the end was just the beginning
So I'm driving down King Street, Newtown, and I see a shop called MAG NATION - More Magazines Than You've Ever Seen. And I'm thinking, seriously? Someone's opened a shop selling magazines when print media is fighting for its life? Are they MAD? But it made me smile, it gave me hope. King Street is brilliant like that. A vivid shopping strip in a bland... Continue Reading →
I'm not a cafe person. Eating out should be exotic, not mundane. If I want a ham and cheese toasted sandwich, I'll make it myself. Why spend $9 on one? I don't drink coffee either, so that's two strikes. My antipathy may also be driven by working in a cafe - at Garden City - when I was 16. I can't quite remember its name (help me... Continue Reading →
I'm wondering if it's time to look for a job. When I told a school mum, she looked aghast - a bit like Munch's The Scream - and wanted to know why. I said I was worried about becoming obsolete, that I'd wake up one day and realise my only career prospect was as a check-out chick. I know, I know, I'm being ridiculous ... No-one would... Continue Reading →
When I had the nice - sorry, I mean terrible - illness that made me thin, I wasn't allowed to eat potatoes. Potatoes are fabulous. I love potatoes. I love them baked, I love them mashed, I love them fried, I love them in curries, I love them in stews. I was a bit heartbroken... Continue Reading →
Prior to becoming a stay-at-home mum, I never thought much about the first day back at school (other than "Thank god, my childcare bills will no longer hover around the $700-a-week mark."). Husband usually took the Sprogs while I drove to work. When I came home, the Sprogs would tell me all their news: who their teacher was, who... Continue Reading →
The Sprogs go back to school today. I was really excited about it a week ago, but this morning I'm feeling sad. It's like childbirth - I've already forgotten the pain and I want another one, as soon as possible. We had fun, the Sprogs and I. Sprog 1, bless her, told my friend the best part of the holidays... Continue Reading →
Much less disturbing than Bloody Sunday ...
I'll begin with an assurance: today's blog isn't a sequel to Friday's post, entitled "Warning: This One's About PMT". That would be too much information about me. Which is saying something. But don't get too comfy, because it's actually about chook poo. Waaaay too much information about chook poo. Specifically bloody chick poo. Whenever I pick up our new... Continue Reading →
I was cleaning out the chick cage yesterday when I noticed an opinion column about childcare. It made me so cross, I wanted the chicks to poo on it (but they crapped on the weather instead, which is understandable.) It was filled with moral outrage from readers. The most annoying stuff was written by women, which really, really, really got on my goat. I hate it when women start being judgemental about other women's childcare... Continue Reading →
Isn't it always the way? Just when you're seeing the light, something ugly sneaks into your head during the night: PMT. Like my wrinkles, my waistline and my memory, my PMT is getting worse with age. I thought it would recede with my child-bearing capabilities. But no, it's cranking things up a notch. It's probably prepping me - deep breath - for menopause. (Nooooooo!). I spend two weeks every... Continue Reading →
housegoeshome 