Old Moon Face next door has got an amazing laugh for a little girl. It's a full-throated chuckle that belongs on a chain-smoking, hard-living and easily amused 40-year-old and is utterly wonderful to listen to.
Last night to beat the heat she and Dr Bellows were out playing in their pool, tossing foam missiles back and forth to each other and shrieking with merriment. (I know they were foam not because I creepily had one eye pressed up to a hole in the fence but because they've occasionally been lobbed into our yard in the past.) As Grumpy and I were hanging out the washing and grinning to each other at the sounds drifting over to us we heard Bellows yell, "Hey!" and Moon Face's trademark laugh went into overdrive. She caught her breath long enough to say, "Mummy, Mummy, I hit Bellows in the balls....and he was naked."
So infectious was her amusement that even the bruised and battered Bellows had to join in with the hilarity.
I just hope they keep that pool well-chlorinated.
28 February 2006
27 February 2006
Exeunt, Shrieking
The Burp and I have discussed on several occasions how squeamish we can be when hearing the details of other people's, er, intimate lives.
So the other night I went out to dinner with my friend Chestnut, and our friend Princess Mary who was visiting from Canberra (leaving a frightened Grumpy at home to fend for himself). Princess Mary has nabbed herself a younger, much younger, Danish boyfriend. She was heading off in a couple of days to be home in time for another friend's baby's christening. To my horror she began describing how pooped she was going to be at the christening because, even though her flight got in at a reasonable hour, after two weeks apart she and CPF* would be up all night making up for lost time.
"So you'll be able to pick me out at the church. I'll be the one with the black bags under my eyes."
"Yeah," said Chestnut, "and sitting on a really soft cushion."
*Well, duh. Crown Prince Frederik of course.
So the other night I went out to dinner with my friend Chestnut, and our friend Princess Mary who was visiting from Canberra (leaving a frightened Grumpy at home to fend for himself). Princess Mary has nabbed herself a younger, much younger, Danish boyfriend. She was heading off in a couple of days to be home in time for another friend's baby's christening. To my horror she began describing how pooped she was going to be at the christening because, even though her flight got in at a reasonable hour, after two weeks apart she and CPF* would be up all night making up for lost time.
"So you'll be able to pick me out at the church. I'll be the one with the black bags under my eyes."
"Yeah," said Chestnut, "and sitting on a really soft cushion."
*Well, duh. Crown Prince Frederik of course.
Shiner
Despite his red, swollen foot* Grumpy managed to hobble out the door on Saturday evening for a David Helfgott performance at Mundaring Weir Hotel.
I had planned for myself an evening flopped on the couch, making further headway with The Virago Book of 20th Century Fiction. But I was feeling a little tired and before I knew it I'd fallen sound asleep. At some point the cat jumped up on me and nodded off as well.
It pleases me no end that the little furball and I are so alike: we're both champion droolers.
*Unfortunately, I am reminded of the sage words of one of Grumpy's friends, The Major, when reassuring the lads on certain matters: "They're all big when they're angry, mate."
I had planned for myself an evening flopped on the couch, making further headway with The Virago Book of 20th Century Fiction. But I was feeling a little tired and before I knew it I'd fallen sound asleep. At some point the cat jumped up on me and nodded off as well.
It pleases me no end that the little furball and I are so alike: we're both champion droolers.
*Unfortunately, I am reminded of the sage words of one of Grumpy's friends, The Major, when reassuring the lads on certain matters: "They're all big when they're angry, mate."
A Massive Swelling
Grumpy was laid up all weekend with a particularly nasty attack of gout. Though he irritatingly refers to it as "the gout".
That really gets my the goat.
On Saturday morning we decided he'd better get to the doc for some anti-inflammatories. He was okay going out - managed to hop down our front steps, but coming back he realised he didn't have it in him to hop up and was reduced to crawling.
I regret to have to tell you that I stood in our front door doubled over with a wheezing laugh. When I finally got my breath back I told him, "You know, anyone walking past would take one look at you and think, 'I didn't know she was married to a Vietnam vet.'"
