TOLD YOU THEY WERE OUT TO GET ME

DAY 55

What is it with Huntsman spiders at the moment. I’ve seen more in the last few weeks than I’ve seen in the last few years. Pulled up at a red light yesterday, and have come to the conclusion this victimised group of arachnids still have me in their sights and are determined to take me unawares at the most inopportune moments. Trekking across the driver’s side window was yet another unwelcome visitation from one of these critters. Fortunately it was on the outside so I managed to stay calm and not run into anyone, but when I arrived at my next port of call I wasn’t sure whether to leap out of the car with great bravado or climb over to the passenger side and get out that way.

Alighted as quickly as possible, found the critter trying to make himself look smaller by cringing just inside the door, took a swipe at him but he sped off at a great rate of knots before I could even have a second go. The shop staff loaned me some surface spray which I applied liberally, and with great courage I continued my journey to my final destination whereupon my son blasted the car with his high pressure hose, getting into every nook and cranny in the hope of dislodging him or drowning him, or both.

Sprayed another half can of surface spray inside and outside the car when I got home in the hope they get the message……”YOU ARE NOT WELCOME!”

For more recent hairy legged sightings check out the Hairy Beast and Insect Grapevine previous postings. Here's hoping this will be the last entry on that subject.

MOVE OVER TERMINATOR, I'VE MET THE XELERATOR

DAY 53-54

I must admit, public toilets are not usually a subject of great interest, unless you’re busting of course and desperate to find one, but there is a certain amount of information you gradually build up over time about your own town’s public facilities. Such as where they are firstly depending on what part of town you’re in, which ones to avoid and which ones are acceptable, which ones never have any toilet paper, which ones are shut after hours, which ones you would only hover over and never sit on etc etc.

Well, there I was at one of my usual loos in Launceston, unisex ones, when a guy came out leaving it the only one unoccupied and there was absolutely no way I could even get near the door let alone lock myself in there for several minutes without expiring. What on earth he’d been doing in there I don’t know, well….I do know, it was all too obvious, but the extent to which he’d been doing it was unbelievable.

Quick exit to head to the next known toilet destination when I spotted a sign directing me to some new facilities I’d never seen before, and for the last couple of weeks since their discovery they have become my preferred calling point when caught short in town. Out the back of Bakers Dozen on Brisbane St and just left of the Yolanda Jean Café in a very neat paved courtyard sporting framed artworks would you believe on the brick walls of the adjoining building, there’s about six in a row, all clean, brightly lit, stocked with oodles of paper, but the piece de resistance in each one is the hand dryer.

No nice gentle stream of warm air under which you have to rub and rub and rub and rub your hands waiting for it to actually dry them. Installed in these loos is the ultimate drying machine, THE XELERATOR. Picture in your mind those documentaries of astronauts in training on the G-Force whirligig thing. As the speed picks up suddenly the skin on their faces seems to turn to jelly, like the flesh has become separated from the bone and is smearing itself all over their faces in a fear stricken grimace.

That’s what the Xelerator does to the skin on your hands. It’s like it turns to liquid and is pushed this way and that by the sheer force of the thing, accompanied by a roar to wake the dead. Unfortunately it’s so effective your hands are dry in next to no time, but it’s worth the visit just for the experience.

THE PYROTECHNIC FINGER

DAY 51-52

Never underestimate the power of a splinter and the consequences of not getting it out straight away. Managed to get one from picking up a piece of firewood in the first week of August last year. Being right handed, it wasn’t exactly easy to extract it from my right little finger using my left hand. Obviously wasn’t going to work, so a couple of days later asked a nurse friend if she’d have a go so out came the splinter probe. Prod, poke, pick, but no luck, couldn’t get the thing.

Persisted with my own attempts, still no success, so off to the Doc. Now, my Doc’s a good bloke, but when it comes to things like this he doesn’t do anything by halves. Sliced and diced the jolly thing, too bad about the pain, even he couldn’t find anything. It was there, I know it was there.

Meanwhile, even with no obvious infection which splinters have a habit of doing when you don’t get them out, the little finger started to look rather weird. What had started out as a small lump encasing the offending invader was now growing, and each day brought with it something new to observe. Two months into the saga it finally decided to get infected and had grown into something resembling Vesuvius about to erupt. Back and forth to the Doc, it got to the stage where he was calling me The Finger, so he sends me off for an ultrasound to see if the blighter that started all this is hiding somewhere we can get at it.

