I Haz Tweetz

I resisted. I really did because I can't just write 140 characters about anything interesting, I'm far too verbose for anything meaningful and not really interested in posting the fact that I had fruit salad with berry yoghurt for lunch. I have a Facebook account, email (well three email addresses actually) a blog and that's plenty of nerdism for this little black duck but yes I joined Twitter. (Paduan will kill me)

In fact I may never use it but . . today I Twitzed. Kahlerisms is delighted, Brethred and Grannymar are following as is Miladysa, Wordnerd and young Benchwarmer are thrilled but don't hold your breath. It actually was a subscription linked to another networking site (Research you understand, I'm trying to work out how many 'mature' people use social networking) which made it easy to just join but now I haven't a clue what to do with it!

OK how do I 'tweet' with a link . . aka . ."@Miladysa . . bla bla I fed my dog round steak for dinner"

It's just a matter of time before someone calls me a try-hard nerd. Oh hai . . .I am a try-hard nerd who now tweets!

Rogues Gallery and Cartoon Characters!

I found these and they're so much fun. . .What else do you do on 'recovery' day? You pootle on the puter. Most of yesterday was spent skyping and fiddling and emailing, and slobbing and creating a virtual gallery. I found this at Ribbon's place and then a friend and I have been mucking about on this!

Make your dog a cartoon and frame her
Totally Warholian if you ask me!

This is actually a playful shot using lasers and my glassware cupboard . . .

Luscious rolls of creamy, dreamy warm chocolate on the chocolate fountain . . .

A beautiful medieval style door from the artist's retreat at Montsalvat in Victoria . . .

And a combination of cartoon and self-portraiture in my online gallery!
Almost an Archibald Prize Winner don't you think!
Now that's quite enough navel gazing for one weekend!

Happy Birthday Twinkie

Deliberately blurry to protect the innocent but this is Hannah. She's my brother's youngest and she turns 21 on Wednesday so Saturday was party night.

Not so blurry because Neice number one (right), her cousin and lovely boyfriend are no strangers to publicity.

Following in the footsteps of the successful 'fluoro' theme we had for the Paduan's departure in January no expense was spared by her father who hired caterers, smoke machine a DJ and more blacklight than my Canon could cope with! If anyone works out what exposure I should use to get clear shots of fluorescent and black light, I'd love to know!


Did you know you can buy glasses with flashing lights in the bottom, flashing rings and even a mouthguard that makes your teeth glow green, fluorescent ice cubes, bobbly headbands with fluoro stars?
Of course there were the requisite glow balls, face paint and light sticks, smoke machine and light show . . .the kids had a ball, the oldies did their knees in dancing to Prodigy (although Great Granny Arden managed to pull an all-nighter bless her cotton sox - the woman legitimately needs a Nana nap!), the children gorged on pink and blue ice cream and today is 'recovery'.


Oh and the old biatch has still got it . . chastising a 6'2 er for 'rough play' which resulted in him punching his mate to the point that his nose bled he shrunk to the size of a pea after a little lecture delivered by he mother-from-hell!


I'm not sure whether I need a greasy lunch or hair of the dog . . . well it's a no-brainer really! Chardy anyone?

Friday Fuckwit

Handcuffed Husband Calls 911 During Biting Attack

Some people will go to fisticuffs to get their point across, and others will go to, well, handcuffs.

Such was the case of an American women having marital problems who desperately wanted to talk to her husband after he apparently decided to leave her. Helen Sun, 37, was arrested Tuesday after sneaking into Robert Drawbough's bedroom and handcuffing herself to him while he slept so they could talk. Drawbough, frightened by his wife's antics, however, called police immediately and begged the dispatcher for help after his wife began biting and scratching him.

In his call to 911, Drawbough tries to explain to the dispatcher what his wife has done to him.

"My wife has handcuffed me and I need some assistance! She's handcuffed me and she's attacking me and I have not done anything to her. She has a record of violence, please come and help me get out of here!"

When the dispatcher asks him if he can free himself from his wife, he desperately screams, "No, she's handcuffed herself to me, please send police!"

Later in the call, Drawbough begins screaming in pain and tells the dispatcher his wife is biting him. The dispatcher then asks him why she would do this to him.

