I'm outa here !

For more Christmases than he would care to remember my brother Sunshine's Christmas morning has started due to being woken by two hungry cats in his bedroom.

Lord knows how they got there, but the first words out of his mouth tended to be along the lines of 'I'm going to kill Kate'.

While I don't think putting as much distance between himself and me on Christmas morning is the sole reason him and the other Sunshines are currently on a plane hurtling their way to Whistler, I'm sure if he was writing a Pros and Cons list for making the trip, 'Not been woken up by my sister' might have come under the Pros list after 'Skiing is fun' but before 'No chance of getting a parking ticket if I'm not in the country for three weeks'.

Anyway, I'm also out of here. First off to catch up with the rest of my family who aren't holidaying in Whistler or Puerto Rico and then I'm off to see a gaggle of old friends who've returned from various countries around the world. Good times.

I hope everybody has fantastic a Christmas and New Year. I will possibly post between now and the time I'm back posting regularly, but I'm aware of being a bad reality show promo -promising much after the break, but delivering feck all.

Thank you for visiting, thank you to all the lovely commenting visitors - I love your comments.

I was going to leave you with a shot a friend of mine sent me, it looked sixties, there was a dude with slicked back hair holding up a can of something looking at the camera. A sixtyish year old lady (dressed in a snappy orange trouser suit) was standing in front of the drinks bar about to pour herself a drink and in the background sitting on the sofa there was an older, well dressed, lady leaning forward gently throwing up into the rubbish bin.

Unfortunately I couldn't copy the picture, and a Google image search of 'Auntie Nora having a chunder' was absolutely no help at all.

But then, maybe that's a good thing.

Merry Christmas !

Nothing like a touch of festive Tourettes to spice up a supermarket visit.

I was walking in to the supermarket yesterday as an older man was coming out of it. He looked just like your Jo Average type, someone's husband, father, grandfather.

Until I heard him say to absolutely nobody (in a New Zealand accent), 'The only good Kiwis are dead Kiwis!'

I looked at him and carried on my way into the supermarket as he headed out into the sunshine.

However about two minutes later he appeared round the end of an aisle, looked at me dropped the c bomb as he walked by!

I was about to give it straight back to him when it slowly began to dawn on me that possibly things were not all that peachy in his attic.

I kept my head down and heard some more abuse from an aisle over and assumed Mr Wrestling-with-the-World was continuing in his work. A few minutes later I was over by the international section when he turned up again, yelling at a woman, 'Stop looking at me, I hate people looking at me! Especially women.' She then hurled back some abuse and he countered with, 'Oh I hate people like you, family people. You're all just so smug.' And then he marched off.

I went up to the woman and said, 'I wouldn't take it personally, he called me the c bomb, I think he's just a seriously good case of crackers.'

I expected her to say something along the lines of 'Thank god, I didn't know what I'd done to offend him.' But instead, she looked as if she was sizing me up to see if I was doing my own wee cha cha with reality and said, 'Riiiiiiight,' and walked off.

Which left me wondering if I had invented the whole thing in my head.

Until a guy came up to me and said, 'That guy is completely nuts.'

And made me feel a lot better about my world.

A beautiful phone conversation.

Talking to my five year old niece last night, 'Hardly any more sleeps till I see you! I can't wait!'

'Yeah! Do you know how much I love you, Kate?'

'How much?'

'I love you more than the whole tholar thythtem.'

*crinkles up inside*

While I fully understand that being regarded as a rock star by my nieces will only last for a wee while longer, I have to say that hearing things like that do make my wee heart burst with such joy and delight.

Ho Ho Ho and a luminous pair of slippers.

Since everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit, I thought it was time I climbed up on the bandwagon.

So here I am wishing you all a Merry Christmas in my CHRISTMAS SLIPPERS!
Would you CHECK THOSE PUPPIES OUT ??!! Sensationally bad.

I would love to say that I could blame my mother for them, however I am reasonably confident I would have whined and whined and whined about getting them and she would have relented only so she wasn't forced into drowning me in the nearest puddle.

'Have you met Kate, our youngest? Sweet wee thing, yet such a pain in the arse and such terrible taste in fashion.We have no idea where that came from, the rest of the family can dress themselves quite adequately.'

Obviously the nurse's headscarf is my own addition, as well. I think I've mastered the Florence- Nightingale-groupie/off-to-join-a-cult look quite well.

And there's my cat I'm strangling. I've talked of her before, Chippies Murphy Hokey-Pokey Flicky-Tail Patches Tiger Jane MyLastName. Which is - obviously - why she ran away. My sister used to call her Shitty Cat.

And there's my brother Sunshine in the background, and even though you can't really see him, I know that look so well. It's the my-sister-is-such-a-twat-I-would-like-to-punch-her-in-the-throat look.

So there you have it. Merry Christmas from me, my now-dead cat and my very red slippers. Tis not my last post before I slope off, but just thought it was time to hurl some Christmas spirit around.

P.S Tis a glorious 27 degrees here, Summer is HERE! I love it so, even more when I get a text from a friend who is - right now - stuck at Heathrow in a snow storm .

I know who'd I rather be right now.

Just call me Lightning.

One of my goals this year has been to finish a story for my godson who lives in London. When he was born I started it for him, and I've been banging on and on about how I needed to finish it this year.

It's set in a parallel universe where birds fly backwards, people shrink when they get bored and on Thursdays the fish go shopping (see below).

