The Bed and Breakfast man

Silent Night.

What on earth happened to 2005? And why is the only Christmas carol I've heard playing so far this year Silent Night? I can't get away from it. I'm being followed by elves with boom boxes playing it over and over again. Every store I walk into and every carols by candlelight I pass has it playing. It echoes from the car park of the Westfield up the road and plays in a continuous loop invading my dreams. When I catch said elves I will crush their tiny heads like coconuts and outlaw the singing of that beautiful, yet oh so repetitive song in anything but German.

'Tis the time of year for panic. All work must be completed before the boys piss off on their summer holiday. Of course it won't be, but the panic helps set the mood for the festive season. At least I have my shopping done. Well more to the point, Mrs A had the shopping done, about February last. And wrapped by March. I'm buying some new golf clubs for me in case Santa didn't get my email, or took umbrage to my rough treatment of his elves and their musical play-list. Dad bought me the camera, so I think I'm pretty much set for the coming year.

Christmas is at Mum and Dads this year. The whole cooking of the turkey in searing December heat is something we always avoided, preferring tropical fruits and cold cuts of various meats. (All cold cuts supplied by the good people a Penny's Mosman. Shop at Penny's. No, really go and do it NOW! This was a paid advertisement by Mrs A, spoken by Mrs A. for Penny's Mosman). But with a widowed Grandmother of a generation when people were made from asbestos and capable of cooking a roast on the hottest day of the year and still having time to fill their husbands pipe and have seven children simultaneously whilst toasting the Queen coming to spend the day with us, we will bear the extra heat of the oven, and put her in it.

And now for some unrelated pictures.

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Whoever you are and wherever you be, whether or not you follow Christmas or Yule or other traditions, whether you really give a damn at all about the Gregorian calendar, I wish you much cheer and joy and stuff and hope that the New Year is full of satisfactory blogging and happiness in life and love. I can't promise anything about Tuesdays though. Oh, and look out for the date of the housewarming when we get to Northbridge early in the New Year.

Merry Christmas.

In a nutshell..

Here's the last few weeks.

Much better thanks, except that I've apparently walked under too many ladders or had too many close encounters with black cats. Big hard drive crash, which I am assuming has to do with the thunderstorms of late. Not just the main drive either, but the one with the backups. 5 years of work files gone. The hard drive is currently in Queensland being looked at by rocket scientists. I am praying to any God willing to listen that it can be fixed as I have no time clock records for the staff, no idea what has been booked out or purchased, and tax is due on the 21st. Plus the electronic wages program is gone and the ANZ tells me it will take a week to get a new version. Wages are tomorrow.

Australia generally has little that is newsworthy of being beamed around the globe. The riots in Cronulla and Brighton Le Sands, just down the road from my place, however seem to have made it to the world forum. I'm not too proud to be an Aussie right now. One thing that said it all to me was the person wearing a t-shirt with the slogan, We grew up here, you flew here. Imagine if the Indigenous Australians turned up with, We evolved here, you came on a boat, on their shirts. I imagine we would feel slightly miffed.

The global trivia challenge has ended. I made the top fifty out of fifteen thousand odd players. Pride is a sin.

I have a new toy.

 

The driving range roof.

 

Lastly we are moving. Our apartment is up for sale, and the last few weekends, and a couple of days off work, have seen us frantically searching for new accommodation. It seems we have finally found somewhere. On the North Shore. It's good for Mrs A. who works in Mosman. I'm going to have to write Porche in crayon on the front of the Ford, sleep in a tuxedo and give up my ugg boots, replacing them with award winning live Merino sheep instead. It seems the area is full of old money. I have some old money, so I should be fine.

Now I'm off to set up the new program and try to resume a semblance of a normal working day.

Hooroo.