The Daily Blog experiment a photo from the vaults

Black Summer bushfire fundraiser, early 2020, before the COVID lockdowns.

Ah, the summer eastern Australia caught fire, and our then Prime Minister Scott Morrison, aka ScoMo or Scummo, lied to Parliament about work-related travel, and instead fucked off to Hawaii with his family.

“I don’t hold a hose,” he justified.

Meanwhile, photos emerged of previous PM Tony Abbott(loathed him too, but at least he pitched in) fighting the fires as part of the Country Fire Authority.

A Melbourne dancer and crafter decided to raise money to help the Firies out. She put on a fundraiser, and I said “Sure, I’ll help out.”

I decided to fulfil a long-held dream to dance to The Goodies’ theme music. I ordered a tshirt and it arrived the day before. I raced to get it cropped, and elastic sewn into the new hem.

A friend’s daughter cut me a fringed hippie waist coat a la Bill Oddie. I figured my glasses would represent Graeme Garden. And, well, my vaguely pageboy hair would do for Tim Brooke-Taylor.

At the last minute, I decided to add a beard, and my local hairdresser trimmed a faux beard and moustache to look like Bill.

I slunk onto the stage, veil covering my face, then revealed myself to a huge WTAF from the audience. About half the audience were old enough to get the references.

It was all of 2.13 minutes, and some of the best fun I’ve had as a dancer.

You can see the limitation of my left shoulder before my 2022 shoulder joint replacement.

The Daily Blog experiment – the lamb (cake) of god

For a couple of years now, I’ve wanted to have a go at making an Easter lamb cake. I saw some absolute disasters on cakewrecks.com and figured I could make a fine entry.

However, I did not know where to obtain an un-iced lamb cake, or any sort of lamb cake at all. It’s not really a thing here in Australia, as far as I know. We are the biggest consumers of Easter eggs in the world, but lamb cakes, not so much.

When I shared pics of disaster lamb cakes on Facebook, I told my friend NoobBaker that she should do this on her Twitch channel. We made a pact. We’d do this.

We did not do this. She’s busy with her young family, and I’m a woman who avoids the kitchen.

So, when I posted the disaster lamb cakes again, I tagged NoobBaker and said ‘still on the bucket list’. Then PizzaBoy’s best friend and pseudo sister back in Canada got involved. She said she had a lamb cake mould. She would follow my Google Hangouts advice and heckling while she iced it. Aim: demon cake.

HomesteadWoman was on.

And so, HomesteadWoman armed with her kitchen supplies, a newly minted vanilla lamb cake, and icing sugar, and me armed with Google Hangouts, and a big streak of mischief went to work this morning. Add in HomesteadWoman’s two adult daughters, PizzaBoy occasionally peeking over my shoulder, and my wish to make the worst lamb cake ever.

Off we went with white icing that did not curl in little rosettes, but stuck like glue, and dripped like goo. Then tea-flavoured icing, because Aussie lambs are pretty much brown after rolling around in the Aussie dirt. Then coffee-flavoured icing for the lamb’s bum.

I encouraged the girls to pierce the lamb’s ears with toothpicks, and make the lamb smoke. I said next year we should put ugly gimcrack earrings on toothpicks.

HomesteadWoman added eyes, pink icing for the ears, a piece of Easter egg for the nose(I think), and then part of a sugared cherry for the mouth. Our lamb was done, and even had a small brown slick of a hairdo, and a very pert mouth.

The cake mould will be on its way to me for next year’s attempt. I am no cook, no baker, and definitely shite with icing. We shall see what happens. NoobBaker, you know you want in.

Daily Blog Experiment

It’s about 11.30am. Last night I went down to Bunjil Place in Narre Warren (30 minute drive in light evening traffic) to see NOISES OFF, staged by Windmill Theatre Company. I’ve not seen anything at Bunjil Place before. Nice set up. I resisted the temptation of the snack bar by packing 4 jelly snakes into a bag, and shared them with my friend MidWife.

NOISES OFF is the pre-cursor to THE PLAY THAT GOES WRONG. I’d like to say the sexual politics in it are a bit dated, but I am sure there are still plenty of real estate agents having affairs in empty homes. I’m pretty sure a friend was reading a hot romance novel with just that theme not so long ago.

The cast were great, and it was hard to tell if anything went wrong, because everything goes wrong in this play. It’s a play within a play – a cast staging a production. Dress rehearsal, one month into the play, towards the end of the play.

The downside of little old me going out at night is the overstimulation: the drive down, being sociable with MidWife, the play itself, the drive home in the dark with headlights and streetlights giving my brain ‘daylight’ information. My brain and body are used to being in bed reading by 7pm most nights.

I am making a greater effort to seize life and wring all the fun out of it that I can. This often means stuff that happens at night. I’m now going to see retro bands in Melbourne to have a dance and a sing song. It also means I pay for it the next day with poor sleep, sore feet, sore lower back, croaky voice, and my brain being fuzzy.

But I don’t want to be my Mum – crying in a nursing home for two years for all the things she never did. I plan to fall into my cardboard coffin well used, and used up. My knees tell me they’re eighty years old. ‘Rubbish!’ say I. ‘We are surely only 25.’ And the calendar laughs and laughs and says: ‘Bitch, you’ve just turned 60.’

