Manner manners my kingdom for some manners. - Sorry Will.

My first job was at Coles, or maybe it was Woolies at Wynnum. It was the only supermarket in the place back then so that's where I worked.

I started in the Deli and on any Saturday morning I could be found with my arms up to my elbows in coleslaw, mixing in the mayo by hand and trying hard not to slop it all over the floor cos otherwise I would have to clean it up 'spit spot' before I could get onto the counter and sell the Devon or the Chicken Meat or in deed the coleslaw. That was the fun part of the job - interacting with the punters, being very polite and asking with actual intent, ' It's a bit over / under, is that OK?' Back in the day if someone wanted 200gms of bacon bones then that's what they got. It was all a matter of giving the customers what they wanted.

I admit that I had shortened my uniform to the length of a wide belt and if I moved sidewards at any pace, or god forbid bent over ever so slightly, the colour of my knickie noos was no longer a secret, but apart from that I did exactly what was expected. Please / Thank you so much / Yes Sir / Can I help you Madam. I didn't mind at all and I didn't have to work too hard to remember it or practice it. It was second nature, anything less would have had Nanna scowling and she didn't do that too often.

But sadly this is no longer.

And now I feel like a grumpy old woman.

Shit.

At the bakery today I went in to get Dog a treat cos we left her all alone yesterday and I felt a bit guilty.

Me : Morning. Could I please have a small cold pie for Dog? (They know me and so it is not a
         strange request.)
Girl: Stuffing a wee pie in a bag and throwing it on the counter, 1.60
(not 'That'll be a dollar sixty please', or 'A dollar sixty please' or even 'A dollar sixty' just 1.60.)

It was like saying an extra word or 2 was just too much to ask, too much trouble. Perhaps text speak has brought us to this point.

For almost 30 years I insisted on manner in my class room. Kids learnt quickly that manners drew a helpful smile and rudeness or a general lack of 'em more than a bit of a growl. I led by example and as it has always just been habit, today when there is so little civility, I can't help but notice it's absence, and mourn its loss.

I took Dog to the beach this afternoon so I could see the rough surf and she could play and together we could test out my knee. I know that Dog is meant to be on a lead and not anywhere near the flags...no but, I know this, so when I flaunted the rules I was waiting for the consequences.

As we walked close to the flagged area, where there was NOONE swimming cos of the dumpers and the huge jelly fish, the Life Saver came running at a pace. He did startle a little cos I had my hat wedged far down to save it getting carried off by the wind. When I looked up the hat flew off and he immediately chased after it, grabbed it and returned it to me. What a gentleman! Then he needed to do his job and tell me about the rules . He warned me that Dog not only was not allowed at all between the flags but she needed to be on a lead at all times and the Animal Control people would happily fine me if they saw her running free.

It was not possible to be cross with him. He was so pleasant. Bad news delivered well.

I am sure if this fella had a mind to work at a bakery he would manage more than  1.60.

So again I am banging on about manners. I rather doubt it will be the last time. I just cant help lament the loss of that which costs nothing and makes such a difference. 

It's driving me nuts - some would say that's not a long road.

Who was it that said, 'The definition of insanity is doing the same thing time and again and expecting a different outcome.'?

We have been trotting along beside a bloke we liked who we appointed as our agent to sell the Big House. Well when I say we have been trotting along, well that is quite the exaggeration, more like we have been dragging our toes as if we were on our way to the electric chair. To say that progress has been slow, is an overstatement.

In more than 2 months there has been no progress and I am tempted to think that the one couple who has actually been through the place could more than likely have been paid a bung to do so. They ooohed and ahhhed and booked a second viewing and bugger me if they didn't cancel an hour before they were due.

So I wonder why that agent didn't change things up. He could have changed the photos on line and he could have changed the text. He could have added some quirky fun or funny headlines which might have attracted attention. Instead he took the price off the ad for the last week or so and finally changed the front photo in the last day or so. He clearly was testing the insanity definition.

