Julian Fairfax Mayhem

Will The Real Mr Lovely Goodness Please Stand UP

2011-03-17T08:27:00.005+11:00

"Calling Mr Lovely Goodness, 'Mr Lovely Goodness' was a premature ejaculation," ejaculated Mary. She and Julian were sitting overlooking a large, wide and peaceful river and sipping their morning coffees. A crowd had gathered, and a woman with a check board.
"I'm going to case the joint," Julian muttered, and slipped into the open door, and perched uncomfortably on what appeared to be church pews. Her right buttock overhung the wooden shelf like structure, and she wasn't comfortable, but decided to grit her teeth and grin and bear it. The slim, pinkly adorned woman next to her smelt strongly of BO, so she tried not to breathe too deeply. She was pleased to see that it was her favourite magistrate sitting at the bench, the man with a thousand faces. 'Mr Potato Head', Mary called him later, but Julian didn't agree. "Mr Potato Head has bits that you add to the face, this man is elastic," and she demonstrated a couple of his elastic faces. She pushed out her lips and screwed her eyebrows together. Mary had to agree.
He couldn't find her paperwork, of which Mary had objected. She also objected to the fact that the police report had not told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The police man was still angry at her belligerance, and her superiority of mind. He found her totally objectionable. He had got her age wrong by one year, and Mary had sniffingly told him that every year mattered. He had muttered under his breath. Her solicitor had mentioned that the truth hadn't been told in the report. That she had been pulled over and then let go. That hadn't been mentioned. He mentioned that when they were asking her the questions on the form, as in 'what is your name', 'do you have any scars', she simply removed her blouse, in order to display the scars under her recently surgically reset breasts. "Do you want me to put that in the report?" "No." the solicitor didn't think so.
Meanwhile, the real, genuine Mr Lovely Goodness had lived a selfless life in the Balkans. He had married and spoken to whoever would listen about the kingdom of God. That was how he had spent his life. He had recently 'passed on', and was guaranteed a place in the biblical description of the 'new system'.
The case had been moved forward to April.

Mary's Rear End Had Blown A Front Gasket Yet Again

2011-01-09T17:17:00.002+11:00

Mary was struggling with her car. She loved it so much and yet had had so many things go wrong. Her speakers had stopped working, as had her horn. The colour was wrong and she didn't have enough outfits and shoes to match. The front end looked like the rear end. She was pulling her hair out, when she discovered an online car repair service. She didn't have to go anywhere or do anything, and all would be well. She sighed in deep relief. No longer would she have to rely on Edgar to fix it. No matter what the make of the car, auto repair would be there. She had noticed, for example, that her friend had googled http://repairpal.com/toyota-camry-2002 and come up with solutions. The fact that Hermione didn't own a Toyota Camry and was only after checking her engine light didn't matter to her. She was able to google http://repairpal.com/check-engine-light and find an answer for that as well. She made a mental note. 'Check engine light', she thought.

It didn't matter where she lived, there were auto shops everywhere, even Chigao. There were people with similair questions and she could keep her records safe and secure and sound. She could hardly believe it. She continued to insist that she was a work of fact and not of fiction. Her car, however, belied the truth.

Meanwhile, Mary was cruising the Atlantic in a bikini and feeling the cold. She purveyed the buffet's with a critical eye and tucked into the garlic snails with gusto. Mary was in seventh heaven, and her car was the last thing on her mind. http://repairpal.com/ had more than helped to settle her mind.

A Cold Blooded, Black Hearted Monster

2010-08-20T07:58:00.004+10:00

"You lying hound", she said to Basil. Basil was actually telling the truth for once, but had gone past the point of no return.
Clarence Butterfield, however, had shot his 21 year old daughter and popped her in the freezer wrapped in plastic. She was only discovered because the power went off in his motorhome.
His defence was that he found her dead on the floor of the motorhome and he kept her because it said in the bible that if you have faith and the bones of the loved one it is possible to resurrect her.
"I love her," he said, "I couldn't bear to be apart from her."
Is he mad?
Or is he lying?

Sveetie & Julian In The Not So Distant Future

2010-07-21T05:58:00.004+10:00

and then there's the

2010-07-20T14:34:00.003+10:00

Brother's Grimm and then there's Hans Christian Anderson.

The Elves and the Shoemaker

2010-07-20T14:30:00.001+10:00

The Elves and the Shoemaker

got that wrong as well. ah, me..There was once a shoemaker, who worked very hard and was very honest: but still he could not earn enough to live upon; and at last all he had in the world was gone, save just leather enough to make one pair of shoes.

Then he cut his leather out, all ready to make up the next day, meaning to rise early in the morning to his work. His conscience was clear and his heart light amidst all his troubles; so he went peaceably to bed, left all his cares to Heaven, and soon fell asleep. In the morning after he had said his prayers, he sat himself down to his work; when, to his great wonder, there stood the shoes all ready made, upon the table. The good man knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening. He looked at the workmanship; there was not one false stitch in the whole job; all was so neat and true, that it was quite a masterpiece.

The same day a customer came in, and the shoes suited him so well that he willingly paid a price higher than usual for them; and the poor shoemaker, with the money, bought leather enough to make two pairs more. In the evening he cut out the work, and went to bed early, that he might get up and begin betimes next day; but he was saved all the trouble, for when he got up in the morning the work was done ready to his hand. Soon in came buyers, who paid him handsomely for his goods, so that he bought leather enough for four pair more. He cut out the work again overnight and found it done in the morning, as before; and so it went on for some time: what was got ready in the evening was always done by daybreak, and the good man soon became thriving and well off again.

One evening, about Christmas-time, as he and his wife were sitting over the fire chatting together, he said to her, ’I should like to sit up and watch tonight, that we may see who it is that comes and does my work for me.’ The wife liked the thought; so they left a light burning, and hid themselves in a corner of the room, behind a curtain that was hung up there, and watched what would happen.

As soon as it was midnight, there came in two little naked dwarfs; and they sat themselves upon the shoemaker’s bench, took up all the work that was cut out, and began to ply with their little fingers, stitching and rapping and tapping away at such a rate, that the shoemaker was all wonder, and could not take his eyes off them. And on they went, till the job was quite done, and the shoes stood ready for use upon the table. This was long before daybreak; and then they bustled away as quick as lightning.

The next day the wife said to the shoemaker. ’These little wights have made us rich, and we ought to be thankful to them, and do them a good turn if we can. I am quite sorry to see them run about as they do; and indeed it is not very decent, for they have nothing upon their backs to keep off the cold. I’ll tell you what, I will make each of them a shirt, and a coat and waistcoat, and a pair of pantaloons into the bargain; and do you make each of them a little pair of shoes.’

The thought pleased the good cobbler very much; and one evening, when all the things were ready, they laid them on the table, instead of the work that they used to cut out, and then went and hid themselves, to watch what the little elves would do.

About midnight in they came, dancing and skipping, hopped round the room, and then went to sit down to their work as usual; but when they saw the clothes lying for them, they laughed and chuckled, and seemed mightily delighted.

Then they dressed themselves in the twinkling of an eye, and danced and capered and sprang about, as merry as could be; till at last they danced out at the door, and away over the green.

The good couple saw them no more; but everything went well with them from that time forward, as long as they lived.

Whoops

2010-07-20T14:13:00.001+10:00

whoops.

Julian only meant to post the Australi/Europe map and interesting facts. However, now the other stuff is there............um. Apologies, Eelco?

oh, & btw, the frog lives in the hollow in the spa where the buttons live. The cover covers the edges apart from the buttons, where the frog has found himself a hollow. Hence, Frog Hollow. Julian is surprised to find that he likes it warm. That's amphibian for you..........

The Elves and the Shoemaker

2010-07-20T13:53:00.002+10:00

There is a Hans Christian fairy story that it used in marriage, or at least the wife calls upon it.
She recounts about the poor shoemaker who finds clothes made for him and his wife in the mornings. He is bemused, and so stays up late one night to watch and discovers little people who come and make these beautiful handmade clothes. He wants to thank them, and so he leaves food and small leather boots. They accept with glee, but never come back. The moral of the story is if one is poked, accept the poking without asking for more. Take what is given with appreciation and don't push for more. Mind you, let's find out what it means to accept the food and the little leather boots and never come back.........that's slightly different.
There was a time in a distant past and a distant country place

Photos and stories from Australia — friends & family only — love, Eelco

March 10, 2010

Al Di Meola

Guitar legend Al Di Meola played at Town Hall yesterday. I was rather surprised to see an artist of such fame in such a small town, but apparently the local sound guy (a girl named Annie) convinced them that Bellingen is a cool place to be. Particularly the virtuoso accordion player Fausto Beccalossi made an incredible impression.

I illegally recorded a little soundbite on my iPhone.

Al Di Meola World Sinfonia

Line-up: Al Di Meola – guitars, Fausto Beccalossi – accordion, Gumbi Ortiz – percussion, Peter Kaszas – drums, Kevin Seddiki – guitar, Victor Miranda – bass

4$ Salad

This is the small salad at Hearthfire Bakery. Garden salad with avocado and feta and grilled veggie salad with eggplant, tomato and choko’s. Naturally it’s 100% organic. 4 Aussie dollars is €2,70.

If there’s any establishment in Holland that can beat this, I’ll change my ticket and fly back tonight…!

4$ Salad

3 comments

March 7, 2010

Frogs

What is green and makes a hell of a noise?

These buggers start making noise at dawn, together with the crickets and the arrival of the mozzies (mosquitos) and the flight of the flying foxes from across the river.

Frog

1 comment

Raw Food

This weekend I attended some uncooking classes at Denene’s health and living foods retreat. They demonstrated how to make key lime pie and raw cashew nut cream, sprouted choc fudge cake with macadamia cream and cashew nut gelato. And last but not least a green smoothie with freshly picked greens from the side of the road river.

1 comment

March 6, 2010

For the Birds

All sorts of birds gather on the telephone lines in front of the house. My favourite is the regal Kookaburra, which the Aussies like to call laughing bird.

When they ruffle themselves up they’re pretty big—I almost mistook one for an owl the other day. This picture was taken this morning.

Kookaburra on Telephone Line

1 comment

March 5, 2010

John’s Garden

‘John the Gardener’ is our neighbour. He has a wealth of knowledge about gardening and is often willing to share. His bio organic garden is very impressive.

