We love our condiments here in Australia.

I mean this little selection is out on the bench at the chinese restaurant.

Who knows when you might feel like a bit of potato salad dressing on your fried rice.

 

Just something I heard someone say, somewhere, that stuck in my head. The thought of a fish on a bicycle tickled my brain's funny bone. Still does.

 

So I'm doing this 365 day photo challenge, where you have to take a photo every day, and I'm finding it quite challenging. I forgot to post day 7 yesterday and I almost forgot to take a photo at all on day 6 even though we had people here for a bbq. So I think I'll take the photo every day but post them once a week.

So here we have days 1 - 7. And hopefully vox won't shit itself again and log me out before I finish loading them.

Like I mentioned, i don't leave the house much so expect to see lots of betty, neighbours cats and things I see in my backyard. lol, gonna be a long 365 days.

I am disappointed with the world.

Again.

It never fails to disappoint me in disappointing me.

Every day I hope I move closer to my goal of escaping the world and becoming a recluse.

I've mentioned before that I live in a violent sort of town. 20,000 people, mining, army, farming, lots of testosterone, lots of bars, lots of beer, nothing to do. It doesn't lead anywhere good.

Last time I wrote about it a young man was bashed to within an inch of his life. Just down the road. And in the next few months, some other young men will go to jail for doing that to him.

Many lives ruined over what, five minutes of "fun".

No winners there.

A couple of nights ago another young man here was bashed and kicked to within an inch of his life. He's on life support with a fractured skull.

And I feel broken hearted about the whole affair.

Because everyone talks about it. And everyone says - oh, that was awful, oh poor guy, oh, they need their arses kicked.

But they don't really care.

People are so desensitised to violence that they say all the right words, but don't really feel anything.

You know what I thought about when I heard this had happened? I thought about his mother getting a phone call at 3am in the morning. I thought about her ringing the airline, booking a flight, making the trip to a shitty country town in NSW where her son was working, so she could stand beside his bed and watch him fight for his life, because twelve drunken idiots had decided his life wasn't worth anything.

Her beautiful boy.

Her beautiful boy come to this.

And if he dies, all he'll be to anyone is three or four lines in a newspaper.

A few years ago it used to be our teenage girls we had to worry about. And god, I still do, every time they leave the house. But now it seems to be our boys we have to worry about more. So much senseless random violence out there.

Kickings, bashings, glassings, stabbings.

Someones son, brother, father, boyfriend, husband.

Spare a thought for this young man. Wrong place, wrong time people say. Is that meant to be some sort of comfort.

 

 

Lizzie is taking a course of antibiotics. She doesn't remember to take them unless I constantly nag her to do so. I was going to bed and knew she had one more to take before she went to bed so I put it on a plate and wrote on it Take Me and left it on the kitchen bench so she'd see it. But then I thought I'd better add not daz, because he was out watching the football, having a few drinks, and I thought he might come home and think I'd left him out an ecstasy pill, or something.

Not that I do that mind you. But you never know what goes through peoples minds after a few drinks.

 

Then Lloyd came home from football training and he said - that wasn't for me was it? Well why would it be I said - bloody hell, do I have to add your name to the nots as well. It's like an experiment - leave a pill on a plate, write take me, and see which fool does.

By the way I took this photo for the 365 group that Candy has started. You know the one where you have to take a photo every day for 365 days. It's bloody hard work and I'm only up to day 4. Especially for someone like myself who doesn't leave the house much. Expect to see a lot of sandwiches.

So there you go Raymond - not viagra.

Can anyone join the group Candy - or do you have to invite them?

I'm sure you all read Frankie magazine. It's what all the cool people read.

 

And its definitely the magazine that has all the cool people in it.

LIKE ME!!

A few months ago I had an email saying Frankie wanted to put a little blurb in their magazine about my tiles and I was all cool - sure ok. I didn't say I'd never even seen the magazine.

But it came out today so I raced down and bought it. Then I showed the ladies at the newagent, who didn't act nearly thrilled enough about it.

See, there I am, right under the little interview with Mark Everett.

Papa's little Hanko Ponies photo. He'd be tickled pink I reckon.

 

 

 

 

Which reminds me he wrote a book I must buy called Things the Grandchildren Should Know. Mark Everett that is, not Papa. Heard him on JJJ the other day talking about it.

Go me. Go Papa.

I was wondering last night when, or even if, Elle McPherson is going to cut her long hair.

I was watching her on Top Model at the time. I don't just sit around thinking about Elle McPherson and her hair.

