It happened on a teams chat. A colleague is heading off the Bathurst in a couple of weeks. If this floats their boat, then all well and good. It's not to my liking, but I have friends who are into motorsport, just as I have friends who love the tennis. I spent most of the last two weeks of January sticking my fingers in my ears and singing "lalalalala". Tennis holds no interest to me, but it doesn't stop other people from enjoying it.
Anyway, the conversation got going.
Said Bathurst attendee said they were going to be with the ferals on the hill.
I took this a time for some gentle ribbing, typing 'Bogans of Bathurst' into google to see what comes up. It bore gold.
I then mentioned that I has a friend who went every year to Bathurst and she's lovely. When asked what that entailed, I mentioned that there was a lot of Holden merch worn.
The rebuttal was they don't make Holdens anymore, and maybe we should change allegiances.
"NO!"
"NEVER!"
"I'd rather send a Fiat round the track."
"And hope it rains so the electrics bugger up."
Another colleague hinted that they were on the side of the Ford.
We Holden fans are considering if we can still be friends. It's like finding out one of your friends is a Collingwood or Port Adelaide supporter.
But it's this allegiance to a motor car, that hasn't been around for a very long time surprised me. It's somewhat cellular in nature and not going anywhere in a hurry, even after fifty years.
I just like Holdens because I used to have one and I liked the red of their jacket.
Opening the cupboard under the sink this morning, I'm almost certain I saw a mouse.
It didn't compute at first. I live on the second floor.
I'm also fastidious about not leaving food, or rubbish about in the cupboards, and this cupboard is the one where I keep my booze and the cleaning products. And yes, there is probably some risk keeping the gin next to the Drano, but I'm an adult and it's how I roll.
Now, I'm not scared of mice, far from it. Just as I'm not scared of roaches, which can be dealt with by being doused in Mortein, my practical brain takes over and the critter gets dealt with swiftly. I'm even learning do sort out huntsman spiders. I still hate the fuckers, but I'm not afraid to get out the bug spray and kill the ozone layer as the last skerrick's of life leave the spider's carcass.
Mice are another matter.
They're bigger than bugs.
And how do you get rid of them?
And yes, I have a cat, but would he know what to do with a mouse? It could go both ways. He could be 1) like our old cat Mystery, who would play with the mouse for hours - it was her most favourite toy when she found a mouse. 2) He could be like Meggsy who we sent in after Mystery got bored to sort the bugger out. One look at the mouse and it was dead in seconds. Or 3) it could be like my neighbour's old cat, who used to bring in rats to the stairwell and surgically eviscerate the buggers, leaving the body flayed and the stairs looking like his own dissection room.
I'd prefer it if the cat would just kill the bugger and be done.
Knowing my cat, he'd just look at it and let it round about the place, not lifting a claw.
I took him into the kitchen to look at the cupboard, but as I'd woken him from a nap, we wasn't bemused.
Since this sighting, I've been looking into the cupboard - I've not seen it since. And before opening it, I make a bit of noise - you know, run the taps and clatter around in the sink.
And yes, I'm clearing out the cupboard, having a good look at what is going on and bleaching it out over the weekend.
And maybe looking into ethical mousetraps, as I don't want to use Ratsack and traditional traps are cruel.
I remember a friend of mine in London who was forever asking me, "Where do you meet these people?"
He was jealous.
I look at my friends over the years. Some I met at university. Some at school. A lot of my friends I met at work. Some at drama class. Some online. Some are friends of friends. Some people have become friends with through friends. Of course, there's the amazing people I've met on the writer's retreats I go to twice a year. Others I've met on holiday... dream group... fat club.... The list is endless.
There are moments when I can remember the exact moment I met somebody. Others have just drifted into my life. One friend I met at a job interview. I was interrogated as to whom was my favourite poet. I got the job. We remained friends.
And I can't remember when I first met Barney. He and Blarney had been going out for months before I met him. Can I remember where we actually met? No.
