Voila! The knitting


Better late than never?  The darker coloured squares are the lovely silk/wool that Spotlight didn’t re-stock (bastards).  The multicoloured wool is the Noro wool/silk – you can see in the pic how it’s a bit slubby but it feels gorgeous and is lovely to knit.

Now what shall I knit?



135 Responses

  1. That’s beautiful, MM. I love those colours. How do you knit a square like that? I googled it and came up with this:
    Which isn’t the same as yours but when I read through I thought it was very sweet that the knitters were combining squares to make blankets for orphans, and for children in care.
    I’ll have to go look at that Noro link you gave me.
    The urge to Hoard is strong, dammit -I really need all the extra closet space that ultimately I will have here, when we finally get around to installing closet doors.

  2. It’s the easiest pattern ever. You cast on however many stitches – for arguments sake 50 (it must be an even number).

    Knit one row.

    Next row, knit 23, knit 2 tog, knit 2 tog, knit 23.

    Knit one row

    K 22, k2tog, k2tog, K22

    and repeat till you’re down to one stitch. Then you pick up 25 stitches from the square you just knitted, cast on another 24 (you still have the one you ended on and do it again.

    No making up!

    You do end up with the whole blanket on your needles but it just sits on your lap.

    If you want to feel the Noro yourself there is a place in Taringa called Yarn Glorious Yarn who stock it, so there may well be suppliers on the Old Coast, too.

    Mum sent some blankets to Africa, I think that’s where we got the pattern.

  3. That’s fabulous. For my next life can I have your mother? she really is a darling.
    You’re so lucky to have her, as well as Uncle RV.
    I’d probably have to watch & learn as someone does that in front of me, because I’m a watch-and-learn kind of a girl. Next winter I’ll have to rustle out the knitting groups that meet around here.
    And I’ll have to remember that about the knitting shop in Taringa. I keep writing lists of things I need to do or buy in Brisbane & then I look at them & think ‘Meh, Brisbane’ and I tear them up & throw them out.
    Hopefully next year I’ll have a better attitude to going back to Vagus, but I’m still so enamoured of the coastal/hinterland lifestyle that every time I think of something I need from Brisbane, I wind up ordering it off the internet, or looking for it down here.
    I’ll probably wait till next year for the Noro wool, and I’ll take your word for it that it’s gorgeous – after all, that’s two of you now – you and the Dog Admirer that I met in Wazen. She was very animated in her passion for the wool & as she seemed like quite a reserved character, it was interesting to watch her wool passion draw her out.

  4. Agreed. It is fabulous. And I, too, would have to watch someone do it – that didn’t sound easy, Madam. I can’t wrap my brain around the pattern you described at all! Oh, well, there’s always my crochet hook.

    You’re very talented. I’m impressed.

  5. One day we’ll have knitting at a Coven … I mean, catch-up.

    Q, I have to say that the longer I’ve been out of Brisvegas the LESS I am inclined to go back. It’s always more for people or events than things. Internet shopping is fabulous. Anyway, you’ve got lots of local options if you can stomach pants and people.

  6. Speaking of pants, I saw a UK hipster on the creek yesterday in tie-dye pants.
    Europe is always ahead of us in the fashion stakes. Do you suppose they’re making a comeback this season?

  7. In certain circles they never went out. Hides all sorts of stains that, with my new reputation for decorum intact, I am too ladylike to mention.

    Hey, check this out Q – I won a comp!

  8. Wow! That is brilliant news, MM. Congrats!

  9. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Yay Morgana!

    Can I have your autograph? I won’t even sell it on eBay.

  10. What Catty said. But MM, what this really calls for is a glass or two of K’s improved water and a gallop about the back yard on the pool pony….allow me to pour it out for you & give you a leg up.

  11. Woo hoo! Pool party! The Boss has just finished clearing the winter filth out of the pool, so it’s perfect timing.

  12. Oh, I would love a pool party. Catty, write a best-selling song ASAP so we can have a big catch-up at Q’s.

  13. I’ve written three fabulous songs lately, complete with video clips. And not a country song amongst them! But I’ve been out of the industry for so long, I have no idea where to start getting them produced.

