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.

Location, location, location

In the Egyptian desert near the Gilf Kebir region at co-ordinates (google earth, look for the end of two long ridges) 22d 1'6.03"N 26d 5'15. 76"E is this wonderful 45 metre wide and 16 metre deep meteorite crater in pristine condition, known as Gebel Kamil.


Scientists believe the impact was a 1.3 metre wide solid iron meteorite weighing 5000 to 10,000 kilograms hitting the earth at a speed exceeding 3.5 kilometres a second.
The impact would have generated a fireball and plume visible over 1000 kilometres.
This is considered a small impact event and the crater is important as, up to now, it was thought a metallic object of this size would beak into smaller pieces before impact. The fact that it stayed intact with the exception of an 83kg chunk found 200 metres away from the crater, means a change of thinking about the destructive power of small impacts instead of concentrating on larger "end of all life" events.

The crater was first noticed by Vincenzo de Michele who was studying earth satellite photographs for ruins of palaeolithic villages. And Egyptian/Italian expedition to the site was amazed to find it in such a well preserved conditon that even the splatter rays of ejected materials were visible. Crater ejecta rays don't go towards the centre of a crater but converge on a point at the rim or just outside it and are used to plot the direction and angle of impact.

Gebel Kamil is considered the best preserved crater so far discovered on earth. Looking at the image above, it is almost lunar like. It's also a young crater as the team found ejected bedrock material overlying prehistoric structures in the area. The geochronology is still being determined but it's les than 10,000 years old, maybe even less than 5,000 when the land became too arid for humans. If less than 5,000 years then it could have been witnessed by prehistoric people and archaeologists are hoping to fix the date by investigating nearby settlements.

The crater was discovered in 2008, explored in 2010. The research team collected over 1,000 kgs of metallic meteorite fragments. The more they collect the better to estimate the size of the meteorite but the market for meteorite rocks is booming and already bits of the Kamil impact are on the market. Once they disappear into private collections, the information they contain is lost to science.

As with archaeological looting, where an object is found, its condition and how many other fragments surround it, is vital to any study.

In trying to protect Gebel Kamil, the exploration team want it listed as a protected site by UNESCO with Egypt preserving not only the crater area but the fragments scattered over the surrounding area.

Tripping over penguins today

Penguins cupcakes and now, our Mary and Prince Fred feeding the little sweeties. Notice the large yellow thick rubber gloves they're wearing. Apparently penguins can get bitey in the presence of food or royalty.

I want another birthday

I've always loved reading Su's blog but now that she has opened her Delectable cake shops in Malaysia, it's more of a pleasure.

Really, who could resist Madagascar penguin cupcakes with the rest of the gang, as a birthday cake. I want another birthday and I want this cake or even just the penguins would do.

Today was good

Hey, I went all the way to Murrumbeena and back again without a panic attack.

Thank you to Metlink for hiding the bus stop to go the other way, good thing I'd downloaded the map. Would you believe it was right opposite an op-shop.

The other shop was an esoteric book shop and I loved the sign in the window.

I BELIEVE IN DRAGONS, LOVELY MEN AND OTHER FANTASY BEASTS.

Such a great heading for a blog.

I now have the fan belt for the dryer so you can bet on the weather becoming wonderful for leaving washing on the line.

Miss O'Dyne, I'll be heading your way next.

The wedding show review

I was looking for a wedding dress for this post and came across this site which is to weddings what CakeWrecks is to cakes. It's a scream.

Fortunately our Aussie brides were a lot more tasteful. I liked that the four girls last night all said how lovely the others looked as they were making their vows and most of the bad remarks were reserved for the food and that's the fault of the reception place.

First off was the $50,000 Hollywood extravaganza. The dress was bigggg as in Princess bride meets a giant pavlova without the strawberries and a strapless top with floating feathers. I loved her crystal hair ornament which wound around her hair and for the bridal dance and dance it was, she changed into a slinky white gown with a side split. Apparently the bride hadn't told the groom that in the middle of the dance, fireworks were going to go off, his expression, priceless. Bridesmaids, yeah well gosh and the happy couple tossed doves into the air after the ceremony. That's supposed to symbolise peace and happiness but usually symbolises a meal for some predator.

Second was our lovely Pagan couple. The other brides had no idea what a pagan was and had trouble wrapping their minds around a hand fasting ceremony. The bride wore a simple white dress with an olive green cloak. The guests were asked to bring a crystal and bury it in the ground of the wedding circle under a huge tree. Guest dressing was elegant Goth. After the ceremony, the bride jumped the broom and the reception began. The entertainment belonged to the bride and groom who did a routine of fire twirling in the dark, outside. Surprisingly their cake is the only one I remembered. That topped up $20,000.

Third bride thought she was a cert as she was being married on a tropical island. She'd used the internet for everything including finding the groom. The dress that was ordered was too small so she lost 38kgs to fit into it. If I knew it was that easy I'd be ordering a wedding dress tomorrow. The bridesmaids were dressed in a coral colour, strapless and short. The groom and his men were very formal in white shirts, black long shorts and black thongs. The reception area was plain but the food got top marks except for dessert which was a long table made up as a lolly bar. This effort came in at $25,000.

Our fourth bride went traditional then Bollywood. Her dress was a delicate but plain white satin, not strapless and a lovely lace trimmed veil. One of the other brides was in melt down at the no booze reception. The wedding guests all wore saris and the bride really shone when she changed into her outfit for the reception and dancing. The Indian and Fijian dancing was entertaining.
All up $36,000.

The girls were quite generous with their points but the winner was Miss Hollywood Princess in the meringue dress. Meh!

Some footballer got an award

And some just got frou-frou girlfriends. If this is the Twigley's idea of fashion, I just can't wait for the wedding dress. And what is with the hand on the hip? Every wannabe had the hand on the hip stance. The first thing every performer learns is what to do with the hands. Only 'The Duke' got away with a hip hand and only because he was usually carrying a gun in the other.

And who invited (or why were they invited) the blonde as comedy event and her jewell encrusted watch wearing gnome of a husband?

The view is grey

Grey skies, still wet washing, more washing to go out, it's cold, the trees are sad and the lorikeets woke up me at some disgusting time this morning.

The BrickOutHouse has two bulging discs and a high level of gout in his bloodtests due to an excess of Uric acid.

