Monday, November 29, 2010

Going, going, gone.


Gone.
It's so final.
Auction on Saturday.
We got our reserve and a bit more which was nice.
But our home is no longer ours.
This is hard.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Home sweet...?




I'm happy to admit I've done a great job preparing our house for sale. It has been some damn hard work, and a bit of money, but I think we have a really saleable product. Yes, it's simply a product now.
This isn't the home in which the four of us will share our life; that ideal has passed. Instead, Trin and I go our seperate ways into the great unknown. There will be two really emotional days in the coming months; the first will be when the hammer falls on auction day, the second will be closing the door behind us when we leave for the last time.
But I have time to get used to the idea. *Sigh*

It was Lola's 3rd birthday on the 14th. I can't believe my baby girl is three. She's a wonderful kid. So much (too much?) personality, I can barely keep up with her. Anzac continues to grow into such a good human being. He is so kind, caring and gentle. He loves loving, and loves being loved. He is my pride and joy.

I've been in my new career for about five or six weeks now and I'm thinking childcare was a good choice. I work in the kinder room until 3pm, and then I'm with the after school schoolies. I'm having a ball with the children, and my kinder room collegues are ace.

Friday, August 20, 2010







It has been a very busy few weeks. Trin and I have decided it is time to sell up and part ways. Three weeks ago today we had a bobcat in to get to level the yard and pull the old brick fence down. Since then it has been action stations, and the results speak for themselves!

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Saturday, June 19, 2010

The 'Father Son' rule (supporter style).



Anzac went to both his first game at Kardinia Park and his first game in Melbourne AND his first night match in the last few weeks. I actually had a little tear (yes, literally!) when we picked up his membership.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Hi sports fans.

Friday just gone was my last day at Kaisercraft.


I have just finished the best seven years of employment I could ever have dreamt of. Stephen Kaiser has given me opportunities to shine based on faith and trust that I'd get the job done. I'm pretty sure I haven't let him down.
Highlights over my time have been-

- The occasional 'KAISERrush' shift, where an impossible amount of work needs to get done in limited time. This was the stuff that seperated the 'men from the boys' so to speak. 24 hour shifts are incredibly satisfying when it turns that impossible task into the completed task.
- Being runner up to my best mate, Aaron, in the 2008 Kaisercraft Employee of the Year.
- Kaisercraft receiving the Best New Entry award in the Geelong Business Excellence Awards in 2008.
- Working with my best friends for seven years.
- The leadership team's YMCA dance at the 2008 Christmas Party.
- Being charged with the task of opening the first Kaisercraft outlet (in Geelong) with 6 weeks to get it done from concept to completion.
- Knowing Kaisercraft has put many, many thousands of dollars into charities during my time there. (Particularly building the boys' home in Sri Lanka - kids have a warm, safe bed because of what we are doing at Kaisercraft).

I have had massive, massive highs in my time at Kaisercraft, and I have had deep troughs. I am grateful for every single second of my time there.

Thank you to all the scrappers I have met in person, or through blogs and forums. I wish you all the best. It's been great.

Simon (Notascrapper!)

Tuesday, April 20, 2010





Saturday, April 17, 2010

Smiles.

Today's selfie and an "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" photo.


Tuesday, April 13, 2010

I wrote this a few years ago for English when I was doing my VCE at night school. The setting is based firmly on my single ever favourite day ever, the ending (obviously) isn't. I got full marks for this piece and a real backhanded compliment from the teacher who wrote "I know you don't like Tim Winton, but this piece reminds me very much of his writing". Thanks Renee! You know reading Tim Winton makes my want to scoop my eyes out with a spoon!
Anyway. Here it is...

Untitled.

On a small boat in the Mediterranean was as good a place as any to be in late July 1999, or any year, he figured. It was an old wooden boat big enough to hold the fifty odd tourists who were mainly antipodeans, but small enough that it forced everyone on it to be cosy, which didn’t seem to bother anyone. He was leaning back on the bench seat that ran along the port side of the boat with his arms resting at shoulder height. Because the boat was cosy, this meant his arms were behind the backs of the people he sat next to. One was a South African girl, who spoke quasi-English and struggled to be understood by her fellow tourists. She did, on occasion however, entertain the group with stories of car-jackings and the like on the streets of Jo’burg. The other was an arrogant guy from Sydney, not entirely unpleasant, who was on very good terms with himself, and did his upmost to appear ostensibly bored by Greece, as he was all the sights of continental Europe. But the arrogant, not unpleasant guy from Sydney didn’t matter today.

