TIRED

So. It's the day before Melbourne Cup Day. Tomorrow something is happening and I hope it has a good result. It's something bookish and I will let you know if it pans out.

Tomorrow also P starts her exams. English Paper 1 or something. It's a poem or a piece of prose, unseen. They have to read it, and annotate and write a commentary. So we've done a bit of work on the language used to describe author choices and literary devices. Cue cards and everything. I think she's pretty well prepared.

She said that her friends' mothers aren't helping them, and I know it's not 'normal' for me to be doing it, or not the norm is probably a better way of putting it. I'm not sure why I've made myself so available to her, wanting to help. Perhaps I have more invested in these exams emotionally than I thought. I'm the first person to be critical of other parents who do too much for the kids, and don't encourage them to be independent and make their own decisions and mistakes. Maybe I need to think about it, but whatever. I told her it's a one-off, and I won't be helping her with anything else like this in life. Not study-wise.

She's applying to go to college next year. You know: Animal House. I'm a bit conflicted but I stupidly said yes, and I do think it would be good for her as long as she's happy living in. Get her out of her comfort zone a bit more; force her to open up social circles. Get her off our couch. I need to find out whether they accept payment per semester in case she fucking detests it.

We just spent time out the back, in the sun, armed with scissors and dog grooming tools, attacking the Gigi. Gigi loves to lie in the bushes and is a licker too. She licks (vet said maybe allergies; maybe boredom, stress. I think the latter myself.) This means she gets very matted around her 'pantaloons' - bouffy hair that grows exponentially between her legs. She also gets matted on her tummy and well, anywhere really. So we did some chopping and now she looks like some poor kid who gets a home haircut. We're going to take her for a walk too. We haven't walked her for ages cause: 1. she's too slow, 2. she always wants to stop and sniff, so we've worked out a plan. We take her for a walk around the block, slowly, and she can stop and sniff. Then we drop her back home and go for our fast, longer walk. We will see how this goes.

Haven't been to yoga for a couple of weeks. Just too hard with the study and everything else going on. But I'm going to get back to it once P is finished. It's something I feel is really good for me.

Clokes has started in a new position at work. He's still in IT but he's doing twitter and facebook for the bank. Which is kind of funny because it's what he likes to do at home too, so I guess not many people can say they do for paid work what they do in their spare time. He has to shirt up though. Before, he was with a team that were very casual: polo t-shirts, jeans even. Now he's back in shirts and the ones he's wearing he tucks in. I've never known this man to tuck, and he does, and it's hilarious. I call him Tucky when he comes home at night. Mean but funny. Before that I called him Stripey, because he wears those striped polo shirts. Mean, I know. BUT FUNNY.

Last night I cooked lasagne. There was a Neil Perry recipe I got online. Not that I love NP or anything. I don't, but this version had buffalo mozarella and white sauce. Clokes is the lasagne maker in the family and he makes a fantastic lasagne, that has superseded my own very good one. His has ham in it, no white sauce, lots of wet meat sauce and lots of cheese. The way he puts it together, lots of layers of fresh lasagne sheets. Delicious. The one I made yesterday was beautiful. White sauce on top with parmesan cheese and dotted with whole basil leaves. It bubbled and browned, and was yummy but I had to say to him that I still thought his was tastier.

We are still watching Gogglebox. We are right up against the present it seems. Last night's episode (which was the last ep of a season) had them all sitting around watching their Logies equivalent, and Gogglebox won! It was more meta than usual. Then the first episode of the new season, about half of the families had new couches/armchairs. Obviously got a cheque. Also last night, they were watching a Downtown Abbey episode that P had watched just that afternoon on her laptop, while she took a break from cue cards.

So it's all happening in our place.

On Saturday night I went to a friend's birthday and it was upstairs at an Italian restaurant in Lygon St. Lots of people I didn't know, and a few I did. Clokes was there (untucked but striped) and they had a quiz and I won a medal and got a little loud. As I do. Then on facebook next day, lots of pictures and I was tagged and I really don't like the tagging thing. It just draws attention. Annoying. But how do you ask people to untag. I thought you had to give permission for tagging. Annoying.

Well, that's about it. Teaching wise we've been pretty busy. Finished a primary program last week (series of three lessons of three weeks) and finish another one this week. Also have been doing Year 5 sessions at a school in two parts; we have a few more bookings and then finished for the year on 2 December (my birthday). P has eye laser surgery on the 5th, then she goes away to the beach with friends (instead of schoolies) and then we are having a big family Christmas here (except for my dad, and my sister and her family, they will be OS), and THEN P goes OS 9 Jan. And I go 16 Jan, so that will be good.

What do you have on for the rest of the year, over Christmas/New Year?

Hello

Well, I have no real news other than I get the agent notes tomorrow! Yay. I've been waiting since the middle of December and it's great that they are promised for tomorrow. I haven't been hassling her but she's been running behind and is very apologetic. Tuesday I go away 'fishing' again - we have a heat wave on the way and while I'm always happy to just stay inside, we've been invited down the coast (me and P; Clokes is staying in town with one of the other kids; third child is down the coast with his grandparents.)

So it'll be nice to go away for a few nights; spend some time with family, set up on the beach in my little shade tent and swim and read and eat fruit. And compost what I need to do for the revision.

P and I are working our way through West Wing. I love it that she loves it. We are in Season 6, which is the second-last. It's getting really exciting. I think we'll finish before we go away.

Reading: I'm re-reading Donna Tartt's The Little Friend, which I bought and read after reading The Secret History. I didn't like it much at all, think I wanted it to be like Secret History BUT now that I am a more mature reader (and after reading and loving The Goldfinch, her latest) I decided to try it again. But I'd donated it to the op shop. I rarely get rid of books because they are my good friends/babies/lovers, whatever you want to call them. I've gotten rid of things like Jodi Picoult (sucked in to buying a couple) but other than those, I've kept everything. Including my Sidney Sheldons and Jackie Collinses.

So I had to re-buy it, and it wasn't easy. When I first went online to try to order it, it wasn't available. I checked the op shop, because it wasn't that long ago it was taken down there, but no. Wasn't there. I bought about a dozen other books, of course. And because I'd been in a bit of a rush, I convinced myself I might have missed it, so I went back, and bought more books that weren't The Little Friend. And then I checked online again and it was there. They must have ordered them in because of her latest book being so successful.

So I got it, and started it. It's very readable (I don't think that was the problem last time) so I shall keep on with it.

So apart from all that incredibly riveting information, there's nothing much else to report. The holidays seem long this year, actually. We'll go for a drive later, the L-plater that is, do our walk with the dog in the evening and settle in for West Wing. We've got schnitzel for tea, P is doing her research for her 4,000 word essay on the influence of Italian fascism on nazism, I'm doing my pottering online and waiting for this frigging email and marked-up manuscript and all is well with the world.

The thing, it be done

 


Well, I sent off my manuscript to the agent. She said she'll take about a week to ten days to get back to me. Am I shitting myself? Yes. Do I feel relieved? Yes. Can I stop checking my emails? No. Will I die if she doesn't like it. Yes.

On another matter, the act of reading. I am learning more and more that reading is such an intensely personal thing. For a long time I didn't really think about it, or if I did, thought the above sentence meant that people will choose different books to read, and like different books, based on individual taste. What I'm learning is that even when people read the same book, it's a different experience for everyone.

Exhibit 1: all the reviews I've seen for Barracuda are either glowing (Peter Craven) or reasonable.

Exhibit 2: yesterday on twitter I saw a thread of people BAGGING Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch. When the week before I'd said how much I ADORED it.

I told my mother about the second thing.

Oh you don't have to read all that, do you?

(Maybe she thought the twitter people were conversing with me, and disagreeing with my take on the book. I don't think she gets twitter. Fair enough, many don't.)

They weren't talking to me, mum, I said. They were talking to each other and I was eavesdropping. Twitter is public like that.

Oh, she said. (We had just been to a talk on the Cult of Wagner, ft. The Ring Cycle, more about that later) and I was in her place borrowing some hideous '70s stuff for a themed party coming up. I was also having two spoons of Maggie Beer's Passionfruit ice-cream, which mum had in the freezer and had mentioned as we were driving hom.

Back to the twitter thing. It's true that if I say I don't like eating fish, and you do, neither of us find it an insult. But if you say you hate The Goldfinch and I say I love it - because somehow it's connected to either intellect or judgement - it's possible to get your nose out of joint. Yesterday, reading the thread, didn't bother me but it did fascinate me. They used the word 'hate', they said it read like a first draft and was filled with 'howlers'. I was too scared to ask what a howler is. Is it a mistake? Is it something that is cringingly badly written? Both?

