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 at this point of time 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.


The Worst Songs

Are you familiar with the AV Club? http://www.avclub.com/

Its a website where highly educated bright young things wax pretentious about the popular culture. I love it. It’s  inextratably* up my alley – a shinning beacon of pointless intellectualizing amid the guff that is my daily Facebook feed.

Recently I clicked on an AV Club piece arguing that  ‘We built this city’ by Starship is worst song of all time.


It’s contentious claim. In fact it caused the internet to meltdown as people rushed to the site to dispute it in the comments. Opinions being like arseholes, everyone had a view as to which shanty should take the musical wooden spoon.

The Meatloaf canon was mentioned ALOT. Some people can’t abide ‘I would do anything for love (but I wont do that)’. Personally I dont mind it. I can relate to the over arching thematic.  I wont do that either. Mind you its a moot point. Being fat and 46 years old no one is requesting that I do that. My husband is too polite.

‘Red, red wine’ by UB40 copped an unnecessary flogging. As did Charlene’s ‘I’ve been to paradise’.  There’s an incredible amount of hate in the world for  ‘Who let the dogs out’ whilst ‘Ice, ice baby’ makes some want to smash their radio.  I disagree with the latter.There is a cheesy joy in belting out the lines

If there was a problem
Yo, I’ll solve it
Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it
Ice ice baby Vanilla
Ice ice baby Vanilla
Ice ice baby Vanilla
Ice ice

You’re singing along – aren’t you cougars!

Regardless I’m just glad that the internet sees fit to have this conversation. Shite music is a scourge on society and must be stopped. Here are the songs that I would like deleted permanently from the playlist. In no particular order.

Hotel room service – Pitbull

Lordy I hate this. As you know Mumabs is not a prude and if people want to sing about cheap sex they can do it all night long (see what I did there) for all I care. But this song is just foul as is the accompanying video clip. In it  Pitbull implores a gaggle of hawt chix to

 Forget about your boyfriend and meet me at the hotel room,
You can bring your girlfriends and meet me at the hotel room

So not only does this idiot think he can cut some brother’s grass, he’s going for a little orgy action. It only gets worse

Your man just left,

I’m the plumber tonight,
I’ll check your pipes,
Oh, you’re the healthy type

Plumbing metaphors are the ultimate aphrodisiac – NOT.  Even if Pitbull looked like Sam Heugan this crass sexism would  be unacceptable (though perhaps a little tempting). However  he is a front runner for the ugliest man alive. Butt ugly rappers celebrating the gang bangs they can pull epitomizes all that is wrong with capitalist society.


Dont let this jerk anywhere near your plumbing.

Love story – Taylor Swift

Yes I have an issue with Taylor Swift. She turned my favorite crumpet into a pork chop.Now millions of former Hiddleswooners are frantically swapping their leave passes for less embarrassing celebrities. Anyone who hasn’t been photographed in  an ‘I love T Swift T-top’ qualifies.

Pork chops. Just add apple sauce.

In spite of all that, I don’t think she’s a bad person and I don’t mind her musically. Bad blood, Wildest dreams, Blank space, We never go out of style are all catchy toe tappers. But Love Story is the tweest thing ever laid down in a studio. It was written for Disney obsessed nine year olds. How Hiddles went from  Shakespearean theater to
And I said Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone
I’ll be waiting, all there’s left to do is run
You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess
It’s a love story baby just say yes
is beyond me.
Frigging in the riggin – various
No good can possibly come of starting a ditty with the lines –
Aboard the good ship Venus
By Christ you should have seen us
The downward spiral is inevitable. Enough said.
Don’t cha – The PussyCat Dolls
When a posse of ex-strippers come together to sing expectations are low. Skimpy outfits and monotonous butt wiggling is par for the course. However what they came up with is just mean spirited.
Dont cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me
Dont cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me
Dont cha, dont cha
Dont cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me
Dont cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me
Dont cha, dont cha
What happened to sistahs before mistahs you pack of judgmental bitches.  Meanwhile this song makes Dadabs yell at the car radio – ‘No I dont wish my girlfriend was vain and conceited like you. You cow!’

