Update IV, psalm 53

Today is Friday and I have the day off. It's my second one in five weeks so I can't complain. Appointments for the day include getting my wheel trued, physiotherapist (eindelijk!) and the Moonlight Cinema. That'll do nicely, as you don't want to push things. I hope the physio fixes me, or at least tells me what's wrong, because my adductor (inner thigh) muscles are still very sore after me crash.

News flash: It is now Saturday and I'm still alive, but I don't have the day off. Alas. Physio's report was a bit worrying, but inconclusive. After poking and prodding me for a while, he sent me up to get referred for an x-ray, which I didn't get to until today. I was referred by a doddering 105 year-old doctor at Edgecliff Medical Centre, who at least (I assumed) had some experience. I don't get the results until Monday, but I hope it's neither a) a pelvic fracture b) a dislocated hip/pelvis or c) a separated pelvis. The latter would be really bad.

The good thing was that after 20-30 minutes of deep and quite painful massage, I can actually walk OK again and the pain has significantly diminished. I could probably throw my leg over my bike now without the accompanying agony, but I'll wait until Monday for the yay/nay diagnosis of a fracture, as it's not a good idea at all to ride with a fractured pelvis.

I did manage to walk up to Centennial Park so it can't have been that bad. Saw Ocean's 12 with Kate M. and a few of her friends and it was quite good (I haven't seen Ocean's 11). George Clooney, Brad Pittttt, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Julia Roberts and a cast of thousands and directed by Stevie Soderbergh. Lots of twists, funny bits and in-jokes and, incredibly for a movie about grand robbery, no violence.

I will not be as flattering about the appalling finale to the TV reality show Outback Jack, starring Jack and a host of American bimbos. It's without doubt the worse piece of television I have ever watched, and mum and I sat through the last episode which was an hour and a bloody half long, because of some masochistic bent.

The story goes that a whole gaggle of bimbos landed in the great Aussie outback (west, I think) and met Jack, who is a supposedly a rugged Aussie dude with half a beard. Jack was one of the most boringest farts you could ever imagine, and rarely lifted his voice above a monotone. Over the weeks, he had to whittle down the alleged talent until he finds his perfect match. So there are all these completely contrived "romantic" scenarios, with romantic cameraman, soundman and lighting present, where Jack works out who is the best babe.

When we tuned in on that fateful Thursday, there were just three left, and he flicked one of them (Mel?), probably because in her last one-on-one with him, she white-anted one of the other remaining contestants (Marissa), who deserved it anyway. When it came down to it, he flicked Marissa too and ended up with the southern belle Natalie, and they sailed off into the sunset together, leaving the rejected and crushed Marissa on the beach. I give it 3 months.

Mum and I agreed that not only was it reinforcing bad male and female stereotypes, it was also repetitively boring and extremely contrived. Actually I think Marissa had the right idea because she seemed to be acting more than being her "true self" (which could be one and the same) and really just wanted the money or whatever they ended up with.

Last but by no means least, congrats and well wishes to Josh and Anita for producing their second Child last Monday. It's all good.

P.S. I can now play Chopin's prelude number 4 in E minor from memory! Phwoar. It's been ages since I've memorised a piece like that. Funnily enough, I can still play the Funeral March from memory :-)