6 reasons why Christmas really is MAGIC. And one reason it’s sometimes confusing.


(As seen in December 2011 DarwinLife Magazine – EXTENDED REMIX)

Background: A few weeks prior to this going to print, Kim Kardashian announced her divorce after 70 whatever days. ..

You know those days when you wake up, and your hair already looks good, you find twenty dollars in your jeans pocket; you’ve lost three kilos overnight, and then you tongue-pash Leo DiCaprio while Ryan Reynolds waits his turn before proposing marriage? Well to me, waking up on Christmas morning is more magical than that. Except for the Ryan/Leo bit, because that’s not magic when you’re a blonde model-turned-actress. That’s a couple of months ago.

I don’t understand people who hate Christmas. What’s not to love about a holiday that includes over-indulging in eating, drinking and sleeping?  Yes I just filled my bowl for the third time with Brandy custard trifle, and then chased it with a giant bucket of fudge and 4 glasses of sparkling something-or-other. Yes there’s a chance I’ll be sick later but tomorrow’s a holiday. ANOTHER ONE!

And without sounding too materialistic; don’t forget presents. Because Christmas without presents is like Kate Moss without makeup. Or Shane Warne without Liz.

The magic of Christmas doesn’t end there. Here’s my list of Christmassy magic, all starting with S because S is the symbol for $ and Christmas isn’t cheap. Also, like everyone I recently pondered the stupidity that is Kim Kardashian, and thought about Kristmas at their house. They’ll have Kris Kringle, and eat kookies and kandy. And they’ll give each other their own kardashian kollection krap.


Sparkle: I love that Christmas is so shiny. The streets, the shops, and also when I’m outside in 99% humidity, my face! Everywhere you turn there’s sparkle and shine. Bells ringing and trees blinging. But please!  If I must listen to Jingle Bells, I’ll listen to the Frank Sinatra version. Not the Earrings-Hanging-Off-Your-Ears version.

Santa: I hope someone is paying Santa the big bucks, particularly given the awkward and potentially litigious practice of having children sit on his lap to ask for presents.  Santa is the master magician. The words, “I’ll tell Santa” can strike fear into even the baddest little brat. And the look on kid’s faces on Christmas morning is beyond magic. If you could harness the excitement from every 3-6 year old after Santa’s visit, the world’s energy crisis would be over.


Come to think of it, Coke should pay him. They invented him!

Seafood: No explanation required. Unless you’re one of those freaks that doesn’t eat seafood in which case you don’t deserve Christmas!

Spreading cheer: I LOVE giving presents. Openly. Anonymously. Shopping for them. Wrapping them. All of it. For some reason, it makes me feel like I’M a magician. Like I’m George Clooney’s manhood bringing outcries of pleasure to every exploding star in every galaxy.


Sugar: Everyone has their own ‘dessert’ tradition, and I think that’s what makes Christmas so amazing. Any occasion that makes us and supermarkets focus so much attention on chocolate and custard and pie and fudge and cookies and pudding and ice-cream and lollies has GOT to be magic. Although, as made aware to me by authors of the awesome blog: Spend Less Nourish More; Forrero Rochers lost their magic in 2003. Enough with the merchandising like it’s ‘special.’ Stick it on the shelf with Kit Kats. Ta.

Siesta: This is mandatory on Christmas day because of two words: Food coma.



And now for something equally magical but quite confusing….

Singing: Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE singing. Especially when I know the harmony and can sing like I’m one third of Destiny’s Child. Frankly? I’m surprised my career as an International Popstar is taking so long. Christmas Carols reserve a special place in my voice box.  Singing them is what I call Christmas Cheer. But when you stop and consider the words – well sometimes it’s confusing. And non-carolly type Christmas songs are WORSE!

So this first: Apparently (read it on internet so must be true), in the times of Yore or Good King Wenceslas when the words to a song were considered in bad taste (ie anything by L’il Kim) rather than sing tawdry verse in question, singers would replace dirty verse with: ‘fa la la la la’. Which makes me wonder about Deck The Halls. Because ‘Dawn we now our gay apparel??’ Nope. Don’t want to know.

Meanwhile, some other words / phrases that confuse me: Feast of Steven? Not familiar with it, although it sounds wonderful. Manger? Only ever heard the word in 2 songs. Ever. Actually, the alternative would be ‘Away in a food trough.’ It makes me think that the birth of Jesus has been highly romanticised and the nitty gritty details of that first Christmas night have been kept a secret. Who cut the umbilical cord? Did they save the placenta? And my biggest question of all…. SILENT NIGHT?  I mean this was pre-epidural times. And I can say with certainty they were not Scientologists. Whoever wrote Silent Night has never been in labour.

nativity by Julie Vivas

From the book ‘The Nativity’ illustrated by Julie Vivas. This is probably how Mary actually looked: Exhausted and like she’s still 4 months pregnant.


Another completely random song, “Do you hear what I hear.” In this song the wind is talking to a baby sheep. Maybe the sheep was Dinging and Donging Merrily on High.

Finally, I can’t fail to mention quite possibly the worst song ever written by man. And that’s saying a lot because most people reserve that title for Achy Breaky Heart. But Jingle Bell Rock can go and die in a chestnut-roasting fire. Any song that asks me to “mix and a-mingle to a jinglin’ beat” ceases to deserve a place in my Yuletide vernacular.

Jingle Bell Rock from the movie Mean Girls. I hope it goes without saying that I am equally uncomfortable with Sexy teenage dancers.

Jingle Bell Rock from the movie Mean Girls. I hope it goes without saying that I am equally uncomfortable with Sexy teenage dancers.

So anyway, to anyone that maintains they hate this time of year: Stop sulking. Submit to the magic and savour the season.

Syclone Sindy says.


The Hunger Games

I’m supposed to be on a diet at the moment, so I’ve been eating mostly steamed confusion and rage.

I’ve been hungry. Which is good when you’re playing the hunger games. Except – so hungry I just ate a whole box of Jatz crackers. Not quite as bad as a whole bag of lollies or a whole block of chocolate; a feat that I have accomplished before, but still gluttonish all the same. My Jatz moment was proof that I have not yet mastered the game of going hungry.

I’m just not at one with that starving feeling. Especially when it’s self imposed.  My stomach tells my brain, “Pfft! Whatevs, you’re the boss, you’ve been awesome all day – just eat it.”  And then my brain goes “Ooookkaaay!” And then I go into a carb-induced high and forget to stop eating.

And now this! Jatz guilt. Why do we do this to ourselves? Because Summer is coming and everyone knows what that means. BUSHFIRE SEASON, and also bikini season. THEY ARE BOTH MURDEROUS!

And if you want to avoid DYING OF REMORSE in the swimsuit fitting rooms because you don’t look like this:

Because when I sit like this, twisting my ribs sideways… It is a sight to behold!

…then you’ll have to DIE every time you feel like a piece of chocolate chunk cheesecake. Or a salted caramel macaroon. Or wedge of gorgonzola dolce with spiced pear paste. Or chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake bars. And WHEN DID PEOPLE USE SO MANY ADJECTIVES FOR FOOD.

And so we start the hunger games. There are no set rules. We make our own rules according to our own previous successes or failures at losing weight. Some play by skipping breakfast or lunch. Some eat all meals but tiny bird-like portions. Some replace meals. Some skip carbs. Some refrain from sugars. Others from meat and dairy.  Some sadly, forget it’s a game and do get very sick. **

Think I’m being ridiculous? Irresponsible even – for suggesting that I won’t enjoy Summer unless I’m a socially acceptable size 8-10? I’m not. This is the world we live in and the generation in which we live. We – the women who are subjected to the judgement of all who pass us by when our cottage cheese knees are showing.

Like it or not, our generation are the dieters, the binge eaters, and the ‘must always watch what we’re putting in’ generation. Blame it on magazines, the media, the fluctuations and constant body makeovers of the Kardashian sisters, or just Victoria Beckham. Either way, we’ve all been grabbing our stomachs to see how much flesh we can get a hold of since we were teenagers, and at that point we vow to lose those extra kilos “in time for Summer.” We start playing the hunger games.

It’s a game I started playing a week ago, and today I betrayed myself…. seduced by a salty cracker. And then, the entire box of salty crackers. I feel so dirty. I’m such a snack-food slapper.

If you have never played the hunger games, lucky you! You probably have testicles. Or – you’re on the verge of womanhood and this is a new and exciting game you’ve been dying to play since you were 11.  So, like I said – you make the rules – but here are some suggestions that will help you WIN.

1. Check your measurements: We’re the measured sex, measured by waistlines and scales and flat stomachs, and by how many meals we have to skip to be a size 6-8. We’re judged by our ability to go hungry, and then celebrated in large measures. If you don’t measure up – keep on measuring.

3. Supplements: These help to suppress appetite and prevent actual eating. Choose from pills, shakes, or powders. These sometimes have a double effect, because according to advertising, if we have success with these products and lose centimetres, we’ll never lower our eyebrows again.

4. Count: If you’re good at math, you will excel at the hunger games. Otherwise there’s an App you can download that does it for you.  (When is Apple changing its name to Bacon? ‘Oh no, I just dropped my Bacon iPhone. It’s totally fried now.’)

The app can tell you: There are 100 calories in a piece of bread. You burn 100 calories running 1 kilometer. ONE! For fun, you can work that out as a decimal. Because losing weight is SIMPLE! It’s just MATHS.

Counting will also help you with portion sizes. Today you may enjoy 3 litres of water, 250gm of cooked brown rice, 2 cups of cooked spinach, 5-7 almonds, 1 nanogram of camembert and I piece of paper you drew a chocolate fudge brownie ice-cream sundae on.

