once upon a New Year's Eve

Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a gangly teenager called Jellyhead. She was a bit of a romantic, and was hoping that one day she would meet a real 'prince' of a man, with whom she would fall in love and live happily ever after. Indeed she did one day meet a prince, though he had a scary-looking mutant toenail, and he had a funny habit of poking his head in and out like a turtle whilst listening to music. He was definitely a prince, though. But that's another story, years down the track.

So anyway.... one New Year's Eve, Jellyhead and her friend Belly went to a celebration in a big public park near the river. There were going to be fireworks, bands playing, and there were even some Tall Ships docked at the wharves that were open to the public. Jelly and Belly had been given permission to go off on their own for a few hours, meeting up with their parents later.

Jelly and Belly were sitting at the water's edge, probably talking about boys, when a clean-cut dark-haired boy in a US navy uniform approached them. Jelly was an innocent young girl but not completely naive - she knew enough to be wary of 'sailor boy'. Yet Sailor Boy politely asked permission to join them, and proceeded to chat warmly with both Jelly and Belly... though Jelly felt instinctively that SB was attracted to her. This may have been complete rot, but she believed this, and it made her heart soar.

Sailor Boy was from Pennsylvania, USA. He told them his hometown, which was located near an Amish community. He was 20, studying science at university. His manners were impeccable; he was clever and funny and charming. He took both Belly and Jelly on a tour of the Tall Ship, and he asked a friend to take a photo of him with Jelly. Altogether Sailor Boy spent about four hours with Belly and Jelly. He never once laid a hand on either girl. He gave each girl a commemorative silver coin from his ship.

Jelly thought about Sailor Boy for months afterwards. She felt so sad that she could never get to know him - he had been like a mirage, a glimpse of something amazing that had disappeared before she could reach it. Mostly, she was not sure she would ever meet someone as honest and good and true as Sailor Boy had seemed to her that night.

For some reason, she has kept that coin to this day. Perhaps it's just a fond memory she wants to preserve. Or perhaps it's to remember that longing, that wondering about the future..... to remind her to always cherish her real-life love - a man who is honest and good and true to the core.
(Fatty - that's you!)

chocolate, the food for all occasions

I stand corrected. After receiving some strong and decisive blogger feedback, I have reached the conclusion that chocolate is, after all, a breakfast food. Indeed it seems to be an all-day kind of food.

shellyc and her family ALL ate chocolate slice for breakfast today, in fact. How cool is that? While the rest of us are stealthily shoving peanut M&Ms from cupboards to mouths, this woman is completely open about eating chocolate for breakfast. She is forging a path for the rest of us chocolate-gobblers to hold our heads high. We are not alone!!

mackeydoodle is bravely not fudging the truth when she confesses her morning eating habits. I know I for one feel much better knowing I'm not the only one who's been passing on the cereal lately.

A steadfast and adoring husband, John Cowart probably despises chocolate, but out of love for his wife, Ginny, (who has diabetes), John gorges himself to prevent Ginny from being tempted. This man is a saint. A saint with small amounts of chocolate at the corners of his mouth. (Sorry John, I may have exaggerated that story a little)

Heather and Susan put forth the idea that there should not be premature reining-in of our chocolate appetites before New Years. Why did I not think of this? It's obviously way too early to be refusing chocolates. So 'sure, why not?' and 'pass the cashews while you're up will you?'

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to have a coffee. And yes yes yes I can't deny I may have just the tiniest piece of chocolate to go with it. Because it's not 2006 yet. And because you all told me it was OK.

memo to self:

* Christmas is over. Stop eating chocolate as if it is a breakfast food.

* there is still wrapping paper under the couches. You know it is there. It is time to do something about it.

* do not complain that Fatty got up at 4:30 am today to go bird-watching. He could be staggering home at 4:30 am. With lipstick on his collar. Or a tattoo saying 'MOTHER' on his forearm.

* be kind to your patients at work tomorrow. Especially the ones that you find hard to like...these people are most in need of acceptance.

* go to bed - it's late.

Now.

I said now and I meant now.

If I have to come and get you....

post-Christmas post-mortem

It's Boxing Day, and we've spent the day at my mother's farm. Down at the creek that borders the property, we lolled about in the water and later came out dripping to eat ham sandwiches. After a post-lunch nap back at the house, we all wandered down to orchard, where there are fruit trees and chooks. We collected eggs, then ate purple grapes warm off the vine. Sometimes I wonder what I am doing living in the city, when those acres of Mum's are just such a balm to my soul.

