Warnie

Did you watch the Ashes?

Did you see Warnie's chin? He had this 3 cm long 2cm wide horizontal line along his double chin.

Was it a cut or a form of facial hair topiary only to be sported by those with double chins.

"it's not rocket science"

I don't want to hear it anymore.

Mr Squiggle mastered it and i doubt he slogged at it 24/7 so it's not really that difficult, and why not just say that?

Has the expression only been in use this century? I don't recall hearing it until i returned to office work in April 2000. I was very slow on the uptake as the girl friday and everyone kept chiding me for stocking the tea trolley with sachets of Coffee Mate instead of miniature motel portions of soy milk. Steep learning curve or what.

One phrase that i was really expecting to take off was "sex up". The English press frequently and magnificently used it - Blair "sexing up" intelligence and the dossier on weapons in Iraq. I was really getting irritated and loving it at the same time, such a fine line between pleasure and pain, contriving all kinds of conversations to use it, keenly anticipating Kath and Kim using the expression in the next series but it all fizzled out.

Kind of like this posting.

hot, hottt and hotties are now passé. Have derived so much pleasure from hot and its variations since I first heard it used that way by the common person and not rock stars or jocks in 1998 but goodness knows how long it had been used before that. In 2007 there'll be a new term so bye, bye hot.

and goodbye 'like' which is very over. Very is back and rack off "so".

24/7 is 4ever. Before you die you will have uttered it sincerely. Scary but true.

As for swear words well they are all passé and the once potent have been usurped by suck, flute and the classic, Schweppes. I'm never swearing again. Swearing has lost its oomph, as have i, and is pretty much like it's not rocket science or shit happens.

Haven't heard anything new recently, well apart from whoosher, but that struck me as rather contrived, and skill but that's big in Tasmania, and i really long to hear something of world-class proportions, so I cannot wait, along with Kel Richards and Ruth Wajnryb, for 2007. It is going to be a bumper year full of change, promise and many milestones.

Hesba Brinsmead

Neck is still ricked but gradually getting better.

Quelle semaine as they say in Year 7 French classes at academies for young English speakin' ladies.

Samedi soir found the mistress afloat in champagne at a festive and merry dinner party only to discover mid jape and neck freeze that two of the guests were villains from the underworld. I realised summat was afoot when there were rum mutterings of kneecapping, dodgy coppers and being slum landlords mixed amongst their general parlay about moolah. I felt like innocent joelene public at a fundraiser run by the Sopranos. Thank you fiction for helping me understand the real in my quotidian.

I awoke the next morning feeling a little freaked out. A nefarious foray indeed.

Neck ached. Spent the free time over the weekend groaning, reading William in trouble and watching the entire series 5 of six feet under. Far out am still haunted by that series.

Busy-busy week of sms, farewell Splodge and bienvenue Mac and Myer - Opposition for hire. Work was rather busy an'all and delightfully broken by accommodating a visitor.

OH and pollies to the left of me and pollies to the right. Couldn't escape them, they are everywhere campaigning for the March election. I was walking down the city streets at lunch hour when my path was blocked by papparazzi, so what, yeah, nothing unusual for the the mistress. I snatched a camera and after a frustrating 10 minutes of trying to rip out the film i realised that the camera was digital and hurled it to the pavement as a car drew to a halt. A prominent leader of the Parlous State emerged to enter a restaurant called Machiavelli. Our eyes met and i couldn't help but audibly groan "oh no" and turn around, bright eyes, and walk off. Boy that would have hurt him big time.

Love the non-ratings telly: Will and Grace, God's own Princess, that 70's show - what more could you want.

Well a better goddamn dramatisation of the life and times of Princess Royale Margaret de Mustique for starters. Ma'am darling/Queenie's sister was a travesty. Which was worse the courting rituals of hons and rebels where they'd make the sounds of barnyard animals to find their soul mate or weedy old roddy llewellyn in his hippy humpy in Buckinghamshire. Neither actually, both were trumped by a no-necked monster portrayal of Ma'am darling come Ma'am chanteuse boozily mumbling Eartha Kitty ditties in a club then munching hash cookies with 60's popstar type in Cheyne Walk.

Risible.

Krudd looks nothing like Harry Potter

While Kevin Rudd's supercilious, pedantic and smug manner reminds me very much of Professor Peabody, physically he is the dead spit of Cousin Oliver, who was of course John Denver's son. Kevin is Phil Rudd's brother.

No more on this topic, I promise, so 7.30 report. Instead I'll ponder incorrect spelling and grammar on shop signs, which generally prove to be almost as drole.

Political insight #5

Ooh that paragon of erudition and best practice in the public sector, godbotherer Kevin Rudd, is gearing up to contest Splodge's leadership crown.

Would have preferred Julia Gilliard myself.

Each time i think of or hear about Kevin Rudd I can't help but picture Professor Peabody.

I guess Julia Gillard as deputy would be Sherman.

Here's hoping Peabody and Sherman will be able to end John Howard's wayback machine of a reign.

kant, kanter, kaaant

Yeah how d'you like them apples for a title. I do love a good declension but at the moment it's all in my neck.

Did i land you in the soup with your work supervisor? Oh you are the team leader, well you'll be in the Heinz chunky veg/creamy pea and ham variety now and just about to flow down Robert Morley's throat an' all, cupcake.

So sOrry.

The mistress is up to her armpits in anguish and ignominy so it's only fair that you gain a little bit of her pain.

During my innocent knees up last Wednesday, i was blaring the nashville soundtrack, blogging away and sinking a gin and tonic or two, revelling in my company, when the neighbour from upstairs came and complained.

It was 7 p.m.

Get outta the pool.

If it had been in the wee hours or the people downstairs i would have sympathised, heaped on the Uriah and self-flagellated for a week.

The block of flats where i live is situated on a main road, under a flight path and in the city. These neighbours pick axe on amp, and generally between the hours of 10.30 and midnight stomp, move furniture, slam doors, and have explosive rows, so really should have kept sschtuum about my merrymaking. That's what McPoop here, who generally retires to sleepy bos by 10 each night, does, keep sschtuum not make merry. I just put in the ear plugs, roll over, and carry on - other people's living noise is one of the jöy's' of apartment living. Anyway i managed to express this several hours later after the complaint.

In true Costanza style i'd been simmering, stewing and huffing for quite a while and finally went up to the house of wowser and enumerated the reasons why i felt the complaint was rich. In essence i made a complaint but they started it. read the last clause with even more petulant and indignant tone.

This irritation added to the tension that had been lying in my neck and shoulder from the stress of a new job, not enough rest, three months of tennis elbow, and being mental. Friday morning my neck snapped and my head has been steeply inclined to the right ever since, this is jwh australia after all . For three days excruciating spasms from pinched nerves would stop me in my tracks every 10 minutes. On Sunday i was collected and chauffered to my sister's for a faaaaaaamily do. I had some booze and a marvellous pain killer, good times.

Chiropractor has stoppped the spasms but the left side of my neck and the shoulder are still very sore, immobile and twisted. Fortunately booze and pills make such a handsome pair, "and so say all of us "- Miz Liz 1962 to the present

And no interventions please, i need a hobby for 2007 - high lilly, high lilly, hi low.

Keep a-goin'

Well it is as hot as Hades in Syd. as it probably is everywhere else in this world-class, it don't worry me, T3 besotted nation.

No point complainin' about the heat. I've been countering it with a couple of very long Gordons and tonic, closed the windows and lowered the blinds.

It's a very dry heat which i must say i don't mind in moderation. I just imagine i'm in a Tennessee Williams play, but the heat in the south would be humid surely, adopt a southern accent and amuse myself greatly while flapping my pea green chinoise fan and alternate between cooing, sighing and laughing hysterically as i gaze upon my aged reflection in the looking glass.

Good news!

i have mastered an absolutely flawless impression of Liz Taylor's voice. I didn't have an opportunity to try it out at work but give me a call and you'll be so entertainted.

Am still loving the new job, despite lack of showing off opps, and more importantly am still being amply adored there.

Curiously i've managed to keep up the quietly competent front but for how long? I feel as though i'm walkin' a tightrope of double indemnity proportions; super efficient bel versus shit happens you got a problem with that bel. it's her and me straight down the line. or was that the premise for the patti duke show?

I do declare this heat is frahing what remains of mah brain. flutter of fan, twitch of eye, high pitched flirtatious giggle, gulp of gin upon glimpse of reflection. NB not example of Liz Taylor voice impression.

Been busy busy on the social front and all but like i said greatest achievements to date are my sensational impression of Liz Taylor's voice accompanied by the carriage of B. Dubois, and my new work place relations.

Spin out sister

Sad news about Robert Altman*. But frankly listening to Fran Kelly attempt to analyse his work with David Thomson on Radio National made me even sadder.

Nashville really is one of the most brilliant and entertaining movies. If it weren't for House and trippin over being broadcast tonight i'd watch it on deeveedee....

Thanks for some excellent movies and appreciating the Carradines, fella.

One of the Carradines should have been made President.


*When i heard the announcement of Robert Altman's death i was in a room away from the radio and misheard Bob's name for that of Dennis Waterman. I stopped in my tracks and then got dressed.

