Sixty-six??????????????????????????

What has happened?  Evidently everyone sees me as an older lady of sixty-six but I feel just like I always have.  So I guess that my inside does not match my outside.  All my younger friends are twice or three times more careful of me than they were a few years ago.  They are worried that I might have a fall but I must add so am I.  Not because I might hurt myself but just the getting up bit.  I do not get up elegantly any more.  I did fall down the back step a few months ago and lay on the ground for a while until I figured that I was not broken.  At least it proves I do not have old lady bones.  I am using the little rails at the front and back door now because I do not wish an untidy exit.  My brain seems to be working, unless I count the maths I am trying to do.  I forget the formulas for that from one day to another.  That is probably the only time I do feel a bit past it.  I am still interested in almost everything and have to restrain myself from asking strangers about their tattoos or the beautiful African women how they do their lovely hair plaiting.  Maybe people do not mind being accosted by dotty old ladies asking silly questions but even if they do I don't care; I am eternally curious.  If you don't ask questions you will never find out the workings of the world.  So here I am feeling extremely young and vital except for a bit of high blood pressure, cholesterol and a touch of arthritis.  I don't think these things are so terrible they just let you know you are still alive.  I say, sixty-six pish!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gardening Australia

I was just watching Gardening Australia on the ABC.  People were commenting on their earliest memories of gardening.  When I was a girl, well when I was four I spent every day outside in the garden.  I remember feasting on rose leaves, shiny bright green hedge leaves and of course sour sobs.  I was always hungry so a bit of judicious grazing was preferable to starving waiting for Mum to call me in to eat.  She was working for the doctor in Woodville. He had a large garden, roses and lavender in the front and vegetables in the back plus some weird squeaky weeds beside the old tennis court.

Although there was an actual gardener, the doctor's sister Mary, loved to plant out beds of little flowers and vegies.  The time I remember most was when she had carefully planted out some little seedlings so I decided to water them for her.  Unfortunately, I did not know the difference between misting and blasting.  I washed out all the little seedlings in my attempt to be helpful.  Mum wanted to give me a good hiding but  'Aunty' Mary would not let her.  She had a better way of teaching me a lesson that I would always remember.  She gave me a little terracotta pot and a bulb of grape hyacinth that was my own plant and she taught me how to look after it.  I managed to coax it into flowering thus I have always had a soft spot for hyacinths.  I always had a soft spot for 'Aunty Mary' as well, she taught me a lot.

'Aunty' Mary also taught me not to boast.  I had been given a little wooden box inlaid with a colourful flower.  She had one almost exactly the same on her dressing table, so I piped up, "My wooden box is better than yours."  She explained it was extremely rude to say that and I still remember her words to this day. 

Overkill

I do believe my birthday has gone into overkill mode.  I am going out pre-birthday to have high tea at the Stamford Plaza.  On the day of my birthday I am going to the movies and the next day I am invited to a bbq to celebrate.  The next weekend I am going to have a seafood dinner, a sort of post birthday celebration.  The worst thing about being 66 is that I will put on kilos just partying.  There is not a lot to say about being a little closer to the pre-senile age but I certainly seem to be celebrating the onset of said malady with gusto.

The Brick

The brick has been ousted.  It has gone from my life forever.  I have a new soft as a cloud bed.  It is so soft that I find it hard to stay on the surface because I tend to sink in and float upon sheer unadulterated comfort.  Do not expect me to arise from the bed until at least 1 o'clock or later because I will not be able to force myself from its luxurious embrace.  The only problems are that the dear little old man cannot jump up so I have to pick him up so he can partake of the joys of soft bedding alongside me and the cat has decided that this could be her new up-market scratching post.  I am going to buy some bubble wrap and  stretch it around the base.  The fruit of my loins tells me that cats do not like bubble wrap.  At least that proves that I am not a cat because I just love bubble wrap.  Back to the bed.  I have bought a really gorgeous quilt cover but am holding off putting it on the bed so I can be sure that the little man will not pee on it and the cat will not ruin the quilt with her scatching.  Oh yes and in case I forgot, I LOVE my new bed.

Teachers

I have been thinking about teachers.  It seems the teachers now are a different kettle of fish than the ones that I ran up against in the fifties.  These women were just mean bullies.  Of course not all the teachers were dreadful just the greater majority of them. 

My grade 2 teacher was lovely and always ready to give a hug.  Nowadays a teacher that hugs would get into such strife for showing compassion.  Mrs. Hearn was someone that my friend and I have always loved. 

In grade 3 Miss White was a scary woman who smoked Turf cigarettes out of a little red tin box.  She had brown fangs and as I remember it not a very nice looking woman.  She was a smacker.  One day I had done some little sums and realized that one was wrong.  I did the exact sum underneath and then got a thump from Miss White because I couldn't tell her what the sum was.  I do tend to freeze up with the sums, as you may have picked up elsewhere in my blog.  She also had fixed ideas about which colour went with what.  I was doing a nice design in coloured chalk in my little gray paged pastel book and got a good whacking for putting purple and orange next to each other.  She said they didn't go and I say now that I was ahead of my time.  Miss White didn't really care what she hit me with, a hand or a ruler; she had no preference.  The interesting thing was that she was always nice to my friend Lorraine.  Of course Lorraine is a blonde and as most of you know, little blonde girls can do no wrong.  I found that, all the way through infant school that if something was naughty I was always the one who got into trouble.  Maybe I was naughty but I was always a little confused about everything so maybe the fault was mine, or maybe I just had the wrong colour hair.

Our grade 4 teacher was called Mrs. Connley.  She was not a smacker but I was scared of her.  She was extremely strict and one day when I was fiddling around with the ink bottle that was on her desk I spilt it all over her little tablecloth.  It was easier to tell her what I had done and get it over with, so as I remember it, she kept me in after school which meant I missed my train.  Her particular form of torture was to ask mental arithmetic questions at home time, until you managed to get one right and then in my case go on a mad dash over to the railway station.  I don't remember whether I missed the train but the stress of the whole thing has given me absolutely no chance of working out anything in my head. When by chance I did know the answer she didn't ask me.  It was sheer terror.  The other thing I remember vividly was when Jeanette Cooper fell over and hurt her arm, Mrs Connley grabbed it and shook it up and down and pronounced it fine.  Of course I really don't think she had a medical degree as when Jeanette came back to school the next day her arm was in plaster.  It is funny how you remember things because when we went back to a re-union Jeanette had no memory of the whole incident. 

