Horsing Around

So we thought this trip to the Hunter Valley we would do what every brochure suggests: horseback-riding (far more comfortable than horse-front riding). Tanja had ridden several times before, but my experience was limited. By limited, I might add, I mean that once at the Fredericton Exhibition I was led around in a circle on a pony named Marshmallow. I was 5. So I approached this morning with trepidation. We, and three other couples (all three women were blonde. Strange) were given our horses and saddled up. Tanja got a grey dapple, and I got a gold/strawberry blonde gelding with, erm, an attitude. Not a bad attitude, per se, but just the sort of manner where he'd decide to stop and then not move. Or slow down and down and down until Tanja's horse behind me was nearly nose-to-tail with mine. Essentially, the horse was trying it on whenever he could, and if he could get away with it? All the better. According to the head rider (who needed to readjust my saddle as my horse had “puffed hisself up when the girth was tightened, then relaxed so youse'll slide around”), this particular horse needed me to keep an eye on him, as he's “cunninger than a shithouse rat, he is”. I dubbed him Smartarse. He did eventually settle down; the head rider gave me a tip to wallop the horse with the reins and “give him a kick in the belly” when he dawdled. After my first tentative attempt, the head rider piped up with “'At's a half-ton 'a horse! You're not gonna hurt 'im! Give 'im a whack!” And I did. And he, contrary to what I thought he would do (buck me over a nearby fence, trample me to death, go to tea), he responded. Go figure.So Smartarse and I travelled along. Tanja spoke later about how she had to adjust her mind from driving a car to riding on living creature. As I've never driven or rode before, my issue was learning to communicate with Smartarse. Mostly, I spoke to him the way I was speaking to a dog I was trying to cajole. Now, before I come off as the Horse Whisperer, I have no idea if this was having any effect. Essentially, I found horse riding to be similar to sailing or driving a motorboat; you're constantly over-steering and then steering back, always making minor adjustments to keep on a general straight line. How people can do this with just their knees eludes me.About 45 minutes into the ride, and after Smartarse and negotiated a short trot (we trotted for about 15 seconds, then he stumbled, snorted, slowed down, and returned to a walk, snorting again if I tried to move him faster. Alrighty then) it started to rain. A slight drizzle at first, which didn't bother us. We all had jackets or hoodies on, and the helmets kept off the worst of it. Then it started to pour. And pour. Then the wind picked up. We, and by default, the horses, became quickly drenched from head to toe/hoof. At one point, when the downpour became even heavier, Smartarse turned, against the reins, and put his head towards a nearby fence. I looked up, and without a signal or a sound, all the other horses were pointed the same way, parallel to Smartarse. They had put their, and by default, our, backs to the storm. While we waited, I had the bright idea to pull up my hood over the helmet. This made sense, bar one fact. A well-woven hood is, in essence, a cup made of fabric. This cup had been hanging down my back during our ride. And it was full. You know the feeling when you're so soaked you can't get any more soaked? Rubbish. There is always more,and colder, soaked to get.We trekked onwards in the rain, until the head rider called a halt. He said that we were turning back early due to the inclement weather. We had no complaints for the lost 25 minutes or so, as we had all noticed the horses stumbling, snorting, and generally feeling miserable. So back we went. My one near fall came on the dismount, when a slippery stirrup had me scrambling for a second, but that was the closest I came. Tanja and I hopped into the non-alive vehicle we had brought, drove home with the heater on (the rain had of course, stopped at this point). We arrived back at the cottage, left the doors open to air out the soaked seats, and went inside to a hot bath*. Afterwards, we got dressed in dry clothes and went for lunch about as relaxed as we'd ever been. So good day.

*Said bath was briefly interrupted when we heard the ran start again. Say what you want for gender politics and chivalry in a post-feminist world, it was yours truly who had to throw on a towel, run out into the rain, slam he car doors and run back inside. Sir Walter bloody Raleigh, I am.

Breakfast (by Caketown)

• Baked lemon tart with apple jelly & chocolate edging.
• Caramel tart (with chocolate shavings)
• Chocolate & pistachio scroll
• something called a "Thumb" (dark chocolate tube filled with custard and cream, topped with a profiterole dipped in toffee)
• Some of Ashley's chocolate-chip-and-macadamia cookies.

Sugar rush now.

Inflatable.

