Sad news today for all on-line vendors of witchcraft and wizardry – eBay is set to ban the sale of magical workings from the first of September.

So get in quick if you need a mystical unicorn incantation or a little something to thwart the mother-in-law.

While they’re at it, there are a few other things eBay should look at banning: lots of happy meal toys, which may or may not be broken and, let’s face it, were without value new; Twilight merchandise; and vintage toilet paper.

No, I’m not kidding –


What else do you think we could do without on eBay?


99 Responses

  1. Did I miss used Marilyn toilet paper on e-bay??? Damn!

    • If I ever see some, I’ll put in a bid for you, Stafford.

  2. So you’re saying that my curses have been foiled again? Oh, dear. Better shave off my moustache then.

  3. I’d wait until winter was over before I shaved anything, Catty, if I were you. Sure, you’ll need a brushcutter to get through by then, but at least you won’t expose your naked skin to the drying westerly winds.

  4. From the looks of the melbourne forecast there’ll be no need to worry about that.
    Am I lost in the spam trap somewhere, MM? I saw your tweet and posted here, but the internet seems to have lost it and sent me a fresh new range of sectscrazed stawkabotts on twitter and advertising from the mexican pharmacist’s competition in Columbia.

  5. No, Q – it’s very strange. I saw your tweet so I went and checked the spam trap, but I only had the usual run of Swedish hardware shops and Mongolian mail-order brides. Your comment probably got posted to a Mummy blog somewhere, where they’re wondering WTF it’s got to do with toilet training.

  6. So long as it’s out in the world confusing the readers of Mamamia, that works for me.
    I was just reminiscing about the picture above and wondering if we added one freshly fed vampire bat to that cauldron, or two?
    And to think the burger crew are silly enough to believe you get red velvet cakes with that depth of hue using Xmas red emulsion.
    As if.

  7. Two, surely – you can never have too much vampire bat.

    Hasn’t it gotten warm all of a sudden? It will be a sad day when I have to put my slanket into storage for summer.

    • Store the slanket on one of these:

      That way you can access it easily on those unexpected cool days. I always wanted one for my bedroom, to display all my little treasures that I love owning but rarely use. Sadly, I’ve had to give up on artistic displays of orderly storage – it’s just not feasible in a house where everyone else stores everything they own on the nearest available surface. Usually the floor. *sigh*

      • That would look delightful. My family, too, uses the ‘floordrobe’ method of storage. All that discarded laundry and general crap does prove useful for soaking up spills before they make the floor sticky, don;t you find?

  8. Two bats, Quokka. Definitely two. You’d better hurry over to eBay and get some before the ban kicks in.

  9. Bob Katter and my old dad go way back.
    If I want a dead bat, all I have to do is whistle.

  10. I think we should start using that instant powdered bat, myself. Less risk of Hendra.

  11. Oh, don’t worry about Hendra. She said she was going to eBay’s head office to hex a few executives. I doubt she’ll be back any time soon.

    Meanwhile, I’m intrigued about this bat whistle, Quokka. Is that anything like the troll whistle Andrew Bolt uses?

  12. It’s much higher pitched, and irritates the hell out of penguins and cats. And Jokers.

  13. That special Call to Arms is achieved by blowing it out his arse.

  14. Not Revely, but Rectally?

  15. Yes. Bolt’s column is an audio-rectal experience.

  16. That explains a lot. If the outlet valve is blocked by a whistle, there must be years’ worth of excrement backed up in there.

  17. That explains the look on his face in his profile pic.

  18. Well, that and he’s thinking hard of the next mean thing that he can say without getting sued for defamation/libel/slander/harassment/discrimination/being a pr!ck.

  19. The Senate really should introduce some anti-being-a-prick legislation. Talk about improving the lives of everyday Australians.

  20. Just pausing for a moment to consider how many relatives I’d need to visit in jail.

  21. Jail is lots of fun. They stand you in a tiny capsule thing and blow compressed air up your skirt, looking for trace evidence of narcotics.

    It’s a blast!

  22. Our big fat goldfish, Bart, has eaten most of the other fish. So today we went to the markets and bought some more fish. I named mine Finn Shéin. I don’t really know why. Not that it matters – Bart will probably eat him before the week’s out.

