Words a PhD student never wants to hear

interesting work .. I used to work with someone who I think looked at a very similar problem to this.

Oh really .. When was that?

1983

One minute

A minute is probably the smallest unit of time for which something can change significantly in day to day life. The total running time of an Olympic sprinter over 100 metres, from the first heat through to the final takes less time. A thunderstorm can give way to a bright sunny day in a matter of seconds. A slice of bread in the toaster can go from white to charcoal without notice. A lot can happen in one minute.

Sitting contently in the sun at a campsite near Dargo, my only concern was how I was going to fit hours of blissful nothingness into a day already devoted to completing a larger than usual crossword. Two of my fellow campers, with two young children, had decided they were going to spend the day going for a drive up the river that passed through our campsite. With my schedule already full, I was quite happy to pass on the offer to join them. My thoughts seemed to be shared by Aff, and Mick and Mel, who like me, were lounging lazily in the sun with no apparent desire to change the situation. Then came a suggestion:

"If you want, I can take you guys up river and you can lilo back?"

A minute later, our tranquil state of idleness transformed to a flurry of activity as bathers were put on, suncream applied, and lilos blown up. Within another minute the campsite was deserted, as we all piled in the back of the 4WD and headed off up the river. With 6 adults, two children and two lilos in the car, conditions seemed more akin to images of crowded bus journeys in India (minus the chickens) than to a pleasant drive though the Australian bush. After 20 minutes, we stopped at a point deemed to be fit for launching our lilo crusade.

With two lilos between four of us, it was two to a lilo. Aff and I took possession of our trusty ship, ignored the obligatory warning stating that this sturdy air-filled floatation device, is in a fact not a flotation device at all, and launched ourselves into the river. After some discussion, we opted for a two person abreast configuration, with the lilo's longest side perpendicular to our direction of motion, and our mid sections draped across the width of the lilo. This meant our arms and legs were submerged on either side of the lilo, allowing us to manoeuvre (or so we hoped). Mick and Mel were already in the water, and had adopted a similar configuration, and so we began our pleasant, relaxing float down river.

A minute passed by, and the speed of the current began to increase. In the distance, the sound of rushing water could be heard. It was clear that our pleasant river meandering was about to go up a gear or two. The sudden increase in speed was disconcerting enough, but the sudden appearance of rocks just under the surface of the water was what truly concerned me. While the lilo provided buoyancy, it did not keep my "big-boned" body mass above water. This was confirmed when the first of many rocks passed underneath me, threatening to end the family line then and there. In a vein attempt to protect my interests, I tried to push my body further up onto the lilo. This also allowed me to reach further into the water with my arms, which I hoped could be used as a buffer against incoming rocks. This was proving to be somewhat effective, although as I looked forward, I could see there was worse to come. Several large boulders lay waiting in the middle, and to the right of the river. This caused the water to rush to the left, and then down a gradual drop of about a metre. The drop was not large, but the combined forces of gravity, and the increased water pressure from the bottleneck created by the boulders, made for quite a rush of water. Adding to my concern was the further shallowing of the water due to a large collection of smaller rocks underneath the surface as the river dropped. With only moments to decide what to do, some quiet negotiations between Aff and I resulted in a decision to take it on, but to stop if things got a bit too intense.

I started paddling to position the lilo, largely to no avail. I soon realised that the strong river current had its own ideas about where to position us, and the only way to have any impact on our trajectory was to try and use the rocks underneath the water. With this in mind, I stopped paddling and instead extended my arms out in front of us. As I raised my hands to just above water level, I noticed a silvery gold flicker of light from my left hand. Sitting perilously close to the tip of my ring finger was my wedding ring. I was concerned how easily this usually snug fitting ring had made its way to the tip of my finger. I was equally concerned about how easily I was able to push it back down to its usual position (marked clearly by the 9 month old tan line it had created). My skin had clearly shrivelled up in the water, allowing the ring to move more freely. Unfortunately, with no where to put the ring, I was forced to continue with the ring on my finger. Thinking myself fortunate to have discovered this risk early enough to prevent it, I told myself to make sure I kept a constant check on it. Just as this thought registered, our lilo began the pass through the rapids to the left of the boulders. I could see ahead that Mick and Mel had already managed to negotiate this section, although it was clear from their bobbing heads that the pass was not a smooth one.

