The Halls Head Two

I acquired the Halls Head two in a stroke of luck, rather than a planned act of acquisition.  I had toyed with the idea of getting ‘a’ kitten – singular.  This from a ‘dog’ family – my Dad’s famous comment about felines was ‘the only good cat is a dead cat’. But I think my hankering for a feline companion was down to ME being able to choose MY own pet in MY home (that I shouldn’t really have pets in as it’s a rental and I haven’t asked permission……but that’s not very ‘girl power’ is it, and doesn’t go with my empowerment message!?)

I surfed the net a little for rescue kittens, but blimey!  Think it’s actually harder to adopt a kitten than an actual baby – some shelters even wanted home visits!  What the?  I have enough judgment in my life currently; I don’t need PETA calling my on the first Thursday of the month the check the consistency of my kibble!  Wonder if Angelina Jolie had to contend with this?

........ I bet Angelina doesn't get given the ugly kids :/

I do LOVE Facebook and the Buy and Sell pages have furnished my home in recent months.  I love the fact I can proudly say (in a Sesame Street stylee…….) my new home has been brought to you by Facebook buy and Sell pages, Kmart and the letters on my credit card J  So my eyes lit up when I noticed a post offering two mature, de-sexed cats for rehoming.  I messaged and the lady called me to say that one was almost certainly going to her new home (a beautiful blue puddy tat), but she had the tabby still available.  I arranged to go and see her on Friday.

Friday came ‘unfortunately’ fell within the school holidays, so I took DD with me.  In the car, I brief her on ‘poker face’.  We don’t HAVE to take the cat, OK?  If it looks a bit manky or it’s got a limp, or looks a little bedraggled……. we’ve got enough drama and disablement in our lives, we don’t need to add a ‘care in the community’ cat to our list of woes.  DD agreed, but I think her heart was already in the cat carrier with our newly acquired pussy.

We jumped out of the car and met the Lady, with the news that both cats were still available.  The Blue came over to say hello, and before its tail had even left DD’s leg, she’d said out loud that we’d take them both!  I can’t say I blame her as by this point, the Lady had mentioned (in not so many words) that if we didn’t take them, she was running out of time to rehome them and they would be given swimming lessons in a local pond wearing a sack with a few bricks in.  No!!!!  And thus, the Halls Head two were acquired.

Allow me to introduce you! 

Coutts (aka CouttsyCat, Couttsy, Bitchy Bite face, Barbara).

Beautiful grey/blue colour with stunning eyes.  Scatty and playful.  Very POSH!  Shy, although she enjoys a snuggle (on her terms, obviously!) and will suck your clothes/blanket until they’re soaked!

 

Bossy (aka BossCat, da Boss, Gladys).

 

My favourite (don’t tell Coutts).  She’s slowly got to know me and chases me up the stairs at night when the lights go off to beat me to bed.  She sleeps on the bed with me – sometimes so close, I breathe in her fur with each breath.  She loves a good moan and the pensioner bus picks her up every day and takes her to Bingo.  When I get home, she takes great delight in moaning about who won that day – heaven forbid if the lucky winner sat in her chair or used her ‘lucky’ dobber.

 

 

 

 

 

She eats all her breakfast, then polishes off Couttsies, so she’s slightly ‘plumper’ than perhaps she should be. I said to Adam ‘maybe she’s just big boned, or has thyroid issues?’  Adam replied, ‘no, Mum, she’s got eating all of her breakfast and then stuffing Coutts’s issues!’  He’s got a point :/

I never realised how much coming home to an aloof, nonchalant arsehole (ha ha – biting tongue!) could make me so happy!  There’s usually one by the door as I enter the house, come to greet me and ask me where the hell do I think I’ve been all day – did I not notice their biscuit bowl was empty!!? 

