Bruiser...

It's my Dad's 70th birthday soon...

and while he's not all that sure about this whole blogging thing his eldest daughter indulges in, I don't think he'd mind if you knew.

Really, he is pretty stoked to have come within cooee of 'three score and ten' - because Lord knows the man has done his level best to test his mortal limits over the decades. I have mentioned some of his earlier years here, but really I would need a book to really cover the personality that provided half my DNA.

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He is larger than life and he exudes more life force than ten younger men... and in a not-unrelated fact, he has also suffered more injuries (and bulldozed Heaven's knows HOW many less-forceful souls) than anyone else I know. I should know - because despite enjoying a mostly harmonious relationship with him, I have been among the bulldozed.

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Luckily this less-than-comfortable experience served to teach me to stand up and be counted, if I wanted to avoid being regularly bulldozed. And it's a hard-earned talent that has stood me in terrific stead in most of my male-dominated workplaces. A woman that can calmly hold her own, unintimidated by masculine bluster, is a woman that will earn respect. Not an easy lesson, but it has paid off in spades.

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This weekend we are pausing the Granite Glen express momentarily, to barbecue a good steak, fill our wine glasses and toast the man referred to somewhat cheekily by his loved ones as "Bruiser". And we will marvel that, despite having crashed and galloped his way through broken legs, two knee replacements, a smashed arm, cancer, broken collar bones, ghastly gash injuries from various farm-related 'incidents' and goodness knows how many corked thighs and black eyes, Dad is alive, kicking and still going 'flat biccie'.

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And in preparation, I am trawling my image archives along with the one gathered by my aunt (dad's only sister). It is a treasure trove. The first picture in this post almost makes me weep, it's so sweet.

Could that really be Bruiser?

This child with the head shaped exactly like my Dash?


Oh gosh... this one gets me too.

That is my grandfather holding his newborn son, my uncle, who would one day be a tearaway rodeo rider and then father to four great kids, now a devoted grandfather himself.

My aunt (holder of the photo archive) poses sweetly to the right in her white shoes.

And Bruiser... could that be he at left, with the band aid on one shin?

So upright, shoulders back, half-smile, as close to his much-worshipped father as possible.

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Soon after this photo was taken, my Dad would head off to boarding school and my grandfather would succumb to a terrible brain tumour a couple of months after that. It's the only image I have seen of his with his three children and it bring a lump the size of Uluru to my throat.

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And then there is this one...

This young father with his firstborn child.

Me and my dad.

I have his swarthy dark complexion, the brown eyes, and apparently the very same 'bulldozer-ish' approach to things when I get a bit focussed. Or so I'm told.

Thanks Dad. I think!

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I guess the one thing I always think of, when I am trying to illustrate the kind of man my Dad is today, are his hands.

These are not computer hands.

Not mobile phone hands.

Not dainty or soft or manicured.

There is even part of a finger missing from his left hand - something about a horse striking at a rail and nicking the pinky. And a doctor pulling off the hanging end section and throwing it in a bin... no microsurgery for these hands!

I cannot begin to imagine that these hands are old.

Or done with.

They are strong and capable and sure.

(I hope) for many, many years to come.

Here's to you, old fella.

And here's to bloody well looking after yourself please,

to ensure that I get to blog about the 80th!

WORLD Weather (and roof) watch WEDNESDAY

I will admit (up front) that I am not here.

Not here at the computer anyway... and some would argue not all here, ever!

I am actually travelling to another Big Town with Mum to help her choose a stove for her new house, and get stuff for my Dad's 70th birthday celebrations this weekend.

On the road again!

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Nonetheless, I am scheduling this post for my World Weather Watch Wednesday in the hope that everyone is still keen to share their outlook with the Granite Glen mob? Hello? Anyone out there?

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And to make it slightly more interesting I thought I would give you a look at our roof.

Yar, you heard me. Our roof. For without our roof, I wouldn't be in contact with the outside world! Cause that's where the dishes are...

Please meet our TV dish (on the left) which brings me four different state's worth of ABC (cause you can NEVER have too much ABC!), Channel 7 and Imparja (a Northern Territory flavoured amalgam of channels nine and ten - crunchy!).

