After seven days sans phone (apart from a mobile) and internet access (too busy and chicken principled to blog at work), during which time the Dreamboat lost a much-loved aunt in Scotland and a cyclone crossed the coast a couple of hundred kilometres north of here live on my fucking show, what can I say?

Nothing, really, except: "I'm back!"

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Niki's Birthday: a Story of Many Parts

Part the First: Beginner Readers' Section

4:30am
Here is Niki waking up. Today is her birthday. That must be why she looks so old. Ugh! Ugly old Birthday Niki! Soon she will be a crone!

5:30am
See Niki at work. See Niki making a cup of tea. See Niki in the studio. She is setting up for her radio show. She really looks as if she has everything under control, doesn't she? That's what happens when people get old. They become very good at pretending.

5:40am
Look at Niki. What is she doing now? That's right. She is going outside for a cigarette. Ugh! Ugly old addicted Birthday Niki! Doesn't she know smoking is bad for her? Especially at her age? And especially at that time of the morning?

5:45am
See Niki finishing her cigarette. Aren't we glad that's over? See Niki getting ready to go back inside. Here she is, trying the door handle. Listen to all those bad, bad words. What's wrong, Niki? You've locked yourself out? And your show starts in twenty-five minutes? Serve you right! We told you smoking was bad for you.

5:48am
Look at Niki. Do you know what she is doing? She is 'sprinting'. Do you know what 'sprinting' means? It means running very, very fast, like what you do when you've been invited back to the hotel for a 'few quiet drinks' with the Canterbury Bulldogs.

5:50am
Here is Niki at the gas station over the road. She is asking the nice lady if she can use the phone. Now she is waking up the entire household of her colleague, who is the acting boss of the whole radio station at present. See Niki saying sorry to her colleague's husband. See Niki saying sorry again. And again. Okay, Niki, you can stop now. You are getting boring.

6:00am
See Niki waiting in the car-park. See Niki's colleague drive up. She looks very tired, doesn't she? She does the Breakfast Show all week and Saturday mornings are her only chance to sleep in. Good going, Niki! You really know how to share the fun around on your birthday!

6:30am
Here is Niki on the radio. She is reading out a community notice about a lost doggie. Now she is telling all her listeners what phone number to ring if they find the doggie. Oops. She's been cut off half-way through by the News. Oh well. Better luck next time.

7:00am
Here is Niki being cut off by the News again.

7:30am
And again. Bugger.

9:00am
Here is Niki finishing her show. She is slumped over the desk. She must be very tired. Or very old. Or both.

9:45am
Here is Niki at her colleague's place. She is giving her colleague some flowers and saying sorry again. Her colleague is acting very nice. That's because she is very nice.

10:45am
See Niki feeding the cats. See Niki bringing in the washing. See Niki listening to her phone messages. Now she is answering the door. Her neighbour Janet has brought over a present left in her care by another friend. See Niki smiling. That is the first time she has smiled properly all day. And about time, too.

11:30am
See Janet leave. See Niki continue to smile. See Niki catch sight of something on the living-room floor. One of the cats has given her a present. She has puked all over the carpet. Isn't that sweet?

11:45am
Here is the Dreamboat coming home from work. He is taking Niki away for the weekend. Kind Dreamboat! See Niki telling him about her morning. See the Dreamboat looking at Niki's face. See his own face. Maybe he isn't too thrilled about going away any more. What's that, Dreamboat? You'll go through with it after all? Wow. Legendary Dreamboat! You are a brave, brave man!

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Ten Reasons Why You Should Immediately Drop Everything and Wish Me a Very Happy Birthday:

1. Because I’m cool and I fucking rock

2. Because another monster cyclone’s headed this way and Your Correspondent might get flushed out to sea in the resultant flood waters and then you'll feel really guilty that you never expressed yourself when you had the chance and I just want to spare you all the pain of that

3. Because there are many wonderful health benefits to be enjoyed from pretending to give a shit (actually, I made that up … but maybe someone out there has now been inspired to do the research and prove me right)

4. Because I’m getting old … but then again, so are you

5. Because it’s cheaper than buying a present

6. Because it takes the pressure off the Dreamboat to step in every five seconds and say 'happy birthday' in lots of different voices in a vain attempt to convince me I have friends

7. Because today is my birthday ... what other reason do you need?

8. Because I’ve had an absolute prick of a week

9. Because you've always had a secret hankering to be told what to do by bossy old ladies on the Internet

10. Because I'll come back as a bird in my next life and shit all over your washing if you don't

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For the next three weeks I'll be working full-time hours (eighteen out of the next twenty-one days, no less) so be warned that posting may be a little sporadic. Emails probably won't be answered. The housework might get a little behind. Grocery shopping won't be done and the cats will be forced to eat us at the end of the second week. Then, because I didn't get around to cleaning out their litter trays before becoming the dish du jour, they will have no option but to excrete us in strange places not of their choosing.