I hope everyone had a good Christmas Day. Ours was very simple (salads and cold meat and fruit and plum pudding), and everyone brought food, so it was pretty stress-free. There were no arguments although my Mum did annoy my sister by giving her dog-parenting advice regarding my sister's new puppy! I've come to believe the puppy is going to be very good preparation for Sis, to ensure she can handle having children without having a meltdown (as it is, she wailed that the puppy had woken them at 6 am yesterday. Oh, the horror!). But truthfully, that's how I eased myself into the idea of becoming a baby-owner...by mothering a beagle first. And it truly did pave the way. Because for all the night feeds and tantrums my children have thrown my way, they've never derailed me as much as that dog has. In comparison, the kids have been a piece of cake.

The gifts I gave my nearest and dearest were all big hits. Even Fatty, who typically has all the enthusiasm of a sloth on valium, opened his gift and remarked, " Ah... a book on bird photography! Very good. I like it, Jelly!". The scary thing is, I could tell he really loved this book. (Did I mention I have taken to calling him 'BIRDMAN'? He doesn't like it. This only encourages me.)

I was secretly horrifed, yet also strangely pleased with a gift from Fatty. He bought me a tight, fitted athletic singlet top, with some SHORT shorts that match. When I say short shorts, they are not barely skimming below buttocks or anything, I just mean they do not remotely approach knee length. And I'm afraid knee length is the ONLY way I do shorts these days. Even the tight top has a low, scooped neck. And low scooped necks are great if you have something to show off below your neck. Let me just summarise and say I don't do low scooped necks either. Yet my funny, lovely hubby has obviously completely failed to notice that if I wore the short shorts and tight top I would look not just silly but possibly quite awful. He hasn't noticed! I adore this man!

On that note of love, I'll close. Hope you've all had lots of love in your lives over Christmas - from whoever and wherever, as long as it's been love. :)

To any one passing through.......MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Our tree may be haphazardly decorated, lacking in a colour scheme, and undeniably synthetic... but my two kids had so much fun helping adorn the tree that I now display it to you with pride. Pride and an explanation as to why it is so messy!

I hope that everyone can have some fun and some relaxation over this festive season.

Cheers!
from Jellyhead

sisterly love

Christmas is a time of joy, giving, love..... but also of family bickering. Anyone out there who tells me their family never even has a whisper of dispute over the holiday period...well they're likely to be telling big fat fibs. Either that or their family is so emotionally repressed that all the negativity is stored inside their bodies, ready to explode one day in a huge, alienating war. (This is what I tell myself, anyway, in order to not feel like a horrible person)

My family get-togethers over Christmas are always a bit messy, as, like many others, I have divorced parents. This is not too much of a problem, though - just logistically a bit tricky sometimes.

It's more my sister-to-sister interactions that I find grate on me a bit. I feel guilty even writing this, but truth is like that - not always pleasant.

I am the eldest in my family. I guess I've always been a responsible, 'goody-goody' sort of person, as eldest kids often are. I find it hard to say no to anyone needing help, and will often overstretch myself to try to please everyone. I probably try to 'help' (also known as interfering) in situations where people want to be left alone, or don't need my advice or concern... it's a fault of mine. A strength of mine is that I'm fairly tough, and I don't quit easily.

My little sister is the baby of the family, and she is loving and straightforward - she doesn't analyse every social interaction like I do. She needs fewer people - she has a couple of close friends, but may go several weeks without talking to one of them... whereas I barely go a day without speaking to at least one of mine. I doubt if my sister would complain to someone about me - not because I'm perfect (ha!) but because she just takes me as I am, warts and all. I would like to be more accepting, like my Sis.

As the older sister, the older, hypercritical sister, I find my little sister frustrating when it comes to family duties. It's all about our different roles and personalities, I know. Here's an example.... when there is a family get-together to be organised, my married-with-no-kids Sis usually manages to weasel out of holding it at her place ( "I'm working that day" says Sis. Or, " I'm tired" or "We don't really have enough chairs here"). It drives me to distraction - firstly because in the past I have worked very long hours (pre-kids), and still managed to have everyone over here for a meal. Secondly, since having kids I have continued to entertain family and I know now that managing a function with a small baby and 2-yr-old is WAY harder than having people over when you're just a bit weary from work. You do these things, though, because you love your family, and you want to be with them.

