Just Shoot Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too old?

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

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

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

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

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

[Kind] comments please.

Dear Weird Al

or should I call you Mr Yankovic?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours truly,
DeepKickGirl

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

Dear Billy

(Connolly),

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

When I thought "funny" I thought BILLY CONNOLLY.

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

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

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

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

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

Yours truly,
DeepKickGirl

PS Please tell Pamela she looks like a freak.

Book Review: Beyond Fear

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thermomix and the meaning of life

Yesterday was a very strange day indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I continue to be mad as hell...

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Days Twenty Six - Twenty Eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good night.

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty Five

Let me introduce Basil the Rat...

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

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

Manuel: What are you doing?

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

Manuel: No, no, is hamster.

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty Four

Ever wondered how the Nazis got started?

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sybil: (warningly) Basil.

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

Mrs Hamilton: Yes thank you.

Mr Hamilton: Never been better.

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

Mr Hamilton: A Ritz salad?

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

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

Basil: Ah!

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty Two

Lost in translation.

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

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

Mrs Hamilton: The screwdriver's for me.

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

Mrs Hamilton: Well, now, please.

Basil: There's nothing I can put right?

Mrs Hamilton: What?

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

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

Basil: You'd like a screwdriver as well?

Mr Hamilton: You got it.

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

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

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

Mr Hamilton: What?

Basil: Nothing to drink.

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

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

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

Mrs Hamilton: Vodka and orange juice.

Basil: Ah, certainly madam.

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

Basil: You're sure?

Mr Hamilton: We can manage without them.

Basil: As you wish, sir.

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

On Harold Robbins (not that awful Harold Robinson).

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

Sybil: Basil! (she exists into the kitchen)

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty-One

On coping...

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

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

Sybil: I'm sure you can cope.

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

Amen to that, Basil!

Fawlty Feb: Day Twenty

Not everyone is Gordon Ramsay, you know!

Miss Gurke: Er... excuse me.

Sybil: Yes?

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

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

The Moment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Nineteen

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

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

Basil: What, dear?

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Eighteen

Fancy a quick read?

Mrs Abbott: Do you have a guide to Torquay?

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

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

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

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

Basil: What?

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Seventeen

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

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

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

Mr Johnsons: Mmmm...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sybil: And death.

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Sixteen

Have we been missing Manuel? I have.

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

Manuel: Ah! Si...

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

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

Basil: What?

Manuel: I know nothing.

Basil: No, no.

Manuel: Nothing.

Basil: No, no, forget that.

Manuel: I forget everything. I know nothing.

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

Manuel: No, I cannot.

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Fifteen

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

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

Basil: Hmmm?

Sybil: You seem very jolly.

Basil: Jolly?

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

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

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

Basil: No, I'm not dear.

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

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

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

Basil: Only with you, light of my life.

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

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

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

Sybil: Are you sure you can manage?

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

Sybil: Basil, sometimes...

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

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

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

Sybil: Basil.

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

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

Basil: Give it another fifteen years?

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

Fawlty Feb: Days Thirteen and Fourteen

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

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

Mrs Richards: Are you the manager?

Basil: I am the owner, madam.

Mrs Richards: What?

Basil: I am the owner.

Mrs Richards: I want to speak to the manager.

Basil: I am the manager too.

Mrs Richards: What?

Basil: I am the manager as well.

Manuel: Manaher! Him manaher!

Basil: Shut up!

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

Basil: ... I'm the manager.

Mrs Richards: Watt?

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

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

Basil: You've got a bath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Basil: That is Torquay, madam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs Richards: What?

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

Tomorrow, the rest of this delicious scene.

Fawlty Feb: Day Twelve

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

The Major: Going to have a flutter, Fawlty

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

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

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

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

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

The Major: Hmmmm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Eleven

I use this one at work all the time.

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

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

Non Fawlty Feb Stuff

Um, not so much to report.

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

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

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Ten

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

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

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

Manuel: Que?

Mrs Richards: ... What?

Manuel: ... Que?

Mrs Richards: K?

Manuel: Si.

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

Manuel: No, no - Que - what?

Mrs Richards: K - what?

Manuel: Si! Que - what?

Mrs Richards: C. K. Watt?

Manuel: ... Yes.

Mrs Richards: Who is C.K. Watt?

Manuel: Que?

Mrs Richards: Is it the manager, Mr Watt?

Manuel: Oh, manager!

Mrs Richards: He is.

Manuel: Ah... Mr Fawlty.

Mrs Richards: What?