It's called Bryce the Hidden Claw and is about a gargantuan cat who is notorious for being a vicious killer (and rumoured to floss with barbed wire). He moves next door to our main characters Jake and Izzie, who proceed to go on a crusade to rid this evil criminal from their neighbourhood. But it turns out that things are not as they seem...

I've drawn it out with my appalling handwriting and have illustrated it (badly). I got the idea for the design of the book as a great aunt of mine who lived in England wrote a book for me when I was a child, with this layout. (However there were a couple of reasonably major differences between her and I, she was an artist and a published author so her drawings were a lot less amateuresque and her story far more skillfully crafted.)

Anyway I'm just pleased I've finally finished. All forty-three pages of it (it even comes with it's own bookmark due to those forty-three pages making it a little long to read in one hit if you're small).

But what makes the whole thing worthwhile is that my godson got it for his birthday this month, and he loves it.

As I say, I started it when he was born.

He's just turned seven.

I was trapped in a nightmare and woke up on Planet Hello Kitty.

Those crazy Taiwanese. Seeing an opportunity, they thought a way to milk the Hello Kitty craze would be to extend the brand to an airline.

Which they did and went and decked out two Airbus A330-200s.
And they didn't just stop with the outside of the plane, hell no. Or the other bits and pieces. (It is always one of the games I want to play when going on a long haul flight, it's called Lets Count How Many Packets We Open. Strangely, no one ever seems to be remotely intested in playing it with me.)

And of course, lets not forget the dinner tray.

Sadly, for all those international jetsetting girls eight years and under the first was taken off international routes in December 2008 and the second in March. However they're still being used for short routes in Asia.

No doubt Tom Cruise will be trying to buy one for Suri for Christmas.

Crash!

So if you live in New Zealand, anywhere south of Taupo and you have a Telecom mobile phone, you may have noticed that it's been strangely quiet this morning. Well this isn't because no one cares, but because the whole XT network is down.

Telecom have released a statement and here's the part I love :

'Telecom said via Twitter that a severe fault had resulted in the outage.'

Hmmm, call me crazy but is that just a euphenism for 'We have no fucking idea what the problem is and, until we do, we're clueless as to how to fix it.'

All I know is that there are people out there who will be having a hell of a worse Monday morning than me. Especially a handful of Telecom employees.

I'm sorry, but haven't we learnt anything from Milli Vanilli?

My friend who lives in Australia (the one whose career 'highlight' included getting paid to pull the bird to the prime minister outside a deaf school this year- I only repeat that story because I love it so) sent me the link to this story.

A singer in a band called Jukebox was performing live on a Romanian music show called Stele-sub-la.

Things are going well so far.

Now this singer is known well for his live performing.

Still okay.

Until he performs...



I think the technical term for performing with your microphone upside down is an 'Epic Fail'.

Unless he is much brighter than he appears and knows that if he performs as though
he is a worshipper at The Church of Milli Vanilli, alot more people would be talking about him than if he didn't.

Like me.

While we're talking about photos that are wrong....

...another gem from Awkward Family Photo.

They've titled it Armed and Endangered, which I am liking.

I'm picking he doesn't want to pick a fight with her, cause he KNOWS where that bayonet is going to end up.

I'm not sure about his plans for the budgie,though.

Okay, I've officially creeped myself out.

Things that I think are wrong with this picture.

1. The earrings.
2. The shoes.
3. The dress.
4. The father.

I'm waiting for Top Gear to call.

Some time ago I got a new car, not a brand-new car, but a new car.

After I bought it I discovered it had one of those backing-sensor thingys.

It goes like this.

Beeeeeeeeep.

Beeeeeeeeep.

Beeeeeeeeep.

Beeeeeeeeep.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepTHUD!

Don't ask.

A digital native, I am not.

Does anyone' s brain, apart from mine, when it hears a word, conjure up an image that is the complete opposite to that word?

Exhibit A.

When anyone says 'terabyte' my brain brings up a picture not too dissimilar (but a little more scary) to this. Which is actually a Pterosaurs. And not even remotely related to something that has the capability to store massive amounts of digital information and can look like this.

Exhibit (but not quite so worrying) B.

When someone says 'cous cous' I always think of a cat, cause don't you reckon it would be a great cat's name?

I have many more examples but I will stop now before somebody calls the men in white coats.

Anyone?

Words of wisdom from Audrey Hepburn.

Audrey Hepburn once said, “If I blow my nose, it gets written all over the world.” And, "There are certain shades of limelight that can wreck a girl's complexion.”

I'm picking Tiger Woods could identify with both of those quotes right now.

And he was a cracking good skateboarder as well.

So I saw something interesting in the weekend.

A dwarf on a skateboard.

I'm hearing you, 'Not that interesting,Kate'. And definitely not as vaguely bizarre as a dwarf on a skateboard holding a leprechaun outfit.

But the thing that bumps this skateboarding dwarf into the not-your-everyday files was that he was wearing a g-string.

And competing in the Skateboarding Nationals.

That's all I am saying.

How to Make Scooter Helmets Cutting Edge. By Karl Largerfeld.

1. Purchase twelve giant scooter helmets.
2. Cover them in mink.
3. Then add pearls.
4. Design them so Ipod hook ups are safe.
5. Slap price tags on them that range from US $1,805 to US $6, 837. 6. Laugh your arse off at how you can make silly money from ridiculous fashion.

More here.

Now, who can I invoice for those missing three hours?

I have to say, 3.15 am is far too early for the alarm to go off if you're not a taxi driver or a midwife.

Which I am neither.

It's even worse when, at 5.00 a.m, the job gets postponed and you get to look forward to doing it all over again tomorrow.