Anyway, in a typical scenario, Sis drifts over to our house, takes a seat on the back deck, stretches her feet up onto a chair and moans, "I'm beat!", as I chop salad in the kitchen with one child asking for a drink and another calling from the bathroom for me to help turn the tap on. Do you hear my resentment here? Is it practically setting your computer screen alight? (yes, I am a mean ol' big sister all right)

You may ask why I don't talk to my sister about my feelings.. the short answer is that I have tried to, gently. I don't believe I have a right to be too hard on her about this when she puts up with me and my flaws. I don't want to upset her, or make her feel unloved. So I've talked about how I sometimes feel like I do more of the 'family duties'. Sis has taken the criticism quite well (which I know I wouldn't have), but has basically told me that often I make a martyr out of myself, and that she doesn't want to be like that. Which certainly has some truth - I sometimes do take on too much, and then feel overwhelmed. But life to me is all about people - being with them, talking to them, helping them, or being helped by them. So I choose overinvolved over underinvolved any day. Oh, and next time Sis comes over (hmm, that will be Christmas Day, at our place!), I'm going to call her in, tell her The Martyr has died, and put her to work chopping salad.

In the end, I realise Sis is not 'wrong', but nor am I - we're just different people with different ways of living. Which is probably the root of my frustration - she's my precious, adored sister, my flesh-and-blood - so why isn't she more like me?!!

Blogfriendship

Today, as I do every day, I got up and made myself a jolting cup of coffee. Coffee in hand, I checked all my favourite blogs.

My heart skipped a beat, and I felt sick, when I read the latest post of one of my fellow bloggers. Something very distressing had happened to her, and I could tell from her words how hard it was hitting her. I had tears in my eyes reading her entry.

I went to work feeling strung-out and worried. I wondered how I could explain myself if anyone noticed my mood. I imagined the conversation:

" Jelly, hi, how are you?"

"Um, yeah, OK".

" Just OK... what's up?"

"Well, something terrible has happened to one of my friends - well, to someone I know - well, not that I really KNOW, but just...I've come to know a bit about her, and I've come to care how she is".

(long pause, during which my colleague quietly assesses me)

There was no such conversation, luckily. But I was surprised at my emotional reaction to a faraway blogger's post. Because blogging is just a bit of fun, right? And you don't really ever spend time with the other person, you don't ever really help the other person in any practical way, so how can that be any kind of friendship? How can you build a friendship with someone you never see or touch or hear?

And yet.... I keep checking her blog to see how she is.

Maybe it should have it's own name, Blogfriendship. Not quite real life friendship but not just a 'bit of fun' either.

this & that

Things that have happened today:

1) I got to sleep in til eight am!!! (did you get that - I said EIGHT am). Fatty took pity on me, because Benjamin had woken through the night with bad dreams, and I was the attending parent. I haven't slept that late in months!

2) I bought some beads and baubles and a silver, bell-dangling metallic Christmas tree centrepiece from a 'cheap stuff shop' this morning, to decorate our dining table on Christmas Day. Apart from the silver, stylised Christmas tree, everything else is rich blue and hot pink. Fatty is appalled. I think they look funky.

3) I bought some fairly expensive sneakers, lured by the canny salesperson into spending almost twice what I'd planned to. But WOW are they comfortable. My previous, ancient shoes, had begun to cause my right 3rd to 5th toes to go numb during exercise. That didn't seem to be a good sign. Hence new shoes.. and fully operational toes, hooray!

4) I ate trifle for a mid-morning snack. There was no-one to tell me I shouldn't. I love being a grown-up.

5) Fatty, who is such a good sport dad, erected our 5-man tent in the back yard, simply because the kids asked if he would. This is where I admire Fatty so much - he will go above and beyond the call of duty, just to please his kids. I would have thought it all sounded too hard, on a hot day, and would have said no, not today ( which as all kids know means probably never). In any case, there is now a large purple tent standing darkly in our backyard. The kids wanted to sleep in it, but they're a bit little to sleep unattended all night (and on this one, Fatty was strangely reticent to volunteer for overnight tent duty!). Maybe the beagle will flop there for the night.

Speaking of flopping for the night.... goodnight all. I hope you are having/have had (depending on where you are in the world!) a happy weekend.

:) Jelly

waiting for relaxation

I really want to wind down this evening, but my children keep calling me from their beds... " There's a mozzie in here" (there was), " I can hear a funny noise" (a bird outside cooing) and "I'm a bit scared" (due to said bird). I can feel my nerves coiled up like a roll of barbed wire - each strand caught up on another so that spontaneous unwinding is unlikely.

