i'm doing important hazardous business

I'm wearing a fluoro vest, don't ye know.

She walks like a bearded rainbow

Freak out. What is going on in Sydney shops? They are all playing songs by the Cream. Hey, mistress is not complaining but it's rather strange.

It all began around three weeks ago... cue swirly, whirly, romper bomper stomper doo in unstringed racquet effect.

I was in the Strand arcade looking for a birthday gift and went into this kind of fancy jewellery shop and that song from Fresh Cream "..Money, nothing funny, wasting the best of our life, bah, bah, felix papallardi, bah, bah." was blaring out. I did a shimmy and a shake, my gaze twitching upon this twonty something shop assistant in early 70's garb seated lotus like on a bench, twirlin' a tendril of her mouse-coloured hair around her finger and singin' along in a very loud and inane fashion. Hearing that song again and seeing gel singing muppet style left the mistress somewhat distrait and incapable of scrutinising baubles, and with a real urge to hear "what a bringdown".

Since the Strand i have heard the Cream at several other shops throughout Sydney. Then when i was staying at the house of mirth aka chez lorraine last week, Jeff Duff was playin' and that dude's voice is very, very Jack Bruce. Edwin Duff's is of course totally Ol' Blue Eyes.

Final meltdown for the mistress was this arvo while checking out clothing with Stefanie Powers at the House of Scrag - we were lookin' for clothes for Stef NOT the mistress. Tales of Brave Ulysses was playing on the stereo.

What is this about? Is it due to the recent publications by Patti Boyd and Clappers or does it augur summat worse? Take care, Ginger ...

Good times reigned supreme

I cannot stop thinking about that party. To left is a photo of fjg preparing for party. Blowing leaves sans fluoro - very desultory.

I think Alice was right; It was the best party ever and a school reunion with people you wanted to see. Of course some very significant people were missed, huwo AMP, but as my recent tatt on tummy reads, "shit happens", incidentally this greatly complements the "whatever" that is tattooed in ye olde English lettering arched across my upper back.

In between surfing the net, texting, emailing and swilling booze i've been padding about Tupper Mansions, picking up rubbish and throwing it down somewhere else, smiling and laughing as snapshots from the Jubilee celebrations float through my mind.

So much laughter and joy and everyone so nice. It was a booze fuelled Sherwood Schwartz production.

My current favourite snapshot is one from about 4 a.m. It features a very bronzed Française running around, lifting up her t-shirt to reveal her stomach and moaning about her menopausal belly. Oh well at least tummy was tanned.

Gonna make you a star

So yeah I have had the remainder of the week off from work but unfortunately the mistress was lady lather of indecision* prior to the hols and didn't she think she'd have anything to do in Mel, kept picturing herself wandering aimlessly for 8 hours a day around Federation Square getting addicted to the square's giant text message being broadcast on its walls, so arranged her itinery to return to Syd early in the piece.

Fortunately before leaving the State of play, i did have the time and good sense to catch up with Francesca and her daughter, Ada, and had a lot of fun and laughs.

Francesca had told Ada about Joanna's speech for Fran's b'day which featured everyone's alleged celebrity "doppleganger" in Fran the miniseries. Ada was rather taken with this concept, as we all were - irresistible really oneself being played by some ridiculously good looking actor, and compiled the photos of our celebrity dopplegangers and typed our names beside them. Ada created a list of minor characters; modestly placing herself on this page's tippity top - we did spend a lot of time pondering the celebs for the minor character roles. Brava Ada, brava.

We did note that probably three of the males we know would like to have Hugh Grant playing them, either because of vague similarity in appearance or just an absurd love of him. I found this rather problematic but as Francesca pointed out, Hugh would win an Oscar for playing so many roles and all the challenges in wardrobe and physique. It would be Hugh's Kind Hearts and Coronets, not that i am sure whether A. Guinness won such an award for that brilliant film.

Do not worry, Richard Curtis won't be writing the script. Joanna had touted Baz. Curiously RC, and no, I do not mean Russell Crowe, now seems appealing. It really is time that I returned to work


*which is not dissimilar from Bill Bryson's Lord Lather of indecision

Oh my god

x 2 or 3 were Lady Di's last words according to this morning's paper.

I had always imagined her last words to be something like "faster, faster". Was her god proddy Christian, Sufi Muslim, Versace, Le Bon or Richard Gere? Furthermore, if she had died several years later would she have said instead "OMG" x 3? And if i said you had a beautiful body would you, oh sorry i get so distracted these days....

I guess we'll never know. Death's like that.

