Clouds in their café

Oh the lifts/elevators at the bureau are quite the source of joy, vexation and bemusement for a people person such as me. I am under the deluded self-important belief,  not dissimilar from the majority of those who blog lifestyle for Fairfax online, that I am the only person in the whole world who observes and thus believe MY observations are GOHLD (Oh hello, Tony Hadley. What on earth are you doing here,  you whimsical, wily old New Romantic? Still as you are, may I just remind you that you owe Robin Gibb big time in the diction stakes. Duly noted? Lovely. Now please go and help those Kemps with their hair and acting. Yes, "toodles". Love ya. Bye bye. Ciao Ciao, uh, huh. Mmm Shee you sshoon. Can't promise. Oh go you silly has been of a troubadour who I still confuse with the singer from Wet Wet Wet ).

Anyhow back to the lifts at work. Constant source of entertainment for all of us (hey, who says I don’t have the common touch, I’m up there with lady Di except I always insist on wearing a seatbelt).

As recounted previously on NSR I’ve had dramas in the lifts - I've been trapped and witnessed lift rage (as AJP Taylor once sang - lawks first an allusion to Carly and now her ex....) . However, the  most common and tiresome occurrence ( and no, it not  the going up, the going down, the witty allusions to the opening theme song of Are you being Served, or even the titter when someone asks 'are you going down' (oh larfarama, yes but what do they mean?)) it is the  flagrant titivation that goes on in front of the lift’s one mirrored wall.

Crumbs. So many times I’ll enter a lift and spring some tit priimping and preening in front of the mirror . Big whoop I hear Vanity 6 cry. I’m with you, girlfriends. It is the fact that titivators are never remotely embarrassed and continue pouting lips, tossing mane, sucking in cheeks or just gazing  after a witness to their  vanity enters the moving box. Being the well adjusted sweetheart that I am, I move forward, I move backward, I move any which way  to ensure that I block Narcissus’ reflection. It makes me happy, and bein' happy, well that's the stuff of life, innit.

Trendy

Perhaps it was the recent remembrance of Loverboy, the orange leathers, the matching bandanas - hot damn, that has awakened my senses to the insensate or perhaps i've become witness to an alarming retro trend that must be nipped in the bud NOW.

On Friday I took an hour's break from the long fabulous lunch that is my work to check out the revamped Lowyland in the ceebeedee. It's very glossy and very dimly lit and very despair filling  - loads and loads of people goin' up and down escalators in an absolutely feverish, foaming at mouth consumer frenzy. It is an enormous shopping complex after all. Anyway after a spell, I'd had enough, I'd completely lost my appetite too, bile on tongue does it every time, much nicer on toast.

As I walked back to the bureau, leaping over a hustle here, and an enormous bustle there - that's the big smoke for you, i happened on two male passerbys wearing jeans that had been adorned with short neck scarves or hankies tied like tourniquets around the left thigh - funnel web bites or  gay, straight or bi I hear you cry.

I'm sorry to say that  i don't think this embellishment of the jean was to save life, convey preference sessuale or an autoerotic asphyxiation technique.

I boileeeve that it is a salute to the fashion of North American 'rock' types from the early-mid 80's, you know, the kind of fashion Mike from Neighbours embraced when he went to 'uni' in the late 80's and got too 'cool' for Scott and plain Jane superbrain.

Two separate sightings of the fashion in 10 minutes would indicate that the look is back and the prospect, my dears, is giving me a sick headache 

I suspect that those trages who like  to think that everything passe is now hip cannot wait to jump on this wacky fashion bandwagon. In fact you are no doubt  wondering where you can lay those pudgy fingers on an old, sweaty bandana (check the back of the sock draw, dumpling)  and whether  Jay Jays stocks acid wash jean in easy fit -  they do and they are that comfortable.

Distraction satisfaction

Do you sometimes find yourself on the bus, in your sitting room, in long meetings at work incapable of concentrating on your book,  audio/visual stimulus/distraction,  or um your goddamn bread and butter? And  rather than just staring at walls or out of windows, wondering what you'll cook for dinner or if you jumped out the window would a silhouette remain or would all the glass shatter,  you opt to stare at the faces in your space or on the screen?  I do.

Don't get me wrong, sugar, I'm not playing "psyche" or whatever the ados do. I just find myself studying a face  to determine  if s/he resembles her/his mother or  father, oh and possible  criminal tendencies, natch. It's quite fun and do you know what you'll never know if you are right, so fear of failure is not an option and thus no need to procrastinate. You can start playing NOW if you want.

I have to admit that I have got so bored with the Australian political scene that I employ this sensational diversionary tact while watching most pollies and analysts on the telly, so no need to turn off the telly, enjoy some peace and do something constructive... Generally with the majority you can see father or mother but there are some exceptions. One Christopher Pahne for instance. When I look at his face all I can see is his paternal grandmother.

Sainted aunts and cockin' lover boys

 As NSRs know I love technology! Why I was the first person you knew to have a card for the automatic teller machine/handybank way back in 1984.

