I'd like a bit of GOOD NEWS please

I just trawled through the online news and you know what? it's all bad, and what's more it seems to be all out of our control.

Ban the burqa at Parliament house, Sri Lankan returned Boat people raped and tortured, Beale - the Rugby player has been in an 'altercation AGAIN, ASIO is given tough new powers, Aussie planes are in Iraq, Ebola marches on to the USA, Phelps the Olympic hero has been caught drunk driving at speed AGAIN, a school is bombed in Syria killing 40 kids, and there's now epidemic proportions of Indigenous dementia in OZ.

The Student leader of protests in Hong Kong was arrested and jailed for days for waving an umbrella, and the next year will see an unprecedented number of Aussies defaulting on their debts.

I reckon I can understand why some folk just turn off the news. I was hoping that something uplifting, or exciting or even just mildly curious might have happened, but NO, it's just all shitful.

Oh the lovely George did get married and there were little protests in Venice because people thought he should give his money away just cos he has plenty.

I don't buy those shit magazines where all the women are glamorous and airbrushed to shit, and that are filled with advertisements demanding that we all throw our cash away on perfectly useless dross which almost always never does what it says on the pack. You know the ones that tell us that some celebrity or other is banging some celebrity or other and that Kate is almost certainly expecting twins. I don't buy 'em cos they are crap, but the reading has got to be better than the online news.

Off to see AnnBrit to get my hair sorted and so I will have a few hours of comic relief reading her shit mags. It's OK though cos I didn't buy 'em.

Grown Up Jobs.

There are definitely some very fun 'jobs' that come with age.

At the ripe old age of 10 Zig will be allowed to sit in the front seat of the car, so long as he wears his seat belt of course, and I am not sure what age children are allowed to stay at home unsupervised, but let's imagine that it's 14, although why we would reckon the government would err on the side of caution in this but allows a 7 year old to hang on for grim death on the back of a motor bike is anyone's guess.

So then you can get a learners licence at 16  and have wild consensual sex, thought preferably not while learning to drive, and vote and drink and go to war at 18.

These are all the perks or 'rights' of passage, but what about the responsibilities?

There's the tax man to contend with as soon as you earn a penny, even if that is at the ripe old age of 14 and a few months, and then you have to enrol to vote, I am pretty sure that is the law, and then of course you are eligible to be called for Jury duty. I got called up once and got all excited about it but really it was just  a lot of sitting around. I am surprised that I have never been called again, I would go in a heart beat.

There's the paper work for insurance and bills and registration of all sorts of stuff that require a great deal if dicking around, presumably so the government can keep a close eye on everyone. Just about every move you make as an adult requires some paperwork of some description. SHEEEIT! I hate paper work.

As I am off into the ether next week for a new knee and hopefully a more graceful gait, I know it is necessary to get some more papers in order.

This will be the 4th Will I have written in my life, circumstances change and so paperwork becomes redundant. The Married Will, the Single Woman with child Will, the Property Owner Spousal will, and now, the I've got fuck all, but I could pop my clogs next week so as I like to have the last word, I had better write it down now, Will.

I am lucky enough to have a friend who gave me a Will format for my penultimate go, and so today I just went in and made some adjustments which reflect the changes to my fortune since the last time I had a go. It didn't take too long and I guess with all the gobbly-gook legal speak it should be easily probatable ( is that a word?)

So now I have a few copies which I have to get witnessed and then I am DONE, Yippee!!

I wonder how often other people update their Wills and what sort of mundane paper work we all avoid until the very last minute.

Spring sprung on steroids in Brisveags

In London, acres of daffodils popping up in round-abouts and median strips, herald the end of the cold and announce the hope of a long warm summer, but in Brisbane, Spring does not come pogoing along until after Riverfire.

There really is no spring when you live in the near tropics. You just go from carrying a bit of a cardie at night, 'just in case' to sweating up a storm wearing as little as possible. My thongs never get relegated, neither do my shorts or shortie T-shirts. The transition is often measured in hours, certainly it's not a gradual 3 month slip.