I wanted to intellectualise my response, and theirs. All of them were young, under 30 I reckon. Whereas me and Tartt are of a similar era. Actually just looked her up, I'm precisely 3 weeks older than her. So we're twins.  The books we've grown up reading, particularly the maximalist 19th century novels such as Dickens, whose works her book echoes and who she read as a child and young woman, and for John Irving, reading him as a teenager/young woman, and Irving was influenced by and loved Dickens, I wonder whether that context has something to do with it. We love to read what is familiar and comforting. If we can have comfort food, why not comfort reading? I like different and new but the books I can really get lost in and forget I'm reading, are books like The Goldfinch.


And so, to The Ring. Last night the Wheeler Centre hosted another event (I've been to a bunch lately) and it was Julia Zemiro talking to a bunch of people about Wagner's The Ring Cycle. (Bunch of people being director Neil Armfield, foodie Maggie Beer, poet and writer Peter Rose and arts-theatre person Robyn Archer.) It was a chat about the cult of Wagner and how some people (like Rose) are just nuts about The Ring Cycle. Mum is going, she got last-minute tickets after thinking it had all been sold out. So she's thrilled and excited and I'm wondering how she could possibly sit through 18 hours of opera when I have fallen asleep in a normal show (Carmen, late '80s, not my bag baby.) What fascinated me was the way people talk about this production, and the stories attached. Rose spoke of seeing it in Germany and the performers almost staggering around on-stage, swilling from water bottles as they performed. Archer spoke about the audience applause - for the performers, for the orchestra and also for themselves for enduring the thing. Characters like Brünnhilde and Siegfried, and Valkyries. Well, I do have a thing for German characters and the language, and while I don't have a thing for opera, I am going to find out more about it. It appeals.

If anyone is interested in reading more of what Peter Rose has to say about it, here is an article in the Australian Book Review. 

But it will have to wait, because for now I move onto the next project, a novella which is Bladerunner mixed with Helen Garner's The Spare Room. I'm excited because it's not like the previous two (let's call them my 19th century lyrical novels). This is realist and short and in the first person. As Borat would say, wa wa wee wah.

Books

I went and saw Anna Funder talk at Melb Uni the other night. She was gorgeous, and I loved her story about a bear and a family camping holiday. She also talked about ex-Stasi men and how they use a lot of Brycreem. She also talked about imagination, that of the reader and that of the writer. I bought her book Stasiland and got her to inscribe it to my daughter. I told her my daughter is doing IB History - Oh, how is she finding it, she asked. I didn't tell her about my daughter's obsession with Nazis in general and Aryans in particular.

I just finished reading Toni Jordan's Addition. For some reason for a long time I thought this was a memoir or NF. It's a novel and a bloody good one I thought. It surprised me, I don't know why. I expected something light a la The Rosie Project, but it is much much better than Rosie. (I draw comparisons though because they each have protagonists with conditions - OCD 'counting' in Addition and a strongly-insinuated Aspergers in Rosie. While TRP, I thought was trite, lacked credibility in many ways and had unconvincing characters who you couldn't connect with or care about, especially Rosie I have to say, Addition was the complete opposite. The cataloguing of compulsions was fascinating but also sad, but the writing was matter-of-fact, never over-wrought. But the thing is, the important thing is, it's FUNNY. It's a while since I've read a book and been so compelled, laughed several times, grinned to myself a lot and cried TWICE towards the end. Jordan has also written Nine Days which is historical fiction, not my usual choice but I might have to check her out because I was seriously impressed with her style and management of her prose.

Now I'm back on HHhH (which I'd put to the side, and which my daughter consumed; see above reference to Nazi obsession.) I also have Eleanor Catton's The Luminaries which I started about three weeks ago mostly to see how she's constructed her form for the story (and it's since won the Booker Prize. Remember I said if she won I'd hate her because she's 28 and it's her second book. I may not have said that here.) Well, she won and I don't hate her, I think yay for her, yay for bigger books, yay for being experimental and writing what you love, not tailoring books to what you think will sell. So yay.)

Also Alice Munro won the Nobel and I had never read anything of hers so I looked up a few articles to get some info of how to work into her oeuvre, and came across a short story (she only writes short stories, but they're long) and it was pretty interesting. I don't think I've ever read a story like that and how she manages time shifts is interesting - she can pack a novel worth of stuff into a long story. She also breaks the 'rule' of show-don't-tell; she is pretty much all tell with some show. But who cares? It works. I look forward to exploring more of her stuff.

*

The last two weeks I've been teaching a lot and not doing much of my writing. But I have to finish my best version of the second book to get to the agent in November. I had said early, it might be mid. I'm getting it to my reader on Monday and that is a freaking freak-out sort of situation.

And then, and then I've been having thoughts about the first one. Once the second is off to Brooklyn I'll go back to the first and rejig. I have ideas, I have notes, and it's true as Tim Winton said in recent radio interview with Fran Kelly:

'You don't really finish books, you give up on them I suppose.'

I think they're aren't finished until they are published and then there's no more you can do. But you probably would if you could.

Sarah, how goes your book? I think it's out soon?

Windy old Melbourne Town

September always seems windy. My daughter was born in September, and I remember the trees thrashing outside the window as I walked the flat, my mother sitting on the couch timing contractions.

Since we got back from Hong Kong, we've been pretty busy. Princess had her wisdom teeth out last Thursday so I've been nurse: dispensing medications from the infirmary (a kind of table thing in the hallway), making soft food, taking her ice packs, making her swish salt rinses, mashing food, heating up tinned Campbell's soup. That sort of thing. The swelling is going down but she's still got a bit of bruising. I was a bit anxious because she'd never had anything other than a local anaesthetic before and she gets heart palpitations (which I again need to get checked out by a cardiologist) BUT it was all okay, and I could put away the catastrophising scenes of doom that filled my head as I sat in the waiting room. The dentist had also said one of the teeth had a hooked root and was perilously close to a large nerve in her jaw. There a no signs that it's not gone perfectly well.

It's the second week of the school holidays (third for P) which means no teaching for me and lots of writing time (ordinarily, and the last couple of days I've managed a lot of writing.) I've been walking the dog, continuing my healthy with my food. Day before yesterday I chopped off my hair. It had grown very long, down my back, and while I kind of liked the wild woman effect a side ponytail gave me, when I got up Saturday morning with what other people call bed hair and I call playdough hair, I realised the ends were just so ratty and all uneven (because I have this thing, you see, where I cut my own hair) and so I went into the bathroom and pulled it forwards and chopped it off on either side. So it's just past my shoulders, or on them, a long bob and a bit hacked at the back. Good for summer.

We finished Season One of Orange is the New Black. It is fucking amazing. Alex, have you managed to see any of it? I recommend moving it to the top of your list right now. We are pottering through West Wing, up to about early Season 5. And we re-borrowed Sopranos from Clokey's sister on the weekend and so I'm watching that (again, for me) with Princess.

Seriously, too much goodness.

Clokes and I are watching Big Brother but that's all I'm watching on tv. Did not re-invest in either X-Factor or any other reality tv. The other day caught five minutes of Winners and Losers. Oh my god. How can people watch it? It's so saccharine. Reminds me of what little I've seen of that Asher Keddie show, but much worse. The state of television is terrible and people moan about reality tv?

Reading: am reading various books. I am struggling to settle and go deep. Am flicking between different ones, including reading printed-out articles, interviews all to do with writing (The Paris Review series of interviews are amazing, if you like long-form and even writers you don't read, they are always insightful and interesting.) They go back to the '50s man, and you can search by decade or by person's name. Sometimes I think it's the best thing on the Internet.

I have started Eleanor Catton's The Luminaries, which is on the shortlist for The Booker Prize. She's twenty-seven, it's her second book and I hate her. She uses an interesting form in the book which is partly why I'm reading it; partly too I'm reading it because it's so frigging long, more than 800 pages and I'm curious to know how she sustains it well enough to be shortlisted in such a prestigious prize; alsoam curious to see how's she's done it at all. I also bought the shortest on the shortlist, Colm Toibin's The Testament of Mary.

Writing: over the weekend I wrote a long piece to submit to a journal that has a theme of SEX. I don't write sexy stuff but I'm a sex ed teacher so thought to angle it from there. We shall see. Then this morning I rejigged a piece I'd done on gadgetry and my hate for Apple products, and incorporated some commentary on the hate people have for Jonathan Franzen (and to a lesser extent, Tim Winton.) Not sure what I'll do with that, it's pretty ranty. And THEN I got an email last Tuesday from one journal to say they wanted to print something I'd submitted (it's a creative non fiction piece, kind of) and then last night, an email from a small publishing house who want to include a poem I sent them in their annual collection of stories. So. A few little things happening.

My big writing thing: I have to get my second manuscript to my agent early November. She wants to get it to publishers I think in February. They are keen to see it which is good but so much pressure because what if it's terrible?

Let's just look at this for a moment to calm down:  Putting time in perspective

So been a while

I have nothing much to report, well I do actually. Manuscript for book # 1 is with two publishers, on their request thanks to a feisty pitch via email by a writerly colleague of mine.