"comfy undies"

Call me uptight but every time i see that poster of Pat Cash, er, Rafter, oh how long have i been traipsing this earth, promoting Chesty Bond's underpants with the testimony that they are comfy, i get irritated. Imagine a world-class sweetheart such as i feeling such an emotion. Well it has happened and the concept of comfy undies has done it, sweet nsrs, all three of you, and yes, i do mind that i do not have global appeal.

I find the associated slogan displeasing not because i want my brothers and sisters, mums and daddies, to suffer discomfort and sport full briefs with loose elastic or knickers that have a tendency to seek domicile in the crack but because each time i read or hear that comfy undies' slogan i feel that Pat is sportin' underpants that have a distinct fart-like quality.

And woah, just stop there, you budding shrinkaramas and pop psychologists, I am not projecting. I most certainly do not a equate a pair of comfortable fitting underpants with fartpants. My beef with the slogan principally lies with the combination of an abbreviated adjective and an abbreviated noun. It's too smug , cute, self-congratulatory, gotta love our lingo, and is as coy as that catchcry promoting the eating of lamb, mum's cooking a lamb roast tonight. cosy. ugh.

Permission to spin out further.

What is with all those b grade starlets and lingerie lines. When will it stop? Only the other day, while having my hairs tinted at Rodney's hair salon, i read that jade jezebel scarlett jagger, mmm what message were mick n bianca trying to convey, had launched a line. This actually makes her a c grade starlet really, although she'd claim to be rockstocracy but you know, same diff, as most b's have their own line of perfume these days , and a's endorse skin care products, direct theatre companies and smile beatifically on red carpets, in playgrounds while festooned with kiddies or in foreign lands on kiddie adopting sprees.

tripping over is on tonight and that will soothe me no end.

Love you, and i'm talking to you, Huey, Dewey and Louie .

and furthermore

This morning while sitting on the bus I happened to observe a poster promoting Jamie Oliver's new cookery book. The poster features one photo of Jamie smashing up a microwave and another of him standing looking all puffed up and cocky with his arms crossed against his chest.

Jamie Oliver has never bothered nor thrilled me but as I appraised the advertisement distaste imbued my palate and it dawned on me that Jamie had become the Bono Vox of the cookery world.

Speaking of Bono, last week I was commenting to a friend how Sting had become practically harmless only to learn two days later that Sting had released a new lp on which he plays lute while squawking Elizabethan ditties or recitin' some excerpts from John Dowland's letters. I was lucky enough to hear an example of both on the radio.

English teacher, noo waver, poet laureate of pop, tantric lover, turtle lover, Russophile, peace troubadour - is there anything that Sting cannot do, well, apart from act.

A true Renonsence man.

don't you press that button

On Wednesday morning I rose at 5 in keen anticipation of an early meeting at work. I got to the building at 6.25 and initially had difficulty gaining entry, finally got in at 6.30, the building's entrance door still bears my silhouette.

Eager to get to level 7 and tie up some loose ends before the meeting, i bounded into lift number three, swiped my pass and firmly pressed the button. Hmm, no action. Swiped pass again, nothing registered. So i tutted and pressed the <> open door button to exit but was thwarted. I huffed and pressed the mother again. Still no action. Proceeded to furiously jab the button but to no effect. Ball of tension about to erupt, hope the cctv caught my calm and poise coping with being trapped in the lift. Fortunately the lift was on the ground floor or i would have been in a worse state, i was wailing and cursing as it was.

Pressed the emergency button and was half way through explaining the situation, had to holler as the reception was bad, when the emergency line cut out. Pressed emergency button again and got a different operator, who sounded as though she was suffering from a night before of larfs, lime and lager at the Coogee Bear Hotel (backpackers' special -GBH at the CBH, lovely). She was really unhelpful, brusque and was asking for my mobile phone number when we got cut off.

In my experience mobiles go out of range when you're in an elevator.

This carry on and my frustration only continued for 15 minutes, had to press the emergency button about five times as the line kept disconnecting, when mercifully a security guard on the basement sought a lift and did press the button, and my number went down. I was let out of the lift, very soothingly placated and then escorted to my office without further incident. Thank you Security Guard.

Hope it doesn't happen again because it really brought out a curious mixture of bluster, panic, and doom. Admittedly it doesn't take much. At least i was alone in the lift.

Hanyways the meeting and everything went well and that evening i went to the doctor to have the stitches, which were a souvenir from the excision of black mole friday a fortnight ago, removed from my back. Mole is benign, so you know, lovely.

I LOVE TV

as a toddler atop her daddy's shoulders yelled out to all on the Coogee Beach promenade, one spring day in the late 90's.

Oh, out of the mouths of babes.

But you know what, as there is sauce in the negligee, there lies truth in the cliche.

LOADS.

I love TV too. Especially now that Kate Fitzpatrick has returned to the plasma screen.

Oh, sweetheart where have you been? Aren't you glad that you gave Imran the nick nack paddy wack? Or was it he? Not to mention cricket commentary for that matter. Darling you're no Blowers and you were most certainly not meant for the wireless; YOU were made for PLASMA.

Self-proclaimed serial bolter, I salute you.

To think it was only January this year, while watching the pilot ep of Aunty Jack, featuring KF as Airy Fairy, on dvd at Wipplegong in Bendigo, that a little question mark popped above my noggin and i put digit to chin and pondered the whereabouts of the KATIE FITZ, infinitely superior to the Katie Fischer, who for past 18 months has been the face for Marrickville Metro. No sooner had question mark appeared did it evaporate and i retired to bed appalled by how weak Aunty Jack had become 30 years on. Nice little insight to the depth of my thought processes, what.

Thank christ for the middle-aged and booming on Neighbours is all that I can say. Gordon. All cockin' week we've had to deal with the hottties what have moved into Ramsay Street. Ho diddly hum. (and no, that is not the name of some "hooker" in Days of our lives , it's the name of Tex Perkins's backing band, you der! ) Tonight's episode of Neighbours was tops. It featured the geniuses that are Oliver, Smith, Fitzpatrick and Feeny

Hats off to Tom Oliver!!

Tom Oliver has been part of my television experience since i was three. My first memory of him was either from "Motel" or "Bellbird" which i used to watch with mother. By the time i was five he was on Play School. He was sensational on Play School and sang my favourite tune , riding along singing a cowboy's song, he also favoured Jemima over Hamble, which was very important. Hamble is a passive agressive scrag, pass it on.

Power to the Grey on Neighbs, for it is they who are keeping the show entertainin'.

Tazzle it's a beautiful red drink
Taz, it's less than two calories

sky rockets in flight

Day two of the job and i am stoked. i haven't got into any of the hard core, full-on work yet but though.

Can i just tell you what a joy it is to work in a professional, cohesively structured and friendly environment. A place where the executive staff are civilised and smilingly address you by your name, and neither booze nor Ted Danson are required.

Colleagues at my last job gave me a wonderful send off and i will keep in touch with the friends i made there . It is just great to be in a new environment that presents a lot more challenges.

A true indication of my delight is that despite learning all this new stuffnthat, (HR Puffnstuff's old lady, oh god, Jack Wild is dead) and my head getting kind of dizzy and tired, when i have a breather and go to lunch or sit on a bus - stationary or moving it's my favourite form of relaxation, my mind plays the sweet and happy tune that is the theme from are you being served. I am clearly deliriously happy in the workplace.

While things are fabulous on the work front, the home entertainment front has gorne belly up.

I was just setting the veeceeahrrr for Wednesday night when i discovered that channel 9 now broadcasts the Sopranos on Monday at midnight. Fuck them. That's two episodes i've missed now. Stoopid dumb fuck of a free to air television station.

Every season i miss chunks of the Sopranos because of 9's inconsistent programming. m*&^erfucker!!

I would love to keep on cursing American mafioso style but you get enough of that from me in person.

dvd is the only way to watch a tv series.

yeah but i'm hap, hap happy at work, la la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.


Ground floor perfumery,stationery and leather goods,wigs and haberdasherykitchenware and food...going up

ne ne ne ne ne nerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

First floor telephones,gents ready-made suits,shirts, socks, ties, hats,underwear and shoes...going up

ne ne ne ne ne ne nerrrrrrrrrrrr

Second floor carpets,travel goods and bedding,material, soft furnishings,restaurant and teas. Going down!

It's show time, get up and go time

There are so many good things coming up at the gallery, theeater and cinema. It panics me so. Why did i let thrift trump splurge in the battle of the low credit card limit.

I just read that Burt Bacharach is playing in Sydney in February. He is going to be performing with the Sydney Symphony, his band, and guest vocalists. Who could the guest vocalists be? Dennis Walter, Marina Prior, Tony Hatch, Jacki Trent, Bindi? The possibilities are endless. I think i will have to go.

Game on, mole

Stars but the temperature is already 29. I hope that there are no major horrible bushfires and potential aussie legends killed today, not that i hope for that every other day, was just thinking more of the possible brouhouha surrounding bushfires occurring on friday the 13th, the day that bad luck struck god's own, when we all know that that happened in 1996 after the federal election.

This morning the doctor excised a mole from my back. It was tiny and black, and of course surrounded by the most beautiful creamy alabaster skin. Unfortunately i can't take the specimen to the first show and tell session at my new job on Monday, lucky old pathology gets it. Even worse i have to take baths instead of showers for a fortnight. I wonder if i could ask Brian to play Nursie and give me a hospital wash...

