Obesity articles - File under bullshit

The heading hasn't anything to do with this post, it's just that I was reading another "expert" on fatty bombahs and began to want ice-cream, chocolate sauce and marshmallows on top. I wish they'd all piss off to 'Thinland' and waste away in silence.

Before Christmas I picked up a copy of The Da Vinci Code in the oppie for a dollar. I enjoyed it the first time round but it's a book that can only be read once. A good mystery book is one where you can't remember who did it two hours after you've finished which makes it great to read a year later. Agatha Christie's books are brilliant for this. The film of the book annoyed me as well, not enough looking at the buildings where the mysteries were set. So that went in the bag to be returned to the oppie.

Christmas Day, my sister gives me a Dan Brown book. The illustrated version of his latest, The Lost Symbol. It totally lost me as a story and it had a crap ending. The photos illustrating the test were really gorgeous though. I've been told that sight seeing in Washington now is nearly impossible with security alerts closing off the best of the buildings and photographs have to be taken a long way away. So I'm keeping this book for the beautiful architecture that's given way to boring nothing type buildings. Mind you it was so heavy (lovely paper) that I had to read it on the bed because I couldn't hold it up.

If they'd done this with Da Vinci I'd be first in line to buy it. I did buy one of his others at Dirt Cheap Books, $5, probably all it's worth as a story. I also picked up a biography of Hilary Clinton and Margaret Whitlam, $1 each. Series 2 of the ABC's Dynasties, $1 and then we were back at the $5 lines, a murder, fantasy fiction, a social history of WhiteChapel at the time of the Ripper murders. This was after the book sale at Southland where I grabbed the third book in the Eragon series, a biography of Denys Finch-Hatton, another fantasy fiction and a pyschological thriller that I think I'll read during the day.

The floor is awash with books, the study has a shelf of un-reads, the dining table holds all of my jewellery books (huge), fashion books (huge) are in the bedroom under the chair and I just won't think of the four on their way from the Book Depository. I blame my childhood for all of this. I had only four books, a story about Jesus, the Queen's visit to Australia, the Snowdrop story book (green cover) and a very political incorrect book of an aboriginal family, Picanniny Walkabout. In primary school our library was two shelves in each class room which lasted me about three weeks. My first paypacket went on a pair of dollybird shoes to replace stilletos and a book. The second paypacket went towards a pearl and gold ring. Ooer, memory comes to me. My first piece of jewellery was from Woolworths, bought with my pocket money, a huge emerald ring set in 24 karat brass and sent my finger green every time I put it on.

So my love affair with books, books and more books began in the book poverty of my childhood and I learnt not to take gold at face value. I think I'll go and rest the toe and rifle through the treasures. Christmas present to me, you ask? Two huge books on the jewells of the Romanov Royal Family. I tell you there was a reason they wore whalebone corsets, they would have toppled over with the weight of the gold and diamonds otherwise. One nasty snippet was the fact that one of my favourite tiaras was snaffled by Imelda Marcos, pearls before swine. She probably hung her shoes on it.

Yea, I got an A+++

No, my glucose level is still 8.6.

No, my weight hasn't moved a gram in four weeks.

This is for my bandaging skilz.

Big toe on the left foot. Difficult job.

I was viciously attacked by a rogue wheeli bin that surgically removed my toenail except for the tiny shred of skin in a corner.

Yes, I thought to myself, that hurt.

Looks down to see a nice pooling of blood at the scene of the crime.

Now this is where having an untidy house comes in handy, I know where everything is because I haven't put it away yet.

So next to my chair is a sterile dressing in case the BrickOutHouse needed it.

On my head is a towell because I'd just washed my hair so that goes on the floor.

Get tape from bathroom, sterile wipes, check pulse, still alive.

Wrap it all neatly and securely after removing nail. Ring doctor, ring BrickOutHouse who yells a lot and then recline gracefully on bed until appointment for tetanus shot.

But doctor and dressing nurse very impressed with sterility of wound. Didn't give me a jelly bean though.

Pertinent to the last post.

Last night or early this morning

I can't remember which but I do remember the dream.



How could I forget a dream that featured George Clooney.



The dream also had me in a ritzy beauty salon having my hair cut.



MY HAIR CUT!



Are you kidding dreamworld?



But I did get it cut.



It showed up the white undergrowth of my naturally enhanced normal colour.



It also made me look like my mother and my grandmother.



So, I'm at the counter to pay for the shearing which I'm hating more and more and tossing my head like a horse with flies which is actually making it look a lot better in the giant mirrors.



No salon should have giant mirrors.



There is George Clooney in front of me, dashingly groomed.



I'm trying to find my purse in the bottomless pit of a bag I haul around day after day when everything hits bedrock by the end of the week.



Dear George, offers to pay for my hair cut.



Damn, George, thanks for nothing. His credit card is refused and I find mine and pay for his hair.



The comments are now open for dream interpretations and close your filthy minds while you're commenting

The secret life of pearls.

I've been enjoying a book called "Jewells, a secret history" by Victoria Finlay. I thought it might be a bit dry but it's full of wonderful snippets of history and information that is new to me.



Julius Ceasar and his invasion of Britain to gain control of the mineral resources and boatloads of flaxen haired slave girls was just a front. He had his eye on the country's pearls. He'd already decreed that only aristrocrats could wear pearls and only Caesar could wear a purple toga to match.



So, pearls in Britain? River pearls, natural fresh water pearls from mussels. Rose pink from Scotland, black pearls from Ennerdale in Cumbria and white pearls from Ireland. They were harvested and exported all over Europe. (The only pearl discovered in Fleetwood is Our Brian).



Unfortunately river pearling was forbidden in 1998 due to men's greed and disregard of the delicate balance of the ecological systems and disruption of the wild mating habits of the mussels

Pearl mussels breed every summer in an orgy of shared sperm and group sex in which the male mussels spray semen over the females as they all stand in the water. Thanks to pollution and overfishing by amateurs there aren't enough mussels for a good swingers party and breeding doesn't take place.

Each Scottish river produced a slightly different pearl colour, the old pearl fishers also known as "Travellers" put it down to the amount of peat in the water.

Rivers that breed mussels also breed salmon and they have a symbiotic relationship. After the breeding orgy when one female mussel can produce about two hundred thousand spat (young'uns) they hitch a ride on a passing salmon, staying on the fish all winter then drop off in the spring. This means they settle in a different part of the river from where they started, Nature's way of stirring up the gene pool.

Now take notes, there'll be an exam.

We've all been told how pearls are formed. A wandering grain of sand slips into the mussel or oyster shell, irritates the hell out of it so it secretes nacre to cover and neutralize the nuisance.

Wrong!!!!

It's usually a small parasite wanting a snack and manages to slip between two deformed shells.

French natural scientist, Raphael Dubois asked if we would love a pearl as much if we knew it was the brilliant sarcophagus of a worm.

The pearl fishers of British and Scottish rivers looked for the 'uglies' hiding under rocks and these were the keepers of the treasure. After the legendary Abernathy Pearl was discovered in the 1960s, the hordes invaded and like all hordes took every shell except the 'uglies' so greed destroyed the river mussels.

