Dumb Ways To Die

Dumb Ways To Die Video

Metro, the company that provides Melbourne with its trains, recently made this ad campaign 'Dumb Ways To Die'. The full video is above, but there's also posters at most major train stations, using part of the song and ending with a message about train safety.

For example, there's this one at St. Albans train station. 

Get your toast out with a fork

Do your own electrical work

Keep a rattlesnake as a pet

Skate the platform edge on a bet

And this is one of the many at Melbourne Central station.

Take your helmet off in outer space

Use a clothes dryer as a hiding place

Use your private parts as piranha bait

Run across train tracks 'cause you're late 

The main message of the campaign is that, while there are many dumb ways to die, perhaps the dumbest ways to die involve being unsafe around trains. Standing on the edge of train station platforms, driving around boom gates at level crossings, and running across train tracks. 

So, why am I putting this up on my blog?

For the first, that video made me chuckle, but the main reason is that I agree with Metro. Your chances of surviving if you're hit by a train are very, very slim, and most of these deaths are the results of 'stupids' rather than true 'accidents'.

So, please, be safe around trains.

~ Australian Kiwi

Bucket List? Someone give it a new name!

Started my childcare course on Monday, and had quite an enjoyable, if very busy, week. Monday - Wednesday was all orientation, and classes didn't start until Thursday, but they sure packed things into that orientation week. Getting-to-know you activities, presentations by student services, forms and administration, timetables and class lists, it was all happening. I won't dwell on orientation, because it wasn't that much fun. The real fun happened on Thursday and Friday, when I started classes.

The course is structured differently at VU than it was at SuniTAFE, and I actually like the VU structure a lot better. At SuniTAFE, each unit was a different subject, which was why the course took a year to do, as there weren't enough hours and days in the week to do all the subjects over six months. VU does the Cert III course over six months as they group all the different units into six clusters: Professional & Legal; Community & Diversity; Health & Safety; Wellbeing; Play & Learning; Development. There's also a subject called Prac Support, which we do on Mondays when we're out on placement, but my first placement isn't until the week beginning March 11. I have two clusters a day - AM and PM - and have Friday afternoons off, which is an added bonus. A morning class run from 9am till 12pm, and an afternoon class from 1pm till 4pm. We have an hour break for lunch from 12 till 1pm, and one half hour break in the middle of our morning and afternoon classes.

My morning class on Thursday is Play & Learning, which is a practical class covering the units: Provide experiences to support children's play and learning; Support sustainable practice. In a children's services course, a practical class involves making toys, singing songs, reading picture books, and making presentations to and with our classmates as if they were children in our care. My teacher has us start the class by singing a song, and finishes by reading us a picture book. The song we sung last Thursday was Rock-a-Bye Your Bear by The Wiggles. The song has actions to it as well, so we had to do those too. I'mm not particularly familiar with The Wiggles, but I think I'm going to have to start familiarizing myself with them, and other children's entertainment groups. I'll probably have to start watching children's TV again too, and familiarize myself with the songs and characters from popular children's shows.

My afternoon class was Development, which covers the units: Develop an understanding of children's interest and developmental needs; Support the development of children. While my tutor said the class could be quite dry, I actually found it particularly interesting. Human development, as a topic, is inherently fascinating to me, and is part of what drew me to Children's Services. The most rapid development in humans happens between birth and seven years of age, and working in Children's Services involves caring for children during some of the most crucial developmental years of their life. We talked about toys and objects to support children's development, and how, for example, infants need different forms of play and activities to stimulate their development than, say, three-year-olds.

My Friday morning class was Wellbeing. This cluster comprises of three units: Provide care for children; Provide care for babies; Contribute to the provision of nutritionally balanced food in a safe and hygienic manner. This class was pretty fun, we got into groups and made posters about what wellbeing meant to use, and to children, by cutting out pictures from magazines. The posters are up on the walls of the classroom, and my tutor said that we'll be using them in her classes for 'inspiration' as the lessons progress.