Must admit I felt a bit of a dill having an ultrasound on my little pinkie, but when that also turned up nothing he concluded that the increasing mass overtaking the top of my finger was probably a pyogenic granuloma, the skin’s adverse reaction to the initial injury. A what? Had to Google that one to check it out, made sure I could find a picture, and there it was, in fact there were several sorts, all little volcanoes on the verge of exploding.

So what next? Off to the surgeon, by now it’s the first week of December, and after four injections (oooooh that was the worst bit, you don’t exactly have any fat on your hand to cushion the pain of those), the volcano was cut out, leaving a crater the size of….sorry, my knowledge of moon craters is very limited, but it was big, and when it’s on your little finger there’s really nothing to pull together and stitch up. “So what’s going to stop this thing growing back again?” I ask. “Well, I cut it out,” says the surgeon, “no reason why it should.” Went home satisfied, driving with my bandaged pinkie pointing skyward.

And the outcome? IT’S STILL THERE! Thought it was healing nicely, but as the crater filled in it began to look suspiciously familiar, and now almost six months into the long drawn out saga I still have this lump on my finger which admittedly is not as bad as the original, but it looks back at me with a disconcerting alien face. Who knows what we’ll have to do next.

DISORDERLY DISTEMPER

DAY 50

Had a bit of fun in the process of establishing a new email account after finally leaving dial up behind and launching into the world of broadband which most people take for granted. When you have the name Di the dictionary can provide a wealth of ‘dis’ words which seem quite appropriate for the task when you substitute the ‘dis’ for Di’s at the start of an email address.

I thought disconnecting made a lot of sense for logging in to my emails, the computer said ‘No’. What about discontent, I mean I’m a pretty contented sort of person, the computer said ‘No’. I tried disbelief, disagreeable, disgraceful, dishonourable, displeasure, disillusion, dispossessed, you name it I tried it, the computer wasn’t having a bar of it. It kept making all these obscure suggestions of how I could fit the word with my name in an acceptable form, but then it didn’t make sense and defeated the whole purpose.

After such a fruitless exercise I was very tempted with distemper, but I don’t really have one, not a bad one anyway, well, mostly not. Takes a lot to get me riled up. I’ll be struck with mild annoyances now and then, like email servers who won’t let you do what seems perfectly simple and obvious, I mean what difference is it to them what you call yourself. A few friends have called me Lady Di for many years, but I figured I’d probably end up as ladydi50698@somethingorother as there’d be a ton of those already.

Finally decided on one, then had to work out another one for the blog, hence my “Di’s embarking” signature at the end of each day. I’ve been scribbling spasmodically for a long time, but in setting myself this daily regimen I guess I saw it as disembarking from the apathy of the past and embarking on a new journey which will hopefully take me….somewhere. In amongst the ramblings there are hopefully brief glimpses of brilliance (well, illumination of some intensity anyway), and the only way those moments are going to become more frequent is if I stick at this and see it through.

A SUPER SENIOR MOMENT

DAY 49

Unbelievable. What was lost has now been found. Funny how when you’re looking for something it mysteriously turns up when you’re looking for something else. Headed into the cupboard under the laundry trough to get something out, had to drag out the bag of cleanings rags to get at it, and there’s this other bag in there which I assumed was another bag of rags, but no, it’s the clothes I’ve been missing since the end of October it turns out, as that was the last time I stayed overnight anywhere and would have brought home a bag of washing.

Now, in my defence I’m going to go down the same road as scores of politicians who have found themselves on the wrong end of sticky questions which may bring their character and judgment into question. I have no recollection Your Honour of the event, or of how the item in question came to be in its current position.

Not only were the track pants, shirt and cargo pants I knew were gone found in the bag, but there were T shirts, a windcheater and various bits of underwear too. I obviously don’t wear them enough to miss them, but I’m mystified how they ended up in such an obscure place. I can only plead ignorance and put it down to a ‘senior’ moment, a handy excuse for all manner of things inexplicable.

Had a teenage girl doing Business Studies and work experience in our office during last year. She did pretty well mostly, but in those moments when things didn’t go quite as planned she’d chastise herself with “Oh, I’m so blond!” Encouraging to know the younger generation have their own version of ‘senior’ moments.