The rail he stretched his arms out on was painted blue. The boat was painted blue and white; apparently everything in Greece was painted blue and white, must be in the country’s constitution, he mused, to match the flag, maybe. The blue rail looked as if it had been painted over and over fifty times without ever being sanded back. In fact, the whole boat looked like paint was holding it together. He wondered without really caring, how much wider the rail was with all that paint on it than when it was first made. He listened briefly to the engine labour under the weight of the boat and all its paint. It worked hard with a rhythmic chug not unlike an old locomotive. It sounded tired but inevitable, he thought, like the engine was itself resigned to the fact that it must keep going despite its dirty valves and low oil pressure. The engine would one day stop, quit and refuse. But the engine didn’t matter today.

He hauled himself to his feet as if tired, though he wasn’t, and went to what the boat’s captain loosely described as the galley. It was little more than a broom cupboard, but it was here where the beer was kept in a cooler filled with melting ice, and that made it an important part of the boat. He reached deep into the cooler that would only get warmer, retrieved his fourth can of beer and slid it into the promotional stubby holder that identified the tour group he was travelling with. He eased the ring pull and was rewarded with the satisfying sound of escaping gases. He smiled. It was a cheap beer here but back home would be described as “premium” and cost the equivalent of a six-pack of normal stuff. But the price of beer didn’t matter today.

He chose not to return to his place next to the Sydneysider and South African, but instead went upfront to sit in the sun. Sitting in the sun he kept his own counsel. He enjoyed it that way. He took a long drink of the still-chilled beer and wondered if it was the best he would ever have. By now the boat had stopped and been anchored. It need not have been, he thought, the sea was like glass and not a breath of wind cooled the air. He looked at his bare, brown chest and stomach, glistening from sweat and low factor sunscreen and was not displeased. Although underdeveloped for his twenty-two years, he was nevertheless lithe and defined. The other twenty-somethings on the boat looked bigger than him, they carried more weight and appeared stronger, but he looked good. He wondered if today was the best day he’d ever had. He drank from his can again and enjoyed it. All things being equal, the beer would eventually make his firm, flat stomach swell outward into soft flab. But getting fat from beer didn’t matter today.

He finished the drink quickly, and without waiting to sober up, or for an hour as his mother would have wanted, went to the edge of the boat and dived into the sea. He swam underwater with his eyes open. He stayed under long enough for him to wonder if the people on the boat were wondering where he was. Breaking the surface of the water thirty metres from the boat he pulled the hair back from his face and rubbed his eyes. His legs kicked gently and automatically beneath him in the cooler water and he thought that life could not actually get any better. He felt light and drunk. He looked back at the boat where no one was looking back at him. He liked that. The water was still enough and clear enough that he could appreciate its beauty. It was blue. Blue like the boat’s painted hull. Iridescent blue like he had seen on postcards of exotic locations that didn’t exist in real life. But this was real life, and water, it turned out, really could look like that. He tried to float on his back but his legs kept sinking and he realised how much cooler the water below was. Swimming twenty or so strokes on his back he felt the sun on his chest again, it was warm, even in the water. He looked directly at it for a moment and then, when he closed his eyes, could still see it. He stopped swimming and treaded water, he legs felt a bit tired. But he was fit. Looking back at the boat he was surprised at how far away it was. Maybe it was time to swim back, lie on the bow and drink another beer. Upon think this, he felt a tightness in his left hamstring and almost immediately, his right. He was going to call to the boat but caught a small mouthful of salty water that made him gag. He thought about how, as a kid, he used to gag on anchovies that shouldn’t be on pizza but sometimes were. Then he thought how his arms were doing the work his legs should have been, but weren’t. His arms were failing him. Where he should have been panicking, he was not. Where he should have been scared of what was happening, he was not. The beer had made him not care. He looked around and noticed, without consequence, that the shore wasn’t all that far away. A large bird wandered around on sand that reflected the sun and occasionally pecked away at something he couldn’t see. He coughed again and took in more of the salty anchovy water. He was tired now, and as he breathed in a lungful of iridescent blue Mediterranean water, and as his lithe and defined body sank, he thought how today, or tomorrow, nothing would ever matter.

Selfie, 13th April

Thursday, April 1, 2010

And something I hate.



