Tea Time

Years ago, I  inherited a Shelley China tea set from my Grandma. It's white and pretty although it was terribly stained when I first received it. I soaked it in Napisan of all things for about 3 days and it bleached the fine bone china beautifully.  Ever since, it's been resting comfortably in a cabinet and never used.

Now I'm not a hoarder of things but I remember being at my Grans when the 'best china' and chocolate biscuits were brought out. The gentile afternoon tea with the Vicar and being told to behave like a grown up with a cup and saucer, so it does have some sentimental value.

However, my nickname being "Basher Bainbridge" (really) because I rarely have a glass in the house by Christmas is well earned. But what's the point of having a beautiful tea service if you never use it? Nothing. So this Sunday, Clare, Adam, Amy and I made and ate 'High Tea'. It was a cold, grey day and frankly the fun was in the making rather than the eating. Lovely afternoon, thank you kidlets.

This has become quite a popular thing over here in hotels and restaurants. Tea and scones, jam and cream, dainty cakes and savouries and the odd glass of bubbly. So, we broke out the Shelley, had an AWESOME time plooking around in the kitchen, decided that our piping bag was total shit and the old calico number my mother had deserves merit and that I can make a quiche without measuring anything. Clare can actually cook without using chocolate and I am capable of burning an entire block of dark chocolate in the microwave. Thanks Ads for noticing the smoke.  And, I mastered choux pastry . . man that's going to get some mileage. Today eclairs, tomorrow croquembouche!

Amy did the cupcakes and cucumber/cream cheese, smoked salmon sandwiches and chocolate berry tarts, Clare, prawn with rocket and garlic aeoli sandwiches, the fluffiest of scones with whipped cream and blueberry jam and I tackled mini eclairs and  mini florentine  quiches. Adam did a sterling job of assembling smoked salmon and Danish salami rolls and ribbon sarnies (not together obviously) and not one item of Shelley was broken largely due to Clare volunteering to wash up.  Oh and Sarah Lee provided the carrot cake 'cos Amy loves Sarah Lee carrot cake. The tea was Russian Caravan, apparently nutty and fragrant, frankly a little disappointing but then I like tea so strong you can stand your spoon in it. I naturally poured a Semillon Sauvignon Blanc.

Mini Quiche Florentine sans recipe

Cheaters Carrot Cake

Chocolate Custard and Mixed Berry Tartlets

Mini Chocolate Eclairs

Prawn and Roquet Sandwiches in Garlic Aoli

Cucumber Dill Cream Cheese Ribbon Sarnies

Vanilla Mini Cupcakes - Nobody fart or you'll kill the cat

And Tea . . I wish I'd taken the bar code off the strainer GAH!

The only problem, we could have done with about 8 other participants. High tea bento boxes for the next week.

Friday Fuckwit

Well it's been a busy night. Technical probs, old friends online and a job offer . . still it's Friday and we all know what that means.   Fuckwittery:

A Romanian woman did not report her husband’s death for two weeks because she thought he was faking his death to get away from her. "Can't fool me, get up, you stiff!"

 

The 72-year-old woman told police in Vaslui she wanted to make sure her husband wasn’t trying to trick her by faking his death so he could start a new life with his mistress, so she sat over his body for 14 days before going to authorities.

Police said there were no signs of foul play and that the dead man had a well established heart condition.
Till death do us part … uh, maybe not.

 Wasn't he a bit stinky?

And this, is for no other reason than I love Barber and  had a little party  on my own tonight and felt incredibly guilty at shafting my golden boy but . . there is this remarkable  piece.  When I die . . please, please, play  it at my wake . . . 

Have  a good weekend!

A Load of old Balls

Good evening! Well after a scintillating day of keying into spreadsheets, yes that's how exciting my life is at the moment, all creativity has gone to the dogs so I dug deep into the Flickr account to come up with a load of balls:

Coloured Balls

Girls Balls

Mirror Balls

Fireballs

Cold Balls

Chocolate Balls

Hairballs

Glowballs

Dogs Balls

Pool Balls

Oddballs

Yes it seems it's Thursday again, which is wonderful because that mean's tomorrow is Friday and that means that it's soon the weekend. Pop along to Theme Thursday and see what a load of old balls the others have come up with!