He provides mixed salads, with about 20 different varieties and some edible flowers, for a few local grower’s markets and for his neighbours too!

Inspired by a series of photos that Nicole shot—she used to be a professional photographer—I gave myself the assignment to imitate that series. This is a preview of the results.

I also made a little slideshow that you can watch fullscreen.

March 4, 2010

Gelato Bar

The Gelato Bar consistently has the best coffee in town. Hence it is my office of choice. They also have home made gelato. Good stuff!

Ice Cream at the Bellingin Gelato Bar

March 2, 2010

Big Country

This is Europe superimposed over Australia. Have I travelled Australia? I feel I’ve only scratched the surface (but then the same holds true for Europe).

Look at the map and consider these numbers: Netherlands – 16,5 million people, Australia, 22 million people.

It’s been said that in Europe 200 kilometers is a long way, while in Australia 200 years is a long time.

Big country, big ideas—Australians invented notepads (1902), the surf lifesaving reel (1906), aspirin (1915), the pacemaker (1926), penicillin (1940) the Hills Hoist clothesline (1946), the plastic disposable syringe (1949), the wine cask (1965), the bionic ear (1978), dual-flush toilet flush (1980) anti-counterfeiting technology for banknotes (1992) and long-wearing contact lenses (1999).

posted by Eelco Menkveld The Hague 2010
thank you Eelco.

http://randompaul.blogspot.com A Tribute

2010-07-17T08:51:00.001+10:00

"As a part of my job, I tell stories and teach people how to tell stories. So I thought I would share two main tips for creating a solid, entertaining and clear story.

Tip Number One

The structure of a story really hasn’t changed since the times of the Greeks when Aristotle came up with a format that he named after himself; The Aristotelian Structure. Image two axes, the one going up and down which we will call “Dramatic Action” and the horizontal one is “Time”.

Now Aristotle started the dramatic action low and it rises through time. He called this “Conflict”. At the peak, something happens. He called this “Crisis”. Then there is a downward slope which the French decided to call “Dénouement” because they were far too pretentious just to say “wrapping things up”.

Of course, not all stories follow this shape. Becket’s Waiting For Godot, about two guys waiting for another guy called Godot, who never arrives, is a flat line. Nothing happens!

Kafka’s Metamorphosis, about a dull accountant who wakes up one morning to discover he has turned into a cockroach, starts low on the dramatic action axis and just keeps dropping as his life gets worse.

However, the classic story, say the story of our Lord, follows Aristotle’s laws. Jesus is having trouble with the Jews, with the Pharisees and with the Romans (conflict), they arrest him and nail him to a cross (crisis) and his friends wait around pretty sad then he comes back, gives man self-determination which kind of negates God (Dénouement) leaving the rest of us to kind of wait around for the second coming, a bit like Becket’s characters. Of course, if we were Buddhists, we may have the opportunity to come back as a cockroach.

I wonder which Buddhist came up with the laws of reincarnation. According to them, after we die we get reborn as another sentient being, their definition of sentient being being something that can think other than computers, robots and those weird things that tell you when your turkey is cooked. So we could come back as a cockroach but not a saltine cracker. If you came back as a cockroach you obviously did something bad in your previous life. To come back as say Tom Cruise, you would have to have been pretty good in your previous life which would piss the Scientologists up no end.

What if you could come back as a non-sentient thing, like a saltine cracker, what would you have to do in your life as a saltine cracker to improve your lot?

I figure if you were smeared with come tasty Tasmanian Brie and willingly woofed down at a party in Darlinghurst with a nice Chablis, you may come back as a mango or a fairly attractive turnip. If you were crushed up and sprinkled between the sheets in some high school camp prank then your next life would be as beer mat or a sanitary napkin (as opposed to a non-sanitary napkin?). If, by some odd chance, you were the first solid food that a 18 month old Rwandan child had had in 6 months, then you might crack it to a minor sentient being like a tape worm of a cockroach.

I think at this point we can be fairly sure that Kafka’s accountant was not a particularly nice person.

Tip Number Two

Try not to get side-tracked."

Paul Tolton.

One For Sveetie Babushka....& Mr Lovely Goodness, Hermione is Outta Here....

2010-07-17T08:49:00.001+10:00

Fry bacon in your stew pot or Dutch oven until crispy. Remove the bacon. Leave the fat. Cook the onions and garlic in the fat until they are tender. Remove the onions and garlic. Leave the fat. Brown the beef in the fat.

Add the flour add stir until the beef is coated. Gradually stir in about a cup of the beer. Add the bay leaf, brown sugar, salt, thyme and pepper and stir. Mix in the onions and garlic. Add enough beer to completely cover. Drink the rest.

Boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 1 to 1/2 hours - until the beef is tender. Remove the bay leaf and stir in the vinegar.

It's Flemish. Forget the Swiss and move over the Dutch.

Memories. MIsty Water Kinda Memmmorreeees.

2010-07-17T08:41:00.001+10:00

Once upon a time, Giles, (Paul, and Julian, (denene) were walking across a football oval. They had been drinking something at a club that they had never been to before or since. They were talking, despite the pleasures of the Socratian bodies not yet having faded, although it was to Giles mind that Julian was drawn to.
"What do people like to talk about, Julian?" Giles asked,
"Um," said Julian.
"Themselves," said Giles.
Julian pondered this and came to the conclusion that it was true.
Julian also recalled her first meeting with Giles. It was at a party held by a Scandinavian man, and Julian thought that Giles was possibly attracted to him. He ignored her completely, and there is nothing quite so compelling as to be ignored by someone's mind that you are drawn to.
Julian can still recall the rather amazing Swiss/Dutch casserole that he made. She asked him for the recipe and was impressed by the fact that it used beer in the stock.
Julian was now rather interested in this 30 + year recipe and wanted to find it. She was cooking food for some older Welsh freinds whose house had almost burnt down. This one would work, that and lamb shanks with Dorrigo mash potatoes.

Beloved Ba-Babo

2010-07-05T05:35:00.004+10:00

The Editor From Hell.

2010-07-01T14:45:00.003+10:00

Once upon there were 2 editors from hell. One lived close by and began his story by encouraging Juian to write again.
"Why?" she said, but she couldn't remember what he said. It was good enough advice to follow, however, so she began to write.
"You'll regret it," Stuart told him, but he didn't believe Stuart at first. Then he didn't like it and had the power to delete everything that she had written. Julian was incensed. She had thought him a freind and he didn't realise that this stuff was .............ahhhh, there's the rub. The words were hers and he had rubbed them out. How angry she had felt!
The other editor had given and then taken away, and then continued to push and prod because of a little thing called a google cache.
"It's still there," he said, again and again.
Julian had deleted and removed his attributed words, but it seems all to no avail.

This business was getting ridiculous. Can one really own words? bit like land really....

2010-07-01T04:15:00.002+10:00

Roger Federer's defeat was in the paper before you could say 'by your leave', and it was on the internet even faster, as was Andy Murray and the England losing to Australia in cricket. The same paper reported that Naomi Campbell, the model for those not in the know, would be called to a court for war crimes in Africa as the recipient of a known blood diamond. Also noteworth was that the leading source of death in Korea for those between 20 and 30 was suicide. A young man with a good career in acting and singing had been found hanging by an electrical cord. His 62 year old father who is terminally ill will miss him. And last, but far from least, women who were raped in Rwanda during the

April and June of 1994, in which an estimated 800,000 Rwandans were killed in the space of 100 days.

One woman was raped on three occasions in different locations and by many different people, so her daughter wanted to know if she was Hutu or Tutsi. This mother loved her from the moment of her birth, whereas other women had problems with their offspring. They saw machetes and pain and hurt when they looked at their children. One woman considered flushing her baby down the latrine, but now walks the streets with him. He is 16 and still doesn't know his terrible origins.

and 51 horse skeletons were unearthed in a ditch in the Netherlands after a 17th century battle.
The pic is proving elusive.

and introducing Sveetie 'babushka' Manifold, who had been married before and had the 33 children to prove it.

Funny Aussie Boy

2010-06-21T08:30:00.003+10:00

there's nothing like a son.

This is Not Australia.

2010-06-10T04:13:00.003+10:00

The Name May Be Latin, But The Myths Remain The Same.

2010-06-10T03:52:00.003+10:00

"She thinks we have a dream mother."
Julian fell back dramatically onto the couch with arms akimbo.
"Yeah," said Honey.
"Just confirms that it's all relative. Life, that is." Julian confirmed.
Cindi, who wasn't coping with her mother, cried as she described the relationship.

Life was coming thick and fast. Julian had filled out a questionaire which would tell her...she wasn't sure what, but Nikolas insisted. He was delighted with aspects of the results, which he told her over the mobile, with 900 kms between them, as she was buying, cooking and serving a family meal.
"This tells us our problems, difficulties and strengths."
"Um, can we talk about this later?" knowing that the chances were slim.
"Sure." He wasn't yet ready to admit to missing her.
He sent an email that suggested that Julian was a dynamo, but had equally negative connotations. Julian sighed and prepared herself.

She had MEMmed. And she had NLP'ed and colon hydrotherapied. She was still in a spin.

Nikolas, meanwhile, had been punched on the nose and been bloodied by a young, childhood friend.
"Pedaphile!" she had screamed in the street outside the house at about 9 pm. The young, separated from the mother of his children, father, who lived opposite, didn't take it to heart, although he had heard.
"Get out of my Face!" she screamed.
Nikolas stood his ground. 'She's talking to me like she talks to her kids,' he thought, as she started to count down from ten.
"TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX, FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE."

She clenched her fist, drew back her arm and with all of her strength punched Nickolas in the face.

He fell to the ground.

Julian waited a week and rang her. Julian was on the Gold Coast for family, health, leisure, business and pleasure reasons.
They hedged until finally Julian asked if she had apologised to Nikolas yet.
She hedged, until finally she stated that she wasn't going to take this abuse any more and hung up.

Julian didn't want to go home, but knew it was time.

MEM Phis Tennesse.....

2010-06-07T09:18:00.005+10:00

The MEM method.

Hasn't worked yet.

Try, try, try and try again.

Persevere.

but, gratitude, John, thank you.

and much puzzlement at the need for the MEM with the people who used it.

Julian

2010-06-07T09:15:00.001+10:00

opens coconuts wherever we go. Green smoothies rock.

