Taking stock – the I’m not dead yet edition

Hey Cougars,

Its been six months between blog posts. Six months! I’m sure the resultant absence of crumpet in the bloggosphere has been acutely felt. Better rectify that straight away.


Here’s Liam Hemsworth captured surfing in the wild. You’re welcome.

Now the crumpet drought has broken – I’ll continue. I’m  back to say “Hi Cougars. I’m not dead yet.’ Instead of spilling pointless drivel all over the internet I’ve spent the past 6 months focusing on equally useless pursuits Now I can add Diploma of Financial Planning to the string of unimpressive qualifications on my LinkedIn profile.

You wanna know the really sick part? I learned about superannuation, tax effective investment and suchlike but I totally didn’t hate it. In fact I’m going back for more which may mean another 6 month absence from social media

In the meantime as a way of easing myself back onto the interwebs, I’m using the template generously provided by that nice lady Pip from Meet me at Mikes. Fun but irrelevant fact – I had a boyfriend called Mike in 2003. His eye-wateringly expensive apartment featured uninterrupted harbor views and his fridge was always stocked with Petersons champagne plus other artisan treats. There’s only one glitch in this idyllic picture – Mike turned out to be a royal asshole. Who’d have thunk it? Anyhow if we could all met at Mike’s fun would be had.

So lets take stock.

Making : Share market losses. This oil price retreat is so kicking my arse as is the bank tax. Anyone got any hawt tips?
Cooking : Evil plans to commandeer my husband’s SMSF.
Drinking : Paracombe wines. I was invited to an event that featured Parcombe wines.  After sampling four different Paracombe wines I was drunk enough to unleash the plastic and ended up with a shit ton of Paracombe wines delivered to my door. Moral of the story – don’t go to wine events. BTW – Paracombe is a family run vineyard in the Adelaide Hills.
Reading:  This – predictable much? Its only my favorite author (Neil Gaiman) on my favorite topic (hawt Vikings).

Norse Mythology

Going from the sublime to the ridiculous I also wolfed down Helen Razer’s – Helen 100 because I thought it would be raunchy.  In short, sexually fluid Helen resolves to go on 100 dates following the break up of her long term relationship. The process involved the usual line up of players and stayers.  By date 53 she found herself a hawt toy boy – 11 years her junior. As someone who is the opposite of sexually fluid I was kinda jealous.

Helen 100

Trawling: TV review sites trying to make sense of the Twin Peaks return.

Wanting:  To make sense of the Twin Peaks return. And wanting the real Agent Cooper back – badly.

Looking: At photos of vintage Kyle MacLachlan.


Twin peaks

Vintage Twin Peaks was hawt.

Deciding: That  vintage Kyle MacLachlan was more beautiful than I remembered hence the wanting Dale Cooper back. Sorry – this is meaningless if you haven’t revisited Twin Peaks or indeed seen the original 90s series. Lets move on.

Wishing: There was a streaming service which provided every show I want to watch precisely when I want it. All at a reasonable price.

Enjoying:  Those Paracombe wines.

Waiting: For Game of Thrones S7 – just like every body else. Bring on the tits and dragons I say.

Liking: Facebook posts of a friend’s European trip but secretly dying of envy inside.

Wondering: If I’m ever gonna wear size 8 again. (No way, get f^%ked, f$%k off).

Loving: Gael Garcia Bernal. I binged watched Mozart in the Jungle and became enamored with the maestro as did every other character on that show.  Brace yourselves cougars this is threatening to become a Hiddleswoon level crush for me.


The Mumabs enjoys a good fiddle

Considering: Exchanging my celebrity leave pass which now reads Aiden Turner for Gael Garcia Bernal.

Pondering: My next stock pick.

Listening: To my kids singing about ‘meato in a burrito’ whenever that new Justin Bieber song – ‘Despacito’ comes on the radio.


Despacito – meato in a burrito

Buying: A coffee at the beach every morning.

Watching: More Netflix and Stan than is healthy for a middle aged woman. I’ve gotta say that Better Call Saul has been riveting but Narcos is the best thing streaming at the moment. Narcos is seriously brilliant.

Hoping: I’ll wake up one morning transformed into a cougar of awesomeness like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.


This lady is a cougar of awesomeness. #goals

Marvelling: At how beautiful and talented by 10 year old is. Surely genetics should have prevented that. Miracle baby indeed.

Cringing: At myself mostly.

Needing: New eyebrows. They’ve turned grey.

Questioning: The validity of tinting my eyebrows.

Smelling: The coffee by the beach every morning.

Wearing: Not size 8.

Noticing: Many smoking hawt hipster crumpets in Surry Hills (where I work).

Knowing: A little more than I did 6 months ago.

Thinking: That a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Admiring: The smoking hawt hipster crumpets occupying converted warehouse spaces in Surry Hills.


He’s a Digital Adventurer named Chet

Getting: Buzzed on Paracombe wines.

Bookmarking: Neil Gaiman books.

