Oh, Dear. It Seems To Be Starting.

The following is not a news article, nor intended to be taken seriously by anyone. (Except maybe me. And a certain primary school teacher.) It is published here by permission of its author, who happens to be my Elder Son.

Alan Sconat Sparks Revolution In Winter Games

‭ ‬In Vancouver,‭ ‬Canada,‭ ‬the winter Olympics were being hosted with pride.‭ ‬Although many participants were satisfied with their results in the contests,‭ ‬some like Dale-Begg-Smith and Alan Sconat were not very enthusiastic.

‭ ‬When Alan was asked to participate in a specific contest,‭ ‬he rebelliously declined.‭ “‬I don’t think that EVERY game should be life risking and likely to kill me‭! ‬Why can’t we do some lighter games like a snowball fight marathon‭?”

He registered his complaint to the people who were hosting the games at Vancouver,‭ ‬but was excruciatingly cold-shouldered.

‭ ‬Finally,‭ ‬someone paid attention and gave him a protest positioning court.‭ ‬Alan presented his argument in court,‭ ‬but when the judge denied everything Alan said,‭ ‬the flames started to rise.‭ ‬For half an hour the judge and Alan battered each other with strong intimidation,‭ ‬verbal and emotional blackmail and annoying insults.‭ ‬Finally,‭ ‬a spectator told them to settle down and come to an agreement‭; ‬but they weren’t finished yet.‭ ‬When the Judge stated that he reckoned Alan didn’t like dangerous games because he probably had a low self-esteem,‭ ‬Alan leapt up at the judge and thrashed him like a rabid dog.

‭ ‬Alan eventually lost the argument and was evicted from the winter Olympics for‭ ‬3‭ ‬days at maximum,‭ ‬and Alan decided he wouldn’t come back until they got a better judge,‭ ‬which was never going to happen,‭ ‬so he also said he’d never come back.‭ ‬But...

‭ ‬Many fans of Alan were outraged when they heard he was going to be evicted from the winter Olympics,‭ ‬but the stubborn Judge would not let him back:‭ “‬I will not,‭ ‬I repeat:‭ ‬NOT,‭ ‬let that him back‭! ‬Is that so hard to understand‭?” ‬asked the Judge.

‭ ‬But this time luck was not on the judge’s side.‭ ‬At midnight there was a gargantuan crowd of winter Olympics fans thundering at the judge’s door.‭ ‬He asked his secretary to see what all the fuss was about‭ (‬which he suspected was about evicted Alan.‭) ‬A few minutes later the hysterical shrieks of the secretary were coming down the corridor.‭ ‬The secretary came rushing back,‭ ‬his tie ripped,‭ ‬and his coat in tatters.‭ ‬It turns out they wanted ridiculous winter games,‭ ‬like a snowball fight marathon.‭

A massive vote took place in court to determine whether or not the ridiculous games could be allowed,‭ ‬and the vote was won‭; ‬there are ridiculous games for willing participants now‭; ‬Alan’s dream had come true.‭

I am quite disturbed by this. He isn't yet ten years old. I'm not certain I could have done this at his age...

...poor bastard. Another writer? Oh, Cthulhu.

EDITED TO ADD: And why the hell AREN'T there any Olympic Snowball Fight events, anyway?

Toxo The Wonder Cat Strikes Again

So there's this cat. It lives in and around this nursing home in Rhode Island. And this cat has a habit of curling up on the beds of patients who are about to croak. Check the story -- versions here, and here.

The story seems to be on the up-and-up. The cat's hit record is remarkable, and several times he's outguessed the experts and medicos. They suspect that something in the failing metabolism of a soon-to-be-dead type can be smelled out by the cat. But that's only a theory.

Anyway. You all know my cat Toxo, and the long saga of his involvement with the kids. Time and again, he's climbed up on the bed of whichever kid is currently afraid of the dark, or cranky, or otherwise upset by bedtime. And every time, the purring and the relentlessly friendly furry kitty stuff have conquered, and Children Have Slept.