Room With A View

2010-06-07T09:08:00.004+10:00

and the photo doesn't do the view justice.

meanwhile, Mac has been punched on the nose by someone in need. His nose bled, his eye was blackened, his teeth were loosend and his elbow was grazed. He fell to the ground.

the girl who did the punching is not only unrepentent, but accusatory of being abused when she asked if she had apologised.

her situation looked bleak. especially where her young, impressionable boys were concerned.

people cared, God Cares, so all is not lost.

Snake in the Grass

2010-05-28T09:46:00.003+10:00

Outback Australia where space between people and snakes is important.

Australian Storm. On the Road Again....

2010-05-27T04:29:00.003+10:00

Outside of Wilcannia, Cheryl North had to pull over, the rain came down so hard.

just left of coonabarabran

2010-05-26T05:45:00.002+10:00

is the Warrubungle National Park.

Bellingen Snippet

2010-05-24T05:43:00.002+10:00

Julian had had a most interesting week.

soon........busy

or, to quote Christopher Robin, which confused Pooh and Piglet no end.

'gon away. backson.'

You Hair What You Eat?

2010-05-24T05:14:00.003+10:00

Genetically Modified Soy Linked to Sterility, Infant Mortality

"This study was just routine," said Russian biologist Alexey V. Surov, in what could end up as the understatement of this century. Surov and his colleagues set out to discover if Monsanto's genetically modified (GM) soy, grown on 91% of US soybean fields, leads to problems in growth or reproduction. What he discovered may uproot a multi-billion dollar industry.

After feeding hamsters for two years over three generations, those on the GM diet, and especially the group on the maximum GM soy diet, showed devastating results. By the third generation, most GM soy-fed hamsters lost the ability to have babies. They also suffered slower growth, and a high mortality rate among the pups.

And if this isn't shocking enough, some in the third generation even had hair growing inside their mouths—a phenomenon rarely seen, but apparently more prevalent among hamsters eating GM soy.

In the US, 93% of soy products are GM. (genetically modified). (We're not talking fermented here, which is ok. Natto, miso, etc..) and I don't know the stats for Australia, but have no doubt it's alarming. When buying a number of watermelons from the local grocer, his words were,

"We only have the one's with seeds."

"Those are the one's I want,"

Seedless watermelon's? Since when was anything created without the ability to procreate?

And Today.

2010-05-19T17:20:00.002+10:00

Julian spent the day in the Grafton Court House.

The magistrate summed up.

"This is a family that has been destroyed."

"We're your adopted children," said one of the 17 year old twin girls to Julian.
"I know," Julian said. She hadn't seen them for many years, but loved them still.

It was a case that involved the oldest son. The outcome was an AVO on him not to come near them for 5 years. This was apparently unusual.

Everyone was happy. Almost.

Mum said, "he will go and lick his wounds and plot and plan."

It was harrowing.

Beautiful Bellingen

2010-05-18T08:52:00.002+10:00

Freezing Bananas

2010-05-14T10:54:00.004+10:00

For the Behaviourally Impaired

2010-05-11T04:59:00.001+10:00

When I get to Australia ...... I'll try to remember......

Mudbilly Takes a Dive

2010-05-11T04:51:00.003+10:00

except that it wasn't a dive, it was a jump. After Daring Dan took a leap, Mudbilly decided to climb the rockface and also jump. She cooeed first, so that the beautiful and slim, red-headed, curly haired Copenhagen would look up, as would Julian. They were swimming in the waters below. The noise from the falls was incredible. They dutifully looked up, as Mudbilly jumped and, like Alice down the rabbit hole, fell and fell and fell.

"my bum hurts," she said, after it was all over.

Hugo Where I Go

2010-04-29T03:36:00.006+10:00

It had been one 'hell' of a week. (We speak figuratively, as there is no 'hell').

Julian had been told by a freind that her boy at school had stumbled upon boys 'playing' with boys in the boys toilets. He had 'told'. He was now threatened by these 'boys' with rape. They were 12.

Julian was aghast.

Another friend had just been told by her 45 year old son that he had been raped since he was 14 by the councillor that she was paying for. He only told because the men who did it had committed suicide by hanging. She was, understandably, devastated, and had a bad back.

On a lighter note, without making light, the school kid with parents who were still together thought that the other kids with split families had it better off. They got 3 bedrooms, one with mum, one with dad and one with mum's boyfriend, plus they got to enjoy 'bookclub' twice as both mum and dad let her join and buy. The kid with the parents was miffed.

Her brother brought home his reader for the week. The book that he had to read with his parents and they had to 'tick' his homework book. It was called 'Unwedding', and was about a family where the parents shouted at each other. They agreed to have an unwedding. At the unwedding they both said 'They Don't", and they all lived happily ever after.

I ask you, is this musical walk breaking down?

The Lion and the Unicorn

2010-04-26T00:56:00.002+10:00

"I'll believe in you if you believe in me"

The Unicorn looked dreamily at Alice, and said `Talk, child.'

Alice could not help her lips curling up into a smile as she began: `Do you know, I always thought Unicorns were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive before!'

`Well, now that we have seen each other,' said the Unicorn, `if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?'

`Yes, if you like,' said Alice.

`Come, fetch out the plum-cake, old man!' the Unicorn went on, turning from her to the King. `None of your brown bread for me!'

`Certainly -- certainly!' the King muttered, and beckoned to Haigha. `Open the bag!' he whispered. `Quick! Not that one -- that's full of hay!'

Haigha took a large cake out of the bag, and gave it to Alice to hold, while he got out a dish and carving-knife. How they all came out of it Alice couldn't guess. It was just like a conjuring trick, she thought.

The Lion had joined them while this was going on: he looked very tired and sleepy, and his eyes were half shut. `What's this!' he said, blinking lazily at Alice, and speaking in a deep hollow tone that sounded like the tolling of a great bell.

`Ah, what is it, now?' the Unicorn cried eagerly. `You'll never guess! I couldn't.'

The Lion looked at Alice wearily. `Are you animal -- or vegetable -- or mineral?' he said, yawning at every other word.

`It's a fabulous monster!' the Unicorn cried out, before Alice could reply.

`Then hand round the plum-cake, Monster,' the Lion said, lying down and putting his chin on his paws. `And sit down, both of you,' (to the King and the Unicorn): `fair play with the cake, you know!'

When Julian was just a little kid, her mother was jailed for trying to help a friend abort a baby, with the use of hot baths. She didn't know the details. Julian went to live with her grandmother and her grandmothers poodle, Bobo. She didn't understand why, but in the manner of all little kids simply accepted that this was the way of life now. Kids don' t bemoan their fates, they simply get on with it. One of her favourite books at that time was 'Alice in Wonderland'. She read it and read it and read it again. She read it so much that one particular exercise at school had the teacher believing that she had the book on her lap.

"I want you all to write about your favourite books," she said. Julian started writing chapter one, 'Down the Rabbit Hole', and got about half way through the chapter from memory before it was time to stop.

The teacher read it and said, "Have you got the book on your lap."

Julian was impressed by that.

"No," she said.

Wild Edible Weeds of the World

2010-04-21T10:12:00.003+10:00

b

be it Australian, be it Japanese, be it French or be it Dutch. The list goes On.

Een Muzikale Wandeling

2010-04-21T08:57:00.003+10:00

Een nog onbekende vertraging

And Once Upon A Time To Come

2010-04-19T09:37:00.003+10:00

people had to swim to the raw food experience.

Next flood TBA

No-one is advised to rest on their laurels.

Twinnies and Me

2010-04-19T09:30:00.004+10:00

Love.

True. Love.

"We love each other, do we."

Little kid on true love.

People Play in the Strangest Places. Strangely Empty Places.

2010-04-18T13:44:00.004+10:00

Julian and William Walked (and walked and walked and walked) ...

2010-04-18T13:00:00.003+10:00

William was walking Julian to Coogee from Tamarama, where William now lived. They were going to meet Tristan, a close relative. It was overcast and sprinked with light rain, on and off. Julian's legs were sore and she complained a little bit.
"What is this bit called," she asked.
"Quads, " William said.
"They hurt," Julian said. She had walked into the city the day before and swam laps at the Aquatic Centre, that she had noticed some years ago, but had only just managed to get to. The pool was good. Then she had walked back to Edgecliffe. People walk a lot in Sydney. If they take their cars, there is always a problem with parking. Julian had 2 parking tickets, worth $84 each, to prove it.

William became impatient with her.
"Say something interesting," she said, "I know there's someone interesting in there!"
The pressure was on. Julian was miffed. 'Walk with your father', she thought, 'he's obviously interesting'. She felt jealous and small, and walked in front without talking.

They later watched a movie which began with a beautiful woman telling a boy that he was beautiful. He then died and she went on to seduce a family man. His wife told her that she didn't admire her morals. It was back in the 1920's.

"Why are they so upset?" William asked Julian during the movie. It was a ballet back in Paris in the 1920's, and the music was like nothing that they had heard before. The audience were outraged.
"They haven't heard anything like it before," Julian said. "They were expecting something else."
"I liked it," William said, "but I guess I'm modern".

In The Search For

2010-04-13T13:09:00.004+10:00

a decent pic for the www.bellingenlivingfoodsadhealth.com business card, Debs took this at a Nambucca Heads bbq in a fancy house which they rented for the weekend with their speed boat which they want to sell and the littlest girl is doing her best to eat large amounts of greens in order to follow suit, bless her little cotton socks. Conversation:-
"Have you finished." (greens appear to be left over on her plate, and the salad bowls are empty).
"I might be."
"Can I have that?"
"Not yet," she said, as she unenthusiastically nibbled at another leaf of mesculun lettuce.

and during the latest Sydney experience with son and his girl, they were served cocktails by a boy who used to be at school with son and who was working around the corner from the Nepalese restaurant where they were going to eat. A varying assortment arrived, including the Japanese soy beans and a plate of lotus and pink salt and a small selection of sake, Ben did us, proud. As they were leaving, after having sampled all and sundry, Julian sucked out the last of the passionfruit which sat in the fancy pineapple cocktail in front of his girl, in honour of the way we share our foods.

Stanislaw Posts and Saxon Edits...

2010-04-13T08:46:00.003+10:00

Saxon Cheng was a journalist of some note. He had stumbled upon a story about a Polish man who went into the thieving trade. This story was hot off the press, it being the 12th April, 2010 and all, like, just yesterday!