Thanks to the generosity of people I work with, I ended up with a free ticket to Adam Hills' stand-up show at the Enmore theatre. I jumped at the chance, as I ove his work of Spicks & Specks and his DVDs. Well, apart from making me laugh so hard I nearly passed out (literally. I couldn't breathe), he had this classic Dad-Joke to share:"There was an inflatable boy, who went to an inflatable school, with inflatable freinds and an inflatable principle. One day, he brought a pin to school as a joke. He got into trouble, though, and was brought to the principle's office. The principle said 'You're in big trouble. You've let your school down, you've let your friends down, you've let yourself down and you've let me down!'"Heh.Adam used this as a jumping-off point into a discussion with his imaginary son (he was positing what sort of wisdom he could pass on, were he to have a child apart from the definition of optimism being "sitting in a Nissan Micra, where the speedometer goes to 240"). I'll try to remember it as best as I can:"Well, son, maybe... maybe we're all inflatable. And we have the power to inflate and deflate each other. And if you say something nice to someone, they inflate, like this *stands up straight*, and if you're not nice, they deflate, like this *slouches down*. And if at te end of your life you can figure that if you've inflated more people then you've deflated, then I guess you've had a pretty good life."He then went on to speak about a friend of his who had died in the past year and how she was a real inflator, and how as her trademark, she always wore bunny ears to the Edinborough Fringe festival. She had died at 31 and the next year, all of her friend had gathered at the Festival to mourn and to celebrate her life, and without arranging it beforehand, they had all brought bunny ears. He said that talking about her was sad, but it was happy too. In the early hours of the morning, weary and heavy hearted, he had walked back to his hotel, head down, feeling very deflated. Then he started noticing that people passing him were smiling, large and openly, and it was only after the fifth person that he realised that he was still wearing the bunny ears from the party. He sat down, and he laughed, and he realised that even 9 months after she had left the earth, she still had the power to inflate him and the people around him.I thought that was lovely.

A Couple Of Videos.

A just plain funny one....



And a funny, but makes you think one...



These both had me laughing down the street.

What I done did on my birthday.

1. Woke up. Drank coffee.

2. Schlepped a heapin' helpin' of parcels (like two huge bags full) to the post office to send off to eBay folks.

3. Sat on the sidewalk outside a cafe stealing their free Wifi and twittering.

4. Meeting not one but TWO people from my team on the street, one of which tried to ask me a "quick question" about work. LALALALALA it's my day off! Ask me Monday!

5. Went off to Harris Farm at Broadway to get supplies for Sunday dinner. Contemplated getting fancy rum at Vintage Cellars.

6. Realised that despite a huge revamp and renovation, Broadway Harris Farm is still (despite wider aisles) full of choke points where people pile up and have to wait.

7. Realised that Swiss Brown mushroomns are expensive. Like 3.99 for 200 grams. Tanja's list said 600 grams, but I thought she must not have meant THOSE mushrooms and got regular ones instead (hint: she did want THOSE mushrooms).

8. Stopped in a Vintage cellars on the way back to get my fancy rum (after having, like a wuss, discussed it with Tanja, who said it was okay). Then noticed that the Monty Python's Holy GrAil (tempered over the fires of burning witches), which usually costs between 7 and 10 dollars per 500 mL bottle, was on sale for $2.50 per bottle. So I grab 6 of those and bring them to the counter, along with a $50 Origine Caribbean rum (I told Tanja how much that was later and she went "Oh, I thought you were going to get on of those 80 or 90 dollar ones." Argh!). The guy behind the counter looks at them and says "Listen, mate. I'll tell you what: if you take the lot, I'll give them to you for $1 per bottle." Me: "How many are there?" Him: "Well, two more in that cooler, and then another 9 over there." "So 17." "Yeah. Do you want them?"

9. I make a rash decision.

10. I struggle out of the shop, holding a box with 8.5 litres of beer, plus the two shopping bags. After 5 steps try to flag a cab. No good, all full. I spot one empty, who makes an incredibly expressive gesture that I should go further down the block. I struggle down, take too long, and he leaves. So I call a taxi. And wait. And wait. It's stinking hot. I have no hat, no sunglasses, and dairy products in the bags. It's stressful. I eventually grab a bus that gets me closer to home, and struggle to the house, having to stop twice to rest.

11. Once inside, a realisation occurs: the beer was in the fridge at the shop. I was only able to fit 9 in the fridge. Short-term solution? I drink one. Longer-term solution? I call Craig and Adrian. Adrian can't make it, but Craig's conversation went like so:
"Hi Craig. Due to a confluence of circumstances, I've ended up with 17 bottles of Monty Python's Holy GrAil for $1 per bottle and I can only fit 9 in my fridge."
Craig: "I'm on my way." *click*

Gotta love friends that'll take booze off your hands.

12. Cleaned up.

13. Once Tanja got home, headed to Bentley Bar for tasting degustation menu with matched wines. Wonders. Delights. Almond gazpacho with caviar, something-something berries and an oyster. Squid-ink kingfish with seared scallop and coconut custard. Sesame dumplings (which tasted like peanut butter made from vegetables. but in a good way) with mint, sweet pea and other things. Smoked, deboned, then rolled quail with perfumed fruit. Roast duck breast with... okay, I don't remember, because of all the wine, but it was rich and lovely. Their version of lemon-lime-and-bitters (butterscotch toffee, whipped lemonade froth, and lime gelato, which all together, looked shockingly like a fried egg). More things. And stuff.

14. Got up to leave an realised, whoops, all that wine had gone to both our heads. Stumbled into a cab and home. Nearly fell asleep on the couch.

And now I'm 27.

There's Noel in Christmas

Is it me, or is the song "The First Noel" an example of bad song-writing disguised as old-timey language?

A few examples:

[-]"The first "Nowell" the angels did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep,
On a cold winter's night that was so deep."

