Life Under Muddled Stars

Christmas Slips Catch with Jimbo and Davo

2009-01-06T21:49:00.002+09:00

Christmas Day after a bottle of Champagne already!
Walpole, South West WA

Seven Legged Spider

2008-11-14T18:53:00.003+09:00

This made me laugh so hard that I forgot I was at work and needed to maintain a certain level of sobriety!

If only life was this simple.

...and then after the debacle the drawing managed to sell on ebay for thousands of dollars. What a genius!

Advert Posted On The Student Board At Dave's University

2008-11-10T19:12:00.004+09:00

"Free to Good Home

Castrated two year old German Shepard Cross male.
Good with children. Affectionate nature.
Unable to breed from due to skin condition."

....?

Um, there may be a slightly more relevant reason why you wouldn't be able to breed from this hound...

Plums, anyone?

NB: Please bear in mind that Dave's students are mostly in training to become Vets! There is no hope. Hide your pets now people.

My New Favouritest Thing

2008-11-09T16:25:00.007+09:00

Things I have learnt in the short time (ie: since Tuesday) we have had a spa:

The neighbours now think we're making porn movies due to the psychedelic lights emanating from the corner of our garden along side the sounds of giggling and the frothy tones of bubbles.
Poppy thinks that chlorinated water is a viable alternative to tap water
Anyone who is under 5'6" will be drowned in our spa. Terribly sorry Joe and Shaz!
That a 35 degree water temperature is too hot during the daytime but at 35 degrees, when the sun drops you can't help but shiver. After dark, anything less than body temperature is "freezing". That's why I stayed in for nearly an hour on Sunday! Honest.
We would never have been able to have a spa in Aberdeen. We would have ended up with frost bite even in the height of the summer. Just the act of hopping across the garden decked out in your finest spangly bikini would have been enough cold to lose a toe.
Our garden looks lovely in the evening when immersed in bubbles, holding a glass of sauvignon in your hand and watching the waxing moon lighting up the lemon tree.
You can still get sunburned even whilst huddled well under the water line. Still, it's funny how my legs seem to repel sunlight while my shoulders seem to scream "let me at 'em"!
It's fun debuting three new bikinis and being able to tell Dave (truthfully) that each one was made by a starving sweatshop child in some Indonesian country. I bloody LOVE Primark. I mean FOUR pounds! How can they afford to sell them at that fee? I miss the homeland sometimes. Especially when on buying the aforementioned bargains, the woman on the counter jokingly enquired why I wasn't buying welly boots with my bikinis. I had immense pleasure in replying "because I live in Australia. We have summer there!" Cruel, moi? A small price to pay for being away from the ones who matter.

An Unexpected Conversation

2008-10-27T19:36:00.005+09:00

My beau. My better half. The mature and sensible side to this partnership. I give you my 41 year old boyfriend.

Friday evening. Better Homes and Gardens on the television. The 'Creative' comes onto the telly to show you how to make manky old flip flops into 'art'. The boy clears his throat...

Him: 'Do you think my nose is a bit weird?'

Me: 'Wha?'

Him *prodding at the side of his nose*: 'Do you think it's a bit skinny?'

Him: '...and lumpy?'

Me: '...'

Him: 'It's just that Poppy mentioned something to me earlier'

Me: 'Poppy? Our German Shepard Mutt who is currently paying far too much time to her doggy girlie bits for it to be entirely normal? Or hygienic?'

Him: 'Yes. Princess Poppy. The P. Dog. Popstar.'

Me: '....'

Him: 'Well?'

Me: 'I'm going for wine. I may be a while...'

Letter To Reknowned Australian Chocolate Company...

2008-10-25T18:00:00.003+08:00

Dear Sir/Madam

I am writing to inform you of a very concerning incident that occurred today. I am a nurse working on a busy Oncology ward in Western Australia. One of our elderly patients very kindly bought the members of staff a box of your ‘After Dinner Indulgence’ chocolates. This was a very kind gesture from a patient who not only is a pensioner with a low income but a person with a terminal illness who has many other things to think about than poor quality chocolates.

Our patient took great delight in presenting us with this box of chocolates, so much so that he insisted that we open them there and then so he could take pleasure from seeing us enjoying them.

Imagine our shock when on removing the cellophane and opening the box, a moth flew out. On further inspection, a large yellow maggot was found, wrapped delicately around the coconut torte. So surprised was one of our nurses that she collapsed, launching the box in the air.

As you can imagine, much madness ensued.

The resus team was called and the nurse was resuscitated on the floor to an audience of patients, relatives and the old ladies that sell sweets from a roving trolley. The doctors worked valiantly using shots of adrenaline and atropine mixed with cries of "you WILL NOT die, God Damn you". Fortunately only one round with the defib machine was required before we managed to find a pulse and the nurse woozily came round.

Meanwhile the maggot escaped his chocolaty hideout undulating towards the nearest patient who happened to have a very nasty wound on his foot. There he found solace hidden amongst the rotting flesh.

We searched high and low for the beast whilst evacuating the patients into the unit next door. The pest control team were called and arrived adorned with fluorescent over-alls and WW2 gas masks. They commando rolled into the unit lobbing gas bombs to all corners of the ward.

Through the fog I detected the patient sobbing uncontrollably.

This is when I thought 'enough is enough. No-one makes my patients cry' (unless it's me with an ill aimed needle). Mr Big Chocolate Manufacturer Man, you have made me very cross. Patients do not need to worry themselves about the quality of the chocolate that they offer to the angels working within our health care system.

I ask you, how would you feel? All I request is an affirmation that this has been a disservice towards the hard working health professionals and patients Australia wide.

....a small holiday in Bali might cover the angst felt during this stressful time

Yours sincerely

Natalie *******

PS If you were wondering, the patients wound came up lovely after the maggots feast. Thank god for small mercies!

The coconut torte....

The very caramello caramel. No chocolate was spared!

NB: I do realise that the above creature is not actually a maggot but a weevil. I know this as it was diagnosed by a Vet... yes, so horrific was this case, a vet was consulted!

The Best Photo Opportunity Ever

2008-10-20T17:12:00.000+08:00

My new job is as a palliative care nurse. This involves me dealing with dying people quite a lot. Luckily for me I love my new job. Moi, a little odd? Why of course!

My boss, and fortunately my friend, John and I were involved in a photo shoot to promote out area.

Picture the scene. We were standing there in the corridor sprightly dressed with empathic demeanour's on our faces with the photographer snapping away as if we were celebrities.

Then all of a sudden like something out of a horror movie, the 'dead trolley'* glides by as if on wheels** prompting John and I to chant "Take the picture now! Now! Now!"

The photographer, who has an irrational fear of sick people (she's a medical photographer?!) turned a hospital shade of grey and had to sit down to get over the trauma of 'nearly seeing someone dead but wrapped in a plastic sheet and encased in a metal box so I couldn't see'!

Except it was actually empty at the time. It would never glide if it was full. It has a stereotypically zombie-esque squeaky wheel!

* The trolley used to transport the 'diseased'
** ...because it was actually, hmm, on wheels!

Question..

2008-10-06T09:29:00.001+08:00

... When a good friend says that they are sending me 'a little package' from Bolivia, should I worry?

The Sights You see When You Don't Have A Gun (And You're Queueing For Another Visa To Let You Stay In The Country )

2008-10-05T17:41:00.008+08:00

In my spare time I like to do charity work. Helping the needy. Caring for those who cannot fathom the daily banalities of life. That sort of unsung hero type of work.

Recently I escorted Joe to have her mandatory X-Ray for her Aussie visa. Saying that she was a little worried about it was like saying that Hitler was a little bit naughty! I had to literally frogmarch her into the building and sit on her handbag so she wouldn't run away.

Luckily we met a complete idiot in the queue which took her mind off things for a while.

The man in the queue in front of us didn't speak much English. We were perplexed when he started looking Joe up and down while tapping with his pointy finger at the sign stating that "if this is your first visit, you will be required to provide a urine sample. Drinking water is available around the corner next to the toilets".

...?

Joe obviously found him extremely offensive and proceeded to make derogatory remarks loud enough for me to become worried about immigratory violence. If it had come down to it though, my money would have been on Joe. Even though this chap had a mean looking moustache and an ability to spit whilst talking, you should never underestimate the ferocity of a girl forced to have an X-Ray against her will.

When he eventually got to the woman behind the desk (after much complaining and questioning Joe personally why there was a delay to his appointment to which she replied with cute and imaginative swear words!) he had to have his photograph taken. Joe and I could not hide our glee when all we could hear was...

Her: *click* I'm sorry sir, you blinked in that one, I'll have to take it again.

Him: ...

Her: *click* Oh, Sir, you blinked again

Him: ...

Her: *click* ...and again

Him: ...

Her: *click* Sir, could you please stop screwing your face up. I really need your picture

Him: ....

Her: *click* Really Sir, Do you actually WANT your next visa?

If only it was that easy to keep the fuckwits out of this country!

My Uncle Michael

2008-09-14T18:50:00.002+08:00

Back home. Dem'shire spek.

Pangs of homesickness!

Plunge? No Thank You, I Prefer The Balcony!

2007-12-21T22:10:00.000+09:00

So I'm supposed to jump out of a perfectly good plane at 14,000 feet?

Why? It's not going to crash is it?

The only down side of this plane is that it's slightly dry.

NO GIN. NO CHENIN BLANC.

....Well of course I shan't jump.

Ridiculous really. You can't jump unless you have a little jumping juice in your tummy?!

Expecting my face to look like.....

When really it's like....

Case closed!

The Story Of Uncle Len

2007-09-11T18:46:00.001+08:00

About five years ago when Dave and I were living in deepest darkest 'king Aberdeen we were chatting wistfully about puppies one night.

Dave: I've always wanted a dog.

Me: What would you call it?

Dave (without hesitation): Uncle Len.

Me: .....?

We were pissed (obviously) and so we promised each other that one day we would have a dog and name it Uncle Len.

So that's how this weekend we found ourselves the proud owners of Uncle Len....

...and then five minutes later we came to our senses and realised that she was far too beautiful (with not a comb over in sight unlike her namesake) and so had to spend a frantic weekend thinking of girls names.

Everyone, please say hello to Poppy.

You didn't really think we'd call her Uncle Len did you?

Thirty One Celebrations

2007-08-26T19:05:00.001+08:00

My birthday.

It started well. Fresh faced and sober....

but it led to this.....

this...

this....

this.....

and finally to this?

Surely they will never allow me to sit the 'grown up exam' at this rate?

Sneaky Celebrations

2007-08-22T17:08:00.000+08:00

Natalie on Friday, 24th August. Too much blood in her alcohol stream to do a jot of work!

So as this Friday 24th August approaches I just wanted everyone to know that I am in fact not wanting everyone to know that it's my 31st birthday.

I like keeping a low profile for these things don't you know.

However, if, perchance you find out that it is indeed my 31st birthday on this coming Friday the 24th August, I will (reluctantly) allow you to leave notes of adoration and birthday wishes here!

....but sshh. I don't want the whole world to know!

The Flaming Turd

2007-08-19T09:34:00.001+08:00

The scene: It's nine thirty on a Saturday night. Dave and I are watching telly and consuming copious amounts of vino. The doorbell rings.

As we open the door we are faced with a paper bag burning with vigour. The thing to do would be to stamp on it and put the flames out.

We're too pissed to care and so watch it, fascinated, as the flames die down.

The flaming turd trick completely wasted on us.

I like to think that the little buggers were watching and were suitably disappointed!

The Slow Drag

2007-07-15T17:01:00.000+08:00

me this week....

I'm not freakishly tall by any means. I think 5'8" is ok for a woman. I mean, of course I still get a little self conscious when I'm out in heels (taking me to well over 6') and all of my friends appear thousands of feet below the cloud line! I do seem to stoop a bit more but that's only because I can't possibly hear the conversation from my lofty position. I remain grateful that I can claw my way to the front of the crowd at a gig and be able to mosh in the front few lines without missing any of the hot band action.

This week though, I have had to re-assess my situation and have wished for the first time that I was just a little smaller....maybe 8 inches or so!

Swing dancing is to blame.

I had attended another class with a genius named Shane (my inappropriate crush for the winter, resplendent with tattoos and wearing trousers befitting any grandfather! Swoon.... but I digress) and we were to learn the slow drag. This is a swing dance for those times when the music slows and you're trying to woo the lady of your dreams. The man approaches, takes your hand and then thrusts his body into yours achieving contact from the chesticles to the hips. From there he swings you round and you endeavour to look a little like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing but with the man less shining torso a la Patrick Swayze-the delish and more flannelette shirt a la Doug-the idiot.

Here within, the problem lies.

What happens when a perfectly skilled Asian of less than average stature tries to swing you into one of these slow swing moves?

The old joke of the Doctor examining a woman's breasts, comes to mind.

"Madam, before I examine your breasts I shall have to numb the area...

....numb numb numb numb, num... yum..."

Snakes. Why'd It Have To Be Snakes?

2007-06-24T11:20:00.000+08:00

My hero, the perfect man, is back!

Indy, how I have missed you...

...I hope he rips his shirt in this one too!

A Horrid Realisation

2007-06-18T16:07:00.000+08:00

The thought had been creeping up on me for a while. However, as always, I talked over the little voice in my head with something far more entertaining... the thought of beer!

Now, though, I cannot ignore the small whimperings any longer.

I. Am. FAT.

Fat, I tell you.

As porky as an overfed pig.

It ain't pretty. The saddlesacks have sagged nearly to my knees and my undulating bum resembles cottage cheese so much that I fear arrest each time I step into a supermarket.

Once again, it is time to take action against my unruly wobbly bits.

My bike which had lain so forlornly for months with a busted inner tube was fixed by my indolent self. With a quick dust of the handlebars and water bottle located from somewhere deep within the caverns of the kitchen cupboard I swung my leg over the seat and hopped on.

Someone has obviously been at my saddle though. I don't remember it being so pointy and so damned uncomfortable last time.

I pushed on, encouraged by the memories of when I would cycle to work before we lived in our present house. As I peddled faster I thought of all the gorgeous places I would cycle past by the river.

Places like this....

and this....

This ride was different. I was not expecting to be scared shitless at the imposing derelict power station.

It looks so eerie that you could be forgiven for thinking that nothing good could ever happen there. Like a building dementor

You also wouldn't have thought to cycle down stretches of road with massive pylons where creepy looking men drive ever so slowly past you and then park up fifty metres away. (I pegged it so fast past him that he wouldn't have stood a chance!)

