French And Saunders - Still Alive!

On Friday night Laura and I went to see French and Saunders at Theatre Royal, "Dreary Lane" (as F&S called it).  Oh my goodness, I have never laughed so hard in my life (well except for when I saw them a few years ago at the Hammersmith Apollo).  They were absolutely hilarious!

The funniest sketch was when Dawn French came out to the whole audience.  She finally confessed, in front of several hundred people, in her own words  - "My name is Dawn French, and I am a chocoholic".  What, we didn't know that already?  Honey, you ain't got the figure of a gymaholic, have you now?  But then she dressed up in what can only be described as a ghostbusters gone wrong sort of backpack, with a video probe - and came down into the audience looking for contraband - and confiscating it!    Maltesers, Jelly Babies - you name it - and bearing in mind the audience probably bought these things at the Theatre, they would've cost a pretty penny or pound.  Then she used the probe on some people's more intimate parts - which we could see on screen - most amusing, especially for the woman who had a gerbil nesting in her bra!  Reminds me of those stories of guys with dreadlocks who go and get their hair cut, and there's a load of redbacks nesting in their hair...

There were plenty of references to their work on the Vicar of Dibley and Ab Fab - in fact they were both competing to see which show was more popular with the audience - who was the comedy goddess and all - they even performed the first Ab Fab sketch that had appeared on their sketch show... but the funniest was when the giant Geraldine Grainger came in... have a look here (and no, I didn't record this - I was being honest...) Anyway, it was an absolutely fabulous night (hehehe!) - it's a shame its their last (but I'll be honest with you - I think they'll be back...!)

The Depths Of Despair

In the words of Anne of Green Gables, I am in the depths of despair.  

Last night I endured the job interview from hell.  I just knew from the second the phone rang, that it would go badly.  For starters, I was trying to play it a little cool, so I decided to let it ring twice - but Jean forgot the call would be for me and answered the phone before I did - so now I'm sure they think I live with my Grandma.  Oh well. 

Then the next surprise was that I wasn't just speaking with the Headteacher, no, I also had some Deputy or something on the phone.  And the line kept crackling so I missed every other word - which wasn't helped by the fact that these people had such strong accents that I thought I was on the set of Crocodile Dundee or something.

But the final straw was that I hadn't the foggiest what to say to some of their questions, and the whole thing went on for about an hour...!  It was pure hell...

You can write that one off for sure.  And seeing as no-one else has bothered even shortlisting me (and can I point out I don't think its because I'm crap, but because I'm not in the country), I am in the depths of despair...

Where's my Gilbert to pull me out of this misery?

The One Where Kylie Is A Bando (Or Grab Your Coat, Honey, You've Pulled!)

Last Saturday at Graeme's wedding I was chatting with Steve, when he asked me what I was doing the following weekend.  Without thinking, I replied "Nothing, why?".  Mistake.  Because in the next breath he invited me to join him and a few lads from the Army to go to the National Brass Band Championships.  Hmmm.

But of course, I'd walked right into it, and I couldn't very well say no, so I agreed to go.  Hey, its just one Saturday - and it is the Albert Hall - if its really crap I can just leave and get a bus to Harrods or something...

I have to admit, I wasn't feeling so optimistic about it on Friday, when I found out I would need to meet the others at the church at 8am! 8am on a Saturday! There ought to be a law!

And I was feeling even less optimistic about the whole thing this morning, when the alarm went off at the ungodly hour of 6.45 (does that time exist on a Saturday morning) and I hadn't had a very restful nights' sleep...

But I dragged myself there and met the fellas - Steve, Mark, Col, and Neil, and we caught the train up to Vic and the 52 bus to the RAH.

The sight that greeted me was a strange one. The exterior of the Albert Hall was just swarming with bandos of all shapes and sizes, warmly greeting each other in that 'I haven't seen you since last year's competition' type of way, and excitedly talking about the action that was to unfold. It was quite surreal - and then I saw someone I hadn't seen in a while, Karen Ford - and I became therefore inadvertently inducted to the first phase of the bando - the greeting phase. Although we greeted each other with hugs rather than the dignified, gentlemanly handshake and nod the others were displaying.