5. Exercise: A seasoned player will tell you that exercise helps you win The Hunger Games. It burns centimeters and melts fat. Running is apparently superior because fresh air? Once when I lived in Melbourne I ran a 15 km ‘mini’ marathon. The morning after, I woke up and my body filed for divorce.

You should probably know however, the alternative to fresh air is sweaty camel toe and techno pop.

6. Food: If you absolutely MUST eat, here are the guidelines. Do you know what quinoa is? Take a good look at it because you and that quinoa are going to really get to know each other. Boil some quinoa, add lemon zest because butter and salt are the devil. You may wish to add some raw, tasteless greens and other bland tasting barley-lentil nightmares.

Do not assume a vegetable is safe. I once ordered something called, “Winter vegetables roasted in duck fat.” Pumpkin never tasted so sublime. Food to avoid? Anything that makes your panties drop. Say goodbye to the euphoria of prawns in garlic butter arriving at the table sizzling hot. Deprivation is the key. Order a hot water and lemon you big fattie!

7. Pretend to be Foreign: Asians eat rice from two little wooden sticks and fish for themselves. Italians have 16 espressos all day before they eat one bowl of pasta. The French smoke 38 cigarettes, drink champagne and then eat a mouthful of baguette. Indians walk everywhere and eat curry, or as I like to call it – laxatives. In South America they eat well, but when you spend that mucht time jiggling your booty in a sequined g-string, you burn it off. These are ridiculous stereotypes but we eat like lunatics and drink liquid carbs.

8. Don’t listen to celebrities or Jenny Craig. This one is important because both celebrities and Jenny Craig tell lies. Lies such as: “Oh I just eat what I want… I have good genetics, I eat in moderation but have a sweet tooth, I love my curves..” And this one, “Before Jenny, I never thought I’d eat cheesecakes again.” Jenny Craig is the dark lord of diets. She is an insane, mystical being convincing us that cheesecake is ok. In fact, anyone that goes on TV or in magazines sprucing their before and after techniques should be made to show us thier lipo scars.

Now, if you were paying attention, you’ll notice in my list of guidelines, there was no number 2.  That’s because when you starve yourself – number 2’s are hard to come by. Please keep your constipated face at home.

That’s about it. Good luck. Let the games begin. May the forks NOT be with you.

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: The Hunger Games is prohibited for players that have just been dumped.  To those of you with a broken heart…. Ladies – this is your time to shine. To hell with calories. You better have some of that new Philadelphia Cadbury’s chocolate frosting on hand in your fridge for this kind of occasion. You’re entitled to down whatever your sad little heart desires because you’re going to wear tracky-dacks and cry your mascara off anyway. Eat on darl’.

Interestingly, statistics show in a survey I just made up, that those playing The Hunger Games are more miserable than those who just got dumped.

** This blog is supposed to be silly, hence the idea that going without food is a game, not a way of life! I would NEVER endorse starving oneself – and would urge anyone reading this with an eating disorder to seek help and stop wasting your time and emotions on food. Being a particular size does not make you happy. Sharing happiness makes you happy and I can tell you now, starving yourself is only making people around you severely worried and unhappy. So chin up – go buy yourself a Happy Meal.

To future generations.

In a thousand years’ time, when they’re looking back at the remnants of our civilization, they’re going to say, “Wow their beer ads were awesome.”  Maybe they won’t even have beer ads by then, in which case I’d like future generations to know that the ads were also very misleading. Drinking beer does not bring on a plague of reindeer after dark. Furthermore, my tongue has never come out of my mouth to search out beer, and drinking beer DID NOT help me do the entire dance routine from the movie Flashdance.

I did that all on my own.

In fact, there are many more things that future generations should probably know. Here are just a few…

CELEBRITIES: Currently our pop stars are trying to shock us. It’s silly really –like  rocking up to an awards night in a side of beef to make… a STATEMENT!! Waste of a good BBQ if you ask me. Hopefully your pop stars are no longer attempting to shock.  If they are – holy shinoodle what are they DOING? Also, many celebrity ‘actors’ should never have made movies. If you are into classics, I would like to apologise now for Tom Cruise. He used to “act” before he got famous for facilitating the co-habitation of aliens and earthlings on Zenu. Also, sorry about Angelina Jolie. Hopefully she stopped making movies when the world realised staring at someone with your lips slightly parted while holding a rifle is not acting, but like watching a foetus attempt to change a tyre.

Speaking of movies…

REMAKES. Just don’t. I can assure you that a big breakfast without bacon is upsetting. Footloose without Bacon is a travesty.  I don’t know how many versions there are of Batman by now but trust me, that suit is on some kind of human growth hormone. Speaking of which, I also hope they stopped making The Hulk.  Hopefully they have not remade anything that starred Frank Sinatra or Gene Kelly and if they did? I am deeply offended and perplexed for mankind.   The best James Bond was Roger Moore, NOT Zach Efron. And if they’re still making Sex and the City movies, I apologise. Those women used to be in their 30’s when it was slightly more appropriate to discuss your vagina.

CONSERVATION. I’m pretty sure that through the wonders of evolution, Chocolate trees and Cheese trees grow wildly. I hope you’re respecting this amazing wonder of nature and not being all greedy and picking the cheese before it is mature, because there’s a word for you people –  Cheddarphiles!  Please be considerate and go easy on the trees.  I’m sure you learnt in history class at school about the fish that used to live in the ocean.

MONEY. Don’t let money rule your life. Live each day. Don’t sit around being like ‘Oh man this day sucks because my iWatch7 broke and my High-speed 4D Wifi Smell-O-Vision is going too slowly!!’ They’re just ‘things’ that can’t hug you back. Unless there’s an app for that now…. Don’t get mad because you don’t have those expensive shoes that shoot fire and come with inbuilt massage pads that I’m counting on scientists to invent for us. Don’t want too much more than you have. Google Donald Trump; He lived big but died from bacteria that entered his brain shortly after a hair transplant.

LOVE. I don’t care if the divorce rate is 97% and the only living proof of romance is Gary Marshall movies starring Anne Hathaway. Love is worth having. Love can change your life and make you do things you never imagined. Love will keep you alive and warm the cockles. I’m not sure what cockles are but I think I’d prefer mine warm.  I hope you still get butterflies in your stomach when some idiot half-grins at you. I hope they still write love songs and that not all ‘slow jams’ are about getting it on. I hope you’ve experienced yearning and that there’s still heartbreak, because if you’ve never had a broken heart – how do you even know you’re alive?  I hope that romance doesn’t involve only texting and vampire novels, and while we’re on the subject of romance novels; I hope Mills and Boon are still printing the classics. Because this. Fries. My. Burger.

BE SMART. I hope you haven’t become full of yourselves, and you’re educated and live in a world where there are equal rights and positive role models. I hope you’ve elected good politicians and cured diseases. I hope that the world is better prepared for natural disasters and that a packet of cigarettes costs $59 but petrol is down to $1. I hope for Julia Gillard’s sake that carbon was proven to be directly responsible for global warming, and that the globe is, in fact warmer now, because I’ve never heard anyone say, “I just love being nice and cold.” I hope that publishing propaganda on the ‘harm done’ by Vaccinations and Immunisation is illegal. I hope the sitcom, Two and a Half Men is OVER.  But mostly, I hope you are all doing well at mathematics. Because there’s a good chance you’re thinking…  ‘Pfft. When will I ever need this in real life?’ but then… Lara Bingle and Kim Kardashian.

Hopefully you’ve never heard of either of them.

Regrets? Yeah… make mine a double.

(An extended remix verison of Cyclone Cindy as seen in October 2011 issue of DarwinLife Magazine)

I used to sometimes wear red leather pants. I don’t know who deserves an apology more – cows or people… But honestly, if I had a dollar for every time I started my evening by putting on some leather pants and stilettos, moonwalked on a podium, snorted pepper, texted an ex – then made out with someone I totally should not have, and finished it off by eating something that essentially led me to investigate the floor of a room that had a toilet in it, I’d have three dollars and fifty cents worth of regret.

I wish I was one of those, “Sure I’ve done some stupid things but I put it down to experience…. Regrets? No, never!” kind of people. Because as Jennifer Aniston once said, “There are no regrets in life, just lessons.” Mind you, Jennifer Aniston probably also once said, “Hey Brad… put down the weed and come and read that script you got sent. This Mr & Mrs Smith screenplay  is fantastic. You should totally do it.”

And look how that turned out.

We’ve all done things we regret. I’ve certainly done some stupid things and… DOINK!  Forget experience and learning curves ok? I am NOT a better person for the silly things I’ve done that I regret. And neither is Charlie Sheen. Or the Australian Labour Party.  Here’s some more examples of regrets I have that DID NOT make me a better person:

Breaking up.– We’re all pillars of dignity when it comes to most things, but a good ole fashioned dumping can always turn you into an insane person. Once when this guy and I broke up, I wrote him a song because he thought I had a beautiful voice. Although… he also thought I looked like Catherine Zeta Jones so I’m kinda left questioning the accuracy of his senses.  So anyway in a bid to let him know I didn’t care, I wrote: The water underneath our bridge is a glass of no regret. I sent it to him. A few months later he told me he was engaged. I won’t go into details regarding my behaviour. Let’s just say Helen Mirren would not be pleased. And that glass of no regret? Tsunami.

Fashion choices. I’ve done the military look, the grunge look, the cowboy look, the rock chic look (enter leather pants) and blue eyeshadow. I’m not proud of who I sometimes dressed like (a moron), but I’m totally over that phase! What jumpsuit? I don’t know.

