« Conversation after Music Class | Main |

Getting away

31 December 2005, 13:20

That’s holding the ball, Umpire!!!... Click to enlarge in Gallery

McG and I’ve just returned from a couple of glorious days down the coast at Rye. And never in my life have I seen Australia look more like Japan… there were people everywhere, I’m not kidding. You had to fight for a patch of sand, a carpark, a spot in the “highway” (the Nepean is so not a highway, it’s more of a crawlway) queue. The only thing missing was a band of friendly chaps to take your order for beachside bentos + cocktail service.

We have friends who have a holiday home down there which is about 10 minutes walk to the Beach, but Fat Gut can’t even walk that far, so McG was burdened with having to drop me off and attempt to sell his first-born (ouch… not yet thanks…) for an illegal park.

Rye Beach Hut (I think is meant to be Astroboy with a dodgy blue dye-job)...

The water, however, was magnificent. Melbourne is not exactly a beach culture and you kinda have to drive 2 hours from the city to hit a decent beach, but hell, it was worth it…

Returned last night to rather “balmy” temps – am doing my damnedest today not to lose my pleasant disposition in 43 degree heat. Yes. It really is very hot. Thank crap for aircon and a Husband who agrees to tackle the shopping in such a stifling state…

Since getting back, we’ve caught up with various friends in town for fly-in visits. At brunch this morning, the first thing our friend “S” said to me, was “Look at your boobs! They’re… magnificent!!!” Why, yes they are in fact. Pregnancy makes for top-shelf boobs. ‘Tis certainly a shame they are flying south for the Summer…

S was fascinated with Fat Gut and kept wanting to touch it. This I certainly don’t mind and it’s nice when people ask if they can touch it (which S did). So far I haven’t had any strangers copping a feel, but work colleagues and friends have occasionally gone the grope without asking. I don’t hate that exactly, but it is in the Golden Triangle people and can be a tad confronting.

Fat Gut, Friend & Husband…

Tonight’s New Years plans are very simple. Eat a salad. Have a cold shower. Get my Gut out. That is all. Anything else would be mere folly…

---

Baby Tipping Comp - Closing Soon!

28 December 2005, 09:40

This post will appear at the top of the page until MiniMc is born

The Baby Tipping Comp will be closing next Tuesday, 3 January. MiniMc will be full-term then (37 weeks), so could happen any day after that. If you want to get your tips in, do it now! We still haven’t decided what the prize will be. We’re not very organised like that.

What you’re tipping:
1) will MiniMc be a boy or a girl?
2) What date will MiniMc be squeezed out?
3) How much will s/he weigh?

To cast your vote, go to the Baby Tipping Page…

and check out MiniMc’s new site, cheeky monkey…

---

Christmas Fun with Kinki & McG

25 December 2005, 20:13

101 things you can do (but probably shouldn’t) with Christmas Bonbons

Some hats were not made to fit

OK, who put the hashish in the kebabs?

“Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?”

Just spent a fab Christmas arvo with 4 fancy, and ever so slightly (cough) crazy, Canadians… just like the old Senkawa Orphans Xmas Days in Tokyo, only outdoors in the (relative heat of our) BBQ Pergola.

Much as I love my folks, spending the day with friends is infinitely more relaxing and raucous. I haven’t laughed so much for months (and how does MiniMc thank me for my jolly mood? Several bouts of hiccups and a fair boot in the kidneys, thanks for asking…)

I even misbehaved with a small bottle of Asti Riccadonna (only 7% alcohol!). Very decadent, me. One thing I’m grateful for is that I wasn’t allowed to write myself off like previous Christmases. Much as getting sloshed over Christmas Pud is ever so fun at the time, Aussie Christmases (ahem, for me anyway) invariably end up in a downward spiral of dehydration, nausea and slurred foolishness, leading to killer hangover later that evening (and relieving oneself of Christmas Pud over Porcelain Christmas Bowl).

Mais non!!! I nursed my little bottle quite happily and am now blogging whilst Husband is nursing sore head on the couch after a 7 beer (+ renegade glass of red wine which he has since suggested was not such a great idea…) Bender.

Merry Christmas Oh Faithful Readers and Site Hoppers! May your Porcelain Christmas Bus be unridden this Christmas and New Years (unless of course, that’s your “thang”...)

---

Santa Claus is coming...

23 December 2005, 17:38

Local S&M Store Window Display

---

Music to give birth to

22 December 2005, 15:17

I have a dilemma. I need to pack some CDs in my hospital bag to play during labour, presumably to drown out the unearthly shrieks I’m bound to unleash.

Question is, what do I pack? I’m thinking relaxing music, as am bit of fan of ambient/chillout stuff, but so far I only have Cafe Del Mar Volume 7 (a standard) and Delerium’s “Karma”. I thought about Radiohead, but some tracks are too mournful or some Dave Matthews but not sure I could handle hearing “When the World Ends” though I would probably be able to empathise.

Please help. I need CD suggestions (whole CDs rather than individual tracks – the hospital isn’t that far advanced). I haven’t been into a music store for over a year so am a bit ignorant as to what is probably out there.

In terms of musical taste, I was thinking of sticking to chillout stuff (I wanted to get a Paul Schwartz CD but local JB Hi-Fi not that alternative), but all suggestions considered! Anything that won’t have me kicking the CD player in irritation (although McG prefers I do this than smacking him, apparently. Doesnt’ he know what his job as support person is????)

---

Things that make you go.... huh?

21 December 2005, 07:11

1. An adult guy on the tram (ostensibly not a complete spooner) picking his nose and eating it.

2. A woman doing her entire face makeup on the tram – foundation, powder, eyeliner, mascara, lippie, the lot. Reminds me of this fine paragon of female loveliness I was privileged to have captured on a Tokyo train a couple of years back…

Japanese charmer

Haven’t people heard the adage “A smile is the Best Makeup”???

3. Asking for 100grams of salami at Safeway, to which the deli assistant pops a wad of salami and snores “Is 60grams OK?” Why, no, dippitysnickets, if I’d wanted 60 grams I’d have asked for it.

4. Pregnant women getting pica, the abnormal (really?) craving for soil/dirt/gritty substances. Deffo my favourite Disorder of the Day (although eating roasted placenta would surely qualify?).

5. A guy in our ante-natal class wearing no shoes, his feet covered in dirt. Now, I’ve nothing against people putting their best bogan foot forward, but in a hospital?

6. An actress (Shannyn Sossamon) naming her son “Audio Science Clayton”. Would someone give that girl a shot of pseudoephedrine, already…

---

Public Transport Etiquette Study (PTES)

18 December 2005, 06:43

You may remember a wee while ago, my foray into sociological research as I embarked upon an experiment that was guaranteed to shake up Melbourne public transport etiquette as we all know it. Or maybe not.

The results are now in! It must be said that of the 90 tram trips I took from the 3 October, there were only 15 occasions when the tram was so packed I needed to actually be offered a seat. Also note that all incidents took place on the 112 Tram down Brunswick St/St Georges Road, both during the morning and afternoon peak hours.

I’m not sure whether to be encouraged or alarmed by results. In an ideal world I would hope that a pregnant or elderly person be offered a seat 100% of the time, but alas, I was only offered 67%, which is still better than some preggo women who complain that no-one ever offers them a seat (which I find v. hard to believe). Perhaps they looked like Elmer Fudd. Just a guess. Of that 67%, 70% of the Offerer’s were female. And of those who offered, it was 50/50 as to whether they were a passive or decisive offerer.

% of times offered a seat

Battle of the Sexes

I don’t pretend to make any broad generalisations based on these limited set of stats (apart from confirming that, yes, I have been in touch with my Inner Nerd), but I have to say for the most part I found commuters v. sympathetic toward pregnant women.

There will always be those people who hog the priority seat pretending to be engrossed in their books/mags whatever and cling stubbornly to their right to sit when incapacitated souls are standing, or those who will happily push you out of the way to get on the tram, but those dudes are in the serious minority…

---

Last Day

17 December 2005, 06:15

Yesterday was last day of work. Mixed feelings about it. I have been suffering from a bad case of “The mind is willing, but the body is not able” this week. My brain is still in overdrive, wanting to be productive, but my body is physically drained, achey, sore and fatigued.

I was ready to leave, but I will really miss it. Miss the everyday human (adult) contact, miss being intellectually stimulated, miss my boss, which is bizarre, as I don’t think I’ve ever had a boss I’ve actually respected or admired enough to miss. The end of an era. Sigh (world’s smallest violin droning in background…)

I was thoroughly spoiled yesterday though. My floor had a presentation for me (complete with yummo DJs chocolate cake), with speech, a huge card that everyone signed and an overload of pressies that I had to lug home on the tram. The whole lot was in very tasteful androgynous shades of silver, white, purple or yellow…

• Little (oooh sooooo tiny) outfits
• Bibs
• Muslin wrap
• Bunny rug (velour on one side, cotton the other)
• Musical Elephant Mobile
• The softest teddy bear, that is sooo not going to be MiniMcs, but rather mine. I fell in love with it…
• Hooded towel
• Pat Mat (educational toy for junior)

Completely OTT, but very touched…

---

Wrigglepot

14 December 2005, 06:53

Someone’s been busy…

---

Yum Yum

13 December 2005, 07:06

NOT!

---

Weekend Update

12 December 2005, 06:17

First up, obligatory monthly comparison tummy…

33w4d

Doesn’t look a hell of a lot different to 29w 5d except maybe a bit more tired looking (puffy?). I have grown roughly 6cm since then and am feeling very “full”. Right now, particularly full on my left side, as MiniMc’s elbow is poking out. Hours of fun I tells ya, hours….

Saturday had a smattering of comedies of errors – firstly I had my midwife appointment at 9am. I have a wee booklet called a “VMR” (Victorian Medical Record) which is a plastic covered book-sized folder which opens up to A4, which the midwife uses to track my progress.

I give VMR to the midwife, she opens it, and in the crease of the A4 page is a MASSIVE black house spider curled up (which promptly sprung into action). Scared the living SHIT out of me. Good to see how midwife reacted in crisis though – she promptly OK’d it with me to take it into the corridor and stomp on it, I agreed, she did just that and returned quite composed. Will now be forever known as Spider-Girl. Schmeck.

I got home and went to unlock our front screen door, and the lock had summarily broken. It’s one of those heavy wire doors – a real beauty – but suspiciously constructed so as to disallow unscrewing the lock to open the door. So we’re using the back door now. We’d just had the front corner of our house restumped, too (as our front door wouldn’t open) and thought we’d never have to use the bloody back door again. As it turns out, the front door started jamming yet again last week, so it looks like we’ll have to get the entire front section of the house restumped in the next few months. Rotten timing.

Went to see a fil-em at Nova that night – “Thumbsucker” – which was rather good. Sitting down for long periods of time is a chore so I check first to see if a fil-em is 90 minutes or less these days. How very geriatric of me…

As we returned home around 10.30, husband and wife thought they’d have a bit of a cuddle under the stars, when a cop car cruises down our street and stops, asking us if “everything’s OK” in that loaded tone. You know the tone. Um yes, I’m just having a frikkin’ romantic moment if you please. Seems the sight of a preggo woman canoodling is too unseemly for today’s constabulary. Good to know they didn’t have anything more critical to attend to, though.

Yesterday was exhausting. 4 hours of bloody ante-natal class. We did get to see a recently pushed-out, one-day old baby being bathed, but to be frank, I haven’t really gotten that much out of the classes. I think the support person generally gets more out of them anyway, as they’re not as anally versed in pregnancy and childbirth as those about to go through it are.

It got to 32 degrees or something yesterday… even parking my arse on the hammock was too hot (+ neighbour’s 4-y.o, a.k.a the “town-crier” was screaming and crying for about 15 minutes as if his parents had his thumbs in a thumbscrew…) and the serenity was far too serene. Ended up grumpy and dehydrated. Not like Kinki at all.

35 degrees today. 5 days of work to go. 1 very funny little baby trying to karate chop its way out of my belly…

---

Ante Natal Class

5 December 2005, 18:58

Warning: graphic descriptions to follow. Don’t worry, I didn’t like writing them either.

Husband and I attended the first of these little gems yesterday. I’m not sure quite what to say about it.

About half an hour into the class, a woman, in the final stage of labour was wheeled into the birthing centre panting like an asthmatic Saint Bernard. The doors closed on the birthing room and 5 minutes later we hear the most unearthly and UNHOLY shrieking I reckon I’ve ever heard. The poor woman sounded like the devil had her hung, drawn and quartered from a telegraph pole.

