Not much to say today but I thought I'd string a few lines together for the sake of a new headline.
Shouldergate continues, here we are in Week 6. It's still a bit sore, if truth be told, but I'm hoping it'll be better next week. My orthopaedic specialist - a man so hot, ladies, that another surgeon once said of him that when he walked along the hospital corridor he was accompanied by a light, thumping sound, the noise being made by young nurses fainting in his wake - says it'll be a good three months before it's better. Those of you who know me are aware that patience is just a card game to me. The experience is tempered somewhat by having an outrageously good looking man in a white coat caring about my poor, broken wing.........
Average day at work, my only day of full duties this week as I was covering for a colleague. 4 hours of light duties and then nothing on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. What to do, what to do..............
In other news, I am delighted to report that I called the local constabulary last night at 23.30 - on a school night, readers - to get the nasty little backpackers across the road to shut the fuck up. Within 10 minutes their drunken outdoor singing had been silenced and I watched through the Venetian blinds ( a la Dot Cotton and her nets) as they climbed back through their kitchen window to continue the party inside. They climbed through their window!!!! These people are too lazy to use a door. It like was watching a litter of skanky kittens stumbling though a giant catflap. I will do it every time they have the audacity to disturb my sleep. I am officially an old lady and I love it. It's a good job we have such stringent gun laws here, I tell you, otherwise I'd have been taking potshots at them for fun.
In other news - I have three books on the go at the moment.
The Well by Elizabeth Jolley - the tale of an elderly spinster living on her property with a young orphaned girl. I really like the style of her writing. I'll let you know how I get on.
The Very Best of Linda Smith - given to me by my favourite relative. Linda Smith was an amazing comedian whose life was sadly cut short at the age of 48 due to ovarian cancer. I've laughed out loud several times but I find myself feeling sad knowing that she's dead. A real loss. Female comedians are too thin on the ground. We need more funny women.
Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet. This is the true story of a man with Savant Syndrome. I've seen him on a TV documentary but I'm looking forward to finding out more about him.
So, if nothing else I have plenty of reading to keep me occupied during Shouldergate.
If anyone else is reading anything amazing, please let us all know.
31 March, 2008
28 March, 2008
Strong women
From idiots to inspiration. Welcome to SSS's top three amazing women.
Number one on the list - Boudicca, ancient English warrior woman. Queen of the Iceni, her husband Prasutagus was allowed to rule by the Romans post invasion. After his death, they confiscated his property and had Boudicca stripped and flogged in public, presumably to make an example of her. Possibly the biggest mistake the Romans made was to have Boudicca's daughters raped. Did she get mad? You betcha. She raised an army and destroyed most of Colchester (the then capital of England) before charging her way up the country, setting fire to things and killing people along the way. Okay, so it didn't end so well for Boudicca. Her army was defeated and she was killed, although some say she committed suicide. But she had a go. She didn't say "Ho hum, they've nicked my stuff and made a fool of me. What shall I have for tea?......." She went out and did something about it. It could be argued that raising an army and destroying medium sized towns in Essex isn't the way to solve most problems (although anyone who has ever been to Dagenham or Romford might disagree) but she didn't let her uterus get in the way of achieving something. Those Romans pissed her off so she got some friends and weapons and kicked arse.
Two - Elizabeth I, Queen of England. If ever a woman had the cards stacked against her this was the one. Elizabeth was born into difficult circumstances; firstly, both her parents wanted a boy. Her mother was a figure of hatred and eventually had her head chopped off on her fathers orders. She was a middle child (and we all know how much they think they miss out on things) and lived under constant threat of death from her sister Mary. Now then, sisters don't usually mean it that literally when they say, "I'll bloody well kill you," but this was a little different. Mary was scared of Elizabeth because she was Protestant and Mary was Catholic and then of course there was all that stuff about Elizabeth's mum being the reason for Mary's mum having her crown taken off her. Once she became Queen of England the Pope made it part of his lifes work to have her bumped off because she wasn't Catholic. *and they say religion is all about peace* On top of all that she was a ginger. Did that stop her? Hell, no. She ruled for 40 years and is one of the most popular and enduring figures of English history. Her country survived several invasion attempts and she survived several attempts to marry her off to a series of weedy and inappropriate suitors. In short, she kicked arse.
Three - Kathryn Janeway, Captain of the starship USS Voyager. Okay, okay, so I know she's not real. But she broke the mould as the first female lead in a Star Trek series and what a lead she was. Yes, I know Star Trek has had women characters before but not like this one. Faced with being stranded at the arse end of the universe with two groups of people who hated each other she had to hold it all together. She tried to reason with people from other species but when they wouldn't listen and tried to fight with her she just got Tuvok to charge the photon torpedoes. She took on the Borg and won. She got them all home safely. Kathryn never let being a woman get in the way of doing her job. She had long hair and wore lipstick and guess what, she kicked arse.
Strong women don't necessarily have to be ball breakers. They don't have to set fire to towns, chop peoples heads off, flatten foreign armies and battle aliens. They have to have strength of spirit, the courage of their convictions. Strong women don't accept limitations placed on them an out of touch society. Let's face it, it isn't just the men who think we're not up to it, very often it's other women as well. Strong women believe they have value as a person and respect themselves. One of the most amazing women I've ever met was my great aunt Lil. She didn't lead an extraordinary life in most peoples eyes but to me she was an inspiration. Well respected, well loved, funny, independent, she enjoyed life to the fullest. If I get to the age of ninety and still like a drop of gin I'll raise a glass to her.
I want you all to take a moment to think about the strong women you've known. It's not just women from history. I know it will be mothers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, friends. I pride myself on coming from a long line of strong women and I know I'm not the only one. I hope I'm not the last.
Number one on the list - Boudicca, ancient English warrior woman. Queen of the Iceni, her husband Prasutagus was allowed to rule by the Romans post invasion. After his death, they confiscated his property and had Boudicca stripped and flogged in public, presumably to make an example of her. Possibly the biggest mistake the Romans made was to have Boudicca's daughters raped. Did she get mad? You betcha. She raised an army and destroyed most of Colchester (the then capital of England) before charging her way up the country, setting fire to things and killing people along the way. Okay, so it didn't end so well for Boudicca. Her army was defeated and she was killed, although some say she committed suicide. But she had a go. She didn't say "Ho hum, they've nicked my stuff and made a fool of me. What shall I have for tea?......." She went out and did something about it. It could be argued that raising an army and destroying medium sized towns in Essex isn't the way to solve most problems (although anyone who has ever been to Dagenham or Romford might disagree) but she didn't let her uterus get in the way of achieving something. Those Romans pissed her off so she got some friends and weapons and kicked arse.