Manuel: Fawlty.

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

Manuel: No. No. Fawlty.

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Eight and Nine

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

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

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

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

2nd German: Can we help you?

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

2nd German: Of course.

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

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

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

[...]

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

2nd German: The veal is good?

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

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

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

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

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

2nd German: A prawn cocktail.

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

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

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

1st German: And ein pickled herring!

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

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

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

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

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

Polly: Yes, call here there!

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

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

Basil: What's the matter?

2nd German: It's all right.

Basil: Is there something wrong?

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

Basil: Me? You started it!

2nd German: We did not start it.

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Seven

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

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

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

Mrs Twitchen: What's duck surprise?

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

Sorry, short and sweet tonight. Good night.

Fawlty Feb: Day Six

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

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

Ronald: Haven't you got any proper chips?

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

Ronald: Couldn't you get an English one?

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

Ronald: They're the wrong shape.

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

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

Mrs Heath: Oh, now...

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

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

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

Ronald: I said salad cream, stupid.

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

Ronald: What a dump?

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

Mrs Heath: (coldly) He likes salad cream.

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

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

Mrs Heath: (shocked) Oh dear!

Basil: (indignantly) Well, he said it!

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

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

And on the subject of Gourmet Nights...

Sybil: Andre thinks Thursday nights would be best.

Basil: Thursdays?

Andre: I think so.

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

Mmmm, doesn't that sound yummy?

Fawlty Feb: Day Five

Some people...

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

Basil: ... if anybody wants you?

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

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

A little later...

Basil: I'm on the telephone.

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

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

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

Basil: Why don't you talk properly.

Hutchison: I bet your pardon?

Basil: No, it isn't.

Hutchison: What?

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Four

[Better late than never.]

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

Sybil: Tell them you made a mistake.

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

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

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

True [S]Grit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Jeff Bridges was very excellent in The Big Lebowski.

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

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

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Three

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

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

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

Disasterpointment

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fawlty Feb: Day One

I can hear the groans from around the world.

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

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

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

Enjoy... or not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weight for me

I'm not one for New Year's Resolutions. I gave all that stuff a bash twenty odd years ago but these days I'm much too cynical to even contemplate such nonsense. But this year, as I look ahead at what will be an incredibly busy, exciting, wonderful and stressful twelve months, I feel like I have to re-assess myself a little to get through it all with sanity, sense of humour and all currently functioning relationships in place.


Weight is a reasonably important issue for me right now. I'm one of those people who isn't vastly obese but on the plump side, always have been, always will be. In the last few years I have come to accept that there is an approximately 5 kg weight range where I feel great at the bottom end and not so great at the top end. Six months ago I was at the bottom end, right now I'm at the top end.


Just feeling bloated and generally unhappy with myself is one thing, certainly an important thing, certainly enough for me to get motivated to do something about it. But there is an extra factor this year which means I have exactly 4 months from today to get to the bottom end of my weight range. That equals 1.25 kg per month I will need to shed. Doh!


On the 28th of May we'll be boarding a plane, a United Airlines plane (RHCP help us), to New York. A couple of weeks ago I purchased an Alannah Hill dress to wear to the special event we'll be attending (a dress which may, or may not, have cost the gross national product of a small African nation - including the Sale discount). It is a gorgeous dress and looks good on my, shall we say curvaceous? figure. But there isn't enough Spanx or baby oil in the world to squeeze me into that thing if I keep piling on the kgs. Not to mention that we'll have a full week of eating our way around NYC/Brooklyn before the big day (with a must-do stop at Carlo's Bakery in Hoboken, NJ where I'm sure numerous calories will be consumed - I'm starting with the Crumb Cake and working my way down).


Any old how, I have four months to get rid of 5 or slightly more kgs. Sounds easy but really isn't. The Green Coffee Big Jay and I loved last year has now been banned for containing some unlisted substance which increases your risk of heart attack and/or stroke (doesn't everything these days?). I know that with our busy schedule eating well is going to be a very major issue and one which I must stay on top of this year. I have been trying to decide whether I should join a weight loss "program" to help me. I did Weight Watchers about 12-15 years ago and found it predictable but a good support and motivation for me to lose weight. However, I simply don't think I can squeeze in even a single weekly meeting this year (and the on-line version just won't work for me because I really need that face to face accountability of a real life weigh in with a real life person giving me the hairy eyeball about my 200g weight gain).


