A compliment?

According to the course co-ordinator at my university I'm "academically incorrigible - in a winsome way"

And how much of an idea do I have as to whether it was a positive or negative comment?

Hmmm.... *goes off to find dictionary*

The chance that I'm NOT a dag?

Okay, you've always thought I was a bit of a dag? Well you are so right!

Got home from morning prayer this morning (my day off, which I have dedicated to Greek - hopefully getting my assignment translation completed), to find a parcel up against the back door.

I crossed my fingers that it was from Amazon...

...and it was...

...and it was heavy...

...and being a martyr I made myself put on a load of washing before I let myself open it...

My Danker "Greek-English Lexicon" (BDAG) and Wallace "Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics" have arrived!!!

They weren't supposed to get here until the 9th September!

I might have done a little jig around the house clutching my new books and chanting a little nonsense song that might have included the words, "mine, mine, my books, all mine" at regular intervals. But I'd never admit to it.

And no-one in my life here understands my excitement, and my Beloved (who would probably laugh at me anyway) has his mobile switched off.

I'm just hoping that spending the equivalent of 3 months gym membership results in me using these books more frequently and for longer than gym membership inspires me to exercise!

P.S. They have a beautiful new book smell.

Addendum:

After writing the above, the joke got even better. I became vaguely aware of dog-like noises on the front verandah.

There shouldn't BE dog-like noises on the front verandah, because the LBD is restricted to the back yard, the back verandah, and now the garage.

I got up to see what was going on, and sure enough, the LBD was waiting for me to let him back in.

Obviously in my delight at finding a parcel against the back door, I had gone back inside, closed the garage door, and entirely forgotten to check that the LBD hadn't followed me outside.

Ooops.

And so I've just done and marked my trial exam...

And got an answer wrong.

And I could live with that.

But there were four other questions I made silly errors. Identifying nouns as singular and then translating them with the English plural form (and vice versa); leaving out the odd article when it clearly has one in the Greek (and one that is necessary also in the English - which is not always the case); and in one spectacular example, leaving out the second part of the question entirely.

Then, of course my maths is atrocious and as I marked the paper I came back with 68%, before realising that the first 4 questions were 10 marks each, not 5. I am much happier now.

I will pass.

But the chance that I'll not be irritated by the silly errors I accumulate along the way?

(The worst thing is that you can't really DO much about silly errors. I finished the paper by working solidly with only 4 minutes to spare, so I don't have time to go back over everything. I'm just feeling sorry for some of the other students who are struggling. I had 4 minutes to spare. I'm hoping that everyone will manage to finish the paper.)

I really need better notes

When I'm writing assignments, I have to wade through pages and pages of notes I've taken while I've been reading in preparation.

It can be quite interesting, particularly when I started reading weeks ago, so the matter from the first few books is not fresh in my brain.

There are times when I've obviously been tired and unable to reduce a good quote to notes, so I've written out the whole paragraph.

There are times I've used obscure abbreviations and hieroglyphs for particular terms.

There are times when I've used particularly bad handwriting (even worse if it's in Greek script).

And there are times when I come across gems like this, "Big Julie refounded Corinth as a colony - 44BC"

How much money would you bet me that I haven't been exposed in childhood to quotes from "Rinse the Blood off my Toga"?

- Thanks Grandad.

Tad Troubling to the Ticker

Title just for Givinya, who has been enjoying my recent alliterative titles.

This one took a while.

I'm surprised I'm up to blogging.

Particularly summing up what I want to say in five words starting with the same letter.

You see, it is a study night and I'm supposed to be working on the reading for my second assignment. The plan is to finish the reading this week, then write it next in time for the deadline next Friday.

Okay, I've got to prepare a sermon for church on Sunday in the middle there somewhere, but as I'm sneakily using the same text as my assignment is on it should be the best researched sermon I've ever given, without taking up any extra time in the reading department.

So far that's fine.