I extended my arms out, just under the surface of water with the palms of my hands facing forwards. Instantly I began to feel rocks crashing into my hands, and while I tried to push off the rocks to avoid them passing underneath us, my off centred position meant this only served to rotate the lilo. After a couple of big hits, the lilo had rotated a full 180 degrees, and so we were now travelling feet first and backwards into the unknown. With anxiety levels high, Aff and my only thoughts were to try and stop ourselves. I desperately tried to grab onto rocks in an attempt to anchor ourselves, but this would cause the lilo to dip into the water, allowing the strong current to push against it's surface. With the awkward position of the lilo, Aff began to lose grip. Seeing the futility of trying to stop, I ceased attempting to hold on to the rocks, and simply let the current take us. Aff and I both raised our legs and feet as high as we could in the water, so as to avoid the rocks below. While this probably helped, it didn't stop a number of rocks grazing our knees and thighs as we passed over the remainder of the rapid section. Within a minute of entering the rapids, we were through, and back in significantly calmer, though quite fast flowing water.

After a moment silently recollecting ourselves, Aff raised her left hand from the water. Whether she intended to check her ring or not, the flickering light from the two rings forming her wedding ring quickly caught her attention. Like my ring earlier, she noticed that they had crept up her finger.

"Ooh, almost lost my rings", she said with some surprise, having not noticed how close I had come to losing mine a couple of minutes earlier.

I looked at her rings, and agreed, thinking to myself how lucky I was to have discovered this risk before the rapids. With that thought, I raised my left hand to inspect my own treasured possession. Few emotions I have experienced could compare to that which I felt at this moment. As I stared at my left ring finger, all I could see was a band of pale white skin surrounded by the tanned exposed skin of my ring finger. Within a minute of consciously telling myself to not lose my wedding ring, I had gone and lost my wedding ring.

After a couple of seconds of shock, followed by a couple more seconds of expletives, I desperately began to paddle to the river's left bank. Aff joined the paddle, and soon we were out of the strong current, and into an eddy that had formed just after the rapid section. Placing our lilo on the river bank, we then began to force our bodies against the current, back towards the section where I had almost certainly lost the ring. This had to be where I was trying to grab hold of the rocks. Unfortunately, this was also where the water was fastest, and conditions were most dangerous. It took some minutes to get there as the current began to intensify. During the struggle, it was becoming increasingly clear that there was next to no chance of finding the ring. While I ignored this thought for a while, the inevitability of the situation began to sink in. We were soon joined by Mick and Mel, who had both returned to the scene after finding out what had happened. Being in company, I tried my best to keep my emotions in check, something I almost certainly wouldn't have done had it just been Aff and me. I was sad, I was angry, I was shocked, confused, and embarrassed. I was devastated. One minute I had a ring, the next I did not.

We did attempt to find the ring, but the fast moving water, and slippery rocks made it next to impossible. After a token ten minutes of searching, we gave up, and after some recuperation time, resumed our float down the river. As it turned out, numerous rapid sections lay waiting for us in the 2 hours of river cruising that remained, a couple even more intense than the first. Truth be told, my ring probably didn't stand a chance of making it to the end. Of course, hindsight is a wonderful thing, and clearly I should never have worn my ring to start with. Maybe, but I doubt many would have done differently. The fact is, it was a random event, and despite all my attention to the risk I had identified only seconds before, there was nothing I could have done to prevent it. One minute I had a ring, the next minute I did not. A lot can happen in one minute.

Ridiculous!