Dadabs doesn’t wish I was hawt like them. (which is sweet)


The power of love – Céline Dion
Cause I am your lady
And you are my man
Whenever you reach for me
I’ll do all that I can
Aaaaaargh – its the musical equivalent of fingernails down a chalk board. Someone in my family circle had this atrocity as their bridal waltz. They are now divorced. I rest my case.

One woman has caused so much pain for so many.

If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me – The Bellamy Brothers
 This is one the worst pick up lines of all time set to music. Country music. The hapless victim is damned regardless of whether they answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and forced to respond impolitely with ‘F$#k Orf! Idiot!’
I wonder if whether in the history of pulling crumpet  this line has ever worked. Imagine its the late 1978s. You go back to some flares clad, mustachioed Burt Reynolds type’s pad for a (ahem) Moccona and he puts this clunker on the turn table. Truly I would rather be asked if that’s a mirror in my pants.

No I will not hold my beautiful body against you and that’s NOT a mirror in my pants (unless Aiden Turner is asking)

Burn for you – John Farnham
In middle age many are afflicted by minor yet unpleasant ailments. Songs like Burn for you bring these to the front of mind.
When old Whispering Jack warbles (as happens quite frequently on Smooth FM)
Burn for youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
What am I gonna doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
I can only answer ‘Well I dont know Whispering Jack. You might try Anusol.’
Similarly when the Bangles inquire ‘Is this burning an eternal flame’, the first response that comes to mind is ‘No its haemorrhoids but it feels like a f#@king eternal flame. Thanks for asking.’

Whispering Jack is in pain

 Milkshake – Kelis
 One of the most lampooned songs of this century for good reason.
My milk shake brings all the boys to the yard,
And they’re like,
Its better than yours,
Damn right its better than yours,
I can teach you,
But I have to charge
Much like the 1980 Village People song of the same name this is not really about a dairy confection. I suspect (though it might be my dirty mind at play here) its about the noble art of fellatio. Again I am not a prude and I have no problem with people wanting to hone such skills . However practicing on all the boys in the yard is simply unhygienic. It makes a mess of the yard for one thing. Furthermore since when did the humble blowie become a competitive sport?
And finally – the gong for the worst song of all time goes to
Kevin’s cortin’ song (D’ya f&%k on first dates) – Kevin Bloody Wilson
 The long and illustrious career of Kevin Bloody Wilson contains so many low points that choosing an absolute worst was nigh impossible. Classics like ‘Grandpa’s got a stiffy’ and ‘Rootin’ in the ute’ are hard to top. Then there’s my personal favorite, the resonate ‘Stick that f%$king fone, right up your f%^king arse.’  However nothing is more more dismal to female ears than
Do you f&*k on first dates?
Does your dad own a brewery?
Could I feel your tits?
Or would you show ’em to me?
Cause you’ve you’ve got a nice head
And you look pretty honest
So me face’ll be leavin’ in a quarter of an hour–
I’d like you to be on it
I don’t hate it because its rude, crude and vulgar. I hate it because it succinctly encapsulates what every man who has ever approached a woman was really thinking. I dare say Mr Darcy himself was humming this internally throughout the events of Pride and Prejudice and that is beyond depressing.
Pride and predjudice
How about you?
What songs make you want to rip your ears off?
Love Mumabulous
Dishonorable mentions:
Achy breaky heart – Billy Ray Cyrus. Because you should everything at least once except incest and line dancing.
The well hung plough boy – Rodney Rude. This piece of smut reads like it was penned by a grotty Year 9 boy but Mr Rude was well into middle age when he released it.
Anaconda – Nicki Minaj. This song makes IQ points bleed out of your ears.
I’m so into you – Ariana Grande. Its not that bad. I’m just f#$king sick of it.

* Not technically a word. Nevertheless some stuff can not be extracted from my alley and will be lodged there permanently. The works of Neil Gaiman for example.