Imagine a bidding war between Text and Random House. Oh, I wish.

Everybody please cross fingers and any other bendy flexible bits of bodies. Thank you, I shall keep you posted.

Almost finished first draft of book # 2.

*

In other news, business is going well. We have 11 schools 'on the books' and debuted a few weeks ago. It's all going swimmingly though we'd like a few more bookings so we are doing mail out number 3 on the school holidays.

*

Today I went to Readings to kill time. This is what I bought:

Five Bells by Gail Jones.

Animal People by Charlotte Wood.

The Idea of Home by Geraldine Brooks (as part of the Boyer Lectures). I was disappointed with People of the Book and thus wasn't interested in Caleb's Crossing but liked The Year of Wonders and adored Nine Parts of Desire (non-fiction) so I expect this small volume will be engaging.

Quarterly Essay featuring Anna Krien's 'Us and Them' piece on animal welfare/animals/us and them

AND

Orhan Pamuk's The Museum of Innocence.

If just for the front cover, love it.

Which to read first, oh I love these types of conundrums!

BOOK LOG

I have just finished reading Wetlands by Charlotte Roche.

Anyone?

I have this to say about it:

- it is the perfect length

- it is funny

- it is very revolting, not for the faint-hearted

- it is revolting and funny at the same time

- it is in no way sexually arousing (for me, I don't know, maybe poo-philes and pus-lovers will find it kinky?)

- isn't kinky such an old-sounding word? it's so seventies.

- I LOVED the ending. LOVED IT. It was a happy ending, an ending with hope and love and potential and she gave a reason for why the main character was as she was.

- it made me think of Affection by Krissy Kneen. Another warts-and-all type of book, readable and brave. I had read Christos Tsiolkas's Dead Europe just before Wetlands, and I loved that as well. I must be so stupid, it took me a little while to realise there was some sort of vampirish thing going on. What a great book it was though. Again, with all the bodily fluids, and blood. There's one other book I want to read which sits, I believe, in the detailed-bodily-fuctions-gross-out genre, and that is In-human by Anna Dusk. How cool a name is Anna Dusk - is it real I wonder.

*

Now I am turning to Snow by Orhan Pamuk. I have had this book on my shelves for years, dear readers, years. I have never read any of his books. I also have Istanbul and My Name is Red. I have often wondered why I haven't read them yet, but now I know. It wasn't time, and now it is.

I am going to enter a phase of "Turkish readings" including re-reading my favourite trilogy by Yashar Kemal Iron Earth, Copper Sky; The Wind from the Plains and The Undying Grass. I also have some memoirish stuff to re-read (life during the end of the Ottoman era) and a couple of non-fiction including Lady Mary Wortley's travel writings.

This long weekend, in addition to reading much, I want to tidy my bookcases and put all my stuff into author groups.

Any ideas on how to organise? How do you organise your bookshelves? Do you?

At the moment mine are all over the place. I do have a Helen Garner section and a Hemingway section, but I want to have sections where I can locate a book fast. I also have overflow. What do I do with that? For years my overflow has been all my "embarrassing" books, you know the ones that you don't want to be seen reading. My embarrassing books are things like Jackie Collins, Stephen King and books with titles like Who Killed Leigh Leigh and Single, Wild and Sexy. Another embarrassing book I had was Survivors of Verbal Abuse or something like that. I ripped the cover off that one because I was reading it and commuting at the same time.

*

The flat is finished yay. I have the whole weekend plus Monday to recover and turn my mind to the next project, which is going to Turkey in September. It'll be just me and Princess, though I'm hoping mum can come too. We have to wait another couple of weeks to see what the doctor says. A few friends are planning to join us there in the south - what fun - and I think the plan is to stay in the village house that Ali has renovated. It has a pool in the almond orchard, stone walls and from memory there were some chickens strutting around the dirt lanes. Bliss.
I think we'll hire a car so we don't have to drive the notorious jeep. I feel sick just thinking about it, ama hersey iyi olacak. Degil-mi?

suffering part 2

So I was talking about suffering just the other day.

Seems I might have known something was coming.

You know when you have that moment, and you think everything is good?

Well, it never lasts and I know that. We all know that. The good times (and the bad) never last.

Long-time readers will know my mother had cancer for many years. She has been free of it for the last three. She had a pet-scan on Thursday and results with oncologist on Friday and he said it looks like it's back. She called me yesterday as I was laughing in a cafe with my friend who's helping me with the renovations. We'd just high-fived at finding our plasterer (yes, he's a spunk as well, and we were hoping he was gay too, so that my friend and he could renovate together.) Then my mum called and said she was in a cafe in Chapel Street having a green tea.

Why did she mention the green tea? I know now, but when she said it, right at the beginning after she'd said It's mum, I knew. Mum has been back drinking coffee the last three years, so her saying that was a little, gentle nudge to my brain, that it was not good news.

For me, us, the adults in the family, it's like well, we just giddy on up and get back in that there saddle.We had seven years of some hard riding, over rough terrain, getting shot at by injuns, our wagon-tops burning from their fiery arrows, rushing through ravines with even rogue cavalry men taking aim. We kept on riding and we made it through, and in such style.

I'm dreading having to tell my Princess, who is also her Granny's Princess-to-the-power-of-2 of this latest change.

It's change that gets us. Change we don't like.

Sorry to be such a downer but I don't want to talk about this to the friends I see face to face. I had seven years of How's your mum? and it all being about My Mother's Cancer. It sounds harsh but she would understand. I will tell her, I'm going to play it all down, not talk about it and we'll just deal with it ourselves.

And in good news:

Taking Ali and his unbelievably gorgeous girlfriend to the airport for their flight outta here today. So that's one thing off my plate. One thing off, ten on?

Wish me luck for the drive to the airport. Long-time readers again will know that it's been problematic in the past, having Ali in town, and even driving him to the airport. Even picking him up.

Fun and games.

But this time has been pretty smoove. Thank Fuck.

Hello

So, today I am preparing for tomorrow. Not working today. I woke up with a ratshit headache. Lay there wondering if it was lack of coffee? (no shouldn't be, but Clokes made it really weak yesterday), period? (possibly, I'm due for a bleed, but I'm no headacher. I give 'em, don't get 'em), stress? (don't think so, not much stress in my life at the mo. Which is good. Touch wood, be grateful, the buddha says the only thing that is permanent in life is impermanence.)

Is it because I didn't drink over the weekend and haven't since sometime last week? I don't think so. But how about that people? After I got my rant on I decided it was time to dry out for a bit. Almost wavered Saturday night but Clokes reminded me of what I'd said, for him not to bring wine near me.

I had ground to a little bit of a halt with my own writing. Annoying, at 65k words to start having thoughts like "I don't think this is any good" and "what's my fucking point?" I think my problem is too many ideas, then I get immobilised or go around in circles a little bit. Anyway, I've pushed through and am back on track. Have to pitch it to the class on the weekend.

I have taken 2 Nurofen Plus, eaten a slice of toast and am feeling better. I have to take the Gigi out for a run, move the car out of the clearway and get to the chemist before picking up the Princess at dance. I also have to cook tea because Motherrrrr (Norman Bates voice there) is coming over tonight.

I've noticed that my relationship with my mother is strained the last few years. I feel like I'm not the daughter she would like to have, and any time I'm critical of my sister, I am just proving the point. My sister is kinder than me, though she would probably argue that she is not kind (but compared to me, she might grudgingly accept it.)

The thing is, young people, (and I noticed a new person reading, a 15-year-old-babe, makes me think I need to be motherly, teacherly and responsible. Does your mother know what you are reading online?), you don't ever really Grow Up. Of course, as you get older you DO grown-up things, but inside, you are still just a snotty kid. Of course, there might be real adults out there, who are as they look. But I don't feel like one of them, which is very disconcerting because I look old.

Managed another blogger eyeball last week, with the divine Miss Magical_M. I have "known" her ever since I first started blogging. She was living in Sydney then, but now is living in Melbourne. We went and had coffees and toast at Orange in Chapelli St Windsor, and we just went blah blah blah non-stop. We didn't even really talk about blogging. Next time!

Back to my comment about preparing tomorrow. It's my first teaching session with the new job and I will have to do the following:

- say "pre-cum" and possibly "head job" when talking to front of Year 10 studentos in front of my boss
- wrangle a dildo and put a condom on it correctly
- make the students practise in small groups and make sure they don't nick any of the condominiums
- try to scare the boys, telling them that an unplanned pregnancy at the age of 17 or so with someone you may not even like and just drunk-fucked would have a big impact on their lives too, especially if the girl chooses to keep the baby, there's nothing they can do other than fork over 17% of their wage. Once they're earning, until the baby turns 18.
- possibly talk about sexual arousal if it's appropriate
- talk about consent
- talk about the laws and sexual activity
- talk about different types of contraception
- talk about safer sex, and prevention of STIs.