Like most people, I have made some pretty ridiculous decisions in my life. Perhaps none more so than yesterday's decision to play soccer with a bunch of Italians. It was, in fact, my third time playing, although it had been some months since I last played. I am not quite sure what improvement I expected to magically appear in my game after three months, but whatever ability I thought I had, was instantly nullified in the first 2 minutes. There are few sweeping generalisations one can make about Italians (or any culture for that matter), but it would be fair to say that Italian men are generally pretty good at soccer ... and a fair percentage of them are really good. It would also be fair to say that 9 out of the 10 blokes from my workplace here in Genova, who played soccer last night .. were really good. The other bloke, me, filled the role of the awkward Aussie, introducing his own unique brand of football - randomness. After the first 10 minutes, I realised that my best tactic was simply to let the ball bounce off my legs, rather than to try and kick it.

There was noticeable frustration from my four team mates, who prior to my late arrival, were up, 6 : 3. We lost the game 7 : 9. And no, the 7th goal had nothing to do with me (unless you count the fact that I stayed well away from the ball when the goal was kicked).

It truly was a ridiculous idea .. but another "must" on my list of Italian experiences.

Notte Bianco - un'altra bella festa

The festivals just keep on coming, each relentlessly offering more opportunities to sample new food, drink more wine, and soak up more cultural experiences. Last Saturday Genova had it's night of nights, the "Notte Bianco" (white night). There is no deep historical story, patron saint, or crop harvesting that motivates the Notte Bianco, it's just a big street party - and big it was. At midnight, over 700,000 people were apparently packed into the streets of Genova. That, in itself is impressive enough, but it's even more impressive when you consider that Genova's population is only 600,000. Of course, mention this to a Roman, or a Milanese, and they will waste no time in telling you how small and pathetic this is in comparison with their own notti bianci. In any case, Genova's capacity was well and truly exceeded, to the point of rediculousness at times, so 700,000 pathetic attendees seemed like more than enough for me.

Aff and I met up with a few other friends from my work, and spent the night wandering the streets. Many of Genova's most significant piazzas played host to all kinds of entertainment, from medievil reenactments, to the all too familiar sounds of cheesy Italian pop (thank God Italy doesn't enter eurovision .. it just wouldn't be a fair contest). We watched fire works down at the port, danced in the streets, all the while keeping ourselves well and truly at cruising level with molta birre, e rum con red bull. The idea, after all, was to party all night.

One of the more interesting, and unique opportunities of the night, was the possibility of visiting one of Genova's main tourist attractions, The "Acquario di Genova" (the Aquarium). Open until 5.30am, and offering half price entry, and a free breakfast at the end of the night, this was very high on my priority list. Aff and I had not visited the Aquarium, much to the disgust of locals we dare admit this to (though we attempt to disperse this disapointment by explaining that we haven't even visited Melbourne's aquarium). As such, a half price, 5am visit to a major Genovese attraction seemed like a perfectly good idea. Leaving ourselves a questionable 45 minutes before official closing time, Aff and I said our "buona notte's" to our friends (who didn't seem to be as keen on a late night aquarium visit), and joined the back of a queue of around 20 or so others. The line was moving steadily, and all seemed perfectly in place for us to cap off a great night among the fish - that is, until 5am, when we had reached the front of the queue, only to watch the shutters of the ticket window close before us. And there we stood, along with our fellow queue dwellers, staring in bemusement at the closed window.

There are many things I admire about the "Italian way". None more so than there complete self assurity and belief that there is always a way to achieve something, despite all evidence to the contrary. Sure, the ticket window was closed, and there was not sign of an aquarium employee to be found, but this did not stop them (and by association, Aff and I) from walking from the ticket booth, to the stairs leading up to the aquarium. A security guard awaited us. It was pretty clear that the security guard was under strict instructions to not allow anyone in. It was equally clear that the security guard had no clout with the establishment, and was not going to be able to fight on our behalf. This, however, did not stop some of the more vocal Italians in our group (about 18 of the 20 of us) from explaining at length, and with full Italian hand gestures at work, what injustice this was to shut us all out. Interestingly, the security guard did seem to be quite happy to engage in the dialogue. Aff and I watched, waiting to see if we were about to witness some great insight into the way Italian society works. Would the people have there way ? Would we walk gloriously into the aquarium, see our fish, and devour our well deserved free breakfast ?

