Shop till I drop

Today was the day, the long awaited SHOPPING DAY. Big Jay and the kids were off to Coney Island for a day of rides, games and hot dogs (and in case I forget to mention them again they had a wonderful HUGE day, ate lots of crap and did a little shopping of their own).

I took the subway into Fulton Street Station which is on the doorstep of the World Trade Centre site. As I came up onto the street from the subway the worksite was the first thing I saw. Walking towards it made me all tingly and my legs heavy.

As I walked along the street, the sun shining, people hurrying all around me I looked up and tried to imagine how it must have been on that day, much like today. All words seem inadequate, not up to describing what people must have thought as they lived that day first hand. I watched it from the very safe distance of my house in Sydney and it had felt surreal, impossible. Seeing it up close today it felt the same. When I think about the horror my mind shuts down, doesn't want to go there. Marvin's mum was working only a block or two away and she saw people jumping out of the burning buildings as she ran away. My god!!

I stood across the road and looked at the busy worksite, at the building already completed, the one almost completed...and I thought for a long time. Then I went and had a Starbucks white chocolate mocha and a bagel. Well what else could I do?

Soon my dear sister joined me and Century 21 was calling. Whoa baby. That place is something else. Minor designer, non designer and major designer stuff hanging side by side in total chaos. It's a hunter-gatherer experience. Luckily today wasn't super busy, but busy enough. We had to line up to try stuff on and to pay. But I did come away with some great dresses, a top and some cardies (including a RARE one, an Italian brand I really love).

A quick stop in the children's department and we were off to meet mum and David at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station. What a trip back in time; so elegant and beatiful. Even the bathrooms were lovely, with a woman who squeezed soap onto my hands and then handed me a towel (did I feel like a doofus for leaving my handbag at the table and not being able to leave her a tip, the bedrock of American society). They have a bar where you can sit and order from a menu of maybe twenty different types of oysters from different parts of the US. Heaven. The ones we tried were lovely (I preferred the East coast to the West coast ones, if anyone is interested).

Lunch over we had to head over to Soho as Jules had an appointment and I wanted to continue with the retail therapy. The Subway was having some sort of meltdown so after a 45 minute wait we headed back upstairs to find a cab. Finally we were back on Broadway.

I went to Desigual, my Spanish sweetheart (discovered in Noosa last year). Some of their stuff is a little left of centre for me but I did get another of their beautiful skirts and a t-shirt (and a free beach bag thrown in). Meeting up with Jules again we had a quick wander around Dean & Deluca, a foodie paradise.

A trawl through Zara, Banana Republic and Bloomingdales didn't provide any new finds but we were exhausted, it was after six o'clock and we decided enough was enough (to be honest I could have done another hour but hoisting my shopping bags around was getting somewhat tedious).

I came home exhausted and with a couple of dud purchases which will need to be returned (what a shame, I'll need to make another trip to Century 21). I have also had the opportunity of trying out the laundry room in the basement. What a pain not to have a washing machine/dryer/clothes line in the apartment. Apart from the cost of $2.00 per load of washing and then drying it's the thought of using big industrial washing machines that are used by lots of other people. Yuck. Not the world's biggest problem though.

Tomorrow is family day in the city. Union Square, the American Girl doll shop, a burger at Shake Shack for lunch. Good night.

Last night...

Yesterday was a little of control. We had plans to spend half the day in the city with my dad doing a double decker bus touristy trip and then to head back early to have a rest as I was going to Jules' girls' night out.

We walked down Atlantic Avenue to a diner which looked good but was pretty basic. It's true about serving sizes here; an order of eggs comes with lots of bacon, fried potatoes and toast - all for $6.25. The bagels are good here.

Then our first subway trip into Grand Central Station, which is just stunning... I could have stared at that amazing ceiling for hours. A walk to meet dad and Irina at the Waldorf and we were off on our bus tour.

Sitting up on the top deck gave us a great view but also made us very hot and we all realized we needed hats, pronto. So we hopped off at Times Square and spent a fortune at the big souvenir shop.

We then hopped back onto another tour and ended up going through Soho, Greenwich Village, past the WTC site and lots of other interesting places. We had a great guide who was very informative, funny and entertaining. I didn't want the tour to end. It almost didn't as we got stuck at one point waiting for a guy who had left his wallet on the bus during a previous tour to catch up with our bus in a taxi.

By the time we got off and headed back to the Waldorf for a late lunch it was 3:00pm. So much for having a relaxing day and being home early. The Waldorf is a seriously old world classy sort of place, with prices to match (it stands out because food is generally very cheap here). Will's Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich was $15 and he didn't want to eat it because there was no "jelly" and he doesn't like peanut butter (both issues were discussed at length during the ordering process). My ridiculously priced Club Sandwich was very good though.

Then we had to hightail it over to Grand Central Station again to catch our train home. After a long wait we walked in the door at 5:30, leaving me 25 minutes to refresh before heading out for the evening.

I wasn't sure what to expect from the Momofuku Ssam Bar. Momofuku has legendary status with my sister and she loves/worships it's chef/owner David Chang. This bar is part of his empire but not the main restaurant. It's small and very loud and funky (meaning uncomfortable for old fuddy duddys like me).

Our group squeezed (triple emphasize squeezed!) into our table and proceeded to scream into each other's ears for the next few hours. The food was a set menu and each dish was amazing. The sparsely worded menu didn't really provide much of an idea of what we were going to get. All I can say it wasn't a great place if you are either Kosher or a vegetarian. The whole "butt" (pig of course) served sang choy bou style with lots of various accompaniments was a "wow" sort of dish.

It was a welcome relief to fall out onto the street sometime later. Despite New York's stifling hot weather and humidity the air outside was so refreshing after the sweat box which was Momofuku Ssam Bar. After all about half of NY's population was squeezed into an area about twice the size of a phone box.

At this point we decided the night was too young to call it a night and teetered over the road to what Jules called a "dive bar". It was so fabulous and such a contrast. A small, simple, quiet bar which would definitely have been my local had I been living in a parallel universe as a single working girl in NYC. Just the front bar and a small back room, a single female bartender, a jukebox and a handful of regulars (including a super hot guy who looked like RW in a certain light or maybe it was the couple of cocktails I had ingested earlier??).

Things fairly quickly took on a David Lynch film-like quality when a strange little dude came in and befriended us. Then we took another couple of steps into Twin Peaks world when a handful of young Navy boys came in looking for a good time. Jules' friend quickly roped in a couple of them to pretend they were strippers (Jules was morbidly terrified of having a stripper there). These boys were already pissed and one went into a convoluted story about his nickname, gained in Iraq, on account of his hobby of stripping for no apparent reason.

Being a pathetic old worry wart I was a tiny bit concerned this would not end well. Before we knew it Jules and her friend R were sitting out in the small back room being straddled by two cute young Navy boys. I stayed on the outskirts but the horrified look on my mother's face told me things were getting a little crazy. Apparently they weren't but mum was being horrified in advance. I'm fairly sure no wobbly bits saw the light of air.

Soon we called it a night leaving some of Jules' friends to carry on partying and headed home in a cab with a hilarious singing driver. The weirdness continued.

It was a great but thought provoking night. I really loved meeting some of Jules' friends who I had previously only heard about. I enjoyed meeting Marvin's lovely sisters who are as gorgeous and smart as he is (remember what I said about diluting your gene pool by joining our family Marvin).

Seeing the young Navy boys at the bar made me a little sad. They were just like Forrest Gump, young, naive boys from somewhere down south. They had been to Iraq. They were drunk and lonely and looking to distract themselves for a few hours. They didn't seem much older than Will which just made it all the more bizarre. Fresh faces, barely shaving, gentle manners like boys out for the day with their mother. Yet they had probably seen the most horrible things, possibly killed other people. Surreal.

I collapsed into bed and slept properly for the first time since we left home.

Sensory overload

Not the best night last night. All our sleeping patterns were out and after tossing and turning for hours I got up to find both kids sitting up playing with their DSs at two am. Then the musical beds started and the whinging about being hungry and thirsty. Blah! Finally I managed a few hours sleep but was not exactly chirpy when I dragged myself out of bed just after eight am.

A walk, a bus trip and another walk and we were at Kensington, visiting Jules and Marvin in their lovely pad. Airy, quirky, with gorgeous views... the only thing missing was a tv, a fact the kids (and I) can't quite comprehend.

When mum and David turned up we took a long walk through the amazing old neighbourhood, full of huge old homes and beautiful trees. It was hot and super humid and we were all looking forward to brunch at the "best cafe in New York".

The cafe was ok, nothing more or less. The ordering area was small and crowded, the guy taking the orders slow. The food and coffee were decent, but my cappuccino didn't even come with a metal spoon, just a help-yourself wooden stirrer which looked liked it belonged in a medical practice. Not impressed.

Nevermind. Stuffed, we squeezed into a "car service" car and dropped mum and David home before heading back to our neck of the woods for a late lunch with my dad and his friend Irina, who had arrived last night.

The seafood restaurant we had been anticipating was closed because of the Memorial Day public holiday but we found a great, laid back Middle Eastern eatery across the road and we were set for the afternoon. Drinks, delicious food (two courses for $14 per person - the best hummus I think I've ever had) and great service made for a very enjoyable session two of Meet the Parents.

Next door I found a cool little gift store which is where Gino came from. A sock monkey with a Mohawk - genius!! He is made by a disabled artist in NYC and he is the best thing. He will live on my bed and always remind me of Brooklyn. (picture on my FB page)

We all walked back to our apartment so everyone could have a sticky beak. I was hot and bothered and ready to throw in the towel but I was out voted and we got a car into Manhattan to check out the Waldorf Astoria where dad was staying. The per night rate was so reasonable I thought it must be a shadow of it's former self but it wasn't, it's still elegant and luxurious and truly awesome. The Fawlty Towers connection made it doubly special for us and of course dad had to have the Waldorf Salad last night (apparently they weren't all out of Waldorfs), which he said was delicious.