Fuck there is so much I have to cover in 50 minutes I'm scared, but I'll have a powerpoint thingo to give me the structure.

Wish me luck!

i could have been a contender...

***

[Post redux number 1. This from 27th July, 2005.]

From the time when I used to put a lot of effort into posts, and because it was so time-consuming, didn't care about capitalisation. Sorry Perseus. If it offends thine eyes, look away now.

***

someone told me I needed to write poetry, to unleash the beast, so to speak. i think my beast does better in prose.

however…

this is dedicated to the people who drew me here and have kept me here thus far
[i hope you don’t mind awful poetry written on the trot]:

the punchy wit of tough ms fits
the mind labyrinthine of baps la nadine
the pastries all puffy of uber-friend fluffy
the deep red haze of schizo roguemaze
the little boy lost of cotton socks
the smart-aleksdom of you know who [I have a soft spot for aleks]
and there’s a new one on my list, mike who really likes bikes
and believe it or not, the mystery man who really made me check out blogging
[saving him to the end of this piece so i can show you a magic trick]

here I was, thinking I don't have much to offer in the way of fame and fortune. i am no actor, director, no tv writer, no cool and popular girl with curly hair and “a rack that won’t quit” [can’t get that image out of my head, for some reason]. i don’t have a link to a pirate glossary on my site [LOVE that pirate glossary, i covet it]

i sat and thought and realised i do have something to offer, i could tell you the ways in which I have been so close to everlasting bigness, but always with a no cigar result.

i have said here that i am an observer. the cool stuff doesn’t happen to me, but sometimes it happens around me.

here are the ways that I have almost started the stop-watch on those warholian 15 minutes:

childhood
when i was a kid i met Happy Hammond





.










he had a side-kick called Joffa Boy, and it was in the late ‘60s it must have been. [they could have put me in their tv show, but didn't]

when i was a bit older i used to play with the two brothers who now run the globe skateboarding empire [one of them was a complete prick and used to try to make me give him a hand job]. they're now in the top whatever rich bastards in australia, you know that list. [one of them could have become my childhood sweetheart, then dated me, then proposed, then married me. now i could be living in a $10M mansion in hawthorn.]

early adulthood, say 19/20 years oldabout 20 years ago my girlfriend and I went to a nightclub in the city because

 













mel gibson was appearing there with that virginia somebody chick who was in mad max two with him. he was up and coming, and young. we went and huddled in dark corners, drinking beer and watching him at a table being surrounded by sycophants. we were about to leave [boring] when we saw him get up from the table and walk to the men’s. we positioned ourselves outside and when he came out, my friend went up to him. this is what happened. she put her hand on his arm – “mel”, she said
“yes,” he said [very shyly and kind of coy, it was weird]
“can I kiss you?” she said
“I guess so,” he said.
so she kissed him on the cheek, he kind of did the blush thing and said “thanks.”
we went screaming out of the place, ran up the stairs still screaming, up the street, into the car and screamed all the way home. whenever we stopped at a traffic light, we would look at each other, and scream again. [he could have noticed me, instantly fallen in love with me, and married me. then it would be me with 25 children, saggy tits, and mel for a hubby]

the next one is about michael hutchence. the same girlfriend from the mel experience and I saw them at some dive in waverley. we were there to see the support act and stayed to “see what the next band were like.” hutchence kept taking my friend’s porkpie hat [yes they were in way before britney did them] off her head and wearing it. [he could have taken my hat off my head, and then married me] [even though i wasn't wearing a hat]

now i'm about 23 or something
i have been on tv twice. once in a video clip for huxton creepers [onscreen perhaps 3 secs]. coincidentally my grade 5 boyfriend was in that band, and he is now also in this band
[he also could have married me, and now i'd be a rock-chick-wife]. but he's a pisshead so maybe that's not such a good fantasy.

the other time on tv was This is Your Life. but it wasn't me, but a school friend. you know the drill; as one of those people who tells a funny story about the famous person they went to school with, and then they cutaway to the famous personage in question and they are laughing with a fond look in the eye. well, in my case, the camera showed the famous person sitting on the couch just after I told my witty bit, and she squinted her eyes and looked confused. she didn’t recognise who I was. [she couldn't have married me, i accept that. but we could have become best friends and she could have taken me to the swanky parties]

miscellaneous
there is a very, very minor big brother contestant who parks his saab outside my house. bet he didn’t have a saab before he went on. no way.

my grandfather met Price Phillip, and Alfred Hitchcock [they could have adopted me]

my godmother is daughter of a famous australian artist [he could have given me a painting, just one would have been nice]

my mum’s friend met spike milligan [he could have given me a job. or married me]

my dad’s second cousin is helen garner [she could have requested to see her 3rd cousin twice removed, and asked to see the three or four unfinished books i have lying around

my dad went to school with hostage dude doug wood [he could have marr... no maybe not]

my mum went to school with pixie skase. she could have become my second mother and then i could have stolen chris from her and... no maybe not

i once stayed in the house of a roadie of van morrison’s [ either could have married me. except i met neither]

i once burned a hole in molly meldrum’s leather jacket [um, pass] [that was on purpose]

i once did the same to the denim jacket of a rrr radio announcer [er, hip radio dj dude] [the burn was an accident] [i did love him at the time, but, wasn't to be] [now i think he's a dick]

i met gary ablett at a book signing, he blessed my child [I was pregnant at the time] [and i was married, so he couldn't marry me, just as well i guess]

my cousin met the king of spain [my cousin could have invited me along on the yacht so that I could have met the king of spain]

so with all these connections you’d think I’d be a natch to be up there with the celebs.

but alas, I’ll just have to make do with my fantasy world here. and my real world. which is real.

ps the mystery man is andrew landeryou. I can summon him at will
“andrew come and comment on my blog!”

just wait and see, he will appear…

oh happy, happy day. karma is for real.

i am working on a large diarama post, which will hopefully tide the more desperate of you over the next week, while i toil away, childless, on writerly things.

HOWEVER something just happened, which absolutely made my day, or year really.

first, a little background.

years ago, f i worked at a company. for a few years it was great, the best job evah, we all loved each other, we had such fun. we played cards at lunch time, and i had laughing fits the like i'd not had since secondary school. that's how good the job was, and the people were.

then, the worm turned. the boss, younger than me and very driven and ambitious and with an inner core of long-held rage, started to treat me in an increasingly bad manner. at first, it was really snide remarks, and comments. the cold shoulder. then not giving me much work, making things slowly intolerable for me. the atmosphere was horrible.

one thing i remember her saying to me:

"if i put you on a pedestal, if you fall off, there's no getting back on."

and then stating that i was her hero, that i was on the pedestal.

this should have made me scared, but at the time, it was earliesh days, and the affection was mutual.

then people started falling off their pedestals. her business partner. a supplier. another supplier. book-keeper. one of the designers.

then me.

at the end, i was doing things like cleaning the kitchen venetian blinds, just to keep busy.

i waited while i re-organised finance to buy my ex-husband out of our property, then i quit. i stayed in a horrible situation for months. just sucking it up, biding my time until it suited me to leave.

we had a farewell lunch, around the board table at the office. nothing special, i think we all just had our regular lunches. maybe someone else had bought some biscuits from the bakery, embarrassed that nothing had been planned. i guess she was trying to hurt me, insult me, humiliate me. i kept a brave face on, smiling. i don't even think there was a card, there was certainly no gift, which was so hurtful after the 3.5 years of dedicated service to her and her company, and the people i'd seen gifts given to. i asked for a reference, she said that she didn't give references.

now, i'm sure she had her side of the story. i'm not such a fool to think that it was all her fault, that i was faultless. i'd made a few mistakes. i also engaged in some kind of inappropriate emails with another supplier, where we were sort of laughing at her expense. and i did spend a lot of time at one stage on the internet looking up eminem lyrics. but that was during the months when i had so little to do. she must have read emails, and checked the logs or something. i'd ask politely for work, she would fob me off, saying there was nothing at the moment. how could that be? i could see everyone else was frantic, i'd always had plenty to do, so she was witholding and it was obviously her strategy to push me out, to make me leave, like some fucked-up boyfriend who doesn't know how to tell you it's over.

so imagine my surprise, delight, JOY to find out today that it wasn't just me who got burned. i just ran into a supplier who was really in the inner sanctum with her (this is what she did, had inner sanctums/sanctii, with exclusive members and it was all terribly terrific for her and her acolytes, but bad for anyone else.) when i was there i thought he would be with her until the end. he told me today he has fallen off the pedestal and that he's not talking to them anymore.

i can't tell you how much this pleases me and makes me feel better.

that last day of work, i walked out with a smile on my face, keeping it cheery. then i collapsed into the car and burst into tears and cried all the way home. that night, i'd calmed down, and had a secret dinner with the other 3 employees and we debriefed a bit, and i told them how hard it had been the last few months.

