MOOMINS M.C.

I weighed my x-ray films the other day: 6.318kg
That's a jag load of radiation and that's not including the one's that are on c.d.! ( there are 4 c.d.'s worth )
Apparently one aeorplane trip half way around the world is the equivalent of one full chest x-ray.
If I had frequent flyer points for every x-ray I would be travelling the world free of charge for quite some time!


Gemma had her short film shoot on Tuesday and while she took all care to stack the removed records in order, the people who replaced the vinyl didn't.
End result: a third of the records are in disarray.
It'll give me something to do next week I guess.
I'm looking forward to seeing the film and our house in it!
She also asked me to do some still photography for her other short film shoot the following weekend.
Should be quite an enjoyable experience and add a new dimension to my photography learning curve.


Tomorrow my sis and I are off to Tassie for the weekend.
Before the Tasmania jokes start coming through thick and fast it is not a romantic getaway, just a short trip to catch up with old mates and a chance to get out of the concrete jungle that is Melbourne.
And a chance to light a massive bonfire and blow up lots of firecrackers!!!
Hoping to get some nice photos, especially at night.


I've had my first full time days at work on Tuesday and Thursday.
It's been rather draining, I tend to hit a brick wall mid afternoon when my strength wanes and my concentration goes to lunch, without me.
I had to retrieve a car from the carpark for a customer today and it was parked in a corner between two other cars in such a way that one of them had to be moved to allow mine to come out.
Instead of shifting the car that was in the way, I was trying to make a 58 point turn to squeeze mine between the other two.
Luckily for me, Timma!!! ( one of my colleagues ) came to the rescue and used his initiative to move one of the other cars.
Total brain fade I'm telling you!!!!!


Some photos from my sojourn on Swanston Street and associated alleyways, on the way back from rehab.
Enjoy:

The Tassie trip is on!!
Got tickets and heading down on Friday night.
Sssoooooo looking forward to getting the hell out of the flatness of Melbourne and exchanging it for some freezing cold rolling hills and bushland of the tiers.


On the medical front: my broken arse is positively killing me!
It's becoming very difficult to walk even short distances recently.
I don't know what I've done recently, but over the last two weeks or so it's been progressively getting worse and worse.
And no, I haven't been arrested, down any dark alleys, nor any gay nightclubs lately!
I'm struggling to sit, be that on a tram seat or the relative comfort of a couch.
Since having my taxi account cancelled I have been tramming it to rehab, mainly because I can't be stuffed driving into the city in morning peak hour.
There have been a few instances where people on the tram have offered me a seat and I had politely declined as it is less painful to stand than brave the seats.
I spoke with my physiotherapist about it and he seems to be of the opinion that the hamstring muscles are weak and constantly aggravated.
Hopefully with some strengthening exercises I will be able to alleviate the problem.


Tonight the house looks like a cyclone has gone through it.
Gemma and her crew have been busily setting up for the film shoot, rearranging and removing furnishings and replacing some with props.
This evening the music room was lit up like Baghdad on the first night of Shock and Awe.
Cameras and lights everywhere!
After coming home from a pub with Gino, we took a seat on the set couch and munched on some post beer food, not because we wanted to eat on a film set but because it was the only place with a couch and table in the whole house.
I'll hopefully get some pics from the shoot tomorrow night.


Speaking of pics, I have been having little detours on foot on the way home from rehab along Swanston Street.
I've discovered many a subject to be shot along there.
Today I found a lift in a building that still has a lift operator.
In this automated age, it was quite a surprise to find such an anachronistic position still being occupied.
Joan, the lady operating the lift had been performing that duty for thirty years ( this October ) and had previously occupied the same position in other buildings.
One would imagine that she would know every person working there, their clients and all the related gossip.
I found some other interesting little sights and people along that street and will put up some photos as soon I can be bothered editing them.
People like Len the busking artist, who's recovering from work related trauma and after going through massive physical recovery and a near mental collapse that had broken up many of his relationships, has found his equilibrium through art.
Or there's Matt and Nick, who run what must be the world's smallest cafe.
Seriously, it's no bigger than our bathroom and that isn't exactly big!
The characters on this street are many and varied and I have found them to be a joy to photograph and talk to.
All have interesting stories to tell if you can be bothered sacrificing a little of your time and energy to listen.
Some give up their tales freely and others need a little coaxing to get the juices flowing, but all have a captivating anecdote or two about their particular history.
This is another reason to tram it to rehab rather than join the countless hordes of anonymous commuters in the ritualised sheep like morning procession of cars into the central business district.


