The Good Shepherd raised more questions than it answered:

* Why does Matt Damon's smile still make me a little wobbly in the tummy? Still as bad after all these years as when my world first moved an inch to the right upon seeing Good Will Hunting.

* Why put someone like Angelina Jolie in such a piss-weak role?

* If everyone is getting old (Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, William Hurt) does it mean I'M GETTING OLD?

* Why do people make almost three hour long movies? Say what you have to say and get on with your life, I saw. Self indulgence is not an attractive quality in a director (sorry Robert). It's only a good quality in bloggers.

* Why do people choose to enter the spy/espionage/politics game? What is the attraction? What does it mean? Why does anyone bother? I sat through this film understanding the words but totally missing the point, the motivation, the meaning. Please explain.

This much cuteness deserves a blog entry!
(and no mention of Britney's hair or carbon credits)

Penne with Pesto

Atlantic Salmon with Avocado Salad with Warm Orange Vinegrette

Saturday night dinner at the DeepKick residence. Why does it require a blog entry?

Because... are you sitting down?...

No, really! You need to be sitting down! YOU. WON'T. BELIEVE. IT!!!!!

MY HUSBAND COOKED DINNER.

Yes, Big Jay who generally can't boil water. For whom toast is an accomplishment.

All I can say is THANK YOU He Cooks. What started as a Christmas present idea with little prognosis of success has resulted in an enthusiastic husband who has signed up for the full course and is gingerly dipping his toe into my domain (i.e. the kitchen).

As Big Jay would say "Happy Days!".

You know generally I'm a live and let live type of gal. I'm not a fan of organised religion of any sort but if they don't bug me with their God shit I won't bug them with my atheism.

But recently I've really got my back up about these damned Exclusive Brethren (just their name gives me the major shits). The personal terrorism to families they are committing in the name of their stupid, fucked up "religion" makes me sick.

I really get very very angry and upset at the crap which is perpetuated on people, on families, on communities... in the name of religion. Why can't these morons, these dangerous morons, just pull their heads in and stop fucking up peoples' lives.

How can they be so very cute and yet so very annoying all at the same time?

Friday night was date night, thanks to my sister who babysat the munchkins. Thanks again, JB.

For once we easily agreed on the movie we both wanted to see - Stranger Than Fiction.

I really liked this movie. It was beautifully done on every level. You could call it Adaptation Lite. You could parallel it with The Truman Show. But it stood on its own feet very well.

All the performances were good. I could nitpick Will Ferrell and say he played it just too straight, but I won't. I loved Dustin Hoffman, really perfect. I loved Maggie Gyllenhaal, she is sweet but has an edge; something reminiscent of early Winona Ryder but better.

I could nitpick the derivative daggy song sung in an endearing fashion to win the girl's heart (see Ten Things I Hate About You, The Wedding Singer et al), but I won't.

It all worked for me and I had a tear in my eye as the credits rolled. Damn it when the cynical exterior cracks slightly and the moral of the story actually touches my craggy old heart.

RIP Anna Nicole Smith.

She may have been somewhat of a media whore/joke but I did have a soft spot for her.

I am fairly certain Howard had something to do with her "mysterious" death as well as her son's "mysterious" death but I used to like him so I feel confused by this certainty that he somehow did them both in.

Does this mean we'll never see Bobby Trendy again? Will he be doing the funeral? So many questions.

We're trying not to take it personally.

On Tuesday afternoon when I picked up Marianna from daycare, she put on her backpack and we walked down to the gate together, as usual. When we were standing at the gate Marianna looked at me then turned around and started walking back up to her daycare room. "I stay here," she said.

This morning when Jason went to get her out of her cot she said "No, I stay here". And rolled over.

What are we to make of this behaviour? Twenty months old and so sassy.

Ummm, that was nice...

Well, actually it was kind of weird and funny.

It was my night out with Jules at the filming of the Australian version of Gordon Ramsey's The F Word. This version stars Matt Moran and I have only a small amount of confidence it will be anywhere as fun and entertaining as the original. Of course there's no-one quite like Gordon so it will be interesting to see how this comes across on the tv.

The shoot itself was too boring. Really. Jazz things up a bit, people. Jules and I had a great time, we always make ourselves laugh and enjoy each other's company, no matter how many hours a day we spend together.

The premise of the show is it's set in a "real" restaurant environment and three non-chefs are invited to cook a three course meal under the beady eye of Matt Moran. The meals are served to us, the "audience". We judge whether it is restaurant quality and "vote" by stating whether we'd pay the $40 per head.

Our meal was a starter of Salt and Pepper Squid, with baby Bok Choy. This was quite nice, the sauce was piquant, but the Bok Choy was cold and I did have an eyelash hair as a hidden surprise. The main was Roast Pork Loin with baby roasted Pears, Brocollini and Smashed Potatoes. The meat was lovely (though the crackling could have had more "crackle"), the vegies were not hot (again) and I wasn't a fan of potatoes (either mash them or served them whole, I say). Dessert was a very good Panna Cotta with a refreshing salad of Citrus with Pistachios.

While there were some small problems, as listed above, I have eaten worse, cooked by alleged professionals and paid much more (flashback to infamous Aqua Luna incident, as an example). I was happy with my meal. The fact it was eaten sitting back to back with a minor celebrity didn't hurt. Yes, I hob nobbed with Anthony Callea (first OzIdol runner-up). Well, actually there was no hob nobbing but he did sit directly behind me so there is a good chance my frizzy orange hair will make it into shot when Matt Moran was chatting with him.

So look out for my television debut on Channel 7. I'm the one looking uncomfortably comfortable, laughing hysterically a lot of the time and saying "nice" a lot.

I have a very handy husband. It's a pity he chooses to only use his handiness on a limited and very exclusive basis. Because when he does use it - WOW!





A beer tub.


A wine bucket.


A handy tea towel rail.


A beer top bin.


A sense of humour.


It has EVERYTHING!!




Our very own outdoor bar, for under $100 in materials. Much bigger and better than a similar, much smaller one, which is selling at the gorgeous kitchenware shop at Cherrybrook for $349.

It's moments like these when I start to believe he didn't just get his carpentry qualification from a Corn Flakes' box.

This one never gets old.

"Look mum, we have beards!"

A belated, though extremely important, public service announcement!

A History of Violence is the worst movie ever made. Well, maybe not the worst, but definitely in the top (or should that be bottom?) five. Right alongside Two If By Sea and What Dreams May Come.

I'm just telling you for your own good. Just so you don't waste around two hours of your life which you will never, ever get back. Learn from my mistakes, I'm begging you.

Everything about it sucks. Possibly they started with a good idea and then, somehow, it all came apart. The script is laughable, the acting one dimensional. It really doesn't have a redeemable feature. Even Viggo couldn't save it for me. I can only imagine some very large favours were called in to get Ed Harris and William Hurt involved with this stinker.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Last night, while Jay was at the Eric Clapton concert, I finally watched Jersey Girl which I had IQ'd months ago. I really love, admire and respect Kevin Smith as a writer/director. His films have some of the best, most real, most get-to-the-heart-of-modern-relationships dialogue I have heard/seen/read. Which is why I was pretty disappointed with Jersey Girl. Sorry Big Kev but there was just too much cliche, too much of everything we've already seen and not enough of the surprises I've come to love and I guess expect in your movies. I'm not sure if there was pressure to get it out quickly or if your heart just wasn't in it or if you were just being lazy but I felt it could have been so much better.

The soundtrack was gorgeous though and my all time favourite Tom Waits/Bruce Springteen song Jersey Girl over the end credits was a beautiful and very necessary touch.