The post that gets written when you're doing your damnedest to not start the project you've been putting off all day.

So out and about today, I saw a man. And he didn't look, well, quite like your ordinary bloke.

His hair was a medley of grey, black and ginger - tortoiseshell, if you will. He was balding and it was very long. (Which, if we're being honest, is never a good combination, there should be legislation against it).

He was wearing little heels, women's trousers and a navy (man) jersey and he had a fetching little black handbag with a silver chain over-the-shoulder strap.

It was quite sensational, I did a really bad job at trying not to stare. I wanted to follow him and find out his story. But I didn't.

And he didn't look anything at all like this man.

But I just wanted to find a reason to crowbar the nice man's picture into this post.

(And call me a Fashion Ignoramus, but the skirt isn't quite working for me, what do you think ?)

Rhianna, honey, are you missing something?

This was what Rhianna was wearing as she performed in Times Square for Good Morning America on Tuesday.I think it could be described as 'not much'.

Call me old fashioned, but wouldn't you get a really cold arse?

I think the technical term for that jacket (and you have to say it with an Australian accent cause an Australian told me and it sounds better in Australian), is a bum freezer.

I will stop shamelessly cutting and pasting from other websites..

....but not while Awkward Family Photo are posting shots like this.

I'm sorry, but nothing that comes out of my head can ever beat a shot like this.

Now, pulling out my crystal ball, I'm thinking that that baby has a future involving spray tan, gyms and protein drinks ahead of him/her.

And I'm really hoping that I'm wrong.

One of my more annoying habits...

....is, when someone is reading a book, to ask 'Is he dead yet?'

What are yours?

She's a hell of a way to get a job.

I recently caught up with a couple of friends of mine who had been living out of the country for ten years, but are now back.

They have been back for some time but this was the first time I'd seen them.

'Have you heard how I got my job?' Asked the female-half of the couple.

I hadn't. And now I have, well, it's just too good not to share.

She was returning for a flying visit in order to get some work and had jacked up two days' worth of back-to-back meetings. She was about a third of they way through them, when she had an interview at a workplace she really liked. Thought it was great and really wanted to work there.

The guy who was interviewing her asked her who she was seeing next, and she told him.

She's sitting in her next meeting when the woman who was interviewing her mobile phone rings, she answers it, then promptly hands the phone to my friend saying, 'It's for you.'

It was the guy from her previous meeting asking if she would consider coming back for a second meeting after she'd finished with her current one!

I've heard of creative ways of getting a job, but it's the first time I've heard of creative ways of securing an employee.

You got to applaud it, don't you?

Russian Roulette

Today I was dashing across the road and my phone made a break for freedom. It jumped out of my bag and landed on the road.

Right in front of the oncoming traffic.

I watched and waited for its imminent death.

One car. Straight over the top.

It missed!

Second car. Surely it's going to be taken out now.

Straight over the top again!

This is almost funny. Here comes the third car, surely my phone shall be exploded this time.

Straight. Over. The. Top.

I got the trifecta!

Phone is now drugged and grounded. Me? I'm off to buy to buy a lotto ticket.

Move over, Coco Chanel.

And a few more Tuesday gems for you from the glorious People of Walmart. I think this photo is so outstanding because she looks like she's so proud of being in her jim jams. (Those are her jim jams, aren't they?)

And I love this as it goes to show what an inspiration Marge Simpson continues to be around the world.

Yike Bike

I had a go on one of these last week. I was a little bit nervous and wobbly to begin with, but managed to stay on board and emerge from the experience having not made a complete arse of myself in front the guys who invented it.

They can go up to twenty kilometres an hour, the battery lasts for about ten kilometres and they weigh about ten kg and when they're all rolled up they just look like a big handbag.



I have to say, if you see four of them coming towards you at one time, you do feel like you're trapped in some type of futuristic film. I told the guys this and they said they were working on getting lasers to shoot out of the handle bars.

P.S I started writing this post last night and then saw this morning that the bike has made Time Magazine's Top 50 inventions for 2009, coming in at number fifteen.

Bloody good old Kiwi ingenuity, eh?

When political giants meet.

I was listening to National Radio this morning and I heard this headline:

'New Zealand Prime Minister John Key has met with a top member of the United States cabinet ahead of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation summit in Singapore at the weekend.'

And then I heard this:

'Mr Key met with Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner for an hour upon arrival in Singapore on Thursday night, saying a wide range of topics was discussed, from climate change to the US economic recovery.'

So they say they discussed a wide range of topics - from climate change to the US economic recovery. So exactly in what depths were these topics discussed?

Timothy Geithner: 'Jarrrrrhnnnn!'

John Key: 'Tum!'

Shake hands enthusiastically.

Timother Geithner: 'Buddy!'

John Key: 'Maaaaate!'

Timothy Geithner: 'How's the weather been down in Nuuu Zeeeland, Jarhnboy?'

John Key: 'Shut. How's your economy, Tum?'

Timothy Geithner: 'Fucked.'

John Key: 'Guudo. Now, where's the buffet?'

The jumping gene strikes again.

I have spoken before of how some members of my family have been cursed by a rogue jumping gene.

My poor nephew, Master Sunshine, was suffering from a particularly nasty bout of it last weekend, it lashed out in full force. (There he is, the guy with no ground beneath his feet.)

Luckily this nasty dose of the jumping gene coincided with his Regional Skateboarding Championships, and he managed to turn the evil jumping gene's power to good - and he won.

*Aunt Laughy Hen gently bustles her feathers and quietly clucks proudly.*

Okay, I was not entirely right.