Drawbough: "Because I divorced her and tried leaving, and [screams in pain multiple times]."
Dispatcher: "What is she doing that's making you--"
Drawbough: "She's biting my arm!"

Finally, about three minutes into the call, police arrive and kick down the door to his Fairfield home. They freed Drawbough from his wife and arrested her.

Drawbough was treated at a local hospital for bite marks and scratches to his torso and arms.

Sgt. James Perez told WCBS that Sun had an unusual explanation for the incident.

"She basically said, this is the only way I can get him to talk. So she wanted him to be there with her and to hear her out exclusively with no distractions, so that’s’ why she decided to handcuff him,"

Theme Thursday - Mineral

This country that once grew on the sheep’s back has in recent years become completely dependent on the mineral rush once again. We export gold, silver, copper, bauxite, iron ore, yellow cake to name a few . . our landscape is dotted with enormous open cut mines and pillaging their contents to sate the Chinese desire to modernise has stood us in good stead over the past 10 years.

It took a long time for anyone here to actually realise the potential of Australia’s mineral deposits and it all began with one very special mineral . . . gold.

In 1851, a portly and slightly ridiculous Edward Hargraves travelled with his companion Lister and the Brother’s Tom just over the Great Dividing Range. Despite being very unsuccessful in his hunt for Gold in California he was confident that this was gold rush country and declared to his friend:

" The resemblance of its formations to that of California could not be doubted or mistaken. I felt myself surrounded by gold.

"This is a memorable day in the history of New South Wales, I shall be a baronet, you will be knighted, and my old horse will be stuffed, put in a glass case, and sent to the British Museum!"

Hargraves did find a small deposit of alluvial gold and was willing to reveal the location of the field, but he cleverly ensured he would be rewarded regardless of whether any further gold was mined there. The field was examined and five hundred pounds paid to Hargraves for his discovery.

The government declared a gold discovery on May 22, 1851. Prospectors cancelled their trips to California. Clerks, labourers and servants failed to appear for work as thousands rushed west for the newly named "Ophir" gold field,soon to be followed by digs at Bathurst, Sofala and Hill End. The Australian gold rush was on. In 1852 alone, 370,000 immigrants arrived here and the economy began to boom.

Speculators spread to Victoria at Bendigo and Ballarat where more than one third of the world's gold output in the 1850s was found. Australia’s burgeoning economy boomed turning the wide brown land in the arse end of the world from a colony, into a bustling national economy.

Just as he had prophesised, Hargraves was appointed Crown Commissioner of the Goldfields, and paid 10,000 pounds for his trouble. Hargraves never shared his wealth his companions Lister and the Tom Brothers, despite their protests and he made a hasty effort to silence his original financier, ensuring no claims would be made on his wealth.

The audacity of Hargraves knew no bounds,

"it was never my intention ... to work for gold, my only desire was to make the discovery, and rely on the Government and the country for my reward".

Of course in those days, Gold was the standard – the mineral against which all promissory notes (money) were levied. Who knows what drives the value of today’s notes . . .

I think Mae West had a point :

“No gold-digging for me, I take Diamonds,we may be off the gold standard one day.”

Summer Carnival

Carnival time . . .typical as so many of you are 'warming' up, we're 'cooling down' the theme this week is Summer.

Some would say that it's always summer here and indeed, even in the depths of winter the weather rarely dips below 20 Celsius in the daytime. The worst we get in Sydney is a morning frost. Once when I was at high school it snowed and the whole school bolted for the playground. But summer, real summer is as unpredictable as Brittney Spears, as bad tempered as Christian Bale and as seriously dangerous as Ivan Mulat.

Christmas 2007 we found ourselves sitting in jackets and slippers . .normal for you northern folk but damn chilly for our al fresco celebrations. This year was temperate but once January hit, the weather all along the eastern seaboard was hot . .very hot . . you'd have to be living under a rock not to know how hot Victoria was and that's about 1000kms away. We had 3 weeks of over 30's, one week of over 40's and a pale Irishman to shield from the sun. I failed dismally there and sent him home with two huge blisters on the tops of his feet, burned red on his forearms and neck. I did tell him he needs to 'reapply'.

There are some things though which are iconic in summer - Mangoes, probably the only seasonal fruit . . being such a huge country there's something ripening somewhere all year round. Mangoes are here in their luscious loveliness from the end of November through to early January and then they're gone.

