tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104396232024-03-19T04:03:51.727+01:00Naughty Letters to Ms. MacCountless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.comBlogger500125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-69038717400722375002011-02-21T21:11:00.005+01:002011-02-21T21:18:55.761+01:00Lucy and RamonaI freaked out to see how old <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2011/feb/21/the-monkees-60s-uk-tour">the Monkees</a> have become in this photo in The Guardian today<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIRiOKsG3UE1bGUpZvkZi5WX8uhta2-ygHTtuommIlCoQuWrpxC-SMixCRzJGiLKf4lJh_hLAOeXL3wSBVmoEKdTMkmYhlGdDuRnDJcthW9TZnTXW9_QdMYjLcFuipwNoiU7O/s1600/Peter-Tork-Davey-Jones-an-007.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIRiOKsG3UE1bGUpZvkZi5WX8uhta2-ygHTtuommIlCoQuWrpxC-SMixCRzJGiLKf4lJh_hLAOeXL3wSBVmoEKdTMkmYhlGdDuRnDJcthW9TZnTXW9_QdMYjLcFuipwNoiU7O/s400/Peter-Tork-Davey-Jones-an-007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576239108579831730" /></a><br /><br />Sadly my favourite, Mike Nesmith, will not be taking part in their reunion, but thanks to the magic of YouTube, I get to listen to one of the coolest pop videos from 1979:<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dRWTz3zY1WY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-49598208131993382102010-05-20T08:33:00.005+02:002010-05-20T08:42:14.419+02:00Teeny Weeny Burpday Greetings to Ms. Mac!Dearest Soulie,<br /><br />I was going to wish you especially HUGE, EXTRAVAGENT, VOLUMINOUS and IMPORTANT burpday greetings today, but then I remembered that it's only an itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny, completely insignificant number that we are celebrating.<br /><br />I mean, come on! You're still only thirteen, right? Nothing to get excited about!<br /><br />But you are extremely honoured to take receipt of this delicious, home-grown rose wot bloomed in my garden yesterday.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqR9fvxnptmnrE2DkBATLmQlRxmvSj5DjnElsevt2waull2ubzB31l8HzEGpIxcofbGWjoeTce3GISUzcBCgllBP2guQJoueOHJcr4FtPgGWlsu7MCnlvVlF5TuvSWyqrHl0IN/s1600/IMG_2827.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqR9fvxnptmnrE2DkBATLmQlRxmvSj5DjnElsevt2waull2ubzB31l8HzEGpIxcofbGWjoeTce3GISUzcBCgllBP2guQJoueOHJcr4FtPgGWlsu7MCnlvVlF5TuvSWyqrHl0IN/s400/IMG_2827.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473237653099779058" /></a><br /><br />If you lean very close to your computer and inhale deeply, you will detect its powerful, aphrodisiac fragrance. CAREFUL - not <span style="font-style:italic;">THAT </span>close! Now you've smudged the screen with your nose. You'll have to get the <span style="font-style:italic;">Putzfrau </span>in to clean it up, while Mr Mac takes you on the town for pizza and a movie. Or beer and an ACDC concert. Or champagne and a <span style="font-style:italic;">thé dansant</span>. Something appropriate to your age!<br /><br />Muchos burpday besos to you!<br /><br />love, Love, LOVE,<br /><br />Antipo<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-70761521489946527922010-05-12T08:46:00.009+02:002010-05-12T08:56:12.521+02:00To Do List- Buy fabric rose to accessorize my Flapper headband for Charleston costume (dance recital only 1 month away).<br /><br />- Finish altering figure-hugging, peacock-blue satin cheong-sam for dance recital.<br /><br />- Buy and read <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://dellasays.wordpress.com/">Della Says OMG</a></span> by the Lovely <a href="http://twitter.com/Keris">Keris Stainton</a>, shower her with praise and stalk her until she deigns to meet me and impart her writerly wisdom.<br /><br />- Wait feverishly for the postman to bring my bridesmaid's dress<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdPSRbFoCj5N_OgVHasR-ntEkGsKWiCLZZ3KGyLgil2lrHQLuGH91Lf7Tukx_37D3uDW2yLNN-KRSEe9kuzlwmL9D6RNv3Zl9yk9FvkV0G3x5P1kIJj5XSR-kDhNcVgOWqpF8Y/s1600/IMG_2757.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdPSRbFoCj5N_OgVHasR-ntEkGsKWiCLZZ3KGyLgil2lrHQLuGH91Lf7Tukx_37D3uDW2yLNN-KRSEe9kuzlwmL9D6RNv3Zl9yk9FvkV0G3x5P1kIJj5XSR-kDhNcVgOWqpF8Y/s400/IMG_2757.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470271937601666562" /></a><br /><br />from my personal dressmaker in Australia, so I can try it on and practice the complicated, yet sleekly elegant sash-tying technique.<br /><br />- Clean out the putrid glob of old hairs & soap scum blocking the plughole in the bath because it's starting to stink...Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-46892317538099652102010-02-20T23:11:00.007+01:002010-02-20T23:29:43.542+01:00Turning Forty-FiveSo my husband's grumbling 'cos he can't find a clean Tupperware to store the leftovers in and I'm all relaxed because "Man it's my birthday, who cares?" and after five (or six?) flutes of champagne, fuck I haven't been this drunk since 1989, we watched <span style="font-style:italic;">Aliens vs. Monsters</span> with the kids and the rabbit peed on Pauline's pyjamas and I go into the kitchen laughing like a motherfucker to unload the dishwasher with one hand while sexting Ms. Mac with the other, but I keep pushing the SEND button too early (stupid phone is retarded obviously) and Stella has to hold her breath in between sexts to understand what the heck I'm talking about, and I make myself a coffee to try and sober up. Do NOT want to go to bed with so much alkyhall in the blood. Do NOT want to be hanged over tomorrow.<br /><br />Kevin got the hiccups during the movie and Pauline was cross 'cos I kept shrieking with laughter and dropping my head onto her shoulder.<br /><br />Shit now, with my eyelids at half-mast, I understand how people get drunk, take too many meds and fall down the stairs or into the fireplace!!! But I'm still sufficiently obsessed with good presentation to backtrack and correct my typos so y'all can read this.