The Big Countdown

We have another year here in London before we move back to Sydney.

That gives us 12 months to make sure we see everything in the UK we want to see. There are so many places I'd love us all to visit. Sadly we can't spend the entire next 12 months on holiday - aren't school, work and general life inconvenient like that? Then there is the teeny weeny matter of having to pay for it all.

And let's not forget I am a complete wuss. If I go anywhere colder than London in Winter there is every chance I will cark it from the cold. If by some miracle I don't freeze to death, I'll probably complain about it for the rest of my life. So if we do get away in Winter, it would have to be somewhere extra cosy. Otherwise I'll be hibernating through Winter, hoping to emerge at the end of it like a beautiful butterfly. Or a pasty butterball.

Anyway. The next 12 months will fly. Unless we get a list and a plan together (urgh!) I worry none of it will happen. In doing so, I've been drooling over www.stayindevon.co.uk and www.holidaycottages.co.uk. There's also www.thebigdomain.com should we decide to hire a party house or castle - just your standard holiday, really.

I guess we could stay here, but it's so similar to home.
www.thebigdomain.com

So I'm going to ask for your help. What are your recommendations for a family holiday in the UK? What must we see before we move back to Sydney? I'd love to hear what you think. Our children are 5 and 3 so any ideas for little ones are very welcome.  THANK YOU!

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

This is a sponsored post.


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Top 5 Cartoon Characters

This week's Listography is a goody, "top 5 cartoon characters from your youth." Here we go...

Inspector Gadget
The theme tune went like this "Do do-do do do Inspector Gadget." I have a clear memory of riding on the back of a ute with a friend who sang, "do do-do do do Inspector your gadget." It was probably the funniest, rudest thing I had ever heard. The poor guy, I made him sing it for the rest of the afternoon.  I doubt he is reading this, but if he is - I'm sorry.  But you did make me laugh.

"Go go gadget bottle of wine!" Ah you've got to dream, don't you.

What girl didn't want to be Penny?
No-one wanted to be Brain.  Then again, he was a dog.

Danger Mouse
He's amazing, he's fantastic, whenever there is danger he'll be there... although have the makers of Danger Mouse ever seen a real mouse? I'm struggling to see where they found their inspiration.

Wilma Flintstone
In truth, I could have picked anyone from The Flintstones. How can you not love them? But I picked Wilma. No-one carried off a white one-shoulder everyday dress quiet like her.

Wile E Coyote
Let's face it, he didn't exactly have an IQ to be proud of, did he? But he made up for idiocy with persistence.

Astro Boy
I really don't get why I was so into Astro Boy. It just doesn't seem very me. But I was also into hot pink taffeta, so times have changed.

What would make your list?

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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We Are Not Amused

My husband spent today in Cardiff for work. He raced home this evening to shower and suit up for a work function in London.

He somehow managed to cut the tip of his finger while shaving in a hurry. It is a very good thing he doesn't have to shave his legs.

It was his right hand so he needed help. You know all those Hollywood movies where the heroine dabs at the hero's cuts and scrapes, he winces and she soothes him with words of comfort? That wasn't us. Instead it was him going "Oh shit, oh shit" and me holding up all our plasters asking, "Do you want Thomas or Peppa Pig?"

He didn't answer, probably because he just couldn't decide, so I used both. In the end he had about 7 highly decorative plasters wrapped around his finger. These were held in place by a couple of Wiggles ones. I have never claimed first aid was a strength. The bleeding hadn't stopped, so it was all looking rather dodgy, but at least Peppa adds an element of cheer.

He was running late by now. I helped him with his cufflinks and tie, and he was out the door.

Just as he left, I asked where he was going.

"Buckingham Palace."
"Will you see the Queen?"
"Yep."
"So you're going to shake her hand with all those revolting, bloody novelty plasters?"
Pause.
"Well, it's not like I can make her."

Is that a first?

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Silent Sunday

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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A Non-Post Post

Won't that heading draw the readers in?