The 10 of us in the class just looked at each other (terror mounting, well, it was in me anyway). Happily this godforsaken sound lasted only about 10-15 minutes, after which time we were informed that she’d had a baby. Which was just as well, given that we were in a birthing centre.

The midwife then showed videos. 2 of them in fact – both homebirths. The first one, the “Mexican” video featured a mother-of-the-earth type of woman treating childbirth like it was some kind of erotic experience, looking deep into her partner’s eyes, insisting that her pain was like their love BURSTING from her. Pass.

The second was of a dutch woman, with dodgy voice-overs ala the Iron Chef, seemingly in agony with the baby’s head (looking a little too like a shrivelled mussel for comfort) poking out of her fujutsa. I was half-expecting Takeshi Kaga to burst out from behind the curtain with an animated “Let’s get it ON!!!!!” So so pass.

It wasn’t so much the content of the vids, but the looking in on their intimacy that I found too much. Voyeuristic. Impending motherhood is sincerely weird. That’s all I’m gonna say for now. Must. reconcile. inner. weirdness.

So I’m undecided about the whole ante natal class thing. I was right yesterday. I’d rather not know. Honestly.

---

December will be magic again...

4 December 2005, 08:46

Am actually looking forward to Christmas this year (whilst busy channelling arbitrary Kate Bush songs…). Last year was our first year back from Japan and Christmas was a bit strange – like reverse culture shock.

Although Christmas wasn’t spent with family in Tokyo, we had such a large network of expat and Japanese friends, there was never any question of being lonely at Christmas. And we’re talking about hard-drinking, hard-partying, merry characters enjoying daily bonenkais, hard liquor and karaoke.

This year, we’re in our own house (with v. smashing BBQ area to host myriad of friends), with a baby on the way and although we won’t be able to spend this Chrissie with family (not being able to haul Fat Gut on a plane or in a car, oh no sirreee) we do have a small band of Canadian expats who will be frequently our place over Chrissie.

Yes. Bring it on.

Update on Fat Gut

It’s fat. I get told I’m “carrying out front” all the time, which is bizarre. Have they not seen my voluminous love handles? The ever-increasing girth of fat butt? It’s fairly impressive though, this belly of mine. V. proud of it. Like to show it off. Oh, I am so shy…

Did give the pregnancy support belt a shot, really I did. But it made everything worse. An abject failure. My torso is quite short, so the top of the belt kept digging into my middle back, inflaming my original disc problem, that I’ve worked soooo hard to manage with pilates and posture etc. Was cranky about the whole sitch, so sent it back.

First ante-natal class at the birthing centre today. People keep telling me I’m “brave” to be doing the whole natural birth thang, but I’m beginning to wonder if that’s actually code for “certifiable”. One can never appreciate how painful labour is going to be before one actually does it, but I think I’m in denial. Part of me hopes the ante-natal class doesn’t shatter this illusion. Think I’d rather not know…

---

Photo Friday "Experimental"

3 December 2005, 08:44

Dedicated to the Youth of Tokyo

Sorry, I know this is gonna kill y’all, but my Gallery is down for now. But fear not, as Super Husband is working day, noon and night trying to fix it (OK, perhaps not that long)...

(Brief) story behind “Dedicated to the Youth of Tokyo”

This week’s theme, from the Photo Friday dudes, is “Experimental”. I automatically remembered this photo I took in a hidden pocket in Shibuya, Tokyo a couple of years back…

No idea what the empty canisters are on the ground (probably something extremely urbane) but the scene reminded me of the Aum Shinrikyo sarin attacks, an experiment in mass murder, still haunting the Japanese consciousness, and the studied recklessness of some young Japanese, which is becoming more of a so-called “problem” for the establishment in Japan… Sociology 101, anyone?

---

Baby Whisperer

1 December 2005, 06:35

When MiniMc started kicking, at about the 22 week mark, I would get McG to put his hand on my tummy so he could feel it. But the little bugger would not kick for Husband… “oh no papa, I’m good MiniMc, I sleep when papa tells me to sleep. zzzzzzzz”

At the time it wasn’t so bad as the kicks were only sporadic, but lately, mother-of-god, MiniMc has been kicking up a veritable tornado. A little mini-rave. Now it’s running out of room MiniMc’s getting even more insistent on boxing my kidneys and bladder and stomach. “oh, let’s do a little tap-dance on mama’s spleen. weeeeeeeeeeee!”

I thought there might have been something wrong with MiniMc yesterday, as it was wriggling around about half the day, no exaggeration. It was driving me nuts, ‘specially because I’m actually expected to be productive at work and it’s the most distracting thing imaginable. They reckon around this mark (32 weeks and a bit) you should feel “10 kicks in a 12 hour period”. I probably get an average of 10 kicks/undulations/jujitsu moves an hour.

...and yet, whenever I put McG’s hand on my belly, when MiniMc is being most active, it would always go into foxing mode and lie perfectly still. McG’s only felt MiniMc move a handful of times. It was getting ridiculous. The Mc was making a liar out of its mama.

This morning though, when I woke up and surprise, surprise, MiniMc woke up too, with a decent left hook to my uterus followed by a series of dodge moves, I put McG’s hand on my skin and…. bliss….. no movement (until of course, he took his hand away and it started back up again).

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful MiniMc is moving around (ahem, hopefully not because of sugar rush brought on by too much (non-alcoholic) trifle), but some days I wish I could take resident Baby Whisperer to work with me so he can placate this feisty little baby bugger-of-mine…

---

The first time I've agreed with little Johnny Howard

29 November 2005, 19:03

No Silence for Nguyen Hanging…

---

Photo Friday "Yellow"

26 November 2005, 07:45

Kiiroi takushii… Click to enlarge in Gallery

The Story behind Kiiroi takushii

This photo was taken in Ginza, Tokyo. Taxis in Japan are strange beasts – hideously expensive, with taxi drivers from the Michael Jackson school of white glovery. Every taxi is meticulous, with unspoilt white doilies lining the seats and automatic doors which pop open as you approach the taxi and pop open when you are about to alight. No need to spoil the handle with grubby human hands.

The taxi experience is quite unlike any you get in Australia, with big Greek chain-wearing characters booming their opinions at you with rapid fire and a jocular laugh. No. The Japanese taxi experience is a sanitary one.

But at least there is little risk of finding a used condom jammed in the handle (has happened to moi in Melbourne)...

---

Testing, testing

22 November 2005, 06:56

Now I’m in the penultimate stages of the pregnancy, the frequency of midwife visits and tests is starting to escalate.

Last Thursday, I had a “GCT” test (for gestational diabetes (shudder)). One has to drink a 350ml bottle of lime-flavoured liquid, wait an hour, then they take your blood and test your body’s reaction to it. Imagine downing, in record time, a massive glass of artifical green Cottees lime cordial (straight) with a few bubbles thrown in. Thoroughly gross. I was in serious jeopardy of vomiting the whole lot back up within 10 minutes or so, never mind waiting a full 60 minutes.

They haven’t called me with any bad news, though, so am assuming I’m in the clear.

They also take your blood pressure at every visit. I reckon I’ve been 120/70 since the day I took my first breath and it hasn’t changed at all. In fact, with a couple of slight tremors, everything has been disgustingly normal since day one (touch wood). I’m not a big advocate of “normal”, but let me tell you, when you’re pregnant and worrying about your unborn progeny, it’s all you want to hear.

Back has been aching like buggery (oh, I’m sorry, you did want to hear about all my physical symptoms didn’t you?) so got meself a “Stork S’port” chasti…. erm, pregnany belt from la physio, that you wrap around your waist/lower back. It’s meant to support all those loose ligaments jiggling around, that MiniMc insists on dancing on. Am skeptical that the thing actually works, but will give it shot.

Now the Mini is running out of space, there have been occasions where s/he has stuck a little foot (or elbow, have no idea) out my front portion, and it stays there, poking out of my skin. Truly Ripley-esque. Apparently from now, the little (ahem, big) twists and tumbles will pare off as it heads south for the exit and assumes the position.

Not long now…

---

Shake the Disease

18 November 2005, 08:43

I have a Disease. Nothing of the venereal or fatal kind you understand, no, I have Hoardarosis, the silent affliction of keeping everything one has ever owned or written or collected in a series of unmarked boxes.

Up until two months ago, these boxes were safely stored at my folks place in QLD, but they unloaded them all onto me and only yesterday I had the onerous task of going through it all and chucking most of it.

It hurt. I was a voracious poetry writer in my teens (most of it from the “yearning for the Yorkshire moors” school of snores) and I had about 10 penpals from various countries (through the Kate Bush Club but we don’t talk about that) who sent me massive epistles every week. I kept them all.

Through these letters, I re-discovered an errant (and best left forgotten) nickname I used to have when I was in my teens – Krumbles and variations thereof – Krumbly, Krumbleton, Krumblestilsken (O.K I made that last one up)... there was no escape.

Some of the nerdier crap I chucked:

• notes that were passed b/w me & my various besties/love interests in 8th grade with such literary gems as…

[My bestie, Nicole was of course, going to marry Simon LeBon, hence the name and apparently moi, alias “Casey” (don’t remember how I got the nick) was so going to marry Scott Carne (honestly, don’t ask). Frankly, I ended up doing a hell of a lot better…]

• A fridge magnet of my ex-boyfriend and I

• School reports from back in ‘nam

• Street maps from every town I so much as sniffed when I travelled through Canada

• Postcards from childhood family trips (not written on, I just used to collect them (#$%^&???)).

• When I was a teen, I did a “Top 20 songs” religiously, every week (obsessive compulsive, anybody?) and I found virtual tomes of these Top 20s. They all got chucked.

I wish my folks had just heaved the lot and not told me. I wouldn’t have been any the wiser. As it was, I had to go through the pain and boredom of throwing out all these memories. O.K, maybe not all. I simply couldn’t bear to let go of the letter from Claude Carranza (from Kids in the Kitchen, now defunct Aussie band from the 80’s) thanking me for a birthday card one year. I was all of 13 and I’ve had that letter for over 20 years.

Once an addict, always an addict.

---

Chucking a Demi

14 November 2005, 07:20

For those of you who have been dying to see a pic of the bump (all 0 of you) here it is, one premium side cut of preggo bellah. At 30 weeks (well, 30w tomorrow but who the hell’s counting?)

29w 5d

...but for those of you shrieking “put your bellah in, woman, for the love of GOD…”

...something a little more decent

---

Looking down the barrel of the thingo. You know what I mean.

11 November 2005, 18:17

Whenever I see a heavily preggo woman, I think “Oh my god, what would I do if I ever got that big?” Well, patrons, I espied myself in a shop-front window today and realised. I am that big. I’m a big preggo lady who other women probably look at and think “Omigod I hope I don’t get that big…”

O.K I’m exaggerating. I haven’t toppled forward yet or gone arse over tit down a flight of stairs (outstanding, considering my track record for doing just that), but I’m at the stage now where I have to think about how I’m gonna get of the couch in case I pull a muscle somewhere.

My vocabulary has gone up shit creek without a paddle. Everything these days is the thingamiwhatsit or the dooverlacky thingo. My thingamiwhatsit has become an “overcoat”, even though husband tells me it’s a “dressing gown”. It’s all very confusing, this words thing. Please make it stop.

---

Guardian (Hells) Angels

6 November 2005, 07:46

In the past couple of weeks I’ve had an odd type of guardian angel – the middle-aged singlet-and-thong-wearing tattooed-hells-angels bikie-dude.

First, there was the serious bikie guy on the tram who made people get out of the way as I was getting off.

Then yesterday at Safeway, I was unloading my groceries onto the conveyor belt (is that what it’s called?) at the checkout and the dude in front of me offered to help me with them. I politely declined saying thank you that is very kind but I’m not quite on the scrapheap yet. He gruffly went on to rue that nobody got up for pregnant women and old ladies on the tram anymore and what was the world coming to? He then thoughtfully offered to exchange my newborn for his 17 year old daughter. Again. I declined.

Now I’m not the type to judge people on how they look, but if I’d have met this guy in a dark alley I would have left skiddies running the other way. It was such a strange odd moment.

Being a stubborn, self-sufficient wench, I don’t know how I will fare when it comes to actually needing (heaven forbid, asking for) people’s help. I’m getting to the stage now where my back and pelvic joints ache constantly and my tummy is growing exponentially. Very soon I’ll be able to rest me cuppa on it.

Chances are that offers of assistance will come from the most unlikely of places…

---

Write-off

2 November 2005, 18:38

Warning: superstar bitch whinge to follow…

Have decided to write off today as Capital Fucked Day.

