Weblog of Lois and Dougie - the daily musings of a lady and her cat

A new change to the road rules in NZ was recently publicised in the newspapers.  From February 26th (I think), all driver must now signal before entering a roundabout, and then signal when they are about to exit.  I always thought one had to do this anyway.  For readers to whom roundabouts are a foreign concept, they are a method of controlling traffic at intersection by making them drive round a circular bit in the middle, until they need to come off onto another road.  Think of the street arrangement at London's Marble Arch, or one end of Paris' Champs Elysee.  England, it much be said is littered with roundabouts, expecially on smaller country highways, but they don't cause too much hassle.  This is because British drivers, on the whole, are quite polite and drive well.

Over here, it is possible to get a licence from age 15.  When I got mine, I even stalled the car coming back into the carpark, but passed anyway.  One of my sisters, who until she got into her 20s had all the co-ordination of a newborn foal, passed hers to the amazement of my family.  Standards do not seem to have gotten much better. 

Roundabouts therefore, are a convenient feature of the landscape for those who get their thrills dicing with death.  So in a way, the 'new' rule is understandable.  There is only one problem with it.  The announcement in the newspaper came out of the blue, quite close to the day of implementation.  Ever since drivers are so busy concentrating on indicating at the right time they are even less concerned about watching for other traffic than ever.  So right now driving here in Auckland is more dangerous than ever. 

In fact, it has all become so much fun, that a 'let the train take the strain' to get to my new job.  I have just one roundabout to negotiate in getting to the station from home, and encounter it just once on the way back.  Bliss.

All workplaces in New Zealand must, according to Occupational Health and Safety regulations, conduct 'risk assessment' of the workplace.  Some of this seems sensible enough, such as noting where cables from computers might be running across the floor, and could trip someone up.  Other aspects of assessment can seem frankly ridiculous, as staff are taught like little children to avoid having a messy desk.  The nature of 'risk management' was brilliantly parodied in the BBC's TV series 'The Office', in which a new staff memeber had to repeatly pick up and put down an empty cardboard box in 'the correct way' while being coached by an earnest manager.

I've discovered one or two other hazards that could impact on the mental health of workers, or at least, this worker.  One is that spending so much time at a computer all day makes it hard for me to face using one after hours to write my weblog.  I may have to re-name it 'The weekly musings of a lady and her cat'.  This loss of time to write naturally impacts on me, as the comfort afforded in expressing oneself creatively is lost. 

The other impact on my mental health this week came in the form of an email.  Having just joined a customer services team, I find myself on the receiving end of group emails to all staff in the department.  One I received this week was written like this:   "We rmnd all stf 2 chk avlblty of allctn b4 bkng spc 4 yr cstmr"    I felt like I was reading an email written in a foreign language.  I can read text, I use text and I do abbreviate words.  But this email was sent in the workplace.  Does the writer honestly believe it is OK to send an email about business practice using a 'language' that belongs in social interactions?  Do they send a text if they can't make a meeting?  "Cnt atnd mtng @ 2 cn we rschdle 2 4pm thurs?"

As I have had problems with prospective employers thinking I am old (which I don't think I am) just because I am not 21 anymore, I have started to use my age to my advantage.  I point out, for example, that I know how to write a business letter.  I can spell, and I type with appropriate use of capital letters.  As I compete against bright young things happy to work for peanuts, I am singularly involved in a mission to maintain standards of business practice, especially in regard to written language.  It is a battle I fear I will lose, as language and its use changes all the time, but for the moment, I for one, wl nt be wrtng emls in txt at wrk.

The Japanese have come up with a computer-aided device designed to "make going to the toilet more pleasant".  The device, can produce sprays of perfume and play various bits of music.  Personally, I hadn't noticed that goign to toilet was particularly unpleasant, though if I were at the home of a new lover for the first time, I'd probably prefer not to produce a smelly, noisy performance in their toilet. 

I find it interesting that it is the Japanese who have come up with this, as I used to teach  English to Japanese students.  They asked me some interesting questions at times.  On one occasion, a young woman said, "Lois, is it OK to wash our underwear in the bath?".  Every other student sitting nearby turned and looked almost imploringly at me.  It seemed this had been on their minds too, and it was important.  I told them it was OK, but their host families might think it a little strange.  That seemed to make them happy enough.  I later found out from a Japanese lady that many Japanese prefer not to use washing machines, which seems bizarre in that Japan is a country almost in love with technology of all kinds.  I actually feel as though this love of technology is driven by a need to embrace the artificial and the 'not natural' as much as possible. 

