The Baching Continues

The torrential rain that made the roof leak has gone and I really expected that it would leave autumn in its wake, but no, the bloody stinky heat and humidity have returned. This just makes me crabbie and irritable, cos it's sticky stinky awful. Naturally the grass is growing like topsy and cos it's hot the pool is still being useful. This all means that the baching jobs now include mowing, which I quite enjoy and seeing to the pool, about which I know fuck all.

So the mowing was a snap, but I expect that the pool will be a different issue altogether. The water sample was tested and stuff was needed. I pleaded useless and so the fellas will walk 2 bags of salt over when they get back from their day's labour. These are BIG bags, not those little white paper bags of sweeties Nanna used to buy us every Saturday. These are 20kgs each! And me with my sorry back! I am not sure how to get the stuff into the pool, but I am pretty sure it will involve gravity and pushing and maybe a bread knife to open them. I am supposed to disconnect the vacuum thing and tip in all the salt and sweep it around and then after 2 hours, re-connect the vacuum thing. I haven't looked yet, but I am hoping that it is designed for idiots and that if I can get it undone, I can then connect it back. We will see.

I don't know why I have never learnt to 'do the pool', especially as I use it far more than Steve. It really should be my job. Maybe once I have learnt how to do it I will be keener to take it on, but somehow I doubt it. It just doesn't grab me.

Dog has been spoiled and has not left my side except for when I headed out yesterday. She dug the hole again and I didn't rouse cos she was doing what dogs do. She knows I am an old softy about it but I reckon she might well head for them hills when Dad comes home, cos she knows it gives him the screaming irrits. Collecting up her shit brings no joy, but is a simple enough job.

The smoke alarm is still doing the occasional beeping thing and I keep ignoring it by turning up the tellie or the music or closing a door. Well actually, it just got the better of me so I trooped upstairs twice to see if I could find an easy solution, and it was easier than I thought, cos it wasn't the alarm, it was a little digital clock / photo frame Steve gave me for xmas. It was beeping like a maniac. I thought I had pushed enough buttons to turn it off, came downstairs, only for it to start up again. But I fixed it good and proper this time. I took all the batteries out. I reckon I won't be hearing from it again.

Time to hit the pool and worry about all that other stuff and nonsense tomorrow.

Sunday Shopping YES, doing the MATH, NOOOO!

'Doing the Math', well it's just plain bloody boring and whilst it's not beyond me - as luck would have it, it was my third teaching area when I started out as a guppy but I kept that info very close to my chest, it's just something that I truly can't be bothered with.

When I was 40 and Bell was heading off into the wide blue yonder for what turned into 18 months of fraught and fun and frolic, I decided that that was more than enough of doing the bills down to the penny and balancing bloody everything except the scales of course.

It drove Steve mad that I wouldn't reconcile bank statements or check credit card billings or cross reference dockets and charges, so little by little, well actually given his pedantic nature and my absolute antipathy, by big flying leaps, he became responsible for 'doing the math'.

So he's in London for his birthday and I have sent cards but I wanted to send something to open. I went hunting for my English credit cards which must be in the same safe place I hid the oyster cards and as that was fruitless and after on line looking I did not have enough pounds in my pom account, I had to use the Oz card.

I found what I wanted and bought it and then looked for a receipt in my emails.... NOTHING THERE! This was odd, even for a Math refuser like me.

I went back into the shop site and my item was still there in my basket, not processed. So I bought it, and this time it all went through like it always does, but it left me feeling like I had buggered something up. So back to on line banking only to discover that it wouldn't let me in....Oh shit!! I am never gonna hear the end of this if I have handed over all my details to some Nigerian.

I called the bank and was chatting to the lovely Sean for more than 30 minutes, well actually I was on hold for a fucking long time first. He couldn't work it out either. He gave me a temporary password which also didn't work, and then finally the math guru told me to give up for a while and try  it all again later on. Well you know what, I could have thought of that!!

So I did try later on 4 or 5 times later, before finally the password worked but I couldn't see the charge for the pressie on the account, even though Sean had no trouble with it. I reckon there must be something to click on to swap between the MasterCard and the Amex, but I was buggered if I could find it.

So I had to email Stevie with all this strange news and probably have not made his day. I am sooo hoping that the pressie proves worth the trouble.