Two - Elizabeth I, Queen of England. If ever a woman had the cards stacked against her this was the one. Elizabeth was born into difficult circumstances; firstly, both her parents wanted a boy. Her mother was a figure of hatred and eventually had her head chopped off on her fathers orders. She was a middle child (and we all know how much they think they miss out on things) and lived under constant threat of death from her sister Mary. Now then, sisters don't usually mean it that literally when they say, "I'll bloody well kill you," but this was a little different. Mary was scared of Elizabeth because she was Protestant and Mary was Catholic and then of course there was all that stuff about Elizabeth's mum being the reason for Mary's mum having her crown taken off her. Once she became Queen of England the Pope made it part of his lifes work to have her bumped off because she wasn't Catholic. *and they say religion is all about peace* On top of all that she was a ginger. Did that stop her? Hell, no. She ruled for 40 years and is one of the most popular and enduring figures of English history. Her country survived several invasion attempts and she survived several attempts to marry her off to a series of weedy and inappropriate suitors. In short, she kicked arse.
Three - Kathryn Janeway, Captain of the starship USS Voyager. Okay, okay, so I know she's not real. But she broke the mould as the first female lead in a Star Trek series and what a lead she was. Yes, I know Star Trek has had women characters before but not like this one. Faced with being stranded at the arse end of the universe with two groups of people who hated each other she had to hold it all together. She tried to reason with people from other species but when they wouldn't listen and tried to fight with her she just got Tuvok to charge the photon torpedoes. She took on the Borg and won. She got them all home safely. Kathryn never let being a woman get in the way of doing her job. She had long hair and wore lipstick and guess what, she kicked arse.
Strong women don't necessarily have to be ball breakers. They don't have to set fire to towns, chop peoples heads off, flatten foreign armies and battle aliens. They have to have strength of spirit, the courage of their convictions. Strong women don't accept limitations placed on them an out of touch society. Let's face it, it isn't just the men who think we're not up to it, very often it's other women as well. Strong women believe they have value as a person and respect themselves. One of the most amazing women I've ever met was my great aunt Lil. She didn't lead an extraordinary life in most peoples eyes but to me she was an inspiration. Well respected, well loved, funny, independent, she enjoyed life to the fullest. If I get to the age of ninety and still like a drop of gin I'll raise a glass to her.
I want you all to take a moment to think about the strong women you've known. It's not just women from history. I know it will be mothers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, friends. I pride myself on coming from a long line of strong women and I know I'm not the only one. I hope I'm not the last.
26 March, 2008
Idiots
Idiots of the world, you are on notice. When I am in charge I am going to get a gun and shoot you all in the arse. Once I have shot you in the arse I am going to shoot you in the foot and give you a couple of Paracetamol and that's all.
Todays idiot is 'Bob' from the physio department at my hospital. Readers (all five of you) will remember that SSS is in Week 5 of Shouldergate. My buggered and weedy right shoulder is recovering from a dislocation and as I have weedy muscles (otherwise known as subluxation or something like that) I have to do exercises to stop it from happening again.
When I told two of my friends I was going to the physio they both laughed and said I would come home with a resistance band and not much else. With the phrase 'resistance is futile' ringing in my ears I rang for an appointment. 'Bob' answered the 'phone to me. I explained the situation, gave the name of the physio my doctor had recommended and asked for an appointment with him. I also explained that I worked in the hospital and was unable to return to my normal duties until I had seen the physio. 'Bob' gave me an appointment and I asked if he could ring me if anyone cancelled, allowing me to be seen sooner. He assured me he would do so.
Fast forward to the appointment time, I duly present only to be told by the receptionist that I had been expected half an hour beforehand. I expressed surprise and said that I had in fact only been 6 floors below and asked why they hadn't called. They didn't have my 'phone number. Well then, how the fuck would 'Bob' have been able to call me with a cancellation. GRRRRRRRR. I get a new appointment with 'Tom' for 5 days time.
Today I turn up for my appointment with 'Tom', only I don't get 'Tom', I get.......'Bob'. I was sorely tempted to discuss the matter with him but I decide against it. 'Bob' gets me to move my shoulder and is pleased with the range of movement. Me too, 'Bob', now on with the exercises. True to form, he produces a resistance band and takes me through a series of exercises. This is all great, but I tell him that I don't have the sort of door handles that the band will stay on. He looks at me blankly and seems confident that I'll improvise. I tell him again that I'm not sure but he has no helpful suggestions. He shows me one exercise that I can do against the wall. Bravo.
I ask him to give me a sheet with the exercises on, he disappears to find one. He can't. He wants me to make an appointment with 'Tom' for 2 weeks time. It's time to go to work, I'm less than impressed to say the least.
So, I get home and quelle surprise, the bands slip straight off the door handle, even when I wrap it round a couple of times. I'm more likely to fucking well hurt my shoulder if I persist so I throw it on the floor and look for something to break. One failed appointment, 28 minutes and $65.00 later and I've got a useless glow in the dark jumbo elastic band and a temper worthy of Boudicca.
Well, 'Bob', I'll be fucked if I'm ever coming back to your useless department ever again. You are an idiot, you don't listen to your patients and you can't lay your hands on written information when people ask for it. $65.00 may not be a lot of money but if I pay you for a service I expect to get one. I expect to be given alternative exercises when I tell you that I have doubts about your big rubber band. I've got them off the internet now, thanks very much, and it was free. I'll be telling the surgeon that you're an idiot and he's rather fond of me so he'll believe me.
You, 'Bob', are todays idiot. Congratulations.
It would seem that The Borg were right. Resistance is futile.
Todays idiot is 'Bob' from the physio department at my hospital. Readers (all five of you) will remember that SSS is in Week 5 of Shouldergate. My buggered and weedy right shoulder is recovering from a dislocation and as I have weedy muscles (otherwise known as subluxation or something like that) I have to do exercises to stop it from happening again.