I suppose things start to grow more rampantly and it's a pretty good time to chuck some seeds and stuff in the dirt if you fancy some flowers, and it's necessary to check out the state of the pool water to make sure it's ready for the season opener.

The Warana Festival  in Brissie started in 1966 and was pleasant, if a little twee by today's standards. There was a fence painting competition and a street parade and other areas of the Arts were showcased. It grew a bit like topsy until the late 1990s when there was a cracker of an idea and the rest as they say is history.

The Arts are highlighted and people brush off the cobwebs accumulated in the short sharp winter and spend time, day and night, outdoors.

The crackers are a mad, loud, vibrant, smokey, kick up the bum to anyone who needs to be reminded that  summer is on its way. The day / night is family friendly and entertaining and fun and well, just bloody wonderful. The Planes and the helicopters and the little bit of nautical craziness on the river are FAB. And then when the fireworks start I am in a magical playground of colour and noise and smoke.

Last night's crackers were the best I have seen anywhere in the world in my whole life. Gobsmackingly great!

I am not too thrilled about the onset of the stinky sweaty season but I do like the Town Crier that makes the announcement.

Howard's Storage - surprising little space for customer service.

A while back I finally fitted out my dream laundry. We were introduced to Howard's Storage and Helen came to the house and designed some stuff which we revised and then went in and ordered and collected stuff to make laundry day more pleasant.

While I was there I spied a little rubbish bin that goes on the back of one of your kitchen cupboard doors. I am a second generation hang a placcie bag up somewhere in the kitchen and take it out everyday gal. And so Steve and I have had said placcie bag hanging off a chair in the big house all these years. I liked the idea of this little compact unit hanging off the inside of a door.

I asked Helen if there was any trouble hanging it and she boasted that she had one and that someone - might have been her son? installed it easy as pie.

Steve, my Civil Engineer, took one look at it and said that the screws were too long and so back we went to get some smaller ones.

So this is the crossroads in the story telling.

Choose your own ending.


Ending A is Howard's Storage's Camila-of-the-no-surname-but-tag-said-Manager story.

" I have been told that my staff told you that they did indeed have some smaller screws and offered them to you, and he said, 'NO THANKS, I'LL USE THESE"


Ending B - Sue's story.

We went in and spoke to Helen and she said they didn't have any other screws so Steve shortened the supplied ones but unfortunately still managed to crack the 2-Pac finish on the doors.

Sue made comment on Howard's Storage Facie Page and instantly it was pulled down and Camila rang to see if she could sort things. Camila offered a full refund of the cost of the bin and also gave the name of the general manager in case we wanted to take the damage to the door further.


Final encounter.

Sue and Camila.

Camila said that she had never agreed to a refund without the return of the bin. When Sue pointed out that that would leave even further damage to the door evident, Camila said, 'Well that's just our policy. I explained this to you when I spoke to you on the phone.'

Sue said, 'You did not at anytime mention that I needed to return the item for a refund. Your staff's account of the exchange is incorrect.'

Camila refused to comment on the likelihood of her 'story' about Steve REFUSING to take the appropriate screws. She kept hedging with repetition of, 'That is what my staff said.'


The final wash-up


If you believe Howard's Storage story then you will agree that all their products need to come with a dickhead disclaimer, something like, if you are a complete moron, who refuses to take advice or are too stupid to read basic instructions or are so lacking in rudimentary comprehension skills, PLEASE SHOP ELSEWHERE.

If you think that Sue's Story might be closer to the mark, then be very very mindful of ever shopping at Howard's Storage. Some of their products are NOT FIT FOR PURPOSE, and their aftersales service is none existent and their customer service is a misnomer.

Dinner 'Disaster' what a giggle!

We went off to dinner last night to Kurrawa Surf Club. I had booked a table on the verandah so we were guaranteed a view of the surf. Yeh I know it's dark but some of the surf is flood lit and lovely and you can see the shine of sweat on all the loons as they work out.

Bell and Steve got the view and the pushing and shoving of the large herd of kids at the table behind us and Zig and I got the view of said kids and the safety of the glass wall and the plastic roller blind. There are always pluses and minuses.

