This whole thinking about thinking business started in the bastion of all good anecdotes: The Supermarket.

There wasn’t a scene or an incident, just me pondering which packet of pasta to buy. Do I go the Coles brand because its cheap and the quality is ok, but then I thought it didn’t really sit ethically well with me- squeezing those other business profits down to oblivion because they can. Bastards! Back went Coles pasta, up came the San Remo, but it had transfats and I need my brain cells to be tip top at the moment- I’ve got a lot of thinking to do! So up comes option three – made offshore with huge food miles, got the ecological thumbs down. Option four was fancy pansy pasta- it looked appealing, but had an equally unappealing price tag. So there I am, pondering my choices. Then this lady comes by, briefly scans the pasta options, grabs a packet and she’s off. No thinking, no price comparing or ingredient checking for her. She’s in and she’s out before you can say ‘but does it have an E number?’ Now that really gave me something to think about as I pottered through isles 4 – 9.

Those of you with children will be saying that’s because she was squeezing the life out of every kid free moment she had, others are thinking, is there a point to this story? Not sure, I’ll have to think about it. But then it happened to me again, this time in the post office with an older man and a post it bag- I’m thinking about whether to get recycled paper? Non-recycled? Recycled-bleached? None- surely we have one kicking around at home. He came in, grabbed a bag and didn’t even stop to check if it was made using vegetable dyes. And then there was the thoughts on cinemas closely followed by Tasmanian bus drivers wages and working conditions, and then there was the series of thoughts about car parks built on slopes, and …

I’ve often found myself thinking about thinking, and concluded it’s a big fat waste of time. If I spent less time thinking and more time… ??? Hmm, I’ll have to think about that.

Then I thought, people aren’t going to understand exactly how much thinking I do in a day, so here comes that point I mentioned earlier: I thought I’d write down a snapshot of  my thoughts that passed my mind yesterday as I walked up the street. The walk was 17 minutes and 37 seconds -I really did time it on the iphone, but I got a ‘little lost/ disorientated’ because I was thinking about recording my thinking and didn’t turn when I was meant to… so I subtracted 14 minutes. Anyway, here are the thoughts of Emily Patterson on the 21st of September at 2.17pm.

….Is the Julia Stone song ‘windy city’ written about Perth? I always thought it was, but perhaps Hobart? – why did I think it was about Perth? It is quite windy in Hobart, nah just gusty. Although that boards flapping pretty crazily- I could be in Fremantle! Actually, what’s in that building? When did we start drinking cow’s milk and who was the first person to think to drink cow’s milk? I wonder what makes people try new food?  I could suggest a graffiti strip for that wall, its really fuggly, would the council pay for it? What will we have for dinner? Have I paid the water bill? Did I send Tracey an updated version of my survey? Why is my spelling and grammer so bad? I don’t even know how to spell grammer…’er’? ‘ar’?  Did I just not listen at school? But how could I have learnt other things? I guess computers help. Will our laptop last another year? Should we get a Mac? Can you recycle laptop components- maybe for the gold? Who actually strips and melts it and would it be cost effective? Hang-on, where am I? This doesn’t look familiar, what does that street sign say? Oh I need glasses, why don’t I want to get glasses? Have I got psycological impediment to getting glasses? Hang-on, I should stop timing, oh no I’ll just let it run, or maybe I should ….

Phew. So yes, I did indeed have a thought the other day, a thought that was subsequently followed by another and another and another. The problem is, the thoughts don’t go away. I woke up this morning to discover that yesterday thoughts were still there waiting to be thought about. Again. Far out brussel sprout- Man that was a good book, I wonder if it would be as good today as when I first read it…

So I decided today over a jammy dodger and a cup of tea to put my thoughts here, in the hope that the internet will eat them!

And yes, I’d like to hear your thoughts on that 0:

1. Leave your watch at home… its called Tassie time and it’s the only time, there’s not even a look in for the infamous Carole time. Its Tassie time or no time. No work on Fridays or Sundays, and things happen when they happen: so deal with it.

2. Traffic etiquette 101: when driving along skinny winding narrow road, pull over onto strange non tar-mated, slopping muddy patches – otherwise known as ‘passing places’ -to let zoomie traffic past. This manoeuvre is completed by slowing (without braking), and pulling over (without indicating) and not stopping (despite the said passing place being 3m in length)…

3. Try not to piss anyone off because you’re bound to meet them the next day or they’ll be the second cousin of somebody you meet the next day…we’ve even started to bump into people we know in shops…and we can count the number of people we know on one hand.

4. Don’t think you’re the only person who came here for a life style change…you’re not. Neither are you unique or special for that matter. Tassie only opens its doors if you’re a dreamer, a little left of centre, or a convict.

5. Things grow, and they grow well… including mould. Not even our considerable time spent in the NT did we need to deal with mould. If you happen to discover mould, turns out the secret to removing stains is lemon juice and salt. Thanks Google and random strangers walking down the street.