The sale of the Century

The weather fairies have been kind and Belly's garage sale has been a huge success. This means that she has sold a lot of stuff and has cash to burn, but I reckon the real indicator of success is that she has had a fine time. There were a number of her friends who rallied to help and I can see how that would increase the levity factor. But perhaps the real reason for her success is that in at least this instance she is nothing like her mother.

I have attempted this sort of interaction with the locals twice and only 2 times have I needed to be restrained from hitting someone with an ugly chipped jug or similar bit of tat, and only a few times have I told complete strangers to fuck off out of my place, because I would far rather give whatever it is they were wanting to a charity shop or dump it, than sell it to them for any amount of cash. The first time I cannot recall if any money was made and the second time amazing money was made. Both times though I would clearly have been better off if Belly had taken charge.

There is something about people at a garage sale, or a demolition sale, that give me the irrits. They all want something for nothing. And I get it, if I don't want then why can't I just give it to them, well because I paid for it in the first place that's why, and just cos I don't want it anymore that doesn't make it worthless. I mean I don't want the Mona Lisa , but I wouldn't give it away at a garage sale.

They all had enough of a good time to have decided to front up again tomorrow for one final fling before the leftovers get taken off to the charity shop. I do very much hope that she rewards herself with a nice bottle of wine and a takeaway tonight. She deserves at least that much for being a wonder bug, polite thing under circumstances that make me overflow with rudeness and bile.

So the Baching begins

'I'm leaving on a jet plane', was Steve's song yesterday as he headed off to Blight for a month's birthday visit with all his mates...There can surely never be an argument against a birthday that might last but a week huh.

So now it is just Dibley and Me in the big house.

The rainy storms of the last few days, which culminated in a big hula-balu last night, have allowed me to question our sex roles. For example last night about 1am I heard this odd bleeping noise and as I was the only one capable of rationalising it - dog was sleeping soundly, I dragged out of bed and investigated. Yeh it was the bloody smoke alarm that has always been wonky, but Steve had replaced 'em all before he left, so I was buggered if I knew what it could be. My solution did not involve getting out the ladder and a phillips head screwdriver, my solution was to go back to bed and close the door. The rain and the closed door had the same affect as turning up my car radio when I heard a strange engine noise years ago.

This morning there was a big puddle under the fridge and after I had established that there was nothing wrong with it, I threw some towels onto the floor and soaked up the wet. Once before, we had a leak somewhere in that corner of the house, so as my back is still making me into some crooked old cow, I am incapable of scaling up the kitchen bench and using the 'CLAW' to grab the electric plug and then lying flat out on the floor and dragging the fridge out of it's little home, so to enable me to dry up under it. I have to hope that the heat transfered at the back of the fridge will be sufficient to dry up the floor and that there is nothing rotting in the wall behind it. Once the final towel has been washed and dried and put away, I am sure I will forget all about it.

The pool was overflowing but I reckon now that the heat is back, evapouration will see that righted lickerty split, the rubbish bin has been placed and emptied and returned and the one little pile of dog shit is still sitting on the grass but I will defo collect it tomorrow.

All the washing is done and the kitchen and bathrooms are lovely and clean and as I stand here...still no sitting allowed! I reckon that there are just many ways to an end. We might all have different methods but so long as the jobs get done, it doesn't really matter at all.

Back Aches and Noise

Being told that I have only 2 options for passing the day, that is lying down or walking, makes me aware of just what a lazy fucker I am in an ordinary day, cos I clearly spend most of the time seated on my arse doing god knows what.

After spending time spread eagle on the floor with Zig and Bell, making garage sale signs on very a large bits of cardboard, I could hardly walk, and so yesterday, through a bit of a drug haze and a few tears I took myself off to the physio and yes Adam told me my back was fucked AGAIN. He seemed to think that until I get my knee sorted I can expect this sort of thing to happen more often than not. Oh JOY!

So he got out the expensive version of heat cream and gave my back a good seeing to, not too many tears in that and then sent me on my way with the instructions to lie or walk and keep up with the drugs.

So today as Steve got himself sorted for the OFF to Blighty, I have alternated between couch and walking the house. Occasionally the walking has been useful as I went in search of some missing essential and other times fruitless and more than a little aimless.

Steve is still packing and as he is a big boy I have no doubt that he is more than capable of doing it without supervision, and if he forgets something I am sure that he will be able to sort it out when he gets to Mike`s place.

I am pleased that sometime ago we agreed that I would just drop him at the train station cos I am pretty sure that my back would not allow for 3 hours driving to and from the airport.