I haven't had any of my other clusters yet, but I'll be posting when I do. Watch this space if you're interested.

Now, what about the title of this post? It's called 'Bucket List', isn't it? There's been nothing about a Bucket List so far! Well, here it comes now.

My 'Bucket List' (I hate that name so much! I know where it comes from, and what it means, but still...) is ever expanding and progressing. s of 2013, several more things have been added, and I've removed those things from previous Bucket Lists that I have already completed. So, without further ado, and in no particular order, allow me to present my bucket list:

• Finish my Cert III in Children's Services
• Find full or part-time employment in the Children's Services industry
• Teach ESL in Australia
• Work a winter season at Mt. Bulla in their creche
• Celebrate my 21st Birthday in New Zealand with my extended family
• Go on a TEFL internship to China or Vietnam
• Own a house rabbit
• Publish a novel
• Ride a train to the end of the line and explore the new area
• Experience my first kiss
• Be a bridesmaid
• Travel to Europe; especially Greece, England, Ireland, Turkey and Italy. 

I know it's not very long, but, as I mentioned already, my bucket list is a work-in-progress. Ever expanding and developing as I find new things I want to do.

Well, that's enough blogging for now, my fingers are tired of typing, and I think I'd like to go and read my book for a while.

~ Australian Kiwi   

Enrolled, ready and waiting for Monday

Yesterday, I hopped on a train to Footscray and wandered over to Victoria University's Footscray Nicholson Campus to enroll for my Cert III in Children's Services (i.e. Childcare), which starts this Monday.

While I had to enroll at the Footscray Nicholson Campus, I'll actually be studying at the St. Albans Campus, which is much closer to home. The course runs full-time over six months, which means 9:00am - 4:00pm Monday to Friday from February to the end of July. By the end of my studies I will be a qualified childcare assistant, able to work in a variety of long and occasional daycare centers caring for children, from infants to pre-school age.

I think it'll take me a few weeks to settle in, as I've been off study for a while. Every time I feel like giving up, I'll just have to remind myself that I did 8:30am to 3:30pm, Monday to Friday from the time I was 5-years-old until just before my 18th birthday. That's thirteen years, and I never had problems with wanting to give up then. After the first few weeks, I think I'll be fine, and I'll settle into the new rhythm fairly easily once I get to know the ropes. I'll still get up at my normal time of seven o'clock (yes, I really do get up at seven), because it'll give me time to get up, get dressed, have some breakfast, pack my bag and get an early train to uni.

I haven't been given a timetable yet, but I've been told that I'll be given one on Monday, when I start my course. On Monday, I have to head to Portable 1R, where I suppose I'll have my first class. I'm hoping I've found my iPad keyboard by then, as I prefer to type than take notes, but I'll still hidden in a box somewhere. Oh well, I've got tomorrow and the weekend to find it. I think the subjects will be similar  if not exactly the same, as the ones I studied briefly in Mildura. 

To tell you the truth, I'm nervous and excited all at the same time. When it gets tough, I just have to keep my eye on the prize and remind myself that this is what I want.

I'll post more about childcare, my course, and my timetable and things start to reveal themselves on Monday and beyond. Watch this space for more info on Monday, after my first day.

~ Australian Kiwi

Trying to figure out the time zone's makin' me CRAZY

My best friend left for Sweden on Friday night to do a five month study exchange. She hasn't even been gone for 24 hours and I already miss her like there's no tomorrow. I want her to have an awesome, amazing time abroad, but I won't lie, I wish she was here.

This is us, I'm on the right

I'm also a tinsey, tinesy bit jealous, but in a good way. She's in Sweden, on another continent in a whole different hemisphere, while I'm still in Australia. Don't get me wrong, I love Australia, but I'd still love to be doing a study exchange overseas. Although, if I get into the course I want, which is only six months, and get a job afterwards (the industry I want to get into is just begging for workers) I'll be able to start saving up to go on a TEFL internship to either China or Vietnam in 2014 or 2015, which I'm just dying to do. Maybe then I'll get my overseas adventure.