Opening: I’d like to say my mind but I’m not really. I’ve heard that certain substances help with that?

Closing: Gym memberships.

Feeling: Vaguely human after my morning coffee.

Hearing: My much younger co-workers’ Tinder dating horror stories.

Celebrating: The fact that I’m married and dating apps don’t feature in my life.

master of none tinder dating apps aziz ansari netflix

Thank F%$k I don’t have to do this.. 

Pretending: To have a shred of competence.

Embracing: My inner couch potato.

couch potato

Me on a Netflix binge

So there you have it cougars. I’m not dead yet – though I doubt this blog post proves that either way.

How have things been for you over these past 6 months?





Air travel sux

So its school holidays. Are your social media feeds clogged with curated images of ‘friends’ frolicking in exotic locales? Are these ostentatious displays provoking feelings of envy or inadequacy?

The Mumabs is here to tell you not to feel bad if your people are swanning around the Mediterranean or hot tubbing with the glitterati in Aspen. You might be relegated to a humble caravan park somewhere on the coast but chances are you are having as much fun as your more sophisticated mates. You see – reaching these far flung destinations involves air travel and frankly air travel sux.


Just ask this guy…

Air travel should not suck. Its miraculous to think that a metal cylinder weighing some 300,000 kgs can hurtle through the air at speeds of over 900 km per hour guided by a sexy pilot in a tight shirt and aviator glasses.


Behold the miracle of modern aviation!

Less than a century ago international travel involved weeks, nigh months at sea. Now any place imaginable is a mere  24 hour arse sit away. And yet that 24 hour arse sit is hell on earth.

Air travel once promised so much but has delivered so little. Back in the 1950s and 60s we imagined a golden future where everyone could be part of the glamorous jet set. Flying was meant to to be an elegant affair


like this.


or a groove-fest like this.

It is a bitter disappointment that the experience turned out to be more like this.


What economy class feels like.

I blame neo liberal economics. Airlines are forced to drain every last ounce of fun from your flight experience to keep costs at rock bottom. Profits not people and all that.

Of course some people do manage to have a good time on a plane – those who pay for it.

Recently some airlines introduced luxurious private cabins


which come with a beardy man to entertain you on the Sydney to London.

Not to be outdone other airlines offer a comfy armchair filled with Orlando Bloom.


Oh my. That would take the pain out of the LA run.

Nowadays the 1% can even get double beds. They come complete with rose petals and other romantic accoutrements


for those who wish to join the Mile High Club in style.

However this wont stop first class passengers from trying to cop a cheap one in the toilets. People are messed up like that.


Just ask this guy..

All this luxury comes at a cost my friends. A first class Sydney to Dubai return on Qantas will set you back over $13K – Orlando Bloom not included.  That’s more than my car is worth!   As a consequence 99% of us are forced into the pit of despair that is economy . ( At approx $1,200 Sydney to Dubai return its about what my car is worth)

My husband and I have reached a stage where we can afford to indulge in some travel adventures. But we dont. Because air travel sux and long haul flights and kids don’t mix.


Get those mofo kids off my mofo plane!

We recently holidayed in NZ because short hall flight. Whilst the stay was brilliant the air travel part sucked big ones.


Not his.

The journey over was kind of tolerable. We patiently endured the usual long queues and overpriced, stale airport food.

Getting through security was not without incident. I was called back over a nail file in my carry on luggage. I guess the security people could see I posed a threat. In my leopard print jumper and skinny jeans I looked desperate enough to hack the door of the cockpit open so as to cop and eyeful of hunky pilot. Disturbingly said nail file was promptly returned. Its a very bad sign.


A cougar’s weapon of choice.


Once aboard we were crammed into tiny bum crunching seats and provided with no in flight entertainment. Its times like these one thanks the Gods for i-Pads even if you have to share one between two kids.

Nor were we provided with food and forced to purchase stale sandwiches at inflated cost or face starvation. We weren’t surprised to find that like Laura Palmer the sandwiches came wrapped in plastic.*

I marvel that airlines pay big dollars for big name chefs like Neil Perry and Heston Blumenthal yet all they can come up with for plebs in economy class is mummified sandwiches.


Airline food – expectation


versus reality.

Fortunately we reached Queenstown with only a few trips to the toilet and no need for complimentary airsick bag. The trip back to Sydney was more traumatic.

What should have been a simple three hour flight but it turned into a seven hour ordeal. We waited for a geological eon only to be told that our flight had to be diverted to Christchurch to ‘refuel’. Aren’t there computer systems in place to monitor this sort of thing?

Dadabs had a bitch to one of the ground hosties who was very attractive but not dressed like this.


Oh my! Come fly with me!


The young, slender but conservatively attired lady told us that we weren’t refuelling but rather ‘a mechanical fault’ had to be checked out. Mysteriously Queenstown airport did not have the expertise to deal with mechanical faults. WTF?

