*SSS is not a scientist. All posts are generally unsubstantiated rants.*
'Rain, rain, go away, come again another day.'
A little ditty probably unknown to Australians but it's something that most UK children will chant more times than they can remember during their childhood. It feels as though we've been in drought since Sally Fletcher lived with Tom and Pippa. We've all seen the news items of children growing up in the bush who've never even seen rain. And yet it seems as thought there's been nothing but rain for the entire month of February. Are we off water restrictions? No. Why not? It's been one of the wettest Februarys on record. Where is all the water?
All of this beautiful rain has been going out to sea. I watched it today from my safe position undercover, a waterfall cascading from the cliffs at South Coogee, floating out and away. Meanwhile TV adverts inform me that by showering for one minute less I will be saving water. Well, what the hell is the government doing about saving the stuff that falls from the sky?
Scaremongering headlines don't help. They just create mass hysteria. Entertaining as it is to see bogans being interviewed on the street declaring that they "don't wanna drink piss from the tap" it would be more helpful if the public were better informed. We should be learning from the experiences of other countries who are already successfully using recycled water. My personal opinion is that no government wants to spend the money to get it going. Great. So because no one wants to pay for it, we're going to carry on as we are, showering for one minute less, unable to hose cars, leaving the garden to go brown and praying to the rain gods until someone makes a brave decision and gets the ball rolling.
I grew up drinking recycled water. I didn't know it until our science teacher told us, the entire class of 11 year olds let out a collective, "Uggggghhhhhhhhh" then we got over it. It's not as if we turned on the tap and collected a glass of urine.
Recycling, desalination, we need to do something. I want to be able to have a guilt free shower again.
* I did a rain dance once, when I was about 5. My grandfather helped me. We took the toilet from my dolls house and put an ant in it, this was our sacrifice to the rain gods. We then fashioned some long grass into a circle, placed the toilet in the middle and proceeded to dance around it. It would have been an entertaining sight, the five year old girl and the 50 year old man, whooping and dancing round a plastic toilet. Anyway, about an hour later it started to rain. I was delighted. It was years before I realised that he'd seen the weather forecast and decided to have a bit of fun. I prefer to think we made magic that day.
28 February, 2008
26 February, 2008
What's it all about?
What's the point of a blog?
A good friend of mine has an excellent food blog. I can see the point of her blog. It's about food. Sometimes you get some information about the places she visits but essentially, it's about the food. When you read it you imagine you're in the kitchen, you can see the condensation on the windows and you wish you were standing close with a spoon.
But this blog? I suppose my plan is to treat it as my very own Pensieve. For those who are unfamiliar with the concept, it's an imaginary item from the Harry Potter books. A shallow basin into which one can pour their thoughts and memories, getting a good look at them with a bit of perspective.
I look forward to tipping out my thoughts over the next few weeks.
One of my favourite things - comedy
A good friend of mine has an excellent food blog. I can see the point of her blog. It's about food. Sometimes you get some information about the places she visits but essentially, it's about the food. When you read it you imagine you're in the kitchen, you can see the condensation on the windows and you wish you were standing close with a spoon.
But this blog? I suppose my plan is to treat it as my very own Pensieve. For those who are unfamiliar with the concept, it's an imaginary item from the Harry Potter books. A shallow basin into which one can pour their thoughts and memories, getting a good look at them with a bit of perspective.
I look forward to tipping out my thoughts over the next few weeks.
One of my favourite things - comedy
25 February, 2008
First rant
I thought I'd start off with a good old rant about public transport.
I rely on the goodwill of friends with cars and Sydney Buses to get me from A to B. A combination of laziness and roadrage keeps me from obtaining a driving licence, and until I overcome these obstacles I will remain a slave to the myth that is the bus timetable.
I don't start work at the same time every day so the experience is always a little different. It starts well enough, a short walk to the bus stop and a short wait for the bus. My least favourite time to be at the stop is 07.45. This is the time that The Woman from the Post Office stinks out the bus shelter with an overwhelming cloud of the nauseating Angel by Thierry Mugler. This is possibly the most disgusting scent known to mankind, with the exceptions of Red Door and Opium. Fortunately The Woman from the Post Office doesn't get on my bus. Happy days.
Anyway. I get on the bus, dip my ticket and select my seat. My stop is the 4th on the route and there's usually a good choice of seats before 07.45. I make my way to just past the middle of the bus and sit by the window. My fellow passengers all stare vacantly in front of them. No eye contact is made. Excellent.
I like to put people in boxes, then shut the lid and set fire to them. Only kidding, Here's SSS's guide to bus users from hell.
1. Seat Blockers. These passengers think the bus belongs to them. Travelling on the bus is beneath them. They like to sit on the outside of a double seat, thus discouraging new passengers from joining them. They studiously stare in front of them and will only move when asked. Seat blockers are 99.9999999999% male.
2. Stretchers. These passengers are just far too big to occupy one seat. They need two. They stretch out their limbs and often put their feet on the seat. Stretchers also like to run one arm over the back of the seat and look at the passenger behind in a propriatorial manner. Their body language screams, "This is my seat. I also have the right to enter your space. Deal with it." Stretchers have a sub catagory - Spreadleggers. Spreadleggers are men who have such unfeasibly large testicles that cannot sit with their legs together. Instead, they sit as though a beachball is betwixt their knees. I think I hate these people the most. Again, most Stretchers and Spreadleggers are men. Is SSS sexist? You betcha.
