Pinky's Book Link

Monday, September 30, 2013

Twenty-two reasons why they should make a Hollywood movie about the Poinkers

The more I listen to the comings and goings in this household, the more I’m certain we should be in a blockbuster Hollywood movie.

Here are twenty-two examples of what I’m talking about…

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Pinky’s response to Scotto informing her about who made the Footy Grand Finals. 

Gone With the Wind

"Pablo, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore." Celine the Fox Terrier telling Pablo the Chihuahua they’ve just been checked in to the boarding kennels for two weeks. 
The Wizard of Oz.

“Go ahead, make my day.” Scotto watching pooping Ibises about to fly on to the freshly hosed patio. 

"What we've got here is failure to communicate." Pinky to Scotto when he forgets to put the bins out on Tuesday nights. 
Cool Hand Luke.

“I love the smell of your underarm in the morning.” Pablo the Chihuahua when he wakes up and Pinky is snoring on top of him. Apocalypse Now

“P.P. phone home.” Text message sent to teenager Padraic Poinker’s phone at least eight times every weekend. E.T.

"Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." What Pinky says when she cracks open a bottle of Louis Latour Chardonnay. Casablanca

"A teenager once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti." Pinky explaining to Padraic that as he’s her fourth teenager she knows all the tricks already. Silence of the Lambs

“Show me the money!” Pinky accosting Hagar for the car registration fee he borrowed from her as he walks in the door on payday. Jerry Maguire

“You can’t handle the truth!” Pinky explaining why she can’t tell Scotto how much she paid for her new shoes. 

A Few Good Men

“After all, tomorrow is another day.” Padraic making another excuse for not mowing the lawn when Pinky has already paid him. 
Gone With the Wind

“I’ll have what she’s having.” Pablo the Chihuahua watching his sister Celine chewing on a bone. 
When Harry Met Sally

“I’ll be back.” Scotto as he leaves for work every day. 
The Terminator.

"Mama always said life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." Scotto finding one of Pinky’s hairs in his spaghetti bolognese.
Forrest Gump

“I see dead cockroaches.” Pinky when she comes downstairs to the kitchen in the morning. 

“It’s alive! It’s alive!” Pinky when she tries to pick one up by its feelers. 

“You had me at ‘hello’” Pinky when Scotto brings her coffee and vegemite toast in bed. 
(Jerry Maguire)

"Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape." Pinky ten minutes later. Jokes. 
Planet of the Apes.

“My precious.” Scotto retrieving the gourmet corn chips he hid from the teenage locusts in the back of the fridge. 
Lord of the Rings.

“Yo, Adrian.” Pablo being cool. 

“I’m King of the World!” Scotto when he makes a new level in World of Warcraft. 

"I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too!" Our neighbour to Pinky when Pablo has been out the back barking at nothing all day. 
(Wizard of Oz)

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Why have common sense and goodwill gone to the dogs?

                              Pinky and "Someone"

It was a gorgeous, breezy, sunny day. Pinky was excited; she and Scotto had made a date with “Someone” to go for a laidback lunch at a casual eatery in town in order to celebrate the recent anniversary of “Someone’s” day of birth.

“Someone” appeared at Pinky’s door looking not a small bit green around the gills. Apparently “Someone” had been heavily on the turps the previous night revelling in observation of the same commemoration.

“Are you sure you want to go to lunch today?” asked a cynical Pinky. “You don’t look very well… we can make it another time…”

“I’ll be right!” “Someone” slurred, its eyes glazed over with the appearance of hungover zombification.

The three of them; Scotto, Pinky and “Someone” ordered their food at the restaurant. “Someone” sat with its head in its hands, groaning occasionally and squinting painfully in the light.

When the delicious food arrived onto the table, Pinky and Scotto tucked in like sailors on shore leave but “Someone” merely picked at its pizza like a sick kitten.

It seemed that “Someone” was too poorly to chew and swallow.

“Why don’t we go and have a hair of the dog down the road?” suggested a tremulous “Someone” looking decidedly off-colour and pressing its temples firmly with a glass of ice. 

“I’ll take this pizza to go…”

So off they went down the yellow brick road, boxed pizza tucked under "Someone's" arm.

