Apero Addiction and The Perfect 'Crap'

One of the first questions I've been asked about Paris is "What's the food like?"  Well considering we were watching our budget to some extent, we avoided the restaurants with the Michelin stars and felt no need to submit to the ones beneath the well hidden golden arches and stuck to street food and good cafe fare. Frankly Parisiennes and Italians know how to eat. There's little difference in the produce available but they stage their eating, do it moderately and with class and variety.


The supermarkets are incredibly varied with many different brands and styles of cheeses, cold cuts, etc. so you are spoiled for choice and they have this wonderful idea of "Apero" an abbreviation of Aperitif where at about 6pm, there's a savoury plate and wine to be enjoyed whether on the balcony of a hostel in Toulouse or in the centre of Paris. A simple plate of Corcherons, pickles, prosciutto, salamis and of  course the obligatory cheese. We soon became used to this little aperitif and began eating it daily. Dinner comes much later.


Let us not forget affordable wines, Rose became our wine of choice, reasonable beers and awesome, awesome coffee. I really miss my little sweet espresso heart-starter.


So the hit list . . Crepes (pronounced craps) without a doubt the Monteguile crepe stands are exceptional with simple additions such as lemon, Grand Marnier, lashings of Nutella or the savoury options of ham, mushrooms and cheese in any combination or the lot.


Bread is the heartbeat of France. It's not unusual to see executives with bread under  their arm, baguettes in bicycle baskets or being lugged along the street in large paper bags. The French love their bread. How Marie Antoinette could suggest they eat cake amazes me they'd have clocked her with their long baguettes. You won't find sliced bread easily and a 'sandwich' means a panini baguette.


We also tried to eat the foods of the region. In Paris pretty much anything goes. In Bordeaux it's definitely duck, the Basques love their chillies and Basque Cake as well as some of the Spanish influenced dishes such as Moules and Paella,  in Provence its as you'd expect, fresh delicious food of all types including fois gras and those hearty flavours, Nimes have their own little line of pastries and Nice . . here begins the Italian influence. Everywhere, the French love macaroons.


So yes, we managed to eat our way across France, relatively inexpensively and I'm sure its only the walking we did that prevented significant weight gain thank goodness.

Homespun Seafood at Cap Ferret Andonos du Bains

Espresso in Biarritz

 Breakfast and Streetscapes

 

Aperativi in Florence, same same but different

Beer in Nimes

Crepes and Churro, Catacombs build an appetite

 Scampi Pasta

Gelato in Montemarte

 

Cafe Beneath our Paris Window

 

 Liquid Lunch

 

Petit Fors with grande calories

 

Apero with Pate de Fois Gras and Camembert on one of Paris' Bridges

 

Nutella Crepe

Beginning At The End

Better get yourself a cuppa, this could take some time!

Let me start at the end because indeed the finest 4 weeks in recent history have been enjoyed in France and northern Italy.

The end however is dramatic.

On Saturday 3rd October, we headed off, backpacks on like a pair of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to hire a little car and venture into the Tuscan countryside for our last weekend. The hire place, in the posh part of Florence was a tiny office (cars kept in a garage down the street).  There were two middle aged Spanish ladies being served, three outwardly gay Chinese men and a Slovak couple who had just received the keys to their rental.

We divested ourselves of our backpacks and put my camera bag and Clare's bag on a seat and sat next to them waiting our turn.  I took my ID and credit cards out of the camera bag to pay for the car.

We approached the counter which was just out of arms reach of our bags and packs and the nice man asked me for my passport. I spun round to grab the camera bag which had the passport tightly wedged beneath my 50mm lens . . .(some cash and of course my mobile phone) . . . not there. Seriously, in the space of 3 minutes with my back turned, someone had snatched the bag and nobody had seen it. This! From me! Mrs Cautious personified and she who travels a lot. I'd even slept with the thing tied to my arm!

Besides the initial disbelief, the car rental man, very apologetically, declined to hire a car to us without the passport and since Clare's wallet had been picked on the Metro whilst in Paris she also  was ineligible to hire a car since the credit card and passport needed to be in the same name. Devastated about losing our weekend and over 2G of photos (thankfully Paris photos were uploaded after the first week but the balance of the holiday was all in the bag).

So as tears poured, people were challenged, customers asked if they saw anything and me racing frantically down the street in case the perpetrator was still around or had found no cash in the bag and dumped it . . . .the drama began.

