Colourful Language

This week Blockbusting author Stephen King was interviewed for The Atlantic. In this discussion about the dark art of teaching writing, he revealed the phrases which give him a  proverbial dose of the shites.   For King nothing clears  (a-hem) writers blockage faster than the expressions “Some people say”, or “Many believe,” or “The consensus is”.  He also despises IMHO, YOLO, and LOL. The piece has done multiple laps around the world has triggered spirited discussion on social media.  I’ve been following it was interest because in my grumpy old age nothing  gives me more enjoyment than an orgy of “I hate that too”. (Except perhaps a light, crisp rose, a block of over 75% cacao Lindt and the spectacle of shirtless sword fighting Vikings).


Back in the day when I wrote about the stock market for a living, I was guilty of overusing the term “consensus” as was every equity analyst in town. There  was a consensus about the use of consensus. It got so bad that one of our dealers chided the research team about “sitting around the campfire of consensus”.  We also regularly dropped clangers like “scalable business model”, “leverage”, “synergies”, “share price catalysts”,  “the investment story” and (shudder) “going forward”.  No doubt had Stephen King been present at a stockbrokers meeting he would have let Cujo loose on the lot of us.

The consensus is Cujo's coming for YOU!

The consensus is Cujo’s coming for YOU!

Now that I’ve tumbled off the career trajectory, I’m still keen to irritate Stephen King and others through the use of IMHO. In my humble opinion, its more efficient than writing IMNSHO (in my not so humble opinion).  I’ve never exercised YOLO because I can imagine its what Justin Bieber said when he crashed that Ferrari. And even at my advanced age I know that LOL is naff. I prefer emoticons when I’m LOLing. 😉 (I’m not trying to argue that its cool).



Anyhow reading through the lively reaction to King’s comments, there appears to be a consensus about hating the term “going forward” or “moving forward”. Similarly many believe those who like punctuate every sentence with the word “like” should be like shot.  Also I was LMFAOing at the widespread distaste for abbreviations. I’ve got a few of my own to add to the linguistic stink list.

1) “The magic happens outside your comfort zone”.  The terms “magic happens” and “outside your comfort zone” are annoying enough on their own. Combining them is taking wankery to a whole new level.  If this sentence is used with a diagram illustrating where the “magic happens” my irritation goes off the scale.



My irritation depicted graphically. It's off the chart.

My irritation depicted graphically. It’s off the chart.


2) “On the same page”. It would have to be an excessively large page for us both to fit.

3) “Change the game”. Life is like Monopoly – some people buy up half the board and others pay rent. I’d rather play Catch n’ Kiss. Lets change the game.

4) “Hit the ground running”. I’d rather not hit the ground at all. It sounds painful.

5) “Think outside the square”. What’s wrong with the square? Its hip to be square.

6) “It is what it is”.  A redundant expression if ever I have heard one.

On the other hand, much of the old style Australian idiom has gone the way of the dodo and I would like to see it back a come back (Much like Christ is touted to do – any day now). My family were always (a-hem) colourful with their use of language and it baffles me that some of their sayings have dropped out of (or never made it into) the common parlance. For example when thirsty my father would say something along the lines of

“Bren I tell you. I am drier than a nun’s nasty”.

When doubtful of someone’s intelligence he’d say

“That guy wouldn’t know if his arse is on fire” or alternatively

“That guy wouldn’t know his arse from his elbow”.

Not knowing that your arse is on fire is a modern epidemic.

Not knowing that your arse is on fire is a modern epidemic.


My personal favorite was reserved for describing a person who was a bad –

“He couldn’t hit pussy in the arse with a plate of wheat”.

I wont tell you how he described bad drivers, save to say it involved digits and orifices.

My brother inherited my father’s interesting turn of phrase. He has been known to muse deeply about the comedic value of farts in elevators. However my favorite quote from him is one he uses when an issue is of little concern to him.

” I couldn’t give an f%^king rats ring in raspberry juice”.

Why that gem didn’t enter the mainstream dialect I will never know.

I guess this goes to show that whilst you can take me out of the Sutherland Shire and transplant into an affluent area you’ll never make me classy. Its just not in the DNA. And seriously blog fans would you want me any other way.