Nevertheless I was not not overly concerned until I saw the pilots. I am alarmed to report that dressed in their spiffy uniforms teamed with peaked caps and Rayban aviator glasses they were still NAWT HAWT!!!! Isn’t there a strict code to prevent this sort of thing from happening. I wouldn’t be needing that nail file after all.


Air New Zealand did not met  basic standards in pilot hawtness

Finally after waiting a second geological eon where mountains eroded to dust and continents shifted on tectonic plates, we boarded the fucking plane. But not before my redundant nail file was called out again by security.

This time there was in-flight entertainment. Huzzah! There were screens the size of pocket handkerchiefs on the back of the seats. Yay! The choice of entertainment whilst not being quite at Netflix level was still acceptable. Booyah! Unfortunately the screens were used to deliver a very, very lame safety video ( which featured Rhys Darby but still managed to be lame.)


Boo! Hiss! You’re a sell out Murray!

Mysteriously our seats were even narrower on the return trip. (Couldn’t have anything to do with all the wine and chocolate consumed in Queenstown). After watching several installments of the BBC’s War and Peace, a slice of televisual heaven that deserves to be viewed on a big mofo screen, hunger pangs set in.


Tsarist Russian crumpet deserves a big screen.***


These screens are not ideal for viewing Tsarist Russian crumpet.

The cabin crew rolled into action delivering hot meals to the passengers who had paid. Sadly precluding us. We were tormented by the smell of cooked chicken and beef. Our collective stomachs growled until we got the chance to purchase food. The choice was astounding – chicken sandwich, ham sandwich or emaciation. If it weren’t for stale ham sandwiches I may not be here to write this blog.

Of course my nine year old became nauseous. Which meant she spent the duration clutching the sick bag whilst our family, the people in the rows in front and behind us and the cabin crew willed her not to chuck. Admittedly everyone was nice about it.

When we finally got into Sydney under cover of darkness my husband was whining more than the kids. Actually the kids were quite happy to have spent six hours watching cartoons. My husband had spent the duration watching something featuring alien monkeys fighting with light sabers and yet he moaned..

I will think twice before I put my husband on a plane again.

Air travel – is that overseas trip really worth the pain?




  • Hows that for a 90s cultural reference?
  • Errrrmaaaagaaaaawd! The six hours of unrelenting visual ecstasy that is this BBC literary adaptation deserves its own blog post. Brilliant, Brilliant, Brilliant!!!!! Its got britches, knee high leather boots, side burns to die for, brocade uniforms – everything a cougar could possibly want.

PS: I have to apologize to my bestie who loved Ralph Fiennes (as I love Aiden Turner) until the Qantas incident.



Mystic Mumabs – Predictions for 2017

I’ll spare you another tedious 2016 retrospective, save to say that the year just passed was a weird one. It seemed to me that the hate and anger reverberating around the press and social media has reached an unprecedented level of intensity. Never in my 46 years on earth have people appeared so thoroughly pissed off. Perhaps I’m just reading too much of the Guardian (and frequently becoming pissed off at it).

My other key takeaway from 2016 was that pundits have no freaking idea about what’s going on given that they missed Brexit, Trump et al. I decided that my opinions were as valid as any so I grabbed my crystal balls, gave them a good shine and a good hard staring at. Here is what they revealed. I note that Blind Freddy also spotted most of these.


What do my crystal balls reveal?

  • Peace will not come to the Middle East in 2017. Although I am not clued up on the nuances of Middle Eastern politics I’m prepared to call this one – Syria will remain a festering hell hole for the foreseeable future.When I sit to do Mumabs predictions for the year 2050, my first call will be that peace will not break out in the Middle East.
  • However in 2050 I will be one heck of a dirty cougar with over 30 years of practice.  I just hope Dadabs is still around to experience it.
  • Back to the present – an overpaid footballer will get a skinful of grog and make a complete arse of himself .One of his ‘mates’ will  film this performance and leak it to the press. The incident may or may not involve the mild mistreatment of a dog but one thing is certain – it will dominate the news cycle for at least a month.

In 2017 we will tut tut about drunken footballers

  • A white, middle aged, television presenter will say something that could be construed as sexist.The subsequent  outrage will dominate the news cycle for at least a month.
Collingwood President Eddie McGuire In Racial Row

If Eddie Mcquire is alone in the forest and he says something but no one is around to hear it – is it still sexist?

  • The dating habits of Karl Stefanovic will be subject to forensic scrutiny as will those of Sam Armytage. Is there a connection here? Are they dating?
  • Tim Worner might last a few more weeks at the helm of Seven West. His downfall is kind of a shame given that his text messages demonstrate an incredible enthusiasm ‘on the job’.(Snigger) He also seems quite adept at the art of delegation, especially when directing his (ahem) underlings to deal with his super h&*# c$@^.  However expensing your sordid assignations to the company credit card is a very bad look. As is giving your mate’s secretary a $10K bonus for (ahem) excellent performance. Imagine if the all the c-suite executives were doing it?

Welcome to Sacksville – population you two.