As soon as the three adventurers entered the premises, Pinky, alert to random hostility, perceived the Duty Manager staring intently at the trio; the hirsute and meaty Duty Manager who resembled a trendy golf playing Hagrid.

Scotto was dispensed immediately to acquire drinks while Pinky and the fragile “Someone” settled comfortably into a window seat.

Within two minutes Pinky espied the burly Duty Manager whispering into the ear of his stringy minion.

“Oh crap, here we go!” hissed Pinky, watching the minion pompously approaching their table out of the corner of her beady eye.

“I know we can’t bring food in but we’re not eating it… see! It’s still in the box! We can’t leave it in the car or it’ll go off!”
asserted Pinky, before the messenger could open his supercilious mouth.
“You can’t have food here. You’ll have to leave…” officiated the minion in a robotic bleat.

“Could you please just put it in the fridge for us?” blurted out a silly, silly Pinky, forgetting that this wasn’t the eighties when everyone was still reasonable and nice about things.

Suddenly Scotto made a timely entrance jovially juggling three drinks in his hands.

“We have to go,” announced Pinky, in the most scandalised tone she was able to muster.

“But I’ve just paid for the drinks!” exclaimed Scotto, shocked at the dramatic proceedings unfolding.

“What if I put the pizza box in the garden bed outside this window? Then it’s not ACTUALLY inside the premises…” ventured sharp-witted Pinky, channelling brilliant barrister Geoffery Robertson QC.

“Well…” simpered the minion. “I suppose technically you’re right.”

So the pizza box rested in the garden bed for the next fifteen minutes whilst the trio enjoyed their ice cold, refreshing beverages.

Pinky 1: Bureaucracy 0


When the three 'conscientious objectors' finally retrieved the pizza box it was riddled with ants and “Someone” was observed grumpily throwing it into the wheelie bin as he walked to his front door after being dropped home… but it’s the principle that counts.

Young men may know the rules but old women know the exceptions!

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Pinky Poinker feat. Miley

I lay in bed on Saturday morning,

Drinking my coffee, stifling my yawning,

Nothing on telly except football crap

And some blonde girl reading a weather map.

“Change the channel at once” did Pinky decree.

So Scotto changed it over to MTV.

But then Pinky could not believe her eyes

It was Hannah Montanna dressed in disguise

Her hair was cut short, she was almost nude

Her behaviour was quite decidedly lewd.

Licking a hammer, twerking her ass

If Pinky sat that way it'd bring on gas!

“What’s happened to Hannah?” Pinky shrieked in shock.

“She’s caressing that hammer like she’s caressing a …”

Could she be any cruder, what is she thinking?

I’ll bet poor Billy-Ray’s heart is sinking.

His achey-breaky heart must be all but shattered

His daughter’s ill-repute completely splattered

All over the tabloids and Twitter sphere

OMG! Is she prepping for a cervical smear ??

Is she trying to shock us by flouting the rules

And having sex with some carpenter’s tools?”

Poor little Hannah’s been lost in the fame

And now Miley acts like she’s on the game.

Such a shame to see such appalling behaviour

And with many, it seems, she’s fallen from favour

But at least we still have pure Taylor Swift

Who’s nicely presented like a well-wrapped gift

She doesn’t need feign fellatio

While Miley now has nowhere to go

You’ll never see Taylor buck naked I hope

Or swinging round nude on a piece of rope.

She relies on her talent, but one thing is totes…

I’d advise her to watch out for screaming goats.


The objectification of girls is disgusting

With their cleavages out and their crutches thrusting.

I’m sick to death and people oughta

Start realising it could be their own sweet daughter!

Taylor Swift: Screaming goat version :)

Friday, September 27, 2013

For My First Born Baby.

                          Pinky and Thaddeus the day he was born.

Thaddeus celebrates his twenty-fourth birthday today, two days after mine. It seems like only yesterday I was collecting the memorabilia to present to my precious son on his twenty-first birthday.

I went to great effort over the years keeping scrap books, first teeth, locks of hair, newspaper clippings, their first silky hairbrush, first singlet, their newborn hospital bracelets… hell, I even kept the pregnancy tests I used to discover each of their impending presences in the world… much to the shock and rising alarm of my sister Sam.

“What are you going to bring out next, Pinky? An umbilical cord? A foreskin?” she shrieked incredulously at Thaddeus’ twenty first gathering.

