Congratulations – 50 Blogs

Well, what do ya know. Todays message from Word Press is…

“Congratulations on posting your 50th Blog”.

Who would have thought I had penned, ha ha, tapped out 50 blogs?

So to celebrate, here are the links to my favourite ten blogs.

#1 : Decade; heart for a heart.

#2 : Washing

#3 : Fucket List

#4 : Shart

#5 : Boy Child AKA Son #1

#6 : Towel & Trough

#7 : Dootz

#8 : Tater Patties

#9 : Fountain

#10 : Pumpkin Patch & Popcorn

Let me know yours!

Make sure you turn the teapot twice clockwise and once anticlockwise!




Chisel at the Rock. Nom’s dig on it…

For anyone who knows me personally, they will know I am a HUGE concert goer and live music fan. I’ve seen a modest genre of bands from the glam rock of Kiss to rocking it out with Motley Crue and then to the swaying ballads of Rod Stewart or Chris Isaac and then there is Ricky Martin, FLOP… the one and only concert I was happy to walk out of mid concert. Anyway, I thought I would just do a bit of a recap on Saturday nights event, the Australian icon band of Cold Chisel, supported by some amazing local talent including the LIVING END!WP_20151121_19_14_58_Pro

Hanging Rock in its own right is an Australian icon, a picturesque back drop to a concert stage, or day at the races. What a great place to have a WP_20151121_16_59_54_Proconcert. I had never been to this venue for a gig/concert/bash before and I have to say, seeing 17,000 people in that context was bloody remarkable. Most concerts I see are at Rod Laver in Melbourne, which can seat up to 16,000 people, but it’s an arena setting and very different to the crowd layout at Hanging Rock, which is more like a grass amphitheatre, with layers and layers and layers of people fanned out, up the slight hill. It comes with its problems though, and this is where last night fell down, in my own opinion.

The hour drive north to Hanging Rock from Melbourne is the first hurdle most need to endure or get over. You either stay locally the night, catching a bus to and from the venue, or you drive. If you drive, you do one of two things: one, someone stays sober and you drive home battling the traffic, or two, you arrive early and ‘camp’ the night in your car. Both scenarios mean that generally you arrive early, to get a good park, which on the quiet doesn’t necessarily mean you want to be closest to the venue gates. Getting out of that area looked mental, aside from the dust that the 34,000 feet have scuffed up and covered your car in. It was like a scene out of The Walking Dead, lines and crowds of people sprawling out of the gates back to their cars.

Walking through the crowds and cars on our way into the venue we all remarked on just how many were already hitting the turps. Happy light headed people swaying and singing to ‘Chisel’ pounding from the car stereos at 4pm and clearly a LOT of them had been there early. This is point two in my observation of how to fuck an event up. Don’t let people bring alcohol into the gates. Yeah, yeah, I know, I am hearing everyone saying, hang on, what about those who can manage their grog and just want a couple before they go in? Well that’s fine and dandy. If that’s the case, then don’t serve full strength alcohol inside the event.

I am all for a great night, and I love to have a drink, but Saturday night I witnessed the shit part of people who have indulged all afternoon and then keep drinking inside the gates. We were lucky enough to have “Really Obnoxious C#@t Of A Woman” sitting in front of us. The ‘middle-aged-WP_20151121_19_40_42_Prounmarried-slag’ kind who thinks she is too hot to tell off and can use her skinny arse face to get what she wants. I’m sorry Love, but you’re just a c#@t, nothing more, nothing less. So after she got pushed off a chair and dobbed on, and elbowed and evil eyed a zillion times, she seemed to get the point.

The problem with the venue at Hanging Rock is simply not enough security to stop people moving from their seated area and down to where they crowd in on the front isles and ruin the experience for everyone else. The pushing and elbowing clearly raising tempers. I can’t remember ever seeing so many drunk people at a concert, clearly most making a statement as the alcohol was stopped early. Young drunk or drugged-up girls flirting with old security guards for a better vantage point and people standing on plastic chairs in front of people already standing. It was seriously out of control in the area we were seated. Seats we paid $150 each for. So thank you for that, you bunch of obnoxious fuck-head morons who can’t handle your piss. Next time I’m going into the Mosh-pit!