From our wormy 'uglies' of the river to the giants of the oceans. Pearl farming waits for no worm or sand grit, the shells are opened slightly, the nuclei for the nacre is inserted.......into the 'nads'.

That certainly gets the soothing nacre moving fast. In the words of Victoria Finlay, "Few outside the trade are aware that almost every pearl on sale today was born of the planned sexual violation of a small creature and considerable suffering hangs on those necklace strings".

Oh gosh darn, hang a guilt trip on a pearl lover. Add to the list, no sexually violated pearls, no blood diamonds, no Burmese rubies controlled by megalomaniacal Generals, no Columbian emeralds funded by drug lords and no 'synthetic as real' gems from thieving eBay dealers.

That dress!

I'm doing the 'Bambi thing'

If you can't say anything nice

Don't say anything at all.
Except I think I like the bridesmaids.

The Christmas tree is de-trimmed and packed

Another of life's mysteries, all the ornaments came out of the pine chest in X amount of boxes but will only go back in Y amount of boxes. Now to try and put Y amount of boxes back in the same pine chest that only fitted X amount.

The house is in chaos. The BrickOutHouse will be here for a while so I'm re-arranging the room. It's like a giant jigsaw puzzle. I take the bookcase from one side after removing all the materials and put it on the other wall near the door. This will enable me to pack his clothes on the shelves instead of 4 different baskets. His good and chattels are packed and stored in the study, so we/I move them to where the bookcase was. His TV is standing on my old treadle machine and that's not moving anywhere. Funny how it doesn't look big where it is but move it to any other part of the house and it looks like the Titanic. His computer is sitting on two plastic boxes of lace so I talked him into buying a small computer station.

The joy of OfficeWorks, I could wander there all day but not with Mr. Impatient who has changed his mind again. We're in front of the one picked out of the catalogue, it has a pull out shelf for the keyboard with a drawer underneath that, shelf for the CPU and it has wheels. He doesn't see the point in wheels. The next one has wheels, no drawer, shelf for the CPU but it's a horrible orange wood, never, not even for $10 cheaper. Never fear Goldilocks found exactly the right one, shelf for CPU, shelf for keyboard, wheels, shelf above for speakers and it's in black.
He was half way to the checkout before I'd finished asking if that would do. I didn't even get a chance to play with the netbooks or check out the office doodads on special.

He has his last appointment with the surgeon tomorrow, very early so I'll be in that room as soon as he's turned the corner. He can't see the point in moving so many boxes around. Doh, he wasn't the one who had to buy ribbons the other day because the ribbon boxes couldn't be reached without a rope in the ceiling. The way I have it planned the boxes I really need will be in the study, his will be next to his bed and if he winds up that cuckoo clock I'll deck him and the boxes that I won't need for a long time will be at home blocking off the passage to the kitchen.

I just need to get to the wardrobe in the study to put the Christmas tree away. I can't believe how much stuff I moved to get it out in the first place. Still if I feel this is hard, I only have to look up the date in last year's diary when we were selling mother's house. Now that was a nightmare.

Heritage, it's all in the genes

Well, I'm not one to boast but you can take your Elles, your Noamis, your Megans and your Hawkins, I have the best of them all.

The youngest granddaughter at sixteen. A mixture of wonder and horror, she has a learner's permit, that's the horror part. She wants to study drama, her first option but she has options all the way down to working at Woolworths if everything else fails. Of course, she intends to work her way to the top of Woolworths. I took her shopping, what a dream. She turned down the 50% off at the $200 shop in favour of the Salvo's across the road where she stunned in a black cleavage busting, 3 tiered beaded chiffon. A bargain at $12 with another little check number that was so tight, I insisted she sit down and breath in it before I'd buy it. A visit to the great grandmother at the home topped off with a visit to her facebook page and her 1000 photographs.

The eldest dressed for the school formal. The dress was a little more pinkish than this blue but she filled it very well. She also did a kind thing, asked a boy to take her that the other girls laughed at, of course it might have helped that he was no danger to her current boyfriend but a nice gesture anyway.

My two best gems, beyond price.

Twas the night before Christmas

And I found a present for me. Bombay Sapphire, nothing new, you say.
Well, bites yer tongues!
This is only one of four to be made.
The bottle is covered in 10,000 swarovski crystals and it comes in a white leather case.
It's a snip at $3,960.
I have until January 6 to win Tattslotto and make it mine. Bwahahahahhaha!

I'm still here

Bruised and battered like a slab of flake but still soldiering on.
I went to Southland, cheated, went by taxi but promised I would catch the bus home. That didn't happen. By the time I walked from one end of that place to the other I was closer to the taxi rank and my knees hurt.
Next time I won't bother taking a walking stick, too dangerous to lean on as the floor is quite slippery and goes downhill in places. The temptation to belt obnoxious kids with the stick is too close for comfort. A trolley is better, holds everything and accidentally hitting something obnoxious is just an accident.
I was good, I didn't have a cake....up there. But as the mince pie season is limited I did bring one home for a nom, a very slow nom.

We seem to have the season of hooning around here at the moment.
Last week it was a gang of three that decided to rattle my gates off their hinges. Bad luck to them, BrickOutHouse and mate were out the front door so fast they blurred and said hoons were chased down the street.
Also last week, HerNextDoor was nearly run down by another/same gang of three riding those scooter things on the footpath. Zipping past her, they let loose with a barage of obsenities.
The same week, some person walked up the drive of her house, rifled the cars which they'd forgotten to lock and they didn't hear a thing. I don't think she thought that this person/persons might have watched the house and knew their bedroom was at the back of the house away from the drive.
BrickOutHouse immediately thought of the Mazda shell languishing at the end of my drive. I mean who would give it any thought, it's a shell that looks like it's been through an atomic blast.
But, but, it has "an engine" for which Top Gear would pay money for. You see I totally 'FAIL' motor car engines. He's worried about that and his other car is parked out the front where everyone can see the expensive bike helmet, clothes, various coins on the floor (handy when one is a bit short at the servo) and tools. The worry of it all, what with hailstones and storms on the ducco of the ute, it's never ending.

Never ending is right. Midnight last night, I'm writing in my diary, he's on the net and crash bang from outside. Another load of hoons are pushing over the bins, all of the bins in the street.
He's halfway out the door with one leg in his jeans and in the car after them. They had pushed over every bin and were starting on the next street and thank goodness it wasn't recycle bin night. He gave them quite a mouthful and checked which house they skulked into but I don't recall them at all. Then he came back and picked up neighbour's bins and ours and all the rubbish which earned him a big tick from HerNextDoor who was terribly embarrassed because her rubbish was really on the bugle. *snigger*

Now if we're both out together the house will have to be locked up. Still, as one of my relatives used to say, if burglars walked in here, they'd walk straight out thinking it had already been turned over. Damn cheek!

Dear little Robin

Robins and Blue wrens would have to be my favourite birds, don't you agree, Jayne?

Not falling over for at least a week would be my favourite wish for the festive season.

Yep, did it again this morning.

A real flying through the air without a trapeze and a landing that shook me teeth loose.

