I think it just likes us...

The neighbours have planted a grape vine.

It keeps trying to come over to our side of the fence. We push it back, it comes back over. (Not that we mind it coming over here, it's just that it belongs to them)

So most of the vine ends up on our side.

It must just like us.

Of course, how many bunches of grapes has it produced in this, its first year of growth?

It's a good thing I don't live in Woolloomooloo

Had a fax today from a minister in Papua New Guinea who is a PNG national who my local church sponsored through ministerial education.

He's now posted in a remote village in the southern highlands, but from time to time we trade letters/faxes about life and what's going on for each of our families.

He and his wife have just had a new baby boy, and they've named him after the town in which I live.

How much sense does the title of this post make? No?

And I'm like, "what the?"...

Went down to grab some groceries and go to the bank.

Not necessarily in that order, because I needed the money to be able to get the groceries (and don't ask why I don't simply get cash out at the supermarket, because I have the uncanny ability to pick the checkout that has insufficient cash to be able to oblige me and therefore have to go to the bank anyway).

And the day had got away from me a bit, but it was, in my mind, just after lunch.

And I came out from the shop (into the rain - about which I shall not complain at all - we need it) and loaded everything into the car, and took my trolley back, and then jumped into the car only to find that there was a traffic jam getting onto the road.

There was a traffic jam getting onto the road, because the intersection just up a bit was in a traffic jam.

And that intersection was in a traffic jam because traffic heading into town was at a standstill.

And I sat in my little white car shaking my head and telling myself that I live in a country town and we just don't get traffic jams and hoping that there hadn't been an accident.

And then I looked at the clock. 3.20pm. And I was just up from the local High School.

Of course, because I never go near town between 3 and 3.30pm (particularly on a rainy day), I can remain in my steadfast belief that we don't have traffic jams in country towns.

Oh for the sleepy, dozy school holidays to be with us once again! When I can go where I like when I like without chaotic school traffic.

And the chance that I'm the centre of the universe?

Unfortunate, really.

That would be wrong, right?

I was waiting for Givinya to have lunch together, given that I was in town for the day.

There were some 1/2 price calendars.

One had Jack Russell terrier puppies on it.

I had been wondering why people buy Jack Russell dogs. I now know. It's a pity the calendar doesn't come with a sound track to turn you off.

And it wouldn't have been healthy to buy the calendar for violent destruction purposes when the ones next door have been barking for 2 1/2 hours straight, right?

Some pics

Please remember when looking at these images that they are the impressive parts of the flood. I have not taken photos of all the dry land and the thousands of houses that are high and dry.

That's not to dismiss the fact that people have had water into homes and businesses, just that it's only a small part of the developed area of town that is inundated.

By the way, we are high and dry still.

And if we weren't Queensland would REALLY be in trouble...

... and so would western New South Wales...

...and South Australia, for that matter.

This is our dam on Sunday. All seven gates were open and letting water out. Although this water doesn't flow through our town, it could cause the floodwater to back up. Later that night they closed back down to two gates. The second image shows the raging floodwaters below the dam. Thankfully there are some conveniently placed people to give you an idea of scale.

This is a veiw from a hill to the west of town, looking to the north-east across farmland, the racecourse and sports fields:

This is the Wallace Street Bridge (yes, there is usually a bridge there, but it does go under pretty early):

Surf's up on the turf! You can see the racecourse fences here (only thanks to my handy zoom):

This is the last bridge to go under. No-one is going back to the residential area on the other side of the river tonight:

Our favourite cafe with the best cheesecake in Australia... and a television?

The highway bridge with people who live on the other side of the river doing exactly what we were all doing on this side of the river:

The high school agriculture block. It often goes under, but not usually like this:

My high school oval. It's another one that goes under regularly, but not like this:

Looking south up the highway:

Looking north up the highway:

Across the school oval at sunset. Don't usually get sunsets over water in town here.

