Lips and Arseholes

It was a busy day today. I've been interviewing Receptionist candidates with Thommo which lead to an 'interrupted' day. No lunch, just a few boardroom Kool Mints for sustenance .Then flew out at 5:30 to feed his royal skinniness and fatty boombah on their gourmet Coprice and molasses soaked chaff and Lucerne hay which would keep a Congo family for a year. Dropped into the supermarket at about 6:30 for the necessaries and of course was starving hungry so everything looked yum! So I couldn't make my mind up about what to make for dinner. I toyed with meat balls, risotto, Caesar Salad or Pepper steak but eventually fell for the easy heat 'n eat option of two frozen meat pies. "King Island Meat Pies" and yes, I succumbed and bought straight cut chips. I never buy frozen chips or pies for that matter but it was late and he who labours hard was so hungry he'd eat the crotch out of a rag doll so something quick and easy was the recipe of the day.

Now the Australian Meat Pie is an institution. You're not Australian if you don't dig a Four and Twenty at the footy and eat it with lashings of tomato sauce. It's a hand held minced meat pie rarely hot enough and likely underwarmed to the point that salmonella is simmering beneath it's crispy crust. They're available at every milk bar and take-away. Every show stand, fete and Saturday sports event and even come in 'mini' versions which are the staple of kids' birthday parties - creatively named "Party pies" but frankly . . they are so overrated. I've written about them before and they taste fine and salty until you get that unidentified gristly bit. I'm never sure whether it's the lip or the arsehole but it's enough to make me gag and bin the thing!

So, DrummerBoy and I sat down with our McCain lights, our gourmet beef pies and a few hastily microwaved baby peas . . .sure enough, second mouthful. . . out comes an unidentified gristly bit and that's the end for me. I have never bought meat pies for dinner, I pride myself on fresh and healthy food preparation where every ingredient is identifiable. But I was tired after a night of restlessness and hot flushes (yep they're back after almost six months), grilling younglings about "How would your siblings describe you" and "Where do you see yourself in five years time?" and belting out to the horses for their nightly feed I was up for the easy option.

Hey, these were 'gourmet'. It said so on the pack. King Island beef (small island off the coast of Tassie, famous for it's beautiful meats and cheeses). But nup, this was just some old cow's lips and arseholes . . tasted like puff pastry encrusted dog food! (So Lily tells me, she enjoyed them immensely but then she thinks that roadkill is pretty tasty).

So a warning to intrepid travellers to Australia . . don't be conned into believing that a Meat Pie is the quintessential Australian food. It's not. It's iconic, like kangaroos and Holden cars but it's a total pattie of crap! It's as exciting as tripe and onions, pork pies, black pudding. It's as gourmet as fish and chips - although we do those pretty well. Aussie pies are horrible. Tomorrow it's Italian Meatballs and salad!

Dress Me Up Before You Go Go

I feel a bit like Cinderella tonight but my Fairy Godmother hasn't turned up!

One of Stressany's sister's is celebrating a birthday and her completion of Uni as a mature age student so she's having a party. Next door are all abuzz getting their costumes and makeup ready. They have to dress as something which belies their first initial. So far there's:

• Half Devil Half Angel
• Death
• Pommie
• Scientist (clearly a Mad one)
  Welvis (He's German so can get away with the mis-pronounciation)
• Bollywood Dancer
• Country
• Terrorist
• Policeman

I wish I was invited but it's a family affair, hers not mine! I love dressups and for some reason my age group seem to have grown out of them with the exception of the American Halloweenies who do it under the pretext of accompanying their Children (I know you just love the getup!). These days the closest we get to being silly is wearing hats on Melbourne Cup day or when the girls get together for a night in with hotel gowns and frilly shower caps! (Don't ask!) or occasionally at Christmas when we wear our silly Santa T's and 'Santa's Little Helper' aprons.

I've been a Tea Bag at a "T" party, a Pillow at a Pyjama party, a patient at a "P" party. Fairy Bread at a Fairy Party, Medusa at Halloween . . .I've been a prostitute at a Pimps and Prostitutes bash, a Sailor and a Swimmer (complete with frilly neck-to-knees). I've been a Cameraman with video in hand and a freckle faced scout - Clare's out done me as a French Maid, Mogatu, Romy (from Romy and Michell), a white tiger (The one that ate Roy), a Fairy and a Poodle . . .even Adam's had a go at being a Pirate and a Wizard and he's not much into the fancy dress scene.

So as I contemplate a night in with DrummerBoy and the Fringelet, Beef Stroganoff and GH3. . it's OK I suppose but I'd rather be at a fancy dress party! *sob* I'd make a really good, good fairy Godmother!

SIL (mad scientist), Hanule,(Half angel, half devil)
Poider the 'pom', Bec from Bollywood

Friday Fuckwit

Right! So you think I'm 'sweet', 'loving', 'considerate', 'caring' . . a 'softie'! Bullshit! If you're easily offended just move on now!

Without a doubt this Friday's Fuckwit is my shitfaced, dickwad of an internet connection. Yep. I'm mad. I'm fuming. I'm hypertensive with RAGE! And I'm not talking about the music video show!

I've disc cleaned I've optimised. I've fiddled with sockets, switches and cables. I've spoken nicely (works with the ol' Honda) and I've thumped the box so to speak. It's taken me five minutes to log into the Google Home Page, another five to open my Gmail and when I finally do get onto the blogs, I see those little bloggy things that say where you're commenters are coming from I'm coming from CANFUCKINGBERRA! or worse still PORTFUCKINGMORSEBY. Yep, I'm re-routed to some third world Island nation filled with 'rascals' and coffee growers. That's how shit the servers are over here unless you have Naked ADSL2 Super Fast Internet which nobody but business can afford. That's what I have at work and it's instantaneous. I never get that stupid Error 404 message or the Firefox 'can't connect' window or the one I really hate - the precocious Google GMail "Oops we've encountered a problem . ." smart arses!

At home, my Firefox freezes every 10 minutes if I'm too speedy in toggling between windows. Strangely, P2P works fine - Limewire, Skype, MSN . . .flawless but browsing is AGONY. And it's not my crappy old Dell . . it's the same with the Mac and the MacBook. The same at my friend's house. The same next door. This bloody Government for whom I voted and am beginning to wonder why - promised Australia wide ranging super fast broadband but while their Select Committees, Task Forces and overpaid stuffed-shirts of public servants spend more flexitime masturbating than getting on with the project at hand, I'm stuck.