Anyway i shouldn't be too cavalier about bad mole really, it does affect me after all, but the chances of it being marralingant are slight. And if it is the beginning of the end that chapter of the autobio will have a sensational opening para alluding to the portentous date when it all went down the Bellinger. I might get Jeremy Irons to do the audiobook version.

wheel on fire

Astride a tumbleweed and sporting a straw cowboy hat that he thought was très Madonna but was plus Molly Meldrum, Mr Steven Ross blew into town direct from the Deniliquin ute muster.

It's a hoot and holler to have him back. Running that franchise of the Stefanie Powers wildlife park in Denni, as folk in the country like to call the town, keeps him well occupied. But like me he always manages to find time for the little people, i don't know how we do it, oh yes, two words, Lady Di.

Well she's gawne and we're living so let's press play and get on with the posting.

Last night we met up with Blonde Mischief and hit Leichhardt to see the devil wears prada and then dined at il cugino, which is my favourite eyetalian tratt - I promise to take you there some time. We had lots of fun, laughs a plenty, and a pearl hunt. I’d caught my pearl bracelet on the cuff of my coat, tearing a strand of pearls that proceeded to pour down the sleeve and spill into the cinema's aisle, give me Jaffas any day. I guess this means i'm about to lose all my teeth.

The film was entertaining and visually gorgeous but I think you can wait till deeveedee.

And today is my last day at the old job.

These past 2 weeks, or is it a month, have whirled past. It has been wonderful catching up with so many different people and knowing that the old routine is drawing to a close and a new challenge lies ahead. But the mistress is starting to panic, phantom sore throats and headcolds strike and then immediately disappear when the smoke alarm rings as she's forgotten to remove a pan from the flame.

i feel as though i'm looking into a crystal meth ball and all these laughing faces and incidents from my past are tearing by. My smug bubble continues to rapidly inflate until ridiculously enormous it finally bursts, smearing my face, my reputation, my career with the sticky, icky hot pink remains of arrogance, conceit and vanity. Then Naomi Robson knocks at my door.

hurricane

i'm a star in New York , i'm a star in L.A. tum da dum , dee, dee, dee, doo, from New York to L.A., from L.A. to New York, tum, da dum, dee, dee, oh hello, nsrs, my that's a healthy look of bemusement you're sporting. Yes, the mistress is back, she's been a busy, busy bel, interstating about and now unpacking her overnight bag, returning her witches britches to their drawer and her toothbrush to its Ipana splattered mug, after yet another whirlwind visit to Mel.

What is a bel to do , so POPular. Me and darren hayes, but I won't be coming out for a while, well Alan Jones said he wouldn't out me till 2010, and that still leaves me plenty of time to pip Tom to the outpost. Tommy and I have a lot in common: obnoxious, sensational teeth, smug, deluded and neither of us have scaled cold mountain. Pour the milk and hit that cymbal as Eric Burdon sang but I preferred the Freaked Out Flower Children's version. Who was sexier, Gumpy or Sophie Lee?

Anyway that's enough libel for one posting, let's take a step back into paradise and talk about me.

So yeah it's been wild, crazy and cuckoo whirly whirly. You may recall i was moaning about my work. Well, i got a new job, starts on Monday, they'll have me working night and day, punching in, punching out but at 41 that's what life is about. ooh. I am excited really, it's only taken 3 years.

The past three days have been fun. Gosh 3 is this week's important number, last couple of weeks 56 has been highly signifcant. Celebrating birthdays in Sydney and Mel. At all celebrations i was the epitome of decorum and charm. It was marvellous to see so many dear friends and i'm sure the pleasure was all theirs too. I ate lots of fries, the best were at acmi cafe, had a quite a few snifters, best champers was at the Pavillion on the Park, saw a few minor identities, scattered about yearning for paparrazi, and all they get are baffled looks from members of the general public as general public member scratches his/head, smiles absently and wonders if he/she knows celebrity minor. The worst must have been Julie McCrossin.

Incidentally, i'm being stalked by Julie McCrossin. I have seen the dame about five times this year. NO wonder she couldn't hack the early rising at 2BL, she's constantly trawling the streets, art galleries , airports, and docks, standing in a demi squat, pen pointed at the pad ready to busily scribble notes or banging on the mobe - waiting for me, yeah, me.

Julie, baby, sweetheart, you should have just fixed yourself a poopy milk drink, retired to sleepy bo bos by 8.30 p.m. and you would have started work fresh as a daisy at 4 a.m., and remained gainfully employed.

Next time i spring her i'll tell her so and perhaps i could become her life coach. And let's not even begin with all the other identity minors prostrating themselves along the path, creating an hazardous obstacle course, to my increasingly important career, that includes you, Peter Garrett and Anthony Green.

Just step off, fellas. This girl is keeping herself real and if that means hanging out with sweet simpletons, so be it.

I love them so.

tawdry and lame

is the only way i can describe this year's idol and that opening performance for the AFL on Saturday.

I was lying on my beautiful couch, it is a goddamn work of art, and no, it is not a Salvador Dali lips sofa, it's a set of Stonesy lips, natch, because i am a rocking chick, thoroughly enjoying gone with the wind on channel 9, marvelling at Vivien Leigh's beauty, doing a beauty ranking exercise - Viv 'versing' Liz Taylor, in between itemising the contents of my Glomesh bag, when i received an sms from fjg alerting me to the top ten Idol contestants performing on Channel 10's broadcast of the AFL.

Gordon was i appalled to see that talentless top ten wailing waltzing matilda. When they weren't wailing they were doing those awful phoney soulful shrieks, like Dannii and Kylie did when performing sisters are doin' it for themselves on YTT. I hastily returned to gone with the wind but after several more utterances of "fiddledee" and visions of Scarlett heaving her bosom and languishing over the super poop that is Ashley Wilkes, i had to flick the remote for a further taste of tawdry. And nobody does that better than channel ten.

This time i was delighted to cast an eye upon the Young Divas hollering out some tune that i cannot recall. Oh kate deAraugo! How could i have voted for her last year, well i blame Marcia Hines's campaign for Emily. Kate deAraugo really is the female Johnny Farnham in vocal delivery, movement and appearance. Some trifecta.

Still which was more appalling the performance by the young and idol or the oldsters from countdown revival. It was kind of entertaining to hear Sean Kelly performing I hear motion. the last time i saw him he was playing toadfish rebecchi's father on neighbours. Oh and the time before that, well I was competing in Elwood Idol and he was adjudicating. Between you and me , he's no Evie Hayes.

The other artistes from the Countdown Revile were lame as, still at least they were being true to themselves as Marcia Hines would say. Marcia Hines is a pillar of sincerity, truth and wisdom. And man, i mean, girlfriend, when will i master the jive bunny talk?! has she got soul.

Little Brian Mannix used the occasion to rock out big time. What a sensation he was - bounding abooot the stage in his black lycra tights and midrif shirt emblazoned with Beatles, another great band. Unfortunately the Cardinal's grandson didn't treat us to 50 years or how do you get your kicks. Bummer.

John Paul Young, that's Squeak to you and Molly, belted out "yesterday's hewo". A curious choice. If you were about to play in a grand final how would you feel hearing that: inspired or defeated.

It was godawful and utterly cringemaking but somewhat compelling.

Which of course brings me to Idol 2006.

Who will win this year's idol? Jessica? Idol had seemed rather promising earlier on but now it's rather bad. The choice and performance of songs are even worse than last year.

But hey, i am being kind of negative, and therefore untrue to myself. So please remember to love the skin you're in because if you take the L out of lover it's over. Right on, Marcia.

How low can you go?

Age and time were no barrier to enjoyment at last night's Brownlows.

My man and me had a top night out. Dinner and a show cannot be beaten, let's face it.

It was a very classy evening.

I was glad to have an occasion to sport an old red Osti frock that a friend, oh alright, yes it was Brian, we have called a truce, had very kindly revamped for me.

It was quite simple really. Don't want Brian to get ideas above his station.

The dress had been blessed with a plunging v neckline but Bri just cut that a bit lower, tore some holes out on the back at chest level, and used the K-Tel Bedazzler and sequins for a bit of razzle dazzle or bling as we call it nowadays.

I wore the dress back to front and hey, presto i was very Cop Shop Danni/Paula Duncan saying buona sera to Kelly Le Brock on a sultry spring evening circa 2006. A salute to some old style Hollywood/Cinecitta glamour with a contemporary slapper, if you willl.

The outfit and I were a hott surefire hit - prompted some dagger looks and scrag fights in the dunnies. Mission accomplished.

Lovely night and some very heart felt speeches were made, on stage and in the lavs, oh, just joshing.

Speaking of Paula Duncan as Danni in Cop Shop I think Paula/Danni's shoulderbag holding style, which i've adopted, is the cause for the abysmal tennis elbow that i've been suffering from for well over two months. I've been constantly clutching the bag's shoulder strap and keeping the arm bent at a right angle. So if you have a hand or man bag hanging from your shoulder, do not, i repeat, NOT, constantly clutch the strap keeping your arm bent at a right angle. Ladies, metros, keep that arm straight and stiff . And to keep your bag secure and avoid flaccid fish hand, gently cup the bottom of your bag with your palm. So you'll be nimble, secure AND stylish.