 In keeping with this tendency to trailblaze, I have recently embraced the clutterfree perfection and convenience that is the purchase of music through the I tunes store,as joyful as buying mixed sweeties really. I tunes is a cyber Herr and Frau Kaufman if you like but without the sweets, you replace the sweets with audio and video recordings you see but you really wouldn't want a cyber sweetie store now would you because how would you get to taste  the humbugs, mint leaves, milk bottles and sherbies but if you could, gosh, just imagine....

 Last week, I purchased some Stevie Nicks solo tunes. Curiously I was still not satisfied following said purchase and had begun to to browse some  recordings of HMS Pinafore when the Itunes Store recommended that I purchase "Turn me loose" by Loverboy.  Lord love a duck, because who'd love them?! Well apart from Chuck Noblet.

Tim, draw back the good room curtains and let the sun shine in

Oh the inspiration. Well at least a lot of the talent remains. There is still Combet, Smith (who will no doubt be dedicated, loyal, discreet, modest and intelligent in any portfolio to which he will be so unfairly shunted and that is more than you can say for his mooted replacement) and several others. Will they get an opportunity to shine? Naturally, it's very good  that there is no T. Abbott at the helm but I still feel ill at ease, well you could say that there's something in my waters. The best thing is the insightful, humorous and intelligent commentary by D. Marr. So spot on.

 Now that the election campaign is over can you pollies please stop patting and kissing every person you encounter. Grotesque.A zillion times worse than the frenzy for fluoro vests and hard hats three years ago. I am like so totally over those insincere, careerist, ruthless,populist, self-seeking show offs of politicians and when they get tactile, why  that is just the dizzy limit.

I feel no joy about the election of Australia's first female Prime Minister. Still it could have been worse, imagine if it had been Julie Bishop and her hollow 'blue stare'. "Oh noes" i see you typing for your Facebook status. Nevertheless, JG's annointment and election are tainted. Perhaps she'll apply her strategic slick intelligence and determination fo fulfill more than ambition for herself and prove to be a visionary, progressive leader and do more for the people than kiss, pat and hug them. Will that be more possible in this Parliament? Can Dr Bob et al keep her real?

Christ could everyone please stop talking about cockin' 'paradigms', i feel like i'm having to endure a conversation with a first year Arts undergraduate/opportunity class manque  or have been bingeing on Late Night Live podcasts. There are plenty of synonyms to go around don't be obsessive now (that is my bag after all.)

It's broken and hollow at the mansions and goodnight from me.

Things that matter #2010

Don’t worry, NSRs, despite the tedious, sick-makingly banal, underwhelming and terribly depressing nature of this current federal election campaign I have not gone ‘crazy’ (as Nicola Roxon dubbed the Libs' mental health policy several weeks ago) and begun hankering for the days of Leggy Lexie Downer.

But between you and me, the whole federal election campaign caper is a goddamn downer and a half. .

It’s a given that the Liberals are ghastly and the prospect of their ascent is vile. Oh and speaking of “givens”, it feels at times that the whole campaign is being run from Fountainlakesgate mall; Tony getting his huffy puffy work-outs en velo or sluggo and Julia’s redundant self important language and delivery, exclaiming over morsels of food (“oh I do love a Daaaaaaaaanish” (pastry not shortbread - go figure?!), booming “Hello, hello”” to voters, not to mention then hugging and patting the poor sods’ backs.
Furthermore I don’t need to join a fucking group on Facebook to declare that I’m not voting Liberal on 21 August 2010, see mystery is my middle name decree 1981.

May I just say, Kerry, that it is the cynical, desperate, pathetic, floundering  Labor campaign and behaviour of that party's key pollies whcih gets on my goat, I mean, fills me with utter despair. It's causing me more angst and fury than Facebook has EVER achieved.

The woeful strategies undertaken by the Prime Minister to garner popular appeal are like those of a lover in denial about the demise of a once fun and passionate affair. She's trying to rekindle the romance with actions and expressions that once sparked but are now soggy – you know brilliant bons mots such as "game on" , those gritty and hilarious from-the-heart footy analogies, countless makeovers, continually compromising and lacking any conviction, oh  the capitulations, and then there are the  declarations of the “real Julia",  no doubt inspired after a lovely bit of woine toime. Christ wouldn't  it be diabolical to be in the position of having to extricate oneself from a relationship with someone like this.  Oh it's a Smokey Robinson song just waiting to be written.

However there is a ltille ray of sunshine for NSW folk, we  need not worry about the Senate, we can like totally chillax yet take a stand for Cheryl Kernot has thrown her hat into the ring - "Change Politics!" as inspiring as "Wake up Australia."

Anyway I have gotta dash, that spell of retirement to spend more quality time with an Australian faaaaamily (they were pretty nice put me up in the granny flat)  has taken it's toll. I've become so consumed with bile (oh their haspirations did me in, not to menton  the r/c air cond. breaking and the loss of my big toe to the hot tub's jet nozzle) I've got a gall bladder operation scheduled  for this afternoon. It'll be the fight of my life.