Fantastic ice cream . .yep we boast the best . . some we've imported, some we just made up as we went along, do you know of any other country that boasts a Golden Gaytime? The selection at Gelatissimo and Wendy's and NZ Ice Cream Company (ok not Aussie but . .) yummo!

Dipping our legs in a cool pool after work and sharing a glass of something light and crisp. Swimming of course . . .everyone does it. Backyard pools in suburban Sydney dot the landscape as you fly into Kingsford Smith no matter how small the garden. The beach is only 40 minutes away and there's a plethora to choose from.

Sunscreen . .you can smell it every where from coconutty sweetness to the distinct aroma of Le Tan. Then it's often countered by the pong of insect repellent. The combination is uniquely Australian. I've never smelled it anywhere else.

Thongs . . rubber footwear, flip flops to you heathens (and they say Australia has a banal naming protocol) Never, I repeat never, be seen in a pair of Jesus sandals and short socks. You're marked straight away as a tourist and a foreigner. Although thongs are not just restricted to summer.

Salads . . .too hot to cook so the barbie is cranked up and salads are normal fare and these days prawns are cheaper than beef so whack a couple of those on the 'grill' as well . . .what am I babbling on about . . .take a look!

The quintessential Aussie Thong and whilst over the years they've become besparkled, leathery and almost a dress sandal, I still have a pair with the flag emblazoned on them just for Aussie Day!

Life savers and I'm ashamed to say, I have never seen a Surf Life Saving Carnival 'in the flesh' . . there are loads over the summer season where clubs compete with surf boats, triathlon, and kayak. Sure I've seen them in their familiar red and yellow coveralls and their flippy floppy hats but this is the only time a man looks good in budgie smugglers.
Sunscreen . .yes it's an all round habit. Even women's foundation has sunscreen. And yes, we buy it in 1 litre containers from the Cancer Council. This is an all season necessity . .don't forget the back of your neck, behind your ears and the tops of your feet! And reapply, reapply, reapply . . slip on a shirt, slap on some sunscreen and flop on a hat!

Nope it's not a 'shrimp' it's a prawn. . . A Queensland Banana Prawn or a Crystal Bay Prawn and a nice piece of Black Angus fillet. And a barbie is not a grill. The grill is the thing attached to your oven that your son blackens with cheese and yucky stuff. A barbie is an outdoors grill/oven thingy. Barbies are beautiful. They can be as simple as a few bricks and some wood or these huge gas powered monstrosities with a burner for making sauces. I still have a little trouble barbecuing our national emblem but Kangaroo is delicious. Slightly seasoned. Medium rare.

Swimming . . even the birdies take a dip . . .



Queensland Bowen Mangoes . . not Fijian. The Fijian ones have a strong Papaya sort of flavour that I don't like. Bowen Mangoes are sweet, drippy juicy and soft textured . .Top End . . the most beautiful flavour in the world.

King Island Connoisseur Grand Marni er and chocolate coated almond ice cream. I only ever buy it in summer . . .Then the kids pinch all the almonds . .bastards!

Gardenias . .we have a huge trimmed hedge of these out along the back entertaining/patio area . .the fragrance on a warm summer night as you leave the car and walk to the front door is exotic and erotic . . .it reminds me of Tahiti, and Fiji where they bind these and Frangipani into head garlands


Boardies . . or board shorts . . worn by men and younglings of both sexes . And yes, we do buy ones bearing our flag . . .Originally worn by surfers to prevent 'chafing' they're popular casual wear with pretty much everyone.


Bluebottles (Man O War) tiny little bubbles of easily popped squish on the beach but nasty if you get one wrapped around your leg in the surf. Remember the old 'blue' that your granny used to whiten clothes . . works like a charm on killing the alkaline sting!



Lizards . . I'm fortunate to have three main varieties in my house and garden. Eastern Skinks . .the ones who live behind my computer and in the damp course . . bearded dragons like this fine boy and Blue Tongues . . .all are harmless, docile and lovable.

But nothing beats this on a sunny day, summer, autumn, winter or spring . . the harbour is indeed our crowning glory full of colour and activity and sunshine and . . .

As I type, I have to turn of my PC because even though it's Autumn, there's a helluva storm rolling in, the lightening's spectacular and the rumble has Lily squished between the couch and the computer desk . . .I don't really like summer because the heat really gets to me, but I survived this one and it's 40 plus temps so . . oh wait . . yeh, perhaps I do!