Stanislaw Muchy was admittedly Polish, and obviously so. He was a clever boy and had worked out how to steal from large businesses and corporations. He would post himself to the buildings. Come nightfall, he would climb out of the large box and burgle. He is only 39 years old. How did he get away? Simply by posting himself and his stolen wares out again, addressed to his home in Warsaw. It seemed infallible.

So what went wrong?

He had an argument with his freind who did the posting. Not so wise for such a clever fellow. It was his friend who delivered him, in his beautiful cardboard box, to the couriers. His best mate went to the police.

Story Pending, and hoping to include the nationality of Saxon.

Ingenuous Is Not Such a Bad Thing

2010-04-09T11:44:00.002+10:00

Julian believed in being ingenuous. It suited her purposes, but some saw it as naive and 'how can you be so stupid?" Her conversation with Sunshine Dermic in the Federal Hotel, over the jazz, had been carefully considered, but Julian followed her instincts on many occasions, and this was one. That, along with her intuition had stood her in good stead over the years.

Nevertheless, Mary Hitler was understandably upset.
"She slept with my husband and tried to steal him and my perfect family, how could you?"

Julian had no answer. She just knew that Sunshine the Second had entered into her life and had a bit part.

Julian was surprised to see that Mary had spelled 'insouciantly' with an 'e'. It brought back to mind a young boy called Ian at Primary school, where Julian stepped in to do the bible teaching. How do you spell your name, he asked.
"D. E. N. E. N. E."
"Way too many 'e's', I don't like e's," he said.

Julian rather liked 'e's and so found that interesting and memorable. Ian was now very tall and much, much older. He lived in Toowoomba, but she saw him last Sunday. She was sitting next to a 12 year old who had told her that he didn't believe in God.
"You're brave," she said and then told him the story about the 'e's' because Ian was sitting just in front of them.
He laughed and thought it was pretty good.

IN.GEN.UOUS

1. free from reserve, restraint or dissimulation; candid; sincere.

IN.SOU.CI.ANT

1. free from concern, worry, or anxiety; carefree; nonchalant.
lighthearted, debonair, jaunty, breezy.

Values Reflect on your Upbringing and Real Freindships Last Forever

2010-04-09T04:04:00.006+10:00

William Horse, ready to go. He is wearing his beautifully made Lemetex, which, I believe, is Swiss. We didn't know about the Tenterfield Saddler at the time, which seems hard to believe, as we live just up the road. We spent months agonising over his back, which has a particularly high wither (backbone) and therefore the need for a well fitting saddle. He has also been carelessly treated in the past, with the saddle being banged onto his sensitive back by previous uncaring owners. Now, he is comfortable.

His face shows the scarring from the incredible summer heat and insects which makes him itchy so he scratches against trees and anything else. Now, the weather is cooler and his face can heal.

"Making a quality saddle requires meticulous skill and above all, patience. After 130+ years, all the devotion and skills passed down from saddler to saddler and generation to generation are now being applied to the creation of Tenterfield's own clothing and accessories brand. The historic Tenterfield Saddler, after serving the community in saddlery needs since 1870, now offers a wide range of quality merchandise with one exceptional difference:"

Everything is made to last.

SOME THINGS SPEAK DIRECTLY
TO THE SOUL

TRADITION HAS NO SUBSTITUTE

Used to be you could find products that reflected the lives of their makers and lasted a lifetime....

How long will things last?

A good pair of jeans seems to last forever....Depending how well you treat them. A handcrafted leather saddle will last as long as you want it, too....Maybe longer than both your horse and your ability to get on a horse....When I was a young bloke, Church seemed to last forever and good times went quicker than last weeks pay packet.

"Values reflect on your upbringing and real Friendships last forever".

Your Tenterfield Saddler Products will last as long as you want, with some becoming a family heirloom....these are the things that matter to me.

So, in time when one is just a memory of the past and a new generation captures the passion and vision anew, it may be said with pride....

"My Grandfather made that. He was the Tenterfield Saddler"

and then there was Lemetex....Our new flexible spring tree combined with AWD Memoryflex panels adapts to any horse’s back and eliminates pressure points. It offers freedom of movement and facilitates your aids. These high quality saddles feature our steel-reinforced spring tree for strength and shape retention. It allows the saddle to flex at any place along its entire length to accommodate the movement of the horse. Your knees and thighs find the necessary contact to the horse. Wool flocked panels hand stuffed by experts distribute the pressure and weight evenly over a large area to keep the horse’s back sound.

Julian's horse guru had recommended it, as she had the breed of horse. So, Julian listened and followed and believed.

Mind you, if she had known about the Tenterfield Saddler, and realised how 'fantastic' the Aussie brumby was....................

She could do what 'The Man from Susan River' could do. Ride into the lounge room full of people and recite 'The Man From Snowy River'. It had been an achievable goal, but without the horse.

She would have to make do with reciting the poem under the outback stars around the fire. After a day 'noodling' on the mullock heaps. Back to the sadde.

Designed for the horse's physique and always conforms to the true shoulder angles. This enhances the performance, as the horse is able to more freely use its full range of motion.

The hand flocked gusseted WOOL PANELS with a wide and deep channel distribute the weight evenly and eliminate pressure points. This allows the horse to work from behind and through his back to achieve the desired rounded outline.

For the BERNINA'S, we use the very finest, full grain leather, soft and supple to the touch. Exceptional durability, long a Lemetex trademark, is therefore guaranteed. The supportive deep seat with a narrow twist affords the ultimate comfort and balance, and facilitates a smooth transition to the flaps.

Anatomically sculpted thigh blocks offer security and support a proper sitting position. Our new stabilizing billet strap design prevents saddle slippage.

Cor, lumey. You'd think she'd be able to ride by now.

Brett and the Western Australian Croc

2010-04-07T13:38:00.002+10:00

make that Western Australia...

Brett and the Queensland Croc

2010-04-07T13:33:00.005+10:00

Friend of mine in a tinny (boat) in Queensland finds a croc on the end of his line.

Didn't pull him in because he was on his own.

"Too difficult," he said.

Just Another Flood

2010-04-06T05:34:00.004+10:00

The rain came down. It was heavy and cold. The SES (State Emergency Services) were out in full force ensuring that people were ok. THe guy in the truck wasn't. It took an axe to smash through the cab to get him out before he drowned. The water was filling the cab fast and he was in deep trouble. It shook both of them up as they looked death in the face.

Not just another day in Bellingen.

Just another flood.

Partners In Crime.

2010-04-04T01:09:00.002+11:00

The Abraham Moss playing fields in Crumpsall were the scene of a petty crime this week. A 17 year old boy suffered a fractured skull for the sake of 11 pounds. He was beaten about the head and body with a metal bar and a chair leg and stripped naked.

Meanwhile, a man had died peacefully in his sleeping bag in Ausewell Woods in Ashburton. Unfortunately, he had not been found for quite some time, and then by workers who were clearing the woodlands. He was a skeleton at the time. The post mortem will be carried out sooner rather than later.

"Damn Asian news," said mummy, as she surfed the telly onto a German newsreader, and discovered that Dutch readers had not developed a taste for tabloid sensationalism.

The Unbloggable

2010-04-03T19:13:00.002+11:00

Mary Hitler, who had danced the night away at the Fed. one night, and Julian had introduced her to Nicholas, wanted to blog about the fact that Julian, in her much younger days had spent an evening with Angus Young, of AC/DC fame. Julian had been working at a nightclub at the time, she was 17, and the nightclub was called Tramps.

She lived with a stylish young woman at the time, very intelligent, who worked in a bookshop during the day. Julian worked in a restaurant. At night, they worked at Tramps. Judy was front of house and Julian tramped the floors, delivering drinks to all and sundry. Until she was offered the job of DJ, which she of course accepted.

She had met many interesting people whilst there, and, unfortunately, hadn't recognised that becoming too intimate was not such a good idea.

Hence, a night with Angus Young, of which she was not proud.

Mary liked to tell the story to whoever would listen, but without identifying the protagonists, except for Angus, of course.

"Watch out for Mary Hitler," Julian had spoken warningly to Nicholas.
"Mary is trouble?" Nicholas asked.
Julian didn't answer.

She now had a dilemma. There were so many unbloggable things that they were building up.

She had been to the jazz on Wednesday. And couldn't talk about seeing and talking to the 'other' woman who had tried to steal one of her freinds husband's. They had had a long affair, bamboozling family and friends for some time.

Her mummy had come to visit and she had spent $1,500 fixing the emotional button pushing, which had worked. They had been out to lunch because it was Julian's birthday, which Julian didn't celelabrate, and it had cost Julian more than what mummy was prepared to pay. She had also been to dinner with two 50 year old virgins.
"Do you want to marry?" Julian had asked one of them.
"Of course," she paused, "I'm not a stone woman," she said.

Two Strong, Powerful and strange Dreams

2010-03-28T19:23:00.002+11:00

OR,

A Pair of Cads

(otherwise known as Caddees)

"You frighten people," Stuart told her, "you like them too much."
"Oh." said Julian. She really didn't mean it. She didn't want anything physical, just liking in return. Nothing physical, nothing more than communication, acceptance, and the recognition of beauty. Or charm. Nothing to fear, no stalking, no demanding, just admiration and connection. Sexless and ageless and timeless.

Julian had had 2 strong dreams. In one she had been told that she had to kill her baby. She thought of varous ways that she could do this, because she trusted these people, and wanted to kill the baby without pain. Meanwhile, the baby toddled over to her and kissed her on the lips. The First Kiss. She decided that she wasn't going to kill the baby.

Dream Two. A husband entered into an auction for a beautiful girl for the night. A crowded room, the girl was brought in on a cart, and money changed hands.
"Do you mind," he said,
"Um," Julian said.
He paid the money and slept with the girl.
Julian was ropeable. she left, moving through the crowd of people, and headed for the car where she intended driving away. This Was It.

She thought of Dave. He was a student at Hippocrates. Generally speaking, after 8 pm the students were very tired because of the detox, so Julian knew that she could go into the steam room completely naked and be alone. This night, in came Dave. He was a true Gentleman and immediately averted his eyes.
"Pass my dressing gown please," which he did.
She went back suitably attired and they talked of cabbages and kings and sealing wax and things and she loved him.
He was interested and then discovered that she was married and was silently cross with her, thinking her disloyal. She never saw him again.

