I’ve got about a dozen stories partly written, but none quite complete. So here’s an article I found rather interesting.

Because I haven't had a chance to write much, here's a little bit of unfinished fiction I wrote some time ago.

I recently held my annual Eurovision Song Contest Party. This is something that can only be taken with a minimal amount of seriousness, and if that you can remain below that threshold and laugh at it, then it¡¦s a lot of fun ¡V especially if you have others around and play silly Eurovision games. You can cheer whichever country you¡¦ve drawn from a hat (or whatever takes your fancy), boo the points given to bad acts with silly trees, and ponder the voting system where you get points from all your neighbours (which ensures that those countries with lots of neighbours tend to win).

In my Master’s course, we are required to do a lot of group work. This apparently reflects the work conditions of a lot of planning jobs, but it came as a bit of a shock to my system, only rarely having done group assignments at university.

I thought since I read so many interesting books and generally only supply snippets of quotes or information, I’d provide some Book Reports. This one is from Postwar by Tony Judt, which I read over the summer. It’s about Europe since 1945, very comprehensive and also rather large (about 800 pages).

A few weeks ago I mentioned handing in a take-home exam that I didn’t think I’d done very well on. There were a few reasons for that: - we only had a week to work on it - during that time, I also had another assignment due and work was rather busy - as a result of the above, I didn’t have much time to search for more references. Of course, the fact that I hadn’t bought the textbook (which cost over $100) didn’t help.

In response to Steve and Cathy’s bureaucratic troubles in Holland, I got two interesting responses. Andrew W suggests that one assumes that this [the Dutch bureaucracy] why they have legal places to smoke marijuana and strong Jenever gin to keep you calm. I remember my ex-housemate (from the north of Holland) saying that making changes to any details with her bank was complicated. When we moved house in England she had to return to Holland to fill in a form as she couldn't arrange the change of address etc over the phone. Andrew G says: I think our China experience has a few stories to rival these. Our favourite saying lately is TIC - "this is China" - sometimes, "Try to understand, this is China".... when everything has bizarrely gone wrong yet again, or things just don't work at all like you'd imagine, we console ourselves with a little chant of "try to understand, this is China"... when you see a toddler pooing in the streets, I tell myself, "try to understand this is China"... when you need your passport and any endless supply of passport type photos (everyone has a disk so they can print more) to do anything - withdraw money from a bank, stay in a hotel, it's "TIC"... when you're made to teach a 2 hour straight lesson to 11 year olds from 4.10 to 6.10 on a Friday afternoon, I think TIC... Last year I read Peter Carey’s Theft: A Love Story. If I hadn’t read the reviews when it came out, I’d be none the wiser to the alleged significance of a few references within the book. The book’s protagonist has rather vitriolic feelings for ex-wife, referring to her variously as “the plaintiff” and “the alimony wh_re”. Actually, it occurred to me that the character has vitriolic feelings to almost everyone.

Here’s more about the Dutch way of doing things from Cath and Steve. In the Netherlands, you can only use your Australian driving licenses for 6 months. To get a local one, you have to go to your local town hall with: Passport Passport photo Australian License 35 Euro

A little while back, I passed on Steve’s question, as to what apostille means. To provide not only the answer, but where the question came from, I’ve provided a story from my friends Steve and Cath, who are currently living (or as their story indicates, trying to live in the Netherlands).

For those of you who aren’t au fait with the world of sporting events, the Cricket World Cup has just finished. It was too long, uneventful and won by Australia. It was made a little more interesting for a few friends and myself due to the fact that I was running a tipping competition for it.

I’ve started a new job with the Brisbane City Council in their Water section. As part of my fitness regime – which was rudely interrupted by a very sedentary December which was accompanied (as is usual for the season) by an escalation in food consumption.

I met Helga through my friend Steve D; a man of immense knowledge, talent, originality and feet, of whom many stories could and deserve to be written about. Some of them he has written himself because writing is one of his talents. (Indeed some of you know him and will have read some of the things he has written.) But stories about him by me remain to be written, because this one is about Helga the cool.

