A Big Day Out...

I packed the kids in the car very early this morning...

they were a little resistant despite the siren call of seeing their biggest cousin (and the incentive of our plan to kidnap her - and her blooming mother - back to the 'ranch').

It could have had something to do with the fact that it was DARK when I woke them up,

and it was ALMOST as chilly as this day...

... but we managed to be on the road by 7am, and sending the kilometres flying under our tyres. A few kilometres of our chosen route was gravel road, but the rest consisted of lovely bitumen. And all bitumen is lover-ly if you have to travel on dirt for any chunk of your daily travel, trust me! It is almost a three hour journey to the city near Jeanie's Paradise.

A journey filled today with some giggles,

some quite terrible singing

(I shall take a bow for that, thanks very much!)

a few bouts of bickering

(mostly NOT me, but it was a close call a few times)

and ended happily at McDonald's.

Or as Dash likes to call it:

Ha' McDonalls

You know:

"Ol McDonald HAD a Farm";

which turns into:

"Ha' McDonnel Had a Farm";

which turns into:

"Are we going to Ha' McDonnels Mummy?"

Makes perfect sense, doncha think?

(And no, McDonalds are NOT a paying sponsor of this blog.)

...

Happily sauced up on Bacon and Egg McMuffin and several hash browns, we visited the drive-through car wash. Now if my father reads this, he will roll his eyes and demand to know why the heck I didn't just save my money and wash the Prado at home.

And here would be my calm and reasoned reply:

1. Washing cars requires clean water and energy - I'm short on both at the moment;

2. We have dirt roads;

3. It takes up to three hours of my effort to coax the dust from the crevices of that car;

4. 2+3 = dirty car... makes NO SENSE WHATSOEVER;

5. At said car wash, a couple of very nice boys happily scrub and chamois my filthy vehicle

while the kids squeal in delight at the auto wash water blasts,

while I catch up on my mobile messages

(these suckers can seriously bank up when one is out of range for a fortnight at a time!) ...

and if that isn't a spectacular display of excellent Time and Motion at work, I'm not my father's daughter!!!

Heh.

We then dashed around town picking up horseshoes and lotto tickets (darn, didn't win!), stripping Woolies of grocery items unavailable in our hometown, dropping off generators, ordering Indian takeaway (and in doing so, being the most outstanding wife of all-time), buying shoes for my ever-lengthening son (when will all this food make him go OUTwards?) and appeasing my daughter with spangled headbands.

I DID mean to photograph the amazing architecture of this lovely town/city also, but in-car demands to get Salina and Jeanie abducted and long-distance telepathy from my husband to get some curries home in time for dinner, forced me to postpone that much-anticipated activity. Next time. *sigh*

My sister and her verbally-excited daughter put up very little resistance to our kidnapping activities, and despite many loo stops, yet another lotto purchase (still no good!) and picking up an outrageous number of grocery bags from Woolies parcel-pickup, we managed to be on the road home by 4pm.

The trip back to Granite Glen was noisy. Noisy with Salina entertaining her littler cousins with theatrical renditions of Someone On Her Mobile Phone Making Secret Calls to Someone Else!!

*giggle, giggle, giggle*

And the front seat was abuzz with sisterly catchup ranging from the obscene lack of morning sickness registered by one Jeanie in Paradise, to the chances of Hewitt winning Wimbledon (not great, but lovely to imagine just the same), to what financial planning decisions we had already based on our sure and certain $90 million OzLotto wins tonight (yeah, we know), to why the heck we cry the WHOLE WAY THROUGH "Find My Family".

If I had been taking photos while driving, the landscape whizzing by us - to which we were mostly oblivious as we caught up on our news - would've looked a little like this:

But of course I didn't.

I was driving.

And that kind of stunt would be downright dangerous.

And we all know how terribly sensible I am*.

Thanks. Your support means a lot to me!

Anyway, by the time we finally got to the landmark bottle trees on one of the last ridges before the GG homestead...

...it didn't really look like this at all...

'Cause it was quite dark.

But if it wasn't dark, this is what we would have seen.*

You will be amazed and delighted to know that we made it in time for a sumptuous Indian takeaway dinner.

The kids have finally wound down and are dreaming crazy mobile phone dreams inspired by their darling big cuz.

Jeanie has said her goodnights and piled a gazillion blankets on herself.

Mr Incredible is tucked in bed (a different one) with a tum full of Chicken Tikka and Lamb Madras. A happy, gastronomically contented man.

