Finally a Little Wet Relief

 

It certainly has been dry. The grass is crunchie and the mandatory water tank is full of only air. I have been watering the new trees and trying to be as conservative with the drops as I can because of the ridiculous cost of water.

The heat and the wind have meant that the pond and the pool need topping up and I reckon filling the pond with tap water has been the cause of the demise of a couple of ‘the girls’. I took a sample to be tested and the PH is off the charts and so now I have placed a whopping great bit of drift wood in there in the perhaps rather silly belief that things will right themselves. The girls seem to like swimming through it so all is not lost even if it becomes an expensive bit of playground equipment for them.

I am not too sentimental about the passing of a fish. I reckon if they are not tough enough to survive, then, oh well never mind. I usually scoop out the deaden with a slotted spoon and splodge it over the fence into the park, but I must have been preoccupied during the latest ‘ceremony’ and before I knew it I had gone the big hooook over the fence. As my arm was still in motion I realised that there could easily be someone there getting a face full of dead fish! I waited for a reaction.... I heard it land I think. No damage done. Wheww!

All day the news had been full of storm warnings. I waited, and waited. 2 o’clock it rained a bit and it was a bit windy, with a bit of lightning and thunder, but not enough to really send Dog over the nervy edge. And then at about 6 it started again. This was a little more fierce. I had to turn the tellie up so I could hear the news and I spent time giving the old sooky girl a cuddle on the floor. The noise and rain soon passed and it just seemed a disappointment to me that there was not more of the wet stuff.

The memory of the smell of impending summer storms is strong and pleasant. I hope this storm season is long and wet. The grass is crying out for it.

Girlie Lunch

There’s nothing quite like a girlie lunch in the village cafe.

A bottle of bubbles and roars of laughter, some serious bits of conversation, some good food, and the somewhat tedious company of an older couple either on their second date or a hiding away from the spouse assignation, made for a fine afternoon.

The couple in question really should have just, ‘got a room’. I think young people in the blush of romance who just cannot keep their hands off each other, whilst a little sick making, is forgivable. We all can remember when lust won out over propriety. But these 2 were older and should have known better. They were in public, mauling each other, in the middle of the day AND they were sober! They could have sat in the park and been at least a little more inconspicuous. Really it put me off my food, and we all know it is never wise to get between me and a meal.

A business woman from the village we all know, was working and unable to join us, though the waft of bubbles certainly tempted her.

She penned this little verse for us.

A ‘POME’ from My Desk

I LOVE the idea that you asked me

To sit and join in the fun with you three!

The sound of your laughter,

And the sparkle in your eyes,

Make me leave the table with masses of sighs!

One redhead, one blonde and one of brown,

If it was night-time you’d be really painting the town.

GO GIRLS !!!

It was recited loudly in a very ‘strine’ accent and we laughed some more and waved when she emerged from her office for air.

We righted the world and remedied strained relationships, and laughed and enjoyed the silliness of Christmas drinks in October.

It is stomping its way towards us, that Christmas. Better drag out the tinsel and tree and dust off the Santa hats. It won’t be long now.

A Little bit of Peace and Quiet

The roar of the V8s does nothing for me, in fact after 2 days of the incessant background hum of ‘em and the associated buzz of the bloody helicopters – seriously a Vietnam vet would have been hiding under the bed! I had had more than enough so a little road trip was in order.

Not far down the motorway is a sleepy little place called Tumbulgum, strange name, sweet place. We took dog and sat with a takeaway coffee and cake right by the river and enjoyed, you guessed the SILENCE. Ah how lovely!

It is just a strip of bugger all right on the river and even tho it is completely dog unfriendly we have been a few times. It is very popular. The pub is packed out – yes kids are allowed but you can’t even tie dogs to the road posts. I am not sure how that is illegal, but there are signs up so we didn’t.

There is a little cafe / restaurant with a lot of outside seating and again kids but no dogs allowed. The takeaways are fine.

There are signs up showing where you can take the dog for a walk – not sure who authorised or paid for the signs. We sat well away from said signs and Dog had a lovely little romp on the grass, took a dump in the leaf litter, (which Steve scooped up) and licked her first cappuccino.

