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getting to the age where I can blame eccentricity or senility for anything that offends... |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Blog city is a wonderful place with friendly neighbours who accept my idiosyncrasies. Some will shudder at my style of writing as it is without apology, grammatically and politically incorrect.. My thoughts, opinions and bouts of madness are displayed for all to see - warts and all (even pimples and scar tissue for those who look closely). If you are a do-gooder or someone who turns the other cheek, look elsewhere. I’m giving honesty, trust and a piece of my mind. |
| I am tired of feeling guilty for all the things I think I have done that may have hurt or upset other people. In most situations there was no intent and some times I had no control over the events. So why is it I feel guilty for what I didn't do just as much as those times I did act or react? Guilt by association is not just a legal term, but seems to be a fact of life. I think I'll write an article on this as it really is time to give myself a break and take off the guilt laden backpack and hand back and take out what's not mine. |
| An Australian Policeman pulled over a driver because the P plate used to designate that she had a provisional licence was not displayed correctly. The driver was wearing a burqua and showed the policeman her licence, she then accused him of being a racist and said he had targeted her because she was wearing a burqua. When he asked to see her face to assure himself that the driver was the person on the drivers licence she said she couldn't reveal her face. At all the times the policeman was calm and professional. The woman was ranting and screaming discrimination and told the policeman he would pay. She then went to a local television station claiming he had touched her and her burqua and she had felt threatened and persecuted. On a roll, she then went to a lawyer and before you could say 'furquya burqua' she had the policeman in court. Discrimination has become a bigger sin that adultery, blasphemy, sodomy, theft and murder combined. So be carefull what you put in your reviews folks 'cos we can't see the burqua's at the end of the line. Anyway, karma was on hand on this particular occasion because the police car had a camera and the conversation could be clearly heard. Having been found guilty of discrimination herself, malicious intent etc., the woman's lawyer is now appealling on the grounds that because she was wearing a burqua it could have been any woman and the police could have the wrong woman. The woman has seven children so they don't want her in jail. The irony is if the policecar had not had a camera that policeman would have been reviled, his career severely affected and then what of his family. Australians have always been up front - a face to face society - open, warm and friendly with ofcourse, the exceptions. Reverse discrimination is not just an occasional occurance anymore. We see it and hear of it everyday. Political decisions bases supposedly trying to eliminate discrimination have done exactly the opposite. Australians fought and died to protect this country and yet we are peacefully surrending our traditions, our religious celebrations and even our character without even a whimper. We have freedom of speech as long as we are not seen to be denigrating muslims or their faith. In Australia, Muslims have freedom of speech without limitations and politicians are folding under the mantle of not wanting to be accused of discrimination. The hypocrisy of our government and the muslim religion would be farcicle if it weren't so dangerous. |
| What a bitch of a day. After all the floods that have hit Queensland, last night they were struck by a category 5 cyclone. Poor bastards can't win. I watched the news all through the night and not sure why. There is a certain macabre about people's needs to watch disasters. An accident or a fire always attracts a crowd. Why? What is it about such things that turn us in to some type of voyeur? I really can't justify it. I live in South Australia thousands of miles from the disaster area and yet I watched repetitive film clips, heard the same warnings and listened to meteorological data over and over. Not wanting to sleep on the off chance something really bad would happen and I wouldn't know until morning. How pathetic, when those I was watching were suffering the horror and fear of at best losing their home and at worst losing their life. It's going to take billions of dollars to give brave Queenslanders back their homes, towns and infrastructure. The government is going to set up a levy to raise money to cover some of their expenses, while Australians are still donating to the people. So having parted with my money do I subconsciously feel that I now deserve to watch the show, like a vulture watching a dying animal. Well Queensland is not dying. Wounded may be, but it will come back stronger and better. It is a piece of country that even in a national disaster, still retains its beauty. Mind you - South Australia is still the only state I could ever call home, no matter where I live. |
| Feeling rather relaxed, with the assistance of a fine merlot I decided to drop into my Blog. It was 40 deg celsius today so spent most of the day inside. However, at 4 p.m. it was time to leave the comfort of my Mother's home where I had been staying, to visit another friend for an overnight stay. Once again I marveled at how the early settlers traveled this land in horse and cart in 40 deg temperatures. Here I was in an air-conditioned vehicle with my favourite music playing, no flies, no bugs and no perspiration. There is no doubt that too many of us are too soft. What will happen to society when computerisation brings society to it's knees by attacking the financial sector. We are not mentally or physically strong, have lost many practical survival skills and rely on others to provide everything we need. How many westerners know how to grow food, especially when many don't even know how to cook? Now is when we owe it to our children and grandchildren to teach them to be self sufficient which is not the same as independent. Oops. Sorry have to go. Visitors of the nicest kind so I doubt I will be back here tonight. Ah! Rambling as I was it is probably for the best. Goodnight dear Blog. |