<br /><br />So I check my email again to see if my brand new clients received the enormous, wonderful, skillfully-crafted and perfectly-formed translation I sent them tonight after three solid days of work. I am SO proud of myself. I worked SO HARD for the last week, wanting to impress them with my language skillz and show them how good my French is. My brain is fried and I understand why businessmen get drunk, sniff drugs and take a hooker for the night. Once I had pressed SEND on that contract, I had just one desire: to U.W.I.N.D baby. I haven't found any drugs to sniff or hookers yet, but I sure would like to.<br /><br />And in spite of working from 7 am to 7 pm today, I had such a lovely burpday, with phone calls from Canada and New Zealand and Australia, and so many happy messages from around the world. I am a lucky, lucky girl!Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-43482933146026148482010-02-04T19:35:00.003+01:002010-02-04T19:38:39.462+01:00THIS is why you don't hear from us anymore<a href="http://twitter.com/msmac">Her Majesty has a hurty knee!</a><br /><br />Mine is <a href="http://twitter.com/antipodeesse">here </a><br /><br />but you have to email me first in a totally smarmy and sycophantic way to get permission.Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-70050350016029954042009-12-12T20:41:00.000+01:002009-12-12T20:42:25.456+01:00This One's For Tat and Trac!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHQOZEfeu0-jh0LGbyTtCC234RYd_BLFmKTXPHfXB6Bcu1698TvCrLccCZfG3kptycSiPfnB6SRVs77WkBd2hsZLj0FkNapVrrGSNv0Z9ZiSOXX_F3iIVmlZAX0Zgoh4mPny5v/s1600-h/IMG_2476.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHQOZEfeu0-jh0LGbyTtCC234RYd_BLFmKTXPHfXB6Bcu1698TvCrLccCZfG3kptycSiPfnB6SRVs77WkBd2hsZLj0FkNapVrrGSNv0Z9ZiSOXX_F3iIVmlZAX0Zgoh4mPny5v/s400/IMG_2476.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414437326881801874" /></a><br /><br />Yes, I've had a couple of beers tonight...Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-58914524860905854992009-11-13T12:57:00.010+01:002009-11-13T13:14:15.837+01:00Why I Hate FridaysAntipo <span style="font-style:italic;">[typing away, hard at work in her study]<br /></span><br /><br />Mr Grumpy Blackheart <span style="font-style:italic;">[still in pyjamas at 12:30]:</span> Where's the rabbit?<br /><br />Antipo <span style="font-style:italic;">[typing]</span>: Under the bed in Popo's room.<br /><br />Mr Grumpy Blackheart <span style="font-style:italic;">[still in pyjamas at 12:31]:</span> I hope she's not doing poops or chewing the electric cables.<br /><br />Antipo <span style="font-style:italic;">[typing]</span>: Of course not, she is a pedigree, well brought up young lady, not like those rough rabbits from the housing estate.<br /><br />Mr Grumpy Blackheart <span style="font-style:italic;">[still in pyjamas at 12:33]:</span> You are supposed to be watching her when she's not in her cage.<br /><br />Antipo <span style="font-style:italic;">[typing]</span>: I'm working.<br /><br />Mr Grumpy Blackheart <span style="font-style:italic;">[still in pyjamas at 12:35]:</span> Well shut Popo's bedroom door so the rabbit can't go in there.<br /><br />Antipo <span style="font-style:italic;">[STOPS typing]</span>: I <span style="font-style:italic;">had </span>all the bedroom doors shut yesterday so Fluffy would have to stay with me and you scolded me for not letting the warm air circulate, which makes the bedrooms cold and Popo might catch pneumonatic swine flu and tuberculosis and DIE and then I would be sorry!<br /><br />Mr Grumpy Blackheart <span style="font-style:italic;">[still in pyjamas at 12:38]:</span> But today it's warm and sunny so you can shut the bedroom doors.<br /><br />Antipo <span style="font-style:italic;">[shouting, not typing]</span>: GET OUT OF MY FACE! I'm <span style="font-weight:bold;">WORKING</span>!Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-73622689307681201542009-11-13T11:15:00.010+01:002009-11-13T11:31:54.736+01:00Fuck You Mr Grumpy Blackheart!Thursday morning. Mr Grumpy Blackheart has a day's leave. I get up at 6:20 as I have done every day this year, to get son to the station on time for his train. I then take daughter to school at 8 am, briefly see Mr Grumpy Blackheart is up and getting his breakfast, and go jogging in the forest. When I arrive back at the house an hour later, I go into our bedroom and see he has gone back to bed. Oops! I close the door gently and tiptoe away, thinking I will have my shower later, as the bathroom is just next to our bedroom and I don’t want to make any noise.<br /><br />My morning progresses satisfactorily: important writing, proofreading and emailing. I briefly visit Mr Blackheart in the basement where he is fixing the punctured tyre on his mountain bike, then get back to work in my study. At midday I hear Mr Blackheart making kitcheny noises, which means he is getting his lunch, but I don’t want to stop while I’m in the middle of a creative streak, so I keep working. At around two o’clock I succumb to hunger and skip downstairs in a good mood to get my lunch. I know Mr Blackheart often has an afternoon nap on weekends and holidays, but I foolishly assume that would not be the case today, as he has already spent the morning in bed. Wrong! <br /><br />Later in the day he complains heavily that he couldn’t sleep this afternoon because of all the noise I made in the kitchen (microwave pinging, cupboard doors being opened and closed, my conversation with the rabbit). I sweetly tell him that if he would care to <span style="font-weight:bold;">inform me when he is taking a nap </span>I will be happy to sit noiselessy in a corner with my hands folded silently, but because he had a <span style="font-style:italic;">grasse matinée,</span> I assumed he would not require further slumber today. I also inform him that I deliberately did not use the bathroom in the morning because I knew he was in bed, even though I am dying to take a shower. I cannot refrain from adding that some of us get up early, take care of children, do exercise, work, housework, and do not actually have time for lie-ins and afternoon naps. Some of us pretend to be young, bouncy and energetic, even if we are not, in order to avoid sliding into a state of lethargic depression.