Last night I received a phone call from David.
A few days ago he had invited me to his wedding to be held in December.
I had all the intentions of attending, but hadn't as yet replied.
This phone call was very special as he had asked me to be his best man and I didn't really know what to say, apart from stating my surprise at the request.
I do feel very honoured that he should pick me and gladly accepted the role.
Apparently it will be an informal biker wedding and he reckons he's still got a Yamaha FZ750 ( like my ex bike ) in his shed with my name written all over it.
We'll see what happens in December, I may even ride the short trip to the wedding location, purely out of ceremony.


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Had an interesting experience at 'the place that sells bad beer' a few nights ago.
I was propping up the bar with three other people and I got talking with one of them.
We didn't know each other from a bar of soap, but as the conversation lengthened he realised that he might know know who I am.
It transpired that he was there when Geoff organised a bit of a collection for my bad self.
While I was whiling my weeks in the hospital he generously donated some of his hard earnt cash towards my cause, having never met me, but being an ex motorcyclist he felt the compulsion to help out a dude in need.
I was obviously taken aback by his generosity and struggled to find the right words / actions of gratitude to demonstrate my appreciation for his actions.
How is it that a bloke who has never met me came to put his money where his mouth is and contribute towards the cost of the laptop computer that I'm writing this post on?
I don't know myself, but I'm just thankful that he did.
There is something to be said for the kindness of strangers.


Yesterday I had a meeting with a neurosurgeon, whose job it was to ascertain the state of my nervous system, form the point of view of a professional providing his opinion for my court case.
I learnt some things about myself that I just didn't realise before.
I figured myself relatively well off in the nerve / brain damage side of things since the smash, but as I spoke with him it dawned on me that I may not be as well off as I presumed myself to be.
It does indeed appear that I have suffered a degree of nerve damage on my right side and some neurological / mental /psychological affects which never entered into my scope of thinking.
Ignorant bliss may well be a great state to be in, if you are ignorant of the fact.
I would imagine that it would not so great if you are aware of it, as are the many people I have met in my in and outpatient experience.
Having these deficiencies pointed out to me by what I would class as a very well versed and learned professional in the field is not a pleasant thing to have to find out.
He didn't exactly say 'by the way, you're right side is fucked, you have mental problems, there is damage to your hearing, sensation, motor control, etc' but I could tell from his covered reactions that all was not well.
I knew that I wasn't exactly right, but figured that some of the problems would sort themselves out over time and the others would just become part of my being, but I had a kind of optimism that enabled me to just plod along my set path towards my end goal.
For example, the right bicep has indeed gone from a useless lump of meat to something that is earning it's keep, not in the same sense as my left one but still a vast improvement on what it was.
Oh, sod it!
Whatever happens will happen, no point worrying about something you have no control over, I prefer to retreat into my ignorant bliss shell.


Next weekend my house Gemma is shooting a short film for her Uni course in our house.
Never thought that this place would be a location for a short flick, let alone my bedroom, but there it is.
I'm not new to the acting thing myself, having had a minor role in a professional production before, and been involved in a short film as well some years back.
In the short film, in which a good mate of mine did the score, I was asked to play the part of a victim of assault.
I declined the role due to the fact that the people doing the assault were not professional actors, more like some bogans the director had commandeered to do the 'job'.
I was very glad I didn't take up the offer after I saw all the bruises on the feller who had taken my place.
All in good jest, but still better him than me.
I did however have some input in the directional side of things, minor as it was.


Friday week, I'm off to Tassie.
My best mate Lumpy says that some of my old crew from down there are having a massive Firecracker night at a one of our mate's properties in the middle of nowhere.
This is a place where we planted some oak trees in memory of our mate Sam, an unassuming little country property on the edge of the highland tiers of Tasmania.
We used to go there to ride trail bikes, have huge bonfires, go shooting, eat wallaby stew cooked over a wood fire, etc.
It'll be nice to catch up with that mob and see how how the oaks are doing ten years on.