  14. This is why you need to move to the Gold Coast hinterland, Catty – Taylor Swift is always swanning about around hotel Versace & the paleo bars at Byron, you could stake out the glitterati joints and serenade her till she either takes you under her wing or better, steals the lyrics to your songs. then you could sue her for plagiarism and spend the rest of your life rolling around in great wads of money.
    And if that doesn’t work out you could just sit under the mango tree & strum your ukelele, like the rest of the hippies do. They always seem pretty happy with that.
    Our climate is really much better suited to that & I’m convinced Melbourne weather is the predominant cause of depression & angst in it’s citizens. I can’t spend a weekend there without wanting to stick my head in the oven, so I honestly don’t know how you can put up with it for year and years and years.

  15. YouTube. Someone’s got to go viral!

  16. It’s easy. I have a ukelele. I also have an acoustic bass, a couple of guitars, a piano, a mandolin and a set of bongos. Oh, and a recorder. Hey, it worked for Robert Plant.

  17. Yes! Get the kidlets to film you. TGP’s quite good with iMovies. There was a WIngs clip when PM wore different outfits as he played different instruments, you could riff on that.

  18. There’s always busking, Catty. Our local markets back at Toad Park encouraged local talent to apply to take turns busking there. For some reason we always seemed to get stuck with the Pommy rat-sacker that plays techno muzak with the didgeridoo. How hard can it be, to be better than that?

  19. We have some fab blue grass pickers sometimes. It helps the time pass.

    Umm, I’m afraid to ask, but how the hell do you play techno on a didge?

    • He had some sort of synthesiser and he’d accompany his recorded music with some wailing on the didge. Considering what the population of West End is like, I’m surprised he wasn’t pelted with rotten organic tomatoes over the cultural appropriation issue, much less the appalling sounds.

      • I’ve got a headache just reading that description.

  20. Yeah, there’s a small drawback to that. Not only can’t I play very well, my singing is so bad that small children have been known to cry. Even Gran takes out her hearing aids if she thinks I’m about to start warbling.

  21. I always assumed you were joking when you said that. OK, so we need someone with good pipes and no material of their own – stalk open mic nights?

  22. You’re in luck, Catty, I remember reading some bit of social research saying that the worse a busker is, the more money they make. Apparently people feel sorry for them, so that’s why the ones that are truly awful are the ones that proliferate, and the people who have talent-based scholarships at the Con are left to starve in the gutter.

  23. You might be on to something, Q. When I worked in the Flinders St Mall, there was a bagpipe busker there who made a fortune, mostly because the business owners would go out and offer him money to go away.

  24. I’m sad to admit it, but I’d be doing that too.
    Our little book store in West End has adopted one of the Big Isshew sellers and she hangs around out front of their store until she’s got enough cash for a hit, at which point she wanders off, and she doesn’t come back till her eyes are spinning like saucers with her need for cash for the next one.
    Management do the benevolent hippie thing about wanting to look after her, so she’s a permanent fixture in their front door. She gives the death stare to everyone who doesn’t give her money & frankly, she terrifies me.
    The first time I ever saw her was around 25 years ago at a Pendragon Boot Company fashion show …I think it was at the Zoo in the Valley, or whatever that venue was called, in the day. She was there, off her face on drugz and smelling like fresh vomit, and she spent the entire night following me around whispering venomous threats at me, when she wasn’t engaged in ernest conversation with The Voices.
    I appreciate that it’s probably schizophrenia, and by rights I should pity her & share the benevolent bookstore hippies’ attitude – but she still looks at me the same way she did on the night that her invisible friends were suggesting I’d look better if she made me bleed, and it’s been enough to persuade me that its better to shop elsewhere.

  25. I think the Zoo was still called the Zoo 25 years ago.

    I can appreciate the point of the Big Issue, but I really don’t like any chuggers or earnest raffle ticket sellers or anyone, really, approaching me when I’m out. I think what they fail to factor in is that for some of us just being out takes a lot of willpower and energy, and adding in having to negotiate multiple refusals turns an obstacle course into a nightmare.

  26. I’m sure it’s particularly bad for business to have one of those outside a book store.
    Let’s face it – those of us who read generally do so because we don’t like to speak.

  27. That’s so true someone should put it on a coffee mug.

  28. As someone said the other day, I’m a social Vegan. I don’t like meet.

  29. Hehehe. Except for us, right? Especially if we can do it at Hopetoun.

  30. Or someplace that makes spectacularly delicious hot chips.

  31. Why not both?

  32. Has anyone ever dipped hot chips in raspberry cheesecake?

    Asking for a friend.