OMG

Today at work i was looking at the year 1956 . Yes, I write the in this year column for the office weekly bulletin, which is electronically circulated cob Tuesdays, so i was totally stressed out.

And do you know what, there were quite a few political events that year, let me tell you, revolutions, struggles for independence, deportations of bishops from islands , Kruschev criticising Stalin and his " cult of personality" leadership (and I thought Richard Lewis coined the phrase, must check with Kel Richards) , oh and tv and the Olympics arrived in Australia. Have i just plaigarised a top little verse from a Billy Joel tune?

Oooh yeah some very heavy shit went down , man, political upheaval, turmoil and that so i couldn't help but get distracted and start looking at birthdays.

I discovered that


Marcia Brady/Maureen McCormack recently turned

50.

An August Leo

now matooer

or is that old?

I wonder if she can still have

hair of gold?

(naturally)

And Tiger,

how old is Tiger?

in dog years?

Goodbye, Tiger.

My first concrete pome. I have always had the creative flair, well that's what Mrs Melvaine said in 3rd class.

She, Marsha not Mrs Melvaine, who must be like ancient, is the same age as Johnny Rotten and Kerry Chikarovski. I was surprised by the latter as i thought she'd be well into the 50's by now, but hey, give a Chick a Chance , and that sensational election campaign must have been in the 90's.

But really my lament is not about age but that goddamn sand and the hourglass.

Oh time suspend your flight.

Still if Marcia can do it so can we.

Email me if you want that badge.

Oh, blt, you'll be interested to know that Ann B. Davis , Alice the housekeeper, is alive and well and acting up a storm. Currently in Bali filmin a mini series about the Bali Nine for Channel Ten. She is playing Renae Lawrence. Oh and Bobby, no sorry, Oliver is playing Wa-Wa for the joint channel 9 and 7 documentary rescue. Real wa-wa has already lost his cute factor.

Chuckles central

I was given the series 1 deeveedee of the Good Life for my birthday. Rather puzzling thing to have bestowed upon me but have rather enjoyed watching it, after my initial slump at being a year older than Tom Good and being in as dead end job as he. Oh my have i appreciated the fact that Richard Briers, who plays Tom Good, was trained as a Shakespearan actor and revelled in his amusing Shakespearan actor send ups in several episodes. ho ho ho. Sheer genius. But it's Felicity Kendal who is the stand out and feather in this eye.

I recall watching the Good Life on the telly when i was in primary school but it had no impact on me really, just enough to twig that Barbara Good as played by Felicity Kendal was a dick and i was later kind of amused by the mocking of Flick in the Young Ones. I have to confess that recently i got rather hooked on that terribly clunky Rosemary and Thyme, in which Flick plays an horticulturalist come detective sailing to Lesbos. Sensational. But it is only now that i've had occasion to really marvel at and be maddened by her.

I have really honed my impression of Felicity Kendal's excruciating voice, mannerisms and style, am sportin' oversized pair of spectacles and some overalls as i type.

The Mistress has thus acquired a particularly fetching air and is very well equipped to deal with any folly that comes her way this week.

By the way it's Felicity's 60th birthday on the 25th of this month, next Monday, so i think we should all sport overalls, oversized spectacles and speak like her to honour her special day. You don't need to go overboard with expenditure, after all I'll just be wearing the khaki overalls i wore to honour Crockie a few Fridays ago.

outpouring of grief

Haven’t really felt like blogging since my return from Hobart to work. Yeah I’ve been reflecting big time about Brockie and Crockie dying how they lived.

So if i die mid barb, high kicking and gargling champers youse can all comfort yourselves and wisely intone 'oh the mistress she died how she lived.' Please note that the playing of you can't always get what you want and video eulogies from Russell Crowe are prohibited, otherwise i might just have to rise up and bite yas. Also no black sunnies and exposed bazookas in Collette Dinnigan frocks to be displayed at the function. But you can wear as many ribbons and crosses as your sweet hearts desire.

From high kicks to high indulgence. Forgive me, NSRs.

Actually the return to work has been a major downer and i’ve been feeling like a cross between Jim Dixon and George Costanza with a dash of Tom Good thrown in. Yeah, sjuuper. Oh perhaps women are meant to identify with Bridget Jones, sorry i cannot.

Being asked to collect a superior's medicine one day and lunch the next sticks in my craw, no matter how nice and busy the superior can be. What next the drycleaning? You'd think I worked for McMahon and Tate or Justice Sir Guthrie Featherstone MP.

I get irritated too quickly to be capable of saying "when you ask me to buy your lunch, i feel exploited by such an inappropriate wequest." "Cock off and get your own chico roll/codeine" is a lot more direct and satisfying anyway.

My vexation with the calibre of requests was sufficiently soundlessly exhibited for last abzzurd request to be retracted. A mutinous pursing of lips followed by the scattering of papers and hurling of a computer on the floor work wonders.

Anyhoo shit happens and then you die as Billy Thorpe no doubt hollered after his final song at Sunbury. Thank christ for the good times.

And at least i've got fictitious characters to relate to when pondering my flagging career.

You've got to be optimistic and smile with the 9-5 hump, after all there are much worse things, at least i don't have to sit an English language skills test without any tutelage or sign my name to some document about mateship, a fair go and god's own values. Pardon me but enforcing an English test without previously providing adequate access or funding to language education programs for immigrants hardly epitomises a "fair go". The antics of bad government, and that lameo opposition, oh splodge Beazley you are lamentable, particularly the citizenship caper have equally contributed to the frustation. Time to write letters to and protest against those pollies. And won't it be grand to have a federal election based around values.

I’ve done a few job appos and stepped up the socialising to keep the vinegar at bay, mmm well just outpouring the bile to sympathetic, perhaps selectively deaf friends. No really, vinegar bay can be a very satisfying drop every now and again, and abundantly available at NSR.

things that matter #97: Where's our spwing gone

Warm spell preceding cold snap is a fairly standard cycle in Sydney, and probably most places, as mooother nature makes her gradual transition from winter to spring, well it has been most of my life here in this increasingly annoying but so visually appealing city.

Since Friday the weather has been rather warm verging on hot over the weekend. Inevitably it didn't last, as it was unseasonal goddammit, and there was a wild southerly buster come Wednesday. So today's Sydney Morning Herald runs an article about winter's return, or where's our spring gone, get the where's our summer gone generally two weeks after the summer solstice and there's been a couple weeks of rain! This year old Fairfax has jumped the gun in moaning about spring. Spring actually hasn't sprung officially and won't until 22nd September.

This "news story" happens most seasons and each time i get worked up and rrrabid. However, now that i've blogged this gripe i promise to suffer in silence each season instead of making your ears bleed with my impression of a sibilant, warped 78 on a grandmaphone.

the mistress and the kindness of strangers

Well last week I was like in Tamsinia right and on Tuesday after my escape from the clutches of that dastardly driver, I was kind of rushed, insane and had to catch a bus to New Town but without sufficient moolah. So in a mad and dizzy flap I went to the atm and withdrew moolah, collected the card, squatted down to tie up my shoe lace and then forgot to collect the cash. Yes I know, I did this a couple of months ago, I am a fan of Lou Carpenter* but this is ridiculous. Fortunately the sum I failed to collect was only a ‘lobster, cobber’ and I had enough to get me to New Town. Only costs $1.70 to gad about the town in Hobart which of course makes the Hobart Metro the Hollywood Seven of public transport, 1 buck 70 for a ride or a tour guide takes your life.

Imagine my surprise when I checked my bank statement the other day, in between checking the information being spewed forth from my ticker tape machine while I tangoed with Gomez Adams, to see that the Hobart branch of my bank had deposited $20 into my account. Someone had gone to that machine after me, found my moolah and receipt and the darling lamb had then entered the bank, no doubt queued on my behalf, I’m sobbing as I type, thanking god all along the way, finally proceeding to the living breathing teller and giving the moolah to her/him to deposit into the mistress's important business account.

Thank you kind lady, thank you kind sir. You are a lamb of the highest order.


*Neighbours character currently suffering from early onset of Alzheimers but of course everyone remembers Hollywood Seven by Jon English and if you don't i'm sorry to advise that you have Alzheimers, bucko.

At home she's a tourist

Warning Non Sequitur Risers, the Mistress is still banging on about her recent travels in Tasmania.

This trip I was so keen on seeing parts of 'Tassie' which i'd missed on previous visits that I organised a day trip with a touring company to Tahune Forest. A guided tour was my only option as i do not know how to drive, there is no standard bus service to desired destination, and curiously my sister busies herself with other activities apart from shepherding me about and indulging my every whim.

I was strangely excited about this excursion. Pictured myself on a poopy and luggzuriously appointed coach with at least 20 other tourists, mainly seniors but a few backpackers too, a chubby and cheerful male driver in hat and uniform, and a perky blonde guide a la Julie McCoy from the Love Boat, dressed 70's stewardess style, i.e. sporting powder blue or tomato sauce red coloured scarf around her neck and knotted on the right, if it's knotted on the left it means you're an homosexualiste or 'hot' for Gopher, sorry can't remember which so don't ask me about earrings and their significance, who would be talking on a microphone informing us of our whereabouts and history and that. Once at our destination we'd be left to our own devices and then regroup at a certain time to return to Hobart.