Ironically, the car hire office was only 50 metres from the Florence Police Headquarters. We picked up sticks, wiped our tears and plodded down to the police station to lodge a report. This in itself was a drama with the reporting officer not speaking English and us having to wait for an English speaker to translate only to be 'interrupted' whilst a dramatic arrest was made - no not us sillies! Once done and with report in hand, we had to find accommodation. 

Not easy it seems and we ended up in a dump of dumps with no window, no common room no kitchen but hey, it was a bed for the night. We ditched the bags and left the hostel for the afternoon to lick  our wounds. This we did by getting mightily pissed and enjoying fine Italian food.

The next issue was the passport. Resigned that the camera bag is probably sitting in a Florentine dumpster or waiting to be traded at some pawn shop (the police were a little confused as to our questions about the nearest pawn shop in the event the item had been 'fenced' and thought it an odd time for us to be seeking salacious material at a porn shop).

The nearest Australian consulate was in Milan and the Embassy in Rome.  Of course, this happened Saturday morning, Europe closes all weekend and most of Monday morning and our flight from Florence to connect in Paris was at 7am on Monday morning so . . .either forfeit the flights and go to Rome or take our chances.

We headed to the airport for some advice from Air France and Customs but Florence is a small provincial airport and after 3 hours of trying, the booking desk (not Air France but a general travel agency) could not secure flights for us until 10th October. Bear in mind we were both due back at work on the 7th! Devastated, we sought help from the police who assured us that we could fly to Paris where there was also an embassy and that we might be able to secure a temporary passport prior to our Departure for Hong Kong at 1:45 on the Monday.

Relieved, we got drunk again, dumped the dump we had been forced to stay in due to our Tuscan break being cancelled and went back to our favourite hostel in Florence, Emerald Fields for some tea, sympathy, hookah action and a Marengo with our fave Dominican (story for another time).

We were unable to contact the embassy thanks to a 'push one for . . ' routine that eventually had them hanging up. Our travel insurance 24/7 hotline number only operated Monday to Friday 9-5. To make it worse, all the contact numbers for emergencies were 'toll free' or 'collect' which meant that we could not use public phones, internet cafe phones, Skype, mobiles - in fact these numbers only work via land lines and our lifeline had become a  strange communication triangle between Jeffscape in the US and Adam who had decided to go camping over what was a long weekend in Australia and his fiance Amy to provide us with assistance and copies of my passport.

After a hugely stressful day, we slept soundly thanks to white Frizzante and a few Peronis and left for Florence airport at 4:30am. We had no problem boarding our Plane for Paris since there is little border control between EU countries and as long as there is photo ID they let you cross freely via plane.

Paris however was another thing. In order to be sure, we decided before hitting the consulate located miles away near the Eiffel tower and a good hour from the airport, we'd check with Air France to see if I could travel with my passport copy, police report and my Aussie drivers' licence. At first our spirits soared as 'information' said there would be no trouble and that we should check in early just in case. Then shit hit the fan. Firstly, the Air France girls barely spoke English. Eager to help, they provided us with a number that would grant us a "Government Override Visa" which would allow them to enter me on their system but they weren't sure how it worked and didn't have access to international phones so we'd have to call the number ourselves of course it was in Australia. Four phone calls later, testimonies from flight assistance we were allowed through customs, despite Paris being on terror alert and the airport full of soldiers. Grateful, we breathed a sigh of relief and ventured into Duty Free . .  .this had taken a total of four hours and gave us 20 minutes before our flight boarded. We shared some sushi and the best tasting Rose in the world until . . . .

I noticed my name flash on the screen near the boarding gate. Reported dutifully to the Air France rep and was told that I could not board. Despite having been cleared by customs and being issued a boarding pass. It seems whoever checked us in had not correctly entered the temp passport number and a "do not allow passenger to board" alert had been issued. Back to the public phone again (bitch to use) and finally, someone at the consulate named Debbie, gave verbal approval for us to travel.

Back to that number again and Aussies, if you're ever stranded, this is a life saver:

61 1 300 36 126 

These guys can give an instant Aussie Visa number over the line but be warned, they will expect a rep from your airline to talk to them and to have your passport details correctly entered on their system. 

So all is good. Half the flight done across Russia and all the '. . .ezekstans' and down through  China and we arrived in Hong Kong 11 hours later.

