He's lucky, you're lucky, we're all lucky...

I'm feeling lucky. Lucky to have enjoyed two nights' of fantastic entertainment.

I'll start at the end which is where my inspiration for the above quote comes from. Ring any bells? Any hardcore fans out there?

No? Well, just me then. I'm talking Rocky Horror [Picture] Show. For my money the greatest musical ever written. The new production opened at Star City last week and I've been hanging out for the last few months, the tickets burning a hole in our ticket drawer.

I haven't seen the live version for over 25 years, ever since my rather shell-shocked mum took my then 14 year old self to see it at the Theatre Royal in the early 1980s. But I have seen the wonderful movie version a gazillion times. I'm one of those painful people who know it line by line, and insist on talking and singing along the entire time. You have been warned.

Last night's production was fabulous. A few areas I may have done differently but generally superb. I have to mention Iota as Frank'n'Furter. I was very worried about what take he might have on this character. For me Tim Curry owns this role and always will. Don't mess with the best I say and Iota didn't. He literally had me squirming with delight. Thank you Iota, thank you Richard O'Brien, thank you linesmen, thank you ballboys.

Now let's go back to Friday night. February is Music by Moonlight month here at the Olympic site where we live. Every Friday there is a free performance at The Overflow, a grassy area just across the road from The Stadium (as I'm now calling it, since it has a name change every year or so, depending on who is forking out the sponsorship cash). This is less than a minute's drive from our house and the perfect end-of-week veg out setting for our family.

Sadly the first two Fridays were rained out but we've gone for the third and fourth weeks. The week before there was an African band who were amazing. This week was The Rolling Stones... well, not THE Rolling Stones, but a tribute night of sorts. A hugely talented band with an assortment of male and female singers, each taking a turn at the Stones' classic and not so classic songs. The music was first class and it was amazing to have such an entertaining concert provided for free.

I think it's just the ambience of the night that makes it special. A balmy Sydney summer evening, the stars twinkling overhead, an esky full of cheese, crackers and other gourmet delights. The kids dancing. Our nice neighbours K and B to chat with. A bottle or six of red wine for Big Jay and our new friends. Then back in the car and home within two minutes.

It just doesn't get better than that.

There is a hoo-ha going on around here (near where I work and Will goes to school, not near home) about a proposal for a brothel.

There are letters to the editor in the local paper and a woman approached me in the school playground to sign a petition against it.

I wish I had the guts to tell this woman what I thought of her prudish piece of crap petition. Instead I'll just tell you.

I can't believe people want to continue to live their lives with their heads in the proverbial sand. Wake up and smell the bullshit people. The sex industry is one of the oldest in the history of humans walking on their hind legs. Pretending it doesn't exist is like closing your eyes and pretending people can't see you. It's real, it exists, deal with it. I certainly prefer the idea of brothels than of poor women freezing their butts off on a corner of William Street or some god-forsaken stretch of the Great Western Highway on a winter's night.

This particular brothel is being planned for a stretch of road inhabitated by panel beaters, car mechanics, a bus terminal and other forms of light industry. The anti-brothel people have picked up on the fact that this bit of road also backs onto the large playing fields of a particular Catholic boys' high school (the actual school buildings being hundreds of meters away from this bit of road). If you ask me, a lot of these boys will probably end up being regular customers. No-one needs a bonk more than a repressed Catholic school boy... well, perhaps the Pope, but that's a whole different story.

So to close I'll just say that I hate prudes, I hate bullshit and I wish I looked better in lingerie like the girls on Satisfaction... when will they screen Season 2?

JUNO.

LOVE. IT.

This little film gets everything right. A tiny little bit of cinematic perfection.

Want a giggle?

Yesterday was Woolworths' Drough Action Day '08: Backing Our Farmers.

It's good to know the rich bastards at Woolies have a sense of humour and no sense of irony.

I can totally see how screwing the farmers down to the last cent, to a point where they barely make a living from selling their produce to Australia's giant supermarket chain but can't tell them to stick it because of the true lack of competition within the industry in this county, and then having the audacity to give a portion of your mega profits for ONE DAY to the same farmers you've been screwing, is great business logic and fantastic marketing.

Makes me sick to the stomach but what are you going to do.

CHEEKY!!

This is probably a first, and last. I don't usually promote exercise products (not without a lucrative product placement fee... and I'm still waiting for a call from my agent on that one) on this blog.

Anyway, I've been desperate to get onto some sort of regular exercise program. I need to lose a few kgs FAST (well, before my 40th). After a few false starts I spent a total of $35 at Big W on two DVD sets - The Firm Sculpting Ball Workout (with ball) and The Firm Fat-Burning Cardio Toning (with Resistance Cords).

Like Big Kev, I'm excited. This is the sort of exercise I enjoy. It's easy-ish, I can feel it working muscles I generally haven't used for many years and I can do it in my bedroom early in the morning without worrying about rain, dark or any other potential excuses which used to prevent me from exercising.

[envisage me all made up and presenting on the Kerrie-Anne show on a weekday morning] So ladies... if you need to tone up and look great for summer why not try... It worked for me!

Let's discuss disappointment... not that (it's pretty good really)... or that (no, I can't complain).

The Tudors. I've been so looking forward to it. I have had a soft spot for Jonathan Rhys Meyers since his gorgeous androgynous role in the fabulous Velvet Goldmine (can't believe that was 1998). Generally I don't like girly skinny blokes but he's got something. Those dangerous blue eyes perhaps...

Anyway, this was my chance to drool over JRM and learn something about history. Whatever. Big Jay and I got through about 15 minutes before we decided it was crap. Or should I say crap dressed up as soft porn (not that there's anything wrong with that).

PLAYGROUP ROCKS!!

(Do you like the T-shirt mum bought me?)

You, Me and Dupree. There's (close to) two hours of my life I'll never get back.

The only sad thing is watching a bland and old(er) Matt Dillon going through the motions. I couldn't help but think back to the crush I had on him circa Little Darlings (1980) and how wonderful he was as part of (possibly) the greatest ensemble cast, in a movie I will never outgrow, The Outsiders.

YES, there is a God (well, not really... it's just an expression, right...). Anyway, my excitement comes with the news that Channel 9 will be screening, amongst it's huuuuuuge line up of reality tv shows for 2008, Weddings - 10 Years On.

The original Weddings was on in the late 1990s and was a particular favourite of mine, especially since I was getting married in 1998 and spent a lot of time thinking of such things. More honestly I loved this show because it gave me a great opportunity to ridicule the poor white trash who made up the majority of its "cast".

Oh please please please let them re-visit the couple whose wedding included a present from the bride to the groom of a Persian kitten, who she attempted to walk down the aisle on a lead. It just doesn't get better than that. I'll remember these people until the day I die.

(No wonder I don't know the capital city of most countries and in, fact, couldn't locate many of them on a map. This is the sort of crap my head is filled with.)

I love Come Dine With Me, a BBC production shown here on Lifestyle Food.

It's a cooking program which runs over five nights and features five amateur home "chefs" who each host a dinner party at their home. The four guests give a score each evening and at the end of the week the winner gets one thousand pounds.

Unarguably it's less about food and more about the people who participate. Though I have picked up a decent recipe or two (the chicken thigh cutlets stuffed with mushrooms and wrapped in pancetta are super easy and totally yummy) most of these people are not Gordon Ramsay by any stretch of the imagination.