Now the hard part is getting him to Centreluck because he thinks he should work for his money.
He can't work but he's in that halfway stage of admitting he can't and should be asking for help.

This all goes back to the last four years of hell when he took any job available in the area to help with mum so he has had no full time work on a continuous basis. Unless we count the hellhole of cleaning industrial pumps in such noxious fumes and fluids that we didn't worry about his back because we thought his lungs were shrivelling. Yes, the hazmat gear was brought out every time there was an inspection by elf and safety but try cleaning the innards of a tiny heart shaped pump in great hazmat gloves. I digress but I'd still like to punch the bastard in charge.

He says he's been working for himself. That's true to a point because none of the idiots he does work for seem to have money when the job is finished. I found his CV when I was going through papers to throw out. The brilliant things he was doing as an apprentice at 19 still amazes me but thanks to workplace harassment, he ended up with a breakdown. Then, as now, he said nothing because he wanted to work. That's another on my list of 'punch the bastard in charge'

So Centreluck it is even if he sticks to saying everybody goes to them with a bad back but not everybody has the kind of X-rays he has. If it wasn't for bad luck, he'd have no luck at all.

And if we can fund Oprah Winfrey to bring herself and an audience of adoring imbiciles to tell the world about Australia then the government can fund a health card for a working man in need. Jeebus but I'm beginning to hate the cult of celelbrity in today's world.

Sporting events

I bet you didn't think you'd ever see that heading on my blog.

So Melbourne lost 49 million bucks on the Grand Prick!
But Jeffery piped up and said it was still worth it. Bollocks! Hospitals, Ambos, SES, CFA, all of them could have used a chunk of the 49 million. I won't mention the thousands in sweeties the Parliament has scoffed, lardarses.
I am in the process of sending an email to my local representative.
Give the fucking bloody car race to anyone stupid enough to want it.

Overseas, South Africa spent billions on sporting stadiums for the World Cup. They are now sitting idle and there is no money to spend on the upkeep so it's likely they'll be torn down. South Africa is in crisis with an AIDS epidemic that is ongoing and that money could have saved lives. Billions to watch neanderthals kick a bloody ball around a stadium.

Delhi Commonwealth Games are right around the corner. And so is the crop of mosquitos carrying Dengue fever due to the floods and continuing monsoon rains. Don't worry, officials are saying, everything will be dry by the time the athletes get here. Everything including the terrorists. But they have them under control as well, don't worry, we're checking everything. Never mind the crazy Australian journos who are showing the home country how easy it is to buy explosives for a bomb, they've just having a laugh.

Olympic Games for Britain in 2012, along with a possible wedding for Will and Kate right after the Queen's Jubilee celebrations. A smorgesbord of events for every home grown terrorist
cell in the Kingdom but at least the Queen will be paying for the nuptials.

I think it's time the world realizes that we have gone long past the time when these events could be staged for a groat or two with a pig in a poke thrown in for a sweetener. The world is in crisis with health care whatever country you put a foot in. Children are dying for want of clean water, simple vaccines, saline solution for gastro.

So the next time Mr. Brumby brings up staging the World Cup in Victoria, he'll be missing a vote and it might be the crucial one he'll need.

Four Weddings

It took me a long time to decide what to tag this post but it just had to be laughter.
I hate reality shows. They bore me to tears the exception being 'MasterChef' but then I only watched the last month of that and only for the food.

So why am I watching a reality show about weddings? That would be for the frocks, the bling and the cake and the snarking.

The idea is that four brides go to each other's wedding, give marks for the dress, ceremony and reception, the bride with the highest marks gets the ritzy honeymoon. I expected it to be extremely bitchy and nasty so was ready to switch to another show but it wasn't bad and the brides comments were kept to a minimum.

I felt I could comment on the brides, being fat myself so if the bride was, I could really snark.
I could comment on the ceremony remembering every horrible detail of my own. If my bouquet had concealed a wand, I could have done a 'Bellatrix' on half the guests.
I could comment on the reception since mine resembled a production of 'Dimboola' by the Fuckitupandgetpissed amateur drama club.

The first episode had the lot. The overly large bride who decided on a costume wedding and actually looked quite lovely in an Elizabethan style dress and I wish she had extended that to her everyday dress. Short black frock with electric blue corset on the outside was striking as a slash to the throat with a dagger. And if one does wear knee high stockings, make sure the dress covers them. Actually I liked the hubby who wanted a Babylon 5 themed wedding, go team B.
Next one had the works, fireworks inside, flaming pavlovas/cake and an Elvis impersonater.
The Asian girl had two ceremonies, ethnic and traditional which was held up when her father got lost along the way.
I can't tell you who won the first show, I walked to the kitchen for a drink and it was all over.
The girls comments were great, along the lines of OMG, I would not have/wear/eat that in a fit.
I thought what they wore to each other's wedding ceremonies should have been part of the contest. High heels to a garden wedding after rain, bwahaha.

This week's was just as enjoyable. $400 dress up to 60 grand wedding. I hope a friend of mine wasn't watching, the high end bride was wearing the same dress that will be worn next month. I'm sure she'll look a whole lot better than this bride. $400 bride was married at the beach with reception at the local pub. Tattoo bride should have held back on the champers until after the ceremony so got a little Bridezilla with the tending maids. Brides are starting to blend in my mind about now.

I'm looking forward to next week but what could possibly top a gold stretch hummer for the Bride before she changes to a horse drawn carriage. I used to think stretch limos were the height of gross until my first view of a stretch hummer. Nothing wrong with silk flowers until the bouquet is thrown and it disintegrates. Twining arms to sip champagne is a Hollywood myth of elegance. I may be mistaken, it might have happened when I wasn't looking, but I didn't see that ghastly US custom of the groom removing the bride's garter with his teeth and throwing it to the assembled male guests. And if there was a funniest home video moment, it was left on the editing floor.

Yes, I have to say it again, I'm looking forward to next week's show.

I'm not in a good mood

Just when everything seems to be going well, it all hits the fan again.

Two oldies dropped off the twig over the weekend, one being Gordy so Bingo is not going to be quite the same. Little Edna went too but the family gave mum her tray on wheels so now instead of the girls carrying all her craft stuff from room to room, they can wheel it. It doesn't seem to worry mum, she's too busy thinking of the outing to the Cranbourne gardens on the 22nd.

