Here I am sitting in my new loungeroom, with my slippered feet resting on the new, sandy-coloured plush carpet. Opposite me is the striking zirkon red feature wall. Craig’s unique paintings adorn the wall. To my right, and through the doorway, I can see the family room with the new rosewood vinyl floorboards laid down across half the room (the guy is coming back tomorrow to finish them off) which neatly complement the green walls.

And out the back is a spa and swimming pool and room for a pony.

Ok, so maybe not the last bit. But the new place is looking pretty darn nice. After living in somewhat simple and shabby rental accommodation for the last three and a half years, it is good to have a place that’s simply nice .

Craig and I moved in over Friday and Saturday. Goodness knows how many trips we made up and down that highway, carting boxes and furniture. (Our new house is about 30 minutes drive from our old one). We listened to commercial radio station as we drove, which reiterated just how repetitive FM radio is. I seriously must have heard that “Heart Attack” song by Faker at least 10 times.

And of course, there were our lame jokes. Every time we walked back into the old house, getting barer and barer with each trip, we’d exclaim “Oh my god, we’ve been robbed! Someone’s cleaned us out.”

By Sunday night, after doing more unpacking and some cleaning up of the old place, we crashed out on the couch in front of Doctor Who. I don’t know what it is about moving house that is so tiring. Perhaps because, in addition to the physical activity, there is an emotional component to it? You’re leaving a place that was home, even if for a little while. And you’re moving into a place that is still strange, still unfamiliar. There are always the little questions of doubt, that whilst only temporary, still creep into your head whilst you’re packing the last box in the empty room. Have we made the right decision? Will I like living in the new house? Will it ever be ‘home’? And of course, the answer quickly becomes ‘yes’.

And as Craig has just pointed out, there probably is enough room in the backyard for a pony. Or at least a wombat.

The first Sherlock Holmes story, “A Study In Scarlet” centres around the mystery of a body, which is discovered next to a wall. On the wall (written in blood, I think?) is the word “Rache”.

The London detectives working the case jump to the conclusion that the victim must have been trying to write “Rachel”. They go nuts trying to figure out who Rachel could be, and what connection the victim has with her. However, Holmes takes a different tack. He knows that “Rache” is German for “revenge”. He figures out that the word was written not by the victim, but by the killer. Armed with that knowledge, he manages to pin-point the murderer (who may or may not have been German, I can’t remember).

Anyway, the point to this story was to write about how Craig and I have been painting the walls of our new house. Before we started, the walls were an absolute disgrace. They were the colour of old paper, with scuffs and stains and even scribbles visible. There were even little holes all over the place. I wondered if the previous occupants had a party where everyone got drunk and started playing with nail guns. So Craig patched them up, and I went down our local friendly Bunnings and chose some fresh paint.

Selecting the colours was fun. They don’t describe them as “light green” or “rose pink”. They give them all these nice names, “Iceberg” and “Dusk”. For instance, the dark red colour we chose for our feature wall was termed “Zirkon”. Even boring colours like creamy white were described as “Lamb’s Tail”. Girls’ names seemed to feature a lot. One pinky colour was called “Maureen”. Sadly, there were no colours called “Eugenie”. I wonder what colour that would be?

So, although people may think our house is painted light pink and pale green, it’s actually “Temptress” and “Hazel Cream”.

And so we painted, using brushes and rollers big and small, and this square sponge thing for the edges. Today we finally finished, after several weekends and weeknights of work - which may or may not have included some accusations of “you’ve left streaks!” and despairing cries of “Ahhh… I’ve stuffed this up!” Not to mention the blisters on the hands and the aches in the back, and the Zirkon paint stains on ones’ jeans. That feature wall really gave us some grief. After the first couples of coats, we didn’t think it’d ever look smooth. But now it’s a nice, deep red (not blood red). I don’t think we’ll let anyone touch these walls ever, after all this!

All we have to do now, is wait for settlement to go through (another saga altogether).

