That'll teach me

Oh my. More plastic free eco-confessions:

On Saturday the Galumph bought two new shirts - both of which featured plastic buttons and those silly little plastic inserts which supposedly keep the collar points straight. Not really quite sure how we could have avoided that one, besides not buying the shirts, but he really did need some new ones for work. However, we did decline bags or tissue wrapping, and just bundled them straight into the pram, so points for that, ja?

He also got a new foil for his electric razor, which came - dum de dum dum - cased in plastic (and cost $50! Geeeeeez! He could have bought a whole new razor for that price!) Still, the old foil (which is the bit that sits above the blade) had so many holes in it that it was kinda shredding his face as he shaved, so we deemed the plastic a necessary evil. Much better than buying disposable razors or razor heads every other week, and much safer than letting old Parky Hands handle a straight edge razor blade. I don't even want to think about how many cuts he would suffer if he tried one of those - eeeeeew!

Enough of the Galumph's misdeeds - I have a confession of my own to make. I'd been trucking along nicely, not making too many mistakes, and then a friend rang yesterday and invited me out to the movies to see Becoming Jane. "Woo hoo!" I said, being a bit of an Anne Hathaway fan. But then we struck trouble - Galumph informed me that he had a meeting until 6, and so couldn't get home until 6:30, which meant I would miss the movie which started at 6:45.
So the movie was off. Until the Galumph emailed at 5:51 saying "Leaving now!"

"Bingo!" I hollered, and quickly got ready, listening the whole time for the ring of Galumph's bicycle bell, which would announce he was home. Listening, listening, listening, all the while watching as the minutes speeded by. Finally he arrived home at 6:20, I rushed out the door and headed for the tram stop. Where I proceeded to wait 10 minutes for the tram. Finally it arrived, I got off at the stop closest to the cinema, met my friend and we ran in, got our tickets (1 minute to go!) and decided to get a snack.

Now, I can tell you, after all that running and rushing, I was feeling a little parched. In the rush of things, I hadn't had any dinner, and forgot to pack my water bottle. And when I say parched, I mean the kind of dryness of the throat that results in your tongue semi-swelling up and obscuring your breathing passages. I needed a drink, but after scanning the drinks fridge realised that EVERY SINGLE BEVERAGE on offer came in plastic.

"I neeeb a dwink!" I dumb-tongued to my friend. "Bub day all cohm in pwastic, andb I'm meant to be pwastic fwree!"

"Bwahahahahah!" she said, which wasn't really useful at all. There wasn't even time to dash off to the loo to stick my head under the tap and gulp away, so I succumbed and purchased a Coke in a paper cup, with one of those plastic lids and a straw.

And the irony of it all? About 10 minutes into the movie I grabbed the drink, and somehow managed to dislodge the lid and spill most of it all over my pants. Grrrrrrr! I should have just asked for no lid, and been done with it. 'Tis hard to enjoy a romantic scene between that hunky smoldering James McAvoy and the lovely Anne when you feel like you've wet yourself. Thank heavens the cinema was dark so nobody could see me sitting in a puddle of environmental evil!

Welcome aboard the good ship Fettucine

As I looked into the cupboard this morning I noticed, to my horror, that our dried pasta supply was rapidly dwindling. This did not bode well for our Plastic Free month.

"Galumph!" I bellowed. "We've got a pasta emergency. All hands on deck, stat!"

"Aye, aye, slave driver!" he groaned back.

"You man the camera like a good lad, and I'll take charge o' the pasta machine", I ordered, and after whizzing 6 eggs and 1/2 a kilo of flour in the food processor, then letting it rest wrapped in baking paper in the fridge for an hour, we were ready to board the good ship HomePastaMaking.

(Note: I have absolutely no idea why this post suddenly has a nautical theme, but if you let me be Horatio Nelson, then I'll let you be my lieutenant. Huzzah!)

First you roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface, then pop it into the pasta machine, and roll it through the settings, from thickest to thinnest, stopping to dust the pasta with flour periodically, and check the wind direction, or something suitably maritime. Oh, and don't get flour on the camera - the captain certainly won't be happy with you if you do, and you may find yourself court martialed (or at the very least denied an afternoon easter egg treat).

