the end was just the beginning
It's my shameful secret but I'm so cross about losing my beloved radio station that I've decided to come out of the closet. And I'm shouting: WHAT THE FARK HAVE YOU DONE TO 95.3FM, YOU FARKING TOOLS? OFF WITH YOUR HEADS! Husband is sick of me ranting to him about it, so he suggested I ear-bash you instead. He was never a... Continue Reading →
I love, love, love noodles. One of my all-time favourite dishes is char kway teow, it's orgasmically good. As Singaporeans would say, it's "die die must try". When Husband and I lived in Singapore we'd go on weekend expeditions in search of the island's best char kway teow. Oh how I miss Singaporean food. Go there... Continue Reading →
It's been almost a year since House went home. I've been wondering - yet again - what to do with the rest of my life. And I've decided what I really want to do is write. Which is fortunate since I spend so much time blogging. But, while blogging has been bliss, it's not financially rewarding. So I'm thinking I might write a book (no... Continue Reading →
I'm having space problems in my fridge. I can't fit all the veg in. After assessing my heaving crisper, I decided carrots and sweet potato were the most overstocked items. So I made soup out of them. It went down a treat. Sprog 1 loved it, I sent some to work with Husband for his lunch and - as... Continue Reading →
The transformation is complete. I am a cliche. Not just any cliche. A North Shore housewife cliche. The revelation came yesterday when Husband asked me to do a chore for him. I said I was far too busy. As I outlined why I was far too busy, my voice faltered slightly. Because while my transformation is... Continue Reading →
This week over at Village Voices I have a good old rant about celebrity babies, Nicole Ritchie, magazine sell-outs and Revenge (the TV kind, not the sort I wish on my enemies). Go on, check it out. Pretty please with sugar on top ... I need the traffic, or they might sack me. (No they... Continue Reading →
Actually, it was more of an "anorexic in the pump class" situation - unfortunate choice of metaphor in the heading - and I was completely transfixed. Yesterday, just before my gym class, a huddle of mums formed to express (whispered) concern about the possibly pregnant, possibly anorexic woman in attendance. I suggested she might just have one of those starving Biafran-style bellies,... Continue Reading →
Those bastards at Farmer's Direct sent me a bunch of beetroot last week. Beetroot! If there's one vegetable I've never wanted to tackle it's beetroot. Every five years or so, when I fancy my hamburger with beetroot on it, I just buy a small can of the stuff. I don't grab a bunch from Harris Farm, boil the buggery out of... Continue Reading →
I am so full of crap. Women aren't my bread and butter. Bread and butter implies simplicity. There's nothing simple about women. I'm 44 and still baffled by them. I've learned to move among them and act like one of the tribe, but the intricacies of female relationships confound me. And they require a lot of maintenance. I'm... Continue Reading →
I've spent most of the week blissfully disinterested in the Liz Hurley vs Simone Warne hoo-hah. But Ros Reines' column in The Sunday Telegraph, taking pot-shots at wicked Liz, made me cross. Divorces are a big, fat pain. They're not fun for anyone. They're not fun for the couple splitting, they're not fun for the kids involved, and they're a... Continue Reading →
