Saturday, January 07, 2012
While I don't know much about breasts, I know my woman readers would not indulge in such nonsense as breast implants. Some 28,000 French woman have had breast implants, the implants being supplied by just one manufacturer and the implants may well be faulty and have to be removed. I can therefore assume considerably more than 28,000 French woman have had breast implants unless one maker has the market wrapped up. Why? Breast reduction surgery I can understand. Where is the bloke who would reject a woman because she has small tits? I might wear it if they were miss-shapen or as corrective after surgery.
Apparently most men do care a great deal about women's breasts and are probably impressed by a firm and shapely pair, but really, are men so shallow that they would pursue a relationship with a woman because of her huge pair of firm knockers? Maybe I am overestimating those of my gender but I don't think so. An Asian workmate told me that in his country small breasts are preferred by men as they stand up better, (ok, it is a pun) to the ravages of ageing.
New Year's Eve from where we sat, we watched a constant parade of passing men of all colours and creeds. It was enough to get one rather hot and bothered. Yet, I did observe some women too. Usually they were quite young and often wore very high heels. A few had given up and carried theirs but some continued on to walk very inelegantly in their absurdly high heels. Again, why? Are men impressed by woman staggering around on silly shoes? Again, I don't think so.
I am quite convinced that woman are doing these things to impress each other, rather than attract men. They think they look great, but if your breasts are too big or too firm or you can't walk properly in your shoes, I don't think men are so impressed, well for no more than their usual attention span of two minutes.
Friday, January 06, 2012
Some road works are happening in, well I am not sure. The electronic sign tells me the works are between Queens Parade and Chaple Street.
It wasn't until I saw witches hats today that I was sure the works were between the beginning of Queens Way and Chapel Street.
I am not particularly pedantic, but I would have thought those who programme electronic road signs would be generally of a pedantic nature.
I am reminded of one of Mother's garage sales when I wrote a sign 'More items in hear'. Sister was horrified. I explained, a browser will want to tell you that your spelling is wrong. You are now engaged in conversation with them and a step closer to selling something to them.
But I fail to see a motive for putting up incorrect spelling and street names on an electronic road sign.
Thursday, January 05, 2012
I exchanged an email or two with the intersex Tony Briffa quite a few years ago now. I forget exactly what it was about now but he was polite, helpful and friendly.
Although his sex was hard to determine at a young age, he was brought up as a girl, and although clearly his behaviour was that of a boy, he was castrated at a young age for no good reason. His is not a great childhood/youth story. You can easily search out his details on the net.
But has that stopped him from being a high achiever? He is now mayor of the City of Hobsons Bay, covering Williamstown, an historic and now prestigious bayside suburb, and also covering Altona, the suburb where Australia's Prime Minister lives when she has a moment of not being PM.
I don't feel me being gay and Tony Briffa being intersex has much of a connection, but it does make me quite proud that a quite ethnically diverse area of Melbourne can elect Tony as mayor of their fair greater city. Onya Tony.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
We had to pick the Brighton Antique Dealer up at South Yarra Station to take her to our friends in Box Hill on christmas evening. I looked up the train times for her from North Brighton to SY. It was a good service too. I remember when it was a very minimal service on christmas day, with a tram every forty minutes in the morning and thirty minutes in the afternoon and back to forty minutes at night. We are absolutely spoilt.
Did you know London's public transport system shuts down on christmas day? No Tube, no Overground, no buses, no ferries. Nothing except taxis. No wonder the English blob in front of the tv christmas afternoon.
But I don't have a choice in my ruler who I might add, inherited the position.
Friends, notionally christian, generally don't agree with my view. Political correctness gone mad, R accused me. I disagree. I don't see why I and millions of others of your subjects should be made to feel excluded. You may think you and your religion are right. I think you owe us non christians the benefit of doubt.
Below is a snip of the text of your christmas message. While I know you are boss cocky of the christian Church of England and both your own country and mine are historically christian, I just think this god bothering that you went on about in your speech this year was inappropriate.
Your country and mine both have many people of different faiths. Are we of different religions to be excluded from your well wishes? Are we of no religion to be excluded? How many people who celebrate christmas really believe in religion?
All this will affect our celebration of this great Christian festival.
Finding hope in adversity is one of the themes of Christmas. Jesus was born into a world full of fear. The angels came to frightened shepherds with hope in their voices: 'Fear not', they urged, 'we bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
'For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Saviour who is Christ the Lord.'
Although we are capable of great acts of kindness, history teaches us that we sometimes need saving from ourselves - from our recklessness or our greed.
God sent into the world a unique person - neither a philosopher nor a general, important though they are, but a Saviour, with the power to forgive.
Forgiveness lies at the heart of the Christian faith. It can heal broken families, it can restore friendships and it can reconcile divided communities. It is in forgiveness that we feel the power of God's love.