For no reason I give you Keanu – he cant act for shit but he is very beautiful.



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 to 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.


Stuff I need to tell Miranda Kerr..

Miranda Kerr’s recent engagement to Snapchat wunderkind Evan Spiegel has spawned a new social class – or at least a new sub-set of WAGS (wives and girlfriends). Thanks to the union of the supermodel and the precocious tech billionaire the world now has a fresh reservoir of potential reality TV fodder – the TWAGs Tech Wives and Girlfriends (not to be confused with Tennis Wives and Girlfriends.)

miranda-kerr-couples-up-with-snapchat-ceo-evan-spiegel-social1 med

Tech’s new King and Queen

The trash mags have been busy pulling a number of high profile TWAGs out of their collective wazoos. Super babes who chose to fish at the nerdy end of the billionaire lake  include Taylor Swift hanger-oner Karly Kloss , model Lily Cole and Australia’s own Kirsty Hinze.

Johnny Depp’s ex Amber Heard is rumored to be ‘hanging out’* with Elon Musk (who any self respecting TWAG should know is the inspiration behind Tony Stark – if you don’t know who Tony Stark is click away and go watch Offspring.) And in these post feminist times the boys are getting in on the action. We now have Tech Husbands and Boyfriends (THABs). The poster boy being  actor and thinking woman’s crumpet (literally) Joseph Gordon Levitt who recently married the co-founder and CEO of robotics company Fellow Robots. (Oh my. Now that’s my kind of Founder Hounder).

JGL med

JGL – popular Hollywood actor and Founder Hounder

As an early adopter I would just like to take the opportunity to put on my thick rimmed hipster spectacles and announce ‘I was into it before it was cool’. I’m an early adopter. I’ve been a TWAG since 2004.

Having boldly gone where no super model has gone before, I’d like to borrow from my knowledge and experience to offer Miranda, Karly, Lily, Joseph et al some connubial advice.

Imagine the junior TWAGs and Joseph sitting in the Chez Abulous courtyard, sharing a bottle of rose (The $20 stuff – not the cheap piss) and a cheese platter with Mum-abs the supreme TWAG cougar, holding court. (Should Miranda, Karly and Lily’s invites get lost in the post and it ends up a one on one session with Joseph – that’s fine by me).

cheese platter med.jpg

This will do nicely

Here’s what I would tell my underlings about marrying into the tech fraternity.

Its not all beer and skittles

Contrary to popular opinion life in the tech world is not all disruptive start-ups, riding the next unicorn and large equity chunks in high profile IPOs. Marriage to a tech type presents unique challenges – like;

Nerd culture 

Outside of a tub of yoghurt is there any other kind? As a tech spouse you’d better know your DC from your Marvel, your Dr Strange from your Dr Who and your GRRM from your JRRT.

Benedict med

Its Dr Stange not Dr Who

Religious devotion

You know the saying – ‘God made man in his own image and ever since man has been returning the favor’. IT types take this notion to the next level. Some (including my husband and Elon Musk) firmly believe that the universe and everything in it is a computer simulation designed by an alien intelligence.

EM med

Elon Musk thinks the universe is computer simulation but hawt chix still wanna bone him because billionaire.

When pressed on why they believe this they might argue that the laws of physics are far too convenient too be random. However in my opinion, it merely reflects what they would do if bestowed with God-like omnipotence*. A bit like me believing the entire universe is the set of an epic TV show with a smorgas bord of crumpet for a cast. I declare that the universe is the set of Vikings.

The Bible

Opinions about cosmology may vary but there is one universal religious text.

HHGTTG cover med

So ladies and Joseph keep calm and know that if your spouse mentions Slartibartfast its not toilet humor. Other important things to know include the relevance of the number 42, the intellectual superiority of lab mice and the importance of always carrying a towel.

High praise

Calling a fellow IT denizen a ‘reasonable programmer’ is the highest praise that one can  bestow.

