I have sheep in the paddock next to me and they are learning to fly.
Oh, I know that you think that this is pure hyperbole, but it’s true. They’ve evolved and they’re desperately trying to be birds instead of sheep.
I was lucky to get these photos, because shortly after, they spotted me watching, jumped off their perches and ran away, trying to cheep instead of bleat.
This one is Harrold.
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With my recent posts on Asylum Seekers and my silence on the drama that continues to annoy me, you would be forgiven for thinking that I’m all ‘Live and Let Live!’.
I am not.
Especially not when it comes to roosters that are attacking my hens, drakes that are looking large enough to fit nicely in a roasting tray and mice.
I normally have a “don’t kill anything you’re not going to eat” policy. I can maintain this policy in the face of everything, except mice.
We have a mouse problem. Our mouse problem is so bad that I’ve schwacked two personally in the last week, making my mouse death count higher than the cats, although the second death is maybe only 50% mine, because I did require a cat to finish it off. Hiding under the oven gets you NO MERCY.
For the record, a good schwacker is one that is covered in plastic, so that you can wipe it clean of mouse eyeballs afterwards. You’re welcome.
***
We were moving the furniture around, rearranging couches and assorted piles of junk when Nathan shouts “MOUSE!”
Of course, I came running, from where I was avoiding heavy lifting by messing around on twitter and talking to my mother on the phone.
Tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear, I spotted the mouse immediately (with a little help from Nathan). Nat was holding one end of a couch in the air and the mouse was attempting to run away. Round and round we went, me chasing and the mouse skittering, with Nathan swearing at me to ‘just fucking kill it already, what ARE YOU DOING?’
Our brilliant teamwork paid off, as I walked to the back of the couch and went ‘Huh, where’d it go?’ only to lean down and find it, clinging to the back of the couch at eye level with me. I’m not sure who was more startled, but I certainly jumped less.
The mouse found a hiding spot and I picked up a schwacker that was lying around. Sometimes there are benefits to messy bedrooms.
“You drop the couch and I’ll schwack it” I said to Nathan.
He rolled his eyes at me, knowing how well my schwacking has gone in the past and did as he was told.
The mouse took one look at me, sitting in front of it, holding a photo album as a schwacker and then did the most sensible thing possible.
It ran towards me, like a suicide mouse.
So I sensibly schwacked it on the head, killing it. I still had the phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder, giving running commentary to my mother the whole time.
I dusted myself off, and left Nathan to clean up the squashed mouse, while I finished my conversation and wiped down the photoalbum with anti bacterial stuff.
***
Mice – 2543 Veronica – 2 .
I am very proud of my two kills.
Today there is a new mouse skittering around underneath my grill. I’m hoping to avoid having to bash it to death personally – you’d never guess it but I’m really not a fan of killing things – and have instead set a trap. I’d like to kill it before I have to scrub everything with antibacterial soap again.
Hell, I’d even like to be all zen about having mice in the house, but OMFG I JUST SAW ONE, RUNNING ACROSS MY CHOPPING BOARD. Again.
They’re lucky I’m not a farmers wife.
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Trying to find the words to write about the Mona opening is like stammering adjectives and spluttering lots. I’m a writer, but I’m having trouble articulating what the entire experience was like. Surreal comes to mind – and I know surreal is a word overused, but surreal is about all I can drum up.
Thanks to ABC radio and our titles of ‘Micro Critic’ we got tickets to the VIP opening, the giant party thrown by millionaire David Walsh. I was already a bit stunned by the socialite dresses and name dropping going on around me, so I shouldn’t have been shocked to see upwards of 80 lobster tails on a rotisserie as I headed down to the tennis courts and museum entrance. Glasses of champagne were handed out as we walked past and I, for the first time in a long time, had a drink as we walked.
Once inside the museum, we collected our O Device (an iPod touch, uploaded with Mona software) and walked down three stories of stairs into the depths of the museum. Open rock faces had been left exposed and I was stupidly pleased about that. There is something about the beauty of sandstone walls that makes me happy.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but a giant party in the foyer area probably wasn’t it. Maybe trays of hors d’oeuvres and a glass of wine before we walked around, but the scale of the catering left me a bit shocked.
I have expensive tastes, on a bread and butter budget. Even this was beyond what I’d expected. Tables filled with wine glasses waiting to be filled. An open bar with every conceivable drink you could want. A table piled high with nothing but fresh bread and a table next to it with cheeses. Salads served in paper cones, dished up from giant silver bowls. Prosciutto sliced in front of you. A giant blue fin tuna, just sitting on ice – an accompaniment to the finest sashimi. Hundreds of oysters on ice. Russian caviar worth $200 for 25g, being handed out on spoons and washed down with good vodka shots (that I declined).
Like I said, astounding. Really, for me, a once in a lifetime experience.
The museum is indescribable. Sex and death combine with art to create something that is offensive, shocking, breathtaking and brilliant. I wasn’t offended, but the wall of vaginas appeared to upset some of the men. 151 vaginas were modeled, while a master carver carved them (we think in wax, but it’s a bit unclear) and then cast them to display. The effect is astounding, as you walk down a hallway with a line of vulvas looking at you.
Personally, that was one of my favourite exhibits and something that every teenage girl should see. The range of normal is beautiful and not something we get to see often. I think it does however need a companion work of 151 penises, but that’s my bias coming through.
I loved it. The whole experience was something I doubt I’ll get to repeat ever again and I am intensely excited at the thought of showing it all to Nathan, who is staunchly anti-artwank and who is looking forward to seeing it.