And the BrickOutHouse is in trouble with his health. The chiropractor put back the two vertebrae that were out but there is a problem with his hip, leg bones and toes joints all down the left leg. So blood tests yesterday and a catscan on Thursday. He is hunched over like an old man and in real pain but the cortisone might help that and finding out exactly what is wrong will help a lot more.

I'm not his mother but I did bring him up until he went to high school so I still worry. He shouldered his share of the nightmare four years with mum and he hasn't really had enough downtime to put it in perspective. If he's got an early appointment, he camps out on the sofa bed with the cat and sleeps like a log. I had more medical drama with him over the years than I did with my own kid and I never stop worrying about him because like all men, he's as stubborn as a mule about seeing a doctor until he's got one foot in the grave.

I was meant to be thin, beautiful, rich with no kids but instead I was born worrying about what was ahead of me. Perhaps it was better in the old days when the family ran into the double figures and no-one could keep track of who was ill or injured until they were on the way back to health.

My all time favourite

This was a real laugh out loud for me. I'm lazy blogging again, cooking, cleaning and falling asleep in the chair. I woke myself up snoring with my head nearly down to my knees. I don't usually do this until daylight savings. We're not up to that yet, are we?

Too lazy to post

And now for some education

That sweet pendant is mine, all mine. Only tiny but a lovely ammonite fossil with a mother of pearl flower. Ammonite fossils are all over the place. The cephalopods, named for the Egyptian ram horn God called Ammon, appeared in the seas 415 million years ago. They were survivors.
10% survived an extinction event during the Permian, flourished during the Triassic period then died, leaving only one species. They began to thrive again from the Jurassic period until the end of the Cretaceous period when all species died.
They lived in shallow waters, moving by jet propulsion and proper little predators they were. Mollusks, fish and other cephalopods would be stalked and chomped after the tentacles grabbed the prey drawing it to the jaws located at the base of the tentacles between the eyes. But there's always something bigger and hungrier, mosasaurs and other marine reptiles sank teeth into the shells and extracted the squid like bodies. The empty shells then sank to the sea floor to be buried in mineral rich sediment.


While ammonites are found every where, only in one place can the beautiful iridescent form of the fossil be found. Southern Alberta, Canada in the Bearpaw Formation which is a large marine formation of mostly shale approximately 70 to 75 million years old. The photo above gives some idea of the size of the ammolite fossils.

Ammolite is grouped into two general categories. Fractured ammolite as in the photo above is named for its stained glass appearance from the fossil being crushed in the sediment.

Sheet ammolite, on the other hand has little or no crushing so the colour is a solid mass of intense iridescence and is made into beautiful jewellery that constantly changes as the angle of light changes. The best stones can rotate 360 degrees giving a full display of colour. As with opals, the thicker the layer (3 to 10 mm) and the size of the piece reflects the price.

A bit of a blow last night.

"It was a dark and stormy night", and it went until this morning. I could hear things dropping and being blown around but I didn't bother going out.
The cat insisted on going out but after one whisker twitch in the door way decided that the kitty litter would do for the night.
I'm looking at brilliant blue sky at the moment but that wind is chill.
I wouldn't have even heard the storm if the cat hadn't kept waking me with a paw to the face.
The BrickOutHouse had been staying so he could get to the Chiro early before work.
This was the cat's idea of Heaven, cuddled up to its daddy like the old days.
But it's the weekend so he's back with the girlfriend and the bed is empty.
So I'm getting told that daddy isn't home and there's a storm and where's the warm body I've been curling up to.
After waking me up, she'd stomp off my bed and go to the other room and wait.
She's still in there, waiting.
I'm sleep deprived.

Gobsmacked, flabbergasted and fuming

Mummy boasting to Aunt Patty about beautiful grand daughter.

Aunt Patty boasting not so much since her lot have a collective IQ of about 20.

Aunt Patty says, "It's never bothered J that her grandchildren are coloured."

Coloured?

Irish, Sri Lankan, Scots, English, Dutch, French, German, American genes have gone to making up my United Nations grand daughters and I wouldn't have cared if they were purple with yellow spots and green feet.

Fucking coloured!!!

Aunt Patty is getting a white sheet and a flaming cross for Christmas.

Live blogging

I'm sitting at the computer, looking out of my big window and watching a baby kookaburra sitting on the fence four feet away. I've heard them over in the golf course but I've never seen one this close before. I can't go out with the camera because I don't want to frighten it in case there's food nearby.
I'm chuffed to see one so close considering that between Mirvac and Australand they wiped out most of the bush areas that belonged to the native birds.
It's just made my day.
I just hope it wasn't this little bird that was making the strange chirperting noises underneath my bedroom window last night but he looks healthy enough.
I wish I could walk on flat ground as easily as he's trundling sideways along the top of the fence.

The hardware curse

Not my computer, hardware like in Bunnings, bloody rotten Bunnings whose website would try the patience of a saint.
Lesson: never throw out the Bunnings catalogue.
You still see the same things on the website but try getting a price or actually going to the right section.
Stupid me expecting to see cisterns in the bathroom area.
I thought it would save me going down there and trawling the place and picking up all sorts of things I don't really need and not getting the things on my list.
And it will be freezing.
In summer it is suffocating heat and I always expect to see vultures lingering at the exits for the molten lumps of humanity that make it out of the hardware Gitmo.
I need cement, a new cistern, a ladder, a small patio table (green plastic), a bird bath top, just the top, a can of paint and a new-fangled phone to take a photo of the taxi driver's face as he tries to jam it all in the cab.
Perhaps I could ask for a driver who is hardware friendly.

The Formal

This is the gown grand daughter has bought for the Year 12 Formal. She'll look much better than the model, says grandmother. The colouring is just gorgeous and you all know they're two of my favourites shades. No doubt she'll manage to swan around in 5 inch heels and not fall down once.

It's in the genes.

My eldest grand daughter

almost at the end of

Year 12

and

ready to rule the world.

Men are from Mars

37 years I've been washing clothes for the BrickOutHouse so you would think I'd remember to check the sleeves.
He has had this habit, forever, of taking off a jumper or tee shirt and leaving one sleeve inside.
And there's nothing worse than wrangling wet sleeves at the clothesline.

But I can see the logic in his sock habit.
If you have two socks and they have holes in different places then wearing them together makes one whole sock.