i often had wondered over the last 5 years or so whether i had been in the wrong more that i was willing to admit. i was thinking about it as recently as a couple of days ago. did she think i stole some blank cds? i'd bought them when i'd done the office shopping, and it was completely above board. did she think i broke her car? i admit, a sound appeared while i was driving it, but it was second-hand and just a coincidence. i never did anything bad to her car. what else? oh, there was the time i asked the book-keeper about my end of year bonus which had always appeared on my pay slip automatically. the boss flipped out about that, and i think even gave me a warning about it. like formally. yes, i admit i had consciously been provocative asking about it, and i should have asked the boss (but was too scared to) but really, was that so insubordinate?

i can't think of anything else, and none of us would bitch about her, even when things got really bad between her and me i never talked about it with anyone at work.

there had been no closure for me, nowhere i could put these feelings, and bad memories, of regret and loss. it was like i'd lost the idea of how i saw myself. as a basically good person. and i always try and do the right thing, i pride myself on it. so "how could she do that to me? couldn't she see me for the goody i am?"

now i have my answer. she did that to me, because of who and how she is, not me, and now i have to feel sorry for her because she is so toxic to those around her, and clearly miserable. but oh, the sweet, sweet glee to hear how there are now a whole list of people she has fucked over since i left. the person who replaced me. the person who replaced the other book-keeper.

i want to sing it to the world. i want to tell everybody. i want to contact the other people who got fucked over. i want to link arms with them and sway side to side and perhaps clink steins of beer together.

seriously. i can't tell you how good this makes me feel. that it wasn't just me. it wasn't personal.

i am a good person and a good worker, and i do the right thing.

this will sustain me for the rest of my life i think. and i have closure now, in a way that i never would have had on my own, without having this quick conversation with this other person.

i feel like dancing, singing, jumping for joy.

so maybe i've got myself a stalker?

i know i shouldn't joke, but today the doorbell rang and there on the doorstep was joe.

he had some literature for me to read. it contains information which is basically conspiracy theory stuff, and incoherently written holocaust denial-type stuff.

okay.

so, i'm an idiot for telling my neighbour exactly where i live. if i disappear, you'll know what happened. but seriously, i think he likes me.

okay. so, maybe i shouldn't have indulged him and been so friendly on the street, and i have to work out what will be the point where i let him know i don't share his ideas? i was joking with clokes that i would sleep with him for a million bucks. clokes thought that was too low, but i said no way, i would, i wouldn't even stop to think. it's funny, we might joke about it, but i see a little spark of worry in clokes' eye.

also, something weird and a bit spooky. whenever someone comes to the door, and it can be anyone, gigi is always there trying to push past me to say hello. she is so annoying like that. well, today, she didn't want a bar of joe. i felt her come and take a look from behind me, and then she went back to lie down or whatever.

she knows. she knows who he is and what his anti-semitic inclinations are.

so he told me to read the stuff, a couple of very thin news-sheets and a newsletter, it's for my "personal protection" (all sorts of stuff about banking, and political manipulations etc, particularly hard on dick cheney, and alot of stuff about gaza) and when i offered to return it when i finished - hoping to get the number of where he lives - he said to give it to a friend.

sure, spread the goodness.

when i asked him how he was coping with the grand prix planes overhead, he said "it's not loud enough!" [funny] and "it's like they want us to get used to them, for when there's the next war..." [not so funny].

i swear, this guy is pretty full on, but he's softly spoken and genteel and likeable; he has a sneaky charisma that i find myself responding to. i like his jaunty cap, it's like a baker boy, and you know what, he has the bluest eyes, and they're not old-man eyes. there's not a blood vessel, no filminess, no rheumy milkiness. very, very weird.

so that's my wrap up for sunday night. i was going to post about the things i cooked today (awesome lunchtime pasta with slut sauce (puttanesca) including truffle oil that we got in florence and which has a use-by date of tuesday; also a chicken and leek pie for dinner - also awesome; about princess returning from her weekend in sydney (she ate at icebergs, it wasn't so great she said but her dad managed to bluff his way into the private area) but i can't be bothered. i'm tired, my grammar is shite, i want to go to bed now and either read the january '09 marie clair i found in one of the rubbish bins downstairs this morning or the gathering by anne enright, which i'm really enjoying. i'm hoping it doesn't disappoint plot-wise, but gee she does write quite beautifully.

happy sunday night, dear reader.

x

still talking to the universe

so while i wait for someone to tell me "yes, you can start working in our large, interesting, funky second-hand book shop next week" i thought i'd share with you an exchange i had not half an hour ago.

quick update on bookshop: i popped into syber's books, windsor, earlier today and while i didn't get anything on my list:

(the fall, camus; maru, bessie head; secret life of bees, sue monk kidd; the gathering, anne enright; the reader, schlink and the time traveller's wife by dunno)*,

i did get two books by the teacher in a course i'm doing. (no, it's not a creative writing course, it's more a write-that-fucking-novel-you've-been-bleating-about-for-years-now-go-on-i-fucking-dare-you-to-finish-it course.) i know i've been blathering about feeling over-filled with fiction and lately really digging non-fiction (eg en ce moment, a biography of virginia woolf, did you know she was sexually abused as a child? i had no idea) but some of these books were suggested as helpful for my story. anyway. back to the teacher books. i figure what better way to see if a teacher in a writing course has got the goods than read her stuff? so that will be interesting, i'll let you know.

but today's story.

up the hill a bit from me lives an old man, joe, with a european accent and tatty clothes, who is nevertheless very debonair and spry and quite the flirt. once before, he bailed me up while i was taking the gigi for a wee walk and he was heading to the sea baths. we chatted, he told me how he'd bought his apartment in the early '70s and we laughed about how cheap it was then, and how expensive now. well today, i had taken gigi around the block and as we were walking homeward, we were overtaken by a heavy-set man who was running, puffing hard, who then ran ahead and stopped to talk to an old man who was pushing a lawn-mower along the footpath, who i soon saw was joe. i could tell there was a situation and decided i would keep an eye on it, but by the time i got to the end of that road, they had crossed to the other side of the intersecting road. as i walked passed them, they'd stopped on the footpath, chubby man was beseeching joe, asking him for money ("i'm working tomorrow, i'll pay you back then") and joe was saying "no way, you're in big trouble." as gigi stopped to smell some other dog's wee a bit further down the path, joe came trundling down the hill and the other guy had walked off.

i asked joe if he was ok. he seems quite elderly, but his english is good and really, he's quite feisty. he didn't want to let me go, said a couple of times we could stand there all day chatting, and you know what, i'm not one of those people who hates getting stuck with an old person. i love them. i love listening to their stories, especially when they're like joe. these are some of the gems he imparted. i'm not sure how much truth there is, but i think i want to believe they are true.

1. he bought three properties in one of the very expensive streets running off ours (where all the houses are terrace/mansions) for 10,000 pounds 40 years ago, then sold them a couple of years ago for 2.5 mill.

2. at one stage he owned the pavillion on the foreshore, which then became the stokehouse. he said he got ripped off in that deal; never trust lawyers. or doctors - they'll try to sell you tablets even if you are well.

3. the jews run america.

4. hitler was the biggest sucker in the history of the world (repeated three times.)

5. joe tells people he's from israel, when they ask:

me: so where are you from, joe?

joe: i tell people i come from israel (laughing.)

me: (laughing) you tell people?

6. joe laughed and said he'd be in big trouble if he told the truth about where he came from, he can't tell people he's a nazi.

7. hitler got all his money from america.

8. joe came to australia in 1951 on a german boat, then ran away from it once it had docked.

now some truths about myself in this conversation:

1. as he was talking about all these properties i was thinking how much money he has and wondering if he'd help me open a bookshop. it would be small change for him.

2. he asked "can you keep a secret?" before he told me about the three houses around the corner and laughed when i laughed saying "who am i going to tell?"

3. i quite like joe, even if he is a nazi. maybe i could become his mistress. how exciting. an old, wealthy, nazi lover. i don't think i'd have to sleep with him; i could just listen to him.

4. when joe asked me to "tell him something about jews" all of a sudden it felt very dangerous, and i said "i'm careful about what i say." he said, "what for? tell me something, eva**." i said "well, you have to be careful if you criticise israel."

i swear his face lit up and he said "now you're talking!" in a very gleeful way. so i'm in. with the nazi. i won't tell him i just got an invitation to my friend's son's bar mitzvah next month, nor that my cousin is jewish, nor that i have lots of jewish friends. it might be a deal-breaker, you know, with the shop.

