Free Barry Hall
Free, Free, Free, Barry Hall
Free Barry Hall

Twenty-one hours before the judiciary
His shorts too tight to fit his meat*
His body's buffed but his mind is still free
Are you so blind that you cannot see
I say Free Barry Hall
I'm begging you Free Barry Hall

Sing with me now....

Don't let this travesty happen... write to your local member... write to the PM... write to EVERYBODY!

[*Give me a break. It's hard to find something to rhythm with "feet".]

I know the Swans can win without him but he deserves to be there on Grand Final Day. It would be just horrible for him to miss out, I can't bear the thought! Please keep all your appendages crossed for Big Bazza.

Well, it all started last Friday night. The Swans played a magnificent game. I really can't fault it. After a pretty shitty third quarter, during which the umpire gave a free kick against Sydney each and every time they touched another player (hello, it's a bloody contact sport!!!), the fourth quarter was just mind blowing. They all ran on with a confidence which had to be seen to be believed and they kicked goal after goal, just about everyone had a go. It was fan-bloody-tastic!

So for those who have been living under a rock this past week - the mighty Sydney Swans are into the 2005 AFL Grand Final for the first time since 1996. If they win it will be the first time since 1933 (when they were still South Melbourne). The only blight on our joy is that Barry Hall, the Big Bazza, our galant captain, has been charged for giving that St Kilda cry baby, Matt Maguire, a little tap on the tummy. Boo bloody hoo. You should have seen that faker rolling around on the ground like he was dying. The Academy Award goes to... the big sissy boy from St Kilda.

OK, deep breath now. Relax. Think calm thoughts. Gentle waves on a golden beach.... Aaahhh.

Onto a very different topic now. After the excitement of Friday night, Jason and I went to the movies on Saturday afternoon. A movie that moves you, that touches you, that really says something about our lives as human beings is so rare these days it may as well be called "Dodo" or the "Tasmanian Tiger", more a rumour, a romantic idea, than a reality. But "Look Both Ways" is proof that such a movie exists... I have seen it with my own eyes and it was truly wonderful. "Look Both Ways" is a relatively new Australian film starring no-name Australian actors (familiar only to viewers of Australian soaps). It's a very simple film, touching on the lives of a few people in a small, fictional South Australian town on a particular scortching hot summer weekend. I didn't realise the emotional impact it was having on me until I found that I had silent tears streaming down my face during the last ten minutes of the film. Very gentle, very thought provoking, very beautiful, very optimistic. I simply loved it.

Saturday night we were invited to my sister's gorgeous new flat for a house warming party. It was very enjoyable, surprisingly. I admit to some trepidation at having to spend an evening with a flat full of gorgeous twentysomethings but they were all lovely, easy to talk to and fun. There was even an old fogey couple like us who were also film buffs - so instant friendship right there. Got home at 12:30 am - way past our bedtime. Aren't we hip and happenin'??!!

Picked Will up Sunday morning, enjoyed a fabulous old fashioned breakfast at Bondi with dad and grandma. Then drove back to the 'burbs for lunch with our dear friends M and G and their gorgeous little girls L and E (Will's great friends). Nothing lazing about on a Sunday afternoon with good friends, yummy food and warm Spring weather. Then a bit of Rugby League on the telly to round off the day (GO Tigers!).


Last night I had a dream... it was sort of like Martin Luther King's dream, but much more X-rated. I have to put it down to the overall Swans fever encompassing my universe right now but it involved one Ryan O'Keefe.
I know that at the age of 24 he is young enough to be my... um... younger brother... but a girl can dream can't she!
I may be old but I'm not dead. Anyway, I won't go into the nitty gritty details but let's just say I will be shouting out Ryan's name with a brand new enthusiasm on Saturday afternoon...

My love of Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons and all things KISS are well documented. In fact, this is probably one of my longest running love affairs, starting at around the age of 10 or 11 and continuing to the present day. Sure there were others in those heady, pre-teen days of the late 70s (Leif Garrett, Shaun Cassidy, Bay City Rollers... yikes) but none have stood the test of time like those wild boys from Queens, NY.

I had sexual feelings for Paul Stanley before I even knew what sexual feelings were. I have such vivid memories of listening to the Dynasty album with my friend and smirking lewdly (though naively) at "Charisma" - not knowing what the word meant but being sure it was "rude" since Gene sung it in such a suggestive manner.

I will never forgive my mother for not allowing me to see them live in 1980 - it is a deep-seated saddness within me which I will one day need qualified psychiatric assistance to dislodge. Seeing them live when they did their "final" world tour (two or three tours ago) was one of the greatest moments of my life. Sure they were getting old, sure my beloved Ace and Peter were beyond pathetic... but they were still larger than life and still pounding out the songs I love so much.

For despite their questionable sex-appeal (which for me has dwindled considerably over the years) their songs still have tremendous power over me. Of course there are the anthems: "Rock'n'Roll All Nite", "Detroit Rock City" and "Shout It Out Loud". There are the rock your socks off songs: "Strutter", "God of Thunder", "King of the Nighttime World", "I Was Made For Loving You", "Deuce", etc. But the songs I really love are the "smaller" songs, the album tracks which didn't make the charts: "Hard Luck Woman" (a Peter Criss classic, done beautifully by Garth Brooks on the "Kiss My Ass" tribute album), "Beth" (another Peter Criss ballad, which I actually thought was a tender love song - in my innocent days - before I listened again and realised he was saying he wasn't coming home because he would be out rehearsing with the boys - he's no SNAG, that P. Criss), "2,000 Man" and "New York Groove" (both from Ace Frehely's solo album).

All this reminiscing brings me to "Rock School". For those who haven't had the pleasure it's the latest catch from the shallow end of the reality tv pool and it stars the unquestionable lord and master of the KISS universe, Gene Simmons. Having read his biography recently I have no misconceptions about Mr Simmons. He is a man who knows what he wants (money, fame and power) and he knows how to get it (by flogging to death every conceivable, and sometimes inconceivable, merchandising opportunity for the "KISS" brand). Whatever one might think about his ambitions in life one thing is true - there is no bullshit about his ideas, his motives or his focus. It's refreshing in a world of music stars who don't discuss the business side of their careers, swanning through life as if they were some sort of holier-than-thou deity.

I digress. The idea of "Rock School" is simple, though incredibly stupid: put rock god Gene Simmons into a stuck up, 200 years behind the times, poshy posh boarding school in Bugger-upon-Avon, England; mix in a handful of butter-wouldn't-melt-in-their-mouths, love classical music, don't like rock music, stodgy teenagers. Purpose? Create a teenage rock band to open for upcoming Motorhead concert.

To be honest I was excited at the idea when I first heard about it. Only because it was KISS related and I thought they may do something "interesting" with the idea. What a fool I was! From the first few moments of the first episode I knew it would be crappola of the highest order. First of all there is very little of anything interesting to show so the majority of screen time is filled up with images of Gene striding around the staid surroundings of the school, all long leather coat, big black boots and rock star sunglasses. Then there are the bits where he tells the poor, pouting children how much they suck (in a mistaken belief that they will rebel and show him how good they really are).

These children are freaks (though I'm sure their parents are awfully proud). They just aren't into rock or pop music so a demonic rock idol like the fire-breathing Mr Simmons would seem from another universe to them. When he asks them to have a "rock attitude" he might as well be speaking Swahili. These are placid, well behaved children who obviously haven't seen a single minute of MTV and therefore might as well have been living in a cave on a desert island. For someone who has grown up living and breathing popular culture it is very hard for me to believe such children exist outside of remote tribes in Papua New Guinea.

Gene chooses the singer from the group because this young man seems to be the "outsider" (and Gene seems to think all good lead singers are such because of their outsider status). I'm not so sure. This kid is a geek amongst mega-geeks. He speaks Elvish! Enough said. Watching him trying to emulate the sort of rock performance he has never actually seen is cringe-a-fying (?). Singing and performing rock music is as alien to him as the possibility of a platonic relationship with an attractive woman is to Gene Simmons.

Over the weeks things simply haven't improved. The kids are still terrible. Gene is still sauntering around the school with his faux demonic demeanor. Next week is the final episode where the "big performance" will be unveiled. Despite some careful editing I fear it will be a terrible fiasco. I cannot fathom how it could turn out OK and I cannot fathom why anyone (especially myself) would care.

Having invested the past 6 or 8 weeks of my life in this television stupidity I must stick it out to the end. As I watch the aging Gene Simmons strutting around I try to recall how he used to make me feel. How I would sit in the darkness of our attic, listening to a KISS album through my headphones and I would imagine that if I was ever in danger that Paul or Gene would come to my rescue and we would... well, I didn't really know at that point in time but I knew it was something naughty but wonderful. I try to reconcille those pre-pubescent, romantic dreams with the wrinkled, foul-mouthed, middle-aged man I see now and a part of me is very sad for what is lost and a part of me wants to play "Detroit Rock City" really loud and jump around like a maniac. Life is strange.

Nick Davis should be stuffed and mounted! This average, dare I say daggy, young man single handedly pulled the Sydney Swans from the jaws of defeat and what a sweet victory it was.

I had spent three and a half quarters of Friday night's crucial game against Geelong cursing the Swans, the SCG, the Geelong fans and myself (for thinking that following a football team was an enjoyable hobby). The Swans were down and out the entire game, there was little hope but this game was proof that one should never give up hope and young Nick certainly didn't!

The majority of the game varied from boring to painful and shades of inbetween. I admit, I was the epitome of a bad fan. I whined, I whinged, I said bad things about all the players, the coach and anyone and everyone associated with AFL and the Sydney Swans. It was not pretty and in hindsight I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. But that was then and this is now. "Now" being the pride I feel as I bask in the warmth of being a supporter of the winning team. I want to enjoy this feeling for I don't know how long it may last. Dare I hope that the Swans beat St Kilda on Friday night and thus caterpault themselves into the Grand Final? Oh, I can only dream. And then.... wonder of wonders... should I even allow myself to dream the impossible dream... to be victorious over the seemingly unstoppable Adelaide or be second time lucky over the powerful West Coast Eagles on last Sunday in September?

