Ratatouille

Our household loves a bit of 'rat' as we call it. It's an excellent way to painlessly boost everyone's veggie intake, leftovers can be eaten cold or reheated for lunch and it's dead simple. What's not to love?

Like much of my cooking, the 'recipe' is quite free-range, but I"m sure you'll get the drift, catch what I'm throwing or even smell what I'm cooking!

Here goes:

Chop the following into similar sized pieces (helps them cook evenly)

• 4 mid-sized eggplants 
• About 4 zucchini
• About 4 red capsicums
• Button mushrooms (or not if you don't like mushrooms)
• 3 or 4 onions - I quite like the red Spanish ones for this but brown will do as well
• You can also throw in some rosemary sprigs and cracked black pepper (I don't use salt)

I try and keep everything touching the baking dish's base and give the pieces some space so they get well roasted, browned and a bit crispy, so spread them over two trays. If they're too crowded they can steam and be a bit soggy. 

Douse liberally with olive oil and throw in the over at 180C; fan forced if you're in a hurry. After about half an hour, give them a toss to get the other side browned. I actually don't know how long it take but allow an hour and just look at them when you think to!

The veggies all shrink a bit so once they're done you can throw them all into one dish. Add a couple of cans of chopped tomatoes and torn fresh basil or oregano leaves if you like them and they're around. I add black olives and occasionally even some capers if I'm feeling so inclined. These all give plenty of saltiness so you probably don't need to add any. (You can add feta to the cold leftovers for lunch too, which is pretty yum.)

Throw it back into the oven to get it hot again (the tomatoes cool it down) and it's ready to go!

Have it with steak, baked chicken breast, salmon - even snags, You could serve some green beans as well if you wanted - and dinner's done!

Need a laugh? Pop into the vet.

When I say 'laugh', I don't mean that slightly hysterical, nervous laugh you involuntarily emit when they tell you how much you owe them - because if you have a pet, that's axiomatic.

I seriously believe the veterinary clinic has been overlooked as a sitcom opportunity, evidenced by one of my pre-Christmas stints in the waiting room. Picture this:

A heavily decaled station wagon, with palm trees, tropical flowers, blue skies and a Paradise Pet Resort branding rolls into the car park. An extremely large man dressed in black pants and a black shirt with the resort's logo embroidered on the pocket heaves himself out of the car and lumbers in. It would have been so much funnier if he'd talked in  Little Britain-type camp voice - he didn't but you can pretend.

Good morning, he says to the girl behind the desk. I'm John from the Paradise Pet Resort.... I have a booking for Tipsy and Mr Pickles.
Ah! she replied. Yes, Tipsy is here but I haven't seen Mr Pickles this morning. Let me give his owner a call and see where he is.

She catches one of the nurses as she goes past. Could you get Tipsy ready to go to the resort, please?

She then makes the call and it's clear she has to leave a message: Hi, it's Chrissy from the vet, just wondering if Mr Pickles will be here shortly? His transfer to the resort has arrived and will be leaving in about 15 minutes. If you could give us a call that'd be great. If he doesn't make it this morning, there's another transfer on Wednesday. Thank you.

As Tipsy was brought to reception in a cage and unceremoniously slid into the back of the car, no one was laughing, everyone was very serious and business-like. You'd think they were transferring guests at The Mirage in Fiji.

Is this what they do at a cat resort??

There does seem to be an unspoken competition for who can give their cat the silliest name (and surely 'Gary' is up there) but I don't think I could have those kinds of conversations without at least a little giggle. Perhaps they're all immune.

As I was leaving, a lady came in with a small child; We're here to collect Sizzle.  Of course they were!

Bucket List

I had a first yesterday - a tick that box moment. But it hadn't actually been on my bucket list.

I don't think I have the words to describe the emotional sensation of a late Friday afternoon, sun shining after months of cold and a hectic week, an appointment to have drinks with my sisters-in-laws, picking up my bag and car keys, thinking about where I'd parked - and remembering it was in a space that became a clearway half an hour earlier.

Shit!!

I flew down the stairs, out the door and looked up the street. As expected, my car was gone.

I'd been towed.

Goddammit! I was due at drinks in 30 minutes. I didn't even know who to call.

My friend Katie popped out from the shop our office is above to give me a consoling hug.

Oh well, I said. I had been trying to work out what to do with my car tonight - should I drive to drinks? Go home and see if Geoff could drop me off? Dilemma resolved! I'd Uber.

Our gorgeous account coordinator found the number for me and I called to discover I could collect it before 9pm or today before 1pm. Too easy!

And I was less than 10 minutes late to drinks.

Less cool was the $334 I had to pay to get it out of the pound. Still, I paid $64 for less than 3 hours parking in Sydeey last Friday - so by the hour I guess it was better value than that!

