Amazing how being old changes things

Pub Crawl

Take this weekend for instance.

Friday night, went out with friends from Groover’s work for a 30th birthday party pub crawl.

It was REALLY well organised.

There was party bingo, party poker. Each pub/venue we went to had an area reserved for us. Food… drinks… kareoke.

And we had a great time, getting home around 1.30am.

Slept well, but awoke feeling a little dodgy.

Got up to go the boatclub around 7am.

Played bridge in the afternoon.

And that was me done.


Managed to stay awake for an episode of Breaking Bad but was asleep by 9.15. Fast asleep. On a Saturday night.

Now in the olden days, I wouldn’t have broken stride.

I am turning into an old person that gets up early (that actually enjoys getting up early) and crashes before Lateline.

When did that happen?

Summer jobs

He's graduated
Finished school

School is finished.

And wow.  I am now the parent of a nearly at university student.

But before that happy day – hopefully – of a decent ATAR result and an offer to the preferred course – Science at UWA – the pocket money has been cut off.

Now you might scream “Fair crack of the sauce bottle!  Give the guy a break, he’s just finished 12 grueling years of school…”

Stop it.

A summer job is good for him.


A bit of money, certainly more than I’m prepared to give him.


Something to do.

And he’s not alone.

Joining him in the workforce is Miss 14, who has been busy handing out resumes to local businesses and prospective babysitting clients.

My daughter
Babysitter and Waitress

Since being on holidays she’s continued her Saturday morning waitressing job and done some work for a friend assisting at a holiday program for 4-7 year olds.

She’s good with kids.

(must get it from her paternal grandmother… sorry mum)

And how much does she like spending the money she’s earning?!!!

The only downside?

I don’t get a say in how she spends it.

A small price to pay.

So summer jobs.

They can be crap.

I spent a couple of summers photocopying in an engineering library…

But the pay packet is delicious.

And anyone who stays at home… well.

I have chores that need doing.

At the races… For charity obviously




So we went to the races to raise money for St Barts.

Sadly no money was made for me.

Off to the glue factories I say!

Oh but they moved so beautifully and the jockeys were so… tiny.

As were their saddles.

Somehow even reading every Dick Francis novel didn’t prepare me.

Ah the races.

I was surprised how busy it was.

See you in another decade or so my dears.

A cool tattoo?

I don’t normally take photos of hunky blokes down the beach.

Surfee dude types

Especially not ones who – lets face it – could be my sons.

I’m not the cougar type.

But when I spied that tattoo on his back… well!

Smiley face tattoo

My first thought was… are you kidding me?!

Who gets a smiley face tattoo.

My next thought was… have I missed a “cool” lesson somewhere?

So tell me internets – cool or uncool?

And then we went for a walk.

It had been a hot day.  Bushfires.  Windy.

So I thought an evening stoll en famile would be nice.

Cottesloe Beach
Fishing from the groin

When we got to the beach it was COLD!

Really windy.

A little… unpleasant.

So rather than a longer walk towards Swanborne – we headed for the groin.

A bit pathetic really.

The pylon with the smog of the fires on the horizon

Of course you can’t keep a teenage boy out of the water no matter how much you talk about shark weather…

Fun in the surf keeping an eye out for sharks

The stratification of a Zumba class

A lame photo of my zumba shoes... well I was desperate for an illustrative pic,

Following yesterday’s post on my Zumba class, I received an email teasing me about being at the back of the class and it occurred to me that my Zumba class has very clear stratification.

The hard core Zumba-ists are at the front.

They know the routines backwards, they are for the most part – fit, and in halls where there are mirrors – they like to have a clear view of their hips shaking.

The HCZ’s are the ones that volunteer to go on stage.

And they ALWAYS arrive early.

Next come the MILFS (or maybe that should be MYLFS).

These are the women whose eyesight, perhaps, requires them to be nearer the front, and who are less confident in their sexy moves… or less fit.

They are quite often late because they are busy on a Saturday morning sorting everyone else out.

But they are past being embarrassed about shaking their thing.

They have had children, lets face it, they are past being embarrassed about anything to do with their bodies.

Well, nearly everything.

They rarely lift their shirts in the wooah wooah bit.

Behind them, at the back are the said children, now teenagers.

They are chatting with their support buddies, and their perfect bodies and natural enthusiasm make up for any shortfall in following the choreography.

Last week I found myself at the back of the class (I was late,  having failed to convince my teenager that a Zumba class would be fun).

I was out of my comfort zone.

Next time, I’ll make sure I get a spot in MILFworld.

Oh and the only bloke?

He’s about second row – hard bodies in front, and close to the instructor.

Get me more of that Latin rhythm

Not very glamourous but great fun

So every Saturday – except for next Saturday – you’ll find me at the Claremont Town Hall in my combat shorts and singlet and special not very grippy sandshoes, shaking my wild thing to the Latin grooves of Zumba.

I just don’t like those black legging things…

Zumba is a cross between a dance class and an exercise class.

Not as strict as a dance class – as you’ll see from the size of the crowd there is not a lot of individual attention… and not as repetitive as an aerobics class.

The choreography is complicated enough to keep you thinking, but not too hard that you feel like a klutz.

