Not a lamp to rub

This lamp is about twenty years old. I can't remember where we bought it. We still like it muchly. I've cleaned it once before by putting it in the laundry trough and giving the uneven surfaces inside and out a good scrub. Last time the sticking our sharpish wires that keep all the glass bits together gave me a bit of hand stabbing. There was some blood shed.

I cleaned it again a couple of weeks ago. I was so careful to not scratch my hand on the wires as I scrubbed. I put it back where it sits but I struggled to get the lamp fitting back inside. Help me R. Then the lamp went in for the kill, and blood was once again shed.

The light sparkled from the lamp once again and my hand healed. I've just weighed the lamp and myself as I had the scales out. I haven't put on weight and the lamp weighs ten kilograms. 

It would regularly blow an incandescent bulb. We moved on to halogen which was better, but it now has LED bulb.  

Friday almost funnies

A bit weak but maybe one at least will grab you.

Oh, the horror. The poor boy. I feel for him.

Morrison v Macron

I care not two hoots about our Prime Minister Morrison nor French President Macron. If our PM did the dirty on France over the cancellation of a submarine purchase contract and Morrison lied, so Morrison deserves to be called a liar by Macron. It wouldn't be the first time Robodebt  Scotty from Marketing Morrison has lied. 

If the French were playing games with Australia over the increasing price and  delivery timelines to what was agreed, then is it any wonder Australia chose the more modern American submarine. I seem to recall various newspaper articles over the last six months alleging such things. 

What gets up my goat is the country who blew up an unarmed anti nuclear bomb testing ship in a New Zealand harbour resulting in the death of a photographer when a second bomb went off, trying to take a moral stand. The actions of the French around the world as European colonisation was ending were appalling.  Blowing up the peaceful protest ship Rainbow Warrior, just as bad. Spreading nuclear bomb testing fall out into the Pacific Ocean, not its own Atlantic Ocean or Mediterranean Sea, so bad.

France is in no position to take any kind of moral high ground on anything. 

After Lockdown

Sunday before last was the first opportunity after lockdown to see family for twelve weeks. Although we were going to meet up with Ex Sis n Law and her husband on the Mornington Peninsula for lunch, instead it turned into a family gathering at ABI Brother's place, mainly for all to see Mother. We bought Red Rooster roasted chicken etc for all, five children and nine adults. It was loud, chaotic and great fun. It was so good to see people. Aside from people in our building who we are friendly with, and picking up our Hair Dresser Friend to take her home after eye surgery, we had not seen anyone. R suffered from the lack of contact more than I did. Clearly I am not enough to amuse him.

Sunday past it was a barbeque at Ex Sis Law's and her husband's place, shared with their daughter Hippie Niece, her partner and the four year old late coloured twins. It was another great gathering. Mother managed to present herself well enough, in spit of hair 'that turned grey in a week'. Firefighting Nephew and his wife, along with the newest addition, Little J at 15 months old attended and it was great to see Little J. She is such a happy baby, close to walking and has a sense of rhythm to music which I found amazing. Don' t tell anyone, but it another great niece or nephew is on its way made by them. I think we need a boy to even up the stats, with five great nieces and one great nephew. It was another great gathering, although the twins weren't there, being with their father for a fortnightly parental access weekend. With mixed race parentage, they are stunning looking tall girls who have turned from being fat blobs to just gorgeous. But their mother has mental health problems and their upbringing has been a bit chaotic. They recognise us well enough, but are not keen on greetings or hugs. Either of them can have terrible melt downs, as they did as they were leaving and refused to get into their car seats, instead wanting to lie in the very rear of the SUV. There must be history about that.

Yesterday was a public holiday for Melbourne Cup Day, only for Greater Melbourne and not the state. Spit roasted pork was on the menu at Ex Sis in Laws, more for friends this time but still plenty of family and even more children. We sat outside in the shade but at 30 degrees, the heat knocked me sideways and I was exhausted. Instead of taking 45 minutes to drive there, it took 75, and if you know the roads, stop start from Eastlink's fake hotel to Cranbourne Frankston Road. The food was great when it was eventually ready but not long after we ate, we left. We were both exhausted. Aside from the congestion on the on ramp to East Link, the traffic wasn't too bad. By the time we were home, my head and neck were aching, and just general exhaustion. Scrambled eggs and fried tomatoes on toast was an appropriate dinner.

Ex Sis in Law's husband while a little rough around the edges is fun. While serving myself lunch, I said to him, I am Jewish and a vegetarian but you serve all this pork meat. Am I to just eat lettuce leaves? Your catering needs to be inclusive of all cultures. He was quick. I've heard about your meat eating skills. Don't BS me.

Before we left home to travel to the Peninsula, I had been to Prahran by tram to put on our annual horse racing bets. I had to show my vaxx tick and then spent twenty minutes marking cards with a pen. I had downloaded the gambling company TAB app to my phone, but once I found you had to maintain a $50 credit, no fanks. We both invested $38 and R will probably get his money back. I won something like $400. This horse racing gambling is so profitable. I am obviously skilled at it. Too easy. If I was poor, what an excellent way to make money. Poor people, get out and gamble on horses and you will quickly become rich.