  23. Hehehe. Since he’s going to be someone’s dinner, maybe you could have called him Ian Parsley?

  24. Or Julian Assange, given the big fish:little fish:eaten alive equation.

  25. Nice one, Q.

    I hope Catty doesn’t develop any Tankileaks.

  26. Hee hee! Tankileaks!

    The Boss actually got around to cleaning the tank. He ‘had’ to buy new filters, air hoses and plants. Although the tank looks wonderful, I may have to confiscate his eftpos card.

  27. It’s the only answer. I’d suggest chopping off both his hands so he can’t swipe the damn thing any more, but that might adversely impact on his earning potential.

  28. That’s the problem. He is the family breadwinner, so I really can’t complain when he spends his own salary on pointless crap… oops, I mean, on furnishings and appliances to improve the home. Well, actually, I can complain – and I do. But he is well within his rights not to listen. Bugger.

  29. No, no!

    Whether you’re right or wrong, he certainly should listen to you. Whether he heeds you or not, though, is up to him I suppose. Stupid loop holes.

  30. We are having Tears at Teatime here at the moment. When we first got the tank, the middle kidlet named her fish Bubbles. He disappeared without a trace a month later. This was long before Bart developed his cannibalistic tendencies, and we couldn’t explain it. So Bubbles became Bubbles the Invisible Fish.

    The following year, the Boss bought more fish – about 13 of them. The middle kidlet named hers Bubbles the Second. Shortly afterwards, Bubbles the Second disappeared. By then, we had dart fish nibbling anything that swam past them, so I suspect BII was eaten. But we weren’t going to tell the kidlet that, so he became Bubbles II: The Also Invisible.

    Yesterday, she named her new fish Bubbles the Third. Considering her track record with the name, we cautioned her against this. So she re-named him MC Bubbles. We’ve just gotten home, and the kidlet went to say hello to MC Bubbles. But there’s no sign of him. He is just gone. No trace of fins or bits or anything. It’s unlikely Bart could have devoured the entire fish in seven hours, so we’ve had to re-re-name him MC Invisible. The middle kidlet is having connuptions, so the Boss is going to buy her a new fish when he gets back from his away trip. (Aaaaargh!). If she names the replacement Bubbles IV, I am going to slap her with it.

  31. Get her an angel fish, and call it Jaws.
    Those mongrels ate every FKN thing in my tank, including the shark.

  32. Whatever you do, don’t get her an angel fish. They’re called that because they go straight to Heaven. A friend of mine bought three, at various expensive prices up to $50 each. They then proceeded to die horribly and swiftly – caught in the filter, jumped out of the tank and trodden to death by a would-be rescuer, and galloping fin rot.

  33. Most of those are water quality control issues, MM. She’s either got the fish from a dodgy fish dealer or else she hasn’t been careful with her water. Fish are a fiddly business & require a lot of work. I cannot believe I persisted with the fish for all those years but when they don’t have issues they are a lovely thing to have in the house. In the end I progressed from tropical fish to the easier to maintain goldfish, and eventually when I got sick of looking after the tank I wound up chucking them all into the pond in the backyard.
    There I ignored them.
    They thrived and bred like rabbits and provided a wonderful buffet breakfast for the blue crane and the kookas.
    If I ever do fish again, it would only be because I had money to waste paying someone else to look after them.

  34. Yes, I’ve given up on them, too. I’ve had much more success with warm-blooded terrestrial animals. A fish tank is such a decorative, soothing thing in theory… but in practise, nothing but frustration, death and expense. Hmm, maybe fish tanks are a metaphor for life?

    Miss Fish, MM’s Siamese fighter who survived dog attack and a trip to the Lego bucket was a fabulous fish, though. Still, in the wild they live in an inch or so of mud in rice paddys, so I suppose they’re not too fussy about water quality.

  35. Another useful analogy about life and finding happiness in the inch of squalid mud that we are given?

    • Yes. And much more elegant to say “happy as a Siamese fighter in mud” than “happy as a pig in mud”.

  36. I would e-mail this if I could but the message is: Blood Pressure is going to Brizzie in about three weeks, maybe the Powerhouse and thank you for the comment. If you pass on e-mail I will get dates etc for you.
    I just think she needs to empty the water and get a snake!.

