Hey Guys! Good news! Tony Abbott took five minutes out of his busy schedule of condoning bigotry and not really being all that worried about the whole NDIS thing to announce that Australia is going back to the future with its very own band of crime band of elite crime fighting superheroes  Knighthoods for pre-eminent Australians! And damehoods for the chicks of calibre or something! But mainly knighthoods for dudes Tony thinks are awesome! Oh Tony, Do they get a sword and cape? Shiny armour and a steed? A complimentary ticket to All Manly Sea Eagles home games and a VIP pass for McDonalds Drive Thrus? No? well let me be the first to say screw that then. But then the nation turned its attention to attention to a much bigger question: should Uel and Shanelle have been kicked off My Kitchen Rules?

And, oh yeah, who would Tony deem to be worthy of this brain-meltingly irrelevant title? Here are my top five:

 

Sir John Howard for Just Generally Keeping it Real, Kids : I was going to say Rupert Murdoch, but then I remembered he lost his Australian citizenship in 1985 and laughed for like a full five minutes. So John Howard: the most conservative man to ever conservative in Australia, cricket tragic and expert power walker gets the nod. What is really fun to think about is that this guy didn’t even bother with this ludicrous stunt, and he probably has a signed poster of the Queen on the back of his bedroom door. And bathroom door. and a lock of her hair with him at all times.

He probably also calls her, then hangs up when he answers. Just to hear her voice.

Sir George Brandis For Services to Upholding the Rights of the Bigot in the Face of Racial Harmony and Non Soul-Crushing Stupidity: Australia’s Attorney General wants to let us (but mainly just Andrew Bolt) know that it is okay to let our bigot flag fly, and that everyone else should just like it, okay? Also, try not to read  too much into the fact that his passionate defence of bigots came in response to a question in the senate posed by Nova Peris, the first indigenous woman to be elected to federal parliament (and incidentally the first indigenous woman to win an Olympic gold medal).

Don’t worry people, Australia is fine. Last week, you seven year old was participating in Harmony Day, where he and his classmates bought in food representing their cultural background to share with each other over lunch. This week, his right to carry hatred to his grave and sing it Westboro Baptist-style was upheld in parliament by an old white guy when questioned by a woman whose culture essentially has survived two hundred plus years of systematic discrimination and/or annihilation. Yay Team Us!

Dame David Koch for Services to Women of Calibre and Also the Dud Broads Who Probably Aren’t Even That Good Looking: In the same way that it is ultimately in the best interests of Australian women if the Prime Minister for Women is in fact a man, it is probably better if accolades meant for women are also awarded to men, because lets face it, our tiny female brains would be overwhelmed with the responsibility of having to be a Dame and also do the housework or whatever women actually do (Tony is not even totally sure because honestly, he just sort of tunes out when Margie starts crapping on about her day). Anyway, known feminist and all-round good guy David Koch is a clear choice here after his strong advocacy for breast feeding mothers and his co-anchors right to a stripper pole.

Sir Victa Lawnmower for Services in Keeping the Masses Occupied: Controversial given that it is not a person in the strictest sense-or indeed any sense-however the victa mower has changed very little since the 1950’s, making it emblematic of current thinking on any number of issues. Also symbolises the Great Australian Dream of owning and proudly tending to your own home in the ‘burbs with a decent sized yard for the kids, and a pool…which you will never afford, sucker. And if you do sign yourself up for that enormo-mortgage, the drone of the lawnmower, coupled with the tedium of the task at hand, will give you time to regularly reflect on exactly how much you owe the bank  for years to come.

Sir James Tiberius Kirk for Services to Science and Intergalactic Diplomacy: Again, controversial for any number of reasons, but lets face it, this loser country we call Straya is never going to have a space programme, mainly because we are quite crap and don’t have the money to afford nice things, much like your shady deadbeat uncle.  If we go to space, we are going to need outside help. Also, today’s space programmes are so very dull in that all astronauts do is hang with a group of unknown Russians for long periods of time and talk to school kids about their “science experiments”, also like your shady deadbeat uncle. Captain Kirk guns around the galaxy with like four hundred of his closest friends at warp freaking speed and nails all the green hotties he can, whilst overcoming the barriers of living in the future, not being Australian and also being completely fictitious. The best any Australian can do, by comparison, is a fairly impressive fireworks display on New Years Eve and stare awkwardly at leaders of better countries at the G20 Summit.