That really gets my the goat.
On Saturday morning we decided he'd better get to the doc for some anti-inflammatories. He was okay going out - managed to hop down our front steps, but coming back he realised he didn't have it in him to hop up and was reduced to crawling.
I regret to have to tell you that I stood in our front door doubled over with a wheezing laugh. When I finally got my breath back I told him, "You know, anyone walking past would take one look at you and think, 'I didn't know she was married to a Vietnam vet.'"
24 February 2006
Feelin' Kinda Shirty
Last night Grumpy and I ventured forth to the Fremantle Outdoor Film Festival. ("F OFF?" asked Grumpy. "But I thought they would be trying to hustle people through the door?")
Our chosen fillum of the night was Wolf Creek. I was expecting to be scared out of my pants (and wore a skirt to facilitate such an outcome) but except for a couple of gruesome moments of violence and blood thirstiness, it was disappointingly tame.
It wasn't the worst film ever, but it was fairly ordinary.
I don't mind that Australian films are cynically made for the overseas market where people either don't know or don't care to know anything about us and our country. So I don't mind that someone can stand on top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge or the Opera House and see all the way to the other side of the Nullarbor. That's okay, if that's what people want to see when they cough up the dosh for an Australian film.
And I didn't mind last night that a movie supposedly set in Western Australia was clearly shot in South Australia with no regard to geography. I shrugged when I saw that the terrain was nothing like the north-west. It mattered not that one of the characters watched the sun rise over the Indian Ocean. And it was but water off a duck's back that Kalbarri was supposed to be in the vicinity of Halls Creek. I was even willing to tolerate the statement at the beginning of the film that it was "based on actual events" only to be served a weird hodge podge of the Peter Falconio case and the backpacker murders.
What really gets my goat is when pompous arses like Cate Blanchett and Toni Collette deign to return to Australia to patronise us with their whining about what an uncultured, backward lot we are because we don't support the Australian film industry enough. If, in order to prove to twits like this how high-minded we are, Australian audiences are supposed to swallow bilge like Wolf Creek, which treats us with the contempt the film makers clearly think we deserve, I really don't care if the local film industry carks it tomorrow.
Our normal programming will return with the next blog entry.
Our chosen fillum of the night was Wolf Creek. I was expecting to be scared out of my pants (and wore a skirt to facilitate such an outcome) but except for a couple of gruesome moments of violence and blood thirstiness, it was disappointingly tame.
It wasn't the worst film ever, but it was fairly ordinary.
I don't mind that Australian films are cynically made for the overseas market where people either don't know or don't care to know anything about us and our country. So I don't mind that someone can stand on top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge or the Opera House and see all the way to the other side of the Nullarbor. That's okay, if that's what people want to see when they cough up the dosh for an Australian film.
And I didn't mind last night that a movie supposedly set in Western Australia was clearly shot in South Australia with no regard to geography. I shrugged when I saw that the terrain was nothing like the north-west. It mattered not that one of the characters watched the sun rise over the Indian Ocean. And it was but water off a duck's back that Kalbarri was supposed to be in the vicinity of Halls Creek. I was even willing to tolerate the statement at the beginning of the film that it was "based on actual events" only to be served a weird hodge podge of the Peter Falconio case and the backpacker murders.
What really gets my goat is when pompous arses like Cate Blanchett and Toni Collette deign to return to Australia to patronise us with their whining about what an uncultured, backward lot we are because we don't support the Australian film industry enough. If, in order to prove to twits like this how high-minded we are, Australian audiences are supposed to swallow bilge like Wolf Creek, which treats us with the contempt the film makers clearly think we deserve, I really don't care if the local film industry carks it tomorrow.
Our normal programming will return with the next blog entry.
20 February 2006
Big Emotional Fish
A woman who describes herself as a vegan is suing Maccas because they didn't reveal their fries contained dairy products. You know, it violated her deeply-held principles.
Come on, love.
You were eating at Maccas.
