Balderdash: bloody brilliant!

As I have probably mentioned before, having been introduced to this game, I have now fallen head over heels for it. The joy of Balderdash is that you don't need any general knowledge, and for once it helps to be slightly mad and overly enthusiastic.

To try and demonstrate its awesomeness, I brought back some great examples from this weekend to share:

The question at hand was to suggest the synopsis for the movie "Ooh, you are awful!"

Each person writes their idea of what the movie would involve (the 'dealer' contributes the correct answer to the mix) and then the answers are collected and read out anonymously, with the contestants having to guess which is the actual one. We came up with these to choose from:

• A kitsch drama released in 1985 about a family adapting to post WWII life in Britain.
• In which two young men fall in love with the same girl. After impregnating her with no knowledge of paternity they elope with one another to form a transvestite duo in the freak show at the circus.
• In this 1935 slapstick comedy, actress Simone Lesley discovers her shambolic husband has been cheating on her with his 18 year old secretary and seeks revenge through a series of hilarious pranks.
• 50 year old Mira Windle moves from small town Wisconsin to the bright lights of New York City. Initially ostracized, her catch phrase of "ooh you are awful!" catapults her to the forefront of society. Based on a true story.
• A con man searches for a girl who has the location of hidden bonds tattoed on her backside.
• A boy who launches a year long reign of terror over his best friend's hamster; involving poking it with a white hot stick, Chinese waterboarding, and finally killing it with a sledgehammer and a rusty nail.

After much deliberation, the votes were in. As it turns out, we all lost when it turned out to be the girl with the tattoos gracing her nether region. And people started to look at Dom a bit differently after learning he was responsible for the plot line involving the hamster... All in all, good fun, turning increasingly purile as the wine flowed. After an hour we all physically ached from laughing.

Points to anyone who can guess which was mine. Off to bed now, the combination of full working weeks and action packed weekends is really wearing me down - break out the violins...!

Rain, rugby, rivers and more rain

My friends had very kindly offered me the use of their family boat house for the weekend, so I wasn't too chuffed to wake on Saturday to pissing rain. After a swift reminder to myself that this is how most weekends start back home, we got on the road, radio blaring, drinking cold coffee (the others) and warm diet coke (me) and eating tim tams.

While I had been to Berowra many times before, this was the first occasion on which I would have to be 'the responsible adult'. I was determined to succeed, with none of my usual flustered fuck ups. Dropped the others off at the jetty with all the bags (at least the rain had let up at this point) and headed round to the marina to grab the boat. Here I fell at the first hurdle. I couldnt get through the gate. Vaguely remembering that I was meant to be using a fob, I started waving one of the many fobs on the keychain at everything in sight. Nothing. I then tried all the keys in the lock. A few fit, but refused to turn. I had just resorted to trying to bust the door open when someone opened it from the other side. He then pointed out, smirking rather too much for my liking, that the fob point was on the other wall to the one I had been looking at. In plain sight. Its red light blinked at me smugly. Glowering at it, I passed through and shut the door behind me.

Found the tinny and boarded. Successfully lowered the motor into the water. Untied one of the painters and left the other one looseish for me to easily cast off when I got the motor started. Big mistake. I jerked the pull cord back. Nothing. Tried again. Nada. Gave it a bit of choke. Still nothing. The pulling became more frantic. At this point the painter had clearly had enough and somehow I found myself floating towards the middle of the river with no idea how to get the boat under control. The very few people around looked on disinterested. My friends watched nonchalantly from the jetty.

Thank god an old man took pity on me and came over to lend a hand. Soon we were pulling away - me desperately trying to cling to what shreds of dignity I had left, and heading for the house. The rest of the afternoon was lovely, with lots of food, sitting in the suddenly appearing sun on the veranda, playing cards, and trying to get the fire lit without the help of such useful things as firelighters. As it turns out, there definitely can be lots of smoke without fire.

Headed back across the water to meet some more friends at the pub for the Lions game in the evening. Surrounded by Wallabies supporters, we tried to keep a vaguely low profile - not helped by three of us ordering kids meals, which attracted hateful glances from the waitresses and surrounding children alike when we asked if we could have our free icecream...! In fact, the kids present were a pain in the arse - constantly coming over and berating us for having a bottle of ketchup on our table, because "Daddy says its meant to stay on the counter". One look at Daddy's stony face, grotesque tats and large gut and we returned the ketchup...

The game was great, with Australia starting off convincingly strong despite 3 players being stretchered off. Unfortunately one was their kicker which was to have disastrous consequences. With England 1 point ahead in the final minute, the Wallabies were awarded a penalty. We were convinced it was all over, slumped over our drinks. The poor guy (incidentally just out of rehab for alcoholism) then slipped and buggered the whole thing up. We cheered for a split second, before the usual British "oh god, do you think the poor guys alright?" kicked in. Not a nation that does winning well. Unfortunately the cheer was enough to piss off the surrounding Aussies. The evil glares got darker and less subtle. Despite the support of the Irish girls on the next door table (not interested in the game, but had been drinking wine from the bottle for some time now...) we beat a hasty retreat.