Going to the toilet, urinating and defaecating are normal, natural things to do.  Everyone has to do them, as our bodies would be poisoned by our waste products if we didn't.  Imagine if this device became a normal part of Japanese life, and then my homestay students had to go on a camping trip.  The experience of producing smells and noise could cause considerable upset.  If this sounds far-fetched, let me tell you a little story related to me by one of the bus drivers I worked with on one of my cultural outings with students.

With that particular group of students, there was to be a short weekend trip up England's 'Lake District' with an overnight hotel stay.  When we arrived at the hotel, and met up for dinner, the cutural liaison lady (Japanese), Bob the bus driver, and I, had to help the students to understand what was on the menu.  Bob had been the driver for the trip the year before, and warned me that we needed to explain very clearly what each dish would be. The reason for this was because, on the trip the year before, one student had ordered pan-fried fish.  When the fish duly arrived, the student burst into tears.  This was because, Bob explained, the student was shocked to see a whole fish, that looked like an animal to her, staring up from the plate.  Apparently, in her mind, fish looked like what is put on the top of sushi, which looks nothing like a creature that could have been alive.  Our lovely cultural liaison lady told us that she had met students who thought sushi topping of fish came in plastic bags, so removed were they (the students) from the real production of food. 

The amazement of students over the origins of food also extended to our trips into the countryside.  I once saw a student who appeared to be pointing her camera at the ground to take a photo.  She was taking a photo of a strawberry plant. 

 

 

I'm not the kind of girl to publish someone else's work, but... saw this little gem in the paper recently and decided to share it with Blogigo readers.

In the sports section of a NZ newspaper and article appeared under the headline 'No excuse for the inexcuseable' as follows:

Gary Birkett lists six of the best reasons for sporting stuff-ups.

1.  QUIET PLEASE

Ambian tennis player Lighton Muchinda responded to his 1992 defeat in a local tournament by compatriot Musumba Bwayla with a mature, considered critique of his rival's skills.

"Bwayla is a stupid man and a hopeless player.  He has a huge nose and is cross-eyed.  Girls hate him.  He beat me because my jockstrap was too tight and because when he serves he farts, and that made me lose my concentration, for which I am famous throughout Zambia."

Bwayla said his rival should calm down before he caused another stink.

I had a flatmate who, having been awake since 2am, informed me in the morning that because we both did not have men in our lives, we would have to give each other a hug every day.  This proved to be a good idea.  One only has to see couples walking hand-in-hand or greeting each other with a kiss, to realise that sometimes us singles can end up somewhat deprived.  You probably have heard that studies conducted on monkeys showed that baby monkeys shrivalled and died if they received no affection.

A couple of weeks ago I ran into a guy I had not seen for a while.  When we first met, the sexual chemistry between us was undeniable (and it was acknowledged on both sides), but the context prevented us from taking things further, had both of us been free to do so.  I may have been reading too many positive thinking/self help books lately, as I was in the frame of mind that every thing happens for a reason, people come into your life at certain times for a reason etc.  Anyway, when we saw each other again, we had the most wonderful hug, and the gentleman concerned was swiftly promoted to Fantasy Man #2. (for explanation of fantasy men and their uses, see a previous reference). 

Due to an attack of voracious hormones, Fantasy Man #2 stayed in my mind after I'd seen him, in fact I could not get him out of my head.  I decided to seek him out, with two intentions in mind 1.  I wanted to know if he was free to move from Fantasy Man status to Reality Man status, and 2.  I wanted another hug. 

I found FM#2 where I expected to and initiated a conversation.  I didn't want to give too much away in finding out the answer to my first question but was hoping I could at least ask for another (lovely) hug.  FM#2 suddenly began talking to a young woman who had approached us and was explaining to her how we met.  Then he said to me,"This is my darling wife, by the way".  I let out a whooping laugh which was not a great response but all I could manage.  I felt like I'd been hit by a brick.  Not just 'my wife' but 'my darling wife'.  I couldn't have had a clearer message from the universe if a place had been circling outside hauling a banner reading "X is very married - don't got there'!  Actually I wasn't that bothered as I had always known he may have had a partner.  Really I was just a bit stunned at how I found out, but was pleased I hadn't humiliated myself. 

Of course, I never asked for a hug.  I went home feeling a little empty as a result.  Fantasy men have to have the one of the following attributes:  Marital status unknown, or marital status potentially available!

Attitudes toward alcohol vary from  country to country.  In Mexico, I had problems with one landlady because if I had a beer and cigarette in the evening, I would have to sit outside her house, which led to her neighbours (so she told me) making complaints and calling the police!  This was in spite fo the fact that I was on her premises, not on the street at all.   Some weeks later, a  kind student invited me to join her family for New Year celebrations.  There, behind closed doors, were people whose drinking and drunkeness rivalled a bunch of soccer hooligans.  So drinking was OK as long as it occurred behind closed doors.  Actually, I should have known this already, as a man I met while backpacking in Mexico some years earlier told me, "In Mexico, if everything looks OK, it is OK".  This was said as he, I and others tidied away evidence of our drinking as some local police were approaching us.