It's no secret that I am reasonably forthright - yeh that's estate agent jargon for pushy bitch, but I really didn't want to tell him how to do his job. Stuff has gone on that was counterintuitive but as it is not my area of expertise I chose not to 'go in hard'.

The lesson is to always back yourself, unless you happily put your hand up to admit that you are a bit slow.

So no as we don't fancy the label of insane, even though there could be a line as long as the Centrelink line is gonna be with the change of government, of folk who might vote for that, we are looking for a new agent.

This is NOT how I like to spend my time. Shovelling through bullshit and trying to interpret 'agent speak' brings no joy.

But changes are in order as to do nothing would simply be bat shit crazy.

Oh shit it's Labor.

No not a spelling mistake and no I am not pushing out a baby, even though the agony of that could well be similar to another 4 years under a Labor Government in Queensland.

Oh woe is me! The woman who doesn't know the GST percentage is more than likely gonna be Queensland's next premier. Yep that's the same one who can often barely string 2 sentences together and has wandered around for 3 years with a dumb struck gormless look on her face.

How much is the GST - Oh shit I should know that one shouldn't I?

I suppose the one definite, if in deed there is such a thing ever in politics, is that there will be no assets sale, so all the Labor scare mongers can rest easy, until they try to work out how to pay for everything, and we all know how Labor likes to spend our money and borrowed money and money in the ether.

I am not shocked by the result, especially after yesterday having coffee with a bloke with his own business and his Mrs has her own business and still he was worried about the assets sale and if he can be a swing voter then I guess anyone can be.

So we will head back to expensive governing, where the well to do will be gouged and the less so can go the big grab. The trouble of course is that folk who might have been tempted to take a chance and test the business waters will be understandably less keen to dive in, and as the gouged cash barrel empties and the hand outs increase, the services the government wants to provide will dry up, or else the State falls into a financial hole yet again.

It is true that a few thousand public servants lost their jobs, I suppose many lined up to take the healthy redundancy packages and others fell into early retirement and maybe some left because they were just bloody useless and no good at what they were supposed to be doing. But in all honesty I saw no difference. So a chunk of people left and their government jobs disappeared and that did not impact on me at all. How can anyone argue then that these jobs were ever necessary when their absence was not noticed, and why should it be that the government uses our money to pay for unnecessaries?

In the short time they were in charge, the LNP reduced the hospital waiting times to NIL. What a great achievement and all the while reducing their staff numbers. I am not at sure why being efficient with our money is something that should cause shame.   

So I am just venting as we head into the financial black hole which Labor is always happy to dig. They will shovel business owners out of the way and steal their machinery and employ people who cannot operate it and pay them penalty rates for doing a stinky job badly.

I very much doubt that teachers, nurses, police officers, ambos or firies will see any improvement as they are already seen as being well to do. The drive to even things up, to distribute funds equally to all regardless of ability will be on again.

How very shitful.

'Unbroken' 'American Sniper' and 'Wild' - Yippee for Oscars time!

'Unbroken', 'American Snipper' and 'Wild'. I have thoroughly enjoyed all 3 of 'em for different reasons, but the common thread is that they are recounts of Real People's lives or bits of 'em anyway. It could be just a phase I am going through but all my reading at the moment is also of the autobiographical kind. Yeh I am happy to admit that my taste in real life drama is not for everyone, Rob Lowe, Brooke Shields, Lauren Bacall, Joan Rivers -  I think a trend can be identified. But I am absolutely enjoying having a dirty little look into the lives of people you sort of know.

These 3 movies introduced me to hitherto unknown people and I am mighty pleased to have met 'em. I suppose as with any story told in the first person there will be some bias, perhaps Cheryl's best friend in 'Wild' might have seen things a little differently although the portrayal was pretty raw and confronting and often less than flattering.

