As you know Flash Fiction is a fun thing we do over on Anna Spargo-Ryan’s Blog.. Today the writing prompt was a soundbite (and I have no idea how to copy it over to here for you) but to me, it sounded like someone walking through crispy Autumn leaves.. Anyway, here you go:

They walked down the wide street, hand in hand.  He was holding a little tighter, but that was alright, she was used to that.  He didn’t want her flitting off anywhere.  He could tell her heart wasn’t one that could be subdued by responsibility or convention.

The anaemic Melbourne light tried to scare away the chill that always came with April, but it was too depressed to make much imprint.  Her heart had more weight than it should have for this time of year.  Usually she had until at least June until it became too heavy to hold up, but this year it had come early.

To send the feeling scurrying, she ran to the gutter where the Autumn leaves were thick and crisp, and started kicking them up.  They flew into the air like Monarch butterflies on their first flight.  Orange-yellow wings flapping, trying to lift the heaviness.  Some of the wings caught the light.  Some were just covered in gutter-sludge.  She giggled.  She felt some extra room in her chest.

“Don’t do that”, he said.

She looked at him, eyes a question-mark.

“You’ll get that gloop everywhere.”

She looked at him, eyes a question-mark.

“And you don’t know what’s underneath all those leaves, there could be a rock or something.  You could hurt your toe.”

She looked at him, her eyes a sagging question-mark.

They walked on.  Her in the leaves, him on the road.  They didn’t hold hands.  She sighed with her mind.  It was time for an Autumn leaving.

Here’s the hits of the week, kids:

1.  UNREAL not weather here all week. Low 30s.  So good.  Beat it Autumn.

2.  Candles.  Don’t you just love ’em?  I try to light them every night with dinner.  I know, fancy.

3.  Crownies (Now called Janet King)  is back on tv.  Ripper.  I’ve been wondering where it had gone.  Perfect for my Thursday night kick-back, after a big work day.  And whilst I’m on about good things on the ABC, don’t forget The Moonies on Wednesday nights: Pisser.  Plus: another ‘Agony’ show is coming up: The Agony of Modern Manners, starting next Wednesday… Dunno if it will be any good, but it’s worth watching just to hear Adam Zwar’s dulcet voice-overs.

Just call me TV Week.

4.  Dan Sultan’s letter about March in March.  Could I love that guy any MORE? (I swear he is singing Sorrowbound to me… Even though Nath says it is to him…)  Plus: he has a new album AND did Live at the Wireless last Friday.

5.  This. In here.  It’s 9pm and I’ve just finished work, and I think I earned this today… A delish coldie whilst I write you this blog…

Beer + Blog = Ace

Happy Weekend to you all…  The Adult Ashers are off to the big smoke this weekend for dinner with a famous person… See you on the other side, and I’ll tell you all about it…

….From The Ashers xx

I have lived up here in the sun for close on thirteen years now, but I still think of myself as a Southerner.  Footy is still Aussie Rules.  Carlton Draught is still the best tap beer of the modern age.  Black is still the best colour for all of your clothes.  You should still keep your shoes on when you go to someone’s house (lest your outfit be ruined by not having the right footwear).  Sundried tomatoes should only be made on someone’s Nonna’s tin roof.  The best place to go for a run is still a lap around the Tan.

Some days I have to pinch myself when I realise that I really do live here.  Until the end, if I like.  And I pinch the hardest when I go to Hastings Street (which is every week, so that’s quite a few pinches).

Perhaps I’m feeling particularly nostalgic, because I’m going to Sydney this weekend, and although I still think of myself as a Southerner, I know I don’t look like one anymore.  I own more fluro than any self-respecting 43 year old should, and I have blonde streaks and a tan.  (Please don’t say the word ‘Mutton’ within earshot- I’m quite sensitive you know.)  So when I venture south of Byron, I start feeling a bit out of water.

So with the trip looming, Hastings Street was beckoned with her pretty fairy-lit trees, and wide footpaths: a local shopping jaunt to Sydneyfy this spiky little pineapple.

These are the things that were amazing about my shopping experience:

• I got a “Member’s Park” directly out the front of the shop that was my first stop.  I came over all George Costanza, and almost took a photo of it.
• My first shop Parallel Culture was the best.  They have recently changed their name from Youth Culture, and although the clothing hasn’t really changed, the attitude of the staff has.  The twentysomething who served me was perfect.  She listened to what I said, chose pieces, and helped me get the whole outfit together, even suggesting another shop for the ‘right’ shoes.  What a happy, pretty, little thing.  And when I asked “Does my bum look big in this?”  She gave me a careful and considered answer, not just the usual “Oh no, you’re tiny, BS” that is so often on offer.  Let’s face it, if we’re asking, we want to be heard and scrutinised.  A platitude won’t cut it.  This lovely spoke to me like one of my true friends would (even though she did say yes to a jumpsuit and boyfriend jeans.  Sorry Nic- I defied your advice).  So I got this… It looks better on than off, I promise. (I’m cringing slightly- remember I’m old…)

What’s in the bag?

