Sheridan’s Blog

Have been doing some riding lately. On a bicycle. Just for health and fitness, etc. Plus it’s much quicker than getting public transport to work. Tim recently up-graded his bicycle with new pedals, which I have experienced from both on the bike and also lying tangled underneath it on the unrelenting concrete basement floor (but mercifully out of the public eye). And I have the bruises to demonstrate that unexpected stopping is generally a no-no with these things. So we have been riding around a bit, Tim with his death pedals and me with my pedals for the physically uncoordinated. I do look much hotter than him in tight pants and a jersey, though.
The other weekend some clown convinced us that riding to Sorrento (from Melbourne) seemed a good idea. It woudl be a nice day and we’d get the ferry across the waters to Queenscliff, from whence we would roll easily down into Geelong and get the train home. Sounds relatively simple. And it is. In a car.
The getting to Sorrento wasn’t the problem. Although there was one hill (Oliver’s Hill) which is so steep it is practically stairs. The other hills aren’t steep but are painfully drawn-out.
The ferry ride was psychedelic. The coulours and textures of all of the foods we ate will be with me forever. I recall Tim eating a slice of hedgehog meant to feed a family of 9. Some others may have consumed 2 or more pasties. I went to the toilet in an actual private room designed for the procedure. It was bliss. And we spent our time lambasting the BOM (Bureau of Meteorology) for their seemingly inaccurate weather forecast. Wind? What wind? Sure, there had been a torrentail downpouring back in Frankston, but the skies were blue and luckily we were on a ferry, not a yacht. Surely the very short ride from Queenscliff to Geelong would barely register on the pain scale.
How very wrong we were. Just outside of Queenscliff the BOM’s prophecy was quickly turning into our reality. Winds of 50km/h, gusting up to 70km/h were recorded. We rode as a tightly-packed foursome, trying to avoid being blown into the path of an on-coming Kenworth as we pressed towards civilisation and a cold drink. At about the half-way mark, I got off my bike and was ready to push it into a ditch and walk away wiping my hands. Ideally, we had stopped outside a rural retirement home and I let the task of locating a cab fall to Tim while I fantasised about having a hot shower. The other half of our team continued on, not to be defeated by the wind. A cab materialised not much later and we rode in comfort to the station, handing over the best-spent cash of this year, if not this lifetime, when we arrived. Normally we would never pay anywhere near that amount for a cab, but I was only too happy to part with it. I would have paid double.
Conveniently we all met up at the station and rode home in comfort courtesy of V/Line, sharing conversation that would have been more at home in a room of people sharing mind-altering drugs. But nonethelss, we made it back to Southern Cross and proceeded to not ride home.