  33. Urgh, don’t, you’ll make me bilious.
    I’ve got a headache from our efforts to tactfully say No to Wendy Whiner’s request to trash our yard.
    I’m starting to think I’ve worn through every response except Fook Orf and I’m bitterly regretting not using that as our opening line.
    Since the pool company has ignored every other response, I’ve just sent them a delicately worded email saying that she’s told us she’s struggling financially and one of our concerns is that she won’t be able to pay for completion of her own project, much less pay for any damages she incurs to our property along the way.
    I’m really hoping that’ll be an end of it.
    I’ve already told them that the original builder had to dynamite the rock out of our house site here, and they removed 50 truck loads of rock before they could build – you’d think that alone would have made them jack their price up by at least 10 grand.
    She’s got 3m clearance either side of her own house, why the FK does she need to nag us to participate in her pool catastrophe, FFS?

  34. I’ve dipped rice crackers in blueberry cheesecake, and that’s pretty good, but I can’t say I’ve ever dipped hot chips in raspberry cheesecake, no. I’m more inclined to stick the hot chips on a buttered fresh bread roll. Aaaaaand now I’m hungry. Huh. Thanks Morgana.

  35. Plain rice crackers or flavoured?

    Q, good luck but people are idiots and sometimes the things that would put sensible (any of us) people off have no effect. It might be time to unleash your flying monkeys.

  36. Flying Monkeys FTW!
    Yeah, I don’t think I need to go with Eff Off just yet. If trashing her to the pool company isn’t going to work, then it’s time to start trashing them, to her.
    I mean, hello, $500 to terrace a 30-40m length of yard?
    You’d be lucky to get that done for $500 per square metre.
    What an idiot, trying to sell us that one.
    Since they’re insisting they’d need to level our back yard in order to create a safe work space to access hers, if she insists she wants to go forward with it, I can counter that.
    I’ll just tell her that if she thinks that is workable, we will get a quote from a professional landscaper so that we can demonstrate what the real cost of that is likely to be.
    That should put a dampener on her yard trashing dreams.
    Honestly, I think she’s cooked this whole thing up just so that she can create more fecking drama.
    I’m starting to understand why her students have threatened to break into her house and trash it. At first I thought she was making that up. But FWIW? It must be that awful dealing with someone who is that hell bent on bending you to their will all day.

  37. It looks like she’s already sucked you into her drama, Q. The only way out is to play the game better than she does. How about upping the ante? Tell her that you’re glad she’s paying for the terracing, because the high cost of that was the only thing stopping you from setting up your sardine smoking tents. Sure, the high demand will mean you will have to work day and night to supply your smoked sardines to all the local markets, but it will be worth the effort, and the smell, to achieve your dream.

    Actually, it might be better if you let the Bloke tell her. I’m not sure you could do it with a straight face.

  38. Heheheheh.
    Good one, Catty.
    Yep, I just posted an update at my blog so I won’t plague you with an update.
    We’ve decided we just need to keep repeating the line ‘This is about us being unwilling to accept risk for damages done by your builders, Wendy. If you want a pool, then you need to find a way to do it without burdening us with the risk.’
    Anyway, we got the tears and the manipulation out of the way tonight so I’m looking forward to her going back to sulking and telling anyone who’ll listen that we are the Worst Neighbours Ever.
    I’m thinking of getting a plaque made for the front door, just so that no-one can be in any doubt of it.
    Anyway, you will never guess but in her heightened state of misery she’s not equal to the task of sharing breathing space with her cavoodle, so she’s kicked it out into the cold (and it will be cold, she got it shaved last week) so that it can cry and howl and moan beneath our bedroom windows.
    Poor little dog. 😦

  39. Hehehehe. Sardine smoking tents. Catty, you’re a genius. And I’m glad to be on your good side.

    Don’t worry about the poor puppy, Q – the landscapers have probably included dog training in their comprehensive quote.

  40. I like the idea of a plague for your front door. It will keep the Germans away, at least.

  41. LOL.
    If not a plague, then perhaps pestilence would do…perhaps I do need a beehive in the back yard, after all?
    That was the only thing that terrified our pool builders, years ago.
    The lily pond was full of bees, sucking on the duck weed. It was the only portion of garden that they didn’t trash, the 3m perimeter surrounding those bees.
    If I stick a flow hive in the middle of the yard, that should make them think twice about wanting to arse about in here.
    Much better today, so thanks all.
    It’s nice having the ‘No’ and the first round of her tantrums out of the way. I was dreading it, and can now look forward to the far more enjoyable process of her trash-talking us to every neighbour who will listen.
    There aren’t many of those left. 🙂

  42. Neighbours make me hanker for the good old days, when forming a posse to run trouble-makers out of town on a rail was just everyone’s idea of a good Saturday night.