Then Grumbles will wake up from her nap, so she'd best have a turn of the crank as well. All hands on deck, and watch for shot spray or, more appropriately in this case, clouds of flour that can get up your nose and make you sneeze!

Then it's back to the flour station, to do some more dusting.

Then add the pasta machine cutting attachment, and roll through the dough once more, marvelling as it's turned into ribbons of fettucine. Pasta ahoy, me lads!

Lastly, finish up your voyage on the high rolling seas of pasta making by rolling each ribbon into nests, and allowing to dry throughly overnight (you can pinch a few for dinner that evening, though).

Got milk?

Day three.
Yes, I do have milk! Hoorah!

Finally the delivery came in to my local indie supermarket. As soon as I spotted the milk sitting in all it's glassy goodness on the shelf, I grabbed five bottles (although now I'm wondering if maybe I should have made it six as the delivery only comes in once a week), plus some yoghurt, cream and quark for good measure. Although I did feel slightly paranoid as I walked home that I probably sounded like a wino, what with all the clinking of glass from the bottom of the pram. Oh, the sacrifices I make!

In other, less joyous new, I have some more eco-confessions: We got some groceries home delivered last night, and despite me requesting that they come in boxes, the butter and eggs came in plastic bags. And the olive oil bottle has a plastic spouty thing on the inside. However, since both of these were entirely unintentional mistakes I refuse to feel too badly over them. How can I, when I have a fridge full of milk?!

Oh, and I paid $11 for 300g of Maffra cheddar cheese yesterday. It's great cheese, but ouch! I shall console my aching wallet with the thought that a little goes a long way thanks to the flavour punch it packs, and it's good to be supporting artisian cheese makers.

I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that this experiment, whilst noble, is costing me a heap of money.

It was the tofu that done her in

Oh dear. Only two days in, and I've already fallen off the bandwagon.

Yesterday was fine - I hit the local organic green grocer and got heaps of lovely fresh veggies, then popped on by the organic bakery for a loaf of rye, which came in a paper bag. So far, so good. The only hiccup was not being able to get any milk in a glass bottle at the supermarket, but they assured me that it would be in the next day, and we still had some milk left at home.

So for dinner I made a lovely rustic veggie and pasta soup with bread on the side, and we all toddled off happily to bed with full contented bellies.

This morning I went back to the supermarket, keen to get my milk and some ingredients for a dinner party we're hosting tomorrow night. Just to explain about the milk: milk in plastic is obviously out, as is milk in cardboard. I’ve done a bit research, and cardboard milk containers are created from something known as liquid paperboard, which has a thin layer of plastic on the inside. So glass it is. Heavy, yet nostalgic.

Alas and alack, the supermarket hadn't received their delivery of milk, and won't be getting it until tomorrow. Eeeek! So no milky cups of tea for me today - I'll have to save the dregs for Grumbles to have for her breakfast cereal and drink tomorrow morning, and she'll just have to survive with water for the rest of the time. Speaking of caffiene, we're out of coffee, and unless I can find some pre-ground beans in a paper bag, I'll have to be coffee free for the next month as well, as all the instant varieties have plastic somewhere on the packaging (usually the lids). Coffee free? This is getting much harder than I thought. How many days left? 29?!?

I also bombed out on the dessert ingredients - I'd planned on making a cheesecake. After all, Philly cheese comes in a cardboard box with foil on the inside, so it's safe. Too easy, right? Stupid me forgot, though, that the biscuits for the biscuit base all come in plastic packaging. ARRRRRRGGH! I could have made a batch of biscuits, then broken them up for the base, but I felt that was just getting ridiculous, so I'll be making a rhubarb and apple cake instead, topped with dollops of sweetened marscapone cheese at a handsome $7.64 a glass jar. Gulp. The things I do for people with newborns, I tells ya.

After the dessert debacle, I caved in and bought some smoked tofu, which, of course, came in plastic. The shame. I'm sorry, I know it was pathetic to fall off the wagon so early on in the piece, but we need our protein and the whole milk/biscuit situation left me demoralised. Bad eco-warrior!

Would I like a plastic bag? NO WAY!

