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My work place superior called me last week, to inform me that she did not realise she did not have the authority to allocate me 33 weeks of leave. I am now reduced to 13 weeks, which does cover our NZ cruise, but not our holiday in England. While our new union delegate is good, he is quite inexperienced. I went straight to the top to seek advice. The advice was, we are looking for a test case in the courts about the 13 week limit, think about it and let us know whatever you decide, or try to negotiate with your manager, not your immediate superior. Given my leave was publicly posted on the leave roster, I think I have a rather strong case.
The days are just passing by and I am quite happy to be not working but I am still lacking any kind of discipline to my life. How can I have discipline when so much is up in the air? Ok, an excuse.
It cost me $100 to join the University of the Third Age. Yet I can't seem to be enroll in a course because of uncertainty, partly caused by our NZ cruise and partly by a pending visit to Sydney to see West Side Story on the Harbour. I may have rushed into the U3A. While I was waiting for R to have his hair cut today, I was opposite an entrance to the Council of Adult Education. For the second time R's hair was cut by a new inexperienced Asian guy. Four times R told him to keep taking the bulk from his hair, but at the end. R was very unsatisfied, with not even a back of the neck shave. Twice in a row I have had the chatty suspect gay bloke cut my hair.
Mother day today. I thought we might have alternated Thursdays, especially as R gets stressed by Mother. I thought one week he would take her out and one week I would take her out. No, we do it together, with one of us sitting in the back seat of the car with a wheel of Mother's walker pressing into our cheek. R likes to have me around to be grumpy with.
While waiting for R while he did some shopping yesterday, I noticed this PO RK graffiti. Pro eating of pig meat? Pork on your fork? You need a good porking? Perhaps it just an unfortunate graffiti name tag. I don't mind a bit of pork, in one way or t'other.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, to on Friday night to slip a note into a letter box to say I would be free at twelve on Saturday to help. Come Saturday after shopping, the time arrived and I was very nervous. They were all strangers to me. Nevertheless, it was a good thing to do. I did barrow work work that nearly killed me, then went to the broom, and then hand picking out stones. Everyone was so terribly nice. A snip from a larger photo, featuring moi.
Centre Place in Melbourne must be on tourist maps for some reason. While we like our local creperie in a grungy lane, I don't understand the tourist attraction. While I waited for R to have his bad haircut, I focused my phone amid the horror of a mess onto this. Not bad at all.