We did a trip to town between 9.30-9.50 tonight. It seems that the peak has passed now and the water is going down (unless there's more coming because it was still raining on the hills today).

And how much more rain do we need right now?

We're Okay

Just so you know.

For those not familiar with Queensland geography, we aren't in the same catchment as Toowoomba, so are not one of the "surrounding towns" for the purposes of a 2.5 metre wall of water.

We are, however, having our own little flood right here as a result of heaps of rain falling on the nearby hills. The highways are all cut off, the main bridge is under and they're expecting about another 3 metres of water in the next day or so.

The dam was at 104% Sunday, and they have to release water. It's downstream of town, but the water will be competing with the Condamine for room where they join up, and that will back up water into town.

The old dam to the south is full and flowing madly. We can see that creek from our back windows, and it does go through town. I had never seen it over the bridge to the industrial estate before December, but now the dam is full there isn't any detention capacity. So it flows, ready or not.

Our favourite cafe has waterfront views, but another three metres will not be kind to them. They pulled everything left after the last flood out Sunday afternoon.

So the scuttlebut is that we're expecting a re-run of our 1976 floods. They put out a call for blokes to move the oldies in the Council-owned pensioner units. There are sandbags available to those who need them. People from out of town are stuck at home and can't get in to work.

My Beloved came home at 1pm yesterday, because all the roads to the industrial estate were going to flood. He couldn't get there this morning, either, so he's hanging around like a bad smell.

There was a funeral in our church this morning, and there are people stuck here. A strange fact you may never have thought about is that you can't actually bury someone in this weather. They can't dig holes.

There are some shops closed and it's almost like a festival atmosphere in some areas. Most of town will be high and dry, so there are only some homes and businesses who will lose property. Others (like my Beloved) will lose work days and therefore won't be making money.

The very sad thing is that this water will be heading downstream to Condamine, Dalby, St George and all those places that have been impacted by the last lot of floodwater. And they are flat, so don't have anywhere to go.

The upshot is that we're okay and I might get organised for some photos a little later on. Just wanted to let you know that we are high and dry and if we weren't most of town would be under. But really, the chance I'll get around to two posts in one day?

Just so you know, I still love rain.

Today is the day when as many of Mum's brothers and sisters and spouses and my cousins get together. Because we live in the same town as my grandparents and grandad has trouble travelling these days, the party is normally here in town.

So we were all systems go this end.

And it rained.

And the first lot coming from Brisbane couldn't get through because the highway was cut about 20mins from here.

Then the lot from Toowoomba couldn't get through.

Then the second lot from Brisbane who were bringing my uncle, who had flown down from Townsville as a surprise, couldn't get through.

Then the lot from Toowoomba rang to say the road was cut on the way back to Toowoomba, and they'd had to get accommodation in the little town half-way home.

Then we got a photo emailed of both lots from Brisbane because they'd had a party at a stop half-way back to Brisbane.

So Mum, Dad, my Beloved and I jumped in the car and did the flood tour of the town we live in. Some bridges that I've never seen under are under, and it's very likely the main bridge into town will go under tonight or tomorrow when the water from up-stream gets here.

Then we got home and my Beloved was looking for his shovel to shift a tree that is not happy in our backyard and he found a little situation:-

This is our house. We are built on a slope, so the garage is downstairs at the back, but the front is not full head-height.

This means that there's a space under the front part of the house which is not built in. My Beloved has been very clever and put drainage channels to stop the water getting in under the house.

Unfortunately this meant that water that gets in can't get out. We inadvertantly had a good start for the first canine hydrotherapy pool in town.

My Beloved dug a ditch to let the water out. The LBD 'helped'.

There must have been about 5cms of water lying against the slab for the garage floor.

And this is part of the culprit. The ground is so sopping wet that we have springs developing in the cutting under the house. There were a number of spots leaking.

It seems the project to get a retaining wall and put a concrete slab that drains to the outside may be more of a priority than we thought.

How much more rain do we need around here?

Why?

There was a man.

Standing on the steep roof of an old Queenslander house.