During dinner the night before the guided tour, Lucy, Mark and I discussed the tour and then the conversation passed to foolish risks we had taken in our youth hitch hiking around the time of Milat, in true non sequitur style my recounts occurred out of Australia but imagine if they hadn't... , - not the most settling of discussions for nervy b drawers. I comforted myself by musing on the coach's size, its fixtures and fittings and general aesthetics, never the destination merely the means. Mark suggested that it might only be me and the driver and i'd be in for a personal tour in a hatchback; we chuckled , i somewhat nervously feeling a tad freaked out imagining the awkwardness of such a tour, not to mention downright scariness. I consoled myself that it could not happen as there'd have to be a sizeable number of passengers for a tour to take place.

The new day dawned sunny and blue skied and at 8.45 Lucy deposited me in Elizabeth Street and i skipped towards the bus terminal happily observing a neat and sleek looking coach parked outside the travel bureau. I was about to board it as i saw other passengers seated but thought i'd better first register so entered the office instead.

I checked in and as i turned to leave stating that i would go and board the bus was advised that it was destined elsewhere and i would be travelling in the stationwagon that was parked behind the bus.

wa wa wa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

My face must have fallen, once you pass 40 the elasticity just plum disappears, doesn't it girls- yours Maggie T, which is rather surprising as my face generally serves as an impenetrable mask to my emotions, for the woman at the cunter assured me that the trip in the stationwagon with two other passengers and a driver would be a wonderful way to tour.

So a seniors couple, the driver, sans hat sans Julie McCoy sans practically everyone, and I explored the Huon Valley and the Tahune Forest from 9 until 3. It was somewhat intimate. One's mind was rather feverishly imaginative at times, particularly when we were completely isolated or the driver advised that we'd take a detour from the scheduled itinery, loopily working out escape strategies for me and the seniors from a crazed and murderous chauffeur. I kept hearing the doors automatically locking. I had read in the Mercury that morning about a Northern Tasmanian tour operator, who was suspected of murdering an Italian tourist, being found murdered the day before. Rollercoaster of fear, my dears.

At 3 p.m. returned to Hobart safe and sound with suspicions and paranoia well intact, driver's reputation in tatters, the seniors and i bade each other a friendly farewell, and I was very glad that i was alive and able to hop on a metro bus to New Town to meet up with sister and nevews at the nevews' swimming lessons. As nephew major's swimming lesson drew to an end, nephew minor entertained himself by mucking around the swimming centre's blackboard upon which he wrote a most original maxim :

Friday is not available to pull your pants down

which is rather sound advice for anyone really, wish i'd sought his counsel about other matters.


Look, as Malcom Fraser, speaking of fallen trou, used to begin most justifications to the Press, I will definitely get my licence before my L's expire, madly saving for the lessons as I type.

birthday

My 41st birthday on Sunday was celebrated in great style on Bruny Island, from where Truganini came. We drove south to Kettering and caught a car ferry to the island. Very exciting. Naturally i had barely had any sleep the night before and was the first to rise the morning of the Mistress's special day.

Bruny Island is amazing; its geography is the stuff of adventure stories and really varied -you should go there. We went to Adventure Bay in the North, then continued to the South Island. I particularly loved the south island and the old lighthouse which was decommissioned in 1996. Wonderful views of course out to sea, very rugged scenery, and wild winds, snow on the distant mountains, bunnies running around, daffs, snowdrops and jonquils in bloom everywhere. We had a grand picnic on a beach and toasted my health with some delicious ninth island champagne, tinned tongue and macaroons. On the way bay back to the ferry terminal we stopped at the fairy penguin look out and a memorial to Truganini.

My nephew asked me if I preferred Bruny Island to Tasmania, and then Tasmania to Australia. Talk about "a tough call".

It was a great day.

During my entire sojourn in Tasmania I was blessed with glorious blue skies, sunshine and a nip in the air.

On Monday back in Tasmania my sister and I climbed the Truganini track to Mount Nelson and its signal station and a memorial to Truganini.

The ascent was rather arduous, steep and rocky, took about 60 minutes, I had to sit down a few times. Wonderful views of the Derwent and all of Hobart and her surrounds, and wild flowers scattered everywhere.

That signal station had the most complicated semaphore system. Highly decorative and colourful flags for each letter of the alphabet. The letters would have been easily confused. It did my head in, why on earth didn’t they just sms?

Then we visited an ‘istoric ‘ouse, sorry channelling Parker, in New Town called Runnymede and even got a personal guided tour like. That was fun. I love being a tourist.

However not all guided tours can be as carefree.....

Fire sculptures and sweeping statements

My flight to Tasmania had transported me to Erinsborough. Everyone is out and about and chatting to you in Hobart. People are unnervingly friendly. I always thought i was quite a friendly cove but really the amount of eye contact, hand shaking and general interest would make my father feel ill at ease.

Tasmanians have social skills that are almost obsolete in sin city, shaking hands and introducing themselves to every tom, dick and Sydney.

Saturday morning was spent fleetingly at the Salamanca markets tipping my hat, fair amount of chit chat and then more of the same while watching my nephews’ soccer matches.

I went to three ovals that day and each one was in the most amazing location - a fair bit south of Hobart, up high above the channel with the most spectacular surrounding views of the river Derwent and the mountain range. That morning alone i had seen 36 views of Mount Wellington.

While Lucy and Mark went to the primary school to assemble the business for the school’s fire sculpture night, a biennial event, the boys and I went up to the oval behind their house to watch another soccer match, play with their friends and I played catch with their dog and a gaggle of five year olds– for two and a half hours.

The afternoon’s bonding with the animal kingdom, introducing myself to the community and ogling the mountain and water views necessitated several gluhweins at the fire sculpture night – I was exhausted.

At the fire sculpture night apart from partaking in a few restorative snifters I caught up with all the cast and crew I’d met earlier at the local football match. The kiddies were racing about having a ball.

The fire sculptures were excellent, they were constructed from rope and hessian and shaped into the forms of monkeys, volcanoes, leaves, toucans, elephants. They were tied to the wire fence of the basketball court and doused in kero and then lit. they looked spectacular ablaze against the night sky. There were lantern parades and choral performances by the school children. It was lots of fun but I was exhausted and had to retire to bed at 8.30 while my sister, mark and their friends made merry and kicked on with some sambuca, no doubt set alight, so much arson about in Tasmania.

So you like Tassie now?

boomed my 7 y.o. nephew, over my shoulder after i'd been exclaiming about the gorgeous white blossom in full bloom along the Channel Highway which we were driving down en route to Fish Frenzy restaurant to celebrate the older nephew's tenth birthday.

I had flown into Hobart that morning. It was a great flight and I was very chipper and excited about my five day holiday in Tasmania. Sister l met me at the Hobart International airport took me to Taroona via Battery Point where we spent the day with Mark before collecting the boys from primary school.

Fish Frenzy is a great fish and chip shop restaurant on Constitution Dock. As we drove over the dock's bridge we espied a a handful of police and a group of 5 people, who were standing on a driveway that leads to some luggzurious apartments, chanting against the workplace laws. Fortunately it wasn’t against Fish Frenzy as I was hankering for some delicious crumbed scallops and chips. Perhaps Kevin Andrews was in town. Didn't want to enquire and lose my appetite, entered the restaurant to bags a table.

When we left the restaurant the protesters had departed but the four police officers remained. In Tasmania police still wear those hats with the flat, white, round top that resembles a frozen Sergeant’s pie, much nicer than those baseball caps that coppers seem to wear in NSW and Erinsborough. The coppers were just idling about chatting and informed my sister and her mother- in-law that the PM was in town staying at those flats. And it was from there that the cowardly boob announced the Government’s sale of its remaining shares in Telstra.

round and round she goes

Went to the opening of the Giacometti exhibition on Thursday night. It was lots of fun; can't tell you what the actual collection is like for in true shallow Sydney style was too busy swilling champers with Lillian Frank, Bubbles Fisher and Susan Sanger.

Yes, it was 1980, my favourite social period, and I think the current director of the glorious institution that is the art gallery of NSW was even directing the joint way back then.

Have listened to a few talks by said director over the years and he generally struck me as rather Nilesish from the Nanny in appearance and personality - his talks had been rather vinegary of tone, but on Thursday night for some reason I found him rather charmin' and witty, practically alluring. Perhaps it was the lighting, it was very dim, but he resembled a really dapper and urbane version of Iggy Pop or was that a louche version of Roger Moore?Who knows? Who cares? A curious turn of events and really of no interest to anyone but myself, well Susan and Lillian found it vaguely divertin', - am evidently well and truly off my rocker. But it's high time that Sydney had another Sexy Ed. Oh Sydney it's been too long.

A few other fun social events includng dinner chez sister G on Saturday which was very merry, a bit too much mirth really for the mistress was incapacitated come Sunday, pounding headache. All she could do was lie in bed with the eye mask on, occasionally removing it to read Nick Tosches's Dino, muttering to herself that she had a nasty migraine but I think in true Auntie Mame style the Mistress was just very hung.