Just to be sure, we went straight to the desk and told the Chinese that we did not have a passport but did have ID. Another heart-in-throat moment as they said they couldn't let us board but had a Consulate Official who would assist. This girl was a gem, knew exactly what she was doing. Rang THE number and received all the relevant information.  Cleared and ready to go then Clare was stopped for trying to carry on 2 bottles of Duty Free alcohol. Normally, this would have been put on the flight in cargo but because of our trials had travelled in the cabin with Air France but the Chinese were having none of it and repacked it quickly and put it in the hold. Of course we were the last people on the plane but still on time.

Trust me getting on that flight, seeing the Gulf of Carpentaria 10 hours later mark our entry into Australia and the relief is something I have never ever felt before. Despite 32 hours of flying and transit, I was awake, refreshed, rejuvenated and so grateful that we hadn't had to change flights or be further delayed.

So despite a quick customs check upon my return and being given the OK, we arrived home, exhausted, relieved, faced with the prospect of a lengthy insurance claim but alive, well and happy . . and to a letter from French Police saying that they had found Clare' purse (minus the 100 Euro cash) and would forward her cards to her forthwith. 

So, here's me with my remedy for depression. . . when devastated just eat pasta and get pissed.

More boring travelogue to come .  .with stories about hash splifs, crack dealers, Peep Shows and Organic Veg,  dogs called Woppa, Gypsies and Ferals and more gastronomic delights. Its good to be home but it was wonderful to be away.

Au Revoir and Throw Me a G & T

No big deal for you northerners but 22  hours in a tin can is kind of daunting for us Aussies. So tomorrow at 3:30pm I'll be nervously downing a gin and tonic or ten and feeling that horrible rush as a plane far too big to float screams down the runway at Kingsford Smith Airport and  hoping it doesn't blow up like a frigging Concord. 

No, I am not a good flyer but I am an awesome traveller. Clare's surprised at the lightness of my backpack. 

However, once the light goes ping and I can move around the cabin I relinquish my control freak urges and relax but until then, the heart palpitates and the nerves frey. Today I've been a complete neuropuss. Combine that with an inability to smoke, tiny seats, alcohol only served with meals and the possibility of sitting next to the Christian Biker from Hell (oh yes that happened) and I'm a possible mess but it will be worth it.


For decades, I've wanted to visit Paris. Not sure why but on various trips to Europe Paris has eluded me so  this time, my glorious first born is taking me there for a week, then down to Bordeaux to stay with a gorgeous man she went to school with followed by a week of not sure where, then a week  in Tuscany with a backpack and a shared bathroom. I'm looking forward to it. Really I am.


Not sure about the posting situation, we're not taking a laptop but I'm sure I'll sate my addiction in some internet cafe at some point. 


Thank you Adam and Amy for housesitting, snugglebug my Lily  for me and feed old Laurie. Don't demolish the house. 

As for the rest of you . . be good to each other. Miss me a little. Jeff, remember to vote for me on 10thDoM and well, if I crash and burn I'd like these for funeral songs.  BYO lighters and crank it bitches.

 

Friday Fuckwit Goes to Ground

I've often wondered about infidelity and the complications the subtefuge of having a husband and a lover might cause.  I think it would take some intestinal fortitude for a man to deal with two women, especially if they're hot blooded Latin types:

ONE of the trapped Chilean miners is dreading his rescue after his wife met his secret mistress at the entrance to the San Jose mine.
Yonni Barrios' wife, Marta Salinas, and his lover, Susana Valenzuela, were both holding vigils for him outside the mine.

Ms Salinas, 56, was stunned and horrified when she heard Ms Valenzuela shouting his name amid a crowd of miners' loved ones.

However, she is determined not to give up her man to her love rival.
She told friends: "Barrios is my husband. He loves me and I am his devoted wife. This woman has no legitimacy."

But Ms Valenzuela said the 50-year-old miner, who she met on a training course five years ago, was planning to leave his wife for her. "We are in love. I'll wait for him," she said

As a dear friend of mine would say "Mmm hmmm?"

I bet he's not so disappointed about the prospect of a 90 day stay of execution.


Have a wonderful weekend darlings. The passport has been renewed, I am now officially on leave and counting down the hours.  I'm still thinking of pinching Adam's laptop but trying to see if I can survive a month with little more than internet cafe's to sate my addiction! Also meeting the future in-laws on Sunday and have been warned to say nothing incriminating . . .really, doesn't he trust his mother?

Baby Killers

In an attempt to foster a bit more quality from internet writers some time ago, Wings and JeffScape started The Tenth Daughter of Memory, a quasi-competitive collection of would-be creatives (writers, poets, illustrators, photographers) who attempt to win by posting an entry related to the nominated topic or muse. The winning entry then has the privilege of picking the next topic.

