I'm on Christmas holidays now and I'll be spending at least two weeks in Adelaide, starting yesterday. During this time I will have reduced access to the internet and reduced inclination to write blog posts, so while I will endeavour to keep this blog alive with minor tidbits, the reality is that you may not hear from me at all for up to three weeks. Despair not however, as normal service will resume by mid-January at the latest.
Meanwhile, here's a joke to keep you going: What's green, has six legs and would kill you if it fell on you from out of a tree? Answer: A billiard table.
24 December 2007
18 December 2007
Kiss me, I'm Irish
My mum is Irish, my dad is Scottish, I was born in Scotland and I have Australian citizenship. Whenever people hear my accent and inquire as to my nationality, my standard response is that I'm half-Irish, half-Scottish and half-Australian. It usually gets a good laugh, but I said it to a guy last week and instead of laughing he thought for a few seconds and then said, "You're probably more Irish than you think".
12 December 2007
Wendy killed my nickname
I'm not bitter about it, but I've really only had one decent nickname in my life and I liked it a lot, and Wendy quite inadvertantly killed it off. (Marty, as a shortened form of Martin, doesn't count because they're practically the same thing.)
When I joined the army at the age of 18, my fellow soldiers gave me the nickname Scotty because of my Scottish accent. I quite liked that and soon started referring to myself as Scotty. You just sort of do that without thinking about it. You get used to being known by the nickname and it comes out automatically whenever you meet someone. I became so used to it that being called by my real name seemed strange, almost wrong. Of course my family still used my real name, but they lived interstate and by the time I left the Army, all of my friends and colleagues knew me as Scotty. Most of my friends didn’t even know my real name.
After I left the Army I moved back to my home state and started attending university. I was still calling myself Scotty and all my classmates knew me as such. One of my classmates introduced me to a friend of hers called Wendy. My classmate thought that Wendy and I would make a good couple, but we didn’t really hit it off in that way. We became friends though and had lunch together every Tuesday. Wendy has a personal policy of never using nicknames. I suspect that is because you can’t make anything out of Wendy, but I don’t know for sure. Anyway, my classmate introduced me as Scotty, but Wendy started calling me Scott, thinking that must be my real name. I said “I'm not Scott, I'm Scotty.” She said “I don’t use nicknames.” and I said “Well my real name isn’t Scott, it’s Marty.” So Wendy calls me Martin. Shortly after that, Wendy introduced me, as Martin, to her friend, Debbie, who later became my wife. So Debbie and her family have always called me Martin.
Now Scotty is dead and Wendy has moved to Tasmania.
When I joined the army at the age of 18, my fellow soldiers gave me the nickname Scotty because of my Scottish accent. I quite liked that and soon started referring to myself as Scotty. You just sort of do that without thinking about it. You get used to being known by the nickname and it comes out automatically whenever you meet someone. I became so used to it that being called by my real name seemed strange, almost wrong. Of course my family still used my real name, but they lived interstate and by the time I left the Army, all of my friends and colleagues knew me as Scotty. Most of my friends didn’t even know my real name.
After I left the Army I moved back to my home state and started attending university. I was still calling myself Scotty and all my classmates knew me as such. One of my classmates introduced me to a friend of hers called Wendy. My classmate thought that Wendy and I would make a good couple, but we didn’t really hit it off in that way. We became friends though and had lunch together every Tuesday. Wendy has a personal policy of never using nicknames. I suspect that is because you can’t make anything out of Wendy, but I don’t know for sure. Anyway, my classmate introduced me as Scotty, but Wendy started calling me Scott, thinking that must be my real name. I said “I'm not Scott, I'm Scotty.” She said “I don’t use nicknames.” and I said “Well my real name isn’t Scott, it’s Marty.” So Wendy calls me Martin. Shortly after that, Wendy introduced me, as Martin, to her friend, Debbie, who later became my wife. So Debbie and her family have always called me Martin.
Now Scotty is dead and Wendy has moved to Tasmania.
08 December 2007
Back by popular ambivalence
Sorry, but I just couldn't stay away any longer. Also, I've found a free utility that can tell me whether my random ramblings are being read or not, so I won't be in the dark any more. I am also encouraged by the fact that no one has posted any comments saying "Please don't come back and write any more nonsense, pea-brain". So here I am.
Naturally I am determined to post on a more frequent basis than before but I can't make any promises. Quality is more important than quantity anyway, so if I go for a week without posting just be glad that I'm not telling you what I had for lunch yesterday or what colour my co-worker's new hair tie is.
If you like what you read, please post a comment to let me and others know. Your comments are always welcome, but they are moderated to weed out spam, automated comments and personal criticism.
Tally ho!
Naturally I am determined to post on a more frequent basis than before but I can't make any promises. Quality is more important than quantity anyway, so if I go for a week without posting just be glad that I'm not telling you what I had for lunch yesterday or what colour my co-worker's new hair tie is.
If you like what you read, please post a comment to let me and others know. Your comments are always welcome, but they are moderated to weed out spam, automated comments and personal criticism.
Tally ho!
