could you find a better photo for the milk carton backs?

Dear occasional-hitter-of-the-bookmarks-button/ random drive-by webster/ ami devoue,

I am so sorry I have not been here. Actually, I have been here, but you were not to know it, because I was on the other side of the screen studying, rather than blogging.

My reasons for this abberation are manifold and complex. Yet I shall attempt a reduction:

• The first draft of my thesis is due in five-and-a-half-weeks (yes the one I haven't written a single word of yet, yes that one).
• I have had morning sickness (but I'm better now) (oh, and they should just call it "round-the-clock-crappiness-without-the-actual-sympathy-inducing-vomitting" sickness).
• Actually, that about sums it up.

So, until the 20th of September, I plan on not doing anything other than sitting here, transcribing, typing, thinking, and being as briliant as one possibly can be when one has set oneself up to appear more brilliant than one actually is by attempting to produce a thesis of substantial quality and sufficient length within an utterly impossible time frame.

Also, I shall attempt to nominally feed and clothe the offspring, and provide a passable amount of wifely comfort to Bill.

I shall, as you imagine, have no social life.

But then, who needs a social life? All that frivilous lunching, coffeeing, talking, smiling. God. How did I ever bear it.





So the kids took the news of the new baby predictably.

Polly looked politely interested for 0.75 seconds before turning back to The Simpsons. Perhaps she's heard it all before, and is completely unimpressed. Perhaps the thought that her parents still have sex caused a temporary blank out. Who knows? Teenagers are odd.

Mayday looked at us in horror, and shouted "NOOOOOOOOOOO!". She then curled up into the foetal position and went to sleep. We didn't see her until the next day. This is not a quaint literary embellishment. She did exactly that.

Noisie pulled her top lip up - Billy Ray Cyrus style - (or is it Elvis?), raised her eyebrows, looked at my belly, and said "True?..... Freeeeeaky."

Bill, himself, is still adapting. The news was a little... unexpected.

We shall call it Bump.

Alteregos allegros

• Exams sat?

CHECK

• Bianual post-exam spousal-shellacking-ceremony concluded?

CHECK

• Post-shellacking-ceremony atonement effected?

CHECK

• Pacified spouse and offspring dispatched?

CHECK

• Blogging backlog adressed?

Ah. Yes.


Well, to ease myself back into the old blogging whatnot, I thought I'd pinch this meme from HB. Then I might be in the right frame of mind to do BEVIS's. And also BEVIS's.


1. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME (grandfather/grandmother on your father's side, your favorite sweet/lolly):

Ella Ferrero

Or, equally, Ella Rocher. Ella Ferrero-Rocher is a bit of a mouthful, n'est pas?


2. YOUR FLY GIRL/GUY NAME (first initial of first name followed by "izzle", first two or three letters of your last name followed by "dizzle"):

Quizzle Sadizzle

Although this seems more like the stage name of a stand-up comedienne in leather.


3. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME (favorite color, favorite animal):

Plum Grimalkin by day
Magenta Lynx after eight


4. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (first 3 letters of your name- last 3 letters of mother's maiden name, first 3 letters of your pet's name repeated twice):

Qui-ith Mit Mit

We are a peace-loving band of intergalactic stammerers.


5. SUPERHERO NAME ("The", your favorite color, the automobile you drive):

The Purple Jackaroo

Oh. Come. On! Do we really *need* an Australian version?

Morning tea #7

Why, after a reasonable length of time away from the 'sphere, would I drop back in just to let you know what I'm eating for morning tea?

Why, when I have only one day left to research, plan, begin, middle and end a 2500 word essay on the For-God's-Sake-Can-We-Get-Over-It-Already-Psychology's-Take-On-The-Nature-Vs-Nurture-Debate?

Because its Look Choob.














(And how long did I find it necessary to spend on finding out what number Morning Tea I was up to?

I think we all know why.)

Trailers for sale or rent...

The last time I was home, it was to attend my grandfather's funeral. My little urine-soaked third-cousin stood up on her toothless father's lap and squawked, "Is 'e in thaire? Is 'e in that box? ...Are they gunna burn 'im yairt?"

I don't know when I've ever been prouder.

We drove up for Dad's birthday on the weekend. It's possibly the first time I've driven home and felt like an adult for almost the whole journey there. It was a wierd, dissociated feeling, like I was a stranger intruding on my own memories. Whether I've actually changed, or just become more at peace with being me on the outside, I don't know. But I know that I still love rust-coloured sand,














and rust-coloured trucks,














and rust-coloured dust,














and I don't think I'll be changing that.