The cream of the bunch was Miss Larkin who taught grade 5.  She was a sarcastic bitch.  I often had time off school since my rheumatic fever and when I returned my books were always out the front and  I had to wait until Miss Larkin could find me a seat.  She always told me in front of everyone that if I came to school more regularly I wouldn't have to go through this process.  Oh yes that was the worst I think.  To be made the butt of Miss Larkin's venom and embarrassed in front of all the girls, yep that was the worst.  One day I badly sprained my ankle.  As it made a loud crack when it happened I thought I might have broken it.  She was her usual scathing sarcastic self and made fun of me.  Luckily it was not broken but that hardly made up for her jibes.  One day it was announced that there would be a puppet show for the whole school and of course I knew that Mum could not afford for me to go.  Miss Larkin wanted to know why I wasn't going and as I didn't want to say Mum had no money I said I had my own puppets.  I did have them but they were actually clothes pegs.  This engendered a blast of sarcasm and ridicule.  This woman should not have been let loose on little kids; she was a sadist.  I was glad to get away from her class.

There was nothing notable as I remember about Mrs. Lewis the grade 6 teacher.  I do remember her physically fighting with one of the girls who had dreadful rubber sandshoes.  Her feet stunk.  On this particular day Mrs Lewis decided that the shoes had to go and told Elaine (not her name) to take them off.  Of course she didn't comply and so Mrs. Lewis had a knock down drag out fight to get the offending footwear off.  Of course she won because she was bigger.  She was definitely bigger but she was in the wrong.  I think it was in this class that some girls were picked to wash up the teachers cups from recess and lunch.  I broke one and had to tell the teacher involved what I had done.  I am sure that if it was Miss Larkin I would not be here to tell the story. 

Our grade 7 teacher Miss Simons was the most lovely person.  She was so kind to me and told me I had a talent for words.  I worshipped her.  She was going to teach me how to play the violin but as usual Mum wouldn't let me.  Because of the praise I blossomed and came second over all that year.  My particular forte was of course writing but I also managed to get a credit in arithmetic.  My best score was forty- nine and a half in Social Studies.  It was Miss Simons who convinced Mum that I had to go on to high school.  Mum must have been looking forward to me getting a job and kicking in some money to help us manage.  However, she agreed and I passed on to Port Adelaide Girls Technical High School.

Overall I really only had three teachers that were nice.  I have not mentioned Miss Cole who was my infant school teacher.  She was so kind to me and managed to find me when I got confused and went into the wrong class roooms.  She always held up my work to show all the kids what I good job I was doing.  I wish that we had not moved away from Murray Bridge but I suppose you can have too much of a good thing. 

So there you have it, three lovely teachers up against the vile, sarcastic, sadistic creatures that seemed to make up the teaching community in South Australia in the fifties.  I have talked over our teachers with Lorraine but she did not seem to have had the trouble that I did with the wielders of power.

I do not always agree with the new ways children are taught nowadays, but by golly I would prefer to be taught by modern teachers than the dreadful arbiters of information 'in my day.'

deja vu

Today, I turned into my teenage self.  I was doing a maths test and found myself back in year 10 failing all over again.  After the class had done about six questions, Martin went through them and of course I had every one wrong.  All the questions seemed to me to be quantum physics.  None of the formulas I was supposed to have learned came readily to mind, so I did something I rarely do: I cried.  I am sixty-six years old and I am still failing maths.  I would like to equate maturity with things mathematical, unfortunately like all my calculations I am once more mistaken.  We have another test next week so I have decided to get a huge block of chocolate, secrete some whiskey in my water bottle and let the games begin.  I may not pass the test but I will be happy, very happy.

  

Suffering from sieve brain

I spent hours on Monday going over and over all my formulas for areas and diameters and perimeters and was doing quite well.  However, today I cannot remember which formula goes with what.  I think my brain has holes in it.  Kathryn will not believe that I have lost any semblance of the knowledge that she had shoved into my head on Monday afternoon.  Oh goody me I have to go in to the class tomorrow and try to follow what Martin is saying.  I think he is a wonderful teacher but I just cannot keep up with even the slowest students.  I am banking on remembering the formulas when we do our exams.  I do not promise to get the sums right but I absolutely will get the formulas in.  If I didn't need this subject to finish my SACE I would run kicking and screaming far far away from anything with numbers.  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Sandilands

Sandilands is not really a name worth the space I am giving it.  I wonder why a person thinks it is perfectly acceptable to be insensitive and crude.  Surely this creature was taught about manners at some stage.  A person who feels that they have every right to be rude or threatening should have no place in the public forum.  This noxious weed should be grubbed out.  The good news would then be that he is dismissed from his positions on the radio and television and also from writing in the print media.  Enough said!

Buying a bed

There a several processes undertaken when trying to buy a new bed.  The first of these is to watch for beds in the shiny brochures that are delivered to your home.  Then of course you must compare all the prices.  This is difficult because you cannot always tell if the mattresses are alike or not.  There are more names and descriptions than one finds on a wine label.  The manufacturers want to tell you about the springs and the fibres.  You can buy dial up beds whereupon you pick your particular preference for sleeping comfort, while you partner can choose theirs.  I come from a time when you chose between flock and horsehair.  Flock could be lumpy and horse hair was like sleeping on a brick.

Speaking of sleeping on a brick, that is precisely what I am sleeping on at the moment.  A couple of years ago I bought myself a new bed.  My bedroom is so small that the only thing that fitted in it was the bed with a queen size mattress so large it could have been used for trysting in the Playboy mansion.  There was absolutely no room so I had to sidle around it nearly breaking my toes on the bed legs.  As for turning the mattress, well that was a joke in itself.  There was no room for two people to stand either side to flip the silly thing and I was totally unable to turn it myself.  Eventually I had to put the mattress for the bed into the spare room where the child of my loins happily uses it when she is on holiday.  The rest of the time it spends stands propped against the wall and used as an enormous scratching post by the cat. 

At the time, getting a good ensemble was a bit of a conundrum due to a severe lack of funds.  The only other bed I had was a single that the child had been using since the 1980's, so I moved it in to my room and have been been trying to sleep on it ever since.  It gets more uncomfortable every day, well every night really!  I have spent some time saving up to buy the perfect bed.  Last week a brochure from Harvey Norman arrived and I fell in love with one of the ensembles. It was a little out of my price range but I didn't care.  I simply went in to the shop and told the sales lady that I didn't really have enough money and could not afford to have the bed delivered.  She was most accommodating, so I managed to pay exactly the amount of money burning a hole in my bank balance.

I have to wait to wait a couple of weeks before the bed gets delivered but I don't mind.  The single bed's days are numbered as it will go out for Playford Council's hard rubbish clean up on the 27th.  I will place the bed invitingly out the front and with any luck it will be gone in just an hour or so.  I do feel sorry for anyone who takes it as it has to be the most dreadfully hard bed since I slept on the horse hair mattress with my Mum in Balaklava.  The mattress must have been terribly hard because I was only six at the time and I still remember twisting and turning and trying to find a comfortable spot. 