  37. Snake…. *shudder*

  38. Then you wouldn’t have liked a slice of that lovely cake GB posted, Catty?

  39. Slice?
    If I get my hands on it, I’ll eat the entire thing.
    Last night the Bloke made me sit through an entire today2nite segment about the fatty deathwish horror that is deep fried potato chips. They did an Exposez on who is making the unhealthiest hot chips.
    Since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them.
    PMS Salt cravings.
    Menopause, wherefore art thou?

  40. Funny, I’m wondering the same thing. Not where are the chips… they’re in my pantry, calling softly to me… but where the hell is the Blessed Menopause?

    Pleased as I was to see Aunt this month when she deigned to show up, she’s been particularly brutal. And now I can’t even sleep, smurf it all.

    Still, come the Pause we’ll only complain about hot flushes and murderous rage, I suppose. Not that a good homicidal fury is anything to complain about. I’ve always quite enjoyed it, myself.

  41. Meh and bleh.
    Irma is upon me so I don’t even think I could muster up any homicidal fury.
    Thus far all I can manage is mild irritation at the cat’s utter inability to understand that the cat door works in two directions, not just one.
    GD cats and their valet requirements.
    GD valet and his holidays in FNQ.

    Well, there’s that and & the greater source of my grumps is probably not Irma, it’s that council is now nearly 2 months overdue on responding to the responses in our DA. Slackarse little ****s. We gave it to them at the end of May & they were meant to respond inside 4 weeks.
    It’s now coming up to three months.
    Last week they just ignored the consultant’s phone call and email of ‘Remember how you said you’d get back to us with a decision last week? Well, last week has gone and we’re all in next week, where the hell are you?’
    It was a lot milder than that but they ignored him so I made him phone them again on Monday and I think the answer was still ‘the dog ate my homework’.
    So I’ve got the grumps at the ongoing delays with council.
    I’ll be surprised if they’ve found anything they don’t like in it – aside from it doesn’t look like a queenslander and they can’t understand WTF we need retaining walls for – this sounds like their usual ‘I don’t GAS’ approach to doing any work whatsoever. Apparently the junior was told to amend her report, four weeks ago, and she still hasn’t done it. So it sounds like this is her giving the finger to her supervisor and spending her days playing Angry Birds & adjusting her facebook status rather than something that’s about us.

    I had the tree lopper in last week to trim the poinciana (you need to do it when they are dormant in August) and to cull the hedge down the side where the bobcat will need to come up to redo all the pipes and the landscaping and since then the Greasy Slumlord has been coming up to visit Bog Hollow every day and he stands on the balcony overlooking my bedroom and stares in, completely fascinated by the Nothingness that’s happening in here. There’s nothing to see unless the cat decides to get off his scratching post and shit in the litter and clearly Mr. Greasy just hates to walk away in case he’ll miss that.
    Being the good neighbour that I am I gave the cat an extra dose of laxatives yesterday so I hope he enjoyed the show, and the smell.

    If I don’t get a nice thick brick wall between Mr. Greasy & me by the end of the summer then a nice burst of homicidal rage might be just be in order.

    Well, I’ve made a date for hot chips on Friday with a good hearted enabler who has promised to refer to them as ‘vegetables’ for the duration of the meal. And I’m off to visit Mrs. D (AKA Hooray) so hopefully once I’ve restored my salt and sugar levels to peak levels I’ll be more capable of axe murder.

    is it smoky up your way MM? There’s a thick cloud of yellow scuz over the CBD at dawn, no doubt from all the burning off/out of control burns they’ve been doing in the western suburbs. Poor Damien & Mrs. D having to live in the midst of that. they must all be out on the streets waving their voodoo sticks and doing elaborate feathered rain dances over that way. Yikes.

  42. Hehehe. They say poison is a woman’s weapon – revenge by cat laxatives.

    Give my love to Hooray, and ask her when she’s coming up to the markets. Oh, and you might like to see if there’s any interest in a catch up Sunday week – I’ve just been informed we have to come to Vegas for one of Mother’s concerts.

    Skies are lovely and clear up this way. Too clear, actually. I’d love it to rain, other than on Sunday for the baconing.