What sayings make you cringe? And which ones should be used more often?


LOL (as in lots of love)


PS: Dadabs gave me a years subscription to Photoshop for my birthday. He is delighted that I’m using it to set fire to Nicki Minaj’s arse.





Wife Fail?

If you are a wife and a mother you’d be forgiven for feeling somewhat picked upon of late. If the media is anything to go by we collectively aren’t getting much right.

To start with psychologist Dr Michael Carr Gregg recently released (and is marketing the bejeepers out of ) a new parenting guide – Strictly Parenting which wags at stern finger and labels us “crap”.

Shame on you - parents!

Shame on you – parents!


Then a young Personal Trainer by the name of Allan Trinh tried to spruike his fitness business by accusing new mothers of being fat, lazy and using their kids as an excuse not to prioritize their appearance. Great – now we’re not only crap at parenting, we’re fat, lazy eyesores.

To top it all off we’re apparently neglecting our husbands – or so the celebrity escort Samantha X argues in her new book. If you don’t have a TV set or access to the interwebs you may not have heard about this woman. Let me elaborate. Samantha X aka Amanda Goff is a former magazine editor turned high class call girl. In a logical step she married the two strands of her career and has just published a book.  “Hooked” is the  salacious tale of her double life as a school tuck shop Mum by day and $800 per hour sex worker by night. ( I can’t imagine any of our local canteen volunteers running such a line but you never know….)

The tabloid press has picked up the story and run with it because its text book click bait. Samantha/Amanda has spread herself absolutely everywhere (figuratively speaking of course) in brazen flurry of self promotion. She’s copped an avalanche of slut shaming for her efforts but I have a begrudging admiration for her chutzpah. The phenomena of call girls becoming minor celebrities and penning best selling tell alls is nothing new. Back in the 1800s London society was titilated by the memoirs of high profile courtesans such as Harriette Wilson and Cora Pearl.

The scandalous Miss Harriette Wilson

The scandalous Miss Harriette Wilson

Ms X puts her own 21st century spin her situation by calling herself a “naked therapist”.  Apparently she spends as much time sipping tea and listening to her clients as she does swinging from the chandeliers.   She notes that many of  the blokes feel neglected by their wives and complain about not being “heard”. Hmm. My first thought was that not many of them would be (ahem) ballsy enough to say that they are selfish pricks who are simply bored with their perfectly lovely wives.   My second thought however was an irrational pang of guilt. I wondered if I was giving Dadabs enough love and attention.   I doubt it was her intention but Sam X’s  observations suggested (to me at least) that this was just another way in which modern women are “failing”.

Its reminiscent of sex therapist Bettina Ardnt infamous comments a few years back. Bettina argued that many men (and some women too) were suffering in sexless marriages. The solution was for partner with the lower libido (usually the woman) to lie back and take one for the team. I’d suggest this is happening in most marriages already. Sam X’s musings seem to run deeper than wives feigning sleep or headaches however. There must be some serious disconnection happening if these guys are forking out $800 per hour for a cuppa and a chat with a happy ending?

Its easy to see how it happens. Between raising kids and juggling the housework, paid work and everything else women can often feel too mentally and emotionally drained to “look after” their partners. Tending to the relationship becomes another item on a soul crushing “to do” list.  Couples simply drift apart.

What do you think? Does Sam X have a point? Are women neglecting their relationships or is it just a lame excuse of the part of the paying clientele?

Do you feel that the media is constantly shaming woman and playing upon our feelings of failure?

How do you keep the connection in your relationship?



PS: This post is in no way intended to “slut shame” Ms X.  Women like her would not be taking to prostitution if there wasn’t a huge demand for it.


Insulted By Experts

There are many things that nobody tells you before you embark on the journey of motherhood. One of them is the sheer indignity of it all. Throughout  pregnancy you’re poked and prodded willy nilly by strangers (and not in a good night clubby sort of way). Then there’s the birth itself – nuff said. After that you spend a couple of years smeared in food debris and worse. Finally your children learn to speak and that’s when humiliation really starts to kick in.