 You know how I'm looking for my Knight in Shining Armour? Well . . . went along to Winterfest this weekend. All on my lonesome because nobody wanted to be involved in such a gothy nerdfest but hey, it was a gorgeous day and at worst a nice walk in the park. 

Although the search for the perfect man was not easy:

There was this guy being pummelled by kids whilst in the stocks. Looked a bit wet behind the ears to me.

Then this guy, but I dunno, feathers in caps? Just a little to foppish for my discerning tastes.

 

Now this guy was nice and tall but when he turned round had a faced only a mother could love

 

 This guy had a lubly red coat but, green stockings? Fashion faux pas dahlink

 

 

This one? Nice bird but a shame about the hat!

Now this fellow was quite handy

This one just a little hirsute . .

This lot just wouldn't stop fighting . . .

Now this one just moaned too much and not in a good way .. 

Found him! Just look at that codpiece!

 

Friday Fuckwit

Woman Sues Google for Bad Directions

 
Lauren Rosenberg, a Los Angeles California native, is suing Google because Google Maps issued directions that told her to walk down a rural highway. She started walking down the highway - (lookin' for adventure . . ) which had no sidewalk or pedestrian paths and was struck by a car. She is suing Google for her medical expenses ($100,000), as well as punitive damages. She is also suing the driver who struck her.

On January 19, 2010, Rosenberg was apparently trying to get from 96 Daly Street, Park City, Utah, to 1710 Prospector Avenue, Park City, Utah. She looked up the walking directions using Google Maps on her Blackberry. Google Maps suggested a route that included a half-mile walk down "Deer Valley Drive," which is also known as "Utah State Route 224."
There's not much more to say--she started walking down the middle of a highway, and a car hit her. Who wouldn't have seen that one coming?

Google has been accused of being careless, reckless and negligent by providing of unsafe directions, Plaintiff Lauren Rosenberg was led onto a dangerous highway, and was thereby stricken by a motor vehicle, causing her to suffer sever permanent physical, emotional, and mental injuries, including pain and suffering, according to her legal representation.
Google actually does offer up a warning about its walking directions--if you view Google Maps on a computer, it gives you the following message: "Walking directions are in beta. Use caution--This route may be missing sidewalks or pedestrian paths."

This warning does not show up in PDA's and cell phones, however. I suppose Google figured that people who are smart enough to use Blackberries are probably also smart enough to not walk directly into the middle of traffic. WRONG: there's nothing less common than common sense.

I don't know whether she won or lost her case.  But I'm sure a few lawyers made enough to enjoy a nice week in Salt Lake City with the morons Mormons!

Enjoy your weekend folks. I'm making a conscious effort to make mine fucking awesome, which means it will probably be, OK.  Cheers:)  Chardy time.

Blue Muse

Once more I feel the fates conspiring. In fact it's been an Eeyore week this week. Always blue.

Perhaps it’s the weather which at 12 Celsius in the middle of the day has me Pashmina’d and Trench coated ‘inside’.  Perhaps it’s my peer at work who has the communication skills of a giraffe (you know they don’t make a noise?) Perhaps it’s that my son has just lost his job or that my daughter’s best friends are loved up and couply,  overseas or like her best 'single' friend, heading that way. Perhaps it’s the temporary departure of my muse and sweet friend who has been the light of my evenings for the past four months. Perhaps it’s the stress of nobody wanting to buy what is ostensibly my retirement plan or my brother being a dick. Perhaps it’s just me worrying about what might rather than what will. Perhaps it's that without posting my in-box is almost empty. Perhaps it’s that shit always happens in small doses like a bathtub filling to the brim via a dripping tap and then one small, tiny, slow motion droplet breaks the surface tension and it all overflows.