Initally, I thought this topic was a tough one. I’ve read many books that I thought were life-changing. “Understanding Comics” by Scott McCloud, which gave me an insight into the technicalities of sequential art. “The Catcher In the Rye” by JD Salinger, which I read as a teenager, and felt I really connected with Holden Caulfield. “The Time Traveler’s Wife” which made me realize that time-travel in fiction could be married to other genres (in this case, romance).

But overall, the one book that really changed my life was “The Three Musketeers” by Alexandre Dumas, abridged version by John Kennett.

I was nine when I read it. It was the first grown-up book I’d ever really read. Until then, my reading habits had been mainly children’s series fiction – “The Famous Five” by Enid Blyton; the “Ramona” books by Bevery Cleary; “The Three Investigators” by Alfred Hitchcock (ok, I’m sure that he didn’t technically write them himself, but that’s what they were always filed under, in my primary school library.)

But on this particular Friday morning, I was inside the W- Primary School library with the rest of my Year Four class, searching for “The Three Musketeers”. The reason why I wanted to read this book, was, I hesitate to admit, because of a recent episode of “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” I’d seen.

The storyline of this particular episode, as far as I recall, ran thus: Leonardo, the blue-bandanna’ed leader of the TMNT, is reading a copy of “The Three Musketeers”. Following a blow to the head during a fight, he goes a bit nuts, and thinks he is living in the Musketeer-world, himself being D’Artagnon, the other three turtles being the titular three musketeers, and April O’Neill being the Queen of France. I think Shredder was meant to be the Cardinal. Anyway, Leonardo makes the turtles dress in tunics and feathered hats and carry rapiers. At the episode’s end he suffers another blow to the head, and gets his memory back.

But the episode fascinated me. Sure, it was only a cartoon, but the costumes, the swordplay, the funny way Leonardo was speaking intrigued me. What was it about the book anyway, that captured Leonardo’s fancy? I made a note of the author (some guy called “Doo-mar?”) and resolved to get my hands on a copy.

So there I was, on that Friday morning in 1990, searching the “D’s”. And then suddenly, I found it. “Kennett’s Classics: The Three Musketeers”. On the front cover was a picture of a young man parrying a sword thrust from an older, moustached man. In the background, other men were also engaged in duels. The back cover consisted of red and green stripes – a trait, I’d later learn, of the “Kennett’s Classics” series.

So I took out the card in the back, and wrote my name, room number on the card. Then I stamped the card with the date stamp, and also stamped the thin bit of paper glued to the back page. Then I put my card in the special card box, and I was good to go. (This was all before computers, kids.)

For some reason, I remember that Friday was the last day of term. That night at home, the rest of my family was watching TV. I pulled out my new book from my green book bag and began to read.

And I was a girl transfixed.

I read about young D’Artagnon, making his way to Paris to seek his fortune as a musketeer, his only worldly possession an old piebald horse that his father gave him. I read, enthralled, about D’Artagnon stopping at the inn, and the man (who turns out to be Rochefort, the Cardinal’s Guard) making fun of the poor old nag, and D’Artagnon getting really pissed off. I think the sentence read something like:

“You sir! Yes you, hiding behind that window! Tell me what you are laughing at and we shall laugh together!”

Rochefort curls his lip and replies something like “I was not speaking to you sir.” Then he makes some joke about the horse being like a “buttercup” because it’s so yellow in colour.

Oooh! Are you going to take that D’Artagnon?

As it turns out, D’Artagnon doesn’t. As Rochefort giggles and walks away, D’Artagnon whips out his sword and yells “Turn, Master Joker, or must I strike you from behind?”

Master Joker. Heh.

At that point, the inn’s staff come running up to stop the young idiot from harming Rochefort, who is a big cheese in those parts (no pun intended). They clip D’Artagnon over the head with a shovel and break his sword. I was indignant. How dare they do that to my D’Artagnon? The other guy started it by making fun of his horse! At age 9, I had little grasp of societal politics. But luckily, D’Artagnon recovered and went on to meet Athos, Aramis and Porthos, and have many adventures.