Come on, love.
You were eating at Maccas.
Yabba Dabba Doooooo!
Yesterday was Violet Crumbleruff's first unsupervised day outdoors. It didn't take her long to get into the swing of things and, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she was soon off and out of sight. We checked the street every now and then to make sure she wasn't decorating it as some kind of floor mat.
When evening fell she proved to be a very elusive and uncooperative beast. She was impervious to all of Grumpy's enticements to come inside. He eventually gave up and a little while later I heard him whistling the theme tune from The Flintstones. We both started singing:
Someday maybe Grump will win the fight
Then that cat will stay in for the night
Not long after that he got some meat cooking and the absent beast suddenly materialised, mewling, at the back door.
When evening fell she proved to be a very elusive and uncooperative beast. She was impervious to all of Grumpy's enticements to come inside. He eventually gave up and a little while later I heard him whistling the theme tune from The Flintstones. We both started singing:
Someday maybe Grump will win the fight
Then that cat will stay in for the night
Not long after that he got some meat cooking and the absent beast suddenly materialised, mewling, at the back door.
Missin' Slim
On at the same time as the muster was the country music festival. Various artists, from a broad spectrum of country, lined the main drag strumming their guitars and singing either country classics or some very impressive original material.
One chap was accompanied by a woman playing the spoons. She was incredibly energetic. We stood watching her for a while, sharing the rest of the audience's appreciation for her skills and dexterity. Towards the end of her impressive display, Grumpy leaned over and told me, "You know, you can eat with those things too."
One chap was accompanied by a woman playing the spoons. She was incredibly energetic. We stood watching her for a while, sharing the rest of the audience's appreciation for her skills and dexterity. Towards the end of her impressive display, Grumpy leaned over and told me, "You know, you can eat with those things too."
If this car's a-rockin'....
On Saturday Grumpy and I travelled down to Boyup Brook for its annual ute and truck muster. As you can imagine, this kind of event brings together an impressive concentration of bogans, complete with flanno shirts, blue singlets, chicks and beer.
Most of the cars were really well looked after and they paraded through the town with flags, both Australian and Bundy rum, flying proudly. I was particularly taken with some of the stickers:
"My ute, my country
No distance too far
Just follow my dust to the next B&S bar."
"If you think this ute is dirty, try a night with the driver."
Most of the cars were really well looked after and they paraded through the town with flags, both Australian and Bundy rum, flying proudly. I was particularly taken with some of the stickers:
"My ute, my country
No distance too far
Just follow my dust to the next B&S bar."
"If you think this ute is dirty, try a night with the driver."
16 February 2006
They know me so well!
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Hazelblackberry!
- The hazelblackberry-fighting market in the Philippines is huge - several thousand hazelblackberry-fights take place there every day.
- Hazelblackberry is the only bird that can swim but not fly.
- Hazelblackberry can only be destroyed by intense heat, and is impermeable even to acid.
- The word 'samba' means 'to rub hazelblackberry'.
- The average duration of sexual intercourse for hazelblackberry is two minutes!
- If a snake is born with two heads, the heads will fight over who gets hazelblackberry.
- The deepest part of hazelblackberry is over 35,000 feet deep!
- Hazelblackberry can be very poisonous if injected intravenously!
- Apples are covered with a thin layer of hazelblackberry.
- The opposite sides of hazelblackberry always add up to seven.
Numbers four and five seem to enjoy a disturbing symmetry.
And ten moved me most profoundly.
Thanks to Quirkie for the link.
15 February 2006
Love Wounds and Marks
This morning I was snoozing peacefully when Pounce! decided it was time to stretch out on top of me and begin her morning ritual of pressing her paws, claws extended, into my neck. She began with this dastardly habit a couple of weeks ago and if I don't wake up straight away I go into work sporting a fine collection of little red scratch marks.
"Oooh, you've got a bit of a rash."
"Er...um...no it's, er, the cat."
"Oh."