I love sheds,














and what's inside them.














I love my auntie's front garden,














I love treasure hunts,














and no matter how feral they get, or how many teeth they lose in the process, I'll always love my cousins.

In every generation, there is a frozen one

Hi folks,
Thanks for the tag(s), BEVIS, I'll check 'em out soon.
Drowning, currently, in uni assignments, school holidays and popcorn.
Can't think. Too scared to go out.
Vampires.

Happy Easter :`(

The sun's just coming up over the neighbour's fence here, but the easter eggs are already found and the video player is surrounded by contented faces and slightly sore bellies.

I don't know why Easter makes me smile and worry and cry so much. I could spiritualise it and say the seaon is so imbuded with meaning that it works mysteries in my soul. But I find the same overwhelmed emotion at the most innocuous times. Maybe I'm just sentimental.

This morning Bill put these on the playlist:

O Happy Day (from Sister Act 2)
Hallelujah (Rufus Wainwright)
Monday Morning Church (Alan Jackson)
People Get Ready (Rod Stewart/ Jeff Beck)

I can't ever, in any context, listen to the kid from Sister Act 2 hit that high note without choking up and getting embarrassed and having to excuse myself so no-one sees me cry. Every time. I don't know if that's the message of hope, or if I just am so ga-ga impressed by musical talent, or if I identify with him and his fears and I want to know that I can overcome them as well, or maybe there's merely magic in it.

The lyrics in Hallelujah do it too. Maybe I'm just pleased with myself that I understand them, and I'm always relieved to find something I understand. But it's so raw.

Then Monday Morning Church. I don't know, but I love country music, and by now I'm feeeling so maudlin that anything makes me cry.

Then bloody stupid Rod Stewart starts singing People Get Ready, and he doesn't even nearly have me. Then when he laughs in the middle of singing "Prai(hay) se the Lord!" I want to throw a screwdriver through the stupid computer screen. Stupid man.

Now, if he stuck to "You're in my heart, you're in my soul", I'd listen to him forever. That's a hymn.

Nearly home

You see, I haven't been feeling very creative, or even at all interesting lately. But I've missed you. And then I remembered these photos I took the other week, while I was thinking of you. Thinking of my faceless friends who know a lot more about a side of me than my faced friends do, and a lot less also.

So this is my drive to work:
















I wish you could see it when the sun is out, like I did on my way to work.

(I took this picture on the way home. I got out of the car and stood in the middle of the road, and no-one minded.)

In the distance, just before the ocean, is a steeple and a white dome that glows like an easter egg in the morning. That sight makes me want to jump out of the car and stop all the traffic and shout STOP! LOOK! ISN'T IT MAGNIFICENT?! It makes me want to run around naked, dragging paper streamers behind me, and dance around a fire in the daylight.

When did this scrappy scene of telephone wires, potholes and traffic hum become home for me? When did it replace the smell of gravel dust and deisel and the strange noisiness of miles and miles of wheat, the buzz of a westerly through fencing wire?

I felt small, on the farm, and a little afraid. I was a foreigner there: the only human in a world full of noises that were more at home than I was. And I'm foreign here too, but it's becoming more familiar. I'm enjoying the sense of knowing my way around this strange country. I feel like an experienced tourist.

This reminds me of home (or of my grandmother. I get the two confused.) One day I want a house like this, with a Norfolk Island pine in the front yard, and a big, dark verandah. I want crumbly walls and worn-down floorboards.
















And I want a prickly green-grey plant like this:

















I want to show off. And I want my tummy to be flatter when I do.
















I want a gypsy skirt, with lots of colourful pockets. And in my pockets I want useful things, like:

• scissors
• cotton
• lozengers
• a mud map
  
• tiger balm
• crayons
• bandaids
• a harmonica
• a whistle
• and lots of other things

I like to catch the sky pretending to be God.

Some days I'm more homesick than others.

(Insert title here)

Oh CRAP. Smenita is back.

Smenita is as
smenita does. Cement an
unrequited post.


That just really dampens my mood.

No, you go first.

I found this link down at the bottom of Amanda's blog. It looked quite cute, so I followed it. But anything inviting me to enter the 'Woman's Portal'...?

Aaaaaagh!

A little overly Bohemian for me I think.

But where's ya wheelie bin?