It all started yesterday when I went to the Ear and Eye Hospital. The Opthamologist dude was the biggest condescending prick, contradicting my “I have a cold sore in my eye” with “It’s probably not a cold sore” (in that tone) only because he apparently couldn’t see the lesions and treated me like I was a complete idiot. Hello! That’s the point, Mr. I Know Everything – there are no lesions yet, that’s the best (nay, only) time to hit it up with your antivirals.

Alas, he wouldn’t give me anything for my phantom lesions, so lo and behold I wake up this morning with the most gruesome pustules you’ve ever seen lining my eyelid. Thankfully they haven’t gone onto my eye yet, but they really are gross and itch painfully everytime I blink.

Thus spending all day in front of computer screen was not going to be good, but I had a zillion things to do. Of course, my laptop’s c:drive decided that today would be a lovely day to to die in the arse and I had to wait for 3 hours for the dude to come fix it. I didn’t have any breaks through the day, and got the go ahead from the Boss to leave at 4pm cos my eye was hurting like a muthafucker.

I had an important project that needed to be done by C.O.B. that I thought I’d be able to polish off by 4, but had to wait to get in some work from someone else, so at 5.30 I was still plugging away at the niggling & endless minutiae. At 5.30, I lost Plot and started sniffling (cough, crying) with frustration & tiredness. [disclaimer: It’s a sad truth that when you’re pregnant, you don’t have the same control over your emotions as before, when you were a “normal” person]. Boss then told me to go home as she didn’t want me being a Martyr (ouch!), but I insisted on seeing the bloody thing to the end, tears or no tears.

The only bright light was a nice person on the tram who offered me her seat. Once I was two stops away from home. Ah well, is thought that counts.

---

Woe is me

1 November 2005, 07:44

Well, it’s 7.30am on Melbourne Cup Day and I’m feeling a wee bit sorry for myself. Woke up at 2am with a mutha of a cold sore. In my eye. Again. For the second bloody time in this pregnancy.

There is a better chance that the docs will give me zovirax for it this time as I was only 12 weeks preggo when it happened last time and they balked at giving it to me, so am off to the Ear and Eye Hospital once I finish my cuppa. Now I’m 28 weeks (today!) apparently the baby’s kidneys can get rid of the drug. Still pisses me off that I might need to take it, though.

Hope everyone had a smashing Halloween last night (tonight in the US, whatever…) I’d forgotten until I saw some high-schoolers trick-or-treating last night in my neighbourhood. I thought I’d crossed time-zones or something, it looked so ‘foreign’.

In racing news, not sorry I won’t be at the Melbourne Cup today. Predictions are for a 32 godforsaken degree (still 3 shy of the magic number) scorcher, so an army of simpering, pissed fillies parading around off their heads with skirts up their arses and hats destroyed by vomit and mis-fired champagne is guaranteed. Actually, I take it back, that’s one of the more entertaining things about Spring Carnival.

Ah the good ol’ days of getting shitfaced at the races. Loved it. But NOW I HAVE RESPONSBILITIES, DAMMIT! Anyway, my tips to win (because I’m such an expert at these things) are Mr. Celebrity or Eye Popper. So go bet your live savings on it. At least it can’t be any worse than the dude who put 1 million on “The Diva” to win…

Sorry, am feeling churlish.

---

Gifts from Abroad

30 October 2005, 08:54

Dear Gleek from gleek.net fame knitted me this booties + hat combo for MiniMc (obviously, s/he can’t wear them quite yet). They are delightful. They are a rich aquamarine colour. She is very clever. I love them.

Aren’t they peachy?

---

Big Trouble in Little Chinese Wives Tales

27 October 2005, 19:35

When I was in Cairns recently, Nick’s gorgeous (yet charmingly barmy) Chinese wife Coco told me about an old Chinese myth about a baby’s gender-predicting…

Apparently, in downtown Qindao, if your skin takes a turn for the worse during pregancy (like flaky, pimply etc. etc.) you’re having a boy, if it comes good and starts glowing like a shiny, happy person, then it’s a girl.

Trouble is, my skin has stayed pretty much the same (I am so boring). Vot could zees mean Dr. Spock?

---

Breathe in Now

25 October 2005, 07:25

So I went to the pharmacy today to buy a Ventolin. So I can breathe, you know. The conversation with the pharmacist went a little something like this:

K: Could I have a Ventolin please?
P: Are you pregnant or breastfeeding?
K: Yes. I’m pregnant [no, I’m just fat]
P: Have you spoken to your doctor about taking Ventolin in pregnancy?
K: Yes.
P: Do you use a preventer as well?
K: [what is this, 20 questions?] Yes.
P: [looking skeptical] Weeeeeeeel, you’re not supposed to use Ventolin in pregnancy.
K: Well, it’s a category A drug [that’s the way Kinki, hit ‘em with pharmaceutical jargon…] so it should be OK to take during pregnancy – the benefits outweigh the risks.
P: [still looks unconvinced]
K: Look, I either take the Ventolin or I die. Dying probably wouldn’t be good for the baby.

She sold me the Ventolin.

---

Happy Birthday 35 Degrees!

23 October 2005, 08:54

35 Degrees is 3 years old today! It’s been a heady ride and I’ve no intention of shutting up anytime soon!

Anyone who’s ever run a blog, particularly those who leave their postings up for critique/commentary, know that it certainly has its ups and downs. Special mention must go to some of my faithful web-friends who have supported my humble blog through the years and who have made all the criticism and occasional flames all worthwhile…

Husband Without him I wouldn’t be inspired to write everyday and wouldn’t have a MiniMc to blog about.
Pinku Tokyo-based Brissie girl who never lets me down. Can also be relied on to provide rousing Beyonce renditions at karaoke.
Gleek Very clever and kind New Yorker who sent me the most gorgeous booties and hat for MiniMc and is a constant presence on my postings.
Nick Husband’s cousin who has some very. strange. ideas.
Nicole Ever-present Sydney-based chicky-babe.
Bogue Always has good advice about bringing up the baby and has the cutest baby ever.
Sussy Melbourne chameleon who is the most voracious blogger I’ve ever seen.
Megha India-based lass who I’m convinced thinks I’m totally nuts.
Hammy Never short of a few words. Mostly sarcastic.
Gunnella My Icelandic friend and fellow Hitler’s-birthday-child.
Ferit Incorrigible commenter.
Frangipani Tokyo-based comrade.
Andrea from Canada who is completely nuts but don’t we love her for it…

[Hope I haven’t forgotten anyone! If I have, please blame it on Pregnancy Brain. I blame everything else on it!]

Of course, part of the journey is about making new friends and I appreciate every single (positive) comment everyone has ever left. It’s always encouraging to know that people take a certain amount of comfort/enjoyment in your stories/experiences.

Here’s to many more years of unfettered verbal diarrhoea!

---

Baby Tipping

21 October 2005, 20:04

Well people, with 3 months to go, it’s time to place your bets – will MiniMc be a boy or a girl? What date will MiniMc be squeezed out? And how much will he/she weigh? Leave your answers in the comments section below…

For the record, we have no clue what gender the baby is (so it’s no good trying to bribe us) and the estimated due date is 24 January 2006.

Winners will be judged on firstly guessing the correct gender, then to the person closest to the due-date, then we’ll separate the wheat from the chaff with birth weight.

Here is the tipping board:

Tipper’s Name	Boy or girl?	Date of Birth	Weight of MiniMc @ birth
Hammy	Girl	10 Feb 2006	7lb3oz
Bogue	Boy	10 Jan 2006	6lb13oz
Megha	Girl	12 Feb 2006	6lb10oz
Nicole	Girl	26 Jan 2006	6lb
D203	Boy	25 Jan 2006	6lb8oz
Yukiko	Boy	19 Jan 2006	7lb5oz
Gleek	Girl	30 Jan 2006	7lb7oz
Elbhenry	Girl	22 Jan 2006	8lb2oz
Shatters	Boy	17 Jan 2006	8lb3oz
Kat	Girl	1 Feb 2006	6lb6oz
Mille	Boy	3 Feb 2006	7lb
Ferit	Boy	23 Jan 2006	7lb8oz
Andrea	Boy	23 Jan 2006	7lb5oz
Numine	Boy	5 Feb 2006	8lb3oz
Sarah	Boy	31 Jan 2006	8lb1oz
Sam	Boy	12 Jan 2006	7lb7oz
Sussy	Girl	28 Jan 2006	7lb9oz
Reika	Girl	21 Jan 2006	7lb
Doug	Girl	29 Jan 2006	8lb
A&K	Boy	28 Jan 2006	8lb
Jeremy	Boy	31 Jan 2006	8lb
Rin	Girl	28 Jan 2006	8lb2oz
Jude	Boy	26 Jan 2006	8lb1oz
Claire	Girl	22 Jan 2006	7lb6oz
Katie	Girl	25 Jan 2006	7lb4oz

If you’re the closest pick and would like to send me your mailing details, we’ll post you out a small(ish) prize (yet to be decided).

Happy tipping!

---

Pool? or Beach?

20 October 2005, 11:10

This was the hardest decision we had to make in Cairns. Tough life.

We headed north for our friends' (let's use their initials -"T"&"A" which is rather unfortunate but these are desperate times...) wedding at Kewarra Beach Resort, one of the beaches north of Cairns. They had admitted to shamelessly ripping off our beach wedding idea, but of course, had to go that extra step of having the reception in a gorgeous open-air thatched hut, with bamboo torches lighting the way, satisfyingly reminiscent of Tribal Council. Hrmph.

Beautiful wedding, albeit on a sweltering day - 30 degrees with 80% humidity. Of course, Kinki wasn't wise enough to buy a dress that wasn't BLACK so she suffered mightily in her jocks, but hell, it was difficult to find anything remotely nice for a wedding for someone as abdominally-challenged as myself.

I felt really honoured to be there - it was a very intimate wedding, only 16 or so guests, but it meant we could chat to everyone. "T" is a Uni friend of McG's and I don't actually know her or "A" all that well, but they're both so down-to-earth and easygoing, I even teared up during the ceremony (ahem... pregnancy hormones...)

I was also rather impressed with my ability to sit on half-a-glass of wine (oh sad alchohophile that I am) all evening and still feel social. But then it could have been that rad 80s hit-list in the background.

A special mention must go to "T"'s mum who went overboard with the bonbonierre. Where we had two little red and silver chocolates at our reception, T&A had a wedding showbag with bottle of wine, soaps, votif candles, champagne glasses and bath pot-pourri. We were rather gobsmacked at all the effort.

********

We also got to catch up with the Cairns contingent of McG's family, including a rather grown-up Tessa, who is now 2 and speaks three languages, English, Mandarin and Shrek. An incorrigible cutie, Tessa is still funny around strangers, although in the form of a true 2-year old sage, has predicted that I'm having a "garl". I think the mighty Tum may have freaked the poor thing out a bit.

********

McG and I are such die-hard travellers and "experience-buffs", it was weird to just chill-out and do nothing but sit on a beach, swim in the outrageously divine water (sans stinger-nets!) and read trash-mags. MiniMc must not have known what the hell was going on, as s/he was rather active in what I think may have been protest at all the relaxation. It was fascinating reclining on the beach watching the skin of my tummy move and undulate with all that kicking and wriggling, though.

Back in Melbourne now. Lovingly welcomed back into her arms with a downpour of rain. Most unusual. Not.

Click for more "T"&"A" Wedding Shots

Click for gratuitous Beach and Belly Shots

---

Leaving on a Jet Plane

13 October 2005, 05:03

Tomorrow we’re off for a long-overdue holiday in Cairns. Two of our friends are getting marriaged on the lovely Kewarra Beach and I’m gonna lug my massive belly to proceedings.

Unfortunately, I’ve succumbed to a corrupted immune system and have managed to catch another cold, on top of the post-cold cough from last time, so have been feeling tres miserables. Not exactly an ideal state of affairs for embarking on long plane flights & balmy walks along the beach. Sigh.

Had today off work and had Monday off as well, but am still feeling like shit. Excuse woe is me. Hopefully 31 degree heat and 85% humidity will cure all. Or not.

---

The Experiment

7 October 2005, 07:34

I catch the tram every day. This week I’ve had a rather good strike rate with people offering me a seat during morning peak-hour, so I thought I’d conduct a little ol’ social experiment…

It’s a sad fact that not many commuters are particularly courteous when it comes to giving up their seat for the elderly, pregnant women or the handicapped. Particularly shitful are the schoolkids that stubbornly refuse to budge, even though they pay concession and good manners would have dictated that they move their agile arses from the vinyl. Some will grudgingly move if you ask them, but my child (can you tell I’m going to be unbearable?) is gonna be leaving skidmarks getting off that seat if in sniffing distance of someone who needs it (that includes most adults, actually).

