I have about five posts in draft.
One is on the discovery of porn/erotica blogs. They are compelling if for nothing else than the begging question of what type of man is it that refers to his wife’s vagina as “her little cunny”?

One is on our adventures on Sunday walking the Sydney Harbour Bridge to commemorate its 75th anniversary. Some great pics for that one as well. Here’s one taken just as you walk on the roadway under the span and can see the two archways rise above you. Breathtaking for its scale and industrial beauty:

The other is about the arrival of our mortgage new car and dear GOD if Oscar wants to kiss it, play in it, sleep in it or asks me about it one more time I’m going to blow my proverbial stack.

Then there are the recipes to share – raspberry coconut slice, plum and cinnamon jam, lime marmalade and the dijon rosemary crust I did on the lamb cutlets the other night.

But when it comes to writing them in full, nothin’.

Because at the moment Chef is inbetween starting at his new job and finishing at the old – oh yeah, there’s another post right there titled “when your husband finds a level of motivation rarely seen in the last 15 years it’s really quite impressive.” so I am in the midst of being some weird super human single parent and working at my job from 7 in the morning, leaving early then doing the whole afternoon/soccer practice/dinner/baths/homework/reading palaver so you know, I’m kinda tired.

Couple that with that reality when your workplace is so consuming and so completely demoralising that you just want to walk away? Yeah. I’ve just been lying in bed for the better part of an hour stewing over various things said and done and that, my friends, is where my head is at.