I'm not sure if I am actually all that outraged at all over Jacqui Lambie's comments about her requirements in a male companion. Her comments have definitely done her no favours, and I'm sure they won't help her land an intelligent, sensitive and caring man, but those criteria weren't on her list, anyway. The opinions have definitely been interesting, most comments seem to be one step removed from calling for her head. It is true to say that had she been a male senator, there would have been multitudinous calls for her apology and resignation. Just look at the fall-out from Tony Abbott's grotesque wink that time (although it COULD have been a silent signal of assent to the radio presenter, because he was unable to communicate verbally at the time). And the radio station interviewing Lambie, what's their demographic? If it's bogans aged 18-35, then she probably scored a few brownie points. And I'm not entirely sure about the party with which she is affiliated, and if you've perchance been under a rock, it's the Palmer United Party. My main issue is when a party is named after its founder, which sets my alarm-o-meter needle twitching a little.
I've had a crappy few days. I've been snowed under with work, and yesterday I was invited to a nearby town to lecture to the University of the Third Age. I arrived, and was told there had been a few bookings. Great, I thought, as I set up my notes and props at the lectern. Come ten o'clock, and only one grey student arrived. The others didn't bother, so my talk got cancelled. I felt glum and cheated. On the plus side, the library bought two of my books, but I have to issue a tax invoice with my bank account details before I get paid.
After work today, I took my about-to-turn-10yo to the library to do his homework. He didn't get his sheet on Monday because I had to take him home from school after he complained of dizziness (epilepsy can be a bitch). I found his homework sheet in his bag yesterday, and hit the roof. Even though his teacher said he only had to write out yesterday's and the day before's spelling words, and write a short story, I knew I had better get him to the library because whilst my house is this horrific scene of mess and clutter until or wardrobes and drawers arrive, he will get nothing done as the energy flow is just conducive to homework for an over-imaginative kid. The other day, I actually lost my shit and announced I was going to stand on the pile of crap in the lounge room and sing the battle scene from 'Les Mis' because that's what the room looks like: the barricades of Paris during the student insurrection in the wake of Lemarc's death. So, we were at the library and I was hissing furiously at him to just hurry and finish writing his damn spelling words. That's why he doesn't mind the library; I'm not inclined to yell there.
Have you ever read an opinion piece that just makes you shout, 'What a load of bilious, misinformed and fatuous dung!'? Well, that wasn't exactly what I shouted last Sunday. It was more like, 'What a load of fucking shit!' It was an opinion piece by a local identity, and it was a combination of both those examples I have given. It was spurious rhetoric about what is perceived to be the failings of the judiciary, and how they think they're better than us, and how they're not concerned with protecting us, and how the powers of government and the courts should not be separate, and anybody who has ever been involved in criminal law will know this is, well, fucking shit. Some of my new followers might not know this, but I have had over twenty years working in the legal industry, most of it in criminal defence. My family and circle of friends are stuffed with lawyers. I know what I'm talking about, and I have commented to the article which was published online, and I have written to the local paper pointing out the nonsense in the article. The paper's due out tomorrow, and if my letter does not appear, I will be hitting social media. If my letter has been significantly edited, again I will be going to social media. Oh hell, I'll no doubt comment in greater detail about what I put in the letter. It really grinds my gears that the paper declined my offer to write articles for free (with the proviso I can advertise my books), yet will publish utterly flawed rubbish. Hey, don't get me wrong: opinions are good, but informed opinions are much better. Oh, man, did I fume the other day. My poor husband, 'yes, dear'-ing and nodding. But when I commented online that surely the author, if such an event arose, would prefer his trial to be heard and sentence (if relevant) imposed by somebody separate from government who does not have anything to lose or gain, my husband clicked 'like'. Bless him. He said, 'I know I've been teasing you, but I agree with what you've said.' Anyway, let's see what tomorrow brings. I'm going to bed, now.
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