Checked my email as I settled down to my desk. There were emails for a spate of Forum posts for the subject, so I'd better have a quick squizz.

One from the lecturer which included the words, "Friday is also the due date for Assignment 2, and ..."

I did not read the rest of the comment because my poor brain was fixated on the fact that Assignment 2, that I had marked in my diary as due on the 17th of September, was in fact due IN TWO DAYS TIME!!!!

The human brain is marvellous. It can race to top gear in a split second. People who think they are going to die speak of seeing their whole life flash before their eyes.

My brain can take in all that still needs to happen in the time frame and come up with the obvious answer that it is probably not possible, even though the lecturer had said Sunday evening was fine if we needed the weekend to finish (which wouldn't help me very much, because I have a service to prepare for).

Anyway, maybe I could get something submittable done with a couple of all nighters, and by not doing any more reading (leaving my Bibliography woefully short, unless I did the read-two-random-pages-in-each-of-the-remaining-books-and-hope-there's-something-I-can-reference thing).

My brain then flicked to wonder precisely how dumb it would sound to write and request an extention on the grounds that I can't read a Study Outline.

Then flicked to think that I needed to check the Study Outline, because I was certain it was the 17th not the 10th. I mean, I've done some dumb stuff before, but...

All this took about 0.3 seconds.

5 years of which was spent staring at the email in dawning horror.

Thankfully, the next email was from a concerned student who was certain that the due date was the 17th, not the 10th.

There was another on much the same topic.

And a response from the lecturer apologising because he had the date wrong.

How much did my blood pressure require the exercise?

... Approximately None!

Accidental Cleaning

Sometimes life gets on top of me.

I was away at regional-level church meetings this weekend. It is always great to catch up with representatives from all across this part of Queensland.

But I was busy before I left and so my packing was very much in the "grab and shove" method where you hope you've remembered everything in the 5 minutes you've devoted to the task.

I did remember all my readings and a folder to put them in.

And my pyjamas.

And a toothbrush.

And clean underwear.

So I did pretty well really.

But it was this morning when the fall-out hit me.

You see last week I used the same folder to take notes for a roster that I'm responsible for typing up before the end of this week.

And when you're doing "grab and shove" packing, you do silly things like pull the pages with the roster on it out of the folder and put them on some flat surface somewhere between the place you found the folder and where your bag happened to be when you completed the 'shove' part of proceedings.

And to know where the folder or the bag happened to be during the whole of the whirlwind 5 minutes that you were shoving stuff you remembered into the bag is not easy three days later. My brain was concentrating on "what do I need for Fri/Sat/Sun" not "where did I put the thing I must type up next week".

I've checked the bedroom floor near where I was packing clothes and can't find those pages anywhere.

I've cleaned the dining table and can't find those pages anywhere.

So I've been cleaning my office and can't find those pages anywhere, despite finding lots of other interesting stuff.

And I just pulled out the reports and notes from a weekend's worth of meetings and found the missing pages clipped in the back of the folder.

Right where they would have been from when I took them last week.

So how much work in tidying up my desk remains to be finished?

... well, I still have a little bit to do, but not very much at all!

Things I'm not certain I want to do...

I've just come back from our church's statewide gathering/conference/meeting.

I feel challenged to do some study.

I've spent the day looking at a few options.

I think Charles Sturt is the pick of them, because they have distance mode.

You need a qualification in information technology to find information.

It will require work.

Over about 12 years.

Or 8 years if I were to do a subject in the summer session as well.

Which would be stupid because in the church game Christmas is pretty darn busy.

But then, so is Easter.

So that leaves me with one semester a year for 24 years.

I think it is one of those things that sounds wonderful in theory, and I would like to do, but is going to take way too much time.

But I have to make a decision before the 1st June, or I miss next Semester.

The chance that I'll ever get it finished if I never even start?

... Hmmmm.

The End of the World is Nigh...

I've said before that I'm not really a morning person.