Except if one of the socks in question has no foot just an upper. But this is acceptable since tying the laces on his work boot stops it from crawling up his leg.

So this is why I bought him half a dozen pairs of new ones for his birthday. He was pleased, he can't think why his socks are disappearing.

Twelve months gone

I was chatting to my mother this afternoon and she asked how long she'd been at the home.
22nd of August 2009 she went there.
She said she didn't remember much about being told she couldn't leave the hospital unless she went to a high level care place and then there was a big rush in the afternoon and she was there.
Even though everyone was so kind that first night, she was so frightened that she cried silently all night, thinking that we would leave her there and not bother with her again.
And she woke the next morning to sunshine and birdsong.

She only told me this now. It was one of the terrors of her entire life, that she would be alone.
Of course we didn't stop going, I felt sometimes I was living there until all the details were finalized.


Twelve months later and I am trawling eBay to buy craft cards and glittery things. She's making and selling greeting, birthday and wedding cards to order. The money she makes she gives to the activities committee. Instead of a woman lying in bed staring at the ceiling, with brain turning to mush, I have a mother who is so busy with living life that I'm being left behind.

Not too far behind, I'm carrying the cheque book.

This should not be happening

After wading through the election guff on Sunday, the paper had an article on old people and the food they're given in nursing homes.
None of the homes were named but $5.00 a day was a common amount allocated to feeding the residents 3 meals and due to a shortage of staff, some residents were malnourished because they're unable to feed themselves.
I'm not surprised at the shortage of staff, there is a big gap between what is paid in the public sector to the private sector where profit is the name of the game.

Fortunately Ma is not in one of those places. They have two chefs so meals are varied. At lunch time I've seen all the staff sitting quietly and feeding the oldies who can't do it themselves. As part of the activities, residents make slices and cakes for the afternoon teas two days a week.
One lunch last week was written on the menu board as rissoles which I suppose in some of those other places would be cheap greasy meat and tomato sauce and mashed potato out of a can.
Not this meal which was a large home made hamburger topped with bacon, pineapple slice and grilled cheese. The chips were oven baked but the vegetable were fresh and so was the gravy.
Dessert was a chocolate pudding with fresh cream.

Every nursing home should be like this and I don't care how small or big the organization is. We're all getting older and if we don't start putting rules in place now it's us that could be sitting in front of a plate of slop unable to pick up a spoon.

After getting all huffy about this, I walked into the dining room yesterday and checked the menu and was pleased to see a good meal but I was a bit worried about the dessert. "Bananna Mouse" did not sound appetizing. Danielle got ribbed all afternoon for her lousy spelling. She made up for it with marshmallow and chocolate slice for afternoon tea and my mother wouldn't share.

Heaven and Earth

This photograph was taken by Alex Cherney.

It shows the Milky Way

above the Loch Ard Gorge along

Victoria's Great Ocean Road.

A small problem just over the horizon

It's been a crap week where it's been too hard to think to write and it's not going to get any better. I've been thinking of closing down the blog for a while to give me a chance to either have the breakdown that's hovering or getting some counselling which I hate doing. I always lie to the counsellors, I can't help it, I just can't open up to some stranger any more than I can to friends.
I try not to bother friends at all.
I know what's wrong, I just don't know how to fix it and deep down I believe that it is unfixable.
For one thing I blame the weather, I haven't been this cold for years.
I can't blame Ma, she's having a ball in spite of oldies dropping off the twig left, right and centre.
It must be nice to be medicated up to the eyeballs with morphine.
Too much time at the home is pushing my empathy button too the limit. How do you stop your self from thinking "I'd hate this, I'd really hate this" and then go ahead to make someone's day a bit easier instead of turning around and walking out. My sister can do this, walks through and never looks to right or left.
The point is I want to do that, I want to walk out and not be thinking of what I can bring on the next visit for someone. I spent yesterday filling a pretty bag with barely used nail polish for one lady who had a stroke at 50 and has been in there for 12 years. She has beautiful nails and the girls always make sure she has a manicure. I'm not telling you this to make myself out to be a saint but this is how I can't stop helping in spite of the fact that I want to go away and never look back.
Today had another memory creep up when I went to vote at the school. I went back to the '75 election. Up at 4 a.m. to get the banners in the best spot, our job as we were the closest to the school. It was an ugly election and people were ugly about it. As I walked through all I could see was my kid, everywhere was another part of him and I felt bits breaking off me until I could leave, never to darken the doorway until the next election.
Earlier in the week, I had a slap down from a neighbour who has been doing this kind of thing for over 30 years. She is a master at the soft voice with the iron piss-off wrapped in it. I had jokingly told her husband about the fall and said I nearly rang his number for him to come and pick me up. Now that is a joke since he is about six inches shorter than me and if I was hurt I'd be ringing the ambos. Next time I pick up the phone there is a message from the wife. They go to bed early and take the phone off the hook so they're not disturbed but she'll give me the number just in case, and the mobile number. She'll be in to speak to me at some stage about it. In other words, we'll help but not if we can get out of it and we don't answer the phone anyway.

So the heart of it all is that I am alone but not yet alone enough to deal with being alone.

New Chair

Neighbour is an upholsterer and when picking up two couches for recovering last week gathered up for me the matching lounge chair. Salvo's wouldn't even look at it and the lady was planning to throw it on the nature strip.

It's big, fits bum nicely, is about 4 inches too low but in lovely condition. I have been trying it out all day, on the floor and up on bricks for the height.

It's killing me. My back is aching like you wouldn't believe. The roll-over arms mean I have to stretch twice as far to grab my cuppa and turn on the lamp. The seat is about 6 inches deeper than old faithful and there's the problem. Trying to sit upright means my knees are on the seat not hanging over the edge and my back is not upright if I don't sit back.

So, tomorrow I will be moving this lovely creature to the opposite side of the room for favoured visitors. I will also have to move the coffee table and the side table. I'll have to move the chair that is already there to the dining table which is okay because the chair I have there is too low to read my books. But to put that chair there, I have to move old faithful back and put it up on bricks again and I have to move the huge tv that's under the table waiting for the BrickOutHouse to get over the flu and put his sciatic nerve back in his spine so he can move it and hook it up. The too low chair is on wheels and can go to the other side of the table after I turn the table around longways, when the tv is moved.

