Bite sized reading

I read really quickly. If it's a book that I'm really in to I can rip through a book in a few hours. It's not speed reading, cause if it's boring it takes me weeks to get through something.

So I've hit a bit of curly one. One of the fellow travellers over at Mother Foccacia also has a blog that is essentially a novel, broken up into small parts. It's funny, crude in bits and hits a lot of the memories that most of my fellow flatmates from yesteryear will recognize with frightening clarity.

However it rolls along in small chunks. At the start that was fine because it was convenient to fit in at the end of the day or while waiting in line, anytime I had a spare five minutes. But now I am hooked in the way that if this was a printed book would keep me up until I'd read the last word.

Birmo has written about doing something like this for his fanfic, to be ported into an app for the iPhone or google android. You always have it with you and read it at the doctors or on the train or bus. The writing style will be slightly different because you really have to keep the reader coming back again and again.

That's what Doctor Yobbo's done. I'm hooked. The story/blog is called In The Worst Possible Taste. It's a good read, check it out. But start with the first entry.


Lantanaland from the iPhone

Touched by the sun.

Touch can be a confusing sport to understand what is good and what's not. For a start, in QLD at least we have a superleauge type venture that runs an unaffiliated comp on grounds all over south east QLD. Whites Hill on a Friday night is the best competition short of representative touch that you can play in QLD though, without a doubt. The last game I'd played there wasn't that happy.

I'd played two seasons of the top grade. I was the worst player on the team, to be fair, but at least I'd played. One game into the third season I rocked up to find that I'd been dropped back to div 2. I deserved to be dropped, I was out of shape and low on confidence but also deserved to be told at the start of the week. I then played ordinarily for div 2 before badly rolling an ankle and never going back. After seven years playing on a Friday night then backing up for weekend work I was enjoying having a few beers on Friday afternoon, watching the footy and then sleeping off the consequences. Such as they are for me, easily the lightest drinker of all my friends.

There was never any thought of going back and playing A grade. But this recent fitness kick has brought back a few competitive juices and I asked a mate if there would be a spot in his div 2 side. This mate is regarded as the best player in the world so I was pretty confident he'd be able to at least get me a start.

Friday night was first night back. I was bloody nervous for a simple game of footy, but it might have been the redbull talking The first thing I noticed was that all my teammates had never, ever, had personal experience of the eighties. There is now an over thirties comp on a Friday night, so all the old guys have cleared out to relive glory days against old foes. The second thing I noticed was at tap off. This game was bloody quick!

I soon settled into it and found that I was having an absolute ball. My mate was filling in as coach and all the young guys were having a real crack against a slightly older late eighties born model of a team. The second half was even better, I got into the middle and did my thing, which is defending and getting the ball down the other end so the flashy guys can work their magic. All this fitness thing had worked wonders too, I was blowing but still felt strong, or was that still the redbull?

We didn't win, the young guys tightened up mentally in the end of the game, but I'll take a five all draw. If the next nine weeks and finals are like this, I reckon that the last memories I have of Friday night touch will be much better than last time.


Lantanaland from the iPhone

Sunday, not the day of rest.

When I ran the pubs I worked a pretty normal working week, but then most of Friday and Saturday nights, plus a bbq on sunday. So when I got this new job, which is a Monday to Friday gig, I discovered the joy of weekends and came to imbue them with a mystical significance, to be protected at all costs, defended to the death.

However judging the continental sausage at the royal Brisbane show is not something to pass up, so I gave up my Sunday morning to toodle off to Brisbane for a 8am start. That would have been fine except the mob running the judging would be hard pressed to organize a piss up at Oktoberfest in the biggest brewery in the world. Me and the boss were used for a total of about 20min of judging. At 11am. Three hours of sitting round watching a train wreck of organisation.

Anyway, bolted off to get home and build some racking for some more bee hives that are guesting, maybe permantly, at Lantanaland. I quickly ducked in to grab a present from a good mate that she'd picked up in Italy and sent home with her mum. Thanks Jess!





The bloke who owns the new bee hives, Matt, came round and we whipped up this heavy duty frame that will hold about five hives. We built it out of reclaimed deck posts that my builder neighbour had salvaged for me. They are bloody good gear and I have plans already for the rest of them.





Matt took off and came back with three hives. Only one problem. One of the hives the tape had come loose on the entrance. The boys got stung quite a bit moving them, I was wearing a singlet and was soft, I stayed well back. They eventually got them in and came down for a beer and then I crashed out.




I paid for it Monday afternoon though, suffering my first case of Mondayitis in years. I struggled through the training session and good case of mental fog. Thank god it's back to normal this weekend!


Lantanaland from the iPhone

Bloody big towtruck and lots of caffiene.

Normally you need a bloody big tow truck to pull me out of Lantanaland. I like pottering around on the farm on a weekend, thinking about things to do, or starting new projects instead of completeing ones already started.

Friday night was drinks for an old mate heading off overseas. Anita is one of the crew from The Alley days, one of the best workers I ever had and if I ever get Lantanaland up to a comercial opperation, I'd find a job for Anita in a heart beat.





After a mini pub crawl and a failed attempt by unnamed females to drag the group into the strippers, we ended up, as you do in Brisbane, on someones back deck. I was the designated driver and I was pretty tired to start with on Friday, so I'd hit the coffee pretty hard through the day, but now I had an IV drip of red bull and it was even starting to fail. Time to head home.

I've been on a big exercise kick and decided the best way to shake the cobwebs out was two coffees and a bike class. I felt much better and the bacon, eggs and coffee breakfast post ride didn't hurt either. I was all fired up for the second excurision of the weekend, Hughesy's Non Fic festival and it was The Wifes turn to drive.

Ahhh no.

Turns out the night before had struck a heavy toll and the thought of 2 x two hour drives and some political panel discussion was making Wifey go sleepy. So I ponied up, grabbed a mate and went off to hear Annabel Crabb, Birmo and some George bloke from The Australian talk about Malcom Turnbull.

(I have a theory that The Wife, faced with pregnancy and designated driver duties in the not too distant future, is making me drive as much as possible when we go out. A designated driver bank, if you want. )

I won't read The Oz because I reckon it's a bit preachy and has it's own head so far up it's arse it can touch it's own ego, but my mate loves the rag and is studying economics post doc, so he was thrilled to get a last minute invite. Hughesy puts on a good gig. Turnbull was discussed, but the conversation rambled naturally off topic to more intersting things. Both Annabel and George were excellent speakers, insightful and funny without pushing their point of veiw. I thought it was a nice touch of Hughesy to include a punter who got up and harraunged the panel for not answering the topic question. A true festival experience. By pure chance, nowhereBob sat next to me as well, introducing himself by writing a message on his phone and tapping me on the shoulder. He got to ask the first question in QandA. "Annabel, will you elope with Abe Frellman?". No, wasn't that my question. I forget.





We hung round for a feed and I got to have a good chat with Annabel and her husband Jeremy, Bob, Hughesy, Birmo and Richard Fidler, who had chaired an earlier panel. It was an extremely entertaining evening and with a bit more caffeine I made it home to Lantanaland a sattisfied man.

Now excuse me, I'm off to bed with my autographed copy of Art, Life, Chooks I bought last night.

Lantanaland from the iPhone