So there I was banging on yesterday, coming over all psychic-like,smugly predicting the front page of the Christchurch Press would have a photo of twenty-something drunken things behaving in a way they wished they hadn't at yesterday's races.

So this morning I was cancelling my free calling 0800psychic line when the front page carried no such photo. Nada. Not an iota.

But page three did have a shot of two men fighting and a woman falling over with her high heels in her hand. Funnily enough, I can't seem to find these shots online. But page five's shot was there. Thank you guys, I knew you were out there, somewhere.

People make life so interesting, especially when they're a little bit drunk.

Today it's Cup Day in Christchurch, a day that various websites rate as the biggest day in Christchurch's social calendar.

It's the giddy-ups doing the trots.

Hmmm, lets try that sentence again.

It's New Zealand Trotting Cup Day.

That's better.

It's a day when about twenty-five thousand leap at the chance to put on their finest, flock to Addington where they will spend the day drinking in the sun and some will fail to see a race.

Although I have never been to the Christchurch races (I have been to many other race meetings), today is fantastic people-watching around town. Lots of frocked-up people milling about till about midday, then they disappear and by five o'clock they start to filter back in: generally speaking not as frocked up, women are sporting the first sunburn of the season and if their high heels aren't yet in their hands, some are starting to topple from them.

And call me 0800psychic, but I'm picking the front of tomorrow's paper will sport a shot of some twenty somethings who lost the plot around four, but won't realise how banjaxed they were until they see a snap of themselves tumbling from the front page.

Roll on five o'clock.

How to make policemen lose all self respect.

1. Take away their cars.

2. Give them bikes.

Yup, that should do it.

I don't about you, but to me it appears that being a policeman would be a pretty thankless job. You get abused, you see tragedy and you have to deal the dark side of human nature on a regular basis.

But at least there was the little perk of getting a shiny car that goes fast, has flashing lights and a siren which can be very handy when you're in a hurry.

I don't think I would like my job as much if I got told to hand the keys over, was issued with a bike helmet, some high vis and told that from now on I was going to be a cycle cop.

But hey, maybe that's just me and it's just lucky I'm not a cop (cause on top of everything else, I would be a really bad one).

Obviously I would have been really rubbish at living in the nineteenth century.

There are many things I love about living in the 21st century: heat pumps, double glazing, puffa jackets, electric blankets, air travel and Ipods. The list would go on and on but I'm busy and feeling a little bit lazy.

Things I could really do without.

Malls.

I am sure I wouldn't find them as offensive if I had grown up with them, but mall culture is only about ten years old down here and no matter how hard I try, they just give me the shits.

What would you happily do without in the 21st century?

Now that's a journey.

When I was at primary school I had a friend that my father
named 'Phona' because we spent so much time on the telephone
talking to each other. God only knows what we talked about,
I'm imagining highbrow things like, 'I'm lying on the bed
and I can see a fly walking across the ceiling.'

I used to like going and staying the night at Phona's, we
would organise midnight feasts - and her mother would
actually go and buy us sweets for such occasions. Midnight
feasts in our household involved sneaking out of bed, arming
ourselves with two spoons and slowly working our way through
a three litre container of ice cream while sitting on the
deep freeze, hoping that we wouldn't be busted by my eagle
eared parents. And Phona was a really fussy eater, apart
from sweets, she would only eat potatoes and peas. There was
none of the 'If you don't eat your dinner you will get it
for breakfast' carry-on in her house.

Anyway, as lives do, ours then meandered off in opposite
directions. We went to different secondary schools, she went and
learnt how to be a hairdresser and set up her own business in
Palmerston North. I, meanwhile, embarked on a career of doing
no work at university until it eventually dawned on me that
in order to get a degree you actually have to attend lectures.

I would have last seen her at my grandfather's funeral
which was in 2000. But my Fruitcake mother has just
received a long, newsy email from her.

Pop quiz, where do you think Phona's life has taken her?

A) Married with children with a thriving hair salon in
Palmerston North?
B) Just got out of jail having finished a sentence for fraud?
C)Living in Washington with her husband who has an
Important Job that includes regular meetings with Obama?
D) Having retrained as a teacher is now living in Cambodia
working for Volunteer Services Abroad?

The correct answer would be, C.

My old childhood friend's husband gets more facetime with the
most powerful man in the world than our Prime Minister.

Sometimes life is so grand that I just want to pick it up
and give it a great big hug.

Ever wondered how to get rid of a couple of hundreds of thousands of dollars of vodka without throwing a party?

The Russians know how to.



At least, one Russian does.

Get off! Get off! Get off!

I have talked before about my paranoia of all things rodent-like (have you checked out the rat below?) Anyway, the guy in this YouTube clip feels about lizards pretty much the way I feel about rats.

Just because I can.

Yes, I admit, I have been hanging around at Awkward Family Photo again. Which is how I found this happy couple. Whaddaya reckon? They got a two-for-one deal and Great Auntie Nora is in the casket?

Anyone missing a couple of stuffed baked potatoes?

Yesterday I went to the supermarket to buy a bottle of wine and, you know how it is, whenever you go to the supermarket to buy one thing you inevitably come back with things that you had forgotten you needed.

I bought: one bottle of wine, a six pack of yoghurt and some hard crunchy pears.

I came home and pulled out of my supermarket bag: one bottle of wine, a six pack of yoghurt, some crunchy hard pears.................and two ham and tomato stuffed baked potatoes.

Now, I didn't inadvertently drop them into my basket because a) I think I would have noticed cause they were hefty wee numbers(and I don't eat meat) and b) there was no evidence of them on my receipt.