The bill from my ISP will remain unpaid and I'll lose my internet access. Not that this will matter -- me being dead and all -- but it's still a pretty good example of how calamitous the effects of full-time work can actually be.

That's how life is, Superheroes. One day, you're poor and perishing from mild ennui ... but still alive. The next, you're not only exhausted and completely out of clean undies, but you're also doomed to an ignominious end as ... cat food.

At least I can take a measure of comfort from knowing I'll have made enough money to pay for the burial of my left-overs. That's got to mean something, surely ..?

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In Which the Dreamboat and Your Correspondent Visit the Local Speedway

Yes, in her never-ending quest to learn about sport so that she doesn't sound like a totally uninformed fuckwit on her radio show, Your Correspondent and the Dreamboat accepted the invitation from friends Sam and Chiz to watch them compete in a 'mud bash' at the speedway yesterday.

It's been more years since I care to remember since I last went to a speedway. It was a night-meet back in NZ and I must've been around twenty or twenty-one. I have a vague recollection of getting drunk, freezing my arse off and listening to heavy metal over the PA while keeping a running tally of all the mullets I could spot in the crowd.

Yesterday was different. For a start, it was daytime. Secondly, it was very hot. Thirdly, I only saw one mulleted individual the whole time we were there. Fourthly, there were no girls sporting velvet dresses, Ugg boots and sharks' teeth earrings. This was rather disappointing. If there was one sub-culture I thought I could rely on for continuity of uniform, it was that of the rev-head. Sadly not ... although if there's ever some sort of cataclysmic event that causes Karratha's average temperature to drop 25 degrees, things might be different on the local speedway fashion front.

On our arrival at 2:30pm, the Dreamboat and I realised the only place that afforded a modicum of shade and wasn't already overflowing with people was the bar. So we stayed there for the next seven hours. It was the sensible thing to do, considering a large part of those seven hours was spent standing around, waiting for stuff to happen. You can never go past drinking beer as a useful, natural and healthy way of killing time.

The motorbikes were up first, followed by the V8s and the 4WDs. It wasn't long before the Dreamboat and I found ourselves cheering enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd whenever someone fell off their bike or got bogged in their jeep/truck and had to be towed out. That's the problem with speedway ... the fumes get to you and before you know it, you find yourself screeching like some patrician at the Colosseum whenever anyone stuffs up.

It was during the 'burn-out' section of proceedings that the crowd well and truly came into its own. The whistles, cheers and cries of 'get off, ya fuckin' loser' when someone didn't blow out their back tyres spectacularly enough were deafening. I'd never realised how much skill was involved in doing good burn-outs ... possibly because guys who'd mastered them always struck the fear of god into me and I was too busy avoiding them to appreciate their work at close quarters.

After all the mud-bashing was over, we met up with Sam and Chiz (who, incidentally, made the semi-finals and finished up fourth after a grudge match) and spent a further couple of hours listening to the local band that had set up in a grassed area behind the bar. As beer-drinking had played such a pivotal role in our enjoyment of the day's action, we decided it would be a shame to desist at such a late stage and so heroically soldiered on. There was plenty of unscheduled entertainment as well: two fights (an inebriated woman involved herself in the second one and was accidentally knocked out cold); the Dreamboat managed to partially rip off one of his toenails and Your Correspondent was bitten by bull-ants while picking up empty beer cans.

And that, my friends, was our speedway experience: nine hours in total and a hell of a lot of fun. I think you lot should all do it yourselves next weekend and then inform me by email if you saw any mullets or velvet dresses. Or sharks' teeth earrings. I really miss those ...

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Cottage Industry

Our friends Sam and Chiz recently returned from a trip to China. We caught up with them on Saturday night after the Don't Clap -- Throw Money! revelatory work function.

Being the sort of people that they are, they showered us with gifts they'd bought while they were away. Four of these gifts were DVDs: Chicken Run, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Last Samurai and the one we watched tonight -- Once Upon a Time in Mexico.

