'The Penguins of Madagascar'

It seemed like the day for it. Grandies galore and appalling packet crackling. As the holidays track closer to an end, and parents can be forgiven for wondering about the wisedom of breeding at all, it seems reasonable for Mas and Pas to step up and take the blighters on.

Well that's how it seemed today. I maintain that I am a lucky woman to see Zig so much over the summer and it is absolutely NOT a drag or a drama, and so when we decide to go to the piccies it's because we really want to go, not cos we want to cross off another couple of hours until the school bell tolls.

We trooped off early to Robina, and started with a fortifying coffee that had the desired effect of minimising the shitful ache in my head, and then we poked around.

I returned a belt I had given Steve for xmas, even though in the fine print it said that I only had until the 10th of January to do so. The manager read this off the docket and I just ignored her, figuring that was a better idea than going off like a rocket. As I remained calm she had no choice but to be helpful and so she tracked down a belt in the right size and made arrangements for me to exchange it tomorrow. Yippee!

We came across the shop I thought usually supplied Zig's school shoes. We went in and asked if they had him on their records. Yippee again! There it all was on the screen, so we knew what sort of shoes and then the excellent staff measured and fitted and chattered. It was a friendly lively purchase and it's all on the computer again, so if there is any problems Belly can go back to Carindale and get it sorted. Such great service from 'the ATHLETE'S FOOT'

TARGET was next as we seemed to be on a back-to-school roll. We found some shorts which were on sale and tucked them into my basket too.

We found a Woolworths I didn't know existed and picked up some sweeties in rattle proof bags to chomp on in the pictures, and I did the almost inexcusable and dragged a near 10 year old boy into a BRA shop. He took it in his stride, but I think he was pleased that I didn't try anything on - old Ma's folding titties flailing their way into even the prettiest of bras would have definitely tested the friendship.

Lunch was from the food hall, which I admit I had never visited before today, but Zig was happy being able to trot off and get his own burger. Sometimes taking the cheap and cheerful popular option is a winner.

Then it was off to the pictures.

I was pleased we had allocated seats so I knew that there wasn't going to be a bun fight, but as it happened there was. 2 dads had a set to about the seats. The guy who was there first was in the wrong seats and the guy with the tickets was not happy and the first bloke refused to move, so even though there was plenty of space the second bloke and his kid, wedged themselves right up next to the other bloke for maximum piss off effect.

Zig and I watched it all unfold feeling very smug as there was no-one in our row, until after the trailers had started and we were enjoying watching the upcoming attractions a dad and 2 kids begin to climb over us and settled right up against Zig and then they spent the whole movie, scrunching up noisy sweets' wrapping, ho hum.

Anyway, we watched and laughed out loud and I had a little squeal as a leopard seal attacked. We agreed that the animation was  well done and I personally enjoyed listening to John Malkovitch being the evil Dave.

What a lovely day out. A cuddle and a big 'Thank you Ma for taking me to the movies.' I know parents are often at their wits' end by now, but for me the summer could last a good while longer.

It takes a village to raise a child.

Dog looking after Zig and being very brave given the farty nature of that backside.

 

Well bugger that! Today Zig and I trooped off to the Southport Broadwater Park. This was his choice as he fondly remembered the last time we were there and all the fun he had jumping off the Lego Man Pontoon.

A bit of rain wasn't going to deter us.

We parked up and yet again I was appalled at the slight of hand by the GCCC in raising the parking costs by nearly 25% and hiding it beneath a healthy does of, 'how the fuck does this work?' parking meters.

I held another 'how to lesson', shoved in the card and then we were off to the beach.

I did wonder whether there were any blue bottles as the wind was coming from the north east, but we didn't see anything untoward so were in in a flash.

The rain had kept normal people away, and so there was no waiting at the pontoon ladder and no traffic congestion on the run up to the launching of bodies off it.

There were 2 other small boys, I imagine younger than Zig, playing and daring each other with increasingly dangerous feats. I could see Zig wondering about joining in, but he could see the escalation and chose to entertain his Ma instead. We swam and raced and played and he bomb dived and performed for points.

The whole time these 2 kids were unsupervised.

At one point Zig ran and jumped off the far end of the pontoon and so I could not see him. I swam quickly to Lego man's head and was relieved to see Zig climbing up the ladder. Had he hit trouble on that far side I would not have been able to get to him before he drowned. This worried me and a new rule was issued and after that all jumps and dives were to be on my side of the floating fella.

