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!

This is, needless to say, a paid post.

Gus's 1970's Bubi Koft.

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.

Drugs and Blogs and Blogs and Drugs and .....

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.

Will This Headline Still Be Here In The Morning, Mr Lovely Goodness?

The changing headlines are due to someone else taking over the words and thoughts and creativity of this blog. Julian is helpless and enlists your aid. What do you think? Should this be allowed? Is this kosher, so to speak? Is this another final solution of a more diluted kind? Help...please go to I, Julian Fairfax Mayhem and record your comments. Remember. It is only Goodness that we all strive for. Kindness. Mildness. Love. Joy. Peace. Faith. Self Control. Long Suffering.


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The Mystery of Mike.

"What pursuits?" asked Julian.
"Poetry."
"Why don't you publish?"
"I don't need to. I just watch it for its development. Are you still writing?"
"I've recently picked it up again, but I'm getting into trouble."
"Why? Are you writing about people?"
"Yes."
"Are you using their real names?"
"Of course not."
"But they know who they are."
"Yes. And some of them are angry."
"Who?"
"Well, Mr Lovely Goodness, who is really John. And Kansas, who is really Bradley, and Ulrich, who is Hector, who should know better. He's got a fabulous name."
"What is it?"
"Ulrich Chevalier. I'm a bit worried about him. He is procrastinating, doubting his decisions and being terribly rude and insulting to me. I'm just taking it."
"Just ride it out. He's moved back there for a reason, and he doesn't even know what that is himself."
"I am."
"Are they really angry, or is it just a put on sort of anger."
"They are really upset. For example, I wrote about Kansas. He rang his dad and asked for me. He never asks to speak to me so I knew something was up. Don't write about me, he said. How would you feel if someone wrote about you. I'd like it very much, I said. Can I write about this phone call, I said. He didn't say anything, so I wrote about the phone call. Just a brief mention in an insignificant little happy blog. Mr Lovely Goodness saw red and deleted all blogs with any mention of him or Hermione in it. Which was most of them, because they are my dear friends and we do a lot together. So, of course, there they were. In my life. A lot. "
What do you think of this John?"
"I like him very much."
"Hmmm." Radcliffe said, and went on to talk about Mike. The remedial masseur who was now living with him.
"Tell me about him." Julian said.
"I don't think so."
"This is off the record. I promise," said Julian, who really wanted to know. Had he been married. Relationships? Kids?
"I don't care what you write about me," Radcliffe asserted, "but I have to protect Mike."
"He's a remedial masseur?" asked Julian, innocently.
"Who?" said Radcliffe. '
"Had he ever been married? Got any kids?"
"I don't know who you are referring to."
Julian gave up. Rad wasn't going to come to the party where Mike was concerned. Mike was such a private person. He'd been living with his mother and father up to his mid forties, and had kept himself away from the public eye. She resolved to meet this Mike, and perhaps to have one of his remedial massages. He was working from home, and she knew where that was. Radcliffe had moved into Chlotilde's old room and given Mike his old room plus the spare room for work, so that wasn't a problem. She would have to go when Radcliffe was at work setting up another cabaret for the intellectually starved of the West End, and he was preoccupied with Toscanini. She could wait. He thought her to be impatient, but that was years ago. Now she could wait out the chocolate Taj Mahal.
Julian and Radcliffe had once been married, and had just spent a most unusual day on the Gold Coast. He had arrived at Robina train station at 9:53 am and they had caught the bus to Burleigh Heads. And walked. Along the beach front, up the hill, around the Burleigh hill, back, down the hill, through the town, along the highway, until they came to the Magic Apple, which was an idealistic, back to the 70's, vegetarian cafe. They had stopped for a drink at the memorable ocean frontage restaurant and cafe, Mermaids, for a drink.
"I'm not eating with you." He had stated, as he ordered a cappuccino with full cream milk in a mug. Julian glumly ordered a mowerski mary, which she had never heard of before. It had a touch of horseradish in it, which turned out to be just the thing. That and vodka and tomato juice. She removed the ice blocks, one by one, and dropped them onto the sand, where they took very little time to become small pools of water and to sink down to the nether regions of the earth, where it was possible that they might become small pools of colour in the rock mass. So opal is formed.
"This is one of my favourite scenes," he said, and went on to explain about a golden book that he had as a child that had pictured the ocean with the sun glinting on the water. "Like that," he said, "with the sun glinting on the water."
It was during their walk through the township, whilst looking at the shops that he admitted to being just a touch peckish. Julian, meanwhile, had been reading every menu in sight, checking out everything on offer in the little glass windows from sushi to the nasty doughnutty pastry things in bad pie shops. Radcliffe had skipped over the road to the health food shop where Julian had bought her Samson juicer from many moons ago.
"This is more my style," he announced.
That's when Julian mentioned the Magic Apple. All vegetarian. About two and a half blocks away, which turned out to be more like seven. Radcliffe was about to turn around and walk back via the beach after four blocks, but something kept him going.
He couldn't eat onion. Almost everything seemed to have onion in it. And pepper. Nevertheless, he chose a small amount of stew, a rice and a salad and a vegetable pattie. Julian chose a dahl, a korma with too much wholemeal flour in it, and two salads, one green and one creating an unpleasant flatulance of mixed beans. Then they walked some more, on the bus route back to the Robina train station. It goes without saying that in this final solution walk of theirs, they talked. Of children. Of relationships. Of regrets. Of past friendships.

end part mikey one.