  43. Oh dear god yes.
    Rain, puh-lease.
    Jenny on the ABC weather keeps promising a storm on Friday afternoon and the only thing that gives me hope that it’s possible is that there’s still a FKugly hole in my bedroom wall where the tree lopper bounced a log through it. The builder still hasn’t gotten round to inspecting it and my thinking is that I’d rather have a hole in the wall and a saturated possum/rat clan than keep dealing with all the smoke in the air.
    Murphy’s law and all that. If I make them fix it then it won’t rain for 8 weeks and if I leave a gaping hole there then a torrential downpour will soon blow in from the east.
    A concert, you say?
    Some days being an orphan has it’s perks.
    I will pass all that on to Mrs. D. The markets would be fun, and I think she has a break in early Sept between trimesters. Is that the right word for three terms of study? Since it comes with an attendant risk of high blood pressure and inexplicable mood swings, perhaps so.
    Did you get the invite to their Pirate Event? If not I will send it on.

  44. Just tape some clear plastic over the hole and call it a skylight, Q. Perhaps that will draw the attention of the town planners?

    Arrgh, me hearty, I’ve not been havin’ any pirate invites. Send away.

    Well, excuse me while I try to find a spare bulb for my Himalayan salt lamp. Here’s hoping I don’t have to go all the way to Nepal to get one!

  45. China, I would say.
    & Roger that, over.
    Have a good one.

  46. Perhaps your consultant could ring BCC and say something like, “My client has PMS. Please forward your response within 24 hours or she will come down there and speak to you in person”.

  47. Not in person, Catty.
    I’d be speaking in tongues.

  48. Tongues are often a blunt instrument. Why not say it with ordnance… perhaps a grenade launcher?

  49. Liiiiiiiiiiick!

  50. I wouldn’t lick me… I know where I’ve been.

  51. Another thing I won’t lick is the new bananana Paddle Pop. Blech! If I want shit on a stick, I’ll eat at mother’s house, thanks.

  52. Banana paddle pops haven’t tasted right to me for a long time so its years since I’ve eaten one. WTF have they done to them now, Catty? Just curious to know how they could possibly make them any worse than they were last time I had one.
    I miss the old caramel paddle pops.
    Can I blame gen y for those vanishing, too?

  53. They’ve taken out the vegetable oil, and replaced it with pulverised musk rat uterus, or something vile. I used to love the caramel, too.

  54. You can still get the caramel ones (in a multi pack with the chocolate ones) at the supermarkets. But I wouldn’t waste my time. According to their marketing director, the vegetable oil had been eliminated and each serve now contains about 27 per cent fewer kilojoules and 34 per cent less saturated fat. She also said that they’ve changed the recipe for the caramel and chocolate Paddle Pops as well. “It’s something that we’re proud of and something we believe parents will welcome.” Yeah, suuuuure we will.

    There’s a smurf load of complaints on the internet by fans of the old recipe. They say the new ones taste “rubbery and artificial”. What a nuisance! If I wanted rubbery and artificial ice creams, I’d buy Billabongs.

    The most annoying thing is that Streets have just launched their annual Lick-A-Prize competition, and the kidlets are nagging me to buy as many boxes as I can afford, so they can try to win the prizes. I’ve explained that it would be cheaper to just buy the prizes, but they said that if I did, they would insist that I do the same with claw machines. Little bastards. Yes, I’m buying more boxes of Paddle Pops.

  55. I wonder if Homer Hudson subscribed to the Rubber Recipe too. The last batch of Hoboken Crunch that I bought will be the last batch that I buy for a long, long time to come, and their Chocolate Rock has changed, too. The ice-cream isn’t as dark or as rich and they’ve gotten rid of the rocks and replaced them with disc-shaped melts, which taste like reconstituted copha.
    Rather than buy their crappy new-taste ice-cream I’d rather go down to see the local gelati guy, who makes his own ice-cream and who listens when you tell him what you like and what you don’t like.

  56. That’s disappointing. Hoboken Crunch used to be my fave, but no-one around here stocks it.

    On the upside, right near the local movie theatre is a new all-natural gelati place. MM and I had one before Abe Lincoln… the blood orange sorbet was like summer in a cup. Fabulous!

  57. You’re not missing much with the HC. The texture was just absolutely godawful.
    I know I’ve been spoiled by access to home-made Italian gelati but geez. If they were to go under tomorrow I wouldn’t be taking flowers to the funeral.

