"Gay your life must be"

As a child I always had an issue with that line from the traditional 'Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree' but not because of any reference to sexuality. I did not erupt into childish fits of laughter but was rather perplexed at the meaning of the line. In particular I struggled with the word "MUST". "Gay your life MUST be" sounded to me like a rather threatening demand. Why must the kookaburra be happy and exuberant all the time? What if he was having a rough day? What if he was suffering from serious depression? Is he meant to mask those emotions and put on a jolly exterior for the amusement of others? Why is he unable to express his true self and forced to play to some ridiculous stereotype? Who came up with this rule in the first place? I'd like to see how they would cope with such an outrageous demand! These poor kookaburras are being allowed no expression of self which can be quite damaging......oh no hang on a minute I see now. "Gay your life must be" as in "you must be having such a wonderful time in your life as you seem to be laughing all the time" not "you must have a happy life or there will be terrible consequences". Still, it could be all fake laughter.

Spoiler Alert

Ladies and gentlemen it has come to my attention recently that there are number of you out there concerned about the possibility of a real zombie invasion or the likelihood of the sun expanding and consuming the earth or that maybe, just maybe, we will soon be embroiled in a global war and shall end up destroying each other as our humanity slowly fades with the desperate struggle for survival. None of these shall come to pass. I am quite certain of it. I know exactly how the human race will be forever expunged from the face of the planet and I recommend that if you are in any way a hysterical or paranoid person that you cease reading this blog entry for the sake of your own sanity and peace of mind.

Cephalopods everyone. That is how we will be brought down, by cephalopods. I have no confirmation on this from any reliable sources, in fact I have formulated this whole theory on my own, but the signs are there! Cephalopods, for those who are not strangely obsessed with marine biology, are really just squid and octopuses. "What's so scary about them?" you may ask "I mean I know they are incredibly ugly and creepy looking and what the heck is with the eight to ten arms but they can't take over the world....can they?" you may continue. Cephalopods are the most intelligent and the fastest of all marine invertebrates. They move by JET PROPULSION and some of them can fly through the air for up to 50m! I think I'd struggle to sprint 50m let alone fly. They have brains throughout their whole body, thousands of taste buds all over their suckers, incredible eyesight and statocysts which means they can detect gravity! They have more than one heart. They are amazing at camouflage and can communicate to each other by flashing signals across their bodies. Sometimes when they are scared they leave an ink trail which mirrors their body shape so their predator will be confused. How do they do that? I struggle with bubblegum! They have long and short term memory and the scariest thing of all.....they are observational learners. They watch other creatures and learn from them. They watch us and learn from us. Soon they will have gathered enough information to band together, crawl out of the ocean and begin to destroy our cities. There are so many of them that it is bound to happen one day. You may think we are safe because we are so much larger than them but what about the giant or colossal squid which can grow to 13 or 14m long! No one is safe.

I'm sorry if I have frightened some of you with this disturbing tale of impending doom but I really do feel the people deserve the truth. Every time you see a friend or family member make sure you tell them how much they really mean to you because you never know when the tentacle of a cephalopod could end their life forever.

P

Not Nigella...

 The left side of my face is in pain.  From temple to cheekbone is puffy as if I have just had my first round of botox. I feel heat coming from it and I suspect a bruise is waiting to surface.  Domesticity is not my second nature and it surely is not for those who can't take a little punishment. Don't worry, we don't have stairs in our house, I am too tall to be walking face first into door knobs, I always have a bathmat down when showering/bathing to avoid slipping.  P does not kiss with her knuckles.  The only abuse I have been suffering is from our clothes line. P and I will intermittently be separating (never fear, blog flow will not slow down (it would actually be impossible to be any less frequent (unless offcourse we stop altogether and P won't let me (not that I really want to, it's just that I have been consumed with other details and I apologise for being MIA (not actually MIA because I am actually S))))).

Hello, welcome back from the tangent.  So, we are vacating premises and that means that the most trying housecleaning test lies before us.  I got started nice and early with the most arduous task - sorting through all my photos whilst reclining in bed with coffee.  Then at around 10am I started on the laundry, dishes and library.  By 11am the towels had washed and since it is a nice sunny day and it is winter and global warming is making me feel bright, sunshiny and a little guilty, I decided to brave the long grown dewy lawn, and make it to the clothes line in the backyard.  I had hung the second last towel and inspiration strikes for a humorous greeting card that I could fashion.  Using my new phone (RIP Nokia E97 (see blog, 'Ode to the Lost')) I capture the image of the washing peg which doubled as my muse, and whilst musing on the various lines that would accompany said image I hang the final towel and with it my the secret joy I had for having a trauma-free face.  The stupid thing, hereinto hinged to the wall to form a pleasing right angle, crashes down on my head forming a decidedly less pleasing acute angle and causing me acute pain. I lay slain. I become damp from the lax grass. I know that I will never be like Nigella.  This would never have happened to her.  Realising that death is not actually imminent, recovered from shock, having curbed swearing at only one or two emphatic blows, quietly pleased that I did not cry and a little disquieted that tomorrow I might be considered grotesque at work, I picked myself up. 

I verbally and physically corrected the washing line.  I found a neglected bag frost-bitten beans from the depths of the freezer and applied it to my face.  I proceeded to clean and pack single handedly.   I went to a service station for tea. I am not a domestic goddess.     

S.