, then!)

Is it just me, or is this somewhat, err, worrying?

Advice Part 10- Remembering People's Names

If there is one thing I am ABSOLUTELY hopeless at (and, let me assure you, I'm pretty bad at A LOT of things), it is remembering people's names.

 

The cliché "in one ear and out the other" could best describe my inability in this area.

 

My advice to young players is- when being introduced to someone, it is generally a good idea to pay SOME attention to their name, or you may face embarrassing consequences later.

 

Here is a VERY recent example from my life.....

 

Last week, I was bored at work (surprise, surprise), and decided to fetch myself a cup of tea. At the sink, I ran into a lady I'd never met before, and we introduced ourselves. All was fine and dandy.

 

But when I got back to my desk a minute later, I had NO IDEA what her name was. Like Harry Houdini, this vital piece of information had mysteriously vanished....

 

 

 

 

So, using my guile,

• I tried to find her on the internal email list. Not there.
• I asked a colleague if they knew her name. They didn't.
• I loitered around her desk, desperately hoping to see some identifying document. Nil. Nothing. Zero.

 

BUT this situation isn't as bad as one I experienced at uni, when we were forced to do one of those "introduce yourself to the person sitting next to you" exercises.

I started chatting away to the girl beside me, and when it came time to introduce our partner to the group, I proudly announced "This is Bernadette."

Big pause. VERY big pause.

And then she quietly said, "Err, no, sorry. My name's Alison."

Bloody. Hell. I mean, it might be understandable confusing Alison with Alice or Alyse. But BERNADETTE?

Needless to say, we did not become friends. And my memory has not improved.

Advice Part 9- Karaoke!

(This post is dedicated to my friend Jatinder)

Aah, the karaoke bar....

I have spent many a pleasant (and not so pleasant) night in such establishments.

With the weekend almost upon us, I thought this was a suitable opportunity to provide some advice on surviving "the karaoke experience" to all the young players out there. Just in case you're tempted to go.....

Karaoke is TOTALLY UNIQUE. If you have never walked down the stairs of Karaoke World, and heard the garbled strains of tuneless warbling emanating from the (supposedly) soundproof rooms, you don't know what you're missing.

(Interesting fact- I don't think it is entirely co-incidental that a Molotov cocktail was once thrown into said venue.....Someone's singing must have been REALLY bad that night)

Here are a few pointers for surviving karaoke:

• NEVER, EVER go to the karaoke bar without having a drink first. Ideally, make sure you have drunk enough that the prospect of making a monumental fool of yourself is no longer a major concern.
• Accept the fact that the worst songs generally provide the best karaoke fodder. Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a prayer" is a case in point.

• Have some signature karaoke tunes which you can belt out reasonably tunefully. Preferably something easy.
• Unless you are MC Hammer (or similar), DO NOT try to rap. Particularly if you have followed Point 1.
• If you are trying to divert attention from your singing, dancing is a good tactic. So, too, is making fun of the bizarre 1980s style music videos.

With these tips in mind, you should survive your karaoke experience.

And maybe even enjoy it.

Advice Part 8- Top Cat

So, my last post was on "animal behaviour." This post continues the theme.

But instead of focussing on the activities of particularly bad members of the human species, today's post is dedicated to the behaviour of my cat......(wow, how was that for a great segue? Ha ha!)

My advice for young players is- if you have a cat, make sure it knows that YOU are "Top Cat". Otherwise, it may start getting delusions that IT occupies this exalted status.

Case in point. Last year, I obtained my cat, Polly, who came as a "package deal", along with her comfy cushion.

At first, things went well- I sat on the couch, and Polly sat on her cushion.

FANTASTIC!

Or so I thought....

After a couple of weeks, Polly decided to exert her authority, and challenge me for the mantle of "Top Cat", and all it entails (namely, prized position on the sofa).

When I arrived home at night, there she was on the couch. And despite much encouragement, she would NOT budge. I tried everything.

• Bribing her with tuna.
• Beseeching and pleading.
• Spraying her with the water bottle.

Nothing worked.

Now, Polly occupies the best part of the sofa (closest to the TV and the heater), whilst I am "permitted" to squeeze myself into a tiny space in the corner.

Maybe if I'm lucky, she'll let me sit on her cushion.....But I doubt it.