This is what I just finished making. I'm not including it as an "oooh aren't I clever!" more a "so that's why she's been so quiet."

In case you're thinking, "What on earth??" It's a pirate ship cake.  Der. 

Look, it's even been cropped so you can't see the disaster that's going on around it.

Tomorrow my son turns 5. Does anyone else stay up through the night before their child's birthday party? I do it every time. And every time, I pretend I didn't. As much as I love their parties, at this time of year I wonder why we had our babies so their birthdays are two weeks apart.

Anyway, this is his cake. The beauty of it is most kids in Australia have seen it, as it's from a very popular book. But I'm counting on those coming tomorrow to have never seen it before. They won't know what it's supposed to look like - result!

Onto the cupcakes now. Enjoy your Sunday. (And yes, there is no way I would have written this post if I wasn't posting every day in November. If you are reading this, thanks for sticking around. With this post it seems that I'm bringing boring back as well.)

x

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Bringing Boring Back

It turns out this blog is quite the family affair. After seeing yesterday's post, my brother offered to write one as well.   I love it.  So here he is, my brother, writing his first ever blog post and bringing boring back...

Boring is the new black. No, honestly it is. Last Sunday there was even a conference dedicated to all things boring in East London (Boring 2011) - it was pitched as "a one-day event dedicated to the boring, the mundane, the obvious and the over-looked". It was sold out.

Which leads me on to my washing machine.

On Sunday 6th November we returned home from holidays at around 7pm and I decided there and then to do a long-overdue load of washing. It's amazing how many dirty clothes one accumulates over 2 weeks - if there are 2 of you that makes for approximately 28 pairs of underpants and 56 socks, and that's not including t-shirts, jeans and shorts. So, on this occasion I had to decide whether or not to do a load of whites or coloureds. Ultimately I decided on the latter option due to the fact that there were more coloured garments in the proposed load than white ones.

The cycle I chose (cycle 3 for a 40 degree coloured wash) takes around 45 minutes. It was close to finishing when suddenly I heard a very loud bang and a "whoosh whoosh" sound. Something was not right. At that very moment I was grating some pecorino cheese so had to stop immediately and inspect the unit to try and diagnose the problem. Regretfully I wasn't able to. I was then faced with a massive quandary - do I leave the soaking garments in water overnight and hope the engineer comes in a timely fashion in the morning, or do I attempt to rescue the clothes somehow and try and dry them myself?

I thought, "to hell with it, you only live once" so I anxiously hit B (the spin cycle) and fortuitously my garments were given a good spin. Despite a bit of residual noise during this cycle, the washing machine finally came to a halt and with a click the machine was finally unlocked so I could recover my garments and hang them to dry manually in our living room. It was certainly an eventful evening.

Which leads me to the next part of the story.

After finally grating the pecorino cheese, I went to the third drawer of our original 1950's sideboard to locate the filer where we keep instruction manuals and receipts. I located the Hotpoint instruction manual and to my delight I realised that our washing machine would be covered by a warranty as it was under one year old. You can only imagine how excited I was.

The following day I called Hotpoint to request an engineer, however they required the exact model number of my washing machine which I didn't have. Subsequently I had to head home that evening, review the manual again and locate the model number (BHWD 129) and call them back. To my delight they were able to send out an engineer the next day, free of charge.

On Wednesday at precisely 11am there was a knock on our front door and it was the Hotpoint engineer. I could not contain my excitement as I allowed him in as I still had at least 2 (or possibly 3) loads of washing to complete. The engineer gave the washing machine a thorough examination which lasted approximately 10 minutes, he even took the top off and turned it on and off again to give it a test run on cycle 3.

