Reformed alcoholic. They told him he’d die of liver cancer or cirrhosis or maybe both, and renal failure, & he gave up the booze, survived the surgery & a stint in prison, and is back, all shiny & new.
God only knows what kind of brain damage he’s developed from all those years of swilling scotch, but I guess we’ll find out when the new batch of loonies take charge of the country.
I often heard Wyatt talking on the local radio & despite my green lefty communist leanings & my loathing of youth, he struck me as having a good head on his shoulders. I don’t think I’d want to deal with a member who was that young. Hopefully he’ll grow up to me a nice moderate conservative & the right wing nut jobs in the LNP won’t savage him beyond repair for being Mal’s little protege.
One of the Boss’s Maori friends is talking about going back to get away from the madness. He reckons most of his Un Zud friends have already given up and gone home. You know things are bad when all the rets disert the sunking shup.
I dunno. I heard some of Pauline’s press conference this morning and I am genuinely ashamed and concerned. A Royal Commission into whether Islam is a religion…? I mean you might not like or admire Islam (I don’t) but seriously.
I suspect the Halal Snack Pack fanciers will vote her out next election. Still, that’s several long years of idiocy away, most likely.
I plan to ignore her.
The only reason she’s got such a following is because she gets so much airtime from saying ridiculous things & then sensible people get outraged about it instead of rolling their eyes in embarrassment, switching her off & listening to someone else.
The real worry is that the slimier members of the gubbermint will get away with all sorts of sliminess because they’ll just keep throwing halal snack packs at her ‘Look! Over There!’ to divert the media & the public from all the sneaky slimy things they don’t want us to notice that they’re doing.
With all of the whining and bitching about hung parliament & how the loonies are in control, nobody ever seems to consider the possibility that the major parties could actually unite to push through sensible legislation so that the loonies don’t even count. This has happened in other countries – I remember someone on twitter posting a link to the story – and all that was required was the major parties pulling their own nut job members into line & behaving with reasonable common sense.
While I think of it, it’s worth popping in to the scribe’s blog to see the summary that some wit did as a cheat sheet to help him remember who stands for what in the senate ballot. Hilarious.
As with his SMH blog, the secret to navigating that territory is Never Read The Comments. I’m pretty sure Havock’s account got hijacked by one of the nastier Lizard Men, years ago. Sock puppets – ugh.
We have plenty of rats. The Boss bought a brilliant little trap at the Trash & Treasure, and set it up next to the compost bin. A sweet little grey rat crept in for the cheese (yes, we baited it with cheese) and the Boss was going to dispose of it thoughtfully, but MK got all upset and demanded that he release it over the back fence. So he did, and it promptly ran to the corner of the fence, popped through a hole and scarpered straight down the side of the house – and into the compost bin. *sigh*
I read the last reply (morgana’s) without reading the others, and wondered whose children or grandchildren were under the microscope this time.
Greybeard’s spawn, of course.
I should’ve known.
Onto other news, I spent the morning making that recipe for boiled caramel fudge from 1958 Good Housekeeping! magazine, that some good soul had posted on the internet.
It worked rather too well, and now I feel sick.
Pass the Tums, someone?
That was my first thought until I remembered that some fudge requires no cooking at all. There was a peanut butter fudge recipe on Facebook yesterday (Mayhem’s, I think) that was just peanut butter with corn syrup oil and coconut fat mixed with peanut butter, with a Nuttella/corn syrup oil/coconut fat mixture swirled through it. The whole thing was refrigerated without cooking. It looked gruesome and sickly, but given my own fudge will make anyone sick if they eat enough of it, I don’t think that’s a problem.
Sorry, Q, no Tums left. My Nexium is a once-a-day prescription so every antacid in the house has been used up on snacks.
Oh, I LOVE coconut ice! My recipe is made with condensed milk, so it doesn’t hold its shape very well until it dries out. But I’m not fond of dried-out coconut ice, so I usually only make it for Easter egg or chocolate filling.
Yum! what a fabulous idea.
