Category Archives: personal

The one in which i feel like a heel, whilst being angry, upset and miserable.

On Monday Paul went and adopted a 10 month old kitten, which we have named Opal, she’s very cute and if she belonged to anyone else I’d think she was a gorgeous pudding of a kitten. But, there’s always a but… I know why he did it, I understand his reasons, he knows I’m lonely and miserable and cry myself to sleep at night, every single night since Callista went away from me. But he didn’t ask me if I was ready for another cat on that day, the answer would have been a big loud NO.

I’m not, I’m no where near ready for another cat and I find myself not wanting to have anything to do with her, not that she seems to care for my company, she’s glommed onto Paul, but that’s neither here nor there. I wasn’t asked if I wanted another cat, she was presented as a done deal. There of course is no way I’m sending her back to the cat home, she’s already had a topsy turvy kitten hood, it’s not her fault Paul was absolutely tone deaf and insensitive to how I was feeling, I told him after Callista died that it would take me ages to be ready for another cat, but that when I was Callista would point one in the right direction at me.

He knew this and he just assumed he knew better.

And perhaps what is even worse is that he took MY choice of MY next kitty away from me. We can’t have more than three cats, Opal is cute, but she’s a tabby, not a grey tabby, but still a tabby. My next kitty was going to be a little soot sprite maybe, or a handsome all over grey gentleman like Sterling, with an interesting moustache, or perhaps a big white snowball. It was not going to be any flavour of tabby, mainly because I catch glimpses of Opal out the corner of my eye and I see tabby ear, or tabby tail and my heart soars and then breaks in two all over again. Multiple times a day. I can’t do that to myself.

So I’m angry and still lonely, but I feel guilty because I know Paul didn’t mean to hurt me this badly, but I can’t help myself. I want Callista back and if can’t have her, I’d really rather not have a replacement cat at all until I wanted one, and that’s been taken from me.


For my Aunty Lesley

My darling Auntie Lesley passed away yesterday after a long battle with cancer, I have no words to describe how sad I am feeling right now, and my heart goes out to my cousins who will be feeling so lost, a feeling I know only too well, as I felt, and still feel the same way about losing my own Mum over 10 years ago.

While death is an inevitable part of life, it doesn’t mean that we get used to it, or accept it graciously or willingly, we fight and we cling on to life until we can’t do it anymore.

Aunty Lesley was inextricably bound up in my childhood, she was I suspect my Mums favourite sister, evinced by the fact that she gave me the same middle name as Lesley’s, something I didn’t even realise until yesterday, now I know where it came from.

My Mum moved to NSW after the death of her first husband in a boating accident, looking I guess for a fresh start. A little bit later on for personal and family reason that I am not going to get into here, Lesley was sent over to NSW to stay with my Mum; by this time my Mum had met the man that was going to be my Dad. It was here that Lesley met Jimmy, who was my Dad’s best friend in Sydney, the usual things happened, Mum married Dad, Lesley married Jimmy.

After the birth of my eldest sister Mum and Dad moved back to Tasmania, I don’t know if Jimmy and Lesley moved back here at the same time, or before or soon after, but I do know that Mum and Lesley spent lots of time together, there are heaps of family photos of Aunty Lesley with my sister and me.

My sister and my cousin Larry are about the same age, and my cousin Colleen and I are also about the same age, which means we grew up together and we spent a great deal of that time down at my Nan’s.

It is one of the more enduring memories of my childhood, the pretend game that Larry, Christine, Colleen and me used to play, most of it is lost in the haze of 40+ years ago, but I do know that it involved a fairy, and perhaps a princess, and that my cousin Larry was some sort of magical animal, but we used to play in Nan’s front porch, or down the back by Grandad’s carport, or if we were feeling daring, in the back porch, where were definitely NOT allowed to play.