Fix my computer

People will treat your spouse like their personal IT support desk. We have friends who only come out of the woodwork only when something has gone wrong with their computer, or media centre or wi-fi. On the positive you’ll often get invited to a BBQ meal so your spouse can remedy the issue.

Have you tried turning it off and on?

Marriage to a tech guy means a lifetime of IT support on tap. However when you regale them with problems like ‘the screen’s locked’ they’ll occasionally suggest ‘turning it off and on.’

When you respond with Christopher Pyne face they’ll assure you that they are not imitating Roy from the IT Crowd and are in fact serious. Meanwhile it usually fixes the problem.

Chris Pyne

My face when my husband asks if I have tried turning it off and on.*

Wardrobe malfunction

All a man needs in his wardrobe is a collection of novelty T-shirts.


My husband in his favorite T-shirt (not really but it could be)

Educational material

This is a documentary.


In fact everyone should watch HBO’s superb comedy Silicon Valley – the joys of which deserve their own blog post. This show has echoed my reality.

But this is the ultimate documentary.

IT Crowd med

The ultimate insight into tech life. PS: Gotta love Mossy and Roy.

And this by contrast is total crap.

Mr Robot med

Very hawt and engaging crap but crap nonetheless.

If you build it they will come

Don’t ever insult your spouse’s intelligence by suggesting that they buy a device ‘off the shelf’. It is far better to order the various components and create a bespoke model. This means there is will be hard drives, metal boxes and screw drivers all over your house.

guilefoyle med

They can wield a power tool as easily as a mouse. PS Gotta love Guilfoyle

So Miranda, Joseph and the rest of the Padwans consider yourself forewarned and forearmed.  Over the last 12 years my husband and I have journeyed from nerdy into deep nerdiness but I would not have it any other way.

In the meantime TWAGs and THABs I wish you every happiness.

Do you have any well meaning advice for Miranda?



* Where ‘hanging out’ means shagging like bunnies on viagra.

* Some already believe Elon Musk has God-like omnipotence.

* As you know a Christopher Pyne must always be offset with a Christopher Pine.

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Brain Dead

‘Don’t marry the person you think you can live with; marry only the individual you think you can’t live without’.  James Dobson*

By that logic I should be married to Richard Fidler (You didn’t expect that did you cougars? You thought I would nominate some Vikings or GoT cast member didn’t you?).

If it weren’t for the rich caramel tones of Richard’s vocals administered daily via the Conversations podcasts I would have gone stark raving mad* during my time as a stay at home Mum. Now I’m back at work I’m suffering serious Richard withdrawals. Recently however I managed to get a fix – by wrestling the iPad away from the six year old and listening to Conversations whilst preparing dinner. Multitasking is a necessary evil.

In a somewhat incestuous move, Richard was interviewing former 702 host and  world’s most charismatic mathematician Adam Spencer (though I doubt he sees himself that way and other mathematicians may protest). It was a bit of a nostalgia trip. I remember Adam Spencer strutting around Sydney Uni in the early 1990s like he owned the place. To be fair he was president of the Student Representative Council so he kind of did own the place. Funnily much of his strutting occurred in the Wentworth Bar, a venue where flanno and trackie dak clad engineering students constructed the most elaborate erections from plastic beer cups whilst proto-hipster arts students sneered at their buffoonish antics. I even chatted to Adam once, sitting on the floor at  house party in Chippendale but it’s highly unlikely he’d remember that conversation.


Fast forward 25 years (fuck I am old) and I’m listening to Adam speak with a mixture of admiration and envy. There is something  captivating about an individual who is completely besotted by their field – hence the admiration. When you get him onto the topic of prime numbers the excitement is palpable. He sums up (pun unintended)  his passion eloquently -” Maths is beautiful. It’s natural. It’s everywhere. Numbers are the musical notes with which the symphony of the universe is written.”  This  resonates – my mother used to say much the same thing. Yet at the same time makes me feel like a complete dunder head. He is right of course – mathematics (the scaffolding of physics) is the most succinct way we can understand the universe. Buggered if I’ll ever have even the most simplistic grasp of most of it – hence the envy.