I tell you, early morning is really not my best time of day. In fact when I was at college (where meal times had a particular finish time) I was able to get up, dress, go down to the dining room, make and eat breakfast, carry on conversations with the others at my table, then return to my room and go back to sleep with no recollection of the topics of conversation and the only clues to the fact that I had been fed being the fact I was dressed, I had a foggy recollection of stuff happening, and I wasn't starving hungry.

Earlier this week my Beloved was still on holidays and didn't have to get up at a ridiculous hour to be ready to go to work for an early start. I was starting to get used to this, but, alas, sometimes my body has a way to get me up and about very early in the morning that simply cannot be denied. It's okay, though, because I can do what I need to do and go back to sleep, because I'm hardly awake.

Except I can't always use my powers of higher reason. They don't switch on until about a couple of hours after I'm vertical.

So when there was this other-wordly golden light around the room I had a little bit of processing time to work out that:
1. It was not another dust storm;
2. It was not the end of the world.

I don't know if you knew this, but the sky is really pretty just as the sun is about to climb up into the sky.

And the chance that I stayed up to absorb the beauty of the new morning?

... What do you think?

Missed Opportunity...

It's been a trifle warm here this week.

Once upon a time I worked from home, so would fire up the air-conditioner in my office and ignore the heat.

Of course, before that I lived in Central Queensland and had to put up with it (albiet that my workplace was airconditioned).

And way before that I lived in Cloncurry. With a recorded temperature in the 50s during the late 1800s. That's quite warm. When we lived there we used to want to throw stuff at the ABC weatherman, because Mt Isa would be expecting a warm day at 43 or 45 degrees and Brisbane was expecting a scorcher at 38. He had no clue. And we were heat affected.

When I was in high school and we first moved here from Cloncurry I remember going to a church dinner and everyone was complaining about how hot it had been that day. Then someone laughed and said, "but you probably don't find this hot!" Our family thought about it, then said that we had found it hot - we'd been building a shed in the backyard and it was hot. Everyone just looked at us as if we were aliens - what were we thinking doing physical work in that heat!

I've just got soft of late.

These days I'm often out at meetings or visiting people and so I don't always get the choice to cool down. it seems a waste to cool a space for an hour, then go out leaving the room to heat up again. Also, I used to be from Central Queensland and North-western Queensland. I should be tough.

So after I survived through Tuesday telling myself that I used to be able to do this heat thing and that Mum had never put the air-conditioner on until the mercury hit 39 when we lived in Cloncurry, so I was just being a wuss, and our house is actually quite cool mostly, and anyway I had a meeting shortly, or it was late afternoon and it would cool down shortly, is that a storm on the horizon? ...

... I found out on Wednesday that the temperature had hit 42 on Tuesday. That's quite hot enough to air-condition by anyone's standards, thank you.

And the chance that I have actually bought a thermometer so that I can tell if I'm being a wuss or that I am justified in turning the magic box on?

... Approximately None, but I might put the air-con on anyway. It's hot.

Although I have a meeting this afternoon...

Remember Me?

G'day, everybody. I'm back for a quick chat.

October for me is very busy and it will continue while the boss is on long-service leave until the end of the year, when she conveniently retires (and we're working like crazy to get her a replacement). This of course would not have been for my own business that's almost non-existent at the moment, but for the church that currently employs me full-time rather than part-time because our minister is on long-service leave.

Now that I'm thinking about it, my job description is probably not what I want to mention in the post I was planning to write. So can you just forget that I told you WHY I'm busy and just accept that I am.

Thanks.

When I was at University I had a mental assasination list. It was never on paper, and these days could get one in heaps of trouble what with the threat of terrorism and all, but I had a list of people who irritated me and my life would have been so much better if they were no longer on this planet. Some of them would definitely be headed for heaven, so to actually ACT on my list might have resulted in me not having to be irritated by them in the afterlife either!

Yeah, my theology could use a little work here.