The original intention was not to concentrate on writing alone although contributions have tended to to focus more on the written word.  As a result, a general expectation has arisen that contributors will receive honest critical feedback from their peers.

Not everyone is up for criticism but if you are, and you fancy some really constructive criticism you can now receive it at The Infanticide Exchange.

Here peers, published authors and professional readers and critics will help you kill your stories, your babies, because the ones that survive will be stronger.

Anyone who already reads Creative Infanticide will know the philosophy behind the term.

Anyone who wants to have honest feedback on their work is welcome to join the Infanticide Exchange. The blog is entirely private. It is invite only, does not show up on search engines, and will be a great place for those who want to be writers to receive honest, objective, feedback rather than the lovely but slightly over-flattering comments that tend to come via your blog. 

There are rules, naturally since Jeffscape initiated the thing . . .

1. Your identity  must be shared with everyone else on the blog. Nothing within The Infanticide Exchange is anonymous, and everyone gets to follow everyone else's career aspirations and progress.


2. Once you have put up a post, it cannot be removed. 

I'm sure there are others but I'm trying to keep he who intimidates with complicated rules at bay.

Seriously, I've spent 15 years in a former life as a commercial copywriter and magazine editor and never wrote a single word of fiction. Had anyone told me I'd be doing this creative business 12 months ago, I'd have laughed in their general direction and hurled a herring at them.

However, writing and having someone help you shape your words, force you outside your comfort zone, point you in directions unforseen, is very rewarding and very challenging. Some of the contributors are published, others are seeking to be. One  is a professional reader, editor and critical analyst, others are worthy peers. (Yes I do wonder what I'm doing in their company!)

It doesn't matter whether you're in the closet or a regular contributor to one of a myriad of creative blogs out there such as Magpie Tales or Theme Thursday this is the perfect opportunity to receive genuine constructive criticism and to hopefully improve and stretch your creative limits.

The Infanticide Exchange is up and running now, and the admins are Tom at Half-Moose with a Twist, Baino at Creative Infanticide, and JeffScape at Irreverent Irrelevance. Email one of us and we'll get you started.

 If you're willing to partake in a bit of baby-killing, that is. I've just sent one of mine to the slaughter!

Now excuse me. Just 5 days to lift off (with a weekend in between) and Clare has mislaid her Aussie passport so we're scrambling for a replacement since they won't let her back in the country on her British. GAH! And I thought creative writing was stressful.

Sunday's are nice, they're sunny which is why they're called Sunday I guess. Today the in-laws came over for a barbie. 

Adam marinated chicken so tasty we ate it all and did weird herb infused lemony potato scallops. Grandma made a chocolate cake to die for and generally, all was good in the land of Oz.  

Ran into one of my bosses at the soccer, what a sweetheart. Kept Lily away from the balls  and managed to leave my mobile phone in the back of my in-laws' car so please don't try to call me for a couple of days.

Clare won her final and is now into the Grand Final next weekend although it's dicked her knees. 

 Sometimes it's the simple things that remind us life is good:

Our darling Grandma and Grandad 80 plus, lively, lovely and 2 months away from their 60th Wedding Anniversary.

Barbie boy. He's just awesome. Splash of lemon, sprinkle of pepper, garlic soy marinated chicken. 

He's a legend on the grill.

Gammy knee princess stretches . . .

Game on

Fancy feet

 

 Clare Bear, the lonely goaly . .

Apparently this is 'game faces', meant to intimidate the opposition. Yeah nice try pussycats. Except that one back right . . she's a toit like a toiger.

---

Goldmember: Dr. Evil, You look very toit. Yesh, toit like a toiger. Yesh Yesh Yesh.
Dr. Evil: You know, Goldmember? I don't think that's something one dude should say to another dude. Yeah. A little creepy. Mmhmm.

Friday Botnic

Since once of my loveliest, and strangest of friends is half Japanese, I'm getting quite an insight into the weirdness of it's people.  Highly disciplined, beautifully cultured, funky, polite, deviate, serious, controlled and rather odd, it comes as no surprise that the lovers of Anime and nano technology have a bit of a robot fetish (hey don't we all). But one poor man has finally snapped after his mummy took evasive action and evicted his 'friends':

Posted Wed Aug 25, 2010 6:12pm AEST


Robot hero: the popular TV animation character Gundam (AFP : Yoshikazu Tsuno )
A Japanese man has pleaded guilty to burning down his family home after his mother threw away some of his favourite robot toys.

