Poker Prawns and Presents

We had Christmas at the in-laws last weekend. Whilst we keep in touch with the Groovy Grannies, we don't have much contact through the year with my brother in law and his wife although this year, things may change. Two of their sons are on Facebook so the communication links are re-established and Jack's already tagged me for a friend.

Anyway . . . the kids went up on Saturday while I did the usual cleaning, bailing water out of my dysfunctional washing machine and sealed the slate floor. I ran up early the next morning (plans were to go together but washing machine hassles prevented that happening).

The day started dramatically. It was hot and windy. Unusual for this time of the year . The Groovy Grannies have a lovely home with a big elevated deck out the back. Nice to sit and chat and smoke and drink and admire the distant sea view. But despite Adam's best efforts to anchor the two sun brollies, one took flight and ended up on the roof. While the boys were arguing about who was fit enough to retrieve the wayward brolly and Grandma restrained a rather frail Grandad who was up for the challenge . . a gust of wind brought it down harmlessly, narrowly missing Clare's windscreen.

BIL is a Real Estate Agent on the Central Coast and SIL a beautician who works from home. They have three boys 16, 21 and 23 who are . . .well - were . . . less than savoury but this year something was different. Everyone got along, Nick and Sam refrained from thumping each other and going home in a huff. They've long since moved out and it seems to have matured them somewhat. Conversations about bath sheets and washing machines coming out of their mouths seemed a little odd but also rather connecting since my washing machine has given up the ghost. SIL is always lovely, beautifully groomed and pleasant and chatty. BIL was in and out as clients demanded his attention but sweet and good company with the exception of having the golf on telly while we were eating . . .

Christmas there is a very different affair to our own with it's Mezzo plates and themed table. There's the predictable Poinsettia plastic table cloth, nuts and nibblies, tinsel adorned ficus and a Christmas Platypus hanging from the ceiling fan and the meal predictably finished with Mango Tiramisu - but it's homely and friendly and unpretentious and Grandad keeps the glasses filled with alarming regularity. We pop our crackers and reveal nothing more than tweezers, yoyos and silly paper crowns. We laugh and chat and eat and generally have a fantastic time.
To my mind, it's very Aussie although in recent years they've deviated from the hot and sweaty roast to a slightly cooler cold-cut lunch although I know Art loves his baked dinner and suspect he'll enjoy one on Christmas day whether it's 15 or 50 degrees in the shade!

Before lunch there was poker . . .



. . .and presents . . .


and prawns . . .



Grandad grilled souffle'd oysters . . totally awesome . .

After what seemed ages at the buffet table . . .
we sat down to eat in our silly hats


After watching DVD's of nephew Jack's Japanese travels and
Clare's European leg the munchies set in.

. . . and frankly by 11:30 I was totally shitfaced!

Actually it was a really nice day/night and although we don't see BIL and SIL but twice a year, it is always nice to catch up . . .I often wonder if I'd remarried whether I'd have bothered keeping in touch . . then I remember what terrific, ordinary, welcoming people they are and I'm very glad I do.

Paris and the Presets

I'm rather lazy taking up meme tags and frankly I've forgotten who tagged this one, I think it started as 7 things, then 5 now it's petered down to 3. Yep, I'm slowly getting into relaxation mode. Ticking boxes at work, getting sorted, almost finished the painting, brought the horses home (God they add to the view and after tomorrow's wash I may post photos of the white wonders), getting the pool into shape, thinking about our Christmas day menu and ready to finally tackle those three 30% read books on my nightstand which have remained collecting dust all year . . .looking Sooooo forward to meeting Nickhearandnow on Sunday and having another little ex-blogger over in January . . .so intellectual laziness leads to memes (not really I think they're pretty fun).

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Helen
2. Mum
3. Nellie (don't ask, my father called me Little Nell all his life and it stuck!)

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. Eyes, brown, warm and I have long eyelashes
2. Strength, I'm not afraid of hard work and can pitch in with the best of them.
3. Lips, they're nice and even and not to shabby

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON’T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. Hair
2. Weight, I don't know how it got to this and getting it off is ... *sigh*
3. How everything points south like an Elizabethan glass window pane, you know, where the glass is thicker at the bottom.

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. English
2. Welsh
3. Irish (although I can't prove that apart from my maiden name)

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. Fires, they so easily get out of control
2. Being lonely
3. Being taken forgranted

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Cigarettes . . .ah, I'm trying, very trying
2. Blogging/Facebook
3. Deodorant and perfume . . I like to smell nice.

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. Silver Havianas skinny strap thongs . .(which apparently is pronounced 'habianass' only you say the 'h' as if you're clearing your throat) Ooh I love em, even more since I found out they're made in Brasil
2. Black fold top lycra and cotton yoga pants, uber, uber comfy
3. White T Shirt (newbie bought by the MIL on the weekend, but It won't stay white.)

