Man, I’m happy that Nein lost the rights to the footy. No more of the Nein bullshit like Eddie, the skycam (which was totally ridiculous for a game which pisses about all over the oval, not up and down the field like league does), ridiculous juggling of live matches with the NRL – although I’m wondering what this means for the future of the Fox Footy channel. Living in Sydney and following what I’ll politely call not the most popular Victorian team in the league, quite often the only way I can see the Cats game of the week is on cable. Fox Footy was aligned with Nein, does this mean my drunken sports viewing this year will be relegated to the A-League? Then again, there’s always the reliable option of watching the WWE with a semi all afternoon. It’s not just me that does that, right?
Quite a few of you sent me emails about living in London, which I’m still going through and owe a few replies – but thank you so much for all the info! Everything was very helpful. From what I understand, the south of London is the best place for a mix of not-quite-as-expensive and not-too-unpleasant. Of course, it all looks like a fairly expensive city to live in generally, but I’m hoping that seeing as Adam’s in ahhhhdvertising dahhling, we might be okay if he can get a decent job (although I’ve warned him I’d likely be working as a call centre pleb for a company I’ve got moral problems with – a mate of mine was forced to work for British American Tobacco’s “health” advisory line in the UK to finance her trip a few years ago, sitting on her noisy moral compass and breaking it in the process).
However, Adam’s a UK citizen, which helps him job-wise – he only spent his first couple of years in the UK before immigrating to Australia. I’m not sure how things work in the UK as far as getting your partner over permanently as well (who knows, we may end up loving it and staying there for a little while longer), does anyone have any idea of what goes on here? We may have to get our Seriously Fearful Lesbian Lawyer on the case. I’ve not mentioned the Seriously Fearful Lesbian Lawyer yet, have I? I’ll have to write about her soon. She manages to get your legal work done while making personal jibes and polishing her soccer trophies all at the same time.
My new drinking policy seems to be working okay so far. Everything in moderation. There’s a bit of an internal conflict going on, though… spirits are far better while I’m trying to stay marginally fit, but I have a tendancy to get ridiculously blind on spirits too quickly. Beer, on the other hand, is delicious golden liquid lard but is more of a comfortable, cheerful, happy buzz. Not to mention far cheaper. Hrmm.
After years of struggling to produce sufficient ID to any major corporation or bouncer, apparently for fear that he doesn’t want the government to identify him, Adam has shrugged and gone for his learner’s licence, for ID purposes only. The last few days have consisted of me drearily bleating out mundane road rule questions and Adam spitfiring answers back like he’s going for gold on the Weakest Link or something.
After reading about drivers licences in NSW, it seems I’ve made a very stupid (and fairly obvious, in retrospect) error. I’ve still got a Victorian drivers licence from when we were living in Melbourne… it never actually occured to me to get this switched over to a NSW licence. In addition, while it can’t be disputed that most drivers licence mugshots look like you’re halfway between nicking a home theatre system and on the receiving end of a gob-job, mine has the added embarassment of looking far too overly dopey.
Adam succesfully obtained his new licence this morning, but is markedly depressed with the new mugshot (“My old proof of age card made me look like a really pissed off crim… *worldweary sigh*“) – it’s got me wondering what look I should aim for on my NSW licence. Dodgy geezer? Smirk? Wide-eyed surprise? Rock star bravado?
Considering I rarely drive now – maybe occasionally we’ll get a hire car, but there’s not much of a need for a car day-to-day in the city – I’m not too familiar with the more obscure road rules of the state. Adam, on the other hand, hasn’t sat behind the wheel of a car in years but now knows everything from clearway by-laws to how long the cops can impound your car if you’re suspected of street racing. Together, the two of us make one perfectly functional driver, although I don’t doubt Adam would be yelling and punching me from the driver’s seat every time I parked one metre too close to an Australia Post mailbox.