My goodness! Has it really been this long since my last post? Apologies, dear reader!
Since last I wrote, life seems to have been a series of production numbers one way or another so I'll fill you in on what's been happening over the next few posts.
Those of you reading my dear Arizaphale's blog would already be aware of one of them, being the sad damage done to my back in the line of duty!
One would not necessarily expect working in Charity to be hazardous to one's health, but alas this can be the case. Not only is there the virtual jostling for position with other, less worthy causes for the philanthropic dollar in a manner reminiscent of ye olde school tuck shop, there are the physical risks of putting on a function.
We do these all the time and the physical dangers vary with each event. At our May film night the major risks were getting high on the glue fumes coming from the 1,200 glitter coated goody bags being assembled in the office, and being trodden on in the crush of femininity rushing the seats for the premier of "Sex and the City". For the Ball there were the dangers of tripping over the hundred or so auction items and 65 cases of wine littered around our already disgracefully untidy offices and, on the night, breaking an ankle while trying to boogie in 4 inch heels.
A week or so ago we had a different challenge with our annual walkathon - herding about 150 people and a dozen or so dogs in varying degrees of costume (the dogs, not the people) through the registration area, past the face painter, down the beach, around the water station, back to the starting point, over to the sausage sizzle and home. This, in itself, presented no great difficulty. It was the carting of various supplies that proved the problem.
After all, a T-shirt by itself is not a particularly heavy item, but when you have 200 of them in 4 large boxes that have to be manouvered into the car for transport together with 500 hats and all the other paraphernalia required for such an event it can get a little tricky. My downfall was a container filled with water bottles. Having conveniently placed handles on either side, I suggested to a co-worker that we could pick up an end each and see if we could transport it to the waiting boot.
With the traditional "1, 2, 3 ..." I lifted ... and she didn't. Actually we both heard the 'pop' sound that (I discovered later) represented the tearing of a ligament and my immediate thought was "Oh shit, this is going to be bad". It was.
Ice on the back for almost two days had no impact whatsoever, movement was limited to a slow and painful stagger leaning on whatever was available, lying down was fine but turning over or getting up practically impossible and as for going to the loo ... yikes!
At the time, my Beloved was busy with a production number of his own (more of this later), working 16 - 18 hour days and not generally able to be of much assistance. Thank goodness for Arizaphale who, in true Bestie fashion, dropped everything to come over and fetch, carry and do anything else required. A doctor was called, drugs acquired and the process of "rest it until it gets better" commenced.
Somehow I don't think this "rest it" advice extended to herding people and dogs up and down beaches but when Charity calls, one must do one's duty ...
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Friday, 3 October 2008
Karaoke Queen
My dear Bestie, Arizaphale, is a paragon of virtue. She is a wonderful mother, understanding step-mum, supportive wife, great teacher and fabulous friend. She is a non-smoker and responsible drinker, active participant in her church and reliable taxi service for all and sundry.
Which is why it's so much fun to be with her when she goes on a bender.
This does not happen often. There needs to be a special combination of circumstances for there to be any chance of an "Arizaphale Behaving Badly" evening, but such was the state of affairs on Wednesday. Baby Angel in Sydney. Husband in KI. No school in the morning. Friends who know the location of a karaoke bar.
The evening started calmly enough. My Beloved cooked us a lovely meal, we discussed current events, the world financial crisis and other erudite matters and then decided to pop out for a nightcap at the local pub. No problem.
My Beloved, having had an early start on the [CENSORED] was just about to suggest heading home and popping on a movie when Arizaphale came out with the fateful words "How about we go and have a sing?"
And so we set out to the local karoke bar on the understanding that it would be one drink and one song. Famous last words.
When we arrived at the venue at something after 10pm we were the only patrons there. We ordered a drink and proceeded to browse through the 'playlist' of around 582,532 available songs. Not an easy task and one requiring the reinforcement of another round of drinks.
My Beloved got things rolling with a couple of his 'standards' and, sick of waiting for either of us to make up our minds, just picked out something for us to sing as a duet which we dutifully did. I wish I could remember what it was, but in any case we didn't make a bad job of it and it certainly got the ball rolling.
And what a roll it was!
Arizaphale with microphone in hand suddenly became a woman possessed, choosing song after song for our listening pleasure. And when she wasn't singing, she was dancing. And when not dancing ... well, it was time for another round after all and singing and dancing is thirsty work.