Or part way round the coastal path, you wouldn't expect to cycle past a cattle station where in days gone by the cattle ships would offload their animals onto the beach.

Or to realise the reason CY O'Connor Beach is named as such is because this was the place that the infamous engineer decided to blow his brains out while out riding his horse.

Or that there is a statue erected and partially submerged in honour of his brilliance?!

But as I cycled into Fremantle I realised that it would be worth the eerieness and general decay of the surroundings as I would be fit once more. This body that belongs, so obviously to someone else and not to me will be banished for once and all.

Plus the view when you get there is a bit nice!

Only In Australia... Part 357.

2007-06-05T18:32:00.000+08:00

Builders....

.....

Builders working to hospital guidelines.....

.....

We didn't stand a chance!

Our unit has been undergoing renovations which were to have taken "....*draws air through teeth*.... about twelve weeks, gov."

FIVE months later, said unit was presented to managers with the equivalent flourish of jazz hands and a welsh coal-miners choir of "da-daaahhh"

The manager walked around complementing the guys on their handiwork until she came to the isolation room specifically designed for sick/immuno-compromised/infectious patients (delete as appropriate).

The door was too small...

Hmm...

The door was too small to fit a bed through!

?

Thus rendering it useless to patients unless during an emergency resuscitation on them (in the extreme event of them arresting) we could call upon them in between chest compressions and injections of adrenaline, to get out of bed and walk through the door way and climb into a bed outwith the 'special room' that would be able to be wheeled to the ICU!

Needless to say, the move back into our unit has been delayed again for another couple of weeks whilst some seventeen year old bashes a bigger hole in the wall!

Ooh I Do Love A Good Wedding...

2007-05-29T11:13:00.000+08:00

Anything to get the monkey walk recorded in history!

Confetti chucking...

Chuz and Rhona. The next ones to get married. I've told them. They have to you see, I introduced them too. I think he really loves her. You can tell by his face eh?

Ali and I. My saviour and bed chamber mate. Cups of tea back at ours at two in the morning.

Wedding Belles

2007-05-29T11:01:00.000+08:00

Part of my trip home was to attend the wedding of my gorgeous friends Jim and Kirsty. I simply had to see them get married as I was the one responsible for introducing them.

I am, in fact, Cilla. With smaller teeth. But with a singing style not dissimilar to the warbly one!

Kirsty had asked me to be part of the wedding by doing a reading during the service. The thought scared the hell out of me. However, after swigging pimms and lemonade from a orange flowery hipflask outside the church the thought of reading in front of an audience of thousands terrified me to the point of nausea.

My terrifically high stilettos now slipped around my heels as I perspired with nerves. As I walked to the front of the church clutching my ragged piece of paper my heels dragged across the flagstones like a ten year old playing dress up in her mums lady shoes.

I took my place at the front of the church and I started to read the piece entitled 'A Good Wedding Cake'. The reading is based on a recipe for wedded bliss. It therefore calls for 1lb of good looks....that is when the nerves took over and in a desperate bid to catch my breath and calm myself, I found myself pausing and then... winking at the groom!

I. Winked. At. The Groom.

Oh the horror. God should have struck me down right there and then.

Everyone thankfully laughed (probably at the look of shock on my face more than anything) and I was able to skulk back to my seat and skull the rest of my pimms with Ali!

Ali, Kirsty and the Public Speaking Idiot.

The Madness Of Diet Pills

2007-05-24T03:35:00.000+08:00

Bovisand beach, Plymouth

The biggest memory of this place is the Christmas when Paul Cooke and I ran down to the beach after my dear mama gave me one of her diet pills as it 'makes you all hyper-active'.

She hadn't realised that the pills had a form of speed in them.

Paul and I had!

Cue much running around the beach playing princess barbies.

Legless In Looe

2007-05-14T20:18:00.000+08:00

In the olden days, mum would organise a "legless in looe" trip for her workmates and I would come along and develop inappropriate crushes on all the young guys who she worked with.

The object of the trip would be to try and drink in every single pub in Looe.

No one has ever completed the challenge!

One or two of us gave it a bloody good try though including a guy called Richard who tore all his clothes off and threw himself into the freezing sea after someone shouted "skinny dip anyone?". He lost his clothes and had to suffer the giggling and pointing from all of us...that sea was very cold!

It happens to be quite a nice place to visit when you're sober too. However try not to go in the rain....

The Legend Of Nic, Nat And A Little Scrumpy

2007-05-12T01:25:00.000+08:00

( Charles Church Roundabout in front of the new shopping precinct)

And so a little history lesson....

Charles Church roundabout. All I ever knew about this church was that it was the bombed out church left as a memorial to the devastation of World War II. Nicola Holdgate and I used to drink White Lightning Cider out of a can with a straw (the bubbles go straight to your head that way!) when we were seventeen.

I didn't know that whilst Nicky and I were giggling over who was the most 'tipsy' from our solitary can of scrumpy we were languishing in the second oldest church of Plymouth. And when we were scaring ourselves silly at the eerie shadows on the churches ruined walls we hadn't known that this church had come into being because of the anti-royalist feeling amongst Plymouthian puritans at the time. This church has become historic for the fight between King Charles' royalists and the puritans of the day who fought for democracy.

If we had known this, would we still have sneaked into the church grounds after dark, clutching our cider and straws wearing our hippy/goth clothes?

Probably but we would have had the decency to sing loud renditions of Seth Lakemans 1643 whilst we were drinking!

A Pole In Love

2007-05-08T17:42:00.000+08:00

Last night saw Sparkle, Mookie and myself meeting up for a dignified one drink!

So you all know how that turned out?

...a conveyor belt of beers finishing with a man falling for me in an instant

Him: (heavily accented) You are the very lovely, no?

Me: Where are you from?

Him: Poland. You know, yes?

Me: Gen dobre. Pienke kolono!

Him: (puzzled) Erm, hello, and beautiful knees?

Me: Yes, you have beautiful knees.

Him: ?

Me: In Polish?

Him: (swoon)

I was hoping he was Dutch though. I would have rather liked serenading him with a "May I borrow you garage?"

Rocking Around The A38

2007-05-05T06:38:00.000+08:00

After an ardous journey trying to not dribble on my neighbours shoulder when falling asleep, I arrived back in the motherland.

PLYMOUTH..... Pervy Lesbian Yaks Masterbate Over Ursula's Thighs Hoorah!
(Adrian Edmondson, 1996)

It smells the same, that fresh, crisp scent mixed with a hint of field! However WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE TOWN CENTRE? It's gone all 21st century on me!

The new shopping centre is huge and has REAL shops in it. Not a pound shop was to be seen. This is not the Plymouth I remember.

And for Maxine, I know that Plymouth is supposed to be the worst dressed city in the UK but I did not see one pair of 'fuglys' worn by a janner (however this is subject to change, I've only been here for 24 hours, afterall). In fact the only reason I knew I hadn't secretly been whisked away to some more cosmopolitan place was the fact that everyone spoke janner.

There were "all right m'luver"s coming from every direction!

Anyway I have to go shop now. May not hear from me in a while, there are a lot of shops to look in, see?

I'll leave you with a lovely piccy that I relate to home.

PS, The most bizzarre sight of my 13 hour flight from Kuala Lumpur was the moment I spotted a gentlemen travelling in his finest tuxedo suit resplendant with dickie bow tie and stylish hankerchief!
.....In Cattle Class!

Back To The Land Of Clotted Cream And Seagulls

2007-05-02T20:57:00.000+08:00

I'm coming home!

Tomorrow I fly to t'other side of the world to nestle in the bosom of my home country.

England, I salute you for two weeks and three days....

...After that you can just go bugger off again! Have you not heard I have a sexier homestead now?

But I'm desperate to see:

My mama Sparkle.

Pasties...

Cornwall...

And Simon Amstell...

What more is there to life in good ole Engerland?

Wish me luck on the flight of the under-stair-cupboard proportions!

Where The Air Starts To Thin

2007-04-28T20:26:00.000+08:00

I have a gorgeous pair of new shoes. They were a bargain and exactly what I was searching for, perfect for Kirsty and Jims wedding in a couple of weeks time.

However I have a few issues regarding these implements of sluttish behaviour:

They have the most massive heel. Somehow I look a little less Glamazon and a little more Danny La Rue in them. Lets put this into perspective, in these heels, I'm as tall as Dave.

Dave is 6'3"!

....I'm a man for gods sake!
The fact that I haven't adorned such dizzying creations since the start of my antipodean adventure means that I am very bad at walking in heels. So much so that I have found that I actually walk as if protecting a scrotal sack between my gargantuan thighs!

Or at least I'm strutting like Beyonce Knowles at any rate...
Because I have been living as a sandgroper for two years means that I have lived in flipflops and now my feet have spread and resemble those of Frodo the Hobbit. I have tried to stretch the shoes to fit non-asian princess feet but I fear nerve damage and amputation before my forth coming holiday is over.
I fear altitude sickness.
And alcohol....

Did you not see Naomi Campbell in those Vivienne Westwood platforms that time? That will be me sashaying up the aisle to deliver my reading only to topple and drag the best man down with me, possibly showing my knickers to the entire congregation in the process!

Do you have any advice for me?

How do I learn to walk in heels in the manner of Sarah Jessica Parker in Sex and the City?

People, you have two weeks to whip me into shape!

Swing Out Sister

2007-04-27T18:35:00.000+08:00

Swing dancing lessons....

What a great way to meet young hot guys (yes I know I'm taken but there is nothing wrong with a little window shopping). I've always swooned at a fine gentlemens two step.

Reality....

Twenty guys varying from sweaty young things with issues of counting, to seventy year old hunk of spunks with wiggly hips and a colostomy bag.

I'm having the time of my life!

The Rise And Fall Of The Modest Mouse

2007-04-09T12:35:00.000+08:00

Please note: The following pictorial is a re-enactment only. Please do not try this at home. No monkeys were harmed during the filming of this sory

Picture this. It was a Saturday morning. I was wearing the heavy overcoat of my hangover acquired from the cheap wine of a friday night. As I tentatively made a healing cup of char I saw something scuttle across my kitchen floor. Screaming, I threw myself onto the kitchen counter in the manner of some 1940s chick flick.

Egor the mouse was loose in the house.

He found refuge in the metal underbelly of the fridge. I lay in wait for nearly twenty minutes taunting him with my weapon of choice, a strip of highly polished bamboo flooring. When Egor tired of my pathetic torture he made his escape scurrying to the nearest cupboard.

Needless to say, I was now very cross. As I flung open the kitchen cupboard doors to illustrate my anger I spied the many many 'presents' Egor had left me. It was obvious that our prisoner had been escaping the theatre room every night after we had retired to bed.

So I stealthily opened each door locating the little bugger in the last cupboard. However, there is a reason why mice don't rule the world, they simply don't understand the principles of camoflage and staying hidden. He was crouched between the plates and the wall with his bum and tail fully visible practically chuckling to himself with his fantastic hiding place.

I looked at my bamboo plank and re-assessed. This wouldn't cut it. Obviously I needed a grabbing device. I quietly searched around the kitchen for such an implement when my eyes came across the barbeque tongs!

Perfect.

I crept up to the quivering mouse clad with pink rubber gloves (myself, not the mouse obviously) and with tongs held aloft. There I waited for my moment.

That's when Dave came home. Quickly I thrust the tongs at him, jumped around the living room waving pink rubber hands and bamboo around. Dave grabbed the mouse who was shrieking (the mouse and not Davo) and I held the door open for him as he marched outside and launced the mouse over the fence!

See, I caught him all by myself! Aren't I the bravest thing on the planet?

Mouse 1, Team Spacca 0

2007-03-08T17:33:00.000+09:00

Due to the hugely environmentally unfriendly carnage that is my new housing estate, a few fluffy natives have been rendered homeless.

I arrived home late one night to find three dozen mousetraps laid amongst the shagpile and coffee table books of our modern abode.
(ie: bits of off-cut carpet and fishing magazines!)

Dave: We've got a house guest.

Me: Really? You treat all your guests in this manner?

Dave: He's really scary though

Me: Tattoos? Bad mouse-tach?

Dave: It was very scary and it lunged at me!

So that was the beginning of the 'Three Week Seige of Beeliar'.

The little bugger managed to steal the cheese and avoided decapitation for three days. Upon his demise, he sent for back up.

We are seriously in trouble!

Natalogically Done

2007-02-26T18:35:00.000+09:00

Ta daa!

It's done.....almost. Well not even half way there as I still haven't chased the builder up about our lack of fly screens.

No. Fly. Screens... When I'm a mossie play park!

It's not been pretty in my house!

But the floors are divine and polished so highly that skidding around in your socks is a perfect way to unwind after a day administering incredibly toxic drugs to people to make them sick!

Improper Behaviour of Respectable (ish?) Pilots

2007-02-07T21:46:00.001+09:00

James, you didn't have to beat him up so much!

Sparkle And The Sting Ray

2007-02-05T18:24:00.000+09:00

Mama went swimming with these fine beasts.

She nearly peed herself when this fella swam underneath her though.

Fortunately she remembered that wee attracts sharks so she waited until she was back on the boat before she lost control of her bladder!

Sparkle And The Rottnest Monster

2007-02-02T19:26:00.000+09:00

Grrr!

Things Wot Was Caught And Then Eaten

2007-01-29T16:50:00.000+09:00

As part of 'Going Bush' the boys turned into hunter/ gatherers.

Dave's genius extends to catching marron with nothing but a twig and some speaker wire.

Bloody good eating, that!

Then Dave and Steve found these buggers when fishing off Busselton Jetty. Dave (innocently?) asked Steve to get the sea beasties into a bucket but said beasts were not happy about that.

Steve re-appeared from t'underside of the jetty dripping in viscous, slimy ink courtesy of Mr Squid.

We got our own back though. Tasted right bloody nice!

Note To Self....

2007-01-26T19:31:00.000+09:00

....Never leave candles to sit in the sunshine.

Especially when the temperature reaches 41 degrees.

We're off to the beach for a swim, a barbie and a few beers. Happy Australia Day

Cheap Wine And A Three Legged Goat

2007-01-22T12:35:00.000+09:00

Otherwise known as Tipsy Tina's Topsy Turvy Tasting Tour....

For a blissful ten days we found ourselves living amidst the vines of Margaret River in our South West. So obviously we were unable to avoid the many many wineries on offer.