About 10 mninutes later, the police turned up, and we were asked to leave, and so we all did.

After a sneaky kebab from our favourite late night out kebab shop, and a 10 minute walk home, Aff and I were nicely tucked up in bed by 5:45am.

Un'altra bella festa in Italia!

Now for some photos. You may get a sense that the evening had two distinct phases...

aye aye captain!

It is often said that Italy is the centre of style and fashion. In fact, if there was one repeatedly given piece of advice I can remember before coming here, it was get ready to feel very under dressed. With this message well and truly engraved in my mind, I rid myself of almost half my tired, warn out wardrobe, in anticipation of a whole new world of fashion.

Now I'll admit, Italy does have style, and yes, fashion - but as Jeff from Lismore, a guy I met at the pub the other night pointed out to me, "yeah, there's a fair bit of fashion, but don't you think the blokes here look a bit puncy?"

He had a point. If Italy is where men's fashion is heading, then God help the humble, true blue, she'll be right, Aussie bloke. I can't say I could picture either Jeff, or myself, in a figure hugging, blue and white v-neck sailor shirt with tight 3/4 length jeans, designer mullet and "Thorpy" stubble.

As an observer, this look is quite fascinating, and can even start to rub off on you .. that is, until you go into a clothes store and try on something. The are few things more disturbing than seeing yourself in a horizontally striped, figure hugging, v-neck sailor shirt. Like a contour map of the Alpine National Park, the stripes provide an unforgiving portrayal of ones mid section. Thankfully, more conventional clothing does exist, and with some searching, I have discovered clothing more to my taste.

Who knows what I look like to the locals. Who knows what I will look like to Australia when I return. The problem with taste is that it changes unconsciously, and without objectivity. Having said this,the day I look in the shop window at a blue and white stripy v-neck sailor shirt, and think "that might just work", must surely be the day I book my ticket home.

Ciao! workplace

"Ciao!" from the left, "Ciao!" from the right. "Ciao!", at least once a minute. Welcome to the Italian work place. As I sit and work in a room of no less than 30 people, it's not hard to understand why. People come and go like bees in a hive, and every time this happens, there is an apparent need to signify the occasion with a communal ciao from all. As the newest of new in this strange new workplace, it is both comforting and intimidating to be immersed in this quite different work environment.

There is no doubt that the overwhelming majority of people are friendly, if a little stand-off-ish at first. With the language barrier as it is, much of the this feels somewhat impenetrable to me at the moment. Don't get me wrong, I receive my fair share of ciao's as well. I think there is a gradual warming to me happening, which makes me feel significantly more comfortable.

The impression I get is that this lab is pretty close, particularly the largish group of PhD students I find myself with. Almost all of them from somewhere else in Italy, many of them share houses together, and obviously socialise a lot together. They also seem to be about 5 years younger than me as well, which is no great problem, but there is no doubt that something happens in your late twenties that changes the focus from the "where will we go clubbing this Saturday" to, "this weekend I think I will purchase a basil plant for the window sill". I didn't say this of course.

The other major hurdle to jump in my early days of being in this strange new work place, is working out what the hell I am meant to be doing here. I have not had a chance as yet to talk to those who will be "mentoring" me while I am here. For now I feel fine with the lack of workload, but there is a growing anxiousness inside to work out some of these details, and get some of my many questions answered. I can ask those around me, and I do, but I would prefer to have someone actually show me what's what, rather than me have to annoy the person next to me with yet another mundane question, in English. Having a significant proportion of the eyes in the room on me when I ask it makes it feel all the more awkward.

Bare in mind, this is day three. In a week's time, I expect to have a significantly different impression of things, as I adjust, and have my many questions answered. Going with the flow looks like being the single greatest skill I will have to develop over these next 6 months. It's certainly been the case so far .. and so far .. so good.

When in Rome ...

