blamebrampton

Guess who looks like a squirrel becaues her lower leftt wisdom tooth has turned to the path of darkness?

I have a tube of bonjela and a dentist's appointment in the morning. If you don't hear from me for a few days, it will be because I am sitting with an icepack clutched to my cheek swearing like a sailor!

We have a lot of fireworks in Sydney at New Year, so I was determined to get the cats in before they started. Monster was sitting patiently at the door, because she is a good cat. Cookie had clearly gone over the fence, which is her new thing, following Satan's Own Kitty. However, one good shake of the kibble bag and she came home a few minutes later. No sign of Rusketus.

I shook the kibble bag again. Nothing.

I tapped on the gushy food tin. Nothing.

The first firework banged. KITTEN! Looking like this:



Yes, he is wet (and licking gushy food from his teeth). From the smell, we think he may have fallen into a fishpond rather than been hosed. He wasn't fishing, as the top of his head is the only completely dry part and his front paws were much drier than his back ones. He has required many cuddles. Shame about the slight pong.

On a less smelly note:
A very happy birthday to hollyxu! You are such a kind soul, I hope that this year is filled with ease and people who rightly love you, and gifts! Fabulous gifts!

Happy Birthday, too, to aella_irene! I hope that this is a year of extremely successful writing for you, and that all the people who have unwittingly inspired you are even now organising for you to have cake, ever so much cake!

And finally, a very happy birthday to zeitgeistic! Have a lovely 30th and may you need to move exactly 0 times this year, unless it is for scads of cash and with professional movers! MWAH! All the giftage, my friend!

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO NEW ZEALAND! It's just kicked off there, and I hope that the rest of us see in the change of the Gregorian calendar with joy and peace or peace shattered only by fireworks and giggling.

It's that time of year again when, throughout the Western world and in many other places, we're all told to be filled with joy and peace.

But I think it's OK not to be.

For everyone who has lost, or who is tired or who is alone, it's OK. Because while the advertisements say that the Christmas message is gifts and family, they're wrong. It's hope.

That's the whole story: the hope that one moment can change everything. And that's true whether you're an atheist, a Christian, a Muslim, a Hindu, a Jew … anyone at all.

Each of you have been moments that have changed my life and brought happiness. Thank you for that. I wish you all peace this Christmas and at the end of Hanukah or (in Sydney) profoundly wet December 25.

And at some point between now and Australia Day I'll get my act together to by you lot the traditional Oxfam chickens or goat!

Dear kareina, I hope that it is freezing and snowing and that you have a perfect day!

Sorry for bad typing, on phone and on bus. But just getting to the end of The Breakout Novelist by Donald Maass and it's a big rec from me. The stuff on writing all good, but the stuff on agents and contracts and deciphering publisher speak is utterly brilliant. Available on ebook and worth every penny

Saturday was hot. If you speak new money, it was 37 degrees, if you speak old, 98.6. I'd bunkered down the house to keep it cool, kept the cats in and battened down everything in the garden, as high winds were forecast.

But we needed food, so I checked the weather radar and thought I had just enough time to get to the shops and back before any storms developed. I probably would have if I hadn't stopped to chat to a friend. As it was, I came out of the deli into wind that must have been gusting at aroud 100km, because it was very hard to stay upright and the horizontal rain was a bit ouchie. Sensibly, I took shelter in the lee of the tattooist's and waited for the worst to go past.

I made it to the supermarket during a brief lull, cognisant that lightning was getting closer and that it's more sturdily built than the tattooist's. There I busied myself buying quorn and asparagus and a Jamie Oliver spiced pudding, because I have become a cliche since moving to the suburbs. (I jest not, Mr Brammers wants to buy a Volvo.)

I warned a few people not to leave as I was coming in, the remainder were paying enough attention not to even try. It howled. Lightning struck nearby and thunder shook the whole building, the gutters overflowed. And then it was gone.

I headed home quickly, aware that Sydney storms can be unpredictable, but it was sunny and barely spotting rain by the time I had walked the four minute trip.

And there were trees and powerlines down all up the street.