<br /><br />Friday morning. Mr Grumpy Blackheart’s regular day off work (he works a four day week). He stays in bed until 11 am. I get the children out of the house by 8 am, go jogging, come home, have my shower, make my breakfast <span style="font-style:italic;">(ping! slam!</span>) and talk loudly to Fluffy with lots of joyous exclamations.<br /><br />Fuck you Mr Grumpy Blackheart!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I</span> have a <span style="font-style:italic;">life</span>!<br /><br />(Note: He is now up at 11:20 and is vacuuming the lounge, even though I did it yesterday, because apparently I didn't use the correct attachment for rugs.)Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-59954223569304359712009-11-09T14:47:00.002+01:002009-11-09T14:50:05.199+01:00The Joy of BumsexDearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />Can you explain to me the joy of anal sex for girls, because really, it's like doing a big poo in reverse, isn't it?<br /><br />Oh how I long to be able to discuss sexual pratices and techniques with sophistication and elegance, like the grown ups do. But I cannot. Not without giggling and sniggering.<br /><br />Do you remember that day when we exchanged our deepest, darkest intimate secrets, and I had to put a sofa cushion between our heads?<br /><br />Yeah.<br /><br />Love and stuff,<br />Antipo<br /><br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-75232527220098975212009-11-08T13:41:00.001+01:002009-11-09T14:56:12.488+01:00Do Men Know?Dearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />Do you think men <span style="font-style:italic;">know </span>that sometimes, for example on a Sunday morning when you are looking foward to a long lie-in but the spouse has other ideas, and while he’s pumping away you are thinking ‘I must get the chicken breasts out early to finish thawing before lunch, and I will fry the courgettes and diced pumpkin in a separate pan from the chicken curry or else the little one won’t eat it, and I hope I’ve got enough apples to make a really big crumble to last for two days, and oh God I wish he’d hurry up because I need to get to the supermarket early to avoid the crowds and I don’t even want to go there but I urgently need to buy that magic correcting fluid to restore to whiteness my son’s chef’s uniform which I accidentally stained pink in the laundry yesterday because I so foolishly added to the wash that bright pink sheet (which I originally dyed fuschia to match Ms. Mac’s blog and so the Bloggers’ Pick-Knickers would find us easily in Paris four years ago), and he needs the uniform clean and ironed by 7 am tomorrow.’?<br /><br />I bet they have <span style="font-style:italic;">no idea.</span>Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-50980949607300957232009-11-05T17:27:00.002+01:002009-11-05T17:33:49.498+01:00The DressFluff called me from Melbourne! Her wedding is 11 months away but she has already bought a dress and chosen a matching venue. The story of how she found the dress is so <span style="font-style:italic;">deliciously </span>Fluff.<br /><br />She intended to simply buy a beautiful frock, as it is her second marriage, she’s 43 and she supposed she would have a low-key wedding this time around. (Here I thought ‘But Fluff doesn’t know the <span style="font-style:italic;">meaning </span>of low-key!’). Additionally, she wanted a dress she could wear again on future occasions. On a whim she and her daughter stopped in at a bridal boutique one day and tried on bridal gowns just for fun, with no serious retail intentions. However, the gowns all contained remarkable corsetry, intricate boning and structures that firmed her curves, plumped up her splendours, and felt simply divine. <br /><br />Fluff had no intention of forking out hundreds of dollars on a made-to-measure gown, but decided she would have to buy a corset to wear under a pretty frock. However, the effect was not as shimmery and intoxicating. She was hooked, and began researching corsetry. Fluff is an extremely gifted seamstress and felt sure she could make her own corset and dress. Sadly the procedure proved, after hours of research and visiting corsetry suppliers, to be lengthy and costly, and frankly too much bother.<br /><br />During the course of her research she came across a website specialising in RED wedding gowns. That sparked off a new longing in the sartorial hemisphere of Fluff’s lovely brain, the part that goes <span style="font-style:italic;">Ping! </span>when it sees satin and shantung and lustrous <span style="font-style:italic;">reflets </span>and she went back for another round of trying on bridal gowns in the boutiques.<br /><br />One weekend, near her fiancé’s weekend cottage in a small town, she came across the perfect RED dress and bought it. The hardest thing is not being able to wear it for a whole year. <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Dress</span> is being stored at her mother’s house, safely out of temptation’s way.<br /><br />She subsequently found a venue that will set off <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Dress </span>to its best advantage. Her choice of marriage celebrant will surely be sympathetic to <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Dress. </span>All that remains is to invite guests who will flatter <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Dress</span>.<br /><br />And what of <span style="font-style:italic;">‘a dress she could wear again on future occasions’</span>? In true Fluff style, she will wear <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Dress</span> to dinners, picnics and PTA meetings, and she will bedazzle the bejesus out of everyone else!Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-91857232047004948672009-10-20T10:12:00.004+02:002009-10-20T10:19:07.144+02:00Antipo Is a Bad Mother, Despite Her Best IntentionsDearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />I can never blog this, but I can tell you!