I was chatting to a friend recently when he confessed to a very close call.
Trawling about on the innanet he decided to check out the progress of a movie in development. He looked up the name of the main actor. To find out he was dead.
Some strange tangent compelled him to then look up a favourite author/historian to see if there was anything new forthcoming. To find out he also was dead.
Such an uncanny coincidence was worthy of a phone call to share the news. He decided to call me. Then couldn’t find the number. So looked me up in the White Pages. On the innanet.
Dum. Dum. Dummmmm.
Fortunately (for me) the phone’s not in my name.

A friend told me he was spending his Friday night at the opening of the Midsumma festival in Federation Square. It’s a lot of fun and there’s always a great crowd. Apparently Midsumma gets the second largest Fed Square crowd across the year (the largest being the new year fireworks).
This snippet sent me on a complete thought tangent as I was reminded that, years ago, you could buy a postcard in Shepparton of the ‘Raymond J. West swimming pool’ which was described on the back of the card as “the second largest outdoor swimming pool in the southern hemisphere”.
I remember because I bought several of the cards to send to lucky friends pointing out the “second largest … in the southern hemisphere” descriptor.
For some reason it quite amused me.
Wonder if the pool still rates so high and if this year’s Fed Square crowd was just as big and just as fabulous?

There is a washing up fairy!
Today at work I left half a dozen water jugs and associated glassware draining on the sink in the kitchen – fully intending to come back and deal with them later.
When later finally arrived, I found to my astonishment that everything had disappeared into the cupboards. Washed, dried and sparkling.
I so want one for home.

Thanks to a reminder in the form of a “Happy Anniversary” card from our close friends at the local real estate agency we are reminded that it is now four years since we bought our house.
Well, thank you, fine real estate agency people for your wishes of “many more happy years ahead!” (Exclamation mark included as per the original.)
And, indeed, we will bear you in mind should we require such services as you can provide at any time in the future.
Most kind.

It’s four-thirty.
Usually by this time of the day I’m being subjected to a lot of nudging in the knee region.
By the dog.
It’s time for the W. A. L. K.
But not today.
While we have seen the return of a more usual Maisie today – she’s still not quite back to her full level of beans. And she’s not begging for a walk. Rather there’s an air of resignation to one’s fate.
What am I going to do with the extra hour in my day? (It’ll be two tomorrow.)

Yesterday my housemate’s colleague asked her if she had had salmon pizza for dinner the night before.
“No”, she replied, “we had a tofu (and assorted other veggies) stir fry.” *
Curious. Why such interest in our dinner?
Apparently, while driving home that night Justine’s colleague had heard a Marita (who allegedly sounded a lot like me) on talk back radio proclaiming that salmon pizza was on the menu for that evening.
Well, someone may have had a salmon pizza.
But it wasn’t us.
And why would you announce it in such a public forum anyway?

* Note the fabulous low in badness, high in goodness (and tastiness) dinner!

Poor, poor possum. Bruised, battered and sorely the worse for wear, little Miss Maisie spent the evening sleeping off the residue of the anaesthetic and pathetically hopping in a very wobbly fashion between her two favourite beds before collapsing again for another snooze. A picture of misery.

In the last week:

I participated in a three course meal for six people created from one ostrich egg. One ostrich egg is apparently equivalent to 20-22 regular chicken eggs and requires a chisel to crack it open. There were pancakes with smoked salmon and dill and hollandaise sauce, a quiche (of course) with salad and a lovely meringue-based dessert. Yum.

I received a phone message stating: “Hello, it’s [inaudible] here from[inaudible]. I’ve got that nutcracker you ordered. It’s available if you still want it. Let me know.” Nutcracker? What nutcracker?

My poor wee beastie did such a damage chasing a C. A. T. that she’s cracked (or fractured really) a bone in her foot. There’s splints, bandages, an Elizabethan collar, an expensive operation tomorrow to wire the bone together and one very sad and sorry dog in need of many pats and cuddles.

Happy new year, everyone!

Before I leave for the land of no computers, no internet, no traffic and no work (hooray!) let me wish you all a happy and safe Christmas time however you choose to celebrate. It’s a time of magic – so enjoy!

One of the great things about having a party on the weekend is that you get to live on party leftovers for the next few days.
Mmmmmm. Cheesecake and babka for brekkie, lunch and dinner. (Or maybe not).
Our dog Maisie is no exception in terms of the party food.
Yesterday Justine put some leftover scones outside for the birds to devour.
The stash was discovered by Maisie and then recovered by Maisie.
No point letting all that good food go to waste! I’ll bury it for later.
And she did.
Behind a pot plant and in the middle of my fallow veggie plot.
Shhhhhh. Don’t tell anyone.