Interestingly with Clare's travels she's been able to pinpoint the good the bad and the ugly when it comes to Internet. She's wireless with a MacBook pro and without a doubt has found that England is the very best in terms of connection, speed, webcam clarity . . .almost enough to make me move there other than the lousy weather. South America aint half bad either and free Internet at Starbucks in America seemed pretty good for the price of a cup of coffee with 'Quote of the Day' on it. Then again even in North Western Spain, the internet's faster than it is here even if she does have to sit in a mounting yard (no smutty jokes please) to get online.

Australia's is rubbish. I could of course fork out $395 a month and get the super duper internet highway connected and believe me, I've thought about it. Unlimited download/upload, great speed, no errors. I wouldn't have to wait five hours for my Flickr hi-res pics to upload or my mail to download. I wouldn't have pick my nose until it bleeds whilst waiting to start up and I wouldn't have to have an almighty whinge on the best evening of the week.

Seriously it's like an old man with a prostate problem . . . interrupted 'flow' . . .Thank God it's Friday . . by 8pm everyone will be off socialising and leave enough time for sad-sack Google Queens like me to brows the web at my own pace! So yes, I probably should have gone to the pub for 2 hours! As my dear friend Thrifty would say "Fucketty Fucketty Fuck Fuck FUCK!" Sometimes it's the only word that will do!

God that felt good . . (sorry kj)

What did I tell you . . .7:54pm and it's business as usual.

I am not a very smart woman . . .but . . .

This morning a very disturbing email was opened by one of my colleagues. Photographs of holocaust victims, emaciated bodies in mass graves . .you know the shots, they've been featured on just about every TV program about the second world war. What really amazed me was that this 28 year old asked "What is a Holocaust?" Not what was the Holocaust but what is a holocaust.

She is a very smart and capable girl but she hadn't heard the word let alone the history. This is not a pro Jewish post. It's one about misinformation that circulates on the internet and it shits me to tears that people in good faith forward this rubbish to the point that it reaches millions. Many of whom believe it. Emails like this are a-plenty. Whether it's warnings about women being abducted in carparks by perfume peddlers or serial killers stalking your area, cameras hidden in your bathroom . . . for goodness sake what happened to common sense. As my father frequently said, it is extremely uncommon!

It's not the first time I've been called a 'killjoy' for exposing these idiotic things for what they are, moronic misinformation that whips up all sorts of 'anti' sentiment.

The email read:

In Memorium:

Recently this week, UK removed The Holocaust from its school curriculum because it "offended" the Moslem population which claims it never occurred. This is a frightening portent of the fear that is gripping the world and how easily each country is giving into it.

It is now more than 60 years after the Second World War in Europe ended. This e-mail is being sent as a memorial chain, in memory of the six million Jews, 20 million Russians, 10 million Christians and 1,900 Catholic priests who were murdered, massacred, raped, burned, starved and humiliated with the German and Russia peoples looking the other way!

Now, more than ever, with Iran , among others, claiming the Holocaust to be"a myth," it is imperative to make sure the world never forgets

This e-mail is intended to reach 40 million people worldwide!

Join us and be a link in the memorial chain and help us distribute it around the world. Please send this e-mail to 10 people you know and ask them to continue the memorial chain.

You pass on funny emails, so please pass this one on. It will only take you a minute to pass this along - Thanks!

This is completely inaccurate and how Iranians were brought into the frey I can't begin to imagine. I tip my hat to sites like Snopes and Hoaxslayer who manage to research and debunk such rubbish. No wonder the world is in a state of permanent paranoia.

The email began in early 2007 and is totally bogus but thanks to the speed of the 'net' who knows who's read it and believed it and forwarded it. Fortunately, in our little office it actually lead to a discussion and some degree of enlightenment among the younglings as to what actually happened. Today I educated four younglings on this horrific event. (I also found out that snakes and lizards have two penises - discussion is rife at 3:30pm in the Quad!)

In England teaching about the holocaust is compulsory, in Scotland and Wales it is voluntary but encouraged. In Australia, I don't remember it being a huge part of the curriculum but it was covered. What wasn't, was offered to me over lengthy dinner table discussions by my father. Nope, I'm not Jewish but he was a war child and wanted us to know what happened so that it may never happen again.

Sadly, it's happening all over the world. But we don't care much for Hutus and Tutsi, Zimbaweans and Zulus, Falong Gong or Uyghur or the Janjaweed or Bangarra nomads. We let genocide begin without ending it, again and again.

However, forwarding this highly inaccurate and misleading chain email will only serve to sow confusion and misdirected anger.

We have a government sponsored TV station here called SBS, it's wonderful but brutal and it's window on the world shows clearly that we have learned little from history. Amazement is still buzzing around my head that a 28 year old mother of two is so insular that she didn't know the meaning of the word, let alone the history of the event. I am friends with a 20 year old who knows more about the Third Reich than anyone I know, so there is hope out there!

On a lighter note, who'd have thunk it, a reggae singing Hasidic Jew . . He's good, really! (shame I don't like reggae) OK he was born in Pennsylvania and his name's Matthew Paul Miller but . . .

A Day to Remember

I'm not going to rant or gloat or wax on for 500 words as usual. Today was history in the making. Not because a black president was elected, not because a Democrat won, not because it's the end of one of the longest, most expensive,the most watched and divisive election campaigns in the English speaking world but because more Americans than ever . . ever . . .turned up to vote, exercised their will, their mandate and in true democratic fashion, the majority ruled. For that America, you are to be congratulated. It's also been only 45 years since African Americans were lynched, prevented from voting, vilified, relegated to apartheid, segregated and ignored . . .today you have a black president, a white president . . . a good representative of both races and a black population who is now feeling empowered by their ability to instigate change.

Obama was motivational and inspiring in his acceptance, McCain gracious in defeat. I've yet to see a comment by George Bush and I've been watching and listening for over 10 hours now. Perhaps he's too busy packing.

One thing that has come to the fore with all the interviews with politicians, economists and vox pops with the man/woman in the street. Americans seem to be surprised that the rest of the world has a vested interest in their politics and their choice of president. Well yes, it was 'your' election and 'you' were the ones to vote but the rest of the world watches in eager anticipation because your influence over us looms large in both positive and negative ways. Your economy breaks, so does ours, you go to war, so do we. You abuse civil rights, we condone it. Followers we may be, friends and allies we certainly are but now you know that the world IS watching and frankly, something had to change.

We've had 8 years of a president (yes we, because he's influenced our decisions as well) who's led us to war, blundered politically, taken his eye off the ball economically, listened too long to the influential evangelical right and not had the welfare of the lower to middle classes, the marginalised and the minorities in sight. A president who believes he has a mandate from God and that's a fanatical standpoint in anyone's language.

