A fabulous evening with the captivating Miss Melony Breasts and the talented Miss Sal Monella. It was the Bison Bar – the same venue as the Datson + Hughes single launch. And I won the final call, and was presented with the coveted Bingo Scrubber award, so now I can die happy.
Fun in a box 
Truly Madam, your life has moments of delightful weirdness. That’s an award for the mantlepiece.
I only wish I had a pool room.
The woman who owns the Kerrigan house is knocking it down. No more pool room. It’s un-Australian!
Tell her she’s dreaming!
Haha to the above, but I wondered if the prize was a comment on your esteemed person, as in ‘a bit of a scrubber’. I think the Cockney reference is the one applicable, if accurate. Who knows? But an honour nevertheless.
Gee, thanks Stafford. No, it was just a happy coincidence – whoever got Bingo first would have received the award.
Gran’s bingo sessions award Freddo Frogs to the winners. Gran is very good at bingo, but doesn’t eat Freddo Frogs. Aaaaand now you know why I visit her so often.
They should give them something they’ll enjoy. Like wine gums, or barbiturates.
Or prune juice.
Hey Catty, I’m trying the polka dot cake for tomorrow. My first batch of balls weren’t really great – too flattened on top. But the second lot were nice and round and Fifi says she approved. Couldn’t find the right mould for them so I bought a silicone tray for spherical iceblocks and heat-tested it. Apart from that, a different pan, dodgy colours and a few other changes, I’m following the recipe exactly.
Good one, GB! I’d wondered if those silicone trays would work. PB’s going to love it! You’re a good grandad.
Heeheeeheeee
Brilliant.
There’s a new lady at the nursing home who is very critical and judgemental. She and her husband sit in the corner, muttering about the other residents. Sometimes their daughter visits, and mum tells the daughter to go up to the other residents and ask them questions. Recently the daughter came over and asked Gran why she wipes between the prongs of her fork before she eats. Gran scowled at her and said, “Why? Do you have a problem with it?”, and the daughter went bright red and scurried off. I had a laugh at that story when Gran told me about it. Later when I left, Gran put a little eggcup of fresh parsley on her walker because she was going to the dining area for lunch after seeing me out. (She likes parsley. I’ve warned her about getting pregnant, but she just tells me to shut up). We were walking through the lounge when the daughter marched over to Gran and asked what she had in the eggcup. Gran scowled and said, “Parsley. And I’m wearing blue undies.” She yoinked down her pants and waved her arse at the daughter before turning sideways to wave her arse at the mother. It was hilarious! Gran says they haven’t asked her a single question since. I love Gran.
Brilliant. 🙂
If someone came up to me & asked me why I was wiping down the fork I’d have said ‘To get the boogers off. Didn’t you read the orientation pamphlet?’
Hehehe. Gran’s just shown me the one downside of going commando.
(Snorts tea)
True. They’ve got a thing for using iron-on nametags on the residents’ reggies, so you’d probably have to get your name tattooed on your bum just to shut them up.
Oh yes, the iron-on name tags. Mum drove them nuts by getting me to bring up wardrobes full of clothes (that she could never wear).
LOL! Gran constantly needs labels too, but not because she has a big wardrobe. It’s because her wardrobe has a high turnover. She’s extremely minimalist and is constantly throwing things away, including her clothes. The nurses are used to seeing Gran totter out of her room in her undergarments to riffle through the bin for some item of clothing she tossed in there the day before. MIL hates it, because she keeps getting phone calls from the nursing home to say that the bins have been emptied so Gran has nothing to wear. “It’s my wedding dress all over again!”, huffs MIL. The story there is that Gran had thrown out her old dusting cloths, so she had nothing to use for cleaning. She dug MIL’s stored wedding dress out of its box, hacked it into squares and used them to do her dusting. MIL refuses to forgive her.
Wow that’s extreme. My Grandma had to cut her wedding dress up to make baby clothes fur Mum (war-time fabric rationing). Mum cut the train off hers and died it orange to make a cocktail frock. But that takes the CAEK.
Speaking of extreme cutting, I had a frantic phone call from The Gimmee yesterday. She needed me to come over and fix her hair. She said she had been trying for weeks to get the knots out but she was at her wit’s end, AND she’d discovered a few nits. It was inconvenient, as I had just discovered the guinea pig has piggy lice and I needed to go to the pet shop for mange spray.
I agreed to go there after I’d dealt with piggy. The poor little pig has a bald spot from the lice so I wanted to deal with that asap. While I was out getting spray, I picked up some supplies (conditioner, nit shampoo, de-tangling brush, K-mart’s excellent Decadent cookies) for The Gimmee. I dropped the spray off for The Boss and MK to use, then headed off to tend to my infested Firstborn. Oh. My. God. The Horror! You can’t imagine how bad her hair was. Years of bleaching, dyeing and stripping, combined with a lack of maintenance and hygiene, had left her hair looking like a Barbie doll’s head after a rottweiler has played with it. Even her housemate with dredds was horrified.
After an hour of fruitless attempts to detangle, The Gimmee had a meltdown and demanded that we (Garden Gnome was there) shave her head. I thought we might be able to salvage enough of her hair to manage a lesbian cut, but reminded her of the rare and unpleasant occasions when I had attempted to give her and her siblings haircuts in the past. Let’s just say it’s not in my skillset. I told her that if I hacked off her giant, unruly dredd, she would need to go straight to a hairdresser after the nit treatment, to get her hair styled. Gnome held her tight and assured her he didn’t love her just for her hair and I bit my lip so that I didn’t say, “no, he loves you for the filthy sex”, because the poor girl was already a mess. (See? I DO care!) Off came the hair. I did the hacking while The Gimmee sobbed into a box of chicken nuggets. Then I did the lice treatment. Again, Oh. My. God. I have never in my life seen so many lice! There were several thousand. I am not exaggerating – the horrid little things were clumping in the lice comb. It was terrifying, and I was so glad I’d put my hair up and was wearing a hoodie. And gloves. I shudder to think how many lice were in the hair I’d hacked off, if there were that many in the little hair she had left on her head.
I tried to check for nits, but the poor Gimmee’s scalp was covered in sores and huge chunks of scabby flakes. Geez, and I thought the piggy had mange! While this was going on, Garden Gnome surfed the internet for nearby hairdressers, but everything shuts at 4 on a Sunday and it was well past that. So I cleaned up the bathroom while the shorn Gimmee sobbed in Gnome’s arms, and he promised to pay for a haircut and colour as soon as the hairdressers opened in the morning. I warned against a colour – it was colouring that wrecked her hair, and her scalp is in no condition to handle any more chemical attacks. Then I demanded coffee, Decadent cookies and cigarettes.
Oh. My. God. (I’m saying that a lot, aren’t I?) You’d think I’d asked her to sacrifice a goat to me! She huffed and pouted, then eventually, and reluctantly, made me a coffee. But then she hid the box of cookies in a cupboard and held her hand out for my smokes. I didn’t expect (or get) an offer to pay for the expensive lice shampoo I’d brought, nor was I surprised that she didn’t even offer me one of her chicken nuggets (I would have refused anyway, they had snot and tears all over them). I wasn’t even surprised that she botted my durries. But I brought the biscuits to share, and for her to be so affronted that I would ask for one (after what I had just endured) really got to me. I have no idea why, as I’m not normally like that, but I felt like I was being used. It just seemed beyond rude. I left before she could bot any more durries.
