Lawks a lordie, it's nearly the end of 2008!!

Well, stuff me, that came around farking quick. I can only think of 5 occurrences where blackout from alcohol consumption can account for lost time, so either I have been abducted by aliens or I well and truly lost track of things. Will stick with the aliens theory for now, as it provides some comfort and excuse for not being at all geared up to usher in 2009. It may also mean that I will get a visit from David Duchovny, who I have had a crush on since I saw in in Twin Peaks all those years ago... sigh.

This has been an interesting year, has it not? I'm not sure about those of you out in blog space, but 2008 has had its share of ups and downs for this crazy tree dweller and I find myself sitting on a slightly lower branch than intended when I started out this year, but I haven't completely fallen out out and landed on the ground with a thump, so life is not completely sucky. On the down side (get the shitty stuff over and done with eh?) : have spent a year with my depression seeming to enjoy the odd sojourn back into my life to smack me around the head a bit, steal my handbag and drink my champagne, which tends to leave me feeling a bit down, roughed up and raw around the edges (what girl wouldn't be without her champagne?). I also managed to have a small slip at work, which resulted in two bulging discs in my lumbar spine. To anyone out there who has done a similar thing, you have my complete sympathy. For a slip that did not even result in a fall on my bott bott, I ended up spending June to November in varying amounts of pain and not being able to do much at all for a few months. This put a serious dent in my exercise regime (and sense of humour) and as a result, nearly all of the weight I had lost has crept back on, with the exception of 5 kg. This is a blow, but shit happens and no point in dwelling on it. Does that sound as though I've convinced myself? Hmm, more positive thinking required.

On the plus side, the kids are going great guns at school and childcare, Tim has just finished his 4th year of teaching, we have attended 2 lovely weddings and as I said earlier, I made up for being down in the dumps by having a few great parties and self medicating with champagne cocktails. I know, all of the health freaks out there just had a sharp intake of breath, tut-tutted me and will be sending me links for AA, but if you could save your time and just stuff your well meaning advice, it will save a whole heap of time and grief. Also, a friend of mine is about to have his first book published (GO GARTH!!!!!!!) and I encourage you all to buy it. Will do a separate blog about it later. The other plus is that I made it back to the gym in the last 2 weeks and today was able to complete 60 minutes of "run 1 minute, walk for 3" on the treadmill. It is back to basics, having to retrain my body in all forms of exercise. Also, having the vision of my exercise physiologist standing next to me saying "switch your core ON! BRACE YOUR CORE!!!!!!" means that no matter what I am doing, my core muscles are working their, um, butt off all of the time. This is very tiring - try it sometime.

So, on with 2009 (hee hee - originally left a zero out there). Hope you all have a great evening tomorrow ushering out the old year. I plan to go to bed early and catch up on sleep. Does this mean I have become and old fart and should I list this in the positives or negatives for 2008? Hmm, where's Mulder?

How to burn those extra calories...

Those of you who are regular readers (thankyou!) are well aware that over the years I have struggled with my weight, gone on and off various diets, exercise regimes etc. You also know that I am recovering from a recent back injury, which put a serious dent in my aim to lose weight and run 10km by Christmas. Now, the weight loss is back on track but the 10km run is unlikely to happen, unless there is the promise of something like a free massage once a week for a year, or the kids set fire to the Christmas tree again. Yes, I KNOW it was an accident, guys, but the memory is still pretty fresh. One I will run towards, the other away as quick as my chubby, pink little legs will carry me.

After getting the all clear from the Dr to resume most activities pre back injury (except running, which is off limits until at least early January), I have been out and about walking at lunchtime, bike riding etc. The walks up Mt Ainslie are at a fairly stately pace at the moment, with me not talking much at all on the ascent (hallelujah! It's a miracle!!!) as I am concentrating pretty hard on not having a coronary, but I know it will get easier. Maybe. One day. I am also riding a fair bit on the old stationary bike. First lesson I learned was that I had lost my "bike seat conditioning" or as I like to call them "buttocks callouses". 1st ride was fine until I got off, when I realised that it felt a lot like how someone (say, Julie Bishop's speech writer) who has been booted up the backside for 45 minutes. More imitations of walking like a duck and involuntary noises when lowering oneself onto the toilet.

I have found a great website though, which answers the questions that EVERYONE asks themselves but you never find in the exercise books. It is how many calories you burn during sex - one of my personal favourites is the use of fudge. Oh yeah, and the trapeze one. Get motivated and, um, enjoy!

A great holiday and shy sausage

Tim and I got a chance (thanks to my wonderful parents - mum and dad, you rock!) last weekend to escape with no kids to a lovely area of Australia called Hyams Beach. It was fantastic - a cottage all to ourselves with a great view of the beach, sleeping in both mornings (woo hoo) and just having some of that rare stuff called "time together". The simple joy of having a coffee together where we knew that Cameron would not get Will in a headlock and in the ensuing struggle, knock the table over and send sugar sachets flying out over the cafe patrons like a cluster bomb was quite relaxing. Also, wandering through shops where a number of twee, incredibly breakable and expensive items were arranged at toddle height without the blood pressure steadily rising was also a novel experience.

Other highlights included :

• A mother humpback whale and her calf coming right into the bay. We sat on the beach and watched them for hours - it was just amazing. An added bonus was that the money I was going to spend on a whale watching tour I was able to blow on a pair of cowboy boots. So cool!
• The local high school had a food fair and fete. So loud, great food and the reassurance that all teenagers are just raging bags of hormones, ready to swarm.
• A pizza that had us laughing for most of the weekend. When we picked up our order, the slip came with it. Apparently, we had ordered an aussie pizza with extra "peeperoni". Quite a few conversations ensued about what peeperoni would look like, how it would act and does that count as a special topping. We came to the conclusion it is sausage with a confidence problem. Tasted good though.

Back to school

My daughter is currently very caught up in watching a TV series called "Winx club". From what I can gather, these girls (who look a lot like the Bratz dolls, who are referred to "slutz" dolls by Tim and I) attend some kind of special high school for fairies (which may be more mainstream these days, who knows) where they worry about being able to cast spells, dress fashionably and impress the dumb, token "jock" fairy (who is also a prince, so I am guessing that although he has the IQ of a sequined handbag, the girls think he is quite a catch). Yes, I know it is sad that I have say through a few episodes and absorbed this much, but it means a lot to Grace, so I have decided to turn my thoughts from "someone kill me now" to drawing parallels between what the Winx high school is like and my own days back in the dark ages of puberty.

Now, when I was at Ginninderra High, not too many real princes or princesses were around, but there were plenty who thought they were, or at least thought that the sun shone out of their arse, so that will do for covering the fairy side of things. I have also noticed that, just like high school, there are "good" fairies and "bad" fairies. Just like high school, the bad fairies dress like hookers, wear way too much eye makeup and generally make the "good" fairies life hard - stealing powers, crushing them with magic constriction spells etc. When you think about it, the girls who were the "princesses" at school were also the ones who made life hell for all of the "ordinary" girls by teasing them about their breast size (too big, too small blah blah blah), wore lots of eye makeup, thought that kissing boys was the ultimate to spend high school and wore the most fashionable style dress to the formal (aka prom). The good fairies just struggled on through, trying to cope with the burden of learning and raging hormones (and the bad fairies) and in the end, could not give a rats bum if they wore a dress or jeans to the formal, they were just happy to escape.