The thing about small children is they just hang around their parents 24 hours a day. You can't shake them. They're always there. Sometimes the relentlessness of caring for them is tough, but far worse than that is the constant worry. I suspect I worry more than some, so maybe others reading this won't relate. On the other hand, maybe I'm not as odd as I think.

I find it hard to ever fully relax, even when Louey and Ben are fast asleep. If they cough, I worry that they're getting sick. If they murmur or mutter, I worry that they're getting sick. If they nightmare, I hit the ground running to get to them before the dream monster does. And if they actually are sick, I worry even more.

I'm sure if I would just listen to a relaxation tape, take a bath, or listen to some soothing music, I would feel a lot better. But before I calm down enough to do that, I need to relax somehow.....

The Beagle's predecessor

Everyone seems to be writing about memories, and posting old photos (myself included). So here is another tidbit of nostalgia...

One Christmas Eve, many years ago when I was a mere 8 years old, I lay tearful and lonesome at home in my bed. I was not alone, so there was no Macaulay Culkin-type scenario happening. I was just lonely because my mother was in hospital, having just had my little brother Bug. My father was at home, but I was always a bit afraid of him. He was quick to fly off the handle, so I could never be sure when I might get into trouble. Mum was patient, and rarely raised her voice at me, and I felt safe with her. I wanted her to come home.

I also wanted a dog, desperately. Dad was dead-set against it, so that was final. No lovely woofy creature would ever gambol through our backyard, licking children in its' wake. So I knew there would be no Christmas puppy in my stocking that year.

The next day, Dad tried to be jolly with me as we sat, just the two of us, and opened the presents under the tree. I opened one present - a Holly Hobbie sheet set. This was not looking promising, I thought to myself (see what an ungrateful child I was). I opened another - a pretty sweater in creams and blues. *SIGH*. I was resigned to the fact that this was going to be the saddest, worst Christmas ever.

There was one, final, lumpy package under the tree. Dad was smiling expectantly as he gave it to me, and I felt a small thrill - if he was excited about the gift, maybe, just maybe, it could be something NOT boring! The wrapping was hurriedly removed to reveal..... a stuffed-toy Pekinese dog! Well! This was definitely not boring! I was in heaven! I was in love! (with the dog, obviously). I treasured that substitute dog for years, only putting it away when I went off to University. I dragged it out today from our storeroom, for it's moment of photographic glory. What do you think? Can you see how worthy it was of my adoration? Or do you think it looks sort of scary, like it's considering taking a small bite out of someone? (that's what I'm thinking nowadays)

As soon as we had a yard of our own, Fatty and I bought a dog. When I say 'Fatty and I', you can read, 'Fatty came too but really he would have had to kill me to stop me'. Finally I have a real, live, licky dog. She sits next to me on the steps and I scratch behind her ears. She rests her head on my leg and I'm in heaven, second time around.

when Jellyhead was Little Jellyhead

My fellow blogger, Sharon has posted a picture of herself as a child, which she'd recently received in the mail from a relative. I'm not sure if it's just the haircut, or the way she's smiling, but it reminded me quite a bit of someone... I realised I was reminded of me as a small thing.

So here I am, in a badly-prepared photo (had trouble with the cropping procedure blast and damn), with a facial rash I used to get from eating oranges. I also have blue eyes, whereas Sharon has brown. But if you erase the rash, change the eye colour, imagine a different angle - why we're practically identical twins! OK maybe my mind's been playing tricks on me. There's a slight likeness.

Anyway, here I am aged 3 or 4.

So I'm putting out the challenge to everyone else to show your child faces on your blogs!

a cautionary tale

A couple of weeks ago, I saw a lady patient at work, who mentioned, casually, that she'd recently noticed a firmer area within her left breast. It wasn't an obvious lump, so she wasn't too concerned...but she wondered if maybe she should have the area checked.

I checked, and she was right - there was a thickened area. The other breast had a similar thickening, too. But in the left breast, there was a hint of something deeper than the thickening; an indistinct mass. Not a hard mass, but a hint of more dense tissue underneath all the overlying tissue. Nothing too worrying. I sent this lady, who is in her early 50's, for some imaging. I really wasn't terribly concerned - I thought there may have been a cyst, or just a prominent nodule within the breast.

