The Neuro-Linguistic Journey of Julian's maze of thoughts and events.
Monday, May 4, 2009
The Von Trapp Sanitised Versions of Life
Julian Von Trapp had been wooed and won by Georg, but it was the children that had won her heart. She didn't love him. She liked him very much but if he hadn't suggested that she could be a second mother to his 7 children, she doubted that she would have accepted. They went on to have 3 more children, so all together there were 10 Von Trapp children, not the mythical 7. When Georg and Julian left Austria, it wasn't to trek over the mountain which would have led them directly to Hitler's mountain retreat, instead it was by ship to America. They were very good singers, mind you, and there wasn't a great deal that they could do when Heinrich Himmler took over their house. Julian was taking tea with Mary, who was demanding to know why Julian wasn't flying the flag of the Third Reich from the front of her ex house. Mary was also aware of Julian's Jewish heritage and was holding it over her. "I'll tell," she said, "if you don't do what I say." Julian pondered doing what she said, but took umbrage at being forced to bend to someone's will. "Look," she said, "I've no problem with cooking you osso bucco but not because you're making me." Mary backed down, which was most unusual for Mary. Meanwhile, Stewart's kilt had caught in his lapidary machine and he was yelling for Julian to come and help. He had written on his chalk board that the flood had devastated them at least until mid May, and he was off to Tasmania to revisiti his ex's parents. His ex had no idea and would spit chips if she knew, especially when she knew that her precious boy, grandchild and 'other woman' were going to. "You'll love Tasmania," everyone said, "you'll want to go back." "It's going to be very, very cold. Take your longjohns," said Gretel, who knew.
It started many moons ago, as most things do, with an exciting overseas journey. She had broken away from a stifling mother daughter relationship and an extraordinarily loving father daughter relationship. She was heading to the United States of America and was looking for adventure. She was leaving goodness and truth behind, just for the moment, and would be furious to be written about in such a way. She met Tom in a bar. He was handsome and debonair and flirted outrageously with the ladies and she knew he was hers. She had a few women to beat off first, but Tom was as smitten as she was. She was slender and intelligent and beautiful and Australian. They married. They had children. They embraced goodness and truth together and all was well. Tom still felt empty and dissatisfied. He had had women listening to his every word, of which he had many, and sitting at his feet as he expounded forth, all of his life. Suddenly there was only one and she would mention over dinner with friends that she had married a monologue. That it had been a 20 year monologue. He wrote poetry and shared it with young, beautiful girls. They were smitten and looked adoringly at him in public.
Tom believed with all his heart and soul that fulfillment could and would come through a woman. She had been under his nose for some years, but he realised that he had found the perfect woman.
Edgar had once said to Julian that it was all about Mary. Julian absorbed and held that thought and watched and waited. Meanwhile, the house and business had been flooded and Julian had to get out of her dressing gown, put on her flood clothes and get back downstairs and into it. She had heard from Stewart that Mary and Edgar had been in town and that Mary hadn't popped in to say hi. She was devastated. Didn't she know the trouble that they were in? That they needed help?
Perhaps Edgar was right and it was all about Mary.
Hermione had suggested dinner on Friday with Mary and Friday. She didn't want to go anymore. She was depressed and dealing with a ridiculous clean up. 'Throw it all out', said Hermione and Emerald. At the end of the day, Emerald was seen foraging in the rubbish flood heaps of the neighbours and found old flood photos, strange little implements and beer glasses. As well as a rather loud picnic rug with a plastic backing. Julian threw it out and Emerald brought it back in. Hermione was also suggesting rather loudly that she should throw out her deep fat fryer and her bbq. Julian said 'not yet'. She wanted to have a bbq on the back deck of the bungalow first.
Candy Perfume Girl was going to come and help on Monday, and not a moment too soon.
"Some people would love to have your problems", said Smithy. Julian didn't say anything. She was embroiled in a hand of bridge and wasn't sure whether to try to set up the clubs or the diamonds, and finally decided on the diamond play. The queen held so she told him that she knew that some people would love her problems. She thought immediately of a dying friend, and a breast removal freind and people in India and Africa who queued up for hours for a bucket of water. Meanwhile, Stewart's opal and jewellery business had only gone underwater 2 metres int the recent flood and most of the tiny stuff had been put into cardboard boxes and buckets
. She and Stewart and Valdemar had waded through waist deep water collecting what they could and holding candles as the electricity had failed. During the clean up she had found a Victorian penny stuck to the bottom of one of the drawers and a tiny, tiny amethyst heart in a small bag, as well as two pictures of his ex that she had never seen before. His ex would have liked that, but she would never know. One of the pics was very lovely and the other one wasn't so lovely. Julian liked the not very lovely one because she was fighting her small and mean nature.
They had hosed and hosed and lifted and moved and swept and hosed and she was tired. Stuart was exhausted. They ate hamburgers for dinner and after dinner Stuart said, "Is that it for dinner?" Fortunately there were left over semi-home made apple pies which he was happy to eat. It had actually been a big eating day. Waldemar had contributed bacon for breakfast, followed by bread things and bread sandwiches and bread hamburgers. Stuart metabolised fast so he had no problems. Julian felt rather, well, 'bready', really, which laid her low.
"You've been shirty for years", Hermione had mentioned over a lunch which Julian had managed not to eat, "This is different, Hermione," Julian explained, "this is heavier. Like Magda Szubanski." She had been talking briefly of why she was unhappy with Candy. "Oh," said Hermione, pushing her mayonnaise, chicken and bacon bits to the side. "Hey," said Mary, "you're leaving the best bits," and she pushed her fork through the food. "Looked a bit rich," said Hermione, and, "oh, you've got another glass of wine, think I'll get one too."
Meanwhile, on the sunny Canary Islands, Juan had been happily living it up. His life was not a satisfying life so he had spent his borrowed rent money on cocaine. He had also had a happy morning cooking up the magic mushrooms and making a magic mushroom and champignon omelet. If he had had those little Chinese mushrooms that grew with long stems he would have thrown that into the foaming butter as well. When Brian and Tina knocked on his door to collect the rent which was well and truly overdue he decided to bludgeon them to death with a ball peen hammer. He blamed the drugs but the judge and jury saw right through him.
Julian took a break from reporting and sat a table with Whami and Bham for a quick hand or two. It was over quickly, unlike the bludgeoning of Brian and Tina, who had moved from Mumbles to Spain in their retirement years because they wanted a quiet life. Juan blamed the drugs and was quoted as saying "Even now I can't understand what drove me to do what I did - I was totally out of it," but the jury were not convinced. Santana told the jury at Las Palmas criminal court that "after killing the couple, he wrapped their bodies in blankets and white plastic bags, carried them to the boot of his car late at night and drove to scrubland where he hid them under a pile of rocks."
A Spanish man has been found guilty of murdering a Welsh couple who had moved to the Canary Islands for a new life.
Juan Carmelo Santana, 42, had admitted bludgeoning Brian and Tina Johnson when they called to collect overdue rent at his flat on Fuerteventura in July 2006.
The jury rejected his claim he was not in control of his actions because he had taken cocaine and magic mushrooms.
Santana will be sentenced next week. The couple's son Sam, 29, said he was relieved the case was over.
Santana told the jury at Las Palmas criminal court that after killing the couple, he wrapped their bodies in blankets and white plastic bags, carried them to the boot of his car late at night and drove to scrubland where he hid them under a pile of rocks.
Juan Carmelo Santana killed Brian and Tina Johnson with a hammer
"Even now I can't understand what drove me to do what I did - I was totally out of it," he told the court.
But the jury returned a unanimous verdict, dismissing Santana's claims that he had acted under the influence of drugs and that he was depressed due to the death of his wife two years earlier.
The jury said: "The defendant acted with intent or could have at least foreseen the consequences of his actions.