Well as you can read i have not much to say. I banged on so much last Saturday and Sunday that i've exhausted anything that was remotely interestin' and had to return to a favourite topic of scorn from the 90's. Lady Di was then replaced by Nickers Kidman and Tom Cruise in the derision stakes, then i got hung up on bubble gum accented talk and text, and now it seems to be premature blooming jacarandas. I suspect the latter is further inanity masked by environmental concern.

What's new? Well i have to say i posed this question to the rambunctious chuckles and dance table on Saturday night and I received this amazing and unintentional beat poet-like response from an interlocuteur which i will now adapt to elaborate on my quotidian.

What's new

Returned to Sydney on Tuesday
Dicked about on the computer for several hours
Sank several light beers
Watched hot ploddy
Went to bed
That's what's new

What's new
Got up
watched the 2nd last episode of Sopranos
Had to download the final ep and the one where
Tony kills Christopher
Felt rather repulsed
so ate some chocky wocky and drank red wine
went to bed

What's new
Had nightmares about being a villain
Was in an American mafia setting
but talking like 70's English supergrass
was shot at by corrupt filth (told you so)
and hiding behind a big sheet of cardboard
It was very scary
woke up

What's new
Oh i've lost interest, haven't you?

Another obsession continues

Every single poppin' Jacaranda in Sydney is in full bloom; i surveyed it all from the plane this morning and my fellow passengers, with whom i had some very pleasant conversations, concurred that the blooms were premature.

Balmy old Syd - I fear something has shifted between her and me.

The big thrill

Oh i have returned to Sydney after a rather marvellous time in Vic and, nsrs, it's really rather rum to be back.

The celebrations for the milestone birthday of FJG in Bendigo were splendid and a whale of a time was had by all.

FJG and S O'N were marvellous, generous and very hospitable hosts;Providing bedding and copious quantities of delicious fare and plonk for the many guests.

We had a 10-12 hour dinner, booze and show deal featuring top bands, speeches and some spectacular dancing thrown in.

It was marvellous to catch up and talk to so many people from so long ago. How i have missed performing that party trick.

Thank you all and good afternoon.

The carnival is over, Dickie B

As widely communicated in previous texts, telexes and telegrammes, the mistress experienced the most horrendous and scary (nb you there perched on your little green chair by the white plastic computer (please note in this instance computer is pronounced as in Mr Kotter - Kottair but sounded out to that rock steady crew tune) flight to Melbournia.

Fortunately the flight back to Sydney was fine and rather pleasant. On boarding DJ inane rave 90210 the Virg blue hostie advised that i was in the middle seat. I replied "swell" (a la Margot Channing I thought) to which Hostie quipped "Rock on" and gave me a thumbs up sign. "I wish i could be that cool", i thought and then remembered to say thanks while scratching my nose with my middle digit. Now that's rocknroll, sugar.

I was seated between two very nice women and a two year old. Two year old's mother appeared to be teaching daughter the present continuous tense as they looked through the round window and noted about the mistress " The lady is eating, the lady is drinking her tea, the lady is picking her....." . I am NOT a lady, goddammit.....

Fortunately they were not beside the mistress on the flight to Mel or they would have definitely seen her through the nervy b window "the lady is looking startled, the lady is twisting her fingers, the lady is crying, the lady is staring blankly at the safety instruction sheet, the lady is closing her eyes, the lady is having auditory hallucinations, the lady is worrying about her funeral, the lady is barking mad........."

A true confession (opposed to all those phoney ones) and all bad.

All I can wail is how would you have reacted?!! To be mid-air on flight DJ 858 Virgin Blue and witness some hosties racing down the aisle, lifting up the overhead luggage doors, visibly panicking and loudly puzzling about the whereabouts of a burning smell and asking passengers whether they'd left on their mobiles?!!

Yeah, I hear you, crying "don't even go there, girlfriend".

Incompetent Virgin buffoons. Get your laffs and giggles over and down with while on land please and get some good old fashioned common sense about you when airborne.

Fortunately it was just a "technical fault" and i'm still alive, loving the skin i'm in and well enough to have enjoyed Saturday's party and avoided Sunday's great debate for which i am truly grateful - thank you Idol.

Flutter little children and fly forth from me

I was just shaking my jeans before folding and packing them in my trolly dolly suitcase, off to Victoria for several days, when a moth flew out of one of the trouser legs.

Those Bogan moths are everywhere aren't they? Don't worry you haven't accidentally landed on the smh website, i'm sure that was front page story there a couple of weeks ago squeezed in between NicknBaznsorryRussimhiringHugh filming Australia and the lady Di inquest. Yes, it's 1997.

Fortunately no moths have flown into my ears.