My girls are now 7 and 4. They are really quite verbose. If I were to put a positive spin on it, I’d say that they were both remarkably articulate. They both have a talent for flinging insults which surpasses their tender years. The downside is that their advanced A-grade trash talk is inevitably directed at me.  P2 ‘s development is particularly impressive for a four year old. Before hitting school she’s mastering the art of multi-tasking. She can move seamlessly between unconstructive criticism and bull shit with all the skill of a teenager.

Take this exchange for example.

P2: Muuuuuuuum. I want to wear my pink onsie.

M: Its in the wash darling. You’ll have to choose something else.

P2: You are stupider than I thought.

M: Excuse me! You don’t talk to your Mum like that.

P2: I said you were Jupiter.

Nice save P2. I could not be prouder.

Here’s another example where there’s no bullshit but plenty of attitude.

P2: Muuuuuum. Wipe my bum!

M: Just a minute I’m just helping your sister.

P2: Muuuuuum. I said wipe my bum!

M: Be patient.

P2: You are the worst Mum in the world!

M: Excuse me. You don’t speak to me like that. I am a lovely mother.

P2: Whatever! Blah, blah blah!


Dont let her angelic looks fool you...

Dont let her angelic looks fool you…

The pointy end of their wit is reserved for my cooking. OK – I’m not Nigella or Maggie Beer.  However I am not too bad in the kitchen. My husband has survived ten years of my cooking and no one in the household  is underweight.  Nevertheless the kitchen in Chez Abs barely gets a 1 hat rating. After producing yet another gourmet meal complete with fresh herb garnishing P1 (the 7 year old) heaped praise upon Dadabs.

P1: Daddy you should go one MasterChef.

M: How about me? Should I go on Master Chef too?

P1: No you are not a good cooker.

P2: Daddy is a better cooker than you.

Mind you this type of criticism is mild by P2’s standards. Meals are frequently met by a much more scathing. “Its yucky. There’s no way I am going to eat it” or “That tastes like 100 bums” and most colorfully “It tastes like a 1000 bugs crawling in my underwear”.

Seriously! Rewind the clock back 40 years – if I were to have given my parents that kind of shite I would have received a swift whack on the bum for my efforts.

It shouldn’t surprise you that according to my girls I smell. P1 is at pains to tell me that my butt is not “eco-friendly”.  Perhaps someone should slap a carbon tax on me. Nicki Minaj’s by contrast blocks out the sun and slows down global warming.

Meanwhile in world news:

Suits you.

In a stunning boon for sexual equality President Hawt’Bama held a recent press conference which set social media ablaze. Commentary focused upon his taupe suit rather than anything he actually said.


But is it tan, beige, bone, off white or ivory?

I think he looks rather fetching. Not everyone can rock a light coloured suit without looking like Richie Benaud but I think President Crumpet wears it well. It harmonizes with his youthful complexion. What was he talking about again? Oh that’s right just inconsequential issues like policy on Iraq and Syria. Back to the suit. If  light coloured threads are good enough for James Bond (several James Bonds infact) they’re good enough for the leader of the free world.

Roger Moore - a man in tan.

Roger Moore – a man in tan.



Yes Timothy Dalton tan too!

Yes Timothy Dalton tan too!

This is technically grey but when it comes to Sean Connery any excuse will do.

This is technically grey but when it comes to Sean Connery any excuse will do.


Daniel Craig - Oooh my!

Daniel Craig – Oooh my!

Are your kids giving you attitude?

Where do you stand on the tan suit?





Hope For Humanity

We interrupt your regular programming with a post that is more than half serious.

2014 has been a weird year. For me personally its been OK  but for the world at large (to exercise a classic Aussie idiom) its been a Barry Crocker shocker.

2014 has been a Barry.

2014 has been a Barry.


There seems to be a pervasive sense of doom. On reflection a sense of trepidation has been part of the back drop of our lives. In the 70s and 80s we all fretted about the Cold War, nuclear annihilation, petrol prices and the generally screwed state of the economy. As the decades progressed we came to dread the terrorist threat, climate change, petrol prices and the generally screwed state of the economy.

