Party revisited ...

You will, dear reader, recall the mysterious case of the frilly knickers found behind the hedge the day after our Christmas Party. The culprit has never been found, although the variety of characters who have claimed responsibility is quite extensive!

However, it now appears that there were more shenanigans going on that day, and perhaps we have identified a new suspect.


"What's this?" you say. "What possible mischief could a happy Winnie get up to?"

Well, perhaps not so innocent after all. The following incriminating photo has come to light, shocking us all. Please read no further unless you have a strong stomach and no concern about your childhood illusions being shattered ...


Perhaps the case of the frilly knickers has been solved after all ...

An excerpt from Mumford's diary ...

Thursday ...

Masculinity diminishing at an alrming rate as my beloved demonstrates her handywoman skills.

Let me explain.

I finished a full morning being a responsible business person and executing my daily duties, took a call from my gay radio announcer friend and chewed the fat, poured a fine chilled red made by a collegue's father and caught up on all the local gossip.

Meanwhile, herself had been down to bunnings and had messaged to inform me of her intention to erect a new wall-to-wall work space in the study ...

I informed my gay friend that, no, I couldn’t come out to play as I was waiting for my girlfriend to come home and we were going to put up shelves. Shrieks were heard from the other end of the phone as my claim "no, really – I am straight” in this town diminished.

Now that herself is at home - as I write - she drills, sockets and tinkers away with the enthusiasm of a tradesman complete with bum-crack.

It would not be so bad if it were not for the fact that each request she makes for me to “hold this” or "bring me some more dynabolts” only serves to reveal me as the completely non-blokey, non-handy, scared-of-power-tools-for-fear-of-cutting-my-hand-off, kind of guy.

The dog betrayed me at first, hanging out with mum, until the power tools scared her and she sought refuge with the women in the studio whilst mens' work was being done in the study.

Problem is, I was in the studio.

Alone.

First, the man bag. Now this.

Just great.

I am straight I tell you!!

A Sentimental Bloke

This afternoon my Beloved and I were watching a lovely little movie - Creator. This is a largely ignored and seriously under-rated film from the '80's starring an eccentric Peter O'Toole, a young Virginia Masden and a gorgeous Vincent Spano (what ever happened to him?).

It's all about love, loss and the meaning of life and is guaranteed to make the most cold hearted cynic melt into a sentimental puddle. I was actually very surprised when Mumford picked it out of the library as I thought I was one of only about 7 people world wide who had every heard of the movie, let alone watched it! However, pick it out he did and we proceeded to spend the next couple of hours alternately laughing, sighing and having a bit of a blubber.

Yes, indeed. The tissues were out, and not just for me ...

The remarkable thing, however, was what happened next.

Having wiped his eyes and blown his nose, my Beloved suddenly turned into Uber Bloke.

The washing machine was doing its usual unbalanced thing and making a racket, so Uber Mumford leapt immediately to the shed to retrieve the shifting spanner and fix the problem.

Not enough. Testosterone levels obviously still required some topping up, so the next thing I know he's out changing the oil and water in the car. And washing it. Inside and out.

All this followed by a prolonged piss in the back yard to really show who's boss.

So this is my advice to all you girls out there who need something manly done around the house. Show your bloke an incredibly soppy, guaranteed three hankie movie and not only are your troubles over, your drains are unclogged, your roof is fixed and your garden watered. Brilliant!