  43. Snort/LOLZ.
    What would I do without you guys?

  44. Well, you might not have a quorum for a posse.

  45. Now I’m thinking about trebuchets. Trebuchets full of bees. And a turret. You defs need a turret. Think of all the fun things you could fling into Wendy’s pool from there!

  46. Trebuchet Full of Bees would be a great name for a prog rock band.

  47. I’m not buying that album. Bees are scary.

  48. LOLZ.
    I wouldn’t have any trouble attracting bees, if I did get a hive. Think of the swarm that Wendy keeps under her bonnet.

  49. She’ll have fun with a pool, then. The bees love our pool. It’s one of the reasons I don’t go in there very often. That, and it’s too smurfing cold.

  50. Thanks for the reminder, I keep meaning to get the native bee people to put a hive in my tea trees.

    • Is the slattern next door allergic?

  51. If I want hives, all I have to do is eat onion.

    • that or spend the weekend with your mother!

  52. No. Just no.

  53. Well, I don’t know. Since they don’t sting, wouldn’t she have to swallow one? Poor bees, I’m worried enough about the apprentices on the job site across the way.

    Oh, did I mention that a ‘UGE building is going up next-door to that dick who used to abuse the kids for playing cricket?

    I love being old enough to watch idiots get their comeuppance.

  54. Oh yes.
    I woke up last night dreaming that there was torrential rain outside.
    There wasn’t – it was drizzle – but we will get plenty of 150ml downpours and as Wendy’s pool will be at the bottom of a very steep hill, it’s going to get all of that run-off. Including all of the chip bark out of her own terraced garden.
    Revenge is a dish best served muddy.

  55. That sounds like a nice dream. Mine just had two clowns battling to the death. One of them had a red nose, the other a purple nose. I woke up before there was any blood, so I don’t know who won.

    • Maybe it was a (bow) Tie-Dye?

  56. My love is like a red,red nose. I’m team purple.

    Chip bark? I didn’t think anyone but Council still used that. Noting like a chunky pool!

    This week has been a relief, several nice hard downpours and more forecast. Thank goodness that dry spell ended. It was a long fortnight.

  57. We’ve had some beautiful, warm, sunny days, but they’re over now. Windstorms and persistent rain have returned. Yay! No washing!

    There was an International Food Day at the kidlets’ school yesterday. One of the foods on offer was carbonated milk. Ick. I don’t know what country that was from, but wherever it is I don’t want to go there.

  58. Really? We’ve just had a few spots of drizzle.
    BOM promised better tomorrow, and possibly even a thunderstorm.
    There were threats of 27C for next Wednesday, though.
    If George R. Martin lived in Australia he’d never have come up with the idea of a dread-filled phrase like ‘Winter is coming’ – it’d be ‘Summer is coming’ – with mutant, putrefying, stinky zombies that come out during heat waves and speed up just when the rest of us are brain-fuddled by the humidity and are far too lethargic to run.

  59. Trust me, I don’t need high humidity to feel lethargic. I just need to be awake.

  60. Yawn. I do despise being awake. Try to guess how TGP woke me irretrievably at 3 a..m?

    Well, he kicked the doona so far off us it was on the floor. In the resultant chill my nipples must have pebbled along with all my other goose-fleshed skin. So when he tried to climb inside me for warmth, he gave me a cold, erect, nipple cripple.

    I’ve never woken myself shouting “No!” before.

  61. I’d give you a lecture about why on earth is that child still in your bed, but given that the cat burrows under my doona every night & wakes me repeatedly by licking my nose, perhaps I’m not the one to talk?

  62. It is not of my choosing. We have helped clear out his room, offered him new hard and soft furnishings, I have even ground up a Valerian tablet and put it – with consent – in a Monte Carlo to try to get him to sleep in his own room but to no avail.

    Anyway, say what you will he rarely licks my nose.

  63. Occasionally the cat carries a daggy little turd into the bed with him.
    When your youngest develops armpit hair and/or romantic inclinations, it might be your turn to experience that, too.