Underneath the back stairs, the cellar on very odd occasions and the wild untamed side bit of Nan’s garden where the fuchsia bushes used to grow, it was always shady up there and full of spiders and bugs, but we loved it, even if Nan didn’t because we used to pop the unopened fuchsia bulbs.

I do have other Aunts that I love just as much, and other cousins as well, but we didn’t see that much of Peter or Charlie as they lived up on the west coast and Peter went to boarding school, and my other cousins were several years younger than me, so playing with them was more like being told to babysit than actual playing, plus Grant was a teeny little bit of a bully and Shane was a little brat a lot of the time.

Aunty Lesley used to live in a unit that backed onto the rivulet in Glenorchy, even now I remember that those units weren’t the nicest of places, rats used to live in the rivulet, and it smelt, but that didn’t stop us from playing out there.

Then she moved to a house in Chigwell that backed onto bush and it was awesome, many times we played in the bush, went walking up the track that I think at some point in time had been a loggers track and it was the best place for kids.

Mum and Lesley always remained close and one of the hardest things about this is that Mum and Lesley were the two sisters who looked the most alike, even after Mum had died, it was still like there was some part of her around because of Aunty Lesley.

My heart still did flip flops every time she rang me, because she sounded so much like Mum, and sometimes it was hard not to cry because I missed my Mum so much.

When I spent that interminable nine months in hospital Aunty Lesley dropped into see me several times, along with Bernie her partner and now husband of many years, even when I was in isolation, a cheery face and an “I love you” helped immensely.

About six weeks before I finally left hospital she came round with some bad news, her cancer had returned, and even though it wasn’t the best prognosis she was going to fight it, she told me off for crying, and that I should think positive, that she loved me.

I saw her again for the last time about two weeks before I got out, I was coming out of physio and she and Bernie were on their way to an appointment at the Oncology dept, she could barely speak above a whisper and she looked tired and thin and sad, we looked at each other, I told her that I loved her and was always thinking of her, she said that she loved me too.

Nothing was said about seeing each other soon, I think we both knew that it wasn’t going to happen, I didn’t see her again, and yesterday she left us, my heart is breaking all over again, but I’m damned sure that my Mum, my Nan and Lesley are having the best chin wag and catch up session right now.

Love you Aunty Lesley and thank you for being part of my life.


The Sheep, the sheep, won’t someone think of the sheep!!

Someone asked me what was the most embarrassing thing that has happened to me, for that I would have to go back, way back to when I was sixteen, in 1980 and in my last year of High School. One of the perks of being in Grade 10 was that in the last term, all the 16 yo grade 10’ers got to do Driver Training, driver training was split up into two sections, the first section was theory, where you learnt about the road rules and stuff like that, in order to get into the second
section, you had to pass the first section with at least 75%, being the smart arse that I was I managed a score of 100%.

So I was looking forward to driver training, which that year was being held at Baskerville Raceway, since none of us had learners permits and were not allowed to drive on public roads. We arrived at Baskerville and the road safety guys
explained how it was going to be done, in alphabetical order, which meant that of course I was waaaay down the list, last in fact, we’d each get 10 minutes pre drive instruction in the car, you know, pointing out the pedals and gears and
stuff, then we would be allowed to drive once around the circuit slowly, and then if our instructor thought we could be trusted, another turn around the circuit, at a semi decent speed.

So I waited for what seemed like hours for my turn, watching everyone else have their turn and have what seemed like a great time, then finally they got to me, so I got into the car, the instructor pointed out the go faster pedal, the stop
pedal, and how exactly to change gears, and the importance of looking in the rear vision mirror, all the important stuff like that.

Under the watchful eye of the instructor I crept around for my first circuit of Baskerville, at the stately speed of 20km an hour, I only crunched the gears a couple of time, and I thought I did really well, so did the instructor because
he said that I could have another circuit, because by this time I was the last person in the car to have ago, the rest of the students were standing around waiting for me to finish.

