Anything can happen in formula 1, and it usually does

Gosh, it's been a while since I 'updated' this, eh what? I've been rather busy the last few weeks generally galavanting about all over the country, and having a much better time than you. But it's all over now, and I'm back working in Melbourne. EXCITING, HUH? The only thing of note that's happeneing in the next few weeks, bar Morgan's foot getting amputated (we hope), is the F1 coming to town. Specifically, the F1 is coming about 500 meters away from where I'm staying. Which, brilliantly, means that for about a week the nearby public transport will no doubt be congested with important people in suits who don't really like cars but have got the best seats anyway, women who are more plastic than flesh and idiots in Ferrari caps who've paid a couple of hundred dollars in order to stare at some distant tarmac for a few hours as some cars whiz in and out of their view in roughly half a second. These people will talk to each other loudly and at length about things like 'down force' and 'gear ratios'. I once visited the F1 in England, and my overriding memories consist of spending a few hours parking several miles away from the track, taking out a small mortgage to buy a burger and some rather sad looking fairground rides staffed by the usual surly carnies and charging prices that were slightly more ridiculous than your standard funfair (10 quid for the big wheel, instead of 5). I'm sure I also remember hearing the drone of Engines quite a lot, and I might even have seen a few cars, though I'm not sure. After the experience, father decided that paying a large entry fee in order to buy slightly more expensive soft drinks than usual was a mugs game, and we never went again. Since we're so near to the epicentre, some friends and I are considering buying a load of coke from a nearby wholesaler, and selling it for slightly less extortionate prices than the nearby retailers.

Other than lifting furniture over the next few weeks, I'm going to be training Morgan and Pete (who we're living with(not in that sense(well, not me(probably morgan though)))) in the ancient art of Texas Hold 'Em Poker. My hope is, that with two degree level mathematicians and a physicist, we ought to be able to form quite a formidable team, develop a strategy, and hit the punters at the local casino for all they're worth. To further this aim, I'm going to buy a book titled something like 'Poker for Dummies'.

I was also priviliged enough to watch an AFL game the other night, and a very exciting game it was. From what I could tell, the game seems to centre around a large number of men in very small shorts spending most of their time pulling up their socks, occasionally catching a ball, then taking a very long run up in orger to kick the ball in between two posts. This action usually resulted in the team scoring a single point, which is almost worthless. Occasionally six points are scored by being slightly more accurate with the kicks, and getting the ball through the middle posts. The crowd wildly cheer each catch, and fequently and loudly urger players on their team to 'kick the ball'. Given the nature of the game, this is akin to loudly exhorting a marathon runner to 'take another stride'. I have no doubt that Australians do this.