Here’s my final economic excerpts. After I finish my uni work at the end of this week, I might have a chance to write something original and interesting (with a bit of luck) Sweatshops are a symptom, not a cause of global poverty.

Here’s my next instalment on economics, this one about Globalisation The two common complaints about globalisation are that globalisation is bad for the planet and also for the world’s poor. When people argue about globalisation, they are normally talking about trade and direct investment from rich countries.

This is a paraphrased edited extract about price targeting techniques from The Undercover Economist by Tim Harford. (p. 50-52 if anyone’s really interested) Effective price targeting is often done by exaggerating the difference between the best and worst products.

This Saturday the ABC will screen the final episode of one of my most favourite TV series of all time. For the last 7 years I’ve been watching The West Wing with a fervour I rarely reserve for television.

As you all have probably realised by now, I enjoy reading. It’s not uncommon for me to have a number of books in a pile, waiting to be read. I try to be picky about what I read – reading less of the newspaper than I used to. Occasionally I throw parts I haven’t read into the recycling bin – with a little bit of anguish because it might be interesting.

This is the sound my monitor makes when I turn it on each morning. My friend Murray K says it’s degaussing (defined in wikipedia as “the process of reducing or eliminating an unwanted magnetic field”).

Habits can be hard to break. Recently I arranged to meet my friend Fiona at Ikea to help her buy a desk. It was also a convenient and approximate halfway point between me (Corinda in Brisbane) and her (Ashmore on the Gold Coast) to meet up as we hadn’t done so for a while.

This is all by way of a convoluted and lengthy introduction to what I was wanting to write about which is Elise’s recent wedding to Marcus.

I don’t really like parading my tales of woe in front of everyone; partly because I think I’m able to survive them pretty well, and also because most of them are (partly) self inflicted. That and I’ve got an English stiff upper-lip.

I won’t enumerate everything that has been lost, damaged, and stolen from myself and others over the last few days. Needless to say it has left people annoyed, angry, distraught and disappointed.

Or maybe nothing is new any more. A couple of weeks ago I went to see Venus with mum. While she was buying some refreshments, I examined a poster for a movie coming out soon called Freedom Writers (the tag line being, “our story. our words”).

Moving into my new unit, I obviously needed a new electricity account. However, as the unit has gas supplied, I also had to get a gas account. Despite the fact that the two power sources were supplied by the same company (Energex) I thought that was okay.

One of our esteemed politicians, the ex-Minister for Immigration and Multicultural Affairs, Amanda Vanstone has taken upon herself to write a new national anthem for Australia.

I met Chaman through my friend Don a couple of years ago. He’d recently arrived in Australia from Afghanistan, via the immigration processing centre in Nauru, where he’d spent nearly three years waiting for his refugee application to be processed.

I’ve just finished reading Suite Francaise by Irene Nerimovsky, which has been raved about by more than a few writers. This book, written during and about German occupied France during the Second World War, was originally meant to be a five volume epic...

With all the spare time I had, I had intended to fulfill a whole list of activities for the summer. I didn’t actually write this list, but I decided to provide you with a list of things I succeeded and failed to achieve...

Years ago when I was younger, after buying a new record (yes, that long ago), I’d put it on, sit down, and read the lyrics as I listened to the songs. I’ve always been interested in words, and it used to annoy me if the album came without a lyric sheet. Many were the times when I (and my roped-in brother) tried in earnest to discern and record what I thought were the correct lyrics.

Over the years I’ve tried to write about all sorts of things: travel, living in a foreign country, books, and more recently great movie moments. I’ve recently decided to start writing some musical musings, trying to describe what I like about certain songs. I have to admit I find it immensely difficult, firstly to recognise what it is I like, and then to describe it in words.

And while I’m doing the bits and pieces thing, thanks to Andrew Morrison, Lisa Kerr and Murray Keir for introducing and cultivating my appreciation for Darren Hanlon. He’s a local musician, who has a wonderful lyrical touch in writing about some of the normal things of life. Expect some of his lyrics to be featured in the future.