| Dear Blog, Australia is having one natural disaster after another, and they seem to be heading south. Selfishly I can give thanks that I don't live near the sea, a river or on low lying land. This is where I should espouse wonderful sentiments about the unifying of the nation's people to overcome the horrific scenes of destruction. Australians always do rally to those in need, disaster or not. However, what really pisses me off is the filthy slime who use such times to kick a dog when he's down. Low life's for whom an evacuated area is open to looting; where a boat floating down a flooded river is considered to be unowned; Insurance companies who definition of flood damage does not mean flood in the sense of the biblical term, but in the sink overfloweth; Business's who deem the lack of produce gives them the right to double or triple prices for goods.....yes there are probably a few more scumbags I could include in the list, but it would serve no purpose other than to piss me of some more. These microbes who thrive under rocks are a very, very small number of the community, but they don't deserve to be in a community. Perhaps for every boat load of asylum seekers or refugees we should load the boats up with the those cesspool dweller and send them out in the pacific with minimum water and food and let their thieve amongst themselves for survival. On a more cheerier note....well cheerier for others, I have read some excellent stuff on WDC lately. Not so cheery for me because it all makes me feel inadequate. However, with two novels finished and the third commenced and a lot of background stuff done in preparation for the next five, I am a very happy camper outside of WDC. I have limited the number of items I review because of stupid insecurities and self doubts, but when I'm actually writing, I am of course an excellent story teller ROFL. Modesty aside dear Blog, I am one day off turning sixty so I really shouldn't give a rat's arse about what other's think. The next time I write I will be an old tart....but a smart, old tart. |
| Dear Blog, Western Australia has bushfires with many houses lost, on the other side of the country, Queensland is having the worst floods since 1974 and this lot may be even worse, and here in South Australia the only thing we can complain about (and do) is the muggy weather. The rain in parts of Queensland is falling at 1" an hour onto land that is already water logged. I saw video footage today of a car with two adults and a child on the roof surrounded by acres of swirling flood water. The news helicopter went to get a rescue specialist to retrieve them, but when they got back less than five minutes later there was no sign of the car at all. I turned the TV off and spent time praying, which isn't my nature, but the sight of them waiting for help that couldn't get there in time haunts me already and there is much worse to come. One of my sister's lives on Bribie Island in Queensland and her partner cannot get to work. Their son and his family were visiting friends in Bundaberg and are now unable to get back to their Brisbane fhome or go to work. Prayers cost nothing. Let us pray. |
| Dear Blog, No nice chat today as I'm having a 'what is the world coming to?' and a 'If Americans allow Sarah Palin anywhere near the White House, God help us all' day. As for the Westbro church...they are no better than those who attacked in 9/11. Hopefully tomorrow there will be some good news. |
| Dear Blog, I am sad. There is a news item about a couple whose baby daughter died. While this is sad, it is not the reason I have feeling so emotional at this time. In a bid to have another child they had IVF and were blessed with a successful fertilisation of twins. No cause for sadness there. However, the twins were boys and so the parents had an abortion as they wanted a daughter. Therein lies the cause of my sadness. Two boys would have found love with one of thousands of couples wanting a child but unable to have one. Two boys whose potential for life and love are gone because of their gender. It is not my right or role to sit in judgement on this couple, for I don’t have the full facts, but I can feel sorry and a touch of anger, at what seems to be a act of death by discrimination. I too have had a baby die, but I do not consider my living son to be a replacement of the first. I have had two children, only one survived. Any other child is a completely different individual who should not be forced to live with the ghost or under the expectations of a dead sibling. There are so many possible repercussions of such a decision that I cannot help but feel that this is just the part of something far more disturbing within the mind of either one or both of the parents. My sadness is that as humans we too readily accept science without conscience and ignore our humanity. This woman is willing to become a programmable breeding machine. Using science in a bid to have a daughter, because her remaining children are sons. Is that reason enough to have an abortion. I accept there are exceptional circumstances which may determine that an abortion is the right decision based on health of either child or mother, however, a desire for a particular gender is not exceptional. Many mothers have a preference for a specific gender, but do not resort to an abortion if that preference isn't met. To grieve for the twins is futile, just as is to feel anger towards this couple whose act is beyond my comprehension. The pain and disappointment over the babies being male is something I cannot understand, but pain and disappointment I do. I can only hope that at some time in the future, God in his wisdom does not add the pain of guilt to their already troubled lives. Gra, Cairdeas, Dilseacht Gaelic for Love, Friendship, loyalty, Gra, Cairdeas, Dilseacht Gaelic for Love, Friendship, loyalty, |