So now I am wondering if I am now living in some sort of random reverse Bermuda Triangle.

And I'm almost tempted to go back to the supermarket today to see if it happens again.

Now that's a RAT.

This is what happens when you share an office with a guy who is from South Africa.

He shows you photos like this.

*Turns and runs screaming from the interweb*

Please don't make me be a duckling slayer.

Dear Mrs Duck,

While I am sure you are very proud of your new ducklings and you can't wait to show them off to the world and around the neighbourhood, can I please request just one thing?

Would you please be able to refrain from walking them across the road? It's just if I'm driving down the road, and I suddenly see you all crossing I can't promise I will hit the brakes in order to avoid taking out your family.

I know this sounds all very selfish but it's like this - if there's a car up my derriere and, without warning, I hit the brakes chances are said car could crash into the boot of my car and before you can say 'Peter Rabbit for president' I will be wearing my internal organs on the outside.

Sorry to be a killjoy. Maybe just stick to paths and water ways.

Just a thought.

Happy waddling.

kate

Further to yesterday's post.

Regular readers of this blog will know that of the four seasons, there are two that I would happily live without (yes I am looking at you Winter and Autumn). However the same doesn't not apply to seasonal food.

I love seasonal food and all it signals.

Asparagus means summer is round the corner, strawberries mean Christmas is round the corner, oyster season means I'll be going over to the family-of-four-boys-six-and-under and making a pig of myself with oysters, whitebait season means I'm going to find me someone to cook me some whitebait.

I always think of seasonal food as a treat. I don't think I would feel the same about these foods if I could wrap my laughing gear around them twelve months a year.

Same with dining out. With work I tend to travel a reasonable amount which means eating out. I always find it's fun to begin with, but even after two days of buying breakfast, lunch and dinner from a menu the treat of eating out starts to become a drag. Not another freaking menu. Too many treats.

Now, I would like to apply this theory to Christmas. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas.

But in December.

If you start to torture me with Christmas in October, I will really resent Christmas by the time it eventually rocks around. And you will most probably find 'fucking' not terribly far from 'Christmas' in sentences that come out of my mouth.

And when I saw that full blown Christmas tree yesterday, I was not filled with the spirit of Christmas, no, I wanted to slam my head in the door.

Retailers, if you're listening, PLEASE DON'T RUIN CHRISTMAS FOR THE REST OF US BY GIVING US BLANKET COVERAGE FROM OCTOBER.

Please don't make us hate Christmas.

Cause I'd like to stay fond of it, if that's okay.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I saw a Christmas tree today. As in, a full blown I'm-a-Christmas-tree-!-Christmas-tree.

Shoot me now.

Things you would really rather not discover.

Tis a long weekend down here.

I received this text my sister this afternoon.

'We came home and let the cat out of the linen cupboard.'

I've just noticed something.

There are some people in this world who are very ordered and organised. They plan, they book stuff, they know that on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday they are doing this, this and this. And then on Thursdays they will do that. And that will happen because of children or the way they're made.

I, on the other hand, am not one of those people. I am spur of the moment. I make holiday plans at the last moment. I am a useless planner. I know I will generally do my GST the day before it has to be paid. I will get as close to a deadline as possible before I deliver a project.

Basically, unless I have to be organised, I will just plan as I go and do things when I please and I as I feel like it.

As far as something like blogging goes, I just do it when the mood takes me, or when I have an idea. I couldn't tell you how often I do it, when is the most regular time time of day I do it. I just do it, whenever.

I wouldn't have a clue how often I do it, either. I just do it.

So you can imagine it was with horror this morning that I noticed how many blog posts I have done each month of this year. (Take a look to the *looks at hands to see which hand has got the mole on it*right).

Out of nine months, there have been SEVEN months where I've blogged exactly twenty-two times.

Holy shit Batman! My subconscious is organised.

Now, if only I could channel that organisation to my conscious state, I think I would be a hell of a lot more productive.

Today I illustrate just how unfunny I really can be. It'll stun you.

Recently I was staying at my cousin's house and I had the craziest of dreams. It took dream-crazy to a whole new level. Cause I really didn't think it was a dream.

I had gone to sleep in my room (we used to flat together and even though she has moved twice since, married, had two children, I still have my own room, okay?) and when I woke up I was in a different bed, different room.

I had absolutely no idea where I was. I was now in a single bed but in a completely different house. I was quite freaked out, so I got out of bed and went to the door and looked out. I was downstairs and I could hear someone talking. I looked up the stairs and I could see my not-yet sister-in-law talking. Except she looked different.

She was a teenager.

And she had a perm.

And I suddenly worked it out. I knew exactly where I was!

I was in my not-yet sister-in-law's mother's house.

And it was about 1989.

I had gone to sleep and woken up in 1989!

And do you know what my first thought was?

'Wow, this is cool, I am going to win so many bets.'

Fortunately I was dragged back to 2009 by my cousin's small daughters who were burying me under a mountain of pillows. If anyone wants to start an euthanasia service, I can put you in touch with the perfect little workers. You could call it Snuff Princesses.

Now isn't that a business opportunity to die for ?

Hah, I am killing myself here!

Okay, enough with the lame one liners, I will stop now.

Happy Friday.

Now, for dessert.....

This morning I was listening to National Radio and heard the headline, 'Man found not guilty of manslaughter or murder after shooting his friend after a dinner party'.

Now I don't know about you, but immediately my (maturity-of-about-a-six-year-old) brain goes, 'What? The guy got to the end of dinner and said 'That was shit!', reached for his rifle and BOOM!