  58. Mmmm… gelati… that would have gone nicely with the massive bowl of custard I just ate. But all I could find to put in my custard was whipped cream and chocolate fudge sauce. *sigh*

  59. Mmm… chocolate fudge sauce. That would have gone nicely with… no, I’ll refrain from finishing that sentence in case GB is lurking. I know he has a weak stomach.

  60. That’s funny, I thought he had a weak knee. Or possibly two.
    What kind of fudge sauce is this, Catty?
    I have been looking for a suitable replacement for the IXL fudge sauce that got deleted some years ago.
    MM, your blood orange sorbet story reminded me that last time we were in Coolangatta we stopped at a Gelato bar down there and it too had the most delicious blood orange gelati.
    We must be due for another visit.

  61. Greybeard doesn’t have a weak knee. He has a whole month of knee.

    (Feel free to groan now. That was bad. Even for me.)

    The chocolate sauce was purchased at Myer. The brand on the label is My Treats. I’ve googled it, but couldn’t find a website. It’s powerful stuff, way stronger than the IXL fudge sauce. Oh, how I miss the caramel IXL fudge sauce! Not only was it amazing on ice cream, or thickly slathered between layers of carrot cake, but it was also exactly the right consistency to use as a filling for homemade chocolates. I’d write a letter to IXL and complain, but I can’t be arsed.

  62. Has anyone tried burying Jersey caramels in cupcakes prior to baking?

    Okay, it’s no substitute for IXL caramel fudge sauce, but it is tasty. Or chocolate brownies with chopped up Caramello in the mix.

    Damn, now I’m hungry.

  63. Yes, I do the jersey caramel thing, but have only tried the Caramello thing once. I’ve been meaning to do it again, but I keep eating the Caramello block before I can get it into the mixing bowl.

    I’m also partial to Maltezers mixed into muffins and cakes.

    Now. Where’s breakfast? You’re the baconiser, Madam. Come on, come on. We’re all starving here.

  64. Mmm… Maltezers. I’ll have to give that a go – if I can hide a packet from myself long enough.

  65. Mmmm…..chocolate.
    No brain today.
    I have a note from Aunt Irma saying I’m to be excused from anything requiring higher neural functioning today. I’d read it to you, but it’s kind of technical and to be honest I have NFI WTF it says.

  66. Don’t worry, Q. The rest of us have all forgotten how to brain, too.

  67. I cannot brain today. I have the dumb.

  68. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I’ve been vacuuming my flyscreens. No, that’s not a kinky sex thing, I mean actually removing dust from window coverings. Now air can get through the little holes!

  69. So can those rotten little midgies. Well, that’s my excuse for not cleaning flyscreens, and I’m sticking to it.

  70. Good plan, Catty. Because when you’ve done the screens, the actual windows look filthy and you have to do them too.

    Where will it end? I’ll have to mop the damn tiles if I’m not careful.

  71. Meh. Mine have spent the winter accumulating soot from the surrounding fireplaces, too. I plan to go out and ignore it today and eat chips with a girlfriend. The animals all decided to vomit between the hours of 2-4.30am so once I’m done with chippies I think I’ll need a nap.
    Cross your fingers and toes for me, ladies – town planning promised us they’d have an answer for our DA application this week and behold, look, it’s Friday.
    I don’t think I’ll be hanging around waiting for an answer.

  72. NO NO NO Madam! Do NOT mop anything! If you dust, the dusted surface becomes statically charged, and will attract even more dust than you wiped off. But if you mop any floor, it becomes gravitationally charged, and EVERYTHING FALLS ON IT! I’m serious. I hadn’t mopped the lounge room for … well, let’s just say for a very long time … and nobody noticed. Then, two days ago, the Salvos came and took away my old lounge suite. Once it was gone, I mopped the floor in readiness for the new sofa. Within a day, the newly-cleaned floor had been anointed with spit, chocolate icing, chewed Redskin, several clods of mud, and a full glass of Pepsi. Madam, whatever you do, DO NOT MOP YOUR FLOOR! It would be far wiser to follow Quokka’s lead, and go out to eat chips with your friends.

  73. Enjoy your “vegetables”, Q.

    I love you Catty – you’re such an enabler. However, all my friends are at work, or a long way away. How about if I get some chips and faff here with you instead?