Obama didn't so much 'win' as inspire a nation who is jaded, scared of losing their homes, sick of sending their sons and daughters to an unjust war in Iraq and facing a crumbling health system. One who is battling to compete in a protectionist trade world and one where they are becoming regarded as unpopular and ignorant (of course that is not a universal truth but a strong perception overseas). To me, one of the main coups of this election is that Americans are realising that they do not live in isolation, they are part of the global village, they must interact with the world, not just bail it out, invade it or surreptitiously finance it for it's own political and economic gain, and that is a wonderful thing to my mind. And if you feel you don't 'know' who Barack Obama is, have a look here and you'll find out more about the man, not just his political rhetoric.

Congratulations to Americans for showing up, making a stand, exercising their one democratic right to vote and forcing change. Congratulations to the Democrats, commiserations to the Republicans . . life as you know it will not cease. The sun will rise tomorrow. Now it's up to Barack Hussein Obama to put his promises into words. I hope he can deliver. The world is waiting.

I Haz a Fascinator!

Tomorrow is 'The Race that Stops a Nation" and it does. No, no, no, not the US Presidential Election, not the Formula One Grand Prix, not the superbikes, no marathon or swimming spectacular. Tomorrow, whilst Americans go to the polls and elect their first black president, we will be yelling and screaming at our TV sets in silly hats late in the afternoon and probably watching some Emirates or Irish interloper take our valued Melbourne Cup offshore once again.

Melbourne Cup is an odd phenomenon. People who have no interest in horse racing, dress in their black and white best, make or buy silly hats. Swan into Flemington Race Course into their corporate tents or if unable to afford the life of the rich and famous, gather in the car park and watch the whole thing on the BIG SCREEN . . .women all over the country attend "Melbourne Cup Lunches" watch fashion parades, ogle over handsome waiters and stuff their faces. They buy raffle tickets and sweeps and watch a race in which they have no interest in the hope of winning the "Pamper Hamper". God I miss those days. I used to get together with my mother in law and do some fantastically over priced lunch at a posh restaurant with the 'sisters'. A bunch of 'real ' Australians' who spoke in broad accents (although none ever said struth or crikey) drank champagne, except Auntie June who'd get loaded on Scotch and Coke and whinge about the price of the meal.

I digress. I have little interest in the Melbourne Cup other than it means a long lunch at work, usually a BBQ before the race, a few bevvies, wearing a load of silly hats which more often than not I supply. I am the minister for silly hats. Betting on the $1, $2 or $5 sweep and then reluctantly going back to work for an hour to sober up before heading home hopefully, with some booty that will justify taking the kids out to dinner at Arthurs and enjoying half a lobster or a hot rock sensation!

The Irish are here and their front runners. Septimus apparently is unbeatable. It comes as no surprise that the Irish horse loves a wet track and we've had rain but in true Australian style it simply washes off the top soil and doesn't soak in. Aiden O'Brien's horse is favourite and he's very pretty which is my criteria for choosing a horse, that and the jockey's colours or name. (why do they all talk like they've just sucked in a dose of helium?) So wish me luck . . the luck of the Irish perhaps? If I draw Septimus, I'll think of all you soggy Irish people in 3 degrees Fahrenheit and drink to your health!

Whoozza pwitty boidie den . . (the horse not the jockey)

God that Palin woman and her strident voice are penetrating my little computer corner whilst 4 Corners sagitates over who's going to win the US election . McCain is saying "Sarah Palin and I will not raise your taxes my friends . .we want you to get wealthy!" I'm sure that's great news for some dispossessed Hurricane Katrina victim who's still not able to return! Does that make anyone say "Only in America!" And that woman's voice is enough to break glass.

Plus there's a stinky, fishy smell coming from my ceiling which is either the waft of last night's tuna from the kitchen tidy or a dead rodent . . .digression yet again. . .

More important, in breaking news, the track may be too dry for the Irish Runner super Septimus . . ."Cup favourite Septimus in doubt for race . . ." Bugger, he's the only horse I know!

Well it's all in good fun and for 5 minutes tomorrow afternoon, the world as we know it will freeze.

And yes, I do have a 'Fascinator' to wear during the race . . .

Mystery of the Ring

My father was one of three children, there was he . . My Aunty Marian and my Aunty Daphne who remained spinsters for all their lives. Marion swore she was passed over by a Swede named Sven but we have our doubts.

My grandad died when I was about 9, and their large two storey house in Henlow became too big so they downsized to a modern little cottage in the oh-so Elizabethan village of Shillington, overlooking the crop fields and thatched cottages. It was the most beautiful spot. The three women pootled on through their retirement and when my Grandma died in the early 80's the two 'girls' remained in their parental home.

Daphne was a strange one. If you could imagine these two women living together, she was the 'male' in the partnership. Both sisters lived with my grandparents all their lives. One was a High School Headmistress, feminine, intelligent, funny, social, intuitive, subordinate, pretty (if not very overweight), subservient and domestic. The other, Daphne, a secretary at Alsey Pit Brickworks was masculine, efficient, pragmatic, practical, mechanical and handled the accounts and the bills, the banking and the administration of their little domain. The two were joined at the hip so to speak.

I went back to England twice whilst both were still alive and stayed with them both times. Daphne was gruff and quiet, rarely smiled, hardly ever laughed and in my entire life I've never seen her wear make-up, a dress or a pair of shoes with heels. She had no connection with the young, was obsessed with the news and Match of the day. Had few culinary skills although I know she could cook. Both women had been raised as the daughters of a fine baker - in fact in my juvenile life she would make the most wonderful birthday cakes. Little ladies in beautifully iced crinoline dresses and a porcelain bodice with the most dreamy Victoria Sponge and jam fillings. But I only saw Daphne in the kitchen at breakfast which entailed daily doses of All Bran and over-brewed coffee. Marion did most of the cooking. What I do remember about Daphne was something my mother told me years ago.

My parents met whilst my father was visiting his mother in hospital after a gall bladder operation. My mother was one of the nurses taking care of Grandma. This was in 1952 and a romance ensued. Daphne apparently was very jealous of her younger brother's happiness. Already almost 30 years old, she resented the pairing of a 20 year old nurse and her baby brother and never really made my mother welcome although on the surface she was polite enough. Not so Grandma, Grandad and Marion, they were delighted with the union and gave both their absolute blessing.

After two 12 months of courtship, (I love that word - so romantic!) my father became engaged to my mother. It wasn't like today. My mother lived in nursing accommodation and had a curfew, if she wasn't in the dorm by 11 she had to crawl over the high brick wall, damaging her very expensive post war stockings and and sneak in hoping someone would unlock the door. However the deal was done. They were in love and remained so after 49 years of marriage.