This week, so far two people have offered me their seat in the mornings (there’s usually a seat available in the evenings). It then occurred to me that there seem to be two schools of “Offerers” – the Passive Offerer and the Decisive Offerer.

The Passive Offerer will not actually get up, but will tug you on the sleeve and ask “Would you like a seat?” Probably the normal response if you’re nearly 6 months preggo would be to say “Yes, thanks, very kind” but my pride responds for me and I reply “No, that’s OK”. I always kick myself after though, thinking “Geez, I really wanted that seat.” There’s always that awkward moment where the Offerer probably feels guilty that you are still standing and you feel a bit like a chump.

The Decisive Offerer, such as the gentleman who offered yesterday, will jump up off their seat and say, “Please. Sit”. To which you have no choice but to sit with a thankful “Cheers, thanks”. I like the Decisive Offerer. No awkwardness, no having to make any freaking decisions first thing in the morning, and, most importantly, a seat to rest weary ankles and swollen belly.

So from now until my last day at work (December 16 – bring it on) I’m gonna see how many people offer me a seat (if one isn’t available), what gender they are, what age-bracket they are in and what kind of Offerers they are.

This will be very interesting…

---

Photo Friday "Darkness"

1 October 2005, 08:40

Darkness… Click to enlarge in Gallery

The Story behind “Darkness” (and a weeeeeee bit of grandstanding)

This photo of a hutongs alley was taken in April 2004, in Beijing.

The Hutongs are, in my opinion, the most fascinating aspect of Beijing’s modern-day vibe. Meandering, walled mini-cities dotted throughout Beijing, with shared pit-toilets (using one was one of the more confronting things I did in China), cheap restaurants, old dudes playing mahjong on the streets, rickshaws weaving in and out of the communal throngs going about their daily business. The Hutongs throb with vibrating energy.

There is also a desolate side to them, long deserted alleys, lit only by a single light, the quiet edge of desperation in the inhabitants living in what many “first-worlders” would see as abject poverty, seemingly offset by a fierce community spirit and their determination to make the best of what they’ve got.

The atmosphere of the Hutongs echoes with a moving contrast of Life and Desolation. And it breaks my heart that these historical monuments to the Chinese essence of family and community will be mostly demolished “in time” for the 2008 Olympics. Gone are the (smelly) centres of conversation that are the pit toilets, gone are the fascinating labyrinths of (impoverished) architectural history, in favour of the Chinese government putting up a brand new, shiny facade of wealth and first-world glamour.

My question is, where will these hutongs inhabitants go? Will they be shunted to the rural areas, as the homeless were in Japan’s major cities when the Soccer World Cup was on? Will they be disenfranchised from their homes and relocated to soulless new apartment blocks? What will happen to the exotic contrasts of old-world and new that define Beijing?

I went nuts taking photos of the Hutongs, mostly because they were a panacea to my jaded photographic eye, but also because I knew that in a year or two, they wouldn’t exist.

For more photos of the Hutongs, please go to my (called funnily enough…) Beijing hutongs gallery or the China Portraits gallery.

---

Pregnancy Brain. It's not a myth.

30 September 2005, 17:51

It’s NOT! For the first time EVER I’ve required a diary to write appointments in else I’ll forget them. Some of the dopier things I’ve done so far (in no particular order):

1. Put the ice cream in the fridge.
2. Put my top on back-to-front twice in the past week – and actually left the house like that. I’d wondered why my neck was so damn itchy.
3. Forgot my name. OK, that’s deffo #1. It was only for a split second though, before I remembered it. I swear to you. The girl at Boost Juice got a lot of mileage out of that one. Not that I blame her.
4. Forgot how old I was. But, hell, I used to do that even before I got preggo. Once you hit 30, you know…
5. Put salt in my coffee. It didn’t taste very good.
6. Forgot the difference between the brake and the accelerator. Don’t tell Husband this one, though – I’ll get a thorough rousing.

Oh, the fun of it! To explore one’s inner-blonde* and have an excuse! Whooops, sorry, I’m PREGNANT, you see!!!! Thoroughly wonderful.

I thought of a lot more PB moments yesterday, but, whaddyaknow, I’ve forgotten them! Pregnant!...

I have been laughing a lot more these days – long and heartily, even while I’ve been sick. Everything seems funny (well everything with the possible exception of Daryl Somers) I think it must be all those yummy happy hormones throbbing throughout me. Either that, or those mushrooms from Preston Market were expensive for a reason.

^{* No offence to blondes intended.}

---

Bleugh: The Next Chapter...

28 September 2005, 17:31

...and now I have a hideous nasty head cold and am feeling particularly shithouse… the crap thing about being UTD, is that one cannot revert to the elixir of mucous-free days and nights – Codral. It sucks the big fat one. I’m feeling sorry for myself. Oh, yes I am.

AND Husband is going to Sydney tonight for 4 days to attend a web standards conference when all I really want is for him to keep me company, make me chicken soup and give me hugs & back-rubs on demand. Oh I know he’ll have a great time and he’s been looking forward to this for ever so long, but NOT WHEN I’M POORLY!!!!

---

Bleugh

23 September 2005, 18:33

I was on the phone to me mum last night, bragging about how great I felt and that I was obviously doing something right as I was healthy and energetic… must have forgot to touch my noggin though, cos I woke up at 4am crook as a dog.

Spent a few hours throwing up ‘til the worst of it was over, then spent the rest of today in bed, with a sore stomach and exhausted (did break for Dr. Phil, though). Must be some kind of tummy bug ‘cos I’m anal about food prep and Husband ate what I did for dinner.

To compound things, around 4.30 this morning, the dude from across the road revved up his drum kit, much to my nauseous delight. It’s so weird though, this has happened for the past two mornings, around about the same time, but he plays for about 10 seconds (which wakes me up), stops for 5 minutes, then plays for another 10 seconds, before stopping for good. What the???

---

Two in One

18 September 2005, 10:20

21 weeks, 4 days

---

Japanese habits die hard

17 September 2005, 09:58

Since returning to Melbourne, there have been many japanese customs we’ve been simply unable to shake…

1. Taking our shoes off at the front door (a bug bear for visiting pregnant friends)
2. Saying “Gochisousamadeshita” at the end of the meal and “Itadakemasu” at the beginning.
3. Napping at my desk. My colleagues find this strange, I think of it as normal (but then, I’m strange…), I understand Husband doesn’t do this.
4. Napping on the tram.
5. Very annoyingly, I still feel compelled to whip out the two finger salute when having my photo taken. Am working on this one, though.
6. Ducking my head slightly in acknowledgement when I see someone I know, rather than wave.
7. Shaking my hand when I don’t want something, rather than shaking my head.

Maybe these are things I will never lose and I’m sure people think them odd, but hey, it gets me by. Interesting, though, that after 20 something years of exposure to Australian customs, the above Japanese customs have stuck…

---

My First Maternity Bra

16 September 2005, 07:56

Went in for a brassiere fitting with those lovely ladies at Triumph on Wednesday.

Since puberty I’ve been a 12C – nothing to sneeze at (but plenty to sneeze on), but to my amusement, I’ve transmogrified into a 12E matron! Up 3 cup sizes in 5 months! Inconthievable! I didn’t want to ask if they came any larger than that as I was afraid of the answer (I’m sure they do…).

Thanks for indulging my gratuitous little braindump…

---

Kick it!

14 September 2005, 07:50

Just in the last few days I’ve really started to feel MiniMc spreadings its wings. I worked out the sensations I’d been feeling were the same ones I had at 16/17 weeks, only now they’re much stronger.

The other night I asked Husband if he wanted to cop a feel. This ordinarily wouldn’t have been an issue, until he realised I was referring to my tummy (affectionately known as “The Pot” in that affected Fabienne-esque way). Anyway, the moment he put his hand on the “Pot”, MiniMc went off, thrashing about like he was in some kind of inutero Rave for one.

It was quite remarkable. So far, it hasn’t whacked me in the kidneys or bladder yet, but give it time.

I went for my 20 week scan last Wednesday (still haven’t watched the video yet). Everything seems to be ticketyboo in MiniMc land, except I have to go back again next Monday as the Mc was in awkward position and they couldn’t do some of the measurements. Typical. MiniMc seems very camera shy, which makes me wonder if it is, in fact, a child of mine. Oh yes, that’s right…

Melbourne has been on red-alert after the threats against this fine city by some Al Qaeda dude in the U.S. Refuse to be fearful, although some hinky stuff has been going on at work around my building of late. It’s a pretty sad world we’re having MiniMc in. I guess all we can do is keep laughing and emphasise the positive. All we can do.

Sorry to end post on morose note. I guess you’ll have to come back again tomorrow…

---

First Crush

10 September 2005, 11:25

Was thinking about this last night (this happens when you’re pregnant….. well, that’s my story…), going back to the annals of my childhood, pre-Husbandry, to dredge up who I thought I was going to marry when I was 6 or 7. Fortunately, I am cursed with a good memory, even with the trials of pregnancy brain and it was quite easy…

1. Bill Mumy from “Lost in Space” (late 60s’ – and no, I’m not that old, but it was the definitive TV show when I was a sprout in the 70’s). I. swore. to. god. I was going to marry Bill. And to be honest, I’ve kind of been attracted to ginger/blondey Cookies-&-Cream dudes ever since.

2. Erik Estrada from “ChIps” (or CHiPs, whatever…) (1977) He was so the man. “Airport ‘75” was my fave movie for years when I was 6ish.

3. George Harrison. My mum had a Hard Days Night LP with the most dreamy pic of George ever on the back cover. At least I think it was George… might have been one of the others…

4. Ike Eisenmann from “Escape from Witch Mountain” (1975). How I even remembered his name is scary in itself.

---

Photo Friday "Massive"

10 September 2005, 09:14

Cloud Ridge Caves, Outback China… Click to enlarge in Gallery

---

Halfway House!

6 September 2005, 08:00

Officially half-way today! 20 weeks and counting. I will celebrate with can of Coopers Birell (brewed soft drink) when what I really want is to scull a pint of Coopers Vintage…

Am defo showing now so I can hang my guts out as much as I want with a reassuring tummy rub to illustrate I am very preggo and not simply tucking into the icecream and Ice Magic again (cough).

They talk about a Last Supper, well, I’ve been thinking about a First Supper Wishlist post delivery (no birth plan for me! just a First Supper plan…), chokkas full of verboten food:

Tapas platter with goats cheese and hot salami
Eye fillet steak, done medium
Spinach and fetta pastry
washed down with V. large glass of champagne, perhaps a flaggon.

... and that’s just for starters. First Breakfast will be Eggs Benedict with very sloppy yolks and a litre of hollandaise sauce with super strong caffe latte, dahlink!

********************

... and for those of you barking for pics of the (newish) house…

Formal Lounge looking through to open-plan kitchen + dining/living room

View of dining area + kitchen, with slight glimpse of study area to the right.

Boudoir, baby.

View from boudoir to front of house featuring possible intruder

---

Husband

4 September 2005, 22:48

---

First official craving...

1 September 2005, 07:24

Roast lamb.
For breakfast.
I don’t really like roast lamb.
No-one sells roast-lamb for breakfast in the CBD.

---

The Good Oil

30 August 2005, 21:16

That’s the problem when you have a blog – you write something remotely worrisome and next thing you know, you have friends and rellies breathing down the other end of the phone in a mad panic, quizzing you (actually husband) about what on earth is going on!?!? Kinki. Learns. Lesson. No rabbiting on about stuff unless she has a definitive answer. Or perhaps learn to shut mouth a bit. But definitely appreciate all the love and concern – I really am an insular, self-absorbed little shit.

After my last so-journ into minor-complication land, I am happy to report that everything is AOK. I have a borderline low-lying placenta, which can cause bleeding and means, if it doesn’t move away from the cervix before I pop the nugget, then I’d need to have a caesarean ‘cos the placenta can’t come out before said nugget. Happily, in 90% of cases, the placenta floats to the top of one’s uterus before that glorious day. Sigh.

Oh obstetrics schmetrics – there’s so much to learn and only another 5 months to do it in…

19 weeks today, oh glory be. Am even starting to show! Although my girlfriend who’s just popped out a couple of twins (ahem, just the one set) surmised I was only 12 weeks… guess that will teach me for being such a toned and terrific wonder-mama-goddess type person. Or not.

What else is news – still having pesky headaches and attempting to find a GP I actually like. I’m not Melbourne-born see, and haven’t grown up with a family doctor and good ones seem very thin on the ground. Perhaps I’m just an acute fuss-pot but every GP I’ve gone to see has either been condesending, incompetent, unpleasant, vague or just plain weird.

