29 Apr 2014
So here we are – just under three weeks now until I run 23 kilometres.
In fact, if you want me to be accurate it’s 18 sleeps.
And I have a broken toe. And a cold.
How do I know I have a broken toe? Because the hospital x-rayed it and told me. How do people normally know they have a broken bone unless it’s the kind of break which sticks out sideways and spurts blood. It’s been the question most people have asked me – how do I know? It’s odd that people would self diagnose a break often enough that people assume toe fractures are ALWAYS self diagnosed.
Anyway, I digress. It’s meant a week of not running. And technically it will take 6-8 weeks to fully recover. But as you know, I don’t have that time. So I’m being one of those berks who run regardless. The thing is – I’m confident that the pain will be mostly gone as it’s come on great guns in the last few days, and if it hurts like a horrible thing at the end of the 23 kilometres – who cares? I will have done the run and there will be wine.
Medicinal obviously.
 |
| Lisa and I obviously share friends |
And the cold, well it’s stayed off my chest so far so it shouldn’t make any difference. The difference is more likely to be evident from the two weeks without having completed a stupidly long run because we’re about to enter ‘taper’ phase.
This is where you spend a couple of weeks running half the distance so your body can recover and be ready for race day.
My body has the rest of it’s life to bloody recover from the 23 kilometres. In the meantime it’s just going to have to swallow some cement and harden up. Because I have to fit in a 20 kilometre run before I can start all this tapering business.
And my last long run was interrupted by an unwise lunch choice. The great thing about that unwise lunch choice was it was a)delicious and b) I ran the fastest kilometre I’ve ever run to get to the closest example of modern day plumbing. The less great thing was the amount of time I spent gazing at the back of a toilet door at the new Holbroyd Rowing Club. Very swish.
And then I broke my toe before I had the chance to re-do that. And I have to fit in that 20 kilometres. I really do.
It’s not a running obsession, I just don’t like being thwarted. And by a toe. Honestly, I would have accepted a broken leg as the result of a heroic leap in front of a car to save the life of an orphan but a broken toe because I accidentally stubbed my toe on the couch?
It’s ridiculous. So I’m taking the seven days ‘rest’ period like a good girl and then I’m being a berk.
Who knew I had it in me?
****
Do you enjoy Talking Frankly?
Please feel free to vote for me for the People’s Choice Award by clicking on the image below.
Entries close 5 May and all your support is most appreciated.
29 Apr 2014
Dear Labor,
As even the people that voted for the Liberal party start to question their sanity, the loudest sound is your silence. And it bothers me because silence always reeks of complicity when it comes to politics.
Where is the voice of Bill Shorten? Penny Wong? Tanya Pilbersek? Stephen? Mark, Jenny? Kate? ANYBODY?
Your website says you’re for a stronger and fairer Australia…. but um?
Look, I get that you started this stupidity over in Nauru and Manus as a means of distracting people from the pigtail pulling and other school yard antics of Rudd and Gillard but it’s time now to admit that you made a mistake and being complicit in the this gargantuan violation of people’s human rights is probably not the way forward? And definitely not part of what you supposedly stand for! Have the courage to say ‘WE GOT IT WRONG – SORRY!’.
And it’s probably not a bad time to start some interpretative dance about the dismantling of the Gonski reforms, the selling off of endangered forests and the tax breaks for big business that are directly affecting our aged and infirm. You know, just so people feel that somebody is noticing that the world is going to hell in a hand basket and you’re not actually okay with it?
What about some informed debate or some vocalisation about our economy being one of only eight in the world with a AAA rating from the three credit agencies meaning we’re in pretty good shape no matter what they heard from Bob who once knew a guy who had a cow who worked in a bank. Or read in the Daily Telegraph. Or how about coming out even and saying – look the LNP have a great suggestion re BLAH but were probably drunk when they wrote the rest of the budget? SOMETHING!
How about we start clapping our hands and hollering about the state of Indigenous Health and the fact that we still haven’t recognised them in our constitution? Sure Tony said he’s going to do it but he also said he wasn’t going to make changes to education, blah, blah, blah. And we just bought billions of dollars worth of fighter planes when we don’t even know if we can keep Qantas. Surely there is more demand for an airline that gets people around the country than planes to…. actually WHAT? What the f**k are we doing with those planes? Does anybody know?
I get that you all have to say things to get into power. And that sometimes it’s not all that practical to carry it through. But some LEADERSHIP? For the love of Roscoe Arbuckle – give us something Labor. Show us! Empower us! Speak to us! Take your inspiration from the delightfully Green Scott Ludlam who might have been speaking to an empty chamber but people were listening. The man got half a million views in three days because HE SAID SOMETHING. The fact that it was brilliant and TRUE might have had something to do with it.
But apart from that, the only voice that ever is heard in opposition to anything the LNP is Clive Palmer. CLIVE PALMER. That man doesn’t need a government – he’s rich enough to do what he wants. He’s just having a great time pissing people off. Mainly Newman which makes it amusing, but not exactly a sure fire way to being an Australia we can be proud of.
Sigh. Labor! Labor! Why HAVE you abandoned me?