Now I'm not one to look gift friends in any of their orifices, but I can't lie ... OUATIM has to be one of the biggest pieces of dreck I've ever seen. It stars Antonio Banderas (I found myself accidentally liking him in The 13th Warrior but tonight's offering certainly redressed the balance), Willem Dafoe (who should've known better), Mickey Rourke (should've retired after Angel Heart) and Johnny Depp. God knows what was done to get him in this film, but I suspect it involved a door handle, a piece of string and the Depp family jewels.

Even if you manage to set aside the silly plot, the very bad action sequences and the script fashioned from pure cheddar (how Johnny Depp managed to deliver the line, "Are you a Mexican or a Mexican't?" without laughing hysterically or spontaneously combusting is beyond me), this film was hilarious. About five minutes in, Your Correspondent -- who was ministering to some of the Dreamboat's shirts with an iron -- was silently wondering why the sound quality was so bad when the Dreamboat suddenly exclaimed, "Look! Someone's leaving!"

I wasn't too sure what he meant, until a minute or so later when I saw it for myself: the silhouette of a guy walking across the bottom of the picture. This happened four or five more times over the course of the film. A couple of the silhouettes were even wearing baseball caps.

Yes, that's right, Superheroes ... some entrepreneurial soul had taken a video camera and tripod to a cinema where OUATIM was screening, recorded the lot, transferred it to a CD, packaged it up and is now making a killing.

In a similar vein, one of the other movies has this emblazoned on the bottom of the screen:

This Copy Property of [production company]. Loaned for Award Consideration Only.

Perhaps if they'd written it in Mandarin, they would've had more luck getting their message across ...

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Life's Great Unanswered Questions:

1. Tinea -- what's it for? What's its function?

2. If, over the course of a lifetime, the human body can regulate and maintain the most incredibly delicate balances with a precision that's absolutely staggering ... why can't it control a bikini line?

3. Why is it that the Dreamboat -- who will sit unmoved while Your Correspondent makes the most repulsive faces in human history only a few centimetres away from his nose -- jumps to his feet and rushes from the room whenever she does her famous impression of a Thunderbirds puppet?

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It would appear from the results of the last poll that the only thing you lot don't want the Dreamboat to wear under his kilt on our wedding day is undies. Why doesn't this surprise me?

For the record, the final tally looked like this:

A whopping 45% voted for 'nothing, of course'.
There was a tie for second place at 13%, with 'a finger puppet' and (my personal favourite) 'a flag bearing the Jolly Roger'.
'A hip flask' came in next at 11% ... spot the piss-heads.
7% of you thought 'a Prince Albert' might come in useful. I agree.
'Edible body paint' whet the appetites of 5% of voters.
Following closely behind at 4% was 'a bunch of grapes'. Good to see some gourmet foodies amongst the readership.
Bringing up the rear was 'a price tag', with 2% of the votes. Perhaps this option would have done better if I'd stipulated the price.

If we look at the results of all polls run so far, here's how the holy hot water nuptials are shaping up:

1. Vows
"I solemnly swear not to write bad things about you on my blog if it all goes pear-shaped."

2. Crap Music
My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion.

3. Essentials for the Bride
Bridal attendants who are uglier than she is.

4. Under the Dreamboat's Kilt
Nothing, of course.

Thanks to you people, this wedding is going to simply ooze class and style. My Intended and I are forever in your debt.

Feel free to vote often on the new poll. You know you want to.

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"Don't clap -- throw money!"

When I was 17 years old and supposedly studying at university, I spent most of my time skiving off to hang out with a couple of itinerant street musicians. (I've always been a sucker for guys with guitars.) I'd trot around after this pair, occasionally performing with them as backing vocalist and feeling smug whenever I saw all the other starry-eyed little girls looking at me enviously.

Buskers were a novelty in Christchurch back then, so these guys always drew a large crowd. "Don't clap -- throw money!" was what they'd call at the end of every performance. It worked, too. They did pretty well there, for a while.

Which brings me to the present. It's been brought home to me over the last few days that this site is starting to become known in Karratha. People I've never met are reading it. What's more, they're telling other people and some of them are reading it too.

On Saturday night, we went to a function put on by the Dreamboat's employers. Two people I didn't know approached me separately and told me they enjoyed reading hot water. This was very nice and rather flattering but it was also a bit disconcerting. I'm still trying to come to grips with people telling me they've heard me on air; I never expected it to happen with the blog as well.