Luckily, I rarely go to the doctor for anything important so it’s never been an issue, but I’ve been summarily informed that I need to find one and super-quick because apparently you cannot have a child and not have a regular GP. I think it must be classified as child-cruelty or something. Schmeck…

The GP I went to last week when I needed a referral for somethingorother, launched into a diatribe within 5 minutes of me entering her office about the Birthing Centre and what a bunch of non-interventionist hippies they were and that they gave me “inappropriate” advice (in response to the midwive’s “wait and see” approach at 12 weeks to my spotting). Interestingly enough, the Doctor in Emergency (a medical practitioner and not a midwife) gave me the same advice when I first went in, but she didn’t have anything to say about that. Oh, no.

Not sure why she couldn’t keep her opinions to herself. Apparently I need a good solid education about something…

---

Photo Friday "Chaos"

27 August 2005, 09:36

[Calm amongst] Chaos… Click to enlarge in Gallery

---

Waiting..... Waiting.....

24 August 2005, 08:47

So I decided to go back to Emergency last night to see what the f is going on with this spotting business.

I got to the hospital at 5.30, saw a triage nurse right away, then got to see a doctor 3 hours later, at 8.30. 3 hours. Categorically the longest I’ve had to wait for anything. Except a husband.

I don’t necessarily mind waiting for 3 hours, as there were a few women who stumbled in after me, clearly in pressing need of a doctor, but I was the only one waiting for 3 hours and no-one bothered to give me an update.

I was also starving as hell and all I had to watch on the big waiting room TV screen was Neighbours and The Simpsons. Torture me, why don’t you…

After all the waiting, I saw a doctor who examined me, gave me a 2D ultrasound to make sure MiniMc was still alive and kicking (affirmative, captain) and said I had to come back tomorrow (ahem, which is today) for an ultrasound and some more tests. Blimey.

---

The Good, the Bad, and the Very Ugly

20 August 2005, 17:19

... what am I gonna do when I’m not pregnant anymore? I can’t possibly be expected to live without all this attention, all these kind gestures, all the love…

A (virtual) stranger, Gleek has offered to make me baby knits, lovely cards and flowers have come in from friends and family (no, this is not meant to make you feel guilty!), people at work have insisted they will be much nicer to me now I’m pregnant (hmmmm, I feel a cunning aside…) and my web family (ahem, you) have been gushing in their congratulations (and if you haven’t, I’d like to know why).

^{Thanks Sam!}

Yup, being pregnant sure does have its upsides. It also has its downsides – like. blood. They carry on about how wonderful being up the duff is ‘cos you don’t have your period for a whole 9 months, but forget, of course, about the incessant nose bleeds and if you’re me, the spotting and yesterday (sorry, am about to gross you out) blood in one’s vomit. Ick. Am sick to death of blood. I strained so much over the bowl yesterday that I burst blood vessels around my eyes, so I now look like a red-freckled raccoon. This is not pretty.

MiniMc is still behaving itself though, which is somewhat maddening. You think it’d be making its presence felt so I could take solace in the fact that all these things are happening for a reason. Like giving life and pumping blood into its tiny form. But. Unreasonably. No.

On the plus-side I went maternity clothes shopping today, and quite miraculously, at the non-maternity stores, I was having to get an XS, which, for someone like my giganticness, is a conundrum. Buy an M all my life, get thoroughly up the duff and, lo and behold, have to buy a S or XS.

What is going on? Has the world gone mad???

---

26 Things - July 2005

14 August 2005, 14:47

Finally. Kinki’s entry for 26 Things – July 2005 is finally UP and primed for critique. It goes without saying that only favourable comments will be accepted (only joking….... sort of…)

26 Things is a photographic scavenger hunt presented by sh1ft.org. Lists go up every few months, so check it out if it’s your thang…

——————
Nothing much has happened on the Project Baby front. My tummy has actually gone down in size – how that happens I’m not entirely sure…

I think I’ve begun to feel MiniMc moving around. It woke me up the other night, with a weird poppy, gurgling sensation in my lower abdomen. Then again, it could have been because I was on the precipice of a tremendously satisfying fart.

I have been shopping in preparation for MiniMc’s arrival because there’s just soooooo much shit you “need” once you pop out the morsel. I was very amused to buy a baby hat that had emblazoned on the bag “Keep away from babies and small children”. I had a wee giggle in the shops at that one, until Husband pointed out that the warning referred to the bag, not the hat. Pregnant….

I’m still such a novice. I need a map & baby-crap glossary when I waltz through Baby Target, I don’t know what half the things are. What the hot diggety is a “pilcher” I ask you? And what’s the difference between a portable cot, a bassinet, a stroller, a pram and a cot? Do you need them all?

It’s all just so damn confusing…

Click here for the whole 26 Things – July 2005 shebang

---

Genki desu!

12 August 2005, 08:07

I have been surprisingly energetic since MiniMc pitched a tent in my womb.

A question I get a lot is “How’s work”, said with a terribly concerned air, as if the rigours of an office job are enough to send any pregnant woman to the couch and into the arms of Rikki Lake and Geoff Janz cooking shows.

Truth is, work’s great. When I had the 24/7 sickness, my colleagues managed to distract me so that I didn’t need to barf all over them. I wasn’t grumpy or churlish at anyone as long as I got my 45 minute nap in the afternoon (we have a basement “Breakout” space where we can go to meditate, sleep etc. etc. – working for a Bank is really quite dandy…).

Second trimester, the genki-trimester, is not letting me down either. I go for a half-hour walk every day at lunchtime, through the streets of Melbourne, and have a 10 minute power-nap at my desk. I do fade around 5p.m though, but then I am quite quite busy making eyelashes and toenails and dealing with all that wee swishing around in womb, you know…

Have also started buying baby “stuff” for MiniMc and I gotta tell ya, I’m dead sick of looking at yellow. Makes me want to find out for sure what sex we’re having (no, I’m not going there…) so I can get sick of looking at blue or pink for a change. We want it to be a surprise, but I really don’t think I have the consumer strength for it.

---

Bosoms

10 August 2005, 08:08

...have decided my headaches are due to exponentially expanding bosoms weighing me down and pulling me southward. Husband loves new rack but I’m beginning to feel like Busty Betty in a nurses uniform.

I went and bought a 14D from the Myer sales a month ago and have already grown over it. I dont’t mean to harp, but they’re frikkin’ massive and they weren’t a trifling size to begin with…

Only 24 weeks to go before I start churning out udder milk for real.

What the hell have we done?

---

Freaky

8 August 2005, 07:45

Husband and I took friends of ours out to dinner on Saturday night, to the very lovely Moroccan Soup Bar in Fitzroy North.

That day, I was reading a review of the restaurant online and it mentioned that every night one lucky diner got their meal gratis, just to spread the love around. As I read that, I thought – “that’s gonna be us tonight. Don’t know why, but it’s gonna be us and it’s gonna be because I’m pregnant.”

[Just keep in mind that I’m not showing yet really, and the pot I’ve achieved could be excused away with tales of late-night creamcakes.]

So we rock up (place is packed) and Hana, the owner, goes to great pains to get me a comfy chair. At the time I thought that was a bit strange, but never look a gift comfy chair in the leg.

We feasted on vegetarian moroccan delights (their chickpea bake is so to-die-for, I have wet dreams about it. But then I am pregnant.) and at the end of the meal go up to pay…

Hana says “one of your meals is on the house tonight…” (see, told you) ”... you just need to give [the love] back to someone who needs it in your travels”. Kawaii, ne!

She then looks straight at my tummy and says “and good luck with everything”. I looked at her funny (hell, I look at everyone funny) and asked “Can you tell I’m pregnant” (I guess, as opposed to “Can you tell I’m a fat gourmandising piglet with donuts for specs?”)

She swears, “No…”, winks at Husband and then says “and you’re going to have a girl.”

Well bugger me with a fishfork. I was a bit freaked out by that. Not only am I not really showing (I keep saying that don’t I?), I was wearing my big comfy poncho so you couldn’t even see my tummy.

Sheesh. What is it with these fancy African fillies, and where can I get some?

---

It's just emotion that's taking me over....

5 August 2005, 08:22

MiniMc is doing bizarre things to me. I didn’t cry during my ultrasound, but I virtually sobbed with happiness when Uchenna and Joyce won the Amazing Race.

I find myself thinking random thoughts, such as “I couldn’t possibly send my kids to Northcote High – their uniforms are purple and yellow”.

And I’m a hell of a lot less tolerant (read: infuriated) about things I’d usually be only slightly annoyed at. Things like people who sit next to you on the tram who insist on pointedly reading over your shoulder whatever magazine you happen to have open. The ones who think it’s quite OK to invade your personal space and are not even surreptitious about it. Once, this guy was doing it and everytime I turned the page, he would s.i.g.h d.e.e.p.l.y with an injured air. Honestly, get your own f&#@kin magazine, moron. Get one so dear pregnant Kinki does not have to clobber the f&#@k out of you. Oh dear, really must stop saying f%^&k.

It stops me from enjoying the read and I always rush through so they can’t get their hooks into a particular page. I am particularly enamoured with the obvious deep sighing readers, whose enjoyment I am snatching from them by flicking hurriedly through, who, once you’ve “finished” the mag, ask if they can read it.

F@$&U*@(&T@R#$@$x%x(_%k!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Better.

---

Duckgirl

4 August 2005, 07:54

I am Duckgirl. Only 15 weeks preggo but already I have begun to waddle. My hips are really sore from MiniMc squeezing its ample butt (hmmm, must be child of mine) into my pelvis. At night, I can’t lie on one side for long, before my hips and back start to ache. The only relief is lying on my back, which I understand is rather taboo once you hit the magical milestone of 15 weeks. During the day, I shuffle from side to side with Duckgirl precision. And I haven’t even really started to show yet.

Oh enough whingeing already, I should be enjoying my pregnancy. And I AM, but still v. surreal. That pesky light bleeding continues unabated, accompanied by feral headache which, no matter what I do (and I think I’ve tried everything) I cannot shake. If anyone has a remedy that doesn’t involve ibuprofen, a lobotomy or prancing around naked by the full moon wearing only a loincloth and monkey mask, I’d like to hear it.

No, my whole life doesn’t revolve around being pregnant… let me see, there’s… yesterday…. hmmmm… oh yes, last weekend Husband and I went for minibreak in the country. We went out for dinner at a gorgeous old converted schoolhouse (“Penny School Gallery” in Maldon) and Husband cheekily announced to our dining neighbours (whilst I was tinkling in the loo) that I was pregnant (he’s so excited you see, can hardly blame him).

When we went to pay our bill at the end of the night, the owner asked me “Are you expecting”? My response? “Expecting what?” Ah, the vague heaven that is pregnancy brain…

---

The Great Disconnect

30 July 2005, 08:28

So I went to Emergency a couple of weeks ago (I’d been having some bleeding you see, which is not such a great thing to have at 13 weeks…) and we got to see MiniMc Live on Screen. I was curious but not at all emotional. I think I just said, “Shit, that’s real” but it actually felt too bloody surreal. Husband was all choked up, but I, strangely, wasn’t.

Same thing happened a few days later when I went for my NT Scan. For those not ‘at one’ with pregnancy terminology and procedures, this is a “Nuchal Translucency” test where they zap a bit of your blood and measure the layer of skin at the back of the baby’s neck to give you odds of whether you have yourself a Down’s Syndrome baby.

For a middle-aged wench such as myself, I had startling odds – 1 in 2,760, which is 10 times less risk than the average for my age. It’s all such a gamble though – unless you have a battery of invasive tests, you don’t really know and there have been women who’ve had 1 in 3000 odds who’ve delivered a Downs Baby.

Anyway, I digress… I was able to see MiniMc sucking it’s thumb (nyah) and its little heart beating, but it still felt terribly scientific, like I’d been asked to examine a multiplying bacteria under a microscope. Objective. Detached. Logically, of course (I’m not an idiot, you know) I knew this was our baby but I still haven’t made the Great Connect.

According to other women who are or have been pregnant, this makes me somewhat akin to a freak. No, they’d never say that, but I sure think that. There are always tales of great unbridled emotion and sensations of protective, motherly love at the ultrasound when you see it for the first time. At least the unembarrassed shedding of a single tear. I guess it will come when it comes.

What became painfully obvious though, once I saw the photo the doc took of the ultrasound, was that the little Codger has McG’s browline and profile. AT 13 WEEKS OLD! BUT, I guess it did have my big head…

---

Warning: Fun times ahead...

27 July 2005, 07:56

For those who missed my startling revelation that I am, in fact, going to bear a child (because no-one’s ever done that before), I am preggers, 14 weeks yesterday. This, for the unmathematical is 98 days of up-the-duffedness, roughly 50 of which has been spent in the throes of the dreaded 24/7 sickness.