"In killing Mr Johnson he deliberately and inhumanely increased the victim's suffering by inflicting unnecessary blows."
The bodies of Mr Johnson, 59, and his 57-year-old wife were discovered four days later by a huntsman out exercising his dogs
The trial had heard that Santana had moved the couple's car to a harbour, to give the impression they had taken a ferry to Lanzarote.
The Johnsons had moved to the Spanish island from Mumbles in Swansea, six-and-a-half years earlier and bought a bar with friends. They had run the Park Inn in Mumbles, Swansea, in the 1980s.
The prosecution in the case said they expected Santana to be given a 35-year prison term.
State prosecutor Tomás Fernández had argued that Santana "knew perfectly what he was doing" and had killed the Johnsons because he had spent the money his son had given him to pay off the rent owed to the couple.
The couple's son Sam said he was happy a conviction had been secured and would now try to move on with his life.
"I am pleased at the outcome but nothing can ever bring my parents back," he said.
"At least I now know this man will spend a long time behind bars for what he did.
"I am less happy at the wording of the verdict, particularly the distinction drawn between my mother and father in terms of their suffering.
"What level of suffering did Mum need in order to be equated with my father? My father died instantly but she was left there to die and might possibly be alive today if she had received medical attention."
Mr Johnson added that he would try to get his parents' bodies flown back to Wales. They had been buried temporarily in Fuerteventura in 2006 in case more forensic tests were needed.
Hermione was aghast. She listened to Candy with a half open mouth. Surely not, she thought. "And I can't talk to her. And I don't know what to do. She's trying to take him away from me!" bemoaned Candy. She wiped a tear from her eye and worried about smudging her mascara. Hermione couldn't believe it. "I'll tell her for you, if you can't talk to her," she said, already scheming how she would do it. Sms? Email? Email. She used the computer rarely, but knew what to say. She Always knew what to say.
Hi Julian, Candy came to see me the other day and said that you tried to hand over that 98 year old bloke who used to be a doctor to Mandy and Horst. She was really upset about it, but she's not very good at confronting things, so I offered to speak on her behalf. I am sure you have good intentions, but I am asking you not to do this please. If you don't want to do Roberts study because you think a man should do it, then hand him over to Candy and Derek. Candy has such affection for Robert, that is why I handed him over to her in the first place. Your job was to keep the study on track, which I am sure Derek can do just as well. But Robert responds to Candy's love and I would hate to think of him not receiving that, plus it brings her genuine joy as well.
Love Hermione.
Hermione could, every now and again, be a pompous ass. Candy could get the wrong end of the stick. The fact that Candy didn't feel that she could talk to Julian also meant that she was a coward. What business was this of Hermione's? She had left the territory and was no longer involved in it's people. The fact that both of them didn't recognise her love for Robert also enraged her. She was the one to remind Stewart at 7:30 am on a Sunday morning that he had to phone him. She was the one to sit in the back of the car so that he could sit in the front with Stewart on the way to the hall. She was the one to show him all the scriptures in a large bible throughout both the public talk and the watchtower study. She made him a honey sandwich with a cup of tea and something sweet to follow. She loved him as well. It was shabby treatment and she was hurt, disappointed and angry. Candy didn't mean to be stupid and cowardly, Julian knew that. And Hermione didn't mean to step in without thought, she knew that too. There was something in proverbs that spoke about answering to a matter before knowing the facts which implied that a person was foolish. Was anyone interested in what really happened? Do the facts matter? Julian was reminded of the time that Candy believed with all her heart that Julian was accusing her of stealing a ring from the shop. In order to make everything alright, Julian and Stewart had given her the ring as a gift. What did Julian have to give her as a gift this time? That was the question.
To be or not to be?
Continue putting up with each other in love. Despite misunderstandings.
Julian was always ready to tell the story. In front of Derek, Horst, Candy, Hermione and Mr Lovely Goodness. And Stewart, of course. If anybody wanted to know what was really going on.
In fact, what were Tony, Paul, Peter, Bob and Alan doing?
Julian sat down at the kitchen table and turned on the laptop. She was going shopping. James had just told her about an incredible online site where you could literally buy anything. So she wanted to test out the waters. Her first experiment took her into the book page where she searched for 'The Gates of Janus'. This was a treatise on the phenomena of serial killing written by an incarcerated serial killer in the UK. He wanted to die and was trying to starve himself to death, but the authorities weren't having any. They were keeping him alive with tubes directly linked to his blood stream. He wasn't happy, and even less so now that his female cohort had managed to kill herself with a smoking related disease. He now lived on the edge of madness due to his more than 20 year sojourn with solitude.
Next she popped into the equestrian page and looked up saddles. She found a google ad that directed her to a property for sale with beach riding and horses and cabins and everything. She rather fancied that and determined to go when next she was in the area. Her daughter, Candy Perfume Girl, lived nearby so it was more than possible. She wasn't really a girl for team sports but her brothers and sister were soccer fans. Julian toyed with the soccer link. Would the kids like a new ball, she wondered.
She settled on some nice, slightly imperfect with a touch of colour bleeding, soccer jerseys. The bleeding kept the price down although she still found them a touch expensive. She had written about soccer jerseys with one of her online freelance copywriting jobs and hadn't realised there was so much to know. She bought six. One for every member of the dysfunctional family.
Julian was soaked to the skin. Her too tight blouse and her ill fitting skirt were sopping wet. She struggled mightily with the six foot Goodness as she tried with all her might to hold his head under the water in the lukewarm bath. Goodness wasn't going easily, however, and he fought for his life with all his might. Julian couldn't go on. She sat back on the toilet seat and admitted defeat. Goodness sat up and gulped in the fresh air. "You almost had me there, Julian," he said with a touch of new respect. "Near enough isn't nearly good enough," bemoaned Julian. She held out her left hand. "Friends again?" she asked. Goodness chortled. "No need to ask," he beamed delightedly. "Now, Hermione is going to berate me terribly for getting my good trousers so wet." "Just tell her what happened," said Julian, "she'll understand."
Meanwhile, Mary was having much better luck with Edgar. He sank gratefully beneath the Pacific Ocean as she kept a perfunctory hand upon his wonderful, masculine chest. "I'll miss you", she sighed, as she also sank beneath the waves, but her life force was too great and her love for her darling children too strong. She emerged in time to see Edgar float gently into the distance. "Ah, me", she crooned. It was time to go to Woolworth and purchase the ingredients for dinner. Life goes on, like it or not.
Mary had become thin and desperate. She yearned for love from the highest quarters and was casting her eyes asunder. Edgar sighed, put his head down and got on with it. He had poetry to write, students to teach and women to love. He was a busy man. He had said to Julian, "It isn't me," and he had been right. Julian had been trying to tell Mary, "It isn't you," but she didn't believe it. Neither did Lovely Goodness, who had been dreaming about girls from primary school. He was telling his wife about it, "I told her that I loved her," he said, "but I wasn't married so it was alright." He knew that she had since grown up, been married twice and had six children. "Don't use her name," he said to Julian, "she's on the net and will put two and two together." Julian couldn't remember the two-barreled name anyway. It had been a good one, that she did know.
Meanwhile, the cruise crept closer. Mary was dealing with Miss Kitty having done her over like a dogs dinner, and the cruise crept closer. Everyone was looking forward to it, although Julian would have liked to have been a little lighter. She couldn't fit into all her new, wonderful clothes, but she knew she would. Sooner would have been better than later, but we can't all have everything, and Ha-Sat-An was working on body image like he never had before. He had mankind in the palm of his hand, working out, running, dieting, looking in mirrors along with the feeling of guilt, and he wasn't about to give up now. Time was running out for him and he was going to do everything he possibly could to prevent people from knowing the truth.