I was putting Tonic water in the booze cupboard and a pot on the stove started to boil over and I turned, got twisted in one of those evil green bags and off I went.

There seemed to be at least 4 people yelling and sobbing on the kitchen floor until I pulled myself together. I did manage to turn off the stove, two pots, one holding my breakfast eggs, while lying prone. I always did have a reach like a sick dog.

After the screaming stopped I pulled myself up onto the padded sofa that masquerades as my arse and took stock of the damage. I'm surprised to see my slippers facing me. I actually tripped and flew out of my slippers and there they are, looking at me with a smirk on their dials. I've hit the cup and saucer bookcase with one hand and pushed that into the fridge which meant I went off centre and landed on the right knee just before the left knee just before the shallow swallow dive to the tiles.

Still sobbing and looking for sympathy from the cat who is sitting at an empty dish, I get nothing but "feed me" vibes from the bastard. As I'm on the floor I grab a can from the cat food pantry (what makes you think it's a human pantry) and start the slow bum walk to the lounge where I can find a chair to get me off the floor. Lordy but the floor needs a brooming especially under the crystal cabinet. Throw the contents of the can into the cat dish and continue (with empty can) round the carpet and round the carpet to the front of my chair. Oh here comes the pain again but I manage to not kneel on the crumbling kneecaps and collapse in chair and I'm still holding the empty catfood can. Can I multi-task or what?

Ten minutes and I'm back in the kitchen because I have to eat for these diabetic tablets which is why I was rushing around in the first place, get breakfast, get breakfast, get breakfast. So I did and took the pills. Slapped icepacks on knees, got rid of catfood can, abused cat soundly then went to bed in my clothes and slept.

The bruises are looking good. Thank you Mr. Myiga, pain is my friend. I'm on two walking sticks as one leg seems to be inclined to collapse, that'd be the right one, it's not used to being a fall guy.

BrickOutHouse in shock and has forbidden me to leave the house until Christmas lunch with mother. I totally agree except for a short walk to get the papers. I'm sure if I walk slowy and take 30 minutes, that'll my exercise for the day.

If I don't blog for a while, send money, it'll make me feel better.

Awwwwww!

Isn't he just gorgeous and fierce looking and my, but isn't he fat. It's an indication of how bad the snow and winter is going to be in England when the robins look like they're going to burst.

Just spent a spewderful two hours at the home. Love Christmas carols, not. Hate waggling silly bloody tambourines unless I can draw blood on some oldie's head.

Two more fell off the twig last week and one in hospital for three days with a mild stroke. Ma can't keep up with the farewell cards. So two hours down there and not once did she ask how I was. When I told her what was wrong, she said I should slow down and not do so much. Thank you mother, and then she asked me to take a card to her mate right down the end of the home.
Remark unprintable.

My sister won third prize in the raffle so we dropped it in. One hour there and she didn't ask how I went at the doc's either. If I wasn't so bloody fat I'd think I was invisible.

BrickOutHouse has a new toy. I can't see the fun in playing with an 8 inch furry remote controlled black tarantula and neither can the cat. We might have to drop a brick on it. I repeat, Christmas is crap.

Just another drip in the Chinese water torture of life

It appears that in the last 12 months I've managed to develope Type 11 Diabetes.
I can't imagine how that happened.
Now it's more medication for diabetes and cholesterol.
And more instruction for food management, medication management, podiatry in case of footrot.

There is an answer for all this, I could have lapband surgery which apparently is genius in controlling not only weight but diabetes. Guess who's not going near a surgeon, hospital or lapbanding operation? I don't care how they do it, it's not happening.

Apart from the fact that I get this news right before the Christmas goodie season, a trial in itself.
I thought that, at last, I might get to live a life of my own but now I get to live a life dictated by various dictators of what to eat, when to eat it and do as you're tolders.

No doubt I'll deal with all this in a week or two and I've managed to read the reams of crap I've already been given, considering I don't smoke, hardly drink except for a Bombay on a summer's night, get exercise by falling over and getting back up and a pensioner's loot doesn't stretch to Fois Gras or French Butter, I'm four down the list already.

I knew Christmas was going to be crap.

The hell that is Telstra

One hour on the phone to toss the pre-paid wireless into oblivion.

That was yesterday before the post came with another 3 page account for the ADSL broadband that was never connected.

It was impossible to figure out the amount to pay even if I was connected to the internet.

Another hour on the phone, half for the phone account child to realize that I should be at the Internet account department.

Internet account department adult male admits defeat and asks me to hold while he goes for an oxygen break. At last it is finished (whisper that) and the non-existant ADSL is non-existant. My homeline with pensioner concession is restored. (whisper that)

"Could I please have an amended account so I can pay?"

I can hear breathing, mumbling, breathing and he speaks! I owe Telstra $8.64.

I'll be paying that on Thursday.

Never breathe a sigh of relief

No, never do that if you have any dealings with Telstra.

Front of the latest Internet account, you know the account, the one I don't have any more.

Amount on your last bill $178.28
Amount you paid $0.00
Adjustments $59.00 cr

Your balance $119.28
New Charges $5.00

Total due $124.28

Back of the account
Adjustments Breakdown
04 Nov Telstra Mobile Casual Plan $10.00cr
04Nov 3G Data Pack 3GB $49.00cr

New Charges Breakdown
01 to 30 Nov
Fee for overdue account payment $5.00
Total for account charges & credits $5.00

Telstra Mobile Casual Plan $10 included calls
01 Nov to 18 Nov $00000

I have no idea where they got $119.28 from and far from being overdue, it isn't since the account has been closed since the 19th November, the modem has been sent back. That was a scream, they sent a pre-paid bag for the modem and it didn't fit inside. I had to cut off the pre-paid and wrap the box and stick it on top.
Nowhere on the account does it say anything about the $70.00 credit I had after closing the account. If I don't pay by the 22nd of December they're going to hit me with a $15 late fee for an account I don't have.
I hope the call centre is operating at full strength tomorrow. That is, if I can press the right buttons to even get to the right part of the call centre for non accounts. And they're wondering why Telstra shares are dropping.

I wish I'd thought of this

Knowing that I'd used the ex's toothbrush to do this somewhere in my married life would make me feel so much better today.

Yesterday, still a little weepy after putting up the Christmas tree and putting new flowers in pots to put on the kid's grave, I receive an email from Ex and the missus, saying 'May the lights shine on'. It was a mass email to everyone and showed the house all dollied up with Christmas lights and swinging things in the garden. It was the most appalling bad taste Christmas lighting I've seen in a while. Blue Reindeers!!!!! Ghastly is the word for it.

Unfortunately it opened the floodgates and Tension copped it in the neck. (So, I used it as an excuse, bite me.)

I'd fought the demons and put the tree up, 2nd time since our son's death. I wasn't stupid enough to think ferretface would send a personal email and mention something personal but a mass email and bad lighting would usually send me into screaming laughter.

It was the words. The inscription on the grave is "The brighter the light, the darker the shadow" so "may the lights shine on" sort of hit me between the eyes. Even as I write it, it sounds so dumb but a weepy mood is a weepy mood and a good Christmas cry is cathartic.

