Handkerchiefs and Talcum Powder

Its a snot sock

I had some old family friends stay for a weekend recently and I have no idea how it came up but somehow the father of the couple made some statement about having the ‘absolute shits’ that his son, a 40 year old, won’t use a hanky. Thank fuck for that is all I can say. I also recall my own father saying to my brother, “where’s your hanky?” My bothers unsuppressed cachinnation was followed by a look of complete bewilderment at the suggestion and seriously, who uses a hanky at our age? What the hell are tissues for? They even make man sized tissues now as well as aloe vera and eucalyptus ones that shit all over the small hemmed square pieces of thin fabric old blokes and ladies with purple hair call a hanky and seriously how can it be hygienic? Really, how? How are they still allowed to make and sell them. You blow snot into it and think it’s a fab idea to carry it around in pocket or purse for possibly weeks...there is snot in there!!! Come on people.

As a decoration in a pocket (at a stretch) then okay, we no longer need white hanky’s to indicate surrender, that’s what our friggin’ arms are for. Hold them straight up mother fuckers. No hanky needed. Children have purses and more truthfully mothers, who hold all their small shit now (normally in a Dora, Dorothy or Ben 10 back pack) so they no longer require the use of a small handkerchief. Status and class is now implied by the automobiles they drive to ‘show off’ their wealth and standing in society. They don’t need to display a monogrammed silk or linen handkerchief to say, ‘hey, I’m loaded, bend down and kiss my Hilfiger’s serf’....NO, Give them the flick I say. Old fashioned, out dated, ridiculous and filthy. Men like Arthur’s and George’s used hanky’s in the old days along with Great Aunt Gertie and Iris. You will never see a bloke named Ashton or Jett or even Steve use a hanky.

Talcum powder on the other hand is lovely stuff even if a little old fashioned. Controversial and hardly ever used anymore as far as I can tell but I like it. It smells great on babies and me. My mum was a huge advocate for the handy talcum powder of various fragrances. The downside though is that some suspicions have been raised about the possibility that its use promotes certain types of diseases, mainly cancers of the ovaries and lungs...Hmmm not good. Talcum powder exposure has also caused the progression of tumours in some laboratory rats. However, studies on human beings haven’t yet been able to confirm a positive link. Don’t know if that is actually good enough for me. What I couldn’t believe was that until the 1970s, it was perfectly legal to have asbestos in talcum powder. Obviously with the jury still out on its safety, I’ve gotta say, I can’t in all good faith pop it on my baby’s booty, regardless of the fact that I love it. Ladies called Agatha and Mildred used talc. Probably lavender. A chick named Eisha or Kyra will never hold in their bathroom cupboard, a small canister of talcum powder. Not ever.

Cyclists.

Tight arse, fat gut and a coffee shop stop at 6am. These are the mid life crisis boys on bikes. The whole cycling apparel includes mandatory helmet of course with weird shit sticking out of the top to deter birds from chipping away at their on growing hairy ear cartilage I think. BioRacer Firm bike pants, better shaved legs than me, in fact nicer toned legs than many of us, windbreaker gloves, jerseys in a variety of fluro, the ability to balance without putting a foot on terra firma at traffic lights and attitude.

My partner always wants to open the car door when we pass a crew of them riding across seven lanes, rather than single file as they should, because they get in the fucking way and put the rest of us in danger...or so I hear regularly. I usually defended them because in all honesty that didn’t annoy me as much as drivers who brake before they indicate.

But then I had an argument with one of them at Southbank once. There was a hoard of highly prized and very probably exceedingly expensive bikes parked outside of Chez Laila cafe while a group of cycling fanatics took up seventeen tables one Sunday morning early. I was there early with my baby in a pram because she woke at 4.30am and wouldn’t go back to sleep. So there I was bleary eyed enjoying the morning sun and wander along the river, when bam, straight into a Merida Scultura carbon road bike. Before I could say “Shit, who put that bloody bike in the path of my pram endangering my infants life?...” a cyclist dude jumped up swiftly slopping his latte with skim onto his raisin toast, (no butter) and came at me. I stupidly assumed he was about to apologise when out of his mouth came an onslaught of abuse about me hitting his precious Merida Sculture carbon (how I knew the name). There was some statement about watching where I was going and finally, “Do you know how much this bike is worth? It’s a $7,000 bike for God’s sake?”