When I got home several hours later, I asked how they’d gone with the mange spray. They hadn’t gotten around to it yet. So I had to do it. Despite the biting and scratching, it was much easier than treating The Gimmee.
These things always come in threes. Who is next?
Oh Catty! You poor thing. I was going to say that my scalp was a bit itchy but I haven’t the heart to tease.
Thank you GB. Your compassion is appreciated. When I take over the world, I will instruct my zombie minions to spare you. It’s the least I can do.
Oh dear Lord, noooo and why?
Does she lack the normal human scalp-al itch receptors? How in the hell could she cope with such a severe infestation? On the unfortunate occasion when I’ve picked up one or two from some feral child or other, I’ve found it unbearable until I treated, In fact I’ve treated often and not been able to find one of the little buggers on the comb.
I’ll never recover from reading that story … also, why did you not treat The Gnome, too?!
Also, that ungrateful child would never get another biscuit from me.
Maybe the Gnome could be treated with a flame-thrower?
Plus side, I’ve thought of a new get-rich-quick scheme for us. Clearly there’s a market for a nit-treatment that doses every member of a feral household in the same way that you’d treat a plague of Fleas.
I give you…drum roll, Ta Da…The Feral Nit Bomb.
There’s only one way to be sure, whether it’s nits or Gnomes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbLuREXVeag
The dredded housemate treated himself by dousing his hair in Vodka, and didn’t wash it out. He doesn’t have nits, so it must have worked.
Sounds like a serious substance abuse problem to me, Catty. WTF is she on, that she can live like that?
Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy???!!!
I have theories about how and why The Gimmee lives like that, but there’s no real way of knowing for sure. Birth trauma? Inherited narcissism? Mental illness? Nobody knows, and I doubt anyone ever would. The Gnome said he had treated himself for lice the day before, so that was o.k. I strongly suspect that my advice to treat her bedding was studiously ignored, too, so she’ll be swarming with lice again in a week. I’ll have a sneaky squiz when she comes over for her birthday later this week. Yeah, I’m expected to give her money and CAEK, as well as cook her a nice meal. How fun! *rolls eyes*
That’s motherhood for you. The fun’s never done.
I used to gently chide my mother for worrying so much about us. We were happy, the kids were healthy, we both had steady jobs. Then came Jen’s epilepsy, the depression x 5, the broken relationships x 3 (and horribly x 2 more), lovely people dying too young etc, etc. Your kids are always your kids, even when they’re going grey or have kids of their own. And you never, ever get to stop worrying about them.
Well, I guess that depends on who your mother is. But yes, the nit incident is merely the latest in a long string of times I’ve knowingly let her con me and use me because I love her and want to look after her. It’s often exasperating, but I rarely get upset about it. I’m surprised I was upset this time, and I’m sure I’ll get over it before the next desperate plea for help. And it does make a cool horror story. “Night Of The Living Lice.” You’ll gasp! You’ll scream! You’ll scritch!
I haven’t stopped scritching since I read it. i found it more disturbing than the Blood Eagle episode of Vikings.
Catty, some day she’s going to look back on how selfish and unpleasant she’s been to you, and feel bad. Probably. Unless she really is a malignant narcissist (father’s side), in which case it will be all your fault forever. Sadly, once we feel them kick inside us and we smell their soft little heads they have a hold on us that not even death can unclench. You are so very good to that wretched child. Don’t feel bad that for once you acted and felt like a person who might deserve to be treated with, you know, respect.
Um, MM, if you reword that paragraph it sounds just like that thing that abused women tell themselves about bad men.
My experience dealing with the disordered & the addicted is that they don’t change, eventually you burn out & can’t do it any more, and that’s the point where they fly into a rage & tell everyone they know how mean you are.
This is what a qualified support group will teach you – you can’t expect them to change via Disney Myths & the ‘if only I love you enough’ magic wand – you have to change what you’re doing, and work out a contract with them that if X is unacceptable, then you aren’t going to accommodate it.
Otherwise you’re just heading for burnout.
Sad fact of the matter, unfortunately.
I do worry about that. *scritchscritch*Her father was the poster boy for narcissism, and there’s quite a bit of it in Mother’s family too. The Gimmee is very much like my mother. *scritchscritchscritch* Meanwhile, the Boss has checked my head and although there were no nits *scritch*, there was quite a bit of cradle cap from the most recent fibromyalgia flareup after my bout of ‘flu. *scritchscritch*. Dandruff shampoo and several naps should see that clear up in no time. Oh, I love school holidays! So many naps! *scritch*
How are you coping with the school holidays, Madam? What shenanigans are your boys up to?
The mental health worker that helped me to deal with my sister said that the reason they stay stuck in the dysfunctional behaviours is because people unwittingly keep reinforcing them. It took me years to realise that I’d been trained from birth to pander to a narcissist and that was why I wound up surrounded by them as an adult.This is why I keep pestering you to do an ARAFMI course & read Melody Beattie’s ‘codependent no more’.
Just remember that you always have a choice to do as much as you are comfortable to do, and not enough to push you into feeling like they’ve walked all over you – again.
It’s a point I have to keep making to the Bloke, because his family refuse to upgrade his role from ‘doormat’ to ‘reciprocal relationship with someone we value’. And it’s why I give him a good ‘WTF, Seriously?’ every time he lapses back into it.
Spend my birthday waiting on his niece, indeed.
When I said to him ‘Um, Friday is my birthday,’ his response wasn’t ‘Oh of course, where do you want to go for lunch,’ it was in aggrieved tones of ‘oh you monster’ – ‘But she’s got an exam.’
I don’t think I’ll ever completely get the Stockholm Syndrome BS of his family out of his head.
Well, TGP has decamped to live in Brisvegas with Mum for the holidays. He likes the run of the 2-storied mansion, the inground pool, and being taken Op Shopping. Oh, and selecting his meals – he’s a big fan of potatoes cooked in duck fat.
Gigantor has gone semi-nocturnal to play on-line games with his friend from WA, but is up when I come home from work, so we chat and have dinner together, then I go to bed and he settles in for a night of gaming.
In summary I’m hanging in by a thread and only the thought of my up-coming 5 days off is enough to keep me vertical.
Your naps are enviable, Catty – are you doing anything else?
Are you getting 5 days of peace & quiet, or is the family planning to descend upon you for Easter revelry, MM?
No, not really, except for eating CAEK. I’ve been eating a lot of CAEK, thanks to MK’s insistence on baking instead of doing chores or homework. I can’t be cross with the poor girl, she’s doing her best. TGP has the right idea; it’s a pity you can’t join him for pampering and potatoes.
Q, as the saying goes, ‘You do what you gotta do’. The trick in these cases is to stop doing it when it’s done. Sometimes I forget, although these days I don’t forget anywhere near as often as I used to. You’ll probably find the Bloke remembers to step back more often than he used to, too. It is pretty crass of him to want you to abandon your birthday, though. That’s just wrong. He should be spending the day pampering you! For shame! If I were there, I’d kick him in the shins and nag some remorse into him.
