Welcome Isla!

I got a text at 3 a.m on Saturday from the U.K.

It said, 'Isla Joanna Jessop born today at 2.22. 7lbs 1. Both well and recovering.'

Which is fantastic news.

Except I have absolutely no clue as to who Isla's parents are.

Everywhere you go, you take the weather with you.

Right now, in Auckland it's 16 degrees.

In Wellington, it's 11.

In Christchurch, it's 7.

In London, it's 14.

In New York, it's 19.

And in Dublin, it's 12 degrees.

I love my iphone.

It's the little things.

So my father, the arms dealer, is currently in Langkawi doing what any self respecting arms dealer does and, hang on, I have no idea what self respecting arms dealers do.

Anyhou. Yesterday I picked up a message on my phone, 'Hello Katethere, tell your mother I'm in Singapore!' I love those messages, it's as if he hadn't decided where he was actually off to when he left for the airport.

As he was coming through Auckland I whipped off to the airport to have a glass of wine with him before he hit the international terminal. I had gone straight from the hairdressers where I'd had a significant amount of hair chopped off. My hair tis still, technically, long but not half as long as it was.

After she'd had a good chop at it she proceeded to straighten my mass of unruly tangles. A new look.

So there I was, Little Miss Straight-but-Significantly-Shorter Hair. I walked up to my father who took one look at me and said, 'Gidday Wurzel (as in Gummidge,see: 'mass of unruly tangles'), you've grown your hair !'

My father rocks.

Hide the knives.

This week my work has just massively imploded and, as a result, stress levels - particularly mine - have skyrocketed.

I'm not one of those people who gets shoutie when it gets stressful, I just keep my head down, try and manage the problem and get us through it with the least amount of casualties. But at the end of the day, the problem lies at my feet, so my world has become quite intense.

The situation has not been lost on my production assistant who, yesterday, asked me how I was going.

'I want to stab myself.'

'Would that be with a blunt or a sharp knife?'

'Sharp.'

'Is that worse than a blunt? Cause I reckon a blunt would hurt more.'

'Sharp is more life threatening.'

'So when you only want to stab yourself with a banana, things are getting better?'

'I am looking forward to the day when I want stab myself with a banana.'

Sometime around August.

Is it just me....

..or are there other people looking forward to the wireless age ?

At the risk of stirring old broth...

..what did the zero say to the eight?

'Nice belt.'

I'm sorry, but I am a simple fool and I'm not ashamed to admit that that type of joke cracks me up.

Morning talk.

Yesterday there was a pussy cat in our office.

His name was Donald.

That's all.