I had a very Maggie (Extras) moment on Sunday afternoon. We had stopped at a men's shoe shoe near Pitt Street Mall on Sunday (after yum cha with mum and Jules). We had seen a nice pair of shoes in there on Friday morning when it was closed and wanted Jason to try them on. Problem was we couldn't remember what they looked like, all I remembered was that they were brown. The other problem was the very gorgeous black guy working in the shop. When he asked us what they looked like I started to say "they were ... [brown]" but couldn't get the last word out, suddenly becoming very conscious of any possible offence (how absolutely crazy!). At least I didn't mention a Gollydoll. I was so aware of it being a "Maggie" moment I almost started laughing hysterically. We managed to get out of the shop without looking like complete nutcases, but I'm sure he thought we were odd (good judge of character, I say).

Last year's anniversary celebrations were a bit of a dud; dud restaurant; dud hotel. Really forgettable. This year we made up for it alright.

The hotel first (because it was least noteworthy). The Harbour Marriott is reportedly a 5 star hotel but I don't quite see how. Many attention-to-detail type issues. Lost reservation. Tiny bathroom. I won't go on.

The best, the most wonderful, part was dinner at Quay. Sydney Harbour is by far my most favourite part of Sydney. I love everything about that part of the world: the Opera House which awes me each and every time I see it; the majestic expanse of the Sydney Harbour Bridge; the ferries on the harbour; the bustle of Circular Quay; the simple beauty of the water twinkling in the sunlight or the moonlight. For almost that reason alone I chose Quay, because it offers one of the absolute best views of the harbour. I'd also heard that the food was quite good.

We started the evening in the bar. My cocktail was divine (though only half full, I had been warned about this phenomenon, odd). Flavours of vanilla vodka, lemoncello and star anise. Gorgeous.

The bar area offered a taste of the wonderous view but our table (specially booked weeks in advance) provided the full Sydney Harbour VIEW experience. I would suggest we had the best table in the restaurant and I would have been happy not to eat at all, just drinking in the sights of my favourite place on earth would have been enough. But I'm so glad that we did eat.

I have never eaten or seen food like this in my life. We chose to go with the legendary Signature Menu and were very glad we did. For the details take a minute to look over the menu at the restaurant link above. Suffice to say each of the seven courses was superb, the presentation beautiful, the flavours sublime. The service was just the right combination of friendly, professional and attentive. The Happy Anniversary written in chocolate on the petit fours platter a sweet final touch. It is a meal and an evening I will never forget.

Happy 9th Anniversary, Big Jay. Next year - the BIG TEN - it will be you and me at the Australian Open.

Sunday Night - in Three Acts

Act One

Dinner with dear sis and Dodo at the Japanese Restaurant at St Martins Tower, Kabuki Shoroku. It was superb. There is something sublime in the simplicity of Japanese cuisine. The clean flavours and delicate presentation makes me slightly gaga as each course is presented.

Act Two

The curse of Cocorosie strikes again. The support act for tonight's entertainment is truly bizarre. At first I can't decide if he's a comic act and JB and I giggle hysterically in the darkness of the State Theatre. But then we realise, aghast, that this joker is for real. CW Stoneking may or may not be a fine blues singer (I am by no means a fan of the genre) but his speech impedement makes both his speaking and singing totally incomprehensible. I am starting to suspect that the State Theatre and/or the Sydney Festival have a policy of hiring mildly retarded support acts. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Act Three

Madeleine Peyroux. Sadly underwhelming. I really like her old fashioned jazz stylings and her cd Careless Love is gorgeous when one is in just a certain mood. I am perfectly willing to admit I was possibly over-tired and generally over-it but I just didn't get swept away by the live performance. Partly I blame old CW (see above) for putting me in a shocking mood. While Maddie's voice was almost as lovely as the recorded version her stage presence is less than awe-inspiring. She truly needs a dose of Trinny and Susannah in the dress sense department (a shame because she is a beautiful woman) and she needs to learn a little bit of stagecraft (she wouldn't have got past the first round of OzIdol).

Nevertheless, despite the whinging, it was a lovely night and memorable if for no other reason than it was an evening spent with just my sister and my dad. A first.

Sometimes life gives you an unexpected little present, a moment so beautiful you understand then and there that it's all worth it.

I had such a moment on Friday night at the State Theatre at the Lou Reed Berlin concert. The concert itself was amazing, a pure gift of timeless songs performed by musicians who love their craft down to the marrow in their bones.




















The special moment came at the end, almost when it was all over. It was Antony's performance of Candy Says and it literally brought me to tears. His voice has all the feelings in the world in it, all the pain, the longing, the fear, the loneliness, the hope. When this gangly giant of a man/boy/woman opens his mouth a voice emerges which can only come from another world. It does not fit him and it does not fit the world as I know it. It is the epitome of beauty in its purest form and it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. Whatever spirituality may be this is it for me.

A brief flicker of a brief moment in my life which I will forever treasure in my heart and thank the universe for allowing me the opportunity to witness it.

I never realised new toilet seats would make me so happy.

I guess life is full of interesting and unexpected surprises.

I'm in love with Extras. You know the other series (NOT The Office) Ricky Gervais wrote/starred in. It really is comedy genius. My dear sis JB introduced me to it during lunch breaks at work, leading to much inappropriate laughing in the workplace. Now I own my own copy of Season One and Jason and I are enjoying it from the privacy of our own bedroom (no, it's not that sort of show!).

I'm so hanging out for Season Two. I wonder who the guest stars will be this time around. Kate Winslet was my favourite in Season One.

If you haven't seen it, do a Molly Meldrum and do yourself a favour, it really is that good!

Tonight sees the official start of something which has been brewing for some time. The start of what may become the greatest sibling scriptwriting team since the Coen brothers... or possibly the Farrelly brothers...? JB and I are finally getting our shit together and sitting down for a proper writing session to kick off what will undoubtedly be the first step on our road to fame and untold riches.

Well, we're going to sit down with my laptop, after the kids are in bed, and we're going to see if we can work together (without yelling, screaming and/or coming to blows) in an effort to write a script. I think we'll be working on the riches to rags Muriel's Wedding-style story I've had floating around in all that vacant space between my ears.

Stay tuned, invitations to the Oscars' afterparty will be mailed shortly.

My reality:

The more I see
The less I know
The more I like to let it go...

Snow (Hey Oh)
Red Hot Chili Peppers
Stadium Arcadium

I've been reading Robbie Williams' biography Feel. It's fantastic, except it's causing me night time anxiety brought on by thoughts I shouldn't be thinking. It's so wrong and broken for a 38 year old married woman to be thinking what I've been thinking. Last night's dream... sheesh...

He's a funny guy. Before playing a show in Germany he said: "Tonight I'm going to sing "She's the Hun" and "We have ways of entertaining you"". Being a fan of the German joke I was easily amused.

It is interesting that he suffers from depression and is generally very anxious about performing. To see him on stage you would he think he was born for it.

His life is also a study of how paparazzi ruin celebrities' lives. I know they makes tonnes of money, blah blah, but surely no-one deserves to be hounded night and day, to have stories made up about them in the press, to have no privacy whatsoever. Can you imagine not being able to walk to the shops, to have dinner out with friends or family, to do any normal thing without a pack of photographers and mad fans stalking your every move? The letters he gets; the mad things fans yell at him; the sense of entitlement over him people have. 80,000 Valentine's Day cards one year when he was with Take That. Insanity!