Anyway, if I was wiping out irritating individuals and therefore likely to spend this life behind bars and the next 'consigned to a place of great heat' (bonus points if you guess the author, and more if you can remind me which book it comes from) I might as well get rid of those who irritate my friends as well. Yep, that's the kind of friend I am. So the list ended up quite lengthy, and my plan was to start with the most irritating and work down until I was caught or I got through it, whichever came first.

For the last few months the two tiny yappy dogs next door have been driving me nutty. Neither me, nor my Little Black Dog is allowed to roam in the 4 metres adjacent to their fence without being yapped at. I have considered getting an outdoor lie-low, an umbrella, good book, a supply of snacks, earplugs and setting myself up near the fence at about 5am on New Years Day. Then the little yappy dogs can drive the neighbours nutty for a change.

Then again, I could put them on my list.

I was catching up with some reading on Graze and came across this little gem. If I were to re-establish my assassination list I would need to make certain to add whoever it was who invented the idea of sending a toy home to have pictures taken doing something with appropriate captions.

The chance that I'm not singing that song from Mikado in my head and wishing for the poetic ability to do a parody?

... approximately none!

they'd none of 'em be missed!


As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list — I've got a little list
Of society offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed — who never would be missed!
There's the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs --
All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs —
All children who are up in dates, and floor you with 'em flat —
All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like that —
And all third persons who on spoiling tête-á-têtes insist —
They'd none of 'em be missed — they'd none of 'em be missed!

Chorus.
He's got 'em on the list — he's got 'em on the list;
And they'll none of 'em be missed — they'll none of 'em be missed.

Ko-Ko.
There's the banjo serenader, and the others of his race,
And the piano-organist — I've got him on the list!
And the people who eat peppermint and puff it in your face,
They never would be missed — they never would be missed!
Then the idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone,
All centuries but this, and every country but his own;
And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy,
And who "doesn't think she dances, but would rather like to try";
And that singular anomaly, the lady novelist —
I don't think she'd be missed — I'm sure she'd not he missed!

Chorus.
He's got her on the list — he's got her on the list;
And I don't think she'll be missed — I'm sure she'll not be missed!

Ko-Ko.
And that Nisi Prius nuisance, who just now is rather rife,
The Judicial humorist — I've got him on the list!
All funny fellows, comic men, and clowns of private life —
They'd none of 'em be missed — they'd none of 'em be missed.
And apologetic statesmen of a compromising kind,Such as —
What d'ye call him — Thing'em-bob, and likewise — Never-mind,
And 'St— 'st— 'st— and What's-his-name, and also You-know-who —
The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to you.
But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list,
For they'd none of 'em be missed — they'd none of 'em be missed!

Chorus.
You may put 'em on the list — you may put 'em on the list;
And they'll none of 'em be missed — they'll none of 'em be missed!

Praying that your holidays are excrement...

At my church we have a weekly prayer breakfast. We cover world, national and state events; personal losses and joys; church doings and issues; and anything that relates to our town.

And so in amongst prayers for our Pacific neighbours and those from our congregations who are grieving I chose to pray for our minister and her husband, who are soon to head off for some well deserved long service leave. I prayed that they be refreshed and given the opportunity to flourish, like well-tended plants. It wasn't until I'd finished that I suddenly realised that I might have got a little too much into my analogy.

Don't you hate it when an analogy gets away from you?

You see, technically I believe I prayed that this holiday be for them like plants that are given a good dose of manure which gives them the nutrients to thrive.

Yes, I prayed that their holiday be ... er... excrement.

And what's the chance I meant it the way it came out?

... Approximately None!

A Letter From Grandma (The Archaeological Edition)

A little slow this week, so here's another letter from my Grandma.

Because she died when I was only in grade 6 it is interesting to use these letters to get to know her - who was she?

Well, one thing I know is that a very busy lady used to write individual picture-letters to 6 of her grandchildren who didn't happen to live very close to them. Although when this first started there were probably only 2 or 3 of us. It worked up from there as new grandkids came on the scene and were old enough to say "why don't I get a letter from Grandma?" So grandchildren were special, and she didn't want us to forget her.

