Shame

 Hello.
It's Monday Nite. I'm sitting up snugly wearing my Toy Ugg Boots after just finishing watching yet another documentary on The Queen, a Woman I've Long Admired & Have, Over Many Years, Striven to Emulate as Much as I Can.
But, you may ask, How can One be like The Queen?
It's easy. Follow this Simple Check List, below:
1. Smile.
2. Wave Majestically.
3. Wear lots of Bling.
4. Stick to Pleasantries.
5. Prefer Dogs & Horses to People.
7. Wear hats that look like upturned Saucepans with bows on them.
8. Turn up.
9. Give a speech at Xmas.

Need I go on?
Anyway, that's not what this blog entry is About. Absolutely Not.
YOu may have noticed that the whiteboard in the first photo pleaded with you in a kind of Poor Little Match Girl  way not to scream at me  in Upper Case, 'Get a Life' .
In fact, I can't actually remember anyone ever telling me to get a life, although many people over the years have said things like, 'YOu haven't lived unless you've drunk a Harvey Wallbanger', which was a vile cocktail from the Seventies made from Galliano & Orange Juice I think.
Or, 'YOu haven't lived unless you've gone Skinnydipping in Sydney Harbour' which is what a guy once said to me on Our First Date.
But I guess that's not the same thing, is it?

 So, even though no one's ever told me to get a life I now live in Mortal Terror of being told so after I read about these  Young British Mummy Blogs Featuring Daily Photos of School Drop Off Outfits.
Let me explain..............

Some Mothers don't go to work. Instead, they get dressed in a Nice Outfit every morning & drive their children to school.
Once they arrive at the School Gate, they get out of the car & make one of their children or perhaps a Passerby take their photo.
Then, they race home & post the photo/s & an accompanying description of their Outfit on their blog.
They then have a cup of tea or a latte & wait for 50,000 page views.
Of course I'm not Collegial enough to be bothered creating a link to any of these blogs. I think perhaps one is called School Gate Something or Other & another might feature the word Suburban. Maybe Suburban Style. If you google School Gate Style you might find one.
Now I'm feeling guilty. Why can't I be bothered finding out their precise names?
Is it because I'm a Lazy Slattern?
No. I'm just tired & desperate to hop into bed with a small bowl of Globe Grapes the size of Eyeballs to munch  quietly before dropping off to sleep.

 But before I hop into bed, where does the Get a Life bit come in?
Well, apparently Disgruntled Blog Followers have been writing 'Get a Life' on these Mum's blogs. Like, haven't you women got anything better to do with your time than take endless photos of yourself outside the school gate? Get a Life.


And what say if one of these Disgruntlers might accidentally come across my blog & discover what's going on Inside the School Gate?
What O What would they say?

 I'd be soo mortified that I'd have to make a Quick Exit in my Getaway Car, which incidentally is the title of my favourite Hall & Oates song, 'In My Getaway Car'.

Talking of Outfits, I do want to Ever-so-Gently walk you through what I'm wearing in the photos in my Absolute Favourite Text Type, The Dot Point:

1. Almost everything is thrifted from my favourite Magic Shop, 'BednobsEtc'
2. The Pashmina in the top photo is an Actual Real not Toy Pashmina - a Roberto Cavalli Digital Print Offcut bought at a shop that actually sells New Things that I was taken to by my friend, The Ex-School Nurse. Like the School Drop-Off Blogs, I can't remember the name of the shop which is well worth a visit if you live near Waterloo in Sydney.
3. Can't be bothered saying anything much more except:
 * I Love Navy.
* I Love Pashminas. Soo good for covering up Middleaged Trouble Spots like Necks etc as well as provide comfort from the cold.
* I love wearing Double Animal Print bangles. It brings out my Inner Beast who actually Has a Life.