  64. Oh dear God.

    Longing ever more wistfully for the sweet release of Death.

  65. Me first. I have to take MK to the hairdresser’s for an up-do for tonight’s social. We’ve spent the entire day – yes, ALL day – fretting about nail polish and eye shadow and accessories. *sigh* She should know better than to involve me. My idea of getting ready for a big outing is remembering pants.

  66. Oh good lord. How old is she now, Catty? She seemed like such a little thing when I saw you guys at South Bank, but given that Morgana’s children had doubled in size, perhaps it was just my warped perspective.

  67. She’s only 14, but because she’s in the accelerated program she’s doing year 10 this year. So most of the boys will either be 15 or 16. I have no idea how she managed to con us into being allowed to go. She has had a growth spurt since you saw her last. So gorgeous! *sob* Where do the years go?

  68. Maybe you won’t need to worry about teenage boys, Catty.
    I loathed and despised them. My date to the BGGS school formal was a 30yro man.
    I think after that particular jaw dropping exercise they changed the rules, so you had to take a school boy or go without.
    Pretty stupid, though.
    That guy is still a friend, not that I see him much since he had kids because people with kids get so busy – but I’ve always had friends who were 10-15 years older than me, the fact that I was raised by someone who was born in 1914 meant that I’ve just always had a lot in common with those whose parents are the same age.
    And who’d lived through WW2, of course.
    Perhaps you’d do better to worry about MK finding an engineering student to take to the PROM. Anything is possible, with FB these days.

  69. The great advantage of teenage boys is that they are exceptionally tedious. Being a smart little cookie, she’ll probably weary of them herself.

    Did she have a glorious time?

  70. I wondered why I didn’t think to ask that, and then I remembered that it’s because I went to only one school dance other than the prom, and it found it so abysmally dull that I never went to another. I was quite happy to spend my Friday nights at home, reading till my eyes gave out & watching those 11pm reruns of Night Stalker.
    I keep forgetting I’ve never been normal.
    My loathing for make-up/dress-up/stupid shoes started young.
    If you like I can try to convert her?

  71. She had a marvellous time. They managed to impress everyone with their ballroom dancing skills, especially when this song came on:

    She said the food was good, and raved about the desserts. That’s my girl! From what she said, there was little interaction with boys at all, except for their gay friend who isn’t really a boy anyway. That was a relief!

  72. Oh, if she’s got a gay friend then all the fussing about dress and make-up is just infectious.

    I’m glad she had a ball at the ball!

  73. Ditto to all that MM just said.
    That is just awesome that she has a gay boy friend, they’re so much more fun than other boys. I didn’t meet up with any gay boys until after uni & I just wish I’d discovered them sooner.

  74. I kind of want to learn the Cha-Cha slide actually. That looks like fun.

  75. It is fun. But I can’t get back up when I twist down these days, so I leave it for the young’uns. And you’re right about the makeup – his was pretty good, and I don’t think the girls would have felt very happy about it if theirs wasn’t as good. I know I wasn’t, when I dated that bass player.

  76. Hehehe. We’ve never heard enough about your bass player, Catty. He wasn’t in KISS was he?

  77. Surely there was more than one bass player.
    God knows there were plenty going spare to spread around.

  78. Funny about that. I’ve joined a couple of Sell Swap Buy sites on Facebook, and the other day a sale post popped up in my feed with his name on it. It would appear he is now married with teenage children, and living just a couple of suburbs away. I’m tempted to post a couple of the more hilarious photos of him on his page, but nah. It’s not fair on his kids.

  79. That’s odd. I’ve recently had a yen to google my exes, too. VERY disappointed to see that TGP’s father seems not to have died in a ditch. Still, I suppose that’s something to look forward too.

  80. At the risk of creating some anxiety – I am amazed that a family like his doesn’t have private detectives looking for you. Families like that are all about offering up Heirs for The Dynasty & when one of their own children looks unfit for that role they do start pinning their hopes on their progeny.
    Even my mother’s family, with their disdain for ill-gotten/bastard spawn – managed to do a 180C to that.

  81. Well, TGP is only his third-born. I always had quite a lot of time for Son #1, he was a good lad. I’m confident he’ll be Suitable Issue.

    Anyway, surely contamination with my DNA makes him unfit!