Apart from trying to stick to a sensible diet (which is simply so difficult because I love to cook and bake) I am hoping to find a miracle pill/drink/toxin which will just put us off eating - just like the Green Coffee did. Any sensible suggestions will be gratefully accepted. I know - exercise would help - but apart from an early morning walk a few times each week I can't see what else I can squeeze in (and stick to).


The other thing I will need to be this year is get and stay organised. I am generally an organised person, more or less. I'm not super lazy or super disorganised but there is big room for improvement. I have never done the "pack the school bags the night before routine" but this year I will need to.

I will also need to find a fool proof way of getting little Miss M out of bed at a sensible time each morning (i.e. before 8:30 am). I have already had a stern conversation with her about being co-operative in the mornings and about giving me her breakfast order post haste each morning and sticking with it (as opposed to the usual morning routine which goes something like this: Miss M gets out of bed grumpy after numerous requests and threats, she may or may not get dressed, she may or may not tell me what she wants for breakfast, she may or may not eat what she asked for, she may or may not demand some other form of breakfast as we're about to walk out the door already late). The problem is she is just too heavy to carry out to the car if she's in the middle of a temper tantrum so sometimes I have to cave in to her ridiculous requests just to get us all into the car and heading to school and work. I hate doing it but what's the solution? Like diet advice any useful suggestions on raising a strong willed, too smart child would be gratefully, nay desperately, accepted.

Or failing that, if you know where to buy tranquiliser darts suitable for small children, please pass on the info. Thank you very much.

Another year rolls on

Monday marks the start of another school year, more than January 1, it's the official start of the year if you are a parent. For me January sort of floats by, doing enough work to keep things rolling on that front, but equally hanging out with the kids. I'm not a "let's get out the craft box and make a rocket out of this old box and some crepe paper" sort of mother. I'm a "let's go to [insert name of child friendly activity/venue here]" sort of mother. To be honest these holidays they have been taken out for lots of fun days by my mum, my sister and my dad. I've actually seen it as my job to ensure they have some "boring" days around the house so that they don't come to expect everyday to be an outing day during the holidays. But even boring days usually involve time down at the pool and/or the park and/or Wii and/or friends over for a play. So not quite the boring days I had as a kid when I would just hit the tennis ball against the back wall at home for hours on end or read on my bed for hours on end. Good times.


Today I have started thinking about the year ahead now that the official start of the year is only a few days ahead. After always saying I didn't want my kids to be over-scheduled I have ended up with over-scheduled kids and thus and therefore over-scheduled parents.


At this point our weeks are going to look like this:


Monday: Will has Learning Links school age program (for children with learning difficulties) from 4 to 6 pm... at Peakhurst which is somewhere between 30 and 60 minutes drive away (depending on traffic) from his school and my office. This will involve me picking him up from school at least 10 minutes early to ensure we get there on time and my dad picking up Marianna from school and her waiting at the office until Big Jay can collect her at 5-ish to take her home.


Tuesday: Marianna's piano lesson (if we can reschedule - it was Wednesday last year).


Wednesday: Marianna's ballet lesson.


Thursday: Marianna's jazz and tap lessons. Will has Scouts.


Friday: The Holy and Blessed Day of St Nothing. The day I don't work and the kids don't have any activities. Which means I run around all day getting all those chores done which don't get done the rest of the week and then we come home and collapse with a take away dinner and a movie.


Saturday: Will is starting soccer, at the ripe old age of almost 12, which means Big Jay (or occassionally yours truly) will be driving him all over the countryside for games.


Sunday: [no rest for the wicked] Miss M has also decided to do soccer so I will be driving her all over the countryside for games.


Somewhere amongst that they will both have after school soccer practice.


Let's not mention the eleven Sydney Swans home games between March and August, the assorted Sharks games Big Jay tries to get to plus assorted birthday parties, school functions, concerts* and various other events which pop up on a very regular basis. Oi vey!

*March seems to be concert month this year. We're going to see Billy Connolly and Tim Minchin, I'm taking the kids to see Weird Al (I take full responsibility for converting them), I'm going to see Neil Diamond with my friend C on the same night Big Jay is going to see Santana and I'm taking my mum and sister to see Missing The Bus To David Jones which by all accounts is a musical about old people in nursing homes... and doesn't that sound hilarious. Apart from all that Big Jay is going away for his annual golfing pilgrimage to Coffs Harbour in the middle of March and we have to squeeze in some type of familial celebratory function for my birthday.

Sorry for boring you, dear reader/s, with the trivialities of my life but this cyber document is also my journal and must include, apart from my deep and insightful musings on the greater life questions, the details of my life which I hope to look back upon one day, as I kick back at Shady Pines, and laugh and laugh....