One hot evening in December 1989, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Cameron Tero’s* rather old car in a Perth car park, waiting for the car park to empty. I think we may have just been to a fireworks display, concert, or something as there was a considerable line up of cars. As we were waiting, Cameron put in a tape which ended up influencing my musical tastes for years to come.

Back in 1994 (I think), I returned to my home after a week in Canberra to find a stranger in our house. Rather than demanding an explanation and throwing him out, we sat down for dinner and watched Beverly Hills 90210 and Terminator 2. You see, I had prior warning about the impending arrival of the stranger (hereafter known as Roger). Also, he came on the recommendation of his cousin Alison, who we knew at the time.

One of the great things about being a cricket fan in Brisbane is that the First Test of the summer is played at the Gabba. It wasn't always thus, though I'm not sure when it moved to here (I think in the era when the visitors travelled by boat it was at the WACA in Perth). It is therefore a tradition among cricket fans to take a Thursday off in November and head off to the Gabba in order to see the first ball of the first day of the first test. This is what I'll be doing with some mates in a couple of days time.

Following my recent wedding speech, here are the stories of three romantic blokes; Stuart, Andrew and Andrew.

Two of my good friends got married recently, and though I was not in the wedding party I was honoured to be asked to speak at the reception. Without any further ado...(except for mentioning the bit where Andrew Luong, Cathy and I had a flat tyre on the way to the wedding and managed to change it very quickly and arrived on time)

Central Line: was the first to go. Only a faint pink line appears near Marble Arch and Lancaster Gate Northern Line: both City and Charing Cross branches have disappeared from their bright black Jubilee Line: slightly faded but visible Bakerloo Line: the brown line is still going strong, though a little grainy near Oxford Circus

You may have recently heard both the Prime Minister and the opposition leader discuss the need for immigrants to Australia to learn about and promise to uphold Australian values. It got slightly ridiculous with the suggestion that people coming to Australia on holidays should sign the pledge.

In the modern vernacular, it's now the pointy end of the semester. And what better to do than procrastinate. So I've provided my own list of procrastination devices.

A few things have been going on (like end of semester) but I haven't had the chance to think about them enough to write and send. This week I've been catching the train to Toowong and riding to work along the river along the bikeway. For those who are unfamiliar with Brisbane, that's 10 minutes on the train, then a 6km bike ride into town. You're also allowed to take your bikes on the train up until 7am.

Sometimes I go to the library to pick up a book I've put on hold and wonder "Why did I put a hold on this? I don't remember the title or author." This happened this afternoon when I got out Kalooki Nights by Howard Jacobsen. The name rings a bell, but that's it. [Having started to read it, I have a vague recollection.]

I picked up the photos I took very early last Sunday morning; and there are some good ones, but I don't think any were particularly fantastic. I think it was a little bright and the clouds reduced the contrast between the city and the sky. I have a suspicion I need to try this idea in winter when the pre-dawn is shorter and the contrast greater. So I'll have to remember next year, and steel myself to get up when it's really cold - always great for standing outside taking photos.

Few vehicles travel on Ipswich Road at 5am on a Sunday morning, and about half of those are taxis. Its quiet stillness is inversely unlike ... well, almost any time in on a weekday during daylight hours.

Last night I went to Lang Park (I decline to call the stadium by the sponsor's name) to see Australia play Paraguay in a "friendly" football game.

Here are some comments on habits Kaz seems very interested in Andre Agassi's balls: I get some amusement from watching Andre Agassi play - before he serves he must have three balls - he bounces one a few times and either keeps it or hits it to the ballboy/girl EVERY TIME!

In case you hadn't noticed, humans are creatures of habit. (On that topic, I wonder whether in fact all animals are creatures of habit.) Some of us are more habitual than others and I am wondering whether that's where traditions and superstitions come from.