In going from the UK to Mexico to live, I went from a public heavy drinking culture, to a private one.  In the UK, many people drink daily, and to levels weekly that are double or treble the limit suggested by health professionals.  Binging is a normal activity for many youth.  As I worked in the entertainment industry, I saw colleagues drink excessively on a daily basis, and in time, I did the same.  I can't blame British culture for drinking to excess becoming the norm for me at that time, as we can all exert control if we wish (unless addicted), and there were a few colleagues who were moderate in their intake.  Nevertheless, it doesn't help to be in a business and culture where such unhealthy behaviour is the norm.

The subject of drinking is under scrutiny in New Zealand right now, as proposals are being put to make the central business district of Auckland, the largest city, a place where premises such as clubs can sell alcohol '24/7'.  Naturally there are voices of support and protest alike.  Like a number of western cities, apartment buildings have sprung up in the CBD, and residents fear drunken behaviour such as vomiting in doorwarys, impacting on them.  Club owners and some business leaders meanwhile, believe that the proposal, if accepted, would allow Auckland's CBD to be a livelier place.

The thing is, what really needs to change, not just in Auckland but throughout New Zealand, is a change to how we consume alcohol.  Since smoking has been banned in public places indoors, and smokers are no longer free to smoke as they drink, some have found they smoke less on an evening out.  There is no longer a 'sit & smoke with your drink culture'.  If attitudes toward public drinking were to change, perhaps to become more mexican even, maybe incidents of vomiting in apartment block doorways would occur less often. 

It is all very well that the government, spokespersons for health, the police etc, lecture the drinking public about the dangers of drinking in excess, but we as a nation are unlikely to change unless, as with smoking, we are supported to do so.  It is unlikely this will happen quickly.   

My sister is a big fan of an americanTV programme, 'Queer eye for the straight guy'.  This programme, for those not familiar with it, has 5 gay guys perform a kind of makeover on a straight guy, taking him out to buy new clothes, offering him tips on grooming, and generally at the end of the programme, watching him go through a date or evening of some kind with a lady.  One of the gay men in the programme is called Jai.

When I first watched this programme, I wasn't quite sure about the need for Jai, whose responsibility is called 'Culture', although he did perform useful tasks like teaching a man with two left feet to dance.  He also helped a playwright looking to break into the New York theatre scene to run an event in which the writer got to meet producers who might help him achieve his goal.  When he really came into his own (Jai that is, not the writer in that programme) was when the straight guys needed advice on how to treat a lady.

The reason Jai has been on my mind lately is that some time ago, having decided that I had really moved on from Clark, I felt it was time to look for a new relationship.  The memories of this time are still very powerful.  Like many people my age and in my situation, I decided to be a little pro-active, and began searching for dates via the Internet.  I quickly discovered that there were many gentleman interested in meeting me, and that cyberspace has plenty of decent guys to meet whose intentions seemed geniune, and were the same as mine.  What made me stop dating this way, though, was a couple of experiences with attractive, intelligent men, who managed to freak me out with their actions.

The first of these was S.  I went on two dates with him.  The first one went OK, though I was a little put off that he seemed in a hurry to put the beer goggles on - i.e. he got stuck in drinking alot of beer quite quickly.  I tend to keep my distance if a man does this - once he's had a few, how can I be sure he is interested in me if he makes advances, rather than just horny and trying his luck thanks to a bit of dutch courage?  But I felt an attraction to S, he seemed sure of himself career-wise, could hold a conversation, and liked sport as much as I do.  So when he called and asked for a second date, I said yes.

The second date was dinner and a movie.  I was late and arrived in bit of a fluster, but S was reassuring and pleased to see me.  So pleased in fact, that when we both stood up he put his hand on my butt, and was running his hand over that part of my body.  What disurbed me about this was that he had not shown much affection toward me in the time I'd known hhim, yet there he was feeling around to find out what kind of underwear I had on.  I could have been wrong about that intention, but I am pretty sure I am, and was not. 

When we later arrived at the movies, S wanted to change seats to be to the left of me.  I assumed that was so he could put his right arm around me, which I would have welcomed.  Once the movie began, I discovered he had another intention.  Throughout the movie, he kept not only holding my hand (in itself fine), but persisted in slowly pulling it toward his crotch. 