It was only an abridged edition, but it still managed to capture the romance and glamour of the original. When I’d finished the book, I resolved to find out whether the library had any other of these “Kennett's Classics”.

As it turned out, they did. Every Friday, during my class’s library session, I’d check out a different “Kennett’s Classic”. I read (among others) “David Copperfield”, “Ben Hur”, “King Solomon’s Mines” (complete with a front cover depicting the old crone, Gagool, capering around dressed in her feathers), “Jane Eyre” (again, I couldn’t believe how mean people were to Jane Eyre), and “The Sea Wolf” which introduced me to what would become one of my favourite authors, Jack London.

These books were so different from what I’d read before. Generally, they didn’t have child characters, and no talking animals. They were grown up books, simple as that. They were abridged, sure, aimed for kids, but they had grown-up characters, and grown-up plots and grown-up themes. And sometimes, grown-up horrors. They were different from what I had read before. And I lapped them up.

It seemed as though I was the only one though. Sometimes, the card on the back would reveal that no one had checked out the book since the early 1980s. It made me feel special, yet lonely, at the same time, as the other girls around me would check out the latest “Babysitters Club” book for the week.

In later years, as a high school student and university student, I went back and read the original, unabridged editions of those classics. And I’d remember the first time I’d read the stories, as a nine year old. In university, I also joined the fencing club, which was something I’d wanted to do ever since I’d read “The Three Musketeers”.

A few years ago, back in Perth, I was at a second hand booksale and I saw the Kennett’s Classics version of “The Three Musketeers”. It might have even been the same one – the W- Primary School might have had a clean-out of books that were rarely read. I bought it, and it’s in my bookcase back home. It’s not my absolute most favourite book, but it’s the one that most changed my life, and opened up my eyes to the world of adult books. The Kennett’s Classics abridged version of “The Three Musketeers”.

The latest Blog Club topic is: “What is your favourite scent?” Here are some of mine:

- The papery, spicy smell of old books. The ones with the dusty hardcovers and the delicate pages, tucked away in remote library stacks, or wedged in someone’s bookcase for decades. I remember back at UWA, I used to love wandering up the stairs to the second floor of the Reid Library, where the literature section was, and catching that first whiff of old books as I reached the top step.

- Oil paints. Just fresh out of the tubeThey may be messy and hard to clean, but gee, the smell of a drying canvas is wonderful. Rich and strong, the smell of culture and creativity, an echo of a tradition old and beautiful.

- Pepper trees. I haven’t seen these in Canberra, but you find them around the Perth western suburbs. The leaves are long and thing, like artists’ fingers. The scent is sharp, yet soothing.

- Dune Pour Homme.

- The smoky smell of wood stoves on an autumn’s evening. When the air is crisp, and dusk is falling. It’s the smell that heralds a hot dinner on the table, a restful haven, and pleasant conversation.

- The smell of packaging, of new items being taken out of their boxes for the first time, on Christmas morning.

- Tommy Girl.

My laptop has had a couple of hiccups this evening, so it might be time for a new one. I hope it holds out while I make this post.

Like my laptop, my 20s also have a finite lifespan. Already I have less than three years to go before I turn 30. So I thought I’d do an update on how my life is going these days, as I haven’t really done one for awhile. The headings are derived from a website that I sometimes look at – www.quarterlifecrisis.com. (Go figure!)

Life

The main event in my life right now is that Craig and I are buying a house. In a couple of weeks I’ll be a mortgagor. I’ll be on the other side of the fence – the white picket fence, that is. I’ll be the one nodding along in agreement with the “home owners” and shaking my head at those frivolous “renters” whenever the topic of buying versus renting arises at dinner parties, and on www.news.com.au’s messageboards.

Overall I think I’ve made the right decision. I want to have more freedom in my own home. I want to paint the walls whatever colour I want. I want to hang pictures wherever I want. I want to plant my own veggie garden. (Obviously these things will be done in consultation with Craig, but we’re pretty much on the same page when it comes to these things). Best of all, we won’t have to endure nit-picky home inspections four times a year (last time, the real estate agent whined that that our oven had a few crumbs in it).