While it was certainly an exciting start to my weekend there was more fun to come. On Saturday afternoon we took Will to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I have only dim recollections of the original with Gene Wilder so I didn't have alot of concrete expections this time around. Well, Johnny Depp is a genuis! Who could have known all those years ago that the skinny upstart on 21 Jump Street was going to grow up and be someone special! I have enjoyed his work for many years - from "What's Eating Gilbert Grape?" to "Ed Wood" to "Chocolat" - but he really was perfect as the demented chocolate king Willy Wonka. If you haven't seen it but plan to, watch out for the early scene where he starts to take the children on the tour of his chocolate factory. The look of disgust (at the children) on his face is priceless. It was certainly on the dark side for a children's film (though Will really enjoyed it and said it was "funny") I thought it could have been much darker and would have been better for it (but then it would have been more of an adult's film so I guess it wouldn't have really worked). Highly recommended.

Sunday included a less than average yum cha experience at the Marigold in the city. Normally this is one of our favourites but it was annoying on a number of levels this time around. First off, they have this maddening habit of standing each group next to a table of people who are just about to go. So you end up hovering uncomfortably next to a table full of people who are ready to go but haven't actually left. You block the aisle and the trolleys have to barge past you. Then the waiters come and clean up the table while you hang about some more. Not good! Then, when we actually sat down, we realised it was bloody freezing in the restaurant - I mean meat isle of the supermarket freezing. As it was a wonderfully warm day outside we were all fairly lightly dressed and were quickly shivering like little penguins adrift on an iceberg. Let's face it, you don't go to yum cha for the silver service. It's basic and that's fine. But this time the waiters seemed to be straight out of some Siberian gulag, glaring at us, throwing down drinks and utensils in a most unhospitable manner. Despite enjoying the usual array of dumplings, ribs, noodles and chinese tea I really couldn't wait to get the heck out of there. Back to East Ocean next time!

If you want to laugh until you wet your pants - the only way to laugh in my opinion - go to this site NOW:

http://maddox.xmission.com/

It's not for the feint hearted, it's totally UN-pc (bring it on!!!) and it is bloody, bloody funny! I can only take it in small doses as my face starts to hurt and I cry (in a good way).

Maddox - I think I love you in a totally unwholesome, very wrong and broken way.

I don't know why I keep doing Market Research. I got hooked a few years ago and now I can't stop. I've tried following Nancy Regan's suggestion of just saying "No" but it hasn't worked. It can't be the money that keeps me coming back - I mean I earn a decent income, we're not exactly on "Struggle Street" as Alan Jones would put it. The $60 or $70 I get from each session is nice, it's a bit of luxury money which can be blown on a meal out or on a pair of shoes without a tiniest amount of guilt, but it certainly doesn't put us into the next tax bracket (especially since this "gift" always comes in cold, hard cash without any papertrail connecting me with the Tax Office).

It's certainly not the fact that these MR excursions usually mean travelling here, there and everywhere and getting home way past my bedtime. I have parked in dark alleys in Parramatta, walked half a dozen blocks through the city late at night and on one memorable occassion had a bunch of teenage boys throw water at me (long story... don't ask!) as I walked to a session at Ultimo.

I can only surmise that what keeps me coming back is the thing that I hate the most about Market Research - the freaks! It's a love/hate relationship and one that's very hard to break off.

Take last night for example. The freakiness started early, at the phone interview stage in fact. In the good old, innocent days of Market Research they would just call me up, confirm age, employment and marital status, ask a basic question or two about whether I ate pasta or used the phone and then off I'd go. Recently just getting through the phone interview can be a harrowing and often unrewarding experience. Having limited wartime experience myself I would nevertheless compare it to walking through a minefield. The questions go on for half an hour and one wrong answer and you've blown it.

E.g. Interviewer: "Do you eat XYZ cereal?"
Me: "Yes."
Inteviewer: "How often do you eat it?"
Me: (starting to panic) "A few times a week..."
Interviewer: "Can you be more specific?"
Me: (what the *&#$ is the right answer!!!) "Twice a week..."
Interviewer: "Sorry, we only need people who eat it three times a week. We'll call if another opportunity arises."

Oh, how I mentally kick myself. IF ONLY I had said THREE... I should have known that two was not enough and four was probably too many. Then I start hating myself for even staying on the phone with these modern day inquisitors for more than five minutes. "Why am I such a sucker?" I ask myself. Next time I'll just tell to go &*$# themselves, that's what I'll do!!!!

To get into last night's session I had to survive two gruelling interviews. The first was quite bizarre and involved the very helpful girl interviewer feeding me a lot of the right answers (they must have been getting desperate). Then two days later they rang to confirm my "answers" and to put the icing on the cake asked me what three famous people I would have over for dinner and why. This might seem like a fun dinner party conversation topic but they had rung while I was having lunch with friends and I was tucked into the corner of their living room, being curiously observed, as I frantically tried to think of who I'd invite to my fictional dinner party and why. For the first few terrifying seconds I couldn't even think of anyone famous. My idiotic thought process ran along the lines of: I would have John Cusack... but no, I can't, he smokes, I couldn't have him over for dinner because I hate disgusting smokers. Oh shit, who else? Um, um, um... Finally I blurt out: "Gus Van Sant." What the...? Sure I think he's a great director (except for that diabolical "Psycho" remake) but I had never considered him someone to covet as a dinner party guest. Then I was on a roll... "Kevin Smith" I almost yell. Oh yeah, he'd be cool. Then I stumble... I can't have another director, we'd be director top heavy and that wouldn't make for a fun dinner party. Oh MY GOD... who else? My brain races around like a rat on speed. Out of nowhere "Billy Connolly" drops in. The relief is unimaginably wonderful. I can hear by the young man's voice on the other end of line that he is less than impressed with my choices but I "pass" and he tells me he'll email the details to me on Monday. To get this far I have spent a good half hour on the phone and have added at least 10 gray hairs from the stress of "getting it right".

It gets to last night and I soooo not want to go. I'm home, I'm cosy... the last thing I want to do is drive to North Sydney and talk shit about pay TV (the theme for last night's MR session). But the draw of the freaks pulls me in... I don't want to go but the curiosity is too hard to fight. So there I am.. the invite said to arrive at 7:55 pm for an 8:00 pm start. We don't start until 8:20 pm - I am getting tired and annoyed and we haven't even started yet.

As we go around the table with the obligatory brief introductions I start to get drawn into the world of the losers around the table (hey, I'm not a loser... I'm just conducting a valid social experiment). There's always one stand out but luckily we had two last night. There was Yummy Mummy (hereto thereafter to be referred to as YM) and Stupid Anti-American Cow (SAAC). YM introduced herself by talking about how much breastfeeding, giggle, giggle, she was doing right now and SAAC told us all about her wholistic wellness centre which she had recently opened with her husband - did anyone want a business card? Now I've got as much time for wholistic wellness centres as I have for Seventh Day Adventists knocking on my door at 8:00 am on a Sunday morning so I'm probably not the best judge but this bird was no advertisement for any sort of "wellness", wholistic or otherwise. She was one very, very fat lady (not being rude, just the facts) and she had that lovely make up technique professionally known as caking it on with a trowel. As I was lucky enough to sit next to her I got to examine the concrete like texture of her face and it was not a pretty sight.

YM was just a dingbat, no excuses. I love the people who are full of useless, meandering stories which have nothing to do with the task at hand. We are all tired, bored and talking shit about a subject we really don't care about just to get our 70 bucks and here is YM telling us all about her holiday to Africa. Here's some news for you YM - we don't care! Shut up! Then to really prove her credentials as a MENSA candidate she starts complaining about how the Discovery channel is now "too far away" since they've gone digital. I can only assume she meant that being a channel with a high number it was "far away" when one was flicking through the channels. But who knows what goes on in the void known as YM's brain...

SAAC was a real joy. One of my pet peevs at the moment is that so many Australians are on the "we hate America/Americans" bandwagon. I don't even want to get started on that one... But SAAC just went on and on. Since we were previewing and commenting on new shows they were trialling for some of the pay TV channels some of them happened to be American shows. One in particular was a documentary series featuring a charismatic American guy whose dream was to create the first US based performance motorbike to challenge the Japanese and European bikes at the world's MotoGP races. Despite myself I really found I enjoyed the segment we got to watch. This guy was passionate, articulate and not too hard on the eye. The documentary style was engaging and interesting, great music, etc. So what does SAAC have to say? "I hated all the American flag waving, it just makes me sick!" Yeah, it's so offensive when peolple are patriotic and proud of their country... how dare they! Finally I could take no more! "We don't all hate Americans, so can we just get on with it!" I snapped much to (sad) SAAC's surprise.

Because of all the stupid, irrelevant and just plain boring side-trips into Freakland we took the session didn't end until 10:40 pm - 40 minutes later than anticipated. As I walked to my car through the dark, lonely streets of North Sydney I contemplated better, easier, more fun ways of earning $70 for four hours of my time and came up with prostitution. Surely sex with a total stranger would not only yield more than $70 for four hours (what are the going rates these days?) but would also be more enjoyable and thought provoking than listening to the moronic opinions of eight drongos who have nothing better to do on a Thursday night (remember ... social experiment...). Maybe I should just live with the guilt of spending $60 of "real" money on a Thai take away and just get on with my life...

For those of you who get the ACC newsletter here is a sneak preview of the upcoming "Kathy's Korner"; for those of you who don't ... I am the editor of the aforementioned newsletter and write a regular column as per above.

WARNING: The subject of this column is our adoption "wait" so if you are heartily sick of the entire topic (as I am) please skip this blog installment and come visit again soon.

Kathy's Korner

After surviving our first adoption I thought the second time around would be a walk in the park. I mean we no longer feared our social worker, were reasonably confident that we would be approved (after all we had managed to love, nurture and generally care for our son for over two years by the time we commenced our second adoption) and thought we were well prepared for the vagaries of the adoption process.

As always, when you are too smug, life has a way of turning around and biting you on the bottom. Our first “bite” came when it became clear that we would not be able to adopt our second child from Guatemala (where our son was born). Despite numerous assurances from the powers that be (or “those whose names should not be mentioned” for the Harry Potter fans) when it came down to the crunch we were railroaded into choosing another program.