At The Movies with DKG

Feast or famine with me... and lately it's been a feast of films. So bear with me while I go all Margaret and David on you with a few quick reviews from the last few weeks.

District 9

I've been wanting to see this since it came out at the movies two years ago. I thought it was just a sci-fi alien thing but it proved to be so much more than that. If you haven't heard of it, the basic premise is that aliens have landed on Earth, above Johannesburg, South Africa to be precise. They are stranded and "the prawns" as they are soon referred to are forced to live in a refugee camp known as "District 9".

The film is presented in documentary style showing what happens when the MNU, the corporation charged with moving the aliens to a new camp further from the city, arrives to commence the forced evictions. Wikus van der Merwe is in charge but he soon ends up on the wrong side of MNU's wrath when he accidentally becomes exposed to the alien DNA.

On the surface this is almost garden variety sci-fi stuff, with aliens, guns, lots of things blowing up and being shot. The effects are good (Peter Jackson of Lord of the Rings fame has producer credits, so you would expect quality on this front). The SA accents almost do my head in (you know how some accents just make your eye twitch?). The script is great and the performances (well mainly Sharlto Copley's as Wikus) are strong. But it's the underlaying premise which does it for me.

I've read about it being a commentary on apartheid but I think it's more a commentary on the treatment of refugees (change "alien" to "insert name of war torn country here" and you would have a very similar film). I think it's a very clever way of presenting these ideas; what us 80s kids would call thinking outside the square.

I found it entertaining, disturbing and much more palatable than, say tree hugging emotional manipulation like Avatar.

Date Night

A silly, fun movie, pure entertainment. Phil (Steve Carrell) and Claire (Tina Fey) are on a date night in the city when they take someone else's dinner reservation at a wanky restaurant. Mistaken identity soon turns into hilarious shenanigans.

Easy on the brain film, perfect for a cuddle in front of the teev. Includes extra bonus for the ladies: Mark Whahlberg spends all his screen time sans shirt (which is not as good as it may have been during the height of his Kevin Klein modelling career but certainly nothing to sneer at).

Never Let Me Go

I was lucky enough to see a preview screening of this last week. I have been anxiously waiting to see it for some months now, since I first found out a movie version of one of my favourite books was being made. The book absolutely shook me up and a movie version was an exciting and terrifying idea.

Perhaps because the author Kazuo Ishiguro also executive produced the end result was a very good visual interpretation of the book. Because the book reveals the story slowly, in stories from the past, I couldn't see how that could be achieved on the screen without lots of awkward flashbacks. Obviously they couldn't follow the book to the letter but for me the end result was wonderfully satisfying.

It is visually beautiful, a timeless England exquisite in its detail. All the performances, Carey Mulligan as Kathy H, Keira Knightley as Ruth, Andrew Garfield (the new Spiderman???) as Tommy, are perfectly restrained and just right in every respect.

It's funny to call it futuristic sci fi wrapped in a love story, which is technically just what it is, but there are no aliens, no guns, no explosions. For what it's worth I wanted to see it again the minute the credits rolled and I would recommend it to anyone, whether you are fan of the book like me (just those four words Never Let Me Go are enough to make my heart ache) or you are just a fan of beautiful, moving cinema.

The Dilemma

Last Friday was our "date night" and there was no question that we would see The Dilemma (though we had a few prods in the direction of the The King's Speech, which is undoubtedly a fine movie). We both like Vince Vaughn (Clay Pigeons, Swingers, Made) and Kevin James (OK, we like King of Queens, sue us), Jennifer Connelly is a fine actress and Ron Howard, apart from being Richie Cunningham, also has a directorial history no-one can pooh-pooh.

It is sold as a hilarious comedy and that's what we were expecting. Well, it's not. It's a genre I have now decided to call "comma" - a comic drama. In fact it deals with some pretty heavy relationship issues: a marriage under stress due to work, stress, growing apart; infidelity in the aforementioned marriage; business stress; gambling addiction.

While certainly these serious issues can be presented in a comic manner in The Dilemma they really aren't. It's actually a pretty heavy movie with some mildly amusing moments. Even the scenes which possibly could have been a lot funnier aren't. Vince Vaughn's innate craziness is not as hilarious as it could be; for me it was more tension inducing than funny.

