It was a dark and stormy night...
Just what you want to be doing before LOTR: hacking up one of your precious and beloved trees. All I'd wanted was a quiet weekend to myself, some quality time with Del Boy, a couple of hours to type up my fic, maybe write some. But no, it was not to be. I had to call the SES instead.
That's State Emergency Services to you. We had a storm, you see. Big, big storm. Of biblical proportions, according to the insurance company. At least they're calling the ruin of the backyard (and the neighbour's backyard) an act of God. Thanks, God.
You know, I don't ask for riches, fame, respect, success, beauty, sex or fun. I just wanted a few hours to myself. Sometimes I almost believe my Can Do friends that my life is my own, then I'm brutally reminded of how my life, my time and my money is not my own. My duties and responsibilities belong to others, I am merely a beast of burden. Do note also who was out there getting bruised and bloody getting the trees down, and who wasn't. Hmph. No wonder my hormones are out of whack, I have to be the man all the time.
I'll have to buy a new fence, too, though the current fashion of which has yet to be decided. One side is like a metal cage, one side is the original old wooden palings, the bit that got crunched, and one side is colourbond, from when colourbond was mandatory but now the council has turned around and banned colourbond so I have no clue. See what I mean about the details of my life being governed by the petty whims of others?
The backyard looks somewhat catastrophic after our near cyclonic winds (a couple of points short, apparently). The problem with native trees, while patriotic and ecological sound to have 'em, is that they have very shallow roots and so after a long dry, a solid night's soaking and then blustery winds, over they go. Give me English trees which, legend has it, only topple over once every 500 years in some terrible omen.
Of course if the damn thing had fallen forwards it would have taken me out, where I was trying to read my book, finding the tempest quieter than indoors (they are so noisey), and solved all my problems in one fell swoop, neatly (or messily) making them someone elses. Yippee.
No such luck. The bastard thing has to fall backwards, doesn't it, into the neighbour's yard. Actually it had caught in the fork of my jacaranda and snapped in half, sparing the fence and tickling the neighbour's shed. It was only when the SES dudes started to chainsaw it down that it swung forward like a pendulem, knocked out the fence and crashed onto said shed. The neighbours were very good about it, laughing and clapping like crazy people, because I'm now buying them a new shed and fence.
You know I'd actually circled an airfare I might afford, for a few moments I'd actually indulged myself in the idea that I was ever getting away from here. No such luck.
That tree did not go gracefully into that good night either. It was up to me to cut it up and drag it out onto the footpath for the council to pick up the next morning and now I'm as cut up and scratched as Billy was. Well, almost. It sure feels like it. You should see the tear on my neck where a branch caught me. Most impressive. TVPG14 and everything. Hurts like buggery, too.
Took me forever to clear up the mess. All Sunday evening and Monday morning. Fun, not.
Saturday was entirely my fault though. Instead of staying home and watching the Stargate marathon on TV1 and finising off that damn fic as intended, I'd been so startled when someone had actually rung and suggested a film that I said yes. It wasn't a bad afternoon out and I thoroughly enjoyed the Italian Job. The cast were so damn good I even forgave them the crime of setting the film in LA. There was no fic writing done though. I can hear the howls from here.
I did however develop a new love for my new coat. Not only does it keep me warm and snug out here but it also keeps me dry, I'd discovered, something I'd not had the chance to test until I had to walk home in the driving rain with Thai takeaway. Yes, indeed, it was my turn to cook again.
So that was my weekend, even more bruises and bandaids to add to last week's lot. Poor tree. I'll miss it (and all the bits it and the SES took out with it).
Good news! It turns out the insurance company is definitely calling it storm damage aka an act of God, though 'God' actually spared the fence and shed, it was an act of SES that took them out. Never mind, the main thing is that I might not have to pay. Yippee. Already my scratches feel better. The one on my neck has gone down and stopped bleeding and just looks like a scratch, not an abortive decapitation like before.
Watching Black Hawk Down right now. Picture me laughing like that kid on the Simpsons. Still, Brit boys au go go. And more in LOTR as I keep typing. Just about done catching up on the typing. Took Monday off to clean up and lookit, quality time in the evening with Del Boy after all. So yeah, I have to type and drool over Brit boys simultaneously, but it's better than nowt.
You know you've seen LOTR too many times when you MST3K it as you type away. It does rather ask for it at times, being so dreadfully po faced and serious. Could Leggy flounce about any more, I ask you.
Oh, lovely pic of Damian in the Herald, too. And Ewan. Bonus!
I read there's a girl group in the US called Fannypack. Do they have any idea what that means in Australian? Twats.
Oh, I have to take the book I bought last week back to WHSmith, cause it was missing a mere 150 pages. This always happens to me and usually I accept my shabby lot in life, but this was Jurassic Park and woe betide me should I miss some factoid mentioned in those missing 150 or so pages. You know, it's almost enough to make me wish I was a professional writer, just so I wouldn't ever have to worry about getting my facts right or being double checked. Unlike like real writers, fan writers are always nit picked to within an inch of their life, and I don't see how that's right or fair. Hmph.
Oh, I forgot to mention, Spooks was good, as usual, very Joe 90, and I caught the film clip for the Dandy Warhols's "We Were The Last High" on Rage (after catching the end of T1 on a movie channel - baby Biehn!). Hmph. Is nothing sacred, I ask? First BG, and now this. Double Hmph.
Heh. Looks like it's just me today. Couldn't raise anyone yesterday and I phoned co-worker who was also at home clearing up after trees. Bugger it, we decided. Let 'em wait. Only people never do. All my intrays are full of angry emails demanding attention. Sod 'em. Tempest, people. Normal services will be resumed as soon as I snarf some more panadols.