To be honest, part of me was somewhat relieved. It was such a tough and anxiety-ridden slog battling through the unknowns of the Guatemalan adoption process that it felt good to be going with a well-established, running-like-a-well-oiled-machine program. This is when “bite” number two came up. Little did we know that as we were choosing to go with the Colombian program, the Colombian government were choosing to introduce reforms which were to result in uncertainty for adoptive families and much greater waiting times.

We went from the frypan and into the fire.

Which brings me to another lesson from my favourite book – “Adoption for Dummies” – waiting does not get easier the second (or subsequent) time around.

At first the idea of “waiting” didn’t seem frightening at all. After all, we were expecting a reasonably short wait and having got through an eleven month wait AFTER allocation the first time, I really didn’t think there would be much to phase us this time.

“Bite” number three! It turns out that I wasn’t immune to the anxieties, worries and nail-biting the second time around. After what I considered “the expected” waiting time the doubts and niggles started setting in. The little voices started whispering:

“What if our papers never arrived?”
“What if the program closes altogether?”
“What if it takes 2, 3, 5… years for the allocation… how long can we wait?”
“Should we cut our losses and move to another program?”
“What if…”

It was endless, annoying and insomnia-inspiring… just going around and around in my mind, like a broken record.

This mental state leads to what I like to call chronic tea leaf reading. This is a state where I would try to make some semblance of sense out of the wait by trying to pinpoint how much longer the wait would be. Since this is impossible and akin to finding the proverbial needle in a haystack it is really an exercise in futility but one that is hard to refrain from when you are a half-crazed, expectant adoptive parent.

For me tea leaf reading involves scouring every source I can find in order to get hints as to how long other families, wherever in the world they may be, have waited for their allocations. I would read all the Colombian email lists, question my friends who had completed their Colombian adoptions and attempt to coax clues from our faithful adoption coordinator. This is a process which generally meant I would put two and two together and end up with five (numerous panic attacks ensued). The information which I would glean from all these sources meant nothing – because each adoption story is different and individual, no two are alike. When it’s your turn it’s your turn and there’s nothing that can be done to predict or control this process.

For a control freak like me this is a terrible state of affairs. It goes against every fibre of my being to leave my life to the universe, to sit back and allow fate to do its work. Quite literally every atom in my body fights to find some means of controlling what is essentially an uncontrollable situation.

You might think that I would learn something, become somewhat philosophical but the truth is being aware of my “disease” does not allow me to “control” it. If anything, being “aware” just adds to my frustration.

My thought process also leads me to sadness. For while I grapple pointlessly to control this situation I think about the other people involved and I realise how little control they have. No matter how bad I feel I know that there is a birthmother out there who must feel a million times worse; a woman whose life situation has forced her to make one of the most difficult choices a person ever has to make. While I sit in my comfortable home, drive my nearly new car and work at a well-paid, white collar job, knowing that my family is well fed and that my son is getting the best education possible, I can only dare to imagine the life situation of a woman in far away Colombia who believes that relinquishing her child for adoption is the best gift she can ever give that baby.

These thoughts break my heart. They make me feel spoilt and selfish and unbelievably self-absorbed. They make me think that my desire to “control” the situation comes from a lifetime of finding ways to control whatever situation I find myself in and that there are many, many people in the world who struggle to find any sort of control in their day to day life.

I want to appreciate my luck, my privileged position, the incredible twist of fate which has brought me from a young life of near poverty in the former USSR to a cushioned, middle-class existence in the paradise we call our home, Australia. I desperately need to keep perspective and to understand that my “needs” are so very different to the real, life-threatening needs of the majority of the world’s population.

But all these philosophical, dare I say “noble” thoughts do little to help in the long run. I want to get “the call”. I want to know that our baby is a boy or a girl, how old they are and their name. I want to look at their photo and imagine holding them in my arms. I want the materialistic pleasure of shopping for my new child and preparing our home for their arrival. I want to plan our trip and talk happily with my husband about the details as we lay in bed at night. I want to ring our friends and family and tell them the exciting news and email our baby’s photo far and wide. I want to get on the plane and daydream about our first meeting, about our baby’s personality (will they like us? will we “gel” as quickly as we did with Will? or will this child take us down a different road?) and about our adventures in Colombia. I want to bring our baby home and watch them sleep in their cosy cot for the very first time.

These are the realities of my life. These are the things I yearn for. I think about and “feel” the other side of this coin but I can not change that. I want our life back. I want to stop jumping each time the phone rings. I want to regain my equilibrium and the joyous optimism with which I used to tackle each day and each project.

But I am, quite necessarily, the most insignificant of the adoption triad members, and I know that my “wants” count for absolutely nothing in the scheme of things. I will continue to wait and hope, for hope is what keeps us all taking the next step… and the next.

Well, that was exhausting... buying tickets for the Sydney Swans vs Geelong final series game for Friday night. You would think it would be a fairly simple exercise... get on-line, hit a few keys, put in your cc details and bob's your uncle. Well, nothing is that simple in the deep kick girl universe. My dear hubby J is about as obsessed with AFL and Rugby League as I am with our adoption (compare and contrast the level of life priority...). Ever since last Friday's devestating events (i.e. the Swans loosing to the Eagles, see more later) the big J has been devising and scheming ways for us to get tickets to this Friday night's game at the Sydney Cricket Ground. He had even managed to find a friend at work who is "best friends with the Chairman of the Geelong Football Club" and could get us tickets if all else failed.

My plan was simpler... get onto the Ticketek website and buy the tickets. It seemed like a simple plan. This is where it all went wrong. The website said this morning tickets would be on sale from 12:00 noon. Jason rang at 10:30 am to say he had a friend who worked at Ticketek (never heard of this friend) who said they would really be on sale from 11:00 am. So I start looking and refreshing from 11:00 am. Guess what? Nothing doing. Finally after a tedious hour of pointless refreshing the screen changes at noon, but, guess what... The dimwits at Ticketek forgot to include the "BUY NOW" button. I wouldn't presume to tell the techno nerds how to do their "job" but wouldn't you think a "BUY NOW" button would be a fairly obvious inclusion on a page where people like to... well... buy tickets!

So picture the scene... I'm on my PC, refreshing the Ticketek page (assuming that someone at TT will get their finger out of their bum and realise something isn't quite right), I'm hitting re-dial over and over on my phone... my sister is on the PC and phone next to me doing the exact same thing. Amongst this maddness we are trying to eat our bbq chicken and chips for lunch. The noise is horrendous and the action is chaotic. With my third arm I ring J and tell him to high-tail it to the nearest TT outlet in the city so he can purchase the tickets face to face. Then, miracle of miracles, at 12:25 pm, the TT geniuses come back from their coffee break and figure out the "BUY NOW" button problem. It appears, as if by magic, on my screen and within a few seconds tickets are found and purchased, the swearing, redialling and frantic keyboard punching stops. Calm returns to the office.

The need for this chaos began last Friday night, a night we were looking forward to with great excitement and a certain feeling of confidence. The Swans were going to kick some serious Eagle bottom over in WA, the state that time forgot. Well, it wasn't to be. Though it was a brilliant game, it was not a fine example of the running game I love but a great example of the physical, defensive, lay-your-body-on-the-line game which really gets the adrenalin going, the Swans lost by 4 points. It was terrible... it took years off my life. That fourth quarter was nearly unbearable. It made me question the wisdom of watching this game for relaxation (after all, isn't relaxation supposed to make you feel "good" and not like you've been run over by a herd of rhinos?). Even my darling Will stayed up until the end of the third quarter, at one point throwing himself down on the bed with a dismayed whisper of "oh, Swannies!".

Sunday morning we awoke with that feeling of "I really hope that was just a bad dream" but soon realised it wasn't. The horrific reality began to settle in. Luckily we had a lunch date with our friends T and R and their three wonderful kids. On the way we stopped at our friend's M's new clothing shop and burned a considerable hole in the battle weary credit card. It was a fun day with our friends, topped off with J being asked to be the "godfather" to T and R's youngest boy, J. As they explained they can have one non-religious godparent as long as the other one is religious, which is a lucky loophole for heathens like ourselves. It was lovely of them to ask and J is feeling very honoured.

Sunday was Father's Day and I was up early preparing for lunch. I even gave our dear moppet dog Mia a bath (which always makes me feel somewhat righteous because I don't do it anywhere near as often as I should). Lunch was the usual somewhat enjoyable, somewhat excruciating family meal. After everyone went home I did some more "righteous" work and filed a whole pile of paperwork and got out tax stuff to get ready for the accountant. My halo was absolutely sparkly.

Then my friend C and I went for a girly afternoon coffee and movie. We used to do it fairly regularly but lately haven't had the time, so it was nice. Unfortunately our choice of movie was piss weak, even on the girly movie side of things. We saw "PS" and I have to say it was the emotional equivalent of watching paint dry. It wasn't "bad", it wasn't funny, it was just nothing. The basic premise is lonley 39 year old university administrator Louise comes across a young student F. Scott (that drove me round the bend... F. Scott?... what the *&#$... how can you say that with a straight face? you try it...). He happens to be the spitting image of her teenage, ex-boyfriend who died in a car accident at 17. The ex-bf was an artist, the young kid is an artist, they have the same name (except for the ridiculous "F."). Bonking ensues, allegedly meaningful conversations abound. Then there's the bassethound eyed, sex-addict ex-husband, the slutty, "bad girl" best friend (with friends like these...), the ex-addict, now reformed brother. A textbook motley crew of "interesting" characters who really weren't that interesting. That was an hour and a half of my life that I'll never get back.

Not a lot to report. Feeling good, feeling positive right now. I've been watching "Adoption" on the Hallmark channel. I love that series (though most of the episodes we are getting are repeats of repeats, I don't mind). For those who haven't seen it it's a documentary series about adoption in the US - it focuses on all sides of the triad: adoptive parents, relinquishing mothers, adopted children. There are adoption stories (local and intercountry), there are reunion stories, there are adoption decision stories about relinquishing mothers in the US. What I like is they follow up too, doing a visit with a family a year or so after the adoption (or the "non" adoption as was the case last night where they visited a young woman who was planning to relinquish her daughter but decided not to). It's such a good show because it embraces all aspects of adoption in a warm, sympathetic but non-judgemental way.