So, is this TV show just encouraging the age old stereotypes, which we will never escape, or is it preparing our young girls for the fact that in life, you will have to deal with good and evil fairies? Both concepts are pretty perplexing really and I have no idea. Still, I can comfort myself that at least in my day, the pressure was not on to sprout a pair of wings, turn my head into a talking pumpkin or defeat the powers of evil whilst maintaining good fashion sense and still attracting the prince - or maybe I just wasn't paying attention.I would like to class myself as a "middle of the road" fairy - capacity to do good or evil in more or less equal measures. And I don't talk with a really irritating American accent. That has to put me over with the good guys.

People listening

Now, I love people watching as much as anyone, but I am also happy to own up to the habit of people listening. This is awesome and if you haven't really tried, give it a go. Here ia a cracking example I heard just today when I was out with mum at the local shopping centre.

We were making our way through the David Jones cosmetics and perfume section (also known as "olfactory hell" according to my husband) when we overheard this gem from a sales assistant : "Now, I know it seems very bright and often people find this shade off putting at first...". I have to admit to literally laughing out loud and checking with mum to make sure I had not misheard. No, it was 100% correct and we spent the next 5 minutes wondering what on earth the stuff the girl was trying on, what it looked like and where the sales assistant had done her training. I feel it was probably at the school of "Yes, your arse does look big in that dress but it takes the attention off your face".

So, if I can have this much fun in just my lunchtime, give people listening a go. Great fun and the more you take it out of context, the funnier it gets.

This parenting moment is proudly bought to you by prozac

Well, the school holidays have started, along with the wonderful windy spring weather that seems to turn even the most normal of people into weirdy, cross, "don't-give-that-guy-a-gun" citizens. Not a stellar combination in anyone's books and of course, I have decided to celebrate by taking two weeks off to relax (ha ha) and spend some of that oft talked about but rarely experienced "quality time" with my nearest and dearest.

Of course, I had forgotten what I like to call "the chant of consumerism" that starts pretty much 3.05pm on the last day of term. It goes something like this - you say to the kids "wow, isn't it great it's school holidays" to which they reply "yes, but we're bored. Can we go to the shops/bowling/skydiving/white water rafting/whale watching..." the options are endless. When you suggest a nice (aka cheap) version of fun, such as a family picnic in the park, they look at you as though you just said "how about I make a call and sell you into white slavery for the next two weeks?". They bravely struggle through their disappointment when the realise that you are not going to sell the house to fund holiday activities, but in return you must suffer the "there's nothing to do, I'm so bored" lament at least 4 times a day, accompanied by resentful looks and deep, suffering sighs. I have come up with a good way to counter this (my dad just used to say "only people with small minds get bored". This has stayed with me for my entire adult life and I don't remember the last time I ever said "I am bored"). I have made up a wonderful list of what the parenting magazines like to call "boredom busters". I feel it is important though, to put your own unique spin on things, so instead of a list that has things like "making a space ship out of toilet rolls and a supermarket stock of tin foil" I have things like
1) Why don't you sit quietly and see who amongst the (insert number of children you are entertaining) of you can get their finger furthest up their nose before it bleeds. The funny thing about this one is that kids will do this all on their own at least once a day, but suggest it and it is "just gross!!!!!!"
2) Get out a dictionary and colour in all of the Os. Use a different colour for each one!
3) Go into the bathroom with your magnifying glass and see which of the black specks in the shower waves back at you and which ones don't move at all!
4) See who can clean themselves quickest using only their tongue!
5) See who can lie on the floor and push a ping pong ball (not using hands) to the other side of the room. The great thing about this one is that the kids might find it interesting and it saves you having to mop the floor if you lightly spray the tiles with water first!

Anyway, I am sure there are some great bonding moments ahead in the next few weeks. Must remember to get my anti depressant script filled.

How to fold man vegetables and why you should be careful about saying "toughen up"

I am relaxing after a lovely weekend in Sydney with my cousin, Elizabeth, and her lovely husband, Christoph. One of the things that was so relaxing about this weekend was that it was without Tim and the kids (yes, I know, that whooshing sound was my vote for selfless mother and wife of the year flying by). I went up last Friday on the bus, which all in all is a great way to travel. The only problem with traveling by yourself is that you run the risk of ending up with a total tosser as your companion. On the plane from Canberra to Sydney, not so bad, only about 40 minutes – on the bus it can be a VERY LONG 3 and a half hours. The lass sitting beside me was fine but the chap in front was obviously EXHAUSTED as the second he got in to his seat, he reclined back to an angle where – well, let me put it this way : normally a man with his head in my lap is a chap I know very well (i.e. my husband), rather than a complete stranger (i.e. dickhead in front of me on the bus). When I politely let him know that he was cutting the circulation off in my legs (“mate, you are lying in my lap – could you please put your seat up a bit”) he got all grumpy and whiney about the length of the trip and how he needed to rest. He was met with my usual sympathy and compassion and for the next 3 hours we engaged in a push/shove match up the highway. My quads felt as though they had been put to good work by the time we got to Central station in Sydney. Being the complete gentleman, he left the seat fully reclined when he got up, so that the girl sitting next to me and I had to do some weird contortions to get out of our seats. Yet another person I wish gonorrhea upon.

So, off to Potts Point where my cousin and he husband have a very lovely apartment, where I picked up the keys from the concierge (this in itself a novelty – a place where someone looks after you, collects mail, holds keys for guests etc) and headed upstairs to drop off my bags. I was greeted by Lucy, their cat, who went nutbags over the smells on my bag and coat. It got a bit uncomfortable watching her after a while – she seemed to like it A LOT. After she finished rolling around making ecstatic noises, she went about trying to convince me that she was totally starving and she had not been fed in weeks by her mean and cruel owners. She had a tough audience though – I had done the “children on their knees making cow eyes at you whilst silently begging for a doughnut” routine too many times to crack over a pathetic performance from a cat.

I bet you are wondering where on earth I am going with this and what on earth my trip to Sydney has to do with puppetry of the man vegetables, aren’t you? Well, on the Saturday night Lizzie had been invited to a hen’s night and was taking me along for company and a good excuse to leave early. She had told me that part of the night was a performance of “Puppetry of the penis”. Sure, I thought, I have seen a willie or two in my time and I was keen to see if either of my sons had a potential job when they get older, as at the moment they are putting some pretty concentrated effort in seeing what can be done to their various boy bits (one of them managed to stretch it out to an impressive length but it had the width of spaghetti) and then falling around in hysterics or rushing off to show their older sister, who receives these displays with a weary tolerance that belies her years. Anyway, we got to the apartment where the party was and it suddenly became clear that we weren’t going to a show, the show was coming to us. Ok, I thought, that changes things a bit. I was in a brightly lit lounge room (with the biggest honking TV you have ever seen) and I was, at best, going to be about 2 meters away from a chap who was going to impress us with his “genital origami” (no kidding, this was how he described it). I think the thing that stuck me the most was that he wore a blue velvet cape, black shoes and socks and nothing else. In the end, it wasn’t too bad and some of the stuff he did was clever, but I am wondering if this whole idea came about because two chaps had put away a case of beer each and ended up having to improvise to keep themselves entertained because the playstation broke down. The highlight was possibly when he offered the bride to be his services with a “wristwatch” or “ring”. I’ll leave it up to your imagination.