Even the overtly funny scenes, like those featuring Queen Latifah for example, aren't really funny because they seem out of place amongst the drama. The best darkly funny scene is VV's speech at the anniversary dinner and is almost worth the price of admission on it's own strength.
I tried to figure out why a movie like The Dilemma just doesn't hit the mark when a movie like PS I Love You does. Both comedies dealing with serious storylines; commas if you will. I can only suggest that the timing, the direction, the editing works in one and not the other. Certainly Vince Vaughn and Kevin James have the comedy chops but something just doesn't work. It's like you can put all the top ingredients into your cake but if you bake it in the wrong cake tin or at the wrong temparture or add salt instead of sugar you end up with something which just isn't right.

I didn't hate it, in fact I would say watch it on DVD or Foxtel or whatever in six months' time. I just couldn't recommend anyone running out and seeing it for full price.

Nothing Much

Just felt like blogging today but haven't got anything much to write about. Some random thoughts:



* It was Patti Smith's birthday the other day. I don't know much about her - just that I love her song Pissing In The River from the Times Square soundtrack. They played a song of hers which was kind of ska beat and kind of early punk and it was great. When they back announced it it was called Redondo Beach. Whoa. That's where we stayed on our first visit to the US when we had just picked up Will from Guatemala. Redondo Beach - just the name chimes something in my heart. Don't know why. It was a nice place, not touristy but nice. I think it was a suburb in the process of being gentrified; it had that foot in both camps air about it. A marina and a boardwalk filled with closed amusements (that always make me melancholy). Our first encounter with Joe's Crab Shack. Memories. I've downloaded that song from iTunes and I keep playing it. Patti's voice makes me happy and sad. It's a sad song with a happy beat. Here it is on YouTube.



* I've decided to make February Fawlty Feb. I caught half an episode of Fawlty Towers - The Psychiatrist - yesterday and it made me laugh so much. That show has all the answers to all of life's questions. So everyday in February you will get a quote from arguably the best situation comedy every made. It might not answer all your life questions but it will hopefully give you a giggle.



* I've decided to do a cake decorating course early this year. I'm under no illusion that this will become a huge passion but I want to give it a go. Generally with crafty hobbies I get inspired, spend a small fortune on supplies, make one half hearted project and promptly forget all about it. Attention span of a two year old. I think in my fantasy world I'll do one eight week course, become the most brilliant cake decorator the world has ever seen and Duff from Charm City Cakes will hear all about me and instantly recruit me to work alongside him and all those cool folk making fabulous cakes for fabulous people... Then I'll wake up and realise homework hasn't been finished and one of the kids has to be at school early for an excursion.

End of 2010: In Pictures

My baby girl with a GREAT BIG EFFING SNAKE around her neck. She's 100% braver than her chicken livered mother. (Week before Christmas.)






























Christmas morning. Happy faces.





























Big Jay and his new Weber Q baby bbq.






























Miss M and her new Barbie bike (which even has a little clip on bike for Barbie herself).

Windswept on NYE.

The brothers, NYE.

PS. I HATE BLOGGER PICTURE FORMATTING. IT IS CRAP!!!!!!

Tidying up 2010

The last week of 2010 ended in the usual way.

The birthday of Baby Cheeses was celebrated with too much eating on our deck with family and friends. The weather was gorgeous, leading me to go through a little bit of guilt as half of our country is flooded and the other half was scortching (a land "of droughts and flooding rains" indeed), not to mention Europe and parts of the US which were frozen.

Nothing to be done about it but open gifts, eat many more prawns and oysters than is strictly necessary and gaze in wonder at the 10kg ethically raised ham.

Speaking of gifts I can now proudly confirm I am the owner of a WeeSing Robbie Williams for Wii game. After a couple of glasses of Bella and a couple more lychee martinis I may have tortured entertained our guests with a spirited rendition of Something Beautiful and Rock DJ before their pained expressions forced me to accept that too much of a good thing can be a bad thing.

There was also some gorgeous Pandora earrings and a new charm under the tree from my very generous family. A fantastic new glass mixing bowl for my KitchenAid from my sister's main man M (who is now forever more known as the Gift Whisperer). A fabulous new Sheridan quilt cover set and pillows from mum.

The Entire Beast cookbook by Chris Badenoch (from the first series of Australian Masterchef) which is a book I've been coveting since I first watched Chris cook on the show (who can forget his Roasted Half Pig's Head?). I have to say that this book is worth the price of admission if only for the fabulous, darkly quirky styling and the great Introduction by Chris which really resonates with me. The recipes themselves are simply an extra bonus. Thank you JB for this special gift.

Lots of other bits which have escaped me right at this moment. As always I was very spoilt as was everyone in the family. We're a generous bunch, if I do say so myself.