Meanwhile, Edgar had been dreaming of queueing up for an anti-gravity device room with his father as they watched light rain falling in New Zealand. Kids were playing in the rain and so Edgar reasoned that they didn't realise that it was raining because usually in New Zealand the rain was heavy, so he dream reasoned. Mary had been dreaming of sucking the heads of babies at parties, which was too bizarre to even try to logicisice. She admitted as much. Or as sutch.
Saturday dawned fast. The harvest was still there and was much in need of workers. Julian got on with it. Her dream had faded into oblivion, such is life.
Mary Hitler's words continued to ring in Julian's mind. "It's not that good," she had said, "but it's witty." Julian mused and had to admit to being suspicious. Suspicious that all it took was for Mr Lovely Goodness not to read it any more for him to be alright. He had listened to Hermione. "Don't read it," Hermione had said, and Mr Lovely Goodness hadn't and didn't. His words rang in her ears as well. "This other stuff has to stop," he had said. 'Goodness', thought Julian. Her sons had told her off, her friends had told her off. Mary had scolded her beyond belief. And yet, no-one had been able to tell her why it was so bad. Mixing fiction with non-fiction, was it really so bad? If someone would just explain, then there would be no problem. It seemed to Julian that a lot of people were just a little bit precious about themselves and their actions. They needed to lighten up a bit. William strolled into the room and wanted to know where Ulrich had got to. William had taken rather a liking to Ulrich and was already missing him, in a cat sort of way, which was 'ah well, take it in your stride. He was here and now he was gone'. Ulrich was in Sydney, on his way to Perth, followed by Wollongong, followed by Bellingen, followed by Brisbane. Ulrich was on the move. George was also on the move. He was heading to Bali. Jewellery and houses were on his schedule. Julian was coming close to travelling to the UK to visit Pitt the Elder and the French Spanish Connection, Chumpy Chops. She also had a Shakespearean cuz piloting yachts on the Mediterranean, based in Palma de Mallorca, Hollywood Pete. She was going to pop in and sleep on the floor of his Spanish flat. Not only that, her da lived in Scarborough, England, and she had yet to meet him. If she went soon, she would be able to take Pitt and Chops. They could reminisce about all the good times they had never had, due to circumstances outside of their control, together. George wasn't keen. All he thought about was money. Mind you, to be fair, it was tough creating a living in this day and age. Julian had friends who could barely afford to eat, but weren't particularly interested when they could. Julian's heart went out to Mary. Mary was in a pickle. Edgar had admitted feelings at last. You would think that Mary would be over the moon, and in a sense she was. "Tread carefully, dear," she had said to Julian as she got thinner and thinner. Julian was getting fatter and fatter. 'Hand over some of that stress,' she had implored. She had thin Mary on one side and motivated, health conscious, fit Hermione on the other. Few of her clothes fit her and her motivation for getting out of the house was fading fast. "Ah, me," she bemoaned, and to make matters worse, she had just found an internet scrabble site. All she needed.
The despondency was palpable. "Was it?" asked George, who genuinely didn't know. "Yes, it was," replied Julian, as she unhooked the gate, which swung heavily and closed with a metallic, rusty heavy bang. The gate used to squeak unmercifully, driving the inhabitants crazy, until Julian recognised it's potential. No-one could arrive unannounced! She began to love the unpainted, squeaky gate. Until, one day, Candy Perfume Girl arrived having an Episode. Candy was angry and no-one could do a thing about it. She flounced and yelled and carried on a treat. George rang Sir Bobby Felt who arrived with his son and alacrity. Both the Bobby boys understood because they had had episodes of their own. The Big Bobby had tried to drive his motorbike into a telegraph pole in South Australia, in his pajamas, with his heavily pregnant wife running down the darkened road after him, calling out, "Don't, Bobby, don't." She gave birth to the first child the next day, and it goes without saying that the baby Bobby went on to episode with aplomb. Generally with suicidal thoughts and great mental darkness. The Bobbies were there to help, but Candy Perfume Girl wasn't having any of it. She slammed her way through the house and through life, horrified by her actions the following day, but this was still 'today' so all was hunky dory. She marched along the garden path to the gate after punching her way through the bathroom and down the wooden stairs, shaking the house. The garden gate suffered from the heavy force administered in its closing, and was never to squeak again. Julian was more than a little sorry about that. Big Bobby tried grabbing her by her shirt and throwing her to the ground and shouting in her face, "What are you doing to your family," he yelled, inches from her nose. Perfume Girl was horrified and it took her years to forgive. Meanwhile, Mary hadn't finished the champagne and didn't intend to and was washing the dishes. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark and it stunk like a dead cat. Julian marvelled at the maturity and wisdom of middle-age. Everyone knew something smelly was going on, but everyone just 'carried on regardless'. It was all very British of them, despite 3 of the dinner party coming from Connecticut. Julian proudly displayed the Connecticut key hanging doorknob to them all, an appropriate gift from Mary. The doorknob was a doorknob to nowhere and invited being turned daily. A fitting symbol of life in these dark ages.
Giuliano was planning a dinner party. It was going to be an Edwardian affair, and she had got the idea from yet another cookbook. This one entitled, 'The Last Dinner On The Titanic'. It was going to be a bit of a mammoth undertaking, which is why it had been almost 10 years in the planning, but G. was getting closer, she could feel it in her bones. Was food an obsession? Remember, G., it's only food, not love. Nevertheless, she knew that the Hitler's and the Woe's, and the Woebegotten's, and the Flue's would absolballyutley love it. Adore it. Appreciate it. And this time, she swore that she would get some help with those blasted dishes. "I bloomin' will", she swore. Mind you, we all know that by the end of the evening, G. had had enough, and, let's face it, if anything can wait, it's those bloomin' dishes, pots, pans, glasses, knives, forks, spoons and sideplates. She also knew how many dishes the Titanic actually used. So this time, it was unavoidable, as the beautifully Edwardian dressed women were gonna 'ave ta wosh some of the plates, 'cos if it didn't 'appen, they'd 'ave to eat off the dirty ones, & that's the way it woz...." There had to be a way around it & if there woz, G. & Mary would find it.
Hermione and Julian were in love with Pennington. Mudbilly was prepared to be, but wanted to know more. They sat, squashed together in Corporate Cannington's car, showing bible truth to any who were prepared to listen. There weren't many, but the ones who were, were well worth the time and money. And Pennington came up. Hermione admitted to her adolescent love for the concert pianist, Arthur Pennington, and how she had married the adolescent, surfing dude, Mammokin the Best, believing that he had a talent. His talent was played out in many different places, not the ones that she had expected.
Later in life, after a divorce and a remarriage to Gordon Hardgreaves, she was able to reflect on the incredible significance that her love for Pennington had had on her life. She couldn't believe her own naivety. How could she have been so dull and Dorset born. She would cope as long as she had her bike class.
Meanwhile, Mudbilly was having a whale of a time traversing mountains and beaches with young, attractive worldly boys who had good opinions of themselves and claimed to be her freinds, discussing truth and the American way. They came to the odd meeting to assure her of their love and devotion, and she was satisfied.
More to follow as Julian downloads the horse travelling statement in order to go bush for a couple of hours, and there is a need for sisterly companionship and cleaning as well as a touch of vaccuuming, sandwich making, dog walking and busy, sometimesheavy, life living. Precious, we are, in God's eyes. Kind we be and strong in arm and worth 50 cents per 75 words.
The wounds ran deep. She crashed her way through the undergrowth, the lantana grabbing her clothes and scratching her skin. In the darkness she could see nothing but knew she was not alone. She had lost all sense of direction but knew that she was going down the mountain. Clutched in her right hand was the package that had caused all the problems. He had arrived late that night with a shotgun and a hunting knife, which he had held against her throat. "Where is it," he said, "give it to me and I'll go the way I came." "I don't know what you're talking about." She had said. She had worked too long and hard to give up now. She was close to the finish line and wasn't about to hand it over, no matter how threatening he was. It was well hidden, and without her it was worthless.