It's just those blue reindeers and remembering the jolly fat twerp in his Santa suit which he did professionally for nearly ten years, the only years he was sober for Christmas Day.

I'll have to keep crying, tears are beneficial for seared retinas. Blue reindeers, if only it had just been the reindeers but the other stuff, lordy I need a bucket.

River, you know me too well

The tree is up, the ornaments are on and it definitely needs to be pinned to the wall. I also need another tree, white, about 3 feet high so come on the pre-Christmas sales. There are two boxes I couldn't fit on this tree. And if you must know, I snivelled a bit. I'll probably snivell again when I'm trying to fit the boxes back in the Christmas chest, it's sort of like a three dimensional Rubick's Cube.
The cat was a great help. Every time I opened the chest she wanted to get off the bed or on the bed. Annoyance level about 12.

I can't believe it's Wednesday

I can't believe it's December and this is all I've done to the Christmas outfit. If I don't get moving and sew it up, I'll be in trouble if anyone lights a candle.

I see another kindy has banned Santa for their party. A load of rubbish, why should any child be offended by a myth and I thought we were supposed to be embracing all cultures. Is this kindergarten, doing Hannukah with the candles, explaining Ramadan, talking about Buddhist worship of all animal life. When the children are young, explain the religion, myths and traditions of every country then we might have a message of peace and goodwill. I was brought up Christian and hated Santa unless the present was a ripper.

The promised rain has arrived but my lawnmower man hasn't which means the grass will be up to my shoulders by next week. The wheel fell off his trailer, true, the BrickOutHouse saw him at the trailer repair factory last night. Just my luck, he was on his way down to cut my lawn or should that be urban jungle enclosure. It's getting to the stage where we'll have to tie a balloon to the cat to see where she is in the grass. I can't hang the doona covers on the line without picking up wildlife. I'm looking lovingly at a tree full of limes but I'm not going through grass that high even for my gin. The Ivy along the front has gone feral and needs a good whacking, earwigs are bunkering down in the letterbox and the black mosquitos are swarming in squadrons the minute the sun goes down. I'm beginning to feel like Sam Neil in Jurassic Park.

My feet are still hurting from two days of pounding the levels of Westfield but "Hello, Jayne, Avatar on special at Big W for $22.98!" it was nothing to numbing the bum for two and a half hours on a hard chair at the doc's yesterday. They stuck 3 needles in the same vein. They asked if I felt nauseous, what, after only 12 hours without food and seeing my life being drained into little jars. Long bus trip to W'field but short trip to my favourite cafe "Hello, Antikva, still none of your favourites in the cake window" and food glorious food, I almost broke into song.

I would have gone straight home but mothershopping had to be done and was. What, me fail!
She won't be getting anything until my feet stop throbbing. There's a new resident at the home, cue Alfred Hitchcock music. She walks, pushing her wheelchair when she's supposed to be in it.
She also walks at night and watches the other residents, creepy. For the second year I am conscripted for Christmas lunch.

I have 3 ornaments on the Christmas tree, I'm doing well.

Not quite a fall

Not quite a fall but a bloody good fright. I caught my foot on the edge of the thingee the workmen haul up to service the elevators and nearly went flying down the down elevator.
I grabbed the handrail, no witnesses of my stupidity and clumsiness and no harm done.
Until last night.

I'm used to my left leg going into strange spasms because of fluid in the spine but last night, the right leg decided to join forces. How hard is it to walk with the big toe sticking straight up in the air? Very hard since I seem to be chronically unbalanced all the time.

Every three hours, another ice pack and somewhere in there I think I went to sleep in the chair.
The pain is (if I'm stupid enough to poke at it again) around the waist area so it must have happened when I grabbed for the handrail. So now there are two bad spinal areas I'm trying to calm down.

Panadol, ice packs and TENS unit for the next couple of days and I could be okay.

It didn't help that I got trapped in the old folks home in the storm yesterday. The downpour was so strong it came down the roof in waves and bypassed the spouting, creating Niagara Falls in the courtyard. Cars parked out the front were up to their bonnets in water and it took me over half an hour to get home by taxi because the railway gates were all down. I did my good deed when I did get home by unhooking the tarp on the ute and letting the water go from his precious baby. Then I dragged in the bins, dragged in the groceries and finally got to sit down.

At least the cat's backed off, it remembered what happened last time it put its nose on the electrodes. Christmas is crap.

On the couch.

Yes, I would like to be lounging around on that couch but it's the other one I mean. The uncomfy one that costs a mint in Psych fees to work out what gone wrong with the jingle bells suddenly turning into Big Ben and rattling the rafters.

48 hours of soul searching and charging myself exhorbitant fees of chocolate chip cookies and I may have it all sorted. The problem is still here but it's my unfortunate job to find a way of dealing with it other than defenestration and burial in the golf course.

l. Tension is a 29 year old child with problems she doesn't want to or is unable to, resolve. She tried a new shrink but I suspect he was straight with her and she went back to the old shrink who is probably buying the island of Hawaii on the profits.

2. My antipathy towards Tension came up about two years ago when she lied about me to the BOH and cause an almighty ruckus in the family and I had to back away. You don't get to do that to me twice.

3. It's his choice to stay with someone he says he waited for and loves. They say love is deaf, dumb and blind but at his age he can't be that shuttered. Although when I look at Brynne and dear 'on the edge of the coffin' Edelstein, I wonder. But he is living her life, her hours, her dramas and as I spent 30 years living other people's lives, I don't want him to waste any more of his.

4. If anything I said made them break up and I see him sitting alone, staring at a big empty in his life, I'd probably open a vein. At the very least I would be heartbroken for him. At most I would hate myself. If my sister did it, well, she's his mother and I could distance myself from the disaster.

5. Why has this blown up to such a major eruption in my life? I've been alone for 10 years and suddenly I have people in the house. One is easy to live with even with 4 cars in the drive and dirty socks procreating in the laundry basket. The other visitor (visitor but would love to live in) is like a giant black hole in my universe. She sheds nothingness like the cat sheds hair and the teen voice in the woman's body sets my inner bitch on scream. She has no boundaries and respects no-one else's.

6. After words on Monday, quiet words, no shouting or abuse, I realize I have to back off and give him space to recover physically and mentally from 12 months of pain. He had another tooth pulled yesterday and the dentist came out while I was paying and offered him some oxygen before he left. He did look a bit pale but was more relieved that it wasn't the two back teeth that have the roots impacted together and needs an oral surgeon for the ripping out of. Last night he went to see Tension for a few hours. The house was so quiet, I'm ashamed to say I was so happy to be sitting there in my old nightie nibbling on the last choc chip cookie.

7. My weight has boomed. As Toby Green once said in an article on bingeing, bulimia and anorexia, "Who are you eating at?" Don't I know the answer to that one. When the great unloved left me, I had two years of freedom to be me and I lost 20 kilograms with the sheer joy of living for me. So I must stop this now before the Christmas sales when I tend to pig out on the half price puddings and mince pies and the sales are so close.

