Binnsy's Hovel

Believe it or not, I hadn’t actually intended that last post to be my last before Christmas. It just so happened that the following Saturday, December 17, a huge electrical storm swept through most of eastern New South Wales, causing massive destruction and electrical damage. It just so happened that one of the casualties was my modem.

I’m now posting from my stepdad’s computer.

Well, I’ve now done my dash with under-road boring. And it’s very safe to say that I’ll never be doing it again. It’s very much not me. I have a plethora of other talents that I’d rather utilise.

I hope you all had a splendid Christmas. For some reason, this year didn’t feel as much like Christmas to me. Maybe it’s the fact that it snuck up on me this year, or that my mind had been consumed with other pursuits for a lot of the time. I don’t know. And I thought that watching Carols by Candlelight on Christmas Eve would get me in the mood. But no. Maybe I’m just growing up. Eep to that. Never mind. I still got presents. Yah.

So until such time as I get a new modem, I may not be updating very frequently. C’est la vie, I suppose.

Until next time…

There’s a large cynical streak (I don’t really have anything but cynical streaks in me, but just humour my posit of there being non-cynical streaks there somewhere) in me that really doesn’t want to like Christmas. Something about tinsel, and little fuzzy Santas everywhere, and pre-Christmas shopping and trimming trees and putting up lights and so on. A cynic really shouldn’t be having a good time. And I don’t, up until about December 1, which is the day when we put up the tree. There’s something about spending quality time with my Mum putting up the decorations, taking all the ornaments out of the boxes and reminiscing… listening to Christmas carols. It’s all very good.

Until my mother reaches berserker point, which is inevitable. See, my mother constantly blurs the line between enthusiasm about Christmas and rabid yuletide fanaticism. No spare inch of a wall, or empty hook, or rafter is safe. My poor balcony, previously bare and happy with it, was all of a sudden adorned with 200 fairy lights.

Now, trees, I can handle. I have my own little tree in my room, which is nice and simple and small (small is good). And I love having the big tree up downstairs. And there’s a nice tin ornament that I hang up in my room every year.

But having every corner nook and cranny of my house filled with tinsel and baubles and other such ridiculousness is simply humiliating. I have to show friends this house. Ugh. Depressing.

But despite that, Christmas is cool with me. I have an old Christmas CD that I pull out every year, ‘24 Disney Christmas Carols’, which is just great, and helps get me in the mood for the season. Christmas is a time of reflection, contentment, appreciation and spending time with those we love.

So, to all of you, I hope you have a very Merry Christmas, and wish you all the very best for 2006. Best wishes and God bless…

Until next time…

Sorry about not posting much. Lots of stuff happening, not the least of which includes much work, garage sales, cleaning out cupboards, throwing lots of crap out, taking carloads of crap to markets to be sold, a bit of sleep and some food. w00t.

Here I sit, blogging away, in a bright fluorescent yellow shirt, little Ruggers shorts, with mud splattered all over my legs and face. The only reason my arms and hands are clean is because I scrubbed them earlier.

So why, you may ask, am I in such a state?

For the past three days, I’ve been working with my stepdad, who is a professional under-road borer. Basically people ring up, be they freelance builders, renovators, telecommunications company contractors, anyone really, and book a certain time for the bore to be done.

Then off we pop in the ute, out to the site, and all the paraphernalia is unloaded. The machine goes in the hole, and the bore is done. There’s mud, sweat, cursing, the odd bit of blood, sunburn, stress, heat…

You know what they say about there being a kind of gratification in doing hard, mindless physical labour? They lied. It’s horrendous.

But hey, I’m earning money, I’m getting exercise and it’s over in a week and a half. And I have tomorrow off. And the weekend off.

Hurrah.

Until next time…