I learned something this weekend.
Mandarins – those lovely packets of orangy goodness…
… make me fart.
Sad but true.
Today I decided I needed a mental health day.
It was going to be a reasonably quiet day at work, I had plenty of rec leave up my sleeve and a very understanding boss.
A form tomorrow and a sigh of relief.
I had a few things to do.
I’m making a little slideshow for my mum’s 70th birthday.
How gorgeous is my mum?
There’s something about the sixties… so glamourous.
I love the headbands, the pointy shoes, the gloves, the hats.
In the morning I met the lady who is coming to clean our house. We’ve been doing our own cleaning but with both of us working full time and a recommended cleaner available, I thought it was time to say yes.
OMG our house is disgusting!
I thought it was relatively clean – we had cleaned on Saturday – but no.
It seems that some people are gifted in that department. I am not one of them.
Then I had to go over to Mum’s house to pick up some more photos… which enabled me to have another cuddle with my new niece and score some salad for lunch.
Afterward I played with the photos before leaving to pick up my kids from school – a rare treat.
I actually thought I was supposed to be having parent-teacher meetings but that’s tomorrow.
At the end of the day I feel as if I have been on holiday for a week.
So relaxed. Nice clean house. And organised for Mum’s birthday… with the small exception of the present. *worried look*
I think the idea of regular mental health days is a winner. :)
Just back from Europe
Groover and I ventured down to Clancy’s to catch up with some friends who are freshly returned from their first trip to Europe.
I thought they had been rather carefree and adventurous by not planning every step of their journey. It seemed to me romantic to head off, backpacks at the ready, but Feline said she wouldn’t do it again.
“Who wants to spend your precious holiday in an internet cafe planning and booking the next leg?” She said.
Well… quite.
They would have spent more time in Amsterdam and less in Prague.
They found a fabulous two room hotel in a little town near the border of Spain and France.
Jealous jealous jealous.
Feline and I imbibe mulled wine.
Mulled wine was on the menu along with chips and something called “fried mice” – jalopeno chillis deep fried.
I wasn’t keen on coming back to Clancy’s (the restaurant with the relaxed attitude to people changing nappies at the table… ewww), but it’s one of the few places where you can get mulled wine and it is delicious.
Although I did feel a little queasy after the second glass… that could have been the chips…
St Patrick’s at night.
Afterwards, as we walked past St Patrick’s Catholic Cathedral, I was glad I had found my camera. Not quite the Duomos of Italy perhaps but quite picturesque all the same.
And I feel as if my left arm has been cut off.
Blogging just doesn’t feel right without a photo.
Photo courtesy of my brother
Last night I went over to Mum and Dad’s for dinner. My brother, his partner and baby girl are over from Melbourne and it was my first chance to see her.
She was born exactly 100 years to the day that my grandmother was born – how amazing is that?
What a cutie.
So gorgeous – with my brother’s tiny ears and her mothers beautiful face.
I didn’t want to hand her back. 
I wish I had had my camera.
The Lord Forrest Hotel has seen them.
I’m in Bunbury for a meeting or several. It’s a fairly quick drive from Perth. About two hours and when the bypass gets completed even quicker.
I was thinking about staying down in Dunsborough but the extra hour is a killer, especially after a full day at work.
So I’m ensconsed in the Lord Forrest.
And the bedspreads have that eighties feel.
There’s a slight sag to the bed.
Outside the wind whistles past my window – with apparently an ocean view – it’s a windy night in our southern city.
In the foyer, the hanging gardens of Babylon and a swimming pool.
Now I know the quality of the photos isn’t up to my usual standard. I took them with my phone. But appreciate the lengths I went to get them.
I’m lying on the saggy bed blogging this, watching Lateline, and I think, you know what? We need a photo of the foyer!
But I’ve taken off my jeans and really I can’t be bothered putting them back on so I poke my head out of the door, carefully remembering to take my key.
Yes a key! No electronic swipy thing for the Lord.
I can’t see anyone, although I can hear some blokey types doing that loud farewell thing blokes do when they’re on some kind of work thing and have a couple of drinks at the bar.
I sneak out in my undies and tee-shirt and snap a couple of photos.
Nothing happened.
I didn’t get caught. Although there was a little moment when I couldn’t get the key out of the lock when I got back into my room.
I just wanted to let you know how important you are that I would risk discovery in my smalls. (that aren’t that small by the way)
At least I wasn’t wearing my ENORMOUS scaffolding knickers.