I'll just give you a brief run down of activities in the last little while and fill in the details later.

The latest big thing in my life is a slight change in job. I'm still with the bank, still with equities research, but have moved from the Utilities team to the Telecoms team.

Once again we get on the bus, which by now is becoming quite familiar to us all. This time for 45 minutes to the Kekova region for some sea kayaking. I guess at this point I should mention the rest of the group I am travelling with.

Day 3 - Our walk today is in the afternoon (to avoid the midday heat) so what we do in the morning is up to us. Three of us decide to look at some of the Lycian Rock Tombs which are near the town. There are many around the region. There is actually not too much to see of these. The outside carvings are mostly fairly simple, and inevitably the insides have been looted long ago. This (and the Lycian propensity for building with wood) make it difficult to know too much about Lycian civilisation.

I've just been away on another break, this time to the south coast of Turkey. And being impressed with my Morocco trip last year, I once again went with an Exodus tour group.

I'm sure you're all interested in the weather there. When they say that if you don't like the weather, wait 15 minutes, it can mean literally that. In one half hour session, we went from brilliant sun to fierce hailstorm and back to sun again.

We have just had a most excellent weekend in London. Rather than spring, the weather decided to go straight to summer for 3 days and we had sunny weather and 25 degree temperatures. This of course, means that all the locals take off as much clothing as possible and sit in the sun drinking lots of beer, getting horribly sunburnt and dehydrated in the process. Evidently they're not very aware of skin cancer. It's not always a very good look either.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see a re-release of The Beatles' 1964 film A Hard Day's Night. This was most enjoyable and I did have a bit of fun trying to identify places I knew. I always find it strange how the Beatles' music (especially their early stuff) tends to fill me with a melancholy nostalgia. A sad remembrance of a time that I never knew. While I realise it wasn't, it seems such an innocent time to me. Maybe they have just portrayed it that way.

Last week, I went to the Home Office (Nationality and Immigration Division) regarding my visa. This process is both more and less complicated than it sounds.

I have had a few questions and comments regarding my question of the day, mainly about how do I think them up and what goes through my mind.

You may have heard of this expression before. For the seasoned traveller, it's an abbreviation for Another Bloody Castle/Cathedral.

Surely something is fundamentally wrong when I can walk down the street in 4 layers of clothing, scarf wrapped securely around my neck and still think "it's not such a bad day today". I think there's a message here somewhere, but I cannot quite figure it out..

Daylight savings has started here. Which means I am again getting up in the dark, which is bad. Alternately, it means it's still light when I leave work, which is good. Except, I don't realise it has already gone 5 and I'm still well-stuck to my desk - figuratively that is.

Arriving in Liechtenstein, I met my friend Elfi who took me to her home for a well needed shower (yes, this is required after spending a night in a train) and an extensive breakfast.

It seems my output isn't sufficiently regular for some of you - who have unaccountably been clamouring for more. The main reason for the break in transmission was that I have been on a short holiday to the continent. (The fact that I returned a week ago doesn't seem to explain much though).

London has 5 major airports (Heathrow, Gatwick, Luton, Stanstead and City). So you often see planes in the air. In fact, when I moved to Edinburgh and returned to Australia last summer/winter (depending on your hemisphere), I noticed the lack of regular jets flying overhead.

If the Lonely Planet books are the Bible for the backpacker, then the weekly epistle (or guide) for the antipodean in London is the TNT Magazine (and its sister magazine Southern Cross).

It is slightly warmer this week. But after the cold left, the rain came. And after the rain left, we now have the wind. At least it is sunny outside. For the moment anyway, as I type, a cloud casts a shadow across the windows here.

Well, it's been cold for a start. How cold? Well, yesterday while at work, I looked up from my desk at midday to see it snowing outside. It also snowed last night. This was after 4 days of very frosty mornings. (I am not enjoying getting up at 7 am, but more about that some other time).

It's about time I wrote something - or so it has been suggested by various persons on this list. Impatient is all I can say.

