sick

I’ve spent much of this week ploughing through websites on various infectious diseases. This is for work, I might add.

When you spend any length of time looking at that sort of stuff you end up convinced you have rotaviral gastroenteritis, brucellosis, shigellosis or possibly the humble scabies.

True: I don’t have any symptoms, per se, but who’s to say that itch behind the ear isn’t the start of Murray Valley encephalitis? Eh?

Holiday
I shouldn’t be bothering about that sort of thing really, as I’m going away for the weekend, starting tomorrow. A family wedding up near Merimbula.

Movember
The good thing about going away is, by the time I come back it will be December. I’m all for doing things for charity and I’m sure everyone involved is having a laugh, but my god there are some guys walking around Melbourne at the moment with some obscene facial hair.

Ug.

Running
I made it in to work with the birds this morning and took myself off in the direction of Anderson street. 6 trips up and down and I was heartily sick of the place. It’s not so much the hill as all the Porsche four-wheel-drives that park along there, dropping off young Phoebes and Sarahs.

What possible need could anyone have for a Porsche four-wheel-drive?

crap, crap, crap and david beckham

It may surprise you to learn, dear reader, that my running isn’t entirely comprised of world records, near world records and personal bests. In fact, I have been known to run – gasp – slowly.

Last night, for example, was an absolute dog of a run. Yes, it was hot and yes I hadn’t exactly prepared well for it, but that’s no excuse.

It was around 13k along the Mullum Mullum creek and back. It started slow, got slower and then ground to a stuttering, stitched halt about 20 times on the way back.

There were harsh words spoken. I have a vague, sweaty sort of memory of saying to myself semi-audibly:

“You’re a ***ing ****ing unfit lazy *****”

Insert your favourite four-letter-word, as required.

Turning to more positive things
From the Herald Sun online:

Jogger left to die in gutter after hit and run

Man, that’s not positive! I give up. It’s no use.

David Beckham
Plenty of people tell me I remind them of “Becks”.

Truly.

Not the looks or footballing talent or stupid wife, obviously – mainly the effeminate voice and low IQ.

Still, it’s something.

Anyway – he played in Sydney last night against, funnily enough, Sydney FC. He played pretty well and scored a nice goal from a free-kick. The rest of his team aren’t exactly world-beaters though. They play like they’re on valium. Ah well.

disappointed

Despite my earlier entry, you find me a touch disappointed this afternoon, dear reader, for I have just read this: Husband “confessed” to stripper

Prosecutor Colin Hillman, SC, said Graeme King, now 56, told the exotic dancer at Shepparton’s Rawhide Club that his wife was dead.

When the woman, Susan Molnar, said she was sorry to hear about it, King allegedly replied: “Don’t be… I hated her. I killed her.”

I’m not disappointed in the husband/murderer. I’m disappointed in the stripper Susan. Don’t strippers have some stripper/client confidentiality?

Don’t they?

If you are the kind of person who’s likely to murderise their wife, then spend some quality time in Shepparton associating with strippers, for god’s sake be careful.

grump

Oh man, was I in an almighty grump yesterday or what?

Funny really, all should have been well. John Howard got shafted on Saturday night and a few hours later Charlton Athletic won for the fourth time in a row.

So you’d think I’d be a happy little bunny. But no, I was running around tearing up the carpet with my teeth and generally making life difficult.

I guess that’s what happens when you don’t run for a few days.

Politics
I’m taking a certain sadistic pleasure in the collapse of the federal Liberal party, and I’m pretty keen to read all the gory details like Tony Abbott’s claims for “reasonably good people skills”.

However, I can concede that you might not be as interested as I am. To that end, today will be my last mention for a while.

Have a look at this article by Mungo MacCallum: “The dubious legacy of John Winston Howard“. It has a rather wonderful opening paragraph:

His time in government can not be dismissed lightly. However it can be dismissed heavily, so here goes.

Vicious.

Running
A kinda pleasurable run last night, starting at around 7 and finishing at 8 or thereabouts. I headed from my house out to the Croydon golf course, lapped the place then headed back. Here it is on mapmyrun.com.

No knee pain to speak of.

eggs

I tell you what – it’s lucky I’m not a gambling man.

That makes three times this year I’ve used this blog to make a bold prediction and ended up with egg on my face. From memory, I thought Geelong would lose the AFL grand final by 35 points (wrong), some useless three legged-horse would win the Melbourne Cup (double wrong) and John Howard would win the election (wrong wrong wrong).