As for Blarney, we met at work. But as with many introverts, I appear to have been taken on my her and stuck around, for that's how introverts make friends (get adopted by an extrovert - it happens all the time - the natural order of things
I think I'm starting to think about origin stories. Just where did we meet? What were your first impressions? What happened next?
There are some fabulous prompts in here, great for when you have no idea what to write - which, with a head mussy with the full moon and a few other things going on, having these prompts are a godsend.
Anyway, the card I picked for today said talk about the animals in my life.
Which, for me, is a good one as I've had a lot of animals in my life so far. Animals have entry and exits. Animals help to make you who you are.
If I start from when I was a young child:
There was Soxy, a big fluffy long-haired domestic cat. He was friendly. He used to belong to my grandparents, but they gave him to Mum. (This will be recurring theme for the cats in our lives). He was very gentle. The first cat I could pick up. He died at Myponga when I was about ten. Lovely boy.
Then there was Fred. Fred was pure white. He was also a bastard. He was Dad's cat. Dad could do anything with him, but nobody else could. He used to sit on the balcony and swipe the heads of visitors as they walked past. Being all white, he got cancer and ended up with one eye and half and ear. He did mellow as time went on, but he never lost that renegade streak. In the words of a family friend, my mother has always had antisocial cats.
We had Wimpy for a while. She was grey and white and was missing half of her tail. We got her from the neighbours. She lost her tail when the neighbour's dog tried to drag the kittens out from under the sideboard, biting their tails off instead. She was a lovely cat. She and Mum bonded. When Mum got home from work, she and Wimpy went for a nap for an hour. We're pretty sure a snake got her, dying in the woodshed behind the back door.
Janette Tiger Mugford was a ginger stray that turned up pregnant on the doorstep. She too, got taken by a snake, but we kept one of her kittens, Meggsy, who was born in the woodpile.
Meggsy was a shy cat - find with the family. A big ginger tom, he was great at catching mice. Although he didn't like people that much, when my grandmother broke her hip, he sat next to her on the bed for six weeks while she recuperated. Underneath there was a heart of gold.
Meggsy and Wimpy
Ugly didn't last that long. She was a donation from the neighbours, a little torty with really distinctive markings, hence calling her Ugly. She had a gorgeous nature on her - very friendly. Unfortunately, she had no road sense and got run over at a young age. But she really was a glorious cat.
Oh, then there was Mystery. Mystery came to us from my cousin, who was divorcing her husband and moving to Tasmania. She was glorious. Other than having the worst breath on the planet and a propensity for drinking out of pretty much any body of water, from toilets, shower stalls, fish bowls... you name it, she'd drink it. She also had a great nature on her, and she was vocal. She was hilarious. It was a mystery whether she was part Siamese or not. She didn't get on with Meggsy, nor Mum's next neurotic cat, Freda the Bitch.
Mystery and me
And as for cats, I now have Lucifer. I've had him for five years in March. He's now seven. He seems to be slowing down a little - and becoming a little more tolerant of people, although pissing on his cat sitter's car parts has won him no friends.
And growing up, there was dogs.
Sheba was a Border Collie Kelpie cross. She was the best dog in the world. She turned up when I was eight years old and hung around until I left for England. I still miss her. She had puppies on my bed. She had a beautiful nature on her. Being part working dog, she was very good at rounding up the chooks. And she loved me. She also liked to look after little things. Wonderful dog.
Sheba and Ugly
Our other dog, Pud, was a Border Colllie cross who came from the next-door neighbour. Poor thing was charged by a goat by as a youngster and was frightened of most things. He particularly hated thunderstorms - as an outside dog, we let him in the kitchen when there were storms about. Although he was a sweet dog, he was pretty useless. Sheba was far more mellow.
And added to all of this we had a pony named Pebbles, as well as many poddy calves who we fed until they were ready to go out to the paddock.
Oh, and I should mention Maow Maow.