Our new house is nice too. It’s got a huge garage and carport for Craig’s thousands of cars. And it’s got a really nice enclosed patio area with a pot belly stove that I can’t wait to get cranked up on those winter nights. And the garden is pretty wild right now, but it’s divided into little alcoves and terraces and will look pleasant once it’s tamed a bit.

The only downside is that the new house is further out, so our traveling time to work in the city will be increased. But it’s still tolerable.

Moving onto the topic of health, I have no complaints there. I probably need to get fitter. I played mixed soccer a few weeks ago, and felt remarkably focused afterwards. I need to get into a routine in terms of exercise. If the zombies attacked next week, I’m not sure if I’d be able to outrun them for long.

And I’m sure my mum would add that I should probably cut down on the drinking…


Work

I’ve been practicing as a lawyer for six months now. I’m enjoying it, overall, and I feel like I’m learning a lot (especially about contract and admin law). It’s hectic at times though. Most annoying of all are clients who don’t think ahead, and will email or call with a chunky contract that needs to be reviewed within 24 hours. (The normal turn-around for a request for legal services is two weeks, and this is clearly stated on the Department’s Legal Services webpage.) To borrow a phrase from one of my favourite websites, “Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine”. (Unfortunately, I can’t actually say that to the clients!)

But I feel as though I’m where I want to be, career wise, even though it’s pretty exhausting at times.

And there is another, insidious side effect. Sometimes I feel like my creativity is being sapped by work. The subject matter of the tasks I’m working can be pretty dry, and bland. I do enjoy learning new legal facts and precedents, and I enjoy shaping my advice, getting the wording just so . But it’s hard to get enthused about a funding recipient who hasn’t submitted his audit on time. Or a remote airport that’s getting a new x-ray for baggage screening installed. Sometimes when I start one of these tasks, I can almost feel the shutters in my brain coming down, closing the creative side of it.

And when I get home I’m usually too tired to find that spark of inspiration. The last thing I feel like doing is opening up another Word document. So that’s something I’ll have to try and overcome.


Play

In regards to my dating life, things are fine. Craig and I have been living together for over a year now, and we haven’t killed each other yet. Even though the average person might not think that we’re each other’s “type”, the truth is we actually have a lot in common. I’m looking forward to moving into our new house together. Over the long weekend we’re going to start painting it together. “Painting Partners”, I guess…

Overall, I also get on with my family – although my parents’ incessant worrying does get frustrating sometimes. But I guess it’s just who they are. They’re back in Perth, but I call them twice a week, to let them know that I’m still alive. (Remember, I can’t die yet – I need to get published, and see the USA!)

I’m also privileged to have lots of good friends here in Canberra. Be it a humorous email conversation thread between 6 or 7 of us, or a lunch in the sun with the girls, or cheap drinks at Happy Hour, or a high-spirited trivia night, I feel really lucky to have these people in my life.

I’m also fortunate to have good friends back in Perth too – which makes me think right now of relaxing beers at the Wembley (used to be the Floreat, but that’s a bit passé now), and lively group dinners in Subiaco, and late night hot beverages at Oxford 130. It’s always great to catch up. Friendswise, I think I’m doing better at this stage of my life than any other.

In terms of travel, it has been a bit frustrating that I haven’t done any ‘big trips’ overseas yet. I went straight out of high school to university, into the workforce, and have never taken any extended time out. Recently, Craig and I made the decision to buy this house, so that stymied any travel for 2008. But we’re hoping to get to the New World next year.

I have traveled fairly widely around Australia, including to Christmas Island and the Cocos (Keeling) Islands in 2007, so I’m pretty lucky to have seen those places – not many people my age have.