When I told two of my friends I was going to the physio they both laughed and said I would come home with a resistance band and not much else. With the phrase 'resistance is futile' ringing in my ears I rang for an appointment. 'Bob' answered the 'phone to me. I explained the situation, gave the name of the physio my doctor had recommended and asked for an appointment with him. I also explained that I worked in the hospital and was unable to return to my normal duties until I had seen the physio. 'Bob' gave me an appointment and I asked if he could ring me if anyone cancelled, allowing me to be seen sooner. He assured me he would do so.
Fast forward to the appointment time, I duly present only to be told by the receptionist that I had been expected half an hour beforehand. I expressed surprise and said that I had in fact only been 6 floors below and asked why they hadn't called. They didn't have my 'phone number. Well then, how the fuck would 'Bob' have been able to call me with a cancellation. GRRRRRRRR. I get a new appointment with 'Tom' for 5 days time.
Today I turn up for my appointment with 'Tom', only I don't get 'Tom', I get.......'Bob'. I was sorely tempted to discuss the matter with him but I decide against it. 'Bob' gets me to move my shoulder and is pleased with the range of movement. Me too, 'Bob', now on with the exercises. True to form, he produces a resistance band and takes me through a series of exercises. This is all great, but I tell him that I don't have the sort of door handles that the band will stay on. He looks at me blankly and seems confident that I'll improvise. I tell him again that I'm not sure but he has no helpful suggestions. He shows me one exercise that I can do against the wall. Bravo.
I ask him to give me a sheet with the exercises on, he disappears to find one. He can't. He wants me to make an appointment with 'Tom' for 2 weeks time. It's time to go to work, I'm less than impressed to say the least.
So, I get home and quelle surprise, the bands slip straight off the door handle, even when I wrap it round a couple of times. I'm more likely to fucking well hurt my shoulder if I persist so I throw it on the floor and look for something to break. One failed appointment, 28 minutes and $65.00 later and I've got a useless glow in the dark jumbo elastic band and a temper worthy of Boudicca.
Well, 'Bob', I'll be fucked if I'm ever coming back to your useless department ever again. You are an idiot, you don't listen to your patients and you can't lay your hands on written information when people ask for it. $65.00 may not be a lot of money but if I pay you for a service I expect to get one. I expect to be given alternative exercises when I tell you that I have doubts about your big rubber band. I've got them off the internet now, thanks very much, and it was free. I'll be telling the surgeon that you're an idiot and he's rather fond of me so he'll believe me.
You, 'Bob', are todays idiot. Congratulations.
It would seem that The Borg were right. Resistance is futile.
23 March, 2008
Easter Weekend Ramblings
SSS is enjoying the long weekend. I've eaten more chocolate than I care to think about and still have a Lindt bunny watching me from the bookshelf. I'm not sure I can face it at the moment. I'm thinking about getting up and turning it to face the wall so that it can't stare at me.
I've had a productive weekend. Yesterday I stayed in bed till 11am for no other reason but laziness. I've had several cups of coffee, eaten chocolate, bought myself some flowers (Heather Mills doesn't need all that money for flowers, she should just pop down to Fox Studios and get two bunches of lillies for $36.00), eaten chocolate, chatted to friends, made a sandcastle or two with my favourite 3 year old, eaten chocolate, sorted through a massive pile of papers, paid some bills, eaten chocolate, put clothes away and watched some rubbish on TV. Great result.
As a confirmed atheist I am happy to celebrate Easter. It's another one of those Christian calendar dates that was plonked on top of an old Pagan festival. In this case it's all thanks to Eastre, Anglo Saxon goddess of fertility. Her sidekick was a hare (meet my friend, the Easter bunny) and in the old world it was all about marking Spring. Eggs are symbolic of new life and have nothing to do with my current levels of chocolate consumption. Still, we atheists and Christians manage to co habit quite successfully and I'll take any holiday that comes my way.
I said I'm an atheist, which means I don't believe in deities or higher powers. In the last census I ticked the humanist box. Well, there wasn't one for Jedi. It's not for everyone but I like the way they think. It's a pro-active approach as well. I was born into a family that has a very casual attitude to religion, I was christened as a baby but I'm fairly sure that was more about my parents wanting to have a party and I'm reliably informed that I screamed all the way through. I'm respectful of other peoples religions (although I'm still pissed off about the road closures for the forthcoming Pope Party) but it seems to me that looking at other religions - or at least the people who purport to be followers - don't feel the same. But this isn't a religion bashing post. Horses for courses (and we're back with the Pope and his road closing visit to Randwick Racecourse). Live a good life. Be nice to people. Help others where you can. Don't turn a blind eye to people in need. Practice what you preach. Look both ways when you cross the road. Don't eat all your chocolate eggs in one sitting. Follow these rules and you'll be okay.
Not a lot to say this weekend, other than a warm hello to my newer readers who have popped up on my Cluster Map. I have no idea how you found me but you are most welcome.
*on the subject of hares, are there any readers of His Dark Materials out there? I read an excerpt from Philip Pullmans new book here. Is it just me or does anyone else think that Hester the hare has got anything to go with Eastre and her hare? Or am I reading too much into things as per usual?
I've had a productive weekend. Yesterday I stayed in bed till 11am for no other reason but laziness. I've had several cups of coffee, eaten chocolate, bought myself some flowers (Heather Mills doesn't need all that money for flowers, she should just pop down to Fox Studios and get two bunches of lillies for $36.00), eaten chocolate, chatted to friends, made a sandcastle or two with my favourite 3 year old, eaten chocolate, sorted through a massive pile of papers, paid some bills, eaten chocolate, put clothes away and watched some rubbish on TV. Great result.
As a confirmed atheist I am happy to celebrate Easter. It's another one of those Christian calendar dates that was plonked on top of an old Pagan festival. In this case it's all thanks to Eastre, Anglo Saxon goddess of fertility. Her sidekick was a hare (meet my friend, the Easter bunny) and in the old world it was all about marking Spring. Eggs are symbolic of new life and have nothing to do with my current levels of chocolate consumption. Still, we atheists and Christians manage to co habit quite successfully and I'll take any holiday that comes my way.
I said I'm an atheist, which means I don't believe in deities or higher powers. In the last census I ticked the humanist box. Well, there wasn't one for Jedi. It's not for everyone but I like the way they think. It's a pro-active approach as well. I was born into a family that has a very casual attitude to religion, I was christened as a baby but I'm fairly sure that was more about my parents wanting to have a party and I'm reliably informed that I screamed all the way through. I'm respectful of other peoples religions (although I'm still pissed off about the road closures for the forthcoming Pope Party) but it seems to me that looking at other religions - or at least the people who purport to be followers - don't feel the same. But this isn't a religion bashing post. Horses for courses (and we're back with the Pope and his road closing visit to Randwick Racecourse). Live a good life. Be nice to people. Help others where you can. Don't turn a blind eye to people in need. Practice what you preach. Look both ways when you cross the road. Don't eat all your chocolate eggs in one sitting. Follow these rules and you'll be okay.