Just for the record, I did ask the guy at the pound how many get towed a day. 90 on a good day, he said. (Yes, that is a hair over $30k). What's a bad day, I asked. 60. I laughed! Good and bad for who?!! And yes, the city is the main location cars are towed from followed by.... Malvern!

I am seriously thinking I should give up this car caper and just ride a bike. Although I'm pretty crap at that and scared of the traffic :(

Apple Of My Eye

It's funny, isn't it? How as parents, we believe our children are so amazing that we imbue them with all kinds of talents they don't actually have? But no - I speak not of my own children, but my father, my siblings and me.

Let me give you an example:
One of my brothers is a pilot for a Middle Eastern airline that entitles my parents to some lovely, up-the-front deals. They were due to travel on one of the first planes offering in-flight shower facilities. Here's how that conversation went:

Dad             So do you get an allocated time during the flight to have your shower?
Brother       I don't know Dad, I've never been on it.
Dad            Is there a time limit for how long you can be in there?
Brother       I don't know Dad, I've never been on it.
Dad            Do they give you shampoo and soap?
Brother      I don't know Dad, I've never been on it.

I believe it was about then that Dad did in fact believe that my brother wasn't just holding out. He actually didn't know. But it took quite a few goes before he could come to terms with the fact that there was something - and something to do with planes no less! - that his son did not know.

Similarly, whilst visiting said brother a few years back, we took a side trip with Mum and Dad to Jordan. I had arranged a guide for the duration, starting at the airport. Having collected our bags, here's how that conversation panned out:

Dad        Righto MWW! Which way do we go?
Me         I don't know Dad, I've never been here
Dad       So what does this bloke meeting us look like?
Me        I don't know Dad, I've never seen him.....

Anyway, it is very sweet that Dad believes my brothers and I are the Google of his eye.

Why am I working?

Okay – thanks for the feed back on the poll  – but no, I won’t be quitting!

Which brings me to why I work. 

There are several possibilities here, including:

•              Like most women, I am a bit of a control freak. And at work, when I ask someone to do something, there’s a very good chance it’ll happen. At home, I give it 50:50.
•             I have opinions and ideas – on pretty much everything – and those opinions need to be heard. My ideas are also my babies. My family does not appreciate my intellect. (In fact, they call me a nerd.)
•            I like to take amazing holidays with my children and eat at lovely restaurants when I go out with my friends.

Yes, there are plenty of days when I think lunch and tennis would be a great way to spend the day. But the reality is I would be quickly bored. I need only think back to my (shamefully short) maternity leave stints and the banal chat of my gorgeous friends. I love them dearly, but frankly don’t give a fuck about which builder they used on their beach house extension, little Johnny’s brilliant progress in violin and what’s fabulous at the Country Road sale. Ahhhhhhh!! Get me back in a boardroom!

All Give.....

As you may recall at Christmas, I had the joy of giving to The City of Melbourne by the means of a parking fine they issued me at 6.58pm in a zone that was free from 7pm.

And I just keep giving!!

Tuesday last week was a crap day. Not special crap, just ordinary crap - late for meetings, forgotten papers for said meeting, that kind of annoying stuff. And when I got home I had one of 'those' envelopes in the mail. It didn't look pretty. And my instincts were right....

This time my generosity has been involuntarily directed to Victoria Police......

.... to the tune of $352!! Eeeek. That is a lot of money for 1.6 seconds. If it can keep that up, that camera is earning $792,000 an hour.

I confess this is not my first red light offence. Remember that bit at the start about running late for a meeting? Story of my life really..... that and driving a large black van with sliding doors.

And you've gotta love their lexicon - look in that top right corner - your OBLIGATION NUMBER!!!! They clearly have a sense of humour. Yes, I am 'much obliged' - thank you very much.

More frightening than the smack of $352 was the 3 demerit points. I think I just got some back.... I hope I had three to give. I haven't heard. Anyone know what happens if you overdraw that account??

The Interview

I had someone come in for an interview today. Well, more of a chat really as it wasn’t for a specific position. But I like to know what’s out there for when we are hiring. Our agency is on a roll so there’s no shortage of young hopefuls wanting to sign up. I’ve seen a few potential candidates recently so I am getting the lay of the land. Today, however, was a barren patch.

It started well, full of confidence and enthusiasm, but headed south after the small talk when we got down to business. Seriously, it was akin to me turning up at Freehills asking to be a lawyer because I love C.S.I. – and therefore, with that degree of passion and commitment, surely you’d want to take me on. No?

I did try and probe, give opportunities for her to prove me wrong, but alas, the more she talked, the worse it got. I had glanced at her CV but asked what packed goods experience she had. She named a big client – in fact, one I’d been looking after for the past 4 years. I’d never seen her before today. Clearly not a prominent role.