And the internet satelite dish is on the right... we have a kind of love-hate relationship, the internet satelite 'broadband' dish and I. I love clouds (the real ones that bring rain and relief to our parched grass, not the teasy, fake kind as illustrated above). The broadband satelite dish hates clouds - it shuts up shot the moment it cannot see blue sky (or even stars at night, there is no tricking it!). Sometimes it goes r-e-a-l s-l-o-w for kicks, even whent the weather is clear. Oh how I long for city broadband, the kind that whizzes so fast your hair stands on end. But bush beggars cannot be choosers... not city broadband for me!

*sigh*

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Enough of my whinging... here is today's

Weather for Granite Glen:

MINIMUM - 1 degree (C)

MAXIMUM - 22 degrees (C)

CHANCE OF RAIN - less than 5% of less than 1mm (i.e. buggar all)

Mostly sunny (fair dinkum?)

So coat, jeans and t-shirt weather, and above average chance of decent internet access... shame I won't be there to enjoy it!

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What's the sky like in your neck of the woods?

Hop, hop and away!

This is a sight we pretty much see every day around here...
but I am aware that for many people dropping by my place,
the view of roos nervously dashing off away from the road
is kind of an unusual thing...

So here you go - meet Mama Roo and her half-grown joey.

These photos were snapped about 15km from our house, in our steer paddock.

Notice how, as our dry winter sucks the colour from the landscape,

the kangaroos begin to blend perfectly with the sepia grass...

making it all the trickier

to shoot them accurately

....with a CAMERA!

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Gosh, what did you think I meant?

Path to happiness...

Can mere bricks and mortar make a girl happy?

(Or even a close-to-middle-aged battling-to-stay-brunette female?)

I pose this question today, because over the weekend,

my ever-lovin' Hubby of the Year undertook a mission

which indeed brings me enormous joy.

Remember these pavers?

Of the 'Oh my God, she nearly lost them' variety?

Yar.

Well Mr Incredible put me out of my misery on Saturday

(the lop-sided load in the trailer parked right outside the front gate

was a painful reminder of my perilous trip home from Big Town last week!)

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So he got to work...

He had some help of course... here Violet does what Violet does best:

Supervise.

"I fink you need more sand Daddy!"

Dash was busily doing his best to actually help but failing to follow instructions completely (as most seven-year-old boys are wont to do) and pour extra water into the wheelbarrow instead of the cement mixer.

Oops.

Mr Incredible did recover, but that first load was mighty sloppy!

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And our other family member?

Well he sulked a lot after being chained up near the action

- Great Dane puppies and wet cement -

not a combo we were willing to try!

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Here is the second load of wet cement being poured into the pathway already dug out by my energetic hubby.

Hey... I carried some of the pavers.

(And I have the sore abs and arm muscles to prove it!)

It was totally a team effort!

I liked the look of the tool and the cement...

OK, I was possibly not being particularly useful at this exact moment!

Let's not get picky...

This path originally had several large pavers that Mum had bought 'temporarily' placed like stepping stones between our patio and the gate - over about 7 metres.
Couch grass used to grow between them but with so much foot traffic (dog and young human mostly) it had become very bare and dust (or muddy) and a bit of a nightmare for anyone contemplating cleaning floors in our house. (And I do occasionally contemplate such activity. Sometimes I even do it!)

So it was with great excitement that I anticipated a non-dirt walkway for my house-bound traffic. Mr I would pour a couple of loads of cement and then carefully lay the pavers on top.

This is a clever scheme to simultaneously prevent the pavers from moving AND stopping weeds erupting from the path...

Dash and Violet were particularly helpful off-siders.

Dash even managed not to step in the wet concrete...

And while I carted armfuls of the bricks back and forth, I admired the precision of my paving man... here he demonstates the herringbone pattern.

As they say in the classics: I LOVE HARD WORK...

I could watch it all day long!

And that's pretty much how long it took.

As you can see from the shadows, this was taken at about 4pm.

Still a few more pavers to cut for the odd-shaped holes in the path,

and a heap more landscaping to do around it,

but my path is basically built.

Viola!

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Of course, not everyone understands my excitement at such things....

Axel appeared to take up 'stick-smoking' to break the boredom.

Kitchen help...

So, I made some mud-cake muffins...Can you tell who helped clean the bowl and beaters?

Don't be fooled... he did too!!
Just washed evidence from his mug pre-photo
(not that he poses... much!)
NB The scratch is Axel-induced.
Silly pooch thinks my kids are Danes...
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And while my daughter is the most self-possessed little soul you ever did meet,
she adores her Big Bro...
And despite the fact that there are regular dust ups between the two,

he doesn't seem to mind her either...
At least for this two minutes!!!

