Attention: Ms Wonderland.

Ms Wonderland - I tried to comment at your blog and it said;
"Comments on this blog are restricted to team members.
You're currently logged in as polly who is not a team member of this blog."
Perhaps you could add me?
Thankee.
The lost lake sounds beautiful! There is a winery near Bugsplat called "Lost Lake".

Girls night out.

What a way to get our bounce back!

Last night a car load of bellydancers went to LittleSplat for a banquet and bellydance performance by a fabulous dance troupe from SuperSplat.

All Calypso's fears;
would they be precious? - on an authenticity trip? - humourless or vulgar?; swiftly dispatched.
They were just wonderful.

Zil, Renee, Honey came in the car with us, and Gray was a last minute substitute for Sandra the finance officer who had planned on coming too. The girls called him "Sandra" all night. Our new student Noni was there - she lives in LittleSplat - and I need to run away right now because we're all going to a workshop today in LittleSplat with the same troupe.

*shimmy*

What happens when polly goes out with the wrong head on.

On Thursday a hairdresser from LittleSplat called the Bugsplat Visitor Centre to ask if we knew a Ms X.'s telephone number. A Ms X. of Bugsplat. We didn't. We didn't know Ms X. either. And we wouldn't have given Ms X.'s phone number out unless we knew Ms X. well enough to know that that would be a just totally okay thing to do anyway, but I digress.

A few minutes later another LittleSplat hairdresser called the Bugsplat Visitor Centre to give us a right telling off for daring to call ourselves local (err,... we didn't) and not know Ms. X. and for not giving the first hairdresser Ms X.'s telephone number. At this point we had a brain wave. She must have the wrong number! We said;
"Do you know who you're talking to? Do you know this is the Bugsplat Visitor Centre?"
Ouch.

Yes, apparently this was no wrong number. When she finally paused for breath I managed to squeak something about having other customers to deal with, and after thanking her for her parting remarks (insightful comment about my general lack of professionalism) I said goodbye.

I know it's ludicrous. But it was first thing in the morning and I'd been feeling so cheerful so the contrast was sharp. I tried to bounce back from it all morning but I didn't actually feel okay until I came home from bellydancing and boxing (on Thursdays I do a beginner's class for an hour before boxing starts now; it's a good warm up) to find that my darling had made me dinner. That was last night.

And now, it's Friday. Ostensibly a day off. We had some chores on our list, nothing horrible; laundry, tidy, return a book to Lanie. But it's hard to have a day away from the job when everyone and their black labrador has an opinion on the job. Calypso liked Lanie's labrador's opinion best. He seemed to think jobs in general a crock and that more time ought to be spent scratching him behind his ears and saying 'good dog'. Lanie and Zac were out and so we went to town to find them at the restruant instead where Calypso got thoroughly confused and upset because Zac wanted to talk to Trouble about the Great Fundraiser instead of to Calypso about how cute the Labrador was.

It took a whole five minutes for Trouble to show up, and by that time Calypso had already cornered us all by her evasive and distracting answers to questions she didn't understand and we found ourselves wringing our hands and feeling worried and sad. It's okay. Not huge. Just what happens when we go out with the wrong head on. Poor Calypso. She was only there because the business owner is also a dancer. If we had a badge on (like that fantastic Nicholas Kingsley invention) that changed like a moonstone to say "Calypso" (subtext: let's talk colours, dance and fairies!) and "Trouble" (let's not, but how about we talk pricing policy) ... well, I guess that would come with it's own set of problems.

Now we've been de-briefing about it. How to handle it better next time. We've come up with a line for Calypso;
"Oh, SORRY! I left my work brain behind today! Maybe you could talk to me on Monday?"

but it's crap, isn't it? It just looks like evasion, which in a way it is.

But what can we say? The truth is impossible.

"I've never heard of the Great Fundraiser. I'm sorry you seem to expect me to remember something I said last Thursday. Could you please wait until Trouble is here."

Nope. That won't do either.

Calypso did our usual thing (desperately send for help via the usual corridors, but see, having the "day off" thing going on, Trouble was fast asleep in the dungeon) and smile and nod and make distracting comments and try to keep 'em busy with sidetracks until help (Trouble) had time to arrive. You know, all the usual deceitful and desperate strategies that we've employed our whole lives to conceal our multiplicity and to present as a single person. She did fine. We got out of there okay. It was just so sad and stupid and false and we really wish we didn't have to do it.

And we came home and cried and cried and cried.

Windy days are good for washing.

Sand in my eyes, hair whipping my face, salt stinging my lungs: nothing is quite as bracing as a swim in the antarctic currents of Storm Point on a really windy day.

Our list of achievements today.

1. I finally cleaned up the wardrobe drawers, a job I have been avoiding for some weeks and Roz soaped them so that they will no longer jam irritatingly when we are in a morning-must-find-socks kind of flap.

2. Calypso and I did all our laundry including things like scarves; cloth bags and hats; washable shoes; bathroom bags; and stockings.