Today I went to the gym. The rest has been a waste of time. I decided I would go to uni and pick up some books (to read from), and do a bit of study. I figure this might make me less stressed during the week, resulting in me actually sleeping at night instead of just shutting my eyes and breathing deeply. The plan was well thought out and the intentions were good.
Unfortunattely, uni seems to be located rather close to Chadstone Shopping centre. Since they’ve had a whole new renovation scenario going on there, I thought it rude to not drop by and have a look. So look I did, after finding that the road into the shopping centre (yes it has it’s own road/s) has been widened to allow more cars into the centre than to the freeway. Ace.
Now, most people know that I rarely go anywhere (as in out) since I already have a boyfriend and I don’t really see the point in going out dancing/etc if not to pick up. And pick up I most likely would, so I don’t go. I do like the dancing part, but it always gets really messy and it’s not a look I’m going for. Occasionally we’ll go see a live band or other similar activity, but even then I think boyfriend (perhaps men in general) are made uncomfortable when I (or any woman) dresses a bit outlandishly. So shopping isn’t really my thing. I do love it, but I have nowhere to go to wear the cool clothing and shoes I already have. Thank goodness, when my dancing gets back up to speed I can splash out on many more outfits/legwarmers/dance shoes/sequins that I don’t need.
So I went into the flagship Sportsgirl store. Ruby Rose was in there doing whatever it is that she does (who knows?), as were a bunch of young girls with way too much makeup on for the daytime. The thing that struck me the most was not the size of the store, or the pseudo-celebrity or even the goods for sale – it was the music. It was like I was inside the speaker. Does it have to be SO LOUD?!?! I couldn’t even shop straight, I forgot my size and I got confused over what is a shirt and what is a dress or what is a shirt that can be worn as a dress…I had to leave. LOn my way out I smiled bemusingly at the shop assistant as she inflicted permanent vocal damage upon herself trying to ask the customer for money. It was like being in a club with a date and screaming ‘Do you want a drink?’ three times before they eventually understand you. I could tell she was seconds away from going into a mime or charade. And the madness did not end there. Maybe it was because the new mall at the shopping centre was opening. Maybe shopping has evolved since I last did it (obviously I need to do more). Outside the general stores I normally go into were semi-naked men. Just standing there, looking good and holding catalogues. I felt unable to enter any of these stores. Eventually, I found one with no naked people out the front and went in. This turned out to be a mistake. Not only was it loud, there was a DJ in the store. A DJ. Why? It’s 11.17am on a Saturday morning. And he wasn’t even a proper DJ. He looked about 9. (as in years old, not on a scale of 9 out of 10 for looks or anything). I thought I might commit an act of violence so I hurriedly left. Good thing, too, since I feel it was only a matter of time before my ears began to bleed.
So what is it? What has changed in the few brief moments I have not been shopping? Is it the GFC that is causing the shops to go crazy and install DJ’s and male models to entice you in with goodie bags (I bet some of them had goodie bags…) It’s simply not necessary. Had I been able to find a store with no music and shop assistants who were dressed and not under the illusion that they were in a club, I’m sure I would have laid down my cash. But as luck would have it, I left the shopping centre disenchanted and with no shoes.

Clearly the one-post-a-day thing is not working out for me. It was going well until uni started back and then it fell to the bottom of the priority line, along with general health and fitness and most recreational activities.
Some recreational activities that have been occurring involve our new bikes. The old bike was taken to a nice farm in the ‘country’ to live out it’s final days. The new bike goes like a rocket (even with me on it) and I have successfully shaved about 20 minutes off the ride time to work. Plus I look way cooler. And it is nice to have more than 3 gears. Gears that don’t sound like a boat hitting rocks when you shift. Loving it. Next to buy some appropriate footwear and make the appropriate bike adjustments so the bike and I can become one. Don’t think I’ll do this before Around the Bay since I have to work the day after and will need the use of my legs to do so. Riding amongst a group of non-riders is not the place to not be able to get your feet clear. And I can barely disembark safely as it is (why do we have to be so high off the ground?)

Next semester, apart from not taking this many subjects and subjecting myself to the act of trechery that is full-time work and full-time uni, I shall take one subject only and re-introduce myself to the piano and the social dance class and maybe even the singing lesson. I know a few good teachers…

