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.