With the mirth and mayhem the mistress does like to throw the occasional bit of community spirit into the mix and has spent two days facilitating at community consultations. They were good. Wonderful consultees and I think their concerns and suggestions were very thoroughly recorded.

And now the Mistress is on holiday!

Off to Hobart Friday morning, my nephew's 10th birthday, to visit sister L and her family. Yes if I’m not doing Auntie Mame impressions I’m channelling Monte Woolley in the man who came to dinner. I hasten to add that I am rarely Uncle Monty.

I love Hobes. Will keep you posted of any adventures, of which I’m sure there will be many.

Pleased as punch and waiting for the fall, which could be imminent, am flying jetstar, oh my !

BLOG ON

Good afternoon my special fwends.

The blog is a powerful medium.

A couple of postings ago the mistress lamented the dearth of red hot chillies, more prized than truffles and keith floyd at the mo, and lo and behold what should arrive in this evening's post but a parcel of fine fresh chillies direct from Bendigo. Lawks I hope that didn't contravene border control.

A lovely parcel and a lot more welcome than a rat a tat tat on the door and a newspaper parcel of poo ablaze on the doorstep.

it's mick'n'bianca all over again

The affair between Paul Robinson and Lynnie Scully of Neighbours has been deemed ridiculous by many; nevertheless I am enjoying it and am struck by their physical resemblance.

The affair will end shortly but Lynnie and Paul will clearly remain the best of friends, for they've got the 'brother/sister' alikeness happening.

Mrs Beeton's blues

Forget about the shortage of bananas, where have all the red hot chillies gone? I haven't been able to get my hands on any for a month. So I’ve sampled the green and orange variety and they don't have as much heat, alternated with ginger and pepper but they don't have quite the desired kick. I've had to resort to the bottled red hot chilli. It's ok but it doesn't have the same bite or appeal, for starters you use a teaspoon so you don't experience the stinging sensation that you get when you rub your eyes after cutting and handling fresh chilli. Yowzer. The thrill is gone.

Yeah, yeah

said in a really rapid way in response to your answer is soooooooooo rude.

Don’t make a query if you don’t have time listen to the response, great rude articles. It’s particularly annoying when one generally replies in a fairly concise manner, ‘whatever’ gets me through the working day quite adequately thank you very much. In fact 'yeah yeah' has almost become the 'whatever' of the workplace.

And no I'm not talking about replies to social enquiries. As much as i am tempted when asked about my health i do NOT go into detail about the number of times I’ve blown my nose that morning (10 times so far) or other exciting and graphic details. Yeah, yeah could be justified then.

But sweetheart, if you are going to ask me for some information at least have the patience to listen to the reply or don't pose the question, cock robin.

When I think of the bores I have suff..................

Written on Friday posted on Sunday

Well since the last posting the digs have undergone a major health and safety inspection. Thank goodness it was done. Constable Care discovered that the kitchen tap was leaking down into the cupboard underneath and hazardously close to a power point.

So I called in Sam the plumber who is very efficient and prompt and fixed the problem with a flick of his spanner.

Now I can stop worrying about that at 3 am. and return to my fear of being reprimanded by my employers for blogging at work, crippling debt, embarrassing incidents starring moi over the decades or waiting for my heart to stop. So many choices, pass me that paper bag now.

This week I have been very productive at work, I haven’t been blogging there for starters and barely emailing. Sunday’s almost shock has transformed me into an uptighter citizen and conscientious employee. I have also changed the time of my daily stroll from after work to lunch hour. It is a lot nicer. I go through Hyde Park and the Domain then down to Mrs Macquarie’s Chair and up to the Opera House then back via the Botanic Gardens.

Very beautiful and generally quite peaceful apart from those herds of corporate heffalumps who jog, grunting and edging you in to the gutter as they stampede their way past - limbed versions of a 4wd. Occasionally I stroll with a companion but I generally prefer to walk alone as I can trip up those brrrutes, my trusty cutlass ever ready, without any witnesses, and catch snippets of other walkers'/joggers' conversations.

Yesterday I heard “he’s short and she’s tall, so…….” and they jogged out of earshot so I naturally concluded that they were talking about the act. Dudley Moore and Susan Anton came to mind and I thought about that coupling from the entrance of the Botanic Gardens to the Boy Charlton pool. Apart from mulling over grabs of conversation that the ears receive, my mind just generally relaxes while marvelling at the trees, the gorgeous sandstone and harbour.

Last night I was out with a party of five to celebrate Lisa’s birthday. We went to see a live performance of Hedwig and the angry inch. I hadn’t seen the movie, had never had any real desire to see it but like Susan and Dud am up for most things and the birthday girl was keen and who was I to rain on her pawade. I have my moments and an invitation is always treasured. The show was quite good. I did get a bit restless at times, occasionally squirmed, towards the end got a bit fed up as I found the jokes rather lame, and when the strobe lighting lasted for ages during the finale I had to close my eyes. Most of the audience gave the show a standing ovation. I couldn’t, I didn’t think it was that good , so p'raps someone’s blogging about that nanna who sat in her chair clapping and sucking on a lemon. I should be so blogworthy. At the time i rationalised, it was a long standing ovation, that i didn't give Pamela Rabe a standing ovation for Mother Courage and she really should have got one. I just hate drawing attention to anyone but myself.

Nevertheless it was a nice night's entertainment.

I have got my third cold in three months. A hat trick of sorts. Am off to the Blue Mountains this weekend.

Love yas.

Lax times at the mansions

A curious wind of change has blown into the flat and caused a completely careless almost reckless version of the Mistress to appear and flagrantly disregard Health & Safety regulations at Tupper Mansions.

On Saturday night I had Johnny, Brook and Huey over for a special dinner and we had a very merry time. I whipped up some lovely dishes, the Margaret Fulton chocolate mousse was a particular highlight. Thanks for finding me that book L & M. At quarter to one my guests left, i remained on the couch enjoying a selection of my favourite hot vinyl, oh yes, I was ‘singing’ along too. Poor neighbours. I retired at ten to two and got up eight hours later to discover I’d left the heater on in the dining room ALL NIGHT LONG. Lord. Fortunately no incident but I felt kind of ill at ease and very annoyed with myself not to mention feeling a tad seedy from the margarita, the Champagne and the red wine.

I donned the hairshirt and tidied up, entertained my parents who had made a special guest appearance as they’d locked themselves out of their house and had to collect a spare set of keys from me, after a cuppa, some nougat and speculation about the origins of the term the Sweeney, yes, as in the John Thaw and Dennis Waterman masterpiece, then a dispute about my explanation, I farewelled the olds and retired to the sack to finish my comfort reading of the O’Sullivan Twins and start on Summer Term at St Clare’s.

At 8 p.m. I finished Summer Term at St Clare’s and was ready to fall asleep so I extended my arm somewhat awkwardly to switch off the bedside lamp and almost electrocuted myself!

You see my bedside table is one of those old ashtray stand tables and I had placed this lamp precariously atop the nook where an ashtray is supposed to go, and kept a glass of water on the table section underneath. For someone who is so cautious I cannot believe I persisted with this accident waiting to happen. I knocked the lamp off the table, with my tennis elbow afflicted arm , which in turn jolted the glass of water resulting in glass, water and lamp flying to the floor. The glass didn't break, the water did spill , the lamp went phht, and I was terrified.

I wasn’t sure whether the floor would be live. So I removed a sock from my foot, opposed to where? my schlong?, threw the sock onto the floor to check if it sizzled, it didn’t but really I couldn’t be sure so I reached over the end of my bed to scoop up the rubber sole house slippers. Fortunately, I had a torch and then went and turned the electricity off at the main and mopped up the mess.

I will never have a lamp and a glass of water near each other again. It probably wasn’t as bad as I think but I feel utterly freaked out. I still feel sick at the thought of it and my incredible stupidity.

What a fool.

The only way is up

In keeping with the trend of blogs of note compiling important lists, you too can now feel up to the minute and bloggable by compiling a very, very special list.

YES! YES, YOU CAN! Anything can happen and it usually does in August as the Mouseketeers would have loved to have sung.

Vote for your top ten favourite Neighbours' characters from the past twenty-one years at perfectblend which is compiling a top 50 of Neighbours characters. Polling closes 31st October 2006.

Remember vote early and vote often.

It's bucketing here in Sydney. There was a wonderful thunderstorm this afternoon. It's really spectacular weather. Stanmore Road is flooded, well actually, in true Sydney style all the gutters of her streets and roads are flooded, causing great fun for everybody's friend the four wheel drive motorist who careers beside the gutter at great speed, churning a great wave that soaks passing pedestrians.

Yet another incentive to get the driving licence by June 2007. Deadlines play a very important part in the establishment of boundaries.

I love a rainy night and it looks like Sydney is in for an entirely wet weekend. Yes sir, that's my city.

Have a good weekend.

Dumb things i gotta do

So you know I can’t stop thinking about or making references to Strangers with Candy at the moment. I’m looking forward to the movie version despite suspecting that it will be a bit of a dud and an inferior rehash of the TV series. It'll go straight to DVD in Australia; well that's my monster prediction for 2006. Hope SJP's role isn’t too prominent but I’ll probably enjoy getting annoyed by her. I wonder if Paul Dinello is resentful of Stephen Colbert’s success. Perhaps he and Amy Sedaris tease SC about his Emmy nomination for the Colbert Report - wish SBS would broadcast SC's show here. I doubt there would be any malice behind Amy Sedaris' taunting, she couldn't care less, but I can imagine Paul Dinello seething with jealousy, feeling hard done by for after all it was he who was the hunky one with the hot bod and pillowy lips.