Until then, I've decided that, at least until I start my course, I'm going to make everyday in Melbourne an adventure, starting tomorrow. I don't know what kind of adventures I'm going to have yet, but I'll keep you all posted. I'll take my iPod with me and take some photos of where I go (maybe even some video, but no promises) and let you know how it all went.

I'm sure my friend will read this at some point, and, if you do, I want you to know that I miss you, and I hope you're not too jet lagged. Enjoy your day, whatever comes, I send me a postcard when you're all settled in. <3 p="p">

~ Australian Kiwi

Christmas, Boxing Day and Hobbit-y Goodness

Merry (Belated) Christmas to you all! 

This Christmas was a little crazy, as my family and I moved from Mildura back to Melbourne three days before the 25th! On top of that, we didn't get power in the house until 4:00pm on the 24th and the night of the 23rd was the hottest night in Melbourne in 50 years! But, really, I've got no complaints. I'm back in Melbourne, this time for good, and I'm ready for whatever this spectacular city has got to throw at me!

My aunt came over to our new house for Christmas lunch. My mum cooked the ham, and my aunt did the pre-lunch nibbles, vegetables and salads for with the ham, and dessert. She made the most delicious chocolate biscuit log that I hadn't had since I left New Zealand. In NZ, chocolate biscuit log is a bit of a classic, and, what's even better, it's eggless, so I'm always up for seconds. 

I roped in quite a haul present wise this year, but there was one present that was stand out among them all: two tickets to The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey on Boxing Day in 3D!

Me with my tickets to see The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

I also scored a copy of the official movie guide to The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, and didn't even peek at it until after I'd seen the movie with my dad on Boxing Day. I didn't want any spoilers.

Thankfully, it had been directed by Peter Jackson, who directed The Lord of the Rings trilogy, because someone else had lined up to do the gig originally. But, really, Jackson was the only man alive who could have made that movie. He's the one who brought Middle Earth to life in The Lord of the Rings and he was still familiar enough with it to be able to take audiences back there without so much as a bump.

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey Movie Poster

It opens with the old Bilbo (Sir Ian Holm) from The Lord of the Rings and Frodo (Elijah Wood) in Bag End, with Bilbo working on his book. It's the day of the eleventy-first birthday, but he looses himself in the memory of his adventures. The movie then takes us back 60 years, and we see a much younger Bilbo (Martin Freeman) being called upon by a familiar wizard in a grey robe and a pointy hat, Gandalf (Sir Ian McKellen). 

"Do you mean to wish me a good morning? Or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? That you feel good this morning? Or that it is a morning to be good on?"

Deciding that an adventure would be good for Bilbo, and amusing for himself, Gandalf scratches a sign on the door which leads thirteen dwarves, exiles from the dwarf kingdom of Erebor, to Bilbo's comfy hobbit hole. After turning it upside down, and devouring the contents of his pantry, they proceed to explain their mission to the mystified, and rather miffed, hobbit, and invite him along. 

"Far over the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep, and caverns old,

The pines were roaring on the height

The winds were mourning, in the night

The fire was red, it flaming spread

The trees like torches blazed with light"

But the thought of travelling far away from his comfy bed, finding gold and killing a dragon doesn't particularly interest Bilbo, until the next morning when he has a change of heart, and goes chasing after the dwarves, who have left the hobbit hole surprisingly neat. Despite the opinion of the leader of the company, Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage), that Bilbo will be a burden, the other dwarves are quick to accept him as one of their own.

"I cannot guarantee his safety...nor will I be responsible for his fate"

And off Bilbo goes, through forests and over mountains, fighting trolls, goblins, wargs, orcs, and  playing a game of riddles with a slinking creature called 'Gollum', with the stakes at life or death.

~ Australian Kiwi

P.S. The movie poster I have shown pictured here is the same one that I have on the door of my room. I brought it yesterday with Christmas money from my grandparents.