THREE OF YOUR FAVOURITE MUSICAL ARTISTS:
1. Peter Gabriel
2. Birds of Tokyo
3. This is too hard, I have very eclectic taste. We're listening to 2WS Gold at work and I know all the songs but I'm a Triple J alternative listener and don't know any of the words - um . . .today . . Santana - their music never ages.

THREE OF YOUR FAVOURITE SONGS AT THE MOMENT:
1. Birds of Tokyo - Wild Eyed Boy
2. Girl Talk - What's it All About
3. Don't Worry 'bout Nothin - Murph and Plutonic

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. He must be breathing
2. Laughter
3. Respect

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. Smile
2. Height (must be over 172cm - i.e. taller than me)
3. Great hugs - I mean those big wide, lift you off the ground, nuzzle your neck and blow raspberry type hugs!

THREE OF YOUR FAVOURITE HOBBIES:
1. Photography
2. Horse riding - but I haven't done it for a while although I adore mucking about with the things.
3. Writing (but I never share)

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Go on leave (three more sleeps)
2. Convince my daughter that a visiting 21 year old, whom I've never met, isn't an axe murderer
3. Tidy the kiddywink spreadage that's hit my dining table

THREE CAREERS YOU’RE CONSIDERING/YOU’VE CONSIDERED:
1. Archeology - love the idea of digging in the dirt and finding something that someone like me held hundreds or thousands of years ago.
2. Publican - I'd love a little country pub with home cooked counter meals and blue singleted bushies saying 'that was the best meat pie I've ever eaten luv" (wouldn't be hard)
3. To be the Benevolent Dictator of the world (I might need help from Thrifty, Maxi, K8 and a couple of others)

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. PARIS . .for goodness sakes, PARIS, PARIS, PARIS (and Prague and Patagonia and Peru and Perth and Popocatepetl and Phnom Pen and . . .)
2. Czech Republic - Clare's photos of the place, particularly Prague, are nothing short of stunning and I want to drink 'real' Absynthe which is only available there
3. New Zealand - especially Murawai to visit Stan and the Insta Fam - oh dammit, the WORLD mwuhahaha!

THREE KIDS’ NAMES YOU LIKE:
1. Adam
2. Clare
3. Liam (actually there are a few Irish names I like - Darragh, Enda, Siobhan, Ciara . . .)

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. Travel to . . PARIS
2. See my children happily getting on with life (but visiting regularly)
3. Sell my property which will lead to financial security and TRAVEL to . . . you guessed it - PARIS

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY LIKE A GIRL:
1. Never go anywhere without a little lip gloss and mascara
2. Terribly good housewife. I cook , clean, wash, fold, blow (leaves boys, leaves) . . like a tidy place.
3. I hate it when the toilet seat is left up. Or men say the 'C' word in my presence. I have some standards.

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY LIKE A BOY:
1. I swear like a trooper - except for THAT word
2. Love Top Gear but I'm not a car enthusiast
3. I can out-drink most of them (not proud, I just can)


No tags but if you get home from work late, can't be bothered fighting the sins of the world but feel the compulsion to post . . .go ahead.

Building Walls

Well the Wonder Wall has begun. Took me long enough but last week was rather hectic. So far I have a lovely photo of Peggy's Inlet in Canada from Laughing Wolf, Thrifty's gorgeous little three year old looking giggly and sneezy in autumnal leaves, a lovely drawing from Ces extolling the virtues of blog friendship and the totally huggable Kahlerisms and Brethred who come as a pair naturally. Then there's Moon with a very dozy looking Thai elephant, TCL about to 'sandboard' down an enormous Dune, the lovely and lanky Ropi in his Palotas uniform, worn during a school traditional dance, Forge Light's gorgeous little girls in their Snowman jammies. Next to them Christopher at 'Just Write' has mad a philatelic offering of Croatian stamps. Drop down another level and there's a Zebra that AV photographed just for me during her recent trip to Kruger National Park, the lovely Nick from Nickhereandnow and his partner Jenny (with whom I am having lunch on Sunday - they're visiting Sydney from Belfast! Wahey!) The ever anonymous and paraphobic Miles McClagan from 'Jungs Programme Notes' dressed suspiciously as a glamorous tennis player (I worry about that man's gender confusion) and Stan the Man with a beached Sperm Whale "Your Beached Bro!" A little schematic from Rattie Mattie from the COIN Helldesk and kj's reward poem for being her 20,000th commenter! Oh and can you see a picture of Bimbimbie's Yulewing? A little Felt decoration that is now adorning my Christmas Tree! I'll have to take an updated pic because I forgot Quickie's contribution although one is definitely not for the wall! (Very handsome Brasilian dude but due to his being in da nude . .not suitable for the office but definitely easy on the eye! And Grannymar has also made an offering that I'm yet to put up on the wall. You don't have to have a blog . . just be a commenter or even a lurker. Email your bits to bainbridge1610 at the g spot.