Overflow it did. Last night I cried. Silent, gushing tears and a couple of little sobs which aren’t my usual style at all but I just couldn’t help it. I got into my car after a day’s work and lost the proverbial plot. I needed the cathartic release of pent up frustration to set me free and for a few moments, it felt awesomely good.

Even the dog doesn't want to go outside for more than a pee and a poo.

I’ve got that ‘need to be teary’ feeling again. Someone told me once, “Never mind love, you just go and have a good cry and you'll feel better!”  At least it clears the sinuses.

I’ll be honest, all three of us have the blues.  I wasn’t going to post it but since I rarely post, perhaps it will be as cathartic as last night’s sobs. I promise I'll buck up by tomorrow and an SMS from the wondering muse was very reassuring.

So there you are. Self indulgent whine with half the story. Yes, today I have the blues . . . but in 9 weeks, I'll have Paris!

This is a totally true and self-indulgent Theme Thursday post, I'm sure the others have a much more cheery offering!

Ahem!:    Immediately after posting this, I went out in the dark (because the electrician I live with has NOT repaired the lights in two years) to run up to the shops to buy some butter for a roux, clipped the car on one of the wooden car port supports, left a teensy scratch and have ripped my 1992 Honda plastic and brittle bumper bar from my car! Now tell me I'm whining!

Friday Fuckwit

At 5 feet 6 inches and about 270 pounds, bank robbery suspect McArthur Wheeler isn’t the type of person who fades into the woodwork. So it was no surprise that he was recognised by informants, who tipped detectives to his whereabouts after his picture was telecast on the 11 o’clock news.

Wheeler had walked into two Pittsburgh banks and attempted to rob them in broad daylight.  What made the case peculiar is that he made no visible attempt at disguise.  The surveillance tapes were key to his arrest.  There he is with a gun, standing in front of a teller demanding money.  Yet, when arrested, Wheeler was completely disbelieving.  “But I wore the juice,” he said.  Apparently, he was under the deeply misguided impression that rubbing one’s face with lemon juice rendered it invisible to video cameras.

 Wheeler had not gone into “this thing” blindly but had performed a variety of tests prior to the robbery.Wheeler reported he had tested the theory, and it seemed to work.   He had snapped a Polaroid picture of himself and wasn’t anywhere to be found in the image.  Unlike Wheeler, police deduced that:

(a) the film was bad;
(b) Wheeler hadn’t adjusted the camera correctly; or
(c) Wheeler had pointed the camera away from his face at the critical moment when he snapped the photo.

A couple of academics researched Wheeler's actions and decided that if Wheeler was too stupid to be a bank robber, perhaps he was also too stupid to know that he was too stupid to be a bank robber — that is, his stupidity protected him from an awareness of his own stupidity - does this sound familiar?

The affable criminal had succumbed to the Dunning Kruger effect. Dunning and Kruger argued in their paper, “When people are incompetent in the strategies they adopt to achieve success and satisfaction, they suffer a dual burden: Not only do they reach erroneous conclusions and make unfortunate choices, but their incompetence robs them of the ability to realise it.  In a nutshell, our incompetence masks our ability to recognize our incompetence.   Ah ignorance truly is bliss.

Now that sort of explains a lot!

Thanks to Thriftcriminal for the article, it's really quite interesting if you have little else to do on a wet weekend. 

Have a good one wherever you are.

The King is Dead, Short-Lived the Queen

It would be remiss of me to let the events of today go by without comment. Our Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, decent sort of a guy was voted in just over two years ago, inherited an economic crisis and managed to keep us out of recession, was today ousted by his deputy, Julia Gillard. 

This in itself is not unusual. Liberal leader Malcolm Turnbull was ousted by the current Liberal opposition leader Tony Abbot in December. Party factions are always playing silly buggers and leadership challenges are commonplace but . . what pisses me off is why they're allowed to take place.