The venue started to fill up, providing a more extensive audience but also some competition for 'mike time'. There are certain rules of etiquette at a karoke bar - firstly, one must always clap politely at the end of a song, no matter how well or how dreadfully it has been performed. While Arizaphale did this with (sometimes) unwarranted enthusiasm, she became somewhat less able to abide by certain of the other conventions as the evening wore on.
It is, for example, poor form to run around the room giving notes to other singers on how they might improve their performance. It is also not generally acceptable to provide back-up vocals to complete strangers if not invited. This was explained gently to her by my Beloved, but at one point I thought she would have to be forcibly restrained.
In between Arizaphale's virtuoso performances, my Beloved found another few songs to add to his repertoire (and a couple not to), we girls harmonised delightfully on something that had a lot of 'La's" in it, and I managed a stirling rendition of "Toucha Toucha Touch Me", ably backed up the other two.
A fine time was being had by all. At around 1.30am, and conscious that while it might not be a school night for Arizaphale it was for me, my Beloved managed to shepherd us both out of the club and within about 3 feet of a waiting cab, but it was not to be. As if by magic, Arizaphale disappeared back inside and the next thing we heard was her dulcet tones belting out "Mustang Sally".
At this point I became resigned to hanging in there for the duration, and ordered another round... She was just having too much of a good time to drag away, and after all, she doesn't get to do it often.
So it was with very bleary eyes that I hauled myself to work the next day after what can only be described as a short nap. Just the day to catch up with my filing.
And Arizaphale? Her text message next day said it all. "Thanx 4 a gr8 nite, but do not take me there ever again!!!:-)". Until next time ...
Which is why it's so much fun to be with her when she goes on a bender.
This does not happen often. There needs to be a special combination of circumstances for there to be any chance of an "Arizaphale Behaving Badly" evening, but such was the state of affairs on Wednesday. Baby Angel in Sydney. Husband in KI. No school in the morning. Friends who know the location of a karaoke bar.
The evening started calmly enough. My Beloved cooked us a lovely meal, we discussed current events, the world financial crisis and other erudite matters and then decided to pop out for a nightcap at the local pub. No problem.
My Beloved, having had an early start on the [CENSORED] was just about to suggest heading home and popping on a movie when Arizaphale came out with the fateful words "How about we go and have a sing?"
And so we set out to the local karoke bar on the understanding that it would be one drink and one song. Famous last words.
When we arrived at the venue at something after 10pm we were the only patrons there. We ordered a drink and proceeded to browse through the 'playlist' of around 582,532 available songs. Not an easy task and one requiring the reinforcement of another round of drinks.
My Beloved got things rolling with a couple of his 'standards' and, sick of waiting for either of us to make up our minds, just picked out something for us to sing as a duet which we dutifully did. I wish I could remember what it was, but in any case we didn't make a bad job of it and it certainly got the ball rolling.
And what a roll it was!
Arizaphale with microphone in hand suddenly became a woman possessed, choosing song after song for our listening pleasure. And when she wasn't singing, she was dancing. And when not dancing ... well, it was time for another round after all and singing and dancing is thirsty work.
The venue started to fill up, providing a more extensive audience but also some competition for 'mike time'. There are certain rules of etiquette at a karoke bar - firstly, one must always clap politely at the end of a song, no matter how well or how dreadfully it has been performed. While Arizaphale did this with (sometimes) unwarranted enthusiasm, she became somewhat less able to abide by certain of the other conventions as the evening wore on.
It is, for example, poor form to run around the room giving notes to other singers on how they might improve their performance. It is also not generally acceptable to provide back-up vocals to complete strangers if not invited. This was explained gently to her by my Beloved, but at one point I thought she would have to be forcibly restrained.
In between Arizaphale's virtuoso performances, my Beloved found another few songs to add to his repertoire (and a couple not to), we girls harmonised delightfully on something that had a lot of 'La's" in it, and I managed a stirling rendition of "Toucha Toucha Touch Me", ably backed up the other two.
A fine time was being had by all. At around 1.30am, and conscious that while it might not be a school night for Arizaphale it was for me, my Beloved managed to shepherd us both out of the club and within about 3 feet of a waiting cab, but it was not to be. As if by magic, Arizaphale disappeared back inside and the next thing we heard was her dulcet tones belting out "Mustang Sally".
At this point I became resigned to hanging in there for the duration, and ordered another round... She was just having too much of a good time to drag away, and after all, she doesn't get to do it often.
So it was with very bleary eyes that I hauled myself to work the next day after what can only be described as a short nap. Just the day to catch up with my filing.
And Arizaphale? Her text message next day said it all. "Thanx 4 a gr8 nite, but do not take me there ever again!!!:-)". Until next time ...
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