I knew it!

I’ve always had a general loathing for a particular fruit that Muv tried to get me to eat. She’d cut it in half, sprinkle sugar on it and grill it. It was too bitter for me, even with copious amounts of sweetness. Muv however, would eat it and make the sounds of a person really enjoying her food.  She loved it.


I try to have fruit every day and often I’ll buy a fruit salad on the walk to work. My regular place know my order and I’m often greeted with, ‘The usual?’

One day I spied something out of place in the lovely, brightly coloured bowl of lushness in the cooler cabinet.

I asked, ‘Have you boobie trapped the fruit salad?’

They had…and it’s no use picking out the offending citrus because it pollutes all that it touches.



Today the newspapers confirm my thoughts on grapefruit. I’m glad I’m right about somethings, this is one of them.

Grapefruit can kill you!

    PS.  My regular supplier never tried to poison me again :)

Lottery Win

Natasha was from Spain. I thought she was the absolute bees-knees. She had an exotic accent and lovely skin. She was my friend and her Mum would make little cakes whenever I went over after school. Also, Natasha had three recorders, a normal sized one, a medium and a big one, all of which she could play. She could read music too. The recorders were mostly black but had creamy detailing on the mouth piece and banding towards the top and at the bottom. Aulos made these masterpieces of music, in all their smooth plastic glory. I remember that because they were so much prettier than the wooden ones the school lent to others.

I wanted to learn the recorder, but being from a big family I got to learn the guitar because we had one in the loft. It was massive and came in an even more massive hard case which I had to carry it to school in; switching it from hand to hand along the way. Mr Hardman taught guitar and he was school staff, no extra payments required. Recorder required an outside teacher and a one pound sub was required for each lesson.

I was eight years old and three months older than Natasha.

***

A few weeks ago I was out at a comedy club waiting for my spot. One of the other comedians went on stage with a guitar and played a tune and sang a funny ditty. Having never stuck out the guitar lessons, (mainly because the thing was such a pain to lug around) I have no musical instrument but it got me to thinking about how I could incorporate it into my comedy act without actually playing anything.

I came up with, take some drum sticks on stage and say, ‘I was gonna play you a drum solo, but some bastard nicked my drums!’ Boom Boom.

Then I remembered Natasha and her recorder. The idea of a 40 year old walking onto stage with a recorder would be a joke all of its own. No playing required.

***

A week ago I brought a lottery ticket for $23. I won $12. The first win in a very long time, but a win is a win, so I put the cash in my wallet.

I was walking through town on my lunch break thinking, as you do, when I found myself outside Allan’s Music.

With my $12 I procured a shiny new recorder. Not an Aulos, but a Yamaha. They make good motorbikes, so surely the quality of their products would be even. I also brought a book called ‘Recorder for Beginners, Book 1’. My lottery win was exhausted.

And now I have a new thing to learn. Maybe not master, but learn. I have my first lesson tonight.



I wonder if Natasha continued with her recorder playing.

A Memory

Despite the band splitting up before I was born, I grew up listening to The Monkees. Muv was just a teenager when they were at the height of their fame and she continued to pass her love for them on in the years that followed.

One of the few programs I remember from childhood is the Monkees.

In 1988, when I was 15, The Monkees came to the UK for a short concert tour. Micky, Peter (the one with the hat) and Davey where there. Michael was absent after a falling out with the band some years earlier.

Despite living in Chichester we drove to Bournemouth to see then. I was very excited, it was only the second concert I’d been to, Howard Jones was the first. The trip between Chichester and Bournemouth is 48 miles (or 77km). We hit the back of traffic queue about 15 miles outside Chichester.

‘Do you think the queue is for the concert.’

I was young and innocent.

Muv laughed about it for years.

I still listen to The Monkees, usually when I’m cleaning or gardening. Their upbeat sound has always been a energiser for me. I know they haven’t produced any new music for a while, but Davy Jones made his mark on the music industry.

A boy from Manchester who made another musical David Jones change his name to David Bowie.

He gave us the outstanding ‘Daydream Believer’ and ‘A little bit me, A little bit you’ and ‘Randy Scouse Git’

You knew you were short, we all knew you were short, but that didn’t stop us from loving you.

May you Rest in Peace Mr. Davy Jones
1945 - 2012

House of Horrors (no graphic details)

I had an interesting weekend. I found out to my detriment what happens when you eat food that is one or more of the following:
• Prepared in an unclean kitchen
• Less than fresh
• Reheated to the incorrect temperature
• Kept in the wrong conditions
• Anything else that makes food bad for you

On Friday I had prawns and boiled rice for lunch at about 1pm in a little noodle house a couple of doors down from the office. It wasn’t the first time I’d eaten there, but it sure as hell, will be the last.

About 3pm, I started to sweat.
Half an hour later I went to bathroom, all was not well.
I left the office at 5pm after being to the bathroom a further two times.

The car ride home was forty five minutes riddled with tension. I needed to pass wind, but I wasn’t game.

I got home and immediately went to the bathroom. I didn’t even bother to chase Cara out for a wee, I just had to trust she’d know what to do. She did. Of course Puss and Oren followed me and started asking for dinner. Food was the last thing I wanted anything to do with.