This morning she started in but I woke up fast enough to put my hand up for protection. I already have old lady's hands, according to Grumpy, so what's a little more damage? I had a meeting first thing and I couldn't front up to a mob of strangers with the bloody remainders of a good clawing all over me. Not the day after Valentine's Day.
"Oooh, you've got a bit of a rash."
"Er...um...no it's, er, the cat."
"Oh."
This morning she started in but I woke up fast enough to put my hand up for protection. I already have old lady's hands, according to Grumpy, so what's a little more damage? I had a meeting first thing and I couldn't front up to a mob of strangers with the bloody remainders of a good clawing all over me. Not the day after Valentine's Day.
I Was Bald
Grumpy and I are not the Valentine's-celebrating type but we scored free tickets to a concert last night at the Fremantle Arts Centre. So, feeling like we'd just stepped out of our casket, we grabbed right hold of our picnic basket and moseyed on over. It was an evening of songs from classic MGM fillums, sung by a trio called Sassy Catch! - the incomparable Sassy Catch!, according to the promo material. Like Pounce!, Sassy Catch! comes with the exclamation! mark.
Right. That's enough of that.
Anyway, it was a very pleasant evening lying beneath the plane trees in the courtyard as the gentle music filled the warm air and the setting sun and light cloud cover combined to bathe everything in a pink glow.
"I love these old MGM numbers," said the singer at the end of one song. "Do you love them?"
A murmur of agreement and approval hummed through the crowd.
"I like Mad Max 'n' stuff," said Grumpy.
Right. That's enough of that.
Anyway, it was a very pleasant evening lying beneath the plane trees in the courtyard as the gentle music filled the warm air and the setting sun and light cloud cover combined to bathe everything in a pink glow.
"I love these old MGM numbers," said the singer at the end of one song. "Do you love them?"
A murmur of agreement and approval hummed through the crowd.
"I like Mad Max 'n' stuff," said Grumpy.
13 February 2006
Or Just Short for Dodecahedron
I was unloading four brass lanterns from the back of our car on Saturday when a dreadlocked hippie walked past, yelled out hello and came up the driveway for a chat.
Turns out he'd helped TB with the renovations on our joint. He'd just been up the street to get a rare tomato from an oldie who lives a few doors down from us and was going home to see if he could grow his own vine.
He told me all about a similar lantern he'd once had, that had come from his great-grandfather's yacht, which had sailed up and down the Swan River.
We shook hands at the end of our conversation. He told me his name was Decker. I don't know whether it was spelled Decker as in his occupation, or a proclivity for throwing punches, or whether he was a big fan of the Mitfords and it was Decca.
I told him my name was hazelblackberry. No, seriously, I did.
It was, Grumpy and I agreed, all so very, very Freo.
Turns out he'd helped TB with the renovations on our joint. He'd just been up the street to get a rare tomato from an oldie who lives a few doors down from us and was going home to see if he could grow his own vine.
He told me all about a similar lantern he'd once had, that had come from his great-grandfather's yacht, which had sailed up and down the Swan River.
We shook hands at the end of our conversation. He told me his name was Decker. I don't know whether it was spelled Decker as in his occupation, or a proclivity for throwing punches, or whether he was a big fan of the Mitfords and it was Decca.
I told him my name was hazelblackberry. No, seriously, I did.
It was, Grumpy and I agreed, all so very, very Freo.
So 1986
So I was visiting A Friend on the weekend. This Friend has been enjoying a bit of a flirtation with A Gentlemen and she was filling me in on the latest shenanigans. They had both shown up at the same meeting and he offered to walk her back to her car, where Things Happened. In a car. In a multi-storey carpark, right near the lifts.
I was accused of being mean following this conversation about the Things that Happened:
HB: "Well what kind of things?"
AF: "You know, things. Just things....Hmm, pretty serious things, actually."
HB: "My god, did you actually have sex in your car??"
AF: "Well, not what I'd call full-on sex, no."
HB: "Oh, yeah, thanks for the clarification, Bill Clinton!"