As for me, most of the groceries are away.

The kitchen bears only a few curry smears.

Axel is tucked up under a rug.

And I am delirious with tiredness.

Can you tell?*

Don't answer that...

So it's goodnight from me...

and it's Goodnight from Bush Babe!

Happy (Hairy) Holidays!!

On Friday, Dash's school had a 'Crazy Hair Day'

which basically means that kids get to wear casual clothes

and get high on hairspray fumes as they endeavour

to outdo each other in the freaky hair department.

All in the name of charity.

Gold coin donations are required for these kind of fun days,

which I don't really mind at all.

Fun and fundraising, a pretty cool combo.

Dash was all 'kooky cowboy' complete with bandy-legged walk and Texan accent.

Violet was a cross between Thing One and Bam Bam.

It was the last day before our Winter Hols so the mood was one of building excitement

(for the teacher as much as the kids, I suspect!)

...

Happy Holidays one and all!!

Bathing in the late afternoon sun

Feeling a little blue today...

too many people leaving this earth:

Michael Jackson

A lot mixed up but insanely talented - who didn't mimic his dance moves?

Farrah Fawcett

THE Angel... what little girl DIDN't want that hair, that figure?

Sadie H

A wonderful, wonderful old lady from our town - 107 years old - will be buried tomorrow.

All stars in their own way.

Now stars somewhere else.

...

Outside it is cold and grey.

Perhaps Mother Nature is in mourning too?

To cheer myself up, I am not posting images of MJ, or FF or even SH.

I am sharing a little of my favourite time of day...

Late Afternoon.

Why (I hear you ask) is it my chosen hour?

1. It's not early morning - I don't do early morning very well!

2. The light is kind of magic for about 30 minutes - for faces and landscapes.

3. It's not quite panic time when I realise I have nothing organised for dinner.

4. When mixed with general cloud and clear atmosphere, some colour magic happens.

5.See number 1.

...

I humbly present the following evidence to the court:

I have NOT messed with the colours of these photos.

Swear to God.

And to seal the case: I call this one: Ironbark Aglow.

OK, I don't. That would be a bit 'arty farty' for me. But you've got to admit, the colour rocks!

BB Question:

What is your favourite time of day, and why?

Swing high, sweet chariot!

Mr Incredible had a bit of a construction frenzy on the weekend.

We have been so busy with Beef Week and then weaning all the calves here that there has been no time for 'around the house' stuff. It's the one thing they don't tell you about life on the land: that the men spend all their time and energy on the property and fences and the water and the cattle ... and you have to actually hog tie them to get any man-chores done within coo-ee of the house. And there is kind of an avalanche of jobs waiting when they finally put aside a day to 'help out at home'.

One wag refers to having to face up to the house paddock jobs as being 'caught in the dingo trap'!

...

Not sure Mr I quite feels like that yet (I have hidden the master list from view for the time being!) but the fact is our kids have been waiting for a playground setup for two-and-a-half years!

...

Last Saturday he picked up the chainsaw and headed out into the paddock.

And came back dragging three massive logs behind the tractor.

I asked him what he was up to...

'The swing,' was his succinct reply.

He is very succinct.

Hates wasting words.

Actually speaks in shorthand.

(I may have picked up some of that communication style, now I come to think about it!)

...
Anyway, within a few hours, the swing set (which we had bought three years ago) was up.
Up and swinging!

Do you think the Violet and Dash enjoyed the new addition to our backyard?

Our fearless daughter was ready to rumble..

And Dash shrieked and grinned until his eyes disappeared...

Higher!

Higher Daddy!

That look would say: "Thanks Dad"

(and also: Higher!)

Handling the General

It's been a while since I shared anything on Admiral's son...

the one you guys named various things

but we ended up calling General.

(Sorry - I have no real control over anything here at Granite Glen!)

We said a sad goodbye to his sister

who travelled over 1000km back to her 'real' owner!

...

We have been watching General grow taller, thicker and develop a shaggy winter coat.

His Roman nose (bit like his Daddy) is becoming quite pronounced...

He really is quite a little personality.

Watchful and a little feisty....

But strong and athletic too...

Of course he is responding

to Mr Incredible's regular handling sessions,
and did well at his very first halter & lead experience.

I remember my first halter and lead with Mr I...

but I digress!
(Mum, I am kidding!)

