The House Husband

Today was my ten week hair day…except it was my twelve week hair day because of various postponements and cancellations involving various trips to various parts of the world. I don’t know why I always book my haircut ten weeks ahead except it’s the same time lapse as the puppies, which Kate decided on. So I blame Kate for the fact that my hair timetable is at ten week intervals.

For that reason (and because I’ve been a bit slack with the trip to Oz) I spent yesterday afternoon colouring my hair in preparation. Otherwise, I’d have been really, really grey following the scissor action of today.

Of course I went to the gym first and, while I didn’t manage any PBs, I was very happy I’ve not ached at all following the two week break. I think this is the first time that’s happened. I usually have to suffer through a few days of painful muscle readjustment. I have no idea why this time has been different but I’m definitely not complaining.

In Starbucks I chatted with Andrew who, when I explained I was getting a much needed haircut, indicated this wasn’t a problem he suffered from. While not hairless, he doesn’t have a lot and the bit he does have is making itself scarce.

Sat in my Ruby Mane chair, having Cacheta work on my head is one of life’s little joys. Once upon a time I hated getting my hair cut but these days, the combination of massage, washing, attention and chat is hard to beat.

Today we talked about travel. After I told her about the joys of Japan and the woes of China, Cacheta told me about her experiences in Thailand and Jamaica. The two places couldn’t be more different.

In Thailand she told me about the first trip she made there with her husband. They had an absolute blast, mostly because of a young Australian couple on their honeymoon who introduced them to an amazing club in a cave. It was THE spot to go to when everything else closed and, by 6am the next morning, was still throbbing with tunes and drinking.

Fast forward a number of years and after having their daughters, they decided to take them to Thailand to share in past glories. Sadly, everything had changed (and not for the good). The people had become more greedy and racist. And the club in the cave had returned to the way nature had intended, a way that didn’t include decks and drinks.

The daughters were not enthused and wondered what their parents had seen in the place. They thought it was all a bit ‘meh’ and claimed they’d not bother returning any time soon.

This experience, I told Cacheta, reminded me of Bali. When I went in 1973 it was an unspoiled paradise. Ten years later it was an awful, over commercialised, island like any other island. We decided it’s important to remember the great things because they, obviously, don’t last forever.

Far more ‘fun’ was their experience in Jamaica. Cacheta was born there and had relatives so the dangerous countryside, while retaining an element of danger, was not a surprise. They knew the precautions to take and, in consequence, had an excellent time. Sadly, her uncles are rapidly dying off so, soon, there’ll be no-one left to visit.

As usual, I was very pleased with the results of my appointment and went home to two over excited puppies given my usual two hours away had magnified to almost four. So, of course, after lunch, we went to the park where Freya almost caught a squirrel.

To be fair it was the squirrel’s fault rather than any skill on Freya’s part. It was sitting in the middle of the Avenue of Trees, it’s back turned to Freya when it shuffled it’s bushy tail in an involuntary sweep of the path. The sudden movement spurred Freya into action as she made a mad dash to close the three metres between them in under a second.

The squirrel must have heard something because it’s little head swivelled quickly, spotting the white blur approaching and took off just ahead of Freya’s paws. They reached the base of a tree at almost the same time, Freya nearly slamming into the trunk while the squirrel raced up to the safety of a branch very high up.

Squirrels almost always spiral up trees except when in extreme danger of capture. I figure this is because they want to tease the pursuer. This time, the squirrel went straight up, not pausing for anything until it was safe in the crook of a branch. Freya’s tail swished as she tried to figure out where the squirrel had gone.

It was most exciting. Meanwhile Emma just chased her ball.

Meanwhile, for her birthday, Mirinda went on a two hour boat trip then had dinner at a Michelin starred restaurant.