It may not be high brow entertainment but where else are you going to meet a bloke who not only owns a vol-au-vent cooking machine (like a home donut making machine but so much weirder) but also did an embalming course and embalmed his own father! But wait there is more. He has a picture of his dead mother, in her coffin, in the guest bedroom. Hands up who wants to stay the night!

Last night we finally watched Everything is Illuminated. We've had it IQ'd for months and but never quite got around to watching it.

Films are rarely great. At best they are good and more often mediocre. Maybe, with the subject matter being close to my heart and my heritage, I could be biased. But I really thought it was great. It was everything a wonderful film should be: funny and moving, well written, well acted and well directed.

Some movies which tackle a difficult subject leave you feeling bruised and battered, emotionally shell-shocked (I am thinking Schindler's List and Nil by Mouth as two examples which spring readily to mind). However, (and not taking anything away from these amazing films) sometimes a subtle, more gentle, story can have just as much impact.

It is the story of a young Jewish American man who travels back to the Ukraine to visit the place his grandfather grew up and find the woman who saved him during the war. The story starts in Odessa, the city where I was born, and for me watching this film I finally felt the very first real inkling within myself that I would like to visit the place where my life began. I have genuinely never felt much of an interest in doing so before. But as much as it his and his family's story, it also the story of the young Ukranian translator and his grandfather.

Liev Schreiber adapted the screenplay (from the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer, which I now must read immediately if not sooner) and directed this beautiful film and given the opportunity I will give him a huge hug and say "thank you" from the bottom of my heart.

A few pics from the weekend

Our Anniversary Weekend:

The Good

* Getting picked up in a private car from Melbourne Airport by my dear husband and a uniformed chauffer named Theo.

* The hotel. The Melbourne Grand Hyatt is great and being on the executive floors makes it even better. Not that the rooms are any better but you get to use the Executive Lounge on Level 31 which is where you go for breakfast away from the unwashed masses (not sure how many of the unwashed masses stay the Grand Hyatt) and where you go for drinkies and canapes after 5:30 pm. Wonderful service, great views and complimentary (almost up there with SALE in my vocabulary hierachy) food and drink. Bring it on!

* The tennis. The Men's Final on Sunday night was amazing. The atmosphere was electric and most of the crowd was on the side of super cute Frenchie Jo-Wilfried Tsonga (Second = WINNER in my book, sweetie). Who wouldn't love a face like this:



















(I tought him everything I know about tennis... luckily he ignored that and learnt to play properly!)

* The food. We got lucky with our eating out (I guess a bit of internet research didn't hurt). Saturday night dinner at Gingerboy in the city. Really fabulous food, great cocktails (my Gingerboy Iced Tea was superb) and a very funky atmosphere with just right service. Sunday yum cha at Red Emperor. Wow this sucks! How can my new favourite yum cha place be in Melbourne? That's just not right. But this place is very very good. The garlic prawn dumplings are the best I've ever had. Both highly recommended.

* The movie (yes, we managed to squeeze in a 2 hour + movie between the Women's Final and dinner on Saturday evening). No Country for Old Men was vintage Coen Borthers. I was annoyed by the non-ending but got used to it after a bit of perculating through the grey cell department. It's not Raising Arizona but it's damn fine as it is.

* The friends. Got to see Big Jay's brother T, his wife A and their little fella A. They are always good fun and good value. Love you guys! Also enjoyed yum cha with two other families we know through our Guatemalan-born children. While we don't see them often it's always great fun when we do (and then there's email for the in-between years).

The Bad

* The food at the Australian Open. Are you havin' a larf? Is he havin' a larf? Someone's having a fucking laugh, that's for sure. There is a conspiracy going on in this country and it involves sporting venues, food outlets and stealing money from a captive audience. Never mind committees investigating petrol price fixing and whether or not supermarkets are fucking us over on a daily basis (they are!). What about an investigation into the price and quality of food at sporting venues? Where do you stand on that KRudd?

* People are rude. Do I need to go on? Well, OK. They push in, yell out and generally behave in ways guaranteed to piss off all those around them. Hey, guess what? Acting like you are the only person who matters is not cool!

The Ugly

* The heat. Saturday's afternoon match was almost unbearable. If the Women's Final had gone to three sets I would have had to leave. While our seats were great view-wise, they were horrific heat-wise. I really felt like the ant under the proverbial magnifying glass. I don't recall being so hot and uncomfortable.

* The three pissed cows. The three seats on our left were occupied by a trio of 50-something women who loved their tennis (had been at the Open for the last 10 years) and equally loved their cheap vino. They arrived tipsy and quickly got fully blotto. Each to their own, I say, but when you're so pissed you ask me the same question 20 times ("is it SONGA and T-SONGA?" and "look, there's Sting") and slur in my face with your alcohol soaked breath, then I start to get the urge to smash your stupid drunk head on the concrete steps over and over until YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

One of life's mysteries: Why is there an A4 size laminated picture of Eric Estrada circa 1977 stuck high up on a pillar as you approach Terminal 3 at Sydney Airport? Would have missed it if I hadn't been on a bus coming in from the long term car park on Saturday morning.

Today is our 10th wedding anniversary. I'm home with the kids, Big Jay is in Melbourne.

Which isn't as sad as it sounds. We got tickets for the final four days of the Australian Open tennis and Jay went down yesterday for the semi-finals.

I'm flying down tomorrow morning after distributing the children to the various grandparents who are dumb, I mean kind, enough to look after them until Monday.

Jay gave me a gorgeous Pandora charm bracelet, which is exactly what I wanted. I've been coveting one for quite some time and dropped a fairly big hint when I got one for my sister as a combined bon voyage, birthday and Chrissie present before her recent departure. There are eight charms on it now (well some of them are what's called "spacers") the best being an angel and a heart with a key (corny, I know, but I do have a soft side underneath this cynical, brittle exterior).

I have scoured the Pandora website and sent Jay a wishlist for future reference - number one on the list being a too cute gold and diamond hand bag.

I wasn't that excited about the tennis (this trip being something special Jay has always wanted to do) but I am now that Jo-Wilfried Tsonga is in the final. I always love an underdog story. A David and Goliath-type battle. However, it looks like there is a possibility there will be two Davids and no Goliaths in the final as Federer has just lost the first set in his semi-final.

At this point I am most looking forward to dinner at Gingerboy tomorrow night and yum cha at Red Emperor on Sunday morning. It's always about food with me.

Update on Monday. Have a great Australia Day long weekend everybody.

PS I got Jay binoculars. Really expensive binoculars. It's what he wanted. I know, I know... nothing yells romance like binoculars.

Event:CocoRosie
Select Venue:The Factory Theatre
Select Date:Sat 08 Mar 2008 8:00PM
I'm not sure how to hide my excitement. I know my dear sister will be mortified that she is so far away and not able to share the musical wonderment which is CocoRosie.

To quote from the Ticketek blurb:

"CocoRosie are truly an act that defy categorization - part folk, part opera, part gospel, part blues, part pop, part hip hop, part electronic, all blended together with a healthy dose of fantasy... [to create the sort of aural pollution you would gladly cut off your own ears to avoid]."

Holy mother of god, are there really enough tone deaf psycopaths in Sydney to warrant the return of these music murderers?

I tend not to check What Would Tyler Durden Do? as religiously as I do some of my other favourite celebrity sites.

But when I do it's always a treat.

Sometimes he can be less than subtle and perhaps even crass, like here.