They say that it takes 21 days to break a habit. With this in mind, I have decided to break my habit of using plastic. The funny thing is, I'm quite careful about not buying things in excess packaging, but having a look around this morning I noticed just how much of it there is in our house regardless. It's everywhere! In the fridge, in the laundry, in the cupboards, all of it ending up in the bin, much of it unable to be recycled. Enough! And it comes from fossil fuels, which are evil enough, not to mention running out (peak oil, anyone?). While I know that biofuels such as corn oil can now be used to make plastic, the thought makes me feel sick - growing corn for packaging whilst millions die every day of starvation. Talk about screwed up values.

So, for the next month, I pledge to buy nothing that comes in plastic. And if it only comes in plastic, then we don't purchase. Pretty simple. I know there will be some hiccups along the way (deodorant is going to be interesting!), but these challenges shall only serve to not only make life more interesting, but also to get me to use my noggin to think of ingenious solutions.

There is, however, a caveat: If no alternative can be found, and that is impacting on our health or hygiene needs (note the use of the word need there, not wants), then plastic is allowed. For example, if one of us falls quite ill, then I'm not going to deny us medicine that comes in a plastic bottle. That would just be silly. But for all the rest, it's plastic alternatives all the way! Hopefully, after my month of plastic-less living, the new habits will have stuck, and the old ones gone forever! Not only shall we be tv and car free, but plastic free as well. Woo hoo!

So, wish me luck! Any thoughts, tips or suggestions are, as always, more than welcome. Now I'm off to rejig my monthly menu plan to incorporate my new way of life. And so the fun begins!

I'm with the talent

I have an absolute derth of crafty goodness to show you. Trust me, when I say derth, I mean derth: not one stitch have I sewn or knitted in days. And to think I call myself a crafty chicka. Shame, shame. Instead, I'm going to tell you about my Saturday night. Oh baby, what a night it was!

It started out simply enough - my beloved cousin N was down for a few days from Brisbane, and was hanging out with us for a bit. She arrived mid-arvo, and we all sat down peacefully to enjoy a lovely light bottle of rose (Grumbles being on the milk, her drink of choice). N remarked at one stage that she had to go out that evening with The Lovely Miss G (known from now on as TLMG) to see some shows at the Comedy Festival. "Awwww", I groaned in mock jealousy. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have booked some tickets and come along!"

"Well", snorted N as she swilled her drink, "why don't you?"

"Oh, I couldn't impose!", I declared. "Besides, you should spend some quality time with TLMG. I'd hate to be the third wheel."

"Third wheel my sweet arse", replied N. "TLMG is working for the festival, so she's going to be all mingle here, network there. Trust me, I'll be bored out of my head - I need you to come and keep me company!"

I needed no further assurances. We glanced out our watches, realized we might just have time for a spot of dinner before the first show, and away we flew, leaving poor old Galumph scratching his head and wondering what became of his Saturday night (don't worry folks, he reformatted his kernal or somesuch geeky thing).

Meanwhile, N and I hit the first Mexican restaurant we came upon. And boy, was it gooooood. Although I think the two margharitas certainly helped. Silly us made the mistake of ordering ribs, and when they arrived a scant 10 minutes before we needed to leave, we turned into scary prehistoric meat munches, frantically tearing the meat from the bone with our teeth in a bizarre ribby frenzy (and then, of course, spent the rest of the evening clutching our stomaches and moaning "Oh, the ribs! The ribs!").

Then on to the first show. I was a bit worried about getting a ticket at such short notice, but I forgot: We were with TLMG! Three comps (that's complimentary tickets, oh I'm so hip with the jargon now) later, and we were seated on a table (no chairs left) for The Department of Humour Services. Woohoo, belly chuckles all the way, which you do have to be careful of when you are precariously perched on a table with a gut full of Mexican spices.

Then, after snaffling a quick drink at the bar, we headed off to see Josh Thomas in Please Like Me. Oh Josh, I do like you. Very much. And I never thought I'd say this, but I very much enjoyed hearing about your disasterous sex life. Don't worry, you're only 19, and there are plenty more fish in the sea, and hopefully you'll find one who won't have an asthma attack right at the crucial moment. Hopefully.

Now, you'd think that would be enough excitment for one evening, right? Oh, WRONG! N and I must have looked like we were wilting and ready to go home after a big night of chuckles, snorts and weeps of hilarity, because TLMG suddenly insisted that we head back on into the special bar in the Town Hall, and meet her friend Mark. "Oh, boring!", I thought. "Some knob who will keep us out for hours with boring stories, which we'll listen to politely all the time wishing we were home tucked up into our nice warm beds. Greeeeat".

