Too long.

We won the D grade indoor cricket grand final. I scored four runs with the bat and they scored four runs off my bowling, but we won by 118 runs so it wasn't an outstanding contribution.

At work they have stopped giving me jobs to do because I'm supposed to be learning how to co-ordinate testing. The testing co-ordinator has not been teaching me anything because I don't change teams until the end of March. (He says he's writing it all down for me.) However I have managed to get involved with enough review meetings and focus groups to keep me occupied without having to resort to getting paid for using government resources to practise my hobbies. I gave that up shortly after Christmas.

I saw David Williamson's play The Conversation. It was an ordinary production. The structure was contrived and relied heavily on the drama inherent in the subject matter (the family of a recidivist rapist meet the parents of a young woman he murdered) and precipitous segues from the meeting facilitator character. The staging was awkward with eight people sitting in a line facing the audience but talking to each other. The individual performances were good and I enjoyed what the actors managed to do despite the material pigeonholing their characters. It would have preferred the individual's contributions to be more interconnected (and for the actors to move around a bit) but at least nobody lived happily ever after.

On the other hand I saw The Hours in which nobody lived happily ever after but it was thoroughly engaging and had wonderfully interwoven stories. I haven't read the book but I think comparing the two would be futile because the film was such a beautiful piece of cinematic art such a comparison would be a silly exercise. It is a splendid film.

This morning I started two weeks vacation. At nine o'clock this morning I went with my mother to re-pack my sister's belongings to be sent to her in London. My sister had discovered the amount of V.A.T. to be charged was more than she could pay so we had been issued instructions on how to whittle down the contents of her packing boxes to an affordable quantity. When I got back home at a quarter past five this afternoon I decided that my plans to unpack my books, clean the laundry, finish the herb garden and empty the garage could go hang themselves because I could see the fortnight was already vanishing up my Protestant work ethic.

Then I updated my blog.  ¶ 19:46