We all had a lovely silent time. Ahhhhh

Who won that bloody race...... who cares.... Ok I know Carol cares.

Dish Pig by any other name still reeks of bleach.

 

Well the catholic do gooders from Centacare – a misnomer if ever there was one, have conned and lied to Belly and she has taken a job as a dish pig in a food prep factory.

They told her – remember I was sitting there, that the job was gonna be a forklift and delivery driver.

But here is the reality.

There is some no name food factory in Salisbury where Belly has fronted now for a week. She is yet to find a car park and she took 3 days to find the loo. She has found the front room where she was interviewed, 2 cold rooms and the kitchen where she spends her hours sloughing out buckets and bins with caustic bleach, with no safety equipment or supervision or explanation.

On day 3 or 4 she spied a hand operated lifter thing.

At the ‘all female concern’ she has spotted 2 women and the rest – 5 or 6 that she has seen but not met are all blokes.

She has worked until everything is clean, for minimum wage which she should see sometime next week.

She arrives early and does not eat or drink, yes she has a fag break!

She and I fronted the lying, self serving, pious, sanctimonious, looking down his nose at both of us, manager on Wednesday.

Tom or tony or some T name, stared at his computer for more than a minute while we sat and waited. Finally he turned and said to me, ‘You cannot talk’, no introduction, no how’s it going, no pleasantries at all, just, ‘You cannot talk’

He started in on Belly. She was crying. She had worked hard for 3 days without even basic equipment like gum boots and gloves, the skin was peeling off her hands and her feet were wrinkled and clammy from hours in bleach and water. And she would not have cared about any of this had she seen even the slightest glimpse of what she had been promised.

I stared at T person and played the game. I spoke to Belly and she spoke to him. He heard it all twice.

He berated Belly and told her how important it was that her child not grow up to be another generation on welfare.

I didn’t punch him!

I told Belly to mention Health and Safety and the agency’s responsibility to have completed some sort of recognisance to ratify the work place as safe.

I told her to say that she had been conned and lied to. That she was now stuck in this place because the dole office had been told she was now employed and that if she quit, she would not receive any benifits at all for at least 6 weeks.

She described the work environment and mentioned that in her previous roles as manager where she hired and fired and trained, she had never seen anything like it.

T person did not give a shit. He kept rolling out the religious right winged propaganda designed to make any woman - slutty enough to find themself raising a child on their own outside of marriage, feel like shit.

What a shitful place it is. Yes Belly left with a voucher for a pair of gum boots, but everyone knew that there were no small sized boots at the place she was being sent. That's because this place deals with MALE ex cons and deros. So she was sent off to get a pair of boots at taxpayers’ expense that were  always going to be too big and blister causing. Yes Belly was provided with some work pants ( initially a men’s size 97!! – she is a tiny size 10 ) Again at the taxpayers’ expense. The Centacare people are more than happy to spend public money on ineffectual gear and then pretend they are literally god’s gift.

T person said they would try to find Belly something else , but first they had to find someone to take her job....I suppose it is possible that they will be able to bullshit some other poor bastard but I dont’ know how long that will take!! Clearly they are not working for Belly, they are just providing slave stupids to the unnamed factory, whilst spending taxpayer funds to provide that which the factory aught  have to hand.

The factory has given her a 5 page contract to sign!! All about their rights!!

I am yet to see where they mention providing a safe work environment, but I haven’t finished yet.

No wonder people get jaded and manage to find ways to rort the system, god knows Centacare seem to have done just that!

If you are not an ex-con or a dero, avoid this place like the plague!

  

 

Homework, now it’s a Multi Generational Game.

 

I don’t believe in homework, certainly now for littlies. I reckon they are at school long enough and home time should be fun time.

Kids are often dropped at before school care at 7am, just in time for a breakfast that is nearly always better than the one they had at home, well they are left to their own devices and have some choice and they have some mates there too, even if there is no honey for the weetbix so they have to have toast.

They are at school sometimes until 5.30. I am not sure whether there is homework supervision at after school care, I hope not!

They are collected and so starts the afternoon / evening routine, of  homework, dinner and shower and organise swimming bag for tomorrow and find that bit of homework from yesterday or that library book, read a bit and if everyone is really lucky there might be time for a cuddle for mummy.