Due to the news reports about Fidel Castro's ailing health, April sun in Cuba has been making a few special guest appearances this week in my feeble excuse for a mind, while it can be a hindrance being simple, at times it can occasionally bear fruit.

The "riff", well particularly that of the chorus, of April sun in Cuba, is a slowed down version of the rolling stones' Live with me. It is, it is, it is true. Because each time I start singing the chorus of April sun in Cuba, after several refrains it always becomes live with me - a concrete argument, positively indisputable. It would be a very smooth merge if both tunes were on a stars on 45, the dragon stones mix, believe you me. And if you play live with me backwards, you hear Mickey j repeatedly whispering .............., well, I won't spoil the surprise you'll just have to play it backwards.

Lunch today was lots of fun for I met up with some ladies at the Treasury Bar and we had quite the debrief about BB2006 - general consensus was that it was pretty disgusting and hopeless yet we still watched it. Curious. That Treasury Bar is quite a find but keep it under your hats ok.

As we toddled down the steps of Town Hall I was struck by how many teenagers were sitting around, we hadn't been out to lunch that long, surely, school must be out earlier than usual. Just as I was about to text the local Truancy Officer who should i espy gliding down George Street on his skateboard but Yannick, teen representative for youth affairs to advise the middle-aged and square. What a lovely surprise. He greeted me warmly and advised that school finishes early on Wednesday, which I vaguely recall from my days as a teacher was when you'd have very long staff meetings. To think last week I was contemplating returning to a career as a "chalky". Must have been suffering from quite the excy c. (These abbreviations are annoying you, but you know, deal) fortunately, it's passed as I have tennis elbow to ponder.

Then I went back to work and wrote up a report about my lunch. No doubt I'll be submitting such reports to a peer of Yannick or even Yannick in several years, time passing faster than a knitting Nancy and whatnot.

Of horse and wattle

Happy Horses' birthday.

Happy Wattle Day.

Imagine sharing your birthday with such heavyweights. How would you be?

Just remember you are on Non Sequitur Rising, pets, and today’s posting is not going to inform you how these momentous occasions came about but how they relate to the Mistress, natch.

Ok now, got that straight? To things equine. Oh, alright. Well it’s only southern hemisphere’s horses' birthdays today, northern hemisphere horses celebrate their special day on the1st January. And horses share the same birthday so it’s easier to keep records and breed and that. But can we just get back to me now, thankee.

Yeah so horses and me. I have never ridden one, or taken smack for that matter, wo ho, oh. My only understanding of a horse, oh and H, is through books. I loved National Velvet and Black Beauty, oh Ginger, what a darling, I still feel teary thinking about her. My first anti-hero. Also loved the movie National Velvet starring the most beautiful 12 year old who has ever lived as Velvet Brown. Frankly Liz's beauty at that age was verging on the obscene. I must say her vibrato trill calling Mi wore a bit thin last viewing. The tune accompanying the racing of the Grand National was very exciting and it is still the soundtrack in my mind when i have to run for the bus. It's a wonderful pace, and you know what, haven't missed a bus yet.

Oh i liked Follyfoot too.

The closest I came to being a horse was at age 7 and having my older siblings teasingly comparing my appearance to that of Princess Anne. I of course retorted with a hearty "naff orf.” Longing to be Liz but being compared to Princess Anne sums up my life. But it’s cool, it is a-ok, it’s all a long time ago, la, la, laaaaaaaah, it’s in the past, it’s all in the ………

Um, happy Wattle Day too. While Wattle Day was officially declared 1st September nationwide in 1992, it’ll always be Wattle Day on 1st August to me. Has a ring of tomorrow belongs to me doesn't it, sorry but I guess that's in keeping with the idea of Wattle Day.

Wattle Day was celebrated on the first of August in NSW because the wattle is at its peak here/there then, where, when, what, oh cock, what am i talking about.............

Wattle Day started in Hobart, middish 19th century, and I’m proud to be going to Hobart at the end of the month in my capacity as NSW Ambassador for Wattle Day.

What’s your favourite variety of Acacia? Mine is Cootamundra. Lovely, feathery greyish green leaves and gorgeous fragrant puffs of bright yellow blossom. Doesn’t live very long the Cootamundra and is prone to toppling, aren’t we all at times.

the wayback machine

On this day in 1987 armed with a stick with a sweet little red handkerchief tied to its end I boarded a flight to Amsterdam.

I must confess that prior to the departure the mistress was having quite the nervy b about her voyage to the northern hemisphere - she no longer wanted to go. It was all rather barmy, and most uncharacteristic, behaviour. I was not going to be completely alone over there - my brother and his girlfriend lived in Amsters and I had some friends in Blighty. I also ended up making quite a few more friends, all of whom i've lost contact as I was a slack suck in those days but it's just as well really, we couldn't possibly have remained friends as i've done so much personal growth since then.

The night before the flight I stayed at my parents' house and spent most of the time lying in bed worrying and trying to convince them that I had pneumonia as my sides were aching so. They didn't seem to believe me and took me to the airport, not the hospital, where they, along with Randall who with a friend had very kindly come to the airport, farewelled me. I felt rather at sea as I walked through those departure gates. I did distract myself from sickness and fear by some purchases of duty free booze, a carton of fags, to cure the pneumonia, and a wristwatch, no doubt to monitor every second i had left alive. I sobbed from Sydney to Singapore. What a booby. Is it any wonder that some of my heros are Flashman, Dr Zachary Smith and Walker.

Anyway I ended up having quite a good time away, for one thing I didn’t backpack, eurrgh how foul that would be, and sticks and hankies are a lot more stylish, returned in Dec 88 on the day that Roy Orbison died and just in time to revel in the joy and pride that was our nation's Bicentennial.

So obviously not a lot happening on 31 July 2006, however I did manage not to sob on my bus trip to work, too gripped by the STA handy hints for passengers, latest poster promotes managing coughing and sneezing on the bus. While i am not coughing and sneezing I am suffering from tennis elbow on my right arm. It's really sore, am not sure how or why i have developed it.

Still it is nothing that a margarita won't fix. Amanda makes the best margaritas. The couple i had her way a fortnight ago have left me with quite the thirst. I think the trick is using the juice of a lemon rather than lime. I use two lemons to four fl oz tequila and two fl oz curacao. And shake it all together with ice. Why the margarita with its lemon juice and iodized Saxa salt caking the glass's rim, is a veritable health drink. Have one tonight. You won't regret it.

A most civilised snifter. Chin chin.

Tetch

Today I feel kind of scratchy and out of sorts. At lunch I went window shopping to get me some gift ideas for upcoming birthdays but every shop was playing a song that just made me feel as though I was rubbing my teeth with chalk or hearing the sound of someone’s nails scraping down a blackboard and I had to leave. video killed the radio star and what will we be singing in the 80s used to be the only songs that could really do that to me, spaz me out big time, my shoulders feel kind of tight now just thinking of them, but today it was Mandy, Never gonna give you up and something (should that be anything) by Crowded House.

I should have just returned to work but I continued on this stroll in a most perverse and masochistic manner and stumbled through the City Plaza basement where I kept seeing people whose faces looked familiar and our eyes would flicker with recognition but then quickly dim as neither of us were sure if we really knew each other, the eighties were wild, darling, wild i tell you, so we'd lower our heads and carry on with our business. To think I could now be blogging to you about my five brand new old friends. Shame.

I then went into a clothes shop which had dangling from its ceiling lots of mobiles (not phones) that got caught in my hair. It happened about three times and on each occasion I was startled, exclaimed and then grappled with the ornament trying to disentangle it from the bird’s nest that had become my hair .

Waaaaaaaaaah.

I feel like Dagwood Bumstead when I'd much rather be Baby Dumpling.

True confessions from the bog log

This year has been the first year that I have watched almost all of Big Brother. I’m not even going to pretend that I am ashamed - am so tired of portraying myself as high brow, also completely pointless as you all know I’m as base as, well, Big Brother. However, I would just like to say that I have never watched the up late version, clearly still can’t quite shake the high brow yearnings, it’s good to be aspirational, but it's probably due to my being such a straight edged prude.

Admittedly I did temporarily stop watching BB after the scandal as I felt sick and kind of culpable. The BB moratorium only lasted a week; the Prime Minister's wanting it banned justified my return.

A few of this year’s housemates (HMs as Gretel says) resemble minor celebs which tickles me no end.

David looks a lot like Princess Stephanie.

Camilla appears to be Joan Collins as Alexis Carrington with a dash of Debra Messing.

And the loathsome John looks a lot like Phyllis Diller. I’m sorry to insult Phyllis Diller but there you go.

The fashion and style of the HMs was quite a drawcard for me. What a household of hotties. Most of the men parade bare-chested and with low slung baggy trou displaying underpants or just unadulterated crack, and as for the ridiculous accoutrements worn by Jamie, wide, cloth hair bands and Burberry sweat bands that look like bandages, give us an H O T. The women display so much cleavage that Gretel Killeen now always covers her décolletage and appears comparatively Victorian.

