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

Are you ready to get going?!!

As you might recall little Keith Lamb hollering in the mid 70's to promote an energy fuelled chocolate bar known as the Chokito.  Oh memory lane, NSRs, memory lane. If only one's capacity to remember could be used for brilliance and not trivia - one would have had a lovely little Australian Post tribute en timbre by now... Well you can stuff your Chokitos, and no, not down the front of your trousers or your brasieres, for nothing will improve those appendages, you poor old fools (how could you ever have held store in such silliness?) for it is the GETZ what's been getting me going. 

This week I have avoided the Haughty North and the Oim not a raShirelist South, steered clear of that Meretricious East and driven over the hills beyond the Battlers' West and loved every goddamn minute of it!

The mist, the fog, the rain, the blazing sun, the hairpin bends, the roadwork delays, the rude articles honking (I DON'T CARE* if they are horny - time and place, NSRs, time and place), taking the wrong exits, the subsequent nervy b's...I've got a provisional licence to motorin' good times.

Mother Superior

O the independence. The joy to be in my darling little autistic black bubble on wheels;waving at the kiddies and vociferously cursing their olds, and as for those mothertruckers, do not get me started!

Sister Bertrille (Carlos lurking in background..)

Sister Bertrille and Sister Cisco (Carlos' s ear)

Blanche du Bois

Mount Titty Boom-Boom

 (B Whiteley on Lloyd Rees in Conversation with J. Hawley Good Weekend Sept 1990)

Happy newie, NSRs - 2010 has a lovely, happy and healthy ring to it.

*Soooooo 1977

That certain feeling

Soon there will be an Aussie saint for i have 'what a friend we have in jesus' whirring around my brain.

Apparently it's the 21st Century

In fact the first decade of this millennium will be over soon-ish (Look (a little tribute to the almost small 'l' Liberals named Malcolm there ) I don’t want to get in an argument about time measurement OK), and while I am still incredibly disappointed by the lack of jet pack there are even more troubling matters and I might just need to wear a t-shirt with a slogan

The majority of pollies seem to be goddamn Christian (generally conservative catholic to boot, and truly i thought Jensen Anglicanism was bad – it is) and proud, women are ashamed of feminism ( I think that Alan Alda is the only person who admits to being a feminist these days), people need to have their relationships recognised by the State and then of course there is the importance of faaaaaaaaaamily and its right to ginormous brand new houses with lovely air conditioning, bedrooms and en suites galore (lawks I remember when those choc galore biscuits kept us all happy), foyehs, Jacuzzis, good rooms and masterchef kitchens. Gordon, it's so god awful and does my disgust make me some kind of radical? That's the current climate for ya.

Perhaps it’s time to get some rocknroll playmates together and record and release a rock against wowser cd thingy.

Gorne her own way

No more leadership spillage for me, no more psephological ponderings for now.

I am off to see the originators of M E L T D O W N . It's carry on up the Hunter with Fleetwood Mac in the voines - a concert and excursion in two parts. Toot toot . Now where did I put that lacey shawl and would it not be dangerous to affix scarves over the car's headlights...

Carp & Demean

Dorian Gray - yet another remake en cinemascope. Oh why bother?!! Just read the blinkin' book and be done with it or hire that 40's film in which Angela Lansbury played Sibyl Vane and sang a Nightingale in Berkley Square, i think. The film also featured George Sanders, who was born to play Lord Henry Wotton. Hurd Hatfield as Dorian is quite the poop but then was not Dorian; well, a corrupt and vain poop which is possibly an oxy-moron and slightly worse than an uxurious-moron.

Nick Minchin - slick prick, evil Vatican cardinal/Darth Vader

Wilson Tuckey - R-r-r-rabid (am I channelling his irrational foaming fury? Oh my! I mean, "oh noes". )

Brownyn Bishop - R E T I R E you great beehived Punch puppet look-a-like of a right wing pollie.

Tony Abbott - Spare me and his longing for pre-Vatican II. I feel sick. Pass me that nice chocolate biscuit would you. Oh make it the whole goddamn packet, sweetness.

Joe Hockey - throwin' his fat into the ring


All of them make Malcolm Turnbull seem almost, no, Bel, you cannot and must not apply a kindly adjective to him, or feel sympathy, remember ute gate and all those rumours you've heard, nice and Malcolm cannot compute

And  PLEASE no more questions to me about chipped glassware and such like. It's like listening to some frustrated bride bleating on about her trousseau. Eeewwwwwwwe. It is not my lijne of work! Noelene Donaher obsessed and bitched about Paul and Dionne's chipped crockery and look what happened to all of them! Yes, Sylvania Waters is permanently submerged underwater, granted Noelene does look hot in that mermaid tail, BUT, and it's a big but(t), Libs, property values are down the gurgler. When property values plummet that's when the Libs will believe in Global Warming.