Over the last couple of years, I feel as though I’ve left my “Young Adulthood” behind. I feel like I’ve hit my second stage of adulthood. I’m not sure whether you can put numbers on something like this, but for me, the first stage of adulthood ran from about 18 to 24, encompassing my uni years, and my first year in the workforce. The second stage began when I was about 25. I see uni students now, and they seem so young. I can see it in their eyes. And things that seemed oh-so-exciting and dramatic in my early adulthood (eg alcohol, finding out who had too much to drink at the weekend’s party, going to a nightclub, etc) seem a lot more blasé now.

I feel that in my second stage of adulthood, I’m taking on more responsibilities, and thinking about the future more, and what I want to achieve. I’m not sure how long this second stage of adulthood will last – maybe until marriage and kids? Maybe I’ll be doing a post in a few years about my “third-life crisis”?

This topic was actually assigned a couple of weeks ago by one of the Blog Club members. I’ve been pretty slack with my blogging lately. Last weekend Craig and I went camping with the possums, and this week I’ve been hammered at work to the point where I haven’t really had the drive to do more writing in the evenings.

But now I’m catching up. This post is basically my list of things that I want to achieve before I die. Not that I’m planning on doing that anytime soon. But you never know when the lightning will strike.

There aren’t many definite things I wish to do before I die. In general, I want to make my mark upon the world in some way. I want to make a contribution, if not a change. To me, the worst thing would be dying after having led a bland, mundane life, just one of the many faces in the crowd, indistinguishable from the hordes. No footprint left upon the earth, no carving in the stone, no fingerprints upon the champagne glass.

One of the definite goals I do wish to achieve is writing a novel. And getting that novel published. To walk into a bookstore and see my book there, crisp and glossy, with my name on the cover, would be a thrill like no other. (Oh dear, I didn’t mean for that to rhyme – just as well I’d rather be a novelist, than a poet!)

Another specific thing I want to do before I expire, is travel to the USA. I want to see the big cities of San Francisco, New York, and Washington DC. I want to see the small towns of the mid-west and villages, with their white-board houses, of New England. I want to get a car and drive across the continent, watching the land shift and turn and change. I want to sit in a Chicago bar, drinking a Millers or Coors, or whatever beers they have over there, as smoky jazz notes blare across the night. I want to see the sunlight glinting off the side of a mountain range in Montana, inhaling the clear cold air and standing in the white, white snow. No other country in the world appeals to me so much. (Although England does come a close second).

So the reaper will have to wait awhile, til I’ve done the above.

It looks like Craig and I are going to become homeowners, if all goes well next week, fingers crossed, touch wood, throw the lucky rabbit’s foot over my shoulder, etc etc.

We went to Fyshwick this morning, to look at carpets and floorboards (the place we’re arranging to buy has pretty ratty carpet). It’s pretty damn expensive though. Probably to take into account the cost of labour. So we’re revising our plans. The second and third bedrooms might have to wait. The floating floorboards (it’ll have to be those, since the proper timber is likely to be way out of our league) might just have to be in the family room, rather than the kitchen and dining room too.

Or maybe we should just forget the whole flooring thing and blow our dough on a holiday in the Bahamas…

Anyway, leaving aside the issue of renovations, this blog entry was meant to be about my time back in Perth the other week. I normally do a blog entry listing all the places I went to. Although I was only back for five days, I thought I’d still do a list. Here it is:

- IKEA This is the new HUGE IKEA out near Innaloo. Seriously, the thing is like a city within itself. I went there with my brother Alex, and his friend Emily. Alex was only looking to buy a lamp and some new bedsheets, but we spent several hours there, walking through all the displays. All the books in the bookshelves incidentally are in Swedish.

We also had lunch in the cafeteria downstairs. It was like something out of an American high school TV series. Except they were offering pear-flavoured Swedish cider in these long tall cans.

- the Floreat dog beach. Went here with my family and Hugo.

- the Wembley Hotel. Went here with E- for a drink. Even though it was ANZAC Day it wasn’t packed. I think I’d rather go there these days, than the Flozza. At least hordes of teenagers don’t seem to have taken over the Wembley (yet).

