Language

Say 'Skyscraper' and everyone thinks of the Empire State Building or the Chrysler Building but it started life as something completely different.
It was an English naval term - a high light sail to catch the breeze in calm conditions.
It was the name of the Derby winner in 1788, after which tall houses became generally called skyscrapers.
Later it was a kind of hat, then slang for a very tall person. The word arrived in America as a baseball term, meaning a ball hit high in the air.
Now its world meaning is a very tall building.

And why am I giving you all these trivia winning facts? I'm trying to keep my brain active. According to health experts (blows loud disgusting raspberry sound) (nomm, raspberries) being obese could not only lead to the usual blah blah conditions costing all the healthy people a zillion zlotniks to keep us alive but now the fatty bombahs are first in line for Alzheimers. I swear if a damn big meteorite hit earth, the last words we'd hear would be, "The fatties did it, the fatties did it!"

Holiday in Hawaii

This is the Pu'u O'o crater on Kilauea where a fissure eruption started when the floor of the crater collapsed. The fissure is approximately 1,605 feet long. There were 150 small earth quakes recorded within Kilauea in the last 24 hours.



Along with the lava fountains 65 feet in the air, there is the danger of lethal sulphar dioxide gas around the eruption area. The best way to see the eruption is from someone else's photographs.

A Stylist's work is never done

Now this is what I like. Lovely lace, colour will go with the shoes, pink diamond will shine and the whole outfit can be upsized from this stick insect to bloggerbums. Forget the flowing white silk River , this is it, the one.

Don't you love it when it all comes together.

Yes, Yes, I've found the perfect shoes for the clutch

but now I'll have to find a bloke because clutching

is what I'd be doing trying to walk in these

but aren't they divine

and they have bows.

I'm in love.

I couldn't find the bloke.

But I did find a bit o' bling to go with the clutch. I'm a sucker for teardrop shape gems but the Rose of Dubai diamond is quite sweet. It's a Fancy Pink internally-flawless diamond of 25.05 carats. It was last sold at Christie's New York for US$6,008,00.00 in 2005 but how much is it worth 5 years later. Enough to hold its own with the bag I'd say, clutch I meant not this bag.

All I need is a party.

And the shoes to go with this but I can't think of one bloke that would come up to this standard.

The legendary house of Mouawad (remember that jewelled bra for Victoria's Secret) that is famous for its jewels and diamonds has yet again made news with its diamond studded handbag that has been claimed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the most expensive handbag.

Priced at $3.8 million this clutch has 4517 diamonds (105 yellow, 56 pink and 4356 and is crafted in 18k Gold. It's called the 1001 Nights Diamond purse and took artisans 1,100 hours and 4 months to create and weighs in with 381.92 carats on a base of 18 Karat gold.

Jayne, River, would you like to borrow it for the Sydney Bloggers Conference?

To be in London now!

A long visit to the Natural History Museum's Vault and a lot of drooling over this sweet dream.
It's large, just the right size to rest upon my ample breast. It's the Cora Sun-Drop diamond and 110 carats of vivid yellow. The unusual colour stems from the very small percentage of nitrogen within the carbon structure of the stone. Diamonds with such a strong saturated colour represent only a tiny percentage of all natural diamonds so 110 carats of such vivid luxury is priceless.
U.S. diamond manufacturer Cora International has lent the gem to the museum for a limited time in a display which includes the Devonshire Emerald.


The Vault is a permanent gallery at the Natural History Museum and shows some of the most rare, unique and valuable treasures from around the world.
The Devonshire Emerald has 1,383.93 carats and is one of the biggest and most famous uncut emeralds in the world. It originates from the mines of Muzo in Colombia. Emperor Dom Pedro the First of Brazil gave the emerald to the 6th Duke of Devonshire in 1831. You can see a small piece of the original limestone it grew on, at the base.



