Timor Leste - The real reason for our visit

Today, I started organising my suitcase to head to London for Paralympic-spectator duties (NB. my spell check tells me that Paralympic is not a word....NOT IN YOUR WORLD MR MICROSOFT, BUT IN MINE, IT DEFINITELY IS!!)

Anyway, I thought that I better finish off the Timor stories before I start on the UK and France stories. Now, where were we? I'm not sure, so here is a picture of Justin Bieber on the back of a taxi-type vehicle to distract you while I gather my thoughts. (NB. spell check tells me that Bieber is also not a word. Mr Microsoft, I think our worlds are as one on this point!)

So, Alison and I volunteered to run a 4 day wheelchair basketball camp, and 1 day of demonstration games at a rehabilitation facility in Timor Leste, called Assert. Assert is the only rehab facility in Timor, so, as you can imagine, people with a wide variety of needs attend their service. While I was there, I met half the occupational therapists in the whole country (I met one!). He was one third of all OT's, but one of the three is on maternity leave. Understandably, there is a lot of work for him to do!
Here is a mural on the wall of the exercise area:

The little froggies have prosthetic spring-legs. Awwwwwww!

Being the OT that I am, I had a poke around in their equipment room. They have adapted day chairs to be more suitable for rough terrain by replacing the two front casters with a long bar, leading to one single large front caster. This is great for getting around through gravel, dirt, in the wet, etc, but I wonder how people manage in their own homes with daily living tasks like cooking (Sorry, can't help it...the OT in me is always thinking!). In addition to the day chairs, there are also a lot of these tricycles at the centre:

Several years ago, I saw these in Vietnam also, and they are a great idea for rough roads, with no footpaths. In fact, my day chair was so unsuitable that when I got home, I had to do a fair amount of maintenance because it just wasn't used to the off-road, dusty, dry conditions (there's now a footpath from my house to every bar in Torquay so I never need to go off-road!!).

Transport is also similar to Vietnam. I love the use of a fluffy hat for protection:

But, let's talk about the basketball, shall we? Firstly, I must say, I'm sorry, but I can't post photos of the players on my personal blog due to privacy reasons. However, I have done some judicious photoshopping (thanks for teaching me that skill NetReach) so there is a photo.

Unfortunately, I missed the best photo opportunity... When we first arrived, on day 1, when all the players were waiting for us in the building, a cow was happily lazing on the court. Apparently, that is his home. And let me tell you, he was not happy when we made it our home instead! At that point, Alison and I both knew that we were in a very different basketball world to the one from whence we had come.

So, here is a quick photo of Alison and I on court for the first morning. Notice how we look clean, not sweaty. Our shirts are not covered in dust, our faces are not too red, and I have found some shade. Yep, none of those things lasted long!

The court was white concrete, which reflected the billionty-zillion degrees of the sun. It was winter in Dili, and some of the players wore jumpers during training. However, not me.... Have you seen that scene from the Wizard of Oz when the wicked witch melts into a pool of liquid? Well, I'm pretty sure I reenacted that on the afternoon of day 1....and then again on day 2.....maybe day 3.....but by day 4, I learnt how to hide in the shade!!

That was not all I learnt though. We knew that we were throwing new knowledge at our players, all day, everyday. Our idea was that we would provide a lot of new stuff, knowing that only some of it would be remembered. So, in order to minimise the stuff they needed to learn, we decided to learn some Tetum basketball-related words. I thought I learnt the words for Left and Right, and led the group through a drill where they had to turn their chair according to the direction I said. I'm not sure what I said, I thought it was Left, but clearly it was "stop moving your chair in order to laugh at Lisa and look at each other with raised eyebrows". Oh well, that's not the first time I've done that...but usually it's in English.

Just in case you're wondering, here is a photo of the whiteboard on which we had the players write the Tetum words  for the lines on the court. I just want to point out that the word for the key is Xave, pronounced something like Shar-vay. You know, Sharvay...the same way I say my surname after I've had a few wines! That's right people, I AM THE KEY TO BASKETBALL!!

I won't spend too much time talking about the skills we taught, but just imagine the very beginning of a wheelchair basketballer's career. The players soaked up the knowledge like they were sponges. They were great! Both the new players and the last year's existing players all improved each and every session. On day 1, we taught one-handed shooting and we hardly saw two-handed, behind the head, shots ever again. And the amount of smiles and laughter that happened showed us that wheelchair basketball is such a great game, and Alison and I felt privileged to be able to share it with others. I can see how this volunteering gig can become addictive!