We read through the menu and for once we all ordered something different.
Steak for Bell, Chicken Parmie for Zig, Seafood Basket for me and Steve went for a huge burger with Beef and Pulled Pork. Drinks were got and we settled in. Bell was excited cos there was a help yourself buffet of cutlery and tooth picks and serviettes and sauces and stuff.

Food arrived promptly enough and it must be said that Zig's Parmie was almost bigger than his head! It was a walloper. Bell's Steak was yummie, though there was a tiny weeny jug of 'red wine jus' instead of the ordered mushroom sauce. Steve's burger was like a house built on sand, all very fine but a bit falling-aparty. Once he'd decided on a plan of attack it was smooth sailing. My Seafood basket was the only disappointment. It was pretty mean and as I was sitting right on the water, frozen seafood hardly seemed necessary, but frozen it was. We are lucky to live next to perhaps one of the best fish and chips shops on the coast -Sorrento Seafoods, so I know I am spoilt but unless you are in the middle of the GAFA (Great Australian Fuck All) I just don't see any excuses for serving up shit seafood.

Anyway the company was good and the conversation lively and the others were happy which leaves me content, so no complaints.

We finished up and even though Zig left everything on his plate except the Parmie, we had done a pretty good job of clearing our plates. The debris was cleared, Bell went off to find the leaper's corner, Steve got in more drinks and Zig and I cleaned up and set up ready to play Monopoly the CARD game. If you haven't played this, I recommend it highly. It takes only about 20 minutes to play and all the remembered tactics and properties of the board game make it familiar without the recalled boredom of it lasting 3 days.

After we had cleared the table as much as possible, we played and the winning spot changed often. Bell Nearly won, Steve nearly won, I really nearly won, but Zig scarpered me at the final moment, and then yes Zig Won!

As he was high fiving and I suppose as we all became a bit boisterous - well not as loud as the herd of kids next to us, the wind picked up.

In our attempt to make enough room to play, I had popped the water jug - full, thanks to Steve's thoughtfulness, and a couple of glasses on the window sill. As the wind blew it rocked the plastic blind and all of a sudden the full jug of water went for a ride across Zig's shoulder and spewed forth all the water down the front of me and down the back of him. Then it crashed onto the floor. I grabbed up the glasses quickly before the Elf and Safety police arrested me. The jug was plastic so it bounced.

I had made a neat little pile of our stuff on the floor between Zig and me: my bag, Bell's bag, Steve's hat and grannie glasses, Zig's other pack of cards and on top  of all this I perched Dog's special treat of some leftover burger wrapped carefully in a paper serviette.

It was all a bit like a slow-mo movie. People stopped and stared and Zig thought he was in trouble. I grabbed stuff off the floor and became useless as I realised that I was soaking so there was no point putting it all my lap. Our priority soon became saving the cards. We all attacked this with military precision. Someone held up the cards, Bell ran for serviettes - after all she knew where they were, and then we started the somewhat arduous job of drying each card separately along with the rules sheet, which if I am honest is pretty unlikely to survive.

As we busied ourselves Steve whispered, 'Apologise to that woman.' I looked around and behind Steve, who was perfectly dry save a couple of errant drops OF WATER, there was a woman fussing like she was on a time schedule to deactivate a nuclear bomb. I had heard Steve apologise to her immediately after the jug oppsied and knew there had been no response. I shot a sidewards glance and thought no number of apologies would make a difference so continued to clean up. The woman fussed some more and then left.

Zig and I had been pleased that we only had to watch the kids, not endure their rough house play with our chairs, but the moral to the story is, 'Don't get too smug about having the best seat in the house, cos there is always someone wearing a great big hat about to sit down right in front of you.'

 

 

 

 

Drugs passed their use by dates.

For as long as I can remember, as an adult, I have had a drugs' drawer or spot, and it's pretty big, not because I am some sort of over the counter addict but because I see no point in being sick if there is something that can make you feel better, as a mother and teacher I just didn't have the time to be unwell. So at any time I have a collection of regular and sometimes strange stuff for all sorts of ailments.