Okay, try again. Ever had to resolve a tricky client issue?

‘You mean like a deadline that they refuse to shift and you have to stay til midnight to get it done?’

‘Ah…no. No, not that kind of ‘tricky’ issue.’

She remained bold enough to say that if we were prepared to take her on and 'hold her hand for a few months', she could be really good (frankly, we need recruits to hit the deck running – nay, sprinting!)

Okay, I do hope it wasn’t just my MBA coming to the fore,  (I was feeling a little officious by that point), but I decided the best thing was to tell her like it is. I did pre-empt it by saying she’d probably never see me again (that sounds really bad now I type it!!!) but I hoped it was helpful. She should try some other ways in to a big agency, perhaps starting somewhere smaller or in related discipline like events or promotions – just to get some experience in some basics. I even committed to put her touch with a colleague who might be able to give her some more direction (in case I hadn’t given her enough!)

I’m not sure my sage advice was appreciated. It certainly knocked the wind from her sails – which wasn’t my intention - more of a reality-check.  But maybe next time it’d be easier for everyone if I just shut the fuck up because I’m sure I ruined her day and I’ve clearly been feeling pangs of guilt.

I’m ditching the polls – so you’re going to have to write ‘comments’ on what you think I should have done….

Take It Elsewhere

I recently posted about a fight on the street that I witnessed through the window from my desk. The one where I was forced to stride out and use my Angry Mother Voice. Well, there's more going on in the street that I need to share.

I first noticed this routine over six months ago and have seen it repeated on several occasions. Here's what happens:

• A tradie, probably in his late 30s, pulls up in front of our next door neighbour's house 
• He gets out and goes to the cafe on the corner and buys two coffees and couple of muffins (well, I assume they're muffins. The cafe does do an excellent raspberry and white chocolate muffin. But whatever he buys is in a brown paper bag - so I don't really know. It could be the almond croissants - they're also very good.)
• He goes back to his truck and starts reading the paper
• A woman - also in her 30s - parks her car outside my neighbour's house over the road
• She gets out, crosses the road and gets in the truck

Now call me suspicious but I don't think it's his sister.

If it were, why would they not just meet in the cafe?

And why is she almost sitting on his lap? In fact, I think sometimes she is. Sometimes they even drive off together and return so she can get back in her car and drive off.

I can only assume they're not from around here which is why they've elected to conduct their sordid little affair in our street. In fact, let's not even call it an affair - it sounds far too romantic - it's cheating. And if they are both free and single, do they really need to 'hook up' (as the kids of today say) during business hours??

And they're not easily deterred - you know me - I've hardly been subtle in my 'noticing' of their activity. They're resilient, I'll give them that. So far I have:

• Twice stood at the boot of my car - right in front of his bonnet - and glared at them as her head seemed to appear from his lap (dear god...) as I've unpacked groceries 
• Stood on our front porch and pointed them out to the gardener 
• Stood on the nature strip and pointed them out to Mandy, my business partner as we packed the car for the races last year
• Stood at the front gate and pointed them out to Geoff and any passing neighbour
• Pointed them out to Eleanor and she can give a filthy look - trust me - I've been on the receiving end on many an occasion and I was scared

So if it's you, please, take it somewhere else. Or I will take a photo and share it on this blog, Facebook Instagram, Pintrest, Google+ and Twitter.

I'm living with reptile!

Before I get started on this cracking tale of incompetence, let me give a brief explanation of my patchy posting. I took on a fairly senior full-time job that was meant to be 'filling in' for two or three months. I thought this would be fine, as although I still had quite a few other commitments with other organisations, I could juggle - for a while!

As it transpired, said job has turned out to be quite a lot more than keeping the seat warm, and along with the other roles, it hasn't really allowed the brain-space to blog regularly and for that, I am sorry.

If I have any readers left - at all - hello!! And a special shout out to Ruth for the nudge on FB.

Back to the story....

So - COVID vaccinations. Where do you stand? I am pro-vax, but for some reason (probably the stats) my partner was very insistent - in fact, adamant - that he wanted Pfizer. Both being over fifty (yes, please act surprised!) we weren't eligible. Other than the remote chance of clotting (I do know you've got more chance of winning division one with the Powerball in the lottery, and that's not a strong argument), it was more around the level of protection. 

He said he was going to wait. I said I'd give it a few weeks and if I couldn't find the Pfizer, I'd be stepping up for the AZ. I rang a few places with no luck. And, as mentioned, I've been a tad busy...

And then, lo and behold, the government changed the rules to allow Pfizer for under 60s! I certainly didn't see that coming. To Geoff's credit, he got straight onto it, called some hotline and got us a booking - apparently on a cancellation. It was for Wednesday last week at precisely 8.41am. 