Despite the whinging of the children (and of my feet) we then proceeded to walk countless blocks to Times Square. Wow, what a mind blowing city. Every adjective I can think of just doesn't come close to describing it's size and awesome-ness. It just goes on forever, as far as the eye can see. Sydney is a big, wonderful city but it's a drop in the ocean compared to NYC. You could walk around every day for a month and not see the half of it.

It is almost daunting. I'm one of those people who struggles to choose my meal in a restaurant with a big menu, always looking at what others ordered and worrying that they made a better choice. NYC is like that. There is so much to see and do and eat, the possibilities are truly endless and as I walked around today I wanted to do it all.

Spotting the M&M's store in Times Square we decided to grab some take home goodies and found ourselves in Hell on Earth. All we wanted were some unavailable in Australia almond M&Ms but we found ourselves in three stories of crazy. It's impossible to believe the choice of sugar coated chocolate inspired crappola one can purchase. I didn't actually see a toilet seat or ear hair trimmer sporting the M&M logo but I'm quite positive such things exist, everything else is there. Having spent about $80 on almond, peanut butter and pink (for Marianna of course) M&Ms we escaped into the stifling humidity of Times Square and the secure understanding we would never set foot in that place again.

So we returned home to Brooklyn and hopefully a better night's sleep tonight. Tomorrow we're heading back to Manhattan and then, tomorrow night, Momofuku. Oh, the sweet anticipation.

The start

So we landed at JFK safely and in an incredibly good mood. That soon changed when we texted my sister to let her know we'd arrived - early. She was on her way but soon after sent a message to say they had a major petrol (gas in American) leak and were waiting for the cops, fire engines, etc.

We got a cab to my mum's apartment as she had arrived a few hours earlier and my sister had the keys to our apartment.

After a brief wait during which fatigue crept up on us slowly but surely (it was almost midnight local time so god only knows what time our time) Julia and Marvin arrived and we were off to our temporary home. (BTW apart from it being a major pain in the bum they were both fine, it was just one of those annoying, unavoidable accidents.)

The apartment is cool. It's in an old newspaper building which has been converted. Big rooms with soaring ceilings, exposed pipework. Funky mix of eclectic retro furniture. The original of our Pegasus (this is where I got the idea for ours, except this one is four times the size) hangs above the leather sofa.

Showers and bed time followed but our internal body clocks were totally stuffed so we couldn't sleep even though we were utterly exhausted. Finally the children went to sleep and I went off sometime around 3:00am.

Jason woke me at 9:00am and I felt amazingly good. Getting the kids up was difficult but finally we were ready to head off to brunch and to meet Marvin's mum and dad.

We walked through our part of Brooklyn and it is what I love in a neighbourhood. Wide tree-lined streets, interesting old buildings, a mish-mash of shops and businesses. Our brunch cafe was a welcoming combination of hip and earthy, our table in the courtyard surrounded by buildings casting cool shadows amongst the tables. Great food and laid back service added up to a wonderful first meal in NY.

[Yo, I've now eaten grits. It's like polenta, yummy. Nothing like I imagined. Tick of another American cultural mystery unravelled.]

Then we started walking... my favourite part of any holiday. Just walking, absorbing the atmosphere, the sights, sounds and smells.

We made our way to Prospect Park, a fabulous huge space, much like our Centennial or Bicentennial Parks. Grass, trees and lots of people having a great time on a warm weekend day. There were families playing and picnicking, groups of friends playing with frisbees and all sorts of ball games, lots of dogs, bikes and joggers. Just a really happy atmosphere.

More walking and we ended up back at mum's apartment. Then we headed back to the bus stop and back to our part of Park Slope. A goodbye to Jules and Marvin, who were headed to collect dad from the airport, and then a bit of shopping and we came home for a rest.

We probably should not have tempted fate by taking the kids out one more time for a play at the playground across the road and then some dinner but we did. The kids fought over where to eat, not because either of them truly cared but because they were both over tired and ratty and driving parents nuts is obviously what you do when you're tired and ratty.

After a quick and painful Chinese dinner we dragged them home whereby Little Miss M promptly took herself off to bed without a word, followed shortly by Big Jay. Now Will is watching Funniest American Videos and I'm blogging. The weariness is setting in and I think it won't be long before I'm in bed myself.

One thing I've learnt is that Brooklyn is not a suburb, which is what I had believed. It's a city in itself. So saying you are going to Brooklyn is like saying you are going to Sydney, you could be going to Bondi or Penrith.

More Brooklyn sights and good food tomorrow.

Start spreading the news

...that I love United Airlines.

Weren't expecting that, were you? I haven't had anything good to say about them since we purchased our super cheap tickets for this trip nine months ago. In fact I have been dreading the flights for this whole time. For some reason I held UA in very low regard and contemplated changing our tickets, at whatever cost, on numerous occasions.

However, my fears were unfounded. Our Sydney to LA flight was smooth and straightforward. Sure the staff don't see the need to over mollycoddle us cattle class plebs and obviously there is no clause about smiling at customers in their contracts but we were fed and watered regularly and the plane remained in the sky between take off and landing, which suits my basic air travel requirements.

I have to make special mention of the chicken dish we were given at dinner time. Delicious. Small but very tasty.

Onto LAX. Hmmmmm. Things got decidedly more unenjoyable upon disembarking. We had about three and a half hours between flights and were frankly worried about how we would occupy ourselves for that amount of time. Luckily the lovely people of US Customs have that figured out. They kept us standing in three separate queues for over two hours thus eliminating the need to fill in all that boring down time. Thank you US Customs.

Actually FUCK YOU US Customs. Do you know how much fun it is to stand in a barely moving line with two tired, grumpy children who are both busting to go to the toilet? Yes, it's even more fun than it sounds. By the time we got through I swore I would never again darken the doorstep of our American cousins, ever.

Cross and annoyed with each other and the universe in general we trudged off for a drink and a snack since we knew there was no meal service on this domestic leg of our journey. So $35 and two sandwiches and a couple of drinks later we turned up at our gate.

No sooner had sat down than a message came over the PA asking for my presence at the desk. We rolled our eyes, wondering if they had realized that they had let us through without the compulsory cavity search. Prepared for the worst we faced up to the burley UA man at the desk.

He looked us bedraggled travelers up and down and said the most wonderful words in the English language. "You folks don't feel like flying business class, do you?". My eyes bulged as my brain tried to digest the meaning of this sentence. I glanced at Big Jay. Was this a joke? Were they asking if we wanted to pay for the upgrade? Did they realise we were travelling with two bordering-on-feral children?

"If we have to," Big Jay said and next thing we know we're walking down the special line and being welcomed by the friendly, smiling business class stewardesses (only distantly related to their economy cousins). So began five hours of luxurious relaxation. There's only one thing better than business class and that's FREE business class.

Before you can say "I think you've got the wrong people" we were being offered drinks from a linen lined tray and choosing our dinner from the menu. Smoked salmon, salad, beef rib with freshly grilled asparagus. At one point they apologized that they only had the pasta dish from first class left and would Will be happy with that. He was.

Then some freshly prepared ice cream sundaes with hot chocolate sauce. Did I mention my cocktail and the copious amounts of red wine Big Jay managed to consume? Oh, and the freshly baked choc chip cookies right before we disembarked?

The staff were so friendly it was almost painful, I felt if I had asked for a glass of freshly squeezed Yak's milk they would have said "no problem, madam". It was surreal.

After a nap in our super comfy recliner seats we arrived at JFK relaxed and refreshed but that didn't last long.

Modern Families (or bloody hell, we're off to New York)

We're packing (imagine a farmyard full of recently beheaded chickens) for our trip to New York. This is our entertainment kit for the plane: one Kindle, one iPad, three iPods, one iPhone, two DSs and a partridge in a pear tree. Well, we are flying United so the base level of entertainment will be equivalent to 1970s era Aeroflot.

I have my usual level of equal parts excitement and anxiety when faced with a long haul flight (with children). But I'm trying to focus on the fact that in just over 48 hours we'll be landing in New York, New York... the city so good they named it twice (like Wagga Wagga and Woy Woy).

We literally don't know where to start, there is so much to see, do and eat. Everyone we meet offers suggestions for the things we MUST do. Two short weeks seems like such a microscopic amount of time in such a wonderous city. I can only calm myself with the thought that this won't be our last visit.

Now that I've discovered a decent iPad blogging tool I will be sharing our Big Apple adventures right here, so stay tuned.

Grinding axes

We all have an axe (or a few) to grind. They may be trivial or earth shatteringly important but their relevance is only apparent to us and those who love us.

A terrible experience in a restaurant... An hour and ten minutes on the phone to Qantas with a simple request... The incompetence of a government department in processing the adoption of your children.... How long do you have?

I'm getting to my point. The man who took over the Sydney Harbour Bridge last week does not deserve the fame and relevance he's suddenly surrounded with. I don't know his story: bitter custody dispute, DoCS unhelpful,etc. What's new?

What is driving me nuts is that he is suddenly a media darling instead of just being a very naughty little boy. Maybe it's his military background which gives him an air of authority other nutters don't readily possess. Whatever it is, it just isn't on.

To paraphrase an interview I heard with him on Triple M last week: "oh well you inconvenienced tens of thousands of people but you do have an important point to make". No! There are countless "important points" out there waiting to be made. Are we prepared to disrupt the civil running of society, stressful as it is for the ordinary person, so that each bugger with a problem can have their voice heard?

Yes, life is frustrating, especially when it's not going our way, when obvious injustices are being perpetuated, when simple things just can't get done for a myriad of reasons, mainly human error or incompetence. But that doesn't give us all carte blanche to stop traffic, figuratively and literally.

As always I blame the media for being pathetic brainless morons, nothing more than magpies picking up the brightest baubles. They have made a hero from someone who does not deserve it. They have rewarded bad behavior, somethingng every parent knows not to do. When some nutter causes a civil drama to further their cause in the future I'll know where to lay some of the blame. When you glamourize and validate this sort of "terrorism" you say it's ok to disrupt your community to grind your axe.