We then headed into the auditorium, and made our way to our seats. We were up in the top gallery, slightly off centre and to the left of the stage, but we had a very good view and of course, the acoustic was phenomenal. Before the main event took place though, Steve rushed off to the foyer again to pick up some scores and a few programmes, so we would know who was playing - because in the world of the brass band competition, the names of the bands are never announced, nor do they run in alphabetical order or something. No, each band is given a number in the playing order, and that's when they play. This is so the adjudication can be completely fair - the judges never see the bands perform, they are in a box in the centre of the auditorium with a green light on top. They have 2 little air vent things on either side of the box, from which they can hear audience response, and I believe they get their actual audio from the mikes placed strategically throughout the band. After the 10th band they get let out of their cage for a wee and a sandwich, and then they're back in there for another 10 bands.

The other thing about this competition is that the bands only get a limited amount of time to prepare the set piece - I think about 3 or 4 weeks. The piece this year was written by Kennenth Downie, a Salvationist who has published quite a lot of brass band music in the Salvation Army. This piece was Concertino for Brass Band - and surprisingly it was very listenable, and quite enjoyable. Just as well - I'm going to hear it 20 times after all, and it would be a tough ask if the music was a pile of crap.

The first band out of the gate was Grimethorpe Colliery, who actually have won the competition for the last 2 years, and were going for the hat-trick. They started playing, and several hundred peoples' heads dropped, as they stared intently at the score, ready to catch out any player who was going to make a doozie of a mistake. The piece is actually (according to Steve) quite playable - I couldn't see how, there was too much ink on the page for me, if you get my drift - too many notes to be played extremely quickly. But if you looked at the music in closer detail, there were a few key areas which were going to catch the bands out - the pp top A for the soprano at the end of the 2nd movement, for example. Anyway, Grimethorpe did a sterling job, except that the soprano played the last chord a whole beat earlier than the rest of the band. I thought, bewdy, that's it - the other 19 can go home. But band after band came on, and they were actually pretty good. 

After about band 7 the pressure on my bladder was becoming too much to bear - and with another 3 bands before the judge's potty stop, thus taking an hour - it was time for a wander. But once you leave, you can't come back in during the piece - so Col, Neil and I headed off to the Elgar room, where there was a trade display of brass instruments - and that's when things started to go a bit pear-shaped for me...

I was quite happily minding my own business, having a look at the tubas (as we need to buy a few for school) when a little old man, probably 85 not out, approaches me and starts yapping on about how he doesn't like the multi-coloured baritones (they had a mix of silver and gold plated slides). Ok. I agreed with him, and then went back to the bubas, when he leaned in closer (yuk) and starting asking me about what instrument I play, what am I interested in, why was I here at the competition, what did I think of the last band... yada yada... I tried being polite, and then I tried being blunt, but he didn't pick up on the message, and kept on at me. He took me over to introduce me to Mr Tuba, a company that specialises in reconditioned tubas. I tried all manner and means to escape, but it was not forthwith, and eventually, through desperate, frantic, furtive, panicky glances over at Col, he came over to my rescue. But not before the lovely Maurice gave me his card (crossing out the incorrect phone number and writing the correct one on it)! Grab your coat honey, you've pulled!

Boy did I hear no end of it when I got back to the other fellas. But as if that wasn't bad enough, the old fella next to Neil, when Neil went out to visit with some mates, leaned over and started up a yap about the current band's performance and so on, and which band he thought was the best... aaahhhh!!! But the total piece di resistance, was when the old guy got a cramp in his bits, and stood up as if to swannee off the balcony, and then fiddled about with them! Aaaaaaggggghhhh!!!!