The scene ends with the helpless woman being held against her will with a knife at her throat. The man is in shadow and we cannot make out his face. The room is small and stylishly furnished. It is dark outside.
Nark of www.opals4sale.com had a loan. He was juggling money and thoroughly enjoying himself. He had built a house here and had land over there, another house here and another house there. Nark wanted to express himself through building and had plans. A cheap loan was the best bet, of course, & he had recently heard about unsecured loans and homeowners loans through a British company that promised the earth and no interest. The Kray Brother’s Finance Were Here to Stay. Borrow Money from Us, or Bob’s Your Dead Uncle. Nark knew which side his bread was buttered on & signed up with alacrity on the dotted line. He breathed a sigh of relief and carried on with his plans...
Mary Hitler was adamant. She WAS Susan Pecker and no-one was going to tell her any different. She had been admitting to being mentally unstable to Julian and that Edgar no longer found her interesting. She had asked him at 2 am and he had told her that it was because of how old she was and how long they had been married. Mary was devastated and had told Susan, who was aghast, and had gone back to Edgar in self righteous indignation. Edgar had thought that he was talking to Mary until Susan started to shout about the flecks of dust on the new couch. Susan, too, had a history of mental instability. Edgar sighed. He was finding it difficult being married to two separate people in the same body. He was never sure who he was talking to. He preferred Mary as she was the better cook, but Susan, who generally never wore underwear, was the more intelligent and the less sensitive. Mary could be very touchy.
They were planning a trip to Brisbane for the three of them, but Edgar was doing his utmost to politely get out of it. "Let me make myself perfectly clear," he said. Meanwhile, Narky was tired of being treated and spoken to like an idiot. "Don't speak to me like I'm an idiot," he said. Julian looked to Mary. "Mary, would you mind speaking like an idiot to Narky, please." "Let that idiot talk to that idiot," Mary said, indicating Edgar could talk to Narky. The girls were in fine form, and didn't for a minute believe that they were married to idiots. These girls were too smart for that, even Susan.
They retired to the verandah where they all nibbled on fresh figs wrapped in prosciutto, jarlsberg cheese with sourdough bread and various dips. They sipped a not terribly good Peter Lehman chilled white wine and enjoyed the afternoon.
The Woes, Hitlers and Peckers wanted to get home to plug their new 32" television in and watch the Federal election. It was odds on Rudd, with Howard bowing graciously out. He had ruled for 11 years and had left Australia stronger and more financially secure than when he had come to power. Rudd intended to put money into education, medicine and the environment. He was very happy and excited.
John would continue jogging every morning, but now without an entourage and no longer being chased by the chasers. Life would go, despite it not being meant to be easy.
Mac had been operating a reputable business out of the East end of Bellingen for some years now. His boy had a good job and a beautiful family, living in an exclusive part of Sydney, his marriage was a good one, as marriages go, and his home was comfortable. All he needed was a good rubber stamp and some business cards. His mate put him onto an online business called garage floors. He forgot about the business cards and remembered the time that his reputable jewellery business had once been a garage. A dirty, oily and filthy concrete floored garage with a pit for going under cars. Now it was tiled for the customers, mopped once a fortnight and the car lived outside on the gravel.
"And Life Goes On. And Life Goes On. And Life Goes On and On and On and On and On..........................& life goes on.
Introducing Narky Pantaloons, Caper Berry and the Whizz.
Narky was a man hard to pin down. He could turn left in life at any moment, without so much as a by your leave. Leaving friends and loved ones in his wake. There was never a dull moment with this man who was so thin that his ribs showed through his skin. His was a metabolism that fat women would kill for. Nark, on the other hand, found it inconvenient. He had only to be a couple of hours after lunch without eating and already he had to pull his belt in another notch. He wasn't going to last long if life got lean, which, the bible assured us, was going to happen, and going to happen soon. He knew that, and had taken it on the chin. He didn't like to feel too full after a meal, and that was the philosophy that he lived by. As a young man, he realised that he could eat without affecting his body shape, and so he would eat to impress. "Look at him eat", the middle aged women would say proudly, as he slowly ate his way through the buffet tables of the 60's, with Beef Bourguignonne and little delicious egg tartlets. He would eat until his belly was as stretched as Cool Hand Luke's after the boiled egg contest, which Luke had won. Luke had lain on the contest table after everyone had left, with a grin on his face and a belly like a hard boiled egg. He was as uncomfortable as all hell, as was Nark. Nark's position of waiting was on a sofa, belly down, groaning, his legs and neck over the sofa's arms, to give his belly room to be stretched. He did this for many of his teenage years. Women and motor bikes followed fast, not in that order. His bikes were given pride of place in rented Melbourne lounge rooms and the women, whilst not a huge number, were nevertheless completely enamoured with him. More often than not, it was their rented Melbourne lounge rooms. He spent money on personalised leathers so that he could race with aplomb. He was fearless, looking pain and injury full in the face. Death, on the other hand, he wasn't so keen on experiencing at these tender years, and so, when lying on the hard ground of the race track, as his fellow riders raced past, he would pray. "I won't do it again," he would promise, as he asked to be got out of that particular predicament, be it an ankle bone crushed by the bike pedal, or completely skinned elbows, knees and chin from shooting along the ground at the same speed as the bike, but without the bike. He had explained the technique to Julian. Apparently, you shot along the ground on your back, but you would move slightly to the left and slightly to the right, and slightly to the left again, and so on and so forth, until you started to slow. To impress, you would gauge the speed so that you would be able to come to a standing stop. This was tricky, but was the aim. Nark had to give it up due to the pain, injuries, his mother and women. He moved to the Australian bush and started a new life. He left behind a father and a mother and a brother, women and a jewellery business in Melbourne. New beginnings.
"Maid of Athens, ere we part, I give, oh give me back my heart" - Lord Byron
Julian had recently heard about the Trevi Fountain. She had led a sheltered life and had never heard of this tribute to Neptune and the horses that represented the sea, be it restless or calm. She marveled at the statues that stood for Abundance and Salubrity. Mary Hitler, of course, had pics taken in front of the fountain with an impatient looking Edgar, a bored looking Tuesday and a small girl looking up in awe at the magnificent marble horses. No one was particularly interested in the fact that it was the end of the Aqua Virgo, an aqueduct that was constructed in 19 BC and brought water all the way from the Salone Springs which were about 20 kms from Rome. They were off to the Coliseum next, and they thought they might skip the Duomo, with its magnificent octagonal cupola. Churches weren't their thing, no matter how old they were. Before leaving Australia they had checked out hotels in Italy and found a reasonable hotel that was close to the airport and the train station. It was within walking distance of the major sights, such as the Duomo, the Trevi Fountain and the Coliseum and had comfortable, spacious, elegant stylish rooms. It had gardens, a terrace, a bar and a restaurant the featured excellent Italian cuisine with an extensive wine list. Mary wasn't particularly fussed about well equipped gymnasiums or attractive outdoor pools. Mary wanted class.
Next stop was the Parthenon, the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel. The ceiling had been painted between 1508 and 1512 which was simply mind boggling. Particularly the hand of God giving life to Adam. Julian couldn't get past that. Magnificent. Simply magnificent. Hotels in Rome were very helpful. Their rooms were nothing other than magnificent. And with panoramic views of the city. They liked that.
The family were tiring now. They had been drinking in the sights for some time now and they had soon to return to Australia. The sunburnt country. Mary was loathe to leave this culture and style and return to her small country town with its pubs and butcher shops. Beer and steak. She sighed. At least they still had Venice to look forward to. They were going to meet up with Itzaac who would show them the ropes. He had promised the canals, the Fenice, the Palazzo and the Grassi as major sights to photograph.