Wine tasting on a summers day? Why not!

Edwards Winery. Very nice. Good semillion sauvignon blanc.

We, of course, bought several bottles. None of which made it home with us!

Another winery, another tasting session. It really is a hard life for us.

More wine was drunk and more bottles of wine were bought.

And when we ran out of winerys we moved onto brewerys!

This place did a fantastic tasting paddle of every variety that they brewed. All were squiffingly good....

...however the one second from the left was the one that led to my downfall that particular day!

When the boys went off to hunt for marron in the rivers and there were no winerys or brewerys close by, mama and I pulled out a couple of chairs, opened a bottle of Savvy Blanc and proceeded to get tipsy drinking from plastic cups.

Sparkle And The Shark

2007-01-21T20:24:00.000+09:00

Mr Ray. He really is very sorry for that whole Steve Irwin debacle!

First thing to do with Sparkle on her holiday? Scare the pants off her by taking her to visit 'The Neighbours'.

Meet Mr Sharkie...

He really is a sweetheart. Those teeth are just for show.

Mama, however, is not convinced!

By the end of the visit I did have Stevi and Murrae holding very dangerous creatures of the Australian dark waters.

Watch out for its massive teeth young Murrae!

A tender moment between siblings? Though it's all fun and games until someone loses an arm!

Brave brave Stevi. Hmm, maybe there aren't any fangs after all?

Mama is still not convinced!

Tales From The Land of Sparkle

2007-01-08T20:34:00.000+09:00

SHE'S HERE!

Someone help. My liver is turning me yellow.

Roll on the next three weeks!

We're In!

2007-01-07T20:09:00.000+09:00

This is the view from my new house.

We live here!

How lucky am I?

I Should Be....

2007-01-02T20:43:00.000+09:00

washing linen
hoovering
putting pretty things in Mama's room
weeding the garden
de-bugging the guest bedroom

I am....

drinking wine
watching crap films
catching up on google earth
sorting through boxes of CDs and DVDs ( I thought I lost Finding Nemo)

Sorry Mum. I am a slovenly slob!

New Year in Beeliar

2007-01-01T17:48:00.000+09:00

New Years Eve and not a breeze in sight!

What are quite hot girls supposed to do?

Jump straight in?

...My new years resolution!

I. Live. Here!

2006-12-31T16:44:00.000+09:00

Flipping eck, am I glad.

I never got this in Plimuff!

Everyone. Party at my place.

Bring beer!

Beat Myself

2006-12-04T23:21:00.000+09:00

Joe with a hat she stole!!

Six Ft Hick were playing again. We were powerless to resist!

This time, they did not smash an ashtray over their heads, throw up in a champagne bucket or snog Joe to an inch of her life.

However, the ovaries did ping along to their testosterone fueled rock and the mosh pit was once again a huge hazard to young ladies with fragile lungs and glasses (Joe I did NOT implicate you directly!). We behaved very badly and pretended to be (pretended....acted like.....were) complete groupies and insisted on talking to the band afterwards. We met another nurse who was as enamoured with the hicks as we were. We were convinced he was gay until his hand slid up my tshirt and curled itself around my bra strap.

So anyway pictures of the delectableness.....

The guitarist Dan. He was lovely and indulged us in our drunken ramblings. For that I am grateful!

Gentle Ben.... I just can't refuse a man with a hairy chest...

...or in tight jeans. He has a stomach I could look at for the rest of my life!

Monkeying around on the ceiling joists. Note the bleeding on his back. This came from when he threw himself onto broken glass and spent the first ten minutes bleeding from various wounds on his back.

I should have been mortified.....but I felt strangely turned on....

Geoffro hinting at the fun you could have on his stomach

Beating on himself....

Making me just a bit more jellified in the knees.

And ending the show just as everyone would love to .

Hands down the pants and groaning!

Trainspotters And Psychopaths Form An Orderly Queue To The Left

2006-12-02T21:55:00.000+08:00

Because of my shift patterns, I have not seen my 'many' friends for what has felt like years. Imagine my surprise then, when Joe calls me to say that she can meet me in Perth one afternoon last week.

(All I can say is that I'm glad Shazza has a blog or else I wouldn't have a clue to what was happening in her life.)

Joe and I met up in Perth CBD for my favourite of all favourites.

Sushi and wine!

We went to a sushi train place. We were completely distracted for the whole afternoon. It was what I imagine seagulls to do when they meet up for an afternoon gossip.

"So how are things at work.....oh my god, did you see those pork dumplings? We MUST get some of those!"

*swipe*

"Did you hear about the thing that happened with Dave's beard and that....GET IT, GET IT...I lurve chicken katsu"

*grab*

Shall we get another bottle of....CRISPY CHILLI SQUID?!... Flipping marvellous. Tuck in bird!"

*shovel*

...And so the afternoon went on. The waitresses (all Asian and beautiful and tiny) were outwardly astonished at the amount of food and alcohol we put away.

All I can say is that the stomach and the liver are mere muscles. I've exercised mine so that they can deal with the most accomplished of meals and the finest of wine!

To finish off the afternoon we decided on a wee tipple in northbridge just over the railway tracks. We located the last free seats in the place and set our bucket of wine down on the table.

This is when the "idiots Here" UV tattoo shone out.

The guy sitting at our table seemed normal enough. He was even a bit cute if you squizzed your eyes up a bit and didn't view him in focus.

He immediately told us he was over from Manchester and was hoping to live here and bring his wife and two kids over.

Aw, how sweet... thought I.

WRONG!

He then told me that in 'no fucking uncertain terms' could I trust my boyfriend and that he could almost guarantee that Dave was sleeping with someone else.

He didn't quite understand why we found that so hilarious!

He told us that he was in Oz so that he could turn his life around. His stays in The Priory for alcoholism and drug use were only very recent.

He proudly told us all about the twelve step programme he had embarked on.

As he sipped from his latest pint, Joe and I looked at each other and telepathically vowed to flee from the scene!

Aye Aye Cap'n

2006-11-29T18:30:00.000+08:00

My day out at the Opticians...

It started really well when I couldn't even see where the place was! When I eventually fell upon the shop I was late and flustered at the sight of the Adonis who was to gaze into my eyes!

Tall with lovely arms ( I have a thing for manly forearms). Blue eyes to float away in. Blond with shorn hair that demanded a hand to run through it's stubbly gloriousness.....

Flipping stupid eyes. They, of course suddenly perked up and behaved themselves for this specimen of magnificence.

As he shyly flirted with me (in my imagination!) from under his unbelievably long eyelashes he commended me on my near perfect vision. I say near perfect as I believe the only mistake I made in the whole exam was when I lost myself in a flutter when he raised his lovely arm and absent-mindedly rubbed the spikey golden hairs on his crown.

Tomorrow I am going to write to my local Health Minister and demand that the government ban witty and good looking men with handsome fore-arms from becoming Opticians.

.....Just like they did with Doctors!

I See Said The Blind Man To The Deaf Horse?!

2006-11-20T21:48:00.000+08:00

.....me yesterday.

That's it. I've been thirty for less than three months and already IT'S happening. I thought I'd have at least a few more good years in me.

I confess I've had a few grey hairs since I was a teenager. It didn't bother me much; I just quickly took up the profession of hair colourist. I've been able to deny my increasing maturity (obviously not mental maturity...pff) ever since.

But this? Next stop, I'll find myself waking up one morning and nonchalantly tucking my envelope boobs into my gargantuan 'three for a fiver' market stall knickers.

I. Simply. Cannot. Let. This Happen!

My problem this week? I think I need glasseess.

The fact that I'm covering my left eye whilst I type may have finally convinced me to go to one of those 'eye people'. I've been telling people at work (amidst my moaning about the whole left side of my world going fuzzy and pogo-ing around the place) that I simply can't be blind. I had one of those eye tests and they said I had perfect vision.

I realised, however, that that eye test was in fact twelve years ago and it was paid for by my now deceased grandmother.

Maybe it was time for another run of the old letters board?

I somewhat stupidly confided in Dave. Was I expecting some sympathy? Some lovely murmurings of "I'll still love you" or "I bet you'd look really sexy in glasses" perhaps?

Nope.

What I received was a show stopping rendition of "Four eyes...You've got four eyes" alongside a dance move which comprised of him jumping around the kitchen, his hands clasped into circles, thrusting his fists into his face and gyrating his hips!

A few hours later when I thought that the whole sorry subject was finally over, he turned to me and asked...

"Because it's only your left eye, do you think they'll give you a monocle?"

It's A Long Way To The Shop........!

2006-11-13T22:14:00.000+08:00

I'm sorry, I just had to....

Aren't they just beautiful?

It's A Long Way To The Shop If You Wanna Sausage Roll

2006-11-12T19:43:00.000+08:00

The House.

In an unusual twist of fate, the builders are actually telling us that the house will be finished before Christmas now.

Now comes the horror of decorating. Eek!

Natalies Top Ten Nursing Tales.

2006-11-02T16:29:00.000+08:00

This month, I have been a fully qualified nurse for nine whole years. I thought I would regal my many tales of hilarity to you.

I hope you're not offended by poo and bums!?

The man who I naively thought was having a seizure. Hey I was still only a student at this point in time. I held his hand for several minutes trying to ease his distress.

He wasn't distressed

.....Which became vividly apparent when it came to me changing his nappy. Dirty old fucker!
The old nun who died in the care of a male colleague. He felt that it was wrong for him to lay her out (quite rightly) and asked me to do the last offices. Unfortunately he didn't actually help me with my horrific workload and so by the time I managed to flounce into her room adorned with lovely smelling soaps and enough plastic sheeting to wrap the entire village, her legs were rigor-mortised in a 'Marilyn-on-the-grate' position.

Cue many fears about me not being allowed to frolic in the kingdom of heaven with a half naked Brad Pitt because one of Gods disciples was buried in a Y shaped coffin.
The woman who thought it hilarious to pick small scraps of poo from her derriere , roll it between her palms and try and offer it up to various members of nursing staff as 'maltesers'!

She nearly had one of the newly qualified nurses convinced. Nearly!
The worst trannie ever resplendent with bald spot , an Adams apple, feet borrowed from a yeti, James Earl Jones voice and to top it all off, a tattoo of a bald eagle on her forearm. She sat her 6'4" frame on the edge of the hospital bed and tinkled at the med students pathetic jokes while twirling her pearls between her gargantuan fingers.

Brave woman but please....don't ever wear open toed sandals and NEVER name your new self after a character in Grease!
The patient with the penile implant. Some stupid arsed nurse (or nurse with an evil sense of humour) had written in the care plan (the plan containing all that needs to be done for that particular patient) to conduct neuro vascular observations including monitoring capillary return (touching the permanently erect 'thing' and monitoring how quickly the white skin turns back to pink..??!), checking for pulses (eek) and checking for sensory differences...ie "Sir does this feel different? How about this? No? How about when I touch it here?" This is all to be done whilst offering 'patient reassurance re: penile implant'.

Hmmm, not exactly why I got into nursing and if I was wanting to go into 'that line of work' then I would be expecting a far better wage and a much more handsome (wipe clean) uniform!
The patient who came into hospital with a manky toe. The whole toe was necrotic (dead) and black like the peat bog man. One morning when I was doing his dressing, his toe FELL OFF in my hand.

That was a very good day!
The man who after undergoing an operation to remove the 15 inch black rubber dildo from his rectum anxiously enquired what they had done with his best friend. He was terrified that the hospital staff were going to throw away his most prized possession and kept grabbing the nursing staff crying "I need that, but I need that"
The patient that came in with a necrotising fasciatis of his willy. They skinned him like a rabbit and took half of his scrots away. When I stuck my hand into his abdominal cavity to dress the surgical wounds (the cavity went all the way to his belly button) I wriggled my exposed fingers out of the other end of the wound.

That was when my student fainted!
The little old confused man who went missing in the middle of the night. The police found him two miles down the road wearing nothing but his backless hospital gown baring his shriveled old bottom to the passing traffic and walking his zimmer frame up the middle of the dual carriageway!

How he managed to get himself that far, we'll never know.
One morning when I was working in A&E a young man was wheeled into the department on his all fours on a ambulance trolley. His wife and two little blond haired kids came scurrying in after him.

When questioned, the young man stated that he had merely been hoovering in the nude and had somehow 'sat on the dyson'.

It didn't convince anyone!

Ten Good Boozers

2006-10-31T15:40:00.000+08:00

As inspired by Jane...

The Ocean Beach Hotel, Cottesloe, WA. Or the OBH as it's affectionately known to the locals of Cottesloe. It overlooks the Indian Ocean, has windows that collapse in on themselves creating a verandah with which to catch the breeze

The View From the OBH... the very beach that some poor old bugger got ripped in half by a great white shark in 2000! Ain't it beautiful?
Shoeless Eds Cantina Bar, Plymouth, UK. A bar decked out like a South American Whores boudoir!

Jason and I having 'a quiet drink'! You can't see how brilliant this place was. There was a fountain in the doorway and various washing lines strung across the high ceiling decked out with lingerie. With every pint bought they would give you a free chilli tequila. It was NEVER a quiet night when Jason and I would go out!
The Highwayman Inn, Dartmoor, UK. I used to go the the Highwayman Inn with James. We would ride on his motorbike and then have a couple of their homemade ciders. James always said that the three birds that ran the place were white witches. I have no reason to disbelieve him!

Especially when you walk around the pub and stumble across rooms like this one.
...or the one completely full with stuffed roadkill!!
Cafe Savannah, Ibiza. Ali and I would make an annual pilgrimage to the place. The sunsets were spectacular.

The view from Savannah.
...I know, I can't help but take photos of the sunsets. I have albums and albums full of photos of clouds and pink skies. Thank god for digital cameras these days!

Little Creatures, Fremantle, WA. A micro brewery in Freo. The place used to be a crocodile farm hence the name. They make very fine pale ale and serve the best coriander and lime squid...

It's a wonderful thing to be drinking in a place surrounded by beer vats!

Toko, Bournemouth, UK A very funky place set in the heart of Bournemouth. The place to go if you want to be part of the trendy set.

The whole place is teeming with fishes. There are floor to ceiling fish tanks everywhere. I sometimes miss my old high heeled days.

Club Tropicana, Aberdeen, UK. Not exactly a pub but so fabulous I just couldn't miss it out! It's exactly what it says it is. An eighties inspired/themed club where you can purchase a grass skirt alongside your glass of beer. The disco lights are rubiks cubes and they will happily play you Boy Meets Girl or Pat Benatar!

