Friday Fuckwit (again!)

Why I sagitate and prognosticate that the honourable gentleman is overwhelmed by the exhuberance of his own verbosity!

This week's Friday Fuckwit is again our lovely tight lipped Kevin 0 sevin - Kevin Rudd, our illustrious Prime Minister gets another guernsey today. This is the man who uses language to suit his demographic. Only a couple of weeks ago, he was spouting Aussie Euphamisms (and getting his metaphors mixed) with "Fair shake of the sauce bottle mate!" For goodness sake, who says that! Not even a ribald Aussie blue singletted labourer would sprout such rubbish.

This week, he's sniffing around the G8 meeting in Germany, even though we aren't a member, and spruiking Australia's environmental and carbon reduction policy (laughable because our carbon footprint is huge considering our population).

He's known as the only world Leader outside China who can speak Mandarin so he has no problem communicating with one of our largest training partners but he has been having a little trouble with the English language and this week he left German translators sprouting gobbledegook!

Kev gave a little speech and among his illustrious and incomprehensible phrases was the statement that, “it was unlikely any progress would emerge from the Major Economies Forum by way of detailed programmatic specificity.” Try saying that three times, it makes Mrs Mugillicuddy's Rough Cut Punt sound like a cynch!

The poor old foreign translators didn't have a clue and I think he's left a few English speaking journos wondering as well!

C'mon Kev, keep it simple . . .even your own Government has a policy of 'plain English' . . Crikey mate! . . Fair suck of the sav! Better learn yerself how to speak proper digger!

Be Careful Where You Shove Your Jumbuck

Theme Thursday again . . and since I don't believe in ghosts and whilst my father might be attacking me on a daily basis with an ectoplasmic Big Bertha to try to grab my attention, perhaps I just don't have the 'sight'.

So I dug up a quintessential Australian ghost story. . . . now for those who haven't a clue what's going on:

A traveller and vagabond wonders the countryside relying on the goodwill of others. It's likely he's a rather scruffy fellow who isn't adverse to stealing food and being unscrupulous. Or perhaps he's just down on his luck.

He travels with all his belongings on his back, his utensils and sleeping in little more than a blanket which is rolled into a swag and is come to be known by country folk as a 'Swagman' or 'Swaggie'. There were many of them in the early days, making their way, itinerant workers or wonderers. Like all of us, his swag or bed has become a close friend and so he's nicknamed her 'Matilda'. Hey! He's a bloke, hardly going to call it Bruce now is he?

One day, probably in a stinking 45 degree summer, he camps by a creek that has all but dried up, leaving a large pond of water where he water is he deepest. This is known as a Billabong. He seeks the shade of a large eucalyptus tree to while away the hours.

He unpacks his beloved bedroll "Matilda" and builds a fire. Among his belongings there is a tin can with a wire handle anchored across it's diameter. This handy water-boiling, bean cooking, stew steeping can is known as a Billy. Fortunately for him, it's a pretty warm day and a couple of sheep or Jumbucks come down for a dinky die drinky poo.

The swaggie, seeing an opportunity, lobs on one of the Jumbucks and probably after helping it meet it's maker, stuffs it in his food carrying duffle bag, known as a 'Tucker Bag' because let's face it we all like a bit of pucker tucker.

Basically, this is stealing and even now considered a heinous crime. All would have been fine for our hungry Swaggie had the gore not soaked through his tucker bag or perhaps his jumbuck was still experiencing a few death throes and twitchy bits. Either way, his actions were seen by the 'landowner'. An opportunistic settler who had just fenced off a piece of Australia simply because you could in those days and who had become pretty wealthy off the fat of the lamb, discovered the plot and called the police . . so the "Squatter" and his three "Troopers" confront the vagrant about his theft.

The vagrant decides it's all to hard and life in the lock-up for pinching his dinner just isn't worth it so he takes a swan dive into the creek and drowns. Personally I think they probably held his head under!

The upshot of all this drama . . like Jason, the Swaggie comes back! He haunts the creek and sings his sad lament 'You'll Come a waltzing Matilda With Me'. Or is it a threat to any thirsty jumbucks, greedy Squatters or over zealous policemen who might venture there?