  • Meanwhile I hope Mrs Worner hires a hawt, young Scandinavian pool boy to help out at their $9.5m waterfront home (which conveniently has a pool). Note that the use of the word hawt is redundant here. How can a Scandinavian pool boy nawt be hawt?
  • Do you wish Tony Abbott would shut up and go away? Ain’t gonna happen. He’ll stick around long enough to jump on MalTurn’s political corpse.

Stop exaggerating TA!

  • If you’re perplexed by what Trump will or wont do as POTUS, you’re hardly alone. Second guessing Trump will continue to be the global media’s primary focus.
  • Trump’s bound to make a steady stream of obnoxious comments and may even manage to grab a few pussies. However it’s unlikely that he’ll build a wall or deport 11 million illegals.
  • On the other hand he may slash taxes in the US and that will be really interesting. I say this because the US Government has a mind boggling amount of debt. Only 4 years ago they were panicking about the fiscal cliff. We whinge about our supposedly crippling government debt – currently estimated at 37% of GDP. By contrast the USA government debt stands at around 104% of GDP.  Trump’s touted business and personal tax cuts could rip up to  $12 trillion (12 trillion) from government revenue over the next decade. He also intends  throwing shit wads of cash at infrastructure and the military. None of this adds up.  It’ll either be the dawning of a golden age or the bankrupting of the nation. Perhaps both. Grab your popcorn, sit back and enjoy the show.

Trump memes wont get old in 2017

  • Our hearts will break as more of our favorite celebrities leave the building. However Keith (Keef) Richards wont be among them. The dude is immortal.

Despite his best efforts – Keef wont go to rock n roll heaven this year.

  • Keef’s band mate Mick Jagger wont be leaving us either. He will remain as potent as ever and will most likely impregnate another 20-something supermodel.

Super models still need fear this man.

  • If you are a 20-something super model consider yourself warned and duck for cover.
  • Speaking of 20-something hawties, Taylor Swift will date a string of steaming, hawt, tasty crumpets. Biatch! It should be illegal to have that much fun. Meanwhile if she goes anywhere near Aiden Turner I will spontaneously combust.
  • If there’s a terrorist cell, or worse still – a bunch of welfare bludgers, lurking in our amorphous urban sprawl rest assured The Daily Telegraph will sniff them out. God save the hordes of welfare bludging terrorists out there from the wrath of Murdoch.

Thank god Murdoch is alerting us to dole bludgers.

  • Not much will be said about corporate welfare though. But its a conversation that desperately needs to happen.
  • There will be seven episodes of Game of Thrones this year. And we thought 2016 was bad!!!! TV’s most epic show will be epically over hyped yet again but we will lap up every hunkalicious, muscle bound, leather clad moment of it.

Mo dragons, mo tits, mo beefcake..

  • Vikings has a polarizing effect on the Aussie Mummy Blogging scene. I know that most of you don’t give a flying proverbial but some of us care very deeply. OK. I’m here to tell you that Ragnar wont last the next season. He’ll be sent to Valhalla via King Aelle’s snake pit. Vikings season 5 will be lead by Jonathan Rhys Meyers rather than Travis Fimmel making the whole affair considerably less hawt. #Sorry.
  • Those pink flamingo pool floatie things are going to be pretty freaking passe in twelve months time. They’ll look most unfashionable in your pool. #first world problems.

Enjoy the novelty pool floatie while you can.

  • Whilst Brangelina gave us 2016’s most tumultuous break up Pariah (James Packer and Mariah Carey) came a close second. However Mariah really looks to have found a true soul mate in back up dancer Bryan Tanaka. Just kidding – this will implode by February so enjoy the superlatively tacky spectacle whilst you can cougars.

Weeeeeelllllll – if you were engaged to James Packer you’d be tempted by this too….

What have I missed? Care to share your calls for 2017.

Happy New Year




2016 – A Year of Fails

If social media is an accurate gauge of public opinion, the entire global population wants to give 2016 the finger.

The year began dreadfully with the deaths of David Bowie, Alan Rickman and Prince (God rest their crumpety souls) and finished with the Sam Armytage granny knickers fiasco. These awful events bookmarked  twelve months of head scratching chaos.

2016 gave us the truly heinous US presidential election campaign, Brexit, a stumbling economy, an insolvable refugee crisis, Hiddleswift and the bastardization of Tim Tams.


On the positive side – 2016 gave us some great memes


But we did have to suffer some truly awful combinations


Hiddleswift being slightly less palatable than toffee apple Tim Tams

From a personal view point, things were not too shabby. My marriage remains intact, the kids are thriving and my husband’s software business continues to push forward. I truly have no cause for complaint – but heck that’s never stopped me before. I’m here to tell you that the Mumabs, keeping in line with the world in general, suffered some shithouse fails this year.

I risk embarrassment by relating them to you now because failures make for entertaining reading. If you’ve achieved any thing at all in your life this year, my litany of shame should help you  feel superior.