But generally he's just bloody funny, like here.

Heath Ledger dead.

That is so sad.

I'll never forget how he blew me away in Two Hands. I was mesmerised by his raw sexiness and talent.

What a waste of a talented young life. No different to River Phoenix, I suppose.

Drugs fucking up another life and another family.

We have embarked on some sort of shopping frenzy recently and it's getting out of hand.

Somebody stop us!

However, I love these shoes. They may have been $50 Myer post-Christmas Sale specials, guaranteed to be uncomfortable, unwearable and assigned to the back of the wardrobe. But they are not, they are cute and comfy. So now I need clothes to go with them. Thus, alas, the shopping frenzy must continue.

Yesterday's Daily Quote on my $1.89 desk calendar:

"You've got to create a dream. You've got to uphold the dream. If you can't, then bugger it. Go back to the factory, or go back to the desk." Eric Burdon

Which made me think: what the fuck?!

What exactly is wrong with the factory and/or the desk? The world runs on the labour of people who work in the factory and at the desk. People who do mundane jobs day in, day out. Furthermore there are too many people in this world for whom such a boring job is the very pinnacle of their dream; for a job, any job, means money and a home and food and drink. The sorts of basics we don't even think about because they are so far beneath our day to day concerns.

It is truly fucked up to think your life only has meaning if you are doing some sort of creative pursuit and, better still, making yourself a celebrity through that pursuit. Meaning does not come from fame or wealth. From my experience fame and wealth are much more a product of luck, possibly (but not always) in combination with actual talent, intelligence, creativity and/or hard work.

We are fed this concept not only via quotes on desk calendars but through all forms of media. It is better to die trying to reach for the top than live a life of a million tiny obscure steps. But that isn't and can not be true for that is exactly how the vast majority of the population lead their lives. There needs to be more celebration of the mundane because it is reality. We are poisoning ourselves with these so-called "dreams" because we are constantly de-valueing the lives of normal people who through choice or circumstance will never be rich or famous.

So I say "here's to the little people in the factories and the offices" and while you're at it "fuck the dream"!

For those of you who don't just check this blog for endless favourite Leonard Cohen lyrics and references to the Red Hot Chili Peppers:

Look... I know... you're all over it. But it is my blog so indulge me, please. I promise this obsession is nearing it's natural ending.

How about this for fabulous song writing. I love these lyrics:

Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you've been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you've been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows

From "Everybody Knows".

And from my new favourite song off I'm Your Man, "The Future":

Give me back my broken night
my mirrored room, my secret life
it's lonely here,
there's no one left to torture

Give me absolute control
over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby,
that's an order!

Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that's left
stuff it up the hole
in your culture

Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I've seen the future, brother:
it is murder.

Things are going to slide, slide in all directions
Won't be nothing
Nothing you can measure anymore
The blizzard, the blizzard of the world
has crossed the threshold
and it has overturned
the order of the soul

When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant.

Sung by Teddy Thompson it is pure musical ecstasy.

(Have ordered TT's solo CDs from the US, since I love his voice so much I'm looking forward to hearing what he can do without Leonard Cohen's magical lyrics.)

Talk about when worlds collide. What the hell does this mean?

Ben Lee to marry Ione Skye

Ione Skye has mythical status in my life. Not only did this woman play Diane Court in Say Anything (my all time, head and shoulders above all else, favourite movie); a character I both love, envy and admire (smart, gorgeous and ends happily ever after with Lloyd Dobler/John Cusack) but at the time of making this fantastic film she was dating (nudge nudge wink wink) Anthony Keidis in the very early days of the Chili Peppers.

I mean, if I died and was reincarnated, I could not imagine coming back as anyone better than Ione Skye circa 1988-1990.

Sure her career hasn't hit any highs following from 1989 (when she not only made Say Anything but also the very wonderful The Rachel Papers) and she did marry one of the Beastie Boys (who cares which one) and that didn't end well, but I'd still be her in a heartbeat.

So here she is at the age of 36 marrying 29 year old Ben Lee whose music I love and who went to school with my baby sister.

Go figure.

I would have made a good Catholic. I love a bit of a confession. So here's another one:

I am seriously addicted to Girls of the Playboy Mansion. What is wrong with me???!!!

It's gotten to a point where I'm almost afraid to flick through the Foxtel channels in case it's on (and it's on a lot of the time, like on Sunday afternoon when they had a GOTPM MARATHON for god's sake). What's a girl to do?!

As a feminist I don't know how I can stomach the show but I can. It's a love/hate relationship. The girls mesmerise me and the goings on are fascinating in the most inane way you can imagine.

And I have to put it out there. I love Bridgette and Holly but I wish Kendra would spontaneously combust. She shits me in a major way and that laugh... don't get me started.

If anyone knows of a safe cure (which doesn't involve electrotherapy) please let me know. I'm desperate.

The Bill's Reg Hollis cuts wrists after sacking

This is so sad. Really! It must be horrible when your work is your life. Sounds like he may be in need of my friend Kath's (otherwise known as Milly Moo) newly published book Work/Life Balance for Dummies.

Big Jay and I were fans of The Bill for many many years but in the last few we've stopped watching. It's just become a tedious soapie with more attention paid to the sex lives of the increasingly attractive cast than the crimes. I think we finally went off it when Cas was murdered by the serial killer. It just wasn't the same after that.

I do feel for poor old Jeff Stewart. He's given 23 years to a job which has unceramoniously discarded him at a time when getting a similar acting job may prove rather difficult. I mean HE IS Reg Hollis and the public wouldn't take kindly to him in a different role I would assume. And he's not likely to be stealing any work from Brad Pitt in the near future. So it's a future in children's pantomimes and community theatre for Jeff, I'm afraid.

As you may be able to tell I am ever so slightly obsessed with Leonard Cohen and my I'm Your Man CD right now. I have to play it constantly and it causes me a great deal of pain and joy and heartache and reminds me that I'm a living, breathing, feeling human and not just a work-wife-mummy-bot.

Approaching 40 (which may be the new 30 but it sure doesn't feel that way from where I'm standing) this line from Tower of Song is particularly meaningful "I ache in the places where I used to play".

I am in such awe of Leonard Cohen (and other songwriters who I admire such as Nick Cave, Antony) because in a few simple words they can so eloquently describe the human condition, make us cry, smile, feel. What I wouldn't do to have that talent.

And because I can't stop myself and because this song keeps calling me back over and over until I feel my heart may explode I'll leave you with the lyrics from Tonight Will Be Fine.

Sometimes I find I get to thinking of the past.
We swore to each other then that our love would surely last.
You kept right on loving, I went on a fast,
now I am too thin and your love is too vast.

But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
that tonight will be fine,
will be fine, will be fine, will be fine
for a while.

I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there's only one bed and there's only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair.

But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
that tonight will be fine,
will be fine, will be fine, will be fine
for a while.

Oh sometimes I see her undressing for me,
she's the soft naked lady love meant her to be
and she's moving her body so brave and so free.
If I've got to remember that's a fine memory.

And I know from her eyes
and I know from her smile
that tonight will be fine,
will be fine, will be fine, will be fine
for a while.

I spend more time than is probably reasonble for a healthy-ish almost 40-year-old thinking about the music I want played at my funeral. I think music at a funeral is very important, especially if the funeralee (?) loved music. For example, recently at Big Jay's great uncle's funeral they played a few Al Jolson songs as Uncle Den was known for his love Jolson's music. It was really special because everyone there knew how much that music meant to Den.