We can also see from today's letter that sometimes she used to cheat -


No, she did not draw this image. It's a printed one. Clever lady.

The written part says

For Jenny,
I hope you can see our Church at Graceville soon.
Love from Grandad and Grandma. XXX

I don't know precisely when these letters started, but I presume they were a weekly inclusion into the family goings on letter that Grandma used to write to all her kids. I know we lived in Barcaldine from 1976 to 1980.

But this letter may have some specific dating evidence and I feel like I should be on Time Team, because I'm getting all excited.

You see, the Methodist Church joined with other churches to become the Uniting Church in July 1977. So this must have been printed before then. Unless, of course, they were trying to get rid of all the old printed material that was now out of date. Hmmm.

However, the fact that we hadn't seen the church must also put this early in our stay in Barky, because we would have visited them from time to time. In fact, my aunt was married there, but I can't remember when that was.

The chance that we'll ever know a date for certain?

... Approximately None!

And Now for Something Completely Different...

I've been a girl who has always gone to church. Initially I didn't have much choice in the matter, but eventually took on Christian faith for myself. One of the things that 35 years of church-going will do is that I know how all the stories end, and can get a bit blase about them. I also am used to some of the really odd things that Christians do at church. They are almost second nature.

I think the two of these tendencies combined resulted in the following mind wandering that happened just after Easter, but that I haven't got around to blogging about. Sorry for the in-jokes for those who don't attend a more main-stream church, or any church at all, for that matter.

Scene:
A fairly normal (if somewhat stodgy) service in my lovely home church. The reader was reading from Luke, Chapter 24, verse 36, following Jesus' resurrection, appearance and the disciples' return from Emmaus.

Reader: "Whle they were talking about this [Jesus' appearance on the road to a town called Emmaus], Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, 'Peace be with you'..."

Jen's somewhat wandering brain going into standard liturgy mode: "And the disciples responded, 'And also with you'..."

Reader continuing, thankfully in blissful ignorance of my mental journey to realms not recorded in the Bible: "...They [the disciples] were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost..."

Jen's brain, brought back suddenly to the actual reading, rather than standard liturgical responses: "Wow, I have been to church way too much, I wasn't expecting that. Didn't those disciples know the correct response?!"

The chance that the disciples, scared and not following the whole point of what Jesus had been trying to tell them about the fact that he would rise from death, even thought about using the standard liturgical response?

... Approximately None!

Well, I Made it Back Alive!

I'm back from Sydney. Had a great time talking to people. Actually was involved in business decisions of the church. Worked from 9am to 9pm most days for a week (with extra reading to go through for the following day and a 7am communion service just to stretch me a bit). Am exhausted.

Wish that the university college I stayed at had windows to close in the bathroom, rather than permanently breeze-channelling aluminium louvre-y things. I wish that they had shower nozzles that allowed the shower-ee to actually get wet rather than dewy and that I didn't feel it was necessary to wash my back at which time my dewy front froze. I'm not even going to mention trying to wash my long hair under it.

I bought an umbrella to use because they were threatening rain for part of the week. I don't usually need an umbrella here, but thought I'd better get one. The one evening it rained was after a whole day indoors when the morning had been bright and clear. I'd left the umbrella sitting in my room. Murphy's Law. I think I got wetter getting back to my room than it was possible to get under the shower (even with a friend who kindly offered me half of hers)

Had good travel, except for the moment I realised (on getting out of the first plane) that I hadn't tied anything bright and identifiable to my brand-new suitcase and the best I could do for a description was "I'm fairly certain it's maroon". (The good thing was that it was big enough I could take my own pillow down - so maybe it was the right size to get). Fortunately Qantas give you a sticker with the corresponding number on it and so I didn't have to open it in the middle of Sydney Airport just to make certain I had the right one.