 

Honourable mentions: Agro, the sweariest puppet this country has ever seen, The Corby family for their diplomatic efforts with Indonesia, and Malcolm Turnbull, just to really mess with people, but mainly to mess with Malcolm.

 

 

 

 

Full Disclaimer: I ride a bike and drive a car (rarely at the same time). I also vote, but “I drive, cycle, and vote” is too wordy a bumper sticker, longer than my resume and people kept accidentally hitting me when they tried to read it. But in this crazy, modern world, there seems to be so much confusion around what to do if you accidentally mow down a herd of be-lycra’d fitness fanatics or a whiny hipster who just will not stop lying there complaining of “corporate shills” or “difficulty breathing” in your petrol-guzzling pride and joy. So I have taken it upon myself to answer some of the trickier questions around road sharing etiquette.

Cyclists are just, like, so annoying. Can I run them over?

No. You finding someone’s behaviour personally annoying is not reason enough for you to physically harm them. I get irrationally filled with rage when two people line up at the checkout and then one of them goes and gets more shopping because seriously. what. is. wrong. with. you. people. but I am neither legally or ethically allowed to hit them in the face with a shovel. Instead, I take a deep breath and move on with my life. It is the same with cyclists. I mean, I’m no legal expert, but “Your Honour, he was giving me the shits what with his bicycle and stuff” does make it sound like you will be spending several birthdays in the company of Big Naked Jim in cell block D.

But they do dangerous things! (sent from my iphone as I try to merge across three lanes of traffic 30kms above the speed limit)

Yes. Some of them definitely do. The jumping of red lights seems particularly irritating when you are stuck in traffic at 7.30am on your way to a job you hate listening to some team of FM-based wankers interview some reality TV show contestant who turns out to be incapable of cooking/renovating/losing weight and constructing sentences. Plus, you just spilled coffee on your lap. Jesus. Or when they hold up traffic by riding in the lane because there is a row of parked cars in the cycle lane. Or when they ride in packs. Sometimes, people will do stupid things because they are knob ends of the highest order, or because it conveniences them. Sometimes, they will do it because it is what seems safest to them, or it is the only option available at the time. For example, riding directly into a parked car in a cycle lane will not yield strong results for our cyclist friend, and cycling onto a footpath and running into Nanna and her mobility scooter is dangerous and illegal, and Nanna shouldn’t have to put up with shit like that, thanks very much. She baked you a cake this morning. Even cutting across intersections on a red light is done often because the cyclist felt it was the safest option available to them at the time, as it means they clear the intersection before the rest of the traffic and don’t hold people up then. Hey, don’t hate on me, boffins have done research on it. So there.

Also, did you know that Australia forms part of the region identified by WHO have the highest proportion of cyclist deaths compared to overall traffic fatalities? SO PROUD, AUSTRALIA. Take the rest of the day off, put your feet up. But for the love of God, don’t ride your bike home from work. You won’t make it.

But I can still yell abuse at them from my car, yes? 

No, you arsehole. God, I bet you are just a tonne of fun to be around.

Strangely, the only people who have ever yelled abuse at me when I am riding are overweight children. I say nothing, because I am an adult and I think life may be punishing them in other ways. Or they are just little shits. Whatever.

Oops! I accidentally hit a cyclist! Can I just drive off? 

Nope. Nope Nope Nope-ity Nope Nope. Nein. Não.

I like to open my car door without looking first, but at a dinner party with friends recently, it was pointed out that I have injured many cyclists in this manner. What would you suggest?

Definitely, definitely check before you open your door. Also may I suggest board games as a fun addition to any dinner party. Taboo is a good choice.

But, Uggh, Hipsters. Riding around the inner west on their fixies with their beards and what not. 

That is not a question.

Just, why?

Why what? are they hipsters? They are as God and/or starstuff made them. Frankly, you are sounding a bit “you kids get off my lawn” about the whole hipster thing. Why do they ride? I don’t know- for fun and transportation, I guess. Ask them.

Tony Abbott rides a bike.   

True story. He is basically the patron saint of MAMILs everywhere. I suggest you bombard his office with cycling related enquiries. See, if only the kids from Newtown High had asked more questions about cycling, we all would not have died a little more inside over “blokes question”, or just generally watch him fumble questions about, you know, asylum seekers and marriage equality. Stuff Australia never talks about. No wonder Q And A is out.