<br /><br />I bought myself a small whiteboard (felt pen, wipe clean thingie) for the kitchen, to act as a running total shopping list. The crotchfruit are always forgetting to write down what they need and then get cross with me when I don't buy their new school pens or whatever. So a certain young person not <span style="font-style:italic;">entirely </span>unrelated to me, asked for a whiteboard too, for her room.<br /><br />Of course I never intended to read it, as I naturally respect her privacy. However, this morning, an incident of a most peculiar and alarming nature occurred. The whiteboard actually jumped before my eyes and the words inscribed there flashed instantly onto my brain via the ocular nerve. Obviously such an event was entirely beyond my control...<br /><br />The whiteboard contained the following list:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">- Don't forget compass and calculator<br />- Wear skinny jeans, blue shirt, black vest and blue scarf to school<br />- Try to sit next to Sophie today<br />- Ask if her parents are divorced. Tell her that her new haircut REALLY suits her, is mega cool!!!<br />- Ask Papa to take me shopping at big new shopping mall.<br />- Discuss CHRISTMAS!!!!<br /></span>Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-71619947591308920532009-09-26T21:19:00.001+02:002009-09-26T21:19:45.807+02:00We Slayed 'Em!Waiting for our curtain call<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DccwP4uBgdxZV-2cjRPBAuTn7RTkmSFIGH2CvuNUQO-GiapsGe_P51Fh6pIWcuZnSEUa01GaB_x9e7yM_RVQGAu0ZxYhV4aowfoFCGpWYzye9mXqW9vpxHv9ka62P0AUqoPv/s1600-h/festival09+072.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DccwP4uBgdxZV-2cjRPBAuTn7RTkmSFIGH2CvuNUQO-GiapsGe_P51Fh6pIWcuZnSEUa01GaB_x9e7yM_RVQGAu0ZxYhV4aowfoFCGpWYzye9mXqW9vpxHv9ka62P0AUqoPv/s400/festival09+072.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385848610875313490" /></a><br /><br />That skirt swirls like a dream!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_PPB0mKLTgQdFLl9gfhbIKynGgWtPN33UkLjFzk22aQaIc8Q01jwg_fBYHU3eZ6G5M5QSvn8jq-6ouswfCpddj70QXevSb5U78L81s9c-HbnEGBPoSwv4LlN9vOhivPU-kUl/s1600-h/festival09+077.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_PPB0mKLTgQdFLl9gfhbIKynGgWtPN33UkLjFzk22aQaIc8Q01jwg_fBYHU3eZ6G5M5QSvn8jq-6ouswfCpddj70QXevSb5U78L81s9c-HbnEGBPoSwv4LlN9vOhivPU-kUl/s400/festival09+077.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385849792702134562" /></a><br /><br />This time I managed the handstand without slipping...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQxN7PCgV1YYX-3bgtR_w9Srfi_GvE3JF1ZF8rM79GdMvHyIKdrSbQtEDApzJ60bMvvUhzWbq-W_K8G7fp2JwHKlX2l5pXR4ZOaq2Y386tuCfe-g1GgOzUXkilJu2S4brHsitN/s1600-h/festival09+095.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQxN7PCgV1YYX-3bgtR_w9Srfi_GvE3JF1ZF8rM79GdMvHyIKdrSbQtEDApzJ60bMvvUhzWbq-W_K8G7fp2JwHKlX2l5pXR4ZOaq2Y386tuCfe-g1GgOzUXkilJu2S4brHsitN/s400/festival09+095.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385855302884652626" /></a><br /><br />Bums!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2guBpbbgpvQg0gRbRUlOx2s78DWFG0OMOhcHmRFc2-IHkPqTTvM24psxOAiDQwLWUlnWsyB2tqWnmfQwwtq8htX7_CZlX5-_BEx_AeLI97sa1-lL3uaLxWzG1vHG3sWMowiD/s1600-h/festival09+087.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2guBpbbgpvQg0gRbRUlOx2s78DWFG0OMOhcHmRFc2-IHkPqTTvM24psxOAiDQwLWUlnWsyB2tqWnmfQwwtq8htX7_CZlX5-_BEx_AeLI97sa1-lL3uaLxWzG1vHG3sWMowiD/s400/festival09+087.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385851713757329474" /></a><br /><br />Mine is the power and the glory!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMs0_s9Nw_JMi_WnkFnTa6gsLwMq1RC8RfLdHxIF7Ij9HDxN2idlqqDxsqC96CSJQUOdT9RLNpRVslzEY6xZPvB0RTpBJBW0fgFEFsYMetjaWz_mY_JMySOxjqFSBHSmW0zO3K/s1600-h/festival09+103.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMs0_s9Nw_JMi_WnkFnTa6gsLwMq1RC8RfLdHxIF7Ij9HDxN2idlqqDxsqC96CSJQUOdT9RLNpRVslzEY6xZPvB0RTpBJBW0fgFEFsYMetjaWz_mY_JMySOxjqFSBHSmW0zO3K/s400/festival09+103.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385853138954844018" /></a>Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-66486806181741836862009-09-26T09:08:00.005+02:002009-09-26T09:16:26.596+02:00CanCan Time Again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUQ58KwK5Z4X-1G0CkcR6veAVQLJ7jalj6W2I_-dIWeKFv6Xhoqhl3ORNOe5blcKqpG-A2hrJ4ePkpHlqiugZAkb0jzYXxC0kOK9uzLwqS-4RgS8BMaPaqhxE4HEKXCFzw9KZq/s1600-h/cancan1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUQ58KwK5Z4X-1G0CkcR6veAVQLJ7jalj6W2I_-dIWeKFv6Xhoqhl3ORNOe5blcKqpG-A2hrJ4ePkpHlqiugZAkb0jzYXxC0kOK9uzLwqS-4RgS8BMaPaqhxE4HEKXCFzw9KZq/s400/cancan1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385670661773439138" /></a><br /><br />Dearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />I'm so happy you blogged again that I wish I could spend the entire day in social intercourse with you. Alas, as you know, my life is infinitely busy and glamorous: today I must drag my sorry carcass down to the Village which is celebrating the 1900 Festival again. <br /><br />I will be wearing that sumptuous black and red costume with the frilly skirt, the cleavage and the ankle boots and I will attempt to avoid extreme ridicule as I shake my dessicated old bones and perform the high kicks (or medium high kicks) alongside the young, bouncy dancers.<br /><br />So, until next time, I bid you adieu and bestow you with much festive love and dusty saloon bar kisses,<br /><br />Antipo<br /><br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-41365465588402479162009-09-25T11:11:00.003+02:002009-09-25T11:12:55.947+02:00Dispatch from The Village of the DamnedSweet Bunny Lover,<br /><br />Yes, I got your sunny sext yest but was so green with envy I was unable to string a coherent sentence together to wish you the greatest joy while stroking your rabbit in the sun.