Business fail

I was embroiled in a business fail this year – my own personal tech wreck. Back in 2015 I accepted a role with a plucky tech start up. They were an optimistic bunch who, emboldened by past successes, aimed to ‘disrupt’ their industry, becoming the next Scott Farquhar and Mike Cannon-Brookes in the process.  (I truly loathe the term ‘disrupt’ now. Its as bad as ‘agile’.)

Instead the thing crashed and burned. The disaster was visible from a long way off – much like Pamela Anderson running in slow motion along the beach in that red swimsuit. Such predictability did not prevent vicious infighting and the whole affair turned ugly indeed.


Like Pamela’s assets this business fail was obvious from a long way off.

The machinations behind this debacle would have made for some very interesting blog posts. It could perhaps be padded out to book form – something along the lines of ‘How to fail in business without really trying’.  However as  I want to work in this town again you wont be hearing the whole story from me.

Meanwhile I will say the Voluntary Administration process is quite an eye opener. Talk about corporate vultures. Malcolm Turbull’s innovation nation is likely to lead to a bloodied feast for that industry.


Not my start up team – sadly.

Creative fail

So I finished my debut children’s novel. Captain Outback – the hilarious tale of Jack ‘Jacko’ Jackson, a simple jackaroo who gets more than he bargained for whilst visiting an outback dunny. A bite on the arse by a genetically enhanced red back spider leaves him with superpowers.

I had my magnum opus proof read, sent it to the publishers and sat back waiting for the accolades to roll in. Soon I dreamed, I would go from the drudgery of cash flow projections and balance sheets to rubbing shoulders with the likes of Andy Griffith, Anh Do, Aaron Blabley and Richard Roxborough.

Turns out the publishing world is not yet ready for a super hero spoof with an Australian twist. My heart story was met with resounding rejection. It looks like I wont be doing any Elizabeth Gilbert style TED talks about harnessing creativity any time soon. (But I probably could do one about how to cop a perve).


Me giving a TED talk about the art of perve copping.


Aiden-Turner-as-Poldark-doing-some-gentle-weeding med

Aiden Turner – perve coppee (Sorry that was 2015)

In order to gain some insight into my failure I attended a children’s writing work shop with the Australian Writers Centre. I learned much from the two day course, the key takeaway being that Captain Outback bombed because it is shite. Perhaps I’ll try again with something else. I wonder if I could fashion a story around a dirty old cougar trying to cop a perve. I can just see the subheading – ‘based on a true story’.

Health and fitness fail

Once again I failed to lose weight. This arose from a chronic inability to a) exercise and b) break out of the coffee/booze cycle. As my capacity to give a shit is diminishing with each passing year I predict that I will once again fail to lose weight in 2017. My poor shape is brought into stark relief along side my husband’s chiseled abs. Bastard. My longer term prediction is that I will wear smocks for the rest of my life.

EXCLUSIVE... EXCL...Beyonce Knowles Holidays With Jay-Z In Italy

Not me – I’m too white and nerdy but this will be my beach wear from now on.

Investment fail

OK – this one is totally in the #first world problems bucket. I sold all my stocks out in 2011 and  to my great shame have only just taken baby steps back into the market. I thought I was extremely clever buying a big four bank and an energy stock on a dip. It turns out these stocks were dipping for a reason and they continued to do so. I was not fully across developments in these industries and now I’m down about 6.5%.

I’m rationalizing this bungle with the old adage ‘It’s not timing the market. It’s time in the market.’ I’ll just sit on my position and wait for the stocks to recover – which happily they are. Meanwhile let this be a lesson to you cougars – doing your research might not prevent you from losing money on the stock market but it will stop you from feeling like a complete numpty.


My investments

How was 2016 for you? Did you smash it or get smashed?




At least Jon Snow took Winterfel this year.



First World Problems – Halloween

I don’t know how it crept into our culture but at some point over the past three decades Australians have eagerly embraced Halloween. I wish the nation could unembrace it because frankly  Halloween is a pain up my wazoo.

Back in the good old days all we knew of Halloween (and indeed of much of life in general) we learned from American sit coms. Upon questioning my parents about why missed all the  fun I was told (and I paraphrase) –

That is sepo garbage and we’re not the 51st State of the USA yet.

The term ‘sepo’ of course comes from ‘septic tank’ rhyming slang for yank. That sort of turn of phrase is now as rare as the humble septic tank itself and I kind of miss it. Anyhow I accepted that ‘sepo’ garbage was somehow damaging despite consuming American TV and music on a daily basis and that Halloween was un-Australian. Australians did ANZAC Day not Halloween.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly the celebration gained a foothold on our shores. Since the 1980s with every passing year the ranks of trick or treaters swelled until it became the raging tsunami it is today.

Halloween’s origins are sexy enough. Back in pre Roman times the Celts celebrated the festival of Samhain. This massive party  involved lighting bonfires, dressing up as animals and a whole lot of mystical shite. It sounds like quite a rave. Keep in mind that the Celts were hawt and are best known for their innovative tattoo designs.

