And how to make a choice. I guess it depends on the purpose. Several girlfriends have recently or are currently going through the protracted process of choosing a name for their children. Family names? Old names? New names? There are infinite options. I, myself, have only ever been involved in choosing names for pets. Ah, the gentle art of compromise! In recent conversation with my parents (who, having had seven children, would seem to be well practised at the art of naming – or at least in choosing perfectly servicable, good Catholic names) the subject of naming pets was addressed. Their current ‘family’ consists of Fred, Barney, Betty, Wilma (dec.), Brendan, Ronald, Nancy and Boofhead. Can you spot their inspiration?

But here it is.
The doorbell doesn’t work but at night, with the hall light on behind it, it’s the prettiest door in the street.

Rather late but nevertheless, as per Daniel’s meme, here is the bathroom cabinet in my house.
Note the segmentation into three zones of activity.
It contains the usual assortment of a modern girlie’s bathroom products: everything from deoderant to cold cream, face masks to dencorub, cottonballs to dettol. And some spare earplugs.
There alsoused to be a box of bandaids, but Ithink we ran out.

Before the mysterious disappearance, it was written via SMS : “Jog around the oval, walk around the oval, squats, dips, sprints. Repeat x 3.”
In the absence of the Trainer these words have become a gospel for two lost and lonely personal trainer devotees. Typically for any last message from a great one to those s/he has left behind, it has been bastardised over time – it’s now more like “Jog around the oval, walk around the oval, squats, dips, no sprints” and we only ever do it twice.
Oh for the glorious days of training with the presence.
What we are left with is a pale imitation and a real struggle to keep the faith.

Have just spent a little time brushing up on my Slovak by listening to sound samples on the internet.
(OK, so I have no Slovak to brush up on.)
Hmmm. Tricky. Very tricky.
I’ll only be there for a day.
But which phrases will be the most useful?

Me (accusingly) : How come you think you’re a Virgo?
Him: Because I am.
Me: No, you’re not (not that it matters).
Him: Yes, I am.
Me: No, the 22nd is on the cusp. Sure, you’re nearly a Virgo but you’re actually a Leo.
Him: No, I’m not.
Me: But I looked it up. You’re a Leo.
Him: My birthday’s on the 27th. It always has been. Not the 22nd. I’m definitely a Virgo.
Me: Oh. Ok. (Shame faced.)
Moral of tale: it is always best to know exactly when your boyfriend’s birthday is before you start accusing him of looking up the wrong star sign. (Bloody Virgos – obsessed by details.)

Thanks to Daniel’s technology, here is a pic of the fridge in my house …

On it you will see: a Sun cinema poster (out of date), recipes (various), a pic of the three bears by Phee, magnets (assorted), cartoons (all funny), an article on growing organic apples, a menu for the week, reviews of some of Footscray’s restaurants, a postcard and a personal training program (or record of the times Adam has not shown up).

Above it you will see: a steamer and an assortment of plastic containers.

Beside it you will see: aprons, a recycled plastic bag holder and a linen shopping bag.

It costs $71 extra for me to take out travel insurance for the forthcoming trip to Hungary, Austria and Italy because I don’t have a spleen.
What’s that extra $1 for?
Very curious.

I guess the upside of losing your handbag (I know I’m harping on this topic) is that you get to replace the contents with new and/or improved versions.
Yesterday I got some new glasses.
(No change to the prescription required.)
And while I greatly lament the passing of of my old pair I think I’ll be happy with the new (even if my bank balance isn’t quite so enthusiastic).

After a frustrating week of attempting to recompile the contents of my lost/stolen handbag, I admit defeat.
I’m going to see Harry Potter No. 3 tonight.
At the moment anything which takes me away from reality is appreciated.