It does lead me to think if there is a market for a female equivalent. I know that there have been times lately when I have wondered if my boobs (which are ok but are showing the effects of time and gravity) could be tied into a very delicate “crane” or even better, some kind of bow-like arrangement so I would have to dispense with the problem of having to find an appropriate brooch. I discussed this with a friend of mine and she wasn’t sure about origami of the breasts, but if you used other female genitalia you could call one move “the flaps are down”. Hmm. Might leave it to the guys.

Just to finish up, must share a little conversation I had when I went to get my legs waxed recently. The girl who was doing it very good and I was asking her about how she got into beauty stuff etc. She told me her first job was at a shop called Be Brazilian, so you can imagine what she spent most of her days doing. On male and female clients. I have never gone for the full pluck, but I was curious about how much it hurt. She said that the first time was usually so excruciating some people pass out, but you just had to have it done a few times “so the area can toughen up” she assured me brightly. ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME???????? Think about the area in question, guys and girls, and wonder to yourself – is this an area where you want the phrase “toughened up” to be applied? I mean, if you wanted to “toughen up” your scrotum or outer labia, why not just cut to the chase and bash it for a while with a cricket bat or buy sandpaper knickers? Jesus!

Reality tv = entertainment???

I hate to admit this, but I am completely hooked on the TV show "Wipeout". Talk about coming up with the most amazing and humiliating ways to HURT yourself!!! Plus throw in the two "hosts", who go out of their way to ensure you feel (by comparison) like the most intelligent and quick witted gun on earth, this show has everything to make you feel good after a crappy day.

Tonight's episode was awesome - one guy went on the wall that has punching gloves (otherwise known as thunderpunch) on it and copped 4 shots in a row right in the man vegetables. Then we got to watch in super slow mo (after all, the olympics are still fresh in everyone's mind) over and over again. Who would have thought goolie pulverising TV could be so entertaining??? And at the end, there is the most amazing obstacle course. Personally I think this would be an awesome thing to do if you had a few glasses of wine on board and good health insurance.

A medical breakthrough

During this week I have been mulling over a scientific theory which I feel I must share with everyone. There is not just one type of Tourette's Syndrome in the world - there are at least two types. One is the type where the person has a particular disorder where they swear uncontrollably etc. The other is the lesser known (i.e. I thought of it) but possibly much more commonly experienced tourette's, that I like to call "experiential tourrette's" . You have someone or something in your life that causes you a great deal of exasperation, stress, bad feelings, grumpiness and causes you to do things like regularly entertain homicidal thoughts whenever you are dealing with them or thinking about dealing with them. Over a period of time, the stress causes by this person or thing grows to a point where everytime you either hear their name (or even think about them) you starting swearing uncontrollably. Here is an example : you are dealing with your local telephone company over a billing error. They assure you repeatedly that your custom is important to them, whilst stuffing you around royally, not fixing the problem and ultimately pissing you right off. The next time year hear the name of this telephone company, the words (look away now children) "fucking arseholes, shit, fuckers, bastard, mother fucker, suck face, small dick, shit, bum" spill uncontrollably from your lips, increasing the rising feeling of anger and frustration that causes you to down 3 vodka martinis without even thinking. This is a very unfortunate thing, especially if you are attending high tea with your mother in law and she is talking about the new phone she has put in.

My suggestion: instead of pouring money into research to help sufferer's "control" their behaviour, the money would be better spent on hit squads who could take out the offending person or organisation. I think I would like to refer to this as a kind of vaccination against dickheads and will now go and work on my proposal for a grant to take this beyond the concept stage.

Back and there again

I have been lying low whilst my back has been getting better, but now that I am no longer high on prescription medication and can walk upright, I thought it was time to celebrate with a blog post. I even went for a 5km walk the other day and was very proud that I was able to pass someone on the uphill bit just before home. The fact that it was a 76 year old nanna pushing a stroller that contained what looked like a kid that could use some exercise I choose to gloss over, as I will take any small victory right now.

Have just spent a pleasant weekend with a cold, which meant lots of tissues, honey and lemon drinks (thanks, Tim) and feeling like I had been hit repeatedly with a cricket bat. My children were their usual considerate selves (to be honest, Grace was great, the boys were poops) and respected my headache that actually needed its own seat on the lounge by asking me the same question every 2 minutes in high, loud, "mummy is about to kill you" voices. I also had time to marvel at a three year olds ability to actually translate english into another language. An example of this is "Will, could you please keep the noise down" apparently translates as "Will, could you please scream as if your hair is on fire, run in a circle three times and then hit your brother with a Transformer toy" in three year old speak. I feel that this is a phenomenon sadly ignored by linguists. I am equally astounded at the amount of mucous a nose can produce, but a girlfriend of mine told me that mucous production has more to do with your gut than your sinuses, which led me to visualise my intestines coming out of my nose. Perhaps I have come off the prescription drugs too early.

I also had time this weekend to do a little shopping with the clan. I stick by my claim that shopping with any child under the age of 8 is an endurance event that a decathlete would think twice about. The contestants on "Gladiator" reckon they've done it tough but let me tell you, they only had to run 1 gauntlet. When you add up the number of aisles dedicated to toys in your local department store, you have "The gauntlet" on steroids. Plus, they do not hand out protective headgear or mouthguards at the start. All I have to say is that to all the parents out there that know what I'm talking about, I salute you and to those who don't, consider yourself lucky. Why I am drivelling on about shopping is this - what I found on the back of our receipt once we left the shop. Now, I'm sure that many of use have become familiar with those fantastic offers that are printed on the back - two for one coffee at some slop house that thinks nescafe is the yummiest thing around, 20% off a holiday that is a thinly disguised "grab a a granny" tour etc. But today, something new and I just had to share it with you.



Now, I am not mocking any performance problems that a chap may be having. Just the opposite. However, I am not too sure about this whole "nasal delivery technology" business. When you think about doing the wild thing, I am pretty sure that the first thing that leaps to mind is not "nasal delivery". And if it does, please keep it to yourself, I really don't want to know. Still, as my husband pointed out, this advertisement adds a whole knew meaning to "fucked in the head". To be honest, I have never thought of my nose as an erogenous zone, but perhaps this is just illustrating a lack of adventure on my part, rather than a deviant behaviour in others. I feel that this warrants more research, so perhaps tomorrow I will pay a visit to one of those stores out in the industrial area and see if they have a copy of a magazine dedicated to "nasal delivery". Maybe I have always misunderstood what the title "Hooters" has always stood for and all this does is illustrates my naivety. I mean, if it is on the back of a shopping docket, it has to be mainstream, right? Stay tuned, fellow nasal delivery innocents, I'm sure it doesn't end here.