Following the devastating burning of Notre Dame the other day, one of our newspapers printed an evocative photograph showing an untouched golden cross standing defiant while all around was blackened ash. I don’t read newspapers so I wouldn’t have known about the photograph had I not read a tweet which featured the photograph and stated  that it was the hand of god and was undeniable proof of his existence.

Ignoring the fact that it was him that allowed the thing to burn in the first place, my favourite response on twitter was this:

That made me laugh out loud. Kind of like the continuing hilarity of a podcast that Lisa recommended I listen to.

It’s called My Dad Wrote a Porno and, seriously, it’s laugh out loud funny. I was listening on the plane coming back from Oz and had to stop myself exploding with mirth many, many times. I’ve started listening to episodes while having lunch (and dinner), ignoring the possible choke hazards.

Meanwhile, on the way to the gym this morning, I discovered a rather odd addition to the big roundabout I circumvent on the way.

The only explanation I can come up with is that people have been driving across the roundabout. Okay, this is unlikely given the forest growing on it but why else would an established roundabout need this sort of over the top signage? (By the way, Home James doesn’t exist anymore. They were bought by VGT taxis.)

After shopping and walking home and eating lunch (and listening to My Dad Wrote a Porno) I took the girls to the park for a much needed (according to Emma) walk/run/ball chase.

I also snapped another couple of flower photos from our garden. First our beautiful camellia is being bloomin’ bountiful:

And another close up of one of the yellow and red tulips, this time in a pot on the terrace.

The weather has continued to improve which is why I wore just shorts and t-shirt all day.

Yesterday the gardeners came and I was in charge. The reason I was in charge is because Mirinda has gone away with Fi and Bob for a week. I was given a long list of jobs that needed doing and a practical tour of the garden to make sure I knew the difference between geraniums and tulips.

Gardener Dave and Paul assured me they knew what they were doing and went at it. And I have to say, the garden looked fantastic when they’d finished.

The garden is really starting to come alive after the long sleep of winter. Tulips are following on from the daffodils and freesias to add to the yellow with splashes of red and purple. The insects are starting to appear as well, buzzing around the blooming glory.

I love the garden at this time of year (particularly when all I have to do is admire it) as it begins to burst forth. Colours that have been hidden, suddenly splash stunning shades of serious sparkle about the place. It becomes alive.

Of course, there’s still the weeds…but that’s never going to stop.

The tulips in the front garden are still magnificent. Here’s a better photo than the other day, given I took it from the front instead of overhead.

Of course, we went to the park and Freya made friends with a very big, very hairy Dulux dog. I really wanted to get a photo of them together but only managed this:

The rest of the day was spent working on the transference of amendments between thesis versions for Mirinda. Meanwhile she was off enjoying a high tea overlooking the sea somewhere on the Devon coast.

Oh, and I went to the gym today for the first time in over two weeks. Upon my return home, I had my usual Tuesday weigh-in and it seems that I lost half a kilo in Queensland. I guess that’s what going OMAD will do for you!

It was with great sadness that I watched the burning of Notre Dame in Paris this evening. It came through on Twitter with some extraordinary video footage. The spire falling was very dramatic. The Parisians singing hymns was very poignant.

Any regular reader of this blog will know how much I love Paris. We’ve been going via the Eurostar for years; a weekend here, a week there. We have come to think of it as our second capital city. And Notre Dame has always been a centre point of our trips.

Our first trip to Paris in 1999, may not have been our most delightful but standing outside the cathedral was certainly magical.

We didn’t go inside but did wander around, admiring the tourists who were obviously prepared to queue for hours. Speaking of queues…here’s a photo of the queue in 2008. It has wound around the side of the cathedral and probably took most of the day for the stragglers.

Still, we did manage to visit the inside. It was in 2006 and I was a little less than enthusiastic with my opinions:

It strikes me that this church has little spiritual feeling remaining as the tourists wander around, taking photographs, filming people praying – in terms of worship, this would be one of the last places I’d visit! It is also quite gloomy. However, what is very impressive is the north facing rose window. It is huge and not one part of it is either horizontal or vertical and it gives the impression that it is moving.