Well, thank heavens above that Mark turned out to be Mark Watson - only one of the Britain's funniest people, with cool accent and funky hair and sidies to match. It was like hanging out with the cool kids, only on a much larger scale. In fact, it was like hanging out with a really truly famous person, and we were in the inner circle whilst everybody else who came up to say hello were just sad little groupies. Oh dear, trust me, there were heaps, all of whom seemed intent on showing Mark just how funny they were, and surprise surprise guess what, they weren't! In fact, some were so UNFUNNY that I almost wanted to take them aside and say "Dude, just leave it. It's painful to watch"

So there you go. What a blast! What with the famous peoples loving being with us (and you know, who wouldn't, bwahahahah!) and the not-so-famous peoples giving us green envious looks, and TLMG swishing her passes so we could get in anywhere we wanted (the power!), it was a top night. We were even told to come along to the HiFi bar after, where only the creme de la creme of comedians got to hang out in some special secret room, but I knew when enough was enough. I mean, how could I ever settle down to normal everyday life after such dizzying highs? Nah, best to remain with the unfunny mortals, and treasure my one evening of seeing how the other and much funnier side live.

My wallet is empty, and I am angry

So... do you remember the French lacey jumper that I was going to knit for my sister-in-law? With the fancy schmancy organic non-dyed alpaca wool? Well, I got the wool. ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS of it, and did my swatch and gueeeeeeeeees what?

The swatch didn't work. The yarn is just too fine, despite proclaiming to be DK weight.

"Oh ho ho, no fear!" I said to myself. "I'll just go up a needle size!" Alas, that didn't work. So I went up another needle size. Finally, I had my gauge - and I also had lace work with holes so large that my poor old sil's raspberries would have been on show to whole wide world, whether she wanted them to be or not. And it looked like complete crap (for want of a better word).

Excuse me a moment whilst I scream in frustration.

Right, feeling a tad better now. Thank the stars above for Bendigo Woollen Mill, who have come to the rescuse with their alapaca yarn, which does meet gauge on the correct needle size. I could feel a meltdown coming on.

So, to console myself, I began to knit Kim from Rowan Studio One (it's the boobtube thingy). Cos, you know, I really needed another project. Ahem.

Cables!

Clocking up the k's

Another public holiday, another bike ride! We set off from home, rode into the city, then took the Bay West rail trail all the way to lovely Port Melbourne:

Rump report: Oh, I could do this alllllll day! Easy peasy!

From Port Melbourne we rode along the aptly named Beach Street until we hit St Kilda. It was getting a wee bit hot by this stage, and the roller bladers were beginning to shit me with their sticky out leg action, and my tummy was protesting that it had been a while since brekkie, so we turned around and trundled into South Melbourne for a nice pub lunch.

Rump report: Hmmm. Maybe those sheep skin seat covers aren't such a bad idea after all. Not that I'm complaining, oh no. I'm a tough rump! I'm not saying, I'm just saying, you know?

After lunch we skedaddled back into the city, via the tram deport (Grumbles: Look! Another tram! Look! Another tram! Look! and so on and so on), dodged and weaved amongst all the sight see-ers poking around the casino, and then stopped for a little breather.


Rump report: I can't decide if I'm feeling tender or sore. How many ks have we done so far? And how far to home? And why is Grumbles suddenly in charge of the map? If she gets her way, we'll have to turn back and look at those damn trams again. I'm not sure how many more trams I can take!

After that we were homeward bound. Foolishly we decided to ride along Swanston St, and I can now inform you from my own terrifying experience that getting stuck between a tram and a horse drawn carriage is no.fun.at.all. In fact, it's downright scary.

And the headwind! Why does the wind always seem to pick up on the home stretch? Gah, it was a killer! And uphill most of the way! When we got home I just collapsed on the bed, too tired to even take my helmet off.

And the rump? ARRRRGGGGHHHHHH, the AGONY!

Happy Easter!

