Jean-Claude Van Damme's Guide to Christmas Day

                          

Who was I kidding when I said I wouldn’t write a post between December 22 and December 31? Those days are the best days of the year for Poinker shenanigans. 

I was going to save it all up and condense it all into one post but I don’t think I can… 

        Scotto bought me a personalised notebook to write down all my observations in!

Consequently, today’s post will regale you with the uncouth and hugely censored snippets of the Poinker’s Christmas Day. 

Back when the kids were little they would awaken at the crack of dawn and pester us to get out of bed so they could rip into the plethora of shiny presents under the tree. Nowadays we’re woken up by Pablo the Chihuahua’s tongue spiralling up our nostrils at six am. After dragging ourselves up and downing a couple of coffees we're obliged to ‘let the dogs out’ onto the slumbering teenagers ensconced snuggly amongst doonas in their Arctic-temperature bedrooms. 

It was eleven o’clock in the morning by the time everyone was seated, sipping champagne and orange juice and eating chocolate and stone fruit. 

Instead of the mysteriously wrapped gifts of yesteryear, each Poinker child (including Hagar’s girlfriend, Meggles) was handed an envelope containing a couple of gift vouchers and cold, hard cash. 

Before you judge me I must point out I put A LOT of effort into selecting appropriate gift vouchers. Remember back in September when all five of my kids forgot it was my birthday and gave me NOTHING? Well this time they managed to make some sort of effort. 

Except for one… the ‘One’ with the most money in his stash. 

“Here Mum…” the ‘One’ carelessly grabbed a fifty dollar note out of his wallet. “Do you have change for a fifty? I’d like to give you forty dollars to put in your online betting account.” 

Look... I do have an online betting account but I've probably used it twice in the last two years and besides… I didn’t feel money for my ‘betting account’ was a very thoughtful gift to offer in the true spirit of Christmas. 

“Put your money away!” I snapped at the ‘One’. Now I know why the ‘One’ has such a large bank account. 

We were all packed up to head over to my sister Sam’s for Christmas lunch. Sam lives a fifteen minute walk away from us but it was arranged that Jonah (who doesn’t really drink much) would drive the ‘One’s’ car over with the esky and take us as well. 

Unfortunately, the ‘One’ decided to take off in the car by himself and leave the rest of us stranded by the side of the road mandating a hot, muggy walk over to Sam’s in the midday, North Queensland sun. 

At this point Pinky was beginning to feel slightly pissed off with the ‘One’ even though it WAS Christmas day and you’re not really supposed to have those strong, murderous emotions gurgling away inside. 

The kids began walking ahead and by the time Scotto and I huffed and puffed our way through Sam’s front door, the ‘One’ had already stirred up a vitriolic argument with eighteen year old Padraic by taunting him about his recent haircut. 

The ‘One’ continued his merciless carry on until Padraic, feisty character that he is, began to threaten the ‘One’ with a belt in the head. 

Twenty year old Hagar, for some inexplicable reason, unwisely put his two bits worth in. 

“Do you want a rassel?” goaded Padraic. “C’mon Hagar… I bet I could beat you in a rassel.” 

“Calm down, Padraic!” warned a nervous Pinky, “And don’t you mean a wrestle?” 

“Yeah… a rassel!” 

This aggressive badgering went on for another miserable ten minutes until finally Hagar, steam emanating out of his earholes, stood up and nobly accepted the challenge. 

The Jean-Claude Van Damme action moved over to the grass out of view and while Lulu and Jonah went to document the ‘rassling match’ on their iPhones, Pinky sat gripping her wine glass, eyes clenched shut and waiting for the police and ambulance sirens to arrive screaming down the street. 

The boys both returned to the table panting, sweaty and grass stained after only a few minutes. 

Padraic sported a nasty grass burn on the side of his face but he’d calmed down having been put in his place by a body plant by the much larger Hagar. 

But still the relentless ‘One’ continued to annoy most of the gathering with his misappropriated sense of humour. 