EARLY AUSTRALIA DAY

DAY 48

“If you value your life, stand well clear of the throwing area.” The women are back in force to contest the Gumboot Tossing, one of the many events held yesterday in Poatina’s annual Australia Day Festival. We always hold our community festival on the Saturday closest to Australia Day so we were 3 days early this year, but that doesn’t stop people coming from all over the place to enjoy a good day out with the family. With prizes sponsored by local businesses, anything from a box of ice creams to cricket sets, gift vouchers, wheelbarrows, river cruises, electronic gadgets, dinners for two, then there’s the ultimate reward for the gruelling 4km wheelbarrow race through bush and creek and up and down dale of a weekend’s accommodation for two plus dinner and breakfast for all 4 participants in the winning team.

You might think the idea of running in an egg and spoon race, sack race, walking on stilts, bubble blowing, playing In the pond Out the pond, My Big Fat Pony and the Hokey Pokey is all a bit passé and far too embarrassing to be seen doing in public, but given the right situation and plenty of encouragement you’d be surprised who participates. Face painting, jumping castle and wind tunnel all entertain the kids for endless hours, bring out the Tug of War rope and the blokes are lining up to flex their muscles and prove their masculinity, amateur golfers have a crack at the Hole in One, and even the teenagers find themselves joining in more activities than just punishing the crowd with their Karaoke efforts.

At the end of the day all are fed, have a smile on their face, not all of which you can recognise as they’re covered in face paint or sporting a sculptured balloon creation, and go home admitting that doing something simple with the kids which didn’t involve technology or a console or a bucket load of money really was a lot of fun.

You hear those who are a little older talk about how much simpler life used to be, how families and neighbours were more connected, how bonfire nights and billy cart derbys and cricket in the street or back alley was the norm. Many long for the ‘good old days’ as they put it, but with the right spirit and motivation it is still very possible to recreate events which bring people out of their houses and into their neighbourhoods in such a way as they discover the value of once again being connected at more than just a nodding acquaintance level. Give it a go.

INSECT GRAPEVINE WORKING OVERTIME

JAN 8-23 - DAY 32-47

Two weeks have slipped by very quickly with nothing written, shame on me, took me a while to negotiate the maze of broadband installation, sign up with a new email account, get my very long contacts list to coordinate with my new email account so I didn't have to laboriously start from scratch and enter them in manually, and become accustomed to operating in a format which looks completely different from the last one, things that when you're as clueless as I am kind of slow you down. Rather than piddle around pretending to know what I'm doing and stuff it all up, I find it far quicker to wait for the all knowing ones to come along and set me on the right track.

I'm beginning to believe there is a code of conduct amongst the insect and bug population where they look out for each other and pass on vital pieces of information via antennae twitching, hairy leg rubbing or simply by general chit chat on warm balmy nights as they pass each other up the drain pipe, in the undergrowth, on the compost heap or wherever it is they socialise.

Half way through watching a movie last weekend there they were, those telltale legs again, another Huntsman spider deciding he'd like to make a house call and check out what was in the bookcase. Sorry, but he had to go, tolerance level is very low when they actually invade my territory. Gave him a good squirt, moved some books to get at him, and of course, couldn't find him. Amazing how such a large spider can so easily hide itself. Poked and prodded with the broom, no luck, squirted some more in the hope that would finish him off, eventually gave up and picked up the books to put back on the shelf, and sure enough, all the time I was looking for him in the books, I'd actually removed him when I took the books off the shelf and he'd been happily sitting on the floor next to me. Not to be outdone I unceremoniously stomped on him for trying to outwit me. The victory was mine, but in the days to come I think the locals had got wind of the slaughter in my house and began to take their revenge.

First there was the Jack Jumper ant crawling up the door frame of the toilet. Now, these are not nice little fellas like in Antz or A Bug's Life. These are nasty little beasties who have a habit of being very jittery whenever you get too close, hence they jump around a bit to avoid being stepped on in the hope they can get in the first bite, and if you do fall victim you definitely know about it. If you think the bite is bad, the ensuing itch that lasts for days in its wake is enough to drive you to distraction. Known to send people into anaphylactic shock, I rid the world of each and every one I come across without the slightest remorse.

Then there was the White Tail spider, also trekking across the floor in the toilet, an equally nasty beastie to be avoided at all costs. Both met their deaths, but that wasn't the end of it. My daughter in law Biz nearly freaked out when she headed into the loo a couple of nights ago to be confronted with yet another Huntsman spider. Relief soon came though as she realised it was on the outside of the window and not the inside, but who's to say that's where he intended to stay. Sneaking a peek is what I reckon he was up to, checking out the right time to slip in the back door unawares and get his own back for the depletion of his species. So, out came the straw broom and another arachnid was swiftly dispatched.

Not sure what the lesson is in all of this. Live and let live? Nah!