I mean I vote for a leader/party and expect them to do their damndest for 3 years until the next election. I think it only fair that a leader be given the opportunity to fulfil their promises, consolidate their party and have a good crack at running the country, Unless they turn out to be a total dipshit and incompetent or megalomaniac, let them run their course and the people decide whether they've cut the mustard. Is that too much to ask?  Although were times when I'd have liked my boss to face a leadership challenge!

I'm really annoyed at factions running political parties when we the voters did not vote them into those places of power. Sure, change portfolios if you must (not a great fan of that either) and having worked in Government for many years, I know it's actually the public servants that run the country but give a man his dues. Let him make his mistakes, reap his rewards or pay the price at the next General Election.

I mean it takes an awesome event to impeach a President. You don't just have a party room meeting and decide that "Oh Obama's not delivering so we'll wack Hilary in there as President". Can you imagine?

I have only a small opinion about our Julia, I don't like that she's sidled up to Kev then ousted him but she's very labour, very left, very union, very much what I stand for. She's also a woman which can be a good thing. Although having said that I find that women in 'high' places soon begin to act like the worst of men.

The media tonight are treating this as if it was an election victory. It wasn't. It was a back-biting factional usurpation of a leader who has taken charge of a country during a global financial crisis and managed to keep it afloat (albeit thanks to a surplus left by the previous Government and an Opposition as weak as piss). Frankly, I don't think he's done that badly.

Anyway, Kev's on the back bench but still going to challenge at the next election. Julia is smiling a smile of victory and probably wondering when it's her turn to feel the cold blade of a million Brutus' in her back and the Australian public, expecting a Federal election in March are in a quandry. 

Gotta love the Westminster system and frankly, "Yes Minister" was so close to the bone it aint funny.

"Just sayin' " as the Yanks would articulate.

Julia is 'sworn' in - read into that what you like!

Now, if you're looking for Theme Thursday, shameless plug, take a look at Creative Infanticide and kill my baby.

Friday Waxwit

I am not a fan of hairy men but sometimes, just sometimes, things are best left alone:

A British man was left in agony after an intimate waxing stunt for charity almost cost him a testicle.

Waxing victim: If you think this hurt …
Joe Cooper of Birstall, Leicester, agreed to allow bidders at The Trees pub to rip the hair off his groin in a charity drive for his local hospital’s children’s ward, the Daily Record reports.
 The charity fundraiser waxing went wrong when one of Cooper’s heavy handed pals ripped off six of the seven layers of skin next to his scrotum.
The 24-year-old man told the paper, “Everyone was laughing, but docs said if any more skin had gone, one of my crown jewels would’ve come out.”
Cooper, who so far has helped raise more than $4,400, added that even though he’s healing well, he hopes more people will give to the Leicester Royal Infirmary because “I’m still hurting.”
Nutty stunt.

 

Oh and whoever decided kazoos vuvus or whatever were a good idea for world cup soccer games needs his testicles waxing. Have to go, major police helicopter and swat action happening in the quiet hamlet of Chez Baino 

Absolutely Fabulous Friends

He drinks wine while she wipes the sleep from her eyes and puts on the morning coffee. He's slightly sozzled with that lame smile and ready to play grin. She doesn't mind because she loves having him around.

He reads to her and for her, he encourages her, he mentors her, he jokes with her he teases her and mocks her accent. He gives her lip and she reprimands him for it. They plan their road trips and share their thoughts. She likes to watch him move. He watches her cook. He dances like a retard but it makes her giggle like a schoolgirl. He falls off his chair and can't remember where his bruises came from but she knows because she witnessed it all.

She watches him clean, admiring that tight little ass . . .like Patsy's window washers with buns so tight you could bounce them off the wall!  But knows it's her daughter that he fancies. She loves the way he can eat a banana in three fell gobsful and how he gesticulates obscenely before squishing the creamy fruit between his pearly teeth.

Hers is an attraction of opposites both love and hate.