So I am wondering if a tree falls in forest and there is no one there, does it make any sound, and similarly, if it just me in the big house and I groan on about being sore am I really making any noise.
If not then that means I am not aching. Yippee to that thought!!

Scary Movies Suck

It was ironing day today to get Steve's stuff sorted for London, and that meant turning the tellie on and suffering through shitful morning TV including infomercial after infomercial about how to be thinner and cuter and younger and for only the cost of a small car. I suppose I should be pleased that it took longer than I thought and consequently for my viewing pleasure I was thrown into the horrors of "The Invasion" Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig, how bad could it be huh?

Well I don't do well with horror movies. I have absolutely no problem 'suspending disbelief' and falling headfirst into the gore and the misery and the general mayhem and horror. Years ago I went to see a double bill of 'Misery' and 'Silence of the Lambs'. I spent a great deal of the time with my hands over my eyes and more than once I fell off the chair onto the floor. I felt sick with fear.

Today however I thought it would be cool cos it was DAYTIME and I was ironing and there were so many ads for rubbish no one needs. The premise was simple enough, some alien disease making the world into Stepford people and Nicole and her son were anti the idea and the kid was immune so quite helpful to mankind.

The ironing was done so my arse hit the chair and I watched the last half, ads and all. Well even though it is a pretty shit movie and even though it was bright daylight and the ads were a constant interruption,I still managed to squeal like a stuck pig and throw my arms around like the maniac with a knife in Hitchcock's shower scene.

It's always a good idea to test yourself from time to time, and what I discovered today is that
I am still just a big baby about scary-manary movies.

Simultaneous Alzheimers.

I have a bit of a migraine today so things have been all a bit of a blurr. To take the edge off I thought I would stand around in the shade and the breeze, with the hose and wet the grass and the trees and pretend to be a gardener.

The neighbours in this neck of the woods are pretty friendly and Joan walked by and stopped to compliment me on the growth of the star jasmine and say a quick hello to Dog. Apparently this is something she does even if there is no one out wetting the grass, saying hello to dog that is, I don't know about the stopping to chatter, - it is possible.

She told me about the slide down the Alzheimer's ride her husband was on. It did not sound joyful the first time she told me and it certainly did not sound any more so the second time she told me. She told me a story from her youth and it was entertaining to a degree the first time and less so the second time.

She said she was lonely and that there were days and sometimes weeks when she didn't speak at all. I presumed that lively conversation with her hubby was a thing of the past. I was happy to listen and comment while the hose did its best to resurrect the grass.

I am left wondering though what happens when the dreaded A hits the whole family. Who is left looking out for fire hazards and remembering where you live.

This must surely be becoming a very real situation what with the aging population and all. Or maybe this could be the answer to the whole dilemma - 2 or more people living together not remembering each other, or each others stories, they could be simultaneously interesting and interested. They could say mean hurtful things that no one would take to their graves, and so long as safety was covered they could all live happily ever after.

It is a trite idea, and I only mention it because of the terror I feel when I think of it happening to me. An Elliott trait I'm afraid, that some find endearing and others find repugnant, is to make extremely light of any shitty situation.

The selling of 'Programmes' at my dad's funeral is perhaps a reasonable example.

Still hard to believe that I didn't make enough money to retire on, the church was full to pussy's bow.

Has time really stolen my hair??

 

 

 

 

Ok there is a great line in the movie 'Steel Magnolias', which goes something like, 'Time is marching on and then you notice that is marching all over your face.'

And without sitting and watching the movie again to get it word perfect, I reckon you can get the idea. But I am not too concerned about the march across my face, though I do reckon a bit of botox wouldn't be a bad thing. It's the damage time does to your hair that really gives me the screaming irrits.

I am trying to grow mine a bit long so that I can change things up from time to time, and it certainly is growing long, but sadly it's the only part of me that is getting any thinner.

I don't doubt that the mega doses of bleach used to achieve the colour of my youth, is not doing it any favours, but I am certain that my little plaits at school were far far thicker than these rather sad wormy offerings. Oh the white blonde crown has never been abundant, but before the tresses started to fall or break off there was a hand full sufficiency.

So does it make you wonder where all that bloody hair goes? I know I spend time picking it out of the shower drains - one of my very least favourite hurl making jobs, and maybe it morphs into old man nose and ear hair. Who really knows.

What I do find interesting looking at these 2 pics is that I no longer worry if my ears poke out too far, so maybe with the loss of hair comes the loss of give a shits and that cannot be a bad thing.

