It's Begun Again

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I have to say it again. Don’t call me between 7.30 and 8.30pm on a Tuesday night. My program will be on.

Americas Next Top Model Cycle 11 has begun, just one week after the end of cycle 10. Incidentally, Whitney won that one, she was a plus size model. Rock on Girl!

This year there are three girls called Brittany, one Asian (half Japanese/Korean), one African/Native American, one blond chick that looks like she’s out of Gossip Girl, one lesbian vegan, one from France, one with a boys name and one with a boys bits and a couple of other that don’t have anything to make them stand out.

Frame your face and look fierce people!

My Second Degree ...

... sunburnt right leg.

Last week I fell over in Coles. I slipped on some water from the flower buckets as I made my way to the checkout with a fresh cooked chock for lunch. I bruised my ankle, my knee and twisted my hip. I was sore.

When I got back to the house J made me sit down and rest in case I had done more damage than at first visable and I choose to sit outside, but in complete shade. I sat down and read my new issue of Empire and then went in to house to shower. Later, I was watching telly and my leg was itching a bit, so I scratched it a bit. It hurt an lot.

I looked and my leg was scarlet from the ankle up to the knee and across my shin. I can't figure how it happened, I was in the shade!

It's the worst sunburn I have EVER had. A wet towel over my leg the first night, keeping my leg out of the shower until this morning (five days later) and aloe vera lotion until a couple of hours ago. Ouch!

Alone Again

The visitor has gone. After ten days of having someone in the house with me day and night, it seems really empty and quiet. We didn’t really go out and about that much apart from the functions that had been booked, but we did drink wine and Long Island Iced teas from Hell, talk about girlie crap like shoes, the fit of bras and how f*cked up we are right now. We ate bacon and egg sandwiches, cheese, beans on toast and generally chilled out.

There are some things I won’t miss though. I won’t have to worry about Puss taking a chunk out of someone other than me (how's the toe, J?), I won’t have to bother putting my dressing gown on when I come out of the shower, I will be able to dine on crisps and I won’t have to boil the kettle several time a day for tea. I will also be able to fart when and were I like.

That said, I now have a new respect for the dancing possibilities of trance music. Anyone for the kangaroo boop?

Visitor

Got a mate staying with me at the moment. It’s really nice having the company. Puss is good, but it’s pretty hard having a decent conversation or even a silly one about nothing much, with a cat.

And because I have a guest, I have to entertain. Well I don’t HAVE too, but I like too. So over the weekend we went up to the Central Coast to see the pelican feeding at The Entrance but ended up going to the Forest of Tranquillity instead. It was very tranquil.

Yesterday we raided Coles and brought up their stocks of decent cheese and crackers, did and emergency stop outside the Cheesecake shop and picnicked at the Polo in Windsor.

Conspiracy

In recent days I have been watching a lot of telly. My house is spotless, my linen cupboard has neat piles of towels and bedsheets and I have no ironing to do. I’m not working and having issues filling my time. Telly is my comfort.

Or it should be.

There seems to be an inordinate amount of movies and telly programs about the loss of a loved one or movies that remind me of my childhood.

In No Reservation a young girls loses her mum in a car accident, goes to stay with Auntie Catherine Zeta Jones and worries that she’ll forget her mum.

Carousel always made me cry, especially the bit at the end when Billy Bigalow’s daughter and wife sing ‘You Never Walk Alone’. I really shouldn’t have watched that one.

The Nanny, an old favourite, happened to show the episode were Maggie (eldest daughter) has an issue with Fran and Mr. Sheffield relationship because she thinks they were having an affair when her mother was still alive.

It seems I’m being forced to think about my Muv at every turn. I even had a dream about her last night. I had the worst nights sleep for an age mainly because the dream showed me that she was really alive and had watched the whole funeral process with her arms crossed and shaking of her head.

I need to come up with something other than cleaning to occupy my mind. I’m thinking too much (and leaky eyes) and quite frankly if I don’t get a job soon to keep my mind off the last few months I’m going to turn into a gibbering wreak.

I may be going to the polo at the weekend. That will be nice.

Too young

I was sitting on the train the other morning going into the city for yet another agent interview when a young Japanese girl got on and sat in the seat directly in front of me. She looked to be in her late teens, but could have been I her twenties. She had her hair in braids in a very Miffy way. She sat there preening herself for about ten minutes without a mirror. I had my iPod plugged in and watched her as I listened to The Offspring describe The Worst Hangover Ever’ and asking to be ‘Spared the Details’. I was thinking about my worst ever hangover that happened while in New York when I noticed sprouting from the top of her head a single course white hair.

I watched as she fiddled about for another few minutes…but the hair was firmly in my focus. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I dug into my bag and tapped her on the shoulder. I handed her my compact. She thanked me profusely with little bows that where restricted by her seated position. Then she looked and sorted out her hair until the light caught the hair. She gasped. Grabbed the hair and tugged. It came out clean. She handed my compact back to me.

As she got off the train at Central she turned to me and said, ‘I’m too young to go grey.’ I smiled and remembered my first grey hair. I was 24. I haven’t seen one since.

Black and White

Since Puss and I moved into our new place in March there has been a black and white menace. We don’t know what his name is, but he torments Puss and occasionally gets in a good shot that leave Puss with a scab on his nose.

Since I’ve been back for the UK I’d been noticing that Puss had amended his eating habits. He cleaned his bowl and ate all of his biscuits. At least this was my thinking until the other night.

I was sitting on the sofa with Puss curled up at my feet when I heard noise from the kitchen like Puss was eating. I checked my feet, yeap, Puss was there, so I turned my head to see the Black and White cat from next door sitting at Puss' feed station tucking into his biscuits.

A couple of nights later, it happened again. So I chased him out of the house and saw Puss curled up fast asleep on his chair on the porch.

So now I have a problem. It would appear this has been happening for a while. He's so bold he does it even when he can see me sat on the sofa. He knows Puss is pampered and get better food than he does. How do I keep the little shit out without punishing Puss but keeping him locked in?