Annual Bonfire Season Begins On England's South Coast

Halloween used to be about getting pissed around a bonfire much like cracker night.



As evidenced by gift store art – the Celts were hawt.


And they had hawt tattoo designs if you like that kind of thing. (I personally dont but whatever floats your boat)

This went on for several centuries before the Romans butted in. As you know the Romans were also hawt and fond of orgies. When they conquered Britain they merged Samhain with two of their own festivals – the Feralia which  commemorated the passing of the dead and the Pomona which celebrated the Goddess of trees and fruit.

The festival underwent further permutations throughout the middle ages but the main thrust remained the same – bonfires, dress ups, booze and mystic shite.


Here’s the hawt Roman goddess Pomona

Fast forward a couple of thousand years and we have a commercial behemoth – $6 billion is spent on Halloween shite in the US alone. I say shite because the overwhelming majority of Halloween  paraphernalia is cheap plastic junk made the the lowest possible manufacturing standards.


Aisle upon aisle of plastic crappola

For the young and hawt October 31 has morphed into a prime excuse to dress ‘sexy’ ala Mean Girls. Not that the young and hawt need such an excuse – sexiness is de rigueur on weekend.


Pretty much standard attire at the Coogee Pavilion on a Friday night


And whats wrong with teaming underwear and mouse ears anyway?

For the primary school set its an excuse to binge on sugar. And binge they do. Halloween is a sugar orgy of Caligulan proportions. As it falls inconveniently this year on a Monday night there’s no parental boozing to mollify our kids’ inevitable sugar rush and statistically probable melt down.

The most annoying thing about it for this Halloween grinch is having to procure two costumes. Didn’t Book Week just end? Do I really have to do this dress up thing again, so soon?

Honestly I’m quite looking forward to my daughters entering the slutty mouse costume phase because I’ll have no involvement in it. They’ll chose their own lingerie and mouse ears and that will be that. However right now I have had to glue f*%king cotton wool to a head band because my nine year old wants to go as an ice cream sundae with sprinkles. Imaginative – yes?  Pain in the butt – definitely. Meanwhile my seven year old is upset that she can’t team my black work jacket with her pumpkin head hat.

Getting the gang together for the trick or treating is a logistical exercise on par with planning an Olympics. All the various participants must have an agreed meeting spot and time and a trick or treating route must be thoroughly planned.

Back at the home front lolly supplies must be topped up. Last year we left a huge bowl of assorted fun sized chocolates for passers by. The Snickers, Crunchies and Mars Bars disappeared with alarming speed but the Cherry Ripes were left untouched – all night. This proves there is something wrong with people because Cherry Ripes are awesome. What is it about the combination of dark chocolate, cherries and coconut that the young folk fail to appreciate?


There are two kind of people in the world – those who appreciate Cherry Ripes and those with no taste buds.

Halloween love or loathe? Do you get into it or is it just one extra hassle in a schedule jam packed with hassles?


This guy wins the internet with his 50 Shades of Grey costume



The pathetic middle aged fan guurling bit at the end.

Halloween would be an ideal time for a hawt vampire to turn up but no cigar – at least not at my place. Its not as if there’s any shortage of hawt vampires in the culture. In fact amid a cast of thousands of sexy vampires I can only think of two that I’d kick out as it were –


Nosferatu – should I say Nawthawtsferatu &


Gary Oldman



Taika can stay…


as can Jermaine. (IFL-Jermaine – it is known)

Anyhow – hold on to your juglars ladies because just when you thought the vampire franchises were safely back in their coffins they’ve returned from the undead in the form of a rebooted Lestat.

We’ve seen Anne Rice’s iconic character portrayed by


Tom Cruise – the only time he has ever appealed – blame it on the candelabra.


and the one time ‘next big thing’ – Stuart Townsend

Now according to press speculation – its Jared Leto’s turn. This is problematic for me as an amateur casting agent because whilst Jared Leto’s look is on fleek, there is much evidence to suggest he is an arsehole. I cant support the casting of known arseholes.


The next hawt vampire – well that’s just dandy.

What say we hand the coffin and cape to Nicholas Hoult instead? Anyone got any better ideas? I dont know much about the young and up coming talent because half your age plus seven rule. However perhaps I could draw on the wisdom of the crowd for this one.


On Being Mumsy

I was granted parole for half a day last Saturday. I managed to slip into the city to see the Ab Fab movie with three girlfriends at Gold Class as you do daahling.  The occasion was met with the consumption of four glasses of wine plus a three tiered platter of fancy arsed cakes. Needless to say it was freakin’ awesome.

The movie wasn’t bad either. It was touchingly resonate in places. For instance I was  moved by a scene where Saffy  performs Janis Ians’ At Seventeen’ before a gaggle of drag queens. Then there was a climatic bit where Eddie says to Saffy ‘I did not want to be fat and old but here we are daaahling.’ That burned because I’m 46 and in the worst shape of my life. Here we are daaahling indeed.