Of course if one gets a new bed then obviously it is important to buy it some lovely clothes to wear.  Luckily, I had at 20% off  Spotlight voucher so lashed on on a really beautiful lavender beaded quilt cover.  Although the child of my loins was horrified at the price, I think it was an absolute bargain as it was marked down from $129 to $80 and so with my trusty woucher (as a friend always says) I spent only $64.  I suppose though that $64 is a little out of my price range but would you dress a queen in a hessian sack?  I think not.  The ensemble will love its new finery and I will sleep all the better for every pintuck, piece of embroidery and each tiny bead on my beautiful lavender clad bed.

Garage sales

Why is it that people cannot remember where they hung their garage sale signs?  I am sick of used cartons being blown around and signs becoming more and more tattered for days after the sale.   I think I will turn into the garage sign police.  I will track people down and throw all their stupid signs onto their front lawns or perhaps issue bogus expiation notices.   When you reach the pre-senile age you find little things more and more annoying.  So please people take an extra few minutes and get those signs down.  You will have made an old lady very happy.

Realize or realise

I am happy to say that I have had a nice message about my use of realise/realize.  My lovely old Oxford dictionary states that both realize and realise are acceptable. When I was a girl in primary school we were taught to use the 'z'.  I am quite happy to be corrected, in fact I welcome it.  Thank you for bothering to comment.

Pedantic

I am a spelling Nazi.  I hate, loathe and abominate bad spelling, especially on signs in public places.  To everyone's horror I bail up shop managers and assistants to point out their terrible errors.  Years ago when I lived in Torrensville we used to frequent the Pizza Hut at Brooklyn Park.  Below the counter there was a sign saying Dinning Room.  That offended me so I took great pains to tell the young man exactly what was wrong with the sign.  That according to me was the end of it, however, when we returned three weeks later the sign was still there.  Years ago I was much less mellow than I am today, so I asked to see the manager and another poor little boy appeared.  I then went on to harangue him about the sign and finished by telling him if it was still on the wall when next we visited I personally would rip it off down and throw it into the bin.  My family were horrified about my behaviour and sort of shrank away from me.  Eventually Pizza Hut  must have changed the sign, not so much that it was spelled wrong but possibly because they feared me physically injuring the poor manager. 

I did the same thing at Port Adelaide at a little cafe where English was obviously the owner's second language.  My friend realized what was going to happen so she quickly got herself outside and away from the crazy spelling person and her unsuspecting victim.  I don't think the little shop assistant even knew what I was talking about and that was probably a mercy.

My latest effort was to complain about the sign at Gloria Jeans.  I don't think I was the only one that complained because about two years after my orignal complaint they changed all the signs in all the Gloria Jean's across the country.  Their spelling mistake was to advertise course ground coffee.  Even if they had used spell check it would not have worked because obviously course is a word.  Not the right word but still a viable word.  I pointed out to the lady that the word that they actually wanted was coarse.  I think the reason it took so long to fix it was that Gloria Jean's had to save their pennies for the massive Australia wide reprint. 

My thought is that if you are going to put up a sign to be read by the general public ask someone who can actually spell to check your sign.  I am always available and would only charge a nominal fee. 

Unfortunately I have caused my daughter to be as big or a bigger pendant than I.  I think she is now not so likely to correct people than I have always been, however, it does engender the same irritation.  It has brought us closer together because we can spend ages ranting and raving about people's illiteracy.  We know we cannot fix it but we can certainly gripe about it.

It is frightening that there are generations of  young people who rely on the spell check application on their trusty computers, because they do not realize that computers are fallible and that they do not know if a word is being used in the right context.

I do not always spell words correctly, but of course I have the child of my loins to correct me.  If I know I am not sure about spelling I use a trusty thing that is mostly ignored by young ones; my old dictionary.  The child of my loins informs me that you can check spelling somewhere on the computer, however, I am not convinced that even in a computer dictionary the spelling is correct.  Give me my old Oxford speller any time because I am much happier with the results.

If you find anything incorrectly spelled in this piece please feel free to correct me.  I am quite happy to edit my printed work.

Too fat for radio

I have had cause to change my mind about being too fat for radio.  I am absolutely fine.  I have a good head for radio as well.  Who would have imagined that.  I had a lovely chat with Peter Goers last night on his radio show.  It was extremely  enjoyable and I loved just chatting away.  The only thing that would have improved things would have been scones.  We could have been tucking in and only talking between mouthfuls.  It would have been so easy to get carried away and chat on and on.  They don't call me Mrs. Haveachat for nothing.  The thing that I was most nervous about did not happen.  When I get nervous I get windy so I was terrified that I would fart on air.  It didn't happen so I am thankful for that.  Peter was so gracious to me so I really enjoyed my experience. Too fat for radio, please!

Books

I love to read.  I will read all day for weeks at a time and then go off it and do other things.  I actually watch television and know the score in the cricket.  I may even tidy up the house, clean the stove or defrost the fridge.  I do love a nice thick book.  I am a very fast reader so the bigger the book the better. I have wide ranging taste in books so I read from biographys to murder mysteries.  I also love fantasy stories.  I have the all of Sara Douglass', books.  She attended Adelaide University  a year or so before I did and had the same lecturer; Dr. A. Lynn Martin.  She dedicated her first book to him and he was extremely chuffed about it.  I also have every book written by Katherine Kerr about the Deverry cycle.  I think it took her about ten years between the last couple of books.  I used to look for her next effort in the Angus and Robertson all the time.  Whether she was ill or otherwise indisposed I don't know, but I looked forward to the  next book and was extremely worried about her kicking the bucket before she had satisfied my curiosity. 

I loved to read columns by Max Fatchen, may he rest in peace.  I also used to read Irma Bombeck and Shirley Stott Despoja.  (I wonder if I have spelled that correctly.)  Shirley used to call her ex-husband, The Man Who Is Glad He Is Not Married To Me.  In my blog I call my daughter The Child of my Loins mainly because I do not want to embarrass her.  She particularly hates me telling stories about her childhood.  As she seems to be the censor of my written words I go along with her phobias. 

The older I get the more I have to say because  I am puzzled about the way life works so I have to voice my amazement.  I am puzzled about how I changed from someone in their thirties into someone in their sixties all in what seemed to be a moment.  I guess I used the intervening time up by reading.  If I keep on reading I may open my eyes one morning and find out I am in my eighties. 