Yes, happy belated Easter wishes to you all! I hope it was as full of chocolate and hot cross buns as you could have wished for. Actually, except in our house. I'm the hot cross bun police, and nobody is allowed to eat any until Good Friday, and if they do they so totally get what for. I think Galumph considers this to be the one downfall of marrying me (at least, I HOPE it's the one downfall). And if you read this, honey, then please take note that I am well aware that you sneak them at work. Oh yes, I have my contacts. WATCH OUT, BUN EATER!

Anyhoo, try not to get chocolate stains on your craft, and enjoy the break!

Oi - where you off to with that plant?

"It's a lovely day!", we declared yesterday. And it was - one of those magical, perfectly autumnal days, where the sun is warm in the sky, but the air has that bite of crispness to it, and you can't decide if you should keep your jacket on or take it off or on or off...

So, to celebrate the loveliness of the day, we decided to take a stroll down to the Exhibition Gardens, and do a bit of kick to kick with Grumbles. I'm not quite sure exactly what tipped us off - maybe the bazillion cars circuiting the streets, each in vain trying to find a parking spot, or the hordes of people strolling past carrying all manner of garden plants - but we felt that maybe, just maybe, we weren't the only ones heading down to the gardens. Then, once we got past the musueum it hit us - the Melbourne International Flower and Garden Show was on. This, thankfully, explained the plant carriers - I was beginning to wonder if some large scale plant pilfering was happening.

"Woohooo!", I exclaimed. "I love me a good bit of potting mix. Let's go in!" So over we sauntered to the ticketing booth, only to stagger backwards in alarm at the prices. "19.50 each just to get in? Screw it, unless they're handing out gold-plated watering cans then I'm too tight to pay that!"

"Agreed!" said the Galumph, who's not quite as into potting mix as I am.

So, instead, we indulged in some people watching instead (I can report that petunias are looking big this year, judging by the amount of people carrying them) and let Grumbles enjoy some good old fashioned fun: Puddle Jumping!

(Note: what with the water crisis here, puddles have been somewhat thin on the ground, and yes, I do realise that sentence is a bit off)

Blurry puddle action shot, taken by Parky Hands.

At last count we made 8 grandmothers very happy (well, that was the number who stopped to comment on her grumboots/jumping skills/oh my dear what a mess she's making!). And we were only jumping for about 10 minutes - that's almost one grandma per minute. Score!

Bored out of my little rabbit brain

Now, I could show you a picture of my finished top, but my husband, bless him, can't take a photo to save himself. Poor fella has a super bad case of camera shake, otherwise known around these parts as 'Parky hands'. I really should stop ragging him about it - his catch cry now is "Tripod! All I need is a tripod, I tells ya!"

So, may I present instead le craft activitie du jour: Bunny Ears!

Well, it filled in 10 minutes...

Playing with our new camera

That's right - we have a new camera! It's one of these. What.A.Machine. All I can say is... that I have so much to learn. If anybody knows of any good photography tip sites, please send them my way.

But the best bit - the zoooooooom. I think I was standing about 20 metres away when I took that shot. I LOVE THE ZOOM! We went to a wedding on the weekend, and I got so many great (for me) shots of the bride and groom during the ceremony. That's right, folks, it's all about that zoom. Huzzah!

Gosh - just come in knitting information, to be broadcast immediately: I am thisclose to finishing off the last sleeve of my top. Wish me luck (and that Grumbles has a nice long sleep, otherwise it'll never get done!).

The LBD

Psssst - wanna see my new dress?

Project Specs:
Pattern - Simplicity 4224, size 8
Description - Strapless fitted sundress, with flared skirt and fitted bodice
Fabric - Crappy old 100% cotton that I had lying about in my fabric stash, 2 metres
Notions - 40cm zipper, 1.3 metres elastic for bodice, metallic seed beads and sequinned motif

The best bit about this dress is the attached necklace. Bwahahahah, the number of people who have said to me "Oh, I love that dress, and where did you get the cool necklace?" Get the cool necklace? I MADE the cool necklace!

That's right - more cardigan talk!

Meh. I still can't decide what to do about the froggy stripe cardigan. Which led me to, ahem, purchase some more wool...

...to make this!

I'm incorrigible! But it's so cute, and I couldn't resist. (Oh, and how cute is that little girl? And she has a bird - a bird! - in her hair. Love it! Hmmm, wonder if I could get away with wearing a bird in my hair. D'oh, digressing) Besides, I would be failing in my motherly duty if I didn't make sure Grumbles had something warm to wear over winter, so, really, I have to make it. (Did I convince you? I convinced me!)