For some strange reason, the instructor asked three of the boys if they wanted to come in the car for my last lap, so I started around the track again, with Robert, Alan and Robert in the back seat, all giving me helpful and not so
helpful hints, since they’d all be brought up on farms, they’d been driving since they were old enough to sit on a pillow to bring them up to look over the steering wheel, I was from suburbia, and the only times I’d been in a car was as
a passenger.

The track was set up so that we were on the inside track, with a barrier of hay bales, witches hats and some portable fencing separating us from the middle of track which had the race club storage shed, and a few other bits and pieces on
it, so I was about half way around the track, going somewhat above 40km , the instructor told me that I could go faster, so I accelerated to about 55, which felt like I was speeding around the track, the boys started woohooing and
calling me the Alan Jones of BHS, then all of a sudden there was this horrible scream from the back seat.

I jumped and my foot accidentally pressed on the accelerator, and the car shot forward off the track, through the witches hats, through the hay bales and headed straight for the shed, however one thing I hadn’t noticed before, was that in the middle of the track someone was grazing a herd a sheep, the sheep scattered before the car running in all directions, I managed to take  my foot off the accelerator, and the car came to a gentle stop over the rough ground of the middle, the car was surrounded by madly baaaing sheep, covered in wisps of hay, and had a witches hat perched rakishly on the windscreen.

We all got out of the car, slightly shaken and surveyed the damage, luckily there was only a very small dent in the car and a great smear of blood, caused by a sheep, who was now deceased. It turned out that a bloody great huntsman had crawled out from the back door and that’s what made Robert scream. Robert, Alan and Robert decided to walk back to where the rest of the kids were, the instructor backed the car back onto the track, avoiding the sad sheep corpse and
I got back in the car and finished my lap.

Unfortunately by the time I got back, the three boys had already made it back and the story had spread, and it grew in the telling, funnily enough, there was very little mention of the fact of WHY we’d gone off the track, the spider
wasn’t mentioned at all, and they made it seem as if I’d just swerved off the track because I couldn’t steer properly.

By the time we got back to school, my trail of damage not only included the car, which was a write off, I’d also demolished the shed, destroyed multiple hay bales, and witches hats, but also I’d massacred a whole herd of innocent sheep, according to the story, I ploughed through the herd tossing sheep into the air as I went, their pitiful baas as I run them over, willy nilly.

For weeks after, wherever I went people would baa at me and think it was hilarious, no one believed what had actually happened, not when the three boys kept on embellishing the story.

Ninja Grandad

For an old man well into his 70’s my Father moves surprisingly fast and quietly, his eldest granddaughter has a new nickname for him ‘Ninja Grandad’.

A couple of weeks ago I rang Dad to ask him if he could take some accumulated rubbish to the tip for me, after it was all gathered up there was about six of those big orange garden waste rubbish bags, a few smaller of the green ones and several old and decomposing boxes.

Dad called me and said he would be there on the saturday morning between 9-10, so we were all up earlyish(for a saturday) ready and waiting to help him haul the bags from near the gate to the back of his car.

Around 9.30 ish my friend went to the toilet and on his way back looked out the window, he came back in and said that either someone had stolen all our rubbish or that my Dad had been and gone.

We didn’t even HEAR anything at all, he didn’t come and knock on the door, didn’t toot the horn, made NO noise heaving all those heavy bags around, I texted him and told him that his granddaughter was peeved because she was all ready to go with him to the tip and help him carry the bags, and that she now called him “Ninja Grandad”.

I think that tickled his funny bone a bit, but seriously, how does one somewhat elderly man with a dicky knee and a dodgy hernia heave all those bags without making even the slightest noise?

He said that he wasn’t sure if we were awake or not, so he didn’t want to disturb us!

Now I am somewhat amused, bemused and slightly worried, my sister is getting a new car so she is giving Dad her old one, and he decided that he would give us his old one, it’s nothing spectacular, but it runs. Now every time I hear a car I look out the window and wonder if I’m going to see my Ninja Dad stealthily driving a car into our driveway and then just as stealthily departing, rather like the tooth fairy, or in his case the Ninja Car Dad Fairy.

