Local advent-ures in .... zzzzzzzzz ...

I had planned to write up the next few days of my travel diary tonight, but turned to sleep instead after a day of much oddness.

It started at the physiotherapist. My foot has had a spot of peroneal tendonitis of late, thanks to having been mangled some years back and a bit abused by my passion for walking ever since. I saw the doctor back on Monday and he advised 3g of paracetamol a day and wearing heels. I laughed, then admitted I don't own many heels. Glamorous riding boots were the answer and I have been stalking about in them all week.

But given it was still clicking and hurting yesterday, I made an appointment at the physio near my work, which is why I spent the morning turning my feet this way and that way and then standing and walking for an audience who showed more appreciation for these skills than most of us ever see after the age of one. My physio is lovely and had a good understanding of anatomy and a very clear-cut approach to treatment, which made me happy, and my foot certainly felt better after seeing her. She was a good laugh, too, even if she left me taped up the back of the leg.

Work was unusually bonkers. I've been waiting all week to find out whether I've been given the top job and the pay rate I wanted and indeed what the print schedule is for the next edition of my new (to me) mag. After asking the production manager about the schedule all through September and October and all week since I have been back, I raided his desk when he was off yesterday, found the dates, gasped, and immediately went off to start putting pages together. There are about 12 working weeks between now and when it needs to start going to the printer, but I only work four days a week and at the moment there is nothing and no one else. Expect periods of insanity between now and April.

I finally managed a meeting to learn that I have the title and should have the hourly rate I want (hurrah!) and can hire an in-house junior in addition to freelancers, so that will be fun. Cheered up and With A Plan, I decided I might bunk off early since everyone was getting ready for the Christmas party (I always boycott it on the grounds that I spend enough time at work). If I had been smart, I would have run there and then, but like a fool, I said 'Does anyone need a hand?'

Apparently I had been an integral part of several people's plans for their getting ready, which is why I spent the next 90 minutes lacing friends into corsets, putting wigs on heads, darkening eyebrows, tying up sashes and sticking false eyelashes into place. 'We knew you'd know how!' my colleagues chorused. I consoled myself with the fact that I like them and they all looked great when I had done, and that if this publishing thing ever goes tits-up, I am SO sorted for a spot as a dresser at the drag club that's just reopened on my street.

After a day this daft, I was unable to find enough brain for anything intelligent, but I did remember to eat my advent chocolate and cackle with glee at the cricket. After a lovely long nana nap, I need only do my physio exercises and shower and then I can go back to bed for a proper sleep. Ahhh ... lovely.

Oh, and all you bandom flistees? I hold you personally responsible for the fact that I can now recognise the members of MCR at a glance. Yes, friends of oddishly , it is your fault entirely your fault I just thought Gerard Way attractive. At least the Internet reassures me he is a man of non-foetus-like age.

Finally if you are in Sydney on Saturday December 4, pop over to the Prints Charming Market Day at 2 Young St Annandale, because they have lovely things! 9am-3pm -- if you see a short red-striped brunette, it might be me!

Local advent-ures in .... zzzzzzzzz ...

I had planned to write up the next few days of my travel diary tonight, but turned to sleep instead after a day of much oddness.

It started at the physiotherapist. My foot has had a spot of peroneal tendonitis of late, thanks to having been mangled some years back and a bit abused by my passion for walking ever since. I saw the doctor back on Monday and he advised 3g of paracetamol a day and wearing heels. I laughed, then admitted I don't own many heels. Glamorous riding boots were the answer and I have been stalking about in them all week.

But given it was still clicking and hurting yesterday, I made an appointment at the physio near my work, which is why I spent the morning turning my feet this way and that way and then standing and walking for an audience who showed more appreciation for these skills than most of us ever see after the age of one. My physio is lovely and had a good understanding of anatomy and a very clear-cut approach to treatment, which made me happy, and my foot certainly felt better after seeing her. She was a good laugh, too, even if she left me taped up the back of the leg.

Work was unusually bonkers. I've been waiting all week to find out whether I've been given the top job and the pay rate I wanted and indeed what the print schedule is for the next edition of my new (to me) mag. After asking the production manager about the schedule all through September and October and all week since I have been back, I raided his desk when he was off yesterday, found the dates, gasped, and immediately went off to start putting pages together. There are about 12 working weeks between now and when it needs to start going to the printer, but I only work four days a week and at the moment there is nothing and no one else. Expect periods of insanity between now and April.

I finally managed a meeting to learn that I have the title and should have the hourly rate I want (hurrah!) and can hire an in-house junior in addition to freelancers, so that will be fun. Cheered up and With A Plan, I decided I might bunk off early since everyone was getting ready for the Christmas party (I always boycott it on the grounds that I spend enough time at work). If I had been smart, I would have run there and then, but like a fool, I said 'Does anyone need a hand?'

Apparently I had been an integral part of several people's plans for their getting ready, which is why I spent the next 90 minutes lacing friends into corsets, putting wigs on heads, darkening eyebrows, tying up sashes and sticking false eyelashes into place. 'We knew you'd know how!' my colleagues chorused. I consoled myself with the fact that I like them and they all looked great when I had done, and that if this publishing thing ever goes tits-up, I am SO sorted for a spot as a dresser at the drag club that's just reopened on my street.

After a day this daft, I was unable to find enough brain for anything intelligent, but I did remember to eat my advent chocolate and cackle with glee at the cricket. After a lovely long nana nap, I need only do my physio exercises and shower and then I can go back to bed for a proper sleep. Ahhh ... lovely.

Oh, and all you bandom flistees? I hold you personally responsible for the fact that I can now recognise the members of MCR at a glance. Yes, friends of oddishly , it is your fault entirely your fault I just thought Gerard Way attractive. At least the Internet reassures me he is a man of non-foetus-like age.

Finally if you are in Sydney on Saturday December 4, pop over to the Prints Charming Market Day at 2 Young St Annandale, because they have lovely things! 9am-3pm -- if you see a short red-striped brunette, it might be me!