I admit that the makeup-less selfies doing the rounds for cancer awareness got me thinking about all this and then when I took the photo, I had to go looking for this school pic from 1975.

While I was looking I did not find my hair.

Back to the old Laptop.

Steve is taking my little girlie machine to London with him for a month, so I am re-acquainting myself with the old lap top. I am loath to be too rude about it cos I wouldn't be the least be surprise that it understands and stops working altogether just out of spite.

It is remarkable just how quickly your brain and fingers can adapt to newness. I have found myself swiping the screen and then having a little laugh at myself, maybe if the laptop is aware of anything at all it is enjoying the stimulation. My girlie is just much quicker and more responsive than this old relic, but as it has been in the family for a long time - long in terms of computers I mean, I do have shoes that are older, I reckon that it will probably limp along a while longer.

I find it amusing to realise that as modernity hits these machines, they get smaller and faster and at the same time I get bigger and slower. Ho hum.

But not everything technical has shrunk. We were looking for old phones for Steve to take and they are much smaller and lighter than the new smart phones. So maybe at least with phones the smarter they are the heavier and bigger they are. That means I must be a phone!!

I remember well the first time Belly and I headed off to London. The preparations went on for months and we could taste the excitement and nerves. And later when I headed back to find a job and live for what turned out to be much longer than I had planned, I was more than  a little nutty getting sorted to finally get my arse on the plane. I carried so much hand-luggage that I could barely make it down the escalator at Brisbane airport. It wouldn't be allowed today. See... computers are smaller so too must be your carry on stuff.

I suppose there is a nonchalance involved in Steve heading back home. It is all so familiar with the great unknown nowhere to be found. Getting onto a plane and heading off to the other side of the world is now a bit ordinary.....it's like going for a very long peak hour time train ride home.

So the little girlie is off on her first OS trip and I hope she behaves herself. She certainly doesn't take up much room.

Health Insurance Comparisions - I have lost the will to go on.

If you have private health insurance in Australia, then you know that the premiums are going up again in April and if you are with Medibank Private then you know that they have been very generous and given you less than a week or so to do any price comparisons.

So being a product of advertising like I am, I went online and found I-select and filled in all the shit and then the lovely Justin rang me back. We chattered on amiably for more than 30 minutes and he emailed me something to read and now we have a date on Monday for some more chatter.

I am very very pleased  that Justin did all the messing around cos I just wanted to throw the whole fucking lot out in the wheelie bin. It's collection day tomorrow YIPPEE!

Anyway what has emerged is that Steve and I have very different ideas about what the insurance should do and this might well be because he is - to use Justin's expression, as fit as a flea and I have been in and out of bloody hospital for what seems like my whole life.

Steve reckons that it's all a gamble and as he is almost never unwell and has not been to hospital in his adult life that there is not a real big need for it and had he stashed the cash into a pillow case for all these years he would be well and truly ahead.

But me, well not so much. I've always had insurance and for that I am very pleased. The only time I have had to endure the public system was in London and I managed to slide out of that bed pretty lickerty spilt but only on presentation of my Visa card - well worth the flash!

• tonsil tickle
• baby machine
• gall bladder rip
• boob chop 1A
• boob chop 1B
• bowing of the tubes
• flue removal
• camera up the leg - heart it!
• steel knee ouchie
• boob chop 2

I am not sure that's it but it's close, so I reckon I must be well ahead.

The conversation has continued long after Justin hung up. I like the idea of the peace of mind and Steve is ready to take his chances.

We will need to be on the same page on Monday. The weekend is likely to be lively.

58 The Village - Old fashioned tastes made from air and wishing.

I went for coffee with Nik today for her birthday.

We went to a funky new to me place on Chevron Island. Nik reckons the coffee is very good and that's all the recommendation we needed really.

We were in full swing with chatter and so when the owner came over boasting about her cakes and sweeties, I didn't pay much attention after I had heard choc-mint cake cos that sounded good to me. She went on about how it was gluten, dairy, in fact everything free. I stopped listening and just told her I would be happy if it was full of fat and sugar and flour and stuff, and I reckon she nearly feel over. I was unaware that the 'organic' nature of everything was her 'thing', so I had inadvertently been a little rude.

Anyway order we did and then chattered on as girlies do. The cakes arrived and mine looked really YUM. I should have taken a photo, except that clicking away is never as close to mind as chomping so I plunged in.

