Sometimes Fathers and absent parenting.

A bird's nest, a wayward kid, an occasional father and a great big dog....what could possibly go wrong?

Playing with Dog in the park this morning and I watched a kid chucking shit up into a tree, pegging all sorts of shit at something. His interest in the good looking dog that I thought was with him, had long since waned.

I was pretty sure he was trying to kill some little birdies or upset a nest, and whilst I am terrified of birds - yeh I know pathetic! I don't reckon it's ok for a kid to kill 'em.Teacher training surfaced and rather than get up him and tell him off, and have him give me the finger or just tell me to fuck off and mind my own business,  I asked if he had something caught up there and if I could help him get it down. Well in typical kid fashion, he ignored me and ignored me and I kept saying that shit on a loop, as I walked closer. He stopped pegging sticks and stones - yeh! and then bugger me his, I presume, father appeared and posed the question of whether it's harder to raise a four or two legged child.

I didn't venture an opinion.

This fella showed more interest in me and Dog than he did his, I presume, own kid. No surprise that the kid was in destructo mode: Some attention please, any kind of attention please.

It's not hard to give a kid the impression that you are interested, occasional grunts and timely lowering of the newspaper or smart phone, is a good place to start. And shit if you really get into it, cos after all you have a responsibility cos you did breed, then maybe some honest attention is possible.

This all on the heels of the paid for Attention Party on the weekend, well it makes me sad and a little fearful of what is gonna become of these kids. Ignore them at your peril I reckon. Today a bird's nest, tomorrow your windows and god knows what happens when they get hold of a knife or a gun.

Kids' birthday parties - how much is too much?

On a quick tote up I reckon I have hosted at least 18 parties for Bell and have given a hand at 6 or 7 for Zig so that's a lot of kids and cakes and sweat and sugar and games. It's a lot of stuffing of Loot Bags and doling out of silly prizes and planning and playing old fashioned games and enjoying watching the kids get well and truly dirty. As growing up happened there was a shift in the 'entertainment' but the effort remained the same.

There was a kid's party in the park today. Zig's parties are always outdoors cos their house is a bit small for hordes of kids, so maybe the birthday girl's place is the same.

1

Dog and I were out there, it's a dog park after all, and suddenly 2 trucks arrived and out popped 'Staff'. They set up a large pergola and a long table with about 20 shortie chairs for the wee ones. The tables were dressed and decorations were donned. A pretty pink piñata was hung and then other tables were arranged for food and parcels and 'stuff'. The second truck housed a walloping jumping castle and generator. It was fucking enormous and very LOUD!

A friend arrived with her dog and it promptly went and peed on one of the supports of the pergola. Just marking it's territory as dogs do. The Staff member was not happy and threatened the dog and was most unpleasant to my friend. I suppose he was unaware that the park is a public place and a dog park to boot. He must have thought he was in his boss' private back yard and we were intruders. All very fucking ho hum.

Steve and I decided that a dash out was necessary to avoid the shitful drone of the generator on a SUNDAY morning. As we were leaving we saw that Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse had also been invited  or more than likely they had been employed to entertain the wee ones.

I hate these sorts of parties. Bad enough when they are at someone's house where at least the owners of said house and kid have to sort the clean up and fallout of injuries or damage. But worse still in a public place disturbing the serenity of a sunday morning.

What must these kids end up like? Surely this all leads to a sense of entitlement that just beggars belief. They must at some point also wonder why their parents couldn't be bothered playing with them or their friends. They must figure that the rearing of children is something that can be farmed out and I can only wonder what will happen if they are not similarly able to pay up when their offspring arrive.

I'm happy for people to spend their money anyway they choose. I'm also be happy when breeders' primary motivation at party giving time is what is good for the kids, not what is going to be impressive or a talking point at Kindy, or what trumps little Annabella's 'do'.

Stacking away the cash to buy a car or pay HECs in advance seems much wiser. Or maybe the cash doesn't have to be spent on the kids at all. They haven't earned it.

Even if money is no biggie and is never going to be then perhaps all this excess could be carried out in their own yards so as not to piss of the locals.

Golf Clubs - 2 ways

Steve went off for a golf lesson today and I had lunch with some girls at Royal Pines Golf Club. Is that the same thing?

The lesson was with the golf pro at his club and there was a small gaggle of blokes booked in. I imagine they all expected to have their go, share the attention and gain some insight into something golfy.

We were a small gaggle of girls taking advantage of the cooking expertise of the resident chief, and we all took turns and shared the attention and caught up on local insights (gossip) and current affairs ( news worthy and just bonking ) We watched a bloke in a conspicuous Orange and stripey shirt hit putty balls for the 3 hours we were there. We marvelled at his dedication and I hoped he was happy with his progress. Either that or he really should just give it away cos bugger me after all that time if he was still a shit putter then he should give Backgammon or Bridge a try.

It was very pretty looking out onto the course. Bright yellow buggies came and went and there was some Segway tour with kids going on. Now that looked very fun. The afternoon was perfect, autumn balm and blue skies. I could understand why people choose to build their homes overlooking a golf course. Ah, very lovely to look at and you never have to mow a blade of it.

