Have been running around like a headless chook today. That's if a headless chook can drive, shop and do the laundry.
My living room, kitchen and hall floors are strewn with items that I might or might not need on my trip. When I prepare to travel, I always start off with the kitchen sink then work down to a small bowl as the sheer tedium of packing gets to me. I've been known to stuff a week's worth of clothes into a very small bag. When I hit my stride, I can pack in a way that defies the laws of physics. One day, my suitcase will collapse in on itself and take the universe with it.
The GPS still hasn't turned up — I suppose when it does finally arrive, I'll know where it's been — so I've had to borrow one. Yesterday, I was complaining about it to people, who were politely pretending to give a shit. At the end of my tirade, one asked me about the FN GPS. I had to admit that FN wasn't the brand name. I should speak more clearly when I swear.
In between cursing the GPS people, the courier company and Australia Post, I went off with a couple of colleagues to collect bivalves in the Bay. The air temperature was about 6C and the water was ... well ... even cooler. FN freezing, in fact.
We were looking for bivalves that live at the interface of the oxic and anoxic zones. We started off with a shovel and sieve, but they were too unwieldy, so we used our hands. There we were — the three of us, dressed in gumboots and rugged up against the cold, squatting in the shallows, picking through the sediment like raccoons.
The kids from the private school came out to watch. I'm sure their teacher warned them that this was what would happen if they didn't get good grades.
No more bivalve hunting. I head off first thing in the morning.
More tomorrow night.