Back when Bell was just a snip of a girl and after I had been unwell, I kept a journal for years and years. I am a ruthless thrower away of stuff, but I have kept these and I really should get 'em out and have a look. I wonder if they would be as 'real' today as they were when I was writing them. I can remember feeling pretty mortal and thinking that Bell might like to read all this shit if I were shuffle off and that it might be a chance for her to know me a bit anyway.

But I digress. I can only imagine the pride with which family members would watch these movies. The 'heroes' are wildly different but magnificent all the same.

And even though there are some very hectic, harrowing moments, I reckon they are still feel good movies and not because they fit the typical American happy ending format, but because the lead characters are so real and flawed and yet still likeable, and I for one found myself rooting for them all.

It's Australia Day!

So when I was a kid, Dad would make a BBQ lunch for all and sundry and a crowd dressed in yellow and green would eat good food and drink way too much and sing songs and play silly games. It was a  such celebration!

And for a long time after he died, my house was similarly full with smiles and good cheer.

London in the dead of winter saw makeshift BBQs and poorly cooked snags and people from everywhere, having a little taste of OZ.

But today things are much quieter. We might pop to the beach if it's not too stinking hot and I guess I will make the usual Monday night dinner out of last night's leftovers - well at least it's lamb. But it is good to spend a couple of minutes to record what it is about being Australian that is so important to me.

I like it that my accent is identifiable just about anywhere in the world - well maybe not America, they always think I am a Pom, but mostly when I travel people guess correctly. It might be that I smile and look 'em straight in the eye and laugh out loud and happily share even an unpopular opinion or that I am possibly wearing thongs too late into the autumn even though that blue on my toes is not nail polish, or it just might be my accent.

Here on the Goldie we are so far removed from all the hideous shit the world serves on a platter. We are insulated and isolated and I think consequently more carefree - maybe ignorant. I am grateful that I don't worry about bombings and terrorist attacks and when I head back to London or indeed travel just about anywhere, I am not fixated on the danger, I just 'Keep Calm and Carry On', but that might well be the Pom in me.

I am pleased that I live in a country where my vote counts and even though it is a strange thing to be forced to vote so we can preserve our democracy, I reckon making people become involved in their government is ok. I like that I can sit and write any damn thing I want in this silly post and no one would have the right to take it down.

I enjoy cheering for an Aussie team in what ever sport on the world stage, and just identifying as Australian mostly bring goose bumps of pride. I'll sing at least the first verse of Advance Australia Fair out loud and badly and then have to mime and lipsync the second. It's a good anthem. I will cheer for England anytime unless of  course they are agin us. Too often I have been a lonely voice in the crowd at Twickenham Stadium singing up an storm and shouting for the green and gold, and while Steve might be cheering for Andy Murray when he plays Nick Kyrgios in the quarter finals of the Australian Open, there will be no question where my loyalty lies.

Sure there is stuff that goes on in the 'wide brown land' that is too often cringe worthy and makes me want to join the march - I am pleased that there is a march to be joined, and that opinions matter and sometimes though perhaps not often enough, make a difference.

Well all this sounds a bit lame really. I can't quite put my finger on what it is that makes me Australian, but I do know, even though I have a British passport hidden in a drawer, that I am a proud Boxing Kangaroo.

Painting Workshop - Prue Flint

It's been a good long while since I picked up a brush and so when there was an opportunity to spend a day chucking some paint around, I thought, 'Why the hell not?' I was sent a shopping list and off I went to find some stuff I'd not heard of, well maybe somewhere in the dark recesses of the grey matter, but I sure had not ever used it. I got the Gouache - still not game to say it out loud cos I sound like someone who lives near the duelling banjo people, in the 3 prescribed colours and a beautiful thick piece of rag paper, found my charcoals and brushed and sketch block and I was ready for the off.

I did forget the art block, so I arrived like the naughty kid at school, under prepared and more than a little nervous. The other women all seemed to know what they were doing, I  knew so little that I could not even begin to fake it. In all fairness the workshop was advertised as a Masterclass, so some arrogance was in play as I parted with the cash to secure my spot.