The Waterfront, Plymouth, UK A place where Jason used to work when we were at Uni together. They would make cocktails and you could sit on the sea wall drinking them

The view from the beer garden
...Until my ward managers (elderly) husband got incredibly drunk one Christmas ward night out. He went to vomit over the wall and the bouncers had to pull him back over the wall by his trousers!

The Oyster Bar, Fremantle, WA. There is no roof, it's practically on the beach and there are sunloungers and floor cushions lying about everywhere.

Joe and I lazing on a day bed sampling the oysters. And beer!

EJ's, Torquay, UK. Back in my wild heyday. This was a place where it was positively encouraged to dance on the tables and graffitti on the toilet doors (the doors were painted with blackboard paint and there was a big box of chalk next to the bog...hmm, doesn't sound quite as great as it did when I was 21!)

Who Wot I Look Like....Proper!

2006-10-30T13:18:00.000+08:00

My Chinese ex boyfriend always told me I looked like him!?

Tagged

2006-10-29T19:54:00.001+08:00

Thought I had better come back to the land of the blog. Again. I can't help it, I'm just boring at the moment....

Right then. Thanks Moo.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don’t you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag five people

A Short History Of Tractors In Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka

" 'She knew what he had to put up with'

The telephone spits and crackles with our rage.

'The trouble with you Nadezhda, is that your head is so full of nonsense that you don't know the real world.' "

...um, but it makes no sense out of context?

Why am I doing this again?

Pretty good book. Great character development and a jolly good read (or so the lady in the book shop told me!). It had me at the title!

I tag Shaz, Joe and whoever else can be bothered....

Gravity Won't Get You High...

2006-10-02T22:37:00.000+08:00

Friday night watching The Grates perform.

Our gorgeous selves. Sober

More gorgeous selves. Tipsy

Even more gorgeous selves. Pissed!

(with an even more pissed boy in tow! Him and his sister were incredibly sweet)

And yes, I am very very sunburned. I forgot that the sun here can get you even if it is supposed to be only early spring!

Some chick who thought we were trying to flirt with her boyfriend until Joe told her (in her best Carry On voice) that she wasn't interested in her boyfriend (wink wink, ooh matron). The chick then proceeded to try and throw herself at Joe before flashing her boyfriend her boobs.

Everyone went home happy!

Sombrero wearing barman spanking non sombrero wearing barman. Why? We have no idea either.

Maybe we suggested it? That's usually the way we happen upon photos of people we don't know!

Oh my, Joesephina, aren't we attractive? Why I think I just want to kiss you..

It was the barmans suggestion. Honest. Why did it seem so reasonable at the time? "Hey Mr Barman, Can I take a piccy of you in a sombrero whilst you're slapping the arse of your mate?" "Of course, only if I can take a picture of you and your mate locking lips"!

See my dilemma?

Note To Self: Do not take diminuitive young bespectacled ladies post lung surgery into fierce mosh pits filled with sweaty pink boys with too much ear wax and who have a tendency to fling oversized pubescent gorrilla arms around as if one were playing helicopters as a five year old....

Sir, I have two words for you....BRUSH YOUR TEETH.

New Rules For Boats. Brilliant band. The fourth inappropriate cruch for the summer. I'm old enough to be the bassists mother (or the alcoholic older spinster sister of his mother, the one who dresses slutty and thinks she's all hip while asking after her neices and nephews sex lives causing no end of embarrassment in front of Great Grandma?!)

Man demonstrating lovely New Rules merchandise.

Another yummy pic of Benjamin the bass player...

And then the gorgeous and probably slightly deranged Patience charged onto the stage adorned in her best tutu and flailing a five metre ribbon behind her. She reminded me of how I used to dance in the 'alternative clubs' of Plymouth when I was eighteen! All stompy and hair everywhere.

Patience in her best party frock.

The Grates rocked. Shaz we missed you. Next time bird?

House Update, Part 317.

2006-09-29T18:10:00.000+08:00

First the roofing timber went on....

Then the roof itself!

Then I tried to video the house for my mum...........

Don't blame me for being stupid!

Obviously Dave is a professional?

Inappropriate Crush For The Summer

2006-09-28T11:37:00.000+08:00

Every summer there has to be at least one inappropriate crush. The idea is to find someone who you would never normally go all a flutter for but somehow you inexplicably go all giggly and gushy over whenever they appear.....

1; Dr Alan Roderick Statham. Green Wing. The 'rubbishest' man-stroke-lover ever but somehow I find myself all a quiver when I see him cavorting around his office in his pants....

2; Side Show Bobby. Australian Idol! He has the biggest hands I've ever seen on a singer! He replaces my crush of last summer, The Wiggle ...sigh...

2; Julia Zemiro. Swoon! What can I say? She had me at hello!!

FREE To A Good Home!

2006-09-12T14:08:00.000+08:00

One male, one female. Both fully grown but youthful nature retained. Both housetrained (female could use a bit more training though). GSOH (though not entirely to everyones taste). Completely inoculated. Will take selves for walks.

Will do washing up for bed and board!

Cornetto Monkery

2006-09-05T17:47:00.000+08:00

Part Three of Birthday Celebrations!

We sauntered down to the river on a perfectly sunny day to have a barbie (winter, my arse!) and stumbled upon this scenario. A couple of off duty buddhist monks enjoying a couple of ice cream cones in the shade of a gum tree!

I love this country!

The council here are rather splendid fellows and supply free barbies for people to gather in public places. I suspect this is the complete opposite of the UK where the council spends an obscene amount of money to keep people away from public places.

We couldn't resist the urge to sit by the river drinking wine and eating barbequed sausages.

Being an aussie male you have to pass two tests in life. The first is to be able to watch ET without crying. There must be NO emotions displayed if one has testicles. The second test is to be able to cook on the barbie with a beer in one hand. At every barbeque in Western Australia you will find the men-folk milling around the hot coals decorated with beers in stubbie holders and barbie tongs. Women are strictly forbidden to remain within two metres of the barbie for fear of retribution.

...Which is why this photo is a rare pic indeed. However, Michael can be forgiven as he is an 'Aussie In Training' and hasn't quite read the whole Aussie manual yet!

...And Chloe is allowed to be at the barbeque as she isn't yet five years old. Plus she cooks the best 'snags' this side of Wagga Wagga!

Coffin Dodgers...Yet Another Debauched Night.

2006-08-28T17:36:00.000+08:00

Part Two of Bithday Proceedings....

The night started off demurely enough. We were spirited back to the 1950s for a rockabilly night where all the men looked like Elvis and all the women dressed like Betty Page.

(A creepy looking Elvis who insisted on following us around all night with the futile hope of getting a snog from one of us!)

However the peace was soon shattered when a man who looked like Sex Machine from Dusk til Dawn started a fight in the booth behind me. He launched himself at an unsuspecting fellow drinker and broke his nose. To add insult to injury he then grabbed my beer and threw the bottle at this poor guy.

...Covering me in beer in the process!

The bloody cheek of it. I know that guy had a broken nose but I. Was. Covered. In. Beer!

(Sex Machine. With Beer)

So I did what any unreasonable person would do. I ran after 'Sex Machine' to demand another beer and an apology. Now in the broad light of day I realise that this is not one of my smartest moves but I have been known to break men who are a lot tougher! My mission worked though as he apologised profusely bought a couple of beers for Joe and I and then my charms seemed to become extra-potent as he tried unsuccessfully to woo me!

He turned to me and uttered sotto voce "Don't tell anyone but I'm a prominent member of a local bikie gang called the Coffin Dodgers"

(not actually their real name but the name that I confused them with leaving a much funnier mental image of purple rinsed al' wifeys dragging their zimmer frames onto the back of their harleys!)

Me, " Ooh I've read about you. You're quite naughty"

Dramatic pause with eyes darting around room as if being watched "You're not to tell anyone"

Me "But you know I'll tell my friends!"

Him forcefully "No. Not ANYONE"

Me obliviously "But I will tell my friends"

Him dangerously "....No" and then came 'The Look'.

Shaz and Joe did a remarkable job of creating a diversion, saving me from his grubby clutches and dragging me away to the next pub. Safe again. Well as safe as you can be in the soiled depravity of Northbridge on a Saturday night.

All this and we didn't even get to sing bad karaoke in the sound-proofed rooms of the local Asian bar!

Eurobeat, Lets Go Disco!

2006-08-25T18:13:00.001+08:00

To start my '30th Birthday Celebration Week' (a day is NEVER enough I feel) I dragged Dave, Shaz, Michael and Joe to see Eurobeat .

All I can say is that it is the best Eurovision musical I have ever seen in my whole entire life!

Gay cowboys, drunken Brit performers, post industrial Wiggles... this show has it all. We ate chocolate dipped papaya and drank wine whilst sat IN OUR THEATRE SEATS! We adopted Estonia as our country of choice and wildly waved our (complimentary) Estonian flag whenever this guy was on stage decked in his plaid and cowboy boots performing his not altogether un-erotic 'Brokeback number'...

...I think you'll agree that we didn't need much encouragement to scream ourselves hoarse?

At the end of the night we had to score the acts on our very own 'Eurobeat Score Card' so obviously I chose...

Iceland...

Estonia...

Russia...

Liechtenstein.... (for Spunky!)

I was given (for my birthday) my very own Estonia flag so I could recreate the glamour and excitement of the evening safely back in my own home. I waved my flag all night and when I was done with waving we sneaked back into the theatre afterwards (post pint in local pub....of course) to hunt down the performers!

Joe and Shaz did a smashing job locating non-famous actor-dahling types. Shaz pointed at appropriate people while Joe pounced on them! By the end of the 'Hunt Down a Luvvie' session I think we had collected EVERY actors autograh (including Estonian hunk of spunk) on my Estonian flag and received countless hugs from really nice people that happen to look good in lycra!

Joe did a great job at explaining all the relevant signatures to me...

"This one is from the Hungarian Act. This one is the little gay one with highlights that had 'that stomach'. This one is the Stage Manager and this one is from a man who had nothing to do with the show but very proudly 'applauded loudly'!"

The Queen of the show, Julia Zemiro, then emerged like a heavenly creature from the wings. If you're a pom (and most of you are....obviously) you won't be familiar with her work with Rockwiz. It's a Never Mind The Buzzcocks for the Aussie settler. She is a very funny lady and just a little bit beautiful. She hugged me and wished me happy birthday....twice.

Swoon...I have a 'lady crush'!

Things Wot I Got And Stuff...

2006-08-24T16:13:00.000+08:00

Thirty? Bah, I don't understand what all the fuss is about. It's not been that bad so far. If the decade continues like this and my body parts don't drift any further then I think this could be quite fun!

This year I had some fabulous presents......

Squeezy Marmite!

Twiglets and twiglets and twiglets...

More lotions and potions than I have skin (and I do have a fair bit)

An ipod....no more trying to cycle to work with my walkman strapped to my bike bag and having to rescue it from the middle of the road where it lays looking forlorn and battered after being thrown from the bag during some rather frenetic cycling!

Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. (I realise the picture doesn't show 'lots of chocolate' but you see there was famine in my house and I was really hungry...)

T'Darkness book. With the now defunct 'hapless bassist' (my favourite bassist since Flea...bah) Frankie Poullain. Oh Frankie, how I miss thee and thy tash...

Please note price of gorgeous book....50p!

A very strange but surprisingly funky recycled rubber monkey bracelet?!

Two dollars and fifteen cents (if you haven't seen Tank Girl you just wouldn't understand...)

And my favourite thing ever...Salt and Pepper Cicadas!

Thank you everyone who sent me stuff in the post. I had another leaflet stuffed into one of my pacakges reminding me about WA quarantines.

So please, no more sending of stuffed badgers, semi-automatic handguns, or Tony Blairs. Thank you!

Cooking With Idiots

2006-08-09T18:04:00.000+08:00

(Natalie's downfall)

I thought I would show my appreciation for my lovely boyfriend and cook him his dinner. I can only cook two dishes, Thai green curry or scrambled eggs...

Thai green curry it is then.

This is how my itinerary went...

Pour glass of wine.
Serve Dave glass of wine with wifely smile and an enquiry into his laborious day.
Chop vegetables including onions.
Try not to cry with onions.
Hop around kitchen willing tears to dry.
Heat oil in pan.
Realise chicken is still in freezer.
Switch off gas ring.
Pour another glass of wine
Over defrost chicken.
Accidentally cut off fingernail when chopping chicken.... luckily not finger.
Brown chicken meat too much on one side as very interesting documentary on telly.
Cook onions.
Reminder from Dave re: garlic. Argh, hunt for garlic.
Chop garlic and then realise it's off. Find more garlic which suspiciously doesn't smell like garlic and is much larger than normal???
Add green curry paste, coconut cream and a little water... oops, a lot of water,
Try and simmer off excess juice for a few minutes whilst smiling reassuringly at Dave (he isn't buying it though).
Stir through curry to avoid stuff sticking to bottom and inadvertently flick two lumps of chicken and a glob of sauce over the side of pan and onto floor.
Wipe up floor in haphazard manner.
Rewipe floor when slip on still greasy spot from haphazard cleaning.
More wine? Why sshank you...
Add rice to boiling water.....who knows how much? I add a cupful before adding extra...just in case.
Watch in horror as rice fluffs up and spills over side of pan resulting in milky residue over nice clean cooker.
Watch more of documentary before realising that rice has almost boiled dry.
Serve, apologise and phone friend for outing to pub to get over stress of wifely duties!

No wonder Dave does ALL the cooking in our house!

Seth Lakeman...My Husband!

2006-08-08T18:12:00.000+08:00

My local hero Sethy babes Lakeman has just released his first single over yonder. I cannot buy it here in Oz as he has selfishly decided to not release any of his stuff down under.

Therefore I demand that YOU all go out and buy a copy of his new single, Lady of the Sea so that he'll have enough money to woo me, propose and bring me back to the UK for a deliciously decadent wedding set in the heart of Dartmoor (Dewerstone preferably) where we dance up a candlelit aisle dressed like nymphs and faeries from Twelfth Night in the manner of Tori Amos' wedding.

It took me three months and fifty dollars to get his new album over here and I really cannot be bothered waiting that long for a single of a song that I already have! So you lot have to keep his pockets filled with gold. I know, I'm a half arsed fan!