Obviously the real story is horribly tragic and not like that at all but, I'm sorry, you give me a headline like that, and that's what I'm going to think.

The guy who was killed obviously had serious issues (not to mention no manners can't you be serious for a moment?), he was awaiting trial for slashing a man's face at an Auckland nightclub, he had assaulted his girlfriend on a number of occasions and had been involved in a road rage incident.

The night he was killed he had charged through the house, attacked five others and left another party-goer semi conscious and attacked the hostess. So you can kind of understand how the evening ended up in the ugly mess it did.

But that headline, maybe if they'd left 'dinner party' out of it, possibly my brain may have processed it with a little more maturity ?

Things i have learnt this year.

#1. Best always to take a pee before going underground in a coal mine.

You're welcome.

Just in case you've been too busy to head over to http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/ (thank you Fat Sparrow, again) I thought I could do a public service and bring peopleofwalmart to you. Cause I'm good like that.

I wonder how old the owner of this car is?

Whoever it is - they're classy, very classy.

And next up, a shot that leaves me at a complete loss for words.

Anyone?

'Nother conversation.

Me:' Hey Nine Year Old, shall we get up to mischief when your parents go out tomorrow night?'

Nine Year Old: 'Yeah ! We're gunna burn the house down!'

Fast forward - tomorrow night.

Parents walking out door.

Door: 'Slam!'

Me yelling downstairs:'Hey Nine Year Old! Where are the matches?'

Nine Year Old: 'Nah, I don't want to burn the house down. I'm busy -watching a film.'

Killjoy.

Conversation

Me: "Such and and such is happy as a clam."

Nine year old: "Why is it happy-as-a-clam ?"

Me: "Don't know, maybe clams seem contented?"

Nine year old: "Well, why don't they say happy-as-a-hungry-lion-eating-a-human?"

He has a point.

People, prepare for some time wasting.

Regular commenter Fat Sparrow has just alerted me to a new website, which is truly truly glorious.

http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/

Do not pass go, do not collect $200, but just go there right now.

If you're a touch busy saving either babies or the planet to be arsing around on the internet right now,here's a wee taste of some of the gold you'll find over there.

First up, Obama's limo.
I mean where's Top Gear when you need it?

And here's someone who I'd just love to introduce to Pink Hair from Tuesday's post.
Let me count the ways I love the internet.

Oh, just because I can.

It's Awkward Family Photo time again, people!

I have been sitting on this one for some time.

I'm sorry, but there are no apologies for doing this to you.

Just questions. Many, many questions.

I love people - just as long as I don't have to spend Christmas with them.

A friend of mine sent me this story. It's an article from the Northern Territory News and it features this woman.

And that's all I'm going to say about it.

Oh, okay. I will just give you just the one quote. It's from Pink Hair.

"It may have looked bad when police first arrived as my girls were hanging out all over the place. I also had a $5 note wedged between my boobs so they probably just assumed I was a sex worker or something and he'd already paid me.But $5 is a bit cheap for a head job."

I'll leave it up to you to follow the link, or not.

Over and out.

The weirdness, I have it.

Over the last little while, on a few occasions - after a perfectly normal, merry old seven-eightish hour sleep -I have woken to find my clock radio not sitting on the table beside my bed, but on the floor.

Now, unless there's some rogue dwarf squatting in my wardrobe that I'm not yet aware of, the only person the finger can be pointed at is, um, myself.

I don't have any answers and I don't want to think about this too much, otherwise I will think I am crackers. So, to make me feel at home with my crazy sleepself, could someone please out-abnormal me with a better story of sleep adventures?

That would be triff, thanks.

Yours crazily,

kate

*wonders if furniture should be whitewashed and tossed in neighbour's swimming pool*

Delusions of grandeur. I think the cat thinks he's a boxer.

I particularly like the swing at 1'09.

I knew a cat with a similar attitude. I once had to haul him off a collie after he had attacked, screaming, 'GET OFF!!YOU'RE A CAT! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED OF DOGS!'

Just another day at the office.

By lunchtime on Thursday I had travelled in: two cars, a plane, two boats and a helicopter.

But I didn't meet this guy and his mates until after lunch.

Remind me not to save any owls, anytime soon.

This from Acid Cow.

So a great horned owl was found walking on the side of a freeway, in the middle of somewhere. Some people discovered him, scooped him up, put him in a cardboard box, took a photo of him and moved him to state park.

This picture says one thing to me, and one thing only.

Be very afraid.

Disneyland Dwarves

Coming in at 1'60, or 5ft 3 ins, my friends take great delight in taking the piss out of my height. I have one bastard friend who often says, 'Don't dwarves die at thirty? ( If they do, then I am a miracle.Oh, that's right, I'm not - technically - a dwarf.)

However, did you know that discrimination has sent a community of dwarves to set up their own village in China?

In order to join the mountain commune in Kunming in southern China, you gotta come in under 4ft 3ins tall. And if you're a dwarf, and always harboured a desire to be in either the police force or the fire brigade but never could cause you never made the height requirement, well, this place is for you - cause they've got their own police force and fire brigade for all of their 120 residents.

And the enterprising little buggers have turned themselves into a tourist attraction by building mushroom houses,living and dressing like fairy tale characters and performing musical numbers.
As you do.

BIG questions I am asking myself.

Why is it that the days I spontaneously decide to go shoe shopping always seem to coincide with the days that I am wearing mismatched socks?

We saw a real live island.

