Sister made a two day visit during the week to Melbourne and R was able to see Little Jo and take her out. Not me though. R is number three in Little Jo's life, after Sister and the Bone Doctor. I am a distant fourth I suppose. Little Jo is seeing more of the hard working Bone Doctor now, a good thing. R was in danger of becoming number two in Little Jo's life.
Without doubt, the Bone Doctor loves Little Jo and always cares for her well, but the Bone Doctor just does not have maternal instincts. Perhaps paternal is a better description of the way she and Little Jo get along.
Nice to see Inspector Foyle's driver Sam, in The Bill.
Speaking of children, I ain't saying nothing about The Chaser skit except for that I think it is extraordinary that the show has pulled off the air for two weeks. This must be without precedent and smacks of interference in managerial matters from on high. If I were the Chaser guys, I might be taking another look at commercial offers. Chaser guys? Why aren't there any Chaser girls?
Way back in the dark ages of blogging, I wrote a post about a neighbour on our floor getting a visit from a rent boy. The day after we moved in and had a bit of a party, another rent boy of our neighbour busted up some of the walls on our floor, resulting in the guard removing rent boy and a day or so later, the plasterers visiting to patch the walls.
When the building behind us was extended upwards, the neighbour lost his views. He applied for a rent reduction but was denied. He found another place to rent, higher up with good views, with air con, and a second car space for the same rent. Eventually the overseas Asian owners returned to Australia and took over the place they owned. They put down new carpet and had the place repainted.......including the outside of their door to the landing, white. We battled against them through the body corporate and eventually the door was reinstated to the same colour as the other one hundred and fifty odd doors in the building, a tasteful shade of nothing.
I was already again them when I first saw them but she, the mother seemed and still does seem very nice, chatty and friendly. They have two young daughters. We have tried to be friendly with the father but as yet cannot get a two syllables from him. A faint grunt is only one syllable hey?
One of the daughters has started school, no doubt a posh private school. She was immaculately dressed for school when I saw her in the lift, complete with hat and heavy back pack. Clearly her father was taking her to school. They were like two strangers in the lift. Gosh I felt sorry for the kid. He is so stern. I bet he would never utter the words, 'I love you little one'. He reminds me of charactiture stern English father who might summon his children to his study for a five minute audience once a day. You will never go wrong if you openly love your kids, hug them, make them feel special. My sister in law is the lousiest house keeper you can imagine, but she has brought her kids up with such love. My poor not so demonstrative tradie brother did not stand a chance with them against their mother. Nephew in Glasgow, niece who's 21st we will miss because we will be in Sydney, and the younger neice, all love their mother to the point of it being almost unhealthy.
The younger niece, 16, called today, spoke to R. Can I come and stay for a night Uncle R? Of course she can. She is marvellous. But what to do with a 16 year old niece for a day and an evening? She is horrified at the suggestion, but she has a hippie persona. She just loves Jimmie Hendrix and Bob Marley. I said to her, do you know they are dead. Yeah Uncle Andrew, but I still like them. She had a boyfriend for a while. He came and we paid when it was R's significant birthday celebration earlier in the year. He broke it up. She was distraught, poor love. He liked heavy metal music, a most unsutible match.
So where might we take a 16 year old hippy like niece on a Sunday. We had planned to go and have a look at the reinvented upmarket Doncaster shopping centre. Niece is from the swamps of Langwarrin. She would be very used to big shopping centres. I think we shall take her for brunch or lunch in Brunswick Street. I think she will like that. We quite like slumming it in Brunswick Street, well is used to be slumming it, not really anymore. God forbid, I think we might drag her accross to Smith Street. I haven't been there for ages and it will be a chance to have another whinge about the absurd Safeway car park facade. I will just point Aboriginal beggers and hasslers to niece. She charms the socks off everyone. When she was in Fiji at Easter, she seemed to attract people with dark coloured skin. I think she likes a bit of the exotic.
Now, I must not make her cry like the last time when she vistited. I will ask R to smack me in the mouth if I start on her mother and her father problems.
Anyway, talking about family, I am so shocked. I have lost my name and my antecedents. Dearest Ann O'Dyne has been
My father had a double surname, no hyphen. It does not appear my or my siblings' birth certificates, but has subsequently on my Tradie Brother's children's birth certificates. It caused no end of trouble when niece the younger needed a passport for Fiji, but was eventually sorted out.
The troubling thing is that my surname is only a married name of my great (maybe great great) grand mother. My blood antecedant had a different name, the second of my father's surname, which was dropped. The dropped name should have been retained and the used one dropped. My great great grand father must have died and my great great grandmother remarried to a bloke who's name I now have. I no longer have a crooked nose, a definition of my name, and I am not at war with the Campbells. My family tartan scarf that Sister brought back from Scotland for me is wrong.
I have lost my identity and I feel somewhat weird about it.