I kept an eye on the 2 boys.

When enough was more than enough and we were both pooped, we headed to shore and towels and car. On our way we passed the 2 boys, still on their own, now dicing with severe injury misusing  some crazy tyre seesaw thing.

I was not thrilled to have looked after them in the water and so did not stop to chat to them on the equipment. I wondered who their parents thought were checking on 'em. I wondered what would happen if either of the  boys came to harm. I got cross that no-one seemed to think these fellas were worthy of their time and attention and care.

Over the weekend Steve and I saw a possie of young fellas in the park and the village shops. They were riding their bikes and playing and sucking on ice blocks and having a great time. They were unsupervised too. But there was more of 'em and they were older, and if help was needed help could have been found, and even with all the rain it was unlikely that they could have drowned in a puddle.

I know that kids today need time to explore, and this time to themselves is a rarity, that I took for granted when I was growing up, and I am not one to usually jump to the 'stranger danger' cry or look for danger where there is none, but I feared for these 2 boys today, and thought that their parents needed a good talking to.

There was a plea earlier from the Surf Life Savers asking parents to stay on the beach with their kids and not use the Life guards as free babysitters, while they sneak off for a beer or a bit of holiday rumpy pumpy.

It's the danger and the responsibility issues which make me wonder about the whole Village thing, should we fear the Village Idiot, or is it the Village idiots sending their kids off on their own?

Sharing - when is enough enough?

Dibley Dog was playing with her boyfriend Sam today and while she went off to swim with Zig, Sam took it upon himself to chew up her Christmas bonbon. He got stuck right into it and this was good cos up until then Dog had only nibbled around the edges and now that Sam had chomped a bloody great hole in it, Dog could enjoy the softer middle bit. Yum Yum. Now these 2 dogs have played and eaten and slept side by side for more than 5 years. They are great mates the likes of which I have never seen in dogs before, so when all of a sudden Dog got the shits up and a bruharhar erupted we were all more than a little surprised. It was clear after we broke it up that it was over the half chewed up bonbon.

So I got to wondering how generous we all need to be with our stuff.

I reckon we are mostly probably good at sharing stuff we don't care too much about. Yeh you can have some of my sanga, or a bit of cheese, but that last square of choccie, well that's something different altogether.

We can probably give away our old clothes or furniture and most of us are more than happy to 'share' out opinions and ideas, but very often not at the expense of actually listening to and absorbing someone else's.

I am not convinced that we are all naturally good at sharing. I see that mostly we are good at barter, I'll give you this if you give me that, and then the exchange depends the value everyone puts on the bartered goods. SO someone might think an exchange is extremely generous when in fact the stuff is one-sidedly unimportant or cheap or insignificant. A wealthy bloke's 20 quid to a beggar might not be as valuable as a poor person's dollar. But sharing has still gone on. 

So how much Sharing is enough? I don't hold with the 'give until it hurts' philosophy. When I share I want to do it willingly and smilingly and I want the reverse to be true. I don't want sharing to be excruciatingly  painful or even mildly miserable.

I mostly reckon that 'what goes around comes around', and for shitful mean people this seems to take longer than it should, but good deeds are often repaid quickly and with interest.

I am gonna give this 'Pay it forward' thing a go. Can't do any harm.

Open Houses and trying to sell the Big House

We were talked into an OPEN HOUSE!

I am not sure why. We had said all along that we were not gonna do it, that we were not gonna put ourselves through all the bullshit, all the tyre kickers and the pervs and the neighbours always too busy too say hello, but who now might want a nosey.

Anyway more than 2 days of cleaning and sorting and sweating and hiding stuff where I hope I can find it and now I am sitting in the park enjoying the cooling breeze and am wondering if in deed anyone at all is gonna bother trooping through.

It seems a ridiculous way to try and sell an expensive thing. How does inviting all and sundry for a poke through encourage someone to stump up a good deal of cash? It seems to devalue the place to me, but what the fuck would I know? I am not a real estate agent!

I have never thought to buy a place based on an open house walk through. In fact I have only ever walked through to get some ideas or to check out the competition. I want to be able to take my time and absorb the atmosphere of a place if I am thinking of buying it, and that's not at all possible if it's crawling with lookey lookers some of whom probably only want to steal the batteries from the remotes and hide the toothbrushes.