  82. I’m assuming there’s no male-pattern baldness in his family, or he’d have no heirs.

    • Groan.

      • Catty’s here all week – try the Quorn

  83. Thank you, thank you, tip your waitress.

  84. Here’s my best tip for all those in the food service industry – stay in school!

  85. Going by some of the comments I see on Facebook from kids who have allegedly passed grade 12 make me wonder if staying in school really does all that much.

  86. It reduces by 6 hours a day the amount of time they can spend taking drugs and macking on each other.

  87. Also shoplifting and littering at the mall.
    Stay in school, kids.

  88. And queuing at donut shops!

  89. Some time ago I was attacked by teens on skateboards (in school uniform, mind you!) in the middle of the day, in the middle of Kmart, with a tin of silly string. I got myself a tin of Impulse as self defense for further attacks, but I haven’t had to use it yet. I don’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed.

  90. This is why I go to the kind of shops that the pensioners habitually ram.
    They’re so daggy and filled with seniors that no traunting child would consider crossing their threshold.
    Speaking of attacks, the Bloke went out for a bike ride the other day and Magpies!
    We’re used to the council putting little warning signs all over their swooping zones, back in Vagus.
    This is primitive, having to work out their nesting zones the old fashioned way.

  91. There is nothing that screams ‘Australian!’ like the cowering scurry of the magpie run, with your handbag held over your head for protection. It’s as distinctive as the crabwalk we do barefoot over a bindi patch.

  92. I think the Silly String was a sort of compliment, Catty. Assault would have been shaving cream. Or Cheez Whiz.

    Q, I hope you go shopping in Pensioner-Ramming Off-Peak. I saw one the other night and got concerned.

  93. It’s not that hard to avoid getting rammed.
    The trick is to stay away from the shop wall in front of the disabled zone.

  94. I don’t know which is worse in our shopping complex. The mobility scooters that aged and infirm people drive like snow plows, or the mummies with prams who can’t take their eyes off their iPhones long enough to actually look where they’re shoving the prams. I was rammed the other day, hard enough to draw blood, and the woman’s response was “get out of the f***in’ way!”. Which was odd, as I was standing in a queue that ran beside a rack of newspapers, and if I hadn’t been there she would have rammed Malcolm Turnbull’s face. Huh. I’ve only just realised what she was really doing. Now I wish I had gotten out of her f***in’ way.

    • You need a shield and a flaming sword. Ooh, and some incendiary nunchuku.

  95. Genius. You’re our brains trust.

  96. Do they push you off paths, too, Catty?
    Back in Vagus, we were always horrified by how they’d come out of swimming classes at the local pool & would hog a pathway wide enough for walk 5 abreast, and they’d just push you out of the way.
    The horrible thing is that it wasn’t confined to mothers with prams – which at least you can attribute to them having baby-brain, rather than hard-wired psychopathy.
    They’d hog the path 5 abreast with children from the age of 3-17 and would simply push everyone else the hell out of the way.
    Everyone we know complains at length about how selfish & inconsiderate their teen & under 35 aged adult children are & the Bloke is so sick of hearing it at work, he has reached the point where he just says to them ‘why do you think we didn’t have any?’

  97. Not me. My teen and pre-teen are remarkably generous and caring. Both of them notice if I’m tired or sick or otherwise fed-up and offer remedies from practical help to cuddles, hot drinks and foot rubs.

    I’d be lost without them.

    Oh, and they better not be pushing people they don’t know off paths. But I’m pretty sure they’re not.

  98. I saw a show on the telly about a new mentoring program for tradies. The idea is they get an old codger to take an apprentice under his wing, and as well as the trade, he teaches him how to cook, clean, drive, pay bills…. you know, basic life skills that their parents should have taught them but didn’t. It’s depressing. I sometimes think I’m raising kids who are overqualified for life.

  99. Yeah, agreed. And I worry that the strange, archaic morals and ethics I have taught them will make them easy targets.

    But you can only do what you know is right, at the end of the day. If everyone gave up, 100% of the kids would be feral. As opposed to the current 85%.

  100. The biggest problem is their iphones. All of our jefes (the bosses) have bitched at length about the time they waste on their bloody devices. And at smoko, they don’t even talk to each other. They just sit there in total silence, ignoring each other and going clicketty clicketty click. Which is what I see at the bus stop when the children are heading off to school in the morning.
    I’m so glad I grew up in the days before technology.