8. My Christmas wish for the loved nephew is for him to find his own place which he has never had. A place for his books, dvds, computer, tv, his cuckoo clock, room for a pony and a 4 car drive. A place to find out who he is, to grow, to feel at ease with being alone and to find out that socks come in pairs if you just fold them together. Oh, and there is no such thing as the 'Underpants fairy' you do have to wash them yourself.

The Diamond Man

Laurence Graff has done it again and bought this 24.78 carat "fancy intense pink" diamond which he named "The Graff Pink". It wasn't so long ago that he bought the the blue Wittelsbach diamond for $24.3 million. He renamed it the Wittelsbach-Graff and had it re-cut to bring out the fire inside. The Graf Pink has a slight flaw which is unnoticeable to the naked eye by after re-polishing could be graded as internally flawless.
According to Graff, this diamond is the most fabulous diamond he's seen in the history of his career and he has seen a lot of diamonds. It was almost routine for him to travel to see the Sultan of Brunei carrying a suitcase full of his diamond creations.
This is a classic emerald-cut stone of exceptional colour and purity. It is classified at type 11a which comprises less than 2 per cent of all the world's gem diamonds and is even more valuable than a white diamond of this type because of the scarcity of pink diamonds.
The "Graff Pink", which is roughly the size of a pinball, was last on the market about 60 years ago and was only expected to sell between $27 and $38 million.


But if that is a bit ostentatious for you why not pop over to New York for the Bonhams' fine jewelry sale on December 16 and put in a bid for this little number. A 10.17 carat oval shaped diamond of E colour and VVS1 clarity with two half moon diamond shoulders. It's price is estimated at $550,000-$650,000. Small change if you're Graff.

Also on the block is a rare Oscar Heyman & Brothers diamond, sapphire and enamel "Harlequin" brooch. This is only one of eight Harlequins that Oscar Heyman has created over the last 12 years. The masked figure is playing a lute and the body is pave-set diamonds, accented with marquise shaped sapphires. The mask, hat, and shoes are made of black enamel and the white enamel face is accented by hand-painted red lips. It comes with a signed box, a marker's mark and is estimated to sell for $15,000 to $20,000. It'll be snowing in New York, perhaps I'll just phone by bid in.

How embarrassment!

I really shouldn't be allowed out on my own.
I managed to vote and confuse the card handouters by saying I was swinging until I actually had the pencil in my hand.
VoteRage was close as the silly tart in the booth next to me asked her husband to make sure she'd filled the ballot out correctly. I nearly screamed 'It's the 21st century you imbecile, women have died for that vote you can't cast without a bloke around!'
I calmed down after an egg and bacon roll and a think about how many elections I've been to at this school and let the memories wander around. I didn't see anyone I knew but then these days I can't remember their names anyway.
So being halfway to the bus I continued in the interest of exercise and the promise of cake. I do have to incentive myself. (shuttup, I know it's not grammah)
Bus to Mentone, accomplished.
Bus to Southland, accomplished.
Shock at crappy Christmas decorations and prices for presents. I keep forgetting that not everyone is a pensioner and has money to spend.
Check every five minutes that I still have my umbrella and no-one has nicked my purse which has the cake money in it.
Find two pairs of silver thongs on special at KMart and a box of chocolates.
Have ice coffee and cake, loving the sitting down right in front of the cake display.
Down the elevator to the bus stop with the ticket still in time.
Thank Crispin there aren't too many people around to see me drop the bloody umbrella and fall flat on my face off the bench as I bent to pick it up.
Do the usual crawl and lift my lardarse back on the bench.
Decide not to catch the bus and walk home.
Walk to the taxi rank and get drenched in a shower, forget I have umbrella.
Lovely, taxi is there.
Not lovely taxi is wheel chair cab.
Do my impression of Tarzan and throw myself into the back.
Home in time to miss teeming rain which would have drowned me if I'd caught the bus.
The thongs are from the Goldilocks range, one pair is just a little too big, the other pair is just a weeny bit small. Christmas is Crap.

I'm almost back.

I have a virus.

I think it might be the Wiccan creed of 'Do no Harm' since the violence I've hurled at Telstra in the last 10 days has come back threefold in the virus from Hell.

I am now back with dear old Optusnet, but I didn't go as far as returning to dial-up.

Thank you to the 16 year old nerd at Dick Smith/Tandy Southland who analysed my internet usage and told me exactly what I needed and an hour later I was back on line.

I've hardly been near the computer since, snot is so unpleasant sprayed on a screen. You can almost see the virus spreading.

In the words of that megolomaniacal pipe chewing yankie General, I will return.

Histioteuthis

This little squid is an example of an asymmetrical organism. The cock-eyed squid belongs to the genus Histioteuthis and lives nearly 1000 metres in the deep ocean. It wanders up to 100 metres to feed at night and its body is covered in little photophores or light producing organs, which make the squid look like a little seeded strawberry.

As for its other name, the cock-eyed squid that comes about because their left eye is two to three times the size of the right. Scientists still haven't decided why this is but sea lore has it as because the squid lives as far down as sunlight penetrates so the squid trains one eye on the illuminated downwelling water above while the other looks down into blackness.

****************************************************

I might be off line as I try to figure out what to do with the new modem to replace my wireless set-up. So far I have opened the box without mishap.

This is the year, I think.

I haven't put up the Christmas tree for definitely 10 years, yes, not for this millenium.
Not for not wanting to but with Ma and the Christmas lights and that razamatazz which was enough to turn Santa off the silly season.

So this year was my year of the pretty. My year to haul out the 35 year old veteran tinsel twigs which somewhere along the way I had re-tinselled. The bottom stand had broken so I stood the main centre piece in a giant pot and poured in enough cement for the next freeway. I love this little tree, so easy to put away, fold up the twiggy branches and whack a plastic bag over the lot.

But it's so hard to put it up. So hard to get out the ornaments. So hard to push away the memories which are also lying under cold concrete in a cemetary not so very far away. No angel for the treetop, always a little Father Christmas. The Christmas mice and the gold sprayed pine cones, to be made into the tallest pyramid possible in a wicker basket for the floor. Every year we waited for the first cat to launch the top mouse into outer space.

I was intending to dust and vac everything before I put it up but I know if I wait, it's never going to happen. At least it's out of the cupboard and standing where it should be and giving me a heart attack in the dead of night when it looked ghostly in the wrapping.

I do know what ornaments I have. Instead of putting them on the tree, I'd just open the pine chest and look in the boxes. Oh, shiny, pretty, and some never been fixed to a tree, virgin ornaments, how appropriate. My mother-in-law's deluxe Father Christmas, it had to be mine as she didn't want the 'other' to have it. The baby bears haven't been out of the tissue lined drawer for almost as long as the tree has been hidden. Really small bears and all of them with a Christmas jumper I'd knitted, more important than housework.

Now, deep breath or maybe two, and go for it. Put it up and pin a memory to each branch. Enjoy it for the month it used to be the centre of. Maybe I'll knock a bauble or two to the carpet just for old times sake.

Almost there.

The dentist visit went off without a hitch yesterday with the BrickOutHouse coming home with a hole in his jaw that a family of five could live in.