Seth, if you're reading this (which of course he is..), I insist you tour in Oz. Oh, and can I be your ironing lady and come along for the ride? I don't actually iron though. Would this be a problem? I make a mean margarita if that helps?

If any of you are interested, his new album is called Freedom Fields and it is very very very good. I promise. I was also born in Freedom Fields and then went on to live there when I was a nursing student so it has extra special meaning for me.

...Oh and there is some sort of politicalness with it too as it was where they fought some battle for parlimentary democracy.

V important, you'll agree?

Seth Lakeman

Visa-Vie!

2006-08-04T22:45:00.000+08:00

(Paulo Cocke and I on my 19th birthday...he stole that rose FOR ME!)

My bid for international Aussie-dom began this week…albeit with some procrastinating months previous whereby I printed and reprinted the required visa forms THREE times. With each form consisting of at least thirty pages, Dave wasn’t happiest with my complete lack of hippy ideals and paper wastage.

There were character checks (am still not sure I have any), photos (requisite glamorous shots with me in too much make-up, and fully coiffed hair….so much so that the Justice of Peace seriously doubted that these photos resembled the half shambled girl sitting in front of him chewing surreptitiously on a ragged fingernail) and Australian and British police checks (the worst thing I ever did in Blighty was not pay a car parking fine from Torquay hospital….I lived there for fucks.. and the worst thing I did here was get chucked out of a nightclub for being just a wee bit tipsy, losing my handbag and ‘apparently’ chatting up some man-child and agreeing to go home with him…I didn’t. Obviously! I was too drunk!!)

These visa forms are designed to wheedle information out of you like the Gestapo did with our very brave moustachioed airmen in WWII. The forms ask questions which sound very easy for twenty odd pages before slipping in a ‘and have you ever worked for a terrorism organisation or tried to kill innocent people in a way which would allow you prime time reportage on 'Americas Most Wanted'?

Before you know it you’re admitting to pulling off the wings of daddy long legs and hinting at a past career in people trafficking

You have to have your wits about you in this game or else they will pounce on a simple answer where you joke about not liking your paternal grandfather that much, where they come to the conclusion that you must have killed the old man and then cut off his limbs and used them in some sixth form art project. (Before you get all ‘Karma’ on me, I don’t have a paternal grandfather. My grandmother was a Janner after all!)

With all these forms the idea is to make them as complicated as possible so as to determine the ones who can actually understand a tenth of the questions and therefore allow them first dibs on their hallowed country. Hopefully, I have copied the correct answers off my good friends John, Sue and Dots exam papers, umm, I mean Visa forms so as to allow my full and cheesy smile to entice those middle aged, comb-over businessmen in the Department of Immigration to swoon over me (as so many old men do) and invite me to stay in their country permanently….

…and then my reign of terror shall begin. Mwwwaahhhhh, mwwwaaahhh, mmmwwaaaaaaaaahhhhh!

Another Hoose Update

2006-07-30T13:22:00.000+08:00

People, we have walls.

I repeat, we have walls!

Here is the front of the house being modelled by the rather handsome Ashley

Here is my walk-in wardrobe being modelled by the slightly less handsome moi!

Please note: my wardrobe is big enough to house a slave, albeit a very small one and one who is willing to live in a wardrobe. My friend Paul (6' 4") lived in a friends wardrobe once. I think he quite liked it!

And why do the brickies INSIST on leaving the chemical bog door open over the weekend? The breeze has been wafting builder fart smells over my lovely new house.

I feel unclean...

The Adventures of Shazza. Part One

2006-07-24T11:22:00.000+08:00

(Dylan, Stevi, Murrae and Mikey at Perth zoo)

It was near on three weeks ago when I received a fraught text message from somewhere in Brunei. It was Shazza obviously at the end of her tether.

"Plane is delayed, not leaving for hours. Murrae vomiting. Kids driving me mental"

I know for a fact that Shaz had only enough sedatives for a twenty hour flight. How could she possibly cope with three teenage kids for hours with NO 'Mamas Little Helper'. Especially in a place where the only dish offered to them was sweet and sour fish served in traditional flight style mush? On top of all these separate traumas was the fact that she had mistakenly chosen a Muslim flight.

No alcohol!

I felt for her, really I did.

However, this was seriously eating up my beer drinking time. Now I had to stay sober until midnight. Unheard of!

So it was approximately ten pm when I just happened upon the flight website to check where her plane was (Scheduled Time of Arrival: 00.10), the website has one of those fancy things that can track where your beloved is in the sky. Shazza's plane should have been somewhere over Shark Bay.

It was hovering over Perth CBD!

Arse.

Cue much panic, grabbing two shoes that matched and frantic phone calls to Dave (he was out celebrating, minus alcohol, his mates birthday) to try and entice him away from his enjoyable evening to help collect Shaz and her clan as I was never going to get five people plus suitcases in just my car.

Luckily I arrived before they had managed to sneak through customs. Over here they xray your luggage before you leave the airport just in case you happen to sneak something terribly dangerous in like a Granny Smith apple or a rack of lamb. If faced with a half eaten snickers bar hiding in your case, the guards and their fierce puppy dogs wrestle you to the ground, fire off a round of ammo screaming 'None of you fucking bastards move or you'll get a bullet in your eye' before throwing you into the nearest prison for terrorist behaviour. So when the clan eventually strolled through the doors they were looking only a little travel weary and nicotine deprived but with no obvious signs of an assault of the 'gloved finger'.

So back to mine for beer then!

And there began the two weeks where we tried to cram as many people into our wee hoose as possible. Dave's ex student Joe, in the spare room, Stevi, Mikey and Murrae in the second spare room (we didn't have beds for them so they slept on inflatable mattresses that only deflated a couple of times) and Sharon and Michael on the sofa bed in the living room. Unfortunately we don't have heating in our house except for the one heater in the living room. Sharon wasn't hearing any of the kids complaints about the freezing bedroom until she and Michael moved into Joe's room when she moved out. I think that was when she decided that they would get heaters for ALL the bedrooms in their new house!

Having eight people living in a small space was a lot like how it is on Big Brother but with more intelligent conversation and less silicone addled blondes. We each had exactly three minutes and fifteen seconds to shower before the hot water ran out which means that I did not shave my legs for two weeks as the necessity to attend to my greasy locks far out weighed the need to evict the small amazonian tribe living amongst the shrubbery of my kneecaps. We debated for well over an hour each evening as to what to cook for everyone (much trickier than at first thought) and we drank beer and vodka as if we were students again!

All in all I felt like a Queen of a small country. Stevi was my personal hairdresser and in one hair episode she managed to dye a few strands of her own hair pink when she was streaking mine by clasping the back of her dripping with dye, gloved hand to her head and murmuring 'so difficult' in a diva-esque way! Joe was always there to amuse me with tales of drunken hilarity, usually accompanied by a few glasses of chenin blanc. Sharon was the head of domestic duties in which she made sure that I didn't lift a finger for the whole time and managed to delegate the washing and cleaning to the kids before ordering them to bring me cups of tea placed on silver trays adorned with doilies!

And now the house is empty it feels so eerily quiet. I'm going to miss them all!

Welcome to Oz, Shaz. Glad you made it!

Six Ft Hick

2006-07-19T10:36:00.000+08:00

So as well as having Shazzas clan staying with us, Daves ex student Joe (female) has been swanning around Chateaux Natalie also. Joe has a job with Dave at the uni and I felt very guilty as three of her hangovers in her first week here can be directly attributed to me....I can be quite persuasive when it comes to alcohol.

It was the first Saturday night with both Shaz and Joe here and I had heard that Six Ft Hick were playing in Freo. Now I have only heard a few things about this band but all of them sounded A; dangerous and B; sexy.

We were powerless to resist!

As we selected our best going out shoes (converse trainers for I fear my 'lady shoe days' are long gone) and straightened my new stripy pink hair, I had my first belly wibble. It felt like a first date. Would I get an attack of the giggles at the most inopportune moment? Would I get away with pretending to be cool in front of actual cool people? Would I drunkenly dribble beer down my top and shame myself forever in the presence of a Hick?

As we filed into Mojos behind a group of pirates we checked each others teeth for lip-gloss. We grabbed a beer each and squealed at the big squishy sofas in the corner. Surely the Shaz, Joe and Nat camp for the evening? There were three bands on. The first one was a rock chick group and while I applaud women in rock, the bassist had obviously mitched off the personality lessons of the Rock Chick Degree. I think she may have been dead!

At around Ten Beers to Midnight We caught our first glimpse of Six Ft Hick and our ovaries collectively pinged. All thoughts of melting were soon forgotten as they thrashed their way onto the stage, started a fight in the mosh pit and smashed a massive glass ashtray against the second singers (Geoffro) forehead. The two singers stripped down to their delicious farm-boy honed washboard stomachs and launched into the best live rock that I'd heard in a while. Geoffro climbed over the rickety bar tables, drank my beer (He. Drank. MY. Beer.....swoon), monkey barred across the crowds heads towards the bar and flung himself around on the bar in between the barmen serving beers.

I've always had a thing about unhinged men!

The gig was amazing and I felt completely rejuvenated after seeing these gorgeous men perform. They were true professionals and so imagine my delight when I spotted the first singer Gentle Ben (?) standing not three feet away from me? Obviously I had to speak to him and tell him about my palpitations throughout his show and maybe take his hand and place it over my 'heart' to show him!

After me gushing 'You're in the band? You're in the band?' (I know, I've never been very good at being all nonchalant and cool when it comes to sexy men in real live rock bands) I asked him to say hello to Joe (Shaz was getting the next beers in) as she had just arrived from the UK. I vaguely remember asking him to give her a welcome kiss and so the gorgeous one swooped Joe into his arms and SNOGGED HER FACE OFF!

Lucky girl. Lucky, lucky girl...

Ok, I'm Back....

2006-07-17T20:34:00.000+08:00

Just let me make a cup of tea and I'll tell you all about it!

Chocolate.........

2006-06-30T21:33:00.000+08:00

........my wish:

swirling around in the whirlpool that is Alan Rickman!

The Big Wet

2006-06-28T16:10:00.000+08:00

I had completely forgotten about it. After all it hadn't been a presence here in months. Sure, there were fleeting visits but they were sporadic and half-hearted. Nothing really to get your knickers in a twist. So imagine my surprise when I looked out of the window at work this morning and saw that it was going to be an extended visit?

The rains had started.

As I walked outside after my shift, the dusty parched earth smell had been replaced with the lush smell of the grass and trees. The freshness was intoxicating.

Somehow in the past few months, I'd managed to forget how rain could, at times, be unrelenting and cold as it fell and stung your face. How the drops would collect to form icy trickles down the back of your neck. The way it would encourage my already wayward hair to frizz and kink in all the wrong places.

Driving home, I had to wind down the windows to prevent them from fogging up. The best thing about working nightshifts is that if the weather is bad outside the rhythm of the rain lulls you into sleep inside. The dreakness outside seems to seep into the bedroom and cloak you with darkness. Snuggling up under the duvet feels like absolute bliss!

I haven't slept this well since my days of nightshifts in deepest winter in Aberdeen where you wake and you have no idea of whether it's day or night as the dusk lasts all day.

Two more night shifts to go.....

Lynden David Hall

2006-06-27T18:13:00.000+08:00

May 7th 1972- February 14th 2006

Why am I the last to know? And why do I have to discover such information from a three month old Q magazine shipped over from the UK?

Such talent, gone

Cancer. It's a bastard.

Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Wallabies Kick Some Irish Arse

2006-06-25T11:14:00.000+08:00

Rugby, I'd never thought much of it until last night. Last night I went to see the Australia v Ireland game at Subiaco Oval.

Was flipping brilliant.

The score? Ah, you know, I wouldn't want to get all smug about it but.....

Wooohooo! Am definitely going to become a proper aussie now. They win things. A lot!

Now I have never seen a rugby game before and had no idea of the rules but thanks to some last minute coaching from a rugger bugger mate in Sydney, I at least knew the essentials of the game and which team member to scream and swoon over.

Swoon No. One. The big fijian guy...Lote Tuqiri. Mmmm

Swoon No. Two. Captain George Gregan.

So the game started off by cuddling a lot and then Ireland were very kind to keep the ball up my end of the game so I could see what was happening (the Aus goal end). I jumped up and screamed loudly when I thought some bloke had got one of them try thingys but apparently he was offside. Filthy bugger!

More cuddling ensued and then Aus scored the first try at about 25 minutes into the game. There was much dancing and cheering from the crowd and then australia seemed to really warm up for there was more skidding along the grass, more shirt pulling and more neck grappling.

When Dave went to get beers there was a real live fistycuffs on the pitch. First of all it involved the really short aussie and the really short irish guy. Irish tried to punch aussie then aussie got a swing in and then some other irish guy got strangled (the irish with the big blue earphones on....does he have sticky out ears or something?) and the the bouncers (refs) stepped in and there were many mean looks from the players on both sides.

In the second half Irish caught up for a while and for a short time were actually winning. Luckily Aus came back to kick their arses and scored many more tries and conversions although all up the other end of the field cos they had swopped sides (bah...many photo ops missed!)

I had a fantastic time and hadn't realised how great live sport is to watch. The telly always deadens the excitement for me. And to be honest, how can you possibly take part in a full blown mexican tsunami at home on your sofa?

The Randomness Met When Drinking

2006-06-23T18:22:00.000+08:00

I have to say that it all started with these boys (the three from the left....the tshirted one never made into my gang!).

Hazel and I had spent a delightful day, swigging wine at V99 sniggering at Sporty Spice replacing the immortal lyrics of the Sex pistols' with 'I am an anarchist, I am a sporty spice'!

She just didn't understand why that was pure comedy.

So these guys turn up at the place where we were staying, still luminous from the green and pink spray, asking for a cup of tea.

Naturally we invited them in!

The friendship was cemented by..

this...

this...

and this!

(my bra by the way!)

And so began the Great Snapshot of Randomness When Drinking, Routine....

And so came Majorica. Many men in frocks were met. Only one tried to show us that he was a true lad-eee as he had 'no willy...honest'!

And sometimes you stumble upon a real live six pack, albeit one adorned by someone who may or may not be far too fond of eye makeup!

These guys were working in a 'kebaberie' somewhere in London. This was their seductive Iron Man pose.

No six packers need apply!

Jesus?

No, this is Jesus?

Freo..... the BEST place to live!

The old guys that got thrown out of a pub for buying me alcohol when I was already 'showing signs of intoxication'!

The white bearded guy was doing his best Steps dance routine for me!