Mmm … CAEK.
We are being forced to come to Easter for some revelry, but Gigantor (and me, truth be told) refuse to go for more than 24 hrs so it will be a flying visit from Saturday morning until Sunday morning. During which time we’re going to see animatronic dinos at the Museum, so it should be fun.
Mmm, dinosaurs.
It does sound like fun! We’ve been spared any festivities (beyond The Gimmee’s birthday dinner, anyway) due to the in-laws heading off for their annual Easter camping trip. The BIL’s have been avoiding us for some time, so there’s no danger of human interaction there, either. I’m planning on spending Sunday on the couch with whatever chocolate I can scam out of my poor, unsuspecting offspring. Maybe I’ll do a little knitting? Hmmm, sounds like a plan. Scam, nom, knit, nap. The perfect Easter!
You really should visit us Catty. We have a bit of a chocolate glut at the moment thanks to some idiot who can’t pass a choc shop without ducking in for a quick one.
(And I was really good and didn’t say “Scam, nom, nit, nap”. Oops)
Yeah, no.
GB, hearty kudos on the spotty cake. It was spectacular!
Catty, that sounds ideal and is about what I’ll be doing on the non-dino days.
CHOCOLATE!?!?!! I’ll be there in about five minutes, GB! But seriously, we do have to get together soon. Mayhem promised to organise a March gathering, but I haven’t heard from her for a bit. I shall have to harangue her about it.
Also, good job on the CAEK. It looked gorgeous! Was PB suitably impressed with grandad?
Oh, it’s been too long since I have smelt the glory of the Melbourne chocolate ateliers. Can I come down in winter, do you think? It would be a good chance to wear my coat.
YES, SI, OUI, JA, DA.
Don’t tell me Dr Yes is back, 99! He is? I asked you not to tell me that.
Heeheeeheee…scam nom knit nap. Perfect.
And yes, it must be a restless time of year – I was just thinking some travels would be fun. Hey, I was reading about the Titanic exhibit – where the hell is that on, Sydney? They allocate tickets according to what the actual passengers were given, so you find out at the end of the tour if you live or die. I’m undecided if I think that’s cool or creepy…might be somewhat in bad taste for the relatives, you’d think. You wouldn’t want to do it at the holocaust museum, would you?
I’m a terrible person for chuckling at that, but I don’t think it would be much of a novelty at the Holocaust Museum. Almost every poor bastard would be a dead one.
Perhaps they could rework it at the dinosaur exhibit, along with the description of how you die.
i.e. A. squashed under foot by a plus-sized herbivore or
B. Smashed into avocado pulp by a T-Rex.
I don’t know if it’s still running, but at one point there was a Titanic theatre restaurant here in Melbourne. Diners were encouraged to wear period clothing. It was on my bucket list, but the Boss isn’t one for theatre restaurants. Or any sort of restaurant. He thinks KFC at home on the couch is far better value. Usually I agree with him, but it is nice to get dressed up and let someone else do the dishes once every year or two.
The Bloke does the dishes every night, Catty, and I never have to dress up in sequins or heels to convince him to do that. Arse-kicking boots are quite adequate for the job, I find.
If it’s still going, I’ll take you Catty. Although the only period clothes I have are baggy pants (boom tish! try the sinking veal).
Here’s a tip for the waitress – put an old towel on the seat.
Heheheh and also yuck
I’d never really considered veal as an alternative to a sanitary napkin.
Perhaps I need to Get Out more. (See what I did there?)
If it was crumbed, that just might work.
Okay, okay, I’m going. Sheesh, and I haven’t even seen the dessert menu yet.
Have a Good Friday everyone. Stay hot but try not to get cross.
Thank you! Also, now I’m hungry. Bring forth the buns!
Funny how hot and cross in summer is so annoying, but in buns it’s deficits.
I love your phone.
LOLZ, met too.
This phone is funnier than i am these days.
Now now, no need to go overload. Ovenboard. Oberon….
Technology isn’t anywhere near as advanced as Hollywood promised it would be by now. I was just searching online for the lyrics to Leo Sayer’s song, “The Only Way To Travel Is To Fly”, (because I can’t for the life of me understand what he’s singing in the first verse) but do you think I could find them? No! No I couldn’t. Geez, it’s like being back in the pre-1999 dark ages or something!
We know a Sayer. Want me to ask them to ask Leo?
Please, please tell me their first name is Sooth.
I’m assuming this is another phone typo and you meant ‘Sayo’ and they’re a bit of a cracker.
Oh, Quokka, you cracker me up!
Sooth will be the next hipster baby name, when they get sick of Hunter and Dashiell.
Jatz wishing you a fabulous Easter, my Criskits Salada!
A Blessed Easter to you all!
Are you trying to butter me up?
Ryvita not?
Vita Wheat start this?
We’re poorly bread?
That, or we’re a bit dippy.
I think I was dropped butter-side down as an infant.
Mmmm… buttery infant…
Beats what they’re usually smeared with.
And their parents… “Beware the Weetbix sneeze!”.
And the dreaded Cheezel fingers.
Not to mention the Easter egg face.
Is that the triple-chin you get from too much Lindt? i have that face.
I have two of them.
What happened to all the Easter chocolate? I went to Woolies yesterday thinking I’d clear up and… nothing.
Don’t tell me this is Nature’s way of telling me to give up chocolate!
Try NQR supermarkets. They have mucho chocolate at low, low prices! I went there for something else, can’t remember what, and came home with enough delightful noms to last me until at least Saturday.
Whatever NQR is, we don’t have it. There’s an IGA in Yandina and one in Peregian, but for some reason when I’m home and the pants are off, both of those feel like a long way away.
I hear you. Even the fridge feels a long way away once my pants are off.
Testify! Someone needs to design a little bar fridge that also functions as an table by the recliner for your remotes and knitting.
Perhaps we could modify one of those robot vacuum cleaners to work as a chocolate waiter.
Genius! But they move at random. What if it gave my chocolate to the cats?
I could build one of those but honestly! Fifi had three looong phone calls yesterday and the day before which were a bit stressful. Enter Chocolate Man! I just supply leftover tiny eggs and blocks of extra-dark at regular intervals. She doesn’t even have to take her feet off the ottoman*.
(*Caution: presenceofcrankyoldgitwhodoessillythingswithtoolsmayalsohavenegativeconsequences. seekadvicebeforeallowingoneoftheseinthehouse)
Oh dear. Hugz to Fifi, stressul calls suck bigtime. Does she need a bigger trebuchet, or some fresh dog turds as amunition? The new pup is not near so good a supplier as the previous hound was, but I find plenty to spare littered on our dog walks. We walked around the perimeter of the eco-village at Currumbin yesterday & they only had roo poo & duck poo – I can see the appeal of a gated hippy village that’s free of dog & cat turds. My there’s some lovely hippy/eco-friendly houses in there. If it wasn’t for my love of selected introduced species, we’d be down there like a shot.
Huh. All I have is a Boss who keeps stealing my chips.
Is he a seagull? I hate it when that happens.
GB, i couldn’t cope with being married to anyone. But if I could, I’m sure marrying a version of you would provide one with moments of bliss, as well as bemusement and the odd annoyance.