"Deus Animae Tuae Miseatur" by Australian Kiwi

Arthur's Tomb - The Last Meeting of Lancelot and Guinevere

She knew she shouldn’t be here, knew it would do no good, but she had to speak to him one last time. There was so much she had left unsaid, and his final, angry words had lodged like a poisonous arrow in her heart.

Guinevere, Whore of Britannia.

She could only thank God that her father had not been alive to witness her disgrace. He would surely have died from shame had he known what she had done, and how she had betrayed the man he had so carefully picked out for her.

She was long past trying to shift the blame, painting Lancelot or Mordred as the villain. She had chosen to dally with both of them, and it was she who had to bear the consequences.

Lancelot, banished. Mordred, dead. Arthur, dead.

All because of her.

She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she used the sleeve of her habit to wipe them away. Had the Reverend Mother seen such an act, using the holy garment to wipe away her sinful tears, she would have been scandalised. How many genuflections and Hail Marys would it take to make up for the sin, Guinevere wondered. How many hours would she have to spend in the chapel, kneeling before the crucifix, her knees screaming in pain, before she would be forgiven?

But she would go through with it, all of it, if it was asked of her. She had come to the convent as penance for her sins. She hoped that, if she withdrew from the world of men, and spent the rest of her days in solitude and prayer, she might be forgiven. If not, at least she would never need to reveal her shame to the outside world again.

She was close now, she recognised the path that led to the tomb. She lifted her habit slightly, being careful not to reveal her ankles, so that the skirt did not drag along the closely packed dirt. She would confess her sin of leaving the convent to the Reverend Mother in the morning, when she returned, and would do whatever penance was required. She only hoped that the older woman would understand why she’d had to come here.

Guinevere picked up her pace slightly, her sandals scuffing along the path, as she saw it. The massive, white block of stone came slowly into view, the murals on the side leached of all colour in the moonlight. As she came closer, she was able to make out more details of the monument, and her heart rate quickened. Her palms started to sweat, and she wiped them on her skirts with no care for the holy habit. The Reverend Mother would have wept had she seen, but she was far from Guinevere’s thoughts.

She approached the tomb of Arthur, King of Camelot, with her heart in her throat.

The stonemason who had hewn Arthur’s likeness onto the lid of the tomb had been highly skilled. Looking down at the stone figure of her husband in eternal repose, Guinevere could almost believe that it was truly him. The crown on his head, Excalibur resting across his chest, his hands clasped at the hilt of the sword, the stone cloak folded around his figure...

She reached out a hand, and ran her fingers down the side of the stone face, and a sob escaped from between her lips. She had almost believed that she would touch warm flesh, not icy stone.

On the sides of the tomb were murals showing the defining moments of Arthur’s life. Guinevere was surprised to see that their marriage was painted there. She had not thought the men who made this tomb would want her association with Arthur to be known. But then, she supposed, she had been Arthur’s faithful queen before she had bedded Lancelot.

At the front of the tomb, carved into the stone, was an inscription in Latin.

Hic jacet sepultus inclitus rex Arthurus

There was no mention of his mighty deeds, of the many betrayals he had suffered, no wishes for him to rest in peace, nothing extravagant or elaborate at all. Just those six simple Latin words. It didn’t seem right, somehow, that the inscription should be so short. Not for Arthur, not after everything he’d done.

Guinevere cricled the tomb in its entirety. She touched the brightly painted murals, ran her hands over Arthur’s stone body, before she came to kneel at the side of the tomb and clasp her hands in prayer.

“Miserére mei, Deus, secúndum magnam misericórdiam tuam;
et secúndum multitúdinem miserationum tuárum: dele iniquitátem meam.
Amplius lava me ab iniquitáte mea et a peccáto meo munda me.
Quóniam iniquitatem meam ego cognósco, et peccátum meum contra me est semper.”

It had been the first prayer that had come to her, the Miserere, the one she had recited day after day since she had come to the convent.

“Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy;
and according to the multitude of Thy tender mercies: blot out my iniquity.
Wash me from my iniquity; and cleanse me of my sin.
For I acknowledge my iniquity, and my sin is always before me.”

