Pearls of the Sea & Other Gems

It is fantastic to live in a small country town and see our local Seniors perform in their annual variety concert. The Super Troupers have been performing at the Bijou Theatre for well over a decade now, and the opening night of their latest production 'Pearls from the Sea and Other Gems' was a delight.

Sally Ashbil is the director and she has presented us with a very slick production that was inspired by the recent Esperance Waterfront project that is currently underway, and opens upon completion in August this year. Let's hope the Waterfront follows in the footsteps of this year's Seniors' show. If it does we are in for a real treat.

On opening  night we were regaled with numbers including Oh I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside, Faraway Places, Pedro the Fisherman, Red Sails in the Sunset and the director herself giving a beautiful rendition of La Mer. Sally was born in Cairo and speaks fluent French. There was dancing, synchronised swimming (with the boys looking gorgeous in their bathers!), skits, poetry and jokes, all delivered with vim and verve. The set and costumes were superb.

The Seniors' Theatre Group has spent the last few months preparing this show, and several of the artists are in their eighties. I was left in no doubt that being involved in this production has ensured they remain active mentally and physically, and have fun and laughter in providing our vibrant community with another great night out.

As Miguel de Cevantes said "He who sings scares his woes away." Well done Super Troupers. We had a ball!

'Pearls from the Sea and Other Gems' concludes its season next weekend. For tickets visit the Esperance Theatre Guild website www.thebijoutheatre.org.au

Seeding Time Blues

I'm feeling very uncharitable atm. A tad menopausal maybe. A little tense-nervous-headachy. Seeding has not started and I've had people living in my house for six weeks now and we haven't even turned a sod, sod it. Where's the rain?

I was brought up to be polite and welcoming with visitors but after thirty years of having people in my house at seeding and harvest I'm getting a bit toey. A bit nit picky. A bit totally unreasonable and intolerant. A bit 'they're coming to take me away, ha-ha'. Pass the Valium, please.

I mean how can one workman go through so many toilet rolls in a week for God's sake? What is he doing with it in there? Though come to think of it he's in there lengthily three times a day. THREE TIMES A BLOODY DAY! Hasn't he heard of Morning Glory? That's when you do it....not Afternoon Ablute and Evening Empty as well.

I should have smelt a rat the first night when I cooked home made hamburgers for everyone. Generally one of my hamburgers satisfies a man of all descriptions. Great big bun, bacon, egg, cheese, beetroot, grated carrot, huge beef hamburger, lettuce, lashings of tomato sauce....the works. Being polite, after we'd finished our burgers, and seeing there was a burger left in the pan, I asked "Would you like anymore?" The reply was."Yes, please, could I have two more?"
Two more? THREE burgers in one sitting? This man has an appetite. He hasn't stopped eating since he got here. He can eat a massive box of NutriGrain and six litres of milk in three days. The poor lad has taken to buying supplementary bags of chips and Dorritos, and the Hill Plains mice love him for it. I say, politely, "Please do not leave open bags of chips in your bedroom as the mice will find it and shit everywhere. (I am getting a little loose tongued in my anxiety)" I say this every week....and yet, as the good Bible says, 'and some seeds fell on stoney ground'. *sigh*

But back to the bog.....it doesn't matter whether you fold or scrunch for God's sake, whatever you do it still gets the job done (ouch! terrible pun)....but Lordy, let's have some restraint with the amount you pull off the roll!

Enough said. Get a grip on yourself woman. It's only for a few weeks says the husband. Maybe....but six weeks in and with no rain to get the tractor wheels turning I'm feeling a bit precious and down in the dumps. Things can only get worse.....so stay tuned.

Chocolate Cleavage

Things NOT TO DO when attending a meeting at the local Shire, on a very hot day, with all the region's movers and shakers.

1. Dress in gorgeous Alana Hill rose and cream dress which exposes inviting cleavage. The look might be corporate with a twist. The message is 'hello boys'. The air con might be cranking, but the cleavage will be glowing.

2. Hold a cup of coffee in one hand and a chocolate covered biscuit in the other whilst talking to male CEO of Chamber of Commerce and Industry during the coffee break.