Now call me old-fashioned, (goodness knows I've been called worse), but I really think a bit of cuddling and kissing is in order before things go from sensual to sexual.  Even schoolboys know they'll have to enjoy a good pash, snog, whatever you'd like to call it, before there's any chance of getting to the jiggy bit.  S's hand movements just didn't stop, even though I was doing the opposite to him.  I would slowly move his hand back to the middle of his knee, or the armrest.  Then he'd start again.  Finally I said 'No!' in a louder voice than I had intended to, and he got the message.

Another gentleman, T, managed to cool my ardour on our second date also.  We had been to some hot pools together.  When we returned to T's flat (where my car was parked), we went inside and he began kissing me passionately.  I had been wanting to kiss T, but things were starting to move a little too fast for me.  I began to pull away from his attentions.  This didn't stop T however.  Despite the fact that I felt my body language was discouraging, T continued.  In the end I had to state clearly to him, that I just wasn't ready to move so fast.  For starters T had been hugely enthusiastic toward me on our first date, but had lost the ability to dial a telephone not long afterward.  I needed to be more sure of his intentions before I could enjoy such attentions. 

What caused me consternation in both these cases was not the fact the guys were trying it on.  They were men, for goodness sake, and I would have wondered about them had there been no attempt at physical affection.  What really got me was the fact that in both cases I tried to communicate my unhappiness with what was going on, but felt like I wasn't being listened to.  It is not fair to expect other people to be mind-readers - indeed when we do this we off-load responsibility for our behaviour onto others.  I didn't have a problem with the fact I had to make it clear to these guys that I wasn't enjoying myself.  But when I felt that I did so, my feelings went unnoticed. 

This is where Jai comes into the story.  I don't expect that men and women will ever get better at reading the minds of each other, but I would appreciate it if someone could teach everyone in the dating world to take some notice of what kind of a reaction their advances are getting.  On another date, P, a life coach said to me, "you're not in a very happy place right now, are you?".  P was right, and he wasn't referring to our date.  He was commenting on what I'd told him about being unhappy with my professional life.  I thought it was great that P noticed my feelings.  I can't imagine that P would have behaved like S or T if he'd wanted to get physical. 

Jai, if you're reading this, come over to my country and help us.  I will personally put in a good word for you with the Prime Minister if you like it here and want to become a resident.  The job of teaching emotional consciousness to daters, has your name written all over it.

On second thoughts, Dougie and I have decided to form a pressure group called the Association of Complainers Revolting Over Outlandish Use of Terminology, or ACRO-OUT.  Blogigo readers are welcome to join but must refer to themselves using initials only.

Hope you'll join us soon,

LK & DH

I used to watch a television programme called Room 101.  The term room 101 comes, I think, from an Orwell novel (1984), the concept of the show meanwhile, was to invite celebrities to put forward nominations of anything they believe is not necessary or of value in the world, in their opinion.  These things, could be anything from cheesy musicals, to country music, to designer labels.  The celebrity would have to make a case for their object of disdain to be sent to Room 101, carried on a conveyer-belt into a chamber of flames suggesting hell.

I would like to put forward my case against... acronyms.  Not because the idea of acronyms is such a bad one, but because there are way too many.  These range from the easy-enough to remember UNICEF, MSN etc which have no correlation between the 'word' formed by the letters, and the intended understanding of what the acronym represents, to more literal examples.  Where I start to lose patience is when acronyms are used to prompt the meory, but are frankly ridiculous.  My local supermarket has a posters telling their staff what to do in an armed hold-up.  C - calm O - observe - O - obey and P - protect.  Why not just say hand over the money happily and wait for the robber to leave?  Isn't it just common sense?  What do they think their staff will do, invite the robber to step outside for a punch-up in the carpark?

If this weren't enough, many industries use acronyms, not only to shorten terms to one-syllable words (I don't want to say Compact Disc or Digital Analog Tape anymre than you do).  Fine as a concept, but one ends up on acronym overload.  To ease this burden, I propose that as many acronyms as possible are replaced with nonsense words.  I am today learning about an in-house computer application called MLIS.  It produces invoices.  I propose that it is re-named 'Bling'.  Any acronyms used to refer to to non-payments are simply referred to as 'No-Bling'.  At least in this was one could enjoy appparently silly conversations on a daily basis without the use of acronyms, whilst still using enough convaluted terminology to keep any who don't speak the lingo (e.g. customers) out of the loop.

What would you like to see go into Room 101?  Please send  a comment including your nomination and a reason for your choice.

Lois

P,S.  Sorry I if I haven't responded to those who have sent me comments yet

I will start today with the story of two rings.  The first was gvien to me by Clark, when we promised to look after each other, in sickness and in health (you know the drill), til death do us part.  Unfortunately, we did part, and I a while ago, I parted with the ring.  I had to sell it to raise money to come to live in New Zealand.  I certainly felt more than a small pang of sadness as I handed the ring over to its new (temporary) owner, a lovely young man about to marry his (pregnant) childhood sweetheart.  But I needed to sell the ring to begin a new chapter in my life, perhaps to begin life as a new me, not the wife of Clark any longer.