You can only but imagine my astonishment when he announced to me that there was nothing wrong with the machine. He said the most probable cause of the loud bang and "whoosh whoosh" sound was an object passing momentarily from the load into the drainage pipes - he cited such objects as often being coins or large buttons for example. The thing is - I'll never know what it was. It clearly is a mystery of monumental proportions. I saw the engineer out and happily started loading my second post-holiday load of washing (whites). A third wash (more coloureds) and a forth (towels) followed shortly after that and to this day I never heard the loud bang and "whoosh whoosh" sound again.

It is through adversity that we learn our most important lessons in life, and emptying your pockets before loading the washing machine is one of them. I hope this story serves to drive this important message home - please pass this on to your loved ones and may you all enjoy seamless washing cycles forevermore.

This November, I'm writing (or getting someone else to write) one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Man + Kid + Cake = Hero

I'm handing you over to my husband today.  Be gentle on him please.  Although I would just like to say that of course I didn't buy the cake, heavens no! It was my evil, long-lost twin. She's always doing stuff like that.

Step aside Einstein and your so-called "theory of relativity." Enigma code ... please.

After 35 years on the planet, I have finally found a way to make more than one woman smile at the same time. Seriously.  Knackered mothers, no less.  And it really wasn't that hard.

Being a bloke by yourself with an uber-cute daughter helps.

But it was bringing cake to a midweek playgroup which sent my stocks through the roof.

Attending playgroups can be dangerous territory for men.  It is tough to work out when is the right time to throw in a joke during a conversation about childbirth or female plumbing.  And some of the looks you receive, you pray people just think you are unemployed.

To be fair, the vast majority of mothers are quite welcoming. With cake, almost bordering on flirty.  Armed with an orange cake (I think) my wife had bought the day before that even had a big slice missing from it, I felt like Brad Pitt or George Clooney.  At least for one morning.  I don't think I have received so many collective smiles and thanks yous from a group of women in my entire life.

Maybe it was just compared to the usual tea and biscuits, the cake had an exotic quality to it.  Maybe it was just good timing. Maybe it had nothing to do with me being a bloke.  I think it did.  Who knows?

Whatever it was, I have not been back since and I work during the week as well as weekends.

What should I do for an encore?  Never turn up again and have gone out on a high? Or actually get off my arse and bake a cake?

This November, I'm writing (or getting someone else to write) one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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You Say "Tragic." I Prefer "Enthusiastic."

I'm feeling sad.

I walk around the house with a feeling of helplessness. I don't know what I'm doing - I find myself holding random things I have no memory of picking up. Where there used to be happy memories are now sad reminders of better days. Everything has lost its sparkle.

Tonight is Wednesday night.

And Waterloo Road will not be on the telly.

I only discovered this show a few weeks ago, and quickly got into it. It fills a void left by The Bill being axed - oh go on, laugh... I know it was sheer quality. But as the credits rolled last Wednesday night, a voiceover casually announced that was the last episode of the season. Just like that. No British "I'm every so sorry" or "excuse me, I hope I'm not being a nuisance." None of that. Just "show's over, move on."

Boooo!

I'll miss Sian's boring beige suits and bad choices - I mean, Michael, seriously? I'll miss Michael telling everyone education is why he is so wonderful, as though people thought it was his winning personality. I'll miss Grantly Budgen. Is that the best name ever? And is his character based on Eeyore? I'll bet you it was. I'll miss Jez because he was in The Bill and now we get to see him wear only polyester sportswear. I'll miss crazy Linda's coloured belts... they really do make an outfit. I'll miss the big hoop earrings. I'll miss the school band.

I will miss Waterloo Road.

"I DO HAVE A WINNING PERSONALITY!" 

Last week, Michael turned Linda down (again!) so she did the obvious thing and ran him down in her car. Sian, who had been bonking Michael, begged Jez for forgiveness. I had been rooting (look!! I used the word "rooting" in a non-sexual context!) for Jez. What I didn't realise was in the episodes I had missed, he had left his wife for Sian. So he's hardly an angel. But he was in The Bill.

"I SAID I HAVE A WINNING PERSONALITY!"
Ooh look at that.  I used the same joke twice. 