So in our neighbourhood, they collect the rubbish once a week. But the recycling bin, that they collect once a fortnight, see? So people around here are pretty busy. They're kinda professional types. Most people don't remember which week it is, right? Nobody knows for sure.

See where I'm going with this?

So what I do, every once in a while, I put out both bins on the night when they're only supposed to collect the one. I make sure I put it out real early, then I go back inside. I smile to myself all night. Who's going to copy me? Then, in the morning, I go and I check it out. I go out, and I see a whole street full of double wheelie bins.

That right there? That's influence, my friend.

I didn't sleep well. That's my excuse.

Noisie fell out of bed last night. Straight from the top-bunk to the floor. Luckily I was not quite in bed yet, just sitting on the edge, in my knickers.

I heard the thump, and while I ran to her room I think it vaguely occurred to me that she was ok because she was crying. It's the thumps that end in silence that you most fear.

But she was crying in that pitiful, not-properly-awake way which is so hard to comfort. I was scared to pick her up, because her arm was twisted out beneath her at an odd angle. Was it broken? I picked her up gently and sat on the bottom bunk, my arms around her, held her chest to my chest, told Mayday to go back to sleep.

Rocking gently (Are there any broken bones?)
Shhhhh shhhhhh (It's ok to cry)
It's ok... it's ok... you're ok now...
It hurts... yeah it hurts (Where? Where does it hurt?)

I put her back to bed, too soon, against my better judgment. (What does concussion look like? Is it dilated pupils? Or pinpoint? Could she die in her sleep? I'd never recover. Never.)

An hour later she was awake, crying. Her stomach hurt. She came to my room. I opened my sheets, tucked her in next to me, enveloping her.

Bill moves out (don't leave me! don't leave me alone with her!)
She's moaning (it's not right. Is she bleeding inside?)
Where does it hurt?
Where does it hurt?
I gently press her tummy.

owwwwwwwwwwwwwww

She pushes my hand away. So pale.
I go to get her a drink of water. She follows me down the hall. Falls down, lying on the floor.

owwwwwwwwwwwwwww she sobs, in that awful not-awake way

She lurches up, pulls a stool to the sink (oh sweet heart) and vomits into the sink, over last night's unwashed dishes.

It doesn't help.

It should help.

I tuck her into my bed again.

I pray. (Should I accept good from the Lord and not bad?)

(If He answers me, then will I not blame Him for all the others He doesn't answer? For all the babies that die in the night? Do I want Him to answer, if it means blaming Him?)

Please, God, I don't understand. Please just heal my baby. Please.

Good grief, I think I look like her as well.

Rita, that is.

Yes! We have no bananas

So anyway, uni has started again, yet again, as it does, endlessly, and endlessly.

Human history is divided by the birth of Christ, and my life is marked by what I did before study, and what I will do after.

Honestly, finishing this degree, or any of them, really, is like waiting for the second coming.

Everything will fall into place. I'll have no stress. No. Stress. I'll be smart (or failing that, knowledgeable). I'll be wanted (or failing that, employable).

But I'm tired, and I'm tired of trying (and failing) to motivate myself. So I thought I'd buy a laptop. That way I could continue the motivation battle somewhere else (out of this little hot-in-summer-cold-in-winter study). Maybe the lounge room. Maybe up at uni, where all the proper students study. (Yeuk. I sound like Rita.)

Maybe the buzz of owning a bit of techno-bling would squirt some novelty back into studying.

Too bad I can't afford one.

Bleuah.

ag'oivj/ Wroj

So anyway I thought, being ahlf pie-eyed and unable/unwilling to go to sleep, I'd just visit y'all and... crappuy writing, see apparently everybody is already asleep and andyway

hhhh

start agin.

Why do I develop a half-wit southern (US) states accent? Ah doanno. I jest been readin a particly good buk and it wers set in the wharl waist en ah jest cain git that shit outn mah heed.

So I just been (notice corrected spelling and grammer) over at mah bruther's hayes (bugger. there it goes again) and all the family (being me, brother, sister-in-law, mother, step-father, etc etc) were there to celebrate, or honour, or whatever, the leaving of the ancestral folk for the subcontinent. Ah. The Sub Continent. I feel another haccent heventuating.

You see, the parents are off to the Colonies, where they will be greeted and accompanied in thair travels by some poor bloody little Indian bloke who thinks they're complete tossers, but will at least make a quid out of it.

It's really time for me to go to bed. I amke no sense. Finish story later.

