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

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

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

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

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

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

My reality:

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

Snow (Hey Oh)
Red Hot Chili Peppers
Stadium Arcadium

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First night back:














CUUUUUTTTE!

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







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


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

Probably best to let the pics tell the story:
















Christmas Day at Nanna's.





































Boxing Day at Dave and Karen's.


















All this fun is hard work.










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



















The famous Broome sunset.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy birthday to YOU!!!

Happy birthday Julia, you gorgeous girl.

Hope you have a great day, week and year.

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

Anatomy 101

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

You learn a new thing every day.

Weddings:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep breath in, deep breath out...

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

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

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

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

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

Fabulous, darling!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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