The Verdict

For a while, I was hanging in there bravely. The grey hair was out for everyone to see. Sometimes I didn't mind it at all. Rather liked it, in fact. But there were other times when I looked at myself and thought I looked ten years older. Which, a day after celebrating my 44th, is not a good thing.

Yesterday, I took out the tube of 'Cherry Bomb' hair colour I'd bought in the event of a 'grey crisis'. I squeezed out a generous amount and started to brush it on. It looked fabulous. The red was deep and rich, covering the whites to perfection and blending in beautifully with my black hair. I left the colour on for the required 30 minutes and even put on a plastic shower cap to maximise the effect (a tragic look).

But when I washed it off, disaster. Almost all the red washed away, leaving my greys a weak shade of pink. I looked like Dame Edna with a buzz cut.

Off to Hairhouse Warehouse. They have all the answers. In the end, I opted to return to permanent colour. A shade of brown that will colour my greys and blend in with the black hair to give a 'textured' effect. I went home, put it in, and am much happier with the result. All I can say is, I gave it my best shot, but maybe I'll wait till I'm 60 to go grey again. By then I might be almost all white and it could be a great look.

...of droughts and flooding rain

We went camping to Sorrento last weekend. The weather forecast wasn't flash, so I flagged the idea that the trip could be cancelled. Husband laughed. 'They said "showers". That could mean anything,' he said. 'It might be fantastic!'

What can I say? I was right and he was wrong. It wasn't showers, in the end, it was rain. And what rain. In a time of drought, I don't think I remember such a heavy rain fall since the last time we had fierce storms in Victoria, back about 2 or 3 years ago.

The rain that began to fall on Saturday afternoon and didn't stop for twenty four hours was more like a deluge than 'rain'. All through the night, I kept being woken by its drumming on the tent, and by the occasional strong gust of wind that made me wonder about the nearby tree we'd used to string our washing line. Would it fall and crush us as we slept? There was a lot of flapping at one stage, and husband went out to investigate. The wind had blown the awning off one of the corner poles, which fell of course, leaving half of our 'veranda' collapsed. Of course, everything we'd placed under it got soaked. We had water through food bags, towels, cloth chairs... well, everything.

I lay in my bed listening to him hammer the peg back in. A few minutes later, when he was back inside, we heard someone else hammering in their pegs. Let's just say not a lot of sleep was had by the general camping community that night. That would be fine, if it weren't for the fact that in the morning, we woke to find water had leaked into the tent!!!!! The canvas tent that was meant to be absolutely 100% waterproof. It cost enough money, so I was sure it was going to deliver on the promise.

In the morning, the inside of the tent was saturated in condensation - or so we thought. It was probably water coming in from outside. There were puddles here and there on the floor and some of the bedding was slightly wet.

We left the tent for a hearty brunch at a local eatery with the other families on the trip. The temperature had dropped to 13 degrees by now, and the warmth was more a necessity than a treat. Some of the children came in their pyjamas, and our small one had no choice but to wear thongs (all her socks and shoes got soaked in the downpour).

From there, we migrated to the Hotel Sorrento for a long lunch before dropping off all the children at the movies while we grown-ups packed up the went tent site. And yes, you guessed it, by then the weather was clearing. Still, it was lovely to get home to a warm, dry bed. We slept in till 9 the next morning. There was a lot of lost sleep to catch up on.

And some research on the tent manufacturer's web site yielded some answers: The tent needs a few 'thorough soakings' to become 'seasoned'. That done, it will be 100% waterproof.

I am sooo looking forward to the next rainy camping trip so we can put it to the test.

Junk Communication

Every day now, I get at least one or two phone calls from companies that want to sell me 'stuff'. Oh, they often begin the phone call with, 'I'm not trying to sell you anything...', to which I always think, 'Oh, yeah, then who's paying your wages?'