In more inane news I got off at a station called Glenbervie tonight, instead of the usual station (the one before Glenbervie I imagine, but I wouldn’t swear on a bible). I’ve been a bit out of it all week, kind of like the flu is trying to get in but my body is resisting. I could go on about how ace my immune system is. If I had any energy, that is. Whilst I’m not getting sick, I’m far from ‘well’, as noticed by my stunned colleagues when I failed to eat lunch. Which never happens. In my delirious state I seem to be attracting all kinds of people who are up for a brief chat. It’s the strangest occurrence. And I can’t tell if this is normal or if I am just really tired so I notice more when other people require some input from. Just last night I was trying to shop (failed, though), and the shop assistant went well beyond the usual ‘Hi, blah blah blah’, and just continued into a story about how her boyfriend rode his bike home from work and got mugged and had his bike stolen. How do you respond to that? What did she want me to say? ‘That’s no good – do you have this in a 10?’
Then there was the lady on the train yesterday morning. I was just standing there, staring at my shoes, trying not to cry from pure exhaustion when a lady with a large pram (baby enclosed) and a small girl squeezed in. Although the lady didn’t look particularly out of control or frenzied, it was obvious that it was difficult for her to manouvre the pram and mind the toddler in a packed-out train with nothing to grasp onto. At each stop she was unable to move out of the way and was forced to constantly apologise to busy and important commuters as they rushed by to get to work. The small child looked positively terrified by the sheer amount of people passing by. I felt quite bad but I’m not sure why and there was nothing I could do. Eventually my station (or one very similar to it) rolled along and she got out in front of me, and then turned to me and asked me where the exit for the Eye and Ear Hospital was. It was as if the universe had interpreted my desire to be of assistance and thrown me a bone! And yes – I walk right in front of the Eye and Ear Hospital on my way to work, hence I could practically escort her to the door if necessary. However, since I don’t even know where the lift is at the station, nor where it goes to (apart from up, obviously), I was very little help. But we did then proceed to have a little chat about stations, mainly, all the time with me trying to be of at least some small speck of help.
And finally, the guy in the lift in my apartment building this morning. I go in lifts a lot, and normal protocol is eyes ahead, no talking, unless you’re with a group of people you know. Well, this guy had not received the protocol. I was in gym clothing and had not showered (yet), so birds may well have been nesting in my hair. Along with mushrooms. But no worries. This guy enters in his very nice suit, does this massive smile and says hello and enquires about my health and general disposition. He appraises me in an acceptable fashion and then asks which gym I’m going to. Turns out he goes to the same place and is very keen to have a chat about it, launching into a conversation that was clearly not intended to be finished in the confines of the elevator. But as we get out, I wind it up and slow my walk so he continues ahead in front of me (making me late, but what can you do?)
So all in all, it’s been a strange week, for most of which I have been delusional from:

*lack of sleep from my stupid bum and it’s muscular issues (why can’t it be my leg or something?);
*worrying that I won’t know what to say to the next stranger that strikes up a convo;
*obsessing about how I might pass any subjects this semester (and generally what I’m doing at uni and why).

Until next week (or the one after) xxx

I booked a flight today. The entire booking procedure involves a mixture of emotions for me. On the one hand, I’m at least a little bit excited to go to a new place, or a place different in some way from where I currently am. On the other, I am riddled with anxiety about spending any amount of time trapped in a steel tube with a couple of hundred others. And we’re all completely in denial about how horrified we are. Even the flight attendants are in denial, yet we all go into a very convincing role-play scenario and somehow get through the ordeal. That’s why I think you’ll find the luggage carousel is one of the calmest places on earth – everyone’s just relieved and glad they’re still in one piece. In fact, I’m pretty sure that even if all of my luggage went on a mystery flight to a destination unknown to me, I would still take some delight in the fact that I was indeed standing on solid ground, rather than a good few thousand feet of air.
In the midst of typing in my personals and deciding if I want my few hours of torture served with an aisle or the window, I came across something a bit odd. The airline of my choosing has a carbon offset scheme. I have heard these words before, but not really though about them when they are arranged in this sequence. I have some issues with this idea, although I think the sentiment behind it is nice.
The way this is sold seems strange to me. Near the completion of the on-line booking procedure, the airline’s website pops up this page of seeming innocent ‘options’ you may choose from. I’m sure it’s modeled on a menu, but I was not to be fooled. For half the price of your ticket again, you can pick a nice roomy seat where you might have the chance to straighten your legs. Or, you may like to spend the 10 minutes before you check in at the VIP lounge, sipping on bottled water or $9-a-bottle champagne. Alternatively, you will be rewarded with a halo and wand if you cough up a mere $1.10 to offset the carbon emissions your flight is creating. Because really, by flying somewhere you could practically swim to, you are slowly but silently killing the world (they don’t write that but I sense it in their tone). I’m just not convinced. Do they expect me to believe that? Where do all the $1.10s go? Who governs this little money-spinner? Turns out, the government do. Well thank goodness for that, phew. On further inspection the airlines themselves, as if they are already aware of how bogus this scheme reads, go into detail to explain how this money is spent. They probably have the receipts to prove it. And what would the receipts say?
Virgin Atlantic, teaming up with a Swiss-based charity called myclimate, have been funneling their funds to India and Indonesia, where locals are rebuilding a hydropower plant and using farm wastes to run a power plant. Britain’s Silverjet (I’m pretty sure they are no longer flying), had an aggressive carbon offset scheme. In 2007, they reversed their decision to hit all passengers with a carbon offset fee, and left it up to the passengers to decide if they wished to pay this. Needless to say, prior to this they made a bucketload of cash for their chosen environmental cause. Cut-price airline EasyJet feature quite a serious write-up for the lay person about their environmental initiatives, and it all sounds pretty good. But I mentally switched off after the second sentence so I really have no idea of the validity of their claim. But I’m sure it’s not too hard to really delve into it and see if anything is really happening. Does any of this work?
On searching American Airlines I failed to find any mention of a similar scheme, although rumours of one were circulating in 2007. Amusingly, when I tried to search budget Euro airline Ryanair for their take on carbon offsets, I was presented with a FAQ-type page which asked if I could bring a self-inflating life jacket. Only if it’s made of recyclable or biodegradable rubber, I say. Northwest Airlines (of the US) had a tiny pocket of the web page dedicated to saving mother earth. I clicked on it. I was informed that not only did NWA donate $1 million to a legitimate organisation involved in trees and the like (I could tell it was legit from the Visa ads and SALE signs on their site. Hell, someone has to pay for the website I guess). To be fair, the associated organisation at the very least appears to be raising awareness, and perhaps more. I wasn’t motivated to investigate further. NWA has also teamed up with Nike, whose store at the airport in Portland is solar-powered. Although this may not sound like much, I feel this is something tangible that people might actually be able to see and therefore feel it is worth something. Could just be me.
For each person who contributes to a carbon-offset scheme, I’d like there to be a video camera set up in the country recording footage of a little man running into frame and planting a nice little tree. And the footage would just continue with him planting trees until he was really old and a whole forest had sprung up in front of him. That, I would pay for. Until then, I’m keeping my $1.10 to throw into a lucky fountain.