Yoshifumi Takabe told Kobe District Court in western Japan he became suicidal after losing the figures, which he says were partners he wanted to spend his life with.
The 30-year-old, who lived with his mother, torched the family home in retaliation, saying he wanted to die with his robots in the fire.

His mother had long complained that Takabe was cluttering the house with enough toys to fill at least 300 boxes.
The blaze on August 9 last year completely destroyed their two-story wooden house, but no-one was injured.

The robot toys were figures from the Gundam animated TV series, which started in the 1970s, about space wars involving giant robots.

Ok everyone have a fab weekend. For me  it's gutter cleaning and a visit from the Outlaws. Crank it babies!  Love this shit.  Chardy time!

All Things Being Equal . . .

It’s weird. Last weekend we had a general election and here we are almost 5 days later and we don’t have a government. And guess what? Everything is going along swimmingly. Without the interference of politicians, the country appears to be running itself. Yes we have equal partners, a hung parliament an equal election result. Most unusual but it seems that nobody wants a budgie smuggler or a red haired atheist female in charge of the country. So what now?


Let sleeping dogs lie I say, sack the pollies, let the public servants run the joint and reinvest all their perks and Salaries into the economy. 





Hitler Reacts to the Australian 2010 federal election result
Uploaded by justrich. - Watch more comedy videos and sitcoms.


 
Short and sharp for Theme Thursday "Equal". Please go read the others who have probably put far more thought into their responses.

She said . . .

He's been wanting to do this for a long, long time. After four years of being with the girl of his dreams, he's finally going to pop the question.

He borrowed one of her rings a long time ago so that he could be sure of the size. He's researched his designs, chosen his certified 'non blood' diamond and now it sits in it's pretty leather box.

He has it all worked out. Sunday is 'date' day. They do this often, get up early, go for breakfast and spend the whole day in each others company sometimes just wondering around the city, lying on the beach, lunching or going to the movies, it's a dawn till dusk ritual.

This morning, they wondered down to  Bilgola beach to watch the sun rise as they sometimes do, their little pack of chocolate chip scones and a coffee in hand.  He tells her that he has something for her and returns the borrowed ring. She's a little disappointed because she thought he'd  bought her a present or something sweet.

He asks her if she'd  like a scone as the morning glow breaches the horizon. She says yes and he reaches into his 'Bakers Delight' bag and pulls out a diamond ring!

She goes into shock. She says "Oh my God, Oh my God" and he wonders whether she's shocked surprisedsed, turned off . . "Is that a yes?" . . "Of course" and his nerves disappear.

Yep, my little lad, the one with curly hair that used to dribble making raspberry noises on his tricycle, asked his lovely girl to marry him as the sun rose on this gorgeous winter day. I can't imagine a better man or a more lovely daughter in law.

Congratulations to you both my darlings, I  couldn't be more pleased. You're perfect for each other. Just perfect.

Friday Fuckwit - Pass the mnchies

 Ah where did the week go. It went fast.  You know me, I  like to get home on a Friday, pour a nice Semillon, get into the comfies and relax big time.  There probably was a time in my mis-spent youth when I shared a spliff or even a toke and ripped into some cheese and gherkin toasted sandwiches but it's been a long time baby . . .not so for this young starter.

(Aug. 18) -- A young Florida mom has taken a hit for posting a photo of her baby holding a bong on Facebook.

Rachel Stieringer, 19, of Keystone Heights, Fla., was arrested and charged with one count of possession of drug paraphernalia, authorities said.

A photograph of her 11-month-old son playing with a large green bong shot across the Internet and prompted a concerned citizen to alert Florida authorities.

Rachel Stieringer, 19, was arrested and charged with possession of drug paraphernalia after she posted on Facebook a photo of her baby with his face in a bong.

Stieringer said it was a joke. "If u look at the picture u can see that there is no bowl in the TABACCO [sic] pipe," she wrote on her Facebook page, according to The New York Post. "And i took a pic to show one [expletive] person and it was a mistake. I would never ever ever let him get high."

After drug testing the little boy, authorities confirmed that the baby didn't get high. But they said they couldn't understand where Stieringer was coming from.

"We are alarmed that any parent would take pictures of their child next to what is obviously drug paraphernalia," John Harrell, spokesman for the Florida Department of Children and Families, told the Post.

Stieringer turned herself in to Clay County authorities on July 29 and was released on $502 bond, according to The Associated Press. Her arraignment is Aug. 26.