People like Adam and his bro  Karl Kruszelnicki have the ability to shake our mindset, elevate us beyond our own trivial concerns and help give us back our sense of wonder. Others in this basket include Prof Brian Cox, Neil Degrasse Tyson, Stephen Hawkings, Carl Sagan and the God father of all the science communicators David Attenborough.

BC and MS med

Errrmaaagaaaawd – excuse me while I pass out in a nerd crumpet coma.

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Y’all Need Science!

Listen to any one of these people speak and your hope bucket is immediately replenished. Not only is there hope for the human race, it’s dazzling.  We know what the universe looked like when it was 380,000 years old and we know that it is expanding at an accelerating rate. We’ve counted over 3,000 worlds outside our solar system and we’ve landed a probe on a comet more than 300 million miles away from earth.


If David Attenborough can’t inspire you nothing can.

Closer to home we’ve sequenced the human genome, converted the electronic signals made by people’s brains into algorithms that can operate gadgets  via ‘brain power’. We’ve slowed the onslaught of many deadly diseases like small pox and polio and gene editing technology has cured a British child of leukemia. So many diseases are officially ‘on notice’.


A baby photo of the universe


This is truly inspiring stuff and whilst we can’t all be a part of it, I believe its important to know a little bit about what’s happening and what’s possible. Sadly listening to Adam the other day made me realize how much I’ve been neglecting this side of life. In fact I feel completely brain dead most of the time as family and work consume every last skerrick of mental energy I have. My focus has narrowed as I try to stay on top of the relentless routine of life. I’m more likely to escape in to Game of Thrones fan theories than tackle a New Scientist magazine these days.


How I feel.

This hasn’t happened to my husband – he’s still on top of his game, building software that’s sold to serious government agencies all over the world. (I could tell you more but he’d divorce me.)

Its time for a brain reboot. Got any suggestions on how a cougar can get her mental mojo flowing again.

Do you feel brain dead?

Do you have a favorite science crumpet?

Alan Duffy

This here crumpet is astrophysicist – Professor Alan Duffy (Its just not fair!)



* BTW – James Dobson is an  American evangelical Christian author, psychologist, and founder in 1977 of Focus on the Family (FOTF) which means he should be completely ignored.

* Starker, more raving mad


First up let’s deal with the elephant in the room. This was my reaction to the news that former top banana Tom Hiddleston is dating Taylor Swift a mere 2 weeks after she broke up with paramour Calvin Harris.


When you discover your favorite crumpet is dating Taylor Swift.

I can’t bring myself to fire Tom from Team Crumpet like I fired Fassbender (due to assault allegations) but he is sooooooo demoted. Let us never speak of it again – save to say all you Jake G and Harry Styles fans – I feel your pain accutely.

Meanwhile I am finding consolation in Aiden Turner.

Aiden Turner

Oh my – there’s some fine consolation right there!



Why am I still blogging?

Now here’s a nice compliment.

Woog - med

This is my signed copy of Primary School Confidential (I was at the book launch a few weeks back). It says ‘B  – unique voice in a world of vanilla. Keep writing xx Mrs Woog’. I was all like ‘Gee Shux Kayte’. It was as if she’d peered into my very soul and served up exactly what I wanted to hear.

Mind you I  think most bloggers crave this type of acknowledgement. Whilst we’d like to think that our ramblings are unique and worthwhile, the evidence to the contrary is often overwhelming.

The past six months has seen the Mumabs go into extended hibernation (consequently crumpet levels on the blogosphere went into free fall like the  NASDAQ in the early 2000s). I was simply disenchanted with blogging and had come to see it as a waste of time – a mildly embarrassing one at that.

Bear Nap

Mumabs in hibernation



I certainly did not believe I was adding anything new. My story is well trodden ground. Yes – like millions of middle class women  I gave up a career trajectory for motherhood. And yes I am at times ambivalent about it. On one hand working on the stock market holds a certain kind of kudos in some circles. On the other its a bit of shit fight frankly and I don’t miss the testosterone fueled aggravation which typifies that scene.

