Put-Put golf mini holiday

The 'Kids' have been down for a mini-break during the hols and what a hoot it has been. All manner of silliness and lashings of food - all food groups included, but especially the Ma one - SUGAR.

We did a spot of jeans shopping where thanks to Lifestyle Fifties Jo Castro, Bell picked up a pair of black denim jeans at Millers. I mean really who knew right? Millers have all sorts of clothes, even skinny jeans for a young hip woman.

Then we were off to the playground at Southport parklands, which is Zig's favourite. Bell and I chattered away, while he made quick new friends and was lucky enough to come away with no broken bits. Yep boys were boys and so were many of the girls. There was plenty of rough and tumble and chasey and flinging on top of each other, so really it was a wonder that the there was only one busted thumb. We figured it was buggered cos the kids was crying and his thumb was blue and pointing south instead of north. We did a runner before the parking machine sent up a flare to the ticket bloke indicating that we were law breakers in need of expensive painful punishment.

We ate enormous steaks courtesy of the BBQ master. I'd made jacket spuds and some damn fine mushroom sauce cos that's everyones favourite, and we all pushed around a bit of lettuce and tomato just to pretend that we had balanced the plates.

Now there is not a lot of tellie watching at Bell's place, but there was no way the Stage of Oranges' was gonna be silenced. Bell had a long bath - Bliss, except for the screams of delight and rumblings of 'QUEENSLANDER' and 'GO MOROONS'. Zig was just falling about laughing watching 2 old foggies roaring and clapping and laughing. He joined in soon enough and was a sight to behold as he cheered on a team of blokes he didn't know nor care about.  You just have to love the footy.

Today we found KING TUT'S Put Put Golf and the laughter propelled us around the outdoor course of 18 laid back Zen and Budda holes and again through the indoor History lesson.

We don't mind making a noise. People stared. We just didn't give a shit. There was very loud yahooing when someone got a hole-in-one and occasionally when one of us - well ZIG really, belted the shit out of the ball and we all had to duck for cover. Bell played a combo of golf-hockey-snooker and managed to get 2 holes-in-one but sometimes her avante guard approach meant accuracy was less than perfect ( read wild and a little shithouse). Zig played well and then he didn't - he liked winning and didn't like it so much when he didn't - ho hum. Steve played very well, and was the overall winner. He gave out good advice and helped me with the angles and stuff and was especially gallant putting himself in harm's way when I could see bugger all and I was just taking wild swings. He's quite lucky to still have all his teeth.

It was great fun.

I do so love having these 2 visit. They fill the house with noise and laughter and mess. Dog is broken and Steve and I are now just kicking back planning some take-away for dinner and a bit of a feet-up.

When are the next school holidays?

Do you love 'em or hate 'em

Only Sluts Wear Red Shoes???

Newest 'Dorothy' shoes.

Red Birks- worn every day for months.

Walking shoes.

Second pair of these, the first pair literally fell to bits.

 

My days of the 'Come fuck me heels' are blessedly but a dim memory, though I do believe somewhere in the archive of shoes there is a pair of bright red patent leather high heeled sandals which have been worn only a couple of times and that was a long time ago, but not long enough ago for the painful memory to have completely evapourated.

 

Anyway I was struck today that certainly for the last dozen or so years, RED has been the colour of choice for me, and as it struck me, I remembered the old woman chanting that, 'Only sluts wear red shoes.'

 

I wear a lot of black in the summer and the winter so a pair of bright red shoes just adds a bit of colour. 

 

The red shoes that I am drawn to match just about everything I own, including handies and hats.

 

A while back I bought a pair of green / blue shoes that I thought might be good to take to London later in the year, but as luck would have it they left enormous blisters and luckier still the shop agreed to take 'em back. SO I swapped 'em for ....you guessed it, a RED pair. They are very comfy and fun.

 

I wonder why the old woman would have ever considered a connection between red shoes and sluts. If I went into an explanation too deeply it would probably give griste to the nutso doctor profile  mill, so I'm not gonna bother.

 

I always thought a good definition for a slut was someone, male or female, who was having more sex than me, so now I am gonna go forth and start counting up all the red shoe wearing people I see and as I pass 'em, I will toff my imaginary hat and congratulate 'em. 'Good on ya,' I'll think, 'Go forth and bonk your brains out.'

 

There's plenty of time to slide into boring old people shoes, in the mean time live it up.

 

Do you wonder about the origins of old sayings?

 

Did your parents say stuff that still influences your choices as adults?  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Grumpy Old Cow vs Bloody Minded Teens

In 30 years of teaching I barely met a kid I really disliked. Yeh sure there were some I liked better than others but generally speaking not too many really gave me the screaming irrits. It was definitely the system that beat me not the kids.

