A Cute and Fluffy Post

We had an admission recently from a Nursing Home. The patients name was Bill*. He has some residual learning difficulties from an accident some years previously and needs full nursing care hence the reason he ended up in a NH.

In amongst the paperwork sent from the NH was a list of demands that Bill would likely to shout out during the course of the day. Bill is dysphasic which essentially means that his speech is impaired or muddled so this list was incredibly important so we were able to understand what Bill was asking for.

This is the list...

What Bill Says.... (What Bill Means)

• Hungry..... (Bill is hungry)

• Wazza.... (Bill needs to pee)

• Wyatt.... (Wipe it [penis])

• A bit.... (Move Bill up a bit)

• Fuck you.... (Self explanatory)

• I want to kill you all dead.........................
  

Nice man!




*obviously not his real name!

A History Lesson

Something has been niggling in the very murky depths of my brain recently. You know those cobwebby corners filled with sludge so that absolutely NO learning can take place without a mop being employed first?

A few weeks ago, Dave and I went to a Quiz night. I sat there quietly for most of the night, muttering answers to questions I was only half convinced were correct. The team was doing well, what with the rest of the table being intellectuals and all.

About ten questions from the very end of the quiz, the question master asked a question that made my eyes light up and made me jump from my seat proclaiming 'I know this one. I know this!'

My team members were very grateful as they didn't have the foggiest and so there I sat basking in glory about to impart my wisdom onto each and everyone of them.

I felt invincible after that. I had proved myself there and then in that Greek Orthodox Church Hall. It was clear that no one else in the room had got the question right and that made my smugness all the more clear to those inferior academics sat around me.

When the answers were read out, I waited expectantly for my question.

"And the answer to No. 42 is.... Southampton!"

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Bugger. Shit. What happened? I got the bloody thing wrong!

I immediately crumbled as my team mates jeered me. They wouldn't let me forget my stupidity and I felt ashamed that I obviously had not even learned the history of my home town.

The question was this..."Which UK town did the Mayflower ship depart from before making it's historic journey to America?"

It was obvious to me...Plymouth. I grew up in Plymouth. There are hundreds of landmarks named after the historic voyage and ship. The ship even landed in 'Plymouth' in New England for gods sake. There are even the Mayflower steps that are honoured with a plaque documenting the day the ship left and how many passengers it was carrying to the new world.

(By the way, the actual Mayflower steps are a few metres up the road from the ones that are officially the steps. It was thought that these ones in the picture above looked a lot prettier than the ones actually used and so the Americans would spend more money on souvenirs!!)

So as I prepare to go to another quiz night tonight, I feel as if I should clear up this horribly messy business before I can claim closure on the episode. I've just researched the subject a little on the internet (and we all know that t'internet never lies!)

If you want to be picky about it, neither the Question Master or I were correct.

It appears that the 'Mayflower' departed from LONDON before stopping off at SOUTHAMPTON for a feed. It then travelled to DARTMOUTH cos of a leaky companion boat.

It docked there whilst fixing up said companion boat before sailing on as a twosome. The Mayflower and it's companion boat sailed for a couple of hundred miles into the Atlantic Ocean and then snarled a collective 'bugger' as the neighbours boat was fuckedy leaking again!

It sailed back to PLYMOUTH for a while til it was deemed that the companion boat was a complete bunch of arse at the whole floating thing and that the 'Mayflower' would sail alone to America.

Therefore the Mayflower sailed from PLYMOUTH to arrive in Plymouth in New England....

So who is right then?

Ways Natalie Has Embarrassed Herself. Volume iii, Chapter 12

Picture this, it's a beautiful day on Rottnest Island, a beautiful girl (*cough*...me) has just emerged (not unlike Ursula Andress) from the sparkling turquoise waters of a deserted white sandy beach.

She shakes her long hair back and prepares to sunbathe. Alas, for there are rivulets of sea water trailing down her stomach from the padding in her bikini top (padded not to enhance her figure but to give shape to the thing, you understand?)

What's a girl to do?

One quick look around the beach and surrounding cliff tops confirms that she really is on a deserted beach and can be overlooked by not one soul.

In one fluid movement the bikini top is off and is being squeezed of it's excess Indian Ocean Elixir. As she is standing there on that deserted beach in all her topless glory she spies something out of the corner of her eye.