Red wine and the power of reflection

This week has been a bit well, shitty, really. My back is still taking its own sweet time to recover, I got a few lots of disappointing news and when I checked the scales on Friday, it would seem that the brie and pasta I have been consoling myself with over the last 5 weeks have decided to stake a settlement claim on my hips and gut - very rude. I of course dealt with this as any mature woman would by downing over 2 bottles of red wine last night with some good friends and watching the Wallabies and Springboks show each other all manner of man love on a rugby field. That's how it was looking by the time I got to the bottom of my second bottle of shiraz, anyway. Luckily, my inner hangover warning system kicked in at 4am this morning, so I was able to get up, drink lots of water and take 2 preventive panadol. Not feeling too bad right now - just a bit tired, but that can happen when your 3 year old comes bouncing into your bedroom at 6 ish, launches himself from the end of the bed onto your chest and yells in your face how much he loves you and that HE"S AWAKE!!!!!!

Anyway, we settled ourselves in on the lounge with a few pillows and blankets etc and struggled (well, I struggled, he seemed fine) our way through the delight that is Sunday morning TV programming. We had the choice of a live feed from World Youth Day, some evangelist who seemed to think that you would send in money if he SHOUTED the gospels into the microphone and the new improved version of "The Magic Roundabout". Now, I am a child of the 70s and this new version is just not the same - there is NO WAY you can imagine that Dougal the dog is just a mop end that someone at BBC stuck some eyes on and made the station an overnight success in children's programming. As such, I had time to reflect on what I've been up to over the last few years - have the feeling I had not yet sobered right up and was going through the "contemplative drunk" phase. Still, I have also sat in front of all kinds of kids TV shows stone cold sober and I reckon Tweenies would be made a hell of a lot more bearable if you are 3 sheets to the wind. So, turning things around in my slightly foggy brain, I came to the following conclusions:

1. I have done really well with my fitness and weight loss in the past, but I am starting to lose my grip on it and the weight is starting to creep back on. I need to get back on the rabbit food if I want to be able to buy a summer dress from a shop, rather than doing a long term hire of a marquee from the local events hire place.
2. Hurting myself has sucked big, hairy ones. No polite way to say how jacked off I am about this. The only up side I have had from this is that I've had more time with the family, but constant pain (even really low grade stuff like I have now) tends to take the gloss off this a bit. Remaining happy, optimistic and focused on getting better is exhausting and after a while my "up" attitude starts to shit me off. Big time.
3. I am going to have to pull a whole lot of energy from somewhere to get motivated and moving again. Awesome. To quote Samuel L. Jackson "Oh, excuse me while I just pull that out of my arse". I know I CAN do it, it just shits me that I have to. Whinge, wah, wah, wah, wah.
4. The person who came up with Barney the dinosaur was hell's own messenger. No one on God's green earth came up with this concept, no human is that cruel. And the people who put it on at 7 in the morning on a Sunday deserve herpes. Hmm, I think the panadol are wearing off. Might just have more shiraz for breakfast.

It's a hot wind that blows no good

It is the middle of winter here, but there have been a number of discussions on hot breezes at our house lately that have taken our minds off the winter chill. On Friday Grace sat me down and said she had a question it wanted answered and she wasn't sure if I could help. Wondering is this was the prelude to "the talk" that every parent dreads having with their child, I cast my eye over the bookshelf to see if "Where did I come from" was anywhere nearby. With her next words, I realised that this was something far more difficult to answer - she turned her big blue eyes on me and said "Mum, why is it that when you do a fluffy and it feels really, really hot, it always smells bad?" Oh holy jesus, give me the sex question any day. Firstly, a Friday afternoon fart discussion was not high on my agenda and second, I actually had no idea on the answer and did not want to enter the search term "hot fart" on google while my kid was watching (or ever, for that matter).

My sons wandered in and once they worked out the subject of conversation, well, it was a riot in at our place. The words "bum" and "fart" were shouted numerous times as they rolled around laughing on the floor. This was accompanied by "sound effects" and me trying to keep a straight face and explain to Grace that I had no idea and try to work out why she wanted to know. Apparently one of the kids on her table let slip an absolute cracker today and when the other kids all were choking, he explained that he had had "a hot fart, the ones that always smell bad". Cool - it would seem that biology was on the agenda for school that day and I have to say, there's nothing like prac to make sure that the message gets through. I wasn't really able to answer grace's question, but I think I might send it in to Dr. Karl on JJJ for his morning segment - surely it rates up there with belly button fluff.

Growing older but not up

Well, I am well and truly jumping around in the puddles marked "prelude to middle age" this week. I have gone to bed before 10pm 3 nights this week, am really hoping that the ads the company whose moisturiser I buy is telling the truth and my "baby girl" turned 10. I am wondering if the next logical step is to stock up on hair dye to cover the greys that will more than likely start breaking out all over my head or if I should invest in some shares in a botox company. I also know I'm getting oldish when I saw the photos my cousin took when she went to the Glastonbury festival over in England and all I could think about was that she was going to have a devil of a time getting the mud out of her clothes. Funny thing is, I don't FEEL middle aged (I mean in a sense of being - I don't run my hands over middle aged people all that often, so what they physically feel like is a mystery to me) - do middle aged people still say "fuck" regularly, listen to AC DC and find perverse joy in watching the younger people in their office squirm when you "accidentally" sing along with your playlist of 80s hits loudly on your ipod?

Funny thing it, I am not too freaked out with the whole getting older thing - as I pointed out to a girlfriend of mine when she was moaning about how old I must be feeling on Grace's birthday(with a friend like that, who needs an enema? And no, that isn't a typo) - getting older is better than the alternative. Also, it doesn't matter how old you get in terms of years, you always have the choice of remaining immature for as long as you want. In my mind, don't fight it - once you are over the age of about 25, immaturity is something that should be seen as a skill to be honed so it is available anytime you need it. After all, it takes real talent to be able to snigger at the leaflet that comes in the box with your multivitamins that has been literally been translated from Chinese into English - did you know that with one particular brand , taking it daily "will allow you to get up yourself first thing in the morning".

words of love

Have you ever noticed that, amongst some humans, people will always try to find a way to break what is ultimately bad news in a positive way? I have a few theories why people do this:
1) They have had a truly bad experience where someone spontaneously combusted when they were told that there was a booger hanging out of their nose.
2) They know they are in really serious shit and with luck if the person who they are about to be in serious shit with is in a good frame of mind, no on will die.
3) They are one of those people in life who truly believe that everyone one needs to follow the adage "do you want the good news or the bad news?". Word of advice, NO ONE ever wants the bad news EVER. Those who say they do are masochists, delusional or like to wallow around in pooh.