So I thought I better put my thoughts down in writing (you never know when fate is going to send that runaway bus into your path).

1) The Guests - if Antony's version is ever recorded then I want that played first, if not Leonard Cohen's version will do nicely.

2) Dream a little dream - The Mamas and The Papas (no other version - EVER).

3) Bird on a wire - Perla Batalla's version from the I'm Your Man CD. ("Like a bird on the wire, Like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free.")

4) Soul to squeeze - Red Hot Chili Peppers off the Coneheads soundtrack. Well, obviously a RHCP song must be played at my funeral. I couldn't rest in peace otherwise. This song is in some ways the essence of RHCP. It's perfection.

5) Satisfied Mind - Jeff Buckley from Sketches (For My Sweetheart The Drunk).

That should probably do. If I think of something a little bit more upbeat to add for the final song I'll update later.

Something I learnt from the previews at last weekend's movie outing: Regina Spektor is the new black... when it comes to soundtracks. Her song/s appear on both the 27 Dresses and Juno soundtracks. Way to get on the bandwagon people! Remember: I found her first.

Speaking of Juno, I'm obviously partial to adoption themes but this looks like a great little film.

So Anthony is enjoying being a dad. Fantastic! Wait until they're waking you up at 1:00 am demanding to be taken to McDonalds. Then we'll talk.

But this picture is gorgeous. Everly looks a little like his dad, especially with that long hair. Sheesh I miss Anthony's long long hair. I know it's not befitting a 45 year old man but it was so rock way back when.

Went to see P.S. I Love You with my friend C on Sunday night. I was so tired (from staying up until almost 1:00 am on Saturday finishing T is for Trespass, goodbye for now Kinsey, I'll miss you) I thought I would fall asleep in the middle of the film... but I didn't.

I didn't fall asleep because it was a really good film. Overall I loved it, just the kind of thing I felt like watching. I'm sure everyone knows the storyline: happy young couple, husband dies, sends letters to his wife from beyond the grave as she struggles to re-start her life. No, it's not a supernatural film (though the father from Supernatural plays a sort-of love interest and I just couldn't take him seriously, kept expecting his eyes to turn red from yet another demon possession, you know how it is).

I had a few teeny weeny problems like not being a particular fan of Hilary Swank as a romantic heroine (those TEETH, and that friggin' giant plastic headband... what the?). Don't get me wrong, I loved her in Boys Don't Cry but here she just doesn't ring my bell. Who does ring my bell (and could do so anytime he likes) is Harry Connick Jr. Whoa baby I love that man. It jumped out at me that he has a likeness to Hugh Grant with that foppy hair so maybe that's what attracts me though I would have to defend myself by saying NO, there must be something else. And Harry was super cute, in a getting older sort of way, but that's good, I can't keep being superficially attracted to men who are terrifyingly starting to be young enough to be my sons.

The script was sad and funny without being too much of either. I wish I could write a script like that. Best of all there was a fantastic soundtrack featuring The Pogues and that's a band you don't hear much of these days. Another CD to add to the mess in the car. Sheesh I wish someone would invent a good and easy to use car CD holder, I need help!

I've never been brave enough to make real custard. It's always seemed like something a little too difficult. Not sure why I have suffered from this particular phobia, similar to my scone making phobia.

However, since Pavlova Roll is one of my staple desserts for entertaining (easy, delicious and popular with everyone) I always end up with spare egg yolks which I diligently put in the fridge with the aim of finding a recipe to use them in and then always end up throwing them away after a week at the back of the fridge.

So finally I found a custard recipe which seemed simple enough and I'm here to tell you that it's not only simple but it's the best custard I have ever tasted, even if I do say so myself.

As a community service announcement here 'tis: Traditional Vanilla Custard (for dummies... who like yummy custard).

PS As an added tip I recommend having a husband on hand who is happy(-ish) to stand there stirring constantly for 15 minues while you get on with more important things.

Armed with my 25% discount voucher I raided Borders for a few New Year gifts of music for myself.

1) Amy Winehouse "Back to Black". I couldn't go on being the only person on the planet not to own this CD. Why do the great voices so often come with the shit life?

2) Guy Sebastian "The Memphis Album". OK, stop screaming! Bless me father for I have sinned: I voted for Guy to win Oz Idol. There! it's out in the open so let's get on with our lives. This is the music his voice is so well suited for and it's full of damned fine versions of some great classics. And Big Jay loves it too. Bonus.

3) Ben Lee "Ripe". Look it's taken some work to get over the mental hurdle of being a fan of someone my much younger sister went to school with but I loved (and continue to love) his last offering "Awake is the new sleep". It's on constant rotation in the car. This promises to be more of the same.

4) Soundtrack "Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man". Well, (this almost deserves it's own blog entry) almost exactly three years ago my life was changed forever when I sat alone (with a few thousand strangers) in the Opera House Concert Hall and had what can only be described as being as close to a spiritual experience as I'm ever going to have. Came So Far For Beauty was the most beautiful, amazing, life shattering concert I have ever been to and this is the CD of some selected songs from the Sydney and Brighton, UK performances of this show. Some favourites amongst the full sixteen magical moments:

* Song 2: "Tonight Will Be Fine" Teddy Thompson (who is this guy? and why does he make me want to cry?).

* Song 7: "If It Be Your Way" Antony (well my thoughts and feelings on this beautiful strange man-angel-creature are well documented). This song tears out my heart (but I still wish they had instead or as well as included his magical version of "The Guests").

* Song 9: "Famous Blue Raincoat" The Handsome Family (superb!)

* Song 10: "Bird on a Wire" Perla Batalla (Perla was one of Leonard's original back up singers and her love of his music is painful and exquisite - this song is magical).

* Song 11: "Everybody Knows" Rufus Wainwright (can this man possibly be any gayer? I love him and I love this wonderful song).

Some great music for my summer 2008 life soundtrack.

Wishing all my readers (all 2 of you) a fabulous 2008!

Family, friends, health, love and happiness for the New Year and always!

A perfect moment in time...

Yesterday we spent the day out on the Pittwater with my boss B and his wife T (our Swannies partners-in-crime). They are great people and we really enjoy their company. Getting to go out on their little cruiser for the day is just an extra special bonus.

We found a private-ish little beach with a nice shaded corner and spent half the day lounging about, playing in the sand with the kids, swimming in the clean almost-warm water and enjoying our picnic lunch. I must say a top notch picnic is crucial for the success of such perfect days and ours consisted of a pot of Maggie Beer's most wonderful Pheasant Farm pate, a good wedge of French Brie and an equally good wedge of Wistonia (?) vintage cheddar. Then there was the smoked salmon and lettuce and thinly sliced BBQ rump steak sandwiches. Not to mention some freshly baked chocolate brownies and bowls of grapes and rockmelon slices.

It was simply the perfect Sydney day and I'm not sure what could have been better (possibly a nude Robbie Williams waiting to unpack our bags when we got home - but I digress). The kids had an absolute ball and were both totally wrecked (in a good way) and fast asleep not long after 6:00 pm.

How did you spend the last Sunday of 2007?

Nothing says Christmas like Chrisco and you all know how I feel about these thieving scumbags. So it's sad but not suprising to learn that Chrisco has screwed numerous of its poor white trash customers by not delivering many of their overpriced hampers of crap as you can see here.

