FLIP!!

Forgot to mention Marshall McLuhan in the blog in July.

Oh the pain

 In addition to on-going blood testing, possible blood letting, and sinusitis , I’ve been fainting and whatnot.  Believe you me it's even more tedious experiencing it than reading about it...

Unfortunately  my new found delicacy caused me to miss a social event that I would have liked to have attended.

I’ve also been caught up in quite the cockup in cyberspace, with the electronic missives on the iPhone. It turns out that I'd been sending mental missives  to a stranger, instead of  one of my  good time charlie friends. Goodness knows for how long!  I daren't look at the sent box. Stranger only advised me in a politely sardonic fashion on Wednesday and the shock of the news  triggered one of my dizzy spells. There was NO sexting involved I swear!! Oh noes what if the missives go viral!!

O technology!  I’m up with the social etiquette but netiquette – really it's high time that a Sunday paper supplement featured an article about THAT!


When I haven't had my schnoz in a bucket of lavender coloured smelling salts or the Merk Manual,  I managed to notice  that a SMURF MOVIE  has  been released. I see that  Papa Smurf (IL PAPA?) leads the goddamn posse sportin' a beard, beanie and ray bans!!! Yowch (see Quack posting). The promotions for the film  feature smurfs frequently murmuring, "Oh my smurf" . Some catchphrase. Actually ...

In other news

Wagon Wheels are back (as is the avian flu but enough of my hypochondria for now). The confectionery of the old schoolyard, well along with quite a few other tuckshop dainties but WW was my favourite.   You can get original flavour  featuring choc coated biscuit with a  strawberry jam and thin vuhnilla marshmallow centre or a new variety called chocolate which must have like chocolate and marshmallow in the centre. Farout.

Queensland strawberries are still absolutely delicious, all types of pears are still good to eat, and those bananas, why they're worth their weight in gold, aren't they just, because let's face it that's the currency required to purchase them, oh i know  (but don't worry some vendors accept the chocolate money that is covered in gold paper).

Oh and how about that stock market and your super...Zzz

Quack

 I am often accused of worrying unnecessarily about my health. However, I believe that there is nothing excessive about an annual health check when it has recently been necessitatious to have a basal cell carcinoma and a squamous cc excised not to mention one having glandular troubles (and no, that is most definitely not a euphemism for excess pounds acquired by gluttonous consumption of cream buns; for it’s gluten free jam doughnuts what are my weakness). Why it positively behoves the mistress to be mindful of ‘er ‘ealth and to take heed when she feels ever so liverish, never humble, mind, simple of mind, yes, humble, never!
So I scheduled an appointment with my general practitioners.

I hasten to say that it was a very confused telephone conversation I had with the receptionist when booking a double appointment ( I had a list of things that I wished to discuss (not excessive, p r a c t i c al!)). So a week before my appointment I rang to confirm and it would seem that an appointment had been scheduled for Baby Bel’s 12 month check up featuring immunisations galore. I duly told receptionist that I was in fact Baby Bel and required a more age appropriate medical.

Phew, confusion avoided, double appointment assured, and the worry of finding a 12 month old baby for that initial  appointment evaporated, I shutdown the Ebaby search  and tucked into a lite low gi jam doughnut.

Relief, peace of mind and no June Allyson endorsed panty liner required.

Imagine my surprise when I turned up for my appointment and the doctor, a new one, well I had never been doctored by her, said she thought she’d only have time to do my “Puppa Smurf – if you are with me” (I’m quoting the cockin’ doctor here, nsrs!!) to which I replied if you mean Pap Smear yes, I do get your drift (as they used to say Milwaukee way in the 1970’s when they were trying to pretend that it was the 1950’s and were shouting “sit on it” every 15 seconds. (Apparently that expression (sit on it not puppa smurf) dates back to a Leiber Stoller tune penned for the Coasters, yours, language it’s a living thing).