I still had scrapbooks of every congratulatory card we'd received at his birth, every christening card, a newspaper from the day he was born and his favourite Cabbage Patch doll which he disconcertingly named, ‘Teacher’.

“Does ‘Teacher’ ever talk to you?” I’d ask the pensive three and a half year old uneasily, as he played with the sinister looking toy.

The menacing expression on the doll’s face reminded me of Chucky and I was more than happy to finally smother it in a plastic bag and put it in a suitcase for seventeen years when he outgrew it.

I presented these lovingly accumulated physical memories to Thaddeus with joy and hoped he would treasure them.

I’m not a hoarder by nature. I constantly throw away things I haven’t used for six months… always discovering I need them the VERY next day.

These remembrances of my childrens’ early years however, have been squirrelled away in plastic boxes under my bed for twenty-four years now. I'd never told the kids what I was doing. I wanted it to be a surprise.

Poking around the cupboard in the spare room this morning I found all of these things I’d so proudly produced for Thaddeus three years ago abandoned at the back corner of a shelf in a barely ever accessed room.

I’m going to keep them now. I’ve just realised, they’re my memories… not his.

Happy birthday my first born son. I love you xxxx

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Happy Birthday to Me!

It’s ma birthday this week!

When I say this week it’s because I’m going to stretch the bloody thing out (in my usual attention seeking manner) into a seven day rollercoaster ride of gorging, drinking and dizzy hedonism.

However, before commencing my ‘ramblings of an old mad woman’ (quote: Greggles), I’d like to thank my Mum.

Not for having me, but for NOT calling me Dorothy. My mother’s name is Dorothy you see, as well as both of my grandmothers. Imagine how confused my father must have been when they were all in the same room.

“Can I get you a cup of tea Dorrie? Dot? Dorothy?”

Being the first born you’d expect I would have copped Dorothy at least as a second name, but no. I thankfully escaped.

Another year older… another year closer to death, eh.

I know. Stop being morbid Pinky… anyway at least the extra years haven’t affected my level of maturity, as many will verify.

The evening before Pinky’s Special Day, Scotto took me out to dinner at a restaurant built over the water. I haven’t dined there for about thirty years and walking through the door transported me straight back to the Eighties. I swear the décor hasn’t changed at all and I’m fairly certain I spied someone eating a prawn cocktail. After my mouth-watering barramundi and Scotto’s huge meaty steak we both struggled out to the car groaning, loosening our belts and bemoaning our piggy excesses.

                       (L to R) Shazza, Rach, Ash, Emmsie, Kaz)

Yesterday (the big day) I went to lunch with the girls at my fave restaurant, Longboards. Notably absent was our little friend, Kyles who is away on holidays. If you’re reading this Kyles… don’t worry, we talked about you A LOT!

We met up with Greggles who was out celebrating his brother Matty’s birthday and moved to the beer garden across the road. 

Matty and I had quite a loud, sozzled conversation about how people born on September 25 are special, talented and wonderful people because they were conceived on Christmas day. The others eventually told us to shut the F up and that we were probably both conceived in a drunken mistake on New Year’s Eve and that’s clearly the reason we drink too much.

                        Pinky and Matty: Two very 'special' people.

By about 5:00pm I called Scotto to come and collect me. 

Actually, Shazza rang him,

“Hi Scotto, Shazza here. Pinky’s too p#ssed to call you and she’s serving herself drinks behind the bar again… you know, like she did at last year’s staff Christmas party. You need to come quickly.”
Luckily he can take a joke. 

By about 7:00pm I realised that only ONE of my FIVE ingrate children had acknowledged my BIRTHDAY!

There was only one thing to do… send them all a well-oiled, b#tching text message. 

“I must have been a twerrible mudda that none of youse remembered my bloody birfday!!!!!!!!”

Then, with all the emotion of a legless p#sspot, posted an attention seeking, sook message on my Facebook wall.

Turning off my phone, I tearily huffed off to bed with no dinner. I fell into an instant coma, not moving for five hours until I awoke at 3:am and drank several buckets of water.

This afternoon I’m going for celebratory drinks and snacks with my sister Sam.

Should be fun! Remember, we never really grow up, we just learn how to behave in public! 