When I watch it I feel happy and optimistic and oddly proud of being a member of this weird "adoption universe". Watching other people's stories, which are often very harrowing and turbulent and much, much more confronting and challenging than our own, I feel not only more perspective on our own situation but also a sort of elation that there are wonderful people in the world who will go above and beyond to adopt children who would otherwise have a very bleak future. There are families who adopt older, troubled children and teens, families who have adopted 10 children, families who adopt children with serious medical problems - sometimes knowing that the child will not have a long life but choosing to give them a loving family even if only for a few years. Often I cry tears of joy and sadness when I watch but it's the best kind of "reality tv".

Wednesday night we went to see "A View from the Bridge" at the Ensemble Theatre. It was a dress rehearsal and was put on as a charity event for the STaR Program. It's an Arthur Miller play so of course it was beautifully written and very powerful. The cast was also great. My only gripe would be the accents. Every play I've ever seen where Aussie actors have to play Americans the accents suck; they just can't seem to keep them consistent throughout the play. The accents fade in and out and each actor seems to be from a different part of the US - it's very confusing and distracting.

Tonight the mighty Swans (Swans really is a piss weak name for a tough AFL team, isn't it - why not call them the Sydney Gold Fish or the Sydney Kittens? wouldn't that strike terror into their oponents' hearts? "come here and we'll peck your eye out, argh!") take on the West Coast Eagles (Eagles - that's more like it, if you have to have a bird at least have a vicious one). West Coast are Jason's old team (being from Perth) so I'm sure he has some mixed feelings when the Swans come up against them (though he swears to being a die hard Sydney fan now). I'm looking forward to the game but I also know how tense I'm going to get and I don't know if I need any more tension right now (having at least temporarily achieved a state of peacefulness). But I'll give it a go - if it gets really bad I'll just do some housework or read a book while I watch the game (my equivalent of watching a horror movie from behind my fingers). Honestly I want the Swans to WIN so bad it hurts - they haven't won a Grand Final since 1933 so they're bloody well due for one, aren't they??!!

Oh, I should tape Will trying to sing the Swans' club song. It is so CUTE! He thinks he's singing the words but apart from a few here and there he is just singing nonsense to the right tune. Sing with me now "Cheer, cheer the red and the white, honour the name by day and by night...".

I feel somewhat like I’m leading a double life. There’s the “external” me who goes through the day to day routines of life, work, home, family in a reasonably “normal” way. To the casual outside observer I’m probably my usual self. I still manage to read with my gorgeous son in the evenings, I still manage to do something resembling work during the day and I even manage to watch Oz Idol and place my tips in the online tipping competition on a regular basis. But inside I feel hollow, a shell and I’m starting to fear I won’t regain my joie de viere (I’m sure this is horribly wrong and I apologise in advance to any French speakers and especially to JB who is gnashing her teeth as she reads this).

Yes, I realize this is pathetic, self-involved hand-wringing of the worst kind but I can not pull myself out of this dreadful state. It’s almost like I’ve been attacked by termites, they have eaten my foundations, my “soul”, my “me” and have left a façade which to all the world looks like the real deal. These termites are the adoption process and right now I wouldn’t recommend it to my worst enemy (of course the last sane part of my addled brain is yelling “she’s wrong, don’t listen to this crazy woman… it’s all worth it, the pain goes away, she’ll be singing a different tune soon…”).

But enough (for now) of these dark ramblings from the dark recesses of mind… Here’s an update from the real world…

Last Friday night we enjoyed the St Lucy’s Fundraising Ball. St Lucy’s is a special school for children with disabilities and our dear friend’s daughter attends. Each year they put on an extravaganza of monumental proportions in order to raise big bucks for various projects (this year it was a new playground and for the record they raised $120,000). Apart from it being on a Friday night (Friday not being a great night for me… tired, cranky… well, more than the usual) I managed to pull myself together, slap on some make up and away we went. It was generally a fun night. A great “party” band even had me up on the dance floor. The food was generally OK and there was a good atmosphere in the room.

However, a few points need to be made. There were two types of woman who stood out for me. There were the wealthy older corporate wives who had obviously had enough plastic surgery to make Michael Jackson envious. They looked like someone was dragging them backwards by their hair at all times, they couldn’t show an emotion to save their life and their eyebrows were only marginally lower than their hairline – very peculiar. Then there were the mums who obviously don’t get out much but relish any excuse. I am talking about average mums (like me)… not gorgeous but not ugly, normal bodies of various types… dressed up like they were going to the Academy Awards. Backless, strapless, gold lame… you name it, it was there and it didn’t look good. Now I’m not suggesting everyone needs to turn up in a [very nice, I must say] $39.95 Target skirt but surely there is some sort of happy medium. For *&#$’s sake – saggy boobs and bellies just don’t look good in strapless, figure-hugging red sequins.

Since Will was at mum’s until Sunday morning we did our favourite thing and hit the cinema on Saturday morning. We saw a sweet little Oz movie called “The Oyster Farmer”. We had wanted to see it because it was filmed around Brooklyn and Mooney Mooney on the Hawkesbury River where Jason’s uncle has a house and where we’ve spent a fair bit of time. It’s only about 20 minutes drive from us but it could be on another planet. Beautiful! It was one of those rare “little” movies which just told a “little” story about some “little” people but it was really well done, with a great script and very nice performances. If I had to make a criticism it would be of the overly explicit sex scene which really didn’t add anything to the film and must have been very uncomfortable for the poor young actors to film (sex on a rickety old jetty – ooh, the splinters in the bum don’t bear thinking about!).

We returned home to watch the Swans win (yet again… grand final here we come… I hope… oh please let us win against West Coast on Friday… I may cry…) against the hapless Hawthorn. Then we got stuck into some serious finger food preparation as we were expecting a few friends that night for a serious round of the new Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture DVD Edition which Jason got for his birthday. It was a great night marred only by the fact that Gianni (my partner) and I didn’t win – it was those stupid cricket questions that got us… damn you cricket, you stupid, stupid, useless sport!!!

Sunday morning Jason went off to golf and I tidied up. Then mum brought Will over and boy, were we glad to see him and he us. Great big bear hugs all around. Then mum and I hit the 50s Fair. “What is the 50s Fair?” I hear you ask. There is a house in nearby Wahroonga which is called the Rose Seidler House. It was designed and built by the famous Sydney architect Harry Seidler for his parents in 1948 and completed in 1950. It is a classic example of minimalist 50s architecture and, while surprisingly small, is quite stunning with its extreme use of glass walls to capture the beauty of the surrounding bushland. It is now owned by the National Trust who each year put on a 50s Fair. There were bands playing 50s music and lots of stalls selling clothes, shoes, handbags, household goods, buttons, fabrics, anything and everything from that era. What I loved were all the people who obviously had embraced the 50s subculture as a way of life and dressed head to toe in immaculate 50s gear. The women were stunning. I have to say it was a very feminine period in terms of style and I love it. We spent a fun couple of hours wandering around, checking out the stalls, touring the house and “enjoying” a dubious, 50s hotdog.

So now it’s Tuesday night. Still no news and I fear another night of teeth grinding will leave me with permanent dental problems (what’s the number of your dentist Kath?).

Oh, I must make a small retraction. Last night I finished Janet Evanovich’s “Ten Big Ones” which I think may have got a prematurely unfavourable review from me earlier. Look, it’s no Pulitzer Prize winner but it did get bloody funny and there is a classic scene where our heroine Stephanie, her sidekick Lula and their friend Connie are trying to “torture” a gang member in order to extract some information. One of the funniest things I’d read in ages. Had me giggling uncontrollably for ages, much to Jason’s disgust.

A “couple” night... before you have children you take them for granted, we certainly did. Jump in the car on a Saturday evening, movies, dinner... nothing special. But with a small child everything changes... for the best, of course… but I do miss those couple nights now that they require a certain amount of logistical organisation.

Luckily we have at least two very willing and able babysitters (i.e. my mum and dad) who are always very keen to have Prince Will overnight. So at fairly short notice my dear mum (aka Baba) stepped in and Saturday afternoon through to Sunday morning became couple time.

We started off at WBJ looking for suitcases for our upcoming (when? when? when?) trip. I found a huge red Jag suitcase at Myer; not only was it just what I wanted but it was 40% off the marked price. His Highness Prince Jason did not like any of the suitcases which were on sale and I thought that $300+ was just a little too much for a suitcase which may be used once a year - so we decided to agree to disagree. [Jason is now the proud owner of a suitably price reduced suitcase which he purchased in the city on Monday.] Since there was a little bit of time before our first movie started I popped down to the shoe department and guess what? Two pairs of shoes at 50% off the already reduced price (including a gorgeous pair of Italian purple suede loafers). Does life get any better? I think not!

Time for the first film. I love horror movies. Have done ever since I was 14 and watching The Evil Dead in the basement of my friend Aila's house. We would turn off all the lights in the house and watch it over and over, scaring ourselves senseless (we'd have to wait 'till her parents got home to go to the toilet as we were too scared to go up the stairs). Over the years I've screamed at the Nightmare on Elm Street movies, jumped during the Scream movies and in recent years tensed myself into a state of exhaustion during The Ring and The Grudge (those Japanese sure know how to scare the pants off you).

The Skeleton Key is a fine film in the suspense, bordering on horror, genre. It is not a slasher film and it is not as tension-filled as The Grudge (which I have to say left me a nervous wreck for days). It is beautifully filmed in and around New Orleans. The place itself has a tremendous presence and the cinematography is stunning, adding greatly to the suspense and foreboding which is built up throughout the film. The cast is wonderful - Kate Hudson, Peter Sarsgaard, Gena Rowlands and John Hurt. I really enjoy Kate Hudson, she is pretty without it being distracting and she is a very natural actress. If you haven't seen 200 Cigarettes you must. I think it's one of her first films and she plays a young clumsy girl out on a blind date on New Year's Eve. She is just gorgeous. 200 Cigarettes is a real ensemble piece with a cast of thousands (Courtney Love, Paul Rudd, Casey Affleck, etc, etc); lots of different stories and they all converge on the one NYE party in New York in the 1980s. Quirky and funny and perfect for all of us 80s leftovers.