But seriously, The Amy Gillett Foundation for info relating to safe cycling and what everyone can be doing to make our roads slightly less of a dystopian nightmare.

So I went on holidays to the US and fractured my pelvis. Holiday over.

Actually, that isn’t quite true. I fractured my pelvis skiing, was told by a strangely unblinking Doctor that there will be no more skiing for four to six weeks, then went to Salt Lake City to spend some time with friends, then holiday over. And, I shit you not, Public Enemy were on my flight from Los Angeles to Sydney. I am now back home with crutches and not allowed to drive, which means no work, which means I am on that weird kind of sick leave where you don’t actually feel sick, but can’t actually go to work. Just me, some mild discomfort, the remote and my laptop and it is craaaap. Oh, and the kicker? I am at my parents place, because my place is an hour away, and public transport down there is not an option.

I am not good with endless amounts of unstructured time and very little to do. To this end, in the last three days I have currently achieved the following:

  • Watched Portlandia, Community and Brooklyn 99.
  • Decided on tattoos. I have gone from total ambivalence to picking out designs, placement and studios.
  • Harassed travel insurance companies with all sorts of stupid questions.
  • Downloaded a multitude of free eBooks that I will most likely never read.
  • Stared at my readings for uni.
  • Ate a delicious creme egg (*HIGHLIGHT*)
  • Made enchiladas.

Tomorrow, I get to go to the Doctors, email my boss and make spaghetti.

Oh wait, “Life is a Highway” just came on Max (*NEW HIGHLIGHT*).

Group buying websites are my main downfall/saviour. If I buy absolutely nothing, I still get the incredible joy of window shopping via email-usually when I am sobbing in to my morning caffeine in an attempt to ease the pain. If I buy anything at all, I become convinced that I have sourced the Bargain of the Century (say it like Pete Smith would. You know you want to. So satisfying).

Which is how I ended up basting in my own juices at bikram yoga. So much sweaty yoga for so cheap.  So many references to Japanese ham sandwiches. So many middle aged men with god-awful sporting injuries in their undies (“Yeah, I played rugby, so most of my vertebrae have been shattered into a sticky, goo-like substance. Good times!).

But I seem to be getting better at it! I think! Maybe! Although locking my knees and extending my legs out fully  (as in standing head to knee pose) is still not happening, which is weird, because that is something I have been able to do in other poses previously. Bummer. Oh well. But at least these guys are my kind of yoga people: the Christmas party was at a pub.

As it is, I now can’t go back until mid January so I will have to find other ways to get sweaty and embarrass myself in public.

Kids, huh? My God, aren’t they just the best/tiny despots whose sense of entitlement cannot be crushed? Just the other day, over a cheeky chai at Tiny Tots jelly wrestling, I asked one of those yummy mummies we’ve all been stifling voms about if she felt that children were being sexualised at a younger age in today’s society. “For the last time, will you please get out of here, you don’t even have any children” came the rather terse reply. Well, I don’t need to tell you how offended I was by this woman’s incredibly thoughtless statement, seeing as even though I am currently Childfree©, I feel like I really identify as a parent; or “parent-sympathiser” despite having none of the responsibilities or commitments or hard work that comes with parenting in my life at the moment. For this reason, I feel like it is my duty to offer my advice to the blogging universe’s least catered to demographic*: Parents! Oh yay!