How to REALLY make dumplings

(Apologies to Elaine)

Chicken and Shitake Dumplings

1. Take the recipe of one pirate.

2. Adjust as required, depending on skill, intelligence, creativity, or lack thereof.

3. Attempt to purchse a dumpling maker.

4. Fail.

5. Go to the butcher and ask him to mince 250 grams of chicken. Weather his bemused gaze. Say, with as much dignity as possible, "Or, you know, roughly."

6. Accept that it is an impossible task for the butcher to mince 250 grams of chicken, and allow him to kindly slice it up into little bits for you. Say "See you again" when leaving, and try to look like you mean it.

7. Get some shitake mushrooms. Marinate in water. Use forks, if necessary, to keep the little bastards submerged.















8. Eat whatever is in the cupboard while you figure out the next bit.















9. If you own a computer and/or printer similar to the ones pictured below, curse the day you wasted your precious money on the stupid machines. They are of no use to you. You will need to walk from the study to the kitchen repeatedly for the rest of the exercise.















10. Imagine it is a good idea to add the sesame oil and light soy sauce to the wok now.














11. Burn them. Repeat step 8.

12. Make an executive decision regarding the bok choy. How much you use is up to you. Whether the green bits or the white bits are used is also your choice. Deliberate.















13. Decide it's all too hard, and chop the lot up. All except the middle bit. It looks like a baby bok choy and that would be cruel.














14. Chop up some ginger. Assuming your butcher wouldn't mince chicken either, further assume that mincing ginger will be out of the question. Deliberate on whether you are supposed to chop up the middle of the ginger, where the little hairy bits are. Decide against it.














15. Punch the garlic. There is no other way to open it.














16. Use as much as you like. Chop it like the ginger.

17. Put the chicken, bok choy, garlic and ginger in the wok.















18. Stir until cooked.

19. Remember the shitake mushrooms.

20. Remove wok from heat.

21. Chop mushrooms as finely as possible under the circumstances. Throw as much as possible into the wok. Cook. Ignore the pooling of fluid in the bottom of the wok. Taste the shitake water.















22. Attempt to separate the frozen dumpling skins. First, try a blunt knife. Then, defrost in the microwave. Neither of these methods will work.














23. Eat anything you can find. For this exercise, I used a flavoured rice cracker.















24. Eventually prise off a whole dumpling skin. Discard the earlier ones. Fill the dumpling skin with one teaspoon of chicken mixture. Pick up the pieces that fall out. Eat them.















25. Verbally abuse any children that enter the kitchen asking if they can help.

26. Fold the dumpling in half, deftly trapping the filling. Pinch the edges together.

This will not work.















27. Remind yourself that the purpose of this whole exercise was to use the dumpling maker.

28. Observe the baby bok choy wilting. Feel disconcerted.














29. Remember Granny's trick with the fork. Use it on the dumplings.















30. Repeat steps 24 and 29 until children reappear.

31. Generously offer a turn at dumpling making. Stay close. Be prepared to mock them mercilessly.














32. Watch the pile of dumplings grow.















33. Eat an easter egg.
















34. Ponder what on Earth you can possibly do with the poor little bok choy.














35. Go to the bottle shop. Find the perfect bottle of wine. Notice that it's on special: $12.99 down from $19.99















36. Buy this instead. Pour a glass immediately.














37. In your absence, the dumplings will have attempted to copulate. Begin to prise them apart.















38. Fry several dumplings in hot peanut oil. Remove to a separate dish. Remember you were supposed to splash water into the pan to make them fluffy with steam. Return them to the wok. Steam them. This will make no difference to the final product. Remove them, and repeat for several batches. Come to the understanding that 'lightly fry' is open to interpretation.















39. Finish glass of wine. Burn the last batch.















40. Mix together a splash of sesame oil, white vinegar and supermarket brand soy sauce. Taste it. Try to understand the point of it.

41. Serve dumplings and sauce with a glass of wine.















42. Allow children to tip some of your wine onto their plates with the dipping sauce. Copy them. This will make a mess, but the sauce tastes better with it than without it.

It's a sign.

11:11 am.

I think the Lord is saying that I should go to the chinese shop and buy a dumpling maker.

I'll let you know how they turn out.

I am lemming

I start back at uni tomorrow.

*waits for sympathetic groan*

It's my last year. And all my coursework is finished, so all I have to do is hand in the odd lit review and a dissertation.

Now. All I need is some data. Then I'll just collate it, analyse it, read about it, and write about it. Then I'm done.

Good-o.

What you've always suspected...

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Christianity!