WORLD WEATHER WATCH - week 1

Also titled

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.

Remember how I promised to try out a BB'S WORLD WEATHER WATCH?

And I thought WEDNESDAY would be a great day for it...

'Cause I am right into alliteration.

Yeah... not Wednesday anymore (not here at least) but that's a minor detail right?

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Today at Granite Glen it is cool and dry.

And dusty. Very, very dusty.

I washed the car in Big Town...

I do NOT know why I bother sometimes as red silt is spilling out of every orafice the Prado offers... at least the air-conditioning is keeping out the worst of it now!

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So officially:

the temperature at 2pm is 21C ... a smidge under 70F

A cool wind is keeping me in long sleeves,

after a chilly 5 C(41F) start to the day.

Chilly because we had no power (and no heating).

Again.

Fuse on power pole blown apparently.

But Ergon have visited this morning, waved a magic wand,

and I am once again of the 21st century.

So enough of my rueful ramblings...

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WHAT'S THE WEATHER LIKE AT YOUR PLACE?

C'mon... share!

City, country, temp, conditions, mood...

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Make sure you check comments to see what Mother Nature is up to round the globe!

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Oh, and it has come to my attention that some people CANNOT log into my site properly - if you can only see me on feeds and not my actual page, can you please let me know? Email bushbabeaustralia@gmail.com (email address corrected!).

Thanks!

Drama Queen Postscript

Thanks for listening to the Great Bush Babe Drama yesterday...

seriously, you guys are better than therapy.

Honestly, could I have gone on MORE about myself?

And I didn't even give you any real pictures to go with the whinging...

Hardly fair!

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So despite the fact that I was too busy/stressed to snap any images during my sojourn in Big Town, I give you....

Proof that the Pavers Only Just Made It!
Halle-freaking-luja...

Drama Queen!

WARNING: long and self-indulgent post ahead. Requires a big mug of coffee at the very least. And a Bailey's on Ice. And possibly a bottle of scotch. It covers a 24 hour period which finished yesterday at 8pm. And it proves that I am bit of a Drama Queen. I shall kneel for my crown at the end...

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It all began after I left Jeanie’s house. We had chowed down a fabulous mix of takeaway cuisine (Indian curries) and home-cooked delicacies (pork chops and steamed veges) before I waved goodbye and headed off in the Prado.

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I was feeling very slightly guilty and excited about staying a night in a motel nearby – guilty, because I usually stay with my sister and her family, but as I have a hacking night cough I decided to spend sleeping hours annoying anonymous people rather than my loved ones. Excited, because I rarely have a night to myself. Just me. On my own. In a room with ‘facilities’. Watching whatever TV program I choose (even if channel seven reception was a bit dodgy). And free ‘real’ broadband. It doesn’t take much to excite me, really.

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Anyhoo, there I was driving along. Singing along (badly, by myself) to Robbie Williams, anticipating watching Desperate Housewives (by myself) and even maybe indulging in a tooth glass of chardonnay (this motel didn’t extend to wineglasses, a fact which failed to take the edge of the anticipation!). I had had a hectic day including a medical appointment (for myself), a Prado medical appointment (air con on the blink AGAIN), mega visits to the hardware store (hello patient Bunnings lady!) and the soft furnishings division of Kmart along, with numerous other essential once-every-four-month shop encounters around Big Town.

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I had the following day nicely planned out – blood tests at 7am, picking up 800kg of pavers in box trailer at 7.30am, on the road back to Granite Glen by 8.00am. Home in time to catch my father-in-law and his lovely wife for smoko. Sweet.

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I had almost arrived at my chosen ‘home for a night’ when a neon light waved on the road in front of me. Cops. I glanced at my watch and breathed a sigh – plenty of time for a quick breath-test before DH. No alcohol imbibed. All was good. Smile nicely for the officer, BB.

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The police officer (very young and a tad nervous) asked for my licence and informed me I would be breathalysed. Sure officer, I said with a smile. No worries. I slid my licence from my wallet (yay, found it first look – totally organised). He shone his torch on the plastic, and paused.

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He asked if I was aware my licence had EXPIRED? Um. Well, no. Actually haven’t looked at the thing since I opened a new bank account a few months back. And there had been no reminders in the mail. A simple oversight, officer.