I love coconut ice too, but I use a recipe from that Better Food Ideas magazine from years ago – it uses copha (or coconut oil, as we now call it) and egg whites. So you have to keep it in the fridge, and they won’t accept it or any other perishables for the show comps. It has to be the traditional boiled sweets – it’s hard to kill anyone with boiled sugar. Well, clearly you can, but it’s a slow process & egg white left out in the summer heat is a far more efficient means of gastronomic murder.
As for the modern trend in fudge recipes – Mayhem seems to be right on top of it. The old school way of boiling sweets is out, the preference now is to shove a lot of chocolate melts into the microwave with a bunch of other crap, and to persuade the kiddies that this is what you call Fudge.
My fudge recipe has 1/2 a tin of condensed milk added to the simmered sugar, butter & milk. It took over 30 minutes to cook, not counting the beating time, but it’s damned near perfect, so it’s well worth it.
Thank you, Good Housekeeping magazine of 1958.
Mine is basically a Russian caramel recipe, but with half of the sugar replaced with glucose. I fudge it up by whisking it after it comes off the stove. For some reason I haven’t worked out, the recipe no longer works as Russian caramels. I suspect maybe they’re putting something different in the condensed milk that stops it from setting. It would be logical, given the number of accidents people used to have by boiling sealed tins to make caramel tart filling.
Just recently I’ve looked for several things that seem to no longer exist. Falling out of step with majority taste must be another symptom of the Chroning. You know, along with policemen looking like children and not liking modern music.
The years certainly are creeping up on me. The other day there was a baby-lady serving me at a shop, and she had a little smear on her face. It was all I could do not to whip out my hankie, lick it, and wipe her chubby cheek clean. I felt so ancient. Nothing says ‘Old Lady’ like having an actual handkerchief in your handbag.
I’ve been known to tap them on the shoulder & ask if they’d like me to tuck in the labels on their tank tops. Unless it’s blocking out part of a large tattoo, in which case I’d prefer to look at the Big W labels.
There is little uglier than a long list of children’s names tattooed down the back of some bogan woman’s neck. If they’re going to get an ugly tattoo, they could at least put it somewhere they can see it too – why should we be the only ones who have to suffer?
Or an easy checklist for Centrelink. Speaking of Centrelink, I found out a month ago that they have LK listed as a girl. Every attempt I have made to get this updated has fallen on deaf ears. Bloody Centrelink.
That’s how business and government think. As far as I can tell, politicians have decided to combat global warming by taxing petrol until it’s too expensive to buy, therefore nobody will drive and voila! Reduced carbon footprint.
Tell me about it. I foolishly went to the bakery & our fave fruit store in Vagus before discovering that the car would need to sit in the shop overnight. After schlepping all of that home on the train – including the biggest pumpkin in the store – I’m profoundly grateful for the restored health of our little diesel guzzler.
It was a selling point for our house, being directly across the road from a shopping complex. I fondly imagined popping over there and walking home with my shopping. Not that I’ve ever actually done that (because lazy) but it’s nice to know I can if it’s ever necessary.
Well I suppose so, if you insist. I’d have to leave the crushed teenage UN aid volunteers though. With so many of their kind driving camper vans around here, that should serve to terrify at least a third of what’s likely to bump me off the road.
GB, there’s a guy near me that tootles around on one of those. A word of advice: wear a sleeveless black AC-DC shirt instead of a pilled cardie, or it just won’t look right.
There’s also a couple who ride together in a little buggy scooter with plastic curtains. They are the scourge of Knox, terrorising shoppers and traffic alike. That’s what I want to do when I’m old. Piss off as many people as I can. And now you know why I do it now – I’m getting in plenty of practise.
The Scourge of Knox. heheheheheheheh. You do know that’s an elite private WASP boys’ school in Wahroonga?
A very old, dear & eccentric gay friend of mine used to be the scients teacher there. You might have to ask him if he’s got copyright on that title & if he’ll let you borrow it.