And I say it isn't. That's what blogging is for. We all know that.

Royal wedding fashion round up

You know every man and his dog has had their two cents' worth about the royal wedding and I was feeling a bit left out. I knew you've all been awake all night this past week wondering what on Earth DeepKickGirl thought of Princess Beatrice's hat.... well, your wait is over.

To be honest I've paid only marginal attention to the whole circus but today I was reading my first iPad version of the Women's Weekly and had my first good look at the wedding fashion and decided I had something to say.

Firstly Kate (surely it should be Cate?). Simple, elegant, beautiful. Well done.

Chelsea Davy (Prince Harry's on again, off again). Looked like she was on day release from Ladette to Lady. Could have brushed her hair for f's sake.

Princess Eugenie. Frumpy.

Princess Beatrice. On first glance, terrible. But on closer inspection it was just the hat; the dress and shoes were actually lovely. The hat was a crime against humanity. I hope Philip Treacy, who was responsible for most of the hat atrocities on the day, is on Scotland Yard's Most Wanted list.... talk about the Emperor's New Clothes!

Now let's talk about Becks and Posh. What the fuck is wrong with that woman? Would it kill her to crack a smile. Here she is, next to her gorgeous, beaming man, looking like she's just been slapped in the face by a dead fish. Furthermore her dress was plain drab, more suitable for a funeral than a wedding. She really really shits me! Eat something and cheer up, you silly cow.

I'm afraid I have nothing positive to say about our PM but I do have a soft spot for the First Hairdresser, seems like a lovely bloke. Our GG looked elegant, as always.

Away from fashion I thought the media hoopla that went on in the lead up to the wedding was downright obscene and pretty much every Australian media outlet should be ashamed of themselves.

To finish let me paraphrase a joke on the subject. K(C)ate Middleton asks the Queen about the secret to a long and happy marriage. The Queen tells her "wear your seatbelt and don't piss me off".

Random

Why is it most of my best (only) thinking is done in the car? If only I had some magical contraption which would suck out my thoughts and transfer them straight onto blogger. Seriously, it would be profound.

I'm typing this on our new iPad, which is the new addition to our stable of gadgetry. It's cool and fun and will be wonderful on our upcoming trip to the US. It is pure middle class extravagance, that is true. But it allows me to lie in bed, watch Masterchef and update my badly neglected blog. What luxury!

Our trip to NY is now only three weeks away and the excitement is rising. Also the mild anxiety about being ready, work and home wise. How do we make the best of this opportunity without exhausting ourselves and the kids? So far Big Jay, Will and my dad have tickets for the Yankees vs the Red Sox which should be a wonderful cultural experience if nothing else. We've given up on the idea of seeing The Addams Family on Broadway because Nathan Lane is no longer in the cast and he was the main draw card for me. I'm sure we'll find other ways of entertaining ourselves. Carlo's Bakery (of Cake Boss fame) is definitely on the itinerary. I have overdone it lately on the retail therapy so the dream of heavy duty NY shopping has faded a little... though I still harbour a fantasy of wondering the Brooklyn neighbourhood where we'll be staying and discovering sone quirky little boutique which will present me with a magical bag or cardie or pair of shoes which will blow my mind and give me the ultimate NY souvenir.

I'm super busy at work and finally facing the fact that working four days a week just won't cut it. So after many years I'm back to working full time. It's cool, not liking I'm breaking rocks with my bare hands for a dollar an hour. The problem is I'm so easily distracted I don't seem to be achieving all that much. Must try harder.

The kids are great. Will's last batch of testing with the school counsellor has shown considerable progress but we still worry about high school next year. He just seems so vulnerable to me. There are so many sharks out there in the big bad world. Little Miss M is powering on. Dancing is everything right now and she has started having a private lesson each week to prepare for an Estedford she's preparing for. This is on top of the ballet, tap and jazz class she has each week.

Um, energy running low now.... Brain in "sleep" mode. Good night. Will try to write some more over the weekend.

Still here

Still here, dear reader. This is one of those guilt posts where I assure you of my good intentions and confirm that I have neither been abducted by aliens nor committed to the local mental asylum (which is long overdue IMHO).

Just not enough time to sit and gather my thoughts and blog. Plenty buzzing around my head, it's just the process of editing all that into something worth reading which is not happening right now.

So a brief "howdy" and on I go with the school holiday juggle.

Watch this space for something much more informative and entertaining.... really, who am I kidding!

Angry bird

That's me. I'm still angry.... but about something different this time. The arseholes downstairs from us. Keeping me up half the night last night (and for most of last week). It's been the stressful weekend from hell. Big Jay is in Perth and I have had a truckload of stuff to do.

Friday night was the school's Movie Under The Stars night which I was the lead organiser on. It meant a lot of work leading up to the night, a lot of worrying about the night (will it rain? will anyone turn up? will anyone eat the 30-odd kilos of mixed lollies I bought and packed?) and a lot of work on the day and that night. By the time I draged the kids home and collapsed into bed I was shattered.

Up bright and early to drive Will to a soccer game in a suburb I'm not familiar with. Get lost, swear and generally act like an immature spoilt brat. Come home and half lay around, half do lots of housework I don't at all feel like doing.

Get kids in the car to drive to Cronulla so Marianna can participate in half time cheerleading entertainment at the Sharks vs Sea Eagles rugby league game. Drive takes two hours (normally 45 minutes tops) and costs me 10 years off my life. Kids drive me to insanity with constant whining and bickering (at one point while crawling in the traffic I contemplate getting out and just walking until I find someone who can tell me how to enter the witness protection program and never be seen again by anyone I currently know, especially my children).

Finally arrive at the ground, after parking over a kilometre away, just in time for aforementioned cheerleading. Watch and video the performance (nowhere near as good as last year, shit music, shit choreography). Leave.

Come home doubly shattered. Watch the Swans beat West Coast (woo bloody hoo) and collapse into bed. Beyond tired. What happens? I can't sleep because the bozos downstairs (obviously staying as a temporary rental - possibly working at the Easter Show) are sitting on their deck below my bedroom and acting like generally drunk arseholes act - loud talking, loud laughing, loud swearing.

Fuck! Ever time I'd doze off some shithead would bray with drunken laughter; like a sledgehammer to the head. I rang the police at 11:30 but not sure if anything happened (though the nice young constable - I sound like someone's grandmother - assured me they'd send a car around). At 1:15 am I was yet again woken by their noise.

I really hate people and after last night I hope climate change is real (well, of course, it's real, but I mean real in the doomsday way the nutters are predicting) because I want the people downstairs to drown slowly in the rising seas - preferrably while I watch and cheer. I digress.

So after almost no sleep I rise early yet again to get Marianna to birthday party number one by 10:00 am. While she's patting snakes and eating jelly I take Will to visit my grandma in Shady Pines and listen to her complain bitterly that she should still be at home and that she doesn't know why we are making her live there (there's a whole other very very long post right there). Oh joy!

Back to collect Marianna and straight onto her soccer game. She's playing in the under 6s and they don't keep score but I think her team scored 10-0, it was like watching Collingwood play Gold Coast Suns.

No rest for the wicked so we were straight onto the local Aquatic Centre for birthday party number two. Oh GOD!

We finally collapsed home at 5:30. Showers, dinner, blah blah and now I'm sitting her blogging feeling so tightly strung I'm not sure if I'll ever sleep again.

It's the first day of school hols tomorrow and while it's nice to have a break from school routine and I know the kids really need it, for me it means the extra juggle of making sure the kids are looked after and entertained on the days I have to work. It also means a few extra days off work which I can not afford in the sense that I am drowing in work and days away from the office mean falling further and further behind. Fucked by guilt whichever way I go. Oh joy!

Gee, that was cheery, wasn't it. Bet you're glad you stuck through that pile of steaming dreck. So sorry. Something funner next time I hope. Good night.

PS I think this list of complaints comes under the title of what my sister calls "First World Problems". Fuck yeah!

1, 2, 3, 4.... we don't want your...

...stupid Carbon Tax. Sorry. Doesn't really have a great ring to it, does it.

Never mind. Her I am last week at the No Carbon Tax protest in Sydney.

It's hard not to get disheartened and I'm not one for protesting in general but there I was last Saturday, listening to Angry Anderson get really really ANGRY and wondering when exactly the world went totally mad.

Not my best angle I must admit and my sign is a little cringeworthy. My problem with slogans is that the first one that pops into my mind is the only one that pops into my mind. So here I am with my sign which I'm not overly proud of (though I fully belive in the sentiment I'm expressing so badly). As you can see the man next to me isn't all that excited about my sign either. Last thought on this damned sign - I do like the typeface.

Anyway, let's see some better signs.

This lady had a double sided sign and I loved both sides.

I couldn't get a photo of one of my favourites but it said "By 2012 no Australian child will be living in Carbon". Giggle.

The final word goes to the homeless man selling The Big Issue on the corner of George and Market Street. As I walked back to the car park after the rally he saw my sign and said "yeah, just keep polluting the world" - as in "yeah, just keep polluting the world you fucking capitalist Earth wrecking bitch". It's good to see even the street people have been brainwashed. Not just the chardonnay sipping middle classes (I actually quite hate that expression but just using it for effect here - my dad refers to them as "doctors' wives" and I hate that even more).

So there we go. I've expressed myself in a public forum on the subject I feel most strongly about (politically speaking) with a nett end result of zilch and the march to futility continues. Oi vey!

The Big Trip Is Dead, Long Live The BIg Trip

The Big Trip is something we've had brewing for about three years now. A trip to take the kids back to their countries of birth, Guatemala and Colombia. It had always been planned for the Christmas holidays 2011-12 to coincide with Will finishing primary school.

There were a few other friends interested so it was always going to be a difficult thing to wrangle into submission. The main reason we have knocked it on the head is that the Christmas holidays is just a super expensive time to fly to the US. Basically our flights would cost more or less twice the price of going at some other time. Not to mention all the flights to Colombia and Guatemala from our base in Miami. It's just hard to justify throwing away that sort of money, not when I can be spending it on Spencer & Rutherford handbags or Thermomix accessories.