We got there a bit before 8am and while we waited, Geoff took a screengrab of the booking with the booking number. When we filed in, it was like an airport procedure! Hand sanitiser and mask instead of security, then driver's licence and Medicare card instead of passport control. We separated for this last bit and I confessed to the check-in person that I didn't have the booking number. The lady said fine, she could find my name. Hmmm, she said, they've spelt it wrong. Quite wrong as it turned out and my email was also incorrect.

Geoff seemed to be taking much longer.

After the jab, we met in the 'wait 15 minutes' bay and I asked why he'd been so long. He said he'd nearly been turned away as they couldn't find him in the system. Luckily he had his booking number where they discovered the person making the booking, instead of Geoff Clifford, had recorded his name as Geoff Lizard!! 

Needless to say, his email was also incorrect. I was reminded of the Starbuck's video, where employees deliberately spell your name wrong - just because they can! It's pretty funny... enjoy!

Welcome to Adelaide

The train arrived in Adelaide at 7am, ahead of schedule so the Fremantle fans travelling up the back could catch their connecting buses and trains to Melbourne for the AFL Grand Final. I can only imagine that it was a journey filled with unprecedented excitement and anticipation surpassed only by the degree disappointment and heartache on the excruciatingly long journey home.

Kids, I said, I'll go get the hire car. I grabbed a cab and headed in to town. Three minutes later I was there but the office didn't open until 8am. I sat on the concrete stairs and waited while Geoff and the kids sat at the station and waited. Finally I got the car, plugged the station into my phone GPS and was off. Now I love GPS - when it's on the money, but I could see from the map it wasn't quite right. After an 8 kilometre lap of Adelaide, taking in the same sights I saw first time round, I finally pulled over and asked a cab driver. I'd missed the road into the station by about 10 metres - ahhhhh!!! So 2 hours after setting off, we were finally reunited. First stop, the zoo.

Adelaide has a great zoo and the only pandas in Australia that they pay a million bucks a year for the privilege, so they'd want to be bloody cute!!! And they were.

On arrival, we were met by a zoo rep who was selling animal encounters. It as $30 each to get up close to the giant tortoises - so $120 for all of us. Outrageous - but I guess they need to pay for those pandas. We passed. But when we got around to the tortoises, one was so close to the fence that I got the shot we would have paid $120 for and the girls (and all the other people there) could just reach over and give him (or her?) a little scratch. I think they need to rethink that deal. Or train the tortoise not give away what they can get people to pay for!!

It's a really lovely zoo, beautiful gardens, happy looking residents so if you're there, it's worth a visit, even though it probably takes a good three minutes to get there from the centre of town (yes, three minutes).

Mum and Dad had come to Adelaide and met us at the zoo. Geoff popped back to put more money in the meter but too late - we got a parking fine. But only $45 which is cheap compared to Melbourne.

The next morning, Geoff trotted out of our hotel early to top up the parking metre - he was 20 minutes late and yes, another $45 parking fine. Welcome to Adelaide!

It was the day of the AFL grand final so we headed down to Glenelg on the tram (such a novelty when you're from Melbourne - not!). We took a family selfie on the pier and then Mum suggested we find the Oyster Bar. Good plan, Mum. It wasn't quite lunch time but hey, we were on holiday!

Then back to the folks' fancy hotel to drink red wine and order a cheese platter and watch the footy. I'm not really into footy but I really did feel for all those Fremantle fans who'd been in the less luxurious Red Class of the train and then an eight hour bus ride - all at great expense to witness THAT.

Anyway....there was a baby Spiegel tent in the park over from said fancy hotel that had free 15 minute shows. We queued up for the first and it was so good we rushed around twice more and saw three before dinner. Adelaide does arts so well! So a quick dinner in the closest pub and another great day in Adelaide was over.

Daphne, a performer in Adelaide pouring a wine while hoola hooping.

1970s Advertising

Geoff bought Palmolive Gold soap at the supermarket. (He should not be allowed to enter supermarkets unsupervised. I think he really believes Wagon Wheels are in one of the major food groups required for essential daily nutrition.) And it sparked my memory for some highly questionable advertising in the 1970s. If you're old enough do you remember the soap's jingle with people sniffing arm pits?

Don't wait to be told, you need Palmolive Gold!

Promoted to imply it had some kind of BO mitigating properties, in an era where nylon and polyester were fabric du jour, I don't think an overly perfumed soap was really going to cut it. Unless you were showing half hourly. Even a cloud of the now familiar Lynx would be hard pressed to mask that special odour. Perhaps anti-perspirant may have been a better idea.

And then that got me thinking about Scorched Peanut bar, the hard bar. I had a look on YouTube and I found it!!! I remember this when I was a kid. We thought it was hilarious. (Actually, I still do...)

And what about Give you man's meat a treat, spread the Leggo's!