Daphne it seems became even more jealous as their relationship became more certain and until the day she died my mum swore that only months before their wedding, Daphne poured perfume into my father's jacket pocket. Of course, he went to meet his sweetheart and suspicions were raised. Dad being a man, had hardly noticed the tang of 4711 (do you remember that? In the pretty circular bottle with the turquoise and gold label?) My mother of course put him through the Spanish Inquisition. Daphne had (again my mother suspected) been the culprit and had also on occasion tainted his shirts with smudges of lipstick in a vindictive attempt to wreck their romance.

Water under the bridge - they married in 1954, Daphne did not attend the wedding which says reams about her feelings for the loss of her younger brother and how she felt about my mother stealing little Charlie away. I never knew of this tension between them until I was well into adulthood. There were never fights, never discussions, never any disparaging remarks about my Dad's older sister. Until, about this time of year when my parents went home after my Gran's death. Daphne had produced a little ring. A small, inexpensive, obviously quite old small sapphire ring and had announced that she'd like me to have it. (Whatever brought that on I don't know - possibly we'd formed some sort of bond due to having stayed with her as a young adult). My father, thinking that finally after 12,000 miles and many years of separation, Daphne had finally embraced her younger brother's love for my mum and his progeny, appreciated the gesture and wrapped the ring in it's little velvet box and packed it into his suitcase in preparation for the trip home the next day.

It was traditional that whenever my parents travelled overseas, and they attempted an overseas trip at least every two or three years, they would return with gifts. Not necessarily expensive but for me, usually duty free perfume and cigarettes or alcohol for the boys and some toy or trinket for Babysis who was so much younger. Perhaps underwear from Marks and Sparks or Boots No. 7 cosmetics which we missed here. English chocolates such as Walnut Whips which we can't get here or Lemon Sherbet Bon Bons were also brought home. So their homecoming after a long holiday was always a 'What did you bring me?' family affair.

This particular time, my Dad was proud and satisfied and announced he had something special for me. He rummaged in his luggage. The little package he had dutifully packed was not there. He was becoming more aggravated by the moment. "Bloody bitch, she's taken it out of my suitcase! . . ." We were full of 'surely not' and 'no way' or 'perhaps someone nicked it during luggage handling' but why? Why? I was already sporting a rather pretty white diamond engagement ring so it had little other than sentimental significance for me. But with a suitcase full of gifts and chocolate and T shirts and cameras and nicknacks, why would anyone target one small inexpensive, obviously second-hand ring of no monetary value?

He got onto the phone. He got her out of bed. He berated her over the phone and she denied everything. There were tears on her end and vitriol on his. That was the last time he ever spoke to Daphne. I've rarely seen him so angry but he was convinced that it was she who retrieved the ring!

Ironically, both sisters are now gone. He went home (Isn't that funny, he always referred to England as home although he had no desire to return there permanently) after Daphne died to help Marion with her affairs and they both searched for the ring . . it was never found.

Years later, Marion would come to Australia and live with us, then in a retirement villa for a short while . . after she passed . . again he hunted fervently for the ring, more out of wanting to solve the mystery than anything. No ring was found.

She left nothing for her grand nieces or nephews, her brother or his wife. Whilst reaching for a glass this evening, I noticed one thing . . a home made mug that Daphne had made in a ceramics class that was once one of a pair - one for Marian - one for Daphne. Encrypted with her own hand . . A simple blue mug, rough but bearing her name . . perhaps it's partner, bearing the name of my other Aunt "Marian" abides in the same place that odd socks go, along with the ring!

When that song played I was . . .

The boys are over and playing Guitar Hero tonight on an enormous TV that my brother decided to put in the pool room. I'm sitting here plonking on the computer, smelling Adam's delicious scalloped, lime and pepper potatoes and chicken kebabs and every song that they play reminds me of some event or place.

Alice Cooper - "School's Out ". . . Eating left over KFC which we'd bring home after working there on Saturday and Sunday night during our school and uni days. A whole heap of friends worked at the same place making it more fun than work. We'd spin a few records (yep, the old black vinyl) and "Only Women Bleed" was my favourite song from that album.

Santana "Black Magic Woman" . . .takes me back to their Abraxus album and schooldays. I was in my teens and tried hitch hiking against the best advice of my parents. I always felt incredibly guilty doing it but there were always two of us. I look back now and realise how dangerous and foolhardy it was. I'd end up at my friend Susan's place and play this album over and over and thank my lucky stars that some madman hadn't had his way with me!

Smashing Pumpkins "Cherub Rock" . . .one of my 1995 favourites. I went to their concert at the Hordern Pavilion in Sydney but I was in my 40's. As my friend and I went through security with our tickets, the much older than 40 security guard said "Well you're a little older than our usual crowd! . . ." Should have bitch slapped her to Tuesday but we smiled and walked into one of the best concerts I'd been to for a long time . . I was very careful to sit next to a couple who were much older so I didn't feel my age! I should have paid heed. I went to the Chemical Brother's soiree about 4 years ago and felt ANCIENT! So the next concert I go to I'm chaperoning a tween!

Sex Pistols "Anarchy in the UK" . . God I remember my mother having kittens when we first saw this bunch on "Countdown" a "Top of the Pops" style show that we'd watch on Sunday nights. She was horrified, not so much at the punk music but the suggestion of Anarchy and the references to the Queen and the pogo dancing and the piercings. Rebellion never made sense to her at all. She loved the Queen. She loved Princess Diana and came over to our flat to watch the wedding because my father refused to have it on telly. We sat there like a couple of old maids "Awww, isn't she lovely . . awww her dress looks nice even though it's all creased . . Oh look at the Queen, she's so nice in blue . . " Funny night but I remember it so well. Johnnie Rotten just didn't work for her in any way shape or form!

Pearl Jam "Even Flow" - Last time Pearl Jam toured, I was just about to sit down to dinner and a friend rang and said that a friend of a friend of a friend, worked in the Virgin record shop and had a hot tip that Eddie Vedder was going to make an appearance in the Snake Lounge (Local Metal club). So I left the kids to their devices, picked her up and we pootled off. The place was full of metalheads with long hair, lots of black and leather and the warm up band had them bouncing up and down, long locks swishing everywhere. . . we put up with metal, black metal, death metal until . . . the room was full of anticipation and . . you guessed it . . Pearl Jammed, a local cover band hit the stage. Man was I disappointed! So be warned, never listen to a friend of a friend of a friend of mine!

Cream "Sunshine of Your Love" . .I was about 14 and I went with my parents to have lunch with one of their friends on a really hot day. I felt very cool, being allowed to wear a slightly older than me 'tent dress' with psychedelic green and purple swirls. Their daughter, who I now know was a predecessor of the Goth movement was playing Cream. My parents were horrified that this 18 year old had the run of the stereo and was playing such rubbish. She was forced to turn it off so the two of us swanned over to the cool of the shopping centre whilst the 'olds' did their thing. I felt very grown up in my super groovy (in retrospect simlply awful) dress and hanging with this 18 year old . OMG if only my folks new the talent in that band . . .I do remember my father once saying that Eric Clapton wasn't half bad! Needless to say my parents were less than contemporary in their musical taste. Who'd have thought that 20 years later, the old girl would be bopping along to Robert Palmer's Addicted to Love!