Mary was tiring now. Feebly she tapped out Venice hotels on her laptop. She no longer cared where they ended up. A small Venician dump would do, for all she cared. She just wanted to slip off her stilettos, sip good champagne and take a bath. The Phoenix would have to wait, no matter how many times it had risen from the ashes.
"Antique floor mosaics were restored and polished, oak doors were released from the wood worm, the complete front of the building and the decorated roof was set by professional building restorers in conditions, partly broken mosaic glass windows were renewed and many, many details more. Villa ACACIAS offers to its clients also a beautiful garden behind the building were our guests find shady terraces under palm trees and space to relax and recreate."
Julian's UK boss was asking why everything was going so slowly. Julian had been averaging 4 hotels a day, and he informed her that it was going to take 3.96 years at this rate to finish them. Feverishly, she typed on. The job was not make any easier by driving to the outback to buy rough opal parcels from hard working miners, or driving 10 hours up the coast to Hervey Bay on purported family business.
The family business was in full swing, and the subjects were a little sensitive. Julian would have to tread carefully. Life and death were in her hands, and only Jehovah really had any say in those particular subjects.
"Located in a building that dates back to the 19th century and that has been fully restored is the attractive and inviting AcaciaHotel. Just 12 kms from the airport and within walking distance of the park, our guests can catch a nearby bus and explore Malaga, including the famous Picasso Museum-Birth House. Admire the antique floor mosaics and the oak doors of our hotel, and relax in spacious, elegantly furnished rooms. Stroll in the tranquil garden or sit back on our shady terrace under the palm trees. Enjoy a drink from the bar before experiencing the regional cuisine from our restaurant."
Julian's hair needed washing. Their was blood on her shirt from the carving of the ice from her sister's freezer. Her thumb was covered in cheap plasters, and she had been offered further work in the Queensland mortuary. Her diet couldn't get any worse and her sister's dog was dying. Her other sister had just had a baby, and was due to arrive tomorrow lunchtime. Her ex-husband had to be driven to the train station is just one hour, and the dog needed a drink. That was enough to be going on with. She would just have to take it one step at a time. There was a family outing planned in an obscure, well respected in the region, restaurant known as 'Goodies', where a well known guitarist would be playing. Julian hoped that the dog would behave itself if tied to a tree in the vicinity.
In Which Fiction Becomes Fact and Fact Becomes Fiction.
Mary was bringing the dessert and the sushi. As usual, she excelled herself. The sushi was moist and absolutely delicious, and the dessert was to die for. Mascapone cream with a berry jus piled onto a home made shortbread base. Julian had pulled out the steam boat seeing as Mr Lovely Goodness wasn't going to be there. He had told Julian in no uncertain terms to get rid of it. He had said it nicely, but it wasn't his favourite meal. "Stick to curry," he said, patting her lightly on the head. So, she would wow the Hiter's and the Woe's with the steamboat. It was such a healthy way of eating was why she liked it. It was light and yet filling, and very, very tasty. Tuesday didn't mind it, and Theodora simply wanted bits of cooked chicken which kept coming out of the stock uncooked and had to be kept putting back in. Nobody minded bits of meat coming out and being put back in. It was an evening of brutal honesty, which included readings of 'The Man From Snowy River' done in a competitive spirit. Edgar won out through sheer brute force, but parody was the theme and neither Mary or Edgar quite pulled it off. It was a strange sort of evening. Edgar discussed quite openly about how he wasn't who he appeared to be, and therefore, had no problem with the blog at all. The subject of the blog's deletion had come up, and Julian had confessed to the whole sorry tale. Edgar never read it and never intended to read it, so he had no problems at all. It wasn't him! Mr Lovely Goodness, as we know from previous posts, had felt very strongly that Everyone knew it was him, and this was no good and this stuff had to stop. "It's not very good, Julian," Mary had said, "but it was very witty. You have lost your audience, and so." Mary and Julian had differing viewpoints of the genre involved and they were both sticking to their guns. Julian told of the terrible sighting of young naked people beneath the bridge doing things to each other that no one should have pictures of in their minds after the global carnival, and the furtive, guilty look on the young man's face, glimpsed briefly before Julian was aware of what she was about to walk into. She had changed direction immediately, and been very proud of the dog who hadn't even barked. They had chosen the dog's early morning walking spot for their doings, bless their hearts. Over all, this particular dinner party had been slightly niggly with delicious tasty foods along with grandin champagne and red wine. Theodora made leggo things, badly wanting Tuesday's really little cool guy with the trumpet, and Theodora eventually left to go and set up a My Space page, which Julian needed, because she only had one friend. Friends, apparently, was what it was all about. Was Mary Hitler still her friend, even after the dessert to end all desserts? The dessert to diet for? She knew that it was so.
Rose went on to become Fred's partner in crime. He couldn't face being revealed for all to see in the courts of Gloucester and committed suicide, leaving her to take the rap. It was a debate as to whether she knew about the torture, murder and burials of young girls, but the jury believed that she did. Brian Masters had put forward a good case for her innocence, and Julian believed him. She was astounded that others didn't. Rose had written to Fred about not being a soft chair to be sat on, which brings us to the idea of quality living room furniture being on of the smartest investments of all homes. Women were not aware that living room furniture traditionally got the most use of any furniture in their home, but many women were quite prepared to shop to find the perfect couch or sofa set in leather, microfibre or other upholstery. On the worldwideweb, we can find anything today. Soft chairs to sit on, perfect leather lounges to recline upon, sofas, knitting needles and patterns, good jewellery. It was all there for the taking. Julian's dog, Jess, slept on a leather sofa, protected by an old ripped horse rug. She was a lucky dog!
Julian was bemused. She had posted two new posts that hadn't appeared, one about the outback trip and one about Mary Hitler's fabulous nose and its resultant problems. They weren't there and she had no idea where abouts in the world wide web they were floating about, if indeed they were floating about anywhere, that is. This was an experiment post. Hastily composted in the midst of rewriting the Sercotel Emporda, which was situated in Figueres and looked rather nice. It was known for its cuisine, so Mary, Hermione and Julian were in for starters. Hermione had just been to her first rodeo and absolutely adored the bulls. She talked about their power and muscles, and she wanted them to win, and some of them sort of did. A posting we will go...
Julian was scrolling through the storage bins on offer at this particular web site and not coming up with anything suitable. She didn't need a 36" wide all-welded storage bin cabinet which provided endless possibilities in securely storing her valuable parts. This put her in mind of an email that came to Mac of MacJewelleryStudio from an ex-girlfriend of the owner and manager. She had come across the web page and been pretty excited to find him again after all these years. She had loved and adored him, but he had been a touch stand offish. He wasn't ready for marriage or children, but didn't mind being looked after and given a bed in her flat. Many years later, he had lost his brother, who was going to be the propagator of the family, he thought, and thought that perhaps a kid wouldn't be so bad. He bumped into a terribly psychotic, controlling and emotionally manipulative woman who suggested that they had a son. She got him at a time of his life when he was low. He agreed and the boy was born, which is a whole other story. Meanwhile, this sexy, ex-loving, ex-girlfriend had sent an email about a ring that he had made for her many years ago. Art couldn't quite understand so sent back a reply along the lines of 'oh, that's nice, how can I help you'. She replied rather quickly that surely he could remember her and her parts. Julian was actually looking for a storage bin for her rather beautiful horse rugs. she didn't need shelving and she didn't need to pay quite so much. They would suit mechanics who had valuable parts that needed shelving, but she would have to look elsewhere.