  • Straight up: It won’t be like this forever, but it will feel like it. Many new mums marvel at how nothing can prepare you for the overwhelmingly soul crushing life changing experience that is a new baby. I suppose I should state here and now that I know nothing about babies or children at all. My knowledge comes from the fact that pictures of my friends’ babies are all over my facebook feed, much like Candy Crush Saga and that stupid thing about the girl that was pushed into an open sewer, died, and then haunted the sorry arses of the girls who pushed her. But parenting is a lot like both of these things in that…..I dunno, one day you have candy, and the next you are elbow deep in poop, which is bad to the point of your-life-is-ruined, but then you get to mess stuff up for them later in life, when your shitty parenting will “haunt” them, and….. then you probably get more candy? Christ, this is hard. No wonder Mamamia won’t return my emails.  
  • Discipline: What a hot button issue etc. I grew up in an era when parents weren’t sure if it was okay to smack your children, unlike today when we have tonnes of empirical research telling us that it is definitely okay/not a very good idea to/likely to lead to a book deal if you smack your kids, so I have no sense of right and wrong. Seriously, one day, my poor Dad was so frustrated by my behaviour that the only punishment he could think up was to confiscate my slinky and reverse over it with his car. But disciplining kids is super hard, which is why nobody worries about it nowadays and just drops them off at the nearest supermarket to scream their teeny larynges out in the company of strangers. You may find other strategies my useful, Such as making them sleep under a stairwell and hope to God they turn out magical and get shipped of to wizard boarding school, instead of sending them to a local public school where a teacher will probably call DoCS.
  • Being there for them: Kids school plays, piano recitals and sports are really very boring and you shouldn’t go. Your child may look sad when you tell them this but is secretly happy that you won’t see them being so awful and humiliated at being forced to do something they loathe.
  • Edumacation: Private school probably will not make your kid any smarter, but your kid is pretty dumb, so are you really going to risk it? You should also quit your job so you can stay at home and really focus only on him and his development, because these early years are so important blah blah …what’s that? So how will you afford private school? I don’t know, don’t blogs pay for that sort of thing these days? Alternatively, a crowd funding project might do the trick. Or sell one of your ugly smart kids.
  • Health: To all the nineties kids out there: remember how we all had ADHD and it was on A Current Affair like every second night? Fun times. Who knows what weird and wonderful health conditions your little darling will end up with? Better not feed him anything with gluten, dairy, sugar, or anything that was born under the sign of Taurus, orange, or a card carrying member of the communist party, just to be safe. Although given that kids still seem to be learning about sex from a puppet giraffe in a decrepit caravan, their overall wellbeing might be something of a lost cause.

So hopefully this has been of help to all you soft-cheese-eating, moonshine-swilling mums and netball-coach-assaulting dads out there. If not, probably just give up now and let TV raise them like they did back in our day. We all turned out fine, apart from the night terrors. Oh, and remember, if all else fails; forcing them into show business seems as good a way as any to lock them into a happy, healthy and not at all contractually obliged relationship with you for years to come.

*seriously, I don’t know, It’s not like I read any blogs or whatever.

Easter is a special time in my family. I remember fondly the time spent gathered around the TV to watch the ridiculous 70’s movie version of Jesus Christ Superstar, before tucking into the traditional Good Friday spit roast stuffed with creme eggs, reflect on the three-ish months since the last big religion-oriented spend-a-thon and talk about hope and forgiveness and resurrection and who would be the victor in our families’ annual wood chopping contest. Certainly, with the exception of Christmas, New Years, World Wetlands Day and any number of appropriate holidays from this planet’s many and varied religions, I find Easter a particularly good time for some self reflection.

Indeed, this year I feel I have had more to reflect on in my annual festival of navel gazing, namely that it is complete BULLSHIT that My Kitchen Rules has gone on a week long break. What the actual flip? To quote my nine year old self, That’s like, so mean.

I am a lover of reality TV. Even though it’s driving quality programming from our screens. Even though it’s to blame for the ongoing popularity of the Madden brothers in this country. Even though everyone is always crying. Even though I will most likely burn in hell for even watching The Biggest Loser. Seriously, I have never seen an episode of the Walking Dead and the constant twitter-wank over Girls has pretty much guaranteed I will never need to see a second of it, but I lose my shit when some gormless chump attempts to wow Pete “cultured vegetables” Evans and Manu “Stay 250 metres away, you’ve been warned” Feildel with some overly complicated train wreck of a dessert or almost burn their house down preparing a dish that still somehow turns out raw. I  find the fact that both Craig and Jenna appear to be there against their will adorable. I love watching Jake and Elle try and convince the nation that Queenslanders can be all cultural and stuff as they run around the kitchen screaming at each other. I love that Ashlee and Sophia….actually, I just love Ashlee and Sophia, but not as much as Ashlee and Sophia love Ashlee and Sophia. You know what? the whole thing is just so damn “inspirating” (to quote the Stockholm Syndrome addled-Jenna). But this last week? Nothing. Just soul-crushing emptiness where there once was snark and occasionally somebody cooked something edible.

So not cool, Channel Seven. You took away that special time in a girl’s evening where she sits down with a bowl of two minute noodles and makes fun of a failed ragu di coniglio on facebook. And like the most desperate of dumped individuals, next week it will be back and I will be hanging out for more: more fake rivalries and Manu’s devastatingly sexy obliteration of the English language. And overly elaborate cupcakes…and yelling…and that Irish judge sounds like he is criticising even when he is giving a compliment….and crying……and cheating……and more yelling…..

