Flapping ears, flapping gums

Yes so hullo and whatnot. Since the new financial year I have spent my time in transit, on island holidays and then a spell in the sanatorium recovering from bronchitis. Let me tell you, nsrs, during this time I have kept myself entertained, even joining a few societies online - my this apron is stylish and just wait till you cop a handshake from the Mistress. Eh feel most powerful and important.

When I was at the airport awaiting the flight to antarctic paradise, I sat diagonally opposite some young pup of 21 who told this Macleans kind of a girl that he was a Fed pollie’s “advisor”. Before I go any further may I just add that I am so glad that when I was a teen and 20 something one didn’t greet one’s friends with kisses, just a bit of gob and a knee to groin, natch. Hard times. All the young'uns kiss cheek these days and it strikes me as very tiresome, I only kiss someone as a greeting if I have not seen that person for a minimwhah of 30 days or have got the moondog blues. Sure mwah mwah seems continental but are we not all on continent?

Back to the young advisor, my ears must have been visibly flapping and my facial expression rather curious for poor young thing kept darting nervous looks at me as he parleyed. He didn’t utter any interestin’ titbits though and I managed to smooth my grimace when I realised it was probably he who was responsible for his Minister donning the shrek ears and playing the role on the Kerri-Anne K show.

I had a loverly long weekend away and enjoyed great hospitality and had lots of fun. Unfortunately the chilly chilly climes encouraged my cold to extend its stay and I became quite poorly, still it was grand to have additional time off work.

Upon my return to Sydney and prior to my realising I’d caught my Merle Oberon, I took a ferry to a beautiful cove, opposed to all them rum ones what you happened upon in the 20's and 30's, and promenaded around one of the many glorious reserves that bless Sydney’s harbour foreshore. As I marvelled at its beauty I overheard a trio of seniors talking about a friend who had breast-fed her youngest daughter until she was seven. The most senior of the trio then added that said long lactiferous lady " has just got a grandson, hasn’t she?" Meaning…..?!

Perhaps there should be a 7 up version of teat veterans. Michael Parkinson could narrate, for he admitted to the bittie skit in Little Britain being his favourite. Docomaker send your commish to the mistress.

So when i was not flapping my ears or coughing in a consumptive fashion i was hitting cyberspace, watching and loving the Sweeney ("shut it !", "I should cocoa", oh and lots of bish to actress quips - heaven really), and listening to the wireless. Consequently, I have gleaned two important pieces of information, not bad for a week lying around, evidently spent too much time working on Jack Regan impressions - but let's face it, if i were a character on the Sweeney with my capacity to flap ears and gums (always with integrity, mind) i'd have to be a snivelling toe-rag of a snout and not a flash Harry villain, let alone a hard-bitten, heavy drinkin' Flying Squad detective. That's Sanyo, that's life.

Did you know:

Last week Enid Blyton’s first daughter died – she was aged in her mid-70’s.

and

The USS Kitty Hawk has docked in Sydney. Vessel’s wing commander goes by the name of Mike Hunt.