How does this sound like FUN.

There must be time for kids to play and wonder and just sit still doing nothing if that’s what they fancy. Their little lives are soo bloody crowded.

The inclusion of the homework task, regardless of whether it is a big job set at the start of the week due on Friday, or little bits due every morning just adds a cause for irritation and argument.

‘Have you done your homework’

‘Yes Mum’

‘Show me please’

‘I’m looking for my bathing cap’

‘Where’s the homework!!’

‘I can’t seem to get my laces untied, my shoe won’t come off, and Highlander is on the tellie soon I think and oh look at Kittie she is doing a big pooh and .....’

‘Where’s your bloody homework. Don’t lie to me! I know you haven’t done it. Sit down now and do it while I make the dinner.’

‘Ooops sorry Mum, the milk has gone all over my book.’

Kids and Mums need some time just to be a family, they don’t need all this bollocks EVERY night.

Those lucky bastard weekend fathers get off scott free I reckon, they get all the play time. Good time dads....ho bloody hum.

So anyway last night saw numerous text messages and 3 phone calls and some text messages after that. Zig needed help with some science project about something to do with heat. He needed to identify and then grade the heat generated by things at home....and because he is a little smartie pants he wanted to do the microwave. A conference call between Belly, Zig, Ma and thankfully Pa decided that the science behind the nuker was really just a step too far for Zig and possible Belly and definitely Ma, so after much tooing and froing we all settled on the BBQ and THE BLOODY SUN.

I was set the task of finding good pictures on the internet and printing them out cos there is no printer at their place – just as well cos Zig might have wanted to study the heat generated by a printer, and Belly was left to supervise the collection of data and the compilation of a report.

I am sure that there is no fun to be had by the teacher marking this either, so all up it is not a win win situation.

I would like to see playing Downhill Skiing on the Xbox set as homework. That would be FUN!

A Boy and His Dog

There really is just nothing quite like the bond between the little fella and Dibley Dog.

Zig came out to the pound with us more than 4 years ago and he picked out Dibley. The people there let us ‘test drive’ the dog and after a few minutes we were gone. We were parents to this lovely girl. Or so we thought. We had to go through a rigorous adoption interview and then had to be approved after an investigation into whether or not our place was suitable for a dog.

The next day after getting our confirmation phone call we went out to collect her and she has been Zig’s dog ever since.

She runs herself and him ragged whenever Zig visits. They are great chums and one is never far from the other.

Yesterday Belly dropped Zig down for a sleep over because of a ‘pupil free’ day at school. How lucky I thought that we got to play. And play we or really I should say THEY did. In an out of the pool running like maniacs the pair of them. Drying off then a shared roast dinner courtesy of PA and then to bed, both of ‘em completely pooped. Dibley kept on going AWOL. She wasn’t to be found asleep on my feet on the couch, or sleeping on the cool floor or chasing away burglars in the park. She came when she was called, but then she silently mooched off again into Zig’s room where she ended up sleeping the night, on his bed.

5.30 am was a bit of a rude awakening but dog was up, boy was up so MA was up too.

We 3 have been in the pool and romping all day. I am pleasantly sunburned and ready for a sleep. When I dropped Zig off he was dead on his feet and the dog has been asleep all afternoon.

What a lovely visit we have all had.

 

Domestics!!

I don’t reckon there could be a more thankless way of spending a Saturday than IRONING.

It is no secret that there are few domestic jobs that I actually like. Well none in fact if you don’t count the fact that I quite enjoy polishing the kitchen granite, which is a strange admission I know, but the ironing really does just take the biscuit, well not just the biscuit, the whole bloody bakery!

I hate it! It is tedious and boring and actually quite hot work. My knees ache and there is no amount of daydreaming or tellie watching that can fool the brain into believing that this is a worthwhile pursuit.

I wish I could con myself into believing that ironing was not necessary, but I do love sleeping on just ironed pillow cases and there can be no doubt that clothes just feel better when the fibres have been relaxed by being squashed between the hot pressure of the iron and the spongy ironing board.

There is only one part of it that is any good at all and that is when I get to look into the empty bloody basket.

What a pisser that it is a never ending story.