Yet Another Dreadful Family Story

Richard was doing his darndest to delete Julian and her life from his life, but it just wasn't working. He didn't quite know what else to do. He could go to the firemen, of course, and dob her in to them. They would shoot round to her house and discover all the hiding places for her books and then make a public bonfire of them in the street. Julian had been in secret discussion with Montag, though, and knew of the Book People. She had even been there once and been introduced to Wuthering Heights and Macbeth. She was personally torn between Alice In Wonderland and The House of Mirth. Pooh was in there as well.

When Julian was just a little, itty bitty girl she had had a dream. A nightmare. In the dream, her mother came into her bedroom and headed straight for the bookcase. She systematically began to remove the beloved books and to rip them apart.
"Not my books, anything, but not my books!" Julian had cried out.
The real mother came into the room to see what all the noise was about. You see, Julian really had cried out and the mother had heard.

Mum thought the dream funny and didn't take much notice of it.
History in the making?

To CMR or Not To CMR, That Was The Question.

Julian was in a muddle. CMR was all well and good, but how to make sense out of this mess. She and Shael were setting up this new fangled lead management system which promised to keep the sales representatives working efficiently. They were going to increase sales and improve business intelligence if it was the last thing they did. They had been promised a free trial as long as they asked themselves why AIMpromote was changing the way that companies looked at customer relationship management software. This was big bikkies and they couldn’t afford to lose. The next step was to concentrate on lead neglect, which apparently attributed to an estimated 80% of all lost sales. This was a yellow, green and red system to show you where you were at all times and with an additional ‘alert when a lead was ‘neglected’. Boy, this was good stuff. Shael Bradley Cohen slapped Juian on the back and said, “We’re on the way, boyo, we’re on the way.”

History In The Making Part II

"All is forgiven. The bubbly is on ice."
So typical of Richard, Mary, Tom and Alice. Julian would have to re mention the info that Big Sue had given her. Big Sue worked for an unmentionable big name beer company who had been buying up lots of Australian wine companies. Champagne was no longer champagne. In order to keep the price down, they were bubbling carbon dioxide through the sweet, unaged wine. So it was more in the order of soda waters, coca cola and Pepsi that these lower priced champagnes belonged. Mary, Alice and Julian were just going to have to up the ante. Drink Less and Pay More would be there new motto. Their husbands would be most approving.

Julian fervently hoped that Richard, Dicky to his friends, really and truly would forgive her. She meant no harm and had acted without malice aforethought. She had been so upset and acted in a fit of anger. Her feathers had been well and truly ruffled. It put her back in time to the collage that had been made for a theatre production of a play of Joe Orton's, a confused and immoral man who ended his days with his homosexual lover literally beating out his brains with some sort of hammer because of jealousy. Ball peen or claw hammer, Julian had no idea and hesitated to mention. Just when he was becoming successful in a worldly sort of way as well. The collage had been heavily edited without any consultation and Julian had been, at the time, mortified. She was learning the ways of the Hollywood screenwriter. 'The writer don't amount to much at all except in the writer's mind.' William Goldman, the brains behind 'All The President's Men' and 'Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid' didn't quite say it, but heavily implied it.

The philosophical question that didn't have to be asked was, 'what brought some people together?' 'What kept them there when they were together?' Julian was interested. She understood that the scriptures, when applied, were going to be the best bringing together and sticking together that could ever possibly exist, but there was also a natural order of things that brought people of like minds together. Most interesting.

Julian had titles banking up galore. 'The Leak Second' was one. 'Barnstorming with Robert Redford' was another, but it was time to knuckle down and do some work. The Spanish hotel rewrites had to be rewritten. Julian was a bit glum at the prospect, after all, 1,250 rewritten rewrites was no mean feat, but she was a sticker at what was write/right. And a stickler. And a battler. And loyal. And forgiving.

It was Einstein, who would be in line for a resurrection, who said, "The life of the individual has meaning only in so far as it aids in making the life of every living thing nobler and more beautiful". Stevie had that up on her cork board. She was a great believer in love. That was a whole new post, and a whole new title. Julian would be thinking of Lovely, Tom and Mary this afternoon. She could picture them upon the attractive and inviting terrace, watching the sun go down as they sipped their various tipples. Mary would have created something delectable for them all to snack on, before the marvelous gastronomic event of the evening. No pastry, Mary, does horrors to the lower colon.

kiss kiss