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He walked off to the squad car to radio in and check my record. I drummed my fingers, checked my watch, turned the ipod off and tuned into the cricket. Waiting. Another wicket for England. Waiting. I looked over. Good heavens - what was taking the boy?

He eventually walked back over to ask if I had someone who could come and pick me up?

Um, no. Why?

Well, he explained in slightly tremulous voice, I could NO LONGER DRIVE.
Pardon me? Officer (I said firmly) I am 300 kilometres from home. I HAVE to drive.

Well, he said, my licence was no longer valid so I was not ALLOWED to drive.

Then Office Wet-Behind-The-Ears was joined by Senior Officer I’m The Boss. You can see where this is going. And it ain't good.

If I was VERY LUCKY, said Officer WBTE (who was gaining confidence as mine sank alarmingly) he MIGHT be able to write out a temporary permit to allow me to get to my motel (a couple of hundred metres on).

AND, Senior Officer ITB added as I looked less than thrilled at this generous offer, I was VERY LUCKY that he was only issuing a fine for $150 dollars and that I WAS NOT GOING TO COURT.
I stared. This was not happening. Unable to summon the appropriate gratitude for their 'leniency', I was then informed that I would have to take a taxi to get my blood tests in the morning, and also to the Department of Transport to get a new licence issued. My mouth hung open. My once-failsafe smile was well and truly wiped from my dial.

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It stung. Not only was I missing the first scenes of Desperate Housewives, I was going to be VERY late leaving Big Town tomorrow. Mr Incredible would be hosting morning tea on his own. Plus I felt like an utter criminal. All because my bookwork sucks.

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I have to say, the upset feeling grew as I drove slowly back to the motel. Upset by the expense of a fine (making my ‘night BY MYSELF’ a very expensive one), by being in trouble (much as I like to think I am slightly radical, this only extends to use of the English language and Meme rules!) and by the fact my next day had been stuffed up. Oh and the image of going to court wasn't helping matters either.
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I started having little conversations with myself, mostly starting with: If I had JUST stayed at Jeanie’s house... I was muttering up a storm when I unlocked the key to the room a few minutes later and flopped onto the bed. Trying to muster up enthusiasm for DH (sans first 2 scenes) I flicked the remote. Crystal clear pictures of Bree remonstrating with Orson. But no sound. For fecks sake. Flipped open the laptop. No Internet connection. The girl at reception couldn’t say why. They’d check it in the morning. And to top it off, I had to start my fast for tomorrow’s blood tests. Needless to say my stress levels were a little higher than anticipated an hour earlier. I decided the fasting could wait half an hour, and doused my coffee heavily in Baileys (hey, there was no milk in the fridge!)

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I won’t make you go through a blow-by-blow of the next 23 hours – I can hear your sigh of relief from here - here is the abbreviated version :

COULDN’T SLEEP (watched Letterman 'interview' his mother)

GOT TO HOSPITAL FOR BLOOD TESTS (not saying how. You can’t make me!)

GOT TAKE-AWAY BREAKFAST (horrible half-cook bacon and egg roll)

PICKED UP PAVERS (debated with forklift man that the pallet of bricks didn’t look very well wrapped, asked why were three pavers missing from the top layer, and then insisted on rope securing the load... heard man muttering something about ‘typical women’).

GOT LICENCE RENEWED (first in line, nice helpful man expressed amazement that I was told I couldn't drive in to renew my licence, before he discovered the POLICE who changed my RESIDENTIAL address on my licence when we moved to Granite Glen had failed to alter POSTAL address – reminders have been going to Sandgate. And no, he didn’t think that would be quite enough excuse to take the matter to court. *sigh*)

GOT NEW LICENCE PHOTO (FYI 4 hours sleep + stress + early morning makeup and hair job = V. UNATTRACTIVE mugshot! )

FLED BIG TOWN (Relieved at being a legal citizen of Australia once more. Put on Abba Gold for three hour trip. Dancing Queen blaring and dark mood beings to rise).

DROVE CAREFULLY (Bursts of "Knowing Me, Knowing you" interspersed with concerned looks in rear view mirrors praying that 8 square metres of pavers weren't scattering over 200km of highway)

STOPPED ABRUPTLY ON GRAVEL ROAD (noting I could suddenly see more of load in right rear-view mirror than was necessary – think Leaning Tower of Pavers.)

SWORE A LOT AS RELOAD OF PAVERS COMMENCED (helpful hint: DON’T wear all-white ensemble when driving about with loads of anything. Especially pavers.)