For me, that meant entire days of queasiness (thankfully only made love to the porcelain bus thrice!), needing to eat all. the. time, with the very thought of food making me feel even sicker. Oh, the bitter irony! I was wretched.

I would unhappily stuff my face full of pasta alfredos, chips, nasty cheesy food and cruskits. Akin somewhat to Hangover food as that’s exactly how I felt. I stacked on 4 (un)holy kilos in the first trimester. That’s a lot of unwanted blubber, let me tell you.

Now am on healthkick of grave proportions. I have rational fear of being tired and overweight trakky-dak wearing Blubber-Girl. NO! Must be fit, glowing expectant Goddess, dammit!

I have a miracle-working pilates instructor (frightfully expensive wot!) who has been whipping my arse and tummy into shape. I have a chronic herniated disc problem in my lower back which could cause me grief later on in pregnancy-land, so must strengthen those core-muscles, oh yes, indeedy.

Will post pic of big-bellah once I have something to show. I’m barely showing yet or actually feeling preggers. If I hadn’t seen the Morsel on the ultrasound screen (twice – once in emergency – long and ongoing story – and once for my nuchal fold ultrasound – more on that later) I wouldn’t actually believe there was something alive and hiccuping in my uterus.

It’s all a very strange, theoretical proposition…if a baby kicks and hiccups (and, grossly, pees itself) and no-one sees it, is it really there?....

---

Get in mah bellah!

24 July 2005, 19:00

To all those smug bastards sitting back at home musing, “I’m sure her literary absence means she’s up the duff (and my, didn’t she look puffy in that last photo she posted?)...”, well done. You are truly righteous dudes…

---

A long time between drinks

17 July 2005, 11:36

Bloody Winter. Hibernation. Scarves. Coats. Frost on the Glass.

I used to love Winter. Couldn’t get enough of the sodding season. But that was in Canada and Japan, when, if you were lucky, it snowed overnight and everything was clean and white and the days were crisp with a rude blue sky (OK, maybe not every day was like that, just let me have my reverie, already…).

In Melbourne, if the sky is clear then you have my attention, but this winter, most days have been dreary with a misty drizzle cutting every bit of chill right into your bones. Your joints ache. Getting warm (particularly in a timber house with floorboards and no curtains yet) is impenatrably difficult.

So, we haven’t been socialising much. We just pop it in the too-hard-basket and snuggle up next to the gas heater with a hot chocolate and some berry pie (good explanation for thigh explosion of late) instead.

But we couldn’t possibly miss our good buddy, let’s call her the Succulent Wild Woman, as that is, in fact, her name, celebrating her 30th Birthday in the grungy mecca that is the Railway Hotel in South Melbourne.

It brings out the animal in me…

The theme was “Africa”, costumes were mandatory, and leopard skin abounded. Seems just about everyone in Melbourne has some shade of leopard skin in their wardrobes. I don’t know what that says about us [just for the record, I got mine at Savers yesterday for $6. No, I swear I did].

SWW’s husband took the prize, with his Golliwog impersonation(s), which he took to the streets later in the evening, attempting to scare patrons and strangers alike. I really should be ideologically correct and say I was horrified, but fuckit, it was hilarious. An African Golliwog with a plummy Manchunian accent and stay-ups sporting alarmingly white loins beneath his loin-cloth. Hilarious, I tell you…

The Golliwog Groove

More SWW 30th Shindig pics here

---

Photo Friday "Candid"

10 July 2005, 09:11

Click to enlarge in Gallery

---

Back on the blog...

8 July 2005, 08:43

Still alive. Still alive.

Last couple of months have been a veritable whirlwind of… stuff.

Moved into new House and, much as we love the place, have been faced with reality that House will need a solid restumping in a few years and some dodgy builders have done some very dodgy things indeed (e.g. built the extension flush to the ground so there’s no ventilation whatsoever – hence potential feral white-ant mecca) that will require fixing. But the joint is 85 years old and still standing so that’s saying something.

And no, we didn’t get a builder’s inspection before we purchased the place (blame infamous spontaneity) but hell, you live and learn.

There’s so much bloody stuff you have to think about when you buy a house. It’s a long story, but to cut it very short, Bank gave us pre-approval in the first place when they shouldn’t have (because of Husband’s “fixed-term contract” status) even though I was a little suss about the situation, but I stupidly trusted Bank because they’re supposed to know their shit.

I could gouge my eyes out with my naivety.

So we went on a merry-shopping-spree, found a perfect little Edwardian cottage with rose garden (not important?) and negotiated (very badly) to secure it after it was passed in at auction.

It was v. daunting to sign the contract-of-sale without having checked it through our solicitor (who, to give him his share of the blame, told us if we showed him the contract before the auction, we waived our 3 day cooling off period). Little did we know (and he should have known) that the vast majority of auctions have a non-conditional contract, which means you waive your cooling period anyway and you basically can’t back out of the contract (even if you can’t secure finance) without having your arses sued. And 10% of a house price is a massive amount of coin.

BUT we had secured finance, hadn’t we?

The next day, when it was time for Bank to cough up the cash, they realised their mistake with the job-status, baulked and said:

“You aren’t eligible for Lender’s Mortgage Insurance [the cash they give you to make up 20% of the purchase price] so we can give you the money, you just have to come up with the 20%”.

An extra $15,000 over what we had. In 2 months. We promptly shat ourselves, wiped up, saved like mad bastards and managed to get over the line (after eating toasted cheese sandwiches for lunch every single day).

We really had no idea what we were doing so are grateful we came out of it relatively unscathed with slightly elevated blood pressure and a healthy skepticism towards institutions who are supposed to know what they’re talking about.

***************

On the brighter side of finance, I did got a promotion and pay rise at work last week because I am Super-fab Work Goddess. Just ask me.

---

Photo Friday "Used"

2 July 2005, 08:07

Click to enlarge in Gallery

---

Photo Friday "Orange"

25 June 2005, 10:51

Click to enlarge in Gallery

---

Photo Friday "Nerdy"

15 June 2005, 08:30

Click to enlarge in Gallery

---

Photo Friday "Green"

22 May 2005, 09:45

Dewy-eyed Window. Click to enlarge in Gallery

---

Scenes from Smith Street, Fitzroy

14 May 2005, 18:56

I think it’s fair to say that Smith Street in Fitzroy has long been considered Brunswick Street’s poorer cousin – less hip, less esoterically trendy, fewer night spots and restaurants… but I like Smith Street a lot more… it’s less pretentious, more “real” and many many more photo opportunities.

If you’re ever down that way, check out Shop Sui on Gertrude Street – a little bit of home for the Japanophilically-challenged…

**********
In other news, I’ve become a part-time grogger (this has absolutely nothing to do with Smith Street).

After the particularly hideous sickness post “Nick’s” party a couple of weeks ago I’m off the demon drink and have turned to the light (read: soft-cock) beer.

It’s now my mission to find the tastiest light beer in Australia. Now, when are they bringing that god-invoking low-alcohol wine over here (and can you actually buy it in Australia yet – anyone know)? God knows we (ahem, I) need it more than they do…

And no, before you (smart – arses) ask, am not up-the-duff. People, please. Just looking after myself and the brains-trust (any more intoxication and my braincell count may very well run to nil)... Wakatta?

[click to enlarge all photos]

---

Photo Friday "Space"

13 May 2005, 18:21

Click to enlarge in Gallery

---

Multicultural Melbourne

8 May 2005, 08:59

If there is one thing I love about Melbourne it is the mix of cultures in one relatively small city. Did you know Melbourne has the highest Greek population outside of Athens? True story.

Don’t know much about the “ethnic” mix of the south side of the Yarra (apart from the Jewish quarter down Caulfield way) but north of the river there is a diverse mix of Greek, Italian, Eastern-European, Chinese, Vietnamese, Turkish and Lebanese (and many more), all existing in (apparent) harmony.

At the local fruit and vege market, you’ll hear a plethora of different spoken languages in a half-hour and that’s no exaggeration.

I’m currently reading “A Secret Country” by John Pilger which describes the massive roadblocks (culturally and bureaucratically) immigrants had to and still have to face in coming to Australia, and I hope that the “harmony” I see between cultures when I do my Saturday morning shopping is a true reflection because, fuck, it feels nice.

I like living in a place that offers that diversity (ahem, admittedly because I love the different foods – stomach, sit girl!) and oddly, to be surrounded by languages I don’t understand. I know some people hate it, but I’m really drawn to it.

I went on a photographic hunt yesterday, walking a 2 city block area of the inner north, just to see how many different cultures/languages I could photograph. It made me really look at what was on offer, where before I may have just taken the mix of languages by the side of the road, for granted.

I think I’ll stay, thanks.

---

Photo Friday "Action"

7 May 2005, 06:47

---

Night of the Living Dead

2 May 2005, 08:40

My theory is that once people hit 30, they go all potty. In a good way. Our friend, let’s call him “Nick”, hired a sprawling 8-bedroom ranch in the middle of nowhere (well, on the outskirts of Daylesford, but still qualifies) and threw a “Night of the Living Dead” party for 20 of his closest friends on Saturday night.

It was a Who’s Who of the ghoul world – Sadako, a Stacy, evil schoolgirls (apparently from Melbourne High), Dracula’s missus, a bevy of garden-variety bogan zombies and some brave zombie hunters (including a rather feisty cardinal). Quite an esteemed circle of friends. Many who patently had done theatre at school, university and most likely at work. Not only did the (dark and rainy) night bring out our inner zombie (everyone has one) but our thespian tendencies. Groovy.

There was a coffin cake, vodka jelly shots with eye balls (actually licorice but I think I’d have preferred eye balls), zombie hunt games, Nosferatu-grade latex wounds sprouting from everyone’s face, weapons of wraith – destruction (a miracle no-one poked an eye out) and of course, no Night of the Living Dead party is complete without a zombie pinata.

Thanks to “Nick” for a spectacular night that only pictures can do justice (so check out the Night of the Living Dead gallery). Can’t speak for the morning though, given an unusually dire hangover (I could have sworn 3 Coopers Vintages and a bottle of champers never did that much damage before) including much riding of porcelain bus.

It was ridiculous how much effort “Nick” made. Now I have to come up with a bang-up idea for Husband’s 30th next Feb to top it…

Any ideas?

**********
An episode at “Nick”’s party marked #3 in the “bad luck comes in threes” charade…

Firstly, during the day on Friday my bicycle got stolen from the foyer of our apartment. It was locked around the wheels, but not to anything (under the stairs so there’s nothing to lock it to) so we reckon it was an inside job. SO annoyed. Not like it was an expensive bike, but fuckit, people are such assholes. Not much I can do about other people being assholes, though.

Second, on Saturday, Husband pointed out a nice big dent in the side of our car. Don’t remember hitting anything, so probably happened while I was parked and someone backed into it. AAAAAAAH. Hit. And. Run. Assholes.

Finally (and we had been waiting for it), at the Ranch, Husband was playing silly buggers and started playing zombie outside the bathroom window. He rapped on the window and next thing you know, crack. Broken window. The next day we got a quote for someone to fix it – $190. Being as broke as that stupid flimsy frikkin’ piece of glass, we managed to get some glass cut and picked it up in Ballarat (!) for $60. People are such rip-off merchants. Assholes.

---

Tragic TV Week

30 April 2005, 10:00

My infernal couch-potato ways have well and truly smacked me on the butt this week – spent most of it in a cloud of celluloid disbelief – Kaya got eliminated from X-Factor (don’t ask me why I still watch this crap), Constantine got booted from American Idol, Angie exited with her tail between her legs on The Apprentice and Jon and Kris came second (second!) in the Amazing Race 6. What next? Jenn wins Survivor Palau?

I have often pondered why I’m drawn to so much reality TV – I studied Film, Drama & Lit (and a minor in Modern Religion but we don’t talk about that) at Uni and spent 4 years analysing both “decent” and “crap” film and TV (ah, back in the days when I couldn’t get enough of David Lynch – natsubloodykashi!). At the end of my degree, I was so frikkin’ sick of analysing. analysing. analysing everything, I started watching as much escapist junk as I possibly could. Uni had snatched a lot of the enjoyment I got from watching film and TV. Yes, even the quality stuff.

Japan didn’t help – there are so many weird “tarento” chat shows and hilarious “re-enactumentaries”, often featuring a nefarious gaijin-of-the-day story, that I got hooked. It was fascinating and really quite different to anything you get in Australia.

