Tuesday, 15 January 2013


This blogging caper is a bit baffling. The idea was to write a post every week but somehow the time has flown by and I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date. There are a million, very sound (yea, I bet), reasons why the deadline passed me by but I won’t bore you with them (mainly because I wouldn't get away with trying to give a million reasons). Honestly, the main reason is I keep waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen that would get my creative writing juices flowing; that I could dazzle my reader(s) with; that would be satisfying to write.

I travelled half way around Australia in 2004-2005 and wrote an email journal to family and friends, a pre-blog if you like. It was easy to write about each new place, people, activity and experience. I kind of thought blogging would be the same. After lurking about on other blogs and discovering that personal bloggers talk about their daily lives, thoughts and insights I reckoned I could do the same. Those bloggers make it look easy and fooled me into a false sense of security. Damn you, clever bloggers!

Trouble is I now lead a very ‘less ordinary’ life. What to do? It seems the best advice is from the good bloggers is to speak your truth and tell it like it is. But do you, dear reader(s), really want to know that my stomach and guts are in an uproar? That the recurrent vestibulitis (it interferes with balance and makes the room spin every time I move my head) I suffer from has returned to plague me? That I haven’t been out of the house for five days and only seen two people in that time? That I'm getting very bored with the dross on offer during summer time TV? No! I challenge anyone to get some blog worthy writing out of that lot. Except to say they are all fairly good reasons why I missed my blog deadline and have nothing interesting to write about. Excuses, excuses, Humph!

So, in the interests of waffle I shall post a picture of my dog’s extra long tongue in the hopes that you will be distracted from the detritus above and be convinced that I live a truly exotic life because I have an exotic (kind of) pet.

She is a Chihuahua licking a tea plate. She really 
gets her money's worth with that tongue.

You’re not fooled, I can tell, but just go with the flow and I'll see you in a week.*

*If I remember (or merember, as both my kids used to say, a hundred or so years ago when they were little). 

Wednesday, 2 January 2013

Time and Tide . . . .

Typically, I didn't write this brand new post to my brand new blog on the first day of 2013 of the Gregorian calendar. I'm nothing if not perverse. Can't stand all the dribble about starting over, reviewing the past, resolving to do different things and the same things differently, blah, blah, blah. The very idea of new years' resolutions makes me want to bang my head against a brick wall. That would be so much less painful than than having to live through the silly season that culminates in an explosion of lame "Top 10 Resolutions". Ahhhhh . . . .  "beam me up, Scottie." Please, I beg you, take me away from all this.

Anyway my sweeties, how's your belly for spots? Mine's fine; full of Arnotts Tim Tams and a nice cuppa tea. As you may have gathered from the previous paragraph, I'm not a fan of the western world's customs of christmas and new year. I've survived (sometimes barely) the appalling charade of the "festive season" 67 times and it's made me somewhat cynical and very weary. The false bonhomie, the spending, the eating and drinking orgies, the overindulgence of children as present piles on present, the mounting debt and the waste. Oh, please don't get me started on the waste! All the paper, plastic, cardboard and food that is discarded is appalling and even more so when two thirds of the world's people are undernourished or starving to death. It's so disgusting I can't stand it and I can't understand why everybody else can't stand it. People in the western world really have no inkling about the meaning of giving and seasonal celebrations and, until they do, every advert, nay every purchase, should be followed by a loud announcement saying, "Every time a cash register rings, somewhere in the world a child dies." The people in the checkout queue in the supermarket did not appreciate me saying this on the 23rd December, 2013. They all looked at me as if I was the misanthrope! 

Next time I think I'll have a big sandwich board made with the words, "Every time a cash register rings, somewhere in the world a human being dies", written on the front and back, then Rosie 

and I can parade up and down outside major supermarkets and department stores. Ha ha ha . . . it could be fun and should put one old woman and little dog among the fat cats! (Much better than sacrificing a pigeon.) I wonder how long it would be before they called the cops? 

Oh, by the way, if you ever meet any designers or manufacturers of wrapping paper, please smack their hands and face for me. The smack to the hands is to remind them that, if they insist on continuing in this useless and unnecessary occupation, every design should incorporate lines to make the cutting of the paper easier. The smack to the face is to jog their memory that making the paper too thin so it has to be doubled in order to cover a present, because a single thickness ALWAYS tears, (yes, I'm shouting!) does not endear them to the general public.

I give the grand kids gifts on their birthdays and at christmas and this year I'm making them all a shiny material pillow case with their name embroidered on the front. I'll tie it up with a ribbon at the top so they can still have the pleasure of opening something, it will just be the same something each time (the wrapping not the present). I can stop wrestling with paper, scissors and sticky tape that ends up in the bin and me as a gibberish mess. Instead, I'll sit back and bask in an environmentalist glow and send money to World Vision Australia.  

Well, would you look at that? I've outed myself as a bleeding heart. How fabulous and so much better than being a heartless sod. 

Still, bleeding heart or not, I'll leave it until next time to tell you why I have a problem with the approach the charitable organisations have towards the twin evils of abject poverty, ill health and death. On that cheery note, I take my leave.