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Funny things happened on Friday.
On the way to my physio I popped into a shop to grab a quick bite to eat and was promptly joined for breakfast by a wee sparrow.
It appeared quite relaxed and was more than happy to sit quietly and munch on the little bits of bread I would put on the table for it.
It wasn't really big on conversation, but I didn't mind.
Its company would be preferable to some people I've had the misfortune to meet in the past.



I had finished my rehab and caught the tram to my inaugural session with the psychologist, when I came across this girl juggling on the tram.
There she was, unidentifiable music piped into her ears by some earphones, constantly juggling, juggling, juggling.
Why? I really don't know to tell the truth, but It kept me entertained for a while.
Like the sparrow, she wasn't big on conversation either.



Having arrived in Carlton I made my way to the psychologist's office and for some reason became 'geographically challenged' when I realised that the street number I'd found was actually a house and not a doctor's office.
I looked around for the nearest person to ask for directions and spotted a bloke around my age walking towards me with a middle aged woman.
As I started talking to him I realised it was Chris Cester, the singer form the band Jet.
He wasn't very helpful, but the lady with him knew exactly where I wanted to go and pointed me in the right direction.
Eventually I made my way to the doctor and had my very first session.
I'm not exactly sure what I really want out of it and have no idea where it's heading, but I reckon there's no harm in trying it.


Had a quick catch up over lunch with my best mate Lumpy and his missus Rachel on Saturday and when I left the East Brunswick Hotel I spotted Dave Graney bringing in some music gear to set up for that night's gig.
I gave him a hand and held the doors open when the marimba was brought in.
I must admit that between Jet's blatant rehashing of old classic sounds and Dave Graney's smooth yet dynamic composition and performance style, my choice is definitely the latter.

From there I made my way to 'the place that sells bad beer' for farewell drinks with Steve and Amy.
They're off to North Queensland, Townsville to be specific, on Tuesday and there was a lot of laughter along with some tears.
I'm hoping to drive up that way sometime in the near future, maybe next summer, to visit them and others who are sprawled all the way up the east coast of this huge piece of dirt.
Thankfully, the beer had markedly improved and I was pleasantly surprised by the vision of bubbles in my amber liquid.
The publican had confided in me that the band booker was getting the sack for booking crap bands, that should put a stop to such abhorrent aural experiences like the one a week ago.


There were also some tears form one of the housemates of the friend in the psych. ward.
It was the first time I had spoken to someone who had witnessed the events first hand and it enabled me to gain a better understanding of the circumstances involved.
I went to the hospital today not really knowing what to expect.
My suspicion that visits were not allowed was quickly proved to be incorrect, however my mate had for whatever reason, chosen not to take visitors.
I wrote a card and due to my intimate knowledge of cuisine d'hôpital left some mandarins, bananas, a punnet of strawberries and some rum & raisin dark chocolate.
It has to help a little.


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Monday night Gino and I went to the Nine Inch Nails concert at Metro.
And an awesome show it was too!!!
Absolutely deadly!!
They played some of the older stuff as well as the new stuff, all with equally tight performances.
What I found interesting and in a way expected, was the vast age range of the audience.
There were new NIN fans along side the more than seasoned ones, at one point Gino and I spotted a couple who would have to have been in their 50's.
Regardless of their age, most of the people there were wearing some sort of black, creating a sea of black with little fleshy orbs on top and some madly waving flesh coloured tentacles.
A couple of times Trent got a little self indulgent with some solo keyboard stuff that went on probably longer than it needed to, but hey that's all part of the deal isn't it?
The sound and lighting were very effective and added to the performance rather than detracting from it.
All in all. one of the most enjoyable show I've seen in ages, even if my legs were killing me by the end of it.