If you're not familiar with the show, and poor you, it's set in a school. Now I don't know about where you went to school, but mine was nowhere near as eventful. A scandal was a prefect's socks not pulled up, and believe me, that day was massive. Come to think of it there was a time when a drama teacher was fired on the spot, according to him anyway.

Top Tip! Don't tell your boss she has ovaries of steel.

So tonight I have two choices. I could sit, dribbling, in a dark room, scratching myself and rocking backwards and forwards. Or I could pick myself up, dust myself off and get a life.

Or I could just watch reruns of The Bill.

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Skincare Recommendation

There's something a bit uncomfortable about recommending skincare products. It's like I'm saying you all think I am so very beautiful, you clearly want to get your hands on my moisturiser.

So let me assure you that's not the vibe behind this post.

Instead, let me explain how this came about. A good friend of mine was raving about her new skincare products. She had always hated her skin, and had never found any products she was happy with. She isn't the type to recommend everything that comes her way, and since her skin was looking so amazing, I took notice.

So I looked into it. Bare Skin Beauty hand make 100% natural skincare products. Normally, the word "natural" isn't a selling point for me. Funnel-web spiders are natural and I don't go around befriending them. But I've been using these natural products on my skin lately and the difference is very noticeable.

Did you think this is me?  Don't worry, it's an easy mistake to make.
http://www.bareskin-beauty.co.uk/

Bare Skin Beauty is based in Greenwich, London, but you can buy their products online and have them delivered. Their ingredients are so pure you could eat them, although you'd have to be pretty desperate to eat your cleanser, wouldn't you?

They also have a bespoke service which you can organise through their website, www.bareskin-beauty.co.uk.  This is what I did. I ended up with products hand-made just for me, and I've never had anything like them before. They are amazing - that's the absolute truth. The Bespoke Botanical Package gives you custom blended cleanser, toner and serum for £129. When you need to buy refills, these cost considerably less.

What a find.

Are you wondering "what's in it for her?" That's fair enough. I was given these products in return for writing about them honestly. And I absolutely love them.

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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The Mummy Quiz

Yesterday I got this little mention on Twitter from Karin at Cafe Bebe.

I know what Karin means, I'm in two minds about tagging in blogworld. But I quite like the idea behind this little quiz.  And yes, the fact that I'm blogging every day in November might have reduced any need to persuade me.

So here it is, my "Mummy Quiz."

Before my children can fall asleep I have to...
...read them stories, chat about the day and what's on tomorrow, then we all cuddle. I sing to my daughter, and my son reads to me. It's lovely. When everything is going to plan I love this time of day.

When dealing with over-tired children who are not co-operating, I do not love this time of day. But I do have wine. And I love that.

One thing I do that makes my children laugh is...
...dance with them. I would like to point out that they are laughing with me, not at me. There's a big difference.

One thing my children do that makes me laugh is...
... play with no idea I am listening to them.

"I'm a pirate knight, and you're a fairy."
"No. I'm a firefighter fairy. Quick, smoke! Give me the breathing apparatus!"
"The fire's out, well done you clever girl! Now I'd like two oranges and a banana please, shopkeeper."
"Here you are, that's two hundred pounds. What else can I help you with today?"
"Wait - what's that stomping sound? It's a..."
"DINOSAUR! Run! Be careful of the volcano!"

I'm more lenient than I thought I would be about...
...watching TV. I used to be strict about it. Now? CBeebies is my best friend and a surrogate parent. I tell myself it's educational. But in my heart I know I just want a cup of tea in peace.

One of the most ridiculous things I've said as a parent is...
..."I know it looks like chocolate. But it's actually mummy's medicine." It has served me well for years, but my son is now onto me.

The best rule in our house is...
..."Don't be a scary dinosaur."  My son wanted a list of rules for the house, so we sat down and wrote them out.  This came in at number 10 and was his doing.  It's because he was forever going "RAHH!" to his sister to make her cry. When he made this one of our rules, it was good to know he was listening all those times.