I also never knew that such independent animals could be such a comfort.  OK, so a chase round the house for a cuddle when it’s not on their terms is completely fruitless, however, give it time in the evening with the fire on and they’ll sneak up for a sook.  There is nothing quite as reassuring as a purr on your lap and it gives my life meaning when I HAVE to get up before 8am on the weekend to feed them, or they will positively starve L

Thank you for choosing us, the Halls Head two.  We might have picked you up with the roadside collection, but I don’t know who needed saving most.

Driving myself round the bend

I think I spend so much time in my car currently that I’m thinking of having the back seats converted into a bunk for an inter-journey nap.

If I’m not on the morning school run, I’m on the pick up.  Not driving to work, but leaving early to pick a child up.  Now DD has a job, there are work drop off and collections for her too; along with dancing (now twice a week, rather than once :/) and youngest son’s soccer; training AND matches.

I’m thinking of having a microwave installed, or ‘luxury of all luxuries!’ a CUP HOLDER!  How – I ask you – could the designer of my European, very expensive car have completely omitted to include a receptacle to house a beverage?  I mean, my car originated in Germany.  Where would Herr place his Stein of beer whislt driving home from work in the evening?  

It’s got a removable, electrically powered roof, seat warmers (that I have to watch and get the kids to warn me if they start to smell bacon.  I used to wonder why we invariably ended up at McDonalds then I realised that my posterior was sending off fumes like a Breakfast McMuffin and like obedient, Bisto kids, we headed for the drive through with the car following the waft of delicious nasal excitement).  Most mod cons that you could ask for in a car, but a cup holder??  Ha ha ha…..no!  We have designed the vehicle purposely so that you have to wedge your cup of scaldingly hot coffee in your crotch as you drive and take every corner at 10mph until its tepid enough to drink.  Bloody Germans!

Saying that, I do love my car – or Miley Car-us as I have affectionately named her (as she shows off and takes her top off when the boys are looking).  She is sporty, sexy and, apart from the odd warm crotch-mishap, possibly the most favourite car that I’ve owned.  She has an oil leak, but I just put that down to middle-aged incontinence and her need to be acknowledged everywhere she visits.  It’s like she is leaving her autograph – whether you want it or not!  ;)

However, she has a new garage partner.  A true blue Aussie bogan to ruffle her skirts.  A fourby.  If my car is Nicole Kidman, refined, elegant, breakable, the new kid on the block is definitely Hugh Jackman – rugged, 5 o’clock shadow and shirtless.  Shit is going to do down.  This upstart is raring to go and show his colours.  You can almost hear him growl when you walk past him on the driveway; urging to ‘go bush’ get muddy, bogged and up to no good.  This is gonna be fun! Add this to Ralph’s Bush-Boy testosterone levels and I can just tell the ‘Jesus Christ’ bar is going to get a really good work out >.<  I never even knew this was a thing!!!  Apperently, you haven’t been bush bashing unless you: a) get bogged, b) break something, c) terrify your passenger with at least one grip of the handrail and the cry of ‘Jesus Christ!’

I shall report back later in the week after our first off-road experience.  I have a feeling that snatch straps (WTF!) may be involved also.  I must admit that I chose to zone out at them mention of these and having to deflate and reinflate the tyres so they don’t come off the rims?!  Like a whole new language!  I’ve only just got to grips with some of the nautical terms, now I’m completely in at the deep end again and starting from scratch on a whole new hobby.

 

'Courting'

Family Court is possibly one of THE most depressing places I have even visited.  I think the atmosphere is only slightly more hospitable in Fremantle Prison and that place is S H I T T Y!

God, did we witness two female Solicitors butt horns today. The one with the patent stilettos was taking NO shit from her mousey, sensible trouser wearing adversary.   Her tongue was so vicious, I was surprised there wasn’t blood splattered up the walls when she turned and left her counterpart, stunned with her mouth flopping open and closed like a barn door in the wind.  If she is married, I pity her husband!  If he hasn’t done the dishes when she gets home, he would need a bloody good lawyer and an affidavit in defence (listen to me – affidavit!  6 months ago I’d never even read one, let alone written my autobiography in one J ) 

It’s horrid looking around and seeing people have their lives dictated by a Judge.  It breaks my heart that I am even there at all.  Julia, a Libran through and through who lives for harmony and reconciliation is having her laundry aired in Family Court – it’s just cringe worthy.  It goes against everything in my psyche to be there – arguing.  I hate it.  I sit in the chair in front of the magistrate and I can hear my pulse in my ears. 