Now this is not to be messed around with. It's known as the purple sapphire, the Heron-Allen amethyst was looted during the Indian mutiny in 1855 and brought to Britain. Everyone who owned the amethyst since that time suffered disaster and misfortune.
According to Edward Heron-Allen, owner of the stone from 1890, it was 'cursed and stained with blood'.
After discovering its sinister history, he gave it to his bank with instructions for it not to be opened until three years after his death. The stone was donated to the museum by Heron-Allen's daughter, with a letter he wrote warning anyone against handling it.

I think I'll stick with the diamond this time around.

Unfortunately.....

Our UberModel doesn't look any better front on in that dress although it's my kind of dress.
But the boots, ewww! I think they might have had to tie that bow extra tight in case of wardrobe malfunction. Now I could wear this although there might be bulging above and beyond the nifty bow but I could hide a very large backside in those voluminous folds

We gasp but it's just tragic

No name for this itsy model but since she's not likely to make it through to next year's fashion show, the designer probably doesn't care. Designer clothes are supposed to be for wealthy women not for anorexic stick insects with knees that look as though they would shatter if they knocked together. Those are bad tooth pick legs.

This is Martyna Budna, walking the fashion shows of 2011 and much in demand. As the Daily Mail report said, if one got bored, one could always count her ribs.

Same Daily Mail reporter said that Hannah Hardy's hips could grate cheese and I might say the same about her face. If she knocks those knees together, sparks could fly. Bloody awful frock. I never thought I'd say this but Vic Beckham's designs look classic beside this.

But here we have the most in-demand model for this season. Chloe Memisevic looking for her next meal, a glass of water. Despite cries from all model agencies that their models are being looked after and watched for signs of anorexia, it looks as though some are slipping through the cracks, in Chloe's case, literally. Designers are clamouring for her to walk the walk for them.

I can't understand why, when I would be so distracted by her skeletal figure that the gowns would have to be flashing neon signs before I noticed. As for the clod hopping platform soled shoes, no wonder they're laced up, clipped on and buckled otherwise the models would step out of them, not being able to lift the weight.

My doctor has sent me a letter telling me about all the people who are now going to try and control my life because of a few BSL readings (good luck to them) and I think I'll take photos of these with me and ask them how the anorexic epidemic is going. I am not making light of this terrible mental illness either but until fashion designers face up to the fact they are making role models for a body image that's not attainable by any means except starvation then the world can stop de-crying the obesity epidemic.

It's nearly over and it hardly seems right

Is this right? Another week and summer will be over and it will be autumn, just my favourite time of year because it cools down from summer.

Frosty mornings and balmy afternoons. I know time is supposed to fly but not gallop.
Miserable mozzies still plague us but I have never seen so many lovely dragonflies, not for many years.

Of course, I have my own dragon who flies.

Books and expense

As sorry as I am for the workers at Borders and A&R, I'm still getting my books from the Book Depository or Dirt Cheap books or book sales or the op shop.

I needed a book on Low GI foods and the website suggested Dymocks. I go to Dymocks but they only had the book in their Sydney stores. Price $24.95
I went to Borders, they would order it in for me from their overseas supplier and I would receive it in the mail between 12 and 14 days. Price $24.95

So I thought if they are going to their overseas supplier, I might as well go to mine.
The Book Depository had this book and all the others in the series, $15.10, despatched in 48 hours and I received it in the mail in 3 days.

In an A&R book sale I bought the last two books of a trilogy and because it was an old release I knew I didn't have a hope of finding the first but the Book Depository had it, $10.95 and I had it 3 days later.

I love books, especially my big jewellery books. The last two from the BD were about the Russian Nobility and their jewells and the crown jewells of the Czars. I've never seen them in bookstores here and I don't think I'd get them for the price I paid, somewhere in the region of $170 for both. Every page is a treasure. So a pox on all publishers who are demanding that we pay GST on overseas purchases. Books should never have had GST on them anyway.

There's a full moon rising

Each full moon during the year has a traditional name in different human cultures. February's full moon is best known as the Wolf Moon among some Native American tribes.

The Algonquian peoples of North America called it the Snow Moon. Other names are Hunger Moon, Storm Moon, and Candles Moon. In Hindi it is known as Magh Poornima. Its Sinhala (Buddhist) name is Navam Poya.