That kebab. Sure, this 24 hour take-away looks mildy dodgy and the lady serving looks like she just spent 30 minutes outside the chemist waiting for her prescription, but you’re hungry! However not all fast food is created equal and there’s a good chance your pancreas will say “To hell with it” and spurt it out your mouth, and you’ll spend the night in a sick sweat with visions of e-coli tomatoes dancing in your head.        

High School. I listened to a lot of George Michael. I talked WAY too much in class, signed my name on tests as Cindy Trent D’arby and was usually late. However, I was a good girl. And reasonably fun. I wish I hadn’t spent so much time basing my personality on everybody else’s. I wish I hadn’t worn my fringe teased so high. I wish I hadn’t been so scared of people named Alyssa Green. I wish I had just said ‘MY SELF-ESTEEM WON’T BE DICTATED by how many boys like me, or the fact that I’m not rich and famous like Madonna.’

Not telling him.  Of course I was nuts about him. Everyone knew it. Even after that Hey-This-Brief-Crazy-Fling-Was-Fun-While-It-Lasted ‘thing’ we did. I was pretending it was cool after we broke up. There were nights I stayed up listening to some crappy music, imagining us romping through fields together and hugging kittens on a cloud of rainbows. If I had that time again, I would let you know every time your laugh was the best thing I heard all day. How just being with you was awesome. You made me one cheesy piece of crap and you never knew.

Sun damage. I mean…. Solarium damage. Living through two Melbourne winters got me addicted. That bed was like cocaine to me. That brown bimbo at the counter was my dealer, and the accelerator cream she recommended was like lacing my crack with prescription drugs. Except instead of dying dubiously in my hotel room and getting a well publicised autopsy report that Entertainment Tonight filled a whole show with, I got freckles. And wrinkles. And this regret will probably be with me til I die, hopefully not from skin cancer. Presumably not from an overdose.

Treating your mum like a jerk. We all get into bad moods and take them out on people we love the most. But when we were sixteen a ‘curfew’ felt as though it was some Communist asshole imposition on us by the tyrants that are our parents. But my mother CONTORTED HER ORGANS to give me life and it was very painful. My mother is a very nice woman who doesn’t ever want bad things to happen to me, and tells me things for my own good. Yes I look like a tart in that skirt. And yes I should be careful. And yes, I should not put my elbows on the table like a caveman who suddenly had access to tables. She was right, she was right this whole time.

It’s interesting to note that Edith Piaf was addicted to opiate-based painkillers when she wrote “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien.”  For the low-brow amongst you, that would be like Lady Gaga taking ecstacy before writing, “Just Dance.”   Also when Britney Spears sang “Ooops I did it again” I don’t think she seemed very sincere, and I doubt she meant that ‘oops’ part at all.  However I DO think she might now be sorry about all that red leather.

Look what I’m saying is that we all have regrets that fail to inspire self enlightenment – small and big. The eating an entire tub of Nutella kind – The paying money to see a Tom Cruise movie kind – The not serving Julia Roberts even if she’s dressed like a hooker kind… and then WOOPS!

Um… the kind where you have a car accident in someone else’s car because you were applying mascara while driving. And then… WOOPS! You accidentally have another car accident because you were taking off your stilettos while reversing because you could feel the heels getting damaged on the accelorator and brake pads. Actually he shouldn’t even have been parked there but whatever. Go ahead and make my regret a double.

And say what you want about learning curves and journeys, because not all mistakes lead to enrichment.  Regret is human nature and if we actually had a dollar for every time we did something stupid – the biggest idiots would be the richest. And we’ve all seen what happens when iditos get rich.  I’m looking at you Reality TV.

The reason for the season

(As seen in December 2010 issue of DarwinLife Magazine)

PREFACE: I wrote this for the mag last year – with a promise to repost in time for party-goers this year. I realise it’s too late for some, but for those of you celebrating tonight, consider this the desperate plea of someone who is not very fond of idiots at Christmas time and is moving states in 4 days and has taken precious time out from packing to tell you some important information.

I LOVE December. I love fruit-mince pies and chocolate-coated almonds. I love legitimate excuses to shop. I love decorating anything that doesn’t move. I love celebrating with family, and friends and I love that there are parties everywhere.

Parties. Hmmm.

For every aspect I love, there’s a down side. With all of December’s good time promises and parties, there are moments to embrace self restraint. Because when it comes to celebrating the silly season; just like relationships, credit cards, and tampons, there’s always strings attached.

The Christmas Party provides the perfect opportunity to lose your dignity. Or your wallet. Or your knickers.  Let this be a Cyclone Cindy Warning to you all.

DRESSING: Just because it’s hot, doesn’t mean you should wear an outfit that covers less than a towel. Wearing lots of necklaces doesn’t make it a fancy towel.  Wearing reindeer ears or a Santa hat doesn’t make it a cute towel.  And those sexy shoes you love, the ones you are certain love you back just as much –  will probably rip your foot skin off until it gets blistered, wet and red and you limp around like a deranged person. It will ruin your night, and possibly your ability to wear thongs for the entire wet season.

SWEARING: Even if; “How the f*** are ya?” is a common phrase around your workplace, the Christmas Party is not the time to impress your colleagues with the most ever swear words used in a sentence. Even if you are discussing your last power bill.

DRINKING: Firstly; the only people that really enjoy shooters are under-aged or still at uni. Remember the time you drank so much you projectile vomited your feelings and kidneys into the toilet while trying to read the poster on the back of the loo-door about safe sex, in order to pass time between wretches? Or when you peed in your pants and got lost? Or what about the time you got so smashed you vomited on the dance-floor then slipped in your own spew and landed with your skirt up over your head and your ass in the air? Try not to let this be the night you promise to give up drinking forever.

DANCING: Guys: when dancing, you may not be aware but you actually release a strong odour of cheap deodorant. Smelled from miles away, sometimes this musky gym scent attracts drunk women to your pelvic region, at which time they will rub their bottoms against it. This is not actually dancing. This is a precursor for making out. Making out in front of your boss is creepy. Especially if the girl is wearing a cute towel.

HOMEWARD BOUND: If you start sexting, taking photos with your tongue out, or telling the bouncer your sad life story, it’s time to go home. Go directly home. Do not collect $200 from the ATM and do not pass McDonalds.

Whatever December brings for you, remember that you can’t spell party without try, and you can’t spell season without ass. So try not to be an ass, and have a Merry Christmas!




Po-tay-to, Po-tah-to.

You say potato. I say pomme de terre not because I speak French, but because I’m a bit pompous sometimes… but seriously!!!  What the hell has happened to chips?  By chips I mean the deep fried crispy variety, not the deep fried hot variety, and also – not the two dudes from the 80’s on motorbikes in aviator shades variety. Cause who knows WHAT ever happened to them… (What you just heard was the entire Y generation going ‘huh?)

Anyway, I ask because I was eating such potatoes on the couch today. It was SO IRONIC.  But it made me remember a time when potato chips consisted of 4 flavours: Salt and Vinegar, Barbecue, Plain and Chicken. They were crinkle-cut. Always crinkle cut.

Then someone got a little bit fancy on our junk food-fed asses, and invented ‘Cheese and Onion’

We totally welcomed this addition to the chip flavour family because quite frankly, we were all a bit over the original four flavours.

Obviously, after considerable market research, they discovered we LIKED to mix it up a bit when it comes to salty snacks and thus: bought out ‘Sour Cream and Chives.’

And we were happy with our two new flavours. Until…

Along came Kettle. With their rustic non crinkly bubbly chip, including flavours such as: Herb and Spice, Lamb and Rosemary, Honey Baked Ham, Sour Cream and Chilli….. They were delicious and it wasn’t long before the pioneer chip makes (Smith’s and Samboy) were expanding their portfolio to include similar flavours.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say that the brand managers panicked and thought it was best to flood the market with an assortment of unusual and diverse flavours. It’s the only explanation for Tomato Sauce flavoured chips. Then Smith’s launched their ‘thin cut’ range, a non-crinkle-cut chip.

I’m sorry, Tomato Sauce flavoured chips? Who buys those? I’ll tell you who buys those… Nobody that’s who!

Then you have your limited edition flavours. Like the time Australia hosted the Commonwealth games. I don’t know about you, but I was more than happy to see the end of ‘Australian Sausage Sizzle,’ ‘Lamb and Mint’ and ‘Bacon and Cheese’ flavours.

We’ve also been blessed over time with Ranch, Hickory Barbecue, Roast Beef and Mustard, and Big Red Meat Pie.

So anyway, Smith’s launched a spin-off gourmet brand of chip – Red Rock Deli: and that’s when things really got ridiculous.

Honey soy chicken, Greek Feta and Herb, Chicken Thyme and Lemon, Italian Tomato and Basil, Thai Chilli, Red Wine and Tuscan Herbs, Lime and Black Pepper, Roasted Garlic with Parmeggiano, and… 

wait for it….

Baslamic Vinegar and Sea salt.

Excuse me?

I’m sorry! I refuse to take it anymore. I will not be silenced by the fraudulent crims in the crispy deep fried potato industry. I’m not stupid. Au contraire mon frère.

Balsamic Vinegar and Sea Salt and Salt and Vinegar….. are the SAME FRICKIN’ THING!

Seriously; potayto, potahto!

You see my carbohydrate palate is actually an insatiable, unsophisticated beast, but I will not be misled any longer.

Go right ahead – sit there stuffing your face with your ‘gourmet, meal-in-a-snack’ chip; but I’m here to tell you that the only place I want to taste Greek feta is with salad, or stuffed inside some excessively buttery Greek pastry. And I wonder: Do the Italians know you’re using their tomatoes?

Please take back your full bodied red wine with its bouquet of aromas. Take back your vintage cheddar with French Dijon mustard and Moroccan spices and duck red curry and hazelnut infused pumpkin puree on pan fried scallops….