As you can see, there's plenty of space and the idea's originator Megan from "All I Need is Everything" has yet to send me something . . So if you have a photograph of something funny, meaningful, close to your heart, kitch or cute, clean and personal send it over . . . Your smiling faces, gorgeous places and silly bits brighten my little corner of the workplace!


Click to enlarge and have a proper look!

Friday Stuckwit

Got ya thinkin' haven't I. This week has been in no uncertain terms bizarre. It's been a week of insecurity and redundancy at work, friends in crisis, friends with flu, friends being published, kids having birthdays, car crash payments, car hunting, car pooling, pouring rain in the middle of summer and arranging for horses to be returned to their rightful place in my back yard. It's been a week of too much drinking, broken cupboards and me collapsing in emotional outburst because I have 1.5 unemployed people living in my house, soaring credit and no cash and a shed full of spiders . . . am I making sense . .God no . . . I really do Thank God That It's Friday . . .so instead of a fuckwit (sorry just love that word), we're going for Stuckwits.

FIREFIGHTERS (Ooh please Father Christmas, if you love me at all . . bring me a Firefighter! Although Crispy has threatened to send me strippers and toys for Christmas which might be OK) were called to a bizarre rescue mission at a Northern Territory shopping centre after a little boy climbed up the prize chute of a claw arcade game and got stuck inside with the toys. The really entertaining thing was it's all on CCTV . . the little devil just climbed up the chute and ended up with the fluffy bunnies he was only 2 and a half bless his soggy nappy.

A six-man crew from the Palmerston Fire Station rushed to the nearby Oasis Shopping Village after receiving a call that a child was trapped in a toy vending machine at 3.25pm on Saturday 6 December. Shoppers watched on - most of them trying to control their laughter - as the firies used the jaws of life and then a hacksaw to cut the padlock on the machine.

The firies (affectionate term for Fire Fighters God Bless their Calendars) then had to pry the glass door open - all while the boy's parents stood by trying to calm him down through the glass. One onlooker told the Northern Territory News that everyone found it "extremely amusing".
Senior firefighter Brendon Magnoli said it was "definitely'' one of the most bizarre call-outs he had to attend in his seven years on the job. "We certainly don't get these often,'' he said.

Well in trying to find an image for this little event apparently it's not uncommon . . enjoy. We're off to the Outlaws for the weekend and an early Christmas, not before time I might add!

Looks happy enough in floofyland

Whoever dressed that child needs to
be locked up in a fluffy toy vending machine!

Our own little shute crawler

One way to meet Firemen (if only I could squeeze up a shute)

Comfortably numb?

Bit of a squeeze?

Finally, look at the expression of surprise on the Blue Bear!
(the kid looks less than impressed)

He's a Big Boy Now

My happy accident turns 22 years old today. It's true! He was a happy accident. I'd planned to have my second baby after the first was at school. Had I done that, I would be the mother of an only child. He was born in 1986 and his dad passed away 2 years later! If I'd had my way, the next baby would have been born somewhere in 1989!

But he has grown up a lot this year. All the stresses of a new business, crashed cars and no money weighing heavily on his now properly adult brow. He's matured. He is in love. He is taking responsibility for his actions . . he takes out the bins (when asked) maintains the pool and mows the lawn although his gardening ability is saved for paying customers. He's a good uncle, a thoughtful boyfriend, a great cook - apart from the 'secret ingredient' which always seems to give his cuisine an originality that's not always to my taste. . . he's a hard worker . . .has a great sense of humour and is maturing nicely . . . *queue screeching record noise* . .

I love him dearly and we've discovered we have a lot in common during ClareBear's absence but what I don't see happening before my eyes, usually gets posted incriminatingly on Facebook! He's still blowing shit up, drinking too much, doing questionable things with tinfoil, riding dangerously, making noise and acting the goat. He still spends too much on big boys toys like Guitar Hero and Playstations. He's still the mess box from hell (I can rarely see the floor in his bedroom). His language is blue and the sun does not shine out of his bottom at 8am in the morning I can tell you! I've even caught him (on Facebook) with a cigar in his hand, crashed on the floor, manhandling mates and being extremely silly. I think that's one of the things I like about Drummerboy, he's one out of the box and has come from being quiet and shy to outgoing and confident. He's the only one who can say "Talk to the hand mum" and I actually back off because he's usually right.

No time for a biggie post, right now so I leave you with some of HIS Facebook shots . . you can take the man out of the boy but . . .

Impersonating a Blues Brother before attending a wedding . . .

She aint heavy . . she's my girlfriend! (Love the Bolivian pants)

Don't mess with me in my fake Arnetts

Chang Beer for Breakfast in Thailand . . so much for cultural exchange!

True love . . she calls him Honey and he likes it. .