You may have noticed a few pooh references in there - well, I have an absolute cracker (no pun intended) of a story that I just have to share. Will, our youngest, is going through the fun experience that is toilet training and anyone who has even remotely been involved in this (even those who have had to listen to a co worker exclaim loudly over the phone "You did a wee on the toilet??? That's great!!!!"" and you hope to god they are talking to a child and not another adult) knows it can be tedious and messy. Well, my lovely son has found a way to deliver the bad news wrapped in words of love. Apparently at creche the other day he went up to Jess, who works there, and said "Jess, I love you. I've done a pooh". Note that this rhymes - it is like the Dr Suess way of letting someone know the nappy needs to be changed. In the days since, he has toddled out to us at various times with a new nappy and a smile, lets us know that he loves us and we know it's time to grab the baby wipes and a nose peg. I have heard of trying to make the best of a shit situation, but this is just taking to that next level.

My back is not recovering as quickly as I would like. I am on restricted duties at work until early July and I can't do any exercise except walk or swim for 3 months. It's just as well I have the positive messages from Will to look forward to :)

Careful what you wish for

Everyone has heard this saying, right? Well, pay attention to it, as I have found out the hard way that when you utter the words "I'm so tired and run down, I really need a week off", someone may just be listening. On Wednesday I had a little slip and I am now having a nice quiet break at home, doped up on painkillers and some other drug that upsets my stomach but apparently is good for making my back feel better. Poop. Sorry, that was just an exasperated poop, not a comment on what the drugs are doing to me. Note to self : don't blog when high on panadeine forte.

Where did the month go???

Holy timeslips, Batman!! How is it possible it is June already???? When I look back over the last 2 weeks, I realise that it could be I did not notice the passage of time because our family had social engagements up the yin yang , plus the usual "oh goody, here comes winter" coughs, colds and yucky, chunky sounding noises you make when your mucous maker goes into overdrive thanks to a little virus that has set up camp in your sinuses. Of course, this means there was only one week in the whole of May where I completed a full week at work (yay, being a working parent just rocks) and now I have the feeling am just spinning my wheels when it comes to trying to achieve anything related to my job. Joy.
On the up side, the latter half of May ended up delivering an unexpected windfall of $500. A local radio station was running a competition here was having something called the "fashion incinerator", where you could nominate some revolting piece of clothing that your partner has (and let's face it, EVERY bloke has some kind of THING that used to resemble a piece of clothing that they just won't throw out) to throw into the incinerator. On the toss of a coin, you could either win the call, gain the $500 gift voucher and choose to burn the item or not OR if you lost the call, the item got burnt and you walked away with nothing. I nominated Tim's moccasins, which he has had in his life longer than me and have been ready to be chucked for at least the last 5 years. Apparently my description of them caught the publicist's attention, as they rang and let me know that they would like us to come in. So, in we traipsed with the moccasin's safely trapped in a bag that they could not easily escape from. Tim won the coin toss but very kindly allowed me to still torch the moccasins, which smelled a lot like how a lawyers soul must when it gets burnt in hell - you can view the footage on youtube. The up side is the moccies got a true Viking burial and we have a $500 voucher to frivol away. Also, just for the record, Tim has a lovely pair of ugg boots we bought in New Zealand that are keeping his toes warm in the cold Canberra winter - I'm not a total cow.
And a tip to those who are wishing to torch moccasins - you need an accelerant. Wool just doesn't burn well, especially when it has 18 odd year's worth of sweat and toe jam mashed into it.

A theory about road rage

On the weekend I ran (jogged) in the Mother's Day Classic, which is a 5km fun run to raise money for the National breast Cancer foundation. Although this is an excellent cause, I still really have a problem with this concept - actually, both concepts : breast cancer and fun run. Breast cancer is fairly obvious but the whole idea of making a run "fun" was only dreamed up by people who bound out of bed at 6am with their sneakers already on and take off for a "little" 10km jog whilst hearing the "Chariots of Fire" music in their heads without the benefit of an ipod. I suppose it is bad marketing to say "come and inflict at least some discomfort on yourself to raise money for breast cancer funds", but isn't honesty the best policy? I suppose I prefer to delude myself most of the time, so I am a good one to talk. Anyway, an incident occurred during the run that has got me thinking about why drivers get so soooooooooo fricken' cranky on the roads. My dad and sister also ran in this and as my dad was coming up to cross the road (which had been closed and widely advertised that it would be closed for this event) an upstanding young gentleman in a white ute was arguing with the chappie with the "stop" lollipop and claiming his god given right to drive like a moron on this particularly fine Sunday morning. The lollipop guy was putting up a fairly stoic and considered debate to this view (I believe moron ute driver was told to "calm the frick down") and finally, ute moron guy snapped, jumped into his great white symbol of testosterone blokiness and DROVE THROUGH the runners who were crossing the road, blaring his horn and waving his fists. God knows what he was actually steering the car with, but I think we all know that it wasn't the big brain making a lot of his decisions, given his previous behaviour. This was followed by an experience of my own yesterday, where someone tailgated me all the way into work up Limestone Avenue and resorted to obscene finger gestures when I chose to ignore her polite suggestions that I just run over the cars in front of me. Now, I don't know exactly what is going on to cause all of this tanty behaviour, but I have a few theories.
1) Basic anatomy. For some people, when they get in their cars, they end up getting a bad wedgie every time. I think we've all been there at least once and let's face it, if this happens on a regular basis, you are going to be a little short tempered. And as they are obviously too much of a lady or gentleman to remove their undies from the area where the sun doesn't shine, it is much better to get angry and shout obscenities at other drivers on the road.
2) They have the BEST JOB IN THE WHOLE WORLD!!!!! Now, I like my job, I really do. However, if the traffic is bad on a particular morning, the most I feel is mild exasperation that I may get to work a bit late and have the park where the birds will poop all over my car during the day. Obviously, the people who completely FLIP OUT when you are 3 seconds too slow off the mark when the light changes green have THE BEST JOB IN THE WHOLE WORLD. The anger they feel that precious seconds will be lost at work is just too much to bear. Understandably, if you have THE BEST JOB IN THE WHOLE WORLD, your emotional outburst where you cast aspersions on someones genetic heritage loudly out of the car window is quite justified.
3) People who inflict road rage on other drivers are nobs. I like this theory.

Customer service par excellence

Just had to blog about this. My sister in law, who is living with us at the moment, went in search of a coat last weekend as she is used to much warmer temperatures. After a night of tracking through stores, she found a nice one in one of the large, well known stores here in Canberra (rhymes with liar). The sales assistant who did the sale informed her that as she had spent over 75, she was entitled to a box of chocolates (part of their mothers day promotions). My sister in law made a comment about how nice that was and (wait for it) the sales assistant looked at her and said "Oh, do you think so? You ARE already having to buy plus sized clothes". I AM NOT JOKING!!!! Now, my sister in law is a nice, polite person and just took the chocolates and walked away. I would have taken the chocolates, eaten them and shoved the empty box up the shop assistant, but I have never claimed to be a nice person. Be careful out there, people. Customer service in a shop still seems to be an optional thing.

