Deborah Kalin

This morning, Navicat caught a white-tailed spider.

And we squished what appears to be a male Sydney funnel-web spider in the bathroom. (It is a little hard to tell, what with the squished nature. We've developed a habit of when in doubt, kill first and identify later.) (It could be a male mouse spider, which are apparently often mistaken for funnel webs, but it doesn't look chunky enough.) It was hiding in a pile of clothing

Seriously, if Australia isn't one to instil at least a mild arachnophobia in visitors and inhabitants alike, then you're not thinking about it hard enough.

So I had to buy new shoes to match the new job. Because Blundstones or Doc Martins don't quite cut it, and that's my wardrobe o'shoes eliminated pretty much right there. (Well, I have some sneakers, too. And some sandals. But even my fashion-compromised self knows that scrappy shoes ain't allowed at dressy workplace.)

Fine, I thought. Shoes. Smart girls shoes. I can do this.

Uh. Right.

I seem to have this talent, when attempting to shop for clothes or shoes, that sees me dissatisfied with everything on display. This is partly because of my very particular desires when shopping: I don't browse or window-shop. I go shopping when I know exactly what I need. This kind of top, a shoe with these features.

But the dissatisfaction is also due to my complete inability to understand the fashion calendar. It's the end of summer here. We haven't had a day below 20 Celsius for I can't remember how long; and if it gets as low as 20-25 Celsius it's because it's humid and a late summer thunderstorm is brewing. So why oh why are the shops full of cardigans, sweaters, long-sleeved shirts and thick pants? Why?

Buying ahead, yeah, sure, I get that. But seriously. It's like seeing Christmas decorations in October. Just a bit too keen, isn't it.

Surprisingly, despite all that, I managed to find a pair of smart girly shoes (that don't pinch my toes and don't have those hideous six-foot-pointed-toe design) with a minimum of actual fuss. Only two shoe stores, which is rather a record for me. But one thing I forgot to check: the soles.

Why do girls shoes always always always have slippery plastic soles? This drives me insane. No wonder I like my Blundstones and my Doc Martins. Seriously. In what bloody world are hard-plastic-soled shoes at all practicable? They're lucky to get a grip on a rough surface like the road, but on worn carpet and plastic matting and tiles and other such fun work floor surfaces…? No bloody hope.

The upshot of all this is that I had to pay extra for the shoe repair and key cutting man to put a non-slip sole on the shoes. Which of course means instead of the original $90 price tag, these teensy slips of shoes now cost me $125. Le sigh. (Maybe it's a conspiracy by the shoe reparing and key cutting men, to ensure they always have steady business?)

So I think it's fair to say 2001 was a while ago now, right? Let's just all ignore the fact that I still haven't got my travel pics from then scanned in, shall we?

I started on scanning some of them in this morning. It's lucky I don't take very many photos, or I might be too daunted to finish. The first week's photos — of Belgium — are in the Europe gallery. The rest will be coming… oh, when I get round to it

It was strange to go through these photos, though. To remember my short hair. (I actually chopped it shorter again and dyed it dark brown when I got back to Aus.) To remember snow on the streets, because that's not exactly a common feature on the east coast of Australia. To remember how daunting it sometimes was, travelling on my own through countries whose language I couldn't speak. And how amazing it all was.

So I'm settling into the routines at work. I'm now attempting to do things without supervision and constant questioning. The result of all this is, of course, to make a zillion and one ridiculous mistakes. Naturally. I have conquered the EFTPOS machine, which demands I input an absolute s'load more numbers than I've ever seen anyone else have to put in. And on top of that likes the access code to be input at least twice during any transaction, if not more. We have an anal retentive EFTPOS machine.

Kitten updated: 14 sleeps to go. My brother has decided that he will call the kitten ouabun.

No writing at all to speak of this week, which makes me sad and frustrated with myself. But new routines demand a little flexibility, I suppose. My recent haul from Amazon arrived a couple of days ago, though, so I'm looking forward to a whole lot of reading soon