6. Recognise and accept that you are and always will be a ‘mainlander’ … even if you’re from Ireland.

7. Hand brake. Use it, and use it well.

8. Wearing shorts, flip flops and tee shirts regardless of weather conditions should only be attempted by ‘real’ Tasmanians…not mainlanders pretending to be Tasmanian.

9.  You’re always there. In fact you’re there before you can even begin to wonder if you’re there yet…this could be in related to tip number 1, or the fact that there is 500,000 people living in total living in Tasmania, of which approx 300,000 live in Hobart (peak hour anything simply does not exist), and the land mass size is aprox 64, 500 km2

10. If you don’t have a spectacular water or mountain view, you’re ‘slummin it’

This is of course next to answering selection criteria, riding a bike, and going to the supermarket. Connection?  Supermarket is decision central, too many tins of tomatoes for my liking plus the expectation of producing something edible from purchased items. I’m ok with the easy breezy ‘fill n flick’ online form, but old skool; Paper. Pen. Post type of forms make me twitch.

Since arriving in Tasmania we’ve had the misfortune of completing 25 forms. That’s one form every two days.  It’s also a small old growth forest… perhaps there is a point to this paper pushing pandemic. Par Pout!

It all started fairly innocently at the Post Office, form number one. Application for PO Box 13, we should have seen it coming. Two pages, various id and evidence of past residence. Fair enough. Done and dusted in 10 minutes.

Form number two: Tasmanian Library card. This was actually a near miss for me (Carole had to use a pen), as the Library Tech input the information straight into the computer (gasp), so form was by-passed.

Form three, four and five; All important loyalty cards at Spotlight, Mountain Designs, and Your Habitat- the closest thing to Ikea. Yes, you read that correctly, there’s NO Ikea in Tasmania… what to do on a Thursday night?!?!?!

Form six; Application for ‘good character check, a requirement to teach in Tasmania. This authorises the Education Dept check my criminal past to determine if I’m of ‘good character’. Turns out I am, until May 2014.

Form seven and eight: Application for a credit check. Boring. Boring. Boring.

Forms nine and ten: Rental house application – including a 12 page interrogation; 6 referees, last 10 years residential addresses…pretty much everything aside from the length our toenails…only to be told that the property was leased that morning [insert swearing, stomping, mini-domestic, caffeine, cake, all good].

Form eleven: Application for a mobile phone

Forms twelve and thirteen: Employment application forms… O.o.h

Forms fourteen to seventeen: Applications to teach in Tasmania…again. Seriously?!?!?

Forms eighteen: Application for a parking permit with the Hobart city council

Form nineteen: Application for entry to Uni Tasmania for my Masters of Education

Form twenty: Application for credit for units completed at Edith Cowan

Form twenty one: Application for my academic transcript from Edith Cowan which I have to pay $10.00 for the privilege.

Form twenty two to twenty four: Lost count. Can’t remember. Possibly a form to apply for a form.

Form twenty five: Application for WACOT (WA College of Teachers) to run a police clearance in WA. Comon!! Last time I checked we are one country /:

These forms appear out of nowhere, at anytime. So much for the NBN… probably need a form for that too!

My advice? Carry a pen, preferably black.

Double Joy! two scratchies in the box, alongside a wallet left in Kulnura…thanks Belinda

Triple Joy! Fifteen minutes of not having to talk with each other about jobs. houses. money whilst scratching scratches…./: Belinda we love you, hope you’re reading this

27 properties viewed, 54 coffees drunk 108 pieces of cake tried, and we are for the first time ever, contemplating purchasing a vacuum cleaner… oh the pain.

I hear the chorus of ‘Why the sudden need for a cleaning device?’It all started at a coffee shop, where all good starts start.

Whilst having an irrational irritation moment at having to pay for a commercial credit check that last for 28 days, so we can lodge an application to rent a property -all those in dis-favour say ‘rip off’ - this then lead to the natural pondering of which one of the little abodes would we actually be willing to part with money for. Each has a sunny spot for the two Pearlers to sit and soak up the sun, essential flat parking , proximity to food, wine and all things nice, plus two to three bedrooms (room for friends and family)… However all have carpet… Commence the search for a lean mean cheap sucking machine.

During the course of this last trip, we’ve had time to pause and reflect on our journey together.  10 years of co-habitation, 10 years of sharing each others love, companionship, traumas, joy and all the bits that come in between. 10 years of me saying to Carole “Can we…”  ”what do think about…” ” I had a thought…” which inevitably leads to…”I’ve had an idea…”  Through all of this we have managed to avoid the purchase of a vacuum cleaner…how has this been possible you may ask? It starts with a ‘L’ and ends in a ‘azzy’ We figured: No vacuum = No cleaning, hence no vacuum Cleaner. The same equation could be applied to a number of facets such as the classic Kitchen sink, no kitchen = no sink. Lets get onto the No job discussion, that can be for when we’re sitting stationary in the Pearl contemplating what happened to the ‘In’ in income….