Her mother, Sharalyn Harris, told First Coast News that Stieringer is taking parenting and drug counseling classes.

What can I say . .  Oh dear . . . right off to pour a legal drug, get the same feeling without the munchies and begin the weekend. Have a great one y'all.

Big happy squeezes and soggy smooches from Down Under . . . crank it babies!

Brush

Painting isn't something I like doing but in an ageing home it's a necessity. The usual emergence of spring, warm breezes and bright Antipodean light nurtures the nesting instinct and even in my menopausal years, I feel the urge .  .  . the urge to spruce up the old humpy and apply a coat of paint.

So it's off to Bunnings, the hardware store from hell where you can buy anything from a gas heater to a crockery set, a sprocket case to a chainsaw, two-stroke and a tin whistle (well I  might be fibbing about the tin whistle)  but I'm buying paint, an assortment of rollers, a drip tray and drop cloths and one of those nifty spongey things that you use to make nice straight lines and corners around architraves. Of course there's masking tape to protect the woodwork and copious amounts of turpentine used mainly for removing the splodges that sneak onto the carpet and leave my face and forearms looking like I've been spattered with the blood of an alien, pale yellow  instead of red.

Hours of preparation, which is actually the bit I do like, masking corners, laying dropsheets, emptying and moving cupboards and discovering those little things about which  you'd forgotten. 

The tiny fruit knives a legacy from ancient aunts, a pair of opera glasses, two fine  crystal decanters that someone thought I'd use and proffered as a wedding gift. Home  made curiosities that children's hands had  moulded, Kitane Crane Wedgwood pieces bought for my 21st, the Shelley Tea set and a motley array of mismatched glasses and the books . . the books that my Auntie Daphne so carefully covered in brown paper and whose pages  have barely been turned.

Volumes and volumes of beautiful books  about Hollywood  stars, biographies, filmography, with almost Sepia photographs. The Picture Show Annuals, all 20of them from 1929 to 1949, each inscribed "Daphne M  Dunn, 18 Alexandria Road, Moss Side, Manchester 16".

Not a salubrious address for a 20 year old girl but better than it is now, virtually a ghetto of council houses, rap music and the pungent aromas of the West Indies and Pakistan. This is where my Aunt escaped the world. This is where she ran from the war ravaged devastation of Manchester and sank deep and hard into the romance of Hollywood in it's Halcyon days.

Books full of dreamy Ginger Rogers and sultry Basil Rathbone on coarse post war paper and stitched through the centre with white cotton. I had no idea that she even owned these treasures and at times, when money's been tight, I've been tempted to sell them because I'm sure they're valuable but with every opening of their lovingly covered pages, I remember my frosty spinster aunt and the fact that once, she was beautiful, young, vivacious and had dreams beyond the blitzed shell of a city where she grew up.

She never married which was very sad. She became bitter and jealous, masculine and foreboding so to discover such a treasure, so beautifully preserved hints at the feminine, the softness I never knew  but always thought was there.

Ah the painting can wait, I have 20 Picture Show Annuals  to browse.

Posted for Theme Thursday . . go see what they're splodging around with their brushes.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's to the Polls I Go

We have a General Election on Saturday and I have no idea for whom I will vote. Why? Because the major parties are useless. The big issues it seems are:

Climate Change
National Broadband
Internet Censorship
Stop the Boats (because so many people DON'T actually come in illegally)
Paying Dole bludgers $6,000 to get a job and hold it down for a few months
Banning unmarked cigarette packets
Taxing Mining Companies (now there's a stroke of genius, tax the backbone of our economy until they go offshore)
Becoming a Republic when the Queen carks it
Health funding - OK that's a biggie

So who to vote for:

    •    Australian Democrats
    •    Australia First Party (NSW) Incorporated
    •    Australian Fishing and Lifestyle Party
    •    Australian Greens
    •    Australian Labor Party (ALP)
    •    Australian Sex Party
    •    Building Australia Party
    •    Carers Alliance
    •    Christian Democratic Party (Fred Nile Group)
    •    Citizens Electoral Council of Australia
    •    Communist Alliance
    •    Country Liberals (Northern Territory)
    •    Democratic Labor Party (DLP) of Australia
    •    Family First Party
    •    Liberal Democratic Party
    •    Liberal Party of Australia
    •    National Party of Australia
    •    Non-Custodial Parents Party (Equal Parenting)
    •    One Nation
    •    Secular Party of Australia
    •    Senator On-Line
    •    Shooters and Fishers Party
    •    Socialist Alliance
    •    Socialist Equality Party
    •    The Climate Sceptics


Of course most Australians won't even bother to find out what the real issues are because our major parties, Liberal and Labor are both so  similar it isn't funny. This is the blandest, most uninspiring, unimaginative election ever in my living memory and I've been around a while.