I use a bit of this in my life…

What the movie really brought home is that there is simply not enough unbridled hedonism in my middle class life. Unlike Edie and Pats, I can’t indulge in a coke and champagne  soaked idyll on the Cote d’ Azur . It’s not an option.

By contrast here is how a debauched Saturday evening plays out at Chez Abulous. I swill two glasses of red whilst Dadabs goes all Manu on my ass and whips up something shamefully gourmet. I may or may not do a happy dance to express my gratitude towards Dadabs cooking.

We put the kids to bed then I assume the position –  on the couch under a doona in front of the telly. He assumes his position upstairs in front of the computer. There I get to imbibe historical hunks becoming estranged from their historical blouses in blissful uninterrupted peace. Though sometimes I waste the opportunity and just watch Parks and Rec.

Ron med

Many a wild Saturday night has been spent with Ron Swanson

So how did it come to this? My mission to become a world class cougar is failing.

Patsy med

Patsytown is a stop over on the way to

At this rate I will never morph into this type of awesomeness.

Olenna med

the ultimate cougar awesomeness.

What happened? Kids happened.  I’m a Mum and I am Mumsy.

Here is how the realization struck me.

I was faffing about wasting time on Facebook when I scrolled past a discussion about the Canadian PM and uber crumpet Justin Trudeau.

Justin med

Comfortable enough in his masculinity to wear a wet pink shirt and carry a pride flag. ZOMG!!!!

Being me I could not leave well alone and added to the fawning comments – ‘PM of Canada, Mayor of Hunkytown and CEO of Crumpets Inc’.

I scored a few thumbs ups for my efforts and one reply ‘Ha ha. You’re a Mom right? ‘Cause that this a real Mom joke. I love it.’

Here’s me thinking it was an example of bawdy wit! Sheesh.

Then my nine year old called me out about the baggy jeans I was wearing. ‘Why are you wearing those weird jeans.’

‘Because they are comfortable.’

‘They are Mum jeans’

Now I thought my loose denim gave the ensemble something of a waif feel ala Dexy’s Midnight Runners. My nine year old whose taste runs to Ariana Grande disagreed.

Dexy's med

How I think I look in baggy jeans. Btw: Tooray freaking aye..

‘Am I embarrassing you?’

‘A bit’

And so it begins. I make Mum jokes and wear Mum jeans. I suppose I have Mum hair too.

Mum jeans med

How my daughter thinks I look in baggy jeans.

That is nothing compared to the shade I regularly get from my six year old who insults my physical appearance on a daily basis. Recently she told me that my ‘belly button better watch out because my boobies were coming for it’. Which pretty creative for a Grade One student. My (Size 10) derriere is frequently compared to that of Kim Kardashian. At this rate I may as well pack up and move in with Kanye who would no doubt appreciate me.

Kanye West

I’m sure he would not find mah booty too big.

Another feature of my Mumsiness is my inability to distinguish popular female singers on the radio. They all sound like Rhianna to me.


‘Who sings this Mum?’. ‘I dont know is it Rhianna? They all sound like Rhianna.’

Also I’ve failed to grasp the appeal of the You Tubers and plushies.

Help me get back on the road to Cougar Town! How can I rid myself of the Mumsiness and embrace my inner fab?

Are you Mumsy? Are you OK with it?





Social experiment – Mumabs watches The Bachelor

A nation wide water cooler conversation has been going on since 2013 which I’m effectively locked out of.  Don’t hate me but I’m  yet to watch a full episode of The Bachelor. Some people will have a hard time believing this. Like this Huff Poster for example –


Seriously – I’m not pretending – I truly don’t watch the Batchie and can only discuss it in terms of the snippets I’ve absorbed from headlines and hilarious recaps.

Over the last few days I’ve indulged in some intense navel gazing to try and fathom why I don’t participate in this cultural phenomena.

I ask myself is it because the entire premise is anti-feminist? Well it’s as anti-feminist as fuck but I dont feel all entertainment should be recalibrated through a feminist lense. Besides the existence of The Bachelorette offsets this argument somewhat.

Is it because my inner hipster deems it too ‘basic’? Well no – I fan gurl over a lot of lowbrow stuff. I mean – I care deeply about the Brienne/Tormund/Jaime love triangle (Game of Thrones)  which hardly makes for cerebral dinner party conversation.


Meet Adrian – my inner hipster.

My resistance to The Bachelor comes down to three factors.

  1. The Husband factor – The amount of shade Dadabs would throw my way for watching this tripe would be unbearable. I am already subject to frequent rants about the dumbing down of society without throwing reality TV into the mix. In the meantime Dadabs loves nothing more than a spot of Deep Space Nine followed by a Battlestar Galatica chaser. Hmmmm
  2. The aint nobody got time fo’ dat factor – TV viewing time is a scarce commodity. Hence as a rational consumer I strive to maximize the amount of sword wielding beefcake my eye can cop in the limited hours I have.
    Utred med

    which means prioritizing Uhtred here above the entire reality TV canon.