Mudbilly had popped out to buy some cheese and Moroccan spices. She left Sydney International Airport in fine form, with just a little bit of her bum hanging out of a largish hole in her jeans, after munching on Yum Cha in the well known Chinese in Chinatown. She was heading for Dublin, which wasn't particularly famous for its cheese, but she liked the accents and she had the long, red hair and ringlets which meant that she could walk amongst the inhabitants anonymously. She thought wrong. It wasn't long after she arrived that some cheeky little boys bopped her on the head with a two by four and threw a number of oldish eggs at her. Somewhat taken aback, she shook her curls and walked defiantly on as they ran away. She would have held one down and had a good talking to him, but he was quick on his feet and fast with his fists, as the Irish are known to be from a young age. It comes from poverty, cold and not quite enough to eat. Mudbilly was a little disappointed in Ireland, and yet, she now knew that the Industrial Age had taken over the world and there was going to be similarities in cities all over the world. She vowed to go further afield. First, she had some people to see. Others, who had also disappeared over the horizon in search of cheeses and spices. Ibrahim Itzac in London, the Gumtree Whizz. Lovely had nodded sagely and told all and sundry how big Gumtree was. Ibrahim welcomed Mudbilly with open arms and showed her London. They drank beer from plastic cups as they walked over London Bridges. "That's the Thames," she said, proudly, displaying wonderful photographs later to his mother. "Tems," said the mother. "Oh." said Mudbilly. Now she knew. Clothilde was another person on her list. Paris. They kicked up their heels, and Clothilde laughed and smiled like she hadn't for years. Clothilde loved Mudbilly. They ate snails and gathered lavender and drank French wine. Mudbilly finished her exploration of the world in Morocco on a slightly miserable note. Some foods that hadn't agreed with her left her body with alacrity, without even digesting first, in liquid form. There was a slight problem of being on a train without water at the time. She understood persecution. She met a handsome, striking man who tamed cobras, whose entire family had died of snake bite and he was the last one. He looked into the camera with defiance. Mudbilly had also met a man on a train in her travels who had pointed to a scripture about modesty and so she vowed that she would shave her legs as soon as she got home. Her mum would help her. Gone would be her lovely red hairs, but she would do anything not to bring reproach on the name. The took her Moroccan spices from her in customs and she returned empty handed to her brother, Cheese. "I don't even like cheese," he said. He didn't care. He was going to Viet Nam at the end of the year, and was about to play in the Grand Final. Life was good, and cheese wasn't necessary.
Rose was writing to her new husband who was in jail. She was just 16 years old and was looking after a couple of his kids, as well as expecting one herself. She had a revelation during the writing and said as much. We are people, she declared, not two soft chairs to be sat on. Meanwhile, Julian was composing a letter of her own. She was writing to Mary Hitler about her doings. Mary, she said, life is still fast and furious. Where do I begin, and how do I tell you these things in a surreptitious, lovely, goodness sort of way, without insult or injury? There was too much to tell and to little time to tell it. There was Ross from Melbourne, and Skirty from Eltona, and the Italian from Darwin, all who come to the meeting with her. There was yum cha and jungle curry and good wine. There was Roger, who had opened the automatic sliding imposing gates after a single buzz on the intercom and told her that he knew the answer to the question, 'Is God responsible for natural disasters', and no, he wasn't. He meekly looked at Deuteronomy 32:4 and took the magazines. Julian handed him over to Sunset, the sister she was working with at the time because it wasn't her territory. Everyone had stories. She listened and listened and finally holed up in room A and decided not even to come out for breakfast. She had a raw chocolate recipe under her belt to die for. No one would know the difference. And the raw pie crust with banana ice cream was incredibly delicious. She was in for a three day fast and some things just couldn't be spoken. Experiences in the big, wide world had been interesting, such as shopping for USB at Pacific Fair in Southport on the Gold Coast. Nearby was one of the best Vietnamese restaurants that she had ever come across. She had eaten there with Mary and Edgar in the not too distant past, but they hadn't been particularly impressed. Edgar had ordered a similiar sounding Chinese meal and there had been a bit of a mix up, but, overall, he didn't think that he would go back. Julian had been most appreciative of the meal and had been back twice since then, once with Misty Pink and once alone with her new USB. She had also been ripped off by a lovely, chatty girl at a ritzy hair dressers who had tried to pull the wool over her eyes. Julian came out of the shop feeling dirty and done over and vowing never to go back. She contemplated writing them a letter about return business that they weren't going to get but couldn't be bothered. These were the last days, after all, and there was a work to be done. As soon as she had got Thailand and Europe out of the way, she was going to knuckle down, she swore it.
Shotgun Ma was on the phone. "I thought it was time I picked up the phone," she said. "I can't talk to you. You tell everyone." "It's off the record, mum," she said, and, like Modesty, she understood and went on to talk about life. Julian had been looking at a website that would help lift up stuff from the floor to the attic. They meant in the garage, but Julian had a literal attic and a great deal of stuff. Boxes and boxes of all sorts of good stuff, and the lift might just be the ticket. It cost just under a thousand dollars, and you put your stuff on it and it hoisted it up to where you wanted it to go. So, yes, she would install an attic in her house, she loved her attic. The question now was, would she install an attic lift. The other alternative, of course, was to carry it all up the spiral staircase by hand, which is the way they had managed it so far. Mind you, a thousand dollars was a thousand dollars, and she had plans. Spain, Palma de Mallorca, Thailand, London, Grenock, Oxford and Paris, for starters. She made her decision. As beautiful as the attic lift looked and sounded, it wasn't for her. She would do it the hard way.
Modesty and Nick blew in and blew out, as they had a want to do. They worked for the Secret Service and couldn't say much about where they had been and what they had been doing. Even Nick's fawlty heart valve was known about because he had managed to work it to get out of one of Julian's curry evenings by having a minor heart attack and having to be flown to Sydney with Modesty. His sister and son came to take over and eat the dreadful large amounts of food, and Mary Hitler, Edgar, Hermione and Mr Lovely Goodness all jumped in to help out. Nick, meanwhile, laid back in the social city hospital being fed rather bland overcooked vegetables and difficult to identify meat. Modesty sat and held his rather pale hand. In later months, as they sat at a nearby popular dutch cafe munching into hamburgers and chicken tikka, with a modest statue of Michaelangelo's David behind Julian's right shoulder, Modesty pointed out that hospital's were dreadful places and if he needed an ambulance she was going to say no. If he needed a pill she would also say no. Nick was ok with all of this as long as he could die happy, and, as Modesty said often, there isn't really much wrong with you, is there. Mary Hitler had wanted to know if she had met the Prime Minister in her work, and she had to confess that, yes, she had met the Prime Minister. She had been coming out of the coffee making cubicle as he was marching staunchly down the corridor and there had almost been a dreadful accident. They had both stopped with the coffee resting on his beautifully dry cleaned white shirt, looked closely at the coffee and Modesty had modestly stepped aside. Is this just a blog or a novel, she had asked Julian. Julian had wanted to know the difference. In a novel there is conflict, she explained. Julian had said that yes, now she had Mr Lovely Goodness and, therefore, she had conflict. Modesty thought it a little rude. Julian had explained that it was all ok. Count Nicky sat quietly in the corner. He only had just so much energy and he knew where he wanted to spend it. He watched and waited and threw in the odd particle of wit. They came, and they took their confidential security labels and they went. However, the good news was the yacht, the cruise and the European trip. They would be in touch all too soon.
