To Whom It May Concern

With a Saturday browse through the job advertisements to see what jobs I would be good at, I stumble across a well known sporting industry association advertising for a Public Affairs Manager. Given recent well publicised events, I would suggest that the last thing this association needs is any more public affairs however the criteria provides some better description. To apply I would need to have experience working in journalism. Perhaps the odd letter to the editor of Ralph magazine would suffice. I would also need to be an experienced media adviser, well hell who hasn't screamed at the telly once in a while...'what a load of crap, give us some real news' etc. But I feel I'm most qualified in the criteria for possessing a strong understanding of the issues impacting on their industry and the ability to identify and deal with the issues. Surely it's a no brainer job this one. Nail their underpants on would be the first place to start and give them something to do that would occupy their idle minds like stamp collecting or the study of map reading perhaps. Too easy, need something more challenging.

Welcome to the house of fun

I have a real estate agent coming through my apartment tomorrow to show prospective buyers the property. I can't pretend to be slightly interested as I'm not the owner just the occupier. Knowing that strangers will be walking amongst ones belongings one does one's best to present the premises in a good light and remove any personal objects of value from view such as camera's, jewellery, wads of cash, semi-automatic weapons so on and so forth. But when it comes to housework quite frankly I don't care if they think an undiscovered tribe live in my bedroom because I would prefer not to have to move. Perhaps I should open the door offering my sincerest apologies but the doctor insisted I be quarantined once I was diagnosed with swine flu. Or perhaps I'll not be home and just leave a diary page open to display a scheduled exorcism at my home address next Thursday. The Pest Control report on the fridge might discuss unexplained larger than normal teeth marks around the skirting boards and perhaps an invite to next door's Death Metal Puke Party would assist. I don't think I'll pack just yet.

The Quiet Ones

Terrible business this swine flu.

What's that? Swine flew you say? Terrible business. Where did he go?

No Swine Flu! The swine flu.

The bastard. Took off did he? Hope you catch the blighter. Thief was it? Hard to catch em, but sort him out when you do. That's the shot.

Oh for god's sake, forget it.

Your the cream in my coffee...

The corridors of power have let us down. We have a Lord Mayor who questions our fine city's reputation for coffee.

I was appaled to read in the Sunday Age that our Lord Mayor Robert Doyle stated in the Melbourne Magazine that Melbourne's coffee is overrated. Having travelled to some cities outside of our fine country I have struggled to find greater coffee and cafes than here in Melbourne (Italy excluded). In Paris it's cheaper to drink wine than coffee and what they serve could pass for something collected as a Yarra River sample, in London if it's not tea it doesn't matter what you dish up and in Tokyo it gets all too confusing with vending machines and you find yourself looking sideways and slipping across a folded yen note in nearby Starbucks just to get a fix. I recommend my dear mayor to travel abroad more to understand the difference between good coffee and shit coffee. Ordering a pot of tea at Pellegrinis is like going to the Vatican and telling them Jesus was gay. Melbourne has great coffee and great cafes, The Journal where we go to drink coffee and look intelligent, Brunetti's cake and coffee makes Sunday... Sunday and Pellegrinis to pretend we're Italian. So many more, so much a part of life that a limp tea bag cannot compete with. Un cappuccini, per favore.

Could I possibly have too much money?

Is $10 million enough? Ten million suddenly deposited into your account that normally struggles to fend off the direct debits payments and the ever mysterious account keeping fees suddenly presents more zeros than can fit on your ATM receipt. What would you do? I would probably pick up my dry cleaning but after that it just gets too hard.

And she doesn't look a day over 47 million years

The news revealed this morning something along the lines of a 47 million year old fossil nicknamed Ida, that was said to contain human characteristics which is now being termed the missing link and is considered to be our closest relative. Whose relatives? Not mine, I don't look anything like that thing. I don't have a tail for starters. Maybe they meant the 1940's film star Ida Lupino. I'd like to be related to her.