Pushing the wheelchair was not necessarily something that all of the players had done before, so for some, it was a struggle to steer straight. In fact, one of the women had only received a day chair on the first morning of the camp, despite not being able to walk for years. She told us a story of hardly leaving her house, and when she did, being mistaken for a beggar. She was so embarrassed about that  that she hardly ever left the house again.

It was stories like her's that reminded me again and again that I was lucky to be born into a country with resources, infrastructure and laws that support my equal participation and social inclusion. Although I was not particularly lucky in collecting the whole, complete set of vertebrae, I was lucky to do that in Australia.

Anyway, on a lighter note, here is a picture of a picture that was hanging above my hotel bed. Does it remind you of anyone (answer below picture)?

(Answer: The Timorese version of Bert and Ernie...with giant nipples!!)

And then, after 5 days of great fun sharing our knowledge and experiences with new friends, we headed home.

Bye Timor Leste, we will be back!

Timor Leste - Before the Basketball Began

Well, I'm back from Timor Leste. Technically, I wrote this blog whilst away, but we didn't have internet access so I'm posting now. This post is about the first 2 days, before we started the basketball camp, when we were just travellers without a purpose.

To catch up, I was in Timor Leste with a Gliders team-mate, Alison, to run a development wheelchair basketball camp, funded by Motivation Australia, a not for profit disability and development organisation. Three other coaches went last year, where they built the donated wheelchairs, then introduced 10 players to the fabulous game! This year, 8 of those players returned, with 6 new ones, but more about the actual basketball in the next post. 

Just before we start my account of the day, a trend I have noticed happening amongst my friends is taking a holiday at a health retreat, where you have no internet and avoid phone contact, eat basic foods such as rice, protein and vegetables, engage in exercise and maybe take saunas to cleanse the toxins. Well, let me tell you, running a 5 day wheelchair basketball camp in an outside court in Timor Leste meets every single one of those goals!! 

Friday, 3^rd August:

Day one. Today, we travelled from our homes in Hobart and Torquay to Darwin, where, the plan was, to stay in the airport hotel overnight. It seems simple enough, right? Well, consider the amount of stuff we needed to bring: My day chair, both our sports chairs, one bag of spare wheels, both our suitcases, and a box full of basketballs. Still, not as bad as last year’s volunteers, who had to bring the basketball rings over with them! 

Normally, there is that moment when you dump your luggage at check-in, and don’t have to worry about it until you reach your final destination. Unfortunately for us, we were on two different airlines from Melbourne to Sydney, and then from Sydney Darwin (not to mention the final leg of Darwin to Dili, which makes it three different airlines). Yep, at each stop, we had to load up a trolley full of luggage, and stack one sports chair on top of the other, and make our way through crowded airports.

The last time I had this much stuff to haul through an airport was when I was off to the Athens Paralympics. Because Australia is currently gripped by Olympic fever, every now and again, some other passenger asked me if I was off to the London Paralympics. Well, I didn’t lie when I said yes ;)

The Darwin Cup is on this weekend. The flight to Darwin was chocca-bloc, and all the hotels are booked out. Just as well tonight’s hotel booking was made a while ago…..or was it?!?!? Well, technically, the staff of our organisation booked a room for us…. But the hotel staff recorded the wrong date, despite sending a confirmation email. That’s right, 2 women and a truck-load of luggage were homeless in Darwin. We thought about turning the sports chair frames into humpies for a moment. However, luckily for us, the airport hotel had a sister resort just around the corner, where they could give us a room.

Off we trottted, pushing trolleys and wheelchairs to “just around the corner”, which was thankfully, just around the corner. A bit of confusion ensued as the desk person was not the same one that had spoken to our first attempt of a hotel. However, this was quickly sorted when the original person’s break was over.

Holding our key to room 244 in our hot little hands, we wearily wandered to dump our stuff and collapse on the beds. And, here lies the problem. You see, room 244 was not abundant in beds. In fact, it had only one. Now, I’m short, but I can’t fit in a drawer!

Back we wandered to reception. Finally, 2 hotels, a walk “just around the corner” and 3 attempts at a room later, we collapse on our separate beds, and contemplate how quickly we will use the 2 passes for free drinks we were given for our troubles.