So that summarises my Sydney experience. Exhausting. Cold. Confused.

The chance that the last state of mind is anything out of the ordinary for me?

... Approximately None!

Linguini Jen

Well, I've been keeping something in my closet.

It's probably about time I 'fessed up.

It's just that it might change the way you think about me, and I'm not certain I can cope with that...

In April I was commissioned as a Pastor in my church, although I prefer "Linguini" as a title, because it is more fun to say. (Get it - Pasta/Pastor - oh, nevermind)



See, I told you that you'd think about me differently.

But I haven't actually changed at all, as evidenced by a moment at our Church Council meeting this afternoon.

I had visited with a family when their husband/father passed away last week. The funeral is tomorrow. When it came up during the meeting every connection to everyone else and every place any of the kids had ever worked was part of the discussion. This is part of belonging to a small country town, and making certain that everyone knew if it was the same "John Citizen" they knew, or Fred Citizen's Dad that was about to be buried.

I mean, it's terrible if you've mentally buried the wrong person's father. Particularly when some of the old names are around here in plague proportions. Next time you see a client and give them your condolences only to find out it was John Citizen, second cousin once removed, who died, not their Dad who also happens to be John Citizen, because he was named after the first one.

Of course, it's even worse if you see someone up the street who you mentally buried six months ago. You can't really greet them with, "Hey, great to see you, I thought you were dead!"

So in our meeting the ages of the kids came up. One of the other ladies said that one of the sons was the same age as one of her kids, thereby making him 41.

At which I said, "Well, he certainly doesn't look it, I would have said he wasn't much older than me."

Whereupon I remembered that I am actually 35. He's not that much older than me.

There was much hilarity at my expense, particularly given that my inclusion on the Church Council has probably dropped the average age of the group to about 55.

And my church is sending me to the national assembly in Sydney?

How much did they think that through?

... Approximately None!

To Do a Very Hard Thing

With a few recent accidents at open level crossings between trains and various road vehicles there's been quite a bit of stuff on the news about how one should not ignore or try to race the lights on a railway crossing. There's also been a pretty busy schedule of community service announcements based along the same theme.

It's probably those things that made it so hard this week when I came up to the flashing lights on the crossing and a man in a fluoro jacket waved me across.

I didn't want to do it.

Didn't he know that crossing against the flashing red lights is bad?

Couldn't he understand that I am programmed to comprehend and obey all traffic control devices?

But how much did I want to stay waiting for the lights to change with a growing line of traffic behind me?

... Approximately None

And yes, this piece of inane rubbish is about the only thing that was remotely bloggable during the last week. My life is very, very sad.

Staring at a Blank Page...

I have writer's block. I think it might be contagious (a textually transmitted disease?).

You see, until yesterday my world was as normal.

Then I realised that I had a new follower and decided (in a moment of work avoidance) to see who this new follower was.

He is an author.

A published author.

And now I can't think of anything to say...

...Or the right words to put it in.

I'm worried about spelling, grammar and other niceities.

So what chance is there that I will come up with something that 'will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb'?

... Approximately None

Oh, bother!

Bonus points to anyone who recognises the quote.

I didn't mean to do it...

Throughout history brutal dictators have realised and used the de-personification of their enemies to make it easier for the general population to do nasty things to them. Think of Hitler, who considered the Jews vermin.

Now for a wild jump in subject that is going to leave you reeling. You'll get it in a moment, I promise.

It's my Mum's Birthday today - Happy Birthday, Mum. (You can't say that I didn't warn you that you would get whiplash from the change of subject!) She is not in anyway related to Hitler, nor brutal dictators. My parents were strict, but not that bad.

I was up early because I wanted to make a cake before church, so that it could cool while we were at church, so that I could ice it after church but before Mum and Dad, Grandma, Nan and Grandad all arrived for lunch. Good plan. Nice thing to do for the woman who has done so much for me.