ARRIVED AT GRANITE GLEN (all pavers present. I think. Axel's welcome adds to paver stains on white pants.)

ENTER KITCHEN FOR LUNCH WITH ADORABLE HUSBAND (repeating ‘great father, great hubby, doesn’t matter about the housekeeping’ as smell and sight of last night’s old fashioned stew assaults my senses.)

CLIMB BACK INTO PRADO FOR 100 KM ROUND TRIP TO SMALL TOWN (promising self to attack housework on return, still high on post-paver delivery relief)

CALL INTO PUB TO SEE LUNCHING PARENTS (pick up Violet’s sleepover gear, say hello to long-unseen old friend who is travelling through region with his family. Smile broadly as father invites old friend and family to ‘pop in a bit later’ at Granite Glen. Panic on the inside at mental image of bombed house.)

PICK UP VIOLET FROM KINDY (met with tears of 'how could you leave me?' variety, immediately followed with 'yeah, had a great time with Nana', do groceries in record time, point Prado in direction of home –again – and plan afternoons’ power assault on house)

PICK UP DASH FROM SCHOOL BUS (greeted by a hard hug and grunts reflecting how much my son has missed me)

FED CHILDREN and caffeined self up, took deep breath and ...
INSERT 2 HOURS WORTH of SOUND EFFECTS OF LOTS OF WIPING, FOLDING, STACKING, FLUSHING, STACKING, VACCUUMING, BLOWER-VACC-ING AND MORE WIPING. SLAP ON DEODORANT.
GREET VISITORS like NOTHING HAS HAPPENEDin the past 24 hours!!!!
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Kneels for crown of Drama Queen of the Year. Well would kneel, but knees won't do it. So just waits expectantly...

Still waiting...

Why THANKYOU!

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So... anything exciting happen in your last 24 hours?

Fishbowl, a Feline and a Flamin' Ridiculous Dawg

I got a new lens hood a couple of weeks ago...

unlike my old hard plastic hood, this one is a fold-back rubber kinda hood.

(For those not photo-obsessed, a hood attaches to the end of a lens and assists when the sun is shining hard towards the lens, blocking the glare and allowing the photographer to shoot almost into the light... trust me, it's groovy!).

It allows me to shoot nice backlit images like this one...

Oh dear, this one makes me well up.

(This is why.)

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Anyway, it's a great tool. No more pesky glare spots. The only trouble is, it doesn't completely 'fit' with my beloved 18-200mm zoom lens - and let's face it, that is the ONLY lens I actually use. This means basically, that when the lens is pulled back to it's most panoramic limit, THIS happens.

No, not freaky black horse and human figures.

Those black 'corners' on the image, caused by my hood hovering a little too far out from the lens... something most 'real' photographers would shy away from.
After all it wasn't a deliberate effect.

But you know me...

I decided I kinda liked it...

It's kind of like looking through binoculars (or monocle?)

or maybe even a fishbowl...

Hello General... how you going dude?

Hello Jill... sorry, I haven't any hay darlin'.

She's very forgiving and poses anyway...
And then, the other day while doing these photos, with this guy...

Hello Axel Rose, you crazy Great Dane adolescent...

My usual zoomed-out lens field (like that used in the above shot) worked initially,

but when the action came closer to me I went to 18mm and

got that had a similar groovy look...

(Warning: I have messed with the colour too... don't adjust your monitors!)

Guess what?

Axel wants to play! With Middy.

Will he NEVER learn?

A tail position is worth a thousand words!
Aw Mid... c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!!!
Yarrrrrr....
Muuuummmmmyyyyyy!

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Even in a desaturated 70's fishbowl,

Axel is still a blinking great

Wuss for that black Puss.

Weather watch - I LIKE IT!

So last post was all kinda grey and gloomy... not like me, huh?

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For the record Dash set no records (unlike his namesake he is no speedster - wrong genetics I am afraid!) but I was very proud that there were no major tears when no ribbons were won. And my face is not terribly windburnt (although I did hide out at the hairdressers for a while!) although the blessed cough is staying the distance. That said, I was in much better form on the journey home from town and snapped the pics here from the driver's window of the Prado, as two exhausted kids slumbered in back seat. A little more cheery than the last image I took of this tree, no?