Um, back to the 21st century and conversation at the Cabinet of Dr Cutesy…. I added that I was somewhat vexed by being rushed as I’d made a double appointment and needed to discuss a few matters and have blood tests. It was my annual medical after all. I sulkily  stuffed my A3 sheet listing ailments in my ugg boot. Upon seeing this insufficiently furtive action, she assured me that she’d do a “quick Puppa Smurf and see what happens.”

 Medicine - let’s see what happens, why don’t we? A possible title for some medical programme for juniors? And as for old “Puppa Smurf” the prospect of that old, tiny, blue character hitching a ride on the speculum, no doubt sporting a miner’s helmet with light  to examine one’s cervix was really too, too much. Following that hurried exploration it was on to the blood pressure check and some further curious ‘banter’ about other medical matters with  cutesy euphemisms to which i had to enquire if they too were cartoon characters. Consultation concluded.

And to think, my dears, that the encounter took place a few days before my special day.

While I like to celebrate others’ birthdays (my own special brand of schadenfreude I guess or is it existentialism) the prospect of my own always fills me with despair. But guess what  it's always darkest before the dawn and sure enough when Civic Video sent me a birthday text I knew that things were looking up and  it was going to be a birthday to remember, which also happens to be my favourite Alan Alda film.

Broadmoor nights

Walking past a newsagent the other day I saw a promotion for a publication, Cosmopolitan Brides. Curious what. Full circle and that. while I felt mild irritation with the turnabout for a magazine that once purported to be for the independent femme (or did it ? - compare, contrast and discuss, somewhere else), I'll reserve my  spleen and blimpian bluster for the following and possibly bottle the residual bile for my cunterie of copains.

During celebrations for a golden jubilee (or was it an end of financial year sale?)that i recently attended  I was called 'jealous', 'racist' and 'horrid'. C'mon plain, old 'Bel' is fine by me, i'm not fancy. Initially I was overcome, sorry, come over cranky, and thought allusions were being made to one's brief foray into the indiewindiepudden'n'pie popular culture when too young to make promises or just say no (oh how the eighties are back!),  but no, it was merely a slight on my character so that is A-OK, for the mistress gives as good as she gets, as unlike her preferred hair shade,  she is no shrinking violet.

Don't worry, things picked up, seven hours into the party an ambulance arrived, no fuzz, no swimming pools involved or smack for that matter, shame (oh actually he'd left earlier to prepare for some conference comparing kangaroos with wolves)  just good old Mr Booze and lashings of dysfunctional adults (scribe included) suffering from yet another big chill. Gosh it was a top night. (oops it would seem that bottle has been prematurely uncorked - oh don't you love the glug glug sound of bile being poured? ).

All of which confirms that, yes,  i can be horrid and have occasions of exceptional diction,  but NO I'm not a racialiste and, angels, when you're paranoid, insecure and hypersensitive  (to your own needs) you're never ever classed as  jealous you're a cockin' comic genius, don't ye know.  To think I thought you were all jealous of ME. Oh how we must laugh about this the next time we're in our cups and in between character assassinations and chastisements.

Curiously more and more of my nights out are becoming like Christmas Day circa 1983 with my menopausal mother,  great-aunt tanty du spaz-attack, Patrick White on the cusp of a feud with everyone (Huwo, is it me you're looking for?, actually I excel (is that how it is still spelt and does it mean what I think it means or is it a brand of fruit conserve or computer software - all the years i've spent with dysfunctional potheads is doing my head in) in all roles and it's cockin' exhaustin' for me and my audience! Why, I tip my hat to Alec Guinness; how did he do it - magic of fillum, I guess) and and yet still no-one of the calibre of Nanny Marr or Manoly. And, that, my dear, non sequitur squitter, is THE greatest sin of all.

In between these insouciant follies (opposed to those very heavy and deep ones),  I've just had the jolliest of times, basal cell carcinoma here and squamous cell carcinoma there, stitches galore, some  benders and bedridden weekends, rehab, and a spell in bed this week  with the influenza.. Just when I thought life could really not be much peachier,  I had to go chez medecin for my annual health check....

Toiley time

The neighbour who lived behind one's 2nd childhood hoame used to lure her child from our garden back to her fold by calling over the border of clivea, "Day-uhl, it's toiley time".