The rules don’t apply if I’m not home at all on a particular day. I was out. And whilst I was out, I saw a movie so completely removed from reality that I was left with only questions at the end.
Now, as a child of the 80′s, I grew up with Astro Boy, Jem, the Smurfs and, of course, Transformers. I can even sing the entire opening sequence song. With mainly the right lyrics and everything. So you’d think the Transformers movie would be something I would enjoy. And it kind of was. But it was also the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. Even more ridiculous than the movies with the machines that can morph into liquid metal or take the form of another person. I guess, having not seen the first Transformers movie I might have been a little bit behind. But I thought my years of watching animated Optimus might have helped me out. But no. The ‘storyline’ itself wasn’t the main problem. It was the pure inconsistencies. At one stage, the massive prime was standing on the back of an aircraft carrier talking to a human. The robot is, like, 60 feet high and the human is 6 feet tall. So apparently they are talking to each other, and it made me wonder – over the roar of the open ocean, how did the robot hear the human speaking? Do they have ears? Special super-ears? I was at a loss to explain it.
Also, Megan Fox’s character is a mechanic or something. What? Why would some hot-looking girl be a mechanic? Shouldn’t she be a model or something? And, during the movie the storyline gently suggests the guy cheats on her? What hope is there for the regular girls if Megan Fox can barely keep her hooks into her guy? The multiple slow-motion shots of her running near the end of the movie restored my faith in man’s ability to remain steadfast.
They wrecked the pyramids in the movie, too. And in the whole scene involving the pyramids, I did not see one tourist with a map or anyone being mugged or sold something they really don’t need. Where are all the tourists? Perhaps all of the robots coming out of the sea scared them off. And also, before the movie even started, several people laughed out loud at the ‘turn off your mobile phone’ advertisement delivered by Bruno, who is not even funny at all.