Headed back down the hill and piled into the boat. It was now wet and very dark, two small headtorches not achieving much apart from making their owners look like crazed miners. Luckily there were no incidents of people falling out of the boat, as we headed back to the warmth of the house, which, judging by the pile of ashes, had had a roaring fire going as soon as we had left.

The rest of the weekend was an indulgent mish mash of eating, sleeping, drinking and playing games. (See the next blog for more on our epic rounds of Balderdash...) The rain barely let up from dawn on Sunday morning onwards. After only a couple of dodgy moments, such as a near collision with the ferry while searching for somewhere to moor the boat, we made it back to the other side of the river with all our bags vaguely dry and intact, piled into the borrowed cars (excellent insurance system) and limped off through the torrential downpour back to Sydney. And were home in time for the Block! (Anyone would think I had planned it...)

(This did not happen... nor did this)

New depths in delusional search for career direction

We've all had those days when we question our job - whether it be its purpose, responsibilities, working hours etc

But Monday really hit it out the box. Knowing that my boss had been off for a week, I arrived purposefully late to give him time to get his head together, answer the backlog of emails etc before I pestered him for my daily task. On arrival in the office, I found that unfortunately he hadn't got very far. Indeed, the only thing he could think of was a huge pile of financial documents that needed shredding.

Fine, I thought, I'm not above shredding. This is a job in which I spent weeks just scanning documents. Tedious. Repetitive. Soul destroying. Shredding couldn't be much worse!

Except there turned out to be no shredder in the office. So my task really was to hand shred (no, not using a manual shredder - hand shred as in actually rip all the papers up by hand) a massive box of very confidential papers.

7 hours later I had come to a few conclusions. 1) My university degree that cost me thousands of pounds and 3 years of my life was clearly invaluable, 2) There had to be some ulterior reason why this company is willing to pay me to merely rip up paper all day? 3) Hand 'shredding' is a lot more strenuous than it appears. My hands are now a reddened mess of blisters and paper cuts.

Scampering sheep and sensational scenery (or Sleepless in Scone)

This weekend was the Queen's birthday. Well, actually it wasn't, but it was her 'official' birthday. So we got a day off work. In England, you ask, the land of the sovereign? No, in Australia. Naturally. Any excuse for a day off... I may have made references before to their penchant for long weekends. Aussie friends are aghast to learn that we don't get St George's Day off work (Australia Day is a big one for boozing!) that Remembrance Sunday is always at the weekend (Anzac Day coincidentally seems to nearly always fall during the week...) and we don't celebrate our Queens Birthday with, yeah, another day off.

Woke up disgracefully early on Saturday to head to Scone for the weekend to stay with some friends. Not that it mattered if I was tired, as I wasn't driving, but its just not cricket old chap. Arrived just too late to join the others for the local sheep festival, the highlight of which was 'the running of the sheep'. Not quite the same impact as Pamplona but they did put red socks on the sheep to add to the drama... Points for effort!

The drive took us through wine country and then through the mining towns. It was hugely atmospheric, as the rain set in, with the industrial chimneys looming out of the low lying cloud, belching smoke to add to the mix.

Arriving in Scone we shoved the footy on and promptly fell asleep on the sofas, which the others were not impressed by when they arrived with the three month old twins in tow an hour later. The twins and sleep do not go hand in hand. As I was to discover first hand that weekend.

It was a brilliant weekend - amazing food, great company, gorgeous countryside. Highlights included the Lions win on Saturday, some epic games of Balderdash, and Jim's ten minute talk about favourite stubby holders he has owned. Beer holders being a crucial part of life. What was a deeply strange topic of conversation was at least impressive in its length and passion. Once again, only in Australia...

I spent the weekend having a bit of a love in with Lacie the Kelpie. She is possibly the most amazing dog I have ever known. Having complained bitterly about looking after a Maltese/Chihuahua cross a week before due to its desire to sleep on my pillow (and going to great lengths to get there) I was utterly content to curl up with Lacie on a single mattress on the kitchen floor. And on the sofa. And the kitchen benches. You get the idea - am still having shameful thoughts about stealing her and somehow smuggling her back to the UK.

I have also utterly fallen for the twins, despite all previous protestations of not really liking children. They are at the amazing stage of discovering smiling. It was lovely looking down at the tiny being as it gazed up adoringly. No-one looks at me like that - it was great! And almost made up for the late night screaming. It is truly incredible that something that small can make that much noise and for that long! It is also amazing that their heads smell so good. Random, but true. Of course I have now caught the cold that was keeping them up all night. But it was totally worth it!