This morning was the first time that I literally couldn't face going to physio and hydro.
I woke up and the mere thought of getting my still broken arse out of bed and dredging my way through the endless ocean that is the monotony of rehab exercises, made me want to hibernate for the remainder of the day, if not the coming winter.
It held about as much appeal as making echidnas out of my eyes using toothpicks and then immersing my head in a bucket of freshly squeezed lemon juice for about 'longer than I can hold my breath', whilst having someone kick me repeatedly in the buttocks with great big steel capped boots on.
I tried to convince myself that it's not just about the rehab, that there might be something worth photographing on the way to and from the hospital, but even that wasn't enough to rouse me from my motivational atrophy.
I had simply become fed up with it, so I chucked my first rehab sickie, it's only taken 14 months.
The Moomins had the right idea, stuffing themselves full of pine needles and sleeping through the entire winter until the spring sun had melted away most of the snow and ice, and it was time to go about the usual important things that Moomins busy themselves with, like going on adventures or having deep and meaningful conversations about life's little mysteries.
Bring on next spring I say........


Speaking of pine needles, one of my mates Andy, recently returned form a trip to Sri Lanka with his girlfriend.


Being his first trip outside of Australia meant a culture shock was in store.
He come around briefly yesterday and filled me in on a couple of 'adventures' they'd experienced whilst roaming around the Kandi area.
The local driving style had him literally on the edge of his seat, the preferred speed being around 50km/h, but that's everywhere, even if it means driving around bends on the wrong side of the road in order to make the corner, with lots of tooting, yelling and arm gestures involved.
The dodgy tourist rip off merchants had spotted him straight away and attempted to separate him and his money on every occasion, luckily for Andy his girlfriend can speak Sri Lankan.
A bit of food poisoning from a street food vendor had him feeling significantly more off than the fish he had ingested and meant he had to make use of the local doctor, who apparently was more than keen in providing Andy with all sorts of drugs.
Andy also made a visit to a local dentist after a couple of his teeth had started to play up, yet another 'what, no anaesthetic?' culture shock.
Overall, he appeared to have enjoyed the experience and I suppose now has a much better perception of life outside of Australia, not to mention a new found appreciation for the comfy lifestyle we enjoy in the first world countries.
Therefore, it is my great pleasure to bestow the "Moomins M.C. Golden Sack ( Of Pine Needles )" award to Andy for his display of adventuring spirit and willingness to experience new lands, people and dodgy roadside culinary offerings.



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As I'd received a hurry up on the posts, I thought I'd better put one up.
On the medical side of things, I went and attended a research interview with one of the surgeons who had worked on me when the paramedics dragged my somewhat rearranged body into the trauma centre last year.
Apparently the plate in my lower leg was a new kind of fixation that was being trialled in patients to see what affect it has on them.
The majority of my implants are composed of titanium, however this particular one is made of surgical stainless steel.
The surgeon informed me that the screws have a threaded head and that the head screws into the plate.
Over time, titanium plates and screws have a tendency to fuse together making the removal of the plate a rather complicated affair involving saws and all sorts of practices more akin to engineering workshops than hospitals.
Good to know that when this plate comes out it will be a relatively uncomplicated affair.
As for all the other titanium bits and pieces, I just hope they come out easily.
Good to know I'm doing my bit for medical research that will aid future trauma victims.
The good doctor also suggested an arthroscopy be performed on my left knee to see what the hell is causing it to emulate a popcorn machine.


I have received medical clearance to drive a motor vehicle.
Well, a car specifically.
This enables me to operate automobile on the state's highway and byways without fear of legal complications should I be involved in an 'incident'.
It also means my taxi account is closed as of last Friday.
I would be interested in finding out what my total taxi bill is, I'd imagine all those home visits, trips to physio, doctor's appointments and work would amount to quite a substantial amount.
Now I'm trying to find a vehicle to suit my current and future needs.
I'm thinking very much along the lines of a Subaru 4wd wagon for a number of reasons.
They're a pretty robust unit, relatively easy to work on, fairly frugal on the tanker juice, have aftermarket lift kits available for extra ground clearance, they have room for my bass gear ( which doesn't fit in a sedan ) and well, I like them.
As I still intend to go bush and touring It will be useful to have the all wheel drive for those dirt roads and the lift kit should enable it to deal with some of the rougher dirt roads, of which there are plenty of in Australia, with relative aplomb.
Some might suggest that I just get a proper 4 wheel drive, but as most of my driving will be in the city I see absolutely no reason to install myself in an UAV ( I prefer to call them what they are: Urban Assault Vehicle ).
They are also higher off the ground, meaning that any time I place or remove my rather bulky and heavy bass gear in the back it will be just that little bit more difficult.