And the only bit of carpet that has been cleaned and vac'd will be under old faithful.

Fifteen Years

Some memories fade and fall apart

and some

just keep breaking bits

off your heart

The lunacy continues.

And now a word from the Australian Family Association and the National Marriage Coalition.
They would like to have August 13 officially designated National Marriage Day.
And why this date?
Because it's the anniversary of the passing of the Marriage Amendment Act 2004, which defined marriage as "a union between a man and a woman". Personally I'd rather celebrate Divorce Day but over to the AFA and the NMC.

Ms Mary-Louise Fowler said couples who say "I do" should receive Federal government cash bonuses for remaining married because it's a real effort to make a marriage work and form a family.

But if you're a gay or lesbian couple who consider themselves married but can't because of people like Ms Mary-Louise Fowler, then forget bonus or anything else.
According to Ms (Ms?) Mary-Louise, "There's no such thing as gay marriage and the people lobbying for that are unfortunately misdirected because it's a bit like saying two tables make a dining room suite". Que????

And the Christian youth movement, Restoring Integrity and Sexual Ethics (RISE) is also backing the pro-marriage movement. RISE representative Judi Limbers said, "in this sexually liberated society, girls have become sexual service stations for men and they just end up getting used".

So these two organizations say they want the support of both sides of politics to promote " a renewed culture of marriage". Funnily enough they didn't want to comment on the Prime Minister's relationship but they're not so reticent on the gay and lesbian relationship issue.

A pox on them all.

"two tables make a dining room suite", you just have to love the nutjobs and their speech skilz.

Break out the Bombay.

Nice view courtesy of NASA of the Petermann Glacier flowing across the Greenland Ice Sheet. Where the glacier meets the sea, a 100 square mile island of ice has broken off and is moving towards the Nares Strait between Greenland and Canada.

This ice island could fuse to land, break up into smaller pieces or start moving south into the shipping lanes.

This was the glacier taken during the summer melt season last July. Opinions are divided over whether the breakage has been caused by global warming where the ocean temperatures are rising and warmer currents are undermining the glacier ice at land's end. One bright commenter said that it was natural for the glacier to break up when it stopped resting on the land regardless of the fact that no matter how big the ice cube is, it floats.

This is one of the cracks in the glacier last year. That melt water flowing through is a reason the ice is moving so quickly towards the sea, it's filtering down through minute cracks to the bedrock causing massive lubrication. If the glaciers of the Greenland Ice Sheet keep up the rate of calving for the next two melting seasons, the anniversary cruise marking the 100 years of the Titanic sinking could be a rough ride.

Sleep, perchance to dream

I found it hard to sleep last night, aches from walking, putting foot in a hole in the road, tripping on a wheelchair at the home. All of it designed to hurt already hurting bits.

Go to standby plan and put headphones on and turn on walkman. No red light means batteries are dead. Will I turn on the light and replace and make myself more wide awake? Decide not to do that and toss and turn instead.

I'm dreaming.
I'm chasing rats and mice around the bedroom. But I'm winning, there's only one left but I can't quite catch him. He's quiet then there's a ratty giggle and I'm off again.

I'm waking up.
To the tweeeping of the stupid smoke alarm because the battery has run out. Sounds like the ratty giggle I was dreaming about.
Stagger out without glasses to get the broom and give it a belt. Genius, without glasses I can't see that high in the ceiling to hit the button. Go back to bed and wait for the Chinese tweeeping torture to continue.

First tall person to hit the front door is going up the ladder to replace the battery even if I have to grab a copy of the WatchTower and listen to the twaddle of how Heaven loves me. Damn, mozzed myself now, they'll be here in droves.

I know, send psychic message to BrickOutHouse that I need him although that didn't work Friday night. I could tie a message round the cat's neck and send her off Lassie style. $6 for a 9volt battery added to shopping list. Heaven hates me.

Family First's fruit loop

Wendy Francis, Family First's lead Senate candidate in Queensland, said in a Twitter message yesterday: "Children in homosexual relationships are subject to emotional abuse. Legitimising gay marriage is like legalising child abuse."

It kills me to put this woman's face on my blog but we should all look at it, remember it and never, never vote for its party. Yes, I realize it's Queensland and the sun does funny things to fill empty heads but it did produce Kevvie so I can't really blame the state with the pointy end.

It's bad enough looking at Tony's horrible head and listening to his ramblings, then to have to keep a paper bag handy for whenever Loony Latham appears with his aggressive aggression (there's no passive with Loony) or shut the ears when the old nag from Kooyong decides to forget we've moved forward in political correctness.

But Family First takes the prize for nutjobbery in every area. Silly twittee has removed the comments on twitter but nothing is said without the brain (chortle) being involved in the process in the first place so saying sorry doesn't cut it.

Cat and duck

It's taken me nearly six months to get the cat to go out the back door without being frightened of the magpies. I mean it still makes me open the front door to go through the carport and IN the back door but it does go out the back door as well.

It did until this morning and it could be another six months for the nerves to stop jangling.
Cat goes out the back quite happily, takes a wander round, drinks the filthy birds water when it has pristine water inside and sits down in the sun.

QUARNCXH is the approximate noise the duck makes as it walks up behind the cat. I think it must have been swimming in the pool over the back fence and came over for a bit of a feed.
I don't believe the cat's paws touched ground until it hit the carpet inside the back door. It sat there with its nose pressed to the glass watching the duck which came right up to the door. I thought for a moment it would come right inside since the door was still open but it just picked up an insect on the step and wandered up the yard.

The vile filthy look I got from the cat said volumes about it all being my fault for shoving it out the back door in the first place. Well, who would have thought a duck would land in the yard?
A plane, yes, and no, that plane the other day was over the other side of the airport. On my side they tend to splatt on the golf course.

Looks like it's back to opening the front door again.

I haz hurtz, srsly.

Keyboarding will probably be comprimised, no, fingers are working.
Too much rushing around when I'm tired, not eating (yes it happens) then rushing when I get home because cat wants food, kitty litter cleaned, wants out front door, wants in back door and all before I get my cloak off.
I wouldn't have seen mum if sister had told me she was going but then her visits are usually five minutes long and out the door. Anyway I had the cheque to keep Ma there for another month and more card making stuff so she doesn't notice I'm not around as much.