Our Glider teammate, Red, met us for dinner, where the manager proceeded to give us more free drinks and a discount on dinner. Well, we don’t mind if we do…and we did! After a catch up on lives, lots of laughter, ridiculous amounts of pork ribs, and the odd bubbles or two, we collapsed into bed, ready for our 4.20am wake up call.

Saturday 4^th August,

4.20am came around very quickly!

5am shuttle bus to the airport, for a 6.30am flight. Plenty of time, we thought. However, we did not count on the “wheelchair panic” of the airport check-in staff. (NB. “Wheelchair panic” is a term that I use to describe the sheer panic of customer relations staff in “having to deal” with a person in a wheelchair. It’s not restricted to airline staff, but they tend to get it the most. Ironically, most wheelchair panic can be alleviated by simply asking the person what usually happens, rather than reinventing the wheel (heheheh pun) each time).

We checked in our mountain of luggage, and unfortunately, this time I didn’t win the war. That is, this airline has a policy that day chairs are checked in with ordinary luggage, and I have to sit in an aisle chair for an hour or so. Most progressive airlines understand that it is actually less staff intensive for them if I stay in my chair until boarding. Nope, not this airline…and it took them a while to understand that I would only agree if they provided a staff member to push me for the entire time (ie, not sitting me in the corner of the gate lounge, unable to move).

They provided a staff member, and she was lovely. Unfortunately, it was her 3^rd day, so for the next half hour or so, we went on adventures together trying to find the secret hidden lifts in restricted areas of the airport.

While we were lining up in customs, a call came through on her radio, telling her that she needed to change my seat from the very front of the plane, to the very back of the plane to allow for the DPL. What is the DPL you ask? The creatively named “Disabled Persons’ Lift” – the tiny little cherry picker type thing that takes a person in an aisle chair onto the plane from the tarmac.

Just as well I learnt what a DPL was, because it gave me a heads up when the radio crackled through with “actually, I don’t think Dili has a DPL”. Ummm………it’s a long way down to bungie jump onto the tarmac!

The flight to Dili took just over an hour, and here is a photo of some spectacular scenery as we flew over Timor Leste.

We landed, the other passengers disembarked, and sure enough, there was no sign of a DPL. But then one arrived. Here is the Timor version of a DPL, getting me to the tarmac. 

 I am pleased to say that when he arrived at my seat, he looked me up and down, and then nodded, indicating that he could indeed lift me. I am less pleased to say that he was panting like an ill-prepared marathon runner by the time we got to my chair! [Mental note: next time I go to Timor, spend several months on Weight Watchers first.]

We arrived at our hotel, holding our breath that this booking was correct. Yep, all good (*wiping sweat from brow… both from relief and the millionty-zillion degrees of sunny sunshine). The hotel had done its best to become wheelchair friendly since the time our booking was made. They whipped up a ramp, and a shower chair, in the shed out the back (I mean, they whipped them up in the shed, not that I had to shower in the shed!).

When we arrived, they saw the effort it took to get up the two big steps at the front. So, in the time it took for me to go for a quick swim in the pool surrounded by a cat and a chicken (true!), they had whipped up a ramp. Ingenuity at its best!

Then we headed outside to have a look around, and here is a quick look at what we found:

Sunday 5^th August

Today was a lazy day today, with a small bit of site-seeing, and a lot of lying by the pool. This morning, we drove on the Timorese version of the Great Ocean Rd. 

What I mean is that it wound around corner after corner, had the beach on one side, had mountains on the other…. and sometimes, a car came towards you on the wrong side of the road!! However, unlike Australia, the drivers here seem to anticipate that nobody drives with rules. Nobody panics… no harm done.

We hired a driver for an hour, who took us the big Jesus statue.

Apparently the nice beaches are further along, past the statue, and known as Jesus Backside Beach. We didn't get that far, but the beaches we saw where pretty amazing anyway.

Tonight, we ate food on sticks cooked on the beach. I’d tell you what that food was, but the most specific I can get is ‘meat’. I’m sure mine was chicken, but Al bravely chose the “buffalo”. Mmmmm…tasty. Best we don’t question that one too much. We bought some of the banana leaf things just to see what was inside: a little bit like "Deal or No Deal". Deal - Rice!

After beachside dinner and beers, we then reviewed tomorrow’s plan. We can’t wait to get on court and share the joy of wheelchair bball!!