The other night as i was drifting to sleep i felt some flapping around my person, below my waist, and leapt out of bed. However, the commotion continued in the nether regions. I hopped about somewhat panicked finally managing to flick wide the elastic of my drawers and out flew a giant Bogan moth. Had I spawned the blighter? Of that I will never truly be certain but I do feel that at last my life has meaning.

A storm in her b cup

While reading the papers the past three days, each time i've happened on the entertainment section i've been struck by the full page advertisement for the Police tour of Australia which depicts the band members in their heyday and not how they look now. Promo features a picture of a youngish Sting leaping in the air picking his bass (?) and the other two sourly looking on, well plus ça change and whatnot there. I mean to say even the tour posters for self proclaimed rocknroll star Stevie Nicks feature her in the now and not the past.

I guess i expected to see Sting looking older and smugger, admittedly still leaping in the air but entwined around Trudy "the scold's bridle" Styler in the middle of some tantric sex session - both pulling some really excruciating "hot" grimaces.

As the t-shirt says, "make Sting history".

While I am here may I just say that if I read one more journo or hear someone paraphrasing that Mark Twain “rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated” quote, well I, I, splutter ..... Why, it's almost as hackneyed as slagging off Sting with tantric sex put downs.

And, yes the election has been called and yes, I will be voting for the opposition even though Kevin Rudd’s delivery of counterargument reminds me of some prissy captain of a secondary school debating team, and let’s not even go into the content.

Please can the next speaker of the House not be like Andrew Harwood or my life will have truly come full circle.

I wish Lindsay Tanner were the leader of the Opposition.

Jacaranda trees are in bloom all over Sydney which seems rather premature or perhaps I’ve been obsessing too much about Sting over the years to notice when blooming commences. Still I am sure that there was some old saying, by Twain or Wilde, about the Jacaranda in the quadrangle at the University of Sydney and that if you hadn’t started studying by the time the Jacaranda began budding you were bound to live your life through the bottom of a booze bottle or worse, fail your exams. And even though I was rather conscientious during varsity days, and boy, did that get me places, I cannot recall that much study taking place before rocktober.

See you at this Saturday's jubilee celebrations or at the Alpaca show.

Bucolic idle (part i)

New South Wales has just celebrated the Labour Day long weekend. To those who were children in the 70’s and listened to 2SM or enjoyed some very good birthday party danceothon rages (never raves) most labour day long weekends in the 80’s and 90’s, it will always herald Rocktober.

Speaking of good times and labour (oh dear my mind’s eye just got a flash of Krudd bopping to ELO, oh no and here comes Richo tapping his toe to the Eagles) I spent most of the long weekend with some of my family west of the Blue Mountains. It was a lovely change from that zany Sydders’ hustle and bustle lifestyle – so exhausting staring into space and moaning.

The weather was glorious; sunny, blue skied and cool but rather blowy.

As I reclined in a comfy armchair re-reading bits from the Alan Alda autobio (I was savouring Alan’s anecdote about his doing a cartwheel down the aisle on his way to collect the Emmy for Best Writer, won for an episode of M*A*S*H), dunking a milk coffee biscuit in a cup of tea (constantly sticking it to the man me), I sensed a frantic and agitated movement to my right periphery. I looked out the window to see pater brandishing an enormous pair of secateurs and pruning prunuses with no prudence whatsoever.

Here's to you Daddy Scissorhands. Branches were flying at a furious pace and I feared that one was about to fall and scratch papa's eyeballs, from which cataracts had been recently removed and replaced with a curious and occasional glinting flash that lends him the air of an inscrutable ancient feline. Constable Care threw on the fluoro vest and grabbed some hideous big goggle-like sunnies to shield scissor happy pappy’s eyes from the twigs. I then passed the remainder of the morning playing gardener’s assistant, exhibiting more grace than I did as child in the same role, and gathered the branches, carrying them away to my secret stash of sticks for some future arsoner’s delight.

After that exciting and dutiful activity it was time for some exploration and a picnic. We hastened to Sodwalls and happened upon a railway track and an old viaduct. I wanted to explore the viaduct but it was fenced off. I no longer trespass after a few instances incurring the wrath of landowners and landing in almighty pickles. The railway track still functions for a coal train passed us, or was it phantom, which was rather exciting. Then it was on to Tarana, Oberon and Hampden passing houses and farms with names such as Sweet Pea Cottage, Cherry Tree farm and Pussywillow ridge. On the outskirts of Oberon and on the way to Duckmaloi passed a property named Ponderosa which was adjacent to another called Altamont. There was a strange vibe in the air, Rocktober had indeed begun…