3. Bite into aforementioned biscuit so that one piece ends up in mouth, one piece remains in fingers, and third piece falls, chocolate side down, onto cleavage. Note: No free hand to remove offending refreshment.

4. Stand horrified as conversation grinds to a halt and all eyes fall upon cleavage.

5. Attempt to bend down and lick piece off yourself.

6. Ask CEO if he would mind lifting it off, but perhaps not a good idea if he looks as if he'd prefer to have a go at licking it off himself.

#awkward

I've been AWOL on the blogging scene for a while since taking up a role on the local Esperance Shire Council. They said it would be a challenge, and by God it is. Not only have I had to address items on which I know very little (and so have to learn about very fast)......but quite often when there is an objection to an item on the Council agenda I personally know both the proponent and the objector! Hmmm....

One of the wonderful Shire staff ( hey, Liv!) has been helping me organise my social media bits and pieces, so this is a test blog of sorts to see if we can link it all in with Facebook and Twitter and any other tool in order to keep the 'flutterings' of 'A Bird in the Bush' heard about the planet.

In the meantime......back to tomorrow's Council agenda. NBN fixed wireless monopole tower locations in the Esperance area. Pithy to say the least!

Message from her Majesty

What a tardy old QVII I've been. Not a peep or a tweep of a blog for two months! Here I am, at left, with HRH Prince Thomas at the Royal Wedding banquet at Hill Plains for Wills and Kate. What a night!

I'm dressed from head to toe in red velvet darlings, and looking very regal.

The toaster was a wedding gift from the Emporer and Empress Bivonius of Beamont. Such a thoughtful pair, even though it doesn't work. I have had the servants take it up to the tip to dispose of it. The King and Queen Consort of Prussia brought Geraldine Brooks' latest novel 'Caleb's Crossing' which I have just devoured. (Not through the toaster, I was speaking metaphorically good people.)

Well, time and tide wait for no Queen or King for that matter do they Canute? So I must away to oversee the crop being put into the fields and check on the yeomen.

"Don't stop one now, One's having such a good time, One's having a ball....."

QVII

Royal Wedding Invitation

Still not received your Royal Wedding Invitation? Not to worry. Here's some advice. Fabricate your own and celebrate the event in royal style.

Here's mine, from Queen Victoria II, commanding my husband HRH Prince Thomas, Duke of Mount Ney to invite our scaley mates to the wedding at Hill Plains Palace.

For one night only, April 29th 2011, why not elevate the status of your friends to Kings, Queens, Emperors and Empresses, Dukes and Duchesses and Counts and Countesses. I can assure you they will rise to the occasion. Delusions of grandeur are pouring out in the incoming RSVPs, complete with family crests (which some of them have quite obviously nicked from some bona fide royal). Envelopes, sealed with candle wax are droppng into the Hill Plains Palace mail box with comments about how they are all looking forward to parading the family jewels.

Prepare yourselves a banquet table groaning with all your best silver, crystal glassware and candelabra; grab a couple of good servanty types (might I suggest the children....they will charge however......so hard to get good staff these days); create a menu fit for a king, pour forth the fruit of the vine and get the flat screen sorted.

Great thing about living Down Under is that we'll be partying all night. More on the guest list tomorrow.

Gin o'clock, darlings. Must fly.....

Queen Victoria II (Pretentious?.....Moi?)

Start ya bastard!

Just what we all need for those tricky little moments when the pull start, or any bloody start for that matter, won't work.

Who needs a man when you've got a can of Start Ya Bastard! Check it out now right here:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGMUGjlV5HU

That's the handy hint for the day. Now it's top off time! I'm off to mow the lawn.......

Celebrating World Poetry Day

THE JOLLY GOOD SPORTS

We’re the parents of the children who to Pony Club are true
And we stand by the objectives and the aims set, through and through.
We’re not in it for the trophies or the glory of the win
If we miss out on a ribbon, we can take it on the chin
We’re for participation and enjoyment of our sport
And we don’t encourage members who’re competitively fraught.
We’ve learnt to call “Well Done!” and “Jolly Good!” when we come last,
To shout “Hooray!” to those that win as they go flying past.