So, being the shallow shit that I  am, I'm going to compare glamour photos and choose between our fearless leaders:

The slightly hirsute Tony Abbot, famous for big ears and budgie smugglers and an overwhelming desire to confess that politicians lie on occasion and a need to 'stop the boats'.  A man who's former treasurer accolades as being a decent guy as  long as he's not in charge of the economy and also a man of dubious morals who wants young ladies to treat their virginity as a precious gift . . . or:

Ms Julia Gillard, who stabbed her former leader in the back (his fault for not listening),  speaks  deliberately, isn't married (oh the horror she has a live in lover), could fake  being Jodie Foster's body double and looks mighty fine in a pair of corduroys in the pages of the Women's Weekly. Can a female Prime Minister cut the mustard in the land down under, where beer does flow and men chunder?


I guess we'll know come Sunday morning.

Flyday Fuckwit

Actually tonight's Friday Fuckwit probably did what many people who deal with customers would love to do on occasion, isn' that true River. So I'm not sure whether to berate him, the passenger or to applaud  him for dealing with fuckwits in his own way.  Apparently, he's now a hero on You Tube with checkout chicks across the world vying for his attention:

A rebel flight attendant who told off defiant passengers and grabbed a beer as he made a dramatic escape from a JetBlue aircraft via the emergency chute has been hit with criminal charges.

Steven Slater, 38, has been arraigned on reckless endangerment charges that could bring him seven years in jail if convicted

Slater appeared before Queens Criminal Court Judge Mary O'Donoghue on charges of first and second degree reckless endangerment, second and fourth degree criminal mischief and third degree criminal trespass.

He was ordered to be held on $US2,500 bail and to return to court on September 7. He faces up to seven years in prison if convicted on all counts.

Slater was working a Jet Blue flight from Pittsburgh to New York that had just landed when he became entangled in a spat with a passenger.

The steward told passengers to remain seated upon landing. But when a passenger started collecting belongings from the overhead bin, disregarding the instructions, Slater tried to stop the passenger but was hit in the head by the luggage bin and became irate.

He asked for an apology, but instead was cursed at by the cranky passenger.

The frustrated steward grabbed the public address system and swore at the passengers before activating the inflatable evacuation slide.

He launched himself off the plane, ran to the employee parking lot, and left the airport in a car he parked there.
The attendant snatched beer from the galley before jumping on the slide.

His escape was fleeting - police arrested Mr Slater shortly after at his home nearby in Queens

Supporters have been rallying around the angry man on the social networking site Facebook.
No-one was injured in the incident

 

Sunny weekend heading our way in Sydney even if we are still hunkered down in hoodies and heaters but it's the weekend so I'm not complaining. For now, life's good and I'm savouring every moment. Have a fabulicious weekend poppets.

Alive and Kickin!

I  dunno, don't seem to have much verve for blogging these days so here's some random rubbish  just to keep you around and prove I'm still alive and kicking.

The new job's awesome so far. I'm Office and HR Manager of an Accounting Practice which is very well organised and accredited but have no idea what that entails since I'm virtually writing my own position description. There's been cake for morning tea due to birthdays and they provide lunch and free parking and . . .well, three days in, and everyone is just lovely. Although some of these Lebanese names are giving me curry and I've loads to learn before I start wielding any big sticks.

One of the tasks I've been given is to write a Code of Conduct and Ethics Statement so thought, "Ah, I'll ask my old workplace to provide a copy of the ones I wrote for them to save a little time." This is hardly top secret stuff, just rules on equality, fairness, good business practice and anti-discrimination but the bastard, fucktard who now owns the Financial Planning business I used to work for would not release them to me saying they were his intellectual property. It didn't matter, I wrote one from scratch but what would the harm have been letting me use theirs and save a little time?  Damn you WB, you're a hypocritical, faux Christian dickhead of the highest order and don't have a charitable bone in your body. Oh, and your Code of Conduct and Privacy Agreements are way out of date! I'll rewrite them for you for $120 an hour!

Adam started his new job as Account Exec and Lawn Care Specialist guru for Barefoot Lawns, nice uniform, van, phone, he is at last a happy camper after some unfortunate luck. Nice to see my boy so tickety boo. He deserves a break.