... you don't have time to post on blogs, nor do you when you are living it up in a Tuscan Villa. In fact, the only reason I have any time (or means) in which to post at this time, is because Aff and my honeymoon has been somewhat rudely interrupted by another not so attractive feature of Italy - Italian beauracracy. This has unfortuantely meant we have had to come up to Genova for a couple of days to sort out our residential pass, which we have almost done. We head back to Tuscany tomorrrow to continue this chaotic honeymoon (last week was also somewhat interrupted by a major robotics conference). Next week is the Cinque Terre, Surely nothing can come between us and the ocean.

Anyway .. much much more to post - and I will, in about two weeks.

Thanks for all the well wishes too!

Keep on Truck'n

If I had any lingering thoughts of one day becoming a truck driver, they were well and truly quashed after last Saturday. Aff and I faced up to what was arguably the biggest pre-marital task of them all - moving out of our house. Well, strictly speaking, we didn't move out, we just re-distributed all our belongings for 8 months. This is the 6th time I have moved. It doesn't get any easier. Every time you think it will be easier, because you convince yourself that this time you are all the wiser, and know what to do. For the first couple of hours, you may even still believe this to be true... then it happens .. the wall hits,. This is usually marked by some irrational argument with one's partner about the quality of box they chose to pack your beloved PlayStation ..not this time however. This time it was marked by my complete inability to drive the truck we had hired to do the move.

Nothing quite gets the blood flowing like realising your truck has no hand brake. Equally, nothing quite gets the blood flowing like trying to reverse a truck on a steep drive way with no more than two metres between the front of the truck, and a parked car, and no ability to perform a handbrake start. Any inkling of thought about me one day ditching my research career and becoming a Truckee was instantly lost in that moment. Never have I longed to be in front of a computer as much as I did on that steep drive way. You will be pleased to know that I did manage to reverse the truck without incident .. though not without a very impressive string of expletives.

The other interesting phase of the move was our tip run. Aff and I were as brutal as ever about throwing out stuff. When we moved to Canberra, we did what I thought at the time to be a pretty comprehensive clean house. Well, that was nothing on this one. To be honest, I suspect I will regret a few decisions made in my tip frenzy. To make decisions in the days leading up to a big move is always a dangerous thing, because most decisions are clouded by the fact that you really don't want to lug around more than you have to. On the other hand, it really is incredible how much crap one can accumulate in a couple of years, and how hard it can be to throw some of this stuff out, despite how inconsequential some of this stuff is to your life.

As Aff and I cleared the back of the truck into the pit area at the tip, ready for the crusher, I did have a moment of doubt as I looked out at all the stuff we had decided to rid ourselves of. Old shelves, books, a computer .. a lot of stuff that did hold some value, and probably still had some use. I would be lying if I said I didn't have a moments doubt as I stared at all this stuff piled up. Almost perfectly on cue, however, the tip bulldozer entered from stage right, and quite literally, in the blink of an eye, all our belongings were swept away. It really was the rubbish tip equivalent of ripping off the band aid. There was nothing left behind ... including any doubt about what we had chucked out. The fact that I can barely remember what we threw out probably adds further support to the reason why we threw the stuff out.

So here we are, with nothing more than our sleeping mats, some clothes, and an esky. Suddenly everything is starting to feel a lot more real.

Burning up the Bowlo

The marital count down has officially begun, and what better way to mark the occasion than with the ceremonial burning of the BBQ. To say this was not an entirely planned event would be an understatement. Aff and I did plan on having a BBQ to celebrate our wedding, and our OS trip with all our Canberra mates (most of which we couldn't invite to the the wedding), however, we did not expect to provide quite the floor show we did. Apparently the Turner Bowls club doesn't have too many BBQs. Or, perhaps they have too many. In any case, what they certainly don't do often enough is clean the fat tray at the bottom of the BBQ. If you've ever wondered what happens if you don't clean the fat tray, wonder no more .. it combusts.