Whoops! I just googled it & the first thing that came up was that they had a culture of covering up sexual abuse. Nasty. And nothing to do with my darling friend. Still, that does make it even better if you’re naming a grunge rock band.
There’s a private school here that’s called The Knox School. It’s why our suburb has such exorbitant real estate values – people from China and India love that school, and will pay anything to live nearby.
Well, apparently if you make your bed you only encourage mites and bed bugs, so we’re quite safe from those. And all the scattered dirt is boosting our immune systems. The cobwebs catch insects without the need for planet-killing insecticides. Good lord, my house is nearly perfect!
The GF that visited on Friday was a former house mate. She complained that my house was unnaturally clean & orderly. I still think it’s chaos, perhaps I have a problem?
Then again, I’ll feel that way until I know where my 1950s pony stories & my Anne Rice novels are.
I don’t think I told you, but the whole family is coming up to the Coast for Xmas. The good news is they’ve rented the house across the road so they’re not actually staying with me. I think I’ll have to get a skip anyway.
I’m trying to persuade the Bloke to go south to his brother’s place for Xmas, so that none of them get it into their heads to come here.
How was your day, Morgana? Any joy?
And for the Victorians, any snow?
No snow here. Just bitter cold wind that would have frozen my old bones if I hadn’t had the foresight to protect them with extremely thick layers of lard. Yay for carbs! (That was close. Spellcheck tried to change that to crabs.)
Well, we established that because Gigantor does nothing in the subject he won’t be doing Art next year. The counsellor made me feel better, I suppose, by pointing out that he has a lot of maturing to do. I guess because he is 6′ 3″ and has an ample neckbeard you expect – well, not sense, but the average level of male mental muntedness – from him. So when he says that his life plan is to travel the world in a Combi picking fruit, you panic.
I’ve told him if he refuses to go to TAFE he has to work out the pre-reqs – and then take them – for some (any!) course. He thought he’d just do some soft subjects and spend Senior goofing off, too.
Isn’t it strawberry season? Surely you can find a berry farmer somewhere & dump him on their farm as a volunteer for the day to see how he likes it.
I’d pay the strawberry farmer to take him on for the weekend & ensure that he suffers.
When he returns home, hunchbacked, frostbitten, sunburned & with his fingers shredded to blisters, the fruit picking idea might lose it’s gloss.
Don’t panic Madam. With his height, Gigantor would make an excellent fruit picker. Orchard fruit, that is, not strawberries. And the bloke who bought FIL’s Combi to renovate it has finally finished the job. The asking price is $28K, but it’s worth it. Especially as he left FIL’s custom-made Elmo curtains in the windows. It sounds like a great plan to me. Certainly it’s better than wanting to be a rock star, or a professional gamer. And it has the added bonus of a diet high in fruit (healthy!), and if he happens to get one of those little British backpackers pregnant, she will return to England to have the baby and he won’t be stuck with child support payments. Clever! He’s really thought this through, hasn’t he?
MM, the other thing to consider is to sign him up as a volunteer at one of the wildlife parks. Pretty much every single staff member at the Currumbin wildlife sanctuary started out volunteering there as a teen & then went on to study scients or zoology or environmental stuff at uni. It’s a good focus for them.
Dump him at the Australia Zoo, STAT.
I wonder if you could send him off to work experience with Nblob?
Exercise, and time outdoors. No reputable witch would recommend a chemical until you’ve addressed the inertia & social isolation.
Treating teens with medication for depression is a risky business – the research is that those who’ve used it have worse mental health as they grow older than those who didn’t.
Chemicals are chemicals, be they herb or synthesised by Big Pharma, and my problem with treating depression by any kind of chemical is it doesn’t address the underlying causes.
Find her a therapist before you put her on pills of any kind.
There was an article in the ABC scients thing recently showing that spending half an hour in a park or on the beach, 3 x per week, does more good for depression anxiety than any other kind of treatment.
Take the broom to her & get her out into Nature.