However - there is to be no knitting of pink yarn goodness until I finish the final sleeve of this. Not even to swatch. Dems da rules. Feel free to run over my cat if I break them (gah, alright, so I don't own a cat, but let's not quibble).

Oh, and pattern is from the Phildar Pitchoun Automne/Hiver 2006/7. And it comes with an English Translation, phew.

Of cardigans and rain

Last night we had the first uninterrupted sleep we've had since Grumbles came down with her rash. Talk about bliss! And the rash has finally subsided - phew. Not fun at all, especially when we were thisclose to carting her off to the Royal Children's Hospital.

This morning, as I groggily lay in bed, contemplating opening my eyes and wondering why I felt a little strange (oh, that's how you feel when you get more than three hours sleep in a row!), I heard the sound of... rain! Finally! I know, I know, it's not the end of the drought, but it was so good to peep outside the window and see the sky, heavy and grey, and things being - well - wet! And puddles! And people with umbrellas! I even went out and stood in it, letting it soak into my jimjams. Tee hee, what a dag! I'm even thinking about planting an autumn vegie garden.

In other fascinating news, I'm toying with the idea of knitting a cardigan for Grumbles, using the Jo Sharp Aran Tweed I found in my stash, as shown in the pic above. However, the following problems have cropped up: (1) I only have those two balls in my stash, which means I would need to buy more, which would make the cardigan somewhat more expensive than I can afford, and really quite defeats the purpose of knitting from stash; (2) I'm not using a pattern, just making it up on the fly (yes, very bad idea, and rather likely to induce tears/tantrum/right royal strop/all three; (3) I'm not so sure that I'm really into the greeness of it. I can't decide if it looks Etonian or just froggish.

Having said that, I don't even know if there is an Etonian look, but heck - I like the sound of it. Thoughts, peoples of the internet - to cardi or not to cardi?

Sunday in the City

A little bit of this, a little bit of that

Bits and pieces today:

- A few weeks ago when we were riding along the Yarra Trail, we came across this climbing wall that has been built under the South Eastern freeway. How cool is that?!

- Fascinating article in The Guardian about James Lovelock's thoughts on the future.

- Poor old Grumbles came up with an awful itchy rash last evening, which kept us up all night. We raced her down to the doctors first thing this morning, and it turns out she's had an allergic reaction to something, most likely something she ate. I pondered and pondered, and was rather puzzled, as everything she's had in the past few days she eats on a very regular basis with no problems. Then I remembered I made some custard passionfruit scrolls yesterday. After checking out the ingredients list on the custard (preservatives, colourings, flavours... yikes!), my money's on that.

- Bad joke for the week: An inflatable boy goes to an inflatable school with inflatable teachers. One day he takes a pin to school. The headmaster calls him in to his office, and says "You've let me down, you've let yourself down, you've let the whole school down." Bwahahahahah!

Three needle bind off, where have you been all my life?

If you remember from one of my previous posts, I was getting a little bit nervous about attempting one. I always do this - talk myself into thinking it'll be sooooo much harder than it is, then procrastinate for days, even weeks, until I finally summon up the courage, all the while muttering ridiculous things like "Climbing Everest would be easier than this! As would saving a whole menagerie of rabbits from the 14th floor of a burning building!" etc etc. And then, when I finally do it, I find it's so much easier than I ever expected, and then, of course, proceed to swagger around the room, acting all nonchalant. "The old three needle bind off? Baby, it's a cinch! Nothing to it!"

Ahem. So, if you've never attempted one, go.for.it. It was just as easy as casting off in the normal fashion, except you had to juggle three needles instead of two. Easy peasy, I tells ya. And the resulting seam... what seam? You can barely discern it. Ahhh, this technique is a keeper, fer sure. I referenced my copy of Vogue Knitting, and this marvellous site. Honestly, I'm never seaming a shoulder seam again!

On a different note, I was emailing a friend on Friday, snuffling away as I did so, and informed her that I intended to spend the entire long weekend (hooray for Labour Day!) on the couch knitting. Lie I did not. Not only did I do the three needle bind off (man, I'm getting tired of typing that!), but I started and finished an entire arm! Wooo hoooo! One arm to go and this little baby will be ready to be seamed and then worn.