I was accused of being mean following this conversation about the Things that Happened:
HB: "Well what kind of things?"
AF: "You know, things. Just things....Hmm, pretty serious things, actually."
HB: "My god, did you actually have sex in your car??"
AF: "Well, not what I'd call full-on sex, no."
HB: "Oh, yeah, thanks for the clarification, Bill Clinton!"
09 February 2006
My Wicked Past Unfolded
You know how sometimes clouds or shadows or other shapes look like a face or a horsie or a machine gun or something?
This morning I was lying in bed watching the leaves of the peppermint tree being blown around. "Ooh," I thought of one particular, recurring formation, "That looks like Jesus."*
Then I thought, "No. Wait. It's Bill Bryson."
*How the hell would I know what Jesus looks like anyway?? You know, I just have to go on Frank Pash's paintings.
This morning I was lying in bed watching the leaves of the peppermint tree being blown around. "Ooh," I thought of one particular, recurring formation, "That looks like Jesus."*
Then I thought, "No. Wait. It's Bill Bryson."
*How the hell would I know what Jesus looks like anyway?? You know, I just have to go on Frank Pash's paintings.
What's More
And then I came home and Grumpy told me the cat had harassed him at lunch time. "She was desperate to lick my SAOs."
Pleased to Meet You
I was a trifle flummoxed when my boss wandered into my office yesterday afternoon and asked me, "How do I get my thing to go down?"
07 February 2006
One of Us
Grumpy's been hanging round the Blackberry family far too long. The other day he told me he had itchy feet.
Maaaaaaaaate
Last night our friend D rang from Ghana. It wasn't the most free-flowing of conversations as there was a considerable time lag between speaking and hearing the reply, and much of what D said came across like this:
"Yeah, cgcngrfbkgnkdbkvbnfewbhf orange and pink dbbhjebqbcsasgsca manslaughter charges nbhdbhjbdbnru shepherd's pie."
Anyway, the upshot of the call was to ask us if we'd mind parking their car in our driveway until one of their relatives could come & pick it up to be housed elsewhere. D and K drive a WRX. Amongst the crackles and the line drop outs I'm certain I heard D asking - nay, urging - us to take the beast for a spin; it needs to be taken for a spin.
Guys, you'll read this long before we speak to or e you again: with care instructions like that, that little baby can stay at our place indefinitely.
"Yeah, cgcngrfbkgnkdbkvbnfewbhf orange and pink dbbhjebqbcsasgsca manslaughter charges nbhdbhjbdbnru shepherd's pie."
Anyway, the upshot of the call was to ask us if we'd mind parking their car in our driveway until one of their relatives could come & pick it up to be housed elsewhere. D and K drive a WRX. Amongst the crackles and the line drop outs I'm certain I heard D asking - nay, urging - us to take the beast for a spin; it needs to be taken for a spin.
Guys, you'll read this long before we speak to or e you again: with care instructions like that, that little baby can stay at our place indefinitely.
Dong Dong
On Sunday night I flopped on the couch for two hours of brand new Law & Order. Just what the doctor ordered! Resigned to his fate, Grumpy took a seat and tried to show an interest in the goings on. The cat came in, took one look at the screen and jumped up into her favourite chair, her back turned to us, shunning proceedings.
Grumpy looked over at her with such love. Gesturing towards me he said to her, "I know, darling, I know. She's not all she's cracked up to be."
Grumpy looked over at her with such love. Gesturing towards me he said to her, "I know, darling, I know. She's not all she's cracked up to be."
Remember You're Out
I had to have a look. She was blonde. And gorgeous.
"So how's the new gym going?"
"Great. Great! Oh, I have to tell you. They've got this new exercise class there, which I just love. What's it called? You'd know it, it's all the rage. Oh yeah - Pilastics."
"So how's the new gym going?"
"Great. Great! Oh, I have to tell you. They've got this new exercise class there, which I just love. What's it called? You'd know it, it's all the rage. Oh yeah - Pilastics."
