Blog Stats

I can't be bothered looking at what search terms bring up my blog are any more. I can't be bothered seeing where people come from who read my blog. I can't be bothered looking at repeat readers. I don't 'drill down'.

But I have over one hundred readers a day. This is astonishing to me. I know most of my linked bloggers probably read my blog, plus a few extras, but over 100?

I put a lot of effort in some posts, usually the ones with pictures. Mostly I don't, and rattle off what has come to mind during the day, although if I am getting short of posts, I note some ideas down. I must always have a backlog of unpublished posts.

This blogging thing still puzzles me. I would like to know what I should write that would be interesting to readers, but somehow I think that would not work for me. I can't recall Lad Litters words exactly, but he said something like that I write about very diverse subjects. I might describe it as 'all over the place like a mad woman's breakfast'. (Do read the latest post by Lad. It is a ripper)

So, given I seem to be a successful blog writer, I can tell you the secrets. Write often (perhaps not as often as me) and be in there for the long haul. Keep on writing and the readers will come. If no one comments, don't worry, just keep on writing. I looked back recently at some of my old blog posts and post after post went without comment. I did not stop.

PS If you are young person and have lots of friends and you tell them about it, you will have lots of readers, especially if they pass things on to friends. For someone my age, I remain surprised and delighted by how many people read my words of wis......old person's stuff. I must try to write something for young peoples.

Just popping down to the carpark now to take a photo. There is a car with a handwritten sign inside the windscreen saying Rosanna. That has got to be worth a post.

Edit: This was written a few days ago. Not Lad's latest post, but the one before.

Selling the message

Did my ears deceive me? Did I hear a Liberal Party politician, when asked why he thought the Liberals were soundly defeated in our recent Federal election, reply "We did not sell our message well enough. People did not understand our policies."

Oh, I understood the Liberal Party policies very well and I think many did.

They just don't get it do they? While they continue to think that selling their message properly is the solution to their electoral woes, then they may well be in opposition for a very long time.

The Mitford Lasses

They may all be dead bar one, but still they get in the news. Back read my blog here and here.

Now they are alleging Unity gave birth to Hitler's child. You folk in the UK, keep a lookout for a male, around 60 plus and with a toothbrush moustache. From The Age. The original article is here at the New Statesman.

December 14, 2007 - 11:26AM

The British media is awash with speculation that Adolf Hitler's love child may have been born in the UK in 1940 and he could still be living there.

Martin Bright, writing in the New Statesman magazine, said that in 2002 he received a phone call from a woman named Val Hann who had read an article he had written about Unity Mitford, a British high-society fascist who was reportedly Hitler's lover.

Unity Mitford, who was born in London in 1914, was reportedly conceived in the town of Swastika, in Ontario, Canada, a coincidence that did much to impress the circle of Nazi leaders she subsequently ingratiated herself with during her stay in 1930s Germany.

Mitford, who was also a cousin of Winston Churchill, lived in Nazi Germany until the outbreak of World War II, returning to Britain after a failed suicide attempt - she shot herself with a pistol allegedly given to her by Hitler - in Munich in 1939, after the UK declared war on Germany. She died in 1948.

Hann "explained that her aunt Betty Norton had run a maternity home to the gentry in Oxfordshire during the war and that Unity Mitford had been one of her clients", Bright writes in New Statesman.

After Bright had inquired as to the identity of the father, Hann said, after a small pause, "Well, she always said it was Hitler's".

Hann, who received no money for her story from magazine, said she had been led to believe that the child was a boy, and that he had been subsequently given up for adoption.

MCT

City drive on City Link

Our dyke friend had a minor eye operation this week. Her g/f has started a new job and so was unable to collect her from the surgery in Victoria Street near the Eye and Ear Hospital.

She asked me and I could not as I would be at work, but then work changed and I could pick her up.

I needed to drive from Malvern to the clinic in Victoria Street at the top of the City.

I had thought about the way to go in advance and originally thought Kingsway then Victoria Street. I thought further. In the morning before I left for work, I snapped R's Etag off his car. I left work at 10.30 and by using City Link, I was at the corner of Exhibition and Victoria Street by 10.45. So quick. I was amazed. I had assumed, will I ever learn to check, that the clinic was on the same side of Victoria Street as the Eye and Ear Hospital. Nope, the other side. It took me another ten minutes to travel to a laneway where there was the clinic car parking

I called on an intercom and the chain barring the car park dropped to the ground. I drove over it and parked. By this time I had a bad case of the trembles. I had been trying to remember so many things and then the hideous traffic in Victoria Street nearly did my head in. My friend had been ready to collect at the very early time of 9am and I hated the thought of her being bored and waiting. I had lost my reading glasses. After a frantic search, I found them closed in between pages of the street directory. Deep breaths.

While I confidently walked up the bluestone laneway and in then in the front door of the clinic and then to lift, I was like jelly inside. Slow down I was telling myself, check that everything is right, look around, look at signs. The other self was telling me that I knew exactly what I was doing and confidently go forth. The other self was right and I got it all right. But whoa, how much damage did it do.

