Random thoughts from today…
The Chinese President Visits Tasmania
Never mind that the Tasmanian Weather’s multiple personality disorder was in full force yesterday when today it was all, “Look at me, I’m so gorgeous”, it was a brilliant day for our little Island. Chinese President Xi Jinping and his rockstar wife Madam Peng Liyuan popped in for a short visit. They had lunch, planted a tree, patted some devils, met a load of Tassies, went up the mountain and then flew away again. And with that, 1.3 billion people (the population of China) will have Tasmania thrust into their consciousness.
I have heard it said that on China’s news channel, which has around 53 million viewers, 20 minutes will be dedicated to Tasmania. People will have booked tickets already. This is seriously exciting for local business, and that’s even before the state has struck any major industry deals as a result of all yesterday’s schmoozing.
So anyone how had a whinge about the traffic disruptions in Hobart the other day, shove that in your snuff box and sniff it.
Remember them pushing it all over the eighties? Well they will be in my back yard this New Year’s for the Falls Festival and I’ll be rocking like I’m 15 again. Mostly because my dance skills have not advanced since then. Is there a dance school for oldies? Like a cool one, not an oldie one?
I’d be happy to be Pepa – it’s kind of a cool stage name, but I’d feel raw prawned to get Salt. How did they decide that one? Toss a coin best of 3? Talk about unfair. Oh wait, quick google search tells me that Salt’s real name is Cheryl. Hmm, Cheryl’n’Pepa?
I have a crush on Taylor Swift
I think I really do. I mean if she tried to kiss me I think I’d draw the line but I do appear to have a fascinated admiration for her and kind of want to get my hair done like her and stuff. She is beautiful whilst still looking interesting, has a sense of humour and a good brain and I can’t stop singing her songs even though I bought the CD for my daughters.
I was singing loudly to one of the songs on her new album (1979, which I don’t yet like as much as Red but give it time) when I got some words wrong and realised that I’m THAT dorky mum singing along with her kid’s songs and getting them wrong – durrrr Muuuuum. A quick glance into the rear vision mirror showed that my children were singing loudly too and hadn’t noticed and that maybe I can get away with singing Taylor Swift with them for about another couple of years at the most.
New House, New Everything
In a few weeks I will be moving into the house we have dreamed of for the last eight years, and built in the last one. This is AMAZING and wonderful and exciting and should have no problems attached beyond the usual moving issues like cardboard boxes bursting and dogs getting confused.
But as I begin to pack up our life into said boxes I am feeling a distinct lack of enthusiasm for most of our existing stuff. The sofas are going to look shite in the new living room, I don’t want any of my daggy clothes in my new wardrobe and my charmingly mix matched photo frames are suddenly unusable in my new calm, co-ordinated interiors.
My son asked me if we will be getting a new car as well as a new house and I laughed and said, “Hey yes let’s get new everything – new house, new car, hell I might take a lover and get some new kids as well. Out with the old and all that…”
He laughed, he knew I was joking, except I wasn’t, not entirely. My volvo model is a bit on the early side for the new garage. And if the kids keep getting out of their beds I really will be coveting new ones of those too.
I’m Sleeping with Alexander McCall Smith
At least I have been for the last week or so. I read every night to get me to sleep. These days I’m getting to bed late and I last about two pages so heavy reading material is out. Which is why I picked up Alexander McCall Smith’s modernised version of Jane Austen’s “Emma”.
I read his Number One Ladies Detective Agency series and loved every minute. My mum took my sister and I to see him speak in the town hall a few years ago and again I loved every minute of his address. He is charming, disarming, unassuming, clever and hilarious. All my favourite things. If he were more my age he’d be my free ticket shag. Actually it’d be a toss up between him and Denzel Washington, whose smile melts my popsicle everytime.
Anyway, “Emma” – I haven’t yet finished it but I LOVE it. Like J. Austen, he manages to make us love Emma herself despite her snobbish, interfering ways, something I’ve always found to be a stroke of genius on Austen’s part and central to the novel’s success. The reviews in general of AM-S’s retelling are not great, but I disagree with them. I’m having fun with it and if you love a bit of English romantic comedy, you will too.
An Unexpected Benefit of False Nails
You might remember me bemoaning my decision to visit a nail bar and have plastic nails stuck to my real ones in a fit of vanity. Well the long nails grew longer and more silly looking and cumbersome BUT, my itchy skin (which is a constant for me in varying degrees depending on flare ups, triggers and other boring things) became softer simply because the thicker nails and the club-finger style are incapable of taking any skin off or getting right into itchy bits. The result – the usual itchy patches and hives but less unsightly broken skin, damage and risk of infection. Hooray for that.
So, armed with a brilliant excuse for my vanity I went in and had them trimmed, refilled and re-painted. Maybe next time I’ll get a colour.
Every Tuesday for 20 years
Every Tuesday morning after my daughter’s swimming lesson – just as I’m trying to get her knickers on and they’re rolling up into a tangle because I’m trying to beat the other parents in the post-lesson dressing thing (everything’s a competition) and haven’t dried her properly – an elderly woman comes slowly in the door and up the steps to the pool. She arrives at the very same time every time (knicker time) and wears the same large towling moo-moo.
This week I said hello and engaged her in a chat as she got into the pool. She told me that she’s been coming to that pool at that time every Tuesday for 20 years. This means that the little people she saw putting their rolled up knickers on 20 years ago are probably wheeling their own small children in by now. Imagine all the frazzled mothers she’s seen, the tantrummy children and the bored fathers.
She said the fake hanging plants and the murals have been the same for that whole time, which by the look of them doesn’t surprise me – they’re so past it they’re now retro cool and I couldn’t imagine the pool without them.
We young people know nothing about dedication, except maybe when it comes to Denzel.