Wiping off the dust, metaphorically speaking

Well, hello there,
I thought I would wipe the dust off the old blog, and let you all back into my world.
To be fair, it's probably the same as your world...except permanently sitting down. And, if you are also a permanent sitter, SNAP!

Why have I reinstated this blog, you ask? Well, here are some clues, based on what I bought today:
- spf 30+ sunscreen, water and sweat resistant
- industrial strength mosquito repellent, for tropical conditions
- enough finger tape to strap down a small army (ooohhhhh, interesting idea)
- a new elbow protector
- tyre tubes
- dysentery tablets

Worked it out?

Ok, I'll tell you. At the end of next week, I'm off to East Timor (or Timor Leste) to run a 5 day wheelchair basketball camp. Did you know that the average temperature for August in E. Timor is one billionty-zillion degrees?

Fun!!! Sun!!!! Sweat!!!!

I'm hoping that it will simulate being in a giant sauna, so I will drop 453654645645 kg before going to France in September. I need to drop 453654645645 kg by then because I have calculated that I will gain exactly 453654645645 kg from carafes of red wine and pain au chocolat in the two weeks of Parisian living!


Anyway, this blog is really just to tell you to look out for the new ones, coming to you from firstly East Timor, and then the London Paralympics....and then maybe some from some tiny cafe in Paris (if I can work out how to use the computer after 45346364364563 carafes of red wine!)

Row, row, row your boat

So, I can barely type today. Holding my hands to the keyboard is causing all sorts of pain. You see, last weekend, I went rowing.
"Rowing??!@#", I hear you say, "Don't you use your legs for that? Doesn't that require some sort of balance so you don't fall in? How about you spend your weekends on the couch, watching Martha, and having a little cup of tea?"

No!!! Why sit at home in the safety of your own teapot when you can make an idiot of yourself in public!

You see, this was not a brave new world into which I was venturing. I'm familiar with the work of the rower. Very, very familiar with the work of the rower. You see, last year, I volunteered to be the cox for my university's team in a charity rowing event. Now, for those of you who were there, I'm sure you had a vision that just popped into your head, and surprisingly, it wasn't of me. For those who weren't, here is the story:

Each team was allocated a coach, and our team was allocated quite the lady's man. And what better way to show off being a "lady's man" than to wear lycra shorts.... all the time.... not just during sport. And what better way to show off these lycra shorts than to make sure they are bright in colour.... well, not all of the shorts. Our coach persistently wore black lycra shorts, with a middle strip of flouro green. Yes, the universe had used a highlighter pen to illuminate his "gentleman's area" (hahahahahahha.... sorry, I just really wanted to use that phrase).

Also, what better way to make a highlighted area stand out than to present it first. So, our coach had perfected a way to stand with his knees and shoulders in alignment, but his penis about 3 foot in front of him. Each to their own, I say, except when I'm sitting beside him. I had to be careful not to turn around too quickly, or I might have poked my eye out.

Anyway, this coach was very good at rowing, and very helpful to our team. However, as much as I tried to dabble in the coxing (ooohh.. blankety-blanks style double entendre!), my back just wouldn't stand up to the motion of the boat, so I had to stop. The first day after I left, our coach became the "fill-in" cox (and again!). If you can imagine how this man stands, imagine that sitting down as he sat in the cox-box (I'm not joking!! That's what it's called!!) My friend, Wendy, was in the first seat, as the first stroke (seriously!! again, not the name I chose), and she had to be particularly careful not to live up to that name!

So, as you can imagine, I ventured to rowing last weekend with a little trepidation.

Well, it was fine, everyone was appropriately clothed, and all coaches stood with their body's in proper alignment. Phew!

Now, when I say it was fine, I clearly was not talking about the actual rowing. The boat had been adapted so you don't need to use your legs. There are floaty devices on the side so it's hard to tip. It looks easy. It isn't.
I bobbed around in circles on the Maribyrnong river like the universe was playing a sick game of "spin the bottle".

However, here's a photo to prove I've been there.

Cheers, I'm off to highlight some pants.
L

I live in a sub-culture, not a sub-urb

So, last year, about this time, I moved to Torquay.
I signed the contracts on Good Friday, during the Bell's Beach surfing carnival (I mean, during the same time frame. I don't mean that I took a break from surfing to sign the contract). That day, it was party-town, with people everywhere.
And then, 30 days later, I moved in..... to a hibernating, winter-in-summer-paradise, where I was the only person living in my street. SURPRISE!