Oh come on… everyone has a pair of those!
Don’t they?
The first winter storm was the last straw for the Cottesloe Pylon which sank into its rotton core, losing its metal tip in the briny.
The council are going to spend an extraordinary amount of money to put a single seagull’s perch together but it is after all an icon.
Two intrepid fellows with thick wet suits found the tip and ransomed it off for some fundraising cause – clever dicks.
For now, the beloved pylon is being propped up by scaffolding.
I imagine the scaffolding is even better to jump off than the pylon itself.
I’m glad its staying.
At one point I thought it would be better to replace it with some sort of sculpture but now… nah I’d rather just have good old pointy back.
There’s something about swimming around it that’s so… Cottesloe.
It wouldn’t be the same without it.
(Apparently this is not the first rescue mission.)
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!
No, not that kind of wake up call but while we’re on the subject – how do you wake up each day?
On my old phone – a Nokia n80 – there was a ring tone called “Amaze” and it was several people saying “Ohhhhhh”, getting louder and louder each time.
It kind of sounded like very lethargic people having sex.
So I used that for a while.
Now my new phone has a standard ring toney thing that I can’t be bothered changing so I haven’t but recently it was in the workshop – again – bloody Blackberry Bold – and I borrowed my daughter’s phone.
She’s got a little Nokia basic model and when we gave it to her on her birthday, Hugamuga, Groover and I recorded us singing “Happy Birthday” to her, set the alarm for 6am and then wrapped up the phone and put it in her room when she was asleep.
I’m not sure she appreciated THAT wake up call but she hasn’t changed it.
I woke up to me singing happy birthday to my daughter this morning.
I think you want something fairly gentle no?
Otherwise getting up in the cold and the dark feels like prison.
In the “olden days” of course I used to use a clock radio. Remember them? Here’s a photo.
If I’ve really got to get up sometimes I book a wake-up call. I’ve been caught out too many times setting my alarm to the wrong 12-hour period.
It’s quite nice getting a “good morning this is your alarm call” person on the end of the phone.
Maybe I could record myself a little good morning message.
Or maybe I should record myself singing a little ditty my best friend’s dad used to sing when I stayed over for a sleepover to wake us up.
“Good morning to you!
Good morning to you!
Whatever the weather,
We’ll face it together.
In work and in play!
A beautiful day!”
So give. What do you wake up to?
(Oh that’s right this post was going to be on something completely different… next time peeps)
I don’t know whether you can read that sign but one of those little warning messages says NO SWIMMING.
Note person swimming.
What a rebel… I bet he doesn’t even call police officers “sir”!
I’m so glad they warned me about the water… I wasn’t expecting any at the edge of the Indian Ocean.
Surely there should at least be a fin?
UPDATE: Groover uploaded my photo to Failblog – and they put it up!
It was a VERY close call.
Last night, I came in from bridge and immediately got ready for dinner at a friends house (a superb roast pork).
I jumped into the shower, then realised, getting dressed, that all my clean underwear was in the family room where I’d been folding it earlier.
I was in a racy mood… had had a glass of wine after the game… and thought “bugger it! I won’t bother putting clothes on. I’ll just wander down the hall in the nicky noo… give Groover (watching telly) a thrill.
This is the view from my bedroom door… you can see I’m aiming for that dining table you can see at the far end. Groover was on the sofa in the lounge.
So I start walking along – I get to the raised part of the corridor and I’m doing the whole stripper routine… you know… post strip.
The full Leo Sayer moment.
And Groover looks up… grins… hesitates… and then says quietly “T’s here”.
T is Hugamuga’s scaly mate from school. 14. (Hi T)
I stop. My face blanches.
“Is he joking?” I wonder…
I decide discretion is the better part of valour and retreat into my bedroom and put on a dressing gown.
As I’m putting on the gown I’m thinking that Groover is winding me up and I should just go with plan A.
But with gown now covering up my bits I head down to pick up the grundies.
T is in fact here.
Sitting at the computer with Hugamuga.
Oh my freaking God!!!
How bad would that have been?!
Luckily his view was obscured by the printer.
Groover admitted this morning that he was tossing up whether to tell me about Hugamuga’s friend.
I put it to you that it would have been UNFORGIVABLE if he had not.
That is the test, my friends, of a good relationship.
Would you have warned your partner?