Lastly, I must must tell you about a blog whose name I sadly can remember. It's called Fabulous Over 50, although I'm not creating a link. Perhaps you have heard of it.
My BFF Marge in Thousand Oaks got me on to it. At first I was thrilled. That's me, I thought, although perhaps Fabulous Waay Over 50 would be more accurate.
When I got onto it I made a Beeline for a kind of Advanced Style Street Style Type Section that featured shots of women over 50 taken maybe in NYC. Underneath each photo were comments by a gaggle of Professional Stylists with accompanying photos & links to their web sites.
 The first street photo was of a lady who had on a Black Outfit of Many Parts.  If I saw this lady walking along the street I'd think she looked kind of interesting even though I personally wouldn't wear what she was wearing.
But all the stylists totally went to town on her. It was like the Nuremberg Fashion Crimes Trials. 
So mean. So nasty. One really hateful stylist accused her of the Unforgivable Crime of Not Being Age Appropriate which immediately made me want to race out & have my Belly Button pierced & wear a midriff top & short shorts.
I kept on thinking about the way the lady was standing there looking all hopeful & happy that she'd been noticed & how she might feel if she read all those comments.
I know how I'd feel.
Shame.

I Do Hope I Don't Look Too Much Like a Newly-Covered Armchair

It's one of those Sunday Afternoons. It's desperate to rain, but can't quite bring itself to.
I'm glad because I just trotted down the hill to the Supermarche to purchase supplies for tonite's Sunday Nite Mad Men Dinner & I didn't even have to run between the raindrops.
Yes, it's Mad Men Series 5 my guests & me are watching. I won't go on about it too much except to say that Betty, played by January Jones has considerably Porked Up for this series with the aid of a v. convincing Fattish Suit. BTW, what an interesting name January is, although I suppose she gets called Jan which isn't so interesting & an abbreviation of Janet, which I've always thought is a v. severe & serious name except it you pare it with Brad. You know, Brad & Janet from The Rocky Horror Show.

It's kind of strange to be called after a Month, although I've just remembered that half my daughter's name is Mae & I have a student called April & I always wanted a mother like June Cleaver from 'Leave it to  Beaver, my favourite show when I was five. And then of course there's Wednesday, the daughter from The Addams Family. OH, but sadly Wednesday isn't a month is it? Same Ball Park, though.
Anyway, enough of names. Let's talk about what I'm doing in the photos.
Can you guess?

I'm showing you my lunch. I pack it every day in my Plastic Lunch Pail which is on the floor next to my feet which are wearing little thrifted Anne Klein black patent booties.
I am slavish about bringing my lunch. I even bring it when the cupboard is bare & everything in the fridge is slightly rotting. I always seem to find something to shove into a plastic container & heat up in the microwave in the Staff Lunch Room.
Here's an example. I like to call this The Desperate Lunch:
*1 cup of pasta that I boil up whilst eating breakfast in bath.
* A large sprinkle of any cheese over the pasta even, when Really Desperate, that Toy Parmesan that comes in packets which has a distinctly soapy flavour. Apparently, the Parmesan Du Jour is Parmesan Reggiano. I must, must must get some. Desperate to be part of the Zeitgeist.
* A handful of chopped semi-sundried tomatoes.
* A handful of chopped curly parsley & chopped fresh dill.
* A tablespoon of pine nuts.
Actually, the last three ingredients aren't really part of The Desperate Lunch.
It's just really the first two.

My Favourite Foods for Lunch Packing:
* Thinly-sliced Chilled Pears that I pack with little crumbles of Blue Cheese. I have always eschewed Blue Cheese but for some v. odd reason, I now can't get enough of it. The only problem is that I can never tell if the cheese in my fridge is Real Blue Cheese or just Rotting Other Cheese.
* Lashings of rocket & dill & parsley to go with the pears etc.
* Chick peas. Only in cans. I don't have the time or the expertise to be bothered soaking or cooking or whatever you do to real chick peas.
According to The Head of English who is v. knowledgeable about English & possibly everything else, Chick Peas are the new Super Food.
* Cous cous.
Must stop typing & go into kitchen & prepare two chickens that I am stuffing with fresh lemon thyme, pine nuts, garlic, breadcrumbs & bacon & then putting in tidy oven bags & roasting for seventy minutes.
But before I go, I must quickly walk you through What I'm Wearing:
* A Coatdress that looks like it's made from a Soft Furnishing Fabric. I do hope I don't look too much like a newly-covered Armchair. BTW, I totally love coatdresses right now. I can wear the same old plain black dress underneath every day & jazz it up with a coatdress over the top
* A Pashmina. I think I bought this one for five bucks at a stall on Fifth Avenue in NYC years ago. I could write a whole blog post about Pashminas but I won't because I have to get back to the kitchen. In the meantime, try & think about what I might say about them.
* Matching Toy Leather Cuffs that scream Wannabe Hermes.
Bon Appetit!

