Do Nothing Day

I awoke this Sunday morning, wiped the drool from my chops, glanced at my watch, and turned my thoughts toward the day ahead.

Something was odd. Something didn't seem right. By my reckoning, for the first time in ages, we had absolutely no plans for the day in front of us. No work, no social engagements, no activities for the kids, no jobs around the house, no nothing. Doubting myself, I thought hard. Aside from returning Lowri's friend Portia to her parents after a sleepover, our agenda was empty.

I hopped out of bed, silently chastising myself for thinking of Portia as if she were a library book, and headed to the kitchen, with hope in my heart.

I found the Minister for Home Affairs outside, under the pergola, engaged in a telephone conversation. Judging by the time of day and her lip-speed, it was a call from the U.K.

If this were so, then I may have to wait some time to discover whether or not my hopes of a free day were to be dashed. I paced up and down the kitchen, scanning my minuscule, short-term memory for any recollections of arrangements that I may have overlooked. I checked the diary on my mobile too. Nothing. Zilch. Squat. Sweet F.A. My hopes were rising.

I looked through the patio window, the wife was still going at it hammer and tongs. While I was waiting, I allowed myself to think about how I should spend a completely vacant day. The pub? Hmmm, I could do worse, but no. A round of golf perhaps? Hmmm, tempting, but no, too busy on Sundays and the flies are growing in number.

Then it came to me - a day on the sofa, flicking through the channels on our new telly whilst shovelling scooby snacks into my mouth, pausing only for a nap around lunch-time and then more of the same in the arvo. Homer Heaven!

My excitement was growing, but at the forefront of my mind was the knowledge that women all over the world love nothing more than scuppering such bone-idle plans.

The wife being on the phone allowed me to ponder on how best I should broach the subject. Should I meekly ask what we had planned for the day, allowing her time to come up with no end of chores around the house for me to do? Or should I go straight on the attack by stating that we have nothing planned and just hope not to be corrected?

I opted for the latter as she came into the kitchen, still-hot phone in hand.

'We've got jack-shit to do today,' I said manly.

'Have we?' I added meekly.

I think she could sense the hope within me as she carefully considered what I'd said.

After what seemed like an age, she said, ' No, you're right. I don't think we have'

I walked away, concealing my inner joy, but half expecting a post-script statement beginning along the lines of 'Oh no, I forgot. We have to...'

I increased my pace to get out of earshot should such a statement be made, but nothing was forthcoming. Yes! It was on!

The rest of the day went exactly as I had planned. I love our new telly and I love food.

I had plenty of both.

Big Game Big Screen

We've splashed out on a new telly.

It's a 42" plasma and in Australian terms would be described as being 'schmick' or 'schmicko', which, roughly translated, means it's the dogs bollocks.

I've been stuck in front of it for the last couple of days, only straying from viewing range to go to work and use the toilet. Today is Aussie Rules Grand Final day and we've pledged our attendance at a barbie. I've offered to drive so I won't be drinking, enabling me to remain fully focused to watch tonight's major sporting events on the big screen.

Firstly, Manly take on the NZ Warriors in the rugby league and then the main course - the Merseyside Derby, Everton v. Liverpool.

This time last year we were all excited as we had Austar fitted on the day of the game, but it ended in disappointment as the dirty Reds got the win, ably assisted by the referee.

I wonder who they've got reffing for them this year.

Taking The Mick

It's a beautiful Sunday morning here and my day, despite having a headache for no apparent reason , just got off to an amusing start.

Reading the Daily Post website I see that ex-Manchester United player Mickey Thomas had his car pinched outside Anfield last week after commentating on the Liverpool/Man. U. game.

Mickey's a colourful character and imagining him wandering around 'enemy territory' scratching his dome, looking for his motor, makes me laugh.

Even funnier though, he's appealed to the 'good' people of Mersyside to come forward with any info regarding his cars current whereabouts. Yeah, righto Mickey, that's likely to happen! Talk about wasting your breath!

Scousers may be good at 'liberating' stuff, but are also renowned for not dobbing their mates in, particularly if the victim of the felony is a former United player who himself is not adverse to a bit of gaining personal wealth through illegal means.

Typical Tim

Super Timmy Cahill made his long awaited Everton comeback this weekend. Typically, the Australian Pele scored the winner with a trademark header.

My behaviour was also fairly predictable as I dozed off on the sofa and missed the entire match.

My pre-match preparations weren't ideal, I suppose. They began well enough with me having an afternoon nap after mowing the lawn, but ended poorly as I headed down the Golf Club and sank a few schooners of the amber nectar, rendering me useless for anything, apart from eating six bags of crisps, a sandwich and a bacon omelette, of course.

Needless to say, no sooner had I parked my fat arse in front of the telly, my eyes were shut.

I woke up, covered in crumbs, just in time to see the credits roll. Typical.

Victoria's Empire

'I believe that children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way' - Linda Creed, 1986.

Surely there can be no finer tonic for life's woes than seeing a whole bunch of kids trying their hearts out and giving it their all.

And last weekend in Melbourne, as privileged guests at the Victoria State School Spectacular, that's exactly what we witnessed.

Pupils from schools all over Victoria were taking part, including forty students from Wodonga Primary, our Robyn being amongst them.

The event was hosted by the Hisense Arena - formerly, and more famously, known as the Vodafone Arena. Believe me, this joint is no two-bit Girl Guide hut, it's a world-class venue more used to hosting major sporting events like the Commonwealth Games than a bunch of schoolkids singing and dancing.

Even more impressive than the venue was the production itself. The logistics, organisation, props, choreography, costumes and make-up would have been befitting a West End musical or a Broadway show.

And the kids themselves - they were something else. Unbelievable. Thousands of 'em were involved and everywhere you looked they were trying their level best. There was no bludging, no having a breather on the wing - from go to whoa they gave it absolute socks. Few things in life touch me as much as a 'young 'un' giving it max, and I barely had a dry eye from the anthem to the encore.

In contrast to the modern trend of over-statement and exaggeration, the Victoria State School Spectacular was appropriately named.

Gee, I was impressed and I was proud - proud of Robyn, proud of the kids from Wodonga Primary and proud of being a resident of Victoria.

Bad News Bears

I haven't blogged in ages.

It's not that there's nothing going on, there's plenty, but bad news from home has left us reeling.

I won't go into the specifics.

I'll be back.