Yomping along the greens also seems like a nice way to spend time, though we decided that perhaps that would not be as pleasant as kicking back with a glass of something cold, watching someone else do the yomping.

2 ways to enjoy a Golf Club and I am pretty sure that neither of us want to swap experiences, afterall Steve doesn't eat lunch and I wouldn't look good in the yellow cart.

FOOD: Afternoon snacks - Bring it on!

Decades of teaching leave me on the tooth about 3.30 every afternoon. I am not sure if it's because there was almost never time for any lunch or the need to stuff something into your mouth so there would be no way to chat politely to kids popping by the staff room, or to make sure that no sounds could fall out at staff meetings cos that always got me into trouble. But after all those years, 3.30 - 4pm still heralds FOOD.

It's no secret that cooking is not on my 'to-do' list so the afternoon munchies always needs to be quick and easy and cooking free.

Usually there are some biscuits about and often there is some cheese and crackers, but that is almost cooking effort - yeh that's how lazy I am! But today there was leftover French Stick from last night's pasta dinner. I gave it the stick the finger in fresh test and it was GOOD. Bit of Balsamic and olive oil in the fab little bowl courtesy of Carol and Richard and voila a healthy little snack. Yummo!

Filled to pussy's bow now. What a shame that dinner still needs to be sorted. Ho hum.

Ms Elliott's Theatre Etiquette 101

 

It's always a little daunting organising a birthday and Easter treats on the same weekend. I like it better when the moon is in the seventh house or whatever and there is a bit of time between the 2, but that's not the case this year.

So in a daring move I organised tickets to Ross Noble 'Tangentlemen' last night in lieu of the perennial Sunday roast dinner. It was a risk, but it really paid off.

We had dinner at the Art's Centre cafe and it was pretty good. Steve got all healthy with some Quinoa and pork belly and I had pea risotto which was all very yummy.

Then in we trooped.

It became obvious to me that the audience was vastly different from the audience for 'Boston Marriage' which we saw a couple of weeks ago. I reckon we might have been the only overlap.

Last time some of the folk were so old I bet there were Ambos aplenty outside with their little 'charge to 2000...Clear!' machines. They sat mostly comatose and were not the most receptive of groups, bless 'em.

Last night people meandered in, quite a few late comers, slurping down beers and wine from plastic cups that were provided at the door. Yeh there was a bit of slippity sloppity as they poured their drinks from glass to plastic. Maybe the organisers mistook this crowd for the unruly lot at the Bulldogs footy game and preferred the idea of plastic being thrown to glass.

Anyway there was an amusing little cartoon prepared by Mr Noble making it clear that all phones etc should be turned off and that if people were discovered recording the show, they would be unceremoniously turfed out. Quite right too. People all over the theatre turned off their phones. Yippee!

30 years of teaching has seen me give countless lessons on theatre etiquette, most of which ended with if you do....I will come over and throw you out, regardless of how embarrassing it might be for all of us, and in 30 years happily I can only remember frog marching out 2 kids. They were probably stoned or pissed and more than likely don't remember it, but the other kids sure as shit would. It became the stuff of legend and no one wanted to test the waters after that.

So here are the rules I drummed into the kids.

No Eating
No Drinking
No Talking
No Moving about the place.

( I know they should have been more gently put in this PC age, but there had to be no doubt in the blighters minds)

They were of course encouraged to laugh and cry and be astounded.

The rules were explained by way of respecting the performers and the other audience members who had forked out good money to be there.

Well I reckon Mr Noble needs to make another little cartoon vid to include all this, cos unless they have been told, it seems people think theatres are just a different type of footy field or in deed their own lounge room. And maybe he could employ bouncers to remove shitheads who just cant manage their own behaviour.

There was an engaged couple in front of us. I know she was engaged, probably for about 2 minutes cos she kept, running her fingers through her very ordinary long long fucking hair and when she got to the ratty ends and it all fell away, there was her shitty little ring and she would hold it at arm's length and have a really good look, perhaps willing it to grow. The 2 of 'em bobbed and bounced around. He lent forward and she would stroke his back. They kissed and cuddled. Seriously I think they thought they were in the back of a Sandman at the drive-in.

There is no doubt under Elliott regulations, they would have been marched on outta there and the truth is I doubt very much if they would have noticed. They were really fucking annoying.

However the show was excellent. He is a very funny clever man. There were fine threads of prepared stuff but mostly he improvised his was through more than 2 hours. He chattered and rambled and segued and then drew everything back together. We laughed out loud along with the crowd. And apart from the loved up losers in front, really enjoyed ourselves.

Birthday Bonanza

Cake and card selection. Guess where the Fart one came from- he's 10 what do you expect?

Birthday Week is all about the food! and of course a few beers!

As we get older it gets harder and harder to dream up really cool birthday pressies, although it wouldn't be the same if there were no parcels to unwrap as tea is slurped and sleep is rubbed from eye balls.

