Here in the Holyish city ...

Yesterday was a very quiet day in terms of pilgrim interaction, they were all busily watching the Stations of the Cross for most of the day. I'm in two minds about the Stations of the Cross; on the one hand I am all for medieval theatre and there being public rituals in the life of a city that bind people together. On the other hand, it's a bit like watching a Mel Gibson production. And the bloke they had playing Jesus was an advertising executive, which I think is asking for it really.

Today I frankly hid. all of my pilgrim interactions were care of the news. SBS news showed a group of friendly protesters tossing condoms at the pilgrims, two rather fit lads bent down to pick some up, was it pure chance that they had Swedish flags on their backpacks? I think not. The other pilgrims called out 'Benedicto' to the protesters, who wore shirts condemning the pope's stances on birth control and homosexuality.

One pilgrim was taken away by police when he tried to assault a protester, but he was later released. I wonder if the reverse situation would have had the same result?

The pilgrims were marching for miles across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, through the city, to Randwick, where they are spending the evening camping at the racecourse before a large mass tomorrow (as you can see, those Swedes were forward-thinking). I am not a big fan of huge crowds, so stayed in Erko and Newtown, which were pilgrim free.

I finished my mainlining of Girl Genius webcomic, which I heartily recommend to anyone who is a fan of steampunk, big-busted girl heroines with ray guns, or heavily amusing graphic art (the first panel features an advert for frogs, 2p; sugar frogs, 5p, sugar sans frogs, 20p). Then we popped up the road for a bite to eat.

I was partially intelligent about this, slipping out of my flowery sundress and coat ensemble that had seen me through the day and into a woolen top and skirt with coat arrangement that is about four times warmer. Where I failed was in the shoe department, I had been pottering about in my  new Doc boots in a bid to break them in (being far too old to resort to the old thick socks and a bucket of hot water trick that I would have used the last time I had Doc boots, before half my flist was born).

Had you been standing in a quiet corner of Newtown earlier this evening you would have seen a short, black-clad woman unlacing a pair of red boots and stuffing her socks into them before setting off home in bare feet. Happily there was no broken glass, only cold, cold pavement. I can now tell you that fresh tarmac is warmer than old, concrete smoother than tarmac, and bricks best of all. Also, that no matter how much of your earlier life was spent barefoot and fancy free, none of that counts after a few years in sensible shoes.

This was not the only oddness of the evening. I had been curled up on the sofa with Girl Genius for a few hours when J bustled past me into the kitchen to make himself a coffee. Ten minutes later, he went out to see how the stovetop coffee maker was going. When he drew back the curtain* leading into the kitchen, a wave of acrid smoke poured out. He had turned on the element under the wooden chopping board rather than the one under the Bialetti, and it was cheerfully charcoaling. Luckily the smoke alarm is in the next room, and the curtain did its job holding in the smoke. It is one of the few times I have been happy to have an electric cooker. I had to explain to the cats that Daddy was trying to kill us, again, so they needed to stay out of the kitchen for a while. This involved the bag of milky treats and much tummy tickling. Like all cats, they can be bought.

Tomorrow we will add a new chopping board to the list of the day's missions. And I will brave a city full of worn-out, smelly pilgrims on their way back from their camp-out and mass in my bid to find a reasonably priced microphone for podficcing.

It's got to be safer than staying home ...


*Our house is small, and there is no room to mount a door, but it is also a freezing cold house in winter, and so you need to keep the rooms contained to hold any heat in. Thick curtains do the job admirably. And add a rakish, bohemian air. I am thinking of sewing up a quilted felt pirate flag to replace the current one at some point.

Here in the Holyish city ...

Yesterday was a very quiet day in terms of pilgrim interaction, they were all busily watching the Stations of the Cross for most of the day. I'm in two minds about the Stations of the Cross; on the one hand I am all for medieval theatre and there being public rituals in the life of a city that bind people together. On the other hand, it's a bit like watching a Mel Gibson production. And the bloke they had playing Jesus was an advertising executive, which I think is asking for it really.

Today I frankly hid. all of my pilgrim interactions were care of the news. SBS news showed a group of friendly protesters tossing condoms at the pilgrims, two rather fit lads bent down to pick some up, was it pure chance that they had Swedish flags on their backpacks? I think not. The other pilgrims called out 'Benedicto' to the protesters, who wore shirts condemning the pope's stances on birth control and homosexuality.

One pilgrim was taken away by police when he tried to assault a protester, but he was later released. I wonder if the reverse situation would have had the same result?

The pilgrims were marching for miles across the Sydney Harbour Bridge, through the city, to Randwick, where they are spending the evening camping at the racecourse before a large mass tomorrow (as you can see, those Swedes were forward-thinking). I am not a big fan of huge crowds, so stayed in Erko and Newtown, which were pilgrim free.

I finished my mainlining of Girl Genius webcomic, which I heartily recommend to anyone who is a fan of steampunk, big-busted girl heroines with ray guns, or heavily amusing graphic art (the first panel features an advert for frogs, 2p; sugar frogs, 5p, sugar sans frogs, 20p). Then we popped up the road for a bite to eat.

I was partially intelligent about this, slipping out of my flowery sundress and coat ensemble that had seen me through the day and into a woolen top and skirt with coat arrangement that is about four times warmer. Where I failed was in the shoe department, I had been pottering about in my  new Doc boots in a bid to break them in (being far too old to resort to the old thick socks and a bucket of hot water trick that I would have used the last time I had Doc boots, before half my flist was born).

Had you been standing in a quiet corner of Newtown earlier this evening you would have seen a short, black-clad woman unlacing a pair of red boots and stuffing her socks into them before setting off home in bare feet. Happily there was no broken glass, only cold, cold pavement. I can now tell you that fresh tarmac is warmer than old, concrete smoother than tarmac, and bricks best of all. Also, that no matter how much of your earlier life was spent barefoot and fancy free, none of that counts after a few years in sensible shoes.

This was not the only oddness of the evening. I had been curled up on the sofa with Girl Genius for a few hours when J bustled past me into the kitchen to make himself a coffee. Ten minutes later, he went out to see how the stovetop coffee maker was going. When he drew back the curtain* leading into the kitchen, a wave of acrid smoke poured out. He had turned on the element under the wooden chopping board rather than the one under the Bialetti, and it was cheerfully charcoaling. Luckily the smoke alarm is in the next room, and the curtain did its job holding in the smoke. It is one of the few times I have been happy to have an electric cooker. I had to explain to the cats that Daddy was trying to kill us, again, so they needed to stay out of the kitchen for a while. This involved the bag of milky treats and much tummy tickling. Like all cats, they can be bought.

Tomorrow we will add a new chopping board to the list of the day's missions. And I will brave a city full of worn-out, smelly pilgrims on their way back from their camp-out and mass in my bid to find a reasonably priced microphone for podficcing.

It's got to be safer than staying home ...


*Our house is small, and there is no room to mount a door, but it is also a freezing cold house in winter, and so you need to keep the rooms contained to hold any heat in. Thick curtains do the job admirably. And add a rakish, bohemian air. I am thinking of sewing up a quilted felt pirate flag to replace the current one at some point.