It seemed appropriate to say this prayer here, at Arthur’s tomb, when it had been her sin that had led to his death.

“Tibi, soli peccávi et malum coram te feci; ut iustificéris -”

“Guinevere?”

For a moment, a glorious moment of Divine madness, Guinevere thought the voice had come from Arthur’s tomb. The angels had come to raise him from the dead and forgive her for the terrible crimes she had committed!

“Arthur!” she cried aloud, opening her eyes and lifting her head.

But there was nothing.

The tomb lay quiet, untouched by holy hands, and Guinevere felt a crushing grief overcome her.

No Arthur, no angels, no forgiveness.

“Guinevere.”

The voice sounded again, from behind her. It was both shocked and glad, uncertain and hopeful.

She got to her feet and slowly turned to face him, her heart beating so hard she thought her ribs would break.

There he was, in all his glory, wearing a red robe over a homespun brown shirt and trousers. His sword rested in the scabbard at his hip, the gold hilt glinting dully in the moonlight. His thick brown hair was a mess, his beard was in need of a trim, and his eyes were round as the full moon.

“Lancelot.”

“Oh, oh Guinevere.”

He took a step towards her, reaching out his arms as if to embrace her, and she recoiled from his touch. She pressed her body back against Arthur’s tomb, resting her hand over the stone Excalibur, trying to ward off sin.

Lancelot stopped and lowered his arms. He looked at her properly for the first time, taking in her nun’s garb and her stricken expression. His own expression morphed from one of startled delight to one of complete horror in less time than it took to blink.

“Guinevere, what have you done?” he asked, his voice desperate.

For a moment, she had no answer. Her words stuck in her throat, choking her, before she mastered herself and said, “I am atoning for my sins.”

“What sins? Not love, surely, for love is not a sin.”

“Through my wanton and adulterous ways, I brought about the death of my husband and the destruction of Camelot,” she said. “I repent, and I suffer my penance.”

“Suffering?” Lancelot sounded like he was choking. “Penance? You did not bring about Camelot’s fall, dearest Guinevere. It was Arthur. Arthur and his vanity that -”

“No!”

Guinevere’s shout in the night was so loud that several birds resting in the trees took flight in alarm. It echoed through the still air, a haunting song of denial and ruin.

She shook her head, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. “I destroyed Camelot,” she said, her voice much quieter now. “My husband is innocent. He is pure, while I am defiled.”

“I will not hear this!”

Lancelot came right up to her and took her in his arms. She put her palms against his chest, trying to push him away, but he pressed his lips to hers.

Oh, the shame!

Bent backwards over her husband’s tomb, in the arms of the man she had loved adulterously, Guinevere struggled to remember how his lips had ever given her pleasure. All she felt now was revulsion.

He broke their kiss, but kept his face close to hers, cupping her cheeks with his hands.

“Please, Guinevere, tell me you remember -”

She pushed him back, hard, and he stumbled slightly.

“No,” she said, her voice full of tears. “No, Lancelot, never again! I will not let you lay your hands on me, your name shall not pass my lips. Now, and for all eternity, you are dead to me. Deus animae tuae misereatur!”

She turned from him to kneel again before Arthur’s tomb. She bowed her head, clasped her hands, and began to recite her prayer once more.

Lancelot stood there, stricken. He could feel his heart breaking, and was certain that cruel death was not long in coming. Surely, surely, he could not survive this pain.

“Guinevere,” he begged her. “Guinevere, my darling, I beseech you! Come with me!”

She ignored him, and the Latin Miserere continued to fall from her lips.

“I cannot live without you!” he cried. “Guinevere, you are my soul!”

“Cor mundum crea in me, Deus, et spíritum rectum innova in visceribus meis...”

“Gwenhwyfar,” he pleaded, using her proper Welsh name.

He thought he saw her stiffen, and her prayer faltered slightly. She remembered, then, how he used to speak to her in her mother tongue. How they used to lie together, entwined, while he whispered the endearments of her ancestors into her neck and breasts.

