Friday, February 4, 2011

Sting and the stomach muscles

It’s almost 5p.m. in Sydney and the temperature is 42oC /108oF, to say we are all hot and sweaty is putting it mildly. Fortunately I don’t tend to greet many people in Sydney with a kiss as today is the type of day where you would stick to anyone you attempted to embrace.

Last night, when blissfully the temperature dropped a bit we went to see Sting in concert with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. The concert was held on the Opera House forecourt and the whole evening was absolutely magical. Even as a quasi local there is something uplifting about sitting in iconic surroundings. We were perched on the Opera House steps with a breeze blowing across the Botanic Gardens and Farm Cove, whilst the back drop to the stage was the Sydney city skyline together with the ferries coming in and out of Circular Quay. I loved the combination of Sting and the orchestra and the bats spiralling up into the dusk overhead were the finishing touch that even the best stage manager would be hard put to beat.

The other big treat yesterday was going for an ultrasound. Sadly I have now reached the age where the scan was a by product of having a bad back rather than pregnancy. The aim of the ultrasound was to discover the state of my stomach muscles and I approached the whole thing with some trepidation, having a horrible feeling they might not be able to find any sign of a muscle at all in my stomach region.

However how proud am I? Not only could they identify various muscles but I could also make them twitch a bit on screen. The technician pointed out the layers of muscles and skin, but very kindly skipped the layer that I suspect could only be described as flab.

I was tempted to ask if I could have a photo of the ultrasound to stick on the fridge as proof positive that evidence of working stomach muscles had been found.

My good mood post ultrasound was heightened by finding a couple of liquorice allsorts I had forgotten about at the bottom of my handbag. In my experience, there is nothing more delicious than this kind of unexpected bonus. I read an article recently that claimed that the younger generation didn’t like the taste of liquorice allsorts, I can’t believe this is true, but if it is, it is definitely one of those dividing generation lines.

Yesterday was actually red letter day on the dividing generation line all round ,in that I finally mastered predictive texting. The resident teenagers, to whom predictive texting is second nature, found it inconceivable that anyone could still resort to typing out messages painful letter by letter. Having suddenly cracked the predicting nut, I am now set to bore all my friends with novel length texts.


  1. God I hate that predictive stuff. It never guesses the words correctly anf I end up sending absolute tripe!

  2. I can't even blame it for that little typo there!

  3. Hi Expat Mum, am still in first flush of excitement re predictive texting but have already discovered dangers of not checking my texts before I send them out. I have also noted that my name seems to come out as Cartoons, particularly if people are using iphones, in that I have now received about 4 texts from different people all starting 'Hi Cartoons'!