Sometimes I wish I could snap my fingers and make my child...
... pronounce everything correctly. I'm referring to my daughter who is about to start speech therapy. I'm very glad it's not regular "tell me about your mother?" therapy. Not yet, anyway.

I am tagging Penny at Alexander Residence and Kate from Kate Takes 5.  Although if you like the sound of this, just do it without waiting to be tagged.  It's NaBloPoMo, after all.  

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Top 5 Randoms

Kate Takes 5's Listography theme this week is "Top 5 Random Things I Like."  I don't know why I found this list hard to write.  Surely I would know what I like more than anyone?  This is what I came up with, in no particular order.

Perfume
Although perfume ads on TV are clearly being aimed more and more towards total wankers, I still love it and wear it every day. My husband reckons it gives him a headache but it's not like I marinate in it.

Oh, and if a beautiful scent is in an ugly bottle, it's no longer beautiful.

White fairy lights
Excuse my boasting but - ahem - ours have eight settings. This is essential because you absolutely need to choose between so many variations in flashing speeds and patterns. Naturally.

Chocolate
I know, there's nothing random about this. But when I see someone quickly shove chocolate into their mouths, I feel like yelling, "Noooooooooo!!" and doing that Superman thing when he reverses time by spinning around the earth in the wrong direction. They're not getting the best of that bit of chocolate. You have to admire it first, then you absolutely must smell it. Come on party people.

Old tea cups and saucers
These appeal to my inner (and not-so-inner) nanna. Extra points if they also have the matching plate. Apparently these sets of 3 are called "crazy sets" because they certainly are CRAAAAAZY!!

www.vintagetouch.co.uk

Board Games
There's Monopoly, which brings out the worst in everyone. That's why my husband calls it Cheats, Liars & Thieves. I also love Chess and Scrabble, although I am rubbish at them. I start every game completely over-confident, saying things like "prepare to lose, Loser!" I end up being thrashed every time - even by people who don't know how to play. Here is a good example of talent and enthusiasm not balancing.

How about you?

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Cars

For someone who isn't a car person, I talk about cars a lot. My son is to thank. When we walk to school, the entire conversation is my son pointing to each car and announcing what it is.

"Peugeot, Renault, Vauxhall, Range Rover, Jaguar, Volkswagan, Ford, Fiat, Mercedes-Benz..."

If I'm walking along on my own, I find myself doing the same thing. A (nearly) 5 year old boy can get away with it. I sound like Rain Man.

He loves BMWs because the symbol reminds him of Ben 10 for some reason. He is desperate for us to buy one. It's an expensive and somewhat over-the-top bit of pester power. Has anyone bought the car their five year old wants? I don't see too many of these driving around.

As much as I loved my car in Sydney, I'm enjoying not having one here. I don't miss faffing about with tyres (although my husband did the faffing), buying fuel, all that registration business (my husband too), having to compare car insurance (alright yes that was my husband), etc. But try telling that to darling son.   He is noticing who else has a car and is starting to feel hard done by.

Monday: "Joe's mummy has a car."
Tuesday: "Connor's mummy has a car."
Wednesday: "Alfie's mummy has a car."
Thursday: "Davey's mummy has a car."
Friday: "Max's mummy has a car."

I made the mistake of telling him we'll buy a car when we move back to Sydney. I have been thinking about it lately, just wondering what sort of car I'll get. But why on earth did I tell him??

Thursday 4:00pm: "Will our new car have big flames painted on the sides?"
Thursday 4:01pm: "Will our new car have a big lightning bolt on the bonnet?"
Thursday 4:02pm: "Will our new car turn into a boat when you tell it to?"
Thursday 4:03pm: "Will our new car melt when it goes into a volcano? Hope not."
Thursday 4:04pm: "Will our new car be able to fit the whole world into it?"

This is a sponsored post. Please don't be annoyed,  I need the money. Plus I didn't talk about car insurance for that long, did I?