I Said I Love You But I Lied

 Like many people decades & decades younger than me all around the world, I love Instagram.
Perhaps you also use it.
 Perhaps you've never heard of it. Sadly, I'm not going to explain what it is except to say that it's an Instant Photo with Magical Powers.
Occasionally I try to summon up these Magical Powers when I see something interesting in the street which isn't too often.  Maybe I'm just not looking properly.
But last week I walked out of the school gate after a long & exhausting day standing over a Hot Whiteboard only to find the above message neatly written in chalk across the footpath.
Of course I immediately thought it was addressed to me.
I racked my brain. Who had recently lied when they told me that they loved me, I wondered.
No one. I'm sure everyone who told me they loved me, meant it. Or if they didn't, they wouldn't bother admitting it.
So  I just took an Instagram instead.
It was much more satisfying than Brain Racking. Or is it 'Wracking'?


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 Talking of Hot Whiteboards, here I am this week in a whole series of  Exciting Photos taken by v. bored & slightly reluctant students who are sick to the back gills of taking photos of me & my outfits.
The weather is supposed to be almost late autumn. But it's kind of hot. In fact, as I type, I've just had to slip off  both Toy Ugg Boots as my feet were getting v. sticky. And it's nite when it's supposed to be coldish.
Anyway, I've been smugly congratulating myself all week on my Clever Layering  which allows me to discard jackets & scarves as the day hots up .
You can see what I mean in the snap above, although I don't think I did actually remove the lightweight wool jacket that partially covered the Shocking Pink Toy Satin blouse that I later ruined by spilling blue cheese dressing all down the front of it. As I am unable to Remove Stains, I'll have to throw it out.
On my feet, I'm wearing genuine Ferragamos that I bought for five bucks at a thrift store in Palm Springs this past January which of course now feels like years & years ago.
Oh, I must tell you something Mildly Gross.
I have good reason to think that my feet have grown by perhaps almost a size.
How is this possible for a woman of my age?
Is it because over the past few years in a desperate bid to fit into Thrifted Designer Shoes, I've developed a Flexible Attitude Towards Shoe Sizes & don't care what size I wear?
It all started with a pair of creme YSL ballet flats that were at least a size too big. They were only twenty bucks & I was determined, nay, desperate to have them. So I stuffed them with tissue paper & wore them.
After that, I didn't really care what size a shoe was if it was a designer label. I always managed to find a way to clump around in them regardless.
And now look what's happened?
Maybe it's my Feet's way of getting back at me.

I totally love this thrifted Carla Zampatti military style jacket that I wore with an unusual brooch featuring a long line of Toy Coins. Everyone thought I was wearing medals. As if I would.
Just now I was trying to think what I could get a Medal for:
1. The Loudest & Potty-iest Mouth in Any Staffroom in Sydney;
2.  Attending Therapy More Times Than Anyone Else in the Southern Hemisphere;
3. Having an Entirely Thrifted Wardrobe.
I recently re-watched that adorable film Rushmore, where the main character, a school student received two medals - one for perfect attendance & the other for  Punctuality. I would never get a medal for either of those two things, although I'm not particularly late or anything.

 Yesterday was boiling hot so I was forced to remove A Layer, revealing an adorable Spring-Type blouse in a Floaty Fabricwith big puffy sleeves & a pussy bow, which wasn't particularly flattering.
 But I didn't care, I wore it anyway. In an attempt to not look too much like Shirley Temple, or perhaps Margaret Thatcher, I butched it up by wearing a small gaggle of leather studded wristbands.

