Andrew and Kathleen

The Coalition government is pushing to get the Free Trade Agreement with the US through Parliament with a minimum of review. Which is a bit of a worry, considering that so many aspects of it seem to be against Australia's future. A Senate review committee also came to this agreement:

It is important to recognise that many of the measures included in the AUSFTA are not necessarily seen as addressing a problem in the Australia–US bilateral relationship. Rather, there appear to have been pressures on the US negotiators to establish strong IPR regimes as precedents for further free-trade agreements that the US may want to negotiate.

In an important opinion piece, US Trade Representative Robert Zoellick reinforced this theme and made it clear that US frustration with multilateral negotiations has caused it to pursue FTAs and so win concessions on items that have been hard to win in multilateral fora.

In other words, since they can't get some of their draconian copyright laws and discriminatory farming practices allowed in the WTO, they lean on other countries to adopt them via FTAs. It's obvious that the Australian negotiators were completely out of their depth. To enshrine such a bad trade pact with unseeming haste is absolute madness.

Since we're now in full-on saving mode for the wedding, with the intention of banking two grand a month - EACH - the focus is on cutting back on needless expenditures. Obviously, some expenses are sacrosanct, such as the groceries, the train fare, and the broadband (hey, going back to dial-up would actually be more expensive, given the cost of phone calls to the ISP). Some things, though, are prime candidates for the chop.

Such as my coffee.

Back when I was in Hobart, I used to get up early enough to dawdle over coffee and the paper at the Retro with a friend of ours, Darise. Which of course became a habit, to the point where something doesn't feel quite right if I'm not wired up on caffeine and reading by 8.30am. Reading the news on the internet and drinking filtered coffee, or worse, instant, at my desk at work is no substitute. And of course, there's nothing like being able to walk into a place and not even need to order, with the staff knowing you by name and by coffee.

There's one place I go to in North Sydney that has everything - not many patrons so you never feel like you're imposing, all the papers: the SMH, the Australian, the AFR and the Daily Telegraph, and a pretty decent coffee.

Plus one of the blokes I work with does a coffee run about 10.30 every day. So kicking this habit is proving to be a little bit more difficult than first anticipated. It's not the caffeine, it's the process - the papers, the music, the relaxing - that I miss if I don't get.

Nara from the string quartet gave us a songlist of classical music that we can choose from for the wedding.

The only problem is that we don't know classical music by the name of the symphony - and in fact, don't really know classical music.

So, I've got a classical music compilation currently playing on my Discman to and from work, listening out for pieces that I recognise. I still can't remember the names of the pieces, but at least I'm a lot more calmer during the commute.

One of my best English students in Japan, Ozai-kun, is a breakdancing fan, as they would say over there. He and his friends are pretty keen. Every now and then, he sends me an email, each time from another email address - break_headspinner, breakin_top_of_the_world are just some of the Hotmail accounts he's set up - to tell me to check out his break dancing home page.

Chang, one of my mates in Melbourne, went for a holiday to Japan last month. It had been that long since I've emailed him, that I didn't remember until today, even though he told me he was going. Sorry, Chang.

He hit Kyoto and Tokyo, and it was great to hear that the places that gave me such a buzz, like Akihabara and Shinjuku, were his thing as well.

I normally carry my mobile in my right pocket. After reading this scary story, I won't be keeping it quite so close.

One of the first things I did after returning from Japan, when I had a few days to kill in Melbourne before Kathleen joined me, was spend time browsing through bookstores. Where I came across a book called Japanese Style. What a coincidence that it was reduced to clear - and I picked it up for $25. Which, considering that I'd just had quite a lot of yen translated back into dollars, was a pretty insignificant amount.

I took it down off the shelf the other night, just for a flick through, and it brought back some pretty evocative memories.

My best man Troy finally resigned on Thursday. This had been a long time coming, since he'd been planning travelling and working in Europe and the UK for at least six months. The tickets had been bought and paid for over a month earlier, so he'd been doing the daily grind at work with the knowledge that he wasn't hanging around for much longer.

In the end, he managed to keep it secret from sufficient people at work that he was able to make it a surprise when he finally pulled the pin.

As an interesting aside, his workplace offer a profit-sharing scheme that pays out every July. Apparently resignations go through the roof at this time every year as people wait for pay-day before cutting and running.

Didn't write much last week because I didn't do much - too busy at work, too late getting home, too tired to write.

Southern Cross University historian Dr Adele Wessell has researched what Australians cook most often at home, and Spaghetti Bolognaise tops the list.

I can definitely vouch for that. On the odd occasion I cook at home, spag bol would have to be the quickest and easiest thing I know how to make. Kathleen's a bit more of a chef than I am, so she does the cooking (hey, I do the washing up!). Hence we have Chinese home-style cooking. It's got to the point, after three years living together where if I don't have rice with dinner, I don't feel full!

"Up until the 1950s Australians were still eating British food, consisting of meat and three vegetables."

Which sounds pretty boring to me.

Antibiotics are starting to become ineffective, as bacteria start to develop immunity:

"Whereas we had previously thought that the intermediate strain had developed from one lineage of MRSA known as the New York/Japanese clone, we have now found that all major MRSA have evolved resistance.

"It's only a matter of time, perhaps just years, before bacteria that cannot be killed by vancomycin develop in some areas."

