Sometimes I call out to the boys that “I’m coming” or “I’m on my way”, when they’re up in bed waiting for me, with absolutely no intention of ever going. Felix has cottoned on to this. And all I can think of is “drats”.
I have no understanding of the share market. Whatsoever. It has been explained to me by no less than five friends. I either simply forget to listen or, when I try really hard, I can actually feel my brain dying a little. A similar experience was noted when my mentor at work tried to explain to me how you read the financials in an Annual Report. All the while I was struggling with the colour palate and choice of photos.
The realisation that true career advancement, into a land of earning capacity I need for the life I would like my family and I to have (ie unlimited funds for shoe-purchasing and overseas holidays) , would involve an MBA and understanding those numbers depressed me for a minute, then made me resolve to find another way. Lotteries of some kind or another feature heavily in Plan B.
This week a friend said to me, “you know, in this age of political correctness we don’t tell the people who need to be told to “fuck off” to fuck off enough.
And man, there were quite a few people I wanted to yell “fuck off” to this week.
So mature, I know.

PS: Two days to go to the opening of the MIGHTY Flying Fox Cafe. I hope all of you reading this who are based in Sydney (from what I can tell is about four people, so you know, don’t forget to book because you might not all get in if you come at once) come visit and buy Chef’s divine food and drink their awesome coffee or fancy pants range of teas.