And then in the organised sweep at the gathering, I won on two counts, $30 and $20. In total, $47 invested and a return of $420. Ex Sis in Law's husband had checked my tickets and assessed their value, which was kind of him. Not so kind was he told R I won $620. 

The above probably needs a good check, but I am tired.

The Pron site known as Facebook

Dear FB. 

You have interested me at times but I can never say I have found you fascinating. Some pervert has sent me a link to a sculpture of a boy pissing! I thought you censored out public nudity, let alone seeing photos of boys performing bodily functions. Good heavens. There might be perverts pleasuring themselves at such an image. You are supposed to be a safe space for people and not a place to come across disgusting images of children urinating. How on earth did you imagine this would sit well with Our Good Lord?

=====

If you enter pissing boy sculpture or Manneken Pis using FB's search facility, you can see many photos of the famous and popular, much visited sculpture in Brussels. 

FB is not censoring photos of Manneken Pis, yet it is of many other works of art. 

The good burghers of the art galleries of Vienna are quite fed up with FaceBook and Instagram censoring and removing their posts of their artistic works, decisions frankly made from a North American puritanism slant. Haha, a photo of a long haired 10 year old boy not wearing a shirt will be judged as a topless girl and removed from FB.

At least half if not two thirds of the world's pornography would be produced in the United States, But oh no, we can't have a social media site showing a 1,000 year old naked human sculpture in a European art gallery. FaceBook, you are truly absurd. If pedos jerk off when viewing art works in the privacy of their homes, who cares?

Whenever this is published, maybe the next day I won't post anything and instead spend the time lodging a report to FaceBook about someone's photo of Manneken Pis, being the child pornography of a boy performing a bodily function. I expect reporting is such an automated process that little will come of it, but ok, I will see.

The good burghers of the art galleries of Vienna have protested in a manner to raise publicity by putting selected works on the principally pornographic site Only Fans with links back to their FaceBook sites. Look, I am writing about the matter. It's a  great publicity stunt. 

My apologies for the pornographic image but hey, I found it on Facebook!

Vale Bert

Radio broadcaster, television host, comedian and actor, there was nothing Bert Newton couldn't do in front of a camera or audience. Sadly after some suffering, Bert died two days ago.

I saw him once in Acland Street, St Kilda in the mid eighties. He expertly reverse parked his Jaguar. I watched him get out of his car. He was smartly dressed and wearing dark sunglasses, then worn by celebrities that say, Hey. I am a celebrity but I am pretending to be incognito. 

Bert's widow Patti has been offered a state funeral by our government and she has accepted. It will be held at St Patrick's Cathedral and a deserved send off for such a much loved local star. 

Tradie Brother had a convincing Bert Newton mask and back in 2010 when the family took a trip on Puffing Billy, TB turned up at each level crossing wearing the mask and waved at the train passengers. It went down a treat and people were waiting to see Bert at each road crossing. 

Not too long after ABI Brother took Mother to a doctor's appointment, travelling along a freeway and Mother put the Bert Newton mask on and fellow motorists and passengers noticed her. She had great fun waving in return at them from the car. These were days when car windows weren't generally tinted. 

Bert was Bert and even my maternal grandmother loved him. I could go on about Bert but let me just leave it there.

Sunday Selections

Elephant's Child and River should be participating in Sunday Selections. I am thin on the ground with photos but I have a few to share.

Under Covid restrictions last year nothing happened in the building for Halloween. This year something is although not knocking on apartment doors.

An interesting apartment building. Castellation is rare for such buildings.

Very nicely proportioned, unlike me.

"To keep our costs down and prices reasonable, we no longer line the lower part of your car's door with carpet". The marks will wipe off but I'd rather pay and extra $10 for a car and have the carpet on the doors.

Brunch at North Brighton Beach and I discovered this grove of tea trees. 

We had a terribly windy night and day last week. Many homes lost power, rooves were blown off, and trampolines changed ownership as they were lifted from one back yard and dumped in another. Trees fell down, at times onto cars. The wind woke me at 3.30 am and I went out to the balcony and there was a howling northerly wind, which we are protected from. I went back to bed and by 7am the wind had moved to the south west and just as strong and we are not protected from that. 

Some sheets of tin flew off our Hairdresser Friend's garage roof and landed in the back garden of the former home of the notorious Madame Brussels. 

Was it $1.2 or $1.3 million our new neighbours paid for their apartment. I can't recall but it doesn't have even have blinds, only teralyne curtains, scrim if you like. I expect that will be rectified soon. The windows around the corner at the front, in spite of being double glazed, will allow in sunlight until after noon mid summer and make the place unbearably hot. The first bedroom is the master, with an ensuite and walk in robe and the scrim danced beautifully in the wind. It was amusing. Eventually the scrim was pulled in and the window closed, but Baby R's window just a metre from our balcony was open later and out came the  scrim. It frequently caressed our barbeque and I could see grease marks at the extreme end. Just as well we weren't barbequing that evening. 

What is with people who live in this apartment and their obsession with open windows. Remember the Window Wanker? I look up to level 22 and down to level 1 and all windows are closed except for this apartment. How unlucky can we be.