So about 10 p.m. I'm not feeling so good and head off to bed, 10.30, 11.00, 11.30, midnight, toilet. F*^%& panic attacks. By 2 a.m. I'm all calmed down, warm and ready to sleep and I need a pee. Isn't it always the way?
Don't bother with slippers or dressing gown, quick visit.
Finish, get up, knock toilet roll to the floor and bend down to pick it up.
Both feet slip due to newly cleaned and polished floor. People never put a bright bright light in the toilet when you've only had a pale one, shows every bit of grime and dust and urges a cleaning frenzy. So the feet slip, and because I'm a little (ok, lot) top heavy, gravity takes over and I'm flat out like a lizard drinking.
Fortunately I didn't shut the door or concussion would be added to my hurtz.

So I swear and go into raising the Titanic mode. This consists of kneeling, palms down, and walking feet to upright like insywinsy spider. Slight flaw in the plan, half of me is on tiles, the other half is on carpet. Palms are down, arms straight, ready legs. Crap, slippery floor, toes and calves cramp and Titanic is down again. Lay there for a minute uncramping toes which is a danger sign of spine going into meltdown. Did I mention I hadn't bothered to put the lights on or my glasses? Thought not.

Chair, I need a chair for my arms to pull me up. Closest one is next door in the study. Start dragging myself there, which hurts elbows and shoulders and cramps toes again. Idiot, flip over and bumwalk to chair and if I do that I can reach the light switch and see where the sodding chair is. Even given the padding on my backside, bumwalking hurtz but toes uncramp. Another slight problem, chair is swivel and on wheels. Turn it round til it's just resting against computer table and pray that everything including self doesn't go through the window.

Success, once I get both feet flat on the floor, I can pull the rest of me up. Kneeling on the parts underneath the knees is the most painful thing. If anyone ever has a heart attack near me, they're gone, no way could I kneel to do CPR. So now I'm standing, nothing broken except my swear button and I'm off to bed but I should have put an icepack on the spine first. Not a snowball's chance of doing that, I'm freezing and have the shakes.

Collateral damage this morning, left hand, right thumb, left shoulder, neck muscles, toes still cramping, sore buttock muscles from bumwalking, tendency to burst into tears and core body temperature low due to frequency of ice packs to spine and sore boobs since, due to gravity, they hit the floor before I landed on them.

The only kind thing today was the sun shining through my bedroom window warming me before I had to move to feed the cat, let it out the front door, turn the heater on for it, open the back door and stagger back to bed.

But the killer is, there's not a chocolate in the house due to resolution no. 4568 to start a diet and no chocolate until Sunday.

Language

RH may be the scourge of the Interwebs and as annoying as nails down a blackboard to many bloggers but sometimes he is a mine of information rather than a swamp of botheration.

"The word 'hoon' in this country was another word for 'pimp'.
Its meaning has changed in the last twenty years or so."

"When I was in primary school a pimp was a dobber, as in: "He pimped on me."

"Bludger was a synonym for Hoon, as in "Here comes Jan with her bludger."

Now I remember the primary school 'pimp' as my sister was a fine example and pimping about me to mum was her idea of fun. I don't ever remember using dobber but do remember my son using it at school. Bludger, as I understood it was a layabout and bludging was taking it easy while others worked.An old lag was someone who'd been in prison but 'lagging' someone was old style dobbing.

My father had a wealth of racetrack terms for everything but nothing was ever written down and now I can't ask him. My uncle worked the wharves, another world altogether but he's gone and all his stories with him except the ones the family still tell about him stealing everything that wasn't nailed down. The advent of container ships didn't slow him down, he just took the container and hid it up bush.

Australians seemed to have a love/hate affair with the spoken English and language changed with every generation. As in the above, hoon now means any lout that speeds around our roads and would not take kindly to being called a pimp. Now perhaps RH could tell us if 'lout' is being used in its proper context or has that evolved from something else.

If we went back to Federation year, would anyone know what language we were speaking, streetwise that is?

TAC Ads

Is our money being well spent putting out the latest TAC ads?
I would say not, given the hoon that went screaming around the corner near my house last night.
The message is not getting across because the hoons that need the message are out hooning.

Who is getting the message?
Everyone who has lost someone in an accident because we're home watching the TAC ads.

For once, the cops have the right idea.
Take the hoon's car and crush it into a tiny cube. That's for the first offence.
For the second offence in another car, crush the car with the hoon in it.

Don't complain about the expense, use the money wasted on TAC ads.

What's the use of a guide that doesn't guide?

It could be that the TV station is just messing with the ratings but it's infuriating to sit down to enjoy a favourite programme that isn't there.

Last night, two episodes of 'Ghost Whisperer', joy for me until it turned into one episode and that was on very late, late late.

So GW is not exactly Shakespeare at the Old Vic but I enjoy it and it has a continuing story line which they managed to keep in sequence, at least. And Jennifer Love Hewitt has stopped wearing her Betty Boop line of frou frou dresses so I've stopped wanting a ghost to drop a match on her.

Now I'm sitting down with cat on knee, enjoying.

The cat sits up, ears go up.

Cat jumps down, goes into the dark hall, goes through to the dark study then comes out and SLINKS close to the ground until she reaches me.

And sits on my knee again.

Yes, I'm spooked.

Tutanhkamun Online

We're all familiar with the golden mask of the boy Pharoah, Tutankhamun, but it was only one of the thousands of objects found by Haward Carter.
In the Sackler Library at Oxford, there is a room where the humidity and temperature are controlled in order to preserve things not as durable as gold. The Griffith Institute houses the notes, photographs and diaries of the English archaeologist who discovered Tutankhamun's tomb in 1922. For 10 years, Carter catalogued the thousands of treasures stacked inside the chambers, but the majority of his work has never been published.
In 1993, Jaromir Malek started his work when he realized that of a total of 5,398 artefacts found, only a third had been properly studied and published. He decided to put all of Carter's notes online, the entire archive available for study.