On the x-ray it looked like the roots of the tooth went through the back of his eyeball to his brain which would explain quite a few things.
It took the dentist several instruments and assistants to dig out the offending molar.
She said it might fix up the sinus headaches and the migraines.
Now only to fix up a small filling in the front and I'm sure he'll do that. He's had too much pain to let anything go now.

Four sessions at the physio, last check up at the surgeon's and I'll have built a new man.
I can't do much about changing his priorities though.
First report of a thunderstorm was enough to get him up (cotton wadding still in place) and run the precious ute to a mate's factory to be undercover in case of hailstones.

But I have to say that my sister and I must have brung him up right as when he was leaving the surgeon's office, he shook the man's hand and thanked him very much for all his good work.

Why I don't fly.

This is the severely wounded airbus and its list of injuries was compared by one newspaper to the famous "Memphis Belle" bomber of WW11.

I have a neighbour who flies regularly as does her husband. A trip to England for her is a weekend jaunt to Southland for me. She flew from America on the first airbus for the Qantas fleet and it's the first time she admitted she was scared.

She said there's always a certain amount of buffeting in any plane, backward, forward depending on conditions in the air. But this was the first time she'd experienced a shuddering movement from side to side caused by the plane itself not atmospheric conditions. It was nearly continuous and she was glad to land in Australia.

I haven't seen her yet but I'd love her take on this near disaster.

Twinkle, Twinkle

This is a night view of the Nile River and Delta from the International Space Station.

The Cairo metropolitan area is the very bright area where the river flows into the Delta. The photograph also shows the eastern coastline of the Mediterranean - the Tel-Aviv metropolitan area in Israel and Amman in Jordan. The lights also show the coast line of the Sinai Peninsula and the city lights of the island of Cyprus at the top of the image.

The thin yellow curving band at the top of the image is airglow, a faint band of light emission that results from the interaction of atmospheric atoms and molecules with solar radiation at nearly 100 kilometres above the earth.

The Telstra bandwagon.

My turn for the Telstra snarl.

Bill for the Internet. I'm on pre-paid wireless, I think. I'm still confused and due to make another visit to the poor dears at the Telstra shop. I know to stand in front of the escape door to the back room and they are captive.

So we have:

Amount on your last bill $59.00
Amount you paid (as at 08 Oct 10) $59.00

Your balance $0.00
New Charges $178.28
(see over for breakdown)

Turn over the page:
Telstra Mobile Casual Plan $10 - 01 Nov to 30 Nov $10.00
Calls & Charges ineligible for Plan Discount
Mobile WAP/Internet Sessions $119.276
3G Data Pack 3GB - 01 Nov to 30 Nov $49.00

Total $178.276

I can't even check the 3GB usage because I delete records on the 1st of the month so I don't go over. None of the other accounts have Calls and Charges ineligible for Plan discount. Tension stay away from my door tonight, I'm in a killing mood.

And on the other hand. A car accelerated in reverse, not across the road, but down the road and mounted the curb, went across the nature strip, missed two huge gum trees but flattened the fence and nearly went through the plate glass doors at the home this morning. A woman driver, with a driving licence issued in Mumbai. I kid you not. Shook up the old biddies a bit as it was very early in the morning.

How was your day?

The plates are moving.

An earthquake struck near Wananui, North Island, New Zealand. 4.3 on the Richter Scale.
It's depth was only 90kms.

Christchurch's earthquake on September 4 is still rumbling with aftershocks. 11 quakes hit the city on Friday night, ranging from 2.5 to 4.3 on the Richter Scale.

Another place I'll be staying away from especially since bits started falling off Qantas planes.
I mean how unlucky can you be to avoid one crash, get on another plane to have that turn around and land safely after problems.

The ring of fire

That's the latest photo of Indonesia's Mount Merapi as it continues to erupt. So far 120 people have died from the incandescent ash raining down from the sky but it's also being blamed for the tsunami that killed more 400 people on October 25, after a 7.7 magnitude earthquake.

Lurking under the clouds in this image is Anak Krakatau, 'Child of Krakatau'. Anak rose from the caldera left by the explosion of Krakatau and is now beginning to spew an ash cloud high into the atmosphere. In 2009, an eruption started and you'll find some spectacular images here .

Sumatra is the site of Lake Toba, the largest volcanic lake in the world. It was formed when a supervolcanic eruption occurred and is considered the largest explosive event in the last 25 million years leading to a volcanic winter with temperatures declining 5 to 15 degrees at the highter latitudes.

The tectonic plates seem to be shifting under the Indonesian Islands.

Sympathy, I want sympathy, when do I want it, NOW

Damn it I'm crook again.
Probably Tension or the stress related to Tension.

Nitrites, leucocytes, glucose, ph level, all of them up the wazoo.

Infection affecting the glucose and not the forerunner of diabetes.

Fasting test next week. The one I was supposed to have had .........months ago but geez winter was cold this year and there was mother and BrickOutHouse and stuff.

But believe me, nothing will keep me from Harry Potter, nothing.

I have antibiotics and probably a full dose of Tension again tonight.

I know how it happened, I just ignored all the signs. I'm not eating at the same time, not eating the same food, not sleeping as much as I should. I couldn't even finish my shopping today but the cat has enough food so I'm safe.

Melbourne Cup Day

STRAIGHT TO THE HALL OF INFAMOUS FASHION

NOT HER, HIM.

The Elephant in the room.

Not exactly in the room but trailing through the front door through the lounge and out the back door.
No I haven't said a word or asked about the Sunday trek.
But she's bringing a curry for his tea tonight.

Two more weeks and he'll be able to drive his car, to her place.

Hold the tongue for two more weeks. It's what she's waiting for, me to lash out, then it's sob time and the nasty woman yelled at me and I hadn't done anything. I know because she's done this to me before and caused a rift in the family that took months to heal.

Just two more weeks, unless there's brick handy tonight.

Let loose my little children of the night

I didn't feel like doing the 'Brynne' thing this year

so it's long, black and supremely elegant.

Misanthrope for the next four weeks, maybe more

I’ve always disliked staying at other people’s houses, even as a child.

This turned into a phobia after a two day visit to a friend of a friend in Sydney. I was supposed to return to Melbourne by train with my friend but ill and in pain I decided to stay overnight without her and fly back.

I was left alone in the flat, nothing in the fridge except a can of pineapple juice which I opened and had a glass before I caught a taxi to the airport. I left a gift for my hostess and a note saying that I had opened the juice.

A week later with no phone call from my friend, strange since we spoke or saw each other just about every day. The friendship apparently was at an end on the advice of her boyfriend. I was not a suitable person for her to be around.

Considering the time I’d known her boyfriend and that I’d been sleeping with his brother, it was an odd time to decide I was unsuitable as a friend.

I met her for the last time to hand over photographs of the Sydney trip and to ask the big question, why no more friendship.

The flat we stayed in belonged to his mother, a born again Christian of the rabid Catholic kind. According to her, I had stolen food, imposed on them by overstaying 12 hours, left without saying goodbye and thank you. Above all, I was the worst kind of female, in her opinion I was well on the way to becoming a (gasp) lesbian. That gob smacked me and I can only think it was because I had walked into the bathroom in my petticoat to hand a towell to my friend. These were the days of bra, girdle, stockings, full length petticoat, you know, ‘move along, nothing to see here’.