Please just give me a regular, potato chip snack. Crinkle cut or whatever… But please just make them salty ok?

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…


WARNING:  This is a post about breasts and contains various terms that describe the female chest region. Should you be offended by such words as titty… you may wish to log off Cyclone Cindy now. However – if you have breasts, or know someone that does, or once drank from a pair yourself… you might find this post informative, slightly amusing, and most of all preposterous.


Once when I was about 13, I ate some dodgy Chinese and came out covered in hives. They were itchy and sore. I remember telling my big brother and his friend that night (almost in tears as I scratched) “Look, I’m covered in lumps – I have lumps”

To which my brother’s friend who I also had a MASSIVE crush on replied whilst looking directly at my chest, “Cundy, You don’t hiv inee lumps.. not yit!”

He was from New Zealand, and I was devastated. It was the first time I became aware of my breasts. Or at that time – lack of.

Oh, if he could see my lovely lady lumps now!

Actually they’re not lumps. They’re Twin Peaks. Big jugs of milk. They should probably have their own postcode. I have no idea what they weigh but every morning when I’m pulling the girls out of my eyes, I wonder… you know?

And as I sit here, typing…

One handed…

One of those jug-o-nauts is hooked up to an apparatus that is pulsing and buzzing with a low electrical hum which is extracting milk. Human milk. The technical term is called ‘expressing’ but I call it ‘juicing the boobs.’

I am a jersey cow.  With nips of steel.  A fem-bot.

It’s not uncommon for women to try expressing breast milk after having a baby for various reasons. For me it’s about comfort and control. Sticking a baby’s mouth on your titty ‘correctly’ involves more technique than a Grand Jeté en Avant** and if you don’t get the technique right, you end up with blisters, blood, and toe curling, teeth clenching pain every time they get on board for a drink.

And – even if you get the technique right; you still have no idea how much the baby is drinking… so how do you know if afterwards, when they’re crying – they’re still hungry, or they have wind, or even just feel like a ‘comfort suck??’

Anyway so here I am, having the milk sucked out of my left booz from a big round plastic pressurised cup, wishing there was an easier way to nourish my child with the antibodies that breast milk contains. So much dairy goodness in fact, that when my new baby got conjunctivitis at only a few days old, the midwives told me to ‘squirt some breast milk into his eye.’

I apologise now for the imagery, but it totally worked! His eye was cleared up within hours.


Knowing how beneficial breast milk is to babies and how the ingredient it contains: immunoglobulin IgA, which can cure infections and fight disease can’t be reproduced synthetically…

What if you can’t.
Or don’t.
Or won’t.

My first baby was breastfed for 8 months and I’m proud of that. Probably because it WAS hard and I persevered.

I currently have a five week old. This time it’s much harder.

Maddy and Mo (despite their size) aren’t making enough milk to feed him and so 5 days ago, I started replacing a few feeds with formula. And I feel like the devil. I feel neglectful and mean and selfish and cruel, and that I must be the most incapable mother alive.

Which makes me wonder… Why is there such a social stigma on women who formula feed?

Why do women who breast feed think they’re better? Why are they all “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and they’re like, it’s better than yours. Damn right it’s better than yours.”

Why do women who can’t breast feed feel like failures. Why do the midwives push ‘breast is best’ on every new mother?

WHY DO I feel like I’m doing my baby boy a disservice, when in actual fact, I’m probably doing him MORE of a disservice by being a run-down, psychotic, emotionally unstable wreck – which is what I am when I breastfeed and express.

Because instead of sitting here with this ridiculous apparatus attached to me, I COULD be sleeping. Or at least typing faster.

I WANT to breastfeed, but I’m so frickin’ annoyed that I hate it so much. I HATE IT!

HATE HATE HATE. And just typing that makes me feel nasty, and about as maternal as Courtney Love. If Miranda can do it why can’t I? And with red lipstick on for that matter? I mean look at her? Bitch! I want to go to her house and burn her at the stake!

So anyway, left with this dilemma combined with a physical inability to make enough milk at the moment, I decided to conduct various tests.


Sample A: Karricare formula.
Powdered milk gone sour? Something they give you in Thailand to go in your coffee?

Sample B:  Breastmilk.  Mine.
(BOOM! Cindy tasted her own milk. I swallow my own snot too sometimes when I have a cold and don’t have a tissue on me, so comparatively, I don’t think this information is totally shocking.)
It tasted like Skim Milk that had had about half a kilo of sugar mixed in. Actually it was more like sugar syrup.

Test Results: If eating sugar is fun, go right ahead and call them fun bags. Boobies are the clear winner here.
Breasts 1: Formula: 0

The test goes as follows:

Stand in front of a mirror and strip to the waist.
Take a pencil.

Stick the pencil under the breast. Lower the breast over the pencil.
If the pencil falls to the floor, go ahead – continue to nourish your child with boob milk, and celebrate by going bra-less and sticking your nipples to the wind.
But if that pencil stays for a fraction of a second, there has already been remarkable damage. DO NOT even go to the fridge without MAJOR support, and do what you can now to reverse the damage by discontinuing all suction to the area. Unless you want to wind up with sandbags in the wind; Two old socks with a couple of golf balls someone stuffed inside.

Test results: Let’s just say pencil case not required.
Breasts 1: Formula 1

There’s an argument for and against over which babies sleep better, breast fed or formula fed. Incidentally, whoever coined the phrase ‘sleeping like a baby’ to imply ‘good sleep’ should be punched in the face and forecd to spend a night at my house.

So – This morning I breast fed (direct from the source to make it fair) and the kid fell asleep mid feed. I have no idea how much he drank, but would assume that at the time he was full. I pulled him off, put him in bed, and he slept for half an hour, then woke up. I put him back to sleep again later, fighting him off my chest, where he slept for an hour.

Later I gave him 120mls of formula. He stayed awake for an hour and slept for 3.

Test results: Babies sleep better on a full stomach. I know his tummy was full after formula. Have no idea how much boob milk he drank – so assuming he fell asleep because he was in a state of bliss.
Breasts 1: Formula 2

Free time with 2 children. Forget about it. So of course the faster they drink, the better. This is about seeing which ‘feed’ takes longer.

Breast feed: 45 minutes. No idea how much he drank. Process complete when he comes off or falls alseep.

Formula feed: 120 mls took 12 minutes. Then had to wash and rinse bottles which took 10 minutes.

Test results: When your baby is just ‘comfort sucking’ on a bottle, you can tell because the milk level stays the same. But when they do it on your boob, you have no idea, so they spend longer on your boob sucking nothing than they do on a bottle.
Breasts 1: Formula 3


no time to feed yourself hey Salma?



Got all this from Wikipedia.Not sure how reliable that is but anyway…

  • The exact chemical properties of breast milk are not fully understood.
  • A mother’s breast milk changes in response to the feeding habits of her baby and over time, thus adjusting to the infant’s individual growth and development.
  • Breast milk includes the mothers’ antibodies that help the babies avoid or fight off infections and give their immature immune systems the benefit of their mothers’ immune system that has many years of experience with the germs common in their environments.
  • Use of infant formula is cited in numerous health risks. Studies have found infants in developed countries who consume formula are at increased risk for non-specific gastroenteritis, severe lower respiratory tract infections, atopic dermatitis, asthma, obesity, type 1 and 2 diabetes, sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS), eczema, necrotizing enterocolitis and autism when compared to infants who are breastfed
  • It has been discovered that iron supplementation in baby formula is linked to lowered I.Q. and other neuro-developmental delays

Test results: Umm, why do they call it breast milk? These girls are carrying liquid gold!
Breasts 2: Formula 3


Back to being aged 13… I was flat and my bra was for show. My boobs were a novelty and I had no idea of their potential or ability.

By the time I was in my 20’s I discovered that shaking my milk makers DID bring all the boys to the yard. I learnt that my rack was actually a secret source of power over men, and that having the right kind of boobs can result in social and economic gain.

Then comes a time when you actually make milk with your milk makers and shaking them just hurts your eyes. You understand why Anna Nicole Smith took drugs for her back pain. Your breasts stop being sexual, although they’re still powerful. They take on a life of their own, obligated to another human being for nourishment which is a huge responsibility. It’s a job. My boobs should be getting paid for this.

Yes my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. And I SHOULD charge! But they’re so massive that the boys in the yard go “Whoa!”

UPDATE: Bugger it. I’m putting this damn contraption in the bin. Gonna down a couple of cans of Red Bull or some other energy drink loaded with life-giving goodness, and take myself off to buy some cute little B-cup bras.

** A ballet step. A big leap forward whereby the dancer throws the foot forward, like a grand battement, at 90 degrees. The height of the jump depends on the strength of the thrust and the length of the jump depends on the strong push-off. The dancer strives to stay in the air to show a a definitely expressed attitude or arabesque.

When the dog barks, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad…

I’ve already done a post on a few of my favourite things, and in it I was referring to actual tangible things. I’ve decided to write today about some other pleasantries in my life, because truthfully I’m feeling annoyed and need to remember there’s plenty of good stuff in life.

Why am I snarky? Could be that I’m in the process of doing my tax, which includes deciphering between paid monies and expenses from 3 different areas of employment.

Could be that I’m craving all sorts of soft cheese and sorry; pregnancy rule book says a big fat NO to that one. (Yes I’m pregnant – Miranda Kerr, Isla Fisher and I just have SOOO much in common.)

Could be that in Darwin, the dry is over and the sweaty sticky months are close at hand.

Could be that my husband is going to Melbourne Cup INSIDE THE BIRDCAGE without me!