The official time of the full moon this month is Feb. 18 at 8:36 Universal Time. The full moon takes place at exactly the same time everywhere in the world, but the local time depends on the time zone.

This is also the only time in the month when the moon is exactly opposite the sun in Earth's sky. On this date, and this date only, the moon rises as the sun sets, shines all night long, and sets as the sun rises.

The rising full moon often appears large and has an orange or red hue. The large size is an optical illusion; the moon is always the same size no matter where it is in the sky.

It's also the only full moon in the sign of Leo for this year. If the weather is good, I'll be dancing under the Leo moon and making a whole lot of wishes.

Good for the experts

The Age is trying to help with the obesity epidemic .

I'm just so thrilled with all this advice as to how I can become thin.

And the commenter who thought having obesity police was a good idea can stick it in his lap band.

Teens do spend more time sitting on their backsides but considering the work load for high school now, they couldn't do any less.

And sport? Great if you love sport but not all love sport, Goddess knows I tried but I have a phobia about being hit with hard balls, bats and other sweaty bodies. If they had had a swimming competition with first to the bottom of the pool, I'd be gold.

I'm waiting for segregration in cafes. Slobs on this side, healthy skinny poles on this side.
For every skinny, there's a chubby whose drive, energy and intelligence has made them icons.
Maggie Tabberer, Maggie Beer, Margaret Fulton, Dawn French and Margaret Whitlam was no string bean but what a woman.

Obesity has never been the cause of any of my illnesses, including the minor ones I have now, but tension, panic attacks and trying to go beyond my emotional limits will probably do me in before the fat I've armoured myself with. In the last 10 years I've had two lengthy periods of peace and quiet and I've lost weight with no trouble at all. So a third era of me time is urgently needed.

And piss off the idea of obesity police.

I had one of those afternoons

Thank you Coles supermarket for making sure the rubber mat at the front door was nice and buckled for the fat lady to stick her toe under and go flying. I had a heavy bag on the shoulder and was carrying an equally heavy bag in the other hand so being balanced like a high wire walker I managed to remain upright.

It's only February

Already I have my candidate for 'Idiot of the Year' and it's not even a footballer.

Over the weekend 104 motorists were caught by police breaking road rules.

This one is in a special category of stupid.

"A man driving while eating with a knife and fork from a bowl between his legs and steering with this knees was one of 104 motorists found breaking road rules."

I'm still trying to imagine this in action. I take back the stupid, anyone multi-tasking like this should be running for Opposition Planning Minister.

His knife and fork skillz will be useful for tea at the Windsor.

I never thought I had a problem....

But it appears I have a food phobia. Now that cake up above would present no problems being snarffed by me. You see, it has colours and all the foods I don't like are white. I've never thought about it before until I was at the residents and relo's meeting at the home last week.
The chef asked if there was a meal that hadn't been offered or if anyone had a favourite that they'd like. Mother would like tripe and onions in white sauce. Well, I nearly lost me cookies with that one.

Tripe, only once and never again.
Lamb chump chops in white sauce and parsley, not in my world.
Ditto for shanks.
Tofu is on the outer for the moment but could make a return.
Cauliflower, okay without white sauce or cheesey white sauce.
Blacmange. (sp?)
Creamed rice.
White pudding. (don't even mention it's cousin, black pudding)
Egg white omlette, for goodness sake put the whole lot in and live a little.
I could not drink a glass of naked milk, even dressed with Ovaltine, it'd be a stretch.
Bread in warm milk sprinkled with sugar was a con my mother only tried once.

Now egg whites in a Pavlova is an entirely different quality of food. It's not completely white if the edges are a little browned and the cream is covered in all colours of fruit.

Vanilla ice-cream jammed in a glass with loads of coffee and some skim milk scraps across the line.

Lindt white chocolate with almonds is not a food, it's a tranquilizer, so edible.

I could really go for that cake.