“When’s a gnome not a gnome?” he read boisterously from a Christmas Cracker joke. 

“When is a gnome not a gnome?” echoed Greigor’s (family friend) elderly mother, visibly relieved the violent interlude had settled down. 

“When it’s looking up a pixie’s skirt and it’s a goblin,” chortled the ‘One’. 

Call me a prude but this was definitely NOT the joke from the cracker. Thankfully Greigor’s frail little mum didn’t get it. 

Pinky took the ‘One’ aside several times during the afternoon and delivered a verbal thrashing but ‘twas to no avail. 

Mercifully, he eventually crashed out in one of the bedrooms at Sam’s early in the piece so the party took on a more ‘joyful’ tone. 

I’ve never quite understood why emergency rooms cite the highest rate of domestic violence and injuries on Christmas Day more than on any other day. 

I do now and all I can say is... this year there were thankfully no emergency visits from the Poinkers. 

Next year, Scotto and I will be going on a cruise and leaving them all at home. 

       (Taken before the 'rassel') Ma Kelly and the Poinker Gang.

Tomorrow’s post will tell of our foray over to the classy side of town to visit my friend, Dolly and her family on Boxing Day.

"God" on Facebook

There's a guy (at least I assume it's a guy) who has a Facebook page called GOD. It's not blasphemous at all, just a bit of fun.

Occasionally he asks his followers to ask him questions... any question they like. I sifted through the 1500 or so questions and found a few you may find amusing.

Dear God,

Where is all my bacon? I had 5 packs in the fridge yesterday, and now there is only one.

Do you do Secret Santa in heaven?

Adam and Eve - did they have belly buttons? And if they are made in Your image - do you have a belly button?

Can you tell me which of my cats ate my snore blocker ear plugs? Or will I have to wait?

Do you have feet?

Boxers or briefs?

When will a next dragonball series start? And will it be as good as dragonball z?

Why did you allow the red - wedding to happen on game of thrones?! WHYYYY?!?

Do you prefer star wars or star trek?

Is there wifi in hell and if so would you happen to have the password?

Is it true that "you can't take it with you when you go" and is this in any way related to the fact that "if you don't use it, you lose it"?

If you could keep just one God power, what would it be and why?

Who played your favorite Jesus in a film?

Dear God, What did the fox say?

If rain is your tears, what about snow and hail?

God, why did you let dinosaurs miss the Ark? And while we are on the subject, why did creepy crawly things like black widow spiders and fire ants, make that trip?

I invited friends to go out for dinner last week, I got very annoyed, cause my friends wanted to change my plans, the venue, the day and time. Do you feel the same way when people pray to change your Divine Plan?

God. If I swallow gum does it actually stay with me for 7 years?

God: How do I know if my pants tight "hot" or just too tight? I have a smoken rear, but, to be honest a bit of a muffin top too.

God, when you see mortals doing something truly evil or stupid why not strike them with a lighting bolt? Not enough to kill them mind you, but just painful enough as if to say "I'm watching you".

Im thinking of a number 1-10 what Is it?

Could "Under the Dome" become real one day? Who would you like to see end up behind the dome, and would you interfere?

Why did you put the testicles on the outside? Is it some cruel joke?

Why do I have to shit right after I get out of the shower?

Why was the ending to Dexter so disappointing?

Here is the Facebook page if you would like to read more.

How I'm Going to Make over a Million Bajillion Bucks

I’m sure you’ve heard of the Elf on a Shelf.

The Christmas tradition was launched in 2005 and rapidly snowballed into a multi-million dollar franchise: year-over-year growth has averaged 149%, sales hit $16.6 million in 2011 and I can’t find figures beyond that but I’d bet a Christmas bauble they’re still doing quite well.

In 2005 my youngest, Lulu, was nine years old and far too worldly to accept the whimsical tale of a stuffed goblin who was sent as a spy from Santa to deem whether or not she’d been naughty or nice… so I gave the purchase of said festive mole a big miss.