I had my first proper road rage incident on Friday.
Generally when one arrives at an uncontrolled intersection in relatively heavy traffic, one does not just park the car in the middle and thus inhibit anyone who wishes to move across the said intersection or make a turn, especially when there are ruddy huge letters in the middle of the road spelling out ''KEEP CLEAR"!
Whilst driving with Bec on Friday I came across a young female in her early 20's who had done just that.
I was unable to make the turn right and was now inhibiting traffic flow on my side the road.
Upon moving Christine a little closer to her car, in order to make a little more room on my side of the road, the female starting making a number of unfriendly and downright insulting gestures towards us.
This I must say was completely unprovoked and beckoned me to question her parentage, as well as pondering what a delightful human being she must be.
As she finally drove off I could not help myself, but to call her a part of the female reproductive system using a term not found in anatomy books anywhere in the world.
My linguistic choice may have had more in common with the mechanics I work with, but as I only had a split second to voice my objection to her bogan demeanour I used the one word that could carry the most impact.
Just think, if someone calls you a 'fucking dickhead' through their windscreen or window, all you see is their mouth moving up and down, it has no affect what so ever, but that four letter word is instantly recognisable and in those times when you only have a split second it will get the message across.
Some may object to the use of that word all together, but I find in situations like that it is more than appropriate.
I only wish I had a bull bar on the front of the car so that as she started moving I could have clipped the rear corner of her car just so, enough to tear off a bit of bumper, break an indicator and dent the quarter panel, then I could have refrained from using that word.


Caught up with my sister and Glenn the other day, they brought me a present from Scotland in the form of a couple of little bottles of Edradour.
I haven't tried it as yet, but it sounds rather salubrious.
Today Bec has moved into her newly purchased unit and sis and Glenn have moved into her old rental house.
So it's moves all round.
It was quite nice sitting on the couches that had been stored in my place, out on the nature strip, drinking cold beer whilst waiting for the moving truck to turn up.
Sure we had some strange looks form some of the residents, but hey it was just too nice a day.




I simply must have a whinge about the 'place that sells bad beer'.
On Saturday night Gino and I went there to have a few birthday drinks with a mate.
I have never seen / heard / tasted that much crap in the four years or so that I have been frequenting the joint.
Firstly, there was Dean Martin playing on the sound system, not that I have anything against the old crooner, but on a Saturday night I would expect Sly and The Family Stone or The Strokes, not some soporific version of Someone To Watch Over Me.
It's Saturday night damn it !!!!!!
Secondly, the place that sells bad beer had outdone itself this time.
It had reached a new all time low in beer quality.
The basic standard beer was flatter than a shit carter's hat and tasted like he might have been involved in the brewing process.
There was nothing for it, we had to resort to drinking fancy pants beer, which I don't particularly like due to the fact that it tastes rather ordinary compared to my favourite Cascade brews and I don't think the taste or quality is directly proportional to the higher asking price.
Thirdly, the first set on stage was some tool wigging out on his MIDI keyboard.
He'd found some swooshy sound on an Enya Album and was quite happily murdering everyone's ears with it for 3/4 of an hour.
The music itself would have been appropriate in a movie soundtrack about whales or something, but not as a live set in a rock 'n' roll pub.
All he did was slowly play a few chords over and over, and when he'd finished that song he would start another one that sounded exactly the same as the previous one!!!!
Lord give me strength!!


I've been enjoying my new flute.
Managing to make it sound more like a musical instrument than a dying goose, so I don't think it's annoying the housemates to much.


