8 Random Facts

I have been tagged by
"Mary-LUE" from "Life the Universe and Everything."
The Rules:

I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.

Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.

People who are tagged need to write their own blog (about their 8 things) and post these rules.

At the end of your blog, you need to choose people to get tagged and list their names.

Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

8 Random Facts/Habits About Me:


1. As a child, I longed to wear glasses so that I could look intelligent. Now I wear them all the time, but the promised intelligence is still adrift.

2. I am vain, I have a trunk of empty hair dye bottles to prove it.

3. The older I grow, the more fake I become – teeth, nails and aforementioned hair.

4. I shall be preserved forever in my coffin, because 99% of my food intake is brine. This is why I shall be incinerated, er...cremated and then scattered instead, ashes and dandruff to drift together.

5. I have huge hands on long spaghetti arms. [span on octave and two]

6. My hands match my overstuffed Calzone shaped feet, which is good because otherwise I would fall down a lot.

7. I am unable to operate any of the electrical gizmos in the house which are all networked. [it’s a plot]

8. As I grow ever more crumbly, my ambition is to emulate this woman. [warning = contains bad language.]



In my turn I tag

1. "Haddayr" because I need an update on how her new job is affecting her Psyche.

2. "Miscellaneous Adventures of an Aussie Mum" as we need to include the other continent.

3. "Radioactivejam" because she has a tendency to be cryptic and needs to be nailed down, [not easy with that jelly substance.]

4. "Kristina Chew," as she needs to be less enigmatic or should that be pneumatic, with the amount of high quality posts produced.

5. "Bub and Pie" because she needs the distraction although not necessarily the extra work load.

6. "Never Judge a Book by the cover" because all those 'hints' are just too subtle for people with little brains like me.

7. "Chelle" because now she's finished 'judging' she is so bored.

8. Then there's "VAB" who plays his cards very close to his chest. I want to see if he can be a good sharer, as anyone with that huge a brain is morally obliged to be a good sharer. [no pressure of course!]

Cheers dearies

Another world

When I was small we lived in Cape Town in South Africa. At the weekends, we would often go to the beach to surf. This wasn’t the stand on a malibou board kind of surfing but a much more modest endeavour. I loved the thrill of those exhilarating waves. It was a game that I played well, considering that I was not as streamlined as torpedo but bore a closer resemblance to a little beach ball. I need to revive those skills if we are to have any hope of reaching solid ground. The shifting plates we exist on are turning to quicksand.

With any medication, timing can be an important factor. Many medicines come with lengthy warnings. Focalin comes with a whole manual. For my son, if the pill hits an empty stomach, the result it torture, mental anguish with a body and mind possessed.

This, as my American pals would say, is a ‘no brainer.’ You choose. A monosyllabic happy discombobulated child, or a child with the power of speech that is tormented? We’re biased of course. We’re used to the monosyllabic happy. We are terrified by the torture. It’s all too true, there is no such thing as a free lunch.



The glimpse of the possibilities is intoxicating, but the price is far too high.

He writhes on the sofa with chattering teeth. His fingernails pinch, scratch and rake his skin. Small electric currents spasm through his entire body. Spittle collects on his taught lips as he clenches his teeth. His jaw jerks to one side and then the other. His hands flutter over his face open palmed. He is incapable of speech. As he grinds his teeth the vibrations reverberate through my rib cage. His fingers clench and unclench without a pattern. His entire body is a whiplash to turn over, a writhing eel, landed and floundering. He roams the surface area of the sofa like a cat circling for just the right spot. I am beneath him, hopeless, helpless and useless. My only purpose is the somewhat dubious benefit of my physical presence.

Too many neurons are firing at the same time. All we can do is ride out the electric storm and hope that we land safely, eventually.

His brother appears at our side, “what it is?”
“It’s the pill dear. He’s not feeling very well.” I hope my understatement curbs his qualms as he watches he big brother squirm.

He quotes, of course, from a Pokemon reference. The eerie accuracy gives me the shivers but it’s none the less valid -

“I fink…….he is in psychic island.”


I think, that we have no choice but to dive in and start heading back to the mainland, sharpish.