But, that's ok. I needed a rest.

It went back to a party-town overnight, sometime in October. If you come to visit, and you can stand up, you'll get a lovely sea-view from my lounge room. I'm not sure why I bought a house that caters for others and not for me, but we managed to change that. You see, if you stand in a specific spot in the corner, near the telly, squat down, and look up at a strategically angled mirror, you'll also see the sea.

The sea is this town. It is a surfing town. It's not unusual to see kids riding a skateboard to school, and carrying a surfboard (It's probably a year 10 elective). I'm not a surfer. I tried.... once.... unsuccessfully (not as unsuccessfully as scuba diving, but pretty close). You see, I was lying down on the board, and a big wave came. The helper (calling them this because I honestly don't remember who I was surfing with) let go of the board as the wave came. I did the "how-excited-am-I" screams which made the helper think I was doing the "I'd-like-to-stop-now-because-I'm-terrified" screams (mental note: need safe word), so they grabbed the board again.... at which point, I flew off the end, into the wave.... doing some sort of somersault.... with pike.... and jazz hands.

Anyway, because I don't surf, I've had plenty of time drinking coffee in this town (Yes,in between, I have gone to work at some stage). Basically, I've spent the last year noting the behaviours of my fellow townsfolk, and I have two questions:

Schoolies - if you need to have a lie down in my garden when you're walking home from the pub, have you stayed up way past your bed time?

Hanging ten - if I attempted to surf, what would it be called? Hanging-on-for-dear-life?

Right, that's me done. I'm going to go take a drop (apparently this is torquay-talk for going out for spot of surfing, but it only makes me think of wine!)
Cheers,
L

Catch-up

Well then. It's been a while. What have you been up to?
Me? Thanks for asking.
I've moved house....again.

Yes, I know. The last house had the bath that was the size of a lagoon , and coffee within 100 metres. So, why would I want to move. Well, I see your facilities, and I raise you one.

The new house is technically part of a resort, so I have a bath that actually IS a lagoon (although, they haven't taken too kindly to my loofah and shower cap, and the management prefer to call it an "outdoor pool").
Also, not only is coffee within 100 metres, now, there is also wine, cocktails, and a lovely assortment of nibblies. I can also create an owner's account, and just receive a monthly bill. (I have resisted this facility however, as I'm pretty sure if I start booking up food and drink to my house, I'll be 09453405734534 kilograms and 324094-574375 dollars in debt by next year).

Now, don't think that I'm talking myself up here. There are downsides to living resort-style.

1. While everyone is partying up, I'm going to work.
2. There are a few couples in their 80's living there until the aged care facility is built nearby. This isn't any downside....until one of the ladies whips your ass in the lap pool.....repeatedly!!!
3. They have started to lock up the towels so nobody can steal them. Now I have to buy my own towels.
5. the aforementioned issue of weight and debt.
6. The biggest downside, Reg-the-circus-dog couldn't come with me. Sad, but he went to a happy home in Perth where he runs amok amongst children. Perfect.

On the upside, Lulu-the-unhelper-dog is no longer cranky at me!!! She's been strutting her stuff like nobody's business.

Right, so that's it from me. What have you been up to? Fancy a drink....just don't book it up to my room.

Cheers,
L

check ME out

So, here's a conversation that I had in a loud basketball stadium, with an unnamed man, named Tim.

Me: So, in august, I'm going to be on the cover of the Australian Unity magazine
Tim: REALLY!! I thought they used models for things like that.
Me: Shut-up
Tim: No, really?? Do you really want to do that??
Me: Why not? That magazine uses real people, not models. In fact, they have mostly used my friend Cate, and all her family.
Tim: Well, is it going to be on sale in newsagents? Like, will everyone see it?
Me: No, it just goes to members.
Tim: Members of....??
Me: Australian Unity, of course
Tim: OH!!!! Australian UNITY!!!! I thought you said Australian NUDITY!

hahahahahahahahahahahaha

Cheers,
L

A sideshow of life

So, about a year ago, Basketball Australia asked for volunteers to lend their olympic/paralympic medals to the national sports museum, at the MCG, for a couple of years. I figured that I moved house so often that a museum was probably the safest place for my medal, so there it went.

And here it is...

I'm on the right, in the middle. Pretty, hey.