Part of the reason that's starting to happen here in Australia is through overuse of antibiotics - people feel sick, go to the doctor and demand something for their sore throat, even if it's just a viral infection that isn't affected by antibiotics.

From an article in New Scientist:

Weapons that can incapacitate crowds of people by sweeping a lightning-like beam of electricity across them are being readied for sale to military and police forces in the US and Europe. The new breed of non-lethal weapons can be used on many people at once and operate over far greater distances.

Gee, you can't see this falling into the wrong hands, can you?

A load of computers are stolen from a computer security trade show.

I love how the public service justifies excessive salaries on the basis that they need to compete for employees with the private sector. This week Cityrail, or Shittyrail as it is more commonly known to Sydney commuters, announced that due to slow trains impacting their performance statistics that trains delayed by up to 10 minutes will still be considered on time.

Just when frustrated commuters thought CityRail trains were totally unreliable, the State Government has found a novel way to improve the network: redefine the meaning of late. Thanks to the new definition, a train will be on time even if it arrives five minutes late. And that is being generous.

Ten minutes late would not be unreasonable for a train, said the Transport Services Minister, Michael Costa.

Unbelievable.

But it got better, as the Sydney Morning Herald discovered that Shittyrail has the highest salaries in the NSW public service. For goodness sake, these people are so incompetent that they couldn't organise a root in a brothel.

Consider that companies in the corporate world have competition - while Shittyrail is a monopoly - how then do they justify paying above market rates when the job is inherently simpler than in the real world?

Arrived home from a great trip back to Hobart over the weekend, where we spent most of the time organising the wedding. Kathleen had arranged to meet with a lot of people over the Friday and Saturday, to the point where we were out of the house by 8.30am on both days, returning after 6pm.

We met with the photographer, and took a few photos down on the waterfront. In Hobart's 5C morning weather. Brisk!

Hobart's beautiful in winter - the days are cold, but the skies are blue and the sun shines.

We checked out a few videographers, but we're not sure yet whether that's something we want to fork out another grand for, considering that only one of the three videographers had anything approaching decent.

Had a change of mind regarding the wedding location; we'll still have it at the Botanical Gardens, but outside on the lawn, rather than inside the conservatory. The conservatory was actually undergoing renovations while we were down - not very comfortable to see a construction site where your wedding is going to be held!

We even managed to find time to have coffee at The Retro, which is compulsory for us on a Hobart trip.

Perhaps one of the things we love most about the place is its small-town feel. We dropped by to pay the string quartet, but the woman we were dealing with wasn't home; no problems, said her partner. Come in, sit down, make yourselves comfortable - she'll be back in a sec. So we're sitting in the kitchen of a person we've never met before, drinking tea, and relaxing after two days of rushing around organising things. In someone else's house.

That's Hobart for you.

Heading to Hobart this weekend for what is increasingly looking less like a holiday and more like an army operation. I am, of course, referring to the impending nuptials, now less than 7 months away. We are meeting with (and the following is a rough guide, subject to change):

• The celebrant;
• The photographer;
• The reception centre staff;
• The cakemaker;
• The flower decorator;
• Two potential video people;
• The string quartet (or one of them);
• The car bloke;

and, possibly if we can fit them in,

• my family.

This itinerary does not take into account the three hair/make-up/nails places that Kathleen wants to check out, either.

Grand total spare time: 7 minutes. Possibly less.

Back on Sunday.

Hawthorn'll be absolutely stuffed. An injury-afflicted, threadbare roster as it is, now losing up to seven players at the tribunal. Playing Carlton on the weekend, and we need to win to get off the bottom of the ladder. Plus my dad is unsufferable when Carlton win.

The Australian's Matt Price summed it up best:

Peter Schwab claimed the MCG shenanigans "sent a message" Hawthorn won't be intimidated. A few of us missed that; perhaps it was written in very small print, next to the big message about Essendon kicking seven straight goals after the brawl.

One of my favourite meals while we were in Japan was gyudon, or beef bowl, strips of stewed meat and onion over rice. It was quick and cheap, and you didn't even need to speak the language - most gyudon places have a vending machine near the door, where you feed your money in, get a ticket for your chosen dish, and hand it silently to the attendant.

Inevitably, it'd be me and a bunch of salarymen or teenage boys eating there - Matsuya and Yoshinoya appear to appeal to only the men.

Anyway, as with most real-life scenarios, the Japanese have turned working at Yoshinoya into a video game.

I had a pretty ordinary game last week - hesitant and indecisive, where up to that point, I'd been travelling okay. So I was keen to make amends this week.

Luckily, it was pretty fiery early, which means that you have to get in and pay the free kicks early, and let the players know you'll protect them if they go for the ball. Which means the players stop trying to biff each other and play footy, the standard of play picks up, and the umpiring actually gets easier.

I'm not saying that two blokes sharing an apartment in Sydney necessarily marks them as gay, but when the sounds of Jessica Simpson, or some similar poppet, can be heard from their stereo, I think you can safely make your own judgement on that one.

This story is surely the definition of poetic justice. Bank boss busted by ex-IT staff, outsourced against their will, for surfing porn at work.

Just goes to show those at the top will be first against the wall when the IT-staffer-led revolution eventually comes.

The first day of winter. The clear, bright morning sun causes the bare trees to write shadows against the bricks.

On one side of Devonshire Street, the trees retain their leaves. Crossing the road is like crossing into another season.