The last was also hurtful because the son sharing my bed did not tell his mother that she was mistaken probably to assure her that he was still her virgin child. Over 40 years ago and that betrayal still sends hate arrows if I hear a certain song.

I had known the friend and boyfriend for some years, neither had defended me. Friendship severed.

A fleeting phone call some years later brought home the fact that when people say you can’t go back, it’s really true. Another reason I would never follow facebook.

As far as I was concerned I had done everything that etiquette demanded of a guest but a phobia was born and I still dislike staying with other people in their home.

The point of all this is that I have someone not staying but visiting at the oddest times and seems to have no idea of what one does in someone else’s home.

I would not dream of asking to borrow cosmetics.

I would not have a shower in another’s bathroom.

I would not be cooking in another’s kitchen at 11 at night.

I would not invite my parents over when the owner of the home is in her grotty old dressing gown after a day at the oldies party and not tell her they were coming until they were on the doorstep.

I would not tie the owner’s lace curtain in a knot so one could lie on the bed to watch the birds.

And so on.

I apologized to my mother yesterday. She was crazy, bitchy and thoroughly horrible before she went to the home but she had two years of the ill-mannered troll that I am now wanting to choke after 3 weeks.

I should have let mum do away with her and pleaded justifiable homicide due to insanity.

I have not said anything to the BrickOutHouse, he knows. He has offered to go away as soon as he can sit to drive the car, bad idea and one I was trying to avoid by not saying anything.

You see, I have been in this position before with my son and his girlfriend. She won the battle and he left at 17. These two women are of a kind. They saw the man they wanted, they got the man they wanted and they will lie, cheat, connive and kill to keep the man they wanted. The only difference between them is that one was aggressive-aggressive and one is passive-aggressive. But the one I’m dealing with now could give A-A a 10 length start and still beat her in the bitch stakes and I never thought I’d be saying that.

Tension if you're reading this....PISS OFF

At long last, the first part

I have my ticket, my precious ticket.

Now I'll have to read the book again.

Take the Quiz here!

I've lost control of the year

Monday, I can't remember at all. Thank goodness I keep a diary but I forgot to write in it.

Tuesday, Mother not well so spent all day with her. Her mouth was well enough to give orders.
Still it was pleasant to have her in bed and be able to have a reasonably quiet time in her room.

Wednesday, I can't remember at all. Thank goodness I keep a diary but I forgot to write in it.

Thursday, shopping day and I forget to do the internet Bpay for the bills so run all over Southland and remember why I'm in love with internet banking. Buy clothes on sale for mother.

Friday, I start out for the bus carrying a sherpa load of stuff for guess who and decide a cab would be better. Even better go to Southland and try and sort out my Harry Potter ticket which Village have managed to stuff up. No joy so spend some more of mother's money. Bad move, she makes me haul out every thing in the wardrobe and put it in piles. One for her, one for me and one for the op shop.

Tuesday night was ladies night at the pub and the beer was free. I forgot that, three beers and I'm gone but I won a prize. Just what I've always wanted, a Bingo Set. I donated it to the Home.

I owe emails to people and you will hear from me, promise.
BrickOutHouse is recovering to the extent of walking 7kms a day.
He insists on putting blocks of chocolate near my mouth and I don't remember eating them.
How he loves Aldi chocolate, unfortunately my innards don't.

I am weary and there is tension but not because of him and I can't vent because the cause of the tension might remember I have a blog.

Call it quits, loosers

From the Sunday Herald Sun:

Train travellers are shunning myki, transport documents reveal, amid a renaissance in the popularity of old-fashioned Metcard ticketing.
Ten months after myki's introduction on Melbourne trains, only 8 per cent of all commuters are using the $l.35 billion system.

And I'm not one of them.

On the buses I am supposed to exit via the back door, which is all well and good if the driver has managed to park up against the curb. If he hasn't then it's grab hold of the door and swing to safety. This takes time but people are usually kind enough to wait or just bored enough to watch the fat lady fly. If I have to swipe and swing then I'm going to be at the back of the queue hoping
the driver has one eye on the back door. Never take it for granted that he has.

Being a pensioner I was supposed to get a free myki and I didn't so I'll stick with Metcard.
Give it all up, take the loss and go back to something that works.
When will politicians learn to admit a mistake, cop the kick in the kneecap and move on (I almost said forward but that's already been used).

Boy, did I have dreams

My aunt was a catwalk model in the late fifties, not overseas but here in Australia. Unfortunately the camera didn't love her face, lovely though she was in person. When I was about 12 years old, she brought over some of her model dresses for Mum to make into clothes for me.


Did I fight to keep those model gowns from being cut up into girly dresses. I mean what was wrong with a 12-y-o wearing a calf length dress with a flying panel from the shoulders AND it was lined with pure silk. But I came across this photo by John Rawlings for Vogue and there it was, the beginning of my love affair with velvet.


She had brought a dress of this shade of velvet. Draped at the neck and long with a lined wrap for the shoulders. I was in love and the love for velvet and this colour still lives. I ranted and stormed to keep the dress as it was but good material was too expensive not for it to be used. At least my mother did one thing, she made it up in a 'princess line', a pattern without a waist. How good it was not to have a waisted dress when I didn't have a waist.


My lovely velvet had a slightly flared body, a scoop neck, no sleeves but in a style that was known as ballet dress bodice. Under it I wore a crisp white blouse with tiny ruffles down the front and a collar I could turn up like the Audrey Hepburn I wasn't. The one thing I can't remember are the shoes I would have worn.

I still remember what it felt like to put on that gown and watch it fall around my ankles and spread over the carpet. And I remember when models looked like ladies instead of stick insects and heroin chic.

The not so good oil

So everyone's happy that the oil spill in the Gulf seems to have disappeared faster than expected. Hooray for little oil eating microbes that must be reaching the size of Blue whales by now.

Others aren't so sure at this miracle. The oil is still down there, floating around the water column but in smaller slicks or particles or sinking to the bottom to smother the seabed and anything living down there. Wait for the first big storm to stir the oil pudding and see what happens.

Reading New Scientist bring another oil gem to light. World War 11 and the tonnes of shipping that went to the bottom with their cargoes of oil, still down there in rusting hulks. 8500 of these rusting hulks in various parts of the ocean already slowly leaking. In Chuuk Lagoon, Micronesia more than 50 Japanese wrecks are on the bottom, a time bomb of eco-disaster.

There are also the more recent ship sinkings which we have to worry about since a lot of these ships weren't in the best condition to be sailing at all but that's what 'flags of convenience' are for.
If we can drill down through the sea, through the sea bed then surely we can remove and use the oil lying in these wrecks. Just don't think about the munitions that are probably lying around ready to go boom. Lord knows what they're leaking into the ocean.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnndd

A HAPPY BIRTHDAY

CUPCAKE

FOR HAWT ANDREW

And it's been only a week

In my present mood, those marshmallow cupcakes would last about a nanosecond including removing the paper.