Not just my kids, either. There was the little girl who slept over here a couple weeks back. The one who apparently doesn't sleep well on her own, and has nightmares. The one who repeatedly climbed out of bed here and really didn't seem to be happy about the whole sleep thing -- at least, until Toxo climbed on the bed, and I explained that he'd look after her. And then she went to sleep, and got up in the morning to tell us all how Toxo looked after her all night long...

Today there was a minor car accident on the highway outside. The curve where our driveway hits the road is apparently rather deceptive. Every year or so, we usually wind up with a motorcyclist lying halfway across the drive. This year, it was a slightly dented Holden Barina. The young lass driving it kinda missed the curve a bit, and clipped an oncoming ute. The ute driver was fine, and the only damage to his vehicle was some extra paint left on the bullbar. He checked to see the girl was okay, left his details, and hit the road.

The girl, however, was a bit shaken up. She was unharmed, but the rear bumper and panel of her car were... well, they were history. (I helped pick 'em up and load 'em into the car that came to collect her.)

Naturally, once we were sure she was okay, we invited her in for the necessary cup of tea, so she could call people, and calm down a bit. Not good to send someone back on the road if they're in shock -- and frankly, she seemed more than a little shaky.

At least, that was how she seemed as she sat on the couch. Right up to the point where Toxo the Cat marched into the room. He ignored the kids. He ignored the grandparents. He even ignored me, which is almost unheard of. Nope. He walked up to the couch, and oozed his way onto the young lady's lap. And there he sat, purring and kneading until she finally laughed, and stroked him, and began to relax.

You could see her whole body calming, her entire attitude changing as she interacted with the cat. It was... actually, it was kind of amazing.

That cat totally freaks me out sometimes.

Posting On The Run

Well, the Old Folks are here. That's hardly a term to apply to them, though. My dad refuses to acknowledge his late-sixtyish situation. He's a good deal more fit than I am, and stronger than most men twenty years younger than he is. Scary sumbitch; always has been.

So - he's wandering around the place, doing all kinds of gardeny/yardy stuff I haven't found time for. Meanwhile, his partner Rose has brutally cleaned the residence topside and bottom. It's all a bit alarming.

The kids like 'em, though, and with the grandparents in residence, I've been able to put in a bit more kid time too, which is lovely. So in the last few days:

-- we took a day trip to Reliquaire, in Latrobe. Grandparents and all. There were a lot of cherries involved, too.

-- the kids and I took in Fantastic Mister Fox at the cinema. And yes, it's fantastic. Wonderful stop-motion animation that beautifully lifts the story. Sharp dialogue and screenwriting. Top-notch voice-work. Good soundtrack. Very respectful to the original Roald Dahl story, while adding complexity and depth to make a film out of what was quite a short, simple book. And altogether entertaining, both for children and adults. Unlike Avatar, just to grab an example, Fantastic Mr Fox is a film I will very readily see again, and possibly again. You should make the effort now to catch it at the cinema while it's still available.

-- prepped for school

-- picked up a functional sewing machine, hemmed Mouse Guard cloaks. Have to make another one for the Mau-Mau, though.

-- cooked. A lot.

-- cleaned. A lot.

-- discovered that the chainsaw doesn't start, despite recent cleaning and tuning.

-- edited. Not as much as I should.

-- set in train events leading to what should be a return to higher education for your humble scribe.

Gotta go now. It's hot, and the power supply fan on my old computer, here, is singing soprano. Not good, because I've got a lot more work to do.

What I Have Been Doing

Moroccan Burnoose cloak design. Easiest damned cloak I've ever seen. Works a treat, make the kid happy.

One 'Rabbid' shirt for Barnes #2. Hopefully he'll enjoy it. Yes, that's a toilet plunger in the hand of the cartoon character.

