I’ll have my new year with a side of vomit. Sure!

1. Last night we went to the Lord Mayor’s Picnic – an annual event for ‘children of disadvantage’ where there are events and then the chance to watch the 9pm family fireworks on Sydney Harbour from a premier location.

2. Those of you who follow me on Twitter already know I was being a snarky ungrateful wench bitching about the bogans and how the Lord Mayor’s Picnic was code for Festival of Queues.

3. Funnily enough I’ve bred a snarky ungrateful child in Felix who would have preferred to have been locked in a box than endure any of it.

4. The little boys and Oscar ADORED it – running from the various activities to announce they were ready to go home only to then run off and go mental for a bit longer.

5. The fireworks were lovely. As fireworks go.

6. I woke up today in a mood – probably due to being woken by Grover during the night and complying with his demands to sleep in his really crappy bed. That and the doonkdoonkdoonk music coming from next door until about 3.30am. They were still up at 4.30am chatting. I want me some of those drugs. NOT.

7. I realise this is making me old. That staying up all night is now the definition of hell to me, not one of F.U.N.!

8. This morning Jasper woke up wimpering. He came in claiming his tummy was SO EMPTY he felt sick. On the way to the kitchen we had a stop-off at the toilet for a spew. Excellent. Although, not unusual. If Jasper does get extremely hungry (and consuming a handful of chips and two Up&Gos the day before would do it – all while setting the alarms off in my brain with the ‘I’m just not really hungry’ line) he can resort to a spew, only to then eat breakfast and be tickety boo.

9. He happily ate two pieces of toast and a glass of water. Only to then vomit them over the edge of our bed, splattering all over the side of our new bed, the chest of drawers and Chef’s bedside table. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

10. Then proceeded about five hours of spewing. Poor little kid. Seriously, that kid does emancipated well.

11. I took myself back to bed once the spewing had abated. And slept. For FOUR hours.

12. When I woke up I started drinking champagne.

Finally, the proper way to start a new year.

*** UPDATED ***

13. When we were at QueueFest Mum rang me to inform me the guinea pigs had burrowed their way out of their cage and had escaped. I was unsure what I was meant to do about it but there you have it.

14. Two have been recaptured. One seems to be carving out quite a life for herself under the shed next door. until the ticks get her I guess.

15. On waking Chef informed me that my brother had rung. My niece has Impetigo (yeah, I dare you not to click on that link). My niece who has stayed here for about five out of the last eight days. My niece who we now discover has a HIGHLY contagious skin disease.

16. I guess it’s only fair – you know, we’ve shared the whoop, the nits, why not add a highly contagious rash to the picture. I mean. FOR FUCKS SAKE.

What can I tell ya

The back? Is farked.
Apparently I’ve got a bulging disc.
I told Miami Vice Guy (aka physio) how I found that deeply ironic.
He asked how so.
I pointed out that everything else on my body was bulging so clearly my vertebrae thought they’d get in on the act.
He said that yes, carrying excess weight did make me more likely to suffer back pain.
I just buried my head into the table. I mean, what else was there to do.
So my days at the moment are punctuated with me lying on the floor or bed, on my stomach, my upper body on several pillows in some pathetic nod to an upward dog or baying moon or sunrise spring or some other stupid yoga pose. Always hated yoga.
Here’s the thing.
Apparently if I do this for 20 minutes 8 times a day, don’t drive, don’t sit, don’t life and do minimal bending (in a true aerobic guaranteed to make you fart squat fashion) I should be markedly better by the weekend/beginning of next week.
Just in time to sit for hours beside a hospital bed and sleep in a hospital cot bed.
Miami Vice Guy was recommended to me by Sadieandlance who bulged her disc a few years back and well, now I owe her.
I mean, on Monday morning I could barely lift my feet off the floor and after he saw me first thing on Monday morning (I KNOW) I could at least walk.
I am being so vigilant in my no driving, no lifting, no sitting, bay to the moon stretching that while I still have searing pain through my lower back and down the front of my thighs I can at least move around and not cry out in pain at the slightest of movement.
But riddle me this interwebettes, what is it with these amazing therapist types and their penchant for just being downright kooky?
Miami Vice Guy clearly decided that the windblown pouffant do which is basically a mullet in a wind tunnel and colourful very crisply ironed collared shirts with just one too many buttons undone was his look.
And if he has the power to make me walk without pain then who am I to quibble.
But I bet, I BET you all have some kooky quirky medical professional too – go on, share.
You know something else? When you’re not really allowed or capable of doing anything or going anywhere, there’s really not much to talk about.



Felix went to his first drama class on Saturday and adored it. ‘I wish it went for two hours.’
Grover has started asking why. I feel that 20 months is way to early for such questioning. Surely I deserve a few more months years of obsequiousness.
I have seriously been pre-menstrual for seven days. Sometimes my uterus just pisses me off. Expel it already.
I’m going to make a batch of nectarine and passionfruit jam today.
After weeks of flooding rains in our north and raging fires in our south, now our north is dealing with a cyclone officially in the ‘really bad’ category.
I did half an hour of yoga this morning. I sure did expel air. Just not always through my nose. Ahh, yoga in the privacy of your own home.