overheard in Adelaide

In the deli where I sometimes stop to pick my daily newspapers up (you can choose from The Advertiser, The Australian, The Age, and The Financial Review and I choose two every day, but a different two depending on the day), a detailed conversation about the fingerprinting powder used by the police (they used black powder on the outside of the car which was white, white powder on the inside of the car which was navy – it was a terror to get off – and in the end it wasn’t the police caught the little bugger anyway it was us, we found his keys, just down in that space you know between the seat and the door, not easy to see, but you know, they were the police, and the keys had his name and address on them! Never forget that name, will we?) and the whole conversation ended with the following:

‘I thought you were incincerating I had to be fingerprinted!’

an Adelaide joke


IMG_0362Originally uploaded by adelaide writer.

Is Peter Goers part of the Show Goers family?
And while we’re on the topic of Adelaide families, ThirdCat’s grandfather tells ThirdCat that she is related to every LeCornu in the state. And Great Great Great Aunt Jess told ThirdCat’s mother and ThirdCat’s mother told ThirdCat that she is directly descended from Mary Queen of Scots.

Grumpy no more

ThirdCat tried to beta herself and it really didn’t work.

You will find her in a slight pickle, but much less of a grump over here.

This blog will stay for a while, but wordpress can’t import beta blogger yet.

A piece of advice which you can take or leave as you will: don’t jump to beta just yet, however seductive the labels might be.

earings


earingsOriginally uploaded by adelaide writer.

At the mid-year work show, the bosses’ wives smile at her, then kiss her cheek. They wear perfume which doesn’t make her sneeze and they say and how are your boys then they smile.

She says oh beautiful, yes, growing up and into the silence she says the oldest one started school.

School, started school. They shake their heads, and they are all at once looking into each other and into themselves and the silence between them is shared.

She walks to the bar, and she chooses a bottle of wine. She says four glasses please and hands them around to people she barely knows.
The young ones smile politely at her and as the night wears on they say he’s a really good boss, I’m not just saying that and they show her their diamond rings. Their eyes flick from her face to her hands then back to her face again, but she has long since stopped explaining there is no engagement ring.

She no longer explains the pair of earings, molded black and gold and stored in her knickers drawer. Coveted, then bought, from the Melbourne Street Banana Room. It is a shop they wouldn’t know, because, like the holes in her ears, it has long since closed.

Wednesday night

I’m not an overly-competitive type (you can’t afford to be, when you’re average as me), and this is the kind of house where it’s not about who wins and calling people losers isn’t very nice (your house would be too if you were trying to bring up two genetically-competitive boys).

And I love Myf and her laugh and she gets me through a couple of my day’s ugliest hours. But if they invited me on, I’d want to be on Alan’s team. He hasn’t lost for weeks.

Also: Hamish Blake. Gorgeous as. And I know I’m kind of Robinson Crusoe here, but I really liked their Hamish and Andy show.

Born in a tent?

Because of leaving the back door open, there are three flies in the study and a pigeon in the kitchen. That is the second pigeon this week, and it is only the beginning of the flies.

Once inside, both flies and pigeons are difficult to remove.

Also – and really, you’d think I’d know better – never miss the meeting when the tasks are being handed out.