So imagine the excited buzz, when just last Sunday week
We took our children and their mounts to a club gymkhana treat.
I had my little William on his Thelwell pony, Tom,
And the other Mums and Dads had brought their tiny tots along.
There was Sheila with her daughter Kate, a sweety-pie aged five,
And sporty Sal had brought her John upon his pony Clive
Kylie had her Georgia on a darling little horse,
As we gathered for a lead rein race - a bunch of real good sports.

“I’m nervous, Mum,” a small voice cried as we lined up at the start
“It’s just for fun,” came the reply. “What’s important’s taking part.”
So why then did this mother pop some joggers on her feet
And cast her heavy boots aside as she got ready to compete?
“On your marks” the starter cried, “Ready! Steady!......Go!”
And we took off like jack rabbits with our little ones in tow.
“Hang on!” I screamed with gusto, to a rather startled Will
For like Banjo’s Geebung Polo Club, I was in there for the kill.

As I dragged the pony down the track I caught Kylie in my eye
Running like a madman with her daughter in full cry
“Run faster, Mum………run faster! Or we won’t win the race!”
She was hell bent on the trophy; you could see it on her face.
Kate was screaming “Slow down, Mum.” Her eyes were full of fear
As she clung on to her saddle, but her plea fell on deaf ears.
John and Sal were in the lead, the joggers did the trick
They reached the water bucket first; Sal yanked John off real quick

You had to get an apple then, from a bucket full of water
And Kylie didn’t hang around, she tore her little daughter
Clean off her nag and shouted out “Quick, bite that apple, love”
Then with one clean, swift, and expert move, she gave her head a shove
And immersed her conk completely ‘til she forced the apple down
And spiked it with her pearly whites, and jolly nearly drowned.
I tried the same technique with Will, although his face turned blue
And he swallowed so much water that he looked as if he’d spew.

Bubbles rose up from the depths of young Kate’s water pail
While her mother hollered “Bite it Kate!” But all to no avail.
And John didn’t take his helmet off, so no matter how he tried
He couldn’t spear his apple – his head wouldn’t fit inside.
You should have seen his mother as she ripped it off his scone
And realised that any chance of winning this was gone.
Will looked like a suckling pig, with wide and bulging eyes
As neck and neck with Kylie, we raced to claim first prize

As we tore towards the finish flags, I gave one final burst
And pulled the pony round real fast to see who had come first
‘Twas Kylie! Damn! I turned to see why Will had made no sound
And there he was flat on his back, face up, upon the ground.
I’d spun the pony round so fast when finishing the race
That Will had been ejected as he’d gained his second place
I picked him up, removed the apple, and said “Well that was fun!”
Just jump back on your pony, and we’ll do another, son!”

He didn’t seem excited at the prospect of another
Lead rein race accompanied by a half demented mother
And neither did the other two who’d clearly had enough
Of all the frenzied action of this character building stuff
And as Georgia clutched her trophy and smiled a toothless grin
We remembered that it doesn’t matter if you lose or win
We’re for participation and enjoyment of our sport
And we don’t encourage members who’re competitively fraught!

© Victoria Brown Hill Plains, Esperance

Sell your husband!

OMG! What has the poor old Duchess done now? Prince Andrew must be rueing the day he trotted her down the aisle and out onto the steps of Westminster Abbey.

Her self confessed "serious lapse in judgement" in offering access to her 'ex' in exchange for cash has got the British tabloids accusing her of "selling the country, the monarchy and herself down the river." The poor old Thames....how can it cope with the load?

Fergie's a month older than me, and that's probably where our similarities end, apart from the fact we're both Poms with plummy accents, and we both turned 50 last year. I gather her party plans for last October were scaled down due to money concerns. A low key dinner at The Lanesborough Hotel in London with family and friends was what she got. A coupla chardies and a carton of Ted's in the shearing shed is what I call low key.... In contrast my celebration was with 'the girls' at a local restuarant, and well within my budget. However there wasn't a Lisa Marie or Pricilla Presely to be seen. Must do something about that....