I digress. The Skeleton Key focuses on Caroline, a young nurse saddened by the lack of care for terminally ill patients. She finds an ad for a hospice worker and travels out to the swampy boondocks to take care of Ben Devereaux, who has apparently been struck down by a stroke. Ben and his wife Violet live in a gothic old mansion filled with creaks and shadows and secrets. Caroline is given a skeleton key which opens all the doors in the house and with it she discovers the "secret" room in the attic (there's always a bloody attic and/or basement - don't these people ever learn?!). The story really wasn't what I was expecting and I didn't see the twist coming at all.

After this movie we enjoyed dinner at Kelly's which is a South African steakhouse. I had a cocktail called a West African Yellowbird and it was huge and yummy (I think it had rum in it and banana liquor). It made me feel good and I said to Jason that I should drink more (I'm generally a non-drinker) and he agreed, even suggesting he buy a cocktail book and make me cocktails at home. Not sure why he was so keen to have me drunk all the time! Dinner was delicious. I love a steak and was glad I ordered it medium rare. Generally I order medium but lately medium has been bordering on well done. Either I'm getting more blood thirsty or there is a consensus amongst chefs to overcook steaks. Whatever the answer, my steak was bloody enough for my liking and very yummy (no offence, but I'm so glad I'm not a vegetarian!).

Short space of free time between dinner and movie #2. We attacked the CD shop. I should have known better, having already burned a small hole in my credit card, but I was on a roll. Ten minutes later we came out with Martha Wainwright's beautiful new CD, Madeleine Peyroux's new CD (gorgeous old style jazz [but new] and she has an amazing voice), Complete Madness (for $10, all their hits and then some, it's frightening but I remember every word to every song, even after all these years!) and a double compilation CD of old swing songs (Jason's pick, he is such a boring old fart in a [reasonably] young man's body).

Then it was time for more cinematic entertainment. This time it was Wedding Crashers. I love Vince Vaughn and I don't care who knows it! I fell in love a number of years ago when I first saw him in a fabulous little black comedy Clay Pigeons and my love has continued to grow with Swingers and Made (however, it took a review of all these films for my love to survive the new Psycho - what were you thinking Vince, what were YOU thinking Gus Van Sant, shame, shame shame). Maybe it's because I have a thing for tall men, maybe I have a thing for that nervous talking thing (which John Cusack perfected in his early movies - see the dinner scene from Say Anything) – I don’t know why, all I know is I wouldn’t throw him out of bed for… ahm, having wind.

He is at his slightly manic best in Wedding Crashers. It’s very very funny and there were scenes which had me writhing about in hysterics, much to the annoyance of the old bag sitting next to me… who had surely wondered into the wrong movie for she sat still and silent throughout. Obviously left her sense of humour at home.

Overlooking the rather ugly “disagreement” we had on the way home about which of the new CDs we would listen to, we were home and in bed at 12:30. Sunday we enjoyed a small sleep in before heading off to pick up Will, JB and my grandma. We headed down to La Perouse to enjoy the winter sunshine and some huge seafood platters in celebration of my grandma’s 86th birthday. My god I was full, it wasn’t pretty. I swore never to eat again but it only lasted until about 7:30 pm when I finished off the “doggy bag” crab in front of Australian Idol (now there’s a mental image that’s guaranteed to scar you for life).

So overall it was a great weekend, filled with my favourite activities – shopping, eating, movies and spending time with my family.
So now it’s Tuesday and I really feel like we’re in countdown mode. Ring phone, ring! As that fine specimen of Australian manhood Lleyton Hewitt would say “COME ON!!!!” (do the actions with me now!).

I love those Borders' 3 for 2 deals. Maybe it's just the George Costanza in me but I just love getting something for "nothing". I know I could buy the individual books at another bookshop for less but somehow those "3 for 2" labels dazzle me and I'm transfixed, like a rabbit in the headlights of the oncoming credit card bill.

Last visit I came away with the latest in the "No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency" series (which I love), a book about some Pommie bloke living in Paris for a year (am I the only human being left on the face of the planet who hasn't lived in Paris for a year and written a book about it?) and the latest Stephanie Plum (Janet Evanovich) novel. Now my friend Jan loves Stephanie Plum and while she is undoubtedly a spunky character the novels could have been written by a three year old with a nasty foul language problem.

This book, "Ten Big Ones" is the literary equivalent of eating fairy floss. A brief moment of enjoyable sweetness with no nutrional value and no aftertaste. Each night when I'm finished reading I wouldn't be able to tell you what I had just read, even if I had a gun pointed at my head. It literally goes in one ear and out the other.

It's not that I don't like genre. Stephanie Plum is a "bounty hunter" from Jersey and her novels fit into the mystery/black comedy mould - however, they are not very funny or very mysterious. For my money Kinky Friedman is by far the master of this genre. If you haven't heard of him he is definitely what you might call a "character". He has a country and western band called Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys whose songs include "They don't make Jews like Jesus any more" and "Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in bed". He's even running for governor of Texas 2006. His books are super cool and very funny, he plays with language in the sort of way that really makes me laugh. He's not exactly a poster boy for PC.

If you're talking straight detective fiction I can't go past Ian Rankin's Detective John Rebus. The books are set in Edinburgh, Scotland and they started off very dark, have moved onto quite dark and are now relatively "light" but they are still bloody good. Strong prose, beautiful descriptions of Scotland and a great character in John Rebus. I went to see Ian Rankin talk at a literary dinner thingy last year and really enjoyed it, except for the fact that he looks alarmingly like my ex-husband Colin (who was also Scottish, perhaps they are distantly related?).

I'm also a fan of Sue Grafton's Kinsey Millhone. Her books are also known as the Alphabet mysteries because they have been named "A is for Alibi", "B is for Burglar", etc. These books are only marginally higher on the literary high-brow scale in comparison to the Stephanie Plum books but they are much more enjoyable. Kinsey is a great character and whenever a new book comes out I feel like I'm catching up with an old friend. They are also well researched and quirky. I can't wait to visit with Kinsey again soon. "S is for ...?"

Now don't get me started on gay American authors. What can I say, I'm a fan! It started with Edmund White quite a number of years ago and has recently progressed to David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs. Edmund White's autobiographical early novels are not for the feint hearted. For a white bread hetrosexual female like myself it was a case of everything you ever wanted to know (and more) about the nitty gritty of male homosexuality. Beautiful, moving books but whoa, baby, too much information. I bought and made an earnest start on his biography of Jean Genet but I'm afraid it will take a bigger man than me to get through that doorstopper. It's huge, it's dense and it's bloody hard going. Only for the hard core Edmund White/Jean Genet fans.

If you haven't read David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs - you must. Sedaris writes beautiful, dry, hilarious vignettes; stories about his family and his life. It is hard to describe his style but he manages to capture those everyday life moments in such a deadpan way and then hits you with a whammy at the end of each story. The two books I have are "Me Talk Pretty One Day" and "Dress Your Family In Corduroy and Denim". Both highly recommended.

Augusten Burroughs is a different kettle of fish. His childhood will immediately make everyone feel better about their own. After all how many people were given away as children by their crazy mother to her even crazier psychiatrist (who, just as an example, would tell the future by fishing out his poos out of the toilet and drying them on the outdoor setting). This period of his life is described in "Running with Scissors" (soon to be a major motion picture!). His later life as a successful advertising copywriter and a complete alcoholic is beautifully described in "Dry". His other autobiographical book "Magical Thinking", as well as his novel "Sellavision" are on my book wish list (are you reading this Jay?). JB and I went to hear him talk a few months ago and I really fell in love with the man (in a purely platonic, hetro woman/gay guy way, of course!). I would SO love for him to be my gay boyfriend. To dream the impossible dream!

Political Science by Randy Newman

No one likes us
I don't know why.
We may not be perfect
But heaven knows we try.
But all around even our old friends put us down.
Let's drop the big one and see what happens.

We give them money
But are they grateful?
No they're spiteful
And they're hateful.
They don't respect us so let's surprise them;
We'll drop the big one and pulverize them.

Now Asia's crowded
And Europe's too old.
Africa's far too hot,
And Canada's too cold.
And South America stole our name.
Let's drop the big one;
there'll be no one left to blame us.

Bridge: We'll save Australia;
Don't wanna hurt no kangaroo.
We'll build an all-American amusement park there;
They've got surfing, too.

Well, boom goes London,
And boom Paris.
More room for you
And more room for me.
And every city the whole world round
Will just be another American town.

Oh, how peaceful it'll be;
We'll set everybody free;
You'll have Japanese kimonos, baby,
There'll be Italian shoes for me.
They all hate us anyhow,
So let's drop the big one now.
Let's drop the big one now.

Couldn't agree more, Randy! Hard to believe he wrote this in 1972. This is one of the songs on my new "Funny Peculiar" CD and I just had to find the lyrics (thank goodness for Google!). [Just for the record and to avoid any confusion I am not having a dig at our US cousins, in fact I quiet seriously support the vision of the world expressed in this song (well, at least my own variation on the theme).]

Can you believe those boring-as twins won BB last night? I mean you could paint faces on wooden pegs and they'd have more personality. Apparently it was very close but I really was sure Tim would take out the cash. Here's a tip - never bet on MY tips. Honestly I couldn't pick the winner in a one horse race. Last year I was in an on-line tipping comp for Oz Idol and I don't even think I picked one correctly - it was embaressing.

Life is cruising today. Feeling good, feeling fine, damn fine. Wish I could sleep better though. Had a dream the other night I had a baby girl and she was really, really fat - fat enough to be on A Current Affair or Jerry Springer - "the fattest baby in the world". It was weird.

I have removed the previous entry for reasons of national security (and to protect my butt from any more kicking). Don't panic, dear readers, all is well. However, I will have to kill all those who read the previous post as it was provided on a "need to know" basis and apparently you guys don't need to know (silly me thought you did).