The HMs would sagely observe that it’s not just looks that make a great package, personality is equally important, so I have of course been riveted by their conversations, expressions, and general use of language, it is a living thing, after all, and fascinatingly vibrant in that house.

I guess during her brief stint as an intruder Perry was my favourite – she was so overbearing and spoke utter nonsense. Perry played the role of Jerri Blank in the big brother house. Perry is 39, the other house mates are in their twenties, and a reformed boozer and smoker, and a mother. She gave up fags and anti d's before entering the house which combined with living in the Big Brother House must have been horrific. Perhaps she thought it would enhance her BB experience. Her announcing to BB and her housemates that she was constipated, about to get her period and wanted a cigarette was particularly endearing. The other HMs were gob smacked and tried to be supportive, they didn’t even snigger. I really enjoyed how she generally started every sentence with Can I just tell you something, her version of Jerri Blank's I've got something to say, and would finish with You are who you are. I loved those expressions and her self actualisation mantras, you have to love yourself before somebody can love you, so much that I would read the bb diary webpage to savour her key catchcries. Perry has a great future promoting laundry powder on television, perhaps doing those buyer’s choice segments, or being an agony aunt on the Mike Walsh Show.

Have also enjoyed the the frequent utterances of "you treat me as though i'm insuperior", malapropisms such as " inconsolable differences", the stagy tears, hand wringing, holding of head in hands, cushions being flung testily and Gretel's abbreviation of nominate and nomination to nom. But most of all I enjoyed banging on and texting my friends about it.

And, no, emphatic shaking and tilting of head, my viewing enjoyment was not derived from outright mockery and a need to feel superior. I find BB really interesting from a like sociological perspective for I am a people person. Could sit on the steps of Town Hall and just watch the passing parade all day - people, people, people.

The week that was

Yes, well, salutations and whatnot, not much with which to regale you since last Sunday’s sad and sorry business.

A friend had a double pass to the cinema courtesy of a cbd hair design studio, where hairdressers are artists, and treated me to an outing. While I wasn’t that keen on seeing the movie, advanced screening of the White Masai, was keen on an excursion and according to the latest book on social etiquette 21st century style, so helpful and it’s great that there are so many published these days, it would have been churlish not to accept. I was surprised by the number of people attending an advanced screening and they were not all sporting the same haircut as my cinema pal - something was afoot.

Imagine my surprise and glee when Tristram Shandy a cocking bull story and not the White Masai began playing in our theatre, we’d taken the wrong turning and ended in theatre 4 instead of theatre 3. It was more entertaining than I had thought the White Masai would be, quite amusing but not brilliant. The al pacino impressions at the very end were not a patch on John Sessions’s Pacino but that’s hardly surprising, his is brilliant and wickedly amusing, he is such a brilliant impressionist and character actor.

This week I had my hairs cut and dyed, no, tinted, a lengthy process and no complementary movie passes were distributed either. Despite it being a Wednesday evening I was still asked whether I was going out partying that night. Sneezing and coughing extravagantly I managed to change the topic to sickness, much more interesting and heard all about the hairdresser's recent bout of ‘flu, ailments and a good brand of expectorant. I left the salon with a gorgeous lorisi hairdo, kiss curls, much volume, which had been greatly facilitated by the hairdresser's gob, some product, rouged cheeks, a beauty spot and a very self satisfied gait. It's so important to pamper yourself, you deserve it, i certainly don't.

While off sick I discovered the joys of eBay and made bids on books to complete a few series by my favourite author. The books should be arriving soon. Hurrah.

Tonight am off to the Illawarra to see, not star in, more's the pity, a production of Same time next year and celebrate Amanda's birthday which falls this Monday.

Street of dreams

After another serpent like message from Boy regarding the production of before the bubble burst, the musical that is about my life and times, I hastily left my sick bed to sneak down to the community hall and cast an eye on the production’s progress.

Lord love Hetty and Brian because I certainly never will after witnessing this travesty.

They’ve cast this woman, Sybilla, not Eve as Boy so mistakenly advised, to play me. Boy, if you’re gonna spy try to get the facts right. Sybilla has succeeded in portraying the Mistress as a cross between Blanche du Bois and Di “Bubbles” Fisher with a dash of Frankie Howerd come Panto Dame/Mother Riley!! Between you and me, non sequitur risers, Pee Wee Costello’s latest lamentable attempt at a leadership challenge has hardly left me inspired to topple Sybilla . Like Pee Wee, too inept to carry it out is the Mistress’s rule of thumb for this production.

Still it is rather nice of Brian and Hetty to be so enthusiastic about getting this musical up and running. I should not be so critical of Brian and Hetty, according to Boy, Brian reads my blog.

Brian has done a pretty good job with the score and choreography, and Hefty’s, bloody spell check, I mean Hetty’s , direction is generally on the money but really does she have to counter every criticism by citing her marks for drama in Year 11. All I can say is that Hetty must have flunked out big time in Year 12 as we never hear about those marks and I guess I should stop saying so for Sybilla’s portrayal of me seems to increasingly resemble some mad camp Panto dame. Still which is worse to be a woman and portrayed as a Frankie Howerd inspired Panto dame or middle aged and still harping on about one’s one academic success in secondary school. You do the math…I doubt Hetty could, it’s not called mental arithmetic for nothing. I know , i know, these jokes are even older than my tongue but humour the Mistress while her dreams are being dashed.

After much coughing and interjecting I was banished from the hall by Brian who got Sascha, one of the dancing bubbles in the chorus, to wheel me to a café and keep me away for a good hour or so.

While at the café Sascha, who is currently in Year 9 at a performing arts high school, Brian said it was a very groovy institution but i question its grooviness when it is so keen to be associated with this musical, talked at me and texted friends, slurped the froth from her skinny cap and my full cream one, and picked the choc chips from my biscuit, occasionally smoothing out the blanket over my knees and posing questions such as “are we feeling comfortable?”, “are we liking our biscuit?" " let me help with those chocky bits, we don’t want to choke”, curious for a gel of 14, i know, her grandmother runs a dodgy private nursing home on the North Shore, effectively making me feel as though it was time to start rinsing my hair with magic silver white, or perhaps Grecian 2000 would be more appropriate now that I’m being portrayed as some camp dead man.

Eventually I’d had enough of being treated like Mistress Ga Ga and snatched Sascha’s bubblegum pink flip top Motorola clam shell mobile whizbangery and texted Brian pleading with him to be allowed back and promising not to cause trouble.

UGTBK was Brian’s reply. He’s been spending too much time with that chorus of high school students. Sascha, rolling her eyes, explained that it means you’ve got to be kidding.

She then called a taxi which deposited me at my flat. HHIS and LOL not. It was a rotten day and as god is my witness, I swear I'll never set foot, or wheel, in that community hall again.

a bit of this, a bit of that - but mainly crap

Hello, the doctor has prescribed bedrest and no talking, I wished he'd advised me to try and have fun no matter what i do, it's very hard being delicate and coming over all Merle Oberon at the drop of a hat. Omigod now I have Flanders and Swann singing i'm a Gnu on my brain, then again beats having Sinead O'Connor's version of nothing compares 2 u whirring around.

Last night I watched New York Doll, a documentary on Arthur "Killer" Kane and the New York Dolls reunion at Morrisey's meltdown in 2004. It was good, you should hire it. Enjoyed the Morrissey interview too.

So now i've spent the morning listening to New York Dolls. I think my approach to pop and rock music is akin to that of a sufferer of Huntington's disease. Forget all about something or someone for ages and then as soon as there is the slightest reminder get all obsessive again and start popping in every day. But the lesson is you should not get rid of records, tapes or cds as you never know when you'll get that urge to hear a long forgotten former favourite again.

Unfortunately video store does not have all dolled up. Do you? If so can you please lend it to me, video store is loathe to order things or tidy my flat! Could you come around and do that too please, piles of clothes and papers on the floor. Fortunately I live in the age of electricity and not candlelight or Havisham would really have to be my middle name and the mistress would be going up, up, up in a puff of smoke, fire safety it ain't no joke. Have you installed a smoke alarm in your hoame? It's compulsory in most Australian States and Territories, surely? Is your smoke alarm's battery working?

I have to admit that i hired a very soupy, poopy film that i refused to see at the cinema and it was therefore inevitable that it was hired once it came out on dee vee dee. That's as far as the confession will go, not mentioning the title.

This afternoon i have a the trouble with harry, which i haven't seen since all those fillums by Hitch were reprinted and screened at the cinema in the mid 80's. Wasn't that impressed by it at the time but am ready to give it another burl and Shirley MacLaine is just gorgeous.

Tonight i was to have people over for dins but it has had to be postponed. A shame as I was looking forward to their company and cooking a special dinner. And tomorrow was to feature an outing with some rocknroll playmates am not sure if i uh can ah re.. sist.....................

Hanyways i mustn't complain at least my current job entitles me to paid sick leave, my boss just sent me a delightful email telling me to rest and not to return until i was feeling 110% and my permanent replacement fully trained ?!, and you should see the effect of the sun's light shining through the prisms on my bedside lamp, there are rainbows cast upon my bedroom's walls...........................