Besides those points and braving the chilly air, we had a great night. The Living End were brilliant and when they tour, because they will, I am SO going! Those guys fucking rocked the crowd and were a great lead up to the star act Cold Chisel, which I can say I have now seen, and they were okay. Not fantastic. Mossy was fantastic, but Barnsey did his screaming Jimmy Barnes thing that he does and sort of lost it for me. The Cold Chisel of old wasn’t a screaming yelling band, and it’s a pity that he did screech a bit, just doing his thing I guess. They sung a bunch of their new stuff and most of their oldest hits that we all love; Khe San, Flame Trees and Saturday Night and it all resulted in a great show with a crowd who sang along to all the songs, loud enough to hear over the band. That was pretty cool, I must say.

Australia seriously has a wealth of great bands and music artists. We breed people who can really, really sing. People who can belt out a tune from their own lungs and create the most spine tingling experience no matter how well ‘concerted’ you are. When a band or artist can make the hairs on your neck stand up, they’re something special. Cold Chisel, Aussie Crawl, Mental as Anything, Hoodoo’s, ACDC, The Living End, Inxs, Crowded House, Bee Gees, Ice House, Silver Chair, Split Enz, H&C’s, Jet, Powder Finger, Divinyls, Savage Garden, Wolf Mother, Little River Band, Kylie, Guy Sebastian… to name just a few, they all have at least one iconic song and call Australia home. Talent bleeds from our shores and we are truly so lucky to be able to claim all of those I could think of and all those I couldn’t lol.

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So, to Cold Chisel, the icon and legend that you are, you did okay. Not the fantastic, WOW that I was expecting but certainly something I will remember and be able to say later on, “I saw Chisel live” if not anything else. They were worth the money along side the Living End and I am glad I went.

Make sure you turn the teapot twice clockwise and once anticlockwise!



I was scrolling the news feed on Facey today and come across a video of a couple of kids trying weird arse flavored jellybeans. One of them was flavored ‘Skunk Spray’. Now,  that one thought makes me think about vomiting, let alone actually trying one of these nasty little beans. The footage shows this little chap popping the jelly bean in his gob and pretty much immediately he starts to gag, spit, splutter, gag again and more spit. Then the dry retch begins. Before long this flows through to a beautiful projectile vomit all over his faithful spit plate for the nasty tasting beans he’s holding and spraying all over the table. It’s about this stage I am flat knacker laughing out loud at this poor little bloke spewing burning vomit through his nostrils with his eyes watering and face bright red.

Oh I can relate.

Now, I wasn’t going to do one of these blogs about how low my self respect can be, but I have a number of vomit stories that I’m not proud of but are way too funny not to share. So popping aside my embarrassment for the sake of a giggle, here goes. Don’t judge!

Corona’s and Vodka Lemon Limes



A few years back I spent part of a weekend in a little town called Wycheproof, celebrating my cousins 21st birthday. The day was warm and the beers were cold, so inevitably I consumed my fair share of Corona’s at the party and then headed to the local for a few more refreshments. Limited to a country bar liquor section I chose the VLL instead of my favored Whiskey simply because they didn’t have a good whiskey I could drink with water. The shouts started, and stupidly they happened to be with my sister who drinks vodka and tomato juice all the time, so before I knew it, I was TANKED! I removed myself from the pub because I know my limits and decided to head back to where we were staying; an old school friend’s house, who just happens to be part of the next vomit story… what is it with Wycheproof?? Anyway, the house was only 500 meters up the road from the pub, and on my way I thought I’d wait for my sister, so I sat down, well, I laid down with my handbag under my head and caught a few zzz’s while the world zoomed round and round my whizzing head… not the brightest idea I had had that day. I’m not even sure how long it was later, but my sister nudges me with her foot and jibes about me sleeping on the job. Up I get, and that’s when I knew I was really, really intoxicated. I walked backwards because I could NOT walk forwards, Mick walking behind me, watching me and we laughed at me trying to get my shit together on the wide main street of Wyche. An overwhelming wave of nausea washed over me and I knew it was coming. The wave of warm, cold sweat stuck to me. I couldn’t even bend over for fear of falling on my face, and the reality of that was I seriously would have, and I wasn’t sure if I could stop myself from smashing my face on the road. So, with every ounce of lady-likeness that I could muster, and I do actually have some, I just let the sick flow out… it ran straight down my chin, down my neck and then down between my boobs, flowing in behind the front of my dress. And then… again… Classy right? Yup. Mick, laughed, and she laughed and she laughed and then said, you all good? Lesson learned was I can’t drink vodka and I should stay away from it, but always stay classy!

