- Friday, 3:33pm AEST -
Everywhere I look, there is stuff all over the place. We have three more days left at this address before the removal van arrives, hopefully with two guys ready to do some heavy lifting, to move us to our new address. The internet/phone guy is booked to arrive on the same day to hook up comms. Next week will be busy indeed.
Could not log on to the internet. A quick call to the phone company (via my mobile) and I was informed that our phone and internet had been disconnected due to the appointment next week to have phone and 'net connected at our new address. I reminded them that we are still living at our old address until next week. They apologised and got our internet back up and running pretty quickly. The landline would take another 24 hours to reconnect.
I was still wearing the Omega Seamaster 300 from the weekend.
As I mentioned last week, our new modem hook-up will require us to leave it switched on 24/7 in order to keep the landline switched on. This friggin' Digital Age, man! Keeping us ever-more reliant on all this wireless crap. Yes, I know. Here I am, reaching out to people around the world via the web through my little ol' blog that, back in the old days of actual publishing, wouldn't stand a chance of being produced or read outside of my own home. I get it. I really do. I just don't like being forced to adapt to all of this new tech. Also, as I said last week, I'm not crazy about RF frequencies filtering throughout the house all the time. And now, I'm also beginning to wonder if any of my old rotary dial telephones will work on this exchange. There's a question for the technician when he arrives.
I started thinking about this house that we've lived in for the last fifteen years. I remember what the real estate agent said to us after we bought the place; "When you have kids, they'll be able to play in the park right across the road here. This fence will come down, the tip (junk-yard) will be moved much further along, and you'll have access to the park with its lake and marshlands."
The fence is still there. The tip has pretty much been shut down and the land where it stood has been laid with grass. Yes, it's all very green and rural-looking, but the fence is still up and there's no hint of a park, lake or marshland to be seen. Granted, we have gone to the original park that was meant to extend virtually to our front door. It's a ten minute walk from our house. However, the real estate guy's prediction hasn't come true yet. It might for the next owners of this house. Might.
Still, I will miss the view, but I won't miss the dirt track out the front, or the hoons who insist on recreating scenes from The Fast And The Furious by tearing down this dirt road and slamming on the brakes at the corner while I stand on the front porch as a thick curtain of dust heads towards me. I won't miss the pot-holes on this dirt road that we need to drive on every day, thinking that the street is in a warzone that has been shelled, and I won't miss the young punks who aimlessly walk by, smoking cheap cigarettes and carrying a 2 litre bottle of Coca-Cola as they head down towards the bush track nearby on their way to get drunk (it can't just be Coke in that bottle) or smoke dope. They'll probably get their driver's licences in the next year or two, to become the next generation of reckless jerks on the dirt track out front.
Nope, we've well and truly done our time here. We need a change of scenery, despite how nice it can look on a sunny day here.
I will, however, miss the venetian blinds. They've been good for my photography over the years. Yes, I suppose I could install some at the new house, but that kind of expense is not a priority. Not the end of the world. I can take a sheet of cardboard and cut some long, deep slits in it and position it out-of-frame to mimic the effect of venetian blinds. That might work. I guess I'll find out soon enough.
Later in the day, I thought I'd give the dive watch a break, so out came the 36mm Omega Seamaster AquaTerra.
A Bond fan I met on the internet sent me a Kindle e-Book copy of the new Bond novel Trigger Mortis, by Anthony Horowitz. I have a signed hardback edition on the way from a bookseller in London, but I don't think it will arrive until mid-October, so I'm thrilled to have a digital copy to begin reading in the meantime.
I'm only about a dozen pages in, so I won't say much more about it. I recall writing positively about the last OO7 adventure, Solo, by William Boyd, and I can remember feeling very let down by the time I got to the end of that book. It didn't capture the essence or feel of a Bond story. Let's face it, it would be nigh impossible to replicate Ian Fleming. Not because his plotting was brilliant, but because he wrote in a different time and with a different mind-set. A writer has to walk a very fine line in order to stick to Bond conventions without falling into pastiche.
So, I'll wait until I've finished the book and let it settle before I make any comment on it. Still, with Anthony Horowitz at the helm, I'd like to think that OO7 is in good hands this time around.
Of course, in the lead-up to the release of SPECTRE, we got a few more poster artworks this week as the Bondwagon rolls on;
It was time to hit the gym. I haven't been for over two months. I grabbed the Everlast workout gloves (might as well look the part) and the circa 1993 modified Seiko 7002. Got to the gym, did a light, half-hour workout on the machines, and then got out of there. Once home, I mixed up some Sustagen in a glass of milk, got a handful of almonds and a tub of yellow-box honey yoghurt and had a second breakfast.
And then, because I haven't worn a vintage piece in so long, I fished out the circa 1969 Omega Seamaster Chronometer;
Gee, my skin looks dry! I'd better moisturise. I'll leave you with one more poster for the new Bond flick, this one I think is of Bond in disguise during the Day of The Dead Festival in Mexico;
Thanks for reading, have a great weekend!