The Garden of Evil

Weekends are the time when I look at the garden. Firstly let me qualify the word garden here, when I say garden I'm referring to 4 terracotta pots on a balcony. Whilst having a soft spot for all things of a horticultural nature, I loathe and detest the act of gardening. And they, the plants know it. If my plants could hurl themselves off the balcony they would. Many a time they've attempted suicide only to have been snatched at the last minute from the jaws of the garden refuse bin to live another day. I don't understand why people go on about gardening. You buy plants, they die and then you buy new ones. Where is the attraction in this? Whilst I still manage to maintain my under performing plants I thought I would share some of my own special garden tips with you.

Best not to use Baygon to kill off the thing that's eating your plants;
Don't give them too much water, they'll only get used to it;
And, if you do go away overseas while it's 40 degrees here, don't be surprised to come home and wonder why they look like you've put them in the microwave.

Needless to say Jamie Dury won't be popping by soon for some advice besides, he'd just get their hopes up.

He wished he was somewhere else

I wish for feet these days more than shoes. After years of stiletto wearing and points that were so sharp you could slice tomatoes with them, I am now paying the price. I'm heading towards the slippery slope of comfortable shoe land. My early shoe wearing days of patent leather came with the warning that boys could see up your skirt in their reflection has long been replaced by the now sensible, round toe shoe buying which is a mere, gathered at the ankle, half stocking away from hush puppy hell. Department stores offer little variety between skyscraper heels which say shag me but don't expect me to walk anywhere, or rubber soles guaranteed not to squeak on the linoleum in the nursing home. I'll keep looking, or maybe I'll sever a toe off - that might help!

No face mask will prevent this bug

I'm coming down with the dreaded travel bug again. It takes no time at all to recover from the weariness of travelling to again look longingly at the stowed away suitcase. From the hell of airline travel where no one dresses up anymore, the air hostess people get all confused when you ask what time cocktail hour is and requesting my steamer trunks to travel upright seems more than they can manage. I'm loathed to leave the passport idle too long and there's always a sale on somewhere in the world.

Career Opportunity

Job found for ex-NRL legend.

The Wedding Makers

Did anyone see The Wedding Makers on ABC on Thursday night? We've seen Bridezilla's, Father of the Bride, the Wedding Planner and I think there is a Wedding Singer somewhere in there as well but there seems to be no limit of material on this subject. As one who has never donned the mosquito net and left foot, right foot togethered, I still find the viewing fascinating. They know it's only one day, but somehow they seem to scourge about 6 months worth of 'for the wedding' conversation before you are fantasizing about deleting them from your phone contacts list. One thing about weddings and worse, wedding planning screams control freak. How much control should these people have about their special day? From the footage we see the wedding planner moving the main centre piece of flowers from one side of the church to the other while the priest stands there in disbelief wondering if she's going to move the statue of Jesus on the crucifix to the carpark because it didn't fit in the with tea roses and tulle concept. The catering staff are criticised if they don't carve the individual butter servings into the shape of the couples faces and the makeup artist must produce at least 4 clones of Scarlett Johansson by 10am. For all the, my wedding will be special ideas, I find that all weddings are pretty much the same. A day of ill fitting dresses, luke warm chicken breast with coagulating sauce and too many shit faced relatives. For all the money spent you could fly first class to just about anywhere and spent the next 2 weeks planning how to offload the crap gifts from people who you can't actually recall knowing. Still, it always makes good viewing but the scary thing is it's more real than reality television.

Yeah baby

Consent....my arse!

Bodily Bling

Did you see in the Sunday Age 'M' magazine or anywhere else for that matter, an article about feminine hygiene jewellery? Gee, I'm just not real sure about this one. Tampons as jewellery? Gosh I think I might know why no one has come up with this idea before. Mainly because it's as appealing as a turd necklace. But feces as fashion aside, I saw some fabulous creativity at the Rose Street Artists Market on Saturday. This is recycling at its best. Old pieces of wrist watches made into jewellery, beautiful resin brooches and scrabble pieces given a completely new life as cuff links. Great imagination and yet no need to even open the bathroom drawer.