I signed a form and inanely said to the nurse, 'So she is in my custody now?'. The nurse laughed tolerantly. I am sure she had heard it before.

Victoria Parade, Hoddle Street and Punt Road traffic was not too bad and the roads a bit more familiar to me. I got her back to her house in East St Kilda safely, good deed done.

Half the problem was that I had worked both days at the weekend and had social engagements and I was way behind at home. (How those blogs to read mount up quickly at times, as do emails and other necessary reading) I hate my mid day break time being stolen.

People drive in the City all the time, but aside from King Street and Spencer Street, I just hate it. The reason god invented trams and buses was so you don't have to drive in the city.

Just to conclude, that Batman Avenue private road to the City is a marvellous thing. Lucky you have to pay or everyone would use it all the time.

Unpublished blog posts

Sometimes I have great ideas for blog posts, then I forget them. I used to write them down but of late I have be writing the title of the post and then saving it to remind me later. Clearly I need to put a bit of detail in, because I am not sure where I was going with these titles. Well, vaguely the Commodore 64 one and I know why I wrote the poet one but not sure what I was going to write. I just cannot recall the answering machine one.

Commodore 64

As there is a poet on board, RH

Answer Machine

Aunt Ursula

My stepmother was raised in a bark humpy on the banks of the Murray River, the river that divides Victoria and New South Wales for you o/s folk. It was a humble beginning. Her best childhood friend was a black original Aussie lass. Stepmother has done ok and is now comfortable as an old age pensioner. She knows her Murray Cod from her Yella Bellies.

Somewhere along the way, her family must have divided. She had an Aunt Ursula who lived in a large old house in Brighton, a posh, very old and expensive Melbourne suburb.

The call must have come from either my stepmother's father or mother to go and help Aunt Ursula with her garden.

My father, stepmother and myself arrived at Aunt Ursula's and her house had almost disappeared behind vegetation. Trees, shrubs, climbers and creepers had covered the garden and a good bit of the house.

Aunt Ursula made us tea and served it with biscuits, all served in fine china and we sat on fine but shabby Victorian furniture. Aunt Ursula made herself another gin and tonic and smoked her Albany Trims incessantly. "I am cutting down my dears, they are shorter, and no young man, please do not open the (heavy velvet) drapes". (Shades of Dame M here)

I can vaguely recall her kitchen which looked like it had not seen a reno since 1930. The lavatory was a high cistern with a chain to pull.

We attacked the garden with gusto, saws, clippers, hatchets, axes and anything sharp we had thought to bring. It looked incredibly ugly be the time we had finished. Lots of bare trunks and branches. But at least the house could be seen and accessed.

I was reminded of Aunt Ursula by three houses in Glenferrie Road, Malvern. I think only one is occupied but all three are so overgrown. The single storey one disappeared behind vegetation and then a council order to clean up must have been enforced.

One developer has already tried and failed, but I am sure the three blocks will eventually be turned into apartments for the aged wealthy. While the small house is of a modest size, the other two are very large and would have been quite grand houses.

As a kid, I loved spooky old overgrown houses. I find them pretty interesting now.

Never the snooze button

Yesterday I woke before the alarm went off and realised I had not set the alarm. Lucky I woke up. It is years since I have been late for work.

Today I woke before the alarm went off and realised I had not set the alarm........yet again. I almost got out of bed and then sank back into the bed with the luxurious knowledge that it is my day off.

Oh bliss. I want a three day working week.

Iconic Women

I am trying to think of some Melbourne iconic men and none immediately come to mind. But a few iconic Melbourne women do. Add some more or dis me for my choices. Got to be living ones though.

Mirka Mora. One of the last of our bohemians surely. She is a treasure and a naughty one at that. She represents so much that I love about Melbourne.
Joan Kirner. She has worked tirelessly for good causes and I like her political perspectives. It is not fair to judge her in her role as Premier of this state when she was handed such a poisoned chalice.
Jean McLean. A still surviving red ragger and a woman who did as much as anyone did to stop the Vietnam War and a mover in 'Save Our Sons'. How many times did she get locked up?
Rachel Berger. Loud, Jewish, funny, and in there raising funds for, and awareness of HIV. A real friend to the gays of Melbourne.
Dame Elisabeth Murdoch. I don't like what she stands for and I don't like philanthropy, except for non essential matters, but she surely deserves the status of iconic.
Elizabeth Chong. East meets west very easily when it is about food. As an umpteen generation Australian with an Aussie accent, she bridges any perceived gap.
Stephanie Alexander. Speaking of food, she ought to be Melbourne's food ambassador. Not sure if I like her, but I certainly respect her.
There is one in the very back of my mind, but I cannot recall who she is. Tell me.