The second ring is a silver ring inscribed with runes, symbols from an ancient time that were imprinted on amulets and carried for good luck.  It was given to me by a man who entered (and exited my life) before Clark.  I gave him a ring also, with runes he chose himself.  They were made specially for us.  This relationship did not last, but I still wear this ring.  Interestingly, I saw the gentleman concerned a few years ago on a visit to England, and he was wearing his ring also.  For us, these rings did not signify our relationship, but ourselves.  I have never seen the need to stop wearing it.

Buddhists believe that it is attachment which causes us our suffering in our lives, and that to unburden oneself of attachments allows us to enjoy a better spiritual path.  I certainly wasn't feeling in tune with such sentiments as I forlornly wandered round my house yesterday having mislaid the ring.  I began looking in the obvious places, emptying pockets, looking at every benchtop, but it seem to have clean disappeared.  Eventually I went to bed, my mind chewing over a thought that since I am creating a new life for myself now, leaving something behind my like a ring from my past, was not the end of the world.

Nevertheless, I was pleased when I found it today, would you believe, in the washing machine.  I have no idea how it got there, since I went through the pockets of my jeans, oh about 15 times last night. 

I feel glad that the ring is still with me on my journey, but my heart does feel a little lighter at also feeling that as I move on, as if from one page in a book to another, I can take comfort in the knowledge that it is not not objects that make our history, but rather the meanings we make with them  I don't think I'm about to encounter spiritual enlightment any day yet, but today finds me  a contented soul, happy with my place in the universe right now.

For residents of the chilly isles that make up the United Kingdom, the idea of living in warm, Mediterranian climes hold as much, if not even more appeal today than it to generations before.  Indeed, it has become easier and easier for dreamers to take the next step and purchase a property in southern Europe, as individuals and companies have been set up to facilitate these purchases.  The Tuscan dream, as I will call it, however, can be a case of art imitating life, but not life imitating art.  Here's what I mean.

The Tuscan dream has been spurred on in recent years by both popular literature (My life in Provence by Peter Mayle), film, (Under the Tuscan Sun), and even reality television.  There is one programme on NZ television at the moment in which two men are renovating a Tuscan dream property, and not so long ago, a series featured a chef who spent a year with his family living in the South of France.  The Tuscan dream certainly sounds and looks easy in some of the aforementioned depictions, though to be fair, the two men in the renovation series are having their problems.  In some respects they appear to generate theses problems themselves through speaking VERY LOUDLY AND SLOWLY in English at times rather than speaking the local language.  What the romantic versions of the Tuscan dream gloss over amounts to more than just language barriers, and is the subject of a highly entertaining book I am reading called 'How not to live abroad'.

Shaun and his partner in crime, Helen, buy a rundown villa in the south of Spain.  Their culture shock ranges from the frustrations of hiring tradesmen in a country where manana (tomorrow) could mean next week or next month, to discovering that the stone villas built to block out the harshest heat are devilishly cold when temperatures drop.  Like many before them, and many who will come after, they had envisaged a life of never being cold again, effortlessly growing produce to eat, and settling in to local life without any great effort to speak the local tongue.  Thankfully, the writer is astute and honest, and his depiction of their adventure learning to live with, as well as in Spain, is amusing and heart-warming. 

Many a foreigner comes unstuck with systems operating abroad.  Corruption features in a number of countries (e.g. Spain, Mexico, Italy) and foreigners can find themselves unsure if they are on the right side of the law; endless bureaucracy (think Italy) can ensure whast may take a week in the UK takes four when all the right paparwork is signed sealed and delivered.  But probably the biggest shock of all for those who don't do their homerwork, is related to the weather.  I myself huddled in my insufficiently blanketed bed in Mexico as temperatures dropped to freezing overnight.  This was particularly galling as friends were emailing me and teasing me about sunning myself in Mexico.

I would never tell anyone not to pursue the tuscan dream, but best to read 'How not to live abroad' frist rather than 'Under the Tuscan sun'.

Last week, a very nice friend of mine stayed over at my house.  As a have a large collection of women's magazines (chewing gum for the brain), my friend began idly leafing through pages of 'celebraties' photographed at various functions.  She asked me if I liked Sarah Jessica Parker, so I asked her in what way did she mean this.  She told me she liked SJP, "because she seems like a nice person".

Neither of us know SJP personally, in fact we have never met her.  She may be an intolerable cow who has to pay rent-a-crowd to give the impression she has friends.  She might be an absolute honey.  But it always surprises me when anyone says they like or dislike famous (living) people they've never met.  My friend doesn't 'like' Renee Zellweger, for no reason she can actually name. 