It’s going to be short tonight. I’m extremely tired and have just spent at least 10 minutes trying to slink off to bed without writing a post but have been threatened that I will be kept awake until I write one. Come to think of it, I could just moan about having to write something and easily get to the 350 word threshold. After all (as pointed out by someone nearby) it doesn’t have to be interesting. That just helps.
Not wanting to trawl the internet for something inane and mostly meaningless to cut and paste from (not that I have done that…yet) I will fill in the gaps with my ordinary life.
Today I went to work, as I have done every day for what seems like an eternity. At least I have a good job. Or, at least I have a job. I have been hearing things about the lack of jobs around the place. Lucky I already have an arts degree so I will have something to talk to the jobless people about. I am also working on another degree (equally as unemployable). The first semester’s results have been very encouraging, and it’s nice to be on the right track for a change. I would like to think I might go on an exchange program next year, but knowing how much effort and motivation is involved in the organising of an overseas jaunt, I doubt it will occur. I was thinking Finland or even back to the UK. Or I reason that the money might be better spent just going on another holiday to these places. I have promised myself some kind of holiday, anyhow.
I have also promised myself a new bike. After riding to work (and home again, once) a handful of times I have come to the conclusion that riding may be more enjoyable and simpler with a bike with more than 2 gears. The seat on my current bike is comfortable, though. I do feel slightly ashamed when I have to stop at the lights and can feel other proper cyclists looking at my bike with pure disdain. I have hand-selected a new bike which still lives in the shop. When I get this new creature, other cyclists will leer at it with pure lust. But they will probably still overtake me on flat or downhill roads. I propose that I might be able to make it up a steep hill on the new bike. I am not that good a rider yet, but I will get there. I remember when I used to try to run into work and could not make it. I also remember the day when I ran the whole way but had problems making it up the stairs when I got to work. Now I know what elevators are for – people who have run into work.
So now I have fulfilled the word count and am going to shower-bed-read-sleep. No time for spell-check. Night xx

I tell you – it’s getting pretty tedious sitting at this here laptop every night, trying to come up with something remotely interesting to write whilst thinking about what to have for dinner and waiting for Masterchef to come on. I got my payment summary thing from work today, and as it’s tax time, was going to write about the history of personal income tax in Australia. But when I got to the appropriate website I could barely read past the first sentence without nodding off. So, I have chosen to revisit all the films (and books too) which feature a period of time in their title and see how it relates to the film in general. Having not seen all of the films or read all of the books, I have had to put my creative spin on some of the interpretations.

28 Days (2008), with Sandra Bullock.
This movie (which I have seen but cannot remember well) follows a writer(?) who is a raging alcoholic. After basically destroying her sister’s wedding and the house of a stranger, she is given the choice of 28 days in jail or 28 in rehab (judges in the US are so forgiving). Since alcoholism is a major theme of the movie, I consulted the AA website, but my initial suspicion that there was no ’28 days’ was confirmed. The only number they are interested in is 12. The Twelve Steps, Twelve concepts…So 28 days is just a number plucked by the executive producer/writer. It could be called 35 days.

9 1/2 weeks (1986), with various actors and actresses).
I haven’t seen this, and probably a good thing too, judging by the reviews I just read. Apparently the sex scenes border on ‘abuse’ towards the end (be it emotional and/or physical) and the whole thing is a mess. In all I read, I could not find a single reference to the title or what exactly 9 1/2 weeks has to do with the movie.

28 days later (2002), random young actors.
May have seen this and possibly repressed it. Apparently it’s scary – even scarier that Sandra Bullock’s drunk writer. I had to search, but the title does have some meaning – a virus with a four-week incubation period is somehow involved in the plot. Kind of like swine flu but a bit more menacing perhaps.

Around the world in eighty days (book and then movie).
This adventure tale (affectionately known as Le Tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours, given the author was French), is a jaunt about a man with too much time accepting a bet of 20,000 or so pounds to circumnavigate the globe in 80 days. I don’t find it proper to ruin the story for all of the uninitiated, so I won’t say what happens at the end. Suffice top say the title pretty much covers it.

