Inauspicious birthday tradition

Yesterday was my 29th birthday (yes, I’m almost officially wrinkly) and Simone has started to notice a bit of an unfortunate tradition associated with my birthday.

It seems that the first restaurant (and often the second and third) that we try to go to for a birthday dinner is always closed. The last 3 years have all been pretty much the same (and it may have been before that too, just I don’t specifically remember, and didn’t make so much of an effort to do stuff on my birthday previously): Plan to go out, get ready, ring around or just rock up to a few places, find that the first (and usually second) choice venue is closed for the Christmas – new years period, get frustrated, eventually find something usually after some degree of cursing, eat.

Perhaps we just need to be more organised in future. Perhaps.

Health and Safety Notice

The other day when we were flying home on Virgin the Air Hostess who was making all the safety announcements added a few rather amusing additions in:

“There are smoke alarms fitted in all the toilets, and it is a feral, I mean federal offense to smoke on this flight”

and later:

“The is no smoking on the tarmac, within the terminal building, or anywhere in Queensland”

… If only it were true.

House guest

The wet season has arrived in Cairns, and with it the amphibian life of the town has erupted. Frogs and cane toads are everywhere, and the roads around our place are paved with flattened toads who thought they might give it a go against an oncoming car or two.

So the other night when I went to close the door to keep Jack in for the night I got a little start when I walked into our darkened dining room and had something small and dark go “hop” near the doorway.

Turned out to be a decent sized green frog who had hopped in to get out of the rain, and while I thought he was cute, Jack wouldn’t let me keep him as a pet, so I had to shoo him out, back into the night.

On the creation of “heroes”


Again I watch a bewildering cycle of absurdity play out in America.

Kid goes on shooting spree, leaves note, says that “Now he’s going to be famous”

People despair and ask why.

No-one asks why anyone could possibly need an AK47 for keeping the squirrels in check etc.

Everyone floods him all over the news, making him “(in-)famous”, and thus actualising his prediction, and serving as a nice little reinforcement for others that if you find yourself feeling like no-one, you can kill a bunch of people, “solve” your problems, and become a “someone”.

Instead how about (a) making some moves to curtail assault weapon and handgun ownership, and (b) not making it public that part of his intention was fame, so as to avoid making him a role model to other disaffected youth.


Abusive relationship

This afternoon Simone and I both got kicked for the first time by our child. Everyone has been saying that it should be about now, although often the first one doesn’t start until a little later than average, so Simone’s been doing a bit of “Ooh, that might have been a kick (or I might just have indigestion)” for a few weeks, but today while she was lying down she got a definite kick, and when I put my hand in the appropriate spot I too got a good firm thump for my efforts.

It’ becoming harder and harder to deny that we’re going to be parents.

Like ghosts in the half light

Well I am currently on what I hope will be my last ever stint of ward call nights.

It’s been a while since I’ve done nights, and somewhere al0ng the way I appear to have gotten much better at not caring, and delegating all manner of things to the day team. A great many things can wait 2 or 3 hours when it comes down to it.

Still it’s strangely pleasant for the first couple of hours wandering around the hospital all by myself, master of all that I survey (so to speak), although about 4am I start to feel less like master, and more like zombie, and lurch from job to job and try to find comfy spots to lie down for a few minutes between calls.

Two more nights…


One of the odd little traditions at the Cairns Base hospital is an annual event called “Boys Lunch”, which essentially involves the male doctors taking an afternoon off and having a few drinks (which if you know anything about medical types usually equals “getting totally rotten”) and watching a few strippers (although I have heard less flattering descriptions of them bandied about by those who have attended previous lunches).

Now luckily this year’s boys lunch coincides with  me being working a week of nights, so I didn’t have to make up some other excuse as to why I didn’t want to go (because I don’t think the organisers would understand that I find the idea of getting trashed with the boys on a weekday generally unappealing, and the idea of watching strippers in the company of my work mates just plain disturbing). The fact that I’m on nights also means however that I won’t been able to organise an alternative event entitled something like “The lunch for people who would like to sip Gin and Tonics at the Marina Bar” for those other like minded boys and girls who’d like a few nice drinks, some good food, without strippers and in a classy establishment.

The bit that’s funny is that a few weeks later there is a reciprocal “Girls’ Lunch” which also involves drinking and strippers (or “Man whores” as I’ve heard them described in conversations), but which is made out to to be somehow classier then the Boys lunch.

The funny observation that Simone made last night was that it was an amusing feature of modern equality of the sexes that the women tried to attain equality by lowering themselves to the men’s level. Needless to say she won’t be rushing out to oogle strippers in two weeks, although I may not have to twist her arm too far to come out for a chocolate martini instead…