Inspired by The Cynical Girl I rated my life. Not too bad overall. I should be, but I'm not, surprised by my low "Spirit" rating. I am a soul-less heathen after all. Why not surprise and/or disappoint yourself - do the quiz and let me know how you went!

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	7.9
Mind:	7.2
Body:	7
Spirit:	6.2
Friends/Family:	6.3
Love:	9.1
Finance:	8.2
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Back home we've spent the weekend doing a zillion loads of laundry and trying to settle back into post-holiday life. Marianna is not settling into a good bedtime routine, crying for up to an hour when she is put in her cot. This sucks!

Will has returned to the plush toy haven otherwise known as his bed very happily.

First night back:














CUUUUUTTTE!

Before I go on a few words about Broome. It's a dump, don't bother. Why would anyone live there?! 4% annual population growth - you must be kidding! The End.







The sign in the garden outside our Broome holiday apartment. Need I say MORE?!


Our trip west over Christmas was generally lovely. Apart from the bloody heat (I have a theme of complaining about weather during travels, maybe I was a Pom in a previous life?). Lots of nice time spent with Jay's family, nice relaxing time. Just sitting around, eating, swimming, catching up, trying to stay cool, trying to stop the overexcited children from going too feral.

Probably best to let the pics tell the story:
















Christmas Day at Nanna's.





































Boxing Day at Dave and Karen's.


















All this fun is hard work.










Cable Beach (looks good doesn't it? but you can't swim because of the bloody box jelly fish!).



















The famous Broome sunset.

Tonight we're off to Perth for Christmas with J's side of the family. Then a week in Broome for a nuclear family holiday - just the four of us.

It's been a surreal week. My Grandma Ada, my mum's mum, died on Tuesday. She was 94. I hope that she's finally resting in peace. If there is any sort of after-life I hope she finds some happiness there because she certainly didn't have any in this life.

I'm not feeling all that Christmas-y right now. Hopefully tomorrow morning I'll feel a bit less exhausted and wired.

I'll just take this opportunity to wish all of you out there, known and unknown, a happy non-denominational Festive Season and may 2007 bring you whatever you're wishing for (at the very least some love, some happiness and a few really good meals).

Any cuter and they'd break the cute-o-meter!

Oh, (and this does need a seperate entry!) I need to write about how happy I am for my friends:

* Claire and Simon and their son Louis who returned home on Sunday from The Philippines with their new (and may I say totally gorgeous) daughter and baby sister Aima. Congratulations!

* Kim and Stephen and their son Gabriel who have just received news of their new daughter and baby sister Angelica, awaiting their arrival in Cali, Colombia. Congratulations!

* Marie and Rodney and their son Ben who have (and may I say ABOUT BLOODY TIME!!!) just received news of their new son and brother Miguel Angel, awaiting their arrival in La Paz, Bolivia. Congratulations!

They drive us nuts (or is that just ME?) but they are so precious and so, so worth it.

I have so much to write about but I'm just too exhausted and brain-dead.

I need to write about how my previous post about Robbie Williams did not include the word SEXY even once. How did that happen? The man is SEX on LEGS. What was I thinking?

I need to write about how much I love Regina Spektor who I discovered late one night a few months ago on one of the music channels. How I instantly fell in love with her song (and it's fabulous clip) Fidelity. You must go to www.reginaspektor.com RIGHT NOW and listen to this song. I have just received the album Begin to Hope in its plain brown Amazon box and I'm learning to love it. Maybe it will be my summer soundtrack.

I need to write about how I also received Bruce Springsteen's Live: 1975-1985 in the same Amazon box. I have searched high and low for a Springsteen album containing Jersey Girl and this, to my knowledge, is the only one. Why does this song, written by the genius which is Tom Waits, break my heart each and every time I hear it? Perhaps it is the memories of weekend afternoons spent at the Thurless Castle Hotel in Cleveland Street in the late 1980s, where this song was my constant pick on the juke box? Perhaps it's just that it's an awesome song, a song of the 80s, a song of young adulthood (much like Mellencamp's Jack and Dianne and Dire Straits' Romeo and Juliet) which opens up something very raw deep inside me.

I need to write about how the Festive Season is swooping down upon me like an out-of-control roadtrain and I'm numb with shock and horror and feeling bad because I'm not getting into the "spirit". Maybe once we're on that plane to Perth I may start to dig myself out from under the weight which is plastering me flat to the ground at the moment.

In the words of the master "it's all been too much for me"... last night's Robbie Williams concert, that is.

It really was almost too much. At the end I was feeling very tired and emotional, on the verge of tears as the music died down and the stadium lights slowly started to come back on. The anticipation, the joy of the concert and then the mighty emotional let down as I realise it's all over and I'll never live that experience again.

This time around it was a very different show to the 2003 tour. That was very much a SHOW: dancers, costumes, lights, the whole box and dice. This time was much more intimate (if you can be intimate with 50,000 people - though I'm sure Robbie would give it a go), much more a rock concert, just Robbie, the band and the back-up singers. Sure there were fireworks and a great stage and great lighting but it was very much more pared down.

I love getting to the concert early and watching the stadium fill up as the sun goes down. Being there on my own (well, I came with F but I was in the stands and she was down in the mosh pit) I didn't have anyone to chat with so it was a great opportunity to sit back and observe the incoming crowd. The fine examples of mutton dressed as lamb (really, no-one over 12 should wear lycra and then only if performing in a jazz ballet recital), the cute gay couples, the yummy mummies who'd been busy with their puffy pens and sequins making individualised RW song t-shirts (e.g. "I'm doing it for the KIDS" or my favourite "Oh Lord" on the front and "... not yet" on the back).

Something which bugs me at almost every concert I go to is the audience members who sit there like stunned mullets. What's that about? Did they win the tickets? Did they find them in the street? If not, why sit there all night, barely swaying in your seat, clapping politely at the end of each song. Jesus, I was on my feet from the moment the lights dimmed, screaming as the fireworks went off, going berko as Robbie rose up from within the stage to the first chords of "Radio". Being on my own I really let my hair down. I didn't care. I danced and sang and clapped and waved my arms about and I had one of the best friggin' nights of my life. I didn't care about the boring old biddies sitting dumbly beside me. I'll never see them again, they don't know me and I don't know them. Let them talk about the lone looney woman they sat next to at the Robbie Williams concert.

I have to say singing "Come Undone" along with Robbie and 50,000 mad fans is as close to a spiritual experience as I'm going to get. It's magic, it's bliss, it's mindblowing. I was happy with his song choices in general. There are so many of course some of my favourites will be left out. I would have loved to have heard "Something Beautiful" and "Spread your wings" and "A Place to Crash". Even "She's the one" which was such a highlight of the 2003 show (I bet the woman he got up on stage and kissed still hasn't washed her lips). I could have done without the stupid interlude which was "Me and my shadow" sung with someone called Johnny Wilks who I'd never heard of. Just a stupid waste of time if you ask me. I don't know why they chose to have the words to "Strong" come up on the screen, karoke-style. I mean if you don't know the words, get the fuck out of there.

Anyway, it was heaven and it's over and I'm elated and so so sad. The ecstacy and the agony.

Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday, dear baby sister....

Happy birthday to YOU!!!

Happy birthday Julia, you gorgeous girl.

Hope you have a great day, week and year.

Did I tell you I was looking forward to your birthday lunch at Pilu tomorrow?

