About time

I always wondered what it would be like to be an Early Riser. You know, like bakers and newspaper delivery people and such. The people who are up and at ‘em at stupid o’clock every morning, happily at work before sunrise.

Actually, no. That is a complete lie. I never wondered. In fact I’m a total bear who loves to sleep in for as long as possible and the only time I ever thought about Early Risers was to fear them. I deemed them strange and unwise.

Until now.

Since being here at Yandi I have been getting up at 4:30am every morning. Oh the bus to site doesn’t leave until 5:30 but, between staggering around trying to remember who and where I am and taking that seat, I also have to get dressed and hot-foot it to the Dry Mess (dining hall) to make my lunch. Twelve days experience has taught me that it is best to do this early if possible because leave it until after 5 and the Mess gets too packed. After 5, a thousand moustachioed zombies in orange shirts converge en masse to heave food into Tupperware containers, make giant sandwiches and fill drinks. They then surge and crowd for coffee and breakfast before finally lurching to the bus.  I’m on to them.

Speaking of the Dry Mess, while in there I have also been having peculiar flashbacks. With its bain-marie food, industrial milk dispensers and metal conveyor toasters, it’s like I have fallen asleep in my Hot Tub Time Machine and gone back to college. By that I mean residential college, the place I stayed on campus while I was at university. This is especially poignant at the moment as I was recently invited to a reunion there. You see, the old place is about to be torn down and the reunion is to toast it and pay tribute. I would have gone if I could. After all, this is the place where I learned how to drink and smoke and kiss many boys. I also learned about No-Doz, Codeine and Berocca and the importance of locking one’s door. And who could forget the smell of stale garlic wafting through the halls after a Wednesday night run to Cordobes? Or the Shower Stalker of 1988?  Not to mention regularly waking up in a tightly knit communal hangover following the myriad Harbour Cruises, Balls and Pub Crawls, only to crank up the barbie and do it all again. I even occasionally – oh so occasionally – went to a lecture.  It’s the end of an era.  RIP Goldstein, old girl. Thanks for the time of my life.

 Goldstein College, UNSW. Soon to be no more. :(

In other news, it was a happy day at work today as I was at last presented with an electrical power board. This allowed me to finally plug my laptop into a docking station and screen. Hooray!

“I can’t believe I work in an electrical department that doesn’t have a power board!” I mocked when originally offered devices I couldn’t plug in.

“People pinch them,” was the arched reply.

And now, without further ado, for your viewing pleasure, my new improved office:

Marble columns and fountains of champagne it is not, but it does the job and I don’t mind. Nevertheless, notice how everything has a slight orange tinge. This applies to my desk especially as I am right under the air conditioner.  This is a good thing when returning all hot and stinky from jobs in the field; however most of the time I sit there slowly being covered in the finest of fine red dust. Even finer than the dust that covers everything else. To say I have had sinus trouble because of it is an understatement. Sometimes, if I am really lucky, it will cough out little spittles of red mud to land in my hair and tea.  All the boys know about it and so it was no wonder that desk was free when I arrived.

Oh well, only three more sleeps until I have a week off in Perth and can rest up and soak it all away. In the meantime, I’ll observe this sage advice: “Toughen up, princess. This is the mines.”