I try not to insult these poor telephone people. After all, it's not their fault they've got such a terrible job. Imagine having to sit in a tele-marketing room all day with dozens of others, all punching numbers into phones, all reciting the same, tedious mantra.

I try not to insult them, but I'm sure my annoyance comes through. I usually cut them off by saying, 'Not interested, thanks,' and quickly hanging up. The quick hang-up is usually to prevent the poor tele-marketer's counter attack. Sometimes they even sound annoyed that you're not interested in their amazing offer. 'Oh, so you're not interested in learning how you can take thousands of dollars off your mortgage,' they say in a shitty tone.

This is when I remember Jerry Seinfeld, and smile. There was that episode when Jerry gets one of these calls and he says politely, 'I'm sorry, but I'm busy right now. If you give me your number, I can call you back at home.... Oh, you don't like people ringing you when you're home? Now you know how I feel.'

Still, when the charities call, I count my blessings and don't hang up.

Then there's the other 'scourge'. The 'chain e-mail'. Usually they're syrupy sweet, corny, cliched and frustrating. Some - under the guise of wisdom or altruism - are downright offensive. They're the ones that promise stuff:

"If you pass this e-mail on to six other people, ten great things will happen to you...
...money will come to you...
...luck will come to you...
...sex..."

They remind me of those pernicious chain letters that used to come in the mail, hardly legible after repeated photocopying. Remember how they told of unspeakable family tragedies that befell people who didn't keep the chain going? And how those same tragedies or financial ruin were reversed once the victim fished the letter out of the bin, made 50 copies and sent it to all their unsuspecting friends and relatives? It's a source of endless fascination to me that anybody is taken in by that stuff!

Sometimes I get a forwarded email that makes me stop and think. These are usually long-winded monologues about the preciousness of life and those around us. I read it, start feeling nostalgic about the past, feeling all warm and fuzzy about my loved ones. Yeah, the sentiments are often true, and it IS good not to take life for granted. I get that, and I guess it's a good thing to be reminded. But then why do I always feel a little manipulated? Why do I always feel like I'm a member of the great cyberspace congregation and someone's giving me a sermon. One I didn't ask for.

The problem with these kinds of messages, is that they're often full of generalisations, and they paint a picture of the past as perfect and of the present as hopeless. Frankly, I don't have any time for this. Why can't we be happy and positive about the great things we enjoy in life today? If we don't focus on what's good (and there's plenty of it), how can we expect young people not to feel hopeless about the future of the planet?

Perhaps it's time to start my own e-mail chain. The good news mail. Ten reasons to rejoice that we're living now instead of the fifties or sixties or some other decade when hundreds of Australians died every year of preventable and/or curable diseases. Ten reasons to turn off the computer and spend some time reading - or writing - a book instead. And what about forwarding great art (see, the inclusion of the above Klimt was not gratuitous). That's always uplifting, as is poetry or a good quote.

And humour is always welcome. Send me a funny photo, or a joke, and the quality of my day improves.

Writing? What was that again?

I am completely exhausted. The last few weeks have been full of activity, which have left me with little time to write. I tell myself I'll get into it in a few weeks, when I get past the mountain of work that's built up. I will get past it soon. A few weeks should do it, and I can already see the proverbial light...

While I've been doing that work, a lot of other 'stuff' has happened. Should I mention it? The list would be really long, and maybe it would be fun to even try.

Okay, I'll have a little go:

• Install word 2007 on computer - Hate it, but have to do it to be compatible with the rest of the world
• Ask for another year's leave from 'real job' - granted.
• Do tax return - two years' worth!!!
• Celebrate 13 year old daughter's birthday - big bash.
• Celebrate father's 83rd birthday - very quiet, but very special.
• Let hair 'grey' - the jury's still out.
• Buy some groovy clothes for summer - Yay!!
• Buy some fantastic shoes for summer - alas, only one pair.
• Make Halloween costume for 13 year old - black fairy.
• Listen to 90 presentations at work - each goes for about 20 minutes
• Grade said presentations.
• Write for money - non-fiction, instructional, and very, very boring.
• Catch up with doctor, dentist, vet visits long overdue.