And now we're at The End. And not a moment too soon because if I don't hop into bed in a moment, I might explode.
I'm dressed for Disco Friday last week in a dress that screams Too Young For You!
But I ignored it.

Walking on the Wild Side

 Today is Sunday.
I often suffer from. Sunday Ennui
Perhaps it's a relic from childhood when Sunday Sucked. Often on sundays my mother would make Roast Pork for lunch which I loathed. She & my father would then lie & tell me it wasn't really pork but meat from a different animal called 'Chickenpork'.
I desperately wanted to believe them. The same way I desperately wanted to believe them when they swore black & blue that I wasn't adopted.
But on both counts, they lied.

God, this is getting depressing.
Maybe because it's Still Sunday & maybe also because I took a walk in the Botanical Gardens today where I was totally creeped out by the tree above that had Frightening Purple Hued Hands growing from it.
No wonder many people don't like trees & want to chop them down, although I'm not like that & I wouldn't admit to it anyway..

As I was trotting along the Gardens, I came across a v. large kookaburra.
I am not a Bird Watcher.
But I do like Kookaburras & I've been desperate to photograph one for years but they always fly off just when I have my camera poised.
Today was different, though. This one just sat there & let me get closer & closer until I was standing just underneath. I couldn't believe how wide was its Girth & how many feathers it had.
At one stage, I thought it might be a Stuffed Kookaburra. But then I realised that that was impossible because it kept on moving.
Later, when I told my daughter by phone, she suggested that this kookaburra might be tame. 

 After I finished taking the photos, I thanked the kookaburra & moved away only to spy a little girl who looked eerily like my daughter Maeflower when she was about three. She is now twenty-four.
And, for a brief moment, I wondered if Time was Playing a Trick on me.
It wasn't.

When I'd had enough of Nature I ventured out to Circular Quay which is the gateway to Sydney Harbour. The place was crawling with what appeared to be tourists. I felt somewhat out of place.

As I was walking & desperately trying to fit in, I spied a man smiling & holding his arms outstretched with a sign saying 'Free Hugs'.
I immediately inwardly sneered.
Who the hell is going to want to be hugged by a stranger while they're on their way to join a queue to get on the Manly Ferry, or eat a bucket of Hot Chips, I wondered?

Turns out, a whole lot of people.

I was shocked.
Older Men, younger men.....

Middleaged women......
                                    and Young women.
But not me.
I did ask myself if I wanted a hug but it turned out I didn't.
Instead, I opted for a chat.
The Hugger is called Chris & he gives out Free Hugs when he thinks there could be a need. And it appears that there is a Big Need. He said that he rarely gets negative comments. A woman yelled out once that he was a depraved sinner & may God forgive him. But that was the only nasty thing he could remember. I bet if I did it, I'd remember every nasty sneer or sideways glance that I ever got.
But that's just me.

Getting Even

 Welcome Back O Reader. I do sincerely hope you are Still There. 

Perhaps you're not. But I'll pretend that you are.
 And I'll imagine that you are wondering what happened to me. Where did I go? Did I simply lose interest? Did I run out of seemingly endless Rhetorical Questions to pose to the Blogosphere? Or did I run out of outfits to pose in? Or run out of anecdotes or TV shows to bang on about?
Not for a nanosecond.
No, I simply went on a Holiday.
A School Holiday.
And a Blog Holiday.
I wish I could say that I spent the entire time being expertly massaged by a Shiastu Master & having my Chakras realigned & soaking in hot mud baths & eating delicious healthy meals made from ingredients that aren't pronounced the way that they are spelled, like Quinoa for example.( Can you believe that it's pronounced , 'Kinwaa'?) O, & slurping huge amounts of Vitamin Water & Cocoanut Water. And maybe some Lite Lipo & Botox thrown in at the end.
Sadly, as you can see from the photo taken today on my first day Back at the Whiteboard, I did none of that.