Ah well…

Happy
There were a few boisterous beverages consumed at our joint on Saturday night. It’s good to see the Liberals out, and extra good to see them in absolute disarray.

Rudd
The only good thing about Kevin Rudd is that he’s not John Howard, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not convinced we won’t regret electing him. Having watched his stilted inelegant victory speech I already half do regret it.

Still, I’m willing to be surprised.

Peter Costello
Has there every been a more piss-weak, soft-c**k “leader” in our political history? He sat there in government for 12 years, assuming the prime minister-ship would be handed to him on a platter. When Howard turned out to be stubborner than the proverbial mule he didn’t have the guts to challenge, instead grumbling and whining to reporters off the record.

Now, when it’s there for him to grab, he turns it down. He doesn’t want to have to be in opposition. Guuuhhhh…

That statement he made yesterday – “I want to start a career in private business” or whatever it was. God that pisses me off.

I, as a taxpayer and therefore his employer, refuse to pay him for 3 years to scout around looking for a higher paying job. He can get stuffed.

Rant over.

Running
No running last weekend. I felt sore in the right knee, which wasn’t good. Also, I’ve been inexplicably tired for the past 48 hours. Tired and strangely teary. I can’t figure out why.

final stretch

This time tomorrow, we good people of Orstraya will be exercising our democratic rights as per usual. By the end of the day this whole ghastly exhibition we call an election will be over.

Thank god. It’s been a bit of a strain.

If I hear the words “working families” again, I’m going to scream. Ditto those ads telling me the unions will “stuff the economy”.

I think the strain is beginning to tell on even the most experienced journos too. Michele Grattan wrote a piece today called:

A stupid act, even for such an airhead

Geez, Michele, tell us what you really think!

There was also a piece in today’s Age about my seat – Deakin. As a resident, I must say my heckles were raised by the description of Maroondah highway as a “soul-destroying boulevard of hyper-consumerism”. It’s true, but that’s not the point.

Also, the description of the intersection of gridlocked Springvale Road and Maroondah Highway, Blackburn, “through which the “aspirationals” drive on their way to a better life”. Obviously written by a non-resident. Anyone who lives there knows you don’t actually drive through that intersection, you sit and wait there.

Apparently we’re Victoria’s most marginal seat, although we rarely change hands. We’re not “promiscuous” like those tarts down in McMillan.

Silly really. If you’re a “marginal” AKA political tat, pollies throw lots of money at you.

Predictions
Unlike the Age, who waffled and whimped out in their editorial today, I will give a proper opinion on this one. I think we should vote for Rudd, emphatically so. Not because he’s so great, but just because we can’t afford to sit through another three years of the current bunch.

So who will win? My gut tells me Howard will scrape through, but with a massively reduced majority.

I hope I’m wrong.

Running
I’m kinda stuck for time today, so only managed a 9.5km run this lunchtime.

the big three oh oh oh

I hit the orange “publish post” button at 7:00pm last night while lying about my house like a lizard on a rock. I believe I may have been moaning, I certainly groaned at least once.

As is often the case, the darkest hour was right before the dawn, if you take my meaning. 5 minutes later I said to myself “actually it’s not so bad”. 10 minutes later “this breeze is quite nice”. At exactly 7:30, having shorted, singletted, shoed and socked-myself up I headed out the door for a run.

“Why?” I can hear you asking. “What possible reason, other than congenital stupidity, could I have for a run on a 37 degree day?”

I’ll tell you: a quick browse of my training log, and some mental ‘rithmatic done mainly on my fingers, and it was clear 3000km was in sight.

So off I trundled, at a very conservative pace, up Mullum Mullum and around the salubrious streets of Croydon North and Ringwood East.

By my calculations, I passed the 3000km mark somewhere on Maroondah Highway, possibly out the front of Maccas. I was probably hyperventilating, sweating bugs, listening to “Upstarts in a blowout” and swallowing about 3 dozen bugs.

It’s hard work sometime, but it’s worth it. Possibly.

I got home and basked in the glow of achievement, having run 3000km for the calendar year.

As it turns out, that “glow” was heat stroke, but hey, it’s close enough for me.

uy que calor!

Oh man it’s hot….Yes, if you were wondering, that picture is of melting tarmac…… No, that’s not my glove.

I hate the heat.