I fed the animals at arm length, put a log on the fire, then sat on the sofa, feeling considerably better and thinking it was over.

At six o’clock the violence began, and continued until four in the morning. At this point I was exhausted, I wanted my Muv, while I didn’t need anyone to hold my hair, I would have like someone to rub my back and tell me it would OK.

When I have a migraine I want to be left alone. I don’t want anyone telling me to keep my fluids up or asking me if I’m still alive.

When I’m sick, and I mean SICK, while I don’t really want anyone to see the indecision about whether to sit or bow, but I would like it if there’s someone outside the bathroom waiting to tuck me back onto the sofa or into bed and tell I’ll live to see another day. I would love to have someone else tell the cat not to try and sit on my tummy and this weekend I’d have loved it if someone else could have got log in and kept the fire going. Those buggers are heavy when you haven’t eaten for two days.

Saturday I spent sleeping and drinking the Powerade that had been brought in to replenish my electrolytes (Thank you SI). I failed to keep the first bottle down, but then it was over. Healing time.

Now began the aching, the muscles pulled for unusual activity of the non fun type. Shoulders, back, neck and chest. It hurt to drawn a deep breath and anyone calling to ask me how I was, was asked not to make me laugh. The restless sleeps invaded by dreams of jack-knifing trucks and being stuck in a bubble on the roadside unable to escape. It’s a classic for me, been having it for years and a true indication that I’m anything but well.

On Sunday I started to feel somewhat human again, but I didn’t venture out and a tenderised tummy kept me on fluids only until I braved half a head of steamed broccoli and a scrambled egg about 7.30. It was too much and I couldn’t eat it all.

This morning I had a cup of cornflakes without milk for breakfast. Weakness is the word to describe my current state. Ohh and about 5kgs lighter.

I find it remarkable how being sick can reduce even the most independent person into a blubbering child that wants their mummy, because MuV always knows best and exactly what to do.

Muv would have tucked me into bed.

Muv would have popped to the shops and brought Ribena or Lucozade.

Muv would have almost certainly made me dry toast with Marmite.

Muv would have cleaned the loo up and taken the bin bag out when it needed to be done.

Muv would have stroked my back and told me it was OK to cry.

And after two days Muv would have told me to ‘get up now, have a shower, start moving around, it’ll make you feel better.’

It’s a weekend I don’t wish to repeat anytime soon, but I know there where people out there that suffered worse than I, Tradie Trady being one of them and SI with a gastro bug.

But for the record, to ensure no one else goes through this I have reported the Noodle House responsible. I’ll keep you posted.

14/9/11 Update - The New Taste Noodle House was closed for lunch yesterday and it's looking shut up right now. Someone asked me yesterday, 'Did you close down the Noodle House?' My response was, 'No, they did, by not having a clean kitchen or food handling practices.' Not guilty, I still have a dodgy tummy!

Facebook

Facebook has it moments.

Moments of annoyance; such as when you click on a video that you friend posted, only to find it’s actually a virus that is self replicating, and you realize you have to warn all your friends not to click on the video you just posted.

Moments of sadness; when you read that a friend has lost a loved one. Even ‘friends’ that you have never met, you still feel a pang of grief, because inside you know what they are going through, but you know you can never express how you feel for them.

Moments of jubilation; A baby has been born, a child has graduated, the test results where negative (in the good way), the rescue puppy has stopped peeing on the carpet. These are time when you happily click the ‘like’, because you genuinely feel a glow inside.

Moments of hilarity; that picture your friend posted made you laugh so hard, you wet your pants slightly. pmsl has never been more apt.

Moments of disappointment; when you realize that ‘random’ you added because they made you laugh on other friends profiles, turns out to be a God-bothering psycho that is just trying to convert everyone.

Moments when you just want to delete your profile; no-one has commented on anything you’ve posted, for HOURS!

And then there are moments when if forces you to reflect. A status update today gave me such a moment.

What my Mother taught me:
Religion: ‘You better pray that comes out of the carpet’.
Logic: ‘Because I said so, that's why’.
Irony: ‘Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about.’
Wisdom: ‘When you get to my age you'll understand’.
Justice: ‘One day when you have kids, I hope they turn out just like you’.
Repost if your mother taught you right

I added, Discipline: ‘You’re never too old to be put over my knee’, because it felt right.


Here’s the situation where each of these (or near as) happened to me.

I was given some silly putty as a gift for Christmas. I decided to take an impression of my hair crown because, as it’s on the back of my head, I had never seen it. The silly putty got so stuck in the hair, nearly two hours of combing, Surfega, sunflower oil and finally diesel, saw it out. But at the beginning of the two hours Muv said to me, ‘You better pray this come out or all you’ll be left with is a tuft of hair.’

‘Why shouldn’t I shave my legs Muv?’ ‘Because I said so, that why. Plus, do you want your legs to feel like this?’ Quickly followed by a hand being run up her stubbly leg.