<br /><br />Nothing going on as yet. My showdown with my arch nemesis isn't until 4:30pm so think of me then as I sit biting my tongue until it bleeds. According to Fight Club you can swallow about three pints of your own blood before you vomit which should mean I manage to <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> puke by the end of the meeting. The overwhelming urge to scream, "Well he's got his apprenticeship now so shut the fuck up!" will be incredibly hard to overcome.<br /><br />Hehe- Hard.<br /><br />Your lovely clients will miss your sunny disposition dreadfully. Have you warned your dear, naive young replacement about the sniffer? And do you think Jesus will be sorry to see you go? How will he bear the loss of his crush?<br /><br />My caramel slice was amazing and yet, still not perfect. I shall have to keep trying until it is fit to be sold at market. And then I won't sell it, I will eat it all alone when everyone is out at work/school. *evil cackles*<br /><br />Muchos cute and furry besos (I grew a moustache just to compete with the bunny)<br /><br />S<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<div id=":2h9" class="ii gt"><wbr>xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx</div>Ms Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08363385142330348970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-90495926271020410632009-08-10T21:51:00.003+02:002009-08-10T21:59:29.497+02:00Here Comes TroubleDearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />I don't ever wish for your actual demise, as it would be a tragic loss to humankind, but if (and before) you <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span> happen to cark it suddenly one day, please will you update your will immediately, in order to bequeath me your <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ms-mac/3807676655/">new, red strappy sandals</a>? They would be somewhat of a consolation for in me in my terrible grief.<br /><br />Thanks Lovey.<br /><br />In other news, my new baby gave me a heart attack tonight by squeezing through an incredibly small hole to frolic in my neighbour's garden! Ungrateful little shite! Luckily I was watching her, otherwise I might never have seen her again. I was sure the whole fence was impenetrable but she can apparently flatten herself like a mouse. The little bugger will be confined to the cage until Mr Grumpy Blackheart has built a proper hutch/exercise pen.<br /><br />He has gone out and bought the appropriate building materials already! I thought I was going to have to pout and nag for several weeks. <span style="font-style:italic;">Score</span>!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmS745hwH-aw4YvcGwogA501O2GWzxVIiSjxTx480_vlgoiaJqOwsX0u6NeAQxkcAxvbj5KMSiGCNclHtZaBP4z7qf1txGzkH5EtjOQW4habcakowDWF0FtkJHfCzybsSKU_F/s1600-h/lapinou_+036.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmS745hwH-aw4YvcGwogA501O2GWzxVIiSjxTx480_vlgoiaJqOwsX0u6NeAQxkcAxvbj5KMSiGCNclHtZaBP4z7qf1txGzkH5EtjOQW4habcakowDWF0FtkJHfCzybsSKU_F/s400/lapinou_+036.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368425405113913938" /></a>Antipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-72307553177416335302009-08-07T11:04:00.001+02:002009-08-07T11:06:06.971+02:00This just in from our Rabbit News DeskDearest Darling Ms. Mac,<br /><br />As you may remember, I got rather drunk in Paris last week and heard voices instructing me to buy a brand new, astoundingly white and unutterably gorgeous baby rabbit. Yes, a live one, from an actual pet shop. I obeyed the voices, willingly handed over a vast sum of cold, hard cash and carefully carried my expensive new baby back home, looking a little like Madonna returning from Africa, only not as sinewy. Nor as blonde.<br /><br />My daughter has christened the bunny Fluffy. I am allowed to call her Fluff though, as I am the Primary Caregiver. I don’t know what the real Fluffy Bunny will say about that!<br /><br />Mr Grumpy Blackheart's face fell a mile when he walked in and saw the bundle of cuddly gorgeousness in Popo's arms. He sulked for many days, but will come round eventually. Indeed, he is taking photos of the ‘vile creature’ every five minutes to send to Popo on holiday, but his first reaction was "Who's going to look after it? What happens when we want to go on holiday? It had better not make any noise at night etc., etc."<br /><br />Daughter was crestfallen, as the rabbit was supposed to be a present for Papa! Well she's all mine now. I'm going to build a proper outside hutch so she can have fresh air and grass all day during the summer. That is to say, the minute I start ham-fistedly banging together a few planks and a dollop of chicken wire, Mr Grumpy Blackheart will rush out and snatch the hammer from my feeble grasp, unable to stand by and watch a complete idiot make a hash of a simple carpentry job.<br /><br />I am nothing if not cunning!<br /><br />I utterly sympathise with you in your saltless plight. I too, would want to top myself, but we shall have to be practical and find some other grand dramatic gesture with which to express our misery.<br /><br />Many, many unsalted quisses and much decaffeinated love,<br />AntipoAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-574995696754564782009-07-02T15:05:00.006+02:002009-07-02T16:48:46.019+02:00Thursday Correspondence from the desks of your Favourite Epistolary Greats<span style="font-style: italic;">Darls, </span><div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">My phone cut out yesterday, ran out of juice. Oh well, you got the essential news! We pigged out massively at the sushi resto and again last night at our friend's bbq. I just wish I hadn't had a bacardi & coke before the red wine...</div> <div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">A bastarding mossie attacked me in the night and I'm trying to convince myself the bite on my cheekbone looks as sexy as a beauty spot....</div><div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">Arrived late at work to find order forms from 2 new subscribers, which brings my June total to 8, a personal best. Oh the irony!!