So while I do somewhat feel sorry for the poor schmucks who have sent away their regular payments, scrimped as I'm sure they were from their weekly fag and slab budget, there's a mean, Scrooge-like part of me which thinks "if you're buying shit from Chrisco you deserve everything you get".

And that isn't very Christmas-spirited of me, is it!

Well, another Christmas Day has come and gone and we've all survived with our sanity intact. More or less.

Despite our best efforts at restraint the kids did very well with their pressie hoard. There are all the gifts from grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins to consider. Right now they are watching the Spy Kids 2 DVD which seems to be Will's favourite thing at the moment.

My communal pressie from Big Jay and my mum and dad is "THE BEASTIE" (as I like to call it). My gorgeous bright red 3 wheeled bike, with the giant white basket on the back. As you may know I had my sense of balance surgically removed as a child and, as such, riding a normal bike is a skill I simply can not master. Since we've moved here and the rest of the family have been enjoying bike rides on a regular basis I have been the odd one out. Thanks to the wonders of the internet and Google that is no longer the case. I haven't taken a picture yet but I'll do that this morning and post it later. Tour de France, here I come!

Recently overheard conversation (from the shower):

Marianna: "Look daddy, you have a willy and I have a willy."

Daddy: "No Marianna, you don't have a willy, you have a vagina. Girls have vaginas."

Marianna: "NOOOOO, I DON'T HAVE A GIANT! I HAVE A WILLY!"

I guess that's what happens when you have an older brother. She'll learn to deal with the harsh reality sooner or later.

Well, it's official.

I am the Worst Mother In The World!

This morning I forgot to strap Marianna into her baby seat. A few hundred metres down the road I had to brake reasonably hardly and she slid off her seat and luckily onto the cushy pile of crap I had wedged behind my seat - a large bag of Christmas presents I was taking to mail and two bags of work uniform pieces I've been meaning to drop of at the embroidery company.

The poor little thing cried and cried. She wasn't hurt but she did get a big fright.

Will said "that really freaked me out, mummy".

I felt lower than a pregnant snail. Believe me, my parenting confidence doesn't need to get any lower.

During this Festive Season I have two very welcome visitors to our home. Inspector John Rebus and Kinsey Millhone. I've missed them both so much and now they are sitting side by side on my bedside table.

It's almost too much to bear to have such delicious treats waiting for me each evening when I go to bed. Thank you, Ian Rankin and Sue Grafton for my much anticipated gifts.

This is the face of a 2-and-a-half year old with attitude. I never really understood the "terrible twos" concept until now. Will never really went through it; short burst of shopping centre tantruming at around 4, but that was it.

Marianna is a whole new ball game. Today for example, she screamed and fought (I mean literally, physically fought) me over putting her nappy on, putting her pants on, putting her shoes on, brushing her teeth and whether or not she was allowed to take her baby in the stroller out for the day. Then she screamed when I tried to get her out of the car at the Post Office because I wouldn't let her take the box of sultanas, half of which were already all over the back of the car. This was all before 9:30 am.

I am fairly certain should we want to (and we don't) survey our immediate neighbours the majority would think our child was being routinely tortured. Her screaming and hysterics (complete with sobs and lots of tears) must be heard throughout the building.

As a seperate, funny kiddy-ism: Both the children call hair conditioner AIR conditioner. It's hilarious - especially for someone who has worked in the building automation industry for the past 17 years.

I've been memed by MillyMoo and since I haven't done one of these for a gazillion years and I'm desperate for some distraction, here it goes:

1) Eight things I am passionate about:
* My family
* My friends
* Red Hot Chili Peppers
*(Currently) Holidaying places where there's a Kids Klub
* Hating the Climate Change Moral Panic we're experiencing
* Good food
* Dexter
* Getting an opportunity to read

2) Eight things I want to do before I die:

* Travel around the US in a car with my hubby - specifically go to New York and the state of Maine (where most of Stephen King's books are set)

* Travel around the UK in a car with my hubby - particularly stop in Edinburgh to do the Inspector Rebus/Ian Rankin tour

* Complete a screenplay

* See my screenplay produced into a real film

* Do a scriptwriting degree at AFTRS

* See my children grow into happy, well-adjusted adults

* Live somewhere with a real view of Sydney Harbour (i.e. the important bits - the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge)

* Travel around Australia with my hubby - in a car, staying in B&Bs (not one of those god-awful caravans)

3) Eight things I say often:
* Fuck
* Stop annoying your sister
* Stop screaming Marianna
* Do I have to repeat myself a million times?
* Finish your breakfast
* No, you can't play the Playstation
* It'd be easier to train a monkey (when I'm at work)
* He/she only started walking on their hind legs last week

4) Eight books I've read recently:
* In The Cut (great)
* Specimen Days (deep)
* Sucked In (fantastic)
* Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (the best one)
* Love in a cold climate
* The Pursuit of Happiness (both all time favourites)
* Green Eggs and Ham
* Edwina the Emu

5) Eight songs I could listen to over and over:

** I am not putting in any Red Hot Chili Peppers songs because they are all in this category.

* Romeo and Juliet (Dire Straits)
* Lover Your Should Have Come Over (Jeff Buckley)
* You are my sister (Antony and the Johnsons)
* Jersey Girl (Bruce Springsteen)
* In The Flesh (Blondie)
* She Talks to Angels (The Black Crowes)
* Come Undone (Robbie Williams)
* The Ship Song (Nick Cave)

6) But if I were doing a triple CD set, I’d include (8 x 3 = 24)

Would love to, but really can't spend the time, sorry.

7) 8 things that attract me to my friends:
* They put up with me
* They are good people, each with their own strengths
* They reflect my own ideas and give me food for thought
* They hold my hand on this parenting rollercoaster and allow me to hold theirs
* They are strong
* They are fun
* They keep me sane (sort of)
* They are fantastic

8) 8 movies I've watched at least into double figures
* The Sure Thing (John Cusack)
* Say Anything (John Cusack)
* Parenthood
* Raising Arizona
* Rocky Horror Picture Show
* Notting Hill
* Four Weddings and a Funeral
* Times Square

I'm not tagging anyone 'cos I can't be bothered. Doing this has worn me out... and I need to put the kids to bed. Goodnight.

I've started thinking about/planning my 40th birthday spectacular for next March. I was going around in circles but just in the last few days I've made a firm decision as to the sort of party I want to have so now I'm in an emailing-for-quotes-frenzy. So far the response has been slow but I guess people are busy with the afore-mentioned Silly Season.

Stay tuned.

I've always hated the "anti-Christmas" people but I'm afraid I have to report I've become one of them this year. Perhaps it's been happening gradually, I'm not sure. But this is the first year I am acutely aware of it.

I'm still a fan of the whole Silly Season per se, it's just that I don't physically or emotionally have the time to think of it this year. We've decided to be a bit leaner with the kids' pressies this year because they really have too much and doing a present overload just seems insane but that rational decision just leaves me feeling "un-Christmas-y".

Maybe it's because my sis isn't here and we spend so much of the Silly Season (and it's build up) together.

Whatever it is everything just feels a little hollow. I just can't get excited about it. I need to hire a Christmas consultant to set everything up for me. There's a business idea for someone.

Bah humbug!

A few brief words about blog trolls*. I had one quite a while ago who seemed intent on "converting" me to the climate change religion. Luckily she's come to her senses and blogged-off (or at least if she's still reading she's no longer annoying me with her stupid comments).