With a green grocery bag in his hand.

The chance I had my camera with me as I drove into town?

OH NO!!!!

Phone numbers are funny things.

Sometimes when you're getting a new one and they ask "Is that okay?" you think about how it has repeated or sequential numbers and you really want to grab it.

On the other hand, maybe the question you should ask is, "Who had it last?"

And they are probably not allowed to tell you due to privacy.



When my whole family first moved to my town we got a number that worked. What we didn't know was that it had used to belong to, let's call them "McFreddy's Transport". Mum's favourite was the irate lady who rang up demanding, "When are you coming to pick up my potatoes?!!" She wanted to answer, "I'd love some spuds, what's your address!" Even 20 years later I think Mum and Dad were getting the occasional Mc Freddy's call.

I think I've blogged before about how my home business number ended up only slightly different from the local police number (if in fact it wasn't a former police number). The 2am calls are the hardest to take. One of the wonderful things about the thought of totally winding up my home business is the fact that we wouldn't get them anymore.

And today the new nightmare began...

In the olden days we had 6 digit phone number locally.

Then they added an additional 2 digits to the front so that they had many, many more numbers to play with for the local area.

BUT - everyone knew that all numbers in town started with the same 2 digits. So now we all had the same 4 digits at the beginning.

EXCEPT - that people are greedy and wanted more numbers, which were available now that we had 8 digit phone numbers, so now we all have the same first 3 digits and the rest might not be the same.

AND - this is a very traditional place, so people still automatically only look at the last 4 digits and ring the "normal" first 4 digits.

I shall illustrate:-

Let's say our number was 4556 1101 - Great number, hey?

It is close to my home business number which was 4556 1189 so that I don't have to remember as many numbers. (Clever idea, hey?)

BUT - the police station were seeking a new range of numbers that would allow for multiple extentions. The community liason officer's number was 4557 1101. So she would put that on brochures for events and things like Seniors' Week and all the old dears start ringing her to RSVP.

ONLY - the old dears know that the first 4 digits for the whole of my town start with 4556. So they all ring 4556 1101 and get me, telling them that Mary is not here. No, it is not the police station. Then panicking because this was our HOME number, not my BUSINESS number and we don't get calls for the police on our HOME number. Please. surely. Help.

But at least I'm guessing that the midnight emergency calls on this number will be...

...approximately none!

I take it back...

There are two yappy dogs that live next door to us. Well, actually one yappy dog and an encourager, but who needs to be that precise?

The neighbours are considerate when they are home, because if the dogs are barking they take them inside so that peace once more reigns supreme, but when the neighbours are out the dogs are very likely to bark continously for extended periods. There's not much that the neighbours feel they can do when they are not home, and I only wish our anti-barking collar would go small enough for us to lend it to them.

Now, dogs bark - and a certain amount of barking I can tolerate in the interests of living in a community that values pet ownership. And I don't like to sound hypocritical because our LBD will bark on occasion, too. Usually specific occasions for a short time. Unfortunately his three or four barks at the postie will start the neighbours off for a good 20 minutes.

Ever since I timed the dogs next door barking for a whole 30 minutes by the clock (before I left home and was very glad to have work to do elsewhere that afternoon), I have wondered precisely how long a yappy dog can yap without pause. (Emily Sue - pun just for you!)

We found out that they have stamina a couple of weeks ago when the dogs had been barking for some time before we sat down to watch tv at 8.30pm and continued to do so until we presume the neighbours came home at 10.52.

PM.

That's more than 2 1/2 hours of barking.

It was not appreciated.

Later in the week they tried it again, and the neighbour over the back yelled at them. I could sympathise.

Then last week was quiet for a couple of days.

I put out multiple loads of washing without needing earplugs for the high pitched squealy bark from next door. Our garage door could go up and down without being serenaded. The LBD could run around his own backyard without being told off by the pip-squeak from next door. We could walk around our house and open curtains without trembling for the noise it could cause.