 But yesterday I did take myself & my friend AJ & a v. generous Gift Certificate she gave me for my birthday off to a shop called 'Benefit' where I kind of had a v.v. small makeover, although you'd never know it from the photo, above.  The whole experience opened me up to a Whole New World of Problem Areas that I'd previously been blissfully unaware of.
Like Pores. I had no idea that I had large pores around my nose the size of small bunkers on a golf course. But thankfully, I was able to buy a product that hides them. And a whole swag of other products too.
I was thrilled.

 But the thing I admired the most was the name of the products. Like the one above.
I have no idea what 'Get Even' does, but it wins the award for the Best Name for any Cosmetic Product of All Time in my books.
I hate to say it, but I've always yearned to Get Even. And when I first  heard the expression, 'Don't get Angry, get Even', it sounded like the wisest thing that I'd ever heard. Of course, it was 1986 & I had a Mullet. So what would you expect?
The one time in my life when I seriously tried to Get Even, it backfired on me in a big way. Full stop.
But I do love Getting Even in Movies even though I can only think of one at the moment.
The First Wives Club. You know, where Goldie Hawn & Diane Keaton & Bette Midler were all married to Nasty Swine who they all publicly took to the cleaners, except that Bette Midler took her Swine back in the end & I applauded her for it . I'm sure I would have done the same if I had the chance. Which I didn't.
But that's a whole other story.

 After the  makeover & Major Pore Realisation, AJ & I browsed & window shopped. I quite liked the quotes that covered the window of a boutique in nearby Paddington. My favourite quote concerned sweat pants & of course Karl Lagerfeld said it. 'Sweat pants are a sign of defeat'.
But after giving it some serious thought, I'm wondering if women actually wear sweat pants so much anymore?  Maybe sweat pants are Over. And, my next question is, 'if they are over, what has replaced them?' I can't answer that. Perhaps you can.
Take a moment or two, if you can be bothered, to read some of the other quotes. They're sort of worth it.

 You may recall that one of my favourite pastimes is to furtively photograph pages from books in bookshops. Perhaps you may think me a Lousy Cheapskate who  gets her kicks from the possible risk of Public Humiliation by being frogmarched out of a bookstore by an irate book salesperson? I mean, think of the embarressment.....
But I just couldn't help but show you these two wonderful quotes that I found in a  little book that I sadly didn't notice the title of.

 After the bookstore, we went to a shop called 'World'. I couldn't help but be intrigued by the 'I heart NZ' badges, but couldn't for the life of me imagine wearing one.

 As we were nearing our car, I also couldn't help but notice the name of another boutique, below.
Acne.
No matter how hard I try, I just don't get it.

 And then there was The shop next door. Easton Pearson, featuring Lime & Burnt Orange. I know that Lime is the Colour de Jour, but somehow I wasn't thrilled.
Perhaps I'm being a little harsh.

 I must must must get Into Bed. I'll never get up at 6.30 tomorrow which is my newish Regime. My aim is to bound out of bed in the morning like an Energiser Bunny who's just been fitted with brand new batteries.
I'll race out to the kitchen & before putting on the kettle,  drink two glasses of tap water even though a Health Professional recently informed me that Sydney Water had traces of arsenic & cat's wee in it. And perhaps an Eye of Newt.
 I don't care, I'm drinkin' it anyway.

Unparalled Cuteness

Apparently, Rabbits Don't Have Ears That Long.
Last sunday, I woke up v. early only to realise that I was totally out of Little Sachets of Apple & Cinnamon Flavoured Instant Oats.
Undaunted, I quickly dressed & scampered down the hill to the Supermarket, hoping against hope that no one would see me Without Make Up & wearing Uggs.
But half way down the hill, I stopped in my tracks when I came upon this Large Gaggle of Rabbits in the window of 'Macleay on Manning', a shop that sells Missoni Towels & Fornasetti Everything & Limoges Coffee Mugs & Prada Room Spray . And obviously Rabbits .
Perhaps you may prefer to call them Bunnys.
I was enchanted. They were adorable. And they meant Easter.
And Holidays.
As quick as a flash I took a photo with my iPhone.
But just as I was taking the photo, the spell was quickly broken by a neighbour, who stopped, took one quick look at the window & remarked, 'Sinister, aren't they?'
'Pourquoi', I inquired.
'Look at the way they're just sitting there staring at us. And they're all different. No two rabbits are the same. And what's with the ears? Rabbits don't have ears that long'.
Clearly, I'd unknowingly stumbled into a Parallel Universe.

