Confessions

I’ve started the biography of Bill Clinton, Madeleine Albright and Anne Summers nd never finished any of them. The only autobiography I’ve ever finished was Bob Geldof’s in the late 80s.
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Salman Rushdie may well be writing in riddles. I just.don’t.understand.any.of.it. Ever.
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I subscribe to The Monthly because my GOD Australia needed an intelligent magazine of substance. It’s up to Issue 10. I’ve never finished reading one article. Not one.
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I really like Kraft Macaroni Cheese. No really.
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I love Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movies. In fact, I love Tom Hanks movies – every cheesy one of them… But Michael Caine, I want to hurt Michael Caine. Badly. Add Leonardo Di Caprio to that to. Hurt.
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If I had the choice of reading a book or watching tele, tele would win out every time. But I love reading books.
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Today I stood out in the washing, surrounded by sheets, towels and clothes and sobbed. Sobbed a pathetic stupid sob story for the fact my life is reduced to work and cleaning. And being perpetually cranky at everything – from the peg that broke to Mum washing her sheets every second fucking Saturday to people just stacking stuff by the sink or on the bench rather than putting it in the dishwasher or putting it away to always.picking.shit.up.off.the.floor. to all the freakin’ wildlife that has decided to live in our house to my hair and wobbly, droopy tummy.
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I’m so addicted to reading PeaSoup, Badger, Blackbird, Susie Sunshine, Dooce, Amalah and Go Fug Yourself every single day I can’t really function without doing so. I’m bereft when they don’t each post every day (don’t get me started about how I get through weekends) and have blog envy of every single one.
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I’d like to run my own business called “allconsuming cakes and cookies. the only treats to eat.” allconsuming for short. I thought it up all by myself. I would bake cakes, cookies, slices and other treats for cafes and restaurants to sell. I’d also sell them at my market stall where I’d also sell my vintage fabric shoe bags – natty little creations for those of us who love shoes but do not like bunions, so wear our Birks to work and change into our heels at our desk, but need something to carry our heels in and want something nicer than a plastic shopping bag. I know this will never ever happen. Ever.
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I dream of us living on an acre or five up in the hills behind the northern beaches. This could happen if we ever win Powerball, or Chef’s new restaurant is so successful we get lots of equity in it and s.l.o.w.l.y. find some level of financial security in our life.
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I’ve never ever seen Titanic with Leonardo di Caprio and it is my goal that I never will. Ever.
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