Archive for the ‘blogs’ Category

Melbourne Countdown
24 May, 2017

Cold KittyCat,jpg

By the CERN-level accuracy of my calculations, I think there’s only one month until I join some of you in glorious Melbourne.   Since my own preparations tend to be last minute and slapdash at best, help me work out what the heck I’m doing and what the heck I have to take.

Oh, and will the Spiegeltent still be there?

Advent of Doom
12 December, 2016

krampus

Less than two weeks until the Clan gathers in our formerly peaceful beach town.  The shopping’s been done, the seafood has been ordered, now the panicking can commence.

Krampus is coming, dear readers.  Pray for my soul, such as it is.

Night Noodle Markets
30 July, 2016

 

cat

 

 

Ok, sure, there were crowds and queues and you couldn’t sit down – but it was fabulous. Neon-lit lion dancers, lanterns everywhere, dozens of strings of cranes hanging from a pergola thingy, and most magnificent of all – Doughnut Time!

 

We wandered up the road to see if there was donutanything on at the flicks, and wound up at San Churro having hot chocolate, because there wasn’t.  It was like a night in Bangkok, except for the absence of ladyboys and poisoned cocktails.

Time For a New Post
5 March, 2015

coffee

Right, I just realised I’m going to be in Melbourne in less than a month.  Eeek!

Melbournians, please advise on what sort of garments I will need.  And do I require any vaccinations?  I am immune to espresso.

Too Many Feels
21 December, 2014

mothra

The inevitable has happened and Gigantor’s got a girlfriend. To protect the innocent, we’ll call her Mothra. I’m not sure whether to feel pleased that he’s playing nicely with others, or horrified that he might love Mothra more than me.

Too paralyzed with horror to write more.

Don’t Judge
12 March, 2014

Image252[1]

Attempted Minecraft birthday cake for EB. At least it tasted good.

Test Pattern
3 March, 2014

hugging-tree

Until I manage to take more photos of Sari, please enjoy this nature lover enjoying nature.  Why, I can’t really say … because it’s very green and we’re coming up to St Paddy’s?  Yes, that’ll do.  Also, Q’s iPad.

Zombie Scrub Turkeys Attack!
3 October, 2012

Well, that was fun.  We enjoyed a relatively uneventful trip up to visit Uncle and Aunt and all the tiny horses at the miniature stud, earlier this week.  Well, you know, I still had to drive through Gympie but since we were enthralled by a game of ‘I Spy Something That’s Not A Gun Shop Or A Redneck” I was too busy to even wince.

The journey home was strange, though, at a bare minimum with surreal flashes.  There was debate at the gate, which I won with my “If it’s shut when you get there, leave it shut” argument.

Rarely do I taste victorious vindication at all, let alone almost immediately, but less than 30 metres down the track we encountered a heifer who was reluctant to share the road.

“Lucky I made you shut the gate.” I observed, smug as a cat with a mouthful of budgie.  I crawled the car up, to ease past her.

“See, Mumma – I told you there were feral cows!” said Elf Boy, who’d spent a chunk of the day chasing the neighbours’ cattle out of Aunt’s mini-horse paddocks.

“Arrgh! It’s got horns! It’s going to charge the car!!” screeched Magic Man, who has inherited his Great Uncle’s distrust of large livestock.

“Blow the horn!” cried Elf Boy.

“Don’t blow the horn!!” countered his brother.

“My paintwork!” said Mother.

Maybe it was the horns on my radiator grille (Toyota symbol on Mother’s wagon), or perhaps the steely glare I fired at her through the windscreen, but the heifer grudgingly shuffled to the side so I could pass.

All good through the level crossing and past the pub, until we got to a stretch between farms, about halfway to the highway.  It was wettish from the showers, and the usual narrow, patchy, soft shouldered goat track, but conditions were no worse than usual and I know the road pretty well.  Round a gentle bend, four scrub turkeys seemed to be having a union meeting, right on the verge.  Well, that or they’d heard about vultures and thought they’d give it a try – there was a lot of road kill scattered about.