It’s distressing to see people exit the Courtroom in floods of tears, things not going in their favour, judgements being made on their lives by a complete stranger.

So as I was sat there, watching a woman leave the court so visibly distraught I wanted to hug her, I thought about injecting a little humour into the place.

When I went for my first mediation appointment at Relationships Australia in Leederville, I had the brainwave of an internet booth in the corner with Tinder available constantly – well, there was a constant flow of newly available men and women pouring through their doors on a daily basis.  This could be taken to a new level at Family Court.  As you enter the building and have your belongings x-rayed and walk through the ‘beepy doorway of shame’ you could also have a few selfies taken and be given a number; your details then appear on the in-court Tinder network – let’s call it ‘Courting’.  Whilst waiting for your case to be called, you could access the little booths and swipe left and right to your heart’s content and at the end of the day, if there’s a match, you are given their number to hunt them down, before having a ten minute ‘speed date’ in a conference room to see if you click and magic is made.

There could be a silent disco in the soul-less hallways whilst waiting to be called into Court.  I mean, dance moves are VERY important!  He may be sexy and look like he has his shit together, but if Dude ain’t got no rhythm…… game over!  You could be given a t-shirt that has LED panels which also tell your prospective mates what song you are listening to.  This can only help; I mean I’m not too sure if I’d want to spend time with the man in the knitted jumper in the corner, bobbing along to *living is without you* with tears streaking his cheeks, think I’d be more inclined to gravitate to the happier looking chappy throwing some shapes near the gents to the Venga Boys.   I would instantly avoid anything 70’s, Skrillex or remixed.  There is ABSOLUTELY no need for remixes; no wonder I have trust issues!  Nothing worse that singing along to a well-known ditty, only to have it mashed in with another tune, or stuttered into the next song like Freddie 'Parrot face' Davis.  It’s bad enough when singers get the lyrics wrong in their own songs as it is when I’m driving!

Or, there should be a Braxton Hicks, (or whatever that personality test thingy is called *actually Myers & Briggs) questionnaire that had to be completed after your kidneys are x-rayed at the start of the day.  A quick glance over by Mr Babbage* (the world’s most powerful super computer - as per Family Fortunes, circa 1987) and you would be instantly matched to a fellow heart-broken loser from the Court for that day.  Based on the concept that was used on Married at First Sight (where people CHOSE to marry a complete stranger – and we all know just HOW successful that was :/ but then again….. I lived with mine for 3 years and picked him and he still turned out to be a tosser, so what do I know!?), your data would be analysed and you would be matched with your most compatible loner.    

They should scrap the coffee shop, install a wine car and before you were allowed to be ‘dismissed’ from Court, you would have to spend a minimum commitment of 30 minutes over a glass of chardonnay getting to know your perfect match.  There could be a pop-up Wedding Fayre in the basement too, offering discounts if you book your next wedding whilst having your divorce granted.  What an incentive!

 

He’s so shady – he has moss growing down one side.

Top Notch?

Markus Persson is a VERY rich man.  Not just ‘I’ll buy the next round at the bar’ rich, or even a round for the entire town….. this guy could literally buy his own country (but not Greece or Spain obviously as they’re in the clearance section in Lidl currently!), we are talking fully fledged commonwealth.

Why,  I hear you ask?  Well, he sold his company (that created Minecraft) to Microsoft for a cool $2.5 BILLION.  Don’t ask me exactly how many zeros that is, but it’s a lot.

