crazybrave

I don’t know what crimes against telecommunication I have committed in a previous existence, but they have been sufficient to condemn me to a very, very interesting problem requiring the implosion of my ADSL. The poor Telstra tech started to get suss when she’d fixed two faults on the line and a third erupted. Gaah.

Back to this poor neglected little blog when it’s all go.

Today is, as Sage calls it, Jet’s last day of being none. The camera’s off getting fixed, so the most up to date photos are from December:

More for the clucksters at Flickr

We are having a bit of domestic discussion about this phrase, which seems to be from the movie “Kenny”.

Owen is of the view that the “bum” in question is a homeless alcoholic type who has found a full packet of smarties, consumed them, and gone off on a crazed blood sugar high. However, I think Owen is wrong and that his explanation amusingly shows up his hypochondriacal Virgoan tendencies. I think the truly stupid thing would be to stuff one’s rectum full of smarties. Now that is silly. Also, it is funny, whereas only Virgos think that indigent alcoholics having insulin attacks is the kind of thing that you would make up a joke about.

If anyone goes to those nerdy pedant sites and can nail the origins of this one for me, I’d be very grateful. Also happy to hear anything you’d care to make up.

1.

We find ourselves the beneficiaries of a raffle; my parents don’t fancy a week in the MUA cottage at Umina. We book for the week before the school holidays. It‘s an old wharfie’s holiday joint in a tough bit of town. The decoration consists of a picture of him, a picture of a container ship and a commemorative plaque in masonite. It’s ten minutes walk from the beach and there’s a constant breeze on the little verandah.

There’s a six year old girl next door and she immediately makes friends with our five year old. Her name’s Natalia, and she’s very beautiful. She shouts “Don’t you dare!” in her bogan accent during the endless games of chasing in which she is always the prey.

2.

She’s the most beautiful girl at Dickson pool today, by miles. She’s in her late teens and she’s wearing a Bond Girl white bikini that has belted pants and a square clasp between her breasts. I see her striding up the side of the big pool, calling over her shoulder to her brother. He’s carrying a very long piece of elastic and his head is tilted in a way that makes me think he might have an autism spectrum disorder. Well, that’s what it’s called, I can’t help the ungainliness of medical descriptions. It’s not what they’re for anyway.

Later, they’re both in the pool and he still has his tape. I wonder if she spends a lot of time as his carer. Probably. I wonder if his presence spares her a lot of teenage boy attention.

3.

We go to the café just after breakfast because it’s too hot to walk there with the pram at any other time of day. We’re outside and at the next café a young mum sits down with her three or four year old son. I notice a very beautiful green and black tattoo of a woman’s face on her arm. She’s got dyed black hair, lots of facial piercings and heaps more tattoos. I wonder why emo/Goth mothers have such square bear kids. (He’s wearing a plaid shirt and a monkey backpack.) The tattoo on her left shoulder is of a kneeling angel looking back. She has weird pointy boobs and her amputated wings are dripping blood. What’s she going to tell him when he asks about that one?