I could go on, but I won't. You get the picture. Soon, very soon, the writing part of my life will get a run again.

Twiddling Thumbs

Not exactly, but almost. Since posting off my manuscript, I've caught up on all the procrastination I missed in the last six weeks.

For one thing, I've done quite a bit of internet time wasting - so much so that we got the notice from our provider to say that we'd used 80% of our monthly total. Seeing as we recently 'upped' the total to 4G a month, I thought exhausting an amount that vast would be beyond us. I blamed the kids at first, until my husband reminded me of my fondness for YouTube.

Oh, yeah... YouTube. I've been re-living a lot of fun stuff on that little time waster. Anything and everything musical, usually. I had the Elvis fest at one stage, then moved on to Barbra Streisand. OMG, she's so divine. There was this montage of Barbra photos from the seventies while the soundtrack of 'Stoney End' plays. Oh, it's pure heaven. As is the clip from 'A Star Is Born' where she sings on the stage for the first time in front of her rockstar boyfriend's packed stadium. The song is 'Woman In The Moon', and it's one of her most powerful performances. It even held the attention of my almost teenage daughter!! Now that says something.

A dinner time conversation about John Travolta in 'Grease' took the whole family to YouTube for a sampling of his talents on the disco dance floor in 'Saturday Night Fever'. The movie's not suitable for the kids to watch yet, but boy, it's sweet watching the man move.

Then there's been 'Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat', a perennial favourite at our house that is currently getting a spin in the CD stacker. I entered the name of the musical in YouTube and got several 'bad' high school, or amateur versions. Some of them had less than adequate Josephs in the lead. And as the role requires Joseph to don a slave's outfit (loin cloth with the obligatory bare chest) for part of the show, let's just say some of the candidates were in a no-win situation from the start.

Just when I thought there wasn't going to be any decent, West End versions of Joseph on YouTube, I stumbled across a sensational man. The guy's name is Lee Mead, and as I followed the trail of video leads, I pieced together his story. Apparently, in the UK, there's been an 'IDOL' type of TV program to find the lead for the latest run of 'Joseph'. Andrew Lloyd Webber has been involved - as evidenced by his appearance at the auditions. Well, this guy Lee Mead - who had already been starring in The Phantom - blew everyone else out of the water. His voice is sensational and as for the slave outfit... well, that is something to be seen. One of the judges accused a fellow (female) judge of being in love with him. Fair enough accusation, I suppose, since there was lipstick on the photo of Mead she had in her hands as she gave him her 'feedback' after his audition.

Since we seem to follow close on the heels of London's stage 'revivals', I look forward to seeing 'Joseph' on stage here in Melbourne. The first time I saw it, a cousin took me to see it in London's West End. The year was 1992, and he said he only got tickets because, 'Jason Donovan's not in it any more, so it's okay to go.' Back then, I'd never heard of the musical, and I thought the title was ridiculous. The bible story wasn't one I was familiar with, and even if I'd known about it, it would have been hard to envisage it as a musical. I have no idea who made up the cast, back then, but the narrator was a woman with such an amazing voice that I often wonder if she's now a household name. At one stage, I remember she stopped the show. So much applause that the orchestra had to wait until the audience was quiet again before going on!

For a look at Lee Mead's 'slave' version of Joseph, and more importantly, his impressive vocal chords, have a peek below...

Fare thee well, dear manuscript

Today I finally handed my current manuscript over to the post office clerk. It was a big parcel, too. Heavy. I haven't sent off a full manuscript before, so the postage was a bit of a surprise.

I have to thank my critique partner, AbFab, for poring over the chapters one by one as I produced them, for giving very balanced and insightful comments, and helping me to shape the writing into something better. AbFab and I went away for the weekend, and we pretty much did nothing but write - or re-write.