I began to get worried that something had happened to them. Despite mentally devising excruciating deaths and torture for them over the last couple of months, I actually began to get worried that something had happened to them.

But they are back now and I take back any concern I might have felt for their safety. How glad am I to see them (or more correctly, hear them)?

... Precisely!

Did someone order some winter?

The tele weatherman said it would turn cold last night.

He was right.

Now how come cold is easier to forecast than rain?

Now, hold on to your hats, people, you're about to get a Jen-jump to an entirely different subject.

Years ago my Beloved and I got married. Many people gave us wonderful house-oriented presents like stock pots and towels and platters and towels and sheets and towels, which was wonderful because my Beloved and I both had the 'usual' stuff, but not pretty things.

We were both single bed dwellers. Me, because I always knew that if I allowed my sleeping body to take over the whole of a Queen sized mattress there would never be room to add in a husband one day if I found the right candidate. And him probably because he had a single bed and why would you bother to buy a new bigger bed when you had a perfectly good single one with sheets and blankets and everything?

So a few months before we wed, we went big bed shopping, and had it delivered to my Beloved's house where we would be living once the knot was tied.

Many people gave us sheets and stuff, so that we then had bed clothes for our new bed, which was pretty spectacular because it meant that we'd be able to sleep on it. Neither of us had Queen bed sheets.

But at that time we were living in Central Queensland, and no-one thought to give us flannelette sheets, because you don't need flannelette sheets in a location where you can get married in July and not need long sleeves.

Then we moved here.

It is good to have cuddly flannelette sheets here.

And the weatherman said that the winter was going to come in last night, so I broke out the new flannelette sheets.

I say the new ones, because I've learnt this rule about manchester. You get what you pay for. Don't bother with the cheap ones because if you get one winter out of them, you're doing well.

So two years ago when we were on holidays and went to a factory outlet, I bought a set of Sheridan flannelette sheets to replace the ones we had. Then last year I managed by using the flat sheets out of the two sets of sheets where we'd worn through the fitted sheet.

But for this year, I broke out the Sheridan.

Mmmmm. Thick, smooth and cuddly.

The chance that I'm not going to enjoy my cuddly sheets this winter?

... Approximately None (oh, and sorry to any potential visitors who won't be getting cuddly sheets because, well, we're using them.)

Nothing to see here, people!

I had a plan.

I've been driving to a little town 25 minutes up the road for an early morning prayer meeting each day this week.

The scenery of paddock and farmsteads, broken down sheds and forested hills, overcast skies and dramatic spot-lighting has been breath-takingly beautiful and has been restoring my soul after some really busy days.

I decided that this morning I'd take my camera and take some shots to share with all my bloggy buddies. And it was absolutely gorgeous this morning.

Unfortunately I fell back to sleep after my Beloved went to the shower. So instead of taking the 15 minutes to surface from deep sleep, then get going, I woke with a start 30 minutes after I should have been vertical, knowing I had to rush to be gone.

So how much time did I have to take photos on the way?

... Approximately None. But it was beautiful! I promise!

Rain!

We had a few heavy showers yesterday.

Most of this afternoon was steady rain.

The tank overflowed.

The drainage line in the paddock behind us was wide and deep.

The water was over the road to the little town I need to drive to first up tomorrow.

I LOVE RAIN!

I have spent a considerable portion of my life waiting for rain.

My town here has had maybe two decent seasons in the last 20 years.

All the rain everyone got from the cyclones was patchy around here, in fact rain often goes around my town.

But this afternoon was glorious, and the chance I didn't enjoy it?

... Approximately None!

Happy New Year!

Well, I shall defy Givinya and wish everyone all the best for the New Year, despite the fact that I know that this year shall, like all the preceeding ones, be a mixture of highs and lows. It's okay for me to wish you all the good things and the absolute minimum of the bad, I hope?

Of course, it didn't have a great start at this end.

I was excited some years ago that the phone number granted to us by the powers that be in Telstra was easy to remember.