My sister was driving passed Lake Taupo with the five year old and the seven year old. 'Ooh Mummy!' exclaimed the five year old, 'a floating hill!'

It's almost as good as the time (yes, I have banged on about this before) when, she bought her back a camel from Dubai when she was two and she looked at it and cried, 'A horse turtle!'

From the show Wife Swap. Don't judge me. ...

...cause I am really not lying when I say I don't watch the show. I don't.



And the question is, what will that child do when he grows up?

?

Samoa, American Samoa, Tonga, Sumatra, Vietnam, the Phillipines, Cambodia.

What the fuck is going on in the world?

From the hard hitting news desk that is laughykate.blogspot.com comes another winner

IN a world of earthquakes, tsunamis and locked-up Roman Polanskis I bring you the story of thieving Burmese cats.

Oh yeah, I am really knocking myself out here. (Actually you can blame my cousin, who seems to be providing rather a lot of fodder for this blog, lately).

Anyway, check this guy out.
Does he look shifty to you? Well, he should. He's a light fingered little monkey.

After a life of murdering, he's turned his paws to stealing.

Eggs.

Two weeks ago Gisborne couple Frank and Cheryl Amor woke up to find fresh eggs on their back doorstep. This happened a few times and they were confused as to the identity of their good samaritan, until one morning Charlie walked in to the kitchen, opened his mouth and out rolled an egg.

He's since turned into being quite a good thief, he's stolen his staff about a dozen eggs.

Unfortunately Cheryl isn't so keen on using her ill gotten gains, so she's returning them.

Now, if only she could teach him to pick up the paper.

Headlines you never want to be associated with.

I was watching breakfast news on TVNZ this morning and one of those crawling headlines caught my eyes....'Top jockey Jim Cassidy forced to miss spring season due to accident in garden.'

What? He got attacked by the lawn mower? Accidentally ate the datura? Assaulted by a pissed off gnome? Got an allergy?

Is there any way they could have given his accident less cred?

The Australian gives treats him with a little more respect with this headline, 'Cassidy to Miss Carnival with Serious Injury.

He was trimming a hedge when he slipped and sliced two fingers on his left hand, slicing through to the bone. He's currently in hospital about to have surgery.

Gah, hospitals and headlines, places you want to stay out of.

AwkwardFamilyPhoto.com strikes again.

Want this photo to appear normal? Simple, compare it with this photo.

I'm just curious as to which one would have the most issues in this picture? Mum, or the boys?

The four legged variety takes on the two legged (and possibly wins).

Meet my cousin's family's cats. Yes, one of them, has featured before.

This is Oscar. He knows he's a cat.

He's supercilious, treats his staff with disdain and can often be spotted sunning himself in various different windows of houses around the neighbourhood.

This is Angus. He thinks he's a dog.

A lunatic of a dog.

He can be found in cupboards,

paper bags....

and has been returned on more than one occasion by the plumber and a number of painters after being discovered in car, some kilometres from home.

Like a dog, he has the tendency to follow you around everywhere. He will sit outside the bathroom door, howling to be let in while you're having shower. I tell you, it can do your head in. I only discovered this after I found myself yelling out, 'GO AWAY! Can't you just leave me alone for a while?'

And then realised I was talking to the cat.

.

.

.

.

*looks at feet and shuffles quietly out of the room*

Conundrum.

Could someone please explain why, when I know I am in the position of being able to marinate in a gloriously decadent sleep in, my brain goes BING! at 6 a.m, explodes into action and wants to play? Especially when the day before I practically had to call the police to come and haul me out of bed by 7.30 a.m?

Sometimes I find myself so incredibly irritating to live with.

Nom de plume

I find people such fascinating things. I can sit and watch them for hours, I think that's why I like airports so much - especially international ones. You get to see so many different breeds of people. I like to invent their life story with the visual clues you get to work with. (And in my case, I reckon I would most probably have a ten percent hit rate, accuracy wise. But, hey, it's not a competition.)

However I reckon it's interesting the way you build pictures of what someone might look like if you only know them from their voice, or their writing voice and nom de plume. For a few years I have been working with a team in Sydney and, when I first walked into their office (after a few months of communication) one woman exclaimed, 'But you're small! I thought you were going to be a big woman!' I must sound and write tall.

My brother Sunshine first started me with a blog. Originally he set me up with an actual website, wrote all the copy for it, as he had grand plans that it would be a fantastic platform to sell my book. However, as it's still making a name for itself getting rejected by publishers around the world, there seemed no reason to carry on with that site so I came over to Blogspot. (But as Toby Young*, whose book 'How to Lose Friends and Alienate People' got rejected twenty-two times before being published said to me, 'Just remember they're all wrong, and you're right,' don't think I shall be giving up anytime soon.)

*is aware of shameless name dropping.

So when it came to setting up a blog, the first thing we had to do was pick a name. We wondered about a few and Sunshine suggested Laughy Kate. When Master Sunshine and Little Miss Sunshine were very little they asked the question, 'Why is Kate so laughy?' (Oh, because she's always drunk. Apart from that, no reason.) About a week later they were discussing a Kate, 'Which Kate, is that?' asked one of the parent-Sunshines. 'Laughy Kate', was the answer from the small-Sunshines. And it's sort of stuck ever since.

Anyway, this post is a very scenic route to the point, it's time for you guys to put out. I want to know why you picked the nom de plumes you have.

As my first sentence would indicate, basically I'm nosy.

September Issue

I went to see it last night.

Two things.

1. I reckon it's a fantastically crafted doco.

2. Anna Wintour is a miserable old grinch.

How not to run a restaurant. In my humble opinion.