Somebody told me.
Could it be true.

And Anand had posted on his site the news that a raw food restaurant had opened in Byron Bay.

Ne Me Quitte Pas

2010-03-27T17:38:00.007+11:00

Belgium this week commemorates the 30th anniversary of the death of one of its few famous sons, but a new documentary exposes Jacques Brel's love-hate relationship with what he called "le plat pays" (the flat country). Brel could move audiences to tears with his heart-rending ode to the low skies and melancholy beauty of the Belgian landscape, while being booed off stage for his savage caricatures of Belgians in his lyrics.

Newly-released archive interviews for the film J'aime les Belges portray a man both obsessed by exposing the small-mindedness and the "nothingness" of his compatriots while also embracing their "madness". Born in French-speaking Brussels but raised by Flemish-speaking parents, Brel never fully felt at home in either language group – a sentiment increasingly echoed by many modern Belgians.

"We have been conquered by everyone, we speak neither pure French nor Dutch, we are nothing," Brel said in an interview in the 1970s.

"He went from hero to outcast for a while after he released 'Les Flamandes'," says France Brel, his daughter and the director of the documentary, referring to a song that depicts Flemish women as immodest, coarse and full-figured.

Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Il faut oublier                 it 's neccesary to forget
Tout peut s'oublier             everything you need to forget
Qui s'enfuit deja               which is already over
Oublier le temps                forget the times
Des malentendus                 of the misunderstandings
Et le temps perdu               the lost time
A savoir comment                to know how
Oublier ces heures              forget the houres
Qui tuaient parfois             which sometimes kill
A coups de pourquoi             the reasons why
Le coeur du bonheur             the heart full of joy

Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me


Moi je t'offrirai               I offer you
Des perles de pluie             pearls of rain
Venues de pays                  coming from countries
Ou il ne pleut pas              where it never rains
Je creus'rai la terre           I will cross the world
Jusqu' apres ma mort            until after my death
Pour couvrir ton corps          for to cover your body
D'or et de lumiere;             with gold and bright light
Je f'rai un domaine             I will give you a kingdom
Ou l'amour s 'ra roi            where LOVE will be king
Ou l'amour s' ra loi            Where LOVE will be the law
ou  tu serais reine             and where you will be queen

Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me
Ne me quitte pas                Don't leave me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKMqCqjixyo&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMzAmrNS164

ik wens praten met u te spreken

2010-03-26T12:35:00.001+11:00

2010-03-26T12:23:00.000+11:00

LA VALSE À MILLE TEMPS WALTZ TO THE THOUSAND TIMES
paroles et musique: Jacques Brel words and music: Jacques Brel

Au premier temps de la valse At first the waltz
Toute seule tu souris déjà All alone you smiling already
Au premier temps de la valse At first the waltz
Je suis seul mais je t'aperçois I'm alone but I perceive you
Et Paris qui bat la mesure And Paris beats
Paris qui mesure notre émoi Paris, which measures our excitement
Et Paris qui bat la mesure And Paris beats
Me murmure, murmure tout bas: Whispers, whispers:

REFRAIN: CHORUS:
Une valse à trois temps A three to tango
Qui s'offre encore le temps Who offers plenty of time
Qui s'offre encore le temps Who offers plenty of time
De s'offrir des détours To afford detours
Du côté de l'amour On the side of love
Comme c'est charmant As charming
Une valse à quatre temps A four-time waltz
C'est beaucoup moins dansant This is much less dancing
C'est beaucoup moins dansant This is much less dancing
Mais tout aussi charmant But equally charming
Qu'une valse à trois temps That takes three to tango
Une valse à quatre temps A four-time waltz
Une valse à vingt ans A waltz to twenty years
C'est beaucoup plus troublant It's much more troubling
C'est beaucoup plus troublant It's much more troubling
Mais beaucoup plus charmant But much more charming
Qu'une valse à trois temps That takes three to tango
Une valse à vingt ans A waltz to twenty years
Une valse à cent temps A waltz to a hundred times
Une valse à cent temps A waltz to a hundred times

2010-03-26T11:22:00.002+11:00

Quelqu’un M’a Dit

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose,
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses.
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud
que de nos chagrins il s'en fait des manteaux
pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit...

Refrain

Que tu m'aimais encore,
C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore.
Serais ce possible alors ?

On me dit que le destin se moque bien de nous
Qu'il ne nous donne rien et qu'il nous promet tout
Parais qu'le bonheur est à portée de main,
Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou
Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit ...

Refrain

Mais qui est ce qui m'a dit que toujours tu m'aimais?
Je ne me souviens plus c'était tard dans la nuit,
J'entend encore la voix, mais je ne vois plus les traits
"Il vous aime, c'est secret, lui dites pas que j'vous l'ai dit"
Tu vois quelqu'un m'a dit...

Que tu m'aimais encore, me l'a t'on vraiment dit...
Que tu m'aimais encore, serais ce possible alors ?

English

Quelqu’un M’a Dit

Someone told me that our lives aren't a big thing
They pass on the instant roses discolour
Someone told me that the time that passes is a bastard
that is making topcoats from our grief
However someone said to me...

Refrain

Who do you still love,
This is someone that has told me that you still love me.
Is it possible then?

Someone told me that destiny is scoffing at us
doesn't give us anything and promises us everything
Appear that the happiness is only for the reach hands
Then they tighten the hand and find themselves crazy
But someone have told me...

Refrain

But who can tell me that today you are loving me?
I don't remember more it was late in the night,
I'm still hearing the voice, but I don't see anymore the point
"He loves you, it's a secret, don't tell him that I tell you"
You see, someone told me...

Who do you still love, he really told me...
Who do you still love, is it possible then?

From: http://lyricstranslate.com

bellingen nevernever poetry

2010-03-26T11:03:00.000+11:00

swollen rockpools
welcome my warm flesh
creek water plays over my body/mind

pebbles and small stones
give way under my feet

i push down
with my heels
then
float

no longer here
there ...

in between

Never Leave Me

2010-03-25T07:04:00.005+11:00

"Never leave me," Julian said to Nicholas as they said goodbye yet again, but this au revoir was different, it was for months, not days, as he was leaving the country. This was an international farewell.

"Huh?" said Nicholas, he was taken aback. This negative, needy and strange identity could do with a smidge of MEM, he thought, but he was busy. He had a girl, he had to pack, he was travelling, he had a concert to play and life moved on, people came and went, he was busy. Mind you, " life is a cabaret, old freind, life is a cabaret." He knew that too. A most interesting cabaret, this girl.

Meanwhile, Julian awoke in yet another agony. What on earth did she say and why on earth did she say it. What on earth did she mean.
She groaned.
This boy was really pushing the balancing act buttons.
Now how do we balance this one out, she mused over breakfast.

She had to nip out to squirt strange white jelly like stuff into the horse's mouth, followed by a trip to Nambucca Heads for a hair dressers apointment for the twinnies, followed by a train appointment.

She was reminded of the scene where Heathcliffe met Isabella on the moors.
"You see something good in me, " he said darkly, "which at least makes me want to try to love you,"
We all know that it didn't work, but at least he was prepared to try to see the good. Julian was still putting Wuthering Heights together in her mind. Dr John had talked about passion being a bad thing. Julian needed to reread her notes, because she didn't quite get it.

Aha. Passion. Never fulfilled. Mission. Fulfilled. She was engaged in a mission statement.

She did know that This was a next movement and understanding and realisation. There were definite parallels between DeMartini and Mace.

Like the Food.

and perhaps the communication.

Stretch. We are all being stretched.

Those that Matter will never leave.

The Breakthrough Experience

2010-03-21T22:14:00.003+11:00

Julian was in Brisbane at the Breakthrough Experience with Dr John DeMartini. She was expecting to fall in love again and she wasn't disappointed, although it took until the last 30 minutes of the 2 say seminar. And Day One went until 2 am.
"You're beautiful," she said as she turned to leave, and shook his hand. He stood on the dais and said in return, "You're beautiful."

She had learnt a lot. It put her in mind of the MEM method, of which she still had to learn the details, but suspected that Dr John had taken this stuff further. She looked forward to talking to 2 of the facilitators and finding out more detail on Tuesday night. The Night of the Naked and Raw Gourmet.

Meanwhile, she had discovered the Japanese Restaurant that she had been searching for for at least 10 years. She and Mac had eaten there with a rather bizarre Indian man who worked in high places in the Indian Government. He was short and round and smiled with red teeth due to the betel nut that he chewed constantly. They had eaten sukiyaki. There it was, under her nose the entire time. Synchronicity and serendipity.

She wasn't sure that she would eat there as she walked back to her bed from the city, but went in to read the menu.

With her head down she didn't notice Shan, the Japanese chef standing by her asking her what she would like to order.

"I don't know," she said, "I'm just reading the menu."
"I am the chef. I can make you what you want."
"I was looking at raw fish, endame, and a miso soup."
"Come and sit here, talk to me, I'm lonely,"
"I doubt that," said Julian, following meekly behind.
He sat her at the counter where she could watch the sushi and the sushimi being made.

It was wonderful and delicious and delightful. She was thankful.

Tomorrow she was going home.

It had been a most interesting and liberating experience.

Haut Hamme From the Ceiling

2010-03-18T13:15:00.004+11:00

Addy was launching forth about The Hague. It was where Nicholas lived, and Addy had asked how he was. The nice Dutchman, he called him.
"He was very nice," he said.
"Don't tell him that," he said, "but those who live in The Hague had a reputation for being, what is it, what is it," he stuck his nose in the air, "superior."
Julian said, "But he isn't like that."
"No, no," said Addy, "he isn't like that, but they were called 'wooden pigs', or was it 'wooden hams'?"

Julian had no idea what that could possibly mean, but Addy was happy to elaborate.
It seemed that early in Holland's history, they would hang their hams from the ceilings to cure. Those in the Hague would hang a number of wooden, painted hams from their ceilings so that those who passed by would think that they were very rich. And so, the phrase, Haut Hamme.

"He might not have heard of that. He might be too young,"Addy mused. "He likes Australia, he told me that."