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

What would you do if you had 30 minutes left to live?

What would you do if you found out the world was going to end in half an hour?

This is the sort of silly question Pinky ponders when she’s on school holidays with far too much time on her hands and an idle, adolescent brain firing random electrical impulses at whim.

One thing I’ve always thought I’d do (if I was unable to congregate my loved ones together in time to sit underneath a pyramid holding hands and doggy paws whilst chanting something Gregorian) is to zip up to the nearest Donut King and scoff as many of those cream-filled chocolate éclair things as humanly possible. I’ve never eaten one, only lusted after them from afar, but Armageddon would be a good time to start.

Or maybe raid the closest pizza parlour gluttonously devouring the stringiest, cheesiest most fattening item on the menu until my trackie-dacks split.

Or perhaps bust into the liquor shop, nick a carton of outrageously expensive French Champagne to be taken home and drunk in a fragrant bubble bath with truffles and caviar and make wild passionate love to my husband.

“So… what you’re saying Pinky, is that you’d go on a looting rampage?” I hear you ask in an outraged tone.

I suppose…

Another idea I had was that I’d locate the local drug dealer, buy some smack or crack and go out on a high, stoned to the eyeballs. The only trouble with that is I don’t know any drug dealers and I hate needles (although the house three doors down does have quite a lot of comings and goings if you know what I mean).

I wonder how I would react to the news of impending extermination. Would I go crazy-mental, strip to buck naked except for a pair of Doc Martens and run around the streets ripping up flowering garden beds screaming, ‘Kuckoo! Kuckoooo!’?

Would I jog barefoot to the nearest church, throw myself at the feet of the statue of Jesus and confess all my past sins? That might take longer than the allocated thirty minutes… Besides, I’m sure it would be standing room only.

I suppose the actual form of annihilation would factor into it as well.

If it was an alien invasion I think I’d just walk out with my hands up in the air. I couldn’t stand the suspense of all that ‘hiding in basements and running through dark tunnels evading long, purple tentacles’ business.

An approaching tsunami might motivate me to run for the hills but what would be the point. When the flood dried up there’d only be tinned dog food and rusty cans of soft drink to eat and drink. That’s IF the floods dried up. You could end up stuck on top of a hill for the rest of your life. I think I’d rather go out with a bang than a whimper.

How about a snap Ice Age like in the movie, ‘The Day After Tomorrow’? My fingers turn blue in the freezer section of Coles so I wouldn’t last long in that sort of catastrophic event.

Zombies would be my favourite disaster set-up I suppose. Even though you get bitten and you die, you then ‘come back to life’ and get to travel around with the other zombies eating eyeballs and entertaining stuff like that. Not so bad really.

Now you may think these are the ramblings of an old mad woman but I’ve just done some research on the net about what people would do if the world was about to end and you know what the overwhelming response was.

Eat. Most people said they’d just eat.
What about you? What would you do?

Monday, September 23, 2013

Pinky and the Ghost in the Cupboard!

                              Ghostly Pinky!!! 

(Thanks again to Scotto for his brilliant photoshopping skills... I'm not dead in case you were wondering.)

With 32 degree temperatures in the shade, it’s officially too hot to go out walking so the ignored treadmill (buried under clean towels I’ve hidden from the kids in the locked spare room) was where I headed this morning with the objective of burning off some lumpy and unappealing visceral fat.

The house was empty and quiet. You could have heard a mouse fart. Uninhabited houses make Pinky jittery...

Pablo and Celine were allowed to accompany me and sit spectator-like on the bed while I pounded the rubber for an hour or so. The air-conditioner purred quietly in the background as I attempted to read my kindle with my glasses wobbling all over the place.

I could hear the dogs scratching at the door… no… the dogs were on the bed. 

Pausing the treadmill, I opened the door to see what it was. There was nothing there...that's weird, I thought.

 The plaintive scratching began again as soon as I recommenced my walking, but this time it seemed to be emanating from the cupboard…the slightly ajar, just a wee bit spooky cupboard.

It was then that the moaning started… a low lamenting moan. Was that coming from the cupboard too?

What the hell was it? I stopped the machine again. 

Aaah! The moaning was just Pablo the Chihuahua, probably confused as to what I was doing. I never located the source of the scratching though… and I didn’t dare look in the cupboard.

