Triva to the Rescue

The Australian Medical Association and Cancer Australia say there is no link between abortion and breast cancer.  So why does the Reverend Fred (se)Nile think there is?  Oh, that's right.  It's because he's a pious Holy Joe who takes advice from a metaphysical being, and who hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that the 1950s ended over fifty years ago.  I know we are a democracy, but why must we have these brain-dead clowns polluting the halls of Parliament House?  WHY?

Despite his constant disparaging of me - he's thirteen and wallowing in the Insufferably Smart-Arsed Stage - my son practically pleaded with me to come on a team at the trivia night held at his school last night.  As it happened, the mum of one of his classmates invited us to join the P & C team.  There was this 'game', being a bonus round kind of thing, whereby the MC (in this case the deputy headmaster) would give a clue in a Who Am I question.  Teams could only answer once, but the earlier they guessed it, the more points it was worth at the end of the night.  Make sense?  Well, the first clue was that the Mystery Person was born in England in 1940.  'John Lennon!' I hissed.  'It has to be.  If it's a famous Englishman born 1940, who else can it be?' So we went for it and wrote 'John Lennon'. At the end of Round Two, the clue was that he had played in a skiffle band.  I revelled in my smugness, feeling certain that Lennon had experimented in skiffle as well.  Come Round Three, my superiority and complacency tumbled like a house of cards in an earthquake.  'I married a Bond girl,' said the MC.  'Oh, crap!' I groaned.  I knew there and then it was actually Ringo Starr.  For some reason I thought Starr was older than Lennon, and he may well be, only born earlier in 1940 than Lennon.  Oh, if only the clue had been: 'I married a delusional, tone-deaf, screeching parrot', then I could have continued warm and fuzzy inside, knowing we had earned those six bonus points. 

But coming in second was still a coup, and my team divvied up the goodies donated by various businesses.  I have a voucher for a local butcher, and a voucher for a meal at a rather swanky restaurant in town, movie tickets, and chocolates.  Kind of makes up for the googy egg streaming down my face in the wake of the Starr/Lennon fiasco.  Not sure how much money was raised for the local rescue helicopter service, but I guess all will be revealed in the newsletter.

Speaking of that that swanky restaurant, a local women's business groups hold meetings there once a month with a guest speaker.  Someone suggested to me today I might like to be such a beast.  I said to have the chairwoman contact me.  Might get a few books sold that way.  Who knows?

Mr Bingells and I are attending a 70s party tomorrow night.  I have a sequinned hat, and bow tie because it has to be glam for.  Mr Bingells has been supplied with a black top hat patterned with cobwebs, and a long straggly wig - he will be Alice Cooper.  He tried on his wig and hat today, and you know what?  He looked just like Roger Glover from Deep Purple.