Julian wanted to know why and Addy informed her about Holland. He talked about the size of the city and the number of people that lived in a smallish sized country. He waxed lyrical about the glass houses that were always lit up. Apparently, flying into Amsterdam at night was quite a sight. He told of the commercialism and the water everywhere. The ability to buy marijuana, but that it wasn't legal. And the people who sat in leather chairs and picked roses from conveyor belts in huge glass houses that took 8 hours for the same rose to return, and they were cut exactly to the millimetre. Julian was impressed. This was a different place. She looked out of the BMW window from her leather seat, the top of the car was open and it was very comfortable. She looked at the magnificent views of the mountains all around and breathed in the fresh air. It was very, very beautiful and she thanked Jehovah for this magnificent creation.
"And made for us," Addy added.

He went on to talk about witnessing in Holland with his father on his bicycle. There was one farm that he went to when he was a young boy, about 7 or 8. It was winter. The man had turned his hose on the both of them. They had ridden there bicycles home, but Addy was literally freezing and was about to die. His father urged him onwards, 'push, push', he said, 'pedal, pedal'. Addy pushed and pedalled and could feel his trousers literally turning to ice as he did so. They cracked and crickled each time his knees bent. And now, he was almost 70, and every time he went back to Holland to visit his aging mamma, he would take the turn off to that farm and look and remember.

They were delivering invites to the memorial and Addy wanted to know if Julian had continued the conversation about the truth with him.
She filled him in, and also mentioned that he had said, 'what a shame we can't live forever'.
Addy was delighted.
"And you didn't jump on that?" he wanted to know.
"Give me time," Julian said.
Addy, Julian and Slavica and 7 million others believed that they could live forever. On a paradise on earth. It was a delicious, and true, hope.

Nicholas had taken a photo of the words 'rejoice' and 'persevere' from a small sign on the verandah.

It read, in full, 'Rejoice in the hope. Persevere in prayer.' and it was taken from Romans 12:12

That was the hope. Life on earth forever.

Magnificent.

You Warm the Cockles of my Heart

2010-03-13T06:46:00.004+11:00

Julian was distressed to see the dying cockle fields in Wales. Cockling was an industry that went way back in time. She was googling and found that:-

cockle fishing at a low intensity (thinning) may even be beneficial to enhance and rejuvenate cockle stocks. This may be due to new cockles moving into a less crowded area and / or young cockles having a better chance of survival in less crowded conditions. The Burry Inlet in south east England is regarded to have a sustainable ..........

her cut and paste cut out on her, but she got the idea. They weren't doing any harm all those years ago when they went cockling in the south of England, but now they were turning it into a commercial venture, and damage was being done along with modern pollution. Hence the dying cockle fields of Wales.

And warming the cockles of one's heart related to the heart shape of the bivalve of the creature. She remembered eating cockles with vinegar. They were delicious. And winkles. A little known black shelled wormy type of creature that would be labelled 'disgusting' by today's skin tight panted youth.

Julian was devising a 'fine dining' raw food meal. She had gone into business and was now running a raw food, detox 6 day retreat which was proving popular. Students learned all manner of wonderful things about nutrition and chemicals and the way that stuff was being manufactured to play with your head. Buy this organic, natural thing and rub it onto your body. The skin was one of our biggest organs of elimination and we were putting the toxins IN. The consequences of which were sickness on a scale previously unknown. So. Julian had put herself out there and was ready for the chopping block.

The menu was looking attractive. A glass of organic red wine sans preservatives. Tricolour sesame-cashew dumplings and sweet chile-lime sauce, Chile Rellenos, monta-raw jack "cheese", and cacao mole, conch chowder and not necessarily in that order, with a chocolate dessert to follow. And All Raw. There would be green salads and tossed tomatoes to sunburst the table.

She realised that her business acumen was lacking. Her first $120 had come in, and she was now using it to invite them to dinner.

Meanwhile, Nicholas Biko was in town for a brief sojourn from the Prague, where he liked to conduct and play piano. He was very tall with a long face and rode a bicycle in Holland, but went by foot in Australia, wherever possible, which wasn't often as Australia needed a car. Australia had captured his imagination and he had gone from putting ribbons on winning Merino sheep, which had been a 'hilarious priviledge', to eating raw food, cappuchinos and $4 salads in Bellingen, a small country town, almost coastal and always flooding, in NSW.

Nicholas had spent the evening watching a Japanese opera singer in an Anglican church hall with his new found Australian freinds. The singer was married to Wolfie, who was German, and they lived in Tokyo with a visit every year, at least once and sometimes twice, to Ursula, who could teach you to ride par excellence. Nicholas found it hard to believe that there were 'horse guru's'. "It's true," said Julian. "It's like playing the piano." Nicholas nodded.

They said their goodbye's and thanks and appreciations for the wonderful and amazing and rather incredible evening. Nicholas spoke briefly in German to Wolfie and to Ursula. Ursula, who was now in her 80's and having a smidge of trouble with her hearing aid, which she hated with a passion, didn't hear Nicholas speak German words. Julian stepped in to explain and stepped out again as Ursula now strode forth with her typical self assurance and love of speaking.

Julian was in figurative heaven as she heard these languages spoken all around, from English to Dutch to English to German to English ........ and she had no doubt that French could be incorporated.

As a girl, she had shown a natural ability with French, and German languages, when at school in England. Then she had been whipped away to New Zealand, where it had seemed a little pointless to pursue the European way of things. She ended up in Australia and her baby girl, who grew and had never been told these things, decided to go to Paris and learn French, and then to Barcelona and learn Spanish.

Life is an amazing and wonderful and interesting and incredible and marvelous and full of beauty journey.

Time....for some Fiction!

2010-02-22T04:14:00.002+11:00

Mary and Hermione had been born together at 4 am, joined at the hip. Hope for their survival had been small and hopeless. There mother, Nadia, had been too weak to weep, and lay helplessly in a metal bed with wheels, allowing nurses to move her at will. The twins, however, had strong wills and constitutions, and were determined. Their yells came strong and sound from the nursery. The decision was made. Separating them would kill them, they must stay together.
Meanwhile, two corridors down in this green and white and tiled place, Sally was waiting on her metal bed on wheels. She was about to give birth and a nurse was heading towards her with purpose. Sister Phister was about to give her an internal examination to find out how far her cervix was dilated. Unfortunately, Sister Phister was in such a hurry that she gave her an internal examination in her anus, and thought that everything was going just fine. Sally couldn't believe her ears.

Fact? Fiction? Belief? Truth? Lies? Love, loyalty, perception and misperception. Misconception?

Einstein's Coming Attractions

2010-02-17T22:22:00.003+11:00

"The little red kitchen, thai or chinese," said James.

"You choose," said Julian.

"No, you choose," said James.

"The cheapest, darling," said Julian, "your call."

James rode his motorbike, Julian swam laps.

Julian waited at the thai, waiting for James to find her.

She had left a paper with a quote from Einstein over her laptop replete with bible open to Psalms 83:18 to deter burglars.

The quote read 'Our imagination is our preview to the coming attractions." Albert Einstein.

James ran the gamut of the restaurants in town and went home puzzled.

'I give up', he messaged Julian.

"Where are you," Julian rang James.

Julian really had expected James to find her. It came as a surprise. His lateral thinking had been thrown way out by the quote from Einstein, which actaully had had nothing to do with dinner.

Julian had learnt yet another lesson.

A sister had also told her that she had been too forcefu that day,l and had told a young man at the doors what he thought before she knew what he thought.

Julian was duly chastened by her dear, close, loving friends. They put up with her, she knew that. Jehovah had told them to, and they had listened. She loved them for that.

The Road Trip Diet

2010-02-15T09:42:00.001+11:00

"Write about it, write about", urged Mary Hitler, who was known for her bossiness", "but you must be true to the story. No ball peen hammers,"

Julian was nonplussed. Ball peen hammers abounded. They were everywhere. How could she not write about them? And the truth? How could she possibly write about the truth? Everybody was far too precious, Mary Hitler being right up amongst them.

The Road Trip Diet seemed a safe topic and incredibly interesting. Julian was able to relate to the German Gertrude Dierhappy that most women kept there potato peelers in the second drawer down.
"It is TRUE", Gertrude exclaimed happily, but then, "it is the truth that has helped me to EXIST. Where would I be without truth...."
"Lovely to see you, Gertrude, I have to go now," Julian politely excused herself and rushed over to Candy, who was merely visiting.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Ask Victoria."

The road trip diet expanded and adapted to many different women's kitchens. Hermione and Julian fitted in and chopped and sliced and cleaned and washed everywhere that they went. Some kitchens were raw, some were everything and some were careful. It was so good that Julian wanted to do it again and again and again. Sharing was what this was all about, and all you had to be was organised.

Julian was that.

Menu's included freshly picked greens from the most fabulous vegie garden, chicken curry from a Bombay cook, chilled local white wines and the most amazing raw chocolate fudge cake with cashew nut cream. Cor. Not forgetting the Melbourne, Canberra and Perth Aussie barbecues and the Perth Pavlova and the incredible everywhere salads and the Port Augusta seafood platter. Hermione and Julian were on a roll. In between these fabulous and wonderful meals, they nibbled and crunched their way through tins of tuna, apples, cucumbers, nuts and goji berries. The worst meal of the trip for Julian had to be the roadhouse salad. She had been specific in her desire and the roadhouse cook, proud in his filthy white apron and his large mound of belly pork, had been eager and keen to please. Wilted iceberg, old tomatoes, cucumbers and tiny slivers of red onion could not even be lifted by Paul Newman's amazing salad dressing. Julian waded through half of it and tried to hide the rest in the outside barrel that doubled as a refuse bin. The cook had been so proud to be able to show his skills and his ability to be of unusual service. Most were happy with canola oil soaked potatoes and meats served on slightly soggy white bread rolls. Here was his ability to shine. A salad! And so precise! He could do it and he did it with love. Except that his ingredients had already been so unloved that it became an impossible task.

Julian munched through it as she shared an outside table next to the barrel with an older middle aged couple. The woman was heavy in shorts and t-shirt and niggly. The day was hot. He was quiet, heavy and forbearing. The vista of red dirt and road and scrub uninteresting except in that it was something rarely seen.

Meanwhile, Hermione was trudging through a pretend museum that showed old photographs of the dirt track that was now the road crossing Australia with olden day cars bogged in huge ruts and the driver smiling proudly standing knee deep in road next to his car. There were pictures of Indians with turbans and camel trains and stories of death and water holes and injustice. They were most proud of their piece of Skylab that took pride of place in the wooden, old, dusty room.

