'Don't Tell'

I love an Aussie film. I enjoy the accents and the vernacular and the colour and the settings and I have always been all about looking after the kids, so this movie was a Must See for me.

It starts by saying it is based on a true story, and even though this hit the news the year I transported myself to London for my 7 year sojourn, I do remember some stuff about it.

In 1990, a youngster was sent to boarding school from the family farm cos she was good at sports and within a semester she was a changed girl, begging to be allowed to stop at home. Her mum investigated and found nothing untoward at the school so wanting the best for her daughter, the kid was sent back, where her life became a living hell. No she didn't tell her mother, cos the bastard had told her not to tell.

This piece of filth was raping and 'having a go' at a number of the little girls and when it looked like he was gonna be caught out, he topped himself, gutless fuck, no loss to anyone I reckon.

So that's the background and the movie deals with a legal battle in 2001 with the now woman taking action against the school and the Anglican Church - all the way up to the Arch Bishop who was then THE FUCKING AUSTRALIAN GOVERNOR GENERAL!

I make lots of comments about the Catholic Church, and so I should apologise I guess, cos whilst I make anti Catholic remarks, in my mind I am really making comments about ALL ORGANISED RELIGIONS. - yeh that's any religion where you go to a building and someone is in charge and is telling you what to think and what to do and drawing up a schedule of penalties for not following their rules.

I fucking hate all that!

And it just gets to a point, as it did here in Toowoomba and it certainly is happening in Rome with that disgusting Pell turd, that all manner of appalling, truly abhorrent behaviour is tolerated and covered up in order to save the face of the religion.

Yeh how very NOT FUCKING Godly.

This is an excellent movie. There is fine attention to detail with fashion and cars and locations and the acting draws you in, in an unhurried and raw way.

It is not possible to say I enjoyed it, but I am very glad that I went along to see it, even if my doctor might have preferred not to see the raise in my blood pressure.

Chemo Brain V Alzheimers

It's all part of the routine: get up, have tea, down poison, get dressed, play with Dog in the park, go for coffee in the village. With Stevie away the routine continues, except earlier and without his ordering finesse.

Today I fancied breakfast, but I couldn't remember the words - Raisin Toast. So I ordered coffee and then had to mime and play guess the word with Laurence. Luckily she was happy to play.

Me: I want some ahhh, stuff, like, flat, with some sultanas.
Her: Raisin Toast!

There it was a fist pump moment as the order was made. Whew!

What a drag it is being temporarily unable to move a word from your brain to your mouth. If I was teaching, the kids would very soon think I was some sort of lunatic stupid fool. Yeh, see I miss Stevie cos he doesn't judge, he just waits for the words to find their new odd way from brain to tongue. It might be time to see about a new Sat Nav for my brain.

But I am not, at least I don't think I am, suffering from Alzheimers, cos whilst words sometimes go missing, my memory is still well honed.

So when some dick rang the bell this morning and told me he was here to do the tree lopping, I didn't hesitate for a minute. I KNEW I had never organised any such work.

Him: I'm here to do the tree lopping.
Me:   WHAT?
Him: You agreed to us doing some work.
Me:    You're WRONG.

Yeh I was surprised too that I didn't swear at him, but these sort of gypsy / pikey scams were pretty common in London and the arseholes were well known for doing all sorts of vandalism if their game was rudely rumbled so sometimes politeness is an advantage.

What worries me is I wonder how it would be if you were aware that you are sometimes a bit forgetful, and you think there is a chance that you did sign up for this work and you go out and let 'em in, cos you know it's possible, even though you don't recognise 'em at all, and then they smile and show you some dirty bit of an order form which shows an agreement for work for say $400. I reckon you'd be so consumed with trying to remember and feeling stupid that you wouldn't question it too much or look too closely at the order form and perhaps the only bright spot would be that you don't have the cash to hand, although these scammers would no doubt drive you to the ATM, before they buggered off after doing either no work or a shit job.

The Goldie is a city of scammers, but it doesn't have it all to itself, as I said door knocking shit happened all the time in London. But here on the Goldie we have an aging population. Oldies come to retire and put their feet up or stroll on the beaches and typically many minds ebb away with the tide.

This fella this morning probably has some percentage for success. Like maybe he needs to knock on 10 doors to land 1 sucker. Or maybe it's more?

But it wouldn't do anyone any harm to keep an eye out for strangers lobbing in to elderly neighbours' places, just to make sure that as far as we can, we are keeping the bastards honest. It doesn't need to be a full time occupation, but a bit of awareness never hurt.