Put a leash on those puppies

Thank you Miss O'Dyne for leading us to the wedding gown of the year. I do hope Hurl and Spawnie or Miss Middleton aren't web surfing for the big day.

Reminds me of that old joke, he says 'big breaths', she says, 'yeth and I'm only thixteen'.

It's like a train wreck or Tony Abbott with his mouth shut, I can't stop watching. And the rest of the gown is really nice.

Down memory lane

Down memory lane for ladies of a certain age, namely mine. This comes under the category "I can't believe they'll fall for this" but I'm sure the young and lithsome will. Does it look uncomfortable? I'm remembering how damned uncomfortable wearing this clobber was and how Pantihose became a joy forever especially as hemlines rose. Sitting on a hot vinyl train seat on the way from work meant levering oneself gently off the damn thing two stations before yours or you risked leaving behind layers of skin. Pantihose, our pride and joy and expense but worth it.

I assume that piece of pink and black excuse for knickers is a thong. The feminine equivalent of wearing a Medieaval hair shirt which was supposed to remind you of your sins as it itched, scratched and annoyed your body not to mention harbouring numerous lice, fleas and anything else it picked up.

The garter belt beloved by porn watchers and erotic writers who probably never had to wear one or if they did, had a waist and hips for it to sit on. I didn't, have a waist not write erotica (the web crawlers will love this post). The longer I walked or stood the lower the garter belt slipped. And then there were the little button things that hooked onto the stockings, always going missing to be replaced by a threepenny bit (I told you I was old) now I suppose, with a disposable income enough to buy this stuff, you'd just throw it out for another. And the stockings, fat thighs, anyone? Before stretch nylon, there wasn't. Nothing stretched over fat thighs enough to reach the hooky things which in my case explains why the garter belt rapidly descended southward with every step.

So we have pictured an annoying thong, an uncomfortable garter belt, yes it is, remember trying to do up the hooky things at the back of the thighs? The bra looks okay but not for a womanly figure. There's no support there, a middle aged set would be heading south to follow the garter belt. It's all for the young, wear this and he'll love you on Valentine's day and they'll go for it hooky, line and sinker.

Re-jigging the attitude.

Considering the vastness of blubber covering this blogger, my health isn't all that bad. No smoking, very little drinking and lately, no chocolate eating which means my blood sugar level is down to 7.1. The depression which has been dogging me is snivelling in a corner somewhere, no doubt it'll be back as soon as I get up enough courage to weigh myself.

But yesterday gave me some perspective. My cousin, who I still think of as a child, has been diagnosed with a particularly aggressive form of Alzheimer's at age 53. I kept thinking of all the things I was doing at 53 and how much I was looking forward to the years of freedom (well, that didn't happen) but not Alzheimer's. I mean it's an old people's disease, old, old people get it but not always and at 53, she's still bodily healthy but deteriorating mentally.

Wake up call. The body might not be the best but I remember that aches and pains are telling me to take it easy and mentally I'm still with it even if I never get the hang of Sudoku. But 53 and already back in childhood racing to disappearing point gave me a big jolt.

New photos

And not a chance of any of you ever seeing them.

They are 100% improved over the ones taken by the Dill at AustraliaPost but I had to pay an extra $4. I removed my big glasses, no heavy frames and used my reading glasses which were the same ones I wore ten years ago.

Never look at passport photos until you're on your own. Sobbing upsets other shoppers.

Hmmm. Not too shabby, same crooked smile. Last time I was allowed a small smile which helped but these days, no smiling just a fixed 'roo in the headlights' stare. My smile is really crooked on one side but then I have one ear up and one ear down which is why my glasses are always crooked, sort of evens things up.

I am comparing a 10 year old passport photo to the recent one, something is different.

OMG! I don't have a double chin anymore. My neck is actually on the scraggy side. All those falls must have triggered a fat slide southwards. If this photo gets knocked back then I'm going for one of those 'StarShots'.

I bet Joan Collins has a 'StarShot' for her passport.