This year’s unfortunate tsunami of bad shite seems to have heightened the public’s foreboding. Its not only my perception. Its a sentiment that has been echoed through the blogo/FB/Twitter-sphere and even the mainstream media. Case in point – this recent discussion on ABC 702


Over the past few months we’ve seen the humanitarian disasters in Gaza, Iraq and Syria, famine in South Sudan, the ebola outbreak (yikes) in West Africa and the MH17 incident. The tragic passing of Robin Williams was like the cherry on top of this shitey layer cake. Then when we all thought things really couldn’t get any worse, Michelle Bridge’s 12WBT started up again. Batten the hatches – It’s Fit-ageddon on Facebook people! (Woooooo, Woooooo, Woooooo – facetious remark alert)

All of this has led me (and the folk at 702) to wonder whether the world is getting worse. I think the truth of the matter is that the world has always been pretty crappy. I mean – put up your hand if you would like to journey back 100 years to 1914 when that orgy of death, destruction and general mayhem known as World War 1 was just kicking off. No takers?

Yet despite all the horror in our past and our present you don’t have to look to far to see what is good, uplifting and downright amazing in our species. I am an optimist when it comes to humanity. People’s ingenuity blows my mind on a daily basis.

Human beings have

  • Mapped what the universe looked like just after the big bang (I’m talking about the beginning of space/time not the TV comedy)
Its not a funky Easter Egg its the young universe.

Its not a funky Easter Egg its the young universe.

  • Broken the atom down into its smallest components ( the same people hired Prof Brian Cox – double thumbs up)
  • Sent a space craft beyond the solar system
  • Come close to ridding the world of scourges such as small pox and polio and are progressively kicking malaria in the butt.
  • Invented the Tim Tam and all the variations thereof.
Can a species who invented Tim Tams be completely without hope?

Can the species that invented Tim Tams be completely without hope?

Over the past month alone a few good news items have crossed my radar and they make my spirits soar.

Mind Walker

A team at the University of Brussels is currently testing an exoskeleton that allows completely paralyzed people to walk using the power of thought. It sounds like science fiction but the team have developed a way to read an individual’s brain activity using and EEG cap and translate these electronic signals into commands for the robotic suit. The device needs to be streamlined but is closer to being market ready than alternative therapies. It has the potential to give millions of people their lives back.

A graphic of what the mind walker will look like.

A graphic of what the mind walker will look like.

Smart Contact Lenses

Google and pharmaceutical giant Novartis have teamed up to create a futuristic contact lense which can help diabetics. The smart lense constantly monitors glucose levels in their tear fluid and transmits the information wirelessly back to a mobile device. When this goes mainstream diabetics wont have to endure several invasive and inconvenient blood prick tests each day.  Its a fantastic start but the smart lense has the potential to do much more. It is hoped that down the track the lense will be able to detect other illnesses – such as glaucoma and even cancer. Alternatively it is mooted as a method of drug delivery.

Ta dah! This contact lense is smarter than a 5th grader.

Ta dah! This contact lense is smarter than a 5th grader.

Moving into Sci-fi territory other research groups are looking into using the smart contact lense as a way of enhancing our natural vision. For instance to allow people to scan in on very small objects like a built in micro scope and to give us night vision. The Avengers may be out of a job if this keeps up.


The excitement which has been steadily building within the nerd herd will reach a crescendo this November when human kind is scheduled to land a craft on a comet for the first time. Whilst Bruce Willis made landing on a rogue asteroid look easy this has been a mammoth operation. The Rosetta probe was launched in 2004. It has traveled 6.4 billion kilometres (including 5 laps of the sun) to catch up with the comet.  Currently Rosetta is about 100 km from its prey and will sneak up gradually before hitting pay dirt in November. The achievement of the engineering involved can not be under estimated. It is not so much as looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack rather than “finding a speck of dust in a big city.”*

Rosetta swoops past Mars in 2006

Rosetta swoops past Mars in 2006

There’s a very valid argument that we shouldn’t be spending so much on space exploration when there’s so many serious issues to tackle here on earth. Nevertheless the mind boogles and the heart leaps at just what humans can achieve. Surely a species that can do all of this can’t be completely without hope?

Do you feel the world is getting worse? Where do you look for inspiration?