Traditionally around our town all the phone numbers had the same first four digits, so you only really needed to remember the last four. As town has grown, and businesses and government agencies wanted lots of extentions of the same basic number there have been new numbers issued that have the same initial three numbers, but allow for another 10,000 numbers to be used on top of that. Growth in regional Queensland is a much desired comodity, but does have some draw-backs on an individual basis.

In this case, on our individual phone number basis.

So far as I have been able to discover, our easy to remember phone number has the last four digits the same as one of the extensions for the local constabulary. So anyone who is not paying attention and dials the "standard" first four digits gets yours truly. Congratulations to me!

This has lead to some really funny phonecalls when the person on the other end of the line has got up a head of steam and launches into their story without paying attention to how I've answered the phone. My response to their irate, "...and what are you going to do about it?" is usually along the lines of, "I don't think I can help you very much, I presume you are after the cops?" and possibly leaves much to be desired from their perspective.

There are some phone calls that just go dead when I answer, and others that hesitantly question, "Is this the police?", but the funny ones are the ones where I get their whole life story before they think to question who I am.

Of course, there are the ones that aren't so funny. 2.30am New Years Day is not really amusing, except that the poor lady was so appalled that she'd got a wrong number, and I was so asleep that I wasn't really at my best. She was so apologetic and nice and well-spoken and told me to go back to sleep (she could obviously hear my brain grinding into starting position to work out what was going on) and she was sorry to bother me, and Happy New Year.

Socially appropriate farewell?

... probably - what other options would there be when you've woken a complete stranger out of a deep sleep at 2.30am?

... Approximately None!

Elbows

I was invited to participate in a school speech day on Friday. Really enjoyed some parts like the dance troop and seeing the little preppies get their encouragement awards, and the fact that there seemed to be so many lovely young men and women ready to go out and make their mark on the world.

I also puzzled over the fact that in a pipe band you can have some trouble picking a pre-pubescent boy from a pre-pubescent girl, unless the girls ALL have long hair. Kilts will do that.

But the main block from total enjoyment was the heat. There is nothing worse than being dressed up in your good clothes and then feeling the sweat trickle down between your shoulder blades (yes, "sweat" - it was definitely not as refined as "perspiration" and even further from the "glowing" that apparently ladies are supposed to do when warm).

Unless it's the feeling of sweat running down your thighs under a lined skirt.

Or the slimy feeling you get at the point you neatly cross your ankles so that your knees can stay together because you're in the front row, wearing a suit skirt and very visible to the assembled parents, friends, special guests and students.

Anyway it was hot, but I was priviledged to sit in the special section with the college council, which meant that we had comfy seats and a bottle of water provided just beside the leg of each chair.

It also meant that I was sitting next to a couple of men who were built on generous lines. I don't mean fat, I mean they had the bulk to match their height. Which meant that they needed the additional room for their arms that was above our mutual armrests.

Which would have been fine, except that I'm not as little as I used to be. And the need to keep my arms by my sides began to make me wonder how much colour difference my royal blue blouse would show if for some reason it were to become moist. Which was definitely going to be the case.

I made a mental note to keep my arms by my sides after the event was over.

Then remembered that I was giving the Benediction at the end of the proceedings.

It is usual in my church for the appointed God-person to raise their arms to pronounce the Benediction.

But the appointed God-person would usually be a proper minister wearing an alb, which would be white and not show the change in colour (mind you any minister wearing an alb on this particular occasion would have passed out with heat exhaustion by this point, so it ends up being moot).

So how much did anyone care if I had dark circles under my arms?

... Approximately None, because everyone was in exactly the same boat!

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...

What a Lovely Cool House

Yesterday we had a perfectly beautiful day. I was down to my shirt-sleeves in the afternoon and the sky was cloudless and breeze caressing. Spring is coming - whether this is a little reminder that it's on its way or whether its the real thing matters not, so long as I took the time to enjoy it. And I did take some time to enjoy it (while I attacked a pile of washing up - did you not see my post from yesterday?!)