When we sold the tall house in London, the first agent, who had spent a few years selling in OZ, set up some open houses, and this as expected was a dismal failure. Poms don't like sharing the attention with a whole herd of people. They want their own time, their own appointment, their own look. And why not? When we listed it with another firm, one that we were not much fond of, they had no open houses. But they did have buyers on their books. They showed a couple of people through, by appointment, and bugger me the second woman through bought it. Just like that! She came she saw she liked and she stumped up the cash. All very simple and civilised.

Update: 30 minutes in and NOT ONE LOOKER THROUGH!

Update: 45 minutes in and not one looker and second agent just gave up and drove away. Shit if she feels bad, just imagine how pissed I might be after the trouble I have gone through.

So the final wash up was one bloke in a ute, on his way somewhere else, stopped by and thought he might like a shifty, but Paul vetted him at the gate and he didn't have any money so there was no point in wasting everyone's time.

An hour later and at least I can sit and enjoy my spotless house.

The none too subtle sign outside our place.

Tittie Squeezing - it's time and times have changes.

For more than a quarter of a century, shit doesn't that sound like a bloody ridiculously long time, I have been trooping off to the Wesley Breast Clinic for the annual squashing of the titties.

As little more than  a girl, after a somewhat complicated bout of fucking shit C, I would front up, firstly every 6 months and then after a while every year. This was a back in the day when you had an appointment and you lobbed in, smiled at the girl on the front desk collected your paper work, made nice with the older woman who was volunteering to show you around,  and then you got changed and left your clothes hanging alongside those of other titty squash women and had a lovely cuppa and bit of cake while you waited your turn. It was a festive sort of a wait with girl chat and gossip and often there were bus loads of women from far flung places all in the big smoke for a squeeze and then a bit of flash lunch.

It would be less than truthful to say that the squashing was a picnic, but compared to many of life's irritations it's pretty far down the list.

Anyway, there was the squeeze and sometimes an ultra sound and sometimes a the needle invasion, then the clothes were back on after a swipe of deodorant for good measure and less stink, collection of films from the wonderful volunteer and back to the front desk to settle the bill. $20.

Tradition dictated that I would then go to Park Road Shoes and I never left without a pair. Sometimes they proved toe crushingly uncomfortable and other times like little clouds on my feet. Shoe box in the car and I was outta there for another year.

Well perhaps it's because I am just morphing into a crabby old woman, but yesterday's squeeze left a great deal to be desired. Not the medical side of things. Really the medico women are outstanding. They are efficient and knowledgeable and caring and thorough. The volunteers are as pleasant too. It's all the other crap that just gets in the way.

THEY - who the fuck is THEY?,  sent 2 letters prior to the appointment and then there was the phone call reminding me of the appointment and asking for contact details which would be useful for fundraising contactability. The paper work which used to be handed to me on arrival was posted for me fill in prior to getting there, probably because it is a stat-dec saying I will happily pay for any procedures someone feels necessary, so it is dutifully signed even though there is no indication of the possible charges. The paper work that I used to complete myself  about any surgery and the location of scars etc, is now filled in by the radiographers who have to scurry around in the dim light looking for scrape marks. How this is an efficient use of their time I do not know.

The process is the same - get changed into a fetching robe, yeh mine is a bigger one now than it used to be but now you leave your clothes in a locker, that is so short that the bottom 1/3 of you top is hanging in a crumpled mess on the bottom, instead of hanging full length while chatting to someone else's top, and then it is off to the waiting room. The chairs and tables have changed very little, but now there is a flash coffee machine that I am not clever enough to use so I bring my own, and the health and safety police have insisted that the treaties and are all individually wrapped - no more open trays of deliciousness.

The machinery is kinder on  your body because digital imaging means that less pressure is needed for a good look, but the ultra sound is the same. The women always explain what they are doing and are wonderfully chatty if that's the mood and will happily reassure if that's required.

Then back to get changed and wait for the volunteer to bring you your little envelope of stuff and then out to settle up.

Yesterday it was all very simple. No needles, no second looks, no doctor's visit.

Settling up was more than $500. Medicare pays about fuck all back!

When the fuck did that happen? The account's clerk did admit that the price had gone up!

25 years, more admin staff have been employed. This does not alter one bit, the diagnostic outcomes.

