Slogging and Blogging

When we were in Australia, just before the storms hit South East Queensland and Northern New South Wales (where we stayed) we decided to go to Brisbane for the day. After all, you can´t travel half-way around the planet and not go and see a major Australian city that´s about an hour-and-a-half away from where you´re staying can you?

Anyway. Brisbane was lovely. A really nice city. Lots of designer shopping opportunities, although we hadn´t gone there to shop.

The only problem was that my baseball boots were really killing my feet. Probably due to the heat, because they are old baseball boots and don´t normally give me grief.

So we decided that the only solution to our continued enjoyment of the day was for me to acquire a pair of cheap, comfy flat shoes. Oh Patient One ensconced me and my sore feet in a sidewalk cafe, and went off in search of a reasonably priced shoe shop.

Well, everywhere was designer-price this, and exclusive expensive that, and where was Payless when you needed it? (We saw a Payless store in Melbourne so assumed that there´d be one in Brisbane.)

Finally, after much trudging around on Oh Patient One´s part, he found a Target store in a mall. Yes! I love Target. I miss Target. Target can always be relied on to deliver whatever it is you´re looking for at an affordable price. Plus, the sizes were all American, so I knew exactly where I stood, metaphorially speaking.

Target didn´t let me down. I got a comfy pair of flats for twenty Australian dollars.:)

Yesterday was my birthday. I am currently at our UK house, so Oh Patient One traveled from the Netherlands the day before so that he could celebrate here with me.

“And where did he take you?” I hear you all cry. Well. Because he knows how to show a girl a good time, he took me to. . .

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The City dump. I kid you not! But I was delighted, and here’s why.

We have been filling the garden shed with all of my dear mother-in-law’s old stuff that either a) has no emotional significance, or b) is junk. We really wanted to clear out the shed so that we can fill it with even more of my dear mother-in-law’s stuff, and make space in the house for more of our belongings, most of which are still in the Rotterdam apartment (but some of which Oh Patient One brought over in the car with him).

I was even more delighted that Oh Patient One was the one to actually get the stuff out of the shed, because by now quite a few spiders had made their home in it and I have a completely irrational fear of them.

But just so you don’t think Oh Patient One is unromantic, on the way back from the dump he surprised me by calling for fish and chips. And curry sauce. We know how to paint the town red.

So, remember my trouble with booking hotels, and how Oh Patient One insisted on booking them for our Australian trip? Well, I am glad to say that they worked out just fine. Especially the one in Sydney. We had an absolutely spectacular view of Darling Harbour. Really magnificent.

But when it came to ordering coffee or tea, neither I nor Oh Patient One had any luck in communicating our desires to the populace. See, in Australia, you don’t just go the counter and order tea or coffee. You have to know the secret language of a long flat this, or a flat white skinny that, or a short fat flat whatever, and it’s all very confusing.

We discovered this shortly after our arrival. Oh Patient One and I–during our quest to discover where all the Wifi had gone–happened upon a nice looking café that advertised Wifi. Success! Or so we thought. . .

Oh Patient One wandered off to order our drinks–black coffee for him and tea with a splash of milk for me–and I booted up Annemieke, my new netbook.

Disaster struck. Instead of a cup of tea with milk, what I actually got was a cup of the weakest possible tea ever (so weak that I think the tea bag had been waved at the water, rather than immersed in the water) made entirely with whipped creamy milk with sugar in. Yuck. I really don’t like cream, and I don’t like sugar, either. So I went back to the counter, horrible tea in hand, and explained my problem to the cafe staff.

Me: ¨Look, all I want is a cup of regular tea with a splash of milk in it, and what I got was this creamy, sugary thing. Sorry, but I just can´t drink this.”

Cafe Person (in a very kind, patient voice): ¨Oh, what you want is a flat black tea.¨

Me: ¨Do I? But see, I want a splash of milk in it. Skim if you´ve got it.¨

Cafe Person: ¨No, I meant that what you should order is a flat black tea. And then you can add your own milk at the booth over there.¨

So that was the way to do it. From then onwards I just ordered a flat black tea and sorted out the milk situation after the event.

The Wifi in that café didn’t work, though. . .

Gah.

So, the other day while basking in the glow of finally having found a local bar/restaurant with Wifi, I was half listening to the Australian news and caught the tail end of a segment. Apparently, a man was off work with a bad back, and his bosses found out he was surfing the net, so he was sacked.

Personally, I thought that was a bit harsh, so when it came up in conversation with our relatives later that day, I expressed my opinion. . .

Me (all indignant): ¨What else is a person supposed to do all day if they´re at home with a bad back? I mean, I can totally see how the guy could wedge his laptop on his stomach and surf from a horizontal position.¨

Relative No #1: ¨Actually, Michelle, I think you got the wrong end of the stick–¨

Me (really warming to my subject): ¨Or if he didn´t have a laptop, he could have his desktop screen by the bed and his keyboard and mouse wedged on his chest while lying down. I mean, it must be totaly boring not being able to move around, so what harm is there is doing a bit of surfing to entertain himself?¨

Relative No #2: ¨He wasn´t doing that kind of surfing, Michelle. He was doing the other kind of surfing.¨

Me (perplexed): ¨What other kind of surfing?¨

Relative No #1 (laughing): ¨The kind that involves a surf board and an ocean.¨

Me (also laughing): ¨Oh. I forgot about that kind of surfing. . .”

So, this is a Skype conversation Oh Patient One and I had recently before our trip to Australia.

Oh Patient One (all excited): ¨Guess what?¨

Me: ¨What?¨

Oh Patient One: ¨We won´t have to drag our laptops all around Australia because I´ve bought a netbook. In fact I´m Skyping you from it right now.¨

Me (smiling indulgently, because Oh Patient One has wanted a netbook for ages, and his laptop is ancient): ¨That´s fantastic. But I think I´ll still take Daisy with me. (Daisy is my laptop. Yes, I gave my laptop a name.)

Oh Patient One: ¨But Daisy´s too heavy and big.¨

Me: ¨No, she´s fine. She´s a lot newer than your laptop, and not at all heavy. I don´t mind carrying her around. And what if we both want to work at the same time and we´ve only got one computer? We´re going to be there for three and a half weeks, so it makes sense to take two computers.¨

Oh Patient One: ¨That´s a good point. . .¨

Anyway. A few days later, just before Oh Patient One came over to spend a few days in our UK house before we were due to depart for Australia, we Skyped again.

Oh Patient One (all excited): ¨Guess what?¨

Me: ¨What?¨

Oh Patient One: ¨Well, I was going to wait until I arrived in England to surprise you, but I thought, ´why wait?´ I´ve got you an early birthday present.¨

Me (now all excited, too, because I love surprises): What is it?

Oh Patient One: ¨Well, you won´t have to drag Daisy all around Australia because I´ve bought you a netbook, too. You´ll love it. It´s about the size of a Trade Paperback and it´s really light. In fact I´m Skyping you from it right now.¨

Me (speechless, on account of the lump in my throat and the tears in my eyes): !!

I love my new netbook. Oh Patient One was right—carrying her around is like carrying a book around.

By the way I called her Annemieke because she is a Dutch netbook. . .