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And then, I arrived back at Granite Glen and checked out the comments on my Weather Watch post. I was delighted. Everybody got into the idea, and shared their weather outlook with me... and despite the seeming mundanity (is that even a word? If not, it should be!) of it, I LOVED reading about what the temperature and humidity in your neck of the woods was like.

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I am not sure why. Perhaps it's my country roots, which sees the first line of conversation almost ALWAYS centre about the weather. We had an old neighbour who always greeted us with the line: "Funny weather, hey?" and his wife would always meet the complaints about lack of rain with the upbeat response: "Good drying weather though". Cracked me up - like getting the laundry dry is EVER an issue out here. As dry as her sense of humour, I suspect.
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Anyway, I enjoyed reading that Nevada is experiencing hot, firey weather, and Alberta is balmy, and Arkansas is humid and stormy, and Tuscon is sunny, and Kansas is recovering from a heatwave, but that Melbourne is chilly and Adelaide is bit frosty too and Brisbane even required it's residents to wear a coat (shocking). And let's not forget that 'Hotlanta' is too warm for Mom L... but we have known that for a while! (Hello Nancy! Hope the packing is going well... for the move to the much-cooler IOWA).

Did anyone else get a kick from these comments?

Or am I the only weather freak out there?

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It really brings home to me the extremely diverse climates in which we all live, and the truly enormous geographical net-of-interest over which this little black blog has managed to cast itself. I feel humbled and excited by it all. The cows really couldn't care less, as long as they can find some shelter amongst the timber on a frosty night, but I am thinking seriously about making it a world-wide weekly check-in at my blog.

BB's Weather Watch.

What do you think?

Weather check...

It's bleak this morning. A real winter's day.

Dash's smart royal blue and white uniform is buried beneath his thick parka and tracksuit pants. He is off to the big town sports day - where his sister and I will meet him soon. He is kind of excited, kind of chilled. I rub his little hands briskly as he leaves the house. He smiles, distracted by the imaginings of his races-to-come.

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My nose is red-edged from the cold and the coughing cold which I cannot seem to shake. Violet is oblivious to the temperature, as only a four-year-old can be. All she cares about is her denim skirt and favourite brown boots. Four-going-on-24.
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The thermometre in our heated kitchen reads: 7 degrees celsius.
And another cold wind is working it's way up outside, detirmined to peel the skin from cheeks.
Moisturiser seems to vanish within seconds from my skin.
Me, who battles the olive-skin oil nemisis in summer, cannot keep my hands from scaliness.
I am not a Winter fan. I am keen for Spring.
For rain. For warmth.
So there we have it:
Clear, cold, dry and windy.
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Tell me, internet friends,
what is Mother Nature doing to you,
in your part of the world today?
Hot or cold?
Kind or cruel?
And what is your favourite season?
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I really look forward to reading what you guys are experiencing when I get back - windburned and bleary-eyed - from cheering my son on. And telling my daughter to get off the running track. And blowing my nose.
*hooonk!*

Thelwell boot camp

Anyone out there know of Thelwell ponies?

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You know, the cartoon shetlands resembling shaggy barrels on legs, with a kind of Dennis the Menace attitude? Well Violet fronted up to our first Pony Club visit on the weekend atop our very own little rotund mischief maker, Rob Roy. Thankfully Violet has more than enough attitude to match her cheeky chestnut steed... as the little slideshow below depicts.

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The first shot shows Mr Incredible comforting Violet after Rob Roy had put in a big shake (his belly was still rippling minutes after he had completed the manoevre!). His rider was not impressed with this start to her day, and was demanding we load up and head home. Mr I managed to calm her however, and she soon 'showed him who was boss'.

Warning: dimples ahead!

My little woman was so VERY proud of herself and her FIRST EVER ride off the lead.

I'm not sure...

... but I believe there is some kind of magic caught behind horsey lashes ...

Image taken late this afternoon, of General's Mama, Jill.

The Dope versus The Panther

I must apologise for many, many things in the following post...
Firstly, I apologise to all those who believe dogs are better than cats.

I am actually one of you, deep down.

It's a fact, or as Dash would protest "I am TRUE".

But this post will not bear witness to my deep and abiding love of pooches. Especially my pooch. The daft dawg.

Secondly, I apologise to all those who take blogging in the slightest bit seriously.

I cannot. It's a problem I have. I will be attempting a Dr Doolittle angle here, and you should be warned about that up front. You have time to escape. Read on at your peril.

And thirdly, I apologise to all 'real photographers' out there reading this.