My latest wish is to own some kind of thing that I think is called a Kindle.  I believe that one can download huge numbers of books for nominal prices and have them all on hand to read anywhere.  I think though that I need a real book to read.  A book does not need electricity to read it although it does need light, plus it does not die when the battery is flat.  I like to read in the evening in the pool of light shed by my tiffany lamp.  Read a book and disappear into its pages!  Sometimes I stop reading and am amazed to find I am not walking along a secret pathway with Bilbo Baggins or sailing from America to Hawaii.  Reading fills a deep seated need in me and is my favourite exercise.

I have a post script.  The Child of my Loins bought me a Kindle.  It is amazing.  I have over three hundred books on it and there is room for about one thousand more.  It is compact and fits neatly in my handbag.  I have only had to power it up once since I have had it.  The Child also bought me a little case to protect it and  a clip light so I can read in bed in the dark.  Who needs a torch now?  Therefore, I love my Kindle.  It is the absolute best present that the Child has bought me so far this year.

Poodle talk?

My dear little old man is so deaf now.  I keep wondering if he thinks I don't talk to him anymore.  I am reduced to giving him hand signals but when he is not watching me I can do nothing.  Maybe he thinks I have lost my voice.  I don't know but I am sorry he is locked in to silence.  He gives such a start when I have to wake him up to take him out at night.  I think he might have a stroke or some such but so far he has survived . His eye-sight is not the best now either.  I wonder how I will get him to do things when he can neither hear or see me.  He is not very good at getting my attention now and is reduced to putting his tiny paws on my leg and looking wistfully into my eyes.  I wish that dogs did not get so old so quickly as it is heart breaking watching them age.  I try not to dwell on when he leaves me but to make his time left with me special.  There is a lot of spoiling going on now.  I am buying him really yummy food and giving him lots of hugs and kisses.  I forgive him when he messes on the floor when I am out.  When I do get home he is so excited that he runs laps around the lawn.  I have to pick him up to stop him and I feel his heart hammering in his chest.  I do so love him, my dear little old deaf man.

Funerals

When I die, yes that is it I am going to die.  I will not pass over or pass on I will rest assuredly die. It may be comforting for some people to look up at the sky and say there she is looking down on us. No people I am dead, not in heaven, not having afternoon tea with old friends who have died before me. I will be dead. Anyway, when I die I do not want people to eulogise me and tell everyone what a wonderful person that I was.  I am not going to be someone's angel, or some sweet lovely person that everyone liked.  I refuse to be sugar coated.  I want people to say what they really feel.  They should say that I could be grumpy, selfish, bad tempered, self absorbed and so on and etcetera.    I want people to say things like I don't want to be a pall bearer as she is so fat we can't  lift her out of the hearse.  I expect that the funeral director at least hire a fork lift to do the job.  I see it now the yellow fork lift decorated with black ribbons.  That would show enough reverence for me.  I was planning on having a cardboard coffin but someone told me they they are not the cheapest, so I have decided on a nice thin wooden coffin hidden by a nice rosewood cover with silver handles.  I am tossing up whether to be buried with a Catholic Mass or just wheeled over the Main North Road and left at the gates of the Smithfield cemetery.   Come to think of it what would I care what is done with my used old carcass?  And to that I answer 'nothing at all' because I will be dead.

Oldtimers disease

I woke up this morning to the phone and answered it but it kept on ringing. I thought there was definitely something wrong and there was. You do not answer the bottle of water. The bottle of water does not enable you to talk to anyone. The fruit of my loins found this extremely amusing and cackled on and off throughout our entire phone call. You know the call that you actually answer by picking up the hand set.

When I was making breakfast, for the dog, for the cat and for me, I nearly poured the My Dog dry in to my bowl of weetbix.

I refuse to lay the blame at the feet of general aging. I had just woken up and was still in zombie land. There you are that is my excuse. I am not suffering from Oldtimers I am merely a bit sleepy and my brain has not turned on yet.

Burglar

I once moved in to a little unit so was not yet aware of the foibles of doors and locks. On the first morning I let the dog out and shut the cat in but did not snib the lock on the back door. After locking myself out at 6.30am and still in my nightie I was in a panic. I didn't know the neighbours but I knew they were British so going next door to ask for help in my huge black t-shirt with 'Aussies Do It Better' was hardly the done thing. I cast my eye around for something resembling door opening tools but all I had was my outdoor setting. All the main windows were dead locked so what to do, what to do???? Luck smiled at me when I looked at the louvre window of the bathroom. For some reason this window had huge screws on the outside. I clambered up on my little wooden seat and unscrewed the screen and then began to wriggle the lourvres until I had loosened them and was able to slip a couple out. Now, I am amazed that I could fit through two louvres because now I would need to remove all the louvres and take out the architrave as well. I then had to flap at the cat who saw his way clear to escape, he was as intent upon getting out as I was of getting in. I heaved my way through the window, pushed the cat back again and then sort of slid myself in by hanging on to the bathroom basin I dragged the old bod in and then grabbed hold of the towel rail. I managed not to fall flat on my face. It was only luck that prevented the basin or towel rail from breaking away from the wall. I also kept the cat in but the dog was starting to have a nervous breakdown because he was now the only one who was locked out.

I am always amazed how pure luck can rescue one from a fate worse than death. It was not the getting in through the conveniently poorly locked window but that fact that I had knickers on. Perish the thought that I might have had to heave myself through the window with the sight of the big white moons of my bum and perhaps other parts of my anatomy there for all the world to see. At least my neighbours whom found later could have witnessed the debacle of my inscapology but were intent upon their breakfast.

I have some little gems of advice. Do not go outside in the early hours of the morning without snibbing the door; it is also worth looking at having doors that have to be locked from the outside. Most importantly always wear knickers. Yes that is the biggie, always wear knickers.

Butt cheeks

This is just too funny. Police pulled over a car and found two men, $22.000 and ecstasy tablets. Not so funny I guess but there is more. One of the men must have thought there was a possibility of getting caught and thoughtfully hid $3,000 between his bum cheeks. The mind boggles. Did he wrap the money up? Did he have huge bum cheeks? Was he in the habit of stashing little bits and pieces up his bum cheeks regularly? Or when he shopping does he reach into his underpants for paper money or perhaps some loose change that he couldn't fit anywhere else. Perhaps this gentleman didn't have time to actually push a little package of money into his rectum. So on the spur of the moment, as the police where pulling them over he just wedged them in the place where the wedgies go. "Hey love, what's this on the $50?"

Assume makes an ass out of you and me

Years ago we had an elderly neighbour who asked me to help him choose some jewellery for a friend. As it was my birthday coming up I realized he wanted me to pick something that I would like, to give it to me on the big day. He told me he wanted to buy something for his friend Frederika who was living in America at the time. I took him down to the Brickworks and picked out some lovely shell earrings. I loved them and I knew just what dress I would wear when I received them. I realize you are way ahead of me here but hang on and let me tell the story.