"What's wrong with going to a strip club? It's not illegal." "It's to do with your loyalty to your partner. I rang her, she said that you've been a bit of a goose, and, guess what, she was right." Fred was watching the news, and the aspiring Prime Minister, who hadn't been at the time, was confessing to having had too much to drink and going to a strip club. He had rang his wife in the morning and that was that. Fred had had a hard day at court supporting his mate, and was now tired. He was laying back on the couch, in front of the log fire, and was holding forth. "Those drop kicks at the court should be culled like pit bulls." He shouted. He was impassioned. He was also angry at the fat cat Barristers, he didn't like them either. "Nice kid, shame about the dunderhead dad," said Fred. "Don't put my name down." He said, "Every little bit of Nazi racist remarks? Intolerance? Don't mention the boongs," he said, "my girl friend wouldn't like it." Mary Hitler and Hermione, meanwhile, as well as that Darling Woman, had all been on the mobile at different times to show their support of their dear married friend, who was facing conviction as an almost felon in court. He was on appeal for a twice conviction and the legal terms were exhausting, but he was ready. The court were running through the forty cases that would be seen over the next two weeks by the most distinguished gentleman, who had flown up from Sydney, and whose plane had been delayed by inclement weather. The court waited. And waited. And stood around, and were a little stiff and waited. People were able to look closely at other people, and keep their thoughts to themselves. It was Terrible, but finally, the Judge arrived, he dressed and he was knocked into court. Everyone stood. His dress was Magnificent. A frilled front, scarlet sash and purple collar along with a smaller wig. Now, the question was, what were the significance of the longer Judge wigs and this smaller, tighter wig? His face was long and his demeanor salubrious. He mentioned the voluminous files for some, and congratulated Mr. Mister on his brevity. He hoped that all those in court would take note of his example. Mister thanked His Honour, and sat down for another three and a half hours, before finding out how to find out when his case would be heard. Meanwhile, at Ascot, they were taking bets on the colour of her hat. Lilac, and so on. Prince Philip was speaking truthfully about house guests, and at Ascot, he said, it gave everyone something to do, otherwise they were in the way. Michael Stout was a little more cautious. When the Queen's colours run it could take in as much as three million pounds. 'Rule Brittania' and champagne finished the day. The day in court was moved to 4 on Thursday. Julian was a little rude to the Queens Council who came over to explain that she needed more paper work and would he mind if we came back. What time would suit, she asked. Julian rudely pointed out that right now, at two would suit, so it wasn't them that wanted to find the other time, it was them. Poppy was contrite and Julian felt bad. This was the Queen's Council who were about to take Eddie down! This was a strange world indeed. It was better to keep them onside!
The Darlings had driven up from Canberra for a roast lamb and mildly curry flavoured gravy. This was the Darling who had tried to get out of the last dinner party by having a mild heart attack and being flown down to Sydney in a Helicopter, but some dinners just cannot be gotten out of. So, here he was, he had been sat in a reasonable comfy chair with a sasparillia, which needed ice, and he mentioned that quietly, but thought no-one had heard, although Julian had had an ear to the ground, whilst Lazzadak practiced his appeal to the judge about drink driving on them all. The Darlings took it all in their stride, although the Detective Inpectory Wendy Inspectory, known forthwith as DIWI, had a lot to say. "No clapping," she insisted, "no clapping." She had a lot more to say, and went on the say it. Everyone listened and in due course applied the counsel. This was followed by Julian's rendition of 'The Man From Snowy River', which was well and truly, not only unfinished, but also outdone by Mary Hitler, who could pop it off like rice bubbles, without so much as a by your leave, without even thought. She threw in another few renditions of Mulga Bike and other well known Banjo stuff. By this time, the party had removed itself to the pub for a bit of free jazz and dance, and no-one was really able to hear her, so it was all hot air really, or Hiltler air, as the case may be. Julian attempted a showing of Basil Fawlty and the Germans, but Mary Hitler wasn't having any. "Show it from beginning, or I'm leaving," she kept saying. "No, no," said Julian, "everyone is tired. Just watch this very funny bit." "I'm going to leave NOW," said Mary, at the same time as Basil, who had misinterpreted the German request for an automobile, and thought they were going out to get some meat, told them, in no uncertain terms, that there was no need, they had MEAT IN THE BUILDING, and there was no problem. He mimed horns and pointed to the kitchen, which had the old German couple worried no end. They stepped back, whilst Polly came in to save the day. Basil was now taking orders for meals in the restaurant, and cleverly mixing it all up with the war. Prawn cocktail became Goering cocktail, and he was taking their orders, 'which must be obeyed', and so on and so forth, and very clever it all was. Mary Hitler was asleep with a glass of red wine in one hand and a glass of Julian given water in the other. "I'm watching, I'm watching," she insisted, when everyone told her to go to bed.
"You'll get yours," Mary said to Julian. "Just you wait." "Weak hearts, nothing. The Darlings are the Darlings, and the Hitlers are the Hitlers and the Woes. Mayhem be damned, and Lovely Goodness be a Crabbe-Boggart in the making. Where would we all be without the manners that come with the new personality." "I'd like a beef curry," Hermione said. She was down with a third rendition of the flu and had nowhere else to go. Julian had just created an italian curry that worked very well. She insisted that Hermione must taste it, and it would be a pleasure to whip one up, and the left-overs went into the gravy for the roast lamb and the Hitler, Darling dinner. They were warned, and the piano wire was not needed.
The moral of the story is that if a name doesn't come, it doesn't come. The life of Barney and a terrible Riley was there for all.
Julian hit the keys cautiously. They were well and truly good friends in name and in deed, but Julian would have to tread carefully. So many people didn't want to be mentioned by written word. The spoken word, of course, could be gotten away with, because once it was said, it was gone. Julian, however, didn't believe that. She was of the opinion that what was thought, whether said or written, was a similiar thing. Both were terribly powerful, and that was why the apostle Paul has so much admonition about being careful with the spoken word. In proverbs it talked about winged creatures taking the nasty things spoken back to the speaker and awful things happening. It was also well known that things that were thought about were now things, and existed. We must not speak 'evil about others.' This was very, terribly important. Julian had always thought so.
Cheap hotels and hotel reservations were all Julian had been thinking about for the last six months. She was going crazy. To be fair, not all of them had been cheap. Some had been five star and looked positively sumptuous but, let’s face it, Spain and Luxembourg were a long way from sunny Australia and she didn’t look like going there in the near future. Not that it was completely out of the question, mind you. She had Clothilde heading for Barcelona any day now, and Hollywood Pete drove large luxurious yachts for the leisurely rich. He was currently swanning about the Mediterranean on the Predator 345, a most apt name for Pete was on the lookout for gorgeous chicks at any time of the day and night. The Costa Brava and Palma de Mallorca were full of them, of course, so he was in the best possible place to be.
There were sites galore on the net to explore and surf to find the best deals for hotels, motels, resorts, vacations and rentals. Pricing on www.hotelreservations.com were more than fair. Rates were competitive and they offered great discounts on their world wide destinations. She wouldn’t forget to book with them next time, although she was rather taken with another website for which she was doing the rewrites. She was now rewriting the rewrites, having made a rather horrendous mistake, but she now had it under wraps. Only 1,049 to go before being paid! She clicked on the edit entry form and wrote:
Less than 15 minutes from the airport and just a short walk to the centre of the city means that the H10 Marina Barcelona Hotel is ideally situated for both the businessman and the visitor to our famous city. Stroll into town and explore the shops, experience the Spanish tradition of tapas and wine, and eat at attractive restaurants. Relax in our sauna and spa, and experience the health benefits of the steam room. Leisure swimming or lap swimming are both possible in our indoor and outdoor pools. Our restaurant specialises in exquisite Spanish cuisine and has a variety of wines. Business men are well cared for in spacious meeting and convention rooms.
"He's not an ugly, yeller dog, he's a Purty, yeller dog." So said the kid from a tear-jerker, Walt Disney movie from years ago. The dog gets rabies trying to save the kid from the dog With rabies, and dad thinks he needs to shoot him, kid saves dog, dog recovers, lives happily ever after with the family and there isn't a dry eye in the house.
Meet Vai.
