Squats and the World Cup

I am almost delirious with pain from the flogging I gave myself at circuits Monday and Wednesday night. I am experiencing the ‘Second Day Pain’ today which is infinitely worse than First Day Pain. I am waddling like a duck and sitting on the loo is incredibly painful (squats… the muscles in one’s gluteus maximus most affected by squats seem to follow the exact contours of the loo seat). Stomach is also killing me. This is what happens when you miss two weeks of exercise – you fall apart.

The class was v empty Wednesday night due to the football (more on that in a minute), but Pondy and I stayed off the beers so that we could attend. We are so committed. Well, Pondy is. I was seriously rocking the 'stay home and carouse' angle but he was having none of it and dragged me, kicking and screaming, from the couch.

We had another new instructor Wednesday evening. She is normally a humble attendee, but must’ve done some kind of course to elevate herself to the hallowed heights of 'Group Exercise Leader'. She is quite chubby and I was initially worried that she wouldn’t be the best role model but she absolutely caned us. And is incredibly fit. Her push ups were particularly excellent. Pondy has the heads up and apparently she used to be v lardy but has lost heaps of weight with diligent circuit attendance and is well on her way to ultra buff if her form Wednesday night was anything to judge by.

In World Cup News…

England finally pulled their collective fingers out and played a decent football match to commence to the final 16. Thank God. The combined ire of a country full of enraged ‘white van men’ may have been too much to bear. It certainly would have made commuting more fraught than usual.

Australia almost pulled off a fairytale ending with their brilliant victory over Serbia. One can only wonder what might have been had Marco Rodriguez, the blind Mexican referee in our match against Germany, had not sent Cahill off. Alas…

Not a Groovy Kind of Funk

Another glorious day.

Simon informed me yesterday that he is ‘in a funk’. Not a groovy kind of funk. A ‘stuck in a rut’ kind of a funk (the kind of funk you fall into when you realise every day you get up, go to work, go to bed, rinse and repeat). I understand his loss of mojo, as I was in a funk of my own only last week. I solved my funk by launching myself into a variety of hobbies (blog, cello, muay thai). So I have attempted to lure Simon out of his funk with activities – figuring if he is v exhausted by non stop whirlwind of canoeing, bike riding and cliff walking he will not have enough time to indulge in funk. The whirlwind shall begin this weekend – we are taking life by the gonads and giving it a good hard shake.

Pondy is simultaneously delighted and appalled at my new found role of camp leader. I daresay in a few weeks time he will look back on his funk with a degree of sentimentality.

Went to circuit training last night and the 'new girl' was taking the class again. Normally circuits is commandeered by a pretty, short haired very ‘80’s’ inspired gym bunny complete with Madonna-esque head set. Her name is Sonia and she’s the kinda gal that would have worn leg warmers and g-string leotards over the top of bike shorts in the 80’s (like me… sob…). She must be on hols or something, cos a spunky little pocket rocket has been there for the last few weeks and the ratio of men to women in the class has shifted quite dramatically. Sonia has a pretty even mix of ladies and fellas, but pocket rocket is skewed approx 80 – 20 (men – women). She is tiny, has enormous bazookas and wears little tops to show them to best effect. Bully for her, say I! (In my youth this was the exact same combo I used to employ. Even in my dotage it’s one I pull out on occasion). The embarrassing thing is the way that men are reduced to giggling loons in her presence. The power of youth + norks in full bloom. It is also amazing how many men are concerned with ‘getting their form right’. Blokes who normally don’t give a rat’s what the instructor is doing are spellbound as she demonstrates push ups, sit ups and chest presses (they seem particularly concerned with the form of their chest presses…)

Lister saves wildlife and visits Aussie pub

I have been rabidly homesick for the last few days. Ironic, as the weather is finally glorious after months of crap - a thousand types of rain from drizzle to downpour and freezing freaking cold. Today the sun is shining and I have a delicious view out my window of the river (with boats bobbing about in it in v picturesque manner) rolling hills and trees. This is all offset by the sound of a cat fight taking place in the alley behind our house. They are really going at it.

Just went outside and banged a couple of shoes together to break up the fight. One v butch cat tormenting a scrappy little persian. Persian ran at sounds of shoe banging, but butch cat stayed behind for a couple of minutes giving me the eye. The cheek.

This is not the first bit of peace making I've done (with the aid of shoes) in recent times. As our house is set up a little hill we are witness to all manner of goings on in the seagull community (they live on the roof of a house in front of us). At the moment I am keeping an eye on some seagull chicks. They are so cute - like grey fluffy ducklings. There is one on the roof right now (see pic below). They can't fly yet and their numbers have dwindled - there were four or five a few weeks back but I think some crows have been picking them off. Indeed, during my last bit of peacemaking I was drawn outside by the cry of approx 20 seagulls tryiing to scare off some crows flying near their nests. Out I went with my shoes, banging them feverishly to scare off the crows. Neighbours also joined in - there was a lot of yelling and arm flapping and then someone set off a flare! Tres exciting!

The seagulls here are freaking massive. They are nothing like the petite Aussie seagulls. Some are the size of dogs.

Anyway, back to my homesickness. I haven't really had any major bouts of it before. I've had times when I've missed my friends and the weather, but apart from that I've been ok. Have been here two years now, which is my longest period of time away from home. Yesterday I was in quite a funk. I told Simonski (who was working that morning), and he came to the rescue. When he finished work at midday he took me to Newquay to the Aussie pub there so I could watch Aus v Ghana with 'my people'. The Aussie pub is quite dodgy - basically a big, crinkly shed with a couple of kangaroo murals. Still, it was nice to hear other Aussie voices moaning at the ref etc. One bloke even yelled out 'What a bloody moron!' - just like Alf from Home and Away. Warmed my cockles it did.

Sadly, it was a draw and now we are relying on a very complex and unlikely set of circumstances to make the next round. But we played well and I wore my Aussie scarf with pride for the rest of the day.

This is in extreme contrast to my mood of last Saturday when I chucked a huge hissy fit following our crushing 4 nil defeat at the hands of Germany (plus blind referee). I cried at the unfairness of it all, ripped my scarf off and went to bed. This was documented by Simon on the camera, but I don't want to post the series of photos as I am embarrassed by my atrocious attitude. Plus, I am wearing a tracksuit and one of the shots was taken from the rear. To quote Tyler 'If girls knew what they looked like from behind in tracksuits, they'd never wear them'. Too true Ty Ty, too true...

Newquay is a strange town. It's in a very picturesque locale, but is kind of like a mini Surfers Paradise. Loads of souvenir shops, pubs, bars, strip joints etc. It's the location of choice for lots of Northerners on bucks / hens nights and is the place that most of the schoolies flock to after exams. It's gotten a lot of bad press in recent years for underage drinking etc. They also had big problems with blokes peeing in the street (memo: men - the world is not your toilet) and in an effort to combat this they installed urinals that rose - phoenix like - from the ground in the evening. They are called 'pissoirs', or 'urilifts'. I shit thee not. A picture is below.

When blokes needed a wee, they angled their bods inside the pissoir, dropped trou and off they went. Alas, they have removed the pissoirs now so the menfolk are back to peeing in doorways and potplants.