Poor girl, her divorce settlement is a paltry $26,000 p.a. compared to her sister-in-law's $35 million, so no wonder she's feeling a tad short changed. Tabloid photos show her "hunched over a wad of cash and a wine bottle." Sounds seedy enough until you discover the wine was probably a ninety five quid bottle of burgundy which raises the tone somewhat.

Anyway, her behaviour's got me thinking. I'm willing to sell access to my husband for $50 and a bottle of Penfold's Grange. Well.......I don't want to sound too cheap and nasty.

Call me.....

Judging a Karaoke Final

I thought judging horses and cake competitions was difficult enough, but last night I had the daunting job, along with Naomi Bailye and Marcus Tromp (pictured left), of judging the regional finals of the Karaoke World Championships Australian Trial. This was the first round to determine who will compete in the State finals, and then go on to represent WA in Surfer's Paradise for the Nationals, with the winner of that competition going to Moscow for the World Championships.

It was an action packed night with an horrendously tight finish that saw the top three place getters separated by a couple of points. There were some fabulous renditions from all competitors, some of the more memorable for me were from Renae, Taryn, Sonja, Steve, Marlina and Kerralyn (who could forget that gorgeous get up for 'Does Your Mother Know'?)

It was a great night out that had me dancing and whooping and cheering on my stool as I got caught up in the atmosphere of a great pub/club karaoke competition. Someone said to me "Aren't you judges supposed to be impartial?" Maybe they expected us to be dead pan or dead from the neck down. Sorry.....'no can do' on a night like this when entertainment, great vocals and crowd participation and enthusiasm is the name of the game. The music and their heart and soul performances be they ballard, country, rock or pop were pumping through my system too.

My only regret for the night? That we couldn't send more than two people to the State finals in Perth, and I empathise with those who didn't make it 'cos I know what it feels like. You're looking at someone who missed out by half a point on $5000 and a National title in Sydney a few years ago ( for bush poetry not karaoke.)

'Judges smudges......huh.....what do they know?'

It makes me want to grab the karaoke mic and start singing one of my favourite numbers....

"I get knocked down, but I get up again"

Good luck in the State finals guys. Meanwhile I can feel a new phase coming on.....

Cheers.

The Scales Never Lie

I had the shock of my life this week when I leapt onto the bathroom scales to discover I had put on three kilos over the weekend.

Whaaaat!?

In sheer terror I pulled on my new joggers and walked frenetically around the farm for eight kilometres with the dogs.

Got back on the scales the next morning, but still not back to my normal weight. More frenetic walking, this time a little slower as I was tweaking from the previous day's effort. Also ate lettuce and leafy things for lunch. Had no red wine with carb free dinner (agony) and no delicious morsel with coffee (further torment.)

Got back on scales the next morning. Still not back to normal weight. Blind panic by now. Did silly shuffly run down the drive and back (three kilometres) carrying weights, and luckily didn't pass anyone coming in or out of the farm. More leaves and grasses for dinner with small glass of red to keep husband company (let's hear it for the husband....Yay!)

About to get back on scales this morning (with glasses on for some reason,) and on looking more closely at weight indicator needle, notice that it is indicating three kilos before anyone steps onto the bastard.

Brilliant! Now weigh two kilos less than normal weight. Bottle of red open, creamy carbonara for dinner.

P.S. If any of you are rude enough to look at the scales in the picture to see how much I weigh by zooming in on the photo, let me tell you I am not a total idiot. I set the scales back the other way to my advantage before I got on to take the photo!

Who's got my bottom?

Can anyone tell me what has happened to my bottom?

Someone out there must know. Did the Bugalugs Bum Thief (Tim Winton) rip through the Beaumont district last night and have himself a bit of sport swapping the bottoms of the inhabitants of our small community whilst we all slept through blissfully unaware......until this morning?