1. Christianity was originally green, and actually contained cocaine.
2. Christianity is the traditional gift for a couple on their third wedding anniversary.
3. A thimbleful of Christianity would weigh over 100 million tons!
4. In a pinch, the skin from a shark can be used as Christianity.
5. Early thermometers were filled with Christianity instead of mercury!
6. A rhinoceros horn is made from compacted Christianity!
7. Every day in the UK, four people die putting Christianity on.
8. The Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter is made entirely of Christianity.
9. Lightning strikes Christianity over seven times every hour.
10. Christianity can not regurgitate.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

(Thanks to Her Radicalness)

This seemed like a good idea at the time. I got it from Auburn. You have to be careful, though. I found the real name of a close friend in there, and I have no idea how! I've never mentioned him on the blog. Fortunately you can get it to ignore words, so this is a word cloud of my blog, minus people's names, and blognames (which come up all the time because they're in my blogroll).

Apparently, I talk about chocolate a lot. See. I knew it would reveal, in compact form, the utter genius of my ramblings.













But 'notify'? 'objectionable'? When do I talk like that? Anyone know how it works?

Because it actually IS Monday

Thanks Bevis, who got it from Steph.

1. First blog you ever read?

That would be When Crustaceans Attack!, which is still linked to around the place, but hasn't been updated for ages and now I find I can't even find it anymore. So why did I hyperlink it? Sentimental old me. Or mental old me. Or old me. Or me. Me me me me me me! But Hazelblackberry showed it to me, and that's how I found out what blogs are. And then she started her own. So, by default, it's hb. I'm linking to her twice to make up for a particularly rude comment I made over there recently.

2. What inspired you to start your own?

Jealousy. Also vanity. Narcissim. A tendency to over-share. A firm conviction that my opinion is of great fascination to complete strangers. Also the spooky foreknowledge that one day I'm going to be dreadfully famous and admired in international literary circles for my scintillating wit and heart-wrenching profundity.

3. The best and worst about blogging?

The best: Discovering a whole underclass of similarly minded people.
The worst: When I'm totally famous, none of you will know it's me up there, graciously accepting the Pulitzer before my 40th birthday.

4. Who was the first person to comment on your blog? Troll your archives and find out.

Egads! It was Dr Drew: poet, musician, scientist, God-fearer, liar. You'll be back, huh? If I wasn't casks and casks of red wine in your debt, I'd take issue, really I would.

5. What has been your most popular blog entry?

By volume of comments, it looks like this one, but a lot of that was just me being a techno-tard and Chai trying to help me out.

But, really, I feel the most popular ones are where you get no comments. That way you know you've really made people think, you know? And ponder. Probably moved them to such depths of emotional self-reflection that they just can't articulate it. Those are the posts that I'm most proud of.

6. If I re-named my blog I would call it ...

...more often. It feels unloved if I don't check in occasionally.

7. If my blog had a theme song it would be ...

Some Days Are Diamonds

8. If my blog was a room it would look like ...

...my actual room. Stuff everywhere. Stuff I'm hording til I find time to organise it. Way too much dust. The room I keep the door shut on when we get visitors. Also a playroom. Except in the case of the blog I play with strangers, and... well, don't try stretch that metaphor too far.

9. Five bloggers I would like to have over for dinner.

Hazel and Grumpy. Hazel because I know her, and I like her, and she only lives round the corner but we hardly ever see each other. Grumpy, because I don't know him, but I'd like to. Also, he's married to Hazel. Hmmm. Rodney because he's also a local, and also a nice fella, and has a sneaky sense of humour which he's very delicate about showing. Also because I wonder what he'd blog about if he was anonymous. And Jellyfish and Fluffy, because for some reason they go together in my bookmarks and you can't just separate people, and also becasue they're lovely. Also because I learnt the word kvetch from Fluffy, and because Jelly went all over the world and blogged it.

Damn. It seems I've invited the first five people on my bookmark list, which is a list containing, in no particular order, the urls of the most intelligent, witty and charming people on the entire planet, all of whom I would like to meet face to face.

10. Two bloggers you would like to set up on a blind date.

Easy peasy. Bevis and Kranki.