(proportions may vary)
And brownies. Don’t forget the brownies.
Mmm… brownies. Are there any single Cadbury’s?
If you’re going with singles, it’s Lindt balls all the way. I particularly like the salted caramel ones.
Ah’m knackered. Eating chocolate right now just to get the energy to go to bed. I just hope these kids remember how much fun they had when they get older.
Did you record it on a flash drive? Because human memory doesn’t really kick in till after 4 or 6. What they will remember is their sense of who you are, Khan GB. And don’t tell Spanner I said so, but Madame is right, your family have a good one.
Agreed. They won’t remember the details, but they’ll love you as much as i loved my maternal grandparents. Which was, without end.
You guys are the best. And yep, some of it is on video or pics and with any luck I’ll last long enough for proper memories.
GB, I hate to see you struggling alone through your plethora of chocolate, you poor love. If Mayhem doesn’t set a date for a catchup soon, I may have to invite myself over to your place for an hour or two of inane chatting and indiscriminate nomming.
Awww thanks Catty. There’s just soo much chocolate here, and coffee and stuff. It would be a kindness to dispose of some of it thoughtfully. We should find a Boss & kid free time?
The innocence of a small boy. https://www.dropbox.com/s/lh6z4rrrshoz6l2/Hamish%20innocent.jpg?dl=0
When did he go from baby to little boy? I’d be outraged if he wasn’t still so adorable.
His serious “yes pease” and “no sank you” are devastating. Took him for a walk while PB was at kindy and passed a couple of tradies having coffee. He waved and said hello and one offered to high 5 him, which he did enthusiastically. They were grinning from ear to ear. Like Q’s somersaulting pup, makes people smile.
That picture totally deserves to become a meme. I’m sorely tempted to caption it.
The Terrible Torment of the old guy. https://www.dropbox.com/s/hba4vhj5281bs2f/PB%20scruffing%20GD.jpg?dl=0
You get him, girlfriend.
Are you deliberately going for the Pratchett look, or is that just a coincidence?
Purely coincidence (may have won a prize for best Pratchett costume at Hogswatch fair)
Now I feel sad about there being no more Discworld novels. Hey, GB, you can write; how about a bit of fanfic?
Yes, please! You could write the story of a gnarled old wizard beset by fiendish pixies.
Write what you know.
(sad face) (also giggles)
A gnarled old wizard who bakes dwarf bread. Mmm… dwarf bread…
Are you threatening to grind my bones to make your bread?
We prefer “short- statured “.
Or in my case “fun-sized”.
Hehehe. Travel edition.
Good things come in small packages.
With one outstanding exception.
Absolutely. Beds do indeed come in very large packages. I love bed. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
That too.
What, there’s something else?
Nothing compares 2 bed
Testify.
Doona, cat, cup of tea. Listening to the birds starting up for the day outside.
Bewdiful.
The birds and the dawn are all well and good, but there’s not enough rain for my liking.
I’d send you some of ours if I could. It’s been pouring all night and the yard looks like a swamp. I’ve told the kidlets not to answer any knocks on the door, because it might be Shrek.
ahahahahaha you velly funny lady.
Or the Creature From The Black Lagoon
“It’s big and it’s black and it’s furry and I be afraid of it!”
I think that’s a Primus song.
No, no, the beaver was brown!
I just went and listened to it. I couldn’t help myself.
I didn’t even know beavers ate tacos. But I did know hamsters eat burritos:
tiny hamster eating tiny burrito
Curse you! Now I want to make tiny lettuce wraps for the G Pigs.
I know what our piggie is having for lunch. Poo. She is having poo. I am so sick of giving that little pest treats only to have her ignore them and eat her own waste instead.
Gosh, all our’s do is GENERATE poo. Between that and the spilled seed, the front lawn is lavish.
We have wobbly poo on our lawn & KIng Parrot crap all over the balcony & I couldn’t be happier about it.
While I was out at Dog School this morning, Chris the fencer came & set up a hole in our fence so that he can hang a gate there tomorrow. So I’ll be able to take Honey Pup out through the fire break for walkies, and we can avoid going past Wendy’s & the Mayor’s when they are home & in one of their bizarre Now We Are Twelve moods.
Huzzah for Chris!
(We can’t say his name without doing it the South Park way.)
Well, that’s fabulous news. The less exposure you have to people, the better you will be.
Or is that just me?
It means much less hill to struggle up (and that’s including the extreme grade on our driveway) & quicker & easier access to the dog park. And yes, straight up the fire break & through the sneaky back route into all of the good walking tracks.
A gate up there was always part of the privacy plan. Wendy & the Mayor are the only neighbours who hang around out the front of their property but even if it is nice neighbours, some days I just want to go out with my dog – I don’t want to have to stop & do the hello how are you crap.
Yes, I know what you mean. On a bad day it can take me 30 minutes to get to the end of my street. I wonder if Gigantor can build ME a back gate, onto the easement?
Yep. If I’m out with the dog it’s because I want to walk my dog, not talk to random people about random crap. Coop is another child-magnet, too, so it’s going to be hard to get past them without ‘Can we cuddle your dog?’ Very sweet & great for his socialisation but some days that is beyond the bounds of mine.
No argument on the Jean Paul Sartre sentiments from me. Sometimes I wonder why I even need doors on my house. Then I run out of CAEK and I remember.
Mmm, cake. I made pineapple & coconut slice from the CWA ‘classics’ book on ANZAC day, and it was awesome. I never really got into slices as a kid, my grandmother didn’t make them. Lots of the mums in the neighbourhood did, and the date one with the top & bottom layers of pastry was always my favourite. I must try that, one day.
Meanwhile we have both woken up with added happiness knowing that we’ve got an escape route from unwelcome conversation, out onto the fire break.
Ooh, speaking of the CWA, can you please all the ladies for a recipe fur custard tart pastry, Q?
Mum’s got the filing down pat butnot quite right on the pastry. I think there’s a bit of custard powder in there but what would i know.
Catty any input?
The Common Sense Cookery book does call for custard powder, but I’ve found my pastry works better by using icing sugar instead of caster sugar – then, once the pastry is kneaded, I knead it for a few more minutes. Yeah, I know they say don’t overwork your flour, but it works for me. The resting part is essential, it must rest for at least an hour. You’ll probably be cross at me for this, but I prefer to make it with margarine instead of butter. I just find my pastry, and my bikkies, are more stable with Fairy.
I won’t tell Mum about the margarine. It will shock her to the core. But i will let her know about the icing sugar. Thanks@
Hmm. I’ll try to remember but I might need a reminder, as I’ve got an essay due next week.
Tell her to get the Mary Berry Baking Bible out of the council library & see if there’s a pastry in there that she likes the look of. Otherwise I’d try Nigella’s ‘how to eat’.
Yes, and yes. Mary Berry’s stuff is brilliant, but I get frustrated because my book has the measurements in oz instead of g. I hate mathing. And Nigella, well she’s just awesome, even if she is a coke head.
I have a set of digital cooking scales that converts everything, and then I take notes in my recipe books – because I like to use grams for most recipes, too.
