I haven’t posted anything for two weeks — I think I may have taken an unplanned hiatus from blogging. I think I’m back now, but if things are erratic in the next little while, excuse me.

Ten days without a word from you humble scribe. You’re probably on the edge of your seat wondering what exotic japes I’ve been up to in the meantime.

Er …

I finished an issue of Positive Living, the bimonthly newsmagazine of which I am editrix, which is always a busy/stressful time in the life/work balance area. And, even if I do say so myself, it’s a cracker! — I couldn’t put it down!

Of course, as Editor, I’m not supposed to put it down, but there’s nothing wrong with a little boosterism in a good cause. Anyway, it’s on the streets of your state capital city right about now, and will be on the NAPWA website in a few days.

No sooner had I put that little baby to bed than I was off to sin city itself, glamorous, fun-loving Sydney, for four days of meetings. Brent came too for the last two days (he is a director of the organsation I work for). I had hoped to find some time for fun while we were there, but that never happened. We were either stuck in meetings (good, important, worthwhile, but, you know, dull meetings) or we were too buggered afterwards to do anything more than lie on our hotel bed and watch Australian Idol.

I did manage to sneak away to Wollongong and see my old mum for a few hours. As always, that experience was borderline heartwarming/excruciating, peppered with stories like “You remember Alison, her brother was three years ahead of you in high school. She married Robert. Rob. Spud. Remember? No? She lived out in Brogo. No? Anyway, her mother died.”

It sometimes feels like Mum is in a time warp, trapped in Bega in the 1970s, never to escape. I did.

Mum says she wants to get a computer and learn to use the internet. This seems a good idea to me, but not without its flaws. My mother is a very intelligent woman, and despite being just a shade under 80, she’s as bright as a tack, but she hasn’t had a lot of what you might call “book learnin’”. So the learning curve is very very steep.

But she has extremely severe and crippling rheumatoid arthritis, which severely limits her mobility, so I’m sure she could make use of a wider variety of connections to the world. All her children communicate with each other via email, and increasingly so do her grandchildren, for whom email will always be the primary mode of communication. She could use the internet to communicate with the family, she could definitely use the Coles Homeshop service, she’d probably find all kinds of useful devotional information and I’m sure before long she’d discover eBay and fill her house with beanie babies to a height of several feet.

Oh, bugger. I’ve just realised I have had a life-long relationship with Noni Hazlehurst.

It’s one of those things that occasionally happens as you creep, helplessly, inexorably, towards middle age: sitting in front of the television, watching Better Homes and Gardens, and I think to myself, why am I watching this middle class claptrap?

In a blinding flash, I realise: I’ve spent my entire life with Noni Hazlehurst. Continue reading →

The second Tuesday in November.

The hopes and dreams of millions rest on an time-honoured contest which brings together the greatest, the strongest, the best, competing for the ultimate prize before the unblinking eyes of a fascinated world.

Yes, it’s Melbourne Cup day.

Apparently there’s another clash of titans taking place on the other side of the Pacific today. I’m less than optimistic about the outcome of that race, so I suppose we’re lucky to have a horse race to distract us from the serious business of determining who will lead the free world for the next four years.

For reasons I don’t quite understand, the Melbourne Cup (it’s a horse race for those who haven’t caught on yet) generates a lot of excitement in Australia. It’s always been like this: I remember when I was a kid the nuns would stop classes to allow everyone to listen to the race on the wireless (TV hadn’t been invented yet). We’re talking about ten-year-old children here, listening in rapt attention to a horse race taking place hundreds of miles away, under the watchful, encouraging eye of the brides of Christ. I think the nuns were excused their vows of charity on that day so they could have a bet.

They call it “the race that stops a nation”. And it does: shops, schools, offices all cease their normal business to watch a bunch of horses go around in circles. And of course a lot of money gets wagered on the outcome. My mum called last night and suggested I have a flutter on “A Grey Thong”. After some research it appears there’s no horse running by that name; I think she must mean Grey Song. In honour of the US Elections I might have a dollar each way on Upsetthym as well…

Cup Day is a public holiday in Melbourne. I won’t be trekking out to Flemington to join the has-beens and wannabes in their orgy of consumption; I’ve got too much work to do. But in the spirit of the event, we’ll be running the inaugural buggery.org Melbourne Cup Sweepstakes right here on the site. Continue reading →

Brent’s fine. Still not quite 100% but well and truly on the road to recovery.

It’s been incredible to have so many people – most of whom we’ve never met – enquire after my man’s well-being after I mentioned his recent adventures in the emergency department. Brent’s a tough little bugger – has to be to be married to me – and, as I mentioned before, the docs have ruled out anything serious.

I’ll be glad when he goes back to work. The last couple of days, when he’s been feeling increasingly better, have been tougher than the period before. He’s annoying when he’s sick, but he’s a total pain in the arse when he’s bored.