...a bloody tour bus full of pensioners and day-trippers slowly trundling its way around the cliff top not fifty metres from where she's standing.

I swear I could hear the cheer go up from inside the bus!

Knockers

And so my quest continues to find a hairdresser that A; listens to what I want, B; cuts my hair in a way that it will behave itself without excessive teasing or spikey gel spray and C; doesn't make me look like a spacca with a 'comb-over/Hitler' during the cut!

It started off well, we sat, chatted and she made a cracking cuppa for me. I then made two grave mistakes. The first one was to sigh and say 'oh I don't know, just cut off how ever much you want, I'm not precious about my hair'. The second was to let her con me into buying a 'hair conditioning treatment' and head massage.

So that is why I left the salon with a suspiciously tingly scalp and spine from the 'head tickle' and my once down to my waist hair now resembles Shakiras new do!

Twelve Months Of Pondering

So, it's been a year and a day. As per usual, I completely underestimated how hard it is moving somewhere new and completely isolating yourself from all the friends and family that you rely on and take completely for granted.

It's only when you look back over the time that you have had to adjust to your new life that you wonder completely surprised 'How the bloody hell did I make it through with so few tears?' However, saying that, living in this paradise has hardly been the hardship that I had convinced myself it would be. I have never regretted moving here. Not once did I consider the possibility of moving back, even if the gravitational pull of all my close buddies and family was sometimes physically wrenching!

It occurred to me the other day that I have started taking some of the Western Australian peculiarities for granted. People going into town to go shopping with no shoes on for example. This practice has traditionally only been supported when the alcohol has been flowing and I have been caught wearing incredibly high stiletto shoes that cause nerve damage to my second toe. I would then swing them off and trample around a pub/club somewhere, praying to some god to keep me safe from the broken bottles scattered on the sticky carpet! When I used to see these sober, nice mannered people trundling around choosing a loaf of bread or picking out the juicest apples in the markets, barefoot, it used to freak me out but it causes barely a second glance these days.

I've come to expect that people are a lot more laid back and openly friendly over here. I regularly see people in the newsagents buying the sunday papers wearing their fluffy mismatched jammies. Shop assistants, where there are surly and sometimes unco-operative in the UK, are breezy, bubbly and willing here. They must want my money really badly?

I've also stopped saying (quite so often) 'It's a beautiful day' cos nine times out of ten it will be a gorgeously stunning day with the brightest sunshine you have ever experienced and the bluest sky I've ever known. The days where it eventually does rain (June), the rains are so infrequent that when they finally hit, you find yourself to be relieved that the garden is getting a good soaking and the roads are being washed of the hot summer dust.

And when the rains come down the cockroaches start to come a-sneaking out! Now, I cannot say that I have become totally at one with these creepy little buggers but I'm not half as scared as I was back last May. Back then, Dave used to have to save me from them and beat them with a flipflop or stamp on their heids. I'm still not quite comfortable killing anything unless I have my uniform on! I believe in karma and so I wouldn't want anyone to come and stamp on my heid sometime in the future. Luckily, we haven't seen any around for a while but we're just coming into the 'flying season'. Watch out Shazza, you're going to love it!

I am no longer afraid to go outside with no shoes on. I used to have to wear something on my feet because I was convinced that a redback or snake would come and bite me. After spending a year here and only seeing the grand total of one garden spider (yes, Peggy was harmless. She has no teeth. Life imitating art?), two huntsman spiders and two dead snakes on a road somewhere 600kms from here in the middle of the bush, I can safely say that Australia ain't as scary as it's made out to be.

I've also turned into the biggest wuss when it comes to the cold weather. Am seriously considering putting the leccy blanket back on the bed cos we've had a few cold nights recently (eight degrees). Now I know that Shazza will the first to berate me for losing the Scottish hardness when it comes to being cold. In Aberdeen, the weather we had to endure was sometimes unbearable. It hurt to breathe and you physically couldn't stop shivering. My toes were in a constant state of semi-frost bite so I realise I do sound a little pathetic whinging about the temperature when it's not even cold enough for a frost! I can't help it though, and Dave refuses to let me warm my feet on his deliciously warm derriere. All I can say to defend myself is that there is no heating over here, and there is no insulation in the walls of our house.

I did buy the most gorgeous pair of pj's the other day, they are all soft and warm and the top has a hood. Perfect!