We don’t always visit Notre Dame on our Paris trips but it’s enough to know that it’s there. It’s a bit like seeing St Paul’s in London. It’s comforting. And it’s symbolic.

It’s symbolic of human mortality that an edifice can be seen by many, many generations of us short lived creatures because we have the ability to construct such a long lasting thing of beauty. It doesn’t matter if one is religious or not. It doesn’t matter if one is knowledgeable in the ways of flying buttresses or religious incantations. It does matter that this beautiful church existed.

It’s good to know that there are so many people who love Notre Dame. Of all the tweets I read tonight, one stood out. It was from Yvette Cooper, a Labour MP (who, some believe, should be the Leader of the Opposition) who was in Paris today.

It was a sad day but it was full of bravery. There were people saving precious artworks and fake reliquaries, disregarding their own safety as the cathedral threatened to collapse on to them. There were the firefighters who, as most firefighters do, worked tirelessly and carefully to minimise the damage.

The call is now to rebuild Notre Dame. Given what has been done throughout Europe following the Second World War, it’s entirely possible that the new one will look exactly like the one that burned today. But, hopefully, with a bit less fire risk.

Just a thought to finish on. A lot of people are claiming to be praying. I’m not sure what they are praying for. Given god is omni-powerful and omni-present, surely he let the fire take Notre Dame in the first place. I’m not sure what prayer is going to do except, perhaps, give him pause to think that possibly his followers doubt his wisdom.

I’ll never understand religious people. That doesn’t stop me loving Notre Dame.

We are currently experiencing a bit of chill weather. Apparently a weather pattern has crept down from Scandinavia, making us shiver and shake. While nothing like the Beast from the East of previous cold spells, it’s enough to warrant the wearing of a fleece…a far cry from a week ago in Caloundra. While culture shock is not really a problem, climate shock is a big possibility. I was actually cold. Well, for the littlest bit.

In Farnham I chatted with a few of my favourite service people, commenting on the cold and how hot it was in Queensland. To a woman, they all assumed I was missing the heat. I dissuaded them of that sort of thinking quick smart. Besides, the weather is supposed to warm up by next Wednesday as the Scandinavian front is replaced by a Mediterranean one. Stay tuned for more weather complaints mid week then.

While it was chilly, it was sunny enough to hang washing on the line which may have taken all day but by sundown was nicely dry and neatly folded. The weather wasn’t really responsible for the folding. I’d like to say that Freya did the folding but it would be a lie. She is such a lazy dog. Emma, of course, was doing her job of guarding the house from the safety of a window sill.

Speaking of her window sill position, there is a beautiful bunch of red dipped yellow tulips in the front garden perfectly placed for Emma’s vantage point. I took this photo from above as we went to the park.

After lunch, we headed up to the Park for a bit of a ball chase, something I miss when I’m away and something that Emma misses even more.

We saw quite a few dog walkers but none that we knew. I managed to hold Emma back from a couple of over-sized greyhounds at one stage but, basically, we had only one visit by another dog. It was a cute fluffy thing who approached Freya with as much trepidation as she normally shows. They rubbed noses, sniffed butts then went their separate ways. It was all very civilised.

Back at home, I started work on moving Mirinda’s amendments from the working version of her thesis to the new master copy which came back from her supervisor with very high praise and copious exclamation marks in the cover email. When I spoke to Mirinda she seemed surprised at this reaction to the work. I merely said “I never doubted it.“

Now it’s the final march towards the closing date in May.

Something I feel I should say before signing this post off is how I have not found anything out of place in my kitchen. Fiona has taken excellent care of my domain during my absence in some cases going above and beyond in white goods cleaning. I’m more than happy for her to come back and use it whenever she desires.

Though not next weekend. Next weekend I’m making moussaka and kulfi.