He's no cuddler or sook,

but he has that certain 'something' that makes us think

he'll be an agile, active and handy cattle worker.
And y'all know how much Mr I enjoys his cattle work

('specially in the sporting arena)

...

Perhaps our little one star General will be a campdrafter one day?

Time will tell.

In the meantime,

he'll get a month or so more with his Mama (Jill)...

before he is weaned and 'bushed' for a year to grow out...

Enjoy your foal days my friend...

You'll be a big boy all too soon!

Giddy-Up Little Red

The below series of pics are of the little piece of bovine brilliance

who we 'helped' arrive into the world last week...

for want of something better to call him,

he is being referred to as Little Red.

As you can see,

he has found his feet

and there is some serious

a-skipping going on.

"Cuuuuuuute as"

(as Dash would say!)

Enjoy!

THAT's not an icicle...

Do you remember that 1980's movie Crocodile Dundee?
When Paul Hogan was an Aussie and pre-plastic surgery?

And remember that line where Mick says:

‘THAT's not a knife...

THIS is a knife!’
...
And remember how I showed you this:

This amazing testiment
to my laziness colliding spectacularly
with Mother Nature's recent
whiplash of cold weather?

The result of heavily frosted grass...
and a stinking big circle of ice (top of image)

where I left the sprinkler going overnight!

Turning the heads of Rhodes grass

into little ice bouquets...

And couch grass clumps into mini frozen sculptures?

Quite pretty I suppose...
Quite spectacular I guess...
Til someone forwards you an email

with a series of photos

(from the same district)

to really put your weedy popsicles to shame...
Now THAT is some ice, ice baby!

...

This little dude’s Daddy (or Grandad, I’m not sure) didn’t just

leave a household sprinkler on through the cold snap.

He left the IRRIGATION system going...

to GRAND effect.

LOVE the wall of frozen water...

Now THAT’s some ice.

Talk about getting seriously one-upped.

I feel like packing up my popsicle posy pics and go home.

...

Anyone care to share any one-upped stories to salve my wounded (ice-pic) ego?

The Scooby Doo Factor

You know how we have a Great Dane puppy?

And you know how puppies

- when they are little -

can be a little nervous of things BIGGER than themselves?

And you know how BIG Great Danes can get?

Like bigger than a cat or normal dogs or even some calves?

We are talking GIANT here people... our beloved Coz weighed 75kg!

Well, wouldn't you think that a dog already weighing over 30kg

who could (in theory) be considered a 'hunting dog'

might somehow take advantage of his own

impending enormousness?
And not simply RUN AWAY when confronted with

any animal

OF ANY SIZE

that might look sideways at it?

No?

Yep. The headline should read:

"5kg cat Lords it over 35kg canine."

The ridiculous dog fails to take any notice of me,

but if Middy so much as raises her almight black hackles,

Axel freezes, whimpers and cowers until she stalks off.

I like to call it The Scooby Doo factor.

I wonder if it will wear off when he hits 60kg?

Trek back in time...

Are you sick of reading about puppies and foals and bulls yet?

Have my Lovers of Old Stuff abandoned ship in the deluge of all things furry?

Can you still recall how I like to wax lyrical about fabulous old rusty spurs...

and discarded snakeskins?

Do you miss rusty and dried-up and peeling?

(I shall spank anyone who makes a crack about those adjectives describing this blog author!)

Fear not friends...
I have discovered as-yet-unpublished images from the bowels of my external hard drive which I have meant to post here for ages...

...photos that have been gathering dust and growing cobwebs.

Kinda apt, one might say?

This is a window at one of the old pubs in a tiny town near Granite Glen.

It has pink bouganvillea creeping around it's windows and festive lights draped haphazardly along the wall year-round...

I took these shots while waiting for Mr Incredible to pick up a carton of wine from the lovely owners of this pub, with kids asleep in the back seat of the Prado.
It's what I do.

This is the miniscule timber church in the blink-and-you'll-miss-it township where I went to school as a kid. We had Sunday School here, attended church services at Easter and Christmas here. The lawn was always mown and fresh native flowers decorated the alter (usually arranged by my green-thumbed Aunt Bon Bon). This was the place I took one of my first communions.
Cool timber pews welcomed sturdy big bottoms and impatient little ones.

There is no lining on the walls and I was always fascinated by the shafts of light streaming in through the rarely-opened windows - highlighting the tiny particles of dust dancing in the air.

I love that it is unprepossessing - no ornate gold leaf here.