There's no mention whether the sheepy poo actually comes back as well!

Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,
Under the shade of a Coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil,
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

Up rode the squatter mounted on his thorough-bred
Down came the troopers One Two Three
Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

Up jumped the swagman sprang in to the billabong
You'll never catch me alive said he . . . . . . .

And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong
"You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me . ."

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

The thing about this essentially Australian tune rather than the lyrics is that it has been adapted for ghosts of many kinds. It's a football anthem, a war anthem, a rememberence anthem. We all know the words, we all know the tune. It brings out a great pride in relation to the little guy and his death defying rebellion against authority and above all, a warmth in us that we all adore. But could I find a decent rendition of the tune? Must be a ghost in the machine.

Australian Guitarist Tommy Emanuel in the US:

Look, if you have the time and I know there are more blogs out there than jumbucks in the outback please go and have a look because there are some really interesting takes on the theme and some fantastic contributors. I look forward to this bit of the week more than most things so give 'em a bash. Oh . .and when I published this, the word ghost was in yellow . . I didn't colour it! Spooky!

Beach

Bondi Beach from the Ocean

Wednesday's Madhouse takes us to the beach . . .been out tonight so I'll let the pictures do the talking . . .it's time for bed Zebidee! You can click to make them bigger but not for much longer, I'm just waiting for Clare to alter the code so pics will soon be the width of the post.

Portsea Beach and Surf Club, Mornington Peninsular, Melbourne

Beach Huts at Balmoral on Port Phillip Bay, Melbourne

The Haven, Terrigal NSW

Rocky Outcrop at Terrigal, NSW

Beach Babes, Kurnell, Sydney (See me in the middle haha!)

Palm Beach, Sydney

Airley's Inlet, South Eastern Victoria

12 Apostles, South Eastern Victoria

More from South Eastern Victoria

I'm mad about Harry . . my girlfriend's dog!

It's a little cold for the beach at the moment and I'm not a fan of lounging in the sand but there's something incredibly alluring and changeable and tranquil about being by the sea, even in winter.

Joyfully Awesome

For Gaye

Last night, I came home and burst into tears. I lost the plot at the wrong person, had a moment of sheer desperation and the word 'low' didn't cut it. My heart was in my throat, I didn't feel like eating I just felt awful. Today, things seem a little better and despite three of these, all for jobs to which I'm well suited:

Thank you for your application for the position of Office/Administration Manager. We have received a large number of applications for the advertised role and all have been of an excellent calibre. Factors were considered when reviewing your resume and unfortunately, I regret to advise that you have been unsuccessful in your application.

I also had an interview with a company very close by, young, dynamic, go-getters! They seemed fun and within minutes of arriving home a psychometric test was waiting and asking me questions about how I felt about the 'open jail system' among other bizarre things. Where they get 'em from I don't know but I already know the result because I've been tested about 5 times and it's always the same. It's always exactly as I am. However as I am, is not always exactly what 'they' want. Are they ready for a 52 year old in age denial with a penchant for alternative rock?

Frankly, my downness was lifted by a link from Ribbon to this site . . nothing remarkable, just a young woman who has the temerity to call her blog "Welcome to the Joy Rebellion" now that can't be bad? She has decided to post a 'mission' each Monday, a mission to enhance joy and self-worth. An affirmative emotional action. I think it's time my wallowing ended. I have to realise that I'm not going to be paid what I was at Parkside until I prove my worth. I have to realise that to others, I look old and may be less competent, I have to prove to others that I am flexible and adaptable, competent and hard-working and fun to be around. Here's hoping that practice makes perfect!

So after relishing in the new positivity of the Joy Rebellion I have the courage to do Candie's "Awesomeness" meme. It's difficult to think of yourself as awesome - It does go with a 'Queen' of Awesomeness tag but I thought that might offend the blokes so pick it up in the sidebar if you're really keen:

Here are the rules:

List 7 things that make you awesome
Pass the award to 7 bloggers that you love (sorry I just can't pick 7 even if some of you top the awesome list)
Tag those bloggers to let them know and tag back to the blogger who tagged you so I can have a perve.