Oops. When I sent you my last story but one, I inadvertently sent it also to our Report Editorial and Compliance teams. (I had set up these groups on my email list so I don't have to type them all in every time I'm working on a report, and forgetting this, I accidentally ticked everything in my address book.)

Here are a few small stories that I had intended to write about from Edinburgh, but were torn from their appropriate context by my sudden departure from the town. Thought I'd write them anyway.

I'm back at work and back on line (although in a new city). Actually, I started here on Monday but for some reason, my e-mail address book did not arrive from Edinburgh with all my other files. For some strange and unknown reason, I have been unwilling to re-type in all your addresses (and there are many of you), apart from the fact that I don't have all of them written down anywhere. But, fortunately for you, I have faced up the unenviable task of doing so and thus, you finally have a new story.

Day 12 (Marrakesh) - In the morning we have a guide to show us through the medina. The paths and alleyways here are wider than in Fes - but instead of donkeys, we have to watch out for people on bicycles and small motorbikes who hurtle past within inches of us.

The floods you may have heard about in Britain have finally come to Edinburgh. To be more precise, they seemed to start yesterday when I was halfway to work. I was not impressed - especially as I was sans umbrella.

Day 1 (London - Casablanca) - Caught the plane from a very rainy, cold and unpleasant London. Saw a few people who might be on the trip, but the coldness (and noise) of Terminal 2 and perhaps the slight nervousness about the upcoming trip meant that people generally kept to themselves. Met a few on the plane though, which was rather empty - had 3 seats to myself.

I'm back in cold, wet and dark Scotland. Quite a contrast from Morocco - which is where I went on my "Mediterranean" holiday. A bit misleading, granted, but I was aiming for the surprise factor with a few people. Mediterranean itself is a little misleading as the closest we got was about 150 km.

I have finally finished reading The Isles: A History by Norman Davis - a 1000+ page epic history.

I thought I'd take a moment to write another short note to you all, since I haven't communicated much lately, and I have mails sitting in my in-box from almost two weeks ago that I have not yet had sufficient opportunity to respond to.

Went to see the AFL Grand Final at the pub on Saturday. There are two Aussie pubs in Edinburgh - the Oz Bar and Bar Oz. To confuse matters, they are not far apart. And curiously, the Oz Bar is next door to a Christian bookstore. Some might consider that handy?

Well, now the Festival is over. Well, not really - 4 of the 5 are, but the International Festival only has about 5 events on each day rather than 135. But the buskers have been cleared from the streets; the American tourists have all gone home or somewhere else to inflict congestion and annoyance onto other locals; the colourful posters are starting to tear and fly away in the wind; the tents have been taken down and the thousands of chairs have been taken away to wherever they keep them for the other 11 months of the year.

Well it's been another big week of festivalling here. (is that a verb? It is now ...)

The Festival season is actually the combination of The Edinburgh Festival, The Edinburgh Tattoo, The Fringe Festival, The Edinburgh Film Festival and the Edinburgh Jazz Festival (I may have missed something there... yes, the Literary Festival).

Then later that week, I went to Ireland to visit a friend who I hadn't seen since graduating 8 years ago. Her cousin was also in town so we rented a car and drove around for a few days.

One of the features of travelling in Europe is scaffolding. This can be frustrating as you will inevitably find that one in three famous buildings you want to take a photo of will have scaffolding (accompanied by plastic sheets) obscuring part of it.

A couple of weekends ago, I was invited by Paul and Anthea and one of Anthea's friends to the highlands for a long weekend. Personally, I often find the name of "the highlands" a little misleading.

You may be interested in my new job. Or you might not, but if that's the case, then too bad. Cause that's what I'm writing about.

For those of you who don't know, Europe is currently in the thrall of euro 2000 - which is like the Football World Cup, but restricted to Europe. One of my most important duties at work is the administration of the euro 2000 office pool. This involved, initially the random drawing the names of the countries out of a hat by each office member. So I am destined to support Belgium and Norway (there are 16 teams and 8 people in our team). This is not so bad as after 1 game by each team, my two teams are leading their groups. Hurrah!