Gay night at the mustang bar...

The only clue to the previous drunken debauched night is to consult thy camera!

Weekend Woes

2006-06-19T20:38:00.000+08:00

Dave's Weekend...

Going bush....

Drinking beers....

And chasing kangaroos.

Natalies Weeekend...

Drips....

Bedpans....

And arses!

Nurse, I'm Having Palpitations....

2006-06-11T20:11:00.000+08:00

Have had to make a mad dash to the shops for a job lot of white vests.

Unbeknownst to me, for the last eleven months whenever I have bent over to take a patients bloods or blood pressure, they have been able to see ALL the way down my uniform top...to my sparkly belly button ring!

No wonder so many of my elderly male patients have been complaining of chest pain when I'm on duty!

To Pee Or Not To Pee

2006-06-04T18:24:00.000+08:00

Government Health Warning: Please do not read if you want to look me in the eye ever again!!

As some of you might have gathered, I rather like living in Oz and want to stay, at least until my hoose is finished anyway.

I could be here for a while!

To do this, I need permanent residency. Anyone who has been through the visa process will completely understand when I say that it's a huge pain in the arse and it's mostly undertaken telepathically. No one tells you what you need to collect and send off so it means you spend far too much time in the presence of the local Justice of Peace in some local magistrates court trying to certify copies of birth certificates, nursing qualifications and love letters from 1992.

So on Friday, as part of my visa requirements, I found myself at the visa medical place for a thorough once over.

...but if they even attempted to perform a TUBE (Totally Uneccessary Breast Examination) on me, someone would be getting a very nasty slap!

As part of the whole thing, I needed to be tested for all sorts of lurgy including Hepatitis B and C and HIV. I had to take the same tests for my working visa over a year ago so I wasn't worried about all those needle stick injuries from my dirty, scrubby patients I had obtained over the years. However, the last time I had these tests, the mother hubbard doctor had given me this pre test counselling (is the law and everything)....

" ah, you look all right. You'll be fine"

What if I had lied about not being a junkie?

The nurses took the bloods whilst teasing me about using the extra large needles just cos I was a fellow nurse and then sent me on my way into the doctors office. I was asked to undress and don a gown so he could do the physical examination (minus the TUBE...phew). He pulled the curtain around me and I stripped off down to my lovely new black burlesque styley bra and contemplated the flipping gown. I know I'm a nurse and so therefore I should have experience with all stuff 'drapey' but this thing had THREE arm holes!

On my last count, I only had use for two arm holes. What the flip was I going to do with a third? As I glanced around me for some divine intervention I happened to notice something which jolted my head practically off it's hinges.

In a very large mirror behind me, I could see the doctor trying desperately to scribble on his very important doctors scribbling pad while pretending to not look at my half naked reflection.

When will I stop taking my clothes off in front of strange pension-age folk?

Anyway the doctor did the examination which consisted of making me do some ballet moves from Grade One, including touching the ground, making "pretty toes" and holding my arms in first position (I suspect that was to see if I had any alcoholic tremblings!) before sending me off to the toilets for the dreaded wee sample.

Now, I'm not good with the old 'hover and pee' thing at the best of times. I won't indulge my ways with peeing in a public loo for fear that you'll whisper 'freak' at me whenever we meet in a corridor or hospital canteen.

So anyway, I was locked in a strange toilet with a full length mirror?! Off putting for two reasons.

I simply cannot walk past a mirror without either admiring my hair or fixing my hair. Clearly I wasn't in quite the right place to be playing with strands of my growing out fringe. And having to watch yourself whilst you pee? Weird.

I had convinced myself that it was actually a two way mirror so the nurses could make sure that I wasn't substituting my (obviously) drug addled wee with some thirteen year olds clean living specimen.

So I tried to push all thoughts of stage fright out of my head and concentrate on cascading waterfalls, babbling brooks and rippling streams.

Minutes, maybe hours passed. Nothing.....

Hmm, Niagra, Angel and Victoria perhaps?

As the *cough* waters began flowing I was jolted by a knock at the door. As I confirmed that I was 'indeed in fine health, thank you so much for enquiring Mr Nursey Man', I realised a great horror. In the fright and commotion..

I had peed on my buggery-bastard jeans!

Eurgh.

In my panic I tried to sluice soapy water through the jean leg and then I spent a few frantic minutes desperately trying to dry the offending wet patch.

I spent the next twenty minutes backing away from people as I bid them Adieu for fear of them spying the "Nat-spacca mark"

If there is a next time, I'll be bloody well using the 'She-Pee' Chuz and Rho sent last year from Glastonbury

(The She-Pee is a revolution in continence management in festival goers! Just unzip, place and pee!)

Home, Sweet Home

2006-06-02T22:06:00.000+08:00

Things are finally happening on the piece of dirt Dave and I like to call Chez Nous. No longer are the builders standing around sucking air through their teeth and proclaiming the weather to be of not a high enough quality to commence building works.

I got the first hint last week. When we went for our weekly jaunt into "t'country", past our land. We spied a sign stating that 'trespassers will be slapped' (I can't actually remember what was said. I was too busy jumping up and down about the fact we had a REAL sign on our land!).

Hmmm, seems someone got a teensy bit ahead of himselves when it came to the ordering of 'stuff' though. On closer inspection we discovered that our window frames had also been delivered. We need foundations, sewage and drains and walls before we can start thinking about the bloody windows? Surely?

Anyway, a couple of days later a porta loo was erected ( a sure sign?) and then the following day all these plastic tube things appeared out of the ground...

We've got somewhere for our bath water to go! Yippee. I have never been so excited to see sewage pipes in my whole life.

...until this week, anyway. This week we have actual concrete down. That means the foundations have been laid and the brickies are queueing up to lay their bricks for us.

Ain't she beautiful?

A Cute and Fluffy Post

2006-05-27T16:53:00.000+08:00

We had an admission recently from a Nursing Home. The patients name was Bill*. He has some residual learning difficulties from an accident some years previously and needs full nursing care hence the reason he ended up in a NH.

In amongst the paperwork sent from the NH was a list of demands that Bill would likely to shout out during the course of the day. Bill is dysphasic which essentially means that his speech is impaired or muddled so this list was incredibly important so we were able to understand what Bill was asking for.

This is the list...

What Bill Says.... (What Bill Means)

Hungry..... (Bill is hungry)

Wazza.... (Bill needs to pee)

Wyatt.... (Wipe it [penis])

A bit.... (Move Bill up a bit)

Fuck you.... (Self explanatory)

I want to kill you all dead.........................

Nice man!

*obviously not his real name!

A History Lesson

2006-05-23T11:34:00.000+08:00

Something has been niggling in the very murky depths of my brain recently. You know those cobwebby corners filled with sludge so that absolutely NO learning can take place without a mop being employed first?

A few weeks ago, Dave and I went to a Quiz night. I sat there quietly for most of the night, muttering answers to questions I was only half convinced were correct. The team was doing well, what with the rest of the table being intellectuals and all.

About ten questions from the very end of the quiz, the question master asked a question that made my eyes light up and made me jump from my seat proclaiming 'I know this one. I know this!'

My team members were very grateful as they didn't have the foggiest and so there I sat basking in glory about to impart my wisdom onto each and everyone of them.

I felt invincible after that. I had proved myself there and then in that Greek Orthodox Church Hall. It was clear that no one else in the room had got the question right and that made my smugness all the more clear to those inferior academics sat around me.

When the answers were read out, I waited expectantly for my question.

"And the answer to No. 42 is.... Southampton!"

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Bugger. Shit. What happened? I got the bloody thing wrong!

I immediately crumbled as my team mates jeered me. They wouldn't let me forget my stupidity and I felt ashamed that I obviously had not even learned the history of my home town.

The question was this..."Which UK town did the Mayflower ship depart from before making it's historic journey to America?"

It was obvious to me...Plymouth. I grew up in Plymouth. There are hundreds of landmarks named after the historic voyage and ship. The ship even landed in 'Plymouth' in New England for gods sake. There are even the Mayflower steps that are honoured with a plaque documenting the day the ship left and how many passengers it was carrying to the new world.

(By the way, the actual Mayflower steps are a few metres up the road from the ones that are officially the steps. It was thought that these ones in the picture above looked a lot prettier than the ones actually used and so the Americans would spend more money on souvenirs!!)

So as I prepare to go to another quiz night tonight, I feel as if I should clear up this horribly messy business before I can claim closure on the episode. I've just researched the subject a little on the internet (and we all know that t'internet never lies!)

If you want to be picky about it, neither the Question Master or I were correct.

It appears that the 'Mayflower' departed from LONDON before stopping off at SOUTHAMPTON for a feed. It then travelled to DARTMOUTH cos of a leaky companion boat.

It docked there whilst fixing up said companion boat before sailing on as a twosome. The Mayflower and it's companion boat sailed for a couple of hundred miles into the Atlantic Ocean and then snarled a collective 'bugger' as the neighbours boat was fuckedy leaking again!

It sailed back to PLYMOUTH for a while til it was deemed that the companion boat was a complete bunch of arse at the whole floating thing and that the 'Mayflower' would sail alone to America.

Therefore the Mayflower sailed from PLYMOUTH to arrive in Plymouth in New England....

So who is right then?

Ways Natalie Has Embarrassed Herself. Volume iii, Chapter 12

2006-05-22T17:24:00.000+08:00

Picture this, it's a beautiful day on Rottnest Island, a beautiful girl (*cough*...me) has just emerged (not unlike Ursula Andress) from the sparkling turquoise waters of a deserted white sandy beach.

She shakes her long hair back and prepares to sunbathe. Alas, for there are rivulets of sea water trailing down her stomach from the padding in her bikini top (padded not to enhance her figure but to give shape to the thing, you understand?)

What's a girl to do?

One quick look around the beach and surrounding cliff tops confirms that she really is on a deserted beach and can be overlooked by not one soul.

In one fluid movement the bikini top is off and is being squeezed of it's excess Indian Ocean Elixir. As she is standing there on that deserted beach in all her topless glory she spies something out of the corner of her eye.

...a bloody tour bus full of pensioners and day-trippers slowly trundling its way around the cliff top not fifty metres from where she's standing.

I swear I could hear the cheer go up from inside the bus!

Knockers

2006-05-21T17:37:00.000+08:00

And so my quest continues to find a hairdresser that A; listens to what I want, B; cuts my hair in a way that it will behave itself without excessive teasing or spikey gel spray and C; doesn't make me look like a spacca with a 'comb-over/Hitler' during the cut!

It started off well, we sat, chatted and she made a cracking cuppa for me. I then made two grave mistakes. The first one was to sigh and say 'oh I don't know, just cut off how ever much you want, I'm not precious about my hair'. The second was to let her con me into buying a 'hair conditioning treatment' and head massage.

So that is why I left the salon with a suspiciously tingly scalp and spine from the 'head tickle' and my once down to my waist hair now resembles Shakiras new do!

Twelve Months Of Pondering

2006-05-18T10:22:00.000+08:00

So, it's been a year and a day. As per usual, I completely underestimated how hard it is moving somewhere new and completely isolating yourself from all the friends and family that you rely on and take completely for granted.

It's only when you look back over the time that you have had to adjust to your new life that you wonder completely surprised 'How the bloody hell did I make it through with so few tears?' However, saying that, living in this paradise has hardly been the hardship that I had convinced myself it would be. I have never regretted moving here. Not once did I consider the possibility of moving back, even if the gravitational pull of all my close buddies and family was sometimes physically wrenching!

It occurred to me the other day that I have started taking some of the Western Australian peculiarities for granted. People going into town to go shopping with no shoes on for example. This practice has traditionally only been supported when the alcohol has been flowing and I have been caught wearing incredibly high stiletto shoes that cause nerve damage to my second toe. I would then swing them off and trample around a pub/club somewhere, praying to some god to keep me safe from the broken bottles scattered on the sticky carpet! When I used to see these sober, nice mannered people trundling around choosing a loaf of bread or picking out the juicest apples in the markets, barefoot, it used to freak me out but it causes barely a second glance these days.

I've come to expect that people are a lot more laid back and openly friendly over here. I regularly see people in the newsagents buying the sunday papers wearing their fluffy mismatched jammies. Shop assistants, where there are surly and sometimes unco-operative in the UK, are breezy, bubbly and willing here. They must want my money really badly?

I've also stopped saying (quite so often) 'It's a beautiful day' cos nine times out of ten it will be a gorgeously stunning day with the brightest sunshine you have ever experienced and the bluest sky I've ever known. The days where it eventually does rain (June), the rains are so infrequent that when they finally hit, you find yourself to be relieved that the garden is getting a good soaking and the roads are being washed of the hot summer dust.

And when the rains come down the cockroaches start to come a-sneaking out! Now, I cannot say that I have become totally at one with these creepy little buggers but I'm not half as scared as I was back last May. Back then, Dave used to have to save me from them and beat them with a flipflop or stamp on their heids. I'm still not quite comfortable killing anything unless I have my uniform on! I believe in karma and so I wouldn't want anyone to come and stamp on my heid sometime in the future. Luckily, we haven't seen any around for a while but we're just coming into the 'flying season'. Watch out Shazza, you're going to love it!

I am no longer afraid to go outside with no shoes on. I used to have to wear something on my feet because I was convinced that a redback or snake would come and bite me. After spending a year here and only seeing the grand total of one garden spider (yes, Peggy was harmless. She has no teeth. Life imitating art?), two huntsman spiders and two dead snakes on a road somewhere 600kms from here in the middle of the bush, I can safely say that Australia ain't as scary as it's made out to be.

I've also turned into the biggest wuss when it comes to the cold weather. Am seriously considering putting the leccy blanket back on the bed cos we've had a few cold nights recently (eight degrees). Now I know that Shazza will the first to berate me for losing the Scottish hardness when it comes to being cold. In Aberdeen, the weather we had to endure was sometimes unbearable. It hurt to breathe and you physically couldn't stop shivering. My toes were in a constant state of semi-frost bite so I realise I do sound a little pathetic whinging about the temperature when it's not even cold enough for a frost! I can't help it though, and Dave refuses to let me warm my feet on his deliciously warm derriere. All I can say to defend myself is that there is no heating over here, and there is no insulation in the walls of our house.

I did buy the most gorgeous pair of pj's the other day, they are all soft and warm and the top has a hood. Perfect!