Despite a few lost sausages, we still managed to salvage most of the meat, and had a great night. The only other mishap of the day happened a few hours earlier when I managed to cut myself quite badly on a piece of glass in the Bowls club Car park. I was wearing thongs, but that wasn't enough to stop a fragment a broken bottle finding its way through, causing quite a bloody scene. My immediate reaction was to pull the piece of glass out and ignore it (believing it wasn't that bad). It didn't take more than a few more steps for me to realise that the cut may be a little deeper than first thought. Not wanting to let people see the mess below my foot, I made a bee-line for the bar and asked for a first aid kit. I have to say, what the Turner Bowls club lacks in BBQ preparedness, and car park safety, they more than make up for with their extensive range of first aid products. With some very knowledgeable friends on hand to help, I was quickly bandaged up, and even had a beer in hand while the first aid was applied.

Unfortunately the freak storm that took out my office, also caused significant damage to the Turner Bowls club greens, so we were unable to bowl. This was a bit disappointing as Aff and I had originally planned to do the whole bowls thing. Perhaps on our return in 8 months time ... which should hopefully give the bowls club plenty of time to clean out the fat tray in the BBQ.

must have a word with the cleaner

It would be fair to say that I probably won't be working at my desk for a while. My entire workspace has been demolished after last night's freak hail storm that hit most of central Canberra. The picture doesn't really do it justice. The entire area was flooded last night, along with most of my floor, including our labs. Everything on my desk was saturated through (including the computer, which I suspect is nothing more than a box on a desk now). If you're wondering what all the white stuff on the ground is, that's the sun roof, which apparently didn't cope so well with golf ball sized hail stones.

While this might all look and seem a bit like the worst case scenario for a PhD student, thankfully almost everything of value to me was taken home last night. I have my laptop, my fancy camera, and most of the hardware I use with me here at home. Quite amazingly, in what can only be described as the greatest decision of my PhD, I decided last night that I would work at home today, and so took all the equipment I needed with me. A truly inspired decision after seeing my desk this morning.

Of course, it's not just my building that was trashed. The entire ANU campus is officially closed today, which gives you some indication of just haw hard the campus was hit. Certainly by the looks of things though, my building (RSISE) was among the worst hit.

When I get a chance, I will try and include some more pictures. It really was quite an amazing sight this morning. Hail stones piled up like snow all around campus.

Time flies when you're out of your depth

I have just finished what I think I can safely say has been my hardest PhD day to date. I'll admit, I didn't necessarily start the day in the right frame of mind, courtesy of last night's A-League soccer final viewing at All Bar Nun transforming from an intended 2 pint, home by 8pm evening to a 6 pint, home by 1am affair. It was a good night though. Today, unfortunately, needed every brain cell I could muster.

It's not like anything disastrous happened, or even anything particularly bad. It was just one of those days where I felt completely out of my depth. This is perhaps something that those of you who dabble in the fine art of mathematics every now and then may relate to. You have a problem to solve, and you know there is a nice solution, but you realise that the required knowledge for obtaining that solution goes well beyond your own expertise.

At first you think, ok, wikepedia time, as you try to cram a semester's worth of differential geometry into a couple of hours. Of course you soon realise that this is not working, and you are more confused than ever, which leads you to the next natural step - ask the supervisor. I did this at approximately 2pm this afternoon. I have just returned to my desk - it's 7.40pm! The scary thing is that I thought it was about 5pm! I was supposed to play netball at 6.50pm.

Unfortunately, despite all the time spent on my problem, I am still feeling well out of my depth. This is compounded by the fact that I only have a few weeks left to write the paper that this work will be included in, and so have little time to get my head around some pretty advanced topics. I actually feel a bit sick when I think about what needs to be done.

In any case, today is very much over, and I am thankfully off home. All of this research bullshit is very much tomorrow's problem now.

Conspiracy theory gains momentum

Regular readers (hi Mum) might recall a bit of a rant I posted just prior to my trip to Beijing late last year for a conference. My complaint, in essence, was that my presentations at robotics conferences are always scheduled in the last session of the last day. This has occurred three times previously.

Well, good people of the blogosphere, I present you now with what is surely damming evidence that there is indeed a plot to ensure that I will never present my work to an audience that cares. In the biggest conference of them all, where no less than 700 papers are presented, over three days, in 14 parallel sessions, this early career researcher has yet again earned himself the esteemed time slot on the technical programme, of dead f$%king last!