For a 14 year old? If there’s no history of hormonal imbalance in the family, she might just be using the wrong beauty products. Nivea was outed a while ago as being full of carcinogens that are supposed to be banned in Aus. She might want to change her brand of pimple cream and switch to better quality makeup, like (sorry to say it) Nutrimetics.
St John’s Wort is good, but it interferes with a lot of medicines. For a kid that young, it’s usually better to change their diet to include avocado, mushrooms, omega3 fishies, and licorice root; ban all electronic devices after 9pm so she gets enough sleep; and make sure she gets in three or four half-hour walks every week. It would also help to find out which boy she’s pining over, and pay his parents a few hundred $K to send him to some other school. Or break his knees – you guys learned how to do that as part of your job training, right?
We tried turning off the WiFi at a set time every night, but then we found out the kidlets were waiting until we went to sleep and then turning it back on. We caught them out when they fell asleep with their devices and hadn’t turned it off again before we got up in the morning. Teenie looked so cute, curled up and cuddling his iPad – it seemed such a pity to wake him up and tear him a new one.
The Teenie is complaining that the WiFi is useless anyway, because no Pokemon are venturing into our yard. He’s been frantically looking for public places with free WiFi. Oh, well, at least it gets him out of the house.
Agreed. I’d cut her access to screen time, be it computer, phone or television. Odds are it’s something nasty that’s happening on social media or at school & while good nutrition will help, feelings of depression & anxiety are something that we all have to learn to deal with & I’d go down the CBT/therapy path so she gets some actual skills to deal.
The teacher next door comes home from school every day & gets on the phone for hours upon hours to complain about the ghastly social interactions between her high school students & the stress it causes all involved. I keep wanting to tell her to put the damned phone down & go out & walk her poor ignored dog for an hour among the birds & the trees & just let go of it – but she doesn’t, she drinks beer instead.
Has this child not discovered valium & 4x, yet?
Re the WiFi, if you get into the router settings, you can set times when it’s on, times when it’s off and even block specific sites or devices. I used to do a lot of that at work, to the great disappointment of many.
Apart from the body of research that says that a high volume of porn correlates with a low volume of respect for women. Surely there’s a way to reroute any search for porn to a veritable burrow of Sylvanian bunnies?
Then they want to hear gory stories about their abusive fathers. Actually, mostly I think they play games and such. The fact that porn is everywhere makes it less alluring than it was when you had to search under your Father’s bed or hide away in a shed with it.
I’m absolutely positive my father never hid any porn under his bed. I did all the cleaning, and if any of the men in my family were hiding anything there, the vacuum cleaner would have sucked it out. I did find something interesting under mother’s side of the bed once, but she refused to tell me what it was and I still don’t know.
I’m craving chocolate eclairs. With real cream. Mmmmm….
We just went for a drive to run a few errands, and the Boss wanted to drop in at the op shop for something or other. While he was busy, I was checking out the red dresses for next year’s Wuthering. He caught me out. Now he thinks we’re all mad. *sigh* Some people just don’t get it.
MK is obsessed with Black Veil Brides. I can’t say they’re good (not even ironically), but I can’t criticise as there are probably a few equally-as-embarrassing bubble gum bands on my old teenage mixed tapes. (And possibly a few on my iPod playlist too).
Oh God don’t talk about the car.
I’ve got another 24 hours of the Smash Repair Grunter before I can pick up my C4.
I miss my car…sniff!
And yes, who in their right minds would watch Benny Hill?
Dad had to take a cocktail of at least 12 medications plus beer to find that entertaining.
I wasn’t allowed to watch The Box, but we did watch Number 96. We got our first colour TV the week they aired the big explosion, so I got to see the episode in full, glorious colour. It was magnificent!
In my mid-teens, my parents got a tiny TV for their bedroom. It was heaven! Whenever they were watching boring lemming documentaries, we could slob on their bed and watch Bob Santamaria. Or, as we called him, The Chook Man – because he bobbed his head up and down when he spoke, just like a chook pecking corn.