I didn't locate that gem, but I did find this from the Gruen Transfer website.
Apparently there was an ad for Leggos pasta sauces back in the 70s, where the wife is in the kitchen and she says:
"When your man's come home from a rough day at work, open up your 'Leggos' and give his meat a treat!"
It was only shown a few times before the ad was pulled.
Is this an urban myth, or can you show it on the next show? :D


It wasn't an urban myth. I saw it with my own eyes. Seriously, the 1970s was not a time renowned for its political correctness.

And finally Salvital. I can't locate that one either, but don't worry, I've wasted some precious memory on that jingle too:
Little housewife, has such a hard life,
Worn out before her man gets hooooo-o-ome
So they gave her, a glass of Salvital,
Now he's afraid to come home alone (as wife grabs husband by the tie and drags him into the house to presumably have her way with him.)

I've worked in big advertising agencies for 25 years until Mandy and I started our own business nearly a year ago. The late 80s when I started were a far cry from the far more austere 90s and rapidly changing dynamics of the new millenium. But I really think the 70s was a whole different paradigm (see, proof that I work in advertising, I use ridiculous words like 'paradigm'). Funny in retrospect yes, but I'm sure the women of the era working at those agencies didn't find it nearly so fun.

And by the way, Palmolive Gold still smells dreadful.

Do you remember these ads? Any other pearls I've missed?

Human Nature

Friday night found me at a Human Nature concert. ‘Why’ is what I’m hope you’re asking  yourself if you have any idea of the type of person I am! Well, my oldest son has disability and his friend from the special school was going, so naturally he wanted to go too. His mum, Tara, tells me he loves boy bands so he can sing along. Fair enough. To date, my son has loved bands like Cold Play, Green Day and, for his Make A Wish wish, even met The Killers. I was afraid his disability, which is progress, had now spread to his taste in music.

So, back to the concert…I had no idea elevator music could draw such a crowd! My enthusiasm was, perhaps, marred by the four hours sleep I’d had the night before due the client/agency Christmas party, a hectic day at work including a client breakfast and a lunch, plus the fact I was having 19 for Christmas dinner the next night and had so far, done absolutely nothing about it.

Thankfully there was time before the show started to skull a glass of champagne – purely for medicinal purposes. We ran into another girl from my son’s class who was there with her parents and sitting next to us in the wheelchair access bays. In fact, I’d have to say there were a lot of people there with disability and the rest were even more middle aged that me – so on the upside, I felt young! And at least all they were all enjoying it.

I’d joked during the day with my colleagues, singing ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ couple with some slick 80s style aerobics moves and I was not disappointed – that’s exactly how they opened the show. Followed closely by some Barry Manilow (including the classic ‘Oh Mandy’) by which stage I sent a text to Tara, a few seat away, saying ‘Kill me now…”. (For those Barry fans, I just Googled to see how to spell his name, to discover he’s touring Australia in April!! Get in quick. What a shame we’ll be in Africa….). They decreed nearly every song ‘special to us’ and everyone they worked with in Vagas as ‘legend’.

I should have enjoyed in more, I knew all the words, but really, I felt like I was trapped on a cheap cruise ship in the South Pacific were at least the cabaret is included in the price, and hey, you’ve got nothing else to do in the middle of the ocean!

At least it wasn’t a late night. Even the boys were keen to get going before the inevitable encore. On the way out, I asked my son what he’d give the show – out of 10. He hesitated. ‘Five’, was the final verdict.
‘And what would you give the Green Day concert?’
‘Ten.’ Phew - I was so relieved!

With friends like that....

I caught up with an old friend (in both senses of the word) for lunch a couple of weeks ago.

We worked together about 15 years ago and still share views on who and what is 'good' and 'bad' in the advertising industry. This always makes for a fun lunch as we revel in the freudenschade of the demise of those we feel deserve it and congratulate ourselves on our judgement when the 'good guys' do well.

Thank god no-one else is there to witness our appalling and blatant judgement!!

We also discuss world issues, politics and, at this particular lunch, the wisdom of investing in renewable energy. This led to the topic of nuclear fusion versus fission.

I sat there patiently while my friend started explaining the difference. Good grief!

Seriously M, I interrupted.
I know the difference. You know, the problem is, you just don't give me ENOUGH credit for being smart.

He looked at me, genuinely taken aback and perplexed and said, slowly (perhaps so he was sure I'd be clear) I don't give you ANY credit.

We're still friends. In fact, I think it's part of his charm!!

Milestones

There are key milestones in a child’s life that bring joy to our hearts. The first smile, the first few steps, the first words and of course, the first time they say ‘I love you Mummy’ with such conviction it makes you want to weep.

But there are other milestones, perhaps less celebrated, but never the less equally significant.

Like when they innocently ask, ‘Mum, what a c&*t?’