My bed. I hate my bed. Not only is it old and uncomfortable, it is empty. I hate sleeping alone. Hate not spooning someone. Hate being celebate. Hate it. Stupid bed.

These are a few of my favourite things...

Because my bedroom is my only personal space in the world, most of what is in it is my favourite stuff. Have a look -



This photo has a few favs. The old radiogram is something I picked up for free from the Mill Market in Geelong. I think it is just a beautiful piece of furniture, and the radio works. I love my red TV, but worry about its future when the analogue signal gets switched off shortly. Also love my old fan, which I got from the Sunday market several years ago. You can just make out my glass trophy, I recieved that for being Kaisercraft's runner up employee of the year in 2008. It's something i'm unashamedly proud of.


Here's some old movie posters we bought at Mark Ward's Antiques. I actually made the frames from scratch. Can't believe I went to the trouble. I think these are cool as!


Who doesn't love books? I don't have a book shelf so mine accumilate in piles on the floor.



Trin got this awesomely horrid rug depicting the Last Supper from her nana's garage sale. I BLOODY LOVE this thing. Religious paraphernalia is so dorky which makes it great.


Mum and Dad got me this last year when I was having a really rough patch. I don't know how they got it, particularly how they got it signed 'to Simon' by Gary Ablett Jnr, but I do know when I look at it I am reminded how much they love me.

Monday, March 29, 2010

The winner is...



Thank you Skye.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

"You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself."

Thursday, March 11, 2010

An open letter.

Dear Chez,

I have a mixture of happiness and sadness at today’s news of your resignation. Selfish me is so sad to see you leave Kaisercraft; it’s one less person that I work with that I love. I have said ‘farewell and good luck’ to a few workmates –friends – recently that I really care about, and you are another. The other side of me is so pleased that you have recognised that work is dimming your lamp, and that you’ve had the courage to say enough’s enough.

I’m also sad because I know people won’t fully appreciate what we are losing. Your passion for the outlet, even from its humble beginnings in the tin shed in North Geelong, is second to none. Your passion for the causes the outlets raise money for, is also second to none. I really believe no one at Kaisercraft, Stephen and Carolyn included, care about the kids we provide for, more than you. I sometimes wish the outlet still was in that tin shed in North Geelong, you seemed so happy there.

I’m so unbelievably and indescribably grateful for your friendship. That our friendship and love could sprout, grow and flourish is a true testament to its strength; particularly considering our vastly different belief structures; your devout Christianity and my staunch Atheism. You came along at just the right time in my life, my marriage breakdown felt like losing a leg, but you were there to be my crutch. The tears I have cried on your shoulder, the anger I have vented to you, the frustrations I have divulged, and the occasional, usually small, victories I have shared with you have all been cathartic for me. Healing and grief overlap, and only very, very few people have been there – wanted to be there – to help me heal, and share my grief. Whatever path my life takes, I will not forget the support you’ve been to me through the worst of it.

Thank you for your ‘shugs’.

Thank you for the love you give Anzac and Lola. If I start counting the people who love them truly, madly, deeply, unconditionally and often, I come to your name before I’ve counted past my first hand. You are such a friend to them already. Even at (almost) four, and 2 and a half, I know you mean the world to my kids, and I know when they start reeling off names of the people they love, ‘Chezzie’ is always right near the top of the list. Thank you also for the practical support you’ve given me, babysitting on the odd occasions I’ve been stuck for help (even though I know both you and them consider hanging out together a real treat!).

Chez, if I have given back half of what I have taken from you I will be happy. I have tried my best to be a good friend, I try to give the best advice I can, and I try to just be there and listen when that’s what you need. I hope I honour your friendship enough to get those things right. I have taken and taken and taken from your lamp when mine has been dull, but I hope in my moments of personal strength, that I have been able to give you light from my lamp, making you bright again. You are one of the brightest lights in my life.

This sounds like a eulogy, doesn’t it? I’m glad I can do/say this now, when you are here to read it. Because sometimes, things aren’t said, and people never know how important they are. I want you to know.

You spend so much time lifting others that you forget about yourself. Now it’s time to think of you, be selfish. You are worthy of the love you receive. Don’t ever doubt that, or second guess yourself. When people want to listen to you, when they want you to lean on them, when they want to love you, know it’s the universe paying you back for all that you have given – it’s them paying you back for all that you have given, done and been for them. Receive that love with the good grace with which it is given and offered, and know that you deserve the love you receive. Do you hear me? You deserve the love you receive.