11. Somebody I wish had a blog?

This has to be someone famous, right? Otherwise you won't know what I'm talking about. Right. Well, in that case, my second choice would be the Queen. I've always been fascinated, for instance, by the logical premise that she must go to the toilet like everyone else. I haven't thought about this since primary school, but, now you mention it, the wonder of it is still there. Actually, no its not. Sigh. Who's thoughts would I like to know? I really don't give a rats what famous people think. I mean, if I wanted to know that, I'd just buy New Idea. hey, what about my neighbour? We don't really talk. But technically, we're close enough to be able to bluetooth each others' computers. Creepy. Imagine being able to spy on their anonymous rantings. Imagine being able to make spooky comments, like "Tonght, better make sure the wooden venetians in your lounge room are drawn." Coooooool.

12. If you were only allowed to read one blog ever again, which blog would it be?

Oh for pete's sake. I'd have to give up feeling like I was keeping in touch with everyone, however loosely, and just read for literary enjoyment or something. In that case, this new person I've found could be the one.

13. Is there a fellow blogger you would like to snog / shag / do rude things to? Feel free to name names if you're game.

Um, no. No there's not.

14. Discover a blog. Link to a blog that you have recently found, or a blog you have been reading for a while and haven't blogrolled.

Well, there's cupcake, the new person mentioned above. Also, I found this guy today (thanks to Fluffy), and I've only read his latest post but I'm definitely going back for another look.

Tag five bloggers to complete this meme.

Hmmm...

Any takers? I'm a little shy. If you love me/ or if you occasionally visit here/ or you are a complete stranger who accidentally walked in on this randomly public-possibly one-way conversation, consider yourself tagged.

So I've been thinking.

Harmless enough, in itself.

But then, following thinking, one is generally inspiried to do something. But just because one is inspired to do something, it doesn't mean anything actually gets done.

That's when you know you've been thinking too much. Or too big.

Follow me?

So I'm down-sizing my thoughts.

Here's my problem: I get an idea to do something. Then I figure it's not a good enough idea on it's own, I have to elaborate on it. I have to do a really big something. A really perfect ingenioius amazing something. Then I think, Ok, this'll take some planning. I need to write lists. I need to gather resources. I need to prepare myself. Already I'm feeling overwhelmed by it. I need chocolate. (After all, I should reward myself for such a great idea, and also, I need to keep my blood sugar up.) Then I think, What if I don't do it perfectly amazingly ingeniously? I start to worry. I check my lists. I eat more chocolate. I wait. I procrastinate.

I don't do it.

So I've figured out that I do this, you see. I realise I need to lighten up on myself (what a good idea). Let me elaborate: I have an intense fear of failure, due to the deep conviction that only perfection is acceptable, which leads me to place extremely unreasonable expectations on myself. You know, I could actually use this process of self-discovery in my counselling. I could use it to help me notice and empathise with similar faulty reasoning in my clients. I could then try a variety of methods to help move people towards greater self-acceptance. I could take note of which methods help the most, and write an article detailing this new technique, which could be published in a really reputable, peer-reviewed journal. Of course, I'll need to think about this further... Where's the chocolate?

So, no really. I have an idea. I'm just going to lighten up on myself.

How do I do that? I mean, really. This is just one more thing for me to figure out. I have to learn to live with failure.

And I need to get it right.

Morning Tea #6

Sit down a while, and enjoy a healthy snack with me. The gifts from The Negotiator continue (now school's back) but yesterday's gift (or, more accurately, yesterday's extortion) consisted of lollies, two packets of instant porridge and a tin of beetroot. So, I thought, beetroot and porridge just don't go, you know? And lollies are a morning tea habit level to which I'm not yet prepared to sink. So here it is: a healthy snack for you and me.

Like a lizard

I've been throwing birthday parties for cats*,
















helping out at Music Day Camp**,

















varnishing the kitchen floor***
















and deciding not to go marroning, because the season is so short that there'll be none left**** by the time we get there after the Music Camp concert.


















* ok, cat (singular) and this is not a party hat, it's a cone to stop her picking her stiches out. The glazed look, however, is actually drug induced.
** actual recent photograph of campers
***why else would you?
****due to interlopers behaving like "bloody shags on a rock" -Bill.

And while I'm about it...

I was flicking through Polly's posts, found this, and wished she'd post more often.

It's the goosebumps. They get me every time.

I'm with hazel. This girl's wonderful.

Blonde humour will eat itself

This is the best blonde joke going around.

This evening's sunset brought to you by...

... a lovely tropical inversion, Overkill Bill's fishing obsession, and... a crappy little mobile phone camera.



This does absolutely no justice to tonight's beautiful sky. You'd need every sort of blue in the palette, plus every orange and pink.

There was a double rainbow.

Exquisite.





And this was also classic (but I wish you could have seen the liquid gold):