Frederika loved good quality gold jewellery with real stones if possible and she would hate these cheap little earrings.

On my birthday Slim came to our place for tea. I had my 'new earrings' dress on ready for my present. When he came in to the kitchen he handed me my earrings in a huge box. I was confused. Well of course it was a box of chocolates.

The best thing about the whole thing was that I realized what an absolute idiot I was and the worst was that poor Frederika would have received some dreadful earrings that she would never wear in a pink fit.

I think the whole thing taught me a salutory lesson to never assume or presume of any other kind of sume. I can dine out on another dinner party story of how Cushie made an idiot of herself yet again. Plus poor old Slim had no idea of the silly saga.

I was not just me who assumed things though. One year Slim's birthday was coming up and his rellies called me and asked me if we had organized a party as he was quite certain that we had a surprise party all set up. Of course we hadn't and so we had to run around madly inviting people and getting everything ready so that he had his special day. He was quite oblivious and had the best time and loved the cake I made with all the candles. Well he was so old that we couldn't have fitted all the candles on the cake as it would have melted all the icing.

So the lesson is do not assume or if you do, make sure it makes a good story so everyone can laugh with you not at you.

Negatives versus positives

My dearly unbeloved august parent ground negativity into a paste and spread it liberally onto toast. She fed me this morsel every day until she died. It took me no time to digest it but a long time for the effects to wear off. Instead of chanting tables at school I chanted, "No I can't, no I can't," at home. It took me a long time to resist this socialization but resist it I did.

According to the august one I couldn't learn to do anything, and I mean anything. I think I managed all the stages in my life in spite of her. I ran in sport's days at school. I appeared in plays and end of year festivities at Speech Nights for my high school.

I got married. She wasn't even going to come to the wedding but one of my lovely neighbours shamed her in to it. My first male and I ran a business, that would have been unheard of if I had stayed at home with the august one. I got divorced, now that was a biggie! She was still talking about how I should take my husband back even when I was first going out with the male number two, father of the child of my loins.

I got pregnant and the august presence suggested that there might be something I could 'do'. She couldn't for the life of her figure out why I was so angry. I had the baby. The baby did not die of cot death or heart problems and I did get to use the baby clothes and furniture I bought against her wishes.

I learned how to drive a car, what a scary occupation for me and something she would never have countenanced.

I had learned to skate a little when I was younger and put that skill to work in my thirties skating in competitions and winning trophies, medals and a state title. She would have had me wrapped in cottonwool during this whole endeavour. Even though I can skate I cannot ride a bicycle. The august one thought I would damage someone's bike and she would have to pay to get it fixed. Of course she couldn't afford to buy one for me, or perhaps it would have been too big to take around the country with us when she moved from job to job.

After the august one died I passed the mature age entry and managed to get in to university. I was awarded my degree after ten years of on again off again progress. She would never have believed that I could do that.

I would never have learned to sculpt or throw clay on a wheel and end up with something vaguely resembling a pot. I wouldn't have learned how to dye silk or draw or paint or do large mosaics. I wouldn't have learned anything like that because I would have kept eating the negative pap she fed me day by day over thirty-seven years.

I do not want to give the impression that I was ground down to nothing. I would vent my feelings every now and then. She always said it was like living with a live volcano. There is only so much pressure you can have put upon you before you do blow like the veritable volcano she knew me to be. I do agree that it was not exactly her fault that she fed my temper until I broke. I could have literally walked away but I just soldiered on until I managed to get away from her by getting married to the first male that showed any interest in me.

I have carried some of that negative energy for many years but now I feel free and confident. I can do things that I would not have imagined. I can walk through the tree tops in Queensland and go on rides at Warners Brothers Movie World. I can fly to overseas locations and enjoy myself thoroughly. I have the gumption now to live outside my comfort zone. I can do what I please. There is no negative person in the background putting out my fire with negative energy.

If I wasn't a lady I would say, "You can stick your pearls of wisdom where the sun don't shine." Of course being a lady was the thing she was most concerned about. So 'Oh August One' being a lady is something I can take or leave as the mood takes me. Negative people do not surround me. I do not eat negative pap because I am my own person, confident, capable and daring. So like I said, "You can stick..............!"

Mirrors

I had the misfortune to go into Target to buy a top. They have three mirrors in the changeroom. Three! I mean to say if you don't look good in one then you can imagine how bad three is. I got to see my profile and my hump and my fatness. I am used to looking at myself from the front and the side but I could certainly do without the revolting hump mirror. I know I have a hump but I hadn't seen exactly how the fatness affected the hump site. What with that and the profile, I look like some sort of demented toad. And why I ask, does the nose have to keep growing? When I was younger it was a bit on the big side but now it resembles the sum of Walter Matthau and Dick Van Dyke's noses. Ah yes, the nose, the gift that keeps on giving. Evidently the ear lobes keep growing as well, if so, I will soon look like Dumbo. My earrings will hang down past my shoulders and I will be the only flying toad in Australia, dare I say the world. Down with mirrors!

Brain disfunction

Yes folks my brain has literally turned into a walnut. It has shrivelled down to a tiny dried up version of itself. Today it started off as a barely functioning human brain to go with my barely functional self but suddenly, without warning it turned up its toes (circuitry) and died. Oh yes there is enough brain left for me to go about my business on some levels but anything to do with logic and numbers has like Elvis, left the building. They say it will all be over when the fat lady sings, well I am singing people,I AM singing.

Learn by your mistakes

Most people learn by their mistakes. Most people who have spilled grapefruit juice on their computer do not do it again. The only reason that the juice is not in the computer this time is because it was up on my little table. Maybe I have to make a mistake and then get thumped on the head with a piece of 3 be 4. Also I happen to like the juice and now the carpet has been the only thing to partake. I don't think the carpet is as partial to the juice as I am. I am pleased that I bought the shamwow a while ago because it does soak up the liquid. This is now a commercial for Shamwow. Blah blah blah! So folks do not follow my example. When you actually do something wrong DON'T it again.

What is going on in my head?

Today was a red letter day. I found my street directory, my school lanyard and a little zipper purse I am making. So today I had a win and found three things all on the same day. I have of course been hunting for them for a few days and just when I think I have finally lost my wits they all appear. It should really be difficult for me to lose things. My unit is not large and there are only so many places where I can put things. I know that I have not lost the things I am looking for, I have lost my actual mind. My mind knows perfectly well where the things are but it refuses to tell me. I am thinking of investing in a little tape recorder so that when I put something down I record it and then when I am looking for the said thing the little machine will tell me in my own voice where the object is. In essence this is a great idea, however, I know that I will lose the little machine and be no better off than I was before. It is debatable whether I am more forgetful than I used to be but I do seem to spend a lot more time looking for things than I used to. By the by, isn't it silly when you say, "I found the thing in the last place I looked." Of course it was in the last place you looked nitwit, why would you keep looking after you have found it. I was always fond of hide and seek when I was a child and now I get to play it practically every day.