Anyway, enough of this gibberish. It has been a hectic but enjoyable weekend. Friday was your very basic pizza in front of the tv night. Pizza sure has come a long way since a Four Seasons was the apex of the gourmet pizza experience. We enjoyed a Fu Choo - which had marinated prawns, brocolli, capsicum, baby corn and honey sauce with seasame seeds - yum.

Big Brother on Friday night was pretty good. The three bozos had to do challenges, the worst of which were walking along a narrow walkway thingy but getting to choose how high up it was (both the boys went for 20 metres) and they had to untie two ribbons along the way, and then there was the "bug challenge". There were three seperate bug challenges and each contestant had to choose which they "wanted" (my choice would be: get me the hell out of here!). The first was finding a pingpong ball in a container full of crickets (Vesna), the second sticking your head into a container full of mealey worms and finding a pingpong ball with your mouth (Greg) and the third was sticking your head into a container and having them fill it up first with crickets, then mealey worms and then cockroaches (Tim). I have to hand it to Tim, he handled this last bit of horror in a completely calm manner - as if he did this sort of thing every day. I would be freaking out in a major way. Just the idea of swarms/herds/flocks (?) of cockroaches swarming over my face is enough to make me shudder.

Anyway, last night Vesna was kicked off BB so that leaves the two guys. I wish I could summon the energy to care but I really don't. Greg seems nice enough in a completely "devoid of personality" sort of way. However, I think Tim is going to win. I certainly didn't pick him to win at all. He is not attractive and he is "old" by teeny bopper standards, so possibly the idea that the only people who vote on BB are 12 year old girls is not quite true. I'm sure he is nice and everyone says what a "gentleman" he is, blah blah blah but to be honest he's probably just a bit too lefty for my personal tastes. Mind you he's intelligent so I'm sure we could have a good old debate about the state of the world but the fact remains that he's really not my kind of person. Newtown middle-class lefties just don't ring my bell any more.

Now Saturday Jason went off to work at the City to Surf set up and I took Will shopping. On a good day Will is quite a good shopper and as long as I don't keep him out too long and have something good to look forward to at the end to bribe him with it all works well. We ended up getting groceries, getting the new "Funny Peculiar" CD (very funny and peculiar) and having a good long potter around Myer. They were having a 50% off the already reduced prices sale (music to my ears/eyes/wallet). So I stocked up on some great winter clothes for Will for next year, got some new pillows and even managed to get a present for our new nephew Alexander (congratulations to Troy and Anna).

Then it was off to my dear friend Margaret's house for some tea, gossip and a chance for Will to play with her girls, Lili and Ella. A quick cuppa turned into half the day and I didn't get home until mid-afternoon. Then my best laid plans turned to poo as a few "quick" phone calls turned into one hour marathons. By the time Jason got home the washing was still sitting there unhung and my poor ears were vibrating. Got to see Jay for less than an hour before he rushed off to watch his Sharks get a whomping from the Roosters (Rugby League, for our overseas visitors). Will was meant to go but it was a bitterly cold night and I opted to keep him home and warm.

So Will and I had left over pizza and watched "Funniest Home Videos" in bed. Will loves that show - there is something universally funny about small children and animals hurting themselves and people doing stupid things at wedding - we just can't get enough. Then Will fell asleep and I watched one of the most stupid programs I have ever seen. It was on Foxtel and it was called "A Makeover Story" and it involved two of the Sydney Swans being "made over" by an anorexic American bird known as the "make over coach". Basically she got them stupid haircuts, put them in (generally) stupid clothes and said "Aussssie" (say "s" like snake) a lot. I love Ryan O'Keefe and Amon Buchanan and I can not think what they did wrong to be selected for such a ridiculous show.

Since I was watching the Discovery Health channel (why would they have "A Makeover Story" on a Health channel?) this program was followed by a baby program whose name escapes me. It involved following four couples through a famous IVF program at St Luke's Hospital somewhere in the US. While it was a nice enough documentary (though a little close to the bone, even after all these years) what I found quite upsetting was the way they "dumped" the two "failed" couples and oohed and aaahed over the two successful couples. Two couples got pregnant and we followed them through pregnancy and childbirth. But the two couples who were "negative" were wiped and we got no update on what happened to them: did they try again, were they successful, did they give up, did they adopt? You can't just involve us in the lives of these people and then just move on without a backward glance. Very poor documentary making IMO.

Sunday I was up early to head down to Bondi for my annual volunteer stint at the City to Surf. The adoptive families' support group, Australians Caring for Children (ACC), which we belong to conduct various fundraising activities throughout the year to raise money to help orphanages in Colombia, Bolivia and India. One of the "traditional" activities has been running a water station at the end of the City to Surf "fun run" (an oxymoron if ever I've heard one - you can not seriously put "fun" and "run" in the same sentence, as far as I'm concerned). Apart from it being hellishly cold on Bondi Beach first thing in the morning (which it actually wasn't yesterday) it's quite an enjoyable day. My only beef is with the organisation - whereby there are too many plastic cups, not enough sheets of cardboard and the water is hard to actually get a hold of - but all that is a long and boring story and of interest only to those who work on the day.

I was home by 2:00 pm and happily watching the Swans give those smug Brisbane Lions a good and thorough lesson in how to play AFL (strong words but give me my moment in the sun, won't you?!). A very happy Jason and Will returned home from the game demanding that we plan our trip to Melbourne to watch the Swannies play in the final (which we are all convinced is unavoidable at this point). He is now sulking because our upcoming trip around the world, with a very important stop in Colombia, does not seem to be a good enough reason to miss watching our beloved Swans in the grand final. Well, for a start they haven't even made the final yet and secondly... well, we just can't and won't and that's the end of the story (which translates to something like: "because I said so"). We'll just have to wish them well from afar.

Now for tonight's BB final... who will win? who cares? apparently I do! but I still don't quite know why... My post BB resolution is to read more and watch less crap ... oh, who am I kidding...

You would think being a seven and a half year veteran of the adoption wars I might have some sort of handle on things. You would think that, somehow, my hide would have grown that little bit thicker and I would have learnt to be a bit tougher, more mentally disciplined.

After all, we had survived our first adoption which involved:

* Being sent to the marriage counsellor by our social worker who claimed we had "communication issues" (but then didn't ask us how it had gone or anything about it??).
* Crying myself to sleep at night feeling certain we would fail the adoption process and be "rejected".
* Feeling the most incredible joy at being allocated our son and then the incredible misery, confusion and frustration at having to wait for 11 months until we could bring him home.
* Learning that DoCS, who were charged with processing and co-ordinating our adoption, knew nothing about how the Guatemalan adoption process worked and were willing to do nothing to learn more about it.

You would think after all that I would be able to cope with whatever frustrations our second adoption was going to throw at us.

Well, if you thought that you would be wrong, oh so very wrong, my friend.

Over the last forty-eight hours I have experienced so many up and down feelings I feel like I'm on a runaway rollercoaster. Why am I feeling so crap? Well, it's hard to explain really. I guess I could sum it up by calling it the "unknown" - for me that is the scariest thing in the world. For when you have a "known" problem you can stare it in the eye, grapple with it, attack it from all sides, pit your (superior) wit and skill against it and ultimately come up victorious. But when you are staring at a great big vat of nothingness, a giant void in the microcosm where your life should be, it's very hard to know how to fight it or what to even fight.

The "unknown" in this case is how much longer we may have to wait until we are allocated a child. We were initially told that the wait would be 12-18 months but we took that as the very outside, something would need to go wrong for this to be the case. Most of the people we were friends with who had adopted children from Colombia in recent times had waited much less than that, sometimes as few as four months.

We had also not stipulated sex or race, figuring that would increase our chances of a speedy allocation (not to mention that we didn't really care whether we got a boy or a girl and whether they were blue, green or pink with yellow polka dots).

However, we chose the orphanage with which there was very little track history. Only one other Sydney couple had adopted from there and that was in about 2000. Another couple had their file there waiting for an allocation when we sent our file. They were allocated in March 2004 - after a wait of no more than 12 months. So these were our only "guiding lights" and they were fairly dim.

Add to this couldron of non-information the fact that ICBF (the Colombian equivalent of DoCS) decided to change the adoption goalposts in 2004. They clamped down on private orphanages, putting pressure on them to give preference to Colombian couples wishing to adopt (which we would have assumed would already be the case). Other changes were made and a type of payment was introduced whereby the families of single mothers were given a small amount of money for six months to encourage them to keep the child. How all these changes affected intercountry adoptions it's hard to say. All we know is that things slowed down immensely all around. There was only one other allocation to a Sydney family in 2004 from a different orphanage. Now it is mid August 2005 and there have been no allocations so far (except for a mysterious sibling allocation which was announced only yesterday).

So my brain runs around looking for answers and there are no answers to be had. Then yesterday, on one of my email lists (what did my life look like before email lists???) a well-meaning adoptive mum from the US who is currently in Colombia sent a post which sent a shiver down my spine. Because of the unfortunate way in which it was written and because of my bleak outlook I interpreted in the worst possible way - private orphanages in Colombia were no longer allowed to do intercountry adoption and we would need to start from scratch - i.e. send our file to another country. While this vague concept had been starting to surface as an option in my weary mind anyway I wasn't quite prepared for the shockwave this sent through my entire being. I was devestated and totally shocked. Yesterday was one terrible afternoon.

A few phone calls and emails later things didn't look so bleak. Within a few hours I had hid rock bottom and bounced back somewhat. But I was still back at square one - facing the endless abyss and not having a clue how much longer we may need to wait for our allocation.

Imagine this: You get a phone call saying you have won a million dollars (or insert something else which represents your greatest dream) however you are told that you will need to pick up the money from an undisclosed place at an undisclosed time. To just sit tight and a phone call we be made to you to tell you when to collect your prize. You are so excited, you plan what you are going to do with your winnings, you ring all your friends and family. Then some time passes and still there is no phone call. You try to get on with your life but the news is still ringing in your ears, it's always at the back of your mind. Then more time passes, you start to get anxious, you can't go far from home because you are waiting for "the call". You can't make plans too far in advance. People start asking you "so, when are you getting your prize". Then the real anxiety sets in: what if it's a hoax? what if there is no prize? what if "the call" never comes? You start to resent the very idea of the prize. You want to ring and say "forget about the prize... I don't want it... I just want my old life back". But you can't. You keep thinking that despite everything "the call" is going to come later today or tomorrow or next week. You jump every time the phone rings...

