Last night

Last night didn't go so well.  Lately I've been waking up, around 3ish, with my work to do list running though my head.  I've been working on my AQ - Admin quotient... sometimes I feel like that could be a legitimate intelligence.

I couldn't sleep.  So I got up, drank some water and grabbed 'Building large web applications'.  I figured if anything was going to put me to sleep, this was a good place to start.
No joy, in fact, reading about all best practice code highlted how much terrible practice code I had implemented in the past and my heart continued to race.

I put the book down after a few pages.

At this point I must have drifted off.  Only to be woken by the sound of a giant, half metre wide crab clawing its way into my flat!  I screamed "What the..." - careful not to curse even in my dreams I noted... then I worried I had woken Nic so shouted, "Don't worry, it's only a crab!".  Then I actually woke up.  Eyes trained on my sliding door for signs of large crustaceans.

There must have been something in my bolognaise from Spar.

All of that was a true story.

Banana tree

One of my favourite things about our flat is that I don't have to look after the garden.  Ironically, I'm willing to pay more to not have a garden.

The bridge.

The pathway to my room leads past a banana tree.  At first, there was simply a pod hanging from a stalk.  I used to bang my head on it, often.  Then the pod started drooping.  It drooped so low I could no longer bang my head on it.  I was comfortable with this development.

But it turns out it wasn't the pod that was drooping... it was actually the tree, leaning further and further over the path.

This last week I've had to duck under the trunk, every time expecting to hear a crowd of Jamaicans shouting 'How low can he go!" as I dash past.

Last night I was sitting, doing something... I forget what... and heard a loud crack... crash... and could swear I heard a steel drum band hammer out a chorus.  I now have a semi-detached banana bridge across my pathway.  The next Jamaican who dashes around the corner trying to avoid the gutter waterfall, is going to come horribly short.

DVD store

I've just been at the DVD store, looking for a copy of Black Hawk Down.  Alas, no joy unless you have a BluRay player.

Scanning the shelves at Videoland, and any other store, is an exercise in optimism, but if you have the right technique, at least you won't waste too much time.

If there is a refernce to a woman in the title, skip it.  Sticking a synonym for 'woman' in the name is another way of saying "Don't bother checking the age restriction, this movie's got all the 16SN you're looking for teenager".

If there's an animal name, and a number in the title. Skip it.

If its called 'Group Sex'... Skip it.  True story.

If its an oldie, and you know the name, but the cover is actually a drawing... not a photo... it probably won't play in your DVD player - and there's probably a 'Zone 1' sticker on it if you're at Videoland... so skip it.

If the name is a verb... and there isn't anyone acting in it that you recognise.... Skip it. (Intrusion... invasion... Trust...).

If there's any reference to "The most hilarious/hysterical movie of 2009...". Skip it.

I went with National Treasure 2.  No animal name...

Downpour

Slummies experienced a wicked downpour this morning.  I found myself cornered under the car port, with apparently every gutter on the property overflowing, and as much water falling from the sky.

Challenge one was the Curtain of Wetness, enshrouding the carport.  Having rolled up my pants and removed my shoes in anticipation of Lake Pathway, I shuffled toward the gate, back to the wall, eyes everywhere.

Through the gate, tip toe tip toe across the slate and down into the Lake.  Marine style across the bricks, like I was hopping between car tires at a BootCamp-by-the-sea.

My nemesis - though forgotten right until I dashed around the corner - the great 4m torrent of water streaming down from the  roof almost put me into the hedge.

Having been winged by the downpipe I ducked the hanging Banana tree and two-stepped the stairs, around another gutter overflow and safely onto the doormat.  Soaking.

Surfers

I've spent the last 2 weeks wondering what to say about the Surfers Challenge.  Admittedly, the moment has passed, and yet its the sort of Saturday afternoon activity which you can't not have an opinion on.

Many regular runners have issues with Surfers; they invariably cite the risk of ankle injuries as their reason for avoiding it... I suspect its the risk of their accountant beating them across the line.  The traffic bottle neck is an almighty leveller.

I don't have an accountant, but I did pass Steve the Accountant in Gonubie... he defeated me last year in the final 2kms, so I savoured the moment.

Everytime you emerge from a river along the course, you're greeted by a bajillion people secretly wishing they had entered the race.  Strangely the want persists, even though the runners look like narrow survivors of a near death by drowning experience.

Toughest part of the race is the walk up Beach Road to find your car, usually parked awkwardly on a curb, between a bush and a lightpole.