So I dropped off the groceries, grabbed my gloves and phone, and headed out. Neighbour One was waiting to get through to the State Emergency Services on his phone, I called the police on the local area command line to let them know they needed to block off the street to trucks: the trees were only across the pavements and gardens, Neighbours Two and Three had removed the one bough that had made it onto the road, but the lines had been lifted off the power poles on one side, and while cars and humans had clearance under them (happily, I didn't need to convince anyone that it would be a bad idea to actively walk under them, most Marrackvillains are sensible!), trucks did not.

The police arrived quickly and were fab, so the neighbourhood set then trotted off to clear what we could of a big tree down in a yard a few doors up. It was a eucalypt – they ALWAYS come down in winds, so never camp under one or plant one over 3 metres next to your house. My next-door neighbour, who wants us to cut down the lone pine in our garden, told everyone that he thought the pine was going to fall and that he had never seen a gum tree come down before. Being evil, I took the opportunity to let him know that the exact opposite set of beliefs were accurate, but I was nice about it and said I only knew because I had done a course. People always cope with you knowing something they don't if you've done a course.

I started to clear out the smaller bits of tree, so there would be less for the SES to have to do. Mr next-door told me to leave it to the men, because I would hurt myself. I told him I'd done a course on risk assessment and that if he would turn the branch he was hauling around, it would come more easily and not knock everything down as he took it up the drive. He listened to me only after he'd taken out a pot and a bench.

After twenty minutes, we were down to things that should not be touched, and Mr Next Door had finally been convinced that I made sense, so translated the need to wait for the SES to the Greek householders. I showed how only the fence would be damaged if the winds shifted the fallen tree more, and they were relieved. Mr Next Door followed me home, where Mr Brammers was finally ambling out (he assumes I will call him if he's needed.)

'Your wife takes command,' said Mr Next Door.

'Oh, she knows all about trees and emergencies,' said Mr B. 'She's from the country, and used to work for the Parks Service, where they make you take lots of courses.'

Mr Next Door seemed satisfied by this, and I managed not to roll my eyes.

Pride has its own set of aphorisms.

Yesterday, walking down Addison Road towards the market, this happened:



Broken scaphoid. Apparently I am fab in an actual emergency, incapable of walking down a slightly crap piece of pavement.

Still running round like headless chicken and finishing one fic (late) at the same time as working on another (not yet late!) (Anyone want to beta a shortish fic next week? Not if you're meant to be writing for anything!), BUT …

hp_reunion have announced their dates for a massive Get The Fandom Back Together Fest, November 1-16. You can read about the plans so far here>. BRILLIANT idea, though it looks like they could do with an H/D track, you know …

And Bloomsbury have decided we should have the international festival of Harry Potter Book Night, with a whole festival of THINGS next February 5 (I know it should be May 2, book people are crazycakes.) Check out the details and sign up for info here.

And if you're in Australia or New Zealand, you can win a family trip to London and a Harry Potter Tour by answering one simple question right here!

And now, shower and bed. I planted six roses and dug in 100kg of compost between 8.30 and 10.30 last night, wearing a head torch. I fear am going to be That Lady to the neighbours.

OOH! No, one quick anecdote first! Bus back from ukulele tonight was a DEBACLE, 45 minutes late, bunch of kids up the back playing their music very loudly. It was that blah misogynistic rap without even cleverness, musicality or genuine oppression to temper it. I was already eye-rollingly middle aged, and then just as I was getting ready to get off the bus, two of them started singing.

Now to get off the bus, I have to pick up my ukulele case (it's the concert uke, so a reasonably sized instrument in a good case), then I have to swing on my backpack full of music + work bits and grab my handbag and brolly. It's a little bit of a production. I had just done all this and made it down to the centre bus door, providing something for people in the front half of the back of the bus to look aimlessly at, when the singing started.

And it was bad. So very, very bad. And I have perfect pitch and sensitive ears, so there is a face I can't help pulling when things are horribly off key and I am not prepared for them. And I pulled it. And all those other people who had been sitting there silently thinking 'Would you bloody well turn that over to something that doesn't denigrate women in every second line?!' saw me pull it. And there was a surprising burst of laughter.

Bless the kids, they kept singing, because I minded that far less than the crap rap and you should still be allowed to sing even if you're shit, but one of their friends, in a friendly tone, announced, 'Dude, Music Lady judges you!'