Not a lot to say this weekend, other than a warm hello to my newer readers who have popped up on my Cluster Map. I have no idea how you found me but you are most welcome.
*on the subject of hares, are there any readers of His Dark Materials out there? I read an excerpt from Philip Pullmans new book here. Is it just me or does anyone else think that Hester the hare has got anything to go with Eastre and her hare? Or am I reading too much into things as per usual?
18 March, 2008
Thank you
"Is she really dead?" The child snuggled up closer to her grandfather and held on tightly.
"Yes. She really did die. She's not coming back." He pulled the child closer and she felt safe. "But you're going to be okay. You've got your dad and your brother. You've got me and Nanny. We're going to look after you."
I don't remember what else he said that day but I remember that even though my world was crashing down around my ears I knew that it would be okay. It wasn't until I was older that I took a moment to think about how hard it must have been for him. His daughter had died less than 24 hours beforehand and here he was with her daughter trying to make sense of it all. Looking back at it now I can't bear to think about his pain.
I really, really, really miss my grandfather. I wish I'd had him in my life for longer. I wish I'd said thank you more. I hope he knew the impact he had on the lives of his family. I'm glad that I got the chance to tell him that I loved him more than anyone else in the world. I'm mad as hell that cancer got him but I am eternally grateful to have been his granddaughter.
(I wrote this a while ago and was looking through my drafts. I debated whether or not I should post it but after penning an angry draft earlier about my shitty day I decided that love was better than anger.)
"Yes. She really did die. She's not coming back." He pulled the child closer and she felt safe. "But you're going to be okay. You've got your dad and your brother. You've got me and Nanny. We're going to look after you."
I don't remember what else he said that day but I remember that even though my world was crashing down around my ears I knew that it would be okay. It wasn't until I was older that I took a moment to think about how hard it must have been for him. His daughter had died less than 24 hours beforehand and here he was with her daughter trying to make sense of it all. Looking back at it now I can't bear to think about his pain.
I really, really, really miss my grandfather. I wish I'd had him in my life for longer. I wish I'd said thank you more. I hope he knew the impact he had on the lives of his family. I'm glad that I got the chance to tell him that I loved him more than anyone else in the world. I'm mad as hell that cancer got him but I am eternally grateful to have been his granddaughter.
(I wrote this a while ago and was looking through my drafts. I debated whether or not I should post it but after penning an angry draft earlier about my shitty day I decided that love was better than anger.)
16 March, 2008
Books (Part One)
SSS likes to read. It's always been one of my most favourite occupations, right up there with eating peanut crackle and trying out new gin. Here are a few of my favourite titles.
The Handmaids Tale by Margaret Atwood. A religious group overthrows the government and womens lives change dramatically. Fertile, unmarried women are stripped of their assets, bank accounts, children and even their names. They are brainwashed and taken to live with elite government officials and their wives. Once there it becomes clear that the women are there to bear children for the couple, essentially she is turned into a sex slave who is used for breeding purposes. Our protagonist is Offred and we follow her experiences in the Republic of Gilead. This book absolutely chilled me to the bone. I think I was about 18 when I read it. I've been more than wary of right wing religious misogynistic nutters ever since.
Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding. Yes, I know. It's chicklit. But it's good chicklit. I loathed the film version with a passion previously reserved for any Tory Cabinet Minister from the 1980s ( one - because they made Bridget stupid and two - because they got that ridiculous Zellwegger girl to do a shocking English accent) but it's a great book. I felt at times as though Helen Fielding had been tapping my 'phone line. Some cultural references are no doubt lost on non UK readers but I still maintain it's the finest chicklit ever. V good.
Motherless Daughters. by Hope Edelman. I found this book in Books Etc, Covent Garden when I was about 24. Silly as it sounds I like to think that the book found me. I remember sitting on the floor with it and drinking it in. I read all the way home on the Tube and didn't put it down that night till I'd finished it. I was so happy to find out that I was not alone, and that other women had similar experiences and feelings. I have recommended this book to quite a few of my friends, which in itself saddens me because I personally believe there are two many women out there without mothers but I am always happy to be able to recommend such an excellent resource. I don't have my original copy, I gave it away after recieving another copy from a dear friend who had heard the author being interviewed on the radio and thought of me. I hope no one here ever has to read it but if you have a motherless friend who you know struggles from time to time (and we all do) then recommend it or buy her a copy. I can't tell you how much it helped me.
Finally, to finish on a light note,I adore the excellent The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 and 3/4 by Sue Townsend. The precocious self proclaimed poet of the Midlands who passed time measuring his 'thingy' and writing poetry about growing up in Thatchers Britain whilst coping with his parents infidelity and crumbling marriage has to be one of my favourite fictional characters ever. Adrian Mole and Pandora Braithwaite must surely rate with historys most poignant star crossed lovers along with Romeo & Juliet, Maria & Tony from West Side Story, (okay, so technically they're Romeo and Juliet as well but give me a little break), Antony & Cleopatra and Margaret Thatcher & Cecil Parkinson. First published in 1982, it's an interesting read from a historical perspective as Adrian notes the news stories of the day, most notably the Falklands Conflict. Apparently it was never a 'war' but it sure felt like it. I remember crying when the HMS Coventry was lost after being bombed by Argentina.
So, these are a few of my favourite books. If you've got a uterus and you haven't read The Handmaid's Tale then shame on you! Go out and get a copy.
The Handmaids Tale by Margaret Atwood. A religious group overthrows the government and womens lives change dramatically. Fertile, unmarried women are stripped of their assets, bank accounts, children and even their names. They are brainwashed and taken to live with elite government officials and their wives. Once there it becomes clear that the women are there to bear children for the couple, essentially she is turned into a sex slave who is used for breeding purposes. Our protagonist is Offred and we follow her experiences in the Republic of Gilead. This book absolutely chilled me to the bone. I think I was about 18 when I read it. I've been more than wary of right wing religious misogynistic nutters ever since.
Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding. Yes, I know. It's chicklit. But it's good chicklit. I loathed the film version with a passion previously reserved for any Tory Cabinet Minister from the 1980s ( one - because they made Bridget stupid and two - because they got that ridiculous Zellwegger girl to do a shocking English accent) but it's a great book. I felt at times as though Helen Fielding had been tapping my 'phone line. Some cultural references are no doubt lost on non UK readers but I still maintain it's the finest chicklit ever. V good.
Motherless Daughters. by Hope Edelman. I found this book in Books Etc, Covent Garden when I was about 24. Silly as it sounds I like to think that the book found me. I remember sitting on the floor with it and drinking it in. I read all the way home on the Tube and didn't put it down that night till I'd finished it. I was so happy to find out that I was not alone, and that other women had similar experiences and feelings. I have recommended this book to quite a few of my friends, which in itself saddens me because I personally believe there are two many women out there without mothers but I am always happy to be able to recommend such an excellent resource. I don't have my original copy, I gave it away after recieving another copy from a dear friend who had heard the author being interviewed on the radio and thought of me. I hope no one here ever has to read it but if you have a motherless friend who you know struggles from time to time (and we all do) then recommend it or buy her a copy. I can't tell you how much it helped me.
Finally, to finish on a light note,I adore the excellent The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 and 3/4 by Sue Townsend. The precocious self proclaimed poet of the Midlands who passed time measuring his 'thingy' and writing poetry about growing up in Thatchers Britain whilst coping with his parents infidelity and crumbling marriage has to be one of my favourite fictional characters ever. Adrian Mole and Pandora Braithwaite must surely rate with historys most poignant star crossed lovers along with Romeo & Juliet, Maria & Tony from West Side Story, (okay, so technically they're Romeo and Juliet as well but give me a little break), Antony & Cleopatra and Margaret Thatcher & Cecil Parkinson. First published in 1982, it's an interesting read from a historical perspective as Adrian notes the news stories of the day, most notably the Falklands Conflict. Apparently it was never a 'war' but it sure felt like it. I remember crying when the HMS Coventry was lost after being bombed by Argentina.
So, these are a few of my favourite books. If you've got a uterus and you haven't read The Handmaid's Tale then shame on you! Go out and get a copy.
13 March, 2008
The best things in life are free
I've just discovered this nature photography site. The photos are all taken a stones throw away from where I lived in London when I was nursing there.
Please take a look. They're amazing.
Please take a look. They're amazing.
12 March, 2008
My day in Toytown, NSW
SSS has had a very busy day.
Four hours of light duties and only one cup of coffee. 2 painkillers. Uneventful in the extreme, and that's the way I like it.
A pleasant afternoon with a friend at the Archibald exhibition. There are some beautiful paintings on show. The Heath Ledger portrait is amazing but it wasn't really a winner. My friend (a Kiwi) was less than impressed with the Tim Finn portrait. I liked it but it wasn't too remarkable. This doesn't do them justice but you can get an idea of the calibre of the work this year. I particularly liked 'Dad, what a smile' by Roger Boreham. If you live in Sydney or are visiting, do go and have a look. Entry to the gallery is free and a ticket to the exhibition will cost you $8.00. Steer clear of the scalper running the ice cream cart out at the front. Or maybe Paddle Pops really are two dollars.........
The NSW Art Gallery is happily situated in the Domain, Sydney. It's a beautiful public space, well used at lunchtime by groups of runners, Bootcamp style fitness types and pram pushing mums. My friend remarked that she'd never seen it without crowds of people before. It's a familiar location to most Sydneysiders and is host to many an outdoor event, Tropfest, Symphony in the Domain and Carols in the Domain to name a few. Best of all they're free!
As a side note, I met an old friend on the way to the gallery. My jumpy junkie shoeless friend was at the crossing right next to me. Still jumpy, still barefoot. Thin, unshaven, unkempt and apparently freezing cold in the middle of a 26 degree day.
Cue a few hours of aimless wandering in town, a spell of newspaper reading opposite the hospital then upstairs to Medical Imaging to enter The Tunnel of Death for my MRI scan. If you're claustrophobic, kiddies, this isn't the procedure for you. Imagine spending half an hour inside a white tube, the ceiling of which is mere inches from your face. You can't move and have workman style earphones on to protect you from the 'clang clang clang' of the big magnet thingy. Still, I was an excellent patient and I'm told the pictures are good. Hopefully I'll have some news tomorrow.
Home to some average take away Thai and a beer trial. Tonights big question - Which is best, Boags or Cascade? The battle of the Tasmanian brews was basically a no contest. I'm coming out in favour of Boags. Cascade is a bit too gassy for my likings. Besides, I had my first Boags 9 years ago and it's an old favourite. I pity my follow English folk who live in the motherland and have to drink Fosters. Yuck, yuck, yuck.
So......todays entry is a bit like a diary and it's a bit boring but let's face it, there's only about 5 of you reading this anyway!!!!!!!!!!!
Four hours of light duties and only one cup of coffee. 2 painkillers. Uneventful in the extreme, and that's the way I like it.
A pleasant afternoon with a friend at the Archibald exhibition. There are some beautiful paintings on show. The Heath Ledger portrait is amazing but it wasn't really a winner. My friend (a Kiwi) was less than impressed with the Tim Finn portrait. I liked it but it wasn't too remarkable. This doesn't do them justice but you can get an idea of the calibre of the work this year. I particularly liked 'Dad, what a smile' by Roger Boreham. If you live in Sydney or are visiting, do go and have a look. Entry to the gallery is free and a ticket to the exhibition will cost you $8.00. Steer clear of the scalper running the ice cream cart out at the front. Or maybe Paddle Pops really are two dollars.........
The NSW Art Gallery is happily situated in the Domain, Sydney. It's a beautiful public space, well used at lunchtime by groups of runners, Bootcamp style fitness types and pram pushing mums. My friend remarked that she'd never seen it without crowds of people before. It's a familiar location to most Sydneysiders and is host to many an outdoor event, Tropfest, Symphony in the Domain and Carols in the Domain to name a few. Best of all they're free!
As a side note, I met an old friend on the way to the gallery. My jumpy junkie shoeless friend was at the crossing right next to me. Still jumpy, still barefoot. Thin, unshaven, unkempt and apparently freezing cold in the middle of a 26 degree day.