And if you are having a conversation with an other ordinary looking soul and they go in search of a word, a bit of patience will be appreciated. Now I've got to get back to the .... um .... black...legs...sweet girl.......Ah DOG.

Resemblances?

I do love a bit of sculpture, and this piece at Nobby's Beach always makes me smile.

Can you tell that Stevie and Dog and I were the inspiration?

Well except that Dog is almost never sitting still. She is mostly jumping around like a maniac, or tugging fiercely on the lead, or playing the sand game or shitting or squirting, or saving up her vomit for the back of the car like she did today. EWWWWW! 

She likes to go in Stevie's truck and I reckon she thinks she is slumming it when she has to go in my car, and if I thought she had a vindictive bone in her body, which I don't cos she never shits in my shoes or chews stuff up while I am out, then perhaps I would think she did this on purpose today, but I am pretty sure she found the whole thing appalling and was more than a little disgusted with herself.

But in the long run, let me just say, I'd rather Dog vomit any day over kid or drunk spew. There seems to be no stink and no bile acid immediately eating away at the metallic paint. I spewed out the car window once when I was suffering morning sickness and it really did the paint job no favours whatsoever. Ooops! Front and back doors splattered. Best paint stripper in then world. So the hatch boot has been pulled apart and scrubbed clean and I hope it dries, spit spot.

But back to the sculptures.

Can you see the resemblance between the people and Stevie and me?

Tall skinny athletic running folk. Yep that's me in my wildest dreams. 

However I reckon the only way we would ever look like that is if we were fleeing from danger, Stevie from a giant spider and me from a grasshopper or a bird. Yep, then we might be legging it like these 2 gazelle creatures.

I do like that the fella is looking back slightly, perhaps to see if he needs to kick on a bit to make sure that he wins, cos it wouldn't do his old male ego any good to be beaten by a girl, but if  Stevie and I were the inspiration then he'd be looking back to make sure that I  wasn't lagging too far behind, cos yeh, I am a bloody saddo slow coach.

The beach was beautiful this morning, wide and empty and as ever Piccolo Cafe served up a good coffee which I downed in the sunshine, sans the summer sweat. 

Dog and I both loved our little outing. 

Time to Quit

I am not good at doing what I am not good at. I have always been the same. I am happy to have a go at new stuff, but if I don't cotton on right away, then I will give it a miss. Perhaps it has to do with a fear of public humiliation?

When I was but a wee slip of a girl, I wanted to learn to play squash. I'd sneak off for private lessons on deserted Sunday afternoons, so no-one could see and when I thought I had a handle on the game, I joined a competition team. Sure I buggered up sometimes, sometimes more than sometimes, but mostly I didn't do too badly.

I have somewhat famously thrown a whole meal at a wall in my own kitchen because I buggered it up after cooking all afternoon, but I learnt a lesson and now my pies are legendary - just ask Stevie, but my attempt at making Gozleme was such a disaster that I decided that a repeat performance was never gonna play.

I reckon you just know after one or two shots at something if you are gonna get the hang of it.

And the only way I could possible continue to go at something where failure was the only common denominator would be if I was getting paid huge chunks of wonga, and seriously maybe not even then, because you know - INTEGRITY,  and I know my ego would not allow me to front to work everyday and FAIL.

Surely I am not alone in this?

Fancy fronting to work and being told to mix up a cake batter and then throw it away, never getting the chance to pop it in the oven and actually bake the cake?

How about being told to tot up a column of figures and then forget the total never mind manipulating the figures in some game of beat the tax man scheme?

Or maybe you'd like to slice into someone's guts and stand around looking then just sew 'em back up? Now that sounds like a cancer diagnosis doesn't it? Shit I am very glad that is NOT my job. I reckon Doctors who do this must drink heavily or down happy pills or go for fun runs twice a day.

And how would any normal person manage being told to dig a hole, have a look, then fill it in again and then be told to come back tomorrow to do exactly the same thing again?

How many times do you reckon you would do this before the straw broke the camel?

If you are getting paid and need to make rent and have children to feed I guess you can suck it up for quite a while, weeks maybe? But surely unless you are some sort gormless fool who can't find their arse with both hands and a torch, or a masochist who enjoys feeling completely inept and impotent, or you are some vile subversive creature looking to bring down a whole country by exploiting Work Place Agreements, or you are just the laziest useless piece of shit waste of air standing incredulous that you even have a job, well then surely you'd SAY something, DO something, ANYTHING to get the job done.

The Main Roads Department has been responsible for digging up our suburban corner more than 23 times. Yeh there are the usual services which need to be tickled for the road works - power, communications, water, gas, but still I wondered if there had been some huge problem which had slowed the work. Perhaps the Chinese are digging from the other side and want to send in Whale ships to help Japan - ridiculous I know I am just being silly.