Well after my mammoth gardening effort last week, I managed to do some disastrous damage to my hip and back - sciatic nerve was mentioned by the Physio, but I don't want to think about that. I have done the odd bit of crying as I hobble around on fucked knee and now the opposite leg which I have been counting on for reasonable mobility has gone out in sympathy. Shit shit shit. The chewing up of pain meds was the only choice, but nothing seemed to make the slightest bit of difference. Ibuprofen, aspirin, allsorts of forte, nothing helped. I drew the line at the ENDONE that has sat untouched in the drawer since the titty slice. It reads as scary stuff 'controlled drug - possession without authority illegal' and I reckon Greggory House was addicted to oxycodone which is another name for this stuff, and as it is unlikely that anyone is ever gonna make a TV series about a middle aged fat woman addicted to pain killers, I saw little point in giving this shit a go. Why I do not throw the stuff out is a mystery. Just an aside, who calls a pill END  ONE? End one what I wonder?

By sheer  serendipity, the use-by date of one of the stripe of pills jumped out. Bugger me, JUNE 2012. The drug stash was tipped out and inspected. So much of this bloody stuff was passed it. The pills were yellow instead of bright virginal white and some of the packets were positively crispy. Shit no wonder that my bloody back was still sore and my pillow was streaked with tears.

So now I have a collection of stuff that is good for a few years yet and the new humble Panadol seem to be helping.

Off to the Physio again this morning and then perhaps a second culling of the drug drawer is in order. Endone and anything else that I can't identify must go, even if it's not passed the usedby.

What to wear in hospital?

Off to get the other knee done in a few weeks and I am getting sorted, bit at a time cos that's all this crippled appendage will allow.

So last week I went off to Myer at Carindale looking for the big girls' PJ section. Last time, 5 years ago I walked in there and they had a reasonable range of cotton nighties for larger birds and I picked out the ones I liked that I thought would do the job - mostly MaggieTs

I don't routinely wear nighties. Even back in 1979 when I got married and my darling Nanna outfitted me in all sorts of floaty, sexy of sorts I suppose, nylony numbers, I didn't bother. I should have taken all that stuff back for cash, but I am sure Nanna enjoyed the idea that she had helped protect my virginal dignity, so it lived a decade at the back of a drawer.

Hospital nighties have some very specific requirements. They need to be cotton or at least a cotton blend. They need to be long enough to save everyone's horror or embarrassment as one leaps on and off the bed- not much leaping involved this time, more like a slow slide so ride up factor needs to be considered, and they need to not remind me of visiting an ailing relative in the 80s.

Back to Myer. A buxom woman served me and was sad and more than a little cross to admit that her store no longer caters for bigger women. Yeh they did, but not anymore. Shit!! Seems like Myer has gone the same way as David Jones in that they are too snobby to think fat women shop there. I know that Myer does have a big girls' department, but I guess they figure if you are big you don't need sleep wear.....the implications here I will leave to your imagination.

Target was next on the list and they had shortie bits which would not be the done thing in hospital.

Today I headed off to Australia Fair. There are lots of fatty shops here. KMart was first and I got NOTHING in the sleepwear spot, but did pick up a dress that looks like I could sleep in it especially if I teamed it with a little T shirt of complimentary colour. Yippee! One down, a couple more to go.

I was on a roll now. This dress idea was a good one. I'd be able to wear 'em around the house later and if someone pops in I wouldn't look like I was in my PJs. Goodo! also useful in camouflaging the walloper scar until I have become accustomed to it.

So off to Autograph and the dresses were too expensive and not really sleepwear suitable. Katies had stuff that had never come in contact with cotton.

Crossroads had a couple on sale. Yippee. I reckon that might do. Steve'll have to do some washing but I am sure he will cope.

I am really hoping this lot does not look like sick old woman.

Hair appointment made. Pedicure appointment made. Xray appointment made. Blood tests just roll up. Hospital orientation appointment made.

All this and still I have time to entertain Zig and Bell for a couple of happy days.

Roll on 9th Oct, and keep on rolling all the way to Christmas.