Is there a memory attached to a particular piece of music for you?

There are loads more but I'll save those for a rainy day . . .I need to practice Black Magic Woman. I'm having trouble even on the 'easy' setting! You know the old fella's still got what it takes!

Friday Fuckwit

Jessica and Stephen Whyte, were victims of an early trick rather than treat when they realised they had been served poo, cleverly disguised in a Chocolate Ice Sunday at Sydney's popular Coogee Bay Hotel.

Apparently, Stephen and Jessica were watching the recent NRL Grand Final with friends and family and the music was a little too loud in this rather 'young' and noisy pub. They asked staff to turn the TV down and were offered free dessert by way of apology. Two families say staff served them ice-cream laced with poo. Staff are denying it but testing has proved there was faecal matter in their ice cream. Who put it there is still a point of contention . . .

Two sides to every story:

I wonder was it:

"Excuse me, but would you mind awfully turning down that lovely background music just a little as the NRL game is getting very exciting and we'd love to be able to hear the commentator while we finish our delicious meal?"

or more . . .

"Oi! We're troyin' teh watch the friggin' game and can't hear a bloody thing over that techno racket yous dish pigs are playin'? Turn the friggin boom box down!"

. . and Gelatogate was born!

Like one of life's great mysteries, the Coogee Bay Hotel saga is embroiled in a conundrum: What came first - the poo or the gelato? The NSW Food Authority yesterday revealed laboratory tests proved excrement was indeed at the centre of the napkin used by Jessica Whyte to spit out the tainted gelato. (Go on, you're all going eeeeuuuuwww - she actually ate some!)

Coogee Bay hotel has tested the gelato and it's come up squeaky clean . . . so somewhere between the kitchen and the table, the gelato has met with misadventure!

"The Coogee Bay Hotel has never disputed the substance "The real question remains - where did it come from?" say staffers.

"Further DNA analysis by the Authority will now be conducted to determine if the sample is of human or animal origin," Mr Macdonald said. "That test will take up to a week to complete.
"Obviously, we are keeping an open mind and do not want to pre-empt this investigation."

So tonight's Friday Fuckwit the is yet to be discovered, but sure as eggs, someone who put poo in a client's knicker bocker glories!

So when those little Halloweenies knock on your door tonight asking for a Trick or Treat . . . you'd better have your lollipops ready . . . revenge can be . . . well shit frankly!

Where Men's Money Goes

Erm, I was told that bed was for sex and sleep . .

apparently it's for staring like a zombie at poor graphics and yelling
"Awwww you beat me!"

There's no clever clip at the end of this post but after realising I have to live on $10 a day for the next 15 days and, arriving home after my round-the-world horse feeding trip, hitting Chippy on the head with a bucket and giving him a good soaking with the hose to stop him pinching Laurie's dinner,(no it's not cruel, he has short man syndrome!) Then ducking into the shops on a Thursday night late night shopping session for some mince to make oh so exotic hamburgers (with lettuce, tomato, onions and of course beetroot!)I was not a little pissed off at my son's announcement that he and the Fringelet were planning a luxury weekend in the city for their second 'anniversary'. It's my favourite thing to do and haven't done it for over two years!

Nice hotel, clean sheets and chocolate on the pillow, Imax and a harbour cruise. A trip over to Manly to visit Chocolate by the Bald man and maybe fish and chips on the beach. More exploring the Botanic Gardens and dinner at the very expensive Meat and Wine Co. (another intelligently named Aussie Restaurant - almost as creative as "Nicks Seafood") . . .so my demeanour upon hearing this announcement was not over zealous.

Neither was I too impressed with the announcement that "Guitar Hero would be so much better if I could put a data projector above the curtains in the lounge and project it onto the wall" or "World Tour" comes out in a couple of weeks and is only $380." Although I rather fancy that because I can sing and not have to push buttons or rely on the dexterity of my arthritic phalanges.

So don't talk to me about what men spend their money on . . it certainly isn't their clothes or groceries! They're sneaky. They buy Playstations and hide them like an expensive new dress until you finally come home early and catch half a dozen boys in the pool room blowing people up "Oh I got it cheap from . . I've had it for ages . . what this old thing?". Or blow $3000 on an unregisterable motor bike for some noisy Sunday paddock bashing when he'd have been better off buying a few new pairs of undies and a pair of jeans that actually have a hem on them.

Then there's the sound systems with surround sound and sub woofers that make the gyprock vibrate, the Motocross subscriptions, the fast food, the car stereos, the Zhiljian Cymbals. More mature men (I use the term loosely) buy another enormous TV to go into their bedroom when there are four perfectly good TV's scattered about the house or blow $5000 on a greyhound that is later euthanased because . .well . . it was a 'dog' in all senses of the word or a pool side umbrella the size of Texas. Or dip into the savings for a complete golf set that's used twice a year and 'Big Bertha driver' because it's not their handicap that's the problem . . it's the tools of the trade!

Don't get me wrong, I'm good at spending money when I have it (which is not very often these days . .even my tax rebate was swallowed because my family benefit payment had been overpaid even though I cancelled it when Adam left school - so my rather healthy return was 'garnished' and I ended up with a pittance). But I don't waste it on 'things' other than the odd scented candle from Dusk. Any spare cash I manage to eek together over the next couple of months will be spent on a new washing machine so I don't have to go through the spin cycle twice and hold the hose up so it syphons properly and a new fridge who's door doesn't fling open and with a vegie crisper big enough to allow me to bulk buy and use my juicer and a new sofa bed so that guests have somewhere comfortable to sleep other than on an old rubber mattress on the floor! I might even spring for a new pair of shoes!

So among the gidgets and gadgets that men buy . . I think we women should stop hiding that little black dress or feeling embarrassed about our matching shoes and handbags . . or splash out sometime on that lovely little gold chain that's been discounted to $300! Men may not buy many of the 'practical' things but they spend a fortune on their luxury goods. Then again, maybe they're smart . . .I go out and buy two horses that I can't ride anymore but have healthy appetites and 'needs'. (read $$$$)

Although thank goodness for small mercies, we've moved on from "Slow Ride" to Knights of Cydonia, Santana's Black Magic Woman and the Killers . . .can't complain about the music selection on GH3 tonight! I might not have a social life but I have a plethora of games and cleanskin chardy is only $5.95 a bottle.

