wine o'clock rambles

Camping boy did return safe and sound eventually. They were delayed due to rain in the desert and the bus getting bogged so they spent the night in a Scout hall in some tiny unknown but clearly hospitable small town en route, arriving home at lunch time on Sunday. (They were told not to turn up to school on Monday, but to spend it showering and sleeping. Ours obeyed).



My subject this semester is a European cinema studies subject (I've run out of history subjects that don't bore me rigid fit in with my work schedule). Lots of Jean Renoir and Jacques Tati. I am enjoying it immensely needless to say. Please remind me I said that when I'm trying to juggle essay writing with work and life and holidays (yes) and laundry/bathroom renovations (yesss).



In a rush of blood to the head I have somehow booked myself two holidays. Outback camping with the family in the spring for a week, followed by a brief three days at home to download photos and catch up on my bloglines undertake lots of laundry and grovelling cooking and then a friend and I are heading off to Bali for five days to go to the Ubud Writers Festival.

Did you see how I so very maturely refrained from inserting an embarrassment of exclamation marks or juvenile Squees!? I'm saying them in my head, don't worry.



Son #1 has just completed what might possibly be the coolest Work Experience ever: a week at Triple R. He has had a ball, made a 40 minute radio show with the other work experience boy, eaten a lot of astronaut icecream (yeah, I don't know why either), met all sorts of amazing people and learned how to navigate Metlink's Journey Planner. (He punched in the addresses and announced faintly that the trip would involve a bus, train, bus, bus and tram. I stepped in, punched in the same addresses and narrowed it down to a mere one bus, train, then tram. Sheesh).



My father and my middle child are both performing in productions of Twelfth Night soon; almost simultaneously but in opposite ends of the country. Dad is playing Malvolio and Son #2 is Sir Toby Belch. (Dad was Sir Andrew Aguecheek in a production a decade or so ago, while Son #1 was Sebastian two years ago. This play is a recurring leitmotif in my life (I had to write an essay on it a few years ago, and also many decades ago while in high school) and I was hoping for some Beatrice and Benedick action this time, or even some Titania and Puck, but no luck.



I see, clicking on the links in that previous para and getting all nostalgic like and in the interests of updating you all on essential life matters, that the cat was still alive then (well barely, what with the catching on fire bit), I still haven't finished the green vest or the granny blanket, that my boss and I have not been opshopping enough lately, and that two years on and at the tender age of sixteen, Sebastian and Viola are now Special Friends.

PS. BALI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Squeee!