So today when I watched a couple of boys ride up a jet ski, onto the beach at the park, I wasn't instantly slapped with the red mist of folk who just hate kids.

They parked up and took off across the park and ordered some fish and chips or maybe just some chips or maybe they went flash and had some prawns or calamari...really I didn't have my ASIO hat on and they were up wind so I am not sure what they chowed down on. They weren't hurting anyone and the day was glorious and the dogs were all behaving themselves so I was enjoying having a visit with a girlfriend.

We tried valiantly though unsuccessfully to keep the dogs out of the water and that was when I noticed one of the lads wedge his white wrapping under a little bush. I thought, 'Surely Not. Surely they have just popped it there so it doesn't blow around in the breeze. Surely later they are gonna stuff it into the bin.'

So I watched on and as they were both about the climb onto the ski I yelled out, 'Hey guys, what about your rubbish?'

They got all shitty and yelled back that it wasn't theirs. I know kids. There is no winning an argument especially one at a distance, with kids over whom you have no authority and with kids who have such a sense of entitlement. 'Little turds!' I thought. and watched them take off.

They didn't even have the good grace to take off up the canal at speed. Instead they dozed along stopping all the while to look back and stare me down. My friend went and clean up the mess while these buggers just watched on.

There are 2 big bins in the park which all but jump out and kick them in the bollocks as they go to and from the chippie.

I wonder why they think it's ok to leave their shit for others to clean up.

I am pleased that I have known a huge number of decent kids so that this little fracas hasn't dented my good opinion of kids in general, but I will wonder about kids with that sneery look about 'em when they clamber off expensive equipment, presumably paid for by mum and or dad. I will wonder if they have a sense of responsibility or a sense of entitlement and then will look to see if they have left a mess.

Maybe just asking these little toadies today will mean that next time they walk the 10 steps to the bin if for no other reason than they can avoid a run in with a grumpy old cow.


Do you remind strangers to take their crap with 'em?

Winter pudding in a heartbeat

It's an odd thing about the closing in of the days and the cooler evenings. Finally we have had some cool and today I had a look in the fridge and saw no treaties for pud and lo and behold a quick little recipe appeared on my facie feed.

Well wasn't that just a bit of serendipity!

I had everything necessary and a few minutes to spare so I whipped one up and it tasted so good that I set up a couple for pudding making later on. I mean even I can bother with chucking something in the Nuker for 3 minutes.

Masterchef it ain't...for that I would need to be able to make a chocolate gnash and squirt it into the centre and finish it with some crazy praline flourish for a bit of crunch, but for the 2 of us snuggled up under a blankie watching the tellie it will just have to do, oh I might be able to manage a dollop of cream.

Here's what you need.

A tall coffee cup - mine was about 5-600ml

4 tablespoons of SR Flour
4 tablespoons of sugar
2 Tablespoons of Cocoa

mix em up in the cup very well.

break in an egg and mix it up well....use a little fork.

Add in 3 tablespoons each of milk and oil ( not flash stuff ) and mix in really well.

Tip in 3 tablespoons of choc chips if you have 'em.. ( these tended to sink to the bottom and get a bit stuck but that might have only been in the proto type. Later tonight I am gonna try just sprinkling 'em on the top and not stirring them in.

Pop the cup full of splodge into the Nuker and cook on high for 3 minutes. Don't worry about trying to wipe down the sides before cooking.

Turn out the cake onto a plate and serve with whatever pudding condiments grab you.

Reckon it would be possible to add in walnuts or coffee or anything else that can go in a cake...There's the trouble with me and recipes, I just can't ever leave well enough alone.

Good luck 

Belle Gibson - what a despicable fraud.

There is nothing easy or simple or pretty or wholesome about Cancer treatments. Whether you go down the medical path or the holistic way, none of it is funsy wonsy. I have been there, and whilst I am happy to admit that I have never been the looker that Belle or what - ever - her - name - is, is, there was absolutely nothing I could have done cosmetically to look as she did while she was in the throes of shuffling off.

The first time around I did read a lot of stuff. I read of a bloke who reckoned he had prolonged his life and then beat cancer by using coffee enemas 2 or 3 times a day. Well even as desperate as I was, this didn't sound right to me, but I was happy for him to go his hardest, or sloppiest to be gross. This was back in the day before social media and I had to dive deep into the self help shelves to even find his tale. Nowadays it is so easy to fill people's minds with all sorts of very dubious crap, and desperate people will often grab onto anything. Gibson holding out a make believe hand to desperate sick people and their families was despicable.....I am at a loss for words really. This more than her stacking away cash under fraudulent circumstances is what I find unforgivable.