Regards
Me x
****
Do you enjoy Talking Frankly?
Please feel free to vote for me for the People’s Choice Award by clicking on the image below.
Entries close 5 May and all your support is most appreciated.
***
28 Apr 2014
So around Australia today, people with school aged children are prepping lunches, ironing uniforms and saying to themselves ‘so pleased THAT is over’ as they coax their children out the door back into the world of learning.
And for the last few weeks the interweb hass been aflame with the exasperated laments of parents who feel that the school holidays lasted too long, about three minutes after the final bell of last term. And because Australia inexplicably can’t line up it’s school holidays or time zones, it’s not a neatly contained fortnight of lamentations but about a month’s worth of reasons some people will never have children.
There’s an element that runs through 99% of the upset though. And that is basically that YOU, the parent, are the unreasonable one. Is it possible YOU set the bar so high, YOU were never going to enjoy the time with them? (If you already threw something at the screen, I’d leave this blog now – because YES I am suggesting that you might be the arse here not them)
I give you this example:
The zoo. 3pm or thereabouts. Parent screaming at children ‘I JUST WANTED A NICE DAY OUT WITH ALL OF US TOGETHER AS A FAMILY’.
Translation – ‘I just spent $300 fucking dollars on tickets, crap food and parking and you will have a good time damn it and there will be good fucking photos to prove it or you better hope there’s a fucking god’.
Or this example:
About to leave the house. ‘NO WAY KIDDO ARE YOU GOING OUT IN PUBLIC WITH YOUR HAIR LIKE THAT, IN THAT OUTFIT OR GOING TO THE MOVIES WITH THAT PERSON’.
Translation – ‘Oh for fuck’s sake – how did I end up with my own version of the Osbourne family when I intended to raise the fucking Von Trapps?’
Or this example:
At a nice eatery, surrounded by people with seemingly beautifully behaved children. ‘GET YOUR FINGER OUT OF YOUR NOSE AND EAT YOUR VEGETABLES OR THERE WILL BE NO DESSERT”
Translation – “Oh fuck. I’ve turned into my mother”.
Sometimes kids don’t want to hang out with their family, go to zoos, or have big day outings or dinner at Jamie Oliver. They just want to play with their friends, make loom bands, see if they can pull off high heeled sneakers, prostitute chic and a trilby hat, and eat pizza. They’ve probably had a great holiday apart from you being a shouty parent for two weeks.
And those beautifully behaved children at the next table? Bribed. No doubt about it.
What is something that you got cross about that you know deep down was because you sometimes forget that you have real people in your family, not the fantasy version that you dreamt up when you first got knocked up?
****
****
Do you enjoy Talking Frankly?
Please feel free to vote for me for the People’s Choice Award by clicking on the image below.
Entries close 5 May and all your support is most appreciated.
25 Apr 2014
Late last year on my personal Facebook page I asked my friends what etiquette was sorely missing in the world today. Over fifty vehement, ranty suggestions (I had obviously hit a nerve) later, I present
THE TALKING FRANKLY GUIDE TO ETIQUETTE IN THE MODERN WORLD
In no way are these posts endorsed by the likes of June Dally Watkins or any professional royal butlers.
Let’s start at the beginning.
What is etiquette?
Etiquette is defined as “the customary code of polite behaviour in society or among members of a particular profession or group”
You may know this more commonly as ‘How not to be an arse’.
You can see the first post ‘How to RSVP’ by clicking on the word ‘dandelion‘.
This second post on the subject of etiquette addresses the lost art of changing the toilet roll. Now the first question you may ask is “When do I need to change a toilet roll?”
It’s an easy answer. If it looks like either picture below it is empty and needs to be changed. Leaving one sheet on the roll is even more annoying because it means you’ve actually put thought into being an arse rather than just naturally being one.
 |
| Exhibit A: Clearly Empty |
 |
| Exhibit B: One sheet counts as empty |
So then you need to remove the strut that holds the empty toilet roll holder and slide off the empty cardboard roll. Best you recycle it, but at worst, drop it on the ground for later. We focussed on changing it here, not your bathroom’s cleanliness factor.
You may need to use two hands
but I was taking pictures with the other
Then you locate a fresh roll of toilet paper. These can often be found on a shelf in the room the toilet is located in, in a box in the laundry or garage, under the bathroom sink or on a stand beside the toilet. In an office environment, spare rolls are often found piled in front of the mirror in the hand washing area or on the hook behind the door.
Wherever they are, the rough size and shape of every roll is as per the picture below and you keep hunting until you find one okay?
 |
| A roll of toilet paper |
Then, if necessary, you remove the wrapping and slide the full roll of toilet paper back onto the strut and put the strut back in place.
 |
| Careful, it’s heavy |
Then last but not least, you pull the first piece of paper down so if the next person to use the toilet happens to go in the middle of the night or the light has blown, they don’t need to be fumbling around trying to find the ‘edge’ to unravel the roll and crying with frustration as they think about what kind of monster only does half the job!
 |
Over is best
but not essential |
It is that simple. The only reason you might NOT change the toilet roll after you use up the last of the paper is if a giant tornado rips through your house/office and tosses you into another country before you have a chance to do so. In which case you better be found with your pants round your ankles and a dazed and confused look otherwise you’ll just be known as that ‘selfish arse who didn’t change the toilet roll’.
