Monthly Archives: August 2014

Love and Marriage

Having blown our budget on flowers, we had to make cuts elsewhere.

Having blown our budget on flowers, we had to make cuts elsewhere.

“How long have we been married?” I recently asked Long Suffering Wife; her response is unprintable, but the gist of it was, ‘A very long time indeed!’  This was followed by quite a lot of sobbing.

I actually knew that it’s been twenty four years since we got hitched, but was hoping to steer the conversation around to how we could celebrate the occasion, instead of continuing the ‘discussion’ about my ever increasing list of faults.

Not that Long Suffering Wife is perfect, far from it!  For starters, she’s not exactly a social animal.  Recently she announced out of the blue, “I’m really over parties.  Honestly, I’d rather spend my evenings at home in my pyjamas watching TV.”

Our dinner guests chose that moment to call it an early night.

And she has a fixation with covering every flat surface in our house with doilies, knick-knacks and photos of, well, everyone else but me.

Then there are the smells!  Why she is still complaining about them I do not know?  I mean, it’s not as if I haven’t kept up a steady supply, surely she should have grown used to them by now?  The dogs have!

But on the plus side, she still has all her own teeth, the patience of a saint and many more years work left in her.  So I’ll hang onto her for a while longer and see how things pan out; well, it’s the least I can do.

For those of you wanting to know our secret, all I can say is, I honestly don’t know.  Although keeping my opinions to myself, and the beer fridge fully stocked, has played a big part.

And to all those knockers who thought our marriage wouldn’t last this long, I have only one thing to say; I’m sorry I believed you.

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On Yer Bike!

Somone else who has trouble getting into a cars' tight spaces

‘I think I see your problem…’

If Joe Hockey thought being forced to say ‘Sorry’ to an irate motoring public was stressful, he should have seen my reaction to the news that our old car had broken down.

As the tow truck sped off, Long Suffering Wife guided my stumbling footsteps back into the house, as I babbled the words, “Faithful, reliable, dependable,” over and over.

Breaking from her grip, I rushed back to the footpath, “Wait!  Come back! I’ve just filled the tank!”  But it was too late.

Fortunately we own two cars.  And like most modern families, we spend a lot of time driving them under our yo-yo-ing garage door as we attempt to get everyone to their various sporting, hobby, school, and work appointments.

Now, the odds of getting Long Suffering Wife to ride a pushbike are about the same as my (and Joe’s) chances of becoming PM, so the next day as she drove to work, I dragged my trusty pushbike, Pubtruck, out of the shed and pedalled off to see our mechanic.

Eventually I wobbled into his workshop, red of face and busted of lung.  Through the ringing in my ears I heard the words, “Old car… had its’ day…  best for all.”  I held up a hand and croaked, “Fix it.  For the love of God… Fix It!”

The mechanic agreed to have another look, while I pedalled homeward.  Fortunately I didn’t have far to go, but Gladstone’s many hills had me working harder than Quasimodo’s chiropractor.

We survived by juggling the use of our remaining car and Pubtruck.  It wasn’t too bad, but I was delighted when our old car was finally fixed, and slung Pubtruck back into the shed.

Ironically, the repairs cost about as much as a new pushbike, or a years’ increase in fuel tax, but unlike Joe, I’m not complaining.

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Idealist Idea of the Week!

Sometimes there are minor setbacks...

Sometimes there are minor setbacks…

My name is Greg, and I’m an Idealist.  I’m currently seeking professional help for this dreadful condition. 

We idealists are constantly thinking of ways to make everyone’s life much easier; particularly our own. 

Over the years I’ve been called ‘Creative’, ‘Resourceful’, ‘Imaginative’ and once, after initiating a potentially groundbreaking scheme that contained one tiny, yet vitally important flaw, I was labelled, ‘Dumb as an ant.’ 

Fortunately nobody was hurt… too much. 

Anyway, after scraping the egg from my face, I swore off announcing any future brain-puffs until I’d thoroughly analysed them first.  But last weekend I came up with a cracking idea that must be implemented immediately! 

Idea #55841 – Speed Kills.  So give motorists cash incentives to drive on, or under, the speed limit! 

Now, there are probably some cynics (ie: Realists) out there demanding details, so here goes – 

If you’ve driven for, say, three years without getting a speeding fine, then ‘Congratulations!’ you’re exactly the sort of driver I want to encourage. 

You haven’t tied up the valuable time of our wonderful Emergency Services folk, placed yourself or anyone else into much needed hospital beds, or damaged expensive telephone poles. 

For this, a grateful Government could thank you by slashing your annual registration fee with a hefty rebate, or as I like to call it, a ‘Regobate’. 

And as long as you maintain your spotless driving record, the greater your yearly Regobate will be!  How’s that for an incentive not to speed? 

Who’s dumber than an ant now?! 

Ok, I haven’t fully pondered all the possible repercussions, but I’m fairly certain that ‘Regobate’ is practically bullet proof. 

And speaking of practicality and bullets, I also have another plan guaranteed to stop drink drivers dead in their tracks. 

It might not be ideal, but it sure is effective.

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PIN-head

Go ahead... try again :)

Go ahead… try again 🙂

In order to function in this modern world, I have to remember fourteen PIN numbers and passcodes.  Fourteen!   No wonder I’m flat out remembering the names of our children; whoever they are?

And since last Friday, my signature was no longer considered secure, so I was given another PIN to remember, which brings the total to fifteen.  Oh, goodie.

Apparently credit card fraud has risen to three hundred million a year so the banks have decided to act; because if anyone is going to rip off Australia’s banking customers then it ought to be them.

Like the charming folk from one particular bank who recently frittered away a hundred million dollars from the accounts of their loyal clients.  Which bank?  Well, I’ll let you figure that out, but they eventually issued something like an apology, although I’m still not sure if they were sorry for the scam, or sorry they got caught?

In spite of PIN’s and eight digit passwords (which we’re supposed to change monthly), it seems that no one will guarantee my online, or banking, safety.  Ironically, the only person being regularly locked out of my accounts is me.

This was why I liked signing my name instead of punching in a PIN.  At the checkout, I’d simply scrawl something resembling the signature on the back of my credit card, while the long lines of impatient shoppers loudly questioned my IQ.

So this week I wrote down all my PIN’s and passcodes, then hid the list in… um, a secret place.  A hiding place so cunning that it took Long Suffering Wife nearly ten minutes to find it.

This was slightly longer than it took her to learn how to copy my signature, so we’re definitely headed in the right direction security-wise.

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