PS: Took about 6 minutes to load these pictures . . fast internet is almost better than sex!

Pure Pwnage n00bs - w00t LOLZ and ROFLMACOPTER

Happy Happy Joy Joy! I am so excited . . .happy claps and laps around the lounge room. Yep, my darling boy grovelled among the dirt and dead things in the hot and dusty roof to trawl a nice data cable from my PC to the phone line in the kitchen, to 'terminate' the cables with electrical precision and set up iiNet Naked ADSL2. (Of course I only bought it cos it had the word 'naked' in it!). I bought a 'Wireless Router' thinking (as mummy's do) that it meant no wires. Nope, idiot woman, it meant WiFi router and my phone connection's in the kitchen - my computer - about 20 feet away in the lounge! DUH!

It costs a bit but there are three of us uploading, downloading, blogging, Facebooking, pwning . . .

So between one blog addict, a graphic designer and an internet downloader of huge proportions we now have the Grand Prix of internet connections. My old Dell still has some limitations re opening things and frankly Blogger is just - well - tempremental sometimes but now the few things I've missed have come to fruition:

• You tube videos - no lag - they open straight away and I have sound without interruption
  
• I can open your pictures which is wonderful because I love photoblogs and haven't visited many due to the slowness of loading - sorry David and Maria and Mouse!
  
• The egg on my forehead will have time to heal because there is no need to bash it against a brick wall any more
• The XBox / PS3 crew can now play live and actually have a chance at pwnage - look out n00bs it's w00t time
• I can also include free VoiP phone . . erm just have to get a VoiP friendly phone
• I can upload my Flickr photos in 10 minutes instead of 3 hours and post the nice hi-res ones

OMG what am I going to do with the extra time I have . . .usually it takes ages to post, longer to visit and I'm in front of the PC far longer than I need to be. Thanks Adsy baby, you're a champ, a smelly champ after all that roof rambling but a champ! Just remember who does your washing!

Thanks too, RyanIam for the hot tip, I'm a very happy camper. My addiction to the internet is complete and it's faster than yours! pwned biatches!

Aww c'mon . . ask your kids, they'll get it!

Showtime

Who buys this stuff?

Despite living in the 'burbs' of Sydney, one of the sweetest traditions to survive is the existence of a "Showground" home to the annual agricultural show. These are held all over the state, indeed, all over the country and culminate in the show to end all shows, in Sydney at least - The Royal Easter Show.

Castle Hill Show is the last of these events prior to the Royal and winners selected here will have the opportunity to show off, bake, create, paint, ride and parade their arts and crafts, produce, pets and ponies at the big event.

Our little event however, is slowly getting tackier and tackier. It's a carnival of carnies, a plethora of ponies, a sideshow of silliness. Even the candy floss is packed in plastic bags instead of made in one of those big spinning tubs and wound onto a stick, all warm and tacky.

Still, with the sun shining and time on a Sunday afternoon, I paid my dues, put up with the stench of camels and pony poo and frying onions and sweet liquorice and took a few snaps of the event for posterity . . . .

This year there was a propensity for hanging prizes upside down!

Not a show without a Kewpie doll!

Sideshow Alley

Haute Cuisine

Rides for the kiddies

Jumping Castles with a Difference!

Fairground

Kid wears an Olive Python for a hat!

Showjumping

Flyball!

Australian Stock Horse

Alpacas

The stinkmasters

Friday Fuckwit/s

Quick cut and paste today. I'm having trouble with my right eye which will not stop watering and gumming up so I think I need a screen break . . have a good weekend everyone!

Ah . . this week it's an entire department. The Department of Immigration (round of applause please!)

She was born in Birmingham, educated in Bristol, speaks fluent English and holds a British passport – but Julie Dutton has been told she will have to sit an English language test if she wants to work in Australia.

Three weeks ago the registered nurse, who moved from London to Sydney with her Australian husband Dale Mervin last year, applied to transfer her British nursing qualifications to New South Wales so that she could work in Australian hospitals.

Ms Dutton, 33, who specialises in cardiothoracic intensive care, was told that she would have to sit an English language test for her application to be processed – the standard procedure for any immigrant applying to be registered or enrolled with the NSW Nurses and Midwives Board, according to a new policy introduced on January 1.