It’s not like I believe in ghosts or anything like that. It’s just that I'm good at spooking myself... especially when I'm alone.

Many years ago when Pinky was still a young, carefree singleton I rented a very old house, an over one hundred years old house, in actual fact. It had been transported from Charters Towers when the Gold Rush was over and the once flourishing city (which was at one stage was the second largest city in Queensland) had been rapidly reduced to a mere ghost town.

I’ll bet that house had some stories to tell.

“The house is haunted,” offered the previous tenant Janelle, a girl I worked with at the time. “But it’s a friendly ghost.”

I lived alone in the house for three months and didn’t ever notice anything even remotely ethereal or creepy... until one day something happened that incited every hair on my body to stand on end.

My little dog Basil was with me in the kitchen and as I went to walk into the bedroom with Basil at my feet he suddenly stopped rigid and still. The line of fur on his back was stiff and raised, he stared into the room riveted and began to growl uncharacteristically.

 It was a terrible snarl, and as I tried to peer into the room he moved between me and the entrance growling at me as if to prevent my access. The little terrier turned again, savagely engrossed, trembling and moaning just staring in horrified fascination at something in the room.

After a few minutes he stopped, just like that. I went into the room, sh#tting myself quietly with Basil happily trotting in my wake… and of course there was nothing there.

This afternoon Hagar came home from his first day at a new job working as an electrical apprentice at the hospital.

“How was your day, Hagar?” I enquired.

“Alright… worked in the morgue all day,” he replied, shaking plumes of white dust from his tradie clothes all over my wooden floor.

“What’s that?” I asked tetchily, pointing to the dust.

Dead people’s ashes,” he quipped, raising one eyebrow in a sinister manner.

Little sh#t. I hope he gets a night shift.

Do you have a ghost story??? Come on… hit that comments box below!
                            My very first dog, Basil.

Sunday, September 22, 2013

I don't want to offend anyone but...

Pinky and Magenta

You’ve never met Magenta have you? I mean on my blog… I’ve never introduced you have I?

You’re fortunate to have dodged her for this long for you see Magenta is an evil, intimidating b#tch.

She’s the one who sits on my shoulder as I peer into the mirror.

“Look at your over-plucked eyebrows and your crow’s feet, Pinky,” she’ll cackle cruelly. “You’re an OLD invisible woman.”

She’s the one who insists I’m a fat, unattractive slug not fit to set foot outside the door. She criticises my fashion sense and social skills.

Magenta harps on endlessly about what a bad mother I am and how I don’t deserve to be loved by anyone. 

I really hope you don’t know any Magentas.

Nasty Magenta stopped by this morning as I read through some blogs I’d found on the Internet.

“Well, well, well,” she chortled into my ear. “Seems as though Pinky’s been left out of the party again! All of these bloggers, all leaving comments on each other’s sites, but no one likes Pinky! Just like high school huh?”

“Shut your mouth, Magenta. No one asked you for your bloody opinion!”

I have to admit though, when I stumbled upon this little site I almost internally disintegrated. A Huge Blog (I had to remove this link because I just recieved over 1000 spam comments... I'm not kidding!) The Bloggess with over 900 comments on one post??? Kill me now.

“Why are you even wasting your time writing this crap!” Magenta screeched as I noticed on my blog statistics that Scotto’s guest post…The Great Driving Test Debate is the third highest visited since I began my ‘Writing’ odyssey with 596 page views. It runs a close third to One More Sleep Until the Eeta Bunny (658) and Failed Fashion Victim in the Eighties (606).

“I wouldn’t be asking Scotto to write on your blog again, Pinky,” she growled, “Looks like anyone can show you up!”

But why? Why? Why? Why? What am I doing wrong in my writing?

Do I really suck that much?

Am I too wishy washy?

Too middle of the road?

Too AFRAID I’ll offend people?

Perhaps I need to be a bit more controversial… a bit more 

So here are some contentious opinions I’m hoping will stir up the fire in your non-commenting bellies.

“Don’t tell me you’re finally going to use a bit of gumption?” scoffs Magenta.

“Shut up, b#tch! I can be provocative just you wait!”