Anatomy 101

Will was doing a wee before jumping in the bath last night. He was doing his wee standing up, like a big boy. [It's something we're trying to encourage because he generally prefers to sit down and as he's now heading towards the ripe old age of 8 we're a tad worried about the possible teasing which could ensue.] I congratulated him on his achievement. He said "Mum, boys can do wees standing up". "Yes, they can," I said. "But girls can't do wees standing up, because boys have penises and girls have giants."

You learn a new thing every day.

Weddings:

* You know you've reached cynical overload when you're standing there at a wedding ceremony, listening to the celebrant's blurb and thinking "yeah, right, what a crock!".

* Why do people insist on ruining perfectly good outfits with ridiculous accessories, i.e. beautiful black dress worn with horrific patent vinyl stilettos with CORK soles and heels (yeek!); elegant chocolate brown outfit (perfect for the mature aged lady wearing it) worn with a "matching" headband with a giant feather sticking out.

* Sitting at a table full of people you don't know, making small talk, watching comments meant to start a conversation falling on the table in front of you like lead balloons. Ouch!

* Why is it so hard to get wedding food right? Or even simply OK? Surely that's not an impossible task. There are things that can stand some overcooking: lasagne, curry, a good hearty casserole. But these aren't seen on wedding menus. No, only elegant food - a chicken breast, a veal cutlet - is served at such functions. Never mind that they are so dry they crumble under your cutlery - they sure look good on the plate, on their bed of cold mash, surrounded by their vegetables done a la dishwashing liquid (that's what the lemony sauce tasted like, what can I tell you?). It's so sad that the bride and grooms menu picks, so carefully chosen months in advance, generally tend to be barely edible when served on the big day.

Just taking a moment to be bitter and twisted ('cos you know I'm just sweetness and light the rest of the time). Yesterday I co-ordinated our adoptive families' Christmas picnic. We've been going for years and for the last couple of years I've been the Fundraising/Activities Co-ordinator. It's a situation of not too many people putting their hands up when jobs on the committee need to be filled. Some of the people have been there for years and years and can't step down because no-one wants to step up.

Yesterday was exhausting and I'm just a little over it. I don't mind doing the work but I'm sick of the rude, stupid people. The people who don't rsvp and turn up expecting to be fed; people who stack their plates up high on the first go round the buffet table, then we clean up plates half full of uneaten food; the people who turn up after we've cleared the food and want lunch; the people who don't help in any way; the people who treat us volunteer helpers as servants. We're not running a bloody restaurant people! We're trying to organise a picnic to keep adoptive families in touch and to fundraise for the orphanages our organisation support. [Have I mentioned that I'm slightly angry at the bozos who adopt their children then conveniently forget that they have a moral and social obligation to help the orphanage where their child/ren spent the first months/years of their lives?]

Our group is not great at supporting any of the other events I try to organise through the year (most of which end up having to be cancelled due to lack of enthusiasm). So I try and make some money out of the picnic ticket price. Mainly I do this by catering economically and selling some raffle tickets.

Well, enough is enough. Next picnic I'm having it catered and those who don't pre-book will not be offered lunch. I'm not into this martyrdom shit.

Deep breath in, deep breath out...

Another season of Idol has come again... Damo won. Woo hoo. Sure I could say "I told you so"... I picked him from the start. But really, who cares? I don't. I'm over it, I always am by the end. Idol works in reverse for me. I start off super excited, those audition episodes are bloody funny (says a lot about my psychology that I love watching people make absolute fools of themselves on national tv). I maintain a reasonable level of interest during the Final 24 and the Top 12. But by the time it gets down to six or so I couldn't care less. Yeah, they're all good singers but the songs are just not my cup of tea and the BIG IDOL SINGLE they are forced to record is just rubbish, bordering on unbearable.

Damien professes to be a fan of my beloved Jeff Buckley and he certainly has a voice to do Jeff's songs justice. I was thinking I'd love to hear Damien work his way through the JB songbook but really, while his voice is technically up to it, I wonder if he has the emotional depth to give the songs what they need. In the end Damo is the first Idol contestant/winner whose eventual album I would even consider buying. Let's see what the Idol sausage machine will produce with Damien's meat (so to speak...).

Last night I learnt that I don't have enough sparkly shoes in my life. A gorgeous pair of red or gold or even black mary jane's, medium heel, covered in sequins or sparkles. Also, I don't have enough feathers, nowhere near enough... well, none really.

I learnt this at the Kylie concert. It was fantastic. A bucket full of fun.

I bet you didn't know Locomotion was a bloody sexy song. The best song of the night. Whoever did the burlesque arrangement should win a Noble prize. It was amazing. As were the dancers, the costumes, the lights.

Fabulous, darling!

Crisco. You know those thieving scum who sell the Christmas rip-off hampers to the poor white trash and other IQ challenged folk. The Christmas "hampers" which come in Winfield Blue or Benson & Hedges varieties, with optional extras such as a slab of VB or a bottle of Jim Beam.

I have been a long time fan of the tv ads where the spokeswoman, dressed as Mrs Claus, chirps on about how joyous it is to hand over your hard-earned all year with the prospect of having one of these crap hampers delivered to your door in time for the festive season. A hamper full of Spam and tinned pineapple - nothing makes me think of our lord and saviour more than Spam.

My sister and I have long discussed the reality that these people are paying much more than the market value for this shit, living with the illusion that they are saving money by being good little Crisco financial managers.

Well, I have finally got proof that this is a scam of the highest order. Last weekend I met a woman who has actually done the sums. As she said, she's a stay at home mum, she has some hours to kill. Anyway, her own mother buys these evil hampers and after trying to convince her they were a rip-off she sat down and did the figures using the Coles online shopping site. She worked out that the $1,200 hamper her mother buys could be bought at Coles for $700 - that's a full $500 less than the Crisco price!

I actually think this is quite a serious (although funny) issue. I mean the bulk of the people who buy this crappola would be the ones who can least afford it. The battlers, the working poor, the non-working poor... you get the picture. Surely those G20/Iraq war/global warming protesters would be better off spending their time picketting the Crisco offices, because that, to me, seems where the world's great injustices originate.

Almost forgot... the G20 protester fuckers! Honestly, those people (and I use the term loosely) are a total waste of oxygen.

I feel sorry for the poor coppers who have to deal with sub-human morons. Give me a water canon and/or a truncheon, I'll have a go at them. It blows my mind that my tax dollars are going to pay for police to "battle" with these feral scum. I'm willing to bet at least 9 out of 10 of these goons don't even know what they're protesting about and the odd one that has any clue wouldn't be able to string a coherent sentence together as to how throwing rubbish bins at police is going to help the poverty stricken folk of this world.

They are all just bused in wholesale from Nimbin or whereever these filthy cretins reside. Either that or their parents drop them off in the city en route from their middle class suburban homes to their middle class city jobs.

I particularly enjoyed the work of the "white brigade" this year, you know the brave fighters for truth and human rights who are so proud of themselves they cover up their faces.

I'm not sure what legal recourse society has against these vermin but I think if they were to be punished it would be much wiser to actually send them to Africa to do some REAL work in aid of the starving masses as opposed to sticking them in jail or getting them to do some piss-poor excuse for "community work". I'm fairly confident a real day's work may kill them but I'm personally willing to let them take the risk.

For those of you who don't tune in to read my intense critiques of popular culture... you know who you are... here is a quick pictorial update of the family (yes, the children and husband who I occasionally glimpse out of the corner of my eye as I loll on the sofa watching the teev and stuffing corn chips down my gob). All is well in Pomona Street, as this happy family snap reveals:

Finally getting my headspace around RHCP's Stadium Arcadium. I definitely favour the Jupiter disc. Not only does it contain my early favourite Hump de Bump but it features the third single and my head-and-shoulders-stand-out favourite Snow (Hey Oh). What a friggin' beautiful song! Really I may have nasty things to say about John but his guitar skills are never in question and they shine brightly indeed on this gorgeous song.