Recently some friends and I were staying in a wee tourist town and were in need of some dinner. I had been to a restaurant there some years ago and it was really good, so we decided to give it a whirl. I rang, just to make sure they were still feeding people and and they said they were - as long as we were there before 8.30 p.m.

We rock up at 8.15 and duly ask for to be shown to a table.

'We're only serving only soup and chowder,' says the waitress.

'Oh really?' says I, 'you didn't say that when I rang.'

'Oh, you're the people who rang.'

('No, they're on their way.') 'Yes.'

'Here are some menus, you can order here - now.'

'Could we possibly sit down and at least read the menu?' (Isn't that the fun part about going out for a meal, meandering through the menu, deciding what to eat?)

'Oh, sure. Come this way' Clenched grin.

The waitress was like she'd been dipped in cow shit and then sprayed perfume on herself to disguise the eau de merde. While she smiled, she clearly didn't want us there.

We sat down and approximately a minute thirty later she was back at our table.

'Can I get you anything?' She said perkily, but it sounded like, 'The chef's in a filthy mood, the owners aren't here and I want to go home early.'

'Some more time.' I think but, like the waitress, keep it on the inside.

'A bottle of wine.....when we've had time to read the wine list.' Says another member of the team.
She gave us a pinched smile and left us. (I hate customers.)

Two minutes later.

'How are you going with your menus?' (Pimp my Ride is on at 9.30. )

'We'd go a lot better if you would leave us all alone to contemplate them.'

No, I didn't say that, either.

I won't continue with a blow by blow,but you get the picture of the evening. They could have got a whole lot more money out of us as everyone was keen for coffees and a round of puddings, but the Arctic wind that blew from the waiting staff was not worth enduring.

And when you realise that you're actually paying for the privilege of her and her colleagues' bad service, it kind of makes the whole situation kind of ironic.

And then you think of the restaurant owners who have employed this team of people who are merrily trashing their restaurant's reputation.

There are some days I am really pleased I don't own a restaurant, and that day was one of them.

That, and the fact that I would be really rubbish at it.

Yet another example to support the theory 'You should never eat something bigger than your head.'

This post is courtesy of my sister, I would link to her but she's not a blog.

Behold some pictures below for you.

On the left we have a lizard who looks likes he's hired some fangs to go to a vampire party and on the right we have a lizard lying beside a centipede.

Now here's something you may not know, apparently lizards aren't rocket scientists. (You won't be finding any Mr G Geckos on a NASA staff emailing list, anytime soon.)

Anyway, if you weren't aware of this theory, I've got a story to support it.

On the left is a lizard with what staff at the Reptile Park where he lives believed to be were legs of a cricket. They thought that Mr Lizard had just polished off a mighty feed. However, closer inspection revealed the legs belonged to that a centipede. (Isn't that like me attempting to eat a very hungry shark?)Understandably, staff thought it too risky to remove the centipede, so they decided they'd leave him alone to digest it in peace.

Later they came back to discover that the lizard harboured bulimic tendencies, as he had barfed his centipede right back up - all in one piece.

I do like what the of the reptile park owner, Ivan Orich, had to say on the matter. He reckoned that a combination of poor eyesight and even poorer intelligence might explain the gecko trying to eat something longer than itself.

"I have the impression they're not the sharpest knives in the drawer. When you go in to feed them, they got for your foot rather than the foot your are bringing to them."

As the title of the article suggests, it does bring new meaning to 'long lunch.'

The last two days of work have included...

...twenty-six river crossings, many many bunnies, a dog who I swear is a reincarnation of Princess Diana (big sad eyes, shy head tilt, crazy mother) and views like this-
Now, if I could locate the bus that has run me over....

Some dogs should just stick to chasing cats.

Mental note to self:don't give the dog the car keys.

Oh, that's right I don't have one.

Maybe just don't give car keys to this dog.
Cause he's a rubbish driver.

Yesterday his owner left Wilco in his Cheverolet ute while he popped into the mall. Wilco obviously got a bit bored so decided to take the ute for a wee spin. He pushed down on the column gear change, putting the vehicle into drive.

And drive, the vehicle did - right into the front doors of a nearby cafe.

Luckily the cafe owner is insured. But can you imagine the insurance agent? 'So a dog drove a ute into the front doors of your cafe? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.'

(Almost as stupid as having to tell the quack that your badly sprained ankle is due to being run over by a dog. But let's not go there, today).

I think my favourite part of the article is the last line, 'Police were still investigating the incident.'

What? Have they not finished interviewing the dog yet?

I don't think I want to think about this too much.

I was around at my mate's and her man-the-antiques-dealer last night. The antiques dealer had just been at an auction, where he'd been talking to a local eccentric. He enthused about the character of this man, 'Oh he's this, this and this and....'

And I was about to pipe up with 'it's just that he's fucking crackers.'

But he beat me in the race to finishing his sentence '....he really reminds me of you.'

Arse.

Supressing overwhelming urge to shout Alan! Alan! Alan!

This is funny. Watch it.



At least I thought so.

Octomum, eat your heart out.

Ali
Edie
Laura
Nellie
Bertha
Sid
Trissie
Eddie
Arthur
Fred
Frank
Gerty
Kitty
Mark
Dolly
Jo
Jane
Dolly's chair.

Jo was the gardener, Jane was the housekeeper and for some unknown reason they always added Dolly's chair.

Dolly was my great grandmother.

Did you know....?

....that Lego have diversified into wigs?

Jermaine Jackson is a big fan.
A big big fan.