We had a life model and we started with 4 20 minute sketches. This was to limber up... all very well if you are up to date with your practice, but for me it was like some old arthritic loon who might have stumbled into an expert guru yoga experience. It was all legs and arms and smudges and lines and pleasure at the respite during the pose changes.

Finally the embarrassment of the sketching morphed into the slapping about of paint. Now this I know, or at least I thought I did. The push for today was to produce a tonal picture of a nude in a defined context. So there was all sorts of stuff in a set designed to resemble a sexy boudoir. There were cushions and palm trees and lamps and carpets and queen anne chairs and a little chaise chair.

I imagined an abridged version of the room with more modern stuff and much less of it and got cracking. The colours were all pretty muted and I could certainly see the purpose of blocking in tonal areas. I said to Steve it was excellent to be reminded of stuff that I used to know long ago.

The paint was a bit of a pain in the bum. It dried very quickly so it was difficult to cover a big area, but it was easy to paint over mistakes, and these were many and it somehow is good to draw onto as well. Because it dries so quickly, you can paint over and over without it going all sort muddy.

I found being limited to only 3 colours and the blends that are possible rather dull and longed to stab in some yellow or green or clear red, but I did as I was old. And the outcome is ok.

It is not finished. I am yet to do a face, and Prue kept saying that we needed to, 'earn the right to put in the detail.' by blocking in the rest first. But I have never thought that the detail was a bonus. I reckon the devil is in the detail. The pain in the arse is in the detail. The talent is in the detail and that is why my stuff has always lacked the detail.

Some of the work the other women did was pretty good. Some of it was like mine - must try harder, but we all seemed to enjoy the day and I rather imagine that Prue has enjoyed herself on her little Queensland Holiday which she co-ordinated with this class.

I will give some thought to finishing the piece off, maybe with the addition of some brights, but I rather doubt it will ever warrant an expensive frame. 

Love Scammers

I pay very little attention to all that bollocks that is paraded around as 'Current Affairs' on the tellie. There seems to be far too little integrity in the reporting and nearly always an ulterior motive in the big push. Shit half the time the stories are about what is coming up next, so just a glorified ad for something on the tellie, not a hard hitting news investigation. Thankfully I am usually cooking the dinner while this babble goes on, but last night, even the lure of salad making and other domestic crap could not cover the noise of yet more women scammed by love rats for huge amounts of cash.

I stopped and had a look. Fuck me, these women look normal enough. Why had they put their brains in a box and given away all their money to men they had not even met? Beggars belief!

Now most women have been on hilarious dates with somewhat suspect characters. I reckon most of us could fill a good size note book with strange and sometimes bizarre accounts. Years ago I did a stint of online dating. I'd make arrangements to meet up always in a public place and always had a 'get out of jail free card' in the form of going to pee but really sending a text to a girlfriend who would call with a pretend emergency so I could beg off quickly if things were going badly. Yes I did this a few times. No, I don't think it made me a bad person.

I have been on 'half a first date' more times than I fancy remembering. Second dates were far far fewer. Maybe I am just blessed with a finely tuned bullshit barometer and was never desperate to give away my independence to take up with some jolly old wanker who thought I wouldn't notice he was 8 inches shorted than his profile read or that his piccie was from 1962.

I happily paid for myself and I am sure there were the odd times when the fella might have, 'left his wallet at home' so I might have sprung for an extra coffee or a beer, but if a request was made for large piles of wonga, well I would have fallen off the chair laughing, and would have told 'em to fuck off as I wiped the giggle tears from my face.

I just know that there would be NOTHING in the written word from these scammers that would entice me to empty a bank account or even make an enquiry about my super funds. Well really anyone who knows me would know that I'd have been too busy looking for grammatical errors and there wouldn't have been any secrets. Friends would have all seen this shite and dissected every word, and even if, by some remarkable miracle which saw me transported to the land of crazy, I had been completely swept away, these people would have been there as voices of reason and a blockade at the banks doors.

Where were these women's friends?