03 February 2006
Give Her Some Old Chat
[Grumpy thinks I've posted about this before. I can't see any evidence of it but apologies if this is old news.]
Yesterday, Grumpy used the term 'emo' on his blog. So I rang him up and said, "What the hell does 'emo' mean?" He answered in his most authoritative voice, "Well now, little lady, I wouldn't have a clue."
I think the last bit of modern slang I even came close to grasping was 'bling'. I tried explaining it to Ern one night after Grumpy had commented on the fact that my cousin Bill was indeed dripping with it. Bill is thirteen years old, a drama student, outrageously cool, always sullen and, need I say it, a monumental pain in the arse. For a girl like her, being seen around an uncle who seems to be covered in a permanent crust of red dirt, old fish guts, wood shavings and gunpowder is a humiliation that can barely be tolerated.
At my cousin Covergirl's engagement party, Bill was pouting around with her good mate Antenna, both of them looking terminally bored and making sure everyone could see what a come-down it was for them to be there. She rolled her eyes when Ern, stubby in one hand, Camel Plain in the other, motioned for her to come over to where he was holding court with some gruesome outback tale. She slouched over, Antenna by her side, and moodily asked him what he wanted.
"Hey, Bill," said Ern. All eyes swivelled to her. "What's with the bling?"
Bill's face registered horror. The ragged old fool was trying to be hip. In front of her friend. And other people.
"What?!"
Ern motioned to her neck. "You know, the bling-bling."
In a few years time when she's collecting her first Oscar, I don't think he'll rate a mention in the thank you speech.
Yesterday, Grumpy used the term 'emo' on his blog. So I rang him up and said, "What the hell does 'emo' mean?" He answered in his most authoritative voice, "Well now, little lady, I wouldn't have a clue."
I think the last bit of modern slang I even came close to grasping was 'bling'. I tried explaining it to Ern one night after Grumpy had commented on the fact that my cousin Bill was indeed dripping with it. Bill is thirteen years old, a drama student, outrageously cool, always sullen and, need I say it, a monumental pain in the arse. For a girl like her, being seen around an uncle who seems to be covered in a permanent crust of red dirt, old fish guts, wood shavings and gunpowder is a humiliation that can barely be tolerated.
At my cousin Covergirl's engagement party, Bill was pouting around with her good mate Antenna, both of them looking terminally bored and making sure everyone could see what a come-down it was for them to be there. She rolled her eyes when Ern, stubby in one hand, Camel Plain in the other, motioned for her to come over to where he was holding court with some gruesome outback tale. She slouched over, Antenna by her side, and moodily asked him what he wanted.
"Hey, Bill," said Ern. All eyes swivelled to her. "What's with the bling?"
Bill's face registered horror. The ragged old fool was trying to be hip. In front of her friend. And other people.
"What?!"
Ern motioned to her neck. "You know, the bling-bling."
In a few years time when she's collecting her first Oscar, I don't think he'll rate a mention in the thank you speech.
01 February 2006
'Ere, Didn't You Kill My Bruvva?
"So visit a Kresta showroom today, or Kresta will come to you."
- television ad
Renovator, craft guru, decorator, standover man - Tonia Todman does it all!
- television ad
Renovator, craft guru, decorator, standover man - Tonia Todman does it all!
Misty Through the Timbers
Violet Crumbleruff has taken to waking me each morning with affectionate licking on the mouth. (I can hear Grumpy recoil in horror from here.)
Luckily I usually sleep with tightly pursed lips. I call it The Schoolmarm in Repose.
However, I just know that one morning there is going to be a major industrial accident when I am caught dozing slack-jawed, mouth agape. That is when Grumpy will finally recognise the changes in the household hierarchy and curl up each night in a basket out in the laundry.
Luckily I usually sleep with tightly pursed lips. I call it The Schoolmarm in Repose.
However, I just know that one morning there is going to be a major industrial accident when I am caught dozing slack-jawed, mouth agape. That is when Grumpy will finally recognise the changes in the household hierarchy and curl up each night in a basket out in the laundry.
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