Thanks also for my other critique buddy, Lisa Mc, who despite being the busiest working mother in the world, still managed to read my novel and offer some really helpful comments, which I took into consideration during the writing weekend.

During the weekend, AbFab read the entire novel from start to finish, and found some mistakes. Then I read it, and found others. I made the necessary alterations, and when I got home, I printed the entire manuscript out once more. And then, of course, I read it again. I couldn't help myself. And naturally, I found some more things I needed to change.

This morning, I began to read it another time, and again fiddled with the prose. I got about halfway through the manuscript, when I realised it was time to STOP.

Ever had that feeling? The manuscript is technically finished, but it's hard to stop tweaking sentences, changing words here and there - and then changing them back to the way they were at the start. AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!!

Thankfully, I recognised this was such a moment. Halfway through the fourth read-through, I stopped and hit the 'print' button. Honestly, I've been through the final draft so many times that there was nothing left to find. Only things to move around and re-arrange. There comes a time when you just have to say, 'That's it. I'm finished.' And I did that today, about 3pm.

And then I slipped the pristine manuscript, complete with cover page and bound with rubber bands into the envelope that will take it to Mills & Boon in London. I included all the necessary bits and pieces and sent it on its merry - and I hope successful - way.

Tonight, like an addict, I thought to myself, 'What shall I write now?' But the laptop was turned off, and will stay turned off for quite a few days, I think. Time to work with pen and paper, first. New characters, new plot, new project.

Tribute

It's been a long time since my last post, I know, but I've been extremely busy with work and a few hectic weekends - some of them away from home. On the writing front, I've also been snowed under, polishing my latest manuscript for submission.

But though I haven't really got time to post, I just couldn't let the passing of a giant go by without acknowledgment.

Luciano Pavarotti, the golden voice of opera, died last week. There aren't many performers who could carry the label of having the greatest voice of their genre. Pavarotti is such a star. I don't think anybody could argue there has been a better tenor. Ever. The power and finesse of his voice is unsurpassed, and all over the world, music legends have for years been paying their respects, as well as lining up for a chance to become immortal by singing alongside him.

I have many old VHS tapes of Pavarotti concerts, including the first (and best) of the Three Tenors performances. One of these concerts is, 'Pavarotti in Hyde Park', performed in front of Charles and Diana. What made this concert stand out from many others just like it, wasn't so much what took place on stage, but the weather. About half way through the show, the sky opened up with a great deluge, turning the the audience - including Charles and Di - into drowned rats.

In spite of that, Pavarotti's divine voice held the audience captive, and nobody left their seats. Diana and Charles appeared enthralled, while becoming more sodden by the minute. After the show, the members of the orchestra and Pavarotti lined up backstage for the traditional royal 'meet and greet'. The image of a completely soaked Diana, her hair plastered to her skull, but nevertheless glowing in the presence of the great Luciano, is powerful and enduring.

Back in 1993, I sat in the audience of Pavarotti's concert in Melbourne's Rod Laver Arena. I'll never forget his incredible performance, and the energy radiating from the crowd. It was as if we all knew we were part of history, that night. He saved his signature aria, 'Nessun Dorma', for last, and it gained him a standing ovation. The applause was deafening, and I thought my hands would fall off from so much clapping. What a thrill to see him live, and only a few rows from the front.

Every star in the music world sang with Pavarotti if they were lucky enough to get the chance. I've seen the likes of Andrea Bocelli, Bono, James Brown, Meat Loaf and Queen - among others - take up the microphone. But the clip I've chosen for this blog is of Pavarotti singing alongside the Spice Girls. Never my favourite band, that girly bunch, yet this unlikely coupling works. The mix of feminine voices contrast with Luciano's reverberating tenor surprisingly well. This collaboration also highlights what a versatile performer Paravotti was, and demonstrates what was probably his greatest achievement: making opera accessible to the masses and creating a whole new generation of fans.


Thank you Luciano. The world loves you and will always miss you.