Where Women's Money Goes!

Been a bit 'heavy' re subject matter lately and frankly, I'm tired. Work is very busy. My head is full of Seminars and Spicks and Specks is calling. It's raining (which is a good thing here) so the couch and doona beckon. I just have to shift 'he who thinks my end of the couch is his' onto his own posi . . but I was sent this today by AV and although I'm not a shoe fiend thought it very clever . . my best friend on the other hand would really see the humour in it. She's the Imelda Marcos of Australia . . .yes Thommo . .that's you!

Vaccinate

I had an email from a friend today, advising against getting a flu vaccine and voicing suspicion at the value of inoculation. Admittedly this particular friend was talking specifically about the flu 'mist' spray that apparently is prevolent in US pharmacies. He also received received some poor medical advice when his GP recommended a TB injection without first doing a 'Mantoux' test but . . . it got me thinking about the value of inoculation and the controversy that it sometimes raises.

We've all got one of those little scars on our left upper arm yes? Was it worth it. I mean as a child I had measles and mumps, I never had whooping cough but often heard my father talking about the diphtheria and polio ambulances taking children away from his working class Manchester street. And even our local swimming baths in Stockport were closed due to a polio outbreak in the early 60's.

When I was at school, it was common to see children in leg calipers, recovering from the debilitation of polio and when I was 10, Sabin syrup delivered liberation and became a mandatory medication, paid for by public health.

Now I'm not for or against flu shots. Had one last year and got a pretty nasty cold, didn't have one this year and escaped the 'flu' even though those around me had some pretty nasty bouts of the real deal. Personally, we provide them for staff members who want them and with varying levels of success but if you're aged, young or vulnerable, I can't see the harm in protecting yourself from a thoroughly miserable state of affairs. Out here, people catch heavy cold and call in sick with 'the flu'. Influenza is worse, you ache, you fever, you feel like your teeth are going to fall out and your head is going to burst. I actually have had real full blown influenza twice in my life. Once as a child, once as an adult and neither experience was pleasant.

A common myth about the flu shot though is that it can actually cause the flu, this is total rubbish. It’s a dead virus in injection form. The bigger problem is that people often wait too late to have the vaccine and have not built an immunity before being exposed to live flu viruses. The other problem is that this rapidly mutating virus has changed and the protection you've received, no longer applies to the new upgraded virus. It's like working on Windows 2000 and not being able to upload SP2 because your system won't allow it. The injection should be administered in March in the Southern Hemisphere and in August in the Northern Hemisphere to allow immunity to develop. But the flu shot used is made from dead influenza viruses, which means that it's impossible to catch the flu by receiving it. You might have an allergic reaction if you have a problem with eggs (the virus is bread in albumen) or soreness on the site but that’s common with injections.

There is a nasal spray flu vaccine which is made from live viruses, it may cause flu-like symptoms, including runny nose, headache, vomiting, muscle aches, and fever. I don't think it's available here. These symptoms however, hardly require emergency room treatment unless perhaps you have a child with a fibrillating temperature - symptoms are relieved by using paracetamol and bedrest, even if you do feel like death warmed up. Or are we a bit tough out here? Emergency is for when you’re leg’s hanging off or your brain’s squeezing out of our ears and it annoys me intensely that people use casualty departments in hospitals for sniffles and sneezles. There’s absolutely no point going to the emergency department for flu! It’s incurable. Symptoms can be treated with high fluid intake, bedrest and over the counter pain relief. And if you've had a flu shot, and the strain hasn't mutated, 'she'll be right' as we say down under.

The way flu works is it constantly mutates like a cold virus so the vaccines/mists contain amounts of viruses from the previous season – over here, the three most common influenzas from the previous year are included in the following year’s inoculations. Drug companies do need to manufacture flu viruses and other pathogens in order to make the vaccine. Much as other antigens and anti-venines are developed from live cultures. In fact we inject horses with snake and spider venom in order to extract anti-venine from their blood! Now there’s a shot you’d be glad to have in a hurry! Pharmaceutical companies also manufacture or maintain things like like Anthrax/Smallpox - I've even heard Bubonic Plague - but not to kill everyone! Except when a rogue employee decides to pop a bit in envelopes! Oh and the usual ‘reserve’ stocks for potential biological warfare - now there's a bit of viral conspiracy theory I do believe but the dangers of releasing a virus is that it's totally indiscriminate, air or water borne? Doesn't make sense - how do you know you'll only affect your target. Mustard gas or Cyanide is far more effective!

People who should not get a flu shot include:

anyone who's severely allergic to eggs and egg products (ingredients for flu shots are grown inside eggs)
infants under 2 years old
anyone who's ever had a severe reaction to a flu vaccination (although most people do not experience any side effects from the flu shot)
anyone with Guillain-Barré syndrome (GBS), a rare condition that affects the immune system and nerves
anyone with an existing fever

As for other inoculations, I am a believer. We’ve all but eradicated TB, Smallpox, Diphtheria, Polio, Whooping Cough, Measles, Mumps, German Measles and many other diseases that used to be endemic in the Western World. We even inoculate teenagers against cervical cancer!

Unfortunately a belief that a reaction might be severe is preventing some people from inoculating their younglings and these diseases are enjoying a recurrence. Particularly TB and whooping cough. Sure, every one-in-a-million might suffer a debilitating reaction, in which case it sucks to be you, but these diseases are childhood killers and the lives saved are immeasurable.

My mother had TB when nursing infected children in the 50’s. This resulted in a lung lobe being removed at 20 years of age, mere months after she married and a subsequent TWO YEARS of bedrest and sunshine until an appropriate antibiotic was available. Had Streptomycin and a TB vaccine been available then, she would have survived intact with healthy lungs and would have also survived the head on collision that killed her in 1992. The collision punctured her remaining lobe. I certainly wish that there had been a TB vaccine for her those years ago. She'd still be popping in for a cup of tea at 10:30 after her shift!

Even Clare, a total needlephobic to the point of veins collapsing and fainting spells, inoculated herself before her travels. She suffered Hepatitis, Malaria, Cholera, Tetanus and Typhoid injections and luckily has enjoyed robust health during her travels in many far flung and tropical and disease ridden places.

The only conspiracy here is drug companies making a shit load of money out of the production of relatively cheap vaccines and flogging them for a hefty price. Drug companies want us alive and paying for our medication! Quite contrary to my friend's, friend's theory that the Government uses vaccines in an effort to reduce the population.

Hard as it is to watch your kid squirm under the threat of a Triple Antigen or your teenager object to Rubella and Mantoux testing, to my mind, it's worthwhile and nothing that a lollipop afterwards can't fix.