There have been conversations about this milestone as any mother who’s experienced it can describe the exact circumstances, so traumatised are they by the question. It’s akin to where were you when you heard about 9/11 or when Princess Diana died.

So I was driving. My son was sitting in the front seat, two of his sisters in the back with one of their friends (I really hoped the friend wasn’t going to repeat any of this when she got home, but as the youngest of five, I figured we were fairly safe) when he dropped the big ‘c’ question.

Tempted as I was to say, “Sweetie, can we run by the office? I’ll flip through my Teledex and give you a couple of examples…” I refrained and just explain the technical definition. I then thought it best to give some context. It may not be his finest moment if in Family Life (ie sex ed), he uses the c-word to describe a vagina. Context given, I imparted the sage advise that he not use the word because as an 8 year old, if it’s within ear shot of any adult, that’s a game he won’t win.

Another memorable milestone is when they tell you they hate you, with such conviction it makes you want to weep.

The first time is a real slap in the face, but really, as they become more tweeny, teeny and precocious, and gets used with increasing regularity, it does loose a lot of impact. They really should have saved that one up for a special occasion. It’s now reached the point when even the four year old, following the lead of her older sibling, will yell ‘I hate you Mummy!’ Once it would have cut me to the core, but now, my response is generally, ‘That may well be, but you still have to pick up your stuff.’

The Wedding

Sorry, but it had to be done! And yes, it’s kind of old news now but there’s still a comment or two I feel I need to make.

I went up the road with one of my girls to the netball coach’s house to watch it, sip champagne and wear a tiara. I think the one thing I couldn’t get over was Princess Beatrice’s hat! Seriously, it looked like some sort of mangled ampersand. There’s been loads of Facebook chat about it and look at these pics that dropped into my inbox on Thursday:

A cat in a hat??

A Royal Flush??

Enough to give anyone nightmares......

I actually though Eugenie was texting at one point - and who could blame her? It did drag on a bit....

As a Harry Potter fan, this is my personal favourite.

One of the mums at our gathering commented that Elton John looked like he was wearing a corset. I pointed out he has just had a baby.

Another girlfriend in London pointed out these T-shirts that are apparently available everywhere – cute! Reminded me that when Melbourne won the Formula One from Adelaide about 10 years ago, they were selling T-shirts on the streets of the losing city that screamed 'Die Victorian Scum!' Nice.

So, give me your spin on the wedding and take the poll below:

Georgie, Georgie, Georgie!!!

Yes, I’ve been AWOL again. Things have not gone to plan, so the hilarity of the Vietnamese overnight trains will have to wait (it is quite funny I promise.)

In the meanwhile, I’ve had another shocking week.

When our gorgeous George got out of ICU I thought we were on the road to recovery. It wasn’t to be. He went back to school and last week we narrowly avoided a call to the ambulance as his oxygen levels dropped. Not that I’m adverse to the ambulance per se, but it does mean an inevitable ride and likely admission to hospital. We weren’t so lucky this week.

I got the call from school and drove over. I remembered to hang on to my car keys this time, the memory of being in this same situation with our Jazzy-angel is still burning with embarrassment. On that occasion, she was in danger of having a significant seizure on top of low oxygen, so the MICA (Mobile Intensive Care Ambulance) attendant was also requested. These are the guys who are called by the ambulance crew to give them a hand in more fragile situations. Our man arrives, is briefed, jumps on board and we’re ready to go. The plan is that I’ll follow as I need to bring my car and her wheelchair for the minute we’re allowed to leave – but I can’t find my fucking car keys!!!!

George isn’t looking great. His oxygen is not being sustained without support and his temperature is hotter than a February heat wave. We agree to call the ambulance.

I head off as they're loading George, calling a friend on the way to collect the little one from school, and arrive at the emergency room. An ambulance arrives. “Excuse me, I think my son’s in there,” I say, pointing. “Come through”, the kind woman says. He’s not in it.

The next ambulance arrives. He’s not in that either. Two more arrive and I start to think they’ve gone to the wrong hospital. Finally, he arrives. “I’m so sorry,” the driver tells me as I ask which way they came, “I’m missed the turn off – I’ve never done that before!” She’s clearly horrified. It doesn’t matter – he’s here!

We transfer him from the gurney and unbelievably, he’s even hotter. To touch it feels like he's about to self combust. We get into the resuscitation area and within a short amount of time he’s improved dramatically.  Never the less, a chest infection is diagnosed and he’s admitted for IV anti-biotics and physio. "A couple of days?" I ask hopefully. “Probably a bit longer," says the doctor, managing my expectations.