I've decided that knowing what the lyrics are about is optional to my enjoyment of the songs. I can be fairly confident that they are about sex and/or drugs and I can leave it at that. Anthony may have a deep and poetic soul underneath that tattooed, muscle-bound, drool-inducing exterior but he's a simple man after all.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. This weekend the Lord gave...

... the ultimate gift of crap tv. Drum roll please... Strange Love.

I am probably a late comer to this pinnacle of mindless reality tv but better late than never I say. For the ignorant masses this VH1 program (while we're thanking the non-denominational spiritual entity let's thank him/her for cable tv, how did we fill our days before?) brings together the non-existant talents of one Flavor Flav (aka Foofy Foofy) and one Bridgette Nielsen. The former being a past member of Public Enemy, the shortarse with the gold teeth and the giant clock around his neck (?????). The later being the ex-wife of Sylvester Stallone; an Amazonian piece of Euro trash with no discernable point for existence.

This match made in heaven apparently came about during the filming of something called The Surreal Life, a celebrity Big Brother style program which in the past has brought together big names such as MC Hammer, Corey Feldman, Vanilla Ice, the unattractive bird from Beverley Hills 90210 and, of course, the aforementioned Mr Flav and Ms Nielsen.

Really this program defies description but it is totally absorbing in a can-you-believe-they-are-showing-this-drivel-on-television?-way.

Something to keep me going until Australian Princess... and of course there's next year's Big Brother to look forward to...

Bet you wish you were me!

"He's mad, totally mad. He's madder than Mad Jack McMad, winner of last year's Mr. Madman competition."

...from Blackadder.

Just because I LOVE this quote, can relate to this quote and generally need to use it about half a dozen times a day, minimum. Have finally found it after googling unsucessfully for some time.

Enjoy!

You know I love piss poor tv entertainment, the piss-poorer the better. Big Brother, Oz Idol, Jasmin's Getting Married (RIP), New Zealand Highway Patrol... bring it on.

But Channel Nine's ABBAMania was a crime against humanity. Never mind bleating on about Iraq and global fucking warming, where are the protestors when you really need them?!

I was hoping for a bit of kitsch entertainment, something to sing along to with Will (he's a big ABBA fan). But what I got was the lamest, most embaressing (for all concerned) schlock seen on television. Bec Cartwright makes Anna Nicole Smith look highbrow. She really is cringe-making (for more evidence Google her Melbourne Cup outfit, it's a miracle they let her out of the caravan park wearing that). She's a shocker and should stick to "exclusives" in Women's Day where at least we don't actually have to hear her talk.

By far the worst aspect of the half hour I managed to sit through was the calibre of "celebrities" they dragged out for this event. Actors from McLeod's Daughters, looking like they'd rather be dragged by one foot behind a horse on the McLeod's set and wondering how they could have misread the fine print on their contracts so badly. Then there was Matthew Newton singing with David Campbell. What's that about? I mean I know they have Burt under contract but surely they couldn't have included Matthew without anyone noticing.

I didn't see her but apparently they even had one of their Melbourne Today Show reporters singing later in the show. How low can they go? Was Fatty Vautin unavailable?

The whole thing was awful and tragic and whoever is responsible should be thoroughly ashamed and hopefully unemployed as of this morning.

I'm getting excited about the upcoming Robbie Williams' concert.

Until recently I didn't think I'd be going because of a boring story involving how much Ticketek SUCK. But then my friend F came up with a single ticket and it was a question of not see Robbie at all or see Robbie sitting by myself. Gee whiz! Which one should I choose?

So on 9 December I'll be going berko at Aussie Stadium with 50,000 other RW fans. The last concert was so amazing I just can't wait to re-live that feeling.

Listening to the Intensive Care CD as I drove to WBJ on Saturday I wondered why I love him so much. About why he seems to epitomise a certain type of sexiness which rationally I despise but hormonally I covet. I mean the 38-year-old-mother-of-two side of me knows he'd be worse than Henry VIII to be in a relationship with but the deeply buried teenage part of me is terrifyingly attracted to that bad boy persona.

What is it about the words "...didn't quite catch your name..." in Sin Sin Sin which makes me go a bit light headed? Possibly the fact I've never actually had a one night stand and the idea of such an experience is both revolting and intoxicating.

Everything about him takes me back to early high school. I was rebelling, I was discovering the world of punk and I was madly in lust with Dean (aka Fang). He was a friend of a friend, freshly released from a stint in Minda (a notorious Sydney juvenille detention centre) where he had been placed by his mother for being "uncontrollable" (they didn't have ADHD medication in the early 80s). It was a brief but passionate affair, a centre-of-the-universe type of affair as only 14 year olds can participate in. He was a very bad boy, he was very bad for me but I wouldn't give up those bittersweet memories for anything... well, possibly a night with Robbie (as long as it was OK with my husband and I could get a babysitter for the kids).

Oh the joy of the Sydney Festival. Each year it brings a wonderous array of musical, stage and performance artists to our glorious city from distant parts of the world. Some are fabulous, some are interesting and most are plainly unintelligible gibberish, Emperor's new clothes style. This year's treasurers (tix booked) are:

* Lou Reed's Berlin. This is a live performance of his 1973 concept album. I'm not a huge fan of Lou's but it's the draw of Antony (of the Johnsons) on backup vocals which has me forking out $120 per ticket. I know... but I'm mad about him.

* Three tickets for Madeleine Peyroux. My dad loves her, put me onto her and my sister and I are taking him as a belated birthday present. This woman is gorgeous and her vintage jazz sound is mesmerising. Can't wait to see her live.

* I'm your man. This is the documentary of the Came So Far For Beauty tribute to Leonard Cohen concert which changed my life almost two years ago (see reference to Antony above). I'm going to drag everyone I know to this film - I went to the concert alone and had to suffer all that joy and wonder all by myself. I am dying to share the magic with the nearest and dearest.

We saw Little Miss Sunshine last week. I'd been looking forward to it for a while. Had heard lots of great things. I think I was underwhelmed, but that happens when your expectations get too high.

Look, it was a very enjoyable little film and everyone in it was fantastic. But it was less than original and some parts were just too obviously derivitive. I could spot the big "finale" from about 5 minutes into it.

A great Sunday afternoon feel good DVD but I wouldn't rush out and spend real money on it.

I've also just remembered I missed seeing Clerks 2 at the movies; I think it lasted about 2 weeks max. Bummer.

Is it possible that a 7 year old and a 17 month old conspire to drive their mother certifiably crazy? I believe it is and I have proof, just come and visit my house around 5:30-6:30 pm each evening. You'll recognise me, I'm the gibbering idiot tearing my hair out from my foetal position in the corner.

All I know is that people who have like 8 or 16 children and appear to be happy, functioning humans are either much more evolved beings than I am or they just don't give a shit.

It's been a crazy few days, well crazier...

