Posts Tagged ‘humour’

It’s All Over for Another Four Years

September 18, 2008

Move along there, folks. There’s nothing more to see here.

Things worth watching came to a sudden end just before the closing ceremony started. Another achievement for dullness. How they do it inside one of the most extraordinary looking stadiums in the world is beyond me. Maybe the event designers are kept inside a concrete bunker or something.

You guessed it. I’m kind of glad the Paralympics is over, as I was glad that the Olympics was over. Maybe I get sports overkill more easily than I used to. Maybe what I think of as mellowing is really me becoming cantankerous. Maybe the further I get from my own sporting past the crustier I get about people who can still do it all. Or maybe I just want to get on with other stuff. Yeah, that’s it. I think. Must be.

I’ve got a double-barreled water thingummy to fit under the kitchen sink – healthy water, here we come. There’s the terracing down the hill out front waiting for me. I’m thinking of changing the name of one of the characters in a novel I am trying to sell to a publisher. And I haven’t written any new stuff for months.

I could go on. After all, I managed to live Olympic-free for the last four years and I can do the same again. Starting tomorrow. Yep. That’s what I’ll do. It’s decided. It’s a done deal. I’m on the way.

That Frenchman who started this modern Olympic malarkey, he sure has a lot to answer for.


December 7, 2007

Jeff lives across the road. He’s an energetic kind of bloke. In fact he inspires me with his energy. He’s always out on his ride-on mower. Always.

We’ve been trying to figure out if he’s left handed or right handed. Whenever he’s mowing both hands are working independently of each other. The left hands steers the mower and the right hand controls the beer.

For a while we thought that perhaps he’s ambidextrous. Then again, we’ve never seen him spill a drop of beer but there’s sometimes a blade of grass that he’s missed. Right handed has the odds for the moment.

Oh, and a postscript to yesterday’s post on Wellies. Check this out.


December 5, 2007

It’s true. Nine years here and we are on the move. It’s the longest we have lived in the same house for the past 32 years.

house 01

See more here —

And we’ve decided to see if a couple of old dogs can learn a new trick. We are selling the house ourselves without using a Real Estate Agent.

Can’t be too hard. We’ve sold a car or two without professional help. And we managed to sell the children off for scientific experiments a while back. But that was when such a thing was fashionable. That fad seems to have gone the way of the Edsel.

Oh yeah, also sold Grandma as I recall. It was my business partner put me up to that. “You’d sell your own grandmother,” he used to say whenever I got the best in a deal. I could never figure out why he complained, after all he shared the profits.

Anyway, now it’s the house. Any takers?

What I really mean is, “Any buyers?” We are not really interested in people who want to just turn up and take it. Please don’t take offence.


November 24, 2007

Our anniversary I mentioned a few days ago. Remember the pineapple?

So there we are at breakfast, almost. I’m the breakfast getter in our place. My wife does not do mornings. It’s true, she’s even got the tee shirt.

I fill the kettle, plug it in, set up the teapot, open the cupboard to get the muesli, she wanders into the kitchen.

“I’ve got this,” she says and reaches into a shopping bag and brings out a pineapple. For somebody who does not do mornings, this is pretty good.

We laugh. We cut the pineapple. We eat it for breakfast as if we are Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip.
(Except younger.)
(And better looking – both of us.)
(And with a more functional family.)
(And … OK, it doesn’t really matter …

We exchange presents. She opens my gift to her and starts laughing – it’s a funny present. “I almost bought this for you!” she says. I suppose I kind of bought it for myself anyway.

I get to work late. “Let them guess,” I say to myself.


November 19, 2007

I have just discovered that I can change the date of a blog entry. So having just written the post titled UNA, I got back into it and changed the date from the 19th to the 17th. This is only two days later than the previous post, instead of the 4 days it actually took to get moving. And this one dated the 19th is two days apart as well.

This makes me look like a more regular, systematic, self-disciplined, really onto it, blogger. I love that.

This post you are reading, however, has its real date still attached.

Unless I decide to change it.

And you’ll never know.

Hahahahaha, world domination is mine……… !!!

I love this stuff.

Anyway, it’s about time I wrote something so I can put ‘sex’ into the tags again. My hit rate is falling lately.


November 17, 2007

I got an email today. OK, OK, I know that you’ll all want one, but life dishes out emails to the lucky ones.

This email – its subject line reads IDPWD
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ I hear you say.
But it reminds me of something.

Cuppla weeks ago I was doing some training for my work. Facilitator training, so I can train somebody else to do what they pay me for. Got to love that. The stuff was presented by an organisation called AICA. The program is called LMP. And there is a lot to be learned in LMP.

For a start there is understanding NSDs. And how they must be changed to PSDs. NSDs start with SLEs, they get processed in our FoO, and the goal of the program is that they end in SMARTs. We achieve the goal by a process of charting ISTFARs.

I really hope you are getting this. Probably not. It’s a bit like me being the only one to get an email. Never mind. Life does that to people. GOI.

All this reminds me of when I attended the UoW which was a detached campus of UNSW. I can’t remember what class it was, or what the assignment was about. But I can remember the tutor marking it quite simply with, UNA.

I had to go and ask him what it meant.
His reply? Use No Abreviations.


November 7, 2007

My son is practicing the art of domestic survival.

He was around this afternoon and we got to talking birthdays and anniversaries. He turned twenty eight this week and my wife and I celebrate our 32nd wedding anniversary in two weeks time.

We were hanging about in the kitchen while my wife was cleaning out a few cupboards. Perhaps our son’s wife was cleaning up as well and had kicked him out of the house for a few hours. My wife pulled out the old electric frypan, a wedding present which had given years of faithful service. Last month it was displaced by a fancy new one and it has been sulking in the cupboard ever since. If only it knew what it was in for today.

‘I’ll go chuck that thing out’, I said, and I started to the back door. ‘Which bin do you reckon?’ I asked my wife with a grin. (That’s me with the grin, not my wife – she was too busy multitasking or whatever it is that women do these days.) The council yesterday gave everyone in our street a brand spanker recycle bin and they expect us to think before we chuck. Son number one said, ‘After thirty two years you should have had that one worked out already.’

He’ll go a long way, that boy. As long as he stays out of reach of his wife when she’s cleaning out cupboards.