5. i said i had to go, and that i thought he needed to go and have a nice cup of tea after the incident with the other man. he told me he thought i was trying to get rid of him. i just laughed politely. again.

it was all terribly strange and unusual and different and should i have told him my apartment number? he said he would put something in it (some literature about government. probably conspiracy theories about the jews and america or some nonsense.)

should i be scared? i hope i don't have any nazi hunters as readers - i wouldn't want to be the one responsible for joe getting caught. he's managed so well, on the run. and he's sweet and kindly.

* i ended up going to borders and sold my soul for most of the books on the list plus two twilight books for princess. she's off to sydney tomorrow night for the weekend, so it'll be nice for her to take them with her. hopefully no bikies are on her flight/killing each other at sydney airport.

** i made this bit up.

housekeeping

a couple of days ago i said i'd bring you some more undies, and the thing that i liked best from the golden age of couture exhibition in bendigo.

shall we do a list? i always like a good list.

1. as i mentioned, i really liked the photography, even more than the clothes if that's possible. on balance, the above was my favourite picture. it's of a model in helena rubenstein's new york apartment.

do you see what i love so much about this?

it's the sink, or the basin or the vanity unit whatever you want to call it. it's marble, it's so wide it can accommodate huge bottles of expensive scent, and it's got a steel interior.

i want that sink more than i want the dress.

the other thing that was a stand-out for me at the exhibition was a dress by a designer i'd never heard of, digby morton. unfortunately i haven't got a picture of it. the exhibition catalogue has a section of the dress (top half) but the book was sold out so i haven't got one yet, and can't even scan that much in. so my description will have to suffice. it was in the evening dress group. it was long, black, made in circa 1954. silk jersey with silk taffeta flounce and underskirt of crepe de chine. it had the most amazing draping, where a section of the dress down the side was draped and gathered across the hip so that the lines ran almost horizontally in parts, fanning out across the curve. the neck was square, with a wide strip of fabric across the bust that presented almost as a pinafore sort of style. little cap sleeves that fell so liquidly. the mannequin was wearing black gloves and it was so stunning i lost interest in the rest of the frocks, and wanted to just stand there looking at this one piece.

long-time readers of this blog will know that i'm not one of those clothes freaks, always going on about shopping, i bought this, i wear that.

this dress was the most beautiful thing i have seen possibly ever.

2. the strumpet and pink lingerie. oh my god. i checked online and the prices are a couple of hundred pounds sterling per piece. so, it's like what, 400 - 600 dollars depending on the item? who can buy this for themselves (apart from high-class hookers) or for someone else (rich, rich men with mistresses, aka high-class hookers). i don't know, but i want them, as well as the sink. here are a couple more...

hunting through the ruffles.

garden of delights

maiden's belt

lingerie with charming names. wonderful.

3. tomorrow ali arrives. life always gets a little complicated when princess' dad arrives from overseas. as the years have passed, things have gotten easier, but there is always still the potential for a rollercoaster ride. i've got my tickets and i'm waiting in the queue. i will only get on if i'm forced to.

4. yesterday i almost died. i mean literally. i was crossing back to our place, we live on a busy road. i was distracted, and was trying to get into town for this vcat thing (next discussion point on the list.) princess had texted me saying she'd forgotten her school shoes (she'd gone in sports uniform) but needed to then change into her school uniform later, including black school shoes. i half thought to let her get in trouble, that way she would learn. but she has been unwell, is already struggling with carrying all the shit she needs to take to school, and with ali looming on the horizon, i guess i wanted to help her out. i'd called her on her phone to ask what she wanted me to do (we only live 5 mins from the school). i was talking on the phone, and stepped onto our street not looking. instinctively i looked, stepped back, and suddenly there was a 4WD going past fast where i had been stepping out to. if i'd taken another step you would never have heard from me again.

it's moments like this that make me reflect. it can be a lost wallet, or a broken glass. all these things tell me to slow down. be careful. take it easy. often we can have so much on our minds, and be rushing around looking after everyone else's needs. we need a reminder to look after ourselves. i couldn't believe how close it had been; i was scared and felt very grateful to still be here.

5. the last 2 days have been in a vcat tribunal. i'm objecting to a proposed development in my street. i am really tired from playing lawyer. i got told off by the madame chair today for asking the same question four different ways, hoping for a better answer. i went red.

6. guitar hero. i got clokes guitar hero world tour for his birthday last week. it would be fair to say that i went from being disparaging and superior - what a lot of rubbish, oh well, if that's what you really want, i'll get it for you, to make you happy - to completely obsessed - oh my god, this is interesting, how good is that, how good am i, look star power, hands of FIYER, I AM A NATURAL, I'M BETTER THAN YOU, LOOK HOW I ROCK in the space of about 10 minutes.

i am a better guitarist than i am a drummer. it makes me really tired, the way the notes spin at you. is there anyone else who's played this terrific game? and perseus and inc and any other real musicians, no scoffing please. to me, this is the chance to be in a band. the only chance that most of us get. so what if it's fake, not real, plastic, fantasy. we are enjoying it.

7. another thing we are enjoying is aussie ladette to lady. i cringe at the opening credits though. those girls are so bad. SO BAD. so much so that each opening at the beginning of the show they show different and new badnesses. there's obviously such a wealth of material for them to choose from. the extent of the drinking, the bad behaviour, wild dry humping scenes in the kitchen, the dummy spits, the running away, the swearing, the parading of australian flag at the end of the hunt. final episode is next week. will it be the stripper? the out of control blonde party girl #1? the out of control formally-blonde-now-brunette party girl #2?

the mind boggles as much as mrs schrager's and mrs harwood's eyes when the girls go mad. actually mrs schrager's teeth come to the fore when she is disgusted, and mrs schrager's voice starts shrieking and HER eyes boggle. love it.

happy thursday everyone. don't get hit by a car and live each moment.

diarama coming next post. will jay ring the young melba? will she lose her virginity soon? who to? how many movies can she watch over and over on vhs on the one borrowing? what happens to sid the cat? does melba go back to study or get a proper job instead of typing an invoice now and then and doing data entry at bizarre times of the day and night? which bands will she see live? what drugs will she graduate to? what happens to her father? does he get hauled in for questioning over a murder? does she set up a darkroom? does she find love? does she move out?

happy thursday to you

today we are celebrating my niece's birthday with a swim at a wave pool and then fush 'n chups in the park.

nice.


my niece is a kick-ass little miss; she reminds me of the tasmanian devil in those old cartoons. she never stays still, speaks in a yell, and has the most gorgeous coloured hair (kind of gingery, kind of buttery, so beautiful).


this is how i see her when she's a teenager. enjoy.

family holiday

cast: melba and family, sister of melba and family. mother of melba.

total children: 5 ranging in ages from 6 to 13.

location: somewhere near lakes entrance.



and in a week, this is what went down:


- cool, comfortable if windy weather, with a couple of nice, warm days thrown in.

- baby scorpion in hut on the last night. it looked like a real scorpion and everything.

- many ticks, i had a couple non-implanted. and a couple implanted. which led to the following quite hysterical nightly routine:

- full-body erotic tick checks, for me and clokes. full-body non-erotic tick checks for the kids.

- mosquitoes by the trillions

- a couple of pideys but nothing clokes couldn't handle

- spotlight tiggy x 2 games. the first game was on the first night, and saw me in thongs, doing full-body commando crawling across the dark ground. refer to full-body erotic tick check above.

- one game of sardines. it's awesome fun.

- night bush-walk. we saw three tawny-frogmouth owls, kangaroos would come through the camp every dusk, one had a joey and it was fucking cute.

- attempts at fitness, read slow, shuffly jogging around camp locale. thoughts of truro and shallow graves while on the gravelly paths. my sis saw an echidna. i did not.

- phosphorescence in the water at night . OH MY GOD IT WAS LIKE IN MY FAMILY AND OTHER ANIMALS, you know when margot is on the boat at night and trailing her hands in the dark, greek waters, and there was phosphorescence. talk about magic glitter black sparkle awesome incroyable look-at-the-water-when-you-throw-a-handful-of-pebbles-in wonderfulness. this was a highlight of the holiday and my life. srsly.

- industrial kitchen with lots of bench space. you could really s p r e a d out your breakfast, sandwich, coffee, fruit platter, champagne, castello cheese -preparations.

- hookey board

- scattergories

- trip to lakes entrance to take the kids to see high school musical 3. new and inappropriate crush on zac efron.

- bbqs. many.

- eating. much.

- drinking. so much that the day the matriarch was due, we managed to get around to recycling our empties. it was an embarrassing amount.

- melba sobriety: constant since new year's day. not a new year's resolution, but a decision to go alchohol free in january. i did in october and it was alright. much easier than i expected. so i am planning to make it a regular part of my year. makes it easier for me to think i'm not an alcoholic then, you see?

- space. much.

- blue castello cheese. i ate the whole thing over several sessions, and my sister and my ma got one schmear each on a vita-weet.

- ice cream. much.

- shopping x 2 trips. $280 first trip, over $200 the second trip. NOT INCLUDING ALCOHOL.