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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A Wonderful Week

Our daughter started nursery (pre-school) this week. She had been on countless waiting lists for longer than I care to remember. Last Friday, I called one of these nurseries and nearly collapsed when they said she can start on Monday. I thought maybe it was a prank call, which would have been really cunning because I called them.

I always said I wanted her to start nursery when she is three. For her first day to be the day after her third birthday is the best piece of luck I could imagine. I could win the jackpot and I honestly don't think I'd be as excited. I'm not sure that's entirely accurate but it illustrates my point.

I selected this photo because it's so full of beauty, pathos and imagination. 

On Monday, the teachers encouraged me to stay there with her. It was wonderful seeing her so happy. They had me helping out with activities and it was fantastic.

There was one slightly uncomfortable moment when I was on the floor, playing. One of the little boys stood in front of me and stared at my boobs. I assure you they were not on display. He was entranced, if I do say so myself. I tried to distract him with Lego, but he wasn't having any of it. Then he gave me a big cuddle, and went back to staring at my chest with a half-smile on his face. I asked if he was OK. Want to know what he said? "I'm happy."  Oh.

With darling girl in nursery, on Wednesday morning I had my first bit of regular time to myself.   I know I'm not alone when I say I had been dreaming of this moment. I cleaned the kitchen.  I went to the supermarket, where I surprised myself by nearly crying at the sight of a baby.   I got back to a strangely empty house and it was already nursery pick-up time.  The thing is, I had serious plans for Wednesday morning.  But it turns out you can't do all this in 2.5 hours:

- Clean house
- Exercise
- Peruse cookbooks for perfect slow-cooked Moroccan chicken
- Buy ingredients for perfect slow-cooked Moroccan chicken
- Read my book
- Fix broken tile in hideous bathroom
- Watch a repeat of The Bill or latest episode of Waterloo Road... a tough choice
- Have a sleep
- Do the ironing
- Learn to speak Russian

I threw a joke in there, did you spot it? I don't iron.

So now I have daily drop-offs and pick-ups at 9am, 12pm and 3pm, which means I really can't venture too far away. I was excited at the thought of regular mid-week solo trips to galleries and museums, but they're out. But her saying, "Mummy, look at all my new friends!" at pick-up time is worth anything.

Come to think of it, I really need to get my watch repaired.

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Note to Self

Dear me,

So your daughter is keeping you awake lately. Stop acting like you're really surprised and please stop telling everyone about it. Kids will do that.

When it's 4am and you've had enough of her:

- Playing with your nose and yelling "Nosey! Nosey! Nosey!"
- Bouncing on your head pretending you're a horse
- Jumping on your hair, which really hurts

it makes perfect sense that you should be annoyed.

This is a "yeam,"  which is a cross between a yawn and a scream.  
Know that feeling? 

By all means, yes, give her a stern talking to. Even if it's a very sleepy one where you call her by the wrong name. And yes, put her back into her own bed. You really should have done that when she first started sneaking into yours - but I suspect you know that.

But when she is sitting up in her bed screaming for you, you might want to re-think your approach. Sure, lying in your bed yelling "WOULD EVERYONE BLOODY SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUP!!!!!!!" might make you feel better for a split second.

But, as you are all too aware, it does not work.

Sincerely,
Me.
x

PS: Put the Boden catalogue down.

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Favourite Australian Place Names

The other day I emailed my sister, telling her I am blogging every day for a month. She sent me a list of post suggestions. These include:

- 10 Top Meals I Have Ever Eaten
- Cheese... A Love Affair
- Things I Do To Avoid Exercise
- Chocolate... Not Just For Breakfast
- Milo... A Love Story (Milo is a chocolate powder used to flavour milk. I am obsessed with it.)

OK, OK, I get it! Jeez.

She also had "Siblings - Why My Sister Is A Legend." This is a great idea, but this post would be too long. :-)

Another idea she had was my favourite Australian place names.

