I officially joined the gym this week - after a rather expensive trial period - and I'm already jack of it. It's been six weeks of blood, sweat and tears and I don't see the slightest improvement in my body. I put myself through five agonising gym classes each week and for what? The scales haven't moved, my belt notches haven't either. I... Continue Reading →

I don't normally get girl crushes, I'm more a left-of-field-boy-crush gal. For those who've missed my crush list, here it is again, in chronological order: Kevin Bacon, Neil Finn, Chris Evans (cute blonde boy in year 12), Michael J. Fox, Michael Damian, several boys I snogged in alleys around the Crazy Horse Nightclub in the early '90s,... Continue Reading →

I didn't have total obliteration in me last night, despite the availability of free alcohol. But I did put away a generous amount of champagne at the Kidspot Top 50 Bloggers of 2012 cocktail party last night, so I'm a bit hungover and disorganised after a blackout screwed with my alarm clock. You'll have to wait for my extra-large Diet... Continue Reading →

I'm worried. The Twitterverse has been going bonkers with birds getting pedicures, blow-dries, spray tans etc for the Kidspot 50 Top Bloggers of 2012 party tonight. I meant to get a brow wax, lash tint and pedicure ... but I didn't quite get around to it. I'll try and sort it for The Cruise next week. So... Continue Reading →

I've stuffed up my stuffed stuff for Easter. I forgot to change my email address on eBay when I left work last year. So the lovely folk at All Plush - the ultimate in internet porn for stuffed stuff lovers - have been sending fruitless messages, trying to tell me the Powder Puff Pet Carrier is no longer available (see... Continue Reading →

I don't know what to do. I wish my problem was simple, like what to wear to the Kidspot 50 Top Bloggers of 2012 cocktail party tomorrow night. (Although that's gone a bit pear-shaped as well - I can't wear my new Leona Edmiston dress, my fake tan is wearing off and I've developed Michael Jacksonitis, my legs are all patchy.)... Continue Reading →

When I worked in magland, punters who said they read Marie Claire and WHO because they thought it was the clarsy thing to say - not because they actually did - annoyed the bejezus out of me. Stand up and be proud of your monthly/weekly mag fix, I say, no matter how trashy it may be. Magazines are... Continue Reading →

Sprog 1 spent Sunday afternoon doing her homework: a presentation on a significant Australian. Other children in the class have chosen sporting heroes, authors and politicians. Sprog 1 has chosen an artist called Patricia Piccinini. When Sprog 1 announced  who she was doing, Husband blanched and suggested Mem Fox instead. Sprog 1 sneered. She would not be swayed. Patricia is pretty... Continue Reading →

I popped into a patisserie this morning for a bag of choccie croissants. The young gentleman behind the counter was sporting a rather startling Salvador Dali moustache. When I told Husband he said: "Maybe he's making a statement." The only thing I saw him making was the corners of people's mouths twitch when he served them. And I couldn't help thinking,... Continue Reading →

I wasn't quite sure. I fancied being the magazine equivalent of Molly Meldrum, interviewing celebrities for a living. So I got a job on a marginal fashion title and moved to Sydney. Not long after, the '80s recession hit and I was retrenched. It was the week before Christmas, very festive. (Not familiar with the '80s recession? Google it. Nasty business. Interest rates shot to around 17%. Thousands of people... Continue Reading →