It’s been 10 days and 5 hours and thus far we’ve managed to find the ideal house for Emily, Carole and the Pearl (hence the money request), a sensational public library, a mind blowing museum, three fabulous cafes, a funky old theatre, and a paper street directory- four shops and two newsagencies later, but we found one.  I’ve still no idea where I am at any given time, but the exceptionally directionally gifted wife does.

A week in and I’ve learnt three key things about life in Tasmania (1) everything is close, even when its not, it still is (2) always take a coat (3) The NBN is really here, if you don’t know what that means- Google it, make a cup of tea and when you’ve returned to your computer it might have loaded the page /:

The first house has been relatively successful, thus far the only casualty has been a Tupperware container that wasn’t microwave proof, and  we now note that the piles of bricks, rocks and other barricading items weren’t there for landscaping, but to prevent “kip (Houdini) per’ from escaping. It has also become apparent that geographical terrain is a determining factor for where the Pearl can live. This conclusion was reached on day 4 of house sit as we chugged up the Southern Outlet road that passes over the foothill of Mt Wellington at 40kmph, whilst others were doing the recommended speed limit of 80kmph. The ‘this house is perfect but we can’t purchase it yet’ place identified in para one… send money now…is in a flat area (again…we have a PO box), perfect for the Pearl.

After pursing the paper street directory Carole has discovered that you can go to a place calledBaghdad, inTasmania. There’s a chocolate factory here, its not inBaghdad(but Carole already knew this), and that the hillside which has KEENS CURRY engraved in its side is called Keens Curry Hill.

Now that’s keen as…mustard!

 The Grimace. Whilst weaving, bumping, four wheel driving and rattling our way through (big breath)…Kalgoorlie,averton, Warburton, Kata Tjuta, Kata Tjuta Ululu,WatarrakaNational Park, Fink Gorge,Alice Springs, Chambers Pillar,WitjiraNational Park (Mt Dare, Dalhouse Springs), Oodnadatta,WilliamCreek,Lake Eyre, Marree and finally, theNorthernFlindersRanges… we couldn’t help but notice the number of seemingly unhappy people. Little did we know, they were just doing what we began to know as, the central desert grimace. This grimace involves a ‘narrowing’ of eyes whilst clench teeth and keeping mouth closed smile. There are two primary reasons for this grimace; (1) any open mouth action results in an influx of flies who rapidly migrate from your ears ,eyes and nose straight into your mouth (2) your on the edge of sanity- A week in the car with family/ friends/ partner, driving over excessively corrugated road, fighting mice, mosquitos and a myriad of other feral animals who have proliferated after all the rain… has finally caused you to crack, and yes, you are not a happy camper at all. You would shout in anger and frustration, but you can’t due to flies…and hence, we have the grimace.

Happens to us all- even us…including the Pearl, who spat the dummy after 8 hours of corrugated road action and decided to drip diesel from the injector pump, blow a headlamp and tail light. Hello duct tape. Hello Repco. Good-bye $93.45.

Having perfected the grimace, it was time to fine tune The fly dance.

This dance is performed during daylight hours only nd involves a calm but consistent wave action of one arm (not both arms as this signals the beginning of The freak out fly dance). The arm is loosely (but in a controlled single movement) flung over the shoulder and side of head region in a ‘camp’ air traffic control kind of way. The arm action occurs regularly, but not frantically. A slightly clenched hand is a key feature of the dance, so the ‘whip n flick’ manoeuvre can be achieved. This shooes the flies away long enough for a breath of air and any mumbles you wish to share with another person.

Next comes The mighty mouse move.

This is a night time dance, that must be able to be performed seamlessly, and from either a standing or sitting position. The smooth integration of the single foot stomp n flick into your previous course of action weather it be baking hot-cross buns, brushing your teeth, taking a sip of wine, eating dinner, or simply existing. It requires peripheral vision and an ability to stomp the ground at approaching mice and or flick mouse from leg or foot towards bushes area without discontinuing your original course of action or squealing. 

Once these dances have been perfected and fine tuned you can then progress to the final dance, which I like to call the ‘Fuck me side-ways that’s just crazy beautiful’ dance or as Carole might say the Awe Struck dance.

This is a unique dance, and one that can’t be practiced or learnt from another. Its instantaneous and originates from the heart and soul. Its one that makes the fly and mouse dance worthwhile. It often involves tears. They might be tears of joy. Tears of sadness of what once was and no-longer is. Tears of silence. Or even just tears of simple insignificance. They are however tears from the heart, and on ethat makes the journey in worth the long journey out again.

Emily says “Why is the big sheep painted blue?”

Following a sad farewell to Mel and the Boys at Dryandra Woodland, Williams (note: this place is wonderful) we ambled off to welcoming Wagin a friendly, a wheat and sheep town in the south west of Western Australia, with larrikin locals, good grub, a gorgeous old hotel for sale and a GIANT RAM.

Somehow we managed to dawdle out of town towards Dumbleyung all fuelled up and without the purchase of the hotel.

More about Dumbleyung in the next post…would be exuberant if anyone can guess the gist of what I might say about Dumbleyung…

Speedy Answers / Comments welcome on this post, prize can be posted for correct or my favourite answer / comment