The dog ate my homework.

You get what you get but you don't get upset...

Today, despite my best efforts, I did not buy a new dress.  Nor did I buy a pair of neat (or even funky) slacks, or pants or other legwear.  Or a top.  Or a scarf.  Or earrings.  Or a necklace or a bracelet.  Or any footwear, headwear, shapewear, or even underwear.  It could, in fact, be said that I came home empty handed and empty bagged, except that wouldn't strictly be true.  Because I did buy a book.  

The purchase wasn't strictly for me, of course, because the book is for the plane and for the trip to Queensland on Friday for the wedding.  And also, the book isn't the one I wanted to buy today anyway, so it doesn't actually count.*  

So this is where I make my confession.  It is almost impossible for me to walk into a place of books selling (be they old or new) and emerge empty handed.  (There's the most CRACKING thunderstorm going on as I write…).  In my search for the book I was actually after, I came across such jewels that I almost dacked myself, so vigorous was I in shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them a-distance from the itchy credit card in my bag.

If only I were the kind of girl who was as excited by groovy clothes shops (or even knew what some were called or where they were located) as I was by books, then I'd probably be a bit more … oh, I don't know …  I'd have more clothes and fewer books, that's all.  And I'd probably still not have anything to wear to the wedding.** 




*What I was really after was Liam Houlihan's Once Upon a Time in Melbourne. Reviews?  Anyone?
**Even though I do, because I'll wear my nice, black dress that Hollie said'd be fine.  And I believe her.

Basketball: When good things go bad.

Our Boys.  The Valiant Runners Up.
Rear:  Alec (Coach) Ollie, Max, AJ, Gus (Coach), Robbie, Harvey
Front:  Caleb, Milo, Jimmy

At the end of the game you could've been excused for thinking there'd been a stabbing  on the court.  The air was so thick you could've cut it.  One of ours and one of theirs had, in the dying seconds, lunged at the ball and collided heavily knocking one another sprawling.  A mother of the other had sprinted onto the court and awkwardly half dragged, half carried the possibly injured, but obviously distressed child off the court, while our lad tried to collect himself while the final siren sounded.  There were poisonous recriminative glances coming from the collected other, directed at our boy.  He'd done it on purpose!  It was clear.  He's a thug.  A bully.  A beast.  

Our brute's mother made her way over and wiped the tears away from his face and offered a warm, comforting hug.  He'd played his heart out.  We'd lost the grand final and he'd been hurt in the dying seconds.  And for his effort those grown ups in the bleachers were collectively shooting him filthy looks en masse while he stood and nursed his aching shoulder.  Sad face.

What we who were observing didn't know at the time was that a giant man-mountain of a man – probably 110kg of muscle (and no sense to speak of) – the father of the other who had collided with our sweet eight year old monster, had approached our boy and threatened that if he ever ran into his son again, he would ensure he'd never again played basketball.

Aha.  Yep.  Because that's what grown ups say to kids at school sporting events.  A huge ginormous man of mega bouncer proportions to a grade two kid.

I can't even believe it.  I don't know what to say.

An Eliza Doolittle Moment is Looming...

At the other end of the this week I will be leaping aboard a plane pointed northwards to attend the wedding of my eldest young cousin, to fly the flag for the southern branch of the family.

Everyone is VERY excited.  

Hollie and Matt
To be betrothed on 6.12.2014
Very excited - and so say all of us.

The Groom, Matt, is my uncle Ken's first born and it's the first wedding from that branch of the tree.  (And it's a small family tree.)  Ken's always felt more like a brother than an uncle since he's only 11 years older than me.  And consequently his kids and I have never really had a conventional cousinly camaraderie.  There's a generational time warp and cultural disconnect between all of us that's been inevitable due to the fact that I'm twice their age, ethnic, black-clad Melbourne and they're youthful, Aussie, lamé Gold Coast.  And heck!  I'll try and say this without getting emotional... I'm Blue and they're Bombers – shocking, I know.

So the question has arisen:  what am I going to wear?  My aim is to look nice enough, but not to be notable in the amassed group.

I've got a lovely dress I bought it a couple of years ago and it hasn't had much wear. If the wedding were in Melbourne I'd wear it without a second thought. But me in black to a Gold Coast wedding – particularly with my white glowing calves and I might as well accessorise with a huge neon sign flashing "SOUTH OF THE BORDER".  Not quite the effect I'm after.

I think I'm going to have to go shopping.  

Too busy eating my hat...

Ahem, well yes. I take it all back. Andrew is a stirling chap.  Not a thief as it turns out.  Just averse to returning post.  (He's turfed all the other letters that've come for me over the years as it turns out.) 

So I stand corrected, contrite and suitably chagrined. By way of an apology for the defamation I proffered a nice bottle of cabernet savignon, although I didn't explain explicitly why when he said "you shouldn't have". 

So that's that then. Move along. Nothing more to see here. 

Oh, except the movies.

There are Thieves at Riverside Avenue

So, I ordered some DVDs online and after they didn't arrive I chased up the company and discovered that I'd inadvertently had them sent to an old address. Sheeet!

As the parcel hasn't yet been returned "Not known at this address" to the despatch warehouse (and it has now been a couple of months) I can only assume that the tenants at our former residence have made the most of the Robin Williams themed boon that landed upon their doorstep. (Of course, the parcel could have been "lost in the post", but isn't that something that mostly happens in inverted commas, along with "The dog ate my homework." and "The cheque is in the mail."?  Please correct me if I'm being cynical and unjust.)

So today Milo and I went around to said residence – which, by the by is looking very forlorn and neglected – with a charming hand written note and the proof of purchase showing that the DVDs were indeed purchased and paid for by me, and that they were in fact sent to their address and not ours... 

And I did write that I perfectly understood that the residents wouldn't've known what to do with the DVDs [although I didn't say anything about why they would be opening a parcel NOT addressed to them]. 

And I hoped they would've enjoyed watching them. 

But now, since we have made contact and they now DO have my number, I invited them EVER SO SWEETLY to GIVE ME MY GOD DAMNED PROPERTY. Although yes, I said it much more nicer than that.

But the people weren't home, so I left the note under their door. Hmph!

So I wonder if the people will do the right thing. And does anyone know?  Did they break the law by opening a parcel not addressed to them? Can I rightfully label them bounders and thieves? I want to.  I think I will regardless.

Anyway.  Watch this space.  I'll let you know if I hear.

And mental note.  Update your Paypal account to delete old addresses so you don't fall into that trap. It's a bloody bitch.

Rainbow and Spotty Dog

And the after mo...