Peter Costello will not renominate for Higgins. ha ha ha hahhah ha ha

Somewhere right now, well out of sight, Tony Abbott is pouring himself a moderate glass of domestic sparkling …

If someone comes home with new knickers in a range of jaunty colours, it’s neither necessary nor amusing to call them “high visibility undies”

To celebrate the joy that is finding out that Liam can resurrect your neglected blog after you’ve casually deleted it, I present you with my annotated needs, via Pavlov’s Cat, Bernice Balcony and Uncle Google:

Zoe needs To Assert Dominion Over Her Pod
Indeed, the Pod is a malestorm of coughing, deep sookiness and explosive diarrhoea. In fact if anyone fancies swapping pods for a few days, please do leave a comment.

Zoe needs a middle name
Correct. Not only is “Ann” dull as dishwater – lacking even an elevating “e” – I was named for my paternal grandmother, who turned out to really be called Nancy all along. Things could have been worse, as my maternal grandmother’s name was Ethel Mary.

Zoe needs a stylist and food
Correct, but not in that order.

Zoe needs to wear pants.
Oh, pants to that.

Zoe needs (Bristol) is on Facebook.
I don’t need Bristol, especially not if it’s Bristol Palin. And yes, I am on Facebook, but only fleetingly these days.

Zoe needs an intern.
And a dry cleaning account.

Zoe needs a reality check.
Because if I don’t, this kind of shit will happen.

Zoe needs more Space at Zac Posen Fall Winter Fashion Show.
So she can get a good backswing up on her handbag and take a few of these skinny-legged idiots out.

Zoe needs a sister but she’s not getting one.
My 70 year old mother would heartily agree, while pointing out that Zoe already has a perfectly serviceable sister.

Zoe needs a good home.
Housetrained, affectionate, vaccinated and wormed – c’est moi.

via @barrysaunders on Twitter

I have been neglecting this poor blog for my cookery blog, but I couldn’t resist sharing the joy that was my family Christmas this year. We went to my cousin Narelle’s house in Fullerton Cove, just north of Newcastle. Everyone enjoyed themselves tremendously, but our beloved Aunty Tiser seemed to enjoy herself the most:

The first throbbing V8s of Australia’s pre-eminent bogan festival, Summernats, could be heard gathering last night. Expect updates.

I thought someone was having a little joke:

but I was wrong:

.

I bet Murat Aydemir’s mum pretends he’s a piano player in a brothel.

“Cuggle, can I look at pictures of cats on the computer before school today?”