BrickOutHouse is recovering nicely, well his back is. He now has toothache. He's already up to walking 5kms a day and hoovering ice-cream and milo faster than I can get to a cupcake. Thanks to the tart that was in such a hurry to get round a corner yesterday she nearly ran him down on the crossing.

My big gripe is Australia Post which hasn't delivered 2 parcels that were posted 4 weeks ago.

Actually that isn't my really big gripe but how can I delicately put it that I would like to belt someone with a brick without naming names, oh look, I just did.

I forked out $7 for fish and chip day at the home next week and I get to bring the lemons. Thank you mother for opening your big mouth.

I picked up a ring from the jewellers. I had a stone removed and another put in its place. The new stone has been chipped and there's nothing I can do about it. The only come back was if I had taken a photo of it as I handed it over, unchipped. You really can't see it but I know it's there and they know it's there. I might buy gems from there again but I'll never have any set.

And crap on daylight savings. And the birds that are fornicating under my window. And the flaming big possum that fell in the mandarin tree from the roof. I hope its hobnail boots fell off.

I could really go for a marshmallow cupcake.

Only the voice remains

I grew up in a house with one radio and a little old record player so the first time I heard anything operatic was when the radio was accidentally shifted off the racing station to the ABC.

I had never heard anything as beautiful as Joan Sutherland singing the Bell Song from Delibes 'Lakme'. It was written on my wish list but it was 10 years before I tracked down a recording and could afford to buy it on my $20 a week pay.

Then the ABC broadcast the Opera live from the Sydney Opera House and I had my first view of the entire opera story. I loved it and Dame Joan for ever.

He made it through.

He's still groggy and sister said a very sweet voiced nurse answered his phone for him.
The funny thing is, I've been conscious of a hospital smell around the house all day and unless you've been in hospital I can't describe it. Call me silly but I think my son has been with me all day.

The cat is in serious decline. Daddy's car is here but daddy is not. She's barely eaten and is still on my bed. Looks like I'll have to waft a can of the expensive food under her nose. I can't remember if I blogged that he asked me for a set of steps at the foot of the bed because the fat little object can't climb on the high bed.

And the bed is high. His mate came round last night and put 3 planks under the chipboard and in the way of all men, measured up just a tad wrong. The planks stand out about 3 inches which was enough to cripple me several times over today. My doc's going to take one look at the bruises tomorrow and want blood tests.

So from a low sofa bed barely off the floor, he now has a penthouse lounge. Planks, chipboard, 6 inch high density mattress, 2 inch sofa bed mattress with a doona on top and all fixed down with a fitted sheet so tight I think I could bounce a coin off it. I'm sure he won't mind that the sheet is mint green with pale pink roses and the doona cover is pale turquoise with pink butterflies.

A trunk is at the bottom of the bed for the cat. All his clothes are in a basket on a stand so no bending. And a chair for his mate to sit and have a beer with him. TV, light, DVD viewer, mechanical grabber all within reach.

And thanks to the paternal side of the family for all their help, every non bit of it.

Operation Quasimodo away.

I woke at 10 to 5 and turned all the alarms off except the phone because I'd never used that as an alarm, very neat.


He had stabbing pains behind the eyeballs, bent nearly double with his nose to the ground as he staggered out to the car. I've been told that for a 6 a.m. arrival sometimes it's straight to the theatre so I hope, although if it's later they might keep him Friday night since we've already had to pay for that night.


I settle back ready to have a cuppa and the phone rings. Sister asking where the hospital is and I had to go through every piece of paper I had until I found the address then look up the Melways. I could have printed out a bloody map yesterday.

Save me Mavis!

And the weddings again

Now who wouldn't want a 'Hello Kitty' wedding dress?

Bride No. 1 and her $20,000 wedding which included $4,000 for the Hollywood satin and bling dress. She thinks she has the prize in the bag because she's arriving at her beach wedding in a sea plane. Let me tell you, not even Princess Di would have looked elegant getting out of a plane, onto the float, holding the train of her dress and not falling in the water. The guests were given little boxes to open after the ceremony and lovely butterflies flew away. This time I really looked for the cake and there were cakes, square, small parcels and iced in tropical colours on a stand.
The food was buffet style and the other brides moaned because it was supposed to be a seafood buffet but no it wasn't. It looked like an all-you-can- eat buffet at any pub. Entertainment was a bellydancer who danced and danced and danced. The dress was lovely but not dragging through sand and was over-blinged for the setting.

Bride No.2 spent $10,000 and did most of it herself. From her comments, someone had replaced her blood with sour lemons. It was set up nicely except the red and white looked like a footy run through. A deeper red would have looked nicer. The Groom was preceeded by a piper, sweet touch but their children weren't impressed by the fuss. She'd ordered her dress by mail and the other brides were right to say it needn't a fitting otherwise it was fine except for the chiffon shrug over the shoulders, tacky and didn't hide her tattoo. The reception food impressed no-one and they didn't show the cake.

Bride No.3 spent $20,000. She was older and met hubbie on the internet. They were married in a little chapel and she wore a suit based on the one her own mother was married in. Unfortunately it was grey and dull although it did fit. A pale blue or pink would have suited her colouring better. Now the reception venue was elegant but sour lemons said it lacked something because the bride had had it all done for her. The food looked presentable but wasn't hot. The cold food is becoming a familiar theme through the shows, reception places take note.

Bride No.4 spent $25,000 but only $299 on the dress. She was a bubbly bride who could have married in a potato sack and enjoyed herself and the only thing wrong with the pretty lace dress was all the layers not being the same length. Dear brides if you are going for the elegant arty shot sitting up a tree on a branch, hide a ladder behind the tree. Getting shoved up the tree arse about ain't a good look but worth it for the laugh. The bridal waltz went from waltz to rockabilly and they enjoyed it. No cake again. Where was the cake? I really couldn't see 25 grand anywhere.

The winners tied so Bride 4 and Bride 3 had to decide between beach wedding and sour lemons.
Beach wedding won and probably deserved it for not falling out of the plane into the drink.

The brides have to give points for the food which I gather is why the cake isn't seen but we all love a wedding cake so give a glimpse, at least.
They should give points as to whether there are enough chairs for the guests to sit through the ceremony. Everybody stands, I'd throw someone to the ground and sit on them.
All the brides made lovely comments about the actual ceremonies.

It's reinforcing my opinion that weddings are as boring as batshit unless you're the bride or so plastered you don't care as long as the bar is open.

And now for a wedding meme. You have unlimited resources (forget the groom) what is your dream wedding and if you like (and I would) a photo of the dress and don't forget the cake.

Moving fast

BrickOutHouse had the appointment with Spinal surgeon this morning.
MRI and blood tests this afternoon.
Operation next Wednesday.

Tomorrow I fix up chipboard for sofabed and buy a mattress at Clark Rubber.

Sunday I have nervous breakdown.

But I might be okay enough to post on the wedding show which I was smart enough to tape and can watch for the laughs and there were plenty.

If you don't hear from me, I have my head under a rock hiding from reality.