Cruel joke, sir....and Queen Victoria is definitley not amused! As I prepared to slip into my undergarments this morning I caught a glimpse of my derriere in the mirror, and nearly toppled over in shock, catching the toe of my right foot in my Bonds cotton gusset.

Having hopped and staggered to the edge of the bed before nose diving onto the doona, I girded my loins, and by God they needed girding, and prepared to take a second look. Horror! That was not my bottom......surely? My bottom looks like the one in the picture. Well it did until this morning. This other person's bottom, now attached to the top of my legs, is not mine! It hangs a little lower than my original, and the tone, texture and bounce seem to have dropped too. I want my old bottom back, not this 'old' bottom. Who the hell has got it?

I'm giving you all a warning shot so whoever has it can come clean and return it to me in the next couple of days. I promise nothing more will be said. Otherwise you will all have to put up with me touching you all up in an attempt to discover who the thief is, and I won't be at all suprised if I find it on a man either. I know what you boys are like......

In the meantime I'd better concentrate on the top end of my body. I have just looked down to see I have spent the entire day wearing my cardie done up incorrectly having mismatched the buttons to the holes. What a plonker!

I feel as if I'm on a down hill slide.......

The Last School Ball

This is the last of our offspring at his Year 12 school ball, and look at the gorgeous girl he took! How did he get this vision of loveliness to be his partner? Is she aware that this handsome dude does not usually dress like this? Would she have accepted his invite if she had known that at home on the farm he normally wears daggy grey ruggers, flanelette shirts, odd socks, work boots and a hair style that looks as if he has been dragged through a bush backwards? Is she aware that his all time heroes are Bart and Homer Simpson and his idea of a good night out is to take the dog in his ute shooting rabbits followed by a Bad Boys movie and a Beryl's Burger with the lot?

The one good thing about this blog is that he is highly unlikely to ever read it. Mothers are an embarrassment, so he is hardly likely to visit my website, and even more unlikely to be my friend on facebook, so I feel I have carte blanche to write whatever tickles my fancy. Sorry mate, but you kids have always supplied me with such wonderful material.

He took this lovely lady to the 'befores' and then piled her onto 'the party bus' that the boys had hired to take them all to the ball. My lot have tried all the options. Daughter number one went to the ball in a London taxi cab via King's Park for a photo shoot. Daughter number two hired a limo with her crew of party goers and went via some coastal venue for a photo shoot, whilst the boy opted for 'the party bus'. The cheapest option. If there was a photo shoot of any description on the way to his ball it is highly unlikely that I will ever see any of the photos. He's just not interested in that sort of thing. He doesn't even own a camera. The girls are on their third each I think.......

Daughter number one wore to her school ball a Ruth Tarvydas ball gown, had her hair, makeup and nails done and had new shoes and jewels. Daughter number two had her dress made by a seamstress, had her hair, makeup and nails done as well as a fake tan, new shoes and ear rings to die for. The boy hired a dinner suit through the school, borrowed his mate's shoes and had a fifteen dollar hair cut the week before. The cheapest option. The girls drank Veuve Clicquot and Moet. The boy drank beer. The cheapest option. We should have had three boys.......

All three went to the dreaded 'afters' and partied through into the wee small hours. Some ended up at home for an hour's kip before breakfast at some beach venue; some ended up with ball gown and shoes stuffed in a rucksack, but clad in 'afters' garb, hoarse from wild singing and dancing, at home at 5am; and some ended up in a sand bunker on hole number four of the local golf Course at 6am. Mercifully none of them disgraced themselves ( to my knowledge) and lived to tell the tale of their first All Nighter. Remember those? I'm talking Party All Nighters here, folks, not Screaming Baby All Nighters....

Great expectations, great excitement and great fun for the kids. Great stress, great expense and great pride for the parents. They all looked so grown up!

Just the ATAR score to go now, boy.......You've had your fun, so head down and go for it.

Rottnest Island 25 years on

Here we are, a couple of old codgers out and about on bikes on Rottnest Island. Haven't been here since before we had kids 25 years ago and one thing that has changed is that we have to wear these ridiculous bike helmets.

Honestly!