</div> <div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">I expect to spend all of August & September training young Seb C. (!!!) in my job, he's rather cute (but unbearded) and I wonder if he will scream "harrassment!" if my hand accidentally brushes his thigh every now and then.</div> <div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">Am pining for you dreadfully. Would you be able to receive me and one offspring graciously next week for 2 days, or in the second half of August? Let me know what suits you best. Obviously I will bring a suitcase full of dried strawberries. And I will make son practise his cooking!</div> <div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">Huge, proud besos,</div><div><span style="font-style: italic;">Antipo xx</span><br /><br />Darling, yes please come next week for 2 days. Or more. Or stay forever! My stinkin' boys will still have to be in school though which is a complete bugger.<br /><br />I am completely wiped out today from my big swim yesterday. It was lovely though and obviously I didn't drown or get eaten by a monster fish or anything horrible like that so really, I declare it a complete success!<br /><br />Bacardi and coke is a killer! There used to be some urban legend about the bubbles in the mixers giving you a hangover but I'm not sure how much stock I put in that. (Actually all of my stock which is why I only drink wine now.) (*is lying*)<br /><br />I have two or three bastarding horse fly bites so I win.<br /><br />Muchos besos my darling! Can't wait to see you soon!<br /><br />S<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Yay for your gracious hostessness!</span><div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">I am supposed to be looking after both my offspring next week, but will try and dump daughter at Mémée's, 'cos I don't want to bring her with me. She will only whinge and pout and flirt with your sons!! Why are Swiss kids still at school when everybody else in the entire universe is on summer hols?</div> <div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">Of course, you felt my vibes of concern about possible Loch Zurich monster attacks upon your person during your swim, didn't you ? I mean I didn't have to express my concerns verbally did I, because you are always tuned in to my thought waves and you could feel the worry and anxiety that consumed my every waking moment yesterday. Thank God you survived!</div> <div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">Will keep you posted as to dates & thread count requirements for my silk sheets.</div><div style="font-style: italic;"><br /></div><div style="font-style: italic;">Antipo</div><div style="font-style: italic;">xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx</div><div style="font-style: italic;">xxxxxxxxxxxxxx</div><span style="font-style: italic;">xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx</span><br /><br /></div>Ms Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08363385142330348970noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-12591738970298021652009-07-02T15:00:00.000+02:002009-07-02T16:35:10.028+02:00My Cheatin' HeartDearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />As I am all busy and important making lots of money today (so that I can come and see you very soon), would you be so kind as to cut and paste all our recent emails into one startlingly witty and erudite blog post? I grant you full editorial discretion, naturally (although you know I will sneak in afterwards and correct your typos). Just remember that my writerly reputation and future career lie trembling in your gracious hands.<br /><br />I know various readers are pining for news of our fabulous lives. However, I do have an ulterior motive. <br /><br />I have been felled by a deep, deep crush on blogger and author <a href="http://betedejour.blogspot.com">Stan Cattermole</a> and I am stalking him, Tweeting him and sending all kinds of abject, debasing fan letters in a desperate bid for a mere crumb of his attention.<br /><br />So indulge me in my youthful phase of hero worship and cast your mind back to when YOU were the object of my ardour. Think how pleasant it would be for you to be the instrument in my future penfriendship with Stan. You will be so proud and honoured!<br /><br />Muchos light-headed and sweaty-fingered besos,<br /><br />Antipo<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-85583229230808410882009-06-08T17:21:00.003+02:002009-06-08T17:30:28.778+02:00Gawd, is it STILL Monday?Dearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />I have neglected you horribly, but it's all your fault for tempting me onto Twitter. Blogging and e-mailing now seem so unbearably ponderous and, well like work really, whereas tweeting is so light and effortless. And fun!<br /><br />My eldest offspring had a wonderful time with the top chef at our cooking class in Paris on Saturday. <br /><br />We created some OMG Fabulous Food! I should open my own restaurant now, I really should.<br /><br />We made Asian-style horses' doovers of prawns and vegetables rolled up in rice paper (AMAZING!) and fish and potato saffron soup with garlic, croutons and rouille (MINDBLOWING), finished with tiny glasses of "deconstructed" tiramisu made by flinging caramelised strawberries as the bottom layer, followed by coffee-soaked ladyfingers, the mascarpone, cream & sugar mixture piped out of a siphon (!!) on top of that, and then decorated with more caramelised strawbs and a little orange Cape gooseberry (which the French call <span style="font-style:italic;">Love in a Cage,</span> awwwww). The Chef served a very oaky French Chardonnay with it, which was perfectly divine.<br /><br />I reeked garlic all the way home. <br /><br />The portions all looked so dainty and nouvelle cuisiney, but I was full for HOURS.<br /><br />Oh sorry, have I made you hungry? I'd better not tell you what I'm making for offspring's birthday dinner tonight, in that case.