- new year's eve party x 1. dress-ups which saw appearances by bride of frankenstein (yours truly, complete with russian accent and elaborate explanation to wide-eyed 6-year-old nephew of origins of my "scars", graveyard man with knife, rabid dog etc) and a fully-wrapped toilet paper mummy (my sis) who lost most of her leg paper during her grand entrance and subsequently turned out like some sexy mini-skirted brazilian music video dancer (but with mummified head). our husbands are mild-mannered men and i sometimes wonder what they make of us crazy sisters. i'm sure they adore being married to us, are so proud of us, never embarrassed and really enjoy the life we breathe into them with our assorted hijinks. there was also a scarily accurate princess-amy winehouse, but with gorgeous skin and no nicotine-stained fingers, and a fake tattoo. our rage peaked too early. photos and video taken on the night while we were doing our wildest dancing shows it was still light outside. a bit sad BUT WE HAD FUN.

- cricket, none really. not for me. there was a tv and i worked out rapidly that it wasn't on because australia was going shit. but there was some radio listening done by clokes and bro-in-law. they like to listen even if they are going shit. i'd been amusing clokes for about a week by calling symons "simmo" and him going "no, roy" and me going "SIMMO IT'S BETTER!" and then while reading one of the papers, he laughed and showed me a little headline which referred to "Symmo" and I said "I told you so, much better than 'Roy' ".

- no family arguments which was pretty good, considering the bust-up we had in turkey. so yay us there.

- hammocks. we had 3 going and it was ace.

- reading. i brought a cache of books to share, and so did bro-in-law. i read mao's last dancer and midnight in the garden of good and evil, as well as 3 trash mags and the couple of newspapers we got.

- precisely one counter meal which was maximum ordinary and quite disappointing. that was in paynesville.


so a terrific time was had by all. i called my sister today to tell her i was missing them all, and we started chatting as if we hadn't exhausted all topics during that week. it was great, the kids drifted around and played and got their own breakfasts and often lunch. this, to a parent, is sheer bliss. there were no accidents, no bushfire tragedies, no car crashes. we returned unscathed and happy.

this is our pit-stop then we are off to another spot tomorrow. one with rock-pools and lots of italian home-cooked food, care of clokey's mama. hopefully some cherries from the orchard, certainly lots of reading, and newspapers every day.

then, after that, 2009 begins proper.

happy days all.

x

small confession

i just went and looked at fits' blog.

i thought, hoped, that maybe, just MAYBE, bettie page's death might have, MIGHT HAVE made her come out of retirement-perma hiatus, and do a little, JUST A LITTLE, WEE, TINY, post.

but no.

perma-abandoned is me.

but hay, i have some diary pics, to represent the younger me. so that's good.

passion, cont.

this started as a comment underneath the previous post. it got too long, so i decided to make it a post.

well, we all adore books, a few of us like oysters, most don't like lending books, a couple don't mind, only one hard-hearted bitch doesn't give money to beggars - moi. (where do you live, squib? is there a scarcity of beggars? are they lovely old ladies or smack addicts with shifty eyes? i figure if they have the impertinence to ask, i can also be impertinent, and say no. but i'm always polite.)

so, to oysters. tonight we shall have them. plain. i'm not even going to squeeze lemon juice on them. i shall throw back my head, dig it from the shell with my tongue, and bite at least once, before swallowing. i always bite. i don't understand the oyster-eaters who just swallow. they are faux oyster eaters, and not wanting to admit they don't really like them. for them, it's like taking medicine. for me, mmmm. the sea.

i also wonder whether there's another type of oyster eater. the restaurant oyster eater. why pay for them in restaurants when you can get them from the market - superb oysters - for $13, 14, 15 per doz. opened. at prahran market you can get them shucked in front of you.

these restaurant oyster eaters are clearly only doing it because it's a public act, they can be seen to consume the intimidating mollusc. it's like a statement of bravery or something.

save your money. eat them at home. have the bombe alaska instead.

ah, the bombe.

soon, it's my birthday and we are going somewhere fancy-pants. they have bombe alaska on the dessert menu. earlier this year, on our anniversary (coincidentally, the birthday of dearly departed ms fits, RIP, and the demise of her blog) we went to mirka at tolarno, and had the bombe glacee. it was so good, we had to return a couple of months later (it wouldn't leave my mind, you see, it kept calling me, from down the road) and have a glass of champagne perhaps it was, and a bombe each in the bar.

so, i'm looking forward to that next week.

in other news, princess has been home this week. we are both of us pretty pathetic. i've been nursing cluster-type headaches (not real cluster aka "suicide" headaches, i don't think) for the last 3 days (went to dentist, he thinks it's referred pain from sinusitis. i just don't know, i told clokes maybe it's a brain tumour. i figure if i joke about a brain tumour, it won't be one.) she is still getting over her virus and we have both descended into a malaise which is, really, as i've said, pathetic.

continuing the cinema education of princess course which i began last week (she passed romeo and juliet with flying colours, failed wuthering heights ("i'm never watching that movie again" was the exact quotation), this week saw us in front of 2001 - a space odyssey. please bear in mind it's about 25 years since i last saw it.

it went something like this.

mg: [starts dvd]

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

mg: i think this is part of it.

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

princess: is there something wrong?

mg: [starting sweaty palpitations, memories of timothy dalton's heathcliffe flood back, starts to rethink movie choice]. no, i think this is the introduction.

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

princess: this is weird

mg: JUST ENJOY THE MUSIC.

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

[black screen, classical music]

[movie starts]

mg: i told you, it was just the introduction

p: weird

* * *

p: are they people in monkey suits?


* * *

p: does anyone talk in this movie?

* * *

p: [on sighting of black monolith] what's that?

mg: see how they're touching it? i think it's a symbol of how they're going to develop know, of knowledge, you'll see some changes

* * *

p: there's no changes

mg: wait, it's coming, see how he's playing with the bones? in a very thoughtful manner?


* * *

p: so they saw the pole of wisdom and started to use tools?

mg: [happily] yes!

* * *

p: [at 25 minute mark] thank god they're talking? what the hull? what's she wearing?

mg: she's a flight attendant. they're going to the moon.

p: what the hull?

* * *

p: look at those chairs! retro!

mg: yeah, the funny thing is that when this movie was made, those chairs would have been so way out, futuristic, cutting-edge, and now here we are, 50 years later - god is it 50 years? lemme see the box - anyway, and you are saying how retro they are, and that people have those today.

p: yeah

* * *

p: so they've found a pole of wisdom on the moon? what the hull? aliens?

* * *

p: why's he running in the space ship?

mg: for exercise. they're on a long voyage to jupiter now. see those guys in the sleeping chambers? they are in suspended animation

p: like hibernation!

mg: yep

* * *

p: which one's dave and which one's frank?

mg: was it frank or hank?

p: frank! god mum, you're so deaf

mg: that's dave there. and don't be rude to me.

* * *

mg: so, what do you think about HAL. what a freak, hey? do you think he's suspicious?

p: [not really that interested but going along with it for my benefit] yeah.

* * *

p: i thought you said this was a fantastic movie, mum

mg: no, i didn't say fantastic

p: yes, you did

mg: no, i said i thought you should see it

p: you said it was fantastic

mg: did i?

* * *

p: i hate that sound, the breathing - WAA, OOH, WAA, OOH. it's driving me mental. why do they have to put all those sounds in it?

mg: [turns down sound, from level 56 to 35. feels deaf.]

* * *

[during scene with space pod and craw hands]

mg: let me move my craw hands in this pod, look at my craw hands, see how funny they are!!

p: ... ... ...

* * *

p: so HAL made the pod knock frank to go spinning out into space, but why did dave go to save him. he's already dead! what's the point?

mg: well, they are comrades on a mission. maybe he thought he should collect his body, in a moral way, maybe he thought he could find out what happened to him. i don't think he saw the pod craw arms bang frank. we didn't.

p: so HAL is evil? EVIL HAL. EVIL COMPUTER. i like HAL.

* * *

p: that breathing is driving me crazy!! turn it down!!!

* * *

[during hallucinogenic, lsd-trippy colour sequence with dave in pod going god knows where]

p: where's he going?

p: freaky

p: weird

* * *

[massive fast-forwarding through hallucinogenic, lsd-trippy colour sequence, including bits of planets and landscapes]

p: what the? where is he?

mg: looks like a palace, like the palace of versailles, or something

p: this movie is so weird? who made it? who was the director?

mg: a very weird guy. everyone thought he was weird.

p: they were right.