Millions of other mothers out there didn’t apparently.

I, however, have had a brilliant idea!

Instead of a mere Elf on the Shelf, I’ve created a variety of characters more suitable for the older kids.

One complaint from mothers worldwide is that E.O.T.S. has to be moved around the house each night after the kids have gone nighty-nights. Unfortunately, just as in the case of the tooth fairy, after one too many spicy, mulled wines Mums were forgetting to move the little critters leading to suspicion and doubt as to the Elf’s credibility.

My specially designed Santa secret agents come in sets of twelve so won’t have to be moved much at all. Most areas of the house will be covered and not only that, will contain in-built camcorders! 

You'll have black and white evidence about who's nicking the alcohol, coming home late or doing their chores around the house!
You won’t miss a THING your teenagers get up to!

Let me introduce you to… 

Pinky’s Christmas Snoops

 Bear on the Stair: for when they try to sneak in late.

           Bunny on the Dunny (downstairs toilet)

Meerkat on the Beer Mat: protecting the liquor cabinet!

       Ernie on the Gerni: dropping hints about chores.

                        Lion near the Iron: self explanatory

                     Cow near the Puppy Chow

                 Dog on the Bog: upstairs toilet

                        Feline on the Clothes Line

                        Giraffe on the Path

                        Unicorn on the Front Lawn

                      Swine with the Wine

                    Goblin in the Rubbish Bin

So what do you think? Am I on to something?

The Totally Awesome Christmas Show

                                           Todd in the centre of his brilliant cast!

Way back in January I wrote a story about a childrens’ theatre group I once worked with here in... this silly story

I resigned from the group when I began working full time as a primary teacher but the reigns were adeptly assumed by one of our younger directors, Todd.

Well that was nine years ago and since then Todd has taken the group to a dizzying new level.

Where once the dramatic performances were based on the extremely cheesy and over-the-top style embraced by the likes of, ooh… let’s say Benny Hill, the group now exudes a distinctly contemporised, Tim Burtonesque flavour under the creative, original talents of hipster Todd and his crew (is ‘hipster’ a compliment? I hope so. See how un-withit I am).

Today, Scotto and I took my nephew Heinrich and Petal to see Props Youth Theatre’s “Totally Awesome Christmas Show” and I can assure you, it was… well totally awesome. From ages five years to about seventeen, the accomplished young actors were focussed, energetic, vibrant and entertaining.

The first half of the show delivered an alternative version of the Wizard of Oz and the second half, a lively, slightly bizarre depiction of Alice in Wonderland complete with the funniest Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee I’ve seen, EVER!

The only annoyance about the day was the stupid, self-destructive parking laws the city council has instigated in the city. You can only pay for two hours at a time but then you can’t simply go and top up the meter. Oh no… you have to move the bloody car because the vulture-like parking officers put chalk marks on the tyres.

For years our incompetent council has been desperately trying to coerce people back into a business-depleted and deserted city centre.

I never bother shopping in the city because firstly, there are no shops, and secondly, there is no free parking. I would venture into the tumbleweed infested, malignantly, hot city centre, however, to go to the movies or watch a theatre production but not if I’m going to be forced to hike it back to my car at interval (or half way through a movie) to move my damn car.
Despite this idiocy, it was a trip down memory lane watching what must be the twelfth installment of the 

Totally Awesome Christmas Show.

“I wish I could be in something like that!” was Petal’s review.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever really listened to the story of the Wizard of Oz,” was Heinrich’s stoic reaction.

I’m proud of you, Todd!

'Twas the Night Before Christmas at Pinky's Place

                                                                  Bad Pinky

In honour of my eighteen year old son Padraic, I’ve rewritten the famous, well-loved poem:

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.

‘Twas the night
Before Christmas
While inside the house
Little Pinky was stirring
Some tea for her spouse

The stockings were hung
For her doggies, with care

In hopes
In the morning
Some bones would be there

Teenagers were nestled
All safe in their beds
Visions of juggling apes
Danced in their heads

Pinky in her nightie
With the torn shoulder strap
Settled on the couch
One more present to wrap



When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
She sprang from the couch
To see what was the matter

Away to the window
She flew like a bee
To peer through the window
And what did she see?