TV viewing

Having been laid low with some kind of revolting virus (again!!!) which has the wonderful side effect of making a movie last 3 times longer because I keep dozing off in parts, I am getting to experience the wonders of daytime TV for the second time within a month. I now know how to fix my marriage, make a 4 course meal out of 2 ingredients and how to turn 3 toilet tolls and glitter into a toy my kids will play with for hours. How I thought my life was complete before, I have no idea. I also now realise why people actually resort to buying the crap advertised on the shopping network - if you buy and ab blaster at least you have something to do besides watch the shite that is being rolled across the networks between 9am and 5pm. Perhaps this is all part of the plan to get people back to work though - put complete crud on TV during the day and most people will want to go back to work rather than have their brain rot whilst they watch Kerri Anne show you how you can brighten up your lounge room curtains with a bedazzler, can of spray paint and a tea pot stencil (you think I'm joking, don't you?).




On the bright side, I have caught up on a few DVDs that have been sitting around with their plastic on for a while and also been able to watch the daytime antics of our two bearded dragons, Monty and Oscar. These two guys came into our lives in January this year after repeated requests (aka nagging) from Grace and Cameron for these pets. Above is a photo of what they looked like when they first arrived in January. They are now much bigger and below is a video of what they look like now and the stuff they like to do during the day. I know some people who act a lot the same way when they are at work and I bet you do too. Some of our friends have found this approach to pet keeping (we have 2 bearded dragons and about 30 giant stick insects at our place) a little unconventional but I have to say they are pretty quiet, eat the skin they shed and the pooh is much easier to deal with. Also, if you are going to have a pet draped around your neck, a bearded dragon is much more comfortable than a beagle. Don't ask how I know - it's one of those questions that you REALLY don't want the answer to.

Mystery of time

I am back into running again, as well as hauling myself up and down Mt Ainslie 5 days a week. Believe it or not, I actually tried to combine to 2 and by the time I jogged 100 meters I was sounding a lot like the little engine that was having an asthma attack. This week I decided to try another walk and was thwarted not by the fact that exercise is still something that is hard to place above lying on a lounge and drinking hot chocolate but the fact that it was about minus fricken' 5 and blowing a gale. I know that I could have gone to the gym that night and used the treadmills, but hey, when you are a world class athlete like me, you know when not to overtrain. That said, I did hit the treadmills today and managed to run for 30 minutes non stop, which is a breakthrough for me. I know that my next step is to get to the stage where I am not looking longingly at the clock doing the countdown and wondering how it is possible that when you want to hit the snooze button, 5 minutes just flies by and on a treadmill everytime you look at the display you swear you have run a marathon and yet only 10 seconds seems to have clicked over.

On the family front, I feel I have officially hit old fart status with Cameron turning 7 on the weekend. There was left over creaming soda and fairy floss, which I am very disappointed to say had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever, but I am happy to report that coca cola and cold and flu tablets do wonderfully when you need a pick me up. Next time you need to survive a birthday party with a bunch of hyperactive kids, I highly reccomend this remedy to get you through work the following week. Until you've experienced it, believe me, it makes the events they do on Gladiator look like a tea party with teddy bears with a love of lycra.

Angry beavers

I have had a top week - just as I was languishing around the house with a monster cold that had my voice sounding a lot like Kim Carnes is my hero, some junk mail came in through the letterbox that made my day and had me laughing so much it sounded like a goose had been drinking the sherry all night. The first one was a catalogue from Kmart, pronouncing that at Kmart, it's more fun in your undies. Makes me wonder if the discount store is branching out in the lines it is carrying so when you walk in through the door, you immediately have more fun in your undies. Not too many places promise you that these days - I await my next visit to the mall with great anticipation!!! The next flyer should not be so unexpected, as the school holidays are coming up, but tell me honestly, what first pops into your mind when you read something that announces in 26 point print that the ANGRY BEAVERS are coming to do a LIVE SHOW at a shopping centre near you these holidays? Yep, that's what I thought to. Times sure have changed since I used to be taken to "daisy the happy cow" (or if we really hit the jackpot, Humphrey B Bear) shows by my mum when I was at school. Not too sure how they are planning to stage the angry beavers, but I can't wait to find out. Happy holidays everyone!

Who wears short shorts?

At the end of March, we trooped up to Sydney so we could join the celebrations of the Australian wedding ceremony of my cousin, Georgie, who had come back home to Sydney after marrying Riccardo in Italy 5 years ago. It was hard for most of us to make to Italy when they tied the knot (which was more of civil ceremony), so this was the chance for all of us to get together for an Australian style shin dig. It was a great day but I have to say I feel a bit like an old married fart when watching weddings these days (lord, I even sound like an old married fart) as I often find myself wondering what makes for a "romantic" wedding those days. Please keep in mind I got married in the early 90s, when puffy sleeves and tiaras were all the go. I have to say, we had a great time and the wedding was lovely - here are what I count as highlights

• The setting - at Bradley's Head in Sydney on a perfect autumn day. It rained a lot the day before and there was some concern about things being soggy underfoot, but it turned out to be wonderful, sunny etc. My kids loved it as it was an amphitheatre, which meant that Tim got lots of exercise chasing them up and down the hill.



• The flower girls - I am biased here as my daughter Grace was one and my mum made the dresses. What added to the romance was my discovery of a massive head lice infestation in Grace's hair 2 hours before the ceremony began. A fun filled 70 minutes was spent with me acting like a mother chimpanzee, picking nits and lice out of her hair whilst Tim wrestled the boys through the shower, into good clothes, got his suit on etc. Phoned my mum to let her know that we were going to be a little late and learned that the other flower girl, Erin, also had head lice. We then began to wonder if it had something to do with the dresses she made (a well known pattern from the Itchy and Scratchy range).





• The music - know, during a wedding ceremony, most people play some kind of romantic schmaltz that makes you want to go "bleargh". Not Georgie and Riccardo. There was some nice stuff for the entrance of the bride (pretty much mandatory) and then the music was turned off. We were left with the sound of the sea, the celebrant reading the ceremony and faintly, in the distance, the beat of doof doof music. This got louder and louder until finally, around the head, came a large catamaran, filled with partying, fashionable people having a lovely party. They added to the general ambiance of the wedding by playing the romantic classic "Who wears short shorts? You wear short shorts!!", followed up with the timeless wedding ballads "The whistle song" and "Show us your pants".
  
• The reception venue - this was at a cafe called Ripples, which was right on the Harbour and next to Luna Park. The staff were great, took good care of the kids and made sure that everyone had a great time. My youngest, William, was having a lovely time running around on the grassy area outside the cafe, exploring in the gardens and enjoying all of the attention being lavished on him by Riccardo's mum, who thought he was a lovely "bambini". The night wore on and lots of lovely wine and food was consumed (especially wine, see picture below)Georgie and I were having a little chat when William came rushing up to us with his hands behind his back, announcing he had a present for her. She put her hands out and he presented her with a beautiful, black, shiny cockroach. And I'm not talking about one of those little ones you see scuttling around - this was one of those big, shiny, "ha ha, I laugh at you and your can of mortein" types. It was also still very much alive and was wriggling around a fair bit. The manager of the cafe appeared faster than greased lightning with a napkin and had a hard time persuading Will that he should give up the cockroach quietly and that Georgie really didn't want it as a present. I think he felt he'd got a away with not too many people noticing until the band that was playing, who had seen the whole thing, struck up with a rousing rendition of "La Cocoracha". Can I point out that the roach came from the garden, not anywhere in or near the cafe. It just looked funny when the manager thought that William was going to dump it on the lovey white wedding cake. But you can't say that it was a present with not a lot of thought behind it.

