NOTE TO SELF: Be sure to carry a flat-head screw driver with me at all times, especially when using the Pool House toilets.

Ok, so it was the first time this year that my play-station addicted old flatmates decided to break free from the cushions and make an effort to move more than just their fingers. It was great. We all caught up and reminisced and hit the local pool bar to a few rounds. Still recovering from a highly eventful Wednesday night (notice how the previous Note To Self went ignored) I opted for a night of sober control. One glass of soda water with a dash of lime. Yup, one lime and soda. Yup $3.50. Yup, a drunken barman who kept on trying to slip vodka into my drink somehow managed to charge $3.50 for bubbly water. Yup... So still pissed off that I would have to resort to only one $3 lunch the next week to help make my $10 budget stretch, I felt nature call. I play pool better when I'm blind so I head straight for the loos without my glasses. It wasn't until I searched for the toilet paper that I started to piece together that something wasnt quite right. No paper, no paper holder, nothing. Tried to flush, no flush. Frantically tried to flush, still no flush. Reached for cubicle door handle, no handle. Clawed around the doorframe until I caught an edge and got the door open. The sinks were on the floor, the soap container a mere skeleton and a pile of debris in the corner. I suddenly had a flashback to some skit when someone used a toilet at a bathroom decor shop - a display toilet. Best to just forget about this whole incident really. But it’s a bit hard to sneak out of a toilet under construction when there's no door handle on the fire stop doors. Its cold, I have no cell phone and it's quite likely no one will be using this place anytime soon. While admiring the perfectly flush joinery job on the doorframe - leaving no place to grip your fingernails - I noticed an old drill-bit in the pile of debris. It took about 5 minutes to catch a groove in the door and lever it open. Casually and stealthily I slip past the "DO NOT ENTER" sign, past the "TOILETS DETOUR" post and back to my $3.50 glass of bubbling water. The only advice I was given was to go back and remove the old drill-bit for then next dumb ass.

I had that one all prepared for the next time Richard Thomas sprung the whole 'tell us a story about what happened to you in the past week'. But I think he's since caught on to the fact that 12 short stories at the beginning of class cuts a lot of time out of his pre-planned activities. He organised Mike Rubbo to come and chat to us for a couple of days (maker of "All About Olive" and "The Little Box That Sings" - another personal to ad to my 'how-the-hell-do-they-have-time-and-energy-for-us-geeky-students' list. He had a great tactic of getting us alone to a one-on-one chat to explore ideas and ideals. It felt a bit like a shrink appointment, where you learn more about what’s going on in your head than you realised. I felt a bit scared for him, having my babble bombard him so unprompted. He blew me away with his ability to listen, interpret then rearrange to help see things from a new angle. He helped me to even consider doing a film about a person, something I thought I would always feel a bit dispassionate about, but this particular person is someone who I have come to admire for his astounding work with natural history filmmaking...

Ok, Pip sitting next to me has confirmed my fears that my blogs are waaay too intimidating so I'll cut it off now...