Mess Fuss

Today we decided to ride our bikes down to South Bank to go to the Science Museum. Nicole made some picnic nibbles while I went and power-walked the dog, and when I got back we mounted our trusty steeds (Eloise on her tow-along for long-distance riding) and set off.

The ride down the hill at Kedron Brook Road is a bit helter-skelter but we took it easy and free-wheeled down at a cool 40 before Eloise blew her tyre on the junction and the whole trip had to be abandoned, with Nicole riding back up the hill to get the car, loading up the tow-along into the car and driving back whilst I rode up the hill.

We were about to set off again when we realised that Eloise hadn't brought her Science Museum passcard, whereupon it all descended into chaos and acrimony as it turned out she didn't know where it was, or where her wallet was, or where anything was actually and months of simmering resentment over messiness and disorganisation and clutter nestled its way between the family folds and poked its nose out to say hello again. "You're just a mess fuss" she says. "A mess fuss."

And so it came to pass that a nice afternoon at the Science Museum morphed into a not-so-nice afternoon of tidying and throwing stuff we don't want - and she doesn't need - away.

On the plus side, she got a new bookcase. She enjoyed building it too. On the other plus side, her bedroom is nice and tidy. And her downstairs "study" area.

On the minus side, rather like the European Debt Crisis, I suspect that nothing has really been solved and that even though more storage space and scope for organisation has been created, the opportunity will be squandered and stuff will still just be dropped at the very moment and location that attention evaporates.

Crumbs from the Table

While Nicole cooked, cause that's what se enjoys, Eloise and I played ballgames whilst Matilda sniffed around.

Come eating time the dog came back to beg, as is her habit, but had some competition from the local bird-life.

This bird is an Australian Magpie. Nicole here, determinedly unterrified, is outside her comfort zone, for it is Magpie Season at the moment and in suburbia these cute birdies with their melodious song mercilessly swoop bike riders with the temerity to approach their territory.

One drew blood on me a couple of days back down at Kedron Brook. When we go to school, there's one at Lanham Park who must know me by sight. I can see him a hundred metres away eyeball me and then cruise like some demented missile towards me before stretching out his claws to pluck out my eyes.

Eloise thinks it's hilarious of course, she revels in even the possibility of my pain.

Barbie

The seasons are turning and it's getting warm again come evening time.

What more reason does the cuisinically orientated pyromaniac need to light the fire, char the sweet potatoes, and re-learn the art of barbecuing?

Dog Competition

On the catch-up front, a while ago Eloise's school held their bi-annual Fete.

We decided, for better or worse, to enter Matilda into the God With the Shiniest Coat competition, after Eloise decided to put her in for the Best Dressed Dog competition. With the dubious results you see above on her rehearsal attempt, we changed her mind for her.

Coincidentally Lottie the dog moved out from over the road that day, as Lauren has moved out of Valerie's house and taken the yapping little terror with her.

Eloise seems OK, so far.

As far as the Fete went, it rained torrentially (an island of wet in an ocean of dry) and Matilda didn't win her competition, though she behaved herself admirably.

I spent time watching Eloise petting chickens and goats while puddles grew around me, and we exited around 4 o'clock.

Riverfire

A week or so ago, Nicole's social life took off with a bang as she finished her dissertation for her Master's Degree in Being Very Clever.

She went to the Riverfire Ball, a work thing, at the Customs House in the city. 

Her afternoon consisted of beautification of the follicular tress variety. Whilst she was undergoing her Calypso-like transformation we mortals went and walked the dog up at Mount Coot-tha, achieving a 5km circuit around the Waterfall Walk in time to pick up the new Goddess of Beauty (and I mean that most sincerely) and take her to Marion's house for a spot of off-the-cuff accessorisation.

At home for a little while, I cooked and we mortals ate whilst Nicole dressed herself.

I could tell you an amusing (if you're male) or frightening (for everyone else) story about the dress she borrowed from her beautification consultant, squeezed into, then tested beyond its integral limits through the irresponsible act of inhaling, but I won't.

Anyway, she was due in town around 6.30 so we set off to drop her at the Temple of Fun before attempting to make a rendez-vous across the river with some friends.

With the fireworks due to start around 7, it became quickly clear that we would be rendez-vousing with no-one, as the bridges were closed and traffic was slowing. Oh, the small fact that we (I) got lost in the grid is a mere detail I feel safe in glossing over.