"Thanks, my friend." - When strangers address me as such (only strangers could as the friends I sort of have only address me when they chastise-1st born children become such know-it-all didactic P R I G S (no offence)) I should feel repulsed yet my curmudgeon lobe is curiously squashed and soothed by such an utterance. I get a peculiar tingly and untoward feeling; i think it's because i feel that there is an element of godbothery to it and as a child one of my biggest fears, apart from kidnappers absconding with my younger sister, car crashes, getting run over, being strangled by stray venetian blind cords swinging in the breeze, and being sprung as the culprit of the great firecracker sounding fart in B.O. Berwick's maths class February 1975, was that i would somehow get brainwashed and become a Christian.

Over and spun out (again)

Motor Vehicle Mama

Since being awarded my provisional driving licence and becoming a motor vehicle owner, I have completed my rites of passage and been beetling about NSW roads big time.

Props to me.

While beetling about i've been attempting to avoid all manner of road ragers (in the 80's we like raged (good times) and in the noughties we road raged (rude times ) like go figure. What has happened to common courtesy?! - SMH bloggers your time begins now!) and let me tell you the worst offenders are the pig dog bald and buff male variety (no doubt celebrity chefs - I did toot one of ‘em once but NSRs, just imagine how much toot/steroids those mothertruckers have done to behave as they do!! Oh I just shudder at the D R U G S ! These rd ragists are one fang away from serial killer or Lindsay Buckingham psychosis), stocking up on Coles brand soda water, practising my manoeuvres, and spending lots of time on the telephone line to the NRMA: sorting out insurance, slips and having the occasional workshop (when you say I have to pay $600 excess you make me feel poor and inexperienced).

I am the bomb (whatever that means. I heard Idol Stan and Big Brother contestants say it so it must be very deep and another way of saying awesome).

I am overwhelmed by a feeling of self-importance, enormous responsibility, misplaced civic pride and matoority. Consequently I cannot stop flicking my sheet of glossy hair over my right shoulder, tilting my chin to the left, and allowing a disgusting look of utter smugness to suffuse the oil painting of a face that the Creator bestowed upon me. (At this rapid rate of achievement, by next week i will be living in my father's den come funky pad, i don't know where my 52 year old brother will reside but eviction like shit happenz. Sorry NSRs, for the crudite and fibbing, i plainly still have one more rite of passage to go... )

Yeah so that’s me, and i really, really don't want to know about you because that's all we ever talk about, but the point of this post is to table the issewe that is the voice on the NRMA help line.

The kindly but correct tones of James Dibble /Bruce Menzies or Lozza Bailey/Lucy Bell have been usurped by those of a rockin’ kind of laid back Video Hits host full of uhs, pauses and up-endy inflections:

"Cars are cool but they can also be like a reeeeal hassle. Not a problem. I’m kinda here to help and uh, like unstress you. Press one if you’ve stacked. Press two if you’ve got an um existing policy. Press three if you want just chat …"

Crowded hours

Oh NSRs, do you sometimes find that things are just all a bit too much? Well do you know what, I do and today I wish that I could just dive into a William Brown book and become one of its characters, preferably a member of the Outlaws, for a week. Actually I'd like to be William and scheme some attack on Hubert Lane or Bertie Franks.

Pollie as pin up

Kate Ellis, my inner soothsayer has three words for you:

Natasha Stott Despoja

and just ornry old me wants to know what's all this arm wrestling with the Hulk business? Didn't Bill Bixby die?

Darling delicious black jelly bean of a car

Skinnamarink a dink a dink,
Skinnamarink a doo,
I love you.

I love you in the morning.
And in the afternoon.
I love you in the evening.
And underneath the moon.

Skinnamarink a dink a dink,
Skinnamarink a doo,
I love you!

Darling delicious black jelly bean of a motor vehicle you have transformed my world!!( you are my rock - oops sorry NSRs I thought i was accepting a Miss Lovely Motherhood award or parading down the Dalley M thong throng.)

Just hope that I don't get an attack akin to Bets Draper with that washing machine . . .