I am an awesome mother. Don't know how that happened but I've managed to balance 'ma authoritay' with a sense of fun and friendship and now have two pretty amazing friends who love and respect me, are well mannered, (if not a little messy) and who contribute to the running of our little commune more than your average progeny, and are not ashamed to be seen out in public with me (except when I talk too loud and glower at check-out chicks). And despite absolutely having a Mt St Helen's mega-erupting-narny-tanty at one of them last night for being a messy disorganised bogun, by and large our cohabitation is an awesome thing. In fact this afternoon at an interview I was asked, "What is are your greatest personal achievements . ." and frankly I don't have any other than surviving the death of my husband and raising my children, however, raising two human beings, single handedly, who are compassionate, caring, responsible and loving . .doesn't seem that spectacular to a 30 year old Director of an internet security company but believe me . . it's truly Awesome.

I am awesome at smashing shit. As I type, I have three band aids on three fingers after letting not one but two laksa bowls slip through them whilst washing up last night. If it can be broken, smashed to smitherines or chipped on a tap . . I'm your girl! And you've already heard abut the chutney jar! Maybe I should look for a position in a glass recycling plant on their crushing machine.

I am an awesome cook. Well when I get my act into gear. Normally it's spag bol or pan fried something or other but if I'm entertaining, I can whip up a Beef Carpaccio on warm baby leaf salad with horseradish cream, bung on a gourmet barbie or something simple but 'legendary' (not my word) Lasagne. . .Christmas is a gourmet delight with a degustation menu to die for. Come over for dinner and I'll show off.

I am an awesome host. You visit me and I will show you the sights and sounds of Sydney and her environs, entertain you, ply you with alcohol, laugh, relax and generally show you a good time so if you're heading down under, let me know. I love company, I love entertaining and I love showing off my wonderful country albeit a tiny piece of the larger puzzle.

I'm not sure I agree, but Adam says I am awesome at detail. Not in the academic, workplace sense but fastidious about manners, cleanliness, tidiness. I love beautiful simple things and sometimes its the little details that shine. That vase of lillies on the counter (well they would be there if I hadn't broken the vase). The basket of perfumes in the bathroom, plumped cushions, delicious crisp clean linen . . . just the little details that make a difference. I'd be more awesome if other people didn't keep putting the kybosh on my anal retentiveness.

I am awesome at listening to the problems and woes of others and making them feel better about themselves. I don't mind it. I always wanted to be a Social Worker but didn't make the cut at Uni and so never took that path. But I'd be a good counsellor, empathy comes naturally to me and I have a deep caring about people and their circumstances. I'm genuinely interested in people and listen to what they have to say. The best friend of an acquaintance once asked "How do youknow so much about my closest friend?" - Simple, I listened, I enquired, I was interested in what she had to say. That acquaintance is now one of my most treasured friends and I still listen. Weird, because sometimes I'd like someone else to listen to me moan but I can't bring myself to do it anywhere other than my 'secret blog'.

I am awesomely adaptable to change. My life has been full of it, good and bad and the latest change has seen me lob into deep depression. I'm not one to seek help but last night, I actually considered it until I realised there was a significant financial cost so self-help it will have to be and relying on the generosity of others. Lately I've had to really work on being positive and optimistic and many of you have come to my rescue by emailing and keeping my spirits up. Thank you. I cope well with change, I manage it, embrace it and give it all I've got. In fact now I'm itching for it . .a big change . . soon! Damn that scratchie . .$5 is better than a poke in the back with a pork sword . . well you know what I mean . .

There . . not mind boggling but it's difficult to recognise the awesomeness in yourself.

I'm supposed to tag others but there are so many who I deem awesome and I don't really like publicly singling people out, so please . . take it and run with it . . I know you're awesome so share it with others!

And speedy recovery to my friend Steph from the Biopsy Report who's having a shit of a time fighting Irish bacteria . . . miss you my love and please get well soon.

Trolley Folly and the Suzuki Swift

Having spent all of last weekend gadding about and neglecting my household chores, this weekend has been spent catching up. Saturday with the usual manic cleaning and washing and Sunday . . .