The future's looking glass

Oh NSRs, I do so hope that Kylie is not yet in God’s Own to visit Danniiiii and new bairn. All that visuale media coverage of tizzy ,bee stung lipped, nipped and tucked “biographer”(sorry channelling supercilious drawers Gideon Haigh) Blaaaaaaaaaaaaanche D’Alpuget would surely be giving your Kylie the jim-jams. And please let us not loiter near the smugness, insensitivity and vanity of Bob and Blaaaaanche and their big love.

I myself personally and to my mind am sure that some of you have also been getting the odd untoward  feeling  when reading the rancorous rants by the bileous old panto dame that PJK has become. I, of course, haven’t but I do so feel for you.

Vanity, pride and rancour, just don’t do ‘em NSRs, remember to let yourself go and forget, which won't be too much of a challenge,  I mean, oh yes you can!

"looking back, it's history, isn't it?"

Quite.

Oh and another quote from the Radio National Breakfast Vox Pop regarding the ratf*cking of K. Rudd and the installment of a new PM

"Yeah, she's a woman like me, and quite like me a lot. Yeah I'll vote for her."

Such insight into the psyche of our nation's voters.

And then I heard "I've got the Biotherm on my face and I'm heading home..." Oh wait that was some portly fella in trenchcoat talking on his mobe in the lift at Myer. Windmills of my mind, NSRs, windmills of MY mind. Zero credit there!

Yesterday was the day for Fantapantsanians nationwide. (Actually, Potsie ( ;Hi Shane :) tells me that Donnie Most shed a tear and all...) Yes, I too was shocked when Kerry made such an uncouth observation as he blushed, laughed and "tetched up" during his first interview with the brand new Prime Minister.. . Or perhaps that is a quote from me when I was vox popped by the RN Breakfast team? How James Carlton and I laughed, well he fumbled and stumbled, eventually emitting a ridiculous mannered chortle. I told him to loosen the ridiculous cravate that he insists on sporting and well things started flowing....

More childish opinin' to come but  before I sign off can I  just, say, Kerry, that last night I went to bed feeling anxious (admittedly NOT a first but deuced rum nonetheless)  and this morning I awoke still feeling sorry for Kevin Michael Rudd!!

"Go figure" you'd cry if you were unaware that such an expression is so 2000.

Apparently it's Tim Finn's birthday today. Why do I know? Why do I care?  Blame it on Warwick Hadfield. And please don't get me started about Radio National Breakfast grrrr it's become so goddamn smug and cosy, it's practically 702.

Forget her letterhead debacle

Lordy Q and A certainly spiralled to a peculiar end last night.

Peter Singer philosophised on the ethics of an owner and her dog and cunnilingus, after which the majority of the panel members opted not to opine and looked as though they could not quite believe where the discussion was going (David Marr was twitching in his seat, head turned away from speaker, gaze upward )... When Senator Helen Coonan felt compelled to add to the discussion with a Kath Day-Knightian counter argument along the lines of  I've got two beautiful Golden Retrievers (of course you do, sweetheart) who i love very much but i would never ... Discussion over, the show concluded to the sound  of mirthful mocking shrieks from Nanny Marr.

"it is what it is"

"We do what we have to do." “I am what I am. " "You are what you are” (i.e. a totally self-absorbed and immature “ratf*ck", settle inner K priss, S E T T L E).

Matoority and originality drawers here is so tired of hearing people utter these moronically obvious statements with such solemnity, yeah if they were laughing and wagging cigars it would be tops. Great, pompous poops. Fortuntately these bores no longer seem to say 'QED' and I am not surprised by its decline in popularity for I, too, found Jenny Morris somewhat unappealing.

These platitidoodinal catch cries are very similar to the statements that peppered the parley of Days of Our Lives scripts in the 70's and 80's perhaps they still do but I stopped watching the show around September 1985-ish, as some very nice and million times more focused friends got me off my derriere and CHOOSING LIFE.

Don Craig, Salem's DA, love interest of Julie Horton-Banner-Williams (she looked like a poor man's Joan Collins (and that's high praise, ain't it NSRs) and Mary Anderson, was master utterer of such expressions. I have to admit that I did find Don the DA rather appealing, not just due to his sagacity, he seemed to model himself on James Caan as Sonny Corleone crossed with wisecracking Elliot Gould - an utterly devAstating combination.

As Salem's DA, Don was involved in many baffling cases such as the Salem Strangler, mayhem and murder caused by Dr Marlene Evans's evil twin sister (actually I think Don also had a thing for “Doc”) drownings or were they murders (hey, leave that for Don to determine) at Bob Anderson's boathouse, Mickey Horton's drink driving and manslaughter (very Teddy Kennedy) , and those hilarious madcap hi jinks with Eugene and Calliope. Needless to say Don had to do a lot of pondering and  resolutionising, consequently he  would often stroke his chin and muse "It's a wait and see situation", which I would have found utterly reassuring.