Back in Australia, I went into binge mode after the famine of english-speaking shows in Japan and it really hasn’t waned. My job is stressful enough that at the end of the day, I come home and just plonk in front of the TV (but not too stressful as to make me run to the Pharmaceuticals cabinet / head doctor). I. can’t. stop. Can I get me some help? ls there any such thing as T.V.W.A?

This entry has just turned into a massive justification tirade. Gomen.

---

Gallery Sad Face

28 April 2005, 08:18

Sorry guys – ye ol’ gallery is currently M.I.A. Husband promises to sort it out but for now, no pics, only cantankerous epithets. Gomen!

---

Magical Mystery Birthday Tour

25 April 2005, 10:07

Husband had decided to plan a mystery birthday camping getaway somewhere in Victoria, so on Saturday morning we got our shit together, jumped in the car and headed north.

The intended destination? A lovely picturesque place called “Murrindindi” Scenic Reserve north of Kinglake N.P. It might as well have been called “Murrinbundy” Reserve, for all the bogans crowding the place.

We were meeting the Ds at a campsite called “The Ferns” – a terribly romantic name, chock full of bogans. Even the babies were bogans. Two other camps had already been set up, one with a large bogan family, the other with about 10 teenage bogans who had pumped up the music (Guy Sebastian? so had to get out of there). How’s the serenity?

While we waited for the Ds (no mobile coverage), I went to scope out some other campsites but they were all similarly full of bogans eyeballing me with a “don’t even f&# in’ think about camping anywhere near us, mutha*!@#”. I was sure someone was going to ask me to prove that I was one of them – as if “bogan” had been offically stamped on their driver’s licenses. Scary.

Scarier still was as I returned to the Ferns, there were two little signs on the gate, one with the classic “No Dogs” sign (there were in fact, 2 big bogan rottweiler dogs at the site) and a “No Guns” sign. Now, I realise that the no firearms law is standard throughout Victoria, but I’d never seen it spelled out so thoroughly before. Evidently there had been some duck-downing action in them thar hills.

At that point, as was my birthday right, I chucked a massive tanty and insisted that we get the hell away from the place. Poor Husband. He’d thought it sounded so nice in the book (which it would have been if it hadn’t been a long weekend, and we hadn’t wandered onto the set of “The Hills have Eyes II”).

We ended up meeting the Ds in Healesville and traversing Mount Donna Buang to get to the Acheron Way where they’d discovered a neat bush camping spot off the road in the middle of the rainforest.

The only oddity was a v. strange “whooing” sound all night that none of us could place. It was coming from the river, and if we’d been near any other people, I would have sworn it was some dickhead pretending to be a ghost (note: usually Adventure D but he’s calmed down on the trickster front since the birth of baby). No clue what it might have been, but we weren’t hacked up in the middle of the night, so it was probably harmless.

Cracked open some champers around the campfire, tucked into some chocolate birthday mudcake and enjoyed the ambience of the nearby rushing river and a pint-sized infant smacking her chops in search of boob. Lovely. V. delightful campin’ trip.

---

Happy birthday to moiye

20 April 2005, 13:39

I love a good costume party, alas, due to settlement in 43 days, birthday celebrations have been postponed, ah stingy Hitler child (H.C) that I am. Judging by track record with costume parties, though, is probably just as well ->

This morning, Husband presented me with spiffo tripod for spiffo Nikon cam, so that my pics won’t look like something from “Ringu” anymore (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Do love Husband.

Some April 20 Facts…

Famous birthdays:
Marcus Aurelius (Emperor dude – 121; Joan Miro (surrealist painter – 1893); The Fuhrer (ex-CEO of Germany – 1889); Telemann (composer – 1748); Betty Cuthbert (Aussie swim legend – 1938); Jessica Lange (much esteemed thespian – 1949) ; Luther Vandross (singer – 1951); Carmen Electra, Denis Leary & Joey Lawrence (no list is quite complete without the Unholy Trinity); moiye.

Famous deaths:
Bram Stoker, Benny Hill and a shit load of people in the Oklahoma City bombing (1995) and Columbine Massacre (1999) [have always wondered if they were both some kind of sick Hitler homage, but hell, it’s my birthday so no morose ponderings today, oh NO!]. Is April 20 really the tardis of evil? Sorry. Did say I was going to stop. Love Husband. Love Husband. Pure thoughts.

Other Stuff
Birthstone: Bling bling, baby
Birthflower: Sweet Pea
Star-Sign: Aries/Taurus with a side of mashed potatoes

---

Photo Friday "Rest"

16 April 2005, 09:00

Reclining in Huairou, China. Click to enlarge

---

Next Steps

16 April 2005, 07:47

I really want to write about the Chronicles of our V. Screwed-up Home-loan, but will have to put it off for a bit, in case it incriminates us before settlement.

Just a word-of-warning though – if you’re about to commit to spending/lending a massive amount of coin and you’re not sure that the advice you’re being given is correct, then interrogate, interrogate, interrogate. Even if you come off as being a total bitch, it’s your money, so see past the smug touchy-feely smiles and reveal the rotting truth beneath.

End of brief rant. Details after settlement (only 48 days to go!)

---

Photo Friday "Plastic"

9 April 2005, 09:01

Plastic food in Shin-Okubo, Tokyo. Click to enlarge

---

Strange evenings

7 April 2005, 07:42

Last night was a v. strange ol’ night, indeed.

To kick things off, I was in the kitchen washing up (ahem, a chore I do every now and then) when I SWEAR TO GOD, someone sighed very audibly just behind me. Twice. Spooked the hell out of me.

Headed to bed at the godly hour of 9, only to be woken by Husband at 11pm with:

H: Kiiiiiinki – I saw a spider.
K: [groggily awakes from a deeeeeep sleep] Wh…wh…what?
H: I think I saw a spider. [Silence].
K: [What the f&*k? It’s pitch black, how could you see anything?]
H: I must be seeing things.
K: [more like you’re talking in your sleep]. Honey, what did you see?
H: [silence. Goes back into the sleep he never woke from in the first place]
K: [Sweet Jesus]

Finally get back to sleep. At midnight, Kinki gets jerked from slumber yet again with:

H: Don’t touch him on the shoulder.
K: What? [I really shouldn’t feed the fire]
H: Don’t touch him on the shoulder.
K: Honey, what the f&*k are you talking about?
H: [wakes up] Oh, I must have been asleep.
K: [Sweet Jesus]

Pissed off at this stage, I drifted back off to sleep with thoughts of revenge. What must have been a couple of hours later, I was having a vivid dream where I woke up from bed with the realisation that someone was trying to break into our house. I woke Husband up in my dream and together we went into this room, knowing the robbers were behind the window and drew the curtains…

M: [Deep deep sigh, coming in direction of Husband]
K: What??? [Kinki jerked out of semi-scary dream]
H: HONEY, DON’T DO THAT! You were hyperventilating!!!!

Ah, retribution is sweet. Even if entirely accidental.

---

Ha Ha Ha

6 April 2005, 18:34

Just when you thought this was going to turn into a “Kinki Up the Duff blog”, think again. More like a “101 Reasons not to buy a House, when you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing” blog. More on that later.

---

Are we all done? Are we all silent?

2 April 2005, 23:23

Guess who are proud new fancypants home owners???

---

Photo Friday "Hot"

1 April 2005, 21:27

Click to enlarge

---

Wedding!

28 March 2005, 10:26

Our dear friends J&H (they are one, now) got hitched out at Montsalvat yesterday afternoon. Beautiful, casual & intimate, with H mc’ing the whole thing, given their celebrant was apparently a bit of a nutter…

When we first discovered that the wedding was going to be “dry” (and I don’t mean ginger ale), I was a little concerned. How were any of us (read: me) going to have any fun without alcohol, particularly as I didn’t know anyone bar Husband and one other guest?

Post ceremony, most of their friends headed straight to the bar at Montsalvat to down a champers or two, pre-reception. At our table at the reception there were ambiguous whispers of “what does “dry” mean? Can we buy drinks ourselves or are we not supposed to drink? Would it be that bad? Couldn’t we stash a couple of beers under the table and swig silently through the night? What does this all mean????” We started to sound like a bunch of useless alcoholics who couldn’t survive a night without the demon brew. In the end, we decided not to drink out of respect for H’s parents, even though none of us knew them.

I soon discovered that drinking around 2 litres of Coke has roughly the same effect as drinking a bottle of wine anyway.

The shebang turned out to be great fun – we had a middle eastern banquet washed down with lemonade (I woke up sans hangover – v. cool), there were quizzes and fill-in-the-gaps games, both of which our table really should have won, but family politics were victorious in the end (not that we’re sore losers or anything…)

All up, a very unyeeeewshul wedding, but then J&H are certainly not eeeewshul people, which is precisely why we love them! Thanks guys, for a top-shelf party – we do love a good marriage!!!

---

Happy Easter!

27 March 2005, 14:30

... from a v. strange little Easter Bunny!

---

How's the Serenity?

27 March 2005, 11:14

There’s always one. Always one muthalovin’ selfish arsehole who finds it imperative to fill the silence of mutha nature with doof doof music…

We were enjoying our first night camping in a beautiful part of Australia – Barmah State Park (just north of Echuca on the Murray River – v. long way from Melbourne), the magpies, cockatoos, ibises and rosellas were making their evening symphony on the banks of the river, as the evening wore on, the light river breezes toyed with the red river gums, the distant sounds of other happy campers wafted in on the breeze – we were plied full of beer and red wine (sorry, this is v. long sentence) and heading to bed, when 10pm hit and….

DOOF DOOF DOOF DOOF doofdoofdoof DOOF DOOF DOOF

We thought it would only be a brief segue into the lingering sounds of nature by night, but noooooo, 4 hours later we could still hear it and I was getting madder and madder. I was so furious I went hunting around our campsite for the offender but the noise was coming from the next campsite over. What mystified me was that there must have been 15 separate camping families in the next campsite and no-one complained??? It finally stopped about an hour later and I finally got to sleep (after having a minor tantie in the tent which Husband was very pleased about…)

Apart from this indiscretion, the camp trip was absolutely stunning – we drove up Thursday afternoon, and came back yesterday evening. In spite of it being Easter Weekend, there were only a smattering of campers at the site. Our Canuck mates had never experienced such an isolated part of Australia and we spent our days very busily eating, preparing to eat and thinking about what we’d eat next.

The wildlife (apart from abundant roadkills and 2 hysterical Canadians (funny hysterical, that is)) was mainly of the avian kind, although we did have a close encounter with a black snake curled up in foot-high grass, which apparently, wasn’t the kind of wildlife the Canadians were hoping for. After minor panic and visions of red-bellied coronaries we made it to safe ground and had something to eat. Just to add some variety to the trip.

We so didn’t want to leave. Husband was devising ways we could spend an extra night, but with no water left, little food, bar a couple of bananas, marshmallows and chocolate, and a wedding to come back to, it couldn’t be done.

So, we finally packed up around 3pm yesterday, stopping off in Echuca for a steam-boat ride in Echuca, a darling little town. V. old-world romantic. Sigh. End of vacation.

**********
I so had to get out of Melbourne – in fact, the moment we hit the ring road into Melbourne yesterday, a massive headache hit, and I noticed how tight my lungs were. I crave wilderness and isolation and places where you don’t have to think about anything and pretend that everyday 9-5 working pressures simply don’t exist…

Click here for more Barmah SP pics

---

I heart DMB

22 March 2005, 21:21

Dave Matthews. Sigh. Undoubtedly one of the most amazing male singers today. And undoubtedly one of the most antipodean-avoidant singers, having made exactly zero trips to Australia before last Sunday.

Husband had waited 8 years to see them live. I’d waited around 5, being a fairly late-bloomer in the Dave Matthews field of dreams. Tickets to last night’s gig sold out in roughly half-an-hour the day they went on sale. We may have been located in the arse-hole of the Palais, but the vista from said arse-hole was v. fine (although, from that distance, the keyboardist looked disturbingly like the lovechild of David Hasselhof & Kamahl and the drummer like Ice T).

The main problem with the Palais is that you can’t really have a decent boogie – it’s all seating, and they sure are nazi about you getting up into the aisles and dancing. “It’s a fire hazard” they whined to us (a few times, as Husband and I have a tendency toward ADD). Didn’t stop us from trying, but we did get into trouble a few times.

It was a great concert, but there were a few extenuating circumstances that stops me from quite raving about it…..

Firstly, I was knackered and had foul headache (which actually got heaps better as the concert wore on – oh the soothing elixir that is DMB). Secondly, the song mix was strange – I have a real soft spot for one of their CDs and they only played one song from it. In fact, I didn’t even know half the songs. I swear I have listened to all their CDs and DM’s solo CD, but I couldn’t really get into the unknown songs.