Working Mums speak of ‘mummy guilt’ but during my stint at home I felt the burden of letting team feminism down. Here I was privileged enough to comfortably take time out whilst others were fighting tooth and nail to keep their berth upon the good ship career.

I’m sure you know the drill. It’s an internal monologue that’s played itself out on publications like the HuffPo, Mamma Mia etc etc for decades now. Why add my voice to this thunderous chorus?


Apologies to Team Feminism but I don’t really miss this gig.

At the same time the Mumabs ‘brand’ was suffering an identity crisis. Despite its name much of the content didn’t quite gel with the mummy blogging genre.I was reluctant to talk about parenting, mainly because I need a mental break from it.

There’s was no way I was dishing out life hacks because I have no interest in telling people how to live. Recipes and craft? – don’t make me laugh. Style? – it would be nice to have some to share with you.

My blogging shebang descended into a self parody that grew old. (It was great fun for a while though). I can imagine one off visitors grinning, shaking their heads and thinking ‘this woman’s off her trolley’ then clicking away for good.  As for my faithful tribe of about 12 fellow cougars – I’m sure even they became tired of seeing Clive Standen pics in every single post.


But I’m not. Here he is in civilian gear for a change.Yes – Vikings fans – that’s Rollo. #Sorrynotsorry.

None of this works well when it comes to partnering with brands – which is just as well because that route a giant turn off for me. The hamster wheel of creating relatable content, to attract unique visits in order to work  with brands is simply does not float my boat. I don’t blame others for trying to make a few lousy bucks but you could not pay me enough to flog cleaning products etc. I’d consider shilling coffee, chocolate, booze, five star resorts and  hunks in leather pants  but its a moot point given my tiny niche appeal.

Hamster in a wheel

Stop the blogosphere – I want to get off!

The above explains why Mumabs dropped off the radar for a while. But why did I come back? All I can say is invisible forces beyond my control pushed me back to the keyboard. I have a compulsion to write – complete drivel though it is.  My name is Brenda and I’m a bloggaholic.

Have you ever taken a blog break?

Do you sometimes feel disenchanted with the blogging scene?

Why are you still blogging?

Should I change my name to Cougar ‘Abulous?



BONUS MATERIAL – Some pathetic fan gurling.

The James Bond Casting Conundrum

I’m indifferent about the Bond franchise (what 26 installments are not enough?). However rumour has it that top banana Tom Hiddleston is about to replace the priapic bastion of masculinity that is Daniel Craig.

As a Hiddleswooner since the first Avengers movie and a self appointed casting expert I had to weigh in on this. In short computer says NO!!!!!

Mentally casting Tom Hiddleston is one of my hobbies. My people need to talk to his people about ;

  • Dr Who – there’s no-one else I’d rather see wield a sonic screwdriver. (Besides David Tennant – calm down loyal Whovians)
  • Horatio Hornblower – so many puns about blowing horns and  I have fetish for 19th century naval gear.
  • Willy Wonka – because the Candy Man makes everything he bakes satisfying and delicious.

BUT – NOT JAMES BOND. Hids is beauty, elegance and intellect manifest in male form. (which does’t mean he can’t be a pretentious prat). James Bond is a suave killing and rooting machine. These two things are incompatible.

In my expert opinion – the other TH is the better choice. Tom Hardy. He can do a suave exterior (though mostly chooses not to) but there’s no denying the deep darkness in his soul. Tom Hardy can serve up a savage beating and really mean it.

Tom Hardy

Now – here’s a plausible killing and rooting machine..

Meanwhile the internet wants Idris Elba to be the first non-white 007. I have no problem with that. It’s a worthy experiment.


I mean who wouldn’t want to experiment with Idris? HONK!

I also think  Nikolaj has super spy potential  but unfortunately his career will be stained by Game of Thrones forever. He’d be known as Jaime Bond – the spy who loved his sister. Shame.

Got any Bond picks cougars and amateur casting agents?