I asked The District Director, who has gone missing, only to be replaced by an Acting fella, who is too lazy or incompetent to write his own emails so has hand-balled that job off to someone else with no title, yeh I asked what problems they had faced on this corner. Surely there must be a massive complication, an intriguing puzzle never before seen or solved, but no the no title, fill in for the fill in, said,
'There have been no delays or additional requirements....When dealing with public utilities such as gas, water, electricity and data cables, contractors must take utmost care.....blah blah blah'

These people are being paid for 11 hour shifts and large herds of 'em have been sucking from the the public purse trough on this corner more than 23 times, and that's not because there has been any problems, it's because they are being 'careful'.

23 times - dig it up, have a look, fill it up, dig it up, have a look, fill it up, every time using a machine chucking out 100 Db in contravention of EPA guidelines. I reckon with a staff of say 15 people a shift, paying penalty rates cos of Night Works, the wage bill alone is in the range of $190,000! To dig a hole and move 4 or 5 services!  Of course if we added in the cost of the 'supervising' bosses' wages we might find ourselves throwing up into a bucket, or a hole somewhere, out of sheer incredulity. Yeh I know where there is a good one.

That's one fucking expensive hole huh? Aren't we all thrilled that this is how our tax money is spent?

And you know what? The job is still not done, so keep that abacus handy.

All Hale the Cool

Yippee to closing the door on the summer heat.

Yep it's time to dig out something a little fluffy and to snuggle up.

But it's not like we have to stuff a cupboard with supplies and hibernate for the winter. Nope. Not here at the Goldie. Here it's still thongs and shorts and walks at the beach, paddling and playing the 'Sand Game' with Dog during the day and donning a pair of less than sexy socks and a layer or two at night.

In London I had a rule that I'd wear sandals until the last holidays before winter just in an effort to extend the summer and this sometimes meant bare toes in the snow. Some people saw this as a little odd. My expectations then were different. 10 degrees C was considered positively balmy, and now I reckon 10 degrees is just a little chilly.

Sandals were finally swapped for boots and I had quite the range. Flat, low, high, cheap, stupid expensive and in about every colour, but you know what, even though I whinge about the heat here and I reminisce fondly about the long cold grey winter months, I don't fancy wearing boots anymore. I am not at all sure I'd be able to squash my feet into 'em after all these years of thongs and bare feet.

So no boots, but scarfs and wraps and little blankets over knees at night. Bloody bliss.

And loads of slow cooked dinners with scrummy sauces and loads of veg.

And closed windows to keep the bloody road works noise out.

Shorter days and pale blue skies, well except for today cos it's raining and I like the grey closed in rainy skies too.

From this vantage I cannot recall ever whining about the long cold wet winters in London, but it must have worn a bit thin, cos a number of the paintings we have hanging were chosen in a bid to eliminate the gloom.

We were driving home one Sunday with the top down and we stumbled across an art show out in the boondocks countryside somewhere and we popped in and fell for a couple of wildly bright paintings, I said to Stevie that if we hung these in the house we'd never notice the blahs of winter. So we paid for 'em and then faced the very real problem of fitting them into the back seat of the car, and then yep, you guessed it, it started to rain. I can't remember HOW we got 'em home but I'm glad we did, cos even here on the other side of the world they brighten things up.

Boredom must consume folk who live in places with no seasonal variety. 

I just don't even want to imagine it.

Poaching

Good Old Uncle Toby's Oats is the piece de resistance.

It is no secret that Sundays are bath days. This is not to say that for the rest of the week I just get about progressively more stinky from one day to the next and waft powder into my hair whilst sticking snuff shit up by nose - no I am not gonna make a comment about all those cocaine losers over the weekend. No during the week I just throw myself through the shower, which is a perfunctory task and brings very little joy - not none but not much. So on Sundays I slide into a bath, yes, sometimes for hours at a time.

Stevie has always spoiled me with all manner of bath stuff, smelly stuff that is sometimes so cloying and lovely that I can still smell it in the bathroom on Wednesday. AHHH just lovely.

I like a deep hot soak with millions of bubbles and I light a candle for extra pong. I load up with my Kindle and sometimes a glass of stuff and maybe some sweeties or some cheese. People could be forgiven for thinking that I was actually moving into the bathroom, never to return.

But recently some of the joy has been lost.

The Poison Meds are playing havoc with lots of parts of me and also of course killing off the mutants. On an ordinary day I might have 3 or 4 side effects not really worth banging on about, sometimes I have to call an ambo cos I am crying with fucking hip pain. But generally I am pretty good - Stevie might beg to differ.