The same kind of sentiments appear in letters to the editor pages in these women's magazines.  "Jennifer (Aniston)/Gwyneth Paltrow/(insert name) looks like a lovely person...  I recall a lecturer in Communications at university talking about judgements on appearance saying that a major problem for parents in educating their children with regard to 'stranger danger' is convincing them that people who do bad things may not look bad.  Indeed, when little children are asked to draw the kind of person who might do hurtful things, they tend do draw scowling, unattractive-looking men.  If you look at some of the mugshots in newspapers of convicted criminals, some do look creepy, but an awful lot don't.

Last year, a man called Bruce (can't remember the surname) was sent to jail in New Zealand after being convicted of murdering two little girls, the children of his partner.  Bruce's face was bland, neither creepy nor Hollywood handsome, in fact had one not known of his crime, his face could have been described as kindly.  Yet this was  a man who terrified, tortured and murdered two children.

As benign as 'liking' celebraties may be, I can't help but think it is one side of the same coin that may have helped those two poor little girls trust the company of the evil Bruce.

I think I took the right decision to stay out of the workforce and not apply for work while I recovered from illness recently.  Today I found that I had been rejected for a job working at a place I would love to work - because I would get to watch lots of rugby!  Didn't even get a second interview! Oh well.  Onwards and upwards.  Have an interview today at a gym.  That should be interesting.

A few years ago, if anyone had told me I might want to work in the health and fitness industry, I would have laughed.  I weighed 90kg and believed that God invented running for when a bus is just pulling away and you really need to be on it.  But things have changed, and I have changed.

Furthermore, it is a new year!  Thank goodness the Year of the Monkey is over. In such years, the cunning and deceptive benefit most.  That's not my personality at all.  I have high hopes for the Year of the Rooster!

Dear reader, am not firing on all four creative cylinders today.  May write again after interview.  Let's hope I have more luck with this one!

 

 

Some years ago, I had a friend called Vicky, who enjoyed, then did not enjoy, an affair with a married man.  Married man, ('MM') led vulnerable Vicky up the garden path with the same old pack of porkies uttered by MMs around the globe - the marriage is dead anyway, we don't even have sex anymore, she tricked me into marriage (how, exactly?), and... (drum roll, maestro, if you please) "I'm not even sure if our child is mine".  More recently, a friend told me that he wasn't sure if his child was his either.  In the cases of both these gentlemen, the very obvious similarity in appearance between them and their (supposedly-not) offspring was pointed out, and both swore by the same explanation.  Their wives, around the time of conception, were having affairs with the men's best friends, who "looked very similar to me".

The reason these two guys have come to mind recently is because a frontpage article last week suggested that as many as a third of all fathers might be raising and/or supporting children who were not biologically theirs, in an article titled 'Sly DNA tests show 1 in 3 dads duped'.  This article could have brought great cheer to the hearts of the men mentioned above.  Perhaps the doubting dads cited in the article also made poor choices of friends.  Perhaps out of vanity, they choose lookalikes, so that if they ever had to look at their mates whilst in their company, it would be not unlike looking in the mirror.  I suspect, however that particularly in the first case, the invention (and that's what I thought it was) of the cuckolding clone served to ameliorate any guilt felt on the part of the MM. 

Not only do I not buy the lookalike theory, I also don't buy the statistic proferred in the article, which suggests that around a third of all mothers were enjoying 'relations' with two or more partners around the time of their child's conception.  I would be curious to know if statistics on infidelity would be high enough to support this.  Those stats themselves could be unreliable, unless the research was carried out with the unrivalled scrutiny of, (thanks to Liam Neeson), deceased-man-of-the-moment, Alfred Kinsey (i.e. by actually seeing it in front of your own eyes).  My other reason to doubt stats on infidelity is that the respondents who say they are getting extra-marital action (or those who are but don't say so), have already proven themselves to be accomplished liars.  Furthermore, if there's one thing that unites the human race in not telling the truth, it is our sex lives. 

So who could these doubting dads be?  Who are these women active with multiple partners?  Since the DNA tests reported are being conducted in Australia, perhaps Australian sheilas are partial to a bit on the side.  Or maybe there is a spate of immaculate conceptions taking place over the Tasman.  Or is it that some women, take a lookalike lover because the physical attraction is still there, but hubby has become a dud shag.  I don't have any answers, but I would sure advise men to try their darndest to avoid having friends who look like them.  WASPs in the US could try to befriends African American basketball players, boxers, or footballers.  Gentlemen of colour could sign up to golf courses or country clubs in which their brother either a minority or visibly absent.  Back in Horse-trailer, the white blokes might like to cruise around Redfern (in Sydney) and share a jar or two with the locals, whilst aboriginal gentlemen could stroll into almost any goverment office or business on the lookout for pale potential mates.

