Post by Stephany on Nov 7, 2007 9:14:13 GMT
Hi all,
This article is not directly related to Hayley but she is mentioned several times.
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Other things down my front in the last couple of days include avocado, toothpaste, Thai beef salad and, to counteract that, half a bottle of Frend.
They should really hand out stain remover instead of lollies at the end of any flight that crosses the time zone.
Or -- and I might sell this one to Sir Richard Branson -- an all-weather bib with one of those plastic Tommy Tippee lips for catching detritus.
The other, more subtle effect of jet lag is that I am seeing too much of 6am for my liking. I'm very much not a morning person. I have spent the past two years training my flatmate to treat me like a timid and endangered woodland creature for the first hour after I emerge, eyes streaming, from my bedroom. I remember another flatmate, from university years, waking me early once just to see what would happen.
Once we were on speaking terms again, she muttered something about The Exorcist.
I can't help it. I'm just confused and angry when I have anything to do with 6am. If I'm honest that stretches out to 7am. Then 8am.
Before I'm showered, I bump around the house like a pinball, being pinged back by cupboard doors and things.
In the morning, I could conceivably tell someone I don't have long to live and they would have to believe me.
My plane landed in the morning. I didn't think I was doing too badly until I wandered through a cordoned area towards the customs sign and a uniformed man said, "So you're crew are you?"
I rubbed my eyes and looked at the "Crew Only" sign. I wasn't really up to talking so I blinked twice for "No" and turned about face.
Luckily, he seemed to understand that the thing hunched before him with a greasy bird's nest hair-do should be seen off the property as quickly as possible, so he let me through, most likely surmising that I was the kind of person that could trigger civilisation into reverse if I was left at large for too long.
Last night, all I was good for was sitting on the floor in front of the telly. I didn't like what was on but I couldn't be bothered changing the channel, so I ended up watching, portentously as it turned out, Deal or No Deal.
Contestant Lisa was asked why she chose Box 11. She answered, "Because it always has nothing in it." And that's exactly how this Eleven felt: like I had nothing in me except for the raspberry seed stuck in my teeth. I knew it was time to get an early night. Six in the morning comes around very fast these days. [/size][/quote]
Stephany
This article is not directly related to Hayley but she is mentioned several times.
Troubles with the early morning
By Beck Eleven
27 October 2007
The Press (Christchurch)
© 2007 Fairfax New Zealand Limited. All Rights Reserved.
One of the main (but less- discussed) side effects of jet-lag is forgetting where my mouth sits.
I haven't done any research except on myself, but I'm sure the disappearing mouth can't be unique to me. I have returned from the northern hemisphere after a week-long whistlestop tour and I'm doing my best to fit back into normality, but I just keep having tiny interior earthquakes and pouring stuff down my chest.
On my first day back at work, I thought I was anatomically correct until I poured my first gulp of tea down an invisible windpipe at the front of my white shirt.
This was of course just a few minutes before interviewing well-groomed, fresh- faced Hayley Westenra.
However, I know my limits so when offered tea or coffee during the interview, I accepted only water and ushered the glass to my mouth using both hands like a small child.
I also stupidly owned up and apologised for looking so messy to which she replied, "I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't told me".
So there I was, looking like a sloppier version of Barry Humphries' alter-ago, Sir Les Patterson, and there she was, looking like a cross between Tinkerbell and a cherub.
By Beck Eleven
27 October 2007
The Press (Christchurch)
© 2007 Fairfax New Zealand Limited. All Rights Reserved.
One of the main (but less- discussed) side effects of jet-lag is forgetting where my mouth sits.
I haven't done any research except on myself, but I'm sure the disappearing mouth can't be unique to me. I have returned from the northern hemisphere after a week-long whistlestop tour and I'm doing my best to fit back into normality, but I just keep having tiny interior earthquakes and pouring stuff down my chest.
On my first day back at work, I thought I was anatomically correct until I poured my first gulp of tea down an invisible windpipe at the front of my white shirt.
This was of course just a few minutes before interviewing well-groomed, fresh- faced Hayley Westenra.
However, I know my limits so when offered tea or coffee during the interview, I accepted only water and ushered the glass to my mouth using both hands like a small child.
I also stupidly owned up and apologised for looking so messy to which she replied, "I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't told me".
So there I was, looking like a sloppier version of Barry Humphries' alter-ago, Sir Les Patterson, and there she was, looking like a cross between Tinkerbell and a cherub.
Other things down my front in the last couple of days include avocado, toothpaste, Thai beef salad and, to counteract that, half a bottle of Frend.
They should really hand out stain remover instead of lollies at the end of any flight that crosses the time zone.
Or -- and I might sell this one to Sir Richard Branson -- an all-weather bib with one of those plastic Tommy Tippee lips for catching detritus.
The other, more subtle effect of jet lag is that I am seeing too much of 6am for my liking. I'm very much not a morning person. I have spent the past two years training my flatmate to treat me like a timid and endangered woodland creature for the first hour after I emerge, eyes streaming, from my bedroom. I remember another flatmate, from university years, waking me early once just to see what would happen.
Once we were on speaking terms again, she muttered something about The Exorcist.
I can't help it. I'm just confused and angry when I have anything to do with 6am. If I'm honest that stretches out to 7am. Then 8am.
Before I'm showered, I bump around the house like a pinball, being pinged back by cupboard doors and things.
In the morning, I could conceivably tell someone I don't have long to live and they would have to believe me.
My plane landed in the morning. I didn't think I was doing too badly until I wandered through a cordoned area towards the customs sign and a uniformed man said, "So you're crew are you?"
I rubbed my eyes and looked at the "Crew Only" sign. I wasn't really up to talking so I blinked twice for "No" and turned about face.
Luckily, he seemed to understand that the thing hunched before him with a greasy bird's nest hair-do should be seen off the property as quickly as possible, so he let me through, most likely surmising that I was the kind of person that could trigger civilisation into reverse if I was left at large for too long.
Last night, all I was good for was sitting on the floor in front of the telly. I didn't like what was on but I couldn't be bothered changing the channel, so I ended up watching, portentously as it turned out, Deal or No Deal.
Contestant Lisa was asked why she chose Box 11. She answered, "Because it always has nothing in it." And that's exactly how this Eleven felt: like I had nothing in me except for the raspberry seed stuck in my teeth. I knew it was time to get an early night. Six in the morning comes around very fast these days. [/size][/quote]
Stephany