When Carter died in 1939, he had no collaborators left to continue his work. While the artefacts themselves are held in the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities in Cairo, the Griffith Institute has all of Carter's written records. He recorded his finds on more than 3,500 cards with additional notes by Carter's chemist and conservator, Alfred Lucas. There are also more than 1,000 photographs by Harry Burton, plus hundreds of fragile pages from Carter's journals and diaries and 60 maps and plans of the excavation site, one of which has the valley's contours with Carter's black-ink lines showing the dig site located in the deepest point of the valley where the floodwater dumps debris when it rains. This plus the fact that the later tomb of RamsesVI was built almost on top of it, kept the smaller tomb (after the first break-in) undisturbed.
Malek and his staff had to work in their spare time due to a lack of funding but in 1995, "Tutankhamun: Anatomy of an Excavation" became one of the first websites dedicated to Egyptology. 98% of the material is online with the last pages available within the next 3 months.

Carter, funded by Lord Carnavon, had been searching the Valley of the Kings for 7 years but only a few objects had been found with Tutankhamun's name but it was enough to keep the two of them searching. Years later, there were rumours that Carter had discovered the tomb early in the search but had kept quiet in order to explore the rest of the Valley, with Carnavon's money.

On Saturday, November, 1922, stairs leading to a walled up doorway were uncovered. A diary entry for the next day says "seals intact", a sign that the tomb was undisturbed. Carter's first look through a hole into the tomb was on Sunday, 26 November and by the light of a flickering candle he made out the images of statues, gilded couches, painted caskets, chairs and chariots.

Harry Burtonphotographed the team's progress, as Carter, worked slowly and methodically to catalogue the position of every artefact before removing them. The photos show a jumble of objects due to the burial of the boy king in a smaller tomb than he should have had plus the tomb had been robbed shortly after his death and the contents were shoved back in any old way before the door was resealed. The photographs on the database reveal treasures from a leopardskin cloak with a golden head and silver claws to a collection of green and blue draughtsmen. Burtan also photographed the stages of unwrapping the mummy.

Malek hopes that Egyptologists will begin to study in detail all of the artefacts, not just the luxury items but the everyday items to find out, not only what they were made of but how they were made and the techniques involved. Not only did Carter records exactly where each item was found but they were recorded and photographed almost immediately the tomb was opened, before any deterioration had begun. Museums at the beginning of the last century did not have the technology for preserving organic items which is standard now. If other Egyptian digs are entered into the data bank then cross referencing will make research easier.

http://www.griffith.ox.ac.uk/gri/4tut.html will take you there.

This is one of the treasures, a pectoral scarab ornament belonging to the Pharoah. It has at its centre, another mystery. To the west of the Nile, there is a patch of desert where Libyan desert glass is found. It sits on the sandy surface but is much older than the sand and is almost pure silica. The scarab in the middle of the ornament is the only piece of the glass ever found in Egyptian jewellery.

Another fritzing

Light bulb in the ceiling has blown. The toilet light.
This house is telling me that I can't live here anymore.
Changing the light bulb by me is nerve wracking and dangerous.
Get the ladder.
Find somewhere to hold the new globe and the old globe. Yes I do have a big gob.
Go up the ladder carefully.
Unscrew the three screws holding the shade but not all the way out. Last time I did that I was fishing around in the toilet bowl with a sieve. Yes I did forget to put the lid down.
Hold the glass shade, take out dead bulb, wonder where to shove it while getting the live bulb.
Yes I do have a big gob but there's no where else since I'm holding a bulb, shade and one hand on the ceiling.
Put in the live bulb, put the shade back, screw the screws in.
Take hand off the ceiling. ffs, just let go of the ceiling. Okay, leave hand on the ceiling until one foot goes down a rung. So you've just dislocated one shoulder but don't whine to yourself, now take the hand off the ceiling.

Or I could just leave the door open and turn on the hall light until the BrickOutHouse turns up.
He stands on the floor, unscrews with one hand, replaces bulb with other, drops nothing in the toilet, replaces shade. It takes him 2 minutes.

This IS a serious science blog

I've posted before about the cannibalistic mating habits of various insects but we have more research which proves where a male keeps his brain and how females can multi-task though anything.

Take one sex-crazed praying mantis. His mission is to jump onto a female's back, grip hard, get his rocks off and jump to safety. Unfortunately all too often in a giant FAIL, he'll slip right into the female's mandibles and get his head ripped off for an appetizer.

In some mantid species, getting your head ripped off also loses the system of nerves that tells you to stop copulating. The nerves that keep copulation going are in your abdomen and remain intact.

So, while Madam is munching and lunching upstairs and re-designing the leaf and twig penthouse, the headless wonder is still going strong in the basement.

You'll notice, not one snigger during this serious blog post.


"snork"


"Bwahahahahhahahha"

This was always a deeply interesting science blog

So in the interests of science, here we have a photo of a Hairy Angler Fish from the Deep Australia Project. Not even a mother could love that face. If there is justice in this world, my ex husband should now look like this......without the teeth.

This one from the same project is an amphipod, a type of crustacean.

Only one name for him.....Darth Prawn.

You have been reading a serious science blog, don't be fooled by imitations.

This or the other?

Terrible isn't it, a geek at my advanced age.

There are lots more at the Noble Collection

But I want this one.

Through the gloom there's a birthday looming

How revolting to realize July will soon be over and so will another year of my life.

Apart from really wanting a body that looks like this

I really really really want a light sabre.

One of those dreams

It was one of those dreams that linger longer than usual probably because I was woken up in the middle of it by the furball wanting its too early breakfast.
I had complained so much about dress designers to everyone who would listen that one of the Paris designers had chosen me to end his show wearing 'The Wedding Dress'. No I didn't look like bones up there or bones down there, it was me in all my wall to wall flab. The dress was gorgeous, heavily beaded V neck, wide crinoline type skirt with train, miles of petticoats and heels, me, wearing heels. My flowers were white roses and I didn't so much as parade down the cat walk as glide. As I reached the end and had to turn, I remember thinking, here it is, where I go over the side and kill half the audience but no, I turned with grace, using my feet to flick the train behind me and continued to glide to tumultuous applause. I didn't have a veil, just a sparkly headdressy thing. Thanks to the cat, I didn't get to see myself as the next supermodel plus plus size but the dress was a beauty.

So the dream started me thinking (at that time of the morning, Great Goddess) about why dress designers don't design for lardarses. It's because they can't. Miss Skinny Pink in Satin is flat all the way around, up and down, no tits, no bum. Designers cannot cope with lumps. Fat ladies have lumps. They have lumps in strange places, they have one up/one down boobs. Fat stomachs tend to move as one glides (yes, we glide, shuttup) legs can be thinnish to tree trunks.