So, about 11ish on Sunday, I trundled off the the local supermarket for the 'big' shop. You know, the one you do that costs a bomb because you need to replace the shampoo and conditioner and those little sweet smelling plug in thingies then the hair dye's on special and you really need an extra couple of laksa bowls because you dropped two on Thursday and smashed them to smitherines and three of your fingers, then you're out of Lavender oil and toilet paper. Oh and don't forget the Sharwoods Mango Chutney which also took a dive from the top shelf of the fridge before splattering it's gorgeous gooeyness all over your 'just washed' slate floor yesterday . . I'm still picking up shards of glass . . .anyway . . suffice to say, a big restock was required unless my family want to live on tomato paste and tuna for the next week.

So, armed with greeny bags and a wallet full of cash, I do the shoppy thing, pay dutifully at the checkout. Chat to the pretty kid doing the scanning, named Kylee (where do they get the spelling) and wishing that the Paduan was with me so he could chat her up before steering the unsteerable jam-packed trolley back to my car. Parked with all the other cars in a massive car park and next to a little black Suzuki Swift.

Now normally, I'd put all 3,000 shopping bags in the boot but because 'he who landscapes' in his wisdom has chocked my boot (trunk) full of brown paper that should have gone on last month's bonfire, I had to wiggle between two vehicles, position the trolley and then put my bags in the back seat.

In manouvering the unmanouverable, I 'tipped', 'kissed', 'brushed against' the bumper bar of a little Suzuki Swift, its young driver, just sitting there on her mobile phone didn't bat an eyelid so I gave the bumper a lightening glance, no apparent damage, positioned myself between the trolley and her car and continued to unload by hoiking heavy bags over the top of the trolley and into the back seat. At about the last two bags, little Miss Havachat gets off her phone and stomps out of her car. She's knee-high to a grasshopper and hopping mad with a petulance that only a teenager can muster and clearly no knowledge of the insurance claim process but begins to mouth off anyway . . .

"Excuse me! You just bumped my car with your trolley."

"Yes I did. I'm sorry about that, they're hard to control on this slope but no damage done." Conversation over! . . Or so I thought, "Well I'd like your contact details please so that my Dad can have a look and see if you've done any damage!"

At this point, I'm putting the last bag in the car and I shut the door. I move the trolley from between the two cars to the back of mine. "Actually, there's no scratch . . nothing . . just a bit of dirt on your mudguard."

Not satisfied, she continued "Well how do you know, you didn't even look. I felt you bump my car, I was sitting in it at the time, you just kept loading your shopping into the car and would have just driven away, without leaving a note or anything please could I have your details and I'll get my dad to check" Oh she's a clairvoyant, I thought! . . "I know . . because I'm looking at your mudgard, where my trolley bumped and there's no scratch see?"

I assured her that I had glanced to see if there was any damage, had buffered my very buffery arse between the trolley and her car to avoid any further bumps and that once I had completed putting my shopping in the car I would have had another look before returning the trolley. I also assured her that had any significant damage been sustained I've have left a note on her windscreen!

Little madam kept on, "I still want your details just to make sure there's no damage."

What? Had I bent her chassis with a microbump? Knocked her wheels out of alignment? Punctured her petrol tank? Dinged her duco? By now I'm getting that 'fuck off you little dipshit I hate shopping and just wanna get out of here hot flush'. And wishing to hell that I had my camera with me because normally I would. I'd have photographed her little ass and put it all over the internet!

"Look 'Honey'! (nothing like patronising a young person by calling them a luvvy name). Had I done any damage, I would gladly give you my details but since there is none (ascertained after rubbing the offending area with my clean sleeve to reveal a nice shiny finish under the DIRT) . . why should I? What's to stop you claiming that I made that scratch on the door, or that one on your back bumper bar and you hitting me for the damage bill . . nope, I didn't come down with the last shower and I'm not happy giving you my details! Okay pet? (two patronising euphamisms in one sentence - brilliant!"

"I wouldn't do that," objected the poppet with doughy blue eyes, "I'm an honest person . ."

"Well so you might be sweetness and light, so be honest about the absolute lack of damage on your car by using your own eyes. Since there is NO damage caused by my trolley, I'm not giving you my details . . take my licence plate number if you want . . "

"Well I will then!" said the uppity Miss.

So I left little mite writing down my licence plate number while I put the trolley back. I resisted the desire to ask if she's so fucking blind that she can't see there's no damage, what's she doing driving in the first place!

