Profile for Aspergernaut:
Silly old bugger lucky enough to live in a small inland city in Australia. I am also fortunate enough to have worked in a variety of interesting positions, including most of those obligatory for novelists: Trawler deckhand, theologian, strip-show MC, network administrator and "Classified Defence Work".
mail: r e v _ n o _ m o r e @ h o t m a i l . c o m
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- a member for 18 years, 8 months and 23 days
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Silly old bugger lucky enough to live in a small inland city in Australia. I am also fortunate enough to have worked in a variety of interesting positions, including most of those obligatory for novelists: Trawler deckhand, theologian, strip-show MC, network administrator and "Classified Defence Work".
mail: r e v _ n o _ m o r e @ h o t m a i l . c o m
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» That's when I knew it was over...
The early stuff was not enough...
the heavy drinking every night to get some sleep, the ongoing depression about my job looking after desktops and servers for a community organisation. Nope, the personal fragmentations didn't send me the message.
It wasn't until the fourth or fifth night of a bizarre dream sequence which had me cataloguing all the possible suicide venues and methods in my town, that I got the hint.
It was the morning after I'd dreamed about jumping off the large shopping complex near work.
That same morning a woman did a similar leap inside the complex, and ended her troubles.
I got the message and quit. Ironically, the organisation is involved in suicide prevention and counselling.
Apols for length, but this is the first time I've stuck it in here.
(Thu 28th Jul 2005, 8:22, More)
The early stuff was not enough...
the heavy drinking every night to get some sleep, the ongoing depression about my job looking after desktops and servers for a community organisation. Nope, the personal fragmentations didn't send me the message.
It wasn't until the fourth or fifth night of a bizarre dream sequence which had me cataloguing all the possible suicide venues and methods in my town, that I got the hint.
It was the morning after I'd dreamed about jumping off the large shopping complex near work.
That same morning a woman did a similar leap inside the complex, and ended her troubles.
I got the message and quit. Ironically, the organisation is involved in suicide prevention and counselling.
Apols for length, but this is the first time I've stuck it in here.
(Thu 28th Jul 2005, 8:22, More)
» Posh
Not posh, but...
Some of us have poshness thrust upon us.
My grandfather started out as a bag & bottle collector. Horse and cart, the whole Steptoe thing, around the streets of Melbourne.
Eventually the nature of the trade changed somewhat: a truck replaced the horse, and removing things to (and from) the large industrial tip site became a major part of the business.
So it was that my grandfather came to be lopping trees and removing excess branches from the home of Sir Robert Menzies, erstwhile Prime Minister. Your humble narrator, all of 8 or 9 years age, was on term holiday from school. Yes, a private school. Of all my family, I was the first to speak "with a plum".
My grubby roots manifest, I was happy to be carrier of tools and general getter-in-the-way as grandad and his offsiders worked, and was thus occupied when Sir Robert met me.
He gave me ten shillings (in early 1960s terms, this was a huge sum) and said I was "a little gentleman".
It just goes to show, the poor old bugger was no better a judge of character than when he earned the nickname "Pig-Iron Bob".
This will explain the nickname.
(Sun 18th Sep 2005, 7:30, More)
Not posh, but...
Some of us have poshness thrust upon us.
My grandfather started out as a bag & bottle collector. Horse and cart, the whole Steptoe thing, around the streets of Melbourne.
Eventually the nature of the trade changed somewhat: a truck replaced the horse, and removing things to (and from) the large industrial tip site became a major part of the business.
So it was that my grandfather came to be lopping trees and removing excess branches from the home of Sir Robert Menzies, erstwhile Prime Minister. Your humble narrator, all of 8 or 9 years age, was on term holiday from school. Yes, a private school. Of all my family, I was the first to speak "with a plum".
My grubby roots manifest, I was happy to be carrier of tools and general getter-in-the-way as grandad and his offsiders worked, and was thus occupied when Sir Robert met me.
He gave me ten shillings (in early 1960s terms, this was a huge sum) and said I was "a little gentleman".
It just goes to show, the poor old bugger was no better a judge of character than when he earned the nickname "Pig-Iron Bob".
This will explain the nickname.
(Sun 18th Sep 2005, 7:30, More)