Miracle

Now for those of you who know me I want you to sit down.  Now wait for it.  Today I vacuumed.  I got out Damien Spawn of the Devil and actually put him together and I vacuumed the whole house.  Of course I am not a good vacuumer.  I do not move the furniture; hah perish the thought!   However, I did plug the viscious thing in and applied it to the carpet and lino.  Who wants to sweep when Damien is being used. Of course he did his usual hooking on to doorways, tried to trip me up, wound himself around the poor old dog's neck, got hooked on the ironing board leg, made things fall over and generally acted like the evil thing he is.  He also refuses to reach to places that he is supposed to.  I only get to do three quarters of the bedroom but I absolutely will not plug him in somewhere closer.  He is supposed to reach and so he shall.  Of course when I am persistent he just pulls himself out of the plug.  Now the one thing I hate more than using Damien is emptying the bag.  Usually when I do take the bag out it is absolutely full to bursting with disgusting dust, pet hair, small pieces of paper, pins from my sewing and lots of kitty litter.  Once in a blue moon I get the head and unwind string, cotton, carpet bits and so on.  It takes me as much time to unravel the threads in the head as it does to vacuum the whole house and have a cup of tea.  Actually, today I think I should have a cup of tea with a cap full of whiskey.  Yes vacuuming does have that affect on me.  When I am older and it will perfectly acceptable for me to do strange and odd things I am planning on leaving the vacuuming for a really long time until the carpet starts to sprout grass.  The way I am going it might be sooner rather than later.  I am waiting for Damien to break down and then I will cease to vacuum forever.  Unfortunately Damien appears to be going to live for long long time.  That is if we can say an inanimate object can live.  So friends I say again, I vacuumed today, it is indeed a miracle.

Learning to drive

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Skating

When I was sixteen I somehow managed to persuade my Mum to buy me some strap on skates.  My friend Lorraine also managed to score some so we had the best time trying to learn how to skate.  The strap-ons were made of what looked like aluminium and had red leather straps that went over the top of the foot and around the ankle.  I used to skate over to Lorraine's and seemed to fall down every few steps.  I think I spent more time on the ground than I did standing up.  When I got to Lorraine's we went up to Brierley's garage and swept the driveway and then spent the afternoon trying to stay upight.  The garage of course was not open as it was back in the old days when they shut at 2pm and didn't open again until Monday morning. 

After months of trying to skate we managed to stay on our feet most of the time.  We had a trick that we thought was extremely clever.  I would skate toward Lorraine and then duck right down and skate between her legs.  That was it really; we didn't know how to skate backward but had the best fun anyway.

One weekend Lorraine came down to my place and we went to the bottom of Hart Street where there was a steep cement pathway down to the beach.  I know now that when someone says you can do something but you don't think so, DO NOT listen the that person.  So Lorraine got me to believe that skating down the path was a good idea.  Patently it was not a good idea and I definitely couldn't make it to the bottom of the path.  Well, I did make it to the bottom but only after skidding along the ground mashing my hip, knees and hands.  I also must have hit my head because I looked up at her and asked her if she was an angel.  An angel was something she definitely was not.  After that little effort I had to explain to Mum why I had a great hole in my pants.  She was not amused. 

One weekend Lorraine's parents took us to St. Clair Recreation Centre so we could hone our non-existent  skating skills.  We were not quite to the level of the other skaters and also we wore daggy strap ons.  All the other kids had good skates.  I really think I remember that the skates had wooden wheels but I just cannot think if they did or I just imagined it.  At one stage we both fell down and all the other skaters bore down on us like a stampede of buffalo.  Someone stood between the skaters and we idiots so we could get up without being squashed into the wooden floor like insects. 

I really loved skating but life got in the way and I didn't go skating again until we lived in Wagga.  There was a session at the Rec. Centre on a Saturday morning and my husband and the child of my loins (who was five at the time) all went skating.  The man who ran the Centre had some cute little skates for the littlies.  He had a plate with wheels which he affixed to little sneakers.  Kel loved them.  I got back some of my skill at staying up and taught my little treasure how to skate.  Some of the kids managed to teach me how to skate backwards.  I was so chuffed.  It was freezing in Wagga during the winter and when we skated it took an hour for us to even be able to feel our toes.  It was the only time I was ever warm. 

We came back to South Australia and luckily it was just when skating was starting up in the 80's.  Elizabeth Roller Skating Centre had a ladies class on a Wednesday morning and I was so happy to go.  We all had a great time and I managed to get a little more experienced.  There were classes on Saturday morning so my treasure and I went and had lessons.  I just loved that place.  I improved so much that finally I went in a competition and managed to get a gold medal in figures for Old People Who Couldn't Skate All That Well. 

We learned how to do figures that was my forte and I also did dance.  I finally managed to win a state title for seniors figures.  Luckily I was the last one on because we were told just beforehand that we had been starting off on the wrong foot on our Serpentine.  That of course gave me much longer to practice.  I also had extremely good bearings in my wheels so I just kept telling myself that the bearings would get me around the circles.  It was a little easier to win in the mature section because there were only about six of us most times and at others perhaps only two.  The little treasure used to skate against nineteen or so other kids so she was not always in medals contention. 

I won two trophys for Solo Dance.  That is code for don't skate near her or she will make you fall down and hurt yourself.  There were no male skaters for me to skate with but when young Stephen skated around with me counting out the steps he wasn't game to come too near.  At one of the competitions I was worried about stepping off on the right beat so Stephen stayed up one end of the rink tapping out the beat for me.  Something was mentioned after that dance so I skated up to the opposite end where I couldn't see him and started off on the right beat all by myself.

I loved the 80's it was my favourite time.  We had the skating about five days a week and on a Saturday we started at about 7am and finished at noon.  Then we all went to Hungry Jacks for hamburgers.  We all wore leg warmers and had moccies to keep our feet warm.  I was so skinny then that I took a size 12 leotard.  (Times have changed.)  I am really hopeless about  most music but ask me about 80's music and I know all the songs. 