For a cake that was made from, oh who knows I really didn't listen, but all good stuff, it was just lovely. It was a little walk down nostalgia street, the same real taste of mint and crunchie chocolate, as I remember from girlhood. It was just a bit of Nanna reminder and I am pleased to have found this place.

They are open for cocktails and dinner 3 nights a week, and I wonder how the 'organic' thing translates to booze, but I think I am curious enough to head back soon and find out.

94.1 Radiothon

There's a great local radio station here on the Goldie, 94.1 FM

It is run by an eclectic group of men and women all with the aim of providing a fine mix of music for people of some vintage. It's unlikely that you will hear too much rap crap or indeed any heavy metal, and I have to admit that this suits me just fine.

The station is running a fund raiser this week to draw in some cash to replace their transmitter which by the sounds of things is being held together by spit and bobby pins.

Friend of mine, Nikki and Tony are DJs at the station, and so I headed out today to do a stint on the phones collecting $50 from punters who want to help out.

It was quite fun being at an 'incoming call centre' as apposed to the outgoing place where I once worked. There can be no comparison between chatting to people who rang in willing to help and cold calling folk who are mostly already pissed off and talking to a stranger who wants something is the tipping point to their phone rage.

The generosity of locals is heart-warming and I hope that enough cash can be raised
 to enable them to continue playing the music I enjoy.

Yeh selfish I know.

Dinner picnics

I have planned a little picnic on the beach for tonight. It doesn't matter what the food is, it always tastes better outdoors away from the table or the tellie.

When Bell was little I used to make meat balls and gather up whatever else we might have had in the cupboard or fridge. It didn't matter if the stuff really didn't match. We weren't looking for gold on MKR or Masterchief. It only mattered that there was some stuff to eat and share with her mates at the beach at Southbank after they had played in the water and run themselves ragged.

The kids would come and go and graze on whatever was there and if the budget permitted there would be ice creams for pudding and if not there was just more of dinner a bit later on. It definitely was a very pleasant way to spend the early evening.

So tonight I have some chicken rolls with tomato and avocado and Boccioni cheese and maybe a little rockie road for pud, so maybe MKR wouldn't be completely aghast....well now I am kidding myself, a store bough cooked chook and store bought rolls and store bought sweeties. At least I am slicing the tomato and stuff myself.

I am sure that Dog will enjoy it, though I am not so sure about Steve. We are on the same page about NOT liking sand in the rolls but he is more anti than me. We can eat on the grassy dunes then head off to the surf for a quiet walk and hope that no busy body gives us grief about the dog on the beach off the lead.

Even at night, in the dark, people can be whingers.

Brunswick Heads - They do love Dogs!!

 

 

 

It is no secret that Dibley Dog is a very spoilt little miss. She rules the house and she figures in almost every decision about what to do and where to go.

It has been difficult in the past taking her places, cos some people find children more pleasant than a well behaved dog. This is sometimes very hard to believe especially as you watch parents whip off shitty nappies from baby bums balanced on fabric covered chairs, never concerning themselves with the visuals or the conflicting odours of shit and coffee. Dibley dog almost never shits inside and hasn't been known to throw herself to the floor screaming and kicking until I buy her a chew toy, well not in the last little while at least.

Too many places are very unfriendly towards dogs, but today we stumbled upon perhaps the most dog loving town ever. Brunswick Heads, is the winner. We were able to take her to the cafe and then as we walked all round the little town centre, there were water bowls at almost every shop and people stopped to say hello and other dogs wandered too. It was lovely, and for the sceptics, no there was not even one pile of shit left uncollected, nor did any of the dogs go mental at each other or try to take down old people or eat any of the many children. It is a querky interesting place that we will happily go back to. It's a shame that it is a little too far just for a cuppa but still worth the drive.

Scrummy brownie at Cove Cafe Brunswick Heads

Cabarita was also dog friendly. We stopped in here on the way home and again she was welcomed. We sat watching the waves and people wander onto the beach with their dogs, even though to do so they had to pass a sign that not once but twice forbade access to dogs. No-one seemed the least bit concerned.

I reckon that the level of dog acceptance might well be a reasonable barometer for a place I want to visit.

Mumma Bear got loose.

Mumma Bear escaped the compound today and took on baby bear's ex.

It has been a long time coming. Finally on Tuesday evening Baby Bear got a text ordering her about stating that if EVEN her mumma bear could manage something then so could she, and she'd better jump to it pronto.

Well it gave this mumma bear the screaming squirts, and as I had been mentioned in dispatches I decided a response was in order.

