I swear...

...if little Johnny Puff'n'Stuff wins this election I'm seriously considering emigrating. To a country not governed by some cuckolded prat panting to lick the scum off Bush's cowboy boots. Oh, wait a second...

Talking about getting away, far away... husband is off to Sydney next weekend and I want to get get away for Saturday night. You know, reacquaint myself with the pre-marriage Kinki. I need somewhere within 90 minutes drive of Melbourne (I'm thinking Marysville, Daylesford etc.) in an idyllic relaxing country setting, say, a cottage or b&b nestled into the foothills somewhere (sorry, channelling Merchant Ivory there...), no more than $120 a night, which is amenable to a single wench. Can anyone help a poor abandoned Kinki with a suggestion???

Photo Friday "Furry"

Grand Final Weekend

So, what do Kinki and McG do in Melbourne on Grand Final Weekend? They get the hell out of it, of course!

Now, I love my AFL. If a Melbourne team had made it to the final I may have been remotely interested, but considering my own team got a thorough thwacking with the wooden spoon this year, and those smug bastards Brisbane Lions were in the final again (boooooring) the whole thing just smacked of anti-cllimax.

We haven't been car-camping for over 3 years (I'm talking about proper tent camping, not the sanitised "Let'ssleepinacabinwithwarmcosyfutons" style of camping our Japanese friends took for granted), so we headed up to the Upper Yarra Reservoir NP, the camping ground you get to when the Warburton highway ends, about an hour and a half from Melbourne.

"Davies, there's no 'u' in 'moose'"

There are hot showers and toilets, but otherwise it's pretty rugged (erm... not really, but it's really very pretty). When we got there, the incorrigible Davies' had already set up camp and were enjoying a roaring camp fire, a nice cup of tea and a sit down. A busload of euro-australians had monopolised the picnic ground, playing boule (sppeelinng?) drinking grappa and checking out our little campsite. When they left there was only one other campsite at the other side of the park.

That night we tucked into vegetarian fajitas (without the tortillas or salsa because I forgetted them), beef stew, a truckload of beer (Danes was on the light beer being with child and all) and port and toasted marshmallows.

Shit, I'd really missed the Aussie camping experience. I'd had such a stressful week at work, it was imperative I unwind in idyllic surroundings lest the ballistic-bunny get the upper hand.

And the Davies were perfect camping-buddies. Major Davies stepped over the line once, rigging up a rope between his truck and a tree near our tent, so that he could make the tree rustle from the comfort of the truck and make us think that mooses were about to tread onto our tent. He thought it tremendously funny, although disappointed that we didn't take the bait. I failed to understand why he didn't just come out and shake the tree himself. Turns out it was "too cold outside". And he calls himself a Man of Danger.

By the time we got home, everyone in Melbourne had recovered from their hangovers and the Grand Final was a distant memory (who won again???)...

The Upper Yarra Happy Snaps

When worlds collide

My delicious friend, Princess Pink has gone and got herself engage-d to the ever delightful Daz. Good to see they took a leaf out of the Kinki and McG book and decided on a beach wedding. 'Cept the imps are going with a tropical THAILAND wedding, the little thieving buggers. Psheldhft. Don't they, like, totally know the whole beach wedding concept is so, like, May 2004...

Ah, rabu!

In other news, my humble employer hasn't even made me a permanent employee yet, and they're giving me extra jobs. Like, half an ex-employee's workload. "Here ya go, Kinki, have another half a job!" Not that I mind - I'm now doing intranet development and internal communications so both very nice jobbies thanks very much, I'll take them.

What I won't take is my domestic bliss being hung, drawn and quartered. Husband has pissed off to Sydney for a few days and whilst the peace (did I say that?) is wunderbar, I have to deal with domestic crises on my own...

I came home today to find our bedroom roof leaking. "Ah-ha!" I hear the locals cry - "but it hasn't rained in Melbourne for a week! It's 26 degrees and the sun is shining! How could it be, Kinki, how could it be?" It could be that our upstairs neighbours decided to drown themselves in washing machine water. They've just moved in and I'm fairly certain they'll be sleeping in the wet patch for quite a few days.

Can't wait for husband to come home and fix everything. I am useless wife. Useless.

Photo Friday "Domestic"

100% Chinese produce... ahem, except for the Pepsi and Coke...

Meet the (Tokyo) locals...

It has only been 5 months since I left Japan, but it's taken me that long to get together a collection of half-decent portraits of Tokyo locals...

Harajuku Hard Sell

Buddha's Bento

Marunouchi Maskara

Ummmm, knock yourselves out...