When I started my periods, I bit*hed and moaned about the pain and cramps. ‘Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about.’ I kept crying, so Muv took me to have my ears pierced. That hurt much more.

I like to think I understand a lot more now I'm the age she was once. Life does indeed suck, and yes, you will die.

I’ve never had two legged children (as discussed in other posts) but my fur and feathered kids, sleep like me, eat food like me and love me to bits. Even the chookens. So in many ways…they are just like me.

When I was 18, we where having a laugh about something…I can’t remember what it was, but clearly I over stepped the bounds of the Mother/Daughter freedom of speech act, because she said the line. Despite being a couple of inches taller and wider than Muv, she could still say the words, 'You're never too old...', and I knew it was true.

So I had many moments all rolled into one today, and for that I an thankful to Facebook and a random add friend that didn't turn out to be a psycho, God-bothering or otherwise.

Anniversary

Yesterday saw the third anniversary of a day that affected my life in a way that cannot be described. I became motherless. Clearly I had a mother, but on the 4th July 2008 mine, Sally, ceased to exist in this world and moved into one where she could wear red shoes all the time, drink G&T with more more G than T and cook up a storm at any time of the day.

In memory of my Muv, I finally figured out her Bread and Butter Pudding recipe, I think.



The weather wasn't rainy in Sydney, in fact the sun was shining, but I thought I share this picture of Muv and me on the Isle of Wight in the early 80s, because it reflects the feeling in my heart on the day that marks her death. Rain, muddy knees and a desire to stop waiting

Memories are made of this

Having had a houseguest for the last week I’ve been playing kitchen goddess all weekend. I baked up a storm, but sweet things rather than bread.

I decided to broaden my horizons and rolled out the oats, brown sugar and treacle plus a few dried fruits.

At one point I noticed I now have a rather fully loaded pantry. It reminded me of Muv. I had a pang of sadness as I had a realization that I even have glaze cherries in the fridge. I’ll eat them later and I won’t tell myself until I come to make something next weekend then be annoyed and tell myself I’m disappointed in me. That will really bring back the memories :-)

Let the Games Begin

This week I spent the Monday and Tuesday in Melbourne. I’ve drove down because I have an intense dislike of the airports, plus I like to prepare myself for the onslaught of family related stuff. I also like to reflect.

Actually, with the assistance of C, the guy that sits next to me in the office, I already have started. This time about the games we played, and didn’t play, as a child.

Operation: As kids we were never allowed to had one of these, despite it appearing on the Christmas and Birthday for a few years running. It needed to batteries you see, and batteries were and are expensive. But Paul, yes the same Paul for this entry, had Operation and would bring it with him on occasion when he came to play. I loved it, I was rubbish at it. My hands are steadier now. The buzzer and red light in his nose were squeal worthy.

Battleships: on paper, yes. Electronic, batteries. In later life I played Battleships, but with a twist. It’s rather fun to play Strip Battleships.

Pick-Up Sticks: I remember Muv getting me a set (I still have them). I was confused by why it was considered fun to throw coloured sticks onto the carpet and then pick them up again without moving any. I suppose in the Middle Ages when the game was invented by some poor bugger that dropped his firewood into a mud bath it was fun, but I needed batteries.

Tiddley Winks: Muv had a set made from Bakerlite in her jewellery box. The base that held the tokens in red, yellow, white, and powder blue and was divided into five segments where you score points. I loved playing this, but mainly because it was a rare treat to be allowed near the set as it had been her GrandMother’s. I have the set now.

Ker-Plunk!: No batteries required, therefore we were allowed it, but because it was noisy, we were only allowed t play a certain times. I enjoyed playing this so much, that I have a set now. With extra marbles :-)

Top of the Pops: This wasn’t a game persay, but when ‘Down Under’ by Men at Work was number one in the UK charts, my brother G and I bet each other 1p that’d they’d be number one again next week. He never paid up the 8p he owed me.

10 Card Brag and Bastard Brag: Cards on a Sunday night for 2p a hand. I’ll never forget Muv putting down two pairs of Kings and losing instead of four Kings and taking the pot.

Othello: A friend of Muv had this, a green felt board with black and white counters. Lillian would play it with me and carry on a conversation and still win. The other day I was in Borders during their closing-down sale and there was a set for $15. It’s mine now.

At the most we may get in a few hands of cards this week...maybe I should pick up a few bags of 5c pieces from the bank?

Lawbreaker

I was thinking about this the other day because I've become friends with a policeman. He pretty straight-laced and old fashioned in his thinking unlike my other policewomen friends that are a bit radical with the likeing of the modern music and saying f*ck a lot.

I like the way he thinks though, despite being younger than me, yes that is possible despite the fact I still consider myself to be 18, he listens to classical music in the car, is fanatical about F1 racing, is rather shy, I don’t think I’ve heard him swear and he eats like a horse. He's a big unit, not fat just very tall and fit.

Anyway, back to me, this is my blog after all.

We were talking in the car on the way to somewhere or other and I got to thinking about my criminal history. I don't have one. I have a clean record.

I've never been caught speeding.
I've never tagged a wall.
I've never been in a bar fight, seen loads, but never been in the thick of it.
And apart from the soap I stole when I was eight, which my Muv made me return, I haven't stolen anything.