He’s been sleeping so badly at home and my other half is away – on a surfing trip no less! – that I freely admit, here and now that a small part of me was a little bit relieved. I was now going to get to lie down myself. My brother had come down from Dubai for a few days and was an enormous help but had left a few days prior. So many people in fact, offered their help – it’s truly overwhelming. But at 4am on a sleeplessness night, there’s really no one you’re going to call, regardless of your desperation.

It’s now been days and he’s still in. He’s had a multitude of tests and is quite well, but aspiration has been identified as the key culprit (that’s swallowing food into your lungs – which can cause not only choking, but infection.) We’re just sorting through that now. My other half arrived back at 1.30am and is at the hospital now. So hopefully this week, things will finally start to get back to normal. I bloody well hope so!

Only 65 years to go!

Back in one of the many 2020 lockdowns, (they're all a blur - I can't recall which) I had a bit of time on my hands so thought it was an ideal time to start learning a language.

It was one of those regular whims you have but with little intent to ever follow through - but faced with weeks trapped at home, it seemed like a case of now or never. Because I'd toyed with the idea for years, I'd already thought Spanish would be the best choice. Spoken by many countries and latin-based, a quick Google confirmed that it was (allegedly) the easiest language to learn for English speakers.

I've always assumed I didn't have a brain for language - and frankly, I'm yet to dispel that hypothesis! At school, I  struggled through a couple of terms of Indonesian and was tortured with French for a couple more. 

Having settled on Spanish, I signed up to the free version of Duolingo and got started. 

It's quite fun, a bit like a game. You only need to do a minimum of about 15 minutes a day - but here's the catch; to keep your 'streak' you need to do it everyday. Like Christmas, your birthday, holidays - every day. I suspect it's my personality type but I now have an unbroken 677-day streak. Tragically, it did break on an interstate trip when I had patchy internet and it didn't capture my full effort, but thorough research revealed that if I contacted Duo via Twitter and pitched my case they might restore it. And they did. Phew!!

So obsessed am I, that I recruited a Spanish-speaking friend to cover for me while I was hiking on an island in Tasmania. 

How's it going, I hear you ask? Here's the summary they sent me for 2021:

Now you may be familiar with the theory that it takes 10,000 hours to become truly proficient at pretty much anything. So let's do the maths:

• 9006 minutes is 150 hours a year.
• 10,000 hours divided by 150 is 66.66 years - let's call it 67. 
• I'm two years in - so a mere 65 to go....

And can I string a sentence together on demand? No I cannot.

Honestly, there are days I think I should give up but I feel too invested so I'm going to have to keep going.

Adios!!

The Trip - Part IX

You may recall, a long while back, we got to The Trip Part VIII, (our Christmas trip across Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam and Malaysia). We were just boarding an overnight train to Hue.....

The Train was actually better that the last time we'd done one of these trips. It was squeezy and there was a cart with a plastic cooler serving hot soup with an assortment of stuff to add to the broth that we didn’t recognise, but it did brag a sit-down toilet and a couple of basins with running water – even if they were in the corridor.

Here’s how the journey was looking…..

After a restless night, we arrived in Hue, the old capital of Vietnam, at about 7am. We had another train to catch that night to Nah Trang so organised to store our luggage at the station, then went out and did exactly what the travel agent in Hanoi had told me not to: we got a guide and car right there. The station isn’t in town, so his suggestion to go to a hotel or travel agent seemed a bit hard. That and the fact that the guy who approached us was very convincing. He flashed me a map, pointed to some places, said of course they could take us somewhere for breakfast, showed us an immaculately clean and new seven-seater car – plenty of room for the wheelchair – all for US$40 for the day. Done!

It was only then that we realised this good looking young man with the perfect English was not actually coming with us. He introduced us to our guide and driver, Mr Foo, and assured us he spoke English. As it transpired, his English was about as extensive as my Vietnamese.

First stop… somewhere. It looked significant. Mr Foo said ‘Good,’ then pointed to his watch to indicate he’d pick us up in 2 hours. There were bus-loads of tourists so we knew we were on the beaten track – but after purchasing tickets, we discovered there were no signs in English – any where. It was old and crumbly and very impressive – whatever it was! (I had left the Vietnam guidebook in Australia by mistake – right now it seemed like a very big mistake. When we got back to Australia I discovered it was the Compound of the Emperor, built only 140 years ago….)

The old place - of some unknown significance.....

We then went to the Citadel – the site I was keen to see while we were here. It’s huge and impressive – and the kids (and Geoff) lost interest pretty quickly so we took the opportunity to frock the girls up for about $2 each, which was the price if you promised to take your own photos. George declined.

