It's molting season ...

... otherwise known as Spring.
We know this not just from the fact the windows and doors are pretty much permanently open but because of the deposits of felted cat fur & mucus scattered about the place. Furballs.
For instance, just the other weekend I washed the Girls' pod cover. Furball hackings ALL over it last night. I've stepped on them in the kitchen, the lounge and the bedroom. This is not fun.
Time for action.
So, today, my mental health catch up with stuff day, I gathered up the ripper brush and the soft brush and got to work.
Lucky for me the Girls like brushing, they think it's a great lark and come running when you call "brushings". It does get them a little wild and feisty, and it's really, really hard to do Pingu when Tigger won't get out of the way.
But still, I think I got the job done. That's Tigger's contribution on the right, less than a teaspoonful.

The brushing got me all nostalgic for my girlhood. A certain weekend every spring, I can't remember how we selected which one, the pony girls would all gather at the lucerne flats with bags of brushes and out beloved ponies. We would rip and brush those beasts from shaggy-Winter coat to glossy, smooth Spring coat in an afternoon. The end of which we'd all, girls and ponies, be ankle deep in fluff.

Fluffy tummy time ...

... So, apparently, when my Ma was a young journalist, there was a sub editor (chief sub I think, I should check) who was quite hirsute.
I'm told that, late at night when moral was down, he'd leap up, expose his man-befurred belly and shout for all to hear "it's fluffy tummy time". He'd probably be arrested nowadays, if he existed at all (industry grumble).

*sighs*

... Well, not a surprise really, given how toxic NSW Labour had become.
But still. Fuck. At least we kept Verity. I'm off to hibernate for the next 10 years or so.

I was the skinny, pale, bookish kid ...

... Lucky for me, back in the dark ages, girls didn't fight all that often.
Just replace the physical with mental and Mr FirstDogOnTheMoon has it in one.

Clearly, as I'm no longer single, this no longer applies to me, but it was a deal breaker, back in the day.

Two things ...

... popped into my mind when I saw this.
(1) how much I wished I'd had the gumption to say this a few years back when I bumped into someone I knew in high school. Someone who was horrid at high school but was "o Morgan, how wonderful to see you after all these years" bladiblabla. "Fuck off bitch, I remember you" was what I wanted to say, but I didn't *sigh*.
(2) Holy fuck, my mum has that pattern, I've worn that dress!!!!!!!!!!!!!!from here

Historically possible ...

... but mind boggling just the same.
If Europeans stumbled upon the Americas in 1492, as is commonly stated, then I guess it is quite possible that guinea pigs had made it to the Netherlands. But still, my mind reeled when I saw this, painted in 1618, in my new book.
Are those guinea piggies in the foreground??
And this. Apparently the Dutch found chunks of this great southern land in 1606, so the sulphur crested cockatoo at the top left hand isn't entirely impossible for this undated masterpiece, the artists were around in the mid 1600s. But, WOW. Also, marmosets - squeeeee.
Pics from here and here.

No, no, no ...

... No, no, no, no!
The Hitchhiker Trilogy was a defining part of my latter high school years. The books that is. I later listened to the radio series (GOLD!) and later still the television series, (OK-ish). The movie was, of course, total and utter crap, really, really terrible.
But the books, those three magnificent books, they made me laugh when nothing else did. The years between 14 and 16 or so are pretty horrible, especially when you are a girl, particularly when you are a square peg not even trying to fit into the round hold most of your contemporaries are fitting into. There's not much to smile or laugh about.
And then my friend K handed me The Hitchhiker' Guide to the Galaxy. It was brilliantly clever, funny, and a little bit poke the establishment in the eye. I loved it. I still love it. It's one of those books you return to again and again when you need a giggle. Language from the book still pepper my life, things are still, "froody", we regularly sip jinantonix, and when referring to milk, I often add the clarification, "as squeezed, from a cow".
I rushed out and bought myself The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, and Life, The Universe and Everything, and loved them too. Light was shone onto my blighted, dark and terrible teenage life.*
So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish and Mostly Harmless followed. They never lived up to the first three, seemed a little like Mr Adams was just going through the motions, bolstering his bank account (who can blame him really?). Ok reads, but I've never bothered to re-read, if you see what I mean.
I will NOT be spending any of my pretty Australian dollars on Eoin Colfer's efforts. WILL NOT.



*or so it seemed at the time**, looking back, of course, I had it easy, so easy I actually feel slightly guilty about it sometimes.
** I was a teenage girl FFS!

Feeling old ...

... I learned a couple of things about some of my colleagues yesterday which made me feel very, very old indeed.
* 2 of them did not know that faxes used to be printed on paper that was shiny and came in rolls. You had to rip or cut your individual faxes and threading up a new roll was a complete bastard of a task.
* 1 of them does not remember a time when there were no mobile telephones.
* 1 of them does not remember a time when there were no hole-in-the-wall banks, hence her confusion when I call them "magic banks".
I did not delve further, 'tis not good for the self esteem (though I suspect that the parents of at least 2 actually thought about their self esteem and impacts on it while they were growing up, pfft).

This morning I saw the big white cat …

… the one who hangs out at Wentworth Park station.
I’ve not seen him for ages, not since I spotted him sitting on some strange bag lady’s lap. I’ll admit I held secret fears that perhaps she’d eaten him.
But no, there he was, sitting amongst the plant life that surrounds the station ramp. I’m glad he’s still around, it's a little like spotting a live Budda.
One day I may even manage to get a photograph of him.It seems Sydney has a bit of a history with white cats (page 10).

I saw George Michael on the train today ...

... I swear it was him, George Michael in his Faith phase.
Sure, his leather jacket wasn’t as bedazzled and he wasn’t wearing artfully-ripped jeans. Still, if he’d been wearing pointy-toed, silver-capped cowboy boots* I may well have screamed and fainted like a 1980s school girl in florescent socks.




*Actually he was wearing dress shoes with no socks, uggg.

Today I was "good wife" ...

... I got up at 6:30 in the AM to be down at the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum for the start of the NY400 Week . Braving an unfamiliar subway line (the red one) with only one other sailing widow for company, we made only 2 wrong choices/turns and got there just in time.
Mr Brown is here to sail in the Flying Dutchman class World Titles.As part of the NY400 Week Opening Ceremony the fleet of 56 Flying Dutchmen sailed past the Intrepid, along with some Dutch naval frigates, a US frigate, some NATO boats (ships) and replicas of the Halve Maen and Onrust and some barges.The Mayor of NY, Michael Bloomberg, the US Secretary of State, Hillary Rodham Clinton and the Prince of Orange (Netherlands Royals) were there, made nice little "remarks". And then the Prince and his lovely wife, Maxima, were given a trinket from Tiffany & Co.The flight deck of the Intrepid (from where we watched the watery goings on) was packed with very, very excited Dutch folk who kept telling me the Prince, "our prince, the son of our Queen" was coming.
There was also a shit load of media types, perhaps we'll see it on the TV tonight. There was also a very excited Military Band anorak, he was not "here for the celebrities" he was there for the Royal Netherlands Navy Band, "one of the best military bands in the world!"I'm quite glad I packed Rupert's big zoom lens, I used it to spot Mr Brown's sail number and snapped a shot or 2, because I am a good wife.Marital duties performed, sailing widow and I hightailed it out of there and did a bit of girlie shopping, clearing the shelves (and our wallets) at Sephora. Then home for brunch and laundry (well, I've got to carry it to the little man who does it for $10!!!!!). I even bought some beer on the way, since they sailors will be taking part in 5 races apparently, I'm guessing Mr Brown will be thirsty on his return.