Unfortunately, I doubt she will ever be made to make amends for this. She seems to believe that she has done nothing amiss. She has an excuse and someone else to blame for every 'error of judgement'.

I reckon the only way to protect ourselves from her and to hopefully prevent her from starting up again is continue to get her face out there along with even the briefest accounts of what she's been up to. She has lied about having cancer, about dying, about the health success of vegies and about giving some of her ill-gotten gains to charities.

I don't care if she is nuts. Get some help girl - you can surely afford it!

I don't care if she is upset about being vilified. Suck it up girl and face up to what you have done.

There seems to be little point in just chatting about what Belle Gibson has done, cos she has already changed her name and DOB 4 times, it's is necessary to get her face out there so that people will know to be wary of that face!

Beware of that pretty face, and if she tells you it's a fine day, take an umbrella, and if she tells you it's night time, turn off the lights and grab your sunnies, and if she tells you she has cancer, a headache, or a broken fingernail, just know that she is telling big fat porkies so don't part with a penny or a moment's sympathy.

Pedantic rant.

The USA has passed legislation that allows anyone to marry anyone of their choosing. So men can marry men and women can marry women and men can marry women and women can marry men. This is a good thing! I have not researched the actual wording of the new law but I imagine that it would be pedantic and perfect, or at least I bloody hope so. Surely a committee or more than a dozen people have debated each and every word and punctuation mark.  This is also a good thing.

What pisses me off is the social media post after bloody post which proclaims that everyone is now EQUAL. What utter twaddle!

It is an excellent thing that people in the USA now have equal access to marriage. This of course does not make them EQUAL! Equal opportunity does not equal, equal.

Shit, equal would be the stuff of some hideous Sci-fi movies with parades of same same people goose stepping along in same same rhythm, or closer to the bone might be a reminder of Nazi parades and the gassing of folk who were different.

I am happy for the celebrations to be loud and long, I just wish people could be a little more careful with their posts, especially as there has been an avalanche of 'em and the nuttiness in me goes to tilt when faced with so much laziness or ignorance or perish the thought, purposeful misuse of language. It might be forgivable if English was their second or third language but that just is not the case.

So let's all wave the rainbow flag, but please have some consideration for old English teachers and be a little more selective of your language, for fuck sake.

Spoilt First World Problems

It is now well known that I do not travel well, so we got sorted well in advance for our little visit to London later in the year. And then I just sat back and daydreamed of all my adventures in Blighty. Well perhaps you can only imagine my reaction yesterday when the travel agent rang to tell me that Malaysian Airlines has pulled out of Brisvegas altogether and that meant we had to reschedule the whole shooting match.

Oddly enough it was lucky she was talking to me, cos I went into instant meltdown and that makes me meek and polite. I told her it was 'rather disappointing' and as she was on speaker and Steve was listening, he fumed and swore and I apologised for his language. She emailed the changes which required flights to and from Sydney and appalling layovers in KL.

I had a little cry.

I looked at the reviews of KL airport and quickly discovered that maybe it wasn't where you would want to spend half a dozen hours especially if you were jetlagged and possibly already suffering the hangover of panic attacks. All first hand accounts of the place sounded less than fab. You certainly wouldn't be putting your hands up to do it twice.

We looked at flying in and out of Melbourne or Perth to get better connections but that wasn't possible.

So then we looked at cashing in the tickets and going with a different airline.

Did you know that it takes 6-8 weeks to get your money back from an airline?? I mean that might be OK if it was YOU who had buggered things up , but in this case they have had our cash for a couple of months and they cancelled our flights and now they want to hang on to our money for up to 2 more months. This I do not get.

Anyway, our Agent is working on it and we have new tickets sorted on Cathay Pacific. Because I have supplied 'nuttso' documentation the airlines has agreed to allocate our seats prior to actually getting their cash. I guess they might be working on good faith that the money is coming from Malaysian Air and perhaps this is their benevolent gesture of the week or month or year.

I think we are set to go again. Of course the tickets cannot be issued until there has been an exchange of wonga, but I am gonna pretend that all is sorted so I can go back to reading about obscure things to do in London.

Yes this is a spoilt little princess whinge. I do not have to go out and dig a hole to shit in and my water comes straight from the indoor taps. I can get my food delivered just by clicking away and splashing around my credit card numbers and the Big House could be home to a whole village of folk in the third world.

I know I am spoilt and that's just the way I like it.