Boxing Day entailed more entertaining, more eating, more gift giving and receiving... as well as a game of Sticky Wicky (a cricket game invented by one of the families at our school, so I'm giving them a plug). Despite the heat and my general abhorrence of anything cricket related it was really fun and even mum had a go. We cooled off in the pool to finish off a really great day.

The Monday public holiday was spent relaxing (a little), cleaning up from the two prior days and getting ready for more entertaining. That evening Big Jay's birthmum, uncle and friend came for dinner (as well as his brother, SIL and their little son who were here for the whole holiday period). So yet more cooking, cleaning and overeating. Let the good times roll.

Tuesday we hit the city for some sale shopping (I'm nothing if not a glutton for punishment) with my gorgeous, super stylish SIL and my best ladies C and M. Finishing with a big family dinner (all the dads and kids joining us) at Wagamama at King Street Wharf. The big surprise for the evening was bumping into a friend from the dim dark past fondly remembered as the Fitzroy Street Squat days. Mark (aka Woody) has certainly made something of himself - not that you would have predicted that back in 1982 - and now has a gorgeous wife, four kids and an important job with the Bank of America. Go figure!

So where are we? Yes, Tuesday the 28th of December. I worked the next two days (oh, the bliss of a quiet office, a nice cup of tea and no meals to cook for the hoardes).

Friday Big Jay was working and I wasn't so I took the kids and our visitors to Paddington and Woollahra to visit Victor Churchill (it's like porn for carnevores) and some more fashion for the SIL. We finished with a late lunch at the Seafood Markets (note to self: avoid Doyle's at all costs... they should be embaressed by the crap they dish out, have been coasting on the name for too long now).

Which brings us to NYE. When Big Jay came home from work we settled in for some eating, drinking and fireworks gazing on the deck of the apartment his brother and SIL had rented in the building next door to ours. Their apartment was on the top floor and while the apartment itself was quite ordinary the deck was magnificent. It was not only huge but afforded 320 degree views of the Sydney skyline, including the city (or at least some of it, the main part of the Harbour Bridge was obscured by some buildings). Anyway, we were able to see not only the big city fireworks but also the many and assorted smaller ones going on all around the greater Sydney area. Cool!

New Year's Day we sat around the pool all morning which was not only gorgeous and relaxing but meant I finally finished Val McDermid's The Mermaids Singing (the first of the Tony Hill novels which became the Wire in the Blood series). While I like her writing the book didn't really blow me away because I am so familiar with the show and particularly with Robson Green as Tony Hill and I guess there really wasn't any suspense factor because I knew what happens in the end. I'm just glad I finally got through it because it feels like I've been reading it for years. So then I started straight onto Thousand Splendid Suns (love my Kindle, finish one book, download another) which is the book for January for the local book group I'm thinking of joining.

Oops, just realised I'm technically into 2011. Better stop now. Some photos to post and then let's roll in the new year. Twenty Eleven will be a big one.

Community

This is a story from our local community which makes me feel good to be alive and refreshes my deeply buried faith in the goodness of human beings. [Stop making gagging noises, I'm being serious here.] I may or may not have shed a tear reading this, believe what you like.

A Letter from Youngchul Ji

The Big O

So the day after Dance Fever, the second last day of school, I finished work early to catch a bus into town to meet my sister...

...so we could go see Oprah!

You know Oprah? The person all the hysteria has been about.

I was super excited to be going. I'm no huge fan of her's but she is a cultural phenomenon and I love me one of those. It was amazing to be part of the "Oprah in Australia" behemoth.

The reality was somewhat disappointing. I don't know if I was just worn out and drained from a few weeks of constant crazy. I don't know what it was but I just couldn't feel the vibe. I couldn't get into the screaming and excitement and the loosing my mind which was going on all around me.

I think it was a combination of things. The long wait before her royalness actually appeared. The fake clapping, cheering and laughing that we were coached to perform for the audio recording prior to the actual taping. The hyper-excitement of the others in the audience; instead of being contagious just made me annoyed and pushed me in the opposite direction.

We were lucky to get seats in the second row so we were up close and personal. For me the lowlights of the event were the interviews with Bono (O: "why did you choose Jay-Z to support you on your tour"; B: "...he's amazing... he's bringing rap to the world [we don't want it, take it back where it came from]... he's so brave [ah, no he's not, fuck off]) and Olivia Newton-John. All the "interviews" - and I use the word very loosely - were banal to the max; five minutes of utter tripe ("you're so wonderful"... "no, you're just amazing"). Give me a break... and a bucket while you're at it.