So, anyway, I really miss my friends from back home. I've made some good friends here but it's not the same as the ones you have had a bond with for years. I mean I've known H since I was eleven and Nicky since I was eight. Even my 'newest friends' I have known for four years now. There's a lot of history and bonding there that simply cannot be replicated in twelve months.

And so starts 'Natalies Australian Recruitment Agency for Family and Bloody Good Mates'. Will send out application forms and drag you all over here whether you like it or not.

He Just Smiled And Gave Me A Vegemite Sandwhich...

One year ago today, Dave and I stepped off a plane, blinking to adjust our light deficient eyes to the unnatural brightness of Western Australia. We had endured the eighteen hour flight from London whilst crammed into the space equivalent to my dads under stairs cupboard. We had drunk the plane practically dry, watched every film and tried but failed to sleep under the cabin lights and in the forced lack of humidity.

I had left Heathrow grinning from ear to ear. My mum was visibly distressed but I was completely in denial about the journey I was about to embark on. After all, I hadn't been living in the same country as my mum for three years (Scotland is a different country!) so moving to Australia wasn't really that much of a biggy. She wouldn't be missing me that much, surely? Fourteen hours later whilst watching some pathetic Disney style movie about a mother and daughters relationship, the enormity of what I was doing hit me. Somewhere mid-air flying over the wilds of Indonesia, I started sobbing.

Suddenly I wasn't excited, I was shit scared. Was I ready to make such a big step? Coming to Australia meant no going back. If Dave and I ever split up, I couldn't just up and go running back to my poor, long suffering mum, demanding sympathy and cups of tea in bed like I had previously done!

The prospect of reaching life's hurdles without my mum at my side wasn't one I had considered before. Mum has been my best friend from the day I was born (or perhaps from two weeks before I was born and she offered me my first taste of a Hollywood Superstars champagne) and I had assumed that she would be there whenever I needed her. Even now, I'm convinced that if I start thinking about having babies in some dreamy romanticised delusional episode then I WILL be moving Ma over here so she can teach me what to do with the wriggly pink buggers!

I just wasn't prepared for the amount of distance there would be between us or that because of the whole damned time difference situation, I can only feasibly ring at the weekends. When I was living in Scotland, it was so easy. I could get down to Plymouth for a long weekend so (and with the exception of my friend Kate latest weekend excursion) getting home is now an impossibility.

So, mum, I apologise for putting you through so much stress. I miss you heaps and can't wait for January. Although you really should never have sold me to Dave for the price of two purple shaggy sheep cushions in the first place!



PS Not sure how it happened but this post was going to be a breezy rendition of 'ooh, I'm so not shocked when I see people wandering around the supermarkets in their jammies and bare feet anymore'! Maybe I'll continue that thought next time?

Sunrise over Sea

So, Rottnest? The big getaway.

It was fab.

There you go, Thats it!

Really....

You can bugger off now?

Shoo!

....So you want to stay for my slide show?

Oh goody. I love slide shows!



NHS Specs: ON

Lights: OFF

Everyones attention: ON ME!




The Quokka Arms.

The local pub, hang out for alcoholics, quokkas and peacocks. Many beers were supped and many quokkas were fed (in secret of course as feeding the animals is frowned upon).

I think I broke the jukebox.



A quokka. Really, you just can't not feed them.


They really do get everywhere The island is infested with them. Hmm, hence the name 'Rottnest'?


Sunrise over Thompson Bay.



The only way to get around the island as you're not allowed cars (apart from the policeman and the grocer!). You can hire trikes, tandems and childrens buggys to hook onto the back of your bike.

The bikes were great but bloody hell, my arse hurt.



One of the beaches. Completely deserted apart from Dave, myself and Dave's mate Mick and his girlfriend Jo.



Dave, Jo and Mick



More Dave, Jo and Mick



Dave was fishing off the beach when this bugger just swam straight past him! And yes, the water really is that colour. Perfect for snorkelling. And it was so warm too. I mean, it froze your bits off for a couple of minutes but after that it was sheer bliss.



One of the peacocks from The Quokka Arms.They were showing off all week but the peahens were so not impressed.

Should have shown them their willies instead!



We went fishing at sunset. There were hundreds of fish swimming around and because of the Leeuwin Current the waters are warm enough so the tropical fish can come down to Rotto to breed. There were loads of funky zebra fish all trying to eat my bait (was quite glad they couldn't get their mouths around the hook though. Wouldn't want to catch a pretty fish).