Later Edit:
Now I recall and this was the person who inspired the post. Rose Chong. Most of you won't know who she is, but every half decent drag queen, person of the theatre and serious fancy dresser in Melbourne knows who she is. Definitely iconic.
Much later edit:

Does anyone in Melbourne not know who Magda Subanski is? Comedian, actor, activist and a lot of fun.

What is going on here?

Am I missing something in my view of the legal matters?

A city cafe owner was warned twice about his dirty premises and then finally charged after he took no action. Before the courts, he was fined and no conviction recorded.

Some lads have their wicked ways with a ten year old lass and are not sent to gaol. Aside from rights or wrongs of the sentence, no convictions recorded.

I am sure there are some minor matters where it is perhaps appropriate to not record a conviction, but the above two examples are very serious matters.

Keep your eyes peeled for the phrase, no conviction recorded.

Platform 13

While I feel like a second class citizen when I am forced to use Platform 13 at Flinders Street Station, it is quite a nice view from there. The second class citizen feeling is further reinforced by the fact that your train does not travel through the underground rail loop, but then it can be an advantage at times and people who know the system well can make a rail dash to Richmond on the Sandringham train and catch another train at Richmond that they would have otherwise missed.

Dream On

I only recall two of my dreams. One was only a year or two ago and I think I wrote about it at the time. It was way weird. I must have got a good dose of MSG at dinner or something. Miss Diarist has been writing about her dreams and so it put me on this thought path. Search Daniel's blog with the word dream and you will find some pretty weird ones, especially the railway platform one. Gross.

The other dream I remember struck such terror into me as a kid, I recall it to today. I was attacked by a unicorn. I am not sure how and anyone who is thinking filthy thoughts about what the one horned creature may have done, leave now. I was only a kid and knew nothing of such matters.

The unicorn picked me up and threw me into our fernery, an open timber construction with lots of plants inside. He was roaring at me. He had not finished. He was still coming for me. I think I woke up at that point, shaking and sweating and I think my subsequent behaviour over the next few days was a bit weird.

Jimmy Watsons

As mentioned last Friday, R attended Jimmy Watsons for his work christmas party. It was so bad he is refusing to go to future work christmas parties.

Arrive 7.30 and in an upstairs room.
Food order taken at after 9.
Everyone quite drunk by this time, including R who became very entertaining.
A bit more drunk by the time meals arrived near 10.
Entree $20 and lousy and second choice after first choice was not longer available.
Main $30 and lousy also.
Complimentary bottles of champers arrive as compensation. All get even more drunk.
A nominated driver dropped R home. R sick all day Saturday.

And I had a mental image of Jimmy Watsons as being a classy little wine bar.

Slog 'em more

Ben drew my attention to something I was not knowing about. I had seen them. I had noticed them. But I had not absorbed them or even thought about them. I am talking of the wanky new Euro car registration number plates, the ones that go like this

Perhaps everyone knows about them except me. No matter, I will press on.

Ben's comment caused me to look at VicRoads number plate web site. There is no end to the combinations of plate styles, sizes, colours, themes including your Aussie Rules team, and even fonts. The Euro model is but one variety.

So, as I love people who infringe parking restrictions in the City of Port Phillip, and those who incur traffic fines on our roads, I love you people who pay for the special number plates, between $100 and $4000. Buy more of these number plates and that is more money for our government to spend, hopefully on a something to benefit me.

Now, could I have one of these Euro number plates for my Japanese made(sic) Mazda?

V MZ 626 would look fine on the Mazda.

Fa La La bloody Fa

I had not heard a carol until this Saturday just past. Suddenly they are everywhere. I was in a tram and I could hear carols. I looked around and saw nothing, but the tram was busy. Is it coming from the street? No? It is crystal clear and does not vary as the tram trundles along. Is it coming over the tram P.A.? No, there is not static that normally accompanies P.A. use.

It was beautiful singing and then it ended and I hear applause. There were carol singers at the opposite end of the tram. They were so good.

And as we have in years past (see below), we attended the annual Melbourne Gay and Lesbian Chorus of carols at Prahran Market Courtyard. The Brighton Antique Dealer's daughter is a chorister? Well, in the group anyway, and there are a couple of other people I know. It was a good night but we left early. Even so, after working today, I am very tired. The Pearl Fishers Duet by two opera singers was divine.

There were only six of us, a bit different to the earlier days. There are always so many dykes at this event. They come in so many shapes and sizes. I found one particularly attractive. Weird huh. Of course she was slim and had short hair. R would not take my bet as to whether a particularly large lass would eat a whole large pizza on her own. She did.

We had three vacant seats at our table and some forward young men came up and asked if they could sit at our table. We allowed them, actually we had no right to stop them. One was particularly nice in a dark and pretty manner. He sat with his back to me, as any young gay would, and I had nice old time observing how smooth the skin on the back of his neck and the top of his back was. He had on a very low cut tee.

It was a fab night, it always is and I can highly recommend it. Bring your kiddies too.
2004
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