Night Rider


Did I mention Classy was my middle name? This event isn’t one of my finest moments, I’ll admit it. A few years back I had a night out with my girlfriend who yes, is from Wycheproof. We consumed our fair share of refreshments that night on the stripper cruise and I have a feeling that she may quite possibly have been a little more sober than me. We jump on the Night Rider, which is a public bus that transports intoxicated/unlicensed/latenighters all over Melbourne in the middle of the night. It’s free and would drop us off pretty well at my street. So humming along in the bus, winding this way and that, and bouncing up and down, round more round’a’bouts, breaking hard, accelerating fast, another corner and then, the quiet hit me. Wyche Chick who is sitting beside me looks at me and says, you okay? I must have been looking a little worse for wear? I nod because at this point, if I had spoken I would have projectile vomited all over the bus. She knew, I knew, and it remained unspoken. I held it back. For a little time. Knowing I wasn’t going to keep it in, and I just couldn’t be okay with letting it rip in front of the 15 other bus users because I am classy remember, I opened my little black clutch purse and ever so quietly threw up into it. Done. No one hurt, no one maimed. Just my pride all snapped shut in a clutch purse. Classy. I closed the clutch placed it on my lap and tried to focus on the dark horizon out on the road in front. After what seemed like an eternity we got off the bus and wobbled home. Wyche Chick crawled into bed while I spread the contents of my clutch over the kitchen bench and wiped them all clean. I left the kitchen and hit the sack. Fast forward a few hours and Wyche Chick gets up after me. I am gulping water and panadol, while overlooking the contents of my clutch bag spread across the bench. My new digital camera, lip gloss, bank card, cash notes and coins and license lay on the tea-towel. “I knew it” she says, snickering but totally grossed out, “but I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t help you! I can’t handle vomit” she goes on. Leaning on the bench I sighed “my camera doesn’t work…?” Told you I’m classy. A week later I took my water proof camera to get fixed. They investigated saying there was a clear sticky substance inside it. Hmmm, explanation, “oh, really? Must be lemonade from the kids…”

 Red Glory

11149438_10152899762963918_1157464446225064781_n (2)When your bestie is having a tough time, a night chatting over a bottle Red is a must. Trouble with our chats, is they tend to last hours and by the end of a chat it can result in a few bottles of Red being consumed. Generally speaking, Red will creep up on you. You can drink it most of the night and it’s not until you put your head on a pillow that you realise that perhaps four bottles between the two of you is maybe overdoing it? This night in particular we drained five, I think? Life was stressful and we were letting our hair down. So, I roll out my sleeping bag on the couch and jump into my husbands worst nightmare, my onsie, and lay down ready for a nap. As soon as my head hit the pillow it rolled, and it rolled and it spun. Open your eyes, I tell myself, that will stop it, so focusing on something still rebalances my drunk brain and my eyes close again. Fuck! Swirl, swiiiirl, whiiiirl, whirl and all in one long slow movement I roll from the couch tangled in my sleeping bag that is dragging on my onsie and I stumble to the kitchen sink with my hands slammed into my face. This is NOT my home. Just as I lean to the sink the hot, steaming sick sprays from between my fingers and over the sink and part the bench. Red liquid with black clots of stained who knows what. Patches of it dribbled down my onsie, and slicked over my face. Fuck me, really? Dish cloth!! Cold water running, and I clean myself and the bench up. Cloth in the bin. Wow, I do feel better now. Ha. Back to the couch and two seconds later asleep. Not even sure if my bestie knows? ha ha.

I guess the main contributing factor to these three events is the consumption of alcohol. Not a good thing, I know, but living is living and for me these three nights of vomit went hand in hand with a really great memory, prior to the puking. I try not to vomit, but it happens to the best of us, and if I am honest, in my forty years I have kept it to a minimum. Perhaps one good vomit every three or four years? Yeah I know I need to be a good role model, and this is me being a human, and classy.

Thank God there are no videos…

I could do another blog about the people in my life and their vomit stories, so prior to giving me a hard time about this… just make sure I’ve not been witness to any of your finer moments, because I have seen very, VERY many of them.