A Jumpsuit..
What am I? Four?

• My second stop was Kookai, and again, the PYTs listened well, and got me trying on things befitting my age and stature. They wanted me to get a skin-tight number that apparently looked “hot” and that Layne Beachley bought last week.  Problem is, Layne and I are probably a bit of a different body type, and, I felt like I was wearing a wetsuit.  So yeah, I was hot. A hot seal.  Or whale.  Despite that, I loved the way they attended to me, and I appreciated their efforts.
• My last stop was Witchery, the old faithful, old ladies’ fall-back.  The store in Hastings Street really is well done.  It’s tiny, and of course doesn’t have all of the stock you can get in Briso, but it goes all right.  And again, the staff were just great.  They knew their stock and they could tell your size just by looking.  I like that, because as good as my Olympic-standard park was, it was only a two hour-ey.

The Witchery shopping haul

Let’s just take a minute to review these shoes shall we?

So now I’m game ready.  Look out Sydney.  The adult Ashers are on their way, and they’re bringing their A-Game.

What do you love about Hastings Street (or Hazos as like to call it)?

Any Sydney hints for me?

…. From The Ashers xx

***This is not a sponsored post (worse luck) but of course, I’m always up for it if you want to send me free stuff.. I’m looking at you Witchery and Parallel Culture…***

PS I just found out I was helped in Witchery by Bev from Iris May Style.. Small world!

The Event:

On the weekend I went out with the school mums.

I know, groan.

Sorry school mums, it’s not you, it’s me.  Really.  I’m just not good at all of the things that are involved in a School Mums’ Night Out.  The chit-chat, the making of new friends, the not getting too drunk, the dancing.  All things that I’m rubbish at.  I’m good at watching footy, and beers, and parmas and burping.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete feral (hush now those of you who know me well), but I prefer a belch and a belly laugh to a daiquiri and a dance.

However, a Mums’ night out it was, so I embraced my inner Mum and went for it.

Here are the things that happened:

Seriously high… Lucky I have a good chiropractor…

These shoes were purchased for $7.50 from Williams at Noosa Civic on Wednesday.  I shit you not.  SEVEN FIFTY!  I was in the shop looking for something else (some black hooker-heels that are so now for an entirely different function, if you must know), when the salesgirl handed me these.  How could I not?

So of course an outfit had to be designed around them.  Lucky for me, all the Styling You blogs I’ve been devouring over the last year paid off, and I converted my over-bathers-kaftan-thingy into a dress by adding a white slip underneath, and a necklace.  Genius.  And very “Newsa” if I do say so myself.

Luckily, this also happened:

Shoes that fold out from that little pouch. GOLD.

I had the sense to take these babies with me, because: foot agony, when some zealous chick took the lyric to Jump Around literally and jumped on my foot.  And yes, it was a house of pain (See what I did there?).

Can you see the bruising?  I can, but maybe I’m a bit of a hypochondriac sensitive.

Huge Bruise

Surprisingly, I had a really good time.  I found out who the naughty mummies are, and had fun on the dance floor, despite the music, my attire (a kaftan is not your friend on the dance-floor, at least not with my kind of moves), the relative youth of the other things on the dance-floor, and yes, despite myself.

The Aftermath:

It may of transpired that one of our number made friends with a group of young Hens (chicks really- they looked all of eighteen), and that Mum may have executed some pretty funky moves with the Hens.  As a reward for her efforts, she may have then presented me with Exhibit A (pictured below) that was gifted to her.  I may have performed a lewd gesture upon the gift, and then placed it, erect, in a stubby on the dance-floor (which was fast becoming a strip joint) for another mummy to perform and even more agile move upon it.

Eventually, this cute little thing was bestowed upon me, and I popped it in my handbag.

Because you never know when a penis straw may come in handy.

I can tell you when it won’t come in handy though.  It won’t come in handy when you are at the school drop-off and your seven year old reaches into your handbag, like a magician into a hat, and pulls out that straw, holds it aloft and yells, “What’s this for Mummy?”.

With the principal’s wife standing right next to you.  The principal’s wife who is lovely and charming and nice, but who wasn’t one of the Mums dancing to ‘Push It’ at 11pm.

Or fellating a straw.

So don’t be surprised if neither of our kids get to be prefects.

“That chick could suck a Sherrin through a straw”, was the cry

How about you, had any girls’ nights out lately?  Or penis straw action?