The Mary Berry book has several tart recipes that all have different pastry recipes. The pastry base for my pineapple tart would be awesome with a custard tart: 1 cup SR flour, 1/2 cup sugar, 1/2 cup dessicated coconut, 125g butter, melted. Sift flour & sugar, combine ingredients, mix, press into baking dish, bake at 180C for 10 mins.
It has a pineapple custard topping that you pour over it, and then it gets cooked for another 30 minutes, in which time the biscuit base goes deliciously golden & crunchy. Not your traditional custard tart base but I think it would be awesome with a coconut custard tart based on coconut milk & cardamon pods. But that’s me & I like Asian flavours & I’m not much of a fan of traditional custard tart.
That does sound delish. Thanks I might give that one a go myself. I forgot about Mary Berry. Actually it’s Mothers Day soon I might give her a copy. Great idea Q!
Mothers Day already? That explains all the drawer liners and fluffy slippers at Coals yesterday.
I’f i ever line my drawers, fire at will.
If only TGP and Gigantor could be persuaded to get you some nice lavender-scented ones…
Khan Greybeard, strive to remember that your presence here Depends entirely on our benevolence.
“Benevolence”? I’m doomed.
Why? What did Will ever do to you?
I have a cousin by that name so in the words of Paul Kelly, Don’t Start Me Talking.
The Mary Berry Baking Bible is senfriggingsational and it is my most-used baking book. I’ve had lots of her books out of the library at some point or other & that is definitely the one you want to buy.
Other than that, I stopped in at Boardwalk Books at Kingscliff on my dog walk the other day & purchased the Enid Blyton classic ‘Five Forget Mother’s Day’. I cackled all the way through it & then the Bloke picked it up & started chortling. I’ve ordered the rest of them from the library & now that he’s hooked, he can’t wait to read ‘Five on Brexit Island’ on the way home on the train.
Sounds like fun! And if he wants to share the lols with his fellow passengers, Dr Seuss’s Brexit is good for reading aloud:
I do not like Germany, I do not like Spain.
France and Italy both hurt my brain.
Finland and Sweden, they get on my tit,
And I don’t like Croatia, not one little bit.
Slovenia, Slovakia, Austria, Portugal,
I hate them a lot, I hate them all.
I will not, will not, stay in the EU.
I want to leave, I really do!
It’s pretty funny that they want to leave the EU but hang onto the head offices of the Euro doctors and Euro bankers.
Yeah nah not how that works.
What ho, chaps, the Union wants to take their money with them when we boot them out! The Blighters!
Fire the canons!
Don’t stop there! Fire the Bishops and the Deacons! Fire them all!
Once more into the breach!
Speaking of firing the deacons, is anyone else watching The young Pope on SBS? It’s fascinating.
You love men in dresses, don’t you Madam?
Is his toilet brush as good as the Nambour Queens’?
See for yourself.
http://thatthebonesyouhavecrushedmaythrill.blogspot.com.au/2014/12/lavatory-of-bling.html
Hmm. That might be a good gift for my sister, come Christmas.
And yes. Yes, I do love a man in a dress.
Brace yourselves Melbourne – I’m coming down! Last week in June, from the weekend of 25th till maybe the Wednesday? Huzzah!
WOOOOOOT! I’m so excited! But damn, girl, you is gonna freeeeeeeeze!
Oh that is fabulous news. You’ll have to eat some cake and some pizza for me, and take lots of photos. Are you going to visit Mornington this time?
The CAEK is a given, but I’ll be mostly urban again i think. I want to spend most of one day at the Van Gogh exhibition – that’s the provocation for the visit
Bring on the lard and keep your kidneys covered I’m going to freeze for Art
Yes, you simply must see Van Gogh before it’s Van Gone.
Arrrrles!
You can’t make me. *pout*
We’ll’ have caek in a NIght Cafe and call it quits.
Van Gogh’s o.k, but I’m not going anywhere with Gauguin He could talk a man’s ear off, that one.
Hope you like the new sign over the door.
“Enter freely and of your own free vill.”
I think it’s much cheerier than the Dante- themed sign it replaces.
Oh don’t mention Dante’s dwelling. It just reminds me I need to visit his Swedish furniture outlet, soon.
Ugh. Bugger that. Sit on the floor and save yourself the aggro.
That rotten Spanner (on Twitter) said that I deserved to have to go to Ikea every day, for the rest of my life. Now that’s just cruel.
Apply for a job there. Why be the tortured if you can be the turturer?
He devises the best punishments. No wonder they’ve got him working for the council.
I’d appealed for sympathy for going clothes shopping with PB, solo. Pfft. We had fun, just like with the girls when they were young. She chose a spotty, fluffy dressing gown with a hood and ears after carefully considering one with foxes (she likes foxes). We looked at quite a few other things too but she thought not. Not a “want, want, want” sort of kid at all. Except for my pancakes.
I want want want pancakes too. But that may just be because I haven’t had breakfast yet.
Mmm….pancakes.
GB if you want a fox, too easy. You just need to head up into the new estate after 9pm with the Winchester. If you’re a good shot you’ll bag a few bunnies for a nice stew, too.
The first house up in the new estate is almost finished & the new owners are moving in on the weekend – I met them the other day when we were out with Dog. She seems like a lot of fun. Cuzzy Bro girl, by the looks of her. Nice to see the Unzud Folk cashed up & moving into the really nobby bit of Pleasantville.
We get a few bogans hanging round up there with their trail bikes, and a nastier crew that go up there to hoon & do meth. They wouldn’t want to cross sista-girl, not unless they want all of her cousins lying in wait for them to show them what’s what.
Pancakes! Will you please make me pancakes when I come to stay, GB?
I want to see a picture of the new dressing gown, too.
Q, that seems to have gone up quickly. Or am I just having age-related time acceleration? No-one answer that.
You can have pancakes anytime Madam, all you have to do is click your heels together and say “There’s no cook like Gnome”.
And here’s the gown. That book isn’t Dr Seuss, it’s Snakes of Australia. https://www.dropbox.com/s/meyzxm4p95nmc7m/Spotty%20gown.jpg?dl=0
And we found (or Sandy did) a huge second-hand, antiquey kind of place. Just don’t tell Catty or the family will never see her again. It has a coffee and cake shop in it…
And you’ll take me there when I come down?
Of course!
For some reason, all I can think of now is a House of Pancakes. Don’t open one, GB, or the three of us will probably move in and freeload off you until the bank forecloses.
They started just before Wendy’s pool, and six months is about standard time in a new build for that kind of home. I’m ever so pleased that we’ll have people up there soon. They’ve got a fabulous sniper position on the second floor for anyone who might want to target meth-hoons with a slingshot and a marble…
Boil the oil! Grease the trebuchet! There’s a smitin’ a-comin’!
There’s a toy shop at Olinda with a great trebuchet. Handy for the post-apocalypse.
Trebuchet, you say? Maybe that’s what I can use to dissuade this adolescent scrub turkey who’s hanging around. The bloody dog won’t chase him. As far as I can tell she’s scared of him.
Sooooooo… roast turkey for dinner?
The neighbour’s chickens have over-run my front yard & the turkeys can’t get a look-in. A marvelous change from Toad Park, really. Speaking of which, we just heard a grumble from the tenants that they want to drain the pool for winter, so that they don’t have to look after it.