The moon on the breast
Of the bitumen road
Reflected the
Carcasses
Of twenty dead toads



When what
With her wandering eyes
She did spy
But a beat-up Holden
With eight youths piled inside

With a scruffy young driver
Screeching down the street
Pinky knew in a moment
‘Twas son Padraic, in the seat

As the burnt rubber settled
The youths toppled out
And they whistled
And shouted
And milled
All about

“Hey Gazza!
Hey Dazza!
Hey Bazza!

Cried Pinky.



“Hey Grommit!
Hey Stupid!
Hey Poiter!
Hey Stinky!

You’re waking
The neighbours
With that noisy
Car horn
Now dash-away
boys, for tomorrow’s
Christmas morn!”

And then
In a twinkling
They stared at the roof
At the revving
And stereo
Playing ‘Doof, doof…’

'Twas St Nick on the roof!
Doing donuts around

In a shiny
V8 hot rod
With full surround sound

He was dressed
Like a rev-head
From his head
To his thongs
With a singlet
And board shorts
Tattoos and a bong.

A bundle of letters
He had packed
On his back
One each for
The boys with a
message
Intact.

His eyes
How they twinkled
Though red and bloodshot

A result
Of imbibing
More often than not

The stump of his joint
He held tight
In bad teeth
And the smoke
Encircled his head
Like a wreath



He said not a word
All stern
Without noise
And handed
Out the letters
Then said
To the boys

“Whatever you do
Don’t just follow others
Be your own person
And look after
Your mothers.”

He jumped
In his car
Music blaring
Tyres screaming


And the boys
Stared aghast
Their faces
All beaming

Pinky heard them exclaim
In the growing morn light

“It’s Christmas tomorrow
Time to call it a night!”

And off into
The night
They drove quiet
As mice.

Promising they’d

Not be naughty

But nice.

Comments are back! Please leave one...

Thanks to Photoshopping by Scotto.

Thirteen Reasons Pinky Knows it's the Silly Season

Artwork by Pinky Poinker

                                                         

1. People are proudly sporting really garish, flashing earrings and necklaces in the shopping centre.

2. I keep finding dozens of tiny pieces of Christmas tree tinsel stuck to the bottom of my feet.

3. The queue is unusually and annoyingly long at Dan Murphy’s.

4. At the shopping centre you see a lot of abnormally dressed up, combed down kids on their way to have a photo taken with Santa.

5. Ads are reappearing on the telly reminding everyone to place their Turducken orders (much to the bitter disappointment and paranoia of Turduckens everywhere).

6. The air conditioner breaks down, the pool filter blows up and some other random but expensive household appliance self-immolates causing unwanted financial loss.

7. The dog has to be taken to the vet because we suspect it ate part of the nativity scene (not baby Jesus). He didn’t but we decide to have his ‘bojangles’ removed as a Christmas present since we’re at the vet anyway.

8. It’s compulsory for every shop assistant to wear red, green or white shirts, mandatory antlers and ask you how your Christmas shopping is going in a blank uninterested monotone.

9. There are at least twelve towels hanging on the pool fence; the toilet seat is always wet when I perch my derriere on it (delivering an unexpected, slithery surprise) and the internal stairs are saturated with chlorinated water providing a sure-fire death trap for Pinky as she carries the laundry up.

10. You can’t turn on the car radio without hearing at least one Michael Buble or Human Nature song.

11. The milk goes off every twenty-four hours due to copious openings and closings of the fridge as teenagers go on rum ball and chocolate reconnaissance missions .

12. I walk in and discover Scotto watching the Mr Bean Christmas Special. AGAIN.

13. If we call out to the dog after we’ve had a few drinks, it runs away and hides cos it knows what’s coming.

P#ss off!

    
 How do you know it's the silly season?