Dancing queen

Danger man . .

Mercurial man . .
I have no photographs of Adam with a straight face!

Happy birthday darling . . please don't wish him a happy birthday. Just send money!

Sparkling Distraction

I watched the news tonight and ended up turning it off. Riots in Greece, total despair in Zimbabwe, sticks and carrots with Iran and no roast pork for the Irish. Two blokes who almost froze to death in the arctic, some idiot who received $177,000 for tripping over in someone's driveway, gazillions pledged for the Soccer World Cup and the talking heads saying that consumer confidence is rising (well of course it is, it's almost Christmas you wallys). Then the plethora of stock market ups and downs and the usual sensational gloom and doom re the world recession. Jane MGrath Day announced for the New Years Day Test where apparently the baggy green will give way to the baggy pink for breast cancer awareness.

I retreated into La la land and watched a couple of episodes of Flight of the Conchords and half a James Bond Movie before looking at my Christmas tree. Shallow as it seems, this little symbol of family, light warmth, cheer and memories warms my soul. Each little bauble and bead (we've decided that tinsel is a bit kitch) has a place in space and time. I'm not one for the fabulously coordinated shop front tree, although this year ours looks a little less shabby for some reason . . it's full of bits from all over the world, the tops of chocolate boxes and home made goodies I love it. Here's a glimpse because it is beginning to feel a lot like Christmas despite the shit going on around us:



This little charmer came from a two-chocolate box from David Jones. It sat atop the box as a 'table gift' many years ago when my mother cooked Christmas Dinner.



My latest acquisition and a gift from Clare from Rothenberg



Home grown, home picked and sprayed with care from Clare many years ago

The Teacher made this about 15 years ago and gave them to her closest for Christmas. I think of her every time I hang it on the tree . . .

Little Japanese Bunny brought back from Japan by Clare after an exchange trip in year 1o. I have about 8 of them.

Another recent aquisition from a blogger I've never met but email frequently. Thank you Bimbimbie, your Yulewing looks right at home. . .

Another Chocolate box topper, obviously from 1988, looking a little worse for wear but we love him


We have a 'table' Kris Kringle, Secret Santa or whatever you want to call it each year and since Bec's Maracas don't fit on the tree, I am reminded of it ever year when I put Babysis' effort on a branch. Yep, now you know my nickname.

Cheap and cheerful bauble bought with a bunch of gold and red to match our theme a couple of years ago . . and these are but a few . . and they make a sparkling distraction to the awfulness of human beings. Besides it's fun . .I may post more. I haven't forgotten the Wonder Wall, just a little crazy at work but hopefully I'll have your donations up by the end of the week.

Now . . to go make a batch of English Mum's Limoncello so that it steeps in time for Christmas.

Half Full . . maybe not!

Ok I'm officially sick of this economic downturn although I've been in a downward economic spiral for the past five years and through two recessions before. The glass has always been half full but I'm finding it a little hard to keep my chin up today.

The Most Annoying Paraplanner in The World was retrenched today - two days after returning from Annual Leave and two weeks before Christmas which is a bit cruel considering her payout would have been greater with 3 weeks leave up her sleeve.

Frankly I'd have sacked her before now because she was not greatly productive but I didn't see that one coming and I'm the HR person! Well I thought I was. We in the Quad of course knew there was something up - she moved from office to office, shut doors and long conversations with a planner she liked and each of the Partners. It was clear she was leaving but the redundancy took us all by surprise. She told her PA (who stayed schtum), said her goodbyes and I've no doubt 'vented' her spleen to those behind doors prior to her leaving but said nothing to three of the Quad members - testament to what she thought of us I suppose.

Then at 5pm, one of the Partners who was visibly upset by having to let her go announced their decision. Another partner reassured us that without that one salary, pot plants and chilled water and a reduction in the collection of recycle bins (required only because SOME people print EVERYTHING they receive via email) . .the business was sound - well at least until June 2009 - and encouraged us to think of any other cost-cutting measures that might be appropriate. The third partner when asked about whether they understood the extra administrative burden of - you guessed it - Anti Terrorism and Anti Money Laundering Legislation - dodged the bullet.

Frankly we were all shell-shocked. PA's know everything but we didn't see this one coming. You could smell the vulnerability in the room!

I'm all for cost-cutting. It's a small business and yes we order too much stationary. I've never been a great fan of indoor plants and since I consider water something you wash and pee in, the loss of a cooler for me is not a bad thing (won't have to change that huge bottle because it's 'above' TMAPPITW felt it beneath her). I don't print every thing I receive via email and I'm happy to make a few sacrifices - My best friends own 30% of the business so that goes without saying. Much as I love my parking spot, if it has to go . . .it has to go.