Happy Mothers Day to all of those mothers out there. Some who mother children, some who mother other people's children, some who mother grown men who need the guidance of a woman to tell them that socks with your sandals are never ok no matter how comfortable they feel. To mothers of dogs and cats and the those who feel lost like the toy I discovered in Fawkner Park on Sunday. I hope she finds her mother soon before she freezes her daisies off.

By the way, in case anyone was wondering...I don't actually resemble the picture of the woman next to the car in the photograph below, maybe the car but definately not the woman. Thanks anyway. LL

Jump in my car, it's too far to walk on your own

Have you ever wondered what would you do if you broke down on a busy road?

I'm at the total mercy of my vehicle. Fortunately a mid road breakdown has never happened and knowing that I rarely travel too far from home these days I guess I would collect my bag from my lifeless vehicle, shut the door and catch the bus. I'm at the mercy of my car because I just don't know how it works. And don't want to know. I do this, a bit of that and off we go. I purchase cars like I purchase nail polish. Hmmm, I like the colour, I'll take it thanks. I don't even look under the bonnet. There could be nothing there for all I know. So if you ever come across a car in the middle of the road for no apparent reason...the owner just may be on the bus heading off to buy something - in a nice colour.

Don't Fence Me In

I live in the city. I enjoy being close to theatres, restaurants, parks and gardens so on and so forth. Although the more I live in the city the more I find I don't really need to stray much from it. I admire people who live in the outer suburbs but I've tried it and I can't do it, I'm like a stray dog who just keeps roaming back to the same gate post. Although when you ask most people where they live, they give the suburb name and they always say it's 20 minutes away. What exactly are they measuring? It takes 20 minutes to drive from one end of the city to the other which is about 5 blocks so they must be more than 20 minutes away unless they are counting trips made at 4 in the morning. And there seems to be no end to the new suburb names appearing in land that's been around a long time. Some of the names for the newer suburbs are becoming a little out there. Hidden Valley? How can it be hidden when it's in the Melways? However I do think we should be a bit more honest with our newer suburb names like Not Yet Available of GPS Valley, or Don't Expect Any Public Transport Soon Lakes or perhaps Just 20 Minutes Away by LearJet Gardens. Meanwhile I'll stay in close to the mean streets - at least I know I'm only 20 minutes away.

There's a bear in there

There was one of those stories on the television news this morning about a man who tamed a bear. With the usual heart warming video of the bear showing great affection to the man. The man responding with great affection to the bear, blah, blah blah. The reason why I say it was one of those stories because I half expect that if you fast forward a year or two you will come across one of those other stories about a bear that ate a man. When will people accept that wild animals are in fact...wild? Surely there are plenty of deserving domestic animals out there who more than likely won't eat your face off. There's no guarantee of that, they just prefer what's in the packet.

The Quiet Ones

All very fine for people to criticise Logies night, but those women put in a lot of effort. They spend a significant part of their day having hair pulled, painted, wrapped in aluminium foil parcels, rinsed, washed, rinsed again, dried, cut, styled, curled and sprayed only so it can look natural. Then there's the dress to be stapled into and the shoes so high you tip forward so all you can see are the people behind you.

She's on her high horse - again.

Never a thing to wear

I'm sending a birthday card to my aunt who is turning 90 on Wednesday. I'm very proud to have a 90 year old aunt however I have only met her once so I might need to include some form of identification in with the card. This event leads me to think about what it would be like to turn 90. It would be challenging given that I can only afford to live to 65 so provided I'm not living in a cardboard box by the side of the road, my next immediate thought is, what would I wear? Having recently spent more time than necessary questioning whether it's still ok to wear footless tights or not, I'm wondering if there are fashion rules for being 90. Unfortunately vintage fashion just doesn't look any good on vintage people and I don't think I could bring myself to wear anything with colours that are referred to as fuchsia or tropical. Maybe I'll just sit around all day in my underwear and call it dementia.

Swinefighter - The Swine Flu Game - Beat the Virus!

Swineflu - fun for all the family!!!


Swinefighter - The Swine Flu Game - Beat the Virus!

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