After a week off work (with the visiting rellies), I returned yesterday to find the lady had already had breast surgery for an early breast cancer. It seems to be a small cancer, confined to the breast, with no spread to the glands under her arms. So her prognosis is excellent, thank goodness. But gosh, these cases are scary. What if she hadn't bothered to get the area checked? What if I'd been so arrogant as to assume the area was definitely what it felt most like - and hadn't ordered scanning? (this would have been negligent of me, but I'm sure this kind of thing happens at times). In either of these scenarios, it could have been a very different outcome.

So to all my female blog-friends, I suggest (pleadingly)
1) regular breast self-examination - if you're not sure how, ask your doctor or clinic nurse
2) regular mammograms/ultrasounds from the appropriate age, depending on family history and personal medical history - again if you're not sure what you should be having done, ASK. And *please* keep up-to-date with these checks.
3) if you find something that feels different to you, that feels like a lump to you (or if you notice visible changes) - get it checked by your doctor and, if your doctor doesn't order imaging, politely but firmly request it. Insist if you must, or see another doctor.

This now concludes my lecture. I will accept all rebukes for being bossy with good grace.

Goodnight and stay well :)

letter from afar

Today I got a letter from the National Climate Change Policy Division, London. It arrived at the medical centre where I work.

It says,

"Dear Ms (Jellyhead),

Thank you for your letter to the Prime Minister about climate change......BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.....

The government agrees with the views you express on the seriousness of the threat of climate change. .....BLAH, BLAH, BLAH....

With respect to your concern over the adoption of clean energy...BLAH BLAH BLAH".

The letter runs on for 7 pages.

I am thrilled to have received such a lengthy and detailed missive. Mr Edward Clark (of National Climate Change Policy Division) has done his division proud.

I am just a little perplexed. After all, I have never written a letter to anyone about climate change. If I did, I would hope to have the sense to address it to the Australian Prime Minister ('Dear Johnny Howard, our beloved and bushy-eyebrowed leader').

So the burning question is...who wrote a letter and signed it Ms 'Jellyhead'?

Maybe I have been sleep-writing. Maybe I suffer from amnesia (but have forgotten that I do). Or maybe someone is impersonating me (you know, dressing in fashions from 3 years ago, neglecting to sweep the kitchen floor until it makes a scrunching sound when walked on, and habitually scratching their scalp whilst reading).

It's a real life mystery. Go figure.

All I Want For Christmas

I've been seeing a few Christmas/New Year wish lists on other blogs, so thought I'd attempt one.

My wish list for 2006 (and we all know I am the anti-Santa-woman who makes small children lose all the joy of Christmas by telling them SANTA IS A LIE, so this is not addressed to Santa) :

- for my family and friends to have good health and happiness ( I feel obliged to put this one in first, so as to seem like a Good Person)

- for Fatty to photograph a rare bird, not seen in the wild for years, until spotted by him. Perhaps he could be recognised for this find in a highly esteemed bird reference book.

- for my dear son to sleep past sun-up; for him to have bucketloads of fun AFTER 6 am and BEFORE 7:30 pm. There is to be no having fun any time outside the specified hours.

- for my sweet daughter to have plenty of friends next year when she goes to school; for her to work out a way of coping when she gets told by one of them, "I'm not your friend anymore". I've been thinking maybe I could wrap Laura up in bubblewrap and send her to school sort of mummified like that so no-one can hurt her. Physically, the bubblewrap would protect her, and if anyone said anything upsetting, she wouldn't HEAR it because of the bubblewrap. (Am I full of great ideas or what?)

- for my dog to stop climbing up on the kitchen table to eat leftovers whenever we leave the room. HA! Fat chance. Fat beagle actually.

- for my friends to know how much I cherish them, and for my family to feel adored by me.

- for all you lovely blog-friends to keep writing, and to keep letting me write to you. It's an unusual way to get to know other people, but I am finding it SO much fun!

I am very thankful that there is really nothing I need for Christmas. And despite this list, the main thing I'm wishing for this Christmas is just to spend it with those I love. May all who are reading this be blessed with a Christmas with loved ones, too.

nobody's perfect (whew!)

You're all going to think I'm a lazy slacker, but I have to admit I was actually away for a few days earlier this week...at the beach. YES, I know I was only just at the beach 2 weeks ago, but before that it was a year since I last beached it. We've had relatives staying, and they wanted us to all go spend time together at the beach (in two separate units, mind you. Six children and four adults in the one place might get a bit hairy). It would have been unpardonably rude to refuse such a demand.

