I'm writing this sipping a glass of $3.20 (about 2 quid) Merlot listening to Abba's Golden Hits about to have Wagyu Spaghetti Bolognaise (no, I'm not kidding about the Wagyu beef but that's another story). You would be hard pushed to tell this Merlot from its more expensive counterparts, particularly after half a bottle of the stuff. God bless the wine glut.
We're not sure whether to call our gas water heater "Jeremy" or "Doreen". When it's a bit windy, the thing blows hot and cold. We could call it Jeremy on the basis that it suffers from wind in the back passage or we could call it Doreen in that it is affected by wind in the back passage. Either way, we could do without wind in the back passage.
We recently went to watch young Haydn (aged 12) play in the final of the (Rugby League) under 12's and what a revelation it was. The lads played their hearts out and as it turned out, young Haydn's team won after a great second half (in which he played a starring role); sweet victory after recent losses to their opponents. His Mum, Dad and elder sister were there all cheering them on, and fair's fair, everyone applauded all the good plays no matter which side made them. The club and grounds where the match was played have been in existence for 102 years - the sign over the clubhouse said it all - "Win or Lose, Everyone is Welcome". Perhaps the moral is that the club exists because generations of families have contributed their time and money to make it happen. Great evening out.
Kidner Jeremy has reached something of a man milestone - largely unaided he made up a shopping list and purchased (most) of the required items completely alone in the supermarket (as opposed to merely dragging his feet while he pushed the trolley behind Mrs K's more expert supermarket interventions). Sure, he bought the wrong margarine and other minor errors, but on the whole, not bad. Up until this moment, he had been inventing ways to pass the time during these shopping forays and has picked up a few good ideas from kids under 18. For example, there's the shopping trolley as a skateboard lark which tends to attract a clip round the ear, or the how many tins of tinned tuna in brine can you balance on one hand, the left hand if it's a particularly slow day and my personal favourite, modelled after the great John Cleese's "Ministry of Funny Walks" how to effect a personal disability with a view to getting sympathy from all the ladies in the place (fat chance, they all have husbands and brothers who have been at this game for longer than Kidner Jeremy). The next man milestone is to actually follow this up and cook a dinner. God forbid, I shall be cooking next. Pass the apron dear....
Talking of kids -- try this advice newbie parents..http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9X_HMYCgZvQ&feature=related (Carl Barron Walking Down the Street sample 3)
What would one write about plugs and sockets they are supposed to fit into? Aussie plugs have a curious design-challenged upside down shape (well, it is the plug from Down Under). You can't push them in and you can't pull the little blighters out. You can't fit some of them onto a double socket and you are not allowed to wire them yourself (no, I'm not kidding - the job is reserved for qualified electricians). We've also discovered some immutable laws of sockets and plugs. (1) You can never have too many sockets. (2) They will always be in the wrong place no matter where you site the things. (3) No matter how carefully you brief the electrician, he will always leave out the one you really need and you probably have to dismantle the entire wall to retro-fit the things.
My little doggie friend across the road has decided that raw eggs are good for his diet and figure. A little kelpie/cattle-dog cross, Kip (Kippy to his friends, anyone who has the time) is our sometime companion on walks where our role is to let him pee on every tree and lampost he comes across and walk behond him and pick up his pooh (in little designer doggy pooh bags I hasten to add). This week he seized the opportunity to snatch an egg our Olive (his owner)across the road left out on the table. He failed to notice a bit of the shell peeking out of his jaw when he gave the "what me?' gaze to her. He's in the dog box - no TV for a week! He'll miss the Collingwood/St Kilda final on Saturday for sure.
Politically incorrect joke (thanks Jeremy O - good one mate). Brisbane's taxi drivers are nearly all from Pakistan - maybe they all came over from Dubai after that went down the tubes. This taxis driver from the Indian sub continent is involved in a fatal car accident and arrives at the gates of heaven where he is confronted by St Peter. "I looking for God" he says in response to St Peter's customary questioning. St Peter puts his head round the door and shouts "God - your taxi's here!" Maybe these guys know why Yellow Cabs are orange and black. Many of them drive Black and White taxis. Why can't Brissie taxis be called "Brissie Taxis" instead of using colours. What next - Pink Cabs?
"Work is the curse of the drinking classes" (WC Fields)'
God Bless and Keep Well,
Kidner Jeremy
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