This kid worries me. She just informed me in a deep, suave voice that she was a fox and I was Jemima Puddleduck. Then I was chided for using a grandad voice, not a duck voice. Then I had to make a nest and produce a clutch of play-do eggs. I wish she wouldn’t lick her lips.
Heh, she’s her grandfather’s granddaughter, that’s for sure. My kids weren’t so keen on re-enactments. Instead, they would insist that I read them their favourite books and ‘do’ the voices. Eventually I had to put a stop to it, after the neighbours called DoCS during a particularly spirited reading of The Three Billy Goats Gruff.
We went into town today, just for a change and to get our steps up. Degraves Lane was overflowing with those pathetic Melbourne coffee addicts getting their fixes and a bazillion tourists. We couldn’t get a seat/cup anywhere! So we went to the Lindt Cafe and I had a mocha and my life was changed.
The dense layer of froth on top supported a square of dark chocolate and under it was a layer of strongish coffee. But at the very bottom was a layer of just-liquid-enough-to-drink melted dark chocolate. It was so rich and I chased out every drop with a spoon. Because I’m a good husband, I even let Fifi have a sip, which went on for a suspiciously long time. We also came home with strange cheeses, fresh pasta and books. A terrible day.
I’ve been wondering at the lack of winter down here – perhaps I blinked and missed it while I was distracted all through June with the kitchen install?
It’s a good deal milder here than Brisneyland but that was one of the motivations to move.
GB that hot chocolate sounds simply wicked.
I’d be horribly jealous if the hippies at Bonogin hadn’t put me onto their hippy-barista drinking chocolate, which is the best I’ve ever had. https://www.soulfresh.com.au/products/barista/koko-deluxe/
We took the hound for a drive down to Bangalow to tour the sites & the farmer’s markets.
On the way home, after getting horribly lost & arguing about directions (the Bloke insisted I follow Siri’s directions, which led us to a dirt road that dead ended in the cane fields, and resulted in him sulking for the next 30km that I was right & they were wrong, wrong, wrong) we stumbled upon one of those magical Finds.
We stopped for fuel at Bilambil (Terranora Lakes basically) & we discovered some Appalachians out the back with a wood smoking thingy, filled with piggy.
We went home with a takeaway container full of pulled-pork & roast veggies, and we made ourselves roast pork rolls with Hippy sourdough from the Burleigh Sourdough bakery.
Melbourne may have all those exotic eateries but the Bilambil Appalachians sure do know how to smoke their pigs.
That sounds horribly wrong.
Mind, I was just think of making choc chip & macadamia cookies so perhaps that’s a sign I should do that instead of study.
There’s no point going out as there’s a thick funk of smoke over our hill thanks to back-burning in the reserve behind us, and it’s spread out over the flatlands between us & the ocean. It was stinking up the rooms at uni last night & when I took the hound to Currumbin this morning, I even caught a whiff of it down there.
Oh well, we knew that at some point, they’d have to back-burn.
According to twitter they’ll be at it all day today & tomorrow. And then the westerlies should pick up & blow it all away.
Days like this I thank Cthulu for ducted AC.
Mmm, cheese danishes. We haven’t got PB today (or yesterday) since her whole household has chucks and squirts. So Fifi & Jen did some girly shopping while I got the groceries and stuff. And a salted caramel Belgian chocolate mocha. Which i was still drinking when we all met for lunch. Oops.
We’ll drop off a care package at the plague-people’s door later and run away quickly. Toddler colds are one thing but bleargh!
It may sound odd but I had to stop myself from chugging it and ordering another one. Sooo yummy. Then I got sprung. They’re all better if cautious and a bit tender of the tummy this morning so Friday looks OK for Jen’s birthday not to be a barfday.
My main interest in AFL – other than when Gigantor is captaining the U16s, obviously, because that would be wrong and also mostly I’m just hoping he doesn’t get his teeth knocked in or something worse – is those tiny, tiny shorts
There are semi naked adolescent males all over the beach & the creek when I’m out & about. As they’re harder to train & more annoying than a dog, I can’t say I’d want one of them following me back home.