<br /><br />Love, and stuff,<br /><br />Antipo<br /><br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-55439997874562420982009-05-28T12:50:00.003+02:002009-06-08T17:34:50.531+02:00Communiqué from AmsterdamOur intrepid blogger Antipo reports from the road via sext on Tuesday:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Darls, haven't felt like sexting due to nightmarish journey. We left late, traffic jams all the way, my boss stinks of BO, am crammed in t'back with boxes of stuff and am surely developing cancer of the spine. "Dinner" was a quick sanga gobbled in 5 mins in a greasy spoon. ETA is 9:45pm, go straight to expo hall to set up booth and then hotel. Only consolation was watching the sun glint off the hairs on young Cristophe's muscular arms (phwooar!) as he drove manfully from Lille to Rotterdam, and the plethora of commercial vehicles bearing the names "Donk" or "Van Dong". These have put my naughtiness radar on red alert. Much jet-setting love and envy-inspiring kisses, Antipo. xxx</span><br /><br />And via email today:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Cara raggazza di Milano,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Get ready to BURST with pride, because I tippled to the max last night with 4, yes FOUR glasses of really good red wine at apéritif hour and then with dinner! I know!!! The lovely Mr Mac would surely be removed to remark that I am now indeed drinking like a grown up.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Amsterdam is lovely lovely lovely and we really must put it on our "To Do In a Heart Shaped Frame" list. The working ladies we saw last night in the in the windows of the Red Light district were young and extremely beautiful, contrary to the old shrivelled hags people usually claim to see. I feel rather tempted to join them, being so young and bouncy myself. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Slept okayish in the crap hotel, but with medicinal aid and am hoping for a quiet day again on the booth, having decided that being bored is actually preferable to talking about industrial catalytic extraction processes with people I don't know, don't care about and will never have to see again.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So while you have been busy being all Italian, I have been suffering quietly. The champagne we will open this afternoon may go some way to alleviate my distress. Also, for the first time ever at an expo, the fridge we have hired actually works properly and makes thing really </span><i style="font-style: italic;">cold</i><span style="font-style: italic;">. I love modern technology.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Missing you horribly and I really think you should sell up soon and move to My Quaint Village to be my paid companion, lady's maid and minder. You owe it to yourself to find some happiness and a more meaningful path in life. I'm only thinking of what's best for you.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Busy and Important love and quisses (or 'baci', as I think you would prefer me to say),</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Antipo</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">xxxxxxxxxx</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">xxxxxxxxx</span>Ms Machttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08363385142330348970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-52742442132555784912009-05-20T06:01:00.001+02:002009-06-08T17:32:57.537+02:00HIPPY BATHDAY DEAREST DARLS!Dearest, Loveliest Ms. Mac in the Whole Wide World,<br /><br />I have just about managed to overcome my jealousy at the thought of you escorting two (and I quote) "lovely, gorgeous Australians" around the Village of the Damned this week (hmmph! I thought "lovely, gorgeous Australians" was a contradiction in terms anyway).<br /><br />And I graciously decided that I will unbend from today's frosty silence just long enough to post you these special flowers <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJNFuovBRpFCIv4mcd24XH2yxr8ZtCHcXs_u_ye4E-7n2sIEoxXSe_582cDgNoIJQNePPusJlZ9oDkZnz0OgLtSOZtVsMMEdzpYT49xzSGRhn4k0K3889kX4EWbpAA9AF35Yy/s1600-h/robjess+255.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJNFuovBRpFCIv4mcd24XH2yxr8ZtCHcXs_u_ye4E-7n2sIEoxXSe_582cDgNoIJQNePPusJlZ9oDkZnz0OgLtSOZtVsMMEdzpYT49xzSGRhn4k0K3889kX4EWbpAA9AF35Yy/s400/robjess+255.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337594522986767618" /></a><br /><br />from my very own garden, picked for you at <span style="font-style:italic;">great </span>expense.<br /><br />How will you be celebrating the special anniversary of your Twenty-First Burpday? Will the lovely Mr. Mac be doing all the cooking and opening bottles of wine? I so wish I could be there to share in the fun and dancing. And to give those "lovely, gorgeous Australians" a lesson in <span style="font-weight:bold;">How To Party.</span><br /><br />So, you are honoured to accept my fondest, most special birthday wishes to you, my first and only soulie, whose graven image shares a silver, heart-shaped frame with my own fair features.<br /><br />I wish you much happiness (if you can possibly manage to have any fun at all without my sparkling presence) and many bottles of Veuve Cocquelicot to moisten the proceedings.<br /><br />Fantastic love and PartyTime kisses,<br /><br />Antipo<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-27027791850996981712009-05-14T12:43:00.005+02:002009-05-14T16:39:57.785+02:00The Emperor's New ClothesDearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />Life is somewhat trying today… I rushed home after a stressful day at work to hear all about Crotchfuit No.1’s trial afternoon at the elegant cooking school where he hopes to be come a world famous French chef. He enjoyed his half-day mini-apprenticeship there, and Mr Grumpy Blackheart says the school seems very good. About 30 children were involved. When the parents left, the children were given aprons and taken to the kitchens where they made cookies and flambéed pears!