 In the 1990’s Don came back into my life, well the actor Jed Allen did,and yes, he came back into your life too, NSRs, BIG TIME, for he  he played Steve Sanders’s father in Beverly Hills 90210. It was a masterful portrayal.

"Just step off, George" #2046

 I always feel extreme trepidation when  I pass a bicyclist while driving. The vulnerable but arrogant road rule breaking blighters terrify me more than the Daleks did.

Despite my irritation at their not following the road rules yet bleating on about their rights, i have no Askinesque aspirations to run em over, always exercise the utmost caution and am mightily relieved once i've passed the rotter without incident. I give me props.

Acceptance and compromise, are, after all, part of the social contract. Let's face it NSRs, Renee Russo's philosophy has never been more relevant to me since, at the age of 83,  I was awarded a provisional licence to beetle about the world's roads,  particularly at this point in time during the holiest of holidays,  the Pascall Passiona Fest.

Nonetheless i felt that my acceptance and goodwill to humanity were spent come Saturday afternoon  following a motoring excursion about Leichhardt.

Firstly in the shopping centre car park as I strolled back with trolley to my car, i was stalked by two cars desperate for a park. AAAAAaargh. Great pushy insensate unthinking C O N K S.

I duly directed one of  them to  a vacant spot that I'd espied while trolley strolling. The second DUELLIST waited behind my car as i unloaded my shopping and then tooted me when I left the vehicle to return the trolley. I smiled broadly at the pushy article and scratched my nose with my middle digit - subtle, eh..

My version of a tanty in the temple.

Secondly while motoring back to the mansions an oncoming goddamn bicyclist weaved his way towards moi because the great galoot was texting as he cycled. Christ on a bike! Well he clearly thought he was. Perhaps he could get a nice little sticker for his paniers - I text and I cycle.

Jeepin' Jensens was right -  the cycling society is the undoing of  human civilisation as we know it.

Pining for his opinings

Where is Nanny Marr? Writing a book? He has not written anything for the 'quality broadsheets' since February I am sure. I haven't seen him on Insiders since then either. I need his keen intelligence, his pith, his bile, his arch wit,  his independent thought. Nanny come back.

TA-DAH

Lou and Laurie are coming to Sydney
They are, they are!
Not for a sea shanty spectacular
But to curate A R T at Circular Quay!

Lou’s voice when singing is sublime
and performing Berlin was a charming soulful guy
Perhaps he'll stage a pirate themed light show
would be better than the ones by "Eno"

And here poet junior miss closes her Roderick David Stewart's A Child's Dictionary of Rhyme to spin and spit out  the following rant:

 "E N O" – ‘Brian’ NOT good enough for you, pumpkin?! (Oh, yes i know that there were two Brians, well a Bryan and a Brian,  in the Roxy Music  but couldn't B1 and B2 have done? Or how about Brhiannon - Welsh, mystic and featuring the funky rh factor in its orthography.)

Oh enough about Brians, you want more on cockin' Brian read NSR's backpages.

Back to Lou

 Hello, hi man

Lou

How are old are you?

And when I ask how old you are I mean , how old do you

F E E E E E E L

For instance, today I feel 15

Lou

How often do you think of AW?

My that Factory happened

Lou

What do you think of Nick Cave?

Ye-e-es, Nick Cave not Nico

Yes, I know,  irrelevant but

 irrelevant, derivative Shamham

Or

irrelevant, derivative Artiste?

Lou

How about VicBock? Uptight treacherous mother or what?

Lou

What do you eat for breakfast?

Lou

How many black t-shirts do you own?

Lou

Do you and Ben Stiller have the same personal trainer?

lordabumsamercyme #2

It was totally awesome to be stark naked on the steps of the grand old Sydney Opery House.

Nude and supine, then nude and erect, followed by nude and a bit cold, and climaxing with rude and too old.

 It would have been even more a-ma-zing had I gone and done it yesterday morning instead of today. UM-AH as we used to say in the old playground never bummer that was to be uttered much later on...

Aunty talk

Christ Krudd was ghastly on the 7.30 Report last night.  His supercillious, prissy, glib and redundant responses which began each tme by inverting Kerry's preceding question were just infuriating.

Kerry was disgusted and simmered. Krudd blanched as he attempted to duck the questions. Kerry had enough and requested that Snowy the puffed-up-priss answer directly. Krudd turned into white fury. Kerry was still incensed when he had to introduce the next story. Kerry held his own. Kerry is magnificent.

And can I  just say, Kerry, I mean, NSRs, that Clarke and Dawe were sublime to boot. Iview them NOW.