Cue a few hours of aimless wandering in town, a spell of newspaper reading opposite the hospital then upstairs to Medical Imaging to enter The Tunnel of Death for my MRI scan. If you're claustrophobic, kiddies, this isn't the procedure for you. Imagine spending half an hour inside a white tube, the ceiling of which is mere inches from your face. You can't move and have workman style earphones on to protect you from the 'clang clang clang' of the big magnet thingy. Still, I was an excellent patient and I'm told the pictures are good. Hopefully I'll have some news tomorrow.
Home to some average take away Thai and a beer trial. Tonights big question - Which is best, Boags or Cascade? The battle of the Tasmanian brews was basically a no contest. I'm coming out in favour of Boags. Cascade is a bit too gassy for my likings. Besides, I had my first Boags 9 years ago and it's an old favourite. I pity my follow English folk who live in the motherland and have to drink Fosters. Yuck, yuck, yuck.
So......todays entry is a bit like a diary and it's a bit boring but let's face it, there's only about 5 of you reading this anyway!!!!!!!!!!!
09 March, 2008
Where are you, daughters of Germaine?
WARNING - THERE IS A BIG, FAT SWEARWORD IN THIS POST.
Yesterday was International Womens Day. I must say I didn't realise until about 10pm last night. It was discussed on the TV this morning by a panel in predictable fashion - is it still relevant? - and of course the men thought not. Worse still, one of the female panelists (aged 30 something) said that women her age didn't think they were feminists.
This always pisses me off. Girls, ladies, women, if you think you are worth as much as someone with a penis then you are a feminist. If you think your reproductive organs don't make your brain smaller, you are a feminist. Shame on you if you think we're all equal today and feminism is a swear word.
Yes, we've come a long way. We are no longer the property of our closest male relative. We have the vote. We can stand for parliament. We have equal rights to education and health care. We can own property. We can have our own bank account. So, what's all the fuss about?
Is International Womens Day still relevant? Hell, yes. Here are just a few examples. I could give more but it'll only put my blood pressure up.
In Australia, we do not have the legal right to paid maternity leave. It's the 21st century. Europe is so far ahead of us on this one it's embarrassing. What the fuck have Australian women been doing for the last 30 odd years to catch up with the rest of the developed world? (apart from the US of course, but they're all a bit odd anyway.) Yes, you can do the same job as a man, you might even get paid the same amount of money (you might not, either). But don't be looking to come back to that job later and don't expect any pay when you're at home, sitting on your arse watching daytime TV. You've got the uterus, you chose to have a baby, now get on with it.
In the 21st century girls are still being forced into arranged marriages in Britain as well as other countries. Females born in the UK where women have had the vote for a century are still being treated as though they are the property of their father. So called honour killings make the news headlines on an alarmingly frequent basis. Young women have their lives snuffed out, often at the hands of their own family members, all for not obeying someone elses orders on who they should marry.
Healthy female foetuses are still being aborted for no reason other than they are the 'wrong' sex. The classic example is the experience of China where the one child policy has seen the gender balance tip dangerously in favour of males. And whilst some lucky girls make it out of the orphanages to Western families there are too many left behind.
This message, released by the United Nations Girls Education Initiative on International Womens Day, shows we still have a long way to go to be equal. Only one in four girls in Somalia attend school and this pattern is repeated throughout developing nations. Education is the key to freedom. I don't know where I'd be without the education I received but I do know I wouldn't be where I am today. I can read and write. I can earn my own money, I'm able to make my own choices. I'm free. I owe this to my education, without a doubt.
Female genital mutilation is still being carried out. Let's call this what it is and not hide behind the 'nicer' term of female circumcision. Whilst male circumcision is a controversial area for some, it really doesn't compare to a young girl being pinned down and attacked with a dirty knife without anaesthetic. The removal of a foreskin isn't in the same league as the removal of a clitoris, the labia and the sewing up of the vaginal opening. In some cases the opening is just big enough to allow for menstrual flow. All this to 'keep a girl nice'. So, it's goodbye to people thinking you're a potential slapper with normal physiology and hello to a lifetime of urinary, gynaecological and psychological problems. Super. That's if you don't die from infection first. It's against the law in many countries but don't kid yourselves, it's still happening. And it's not in the name of religion, either. It's about control.
Plan is doing some excellent work for girls, please have a look and help if you can.
Is International Womens Day still relevant? I should jolly well think so. The clue is in the title. International. I might have the right to pick between two white, middle class men every election time and I might also have a vast collection of shoes, handbags and gin bottles but there are other women out there with nothing and no hope of getting it either. We'll need International Womens Day until our sisters can go to school with their brothers and be equals in the classroom. We'll need it until our sisters aren't being mutilated in the name of virtue, or killed for wanting to wear Western clothes, or being abandoned on the side of a road in China.
I don't understand why younger women don't want to be labelled as feminists. I don't understand why it's considered a dirty word. All it's saying is that you should be judged on merit and worth, not by your uterus. And that you are equal in worth and deserve the same opportunities and the same pay for the same job.
And finally,speaking of dirty words, we come to the big swearword. Cunt. See you Next Tuesday, Caring Understanding Nineties Type, call it what you will, cunt is reserved as the worst profanity imaginable. Some people can't even say it. 'The C word' is the last resort when someone has been so vile that you want to call them a really bad name and knob just won't cut it. But let's look further. What does it mean? It's origins are debatable. Thought to be from the Latin cunnis meaning vagina, it also has a relative in the Icelandic kunta and the Anglo Saxon cynd meaning nature or essence. The word 'cunt' was used as far back at 1230 in England, where it appears in the delightfully named Gropecunte Lane in an area of London known for its brothels. Once a word so common it had a street named after it, it dropped from everyday use sometime after the 1500s and took on its current profane meaning.
Clearly, then, historically the word refers to ladybits. So would someone mind telling me when the vagina became the most nasty, disgusting object known to mankind? Teenage girls can testify to the determination with which teenage boys attempt to better aquaint themselves with cunts. Straight men spend most of their lives trying to get back up one. That's how terrible and loathesome they are. An object of desire, turned into something to be reviled. If you're female and you're using it as a swearword, you're not liberated, sister. You're just perpetuating the fallacy that your reproductive organs are smelly and offensive. Don't do it. If you really want to use it, call a spade a spade. Or a cunt a cunt.
Geez, I'm an angry little thing today. Time for a walk in the sunshine.