Rooty Hill
Every schoolkids' favourite, and yes, I know - very juvenile of me. The majority of this blog's readers are not in Australia, so I need to point out that "root" is a slang term for sex. This means that whenever someone here in London tells me they are going home for a "root around" I am trying not to laugh.

Lightning Ridge
I don't know any other name that suits a town so perfectly. You go to Lightning Ridge, look around and think to yourself, "Yep. This is definitely Lightning Ridge."

Actually, the next town name is also a perfect description...

Come-By-Chance
Love it.

Dog Swamp
This Perth suburb's name doesn't do it any favours, does it? Although it does put it on the map. In a doggy, swampy way.

Wee Waa
If you've never come across this glittering jewel, it's pronounced "Wee War." Australians love to shorten words, but Wee Waa is never shortened to Wee. I have no idea why not.

As an aside, I was once on the cover of Wee Waa News holding a turkey. It was a proud moment not just for me, but for turkeys everywhere.

Pallamallawa
This is pronounced "palla-malla-war." It's called "pally" for short.

Dunedoo
Pronounced "dunny-doo." This is funny because it incorporates the word "dunny" which, in case I need to spell it out, is another word for toilet.

Boggabri
This is funny because it incorporates the word "bog" which, in case I need to spell it out, is another word for toilet. Now there is a word I never thought I'd use twice in a post.

Wagga Wagga
This is usually shortened to "Wagga." Fair enough too.

Collarenebri
Once you know how to say it, it just rolls off the tongue. Collarenebri. That was me saying it quickly as though it rolled off my tongue.

What are your favourite place names? Let's get a good list together.

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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Inventive Spam

As much as I hate spam, you've got to hand it to whoever wrote this little number. They've written a plot that would make the writers of Days of Our Lives jealous.

But why did they leave it at just one email? Why don't they write a series of emails so we can follow the heroine through this turbulent time?

In the email I got today (see below for a shortened version), the writer has ingested a slow-release poison given to her by her evil brother-in-law. In her weakened state, she emails an eighth of the world's population, looking for just the right person to take both her son and her $10.5 million.

They should sell their story to a production company.
"Slow Death Message" has a good ring to it, don't you think?

But I want to read a prequel. In the longer email, she says her brother-in-law was loved by her entire family. Where did it all go wrong? And what exactly happened at the "diner business party they went in London?" Is there a chance the poison could have come from an evil waiter, and this whole thing is a terrible mistake? And what happens next? Does she die? Does her son vow to avenge her death? When he is older, does he hire a man called Damien who will kill for cash and really ought to shave? What about the evil waiter?

We need more, dammit!

I am suffering from a slow killing poison that was given to me by my late husband's half brother because of an inheritance of US$1O.5 Million left for me and my son by my late husband, my late husband's half brother was my late husband's business partner, it was like a family business before their last oil deal of (US$10.5million), he become so greedy that he poisoned my husband on a diner business party they went in London and when he found out that my husband made me his next of kin on the money, he now gave me a slow killing poison so that when I die he will use my son to claim the money from the bank maybe after claiming the money he will also kill my son.

What a greedy and deadly person, he is doing this to me and my family that loved and welcomed him like one of us, the world is wicked.The reason why I am contacting you is to handover the (US$10.5 Million) that I inherited from my late husband so that you can invest it and take care of my son till he become a man enough to handle the affairs of the investment.

Anyway of course I will take her up on the offer, all I have to do is supply my bank details. You can't turn down $10.5 million, can you?

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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A Vital Ingredient. That Wasn't A Metaphor.

Allow me to point out the bleeding obvious: when you live in a different country, there are treats from home that you miss. Being from Australia, I miss Twisties, Cherry Ripes, Tim Tams... the lot. It's not like I ate them every day (friends from uni would beg to differ), but it was good to know they were available.