- the Queen of Apostles church, Riverton. Went here on the Saturday for Claire and Wade’s wedding. Pretty nice place, with a screen where you could read the words of the hymns. The ceremony was very nice, and Claire looked lovely. It was only the third wedding I’ve been to in my life.

- The Raffles Hotel. E- and I went here for a drink after the ceremony. I’d actually never been there before, but it had nice views over the Swan River.

- The Sheraton. This was where Claire and Wade’s wedding reception was. I had my Year 12 ball at the Sheraton, but I think it was in a different room. Anyway, the reception was a lot of fun, and I got to catch up with lots of people, such as M- and Ali, and Siobhan, and Claire of course, plus a couple of people who I hadn’t seen since leaving uni over three years ago.

They also had a DJ there (and yes, he DID play “Love Shack” – I tell you, it happens every time!). If Craig and I ever get married, we’ll probably have lots of “lost classics” from the early 1990s, and “Love Shack” will be strictly banned.

- the Herdsman Growers Markets. I went here looking for a pizza base. I’d promised to make my family a pizza on the Sunday night. Originally my mum was going to make it, but she has a funny habit of chucking on random ingredients such as anchovies, pineapple, and olives, in huge chunks, and the flavours clash. Gordon Ramsey would probably describe it as a “f**king disgrace.” So I offered to make the pizza instead. Unfortunately, the Herdies only had pre-made pizzas.

- Oxford 130, in Leederville. Caught up for a hot beverage with M-, Martin, and Jo. It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly 10 years since Jo and I graduated from J2K.

- Leederville IGA. I went here to buy the pizza ingredients. I got the ham, pepperoni, the garlic salt, and the mixed herbs. (I already had tomato, onion and cheese at home). But Leederville IGA didn’t have pizza bases! Help! I was getting desperate. But M- (who’d gallantly accompanied me on this shopping expedition) suggested I try the Scarborough IGA.

- Scarborough IGA. They had pizza bases. Phew. I got home, and made pizza for my mum, dad, and Alex, and they were a hit. Mum and Dad were watching avidly, as I made them. Mum, because she probably wanted to ensure that I wasn’t putting on heaps of fatty ingredients, and Dad, because he probably wanted to see how it was done, so he could do it next time!

- The WA Registry office. I had to get a copy of my birth certificate for the finance approval. M- works in the same building, so I met him for a coffee downstairs. Afterwards, I took the bus home. And realized halfway home that I’d left my birth certificate back at the café. So I had to jump off and catch the next bus back into the city. Luckily, I got my birth certificate back in the end…

Here are some photos from the wedding:



Claire and Wade




Yours truly




E-, enjoying a glass at the wedding




Another pair of revellers - M- and Ali.




Siobhan and Michelle - the Bridesmaids.

Here are a few more members of the Blog Club:

Hijinks's Shenanigans

Delta Tango's GBS

Sarah Esperanza

Diary of a Mad, Fat Woman

It's Time to Go Home When Your Pup Tent Sinks


The original list of blog club members is about four posts below. I promise I'll get around to putting everyone in order eventually.

The topic for this week's blog club is "If I could step into the life of any fictional character, I would choose ____ because _____".

My immediate reaction was to choose a character who is a time traveller. As discussed on this blog before, I love time travel, and think that being able to transcend the boundaries of time would be simply thrilling. I considered nominating Henry de Tamble from "The Time Traveler's Wife", but then I figured it wouldn't be much fun rocking up back (or forwards) in time buck naked. Plus:

(warning: Spoilers)


Henry winds up having to have his feet amputated, due to frostbite. Then he dies. That wouldn't be much fun. Being Clare isn't much better. Although it would be totally cool to date Henry, she eventually becomes a widow at the age of 35, and is sad forever after.

No, I think if I had to choose a time travelling character, it would be Sam from "Life On Mars". Being back in 1973, but with the knowledge of the present day would be a unique experience indeed. I could listen to the best music (glam rock aka early Bowie, Slade, T-Rex, etc), when it was first released. I could watch "new" episodes of Doctor Who, starring Jon Pertwee. I could knock about with Gene Hunt et al, catching all the bad guys.