Yesterday was International Womens Day. I must say I didn't realise until about 10pm last night. It was discussed on the TV this morning by a panel in predictable fashion - is it still relevant? - and of course the men thought not. Worse still, one of the female panelists (aged 30 something) said that women her age didn't think they were feminists.
This always pisses me off. Girls, ladies, women, if you think you are worth as much as someone with a penis then you are a feminist. If you think your reproductive organs don't make your brain smaller, you are a feminist. Shame on you if you think we're all equal today and feminism is a swear word.
Yes, we've come a long way. We are no longer the property of our closest male relative. We have the vote. We can stand for parliament. We have equal rights to education and health care. We can own property. We can have our own bank account. So, what's all the fuss about?
Is International Womens Day still relevant? Hell, yes. Here are just a few examples. I could give more but it'll only put my blood pressure up.
In Australia, we do not have the legal right to paid maternity leave. It's the 21st century. Europe is so far ahead of us on this one it's embarrassing. What the fuck have Australian women been doing for the last 30 odd years to catch up with the rest of the developed world? (apart from the US of course, but they're all a bit odd anyway.) Yes, you can do the same job as a man, you might even get paid the same amount of money (you might not, either). But don't be looking to come back to that job later and don't expect any pay when you're at home, sitting on your arse watching daytime TV. You've got the uterus, you chose to have a baby, now get on with it.
In the 21st century girls are still being forced into arranged marriages in Britain as well as other countries. Females born in the UK where women have had the vote for a century are still being treated as though they are the property of their father. So called honour killings make the news headlines on an alarmingly frequent basis. Young women have their lives snuffed out, often at the hands of their own family members, all for not obeying someone elses orders on who they should marry.
Healthy female foetuses are still being aborted for no reason other than they are the 'wrong' sex. The classic example is the experience of China where the one child policy has seen the gender balance tip dangerously in favour of males. And whilst some lucky girls make it out of the orphanages to Western families there are too many left behind.
This message, released by the United Nations Girls Education Initiative on International Womens Day, shows we still have a long way to go to be equal. Only one in four girls in Somalia attend school and this pattern is repeated throughout developing nations. Education is the key to freedom. I don't know where I'd be without the education I received but I do know I wouldn't be where I am today. I can read and write. I can earn my own money, I'm able to make my own choices. I'm free. I owe this to my education, without a doubt.
Female genital mutilation is still being carried out. Let's call this what it is and not hide behind the 'nicer' term of female circumcision. Whilst male circumcision is a controversial area for some, it really doesn't compare to a young girl being pinned down and attacked with a dirty knife without anaesthetic. The removal of a foreskin isn't in the same league as the removal of a clitoris, the labia and the sewing up of the vaginal opening. In some cases the opening is just big enough to allow for menstrual flow. All this to 'keep a girl nice'. So, it's goodbye to people thinking you're a potential slapper with normal physiology and hello to a lifetime of urinary, gynaecological and psychological problems. Super. That's if you don't die from infection first. It's against the law in many countries but don't kid yourselves, it's still happening. And it's not in the name of religion, either. It's about control.
Plan is doing some excellent work for girls, please have a look and help if you can.
Is International Womens Day still relevant? I should jolly well think so. The clue is in the title. International. I might have the right to pick between two white, middle class men every election time and I might also have a vast collection of shoes, handbags and gin bottles but there are other women out there with nothing and no hope of getting it either. We'll need International Womens Day until our sisters can go to school with their brothers and be equals in the classroom. We'll need it until our sisters aren't being mutilated in the name of virtue, or killed for wanting to wear Western clothes, or being abandoned on the side of a road in China.
I don't understand why younger women don't want to be labelled as feminists. I don't understand why it's considered a dirty word. All it's saying is that you should be judged on merit and worth, not by your uterus. And that you are equal in worth and deserve the same opportunities and the same pay for the same job.
And finally,speaking of dirty words, we come to the big swearword. Cunt. See you Next Tuesday, Caring Understanding Nineties Type, call it what you will, cunt is reserved as the worst profanity imaginable. Some people can't even say it. 'The C word' is the last resort when someone has been so vile that you want to call them a really bad name and knob just won't cut it. But let's look further. What does it mean? It's origins are debatable. Thought to be from the Latin cunnis meaning vagina, it also has a relative in the Icelandic kunta and the Anglo Saxon cynd meaning nature or essence. The word 'cunt' was used as far back at 1230 in England, where it appears in the delightfully named Gropecunte Lane in an area of London known for its brothels. Once a word so common it had a street named after it, it dropped from everyday use sometime after the 1500s and took on its current profane meaning.
Clearly, then, historically the word refers to ladybits. So would someone mind telling me when the vagina became the most nasty, disgusting object known to mankind? Teenage girls can testify to the determination with which teenage boys attempt to better aquaint themselves with cunts. Straight men spend most of their lives trying to get back up one. That's how terrible and loathesome they are. An object of desire, turned into something to be reviled. If you're female and you're using it as a swearword, you're not liberated, sister. You're just perpetuating the fallacy that your reproductive organs are smelly and offensive. Don't do it. If you really want to use it, call a spade a spade. Or a cunt a cunt.
Geez, I'm an angry little thing today. Time for a walk in the sunshine.
08 March, 2008
Things could be worse
SSS has been in cranky mode for a couple of weeks following a stupid shoulder injury. Two weeks later and the novelty of my little blue sling has most definately worn off, as has lifting things with my left arm. Still, life could be a lot worse.
Yesterday I was coming home from work (4 hours of light duties and 3 cups of tea later) through a 'lively' square of Sydney. I was gazing out of the bus window and found myself watching a man on the other side of the road. He was barefoot, clad in only a t shirt and trackpants and was walking in an agitated manner. He crossed the road and I got a good look at his face.It was a worried, angry face, his forehead seemed to be creased in a permanent frown and his thin lips were tightly pursed. It was impossible to tell how old he was, he could have been 25 or 55. He crossed the road and darted off down a side street and I found myself wondering how life had led this man to be wandering barefoot in busy traffic, presumably off his tits on drugs. I tried to picture him as a baby, hoping that at least then he might have been loved and then realising that a mothers love isn't a given for many people.
Some months previously I was in a pub just a stones throw away from my jumpy little man with a friend. We were gazing out of the window when we found ourselves watching a young man taking his clothes off on the corner of a busy road, oblivious to his surroundings. We watched as he stripped down to his underpants, plucking at his skin as if covered by tiny unseen insects. We watched as Sydney residents walked past this man without slowing their step or turning their heads. I picked up the 'phone and made a call, we carried on watching until the police arrived and ushered him into the van. He picked up his clothes and followed them like a child. Three days later my friend saw him again, 50 yards from his original position, wearing (or not) the same clothes and picking at the same imaginary insects.