Are you starting to get a picture? This is pretty much how I feel. I am fully aware that there is a flip side to my story and that the flip side is not a happy one. That for me to get "the call", to finally hold my "prize", another woman on the other side of the world is going to have to experience the sort of trauma I can not even imagine. I live with that thought every minute of every day and yet it does not take away from my own selfish misery, it only helps to put it into some sort of perspective (but only on my "better" days).

I'm sorry. I really just needed to get that out. I know that I will feel better tomorrow or the next day or next week and that I needed to make an effort to record my really bad days because they will one day be forgotten or will at least fade into the vagueness of time. Of course I want to stop feeling this way and forget these awful feelings but I also want to acknowledge them and to be able to touch them again one day on one of the many days in my future life when I will need to regain a sense of pespective - which for me is essential to holding onto my sanity.

Well, after two weeks of illness the Blanter/Curtis family is now back in the land of the (semi)living. Jason and I still have a bit of a persistent cough hanging around but generally we are fighting fit - Jay even went back to the gym this morning.

Unfortunatley I am slipping back into my adoption "depression" again - it's been a month since the last bout and I'm beginning to wonder whether it's a cycle associated with the "other" cycle or if it's just a feeling that another month has gone by. On Thursday it will be 20 months since our file was sent to Colombia. We were told 12-18 months for an allocation when we started and I regarded this as the "worst case scenario". At no time did I think we would still be waiting after 20 months. I am trying hard to keep my spirits up. Logic tells me that we will soon be allocated our much longed for child and our lives will be returned to us. But the fear and the anxiety persist and are very hard to shake off. The stupid "what ifs" and "we should have..." and "if only..." circle round and round my addled brain.

Anyway, enough self indulgent bullshit. Get a grip, girl!

The weekend just gone was fun. Jason had a corporate golf day (have you ever heard of such wankery?) whereby Apple Mac paid for him to bludge off work all day, play golf at one of Sydney's best golf courses, eat and drink to his heart's content and THEN by some mathematical miracle his team came second and they all won an iPod. Now is this the greatest non-work invention of the corporate world or what? Not that I'm in any position to complain about people slacking off (I've made it into an art form) but COME ON!!! Golf, food, drink, iPods = a work day? Please explain!

Will and I went to Surry Hills on Friday afternoon to look at Julia's (my dear sis) new flat. Oh, it's so very cool and wonderful. I yearn for the inner city life (and we are working on a plan, stay tuned). While it's very nice and very cool I'm afraid she won't pick up there - it's 99% gay with the token chickie babe thrown in. However, she has been told to find us both a gay boyfriend - I haven't had one since my teenage years and I do miss that "Will and Grace" style comradarie.

We then went to mum's and indulged in a seafood banquet in honour of JB's iminent moving out of the maternal home. I was ear-deep in mud crab and loving it. It's a hard life but someone's got to do it.

Saturday morning Will had a physio session (which he loves) followed by a haircut (which he also now loves). It's funny Will was TERRIFIED of having his haircut as a young child. You just had to walk slowly near a hairdresser and he would scream blue murder. For a few years there we were reduced to cutting his hair by having Jason (in the nude) holding Will (in the nude) in the shower while I cut his hair with the hair clippers. There would be screaming and crying and Will would be pretty upset too. It was an ugly scene. Then I found a new hairdresser at Pennant Hills I started going to and I asked her if she would mind having a go with Will. She was very gentle and playful with him and we managed our first proper hairdresser haircut without any hysterical screaming. After that it got better and better until now when we can just walk into any hairdresser/barber and he'll happily sit down and get his hair cut. He always asks for a "spiky" cut which is really cute.

On Saturday the young hairdresser who cut his hair must have been a bit bored with all the short-back-and-sides he does day in, day out because after he cut Will's hair he put it all up in spikes or little horns (or what we used to call a Statue of Liberty in my punk days) all over the front of his head - it was so cool and cute. I wish I'd made a photo.

Then we dropped Will off at dad's (who took him to Sydney Aquarium for the zillionth time this year - dad's now bought an annual pass!) and went off to help JB get her new flat ready for habitation. First off though we had to have some sustanance and we walked down to her "local Chinese" which just happens to be the "world famous" (well, there's a picture of Bill Clinton and Laurence Fishbourne eating there) Harry's Signapore Chilli Crab restaurant. Of course, we didn't have Chilli Crab (even I'm not up to that on a Saturday morning) but we did indulge in some very good salt and pepper squid and those yummy wide stir fried noodles.

Refreshed and replenished we got stuck in. I started on the cleaning and Jason took JB to Paddington to collect her stuff from her "office". By mid afternoon all her stuff was back at the flat and I had managed to scrub the bathroom to within an inch of its life and was half way through the kitchen (with big Jay's help - he's a must for those high, hard to reach places). Then we left JB to it and went home for some child free ... ahhmmm, rest.

On the way home JB rang to say that mum, who had come for a visit, had fallen down the little flight of stairs outside of JB's flat and JB had locked herself out while running to help. After a few panicked phone calls the drama was averted with the help of a friendly locksmith and all was well.

Saturday night we met up (again) with JB to attend the Boronia Park Public School Fundraising Trivia Night. I am a sucker for Trivia Nights and this one, being a fundraiser for Will's school, was a must. Obviously because we smell or are otherwise offensive in some way the people who were meant to sit on our table sat on another table without telling us - how rude! So it was just the three of us for most of the night - eventually we were joined by two more lost souls. While I have to say our trivial knowledge is respectable it was only good enough to earn us 17th place (out of 21 teams). I even remembered that Pb is the periodical table code for lead (and science was by far my worst subject at school - hard to believe for those of you who are familiar with my abysmal grasp of geography).

Sunday morning, after very unhappily waking up at 6:00 am to watch the recorded Swans vs Essendon game (who are the winners? WE ARE!!!), we set off to pick up Will from dad's. Then it was the long long drive up the F3 (I can not believe I used to do that drive every day - was I insane? don't answer that!) to visit Jason relos and to show them some old home movies which a friend of the family had transferred from Super 8 to DVD. This is where my shiny new laptop came in very handy.

Then it was off to Erina for lunch. [Our lives are like a Car Rally. We drive here, there and everywhere, with the occassional stop to see people, eat, shop, etc. But most of the time I feel liek we're just chasing our tails.] Now this was fun. We met up with our dear friends Aila, Craig and his daughter Madison, Jan and John and their gorgeous little baby Emma (whose not really all that "little" having two gigantors for parents). We went to Wagamama which has just opened up at Erina Fair. If you've been living under a rock or in a cave Wagamama is the new Japanese-fusion style place which started in London and is slowly taking over the world. We've been to the King Street Wharf one a few times and have always enjoyed it. It has a fun, informal atmosphere and decent food at fairly reasonable prices. On Sunday we sat outside in the lovely sunny courtyard area and enjoyed catching up.

Upon arriving home on Sunday afternoon we decided we could not tolerate our pig-sty of a house for a moment longer (our cleaner skipped her regular visit when we were sick so things were getting out of hand) and got stuck into a mini-super-powered cleaning session. With the floors de-fluffed and the bathroom de-yucked we were ready to kick back and enjoy some Sunday afternoon relaxation. I had made some six-hours-in-the-oven lamb shanks on Saturday night so we enjoyed those for dinner with some yummy couscous with stir fried veggies.

Then it was Big Brother eviction night. Who cares - Melanie got the boot. I really must say these are the most boring, non-entity bunch of nobodys I've ever come across. I really don't care who wins because I am hoping they all spontaneously combust before the big night. I don't even think that would make for interesting viewing at this point. There is now less than a week to go and I just can't for the pain to be over. I'm only watching out of (bad) habit so it'll be nice not to have to look at those boring sods any more (if they are boring, what does it say about moi? don't answer that!).

Monday morning we had to get up at 5:00 am to drive Aila and Craig (who had stayed the night) to the airport to start their holiday. After staying up last night to watch the final, not very satisfying, episode of Desperate Housewives, I have had a great night's sleep and feel reasonably human today.

OK, enough belly button gazing - back to the mines (or at least the pile of invoices which must be issued today which are piling up on my war zone of a desk).

Check out my friend Kath's blog "Blurb from the Burbs" - I've added it under "Links". She is very very funny (both "ha ha" and, you know, the other way). I've just about blown a headgasket reading her entry about colds - I can SO relate!

Oh! and I'm now the proud owner of a brand spanking new Sony laptop. Woohoo! It is very cool and shiny! There's a lot to be said for nepotism. It sure works for me!

The great, late Jim Morrison said it best "people are strange". Are they what! Friday night, desperate for some healthy (I use the word advsidedly) adult interaction, I drag my sick and sorry arse to the playgroup mums' night out. This is a fantastic and much anticipated event whereby all the ACC playgroup mums disentangle ourselves from our offspring and significant others and go to a restaurant for some half-decent food and not-so-decent conversation. Here's the scene: about half a dozen of us are at the restaurant waiting for the others. A woman (not one of ours) walks in, looks around, comes over. She says she's looking for a "mother's group". We say "we're a mother's group". She tells us she wasn't sure whether her dinner was tonight or next Friday so she came down anyway. We are all smiling politely and waiting for her to bugger off. She doesn't. She says "I'm here now, you don't mind if I join you?". Obviously the answer is "of course we mind, you crazy cow, piss off" but what comes out is "no, we don't mind, do join us". At this point she sits down and acts like it's totally normal to gatecrash a mother's group dinner with people you've never met in your life. She stays for the whole evening, eating, chatting, pretending to be a normal person.