3. Overseas students. (SSS lives in a beachside suburb close to a university) This group are found on the post 9.30am bus. Suntanned, scantily dressed and very bloody loud. They sit at the back of the bus but never sit next to each other. A group of 4 will occupy enough seats for 8 people. They stare at everyone who gets on the bus. Young, tanned and shouting at each other across the bus in a variety of languages, they ignore the social norms of public transport, moving reluctantly if at all. UK and Irish backpackers tend to sit at the front of the bus in the four seat section and disabled seats. The Irish are obvious in their nylon sports shirts, proudly boasting the name of some pub from home. The UK contingent are loud and have expensive mobile phones. They watch the elderly people walk past without flinching.
4. Hardcore smokers. They puff away as the bus approaches, sucking on their ciggie as the bus doors open. Often they exhale their last desperate lungful of smoke as they walk up the bus. They fill the air with the aroma of stale smoke as they pass. Either they sleep in their clothes or they smoke from the minute they wake up.
Being a reasonably small person of 5ft and average height, I don't take up too much room on the bus. This means that I am a prime target for new passengers, particularly large ones. I hate it when a man of overaverage height and overaverage weight gets eye contact with me and plonks themselves on the vacant part of my seat, often forcing me to shrink up against the window. This experience gets even more distasteful if they are Spreadleggers. Often I demonstrate my excellent skills of passive aggressiveness and start nudging them. I have been known to ask Spreadleggers if they have enough room. They gaze at me blankly then I see a light behind their eyes and they close their legs by a millimetre.
My trusty iPod makes the journey somewhat more bearable, although I never listen to it if I am sitting next to someone who's reading. If they are reading the Daily Telegraph I'll put it on, though. It's not really a newspaper, when all is said and done, although SSS does like to read the horoscopes and the gossip section.......
(to be continued....................)
I rely on the goodwill of friends with cars and Sydney Buses to get me from A to B. A combination of laziness and roadrage keeps me from obtaining a driving licence, and until I overcome these obstacles I will remain a slave to the myth that is the bus timetable.
I don't start work at the same time every day so the experience is always a little different. It starts well enough, a short walk to the bus stop and a short wait for the bus. My least favourite time to be at the stop is 07.45. This is the time that The Woman from the Post Office stinks out the bus shelter with an overwhelming cloud of the nauseating Angel by Thierry Mugler. This is possibly the most disgusting scent known to mankind, with the exceptions of Red Door and Opium. Fortunately The Woman from the Post Office doesn't get on my bus. Happy days.
Anyway. I get on the bus, dip my ticket and select my seat. My stop is the 4th on the route and there's usually a good choice of seats before 07.45. I make my way to just past the middle of the bus and sit by the window. My fellow passengers all stare vacantly in front of them. No eye contact is made. Excellent.
I like to put people in boxes, then shut the lid and set fire to them. Only kidding, Here's SSS's guide to bus users from hell.
1. Seat Blockers. These passengers think the bus belongs to them. Travelling on the bus is beneath them. They like to sit on the outside of a double seat, thus discouraging new passengers from joining them. They studiously stare in front of them and will only move when asked. Seat blockers are 99.9999999999% male.
2. Stretchers. These passengers are just far too big to occupy one seat. They need two. They stretch out their limbs and often put their feet on the seat. Stretchers also like to run one arm over the back of the seat and look at the passenger behind in a propriatorial manner. Their body language screams, "This is my seat. I also have the right to enter your space. Deal with it." Stretchers have a sub catagory - Spreadleggers. Spreadleggers are men who have such unfeasibly large testicles that cannot sit with their legs together. Instead, they sit as though a beachball is betwixt their knees. I think I hate these people the most. Again, most Stretchers and Spreadleggers are men. Is SSS sexist? You betcha.
3. Overseas students. (SSS lives in a beachside suburb close to a university) This group are found on the post 9.30am bus. Suntanned, scantily dressed and very bloody loud. They sit at the back of the bus but never sit next to each other. A group of 4 will occupy enough seats for 8 people. They stare at everyone who gets on the bus. Young, tanned and shouting at each other across the bus in a variety of languages, they ignore the social norms of public transport, moving reluctantly if at all. UK and Irish backpackers tend to sit at the front of the bus in the four seat section and disabled seats. The Irish are obvious in their nylon sports shirts, proudly boasting the name of some pub from home. The UK contingent are loud and have expensive mobile phones. They watch the elderly people walk past without flinching.
4. Hardcore smokers. They puff away as the bus approaches, sucking on their ciggie as the bus doors open. Often they exhale their last desperate lungful of smoke as they walk up the bus. They fill the air with the aroma of stale smoke as they pass. Either they sleep in their clothes or they smoke from the minute they wake up.
Being a reasonably small person of 5ft and average height, I don't take up too much room on the bus. This means that I am a prime target for new passengers, particularly large ones. I hate it when a man of overaverage height and overaverage weight gets eye contact with me and plonks themselves on the vacant part of my seat, often forcing me to shrink up against the window. This experience gets even more distasteful if they are Spreadleggers. Often I demonstrate my excellent skills of passive aggressiveness and start nudging them. I have been known to ask Spreadleggers if they have enough room. They gaze at me blankly then I see a light behind their eyes and they close their legs by a millimetre.
My trusty iPod makes the journey somewhat more bearable, although I never listen to it if I am sitting next to someone who's reading. If they are reading the Daily Telegraph I'll put it on, though. It's not really a newspaper, when all is said and done, although SSS does like to read the horoscopes and the gossip section.......
(to be continued....................)
First post
I'm new to all this. A few of my friends have blogs and I've been feeling left out! I doubt I'll have much of interest to say but that's never stopped me before!
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