So while it's hard to let go of a dream we'd been holding onto for quite a few years now we are happy that we'll still do the trip but just a few months later, possibly around Easter 2012.

The Big Trip lives, it just needs a few extra months to gestate.

Good Lord!

After hearing a third hand report of a Neil Diamond concert I was expecting less of a Hot August Night and more of a Mild March Afternoon (with a nice Horlicks and a blankie on my lap) but I got a lot more than that - proving my theory that low expectations equal higher payback.

Neil Diamond still rocks, baby! He may be 70 but he has lost little of his energy or talent or gentle humour. Last night at Acer Arena he showed he still has the voice and the moves to keep almost 20,000 people enjoying themselves for two hours.

Sure when we first came in it looked a little like the cast of extras from Night of the Living Dead (dear me, I shouldn't be so unkind, but I just can't help myself - I'm sure I'll look back with regret when I'm whiling away the hours at Shady Pines in the not too distant future). But I quickly realised there was a wide range of age groups there and we were all there to lap up a little Neil Diamond nostalgia... A little Sweet Caroline, Forever in Blue Jeans, I'm A Believer, Cracklin' Rosie, the list goes on - he was a prolific songwriter, wasn't he.

Anyway, it was lovely night top and tailed by a walk to and from the venue with my friend C who I hadn't seen a lot of just lately.

The entertainment avalanche is now over and I can look forward to the start of the AFL season and a few more evenings on the couch in front of the teev. Next major entertainment highlight: New York.

Tim and the City

Dear Tim Minchin,

I love you. I would like to marry you and have your children (if we weren't already married and had children and if I still had a womb, which even prior to it's departure didn't prove itself as a capable baby carrying mechanism). Anyhow, I sincerely do love you... your crazy hair and eyeliner and your no shoes and most of all your mind.

I want to have passionate sex with your brain, it's super huge and super sexy.

Best of all you understand my feelings about religion and parenthood and you happen to like boobs (which I happen to have a set of). So (apart from the previously mentioned little problems) I think we could be very happy together.

So there, I think I make a pretty strong case as to why we should get married immediately if not sooner. So I'll start the divorce proceedings from my end and assume you'll do the same. I'll have my people call your people regarding our upcoming wedding. See you there.

With all the love in the empty black void I call my heart, DeepKick Girl

PS After I left your show at the Opera House on Friday night I was on such a high I just floated out with the crowd. I was there on my own (well, with a group of friends from work, but not with Big Jay) and after the show everyone went off home and I drifted along through Circular Quay and bought myself an ice cream (super yummy Chocolate Hazelnut and Wild Cherry, if you must know) and just walked. I had parked in Harrington Street so had a little bit of a walk but I could have walked for hours (if it wasn't for those damned high heels I had stupidly chosen to wear that night).

It was a beautiful cool Autumn Sydney evening, the earlier rain had refreshed the air and it was mild and glorious. I just felt an overwhelming sense of love for my city and at that moment I loved being alone and being able to walk and eat ice cream and look around me and let it all sink in.

Like Anthony says in Under The Bridge "sometimes I feel like my only friend is the city I live in... I drive on her streets 'cause she's my companion, I walk through her hills 'cause she knows who I am". That's how I felt on Friday night, like the city knew who I was; what a wonderful and strange feeling.

How lucky was I for the gift of your mind and your talent and your wit, and a beautiful Sydney night and a tiny opportunity to be alone in the city I love. Not sure what spirituality is but it's close as I'm ever going to get.

Just Shoot Me

No, I'm not going critique the mediocre television comedy show from '90s staring the slightly creepy David Spade. Instead I'm going to write about last night because those three words featured prominently in my thoughts between 8:00 and 9:30 pm.

I had bought tickets for my mum, my sister and myself to see Missing The Bus To David Jones as part of their Chrissie presents because quite frankly I loved the title. This is how the blurb described it:

"It's a secret world. Banal, a bit crazy, and well, quite frankly, surreal. But there's plenty of beauty here too...

What happens behind the swinging doors and beige walls of a nursing home? Meet the residents, staff and visitors and come on a surreal adventure, where day to day rituals give way to moments of spirited abandon. Yes there are walking frames and super sized bibs. But there’s also candy floss, balloons, and dancing – and bingo! And a lot of kindness.

Theatre Kantanka, with its visual and physical performance style, brings beauty, humanity, and much hilarity to this little-known and hidden universe. As baby boomers grapple with the dilemmas of ageing parents, this heartfelt and uplifting production finds celebration where you might least expect it."

Really, I should have known better. Not only does my family not like to discuss death but my mum went through a very hard time when my grandmother was in an aged care hostel for many years prior to her death. Not good memories for all of us but particulary for my mum.

When I read the blurb originally I focused on "heartfelt" and "uplifting" but I should have realised it wasn't going to involve too many laughs. However, it did provide quite a few laughs for the many of the audience members, just not my mum, who spent a great deal of time glaring over her shoulder at the laughees, hissing at me "what is so funny?".

It was definitely black humour at it's darkest. I could see the humour in some, maybe not all of it. Old age and the indignity and saddness and loss of humanity it brings is undeniably very sad but as with all things in life finding the humour in such horror is also very human and necessary for the sake of our sanity.

From the very start I knew I had made a terrible mistake, that mum would hate this show and asked her very early in the piece if she wanted to leave. She said "no" and we sat through an hour and a half of my own physical and emotional discomfort, not because I wasn't enjoying the production (I actually did enjoy it - wonderful acting and creative production design) but from knowing my mother was hating it and hating the audience who was enjoying it.

At the end I braced myself for what was to come but luckily it didn't eventuate. The criticism was brief and, more importantly, not of me for my terrible choice of show. Plus there was the added bonuses of free canapes and drinks when we came out - it must have been either the first or last show of this production - which kept my mum and sister busy.

So a small public warning: choose carefully before you buy family members tickets to the theatre, you could just live to regret it.

Too old?

Be honest (sort of)... am I too old for a pair of brothel creepers?

I saw a pair in a magazine today and they whisked me magically back to circa 1984 and my original pair of brothel creepers, black and white and gorgeous.

The ones I'm lusting after right now can be found here (click Footwear then Creepers - I want the Leopard print ones).

I know that this is strictly a nostalgia trip but they are so cool and they will so make me feel 16 again. Is that a good or a bad thing? Why do I even want to go there?

All I know is I can't stop thinking about them.

[Kind] comments please.

Dear Weird Al

or should I call you Mr Yankovic?

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I had one of the best night's of entertainment on Friday at your Enmore Theatre gig. Maybe because I had no expectations (which is always the best place to start, high expectations lead to bigger disappointments) I was blown away! What an amazing night! I was on a high all the way home and that generally only ever happens after a Red Hot Chili Peppers' gig or after the Swans have a big win against a really, really hard team.

You are super funny and super talented and do crazy things with a piano accordion... what a man!

I loved every minute really but the highlights were You're Pitiful (eat shit James Blunt), Canandian Idiot (watch the South Park clip HERE), Amish Paradise ("...tonight we're going to party like it's 1699)... who am I kidding... they were ALL highlights.

It was like the best rock concert and the best comedy gig all rolled into one. A very rare gift indeed.

I took Will and he loved it too. So to end this rather nauseating little letter let me thank you, yet again, on behalf of both of us.

You are a god amongst men and I'm already hanging out for the next time you come Down Under.

Yours truly,
DeepKickGirl

PS I am White and Nerdy, but nowhere near as white and/or nerdy as most of your audience.

Dear Billy

(Connolly),

It's not me, it's you. I used to love you, a lot. You were so funny, I'd come and watch you and laugh and laugh... until my face ached. I'd laugh so hard I'd miss half of what you were saying because I'd be so busy laughing.

When I thought "funny" I thought BILLY CONNOLLY.

I went to see you a couple of weeks ago. I was really looking forward to it (even though the last time I saw you it was at the awful Hordern Pavilion which is a majorly shithouse venue for comedy and we had to sit on the most uncomfortable fold out chairs EVER and I found it insulting to pay 150 bucks to sit on crappy fold out chairs in a barn of a place with non-existant air conditioning - I hope you fired that particular tour manager or whoever is responsible for such things).

This time around you were at the Opera House Concert Hall, one of my favourite places. We ate yummy Vietnamese food in the new funky outdoor food court area. It was all good and I was all set to laugh.

But you just weren't very funny. You did apologise in advance, saying you had the flu, but really I think you may have lost it. I'm not having a go, really. You're getting on, 68 years old I think. I can barely remember yesterday and struggle to string a coherent sentence together so I can't really blame you for not being as sharp as you used to be. It's just that when I pay $150+ per person for a night out I want something special, something WOW, something a little better than mediocre.

It was sad to sit there amongst all these people who clearly adore you and hear them laugh politely, not uproariously like your audiences used to. When I used to think of your name I used to think of laughing so hard I'd wet my pants (just a little bit). This last time I barely raised a smile.

So I'm sorry. It's tough but I'm afraid you are officially dropped. I'll always remember our times together fondly but next time you come out to tour Australia I'll just stay home and think about what we used to have. It's best this way.

Yours truly,
DeepKickGirl

PS Please tell Pamela she looks like a freak.

Book Review: Beyond Fear

Recently I was given the opportunity (by the Soup Project people) to preview a new Australian book Beyond Fear by Jaye Ford, an Australian journalist turned author. It was fun getting to read a book before it's general release and this was a book that really appealed.

It is a book I can relate to - the story of four Sydney women going away for a much needed girls' weekend in the country. Having been on a few such girls' weekends away myself I know how much they are anticipated. I also know how isolated I feel, being a city girl through and through, when the lights go out and the serenity of the country turns into that creepy feeling ... I have often laid there in bed in the dark, feeling acutely aware of the isolation and the oppression of the "nothingness" around me.

For the four friends in this book things go wrong very quickly and then they go from bad to much, much worse.