However, I did make a little time for some potato printing - awww! Except then she kept trying to eat the potatoes... not so awww.

I am so scarred

Today I have a cold. Not a nasty one, just annoying. Galumph is in the bedroom, doing a conference call with collegues in the US and UK, and I'm bored and on the computer, so it's time for the "Strange things that have occurred to me that required medical attention" post. Squeamish people, leave now!

(In chronological order)

- Tubes in my ears and nose as a child. I didn't actually realise I was also getting them in my nose until the doctor popped his head in the door and asked our ward of three very scared children who was getting what, where. Thanks, uninformative parents!

- Braces on my teeth for SIX years. Pretty much all romantic potential wiped our during those oh-so-important high school years, just because I couldn't stop sucking my thumb until the orthodontist sternly told me I had to (hey, still only in primary school then, 'kay?). Too laaaaaate, though. Although I do think Garry Gavin (yes, that was his real name) was trying to woo me by asking me to smile so he could watch the 12:15 roll on by. Jerk.

- Four rather painful operations during high school to removed my 'giant hairy pigmented nevus', otherwise known as my birthmark, which is on my right arm. These ops consisted of the surgeon cutting a hole in the centre of the birthmark, and then stretching the skin together and sewing it up. After a month in a half-cast, and a year down the track, after the skin had stretched enough, he would have another crack at it. Unfortunately, they ran out of skin, so I have the remainder of a birthmark, replete with angry pink scar. Cool fact: If I hold my arm at a certain angle, you can see the concave mark where I used to have skin and bone and fat. Yes, it is rather gross.

- Sliced the top of my thumb off on a meat slicer whilst at work in a supermarket deli in year 11. Panicked, grabbed the thumb (still with stinky plastic glove on hand) and raced to the back of the fruit 'n' veg section to see my friend Van, who took me out the back to our boss. By this time I was getting a bit lightheaded, and couldn't listen to their simple instructions of "Let go of the thumb so that we can take a look". Ahem. Ended up passing out, and having a fit, and whilst fitting managed to do a fantastic right hook, connecting with my lovely boss's face. Poor thing had to throw her shirt away, being so besplattered as it was with my blood (Did you know that the thumb has more nerve endings in it than all the other digits put together, resulting in one helluva blood spurt when the top is sliced off). And when I finally got to the hospital, and the doctor asked me where the top of my thumb was, so he could sew it back on, I could only shrug and inform him that it was still at work, nestled amongst the salami on the meat slicer. Thankfully the thumb nail grew back over the scar, so it pretty much looks normal.

- Tried to donate blood in first year uni at the Blood Bank. Fitted again, only this time I woke up to four nurses around me: One holding down my legs (apparently their flailing around was beginning to disturb the other donors), one holding down my arms (ditto), one simultaneously fanning me and holding a wet cloth to my forehead (hee hee, when I came to I thought for a split second I was underwater, as she'd managed to dribble the water into my eyes), and one ripping the needle from my arm. That bit kinda hurt. A few weeks later I received a letter from the Blood Bank saying "Thanks for trying, but don't ever come back again!"

- Cut two knuckles on my right hand on another meat slicer, this time second year uni. Once again passed out, and was only saved from a bad concussion by my boss who caught me as I swooned (it might have been romantic except that a - he was married; b - he had this comb-over thing going on at the front of his head even though he wasn't bald, and kept it in place with hair spray so that it never moved; and c - he was gross!). Although, sweetly, he kicked the bin off the milk crate so that I could sit on it.

- Gave birth. Ewww, enough of that story. Now come on - I wanna hear some of yours!

And now for my next trick...

That's right, more knitting porn! The little beauty, once again from the Phildar Tendances Automne 05/06 mag, is the next on the 'to knit' list. Actually, I'm going to knit two of them - one for me, and one for my sister-in-law. In natural black non-dyed organic alpaca/superfine merino yarn, no less. Yuuuuuuum! We're going to be the funkiest eco-chicks around! (Provided, of course, that I don't completely stuff up the translation, which is highly probable)

Rightio and fer shizzy. I'm off to have a boogie to this marvellous song (so summery!), and to gird my loins for my very first three needle bind off. Wish me luck!