The competition though was very good, although I disagreed with the winner - Black Dyke. We all thought Leyland should've won, they gave the cleanest, most musical performance of the day, whereas Black Dyke, (what an unfortunate name for a band) cheated on the last note of the 2nd movement, by having some players use mutes and having the others turn in, away from the mikes, so they could blow louder and yet have it sound quieter - thus enabling them to get the note.

Despite the thrills of Maurice and the old fella with the cramped bits (be still my beating heart), it was a thoroughly enjoyable day and I would easily go again - am I becoming a bando? Heaven forbid....

The adjudicators cage in the centre of the hall...

Grimethorpe Colliery Band

Feelin' Fat, Frumpy and Foroughly Fed Up!

For much of the last 10 years I have been fighting a losing battle with my weight, and I am now sick of it.

Just prior to coming to the UK, I had spent about six months at Weight Watchers, which surprisingly actually worked for me - I managed to lose some 15kgs or so and slimmed down to a 'svelte' (well, we can all dream) size 12 or so. Lovely.

Then alas the Heathrow Injection took place, and I began afresh the battle of the bulge, with limited success - owing to the fact that at Weight Watchers UK no-one seemed to know what a kilogram was - and my understanding of stones and pounds is limited to rocks and currency. But just prior to Penny's wedding I think in 2000 or something, with the help of the annoyingly over the top Leslie Sansone and her 'Walk off Weight' DVD ("And right left right left - hallelujah!") I managed to get back to my size 12.

But then I turned 30 and it was all downhill from there - and now I am the size of a small house. A Mack truck. A heifer cow... it's terribly depressing. It doesn't matter what I do, I just can not lose the weight. Last year, when we went on our 14 countries in 42 days great expedition, I managed to lose a few kilos (most likely due to the killer burek!), but the minute we landed back on British soil, they flew back and bit me in the bum. And the hips. And the tummy.

So today I have just had enough. The problem is though, I absolutely detest the gym - its gross. My idea of going to the gym is like this: me, looking cool, sexy and semi-glam in my gorgeously expensive Nike leggings and tank top, surrounded by hundreds of very fit, very 'buff', and very available (and not gay) gym lads, with biceps out to here and a six pack to die for. The reality though, is far different. There's me in my overlarge "Purple Pig" t-shirt and daggy grey leggings, and two types of gents - the fat, sweaty, about to have a heart attack types, and the fit bod, but balding others. I just can't win. So its no wonder that I don't go.

Instead we've started swimming again. Its ok, I guess, but a bit mind numbing... and if Laura and Katie aren't going, its extremely hard to motivate myself to go. And very depressing that I'm not seeing any results.

I don't know what else to do though - I can't go home at Christmas looking like this, and time is fast running out.

Any suggestions on the best ways to battle the bulge?

Frustrations on the Job Frontline

Aaaaggghhh!!!  Ever since I made the brave (read: probably very stupid) move to quit my job and go home I have desperately seeking some form of (legal) financial income to support me and my houses once home.  Alas, there simply isn't anything around - or at least, nothing around that can be found when you are currently outside of Brisbane...

In the UK, if you need a teaching job, there is only one place to look.  TES online.  That's it.  The definitive place to find a job.

In Australia, you need a newspaper.  A hard copy too, right there in your hands.  Forget the internet, no one advertises there - they don't have good enough service provision and don't have the proper forethought to see just how advantageous it could be to advertise online!  There are a few online sites, but they are pretty few and far between, and to be fair, are pretty ordinary - they keep publishing the same jobs (even though the application deadline has LONG passed - today is the 6th October and I can still see jobs with a closing date of 15th September!).  I've tried seek.com.au (total waste of time - you state you want a job actually IN Brisbane and they show you a bunch in Cairns - go figure?), careerone.com.au (who really aren't much better - although they have a so-called job alerts thing that really is the most impossible thing to try and manage - and when they actually send you an alert, the closing date for the job has usually passed), Best Jobs Australia (which seem only to advertise jobs in China) and today I tried a new one - australiarecruit.net, who basically regurgitate the unhelpful careerone.com.au!  I mean, since when does typing 'music' and 'education' into the search engine bring about a most meaningful job as a florist at Indooroopilly Shopping Centre?  'Bout the best thing I found was a Peforming Arts job in the UAE - which brings me to another future blog rant - Muslims and Music... but I'll save that for another time...

