Well, today has been a very exciting day! My beloved has recently be hired by acclaimed director [CENSORED] to take part in a [CENSORED] as the [CENSORED] for international celebrity [CENSORED].
Imagine my vicarious excitement as he went off today for a preliminary meeting with [CENSORED]! They had a great chat about the [CENSORED] and where it would be [CENSORED]. Turns out [CENSORED] is a great guy and it looks like they will get on very well on the [CENSORED].
He has his first day on the [CENSORED] tomorrow at various [CENSORED] around Adelaide. Fortunately, our fears about having to [CENSORED] and not [CENSORED] for the [CENSORED] have proved to be unfounded. So it should be a great [CENSORED] and fantastic experience for him.
So stay tuned for the next exciting instalment of my Beloved on the [CENSORED] as he [CENSORED] a major [CENSORED] in the company of [CENSORED] and various other [CENSORED].
I love being able to share good news!
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
Saturday, 27 September 2008
Feeling blue ...
"Why is it" I enquired of my Beloved as we were driving along this morning "that Q appears to be turning blue?"
We both looked at the little dog who had, indeed, acquired several blue markings not common in a Jack Russel in the 30 seconds since we left the house.
My Beloved rummaged around in the back seat for a moment and retrieved the offending item - a blue pen that had obviously sprung a leak. "But it looks OK" said I, taking the article and inspecting it a little more closely. Not closely enough, it appeared, as I passed it back only to find blue ink all over my hands.
The pen was chucked out the window, thank goodness, but the damage had been done. Suddenly it appeared that there was blue everywhere. My hand was covered in it - then I found that it had leaked onto the arm rest causing more havoc. From the arm rest it had transferred to the other hand, my arm and to my (inevitably) white shirt.
"Bugger" said I, as I tried to remove the bulk of the damp ink with a convenient Wet One, achieving only a smearing effect that seemed to make it go even further.
My Beloved, who by this stage was convulsed with laughter, could come up with nothing more constructive than to remark that I appeared to have been performing obscene acts with a Smurf. Ha Ha.
What was really annoying, of course, was that he - immaculate as always - had not a drop on him. Not a smear. Not a hint of blue was to be seen about his person while Q and I looked like we'd been hit by a paint truck.
Some people are just like that. Sigh ...
Of course it turned out that the pen was innocent. Having dropped my Beloved and Q off at their car so they could continue on to familial duties, I dropped by Officeworks to buy new cartridges for my printer. Knowing the confusing array available, I had taken the precaution of taking the spent (or so I thought) cartridges with me. Mistake.
By the time I realised that it was in fact the ink cartridges that were the problem, I had managed to spread the joy to those fingers that had not previously been affected, my wallet and my face. Oh bliss...
Now let me give you some tips about removing ink stains.
You can't.
I tried Jif. No effect. I tried detergent. Not a chance. I retrieved the turps from the shed and tried that. Nada.
Not to be discouraged, I googled "how to get ink off your hands" and was rewarded with the information that a weak solution of bleach will do the trick.
Not so as you'd notice.
I finally discovered that nail polish remover could be applied with some effect, but have come to the sad realisation that the only thing which is really going to get rid of it is time. Until then, I will continue to look like I am suffering from some bizzare form of gangrene. I will try to colour coordinate ...
We both looked at the little dog who had, indeed, acquired several blue markings not common in a Jack Russel in the 30 seconds since we left the house.
My Beloved rummaged around in the back seat for a moment and retrieved the offending item - a blue pen that had obviously sprung a leak. "But it looks OK" said I, taking the article and inspecting it a little more closely. Not closely enough, it appeared, as I passed it back only to find blue ink all over my hands.
The pen was chucked out the window, thank goodness, but the damage had been done. Suddenly it appeared that there was blue everywhere. My hand was covered in it - then I found that it had leaked onto the arm rest causing more havoc. From the arm rest it had transferred to the other hand, my arm and to my (inevitably) white shirt.
"Bugger" said I, as I tried to remove the bulk of the damp ink with a convenient Wet One, achieving only a smearing effect that seemed to make it go even further.
My Beloved, who by this stage was convulsed with laughter, could come up with nothing more constructive than to remark that I appeared to have been performing obscene acts with a Smurf. Ha Ha.
What was really annoying, of course, was that he - immaculate as always - had not a drop on him. Not a smear. Not a hint of blue was to be seen about his person while Q and I looked like we'd been hit by a paint truck.
Some people are just like that. Sigh ...
Of course it turned out that the pen was innocent. Having dropped my Beloved and Q off at their car so they could continue on to familial duties, I dropped by Officeworks to buy new cartridges for my printer. Knowing the confusing array available, I had taken the precaution of taking the spent (or so I thought) cartridges with me. Mistake.
By the time I realised that it was in fact the ink cartridges that were the problem, I had managed to spread the joy to those fingers that had not previously been affected, my wallet and my face. Oh bliss...
Now let me give you some tips about removing ink stains.
You can't.
I tried Jif. No effect. I tried detergent. Not a chance. I retrieved the turps from the shed and tried that. Nada.
Not to be discouraged, I googled "how to get ink off your hands" and was rewarded with the information that a weak solution of bleach will do the trick.
Not so as you'd notice.
I finally discovered that nail polish remover could be applied with some effect, but have come to the sad realisation that the only thing which is really going to get rid of it is time. Until then, I will continue to look like I am suffering from some bizzare form of gangrene. I will try to colour coordinate ...
Tuesday, 23 September 2008
Sunny Sunday
Pop quiz! What do the following three objects have in common?