My main gripe is that no real words of motivation were offered in terms of productivity despite the best efforts of the Elder Statesman. Our partners, have little idea of the amount of stupidly frustrating unnecessary paperwork that is required to implement their recommendations. But it definitely IS is the job of our Adviser team to be 'Rainmakers' one of those boardroomspeak words that means 'rake in clients'. We're a good business, the advice is highly qualified and sound. Our service offering is quality. You won't find our guys and girls recommending Olive Groves or buildings off the plan.

Of course it's hard in an economic downturn but I've been doing work for clients who are underpaying for over five years. And I've been listening to self funded retirees who have lost 30% of their capital. It's one thing to cut the budget, it's another to attempt to reach realistic targets, lock in clients for whom we are doing work and yet don't charge or don't charge enough. CLOSE THE FUCKING SALE! and if you have a happy client ASK FOR BLOODY REFERRALS.

Hopefully that will change in January as our new charging regime comes into play but today . . I felt like a Mushroom. I'm supposed to be the Practice Manager (read cleans fridge and crawls under desks, fixes printers and faxes, makes sure there are coffee pods, signage and enough letterhead to go around and agrees with Thommo on decor colour and Christmas Hampers). I'm also supposed to be Marketing but thanks to my client service role have little time to do more than write a newsletter or promotional email each quarter and make sure that our Client Welcome Pack materials are in stock. I'm supposed to be a PA but it's not a job to which I'm suited although my ability to fill in forms is becoming awesome. AND I'm supposed to be IT Liaison which means I'm adept at buying chocolate out of my own funds in order to jump the queue and reward those who are most helpful. The phrase "We'll all have to knuckle down" has little resonance for me because I'm already doing as much as I can. As are the other three Administrators.

I've been retrenched twice (must be a total biatch I hear you say). Well the first time, perhaps. I had a falling out with a peer who ended up being my boss and the rest is history but I was young and angry and newly widowed and all sorts of things then. The other was simply politics and our department was moved to Canberra so it was take voluntary redundancy, be relocated within NSW police or move to Canberra . . so I took the $25,000 and six months pay. I still lunch with my old colleagues and we're all bitter about the decision.

But now, I'm 52 years old. I'm basically an everyday administrator with delusions of grandeur albeit paid what I'm worth. I don't react well to fear and the thought of losing my job, even though I'm not crazy about it, is so demoralising, so dehumanising so fearful that the alternatives don't bear thinking about. I'm insecure at the best of times but right now . . I'm thinking what else can I do . . any suggestions? (And no, I'm definitely not attractive enough to sell my body although the thought has crossed my mind . . . I'm more cut out to be the cleaning lady - can't tell you how mad I am that I didn't become Super Nanny)
Smug biatch even looks like me. . .

Splish Splash

Seriously, I just can't do this 'big' weekend stuff anymore. I was falling asleep at my workstation by 3:30pm this arvo.

I'd just like to say a cheerio to Absolute Vanilla and Jay at The Depp Effect who are convalescing with sore joints and post surgical bruises and wish them a speedy recovery.

I don't know whether it's because the year is drawing to a close, or my leave is looming but I am singularly unenthused about work at the moment. I'm in dire need of some serious holiday diversion. Bring on the 19th and a whole month's leave!

I have so much to post about but a bit lagging in energy to get the political and social rant going. I did take photos yesterday but felt a little self-conscious shoving the camera in everyone's face so the results were less than spectacular . . . I'll just leave you with some photos of nubile young men doing what they do best . . . splashing!

Yep, they splash around the sink when they shave, the toilet when they . . . well you get the gist, even my trees (I wish they'd do it on the citrus which apparently thrives on wee) But in this case, the splashing was done in an appropriate venue . . .who'd have thought this was a poo ringed duck pond just a couple of months ago . . . .

Kiddies don't do this at home

Landscaper's Tan - dead giveaway

Pretty Dreads

Gawky but effective

Mid flight

Don't you wish you had the 'balls' to do this . . I'm more worried about getting my hair wet and releasing the 'fro!

Shit happens . .over and over and over . ..

So, Babybro who coaches an over 35 Footy team who are now all married, kiddied up etc. Has the 'weekend away' at home because the various wives of said over 35's won't let them play away so to speak. "They're coming at 11am and we're partying hard until the wee hours" he announces. Trust me, it's 10.00 and they're all pissed as farts waiting for the little women to pick them up. It will be all over by midnight. Actually, I can hear 'female' voices which means a couple of the 'girls' have already turned up to pick up their belongings.

However, the 'ladies' of the house, aka Stressany (Sister in Law), Clare and I decided not to hang around while the golf putting, pool bombing, poker playing bunch of testosterone laden blokes have their celebratory day and headed into the city for 'lunch'.

It was hot today, very hot. We should have had an inkling that things were going to get weird when we missed he right lane and ended up in the harbour tunnel. An accident ahead and Big Brother on the radio advising us to hit the right lane. Seriously, normal transmission is interrupted by a spooky voice telling us to avoid the lane with the amber lights . . .and to merge into the right lane 500m below the harbour! Stressany's in need of a brown paper bag.