She hates the way he slurps noodles from the bowl and allows his cat to walk on the kitchen bench. She loves the sound of his reading voice and the talent of his writing. She hates the way he threatens to disappear but loves that he'll let her know. She hates that he can never be hers but loves his attention and flattery. She hates the way he gets distracted listening to Pandora but  loves the way he focuses and concentrates by licking his bottom lip with the underside of his tongue. She hates the way he corrects her on syntax and geography but she loves the knowledge he shares. She hates that he keeps talking while he's taking a leak but loves that he talks to her at all. She hates that he is the last to leave but loves that he is always the first to arrive. She hates that he is a virtual friend but loves that he is becoming a fast friend.

Still, when she falls, he cannot help her to her feet. When she cries, he cannot wipe her tears. When she needs a warm embrace he is unable to comply. When she needs the tension of the day rubbed from her weary shoulders he is not there to help.

No, he's not a real friend . . . YET. But he is her confidant, her mentor, her company in the small hours and she loves him for it but is not 'in love'. They are nothing alike and yet they have fun together.

And when the warmth of the night takes over on his side of this blue planet, and the Sandman kisses his sleepy eyes, they end their call and shut off their web cams as she wishes the world could somehow be smaller, he could be a little older and her morning would not be his night.

This is a Theme Thursday Post for "Camera". Please visit the others, I think this one is going to be fun!

One of the few times I'm happy that we're a commonwealth country is the Queen's Birthday long weekend We've had a bonfire and sausage sizzle on this weekend now for almost 25 years. This year was also combined with Australia's effort in the World Cup against Germany but hey, we knew that was going to be a shamozzle from the outset but we didn't expect the humiliating tag of being the only country so far to lose by a margin of 4 goals. 
Hey, we got into it anyway:

 Trees were 'pruned'

Beer was chilled

Sofa beds were made

Fashion was dubious

Anti Paparazzi masks were donned

Pyro's were studded

Petrol was poured

Fire was born

Supporters were avid

Oops perhaps a little too much petrol!

My 'unimpressed' face - beware  little children this is the 'look ' you get when I am not very happy!

And at  4am we watched Australia annihilated by the Germans and Tim Cahill received a red card for such a trivial misdemeanour . . .looks like we'll be barracking for Brasil. Yay, I can wear the same silly hat! Yeh, no apologies, I am a sucker for a stupid hat!

Friday Barkwit

The "Vivid" Festival has come to town and as a precursor, I must admit I haven't ventured in to the city but may do so tomorrow if the mood takes me. The whole thing has been choreographed by one of the most difficult people to interview - Lou Reed. Yep the old raspy wild sider is still doing funny stuff:

The forecourt of the Sydney Opera House has come alive with the sound of high-pitched music and howling dogs at the world's first concert performed for dogs.

The concert was the brain child of acclaimed US music artist Laurie Anderson and rock legend husband Lou Reed.

Anderson wrote the 20-minute piece Music for Dogs, describing it as "an inter-species social gathering on a scale never seen before in Australia".

"It was really so fantastic. All the dogs were really grooving on the music. They really seemed to enjoy themself," Anderson said. Big dogs, small dogs, dogs dressed up for the occasion and even a 15-year-old arthritic dog, whose owner pushed him in a makeshift dog wheelchair, attended the performance.

"I thought it would be a great opportunity for Kim, because he's old and he can't walk very far. He does like music, classical music," said the owner of border collie 'Kim Beastly'.

As the winter sun beamed down, the white sails of the Opera House shaded the audience, some perched on the steps overlooking the stage and more enthusiastic dog owners closer to the stage to make the most of the performance.

While dog owners could hear the music, some of the strange tones and high pitches were certainly geared for the dogs to appreciate rather than their two-legged owners.

With so many sizes and breeds of dogs in one spot, a local Sydney vet was on site in case there was any brawling. But with only one minor injury to report, he was able to have a laugh about the incident.

"It's fantastic! It's a testament to Laurie and her reputation and the organisers of the event," Geoff Golovsky said.
"There's been no problem with the dogs. Everyone's been responsible. Someone stood on a dog's leg and is a little bit sore." The performance was part of the Vivid light festival which runs in Sydney from May 27 to June 20.

