The insouciance of the German mouse

It's OK.  I've recovered from last week's umbrage at the failure of the local authority's impression of a recycling program.  Well, not completely recovered but maintaining the rage while busy elsewhere.

I have to say that yesterday was the most picture perfect day for winter in this vicinity - dawn to dusk, warm, blue-skied, and not a whiff of wind.  Not a whisper. The water was mirror-like, people went about their business cheerily - if not a bit suspiciously, with one eye on the horizon for possible thunderstorms. 

The morning went via a garage sale selling genuine antiques at reasonable - although not particularly cheap - prices and my saling friend grabbed a lovely oak dresser for $90 and a table for $170.  I picked up a lovely old tin but when I looked inside it was full of money.  We're a trusting bunch here and the people had wandered off and left the cash tin (marked at $15, btw) on the table.

I spent the rest of the morning setting up a little exhibition at the local Library, where artists take turns in occupying the display cases with their work.  I have two weeks in occupation as an exhibitionist and am always amazed that it takes so long to set up these displays, even if you think you've prepared in advance.  Of course, I have a bit of stuff kicking around at home so it wasn't as though I had to make heaps of special stuff just for this show.

It's quite hard to photograph display cases so although I took some pics I've included some shots of other work on display for those unable to stagger by.  Lots of people said they liked it as I was setting up so hopefully it will make some people smile. 

But going through and choosing and packing up has uncovered some more new ideas and now I have a heap of new work to do.  That, and deal with the mouse (rodentia insouciantia terminalis) who is so comfortable under the work table that it sits and watches me go past before departing via a mouse hole, in an casual and some would say provocative manner.  Rodent, this will not end well for you.

From my good friends at Wikepedia I observe that the German for mousetrap is Schlagmausefalle. 
It sounds somehow more poetic. Don't ever say this blog is not educational.

Zombies, Darwinian selection and more jobs for lawyers

We went to the tip shops today - the local, City of Albany, and the slightly differently philosophised Denmark one.

At Denmark, it was all a-bustle, people dropping off things , chatting, fossicking, looking around. Fair enough, looks a bit tatty but their landfill doesn't seem to be bulging, and there are weird and wacky items which make you smile. (like this)

There were re-upholsterable chairs and couches, tables, cupboards, footstools, you name it, it's there.

At the City of Albany it's all lovely and tidy, because everything but books, shoes, crockery and apparently random chipboard furniture goes to landfill.  It's like a scene from the Walking Dead, with the ever hopeful few shuffling zombie-like around any vehicle which drives through, only to turn away disappointed and watch the seagulls welcome another deposit.

We pondered this at length as we watched a perfectly restorable club lounge chair make it's way straight to landfill.  The nice gentleman who was working patiently explained that there are serious liabilities for Cleanaway, who contract to provide the 'service' for the City.  If you buy a chair or couch or bed or cushion (or presumably any item which involves a porous surface) it may be infested with insects and you could sue.

Taking this to it's logical conclusion, one could say that if I get a papercut from one of the books I bought today, and the papercut becomes infected and my finger falls off, then I have a case for compensation.  If I buy a plate and drop it getting it out of the car and cut myself picking up the pieces - woohoo, new holiday home for me.  Presumably, any timber is expected to be infested with white ants/woodworm and other passing bugs which may leap off and chew my head off, rusty nails on which I may impale myself, or homicidal splinters.  The shoes which are for sale - surely they are a podiatric disaster waiting to happen.  It's a long and lingering death from blisters or bunions.

I can understand the case regarding electrical things.  Not so long ago, I was listening to a man at the Denmark tip shop dealing with an unhappy customer who complained that he had bought 4 computers from the tip shop (for a couple of dollars each) but none of them worked.  As the representative of local government in the area explained, '...it's a tip shop, mate, people don't bring 'em here if they work.'  The apparently eternally optimistic customer kept on looking.  He did not appear to be accompanied by his legal team.

Today, in Denmark, I bought a BGE electric bar heater, age unknown but probably pre 1950's.  It looks all stainless steel and minimalist chrome and space agey and I was assured it still worked, although the person who brought it in didn't want to use it any more.  Certainly, it would have zero by way of energy stars, and in terms of Australian standards, it could be considered lacking.  It would be fair to say that running on full heat it would be a random mass of red hot metal and throbbing completely exposed radiator bars.  Never mind not sticking your fingers in, your whole head would fit.  Items nearby would spontaneously combust.

It's true, the local authority could have wrestled it from me, wrenched it from my fevered grip and consigned it to become some archaeologist's future delight.  In fact, they had the good sense to know that I would not be buying it for use in it's designated field, but rather for display.  They divined, on short acquaintance, that it was unlikely that I test power points with my tongue and/or a sharp metal object and that I can be trusted with such an item. Frankly, if I did use it and it went horribly wrong, I'd put it down to Darwinian selection and call it a fair thing.

If you can put up a sign saying don't fall off the cliff into the water, how about one about purchasing at your own risk?

Our pondering concluded that the Albany tip shop probably doesn't show much profit, because there simply isn't the stock turnover to generate one, because there's hardly any stock.  People are paid to open the shop and collect the meagre 'allowed' consigned goods, and wave the rest through to holes in the ground (various). (And the Saturday guy is improving his golf swing, by the looks). Presumably, the shop is therefore costing the ratepayers double - they have to pay to dump their stuff in landfill AND pay for the relentlessly tidy shop to stay open so they can drive through.

It's not really a recycling service, because very little actually gets recycled beside cardboard and glass.  The rather specious argument regarding liability is apparently ignored by local authorities in major cities and towns all over Australia, which have thriving recycling and re-use via their well run and well patronised tip shops.

Presumably the education centre (who paid for that?) is used to brief solicitors and silks, or possibly archaeologists. Or it's used for plotting the location of the next big landfill project...