. . .and so, we headed to a harbourside restaurant called The Waterfront (there's that Australian ingenuity again) in anticipation of an ocean breeze.

It's a harbourside restaurant with sails above us and neatly laid tables. Normally there's a sweet breeze waving through but today, they had the fans out. Big blow your ears off movie fans. It was SO HOT. We did however have a fantastic seafood lunch before stalking The Rocks Markets

and plonking ourselves next to a massive cruise ship at a bar also adequately named Cruise. Which blocked the normally lovely view of the Opera House and ferries drifting in and out of the key. So, we drank in the sunshine and a nice Bortolli Chardonnay, until the call.


Adam has been involved in a four car pileup. He's alright. It's not his fault but technically it is all his fault. , the Magna is a write off. He ran up the bum of someone who ran up the bum of someone who ran up the bum of someone who just took off.

So we came home about 5ish. Heard the tales of woe, (poor kid was visibly shaken hours after he event and worryingly in need of getting the whole thing off his chest). We're wondering how to get him back on the road (given that Clare's unemployed, I'm cash strapped and thanks to an electrical fault with the Corolla, we're reduced to one working 15 year old car) Poor baby was shaken and stirred but alright, alive and well and amazingly surprised that I am not angry. Why on earth would I be angry? He's all in one piece! Funny how kids anticipate your reactions.



We have a few drinks. Put up our Christmas lights, lament the death of the Magna and work out how to deal with the Negligent Driving charge (if you run into the back of someone it's automatically seven points and a neg driving charge). We talk about how we're going to find the money for the excess and keep him on the road so he can earn his living and I wish I hadn't done my Christmas shopping early and spent my small savings cache. He calms down, we make spaghetti boscaola and watch Ricky Gervais "Animals" stand up.

Whoosh . . .what a day. Anyone got a cheap ute? Believe me, I don't know how we're going to get him mobile but the solidarity of my tiny family has heartened me beyond belief this evening. There will be a way to get through this. Clare's talking about sacrificing her NYE holiday, I'm thinking about a second job, Stressany has offered the loan of her car . . .but right now, I'm hoping for a little windfall . . I'm buying a scratchie tomorrow and hoping to God that I win $25,000.

Friday Fuckwit

Ok I'm taking the term Fuckwit, literally tonight. Just had lovely after-work drinky poos with the girls from work and TheBoss a the honorary matron (hey, he's good for a round) so research has been a little stymied by good times and sex talk was obviously on the Agenda once TheBoss left (hey, girls talk about it too!) But this week, some interesting facts from France and their nemeses, the Brits:

As Britons tighten their belts to cope with the credit crunch, a new poll showed their favourite leisure activity is whipping off their pants for a quick roll in the hay.

According to the YouGov survey conducted over the Internet, 37 per cent of Britons rank having sex at the top of their list of free time activities. So much for that reserved stiff upper lift. I once dated a Brit for ages before he took the plunge to venture a french snog!

That was more than the next three highest options combined - gossiping with friends (18 per cent), window shopping (9 per cent) and going to a museum (6 per cent). Now that's more like it.

"During the credit crunch our famed British upper lip might not be as stiff as before but other parts still are," said Lisa Power, head of policy at the Terrence Higgins Trust, the British sexual health charity that commissioned the poll. (A Charity has funding to commission a sex poll?)

According to the poll, however, women preferred gossiping with friends (no surprises there), while men tended to rank sex as number one. (still no surprises)

It also showed that passion levels may be tied to the cold weather, (You don't say . . dancing doonas (continental quilts or duvets for the uninitiated) all over pommieland attest to this fact) with 43 per cent of Scots rating sex as their favourite free time activity, compared to 35 per cent of Londoners. I think that might have something to do with what they don't wear under their kilts and ease of access perhaps? (I know, I know, don't get all sensitive and kick me for being stereotypical because that's what I am m'kay!)

Then there are the amorous French who apparently need the largest condoms in the world:

The French say (yeh they "say", as they would!) they need the largest condoms in Europe while Greeks get by on smaller ones, according to a Europe-wide study by a German consultancy that provides advice on condoms. (Another interesting career choice. "So, what do you do for a living", he says, "Well actually , I give advice on condom sizing!" Now there's a conversation starter if ever I heard one!)

The study by the Singen-based Institute of Condom Consultancy (sounds very credible don't you think?) was done by asking 10,500 men in 25 countries to measure their penis and enter the number into a database. (Wouldn't you like to be a fly on that wall while the tape measure was being utilised?).

The results show French men on average claim to need 15.48cm-long condoms, about 3cm longer than Greeks, whose condom-size requirement was the most modest.