Tonight it's Eurovision time again.
As much as I would prefer to watch something else, there is simply nothing else on that is remotely worth watching.
It has reminded me of the last Eurovision, when I was 'enjoying' that bizarre event from the 'comfort' of my hospital bed.
It's not looking much better this year, although Finland has done away with the nasty B grade sci fi movie costumes and gone for an Emo approach.
I really don't get Emo, as far as I'm concerned 'Less Emo, more Elmo!'
Emo fans really have forgotten how to laugh haven't they?
Shit, if you're white, from a middle class family in a western country then you really don't have a lot to be depressed about do you?
No injustice, violence, death, nothing even close to a good reason for feeling all mopey.
I did notice there was a Moomin playing chess with Father Christmas though!!!
It's worth watching just for that.
Go Moomins!!!!


On a genuinely sad note, another one of my good mates has been hospitalised in the last few days.
Not road trauma this time though, unfortunately this one has flipped and been committed due to a drug induced psychosis.
No idea how long the hospitalisation will be, and at the moment visits are out of the question.
We'll see how that one pans out.
This person helped me a lot during my stint in hospital and I hope that there is something I can do to help.



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Saturday was go kart day again!!
My good mates Steve and Amy are moving to Queensland and a bunch of us went to the kart track for a bit of fun.
Glad to report that this time I did not suffer any of the aftereffects when I went on Bones' bucks night.
I think the previous time was a bit of a shock to the system, but well worthwhile in reconditioning my body to a more active state.
Gino took out the line honours for the race and ran the fastest lap, a 35:09sec.
As much as I was looking forward to a close race I was bitterly disappointed and had to settle for lonely circulation resulting in 2nd place and a 34:24sec lap time.
I figured there was something wrong when Gino's kart was pulling away on the back straight and mine had nothing left to give.
Even Mick D.'s kart was pulling away!
My suspicions that I had drawn the dud machine were confirmed in the next race.
The unfortunate fellow that drove the bum kart had pulled into the pits after 2 laps as the thing had shat itself.
Oh well, there's always next time.
Gino was pretty chuffed because the last time we were out there his kart had expired 3 laps from the finish AND this time he got a Silhouette Karts cap, as opposed to some old spark plug on a little pedestal that I had received for my win.


Sunday was spent at Al's place watching the Moto GP.
He's been back home for nearly a week now and although he finds it quite tiring ( as one does after leaving hospital and having to be more active ), he's looking well.
The usual emotional roller coaster is there as expected, but overall he appears to be doohan ok.
He's still mentioning the throbbing feeling in the arm, which I hope will eventually evolve into something more akin to actual sensation and maybe even motor control.


Today's hydrotherapy was more like a scene in a Turkish bath house than an actual rehabilitation session.
Three of us spent most of the time lounging around in one corner, discussing road trauma and related subjects.
From physical ailments to the psychological side of things, how they're related to each other and how best to deal with both issues.
The psych. side is an interesting and sometimes overlooked aspect of these experiences.
It manifests itself in many forms, some affect the individual, others affect the individual's friends and family.
One thing we all agreed on was that we're pretty much fed up.
We all have outstanding surgery to be performed, from removal of metal and tidying up of the plastics side of things for me, to further orthopaedic procedures for one and fusing of ankle joints for the other.
The ongoing repetitive and tedious nature of rehab does take its toll eventually and all three of us are over it now.
Even the knowledge that every week all the exercises are slowly bringing us closer to our individual recovery goals, fails to inspire.
The frustrating realisation that we are not able to indulge in activities from our pre big bang days and that some of those we will never be able to experience again, has at times a very demoralising influence on our mindsets.
Three amateur / untrained psychologists somehow managed to discuss mental issues and come up with possible solutions, not at all unproductive if you ask me.
So even though we didn't perform much in the way of actual hydrotherapy, it was still a therapeutic exercise in a watery environment.


Tonight my sister had arrived back in Melbourne after her 2 year stint overseas.
Her and her man Glenn are once again gracing this fair city with their presence.
Wonderful to have them back in the antipodes.
Yay!!!!