Ex bear didn't like it on little bit. Too bloody bear bad I reckon. I am waiting for the bullying of Baby bear to be ramped up and then there will be a full frontal attack.

I wonder when and indeed if, mothers ever stop being protective of their cubs. Oh there are of course anomalies like my mother. She seems to have missed the maternal instinct gene altogether, but I look around and all my mother bear friends are the same. Now that we have grand baby bears as well, our arms are spread wider and our eyes and ears are set on ever watchful mode so no harm comes to the littlies either.

I don't doubt for a minute that my bear is capable of looking out for herself, but it doesn't do any harm for the world to be reminded that she is part of my pack and if you hurt her then you are on my list.

Bullies be buggered.

There is no doubt at all that this modern world allows for all sorts of fabulous; instant just about everything, and access to just about everywhere, but there is quite the downside.

When I was girl, yeh way back when kids played outside until the street lights came on and their parents had no clue that they were making full scaled obstacle courses in someone's cow paddock, cos there was no, 'I'll just text 'em', or when the first your mother knew about a broken mangled foot, caught under the steel grill of the road drain, which was dropped on said foot after being raised in search of the 10 cents dropped down there, was not a photo on facebook but when you came limping into the kitchen, to hear her cries of, 'Don't you dare bleed on my floor!', yeh when I was a girl, being mean to someone required guts and determination and for me anyway, a good amount of feeling very hard done by.

You had to work up to a confrontation. Your feelings of being wronged drove you to put yourself on the line in the quest for justice. It took real courage.

I was 17 in my final year of school and was quite the clever little smart arse. I had my own sense of right and wrong and would stand up for people being picked on and certainly for myself. My geography teacher - favourite subject despite least favoured teacher, was giving the run down on the rules for the upcoming field trip which was to take us all away for a weekend. Well my drop kick brother had gone the year before and made a mess of himself, his tent and my future husband's shoes, as he spewed and spewed after too many too quickly, cheap cinzanos. Anyway mid flight into the dos and don'ts, she stopped and pointed at me and tried hard to humiliate me by telling ME not to bring any booze and to behave myself.

I am not a great believer of the sins of the brother and all that, and I had been her best student for years. I was a school leader and had not given her any excuse to think I might caused trouble. I sat through til almost the end of her 'briefing', boiling mad. Finally I had to stand in front of about a hundred people, kids and staff, and tell her that I would not be going on her stupid camp because she had been unconscionably rude to me and I had no faith that she would treat me fairly while I was away and therefore I would not be safe from continued harassment. ( No I would not have said harassment - that is a new word, but you get the idea.)

I was shaking and scared, but my sense of justice was such that she needed to be told, publically, like she had told me. There were some terrible consequences - for me not for her. I have hated her all these years.

But now when people are pissed off, they just cowardly fire off a text and if that doesn't get the right response, they just keep firing. The vitriol gets thicker and nastier. It seems that many people have lost their 'off button'.

I reckon that people who bully via text are just spineless cowards and are best ignored. If at all possible save some of the best rants and let these become the stuff of ridicule. It is important to remember that they are bullies and not worthy of upset or response.

It's easy to be an ostrich on the Coast - there's plenty of sand.

A little cacoon time is called for. I know I put shit on the quietude of the Goldie, but sometime, just sometimes I am pleased to be so far removed from all the awful in the world.

I watch the news and see things escalating in the Ukraine and read about the Malaysian Airlines mystery and I am pleased that the most newsworthy thing going on here is about a middle sized doggie with a sore leg - Yeh that's Dibley Dog, so I didn't have to dig too deep for details.

I am very pleased that I am nowhere near the Ukraine, even though in the abstract, St Petersburg is still high on my bucket list. I am pretty sure that I would need to be well and truly sedated to embark on a trip to Russia for my birthday. I just cannot get into the mind set of people like Putin and whoever is backing him. I do not understand the want and the need and drive to take over a country. Shit I don't even like the thought of being enough in control of Dog to insist that she shakes hands or rolls over on cue. I do however understand the demonstrations in the Ukraine. I would hope that every Aussie would be standing side by side if similar was happening here. But of course it doesn't happen here because luckily or not, we are a distant backwater, of little importance to most of the rest of the world.

I very much doubt if there were terrorists involved in the Airplane disappearance, that they were after the half dozen Aussies on board. I know that the Bali Bombing seemed to target Aussies, and this certainly should not be dismissed. I was rocked to stone still as I watched the images of a devastated Kuta, a place I had been to not long before the bombing. The senselessness of it all still beggars belief.