The institute's director did not want to comment on how honest he thought the Frenchmen had been in reporting the data. "Hoh hoh hoh hoh, I iz ung like ze donkey! Ze chicky babez lovez eet."

The survey was aimed at educating youngsters about the importance of effective contraception.

The institute also offers online condom-size advice and hosts Pimp Your Condom (are they serious!), an annual fair organised in cooperation with the national Aids Trust, with the aim of educating teens about sexually transmitted diseases. (Oh well that's alright then)

Mr Krause was in the spotlight in the past when he produced a prototype of the 'spray-on condom,' an aerosol can which contains latex that creates a perfectly fitting condom. The idea was not developed further. (Erm because it hurt to peel it off?)

I have one thing to say . . .I was taught this at university in a perfectly authentic biology class, honestly, this is God's own truth: "The flacid penis is no indication of it's erect state!" And ever since Batman, I've had a thing for men in rubber suits!

So next time you get a clear view just think - Jesus, wouldn't want that as a wart over my left eyebrow!

This post is rated M15 for Mature Audiences.
Children under the age of 15 should be accompanied by an adult. Ropi, you just scrape in.

What Happened in 1984?

Confident, self assured, well travelled . . no longer a kid . . .
and not too big for a hug . . .the kid turns 24 Yessssss!

We've been pretty busy for the past 3 days, catching up, running through photos, anecdotes, travelogues, birthday and Christmas shopping and entertaining friends. So apologies for not having the 'Wonder Wall' up and running, might be closer to next week due to my having had three days off this week and a flurry of activity around Clare's return.

Today is her birthday. She is 24 years old. Seems just a flash since I was asking for an epidural with my husband hitting the deck when he saw the size of the needle! It seems barely a blink since I was elbow deep in toddler poo. And as if hardly a moment has passed since I was chronically wiping sticky fingers with Wet Ones and watching her ponce about in front of shop windows oblivious to the world around her . . . all that thankfully is past me and now I just have to lock the fridge and hide my booze. Yep, she's back with a vengeance. Tonight was a low key affair, just a quiet dinner and lashings of passionfruit cheesecake. The jet lag is actually catching up and she's hit the sack.

She was born in a year which was more familiar as a book title - 1984. A novel which depicted a grim and controlled future. Now it's ancient history as we embark on the naughties.

There were a few significant events in 1984 that I could quickly find on Google

She who travels a lot was born at 5:30pm on the 4th December
Australian Medicare, socialised health came into being
Advance Australia Fair is proclaimed our national anthem (although we all prefer Waltzing Matilda)
Aussie banks were deregulated
Bob Hawke was Prime Monster
The Federal Budget was televised for the very first time
The 'one' dollar coin was introduced
Western Australia abolished capital punishment
Green and Gold become our National colours
We appointed our first sex discrimination commissioner (I always thought she should have been our first anti-sex discrimination commissioner)
We decide to sell yellow cake overseas and I'm not talking Victoria sponge
Love is a Battlefield, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, 99 Luftballons, Eat it, Careless Whispers and Like a Virgin were on our radios.
The first Apple Mac went on sale
Torvil and Dean took out a perfect score for Ice Dancing in Sarajevo - who can forget Bolero?
Virgin Atlantic is born and Richard Branson became a household name
Band Aid Release 'Do they Know It's Christmas'
The Summer Olympics were held in Los Angeles
United States President Ronald Reagan, during a voice check for a radio broadcast reminded us that Bush isn't the only president with foot in mouth disease by remarking "My fellow Americans, I'm pleased to tell you today that I've signed legislation that will outlaw Russia forever. We begin bombing in five minutes".
Union Carbide kills 2000 people in Bhopal with a methyl isocyanate leak
Crack becomes available in the US
Desmond Tutu wins the Nobel Peace Prize
Indira Ghandi is assassinated

For those who are old enough . . . what were you doing in 1984?

Expose your Privates!

There has been a significant 'drift' towards private education in Australia. I'm not sure why because there isn't a huge 'class' system here but in my own area, private or 'independent' religious schools outnumber their state run counterparts. Today, a bill is being presented in Parliament that requires Private and Independent (read religious) schools to disclose their fund raising income.

As it stands now and in the true spirit of egalitarianism, every school receives the same amount of Government funding for each pupil. The difference is that Private Schools and Independent schools charge fees . .lots of them. A fully privatised school can demand as much as $5,000 per term per child (there are four terms in the Australian School Year). Independent schools charge around $800 per term then a diminishing amount for each sibling attending school.

Then there are the fundraisers. State Schools struggle with fetes and trivia nights, whilst Private and Independents seem to be better patronised with everything from Fetes, Auctions, Art Shows, Car Washes, Lamington or cake drives or these days, more and more sophisticated methods of raising funds to boost their facilities.

The conundrum here is that Private and Independents have never had to disclose their 'extra' income or where it is spent. Government schools must disclose any income received outside their Government funding.