Oh what a disaster…Movie.

I am I must admit a complete disaster movie nerd, show me a movie that involves shit being blown up, collapsing, on fire and just generally disingerating and then I am in heaven!

I blame my Mum who took me to the drive-in to see   Airport ’70 when I was six years old, that closely followed by such gems as  The Poseidon Adventure in ’72 (The film remake was ok, the mini-series remake with Steve Guttenberg and terrorists??? terrorists? was dreadful) it reached its zenith in the mid 70’s with the classics of the genre in  the  The Towering InfernoEarthquake and Airport  1975.

All movies that my Mum took me to see and I loved so much, this has continued on til today when I will happily watch any and all movies that premise shit blowing up, buildings falling down, California dissapearing into the ocean (that seems to be a favourite amongst the people who make mini series) and general mayhem and destruction.

So it probably comes as NO surprise to anyone that I REALLY want to see 2012 even though I know it’s got a ridiculous plot line, the story and science has holes you can drive a really big truck through, I don’t care. Shit blows up, buildings collapse, California drops into the sea, what more could you possibly ask for??

The delightful Cleolinda Jones has written a new Movies in Fifteen Minutes about 2012 which just made me want to see it even more, now I can appreciate the whole scale badness on a deeper level. I expected no less from Roland Emmerich who is behind some of my all time favourite disaster/blowing shit up movies ever.

In no particular order my all time favourite disaster/blowing shit up movies are:

  • The Poseidon Adventure
  • The Towering Inferno
  • Earthquake
  • Volcano
  • Twister
  • Independence Day
  • Armageddon
  • Deep Impact
  • The Day After Tommorrow
  • 10.5
  • Supervolcano
  • Flood
  • Category 6: Day of Destruction
  • Scorched
  • The Quiet Earth
  • The Day After (which really freaked me out)

And last night I DVR’d  Impact which I look forward to watching soon, how can you turn down a mini series about the Moon getting hit by a meteor and cracking up??? What is NOT to like.

At least it’s NOT sparkly, stalky vampires!

I have a confession to make…

For a semi-straight female of a certain age, I have an inordinate amount of crushes on gay men, I was looking at my twitter list of people I follow and, oh dear, quite a few gay men on there. Take for example Stephen Fry, I just ADORE that man, I follow him on livejournal, read his blog, follow him on twitter and watch anything that he is in.

It’s quite embarassing really, and then we have Alan Davies, extraordinary actor and possessor of hair I want to run my fingers through, I follow him on twitter and watch everything he is in. I am in a lather of excitement that we’re finally going to see QI on television over here, so I can indulge in seeing BOTH Stephen AND Alan at the same time, sharing a t.v screen.

What more could a girl ask for,  well, ok MY best wish would be to have ALL my crushes, (and they aren’t ALL gay, just a large proportion are) on the t.v together, that would be awesome. Can you imagine the extraordinary amount of floppy hair that would be extant if they all got together.

My list of crushes consists of

  1. Stephen Fry
  2. Alan Davies
  3. James May
  4. Neil Gaiman
  5. Gabriel Byrne
  6. Tim Roth
  7. Neil Patrick Harris
  8. Hugh Grant
  9. Jamie Hyneman
  10. David Tennan
  11. Richard E. Grant
  12. Rupert Everett

My estrogen levels would explode and so would the t.v as there would be no t.v studio that could contain the sheer amount of amazingness and total YUMMM involved, the squee factor would be outstanding and I think I would die from sheer happiness.

Have I irrevocably damaged my reputation now?

I ainten’t dead yet

Really I am not dead, I have just been snowed under, like the proverbial 10 foot snow drift with University work, I had forgotten just how time consuming it all can be.

However it is September and I can just vaguely see my way to the end of the semester and my first year back at Uni.

And I haven’t died yet!