The highlights were Hugh Jackman hitting the lighting rig right above our heads. Not that I wish that gorgeous man any harm (well I did briefly after seeing Wolverine, oi vey) but it was the only mildly interesting and unscripted thing that happened all day. Despite myself I also semi-enjoyed the Nicole Kidman/Keith Urban interview, not because it provided any earth shattering insights into, well, anything. But it did give a glimpse of Nicole as a real woman, a nervous talker, a clutz; despite her airbrushed exterior I suspect lurking underneath all that bullshit facade is actually a funny, un-co kind of chick who would be fun to hang out with.

As corny as the finale actually was I did get a thrill out of it. Even a stone hearted cow like me can't help but be moved by the Australian Children's Choir singing I Still Call Australia Home while a gigantic Oz flag is unfurled above our heads.

Oprah herself seemed warm and genuine and fun. While the scripted and produced parts of the show were flat and about as appetising as the leftover bits of WeetBix stuck on the bottom of the bowl and left in the sink all day, the in-between bits showed a little of what she is all about. Unfortunately there just weren't enough of those bits for me and way too many of the other ones.

Of course the diamond necklace was the final sweetner and it was somewhat disappointing to find out we would be leaving with only a card giving us all the details for how to register to receive it, rather than with the real thing in our hot, sweaty little hands. Despite myself I am excited to be getting it and I won't be selling it on Ebay even though Big Jay thinks that would be a great idea. I was part of a tiny big moment in popular culture history and my diamond O will remind me of that. When the grandkiddies come to visit me in Shady Pines I'll get it out and say "Did I ever tell you about the day I went to see Oprah?".

The Crazy continues...

In the week following M's dance concert we had my work Christmas party, the next day M had two parties to attend and W had a friend over to play. We then rolled into the week with the school presentation day, followed by the day we left for the Hunter Valley for a weekend away which included A Day on the Green.

These two weeks featured an overlay of extra crazy for me because I was helping to organise the Year 6 Farewell at our school (the traditional job of Year 5 parents). This was an interesting job which included meetings, countless emails, a certain amount of frustration in dealing with the school beaurocracy, many hours spent mucking about with the all important individualised place mats, culminating with a full day of decorating the hired hall for the big night (we had chosen the surprise "HORROR" theme and while I have absolutely no imagination and/or decorating talent in this regard the ladies who were in charge of this job did a mind blowing job and it came together brilliantly).

The day of the Farewell function (and thus the big decorating day) was the Friday we left for the Hunter so it was a matter of working all day at the hall, picking up the kids from school, Big Jay from work and heading straight up to Broke where our accommodation was located. It was just gorgeous to roll up to this dated, though lovely, house surrounded by olive trees and rolling hills, meet our friends and take a breath. I so needed that weekend.

We were there for the Blondie and The Pretenders Day on the Green and it was good, so good. You don't go to the Days on the Green for the sound quality; you go for the atmosphere... the vibe, man. Despite half of Australia being under water Bimbadgen Estate was a haven of perfect outdoor concert weather. Not too hot, not too cold, a light breeze. Perfect.

We camped out in a good spot, spread out our array of snacks and enjoyed a few hours of people watching before the bands. The Pretenders were first and to summarise Chrissie Hynde still has "it"; the original rock chick. I love seeing a woman of advancing years looking like a real woman. She's had a full life and it shows on her face, it's so real and sexy. Not a frozen, plastic face masking reality, erasing history. It was funny to think that the new band members were not even born when I was first listening to Brass In Pocket.

Then Blondie. We saw them a number of years ago at the State Theatre and that was a wonderful, memorable night. This time I have to say they were somewhat "off". Not sure how to put my finger on the problem. The sound just not so good, the timing not right, the vibe a little low. Whatever the issue it was all worth it for the amazing version of David Bowie's Heroes. Wow! Nevertheless I would probably give a limb to hear them do Tear Her To Shreds, a pleasure I will unlikely witness in this lifetime.

[Note to drunk dickheads at outdoor concerts: Please watch out for sleeping children on picnic blankets. They don't tend to like being stepped on. Sleeping children or not, don't step in the middle of people's picnic blankets, if you're not squishing a child you're likely to be squishing a nice piece of brie.]