By the second song I’ve usually built up a sweat and by the end I’m wondering where the time went.

Time goes fast when you’re having fun – and I’m usually smiling my way through class.

That’s good because it is practically the only exercise I get all week apart from walking to and from the train station.

Cellobella your name is SLACK.

And I thank goodness for my reconditioned pelvic floor every time I go to class.

I’m hoping one day to have the body of a Zumba instructor – a female one – they are hot hot hot!

In our class there is only one bloke and he stands at the front to get a good view.


Maybe I need to go to class more than once a week…

Zumba is usually followed by coffee with my Zumba classmate and then bridge.

And that, for the most part, takes care of Saturday.

A little bit of Venice in Perth

The gorgeous Peggy!

Friday night, Groover and I went back to the Art Gallery for the Opening of the Penny Guggenheim Exhibition.

This is from her collection in Venice.

Ahhhh Venice – so romantic, so beautiful.

I went twice to this collection in Venice when we were there in 2005 – and we were only there for a day – so I was looking forward to seeing how it travelled.

What a delight to see our good friend acting as Peggy Guggenheim – although she shaved her legs and apparently Peggy didn’t… maybe people didn’t in the 30s so – we’ll overlook it – you might remember her from Theatresports earlier in the year.

Me and Miss Peggy

It is a stunning collection of modern art – all the big names – extraordinary to see the work which still looks modern even though some of it is nearly 100 years old.

A Jackson Pollock which is figurative!  Who knew?  (probably all of you)

Go and see it – it is on until the end of January and is only coming to Perth… hey that’s closer than Venice.

That’s the advantage of having a Gallery Director who was born in Venice and is married to a former intern of the Peggy Guggenheim collection.

(Oh that Italian accent!  Mamma mia!!)

Afterwards, with 15 minutes to wait until the train we sat and talked in the organic garden just outside the gallery.

Groovy Groover
I just wanted to show you more of my frock.

Unfortunately we got so into playing with the slow synchro mode on my camera that we missed our train.

So we decided to wait the next HALF AN HOUR in the station.

That's not our train.
We love catching the train at night - it feels so cosmopolitan.

So that was Friday night.

On the way home the security guards found two passengers next to us without tickets.

They took their names and addresses but before they had time to check (over the phone to who knows?) the girl had walked off – hey this is my station… see ya!

They had no power to stop her and who knows if she gave her real name – although she was warned that it is an offence to give a false one.

Seems a rather inefficient system to me but what do you do?

Microchip everyone?

Detain fare evaders?

Touch of death

Where dreams are dashed

I hate the casino.

It’s a sad sad place.

Banks and banks of soul destroying poker machines, and now even some of the gaming tables are electronic.

Very bad fashion.

We went there, Groover and I, after going to see Sleeping Beauty put on by the WA Ballet – and a fine production it was too.

Now previously we had a rule at the casino – and that was that I was to go far away from Groover so that he would win.

He is lucky.

Well he’s lucky when I’m not there.

My nickname is TOD – yeah you picked that up from the title.

But sweetly he said – no stay, I’m lucky and you’re my good luck charm.


His game of choice is roulette.

Ten minutes later when he was down to his last chip I suggested that maybe I might wait in the bar.

It’s like I balance out his luck… or maybe I suck all the bad luck away from him so he can be extra lucky.

A bad luck magnet.

So no.

I won’t be going back any time soon.

Although I was quite intrigued with a game called Pai Gow that uses Chinese dominos.

I wsa tempted to have a go but after half an hour I still couldn’t quite work out how you play.

And with my record – and at $50 mininum stake – I was wasn’t prepared to just wing it.

Although, having done some research it sounds just like the card game Brag.

Oh you want to know how Groover ended up?

Maybe next time I shouldn’t be in the building at all.

A good vintage

At the Sail and Anchor... again

You can’t wear your vintage dress just anywhere in Perth you know.

It would feel decidedly out of place (for me) in most places bar a fancy dress party and of course, Fremantle.

Fremantle with its bohemian culture is a place where anything goes so I went.

My vintage dress

I only wish I had the white gloves and bag to finish it all off but then again – matchy matchy is so yesteryear dahling.

A bit like my dress.

It felt a bit odd to have such a big skirt.

The skirt is full and heavy – backed by interfacing to make it stick out a bit.

I bought it many years ago for a Sound of Music film screening – we all dressed up and I bet you can guess who I was dressed up as.

Yes the famous play clothes made from curtains.

The boys enjoy a cold one... well Groover's might have been warm.

Anyway the reason we went out for lunch was because it was B’s birthday.

And the chilli mussels at the Norfolk were, as always, excellent.

At the Norfolk.

Of course the birthday boy had a burger.

Sky diving on radio

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Wayyyy back in 1991 I was involved in a radio appeal for the RFDS which involved me jumping out of a plane over the city of Perth.

I was 24.

The other day I found the broadcast recording.

Unfortunately I’ve missed the best bit which was screaming as I jumped out the plane and then silence for 20 seconds as we fell 6000 feet.

Instead what you hear is adreniline coursing through my body making me sound like a right tit.

And despite protestations that I would DEFINITELY do it again…

I haven’t.