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When I said that some things had changed at work since my trucking inspired hiatus, I didn't exactly specify the extent of the differences I had encountered.
I work in a car dealership service department, which of course has a large contingent of mechanics and apprentices.
Like all people, they appreciate some things more than others.
Show them a beautifully built rally car and they will appreciate the attention to detail involved in every facet of the preparation, from the smallest things like the stowage of the safety triangles to the quality of the design and welding of the roll cage, or the individually engineered custom made components designed for increased reliability and decreased weight.
Play them a piece of music by Chopin, Coltrane or Nine Inch Nails and you are met with the kind of looks usually reserved for those moments when one of your shoes becomes intimate with the evicted contents of you some incontinent pooch's bowels.

When I first started working for this company about four years ago I was managing the predelivery department.
This had nothing to do with pregnant women, but was where we prepared brand new cars for customers.
We made sure all the accessories were fitted and that the vehicles were in better than showroom condition and ready for the new owners to pick up on the due date.
I took it upon myself to broaden my workmates' musical exposure by running compulsory music education / appreciation sessions.
It was a time for them all to turn off their radios and whether they liked it or not, endure some of the selections from my broad and varied taste in music.
I endeavoured to place the music in some sort of greater world context and therefore give them a little history lesson as well.
Since I work in a different department and location now, without the authority to enforce my cultural tastes upon my colleagues, I have been forced to simply grin and bear their musical ignorance.

Your average garden variety mechanics have often been regarded as a rough and tumble boisterous bunch, with scarred arms and skinned knuckles form being bitten by vehicular components, grease in their hair, under their fingernails and a limited vocabulary.
I have been fortunate enough in the past to have worked with some amazing mechanics who were smart, articulate and possessed acute diagnostic abilities along with ingenious and resourceful solutions to complex problems.

Some of the mechanics I work with now are like that, but for the most part the rest of them are a whole new breed.
The grease in the hair has been replaced by 'product', to the point that on a walk through the workshop one can gaze upon a display of fastidiously sculpted and maintained coiffure, which would be more appropriate atop some vacuous gallah roaming Chapel Street than in a service department.
The vocabulary is still limited and the majority of adjectives start with the letter f*** and the nouns with s*** or c***.
One thing I noticed that really threw me was that for a bunch of macho, pigeon chested blokes who regularly indulge in toe to toe altercations, their previously dubious musical preferences now defy all cognitive explanations.
The choice of radio station in the workshop now ( and it plays all day! ) is Joy FM.
No joke.
( I just noticed the ad for a 'Personality Gym' on their website. What the heck is a personality gym? Maybe it's something those Chapel Street gallahs need. )
I'm not prejudiced or anything, I just hate the station for the crap music it plays.
For all intents and purposes, my service department now looks and sounds like a gay nightclub!!


Still on the musical bent, I just purchased a flute!!!
I have a music degree in contemporary music on bass guitar, have had classical training on piano and play some guitar as well, but I really wanted an instrument which doesn't require an electric power source, is portable and a little more connected to the body / voice.
I'd been wanting to get one for a while and finally found one which I think will do the job rather nicely on this website.




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Sunday night was a rather pleasant experience.
Went to the Moosehead benefit with Mum and Bec, and some other funky cats.
Out of all the comedians on, there was only one dude that was genuinely atrocious and a German duo who proved beyond all doubt that Germans should stick to putting together automobiles and not comedy routines.
As tired as I was, I still had a chuckle, guffaw, giggle at the wonderful variety of local and international comics.
Good on Bec for organising the night and Mum for shouting me the ticket.


Monday night: With all the physical exercise going on, it was nice to exert the grey matter a bit for a change.
Nothing quite like having a serious game of chess.
Especially when there are bottles of wine, joints and a plethora of accompaniment records involved.
I think we started with Iron Maiden - Killers, Guns n Roses - Appetite For Destruction, Gloria Gaynor, then some Billy Thorpe and the Aztecs, Shaft by Isaac Hayes, Stefan Grappelli, onto some Django Reinhardt and finishing off with Auberge by Chris Rea.
All at the wonderful speed of 33 and a 1/3.....
End score: Gino 1, myself 1.
We'll have to have a grudge rematch at some other time, as we ran out of steam in the end and the contest became somewhat laboured.
Maybe my favourite game: Extreme Chess.
1 minute in the boxing ring, 3 minutes of chess.
Repeat, until someone wins or is knocked out.


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