But the constant thing is that my skin is a bloody desert disaster. I have been downing antihistamines since the beginning of this little adventure cos I broke out in very attractive rashes and old gal acne, and the little orange pills stop me from scratching the be-shitter out of everywhwere, and I do mean EVERYWHERE. But ultimately, there are still occasional little upsets and my skin all over has taken on that crepey crappy thin scaley look and little bits flake off into the breeze. Yeh Hansel and Gretel would have been pleased for the help, when they ran out of breadcrumbs.

So hours in a decadent chemically scented hot as Hades tub, is more than a little counter effective in treating the scale and the scratch.

Yesterday I poached in lashings of coconut oil and oatmeal.

2 heaped tablespoons of solid coconut oil - 4 I guess if it is melted, and a cup of oats stuffed into a sock held closed with a hair tie, all shoved into the bath, and in you slide. Slide is seriously what you do, so unless you want a real reason to call the Ambos cos you broke your bum bone or something else - so do be careful.

The water can't be 'Frog Jump Out' hot but it's still pretty relaxing. The candle was on and the kindle was charged and soak away I did. Not for a marathon - Stevie was surprised when I re-entered the world before my usual time, but today, I have not been scratching up a storm, so maybe a final change was necessary.

I have been slopping on the coconut oil on and off for a year, but I haven't really wanted to say goodbye to my divine Sundays with all the gorgeous potions. However it seems like it might be necessary. Bugger.

I sidled up to Stevie to give him a whiff of my new bath perfume and he said I smelt like soap. I guess that's better than stinking of stale sweat. I thought I smelt like an old fashioned bakery. Tomatoes V Tomatoes

Bastards.

This is our street corner after 21 'GOS'

The Footpath here is not as smooth as this photos implies.

They are now chucking random bits of ply wood over the holes.

This is the year of the Battle with the Bastards, and after yesterday's post about Rocky 4, I rather like the idea of being able to give these areswipes' noses a bit of a tickle.

I thought things had calmed down and rather hopefully or naively or stupidly, guessed that we might have even had a little win, but NO, TMR has started up again! Friday night at 11.45 PM - yeh that's right, at a quarter to the witching hour they parked up their fucking Vacumm Excavation truck and dug another hole in the footpath. Of course they could have done this work during the DAY and of course they could have used a person with a shovel, but why let some consideration for the health and well being of the locals get in the way of being total fucking bastards?

This followed on from, or might have been because of - depending on the degree of paranoia you permit, an email I sent last week asking what trouble or problem they were having. In an idle moment I sat and counted back in my diarised notes and found that these fuckwits have dug up the corner of my street 21 - yep TWENTY-ONE times, and still they have not finished. And 21 times is a conservative count cos I am sure I have missed recording some of the attempts when I was just too tired to lift a pen, and I was away for a while too.

So they dig it up, have a look and a little shoulder shrug, and fill it up again. By the looks of the mess they have left this time, they are not bothering too much with the filling up and if this is their effort at 'making good' the footpath, I await news of a law suit filed by an old person less fleet of foot, who has gone for a tumble.

The District Director of TMR has been replaced by another job's worth who is now Acting District Director, and the cynic in me wonders if this is just more of a ploy to hinder any honest forthright dialogue with this appalling government department. He sent back a shitful stupid response but finished off saying that this work is going to go on until late 2017. Hmmm. It was meant to be September and then that stretched to October, but that is clearly no longer the end date. Just more shit for longer! Yeh I know all government departments are all the same, but I only really have experience with this lot, unless you count the police department, which it seems is run by TMR anyway.

So the new fella sprouted the same old shit the other fella started with 5 months ago.

The merry-go-round is making me nauseous, nauseous but not surprised. Ho Hum

The Bulletin Newspaper has been following up and is now looking into the methods and the obscene waste of tax payer money, and I think they might also be having a little look see at what role the police play in this very sleazy wee dance. I am still waiting to hear if the police are going to continue to pursue the infringement notice they issued me on the first of March, for 'Walking too slowly across the road'. I guess it will depend on just how much TMR wants the $48 fine. I do wonder how long it takes to make a decision about this - perhaps as long as it takes TMR to relocate a few services in a suburban street?

Stevie is getting nervous cos if they are starting up again I might head out and get myself arrested while he is away. He hopes that if I go out there I will take Dog cos the coppers might be less keen to chuck a dog in the paddy wagon. I wonder what the procedure will be if no-one is available to take delivery of me.

I must remember to tuck a credit card up my whatsit just in case huh?