In the last verse of this beautiful carol, O Little Town Of Bethlehem, there's a prayer:
O Holy Child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us we pray.
Cast out our sin
And enter in.
Be born in us today.
It is my prayer that on this Christmas day we might all find room in our lives for the message of the angels and for the love of God through Christ our Lord.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
We came home and no sooner were we home than they were downstairs waiting. It was a miserable trip into town on the tram from home. Ten minutes of being squashed into a hot tram with drunken young backpackers might be some gay men's idea of fun, but it wasn't mine.
It was decided we would go to the river bank just downstream from Princes Bridge. We had forty minutes to wait standing, but eventually some people moved from a wall and we got a seat and waited. It wasn't too hot as a nice breeze was coming up the river. We were briefly entertained by seeing a young woman with a bottle of alcohol getting booked by the police. I was not entertained by the young man reeking of garlic who sat next to me.
From where we were, we could see the city buildings, a bit of something above us on what building I am not sure and some of the Arts Centre spire. The fireworks were good of course, but why was no one concerned about the fire that had started in the spire? Being metal, I wasn't particularly worried, as it wouldn't really burn. But the fire became larger and larger.
We made haste to the tram stop to get home and we became separated from our friends in the nightmare of so many people trying to get on the trams. Idiot tram drivers blocking walkways didn't help. By this time people were looking up at the fire and police were clearing the area around the Arts Centre. Apparently it was just a plastic box that holds the fireworks that was set alight, but when molten material was falling, it was looking quite dangerous.
By 12.30 we were home alone and pouring a large scotch each.
Next day we took off for the Bellarine Peninsula to stay the night at Sisters. Although the forecast 35 may have happened in Melbourne, where we stopped in Geelong for a bite to eat had a nice cool sea breeze. At high tide where Sister lives there is no beach, but we were there about four and high tide was not until six thirty so we got a decent swim in. Back at Sister's the barbecue was fired up, drinks poured and we sat outside in the cool evening air and had a very nice meal. Little Jo got four short stories and was asleep by eight after her late NY's eve.
The art auction game Masterpiece was brought out and we a great time playing that. R and I have our own, but have not played it for nearly thirty years. In spite of my wheeling and dealing, to my surprise I came last.
It was an early night and an early morning as Sister and Bone Doctor were riding in Amy's Ride and set off at seven. R and I needed to tidy up and shower and so we needed ABC2 to babysit for and hour. The tiny twenty year old tv is connected to the Foxtel machine which is connected to the dvd player which is connected to the overhead projector. I pressed this button and that button with some knowledge, but I could not get sound. Finally I called Bone Doctor who had not yet began the ride. Press this button on the dvd remote and set it to AUX. It worked and we could now get on with things. Little Jo had told us in advance that we weren't going to the beach but out for brunch.
Some discussion of where went on and it was decided that the crepe cafe in Queenscliff was the go. Panache or something like that it was called. Sister's car has Little Jo's car seat in it, so we took off in that.
I went to get something at the small local supermarket, but at the three registers, there were twenty people lined up at each. Forget it.
Back home the house was heating up and as the temperature was to be forty degrees and with no Sister around to glower at me about the extravagance, I turned the air con on, or tried to. Nothing. I fiddled and fiddled with the remote. I looked for buttons on the unit. I checked the circuit breaker outside, nothing. For lunch we made ham sandwiches and it was in the low thirties outside and high twenties in side. The sweat was pouring off me. Sister and Bone Doctor returned having successfully completed the ride and knew of no reason why the air con would not work. She found the manual and there was discreet emergency button on the unit itself. It came to life and started throwing out deliciously cool air, but too late for us. We were off home, in the heat. We were halfway home during the 1 and half hour trip before you could say the car was reasonably cool.
Once home, stinking hot inside for at least an hour before the air con cooled the place down. It may well be a night for leaving the air con on overnight. Thirty five for tomorrow. Please, I want last year's cools summer back.
Tradie Brother made this lagerphone for Little Jo for christmas.
There are some wonderful historic buildings in Queenscliff. This one is a B&B.
The Post Office.
This event at Vue Grand, previously the Grand Hotel, sounds like fun.
Littel Jo's crepe was filled with bananas and maple syrup. Mine was filled with strawberries. R had a ham and cheese one. Delicious coffee too. The cream is of course low fat double cream, ahem.
Two different but similar towers behind the shops.
I think I need to clean the camera lens. 40+ outside and dropping inside eventually to 24 degrees.
Monday, January 02, 2012
Sunday, January 01, 2012
This year my blog award goes to someone who posts almost daily, mixes her posts with personal stuff, photos, life and art. She also has a sense of humour but also plays her cards discretely.
That is almost enough, but she also replies to comments in her blog and makes comments on other blogs, including mine.
Peter gets an honourable mention for his wonderful and always changing wallpapers.
While it is said that blogging is dying, I have a fine motley crew of blog mates who just keep on posting. A happy 2012 to you all.