I like my religion unfettered by the grandiose human touch.

Actually, I like lots of things that way.

You might have noticed.

...

How 'bout you?

Are you drawn to the decorative or unadorned?

CAPTION WINNER: If only they could talk!

I feel a little like that Pantene shampoo commercial -

the Rachel Hunter one:

It won't happen overnight, but it WILL happen!

Life has once again overtaken me at 200km/hr, thanks to my ability to take on way too much extra-curricular stuff, but I have finally found 5 minutes to announce a winner for my little caption contest of the other day.

(I love that expression: the other day. Covers a multitude of tardy sins!)

Can I just say how FABULOUS it was to read through the imaginative entries - from Australiana yarns to Willy Wonka dialogues! What clever readers I DO have...

Here we go:

Thanks Deb, for this insight into the harsh workout regimes of the stars of Granite Glen. After all, these animals are in the glare of the GG paparazzi day in, day out. The pressure to maintain that swelte yet furry physique is enormous!

Gave me a giggle anyway.

I suspect that (in reality) Axel was actually being severely intimidated by Rob Roy (he's pretty much intimidated by every animal on the property! Think Scooby Doo...). The Shetland fairly sashayed away from the scene so goodness knows what really went down in this scene.

If only they could really talk...

Goodwill and the Girl

A quickie tonight...

The Goodwill Games were held at Dash's tiny one-teacher school on Saturday.

The school's P&C were uber busy (hence BB was kinda flat strap!) getting ready to cater and help generally prepare for the event.

The weather was kind (not like this day)

The people came in their dozens (not quite 100s!)

The kids had a blast running, jumping, throwing and generally having a red hot go at the events.

Goodwill abounded in each and every corner.

It was fabulous darlings!

...

And we also made an Incredible Discovery...

Despite the fact that neither Mr Incredible nor I can run out of sight on a dark night

(i.e. we are a tad slow in the sprinting department)

Violet can motor...

The 80 metres "hurdles" (over strategically placed empty beer cartons)

saw the true competitive beast unearthed in our darling four-year-old daughter.

The starters gun erupted, and she dodged the first couple of obstacles and then looked across the field, saw what the other kids were doing, and floored it.

Leap, stride, stride, stride, leap, stride, stride, stride, leap...

My jaw was literally on the ground, as I stood there watching.

Who knew she could run like that?

Mum , who was posted a little closer to the finish line, said she

'just got this look on her face...'

And was wearing an enormous grin as she swung around to see who noticed.

She even took out Age Champion and got a shiny trophy.

She wasn't entirely sure what it was all about...
but I can tell you that trophy is now a treasured bedside ornament.
I knew that gritty determination would come through somewhere good!
...
In other news, I will announce the winner of the Caption Contest tomorrow.
No shiny trophies though.

Just the glow of contentment that comes with being a real smart ... person.

Oh, and a BB print too. Stay tuned...

Deadline extended - win a BB print!

DEADLINE EXTENDED!

Get your entry in by 4pm today (GG time - see clock at right).

...

I am cold and I am brain-dead after attempting to teach a class of 4-12 year olds how to use Photo Elements at Dash's tiny one-teacher school. I have made the startling discovery that I am not a teacher. Please remind me of this if I ever have a grand idea that I can share my limited knowledge with the world at large.

BUSH BABE IS NOT A TEACHER.

(My new motto)

I shall print it out and plaster it above the computer I think!

...

Anyhoo, enough of my whinging. What I really wanted to do was extend my laziness to new horizons, and get my readers to help me out with a little pic-story I have whacked together.

...

It features two of my favourite subjects:

Axel the 4-month-old gangly, eager-beaver Great Dane puppy, and

Rob Roy the cranky 6-year-old chronically overweight Shetland pony.

They have absolutely no clue what to make of each other and it entertains me endlessly...

Think you can you help me caption the slideshow below to make it even funnier?

Winner will get an 8x12" print of their choice from this little black blog.
Comp open til Monday afternoon (GG time).
Have fun kids!
Cannot wait to read your entries...

The First Breakfast...

I was all set to post about yesterday's Goodwill Games... it was such a wonderful day, filled with frosty breath clouds, dozens of happy galloping kids, mountains of meat pies, gallons of coffee and ribbons fluttering in the breeze.

...