Today, i am cheating. I saw an amusing column in the paper and thought I'd send it on.

No particular story this time, but yet another insight into the world of living in Scotland. This time, I'll enlighten you to some of the local slang and references you might come across when living on various parts of this island.

Went to Murrayfield last night. Barbarians 45, Scotland 42. It was a rather entertaining game, with plenty of tries scored. Unfortunately, most of them were at the other end of the ground, Scotland having a rather ordinary first half and a good second half. Contrary to my previous e-mail, and advertising, neither Jona Lomu were in the Barbarian team. The only Aussie was John Langmore.

As I was walking along, I saw a crowd gathered along with some police cars. I initially thought it was some sort of crime scene or incident and was about to give the area a wide berth. But then I noticed that the police were just hanging around the edges of the crowd, rather than in the middle. And there were no flashing lights either.

Would you believe, three days in a row I have gone out to lunch and it has rained. Not during the morning, or afternoon - but while I am on my lunch break and having to walk up the road to the shop. Bleah!

Last year when living in London, a radio station offered a case of beer free on the condition that the recipient had to come into the station the next day and drink it before the end of the show. It ended up being a couple of Aussie guys who skived off work and went in.

The buses in Edinburgh seem surprisingly, and disturbingly punctual. This means that you generally cannot turn up, expecting the bus to be late, like one tends to do in life.

Have returned from spending a week in Londinium (as the Romans used to call it). Generally had a rather good time there - spending too much money, etc.

On the radio station I listen to each morning, they recently had a special guest in. His name was Ricky and he'd just had his jaw wired shut (I don't know why). And no, he wasn't particularly famous either.

It's true that the public service can have cushy jobs - and I have been recipient of some of these in the UK, but my current position really takes the cake.

Despite the fact that the events contained herein occurred some time ago, I thought I'd let you know about my travels in Japan, as my previous e-mail on the subject was rather brief. I apologise if I repeat anything previously communicated.

So what do I do on Friday nights? Well, the most recent one was spent looking at potential places to live. At least, I spent more of the evening attempting to find places than actually looking.

First of all, public holidays are mostly called Bank Holidays in the UK, and sometimes have no particularly apparent reason. They have a spring bank holiday and a summer bank holiday. I can only assume that these were perhaps once based on some pagan festival to do with seasons. But Scotland is different.

This morning on the way to work, I skidded on some black ice and stopped just short of a car. I saw a patch of water on the road and forgotten that it had reached sub-zero temperatures last night. Not being used to ice on the road did not help matters.

Went for a drive recently with Paul and Anthea along the coastline east of Edinburgh. Along parts the coast there are hundreds of square concrete blocks, about 2m x 2m x 2m. These were put there to prevent German tanks coming ashore during WWII. Apparently Scotland was considered an invasion threat. Only some have been removed to allow access to the beach as I imagine they are difficult to move.

Sometimes, of course, there is no simple line between fiction and fact. An elegantly-dressed woman approached us as we were preparing a caf? exterior in Rome's Piazza di Spagna. There has never actually been an outdoor caf? there, but I'd had an idea about Ripley observing his connivances from a high vantage point, and the architecture of the Spanish Steps with its view stretching past the piazza, lent itself perfectly to the mechanics of the scene.

While in most countries, only one bank has permission to print money. In Australia, it is the Reserve Bank and in England it is the Bank of England. However, in Scotland, all banks are permitted to print money. So what you often find in your wallet are a number of different notes, each of the same denomination.

I'm now living in a youth hostel.

As part of my ongoing analysis of economics (and extracts from The Undercover Economist) this section is about Why Poor Countries are Poor An economist called Mancur Olson suggested a remarkable and simple theory of why stable dictatorships should be worse for economic growth than democracies, but better than anarchies. The starting point of his analysis is his suggestion that governments are simply bandits, people with the biggest guns who will turn up and take everything.