“Really, “I said. “Well my baby cost around that through IVF and this is a Bugaboo Cameleon with accessories mate. That makes my cargo worth $9,000 and take that ridiculous hat off dipshit, who wears a helmet at breakfast. What could happen?”

With that I left.

Granted I used to refer to my pram as the landcruiser because it was so big and I often had trouble getting it through narrow spaces. Shopping was a nightmare! It was also an Emmaljunga and second hand, but how was he to know. The point is, there was no room because of the bikes and there was no ‘clean in body, clean in heart’ mentality going on at all there. They tell motorists to be cautious, be courteous and have a better cyclist mentality but mind-set like that makes it pretty hard. Granted it could have been just one guy but not one other bike man stood up to defend me. They were all glancing at their own bikes with that look on their face like, thank God it wasn’t mine. I took a backward glance when I was farther away to see the rude dude squatting with another cyclist to check out the damage...of which I’m sure there was none except when I "felt abashed at the extravagant praise" – NOT.

Failing to Mask Anti Cycling Agenda

Green Bags

Is the Woolworths green bag the new black? What is up with that sucker? It’s everywhere, it’s adaptable, it’s functional, it’s an environmental emancipator, it is a clear statement from those who ceremoniously tote them and have something to say about plastic bags but also enjoy its multipurpose. It’s loathsome to me simply in terms of the great number of them and the fact that they are green?? Eww. Apparently there are around 15 million at least, being hefted, hauled and ferried over arms and shoulders, up hills and down dales. That’s a lot of green. With a current population of 22,393,575, that works out to be 1.5 (close enough) each person, and I’m thinking probably not a lot of people under 16 would carry them. I mean, Come ON!!!




I dislike them because they are as everywhere as they can possibly be. I do not have an aversion to their purpose, merely the fact that they are now an accessory for each and every human being in this country. They are at the park, the football and the beach, they come with friends to my house brimming with children’s clothes, an odd bottle of wine, kitchen sink, small pet and snacks.


“So handy,” people mutter.


“Aren’t they? Mmm.”


I have to admit I have about 3,000 give or take, in the boot of my car because I always forget to take them in to Woollies. I think it’s a subconsciously deliberate and socially unacceptable move on my part even though I certainly don’t agree with the use of plastic and naturally approve of the saving of $173 mill to our national yearly shopping bill, yet I wonder does the average person know what they are made out of? Yes, they are used more than once meaning we are no longer using close to 11 billion plastic bags per annum but I also want to know where they are made. What grave yard will these end up in one day if they are not returned to the supermarkets that offer the recycle service and what then will happen to our environment? Are we just 'going to hell in a hand basket' or is the green going to save our bacon? These are things that keep me up at night. It’s not easy being green, it’s also not attractive.

Go green yes, but do it in another colour please!

Woolies Green Bags

"There, I said it!"

I want to tell the everyday people in the world that ordinary life is interesting.


A read about life, friendship, love, family and hairdressing. It may make you laugh, cry, grin and say ‘oh God yes’, all at once. And as Clive James said, “I make no claims to be accurate, precise, or entirely truthful, only to entertain”.


The narrative opens with an account of the storytellers wry, almost cynical views on weddings and marriage and follows on with a similar tone towards other modern day typical suburban life occurrences, such as life as a singleton, babies, blind dates, housemates, travel, the technical world, binge drinking, mumnesia, hairdressers, a woman’s purse and couples at cars, for example. The characters within are based on genuine people and actual events (only the names have been changed) providing testimony around these everyday proceedings over a period of time. The tone of the anecdotes in each chapter is one of underlying humour and sometimes disbelief. It is intended to effectuate responses such as, “that is so true.”


The chapters have the same feel as a Sunday Mail newspaper column where publication follows a series, producing copy that can sometimes be slightly or even strongly opinionated. It is intended to be a little acrid with an edge of sincerity illustrating human nature in expected behaviour.