Our main protagonists are Jodie, a teacher with a dark secret, and Matt, a detective with a complicated past. Their lives collide in the tiny town of Bald Hill when a girls' weekend away turns into a nightmare.

Once the action gets going it is relentless and heart-racing exciting. It does take a little while to warm up but once the drama starts it doesn't stop until the very end. In hindsight the slow start is a good balance to the fast paced second half.

I would have liked a little more character development for the secondary players and possibly a little less emphasis on the romance (would you be thinking about the hunky ex-cop when two psychopaths are about to rape and murder you?) but overall it was well written and a very entertaining read.

Thermomix and the meaning of life

Yesterday was a very strange day indeed.

It started with a plan to have a Vietnamese lunch in Cabramata with my sister and ended with a Thermomix in my kitchen and another major disaster in the world.

Next week is my birthday, the twenty second anniversary of the my twenty first birthday. My wonderful family (who only very occasionally drive me crazy) got brave this year and arranged a SURPRISE for me. Before I go on, it is necessary to say how difficult a task this was and how highly I rate this achievement. Surprising me is not an easy task for various reasons so I understand how much effort and stress it took to not only organise it but pull it off.

So yesterday I drove out to Warwick Farm to have my car valued for a possible trade-in and, after a couple of rather strange conversations with my sister, arrived home to find her and a strange lady and a large box waiting for me. I would have been less surprised had the box contained a naked Robbie Williams (a gift idea for next year...) but, in fact, it contained a brand spanking-new Thermomix, the kitchen machine of my dreams.

You may remember me coming across this masterpiece of kitchen engineering at the Tetsuya cooking masterclass I attended almost 18 months ago. It blew my mind then and I've been coveting it ever since. The price tag put it in the must have/can't have category and it has remained the glittering pinnacle on my wishlist.

And now it's here, in my kitchen, twinkling at me across the kitchen as I write; sitting smugly on my benchtop as if it's always been there. It is occupying the space where my KitchenAid lived until two weeks ago when it had to go to the KitchenAid doctor for a strange alignment problem it had developed. I very much feel like I'm cheating on my husband with Robbie Williams (at least I imagine what that must feel like, I'm willing to put the feeling to the test should the opportunity ever arise...). The KA will hopefully come home soon and my two best kitchen buddies will need to learn to share my love and the bench space.

However, I can now turf my kitchen scales (the TM weighs, you can reset it after each ingredient and then measure the new ingredient - i.e. 200g flour, reset, measure 100g sugar), my blender, my brand new ice cream machine, my stick blender.

The slightly manic Thermomix lady, the gorgeous Lynette, swooped into my kitchen, unloaded the TM onto my bench and within half an hour had produced a yummy soft serve style dessert called a Berry Dream, or some such, a bread dough, a cereal/crumble mix/topping type thing with coconut, apple, dates and nuts (yum!) and a risotto. She then swooped out again leaving me shell shocked (in the best way) and totally bewildered.

There are no sensible words to describe how excited and happy I feel to own such a wonderful piece of kitchen gadgetry. So lucky to have a husband who actually listens to me (who knew?!) and a family who steps up financially and logistically to make my Thermomix dream come true. Well done Big Jay, Jules, mum, dad, linesmen, ballboys.

But then I turn on the evening news and watch the horror unfolding in Japan and my excitement subsides somewhat. Watching the giant tide of water sweep over the landscape, smashing everything in its path, made me put our tiny human lives into proper perspective. Our little, busy ant lives are so important to us but so insignificant to Mother Nature and the march of time. I was overwhelmed with a monsterous tiredness as I watched and went to bed early, heavy with the knowledge that everything doesn't mean anything.

This morning the cloud has cleared. I awoke early, saying goodbye to Big Jay who left for his annual Coffs Harbour golf trip. Turning on the news momentarily brought back the depression (there should be a public service announcement if they're going to make you listen to JGull's dulcet tones at 5:30 am) but the realisation that Hawaii was still above water cheered me up somewhat. A cup of tea and a slice of the freshly baked Thermomix bread (toasted with avocado) brought up my spirits some more.

I've spent a couple of hours surfing the www in search of Thermomix recipes, blogs and communities and have found many. My TM, in future to be known as Theo (in honour of a very cool Mod I knew circa 1984), is smiling at me. A new culinary adventure begins.

I continue to be mad as hell...

For those missing my man made climate change is bollocks rants (I know there is at least one of you) here is an update from my favourite climate change is bollocks blog.

I had been hoping Australia may be cooling down on this shit because the rhetoric had been wound down prior to the last Federal election but obviously that had been wishful thinking. I knew deep down that it was just the lull before the storm... and believe me there's a storm brewing right now.

I've never been much of a marcher, only that one anti-nuclear march when I was 14 or 15, before I grew a brain, but I'm ready to march now. This may not be Lybia but I feel like a little bit of civil disobedience. Hand me a rocket launcher and point me towards Canberra (if you're reading this, ASIO agents, I'm almost totally joking).

Fawlty Feb: Days Twenty Six - Twenty Eight

Um, sorry, I give up. It's February 28, the official last day of Fawlty Feb. I have fallen over on the job with this one. Just too much on, too many thoughts, useful and otherwise, filling up the grey matter.

I've tried but I just can't squeeze out another funny. I'm hot and bothered and exhausted. A bus knocked the back end of my car off as I was driving Will to Learning Links today, adding to what was already a stressful afternoon. We're both fine, the car is driveable, it was just one of those stupid, time wasting, slightly surreal moments.

Now I'm sitting here trying to tidy up the end of Fawlty Feb, which seemed liked such a fun idea at the time. I'm reading the script and the words are melting together in front of my eyes. All I really want to do is flop on the lounge and watch an episode of Come Dine With Me, my perfect veg out program.

So please forgive me, dear reader/s, for not completing this odd little challenge.

Today marks three months until we head to the big apple so our busy lives will ramp up just that little bit more as we start to prepare in earnest.

Here's to March, to Autumn, to cooler weather, better sleep, better blogging, to turning 43, to the four thousand events we will be attending in the coming month, to fun, to survival.

Good night.

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty Five

Let me introduce Basil the Rat...

Manuel: I say to man in shop, "is rat". He say, "No, no, is special kind of hamster. Is Filigree Siberian hamster". Only one in shop. He make special price, only five pound.

Basil: (calmly) Have you ever heard of the bubonic plague, Manuel? It was very popular here at one time. A lot of pedigree hamsters came over on ships from Siberia... (he takes the cage)

Manuel: What are you doing?

Basil: I'm sorry, Manuel, this is a rat.

Manuel: No, no, is hamster.

Basil: Is not hamster. Hamsters are small and cuddly. Cuddle this, you'd never play the guitar again.

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty Four

Ever wondered how the Nazis got started?

Basil: This is typical, absolutely typical... of the kind of... (shouting) ARSE I have to put up with from you people. You ponce in here expecting to be waited on hand and foot, well I'm trying to run a hotel here. Have you any idea of how much there is to do? Do you ever think of that? Of course not, you're all too busy sticking your noses into every corner, poking around for things to complain about, aren't you. Well, let me tell you something - this is exactly how Nazi Germany started, you know. A lot of layabouts with nothing better to do than to cause trouble. Well I've had fifteen years of pandering to please the likes of you and I've had enough. I've had it. Come on, pack your bags and get out!

Basil does make a mountain out of a molehill... I mean the poor man just wanted a Waldorf Salad.

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty Three

Drum roll please... yes, it's time for Waldorf Salad.

Basil: I have looked. There's no celery, there's no grapes... walnuts! That's a laugh, easier to find a packet of sliced hippopotamus in suitcase sauce than a walnut in this bloody kitchen. (he looks in the fridge)

Sybil: Now, we've got apples (holding up some)

Basil: Oh, terrific! Let's celebrate. We'll have an apple party. Everybody brings his own apple and stuffs it down somebody's throat.

Sybil: Basil, I'll find everything. Just go and get a bottle of Volnay.

Basil: What's a waldorf, anyway - a walnut that's gone off?

Sybil: It's the hotel, Basil. The Waldorf Hotel. In New York.

Basil: (struck with an idea) Wait, wait.

Sybil: (warningly) Basil.

Basil: (going into the dining room) Everything all right?

Mrs Hamilton: Yes thank you.

Mr Hamilton: Never been better.

Basil: Oh good. Um... by the way. I wonder... have you by any chance ever tried a Ritz salad?

Mr Hamilton: A Ritz salad?

Basil: Yes - it's a traditional old English... thing. It's apples, grapefruit and potatoes in a mayonnaise sauce.

Mr Hamilton: No, don't think I ever tried that.

Basil: Ah!

Mr Hamilton: Don't think I ever will, either.

There's lots more but I'm tired now so you'll just have to look it up or watch the episode if you want to relive all the glory of Waldorf Salad. Good night.

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty Two

Lost in translation.

Mr Hamilton: A scotch and water and screwdriver, please.

Basil: Um... and for you, madam?

Mrs Hamilton: The screwdriver's for me.

Basil: I see... um... would you like it now or after your meal?

Mrs Hamilton: Well, now, please.

Basil: There's nothing I can put right?

Mrs Hamilton: What?

Basil: Absolutely. So it's one scotch and one screwdriver.

Mr Hamilton: I think I'll join you. (to Basil) Make that two screwdrivers, will you?

Basil: You'd like a screwdriver as well?

Mr Hamilton: You got it.

Basil: Fine. So it's one scotch and you each need a screwdriver.

Mr Hamilton: No, no, no. Forget the scotch. Two screwdrivers.

Basil: I understand. And you'll leave the drinks.

Mr Hamilton: What?

Basil: Nothing to drink.

Mr Hamilton: What do you mean? 'Nothing to drink'?

Basil: Well you can't drink your screwdrivers, can you. Ha ha.

Mr Hamilton: What else would you suggest that we do with them?

Mrs Hamilton: Vodka and orange juice.

Basil: Ah, certainly madam.

Mr Hamilton: Make that two. And forget about the screwdrivers.