The answer is that they are all capable of being juggled on the back lawn on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
It was a glorious day, so my Beloved and I (yes, Dear Reader, the Love Interest has been given a significant upgrade ...) were enjoying a wee dram in the back garden when off he goes on what appeared to be a bizarre search and rescue mission. Q and I watched, bemused, as a collection of household items were retrieved. These included a standard set of juggling balls, several billiard balls, two triangles (of the type used with the billiard balls), a hammer, a coffee cup, a pool cue and a broom.
What followed was part juggling spectacular and part slapstick routine as all of these items were thrown into the air and caught again (most of the time) with gay abandon. While the billiard balls were no problems, one must acknowledge that a pool cue is not made for juggling. Nor is a broom. Lacking aerodynamics of any kind it was certainly a challenge to get them off the ground. Particularly in conjunction with other objects.
The hammer is, of course, the natural enemy of the coffee cup so it was with some relief that this combination came off safely. Famous last words, of course, as the coffee cup did eventually come to grief having been clipped by a spinning pool cue.
Q, quite sensibly, refused point blank to fetch anything.
The show really was worthy of a larger audience, but I'm sure none could have been more appreciative.
The juggling spectacular was followed by a more sedate, first to five match of petanque, utilising the billiard balls once more. I shan't disclose the final score, but let's just say that my Beloved does better when the balls are going in a more vertical direction ...
The answer is that they are all capable of being juggled on the back lawn on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
It was a glorious day, so my Beloved and I (yes, Dear Reader, the Love Interest has been given a significant upgrade ...) were enjoying a wee dram in the back garden when off he goes on what appeared to be a bizarre search and rescue mission. Q and I watched, bemused, as a collection of household items were retrieved. These included a standard set of juggling balls, several billiard balls, two triangles (of the type used with the billiard balls), a hammer, a coffee cup, a pool cue and a broom.
What followed was part juggling spectacular and part slapstick routine as all of these items were thrown into the air and caught again (most of the time) with gay abandon. While the billiard balls were no problems, one must acknowledge that a pool cue is not made for juggling. Nor is a broom. Lacking aerodynamics of any kind it was certainly a challenge to get them off the ground. Particularly in conjunction with other objects.
The hammer is, of course, the natural enemy of the coffee cup so it was with some relief that this combination came off safely. Famous last words, of course, as the coffee cup did eventually come to grief having been clipped by a spinning pool cue.
Q, quite sensibly, refused point blank to fetch anything.
The show really was worthy of a larger audience, but I'm sure none could have been more appreciative.
The juggling spectacular was followed by a more sedate, first to five match of petanque, utilising the billiard balls once more. I shan't disclose the final score, but let's just say that my Beloved does better when the balls are going in a more vertical direction ...
Saturday, 20 September 2008
We will overcome ...
There is a demarcation dispute currently underway at Chez Betty's. I have previously mentioned the small dog "Q" and speculated on the fall out that may result from a sleepover. Well now I know.
While the Love Interest's schedule remains hectic and unpredictable, there has been a significant increase in time spent at my house which has, in turn, meant that Q has also become a more frequent visitor. Butch's answer to this has been to spend more time at his various neighbourhood haunts, returning only for food and the opportunity to vent his spleen with a cacophony of outraged yowls - generally commencing at around 5.00am and being placated only be a session of quality lap sitting over my morning coffee.
Fang has taken a different approach.
The Love Interest and Q have been spending the weekend here, so she has set up residence in the bed in the guest room and is refusing to leave. I noticed her there on Friday morning, burrowed under the quilt with just eyes and ears protruding but thought that this was just a passing phase.
She was still there when I check on her at lunchtime ... and later in the evening ... and the following morning ...
I understand now that this is nothing less than the feline version of a protest movement. Think of suffragettes chaining themselves to the railings and you'll get the idea.
The message could not be clearer. Fang has taken a stand and will not be budged from her chosen location, even though Q has discovered it and periodically visits her only to be hissed at and otherwise made unwelcome. Being a dog, and therefore eternally optimistic, Q thinks it is a famous game and perseveres. Bring on the negotiators ...
The mexican standoff has now been going for almost 48 hours. I'll keep you posted ...
While the Love Interest's schedule remains hectic and unpredictable, there has been a significant increase in time spent at my house which has, in turn, meant that Q has also become a more frequent visitor. Butch's answer to this has been to spend more time at his various neighbourhood haunts, returning only for food and the opportunity to vent his spleen with a cacophony of outraged yowls - generally commencing at around 5.00am and being placated only be a session of quality lap sitting over my morning coffee.
Fang has taken a different approach.
The Love Interest and Q have been spending the weekend here, so she has set up residence in the bed in the guest room and is refusing to leave. I noticed her there on Friday morning, burrowed under the quilt with just eyes and ears protruding but thought that this was just a passing phase.
She was still there when I check on her at lunchtime ... and later in the evening ... and the following morning ...
I understand now that this is nothing less than the feline version of a protest movement. Think of suffragettes chaining themselves to the railings and you'll get the idea.
The message could not be clearer. Fang has taken a stand and will not be budged from her chosen location, even though Q has discovered it and periodically visits her only to be hissed at and otherwise made unwelcome. Being a dog, and therefore eternally optimistic, Q thinks it is a famous game and perseveres. Bring on the negotiators ...
The mexican standoff has now been going for almost 48 hours. I'll keep you posted ...
So sorry ...
My apologies, dear readers, for my lack of writing over the last couple of weeks. I have been doing my nails ...
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