Just how important is that OP score?

Introduced in 1992, the Overall Position (OP) is a tertiary entrance rank used in Queensland for selection into universities. Akin to comparable systems used throughout the rest of Australia, the OP shows how well a student has performed compared to all other OP-eligible students in Queensland.

The night before last, the state’s OP scores were released to frightened, excited and anxious high school graduates all over our state. Slack, slipshod mother that I am, I was unaware of this fact and it wasn’t until late yesterday that seventeen year old daughter Lulu, sombrely informed me of her result.

Let down and dissatisfied, she confidentially requested of her big-mouthed mother to, “Please don’t tell anyone what I got.”

I looked at her final school report which had arrived in the mail while I was away last week.

There was certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

She’d passed everything including top level Mathematics, Chemistry and Biology which her recalcitrant, algebra-challenged mother would have had no hope in hell of accomplishing. (In fact it just took me five goes at spelling ‘recalcitrant’ correctly.)

“Seven per cent in Mathematics!” screeched my own mother when she perused my GRADE TEN report back in the day. I’d earned seven points out of one hundred on my final test, although I must add I’d been placed twentieth in a class of thirty students even with that miserable result. Let’s just say Mathematics was not my forte but I do feel our teacher may have had some questions to answer. I dropped Maths in grade eleven and twelve as it wasn’t compulsory back then and even now still scratch my head at long division.
Lulu has a high enough score to get into the science degree she wants to do and that’s good enough for me. 

Sure… if there’d been less partying; less boy stuff, less Facebook, I’m sure she could have done better, but perhaps it has all been an effective lesson in life for her.

You know, 

Padraic (eighteen year old son), on the other hand, went down the Vocational Education Training (VET) road in grade eleven and twelve so he wasn’t eligible for an OP score.

Imagine my amazement when I received a text from my friend Kyles last night,

“Holy shite!!!!! Padraic got an OP 4. Congrats! All those English assignments you did for him paid off.”

I checked his Facebook page and sure enough he’d posted “OP4 :)”  on his timeline.

Nice and subtle like...



He had over eighty ‘likes’ on the post. Cheeky little bugger.

How to be an UN-EVIL Stepmother

One central character who has not yet been introduced into the insane adventures of Pinky Poinker is “Petal”.

                               Petal at three years of age.


I first met Petal when she was three. Her father and I had only recently met and I remember her soulful brown eyes staring intently and suspiciously at me from the backseat of the car. I think I won her over that day with a princess Barbie and a Happy Meal.

Yes… you guessed right. Pinky is a Stepmother.

Normally Petal lives with her mother in the Southern Queensland Highlands where it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. The first thing she does when she arrives at Chez Poinker is tear up the stairs and burst into each of her step-siblings bedrooms to announce her arrival.

                             Petal now at twelve years of age.

She then smothers the dogs with kisses, greets the cat and shimmies into her swimmers without delay. Petal then proceeds to spend eight hours every day thrashing around the pool, only taking breaks for the occasional bag of crisps or an icy-pole. I’ve never seen such a water-baby.

The word ‘stepmother’, has bad connotations and stepmothers generally get a bad rap in the press eg; Cinderella, Snow White etc.

I’ve made a list (derived from my personal experience) on how you may avoid being labelled an ‘evil stepmother’ with all its unjust implications.

Don’t spend too much time in front of the mirror comparing your beauty to hers and throwing hissy fits when the mirror smart mouths you.

Try to tone down your natural, maniacal laugh.

Don’t take her to the butchers, order a beef heart then put it into a jewelled box and keep it on your dresser. She might get mixed messages.

Don’t over pluck your eyebrows into sardonic arches.

Don’t wear black, day in and day out.

Don’t walk around the house in a tiara and make your stepdaughter call you Baroness Poinker.

Don’t make her sweep the fireplace.

Don’t make her do the washing up every day and call her “Palmolive”.

Don’t hang around turrets.

Don’t have a crow as a pet.