***

I was in a chemist with Muv and Paul Doba. There was a white wire basket that was filled with bags of coloured soap. Muv was at the counter and as kids tend to do, Paul and I were wandering around smelling stuff. Paul was my best friend and the son of my Muvs bestest buddy, Sue, they lived just down the road from us on Bushy Hill Drive.

Paul and I approached the basket. Each bag had six soaps. Some were white, some pink, purple, orange and blue. They all smelt like grandma. One of the bags was split.

'Go on, I dare you to take one'

Being the youngest of five, and four years younger than my brother and his best friend (Bradley, how I loved you), I was always up for a dare in a bid to be accepted and included. I knew what I was about to do was wrong, oh so very wrong, but I did it anyway. I looked around and as quick as a striking snake I put my hand into the basket and grabbed a soap. It was a white one, it smelt like Nanny Hawkins.

It went straight into my left pocket. I looked up into the air, scuffed my foot into the carpet and tried to look innocent. Apparently it worked. We walked home in near silence. Muv asked us what was up, we denied everything.

As we walked into the garden through the wrought iron gate my already spinning head flipped into overdrive, what was I going to do with my prize?

Through the back gate.

The back door.

I made an excuse to drag behind so I was the last one in. I pulled the now volatile bar of soap from my pocket; the red hot booty burning my palm. As I stepped over the threshold I pretended to trip and slid the soap under the fridge.

No one would ever know about my indiscretion. It was over.

Time passed. I could smell the soap every time I went to the fridge and every time I went through the door. Edger Allen Poe wrote about the feeling of being haunted by your actions in a Tell-Tale Heart, I had no idea who he was at the time, but whenever I read the story I think, soap!

After about a fortnight the cat got a whiff. Jodie started laying on her side, paw extended under the fridge, fishing for something. Muv and Dad thought it might be a mouse, it wouldn't have been the first time. With two cats and a dog, we often had small furries running around, but they never lasted long. I hoped it was a mouse.

It wasn't.

After two days she got it. She pulled the soap out and realising it wasn't anything she could eat decided to make a fuss. A cat that rarely said anything showed her disgust and disappointment by meowing loudly enough to alert everyone in the kitchen.

Muv saw it, a momentary look of confusion then she turned to me.

'Tell me why there's a soap under the fridge?'

It spewed out of my mouth. The whole sordid tale without names, I knew enough to never dobb.

'Tomorrow you'll take it back and apologise'

I cried into the night. I was so scared.

The ten minute walk to the shop the next day was like the long walk. I couldn't walk into chemist and was pushed in by Muv.

I looked up at the Pharmacist, he was so tall, he looked like Vincent Price (I’d seen The Abominable Dr Phibes) in that moment when every other time he'd been so kindly, I took the soap from my pocket and placed it on the counter which was at eye height. I started crying and I said 'so..so...sorry' and ran out of the shop.

I learnt many years later that Muv had rung them and warned them I was coming and they'd had a giggle about it, kids will be kids, kinda stuff.

After that I was always convinced I'd be caught if I committed any kind of anti-social behaviour. I can't help if the shoe elves always slip the lead insoles in just before I drive the car.

The Stick

With Muv’s birthday only a few days away I thought I’d tell you a story from my childhood. This may even be one of the reasons why I have been an anti-smoker. I’ll let you decide.

I was maybe six year and it was summer. I know it was summer because I was outside playing in the back garden of Bushy Hill Drive with my hand-me-down pram and doll. I was near the fruit trees and I found a stick. The stick was perhaps a foot long (30cm) and pretty straight, so I decided it would be a perfect cigarette. Being from a family of smokers I’d seen how it was done; hold the cigarette between the index and middle finger and place it between your lips. Remove from between the lips, pucker your lips to release the smoke, and then repeat until the cigarette was gone.
Being a stick, it didn’t burn down.

So, as I walked around the garden I put the stick between my teeth to hold it in place. Muv was in the kitchen doing something. Preparing dinner at a guess, or baking a YumYum Pie.

Anyway, here I was, walking around the garden, pushing a pram and pretending to smoke a stick. Then I tripped.

The stick hit the ground first and slammed into the back of my throat. I screamed.
Muv came running out of the house to find me jumping up and down holding my neck, crying with blood pouring out of my nose.

She asked me what I’d done.

I couldn’t speak. I remember pain burning the insides.

It all turned out well. I don’t really remember much of the aftermath, except being told to sip cool water. I know I didn’t go to the doctors or hospital. I’m pretty sure the pointing at the stick and then my neck and the hand movements of smoking explained what had happened and it was deemed a minor mishap.

I do remember hearing Muv recount the story some years later to a family friend though.

‘I didn’t understand why she was holding her neck when her nose was bleeding. Then I realised what she’d been doing. I told her that bad things happen when you smoke and not to do it again.’
I know I never put a stick in my mouth again.