#Reality television is stupid
(except for Bondi Vet which has cute animals). 
Big Brother is the opiate of the brainless. 
Okay … maybe not brainless. Maybe the audience is just a bit bored? Really… I suppose it’s not all that bad. People do have a right to watch whatever they want don’t they? It’s just my silly opinion okay?

#I don’t love Pink…I like her, but I don’t love her. 
Shite! This has just alienated at least ten of my friends I just know it. Sorry… like I know she’s fantastic and everything… sorry guys :) I mean it… she’s a legend okay, I just have no taste :)

#Dogs are ABSOLUTELY better than cats. 
Of course if you are a cat and you follow me on Twitter when I say this I actually mean that they’re better at being a bit dim-witted. Please don’t hit that unfollow button… please.

#The Eagles are the most irritating band to ever walk the Earth. 
Although I do know every word to Hotel California so I guess they’re not all that bad…

#People should have to do an IQ test before they’re allowed to give their kids names as ridiculous as Goitre and Clavicle. 
Although I suppose everyone has the right to express their individuality as they see fit.

“Wow Pinky! You’re really putting the cat amongst the pigeons here. This is sooo polemic. The trolls are going to have a great time with you… hahaha,” sarcastic laughter from the ghoul on my shoulder.

“Get stuffed, Magenta! One day I’ll do it… one day.”

Friday, September 20, 2013

What do you do with 29 Drunken Sailors?

You’ll all be thrilled and electrified to know that Pinky’s class of ten year olds won first place with their pirate play in the local Eisteddfod today. Some of you may have read my post on the extensive effort I went to creating sea monster outfits and it just goes to show how industriousness=success.
How to Make a Sea Monster Costume!

Many years ago I wrote my Honours thesis on the benefits of using drama in the Primary school classroom and today was a perfect illustration of my theories bearing fruit.

The thirty minute bus trip to the theatre was akin to travelling with the crew of the Black Pearl from Pirates of the Caribbean. I thought the bus driver was going to pull over to the side of the road and make them all walk the plank when all twenty-nine of them chorused “What do you do with a drunken sailor” in over-excited harmony.

When it was announced we had won, their exuberant faces shone like stars and the bus trip home saw an even giddier rendition of the drunken sailor song and “We are the Champions!” was thrown into the mix as well. When they began loudly chanting “Mrs Poinker’s Awesome!” over and over I suddenly remembered why I LOVE being a teacher…the school holidays! (Just joking)

After arriving back at school the kids clambered off and raced ahead of me to the classroom. I expected to see them jumping around the class like mad things but when I arrived at the room they were sitting silently and unusually still at their desks. As I entered the room the entire class burst into thunderous applause.

How to make a teacher feel appreciated huh?

Anyway, I won’t hold you up tonight as firstly, it’s FRIDAY!! Secondly it’s the first day of the school holidays tomorrow… oh joy! And thirdly… Pinky’s off to have a well-earned drink! XX

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Pinky the Big Fat Cheat!

Way back in the Pleistocene era (when kids played with plasticine instead of IPods), my cupboards and bookcases were stuffed to overflowing with files, folders and yellowed photocopies.

Now I just have these… 

                         Note the one centre-front... very sad.

a congregation of mystery sticks containing God knows what.

Nestled in messy drawers and secreted in my handbag zip pockets along with runaway Nicorettes and Panadol tablets, my USB sticks have been silently procreating over the last nine years.

I’ve stored the contents of one memory stick onto a newer USB stick and the contents of that USB stick onto a third and so forth and so forth…

Whilst hopelessly scanning the contents of my little family of flash drives recently, I happened upon a file that brought a shameful grin to my sinful face.

Several years ago Scotto and I were addicted to nightly reruns of the U.S. quiz show, Jeopardy on cable TV.

We’d keep a point tally of our correctly answered questions but the problem was, Scotto has quite a vast knowledge of Pop Culture (having watched every episode of The Simpsons for the last twenty years) and the verbal response skills of a Ninja... so bad-sport Pinky usually lost the game by miles.

Fiercely competitive Pinky formulated a plan to bring the trivia-savvy Scotto to his knees. It was my Jeopardy Study Plan I found on my archaic USB stick; all the world capitals, a list of all the American Presidents, and similar tedious trifles.