So, anyway, that's he condensed highlights. Georgie and Riccardo, congratulations and well done! We all had a great time and it looked like you did to - or as my dad would say, we got a result. And you should definitely claim one of those songs from the catamaran crowd as "your song". My vote is for short shorts, but it's up to you.

A new crusade

I have decided that it is time for a new crusade. Not like the old ones where knights charged across Europe to smite enemies and find the Holy Grail. This is one of the new age - and the object of my ire is (dramatic pause) HIPSTERS. Yes, that's right folks, I am officially done with this trouser style. I rank them below some of the worst fashion faux pas of the modern age - including bubble skirts, bubble gum jeans, tube skirts and puffy pirate shirts (what can I say, I was a child of the eighties). In the last 3 years I have seen more butt cleavage than any person should have to see in their lifetime and I am DONE. Last night at the rugby union at a particularly exciting moment, most people in the crowd leapt to their feet. The girl in front of us was one of them and holy jesus, I could have emptied all of the spare change from my purse, plus a packet of butter menthols and thrown in a yo yo in the space that"opened up" before me when her pants headed south. Am officially proud to say I have turned into my nanna and had to fight every urge in my body to lean forward, pull up her duds and tell her that it was not a good look befitting a young lady. Perk! Hipsters, in all shape and forms, should be banned if there is even a remote chance that people around you are going to get a good look at your g-bangers in a public place. If you are not allowed to wear thongs, tracksuit pants or flannel shirts into a bar, why is it suddenly ok for most of your arse to be out on display every time you lift your arms above chest level or sit down??? Also, don't tell me that it is comfortable - the number of times I have watched girls walking along and having to hitch at their duds every five steps has happened so often now that I think it is normal. I was wondering out loud the other day to my husband if anyone had yet done a study into the increase of skin cancer of the butt crack as not too many people seem to be remembering to "slip, slop, slap" the old sunscreen down there. I reckon now if the time to get into specialising in treating it - in 10 years it could be big business.
Anyway, I have made my declaration, so now I will take my first step by lying on my lounge and drinking wine. The best possible attack. Also, as a quick postscript, if the blokes out there could also give the trousers a hitch so I don't have to check if mum ironed your boxer shorts, that would be just grand. Thanks.

The questions people just don't ask - until now

Whilst on the quest to lose weight, get fit, save the world from hunger and fathoming why they make hipsters aka "low rise" jeans in sizes above 10, there are times when I have to answer various questions. Mot of them I pose to myself, you know, along the lines of "why is there air?", "why does rain fall down and not up?" and "Why does that guy think that me being able to see his jeans hanging around his crotch and his Pepe le Pew boxer shorts is a turn on?", sometimes I have to answer questions that people actually pose to me. I got some absolute rippers a few weeks ago and thought I'd put them (and my replies up here) so no one else as to answer them. Now, I realise that when you have a friend that is obese, you want o help them and make sure that they are ok. I also realise that there are questions that you may want to ask but know you never should. Now, thanks to a person who I work with that has no idea about social conventions, people's feelings or has not read 'topics NOT to bring up around the tea table" here are some answers that brings new meaning to "chewing the fat".
Q. Do you enjoy being fat?
A. Love it!!!!!!! Wouldn't have it any other way!!!!! There is no greater joy in the world than having your thighs rub together so much that they need two litres of sorbolene on them to ensure that they do not spontaneously combust when you walk. This gets the rating of "Question most likely to get you killed because it is sooooooo stupid". No one likes being fat and anyone who says they do is either delusional or have a very different relationship with their body. This is not fat bashing by the way. It's just the plain truth - carrying extra weight around is about as much fun as having a Brazilian wax done by local butcher's apprentice after he's had a night out on the tiles. You cannot get clothes to fit, you start to dislike or even hate your body because it is socially unacceptable to be fat and it starts to totally dominate your life. None of these are on my "woo hoo, sign me up for double helping of THAT" list.
Q. Why don't fat people just lose weight? It's not that hard.
A. Oh my god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thanks for pointing that out!!! My life is changed forever you STUPID NOB!!!!!!!!! The main reason why it is so farking hard to lose weight is that most of the changes you have to make are mental, not physical. The same way changing from being a STUPID NOB to PERSON WHO THINKS BEFORE OPENING MOUTH is so hard - for every unit of physical effort you put in, about 10 units of mental energy have to be used as well. Very hard and let's face it, you to end to have a not so great opinion of yourself when you've stacked on the kilos.
Q. Does being fat ever depress you?
A. Can't you tell I am the most well adjusted, happy, balanced and together person on the planet? All of the little birdies are singing in my garden of happiness and my ocean of calm is a deep, calming blue. Is the sarcasm coming through at all? There are day when the fact that you are fat does not bother you and there are others when it sucks balls. This will, on the odd occasion, get you down.

Hope this has helped answer those questions you may have always wondered about. If you ever want to spark an interesting tea room conversation at work, bring it up with Helga (the lady who looks like she used to do shot put for East Germany) one day over coffee. Only after you have established she can't hurt you. Good luck.

One eyed snakes and showbags

Those of you that are not living under a rock somewhere will be familiar with the dread that fills you when the local carnival/show rolls into town. The big one here is called "The Royal Canberra Show" and every parent within a 200km radius of Canberra is filled with dread when the ads start appearing on TV. You know when it starts because the relative calm of your Saturday morning is suddenly shattered by small children rushing in to interrupt your first cup of coffee to breathlessly announce in REALLY LOUD VOICES that the miracle of consumerism is about to arrive - SHOW BAGS!!!!!!!!!! Yes, those wonderful plastic bags filled with the crap the makers of "Dora the Explorer", "My Little Pony" and the batman franchise have not been able to shift for the last 5 Christmases have finally been packed into plastic carry bags that can then be flogged for vastly inflated prices at "The Show"!!!! Yaya!!!!!!! This year my sister was brave enough to volunteer to take our eldest daughter all by herself so Grace could get a break from all of the testosterone currently swarming through our house (my sister in law is living with us with her two boys, but that's a whole other post). Grace toddled off with my sister (who, I should point out, DOES NOT have children) to enjoy the delights of the show. The highlight of the night was probably when Grace purchased her "Snakes alive" showbag (lollies) and announced in a nice loud voice "Auntie Kate, guess what? There's a one eyed snake in my show bag!!!!". Kate nearly spat out the coffee she was drinking and (once she established that it was a toy snake missing an eye and not that Grace had inadvertently bought the 18+ "Norks ahoy" showbag) commented that Grace might want to keep that fact to herself, as it might cause a riot in the showbag pavilion if people thought one eyed snakes were being given away in showbags. You might think this was the best quote from the whole weekend, but I have to say my husband manage to top it when we took the boys along on the Sunday. Cameron got some kind of toy on a leash, which he proceeded to drag around the show, tripping up people for a good two hours. Eventually Tim just snapped after Cam tripped over it for the 50th time and shouted "Cameron, for god's sake, get that thing out from between your legs and put it over your shoulder!!!!!". Had to lean against nearby camel ride ticket sales booth whilst I laughed my arse off. I love the show.