Seriously? It’s an indoor pool FFS. The filter box needs to be cleaned once a week & the pool itself needs vacuuming once a month. All of which is done by the pool service guy who shows up every four weeks to do so, and to adjust the chemicals. 17000 litres of water that they would flush down the drain, just so that they don’t have to trouble themselves with the pressing burden of pool maintenance. Thankfully the agent told them it’s not going to happen & that draining a pool causes the structure to crack & they’d be liable for damages. So that calmed them down. Apparently that’s what they do in Europe – they drain pools during winter. I’d say that’s because they freeze & that’d crack the shell.
Anyway…they’ve been really good tenants, but I do wonder if the novelty of having the pool & the spa has worn off. Most people get sick of it within two years – gospel from the Book of Pool Maintenance companies, so they tell me.
Wow. Our pool needs far more maintenance than that! It needs to be vacuumed about three times a week in winter, daily in summer, and the filter box needs cleaning every second day in winter and 2 – 3 times a day in summer. Chemicals are required about twice a week. In recent years, the Boss has taken to leaving the pool for the ducks every winter, then he spends two weeks in spring getting it clean again with chemicals and repeated vacuuming to disperse the duck shit.
The main problem is a massive gum tree on the nature reserve behind our back fence. It drops branches and leaves constantly, and over spring and summer it coats everything in yellow pollen that is harder to clean up than talc. The leaves clog the filter, discolour the water, and stain the pool walls. The pollen also clogs the filter, as well as the creepy crawly. We have begged the council to get rid of the tree. It has dropped large branches capable of killing someone if it fell on them, and capable of smashing in the Boss’s shed roof (which it’s done twice – we even had to take away the kidlets’ swing set because of the danger). It overhangs our washing line, so the birds that roost in it crap all over my washing. And worst of all, the tree’s roots are pushing up the paving bricks and will soon crack the cement walls of the pool. But they have refused point blank to take down the tree. When the roots blocked the pipe junction into the sewage mains late last year, we asked for reimbursement for plumbing costs from the council, but we were told that just because it’s their tree on their land blocking pipes on their land, it’s not automatically their fault. Sure enough, when we got their response (a couple of weeks ago) they said the claim was denied because 1 – tree roots don’t seek water, and 2 – it’s our own responsibility to maintain the pipes so that they don’t leak and attract tree roots. Ah, Council logic. You gotta love it!
Council and Centrelink. You’re guilty until you’re proved innocent, and even then you’re still guilty.
Q at least you’ve got a good REA.
I suspect he’s motivated by the knowledge that when it comes time to sell it, he’ll want to cash in on the 8% price increase the suburb has every year. Ergo, it is in his interests to keep it all in good working order for a quick & profitable sale.
What can I say, Catty – that sucks, and it’s time to move.
“Good” REA. Nope, can’t say I’ve ever come across this strange and rare animal.
We had a call from an agent yesterday. He had an OFI on a house that he can’t shift. The house and granny flat are on a large property, and they’re currently rented out with a lease that doesn’t expire until December. They’re 50’s style fibro boxes selling for $600K+ and the Boss’s first reaction was NOPE! It was also his second reaction. And his third.
I agreed that the houses weren’t too flash, but they could easily be tarted up with cosmetic renovations. At that price we’d have the cash for it, too. And as I pointed out to the Boss, going to the OFI would be a good way to curry favour with the one agent who has bothered to contact us with an actual property instead of the usual requests to sell our home. But the Boss was adamant, so we stayed home.
Speaking of adam ant, did you know he’s touring Australia in October? Tickets are on sale now. Get in quick!
Apparently this place is for sale so we’re going up to Olinda to have a look this afternoon. https://www.dropbox.com/s/y3g6azjubdkpfwz/Ashampoo_Snap_2017.05.07_10h05m18s_001_.png?dl=0
Not with the intention of buying it you understand. https://www.dropbox.com/s/mu4yqe0xd6c5xkc/Ashampoo_Snap_2017.05.07_10h06m58s_003_.png?dl=0
But it is rather nice. https://www.dropbox.com/s/aop7c6ndvq0xyox/Ashampoo_Snap_2017.05.07_10h06m15s_002_.png?dl=0
And they’re selling some of the furniture! We may have bought a 1920’s Deco couch which we’re picking up and taking the chance for a poke around.
wow, it’s straight out of Miss Fisher.
Is there a real estate johnny type link?
I’m with your hubby, Catty – too much hard work. It’d just drive you nuts nagging him to do it.
True. I could always go and look at the Olinda place, but ‘somebody’ didn’t post the address. Cutting out the competition, hey GB? Oh, well, not to worry. If you buy it, we’d happily take your current home off your hands. You’d take payment in brownies, yeah?
yeah I looked on line but it must be a new listing with an agent that hasn’t made it to google search yet. Noice!
http://www.realestate.com.au/property-house-qld-reedy+creek-125271062
You could’ve bought this one, Catty, if you were quick about it.
oops. Fletcher’s sold it but I can only find a FB address. https://www.facebook.com/fletchersyarraranges/photos/pcb.1768499036524120/1768496966524327/?type=3
And this… http://www.onthehouse.com.au/19069517/487_mount_dandenong_tourist_rd_olinda_vic_3788
And this… http://www.ebay.com.au/itm/Antique-Couch-/182546339616?hash=item2a809c1720%3Ag%3AEg0AAOSw32lYxeNk&nma=true&si=vrN3jf9aVBnJrIHJAUF81nRy6Qw%253D&orig_cvip=true&rt=nc&_trksid=p2047675.l2557
Pretty. And big. I was looking at the pictures and thinking how daunting it would be keeping the floors clean. Ugh!
Wow, and more wows. Not that I’d want to live in it – you know my ascetic minimalist requirements – but I do love to look at that stuff & admire.
How’s the furniture collection, GB?
Wow, what a gorgeous house! I agree though – far too many nooks and crannies to clean. Or in my case, not clean until they have developed micro ecosystems.
Yep. I’d prefer crooks and nannies.
Ditch the micro. Think big!
This is our new couch. I was nervous about buying it sight unsat (bottom untouched? nah) but it’s quite comfy. https://www.dropbox.com/s/metsw82igf77bie/Ashampoo_Snap_2017.05.07_17h27m27s_007_.png?dl=0
We’ve bid on an old mahogany chest of drawers too. Must be mad.
Very nice, until I spill my hot chocolate on it.
You really don’t want me as a house guest, trust me.
“Do sit here Q. Yes, the plastic chair.”
Which makes me wonder which chair you’d put spanner & his cat in.
The metal one with all the wires and cables.
Oooh, it’s a lovely shape. Do you have room for much more furniture, though?
Nope. But there’s an old leather couch in the front room we bought when we were first married and it’s a bit worn (no comments please). As in cracked, flaky and been through the flood (nope, still no comments) so it will either go to the bar or the mancave and the “new” one will take its place (and no, this is not a metaphor).
That’s what all the metaphorical people say.
No comments… you’re no fun, GB. I had some corkers lined up.
Sigh. It’s no use. I can’t leave you disappointed.
There’s a lot you can do with cracked and flaky.
Indeed there is.