Had not intended to stay on a theme of sex and fertility, but like infidelity, taxes and death, these thangs ain't gonna go away.

I love weekends.  Both saturday and sunday I enjoy, newspaper and coffee in bed, preferably with my beloved Dougie by my side. 

Today one columnist has written that she believes the development of a 'male pill', is a waste of time.  This is, she reasons (sic) a) what man would want to immobolise his masculinity?, and b) the consequences of unwanted pregancy impact more heavily on women.  I assume in the case of the latter, the writer is suggesting men lack the necessary motivation to use contraception (aside from the condom). 

I simply do cannot endorse either argument.  If using a contraceptive which reduces the sperm's ability to swim is a threat to a man's masculinity, what does this say about men who have vasectomies?  Are they more secure in their masculinity?  Sterilisation is, since the rate of succesful reversal is low, a very final, potentially emasculating, procedure, but is an option that can be taken by men who are fairly certain they will not wish to father children in the future.  This group could include those who already have children, or men who simply feel late parenthood is undesirable.  But I know of another kind of candidate for either vasectomy or, more preferably, the male pill.

When I lived in Australia, I became friends with a lovely young couple who I will refer to as S and J.  J had tried using the IUD, but encountered serious probems - on one occasion the uterus chose to (painfully) expel the device all by itself.  The pill caused J to not only gain weight (an undesireable but not serious side-effect unless you're a model), but dampened her libido and made her moody and miserable, whcih did nothing to enhance her relationship with S.  S was sympathetic, but since sex is an important way of sharing intimacy and affirming closeness in a relationship, both parties suffered in its absence.  Speaking of intimacy, barrier methods hardly boost intimacy by virtue of their intrusive nature.  No amount of kindly messages on condom instructions suggesting a woman can put on the condom "as part of love play" will ever convince me this contraceptive option is a good one for a committed couple. As the couple were in their twenties, vasectomy was not an option they would consider.  S would have been happy to at least try the pill, had it been available. 

Also while in Australia, I had a short-lived romance with a guy I'll call G.  During one evening of pillow-talk, G told me he wished there were such a thing as a 'temporary vasectomy' - perhaps little clips on the vas deferens which could later be removed to restore fertility.  G never mentioned this method would undermine his masculinity.  Indeed, as a single guy, he seemed to envy the choice that women have to use an unobtrusive contraceptive to avoid unwanted pregnancy.

My last case in regard to this issue, is that of a good friend of mine, T.  T has a young child, fathered with a previous partner.  Although delighted that his child, C, is here, it was certainly not something T had wished for, having one child already who he was unable the parent as much as he would have liked, due to divorce and relocation to a different city.  This in itself may have made taking a male pill something T might have found useful.  Happy to have a child but not seeking to start another family, yet a little quesy about vasectomy, the pill might have been an ideal way for T to avoid an unwanted pregnancy. 

Why shouldn't men be able to avoid unwanted pregnancy in the same way women can?  Why should my Australian friends, S and J, not have another option, having struggled with the others on offer?  Although I would never believe a man I didn't know very well if he said he was on the pill (unless it had a side-effect of making the guy's ears turn green or something), I would certainly welcome this advance.  I don't do casual sex anyway, but no amount of abstinence programs will stop it happening, and guys like T have every right to want a sex life too.

What do you think, dear reader?  If I cannot set up a poll (haven't done that before), why not write a comment? 

Bye for now.

Today I intended to catch a bus into the city.  Unfortunately, the company's drivers were meeting today to discuss wage negotiations with their management.  Initially this annoyed me a little - purely because of the inconvenience.  However, once I foun dout what the drivers are paid, I now support them totally.

I personally feel aggrieved to get out of bed for less than $15 an hour, and the thought of doing what bus drivers do for under $14, horrifies me.  Drivers in this city range from astonishingly aggressive, to downright dreamy.  Passengers often take their frustrations out on the drivers.  As I discovered the day I tried to text to gain information about buses, the system is not always user-friendly - I would have been hot under the collar that day if I had boarded a bus rather than walked.

The median wage is this city is between $28 - 29K - even two people earning this money would struggle to buy a house, let alone raise a child.  It amazes me that whenever politicians speak of saving money spent on welfare, they are keen for beneficiaries to move into work, but fail to address the problem of low wages.  I hope one day to hear a politician talk about raising productivity through increased participation in the workforce. 

