The joys of November

Herewith the usual humble cringing puppy-dog eyes apologies for the last fortnight silence: yep, I’ve been having a bit of a crap time [read: seriously scary and horrible and agonising pain episodes], spending WAY too much time in bed writhing and screaming in pain, and just feeling fundamentally vile because all I have in my gut is loads of heavy duty drugs and maybe an apple or so and it is churning around in a most disconcerting manner. Meantime the weather has been totally weird, humid and stormy then cold and fine then stormy again then hot then sudden rains . . . No wonder my body is writing outraged letters of complaint to the Chief Editor. Bleh.

HOWEVER.

November has really been pretty spectacular IF you overlook all the shite stuff, which I will proceed to do.

First off, books began arriving in the mail in dribbles and drabbles, from The Book Depository, and Fountain Books in Virginia, USA, and also from Paul Kidby / Sir Terry Pratchett. MEGA-W0000000000T!!!

I do have a major beef with The Book Depository, with their system of packaging up one book at a time instead of the whole lot or even a few in one corrugated cardboard envelope. I mean, presumably someone somewhere is trudging around a warehouse with an electronic pad thingy and a trolley, putting my order together. Why the fuck can they not be a wee bit more organised? ARGH. Okay so it’s about shipping costs blah blah blah but . . . It is an insult to my greenie leftie femmo bitch self over such a waste of materials.

It is fun though, I have to admit, wondering what’s going to be in today’s package/s. Tux and I have a sort of tradition of spreading out birthday gifts and treats [we don’t “do” Christmas] and there’s been the same kind of antici . . . . . . pation over The Weeks Of Books.  Needless to say I have been doing a lot of reading, absolutely gorging on books be-yoooooooootiful books; hey if you are trapped in bed you may as well deal with your mail, right? There will be blurbs . . .

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The second exciting thing = which ties in with the Month Of Books, but deserves it’s own paragraph/s, and WILL have it’s own blurb – was the Official Release of Brenna Yovanoff’s new novel The Space Between !!! I was incredibly fortunate to actually WIN a copy of The Space Between from The Author Herself – too too exciting, I was leaping about and squealing like a little girl [well okay I am little but I’m hardly a girl anymore . . . ] [and unfortunately I haven’t received it yet so I can’t put up a blurb – Australia Post is really really sucking at the moment; everything Tux and I have ordered lately has been weeks and weeks late.]

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The next big thing in November was, we saw PORTISHEAD !!! Like, LIVE !!! They are one of Tuxedo’s and my most favest bands, it has been one of our dreams to see them live. While many bands tour Australia, only a teensy weensy percentage actually visit Perth [it being the most isolated capital city in the world, and all]. Then, Portishead is known for making very rare live appearances; for them to come to Australia, and actually visit PERTH ??? Eeeeeeee.

They performed at the Belvoir Amphitheatre, an outdoor venue which used to be a quarry, or something, about 45 minutes drive from Perth out in the bush and farmland. It was an amazing evening, only marred by the absolute stupid bastard security guards and stupid bastard rules for NO FOOD NO BLANKETS NO CUSHIONS ETC. ETC. ETC. that had not been listed on the actual, you know, ticketing information.  ARGH.  Given that it WAS an outdoor venue and people kinda need things like blankets and cushions to sit on for six to eight hours [gates open at 1730, so you get there at 1600 to queue up, the main band come on at 2000 and perform for two hours plus . . . yeah you are gonna be hungry and uncomfortable and have a really sore arse].  Lovely, really advantageous for friendly crowd dynamics.

So, Portishead.  Absolutely fucking awesome.  If anything they are even better live than on studio albums! Okay they have an awesome sound and light / projection set-up but still. The quality and clarity of sound, the artists, Beth Gibbons’ voice oh-hells-bells-and-fucking-miscellaneous-pagan-gods how does she DO it? Absolutely mind-blowing.

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And Saturday 19 November was Tuxedo’s birthday yayyyyyy. The purchase of his beautiful Orbea tri-bike a few months back was early birthday-and-Christmas-present, so he didn’t get anything from me on the day apart from kisses hugs and marital advances *giggle*.

We met up with my parents and brother for brunch, which was just heaven, er, not. Food was great, my mother’s behaviour not, it really put a major dampener on our moods, actually not so much a dampener as a fire-starter, we were burning with fury for hours. But oh well . . . we got over it.

We went shopping for clothes for Tux, blowing his cash present from my parents in a couple of hours on summer clothes that weren’t-cycling-kit [really cute long denim shorts, Tees etc.]. We had a quiet night that night – well our bank balance is well in the red at the moment, so we couldn’t afford a nice ritzy dinner, but we managed Chinese takeaway and a bottle of Moet, not too shabby all the same.

It’s weird, how even when you are “grown up” you still crave the children’s birthday party and present high, even though you know it’s not sensible or attainable, and so birthdays can’t help but feel somewhat flat . . . Ah well all part of growing up and becoming mature and practical members of society *gag*.

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