Yes I’m sure I’ve seen some recipes that call for that in my Potions 101 handbook.
Now i want a Portuguese custard tart. Mmm … flaky.
GB doesn’t meet the Portugese or the custard requirements.
Heeyyy!
He could have stacks of Portugese ancestors, for all we know.
Would they be Portugeese?
You’re right. I stand corrected.
Oh, don’t stand when you can lounge. Quick, grab the chaise while the Wildebeest is doing Pilates.
Is that what he’s doing? I thought I was going to have to take him to the vet again.
Oh, I have eaten so much cake you can’t imagine.
After the cake judging we had a seminar on cupcake decorating from a visiting Cakologist & then we set upon eating the cakes from our comp.
So sugar crazed, right now.
I’ll have to post pix later, or maybe tomorrow.
Oh, yes! Who won, and what was the top decorating tip?
We want CAEK Pr0n! We want CAEK Pr0n!
Mum says you should have a rota “This month, we’ll eat Mrs Jones’s cake.”
I think she’s been on Dad’s crazy no-sugar diet for far too long.
hahahaha. Which reminds me, I asked about custard powder pastry & the consensus is that it’s a bit yuck. But it you want to try it, just substitute some of the flour for custard powder.
I’ll get to the photos later today, after I’ve vacuumed & made dinner. Maybe.
One thing I used to do years ago was replace 1/2 cup of the flour with instant milk powder in scones, pastry and shortbread. It gave a slightly creamier flavour that I was fond of. I should start doing that again.
The shortbreads weren’t anywhere near as good as your mother’s, MM. then again, they have to be made in the round, in triangles with a fork pattern pressed into the edge & fork prong marks in neat little circles in each triangle.
I much prefer your mother’s.
I still haven’t tried that recipe, I must get onto it at some point.
Thanks Q. I’ve instructed her to search the BCC libraries for Mary Berry.
Mmm … I do enjoy slightly creamy. I don’t think we’d adulterate Grandma’s shortbread recipe, but I might fling some in my next scones.
I just made 14 pancakes when we got back from the park. I had 3, Lyn had 3. That leaves a well-stuffed child with wet boots and dirty knees.
That’s impressive, Gigantor’level pancake eating.
I’m still trying to work out how a child can get wet boots and dirty knees from eating GB’s pancakes.
Clearly you have never completed the Outward Bound Adventure Pancake course.
Why do I picture this story ending with ‘And then she had gastric band surgery and they all lived happily ever after?’
Must be still recovering from the carbohydrate loading at the CWA cake comp & decorating day.
That’s a bit harsh. Carbs always speak highly of you.
You’re mixing that up with the high-pitched squeak of terror when they see me open my mouth & salivate over the raised fork.
Feed me, Seymour! Feed me CAEK! Feed me fresh CAEK!
On topic, TGP (yes, the boy with no discernible body fat) is on a “salad fast”. Luckily, I love salad!
Pfft. As if. He’s just found fresh new ways to torture you.
Doesn’t he know that fast food is really bad for you?
Not all fast food. Rabbit, kangaroo, hare – all good sources of lean protein and iron.
Ewwww! Can we just skip straight to dessert, please?
It’s been posted at my blog. Virtual cupcakes for all.
Agent Orange cupcakes! Mmmm… my favourite!
You only say that because you haven’t tried the Yellow Fever batch.
Can I have both? Pleeeeeeeease?
I want some dark red ones. Like a sports car, red makes me go faster.
It’s fascinating how red does that. Anyone who doesn’t believe it has obviously never fed red jelly to a toddler.
Anyone who refuses to believe that should be left alone in a locked room with a toddler who has just been fed red jelly.
We went to MIL’s yesterday, and she had put red jelly on the cheesecake. I’d like to report that the kidlets were running rampant afterwards, but I was too busy tearing around the house myself to notice what the kidlets were doing.
When I was driving up and down to Northern NSW, I used to find a big red drink more effective for keeping me alert than coffee.
Also, mmmm … cheesecake.
Yes, I am particularly fond of MIL’s cheesecake. I’m going over there with the kidlets after school pickup to help her finish up the leftovers.
It’s the only decent thing to do.
It is done. I was feeling especially altruistic, so I also finished off the strawberry sponge CAEK leftovers.
Saint Catty of the Leftovers.
Yummo.
I had a bag of jelly beans for breakfast, because we had to rush to drive to Brisbane early this am & I missed my bowl of cereal.
While the car was in getting new rollerskates I amused myself in Avid & when I left, I asked the staff if they’d like to take my jellybeans off my hands.
They seemed pleased with this & if they were shocked that I’d had jelly beans in lieu of muesli for breakfast they didn’t say so. They are all writerly types, after all, and I did point out the healthfulness of my choice by pointing to the packet & saying ‘Well it said it’s a fruit bowl so that seemed like a reasonable breakfast choice to me’.
I couldn’t fault that logic, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
I wish I still had them, the house is a tip & I have to hoof into it to clean up before I go off to coffee with the CWA ladies.
Some happy news yesterday – I left puppy at daycare with our dog & cat boarding school friends at Logan (he’s still not ready to be left alone all day & I want him to have a slow i& pleasant ntro to boarding school so he doesn’t freak out with abandonment issues when we go on hols) & Ian was on duty. Ian is an animal trainer with two papillons of his own at home & he greeted me with ‘So what did you adopt? Oh wow, another papillon.’
The owners used to breed, show & judge paps, so these guys know them well. The verdict is that Coop is a papillon with mutant ears & the RSPCA are clueless to have said he’s a pomeranian-chihuahua cross.
So we have another pap, but a rescue one.
He probably got rejected by a breeder for having Pomeranian ears. No complaints from me as it was a pain in the butt keeping Riley’s fringing in order.
🙂
Constant loving care, good food (i.e, dropped jelly beans), holidays in a resort… forget the Pap, Q. Adopt me!
Huzzah for the mutant!
I had black coffee for breakfast. A few jelly beans would have improved it enormously.
I made Strombolis last night and when I went looking for the leftovers for breakfast, Fifi had frozen them!
Riley has made me very pro-papillon so hurrah for Coop.
Oh, the humanity!
Wasn’t there a Lord Stromboli in one of Nancy Mitford’s books?
I know it’s a volcano. It’s also a calzone, pretty much, I think.
Oh no no no! You can’t freeze Stromboli. It must be made and eaten fresh. Naughty Fifi!
We couldn’t finish it, but you’re right. She’s very naughty.
Now all I want is rolled up pizza.
Cheese! Deep fried & of the gooey French variety, in honour of discovering that we are harbouring yet another cheese-eating surrender monkey.
God must love cheese-eating surrender monkeys, for lo He made many of them.
You’re just Seine that.
yeah too early to be clever. I’ve got nothing. Unless you count a strange longing for croquembouche.
Whenever I hear that word, I think of frogs in a hedge.
Hehehe. I see what you did there.
Q, that is a strange longing. Do you think, after all these years, you have a hankering to get hitched?
No, but it seems strange to me that anyone should think they need to get married to eat a large cake.
It’s just been too long since I stopped in at the bakery at Currumbin Waters. She does caramel & chocolate choux puffs that are out of this world.
