Living the dream

image is from Father Ted naturally

I just had about half a chocolate cake for dinner, doused in a lake of cream. The cake was made from a 75c Coles packet mix and it was good. You can do whatever you like after a two hour dance class, I think. Basil is licking the bowl now.

I always used to really enjoy hearing about and admire all the latest discoveries from the Brendan Nelson mental universe, but Tony Abbott makes Brendan look like a snivelling amateur in the WTF stakes. Who would ever have guessed that Abbott would be quite such a reliable source of the very finest of bizarre overshares? We've all seen him posing in the nude more times than I need to remind you about; he does all manner of daredevil stunts in the desert and on the freeway; he's told us what he thinks about virginity (precious gift, in favour of) specifically that of his daughters; about sex with his wife (also endorses, doesn't get to 'do it' as much as he would like to); it seems that all it takes is for some enterprising journalist to ask him some question any normal politician would shake off in a second and his mouth just falls open and all sorts of misshapen things come tumbling out. Just the other day he was asked on 60 Minutes for his views on homosexuality (good one), and he said "I probably feel a bit threatened, as so many people do... (but) it's a fact of life." Is this not in actual fact the basis of the scene in Bruno where the karate instructor teaches Bruno how to defend himself against a gay man who is attacking with three or four dildos? People criticised that film for picking on improbably soft targets, but if Tony saw it he probably thought it was a documentary and you could get some good tips from it for fending off the threatening homosexuals.

If you were a journalist, how could you possibly resist asking Abbott what he thinks about a whole lot of important issues?

"Hey Tony, what do you think of ladies on their periods?"
"Tony, why are Black people such good dancers and basketball players?"
"What is the difference between Elves and Midgets, Tony?"

Boding well

I got a lovely Bazlotto. Thank you, My Blog, for welcoming me back.

I know I have been horrible to you (I forgot your fifth birthday, for instance - this is not really forgivable is it? I recollect my own fifth birthday as if it was yesterday. There was a large party with party games and much satisfactory crying on the part of those who lost at the party games, and I received a toy yacht which really sailed and a rag doll made by my mother) but in the last analysis, we have to pick up the pieces and try to go on, best as we can.

I do wish I hadn't let the end of year tiredness trick me into neglecting my blog for three months. Often, this last three months, I've wanted to come back but couldn't figure out how. It's been borne in on me how useful it is in so many ways to have a kind of diary / archive of what's happening in one's life, or attracting one's attention. For instance, if you've been reading here for a long time you might remember I once did a course training academics how to teach. At the time that was voluntary but now, four years later, it's becoming something one must do if you want to be considered for any kind of benefit or privilege on offer. I think I might have lost the certificate I got then, but if push comes to shove and I have to prove i've done the jolly thing, I will print out the commemorative post I wrote at the time and present it as evidence.

Hello

Well, I have finally recovered from the little penguin houses, although perhaps not wholly. Does one ever. I find it's for the best if I don't dwell too long on thinking about them as relapses begin to loom threateningly on the horizon. So speak to me not of little baby fairy penguins which come out of their houses at sunset, standing stupidly on their ridiculously stumpy penguin legs, waiting for someone to come and vomit something yummy into their mouths.

My life would feel empty without the little penguin houses if I didn't take steps to fill it. Steps like acquiring my first ever pair of glasses (late December.) It was like being born again - as a defective nerd, admittedly - but I learned that actually, trees have leaves on them and clouds are not really that cloudy. For about two weeks I was rediscovering the world. It's a lot to take in when you are 37. That distant building perched mysteriously on a hill across the valley from the rooftop carpark on Greensborough plaza, which I had so often squinted curiously at, wondering if it was a distant farmhouse or a lonely Xanadu-type mansion, turns out to be only a big tin shed with three roller doors. The world of the poorly sighted is more romantic, but on the other hand it is rather nice to be able to read signs on the road at night when you are driving somewhere and don't know the way.

Another thing which has happened is that the visitor cats are gone. Albie went home without his voice, strange to say - when we came home from Kangaroo Island he'd lost his meow and it's never come back. I didn't know whether I'd be sad to not have them with us any more. In the event, when I took them back to their owner and their old home, they seemed to recognise it, and her, and straight away seemed happy, which made it much easier to walk away them. Plus it was not as if they'd died or anything. I felt a little disoriented the first few days without them - I kept looking toward Albie's chair before remembering he had left - but, if I'm truthful, I hardly missed them at all. Basil certainly doesn't. He's gone back to being an ecstatically happy cat.