However Mr Incredible put paid to that scheme. He yelled out for me to 'come down to the yards PRONTO' (or words to that effect) just as I was finished coffee #2 for the morning and settling in at the computer to check out yesterday's action photos. I reluctantly arose - clad in my pastel candy-striped pajama pants, my white t-shirt, my maroon puffy parker and my slippers. Hearing the urgency in his voice, I made the executive decision not to protest my state of un-ready-for-the-yards-dress, flung on my rubber boots, and trotted off after him.

...

A cow we recently purchased had gone into labour in a paddock near the house. Now that's not so unusual. But she is not just any cow. She is a black bawly (white-faced) cow, carrying an 'embryo transfer' calf (when a frozen embryo made of extracted eggs from a donor cow of good breeding, and the semen collected from a specially bred bull, is implanted into a third animal for gestation). We had been watching her carefully, to ensure this arrival made it safely on the ground.

...

She had 'bagged up' (made a good lot of milk) and was looking very close to calving in the last few days. This morning, Mr I had noticed crows collecting around her down the paddock, and two little hooves poking out. He decided it was time to help her out.

...

I have to say, I have helped 'pull' a calf before, but never (a) one worth as much as this one, and (b) with much success. To explain, our cows generally give birth out in the paddock, to calves they have helped create. Usually their own genetics help shape the calf's resulting birth size, allowing for an easy birth. It is rare that any have calving problems but when they do, by the time we find them and get them into a yard, the calf has been through a lot of stress. So I was concerned and trying to prepare myself for a worst-case scenario.

...

We put the cow into the crush (race) and tied a rope to each little protruding hoof (still soft, I noticed) and pulled rhythmically, giving her time to recover and try and help push as well tugged. I slid my arm into the calf's head to try and ease that part of it forward, while Mr I pulled on the ropes. After about 20 minutes, we made progress, with the head becoming visible. The calf's tongue was lolling out from it's mouth and its eyes rolled back in its head - I have to admit that my heart sank. It just didn't look good.

...

Then a hoof pulled back slightly and the long pale pink tongue moved. My heart leapt - it was alive! We put renewed efforts into pulling on the ropes. Suddenly, with a push from mama cow, the head slithered towards us and two confused eyes glared at us from amongst the birth debris. My heart was doing a fair impression of an Irish jig in my chest and we called at each other to pull harder. At this stage I was cradling the front end of a calf against my chest. My white-t-shirt-clad chest. My maroon puff parka was already a goner - birthing bits smeared left, right and centre. I could not have cared less. The hips of the calf appeared stuck, and we maneuvered ourselves to try and free the half-born bovine. And any thoughts of my future laundry challenges went right out the window.

...

After several minutes of contorting ourselves, we finally felt something give. Whoosh. Slithering and sliding into our arms and down onto the ground: one slick, slimy, dark red... bull calf. We grinned at each other in the silence. I felt like doing some high kicks, Las Vegas style. I may have actually attempted this (can't/don't want to recall!). I let the cow out of the crush and round to her baby, who Mr I had quickly dragged out from the crush and into the adjacent yard. For a few seconds she ignored him. Then instinct kicked in and she approached, sniffed and then finally, began licking the birth sac from his wet hide.

We quickly evacuated the yard to let her do her job in peace and watched on for a few minutes in awe. Something that happens all the time out here - baby calves arriving, their mamas cleaning their coats and stimulating their little bodies into action. But we were a part of this one. And the feeling was incredible.

...

I plan to shut up now, and let the photos to the talking.

(Please know I did wash my hands before grabbing the Nikon)

Introducing Little Red and his mother, Big Bawly.

As you can see, it wasn't all smooth sailing.

Little Red tried to stand up within a couple of minutes of his arrival, crashing back into the dirt as each unsteady effort failed. He even slid under the fence and into the next yard at one point. But the two eventually got their act together, he got his pins under him and staggered into position. And the First Breakfast was had.

*Sigh*

...

Now if anyone has any laundry hints for getting afterbirth from white t-shirts, I'm all ears!

And just to help you visualise what I am dealing with:

Sorry.

(Hey, I did put a star on her girl bits to save some embarrassment!)

Bush bouquet... enough to melt yer heart!

Mr Incredible picked somethin' a little special for me this morning.

A 'bush bouquet', if you will.

It was the result of three events colliding in my world:

1. It was freaking cold overnight

(down to minus 5 degrees C according to those game to venture outside)

2. I failed to mow the lawn this week

(a non-shocking circumstance for those in the know)

3. I left the sprinkler going

(don't smack me, the pipe bursts if I turn the hose off without driving all the way - 7 km - to turn the pump off. And it was too cold and dark last night to contemplate!)