* Thursday morning I got up at 4:20 am to get ready for the market tour I had signed up for. These are an annual event as part of Good Food Month and I had wanted to do one of these tours for years. Julia and I finally signed up for the tour with chef Giovanni Pilu. Apart from the early start the tour itself was fantastic. We started at 5:30 am at the Sydney Seafood Market where we got to see the early morning auction and then wandered around the flood taking a look at what was good, with gorgeous Giovanni explaining this and that, giving little tips. Then we all boarded the comfy bus (hard not to doze off) and drove to the Sydney Markets at Flemington. These are general food markets with all sorts of fruit and veg available, mainly in bulk for the restaurant/catering trade. This part of the trip was very inspiring; the sensational array of fruit and veg, so fresh and glorious, so unlike the dull, limp variety we overpay for at the supermarket. Again Giovanni gave us little tips and introduced us to some of his favourite provodores. As a bonus we were given little samples: a handlful of crisp asaparagus here, a crunchy fresh apple there, olives, beans, cucumbers, even a few kipfler potatoes. Our little bags were groaning by the time we were finished. The finale was a wonderful Italian coffee deep inside the treasure trove of the on-site Italian deli before boarding our coach for the return trip. A wonderful early morning adventure, very much worth the crack of dawn start.

* On Saturday (after Will's swimming lesson) Julia and I met up at the markets to recreate our own fruit and veg paradise. It was not to be. The peaceful market surrounds turn into hell on earth on a Saturday when parking rules fly out the window and insanity prevails. OMG! It was crazy. There were people everywhere, pushing, shoving, barging their way around with humongous trolleys overloaded with bulk f&v. I was on the verge of tears numerous times and so was dear J as I bumped into her shins with Marianna's stroller (did I mention I was stupid enough to bring Marianna along to this bedlam?). We may have snagged a few bargains (strawberries for 80c a punnet, $20 for 9 rockmelons [they were $7 EACH at Woolies that week]) but the emotional scars will last a lifetime. We're determined to try again but have retreated for the moment to work out a different plan of attack.

* On Sunday our family attended the Colombian Association's Children's Halloween Picnic. This was a smallish but fun gathering and it was wonderful to meet a number of Colombians living in Sydney. Quite a few of them from Medellin (Marianna's city of birth) and they were happy to talk about their city and to meet M. We consider ourselves lucky to have been invited along and hope to keep in contact. If only there was a Guatemalan Association in Sydney...

That's right, that's me with my dear friend Gordon Ramsey. Just having a chat, kicking back, you know how it is.

OH. MY. GOD!

Gordon Ramsey put his arm around me. He kissed my sister. He signed our books. He swore at us in no uncertain terms, numerous times. It was too good to be true.

Life doesn't get better than this.

Did I mention I'm going to see Gordon Ramsey on Monday?

That's right... me and Gordon "The F Word" Ramsey in the one room. It's mind blowing.

He's doing a literary luncheon, talking and signing books. I'm going with Julia and we both adore him and are both atingle with anticipation. Will he swear at a room full of middle-class, middle-aged fans in the ballroom of a five star hotel? Oh, I hope so!

Last night I went to see Merrick and Rosso with Julia and my friend F and her friend N. I've liked M&R for some years now, ever since they started on Triple J with their silly little show, writing letters to John Howard pretending their were an 8 year old boy. We saw them about 3 or 4 years ago and it was a great show and then we saw them at a pub a while later and Rosso was terrifyingly drunk or off his nut on something and I went off him a little (always had a soft spot for doofus Merrick though).

Lately I've been listening to them (as I flick round the morning radio channels on my longer than comfortable drive to work) do their show on Nova and they are still good. Not as good as in their younger days, but certainly good enough for an old, boring married mother of two like myself.

Last night however was good but slightly disappointing. Firstly their warm up act was Peter Hellier and I really like him, he's bloody funny... so shoot me. So their first mistake was having such a good warm up... hard act to follow. And they were really just too heavily into the poo, bum and teenagerish sex jokes for my personal liking. Look I'm as much a fan of those genres of comedy as the next person but a little depth and breadth wouldn't have gone astray. Loved the Fagg Nuts encore, great finish.

Dinner at the cosy little Italian place across the road with my sis before the show was lovely though. We talk shit a lot but rarely really talk.

I probably should mention that I spent last weekend at Golden Door Elysia in the Hunter Valley. At this point it seems a million years ago but it was wonderful and therefore should be briefly immortalised. The Golden Door is one of Australia's best health retreats (I'm going by their promotional material, my experience with health retreats is limited... to one). The weekend was a gift from my sister and myself for our mother for her 60th birthday.

I was undeniably anxious at spending any amount of "quality" time with my mother as this undoubtedly results in unnecessary stress and conflict. We're just made that way. But I was very conscious of making an effort to let things slide and thus lubricate the smoother functioning of our relationship. It more or less worked and apart from a tiny flare up here and there things did go amazingly well.

The Golden Door was really beautiful and luxurious... the things I need in a holiday. I always say one night in five star is worth a hundred nights in a caravan (well, it's almost pointless to say because I don't do caravans, tents or any sort of accommodation worse than my own home... yep, princess... yadda, yadda...). Everything about Elysia is superb... the grounds, the accommodation, the public areas. It is the attention to detail which is notable... from the fragrant oil burning in your bathroom when you return from dinner to the subtle water features throughout the resort to the fresh lemon water available throughout the day.

We indulged in gorgeous facials and massages which really are my ultimate treat (and much preferred gift if anyone is looking for an idea... hint, hint). But above all the biggest treat of the weekend was the food. It is all "health" food in terms of low carb, low cal, low fat, etc. but it isn't vegetarian (thank god, otherwise we wouldn't have gone). When you eat magnificent food like this and know how healthy it is you realise being a slim celebrity isn't all that hard if you can hire your own private chef to whip up this calibre of cuisine on a daily basis. The genius comes in the creative use of herbs and spices to add flavour rather than the standard butter, cream and salt and pepper. Also in the interesting way vegetables are heavily incorporated in each meal so that you are eating so much more than usual but not feeling like a rabbit.

The place treats alcohol, caffeine and nicotine as contraband (yep, you can actually get kicked out for having it on the premises). I must admit to missing coffee and a good cup of English Breakfast tea in the morning. But not being a drinker or a smoker I couldn't care less about the other no-nos. Especially when each evening we enjoyed yummy fruity mocktails before dinner.

The Golden Door really is a luxurious treat and one I would recommend to anyone looking to detox somewhat and to recharge. It certainly isn't as expensive as you might expect and being so close to Sydney we may need to look at making this an annual experience...

Yesterday I went to Parramatta to visit, hopefully for the very final time, the Department of Immigration in relation to Marianna's citizenship. Parramatta is one of Sydney's major hubs, a busy commercial and residential centre.

It is neither one of the worst nor one of the best areas of our fair city. It has a great number of beautiful examples of colonial architecture and a lovely little regional theatre where I have seen some very enjoyable productions.

What is most notable is that it's an area where there are a disproporionate number of women whose waist measurement is considerably larger than their bust measurement who walk the streets wearing skin tight singlet tops with no bra.

The only benefit of having as much tv as I have over the past week is that I've seen some stuff which has really put my life and "problems" in perspective. There are people out there who are true heroes in the very real sense of the word. They make me so very thankful for what I have in my own life and doubly determined to help others in whatever way I can throughout my life.

Firstly I saw a story on an old Oprah episode about Dr Catherine Hamlin, an Australian doctor, running a clinic in Ethiopia for women who have developed fistulas during childbirth. The story of these women is absolutely heartbreaking but the story of this hospital is absolutely heartwarming and inspiring.

Then J and I watched an old episode of Montel (as J said: "Does 20% of the American population have their own talk show?" and I said: "Yes, and the other 80% are the guests.") about "unusual" families. It was the same old tripe but they did feature a family who had fostered 508 children over 26 years and had adopted 9 and had 2 biological children (in their mid 40s after being told they'd never have children). Maybe it was my weakend mental state but the tears were pouring down my face as I thought about this family and what a difference, big and small, they had made in the lives of so may children.