Hermione and Julian, with cars and bellies suitable filled, continued on this fascinating journey, ready for more of Wuthering Heights, the book on CD, read by an accomplished actress. They were up to the point where Cathy had married Linton and Heathcliffe had come back, now a man of money. It was exciting. They listened and watched the road. For hours and hours, they listened and watched the road. It was safer that way.

Nest of Assassins

2010-02-14T21:07:00.005+11:00

"He who has never hoped has never despaired," said Caesar.

Christopher plummer was playing a rather fine Caeser in some sort of televised Shakespearean stage production of Caesar and Cleopatra on the ABC. His aquiline nose was emphasised and the audience laughed aloud quite often at some of the lines.

It had been a rather fine day over all, full of hope and joy. Everyone needed to know how to keep focused on being joyful rather than despondent, and these were the tools. Not all of Julian's freinds believed that bible reading could do it, but it was all dependent on the certainty of the bible's author. Was it simply Paul we were listening to? Or had he really been inspired by the creator of the universe? He gave great hope.

William had been duly shampooed, and Julian hoped that it wasn't the conditioner and that it was the shampoo. She had bought 2 bottles on the internet from a girl who subsequently lost her little boy in death and went out of business due to despair. Julian emailed some hopeful scriptures about the time when people would be brought back from death to life, Jesus had spoken about it in the book of John, and the Greek work, anastasis, had the meanining of standing up again. So, the 2 bottles had not been labelled, and she wasn't sure which was shampoo and which was conditioner and why she had even bothered buying the conditioner she wasn't sure. She wasn't great on slathering creams on horses, but this boy was in trouble. The Queensland Itch was all over his face, heading down his neck and causing great nasty's on his legs. He had sores. He would cross one leg over the other and rub up and down. Poor darling. So Julian had been asking experts what to do and now had advice to follow.

He also had a condition known as anhidrosis. He couldn't sweat, which meant that in this extraordinarily hot weather, he would puff and blow in discomfort. Vets were on the cards and Jim had scoured the internet and come up with a product. Patches on the skin, which were said to reverse the condition. He had been sold as a very quiet thoroughbred and now Julian knew why. Little darling didn't have the energy.

Mudbilly was living in the backyard for a short time. She was heading over to Perth to be with Hermione.

Hermione's last conversation regarding the blog had been vehement. They were staying with the Colonel's wife, and amidst much merriment, Hermione had declared that she no longer wanted to be Hermione, but insisted on being Elsie. She had also told Julian that she had better go to the toilet everytime the car stopped, because she wouldn't be stopping for Julian. Julian stayed silent. She was waiting to understand, but had only been told that she mocked people.

"You are mocking me, Julian," Hermione had said in the car on the Nullabor.

Julian didn't say anything, but later at the Colonel's house in Canberra, she had told her that nothing could have been further from the truth. Julian had nothing but admiration for Hermione.

Why else would she figure so prominently in the story?

Meanwhile, Hermione left a message on Mary's post calling herself Hermione, and acknowledging Mary as Mary and Edgar as Edgar and it was all a bit much really. Julian felt cross.

Hermione had written:

"A mutual friend foned frantically requesting interpretation of this blog, and I was only able to provide partial translation, so I am intrigued as well. Methinks I must phone, however I have used all my credit up until the 16th. Will phone u then Mary. But I do have heaps of Internet credit so can happily play with ur blogspot. I am quite hurt there was no mention of missing Hermione, only Julian who was returning within 30 days, sigh. It's alright I know I am too normal, just like every other associate, but I do miss your family so would love to send a big kiss and hug to Tuesday, Theadora, Edgar and Mary. Glad to see you are still familius intactus. Despite the eternal wrestling with evil spirits and witches covens and I wish I knew who osama bin laden is!!"

How Dare She. Mary and Hermione wanted it both ways.

"It isn't fiction, Julian," said Mary, and refused to discuss it further. Julian wanted to politely point out that at the beginning of her blog she had a statedment. It went like this.

"Ha," thought Julian, who insisted that it Was fiction that she wrote, apart from the smatterings of truth, which was always stranger than fiction anyway. She thought of the 16 year old that she had read about recently, from Iran. She had been seen talking to boys by her family, and the father and grandfather had taken it upon themselves, after a family council meeting, to bury her alive. There had been a picture of the hole outside the laundry that they had dug. When her body had been exhumed and autopsied, they had found soil in her lungs and stomach, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had been alive when buried. That was true.

Edgar had also said to Julian on the phone,

"I was lying then, but I'm telling the truth now."

Julian believed him when he said that he was telling the truth and that he had been lying. She had no doubt that he was telling the truth. He said so. She had believed him when he had been lying.

Julian had meekly followed Mary to Kmart. She tried to wriggle out of it, because she had a collage door project on the go, and knew how therapeutic it was to cut out words. They traipsed around the badly smelling aisles and Julian collected some elastic underwear and pants and top, as well as some water glasses and a book. Mary could not find the gym pants that she had gone on the mission for. They finished in the supermarket with a sundry amount of prawns, crackers, avocado's, cucumbers, green apples and champagne. They were ready for the spa and the magazines.

"This is love." stated Julian, on her sojourn to Kmart.

"THIS is love." stated Mary, as she took her unread copy of Oprah into the house and attacked it with scissors. She happily found all many of good words and statements. From 'Happiness" to "It's not my problem, YET".

Mudbilly's quote from Oscar Wilde was also rather good.

"But what is the good of freindship if one cannot say exactly what one means. Anybody can say charming things and try to please and to flatter, but a true freind always says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he is a really true friend he prefers it, for he knows then he is doing good."

Julian explained to Mudbilly that she didn't want to cause pain to Hermione, and that is why she didn't talk. Hermione didn't want it, and Julian knew. So Julian respected that, but was saddened at the loss of a dear old friend. Mary, for some obscure reason, seemed to handle truth from Julian. She listened and didn't always like it, and always had a truth of her own to hit Julian with.

"You just don't get it, Julian," stated Mary. She was lying back under the stars in the outside spa. They were wearing sarongs for modesty, which wasn't really working as the sarongs billowed up and out constantly.
"Oops," said Julian.
"You just ..... don't ...... get it," she sighed as she let the jets do their work on her aching back and mind.

the raw the cooked and the unusual across the Nullabor

2010-01-30T06:10:00.003+11:00

People spoke about the Nullabor as if it was a huge undertaking. It was, factually, a 90 mile treeless plain across Australia. It was the rest of the journey that was, actually, the huge undertaking. Hermione and Julian were doing it. People were suitably impressed.

THE DEPTH OF THE PROBLEM

Now how could Julian tell Mary that she had not agreed to an elusive name. It still didn't cut the mustard. Mary had been very cutting, and had finished her sword play by the statement that she missed Julian very much. Julian was bemused.

Hermione also wanted a change of name. Mr Lovely Goodness had told Hermione that Julian was mocking her. Not so, stated Julian,and, in this rare window moment of Hermione truth, Julain had told her that it was admiration and, Julian lifted up her arms to the sky, she had no word. Hermione was silent. She now wanted to be Elsie, but had not a hope in the proverbial hell. Hermione was her original choice of name and Hermione she was. Mr Lovely Goodness was her choice of marriage partner, and Mr Lovely Goodness she would stand behind, come hell or high water. She faced both hell and high water, but refused to admit it. She left family and friends and place behind in order to stand behind his kind eyes.

Hermione yearned for kindess in life and had finally found it.

Idi Amin Dada Dies...and Garrigan Lives on in the Leafy Suburbs of Wimbledon...

2009-12-16T14:26:00.003+11:00

"From my own point of view, I was also trying to explore, in a literary way, how sensationalism relates to the writing of fiction: at what point, I tried to ask myself, am I myself involved in the glamourisation of Amin's deeds? Where does the chain of responsibility and voyeurism that wraps itself around Garrigan end? With me? With you, the reader?" Giles was on the ball.

Giles also spoke with authority. He had been to see Major Bob in the leafy suburb of Wimbledon and knew what he was talking about. Bob, himself, had spent over 10 years in a Ugandan jail, and also knew what he was talking about. It was a meeting of the minds.

his reaction to The Last King of Scotland?

GF: Well, this worried my mother a lot, who despite having returned to Britain, still reckons that Amin's men are going to come after me! I tell her not to worry. It's not likely: he is living in Saudi on a small pension from the government there, and doesn't have the resources he once had. Apparently he has slimmed down a lot and now has the nickname Dr. Jaffa, because he eats large numbers of oranges each day. It must be true, as the reason is pure Amin: he believes they will repair his ailing sexual potency. I heard this from a Scottish businessman -- it sounds too good to be true, but I swear he was Scottish -- who works in Saudi and visits Amin from time to time. He has told me of the dictator's response: not being able to read, he had a summary made of the book, and on having it read out to him veered between fury and flattery. Although the Saudi government won't let me go there and see him for myself, I feel like I know him well enough to believe that this is how he would react. Ah well, you can't please everybody.

Bob has a habit of covering his eyes or forehead with his hand when he is recalling unpleasant things, as if the memory is too much to bear.

"They brought a man in. He was deputy commissioner of police and his bones were all sticking out and we tried to, um, repair him but they . . ." He makes pushing motions about his shins and forearms, mimicking putting the bones back, then makes the cutting sign across his throat.

He goes into gruelling detail.

"The prisoners, they used to pierce them here, through the Achilles tendon, so they couldn't walk," he says, getting down on the carpet and jumping forward clumsily on his knees.

"Others had to carry these prisoners when they went to be executed. I had a melodeon smuggled into me and before they went to be killed, I would play Onward Christian Soldiers and so on and we would have a church service."

Asked again why he persisted in Uganda, if he was an enemy of Amin, Astles claims: "It was because of my Africans, my staff, I had a lot of people who were relying on me."

He put himself through the fire to stay there, at one point cutting three tribal scars into his cheeks in an attempt to persuade Amin he had been captured by smugglers: "I had to replace them each Sunday, with a hot wire. My wife said, why do we have to go through this horror?"

The key to Astles, why he put up with the horror, is the lure of danger and the satisfaction of a job well done - whatever it is.

"Bob had to have excitement and adventure," Monica has said. Shades of Nicholas. Fun and adventure.

"His mind was always on the political intrigue.

" The risk of being associated with a regime that murdered thousands isn't one that he seems to have considered over much. There is something curiously disengaged about him altogether, as if he can't conceive of a moral dimension to practical activity.