Anyway, what's brought up this chain of thought is my sister's blog which has recently attracted a couple of real champion blog trolls. These pair of nasty little shits have taken it upon themselves to continually leave snide, mean and down-right nasty comments on her blog over a long period of time.

While this is highly annoying for my sister, and thus for me, it simply proves that these people have such a pathetic excuse for a life that leaving comments on a blog they obviously don't like passes for entertainment for them. Possibly they are high school kids with little else to do but more likely they are public servants with little else to do. There is no other explanation as to why adults would spend their time regularly reading a blog they don't enjoy and taking the time to leave a long stream of beyond stupid comments. Why would anyone in their right mind do this? I barely have time to write my own blog and read the ones I like, the ones that give me a giggle or some food for thought.

If by any chance you happen to be a blog troll - fuck off and get a life, moron!

* BLOG TROLL is the name I have given to these cretins who "haunt" people's blogs. Regularly reading a particular blog, leaving inane comments but obviously not liking the blog they are haunting. Garden variety weirdos in the cyber world.

I'm feeling very uncharitable about charities. Seriously these fuckers are doing my head in today (and on more than one previous occassion).

First off I got a call at the office this morning from the Cancer Council. We support them through a modest monthly company donation and personally I try to support them here and there when I can. At work we like to spread our charity money around and donate to a number of (hopefully) worthwhile charities - health, community, youth, disabilities, overseas aid.

The Irish guy from the CC started off by going on and on about how much they appreciated our support. Give me a break, buddy. Our contribution would be lucky to pay for their annual supply of paper clips. Being on my own in the office I was a tad busy, fielding a multitude of phone calls and doing my ordinary work which on a Monday includes paying the wages. This guy just wouldn't stop and because I started off being polite to him I found it difficult to do my usual tough guy attitude and cut him off.

Finally he got down to the crunch: they wanted us to up our contribution. Come out and state that first off shithead, I haven't got all bloody day. Because I was really pissed off by that point I said "we'll have to think about it" as if it's some sort of communal decision and not totally dependent on my whim of the moment.

Got off the phone feeling very peeved at him, at the Cancer Council for their approach and at myself for not cutting the whole thing off quicker. Very certain they weren't going to get another cent out of us. If you're reading this CC people I'm afraid your marketing approach just isn't working, at least not on cold hearted bitches like me.

In the afternoon I had to dash to the bank to deposit some cheques and pop into Coles for some emergency staff kitchen supplies (things get ugly when the tea, coffee and biscuit supplies run low). Outside the bank a poor sad looking guy is standing next to a "craft" table selling some unidentifiable shit and shaking a tin for "Kids with Cancer". "Kids with cancer" he shouts at me as I rush past into the bank. On my way out I throw some (gold) coins into his tin but it feels tokenistic and I'm angry rather than happy about my donation.

Not 30 seconds later as I approach Coles two obvious backpackers (they are always fucking backpackers) approach me to "discuss helping the Cancer Council". What the fuck? My head almost spun around Exorcist-style. "I already support the Cancer Council" I told him as a strode past. I was so angry I thought my head would explode. Why are the charities doing this to people? They are not winning us over. This constant and unrelenting harrassment will result in me cancelling all my business and personal donations because it is total bullshit.

I'm angry because this is not how I want to deal with charities. I want to choose where my donation money goes because I believe in the work of a particular charity not because I am harrassed or humiliated or cornered into doing so. When I'm at the shops I am there for a purpose, usually in a hurry and usually with a mind full of business and/or personal stuff. This is not the optimum time for me to focus on how to spend my charity dollars.

I'm mad as hell and I'm probably going to keep taking it because by tomorrow I'll have some other storm in a tea cup to draw my goldfish-like attention.

The final BBQ... with my sis... before she heads to Amsterdam... boo hoo!











































The cherry dress girls!

Ciao bella...

A belated congratulations to my lovely man Anthony Kiedis on becoming a dad to Everly Bear (?? I know... sheesh). Hope he has a better handle on this parenting caper than I do. It's much harder work than you'd think from the Kleenex ads.

Because my life is a constant stream of ideas to distract myself from the reality of daily life I have this morning booked our family holiday to Fiji for next year. "But you just returned from your family holiday to Phuket!" I hear you shout. Yes, I know, I know. I've decided that the planning of a holiday and the subsequent anticipation are actually the best parts and that the holiday itself, no matter how wonderful, is actually somewhat of an anticlimax. So my remedy for crashing back to earth post-Phuket is to launch another planning-anticipation-preparation cycle.

It also worked out that the resort of choice in Fiji, the Shangri La, had a good deal and, in combination with air fares paid for with frequent flyer points, we can have 10 days of tropical bliss (including the ALL IMPORTANT KIDS CLUB) for a very reasonable amount of money. Not only that but our friends D and M and their kids S and V are going at the same time so we'll have others to annoy once we're tired of annoying each other (which will be about 10 minutes after we board the plane).

So far 2008 is panning out to be loads of fun: the Australian Open in Melbourne at the end of January in honour of our 10th wedding anniversary; Easter weekend on the south coast with friends; the ever wonderful Camp Connection at the end of March; and Fiji in June.

Then there's JB's and mine 30/40 birthday holiday to plan for early 2009. I should have been a travel agent... except that I hate people and customer service... apart from that it would be a perfect job for me.

It's wonderful to be back in blogland. Of course all the things I've been dying to blog about have evaporated from my mind but that's life.

We are connected to the outside world again thanks to my sister donating her wireless gear to us since she is leaving next week for her big, huge, major better-do-this-before-I-turn-30-and-can't-get-a-working-visa-anymore working holiday to Amsterdam. I can't really write too much about this because I'm in total denial and would rather not explore my feelings on this particular subject. So just pretend I haven't said anything.

Anyway, wireless is still the only we can connect to the cyber world because we have obviously chosen to live in a remote area here in downtown Homebush Bay, less than 20 kms from Sydney and within cooee of the Year 2000 Olympic site. Why would I assume that this new fangled internet technology would be accessible to us in this back-of-beyond neighbourhood we've chosen for ourselves. The fact that tin shacks on the side of hills in Phuket can boast ADSL connection is simply of no consequence to Telstra who have a policy of treating their customers with the contempt we so rightly deserve.

So (at the risk of jumbling up a whole lot of whinges in the one thought process) while I am bending over in preparation for what the Labor Party will undoubtedly be doing to us all over the next three years, I invite Telstra to kiss my ass! Pucker up Sol.

When good democracy goes bad:

1) The whole KRUDD fiasco.

Even worse:

2) Natalie winning Oz Idol over Matt Corby.

Sometimes the people just get it wrong. Sometimes a benevolent dictatorship led by moi would be a much better political model. Give it some thought, you'll see the benefits.

SHIT!

Unless you live under a rock or o/s or just don't care (like I wish I didn't) it's Federal election time here in Oz on Saturday. The past few weeks have been like Chinese water torture except with shit instead of water; slow, repetitive drips of crap on our heads, on tv, radio and all forms of media. I really feel like I'm going mad.

I know who I'm voting for on Saturday and I am reasonably comfortable with my decision but only due to a lack of any credible, sensible, logical alternative. I know whowever I vote for the winner will be a politician and that makes me very sad.