Sadly, despite intensive swotting, my point score failed to improve UNTIL… one fortuitous day I stumbled across a site called J!Archives

By deviously searching the names of the contestants from the previous night’s episode I was suddenly and illegally in possession of the upcoming night’s quiz.

“I’m feeling a bit tired tonight… don’t think I’ll be very quick of the mark…” I lied through my teeth attempting to conceal my cocky confidence that evening as we prepared for our ‘friendly’ battle to the death.

“I have to hand it to you, Pinky,” raved an awestruck Scotto when the show finished after I’d thrashed him 78-nil, “You were FANTASTIC!”

“Thanks!” I beamed with feigned humility.

“Seriously Pinky!” he continued to gush. “I’m REALLY impressed! You knew EVERY SINGLE question!”

I sat penitently for about five minutes, a guilty ball of remorse swelling inside me until it suddenly exploded.

“I CHEATED!” I screamed. “I found the answers on the Internet! Are you happy? You’re still smarter than me!”

So anyway… what should I do with all these USB sticks?

Earrings perhaps?


Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Pinky and the Artful Dodger

         Pinky at Madame Tussaud's with Mel Gibson before he went all weird.

I just received the news that seventeen year old daughter Lulu has arrived safely in London. I feel relieved, grateful and a lovely shade of bottle green.

Last time I went on an overseas holiday was in 2000 with five kids under eleven years of age in tow. My then-husband, the progeny and I, stayed in an apartment in Earls Court in London which was conveniently located right next door to a chemist which I quickly raided soon after arrival and bought the pharmacy out of head lice treatment.

My kids had transported five heads worth of lice from the Antipodes to the Old Dart which really wasn’t cricket at all was it? I had no idea of the infestation when we left Australia and I can say with no uncertainty that head lice definitely thrive and multiply quite joyously in high altitudes such as a Jumbo Jet.

I did wonder if the Aussie head lice got along with their English counterparts or if they argued about the Rugby World Cup.

Traipsing around the rainy streets of London we managed to take in many of the landmarks such as Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, Hamleys the biggest toyshop in London, Trafalgar Square and Portobello Road in Notting Hill (with Hugh Grant disappointingly nowhere in sight).

Our most dramatic excursion however, was the day we visited the Tower of London. Apart from seven year old Hagar attempting to scare the ravens away, bringing forth the downfall of Britain and pinching the statue-still Beef-Eaters to see if they were alive, it was fairly uneventful until we were on our journey home. 

My then-husband had arranged a business meeting and handed over the entire responsibility of herding five irritable children onto a bus and back to our nest at Earl’s Court to me.

When the Brits were rounding up the thieves and criminals, slapping on the manacles and sentencing them to transportation to Australia back in the 1700s they must have missed a few who then went on to propagate with abandon.

As soon as I had struggled onto the bus, counting small heads as I went, I noticed my black handbag gaping open, unzipped and inviting. My wallet had gone… was absent, departed, moved out, not there.

My wallet with EVERYTHING in it. All my money, credit cards, driver’s licence, kid’s photos… everything.

“Better ring the credit card companies and cancel all your cards, luv!” suggested the sympathetic bus driver. So I did (as well as inadvertently cancelling all of my then-husband’s credit cards which caused a sh#t load of problems later on).

As we drove past Harrod’s Department Store I watched it slowly disappear into the distance, just like my dreams of a little splurge inside its hallowed walls.

That night I sobbed like a baby. I don’t know if it was that it was my fortieth birthday and I grieved the loss of my more youthful years or because of the fact that I’d been wearing an almost empty money belt under my clothes the whole time and for some stupid, stupid reason had transferred most of my money and all of my cards into my wallet.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Lulu "Leaving on a Jet Plane"

The awesome foursome (Lulu on right)

Darling daughter Lulu, flew off to the U.K. on her netball trip today.
I miss her already so I wrote a song for her to read when she arrives…

It goes with the music to “Leaving on a Jet Plane”.

All my bags are packed I’m ready to go

I’ve got my stuff I’m sure… although

I need more cash, I’m scared I might run dry

The dawn is breakin’ we’re running late

Mum I’m coming soon please don’t berate

me, I’ll soon be gone, of that you can’t deny.

So kiss me and pass your purse

Someday I will reimburse

you, Twenty bucks then I’ll be on my way

Cos I’m leavin on a jet plane

From sobs and tears you must refrain

It’s Netball I must play.