Gerhard Schwehm, scientist in a European project that launched a space probe that swung alongside a comet last week after a decade-long, 4 billion-mile chase (The Associated Press, Wednesday)


Screw The Housework…

So its 22C here in Sydney’s stunning eastern beaches and the good news is that the boss has given me the day off. The bad news is that I have a head cold and feel lousy. Damn.

In my delirious state I thought that reading a Facebook feed about Tom Hiddleston writing a charming thank you email to Joss Weldon would put a smile back on my dial. Na-uh. That plan backfired. It only added to the mounting pile of evidence that I am the world’s dullest individual.  Paul Keating – whether you love him or hate him you’ve got to agree he made a stunning contribution to the Australian idiom. One of Paul’s sayings was “You’re all tip and no iceberg”. This is not how I would describe a Hiddles/Joss bromance. When it comes to coolness that is the entire freaking berg!

A visual depiction of the Hiddles/Joss bromance

A visual depiction of the Hiddles/Joss bromance

I by contrast am this.

A standard ice cube

A standard ice cube

I’m not even a novelty ice-cube in the shape of a body part.

In my state of feeling both poorly and profoundly uncool I said to myself “Screw the housework” and took myself out on a coffee date.  These are the views I was subjected to in lieu of doing the vacuuming.

Taking photos into the light - a cardinal sin.

Taking photos into the light – a cardinal sin.

Eastern beaches - ooh yeh!

Eastern beaches – ooh yeh!

Yesterday was similarly stunning. I found myself in a take away joint on Bondi Road eating a BBQ chicken roll for lunch. That is itself newsworthy. Ooh the condiments. So much mayonnaise! I was devouring it shamelessly like a cougar would Kit Harrington when I happened to look up. There on the pavement haloed by the sunlight was Redfoo! The unmistakeable afro teamed with the ironic retro cool big glasses. If it wasn’t Redfoo it was a guy who likes to bring attention to himself by presenting exactly like Redfoo.

I like to maintain a modicum of dignity around celebrities by not acknowledging their presence – at least until they approach and ask if I am Mumabulous. This time despite myself I smiled in recognition through a mouthful of crusty bread and succulent BBQ chicken. He nervously grinned back. I am sure he is used to old ladies smiling at him  and has learned to deal with it graciously.

Pretty much like this - except he was wearing trackie dakkies.

Pretty much like this – except he was wearing trackie dakkies.

I didn’t mean to stalk the dude but I had to be somewhere so I scampered out and followed him up the street. He kept sticking his head into the doors of various businesses and high fiving the proprietors which strikes me as a very Redfoo thing to do. All the while he was dragging a wheeled shopping bag behind him. Hipsters having been trying to bring such contraptions back into fashion for decades (which is about 5 years in hipster time). Whilst some aspects of Nana-chic like freaking knitting have caught on, the wheeled shopping caddy is yet to win mainstream affection. I predict that’s about to change and by Christmas all the kids will be wanting one.

The hawtest accessory.

The hawtest accessory.

You heard it here first!

Meanwhile I have the dubious honour of being the only bored housewife on the planet who has not yet read that book. You know the one with the 50 Shades. Just when I thought the hype had died down and we could all move on with our bog standard sex lives, the movie trailer came out. Middle aged women are being titilated afresh. Having not read the trilogy does not prevent me from being an authority on the subject. I was planning on writing a post about who could beat Christian Grey in a fight. However the field of contenders was (ahem) too broad.  I’ll just say I hope I wasn’t the only person to have noticed this.

Movie poster.

Movie poster.

TV Series poster.

TV Series poster.

Hmmm – remarkably similar wouldn’t you say? What’s more many an intelligent woman has been known to get tied up in knots over Don Draper.

For what it is worthI have my doubts that Don Draper could land a punch on Christian Grey. Nor could Redfoo but his afro could knock anyone out at 20 paces.  Perhaps my beloved Hiddles could deck Christian Grey because despite looking like a wet paper bag would be a match for him,  he reportedly does all his own stunts. However it goes without saying that my crush du jour Rollo could seriously kick Christians Grey’s butt!

Oh my! The smart money is on him.

Oh my! The smart money is on him.