 I'd certainly moved into a parallel universe in the photo above, taken in a Science Lab at school last week. Rarely do I venture to these parts, even though there's all kinds of enticing things to ogle at, like frog's fetuses & tiny dinosaur skeletons & dangerously fetid fish tanks with piranhas swimming in them. And models of the Human Heart like the one below.
Note I'm wearing a large Toy Dior scarf & a rather Nasty Spiked Bracelet that reflects my Inner Rage.

Did you know that the Semi-Colon reached its Peak of Popularity in 1800 & has been in decline ever since? Personally, I wouldn't give a rat's if it Completely Disappeared Tomorrow Morning, although I know certain people who hold great affection for it.
I mean, why bother?
But there's one Punctuation Mark that I do value.
The Question Mark. You can see one with a little noose hanging from it  in the photo below. I hope you don't think I'm being too maudlin or anything. I was just visually representing a line from a novel- 'The question hung in the air like a noose in the gallows'.
Let's Lighten Up.
In the photo below,  I'm having a Slight Wardrobe Malfunction because I wore my usual black singlet under the Ruffled Dusty Pink Pirate Shirt & it made its presence a little too felt. But I cheered myself up every time I looked down at the red & white Bruno Magli shoes I thrifted in Palm Springs this past  January.

 Smiling Coquettishly at Death.
I'm teaching a novel at the moment that's full of Death.  Small time thugs being found dead in cellars with their tongues cut out. People having their legs broken, that sort of thing. It's kind of Stomach-Turning, but I'm just waving & smiling through it all while I coquettishly point to the word 'Death' on the whiteboard, below.
I'm wearing a newly-thrifted miliary style dress in one of my favourite colours, Lite Elephant. 
On each wrist is a matching leather cuff with a strip of Toy Gold at the front.
I do love a Cuff. They're fun & classy.
Around my waist is a Toy Gucci belt. I'm just a Walking Toy Designer Brand.

 I decided to end this entry with a Cute Photo, just like the Nitely News likes to end their bulletins with a Cutesy Story like Marmosets dressed as jockeys riding Dogs on a Racetrack.  Or piglets doing Something Adorable.
The kitten below is called Dolly. She belongs to The Head of English who brought her to school because she was desexed & had to wear an Elizabethan Style Ruff around her neck which she kept on trying to get off. So, Dolly had to be Closely Monitored at School.
I think every Workplace, even an Abbatoir would definitely benefit by having a Pet.
 It humanises the place.

Flaunting Conventional Wisdom

Fruits de Mer, a photo by middleagedteacher on Flickr.

Easter is rapidly approaching, which means one thing - Holidays.
If I don't have a holiday soon:
I might explode.
Or use a Rude Word.
Or rush out of the house in the morning without a stick of Jewelry on.
Or eat a large packet of Corn Chips.

Actually, I've been shovelling in loads of Corn Chips lately which is a telltale sign that I'm nearing the End of My Tether, whatever that is.

But there was Absolutely No Sign of any of this today, as you can see from the photo taken just moments after lessons finished for the day & moments before I had to scamper off to a Tedious Meeting where I just managed to stop myself from hitting the teacher next to me with a Wet Flounder. Not that I had one with me at the time. But I fantasized about it.

Anyway, in the photo I'm wearing Real, Not Toy or Target Missoni!. A student told me that she'd spent the entire lesson trying to work out whether I was wearing a necklace or whether it was just part of the dress.
It's part of the dress.
And I'm wearing Horizontal Stripes without any fear at all that they're making me look any wider.
Personally, I don't care for Conventional Wisdom. What has it ever done for me?
And anyway, if the Missoni People think Horizontal Stripes are OK, who am I to disagree?