PS. If you Google images ‘stick’ you get allsorts of stuff except for a stick :-)

Thirteen Years

Today would have been my 13th wedding anniversary, but as my divorce is final (as of 7th November last year) and my ex and I are still on good terms I though I'd share a couple of things that make me grateful for the 12 years we were married.

I don't think I would have ever ended up in Australia if we hadn't have been together.

As a couple we had many good times, including many roadtrips around this wide brown land, so it wasn't all bad.

I had a chance to try my hand at farming. Alpaca, chooks, geese, mohair goats rabbits and a few other random animals...nothing worked, but it was good while it lasted.

He encouraged me to be myself and go for what I wanted. Of course it was this that ended us finally, but without him I think I could be a shy, brown mouse in a suburb somewhere cold.

This is a few of the reasons I decided that when I left I would keep it civil if we could. It worked. Now I have someone in my life that would be there for if I really needed it, and vice versa.

Happy Anniversary, some might think unlucky for some, 13 turned in a lucky number for us, because we finally made each other happy, as friends.

My Favourite Things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright crimson high heels and feelings of smitten
Being outside watching veg grow in spring
These are a few of my favourite things

Listenin’ to music and wild meeting doodles
Fresh warm bread smells
And laksa with noodles
alpaca that run with the herd, what that brings
These are a few of my favourite things

boys in white t-shirts with blue demin flashes
Make up and costume that match fake eyelashes
memories of childhood and all that, that brings
These are a few of my favourite things

When the cat bites
When the bell rings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favourite things
And then I don't feel...so bad

Sing to the tune of My Favourite Things from the The Sound of Music by Rodgers and Hammerstein.

Remembering the 15th April '89

Yesterday was the 20th anniversary of the Hillsborough Disaster. For those of you that don’t know about this, it was when a football stand in Sheffield, England, collapsed six minutes into a semi final match and killed (ultimately) 96 people. It was terrible and to this day remains the worst event in footballing history, in the UK and internationally.

I vaguely remember seeing it on the telly on the day, but seeing as John, my Mum’s boyfriend and subsequently hubby, had taken us away for a weekend in Great Yarmouth, I remember the weekend for something else entirely.

I was 15 and John had paid for me to have the room across the hall in the hotel we were staying at. I was in heaven. My first every hotel stay and I had tea and coffee making stuff, my own bathroom, a telly and two single beds. I picked the bed by the wall, put Brian the ginger teddy bear on the pillow, he was my teddy bear named after a boy I had a crush on when I was eight. We had spent the day on the beach, it had been sunny. We’d had dinner and about 10pm I’d said goodnight and sat on the bed watching telly for a little while. I imagine that Muv and John had also started watching telly, because parents don’t do anything else, especially on a dirty weekend.

I don’t know what time it was when I went to bed, but at about 1am I was awoken by a man climbing into bed next to me. This is going to sound strange, but I remember my Dad climbing into bed with my brother when he was unwell to comfort him, and my brother going nuts. I thought that perhaps John was doing the same to see if he’d get the same reaction (I would like to state, John never did anything inappropriate). As he climbed into bed the man said, ‘I don’t care if your Marilyn Munroe, I’m going to sleep.’

Now, I was a fifteen year old girl that just so happened to be having ladies things that weekend and as accidents happen, so had one that night. I was embarrassed by the warm red patch in the bed and climbed out of bed over the large sleeping stranger. Sat on the edge of the other bed was another man. I walked past him and went into the bathroom. Went to the toilet and then walked back into the room. There was a large man asleep on my bed, a pair of trousers on the floor next to it. The man on the other bed, looked at me and said, ’come here.’

I just turned and walked out of the room and knocked on the door opposite. I’m not sure how long I waited for a response, but I do remember hearing the telly on. When the door opened, John was standing in front of me.

‘There’s a man in my bed.’

My mum appeared at the door.

‘Jodie says there’s a man in her bed.’ John said.

John walked across the hall and into my room. I was taken into my Mum room. There was some shouting, before John appeared and walked down the hall, then returned with Hotel security or management. Could have been either, I was sitting on my Mums bed telling what happened, which, really was nothing, but could have been so much more.

I slept in my Mum and John’s room that night.

The next morning I asked if I could get my stuff from my room. I was told by John that he’d it all. I wasn’t allowed back into the room.

I asked for Brian, my Mum wouldn’t let me have him, ‘he needs washing’.

They told me later that the man who had climbed into bed with me had been a family man with three daughters around my age. He and his friend had come from the oil rigs and had been drinking. His friend (the one seated) had thought he could get his mate to let his guard down. The family man woke up about two hours later because Brian was wedged under his hip. This was the point where he realised what could have happened and being drunk didn’t know if it had, when he had beaten the other guy up so badly that my accident was a drop in the ocean of blood that covered the room. Light fittings where broken off the wall, pictures smashed and the window had been broken. Brian was blood soaked and needed to be washed at least twice before he could be returned to me. The ‘mate’ ended up in hospital.

For years afterwards, whenever this story was told, my Mum always thought it was hilarious that I was so casual about it when the hotel manager lady nearly lost her teeth coughing and spluttering at my reply to her question, ‘Are you OK my dear, nothing ‘bed’ happened to you?’