Before the 7.30 Report, Sydneysiders were treated to the most appalling and woefully risible news presentation I have EVER witnessed.  I don't know where Wah-nee-tah, Jeremy and Gra-Gra had gone but we (oh is this my first use of the smug first-person plural? Isn't it vile? ), had to endure the ABC team from CAN-berra. Jesus wept. The newsreader's intonation and delivery were like some 60 Minutes journo from the 80's and as for the weatherman and his sprig of fuschia grevillia on his lapel., well he was just utterly mental, and I mean that in the most accepting and caring way.

"She's a frozen fire "

Oh American noooo wave. I do love it and have been particularly partial to it of late, why, it's almost usurped my partiality for the old Napoleon pastry.

May (sweet, sexy, mystical and  kinda humble: why I do declare that  you are the subjunctive, the nanny figallilly of  tenses, yours Kel Richards) I just table right here right now that my enjoyment of the US new wave is not born of some cocking, wacky, zany, hankering to be D I F F E R E N T, or what Hilda Rumpole would term a "character" nor am i suffering from some like retro virus.  I just really loik it OK for it is fun and the lyrics, particularly those by the Cars, are rather pleasurable.

The Cars  lyrics and their general quest for the rhyme surpasses that of  Rod Stewart (and that IS impressive.)  It's tops. I wonder if  Ric Ocasek and Benjamin Orr's first language at hoame was Czech for the lyrics are very Velvet Revolution; possibly as interpreted by Tom Stoppard  but not as hammily delivered as by that ridiculous Matthew Newton . (OH what was the buzz about that violent podge?! - and  am I being  post-post modern in an ignoramous void i.e. ludicrous attempt to conceal severe lacunes in my general knowledge - oh desist inner dialogue and just let me b l o g).

The Cars were also baby boomin noo wavers not your gen jones variety, so probably influenced by hippy trippy imagery to boot. And dude, talk about influential: I suspect that you're all i've got tonight was the prototype for Huey Lewis and the news' (not power of love, you cynic!) but Stuck with you.  The Cars jumped the shark with Drive. Jesus that song, that fillum clilp!! (I know i've banged on  and blogged about it soo many times before but lawks!!!!)

Sad, institootionalised mental chicks ARE NOT sexy OK,  yours T. Abbott.

Then Vicodina Ryder and Avatarina Jolie adapted the Drive fillum clip to the silver screen (Moue moue uninterrupted) for which Jolie won an Oscar. How'd you be? An Edward Lear Jumblie crossed with  James Cameron Avatar as sex symbol channelling Mama Mia Farrow on kiddie shoppin' sprees in Indochine and Afrique and doing very nicely thanking you bulkly.

Um feeble carriage return to even feebler new wave musings...

The singer from the Knack joined Benjamin Orr in North American new waver heaven the other day.

I think that the first lp by the Knack was the first lp which I bought and deemed a complete and utter dud (Look just step off, The Seekers live at the Talk of the Town is a goddamn marvel!!). It was quite an upsetting experience (more so than Judy Durham stalking me in the 90's) as i really wanted to like it but couldn't....

 D I L E M M A but not quite of the Mary McGregor variety.  I thought I was guttted until the following year I bought that Emotional Rescue lp and well I actually lost my faith in Stonesy for the rest of my adolescence;  when i actually voiced my disgust i felt such guilt and anguish. It was nice once to be almost sweet  and intense about something, yours Lord Harry Wotton.  Still I rather like that title song now......Had better get myself to the youtubery to watch it for i am an audiovisualiste these daze.

'tude, toodez, and fine arab chargers to ya.

2010 into 90210

On the last day of the first month for 2010, I decided that  I would dispense with year of the tiger and its watery, firey elementals and establish another system with  many symbols as my guide. Let's face it,  these days that's  no longer a role for the conscience which  is practically non-existent; well  apart from the  minefield  that is my mind - it has a Greek chorus in residence (no Yartz Australia grant required and the space is  delightfully compact, dark and airy ).

 As I walked home on Sunday from another social engagement,  in between wondering whether the Roman Spring of Mrs Stone (like one of the first movies about a Cougar)  would be on You Tube (it is!!), if  i could be bothered cooking dinner and whether i could afford a spell in a soothing sanatorium , two other thoughts popped into my noggin.

Life  as an 'adult' never really moves from your heyday, for me beyond the mid 80's-early 90's (some heyday). All  that has happened is that one incorporates the Brady Bunch Oliver factor into one's life. You know, there is a  core group and in order for things to continue relatively happily without entirely imploding  new recruits featuring  younger, smarter, cuter, funnier  people, i.e. people born the decade after you and offspring , have to be brought in to invigorate and enliven things.

Oh  it was an extraordinarily powerful and original brainstorm.

The second thought was twofold:  I was glad January was almost over, and that each month of the year is like a 90210 character.

January is the goddamn Dylan "I'm mad, bad and dangerous to know" McKay of months.