Don’t go offering her apples all the time, especially if they’re red on one side and green on the other.

Get rid of any warts or large moles on your face.

Book an appointment with the dentist to replace missing teeth.

Above all, … don’t keep pumpkins around the house or you may discover she’s been sneaking out at night.

Jingle Bells Pinky Style!

There’s the Queen st Mall
It’s a shopping holiday
O’er the road we go
Laughing all the way

I hear cashier’s bells
Ringing loud and clear
Lulu’s buying up the town
She’ll spend up big no fear!

Hey! Jingling coins, jingling coins
Jingling all the way
Myer Centre, David Jones
Not enough hours in a day! Hey!

Jingling Coins, jingling coins
Jingling all the way
Oh what fun it is to shop
In Brisbane Mall today.

Pinky drags behind
Blisters and sore back
Finds a comfy chair
While Lulu sorts through racks

So many clothes to see
Dresses, skirts, a top
Oh what fun it is to spend
Her pay from the Donut Shop!

Hey! Jingling coins, jingling coins
Jingling merrily
Pinky needs a good lie down
A Bex and a cup of tea. 

Hey!

Jingling coins, jingling coins
Jingling in her purse
There’s no need to call a cab
Cos Pinky'll need a hearse. 

Hey!...

Pinky has Another Bad Hair Day

                  Brandon, Lulu and Lily: happy-go-lucky teenagers!

Well… I had my hair cut today and must confess I’m going to LOVE it … in about twelve months when the monstrosity grows out.

(I bet Scotto’s glad he’s not here right now to suffer my relentless whinging and complaining.)

I’ve had some doozies over the years and at least this isn’t as bad as some of the hideous choices I’ve made over the last four decades.

Let’s see… there was the ‘Pageboy’ at 10 years old, the ‘Perm’ in the late seventies, the ‘Mullet’ a-la Duran Duran in the Eighties, the ‘Hospital’ cut in the nineties, the ‘Geometric Bob’ last year and now it’s the ‘Hacked-Off Fringe’ - highlighting a bulging forehead, cut.

And why do hairdressers insist on overdoing the oily products? My baby-fine, thin hair doesn’t need to be coated with Moroccan Oil and cuticle-smoothing emulsions which only served to exacerbate the stringy, flat and lifeless style I’m now sporting.

 I gave a photo to the sweet girl I entrusted my future happiness and self-esteem with to create an accurate replica hairstyle.

It didn't work. I wanted to look twenty years old like the chick in the picture but instead I look like a fifty year old bag lady who has neglected to wash her hair for six months.

Not only that, but I have a headache from those ridiculously uncomfortable wash basins. Why haven’t they invented cushioned wash basins?

I know… first world problems.

After my skulking and sulking in the hotel room for an hour or so (with frequent trips to the bathroom to check if it had grown out yet), Lulu finally returned from her lunch with friends and Precious Pinky invited herself to chill out with them for a bit. There's nothing like hanging out with happy-go-lucky teenagers to cheer you up.

Brandon, a talented Under 20s, Broncos Rugby League player, had been the girls’ formidable body guard all day and he provided me with some tough competition playing a quiz show on the telly.

Actually he beat me. Who knew rugby league players could be smart as well as fit?

Is there a lawyer in the house?

I don’t think we’ll be seeing a shortage of lawyers in the near future. Yesterday we watched Jonah receive his law degree along with 339 others at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre.

The Chancellor of the University delivered his speech and then we clapped three hundred and forty times as each recipient (very S-L-O-W-L-Y) stepped up to shake his hand. Jonah was one of the first which meant Pinky lost interest in the proceedings fairly quickly. At one stage I leaned over to my ex-husband’s lovely wife, Arlette, and dramatically mimed slitting my throat. She nodded in agreement rolling her eyes as if to say, “Kill me now!”

Finally, the last graduate had received their diploma and Arlette and I began joyously fishing around on the floor for our handbags but were quickly and disappointingly stymied. 