It is hard to imagine that unskilled workers see any advantage in moving off benefit (which includes an accomodation subsidy) into work which pays $10 - 12 an hour.  And the problem doesn't stop there.  One acquaintance of mine had two law degrees, one from a country where English is not the first language, the other from Australia.  This highly-qualified lady signed up with recruitment agencies, who offered her secretarial roles paying around $15 per hour.  Not surprisingly, she was reluctant to take them on.  (By the way, she does not receive benefit).  I also worked in a call centre once, alongside a qualified environmental scientist from India.  She had struggled to find an employer interested in her skills, despite speaking better english than many native speakers in addition to her teriary qualification. 

As long as the issue of low wages is not addressed, and skilled immigrants forced to accept work in call centres or driving taxis, the opportunity to improve productivity remains an overlooked resource.

 

 

I have had the opportunity to go through some old photos, including those of when I travelled on the Trans-Siberian railway.  That trip was an adventure from start to finish, in fact my adventure started in Moscow before we even boarded the train.

As I was saying yesterday, under communism, travel was controlled and restricted.  The year I went to Moscow, Gorbachov was exiled.  It happened while we were crossing from Mongolia into China.  That was very fortuitous - if I had been in Moscow, I would have ended up stuck in one of the worst hotels I have ever stayed in.  Of course, there were worse in terms of facilities in some poor countries, but my hotel cost me over !00 pounds sterling (i.e. British pounds) a night, and, I had to pay a single supplement as well.  For this I had a narrow uncomfortable bed, and a formica bench.  The service was surly to say the least, although I did get a better response on the second day when I spoke German to the receptonist rather than English.

Despite the cost, the hotel would not serve any vegetarian food for me.  Even the Trans-siberian did better in this respect, though I could tell when I was served my soup alongside everyone else that I was getting the same soup with the bits of meat taken out!  At least they tried.  At the hotel, there was no a-la-carte service for us foreigners, we were simply expected to rock up and sit and wait for a number of courses to be brought to us.  Little of it was edible for me.   Bottles of cold mineral water were set out on the table, but this water hd the highest concentration of sodium I have ever tasted in mineral water.  It was akin to taking a gulp of the Dead Sea.  Our second day had our first daytime lunch meal and it was very hot.  I was one of the first to arrive, and took a huge swig from one of the bottles of water.  It was unbelievably unpalatable.  As others arrived, I warned them about the water, but after a while it became a fun game to say nothing about the water, and watch people's reactions.

There was actually an a-la-carte restaurant in the hotel, so the second day I and two guys decided to try it out.  We discovered that the menu was almost like a book, but what was on offer was only the items with a price beside them.  It took an eternity to get a waitress' attention, and the food took a pretty long time after that.  I became so impatient that at one point, I walked into the kitchen to try and get my food.  I was astonished by what I saw - a long table of desserts set out, and the staff sitting round with their feet up (literally), smoking!  We got the food in the end, and the standard was pretty much like the food in the foreigners' lounge, but at least I could eat it!

The service culture that is so prominent in capitalist countries such as the U.S. took some time to catch on in the former Soviet Union.  I wonder what it would be like to stay and dine in that hotel today, over a decade later.

I've just finished a fab book I have wanted to read for some time... the autobiography of Martina Navratilova. Dear regular readers would be well aware by now - I am a huge tennis fan!  Sadly had to miss the Australian Open as I can't afford Sky now, but listened to Lleyton Hewitt's defeat (ha ha !) on the radio.

One thing that was interesting about Navratilova's book was, as she was writing in 1985, she still spoke of being unwelcome in her own country, then still Czechslovakia.  I was  in the (now) Czech Republic in 2001, and was lucky enough to stay with a family in a small border town called Nachod.  The parents in the family had applied numerous times to visit 'the West' but were turned down.  They had to limit their travels to other parts of the Eastern Bloc.  As they preferred to travel independently, they did not always book hotels in advance, which is what the honchos in the former Soviet Union expected.  This led to some awkward meetings with Russian police, who would befriend my friends and insist on escorting them to their hotel.  My friends would name a hotel, but then get there and suddenly remember they were staying at a different hotel.  This would continue until the police were succesfully shaken off!

Even as recently as the early nineties, when I went to Moscow, independent travel was discouraged.  I had wanted to go camping outside Moscow, but this would only be approved if I gave details of every campground I intended to visit, with booking confirmations!  Not really the type of trip I had been thinking of. 

Speaking of change in my lifetime, the people of Iraq have been voting.  I simply cannot agree with the means that brought this about, with carnage on both the US and Iraqi side, but maybe something good will come out of this.  It was sad to read of women voters especially, being threatened with death if they voted.  The country of Greece is sometimes credited with being the birthplace of democrary, but in fact, women and citizens of lower orders, e.g. slaves had no vote at all.  I like to think that the country of New Zealand was first in this regard, giving women the vote early last century.

No doubt there will be more changes in my lifetime.  I hope they will be positive.