But it is luxurious and I did have a moment of envy as I grabbed a handful of my own hair that is currently in recovery from the razor treatment it received. But it still sits around my shoulders, and Elle and I are about the same age. And it is something I have pondered before.

At what age are you too old to have long hair? Or are you never too old. When I was younger I always thought that once you hit 50, long hair just had to go. But as I hit 40 and head towards 50, I'm changing my mind.

Ok, firstly (if thats a word), I refuse to do the perm. Even if its the purple perm. And I won't do the middle aged lady bob either. Oh, I'm not a fan of the grey bob. But I don't want to look like Heidi's grandma either, with a long tatty grey braid twisted into a bun. (I don't actually know Heidi's grandmother by the way, so she could have a crew cut for all I know). Which raises a good point. I've seen a few old ladies with really close cropped hair and they looked pretty funky. And I have seen a terrible long hairstyle on an old lady. Its grey and it hangs around her shoulders and its always a bit dirty and very thin on top.

So I don't know. I like my hair shoulder length, but up. Which makes me worry that I'll end up with some sort of bun style that I let loose at night and brush 100 times before I go to bed and let it float around my pillow. Softly. Which of course it won't because my hair has the texture of steel wool. But I'm sure they'll have invented something by then to fix it.

It's a quandry.

Is there an age where you shouldn't have long hair anymore?

5.30 am was a long time ago. Twelve hours ago actually.

That was when I was up and getting dressed ready to hit the road to Sydney for a christening.

Daz, Lizzie and I left at day break

We travelled about half way then picked up Kimba and Lloyd. I always think of that ad Not So Squeezy when I see them all in the back of the car. Poor old girl hasn't had the whole family in it for years. I think we were carrying about 360 kilos.

Lizzie has always had to sit in the middle and always complains about it, so on the way home I sat in the back and she sat in the front. Ahhh memories. When I was a kid we sat four across the back seat. Being the youngest I was always pushed forward. I don't think my back rested on a car seat my entire childhood.

The roads in NSW are some of the worst you will find anywhere in the world. At school holiday times they show a programme on tv called How To Survive the Pacific Highway. Which always makes me laugh. Nervously. Hey I know how to do it. How about the government gives us some money and we fix the roads!!

But I quite like these parts on the way to Sydney. I just imagine them going - right, well we want to get to Sydney so lets just cut straight through the mountain here. But there are always signs up saying - Caution, Falling Rocks. And I don't know what you're supposed to do about it. Not like you can go anywhere.

But we survived. And arrived. At a strange sort of christening. Where we got to watch a Sigur Ros video clip and were then asked to pray not only for the people suffering gastro in the nursing home, but also for the Iranian army.

But I was glad I went because I saw someone I hadn't seen for twenty years. And when I did know her back then, I really liked her.

And I got to pass on my buzzy buzzy bee.

The other day I was at the chemist and I saw this little guy and I loved him and bought him. And he was only $4.00.

And I've had him hanging around with me and he's made me smile every time I looked at him. So today I gave him to the baby having the christening and I hope he gets a smile out of him as well.

And I really hope God is keeping an eye on that gastro.

We heard a rumour.

We heard that the best chicken schnitzel in town was to be had at the chinese restaurant at the local RSL club.

We decided to investigate further. Because all chicken schniddy rumours should be taken seriously.

So we set off. Daz got in the car. I said - Naah, lets walk, it's not far and we'll need to walk off some of that schnitzel later. He ummed and aahhed about it, but we walked.

We arrive at the club. I have the chicken schniddy. Daz as usual can't go past the spicy combination seafood. The schnitzel is good. Tender and covered in rich gravy with chips and veg. Can't decide if its the best in town, but it's up there.

We walk out the door and it's pouring rain.

Daz said - lets get a taxi.

Nah I say, lets just run, we'll wait for ages for a taxi. And it's only about one kilometre.

I don't know if I can,  he said as I disappeared into the darkness. He tells me he tried to run but his combination seafood combined with a few beers was sloshing about too much.

But see, all that running on the treadmill paid off. I ran all the way in pelting rain. It was kind of nice. Except for the bit where my nice pink jacket got all wet.

But I wish I'd taken the key from him before I took off because then I had to wait on the verandah for him. The neighbours cat waited with me.

 

On wednesday

Cat - Can you get the meatloaf out of the freezer?

Daz - ok

So as you can see it was a simple conversation. Not too confusing.

Last night I go to put the meatloaf in the oven for dinner.

No meatloaf.

There it is, still in the freezer.

Which was annoying.

But at least I didn't have to cook dinner.