End result?

Ice, ice, baby!Winter has arrived at Granite Glen.

...

All hints for keeping warm will be welcomed with open arms!

Go Roo!

Violet has a little (big) cousin called Roo.

They are great mates.

Roo had an accident recently, and burned herself pretty badly.

It gave us all a terrible fright and we have been sending all kinds of positive vibes her way and prayers heavenwards.

Something worked.

Not only has she been dubbed 'the toughest kid ever' by hospital staff, but has now been given a reprieve from skin grafts by doctors, who are reportedly quite astounded at her little body's capacity for recovery.

I cannot begin to tell you how delighted we all are.

Gentle hugs to you, Roo.

(and to your worried Ma and Pa too)

Go, little champ!

Up the Duff... do yourself a favour!

OK. Sorry. No, really.

I just don't think sometimes...

I quite forget that we speak a whole different lingo down here than that enunciated throughout the rest of the world's allegedly English-speaking civilisation...

And I used the words "Up the Duff".

My humblest apologies for springing that little corker on you unannounced.

*tugs forelock while backing away*

I need to hastily explain that I was not being shockingly rude ...

(really really sorry Debby, hope you didn't choke on somethin')

when I wished my sister a Happy Up the Duffness.

I was actually wishing her a good pregnancy.

Up the Duff = Pregnant.

In Oz anyway.

I made the Duff-ness bit up.

Thought it was cute.

Silly me.

...

And being me, I shall now commence to pass on the blame for this whole fiasco to a certain Aussie comedian/artist/author (hell if someone can hang onto those three titles successfully, in the Land of the Tall Poppy, they deserve what's coming to them!).

Her name is Kaz Cooke.

(Kaz is Aussie for Karen, in case anyone is wondering. Still with me?)

And Kaz Cooke wrote a little old book about a decade ago that helped me (and a few gazillion other pregnant chicks) giggle their way through their nine months of an ever-expanding girth and terror of the end result.

The name of that ticklish tome?

Up the Duff.

In it Kaz unleashes her razor, warped Aussie wit (and kooky caricatures) to illustrate the various stages of pregnancy. The heroine is called Hermoine the Modern Girl who (coincidentally) finds herself pregnant. It's a riot. One line in particular sticks in my mind (eight years after reading it):

At this stage, your foetus resembles something like a crustacean made of snot.

Ah, it still tickles me.

This is Kaz.

Her caption under this photo on her website reads:

Absurdly flattering photograph of Kaz taken zillions of years ago.

Now she's quite ancient.

...

How can you not love her?

She has also written this little publication aimed at helping women with all girly issues from their first period (or as we charmingly referred to 'it' at boarding school, The Rags) to the last. I suspect Hermoine is at it again for this book...

Kid Wrangling is another I suspect I might do well to invest in - Lord knows I needed a laugh tonight when I discovered Dash and Violet had concocted enough glue (i.e. plain flour and water) to put the Ark back together. And I reckon Girl Stuff (about all things adolescent female) might be handy as Violet rockets towards those teenage years. Even if I just throw it at the boys trying to climb in the bedroom windows!

...

There are plenty of other riotous offerings (check her site out to see what tickles you) but this one caught my eye after a certain recent rant that took place on this blog.
I suspect Hermoine might not be a Botox fan...
but she is looking mighty perky here.
Hmmm... I shall just have to read it and get back to you.
...
So there we go.
That's my excuse and I am sticking with it:
I'm an Aussie and I read Kaz Cooke.
I can be blamed for nothing.
:-)

Birthday blooms...

Some blooms for Jean-Jeanie today...

Whose birthday we finally celebrated this weekend...
With a couple of bunches of tulips nabbed from Woolies,
and a loud gathering of family and pasta and wine and carrot cake...

It was a rich and delicious affair - food by Jeanie, entertainment by her rellies...

We just weren't sure whether to sing

"I Love a Rainy Night"

"When the Saints Go Marching In"

or

"Tip-toe through the Tulips"

We settled on the latter.

And a stiff scotch

(or glass of milk, depending on our personal requirements).

Let's just say life is never boring in the bush!

Happy belated 40th darling...

(And Happy Up the Duff-ness, while we are here)

...

NB All non-Aussie readers: "Up the Duff" explained shortly...