Maow Maow used to be Blarney and Barney's cat. We imprinted on each other. It was love at first sight. Although he lived over the Westgate, we made a pact with each other that we were each other's being. Love, love, loved that cat. Just a grey and white ball of love. I still miss him. He's buried under a rose bush at Blarney and Barney's place. Gone too soon.
My colleague introduced me to a new group of Facebook.
I know there's a lot of argy bargy going on about Facebook at the moment, what with Meta sacking their fact checkers and moving the very liberal state of Texas. Yet even with the enshitification of the Meta products, there is still some gold in there - especially if you don't use it as a primary news source.
Today my colleague let me strike gold.
We were talking about our microwave toastie makers.
These things are the absolute bomb. At $15 at Kmart, you can have a perfect toastie in around three minutes.
They are brilliant.
But even better. There is this Facebook group, Microwave Toastie Maker Australia, which gives you all sorts of ideas away from your normal ham, cheese and tomato toastie. Or my favourite, the baked beans and cheese toastie (which I've been told to add a bit of onion to - hmmm).
I mean, who'd a thunk it?
Spinach pumpkin and feta cheese
Left over bolognese sauce with cheese
Cold roast chicken with barbeque sauce
You can fold up wraps in a square and toast your wraps
Cut down your Turkish bread
Because there's a
You know what else you can do in these magic panels - because they are magic. Two metallic plates encased in silicon.
You can also cook:
Fish fingers
Crumpets
Hot cross buns
Pancakes
Salmon fillets
You name it, you can run it through this magic machine.
Then there's the discussion about how much butter to use on the outside, or should you use mayonnaise, or how long should your toastie go in the microwave and what to do with things go awry.
Needless to say, I'm obsessed, even if I am trying to keep gluten down a minimum.
I didn't know what I was going to wear. It was a party. I would be among friends. But I still, it was a day to be out of my normal Melbourne blacks. It was a party. Why would I want to wear black? I wear black all the time.
The red dress has been sitting in my wardrobe for years, but I've never worn it out. It's a red lace affair, with a skin-coloured lining. It's snug, low cut, lacy and goes to about the knees.
And I wore it today.
I didn't feel too booby.
I was comfortable.
And I've been told that I should take this dress to France with me, though I have no idea to what I would wear it.
But it was nice to get dressed up and put on some make up and get out there for a bit.
I've sat in the same seat at meditation for near on twenty years. When anybody tries to take my seat, I actively growl at them. It's okay, we've all got our places, it only happens every few years.
Today, as I went under into the depths of my psyche, I knew what I was in for.
We meditate on the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Yes, it sounds strange, but as somebody who's dabbled in Kabbalah studies, it all makes sense to the group I meditate with.
Lamed (or Lamedh). The twelfth letter of the Hebrew alphabet. It makes the 'el' sound, as in lake or laugh or love.
It means ox-goad. The cosmic cattle-prod. The call to arms. The "if you sit on your arse for too long the universe will come and move you on in a most drastic way," letter.
Just what you need at the start of the year.
For me, this means it's time to get manifesting. A time to get my resolve and get on with things.
So here are the things I wish to manifest in 2025.
I will do everything in my power to remain healthy, for you are nothing without your health.
My greatest resolution is to keep up with my fitness, and to get fitter, especially on the cardio side of things. Nothing feels as good as fit.
I resolve to work towards getting a book published. Which book that will be, I don't know, but I've been working towards this for years and it's time.
I will remain actively and gainfully employed in roles which challenge me, working with good people on valued projects in companies which have a modicum of integrity.
I will allow myself to shine.
I am open to new friendships and relationships.
And I will be spending at least three weeks in Europe in September. I can see this being a few days in England, before heading to France for a writer's retreat. I want to spend a few days after the retreat going somewhere new? Belgium? Back to Rome, where I haven't been for 25 years. Or somewhere else. Regardless, I use the passport this year.
And that will do for the moment. This will be my year. I just need to take responsibility for it.