  74. I’m in. I’ve brought a bag of pineapple lumps. There you go, fruit AND vegetables!

  75. Mmm… lumpy.

  76. Well, the chips were a bit of a disappointment so we’ve decided that next time, rather than to to the same establishment & waste $20 a pop on a chicken panini with semi-frozen chips, we will go to the greasy Joe’s next door & spend $5 on a serve of chips that we can eat on the jetty and fling them at the seagulls if they prove to be a disappointment.
    Why is it so hard for the current crop of wastrels in the food industry to cook hot chips?
    We’ve given up on buying them from any of the TA joints around here as invariably they’re soggy and disgusting because they haven’t been cooked properly.
    Anyway. We had a lovely day together and wandered back to my GF’s house for a cuppa, and a half a block of Cadbury Snack.
    So I was with you in spirit, but my pineapple bits weren’t lumpy, they were liquid.
    The Bloke and I had cocktails last night to toast the ineptitude of council which has, of course, still offered no response to our DA.
    Today we have woken up to another round of Dog Vomit so it looks like I’ll be taking Muttley to the vet for a shot and some antibiotics.
    I second Catty’s advice, it was only Wednesday when I mopped and the dog and the cats promptly got the urge to respond with regurgitated splatter art the following day.
    Perhaps I’ll head into the kitchen and make some sort of god-awful mess that will tip the rest of the household into a state of reactive bulimia, too.
    If you can’t beat them, join them.

  77. Heh, as if the seagulls on the jetty would wait patiently for you to throw the chips!

  78. Well, unless one of you has been licking Belgian chocolate off Timothy Dalton, I can guarantee you I’ve had more fun in the last 12 hours or so.

    MM came home yesterday having injured his wrist FIRST THING IN THE MORNING at school. Having gone to sick bay saying it was really sore every time he moved it, he was told: “If you’d really hurt it you’d be crying. Go back to class.” Given that this is the sickbay that sent EB home for seeing purple spots, it’s hard to work out, isn’t it?

    I had a look and it wasn’t very swollen and he seemed cheery enough so I bandaged it up and gave him some Nurofen. All well and good until he woke up whimpering before 4 this morning.

    Decision time. Knowing that Nambour Emergency Department would still be chockers with Friday night’s drunks and weirdos, I thought we could wait and see our own GP first thing. Well yes, we could, but there were no radiology places open on Saturday morning and, anyway, he’d run out of the fibreglass they use for casts the day before (used the last on his own wife who tripped over the dog).

    So up to Nambour for another looooong wait to be seen and then x-rayed. Greenstick fracture. Needs a cast. Great, since he’s going on camp in a few weeks can we have fibreglass? No, they don’t run to fibreglass. Ever. So – when he’s got it back in stock – we’ll have to get our GP to do one.

    Oh, and he’s got to compete in Tournament of the Minds tomorrow.

    I’m going to hide under my slanket until baconing tomorrow.

  79. Smurf. That poor child. Broken bones are no fun and nor are weekend trips to A&E.
    We are into our second night of swilling vodka. I shall add a medicinal shot to my glass & raise it to your boy’s snapped bone.

  80. Thanks, Q. In the way of children, he’s pleased as punch with his cast.

    Oh, btw, I forgot to relate how Elf Boy spent his hours of waiting in the hospital. He lay across my lap, repeating: “Bye bye, Elf Boy’s weekend. Never see you again.”

  81. I hope you got that on video to play back to the child psychiatrist.

  82. Please excuse any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors. I am having trouble concentrating on anything other than the thought of licking Belgian chocolate off Timothy DAlton.

    What an horrific story, Madam. Poor Magic Man! Something similar happened to the youngest kidlet when he was two. He was being a little monkey, jumping on the bed, when the teen pushed him off (it was her bed). The screaming was terrifying, so I dropped everything and rushed him to the GP. The GP said it was just bruising, because if it were broken, he wouldn’t be able to do “this” (“This” being the poking, prodding and manipulating that the GP was inflicting on my brave little boy). So I took my baby home and gave him some Panadol. It was over a week later when the Boss complained that the kidlet’s arm looked bent. As he said it, I was watching the poor little love trying to climb onto a stool with just one arm, and realised that the GP was a wanker. Off to another GP we went. He ordered x-rays. Yep, the littlest kidlet had a greenstick fracture. Only it had started healing with the bend, as it had been broken for 10 days. And all he’d had was the occasional dose of baby panadol. Did I feel like the worst mother in the universe? You betcha. Did I murder the idiot GP with my bare hands? No. But I wanted to.

