Sheridan’s Blog

I am back at the gym, as of yesterday. I only went in for a look around and a brief workout, really. It was only supposed to be for a week. But I’m afraid the girl caught me in a moment of weakened resistance, and I may have committed to a bit more than I intended to. It wasn’t like she was particularly convincing or an excellent salesperson. It seemed easier just to go with the flow. Not to mention it was a good deal, and the cheapest I’ve come across so far. I spent a few moments on one of the machines there and then headed for home. I would have spent longer, but it took an hour or so to sign up and by then I was starving, so the workout lacked work. But I was definitely out. It did step up a notch when I got outside because it was so cold that I had to run to my car. Voluntarily.
Someone else also ran to my car. They did it with their own car, into the back of mine. Luckily, not much harm done, (I might be singing a different tune once I’ve seen the panel-beater dude on the weekend, though).

Well Tim’s moved up to Bendigo now (and I use the term ‘moved’ very loosely). Residential rental properties in Bendigo are, of course, much cheaper than Melbourne, and there’s quite a few to choose from. Tim has selected a 3br house within a good walking distance to the heart of town. Mind you, at present we choose to spend time out of the house (and inside a cafe) where there are chairs and possibly tv screens. It feels a bit like we’re back on Koh Tao – no microwave, no TV, few (if any) chairs. There are really only 2 differences: Koh Tao has beautiful weather and internet access! It seems you have to set up your own telecommunications network to get an internet connection. I’m sure someone provides such a service, but you’d think it was a secret akin to the location of the Holy Grail or something.
One of the highlights of the weekend was the debut of my new phone in a GPS-type capacity. We found we were only lost for the few seconds it took for the phone to locate the satellite (or vice versa), but that was enough. I’ve always been against devices that de-skill, and I consider that since I can read a map, I should foster the skill and continue to read maps. But I do like the fact that when I have no map, I needn’t get lost. Of course, Tim was kept occupied by it while I drove around.
Bendigo is a nice enough place. It’s only an hour and a half from Melbourne, and it’s pretty much freeway all the way. The city is pretty ravaged by the drought (as is much of regional Victoria), and it’s normally sunny during the day and clear at night, which makes it cold. Very cold. So cold. It did rain whilst I was there, which ironically seemed to make it warmer at night. Very odd.
Work continues to go on. I’m in the process of joining a gym (or the process of thinking about joinging a gym) as well as trying to start up my dance classes again. I’ve also been trying to purchase lip balm for a few days now. If you see me in the street, please remind me.

Beak – otherwise known as a bill or a rostrum, and used predominantly for grooming and eating. Beaks come in many shapes and sizes, but typically compose a maxilla (upper jaw bone) and a mandible (lower jaw bone). The outside of the beak is generally composed of keratin, whilst the bone is sometimes hollow (or made of a porous material) to conserve weight, which, of course, is helpful when trying to fly. In between these two layers are the blood vessels. Beaks usually have holes in them, otherwise known as nostrils, through which they breathe. That’s all I have to say about beak structure (and many thanks to Wikipedia, who I have paraphrased here to great effect).
There are many types of beak, including, but not limited to:

The cracker (found on eaters of seeds);
The shredder (favoured by owls and other birds of the night for tearing into flesh)
The chisel (seen on the woodpeckcer for boring into logs and such);
The probe (toted by the hummingbird for delicately sliding into a narrow flower bloom to reach the nectar);
The strainer (this one is on the ducks, and helps them sift through water for small insects or other nourishment);
The spear (for spearing fish, seen on the herons and similar);
The tweezer (for the insect eaters); and
The Swiss Army Knife (worn by crows, and as the name suggests, used for various manners of obtaining food).

So there you have it. I think I have successfully sated my bird curiosity for now.

Perhaps it was the red wine. Or maybe the chicken. It might just be me.

Just the night before last, I was awoken by my own thoughts. Of beaks. Yes, beaks. The things some birds have. I was mainly thinking about geese, but also ducks and hens popped up as well. Several questions remain unanswered in my mind, which has provoked this entry today:

Are beaks the equivalent to the human lips?
Are beaks made of keratin or some other substance?
Is there a part of their body a goose or duck cannot scratch?
Does the beak get itchy?
Are they breathing through the holes in the beak? If so, just how efficient can that be?
How does the beak perform as a tool of resonance (for quacking, etc)?
Is it called a beak on a duck, or is it referred to as a ‘bill’? What about a platypus – isn’t that a bill as well?
How weird is a beak? If you were making up ‘the world’, would you even think to design such a thing?

I’ve got plenty more where that came from, and I’d dearly love to hear the opinions of others who may be just as fascinated by the subject as I. Expect some answers in a few days.

It amuses me that if I have my hair lightened, wear a skirt and act nonchalant, I attract much more attention. I have two lunch dates today (none of which I am going on since I have a boyfriend, and even if I didn’t, there’s a waiting list).

According to psychologists, children (of both sexes) are more attracted to light-haired people with higher-pitched speaking voices. This phenomena appears to extend into adulthood for some males. In light of these recent revelations, I shall be attending my hairdresser for more highlights, and my tailor for less substance to my skirts.

I’d forgotten the simple pleasures of being employed. Even in London, it didn’t really feel like work due to the high novelty factor (plus it was fun and came with strange hours so it felt more like camp).
But now, 3 weeks in, it feels like it should. I guess. This is the first time in my life that going to work each day is turning out to be a bit of a drag. I now understand what almost everyone else moans about day in, day out. And I don’t even have it all that bad. The worst part of the day is the commute, which begins a good hour and a half before I start. Some nights I think going to bed and performing the actual act of sleeping would almost be too tiresome, and I may as well just stay up since I’ll have to rise again soon anyway.
I have stopped driving in since petrol is only really for people who earn twice the amount I do, and as such now have a healthy reliance on public transport. I still have to drive a few km down the road as the tram line doesn’t extend out this far into the sticks. The good part about this is I almost always get both a free car park and a seat on the tram (see – the joys begin early in the day). And the tram ride is not really an unpleasant one. Especially not for me in my padded seat and prime viewing platform. I do a quick tram change in Collins St and wander past So Lah for a coffee and then stroll into work. Normally only a few minutes late. It’s easy to blame the PT for delays, since it’s usually their fault anyway.
Work happens between the allotted hours. The people there are genuinely ace – they seem to really care what they’re doing. Even if it is only secretarial – someone has to do it, and do it well. If there was no-one in the service industry, all the ‘skilled’ workers would have to hang up their own tiaras and learn how to hold a conversation or string together a sentence.
The coming home is much the same, except in reverse, of course. I will clearly never manage with a husband or children. I can barely get enough energy to feed myself at the end of the day, and sometimes think I wouldn’t bother. But then I recall just how much I love to eat, and that it would be an insult to the kitchen and all the appliances within if I didn’t at least try to eat. Thankfully I have success most nights, and normally several times a day, whether the kitchen be here or at work.
In a month or two I should be granted a uniform. Until then, I am ripping out the corporate skirts and pants with a lustful passion. The current work uniform is hardly endearing to the female form (unless you’re a matronly type). I will think about starting an album of my working outfits until that day comes.