When we had just packed up a MASSIVE manta ray swam past. He would have been a couple of metres in diameter. Was glad that I wasn't in the water at that point. Would have scared the shit out of me!


These ones, we caught, cooked and ate for breakfast!!

Little Fish Hook Bay. The colours in the water were stunning. This is at the furthest point of the island. It takes you about an hour to cycle there.


It's a King Skink. There were hundreds of them on the island and apparently there are hundreds of snakes too.

Did I see one? Nope.

Dave and I had a great time cycling everyday and throwing ourselves into the water when we got too hot. I fully intended to read the four books I took over but as per usual, I didn't even finish Shantaram (that I've been reading for weeks now).

But thanks for all the book suggestions, I practically bought out the bookstore. However I didn't buy the ones that Reidski suggested. Maybe next time eh?

Sexpo '06

The poster advertising Sexpo was of a girl trying to look seductive whilst clanking a pair of metal loveballs between her fingers...

Well, therefore Dave and I just had to go!

We arrived and were greated by a young woman whose clothes had just recently fallen off. Still she was being quite good humoured about it all. She was still allowing people to be photographed with her. She not once knocked back a young spotty teenagers request for piccy. Gosh, some of these people are professional to the end!

We were then cloaked in the underworld of the perverse and seventeen year old students. Aisle upon aisle of dildos and wipe clean nurses uniforms greeted us. For the record, I have always been an advocate of wipe clean uniforms. There would be no more cross contamination between patients. Nurses would be able to just wipe off those nasty blood/poo/wee stains without resorting to having to wear someone elses uniform or borrowing theatre greens. Infection rates would be radically reduced and the uniforms would never need ironing!

Daves mates went with us and they literally dragged us up and down each aisle several times. I don't know about you lot but after the first three shops of purple, pink, spotty and glittery vibrators, I developed penis apathy. Any guy could have run up to me, dropped his pants and waggled his todger at me and I would have looked to my right at some magnificent display of porno stars replicas and sighed at his under-acheiver! Once you've seen one rabbit eared, beady-bumpy-bit, willy shaped vibrator, you've seen them all.

There were live shows to alleviate the apathy somewhat. A lovely young lady named Arianna Starr (I suspect, not her real name) danced around in thigh high silver glittery boots and a turquiose leather mini skirt, boob tube and fur lined cape that my Barbie wore back in 1985. Little by little she lost her skirt, cape and top leaving her remarkable boobs displayed high on her chest (much like my Barbie used to...).



I always knew my Barbie was a stripper!

When it came to the young man dancing and stripping, I turned into an old granny. I couldn't stop giggling and whooping at his leather trouser/waistcoat combo. And the way he continued to mime the words (with a mouth that looked like it housed no teeth) to every eighties rock 'bighair' song led me to believe that these boys aren't there for the girls to go mad with pheromones. They are there to show us that blokes will always make a complete twat of themselves in order to try and land a bird!



However, he did have an actual, real live six pack (TM). I may have reconsider.......

Next came the weird guy in the corner wearing nothing but a white coat. He is the world renowned 'Penile Artiste'. I thought he just painted pictures of blokes willies.

How I was wrong....

He paints using the only trusted tool of the male species.

This is one guy that never pees on the seat!

I especially loved his painting of John Howard...ie a painting of a cock...painted by a cock!

Dave and I soon tired of the naked women/men and men using their willies as paintbrushes and wandered around some more.

That was when we stumbled upon the


' BIG MASSIVE RUBBER FIST'



...it's there. You just have to look amongst the many many rubber cocks to find it! (Also check out the the expressive stare of the man through the cabinet...he's not in awe at all!)

After discovering that and staring at the seventy centimetre purple rubber willy until I saw stars, finding a grown man riding a pink knob-broncho didn't affect me at all...



...much!

Advice for Dummies

This weekend Dave and I are off to a deserted island again. It will be magnificent, all lonely beaches, clear waters and raggedy clifftops.

Dave's eyes have started glazing over at the mere idea of fishing every day! It's May, too cold to lounge about the beach. Too deserted for any kind of fun ensuing in the ONE pub at night. Bah, I bet even the quokkas have gone into hibernation!

I think I'll need a good book.

We'll be away for five days. Hell, I'll need several good books!

Any ideas?