Well I'll reserve judgement but . . . barking mad comes to mind! Long weekend for us Aussies, God Save the Queen and her lovely birthday. Also the first World Cup game for the Soccaroos so wish us luck, we're playing a pathetic little team and are sure to win . . Germans can't play football can they?

Oh and just so you know, I have a new responding to comments thing. Make sure your comment name links back to your email. I'll respond individually. Gets a bit tedious commenting on the blog . . leave a link and I'll talk yer sox off.

Suck Rock

A long, long time ago in a land far far away, our idea of a jolly good Summer holiday chaps, was a trip to Wales with the family, the dog and sometimes the odd hangers on of a relative or more. This was what middle class families with children did.  Once a year, packed up the station wagon, kids and dogs, no seat belts of course and Dad’s trilby would be squished before we’d left the driveway. There’d be luggage on the roof rack and the rest packed in the back. The back seat would ring out Ten Green Bottles’ because there was no radio or we'd play ‘Snap’ before succumbing to ‘Are we there yet?’ not half an hour into the trip. 

Things were made more bearable for being punctuated by a picnic stop somewhere about half way where we ate scotch eggs and cold sausage rolls or cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches and drank tea boiled on a little portable Gaz stove.

I’d be peering about for a glimpse of anything that resembled a horse, yeh I was one of THOSE kids. My brothers, generally would be attempting to beat themselves up and my sister, since she is 9 years my junior was barely a twinkle in her daddy’s eye during these times. Refuelled and repacked, we’d wend our way to such exotic climes as Anglesea, Swansea, Oxwych and Harlech.

Our destination mostly comprised what was advertised as a “Quaint Welsh Cottage” and without the benefit of internet, we relied heavily on some sheep shagger to assure us that it was clean, dry and suitable for a family of five. It rarely was. Although we stayed somewhere once with pink bedspreads and a Golden Retriever called Flak.

Almost always, it translated into a a far-to-small damp farmhouse with moss growing on the inside, poorly appointed kitchen and a dunny on the outside. Hey, we were on holidays so the most dire of circumstances seemed more tolerable. Happy as larks and excited to be seeing the sunshine the days were long and the sea was warm and there would be sweets and ice cream and very little to complain about.

Invariably the sun would shine and we’d all become terribly burned because of course, nobody really knew what sun damage was back then. We froze in the Irish sea whilst my mother, ever the wise beachgoer, surrounded herself with a canvas wind break and made a cup of tea . . yes . . on the travellin’ Gaz stove.

My wonderful father, no matter what the weather, and a man who had clearly outgrown the age where he no longer had nerve endings like us children, would bravely wonder into the surf under the pretext of fun yet in reality to supervise. 

When I look back at the expression of excruciating joy on his face, I now understand it was probably due to the pressure of his testicles retreating due to North Sea shrinkage. This also explains his absolute passion for building boats in the sand. It preoccupied us to the point that we almost forgot there was an ocean to be conquered and ensured he could remain dry and relatively warm. Smart man that.

Of course no holiday would be complete without the consumption and purchase of ‘Rock’.  Nope, not a gemologist or a geologist among us, this was the rather odd English tradition of buying a literal pink pole of candy with a white centre,  usually with the name of the holiday location very cleverly spelled around it’s white circumference.

Rock according to Wiki is a type of hard stick-shaped boiled sugar confectionery most usually flavoured with peppermint or spearmint. It is commonly sold at tourist (usually seaside) resorts in the UK (like Brighton or Blackpool); in Ireland in seaside towns such as Bray and Strandhill; in Denmark in towns such as Løkken and Ebeltoft; and – surprisingly in Sydney and Tasmania, Australia. 

Although I can safely say that I have never seen a stick of rock among the stuffed Kookaburra’s which laugh when you press their bellies even though they are made in Taiwan and the plethora of hats with unused corks dangling from them that seem to grace our tourist shops.