I gave them a bright smile when they looked up, to encourage the singing to go on rather than the rap come back (even though I was getting off, I thought of the others), but it's true, I was judging. But I was very pleased to see that just as when I was their age and people would come out and say, 'The Happy Mondays are very good, yes, but it is two in the morning and you are in a city where people live and would you for the love of tiny bunnies shut the fuck up?!' and we would go 'Bloody old people!' but accept that they had a fair point, so too did this lot. Good old Yoof! Now I just need to get a USB stick loaded up with Happy Mondays and pass it over the next time I am in a situation like this. Or else Belgian rap, which is funny!

One day, quite soon, I hope, we will stop dealing with Moving Issues.

Last weekend was buying a new table, which we picked up secondhand. 'It came into the house like this …' the woman said. 'Are you sure?' I asked. 'I would have thought you'd have to take the door off.'* 'Oh no, no, no,' she said. 'Definitely not.'

So we spent ten minutes trying to get the table out. Mr Brammers came up with four possible strategies, thwarted only by reality. We then took the door off.

At this point – and you're wholly right that it should have been before – I said, 'If we have to take this door off, won't we have to take ours off, too?'

'Oh no,' Mr Brammers assured me, 'Our doors are wider.' This was a lie. But we didn't take the door off. We removed the side gate, instead.

We had one of my fave friends over for dinner at our new table on Monday, which was fabulous, despite the fact Mr B was in bed recovering from carrying a giant heavy table and knocking over and then rebuilding a giant heavy gate. That laid us low for much of the week and we only cooked a couple of meals and emptied a few boxes. So this weekend we were determined to do better.

We did! Garden centres were visited, half a tonne of buiding waste was shovelled out of the front garden and about 150kg of compost slathered on one bed, one more bed to go and then a whole new bed to dig over and form next weekend. Pots were potted, heavy things were lugged, and the cats' climbing hammocks were reassembled and placed against the side of the house in the conveniently hard-to-get-out-of back garden. And then we spent 15 minutes trying to get Rusketus off the roof.

You saw that coming, too, didn't you?

We're still a bit worn out, that's our excuse.

Exhaustion and overwork is also my excuse for missing so many birthdays lately.

tsosh, I miss you. I hope you had a splendid day yesterday and that this year has been kind to you, which you so thoroughly deserve.

gossymer, I hope you come back soon, I miss you, too! I hope you have been mugged by the present fairy!

sassy_cissa, I KNOW you were mugged by the present fairy. You're the loveliest person, thanks for bringing the light you do to fandom!

On the topic of which, birdsofshore, you are a fandom gem and you bring so much delight! I hope that you are having a spectacular day and that your cake levels are bordering on the ridiculous.

And it's possibly exactly the right time to say happy birthday to the wonderful meri_oddities. May gifts and cake and joy be even more dominant than usual in your life today.

Sorry to everyone I've missed in these chaotic months, I've thought of every one of you!

* When it comes to spatial awareness, I am staggeringly excellent with things, utterly rubbish with my own elbows.

Happy Birthday, montjoye! May all your brews be true and may you never be confused as to the vessel with the pestle!

Picture a short, dark-haired woman, smeared with dust and newsprint, with a right ankle roughly the size and shape of a softball (old injury, reminding me it hates me), a back that was great a month ago, less so now, bruises that make me look as though I have taken up some strange sport that involves throwing small, hard balls at one's limbs (not those balls) and STILL MORE BOXES OF MAGAZINES TO MOVE!!!!!!

Whatever you have in mind, I am grottier, tireder, and still coughing more like the heroine of a 19th century opera (I seem to have just avoided bronchitis, but all the dust means the post-viral cough has had free rein).

However, tonight, in the new house, we turned on the heater, the toaster, the electric kettle and the dryer ALL AT THE SAME TIME. It's been 14 years since we could do that without flipping a fuse breaker.

The cats are all a little weirded out, but coping; I am desperate to finish moving the last stuff so that I can sleep and sleep and sleep.

With this in mind, my birthday greetings for ravurian are woefully inadequate. You are a scholar and a gentleman, good sir, and as Katherine Hepburn would say: more power to you! I hope you have a fabulous year, and that we both find cause to say something nice about a politician over the next year. Oh, that's too unlikely, I hope some nice billionaire develops a mad crush on you instead.