The written and spoken tests will cost £131 ($280), and Ms Dutton was told that she will have to wait until June to sit them because there are no available places before then.
She was told that despite her obvious proficiency in the English language there were no exemptions.

“I think it’s just ridiculous,” Ms Dutton told The Times. “I am English, I was born in England, I speak English, I have a British passport, I was educated in Britain and I got my nursing degree in Britain, so I just couldn’t believe it when they told me. I think it’s just a joke – this is just a mad, stupid policy.”

Ms Dutton is desperate to go back to work to support her husband and four-month old son, because Mr Mervin works in finance and has been unable to get a job due to the economic downturn.

The plight of the British nurse caught the attention of Nathan Rees, the Premier of New South Wales, who said today that her situation was absurd. John Della Bosca, the state Health Minister, said that he would review the Nurses and Midwives Board policy and help to streamline Ms Dutton’s case so that she could undergo the test and start work sooner.

Shame she doesn't have to do a test in stryne . . .she'd be able to understand what these two are on about:

Theme Thursday - Brussells Sprouts Are Not Fairy Cabbages

“We kids feared many things in those days - werewolves, dentists, North Koreans, Sunday school - but they all paled in comparison with Brussels Sprouts."

Dave Barry, Miami Herald Columnist


Brussels Sprouts are not Fairy cabbages! No self respecting fairy would come within 10 metres of the poxty gobby little green mites and they're hardly ambrosia for the ethereals . . .

My overly buxom and attentive grandma would try to convince me that the green balls of gloob were good for me after being boiled for far too long in far too much water as she 'choo choo'd' a spoonful of olive green moosh in an effort to tempt me to swallow what can only be described as Knobgobbles for Goblins.

Even my mother who was an absolute health freak and tried to disguise the disgust with crispy bacon and caramelised shallots persisted in serving the little balls of badness because they were 'good for us' and I suspect very inexpensive. Then this was a woman who'd make a meal out of broad beans, bacon and onions or red cabbage with apple and bacon (which actually tasted very delish I might add).

So, whilst the Europeans seem to feel that these little green balls of bollocks are suitable for the Christmas dinner table, no-self respecting Australian will be caught anywhere nearer than the fairies when it comes to Chou de Bruxelles, in fact I rarely even see them in the greengrocer . . they're tucked away in a quiet corner for all those who feel homesick and need the equivalent of vegetable snot to constitute comfort food!

I know I'll cause great division in the ranks here because there's no middle road when it comes to the vegetable introduced to the Flemish (well before they were Flemish of course) and then fled the Gallic climes in favour of watching Rome burn (apologies to Emperor Ropi for deliberate historical inaccuracy) and leaving their blasted Brussels behind . . .

As the photograph suggests, they have nothing to offer other than foul tasting mush and a smelly aftermath. Useful for little more than a 'good road through' as my old man would say and emptying a room with a curtain clinger.

Friends

Carnival time:

"One good reason to only maintain a small circle of friends is that three out of four murders are committed by people who know the victim." - George Carlin

Bittersweet friendships are. I don't have many close friends. I take people very seriously and it takes me a while to adopt them as friends. I've had trusts betrayed, invitations not returned and sycophants who really don't care too much but just want to add me to their list of ever expanding 'friendships'.

It's not time that makes friends. Friendship is like falling in love. That instant connection, chemistry, an ability to suffer long silences or understand what the other means without having to flesh out the details. Being able to fall out and make up and not have it taint the future. Sticking up for each other through thick and thin. Having the metaphorical balls to be honest with each other, hopefully without hurting either party. Conspiring together. Being unafraid to point out the spinach in your tooth or the mascara on your eyebrow. Understanding the meaning behind that seven second hug. Sharing joys, woes and frankly . .the day to day drudgery that tends to eek into our lives borne out of necessary routine.

I have friends who I've known since I was 13 years old, others that I met just last year. Some that I know more intimately than their parents or lovers or husbands, others that I've known for decades and still wonder what makes them tick. I have friends in their 60's and friends barely 20. I am also fortunate enough to have two offspring who are without doubt my closest friends.