So, anyway, I really miss my friends from back home. I've made some good friends here but it's not the same as the ones you have had a bond with for years. I mean I've known H since I was eleven and Nicky since I was eight. Even my 'newest friends' I have known for four years now. There's a lot of history and bonding there that simply cannot be replicated in twelve months.

And so starts 'Natalies Australian Recruitment Agency for Family and Bloody Good Mates'. Will send out application forms and drag you all over here whether you like it or not.

He Just Smiled And Gave Me A Vegemite Sandwhich...

2006-05-17T19:10:00.000+08:00

One year ago today, Dave and I stepped off a plane, blinking to adjust our light deficient eyes to the unnatural brightness of Western Australia. We had endured the eighteen hour flight from London whilst crammed into the space equivalent to my dads under stairs cupboard. We had drunk the plane practically dry, watched every film and tried but failed to sleep under the cabin lights and in the forced lack of humidity.

I had left Heathrow grinning from ear to ear. My mum was visibly distressed but I was completely in denial about the journey I was about to embark on. After all, I hadn't been living in the same country as my mum for three years (Scotland is a different country!) so moving to Australia wasn't really that much of a biggy. She wouldn't be missing me that much, surely? Fourteen hours later whilst watching some pathetic Disney style movie about a mother and daughters relationship, the enormity of what I was doing hit me. Somewhere mid-air flying over the wilds of Indonesia, I started sobbing.

Suddenly I wasn't excited, I was shit scared. Was I ready to make such a big step? Coming to Australia meant no going back. If Dave and I ever split up, I couldn't just up and go running back to my poor, long suffering mum, demanding sympathy and cups of tea in bed like I had previously done!

The prospect of reaching life's hurdles without my mum at my side wasn't one I had considered before. Mum has been my best friend from the day I was born (or perhaps from two weeks before I was born and she offered me my first taste of a Hollywood Superstars champagne) and I had assumed that she would be there whenever I needed her. Even now, I'm convinced that if I start thinking about having babies in some dreamy romanticised delusional episode then I WILL be moving Ma over here so she can teach me what to do with the wriggly pink buggers!

I just wasn't prepared for the amount of distance there would be between us or that because of the whole damned time difference situation, I can only feasibly ring at the weekends. When I was living in Scotland, it was so easy. I could get down to Plymouth for a long weekend so (and with the exception of my friend Kate latest weekend excursion) getting home is now an impossibility.

So, mum, I apologise for putting you through so much stress. I miss you heaps and can't wait for January. Although you really should never have sold me to Dave for the price of two purple shaggy sheep cushions in the first place!

PS Not sure how it happened but this post was going to be a breezy rendition of 'ooh, I'm so not shocked when I see people wandering around the supermarkets in their jammies and bare feet anymore'! Maybe I'll continue that thought next time?

Sunrise over Sea

2006-05-16T18:12:00.000+08:00

So, Rottnest? The big getaway.

It was fab.

There you go, Thats it!

Really....

You can bugger off now?

Shoo!

....So you want to stay for my slide show?

Oh goody. I love slide shows!

NHS Specs: ON

Lights: OFF

Everyones attention: ON ME!

The Quokka Arms.

The local pub, hang out for alcoholics, quokkas and peacocks. Many beers were supped and many quokkas were fed (in secret of course as feeding the animals is frowned upon).

I think I broke the jukebox.

A quokka. Really, you just can't not feed them.

They really do get everywhere The island is infested with them. Hmm, hence the name 'Rottnest'?

Sunrise over Thompson Bay.

The only way to get around the island as you're not allowed cars (apart from the policeman and the grocer!). You can hire trikes, tandems and childrens buggys to hook onto the back of your bike.

The bikes were great but bloody hell, my arse hurt.

One of the beaches. Completely deserted apart from Dave, myself and Dave's mate Mick and his girlfriend Jo.

Dave, Jo and Mick

More Dave, Jo and Mick

Dave was fishing off the beach when this bugger just swam straight past him! And yes, the water really is that colour. Perfect for snorkelling. And it was so warm too. I mean, it froze your bits off for a couple of minutes but after that it was sheer bliss.

One of the peacocks from The Quokka Arms.They were showing off all week but the peahens were so not impressed.

Should have shown them their willies instead!

We went fishing at sunset. There were hundreds of fish swimming around and because of the Leeuwin Current the waters are warm enough so the tropical fish can come down to Rotto to breed. There were loads of funky zebra fish all trying to eat my bait (was quite glad they couldn't get their mouths around the hook though. Wouldn't want to catch a pretty fish).

When we had just packed up a MASSIVE manta ray swam past. He would have been a couple of metres in diameter. Was glad that I wasn't in the water at that point. Would have scared the shit out of me!

These ones, we caught, cooked and ate for breakfast!!

Little Fish Hook Bay. The colours in the water were stunning. This is at the furthest point of the island. It takes you about an hour to cycle there.

It's a King Skink. There were hundreds of them on the island and apparently there are hundreds of snakes too.

Did I see one? Nope.

Dave and I had a great time cycling everyday and throwing ourselves into the water when we got too hot. I fully intended to read the four books I took over but as per usual, I didn't even finish Shantaram (that I've been reading for weeks now).

But thanks for all the book suggestions, I practically bought out the bookstore. However I didn't buy the ones that Reidski suggested. Maybe next time eh?

Sexpo '06

2006-05-12T17:59:00.000+08:00

The poster advertising Sexpo was of a girl trying to look seductive whilst clanking a pair of metal loveballs between her fingers...

Well, therefore Dave and I just had to go!

We arrived and were greated by a young woman whose clothes had just recently fallen off. Still she was being quite good humoured about it all. She was still allowing people to be photographed with her. She not once knocked back a young spotty teenagers request for piccy. Gosh, some of these people are professional to the end!

We were then cloaked in the underworld of the perverse and seventeen year old students. Aisle upon aisle of dildos and wipe clean nurses uniforms greeted us. For the record, I have always been an advocate of wipe clean uniforms. There would be no more cross contamination between patients. Nurses would be able to just wipe off those nasty blood/poo/wee stains without resorting to having to wear someone elses uniform or borrowing theatre greens. Infection rates would be radically reduced and the uniforms would never need ironing!

Daves mates went with us and they literally dragged us up and down each aisle several times. I don't know about you lot but after the first three shops of purple, pink, spotty and glittery vibrators, I developed penis apathy. Any guy could have run up to me, dropped his pants and waggled his todger at me and I would have looked to my right at some magnificent display of porno stars replicas and sighed at his under-acheiver! Once you've seen one rabbit eared, beady-bumpy-bit, willy shaped vibrator, you've seen them all.

There were live shows to alleviate the apathy somewhat. A lovely young lady named Arianna Starr (I suspect, not her real name) danced around in thigh high silver glittery boots and a turquiose leather mini skirt, boob tube and fur lined cape that my Barbie wore back in 1985. Little by little she lost her skirt, cape and top leaving her remarkable boobs displayed high on her chest (much like my Barbie used to...).

I always knew my Barbie was a stripper!

When it came to the young man dancing and stripping, I turned into an old granny. I couldn't stop giggling and whooping at his leather trouser/waistcoat combo. And the way he continued to mime the words (with a mouth that looked like it housed no teeth) to every eighties rock 'bighair' song led me to believe that these boys aren't there for the girls to go mad with pheromones. They are there to show us that blokes will always make a complete twat of themselves in order to try and land a bird!

However, he did have an actual, real live six pack (TM). I may have reconsider.......

Next came the weird guy in the corner wearing nothing but a white coat. He is the world renowned 'Penile Artiste'. I thought he just painted pictures of blokes willies.

How I was wrong....

He paints using the only trusted tool of the male species.

This is one guy that never pees on the seat!

I especially loved his painting of John Howard...ie a painting of a cock...painted by a cock!

Dave and I soon tired of the naked women/men and men using their willies as paintbrushes and wandered around some more.

That was when we stumbled upon the

' BIG MASSIVE RUBBER FIST'

...it's there. You just have to look amongst the many many rubber cocks to find it! (Also check out the the expressive stare of the man through the cabinet...he's not in awe at all!)

After discovering that and staring at the seventy centimetre purple rubber willy until I saw stars, finding a grown man riding a pink knob-broncho didn't affect me at all...

...much!

Advice for Dummies

2006-05-03T17:12:00.000+08:00

This weekend Dave and I are off to a deserted island again. It will be magnificent, all lonely beaches, clear waters and raggedy clifftops.

Dave's eyes have started glazing over at the mere idea of fishing every day! It's May, too cold to lounge about the beach. Too deserted for any kind of fun ensuing in the ONE pub at night. Bah, I bet even the quokkas have gone into hibernation!

I think I'll need a good book.

We'll be away for five days. Hell, I'll need several good books!

Any ideas?

Aussies...Part Two

2006-04-26T18:36:00.000+08:00

Ten minutes later I was deep in conversation with one of my patients. He knew that I had moved from Scotland also.

'So, when Scottish men go to work, do they all have to wear a kilt? Even bricklayers and plumbers?'

Aussies...Part One

2006-04-26T18:33:00.000+08:00

A girl I worked with last night asked me in all seriousness if when I had moved to Scotland from England, had I needed a visa to stay in the country!

When I explained about Scotland being part of the UK, she scrunched up her nose and asked 'Is that in England?'

"That's what I said, Betty".."Did you Betty?".."I certainly did, he's a very naughty man, Betty" *

2006-04-25T18:06:00.000+08:00

It's that time of year again. The time of year when my mind separates into two distinct individuals. When I can agree and then disagree with myself in almost an instant.

The first "Betty" is a rational (ish) type of person. She's (sometimes) quite cool and would rather discuss Gregory David Roberts in the pub over a lovely pint of Redback than thrash out the reasons that Jordan and Peter make a good couple.

The second "Betty" is a different woman altogether. She has the IQ of a sub-intellectual marsupial and lives for the next episode of 'Oh My God, I Can't Believe What Britney Did To Break Her Baby Next'.

This is where the psyche of my two oceans collide and swirl all reality and fantasy into a big turbulent karmic storm.

Big Brother has landed on the telly again. Say hello to the next three months of pretending to not give a toss about the pretty but dumb boys and girls. I'll never admit to enjoying seeing these vacant people running around a tiny house in no clothes and grappling willies.

There's a gay cowboy, a mother/daughter team with matching boobjobs and a mole whose main reason for being in the house is to sabotage other peoples happiness in the house!

It's like a car crash. I'm transfixed. I can't look away!

....If I meet you in the street though, I shall deny all such BB addictions and take action to try and get you sectioned under the mental health act!

* Re: title. This is what I caught one of my patients muttering to herself the other night!

I'm the Shit, I am!

2006-04-22T20:46:00.000+08:00

Paris shows us how she is better than all the pop singers in the world today. Watch out world for she's stated that she's going to take over the pop world next. She sure is better than every singer I've ever heard!
......in a bleeding ears, screechy cardboard box for deaf people type of way.

I hope Heff has a strong stomach..

Tenuous Links to Fame...

2006-04-22T20:01:00.000+08:00

When I was yet to be born, my mum and dad were having a very romantic meal in some little Cornish restaurant at the same time that Donald Sutherland and Jenny Agutter had happened to visit (they were filming 'The Eagle Has Landed'). Donald was trying to impress Jenny and ordered the most expensive bottle of champagne in the place. When it arrived at the table Jenny said 'I'm very sorry but I don't actually drink alcohol'. Feeling defeated, he gave the whole bottle to my parents. My dad was driving so....that is why my mum was found chucking her guts up in the toilets two hours later!

I blame Donald Sutherland for my complete scattiness and inability to co-ordinate my limbs when hungover!

Kirsty and I made Macy jump!

...thats it!

I once met Tori Amos. My friend James spoke to her telling her how much he admired her bosendorfer piano and how he wished he had one also. She just smiled beatifically and murmered 'hmmm', before moving on to sign someone elses picture.

Me? I thrust a fake copy of her tour poster under her nose and made her scribble on it before I fled from the embarrassment of showing her my counterfeit goods!

I was in the Plymouth Theatre Royal panto in 1986. My 'co-stars' (I was part of the babes troupe) included Benny from 'Crossroads', Nyree Dawn Porter from 'Forsyth Saga' and Donald Hewlett from 'You Rang, M'Lord'. Nyree was a total lady. Always gracious and kind. Benny on the other hand was a knobjockey. He spat everywhere and pushed past us mere mortals to get to his space on the stage. When my baby brother (aged then at 8 years old) rushed up to the stage dressed as Benny with beeny hat and dungerees on (putting on a fake stutter), Knob-head Benny didn't think it was funny and ordered him off the stage!

Ali, Kirsty and I spent a memorable evening on the Island of Ibiza with an ex-boyfriend of Agnetha from Abba! We drank at some local bars and then spent the evening dancing with him and his son in Pacha.

A year before, Ali, Hazel and I were staying in the room next door to 'our Mike' from Brookside. He liked to wear his shorts high on his waist and adorn trendy(?) bumbags. His mates were a good laugh though. A holiday is always good when you're staying next door to skinhead drunken scousers!

My friend H's auntie was Cherie Blairs obstetrician (poor woman!). She delivered baby Leo and I presume, had to peer up Mrs Blairs foof.

All money earned was deserved, I'll say!

I used to work with Shirley Mansons sister in law in Aberdeen (a true rock moment).

I invited her (through Denise) to my leaving party. Alas, she was otherwise engaged and could not attend!

I went to Shania Twains producers wedding c/o Paul. His sister was the bride. She is gorgeous. Much more than that Shania bird!

No, Shania did not attend. I think the producer (Simon) was a 'music whore'. Paid his money and told to fuck off!

At Pauls sister Ruths wedding, I met a bone fide popstar. Remember Apache Indian? He was the best man and took a taxi ride with me to make sure I got to the wedding party safely. And his wife was the coolest chick ever and I promised to keep in touch but never got her number. I did wibble in the belly area when I realised I'd be sharing a taxi with this hunk of a man. He's much more divine that I ever remembered him being in the nineties (must have been the dayglo and bum bags putting me off?). However, his wife was much more gorgeous and the law of the bird states that 'thou shalt not make fluttery eyes at another birds bloke'

Hazel and I camped in the VIP area at Reading festival and almost met Finlay Quaye and Jarvis Cocker but I was too drunk to move from my sleeping bag.

I know, I'm starting to repeat myself. I've told this one!

I chatted up the gay one (Gavin) from the Brittas Empire in a Bournemouth nightclub before he waggled his wedding ring at me and I remembered that I was 'off men' at that time!