As I drove away, I thought of my Paduan and how that could so have turned out to be a romantic encounter if I was a 21 year old single boy busting for a girlfriend. I could have made it such a positive experience!

Then my horoscope this morning said this:

"Although you might prefer to keep the peace by saying nothing, today someone could goad you into talking about a delicate matter that stirs deep feelings. From a practical point of view, it might be smarter to keep quiet, but an unfair presentation of the facts demands that you chime in with what you know. Just keep in mind that diplomacy is still a wise strategy and that you don't need to say everything all at once."

I hate it when my horoscope is righ but I think I managed to keep a few secrets despite the trolley folly.

Friday Fuckwit

Well it has been tragic for Hollywood this week with the loss of Michael, Farragh, Karl and a few others but to us all our time will come.

However one death this week was indeed a surprise, not least to the person declared dead.

It was not the greatest day for Richard Wilkins, Australia's Channel 9 Entertainment commentator when he announced on the same day that both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson had passed away that Jeff Goldblum had fallen to his death from a cliff whilst filming in New Zealand.

Now our Richard is a television icon, I mean fuckwit on pretty much every day of the week but breaking unsubstantiated news of such a serious nature was surely the faux pas of entertainment history. It seems Richard needed something more to talk about in order to pad out the extra three hours of airtime Channel Nine gave him with their extended Today coverage of the Grim Reaper’s rampage through the world of showbiz.

Unsure how to fill the remaining entertainment time slot. Our Dick turned to twitter and heard it via the grape vine - yep, twitterworld was atweet with the demise of our Jurassic Park Hero, the Fly himself . . . Contrary to Dicky's claims, NZ Police new nothing, no reputable news agency new anything . . in fact it was jut the twitter twits tweeting twoddle and the fuckwit fell for it.

Now this might seem funny, and indeed nobody here was surprised because we all think he's a dog's bollix and pretty much as dumb as doggy doo but . . .imagine if that was someone else, and you were watching, and you knew them, and you believed him, and you took it as credible news . . .

To add insult to stupidity, Jeff Goldblum and Stephen Colbert combined forces to mock Richard Wilkins on The Colbert Report. Those who spread rumours, get what they deserve. I for one am very pleased that Jeffy's alive and well, I have a soft spot for him! Sorry, I tried to post the video but Blogger is also a complete fuckwit thise week and it's not just me who thinks so but go here . . for the Colbert session.

Well Funk Me!

Well this Theme Thursday was a challenge and the limitations of working a 45 hour week and bussing it home have cut severely into my precious blogging time but I believe there's an 'institution' in Sydney that's well worth a visit for those with a Funky Cerebellum.

My daughter is no stranger to hostels around the world. Some are dingy, some are spectacular like the one she stayed at in Berlin and on Santorini . . four star luxury at a budget price. My travel ambitions also include selectively staying in hostels where you meet fellow travellers, sleep cheap and see parts of the city that the tourists manage to bypass.

So if you're into pop art and fun times and yet need to live off the smell of an oily rag . .here's a hostel that will definitely get you in a funk, but in a good way. Go through the magic door!

FUNk House Backpackers Hostel Sydney invites YOU - FUNky backpackers, travellers and FUN loving people to check out their unique FUNky atmosphere and famous FUNky murals, right in the heart of Sydney! With only 3 to 4 beds per dorm you can book a room with your mates.

With its large common areas, Cable TV and a chilled rooftop terrace area and their famous weekly BBQ's you can relax & sink a couple of beers while watching the sunset over City and Harbour views. There is fully equipped kitchen for you to use and laundry facilities too.

Because of it's position you can walk to all of Sydney's magic which includes the Opera house, Sydney Harbour, Botanical Gardens, the Rocks, Sydney tower, Darling Harbour & the weekend marketplaces. The rail & bus stop is 100 meters from the doorstep giving you easy access to Sydney's best beaches and waterfrong. If it's nightlife you're after then no problem. Kings Cross ' best pubs & clubs are a 1 minute walk away

And of course, here's a man with limited cerebellum funktion but you gotta laugh . . the man has funk! Watch it, really, it gets better!