Today I spend some time with a friend who has two young sons. They are healthy, happy and well loved. I can't imagine those boys ever living on the streets or selling themselves to get drugs, walking barefoot through busy traffic or being driven away in the back of a police van. But then in my innocence I hope the mothers of the two men I saw felt the same way.
Drug takers are the one group in society that I really can't stand. I loathe their manipulative behaviour and I look down on their lack of self control. I know this view isn't sympathetic or understanding, I know I should be more compassionate. I'm not. But then I hate alcoholics as well. A good friend of mine has a mother in law whose life has been ruined by alcohol. Aged 57 and looking like an 80 year old, she spends her pension on booze and goes without food. She lies. She steals. She has no friends. Still she drinks.
I am lucky (pious little thing that I am) that I'm a one pot screamer. God help me if I could actually drink like a fish. I'm lucky that I hate drugs. I'm lucky that I don't live on the streets. Now if my bloody shoulder would just sort itself out I'd be jumping for joy.
Yesterday I was coming home from work (4 hours of light duties and 3 cups of tea later) through a 'lively' square of Sydney. I was gazing out of the bus window and found myself watching a man on the other side of the road. He was barefoot, clad in only a t shirt and trackpants and was walking in an agitated manner. He crossed the road and I got a good look at his face.It was a worried, angry face, his forehead seemed to be creased in a permanent frown and his thin lips were tightly pursed. It was impossible to tell how old he was, he could have been 25 or 55. He crossed the road and darted off down a side street and I found myself wondering how life had led this man to be wandering barefoot in busy traffic, presumably off his tits on drugs. I tried to picture him as a baby, hoping that at least then he might have been loved and then realising that a mothers love isn't a given for many people.
Some months previously I was in a pub just a stones throw away from my jumpy little man with a friend. We were gazing out of the window when we found ourselves watching a young man taking his clothes off on the corner of a busy road, oblivious to his surroundings. We watched as he stripped down to his underpants, plucking at his skin as if covered by tiny unseen insects. We watched as Sydney residents walked past this man without slowing their step or turning their heads. I picked up the 'phone and made a call, we carried on watching until the police arrived and ushered him into the van. He picked up his clothes and followed them like a child. Three days later my friend saw him again, 50 yards from his original position, wearing (or not) the same clothes and picking at the same imaginary insects.
Today I spend some time with a friend who has two young sons. They are healthy, happy and well loved. I can't imagine those boys ever living on the streets or selling themselves to get drugs, walking barefoot through busy traffic or being driven away in the back of a police van. But then in my innocence I hope the mothers of the two men I saw felt the same way.
Drug takers are the one group in society that I really can't stand. I loathe their manipulative behaviour and I look down on their lack of self control. I know this view isn't sympathetic or understanding, I know I should be more compassionate. I'm not. But then I hate alcoholics as well. A good friend of mine has a mother in law whose life has been ruined by alcohol. Aged 57 and looking like an 80 year old, she spends her pension on booze and goes without food. She lies. She steals. She has no friends. Still she drinks.
I am lucky (pious little thing that I am) that I'm a one pot screamer. God help me if I could actually drink like a fish. I'm lucky that I hate drugs. I'm lucky that I don't live on the streets. Now if my bloody shoulder would just sort itself out I'd be jumping for joy.
06 March, 2008
Liars
SSS does not like liars. SSS is not adverse to the odd white lie herself, in the interests of kindness, you understand..........oh, alright, in her own interests. But what she doesn't like is barefaced liars.
Please don't tell me that you were told you could come in for your surgical procedure at 4.30pm when I know you weren't. Please don't tell me that the doctors rooms gave you that time when you know they didn't. Please don't get shitty with me when I tell you that's not possible. Please don't get all passive aggressive with me and tell me that you have patients booked yourself and say to me in a nasty tone, "What do you expect me to do, cancel all of my patients?" I don't give a shit. As I told you, I have 53 patients to organise. Its' 3.05pm and I'm not going to piss other people about because you couldn't organise yourself properly. The other people are patients too, but they're not your patients, so clearly you think I'm going to inconvenience everyone because you think your shit smells like Chanel No. 19. All you had to do was ask the doctors rooms for the last place on the list. I don't give a shit about what you want when you can't do what you were supposed to do and call me in the morning and ask for a late admission. You're just lucky that someone else was willing to swap with you, Mr 'I'm So Special'. I'm almost sorry I was able to sort it out. You're a fucking liar. And don't be all nice and friendly to me on the 'phone when I ring you back. I already think you're a wanker, it's too late to be nice.
Thank God I got a good laugh from the little old lady from Bowral who told me her daughter had organised for a 'little bus' to come and get her. I wonder if she'll offer the ambulance crew some money for her fare.
Liars. Don't do it. Have the common decency to own up to it, not hide behind your stinking fucking attitude.
Please don't tell me that you were told you could come in for your surgical procedure at 4.30pm when I know you weren't. Please don't tell me that the doctors rooms gave you that time when you know they didn't. Please don't get shitty with me when I tell you that's not possible. Please don't get all passive aggressive with me and tell me that you have patients booked yourself and say to me in a nasty tone, "What do you expect me to do, cancel all of my patients?" I don't give a shit. As I told you, I have 53 patients to organise. Its' 3.05pm and I'm not going to piss other people about because you couldn't organise yourself properly. The other people are patients too, but they're not your patients, so clearly you think I'm going to inconvenience everyone because you think your shit smells like Chanel No. 19. All you had to do was ask the doctors rooms for the last place on the list. I don't give a shit about what you want when you can't do what you were supposed to do and call me in the morning and ask for a late admission. You're just lucky that someone else was willing to swap with you, Mr 'I'm So Special'. I'm almost sorry I was able to sort it out. You're a fucking liar. And don't be all nice and friendly to me on the 'phone when I ring you back. I already think you're a wanker, it's too late to be nice.
Thank God I got a good laugh from the little old lady from Bowral who told me her daughter had organised for a 'little bus' to come and get her. I wonder if she'll offer the ambulance crew some money for her fare.
Liars. Don't do it. Have the common decency to own up to it, not hide behind your stinking fucking attitude.
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