And that my friends concludes our second lesson on etiquette in the modern world. It’s not turning out to be that hard now is it????
(PS: Before you ask, it’s not a sponsored post, it’s just the toilet paper we use because social enterprise is good and I’d rather give money to projects like this than Kleenex – even if they don’t use fluffy puppies in their adverts)
****
Do you enjoy Talking Frankly?
Please feel free to vote for me for the People’s Choice Award by clicking on the image below.
Entries close 5 May and all your support is most appreciated.
24 Apr 2014
Lest we forget.
Yet we do. Time and time again, countries turn their weapons in the direction of other countries. Time and time again, countries turn their weapons on their own people. War is not becoming less common, just less structured, more covert and more destructive, the enemy less obvious.
Our family histories are no longer one long clearly demarcated line of loyalty. Modern day Australians have grandparents born in Australia, England, Japan, Germany, Malta, Italy, Russian, Ukraine, Spain, Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Syria, Egypt, Lebanon and the list goes on. There is no longer a ‘them’ and an ‘us’.
Being citizens of the world makes it harder to declare war on any one country – so we go to war on terrorism, drugs, refugees, religion, and so on. We become oblivious to the language, to the context, to the casualties, the suffering involved in ‘war’. We pride our soldiers on their ‘leave no man/woman behind’ but yet we are content in life to say ‘every man/woman for himself’.
War is a collective effort. A mammoth collective effort. And nobody is unaffected by the outcome. The ripple effect reaches all elements of society, impacts generations of families – no matter whether you are the conqueror or the conquered.
William Owen wrote a poem which I first read in high school and which I think of every Anzac Day as we rightly remember and honour the fallen with the more palatable ‘In Flander’s Field’ and ‘Ode of Remembrance’
It aptly illustrates that no matter what we read, or how brave the individuals who participate, how stoic the families, how clever the strategies or how history may shape it, war is not glorious.
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori*
*The old lie “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori” translates as “it is sweet and right to die for your country”
It’s not.
Lest we forget.
24 Apr 2014
OMG!
I mean NO! She didn’t? He didn’t? Did he? BUT BUT BUT BUT….
Cue general outrage and a veritable storm of protest about something somebody did before they were famous, before they’d actually grown up or just because one time they acted without thinking about the consequences!
We out here in interweb world are a really judgemental pack of bastards sometimes. It’s not like we all haven’t got a few ‘skeletons’ lurking about in our cupboard, packed away in a photo album or sitting in somebody else’s memory bank just waiting for some journalist to come along and pay for our story.
And it’s not about he who is without sin can throw the first stone. No sirreee. If you’ve lived your life without making a single decision which could be misconstrued in later life – than I am assuming you’ve been in a coma since birth. Even Mother Teresa went to confession. YES MOTHER TERESA.
Here’s a few of mine
1. I dressed up as Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act, The Jackson Five and a Black and White Ministrel for various fancy dress parties when I was in my late teens and I blacked my skin for it. What can I say? Would I do it now – no. Does it make me cringe when I think on it now – yes. But then? There was no malice or intent to offend – just access to a whole lot of theatrical makeup and a nun’s habit. I’m a whole lot better educated about the insidious cruelty of casual, unintended racism and quite simply, life experience has put me in a position to understand that I would have been better off making different dress up choices.
2. When in Rome on my way back from Russia at the tender age of 17, I consumed an entire bottle of Russia’s version of breast milk and passed out, fully clothed, in an empty bath. My friends gleefully photographed me and then produced the photographs (which I believed to have been destroyed) at my 21st. The only reason I confess this is that if they were prepared to produce them in front of 100 of my friends AND my parents AND my uncle, The Very Reverend Father AG, they are prepared to sell them to the press. I’d do the same.
3. I did on three occasions try the ‘marrywahna’. It did nothing for me the first, second, or third time and so I gave up. I did however inhale and there were witnesses. Since most of those witnesses have gone on to be committed pot smokers right through their adult life, I somehow suspect this could have remained secret as most of them have trouble remembering their names these days, but hey – if I’m going to be President of the new world or the middle aged Bieber I need to own it.
4. Long before Banksy and the Royals made graffiti white collar, I started to scratch ‘Ms Kelly sux’ into the wall of the pool where we were having our high school swimming carnival. I was using a bobby pin and I had gotten to the letter ‘K’ when Ms Kelly busted me. I was given a week of lunchtime ‘scab’ duties (pick up the litter) for the offence and an additional week for failing to give my parents the letter that told them of my transgression.
5. The very first time I voted, I voted Liberal in a local election. All I have to say for myself is I’m sorry.
There you go, five skeletons which could bring my future celebrity into disrepute. What about you? If you were to become famous tomorrow, what do you need to confess before the press confess for you?
****
Do you enjoy Talking Frankly?
Please feel free to vote for me for the People’s Choice Award by clicking on the image below.
Entries close 5 May and all your support is most appreciated.