Could just be that I’m frustrated by our government (or lack thereof). It’s like our system of government is impotent. It exists, but it’s good for nothing right now.

So here are my 5 current favourite things that are not necessarily tangible. Hopefully as I refelct on them, I won’t feel so bad.


1. Microdermabrasions:
I never realised how essential these were. Okay it’s a bit like sticking the end of your vacuum cleaner on your face, but the after effects are life changing for at least 2 days. Plus you get the added bonus of a mini facial every time you have one, and there’s nothing better than looking over at the machine and seeing all the dead white dull skin that has been removed. Yuk, I know but it’s the same satisfaction you get from seeing the wax strip covered in hair follicles, or pouring dirty water down the sink after you’ve mopped your floor.  You say out loud, “Eeeuw,” but you’re secretly thrilled and think to yourself, “Gotcha!”


2. Earrings:
Not something I change on a daily basis, especially lately, but it was Elizabeth Taylor who said “Life without earrings is empty.” Before you go calling the Great Dame shallow, think for a moment about times when you’ve put on the perfect pair and realised you’ve totally changed your look from blah to brilliant. If you’re not sure what I’m talking about – here are some pics of celebs who knew how to work their ear bling. Imagine their ensembles without the earrings. See?




3.       Sunday morning pancakes:
What can I say about a 3 stack of pancakes drenched in maple syrup on a Sunday morning. Perhaps just this: They remind me to stop, enjoy, indulge, relax, and forget. Incidentally they’re better when someone else made them. Like a café that overlooks boats floating peacefully on the water.


4.       Dancing with my daughter to the Glee soundtrack
As if listening to the Glee soundtrack wasn’t awesome enough already… when I realised my 2 year old daughter was a total willing participant in singing and dancing around the lounge room with me (she tends to high-pitch squeal) I had one of those moments. An epiphany. I thought how at that moment there was nothing else in the world I should be doing, (yeah to hell with the laundry), and that this is what all those years growing up spent dancing and singing were for. All those childhood days spent in leotards and ringlets. All those teenage and early adulthood nights spent perfecting my craft on club dance floors. All of it – was just for this – with my girl.


5.       New book smell:
I love getting a new book. I love reading when they were 1st published. I love the bit where the author thanks everyone… but mostly I love taking the open book up to my nose and having a good long whiff. Mmmm… Is that what “hot off the press” smells like?

If so, then maybe I should speak to someone and bottle that smell as a fragrance. Obviously it would be called “Hot Off The Press” and I would have to get Jen Aniston to be the model for the fragrance.

Only she can rock the mature book reading, glasses wearing but not too cliché to be ridiculous look.  I realise she already has a fragrance but I think given her constant presence in gossip mags, she knows all about being hot off the press. Anyway I digress.  The problem with new book smell is that after you’ve read the book, the smell disappears. So you have to keep buying new books, which is fine by me.

So I wonder if anyone else is feeling crappy. If you are then feel free to share your current favourite things here.

Girls in White Dresses with Blue Satin Sashes…

You can relax. This isn’t going to be a post all about possibly one of the greatest movies ever made, The Sound of Music. Since I’ve been feeling rather blah! lately, I’ve been thinking about stuff that actually makes me feel good. Things that make me happy. A few of my favourite things.

And since my inspiration has been a lot like Kevin Rudd in the last couple of weeks: Going, going, gone…. I thought writing about my favourite things might make me feel better, and perhaps make you ponder your favourite things.

I should mention, this is not the first time I’ve made a list like this for self-induced therapy. Once after being dumped (I got dumped a fair bit in my late 20’s, no doubt karma for being the dumper in my teens and early 20’s) I made a list of 100 things I was grateful for.  Didn’t make me feel any better. I was still a lonely reject and presumed I was too fat, too ugly, and way too good for him anyway.

But I still have the list and a couple of those items will also be making my favourite things list today.

It’s a short list of 5, and completely and 100% subject to change. Not only because I’m slightly fickle, but also because certain things lose their appeal if they’re overdone.

So I’ll start.


1.       Nutella.

How can I not include Nutella? Particularly as there is a 750gm jar of the stuff sitting between me and the keyboard at this moment. Yes, it’s open. Yes there’s a spoon inside. Yes, in the few short paragraphs I’ve written so far, I’ve managed to take about 6 spoonfuls already. And now perhaps this gives you a better understanding of the term ‘lose appeal if overdone’ because I’m pretty sure by the end of typing here, I’ll be pushing it away in disgust, saying, ‘Uch, no more! What was I thinking?’

But before I get to that point let me tell you why Nutella is so good.

It’s gooey runny nutty smooth chocolate in a jar. Enough said.

2.       MAC Studio Fix

I once visited MECCA Cosmetics in Paddington, Sydney. The male makeup artist who was working that day asked me what I was currently using. I told him Mac Studio Fix. He acted as though I’d just told him I like to crush up dog poo with Vaseline and rub that on … I can kind of understand his reaction. Having worked on a cosmetic counter for 5 years, I know the importance of using dramatics when selling. In fact I probably did the same thing to a lady who told me she never cleaned her face. I was flabbergasted, and so was Phil – the makeup dude at Mecca.

He told me that I should not be using that kind of finish or consistency on my face unless I’m a newsreader. Ok, first of all, how did he know I wasn’t? Second – Do I look like I raided Christina Aguilera’s makeup bag? I mean, it might be on the side of heavy when it comes to coverage, but I have applied with caution and care.

And no offense to Phil, but he was wearing far more makeup than I was at the time. I took his card with his handwritten recommendations for my face away – without purchasing, because as he sampled soft, light, practically transparent little numbers on the back of my hand, I felt like I was cheating on my trusty Mac.

I wondered…

Will Prescriptives give me a free lippy when I bring back 6 empty containers? Can I apply this fluidy NARS stuff on the train? At the traffic lights? Under the table at dinner? In the loos? Can I put on this Stila stuff without getting makeup on my hands? Yes? Oh because I have to apply it with this particular paint brush? (Sigh)

No. I doubt there will ever be anything to replace the love and devotion I have for my Mac compact.  

3.       iPhone.

How did I ever live without it? Is it not the sexiest little gadget you’ve ever held in your hand? Incidentally, if any of you have iPhones, download the Word Game App, and let’s play scrabble. My player name is Cyclone Cindy. Scrabble is a subcategory of my favourite things list. Scrabble is like, the best game invented ever! It tests you on every level and I don’t think I’ve ever felt a greater sense of accomplishment and victory, than the day I wrote QUIZ on a triple word score. Boo-yah!

Back to my phone. Look, if you really want to know what’s so good about it, google it. But I will say how good it is to have one piece of equipment to carry around that you can:  googlewith, visit web sites, check emails, check facebook and twitter, call, text, check calendar, check diary, play music, play videos, download shows, play games, take photos and videos, download photos, etc etc etc. I realise there’s a new one out, but for now I’m extremely happy with mine.

4.       Actil 100% cotton 300 thread count sheets.

Living in Darwin, there’s no need for quilts or doona covers. I make my bed every day with a sheet, and a couple of cushions. White sheets. Only white. Because when we have visitors they are often horrified to discover they have left slightly yellow stains on the pillow case or sheets, from what I call the Darwin Midnight Sweats.  You see, because the minimum temperature is usually around 20 degrees overnight, you can sweat in your sleep.

White sheets can be bleached! That’s why hotels do it, and that’s why I do it. It’s also why I only have 100% cotton. Polyester, Percale, Sateen, etc all ad warmth. The sheets aren’t crisp and crunchy and cold. 100% cotton is.

Why Actil? Well I was a huge fan of Sheridan, but I think the sweat shops they use in China are starting to employ 3 year olds now too. The last set I bought were crooked, and the pillow cases wouldn’t line up seam to seam.  They’re 300 thread count is also not as thick or crisp.

Those sheets make me happy. I’m not very good at going to bed. No matter how tired I am, something compels me to stay up. But those sheets are like Stilnox for me. My brain thinks I’m not tired, but when I climb into that bed with those sheets, my body tells my brain it’s stupid, and passes out within minutes. It’s just wonderful, and perhaps the joy is escalated by the fact that I usually only allow myself 5-6 hours a night of such enjoyment.

Ooh, now I’m feeling sleepy. Time for another spoon of wholesome, chocolatey energy.


5.        I can’t believe I’m saying this… but… My thongs.

I have never really been a fan of wearing thongs. I know that makes me UN Australian, but I just don’t like walking on rubber. I also am not a huge fan of having a toe wedgie. (A barrier between my big and second toe).

However, on a recent trip to Melbourne I found a pair of lovely, comfortable, almost stylish tan leather thongs. They cost a bit more than your average pair of Havaianas. But I have worn them to death. Literally. They died yesterday.

I’m holding a funeral for them at the end of the week, once the autopsy is completed and I have determined what exactly caused them to break. Right now they’re in the shoe box they came in, with all the other shoes, as if nothing is wrong. I’m still in the denial phase of grief.

Perhaps like all things that die, they feel more important and worthwhile once they’re gone. Much like Michael Jackson. And Kevin Rudd.  That old saying, “You don’t know what you got til it’s gone.” Too true. Particularly in the case of my thongs.

Today I felt like going naked. No shoe could possibly deliver the simplicity, comfort or style that that pair of thongs brought to almost any outfit.  What to wear when your shoes are gone?

So that’s my list. My 5 favourite things at the moment.  Do I feel better?

I feel a bit sick from Nutella overload. I feel amazed and very grateful to have such amazing technology at my fingertips. I feel secure in the knowledge that no matter what kind of stunt my face pulls on me, there’ll always be coverage. Always even tones and the appearance of smooth skin.  I feel saddened to have lost some great footwear, but thankful I had a glorious 6 months with them. They took me to some amazing places. 5 different states and all over Bali. And – I feel so happy to know there’s a very comfortable and inviting bed waiting for me, whenever I choose to visit.

