Strange things happen with the electricity in The Flamingo Nest on the Hill. It seems to switch itself off with wild abandon, but only part of the power board goes out at any one time
For instance, I plugged the blender into a kitchen power point and the fridge went out along with the power point not working. A flick of the safety switch and all works again.
Today, we had an afternoon hail storm, and I found we were without water. No water and the range hood wouldn’t work. I checked the power board, flicked the switch again, and the range hood started, but still no water. No water ran from the taps for about half and hour and we were just about to panic as the tea kettle was dry when there was a clunk as water poured from the tap again.
There is a cemetery just over the hill…
[Olive Osborne as Electric Light circ 1920]
Some information worth sharing:
Dumb Ways to Die, catchy and oddly fatal – who would have thought!
Corridors of the Mind and what Jonas Salk got up to in Umbria, Italy, or more importantly, in the monastery at the Basilica of Assisi.
The Science and Art of Listening guys you need to read this…guys…
Truth is stranger than fiction and I can see this plot in a thousand books next year:
‘Machiavellian plot’: France’s ‘Leonardo da Vinci’ of fraud jailed for brainwashing family out of fortune
A French con man dubbed the “Leonardo da Vinci of mental manipulation” was jailed for eight years on Tuesday for brainwashing a family of aristocrats in Bordeaux and Oxford and defrauding them of their £3.6 million ($5.47m) fortune.
Most private schools are very strict on students regarding wearing the correct uniform. I have worked at schools where if I girl wore a ponytail without the a ribbon in the school colours they were disciplined.
One of my daughters describes the school where I work as the type of school where “if the students wear part of the uniform, the teachers are happy”. She is right.
There is one young girl who craves attention from her fellow students. Either through her behaviour or her clothing she makes it clear she wants to be noticed. For a few weeks during winter she took to wearing fake fur panda caps.
Friday she wore a leather belt around her waist, from which hung a very ornate silver teapot. The teapot was about a 4 cup size. It had an attached domed lid.
I am looking forward to Monday, to see whether she is building up to a full afternoon tea set.
My dream started with a composting toilet.
It was a large square wooden pedestal, or more accurately “thunderbox” in the Australian vernacular, but exquisitely crafter from Nordic pine. It appeared to be sited into a grassy knoll in the cubicle. (I must have been channeling the London Olympics opening ceremony with its meadows and hills). There was moss and flowering nasturtium clustered around the wooden base.
And it was in the middle of New York.
It was in a public restroom/ toilets. I waited my turn patiently, but I was a little anxious that men kept coming into the restroom, and they appeared oblivious when I pointed out the females only sign.
I soon resigned myself to their presence and took my turn in the cubicle, but it appeared that people kept popping their heads over the top and giving their opinions about everything.
I announced myself as a first time Australian in New York and walked out to use the basins. This was five stars with toothbrushes and warm towels for my use. It was then that I noticed a female attendant, and started to become anxious about how to tip her; or rather how much to tip her, and explained that I was Australian and we don’t tip. I wanted to give her five dollars, but she insisted on a dollar, and I could keep the toothbrush as I appeared to have forgotten my own. I resisted and gave her five dollars, which she ripped into pieces.
This upset me, as ripping it up meant that neither of us had the five dollars, so she picked the pieces up again and I left with the toothbrush.
When I walked outside, there was a long queue to an Indie outdoor concert where my sister was waiting. My sister was not my real sister, may I add, and I was not really me. We were both very pretty, happy twenty somethings.
By now, I felt like I was in a Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movie; especially when I walked along the queue and was joined by a tall handsome young man and his friend, who chose to sit with my sister and I. We were soon laughing and romance was obviously in the air.
My brain was telling me that I had the plot for a romantic comedy, that I was on the road to replace the lately departed Nora Ephron, and having some fun along the way when Mr FD’s voice broke though and he started rambling on about snakes.
His dream ended my dream. I wonder what Professor Freud would make of that!
Fruit flies offer DNA clue to why women live longer
Now I know why I never became a scientist, beside the fact that I could never balance a chemical equation. Dumbo me, if I had been going to study why women live longer than men, I would have gone straight to researching the male and female human. Never would it have occurred to me study fruit flies to gain data about humans. Is my head a buzz with shame and regret!
But, there in perhaps lies the secret as to why women live longer than males… we would have more sense than to spend time researching fruit flies, when there is shopping to be done! [Spot the gender stereotypes...]
We have lived in our house for ten years, and every Saturday for those ten years, around about 7 o’clock in the evening, we hear fireworks exploding. Before I go on, let me add that fireworks are illegal in the state of Queensland.
Every Saturday night, fireworks. We can’t see them, but we can hear them.
Ten years of it, and I have never ever found out who, what ,or why, someone is lighting fireworks. Then again, maybe no one needs to have a reason, maybe they just like to look at pretty colours, or make loud noises.
The irritation of a decade of not knowing is starting to wear my patience down, and as we know I have precious little of that in store, so I fear that when I do find out that who, what and why; and if it not something interesting like some Chinese weekly ritual and merely some dim witted locals, well then they may just get a cracker up their… well, I am too much to say more, but think of the word cracker, only a slightly shorter version.