The girls as ancient Vietnamese royalty

To finish the Citadel, we thought we’d take a cyclio around the perimeter. Geoff has a personal objection to being peddled around by another human – fair enough – so the kids and I went. We negotiated a price – well above what Mr Foo had suggested – but I figured it’s only fair we pay the ‘don’t speak the local language tax’. After a pleasant trip – although the conversation about what the average monthly wage was in Australia should have rung alarm bells – I hand over a 500,000 note and expect 200,000 change. I get 50,000. It gets a little heated and we point out it’s not about the money, it’s the principle. I don’t think they give a fuck about the principle – they want money. They hand over another 50,000. Geoff is a big guy, not that he has any inclination to be physical, but I actually start to admire their tenacity! They hand over another 50,000. Geoff tells the guy in charge he needs to get his  drivers under control – he just stands there, stoic, as I’m sure he’s getting a slice of the action. Mr Foo arrives, there’s some discussion and he yells at them for our benefit. We cut our losses and head off.

Another pagoda and another attempt at ripping us off to buy incense – this time quickly thwarted by my new hero, Mr Foo. There’s a mix up in the communication (who’d have thought?!) and we find ourselves standing on the dirt road in the middle of nowhere for about an hour waiting for a very apologetic Mr Foo. We’re just so grateful he’s turned up – we have a train to catch!

The local market is a treat for everyone. The locals clearly don’t see too many tourists in wheelchairs.

A leisurely dinner then back to the station to find our luggage and board the next train – which by comparison to last nights, is pretty grubby…..

Stocking up?

The world has gone completely mad! I cannot understand why people are emptying supermarket shelves of toilet paper because of the threat of a respiratory virus. If someone can explain the phenomenon, I'd appreciate that. Currently, I can only put it down to herd mentality.

I believe the run on toilet paper has spread to other countries. This pandemic could end up being worse than coronavirus!

I won't lie; it took me a while to cotton on to what was happening. I was at Aldi late last Saturday afternoon and was surprised there was so little pasta, canned lentils and tomatoes - very not like Aldi. I wasn't after those things so didn't give it much thought. The woman in front of me at the checkout did a dash back to the bean aisle before starting to check out, arms laden with tinned chickpeas. "The beans have been restocked', she gasped, clearly relieved. I had no idea why she was saying this to me, so just smiled vacantly (as I sometimes do).

On to Woolworths where bays had been cleared of god-knows-what because there was nothing there to identify the normal inhabitants and I had no interest in investigating.

Now, of course, social media is awash with memes and comments on the doomsdayers, like 'Haven't they heard of wine??'

In the last day, a man in Tamworth was tasered for grabbing a fellow shopper by the throat in an altercation involving toilet paper. Seriously - I am not making this up - here's the news link

Even in the unlikely event that supermarket supplies run low, I'll reckon we'll be okay. We live within walking distance of seven cafes, a pub, a wine bar, a few restaurants (Indian, Thai, Vietnamese and Italian) and a couple of bottle shops - we're so fine!!!

Ironically, with the kids both temporarily out of town, I did think this might be an opportune time to eat our way through the freezer. It's overflowing. There are vegan burgers, prawns, gozleme, pizza bases, pasta sauce, jars of rocket pesto, chicken stock, turkey gravy, boa buns and goodness knows what's underneath those things. It'll require a reconnaissance.

And if we end up in lockdown, we'll be the ones living off the stash of Man Shakes (protein powder) and wine! I could afford to lose a few kg and that seems like a fairly appealing way to do it!!

On the job.

I’m sure most of us have the same problem; if your involved in a certain industry or sector, it’s hard to turn off from it – even when you’re not at work. 

My brother is a captain for an international airline and I’m sure that on every flight he takes when he’s not driving, he’s assessing how the pilot is doing. Dad was an undertaker before he retired and I’m sure he’s running a mental critique at the funerals he attends.

And I’m in advertising. An geez there are some shocking ads round.

I just got out at the airport in Canberra and saw a billboard for an airline featuring one of their esteemed pilots with the headline; “I don’t just fly planes. I fly people, and there’s a difference.” Really? What – as opposed to cargo, you need to occasionally speak to what’s behind you? Seriously, who are they talking to and what the hell are they talking about?? I’m personally hoping he does fly a plane! And what does flying people even mean??

Even worse was the in flight magazine on the way up. I had no idea such a skinny mag could contain so many appalling ads – along side the seven watch ads, nine for diamonds and pearls, half a dozen for executive courses and a smattering of prestige cars, wine and leather goods were 'gems' like these:

Hilarious really given both are for 'marketing'. I'm not sure which is worse. The first is something to do with a new venture between a private school consulting business and a 'creative' brand agency - which is lovely for them but I have no idea what's in it for their target audience. In fact, if this is an example of their creative, frankly, I'd give them a miss.

The next looks like a modern-day version of the ads for Sea Monkeys that ran in comic books when I was a kid. I suspect the results will be equally disappointing.

Coming home, I flew a different airline and got a different magazine. The articles in both aren't bad at all, but the ads are all same same but different. Blah.