Oh no… some old judge was yet to give another long-winded exposition on something to do with political landscapes and legal ramifications blah, blah, de-bloody blah.

When the ceremony had finally finished, I woke up my Dad and we all shuffled out into the foyer to await the arrival of the golden child, Jonah, in order to snap some photos of him in his academic gown.

                              Jonah and Pinky

Jonah’s father Ralphie, was so enormously proud of his second son (who is following in his legal eagle footsteps) it almost brought a tear to my eye. 

                           Arlette, Jonah and his Dad, Ralphie.

                                                         Granddad and Jonah


We quickly absconded to a wonderful restaurant (Jonah had booked) which had the most amazing menu and delicious wine and one I will definitely be bringing Scotto to next time we get down here on holidays.

          (L-R) Nana, Arlette, Granddad, Pinky, Lulu, Ralphie, Jonah

In terms of a family celebration… I’d give it a nine out of ten!

This morning I woke up and assumed it must be… oh, seven o’clock. It was still dark but I felt somewhat refreshed.

I peered at the clock on my phone… Ten-Forty-Five!!!!

Half the day was gone! I haven’t slept in for that long since I was a teenager.

I staggered out of my room to discover Lulu, still deep in dreamland.

(I hope Scotto isn’t reading this and seething with jealousy. Apparently Pablo the Chihuahua kept him up all night last night looking for his mummy.)

We managed to get our act together, met up with Lulu’s gorgeous friend Lily and hit the shops.

                         Lulu and Lily spending up big!

Much more funner than a two hour stint in a Graduation Ceremony.

The girls put up with me for about two hours until they finally grew tired of being nice and let me loose in David Jones while they caught up on the real gossip (not the watered down version).

                                      Get lost Mum!

Can’t wait for tomorrow… I’m getting a new haircut!

The Village Idiot Goes Missing.

                               Lulu on the train into the city.

I’d already annoyed Lulu in the departure lounge at the airport by showing her funny memes and asking, “It’s funny, don’t you think?” over and over and over. 

That must be why she sat beside me in the plane with her earphones determinedly stuck in her ears and her eyes shut tight for the two hour plane trip.

I was a bit lonely... but I read the latest health magazine and made a few silent, but probably futile, resolves for 2014.

Lulu was no doubt cranky with me for chipping her about the outfit she’d chosen to wear on the plane; or rather, the lack of outfit.

I spent a lot of my time at the airport glaring, in what I hoped was a menacing way, at the filthy perverts eyeing my seventeen year old daughter up and down when they walked past us.

We caught a train from the airport into the city and when we finally emerged from the station lugging our suitcases behind us we found ourselves on the same street as the hotel we’d booked.

“It’s a really long street,” I sighed peering down one end then the other. “I wonder which way we should start walking?”

Then I suddenly looked up and miraculously there it appeared. Our hotel was straight across the road. Bazinga!

“Are you here for any special reason?” asked the bubbly blonde at reception.

A slow, slightly smug grin spread across my face, “Oh… my son is graduating from University tomorrow.”

“How wonderful! What’s he graduating in?” asked Blondie pleasantly.

“Law,” I replied, as humbly as possible.

Well? She asked didn’t she? It’s not like I was bragging or anything…

Jonah, the law graduate in question is still surviving on a poor University student pittance and was on the blower about thirty seconds later inviting himself to a free lunch with Lulu and myself.

         "You look like a turtle!" were the first words she said to her brother.

                            Pinky, with her son the lawyer.

We walked off our excess calories by wandering around the Modern Art Gallery at Southbank (Jonah’s idea), whilst Lulu trailed behind us uncomplainingly, but possibly bored out of her brain.

Best afternoon EVER!

It’s seven o’clock and Lulu and I are vegging out quietly in the hotel room but I just had the most unexpected and peculiar call from twenty year old son Hagar... 

over one thousand kilometres away at home.

“What are you cooking for dinner tonight, Mum?” Hagar asked.


I could have sworn I told him I was going away for a week??? Or did I?