When we shifted from Elizabeth to Torrensville I began to learn to ice-skate at the Ice Arena.  They had sessions on Tuesdays and Fridays.  It took me ages to learn how to ice skate but at first I just couldn't get the hang of it.  However, I kept on trying and finally found that some of the things I had trouble with roller skating were easier on ice.  Because I had skated before I was more sure footed it didn't take long for me to get the hang of staying up and dry.  I joined the ladies drill team, it was like marching girls on ice.  We had a great time.  When the Australian Championships were held in South Australia our drill team won gold.

Six of us decided to go into the Show Skate.  We were called the Six Grannies and we skated to the Beatles "When I'm 64."  How funny we thought 64 was terribly old and now I am two years past that.  Never mind.  One of the girls who could not skate all that well had a walker firstly to help her skate but also I was the crazy granny and I had to steal the walker and the others chased me.  We really didn't quite get the beat of the music and didn't know when we had to do one thing or another so every time we skated it ended differently.  The only one who knew where the bridge was in the song and when we had to do stuff was the lady who couldn't skate.  She must have been so frustrated.  Never-the-less we won gold.  I  have a picture of myself wearing pyjamas and a pink dressing gown plus furry covers for my skates that were meant to look like slippers. The scary thing was that I looked like my Mum.

I came back to live in Elizabeth and skated at the Gawler Rec. Centre for about a year.  One Saturday I had a fall and frightened myself, so sadly I stopped skating.  Now that I have ballooned to an extremely enormous blimpy person I wish that I had kept it up and I would have been as fit as a fiddle.  I hate exercise but I have never thought that skating was excercise it has always been a pleasure.  I think that skating is the closest I will ever get to flying.  Not like flying in a plane; but swooping and swerving and sliding and having the best time in the whole world.  Sometimes I dream I am flying or skating and I wish that I was game enough to skate again. 

Even though people say you can always go back, in this case I believe that I have had the good time and I have all the memories and what I don't have is a broken leg, arm or fractured skull.  Enough said.

74%

I found out my score for the maths test.  I received 74%.  I am finally sitting down and not running around in the kitchen laughing hysterically.  What will the neighbours think?  I haven't received a score that high for arithmetic since I was in primary school.  Yay for me I am not as dumb as I thought I was.  As for being modest well you can forget about that.  Sheer genius!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Test Day at the OK Corral

Well you could have knocked me over with a feather.  I actually finished the test in one and a half hours.  There were still two people left after me so I think I had a win.  I thought I would have to ask to stay into the lunch hour.  I did lots and lots of working out.  Most of the sums I did twice or three times to see if I got the same answer twice.  I still cannot get the hang of rounding up and down.  Decimals are a completely mystery to me. 

Much to my surprise I only ate one little bar of chocolate.  Chocolate is the maths confectionary and crown mints are for English and History exams.

Right now you should be able to see me doing the happy dance.  Finished, finished, finished.  Yay for me. 

I think I will make myself a nice cup of tea I deserve it. 

Semaphore beach

I was such an anxious child that I was terrified that I would fall through the gaps between the great wooden girders of the jetty at Semaphore.  I also didn't want to walk close to the actual rails either.  All the adults chatted away as they walked to the end of the jetty and back, and I was nearly frozen with fear.  So the funny thing is that I was scared of doing something that would not hurt me but I was not scared of the water.  I loved the water and even when I was little I would be going out into the little waves.  Now Mum was paralysingly frightened of the water.  If she did sit in the water with me and a little wave splashed her she started huffing and puffing and getting upset.  Good grief you are in ten inches of water woman for God's sake.  She never ever walked into the water except for a paddle and then only in water that barely covered her feet.

I remember the once I was following some big girls into the water and kept following them until the water closed over my head.  One of the girls looked back and dived in and saved me.  I didn't even think I needed saving but obviously I was too silly to know not to go out of my depth.  My august parent however, was sort of tap dancing along the edge of the water but made no attempt to run in and save me herself.  The water would hardly have been up to her waist.  Because I am not scared of the water I cannot but think how ridiculous it was not to go to your child's aid.  I think personally think she was trying to get rid of me.  I am sure I gave her plenty of reasons to do so.

At that time all the kids went into the water and had a brilliant time.  We wouldn't come out until one of the adults came and checked on us.  If our fingers had turned into prunes and our lips were blue we were hustled out of the water and then dried roughly to bring our circulations back to normal.  We had to do the old don't go into the water until an hour after our meal.  We were not to go too far out and we had to always listen for the shark siren.

Ladies and gentlemen of the time did not come to the beach with their bathers on under their clothes, they went to the Palais where there were change-rooms.  It was a penny I think to pay for a little cubicle.  You had the key to the cubicle which you had tied around your wrist or neck, and after all the swimming you went back to the Palais to get changed into your street clothes.  I was only little so if I sat down on the wooden floor I could see the big white moons of the ladies bottoms in neighbouring cubicles.  Of course children could be changed on the beach.  It was rather a complicated effort where your Mum wrapped the beach towel around you and then shufftied off all your clothes and then pulled your bathers up.  The same was done in reverse at the end of the day.  It was a little harder as you were all sticky with salt and still a little damp.  Still it was all done under the towel and proprieties were preserved.

In the summer the beach was so crowded.  The tents were erected almost on top of each other.  Some of them were shaped like teepees and others just the ordinary sort of lean-to.  It was hard to get from the beach and up to the ramps as you had to dodge the tent pegs and people's towels and of course people.  The ramps are there now except they are under about six feet of sand.  People quite often set up their spots under the ramps and also under the jetty where there was plenty of room right up to the sea wall.  How things have changed.  There was no bushy grass but just the sand and the sea weed.

Mum hated the sand and always wanted to sit on the seaweed.  I am amazed that someone who hated both the water and the sand would even bother to come.  It is sort of like visiting the Botanic gardens and hating plants, trees and lawns.  Well I say, "Why bother Mum?"

During the summer there were swimming lessons on the beach and I always wanted to go and join in but Mum of course wouldn't let me.  I asked why I couldn't go and she always said, "Because I say so."  That is the most ridiculous thing to say.  If she had said that it cost money to go I would have been fine because that is a good reason.  Because I say so, I hate that and I don't think I have ever said that to the child of my loins. I could stand corrected though.

Needless to say I never really learned to swim.  I just copied what other people did and tried not to drown.  I was still not afraid of the sea though.  My best swimming style is back stroke. I am so claustrophobic that I really don't like to have to keep my face in the water for too long. Of course a bit of judicious diving to the bottom to pick up shells or something of interest, well that is a different thing entirely. I have learned that I am able to float vertically.  It is sort of spooky really.  I start off lying on my back and then my feet drift down and there I am floating away. Since Jaws I don't think I have really gone swimming in the sea much, if at all. It is sort of like Psycho and showering.  Those movies have a lot to answer for.  I must add I am not scared of the water it is what is under it that disturbs me.