Now before you label me a socialist ratbag, my two went to Catholic (independent) schools. I married a Catholic man and it was part of the deal that I raise any future children as such. I had no problem with this. Religion was a compulsory HSC subject but I was quite amazed with the diversity of 'religious' instruction they received. Questions in their exam papers were about the treatment of women in non-Christian religions, the comparison of Catholicism with other religions and why the sacraments were important. It was more of a general subject than pure indoctrination (they do that in Primary school).

The fund raising was horrendous. Everything from Chocolate drives, to art fairs, raffle tickets, car rallies, musicals, theatrical productions, cake stalls and language trip fund raisers. There was an incessant trail of 'give us your money' plus a Diocesan fee which went into a pool for various educational improvements for the the entire diocese.

So, my point, why are independent and private schools afraid of disclosing their income? Some fear a 'hidden agenda' by Government to cut their funding and given that we have a Labour Government, that's probably a valid concern. However, one rule for State and another for private seems very hypocritical to my view. I would like to think that the $15,000 - $20,000 per student, per year paid by parents to a private institution is leading to better resources, well stocked libraries, subsidised travel, high tech computer systems, more subject choice . . .but knowing how hard my sister has worked for her kid's Government funded primary school to install electronic white boards and new facilities, the inequality seems unfair.

. . does it really make a difference, I'd be interested to know. I'm a product of the State system . . my kids the product of the religious school system and my friends' kids are products of the expensive private system . . .does it make a difference? Is it money well spent?

Privates . . . expose yourselves! Declare your income and let's know EXACTLY where that cash is being invested. You do the maths. . . .elite school, 500 students, $20,000 a year per student . . plus a Government subsidy and frenetic fund raising on top of that! Where's the money going?

If I'm paying $20,000 a year to educate my kid, I want him to have the very best. I want more than a straw boater and a nice uniform. I want more than a 'good name'. I want the kid to receive a great education and I don't expect to have to buy a ticket in your chook raffle.

The Prodigal Returns

This is the last time I saw my daughter in the flesh on January 31st 2008, she's the one in the skirt. . . .neither she nor Gem looked back, apparently they had a little cry in the transit lounge but that was soon overtaken by the fantabulousness of their world trip. Brasil, Paraguay, Equador, Uraguay, Peru, Chile, America, Canada, England, Holland, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Czecheslovakia, Slovenia, Croatia, Spain and now back home in beautiful sunny and very warm Sydney

I spent most of the day busying myself. There was absolutely no point going to work because every 10 minutes I'm imagining where she is, what she's flying over, is she getting some sleep, how's her cold?

Adam had a quick maintenance job this morning so afterwards, we went for lunch and the two of us finished off our Christmas shopping. He kept going in the afternoon and I did the unthinkable . . .had a snooze on the couch. Gives you some idea how I've been sleeping lately, once in the prone position and I was out like a light.

5.oo pm and Adam and the Fringelet arrived. We chatted then bought champagne because there would be celebrations, small family ones but celebrations nonetheless.

6.00pm and I checked her flight, yep QF32 was right on time and flying over the interior. I wondered if she'll see Ularu or the Warrumbungles.

7pm . and it was time to go. I knew we'd be early, it's only a 50 minute drive at that time of night and by the time she comes through customs it would be more like 8:30 but I need to be there.

We had time for a coffee and then a long wait. The plane unloaded quickly but people were trickling through customs so it took a while. Then all of a sudden, there she was . . .



So, at about 9pm my sweet child returned, all in one piece after 11 months of abject adventure. There were tears and hugs. Well you knew there would be!


At home and more tears and hugs for her beloved Lily . . .

Then straight to the business of "Mine's bigger than yours" . . we spent the night looking at her DVD's and photos, chatting, drinking, laughing.

I envy her travels, the people she's met, the places she's been but I'm so, so, so . . glad she's safe and sound and home. Now to the mountain of washing!

She Rendered me Shmooshy

I wrote a huge soppy post about how much I'm looking forward to connecting with Clare and how proud I am of Adam, and what great people they are . . .but as Im' waxing lyrical . . .The boy walks in after his 2nd Anniversary weekend in the city with his special gift from Amy, wrapped in paper and tucked gently under his arm.

He bought her tickets to Chicago next year even though he's not a fan of musicals but then he unwound the newspaper and brown paper wrapped thing on my kitchen bench . .

Two frames with black and white photos of them each in various "Facebook" style poses, and then . . a massive frame . . . the love of his life has crafted a charcoal sketch. It's beautiful . . personal . . romantic and frankly, it took my breath away and brought me to tears . . mainly because it was such a gift of love. She's drawn it, framed it and given it . . I can only imagine what he felt when she gave it to him. Clearly she agrees with my opinion of my son. Isn't it fabulous?



I'm so over whelmed that I need a dose of Transformers . . .