And now for the misadventures

Sometimes I invite drama into my life, other times it crashes my party.

It crashed my party in Adelaide.

I gave you the fairy floss version of the trip yesterday, but it actually went a bit pear-shaped on Friday morning when I woke up with a vicious UTI.

There was no time to go to the doctor – I needed to send out a report and a newsletter for my contracting gig, then I had a plane to catch.

I get completely paranoid about missing planes, so I headed off at 9.30am for a 12pm flight, just in case there was a traffic jam or airport delays.

There was no traffic jam or airport delay, so I found myself sitting in the departure lounge two hours before my flight, trekking to the loo every five minutes with all my goods and chattels.

You can imagine my joy when my flight got delayed by two hours.

I shuffled to the airport pharmacy for some over the counter UTI remedies and huddled on the floor near a power point to charge my phone … unplugging it every five seconds to go to the loo and pee a few razor blades.

The bright side to the flight delay was that DD arrived at the airport for his later flight. He whisked me into the business class lounge, switched me onto his flight and gave me some antibiotics.

The combination of over and under the counter drugs made the razor blades sensation go away, but they didn’t entirely fix the problem. So the majority of my sightseeing over the weekend was visiting toilets. Sometimes I’d walk out of one, pause, turn around and head straight back in again.

When the antibiotics still hadn’t made an appreciable difference by Sunday morning, I moved to stronger ones. They have made a bit of an improvement, but I am still on very close terms with the bathroom.

I may need to see my GP if things don’t improve today. Although I will need to book an appointment with the urologist first, as my GP has been harassing me to see one for about 12 months.

I know, I know …

Anyways, other things I didn’t tell you about my weekend …

Shane Jacobson joked that as he walked into the Coopers event he heard someone say “that’s the fat guy from the shit flick”.

I think it was a joke.

What wasn’t a joke was the hipster couple who took their two-year-old to the two-hatted Serafino restaurant on Saturday night and proceeded to hand him a metal fork and a ceramic plate so he could polish up on his percussion skills while they had a leisurely dinner.

Not my favourite fellow diners.

When I got home, I discovered my experiment to paint the front verandah had failed and it was all peeling off in the rain.

Sad face.

Then I walked into the kitchen to discover both children were gone, but a dreadful mess had been left in their wake.

I was very, VERY upset about it as I packed the dishwasher and wiped the benchtops down before heading to Woolies to stock up on more food for the ungrateful wretches.

So there you have it, both sides of my weekend coin. Sweet and sour. Rough and smooth.

My health issues aside, it was glorious to be somewhere dry and sunny. The rain was so heavy at my place last night that it kept waking me up. When will it end?

I’m thinking the same about the torrent of snark from disgruntled Liberals about Albo. on a LinkedIn post by University of Sydney yesterday, congratulating its graduate on becoming Prime Minister.

I thought people were generally polite and professional on LinkedIn. I was wrong.

Example: “It’s pathetic thank one needs to play on some “single mum commison housing project”. Why does one care where they come from??”

I took some comfort in the fact that most of the petty comments were filled with typos and spelling mistakes.

I think it’s wonderful that we live in a country where the son of a single mum who grew up in housing commission can become Prime Minister.

It’s a powerful and positive message to share.

Song of the day: Boy George “Do you really want to hurt me”

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