I'm not a good friend. I'm lazy, I don't keep in touch. This year I didn't even get my Christmas cards in the post. I forget appointments or I cancel out at the last minute. I don't socialise a great deal and I don't suffer fools or falsity. But if they need me, or I need them, I know who they are. I'd walk over broken glass for my friends should they require it of me.

Blogging is interesting because you make 'friends' that you've never met. . Facebook is even more interesting because you can find friends. I've come to know many wonderful people through this silly addiction but they/you aren't here. I can't touch you, hug you, share a meal with you, get drunk with you or truly understand you. Similarly, you can't save me when I'm hurt, you can't share my joy when I'm elated. Few of you will disagree or cross me and many of you will wonder on when the blog gets dull or life takes over.

Most of you wouldn't recognise me in the street or know my facial expressions or what I sound like. One of my dearest bloggy pals once said "I wish we lived next door to each other . . I could really do with a best friend!" She has no idea how much I wish that could happen. . .but she's on the other side of the world so it's not likely. I love my wonderwall because each day when I go to work, there you are . .little pieces of the blogger puzzle staring me in the face. Smiling, happy, silly . . you can still send a contribution if you like!

Then there are friends who do know the physical me but have little or no insight into who I really am. It's odd, but only a few of my friends read the blog, even fewer comment. We socialise, we chat, we laugh, we drink but rarely do we go 'deep'. Frankly few people really care . . I know I don't. I don't care about other people's problems unless I can see them really falling apart over them. Hell I have enough of my own to contend with, everyone does . . .then there are others who I care about disproportionately, deep and intense caring that some deserve and others don't. They don't pay it forward or give it back.

I'm left now wondering just who are my friends . . .who would turn up at my funeral and say 'she was alright was Baino, I'll really miss her'. Who would put there arm around me at 3am when I'm in tears and coping badly with sleep deprivation or depression. Who's here to share the bliss I feel when all is well with the world. Who will laugh with me until the tears pour. Who's around on quiet Sunday afternoons when I'd like some company to explore or walk or take a drive? Who's there to slap me into Tuesday when I'm being a complete pain in the bum.

Frankly, I'm becoming rather isolationist in my old age. Not because I don't value my friends but I think I'm becoming more sensible about the meaning of friendship. It isn't really being in someone's company all the time, it isn't the token gathering, it's not even the odd phone call . . it's how you are when you finally do get together and all that doubt and wondering and stiffness falls away and even after years of not seeing or meeting each other you realise that yes . . you are my friend and a precious and huge part of my life.

So to friends near and far, old and new, met and unmet . . .you are valued, cared about and important . . .just don't get pissed off if I forget your birthday. I'll be there if you need me.

And don't forget to turn up to my funeral. If some idiot books a piper, make sure he doesn't play "Amazing Grace" I'll come and haunt you! "Save a wretch like me . . " indeed!

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig!

It's St Patrick's day today. It doesn't mean much to me despite the ex-pat parade that we have on the Sunday before it. I know a few Irishmen who have Christened it their day of 'shame' because it does tend to progress into a drunken bash as tourists invade the Emerald Isle and behave badly. Although I hear there are family activities and parades and a general feeling of what it is to be Irish. I wouldn't know, because I'm not. The Irish are fiercely protective of their heritage and to my mind, unless you're born there . . .you can lay no claim.

I do owe many Irish people a debt of gratitude though and although I've only met two of my Irish bloggers, it was an Irishman in New Zealand who introduced me to the wonderful world of blogging and one thing led to another and lo and behold, I have a lot of Irish blogs on the roll and visit many more on the sly.

I've come to know them quite well through the phone line, Facebook, email and Skype. So thank you very much, I value you all . . to New Zealand Pubcast (who sadly are no more) English Mum, Grow Up, Maxi Cane, Jack McMad, Quickroute, Nickhereandnow, South Belfast Diary, Paddy Bloggit, Conortje, Jelly Monster, Grandad, For the Feinthearted, K8 the GR8, Stoney River Farm, Moo Dog, GrannyMar and The Biopsy Report . . . and my lovely little Nonny who no longer blogs but stays in touch and of course my fabulous Paduan who is no longer my virtual son but actually stayed with us this year and has become flesh . . Happy St Patrick's Day!

And in the spirit of good cross-cultural and international relations, I promise I won't ever impersonate an Irish Accent, tell an Irish joke (unless it's really funny) or disrespect Father Ted!