I used to have some passion, a certain fire in my belly when it came to politics. Now I have decided I hate them all, every single one. They would each sell their grandmother for a buck or a vote. There are no fierce leaders anymore, possibly there never were, it's possible a certain level of nostalgia clouds our vision of leaders from the past who were fairly certainly sleazy, arrogant bastards just like today's breed.

All I know is that none of the parties truly reflect my thoughts on life, on the things that matter to me. I am simply picking the best of a bad lot. The bottom line is I'm lucky. I'm a hetrosexual middle class woman, most of the political bullshit leans in my favour. Whoever wins or loses nothing much will effect my day to day life. Some tinkering round the edges which I will hardly notice.

At this point I'll just be happy to watch some tv without a hysteria-inducing scare-mongering political advertisement appearing every 30 seconds.

Hey, it's been a while.

What have you been up to?

Yeah, you know... this and that!

Oooooh, Dexter. I have a new man in my life and he is a serial killer.

Last night I sat "this" close to Michael C. Hall. You'll remember Michael C. Hall from such roles as DAVID FISHER in Six Feet Under, my alter ego, the character I most loved and related to in that amazing series. I fucking love this guy and to sit "this" far away from him was awesome. I don't know why, it just was OK!

It was a Popcorn Taxi event and we got to see two episodes of the mind-blowing new series Dexter and its star Michael C. Hall (see above) interviewed by a funny and half-decent journalist.

Dexter is the upcoming MUST SEE series (thank fucking GOD we have Foxtel, it's worth every cent just for this show alone) and Michael is cuter, wittier and just plain fantastic-er in the flesh than I could have dared hope for.

Thank you Popcorn Taxi for a great night out.

PS The world is full of nutters and a great deal of them were there last night asking questions during the Q&A session. One guy flew up from Melbourne because he missed out on tickets there. The questions were just plain stupid and crazy and many of those people should be hospitalised for the their own safety and that of the public.

One of the things I was especially looking forward to doing on our holiday was reading. I hadn't done any for a while and there was a stack of books mounting up which required my attention. I got through three and they were all superb in their own very differen ways.



In The Cut by Susanna Moore

I bought this as a cheapy on the discount table because I'd heard something vague about it when the film version with Meg Ryan was released. Anyway, I haven't seen the film but the book was fantastic. Beautifully written erotic thriller.



Sucked In by Shane Maloney

The latest in the wonderful Murray Whelan series. I love love love these books. And to think how very accidentally I stumbled upon Murray all those years ago in the gloomy book section of the Perth City Target. How easily I could have chosen another book and not had Murray in my life. Sucked In is just as enjoyable as those which came before, I loved every page. All I can say is, Murray Whelan for PM!

Specimen Days by Michael Cunningham

This is the latest book from the author of The Hours and while I haven't read that book I did see the film and cried so much at the end I thought I'd burst a valve. So I did go into Specimen Days with a touch of trepidation. Which was validated because this book is powerful and it made me feel, really feel, and think... two things which I obviously avoid doing as often as possible (hence my reality tv addiction). It hurts to really feel and think and I've decided I don't like it. I need it but I don't like it. Reading this book hurt, a lot. It is beautiful on every level and I am so glad I read it but I wish I hadn't read it on holidays. It is not a book to read by the side of a pool on a hot day in gorgeous Phuket. It is a book to read on a rainy day at home with a cup of tea and box of tissues.

We returned from Phuket on Saturday and while I'm exhausted from the through-the-night flight home and the subsequent sleep deprivation my head is still filled with the beautiful, crazy sights and sounds of the place.



It was the most wonderful holiday we've ever had. The Evason Resort on Rawai Beach where we stayed was magical. Three gorgeous pools, including the inifinity pool overhanging the ocean where we spent many hours contemplating the state of the universe with a Heineken and a Mango Daquiri in hand and the family pool where we spent many hours playing with the kids with a Heineken and a Mango Daquiri in hand.



There were the many beautiful restaurants both at the hotel, near the hotel and in Patong itself where we spent many hours devouring super delicious, super cheap local seafood (but not the Australian beef - sheesh!) with a Heineken and a Mango Daquiri in hand.



The kids had a great time in Kids Club (every second day, I just felt too guilty putting them in everyday even though they had a fabulous time there and were asking to go - I'm a good mother, really I am, repeat x 100).



I did struggle somewhat with the shopping. Look, it was OK once I got a handle on the bargaining thing but overall it didn't sit well with me. I don't like to bargain but when the initial asking price is crazy you soon start to get into the swing of things. However, we ended up buying some things and missing out on a whole lot of others because we'd refuse to go higher, they'd refuse to go lower and then we'd end up too tired and pissed off to carry on and ended up leaving without the item/s in question. No huge loss really as how many pairs of fake Billabong shorts does one husband really need?



The best parts were the people who were endlessly accommodating and happy to please; the simple relaxation of a day doing close to nothing; the stunning scenery; the scrumptious food I didn't have to prepare or shop for; the endless cocktails. Well, you get the picture... it was just a friggin' fabulous holiday. Enough said.

By way of explanation for my lack of blogging of late I can only blame Telstra and the internet situation, or lack thereof, at our new home. Suffice to say a letter has been sent to the Telecommunications Ombudsman. We are mad as hell and sadly we'll continue to take it until we blow a phoo-phoo valve.

The T-shirt reads "glamour is my occupation" (by Small Paul - TOO CUTE!) but it should read "BRING BACK THE BIFF".

Bless me father for I have sinned. I have been a very bad blogger of late.

There is so much to blog about (in no particular order).

Stupid lesbians.
OzIdol.
The rollercoaster ride of parenthood.
My dear Anthony becoming a dad.
Politics.
How much I hate Telstra.
Other stuff I can't remember right now because my brain is a sieve.

But I have no time right now.

We're off to Phuket on Wednesday to spend 10 days relaxing in this amazingly beautiful place.

I promise to be a better blogger on my return (technology allowing).

It's never too early to be one of the ladies who lunch!

I'm going to change the name of my blog to "It's a hard life but someone has to do it". I feel like I'm saying that phrase on an hour by hour basis. I'm giving myself the major shits.

This was our Saturday morning: A half hour walk to Telstra Stadium (along the way we talked and watched lizards scuttle through the undergrowth); the kids played on the fantastic, post-modern playground near the Overflow; a walk back towards home which included going through the beautiful new Brickpit Walk and then through Wentworth Common (see pics below).

Here are some pics from our walk up the Bay Marker Hill in our first week:

It's a hard life...

Alarmingly I don't seem to be smarter than a 5th grader.

Oz Idol has started and I have a few early favourites.

Matt - he has the package - good looks (for a 16 year old boy) and a great voice. He reminds me of last year's Dean Geyer but so much better. I feel very old and maternal when I say he seems like a gorgeous boy.

Tarisai - she is the tiny girl with the huge voice from Zimbabwe. While I'm no big fan of the Whitney Houston school of singing there is no arguing about this girl's beautiful voice. She'll be in the top two. I'll almost put my house on it.

A few others look good - Daniel, Brianna (possibly annoying after a while), Lana, Ben and Jacob (though he reminds me eerily of my sister's ex - and that's someone I don't want to be reminded of).

Overall, the usual fun bit of nonsense to occupy us on Sunday nights for the next few months.

Gee, we survived APEC. What a surprise. Our human rights didn't cease because we couldn't access the Opera House or because we weren't "invited" to the fireworks display.