Anyway, I even tried signing up for some supply agencies - what a waste that was - one of them told me I'd need to do a phone interview, arranged a time and all (like I have nothing better to do at 11pm at night, right?) and then didn't call.  And when I tried to reschedule - well, have I heard anything back?  Damn right, I haven't!

So then I decided to go with Dad's great idea of having an online CV - apparently a lot of people do that (why?  No-one seems to actually use the internet in Brisbane!).  I spent all weekend (well, other than my time at Graeme's wedding, or at Erik's dinner - or at Mal's lunch on Sunday...) devising my "wham, bam, thank you Ma'am" whizz-bang website - but it took so long to upload that I was afraid I'd miss the closing time for one of the jobs I actually did find online - so I wasn't able to include it in my supporting statement.  I literally got the popup window announcing a successful publish 30 minutes after I'd sent off my application. 

Another disadvantage of being overseas looking for a job in Oz, is, unlike the Brits, who can't find enough teachers here and therefore don't mind appointing someone from a phone interview, schools at home just don't seem interested enough to do that - and if you mention that dreaded evil word "webcam"?  Boo, hiss, get away from me Satan, I can't figure out how to do that...

So I seem destined to join the queue at Centrelink...

Graeme and Emily Get Hitched!

On Saturday Graeme Hodge and Emily Mingay, after what seemed an eternity of waiting, finally tied the knot.

It was a lovely service too, although I did feel a bit down about wussing out of playing sax for the worship band - but the rehearsal was on Thursday night, after I'd been up early in the morning with Grandpa's funeral, then school, then parent night, then kid's drumming at the church, then worship band rehearsal, and then songsters.  Something had to give, and the worship band unfortunately was it.

So I didn't feel right about rocking up and playing when I hadn't been to the rehearsal.

Anyway, the service, as I was saying, was lovely - it was conducted by Chick and Margaret Yuill, with Graeme's parents, who are officers, and the Mingays doing the vows (you know, repeat after me, I, Graeme Ian Luke Hodge... blap blap blap).

I was amused to hear there was supposed to be a 1 minute kiss whilst Ira played something on the piano - but fortunately it fizzled out into a few seconds after all.

Afterwards they had a light buffet provided in the YP Hall for those attending the wedding, before they headed off to the proper reception with family and close friends.  It was really very beautiful, and best wishes to the happy couple!

Meanwhile here's some pics Laura took...

The vows

Laura and I

Sexy boy Steve

Eric Alexander Moore: A Slideshow Tribute

This is the video slideshow that my Uncle David prepared for Grandpa Moore's funeral on Thursday 2nd October 2008:

Eric Alexander Moore: A Tribute

Today my dear sweet Grandpa was promoted to glory.

I received the news at the very end of our worship service at Sutton Salvation Army, which I think was quite fitting because, if I couldn't be there with the rest of the family, I know that my Grandpa would've been proud to know I was at the Army.

Eric Alexander Moore was a wonderful man of God, fair and loving father and grandfather, and an inspiration and encouragement to everyone he met. He impressed all with his genuine care and concern, infectious wit, and deep and lasting love of the Lord.

Whilst I am desperately upset and deeply distressed that I could not be there for Grandpa's final moments, I am grateful for the silver lining at this time - which is that the last time I saw Grandpa, he was doing what he did best - praying. My final earthly moments with him were in January at Enchilada's - the whole family had gathered for our 'final supper' - never was a truer word spoken - and at the end, as I was about to leave for the airport, Grandpa Moore stood up and prayed one of the most beautiful prayers I have heard him pray, asking for God to keep me safe and in His arms. Even now the thought of it moves me to tears.