However, I am slightly confused as to what to do about Annie Cartwright, Sam's love interest. If I was stepping into Sam's shoes, would I still think like a hetrosexual female? In which case, I'd have to give Annie the flick, since I clearly wouldn't be attracted to her, and make the moves on Gene (which I don't think he'd appreciate). However, if I thought like Sam (eg a hetrosexual male) there'd be no problem.

If I had to step into the life of a female character, it would probably be Flannery Culp, from the book "The Basic Eight by Daniel Handler. That is, up until the point where:

(warning: Spoilers)


she kills Adam.

But up to then, it would be fun having witty, literate, classy high school friends like The Basic Eight. My pals and I in high school never behaved like those characters. We were too square to ever hold any underage absinthe parties, or the like. But it would have been fun. And it would be cool to have friend like Natasha even if:

(warning: Spoilers)

she doesn't really exist.

Craig and I watched ‘The Wizard of Oz’ on DVD the other night. I hadn’t seen it for several years, but it was one of my favourite childhood movies.

It got me thinking that the novel, on which the movie is based, is probably one of the most significant children’s books ever written, in terms of its cultural impact. ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ (and most people forget about that word “Wonderful”) was written by L. Frank Baum, and first published in 1900.

For those people who don’t know the story (and I’m sure there is only a tiny handful of such people) the story is about Dorothy Gale (the book version never mentions her surname) a young girl living on a farm in Kansas. Dorothy is caught up in a tornado, which picks up her house, and drops it down in the land of Oz… right on the Wicked Witch of the East. Dorothy is lauded as a hero by the Munchkins, who were under the witch’s control, and receives the witch’s silver slippers (ruby red slippers in the film).

The Good Witch of the North tells Dorothy that the Wizard of Oz might be able to help her return to Kansas. Dorothy follows the Yellow Brick Road to the Emerald City, where the Wizard dwells. Along the way, she picks up three friends – a Scarecrow who wants a brain, a Tin Woodman (called the Tin Man in pretty much every subsequent adaptation) who wants a heart, and a Cowardly Lion, who wants courage.

The Wizard of Oz agrees to grant their requests, if they bring him the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. The gang sets off, only to be waylaid by the witch’s Winged Monkeys. Dorothy is captured by the witch, but defeats her by throwing a bucket of water over her. On their return to the Emerald City, the Wizard is revealed as a fraud – he turns out to be a good old Kansas boy himself. Nonetheless, he attempts to help Dorothy return home, by rigging up a hot air balloon. However, he and the balloon accidentally depart without Dorothy.

It is here the movie version ends – the Good Witch of the North returns to tell Dorothy she can get home via clicking the ruby slippers together. In the book version, Dorothy and her three pals journey to the Good Witch of the South who tells Dorothy how to get home.

L. Frank Baum also wrote thirteen other books about Oz, most of which sadly turned out to be crap (although I have the second book “Return to Oz” back in Perth, which isn’t bad, featuring Tip, Mombi, and the Pumpkinhead).

But the first book has resonated through-out the years. I believe this is due to the strong visual images (the Yellow Brick Road, the Emerald City, etc) and memorable characters (the Scarecrow without a brain, the Tin Man without a heart, etc). Of course, the story has spawned many political and financial interpretations – such as Dorothy representing the “Everyman”, the Yellow Brick Road representing the “Gold Standard” and the Emerald City representing “Washington DC”, or the “Greenback”.

The cultural impact of the story has been compounded by the 1939 MGM movie version (there was also some silent 1920s version, apparently). From the movie, we get sayings such as “Something tells me we’re not in Kansas anymore”, “I’ll get you, my pretty – and your little dog too!” and “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!” And of course, the songs, most significantly “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, which has been covered several times. (The Israel Kamakawiwo Ole version seems to have been used in every second TV show and movie). And of course, the message “There’s no place like home” thrums throughout the story.

There was also some Wizard of Oz cartoon show I used to watch as a kid in the 1980s. Dorothy had orange hair. I remember the opening titles, and there was a windmill which turned into the tornado. Does anyone else remember this?