So the best thing about going away for a few days with Fatty's brother and Fatty's brother's wife ('Blondie') and their 4 kids? Not the sun and surf, not the glass of Midori and lemonade Blondie and I drank on the balcony each evening. Not the giggling and whispering and muted shuffling of the children as they played that ancient game of hide & seek in the middle of the day. Not even the sea breezes blowing freshly through the balcony doors.

No. The best thing was - finding out that Blondie isn't an eternally-patient, eternally-calm mother like I thought. She's definitely patient, and she's calm considering what she has to deal with, but she's not perfect. Hooray, there's hope for me yet!

Blondie and I went out for provisions, and I noticed her husband was being very solicitous just before we set off. I wondered what it was about, until Blondie explained, " He's being extra nice to me now, because I just cried. It all got too much, and I cried". I offered that if I had 4 children, I'd probably cry every day. Blondie laughed and replied, "Oh, I find every second day does the trick!" I was glad Blondie felt comfortable enough to tell me this, and it also made me realise how reality is most often different from our perception. Who knows, maybe there are some who think I always have things under control (unlikely, but anything's possible!) The main message for me was - no one is perfect, and whenever we compare ourselves to others, it's important to remember that what we see is not always the entire picture.

I think I like Blondie even more now, and I certainly don't admire her any less. I like my heroes slightly flawed.

let them eat cake

It was Laura Lou's birthday on the weekend. This is her 'fairy cake', made by special request. It could have done with a bit more smooooothing of the frosting, but overall I was pleased. Laura said, "Mummy, it's beautiful!", so that was all I needed to hear.

For some reason, I feel compelled to make fanciful birthday cakes for my kids' birthdays. It's like I'm not a decent mother unless I make some elaborate iced creation (don't worry, I don't extend this ridiculous expectation to any other mothers! - it seems to be something I apply only to me). I think it may all be traced back to my mother, who lovingly whipped up clowns, dolls and other edible artworks for my various birthdays. My mother was and is a very caring person, and put herself out in so many ways for me. Now I'm trying to be as good a parent to my children as my mother was to me. Cake is seemingly irrelevant here, but I guess somehow I take it as a symbol... that in this one aspect of my kids' birthdays, I'll go to some trouble, I'll take some time, I'll stretch my limited cake-sculpting abilities to breaking point! (again, please no backlash from those who buy their kids' cakes - this is my own bizarre, twisted, self-imposed rule. And I don't make Happy Birthday signs or hang lots of ballooons for when they wake up or hold lavish birthday parties).

The funny thing is, the first fancy cake I ever made, for Louey, aged 2, was a clown cake - just as my mother made for me at age 2. I bought the actual cake slab, then shaped and iced it. It looked pretty snazzy, but I felt like I hadn't done a 'proper' job, like Mum would have, because I'd bought the sponge from a bakery. When I sheepishly admitted this to Mum, she laughed, saying, "Oh, I always bought the sponge cake, too!"

I guess everyone has certain birthday rituals they have either created fresh for their children, or have followed, as was the custom in their childhood. Feel free to share your stories - I'd love to hear them (for those without ratbags/children/call-them-what-you-will... any special memories from your own childhood birthdays?)

dishwasher I adore thee

I want you to all know I am still alive. I'm even still sane. This surprises me a little, as I usually get a bit tense having even a couple of guests to stay - just with the tidying up beforehand, the cooking, the cleaning up afterwards. But we have a family of 6 staying (my husband's brother and his family, for those who may not be regular readers), and yet I am perfectly pleasant. Positively perky. Possibly playful.

Anyway, the best thing about this visit is that we have a dishwasher (a relatively recent purchase - possibly the best ever). Dishwashers are very good. Dishwashers are our friends. I am so thrilled by the joy our dishwasher brings to my life, and especially now that we have visitors, that I have written a short poem in honour of this particular piece of whitegoods (to the tune of O Christmas Tree, so as to remain festive)...

O Dishwasher, O dishwasher
How lovely are thy wash cycles?
With tiny buttons and flashing lights,
with whooshing noises as you say goodnight
O Dishwasher O Dishwasher
How lovely are thy wash cycles?

(Pretty damn lovely, that's what)

Night night everyone.... it's bedtime and Fatty's just switched that beautiful machine on... I'll be lulled to sleep now with all the churning and gurgling...ahhhhhhhh