After some thought, it occurred to me that I have two options: I could smile humbly and put my new-found celebrity status out of my head, or I could milk it for all it's worth. I've decided to go with the latter.

So Karratha readers, take note: next time you spot me loading up the trolley with cat food in the supermarket, or catch a glimpse of me lying drunk in the gutter outside the KI (Karratha International Hotel, for non-locals), please approach, tell me how wonderful I am and then press a respectable sum of money into my hand. Nothing less than $20, thanks -- we wouldn't want to embarrass everyone concerned, now, would we? And if you want to bring me your babies to bless, by all means do so. Even the ugly ones ... after all, they might grow up to be hot water readers too.

While we're at it, this is probably a good time to talk about the shrine you should be setting up in our driveway. Offerings of flowers, alcohol and more money are welcome, but please -- no incense. I'm a demi-god, not a bloody hippie. Bear in mind that your gifts should be given anonymously. Let's never lose sight of the fact that it's all about me.

If you want to camp outside the house, try not to block the Dreamboat's egress and please don't mob me every time I drive away in the fiery chariot. My actions and motivation are above the understanding of the average mortal and I must be given space to come and go as I see fit.

Finally, your civic duty: a street named after me in one of the better areas would be nice. A park bench with a little plaque outlining my many services to the community would work too. Hold off on the statue with water-feature in the mall until I've left town. That way I can come back in a couple of years and know I'll always have something interesting to look at.

In the meantime ... thanks for reading. I applaud your good taste!

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Mopping Up

So the sun shone today and life in the Karratha Imperial Palace took on a semblance of normality once more. The Dreamboat gratefully went back to work utterly spent (in keeping with his nautical nickname, he shall henceforth be known as the Pleasure Vessel whenever there's a cyclone in the vicinity) and Your Correspondent puddled around, pretending to be busy and watching three guys with chainsaws cut up our fallen tree and mince it to sawdust on the spot.

The effects of ex-Cyclone Monty are still definitely being felt. He dumped 311mm of rain on Karratha and there continues to be a lot of flooding throughout the region, although it's starting now to recede. Most of the Maitland bridge (approximately 25km south of here on the main highway) has been washed away, meaning food and supply trucks have to divert hundreds of kilometres inland to get here. Depending on who you talk to, it will take anything between two days and two weeks before we get any fresh food. Needless to say, there's been a bit of panic buying in the local supermarkets ... not that the food's particularly fresh at the best of times.

Poor old Pannawonica has had the worst deal -- sewerage system in disarray; contaminated drinking water; totally cut off by road; only available communication by police radio and satellite phone and they're running out of food. No doubt the famous Pannawonica Shoe Tree will have lost most of its ornamentation -- if it's still standing.

Now that Monty's resting in peace in Hurricane Heaven and we're waiting for ex-Cyclone Evan to ramp up again and maybe pay us a visit on the weekend, there's an aching void in my life. I decided today that it could only be filled by taking on a new temporary cat. So I got one. His name is Sam. He's affectionate and good-natured, but holy crap, he's an ugly little fucker. Buffy, our other cat, has done nothing but stare at him in horror since he arrived.

You see, Superheroes, sometimes we create our little life dramas and sometimes they happen of their own accord. Cyclones fall into the latter category, new cats to the former. It's yet to be seen which will cause the most damage. I suspect it'll be the cat.

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Cyclone Monty in Karratha -- Aftermath

Here are some pics we took this afternoon. They'll probably take a while to load ...


Seven Mile Creek. Three days ago this was as dry as ... something rude and proverbial involving reverend mothers.


A waterfall in Karratha -- something to tell the grandkids about. Or, in the absence of gene-pool additions, the cat.


Part of the charming hamlet where Your Correspondent lives. See that long stretch of brown shit in the background? That's flood water.

Cyclone Monty is rapidly weakening. He's now a Category One kind of guy and is currently blowing hot air over Paraburdoo. Some people might say this is a good thing -- my sister, for instance, who lived for twelve months in Paraburdoo nearly fourteen years ago and wasn't too thrilled about the experience. Your Correspondent, however, loves all of God's little mining towns and hopes the Paraburdoo residents are tucked up safely somewhere, drinking Margaritas and engaging in wild Cyclone Sex.

Many thanks to Jonas, Mick, Sarah and Ric (it was worth the junk food and low-alcohol beer to hear from you again after so long, darling) who sent messages and good wishes. Now that it's apparent I'm not going to die as a result of my recent tribulations, I don't see any urgency in replying to your missives. However, I'll do my best to write back tomorrow. Promise.