3. Someone made couscous for lunch. Thanks.

There was an sooty oyster catcher at Storm Point today, elegant in shiny black with a bright orange-red bill and feet.

We've had a busy week with work. Trouble and various polly attended a conference at a swanky resort in BiggerThanBigsplat, by the sea. It was all about how to apply for grant money. The sandwiches were fantastic. We wore our new burgandy suit and drank far too much really good free coffee. There were lots of opportunities for amateur sociology, which is a bad habit of mine. I'm Just Jo. Ms Trouble took it all pretty seriously. I traded snide remarks with Thea.

I really like oyster catchers.
And the sooty oyster catcher is probably my favourite.

Your Irish Name Is...

Kayleigh O'Leary

What's your Irish Name?

Just Jo is Zoe Moore.
Thea is Isobel Malone.
Viola is Kayleigh O'Leary.
Mannie is Niamh Walsh.
Roz is Ennis O'Reilly.
Shell is Nicola MacDermot.
Calypso is Duvessa Keane.

Trouble is... bored with this stupid meme.
:)

Saturday night at the Bugsplat Family Centre.

In Bugsplat there's a long standing tradition of celebrating International Women's Day on closest Saturday night to the day at the Bugsplat Family Centre. Last night. It's $6 at the door, plus whatever raffle tickets they can wrangle, and 'a plate or an act'. We didn't bring a plate.
No, no, no. :)

We went to Honey's house early to choreograph our bellydance performance. We put it together in twenty minutes. Honey's husband and son were our first audience. I wore my red bellydancing skirt that our best friend Leila gave me for my birthday three years ago and the peacock scarf that Mia brought me from China. Honey wore an Indian outfit that her brother gave her. She looked truly beautiful. She looked like Salman Rushdie's new (and if Fury is anything to go by, seriously distracting) wife. She looked ~alarmingly~ beautiful.

There was a fantastic saxophone and keyboard band, and lots of women with guitars. Also, an acappello of Missy Higgin's "After the fight". That was so tender: it was really moving. Also, after supper, there were some comedy musical acts that were fabulous. As usual there was too much talky-talk, but it wasn't that bad. There was only a bit of poetry. There were theatre/improvisational type games which we really dislike. We just endure them, trying to manage our dread lest we be picked. They make the audience laugh, sure, but I think it's a nervous kind of laugh. Our friend Nadia did some and when she does them, it's almost okay, because she doesn't pick people unless they show some kind of willingness. Unfortunately there was a less experienced person there too who really needs to be sat down and given a little chat about boundaries and personal space and how important it is to refrain from humiliating people. I reckon I know just the young tomboy (Trouble, of course) to give her that.

We were the last act before dinner - on a beautiful red patterned carpet. The music was four minutes long. We danced facing each other at first, then the audience, then departing from the carpet and dancing to the audience, then returning to the carpet, to each other again. This we did three times with three different moves (kashlimah, circles in the sand, hip flicks). Back on the carpet then we sped it right up and put in a comic section with us both ostensibly squabbling for attention and muscling in on each other's 'big-bottom' moves (err, yes, that is a technical term) and that worked really well as a kind of 3 minute peak - and then we wound down slowly with pretty hands and snake arms and upper body shimmies.

Then, after the amazing supper (god but country women can COOK), there was more music, and Roz played her Clarence River song. Our friend Lanie was the compare and did a brilliant job of that. It was a really great night. I love this place.

Hey, that's a river.

The Clarence. (Hey, that's a river.)


The ferryman never smiles,
Hey, that's a river.
Back and forth, ten thousand miles,
Hey, that's a river.

Hey, Hey, Hey... Hey, that's a river.
Hey, Hey, Hey... Hey, that's a river.

There's a twelve foot shark - could eat you alive,
Hey, that's a river!
In a photograph from nineteen thirty-five,
Hey, that's a river.

Hey, Hey, Hey... Hey, that's a river.
Hey, Hey, Hey... Hey, that's a river.

Each of the sixteen settled river islands,
Hey, that's a river.
Claims a different tartan from the Scottish Highlands,
Hey, that's a river.

Hey, Hey, Hey... Hey, that's a river.
Hey, Hey, Hey... Hey, that's a river.

Thirteen schoolboys went out one morning,
Hey, that's a river.
The boat tipped over without warning,
Hey, that's a river.

They all drowned... Hey, that's a river.
Not a body found... Hey, that's a river.

A thousand silver shimmering fish,
Hey, that's a river.
Came to be their funeral dish,
Hey that's a river.

Hey, hey, hey,.. hey, that's a river.
Hey, hey, hey... hey, that's a river.

The deep draught boats flee the ocean storm,
Hey, that's a river.
They'll be gone, before the dawn,
Hey, that's a river.

Hey, Hey, Hey... Hey, that's a river.
Hey, Hey, Hey... Hey, that's a river.

Polly put the kettle on.

Tea?
Coffee?
Me?