You know, you R A G E then meltdown.. For me  this consists of seeing lots of people continually, the imbibulation of a fair bit of wine, ineffectually attempting to counter it  with soda water,  talking a lot of balderdash, and actually listening to a fair bit too, thanking  you muchly ; no toot or  trips down to Baja with my girlfriend's best friend or my best friend's sister, perhaps a spell at Mossy Point, but it does involve plenty of wrinkles, croaky voices, cool mincing and quizzical  raising of eyebrow .

Before you know it you've spiralled out of control, and you're paying Nat at the Peach Pit  $250 to blow toot up your ....

Woah, some wake up call.

So you need,  you NEED  time out and a spell of February with her good solid work ethic and honest-to-goodness home spun wisdom, cooking  and stable routine. Yessum.

May I introduce you to Miss/Mrs February.

 

Mrs Cindy Walsh. While her stability and sobriety is somewhat necessary,  i'm rather glad that there are only 28 days of the poop.

 Poop-poop indeed!

Now, i have heard it all

This morning on the radio I heard super nong, Steve Fielding,  describe Australia's detention centres as "world class"!!!

Skewiff and sloppy

On Friday at the baggage carousel at Melgridleigh aerodrome I stood beside M A R C I A  H I N E S. (Warning clumsy sentence to follow...)Unfortunately I didn’t have my copy of her guide to life, the title of which is pure simplicity itself (Props to you Margaret Fulton and that lovely orange gingham patterned aerosol can of polyunsaturated oil spray), “Life”, for her to autograph.

Marcia looked pretty A-ma-zing and buff and naturally youthful not botoxed. She was s h  i n i n g. She looked kind of sportive and although no white frilly knickers were observed I BELIEVE she was in Mel to watch the tennis for she just had the air of a tennis spectator and she IS an avid tennis player these days.

I had a great time in Mel but am now coming down from the good times, delightful company, generous hospitality,  and oh, alright, a fair bit of tippling with Mr Booze; my nerves are a little shot and my mind somewhat rattled and guilty. I don’t think Marcia would tipple the liquor freaktastic with Mr B that much or EVER.

I’m still a bit scrambled today and could not work out what to wear (Love and thrusts to you, Trinny and Suzannah, you snooty, botoxed slappers). Consequently, I ended up coming to work in something somewhat inappropriate - one of my playtime sunfrocks with buttons down the front.

I caught a very packed bus this morning and had to stand the entire trip, occasionally bumping and annoying someone with my teeny tiny backpack, oh so pratique but still a trifle cumbersome. I apologised the first time and tried to stop bumping but it’s a bit impossible and I do believe that you cannot get in a snit about being bumped when you are the one seated and able to read a newspaper – oh yeah bel justice right-on.

As I stood pressed to poles and people, a woman prodded my torso and advised in stage whisper, “Your buttons are undone”. I was mildly concerned, looked down my front but couldn’t really notice any gaps, so I stage whispered back “Where? ”. To which she responded with a clicking of tongue and pointed below my chest and then on my belly. She was right and was duly thanked.

I am too addled to be mortified but next week I should be ready to write an article for the inner west courier about “My private pain” .

I've got a lion in my pocket and baby, he is ready to roar

Ah Prince so many great tunes and even doubly greater lyrics. And how about those pockets? Capacious or what?

I’ve been hearing a lot of Prince lately as I got the motor’s cd player and radio  working . Farout. No Radar Love blaring yet but plenty of good times!

For some reason when I listen to the popular music stations they are perpetually celebratin’ music from the 80’s. Sometimes stuff I liked then (sincere or ironic use of back in the day is soooo last decade). Fortunately there is never any goddamn Thompson Twins but unfortunately no Wham! The hit parade can be a source of bafflement.

Back to Prince. Have you heard that he has to have a double hip replacement? How excruciatingly painful. Poor Prince, still he did go around carrying that lion in his pocket. Admittedly an impressive feat but with the benefit of hindsight NOT such a wise thing to do was it, sonny Jim. Oh the folly of the young and amply endowed.

The harsh reality of that judgement leads me to observe that January is the month for anniversaries. It’s bigger than October and November for birthdays and other significant occasions. F'r'instance it’s 5 years, 3 days, 2 hours, 10 minutes and 23 seconds (as Prince would document it) since I moved into Tupper Mansions.

And January is totally birthday centrale, oh it’s a veritable Capricornocopia of ‘em. Happy birthday to ya, indeed.

Attended celebrations for a milestone birthday of my first nephew over the weekend. It was a very jolly and relaxed affair, apart from the crazed rush by his grandparents to collect a stash of cupcakes from the food table before the speeches began. (The elderly seem to eat so much but never stack on the lbs, what's with that?)

 The bairns who are in their late teens and early 20’s just cannot be part of Gen whine; they are so a-dorable and pleasant and centred (and no, I do not mean self-centred). Admittedly my experience is, as usual, limited, and restricted to the offspring of relies and friends. I have not worked with this age group yet.