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More Cyclonic News

If you're familiar with Karratha, you'll know of Anchovy Flats on the road to Dampier. For everyone else, Anchovy Flats is the name coined for the roadside salt flats owned and harvested by Dampier Salt.

Shortly before Christmas, a fishing-rod-toting Santa, wearing sunglasses and perched on his very own deckchair with the obligatory beer, appeared in front of the Anchovy Flats sign and has been there ever since. In January, a 2-metre long shark (very real and very dead) materialised at Santa's feet and over the last couple of months has been decomposing in a spectacular manner.

Someone's very fond of the Anchovy Flats Santa. They must be; they secured him to the sign before Cyclone Monty struck. The shark wasn't so lucky.

Normally, Anchovy Flats sparkles blinding white with salt. As you can see, it's a different story at the moment.

We took this pic at 5 o'clock last night and have had a great deal of rain since, so it's possible Santa's been swept away. I hope not -- he epitomises the sense of humour people have in these parts and it would be a shame to lose what's become a local icon.

Monty is still a Category 3 cyclone even though it's been almost twelve hours since he crossed the coast. He's currently hammering the mining town of Pannawonica, which is very close to Deepdale Station (camping destination extraordinnaire and the hallowed place where the Dreamboat popped the question last September).

Here in Karratha, the wind and rain are expected to ease later today. It's being said that we bore the brunt of this cyclone -- we've had severe gales and very heavy rain for two days straight. Needless to say, there's widespread flooding in the region. We're not sure what the story is with storm tides but at the moment there doesn't appear to be any threat.

More news/pics later.

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Cyclone Monty Update

He's crossing the coast right now ...


(Map issued by the Bureau of Meteorology)

We went for a drive earlier on ... exactly what you're not supposed to do, but cabin fever has a strange effect on people. The road to Dampier was flooded in one place and it was bizarre to see actual water running in stream beds that have been dry for as long as we've lived here -- dark red water, it must be said, but water all the same.

The main highway north has been closed for three hundred kilometres because of flooding. More rain's expected. The Dreamboat is yet to find out if he has to go to work tomorrow.

I've eaten so much junk food in the last three days I feel sick thinking about it. I get fatter with every breath. When this cyclone's over I'll be spending every waking moment either at the gym or the pool. In the meantime ... pass those chips.

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At midday:



We had two trees in our back yard. Now, I guess, we've only got one. From the little I've seen, the rest of the neighbourhood seems to bearing up well.

Cyclone Monty's down to a Category 3 (still 'severe'); he's over Barrow Island at the moment and still expected to cross the coast near Onslow later today (we've just heard parts of Onslow have been evacuated); and Karratha, Dampier and other towns in our area remain on Blue Alert.

After all the moaning I did last year about cyclones that never eventuated, I can now say I've had first-hand experience of the real thing. And as another 'significant' cyclone's brewing in the Gulf of Carpentaria (Northern Territory) while I write, who knows ... this time next week we could be doing it all over again.

It's still blowing and still pissing down. We're well and truly in the 'gale zone', so will probably continue to get high winds for the next 12-18 hours. Heavy rain and flooding are forecast for the next 48 hours.

Last night's party, by the way, was terrific. It was ostensibly a birthday party, but was also billed as a 'cyclone party' -- a common social event in Karratha when a hurricane's raging.

Picture two dozen people sitting in a covered car-port with plastic tarps around the sides, calmly eating and drinking as if nothing's going on, while a gale's howling and rain's bucketing down everywhere.

One of the more colourful characters was a local businessman I hadn't met before. He was a bloody great boulder of a man, who announced his presence with, "Who here likes marijuana?". Under his arm was a large glass moonshine jar, about a third full of 40-proof rocket fuel he'd distilled himself. He generously offered this Jungle Juice to anyone game enough to sample it. These brave souls would then become totally incoherent after only two glasses.

Boulder Guy's favourite party trick was to smash large chunks of ice into smithereens against one of the poles supporting the car-port and then fill everyone's glasses. He studiously ignored the tame little cubes of ice that had already been provided for that purpose, obviously preferring to flex his own muscles instead. By the time we left, he'd managed to wangle an invitation for himself and his wife to our wedding, promising us he'd bring five litres of his fire water to 'liven things up'.

I'll update later, if there's anything significant to report.

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