Chez, I look forward to being your friend for a long time. I look forward to hanging out with you and David many times over many years to come. I love your caustic sarcasm as much as I love your genuine love. It all makes you, you. All the poxy LancĂ´me in the world doesn’t make you any more beautiful to me than you already are. All the best for whatever unfolds, whatever it is, you know I’ll be right there, either next to you, or only ever a phone call away. Call me any time... any time, and I’ll be there.

With unconditional love,

Si.

Friday, March 5, 2010


I grabbed this scoop of hail about 30 minutes after the hail storm.

Monday, February 15, 2010

SMS from Trin (I needed to hear this).

"How you feeling? Don't be sad, you have 2 kids who think the world of you, you have a job and support us all. Even if we were together we would be poor, even more than now. Be proud of what you are doing. XO"

Sunday, February 14, 2010

7th Wedding anniversary today.



15th February 2003

Friday, February 12, 2010

Yves Klien Blue

This is awesome. Go to the 10min 30 sec mark and find the start of the 'Like a Version' (cover) of Lou Reed's 'Walk On the Wild Side'.
Bloody awesome.
http://www.abc.net.au/triplej/media/s2817618.htm

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I've just seen that I have had visitors to this blog from (but not limited to) Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam - California, USA - Dublin, Ireland - Moscow, Russia - and all over Australia!
That's cool.
Thanks for visiting.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Saturday, January 23, 2010

2009...

The title to my review on 2008 was "2008, not my best one". Well, results are in, and 2009 wasn't much better. And before I get responses from people like Skye pointing out the stuff I have to be grateful for, yes, I know. But there was some shit stuff, some really shit stuff in '09.

I had some struggles at work. These went from being struggles that could have been disastrous, to being opportunities to find out more about myself. I also learnt there is a dollar value on pride. I put my pride and ego on the shelf, and it saved me. I am pretty proud of how I performed at work in 2009, and it has given me a good foundation on which to move forward.

Anzac and Lola rocked my 2009. They are the best. I embraced Anzac's gentle, caring nature and have been rewarded for it. I used to worry about how 'soft' he was, but now I enjoy it. I probably enjoy it more because I see the contrast between he and Lola. Lola. What a maniac. This kid has more personality, self determination and confidence than a footy team. She really is the apple of my eye...

Speaking of which, 'holy moley, me oh my, you're the apple of my eye'... Home, by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, and Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons, were my two favourite songs of the year. While on art, my favourite book was The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. See more on my year of books at here.

I had a retarded year in regard to l-o-v-e, love. Ran into an ex (a back-in-the-day ex)at a party, courted ex, kissed ex, slept with ex, fell in love with ex... I'm tired just thinking about it. Was fucked around by ex, and probably fucked her around a bit myself. On and off for months, when it was good it was great, but when it was bad it was horrible... and it was bad way too often. After months of bullshit, of no no no no, yes from her, I gave up. Further sagas followed and then eventually, after a final mistake, a final regression, enough was enough. It was finally over. That was a few months ago, and I'm happy to say it is still over. Nothing further to say on that, on her. It's done.

I moved in with one of my oldest friends in 2009. Rebecca is an ex (okay, I know it sounds weird, but trust me, it sounds weirder to Bex and I that we were together) and it was always a bit of a risk moving in together, but I think two people thought it could work, and that was her and I. 10 months on and I'm pleased to say it has worked. It's great having someone to talk about your day to, to be a smartarse to, to eat dinner with. Bex is great with the kids and an added bonus is that Bex's mum Elaine ('Easy') has become another Nana to AJ and Lol. All in all, it was maybe the best thing to come out of 2009.

Trin and I are very good friends. For a lot of 2009 and was convinced we were never a chance of getting back together, but as I write this, I think we are some chance. It will be a long way off, and will take a lot of work, but I do think we could, if everything goes right, salvage our marriage. February 15th is our 7th anniversary.
So, watch this space. Hope the new year and new decade is good to you.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

This was how I ended my decade... with the three most important people on my planet. This was almost EXACTLY ten year to the minute from when I first spoke to Trin. I was working at the George IV pub in London and Trin rang from my Dad's house. She was pissed, I'd never spoken to her, and after she ranted for a moment I said "can you please put my Dad on?" I met her in person six months later when I returned to Australia. I knew when I first saw her that I was going to shag her... not 'love at first sight', but definately 'lust at first sight'. Ten years later she is my favourite person over three years old.