SpannerWorld

Festivals

Burning, brazen sun, beating down on me. Becoming self aware of age, as a legion of teens make the world their gynaecologist with what I can only assume are belts - conclude rest of the outfit is missing, persumed old fashioned. Obtain weekend VIP pass from maladroit madam who has appropriated position of authority due to extreme age. Well, this is the only reason I have for her status at media tent as she was a complete fool. Hang on, incompetent person, of very fashionable, yet tragic dispostion, working in perceived position of influence, and I'm surprised, angered and/or perplexed?

John Butler Trio. A terrific opening to the Queenscliff Music Festival. A wispy sea breaze gradually replacing the heat. The Big Top brimming with punters, buzzing with energy, excitment and anticipation of a weekend of music. The true benchmark of a band is their live performance. Consequently, any band who perform better live than their albums are truely worthy of respect, wonder and adulation. Spectacular guitar work, on six string and twelve, a double bass being played to within an inch of its life and a drummer who could play with the finest jazz musicians, kept the entire crowd pumped. Fifteen minute adaptation of 'Betterman', the greatest double bass solo I've ever heard. With nothing able to compare with the John Bulter Trio, we decided eating would be a good idea.

Trounce the main street of Queenscliff. Duck into a little cafe to avoid the crowds at the fish and chip shop, even though they are, by far, the most superior fish and chips on the planet. Encoutner girl from high school. Amazed at the feelings of inadequacy and petty rivalry thought left behind in school slowly rising within me. School, so long ago it's in a galaxy far far away, still affects me. She's over weight, her skin looks terrible and her dress sense hasn't improved I hear myself saying. Mentioning she was in Queenscliff to watch the large luxury liner pass through the heads, Andy and I decided to wander to the lookout and assess the ship, which Andy is now calling 'the boat' because he know's it drives me crazy.

Fanta coloured sunset bleeds into the palest blue sky. The Lighthouse on the Point a black silhouette against the Fanta splashed sky. Andy and I sit on the old sea wall, near the rusted remains of the decrepit water treatment pipe. We were there, on dusk, to watch one of the largest luxury liners sail through the heads of Port Phillip Bay with 500 of our closest personal friends.

Eighteen stories high, lit up like a carousel in a fairground, passing us just as the first stars were reveiling themselves to me. A shooting star flashed. The sea breaze causing only the slightest ripple over the water. I'm trying to imagine perfection. Think this might be close.

We return to the festival, to watch the late set of the John Bulter Trio. We catch some of Tiffany Eckhardt, with her soft, laxidasical approach, we drift gently back into festival gear. JBT is an excellent way to finish the night for us.

Again, I know my age is fast consuming me. Sleep has snuck up on me, like a villan in a pantomime... behind you! behind you! I hear distant voices call to me, but I don't want to acknowledge its presence. Weary, worn yet wonderful, we drive back to Geelong. Must.. sleep.. recover... only to return.

When good spanners go bad

I woke this morning, unfortunately. My eyes like open gashes, the edges swollen and bloody, refused to focus on anything. Waking to feel as though the depths of hell have swallowed you whole, then spat you out like a sour grape, is okay if you have had the kind of fun the night before, which might see you arrested in more conservative parts of the world. Like Tasmania. Without the pleasure of the night before, I dragged myself into the shower, only to realise I still had my glasses on. The steam gave it away.
Day perfectly framed by own stupidity. Edgy, esurient and eager to eat, I fumble my way through museli, whilst my fellow triviasters are drinking their gin and tonics. I don't drink before 9am, so tea will suffice. Quick hello to trip, waiting for Britta to return from the ballet. I can understand why men are reticent to watch a ballet titled the 'Nutcracker Suite'
Attempt to dry hair with hair 'dryer', broken from being dropped one too many times past it's drop threshold. Various tools for the day dispersed at random around my home - phone, makeup, yoghurt, water.
There. Stinging sun on my arm driving to work.
Not another day.

Cause Im too lazy to type

Okay, I've posted some pictures I took a while back cause thinking of something to type is far too much trouble.... I think this month is dedicated to the image.

Cause Im too lazy to type

Cause Im too lazy to type

Will the real spanner please stand up

Okay, so I FINALLY found a nice picture of myself. It's taken nearly three months since I set up this site. Now you just have to figure out which one I am unless you already now me. In which case if you have trouble, then why the hell am I friends with you?

Where Spanner's fear to tread

Have you found me yet?

Secret life of Stuff

So little has happened in my life in the past few days, the highlight of this week is a toss up between the opening of a new hardware mega store and an exceptionally good ceaser salad I had for dinner last night. When too much excitment is never enough, you know you are onto a good thing reading my blog.

The inability of people, especially couples for some inexplicable reason, to walk anywhere other than the middle of the road in a busy carpark never ceases to amaze me. Whilst attending the opening of above mentioned hardware store and feeling like a seagull hovering around the newest arrivals in a picnic area, it took every inch of restraint I have to stop myself from mowing down pedestrians. I have a bull bar on my 4wd and sure, it looks more like the kinda 4wd barbie might drive (and about the same size) it is STILL a 4x4 and it STILL has a bull bar! Don't fuck with a maniac with no life and no regard for the feelings and emotions of others. Especially on a Sunday.

After hovering around the car park ready to pounce on the space, which may or may not resemble a car parking space, we became the deranged pedestrians. Whom ever thougth of designing a shopping centre with LIMITED PEDESTRIAN ACCESS needs to spend some time with me. After watching back to back episodes of Austrlaian Idol I gaurantee you, public safety will increase 500%.

Now, the ceaser salad on the other hand was a tribute to the chef and my ability to eat NOTHING ELSE on a menu. I am the Queen of Ceaser. A good ceaser salad will have tender, moist and perfectly grilled chicken. To hell with you purists who feel a ceaser shouldn't have chicken in it. Try eating out and not being able to order the fetticine, the steak (sauce = flour) and tell me you don't think salad should be devoid of meat. Last neat was better than a Double Meat Burger. Mainly because it was actual meat, but the truely redeaming factors of any good ceaser salad are the following:
Grilled Chicken - Bacon (enough to cause a shortage) - REAL paremasen cheese & just enough lettuce.

I cannot stress enough, the importance of REAL parmasean. Okay, so a) imaginary parmasean isn't terribly filling and b) it doesn't smell, only real parmasean has the texture neccesary for this dish. Oh, and the other big factor - no anchovies! What the fuck are people thinking when they put anchoivies in anything, least of all a salad. Argh, better stop, I'm starting to feel ill...