Basil: You're sure?

Mr Hamilton: We can manage without them.

Basil: As you wish, sir.

And because we're running out of Fawlty Feb days, I'm going to throw in an extra one today. No extra charge.

On Harold Robbins (not that awful Harold Robinson).

Basil: Oh, of course, yes. My wife likes Harold Robbins. After a hard day's slaving under the hair-dryer she needs to unwind with a few aimless thrills.

Sybil: Basil! (she exists into the kitchen)

Basil: Have you ever read any? It really is the most awful American... well, not American, but trans-Atlantic tripe. A sort of pornographic muzak. Still, it keeps my wife off the streets.

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty-One

On coping...

Sybil: I'm talking to Mr Libson, Basil.

Basil: Good. Well, that's a help.

Sybil: I'm sure you can cope.

Basil: Oh, yes, I can cope. Coping's easy. Not pureeing your loved ones, that's the difficult part.

Amen to that, Basil!

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty

Not everyone is Gordon Ramsay, you know!

Miss Gurke: Er... excuse me.

Sybil: Yes?

Miss Gurke: I'm sorry, but do you think we could cancel our fruit salads?

Sybil: Well, it's a little tricky, Chef's just opened the tin.

The Moment

I've been thinking a lot lately about how difficult it is to live in the moment. This moment. Of course we're all actually living each moment, physically we're in each and every moment; there is no escape and no option. But mentally, emotionally... I am rarely in this moment.

Is this the human condition? Is this our normal state? Maybe all this talk about living in the moment is nonsense. I suspect it is, or at least partially so.

When I contemplate the subject I realise exactly how much of my time is spent planning for the future or examining the past. There are so few instances of the present being the main focus. When I'm cooking or eating a meal I'm often thinking about the next one or the special one I'm planning for the next day or the next week. When I'm dressing the kids for school I'm thinking about a myriad of school related issues or what I must remember to get done at work that day.

Holidays are one of the best examples of this: I will argue for the affirmative that the most enjoyable thing about family holidays is the planning and the memories. I love planning holidays; the daydreaming about how relaxing, exciting and fun they are going to be. It is a particular sort of savouring which no reality can ever live up to. Thinking back on holidays is also wonderful because the human mind is very good at editing out the bad stuff (or at the least turning it into a hilarious story) so that you are left with mental images of the great stuff sans the annoying stuff.

Let's be honest, most family holidays involve a lot of annoying stuff. No-one can tell me it's fun to hang around airports, entertain small children on never-ending flights, watch as your child refuses to eat an overpriced meal in an overseas restaurant. Yet my brain deletes all these scenes of irritation and keeps only scenes which involve me lounging around in the infinity pool with a Pina Colada in hand. Thus constantly making me yearn for the next holiday.

I've just finished reading Emma Donoghue's Room about a kidnapped woman and her five year old son living in isolation in "Room". I wouldn't say it's the best book I've ever read but it does give you food for thought. One of my trains of thought was about how much distraction we have in our lives; our lives are choc-full of stuff, so much of it... no wonder it feels like life is going by so fast. When these things are taken away, when people are isolated from all that and put in a restricted space with almost nothing to distract from the simple act of living... life is very different.

There is no moral to this story. I'm just musing on the tangle of thoughts floating around the void between my ears. I don't know the answers or if there are any or if we need any. I'm mostly happy to accept life for what it is. I don't think I can force myself to be in the moment any more or less by thinking about it. I just think the phenomenon of generally dwelling on the past or projecting into the future is really interesting. Is this what the idea of meditation all about? Is this why I find it impossible to meditate or often even sit still for very long? Have I unconsciously trained my mind to be a pinball machine ball, constantly bouncing from one idea, project, task to another? Hmmmmm.....

Fawlty Feb: Day Nineteen

It's hard to get customer service just right, isn't it.

Sybil: I've had it up to here with you.

Basil: What, dear?

Sybil: You never get it right, do you. You're either crawling all over them licking their boots, or spitting poison like some benzedrine puff-adder. (she goes into the office)

Basil: (to himself) Just trying to enjoy myself.

Fawlty Feb: Day Eighteen

Fancy a quick read?

Mrs Abbott: Do you have a guide to Torquay?

Basil: A guide... um... oh, dear, I think we're out of them again.

Mr Johnson: (to Mrs Abbott) Do you want to look at this one? I got it in the town.

Mrs Abbott: Oh, thanks... What's on in Torquay.

Mr Johnson: Yes, it's one of the world's shortest books. (they laugh)

Basil: What?

Mr Johnson: One of the world's shortest books... like "The Wit of Margaret Thatcher" or "Great English Lovers".

Fawlty Feb: Day Seventeen

And so we bid a fond farewell to Mrs Richards and her communication problems and have a short visit with The Psychiatrist.

From: The Psychiatrist (the second episode of the second series, broadcast 26 February, 1979)

Sybil: Seventy-seven! Isn't that amazing... old people are wonderful when they have so much life, aren't they? Gives us all hope, doesn't it.

Mr Johnsons: Mmmm...

Sybil: My mother... on the other hand... is a little bit of a trial really... you know, it's all right when they have the life force, but mother, well, she's got more of the death force really... she's a worrier...

Mr Johnson: (to phone) No, it's all right, I'll hold.

Sybil: She has these, well, morbid fears they are, really... vans is one... rats, doorknobs, birds, heights, open spaces... confined spaces. It's very difficult getting the space right for her really, you know...

Mr Johnson (nodding, not much interested) Mmmmm...

Sybil: Footballs, bicycles, cows... and she's always on about men following her... I don't know what she thinks they're going to do to her... vomit on her, Basil says...

Mr Johnson: (to phone) Can I leave my number, he can call me back...

Sybil: And death.

It'd be quicker to make a list of the things she's not afraid of.

Fawlty Feb: Day Sixteen

Have we been missing Manuel? I have.

Basil: The money! The money! Do you remember?... Manuel. Manuel. Come here. Manuel... you remember I had some money yesterday. (Manuel looks suspicious; Basil whispers) The money I won on the horse.

Manuel: Ah! Si...

Basil: Tell Mrs Richards. Tell her I had the money yesterday.

Manuel: (with pride) Ahem. I know nothing.

Basil: What?

Manuel: I know nothing.

Basil: No, no.

Manuel: Nothing.

Basil: No, no, forget that.

Manuel: I forget everything. I know nothing.

Basil: No, you can tell her. You can tell her.

Manuel: No, I cannot.

Basil: Yes, yes, tell her, tell her, please, please, tell her, tell her... I'll kill you if you don't.

Manuel: (runs his finger along his throat and winks at Basil) No, I know nothing. (to Mrs Richards) I am from Barcelona. (Manuel leaves)

Wouldn't you love a T-shirt which states "I AM FROM BARCELONA"? It just explains everything.

Fawlty Feb: Day Fifteen

This was due yesterday, and since it was St Valentine's Day, this is very fitting.

Sybil: (suspiciously) You seem very jolly, Basil.

Basil: Hmmm?

Sybil: You seem very jolly.

Basil: Jolly?

Sybil: Yes, jolly. Sort of... happy.

Basil: Oh, 'happy'. Yes, I remember that. No, not that I noticed, dear. I'll report it if it happens, though.

Sybil: (accusingly) Well, you look happy to me, Basil.

Basil: No, I'm not dear.

Sybil: All this dancing about, singing and rubbing your hands.

Basil: No, just my way of getting through the day, dear. The Samaritans were engaged.

Sybil: I thought maybe you were in love. (laughs)

Basil: Only with you, light of my life.

And a little bit later, with Mrs Richards...

Mrs Richards: I don't need your arm, thank you. I can get down the stairs perfectly well by myself.

Basil: Down the stairs? Oh, well, don't stop when you get to the basement. Keep straight on. Give my regards to the earth's core.

Sybil: Are you sure you can manage?

Basil: And if you give us anymore trouble I shall visit you in the small hours and put a bat up your nightdress. Well, that was fun, wasn't it dear. The odd moment like that, it's almost worth staying alive for, isn't it. (Sybil is poker-faced) It's nice to share a moment like that, isn't it, dear. It's what marriage is all about. I know, it said so on the back of a matchbox.

Sybil: Basil, sometimes...

Basil: (putting a hand on her waist) Seriously, Sybil, do you remember, when we were first... manacled together, we used to laugh quite a lot.

Sybil: (pushing him away) Yes, but not at the same time, Basil.

Basil: That's true. That was a warning, wasn't it. Should have spotted that. Zoom! - what was that? That was your life, mate. That was quick, do I get another? Sorry mate, that's your lot.

Sybil: Basil.

Basil: Back to the world of dreams. Yes dear?

Sybil: (irritated) What are we going to do?

Basil: Give it another fifteen years?

I couldn't have said it better myself, Basil.

Fawlty Feb: Days Thirteen and Fourteen

Why one should never work in customer service... because, damn it, the customer is rarely right and mostly they're just plain bonkers.

Basil: Good morning, madam - can I help you?

Mrs Richards: Are you the manager?

Basil: I am the owner, madam.

Mrs Richards: What?

Basil: I am the owner.

Mrs Richards: I want to speak to the manager.

Basil: I am the manager too.

Mrs Richards: What?

Basil: I am the manager as well.

Manuel: Manaher! Him manaher!

Basil: Shut up!

Mrs Richards: Oh... you're Watt.

Basil: ... I'm the manager.

Mrs Richards: Watt?

Basil: I'm ... the... manager.

Mrs Richards: Yes, I know, you've just told me, what's the matter with you? Now listen to me. I've booked a room with a bath. When I book a room with a bath I expect to get a bath.

Basil: You've got a bath.

Mrs Richards: I'm not paying seven pounds twenty pence per night plus VAT for a room without a bath.

Basil: (opening the bathroom door) There is your bath.

Mrs Richards: You call that a bath? It's not big enough to drown a mouse. It's disgraceful (she moves away to the window).

Basil: (muttering) I wish you were a mouse, I'd show you.