Perhaps soon. (yawn).

Of course there are many more things that would qualify as ‘favourites.’ Favourite music, favourite pizza, favourite shops, favourite actors… the list could have been very long, and perhaps I’ll visit this topic again one day under a sub category.

Because when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favourite things and then I don’t feel so bad.

(Favourite movie? Yes. One of a few. SUCH a brilliant movie, had to pay a small homage).

So what are your mood enhancing favourite things?

Friday Quickie vs Designer Dinner Party

Friday nights I don’t cook.

Mainly because it’s just me and my 1 year old at home, so she gets her usual healthy meal, and I – being the oh so healthy girl I am, pretend my stomach is a big green wheelie bin and proceed to fill it with all manner of junk.

I do this because I have no desire to spend an hour making something for myself. If I can zap it – I’ll eat it, but if it requires frying, baking, boiling, grilling or steaming then no. Too much effort.

Tonight I’m planning a super quick meal. The key ingredient is chocolate. Directions for preparing tonight’s meal: open packet of biscuits, remove desired amount of biscuits. Place remaining biscuits in fridge. Serving Suggestion: Enjoy with a glass of Diet Coke.

 I know it’s unhealthy, but it’s quick and there are so few opportunities to get a night alone with the computer / tv / book I’m reading.

Anyway. Tonight’s menu aside… I realised I don’t loathe cooking entirely. But I only enjoy it when I get feedback. Since my husband practically rates each meal I cook out of 10, luckily I enjoy the challenge of preparing him meals. When we have people over, it’s usually for a BBQ – a cooking apparatus I dare not venture towards as I am ‘without penis.’  Instead, I end up being the creator of fairly stock standard salads.

BUT I wonder sometimes (usually after watching those cooking shows on TV) if I could take the heat and live up to the challenge of creating and cooking for a dinner party of 8.

I’ve never had a dinner party. It always sounds so glamorous: to be the hostess of a fabulous dinner party where your guests mingle in your designer lounge room chomping on bite sized delicacies while you effortlessly plate up the Ocean Trout with a Celeriac Rémoulade topped with Beetroot Mousse.

Hmmm. Can you get that catered?

So, I started to imagine having a dinner party. What would I serve? What would I wear? WHO WOULD I INVITE?

In real life I would invite my Darwin friends who have become like family.

In fantasy life (and this is not an original concept by any means) if I could invite anyone, knowing they would actually come, because we are like SO CLOSE, I would invite the following 6 people: (It’s a dinner party for 8, and I’m assuming my husband will want to be there so he can meet all my fabulously gorgeous, successful, famous friends…. Plus I would want him there to take out the rubbish and empty bottles as required)

1. Jack Nicholson – Imagine the stories. I think I would just stare at him all night, the guy is a living legend. I wonder if he would wear his sunnies. Maybe we all could. Although that may impair my ability to see if the roasted lamb loin is actually ready.

2. Madonna – Love her or hate her, you can’t deny she’d be entertaining. I wonder if she’d speak with an English or American accent. I’d want to ask her if Sean Penn snorted coke off her naked body at any time. He seems like the type who would.  I would also try and work out (just quietly to myself) what a 22 year old hot male Brazilian model sees in a 50+ woman who has man hands and wears leotards.

3. Ellen DeGeneres – I just think she’d be hilarious and I think it always helps to have someone present at a dinner party who can make jokes and have everyone laughing – just incase your meal turns out to be rubbish. Actually, I think I would let Ellen choose the music for the night too. KD Lang? FINE by me….

4. Ryan Reynolds – I think Ryan is a talented and highly accomplished actor. That and he’s a MASSIVE spunk. Yeah now that I think about it, no matter how entertaining Jack Nicholson got, I probably wouldn’t be staring at him at all if Ryan was there. I wonder whether or not he would shave for the occasion, and what type of shirt he’d wear. I could tell him not to bother…  Hmmm….

5. Carrie Fischer – Here’s a woman with some life experience under her belt. A self confessed alcoholic she is also an author, actress, and the celebrity child of silver screen stars Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds. She starred in one of the biggest movie trilogies of our time, married a man who turned out to be gay – but not before having his child (fascinating…), and her latest novel: Wishful Drinking, is about to become a doco on HBO.

6. Eddie Murphy – I would just want him to come so that when Ellen tells a joke, I can hear him laugh out loud, live and in person. He has one of those infectious laughs that is so unique and funny. I would also BEG him to break into some of his “Klump Family” roles…. Hercules Hercules….  (I realise if Eddie came, I would have to place a great big swear jar in the middle of the table. It might be interesting to see who ends up contributing more: Eddie, Madge, Carrie or Jack.)

Incidentally, in no way am being cruel when I say this, but if Muhummed Ali was not ‘non compos nientes ‘he would totally have made my list, possibly replacing Ryan. Yes even I would forgo eye candy for some fascinating stories: but I have a hunch his stories got forgotten when his brain cells got beaten to a pulp.

SO…. who would be on your invitation list?

Watch out fridge – I’m bored!

When thoughts of ‘What to do?’ become thoughts of ’What to eat…?’  I can almost predict that in a few weeks my jeans will be tight and I’ll be cursing myself for even venturing down the confectionary aisle at all.

Sometimes (usually times when I’m happy with my weight) I assure myself and others that my food issue days are over. That my relationship with food is on track and that we have put all of our differences aside forever and instead have become good friends: Respectful of each other, and kind to each other.

BUT! If any weight creeps on – and it only takes a couple of kilos – then I find myself facing all kinds of emotions I’d forgotten about: panic, fear, self doubt, self loathing…. and a severe hatred and obsession with food.

So in the last 2 weeks I’ve gained 2 kgs. No big deal. I can lose 2 kilos in 2 days if I really want. Can’t I? 

When I try to lose weight – I can’t. When I gain weight, I find it impossible to forget about food, because suddenly I’m panicking about every morsel that I put in my mouth.

But when I forget about food – that’s when I seem to maintain a healthy weight. And that’s why being busy is the best thing for me physically and mentally. Having nothing to use my brain for makes me resort to using my hands to feed my mouth instead.

Right now there’s plenty I could be doing. Washing, vacuuming, cleaning the bathrooms, sewing on buttons, making crafty things, baking banana bread…. BORING!

This doesn’t exercise my brain. Shopping! Now that’s good brain work. I think if I could shop all day every day I would never physically desire food. NEVER. Because all my urges for consumption would be being met in wonderful little shops that smell divine, where they wrap everything in tissue and put it in a lovely little bag.

Yes. Sadly, when I ‘m bored – I eat. Food fuels my body’s urge to commit to an activity. What to do? What to eat?

That fear and panic I mentioned… it’s already here. 2 kilos and I’m freaking out. Food seems so dangerous right now, in fact food is the antichrist and succumbing to its delights will only make me miserable.  Must. Practise. Will power…. Must. Resist. All. Food.

I can recognise how ridiculously unhealthy that statement is…. But they are some of the truest words I have ever typed.

This is partly why blogging has been better for me than a thirty minute a day walk. Every day I wonder… What to write about? What’s happening in the world? What sites will I visit? And as I wonder, I’m usually consuming a fairly healthy lunch, but Im not thinking about the lunch… I’m thinking about other stuff.

But today (as I’ve discovered happens occasionally) is one of those days I can’t get inspired. Hmmm, let’s see what’s making news? Sandra Bullock kissed Scarlett Johansson at MTV awards? Covered that yesterday. Adriana Xenides died? Sad but what is there to say….  The amazing and remarkable cleaning powers of Chucks Magic Eraser? Hmm, no. Paris Hilton launches her 10th fragrance? Yawn! Hmm. What will I write about? What can I eat?

So here I am writing about what to write about in an effort to keep a safe distance from the fridge door, where White Chocolate Tim Tams a jar of Nutella and Butterscotch Ice cream are waiting for me.


Absolutely, and that is why I have compiled the following list of the top 10 things to do when you’re bored and find yourself hankering for a mid-afternoon chocolate binge.  Please note, none of these activities require chores or female homeliness.

1. Start a children’s novel. I’ve read like 1,000 and think I could do an ok job.

2. Get onto You Tube and watch everything on Britney you can find: From all the wacko fans that wish her and Justin were still together and have made ridiculous tribute movies, to the wannabe Britney impersonators who have made home videos dancing in their underwear in their lounge rooms with their BFF (or worse – mum) recording.  You might still be bored, but you’ll be morbidly fascinated.

3. Get in your car and go shopping.

4. Go to your closet and try on the smallest, tightest fitting pair of jeans you have.  If the muffin top doesn’t keep you from scoffing half a pack of Tim Tams, nothing will.  If you don’t have small jeans, try on your wedding dress, or even just a formal gown. Preferably one that clings to your curves… no spanx allowed.

5. Write a list. Things to do. Things to buy. Things to clean. (You must not actually clean – just write about what needs cleaning), Things to fix. Or my personal favourite: Countries to visit when I’m 40.

6. Go through all your old photos of ex boyfriends. And – read the letters they sent you. This is great therapy. It reminds you of the following…

  • You were so dumb back then
  • You were such a bitch back then
  • You were so YOUNG and attractive and well rested back then
  • You had SUCH good times back then
  • Food was so insignificant back then because you were too busy having fun.

7. Re-organise your nail polishes. Decide which colours to chuck (anything resembling blue please?) and which to keep (red never goes out of fashion) then give yourself a little mani/pedi. I my case, this also involves plucking toe hairs out so as not to distract from the pretty colour.