    Meanwhile furnish Ritchie with a pair of leather dacks and a  medieval arsenal and I’m in like the proverbial Flynn.

    errol med

    When it comes to Swashbucklers I’m in like Errol.

  3.  The pain factor. I dont want to watch a show about dating, mating and relating. As an alumni of the Sydney’s urban singles scene I can tell you that dating, mating and relating sux. Love is a battlefield and women like me, who don’t quite fit the Barbie doll mold, nearly always LOSE. The ritual rejection on the Batchelor dredges up painful memories. Seeing women competing be chosen by some vaguely attractive crumpet is personally excruciating because I spent my entire 20s NOT being chosen*.

All good reasons. However as a wise person once said ‘dont knock it until you’ve tried it’. I  decided to put my personal prejudices aside and give The Batchie a red hot go.

Here’s how I fared.

I watched some of Episode 4 on catch up TV while my husband was out. I only lasted 20 minutes because I had to go and met a friend for lunch. It’s important to have a life. My impressions are listed.

  1. Whoa!!! The camera zooms in on the gaggle of sexy laaaadies and you’re whacked in the face with boobs the size of car airbags. The teeth are so blindingly white they could trigger and epileptic fit.  I never knew so much bleach blonde hair could exist outside the Gold Coast.

    Bach_Main med

    El mucho boobs and blonde hair.

  2. To be fair they’ve really mixed things up by including a blonde woman with a slightly smaller (read natural) bust – because she is pin thin. Seriously I think I spotted four brunettes in the group.

    richie-bette-dog med

    The beefcake shot had to be done. Sorry. Not Sorry.

  3. Ritchie is actually well – nice. He doesn’t seem a complete douche. He’s not slick and there’s genuineness about him which shines through despite the risible lines.

    Ritchie med

    It cant be an easy gig having to talk shite all the goddamn time.

  4.  On the date with Faith he said he was looking for a ‘deeper connection’. What self respecting straight man says shite like that?  I’m sure what he really meant was in the immortal words of Kevin Bloody Wilson –  Cause you’ve got a nice head. And you look pretty honest. So me face’ll be leavin’ in quart of an hour. I’d like you to be on it.
  5. What the heck is the white rose all about?
  6. In positioning herself as the mean girl Keira is  guaranteed a B list career long after the season wraps. She might even be the next Bachelorette or at the very least gain a spot on the next Celebrity Apprentice with Mark Bouris. Mark Bouris is a silver fox.

    Keira med

    Keira the bad girl will be on the B list for some time.

  7. Keira and Eliza are scrapping over some shite. I know its manufactured drama but does anyone truly carry on like this?
  8. Alex is acting like a lame arse pork chop at the cocktail party. Oh dear God she’s actually crying. Grow a set of hairy ones girl.
  9. TEN Play wont let you fast forward through the fucking ads. No cougar should have to put up with this.
  10. So many Gosford skirts (just below The Entrance) worn on the group date. The girls have got it and they’re flaunting it.
  11. This group date is a cruel and unusual punishment.Ballroom dancing with a seven to one female to male ratio is just evil. I mean Ramsay Snow was nicer to Theon Greyjoy.

    Ramsay Snow

    Here’s some Ramsay for you Hugzilla.

  12. Ritchie’s apparently looking for someone ‘cheeky and sassy who can take the waltz in a new direction’. Try the Mumabs Ritchie! Cheeky tick, Sassy tick and so uncoordinated I can take the waltz in every direction there is.Tick!
  13. The bleating about drowning in Ritchie’s eyes is making me want to give up my morning tea (hummus chips).
  14.  Poor Ritchie looks like he hates himself, God bless ‘im.
  15. So many fairy lights. So so many fairy lights. Fairy lights out the wazoo. Too many fairy lights are never enough. Meanwhile the power surge caused by these fairy lights has triggered rolling black outs all over Sydney.
  16. Much has been made of Osher’s hair. For good reason. Its astounding. Send a sample to the CSIRO for chemical analysis now!

    Osher med

    Osher’s hair the hardest substance in the known universe

  17. Not many of these lips look natural. Is there a collagen specialist on set? Is he single?
  18. Those teeth. There has to be dentist in the production team? As someone whose child has recently had fillings I can tell you ladies – the dentist is the one to go for. Ker ching, Ker ching!
  19. Check the topiary – must be some pretty hawt gardeners to distract the girls whilst they sit around all day waiting for Ritchie.
  20. Mmmmmmmm. Hawt gardeners with big shears.
Tuscan-style-house-behind med

A team of 20 hawt gardeners must work full time on this.

The verdict. What a gut churning load of horse shit

Would I watch it again? Sure – shite’s addictive.

So cougars.. The Bachelor do you love it or loathe it? Sell me.



* Don’t cry for me Argentina. I’ve been in a great relationship for 12 years and my husband is quite frankly a catch.