A seal ate my hat

Waking up on Wednesday morning was a completely surreal experience. The Red Centre had come to Sydney and the sky at dawn literally pulsated with a vibrant orange glow. It felt rather as if one had woken up on a set for ‘Life on Mars’ with clouds of red dust blotting out the sun. My early morning exercise class was abandoned owing to potential dust inhalation and I skipped off to get a coffee with that virtuous glow brought on by attempting to do exercise but being prevented by forces of nature. The downside of the dust storm is that everything inside and out is coated in a thin layer of red dirt. I hung out a white wash to dry this morning in a hurry and realised that I should have wiped down the line – being me I just carried on regardless in the hope that the red stripe down everything will disappear once dried.

Drama Queen No. 1 posed an interesting question last week, in that she wondered which option I would prefer in terms of her potential piercings, belly button or tongue. It is a bit like being asked would you like your toenails hammered off or ripped out - the answer is a resounding ‘neither’.

Why is my life always fraught with the unusual? Drama Queen No. 2 has had what she describes as an unfortunate experience with a seal. She was on an art trip to the zoo and her highly expensive, straw school hat blew off into the seal enclosure. When I phoned the zoo, the kindly man on switchboard promised to enquire after the hat’s fate but did warn me that if I hadn’t heard from him by 4pm to ‘expect the worst’. He seemed to be hinting that there would be nothing the seals would like more than a bit of roughage. I personally feel that they would have far more fun wearing it in the seal show and I await the front page coverage of a seal balancing on a beach ball whilst waggling its whiskers from underneath a fetching brim. In the meantime I am doctoring the usual ‘dog ate my homework’ letter to cover ‘seal ate my hat’ as no hat means automatic detention at school.

I have just been in the post office and am slightly downcast to see they have all the Christmas cards and Christmas wraps on display – together with Early Bird type offers. This year I am going to be a realist and admit that there is zero chance of my making the “By Sea” cut off date for cards and parcels. In one of her books Jilly Cooper said girls should never trust a man with a half eaten bar of chocolate in his car as he obviously has far too much self control, I feel much the same way about any one who manages to get their Christmas shopping wrapped up in every way by mid September – we’re probably not destined to be bosom buddies.

Whilst on the topic of bosoms, I found myself with a spare half hour in an industrial area of Sydney waiting for a mobile phone to be fixed and came across a discount underwear shop. Being in need of a few bras I popped in and had an entertaining time squeezing in and out of bras. I came out feeling that perhaps I should revert to the medieval habit of breast binding as I found the wide variety of push up and out bras in dubious colours most unflattering. Based on my reflection in the changing room mirror – and top tip to discount underwear shops here, fluorescent lights and 360 degree mirrors are not a flattering combination, I’m probably more in need of a pull in than a push out – but then again I am the woman who a lingerie saleswoman once dismissed as a strange shape!