So you see with all their fabulous designs that they charge squillions for, they've not got the talent to dress the most Rubenesque of real women.

I dream of the day, that one will rise above this tryanny of skinny and have a show of such largeness, such women of curves to rival an alpine road and all in the most gorgeous of frocks to outshine the stick insects into extinction.

I could really kill the cat.

I'm not sure I can handle another chance

The clock is borked.

The toaster is borked.

The dryer is borked.

The spouting is borked.

My understanding of Telstra wireless broadband is definitely borked.

Relations with my sister are almost unfixedly borked.

My eyes are borked because I can't stop this water stuff from flooding out of them.

The cat has finally realized that waking me at 3 am for food is the road to borkdom.

I think my tin knee is borked.

My bank account is borked.

But I'm not depressed, my depression button is borked.

Idle, I haz it

I don't really but the blog haz.
Three days at the home this week.
I will just take a minute to unpack my brain.
Damn, I forgot where I left it.
Think, where do I hide the chocolate.
Thank the Goddess, brain and left over chocolate.
Sorry can't blog, eating chocolate.
Can't blog tomorrow either, smashing scales with hammer.

Plants I could get to like

I could really get to like that green blobby thing pictured here. For a start it's growing in the Atacama desert in Chili which is not the most hospitible places for growing. It's called llareta, a relative of parsley, looks like moss but actually consists of thousands of flowering buds on long stems which are so densely packed together they can withstand the weight of a human. Some parts of the above plant (photographed by Rachel Sussman) might be more than 3000 years old but we don't know enough about it to be sure. It has adapted to this extreme environment and is very slow growing. Of course humans can't leave it alone, the locals use it as fuel and make medicine from it which is fine if you're living in the same extreme location but don't tell big Pharma companies or it will be history.

I'd love it in my garden, no weeding and it looks so 'Dr Who'.

July is not turning out well at all

The big kitchen clock dropped off the wall this morning but with an agility I haven't seen in years, I managed to catch it.

The BrickOutHouse brought all his washing over including his world record sock collection. Washing was no problem but with two pairs of jeans in the dryer, it fritzed itself. Smell of burning, very hot plug in the power point and a low level clunk in the machine itself. Still I have been using it since 1991. Out comes Grandmother's giant solid stainless steel clothes stand which weighs a tonne and take up half the MCG's ground when it's all out in radiating spokes. I don't think I've used it since I put his nappies on it. (He said he didn't need to know that)

I dropped my mobile phone in my coffee cup. It was not a day for multi-tasking but being 5 years old and very basic, it didn't seem to do it any harm.

Putting paper in the bottom of the kitty litter tray was not a success. I walked in to the laundry to find kitty litter still in the tray but shredded paper from wall to wall. I have no idea how she did it but she must have had a grand time.

Fast forward Miss O'Dyne.

The black and white terror seems to have recovered from setting her tail on fire the other night.
She was rolling round the floor with BOH, so engrossed in him playing with her that only I noticed the slight smell of singeing. Stupid clot had her tail right up against the gas fire. OMG, the drama. He's still checking to see if any hair has fallen out, his precious was nearly hurt. Little beast is milking it for all it's worth, even cringing when he touches it.

My adventures on eBil, now at an end, cost me dearly money wise but lessons learnt were worth it. I am now ready to launch my retaliation against the largest of the shonky dealers and he's not getting the stones back, I'm keeping the evidence.

Happy Fourth of July.

Confession time

Don't get all excited, it's not about sex but about food specifically being a vegetarian.

The vegetables that I like are vastly outnumbered by the vegetables I don't like. Tofu is only made bearable by coating it in batter and smothering it with sweet and sour sauce. There are tofu sausages made by Sanitarium which gives me a taste of normality with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes although if you read the ingredients on the back of the pack it might as well be MacDonald's.

It's no good directing me in the direction of good vego recipes, I have them by the hundreds but the problem is, they all contain vegetables and I have to cook them. I am so past cooking a decent meal.
Yesterday I had such a craving for roast pork that I gave in and bought 4 little pork belly cutlets. I put a skewer through them, covered them in soy/ginger marinade, hung them over a baking pan and let them cook. The smell was enticing, the eating not so much and I will be glad when they leave the body. The sight of how much fat was left in the bottom of the pan from four 8cmx4cm pieces of pork was frightening. It wasn't wasted, the magpies were enjoying bread dipped pork drippings all morning.

I no longer want red meat, add pork to the list but a geniune free range piece of chicken does find it's way to the table at least once a week along with some salmon and a tin of sardines or my doctor screams about bone fractures along with the other screaming he does when I refuse to get on his scales or have blood and fasting tests which means getting up too early on cold mornings.

My weight is at the limit of what frightens me, not as much as it was in 2000 but more than it was when I lost 20 kgs in the post divorce glow. My credit card is at the same limit, I dare not go over either of them. It's not like I'm not trying, I mean I'm not just sitting here eating chocolate, it's chocolate covered dried fruit. See, I'm trying. But I confess, my diet is appalling.

Breakfast cereal is a mixture of whatever's on special but mainly high fibre and skim milk but it's winter and that's cold eating. Don't mention porridge, I've told you lot before, it's like eating cold snot. But toast (wholemeal wholegrain) and two free range boiled eggs (before Miss O'Dyne has the vapours, Kangaroo Island free range eggs) and steaming hot Earl Grey tea I can manage with my eyes shut and they usually are until midday.

The problem is, I'm a stress eater and staying home with my feet up beside the fire lessens stress but I'm still stressed because I'm not used to de-stressing yet, being still in 'what's happening to mother' mode. This is not as bad as it was but the brain still lingers there. The last time I lost weight, I stayed home, kept busy (not housekeeping, never housekeeping) and the kilos dropped off. It didn't last, the motherdrama kicked into high gear and I was back in the fat business.

If I could just resist the siren call of cakes, forget the hand to gob pleasure of chocolate, the melting goodness of a quiche made with sour cream and Tasmanian Brie, the steam from hot crisp fried chips crusted with sea salt and bread, lovely lovely fresh bread with creamy butter and not the crap Nuttlex I'm stuck with. You did notice the absence of vegetables in there, I thought you might have.

There's no getting round it, I'm the world's worst vegetarian.