Now some of our mums thought this was fine, a bit whacky, but generally OK. No people, this behaviour is not OK. It is bonkers. It wasn't a speed dating night for desperate and dateless adoptive mums. Maybe I'm overlly protective about these get-togethers but I have a pretty strict criteria - you must be an adoptive mum (or at least come with one - sisters, friends, etc. are allowed under certain circumstances), you must hate DoCS and have dedicated your life to opposing their evil deeds (OK, that last one is optional but certainly preferable and to be strongly encouraged). Strangers desperate for a night out, while to be empathised with, should under no circumstances be encouraged. Call me mean-spirited, call me cold and heartless, but "find your own damn friends" I say.

One good thing about being sick is I got to finish two books last week. I had finally finished "A Widow for Year" by John Irving the week before last and gee, was I glad to get that finished. Those John Irving books are so engrossing they sap the life out of you. I felt like I had been reading "Widow" for about ten years. Not one of his best though. So then I started on "Post Mortem" by Ben Elton. As with all his books (except High Society which was just too much hard work, terribly depressing despite the comedy) this books was really entertaining and I got through it in two days. It's a murder mystery (which I love) but with a twist. The protagonist, the detective, gets involved in a bit of nostalgia and joins Friends Reunited, the website which allows you to go back in time and find your old school friends. I could really relate to all the 80s references and I just found it a fun read. Highly recommended, especially if you were a teen of the 80s, like moi.

Then I got onto "In the company of cheerful ladies" which is the fifth (?) in the series of The Number One Ladies Detective Agency books. As with all the others this was a lovely gentle book which left me feeling happy with the world. Nothing like taking a quick visit to Botswana and the world of Mma. Ramotswe to refresh the perspective and wash away my usual jaded attitude. If you haven't discovered these beautiful, gentle books yet (as Mr Meldrum would say) do yourself a favour...

Have I mentioned my love for Antony and the Johnsons? If not, I should have. I "discovered" the devine Antony at a very special and amazing night I attended in January of this year at the Opera House - "Came So Far For Beauty" a tribute night to Leonard Cohen's music. I only went because of Nick Cave and came away with not only Antony but a love for some previously unheard of (by me) musicians such as Rufus and Martha Wainwright and The Handsome Family. Anyway, Antony is a giant, New York-based, transgender singer (feel free to re-arrange those descriptors in any order you like) whose voice and demeanor just blew me away on the night. He is like a fallen angel - his voice could not possibly come out of his body and he doesn't quite seem to reside comfortably in his own body. Yet for me he is musical magic: his voice is beauty, sadness, joy, bitterness, hope - every emotion and so much more. If you would like to hear one of my favourite songs "Mysteries of Love" please click here http://www.theworldofadam.com/mystery.html . However, Antony's songs are not all love and kisses, far from it. One of my favourites is called "I fell in love with a dead boy" and another "Fistful of Love" has much more emphasis on "fist" than on "love".

What can I say? I have eclectic taste in music.

I really shouldn't be writing this, I really should be using abseiling gear to climb on top of the mountain of paperwork which has bred on my desk during the past week... but blogging is just so much more fun than actual work. Anyway, I can't establish a connection to the bank to make some important payments so I need to while away some time somehow...

Last week was really, really bad. There is a good reason I never considered a career in nursing - I hate sick people! Including myself. In fact, myself more than anyone. Being sick sucks. It is boring and annoying and really just a waste of time. I'm not much of a laying around in bed person... unless it's with John Cusack or Anthony Keidis or... oh, ok my husband, sheesh! Bed is for sleeping and occassionally for reading on a Sunday morning and very occassionally for ... well, you know, the other stuff.

Will came down with the flu first. He was sick by Sunday lunchtime and was really bad on Monday and Tuesday. High temps (is there anything scarier for a parent?), coughing, runny nose, the whole shebang. By Tuesday afternoon he was on antibiotics and I was feeling like we might get on top of things. Tuesday night I was feeling decidedly crap but didn't want to deal with the idea of getting sick myself.

Wednesday morning I went to work for the first time that week, leaving Jason at home with Will. I managed two hours' of work and I was home in bed by 11:30 am. It was terrible. I must have had a really high temp because I was shaking uncontrolably, I couldn't even talk (hard to believe, but true). I somehow managed to drive myself home and fell into bed. Thursday I was somewhat better but still unable to get out of bed or do anything useful. Will and I spent the day in bed watching the three Harry Potter DVDs. As Will would say "We like Harry Potter, don't we!".

By Friday I was getting better but Will had developed a horrible, non-stop cough - all day, all night - it just didn't stop and I was getting scared he would do himself an internal injury. Nobody in the house was sleeping - it was like the Land of the Living Dead, but not as pretty. The stuff from the chemist was as good as useless. Back to the doctor we went. She gave us a brilliant cough syrup and we had our first, in a week, good night's sleep on Friday night. I felt like a new person Saturday morning.

Now it's my big boy's turn. Yep, the big Jay is sick. I was amazed he lasted this long with Will and I contaminating the air for a full week. He's been in bed since yesterday and will be going to the doctor (who must be heartily sick of our family by now) this afternoon. At least I'm at work and I don't have to look at his sick face all day. Gee, I hate sick people!

OK, enough sickness for one blog. Well, at least the physical kind. Let's backtrack a little...

The weekend before last was amazing, the best we've had for a while. We dropped Will and mum off at the Opera House, where she was taking him to see a children's production, and headed off for a "couple" day. The sun was shining and it was a totally beautiful Sydney winter day (bring on global warming, I say). Driving through the city we made an on-the-spot decision to have lunch at Jackson's Landing, a new harbourside development at Pyrmont, near the Casino. We hadn't been before and I had heard that there was a fabulous gourmet (isn't everything these days?) fish and chip cafe opened up down there.

As soon as we drove down there we were in love. It's a spectacular part of town and the park on the water down there affords a breathtaking view of two of my favourite Sydney landmarks - the Harbour Bridge and the Anzac Bridge. We bought our super yummy fish and chips and sat in the park gazing at our beautiful city. Why would you live anywhere else? After lunch we went for a walk and made a pact that within five years (unless we change our minds and/or get distracted by something else... oh, look what's that pretty thing...) we would buy an apartment down there and enjoy a city lifestyle. I've been playing this tune for some time but Jason's been reluctant, not wanting to swap our slice of suburbia (a pretty nice slice I must say) for the delights of city living. I get butteflies in my stomach just thinking how mindblowing it would be to sit out on our deck and have that stunning view every day. We'd be able to walk to Chinatown for yum cha every weekend (if that's not heaven then I don't know what is), Jason would be able to walk to work and we'd have the beautiful city of Sydney as our backyard.

After this little bit of daydreaming was over we went to the movies. I was really starting to despair of ever being entertained at the cinema again. But then we saw Sin City and my faith in film making was renewed. It had everything that's been missing for me at the cinema - i.e. entertainment. I want to fall into a movie and go for a ride and with Sin City that's just what I did. It's very violent and brutal but also funny and quite original - it left me with a very similar feeling to when I first saw Pulp Fiction - WOW! I wouldn't say I enjoyed it as much as Pulp Fiction - I really loved the multi-layered story line and the twists in the narrative - but it was certainly in the same league and with a very similar flavour.

As a quick aside, my sister and I went to see Me and My Sister on the Friday night. It was a French comedy-drama and I really quite enjoyed it. It's wonderful that Julia and I can work together all week and then still enjoy each other's company enough to socialise together out of work as well. (Most of the time) we get on so well and make each other laugh - it's like having my best friend with me all the time. Cool! [Don't get a big head when you read this, JB]

OK, in case I hadn't had enough movies for one weekend, when we got home from Sin City we had some dinner and decided to watch a movie on Home Box Office (without Will to entertain us there is so much time to kill). So we picked The Village. I was hoping I could still enjoy it even though I knew what "the twist" was, but I didn't really. It was a half decent movie but because I knew what was going to be revealed at the end I just couldn't get into the suspense of it.

Sunday we met up with Mum, Boris, Will (who had stayed the night at mum's) and Julia at The Summit for lunch to celebrate Jason's 36th birthday (yes, that's right, he's my toy boy!). The Summit is a revolving restaurant at the top of the Australia Square building and while my general theory is to avoid revolving (read: revolting) restaurants, this one is an exception. Jay and I went there for our anniversary in January this year and it was spectacular. One of those restaurants that does wonderful food, has amazing service and garnish the whole lot with a breathtaking view. We had been raving about it for months which meant that this lunch was bound to be a disaster - but it wasn't!

On a clear sunny day the view is forever and it really was gorgeous. As before the service was lovely - attentive but not in your face like some silver service restaurants can be. The menu reads beautifully and the best part is that the food tastes and looks as good as it sounds. As before I went for Oyster Mania to start. It's a half dozen oysters done a different way each - but not cooked (Oysters Kilpatrick are a crime against humanity and whoever Kilpatrick is, he ought to be ashamed of himself). IMHO an oyster should not be cooked - it should be served naturally with a wedge of lemon or, if you have a very confident chef, it should be served with a few select dressings which enhance the beautiful oyster flavour. This is what Oyster Mania is - the oysters are presented on a long plate, three on the shell and three in shot glasses - each with a gorgeous dressing. A must for the serious oyster fans.

Then I had the chicken which was served with rare scallops and a seafood bisque. Again this was a stunning main course - except the waiter told us the chickens were a month old which made me a little sad ... only a little, I'm such a carnivore I'm sure it would only be minutes after the plane crash in the Andes before I would be tucking into my fellow survivor's thigh with a half apologetic smile.

I was going to have the hot chocolate pudding for dessert but that would have taken 20 minutes and we were all over it by then so I decided on the dessert selection plate (is there a better combination of words in the English language?). What a work of art! Four tiny sweet morsels beautifully arranged on a long plate. Too good to eat! Well, not really - I managed. As my boss Bob would say - "I love food! I wouldn't eat anything else!"

So now we come to the end of the nice part of the weekend and the beginning of the bad, bad part. The part where this blog starts - the SICK part. After that beautiful weekend of warm weather, Sydney sights, great movies and fabulous food - the crowning glory is a very sick child, soon to be followed by a very sick mother, a very sick dad and a patridge in a pear tree!

I don't know about you, but I need a Bex and I good lie down!