I replied with the innocence of a mid teen, ‘Oh it was alright, I just thought it was John.’

Personal Effects

My Muv’s stuff arrived from Spain the other day. It was delivered late in the afternoon but a man that was none to gentle with the boxes. After I’d signed and closed the door, I stood next to the two boxes for about twenty minutes, just looking at them. I knew I was supposed to open them, but I just couldn’t bring myself to.

Eventually I did open them.

There was a jacket. Not the jacket I had asked for. I had never seen this jacket before, so now I have a strange funky smelling blue and red jacket hanging in the spare room door. The blue and black tartan jacket I requested has either been given to someone or thrown out. Don’t even get me started!

There was a pair of yellow quilts that I made in 2001. They smelled of stale smoke. The two matching cushion covers were nowhere to be seen.

There was a lamp base that was always around when I was a child. It currently has no wire, so it can’t be used and it’s missing a lampshade. A classic crème silk shade will restore it to the lamp I remember from day of old.

A 1923 copy of Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management. It had been packed in such a way that the back cover had been pushed up. This meant that as soon as I took it from the box, the back cover detached itself from the rest of the book. I took a deep breath and placed it to the side with a mental note to try and find someone who could fix it later. I couldn’t resist having a little trip down memory lane when I flicked it open the butchering of a mutton and thinking about Dad bring home a dead deer, and Muv using her Mrs. Beeton’s as a guide before placing the pieces in the freezer.

One of the boxes was filled with small ornamental shoes.

And finally her jewellery box. Filled with various pieces. Some I recall from my childhood, like the silver locket containing a lock of her hair and on the opposite side a picture and twist of my dad’s hair. Thinking about that item, I remember wearing it on a long silver chain to my first job interview. Also hidden in there was the small plastic hospital band that I would have worn in my first days on this earth.

Button Meltdown

This is getting out of hand now. Today I went to see a choir sing a few Christmas dittys on the ground floor of the building I work in. I was standing there while they sang 'The Holly and The Ivy' thinking I really love this song and feeling quite uplifted and happy. Then they sang I didn't know or recognise. Then they started to sing 'Hark the Herald Angels'.

My mind went straight back to when I was about 7, I was in the school choir and we were performing at a summer concert at Guildford Civic Hall (UK). I was sat in the back of the car singing 'Scarborough Fair' to myself and playing with my little ice creamed shaped metal and enamel buttons on my blue and white gingham school dress when Muv leaned back and said, 'You're supposed to be wearing your winter uniform.' I ended up, standing at the back of the choir singing my little heart out, still playing with my ice cream buttons.

Muv had a button jar. When she was sewing I would tip it out on the floor and sort through the buttons. The ice-cream buttons had been in the jar and I was always asking her to put them on something for me. She never did until that summer when she made me a couple of new summer school dresses. I didn't know she had put them on until one morning when I put my uniform on.

I had to stop watching this morning and leave. I have no idea why 'Hark the Herald Angels' should set me off by triggering that memory, but it did and now my eyes won't stop leaking.

A Moment

After a rather rotten day of visiting Recruitment agents being told my CV was too long, I was too experienced or not experienced enough for the role I applied for, I was too expensive or too cheap I got on the train home. I was listening to my iPod when I had a Muv moment. It may have been the music I was listening too that set it off, but I figure this is one in a long line of moments were water spontaneously leaks from my eyes and strangers avoid eye contact.

This memory was one from when I about 7. We were walking up Guildford high street and I said to her ‘you can never do anything to embarrass me.’

She promptly stuck her finger up her nose and I melted into a embarrassed pile that was begging her to stop.

The moment passed and I changed my tunes to something more upbeat…something in the form of The Offspring.

Six Sleeps

After all day running a workshop I got home at six. I had plans to be a good girl and type up my Uni essay about Gerald Murnane, watch NCIS and sleep. Then I got a phone call.

‘I’ve run out of peanut butter and I can’t have a bottle of wine for dinner AGAIN, what are you buying me for dinner?’

It was Todd. With a jolt I realized, this time (6.30pm) next week he would be on a plane back to the States, for good.

What can I say, I’m weak. ‘I’ll see you on the corner of Crown and Cleveland at 7’

At 6.58 I received a text message, ‘Holy Crap. Drinks Expensive.’ I guessed I was late, standing at the traffic lights to the agreed destination.

After a quick pre-dinner drink we walked along Crown Street. The pizza place smelt good, the Vietnamese didn’t take Amex. The bottle shop did well, and CowBirdFish saw us sat at a table for two with corkage.

Despite me having made no effort and wearing lesbian shoes (flat sandals) and Todd in a sleeveless t-shirt that expressed affiliation with a sport team (I think) we were treated as if we were royalty. We had oysters to start ‘The special is freshly shucked oysters from South Australia.’ ‘SOLD!’ Barramundi and Salmon for main and cheese and meringue for dessert. Is it really only Tuesday?

We chatted about the usual and not so usual sh*t. Boys, books, boats, the movie ‘Airplane’, mountains and driving while we ate and drank a daft amount for a school night. Red, dessert and port. The waiters were really nice. Maybe they realized they were going to get a 30% tip early on, or maybe they were feeling generous.