After hours of unsupervised internet time-wasting, I came across some fascinating articles about not only oak trees, but trees in general.
The title of the oldest tree in the world is in some dispute, with Californians claiming the prize until a very, very, very old Spruce was somehow ‘discovered’ alive and well and still going after a good 9550 years. I cannot even comprehend a tree (or anything, really) being that old. And if you google it all up, the poor tree looks all thin and withered, much like an old man. I don’t think you can see the tree’s walking frame in any of the pictures. This oldest living tree lives in Sweden, and is what most Westerners might consider as a Christmas tree, minus the lights. It’s about 4 metres tall, and although it looks as good as dead above the surface, apparently its roots are alive and well, very deep underground. I suppose the researchers didn’t really wish to hack apart the fragile-looking old tree, so it’s root system was dated with a special ‘scientific’ radiocarbon test. According to researchers, there are more, similarly-aged trees in Sweden, but none would be older as back over 9550 years ago the surface of the country was covered in ice sheets, which earlier researchers discovered was not conducive to the growth of trees.
Although the Swedish tree is in the lead of oldest living trees, there appear to be several catergories of ‘oldest tree’, including ‘oldest continually standing tree’, as opposed to the ones that lie down at night and have a nap. Of course, the napping trees are bound to be more robust. I think this category was thought up by the US.
Whilst old trees are mildly impressive, tall trees are much more so, simply because there are people who actively scour the globe measuring trees. Debate rages over the tallest tree. People seem to want the tallest tree in their country. So much debate ensues possibly because of the method of measuring the tall trees. The US Eastern Native Tree Society uses measuring tapes, laser rangefinders and human climbers (the monkeys were too stunned by the rangefinders to record accurate measurements). Ironically enough, the most accurate way of measuring the height of a tree is cited as felling it and then measuring it whilst it lays prostrate on the ground. These measurements are said to be ‘more reliable’ (and yet quite stupid).
The US has the tallest tree, measuring a touch under 380 ft. Too bad if you get your cricket ball stuck in there. The US has a mass of mega-tall Sequioa trees, with Australia coming in with the 2nd tallest tree (woo hoo!) at a mere 326 feet (in Tasmania). What is the point of tall trees if not to climb them?
YouTube has several videos of people purporting to have climbed the world’s tallest tree. After watching just one I grew bored. Turns out it only takes a quarter of an hour to get up the tree, but watching just 3 minutes of it will do your head in.

What can be achieved in 96 days? Perhaps a short course graduation, or even a personal sports goal. Well these goals are not really lofty enough for celebrities and the like. Take Peaches Geldof, for example. 96 days is the length of her marriage to Max Drummey, her being 19 and him being 24 years of age. This got me thinking: what is the shortest period of time you can be married for? Is it the time it takes to get from the registry/church to file the papers? Or is it the more generous time of when you lodge the forms until they are finally looked at by authorities?
When googling such things, it’s always helpful to include the word ‘celebrity’ to ensure multiple responses are delivered. Britney Spears only managed 55 hours married to Jason Alexander (not the one from Seinfeld) back in 2006. Carmen Electra and Denis Rodman managed 9 days back in 1998. Do you really get sick of someone that quickly? These kinds of ‘marriages’ are littering up the gossip sites daily. What about the reverse of this? Does anyone ever get past 9 days? Surely if celebrities cannot do it, what hope do normal people have?
A lot more, apparently. The Guinness World association presents 85 years as the longest marriage, awarded to a Taiwanese couple recently. Troublingly, an old codger in the UK passed away (probably of old age, and hopefully peacefully), claiming that his marriage was supported (and perhaps maintained) by the words ‘Yes Dear’. And, as with the shortest unions, there are many mega-lengthy marriages to be discovered as well. For those that don’t make the distance, is there a particular time that it all goes to shit? Or is it environmental? This is hard to find out, but I did find a plethora of information on the ‘stages’ of marriage. We could probably guess a few of these, the first being the Honeymoon Stage. No surprise here – this is heavy on the ooohhh, aaahh and light on the reality. I suspect that in the above-mentioned celebrity weddings this stage was still in full swing around the time of the wedding. The Reality Stage comes next, which is laced with disappointment, as reality often is. It’s pretty much all downhill from here, especially if you haven’t strategised how to deal with conflict.
According to one optimistic page, love is timeless, which is why anniversaries are celebrated and gifts are given. If you live in a Commonwealth country, you might get a special message from the monarch for your 60th or 70th wedding anniversary. It’s pretty hard to compete with that: no amount of silver or crystal stemware can measure up to a message from the Queen (a message which you have to apply for yourself, which hardlymakes it a surprise). According to Wikipedia (and its many sources), the 80th wedding anniversary is celebrated with gifts of oak (and more about Oak tomorrow). I’m not sure it’s worth sticking with the marriage for 80 years and holding out for some oak. Maybe we’ll see why it’s so special tomorrow. Or maybe it’s the fact that dementia will render you with the uncanny ability to appreciate a couple of acorns and a branch.