 

…..Its on, people. I am registered, I have a fundraising page set up right here and I will soon have a training programme so that I don’t accidentally fall off a goat track on the side of a mountain or something. Yep, the Black Dog Institute’s Ride to Happiness in Bhutan is happening in October 2013 and I am part of it. You want some details? Well, certainly. Glad you asked.

  • The Black Dog Institute works to advance the understanding and treatment of mood disorders (such as depression and bi-polar disorder) as well as support people who live with mood disorders. They also provide resources to GPs and other clinicians and education targeted at the wider community.
  • According to their website, mental illness affects one in five Australians, with depression being one of the most common.
  • Bhutan is the only country to measure the happiness of its citizens as a marker of development.
  • We will be trekking for four days, then joining up with the Dragon Riders, a motorcycle club who raise money and distribute supplies to rural communities throughout Bhutan for two days. Awesome.
  • Donation to this particular cause will make you 87% more attractive to the opposite/same sex, depending on your own preference, and earn you ten thumbs up and nineteen gold stars.
  • No, you are not paying for my holiday. I cover the travel costs, you receive a tax deductible donation. Easy as. You even get emailed a receipt so you don’t have to scrounge around at tax time. Magic.

So if you somehow happened upon this blog, check out the work of the Black Dog Institute, have a look at the Dragon Riders and donate please maybe?

I have just gotten back from a week or so in Singapore. Why Singapore, you (maybe) ask? Because 1) there was a sale on flights and 2) I have this thing where if I have a layover in a city, I feel a weird compulsion to go back there and see the place. Maybe I feel guilty about being in a country I have never been to and enjoying the same McDeliciousness and crappy airport retail (overpriced junk food! International gossip magazines! Travel pillows!) available everywhere. I spent six hours in transit at Changi when I went to China-that is a lot of exorbitantly priced chocolate).

So I booked my flights and, upon telling people of my upcoming break, was offered the following advice:

  • “It’s basically like a giant mall”-my cousin
  • “Go and have a Singapore Sling. In fact, I order you to”-my mum
  • “Don’t get arrested”-my boss.

So, having booked my hostel and jumped on my super cheap flight, shopped, drank as ordered, remained law abiding at all times and returned to regular scheduled programming, I have the following ‘insights’:

  • Yes, there are rather a lot of malls. This is perhaps not a crisis, particularly if you wish to participate in the exchange of money for various goods. However, you may not be the sort of person who can wander malls endlessly. This is okay-there are a few places where you can buy stuff from smaller, funkier independent retailers like Kampong Glam, which by itself would make it worth a visit but it also gives you a taste of the Malay and other Muslim cultural groups who have called this area home since way back when. This might have been my favourite place in Singapore. 
  • Palau Ubin offers an insight into what Singapore was like before they paved over most of it, and only required a train, bus and boat trip to get there and be reminded of literally any number of tiny seaside towns elsewhere in Asia……with an enormous port right across the water. You can hire bikes, have lunch and even stay at a little resort if you want and there are some nice walks; but it was a little disappointing to find what seemed like the only litter in Singapore in a national park.
  • I had a Singapore Sling at the Long Bar. I did not throw peanuts on the ground.
  • I ate at hawker centres, which was great because you could get meals like braised duck and Hainanese chicken and rice for about three dollars. Mmmmmm. I also ate my fair share of soft boiled eggs and kaya toast. It also seems like there are three cafes to every person in Singapore-make use of this. It is hard to make a wrong choice.
  • On my third day there, I helped an elderly man navigate the trains and I can’t shake the feeling that he may have ended up in Malaysia. The trains are super simple, but I am terrible at giving directions.
  • If I go back, I will stay at some super fancy mega-hotel because it just seems like that sort of place.
  • I did not get arrested. Also, it seemed like everybody jaywalked, sooooooo…..

All in all it was a fun, quick trip. Admittedly one where I just kind of switched my brain off and went with it, but we all need those once in a while, no?

Next trip overseas: Bhutan, for the fundraising of dollars for the Black Dog Institute.

 

I like going to the gym. There, I said it. I like the treadmills and the bikes and those machines that let you burn many calories whilst looking like you are walking up a never ending flight of stairs on stilts. I love the guys who stare longingly at their own reflection while they do weights, because that is freaking hilarious. I even love the sad little bowl of fruit that the staff leave out every week, only for it to remain untouched because everybody knows that fruit isn’t meant to be eaten; it’s meant to be fermenting at the bottom of some kids school bag.