But, even though she faltered, she did not stop, did not turn around, and Lancelot felt defeat settle upon his shoulders.

He turned from the sight of her, suddenly unable to bear it, and walked away. Each step took an eternity, each breath was laboured, and his tears traced burning paths down his cheeks.

He did not know how far he had come before rage wrapped her hand around his heart. He stopped, his breathing heavy, and gave a blood curdling scream.

“Damn you, Arthur! Damn you to the deepest, darkest depths of Hell!”

At Arthur’s tomb, Guinevere shuddered to hear Lancelot’s curse. Her own tears fell thick and fast, and her prayer was punctured by sobs.

“Deus animae tuae misereatur, Lancelot,” she whispered. “God have mercy on your soul.”

Author's Notes

I wrote this story a few days ago, after being inspired by Dante Gabriel Rossetti's artwork, which is included in this post.

I have always been intrigued by the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, especially considering Lancelot was a late addition to the Arthurian Cycle. Lancelot was invented by Chretien de Troyes some time between 1177 and 1181, hundreds of years after the original stories of Arthur had been told. In the original story, Guinevere has an affair with Mordred, Arthur's nephew, not Lancelot, and then flees to a convent after Arthur and Mordred are killed in battle and Camelot is destroyed. de Troyes created the story of Guinevere's adultery with Lancelot, which led up to her affair with Mordred and the destruction of Camelot.

Why do I find this story so fascinating? I think because it has echoes of the romance between Helen and Paris from Greek myth. Helen runs away from her boring, loveless marriage into the arms of a handsome boy, and by the time she realizes her mistake, it it too late for her to turn back. At least, that's how Homer tells it, modern interpretations have Helen and Paris deeply in love, without a trace of the regret in Book III of the Iliad, but, I digress.

Guinevere too leaves a boring and loveless marriage, falling into the arms of a handsome knight. The only difference between the stories (aside from the fact that they were told thousands of years apart) is that Guinevere chooses to carry out her affair while still living in her husband's palace, and with a close friend and ally of her husband. Lancelot and Guinevere are no strangers, their's was not a sudden love that erupted like a volcano when they first looked into each other's eyes. Lancelot had, for many years, been in love with Guinevere, but had done the right thing by only showing his affection through gestures. This was called courtly love, and was considered the appropriate way for a knight/gentleman of the court to show his affections for a lady who was already married. As long as neither of them consummated their love, there would be no repercussions.

It is when Lancelot and Guinevere cross the boundary from courtly affection to physical union, i.e. sex, that Guinevere becomes an adulteress. Lancelot could be considered guilty of seducing a marries woman, but, in many accounts, Guinevere enters willingly into physical intimacy with him. It is this passion that, understandably, drives a wedge between Lancelot and Arthur. 

Arthur banishes Lancelot and orders Guinevere to be burned at the stake. She escapes the pyre when Lancelot attempts a rescue, and he and his men accidently kill Gawain's brothers, which infuriates Gawain. Gawain then convinces Arthur to ride to war against Lancelot. Arthur leaves Guinevere, still under a sentence of death, in the care of his nephew Mordred, who seduces her, sleeps with her, and claims Arthur's crown for himself. When Arthur hears of this, he returns to Camelot, makes war with Mordred, and is fatally wounded by his nephew's sword. Mordred is also killed, and Guinevere flees to a convent, where she lives out the rest of her days.

When I looked at the picture by Rossetti, I wondered what Lancelot and Guinevere might have said to each other over Arthur's tomb. I wondered how Guinevere would have felt, blaming herself for her husband's death. And I wondered how Lancelot would have felt when, after all the obstacles that had stopped him from being with Guinevere had been removed, she refused to come with him.

I leave it up to you to decide what you take from the story but, please, take something away with you.

~ Australian Kiwi

P.S. The Latin prayers I use in this story are still in use by the Catholic Church today. Translated from Latin, the title of this story means 'God have mercy on your soul'. In Arthur's time, if he existed, England would still have been Catholic, and the nobility would have been well versed in Latin, which was the language of the church.