Make sure you turn the teapot twice clockwise and once anticlockwise!


It’s a SMALL World

I wrote this blog while holidaying… Please take me back!?

Currently I am blogging from the now dark 7pm, humid and hot Trinity Beach; a ‘beach suburb’ if you like, North of the Cairns CBD. Beautiful Queensland never disappoints. Warm nights and days even if it is raining, wind that isn’t cold and nights that don’t require more than a sheet. I’d move here tomorrow if I could. Not just because of holiday reasons, but for the weather, the local people and rawness of the area if you get away from the touristy side of things. Which we did.

Of course we’ve been ticking off the tourist list while we’ve been here for a short nine days so far and documenting it in Us’ies; watching the crazy croc attack show, feeding crocs and wandering with the local wildlife down the road at Hartleys; eating out at local restaurants dining on the freshest local fish; and then driving the winding local roads to visit crystal clear fresh-water swimming holes so ancient and isolated that the hairs on the back of your neck stand up; sunny days snorkelling with tropical fish, a freaking shark and the Chinese tourists at Green Island – The Great Barrier Reef; and what’s a trip to Cairns without a Skyrail cable car ride through the tropical treetop canopy up the hill to Kuranda, a picturesque village nestled in the hills where you can watch local bees make honey or fresh candy be rolled and snapped into bite sized morsels of loveliness; we strolled the lonely beaches that meet the foot of the Daintree Forest and each night watched the blanket of night fall arrive so quickly, as Cairns never sees a sunset. The wealth of things to do in the Far North of Queensland is only limited to the depth of your hip pocket and your imagination, and we gave both a workout!

I’ve been flying to Cairns for time out with girl-friends for three years now, and this year I decided that because of my fortieth birthday prior in August, I wouldn’t holiday with the “girls’ this year, I would head away with my family. Planning started and in amongst the planning came a new Facebook friend; someone from way back, the daughter of my dad’s work mate from decades ago.

The last time I saw her some twenty plus years ago, she was playing indoor cricket, had a room full of trophies and medals from every sport you can think of. She was what you would typically call, without labelling someone, a tomboy. Well she’s still all that but without the trophy room now and a lot less tomboy, settled with her two daughters and hubby in a ‘beach town’ I envy!

Like I said, it’s a small world really and to find out that she lived just two streets from the apartments I had booked into, I was gobsmacked. Even furthermore when I learned that my besties husband was her husbands best friend at school… Like I said, it’s a small world!

Catching up with a local meant that in a secret fashion we were granted ideas and things to do, off the normal ‘visitors guide’. What was worth seeing and what isn’t. Where to swim and were NOT to swim. The horror!Being social in a comfortable setting certainly gives a different feel to visiting a tourist area. Sitting behind a hand crafted bar on her balcony, swigging Carlton Mids and chin wagging about our lives now, while the kids swim downstairs in the apartment complex pool that they live in. Those hours whiled away easily and rolled into a meal out at one of their favourite places to eat, Yorky’s Knob Yacht Club. This was some kind of special! Holidays normally mean time away from doing those normal social things, particularly when you go somewhere where you don’t know anyone, but this, in a weird kind of way made it more like a place ‘where family live’. Sipping a cuppa with a mate was awesome, and then later a BBQ with smoke that stung my eyes to tears and made us laugh while the ceiling fan on the balcony tried to clear the air on that steamy night. Great memories I won’t forget.

Our holiday included eating the best fish’n’chips in town, listening to the waves crash in on Trinity Beach while the boys fooled around with a coconut; access to local freshwater swimming holes that tourists don’t see, even if the water was too low to enjoy fully, it was still beautiful; and then the day trips to places the locals love to go on their days off; Cape Tribulation, crossing the Daintree River on a ferry, and eating organic ice-cream made from locally grown fruits and trees; lunch at the Jungle Bar in PK’s Jungle Hideaway which truly is hidden away and we would never have known it was there if a local hadn’t have said, “you guys need to see out here!”. It is endless. We crammed in SO much stuff into ten full days, including the mandatory lazing round the pool catching some magical bronze and reading a book or bopping to some tunes.

Trinity Beach – We will be back!

Make sure you turn the teapot twice clockwise and once anticlockwise!