I principally used, oh, in fact, coined (excuse me, while i smugly rub my sensationally  super tight abs),  the term Gen Whine to describe those who were born in the late 70’s. In truth mainly to describe a series of really disgustingly whingy, over confident, competitive, self-centred, spoiled, frustrated and petulant co-workers ( I know with such qualities we really should have bonded- it was the self-confidence that tore it ). So perhaps it is not fair to besmirch a whole generation because of several sulky gels and jocks.

Conclusion
Yes, what should the point of this rambling monodrone be ....

I guess what I’ve learned is that if you cannot make generalisations in the blogosphere, well, it’s all just a little too grey. In sum, you should never act on intelligence or knowledge but  instead opt for spurious, irrational emotion and always ensure that it is at the expense of another. In the name of Alan Belford Jones I do believe that I'm ready for talkback!

Is there anything you cannot do

Not a question but more an exclamation of wonder tinged with vexation . In fact, it is uttered so often to me that it has actually become my aura.

Whether I’m straddling a toboggan, smiling and drinking from a can of Coke while tearing down some slope in Zermatt (yes! a l l at once), finessing (not to mention savaging the English language) chapters of my new self-help guide, or creating an exclusive and sensational line of organic lingerie, perfumes, soaps and lotions, there IS absolutely not one thing that I cannot do.

I am presently sportin’ a white lab coat and enormous spectacle frames sans lens as I type (‘anything she cannot do’ I hear you Murmur in Wonder). I have just added some essence of crepe myrtle to a concoction of oignon and cumin which forms the basis of my new parfum, Cretin d’estate - an homahge to those fools who sport jumpers and cardies on overcast and rainy days in summer despite the humidite being over 80%. (Oh MIW to you too! However I am ,of course, humouring you).

Consequently I have a legion of admirers, copycats (just step on board the superficial information highway and you'll find more rip-offs than that series of K-tel record covers from the mid 70's - from stealing bums to buns of steel) and, of course, detractors.

Maggie T often bemoaned the tall poppy syndrome in Australia. Even more ridiculously Slapper Faithfull cited the term and applied it to herself in her bio, which I foolishly read (I was multi-tasking though so not a minute was wasted). However, I believe it is just the Price one pays for being a high achieving, goal driven super competent.

No time for tickets in this day and age.  Pass me that Pluravit multivitamin would you.

Furthermore,  I am in good company. Cast your sweet, feeble minds to Sting, Kyle Sandilands, Simon Cowell, Jessica Mauboy, every celebrity chef who has graced a cucina  and you’ll realise that you, my sweet NSRs, are plum smack bang (I told you I could savage the English language!) in the middle of another R E N A I S S A N C E!

And angels, there is someone else who we really, really must add to this pantheon, I’m talking of he who heads the vanguard

Ronnie Wood.

Lord love that talented artiste. Sure he has been diddled out of song writing credits big time;still Renee Geyer did record a cover of “I can feel the fire burning” and I ‘m sure that the royalties rocked on in then. Musician, talented painter, rooter of young Russian hostesses, sorry, hookers, and wordsmith extra-ordinaire. Please read his bio and the collection of brilliant letters between him and Rod Stewart (compiled by one of the Mitford/Mosley great-grandchildren – they’ve run out of correspondence between hons and vons). Matt Moran is a huge fan.

Charlie Watts said that Ronnie had brought nothing musically to the Rolling Stones but he brought a whole lot of bonhomie. I should receive such testimony.

What really has triggered my new found respect for the Ronster, well , this epiphany about his being the Renaissance man of this our fabulous 21st century was a bit of cyber research yesterday.

I read that Ronster had just been ditched by his latest Russian lady and that he had bestowed upon her a scarf from his collection of designs for Liberty!! (not that the ditching happened because of the latter.)

M.I.W. ad infinitum!!! Ronnie’s grand designs are the toast of fashionistas from Jerrys Plains to Dagestan.

Baby boomer royals and hons and vons,  who feel like being hip and rockin' , are wild about the collection. C. Parker Bowles has a set of PJs and Chilla a scarf he dons for polo matches plus a glorious kerchief for the breast pocket of his blue blazer. Prince Al-bear of Monaco has a startling matching g-string and singlet. The list of sexy jetsettin’ fans just goes on but I must stop for I have to lecture a Motor Mechanics class for beginners at midday.

Arse end of the universe

Well, may Ava Gardner (possibly one of the worst actors evah. No,  truly Joan Collins was terrific in some Noel Coward plays and in Dynasty. Perhaps Aaron Spelling should have created some televisual spectacular around Ava...  As  for Ava's  choice of beaux, Mickey Rooney and Thugster Sinatra ... - Gordonia de Benatar), have been misquoted with her comment about Melbourne, which was nothing as crude as this post's title, while Shuting (oh geddit!) On the Beach but oh, it makes great copy; I think of it every time my mind drifts to Melbourne and her bluestone splendour of a summer.

A big hearty, sympathetic hello to my hot, sticky and grumpy cousins in the Riverina, Victoria and  S.A.