Blue sky with one cloud

Just one cloud rolling past my window and it can keep going. According to the paper, we had 144mm of rain and I think half of that is still in my washing hanging on the line. The lime tree loved it though.

I now have a working cistern. It took him not more than half an hour not including the time he had to go back to Bunnings to buy a flexible hose. Then he comes out, asks if I want the box, no and goes to throw it out with the new toilet seat still in it. Apparently you can't just buy the cistern, the toilet seat comes with it and he was going to toss it because he likes the seat already there. I remind him if that breaks he'll be sitting on cold porcelain so I've stored the new seat and the pipes with it, just in case I ever need a pipe.

Next comes the old cistern. Can he put it in the recycle bin? Jeebus no, Kingston council have a habit of sneak checks on those bins but I figure shoving it in the red bin is fair enough. I just hope there's enough room for the kitty litter and the truck can lift the whole thing.

Well, I'm still on the putting away and clearing mum's things which I've been trying to finish for a year. It's a bit easier now that I can put her clothes in the op-shop bag. It takes thinking about, all this putting in place. I haven't finished the crocheted rug for the BrickOutHouse and those bundles of squares take up room but not if you put them in one of those bags and take out the air with the vac. Then it slides neatly under the lounge. Under both beds are boxes and rolls of material, all neat but removable. And when I say there is not an inch of the study to spare I'm not joking. Six bookcases, one CD tower, one table with record player, speakers underneath on which my electric typewriter sits. Table next to that holds my enormous Atlas and underneath that, magazine holders. Next to me is the sewing machine on it's wheelie table and underneath that are boxes of ribbons and sewing stuff I usually need. Next to that is the lounge chair I had to move from the dining table where I have my jewellery. It was comfortable but I couldn't get out of it, being used to a chair that swung round on wheels. Mother's old tv is on the desk, one half of which is now visible, just don't ask about the other half. Ironing basket is under the desk, it's a very wide desk so the office chair fits in front. Don't look at the magazines and papers on the floor, they're all in order, just waiting to be put away. There's a bookcase in the wardrobe full of craft stuff. There's a cupboard behind the door, phone books, files, paper on one side, vacuum cleaner on the other. Plenty of room for boxes on top of that, books and boxes on top of the bookcases, oil heater beside my computer desk and another bookcase that the CPU and scanner sits on. Chest of drawers to my right full of computer paper and on top is the printer and another office chair that I'm sitting in. I think the room measures 10 feet by 11 feet so you can see why there was a lot thinking before moving.

This has gone on in every room of the house, just to fit another person into what was the sewing room spare bedroom. He's still mystified about where all the things in the bookcase (now holding his clothes) went to, top of the linen cupboard replacing the doona covers which went to my wardrobe. What to do with the mohair rugs though? Folded they take up a lot of space but hang them on hangers in a garment bag, no worries. Now when all this is finally in place, I think I'll clean the house but I won't look in the pantry until next year.

Somewhere, someone is lighting black candles

I know you are, whoever you are. You hate me and I've done nothing to hurt you.

This year, I've mangled the toe nail, fallen over repeatedly and I do wish it was 'teh drinking', diabetes, cholesterol, blood pressure and put on weight. Well no, I haven't put on weight, that was last year, this year I haven't lost any which is supposed to fix the diabetes, cholesterol and blood pressure, none of which I swear I've got. Maybe the blood pressure but that's mother and I haven't seen her for a week so maybe that's down. Did you know you can get the blood pressure taken at the pharmacy for $3.50? Cheaper than the doc's.

And not forgetting the neighbourhood cretins overturning the wheelie bins along the entire street. Or setting the tin of fireworks off in the street. Or making loud plans outside the gate for stealing the flares from the two boats around the corner. Or throwing their empty beer bottles over my fence.

Now it's Orb season and going outdoors is a Bear Grylls adventure in terror. I just found out he is the top yob of the Boy Scouts, who'd have thought. My kid tried joining the Cubs, lasted about 6 months when he discovered the most easily obtained badge in this group was creative bullying.
I was lucky to cut back the apple tree on one side so I could get to the line without ending up someone's dinner.