We're over here for a night in a lovely villa on the beach at Thomson Bay, and mid week is a good time to come as it's 10pm as a write this and quiet as the grave. The gentle lap of the ocean on the beach outside our villa is the only sound apart from a few cicadas.

I know I shouldn't have, but I've stroked an inquisitive quokka that came through our back gate looking for food this afternoon (but I didn't feed him a single scrap). Ordering the groceries from the Rottnest General Store online was a good idea. It had all been delivered and popped into the fridge when we arrived. Excellent service.

I'm nursing a bit of a tender bottom after day one in the saddle, and a bit dubious about day two as King Tommo wants us to ride over to Cape Vlamingh. I thought we went that far 25 years ago, but looking at a map we realised we only went as far as the guns and tunnels at Oliver Hill. Oh, dear..... He swears he has never known a person to ride a bike as slowly as I do, and is amazed I don't fall off. Bullshit! He is one of those crazed nutters who pedals down hill and goes so fast I'm sure he doesn't see a thing!

Hotel Rottnest has been done up well. We had a coffee and Baileys on Ice there a short while ago, surrounded by quokkas who couldn't quite work out the unpalatable fake grass! The settlement is looking good and we had a lovely walk over to Geordie Bay this evening. Now it's time to turn in and get ready for the saddle tomorrow.

The Bare Bottomed Truth

I'm just an old scrubber. My job last week was to help remove the old anti foul from our boat, Serendipity, and slap on the new stuff. It's a messy job, but a necessary one.

'Serendipity' is a popular name for boats. It means 'The Faculty of Making Happy Discoveries By Accident'. Here is a shot of her props all cleaned up.

It reminds me of my friend Dave's bottom.

Dave had a propeller tattoed to each cheek of his backside many moons ago in his heady youth when he was single and before he met the love of life and decided this was the girl for him....for ever.

During their courtship Dave had told her a lot about himself but had been too 'em-bare-arsed' to tell her about his 'bare arse', and he was terrified she would reject him when she discovered his bottom was not as unsullied as she might like to imagine.

So he took her to dinner to 'prop'-ose (this is getting silly) to her and to come clean and bare all. (Well not literally, for they would have been thrown out of the restaurant wouldn't they?) He went down on one knee and asked her to marry him, but told her that before she gave him her answer, there was something he had to tell her. He was worried about how she was going to take it and he didn't know how to begin to tell her this terrible thing he had to confess to.

She recalls that evening so well. Her mind was in a tortuous turmoil thinking of all the ghastly things he might be about to tell her. He was already married; he had illegitimate offspring from another relationship; he couldn't have children; he was an axe murderer! She remembers vividly how she reacted when he turned deep red in the face, leant towards her and whispered,

"I have propellers tattoed on the cheeks of my backside."

Laugh! She nearly fell off her chair with relief! Was that all? So she said 'Yes' to his proposal and his props and they lived happily ever after.

He is still very sensitive about his props, and doesn't like people seeing them. He is the only man I have ever walked in on naked in a bathroom who, instead of turning swiftly away to hide his manhood and show me his bottom, has swung round swiftly and shown me his fruit!

'Serendipity'.....the faculty of making happy discoveries by accident!

Country Mums

I had the pleasure to perform at the Country Mums Group in Condingup this week. Pictured are Janet (left) and Suzie (on my right).

This is a lively group of young women who bring their children and themselves together once a month in the delightful setting of The Condingup Tavern. Here, they enjoy coffee, cake, lunch and laughter as they think up entertaining and interesting topics each month.

There are a lot of little people underfoot here, and beautifully behaved too I might add, as well as babes in arms, on the bottle and the breast. Some mothers have managed to birth down two babies at the same time, so it is fortunate that there are plenty of arms available to settle the twins when needed!

We were talking ebay at one stage, the pros and cons, and how I can hopefully pick up a good digital SLR on there. Janet is obviously a seasoned ebay buyer. She had a lot of advice including this gem:

"But you've got to be good at ebay.......I've got four clarinets.....and none of them work!"

Good advice....thanks Janet.