8. Browse through the IKEA catalogue. That should take you through til dinner time when It’s ok to eat again.

9. Sit on the toilet and read a magazine. I MUST note that I don’t normally condone sitting on the toilet for anything other than toilet biz. In fact I don’t understand why men everywhere think this is a perfectly acceptable place to relax with a good read, other than the possibility that it’s comfortable for their nadgies given that they can hang freely over the bowl….. HOWEVER – reading on your couch may prompt a “Hmmm, a cup of tea would be nice. Tim Tam to go with it perhaps?” And before you know it the pack is almost empty. I highly doubt you will have the urge to eat or drink anything while sitting on the loo. If you do? You might want to see someone about that.

10. Make a phone call to someone you miss, who also lets you do all the talking. Sorry, but this means anyone with problems or issues is off the cards.  If you’re busy listening, then you might want to occupy your mouth.

And that’s it. Meanwhile, it’s almost been an hour since I started typing. That’s one whole hour I wasn’t tempted to visit the fridge. And now, I might take some of my own advice and participate in number 4, followed by number 10. Who will I call?

Perhaps a therapist, to discuss my severe issues and bad relationships with my body and with food.

D is for Donut. No Detox. No Donut.

If the saying that you are what you eat is true, then given the past 2 days, I must be a human rubbish bin full of crap. I am a nutritionist’s nemesis, a dietician’s disaster, and the opposite of Woolworths, because I most certainly am NOT a fresh food person. Not unless you count Krispy Kremes that just came FRESH out of the oven great big bucket of fat and sugar as ‘fresh food.’

Well there’s the Krispy Kremes, the cheese and crackers, the Cadbury Snack chocolate, the Butterscotch ice-cream and the three big spoon-full’s of Nutella.

That was yesterday. Let‘s not discuss today. It’s not pretty, and neither am I.

I should mention that I was on a flight yesterday with an itinerary that required me to leave home at 10.30am, with a return home (to an empty fridge) by 6pm. So, my stomach usually sees slightly more nutrition than that.

I flew Jestar – and always forget that unlike Qantas, they don’t bring you a tray with a bread roll, a juice, a ‘Neil Perry inspired’ frozen dinner with at least 1 vegetable, and a nice small single serve of chocolate. 

So I did what many people who fly Jetstar do…. I perused the airport food hall and found myself in line at Krispy Kremes thinking … Ooh, new flavours!!  This was a low point for me, because for literally YEARS I have been looking donuts in the eye and telling them to bugger off, but yesterday I cracked and bought a 6 pack.

I should establish that where I live there are only 2 far away, second rate donut eateries – hence the abandonment of such ideas as a sandwich, or wrap, or Boost Juice.

Anyway so yesterday was a Bad Food Day and I won’t beat myself up over it too much because they don’t often happen.  And when they do, I make up for it in the days that follow by avoiding junk and hiding the jar of Nutella at the back of the pantry where I can’t see it.

But do I detox?

No. I have NEVER officially detoxed.

There are people who SWEAR by it not only as a way to eliminate nasty toxins from the body that certain foods put there, and to drop a few kilos, but also – and more interestingly – as a way of re-programming or starting over.  They take their body back to zero, re-evaluate their diet, and make a conscious effort to feed their bodies only wholesome nutritious food.

They give their body a rest from processing anything processed.

A naturopath once told me (after I had expressed interest in detoxing and wondered what the best way to do it was) that our body detoxes itself. Our blood cleans itself, our kidneys filter out rubbish, literally – waste, and toxins are released constantly in this way, and also through our hair, skin etc.

She then told me the best way to help your body clean itself is with a warm cup of water with lemon or lime, (apparently anything bitter wakes up the kidneys, and therefore get the metabolism and digestive system going for the day,) and by drinking LOTS of water.

So recently a friend of mine on Facebook was updating her status with her daily detox diary. I think around day 3 she mentioned something about feeling yuk, as in wanting food and tired. So innocently I commented the words of my naturopath, thinking that if she was having such a bad time and that detoxing was proving to be too hard, then maybe the information would comfort her. (This is a young working mother with 4 children who I can imagine, needs all the energy she can get!!)

It turns out I opened a can of fairly toxic worms. Not that anyone was rude or critical, but it turned into a bit of a comment-fest for Detox Devotees.

I should mention that I admire people who have the will and the determination for the good of their own body to be so committed to such a cause.  I think people who can alter their habits for a period of time to give their body a ‘rest’ or ‘upgrade’ is admirable.  I can’t. I don’t.

Truthfully, I would love to try detoxing just to see what all the fuss is about, but I know myself enough by now to know my limitations. Besides, there are other things torturing me on a daily basis like sleep deprivation without the added torture of avoiding bread, or drinking straight castor oil, olive oil or vinegar right before bed. (Yech!)

There are of course celebs who swear by detox. Gwyneth Paltrow dedicated an entire website called GOOP  to her cleansing rituals and has said of her most recent detox, “It was not what you would characterize as pretty. Or easy. It did work, however.”  

Here is a woman who shares with us such tidbits as the dangers of ‘Master Cleansing,’ how she got in shape for her latest movie, her recipes for quick roast chicken and non sugar cookies, and where to eat out next time we’re in Marrakesh.  (Excellent, because I’ve been wondering about that for while now, and I’m back there again next week.) 

Paltrow claims her purpose for Goop is a charitable one: to share the vast cache of knowledge she has acquired as a result of being beautiful, wealthy and famous. I mostly read it for a giggle, and also to see if she’s ever going to tell us what happened between her and Brad.

But her commitment to diet and exercise is exhausting.

I have done it before… gone on diets and exercised madly for weight loss or health. But I’ve been riding the yo-yo since I was about 14, and I’m over it. Plus, I’ve realised that it’s almost impossible to follow every dietary recommendation.  Seems like every day an ‘expert’ is providing us with new information on what we should or shouldn’t eat.  It’s enough to make you cross eyed, let alone crazy.

One day red wine is good for you, the next it’s full of sugar and bad. Same goes for berries.  One day salmon and tuna are good for you, the next I hear that it’s full of oil and fattening.  Same goes for nuts.   One day butter is bad for you, the next day… umm, actually butter is still bad.


I have learned to listen to my body. It talks to me all the time. Not in an Olivia Newton John, Lets Get Physical  kind of way… But it tells me what I should be eating. As long as I listen, I’m usually fairly healthy and don’t gain weight.

If my body tells me it needs energy, I give it chocolate. If it feels like it needs water, I skull a 750ml pump.

My body is actually talking to me right now. It’s telling me that it feels a bit like a big round ball of fatty dough that’s been dumped in hot lard and covered in sugar and chemicals. So I’m listening, and  I’m going to do what anyone in my position would do….

Detox? Naaah!

Finish off the other 4 donuts for breakfast and lunch so that by tomorrow the temptation is gone, and I can go back to normal healthy eating.

True or False: If you can read, you can cook.

I’d like to answer this one in double time and say – FALSE.

I was considering leaving the answer until the end of the post, waiting until I’d discussed, dissected and then proven my argument. But I’d actually rather forget last night’s dinner, and how I actually came to this conclusion.   Let’s just say I thought I’d be creative and ad lentils, and it didn’t go down so well.

I once read that if you can read you can cook. I’m not sure where I read it, but I think it might have been at the preface of a really old cook book from my grandmother’s day, because it said something like: Follow the instructions and make sure you measure everything exactly. Check the temperatures are correct. If it still doesn’t taste right – you probably just need to add more fat!

No celebrity chef in their right mind would be dishing out that kind of advice in this day and age of The Obesity Epidemic.  Unless it’s Ian Hewittson. But he does a lot of things I don’t believe qualify him as an ‘actual’ chef. Like opening a can of pesto and adding that to the meat he had the butcher cut for him.

You would never catch Jamie Oliver pulling a slick move like that. Nooooo! First he goes to his garden where he’s growing it all – organically of course. Then he gets out the mortar and pestle… grinds that garlic and basil and parmesan and those pine nuts – and Hey-Pesto!  Just like that! And the meat? Oh Jamie’s practically out there killing the animal, and naturally – in the most humane and kindly way.

How the crap does he always make it look so easy?  And so quick?  Is it because he speaks a million miles an hour? You feel like things are moving faster than they really are? I mean have you ever tried to actually write down what Jamie Oliver is cooking? I did once. Lamb shanks where he used anchovies (pronounced ancha-vees), instead of salt. I’m sure I left out about 5 things. They were barely edible.

I should learn not to watch chefs like Jamie Oliver and then use their creations as a way to gauge my own skills in the kitchen. Like I don’t watch Michael Phelps to determine if I can swim.  And I don’t watch Beyonce on Video Hits and try to recreate those exact moves myself? Oh wait yes I do.

People who can cook don’t have to measure seasoning. People who can cook don’t have conniptions every time they have to cut fat off raw meat. People who can cook can cut up an onion and watch TV at the same time. People who can cook don’t measure the amount of olive oil or butter they first put in the pan. They just throw it in there with gay abandon… so smugly – knowing it’s the start of something brilliant and delicious.

I mean I have had the odd gamble on the “I’m Just Going To Throw It All In” game. I don’t usually win though.  The only time it’s ever worked for me is if I’m using pasta and mascarpone cheese. But you could add brussel sprouts and monkey feet to that – and it would still probably taste good.

I tend to have a bit of a repertoire. Mine includes a few varieties of pasts, risotto (but I need the recipe for that), Lennards chicken schnitzel with mashed potatoes and broccolini, the cous cous where you just ad water, and any of the El Paso Mexican meals. Which leads me to last night’s dinner, and why I thought using a Donna Hay recipe in conjunction with the instrcutions on the back of the box was a good idea…. but again – let’s not got there.