The highlight of the 2 and a half-hour set was undoubtedly “Cry Freedom” – an absolutely beautiful ballad. They really fucking know their music – there was jamming, sax solos, fiddle solos, an impromptu scat (have been summarily informed that it wasn’t a beatbox rap – ah the ignorance of the vocabularily-challenged!) and the melancholy, but gutsy crooning of DM himself.

The other highlight of the concert was the audience. About half an hour before DMB came on stage, the crowd went certifiably nuts with absolutely no respect for how old that theatre was. I had no clue DMB were so massive here. You never see them on the charts or on Video Hits or anything so it was pretty ^&*(ing awesome to be surrounded by thousands of people with good musical taste (as deemed by moi).

Today I feel chotto crap. And blue. I get the blues every 6 months or so – the black funk I used to call it. Today’s is a little purple, with pink on the inside. At least it’s colourful…

---

Auction blues

20 March 2005, 08:09

Click to enlarge

Got v. drunk last night and have dastardly hangover. I hate getting drunk – I go all “honest” on people’s arses and now I’m worried I’ve upset my friends, including v. great Husband. Not v. good start to the day, let me say.

The party was in honour of our Friend J, who is flying the coop for the States, erm… when he manages to get a visa. We’ll miss the lad – a good mate and fellow Hitler-child (we have to stick together, you know).

Missed out on a gorgeo house yesterday at Auction, by $2,500. We’re being strong – we have a limit and we’re sticking to it. This other dude wanted the place baaaaaad, and would have pipped us no matter how high he went, so good on him.

It was funny, there were probably 30 people there at auction and really only two serious bidders, us and the other dude. 10 of the onlookers were actually guests at a Hen’s Party going on in the very house being auctioned. There were probably 100 massive pics of David Hasselhof (“The Hof”) in various poses lining the corridor and living room walls for bidders to see. Am sure the agents were v. happy about the interior decoration – in fact, it could have hiked the price up.

In other news, good friends of ours in Japan got engaged! They are v. secretive, so can’t reveal any names, but we’re v. happy for them (they know who they are) – I do love a good East meets West Romance story.

I think that’s enough for me – must go and down a few Beroccas.

---

Photo Friday "Glow"

18 March 2005, 19:21

Click to enlarge – in fact, click to make the damn thing even visible

You may have noticed that the images on this site have shrunk quite considerably. Poxy, I know, but I truly can’t be arsed making additional thumbnails out of images now Husband has got me on this TextPattern thingo. So… get used to it.

Did anyone else have a crapola Friday? It’s been a weird week, in fact – people around me getting seriously sick, emergency vee-hikkles storming all over the place, crazy dreams (dreamt I met Princess Mary and hosted her Australian wedding in a dilipidated restaurant with 8 other guests – ‘nuf said)... just thankful I have a noice 1999 Pinot to keep me company while Husband galavants with mutual friends in the city. I just couldn’t face company tonight – I’ve been non-stop in meetings et.al all week and if I see another face I have to make pilote (even impolite) conversation with, I may just gouge my eyes out with a swizzle stick. I have social obligations tomorrow night and for now, that’s a fucking ‘nuf.

I hate small-talk – bores me witless, but my job lately seems to have been an endless cycle of keeping the peace and dealing with petty gripes and flattering people’s egos so I can get what I want. I mean, fuck, it works, but I hate listening to my voice when I do it. Sends involuntary shivers down the old spine. Shudder…

---

So.... what's your sign?

17 March 2005, 19:27

The indefatigable Spreegirl found this gem, Popstrology – the ancient science of predicting one’s personality by the deeeeep lyrics of the song that was top-of-the-charts when you were born.

Turns out I’m born in the year of Carole King under the sign “Joy to the World”. No no, not the Christmas carol, the Two (ahem, Three) Dogs song. Oh yeah, yeah, baby – sing it and weep:

“And (s)he always had some mighty fine wine”
“A straight shootin’ son-of-a-gun”

Uh huh. Uh huh. Sounds like me.

I have issues with my compatibility with Husband, though – how can a child of Carole King possibly get along with that of Rod Stewart born under “50 Ways to Leave your Lover”? Hrmph. Not at all happy about that.

---

The North Country

16 March 2005, 06:48

I’ve been in a bit of a creative slump lately, don’t got nothin’ original to say so can’t be bothered not saying it. BUT let me tell you a little bit about our long weekend, last weekend…

...McG and I headed out to Wangaratta, about 2 and a half hours north of Melbourne, where friends of ours have a family farm.

Click to enlarge

It was so peaceful out there, quite hot (high 30s) so plenty of swimming opps in the Ovens River, drinking alchoholic ginger beer at the local saloon (shit, that shit’s good shit) and hanging out in the air-conditioned ranch.

On the Sunday we went wine, cheese and olive tasting near Milawa, a lazy day, and started the wine tasting late morning so I got reeeeeeeeaaaaallly drooooowwwsy and had a few nana naps that afternoon. Everyone thought I was up the duff because I was so sleepy all the time. I think I simply needed the rest, ‘cos I’ve been chockers at work and play.

Also on Sunday, I rose at crack of dawn (6.30 am! Incontheivable!) to watch the most beautiful sunrise. The serenity was broken only by “lamby-lamb”, the family lamb bleating pathetically & with stylus broken. Meh.

Great weekend, and we’ve got another long one coming up next weekend! Think we’re overdue for a campin’ trip….

Click here for more North Country Sunrise studies!

---

Photo Friday "Faces"

12 March 2005, 08:08

Click to enlarge

---

Another CMS, Another Day

6 March 2005, 22:19

From Blogger to Movable Type, and now to Textpattern. For a bunch of reasons, the clever code behind the scenes at 35 Degrees has changed again.

Some of the formatting isn’t quite right. The categories haven’t been populated yet. Browsing by date is yet to come. The address of the RSS feed has changed. And the older generated pages are all still there, as are the new ones which have been imported. Not quite sure how I’m going to handle that one – it’s all very well to retain URLs for incoming links to prevent link rot, but at what cost?

So we’ve got a bit of house cleaning to do. But basically it’s business as usual. Let us know if you see anything considerably wacky.

---

"Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day"

6 March 2005, 17:40

I don’t often check my referrals log on this site, but really ought to do it more often…

According to Google, if you’re looking for red-haired portugese (top listing!); poop & piss; obscured japan movie law, stand-up titties, first night fuckers; or if you hate Bribane (sic – the horror! a speeling mistayke) or want to get fucked for free, then this is the place to do it.

On my forage of dodgy referrers, however, I was most elated to come across SmellyPoop.com. The things you simply don’t know about your own bun fudge!

---

Photo Friday "Obsession"

5 March 2005, 18:35

An homage to Asian cine-horror

Kudos if you can guess what movie this image is taken from…

I think this is why I like the show “Lost” so much – reminds me of those creepy Japanese Horrors – Lord of the Flies meets Battle Royale with a bit of Kairo thrown in. Class entertainment.

---

Wednesday Morning Peak Hour

4 March 2005, 04:42

This is our beloved (rental) suburb on a feisty peak-hour morning and by jimminy, wouldn’t we love to buy here. Alas, even with the ridiculous hiking of interest rates, sellers are very mercenary in these parts. It’s so depressing going to look at a place that is quoted at $A370K and it’s a run-down dump where some poor old duck recently died (nothing to do with the cockroach manure and rat poison I’m sure).

We did bid at auction last week, where the place was quoted $400K+ (by law they have to quote within 10% of the actual value of the property or they get in t.r.o.u.b.l.e. unless you’re John Roberts…) and the place was passed in at $410K – then we found out that the reserve was $A480K – what a frikkin’ waste of time for everyone involved – if you want $480K for your place, surely you’d invite prospective buyers who are going to cough up something near that amount.

Am I fundamentally missing something?

---

Redundant Question

1 March 2005, 16:26

If you’d just had a baby, would you really tell your un-childed friends about a woman’s eyes popping out of her sockets during labour?

Yes, so would I.

---

Anatomy of a Surprise Party

27 February 2005, 19:14

McG wouldn’t let me go camping this weekend, so instead, I thought I’d throw him a (last minute) Bikkuri (it’s japanese for “SURPRISE!”) Birthday Party at our local bar…..

It started on Tuesday when I emailed McG’s friends to alert them to upcoming birthday drinks but provided no details due to dastardly disorganisation. Talked to our local bar on Wednesday and confirmed venue + time by Thursday.

The biggest problem with organising these things, in fact any party, is that people just don’t RSVP. I don’t know why that is and it shits me no end. There were a few tentative “should be able to come but have something else on but don’t know what’s happening there either”s. I think people must live in a perpetual state of not knowing where their next meal is coming from, just in case Nigella Lawson pops in for a cup of tea and a nice sit-down.

[contemplation: I’m now resigned to the fact that some friends don’t respond to invites but it took me a long while to realise that just because they were vague, didn’t mean they cared for us any less than our “reliable” friends. In fact, we had the same problem with RSVPs for our wedding. Our frikkin’ wedding, and my own brother couldn’t be arsed RSVPing. When I asked my mum and dad whether bro+partner+offspring were actually coming (after countless emails and phone calls to aforementioned sibling), they acted like I was the one who was crazy. “Well, of course they’re coming dear. He’s your brother.” YES! Correct! My brother, so perhaps he could pick up the damn phone for 5 minutes, or flip me an email to confirm his attendance. Pfrttht, family.]

Anyway, it was also going to be a bikkuri for me, too as I had no clue who would actually show up.

Can I smell cake?

Planned a secret squirrel plan of attack for getting the cake to our local bar by 3pm, (the time they open) without McG knowing.

We went off house-hunting in the moring, returned home by 2pm and had to leave again for an auction at 4pm. In that 2 hour gap, I went “grocery shopping”, picked up Birthday Cheesecake and passed by the bar around 3.25. Closed. A little sign out the front stated they wouldn’t open until 4pm that day. Fuckit. Had to put Cheesecake in the boot while we went to the auction, a great house that McG was very proud to put in an opening bid for. The place was passed in, but all I could think about was Cheesecake melting in the back of the car.

Drove home, accidentally “left my purse in the car”, went out to get it and decided to “buy a magazine” up the road. Grabbed the cake from the boot and started to hot-foot it to the bar (about a 3 minute walk). I had walked only a few steps when McG, bless him, came outside to see where I’d gotten to. I was on the other side of the road and luckily behind another car. I dropped the cheesecake and stood there, frozen, waiting for him to see me. He didn’t.

Ran to the bar, dropped off Cheesecake and bought crap magazine. Crisis averted.

Had a nana nap with McG, and at around 5pm my phone rang. McG was asleep so I left the room to take the call. It was one of the guests – “You can’t talk can you? What’s going on tonight?” asks he. I thought it would be OK as McG was in the bedroom, but just as I blurted out the details, who should appear in the kitchen, but Husband who heard everything. Shit fuck fuckityfuckfuck.

Ah, the best laid plans. If I’d have been bright I would have had a continuity plan for such a crisis, but alas, did not. So the puppy was out of the kennel and happily chomping on (not-so) Secret Squirrel.

But suddenly I went from being annoying Wife who buys crap magazines & watches too much crap reality TV to “BEST WIFE IN THE WORLD!” I was happy with that.

As it turned out, 14 of our good buddies came at pretty short notice to show Husband a good time. Some who said they “probably couldn’t” come, showed up and others who were dead certs, didn’t. It didn’t matter. Husband was happy, stuffed full of birthday cheesecake (which remained a surprise until its appearance), flanked by good friends and beer, and seeing both that giddy smile on his face & the friends that put it there, was the best. Good party.

More good party pics…

---

Photo Friday "Ghostly"

26 February 2005, 05:45

---

Grape Grazing on Saturday

22 February 2005, 07:01

Not too feral. Enough said.

More Grape Grazing photos here…

---

Nuns in Fitzroy

20 February 2005, 07:01

Had my first belly-dancing class last Thursday. I used to do bellydancing back in ‘Nam – only for a couple of terms, but I loved it. True to the spirit that is Kinki, however, I got bored soon enough and wandered onto something else.

Am determined to give it a good go this time. First off, it’s extremely sensual. Even the hoofiest heathens can look graceful in a bling-bling skirt tied low on the hips and a vague attempt at a shimmie. It’s fantastic for the tightening of one’s butt and tum-tum and it’s an awesome cardio workout – you’re completely knackered by the end of the hour, and don’t even notice the time go by (quite contrare to 5 minutes of aerobics which feels like an eternity).

And it’s a non-threatening, accepting environment – we even had a guy in our class in Brissie all those years ago. That was pretty funny, actually. Guys can’t shimmie. They. just can’t (prove me wrong, it’s happened before)...

---