We had a big day yesterday - madly cleaning in the morning, followed by a trip to catch up with some of my Beloved's family who were visiting family friends in Toowoomba. We did get back reasonably early, but it was still a bit of an uncomfortably early start this morning.

I think I've mentioned before that I'm not really a morning person. I mean it. My family could sign Statutory Declarations regarding my not being a morning person. I only have minimal function until after about 7.30am - to the point that the couple of times Queensland has trialled daylight saving I've been a burnt out wreck by about three weeks into the summer. I just can't do the extra hour early. Every morning. For months. Particularly not in the early and late summer when the sun isn't up yet. Please Mrs Bligh, don't make me do it!

However, this morning I was up by 6.30. I was vertical. I won't say I was awake, but I was able to focus on the task to hand reasonably well, because I was baking from a recipe I use all the time and only ever goes wrong when I'm baking for a church cake stall.

I went into the pantry to get the bits that I needed and I heard scurrying noises from the highest shelf. The rustling sound of mouse on plastic bag. The following thought popped into my poor half-asleep brain, "Russel would be a good name for a mouse", and although I tried immediately and desperately to rescind the thought it has stuck. Russel it is. Mouse personified in a way that is going to make getting rid of him very difficult.

What is the chance that I'm going to be able to have anything to do with setting and baiting the trap?

... Approximately None.

And thanks Dee for the heads up on cage traps. I think I'll be down at Bunnings first thing!

The Playful Professional

I'm working. Honestly.

I was just reviewing a section of a report I'm currently writing, and found this accidentally alliterative gem in my heading (did you know that there is no synonym for 'gem' that starts with 'a' ? Is it scarier that I actually checked, or that I actually wrote that down to be published? *sigh*) -

"Rebuttal of Reasons for Refusal as Recommended by Officers"

What a pity that I didn't call the officers "Representatives". Lost opportunity.

It's a good job I remembered the computer's Thesaurus because the only alternative I could think of starting with 'r' was neither nice, nor politically correct (although it would have expressed my current frustration precisely).

Chances that the heading is NOT going to be severely reworked?

... Approximately None, and I'd better get back to it.

The Battle of the Bedroom

Well, it's on again...

Last year we had a mosquito plague in our house. Mainly the bedroom and ensuite, but a few of them found us in the lounge as well.

I hate them.

And I'm not winning the war.

This is the reason that we have fly screens on our windows. I hate flying insects of most persuasions, but mosquitoes are the worst because they bite and spread disease. And they like me more than my Beloved. They keep me awake at night with their high pitched buzz and the swish of air past me in the dark.

I have no idea how they are getting in. I have no idea where they could be breeding inside (I usually empty the dog's water bowl at least once a week on the principle that mosquito larvae take seven days to mature. I know this, because the crazy EHO supervisor at my old Council used to email us to let us know when the next wave of mosquitoes were going to be flying about. He'd give it to us to the minute).

They are impervious to fly spray.

So my nightly battle has recommenced and their little mashed bodies litter the walls and ceilings until I get a step-ladder or chair to get up to clean them off. I'm a bit worried that if ever one of us goes missing and the crime scene guys come through they will find all the blood spots across the ceiling and walls with their magic lights and think that a brutal murder has taken place. After all, it is our blood!

Then there's the 'I missed him' dance as I take multiple swipes at one I've disturbed as it is flying off.

It's possibly a little disturbing for my Beloved. He can sleep through mosquito attack (actually, he can sleep through most things), but not Jen dancing on the bed trying to get a good aim at one that's landed on the ceiling above us.

I'm comforting myself with my childhood theory that mosquitoes can't bite through a sheet and don't ever bite on the face. This means that if every part of me apart from my face is under the sheet, they can't get me. Illogical and erroneous, but it helps me get to sleep. Except on the really hot nights, when you don't want anything over you at all.

The good thing is that it only lasts for the summer. They die over the winter.

The downside is that winter is still months away.

I might need the exercise, but how much do I enjoy The Battle of the Bedroom?

...Approximately None.