"I loved it," he recalls, "and when my minister asked me to do something, I'd do it . . . And I'd do it all again. Definitely."

Idi Amin Dada and Pol Pot. Starvation and death and disloyalty and distrust.

.

2009-12-14T10:21:00.005+11:00

I Dreamed a Dream

2009-12-14T06:07:00.003+11:00

Dreams can be dramatic. Julian was in what seemed to be a car park surrounded by buildings. Ferocious wild beasts were loose and she was in danger. She realised that they were very close to her and running would be futile because they would easily catch her and throw her to the ground. Suddenly she was to close to comfort to a huge lion. She wasn't surprised that it was a lion, despite only having been aware of tigers up till now. She turned and walked towards a nearby door and knew it was following with the intent to kill. As she opened the door, she felt it's breath upon the back of her neck. She entered and literally closed the door as it was about to grab her. She raced through the building, up and down stairs, making sure that all the doors were locked. In some rooms, people were going about their business, and she would call down the stairs to them.

When I wake up early in the morning,
Lift my head, I'm still yawning
When I'm in the middle of a dream
Stay in bed, float up stream

Please don't wake me, no
don't shake me
Leave me where I am
I'm only sleeping

Everybody seems to think I'm lazy
I don't mind, I think they're crazy
Running everywhere at such a speed
Till they find, there's no need

Please don't spoil my day
I'm miles away
And after all
I'm only sleeping

In the same dream, she was about to drive out of the car park to meet Ruth, when she realised that Ruth was only 10 minutes away, so she could wait for her there. She turned the car around, and she had been literally about to drive out of the park. She followed another car and found that there were 6 cars in front of her and they all had to wait for a person who wasn't ready to tell them where they could park yet. As she looked around, there were empty car parking spaces all around her and it was puzzling and frustrating. It took ages and she realised that it hadn't been the best decision to wait for Ruth in the car park.

What does it all mean, and does it really matter? Julian was intrigued by the lion. The car park stuff just seemed to be frustration in life. She was definitely in a rut and knew what she had to do, but the doing seemed to be an effort. She had to make it, because she couldn't go on this way. She was shirking responsiblilities and everyone was noticing. It was just so easy to sink into the way of the world. Even those who knew better and knew how to combat the ways of the world, had their problems with it. No one was immune.

Sargeant Prudence Mayhem, (no relation), from Strawberry Fields, had also dreamt dreams.
"I don't dream." She stated. And then proceeded to describe her dream. A dear freind that she had known for years had walked into a place of true worship with bared breasts.
"No, no," Prudence had cried, "You can't come in here dressed like that!"
They then brought her husband's body in to the room in a coffin which they proceeded to place on the wall, sideways.
"No, no, don't open it," she cried, but it was too late. There was his head, looking like a mask.

Julian had just attended a very interesting seminar, which helped with these problems. It had as it's theme timing and how little there was left for this wordly way.

There was little mention of dreams. Endurance was the key. And keeping busy. There was a train coming and don't get to the station too early, you might not make it. Water the flowers.

Julian understood and made arrangements to have lunch with both Malaya and Mary and her hairdresser. All separately. Both before and after leaving with Hermione.

Blog Was Once Inspired....

2009-12-13T15:21:00.003+11:00

Lovely had finally managed to be close to his children. He had moved back to Perth to be close.

He had done a runner through desperation in the early years of his marriage. He had been very fearful and had found that the best way was to come home when his family were out and pack his bags. He had then rung Cinderella, and told her that he wasn't coming back. She spat chips, then, and then for years to come. Cinderella had become grateful that he was moving back to Perth after some years, because, now, she was having trouble with the children.

He had helped Julian to set up a blog some time before.
"Why bother with a blog?" she had asked.
He had explained, and Stewart had tried to explain to Lovely that he might not like it.
"Nonsense." Lovely had said.
So away they had gone. Julian had written her blog, and Lovely was temporarily happy. Stewart was ecstatic and very supportive.

Along came Mary Hitler. Julian .............

had more to say.

Fountain Pens, Mice and Touch Pads

2009-12-13T14:44:00.004+11:00

The speed and pace of life was almost too much. The amount of people and the advice and the stuff to do ,was overwhelming. Julian Fairfax Mayhem fell on her age and used her hormonal changes and menopause to excuse herself from it all, including diet and exercise.

Mary Leunig had a cartoon that expressed it. A door, the planet earth with a huge hand and finger, knocking on the door. A mat that said, "Go Away." Julian resolved to show Hermione who she had tried to explain how it felt........after many moons. Hermione had just put it down to too much alcohol and had expressed a deep regret to Count Dracula. "Oh, I am so, so sorry that she and I drank so much champagne together. I feel so responsible. It was terrible of me." Julian hadn't been impressed.

"It's like, it's like, I just want to be alone." Julian had said, knowing how much she sounded like Marlene Deitrich, and didn't really expect Hermione to understand. Hermione had exercise and musculature on her side......

....Julian stopped writing. She couldn't do it. It wasn't kind and that was an underhanded thing to do with words. Nevertheless, it wasn't good to hold it in and she had to try to break through.

When she spoke to her good and close and caring freind, Horse Ratfink, Horse had replied, "well, you left yourself wide open to that one," and they had both laughed because it was true.
Hermione's reply to Julian wanting to be alone had been, "Well, what are you going to do then."
She was referring to the coming journey across Australia. Hermione was moving to Perth, and Julian was driving across with her. People were referring to it as the 'Thelma and Lousie' trip.

Julian wondered which one of them would get Brad Pitt. Who would rob the bank? Who would drive crazily towards the cliffs and keep going? She hoped it would as dramatic as the Nullabor Cliffs. They were a priority to the Albany Natural Bridge, but either, or.

Malaya asked if Julian was ready. Julian had said she had plenty of time. They left in a week.
"I'm taking the small chopping board, the good knives and the citrus squeezer."
"You've got your priorities right then. How long will it take you to pack?"
"A day."
Malaya laughed. She was someone who knew how to dispense with the encumberances of life. It came in, it went out. She was not a sentimental girl. She told of the time that she was leaving an Asian country and had, literally, 4 towels, 4 forks, 4 spoons, 4 knives and pegs. She packed them carefully to send home because they were all that they had. On arriving back in the lucky country, she realised that she didn't need them because she had many towels, forks, spoons, knives and pegs, she couldn't believe that she had bothered with the pegs! Juian had been sorry that she hadn't explained that almost every towel, fork, spoon, knife, glass, book, chair, bowl, plate, chopping board............felt like that to her. It was more than her gypsy blood. It was also to do with the changes that came unexpectedly through her childhood when she wasn't ready for them. The empty promises and the discarded treasures that she had been shown.

She was trying to hold on to the wind, and losing.

The Von Trapp Sanitised Versions of Life

2009-05-04T12:51:00.002+10:00

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.

Going Out On A Flooded Limb

2009-04-08T11:21:00.003+10:00

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.

To be continued with permission.

It's All About Mary

2009-04-07T10:24:00.003+10:00

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.

I Flood, You Flood, We All Flood.

2009-04-03T04:46:00.006+11:00

"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.

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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.

What's a Little Water Over the Road Between Friends?

2009-02-19T05:55:00.000+11:00

Candy Perfume Girl wades home as Fred Bloggs, having done the good deed for the day, also wades home. The main thoroughfare being under...

Please don't do That. I'm Asking You.

2009-02-18T17:01:00.005+11:00

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?

Or was this a little thing.

BBC NEWS | In Pictures | Day in pictures

2009-01-20T08:07:00.001+11:00

BBC NEWS | In Pictures | Day in pictures

Julian's Number One Son was moving to Lebanon for work. He was aware of the dangers. The first BBC news day in pictures was very telling.

Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport

2008-12-31T08:48:00.003+11:00

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.

Just Get On With It & Write Some More

2008-10-03T07:34:00.001+10:00

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.

Sucked Into The Vortex of International Warfare

2008-05-03T05:02:00.000+10:00

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.

Love, Life, the Universe & Everything

2008-01-19T05:53:00.000+11:00

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.

Mary Hitler Stoops to The Sink of Despair

2008-01-14T06:29:00.000+11:00

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.

The Italian Titanic Edwardian Fiasco Affair

2008-01-14T06:27:00.000+11:00

Guiliano Fairfaxamino Mayhemanino said...: 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.

A Pennington Sort Of Place To Be

2007-12-06T05:18:00.000+11:00

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.

Dorset rewrites, 'ere we come.

Julian Alchemises What Wounds Her Into Art

2007-12-04T09:45:00.000+11:00

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.

The Loan Below The Belt

2007-12-03T07:25:00.000+11:00

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...

Introducing Susan Pecker and Her Alter Ego

2007-11-25T08:13:00.000+11:00

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.

Garage Floors Are Us

2007-11-03T07:14:00.000+11:00

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.

2007-11-03T06:14:00.000+11:00

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

2007-10-28T06:01:00.000+11:00

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.

Trevi Fountain, Rome

2007-10-26T15:41:00.000+10:00

Trevi Fountain, Rome

The House of Williams.

2007-10-07T06:46:00.000+10:00

"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 19^th century and that has been fully restored is the attractive and inviting Acacia Hotel. 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.

Life was good.

In Which Fiction Becomes Fact and Fact Becomes Fiction.

2007-10-04T07:02:00.000+10:00

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.

Two Soft Chairs To Be Sat On Part II

2007-10-04T06:35:00.000+10:00

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!

This is a sponsored blog.

The Missing Published Posts Have Gone Walkabout.

2007-10-01T06:04:00.000+10:00

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...

A Storage Binning We Will Go.

2007-09-18T04:33:00.000+10:00

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 is Back!

2007-09-18T03:46:00.000+10:00

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.

Two Soft Chairs To Be Sat On.

2007-09-10T06:26:00.000+10:00

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.

An Attic Lift Is The Place To Be.

2007-08-22T17:20:00.000+10:00

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 Blaze & Count The Dollar Nikolarse.

2007-08-22T16:38:00.000+10:00

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.

Fred Grobble Runs Out Of Patience.

2007-08-20T19:11:00.000+10:00

"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!

This was the day of All The Queen's Horses.

A Life Of Barney & A Terrible Riley.

2007-08-18T12:28:00.000+10:00

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.

A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

2007-08-12T11:28:00.000+10:00

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.