Had an offer on the house today. Not quite there but it's creeping up so I'm beginning to feel justified making the sacrifice to stay and put up with things until we get the right price. Cross your fingers that this particular developer decides to bump up by about $500,000 and I'll snatch that briefcase.

Got a nice little freelance assignment writing a corporate brochure and web copy so that should be helpful with some French spending money if my internet holds out and I can bill them before the end of the month. Clare and I went shopping on Friday for walking shoes for me and a few bits and pieces. She came home with a new wardrobe, I didn't buy any shoes but boy my underwear has taken a turn for the better!

The telco technician that was supposed to arrive on Tuesday didn't turn up despite Clare taking half a day off to ensure someone was home. The connection has been behaving but I'm really getting pissed off with the lack of resolution of our problems but still wondering whether changing ISP is the way to go, they all seem to have their problems.

I'm spruiking for some serious creatives, or in my case self-deprecating wannabe's, who are up for critical acclaim (or otherwise) of their work. If you fancy your chances, put a piece  up for 10th Daughter of Memory. The rules are on the site,  A topic or 'muse' is posted monthly so yo fancy yourself as a writer of fiction, poetry, non fiction, prose or even have a talent for photography or graphics, you'll fit the bill.  Post whatever you like as long it reflects the muse.  My entries are embarrassingly posted on Creative Infanticide (not for the kiddies) but I must admit, it's fun to do and you might find a few familiar bloggers participating. If  you win, you get to choose the next 'muse'. If you're crap, a couple of the more experienced and published notables will give you tips on how to improve. . . have a crack but be prepared to be torn you apart and chew you up, no 'we love your stuff' comments here. Just honest appraisal. (Nah, we're pretty polite about it really)

Dog Day Afternoon

Little to report other than my internet is still intermittent. Awaiting a second line test on Tuesday. Although I've had a few hours access today.

As it seems, is communication with my brother who lives next door and just emailed me to tell me that my nephew is getting married here, on our property on the 4th March. Of course I already knew but strange that someone living within 10 metres doesn't actually announce it personally.  At least there will be refurbishments prior to the happy event and I get to buy a new frock and drink his piss. He tends to 'contribute' to maintenance when there is an event to celebrate.  Families are weird. Dogs are predictable. I like dogs.

So  the big deal today, little more than a dog day afternoon on a sunny Winter's day:

Billabong . . love the word but Aussies rarely use it

Billabong, Lily has no idea what it means but it's good to splosh in, even when laden with red gloop

Another dip, another shake

Hate it whe water gets in yer ears

Toit as a toiger

Spring is approaching *hatchooo*

Even the weeds are looking happy

Addicted

Sorry chaps and chaplets but been offline more than on lately thanks to dodgy telco wires and my internet behaving badly. I've realised how totally dependent I am on the thing and apart from a day's pre-holiday shopping yesterday have missed trawling and communicating more than I thought I would. 

You know, it's tough to do anything without a connection. Couldn't pay bills, look at blogs, respond to emails, chat or even surf to find an alternative telco. Seems to be back on now but after two tech visits and numerous chat with South African Helldeskers, nobody seems to know the problem. 

So, now I'm researching new ISP's to see if I can get a more reliable provider. Sadly, Australia has had a national Government owned Telco, Telstra, for many many years and all the phone and cable infrastructure is theirs. Despite being sold off slowly, they still have the Public Service mentality and make other ISPs who share their cables PROVE that it's not their problem before investigating. So, bear with  me, I'll be back as internet allows. And, probably with Telstra Big Pond. Not the best, not the cheapest but at least when things go  haywire, I go right to the source.

Bler,Brown

Tempted as I was to post an irrelevant discourse on poo, . My internet is behaving like shit and I'm in an ongoing shit fight  with my ISP so brown is kind of suitable right now. . . However, discretion being the better part of valour, I looked through my Flickr album and actually found some rather lovely brown things

Door at Monselvat Artist's retreat

Vicrtoria's  wide brown land

Brown rocks at Kiama

Bodacious brown dog

Very tame brown Kookaburra, no laughing matter. Please don't ask about the red nail polish

Delicious dipping brown

My kind of bay brown

Jenolan Cave Brown

Blowing on your soup, while ash lands in your hair brown

One for the gentlemen . . .

Theme Thursday again  and I've been a bad blogger ..see what other 's have done with possibly the worl'd dullest colour. Chocolate and coffee excepted.