It was a little scary surrendering it last year. The "courier" was just a guy in an old commodore, and I handed over my medal, wrapped carefully in paper. I waved it goodbye. However, the care I exhibited that day was in stark contrast to the day I got the medal (well, technically the night, after the ceremony).The ribbon of my medal always smelt of beer!

Well, last week, I was in the big smoke for a meeting, so thought I'd go to the museum on my way home.

I was a little excited. I hadn't seen it for ages, and I planned to take heaps of photos.

However, when I found the cabinet, there was a big sign saying "No Photographs". Really, they should have put a sign on there just for me saying, "No waving to the medals like they're in the neonatal intensive care unit". (Doing nothing for the cause).

I spotted a security guard/tour guide nearby, so I tilted my head on the side, screwed up my nose, decreased the bass in my voice, and cajoled him into taking photos with me. He was thrilled that it was my medal, and we talked about the paralympics for ages. We even tried to spot me on the video they have playing in the background. I think I spotted me. I'm not sure, but it was definitely a small woman in a wheelchair. There can't be that many of them at the paralympics!

Then, I thought I should pay my respects to the other sportspeople, and look at the rest of the museum.

I looked around for a bit, then wheeled past "my cabinet" to get to the exit.

My security guard/tour guide/photographer was there with a tour group. As I wheeled by, he stopped the group and pointed at me. Yes, people......I AM A SIDESHOW

Cheers,

L

Masking the truth

So, it's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry, I've been sick.
I shan't scare you with the details, but for the last three weeks, I haven't ventured too far from the essential facilities (if you get my drift). Let's just say that if I ever had a "feeling in my waters" about anything...it's well and truly gone now!

When I get any sort of sick, my brain has a little holiday. So, this is how sick I was in the last couple of weeks.
I was watching reruns of Blankety-Blank on Foxtel, thinking that it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. Had I been able to work the computer, I would have emailed channel 0, at nunawading, to suggest that they remake it. Seriously, who needs a double entendre when a single one will do!!

In order to catch up on the month or so of work that I missed, I decided to buy one of them little itty-bitty computers. It's ace. I've taken to calling it my portable facebook device, cos I haven't really done much work. In fact, I'm in a cafe right now! (Well, I have to be. The housekeeper's at my house. I'd feel guilty if I was at home)

However, a particular trait has emerged that I never really knew I had.
I've taken to chatting to my computer. Well, not so much chatting. More muttering.

So, I'm being sneaky.....

Here's a picture for your brain:
- me, sitting in a coffee shop with a flat white as big as my head
- sitting in front of a computer which is as big as a sugar cube
- looking flummoxed
- trying to work out how to shrink the facebook scrabble page
- muttering to the computer
- then trying to cover that up by seamlessly putting those mutterings into a "conversation" with a pretendy skype person. It's amazing how quickly I can go from "why can't see all my letters? How am I supposed to make a word" to "oh yes, that sounds like a fabulous plan. Let's do that"

I thought I was doing so well in covering up my mutterings...until last week.

I was in a cafe at a shopping centre, typing away, muttering (oops, I mean "chatting") to the computer, when a cleaner came over and said...."aren't you a clever little one for working that machine!"

Right, I'm off to change my status
Cheers,
L

A bouquet of syringes

So, this month, I'm supposed to be writing a book chapter. I'm not exactly sure how to do that... so I thought I'd write a blog instead. Martha Steward devoted a whole show to the joy of blogging (I know. I'm embarassed I know that too). She described it as a "good thing". Clearly, Martha isn't my employer!

Have you seen that Lilly Allen videoclip where she's wandering through London and misinterprets everything around her? It's the one where she sees positive things, like flowers and rainbows, but reality is not quite as nice, with things such as syringes and smog. Well, lately I've been seeing flowers when clearly there were syringes.

You see, because I'm short, people don't tend to see me in a crowd. So, logically, if a person is a fair distance away, and waving whilst walking towards their friends... who happen to be standing directly behind me, I have, maybe, on occasion, found myself waving back with some sort of verbal greeting.


And today, I was just uploading a photo of myself to this site, for my profile bit. After much deliberation, I chose a photo taken at a wedding, so I'm a little bit frocked.
I pressed the upload button, and up popped "fetching photo".
"Why thankyou" I said out loud to the computer.
Yeah, nah. The computer was merely fetching the photo....not giving me a complement.

Right, gonna start dodging those syringes now.
Cheers,
L