On Wednesday morning, I clawed my way to morning consciousness to this view from my bedroom window.   The whole 'red in the morning' thing appears to be a guideline, rather than a rule, because the day went on to be sunny and of no threat whatsoever to any nearby shepherds.

On the weather report here there is often a warning to sheepfarmers - but they are never specific.  What sort of warning, one may ask?  Diversify or perish?  Don't buy a new tractor?  Don't wear that hat with those boots? That flannel shirt would be better with shoulder pads and some darts?

But I digress.  I survived my first (shortened) week back at work after the grand tour, largely through liberal application of chocolate and cups of tea.  It's not really to be recommended and cuts appallingly into one's social and art time.  Apparently the working week's vicious cycle starts all over again tomorrow (Monday).  Good grief.

 The early morning chill had caused me to consider buying a fur vest.  I should explain that trends are sometimes a trifle slow to reach this little backwater, and fur - fake or real -  hasn't really made the re-entry splashdown here that it has elsewhere.  Like others, I had the lapin jacket in the 70's but I sold it on before the trend began to fade.  

I was toying with bidding for a faux fur vest on Ebuy, having seen a young lady looking splendid and warm in one just the other day.  On reflection, I decided that perhaps, as in the 70's, it's a look best left for the young and that I run the risk of looking too much like mutton dressed as rabbit.  I shall persist with my collections of faux fur snoods and scarves as long as they are warm and I do not attract foxes.  I left behind a vintage mink at a garage sale this weekend - not a coat, but a stole with a face and ears.  I did get this rather snuggly hat, styled after the 60's, for a really cold day.

A very fetching faux fur hood, from the 60's, with fluffy dangling bobbles was snatched from my hands last week by the girlchild, who tells me that she has received many a compliment and envious glance.

During an unscheduled stop at Good Sammies on Saturday, I snapped up some perfectly-fitting Doc Martins in a fetching and non-muttonly Union Jack design.  They are my new equal favourite boots, with the red faux snakeskin-but-actually-really-soft-leather ones I've had for years.

They'll look fetching with the hat.

 

Easter, feral bunnies, philosophy and starvation

Is that the sound of an Easter Bunny on the roof?  Or was that reindeer at Xmas?  It's all very confusing.

How does the Easter Bunny keep track of the changing dates of Easter?  Someone, somewhere, says this is the weekend which shall be Easter - do they email this to the Chief Bunny?  Australians don't seem to have fully embraced the bilby as a replacement for the feral Bunny.  It's not really surprising, faltering in the face of the commercial catechisms which include Mother's Day, Father's Day, and Xmas.  Oh, and Australia Day.  But don't get me started on that one.

Far be it from me to cast aspersions on any  festival which venerates chocolate.  As a child, last century ( in fact mid-last-century), the best part of Easter was buying the broken Easter eggs smashed, in bags for GJ Coles and Co - before it was ever a supermarket - afterwards.  I wonder what happens to the excess eggs now?  Put aside for next year?  Snapped up by supermarket employees? I can't believe that  every single egg is sold, even on sale. Where do the eggs go?  There may be a research grant in it.  There was one in working out that people who attach Australian flags to their cars are more jingoistic than those who don't (to quote the philosopher Homer, 'Doh'.)  I said don't get me started on Australia Day.

But these are the bigger questions which must be put aside in the annual panic caused by a temporary closure of supermarkets and shops - seriously, people, you won't starve and you don't have to stock up for the nuclear winter.  And if you choose to go to the supermarket with everyone else, at least have the good grace to be polite.  

I shall use my long, long weekend wisely, as part of my finishing/tidying/sorting/storing regime.  I've been making some new things both inside and out.  So far I've largely excavated the front room, other than the stacks of framed works.  My room is in reasonably good shape, given that when incoming houseguests arrive one tends to stash things in there.  If the weather holds, I'm thinking champagne on the front veranda.  If it doesn't, I've organised and stacked the firewood (in case of emergency) and it will be port and a roast in front of the fire. 

With Easter eggs.  I'm fairly sure we won't starve.

I think I shall call this range 'omnishambles'.

"I've seen better tennis playing in a tampon commercial." *

I spotted this while in Denmark today with a friend.  I like it a lot.

We were on a tip shop trawl on a sunny Sunday and as always the Denmark tip shop did not disappoint.  Being that it was also the art market day in that burgh it was quiet at the tip but there were bargains to be had.  My friend picked up a metal based, solid wood topped table to use as a workbench and a solid wood table top for the stash.  I snapped up some mint Doc Martens, a lovely old wooden box, and a book.





Pausing for a pie from the less-expensive-but-just-as-good-bakery at the other end of town, we observed the native wildlife navigating for parking spaces - an endangered habitat on market day - amongst the introduced species (tourists) who overrun the natives at this time of year.

With room in the car we came home via the Albany tip shop, a poor sad shadow of it's country cousin. There's no real spirit of adventure at the Albany tip shop, and it's sad that so much goes through to landfill.  Kudos, however, to the enterprising employee who was doing his bit for the economy by transferring stuff straight from the incoming line to his own vehicle.  Firm direct action to reduce landfill.  Pity about the PR.

There's an enormous space which could be better used there, and it's a retailing adage that the more you have to choose from, the more you sell.  If stuff sits around and doesn't move, cull and get new bits in.  There's no cost for the stock and it's not like they have to go far to get rid of the stuff that doesn't sell.

We did manage to snag some bargains though, real wrought iron veranda lace and standard lamp base,  a vintage atlas, and various other bits and pieces.  End of the day, I think we spent about $10 between us. I also snapped up the following from various trawling hotspots during the week:

*Girlchild, Facebook status, this week.  Who knew she watched tennis?