Although it’s only the second post, I could easily just go to bed now (at 20 to 6) and ‘forget’ to write. But I made a vow to myself and I’ll keep it. At least for tonight. Before I get into the actual story, Australia Post let me down today. I rode all the way home from work like I was being chased, hoping I might just get to the post office in time to collect the mystery parcel they tried to deliver the other day. It was with a sense of great achievement that I raced into the garage and tethered the bike merely an hour after I started, and I was pretty darn happy with myself. I raced to the post office in sheer anticipation…only to be told by the lady behind the counter (who had clearly been at work since the dawn of time) that she couldn’t find my parcel. As I stood there, hair plastered to my face and reeking of sweat, she explained that it may have indeed been delivered to the ‘other’ post office, just down the road. The ‘other’ post office is 30 metres from my house. If it’s not there when I go tomorrow, I promise I will never stick a stamp in the correct place on another letter. And, if an envelope has those little postcode boxes you’re supposed to use, I’m not going to use those, either. (This section does not factor in the word-count specified yesterday).
Anyhow, to continue with the writing for a long time scenario…whilst I was searching the internet in vain for things to write about, I came across something not totally unrelated, but mainly. There is a whole site (and perhaps, sites) devoted to the swimming of the English channel. I mean, really – why would anyone get a train or a boat across the English channel when you can swim it yourself? How did I not know this when I crossed the channel inside a bus inside a train inside a tunnel? There’s a few ways to get across the 35km stretch from Dover to Calais: plane (obviously), fancy train or non-fancy train or car inside non-fancy train. Not knowing about this train in a tunnel business, I was shocked and weirdly fascinated when the bus I was traveling on drove into what looked like a dark shed and then onto a train. We drove onto a train. Is that odd or is it just me? And then the train started moving with the bus (and many cars) on it. It was the strangest sensation, sitting on a stationary bus but still moving. It freaked me out, or that could have been because we were returning on an 11-hour bus trip from Amsterdam. Next time, I’m considering the swim.
It’s a fairly serious arrangement, and there’s even a Channel Swimming Association, which, according to their website, has been serving the channel swimmer’s needs for over 80 years. Have people been swimming across the channel for that long? Since 1875 apparently, when the average time to swim across the gap (weather permitting, I guess) was around 18-19 hours. The first passenger ferry went across in 1821. Nowadays, Australians are ripping across there in just over 9 hours (Eng – Fra). For some reason it takes a bit longer to go the other way (tides, winds, boats…)
It’s not something you can just decide to do on the weekend. Months of preparation and planning go on before the swimsuit is even applied. For the sake of the time theme that I am supposed to be adhering to, here’s some numbers:
*14-18 degrees Celcius is the water temperature of the channel, which is not much different than the temperature of the water in Port Philip Bay. In the winter. No wetsuits are allowed.
*$5709.00 is the AUD figure of how much it’ll cost you (in monetary terms at least). This includes membership to the appropriate associations, administration fees and a pilot fee. The pilot (of a boat, not a plane) motors along beside you, passing drinks/food to you on a stick or pole. This is fairly important, because you can expect to spend…
*12 or so hours in the water, swimming for at least 6 hours at a time, and just kind of treading water
*600 is the minimum number of commercial ships traversing the channel. Then there’s the 80-100 passenger ferries. Per day.
*14hrs and 18 minutes is the time taken by Julie Bradshaw to swim across the channel. Doing the butterfly stroke. I do not have the measurements of her biceps, but I bet they’re massive.
*2002 is the year a large cargo ship collided with a container ship in the channel. It gets foggy in there.

Quirky channel facts:
*MP3 players are not permitted.

I have now doubled my word-count, and just found out my nephew is in hospital, so I’m stopping now.

3 is the amount of years he has been alive for. Get better soon, Elliott. xx