'Mouse Guard' -- Younger Son is utterly captivated by his newly created cloak. Gonna have to fix the edges so they don't fray, but other than that, the thing is done.

Penannular broach/cloak pin. I've never tried messing around blacksmithing before. That was a whole heap of fun, and the thing actually works properly. Cool!

The Mau-Mau Has A Shiny New Haircut.

School holidays persist in Tas a little longer than elsewhere. I have, therefore, been Doing Stuff With My Kids. Among other things.

Essentially, I've taken a step back from the usual writing duties, so I'm well behind on things. (Got a couple stories to finish, and a novel. And another novel. Yeah. Plus... ummm... one, two, three book reviews. And a game review. And a combined comparative review of Dune as novel, movie and miniseries. Oh, and a lot of reading and assessment and editing too. But I'll get there.) But in the meantime, I've taken a bit of time to hang around with the kids. We've played video games and board games, gone walking and berrypicking, messed around in the garden, and done some creative stuff too.

The photos above are a testament to some of that. The red shirt with the bizarre cartoon rabbit on it -- that's a gift to Mr Barnes' offspring. The character comes from a series of Wii games much favoured by my own children as well as Spawn of Barnes, and in thanks for the help that Barnes # 2 (as opposed to Barnes #1, right, Mr B?) I got out a bunch of fabric paints and did a bit of cartoonery. And of course, that was a bit of a cue for the kids. Elder Son has created a complicated cartoon shirt of his own, as a gift for his mum on her birthday.

Then there's Younger Son in the cloak. See, not long ago I discovered the 'Mouse Guard' comics. I'm a sucker for good comics, and the art in the Mouse Guard series is very fine. The stories aren't bad either. So I ordered a couple of the books -- for the boys, y' understand -- and got a deal on the rules to the role-playing game too, which was a bonus.

The books arrived, and Younger Son absolutely devoured them. When I told him we had game rules, he nearly exploded with delight and impatience. The first thing he wanted to know: "Can we dress up like Mouse Guards?"

Well... I guess so. Yep.

So. We got some nice green cloth that was going cheap. And I noodled around on the 'net until I found the simplest damned cloak pattern available -- it's that red thing up there, the 'Moroccan Burnoose'. There's an absolute minimum of sewing involved. If you plan and cut thoughtfully, the only actual sewing is the seam at the top of the hood. Of course, as you can see from the photos of Younger Son, I'll have to reinforce the edges to prevent fraying, but that won't take long. At least, it won't once I have a sewing machine. Must buy a cheap one tomorrow.

Anyhow, having cut and stitched the basic cloak, Younger Son was beyond delighted. He's wearing it everywhere. Stalking around the house in it. Creeping around outside, swishing the thing back and forth, pulling the hood low over his eyes, springing out with his wooden sword... completely happy.

But we both decided it needed a pin or a broach to close it, and the Mouse Guard illustrations show that his hero-mouse (named Saxon) has a cloak with a classic penannular broach. Well -- I figured that couldn't be too hard. So I got a cheap-ass paper towel rack from the local cheap-shit store, and I cut the appropriate lengths of metal rod therefrom. And I grabbed a hammer, and a big old chunk of cast iron to act as an anvil, and a butane blowtorch, and I went to work.

I admit: it's not a work of art. But it is, after all, my very first penannular broach. It does in fact do the job keeping the cloak in place, and it actually looks the part. The steel is a bit uninteresting, though, so I picked up some copper sulphate from the hardware store. Sometime in the next few days we'll set up a copper sulphate bath, connect a 12v battery recharger through it, slap the cloak pin on the proper electrode, and the boys will get a quick-and-dirty lesson in basic electrochemistry while the pin turns from roughly hammered steel to interesting, weathered copper.