Nowadays paddling in the water has a most soporific effect on me.  It is peaceful and after a good paddle I feel ready to take on the world or just go and have a nap for an hour or so.  I took one of my poodles down to the beach one time and walked him through the little pools of water which he found acceptable.  However, when I took him in to moving water, well that was another thing entirely.  We spent the rest of the time with him on one end of the long lead and me in the water.  My other dear old man is fine with the water he is just a bit short in the legs so gets pretty wet.

Last time I went to the beach I went with one my friends.  We had the best fun.  I picked up a few jelly fish and chased her with them.  I threw a couple and they splattered on her feet.  She has horrified at first but then she got the idea and it was my turn to get squished.  We ran along the beach bumping in to each other and laughing.  It was brilliant and my most enjoyable day at the beach for ages.  Of course there were a few walkers that looked at us.  I really don't know why they stared but maybe it is because I am in my sixties and she is in her fifties.  Suffer people, we may be mature but we certainly know how to enjoy ourselves.  We both had a double icecream before we went home because you just cannot go to the beach and not have one.

I adore Semaphore beach.  I love the history of the place.  I love the sea and the sand and the seaweed but perhaps not the silly green bushy plants. I love all the things I remember about growing up there and the stories that are so long and involved that a book could be written about them.

Semaphore Carnival

I loved the carnival at Semaphore every summer.  The Merry-go-round at Semaphore is supposed to be the oldest one in Australia.  I am not sure of my facts but this is my story so I accept no complaints.  The horses on the Merry-go-round were brown, gray and my favourite a beautiful cream.  I would probably have been around four or five when Mum started taking me to have a ride on this lovely carousel.  All the little kids were tied on to the pole that the horses moved up and down on by a heavy strip of leather about as wide a thick twine.  There were also little seats where the mum's could sit holding their tiny ones and babies.  The centre of the carousel was cream and red and gold and had mirrors that reflected the riders and the lights.  It was like a fairy land to a little kid and I loved it.  Every time I passed Mum I waved just as the children wave today. The floor around the outside of the merry-go-round seemed to be made up of large shreds of leather.  I remember a leathery smell but of course it could have been something else.  (Hey, I was four right!)  The highlight of any day at the beach was a ride before we caught the train home to Woodville.  One extremely hot night the ride was packed and it was getting late.  Mum wanted to catch the next train and I wanted a ride.  There was a young man (probably an older child) who told Mum that I could have a ride on his horse.  Now that is lovely of him and Mum was happy but not me.  No, I was furious I hated it, and I am sure I looked most ungrateful, however, the boy was riding a brown horse and of course I wanted to ride the cream one.  The Merry-go-round is still there and I still love it.  I think I am a little heavy to go on the ride now and I could sit on one of the little seats but I want to ride the cream horse.  If I can't ride the cream horse I don't want to ride.

I was fascinated by the Big Whipper.  It was for older kids and too scary for me to ride on even if there had been a nice boy who said I could ride in his car.  I loved the way it whipped the seats around the ends and I knew if I ever did get to ride it I would be sick.  There was a big wooden tower with stairs around the inside and when you got to the top you slid down around and around the outside of the tower on a hessian bag.  I liked to watch the bumper cars that were another of the rides that were for the big kids.  There were young men who jumped on the back of the cars and tried to turn the steering wheels to keep everyone going in the right direction.  They leapt from on car to another and I was fascinated with them.  I also like to watch the cars crash in to each other and jolt the drivers. 

The old carnival was an exciting place with all sorts of games, they had the clown faces, games of skill like the duck shoot and a ball rolling game and other rides and my favourite little shop run by a Mr. Smith.  He actually had two shops with one in the ground level of the old Palais.  I didn't go to that shop but to the one in the middle of everything it was exciting and nearly every time we went Mum would buy me a choc-ice.  This delicacy was chocolate encasing icecream and wrapped in blue and silver foil.  This has to be the best treat ever invented.  I just loved them but if Mum didn't have enough money I had a child sized icecream.  I suppose as long as it was icecream so it didn't really matter.  Mr. Smith also sold pink sugar mice with a cotton tail. These were another favourite but I don't imagine I would have been allowed to have one of these plus a choc-ice.

There was also a carnival for the older kids.  One was the bucking horses.   I never had a ride on that until I was going out with my boyfriend when I was about 20.  It was a long wait but I think I enjoyed it all the more.  If you were really brave you could swing yourself up and out over the heads of the watchers.  However, I was never that brave.  I remember saying to Mr. Healy, the ride operator, that the music he was playing made Elvis sound funny.  Well how was I to know it was Roy Orbison ?  I was a Johnny O'Keefe fan myself.

As time passed the carnival was tidied up.  It shifted to a long row of purpose built shops and had the atmosphere of a bowl of mashed potato without salt.  The old area was razed and all the wonderful and scary rides became sterile and safe.  I realize some people would disagree but unless they had lived through the time of the old carnival they really don't know what they have missed. 

When I go to Semaphore or Largs I always have an icecream.  It is imperative to have an icecream or it would not be a trip to the beach.  When I take the dogs with me I buy them a double icecream to share.  Semaphore has changed but the most important part of it is still there.  The beach, the sea, the smell of salt and seaweed and the cries of those pesky seagulls are there for me to enjoy and I'll tell you what; you can share it too.  Just get yourself down to the beach, have some fish and chips from the kiosk, and of course an icecream and let the whole ambience wash over you. 

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Kel has bought a unit

The fruit of my loins has just bought herself a unit in Kensington.  Not the one in Adelaide but in Melbourne.  It is close to shops, the tram and to the Melbourne CBD.  It is upstairs and is quite large and has a brilliant view of Melbourne.   She managed to get it about $19K less than the vendor's price.  (She will be able to hear me snoring from her bedroom.  Now there is a positive!)  Once upon a time a woman could not buy a house.  Even if she was working it still hinged on her husband's wage.  The same was true of buying a car.  I remember one of my friends was asked when her husband was coming in even though she was buying a car for herself and working at the time.  At one time, women public servants also had to resign when they got married.  We were also paid less than the men for doing the same work.  I asked why and was told that the boys could shift furniture.  What a load of hogwash!    So even though I am always saying, "When I was a girl" I stand corrected.  In this case 'when I was a girl' it was not better. 

What the????

One headline news story today was that of China's huge suicide rate. This in itself very sad and so I don't want anyone to think I take it lightly BUT. It stated two million Chinese people try to take their own lives annually. ANNUALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So mayhap those who failed their suicide attempt, celebrates their failed suicide by trying to kill themselves again. I love it, who will even bother about an insignificant thing like a birthday when they really celebrate by throwing themselves off a building.