    It’s a good thing you’re smarter than I, Madam. MM is blessed to have a mother who doesn’t listen to clueless wankers. Hopefully he will have a speedy recovery with as little discomfort as possible. EB, however, may never recover from the loss of his weekend. I recommend a dose of Laudanum in his orange juice each morning, to help the poor darling forget.

  83. I just heard from my Baconing boss who broke his arm while at boarding school. they told him to take a spoonful of resin and harden up, so five days later he took himself to a GP who said, “Yeah, it’s broken – but it’s set crooked” and then proceeded to rebreak it so he could set it straight. In his rooms. With no anaesthetic whatsoever.

    So don’t feel bad Catty – it happens. And thanks for the sympathy. But if we had any laudanum, I’d be having it in cranberry juice, not wasting it on Elf Boy.

  84. Maybe that’s why the Baconing boss’s GP didn’t give him any anaesthetic. He’d probably quaffed it with his morning cranberry juice.

  85. Mmm… Cosmop-opium.

    The broken arm saga continues. Our doctor may not ever get more fibreglass casting material in stock. So I rang the local 7 day clinic… or as we call them “The Dodgy Doctors” (they’ve had at least one malpractice suit against them that I know about). Yes, they can do it – but you have to get measured by a nurse, go next door to the pharmacy and buy it yourself, then return for the doctor to apply it. At this point I’d scream if my throat wasn’t so sore.

    Then inspiration struck – buy some from the chemist and take it to our own doctor. By 3:30 this afternoon, it should be all sorted. Although, the way this whole drama has played out, I may be struck by lightning on the way to pick the kids up from school.

  86. Poor Morgana. I’ve had days like that. They usually end with me cavorting on the roof in my dressing gown, cackling wildly and throwing molotov cocktails at anybody who approaches the house. If you go down this path, I recommend using small glass Coke bottles. Plastic ones aren’t advisable – unless you have a good burns unit close by.

  87. No, we have Nambour a long trip through the cane fields away. I will, however, reserve the right to cackle wildly. Care to join me?

  88. Join you? I started without you.

  89. The Bloke has been complaining about my cackling all weekend and I will be happy to join you on the roof as soon as I figure out how to plug in the blender once we’re up there.
    He looked over my shoulder at the debate that raged at CBG over my use of the word ‘Fecund’ on Saturday and said ‘Some days I worry that this will be your contribution to humanity. Stirring up trouble at JB’s blog. Can’t you at least TRY to find some way to put your talents to better use?’
    No, I can’t.
    The trick to avoiding lightning strikes is to take the tin foil cap off your head, MM. and to stay away from me. I’ve been zapping everyone and everything I touch with static electricity lately, so best stand clear of me. Unless of course there’s someone you’d like me to run a through volts through. In which case, just say the word.

  90. It’s not just one word, Q – it’s a list as long as Magic Man’s broken arm. Let’s start with surnames beginning with A to H, shall we? I and on can have a turn come September.

    And what the smurf is wrong with ‘fecund’? As in – “I tried to make friends with a bloke who’d moved here from Un Zud – but soon I realised he was a fecund idiot.” – I assume?

    Catty – Mwahahahahah! *fling* Hehehehe.

  91. Yeah I met that guy too. In fact I think I drank a bottle of tequila with him and then…um, never mind. It was a long time ago. Misspent youth and all that.

  92. Ahhh, I remember Tequila – vaguely. Lick, sip, suck, pash, vomit, fall unconscious.

  93. Rinse and repeat.
    Ah, weekends at JCU.

  94. At pretty much any tertiary institute, I reckon, Q – except maybe Salt Lake City U.

    Had an absolutely hilarious afternoon with Elf Boy. He’s decided he wants to be Amish, so he proceeded to remove any clothes with buttons. Then, eschewing the computer and TV (electricity is not allowed), he followed me around the house doing jobs (they are an industrious people). Since the Amish grow their own food, he just wanted parsley for dinner (our only edible crop at the moment). Then he tried to convert Magic Man, convincing him to join him near the compost heap for a barn raising.

    I know he’s not normal, but he’s extremely entertaining.

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