Back from the black

Hi all. I know, you've been pining, wondering where on earth I was, filing missing persons reports etc. Well, rather a lot has been going on since January, not the least being I have been really struggling with a depression "episode" (makes it sound like a re-run of Neighbours) which has taken some time to kick. That kind of sucked and has required a fair bit of down time and an increase in medication to help pull me away from the company of "the black dog". Am feeling heaps better and am looking forward to rejoining the land of the normal people. Anyway, I have written a few posts but never got around to actually posting them, so they'll go up over the next few days.

That's a nice hat

In my effort to show that I am not just a participant in resoultion day , I have continued in my training at the gym and walking up Mt Ainslie 3 times a week. Today was one of those days, however, where I think it was lucky I made it out of the changeroom. I am running on a severe lack of sleep at the moment, so by the middle of the day I am finding myself a bit tired and concentration is not what it could be. After attending a fun session on "what is metadata and why is it so fab" (I don't think that was the official title of the course, but it sums it up pretty well), I toddled downstairs to get changed. My wonderful husband, Tim, always makes sure I have a cap of some kind packed in my gym bag so I don't get my nose sunburned - it is black and has a breast cancer ribbon on the front of it. Today I got changed and was about to head out the door when I realised I didn't ave my cap. I unzipped my bag, grabbed the black, round object inside and whacked it on my head. Just then one of the other women at work came in the door and stopped dead, giving me a really weird look. When I glanced in the mirror, I realised I had placed my carefully folded black BRA on my head. Oh god. There is just NO recovery from a situation like this, so I just kept on trucking out through the door and removed it on the way (bra, not the door). Adds new meaning to having boobies on the brain. Sigh. Surely Cathy Freeman never had to deal with this sort of crap.

Getting rid of that spare tyre

My personal trainer (sorry, I know it’s a wank to talk about your personal trainer, but I do have one and she makes me work really hard) has been revealing a new and sadistic side over the last 2 months that at times have me wondering why I pay such good money to cop such amazing abuse. Not verbal, although there have been times when I am dripping sweat and about to collapse on the floor under 20kg of weights and she says something like “isn’t this fun?”, it comes bloody close. She really needs to redefine her idea of fun – I think we may have different interpretations of the word. For me, fun means lying on a beach, drinking long island iced tea and having buff, gorgeous, half naked men bring you drinks. Whole lot of fun happening there. What is NOT my idea of fun is running so fast on a treadmill you think your thighs are about to burst into flames and then doing 3 zillion bench presses. It farking hurts, is distressing for everyone in the immediate area because that type of exercise tends to stir up my gut (fluff-o-rama) and results in the whole “walk like a duck” phenomenon for 3 days afterwards.

Last week Sophie hit new heights (or lows) of “how to work out”. My long suffering training partner, Sue, and I turned up and we started off with a jog on the treadmills to warm up. I was about 2 minutes into this when I spied 2 piles of CAR TYRES in the training room. Not seeing any cars nearby, a feeling of dread crept over me that had nothing to do with the sudden realisation I had forgotten to put on any knickers under my exercise gear and I now had seams going into new and exciting places. Sophie then bounded up and said “I’ve got some great new equipment – you’ll love it!!!” Note the number of exclamation marks in there – when your lover says this to you as he (or she) bounds into the bedroom with some sexy lingerie and two glasses of champagne (no tyres in sight), you know they are probably telling the truth. When this is said to you by an uber fit trainer who kicks arse for a living and has a great effing stack of car tyres behind her, it can only mean BAAAAAD ju ju.

Sure enough, for the next 45 minutes Sue and I got to pick up tyres (one at a time, thank god), raise them above our heads, RUN (!!!!!!!!!!) for 30 meters, do 10 squats, RUN ANOTHER (!!!!!!!!!!) 30 meters and then do 10 push ups. And now I am so amazingly fit and healthy, I can do pushups on my toes (someone kill me now), not on my knees. I lost count how many squats, runs and pushups I did, but I know by the way Tim had to literally help me out of bed the next morning, it was a fair old effort. What was funny (in retrospect) was the look on the faces of the rest of people in the gym at the time. The whole “tyre training” episode took place in front of the treadmills bikes, rowing machines and stair climbers, so everyone else working out got to watch Sue and I turn colour from pink to puce to a colour that had a few of them murmuring that we may need an ambulance. To say that the whole spectacle had some of them galloping for the reception desk to cancel their PT session with Sophie would be an understatement. What topped it off was a few potential clients being shown through the place and as I jogged past the, tyre over my head and loudly letting one rip (sorry, no room for a nice way of saying it), the girl doing the tour was saying it was a “lovely gym with modern equipment, a quiet atmosphere and trainers who are there to help you achieve your goals”. Now, hands up everyone whose fitness goal is to be able to run around with a tyre over their head and fart at the same time?

I have recovered and can’t wait for tonight’s training session – I am thinking that Sue and I are likely to be confronted with cabers that we will be expected to run up and down the street with and then balance on our heads whilst we do sit ups. Yee hah!

Resolution day

Happy new year to all out in Internet land. We have made it through the silly season more or less unscathed, although my mum did go for the sympathy vote by throwing herself over the handlebars of her pushbike on December 23rd and smashing her wrist to pieces, requiring surgery and several bits of titanium to put it all back together again. She will now be international woman of mystery when going through the security screening points at airports. We met my sister's new beau, who seems very nice and I only managed to give my liver a moderate caning, so I am guessing that this sedate behaviour means I am well and truly looking down the barrel of middle age. As long as I am not required to act like a grown up most of the time, all will be well.

I managed to keep on the fitness wagon over Christmas but I have to say now that the new year has rocked around, I am noticing a phenomenon that I would like to call "resolution day". It occurs on January 2nd (once everyone is over their hangovers). In the week between Christmas and new year, I could have jogged naked around the lake in Gungahlin and no one would have noticed, as the bike paths were devoid of all signs of hum life. Probably would have been some collateral damage to the local duck population and various parts of my body which just don't bounce like they are meant to, but I am pretty sure I wouldn't have been arrested. At my local gym I could have worn a Borat style mankini and the only people suffering would have been the gym staff, as the local gym junkies were off somewhere else. Then, suddenly, January 2nd dawned and BAM!!! you could not run more than 10 paces (a challenge for me on some days anyway) without coming across another jogger/runner/bike rider/power walker or person engaged in the "I really shouldn't have eaten that extra 10kg of lobster at Christmas" purge. Now, if making New year resolutions work for you, tops. My approach to new year resolutions is to see how quickly I can break them, so I will be interested to see if the crowds thin at all over the next month or if the "resolution" holds firm.

Anyway, happy new year to all, hope santa was nice to you and I'll be back to bore you all again soon.