Ouch, the spiritual and physical PAIN

I spent the weekend with a continually bleeding knee. Really I was lucky to escape some kind of lack of blood related death. Starting Friday, there was much sporty activity. As Tim has already pointed out, our attempt to achieve netball glory fell slightly short, and during the attempt, I, slightly short, fell. This was not so bad in itself except that in the act of falling down I inevitably land on my right knee. As a good deal of the likely-to-induce-falling-down-activity I currently engage in takes place on the evil evil surface that is astroturf, this tends to result in the Astroturf Grazed Knee (TM). Again not so bad, but for the fact with a few falling downs in quick succession (or in swift concussion, as my Grandad used to say) I get the more serious Grazed Graze. As it happens the graze I got last Sunday got grazed again on Wednesday at cricket, and then on Friday, and then on Saturday when I filled in for my cousin's outdoor soccer team, and then on Sunday during my two games of indoor soccer. This means that the original graze is about to develop an exit wound on the back of my leg. The inside of my sport-playing trackpants looks like a grisly medical souvenir from the Crimean War. Consequently when I limped in on Sunday night Mum went into motherly overdrive and insisted upon applying about 3 rolls of tape and one or two mummy's worth of bandages to my leg. I'm sure if it had been useful to to so she would have run out into the garden, selected the appropriate plant, chewed it up for a while and then spat it on to the wound as some kind of poultice. Mothers: good.

Anyway I seem to have managed two and a half afternoons since then doing very little indeed in the air conditioned environs of the Commerce building computer labs, although there was slight excitement for 30 or so seconds yesterday when Chris Martin came in to print something out. OK, so the excitement was minimal, but I'm something of a cricket groupie so these things are important. Also anything that distracts me slightly and no matter how briefly from the fact I'm clearly failing to get any thesis done is very useful. Hence blogging.

So, what to report? Little. As has been noted though, the Chateau's time is near, and it must face the final curtain. We'll go, we'll have some laughs, we'll drink some beer, of this I'm certain. Sinatra aside though, I did promise some pre-emptive nostalgia a while back, and did try and actually write some before it was sucked into the ether. So shall try again, because after all, if at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.

Anyway the Chateau has been a domicile of some reknown, not at the level of the legendary / infamous Xanadu of course, but not that far off either. Many and varied have been the antics within its hallowed (if poorly joined) halls, and if those walls could talk, what would they say? "For God's sake Ben, stop putting your fist through us, it bloody hurts" might be one thing, but I was thinking more of their potential capacity as witnesses to many events both monumental and trivial. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll wonder 'what the hell?' etc. Taking it upon myself then as, if not actually a wall at the Chateau, then at least someone that has probably spent enough time there to quailfy technically as some kind of permanent architectural feature, I give you a brief tour down memory lane then for some personal highlights:

- Carrying Nic's damn bed up the stairs. Carrying Pete's damn bed up the stairs. Carrying Pete's bed back down the stairs. Carrying everybody else's every damn thing else up and down the stairs. Oh, the hours of fun. How we laughed.

- Mad garage table tennis. My ongoing reign as Drunken Master. Shots of surpassing skill from all parties. 'Dominator'. Adam and Hamish throwing hissy fits, including Ham hurling himself spectacularly into a pile of stuff in the corner and remaining there completely upside down for about 30 minutes. Hitting the ball into the hole in the ceiling from which it never returned. Various and wonderously interesting 'ting' 'pang' 'boink' 'clink' noises that were to be made by the ball hitting numerous strange things in the garage.

- Exotic flat fixture adventures. Superman-ing it down the stairs and rug burning my elbows. 5 people in the inexplicably large cupboard in the middle of the house. Hiding in Nic's wardrobe, emerging to confuse people. Squeezing into the strange cupboard under the stairs in the garage while it was still accessible. Braining myself on the clothes-line at least 3 times. Numerous unfortunate casualties of the stairs that for some reason go through the lounge. Climbing in the second floor bathroom window when no-one was home in the middle of the day, getting halfway through sideways, finding a ruddy great pot plant in the way and trying to shift it with my elbows while my legs waved madly around sticking out of the house for about 5 minutes, and all the time wondering what I would tell the police.

- Much late night Risk / Settlers of Catan / Weighty Strategy Game / pizza and coke action. Unlikely victories almost inevitably decided by one-on-one dice rolls. Failed bids for glory, pitched battles for ultimate control of Papua New Guinea. Middle East, the bitch-slapped country. 'End of Days!' 'Crazy Dog, crazy dog' 'The BISHOP! Dum didda didda didda....' Playing until a time of the morning where absolutely everything is funny. Flying abuse in all directions. Worrying levels of innuendo. I blame Dan.

- Room O' Computers (TM) Quake action a go-go. Much sitting around and wasting of time while pixellated death occurred in the background. Nice one. Numerous discussions and occasionally vehement arguments about nothing in particular on sunny afternoons or in the rainy early hours.

- Druids. Dear God, the horror.

- Stealing a pile of dirt from a seemingly random location. Carrying it through the garage, putting it in the garden. Nic being slightly concerned at the time about being in the same space as both James and a spade. Therein following the period of 'The Great Divide'. Consequent tiptoeing through the tulips.

- And of course, parties. Many parties. The delightful taste of Sunlight lemon dishwashing detergent. The only slightly improved taste of allspice, tequila, kiwifruit (Jessa's fault). Eating a whole lemon. Eating much of a candle (Teena got upset at that one). Huge pile up on the stairs at one point. Conversations in the hallway. The continual missing of various clues to various things. Angry pyjama clad man appearing, "Look, I mow your lawns!", Adam responding, quote: "Hey man, I don't need this aggravation." Many collected reflective hours in the cupboard, thinking about life, the universe, and everything. Bursting out of said cupboard and the look on people's faces. Doing a forward roll and splitting my forehead open on Nic's corkboard, acquiring a scar. Circumstances conspiring to bring death to Adam's guitar. Throwing knives about with wanton abandon. Unexpectedly putting my fist through the wall. 15 people in the kitchen for some reason and no-one in the lounge. Journeys 'home' from town through the park, including the bleeding one (me, not the park). Essentially unjustifiable repeated custom handed to the 24 hour dairy. Singing along to things no-one knows the lyrics to. Many nights on the couch. The going to Wellington party, 100 shots of Icebreaker, throwing up stealthily upstairs, coming back down, antics, drinking, going upstairs, finding Hannah and a bottle of Baileys in Nic's bedroom, drinking that, coming back down, antics, totally trollied and yelling "Someone give me a drink", Warwick and James C. handing me half a glass of whiskey, shooting it, falling over backwards as it came out my nose setting fire to my poor membranes, continued antics, hallway, throwing up on Pete. Oops. Still having a good time, half passed-out on the floor. Next day, second-worst hangover ever. Served me right of course. "Maintaining a sunny disposition despite adverse circumstances."

Thanks, Chateau. Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? I'll miss you (sob). It seems inappropriate for other people to be living in it. Really, if things were to conduct themeselves properly, it should sink into the ground like the House of Usher at the appropriate moment. Still, sic transit gloria mundi and all that, or, as some bloke named John A. Simone, Sr. once said: "If you're in a bad situation, don't worry, it'll change. If you're in a good situation, don't worry, it'll change." Seems highly appropriate about now.

Time for a big blowout on Friday yet, though. Come along folks, and bring your sledgehammer. Or your alcohol. In fact forget the hammer, just bring the alcohol and your willingness for a good last hurrah.

Right then, a short post, but overdue, so there you are. More next time. I am building up a list of useful things to talk about. Don't hold your breath however.

See you all Friday, bar you overseas pikers.