“Online Marketing For Busy Writers” – Fauzia Burke

Chapter 1

Oh darling, already you’ve got me in a froth, and I’m only on page 10.

“If you had to go around a room and describe your brand to a group of people, could you do it in just a few sentences?”

No. I don’t have a brand. “Socially awkward writer.” “Awkward NeuroFancy Writer.” “Writes Stuff.” “Most Prolific Unknown Writer In The World.”

Questions to help me identify my brand.

What skills do I possess that I can speak honestly and confidently about? My own lived experience(memoir, autobiograpahy); idiots I’ve dated and lived with(humour; cPTSD; trauma; memoir, autobiography, poetry); teaching beginners’ belly dance(instructional; humour, memoir, autobiography); travel(travel writing; memoir, autobiography, poetry); writing(that’s some meta shit right there; memoir, autobiography; poetry); my obsession with Mars(science fiction; fantasy; poetry, short stories). The list goes on. You see the problem? I’m neurodiverse. I have ADHD. I know a bit about a lot.

What do people say about me? I have no idea. I’m not in the room. The words eccentric, mad, quirky, kind, and I hope, wise, come to mind.

What is my greatest strength? Hang on, I’ll ask my husband. I don’t give up. Sheer bloody mindedness? Determination? Tenacity? True Grit? Holy cow, I’m John Wayne in ‘True Grit’. Or more like the girl in ‘True Grit’. That’s more like it.

What type of information can you share to offer value? I don’t feel this is aimed at a fiction writer. Life on Mars will be super hard and isolating? The Greek gods are amongst us? Cryptids, cryptids everywhere? Autism is okay, except people expect us to live in a world not built for us?

What are my passions? Writing; reading; taking walks; more reading; dinosaurs; witchcraft; dance; more writing.

What type of personality do I have? Eccentric.

What are my natural or learned gifts? Belly dance; sense of rhythm; writing; intuition; tarot. Are we sure this is helping?

What topics am I most often asked about? How to survive kids.

What problems am I solving with my book? None. Ffs. I have a steampunk/amnesia/alt history/island/romance/sexy/dress reform/werewolf/vampire book in first draft, amongst other projects. What on earth am I solving with that?

What makes me stand out? Red hair, humour, odd perspective on life, brain takes a left turn at Albuqueque.

How do I differ from others in my same niche? Humour.

My brand message? Awkward neurofancy writer ranging across science fiction, fantasy, literature and supermarket shelf material. Poetry, short fiction, creative non fiction, memoir, and things yet to be categorised by science. Come for the humour, stay for the weird. Or vice versa.

Looking at my brand message, I could share information about:

• writing
• being neurodiverse
• being socially awkward

Omg, I can feel the sf convention invites coming to me right now.

My brand voice is: funny, direct, eccentric.

More People Read This…

…than my last book. Sigh.

About 3 weeks ago, I purchased a pretty velvet top from an op shop. It smelled heavily of perfume. No, I don’t know which one. So far, I have not worn it once, because either the clothesline outside has been wearing it, or it’s been soaking in one solution or another.

Two days ago, I posted the following to the Facebook group I Love To Op Shop. So far, 985 people have ‘Liked’ it, and there have been many comments of sympathy, many guesses as to which perfume (Estee Lauder and Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door are often mentioned, but Avon, and Opium have both had a look in), and many suggestions as to how to get rid of the smell.

I’ve tried them all. The top is now hanging on the line again, airing. Mainly so I don’t completely lose my shit and set fire to it.

“

Behold the haunted and cursed top from Ferntree Gully Salvos. This top will eventually disintegrate from washing and airing, but the perfume in it will still be there. I’ve washed it and washed it, with vinegar, with bicarb, with eucalyptus oil. It’s aired on the line for 10 days, been rained on. The perfume will outlive us all.

Edit: it’s 5.47pm Captain’s Log. I’m trying a strong borax solution in the en suite sink. The haunted top has been soaking for 10 minutes. I can still smell perfume, but that stubborn stain has come out of the sink. Mr Spock says the situation defies logic.

Edit: 6.53pm Captain’s Log. The haunted top has been soaked in Vanish and hot water, and rinsed in cool water with lavender oil. Time will tell if this has defeated the alien. Mr Chekov says that in Russia, there are no haunted tops. He has been put out an airlock.

Edit: 7.35pm. Captain’s Log. The haunted top remains. It is two shades lighter, but the Vanish has failed. Lnt Sulu has been out out the airlock for saying “Oh myyyy!” We are in despair. Tomorrow, if emergency supplies from Deep Space Dan Murphy’s don’t work, I will have no choice but appeal to the Vulcan High Council, who will attempt a mind meld with the top.

Edit: 2.59pm next day Captain’s Log. There has been a vodka containment breach. The Haunted Top is now soaked with vodka obtained from the late Ensign Chekov’s illegal still. We have placed it in a stasis chamber in Sickbay. The Vulcan High Council refuse to help us. They say our attempt with an aura spray was illogical.

Edit: 6.10pm Captain’s Log. The vodka protocol has failed. There is nothing for it but to send it into the Romulan Neutral Zone.

Edit: 7.52pm Captain’s Log. I am infected. The odour is on me, in me. I smell it even after a long hot bath. I am beaming myself into deep space.”

And here’s the offending article of clothing. Fuck you, pretty top.