I was heading somewhere with this, aha, the toilet. Half flush has been borked for about a year now and there's a big notice which says 'use full flush' which is okay since I've turned the water down but now we are a duo. When I was on my own, it would remain unflushed except for the really important business. So last night it decided to go into full Niagara Falls mode and nothing I could do would stop it except turn the damn water off completely. BrickOutHouse hearing the banging and swearing decided that he could connect a new cistern quite easily. He sets off for Bunnings tonight and comes back highly offended because they wouldn't let him in with bare feet.
Why did he think they would? So half flush is working, just. BOH's brain not so much.

And it's only February.

In order to have that Bali holiday...

Well any overseas holiday but not Bali, too hot for my delicate features. Hawaii would be nice, the volcanoes there erupt too but flow along the path of any resistance straight to the sea.

So a holiday needs a new passport and a new passport needs a current photograph. I do not look as she does up there, more like the dragon wrapped around her arm. Dill taking the photos hasn't taken any for a while, so presses the wrong button, twice. There is a queue behind me and it's hot so I'm sweating, yes a lady does indeed sweat like a hog on a BBQ when stressed.
Dill tries again, after telling me I must remove my glasses in case the lens cause a flash and my eyes aren't clearly seen, biometric ID now. Success at last, I hand over $14.95, look at the photos and go into shock. I think I saw myself killing several people on 'Criminal Minds' last year.

The photos are rejected, too much sweating, well if I was getting on a plane I would be. I do need my glasses on because I wear them all the time and Dill should have taken enough photos to stop flashing. Also I was wearing very comfortable earrings so comfy I forgot I was wearing them and didn't take them off, Dill should have told me to as they blended into my earlobes and made me look like an upside down Spock.

Every cloud has a silver lining, I get another shot at a decent passport photo. Matt makeup should take care of the shine, glasses should make me look human not killing machine and no earrings. Fine print on passport form says cheaper for seniors, W00t.

The holidays might be cheap but...

They don't call the Pacific Ocean the ring of fire for nothing but next time you're looking at all those cheap packages to Bali, keep this map in the front of your mind.
Volcanoes, Indonesia has every kind and they all erupt sooner or later.

Involuntary self-harm

This is where you don't use a razor blade to slice up an arm or stick large pins into limbs.
It's involuntary doing stupid things like falling over because the mind is too full of other people's demands.
It's getting a diabetes result and wanting to kill for a MacDonalds hamburger that you haven't eaten in years.
It's hearing the word 'diet' and 'for life' and then buying up every bucket of ice-cream that is suddenly reduced to half price.
It's avoiding the chocolate aisle only to find it's moved and you're surrounded by everything that is delicious and like a crack addict, you fill the trolley.

It's avoiding Baker's Delight only to have apple cake delivered to your mouth for afternoon tea at the nursing home.
It's being woken by the cat and not going back to sleep so you wander round for the papers and the guy in front of you is getting coffee and you automatically order a cappuccino, no sugar but the fresh yo-yo's sing a siren's song and you're sitting at a table under a gum tree and not missing one crumb.

I'm beginning to think I ran over my foot to avoid exercise.

And more on the way. AGL stole $18 out of my account in the dead of night after already taking out the direct debits for the correct amount on the correct day. When I deal with them tomorrow, there will be self harm, there will be cake, there will be chocolate and there will be blood on the phone.

To me, the mere mention of diet causes self harm. My brain shuts down and sulks. It sulked for weeks when I decided to go vegetarian. Do you know it takes a month for the innards to be re-jigged for vegetables without meat? It takes years for the brain to be re-jigged for no chocolate, believe me.

So I'm sitting here with an ice coffee, arm hurting as the Tetanus shot battles it out with the macrophages, toe's still wrapped like a half hearted Egyptian mummy, knees still hurting from 3 weeks ago and not wishing I had a body like Elle since that seems like too much hard work and hunger but I have great wisdom instead.

Two gin and tonics make me fall over twice as much. How much more do you need to know of life?

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.