- The Empty Chair

After two final glasses of port we adjourned to a less civilized establishment for a final drink of the evening. It was only half nine and the night was young, time for one more. JD&dietCoke for me, VodkaTonic&lime for him. Just the one. One AM, maybe.

It reminded me of when we first met. Working at TheBank, two oddballs in a bunch of suits. One straight as a die girlie with terrible fashion sense and a talent for making scrabbled egg in the microwave and one corporate suit that had long ago learnt to play the game. He, an unusually smart American (compared to others I had met) that had a knack of being in the right place at the right time, she a married Brit not reaching her true potential. Many a Thursday evening was spent in bars talking, having ‘just the one’ (one AM) and soon she (me) realized, I could take the bus!

I did take the bus, he’s taking a jet plane in less than seven days. I’ve been drinking since seven pm, give me a break and indulge me while reminisce about my friend who is pissing off and leaving me, It’ll all be over soon and normal broadcasting with resume, but bear with while it does, please.

Monday Decadence

After a day off from drinking ridiculously expensive, but delicious, wine Todd and I got together again for a whole day of decadence. We started at 11.15 at Manly Ferry wharf with fruit juice at Circular Quays City Extra Café before boarding the ferry with 600 plus other day trippers.

After battling our way thought the throng of people getting of the ferry and instantly ordering Thai take-away in the terminal (don’t ask;-) we made our way across the street to Copenhagen Ice Cream. This was the start of the Ice Cream Challenge. The challenge is to buy a two scoop cone and eat it all by the time you get to the beach at the other end of the Corso. Of course I forgot Todd could suck start a jet engine and his ice cream and cone was completely gone just halfway into the walk. Meanwhile I enjoyed my double scoop of Maple Macadamia and Boysenberry Ripple.

- Todd adds nuts to his Ice Cream, he couldn't enjoy it if it didn't have nuts

At the beach we found a nice spot in the shade to lay out our towel. After Todd’s little accident on Sunday, his hip and thigh were feeling a little tender so we didn’t want to push things. In case you’re wondering, he came off his mountain bike while riding a 38km trial and landed on rocks, causing one of those bruises that you know is there, but you can’t see it yet. I just know in three of four days his arse will be yellow!

Anyway we sat and people watched. Trust me with it being a beautiful Spring day (29degree and not a cloud in the sky) and a Public Holiday there was plenty to watch. The old guy with skin like leather and white chest hair, the lady on the larger side of size 22 wearing a bikini and the family that descended on us and proceeded to set up a fold out table complete with table cloth, three eskies of food (including salt and pepper pots) and socks with sandals.

At three we decided to move onto the food portion of the day. We had booked a table at Ribs and Rumps and they had given us a seat by the window. More talent spotting took place while we ordered and ate, then we talked about things important to us. Okay, we talked a lot of old crap too, but the whole day was about relaxing, having fun and enjoying the food on offer. At six we had to move on again ‘cause the evening diners where due, so we walked back to the wharf got a McDonalds soft drink and sat on the pier while we waited for the ferry to arrive.

- Manly Promenade taken on a thrity second exposure.

We rounded the evening off by going to see a friend of mine perform at the Lansdowne. Wyatt was great, funny and impressive to watch as he played his guitar. The whole set was covers of songs by women from a woman perspective. He started with Carol Kings ‘Natural Woman’ and went on to sing about period pains, abuse and he even did a rather cute, sweet version of ‘Milkshake’ by Kelis.

- Wyatt tells us 'You're All Out of Love'

I went home and slept, knowing that I could not have possibly had a more fulfilling and enjoyable weekend despite less than twenty four hours later not being able to remember more than a couple of snippets of what Todd and I talked about, but that’s not the point to a great weekend is it?

Further Readings (optional)

Ok, I should be finalising my final assignment but I have to write about my last class for the semester. The class was Theory and Writing and we broke into groups to workshop some final pieces. In our group we had Songstar, Merman, Lady Grimm, K, Detective, Beetle and Flea. Of course I was in there too and we worked through the writing of Kafka, Flea and Detective after she joined us from the other group. We had a laugh and gave good feedback about how the Flea should put in the line ‘Kafka leaves’ into her story but we couldn’t figure out were ‘I need sausage’ would fit in.

The Detective left feeling a little happier, I think. We enjoyed her story about 80s kidnappings and the resulting investigation. There were no funny phases she wanted us to work in.

K’s story was written in the style of Kafka, funnily enough and the only suggestion we could come up with was maybe less Kafka style long slow passages. Other wise we all enjoyed it, especially the off the wall references to Santa’s reindeer.

After class was over, most of us adjourned to the pub for the traditional end of semester goodbye drink. We were joined by our lecturer The Poet. It’s funny, in general, how different people are in class compared to outside. The Poet is pretty much the same and he even admitted that he would have been happy to go drinking with us after every class but as a lecturer he ‘has to retain a distance’. After most of the group had drifted off (‘to complete my assignment’) it was just the Poet, Flea and I left and the subject turned back to theory’s.