What will the eternal whingers find to moan about now?

All those wasted Stop Bush t-shirts. Possibly they can be recycled. Any suggestions? I have a few but this is a G rated program.

One of the extra benefits of our recent move is that we are now very cosy neighbours with the high security Silverwater Jail. I spend a lot of my time wondering what it is like in there. Do their wives really bring them cakes with files baked into them? Do they really not bother picking up the soap should they drop it in the shower? Is there really a cell in there occupied by a big bald guy called Bubba? These are the sorts of thoughts which keep me awake at night.

In addition almost every morning as I start-stop along my short but slow trip along Homebush Bay Drive I am joined in the traffic by one of those Correctional Services vans which is undoubtedly moving prisoners to court. I can't see in but I wonder if they can see out. Possibly I have seen Con Air too many times but I do spend a great deal of time scanning the surrounding cars. Is one or more of these innocent looking commuters potential accomplices, awaiting their moment to stop the traffic and orchestrate a daring peak hour break out? What heroic action on my part will save the day? What pithy quip with I produce for the news crews as I casually get back in the car to drive the kids to school?

I know what you're thinking... but really, the yellow pills do seem to be helping.

It's hard to know where to start. Of course the move has been the BIG THING during the past few weeks. It's hard to believe we've been in our new place for two weeks now.

The move itself was hard bloody work, no two ways about it. However having a big strong husband helps and Big J did a huge job. The week before last was exhausting but last week was great. We are a good team at getting things done and we went from disaster area to functional to homey within a few short days.

I find it difficult to express my feelings about our new home without gushing like an idiot. While I had some reservations and anxieties (no, really!) about the reality of apartment living I also had a lot of hope. Happily I can report that [so far] my hopes have been realised and my fears have not.

Apart from the apartment itself being gorgeous, spacious and very comfortable for us, we are surrounded by lifestyle choices which are almost too good to be true (see what I mean about the gushing).

As an example, yesterday after work we all walked across the road and through a gate which leads to a beautiful walking path, up and around a small hill (the Bay Marker) from the top of which you can see all of the surrounding area. Behind this hill they are building what can only be described as a kids' paradise playground. The walk itself was wonderful, peaceful and scenic, exactly what we need to get the blood pumping after a day behind the desk at the office. Then we crossed the road and had a look at the shipwrecks which line the shore just metres from our home. It was a lovely way to end the day and spend some connecting time with the kids (something which has been sadly lacking during the past few months of chaos and stress).

I could go on but I'm sure you have more important things to do. Suffice to say we are spoilt for choice when it comes to fun family activities. Jason has even bought a bike with a baby seat as there are around 45 kms of bike tracks around us. For further reference, you won't see me cycling any time soon... or ever. Refer to biking incident on Rottnest Island. I am content to walk, kick the ball with the kids or just swim in our pool. It's a hard life but someone has to do it.

Just a quickie to say "I'm still alive!" (just in case you were worried).

We've moved. All is well. Last few weeks have been beyond hectic. My shoulders and neck muscles feel like concrete, more so even than usual.

Will blog properly soon, with pics, updates and general ranting and raving.

Stay tuned.

Saturday night was a blast. Not only did the Swans win... a much needed win against St Kilda (home of the ugliest man in the world, one Fraser Gehrig)... but I had the pleasure and honour of participating in the Field of Women event prior to the game.

Basically it was a fundraising event for the Breast Cancer Network Australia which involved 13,000 women (and some men) forming the shape of the Pink Lady on the field at Telstra Stadium. We each paid a $50 donation and were given a pink poncho to wear. It was a really special moment standing there with all those people, hard to put into words, just an emotional, thoughtful moment.

Can you spot me?

I can't cope with what passes for news these days. Whether it's tv, radio or newspapers, it's all absolute, total, unrelenting bullshit. Seriously I'm as cynical and bitter as the next person, probably more so, but how do these people live with themselves.

It's either blatant advertising, such as the so-called "Store Wars" whereby David Jones and Myer battle over the fashion stakes. Really people NO ONE CARES. There are no wars. There is just a lot of hot air aimed at getting suckers like yours truly into the department stores to buy poor quality, over priced "fashion essentials".

Or it's hysterical non-news like speculation on interest rate rises. Have you noticed how they love to beat up this story. They start at least a week before each month's Reserve Bank meeting, interviewing a whole range of know-nothing industry "experts" who basically have a 50-50 chance of getting it right. They predict the fall of modern civilisation at the merest suggestion of a rate rise and talk to all the poor over-mortgaged home owners (with their large screen tvs in the background) who may have to give up the odd Thai take away to make ends meet. The disappointment on the faces of the tv news presenters when there is no rate rise is heart-breaking.

Now we have to brace ourselves for around three months of election babble. The thought of it makes me break out in a cold sweat. If only all the politicians and the news editors could spontaneously combust - oh, the relief. To dream the impossible dream....

The other week, on Vega's Vinyl Thursday, the winning song was The Jam's That's Entertainment.

Fuck, that song took me back. So many emotions all rolled into one brilliant little song. Mainly I was taken back to my deep and all-encompassing feelings of love/lust for Mr Paul Weller. What a bloody amazing song-writer he was/is. Not to mention what a hot skinny little dude he was. Not really my type in theory... but still...

At the Style Council concert at the horrid Hordern Pavillion in 1984 (?) I stood on a milk crate in the front row and touched his sweaty t-shirt as he sang his heart out right there on the stage in front of me. A moment I will never, ever forget.

Why do certain times in your life, and the music which represents them, haunt you forever?

Not a lot to report on the house/moving stuff. We're living in a messy house filled with boxes and half-packed boxes. It is not the cosy home we have enjoyed for the past six years. It has become somewhere to sleep and eat and wait.

We picked up the keys on Monday so things start rolling at at the apartment. The painters start and the phone is connected. Friday the carpet is layed. The following Monday the new blinds are installed. Then the moving truck comes on Tuesday. Hopefully, by Wednesday 22/8, our actual settlement date, we will be officially living in 15/29 and coming to grips with the mountains of boxes we need to unpack.

A few tears shed last night as I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Can't think of what to say without giving away the ending so if you've read it please email me if you want to discuss it.

Goodbye dear friends.

A few recent pics...

Bring it ON, Swannies!

It's hard being this cute, but someone has to do it.

Old news now. Aleisha won BB. That's cool. A girl, a nice-ish girl, is much better than a brain-dead buffoon like last year's Jamie.

I did want dear Zach to win and I was glad it was close.

But to be honest I feel like I've been let out of jail. The daily BB addiction is gone and I feel free as a bird. Lucky Oz Idol is only a couple of times a week, otherwise I'd be replacing one reality tv addiction with another. At least we all like Oz Idol and Sunday nights are a fun family time (as opposed to my secretive BB watching in the bedroom).

Speaking of Oz Idol, I'm glad Dicko is back this year because Kyle is a moron who knows as much about music as I do about astro physics. His comments are pathetic to say the least. I know Dicko is mean but he often says it like it is and knows his music. Let's see what 2007 brings.

All the moving stuff is slowly falling into place. Most of the phone calls, and there have been many, have been made. People have come and measured and sent through quotes and we have overburdened our credit card with deposits for this, that and the other.

Our official moving date is 21 August and settlement is 22 August. We have asked for early access and all the painting, carpet and blind installation will happen in the week before. So only three weeks left in this house.

Now for the final packing stage.