Rosie's Travels

I took my bemused Australian cousin to a strange local event, the annual St Albans Pancake Day race. Four teams can do the relay at once - there were groups from local businesses, the Abbey (you can see the Abbey's bell tower at the back of this photo) and various Council departments, all taking time out from their lunch breaks to race up and down tossing pancakes.



Some people could watch from comfort, indoors.



Hertfordshire's Fourth Estate were out in force.




The Planning Department team were victorious and the Deputy Mayor (the verbose chap on the right who looks like a football manager) presented them with the Frying Pan of Glory.



The phalanx of photographers insisted on decorating the conquering heroes with clammy pancakes to mark their triumph.



I was delighted to capture this dramatic semi-final heat on video: this is the first time I've uploaded anything to YouTube. You can hear me squawk "Oooh, the vicar's down!" as if I'm watching a wrestling match. Which I suppose this is, in a way: a clash of the veritable titans of the pancake-entertainment world.



The sprinting vicars remind me of Bishop Brennan's magnificent fury in a certain Father Ted episode. Dad commented that they remind him more of the Spanish Inquisition. There's just something inherently comical about people sprinting in robes.

Labels: cooking, cultural contrasts, English eccentrics, family, rituals, tourism, travel, Web 2.0

It's very strange, but since my time staying with a witch on her farm / animal rescue sanctuary, a lot of things have been falling into place. Perhaps the main thing was that I explained the story behind my greenstone pendant and she didn't laugh, but took me seriously. In New Zealand, you don't buy greenstone for yourself, but as a gift for someone else, otherwise it's bad luck. So when Eric and I had our 2 year anniversary, we bought each other greenstone pendants. I love mine and since then have rarely taken it off. Well, we're not together any more and I was fed up of thinking about him, feeling upset, constantly going over what could have happened differently.

I explained this to Catherine, who is an amazing listener and very wise - rather like Granny Weatherwax in character, although in appearance more like the Morrigan. She suggested that we do a cleansing ritual, to remove his energy from it, and give it positive energy for me. That night I had the best and most healing sleep I've had in months, about 12 dreamless hours. When I awoke I looked at the sparkling morning sun and thought ... "I can do whatever I want." The ritual, though harmless, I'm not going to share, because it was a personal thing. Since then I've been doing my usual absent-minded rubbing and fiddling with the stone round my neck, just like I always seem to, but thinking "This is a positive thing. This brings me good luck." I still have fears and worries and all the rest of it, but I'm doing better about asking for the things I want. After all, the worst that can happen is that I'll get a polite "No, sorry." And things really have moved on!

I have found some really good friends in Adelaide and a paying job so laughably easy anyone could do it, were it not for the overwhelming fumes. My mate Jasmine and I weld vinyl together to make marquees. I also specialise in cranking a vast punch to force eyelets through. We talk all day and take it in turns to listen our preferred stations on the radio: our unspeakable supervisor likes middle of the road soft rock (The Eagles really make him happy). Jasmine likes chart stuff (although SAFM has a pretty limited playlist, and we end up hearing the same tracks at least 4 times over each 8 hour period). I crank up Triple J, the rock/indie station - it's the equivalent of XFM in the UK, and the only one that plays unsigned acts. This is very handy research for my brilliant unpaid position...

I am a published writer! Yeah!

This is something that I've wanted to do for so long, ever since writing for student newspapers in Manchester and Missouri, but somehow I never got around to it. The confidence, I believe, comes from the Goddess energy, but the direct inspiration came from metal guitarist Yngwie Malmsteen.

Let me tell you about Yngwie Malmsteen.

I first encountered him in the lyrics to a Fun Lovin' Criminals song circa 1997, which contained the line "My fingers are moving faster than Yngwie Malmsteen." I assumed this was a sexual reference for something depraved and Swedish, nodded knowledgeably and moved on. One day in an Oxfam shop I was browsing the racks of cassette tapes and noticed "Odyssey," by Yngwie J. Malmsteen's Rising Force. His rampant power metal mullet made me smile, but the brilliant idea of naming your band your Rising Force made it irresistible. 50p later it was mine.

If espresso coffee were music, it would sound like Yngwie Malmsteen. He is the world's fastest guitarist. His "Flight of the Bumblebee" has to be heard to be believed. So I was predisposed to go crazy at his concert, which I attended with my understanding friend Susie. Afterwards, all my enthusiasm had to be channelled somewhere. But I didn't have a guitar. I had to share the experience somehow, or burst.

I offered my writeup to Rip It Up and DB. DB were interested and soon I was interviewing bands and reviewing CDs, books and arts events for them. That Yngwie review was published by The Program here:

http://www.theprogram.net.au/reviewsSub.asp?id=4338&state=1

I'm so chuffed!

So things are going surprisingly well. I don't answer to anybody but myself right now, and though I still feel guilty over things that I fail to do, dammit, I meet my deadlines!

Labels: greenstone, marquee making, radio, rampant power metal mullets, relationships, rituals, witchcraft, writing, Yngwie Malmsteen