I am about to make my first online purchase of food from home. Of all the things I love, of all the things you can order online or ask a friend to post, I am going to buy copha. Copha is a vegetable fat shortening made from hydrogenated coconut oil. Yep - it's 100% fat. And yes, I have found a website that can send it to me.

I'll explain.

Yesterday was our daughter's 3rd birthday. I really love organising our kids' parties. Two party staples for many who grew up in my part of the world are chocolate crackles and fairy bread. For chocolate crackles you need copha. I couldn't find it at the supermarket. I tried several supermarkets with no joy.

Fairy bread.
Anyone know where you can buy decent 100s & 1000s in the UK?  These didn't cut it.  

Had to include a cupcake photo.  These are raspberry and coconut - oh yum.  

In desperation I got online. It turns out there are leagues of Australians in the UK, deperate to make chocolate crackles but without ready access to copha. Website after website, forum after forum, were urgent plaintive cries of "Quick - can you make chocolate crackles without copha??", "how the hell do you make copha?", "Argh!! What's the copha equivalent in the UK????" and so on. To the makers of copha - please export to the UK. We love you.

After some research, Mum and I decided to mix Rice Krispies (what's with the "K?") with melted chocolate and coconut. It set in the fridge, and for all intents and purposes it was chocolate crackles. But it was nowhere near as good as the real thing.

Our son's pirate party is in 2 weeks. That gives me plenty of time to buy it online. I might sneak in some cheeky Twisties too. And some Violet Crumbles.

Although I have just discovered cheesy Wotsits - oh wow. Where have they been all my life? OK that was a stupid question. They've been in the UK.

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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An English Conundrum: Polite Or Direct?

I love a cultural stereotype as much as the next person. Where would the Foster's ads be without them? I love those ads. They make me a little bit homesick. Although I can safely say I have never said hoo-roo to anyone when saying goodbye. And I have never, ever met a girl called Sheila. Come to think of it, do any Aussies drink Foster's?

We are all like this... 

A quirk many people say about the English is they don't say what they mean. They would rather be polite than direct. I lived here in London for two years in my twenties and I didn't notice it then. It might have had something to do with working in an investment bank with a stint on their trade floor. There was some serious straight talking there.

...and you are all like that.  

But I have noticed it this time around. I haven't undertaken any kind of anthropological study, so I'm not saying this is proof. It's just an observation, and one that's limited to Londoners at that.

My lovely neighbour came around to tell me about a plumbing issue affecting her place and ours. She said she didn't know if she should call a plumber. I said, "Do you want me to call the plumber?" She said no. We then repeated this exact conversation minutes later. That afternoon she told me she had wanted me to call the plumber. I was confused.

"But I asked you, and you said no?"
"Yes but I was being polite. I said it TWICE!"

Apparently, "I'm not sure if I should call the plumber" means "Can you please call the plumber?" especially if said twice. I didn't know that.

At playgroup the other day, I was having a chat. The group's organiser came up and politely checked that I knew I was rostered to wash up. I knew I was, but I thanked her and kept chatting, thinking there was no hurry as playgroup wasn't finishing for a while. When I went to wash up, the woman who had checked in with me had done it. I felt terrible, but then it clicked. I asked her, "When you reminded me I was washing up today, were you asking me to wash up straight away?" She laughed, looked slightly embarrassed and said she was, actually. Aha! I'm starting to get it!

So... this evening my other neighbours approached me. They asked if their cat was bothering us. Well, I knew exactly what they were trying to say, because I have worked it out! So I said the obvious thing when someone asks if their cat is being a nuisance. I answered their question by asking if we are too loud.

They looked at each other, then looked back at me. They asked me, again, if their cat was bothering us. I told them no, their cat is fine "but are we too noisy?" And so began a rather lengthy series of not at alls! and no, it's fine when they cracked. At least, I think they cracked.

"It's wonderful having lively people next door. Before you arrived that house was so quiet."

I get it. We'll keep the noise down.

This November, I'm writing one post every day as part of NaBloPoMo.

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