Finally, last night, we watched a documentary on SBS about Maggie Sister, a nurse from Broome WA, who has been working for over 15 years with a leper colony and an AIDS orphanage in India. Each year she fundraises and then goes to India for 2-3 months to work. Her own life has been quite tragic, with an abusive marriage and lung cancer as major features, but her dedication to the forgotten people of India is amazing.

What I know is that it is these people who are making a difference to the world. Not the politicians, not the media talking heads, not the teenage bloggers with the "Make Poverty History" banners, not the sports stars or the celebrities. It is these people who I look up to and admire.

It's Friday morning and I feel like I'm emerging, for the first time in a week, from a gastro induced domestic hell. It hit baby M first, then Will, yours truly and finally the big J. While mostly it's been a 24 hour thing the baby has suffered with five days of it and was a shadow of her former robust self. It was heartbreaking.

For future reference may I recommend bananas. Yes, bananas. After barely eating and drinking for five days and instantly ejecting anything that did pass her lips, she immediately improved upon eating a banana. Not only did her energy return almost immediately but all other symptoms eased and then stopped. Thank you to my dear friend Marg for that recommendation.

I am now faced with the prospect of getting a second job to keep her in the banana habit she's developing (at $12+ a kg it's no joke). "They don't grow on trees, you know," I tell her each time she points at the fruit basket and pleads "nana?".

While my days, weeks and months normally fly by at the speed of light the last week seems to have lasted a year. It is seriously hard to believe that the awesome/terrible grand final was only one week ago. Possibly it's had something to do with children who have been sick in varying degrees of seriousness over the last four days. There has been a blissfly brief bout of runny nose/temperature which was only annoying due to it disrupting a day of expensive, school holiday tennis camp. Then there's the currently ongoing vomiting/pooing bug inflicting the baby (apologies to JB and other weak stomached readers). This has meant a very sad little bubba who has variously upchucked at the most incovenient times (e.g. driving on the M2 to my mother's 60th birthday party at the fancy pants Stamford at Double Bay - we're talking me wearing a dress here, that's who fancy pants it was!) and had green stuff filling her nappy and escaping to stain pants, car seat covers, etc. Oh the joy!

I'm seriously pooped and hope things improve sooner rather than later.

On a tangent, while I'm here, yesterday we watched a fun family film with Will. It was called "Nanny McPhee" and was quite enjoyable, as children's movies go. The pretty young girl playing the widowed father's romantic interest was perplexing, I just couldn't find a name for the familiar face. When the credits rolled I yelled (much to Jason's and Will's surprise): "Kelly Macdonald". The name brought back memories of her in a beautiful little Scottish film "Stella does tricks". I loved it so much and seeing her again made me feel a rush of need to see it again. I must dig it out somehow. Sorry, as you were.

Now for the nitty gritty:

1) I'll never fly JetStar again if I can help it. Many small reasons but mainly (this may seem trivial to some but I nearly blew a head gasket at the time) because when we arrived at Avalon "airport" (HA!) there were two normal sized taxis (which we couldn't fit into) so we had to get a transfer coach the tickets for which could only be purchased with CASH, there were no eftpos or credit card facilities. What the...? Who carries cash? On top of that they didn't even have an ATM in the "terminal". Luckily Tricia had some cash, otherwise we would have still been sitting at Avalon, twidling our thumbs, on Saturday afternoon instead of being at the game.

2) Melbourne is friggin', friggin' COLD. I mean it. They said it would be 20 degrees and sunny on grand final day so I was expecting a NICE day, what I got was a day so bitterly cold the marrow in my bones was frozen; I even bought a nice Swans blanket in desperation but that didn't help much. I should have taken Tricia up on her offer of lending me a spencer.

3) We had the misfortune of sitting in the last row of a block of Swans' supporters and having a block of WCE supporters behind us. That wasn't so bad per se, it was the fact that right behind us sat two fat old cane toads who were by far the worst sports I had ever encountered. Every time the Swans so much as touched, nay, looked at the ball, they yelled horrendous insults. I can't even remember the details except that it really made my blood boil. When the umpire tripped over at the end of the game they said "Hope it's a heart attack". That's just mean. I'm no fan of the umpires but come on, how spiteful can you get. I think it was their hateful presence which made the loss even harder to bear.

4) On Sunday when we returned to Sydney we picked up Marianna from my mum's and went to the SCG to cheer on the boys when they returned. It certainly wasn't a repeat of last year's hysterical mass gathering. This time barely 500 die hard fans turned up, which made me really glad we made the effort.

Will and Marianna waiting for the Swannies to arrive.




















The slightly worse for wear Swannies take the stage.

I consider myself extremely lucky to have experienced the pinnacle of the AFL journey - my beloved team playing in the Grand Final at the MCG. Maybe I'll even see them win one in my lifetime. But for now another AFL year is over and it's the usual mixed bag of emotions: relief, sadness and just a tingle of anticipation for what next year may bring. Right now I am happy to be living in a Swans free zone for the next few months. Summer is on the way, bringing all the social havoc which the warmer months entail and I'm ready to dive in. However, I know by February next year I'll get that itchy feeling again and I'll be counting down the days until April and the first siren of the new season.

Where do I begin? The weekend had so many parts...

I guess the main event first. It was a game of two parts: the first half which basically sucked, and the second half, which rocked but not quite enough.

For the first two quarters the Swans stood around like they'd forgotten exactly why they were there, it was heartbreaking. The second half loomed like a scary monster; exactly how humiliating was this defeat going to be. I even wondered if "we" were being punished for not going to our friends' wedding to be at the grand final.

But then in the second half the fire returned and the boys fought back. It was awesome. The adrenalin flowed and hope returned. We were going to come back, the joy. But the final quarter ran out just a minute or two too soon. A ONE POINT loss! Oh, the pain. I think the worst thing was seeing the boys sitting on the grass, defeated. I wanted to tell them it was OK, we still loved them, they'd tried their very best (well, at least in the second half). They had nothing to be ashamed of. Then there was the gloating Eagles to contend with... it's strange how ugly gloating is on other people, especially "the enemy", and yet so attractive amongst your own tribe.

It was a long and weary trek back to our hotel, the same trek which had been so joyous and possibility-filled that very morning.

Will, Bob, Tricia and moi outside the MCG before the game.

Trying to keep warm before the game.

Check out the West Coast cane toad behind us - he was one of fuckwits who ruined the game

for me.

The two mighty teams line up for the national anthem - a majestic moment.

Sometimes when I'm feeling super brain dead I like to sit here at my laptop and just hit the "Next Blog" button. It takes me to many weird and wonderful places and very very occasionally I hit upon something cool; a blog I can add to my favourites and check upon now and then.

Recently I have noticed that some blogs have a little banner at the top stating "Make Poverty History". What a bloody good idea I think. Thank you Bono, thank you Bob Geldof.

Then I think. Well. Um. How?

Will adding a "Make Poverty History" banner to my blog make poverty history? Wouldn't that we fantastic?

Aren't motherhood statements cool? They are so friggin' meaningless but they make us feel all warm and fuzzy. See? I can put a funky little banner on my blog and I can feel good about myself. It's really bloody great. I don't actually have to do anything useful for the world. Some little thing like donate money to charity, cook a meal for poor people or even for a sick friend, actually help someone in need in a practical and real way.