Why do the signs in supermarket aisles itemise toilet paper as toilet rolls? I am not going down that aisle to collect toilet rolls, as marvellous as they are for art and craft days but my useful box has plenty of them, thank you,  and i want to purchase rolls (rolls and rolls) of toilet paper. Is the term 'toilet rolls' considered more discreet? Perhaps "TP" ...

Nevertheless, I do rather like the aisle sign for toilet rolls because it reminds me of childhood and one Christmas morning in my first hoame... I had ripped into the Allen's stocking and was feasting on a curly wurly while my younger toddler sister was unwrapping a parcel ( I recall thinking that her method was rather messy) to uncover a prize that truly delighted her.  It was a set of primary coloured building blockular things. She exclaimed hoarsely and with great glee "Look! Lots and lots of torluts".

Plumping for it

Why such brouhaha about the theft of profile photos from facebook for use on lovely faces dot com. Frankly it’d be more upsetting to have one’s body used to illustrate articles and “news" "stories” on the obesity pandemic.

As you know I get about Sydney a fair bit, busy, busy - so many great places to eat and booze. So when I’m not bumping into Bryan, Pattie, Parky, Hugo or the nation’s favourite psephologist, I’m forever falling upon and shielding myself from the televisual journalistes filming stories in the ceebeedee.

When I pass the papps (don’t worry not as painful as it sounds) I always push out my tits and suck in my stomach  in case they’re filming one of their Straya a nation of fatties stories and use a profile shot of my girth/body  as I waddle about my very important business.

One evening, after a hard day nosing about and in the trough, I lay on my $20,000 couch chillin’ to the televisual splendour that is A Current Affair, when I thought I espied my body's profile in a reportage about adult-onset diabetes- why, I almost choked on my Pringles and dairy whip. Well that learnt me, let me tell you, I now only have Philly lite with my Pringles and reserve the dairy whip for my muesli. Salutary tale or what.

Status update*

This morning I went to town for the first time in over a fortnight. It could not be avoided as there were certain essential items that had to be purchased for a forthcoming expedition. Well,  yes, I could have tootled off to one of the burban centres but having witnessed a huge pile up of motors yesterday, there was an ambulance for each car involved, I did not feel like beetling about en voiture so instead strolled on in via the back streets and Darling Harbour at a very respectable hour.

Did you know that there is an actor called Chris Pine? I think I did and such vital information was merely confirmed when I saw a promotion for a film, in which he is co-starring with Denzil Washington, decorating the derriere of Sydney bus. Possibly an action fillum, owing to the poster's detail not its position on the bus.Said actor looks like a cross between Adrian Grenier and Julian McMahon. Curious what ? Saucy old Lady Sohnia , god rest her leggy soul. She's probably comparing her pins with Cyd Charisse as I type, then again possibly not - Cyd may not be deemed comme il faut.. Lady Sohnia  left the Bliss Barre for the Arcadian Liberal Lovers Society drawing room to have a cup of Maxwell House coffee with Dame Zara Bates. Celestial mirroir can see her now, seated in a chintz upholstered tub chair, legs crossed at the ankles and placed close to the chair, slightly angled to the right, and raising an empty cup to her lips, having earlier tipped its contents on the base of some pot plant or down the throat of  Zara's Cairn Terrier.

Speaking of sources of disquiet,  my dears, the music played in several of the shops that I visited.  Admittedly I was feeling somewhat guilty for participating in the post-xmas consumer frenzy but I MOST certainly did not deserve the aural retribution to which I was subjected.  Dire Straits, so terribly distressing at any time, I know, but this morning it was that money for nothing song and other customers were singing along and hissing the chicks for free line. This song made me feel sicker than I do when I hear that Video Killed the radio star. The next shop treated me to more 80's crap, i just died in your arms tonight, followed by I won't let you down. Despair had well and truly set in when  the opening chords and lines of Barbados were piped out,  I bolted out of Lowyland, mode Munchienne.

* so in the now I'm positively 2007

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.