Personally, I think we've dropped the ball on vaccination. We've forgotten that whole Asian, Melanesian and Polynesian populations were decimated by measles and smallpox brought by the white man. We've forgotten that only 30 years ago, smallpox vaccination was mandatory to come to Australia and that curable diseases plagued our indigenous populations - oh yes it was - we all had festering sores on our arms as the then live vaccine did its inoculatory work before we emigrated. Would you believe that in the 60's you even needed a Cholera vaccination if you wanted to travel to Europe.

So my friend. . .much as you might think there's a conspiracy out there, I would rather live in the disease free world that Westerners enjoy today than take the risk of infection. As for the third world, if only they had the ability to pay, I'm sure there would be a vaccine against AIDS! There's no profit in protecting Africans.

Phoctober Day 3

Struth folks, it's almost November. Crikey where'd the month go. Stone the crows and knock me on the head with a dead Dingo's donger if this isn't the last post for Phoctober which for various reasons has been a bit of a dry argument this year. Grab me a VB and bung on the cork hat, it's time for a few pickies with a tinny in hand and a quick squizz at what goes on at my place when we're not chasing emus from the outside dunny and fishing crocs outta the swimming pool. The joe blakes are all loved up and down by the creek and the blowies are buzzing in the laundry. Won't be long before the brown bombers start clinging to the bonce and Santa arrives on six white boomers . . . .Erm no, we don't actually talk like that. Not in Sydney anyway although the boys have been known to crack a fat and the girls can be skanks.

Don't get me wrong, I love where I live and am eternally grateful for my parent's hard decision to move 12,000 miles from their own families to give us a good start in life.

I often wish we'd gone to Canada but that wasn't an option. Australia is great, but it's just another country. It's huge, it's expensive, it's dry and the four minute shower is mandatory at the Bainbridge's 'desperately trying to be green' homestead. We can't water our garden or wash our car with a hose. The summer smells of bushfire smoke and everything as we've previously established wants to kill you. Getting from A to B takes a long time and little change in landscape. A drive from Sydney to Brisbane (about 10 hours) takes you through gum forests, into Banana Country then Sugar Cane . .that's it. We do have natural wonders, a highly developed cultural life (apparently the Australian Ballet is highly regarded for it's fluid interpretations). We have the biggest Gay Mardis Gras, the Grand Prix, World Rugby and arguably the highest proportion of elite sportspeople per head of population (just tipped the 21 million mark). We have great food from all over the world. Great cultural tolerance - except for the lebs because they're all related to suicide bombers (despite the fact that most are Christian) But the chinks are happy because they're now off the hook. (Now don't go giving me curry over my lack of political correctness, I'm playing up for the cameras).

The beauty of Australia is in its diversity. We're relaxed, irreverent, foul mouthed, varied, casual, largely tolerant and uniquely unable to name a suburb creatively. We are to some extent little America and to another, little China. We've got some lovely landmarks and a penchant for 'big' things . . usually bananas, potatoes, prawns and pineapples although I believe there's a big Lobster in South Australia and perhaps a giant VB bottle somewhere in the outback.

One thing I've realised through travelling and blogging is that every country has its charm. The US has amazing natural history, stunning customer service and no . . the Greyhound and Trains are not a mugger's paradise, they're cheap . . you guys should try them sometimes. Europe is antique and modern. Sophisticated and raw. Small enough to travel from country to country and taste a plethora of different cultures and lifestyles. Even countries within countries have different cultures, languages, dialects and accents. You can travel 10kms and people speak differently.

Not here although there are slight nuances between city accents and a great divide between city and country. Here - we're a multicultural blend of everything with a stereotypical attitude to everything. My Korean neighbours don't speak English but Barbecue and wear thongs. My Estonian girlfriend makes Risolya for Christmas but has no accent. My Cypriot friend looks Greek but speaks Strine. The Somali trolley boys at Coles wear Billabong jackets that they couldn't afford in their own country and Islamic women are free to practice their faith and wear the hi jab. Even the Pentecostals are welcome because they pay a load of tax. We love the diversity of halal butchers, Chinese grocers, Vietnamese bakeries and Thai yumminess, Korean Barbecue, Greek fishmongers and Italian deli's. Dining out here is an international experience yet there are some things which are quintessentially Australian . . . nobody calls their kids Bruce or Sheila any more (what is the world coming to?). Everyone takes an esky to a barbie and BYO is endemic. Meat pies are eaten at footy games and schooner's are the measure of a beer, not a small sailing ship.

There are a number of Aussie Icons of which you may or may not be aware, the Hills Hoist, the Esky, The Wine Cask and the Cochlear Implant to name a few. Like many countries, our good designs are snapped up overseas because funding for them here seems not to be forthcoming.

I didn't have to go to far for this post, all these pictures are from my own home or garden . . .these are things that are quintessentially Australian to me . . I'm not big into meat pies, cork hats or blue singleted beer bellies . . but five minutes around my place and this is why I still call Australia home. *runs off and sings Peter Allen song*


My verandah . . keeps the house cool, great for kids to ride their trykes around and the place we sit in the evening during summer righting the wrongs of the world . . .but it's a long way to the washing line (60 metres!)


Water sports . . millions of Australians have pools. When you fly into Kingsford Smith, the landscape is smattered with little blue holes. Handy in a bushfire as well. They're a shit to maintain in winter but the summer enjoyment is worth the chemical overload . .


Vegemite . .love it or hate it, we're really pissed that it's now owned by an American company. This particular shot is from Uyuni Salt flats in Paraguay, no respectable Australian travels without it.


Thongs, clearly these won't fit around my bum . .they are footwear people not underwear. Acceptable everywhere except nightclubs and posh restaurants. Valuable in thwacking spiders, keeping the soles of your feet from burning on the sand (warning to Bondi visitors) and help absorb the bindis instead of having them puncture the soles of your feet! They must be Haviainas because they're soft and uber comfy. Pommies you will get sore between your toes but persevere . . .
Weird flowers. . . this is a Sandra Gordon Grevillea . .the birds love em because they're nectar bearing but they look funny, you can't pick them for a vase and they make you itch when pruning!


Weather . . 30 one minute . .hailing golf balls the next. We watched this hailstorm last February in our bathers! The temperature dropped minimally but after it was over, the lawn was STEAMING! (and poor Babysis' car was totalled!). There is nothing 'reliable' about our weather. Summer can be hot, humid, dry and wet. . Autumn is cold and windy and Winter . .anyone's guess. Spring is usually pretty good although we had snow in the blue mountains on Wednesday and today it was 30!



Rainbow Lorikeets. As I sit here, these small parrots are chirruping away in the treetops and are INVISIBLE. Can you imagine a bird of so much colour blending into the gum trees? Well they do. This one however was very cooperative and munching my Robin Gordon Grevillea just outside Adam's bedroom . .they're noisy but so, so, beautifully coloured.



Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree . .actually this is my sister's gum tree. We have them hear but I tend to hear them laugh before rain rather than see them. They do laugh and they do sound funny.

Babybro's Rodeo . . Holden . . Aussie car brand from General Motors. As Australian as the meat pie and blue singlet! You're either a Holden man or a Ford Man. . .-



Galahs, one of the most underrated cockatoos here. Snapped these lovers this afternoon. These are not drinking. The pool has just been dosed with chlorine. They're sharpening their beaks on the coping stones and licking the lime in the pebble crete much like you give a caged bird cuttlefish to chomp. Very pretty.



Sulphur Crested Cockatoo. Australian natives despite their well travelled reputation. They are INCREDIBLY noisy in a bunch. The size of a chicken, somehow they know when seed has been put in the tray. I only feed when I have visitors and want to impress but they come . . yep . . build it and they will come!



Blue Tongue lizard . .docile . .slow . .had one in the shower once but he was happy to be scooped up in a cylindrical post pack and released somewhere a little further than my bathroom . .
got snails in your garden? Get one!


Rather pathetic flag that my bro put up in the front lawn on some Vinidex tubing. Hey, it's not class but it shows we're proud!



The barbie . .can be as simple or as sophisticated as you want. ALL Australians have one, use one, invite friends to one . . .although sometimes you BYO alcohol and meat! It is a male bastion. The women do the work, the salads, the table laying . . men turn a chop! Talent eh?



Al Fresco Christmas . . it's usually warm and we eat outside. Cold cuts (although I do bake a glazed ham) salad, fruit, chocolate fountain, more fruit . . .Mango Daquiries and a game of cricket.



Lemon scented Gum . . how does a tree like this smell like lemons? It does. I love this tree but I hate that the bastards are diciduous all year round. I spend every Saturday blowing leaves down one end of the verandah only to have a cool change blow them back. Some pursuits are futile but necessary.



There, just a little of my world. No fall, no snow, no funny accents, no rich history, no water . . .but it's still God's country . .if only I could turn the temperature down in January . .it's not easy being green! Right, off to throw a prawn on the barbie, thwack that redback off the toilet seat with my thong and make a pavlova!

Tit for Tat

We have a rabbit problem. A big rabbit problem. Most have now moved underneath the shipping container that we use for storage and are undermining the shed but they've left a warren in the back paddock that's too dangerous to mow over let alone allow a horse to fall into. The fuckers have built a warren up the back tantamount to a Florida condominium and bigger than the World Square Apartments in George Street so before I can bring horses back, they need to be demolished.

And I have a horsey problem. My ponies are like Laurel and Hardy. A fat Welsh Mountain pony that survives on an oily rag and is about to founder because he steals food and a neglected Arab who needs a bit of feeding up. In fact Chippy is the only horse that I've seen with a visible belly button!

Old Laurie is doing well on his Coprice diet and uber pricey lucerne hay and the ribs are now covered after just 3 weeks but I need to bring him home to avoid a one hour round trip every night to feed and to cut down on the expense. Having him at home means I can feed twice or three times a day, avoid driving after work and quarantine fat boy.

Ever since the drought, hay has been about $25 a bale (they eat half a bale a day at their current digs) and the Coprice pellets $26 for 25 kilos. Fed at 3 kilos a day, it doesn't go far and greedy chops keeps stealing it. My neighbour has a smaller paddock so I can quarantine fatso Chippy but the two can still hang around and snooze together. They've been paddock buddies for 13 years so full on separation would upset them big time. I know, I'm a sap and they should go to the glue factory but I just canna doit Captain! (Thrifty are you paying attention)

I have an overgrowth problem (nope I'm not referring to a need for a bikini wax although that area could do with some attention given the onset of Spring). The back paddock is looking like a forest so it's $350 to hire a Bobcat and driver to demolish the rabbit resort, another $500 for a slasher to bring the weeds under control . . .hang on . . *brainwave* - Son is a landscaper. Son's boss has a Backhoe and a Bobcat. Horses eat grass ergo no need for a slasher. Well it took a while for the penny to drop - I'm a bit slow on the uptake but Adam finally asked his boss if he could 'borrow' the tools of the trade for some work at home. Thanks Toddles . . .

Here is a nanoportion of the problem:





Imagine getting your fetlocks stuck in that! Let alone the tunnels beneath that resemble the Viet Cong's efforts beneath Saigon only without the wok's and sleeping quarters! Although I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd dug up a few bunk beds and a dining table. The solution? This morning Adam borrowed the work truck (he might be smelly and messy and stink up my kitchen with his garlic addiction but he's mighty handy - he does put the toilet seat down.) . . .

This has to be every little boy's wet dream. A truck, a digger and a Bobcat! (We all know what the big boys dream about!) When he was a tot, he loved playing with his Tonka Diggers in the sand pit and blew raspberry noises until his chin developed a dribble rash. No dribble today. First out came the digger and an attempt to remove an old tree stump that was clearly similar to an iceberg with massive roots beneath so we resolved to paint it orange and leave it be. (Not for the horses, for the tractor - we' ve buggered more than one tractor blade on unseen stumps!)



Then to the serious stuff. About a 15 metre square, now deserted rabbit warren with holes that could easily break a leg if you fell in one . . .naturally whilst painting a blue spray area for the lad to work in, I did! Fall in, not break a leg.


Once excavated, the fun bit . . . out comes the Bobcat which looked like more fun than a ride at Luna Park than a landscaping tool . . Look mum, two wheels!

Fill it in and smooth it over . . . .


Job's done in about an hour but packing up takes about the same time. Fitting a digger, bobcat, drills, bits, wheelbarrows and ramps onto the truck is a precision exercise. First you put the 'bits' into the bucket (which weigh a tonne mind - so of course I watched and took photographs and offered moral support "No wonder you're tired at night sweetheart. I have no idea how you do this every day! *sigh and empathy ooze*) No wonder he's developing great guns!


Then back the thing up the ramps which are about 25cms wide . . .


Then back the digger . . . .

And finally, secure the load . . .


Might seem a little pedestrian to you but today he saved me almost $1000 so board payment is suspended this month! And there's something rather wonderful knowing that a boy who grew up without much male influence is so resourceful and blokey.

The saving on board incidentally gave him enough funds to go out and buy Guitar Hero III and two guitars . . . well deserved twanging to my mind. Well c'mon he could have been an Investment Banker! Thank you darling . . next week we'll fix the fence!

Don't you love the Royal 'we'. Cut me some slack now, I did 10 loads of filthy washing and changed his sheets! That's Tit for Tat in my book!