* * *

p: so, maybe HAL didn't kill frank. maybe dave went mental, and killed HAL and now this is him dying, or after he's died

mg: [awestruck]

* * *

and i think that is quite possibly the sanest interpretation of 2001 i've ever heard.

happy weekending to you all.

update: well, the "sinusitis" tuned out to be a motherfucking huge root canal requirement and 2.30 [NOT A FUCKING PUN] saw me writhing in pain on my bed, unable to speak, paralysed like some stroke victim down the left-hand side of my entire face, taking 2 nurofen pluses, it just smidging the edge of the pain, then me driving carefully to pick up small boy-child from school, driving back home, throwing him out onto the street to go up and be let in by bigger sisters, driving on, in pain, to dentist, only to arrive, park the car, pain disappears like that [snap] and then go in, and dentist drills and begins the first of FOUR ROOT CANAL SESSIONS. it's ok, i've had one before, but never, never, pain like this, comrades. but the first root canal session is the best one, because it's quick, and it ends the pain, finito. it was tough, but now i have wine, ice cream is on the way, and a weekend planned of goodtimes. clokes is now out shopping for certain lovely person's birthday present, let me share with you my list of wants:

1. chanel studs, there's no way he'll find them, i couldn't even see them in the paris chanel store.

2. nice cleanser, and moisteuriser and eye cream. if you are a woman, you know this information is completely inadequate for a man to make a good selection. i said so in my text, i said i'd need to choose.

3. bubble bath - to replace the l'occitane rose one i already have, there's about one more dribble-worth in the bottle. he also won't know which one it is without writing it down or taking the empty bottle.

4. book voucher - $1000

5. Dexter - Season 3

6. Sex and the City collection DVD. NOT THE MOVIE.

7. tea cup and saucer and cake plate trilogy - vintage.

8. set of flat champage glasses. you know the marie antoinette breast ones. they have been "out" for ever so long, in favour of the flute. i'm bringing them back in.

9. a set of nice, german knives - messermeister would be nice.

10. a kitten.

saturday stuff

first up, good morning good people. how was your coffee? your eggs?

i slept beautifully, partly i'm sure because 17 days of alcohol-free living will start to make you feel quite terrific once you've pushed through the days 15 and 16 desire to find wine and drink it.

the first thing i saw in the age today was the story about the horse, weekend hustler and harry, the kid who is the only person in the world who can enter the horse's box and not get bitten, kicked, stomped on. killed basically.*

i like stories like this.

the headline is "the little mate who softens a champion's heart" and the article tells us that:

harry is 5 years old

not only is he the only person who can get close to the horse without being attacked, he can also predict whether the horse will win or lose.

check these soothsayings:

young harry apparently said "yeah, dad, he'll win, he'll win" before every other race, except the turnbull where he told his father "he won't win today, dad."

the best quote is where young harry refers to weekend hussler as "the hussler". has harry been watching the apprentice and seinfeld? he said this to a jockey who (it seems, the article is unclear, thank god for the calls for proper grammar and english classes in schools again, all hail "clear thinking", long may it reign, etc.) failed to win on the horse "you're the one that murdered the hussler."

finally, we learn that harry has a knack for picking winners of other kinds, and helped turn his father's $100 down the pub into $900.

they'd better keep a close eye on the kid. the bookies might grab him, and take him out the back.

and hey, do you think this photo looks photoshopped? the line of the horse's nose against the boy's t-shirt looks unnatural. i reckon they've played with the photo, and the kid's standing 2 feet back. but they've put the hay in front of the horse's nostrils to make it look like they are close. looks wrong. hard to see in this pic, but in the paper (front page) it's clearer.



*

in other news, four of the books i ordered online HAVE ARRIVED. including, true grit. so it's very good.

i've often fantasised about owning a book shop. one of my favourite book shops is syber's books in chapel st, windsor. the woman in there seems cranky but she's nice, she has lots of cats lolling around, and her collection is wonderful. it's been on the tip of my tongue whilst in there, on occasion, while at the register as she tallies my erudite and expensive selection, to offer my services as book person/cat feeder/shelf tidier. sometimes, i'll tidy the shelves as i browse, hoping she'll notice and say, in her manly voice, "can i offer you a job?" or "i'm looking to get out of the biz. wanna take over, sweets?"

other people fantasise about sex with celebrities or the person opposite on the tram. i fantasise about owning a book shop.

*

stepmothering is a hard fucking motherfuck of a job. sometimes i really hate it, and if you want to find the best, easiest way of hating yourself and being self-critical and thinking you are indeed the el primao shit, be a stepmother. my husband's children are beautiful and gorgeous and fantastic kids - it's not them it's me. i can't emphasise this enough. they are wonderful, my husband is wonderful. i know in my heart of hearts i'm okay but i am very hard on myself because the pressure to not cause these delightful children any more pain is enormous.

sometimes it feels like a no-win situation but all i can do is my best. i think we'll be okay.

i can just try to be a mother to them, do my best to be loving, kind, positive, encouraging, supportive, affectionate. but sometimes fail and struggle and feel it's not good to pretend love when you're not feeling it. but still pick yourself up, try again the next day, realise it's not a finite relationship, it's ongoing and organic (like any relationship) and that there will never be a day when you can dust your hands off, wipe your brow and say "ok, good job, that's finished."

the only thing harder than being a mother, is being a stepmother - frankie, love my way.



ps - perseus, did you read article page 8?

* this is my artistic license. i think the words used were "nudged" and "butted" in addition to "bitten."

my current obsession

the latest thing that has me incredibly pre-occupied is the missing australian britt lapthorne.

i'm not sure why i am so interested. sure, it's a sad story, her family are beside themselves, so i guess imagining their pain and distress makes me feel really strongly about it, but usually it's stories about children who set me off in this way.

i've been thinking about it more today, and i think one reason why i am so interested in it is that i was once her.

i backpacked on my own overseas for a period, meeting up with great people, and having a wonderful time, from greece, to turkey, to israel, to egypt and beyond. while i was older than her (25), i probably wasn't that much smarter. i've done some stupid things (not saying she has) and i've been drunk in foreign places and fraternised with local men (also, not saying she has). jesus, i ended up marrying one.

i've been on the back of a motorbike in bali, driven by a local, both of us pissed on indonesian palm wine. i've been in dahab, south sinai, where everyone was smoking dope, except me, though i did drink. i kissed a kurdish boy in eastern turkey, also while drunk, in a hotel corridor. i've been driven in cars by strangers, met up with people who dialled the wrong number and wanted to take me for a drink, had eyeballs with strangers who i met on cb radio. that was back in the '80s.

all i'm saying is that friends and family would have probably called me sensible, even back then.

and all i'm saying is this is no reflection on britt - i'm just marvelling that i made it through.

here's what i think's going to happen, unfortunately. my reasonings are based on experience in turkey, when my mother was diagnosed with cancer while we were living there. it went from the doctor saying he was pretty sure it wouldn't be cancer, to stringing us along for days beyond when he would have reasonably had the pathology results. i had to push and push and chase for the result, and then be told on christmas night (once, he perhaps thought, we had enjoyed our christmas day, didn't need to spoil that seasonal joy with some bad news about cancer) finally, that yes, she did have cancer. there were no hard feelings, it was just unfortunate, and i really believe that he didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. i wonder if there is a similar cultural thing going on it croatia.

my gut feeling is that the body found recently will be britt. they've said it's too decomposed to be her, that it was highly unlikely (at the same time, notice, maintaining there was still a small chance, ie they couldn't completely rule out that it was her, needed to do dna tests etc) and now there are whispers that they got it wrong with another body found in water previously - that they thought it was an older body than it turned out to be. there are also whispers now that the body they found is of britt's height, has blonde hair and is female.

this is their way of letting the family down gently, not that there is such a possibility. their reasoning is that by saying it's not her, they are being kind to the family, letting them have hope for a little bit longer (all the while knowing or suspecting it will turn to despair). this type of thinking is culturally opposite to the way we operate here. it's similar in japan - traditionally they would outright lie to the dying cancer patient, or whatever, and only tell the family the true diagnosis/prognosis. and everyone would keep it a secret from the one person who ought to know.

it's a similar way of thinking - build up to the truth by a series of lies.

of course, as has been mentioned by britt's father, there are other elements to this story, which is becoming increasingly bizarre.

- the serbian nationalist with tattoos over his body being sent by the afp to help

- the report of the mother of the hostel owner trying to mail an australian passport from the post office the day britt disappeared

- the original baffling question of why people travelling/partying with her, left the day she disappeared, knowing she hadn't come back to the hostel

- why her mobile phone was found in her room, with a call made from it to the hostel owner's phone

- have we heard anything about the cctv footage? i'm smelling a cover-up.

and most freakishly for me, why did one of the friends she was travelling with leave a comment on britt's facebook page saying something along the lines of "that picture with you and the cake is the favourite one of mine :)" TWO DAYS AFTER BRITT DISAPPEARED.

that's weird.

and the whole thing is just awful for the family. i feel for her mother and her father so much.

i think we'll be learning very soon that they've found her, and at least her family can have some peace. they'll be able to bring her home but i don't think they'll ever find out what really happened to her.