Generally in this huge backwash we are safe and more than a little closeted from the truly desperately awful goings on in the world.

I was in London when the IRA bombed Ealing Broadway tube station and still there when the terrorist attacked the buses and city tube stations years later. The horror of it lingers. The text messages sent every day for a long time to say that I was out of the tube and off to work were a way of making light of it all but I can still recall the fear of going down the escalators to board the train for work. No choice, just Stay Calm and Carry On.

Generally we Aussies have no first hand experience with all this awfulness and for that we should be all very grateful.

Mmmmm,  sometimes living in a backwater has very big advantages.   

Breeding - not me!! Gold Fish

A couple of days ago I saw a small almost transparent fish in the pond. I went out to feed 'the girls' and I am sure there was a little extra one.

Now at feeding time they are like a rugby players all jostling for position and this newbie stayed aside and waited for a tiny crumb to float by and then grabbed it.

Today however it was gone, just nowhere to be seen.

I thought it might be cool to have some home-grown fish so I did some research. It all seems very difficult to breed fish. You need special tanks and water testing and natural environments of rocks and plants and hidie holes. Then you need to stroke the bellies of the fish to identify boys and girls and isolate any you think might be good breeders in the new tank. The girlies then leave their eggs and the boys swim over the eggs and drop their 'stuff' and so fry is made.

Then you have to take the big fish out again cos they will eat the eggs and if not the eggs they will the little fishies.

I reckon my little fella that obviously survived quite a long time maybe even a couple of weeks by hiding under something, must have just gotten too cocky and was swallowed up by the biggens. She needed to be smarter longer.

It seems very clear that we are not gonna have a litter of our own, or if we do they are just gonna be fodder for the big girls.

What a strange arrangement. The girls seem friendly enough and often swim as a pack but the reality is that they are only safe as long as they are faster than the rest, or cannier or quicker to strike.

No I am not again discussing IWD.

IWD is over, let's get back to normal.

 

As I expected, the headlines today have reverted to the norm.

• Man dating some surgically enhanced twins - he gets a name and they get a photo of their tits.
• A woman badly burnt in Sydney - small print makes it clear that some arsehole set her alight on IWD no less - how very dare he?!!
• Kate Ceberano is being a gossip
• Almost nothing about women's sport, I suppose that's cos all those boobs were out marching or some such twaddle and too busy to play any games.
• And Gina Rhinhart is being a man.
• And finally a truck driving bloke is gonna become a midwife cos he has such experience backing big things into little spots. I hope that doesn't mean he plans to shove 'em back up.

I know I have left out lots of other news, mostly bad or blokey, let's admit it looking through online news is never an uplifting exercise.

But my point is that yesterday's news was full of pink platitudes, which today are forgotten.

So really we might just as well fuck off the very idea of it all.

Instead of festering in the crossness, I am happy to have videoed Dog today. She has been a bit lame since Thursday when she tore a muscle running like a maniac - yeh she is much faster than her boyfriend Sam. The Vet said to keep her quiet for about a week, but as the vid shows, you just can't keep a good woman down!!

After more than 2 hours trying to upload the bloody vid, I am giving up. Reckon this damn machine is agin me, perhaps it likes the idea of IWD and is getting it's own back.....very ho hum.

International Women's Day - Ho Hum

Today will be the day for every media outlet to pop up with some pleasant words about the worth of women and point out how either women's lots have improved or declined over the last little while or throughout history. And the focus will be thought provoking and interesting and with any luck at all it might actually encourage one or two young women to stand up for themselves.

The big problem that I see in all this is similar to Mothers' day and Fathers' day. It is ridiculous to use up a year's attention in ONE day. Showering all your love on a parent for oh lets say at a push 8 hours once a year, is not the idea at all. And a world that lines up Hallmark to allow this to happen is more than a little sad, but that is the way of our world. My Girl loves me All year not just on Mother's day and that's the way it aught to be.

International Women's Day is an excuse for the world to forget about women's issues for 364 days because on this ONE special special day they are discussed. This I fear is more than a little self defeating.