Mrs Richards: (at the window, which has a nice view) And another thing - I asked for a room with a view.

Basil: (to himself) Deaf, mad and blind. (goes to the window) This is the view as far as I can remember, madam. Yes, this is it.

Mrs Richards: When I pay for a view I expect something more interesting than that.

Basil: That is Torquay, madam.

Mrs Richards: Well, it's not good enough.

Basil: Well... may I ask what you were hoping to see out of a Torquay hotel bedroom window? Sydey Opera House perhaps? The Hanging Gardens of Babylon? Herds of wildebeeste sweeping majestically...

Mrs Richards: Don't be silly. I expect to be able to see the sea.

Basil: You can see the sea. It's over there between the land and the sky.

Mrs Richards: I'd need a telescope to see that.

Basil: Well, may I suggest you consider moving to a hotel closer to the sea. Or preferably in it.

Mrs Richards: Now listen to me: I'm not satisfied, but I have decided to stay here. However, I shall expect a reduction.

Basil: Why, because Krakatoa's not erupting at the moment?

Mrs Richards: Because the room is cold, the bath is too small, the view is invisible and the radio doesn't work.

Basil: No, the radio works. You don't.

Mrs Richards: What?

Basil: I'll see if I can fix it, you scabby old bat....

Tomorrow, the rest of this delicious scene.

Fawlty Feb: Day Twelve

On the joys of marriage and fire breathing dragons...

The Major: Going to have a flutter, Fawlty

Basil: No-o, no, no...

Sybil: No, Basil doesn't bet any more, Major, do you, dear?

Basil: No, dear, I don't. No, that particular avenue of pleasure has been closed off.

Sybil: (quietish) And we don't want it opened up again, do we, Basil? (she goes into the office)

Basil: No, you don't dear, no. The Great Warning-Off of May the 8th. Good old St George, eh, Major?

The Major: Hmmmm.

Basil: He killed a hideous fire-breathing old dragon, didn't he, Polly?

Polly: Ran it through with a lance, I believe.

Manuel: (running in) Mr Fawlty, Mr Fawlty. Is Mrs... er... room, no like... she want speak to you, is problem.

Basil: (moving off) Ever see my wife making toast Polly? (he mimes breathing on both sides of a slice of bread)

The Major: Why did he kill it, anyway, Fawlty?

Basil: I don't know Major. Better than marrying it (he follows Manuel upstairs)

The Major: Marrying it? Bue didn't have to kill it though, did he? I mean, he could have just not turned up at the church.

Fawlty Feb: Day Eleven

I use this one at work all the time.

(Still with Communication Problems, we'll be here for a while.)

Basil: (to Sybil) A satisfied customer. We should have him stuffed.

Non Fawlty Feb Stuff

Um, not so much to report.

Have survived the first two weeks of school OK. Kids (and us) are coping well with the busy schedule.

Marianna is going to drop piano because, despite having a talent for it, she won't practice and thus won't improve and thus I just don't want to pay $30 a lesson for something that's not going anywhere. She's only five, so there's plenty of time to give it another try a couple of years down the track.

Have been eating well but have only lost about 200 grams; hardly worth mentioning. Maybe it'll be a slow build up and then - wham - 5 kg gone overnight. I've bought Blackmore's Metabolism Advantage because I'm always looking for the "magic" thing. Will get back to you on how useful it proves to be.

I made Empanadas today. Have been meaning to for ages. They are my favourite Colombian dish. La Cumbia, the Colombian restaurant at Kensington, makes wonderful Empanadas. I happened to be passing there yesterday and dropped in for some of the special cornmeal you need to use for the Empanada dough. Today I made some and they were delicious, especially with the green onion, tomato and corriander aji I made to spoon over them. Damn it, why are deep fried things so yum?

Well, that's about it. Not much happening around here. Until next time.

Fawlty Feb: Day Ten

Now we arrive in the wonderland which is Communication Problems, the realm of the one and only Mrs Richards... this will take a few Fawlty Feb days. So sit back and enjoy...

From: Communication Problems (the first episode of the second series, broadcast 19 February, 1979)

Mrs Richards: (to Manuel) Now, I've reserved a very quiet room with a bath and a sea view. I specifically asked for a sea view in my written confirmation, so please be sure I have it.

Manuel: Que?

Mrs Richards: ... What?

Manuel: ... Que?

Mrs Richards: K?

Manuel: Si.

Mrs Richards: C? (Manuel nods) KC? (Manuel looks puzzled) KC? What are you trying to say?

Manuel: No, no - Que - what?

Mrs Richards: K - what?

Manuel: Si! Que - what?

Mrs Richards: C. K. Watt?

Manuel: ... Yes.

Mrs Richards: Who is C.K. Watt?

Manuel: Que?

Mrs Richards: Is it the manager, Mr Watt?

Manuel: Oh, manager!

Mrs Richards: He is.

Manuel: Ah... Mr Fawlty.

Mrs Richards: What?

Manuel: Fawlty.

Mrs Richards: What are you talking about you, you silly little man [I often shout this phrase at the radio when listening to 702 ABC talk back]. (turns to Polly, Mr Thurston having gone) What is going on here? I ask him for my room, and he tells me the manager's a Mr Watt and he's aged forty.

Manuel: No. No. Fawlty.

Mrs Richards: Faulty? What's wrong with him?

Polly: It's all right, Mrs Richards. He's from Barcelona.

Shame to stop now but there's more, so much more, from this episode, choc-full of nutty goodness. Stay tuned.

Fawlty Feb: Day Eight and Nine

OK, I'm cheating a little because I'm so strapped for time but also because this is one of the greatest episodes and has so much "stuff" it's surely enough to make up for two days' worth of Fawlty Feb.

From: The Germans (the sixth episode of the first series, broadcast 24 October, 1975)

*A little note for those not familiar with Fawlty Towers, Basil is particularly manic in this scene because he's just released himself from hospital after getting concusion after the moose head fell on him. So his gibbering is more ridiculous and out of control than usual.*

Basil: Right, right, here's the plan. I'll stand there and ask them if they want something to drink before the war... before their lunch... don't mention the war! (He moves in front of the guests, bows, and mimes and eating and drinking)

2nd German: Can we help you?

Basil: (gives a startled jump) Ah... you speak English.

2nd German: Of course.

Basil: Ah, wonderful. Wunderbar! Ah - please allow me to introduce myself - I am the owner of Fawlty Towers, and may I welcome your war, your wall, you all... and hope that your stay will be a happy one. Now would you like to eat first, or would you like a drink before the war... ning that, er, trespassers will be - er, er - tied up with piano wire ... Sorry! Sorry! (clutches his thigh) Bit of trouble with the old leg ... got a touch of shrapnel in the war... Korean, Korean war, sorry, Korean.

2nd German: Thank you, we will eat now.

Basil: Oh good, please do allow me. May I saw how pleased we are to have some Europeans here now that we are on the Continent...

[...]

Basil: I didn't vote for it myself, quite honestly, but now that we're in I"m determined to make it work, so I'd like to welcome you all to Britain. The plaice is grilled, but that doesn't matter, there's life in the old thing yet... No, wait a minute, I got a bit confused there. Oh yes, the plaice is grilled... in fact the whole room's a bit warm, isnt' it... I"ll open a window, have a look... and the veal chop is done with rosemary... that's funny, I thought she'd gone to Canada... and is delicious and nutritious... in fact it's veally good... veally good?

2nd German: The veal is good?

Basil: Yes, doesn't matter, doesn't matter, never mind.

1st German: May we have two eggs mayonnaise, please?

Basil: Certainly, why not, why not indeed? We are all friends now, eh?

2nd German: (heavily) A prawn cocktail...

Basil: All in the market together, old differences forgotten, and no need at all to mention the war... Sorry! Sorry, what was that again?

2nd German: A prawn cocktail.

Basil: Oh, prawn, that was it. When you said prawn I thought you said war. Oh, the war! Oh yes, completely slipped my mind, yes, I'd forgotten all abot it. Hitler, Himmler, and all that lot, oh yes, completely forgotten it, just like that (snaps his fingers)... Sorry, what was it again?

2nd German: (with some menace) A prawn cocktail...

Basil: Oh yes, Eva Prawn... and Goebbels, too, he's another one I can hardly remember at all.

1st German: And ein pickled herring!

Basil: Herman Goering, yes, yes... and von Ribbentrop, that was another one.

1st German: And four cold meat salads, please.

Basil: Certainly, well, I"ll just get your hors d'oeuvres... hors d'oeuvres vich must be obeyed at all times without question... Sorry! Sorry!

Polly: Mr Fawlty, will you please call your wife immediately?

Basil: Sybil! Sybil! ... she's in the hospital, you silly girl.

Polly: Yes, call here there!

Basil: I can't, I've got too much to do. Listen... (whispers through his teeth) Don't mention the war... I mentioned it once, but I think I got away with all right ... (he returns to his guests) So it's all forgotten now and let's hear no more about it. So that's two eggs mayonnaise, a prawn Goebbels, a Hermann Goering and four Colditz salads... no, wait a moment, I got a bit confused there, sorry... (one of the German ladies has begun to sob) I got a bit confused because everyone keeps mentioning the war, so could you...

The second German, who is comforting the lady, looks up angrily.

Basil: What's the matter?

2nd German: It's all right.

Basil: Is there something wrong?

2nd German: Will you stop talking about the war?

Basil: Me? You started it!

2nd German: We did not start it.

Basil: Yes you did, you invaded Poland...

Fawlty Feb: Day Seven

My favourite... duck surprise. Who can ever forget this wonderful scene?

Basil: Yes. Lucky old bin, I say! So this is your new menu.

Colonel Hall: Duck with orange... duck with cherries... duck surprise?

Mrs Twitchen: What's duck surprise?

Basil: Ah... that's duck without orange or cherries.

Sorry, short and sweet tonight. Good night.

Fawlty Feb: Day Six

Has this kid been taking lessons from my Marianna? Or possibly watching too much Junior Masterchef?