  101. They’re probably Googling pictures of other people with their arms stuck in toilets, trying to retrieve their phones.

  102. Oooh, you know we’re always looking for a home-based business. iPhone Toilet Rescue, anyone?

  103. We’ll have to wait until summer. If I’m going to have firemen constantly rescuing me from people’s toilets, I want them shirtless.

  104. Heheheheheh.

  105. Genius! this will be the business that keeps giving.

  106. I’ll have to refrain from licking them, though. Ick.

  107. Umm …. is that currently a problem for you? Because I bet the average smart phone screen has got more germs on it BEFORE it goes for a swim in the porcelain telephone.

  108. Yuck. That gives a whole new meaning to swiping right.

  109. All I can do is stand on the sidelines & snigger today. You two are on a roll.

  110. My “Who Gives a Crap?” boxes arrived today. The toilet paper is more than fine. If Quilton is an 100 I’d give it 87, but I’m happy to trade off a smidge of comfort for the toilets in the third world. And no plastic, arrives in a box, rolls wrapped in paper.

    Also, who doesn’t want a little warm fuzzy every time they go to the toilet?

    Highly recommended.

  111. A bear wandered down to the river bank for a drink. He turned to a rabbit who was also there for a drink and asked her, “does shit stick to your fur”? The rabbit replied, “No, of course not”. So the bear picked up the rabbit and wiped his arse with her.

    You’re right, Madam. Even bears like a little warm fuzzy.

  112. Catty, I think you should be doing stand-up. No, make it sit-down. None of us are getting any younger.

  113. As long as I stay off the piano, I should be right.

  114. The piano accordion might be a safer & more suitable choice.

  115. Safer and more suitable perhaps, but nowhere near as sexy when you drape yourself over it in lingerie.

  116. Think of it as practice for our golden years when we’ll want you to serenade us in our nursing homes.
    By which stage we’ll all be draping our negligees over the piano because we’ll be so far beyond remembering where they actually belong.
    If my memory at this age is a sign of things to come.

  117. I’m going to start wearing a notebook and a string around my neck and making lists and maps to my own life. Of course, my eyesight is getting so bad I’ll have to learn how to Braille.

    That won’t look odd, will it?

  118. No odder that Gran. She took a pair of trakkie dacks out of her wardrobe and tottered out of her room to dump them into the big rubbish bin next to the nurses’ station. Then she went back into her room for a shower. So she’s standing in front of the wardrobe in her reggies, wondering what to wear, and decides on trakkie dacks. She turned and walked out of her room, still in her reggies, and fishes the pants out of the bin and puts them on right there. The nurses didn’t bat an eyelid. A few days later, she was clearing out her wardrobe and threw a few old pairs of reggies that had seen better days into the same rubbish bin. The next morning, the laundry trolley came past and delivered her old reggies back to her, freshly washed and ironed. I suspect that despite the lack of batted eyelids, the nurses didn’t want her wandering out in the nuddie to fish underwear out of the bin.

  119. That reminds me, the dog ate all but one pair of my work-and-funeral underpants. Damn, I hate shopping for Reggies.

    • LOL. When we got our pap, he would spend his days sleeping in my bedroom closet. It took me a while to work out that he’d developed an underwear fetish. He wouldn’t touch my target cotton-tails but Victoria’s secret got a workout.
      I’ve never bothered with nice undies, since.
      The bloody cats like lace & they fish them out of the washing baskets & deliver anything frilly up to the dog, for finishing off.
      Bastard cats!

  120. I’ve officially graduated to permanent granny pants. *sigh*

  121. You, me and Bridget Jones, Catty. Bonds Cottontails can take a minor chewing and still mostly function. Lace can’t hold up to mastication.

  122. Don’t I know it! Actually, Bonds are no match for the guinea pig either. The Boss stuck a pair of Bonds trunks in her cage last weekend, and she managed to eat halfway through them by Monday morning. Yes, this is the guinea pig who refuses to eat cucumber unless the slices are wafer thin and chilled. It’s like those two year olds who refuse to eat steamed carrots but will happily gnaw on a snail.

  123. Why did he … no, don’t answer. But thanks for the un-tip.

  124. That’s pretty much what I said to him, Madam. I’ve given up second guessing any of them. They’re all mad.

  125. Oh, good. I’m glad it;s them and not us. We;re quite sane and normal, aren’t we?

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