I actually used the line...'I recognise you, do I know you?'

He replied with '... I'm an actor, dahling!' (hmm, I made up the dahling bit!)

Dave went to school with the two nerdy ones from INXS.

(I can't tell which ones are the nerdy ones!!)

Dave's mum went to school with Rolf Harris

Dave's mums ashes are now scattered in the same cemetary as Bon Scott from AC/DC

Chris and I took a 'Working Lunch' presenters cherry. We were most proud of ourselves. (...of course literally. We literally took this mans cherry. We were at the same picnic and he bought a bag of cherries. Nobody else in our group got the joke!)

I was on 'You've Been Framed'. Some months ago, Dave shouted up to me that I was on the telly. They were playing my clip again. Dave had never seen it before but he had remembered it when my dad had told him about it! Incidentally I was totally unrecognisable, skinny, fifteen years old, shy, wearing a leotard and tapdancing around a stick stuck in the stage floor!

I used to dance in competitions with Lisa Kay who was an ever presence on hollyoaks for a couple of years. I tried and failed to NOT have a crush on her older brother David. He was delish. Even my ma had naughty feelings about him....

I hope she's doing well with her career. She was always lovely and never succumbed to the bitchiness that dancing festivals can bring out in some people.

I used to hang out in the green room in the Theatre Royal when I worked there. I ate on the next table to Neil from the Young Ones. We would spend our lunch hours pouting and nudging each other in the ribs about the celeb on the next table eating chicken curry and chips!

H and I nearly met Tom Jones at Reading. (I've told this one before too...)

A Security guy fell for H and let us back stage (I got to wear a shiny yellow security jacket!). We missed Tom by a matter of seconds. He was driving out of the place waving out of the back window when we walked through the back stage door.

Security guy didn't even get a snog from the delectable H for his trouble!

Ali, Nicky and I befriended a guy (when on holiday in Ibiza) who was once on Byker Grove (when it first started out with Ant and Dec, man. Apparently Spuggy was quite stroppy!)

Paul was invited up on stage at a festival by Rowetta. We were crowd surfing and she must have taken a shine to him.

The security guards didn't think that he was all that shiny though and threw him out after they threw me out!

Pants On Fire...

2006-04-21T22:53:00.000+08:00

Why do patients lie?

I don't care....for certain. I respect that people have lives outside of the hospital. What they tell us shouldn't make a difference in the way that we look after them.

Cue my latest patient....

ME: 'Sorry, I have to ask you some stupid questions...Do you drink? How much?'

HIM: 'ooh, about two glasses of wine a night'

ME: 'Cool, me too' (a total lie on my part, obviously)

(I then found him sneaking cider from a can hidden under his bed!)

ME: 'Do you smoke?'

HIM: 'Oooh, no. I gave up when I got diagnosed'

(for the record I do not look down on people who smoke. Especially those who have already been diagnosed with cancer. Its as if people think we should be hard on them because they smoke and therefore should try and stop them from smoking. I mean, what is that going to do? Make them NOT get cancer? Ridiculous!)

We ended the admission interview and resumed our respective roles (mine: fannying around trying to admit/discharge patients whilst holding sick bags under the noses of the sick. His: trying to figure out which way round a hospital gown wraps around the body!)

A couple of hours later I wandered into his room and sniffed the air. There was a definite fug about it. I have been to enough pubs and festivals to know when there is baccy smoke around (I've also been to enough festivals to note where and who is smoking ganja so as to stop, chat up, and bum some smokes from the offending air polluter...but thats another story!).

I theatrically sniffed the room and asked 'Sorry I have to ask but have you been smoking?'

HIM: Me? Oh god, no!...why, is that bad?'

ME: 'Ah, you know it's just that a single cigarette can blow the whole building to smithereens with the old piped oxygen and stuff...'

HIM: 'Aah. Do you think you could take me to the smoking balcony later?'

Oh God AmTurning Into A Pop Queen?

2006-04-19T22:16:00.000+08:00

Britney vs Shakira vs BeeGees.

What could be better?

...I can't help it.

Am melting... am melting!

....help?

Dust...Anyone? No?....Dust!

2006-04-17T18:00:00.000+08:00

Well the ceiling saga has been finally put to bed. Our man, Mike, has been loitering with intent around at our place for the last three weeks trying to fix the abyss that had become our kitchen. On first, second and third inspections it was stated that it was a two day job. No bother thought we. We can live in the second bedroom for a couple of days. I didn't even think about the repurcussions of losing my beloved foxtel (crap Sky) as we were led to believe that this job, no matter how big it actually looked, was only a flick of the wrist away from being completed.

We forgot we were dealing with Aussies here.... or at least pommie bastards that had been living here for long enough to develop the inherent laid back casual attitude. On the first morning (after Dave had lugged all the tellys, hifis, several thousand CDs, coffee tables, kitchen gear etc out of the living/kitchen area) Mike arrived bright eyed and bushy tailed. He wondered into the house and pondered the ceiling.

'Ah, bugger. I don't think I have enough ceiling boards to cover it. Who measured the ceiling, eh? It was probably my work experience boy. Bloody hell, I'll have to go and think about this one...'

And off he went for his first ciggie. Over the course of the three weeks, Mike wore a smooth bottom shaped indentation into the low garden wall. This was his contemplation spot. The place he ran to when he broke the curtain rail, the seat he relaxed into when he had to sack his plastering apprentice and the general location of his ever present thermos and never ending packet of fags.

Mikes friend soon came round to help with the heavy lifting. They took only a few minutes to remove the props placed over a period of several weeks to support the deteriorating ceiling. As they struggled with the last one, dragging it out of the front door there was an almighty crash and then a cloud of fine white dust exploded through the house. Apparently the ceiling didn't need any encouragement to get down and party. It ripped itself from the walls and cornicing and fell in four pieces to the ground.

I did tell them at the rental agency that it was falling down!

Obviously this was all the encouragement Mike and his mate needed to light up another ciggy to calm the old ticker!

It was then that I realised that two days for the project was a nigh on impossible dream. Dave and I would be living in a shanty town for weeks, possibly months. We resigned ourselves to living in the spare room with only four crap channels of telly, eating sushi and thai curries from the Freo markets (well it can't have been all bad! I love having the excuse to go to Wok in a Box), having the fridge in the laundry room and making cups of tea on top of the fridge.

It felt like living in Aberdeen again!

The big blow came after enduring seven days of 'Camp Scotland'. Our very understanding rental property manager rang to say how grateful she was that we had been so very patient with her and did we realise that our contract was soon up for renewal? Luckily for us, our landlords liked us in the house so much that they were prepared to offer us another twelve month contract.

Of course, the landlords would be putting up the rent but that because the rental market is so oversubscribed at the moment, it really was a very good deal.

...hmm. I wasn't sure how to react so I thanked her for her kind offer, promised her I'd discuss it with Dave later that day and put the phone down. That's when my ears exploded off of my face, my eyes spun in their sockets and my brain short-circuited with much visible electrical sparkage.

Needless to say, I didn't think it was very fair to put up the rent or not compensate us for the past four months where we've had restricted use of the kitchen. Dave agreed with me but reminded me that seeing as he was phone-phobic it had been previously agreed in our relationship that I would do ALL the telephoning when called upon.

Bugger. Am the least confrontational person in the world (unless drunk). Dave has taught me to argue to an amateur status though so I had to give it a go. Have you ever heard of someone winning an arguement with an estate agent or property manager? It was a toughie.

However, when it came down to it, I was brilliant. I was concise, business like and wouldn't take no for an answer. She tried to put up a fight but I had her cornered and she backed down in a matter of minutes. We have had a full refund of the last two weeks and she's thrown in a cleaner to mop up Mikes mess!

So, Mike moved out last week leaving his handiwork proudly displayed. It's not pretty but I don't care. It's not my house and it's got no chance off falling on my head when I go to make a cuppa.

"One last thing" he said to me as he walked out of my door for the last time. "That possum you heard scratching in the roof? It's a rat!"

Peggy and Vera

2006-04-13T19:58:00.001+08:00

A few days ago I went to the shed to search out the bicycle pump needed to pump up my shiny tyres on my fabulous bicycle and I came across a very lovely missus.

Mama, look away now....

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present you with Peggy:

Isn't he pretty?

This is what the missus looks like...

I named her Peggy after my Grandmother. Peg died about seven years ago and I really felt that I needed my Granny back!

Anyway after an afternoon of waffling on to Peg about what I had been up to in my recent life (and poking her web with a stick) she disappeared on me.

...I didn't take it badly. Obviously Peg needed to do other important stuff and maybe she didn't appreciate me poking around her web and baby spiders with my big stick.

It happens.

After a couple of days of rushing outside to see if Peg had come home and being disappointed about the lack of mama Spider activity in the web in the shed, I came to realise that even Winifred Margarets need their time away from the family.

So that is where Vera came in.

Cue Mike (the dust and fag and coffee machine that is reparing the ceiling) with his ultra sonic powered magic dusting machine.

I arrived home one afternnoon, literally to see a massive spider shaking in its eight very furry boots!

Vera! I cried. How lovely to see you. Peggy is just outside. She won't come in (how true to life are these spiders???)

(Vera is my Nana!)

This is what Vera will grow to in a couple of months.

...Don't worry, her bark is much worse than her bite!

Vera taught me how to microwave scrambled eggs in the microwave (no kitchen due to no ceiling!) and kept me company throughout the building fiasco. Am quite surprised that she didn't get her casio keyboard out to start singing 'songs of our war time' at me!

On another note, it's time for song of the week.....

The Grates 19-20-20

Efficiency Is My Middle Name

2006-04-11T19:48:00.000+08:00

Today as I sat back and surveyed all that I own I thought to myself...

'Oh my, Natalie, you are a hard working bugger. Your house is immaculate, the dishes are all washed and sparkling, the washing is flapping in the breeze, the bills have all been dutifully paid, my shoes have been placed in order according to season, heel height and colour, the plants have been watered and lovingly cooed over and a boyfriend has been sent off to work with a freshly cut lunch and home made muffins in his rucksack. All this and you still manage to look gorgeous all the while holding down a full time and periodically stressful job'.

(psst, I lied about the lunch for Dave, poor bastard doesn't even get a freshly ironed shirt out of me without a grumble!)

Oh well, I guess I had better crack on with writing my presentation that was due a week ago but completely forgotten about seeing as it was scheduled for April sometime. How am I supposed to know it's already April unless somebody tells me? At my exasperation, the presentation has been put back to this Thursday!

I have the title of the presentation. It's about Testicular Cancer. Obviously a subject to be treated with grave seriousness and intelligence.

It's called "Testicular Cancer... It's all a load of bollocks"

I work better under pressure!

Men What Do Rock, Baby

2006-04-08T22:14:00.000+08:00

I know you all think that my life is just an excess of drunken debauchery, rock gigs, jumping around on my bed in my 'David and Goliath' knickers and sipping beers in sunset ridden pubs.

My god, you are completely right.

I had another one...(drunken debauched rock gig that is)

We saw T'Darkness...baby.

I arrived at the venue, bouncing. I'd arrived with some of the finest specimens of man and lady- hood in the whole Perth region. Fortunately I managed to drag a very lovely young lady, Alissa (I'd already befriended this young woman on the 'grab a basketball and wear it on your head' event that was Rock It) into the sweaty masses of alcohol fried young men at the very front of the crowd. There we bounced and spun and rebounded off the bulky chests of the very sweaty, silky, smiley students.

They were lovely. Aren't boys great?

So Justin and the boys rocked my socks off. I even fell in love with the bass player a little bit. He has a very sexy baldy heid. I know, I feel disloyal to Frankie Poullain and I will always love his moustache out of all the moustaches in the world but a girl has to go with her loins with this one! Although I must say that the pleasure of seeing Justins flaming loins up close did something very strage to my belly. I'm sorry to say that I would... You know, if he asked nicely enough!

The weirdest part of the night came at the end when we were loitering on the street. Someone called out my name and I turned to see a girl I went to school with. No biggy except for the part that we grew up a thousand million miles away in Plymouth.

As I said to a friend later, I can't do one flipping original thing! I move to other end of the world and some chick I hung out with in the playground has bloody well beaten me to it!

Oh Brother, Where Art Thou...

2006-04-07T00:24:00.000+08:00

It was Jamies birthday....far far too long ago...

I'm crap.

Very crap at birthdays, important dates, house reposessions, ruby weddings, root canal touch ups etc.

...So how was I supposed to remember my dear brother Jamies birthday?

I didn't and I've been trying to hunt down the perfect gift ever since.

This is the email I received a couple of days ago......

Received your parcel on Monday morning! Thank you very much, needed a new wallet and the shirt is fab! However “Crocodile Jerky”…. My verdict… Umm. Well I can see why they would call this substance Crocodile Jerky- Its like the croc has jerked himself off and then what you're left with is solid crocodile cum then packaged and sold. Not that I know what croc cum tastes like but its very salty, quite frankly bloody orrible! : - ) Anyway, at least I can say I’ve eaten a crocodile hey!!

So it ain't all bad then!?

N xx

'Ere Me Luver!

2006-04-02T18:28:00.000+08:00

(I found my favourite pic of me ma. I still have this bikini. It has, however, never fitted me!)

I'm mortified.

Last night my mum told me that I had developed 'an aussie twang'! I can't possibly have changed my accent already. I've only been here for ten months and in my head I still sound as devonshire as pasties and clotted cream.

I simply cannot 'do a hollywood superstar' and morph into a true blue ocker, I mean how pathetic is that? Madonna, Catherine Zeta Jones and Charlize Theron have all developed foreign accents and they sound stupid for it. I used to giggle when people in Aberdeen assumed I was from Australia. I know I was living with an aussie but I think because my accent is elongated it must have sounded similar to the ears of the Scots.

The pharmicist on my ward in Aberdeen was convinced. He used to say 'where are you from, Australia? I'd reply no and he'd ask 'New Zealand then?'. Still no and he would walk away muttering 'ah, South Africa, I thought so'!

Over here I get the scottish connection a lot more. Half of the people I work with still refer to me as the scottish nurse!? I do say 'aye' and 'a wee bit' occasionally but Shazza will vouch for the fact that if I try and put on a scots accent, I sound like Mrs Doubtfire, and she was from England according to the film anyway!

So I guess I'm just going to have to practise a lot harder to keep my janner-esque tones for fear that I'll turn into Janelle from Neighbours!