Overall, I don’t think that any other book or movie has been referenced as much as ‘The (Wonderful) Wizard of Oz’. It’s been mentioned in song (eg “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” by Elton John, and “Tin Man” by America). There is also a rumour that if you play Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” album simultaneously with ‘The Wizard of Oz’ the music is like a soundtrack to the movie.

It’s also been referenced in multiple movies and TV shows. Interestingly, two of my favourite shows, ‘Lost’ and ‘Life On Mars’ reference it a lot. (Possibly because those shows also feature characters in strange lands, trying to get home?). In ‘Lost’, Ben Linus initially introduces himself as “Henry Gale” (the name of Dorothy’s uncle). A later episode focusing on his life is entitled “The Man Behind the Curtain”. In ‘Life On Mars’, the “Wizard”-type character who may get Sam home is called “Frank Morgan”. Frank Morgan is also the name of the actor who played the Wizard in the movie. And during the last episode, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” plays (the Israel Kama version!)

And of course, Gene Hunt frequently tells Sam “Don’t go all Dorothy on me!”

I had a work lunch yesterday, for one of our co-workers who was leaving.

I don’t eat out very often. Some people my age go to restaurants for dinner and lunch (and sometimes even breakfast) for nearly every meal. But generally, I like to save money by cooking for myself, and only eating out with friends on special occasions, and with my co-workers when the situation calls for it.

One of my pet peeves when dining out, is being short-changed at the end, when the time comes for everyone to pay the bill. I’m talking about occasions when my meal cost, say, $17. I throw in a $20 note and somehow, end up with no change. Actually, “short-changed” is probably putting it nicely. “Subsidising other people’s meals” is more accurate.

I’ve come to realize that there are several ways in which Short-Changers operate. The obvious one is volunteering to be the person who takes everyone’s cash up to the counter. And then, pocketing all the change. But since this is so blatant, it’s not used that often.

A sneakier way is informing everyone that they have no cash, and will pay for everyone’s meal on their credit card, and everyone can just give them cash to cover their shares. And often, the amount of cash given is in excess of the total bill. And again, the Short-Changer pockets all the money, and doesn’t give anyone any change.

Another method is to simply order extra drinks, coffees, desserts, etc, and then demand that everyone splits the bill evenly. I agree that this should be the preferred method where everyone’s meals are roughly the same amount. There’s no point in being one of those annoying hair-splitting pedants who insist on whipping out the pocket calculator, and figuring out everyone’s share down the exact cent. But if you’ve had a glass of wine, when everyone else drank water, the decent thing to do is chuck in a few extra dollars.

And yet another dodgy method of short-changing one’s dining companions is to be the last person to put down the money. The Short-Changer here waits until everyone else has put down their notes. They then look at the bill, and add up all the money that everyone else has contributed. They then pay the shortfall, so the wad of cash matches the total bill exactly. Even if their meal was considerably more than what they paid.

Yesterday at lunch, I ordered a small pizza and a soft drink, and received no change whatsoever from the $20 note I put down. Some people had coffees afterwards and one co-worker ordered dessert. The pizza cost $11. Not sure how much the soft drink cost, but let’s say $4. So that’s a total of $15.

The total bill came to $173. There were 11 of us, but we were shouting the person who was leaving. So it was “agreed” that 10 of us would divide the bill evenly. So everyone would contribute $17.30 each.

I was one of the first to pay (since the bill was up my end of the table) and threw down a $20 note. By the time everyone had paid, the total amount of notes came to $175. It was “agreed” (again) that the extra $2 would be a tip (don’t get me started on how this is Australia, not America, and the waitstaff actually earn a decent wage over here!)

So. No change from a $20.

I was definitely subsidizing someone else’s meal. No wonder everyone else seemed to be “fine” with the situation.

Next time I’m taking heaps of small notes and coins, and paying the exact amount of my meal – not a cent more. It seems to be the only way you can truly beat the Short-Changers.