Meanwhile: tomorrow my dad and my step-mum arrive from Far North Queensland. They're here for a couple weeks, which will be nice. But of course, that's precipitated some action around the place. I've had to stop the slashing of the paddocks -- had to stop anyway, because we had some serious rain and the hills are currently too slippery for safe use of the tractor -- so we've just picked up a decent secondhand queen-size bed. And today, I carried the foldaway couch/bed down out of the guest room, and with a bit of an assist, I heaved the thing up into the loft/cinema. That's a good mix: it will make a great movie couch, and will act as an extra spare bed in times of Many Visitors.

Meanwhile, I've hauled the queensize mattress upstairs to the guest room, which is currently being cleaned within an inch of its life. Once all that's done, I'll assemble the bed, load the mattress, and put all the fixin's in place. Thus will the Oldies be rendered comfortable for the duration of their stay -- and equally, future visitors will no longer battle the adequate-but-stern foldaway couch.

These are the kinds of things I've been doing. So no: I haven't been online a whole lot. Never mind. That'll change, especially as nights get longer and days gradually get colder...

My Daughter The Inadequate Hunter

It was pretty hot yesterday, by local standards. Thirty degrees. Didn't cool down until a late storm came through. As a result, the kids weren't too happy about being put to bed.

They mostly fell asleep, though. Eventually, anyhow. So I sat up and watched the cricket for a while. I haven't bothered much this season, but the game last night was pretty cool, what with Shahid Afridi's ball-biting antics, and the Pakistanis making a real, serious game of it at last. Shame about that dickhead who tackled Latif, though. Whatever happened to simple, harmless streakers?

Anyway, just in that last critical five-over period where Mike Hussey and Nathan Hauritz were laboriously singling their way towards the needed total, I heard a bit of commotion from the Mau-Mau's room. I ignored it, though. I figured she was just grizzling again -- the heat, the I'm Not Tireditis, all that good shit.

I was wrong. Next thing I hear is the daughter: "Look, Dad," she says, from somewhere behind my shoulder. "Toxo brought me a bunny!"

I look. And O, Cthulhu, sure enough: the Mau-Mau is holding a limp dead rabbit by the scruff of its neck. It's about half-grown, and very cute... but I know these critters well enough to know it is absolutely crawling with fleas, and as the corpse cools, they are going to jump ship.

So I collect said bunny, and point out very kindly and gently that it's dead, expecting all kinds of howls. But the Mau-Mau barely blinks. There's a moment of sadness -- a little 'oh, and a downturn of the mouth. So I explain that Toxo is trying to look after her, 'cos she's the smallest in the house, and he thinks she needs to eat more, so he's bringing her food.

There's a short pause. "I don't want to eat the bunny," she says.

"That's okay," I tell her. "I'll put it in the compost heap. And we won't tell Toxo. Is that okay?"

It was. She went off to sleep very nicely after that. And so did the bunny...

Gotta love that cat. He's clearly identified the Mau-Mau as an inadequate hunter, in need of more food and training, so he's doing his best to bring her up to speed. He's having an effect, too. She spends hours pretending to be 'Toxo', grommiting about on the floor, meowing, pretending to wash herself. It's her favourite game, and more often than not she demands to be called 'Toxo', and wants to lap her milk from a bowl...

... wish there was a way to explain to the cat that he's doing his job well. I'd like him to stop worrying so much. Definitely don't need any more dead bunnies.

Down Time

So it's been a week, yep. Nice one, too.

We had very few guests. Oh, there was Megan the Dietetics Student who came up Wednesday evening... she was my excuse to watch "Casablanca" and the director's cut of "Blade Runner" up in the Cinema Loft. She'd never seen either of them, and it turns out that she has an eye for interesting films, so I've had my yearly dose of both films. In exchange, I made salmon ravioli in a tomato and saffron sauce, and we killed some wine. The boys stayed up long enough to watch Casablanca, too -- and happily, they enjoyed it. I had to explain a few bits to them, but it was great to see them taking an interest without superheroes or explosions or all the rest of that stuff.

