Everyone is undoubtedly over with, done with, and fed up with to the point of sticking one's head in one's gas oven when it comes to the Federal election. How long have we got now? At the time of typing this post, there is one week to go. One of the best things about it is we will no longer be subjected to the awful ads, like those put out by the United Australia Party. Just today, as I was driving around, I heard the odious 'Australian's ain't gonna cop it' jingle, and almost mounted the kerb and sprained my wrist in my eagerness to turn off the radio. How in hell can Palmer still be spruiking those shit rip-offs of Twisted Sister? Has he paid the royalties? I understand there are steps being taken, or some process being devised, for the payment of money owed to the victims of Queensland Nickel. Palmer, just pay up and go away, you toxic, purulent, bloated blimp.
I also look forward to no more vile pieces from the Murdoch press, unless they're unhappy with whatever party is elected. Seriously, you shit-gibbons, what was the meaning behind the hatchet job on Bill Shorten regarding his late mother? You lot might want to get out the tweezers to extract the splinters from beneath your fingernails from where you've been scraping the bottom of the barrel.
Well, I had a very interesting week last week. If you've been following my blog, you will know I had a very sad week last week, what with attending the memorial service of my former - and very much admired - employer. I did something else last week - I took part in the taping of an episode of Mastermind Australia. The episode goes to air on 22 May 2019. I cannot divulge the result of any filming prior to screening, and I am not sure if I can tell you what my specialty topic was, so I will just remain shtum on that, too. I was so, so nervous! I stayed with some cousins on Thursday and Friday evenings - my cousin drove me to SBS studios on Friday, where I met my sister. Sis and I had lunch, and then we reported to the producers. I was unsure if she would be able to stay for the entire filming of my episode (she only saw my specialty subject round being filmed, but told me I looked relaxed - interesting given I was trying to not wet my pants). Friends and family were taken to another room to watch via a feed, and the contestants were given a briefing about what to expect. There were two episodes to be filmed in the block where I had been appointed, and I was in the first lot. As I said, I cannot give out any information regarding the filming, but I got through it. I returned to the green room, where the other contestants had been watching (also via a feed), to collect my handbag. One of the people in there told me, 'Your hair looked so pretty on the screen.' Good to know.
But as I walked to St Leonard's Station to get the train to Hornsby (where I was staying), I felt a weight lift. Yeah, I know how corny that sounds, but I really did feel lighter and more relaxed. My planned appearance had been stressing me severely, but that afternoon I realised: I. Had. DONE it! You're probably wondering why I would apply to go on a television show if I was just going to tie myself into a knot of anxiety in the lead-up to it, which is a fair question, but I will try and answer it as best I can. Firstly, I did have bouts of anxiety last year, and I do feel my life has been in the control of a sadistic puppeteer who is jerking the strings but not resolving the legal issues with which I am dealing. I also had to deal with other crap, and it would not be prudent to go into much detail, but if any of you people are watching, then here's to you: (I'm typing with one hand whilst using the other to flip the bird to the screen of my computer). My appearance is a way of saying Fuck You to all the people and scenarios that caused me to spiral into despair last year. It's a way of taking back my life and feeling in control. Also - and I must be honest - when it comes to general knowledge and trivia, I have a king-sized ego that loves to be stroked. Aaaah, anxiety and egotism, the yin and yang that combine to create one mega weirdo of a human being, right?
But it was over. I could relax. And relax I did, as my cousin's wife opened the nice smooth red I had brought along as the Gift of the Guest. We enjoyed a few drinks, and then kicked up our heels to a Spotify playlist. I have concerns her children are scarred by a vision of me, being an older relative, doing some drongo-ish style of boot-scooting to the Creedence version of Jambalaya (I love Fogerty's vocals on this - along with every other song he sings). I feel guilty because I know how this can affect children. I still shudder when I remember the time when I was about eleven, and was subjected to the ghastly sight of my aunt trying to dance the hornpipe after a few Rieslings. But what are families for otherwise?
Speaking of families, today is Mother's Day. My cherubs <sarcasm> are preparing me seafood risotto tonight. I didn't get breakfast in bed, because I had to start work early this morning. I no longer have my mother, but she was witty, theatrical, warm, musical, and had a singing voice like Judith Durham. Her greatest piece of advice to me was, 'Don't wash your bum, and then wash your face.' This is a great metaphor for life.
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