So what has he done with his wealth?  Very little, it would appear, other than bitch about it and piss people off.  He outbid Jay Z and Beyonce on a $70 million house in LA; that would have pissed THEM off for a start.  But he has outranged his employees by selling the business and running.

I think what is more concerning is the tweets he has been sending out into the Universe lately.  I mean, I think I understand the stresses that overnight wealth of this magnitude might possibly lead to.  All joking aside, I imagine huge wealth like that IS a burden and it must be very difficult to ever know if people really like you for YOU for the rest of your life, or the luxuries and kudos that comes along with being in their entourage. 

He is quoted as sending the following tweets:

‘Human interaction becomes impossible due to imbalance.’

‘The problem with getting everything is you run out of reasons to keep trying.’

‘Hanging out in Ibiza with a bunch of friends and partying with famous people, able to do whatever I want and I’ve never felt more isolated.’

‘In Sweden, I will sit around and wait for my friends with jobs and families to have time to do shit, watching my reflection in the monitor.’

Now I am torn between thinking what a self-absorbed wanker, to genuinely thinking it must be a form of Hell.

On the S.A.W side, let’s examine the evidence (Loyd Grossman style):

·         FFS mate!  You’re rich beyond your WILDEST dreams. 

·         Your family will never have to worry about their security for the rest of their lives. 

·         You can treat your friends to the absolute best of everything in life; hotels, cars, parties, women.

·         Think about the GOOD you could do with that money! 

·         The charity work you could do.  Hell, you could fucking eradicate hunger in an entire third world country (if not more than one!).  

·         You could fund a space mission. 

·         Think of the medical research you could help with. 

And you’re bitching because a few self-obsessed A list celebrities don’t meet your expectations?  Who cares?  They’re probably arrogant as Hell because they’ve read all their own press anyway!

However:

·        How soul destroying must it be to never actually know (deep down) for the rest of your life, whether people truly like you for YOU, or you vast sums of money.  Can there really be anything more hollow and destructive than no true friends?

·         I imagine the money will ruin your family and it’s relationships as much as it will your own life.  Money is the root of all evil.  How much is ‘enough’ to gift family.  How much is ‘too much’?  Will they think that it is their entitlement for the rest of their lives for you to keep them topped up.  Too much money and time on your hands must surely lead to temptation and bad choices.

·         Friends….. ahhh!  This is a minefield (pardon the pun) for us mere mortals, let alone your mate who’s just become richer than Hades.  They would NEVER see the need to dip their hand into their own pocket; why should they?  Can’t see them offering to ‘do dutch’ on a private jet to the Maldives on a normal salary.  This would stress even the greatest of friendships.  And the new doors that would be opened to the MegaRich programmer must surely alienate Geoff from Accounts as his mate hob nobs with supermodels.

·         It would be difficult to think you’ve got all the time and money in the world to do with whatever you wish, but your ‘real’ friends have lives and jobs and mundane existences.  People do generally have to live to work.  It’s part of the balance.  Skewing this balance takes it’s toll.

·         The burden to ‘do good’ with the money.  I imagine it’s well and truly ‘open season’ for the millions of charities worldwide to bombard him with pleas for help from all over the globe from small, seemingly low profile causes, through to global charities.  Honestly, where would you start?  It’s a serious question.  I believe the burden is real.

·         Why would you want your own space mission anyway?   NASA seem pretty good that that stuff and Mr Branson seems to have that covered for the individual market.

·         Again, the need for money for medical research is vast – what cause do you support?  There are so many needy causes and so many scammers looking for a quick buck.

So, although I don’t agree with his self-absorbed melancholy and could almost hear a very high percentage of the population pleading with him for this problem, I for one, would not be at the front of the queue with my bank paying in slip.  I think it would ruin any normal decent person. 

It’s quite ironic that this ‘positive’ list is completely mirrored in the ‘negative’ column.

Sometimes there a lot to be said for ‘be careful what you wish for’

………..lend us a fifty?