…From The Ashers

***This is not a sponsored post- either for Willams or my chiropractor Rosemary, but I’m happy to get free stuff from either of you..***

I first met Billy Bragg in the late 80s I think.  He was a bit preoccupied, being on stage and all, and I was a black dot of a face about ninety seven rows back, but I know he saw me and knew me, for he sang to me all concert.  It was like I had him over to mine, and he did a show in my lounge-dining area, but without the usual self-conscious discomfort that comes when someone performs in your face, such was the intimate manner he had.  He chatted to us, made us laugh, made us want to change.

He sang Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards and There is Power in a Union and Ideology and we rallied along with him, our hearts fit to burst with the things we would do when we got home.  He was clever and funny and charismatic and we wanted to be just like, him, hell, we wanted to BE him.  He changed the lyrics seamlessly to fit the current politics and our Australian situation.  It made us feel special that we knew that he’d changed them, for US.  It was like a reward for showing up and singing along, and that is how we knew we would be best friends forever.

But like so many BFFs we found that forever was a very long time.  And we fell pregnant, fell into a home loan and fell out of love with staying up late arguing about ideology over cheap port and cigarettes.

So when Twitter told me he spoke at March in March I was jealous and sad that I wasn’t there, wasn’t demonstrating.  That in fact, I didn’t even live in a city.  What was I doing when they were marching?  Sitting on the beach in Noosa watching this:

Oscar the dog

Which was vaguely interesting, but not really of any social import.

The thing is, I don’t think I’m active enough to be an activist these days.  I don’t have an old suit jacket with clever badges on it.  I still have my original Docs, but you can get a pair that look the same from Big W that are made in China and come with that weird paint smell, so I can’t even look the part any more.  Plus, I don’t have a clue what is going on.  Not really.  Not enough to get all riled up and shouty and fist pumping the clouds.  The last time I did a fist pump was on a girls’ night at the Surf Club, as we danced around our handbags and the DJ played ‘Jump Around’.

Sunshine and salt air and humidity have made me indolent and complacent and in need of a rest, rather than an arrest.  I have to say, that when I belt out Billy in the car these days it’s Little Time Bomb and The Price I Pay and Must I Paint you a Picture that I most resonate with.

Twitter tells me Billy is about to be on Q and A and I’m half covering my ears and my eyes are slitted, in case I see or hear something that might make me uncomfortable.  And I don’t like discomfort.

You can be active with the activists, 

Or sleep in with the sleepers,

While you’re waiting for the Great Leap Forwards.

-Billy Bragg

Did you March in March?  

Do you love Billy Bragg?

…..From The Ashers xx

I didn’t have a blog post ready for you, and I just watched the Morcombe thing on tv, and I’m feeling kind of wrung out.  I don’t want to be yet another person who writes about that situation, so I’ll spare you my insights.  They are probably similar to yours. I’ve been sitting here for a good five minutes, with nothing to write and only that ridiculous Downton Abbey to distract me- and there’s not a post in that.  Nathan wants me to write about what a great lover he is.  Yes, he said lover.  It could be to pay me back for when I told him to look over “at nine o’clock and check out those knockers” today at the beach.  Seems we are living in a Benny Hill sketch.  I said, “I don’t do Mummy porn.”  He said you’d love it…

She removed her hooker heels at the front door and slunk up the stairs so as not to wake the children.  The plans she had for the rest of the evening were best executed without interruption.  Her eyes slowly grew accustomed to the flickering of the candles he had left to welcome her home.  The warmth of their glow stirred a warmth in her, and she smiled knowingly to herself, in secret anticipation.

Silently she went to the kitchen drawer and took out a little implement.  An aid, if you will.  For later.  For her love.

She approached the bedroom, her breath quickening, her blood surging.  Her body was softening as she prepared for what would come next.  She caught herself swallowing, as if she was about to devour a delicious treat.  To prolong the sweet pleasure she went to the ensuite, slowly removing her dress, feeling the fabric slip from her shoulders, tickling and tingling her skin.  Her senses acutely awake.  She was ready.

Emerging from the ensuite, she allowed her eyes to feast upon the object of her desire for the first time.  Glistening, in a luscious shade of brown, it seemed to shimmer slightly in the light of the full moon, that was peeping through the blinds.  It looked firm and turgid, yet somehow yielding.  Smooth and silky to the touch.  Strong, and with a sweet, heady scent that could not be resisted.

She slithered into the bed, her breath now coming in faster bursts.  She could hardly contain herself.

Nathan seemed to sense her presence in the bed, and her desire.  He rolled over, scratched his left knacker, farted and mumbled something incomprehensible.

She reached over to the tub of Nutella inserted the spoon into its rich, sticky contents and slowly devoured her one true love.

(Ahhhhh Nutella.  We always say yes to Nutella)

Goodnight my loves. xx

….From the Ashers