So I revealed a theory that I have spoken about to Edna, Sally and Hubby at different times usually in relation to the attractiveness of those around us. I tried to say that I believe we react to theory in relation to what we are exposed to as children. For example on the attractiveness aspect, I grew up with white northern Europeans and Jamaicans, but very few Asian, Middle Eastern or Southern Europeans. In general I don’t find these groups attractive. Is this because I’m racist, it's genetic or just ‘cause I didn’t grow up around them?

I grew up exposed to the art of Constable and Van Gogh, but rebelled against Constable because I found his work nicely executed, but lacking imagination. Van Gogh saw things around him in a bent way and with amazing colour so I grew to love the one lobed Vincent and other abstract art such as Picasso, Matisse, Warhol and Pollock. Is this because I was able to form an opinion about art at an early age or because I liked colour or because Constable isn't really that good?

Book wise I was never really exposed too much except the Encyclopaedia Britannica and Reader Digest. I grew to love reading anything to the point where I can quite safely say I’m a book slut, I’ll read anything. I may or may not like it, but I’ll give it a go. Except Heidi, never read it ‘cause Mrs. Buckley told me when I was 8 it was beyond my reading age and I wouldn’t be able to read it and my Mum shouldn’t order it from book club. My Mum ordered it anyway, but I never read it ‘cause I wasn’t very good at proving old Bucks wrong. (Poet, sorry, but I still don’t like Mrs Dalloway either;-).

Music in my childhood was Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds, Cat Stevens, the Moody Blues and Roger Miller. I like them all to this day and can honestly say I love Cat Stevens. I listen to loads of other stuff and even to Nova, but I still go back the ole’ faithfuls when I need comfort. Is this because this music brings me feeling of family and good times? Is is because it's 'classic', Maybe, maybe not?

So my theory is this, we either except (and embrace) what we are presented with as a child or reject it. These acts of rebellion can make us stronger and who we turn out to be. They make us the inquisitive souls that go out and create for ourselves. They make us the people who go to modern art galleries and look at the pallet painted green on the wall and say ‘yes I like that, but why?’ These small or large youthful exposures from our parents decide who or what we are going to be.

And you still only need a licence to have a dog.

Farty Party, Table for Two

There is something about having curry for breakfast. Idly (rice pattie) and Samba (spicy veg soup) with coriander paste is becoming somewhat a favourite with me. I’m not sure if the rest of the planet will thank me for the methane emissions though.

By Sunday night the wedding was well and truly over. The families had left and it was just us (from the wedding party) left in the hotel. What to do?

We chilled in the Breeze hotel lobby café while waiting for the restaurant to open. We were soon joined by a couple from Portsmouth and for a horrible second or two we thought we weren’t going to be able to shake them. However, we did, purely by agreeing with them when they asked if the Kane and Able Café was the only place to eat in the hotel.

So at 7.45pm we pottered our separate way for dinner. We went to the Poonamallee Restauant and they, to Kane and Able.

We walked through the door and into Butlins, Minehead circa 1972. Ban-maire along one wall, dimmed lights and families scattered all over the shop. We asked if they were doing a-la-carte. Thank goodness they were, but just for us ‘cause we asked.

We asked for the wine list, we thought a nice bottle of something would help us relax a bit and we were brought the entire wine list. It consisted of a bottle of red or a bottle of white. We went for red, after all it’s very hard to stuff up Cab Sav.

After we had ordered from the International menu, Hubby ordered Crispy Lamb for the Oriaental Feast section, I ordered Seer Fish grilled with garlic and butter. I didn’t fancy curry again and neither did Hubby.

While we waited for our dinner to arrive we had a visit from the magic man. He made a fake bird appear from a coin, he made a king of spades disappear and turn into a three of spades, he made a little straw man stand up on his palm as he straightened out his hand and made the cloth disappear and reappear. For his final trick he made Rs5 of disappear from Hubbys wallet. After he’d left Hubby said ‘I fu*king hate cun…jurors’.

Dinner arrived and at last Hubby got what he’d been expecting from the wedding food. Pete had warned us that the food might be a bit spicy, only it hadn’t been. Now that Hubby was after something other than curry, it turned out his Crispy Lamb was the spiciest thing he’d had all week. He broke out in a sweat it was so spicy. Meanwhile my grilled fish was perfect.

As dinner arrived the musical entertainment started. One man and his Casio keyboard! He started with a rendition of Congratulations by Sir Cliff Richard then launched into a couple of Indian tunes followed by Que Sera-Sera.
This all got us to reminiscing about the worst hotel we had ever stayed at, the most disappointing restaurant and the most overrated tourist locations.
Hotel – We came to the conclusion it was the B&B in Weymouth, New Year 1997.
Restaurant – Had to be the Chinese in Llandudno were everything came out on plates with knives and forks.
Tourist Location – Warner Brothers Movie World. It’s only got four rides and everything else is a shop. We did of course exclude the Dog on a Tucker Box in NSW and the Aboriginal Canoe Tree in Goolwa SA, ‘cause we didn’t have to pay to see them.