I got some gardening done through the week. Picked something like ten kilos of blackberries. Did some slashing. Put down a tile bed around the stone-paved patio outside the boys room. Did some reading. Played with the kids. Prepped for Natalie's upcoming birthday... took it easy, really.

It felt good. Everyone around here expects me to be chafing to send the kids back to school - but as soon as that happens, I'm back on a hardcore timetable. Monday nights: sword. Tuesday nights: cub scouts, then movies with the Cool Shite team. Wednesday nights ju-jitsu. Friday nights: orchestra stuff. Spanish classes probably Wednesday afternoon, instead of as the fancy takes us. Weekends: desperate rush to pack in a bit of fun.

So why should I be desperate to send the kids off? I work at night, most of the time. And I can get a bit of work done with them around, these days. Right now, they're watching a cartoon before bed, see?

And why not? We had a big day. Historical Mike decided we should have a Birthday Brunch at his place, up the hill, for him and Natalie. (His birthday is tomorrow. Natalie's is the day after.) And so, we picked a huge bowl of blackberries, and I prepped about a kilo of grilled pork balls, grabbed a few eggs and some muffins and some smoked salmon and salady bits, and we put some bottles of bubbles in the car... We had Vietnamese Spring Rolls, and then when Doctor Linda and Dietetic Megan showed up, I cooked some free-range scrambled eggs and put them on toasted English muffins with spring onions and smoked salmon.

Meanwhile, the kids found a box of pointy toothpicks, and made... umm... things. They sliced up a banana, and a capsicum, and they stuck bits of banana, capsicum and blackberry on the toothpicks as... food. I managed to convince 'em to switch from capsicum to apple. They were a lot more edible after that. But the kids made two trayloads, which made for a lot of eating.

I ducked out early, though, because I'd arranged for an afternoon of game play with the Cool Shiters. I bought myself a copy of Junta, from West End Games, when I was in Melbourne. (I'da linked directly to the WEG site, only they were down. Fuck 'em.) The Cool Shiters seemed like an ideal play-crew, and I was right.

Junta's a brilliant game. I won't bother going into detail, except to say that you play a bunch of greasy, greedy ruling families in the fictional Republica de los Bananas, a Latin American nation which survives wholly on foreign aid. And the way to win is to finish with more money in your Swiss bank account than anybody else. It's not really hard to play, moves well, and if you've got decent players, it's fucking hilarious.

We played with two of my personal Flinthart House Rules: the first is that whenever you get Put Up Against The Wall and shot after a coup, you have to take a double shot of rum. (Normally, you have to take a single shot when you get assassinated, but that happens a lot, and most people had to drive. But we had at least two executions, and the rum made 'em beautifully graphic.)

The second Flinthart House Rule is the Bad Mexican Accent rule -- all players must speak in Speedy Gonzales (or other shoddy Mexican character) accents while playing. Any failure to do so results in the Greasy Black Moustachioes Of Shame being sketched onto your upper lip with a marker pen...

The game went well. We played for about three hours, ate pizza, had at least two coups (one failed; the other succeeded) and many, many assassinations, and yours truly (as the ever-treacherous Minister for Internal Security) managed to squirrel away enough aid money to be declared the winner... even though Presidente Bruce wised up towards the end and threw me out of the job.

And then I had to meet Natalie and the kids at the Royal Oak, where the kids had a bite to eat, and we stuck around for an hour to hear Natalie and the musos do their Irish Folkie Thing.

It was nice.

And that's been my week, folks. Not too hurried. Not too fussed.

Not too bad at all.

Birthday Stuff.

Many thanks to all the kind folks who sent birthday greetings and wishes. I did indeed live through another one yesterday, and I have to say it was pretty forkin' good. Really.

I did a little grocery shopping in the morning, and Natalie took the kids on an expedition to Find Gifts For Dad. So... you know: stuff. Note in the picture below, for example, I am wearing a "World's Greatest Dad" medallion. Courtesy of the Younger Son. Barnes, Birmo -- I guess that just about fuckin' settles the question, doesn't it? World's Greatest Dad: says so right there on the medallion, and there's no gainsaying that, eh?