The Bijou Theatre

The Bijou Theatre

Clink on the link above and see how you can enter The Bijou Monologues competition and be in the running to win $1000! You've got until the 15th April to get your entries in, so if you reside in the Esperance districts get writing!

The Old School Tie

The Old School Tie....only this one isn't, in order to protect the protagonist in my blog. I felt that if I posted a photograph of his real school tie, it would be recognised by someone and all hell would break loose in his scholastic institution. Or worse.....we might be called in for another one of those unpleasant 'interviews'.

Parents have so many reasons to be proud of their children, and for us our son is no exception. Perhaps yours was Head Boy or Head of House or Captain of Cricket. Perhaps yours was the winner of The Beazley Medal or Dux of School or Fairest and Best for the footy season. Maybe he plays three different instruments or is the youngest boy to have sailed single handed around the world in a yacht.

Ours did none of the above, but boy are we proud of him. And why, I hear you ask?

Because our son, as he moves through his final year of school, has single handedly manged to get through five gruelling years of secondary education seemingly with the original set of school uniform we bought for him at the start of Year 8. That's right, one set of uniform.

Does he have some sort of growth disorder? No, he does not. He was 152cm when we sent him away four years ago and he is now 186cm.

Is he abjectly shuffling around his school in shorts that constrict his nether regions, long pants that finish mid calf, and shirts whose sleeves finish at his elbows, whose tails are too far from his pants to tuck into anything, and whose button holes have elastic attached to them so that they can connect with their buttons on the other side of his rapidly growing, well muscled, manly chest?

No, he is not. Our boy is quite simply entrepreneurial. Our boy is going to go far. Our boy may be no Rhodes Scholar, but by God he was quick off the mark with his visionary powers when he first came across........... The Boarding House Lost Property Box.

He has quite simply dressed himself out of this receptacale by recycling his school uniforms. He simply takes out his name tapes from his school clothes, drops in a size 10 and pulls out an un-named size 12. Then the follwoing year he drops in his size 12 and takes out a size 14. I was horrified initially.

"Darling! Isn't that theft?"

"No. It's recycling, Mum. None of the stuff I take out has a name on it and it's been in there for ages. It's not as if I'm not putting anything back in either. It's sort of swapping stuff, that's all"

Perfectly harmless, isn't it? So I relent, and realise that is one trip to the school uniform shop I won't have to make at the start of the new school year, and one more trip for me to the frock shop. The boy has saved us hundreds of dollars.

And Madam, before you get irate with me because my son is possibly wearing your son's rugby shirt, might I politely remind you that you should have put a bloody name tape in it or marked it with an indelible pen! I'm starting to sound slightly school marmish now.

Oh, and if any one is after 'an old school tie', my boy might be able to help you out.....though with his entrepreneurial skills, it might cost you!

Mr Dodger and Mr Toad

Here are Mr Dodger and Mr Toad, looking guilty as they have just been brought back to the shack at the beach having done a spot of vacational 'running away'.

As a result they must wear their 'dunces ears' for a small period of time to remind them of how naughty they have been.

It takes a while for the dogs to work out that they need to give themselves a quick head flick to get their ears back in the right spot. In the meantime the family gets a good giggle.

Dingo Rocks Fire

Farmland to the NE of Esperance has been under threat from a bush fire raging in an area east of Salmon Gums known as Dingo Rocks. We saw smoke from this fire last week, and the red glow to the NE of us at night was an amazing sight.

FESA and local volunteers have been busy fighting the fire this week, with temperatures in the district reaching 38 degrees plus for the last couple of days.

Whilst the fire is nowhere near our farm, the smoke has drifted far and wide giving eerie afternoon light to the farm. This picture of Hill Plains homestead was taken at about two in the afternoon.

Chiefy has disappeared up to the FESA operations van to help with controlling and any back burning that might be required. This leaves me home alone. Yay! Food and Lifestyle channels here I come! UK sitcoms here I come! Though obviously when his Lordship returns from a hot day at the fire front I shall say I have been busy washing, cooking and cleaning.....