The birthday Week started on Tuesday with a Brisvegas visit and much hilarity at Belly's and then dinner at a prospective new golf club in case we actually ever do sell the Big House and move on up. The course looked pretty and the food was tastey and He won a game of Monopoly cards so all was well with the world. The beer in the bin behind the bar was a hit.

Cuddles....Ah.

Wednesday no golf cos the sky gods were pissy and pissing so the cake surprise was no surprise but He did enjoy the day long smell of the cooking. Yummo! BBQ steaks were very fine.

Thursday was the Big Day. Pressies were ripped and then off to the village for a group serenade of 'Happy Birthday' - 'how embarrassment!'

Dibley getting used to the Birthday Monkeys from Bell and Zig

Still fucking raining so no chance of an afternoon hit out. But off to dinner at the new Italian restaurant at the Casino. Well that was damn fine. Perhaps the best meatballs we have ever eaten, and then a surprise Birthday cloud making pudding of chocolate and more chocolate. It reminded me of the frozen Tartufos my darling Dad always ordered when we went off for a seafood dinner. These things were so bloody frozen that we'd play chasey around the plate. We could have left 'em sit and defrost a little but where would the fun have been in that?  Anyway it was very generous. We both dug in and I was sorry later. Ho Hum.

Those squiggles on the plate that look like turds or sperm were really balloons.

Then off to the Casino with a little 'Pin Money' cos I know He likes a bit of Roulette. People shoving and spending huge hands full of cash and it wasn't even the Boxing Day sales. We had a look around and it seems to me that the tables are slowly being replaced by those bloody machines which just sit and slurp up your money. We found a table that was almost accessible even if it meant sliding your bets on through the faintly sweaty sides of driven blokes who never once cracked a smile, and then standing on tippy toes to see the table spin. We laughed as we pissed away the pin. I am always surprised that there is so little joy at Casinos. We took ours home with us.

It's still raining here today, so no golf again. Yummy meals are sorted for the holiday / birthday
weekend and then off to enjoy Ross Noble on Sunday.

So not a week yet, but it's all going well. I reckon He might be happy enough to look forward to another one next year, after all a birthday celebration has gotta be better than the alternative.

Home brands taking over.

It's Steve's birthday tomorrow and as it's hardly biscuit baking weather, I thought I'd spoil him with a Christmas cake for his celebration cake cos the one I made for Christmas was a really big hit. Yeh I think it was his all time favourite.

The list of ingredients is pretty long, but as I have never been known to follow a recipe, I totalled up the weight of 'stuff' and made it up. I know he likes lots of glace cherries so they were big on my shopping.

All the bits I needed were laid out and I set to making a drunken mess of the fruit, after I had weighed it up. I tipped in one bag of cherries and then another. I am not sure what made me look at 'em. Perhaps shit cherry identification is my super power, but look I did and ooooh YUKKY. I picked 'em out, and opened the next bag and just went the plop. Oooh Yuk, shithouse as well!! I opened the third lot and had a little look in - yep it was shit too.

About 10 bucks worth!! All Woolies home brand. Whatever happened to Big Sister Glace Cherries?
Priced out of the market I reckon.

So in the very ordinary rather ugly bag you can find some cherries - 60% ONLY and 40% of other crap, processed somewhere in Thailand using 'imported products' It's getting to a point where you have to schedule label reading time into the already shitful job of trawling the aisles. Woe be tide those doing it all online cos there is no label dissection possible.

So because his golf was well and truly rained out, Steve took 'em all back. He'd done a reccie and found that the crap ones were all from the same batch, and did Woolies a favour by taking all the other shit ones off the shelves.

They gave a refund and would have given 3 new packets as a bonus except that there was only 1 which was not rooted.

The trouble is that I reckon most people would not bother taking their solo purchase back. Returning stuff is rarely cost effective if you have to make a special trip, as it was for a tenner it took Steve about 3/4 of an hour and a good slurp of petrol.

Those loons who only eat already dead fruit and veg might actually be onto something after all. At least they know where stuff has come from and if it's a bit mouldy they can cut off the bad bit without having to wonder if the whole thing is contaminated by some hands dipped in shit and bum squirt.

The Nanna's frozen fruit gave me the shits literally, the worst case in my life! Thank god for hepatitis immunisation in the 90's.

I like food. I like to eat. I don't like to cook, but I will cos I like to eat. But what I really don't like is to have to stand in the supermarket aisles doing a forensic investigation before tossing stuff into the wonky trolley.

Surely before the superMs force brands off the shelves to replace them with Homebrands, they aught to ensure that there manufacturing process is clean and safe and follows some stringent fail safe procedures.

Or perhaps we the consumers should start questioning just always going for the cheap grab. Maybe it's time to recognise that you get what you pay for. For just a little more we can get a better product with a known pedigree.

And wouldn't it be cool not to have to wear your granny specs, cos the labels are clear and big enough cos the manufacturers are proud of their product.

Yeh I'm Dreaming!