Firstly, Why repeat the 2nd line by slightly mangling it into the 3rd? You've just started, and you're making callbacks already? Okay, so it was to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay. Okay, that I get. They lay in fields. I'll accept that, even though you're changing around the natural grammatical placement of the words to get a rhyme with "the Angel did say". But then to follow in immediately with "In fields where they," in the next line is redundant. You just said that. Even as a little kid I thought it was a typo. Or maybe that was an important thing to get across in the 16th century. Maybe it was a conversation point.
"Hey, you know shepherds?"
"Of course I do."
"They lay in fields."
"No kiddin'?"
"Yep. In fields they lay."
"Imagine that. Wacky guys those shepherds."

Also, When was the last time you looked out at a cold night in Winter and said that it was "So deep"? The SNOW may be deep, the thing the person next to you may be "so deep, man." But the night? Really? Again, it's a cheap rhyme with “sheep”. But is sheep so hard to rhyme?

[-]"They lookèd up and saw a star
Shining in the east, beyond them far;"

Okay, so the shepherds, in these fields, in this really incredibly deep night, they see a star. Apparently, this night-time miracle is shining in the East, “beyond them far.” Do you mean “far beyond them?” Nope. Beyond them far. It seems either Yoda (“Hrrrm, Myrrh, I have brought you.”) or Billy Joel (who's still ordering “tonic-and-gins” whenever he's in a bar) is writing this.

[-]And then the chorus. Everyone knows it. It goes “Noel” a bunch of times, then tells us in Yoda-speak that “born, is the King of Israel”. And then something about how "Hard to see, the Dark Side is". It occurred to me as rather handy that Jesus is to be King of a place that so nicely rhymes with the word for the night of his birth. Had he been King of Saskatchewan, would we be singing about the first Hakeem-Elajuwan? Or the first Nahasapeemapetilan?

Oh, and an added bonus? When researching this post, I saw that there are three old verses often omitted from modern renditions:

“Between an ox-stall and an ass
This Child there truly bornèd was;
For want of clothing they did him lay
All in the manger, among the hay.”

I know why this was left out. Some of us kids had a hard enough time keeping from laughing when a minister uses a word like ”Hosannah” (Oh, Hosannah, oh don't you cry for me, 'cause I'm come from East of Canaan with a banjo on my knee). Hearing about a naked kid next to an ass would have had us rolling in the aisles.

“Then did they know assuredly
Within that house the King did lie;
One entered in then for to see,
And found the Babe in poverty.”

Leaving out the unnecessary “assuredly” (which is now verging on Calvin-and-Hobbes G.R.O.S.S. Motto rhyming), that last line? Finding a babe in poverty? I've seen films that start that way. And not the kind of films that win Oscars: “C'mon, baby. You wanna be a star?” Come to think of it, I've heard jokes that start that way. “You can spend the night, but don't touch my daughter.” Cue banjo-chase music and farmers with pitchforks.

'If we in our time shall do well
We shall be free from death and hell,
For God hath prepared for us all
A resting-place in general.”

A resting place... in general? In general.
“God, we've been good, we're here, where should we stay?”
“Oh, someplace in general. You know, over there.”
“Anywhere specific?”
“No, just somewhere.”

I think if I'd led a good life, abstaining from drinking, dancing, various sins of various fleshes, God would have a room picked out for me. You know, corner suite, not too near the ice machine, good view of the clouds. I was unaware Heaven would have worse seating plans than the Big Day Out festival.

Anyway, clearly I've put too much thought into this. Well, this is what happens when you make me wait for a desk to be delivered all day, and I work in the garden to kill time. Be told.

Has this happened to anyone else?

Dear all.

I've had some musings of books read when I was young:

Fact: I read the Narnia books in the correct order, but was told it was the WRONG order by everyone I knew. I knew it was:
1 The Magician's Nephew
2 The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
3 The Horse and His Boy
4 Prince Caspian
5 The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
6 The Silver Chair
7 The Last Battle
This was the order they were in when I found them in the tiny elementary school library of McAdam Avenue Elementary School. All my friend and even some teachers told me that LW&W was first, and I would agree, but know in my heart they were wrong. Of, course, I know now that there is dispute over publication order versus chronological order (see the Wiki). When the film came out, with all of its CGI "glory", I had the urge to reread the series, as it had completely lost me in the end, with its chucking the story in favor of ham-fisted religious metaphor (the ape, the donkey, and the doorway). Also, I read the Neil Gaiman short story "The Problem of Susan" which disturbed the hell out of me.

Fact: When I read the Dark Is Rising series, I skipped the second book, The Dark Is Rising, which introduced the hero character of Will Stanton. In fact, one of my friends had only read that book, and so when he was explaining it to me, we suddenly caught on that it was the same series. As I skipped the intro of Our Hero, when he shows up, I though "Who's this jumped-up kid and why should I care?" I bring it up because I've rented-and-iPodded the Adaptation Decay that is The Seeker: The Dark is Rising (which tries too hard to be Harry Potter and my GOD must they have gotten a sponsorship from a flat-screen TV company because there is one in nearly every scene).

Let's not get into the Deverry Series, which I read in the order of 1-3-6-2-5-7-8-9.

Love,
Lucas