The city ejaculated us in a Northern direction, and with bearings secure, we joined the slow moving traffic which deposited us eventually at a multi-storey par cark where we de-carred and headed into the Valley, a slow trudge that took in many shop windows and interesting diversions.

As we climbed the final hill and the Story Bridge heaved its ironwork and electric bunting over the crest, the river expanding beneath us and the city monolithic behind, the fireworks began.

Normally I despise the badly-edited hotchpotch of so-called contemporary "pap" that seems to pass for dramatic complement to fireworks. In this case it was inaudible, a considerable blessing. Instead our ears were assaulted by drumrolls of explosive percussion, our eyes constricted by coruscations of light spat from every available iron orifice, and our senses tingled by the untuned Ooohs and Aaahs of the crowd.

Eloise climbed on my shoulders and stuck a cuddle toy in my face. Then she climbed some rocks for a better view. Then she went into the crowd to see what she could. Then she came back.

After about twenty minutes of whizzes, bangs, firework flowers, white waterfalls, searchlights in the sky, but no jets, the fireworks finished and off we went home.

Book Week

In a reprise of last year's Book Week, Eloise dressed up as Lettice the Rabbit; although reminded that last year Lettice was not well-known or well-recognised, she decided that this year would be different and besides she wanted to wear her rabbit ears and flower girl dress.

As it went, nobody knew who Lettice was. But she didn't care this year.

OHMS

Around the time of the Royal Wedding Eloise sent a note of well-wishes to Wills and Kate.

The other day a nice postcard arrived thanking her impersonally for her kind letter.

She was very excited about that.

Ekka As Usual

After the ride stopped and we were released, we continued around shedding money like dandruff. Laughing clowns, log flumes, dagwood dogs, etc, before we retired to see some animals.

As usual the chick patting and animal petting were popular, and we visited the cowsheds wondering if the daughters would start to ask awkward questions about the bullocks'.... addendums.

The weather began to close in a little as we broke for lunch (lunch! ha!) but we laughed in its face and went for round two of chicken and animal patting before leaving as darkness fell.

We went back via the food hall, where we were to pick up some strawberries and marshmallows, on a stick, innit, when we suddenly noticed Eloise's disappearance.

A dog-whistle soon brought her back though. Good that she knows how to come back when called.

Fairground Contraption

So it's Ekkatime again.

This year, we went along with some other folks, and the extra adults enabled us to visit Sideshow Alley and the worryingly gravity-defying machines of fear without merely looking.

Eloise, now tall enough to go on the little roller-coaster, was keen to do so, and I went on there with her.

It was only a tiddler, and pretty lame by comparision with some of the other catapults of doom, so I was pretty confident.

But it must be ten years since I went on my last one (I can't even remember it) so when the inevitable chasm of freefall opened beneath us, yes, I squealed like a baby along with the others in our little spinny tea-pot.

Sam, one of our companions, was determined that we should sample the joys of one of the Mangonels of Mirth and we reluctantly acceded. She chose one for us which was like a counterweighted industrial catapult with a centrifugal pin wheel on one end which in turn had three arms upon which were mounted the seats of torture.

As we were strapped into our seats Nicole and I looked at one another as if to say -well, this is a bad idea, but it's too late to turn back now... and as the motors kicked in and we started moving I began to express my predicament colourfully.

I remember a moment when we were hanging upside down fifty metres up in the air, looking up/down at the carpark with the tiny figures beneath us, and experiencing a moment of clarity where any doubts about the mechanical integrity of this ludicrous machine that we had actually parted with money to be strapped to disappeared and the only sensible thing to do was to just enjoy it. Or endure it.

And as the wind started and my cheeks were pulled back past my ears and my legs clung on for dear life and my arms decided they should really be somewhere else and the carpark approached mercilessly and inexorably I just groaned.

I, Mac

Grandma Shirley and Grandad Brendan sent Eloise a nice mac.

Eloise wore it to school. I told her she needed to take it off while she was in class. I have it on good authority that as soon as my back was turned, it went back on.

We went to yoga. We had things to do so we left her there. I told her she shouldn't do yoga in it. I have it on good authority that as soon as our backs were turned it went straight back on again.

So, all in all, a success.