I don’t know about me or you, but Ned would be played by Ryan Reynolds. We watched Fireflies in the Garden last night and I couldn’t stop laughing, even though it was meant to be a gut-wrenching drama. How much does Ryan Reynolds look like Ned with the beard, glasses and the furrowed brow? I bet Ryan could even make his forehead veins pulsate in frustration if he tried hard enough.
Was reading this blog post: http://www.colettepatterns.com/blog/books/make-do-and-mend and I had to grin.
I like to think I’m pretty savvy at reusing things. I started making a pair of bushwalking gaders from a pink nylon raincoat last night, in fact. I think it comes from my farming background. Dad is always tinkering about in the shed, fixng something. He told me the other night that there are rats under the dog’s shed. Because he was worried about putting Ratsack out and the dogs eating it, he nailed a used meat tray to a long stick and poked the poison well under the shed and out of the dog’s reach. Thanks to his handy tool, he can pull it out and check it every couple of days.
I was reading this hilarious blog today (http://thingsboganslike.wordpress.com/2009/11/25/33-the-australian-victory-at-gallipoli/) and apparently one of the things bogans like is Anzac Day at Gallipoli. Huh, no shit. I learnt that hard lesson when we went to Gallipoli for Anzac Day in 2008.
Shudder. I just saw this and had a mini-panic attack about packing all my stuff up ready to go overseas. I’m pretty sure my “Everything I Have” poster would not be a poster, but a billboard. Secondly, as a person used to things, surviving whilst living out of a backpack for an entire year will be a challenge.
I saw this on a blog this morning (“I Couldn’t Say” http://icouldntsay.tumblr.com/) and it made me giggle. I probably laugh more than I should at bald jokes, mainly because my Dad is so sensitive to hair loss and insists that it’s not amusing at all. It would be better to be gray than bald according to the world of Doug.
A couple of months ago, a mate had an “Aging Athletes” party for his 30th birthday at the Hobart Royal Tennis Club. I think the idea was to go as Australian sporting greats, like Warrick Capper, but I went as the other wonder; Doug Nicholls. Dad rowed. At school. And he was hot shit. I borrowed his old uniform, asked for a “sample” of fake fur at Spotlight (perfect moustache size and FREE!), but the best bit was the purchase of a skin coloured skin cap. Pulling some of my hair through and a dusting of talcum powder resulted in this:
Ned and I have been “going together” (in the words of Nina) for two (TWO, did you hear that non-believers? I told you I could get/keep a boyfriend!) years pretty much all of which have been in separate countries. Ned’s an Exploration Geologist, you see, and he goes looking for gold in remote places. Like, not Hobart’s CBD, but the other three letter acronym; PNG.
Did I tell you the reason why we’re planning on staying in Portugal for so long? From the very start, Ned and I were keen to spend some decent chucks of time in certain places. Both of us have done that kind of trip before - rush to Europe, rush around Europe (it’s so temptingly small and easy to get around in an Australian’s opinion!) and get your photo taken in front of as many structures in amusing poses as possible.
People, seriously, This joke has been done to death. The amount of tour buses that stop, let the tourists off to do their own version with the Leaning Tower just to bugger off again? It makes me want to spew! This picture was taken from the first page of a Flickr search for “tower Pisa”. It’s Ingrid, Veronika and Gabi Kraemer taken in August 1970, apparently. That’s fourty years ago. It has just ticked over to twentyten and I can do maths when I choose to.
I went and had my first round of travel immunisations yesterday. Ned surprised me on Christmas Day by gifting me with rabies and typhoid! Or rather, he offered to pay for my shots. Probably because he knows that I’m so tight and believe so passionately in my immune-system-of-steel that I would scrimp on things like the rabies immunisations upon discovering it costs $100. A pop. And you have to get it THREE times.
Once upon a time there was a dress called Dress. Captivated yet? A young girl who had just gotten married changed into Dress to wear on the way home. So, I guess the title of this story could quite easily be, The Story of a Going-Away Dress. After she had worn Dress home, and done who knows what, Dress ended up in a dress-up box. Before long, her five daughters played with Dress but slowly all the girls grew up and Dress the dress-up-going-away-dress was forgotten. That is, until one of the girls reached a big girl’s dress-up; her own wedding day. She went back to the box, fished out Dress and wore it just like her mother did all those years ago. It was a bit scummy after kicking about in a box for years, so some pretty blue flowers were added to the front of the Dress. Once again, Dress was taken home and placed in a box. But this time around it wasn’t a dress-up box, but a get-Dress-out-occassionally-and-admire box. The years trickle past once more, until Dress’ original wearer’s granddaughter organises a dress-up party with a 1960s New York theme. Dress’ granddaughter feels guilty momentarily about not wearing Dress as Going-Away Dress, but gets over it pretty quickly. Dress had a lovely night out at the party and recieved many a compliment. And as everyone knows, Dress loves a dance and a compliment, so Dress lived happily ever after. Or, at least until next time.