I have no real excuse for the quality of the following images. Other than the fact I was laughing so damned hard I lost all control of focus. And framing.

I am hopeless. But you already knew that.

Enough grovelling.

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Time for the action that almost sent me for my Depends.

Hold onto your hats and your sense of humour.

You may need both...

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THE PLAYERS

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MIDDY

AKA 'Midnight'

AKA 'The Black Panther of Granite Glen'

'I am not actually a common domestic feline,

I am, in fact, The Black Panther...

Oh, you may smile dismissively, my friends, at my grand claim.

Those who doubt my powers do so at their own peril.

Be warned. Purrrrrrrr.'

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AXEL ROSE
AKA 'Ackssssssssssellllllllllllllll Roooosse'

AKA 'Boofhead'

'Whaddya mean 'boofhead'?

I ain't no boofhead... watch me move, baby!

I am big, I am lithe, I am agile,

I am GREAT DANE!

What?

What was that sound... who goes there?

Mum?

Was that you?

Aaaarrrooooooo....'

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Enough of the credits...

PRESS THE

PLAY BUTTON

now!

THE END.

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Well it would be the end, except this pair repeated the scene OVER and OVER and OVER again in our backyard until I could not see for tears of hysterical laughter.

Axel just DOESN't get it.

WHY won't she play with him?

Danes are gorgeous but seriously, seriously dumb.

And they have REALLY flappy lips.

Man I ♥ that dog.

And that cat?
She still just ♥'s me when she wants food.
And the world is as it should be.

THE REAL END.

People (who need people)

If you have been following our recent sojourn to the city,

you could be forgiven for thinking we just interacted with buildings.

After all, my photos have pretty much always of the architecture

(hardly surprising seeing as how I actually studied it for 18 months... are you shocked? It's true, on occasion I CAN concentrate for extended periods of time!).

...

But in actual fact, our trip was really mostly

about the people...

OK, not these actual people (I don't know these uni kids from Adam)

but I needed a good segue from buildings to people.

Heh.

I spent Day One with a lovely friend of mine from Granite Glen, searching the corridors of the Gift Fair - kilometres and kilometres of shiny knick knacks and toys and wrapping and lurid watches - for photo frames and boxes to mail my photos out in.

(I failed miserably in case anyone is interested).

So it was with aching bunions we stopped briefly for city coffee and cake...

Mmmmm. Lemon curd tart. How I ♥ thee.

And groovy city cafe... how divine and well appointed ye are...

Oh sorry. Doing the non-human thing again, I know.

Actually I am making a remarkably long-winded point here...

Because at the end of Day One, as I took this photo from our city apartment, I had a horrible realisation. While I had diligently downloaded all my gazillion bush photos before leaving Granite Glen, and ensured I had plenty of spare batteries for my flash, my spare camera battery WAS NOT CHARGED.

And the charger wasn't packed.

And the camera battery light was flashing a warning.

Geez Louise!

...

So as we feasted on mussels and Belgian beer with a dear friend (see Mav's amazing photos here) and her sweet funny hubby, I failed to take any photos at all of the event...

And when we had breakfast the next morning with these folk I only managed a couple of snaps of this little angel and her sleep-deprived Ma... Oh how I wanted to take more photos of this little darlin'...

But the Nikon batteries finally went "ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz...."
...

And so these rellies got a romp with the kids, gossiped with Mr Incredible, showed us their new super-deck and shared a lovely lunch for us, completely unrecorded by my tired Nikon...

...And these fabulous friends (aka the acrobats) shared their half-renovated home (and toys) with our tribe without me poking my little zoom lense in every corner of their abode...

...And this little man (the one with the incredible blue eyes) and Dash played their hearts out as their gorgeous Mum and divine new baby girl showed me around their half-renovated home (must be something in the BrisVegas water?), all without so much as a shutter-press.

...And this particular blogger - whom I had arranged to meet near our old Brisbane home, and who was forced to travel several more suburbs for the dubious pleasure of breaking bread with my over-tired, visited-out family - was not forced into a group hug for the purposes of this blog. And I really should have recorded this one for posterity...

Sorry Shirley!

So there you are.

Hard evidence that I am completely hopeless.

*smacks own hand, hangs head in shame*

I promise to do better next time.

*grins as friends and rellies groan in unison*

As a peace offering I give you this...

You cannot stay mad at me too long looking at such an angel...

Can you?