So where was I? The Monday after A Day on the Green featured the U2 concert for Big Jay (better him than me!). He went early with our friend B and lined up for a special place in the mosh pit resulting in a bunch of great photos (unfortunately they were of U2) like this one:


























That same evening Will was dancing in Dance Fever with all the kids from Years 3, 4, 5 and 6. Dance Fever is a ballroom dancing style competition for primary schools. His school has been involved for the past few years and it is great fun. The kids get to dress up and have a go at some simple dance routines. For the first time Will and his partner made it into the finals of the Cha Cha which was a great thrill for me, not so exciting for him.

Another late night in a string of late nights. The kids were really hitting the wall by now. Luckily the crazy was over for them. But not for me...

Hallway Sex

Feeling silly so found this highly amusing (Number 4 is my personal favourite).

Five types of sex:

1) The first is Smurf Sex. This happens during the honeymoon period; you both keep doing it until you're blue in the face.

2) The second is Kitchen Sex. This is at the beginning of the marriage; you'll have sex anywhere, anytime, even in the kitchen.

3) The third kind is Bedroom Sex. You've calmed down a bit, perhaps have kids, so you gotta do it in the bedroom.

4) The fourth kind is Hallway Sex. This is the phase in which you pass each other in the hallway and say, "Screw you!"

5) There is also a fifth kind of sex: Courtroom Sex. This is when you get divorced and your wife screws you in front of everyone in the courtroom.

Giggle...

Let's start at the start

I like to think of the official start of the Crazy as the Tuesday night of Marianna's dance concert (but it was probably earlier than that, like the weekend we went to see True West, which was also the weekend of our Christmas adoptive families picnic - which ended up at our house because of rain).

Marianna's dance concert was on a Tuesday night which meant she had to be taken out of school early and delivered backstage to NIDA for three hours of rehearsal prior to the evening's show. Children's dance concerts are a peculiar event. The rehearsal looks like bedlam but somehow the show comes together into something resembling an evening of seemless entertainment.

Little Miss M was in three seperate dances and the finale, which meant three costumes and costume changes. Luckily the parents were only responsible for the first costume and hair and make up, everything else was up to the teachers (who must certainly wonder on concert night whether there are easier ways of making a living, for example bomb disposal expert in Afganistan).

Anyway, the evening was really fun and culminated in Princess Attitude being awarded a trophy, which was lovely. But we didn't get home until after 11 and it was all downhill from there. Late nights and school mornings are not a great combination and from that evening we rolled into two weeks of tired, cranky children and tired, cranky parents. Oh, the joy!

Remember me?

I don't blame you if you don't. I have been a bad, bad little blogger of late.

I am sorry about that and I'm afraid I won't be repenting right now. It's the first day of the school holidays and I'm recovering from a few weeks which have left me seriously dazed and confused (or even more, much more, than usual). The kidlets and I are off to a playdate shortly and I'm trying to shuffle the crap around the living room so it doesn't resemble the set of Stepford and Sons. The aforementioned kidlets are laying in my bed watching the Jerry Lewis version of The Nutty Professor; they too are recovering.

I need to update you on the craziness which has been my life lately and especially about Oprah. So stay tuned, catch up blogs coming up very soon.

In the meantime a little giggle from the Climate Change Fiasco file - Arctic Meltdown?

Human anatomy

Last night when we were driving home from my sister's birthday dinner Will asked me:

"Mum, do ladies have tentacles in their vaginas?"

After I had stopped giggling and removed the mental image from my mind I said: "Do you mean 'testicles'?"

"Oh yeah, that's what I mean - 'testicles'".

"Um, no they don't. But that's a very interesting question."

Things that make you say "hhhmmmm?"

Absent

I have been reluctantly absent from this here blog for the last week or so because my services have been required elsewhere. In other words I've just had too much bloody stuff to do. My brain is full of blogging thoughts but I just haven't had time to sit and actually write.

It's been a long, good and draining week. Right now, as I write on this fine Sunday evening, I am totally exhausted. I won't bore you with the details; some of you have already suffered through them, listening to my whining in person. The rest may have a reprive.

Anyway, the finish line, signified by the end of Term 4, is in sight. There is mostly fun stuff to look forward to now.

Next weekend we are Day on the Green-ing it in the Hunter Valley, where we'll enjoy two nights with our dear friends the G's and Blondie and The Pretenders under the stars on Saturday night. If the rain stays away... and that's a very big IF... it should be a gorgeous weekend.

As I said I have lots of thoughts buzzing around my void-like brain but I'm seriously too tired to write anything meaningful and/or coherent. So I'll just go and watch the freaks on Sixty Minutes... I love a good freak, don't you? I'm talking serious freaks, not the day to day kind.