So today we will no doubt see sanctimonious politicians spruiking about the wonders of women and tomorrow they can all go back to ignoring us, filling their front benches with beards and making life very difficult for women rearing the hopes of tomorrow. Today we will see media barons pontificate proudly about the women in their employ and tomorrow they can continue to plaster their pages with pics of headless boobed bodies. Today a man might curtail that 'friendly slap' but tomorrow he will have forgotten all that tripe as he swings again. The women living in poverty all around the globe might be spotlighted today only to be forgotten tomorrow.

I reckon it is passed time that women stand up for themselves 365 days a year, and stop waiting for someone else to lead the charge. If women expected more they would have more. The old adage, 'You get what you settle for' could not be more true for women.

Quotas and other government legislation will not improve the lot of women, we need to do this ourselves, as individuals. We need to stop all the infighting and listening to the media about what we should look like and how we should behave. We need to just get out there and mow our own path.

If our daughters sit around and WAIT for the next International Women's Day to cure all their ills they will be a long time dead.

Instead of marching or protesting or petitioning for change, I reckon it is time we encouraged our daughters themselves, to be the vehicles of change. If they want something they should go out and get it, they should not sit idly by waiting for someone to consider them worthy.

So Mothers' Day, Fathers' Day and Valentines' Day,  all those bloody 'Days', be buggered, International Women's Day included. Yeh lets get rid of 'em all and as individuals declare what is important, and then strive to achieve it.

Get rid off 'em all, except of course birthdays cos I do love a pressie and a bit of cake on my B.Day.

007 Might not be happy with this interpretation.

 

There's a competition at the RQAS and the pieces have to be done very soon. It's in conjunction with the Gold Coast Film Festival and the entrants have been asked to 're-imagine' a film.

Now when I first saw this I thought it was 're-image' a film, and that meant no more to me. I am not sure why the title needs to be quite so obscure, perhaps then artists can submit just about anything and it'll be ok.

The entry form goes on for about 1 and a half A4 pages listing all the terms and conditions so I guess it's important to be a bit loose somewhere. One of the conditions is that there is no theft of 'intellectual property'. I have had a go at re-imagining a 007 poster changing the anorexic girlie into someone more 'real' I am not sure about the intellectual property condition and whether or not I have breached this. I have to sign that I have not breached this condition and I haven't any clue ... oh shit, just sign it. Too much agonising over it all cannot be good for the artwork surely.

It's possible that I am very wide of the mark, but it does make me giggle so it can't be a bad thing can it?

I have replaced the guns with cakes and I think I'll call it, 'The World is Not Enough - Eat More Cake!' I am trying to decide if I should put the text on it like a film poster, but I reckon that would be testing my ability and could possibly bugger it up altogether.

It feels almost finished and I hope that unlike the one in the background which I butchered, I can leave this one well enough alone before I do any damage. Only time will tell on that score.

Even if this doesn't turn out to be worth the $25 entry fee, I certainly am enjoying painting again.

Backyard Swans

 

Occasionally I look out and see a lovely bird, one which I am not tempted to set Dog onto. The shitting ugly ibis barely count as birds. They are just scavengers and are hideous and just take to shittting great piles of liquid gooop all down the fences and on the glass and around the pool and all over the pontoon.  Picnic makers in the park stand and applaud when we let Dog out and she runs like a demon to rid her domain of all these great white shitting machines, and so leave the folk to a peaceful feed of fish and chips.

I am not sure she differentiates between them and other birds so as we have been entertaining a large flock swans this week I have been careful to keep her well away while I feed them. Today however I let her come onto the pontoon with me and even though they hissed and were a little reluctant to come too close the swans and Dib seemed to manage to co-exist well enough.

From just a couple the group has grown to 7 and they are majestic as they glide over the water. Oddly enough though their feet are quite gumby under the water and they frantically paddle away like a man running on 1 leg, a hand and a trunk- all a bit lopsided and un-co. 

Dog is injured at present and we are off to the vet this afternoon to hopefully find she has just been too exuberant in her pursuit of the ibis, and that a few days of taking it easy will see her back to normal. If that is the case then I suppose the swans will really have to watch out, cos she doesn't do sitting still very well and with a few days' pent up energy I reckon she will see BIRD and just go like the clappers.

The swans are lovely, but not an enticement to living any more rural than this. I reckon if necessary I could enjoy watching them on the tellie and save some money on bread. Greenies cover your eyes when I say that this morning I had no bread so did a bit of a Marie Antoinette and fed 'em croissants instead. Please don't comment on the sugar and the butter and the 'not breadness' of it all. I know. I just wanted them to know they could expect food here if they come back tomorrow.

Yeh I have bread for the morning.