The funeral was held on Thursday 2nd October, and although I couldn't be there, Dad managed to set up a bit of a web cam thing for me so that I could see it via skype (although we couldn't make the sound work, so I had to phone his mobile for that). Although the picture wasn't very clear, and the sound often distorted, it made me feel a part of the celebration of Grandpa's life, which is very important to me.

I find it desperately sad that I will never again hear that harmonica on my birthday, or witness one of "Ol' Eck's" skits again ('Light Fingered Freddy' was my favourite), or hear that immortal question - "Onky doory or doory onky?" - but I will say this, Grandpa:

"Well done, good and faithful servant"

"Though he has left this place, he still speaks..." Hebrews 11:4

My Blog Is Blocked!

You wouldn't read about it! My blog has been blocked by netsweeper!

You see, because the school's network is somewhat ordinary (after all, they are all only PC's), I regularly bring my mac in to school. It's handy to have 2 computers on at once, 1 to check emails and do internet type stuff, all work related, of course, and the other to type up instrumental waiting lists and timetables and easiteach lesson flipcharts and the like.

Anyway, it was break time, and one of the peri's was interested in my summer travels, so I went to pull up my blog to show some pics. Suddenly, the following message appeared:

What?! Hate speech? Gambling? I mean, I can allow 'Entertainment' - I would hope that maybe someone might find my ramblings a little entertaining, but the other stuff? Where in my blog do you find hate speech?

And then, I logged on again a few days later - forgetting I've been blocked - and saw this one:

Substance abuse? You've got to be kidding me, right?

Mind you, the school's net nanny programme is pretty random in its blocking of things. Its quite frustrating sometimes. Like, I'm a music teacher, so of course sometimes I need to download lyrics for songs for the kids and so on - and pretty much well all websites with the word 'lyrics' in it somewhere are blocked. It's crazy. And you can forget about youtube - even though there is a wealth of good stuff on there, useful for teaching. It's a joke.

And now kmuki.com, too, has fallen foul of netsweeper... what a sad, sad day this is...

Is This Really Stealing?

Is this stealing?  

One of the neighbours around here has an unsecured wifi network.  I discovered it quite by accident the other day when I was in the living room with Jean watching "Anne of Green Gables".  I was actually using my own silly wifi, provided by 3, the most rubbish internet providers on the planet - and it kept dropping out! So finally, out of sheer frustration and total annoyance, I unplugged the stupid thing (its one of those dumb dongle things, totally useless) and shut down the laptop.  But a little later, during a Gilbert-free moment, my attention was wandering and I decided to imdb Jonathan Crombie (aka Gilbert Blythe) to see what else he's been in, how old he is, is he married (hehehe) and all those important things.... and I suddenly realised that I was connected to the net, but the dongle WASN'T PLUGGED IN!!!!  Magic!  And the best bit of all - it wasn't dropping out!

So since then, if I have some important (i.e. more Gilbert-spotting) internetting to do, I just pop downstairs to the living room, turn on the laptop and voila!  Best connection ever!

So is this wrong?  I mean, I pay that stupid 3 a whopping £15 a month for crappy broadband internet which constantly drops out, has a 3GB limit per month, and a minimum 12 month contract (expiring in April - so I'll be paying £60 to them for nothing when I go home).  Their service is so bad that if I have photos to upload to my blog, or if I have attachments I have to send with my emails, I have to do it at school (in fact I have to have my blogger log-in page as my home page or else it just won't load up when I use the 3 internet at home) - how bad is that?!  And as for automatic software updates, well!  Just won't happen with the stupid dongle setup.

So if my neighbour is stupid enough to have an unprotected wifi network, is it then wrong for me, a mostly law-abiding, broadband-paying customer, to take advantage of it?  Especially as I'm not getting the service I pay for...? I mean, it's not like I'm choking up his bandwidth, logged on all evening, watching lots of youtube videos, downloading huge files... oh hang on, I am....!  Oops...