Yes, that's right. At approximately 6:45pm, Friday April 13 (yes, Friday the 13th!), I will be delivering the most pointless talk of the conference. I am thinking of just renaming my paper "conspiracy theories from a jaded PhD student"

It might sound a bit petty to complain about, but as anyone who attends conferences regularly knows, the best way to meet people at these things is to give a talk. This works really well when your talk is early in the piece (so I've heard), but is next to useless when your talk is last. I can't say I'd be rushing to see a talk in the last session, on the last day of a three day conference.

The only saving grace this time is that at least they have put me in a session with other similar talks. That is a first for me, so I guess I should be happy with that! and, of course, I am not so spoilt a brat as to ignore the fact that the conference is in Rome, and for the first time, I will have Aff to keep me company during the conference. In that light, having the last talk of the conference is a small price to pay .... I just wonder why I am always the one to pay it!

Taking the piss

Nothing quite says "productive Monday morning" like handing a urine sample over the desk at the ANU Health clinic as your first act of the day. An awkward interaction with the receptionist was inevitable, as I approached the desk, reached into my back pack to produce my morning's achievement. Thankfully, the reception desk has a nice little blue esky to put it in, so both the receptionist, and myself were saved the ungraceful act of handing one's piss jar over the desk.

Nothing to fear by the way, just a regular check-up (well, by regular I mean, the first of what should from now on be regular check-ups). I was convinced by an unnamed person rather close to me that being 30 years old, I should start getting in the habit of getting check-ups. Fair enough I suppose, but this whole health check thing is quite a process. If I keep it up, hopefully over time, I will master the fine art of providing one's own urine sample.

Hazy memories of a night to remember,

NICTA had it's end of year Christmas bash yesterday afternoon. While the food was good, the party itself was nothing to write home about (yet here I am, writing about it). Most people left soon after the formalities, in most cases, back to the office - quite disappointing really. Not to stand by and see our much anticipated Christmas party cut short, Phil and I decided to kick on, thus beginning an 8 hour, 2 man pub crawl of inner north Canberra.

I have never seen time fly by so fast. The Christmas party ended at about 3pm, and I swear, in the blink of an eye, it was 11pm. It was my concern about getting work done the day after that ultimately brought proceedings to a close (and the call of last drinks at the Wig'n'Pen). T'was a night to remember, though unfortunately, a night largely forgotten as I nurse myself through the after effects this morning.

Interestingly, it was not just my head that hurt this morning. One memory of my previous night's escapades came flooding back in an instant as I sat up in bed, only to be forced to lie back down by a sudden throbbing pain in the upper part of my backside. It took only a moment for the memories of my rather bumpy bike ride home to come to the fore. Given my intoxicated state, I wisely chose to stay off the roads as I rode home from the pub, instead opting for the bike paths. The problem with bike paths is that they are quite dark, and while I do have a light, it would be fair to say that in my blissfully and drunkenly unaware state, I wasn't exactly paying full attention to the threat of any potential impedance on the track ahead. It is therefore no surprise, as I came racing down a hill towards an intersection, trying to make the green light, that I made the unfortunate mistake of assuming the transition from the bike path to the road I was crossing included a ramp allowing me to simply roll onto the road. In truth, there was a ramp, but it was about 3 metres to the left of where I thought it was, and so rather than the smooth road crossing I was hoping for, I experienced a rather abrupt drop in altitude as my bike rolled (rather fast), over the gutter.

This may not sound that bad, but taken unawares, a gutter drop can really do some damage, particularly when your body's momentum moves forward as the bike drops, and your arse bounces off the nice cushy bit at the back of the seat, and lands on the narrow, and significantly less cushy bit at the front. My entire body shuddered as I found myself quite literally wedged by my own bike seat. Ironically, while my alcohol consumption was clearly to blame, it was also what saved me from the harsh reality of just how painful this was. In the murky haze of this morning's hangover, as I sit in my chair with a slight forward lean, and with a cushion, I am all too aware of the pain now, and have more than enough evidence to remind me of what was clearly a night to remember .... I think.