How ghastly that oppressive heat in Victoria can be. I give you props Victorians, or perhaps you'd rather be given paddlepops, but oh dear, that'd mean another lifetime on those already ample hips... As for S.A. well, angels, my limited imagination does not even dare contemplate the possible hot and scary scenarios occurrin' in that state of insanity.

Hope Code Red is extinguished very soon and please put yourselves before your chattels and exercise some good old fashioned common sense.

In the above picture, Ava looks quite a bit like Fanny Ardant, wouldn't you agree?

Silver Screen so far

Movies viewed this X-(sorry, wait a second, I'm putting the Christ back in, ooph, heavy as lead you are baby J) Christmas (Ah , that's better, Tubbs)/New Year break. Let's keep the holidays HOLY goddamnit!!

Lovely Bones – Quite good. Isn’t ‘quite’ a horrible and insulting qualifier! My paternal grandfather, who was actually very agreeable and kind but moderate used ‘quite’ a lot. Anyway the movie is quite good, pretty moving at times, still you could wait for dvd or for the digital tv free-to-air station to broadcast it.  Loved the fairy tale picture book  quality to the special effects. Speaking of special effects...

Avatar – REALLY BAD. Why on earth did I go and see this? I sincerely thought it was going to be about Lord Ganesh. The Avatars in this fillum were a hybrid of Jumblies and Angelina Jolie (hottt!). And the dialogue, NSRs. Good lord. How many times can people say “you’re going down, bitch!” I hope I never say that, except, well does that last sentence count?... On Christmas day one of my nieces told me she had seen said film twice and that it was A-mazing. I am surprised by her making such a pronouncement about something so woeful.. I wonder if she really did like the Christmas present I gave her- a lovely sponge bag with some nice House of Bromley lemon scented hand lotion.

The goddamn fillum was at Hoyts and it was chockers the day I attended. I had to park the Getz on the penultimate level of the shopping centre. Even worse there were no empty seats in the cinema's theatre. I had to sit directly next to people and a-top an elderly gent's lap. Fortunately they were not the types who sucked on slurpees or fizz, or shoved foul smelling popcorn in their cakeholes. What’s with all the eating at the cinema? The occasional choc top, yes but I say NO to those ginormous boxes of foul smelling popcorn and you should too.

Bright Star – BEAUTIFUL, MAGNIFICENT, devastatingly heartbreaking. Characters were lambs apart from loathsome, toady, jealous, frustrated Mr Brown. Most splendid actoring I have seen since Stefan Dennis masterclass or Cate Blanchett being interviewed by Kerry O’Brien on 7.30 report ...but seriously SUPERB ACTORING. Please see.

Cinema was gorgeous 30’s picture palace, restored by Mike Walsh but surely not in collaboration with  Jade Hurley. Woman seated next to mother had one noisy gurgly stomach. I originally attributed it to mother's belly which she denied but I suspect mummy was lying and put the blame on Mame, boys. Woman next to me was fond of a Fantale or ten. I hope she remembered to remove the wrappers, paper corrodes dentures, well it depends which movie star's bio is on paper. Not good to leave Monte Clift bio on teeth for too long. Fortunately, NO Marella Jubes available or I would have started thinking about Peter Carey as an adolescent and his sessuale awakenings.  Hope you are now.  One, two, three "eeeeeeeewee" ! That's right let it all out, pets, as did Peter in that Good Weekend interview in the early 90's.

Sherlock Holmes – Oh I know! and a step off, Bel and what would you expect to you an'all, thanking you muchly.   T'was rather enjoyable in its lame-O-ness. It was rather funny because Robert Downey as Sherlock Holmes seemed to be channelling Tony Curtis as Danny Wilde thus rendering Jude Law as Roger Moore playing Bret Sinclair AS Dr Watson. So a Victorian version of the Persuaders,  really. What more could one expect from G. Ritchie. Alas, no hokey, I mean, groovy dancing with Continental accented fillies at end; shame. AND NO music of the calibre of John Barry's compositions. Movie was too long. Cinema was pleasant and served quite a decent drop of sparkling and not much popcorn cooked or eaten.

It’s complicated – YES it is the title of a movie and not some lame-o relationship status that one of your Facebook friends has just notified the entire world about. I wonder if Facebook has a just tinkled or laid log status for one's profile, that would be a lot more interesting and a good way of monitoring irregularities in ones' 'friends'’ physical health. I mean it’s a given that one's mental health is well, shot – cos you have to be wacky, zany and just plain  c-r-r-razy  to be on Facebook. Actually, no, that's the pre-req. for my place of employment. Shake your head, roll your eyes upward and laugh for that is what  I do 5 days p.w.  I can't believe that I am paid to have THIS much fun.

Anyways I really enjoyed the movie and laughed a lot. I love MERYL and Alec Baldwin is a goddamn hoot. I enjoyed the schmaltz too.  So “bite me”, I think that’s the first time I have uttered that expression to boot. Don’t know if it is the correct context.

Love and bile and good times to ya for 2010