He ain't got rabies. He's not an ugly yeller dog, he's a purty, yeller dog. And he lives next door. And he's owned by a young, busy with his life, young man. Left with young man's dad, who don't want him. He's chained up for most of his days, and for exercise, they just undo the chain and let him out the door, and, oh boy, is he happy. He Runs. Jumps. Bounds up to all and sundry and let's them know how happy he is to see them. Of course, your clothes are gonna get dirty, and he might just knock over your kids. As an example, an unusual event down here in the East End of Bellingen.
A wedding, which is not so unusual in itself, but this one came down to us on a horse-drawn fancy wagon and had pics taken with the paddocks and the trees in the background. We went out to watch, cos it was lovely, you know? There was Rachel done up to the nine's with top hat and all, driving these two lovely bay, well behaved horses, and the wedding party step down to the ground for their lovely photographs to be taken.
And out comes Vai. Can you imagine the disaster of lovely, young, exuberant pup keenly embracing all and sundry with his dirty, material-snagging feet and claws. To make things worse, he looks like he's our dog. This ill-behaved, boisterous and very nice looking little dog.
Ah, well. Not to0 much damage was done, but the neighbours are getting bolshy. Our resident Vietnam vet has complained to the authorities twice. Once more and Vai's life is on the line. Merv will be down here like a shot, and .... just a shot...say no more.
Now that you get the picture, here is the conversation with dad. We're driving home, Sunday afternoon, and there's the lovely Vai out looking for a bit of action. Except that this time he's trotting up the main road. Now we're talking danger and disaster.
"Let me out," I say. I call Vai, who comes happily bounding over to someone he knows and happily follows me back to his own house. Up the stairs we go, and there's dad leaning on the window sill. I say his name. Then I say, "Some time ago, you told me that if I don't want the dog around my house, to chase him away. The reason that I didn't do that is because the chances are that he would wander onto the main road. I have seen dogs hit by cars and, I'm sorry, but I don't cope. He is now on the main road. That's why I'm here." "It's a dog thing." "Pardon." "It happens." "No. It's an irresponsible owner thing." "So what am I supposed to do? Keep him chained up?" "No. You're supposed to exercise him and train him." "I don't want him."
You get the drift.
There it is. Just another unhappy dog story. We're well into this one by a number of months, so we just have to wait and see how it pans out. Just another dog with another bullet in the brain because some owners don't care? Let's hope that this purty yeller dog also has a happy ending.
Dave and Mike's Incredible and Fantastic Cookies!!
Dave had thrown in teaching in order to make cookies. Every cookie you could possibly think of. Macadamia and chocolate cookies, apricot cookies, date, fig, nut, plain, he was a cookie junkie. And then he met Mike. Mike was inspired by Dave's passion for cookies and wanted to get on board. They paid small amounts of money to large amounts of people in order to get their cookie factory blogged and advertised about. 'Get your cookies here', was the catch cry that went out world wide. Those who resided on planet earth and had access to coupons were in the best position. You see, they received discounts. And everybody loved a good discount. If something was going to cost less, it meant you could buy two! So Dave and Mike sold more, and the customer got more for less. Everybody was literally as happy as Larry!
Julian was proudly displaying the very bad pic of Gus that was printed in the not so bad book about the opal fields that was written by a friend to her German luncheon visitors. They had driven her home from Mudgeeraba in Queensland to North Bonville in New South Wales because they were visiting their mother and she wanted to show them the jewellery business which kept them both going. Mum said, with delight, "it's a bubi kopf." "Pardon?", said Julian, politely. "Bubi kopt." she said again. "How do you spell, booby?" asked Julian. "B. U. B. I." Julian loved it. "We call it a 'pudding basin haircut," she said. Mum went on to relate a story about her 60 yr old daughter having a home made bubi kopt with her sister and how they were dressed and what they all did. Julian vaguely remembered a photograph of them all at that time, proving the bubi kopt was in the family history.
It was difficult to keep up with the pace of life in this world. There had been a famous interior designer on a Parkinson that looked at least 20 years old. The rerun had been on at 4 am, so no surprises there. Flooding in Victoria and removing drugs and alcohol was going to improve the situation somewhere or other, as well as a death of an aborigine in custody. The designer had asked Parky things like, "are you in cohoots with my wife?" & Julian had enjoyed The Three Monkeys playing at the local Fed. "Grab a spouse," Kurt had said. Hermione and Julian had agreed that it had to be Kurt with a K because it wouldn't do, being Curt with a C. Talking to the guitarist later, who was a friend of Ulrich and Mudbilly and had been to Buccrabendinni, which was the topic of conversation, she found that his name was actually Curtis, so, in point of fact, it was Curt with a C.
Another guest on Parky, a well known ancient chef who had wanted to be a famous soccer player but his ligaments wouldn't allow it, so he popped on an apron and had just a touch of trouble explaining it to his old da, was talking about his cheffing experiences in Paris and how difficult it was to explain to his French girlfriend that after 16 hrs in the kitchen at a very fast pace he needed to sleep. He said that having a French girlfriend was like going to bed with a rotweiler strapped to his chest.
Phew. William was also sporting new shoes. That was a whole new blog, as well as his new boots. Today was a full day in the field, as well as having to organise the posting of the natural progesterone to Kate, Misty and popping it in the fridge for Alana. Putting more money on the credity card, pre-studying the Revelation book, making sure that lunch was packed, soup put in the freezer, dishes done, another hotel rewritten and continuing to research the talk about James 4:8. Life was fast, furious and satisfying.
There was also a dead chicken blog on the burner. "They peck their own. They peck and peck and peck until they're dead," explained the white man in a strong American accent, retold with great humour by Mary Hitler. Julian was still recovering from being almost pecked to death by Mary so laughed loudly and very politely. Should she mention it? She didn't think so.
Deedee was in trouble. She was a renowned heroin addict and an alcoholic to boot. Almost all of her friends had completely given up on her, except for Mary, Dave, Hermione, Mondo, Radcliffe, Ulrich, Itzak, Chlotilde, Madeleine, Esmerelda, Festus and Mr Lovely Goodness. They had all spoken to her privately about getting help. They knew of a drug rehab that could help her. Addictions were strong and powerful, but they could be overcome. Some of her friends had a bible based belief and they thought that that would help her as well. "Study the bible as well," they said, except for Ulrich, Itzak, Chlotilde, Madeleine and Radcliffe. They knew that it would help. She thanked them for their love and help and went online to search for this drug treatment help place. Could they help? Would they help? Drugs and blogs and blugs and drogs and dugs and brogs and ...this is a delightful paid post. This post has been sponsored. This is a paid post. This post has been sponsored. This is a paid post. Thank you.
Giuliano was planning a dinner party. It was going to be an Edwardian affair, and she had got the idea from yet another cookbook. This one entitled, 'The Last Dinner On The Titanic'. It was going to be a bit of a mammoth undertaking, which is why it had been almost 10 years in the planning, but G. was getting closer, she could feel it in her bones. Was food an obsession? Remember, G., it's only food, not love. Nevertheless, she knew that the Hitler's and the Woe's, and the Woebegotten's, and the Flue's would absolballyutley love it. Adore it. Appreciate it. And this time, she swore that she would get some help with those blasted dishes.
"I bloomin' will", she swore.
Mind you, we all know that by the end of the evening, G. had had enough, and, let's face it, if anything can wait, it's those bloomin' dishes, pots, pans, glasses, knives, forks, spoons and sideplates.
She also knew how many dishes the Titanic actually used. So this time, it was unavoidable, as the beautifully Edwardian dressed women were gonna 'ave ta wosh some of the plates, 'cos if it didn't 'appen, they'd 'ave to eat off the dirty ones, & that's the way it woz...."
There had to be a way around it & if there woz, G. & Mary would find it.