Happily, I'd done a cunning bit of planning, and conspired with my friend Smileyfish to do an afternoon of river ecology science stuff with the boys. As usual, things got a little larger than life, so instead of just my lads, the boys from the nursery Down The Hill came along, as did the three youngsters who were here earlier in the week. And naturally, since numbers were up the post-river barbecue got shifted up a gear into more of an Event...

Smileyfish In Her Element

The river science thing went off beautifully. We went over the mountainside to the St Patrick's river. Smileyfish and her partner (Cuddlefish!) took a couple kids in their trusty Corolla, and followed the two 4wd cars along the riverbank to the chosen site. Then we jumped out, apologised to the quiet family camping there, and plunged into the river in pursuit of Science.

Searching For Science!

Smiley led the way with the big net, but the boys were right behind: turning over rocks, scooping stuff off the bottom, grommiting around under overhanging banks... nothing better in all the world than a cool, clear river on a hot summer afternoon.

People got wet. Smiley fell on her butt, and lost a pair of sunglasses to the riffle. Kids argued over nets. Stones were skipped. And then we took our catch back to the main base and pored over what we found...

The idea was to go looking for diversity -- to see what kind of species lived in the water, and find out if there were any surviving which were pollution-sensitive. Indicators of water health, in other words. I'm delighted to say we found all sorts of great things: tonnes of mayflies, caddis-flies and stoneflies, all of which are quite sensitive, suggesting that the river is currently in pretty good condition.

The boys were fascinated and delighted, and so was I. We slurped up all kinds of greeblies and creepies, put them into ice cube trays and stared at 'em with magnifying glasses. We found a cool nematode and put it in a sample jar. Every new critter had to be admire and exclaimed over -- the whole two hours went by in a flash, and the visiting boys announced how pleased they were that they'd gone to the river instead of to the fair down at Bridport. I thought that was pretty cool: they passed up rides and junk food and stalls of toys, and felt they had the better end of the deal.

We made it back to Chez Flinthart, and I started cooking. The kids went out and mobbed the trampoline, and the drinks got broken out. Someone had actually left a slab of beer with my name on it at the surgery that morning - as well as a couple bottles of very palatable red! - but we started off with the infamous Gay Blue Drinks, and went on from there. I grilled sausages and chops (Nigel's famous wonder-lamb, thanks!) for the kids, and some chicken skewers with lime and salt and chili. All that was just to keep the wolf at bay while the big lamb haunch roasted over charcoal, with garden-fresh rosemary and garlic and sea-salt. And then there was the infamous salad of smoky grilled vegetables with sea salt and balsamic vinegar, and a couple nice green salads, and roast potatoes, and then a chocolate birthday cake, and finally, a small serve of freshly made super-rich vanilla ice cream with blackberries from the garden.

Heh. Smileyfish isn't good with gluten. I promised her a decent feed in exchange for her aid at the river... and I think she probably would have been happy with dinner. But just to be sure, in the morning I made a batch of fluffy gluten-free pancakes which were eaten with still more of the ice-cream and blackberries. I suspect the Flinthart kitchen acquitted itself okay.

Overall? I had a brilliant birthday. Best I've had in years. I sat up late talking with the Fish Folk, and it was marvellous. They're smart, interesting, cool, funny, and we share a range of interests. It's wonderful to catch up with somebody new and simply enjoy the whole process... I'm extremely grateful, delighted, and all kinds of pleased. And I even got a birthday present from the Fishy Friends: vietnamese mint!

The new plant is going in my herb garden this afternoon. In the meantime: here's a photo of the Mau-Mau in her new fairy dress, with her nifty new curly-toe felt slippers...

...and the way she looks in that photo is exactly how I feel.

Thank you to everyone!