| Dear Blog, Having shared with you the tale of our friend the old fart being tormented by seeing the mobile home of his dreams yesterday, it is only fair that I follow up with how the eventful day affected yours truly. Living in a caravan is not everyone’s cup of tea, but it suits me. Housework is limited, gardens non-existent and travel opportunities abound. The idea of being a grey nomad also holds appeal, as having seen many such itinerant travellers; I am comforted by their lack of dress sense. Choosing comfort over style, it is a relief to see that like myself, many have acquired comfortable, well padded seats which fit with very little overhang, into those lovely wide directors chairs. Selecting a caravan suitable for a weekend away is easy. If however, you and your partner are looking to make annual trips of some distance, then considerably more thought has to go into the selection. Should you be like me and want to travel from one end of the country to the other, endlessly living the dream of being free from the rat race, then the decision could be one of life or death. Permanently living with you partner in a glorified box on wheels is not always conducive to a ‘happy’ marriage. The words compromise and conciliatory have a totally new role in the relationship. Determined as I am to live my dream, at the first site and with partner in tow, I brashly inspected three late model used vans. Like the old fart and his mobile home, I felt an instant rapport. I didn’t want to know that this ‘perfect’ potential home was too heavy for the proposed towing vehicle. The price was the most unattractive feature, but all thing considered, it was not ugly. Commonsense prevailed as it was decided that, while the ugly side of such a purchase was do-able, the weight factor would need modifications made. That meant time out for due consideration. So dragging the other old fart kicking and screaming from the driver’s seat of his potential mobile retirement home, we moved on to another location. Of course having already formed a heavy attachment, my willingness to wander around looking at new vans was half- hearted. Still, there was still a lot of teasing of the old fart to do, and it couldn’t be done from the car. My casual unhurried step into one of the vans on display proved my downfall. After I had glanced at the moderate price and heaved my ball like self up into the caravan, I could only thank God that the others weren’t with me. It was near perfection. Perfection would be in winning it or having it given to me. The problem was how to get the others to view it while I maintained a look of disinterest. After picking on the old fart, there was no way in the world I was going to set myself up for that kind of ribbing. In the end, a simple vague question had the knowledgeable males stepping up to the plate and, wham, first base was a shoe in. Not wanting to be seen to be over interested, I moved on to bigger, but not better. The old fart was very helpful in seeing the flaws and asked what it was I needed. My partner answered for me, and so we wandered up to second base, at the van with the attractive price and great presentation. I admitted that it did have much more cupboard space, and of course for that price the washing machine was a throw in. Now I do not need a washing machine in a caravan and have on more than one occasion derided the inclusion of such. However, so smitten was I by the layout and the cost, it really did seem like a freebie. I never look a gift horse in the mouth, choosing instead to pass on the nags or glue factory contenders to my family as gifts. In the end my fellow travellers convinced me that this particular van was lighter, cheaper, better laid out and newer. What could I say but, “I suppose you’re right.” We left the site with appropriate brochures, questions answered and me heading towards third base. As we approached our friend’s home, my partner suggested we go and have another look at the caravan that had been flavour of the month, last month. How sad, that it was found lacking. Same price, beautiful inside but not anywhere near the same amount of cupboards space, the refrigerator was smaller and no free washing machine. Turning our backs on our last dream, we went home to spend time contemplating the wonder of travelling around this great country. If and when we do acquire that van, the first place I take it to will be the home plate. Nothing like a home run to make you feel a winner. |
| Dear Blog, Yesterday I accompanied some friends to look at Caravans and Motor homes. One of these friends is due to retire and expressed a desire for a mobile bachelor pad. The image of that type of abode is one of youth and vitality; therefore the comment was received with much jocularity. So it was in search of a mobile retirement home that we went and many were found. Have you ever seen the face of a young child when they first see a puppy they want? The one they will ‘wealy twuly lub’. In a third childhood moment for our friend ‘The Old Fart’, this was the reaction. He lovingly stoked the exterior and a mere glance through the doors to heaven gave cause for his eyes to dilate, a tear sat precariously atop a flushed cheek, the bottom lip trembled and his hands shook. There was little doubt he considered this to be love, while we his loyal friends recognised it as lust. Lust blinds us to reality. The reality was the cost. A dollar is usually insignificant and very much small change, however in a cumulative capacity they can be a high price to pay for a dream. However, we are his friends and so when he sat in the driver’s seat, we encouraged him. The comfort of the chair and the practicality of the cabin were indeed desirable assets. When he gushed about the simplicity of the layout, we nodded our head and agreed the colour scheme offset his ashen features, the blue tinge around the mouth and the veined red of his noble nose. It was easy to see that this was a match made in heaven. He was the pea, and this indeed was his pod. When he started to dribble, we left him in his aged state to chase our own dreams. At home, in the more prosaic rental accommodation, the dream machine was discussed with the help of a glass of two of red. In the end all agreed that it was the perfect vehicle on which to move from entrenchment to retirement. Without the enticing lines present to entice him to another state of rapture, he admitted, be it somewhat begrudgingly, that it was a tad dear. In this context the words ‘tad dear’ could be taken to mean slightly expensive, but in the harsh reality of the wine’s glow, it meant ‘far too effen dear’. However, his dream now has more clarity. He has seen it, felt it and knows how much it’s going to cost and this had given his dream a feeling of reality and a determination. A happy ending indeed for the old fart. Tomorrow I will relate how my dreams were brought closer and then snatched away, only to be replaced by a more realistic and attainable one. Until then dear blog. |
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