by popular demand

It's become apparent that this blog is, in fact, about Georgia. In the last month, while Puss Puss has been away, there have only been a few postings. Plus I've handed the camera back to Johnny, because it is his after all. Photo-blogging is much more convenient than actually having to write something concise and witty.

So what has happened in the month of January, and why are there no photos of rollicking New Year's Eve parties? In short, because there wasn't one. I made well sure that Johnny and I were tucked into bed before midnight the way he likes it. No Auld Lang Syne, fireworks and indiscrimant snogging of strangers for us. Maybe next year, eh?

We welcomed a new housemate to Carrington house, Jose Luis (photo to be supplied so that Miss K may approve of who is keeping her bed warm). Jose is a Spanish geologist, drawn to Australia by the promise of beautiful rocks. He may well prove to be a valuable indirect contributor to these pages by making us leave the sanctity of our homes in order to explore the wilds of Adelaide general public social life, something that hasn't been at all well documented here. Is nightclubbing on my list of things to do to get to love Adelaide?

I have also welcomed into my life a shiny new silver bike, yet to be named but I think of it as my little pony because it's so small. Took delivery last Saturday and had first stack due to failure to unclip from pedals on Saturday evening. This briefly resulted in a total lack of interest in any further cycling adventures, but my cycling coach and I went up as far as Stonyfell last night without any mishaps, and on the way back through Dulwich I satisfied a Need for Speed with a quick sprint to Fullarton Road, so maybe now I'm starting to understand what it's all about. Coach is keen for me to ride it up the freeway today, but 38 degrees with humidity does not seem to be ideal cycling conditions for a novice. Plus I so need to pack for the big trip to Melbourne tomorrow (flight gets in at 21:00, Trixie - please pick me up) - I am going to bond with my nephew and teach him new words, maybe some Spanish swearing since these are my new words for the week.

Also by way to explain lack of blogging activity, I've been temping full-time at community mental health for the last few weeks, which has provided a welcome cash injection as well as the opportunity to have a gander at the mental health service without having to do anything more challenging than type psychiatrists' assessments, for which I was greatly praised by one doctor, only one error, hypomania instead of hypermania, the shame. So once that and the Melbourne visit is all over, in the tiny window between getting back and nicking off to Tassie for Guessie's 30th, I will attempt to knock over a couple of the Matilda in Adelaide projects.

Johnny and Sarah

a kettle of fish

For Simon, who wanted to know, from Brewers Dictionary of Phrase and Fable:

An old Border name for a kind of fete champetre or riverside picnic where a newly caught salmon is boiled and eaten. The discomfort of this sort of party may have led to the phrase 'a pretty kettle of fish', meaning an awkward state of affairs, a mess, or a muddle.

Probably not the context in which we used it at all, but what the?