I also like that I can now go and not and up in a blubbering, wheezy heap after cardio because apparently I decided to spend 2012 committing mainly to the noble sport of aiming the remote at the TV and this turned out to be a poor choice because the AIS still dispute that it is a sport and I’m disappointed that it won’t get me a ticket to Rio or an endorsement deal with any breakfast cereals.

There are some things that still confuse me about my gym though, namely:

  • Violent sounding “food” in the old abandoned vending machine: full of things that are made to look like normal food, but is actually protein so concentrated it has gained sentience and has the ability to beat your digestive system to a bloody pulp. For example: “ONSLAUGHT FITNESS SLABS: Make HUNGER your BITCH while you OBLITERATE FAT and DESTROY your WORKOUT!!! Now in CHOCOLATE and APRICOT flavours!” Nobody is game to go near it, not even the weights guys who secretly wish “Same Love” was actually about the right to wed your own image. Also, everything in there is six dollars, which would have been about half a weeks wage when the thing was last re-loaded.
  • To the trainer with whom I had my free personal training session: Dude, I tried to listen to what you were saying, but I couldn’t hear you over all of the faux tribal tattoos, white boy. So there is a fair-to-medium chance I still have no idea what I am doing.
  • To the guy who uses his work shirt instead of bringing a towel: NO.
  • Why did they position the treadmills so that they look into the courtyard of the cafe next door? It benefits nobody. The cafe patrons all look guilty and we all look like we want to launch ourselves through the window directly at their bacon.
  • Is it just me who can’t use a rowing machine without dislocating….Oh, it is? well fine then.
  • Lastly, the parking. Seriously, at this place you need to be able to bend space and time to be able to navigate the single-car-width back alley to get to the parking lot, but also ignore the feeling that you just parked where a homeless guy sleeps.

Yours in smug post-excercise pain,

Hayley

Except for when I can, which is sometimes. But not this time. Except I think I have kind of already made up my mind. 

(By the way, I have been told I am an absolute joy to know in person and not at all tedious. Thanks Mum!)

Anyway, a couple of years ago I was part of a group that raised money for the Black Dog Institute by trekking for five days around part of the Great Wall of China. It. was. Amazing. Honestly, there were times when the group was so spread out and you were the only person around and the scenery was breathtaking. Other times, in the more popular sections of the wall you could join the Chinese day trippers, including the women who would climb hundreds of steps in high heels and reflect on your shortcomings as a human being. 

This was all pre-empted by about eight months of bunnings barbecues and the selling of freddo frogs (including an argument with my boss about disgusting pineapple frogs) and practice walks and I hate asking people for money and this is too early in the morning to be arguing about sausages. That said, it was all worth in and a big learning curve and we raised over $3000 each for BDI. When I got back and heard that they were going to Machu Picchu next up, I was so disappointed because there was just no way known to man that I was going to be able to afford the travel costs, but kind of mentally committed to doing it again in 2013.

2013’s trip is to Bhutan, which is brilliant and would be excellent to see given that this is a country that measures “gross national happiness” (apparently the only one to do so) and this seems to be a massive contrast to so many people I encounter at the moment. Initially I thought it was only for people with a motorbike licence (there is a four day ride component, and you spend time with the Dragon Riders Motorcycle Club, a club that basically exists to raise money for villages in the country, but there is a trekking option instead of the ride). Also, you raise sweet sweet cash for BDI and their research on mental health. Also, Freddos are delicious.  

Also, I turn thirty this year and I want to prevent 2013 being exactly like the all-work-no-play snore-fest that was 2012 (Entirely my fault, btw; I achieved not a single personal goal last year, for which I feel I deserve some sort of trophy. Made of lead. In the shape of a deflated balloon, or turd of some kind.)

So what’s actually stopping me? Oh, I don’t know. Time, effort and energy? possibly. Money for travel costs? maybe. The fear that I might miss something really good on TV while I’m gone? Pssht, I only watch re-runs of Futurama and cooking shows. I have sort of also committed to the gong ride, but the dates don’t clash and overall the fitness thing won’t exactly hinder the effort. General sense of procrastination and indecision? Almost definitely.   

Hmmmm…..