To recharge the batteries, turn off the lights.

The Bungle Bungles.

Yesterday, I posted a reminder about the Earth Hour to a web forum, where I have been a member for about eight years. It wasn't an impassioned plea for us all to return to the dark ages, just a simple reminder that the event was taking place tonight at 8pm.

I expected a couple of people to say they would join in and many to say nothing at all since it was off topic. What I didn't expect was a response full of anger and indignation:

"Frankly, I don't believe in those show-off actions. I don't think I will make the Earth better by spending an hour of my weekend without light, heating, and ability to heat food or water."

What can one do when such attitudes prevail?

To counter the negativity, I've dug out an old photo I took in Purnululu National Park in Western Australia in about 2001, where I spent three days camping. Despite the ice cold bore water out-door showers and the fly-blown pit latrines, they were three of the most rejuvenating and relaxing days I've ever had, anywhere. I could easily have stayed a month.

.

'Twas the night before Easter

I arrive home from work, I put my groceries away and I check my email, to find the following messages:

Dear R, B and H,

Words uttered by my opponent this morning in court:
"And then the Plaintiff determined to bring down on my client the wrath of grapes."

Warm regards,
C.


Dear C, R and H,

Zannuck F. Darryl's production
"The Wrath of Grapes"
By Steinbeck John,
Directed by Ford John,
With Fonda Henry,
A Fox-Century 20th Picture,

Cheers,
B.


Dear B, R and C,

Critics rave about the "Wrath of Grapes":

"More pinot-noir than film-noir"
Journal of the Professional Winemakers of Australia.

"A full bodied adaptation of a vintage classic. This ensemble cask are no mere bunch."
Association of Australian and New Zealand Grapegrowers.

Best to all,
H.

I'm asking C if she buried her opponent with a hatchet.

The thirteen minute mile.

This morning was the Adidas International Women’s Day fun run. At 7.30 am, 5000 Brisbane women, of all ages, shapes and sizes, gathered at South Bank to run and walk to support the Surf Life Saving Association.

I had entered the race several weeks ago with the grand plan of training regularly for the day. Time passed, work interfered and two days ago I was thinking, is the 9^th this weekend?!

The zimble is not known for its running ability. A wombat runs with greater speed and style. True to form, my school report card always said, “physical education: tries hard”. This was correct, in a sort of a fashion, if you could classify habitual falls and repetitive near drownings as enthusiastic participation.

Nevertheless, the passage of time and some, perhaps foolhardy optimism can make up for a great deal of ineptitude and so there I was this morning, running shoes on, the Bee Gees singing "Staying Alive' on my iPod and 5 km of fun run ahead.

The winner whipped around the riverside course in 17 minutes. My sister ran a very creditable 27 minutes. My time was 40 minutes and yes, as hard as it is to believe, I did run the whole way. This 40 minutes is 8 minutes per km, 4.6 miles per hour, 7.5 km/h and very, very slow. It's any wonder I wasn't mistaken for an arthritic tortoise. Next time I'll listen to some Rogue Traders. You never know. It might help.