Having learned not to underestimate the ability of the scrub turkey to annoy – and destroy – I slowed down from 80 odd clicks to just over 60 to pass the . . . what’s the collective noun for scrub turkeys: a scraping; a cabal?  I think I’ll go with “devastation”.  Three of the turkey’s high-tailed  it for the paddock, away from my vehicle, but the forth, either braver or much, much stupider than his mates ran out under my wheels.  He fluttered up in a flight attempt that was more like something you’d see from a septuagenarian gymnast trying to relive the glory days.  He achieved just enough of a twisting leap before I hit him full on, that he smacked into the windscreen dead ahead of me.  I hunched down, sure he’d shatter the glass, yanking my right foot back to resist the urge to slam on the brakes on the wet.

The score:  No skid, no screams, not even time for me to curse, no damage to Mother’s car, journey continued without further incident.  And our feathered friend?  According to Magic Man, who watched his dismount through the rear screen, he shook himself to settle his feathers back into place and wandered off, not only unharmed but seemingly unperturbed.

Maybe it was just a random event.  Perhaps this turkey’s turkey was just a very dull example of a species known more for persistence than intelligence.  Or his acquired taste for carrion caused a strain of Mad Bird Disease to express itself in suicidal behaviour.  I can’t escape the gnawing suspicion that we survived a deliberate – hell, orchestrated – plan by Greybeard and his evil minions to wipe out, not only me but all of my offspring and even the Mother who bore me.  Revenge for a certain Medieval Archery Incident of more than a year ago, a vengeance so cold they probably hired Ötzi The Glacier Mummy as a consultant co-conspirator.  Try again, big fella.

Strange Days
29 September, 2012

Strange day yesterday, ladies and lurkers. I had a lovely day’s Brisvegas Holiday Excursion planned with MM, EB, a BFF and her two kids. Started off instead by having to: grief counsel my father through his dog’s terminal illness (progressive spinal cord stenosis) as I ate my egg on Vegemite toast; guide him through the decision-making process, i.e. that he needed to man up and have the dog put down because it had reached the suffering stage and had no prospect of remission, let alone improvement; and then drive them both to the vet when I was so successful he decided to do it. Right then and there.

EB is a big animal lover and also his Grandpa’s favourite, so when he said he wanted to come too I thought it would be doubly good: for EB to have up-close experience of death before it was a much-loved person involved, and so that he could console his Grandpa.

As you will have guessed, I was wrong. We ended up that Grandpa did the male-of-his-generation thing and pulled a strong, silent act, while EB spent the next hour or more sobbing uncontrollably.

I was correct about one thing – it was best I was there to drive them both home.

So I returned to my parents’ house to race through the preparations for our day out.  All the while EB was insisting that he needed to do a Great Garbo (I vant to be alone), with me trying to nurture him while he grieved, but equally adamant  that we had to proceed with the outing and he had to come with us.  We had gorgeous clear, sunny but not too hot weather and the excursion went fabulously well for 6 hours – fun ride in on the ferry, lots of fun in various South Bank water features, great company, awesome Lego robots, kids even behaving beautifully.

And then, just as we were about to pack up the remains of afternoon tea and make our tired but happy way home, MM’s BF-in-the-world slammed his head into a post while running in the playground.  Straight away, a lump the size of a small avocado and the colour of hailclouds swelled on his forehead. Naturally enough, his Mum panicked.  The helpful staff at the cafe next to the playground gave me a cup of ice without hesitation – thanks Steam Cafe- and then the South Bank lifesavers gave us a plastic bag full of ice.  By the time we were on the ferry home, the lump was down to a third of original size and Mum had stopped hyperventilating.  Mostly.

The evening turned out well, with a lovely BBQ with my cousin and his husband.  If anyone wants a recipe for marshmallow and sour-cream salad . . . much nommier than it sounds. . . I now have one.

And an odd footnote:  my horoscope advised that my day would start well, but unavoidable complications and difficulties would ensue.

Curses!
17 August, 2012

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

http://www.news.com.au/world/ebay-to-ban-sale-of-spells-hexes-potions-and-curses/story-fndir2ev-1226452379393

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

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

No, I’m not kidding – http://www.ebay.com.au/itm/Vintage-Amscan-Halloween-Ghost-BOO-Toilet-Paper-Tissue-T26-/400218259442?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item5d2eddfff2#ht_2771wt_754

Spooky.

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