Blame it on Gothstock

Sunday morning at 12.52ish around my neck of the woods was

M E N T A L.

The police had got the word to G O. Sirens shrieked and what sounded like a fleet of the bleedin’ Sweeney screeched down my street stirring me from my dreams, which fortunately did not feature lame arse genwhinedoesgothandzombie and fleshy middle aged goth llladies commemorating All Hallows' Eve by the sportage of vavavavoom neckline ensembles and shadin’ theirselves and their treasure chests from the sun with lacey black parasols. Alas, I had truly ( sorry, verily) witnessed this gothicke grotesquerie 10 hours earlier when strolling down the main drag - 'keep yer mammaries to yerselves', i had hectored, in vain.

I was then well and truly woken by several reassuring bump, bump, bumps and a terrifying THUMP.

Adrenalin prickling and pumping, I scrambled out of my tangled bedclothes to race to the sitting room and stick my head out the window.

What a sight!!

Sweet NSRs by the look of these coppers they could never have passed for the Sweeney as they’d clearly never gone without dinner (let alone elevenses, and their trou pockets were no doubt crammed with snack packs and jam rolypolies). Bargearse/Bluey, more like. The great galoots had been in portly, sweaty pursuit of that object of the utmost importance, a stolen vehicle.

Oh the gaspillage of law'n'order funds (Surely the Cruel Sea wrote/sold a song about it?)

Sickmaking. Pass me that cream bun N O W!

Bargearse One not content with her car mounting the street's footpath had smashed its bonnet into the mansions' surrounding fence!! Bargearse Two tried to miss Bargey One and rammed his car's bonnet up the back of my neighbours’ motor.

Sirens continued to wail, porky pigs sweated and aimlessly waddled across the street, their guns in holsters jiggling against their jubblies, as they wondered “which way did he go?” and surveyed with surprise the enormous dish of crash, bang, smash ‘em up they’d served the residents of the mansions.

Goosey Goosey Gander

3 sniffer dogs, 2 smashed fuzz cars, 3 smashed civilian cars and 12 portly coppers later - ‘hot’ rod was smashed and abandoned and not one 'villain' nicked. Fortunately no one was injured in the debacle.

SISTERS!!!!!

If I hear one more woman qualify a statement with:

“NOT as a Feminist" or "I'm not a Feminist" (oooh heaven forbid)

I’ll, I’ll do my goddamn BLOCK.

Vagabond tongue - dicky word twist alert

Must work until Idol for I have been too idle at work.

Always ahead of the pack

With the demise of several 'legendary' 'good time' 'rocknroll' venues, Sydney's leading 'quality' broadsheet has replaced its Where's our summer gorne lament with Where's Sydney's live music scene? Even rockin' mamma here knows it's been dead for at least a decade. Clunkarama.

Did you know

Darrell Lea celebrates Choctober.

Marcia Hines has published a book of her platitudes to help one get through life; i think it might be called Go with what you know.

The dream team panel on the Insiders is Annabel Crabb, David Marr and Andrew Bolt. Yesterday's Insiders WAS magnificent and somewhat riotous. 2 minutes into the the introductory discussion Nanny Marr was fanging A. Bolt big time. When A. Bolt began his climate change scepticism rant, D. Marr turned away from AB, crossed his legs and proceeded to lounge while reading a newspaper, announcing " I'm reading the Sunday Telegraph!" Occasionally mid-fang D.M would pause, remove his glasses, suck on the ends of spectacles' arms then launch another attack. It seems that Annabel and David may have been chastised for being out of order during the screening of another segment as when discussion resumed they were less uproarious, less teasing and more patient with A. Bolt - shame. Perhaps Mother Bolt rang in and complained. Andrew Bolt was furious and gave Annabel Crabb dagger looks. It was an entertaining riot of a show.

You should always keep active. Well that's what an 87 year old woman with clear, light blue eyes and straight back advised me as i admired the kiddies' garden in the Albury Botanic Gardens. No, i was not swinging in a hammock and sipping a cocktail from a glass garnished with a minature parasol and slice of lemon, nor was i supine. I was my spritely, erect and approachable (oh me and Joe Hockey!) self. I've said it before and I'll say it again: kiddies and seniors are my most popular demographics. Am an utter right off with the ados and peers.

The Wine Room in Albury is the place to be of a Thursdee evening.

My great-aunt turns 100 this All Hallows' Eve and I will attend a party dressed as a ham (insert one liner about Ugly Dave Gray/Jimmy Saville/Joe Hockey/Wove here).