Yes this sweet pole of stickiness would have younglings sucking quietly and pensively whilst increasing our glycemic index and unwittingly feeding our Streptococcus mutans, totally unaware  that we were demineralising our tooth enamel and encouraging dental caries. Hey, we were sucking candy, sweet, sticky, tongue stainy, lip stickin’ gorgeous holiday candy.

Rock being highly prized, meant that much was purchased as gifts for those who were less fortunate and had not managed a summer holiday in a Welsh cottage of their own. Or indeed for those more fortunate, who’s parents had seen fit to take them to the Costa del Sol or Majorca for their summer vacation. 

Of course those children returned with  little more than a golden tan, grass skirts, sombreros and castanets not a chunk of rock from Swansea. Poor things. How they must have suffered.

Get yer laughing gear around a stick of that kiddies!


Check out Theme Thursday and see what the other punters do with "Candy".

Friday Foodwit

I think some of us have either done it or thought about it - crashing someone else's wedding for the food and free booze? No, really? Never . . well this week's Friday Fuckwit took it to a new level, enterprising to say the least, it not a little short lived, no pun intended:

 Funeral home puts end to 'grim eater'

Posted Thu Jun 3, 2010 11:48pm AEST
A New Zealand funeral home has stepped in to stop a fake mourner who was attending up to four funerals a week to stock up on food, even filling up tupperware containers to take home.

Harbour City Funeral Home director, Danny Langstraat, told local newspaper The Dominion Post that the "grim eater" appeared at up to four funerals a week in March and April to enjoy the finger food but clearly did not know the deceased.

The funeral company grew so concerned that it took a photograph of the man, thought to be aged in his 40s, and distributed the picture to its branches.

"Certainly he had a backpack with some tupperware containers so when people weren't looking, he was stocking up," Mr Langstraat told the newspaper.

He said the man was "always very quiet and polite, and did as the rest of the mourners did in paying his respects".

Mr Langstraat says the man stopped coming after one staff member took him aside and told him he could come to funerals but could not take food home with him.

Funeral Directors Association president, Tony Garing, told the newspaper that such cases happened in the industry occasionally but it was difficult to stop people from coming or call their behaviour theft because funerals were usually public events.

 

Hmmm . . . food for thought?

It's a soggy wet weekend in Sydney, it has been for over a week now so not much happening other than blow drying a couple of very wet neddies and rugging them up for the onslaught of yep . . more rain.

Hope it's sunnier in your neck of the woods! Have a great weekend.

I'm actually in love with this man . . have been for decades

 

 

Playing with Fire

This as you know is a personal blog, humour, rantings, ramblings, photographs and generally pretty basic fun stuff with a broad audience from young to old,  family and friends, conservative and off the wall. Some things are better left unposted or at least sectioned from here so you don't have to trawl through them unless you want to.

I've been dabbling with a little creative writing lately, more for shits and giggles and as a way of flexing my brain a little than any great aspirations.  It's not for everyone. In fact there are some amazing writers on the blogs and some are simply woeful. Hopefully I fall somewhere inbetween. 

So to spare you the pain,  I have a sideline blog dedicated to my twitterings. Some I've posted here but frankly, it's not everyone's cup of tea - neither creative writing or the rather saucy nature of the current post so if you're game, curious or willing to play with fire,  have a look at the latest contribution on Creative Infanticide, created for both, Tenth Daughter of Memory: "Reaching the Summit" and Theme Thursday's offering this week - "White"

Apparently, There's Nothing Like Australia

We seem to have a great deal of difficulty promoting our country to the world. First there was Paul Hogan telling you to "Chuck a shrimp on the barbie . . ." then "Where the Bloody Hell Are You" which was banned or watered down around the globe for the utterance of such profanity and now THIS:

 

OK most of you don't live here or have never visited, does this make you want to come? Pelease, it's time we asked foreigners what would make them want to holiday in a country where everything wants to kill you. What would entice you to travel half way around the world?