<br /><br />But, when I found out that:<br /><br />(1) my son wore the crappy old sweatshirt I had expressly forbidden OVER the smart new white shirt and black trousers (which cost me 30 euros) all the children were required to wear, and<br /> <br />(2) that Mr Grumpy Blackheart didn’t bother to tell him to take the sweatshirt off when they arrived, I exploded in a fireball of menstrual, migraineous rage and gave them both a severe bollocking. <br /><br />My display of maturity then segued seamlessly into a dramatic throwing of self onto the bed and sobbing until I lost my voice (no doubt to the relief of the whole family). The hormone replacement tablets are obviously lacking a certain vital ingredient…<br /><br />I went to SO MUCH TROUBLE to enrol him on the course ten days ago. Firstly I had to fill in eleventy billions forms, attach photos, prove my son's identity and blood group, and make seventy thousand photocopies of it all before getting the dossier stamped by his current school. Next step was to anxiously retrieve his dossier from another child, because the <span style="font-style:italic;">collège</span> mistakenly gave it to another boy by the name of <span style="font-style:italic;">Crotchfroot</span> (I’m not making this up). Then, because of their error, I had to sprint to the Post Office in the hot sun to meet the 12 noon deadline for express post two days before the mini-apprenticeship.<br /><br />Thereafter followed an expensive trip to the Smart Clothes Shop to get the correct apparel. I spend a jolly afternoon washing and ironing the lovely new clothes. Yesterday morning I expended much energy in specifically refusing his request to wear the crappy old sweatshirt <span style="font-style:italic;">(“It’s 25 degrees and humid today darling, you won’t need a sweater at all”).</span><br /><br />I went to SO MUCH TROUBLE to ensure he would get the best chance at making a good impression. I could have killed somebody last night. I punished, punished, and punished him; no computer (even for looking up sports results), no football jersey and no TV for three days. I even told him he would have to wear the smart white shirt to school today (I know he won’t do it). I told him if he can’t obey his mother he will never succeed at school and he will end up as a lowly paid rubbish man. I hated him, I hated his father (I KNEW I should have taken the boy myself, but could not get off work), and most of all I hate myself.<br /><br />Crotchfruit no.2, the female one, was crying all night because we are supposed to have her birthday treat shopping trip to Paris with her best friends Cécile and Liliane in two days time. However, Cécile was rushed to hospital last night with <span style="font-style:italic;">viral meningitis </span>and is undergoing a <span style="font-style:italic;">spinal tap</span> today. I have texted her mother to send love and kisses, and am anxiously awaiting news.<br /><br />Am I a callous bitch? But my first thought was “Is it contagious?”<br /><br />My second thought: “Should I postpone the birthday outing until Cécile is better? Of course I should!"<br /><br />But there are no other free Saturdays until mid-June…and my son’s burpday is also coming up. Should I take daughter and Liliane to Paris on Saturday as planned, then do something else with Cécile when she’s recovered? My brain is melting into a viscous pile of wobby, undercooked scrambled egg.<br /><br />I do hope you are having a good day for me to vicariously “enjoy”.<br />Keep me posted.<br /><br />Red-eyed love and hoarse-voiced kisses served up from a bottomless pit of self-loathing,<br /><br />Antipo<br />Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-43502684128322156212009-04-22T14:17:00.002+02:002009-04-22T14:17:41.133+02:00Some Excitement On The Horizon!Dearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />I am working today so I can have Froiday off and take Crotchfruit Number 1 to Amsterdam for the weekend. He's getting really excited about sleeping in a houseboat for two nights! The highlight for me will not be the tulips, the Dutch beer, nor the houseboat, but meeting that that <a href="http://andreaknapp.blogspot.com/">Ropey Old Bird</a> and Jorge AND <a href="http://www.whatsaboytodo.net/"> Naughty Michael </a> in the absolute flesh for the very first time.<br /><br />It brings back fond memories of our first meeting, at our world-famous Dijon picnic. Our 4th Macaversary is coming up soon, according to my diary. Cor, we have beaten many of those Hollywood couples for longevity, haven't we?<br /><br />Muchos besos,<br />Antipo<br /><br />xxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10439623.post-62677383073659856582009-04-13T19:45:00.003+02:002009-04-13T19:48:51.749+02:00Easter BlundayDearest Ms. Mac,<br /><br />I promise I'm not ignorming you (that's my new word), but I have spent Easter weekend chained to my 'puter doing an emergency translation of our monthly report, as our poor old regular translator was shipped off to hospital at the worst possible time of the month.<br /><br />I took time off to do my crotch fruits' Easter Egg hunt yesterday and cooked a fab meal for lunch (chicken tagine with prunes and almonds and couscous - fucking amaaaazing!). Today we delivered the chillun to Mémée and Pépé's and had another fab meal with LOTS of champagne and red wine. Am now translating quite drunkenly, the resluts (my second new word) should be amusing, to say the least.<br /><br />My Friday off this week will be SOOO relaxing! Hairdresser will beautify me at 9 am, and I've threatened Mr Grumpy Blackheart that if he doesn't take me out somewhere afterwards, his life won't be worth living!<br /><br />So, back to the price of soft commodities (perilously low, you will be concerned to hear).<br /><br />Muchos slavish besos,<br />Antipo<br /><br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<br />xxxxxxxxxxxxxAntipodeessehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17559657306491019975noreply@blogger.com5