B&W Tokyo Portraits

A New Home

35 Degrees has moved to a new home. Thankyou to the incomparable crew at TextDrive for providing a far superior hosting service and answering all my dumb questions.

Leave a comment if anything looks screwed up. No, not you, Kinki. You can just scream "It's broken!!!" at me. But you knew that.

Photo Friday "Blossom"

I mean, honestly, as if this week's project weren't custom-made for Kinki...

Friday night in the 'burbs

Yen and Rob talk strategy at the inaugural Kinki and McG Board Games Challenge

OK, so we're dags. Sue us.

11/9

I wish I were an optimist...

McG is an optimist. He always thinks the very best of people. I, on the other hand, have an unfortunate defence-mechanism, finely honed since childhood, that if I expect a worse-case scenario, anything better than that is a nice surprise.

So when I left a few new purchases (a couple of photo frames and some pink beaded hair thingies) on the train yesterday, I didn't expect them back. Matt insisted that he call Eltham station to see if they were still on the train, but my response?

"Don't bother, some scumbag will have taken it".

Turns out I was right (no sign of said bling blong at the station) but that's not the point. The point is that I switched on the defensive "don't get my goddamn hopes up". But McG... Husband... Angel in my Kitchen was convinced that someone would do the honest thing with a reassuring "someone will hand it in, sweetie".

I wish I were more like Husband. But I hate disappointment more than anything (even more than passive aggressive HR-y type D personalities) so no matter how hard I would like to be otherwise, I just have to accept that I will always be a pessimistic cow.

But although I tend to see humanity as a generally crappy place with people crapping over each other, setting off bombs in each other's faces and starting war 'cos it's the thing to do, I am generally in an exceptionally good mood. All the time.

All hail the power of the ENFJ (sorry, Hitler channelling again...)

Have bike... will travel...

The wheels of the bus go 'round and 'round...

Lygon Street, Carlton

We had fitness assessments at our gym on Saturday. [ahem, dramatic pause] Let it be known that I realise I'd achieved my nadir of physical fitness prior to the assessment (the result of 9 months of little (no?) activity and a standard 20+ drinks a week) but the results were still jarring. I am officially a "poor" performer. I would have preferred "room for improvement" but it's good to get a pride-denting boot up the arse to kick it off the couch.

To celebrate the findings, we met Matt's Uncle John for dinner at Jimmy Watsons that evening, and stuffed ourselves stupid on international yum-yums (how can one possibly resist the decadent pleasures of an amaretto and raspberry trifle I ask you!) .

Our weekend routine goes something like this:

Saturday: Wake up earli-ish. Have brunch somewhere local. Have lunch somewhere further out, maybe with friends if we're feeling popular. Maybe a trip to the gym, but probably not (actually, I just put that in there to make me feel better), nana-nap around 2 in the afternoon. Go out for dinner and stuff ourselves stupid...

Brunswick Street, Fitzroy

Sunday: Wake up earli-ish. Go early morning shopping at our local supermarket (very nerdish, but very relaxing, trust me), read the paper over coffee at home. Go out for lunch - usually Brunswick Street, Lygon Street or High Street, Northcote. A DVD in the afternoon, or a drive somewhere (yesterday we bought bikes! I'm in mama-chari heaven yet again). Nana-nap in the afternoon. Cook a roast dinner or something similarly cholesterol-pumping. Switch on the TV, and stuff ourselves stupid...

No wonder we're such bloody paragons of sloth. Time for some major adjustments...

Sakuraaaaaaaa!

Ah Melbourne. 4 seasons in one day. Sakura in September. Balmy one day. Cold enough to freeze your norks off the next.

I love it here. Particularly this week, when the cherry blossoms have been out. I smell long-ago sake, week-old chuhai, memories of a Japan I'll probably never hold the same way again. Ah, Kinki - get thee from the pit of natsukashii!!!

["Not possible!" cries the melancholy wench. "...but I will have another glass of wine..."]

I used my exemplary train-shoving technique on the train yesterday. I mean, what's with Melbourne commuters populating the area near the doors when there are perfectly good aisles to stand in? Particularly in peak-hour. People just stand there like doped-out mannequins.

I was in danger of being left on the platform when I went, "Hang on a minute, I've lived in Tokyo goddamit! Move aside!" My "holding-the-door-frame-with-an-indignant-butt-first-shove" invited the looks-of-death from nearby commuters, but honestly. 2 words. Second word "off".

If I ever got another tattoo I'd have one of a cherry blossom (one of da pink ones!) one my left butt cheek to compliment the maple leaf on my right...

If only there was enough sakura for a Hanami party....