From: Gourmet Night (the fifth episode of the first series, broadcast 17 October, 1975)

Ronald: Haven't you got any proper chips?

Basil: Well these are proper. French Fried Potatoes. You see the chef is Continental.

Ronald: Couldn't you get an English one?

Mrs Heath: (to Ronald) Why don't you eat just one or two, dear?

Ronald: They're the wrong shape.

Basil: Oh dear - what shape do you usually have? Mickey Mouse shape? Smarties shape? Amphibious landing craft shape? Poke in the eye shape?

Ronald: ... God, you're dumb.

Mrs Heath: Oh, now...

Basil: (controlling himself) Is there something we can get you instead, Sonny?

Ronald: I'd like some bread and salad cream.

Basil: ... To eat? Well... (pointing) there's the bread, and there's the mayonnaise.

Ronald: I said salad cream, stupid.

Basil: We don't have any salad cream. The chef made this (indicating the mayonnaise) freshly this morning.

Ronald: What a dump?

Mr Heath: (offering Ronald the mayonnaise) This is very good.

Mrs Heath: (coldly) He likes salad cream.

Ronald: (to Basil) That's puke, that is.

Basil: Well, at least it's fresh puke.

Mrs Heath: (shocked) Oh dear!

Basil: (indignantly) Well, he said it!

Mrs Heath: (loftily) May I ask why you don't have proper salad cream, I mean most restaurants...

Basil: Well, the chef only buys it on special occasions, you know, gourmet nights and so on, but... when he's got a bottle - ah! - he's a genius with it. He can unscrew the cap like Robert Carrier. It's a treat to watch him. (he mimes) And then... right on your plate! None on the walls! Magic! He's a wizard with a tin-opener too. He got a Pulitzer Prize for that. He can have the stuff in the saucepan before you can say haute cuisine. You name it, he'll heat it up and scrape it off the pan for you. Mind you, skill like that isn't picked up overnight. Still, I'll tell him to get some salad cream, you never know when Henry Kissinger is going to drop in, do you.

And on the subject of Gourmet Nights...

Sybil: Andre thinks Thursday nights would be best.

Basil: Thursdays?

Andre: I think so.

Basil: Right. And on the other nights we'll just have a big trough of baked beans and garnish it with a couple of dead dogs.

Mmmm, doesn't that sound yummy?

Fawlty Feb: Day Five

Some people...

From: The Hotel Inspector (the fourth episode of the first series, broadcast 10 October, 1975)

Basil: ... if anybody wants you?

Hutchison: I'll be in the lounge. (goes into the bar)

Basil: (calling after him) Anyone in particular?... I mean, Henry Kissinger?... or just anyone with a big net? (goes into the office, where Sybil sits filing her nails) I don't know what it is about this place... I mean, some of the people we get here...

A little later...

Basil: I'm on the telephone.

Hutchison: Well, you haven't finished dialling yet, have you? (he puts his finger on the receiver rest, cutting Basil off; Basil slams the receiver down; Hutchison gets his finger away just in time) Now listen... there is a documentary tonight on BBC2 on Squawking Bird, the leader of the Blackfoot Indians in the late 1860s. Now this commences at eight forty-five and goes on for approximately three-quarters of an hour.

Basil: I'm sorry, are you talking to me?

Hutchison: Indeed I am, yes. Now, is it possible for me to reserve the BBC2 channel for the duration of this televisual feast?

Basil: Why don't you talk properly.

Hutchison: I bet your pardon?

Basil: No, it isn't.

Hutchison: What?

Basil: It is not possible to reserve the BBC2 channel from the commencement of this televisual feast until the moment of the termination of its ending. Thank you so much.

I'm personally going to try very hard to incorporate the term "televisual feast" into my every day vocabulary.

Fawlty Feb: Day Four

[Better late than never.]

From: The Wedding Party (the third episode of the first series, broadcast 3 October, 1975)

Sybil: Tell them you made a mistake.

Basil: Oh, brilliant. Is that what made Britain great? "I'm so sorry I made a mistake". What have you got for a brain - spongecake?

And while we're on the topic of Australian politics, here's what Basil has to say about women a little later in the same episode. I find it's a little bit more amusing if I insert the words Julia Gillard and Kristina Keneally where he refers to "women" and "my wife". I'm so easily amused.

Basil: I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, but my wife has made a mistake, I don't know how she did it, but she did, she's made a complete pudding of the whole thing as usual, it'll be perfectly all right for you to stay. I've sorted it all out, I'm frightfully sorry but you know what women are like, they've only got one brain between the lot of them, well not all of them but some of them have, particularly my wife...

True [S]Grit

Our date night movie on Friday night was True Grit. Oh! the blissful anticipation. The Coen brothers at the helm, Matt Damon, Jeff Bridges... it was a wealth of riches and the reviews were good, even from my sister.

So you know I really wanted to enjoy this film, I wanted to love it, adore it, worship the ground it's reels rolled on. But I didn't.

I can't write a coherent review because I just have a bunch of random thoughts about it (it was so slow moving I had ample time to have random thoughts... and I had many):

* It was like a Jane Austen novel in the wild west. All that witty banter, so right in Pride and Prejudice, so wrong in True Grit.

* The sight of Matt Damon in western gear with those spurs.... oooh... um... what was I saying?

* Matt Damon was amazing, gorgeous, wonderful in Good Will Hunting.

* Jeff Bridges is very hard to understand. After a while I gave up squinting at the screen in the hope of understanding what he was saying.

* Jeff Bridges was very excellent in The Big Lebowski.

* The Coen brothers are capable of such wonderful filmaking: Raising Airzona, Barton Fink, Fargo, The Big Lebowski... even No Country For Old Men. Why this?

* If you spend millions (many) on a high calibre movie hire someone to check the details. E.g. if a girl swims through a river behind a horse she will get out dripping wet; if a man gets shot through the back of his jacket, through his shoulder, there will be more than just a clean hole where the bullet went through... there will be blood on the jacket, at least there will be black gun residue.

* A 14 year old girl, no matter how feisty, will be raped quick smart when left out in the wilderness with a bunch of outlaws.

* This story would have worked much better as a dark tale, with the inheritent dangers built up and played out, rather than as a quaint period drama with an emphasis on beautiful [clean] costumes and flowery language.

Sorry Ethan and Joel, you've really missed the mark with this one and I can't believe this has received such glowing reviews. Did we all see the same film?

Fawlty Feb: Day Three

Since we're on a roll with O'Reilly... and since I've been thinking of Julia Gillard...

From: The Builders (the second episode of the first series, broadcast 26 September, 1975)

Sybil: O'Reilly, I have seen more intelligent creatures than you lying on their backs at the bottoms of ponds. I have seen better organised creatures than you running around farmyards with their heads cut off.

Disasterpointment

I think that's what the commercial media are feeling this morning. I just don't think Yasi gave them the desired level of disaster and destruction, certainly no lives lost (thank goodness). Yes, houses have lost roofs, banana crops have been "devestated" and I'm sure a few smaller towns like Mission Beach are a real mess but I just get the feeling that's not enough.

The term "disaster porn" has been put out there and I love it. The media has been wallowing in it big time - the bushfires, the mine disasters, the floods, now Cyclone Yasi. They just can't get enough of this nonsense in the guise of keeping us updated with latestest (non)developments.

This constant, on-the-spot reporting of absolutely nothing is really stupid. It's hanging around waiting for something to happen and filling in the time with gibberish. For the dumb viewer like me it's emotionally draining and of no particular use. For the people really experiencing these emergencies I'm sure the "news" coverage is of no use whatsoever - most have their power cut and would be relying on radio news if they have access to battery powered radios.

What I really hate is the emotive language used in these constant reports. It's always the "worst ever", "terrible", "horrific", "devestating", "carnage", "apocolyptic". Words that inspire panic and dread but don't really tell us anything about the situation in specific terms.

This is the evolution of the sort of news reporting which hatched out of September 11. I blame CNN.

While there were (hopefully) no deaths as a result of Yasi there was at least a gift from the media gods, a Yasi Baby. All is not lost.

Fawlty Feb: Day Two

I think we can all relate to how Basil is feeling here - tradesmen can drive you to despair (nevermind that I can never look at Garden Gnomes the same way again).

From: The Builders (the second episode of the first series, broadcast 26 September, 1975)

Basil: (back on the phone) Now look here, O'Reilly. I want my dining-room door put back in and the other one taken out by one o'clock, you understand? ... No, no, I don't want a debate about it. If you're not here in twenty minutes with my door, I shall come over and insert a large garden gnome in you. Good day.

And now a few wise words from O'Reilly himself...

O'Reilly: Well, let me tell you, if the Lord had meant us to worry he would have given us things to worry about.

Basil: He has! My wife! She will be back here in four hours and she can kill a man at ten paces with one blow of her tongue. How am I supposed not to worry?

O'Reilly: (calmly) Just remember Mr Fawlty, there's always somebody worse off than yourself.

Basil: Is there? Well I'd like to meet him. I could do with a laugh.

O'Reilly: You'll have to worry for the both of us. I tell you, if the Good Lord...

Basil: Is mentioned once more, I shall move you closer to him. Now, please...

Fawlty Feb: Day One

I can hear the groans from around the world.

Oh no, Sweet Baby Jesus, she's really going to do it.

Because you're either with us or against us and if you're against us then February is not going to be a happy month for you here in Chez Deep Kick.

So without any further fanfare may I present the first Fawlty Towers' quote of my choice (there will be 27 more, in no particular order).

Enjoy... or not.

From: A Touch of Class (the first episode of the first series, broadcast 19 September, 1975)

Sybil: I don't know why you wanted to hire him, Basil.

Basil: (sitting at typewriter) Because he's cheap and keen to learn, dear. And in this day and age such....

Sybil: But why did you say you could speak the language?

Basil: I learnt classical Spanish, not the strange dialect he seems to have picked up.

Sybil: It'd be quicker to train a monkey.*

* This is one of my favourite quotes and I use it, and variations of it, on an almost daily basis. Try it... it's so satisfying.