I hope you enjoyed this tasty morsel. It will be my last for a while. I have been thinking out the sacrifices made by the thousands of good folk who participated in Dry July. Giving up their selfish pleasures to raise awareness about cancer is laudable. So I too should join in and do my bit. There aint no way in hell I’m giving up the booze! (or coffee or chocolate for that matter). That’s just beyond the call. Alternatively I propose refraining from posting about celebrity crumpets on this blog for the entire month of August. I shall call this endeavor – Boregust.

Who is with me?





The Day I Got Lucky.

So I have just finished binge watching four concurrent series of Game of Thrones. The fact that this is newsworthy should give you an indication of just how exciting life here in Chez Abulous really is. If I’ve gleaned anything from GoT its that my life as an Eastern Beaches housewife is as pampered, comfortable and safe as it gets. ( I’ve also gleaned that Kit Harrington and Iain Glenn are smokin’ hawt). In the Game of Thrones the players stare down death everyday and twice on Sunday’s. All too often  they come off second best. No one is immune – not even the uber smokin’ hawt.

Two hawt bros but only one of them survives to the end of Series 3

Two hawt bros but only one of them survives Season 3.

In stark contrast I feel like I’m going to die if 10 am rolls around and I haven’t had my coffee*. You can tell the time by my moaning about this – it is that reliable. When I am heard to complain “If I dont get a cappuccino now I’ll die” you know its 9.30am. Its got to be a real cappuccino made by the artisan hand of a skilled (and preferably hawt) barista. That Nescafe shite wont cut it when it comes to matters of life and death.  Also over the past seven years many is the occasion that I felt like I was going to die of boredom. Particularly during those endless hours spent at the park, playgroup, swimming lessons and viewing In The Night Garden.

This one is from Bake Bar in North Randwick

This one is from Bake Bar in North Randwick

There has only been one occasion when I sincerely believed my number was up. I wish it were an heroic story like falling down an ice crevasse and crawling my way to freedom (that was Touching the Void) or having to drink my own urine whilst stranded in the wilderness (That is every episode of Bear Grylls and Todd Carney on a big night out). Sadly my brush with the Grimm Reaper was much more mundane.

Bear Grylls surviving the outback.

Bear Grylls surviving the outback.

Back in the BC (before children) era shorty after Dadabs and I shacked up we took my chariot on the epic trek to the Gardens of The East. Which is a fancy pants way of saying I drove my shit box Mazda 121 to our local Westfield – Eastgardens. Calling it the Gardens of the East makes may life sound vaguely exotic. That bottle green 2002 Mazda really was a box of shite. Dadabs risked dying of embarrassment every time he stepped inside it. On the one occasion he actually had to drive it he found the experience so humiliating he decided there and then to buy me a new car. But I digress.

Chariots of Shite

Chariots of Shite

Whilst we cruised down Avoca St towards Anzac Parade Mother Nature unleashed an Almighty Gale. She can be a bitch that way. The gumtrees that lined the avenue bent and groaned helpless in the sway of the cyclonic winds. Then I saw it – a bloody great tree branch hurling straight towards my windscreen.

Like many a movie cliche time slowed down. I watched stunned as the log inched towards us as if in slow motion. I didn’t however see my life flash before my eyes. My one thought was “you’ve got to be kidding! It can’t end today, I’ve only just found a half decent boyfriend and been promoted at work”.

Just when it looked like all was lost and I wouldn’t get to finish the report on the mining services company that I had been working on the log lowered its trajectory. It smashed into my radiator with a sickening thud. Water leaked out all over the road. Dadabs and I had been spared by a matter of inches. Talk about getting lucky!

The car limped into a side street and we walked back to the former Chez Abulous determined to restart our journey to the Gardens of the East in Dadabs chariot – a firey red Mazda 3. Brenda and David having avoided their demise lived on to become Mum and Dadabulous. Even the Mazda 121 carried on heroically for several more months until it was deemed unfit for a successful software developer to be seen in.

Since that day luck has been on my side and Game of Thrones is the closest I’ve come to experiencing another brush with death.

How about you? Have you ever stared your mortality in the face?