There are only two reasons for Quokka to get hitched. One would be so that she could show off her exemplary cake decorating skills on the wedding cake. The other reason is best not spoken of, without first obtaining the antidotal incantation.
I don’t do weddings. I prefer funerals. As I’ve said to all my girlfriends who implore me to join me on their hen’s nights, call me when you’re dead.
And the chance for a dwarf-porn badger-burrow Indian wedding dress. Anyone else remember that summer, or did I just have a stroke?
If you did, I had it with you. I vaguely recall some nonsensical such thing that we brewed up here in the cauldron of ill-formed ideas.
I prefer funerals too. You don’t get prayer cards at hen’s nights.
With you on that. Nobody ever has a cash bar at a Wake.
Or a money tree. Although I think my uncle (the doctor) that died of the death sticks did ask for donations to the cancer research society because he was buggered if he knew how he wound up with lung cancer.
It’s a mystery, all right. Hopefully all the donated money helped them to work it out.
Hehehehehehe.
Money always helps to smarten up the pathologically stupid, Catty.
I once read that of all the professions, nurses have the highest % of smokers. You’d think they of all people would know better.
Maybe they’ve seen enough of nursing homes so they prefer to die resonably young?
chronic anxiety and stress from dealing with all the arseholes in admin.
I can’t imagine there would be proportionately more arseholes in admin than in the rest of the world. I’ve seen social media. Arsehole levels have reached full saturation everywhere.
Good news for Quilton. Bad news for the few of us left who have to deal with the bastards.
Fully agree. I was out shopping earlier, and was making my way to a checkout when a little old lady with a walker decided to change lanes. As I reached out to put my 4 items on the end of the conveyor belt, she rammed me with her walker and made me drop everything. While I was picking them up, she pushed past me and crowed “I WON!” as she beckoned her friend with a full trolley to come over. The two old bitches stood there cackling at me until I couldn’t stand it any more and moved to the checkout they’d vacated. That’s when I saw why they’d moved. The lady being served had bought about ten million (well, maybe not quite that many) noodle bowls, and the checkout chick was carefully wrapping each one individually in newspaper. By the time I left the supermarket, the old bitches were at the bus stop and I was desperately hoping that their shopping bags would split and spill the contents under the bus wheels. No such luck. All the younger people were fussing and offering to carry their bags for them, even when they spotted me walking past and started cackling again. #Role models. Seriously. If I can’t attain such lofty levels of cantankerousness in my dotage, I’d rather die young.
From my observations of Mother and her Cronies, it comes naturally. i wouldn’t be concerned. What nasty old women, though. Save your booboos and I’ll kiss them better. Just over a month and I’ll be down!
They were in the library at Elanora this morning. Foul creatures, being aggressively rude & disrespectful to any and all who crossed their paths.
Urk.
Is there some sort of Chrone Convergence going on – and if so why weren’t we invited?
Indeed, I could have made cake!
No invitations until we get mobility weapons… uh, I mean, aids.
Hehehe. i could use a good walker. For a couple of days my knee was aching. I’ve got an old injury so that’s not uncommon. Then my ankles started hurting and I thought, ‘I’m old, and falling apart”. Now my thumbs and elbows ache and I’m thinking, “Ross River? WTF?”
Nope! RRF and all its friends, Barmah(sp?) Forest and the rest suck and are utterly horrible. Better off with flu as at least it’s over fairly quickly but those can cling for ages.
Oh no, I bloody hope not. That is soooooo painful, even your ribs hurt when you breathe. You poor love, I hope you get plenty of rest and feel better soon.
Decrepitude sucks. I woke up with many aches yesterday, but the hound was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed & we’d promised to take him up to Tamborine Mountain for the MPW. We have friends up there who have the most beautiful collie – so well-behaved. Coop was a bit over-awed by all the dogs in the park at first & then he met Denver & realised he’d be walking alongside him for the entire 12,000 steps (creak, groan, creak) & that he essentially had his own furball bodyguard as protection from the rotties and the alsations. At the end, when we stopped to have lunch in a dog friendly cafe, Coop decided he was going to go to sleep under the table curled up in Denver’s tail. So cute, and so worth braving the creaking of the joints to do it.
How do people get out of bed every day, if they don’t have a dog telling them life is wonderful & all you need is a ball to chase & a path to walk?
Coffee. Survey says coffee.
Me: I am so looking forward to sleeping in when I get old.
Me: *Gets old*
Bladder: Rise and shine, loser.
Yep, yep, yep
Oh, yeah. Although it’s not too hard to crawl back into my cozy nest these deliciously chilly mornings. Winter, I adore you.
You poor girl, you’re about to get too much of a good thing. We’ve been avoiding turning on the heater, (more on that later) but this morning it was impossible to resist. Sooooo cold!
*slanty side eye*
You keep trying to horrify me and put me off! Could it be that you don’t want me to visit?
*sniffle*
Nooo! I’ve got mountains of (sustainable) red gum, split and ready to burn. You’ll be toasty.
Speaking of which, WHY does every shop and shopping centre keep the A/C at “tropical hell” setting? Is this why layering is such a thing? I put a coat over short sleeves until we get to the shops, then leave it in the car. There are people at Eastland in t-shirts, shorts and thongs. Even the trains and trams are too hot.
Speaking of trains and trams my Myki card came in the mail. I feel like such a pro traveller.
I do want you to come! I was just worried you’d blame me for not warning you, just before you died of hypothermia.
I’m going down to Melbourne. I might be some time.
Jealous, of everything but the cold & the killer smoke generated by Khan GB.
When is this trip?
Soon. The bong’s packed, but I can’t find a lighter.
End of June, huzzah, huzzah! I’m knitting myself a scarf, and scrounging up some thermal layers.
Catty, I think the Wildebeest has the lighter. He wanted to blaze some aromatherapy candles.
You know better than to let him near lighters! *sigh* I’ll go get the fire extinguisher.
It’s probably OK. He can’t flick the child safety off. Butter hooves.
What a relief. The smell of singed Wildebeest fur really lingers.
I’m surprised it’s flammable with all that slime matted in it.
He wanted to shave but I’ve banned that until his next visit to Quokka. Our drains have enough problems with blockages without that.
Testify. Who else’s son leaves a ring of sand and reel grease in the bathroom basin?
I’m guessing that’s Gigantor. TGP would leave a ring of zombie powder, burnt hair and fingernails?
I haven’t yet identified exactly what the ring is in the kidlet’s bathroom basin. I don’t think I want to know.
So long as it’s not an engagement ring & the Royals haven’t been fingering such, it’s a stain that can be removed, Catty.
Yes. Sometimes it takes fire, but yes.
MM, out of consideration for my ageing ipad, can we have a new blog post? I’m sitting up in the media room, or as we call it here, the social-media proof room, which blocks out the wifi & as such tends to wall off twitter & the interwebz – and the poor old sad bit of tech is having a horrible time loading your blog.
I’ve taken the comfy chair away from my internet desk so that I can’t sit for hours getting sucked in by the tractor beam of the Net & I’ve put it into the guest room where I’ve set up my study & my word processor. Much better for time management & the tappetty tap of the keyboard for essays & such.
Next year I will get a new ipad, or that’s the plan, anyway.