If my husband is not going to be home at dinner time, I usually make myself breakfast for dinner. The key ingredient (and you might want to grab a pen and jot this one down – because it is really good), is cornflakes. I usually add a low fat cow’s milk, but you can replace that with soy milk, or rice milk, or a full fat variety if you like.  If you’re a sweet tooth you can ad honey or sugar, but since this IS DINNER, I prefer to go without, and save the pack of Tim Tams for dessert.

Another favourite meal of mine is cheese on toast. Or peanut butter on toast. Both quick, and both excellent sources of protein. 

You know now that I think about it, I am very good at potato salad. And – thanks to my ex boyfriends Sicilian mother who instilled in me the importance of being able to prepare meals for my ‘fianzata’ my ‘salsa al pomodoro e polpette di carne’ aren’t too bad. (Meatballs and Tomato Sauce) Actually, I don’t pull them out of my chef’s hat very often – but when I do I get rave reviews.

And you know what else I just realised – I actually get requests for my chocolate brownies ….. Yes I know – Nigella Lawson – watch your back!

Truth? I’m probably not THAT bad a cook. But I can’t figure out why the dishes that require me to use a recipe are the one I stuff up big time.

I have attempted a million dishes ‘straight from the recipe’ that have been monumental disasters! Hang on…. maybe I actually can’t read.

Or maybe it’s because I find myself skimming over the recipe the same way I look at the instructions for assembling a bookshelf from Ikea.

Perhaps my earliest assumption was wrong. Maybe if you can read – you CAN cook.

Perhaps they should put this in the preface of every reputable cookbook instead: 

If you are impatient, think you know it all, and don’t intend to study each recipe carefully and make sure you have the right ingredients – you can’t cook – so don’t bother!

Thongage: brutal, bizarre or brilliant?

I first came across this story last week. It ran in the NT News and tells of a Darwin restaurant owner fed up with people wanting to dine wearing thongs, (the footwear not the bum floss). I planned to do a post on this – a light hearted look at the evolution and progression of thongs, from beach wear to formal dining. But after I read the entire story I became enraged, so angry – that I had to turn off my computer.

30 minutes worth of scowling later (while my poor husband listened to me journo-bash) I decided to write the post on what I really thought……

Then – about 3 hours after completing the post, I realised I was over reacting. It was a cyclone cindy moment – about a category 3 – and so I decided to edit somewhat, to save myself another defamation lawsuit.

Before continuing – here is the story that ran in the NT News on-line on Thursday 31 March:

A DARWIN restaurant is charging patrons $10 for wearing thongs while they dine.  The “thongage” charge is announced in a sign on the door of John Spellman’s Tramontana restaurant on McMinn St.

Last night Mr Spellman said the “campaign” was setting the tone for his “boutique” restaurant. “It’s a formal restaurant – tablecloths, napkins. I wear shoes and socks,” he said.

“There’s actually a button on the register. I just put it on the bill – you don’t have to argue about it. Two lamb chops, one thongage.

“Why not have somewhere in town where people can dress up and be decent … a lady comes in dressed to the nines, guy’s wearing T-shirt and shorts.”

The article continued.  I won’t insert all of it because it’s rubbish.

What really confused me, is why the journalist decided to combine the story of an eccentric man charging thongage, with quotes from locals – citing café or restaurant DIS-service, as if the two are equally as bad!  

Sorry, but you can’t compare a guy’s peculiar attempt at trying to maintain a sophisticated vibe, to  a water jug being brought to a table containing a cigarette butt. The two references don’t even belong in the same Adam Sandler movie, let alone the same newspaper article.

Someone pass the scissors, because here is where my knickers got in a great big knot!  The story ended like this:


A GROUP decided not to eat at Indian eatery Garam Masala after being told the corkage charge was $6. The cafeteria at Royal Darwin Hospital charges 30c for a serve of soy sauce to go with a $1.20 dim sim.


Try paying for all the fees that come with having a liquor license, and then NOT charging corkage when your customers bring their own.   Try paying the staff to clean the wine glasses and then polish them – the very glasses that held the wine that you did not charge corkage for.   Try running a hospital café where hundreds of people eat every day, and give free soy sauce to every person that wants it. Do you realise what your bill for soy sauce would be at the end of the month?

I won’t name the journo and wish him harm, like I did in my original outburst, but I question the journalist’s commitment to objectivity.  The article failed to mention that the ‘thongage’ money goes to charity. I guess that snippet wasn’t parallel with the rest of his ‘cafe bashing’ angle.

It was a one-sided story for the sake of sensationalism. Although seriously, how much credibility should I bestow on a journalist or editor who makes “DOG KILLED BY YOWIE” a front page headline…  I think it might be time for him to go and cash his reality check.

Berating done.  Back to the story.

So John Spellman is Darwin’s own fashion police, fining those who fail to abide by his rules of regalia, his laws of footwear.


It’s an interesting solution and incidentally, I think it’s genius. Not only has he and his restaurant scored MAJOR free publicity, but he’s doing something which in Darwin is almost impossible to do: Enforce a standard to create a more sophisticated atmosphere.  And if you think it won’t work, then think back to a road that you’ve been caught speeding on.  Ten bucks says you won’t do it again. Not there anyway.

I know what you’re thinking… Why doesn’t he simply turn thong-wearers away?  Let me explain.  This is Darwin.  He might end up with empty tables. Every second person wears thongs.  The cliché is alive and well.

It’s no lie that Darwin is a unique place. Not only because it’s landscapes and wildlife are some of the most amazing and beautiful I have seen on tropical waters, but also for its people and their lifestyle.

And part of that lifestyle is the laid back, easy going nature of many locals. That and the fact that Darwin is largely a tourist destination, means thongs are a popular choice of footwear. Even I – who have always felt uncomfortable walking on rubber, have succumbed. And despite the fact that there are some very fancy looking thongs around, no matter how much they sparkle, they’re not for everywhere.


Cyclone Cindy’s Guide to Wearing Thongs (on your feet). 

Gym No
Shopping Yes
Beach Of course
Visiting friends Yes
Trackside / Races Sorry – No
Fishing / Boating Yes
Pub meal Yes
Upmarket restaurant No
Wedding Depends
Ball / formal event No
Construction site No
The office Probably not
Home Yes
Casual café Yes


So while charging your customers a fine for choosing to go against a dress code might seem bizarre, dress standards have been around forever. I’ve seen plenty of people get rejected from venues for inappropriate attire. It’s the venue’s right to determine how a customer dresses. Studies have been done. What we wear has a huge impact on how we behave. It’s not about a venue being snobby. It’s about a venue wanting no fights, or polite and courteous patrons who won’t graffiti, or steal or break stuff. 


It is well within a business’s right to turn away a customer. Not recommended – but not against the law either. Are there people I would ‘refuse entry’ into my house? Absolutely! Not even if they paid me $10.

So seriously, is John Spellman THAT crazy?

In the on-line version of the article, a highlighted line read: Is the ‘thongage’ charge justified? – leave your comment below. 

Reading some of the comments was like the garbage tip for my eyes. Like this stinky remark:
Mate its Darwin, Its Territory and its Territorian lifestyle. If you don’t like it, Leave it. Get
out of here we don’t need you. I’ll spend $100 on bait rather than paying $10 thongage for a
crap food. You don’t belong here mate , you are wasting your time and our time

Or this one, also grammatically incorrect:
Sanctimonious John Spellman should not be so arrogant as to the standard of his patrons attire.

I think this one was my favourite, summed it up 100%:


Some people think #1: Meat much?

Here is today’s Some People Think: Thoughts on Good Friday.

(Please note, this post is only 400 words)

  • Some people think it’s wrong to eat red meat on Good Friday.
  • Some people include chicken in their list of Meats To Avoid. And despite pork being the other white meat, some people think this is also a no-no.
  • Some people think “Meat? Food in general? Ech! Pass the Panadol Rapid and the Berocca, last night was HUGE and this hangover is killing me!”
  • Some people think meat is bad on Good Friday because Jesus died and he shed blood, and so eating an animal with blood is wrong.
  • Some people think they’d better get to the Fish Markets early to avoid the rush and get the nice prawns.
  • Some people think eating meat on Good Friday is wrong because… er….. why is that again? Um, cause… well they just never have?
  • Some people think the no-meat rule is a nice rest for your arteries, or waistline, or both.
  • Some people think eating any kind of meat on Good Friday is fine and don’t think twice about roasting a duck or throwing a few steaks & snags on the barbie.

  • Some people think Good Friday doesn’t change a thing, they’re already vegetarians or vegans.
  • Some people think they are so glad to be Roman Catholic this time of year… Sure they have to sit through mass, but there’s amazing feasts to follow, including Nonno’s polpette and Zia’s Biscotti.
  • Some people think Good Friday is the perfect opportunity to promote tins of tuna and salmon steaks in-store.
  • Some people think Good Friday is a great excuse to bail on cooking, and get fish n’chips for dinner, or pizza – but a vegie one please…
  • Some people think Easter is an important time to be with family and celebrate the life of Jesus – but are still ok with a ham sandwich.
  • Some people think Easter is more than one day of no meat, and go for days prior to Easter abstaining from something they love .
  • Some people think, “Gee I could really go a lamb kebab,” but their dead grandmother would be looking down on them and disapproving. Plus, the kebab shop is probably shut!
  • Some people think Easter is the best time to sit around eating, drinking, and being merry.

I think the meat argument is a waste of time because why would you bother eating savoury when you could be breaking open warm hot cross buns, smothering them in butter, or stuffing your face with chocolate !!

What do YOU think?