I may however steal your eupamisms because I'm particularly fond of 'boghopper' and 'knobgobbler' among many and of course I like the principle of good crack! (not craic!)

Go n-éirí an bóthar leat
Go raibh an ghaoth go brách ag do chúl
Go dtaitní an ghrian ar d'aghaidh
Agus go dtite an bháisteach go bog mín ar do ghoirt
Agus go mbuailimid le chéile arís
Go gcoinní Dia i mbos a láimhe thú

Alright, I managed to find an authentic translation of this Irish blessing - just don't ask me to say it . . .for the anglos among us, literally translated, it means:

May the road succeed with you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

What's in a Name

Think hard when naming your kiddywinks:
Stan Still, 76, said his name 'has been a blooming millstone around my neck my entire life', Doug Hole didn't want to talk about his, and Will Power was just grateful he had always been known as Bill.

Imagine trying to lead a normal life being named Justin Case, Barb Dwyer, Mary Christmas, Paige Turner, Jo King, Lee King and Barry Cade.

Thank your lucky stars you're not called Rose Bush, Pearl Button or Hazel Nutt, who also make the list of The Most Unfortunate Names in Britain.

Mr Still, a former RAF man from Cirencester, Gloucestershire, recalls "When I was in the RAF my commanding officer used to shout, "Stan Still, get a move on" and roll about laughing. It got hugely boring after a while."

Even surnames can be comedic, my Optician is Penny Pain. I had a farrier called Geoff Slaughter, I was delivered by Dr Love and no lie . . my obstetrician was Phil Cocks (I just hope he had the good grace not to call his daughter Ophelia).

Parents really do need to think carefully though when choosing names for their children. Their name will be with them for life and what may be quirky and fun for a toddler might be regretted terribly when that person becomes older or even a grandparent perhaps. I named mine very simple names Adam . . now how can you mess with that but he's AB or Abe . . .Clare's name is constantly mispelled but it doesn't worry her although she's the alternative "Baino" or Clarebear or Clarence . . . seems you just can't win.

A search taking in the US turned up Bill Board, Annette Curtain, Carrie Oakey and Anna Prentice.

I’m still reminded of a lovely boy with whom I attended high school called Warwick Hunt . . think about it!

I've posted this before but . . .hell, it's still funny!

Friday Firteenf Fuckwit

Some in the Northern Hemisphere are retelling their ghost stories this Friday 13th, but since it's now Friday night and it will be well into Saturday by the time they publish . . I've kept with the ghoulie theme . .well kinda . . . sorta . . .

Man Jailed for Whistling Adamms Family Theme to Annoy Neighbours

Briton Leopold Wrobel harassed the pensioners for more than four years, making them feel like prisoners in their home.

His victims, Michael and Kathleen Sharpe, said Wrobel had 'nearly succeeded' in destroying their lives.

Wrobel, 51, had been handed an anti-social behaviour order last December for harassing the couple, The Daily Mail reports.

But a court heard his nuisance behaviour, which had already lasted for four years, continued on the day the order was imposed.

The court was shown CCTV footage from cameras on the Sharpes' property, which picked up Wrobel's repeated whistling when they arrived at or left the house.

Michael Treharne, prosecuting, said each incident taken in isolation would probably seem silly or almost pathetic.

Mr Sharpe, from Wingerworth in Derbyshire, told the court Wrobel's behaviour had made his wife ill and she had started losing her hair.

'It's been devastating and it's done what he wanted to do, to try to destroy our lives,' the 68-year-old said. 'He very nearly succeeded.'

You're all humming it now aren't you . . some of you are lamenting that you can't click your fingers . . . have a great weekend everyone!

Theme Thursday "Animal"

This Thursday the theme is "Animal".

Everyone knows, that I have a special dog. Everyone knows that I love my dog. Everyone knows that she's number 2 in the pecking order at my place. Everyone knows she's just the ants pants. Even she knows she's hot! One thing she doesn't know . . . she is . . .is an ANIMAL!

See Lily snuggle on my bed . . .

See Lily fetch . . .

See Lily run . . .
See Lily swim . . .

See Lily shake it like a Polaroid picture . . .
See Lily bound after rabbits . . .
See Lily chew . . .

Now Lily sees you . .