*If you noticed that very bad GoT pun, you are as nerdy as I am. High five!

OK – enough with the GoT references already.


That’s Entertainment

There’s no denying that Mumabulous is a late bloomer (arguably a non-bloomer). The fact that I married for the first (and hopefully only) time at aged 37 shows that in many important respects I’ve dragged the chain*. However never have I been so far behind the proverbial curve than when it comes to the institution that is Game of Thrones.We are well into Season 4 and I’ve only just caught on.

My reluctance to get onboard with GoT had nothing to do with a lack of encouragement from Dadabs. Since the series began he has been trying to convince me to watch. “You really should  watch Game of Thrones – its a romance” he’d urge.  Sure it is – when your definition of romance is hoards of buxom wenches and some nimble sword play. Fellow bloggers also recommended the show because Kit Harrington!

This should have been all the motivation I needed...

This should have been all the motivation I needed…

Nevertheless I resisted. I reasoned there was only room in my heart for one televisual obsession and that was Mad Men.

Completely obsessed by the shenanigans at Sterling Cooper and Partners.

Completely obsessed by the shenanigans at Sterling Cooper and Partners.

Then Vikings came along and I realized that despite having a small (but remarkably firm) chest , I’ve got a really big heart. It’s roomy enough to accommodate all the crumpets. Infact my heart is like the Tardis – bigger on the inside.

I've got plenty of room for Rollo and Ragner (sod orf Lagertha)

I’ve got plenty of room for Rollo and Ragner (sod orf Lagertha)

My infatuation with the Vikings only strengthened the case for Game of Thrones in my husband’s mind. I’d enjoy  45 minutes in Hunkytown (aka iron age Denmark ) every Monday evening and report back to Dadabs about the double crossing, politicking and shirtless sword fighting that went on. “Well” he’d say “If you think that’s good. You should watch Game of Thrones. It’s all about politics and back stabbing”. “But I thought you said it was a romance?” I’d query. “There is some romance in it” he’d reply. (Note that it has gone from being “a romance” to having “some romance in it” – a bit like Pride and Prejudice has some action sequences).

Matters came to a head over a weekend when two lots of friends reiterated that I “really must watch Game of Thrones”. Dadabs, being a take charge kind of guy, made an executive decision. That Sunday evening after putting our girls to bed early, the box set was pulled out and I  was seated in front of Game of Thrones series one, episode one. Like Daenerys Targaryen I had embarked on a long journey and I had know idea where I would end up or if indeed I would make it to the end alive. Also like Daenerys I was surrounded by beefcake

and hawt chix

and hawt chix.

I’ve since had what can only be described as a GoT binge. From my experience so far, its safe to say that everything you have heard about it is true. For example ;

  • Kit Harrington (aka John Snow) is hawt.
  • The plot is as complicated and as convoluted as the Australian tax system.  I’ve had  to refer to flow charts to work out what’s going on.
Seriously you need to flow chart to work out what is going on.

Seriously you need to flow chart to decipher  GoT

  • Stemming from the above point, cast members other than Kit Harrington are hawt but I dont know their names.
  • Peter Dinklage is AWESOME.  He is so much AWESOMENESS condensed into the smallest possible package. The Dink is not just a star – he is a neutron star.


  • Kit Harrington is one sweet babycakes.
  • Its very violent. Heads literally roll every five minutes.
  • Women disrobe on the flimsiest of premises. Needless to the nudity rarely adds anything to the plot. If you have never seen a pair of tits, I would strongly recommend watching Game of Thrones. One episode is enough to give you a very good idea of what they look like. If I were a betting woman I’d  wager that the writer George RR Martin did not get laid in High School. (Here’s the thing – neither did I! None of the best people did).
Two important plot points.

Two pert-inent  plot points.

  • Oh my! Kit Harrington is some tasty crumpet.


Sorry - this only makes sense if you've seen the show.

Sorry – this  meme only makes sense if you’ve seen the show.

Do you get GoT? Are you Mad about Mad Men? Do you go beserk for the Vikings? What’s your TV obsession?

If you’ll excuse me I’m off to watch another episode of Game of Thrones.

Winter is coming.


Love a good mash up.

Love a good mash up.