25 years and a flash coffee machine has been installed. No change there either.

Clothe segregation is in place, correspondence has hit almost nuisance level, and phone calls which require stress relief breathing exercises to get through also are of no health benefit to me.

All the significant changes have not altered the medical outcomes at all.

I reckon for the price we could well and truly do without the changes, cos it seems to me that we are just paying for unnecessary stuff. Of course the person employed to make the calls I suppose would argue that if she didn't call, some people might not attend their appointments and therefore the Clinic would lose out on the $500 gap payment. But I would argue that if there were no wages paid to make the phone calls the $500 gap payment would be considerably dented.  

On the upside, yesterday's shoe shopping was a success.

Regardless of where you go, JUST GO GIRLS, it's that time of the year again.

Today it's Christmas at the Big House

Yes I know Stevie and I had Christmas last year and it was all very lovely, infact I reckon we might well have forged a fine little tradition of our own. The idea of never having to worry about cooking food, which means buying food, which means going to the stinking grocery shops, is all too appealing. So yes we had grown up Christmas, but today it's time for the 'Kids'. Yeh I have not gone on so as to forget that Bell is not a kid, but she is MY kid and so it's time for the kids' Christmas.

They have shared themselves around between families and the Woodford festival and more families, but it's finally it's MY turn! Yippee!

They are on their way so their parcels under the tree from Santa can finally get the opening they deserve. We are hoping that here is are great squeals of delight and laughter.

As a family, split, blended, divided, divorced, buggered up - ain't semantics grand, Christmas has always been just a great big compromise. And so it remains. I must admit that getting too much excitement up this far past the BIG DAY, is difficult to manage, but I am gonna give it my best shot.

There are some very big pluses though. There is absolutely no pressure about the food. Really it could be vegemite sangas and a cold glass of cordial.

We are going just a tad flasher than that, but there are no table decos or cloth or centre piece or flash cutlery, and I reckon Zig will eat his in his togs and be jumping in and out of the pool.

I got the crackers at a knock 'em out price and so afforded good ones with hopefully some great loot. I mean you can't have Christmas without crackers can you? I am not sure that the wacko hats will get an airing, but Zig does love the silly jokes.

It's an odd way to have Christmas I admit, but as I am leaving the tree up until the end of January, we might as well make best use of it.

Happy Day.

 

A Day of Strangers

Yesterday, Steve was having a Mexican stand-off with Dibley, who wanted to come home and go for a swim and so was sitting by the gate, while Steve sat at one of the picnic tables and waited for her to submit. He looked down and spied a very full wallet on the ground.

He brought it home and I was gonna set to finding the person using the White pages. Instead, I found a membership card for a surf club and thought they might be good for a bit of help. I rang them and whilst they rightly wouldn't give me Fred's number, they did take mine and said they'd ring him and get onto it.

Not many minutes later a relieved Fred called to say that his was well away from the park, infact he was nearly home - the very southern end of the coast. So we made plans for him to collect it tomorrow. I told him that there was a Twenty in it, cos I was worried that he might have had millions in horse winnings or xmas money and I didn't want him to think that I had nicked it. He laughed.

So today early, Fred rang to say he was close by and when he rang the gate bell I was happy to reunite him with his bum bulge, how do men sit down on that lot? He offered me the twenty and I was just happy to think that what goes around might come around.

This afternoon in that stinky filthy heat, we got it into our heads that it was time to sort the grass which has grown like topsy with all the rain. I mowed and Steve took charge of the whipper-snippering, cos I am a little afraid of that fucker. Anyway I was half in and half out of the driveway and saw a nice looking woman standing by the For Sale monolith on the footpath. When I looked again she had moved closer to the gate and was having a real good nosey inside.

Introductions were made and I invited Pam in. Indeed she is a pleasant woman. She's looking for a big place to allow combined living for her and her family. The possibility of transforming the study and the studio into a small flat just for her, separate but close by to family, was something she found exciting.

She had a thorough look-see and even hugged me goodbye. Yeh I thought that was a bit over the top.

It might come to nothing, but what it made me think is that I doubt anyone, including Paul, will be able to sell the place more honsestly or effectively than me.

It's possible I could have uttered those dreadful words, ' I reckon I could be a good estate agent, but only if I was selling houses I really liked'.

Permission is granted to slap me hard if I give that any real consideration.