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It has been a week of change here in Sydney. We’ve been feeling the effects of a new prime minister and cabinet, a dramatic change in temperature in what is usually a temperate Spring, and the change in my husband becomes more pronounced and worrying each day.

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Martha Stewart, aka House Bitch, continues to go from strength to strength in terms of his domestic prowess. He woke me up with cookery book in hand the other morning, to consult with me about meal plans for the coming week. He is going to try out four new recipes – a welcome change from the fajitas, spag bol and curry that we have been served on rotation since he took over kitchen duties. We have put in a request that each meal contain at least one vegetable, before we all die of the scurvy.

I think he responded with something along the lines of, if we didn’t like it, we could lump it. Between you and me, House Bitch is getting a bit above his station so I may reluctantly have to issue him a warning. He also shrunk another of my jumpers. Just saying.

I was conned into buying Kurt some new trainers for him to impress some girl. Any other mums freak out about the cost of trainers, or is it just tight/living in the past/sounding like my mother, old me? I wouldn’t care quite so much if the new styles were vaguely innovative, but they’re nothing new. This generation has stolen our music and now they’re walking around in trainer designs we wore in the seventies. ‘Who’s Stan Smith?’ Kurt asked innocently, salivating over these old white tennis pumps I used to have. I gritted my teeth and reminded myself what a saint of a mother I am and how I will definitely be rewarded with 5 star accommodation including spa treatments in ‘good mother’ heaven as I parted with $120 for a pair of Adidas Superstars (whatevs), gritting my teeth.

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There was just no way I could persuade him into the Kmart equivalents – apparently they’re called Super Losers.

Hating buses and traffic lights with a passion this week. I do a lot of driving in my job and I can’t tell you how often I sit at red lights and wonder how much of my life I’m wasting. And while I’m on the subject of driving, I’m beginning to have psychopathic thoughts about those bully-boy buses who have their own lanes, yet still drive like they own the fucking road.

And as I mentioned, that general sense of loathing has not been augmented by the weather in Sydney, which has been truly revolting this week.

It has meant that I’ve only been able to leave the house when absolutely necessary. It’s been really windy and I have enough bad hair days to contend with, without increasing the odds. I’ve missed my walking therapy sessions with the Princess, though, who jumps up every time I get off the sofa, hoping that I will take her out. It breaks my heart to disappoint her, but obviously not enough to make me do anything about it. Dog-walking is something I will do if it coincides with my exercise regime and suits me, otherwise it falls under the duties of the House Bitch.

And talking of exercise, I’ve done bugger all. Again. And because I felt so guilty about doing nothing, and because the weather has been so shit, I’ve eaten a shitload. Especially Maltesers. Favourite meal of the week had to be a wicked Thai green curry packed with real vegetables that made me froth at the mouth due to the ongoing vegetable embargo at our house.

English: Thai Green Curry (แกงเขียวหวาน) as ea...

English: Thai Green Curry (แกงเขียวหวาน) as eaten in Ikebukuro, Japan. (グリーンカレー) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Unfortunately, all that chilli aggravated my Rosacea, so I’m back to walking around town with a bag over my head.

Wasted even more of my life watching the Bachelorette mid-week; mainly because I’d been reliably informed that the boys get their shirts off every few minutes. I’m still unsure about the whole premise of the series, although being the hypocrite that I am, I feel much more comfortable watching the Bachelorette knock those boys into touch than watching the bachelors work the girls.

Is any man who says ‘cool bananas’ really attractive, though?

Saw Julia Morris, one of the funniest Australian female comedians, at the theatre last night. In spite of the height of ridiculousness and on-the-floor disappointment of every bar in the State Theatre only taking cash when all I had was a measly $5 in gold coinage in my purse, I haven’t needed Tena pads quite as urgently in a long time, due to so much combined laughter and predictable bladder leakage. She would definitely make my list of perfect dinner guests.

How was your week?

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