Maybe I can even put a "Not happy, John" sticker on my car to really show everyone I mean business. Take that. Now you know what I'm all about - I don't like John Howard or poverty! See how helpful I am to society? I'm so good I can't stand myself.

I'm tired.

The Swans WON! We're in the final. Bloody hell. I'm a bit shell shocked. We weren't playing all that well early this season, then we had some wins, then some losses, then we were in the top 4 and playing finals and last night we beat Freo to get into our second final in a row. I'm not sure how it all happend. I was on the net buying overpriced "discount" airfares to Melbourne for next Friday at 1:00 am this morning.

Sorry for shouting but... WE'RE GOING TO THE AFL GRAND FINAL!!!!

Swans will be playing West Coast Eagles [again]. It'll be good but I'm already anxious. I think spending a large part of the day on the net trying to find accommodation for next weekend that wasn't either a) $695 per night or b) more than half an hour away from the MCG hasn't helped me to relax. After refreshing wotif.com about a million times (and surprisingly NOT taking up the $2,000 per night AFL Grand Final special one of the hotels was offering) I found a 3.5 star (I KNOW!) hotel right in the city for $500 for both nights. More than it's worth but better than what's on offer. At least we'll be in walking distance of the MCG.

Sing with me now... Cheer, cheer the red and the white...

If I hear one more person squak how "An Incovenient Truth" was the "the most important/scary film" they've ever seen I may resort to hurting myself and/or others.

Hey, I'm all for saving the planet. I happen to like it and I'm particularly fond of my little corner of it. But I totally can't figure out what it is we're meant to do about it... apart from feel endless guilt and do a lot of middle-class self flagelation about what bad, bad western middle-class people we are... BAD I tell you!

While I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than ever see this film I have had a look at the website it links to www.climatecrisis.org and this provides me with a list of "useful" things I can do to save the world. These are:

1) Change a light. Give me a break!

2) Drive less. Walk, bike, carpool or take mass transit more often. OK! Well, that would work for me considering I live over 10 kms from work and take a 7 year old to school and a 16 month old to day care. No problemo... if I leave at 4:00 am each morning and teach the kids not to whine so much, we should be right.

3) Recycle more. I'm confused. I've been recycling to the best of my abilities for about 10 years now and things seem to be getting worse rather than better. What's the story?

4) Check your tires [hey, not my fault Americans can't spell properly]. Fuck off!

5) Use less hot water. How much less exactly? Maybe we should just stop showering altogether... and washing dishes... We'd all be disgusting, stinky, filthy sub-humans but at least Al Gore will be happy.

6) Avoid products with a lot of packaging. How exactly? Maybe they should start putting packaging weight on each product so as well as comparing fat, sugar and carb levels on each damn thing we buy at the supermarket we can now add packaging weight so we can make an "informed fucking choice".

7) Adjust your thermostat. I'm not even going waste my time with that one.

8) Plant a tree. Come here, Al, I'll plant a tree up your arse! This simplistic bullshit is just too nauseating, I can't take it.

9) Turn off electronic devices. Well, sure. I'll just go around each morning turning off my clock radio, microwave, TVs, videos, washing machine, dryer, etc, etc and then I'll turn them all back on again when I get home. Because god knows I have plenty of spare time and I've been wondering how to fill in those long, empty hours each morning and evening. Thanks, Al. You're a bloody genius.

Well, now that I know how to save the world everything will be fine and dandy. I'm so relieved. I am concerned however by the fact that Al Gore seems to think these steps are really only relevant to the little people. King Gore as he likes to call himself (OK, I made that up) has two giant houses (and I'm fairly sure he doesn't turn off and on all his electronic devices on a daily basis) and flies all over the world spruiking his crappola in a private jet (which is #10 on the list "10) Get around in a private fucking jet" I just didn't put it here because I know most of my readers aren't quite at the private jet level of lifestyle just yet).

I'm happy to admit that I like my car and my TVs and my air conditioning and that I don't always look for the product with the least packaging. Sue me. If my personal overconsumption is going to cause the end of the world as we know it then so be it. I can live with it (or not as the case may be). What confuses me is that we've already had global warming of sorts haven't we? Hasn't there already been an Ice Age (I've seen the movie so I know it's true) and then the earth warmed up and the ice melted, etc, etc. Did they have air conditioning and fridges and petrol guzzling cars in those days? Also, didn't the dinasours become extinct because of some sort of global climate crisis? I'm no paleontologist but I'm fairly confident the dinasours didn't have cars or computers and I'm pretty sure they walked to work, so what happend?

I am just so friggin' sick and tired of all the Chicken Littles yelling about the sky falling down. I'm busy. If it's going to fall down then I'm hoping there are better minds than mine (well, at least minds that passed high school science) that are worrying about it. All I know is that you can't turn on the radio or the TV without some report or other being shoved down our throats about how naughty we are. It's never ending. There are scientists proving this and disproving that and I can't make head or tail of what the truth is. Deep down inside I suspect that no-one knows the truth; that there are many shades and variations of the "truth". Each person or group flogging their version of the truth to us has an agenda to sell and I don't for one minute buy that Al Gore is selflessly flogging this shit because he earnestly believes the end of the world is neigh.

It's Sunday night, I'm tired in a good way, we've just returned from a really great family weekend away and OzIdol is about to start. Life is good.

To recap:

* Poor little baby Joseph got the boot last week on Idol. I guess it wasn't totally unexpected. The boy can sing and he's too cute but he's painfully shy and I think this whole thing is way too big for him. The talent and cuteness just couldn't disguise the cracks. Too bad. I was hoping it would be that painful Lisa Mitchell but I guess my pain is to continue.

* The Swans will face Fremantle on Friday night in the Preliminary Final at Telstra Stadium. We have our tickets and we're super excited. Go Swannies! If all goes well this time in two weeks we'll be returning from Melbourne with big smiles on our faces... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

* We have just enjoyed a truly wonderful weekend at Burrinjuck Dam with some of our lovely friends. M and R took over the lease on the shop down there late last year and while we miss having them nearby it is great fun to visit. The best part of these weekends is watching the kids go feral. It's a wonderful, fairly safe but slightly wild environment where the kids can go free range, climb things and interact with the fauna and flora. We only see them when they need to be fed. I'm not a nature lover and I certainly don't like "roughing it" but these weekends are just right for me. The accommodation is comfortable enough, the company is the best, we have lots of yummy food, there are a million stars in the sky and ... well, it's just bloody fantastic.

In case anyone is interested in anything non OzIdol or Swans' related here's a quick update (boring):

* We're all fine and dandy.

* Work is busy for us both (including a call out for J last night which kept him out from 11:30 pm to 4:00 am - not cool!).

* I've been shopping up a storm lately. I'm really good at it... no, really. New summery pants and two pairs of sandals (yes, you read it correctly... sandals!). I'm not a sandal sort of girl (some sort of anti-foot fetish) but I've bitten the bullet this year and I'm all prepared for summer. I guess it gives me a good excuse to get those regular pedicures I love.

* The kids have also done well from my shopping trips and have new shoes, clothes (including much coveted Superman undies for Will) and a Dora the Explorer inflatible ball pit thingie (yet to be inflated).

* Since our cleaner has passed on (sad story) we're reduced to cleaning our own house like common folk (also a sad story). On the silver lining side it does mean we're saving the cleaning money and I can have those pedicures (see above) without too much guilt... oh who am I kidding?!

* We're looking forward to a weekend down south next week with a whole bunch of our favourite families. Like a great deal of lives between March and September it was all dependant on the Swans winning, which they have done, meaning we can enjoy a Swans free weekend with out friends. Oh joy.