This is the time of year we begin to enjoy our house, because throughout the spring and summer it is a lovely cool house. Breezy and fresh, whatever direction the breeze is coming from - and although there are a few days when I turn on the air-conditioning it's not the house's fault that the temperature is just plain ridiculous that day.

The reason that we remember to enjoy our lovely cool house is that during the winter "lovely" and "cool" are not the terms we use to describe it. "Frigid" and "arctic" would be closer to the mark. I can't count the number of days when I leave the house and can take a jumper off upon going outside, if the sun is brightly shining. The house holds the cold well, and I'm too scungy to put on the heating in the mornings.

But then, what stimulus would there be to enjoy it in summer if the winters weren't so cold?

... Approximately None.

Escaping to the Anonymity of the City

So it is now unavoidable. The wisdom teeth are coming out. Recommended by the dentist and oral surgeon, they only have weeks left in my mouth. It turns out that it would have been better for them to come out when I was in my twenties, as they are now well fused into the jawbone and one in particular has a little kick that is going to make life ...interesting.

Not that I care, because I will be unaware of anything going on. Much better than having the couple of actual problem ones out in the chair.

I like the totally asleep part of the concept.

I was glad that the surgeon only has theatre time in two Toowoomba Hospitals, because I do a fair bit of hospital visiting here and know many of the staff by sight, if not to talk to. And if I find it hard to be a Christian before about 8.30 in the morning, how would I do recovering from a general anaesthetic and in pain?

Just as well to disappear into the anonymity of a Toowoomba Hospital where I won't know anyone.

Except that the day I selected (that fitted into my schedule with a week off to recover) is at a hospital where I know one of the administrators.

That's okay, she won't see me when I'm in pain or coming out of the anaesthetic.

But I then found out that the nurse practitioner for this particular surgeon at this particular hospital is the daughter of one of our church ladies, and I've met her on a number of occasions. I probably know her better than most of the hospital staff here.

Chance that I saw that one coming?

... 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!

So it Appears We Are Certainly Moving...

... but I'll get back to that in a minute.

I've moved heaps of times in my life. My Dad worked for the government, and we spent time as a family in Bundaberg, Barcaldine, Brisbane - notice a theme developing, we started near the beginning of the alphabet (before moving onto the next letter) - Cloncurry - and then skipped a whole heap of letters because Mum and Dad were sick of moving and decided to settle down.

Unfortunately, my current location does not host a University at all, and certainly not one that offered Town Planning, so I had to move to Brisbane to study, and then work.

After a few years of work I desperately needed OUT of the city (and my job was headed nowhere), so I started applying for Local Government work in regional centres that would have more variety.

So I moved, all alone and knowing no-one, to the lovely coastal village of Yeppoon (near Rockhampton) and enjoyed some years there. And caught myself a man. Yes, ironically enough having had a wide variety of men around at uni and reasonably large church, I fell in love with the 1 (one, let's count it out... one) single man between 18 and 45 in the smaller church. Don't tell me that God doesn't have a sense of humour.

Eventually though a small Council didn't have anywhere for me to go, so we went off to seek greener pastures a bit closer to my family (okay, back here where my parents have stayed put ever since we first moved here as a family).

So during my life I have been moved, I have chosen to move myself, and then dragged my spouse along with me as I moved.

The thing is that I don't actually like moving.

So to get back to the point of this whole yarn - on Saturday we were doing some very necessary house cleaning and I got frustrated about the fact that I still had Kevin the Kenwood Kitchen Machine's box sitting around because I hadn't decided if I should keep it or throw it out. Original boxes are very useful if you ever move again, because the styrofoam holds them in just the right position so that they are less likely to be damaged. But you have to find a place to store a half-empty box of styrofoam for all the years until then.

In a moment of ruthlessness I cut up the box and recycled it.

And we all know that, according to the laws of the universe, the chances that we will now stay in this house forever are...

... Approximately None!