Even more than that, I am really interested to see what this does for Tasmania as a whole. We’ve now got one of the best private museums in the world and I couldn’t be more proud.
I ended up getting to chat to some very interesting people, care of introductions from Stephen Estcourt. The very lovely Lindsay Tuffin and Richard Flanagan for starters. Both incredibly interesting men that I’d look forward to talking with again. I’m a fan of both of their work, Lindsay’s website is excellent and Richard’s writing, well. Brilliant comes to mind. I also met Leo Schofield and his wife, who are both lovely.
I also talked to Kylie Kwong for a bit too and did an excellent job of not fangirling at her.
It’s going to take a while to be able to fall back into real life after this. We’re on the radio again on Monday – 8.40am, live as far as I know. You can listen to that live streaming with this link.
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I spent the entire day yesterday down at MONA FOMA, listening to bands, helping collect money for the QLD Flood Relief and wandering around getting sunburned. The line-up for the evening was what I was most interested in, Mikelangelo and the Black Sea Gentleman, then Neil Gaiman, then Amanda Palmer.
The moment the doors opened to let us into the main stage area, the atmosphere was electric.
Unfortunately, there was no seating available, so we had to suffer through, sitting on a thin mat on top of concrete. It wasn’t ideal and I have the bruises and sore hips to prove it.
Mikelangelo was excellent. Funny too – his voice is like melted honey and you just want to listen to him sing for hours. They were consummate performers and the crowd adored them.
Then there was, of course, Neil Gaiman and his cult following. I love his books and I was looking forward to this.
I’d bailed out of sitting on the floor and headed up to where frogpondsrock and my brother were sitting, up in the tiered seating, we had an excellent view of the stage and during Mikelangelo, excellent sound.
That wasn’t the case with Neil Gaiman. Something happened with the PA system and when he started to speak, we could hear barely anything and what we did catch sounded blurry. I caught every 3rd word, which is a shame, as hearing him read was what I was most looking forward to. I could hear the sound of Neil’s voice and it sounds like it would have been brilliant too.
Instead I took photos, enjoyed the atmosphere and wished that the seating and sound were better.
As Neil finished, the roadies started setting up for Amanda Palmer and the crowd flocked in. Because she was singing, we were hopeful that the sound would be better, and it was, a bit.
Can I just say, that Amanda Palmer is brilliant? Her voice, her stage presence, all brilliant. I adored what I got to see.
Digression: My body is broken. It doesn’t work as well as I’d like and I get to do fun things like dislocate joints, or spend hours throwing up for no reason. This makes things interesting and my body has crappy timing, generally.
I was enjoying the show, and taking photos at the same time, right up until the lady in front of me sprayed perfume and I had a minor body rebellion. I figured it wouldn’t be polite of me to throw up down her back, so I bailed out.
I spent the rest of the gig listening from the flood relief tables and chatting to the lovely Stephen and his wife Mary. I would have loved to have seen the rest, because like I said, she is brilliant. Absolutely fucking fantastic.
So, that is what I did last night. What have you been up to?
***
Oh and can I just shout out to Nathan – who is spending the days at home with the kids alone while I attend all these gigs and review them on twitter. Thankyou honey. I rather love you. xx
More photos over at Frogpondsrock
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Remember the greenhouse?
Well, it held up mostly brilliantly, until this morning. Obviously the holiday stress has been getting to it, because it tried to fly away this morning. Unfortunately, greenhouses built out of bendy metal poles aren’t designed for flying and instead it flopped down, 6 inches away from where it started, slightly bent and a little worse for wear. Also lucky, it tried to fly away while I was checking my morning emails, so I spotted it and had it pinned back down quite quickly.
An hour later, it tried to fly again, this time uprooting itself from the bottom poles in order to do so. A few bags of potting mix, some more tape and some ingeniousness, and it was stuck back down. Again.
The weather today has been getting progressively worse, colder and windier. Certainly a day for hiding inside with hot chocolate, not a day for preventing flying greenhouses, because you guessed it, it tried to fly again.
More successful than the first two attempts, this time it flew a good three feet in the air, before collapsing back down with a giant thud, trying again and pulling all of the support beams out.
I tried to fix it, I really did. But once I made my way into the internals of the flying greenhouse, it tried to impale me, rather viciously. The wind tore the plastic out of my grip, metal poles were flying everywhere and after being beaten by a flying pole and worrying about my internal organs, I bailed out.
Really, can you blame me?
It’s still tied down, so really, it’s not doing anything other than flopping around like a fish on the end of a line and occasionally trying to murder me when I get too close.
I was already short on Christmas spirit before the assassination attempt. A nasty flu virus that turned into a chest infection, coupled with a period that has lasted almost 5 weeks now (despite me being on the pill) and a course of prednisone to keep me breathing have all conspired to make me grinchy.
Really really grinchy.
But! It seems the blogosphere isn’t half as grinchy as I am, because we’ve managed to raise an extraordinary amount of money to send presents to the children stuck in detention on Christmas Island.
The amazing Louisa decided that she wanted to send things and she mobilised the blogsphere and our various sponsors into helping. As I write, she has almost made the amount of money needed to courier the gifts to the detention centre and any extra money donated will be spent on gifts to add to the parcels.
I even managed to get Cal Wilson to tweet about it.
If there is any chance you can donate, or if you’re in Melbourne, get gifts to Louisa to be sent, then please, go and check out her blog for how to do that.
And hopefully, by the time I’ve pressed publish, my inner grinch will have been tamed with something that isn’t a metal bar trying to stab me. I think the Universe is telling me something.
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