There’s so many places we will see

Many places across the sea

What a way to end our last school year

Every place I go, I’ll email you

Every place I go, a text should do

I’ll bring you back a cheap, lame souvenir.

So kiss me and say good-bye

Soon I’ll be up in the sky

England, Ireland we’ll be on our way

Cos we’re leavin on a jet plane

Your funds are all completely drained

It’s Netball I must play.

Now the time has come for us to board

All photo angles you’ve explored

It’s time we went to spend your hard earned cash

So dream about the games we’ll win

Your long goodbyes are wearing thin

So sorry Mum we really have to dash.

So kiss me and smile for me

Three weeks will go fast I'm sure you’ll see

England, Ireland are not so far away

Cos we’re leavin on a jet plane

Three weeks we’ll all be back again

It’s Netball we must play.

Cos we’re leavin on a jet plane

Three weeks we’ll all be back again

It’s Netball we must play.

Love you Lulu, stay safe xx

                           Good luck beautiful girls!

Monday, September 16, 2013

Pinky and her Hallux Valgus

“You need to get that bunion of yours looked at Pinky!” observed Scotto last night. “It looks like you’re growing an extra toe.”

"What? Paul? Paul Bunion?" I queried in puzzlement.

Hmmm… it is growing I agreed when I looked at it closely. I almost need a size larger shoe on my right foot to accommodate the behemoth. 

In actual fact, it's getting to be humongous! 

In fact, it's becoming unbelievably big!

It's so big it almost needs its own postcode.

It's so big it needs its own lawyer. 

It's so big people apologise to it when they bump into it.

It’s so big it shows up on Google Earth! 

It’s so big I’m thinking of having it Christened. 

It’s so big airport security have to x-ray it to make sure I’m not stashing 3kg of hashish.

It’s so big my socks have stretch marks.

It’s so big it has its own shadow.

It’s so big it has its own birthday party.

It's so big I think its first tooth is about to come through.

It’s so
 big, when I rest my feet on the coffee table Scotto can’t see the TV.

It’s so big this picture took an hour to download.

It’s so big... I feel like it needs to be breastfed!
(Sorry about that one.)Yeah… it’s soooooo big I’d better see someone about it.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Pinky's Adventures in Pussy World

You may think the title of this post is a cheap rort to gain increased pageview stats on my website from the gentlefolk searching Google for “Pinky the Pornstar”.

You may be correct.

In actual fact, this post is Part Two in my attempts to mingle with the general community in non-alcohol infused activities.

Today, a semi-reluctant Scotto and I, attended a Cat Show.

Yes… you heard me right… A. Cat. Show!

Who should we see manning the entry to such an esteemed event but my dear colleague, Jake... owner and breeder of many cats (and keen to rid himself of some of them apparently).
                                    Jakey Baby!

(When I was a kid, Dad was the president of the Kennel Club and my mother on the committee of the local cat club, so I've been to my fair share of these shows, but not for at least 35 years so I was looking forward to it.)

Even though I'm definitely a dog person, I do have an affection for moggies ...

Cats haven't been domesticated for as long as dogs and sometimes it shows...
See how many movies you recognise!

“I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries. Now go away, or I shall taunt you a second time."

        I like to make sexy time!

I wake up in the morning and I piss excellence!

One, two, Freddy's coming for you. Three, Four, better lock your door. Five, Six, grab your crucifix. Seven, Eight, Gonna stay up late. Nine, Ten never sleep again.

"I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti"... sucking noise...

"That's right, I killed your master. And now I'm going to kill you, with your own sword, no less, which, in the very immediate future, will become my sword."

“God gave men brains larger than dogs so they wouldn't hump women's legs at cocktail parties.”

                                                         I hear the train a comin'
                                                       It's rolling round the bend
                                      And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when,
                                      I'm stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin' on
                                         But that train keeps a rollin' on down to San Antone..

Guys, I'd love to look at the camera and smile for you... but I'm not going to.

                               Back off!

I said... back the F#ck OFF!

All of you are beneath me! I am a god, you dull creature, and I shall not be bullied.

It was a great show! And of course we couldn't call it a day until we'd checked out the t-shirt stand!

(Answers to the movies in tomorrow's post!)