Honeymoon & Other Happy Holidays

There was a time in our lives, as unbelievable as it is now, when we thought we might never be able to have children.  So we thought, what the hell, we'll travel.

London, Paris, New York - they're nice places, I've heard. But we went to Dubbo instead. As you do.  Especially if you're a couple of bogans.

For our honeymoon we had booked a trip to Tasmania on the Spirit of Tasmania.  This involved driving to Melbourne at the time as the boat didn't depart from Sydney. Miraculously, Mick had somehow persuaded me to do this as I have a fear of boats and water. Apparently love really is blind.

The trip accross the Bass Strait went smoothly. We had booked all accommodation with a budget motel chain. Let's just call them 'Best Bogan'.  The first place we checked into, I went into reception.

"Hello," I said, approaching the lady at reception "we have a booking." She checked our details then exclaimed "Oh, it's your honeymoon!"
"Yes," I said, wondering how she knew.
"We're giving you the honeymoon Suite!" she beamed. Okay.

We entered the room.  It was the same as any other run of the mill motel room.  Except for the giant, red, shiny, love heart shaped water bed in the middle of the room. Classy.

From Hobart we travelled on to Cradle Mountain.  Micky Blue Eyes  really enjoys nature.  In spite of the fact that he is actually an Accountant, he prefers to ignore that and think of himself as an Albhy Mangels type of adventurer when we're on holidays.  However, this was our honeymoon.  It's supposed be to romantic, right?


Somewhere in Tasmania. I can't remember where
exactly, it was 17 years ago for FFS. 

A four hour walk around the lake in the rain while starving and nearly passing out from hunger, wasn't exactly cutting it.  Neither was the near death experience of a cruise on the river Strahan through Hell's Gate.  And I know why they call it that. This boat trip and another one to Maria Island, certainly did absolutely nothing to cure my fear of boats and water.  I freak out going on the Manly ferry now.

The following year we headed over to Perth, Western Australia and stayed in the Park Royal in the city.  We have fond memories of sitting in the foyer sipping cappuccinos while a piano player tinkled away in the background.  Such is a thing is impossible now. Sigh.  We hired a car and headed up north to Monkey Mia.

The only thing to actually do at Monkey Mia was sit on a beach, albiet, a stunningly beautiful beach, and wait for dolphins to decide whether or not they wish to appear. They did, eventually.

Another memorable vacation involved a trip up to Cairns in sunny Queensland.  We spent several days staring at the four walls of the motel room while a cyclone raged outside.  At one point, it became deadly calm and Mick remarked that he'd love to go for a walk.  Just then the announcer on the radio said "You'd have to be out or your mind to go out there now."  Apparently it was the 'eye' of the cyclone passing over so everything becomes still and calm until it starts raging away again.

In spite of this, we did make out to see the Great Barrier Reef and I actually went snorkelling, which is a minor miracle considering my intense fear of water.  Not to mention being seen in a swim suit.

On yet another holiday at Coolum on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland, Mick suddenly decided to become my personal trainer and had me jogging up a hill daily.  We were into our long fertility trek by now and were trying to get fit (long story for a whole other blog).

 The following year we went to Darwin. We thought this was like visiting the 7th Circle of Hell. We were wrong.  We discovered that is actually Broken Hill in the middle of January.  Somehow I survived the heat, blissfully unaware that I was pregnant. Maybe the jogging worked, not sure.

Our happy holidays reached a whole new level with the arrival of children.  Now any jaunts around winding roads are filled with the wonderful sounds of Mr8 puking his guts up.  This happened on our trip to Tassie (again) last year. Not to mention the relaxing flight to get there, when we received the wrath of the flight attendant numerous times for not being able to control a recalcitrant Mr3 who proceeded to take his seat belt off as we were preparing to land and busy himself turning on the overhead lights. Fun.

And the fun continues...as we are in the process of planning for our next adventure. Which exciting destination will we choose for a September school holidays road trip? Dubbo? Orange? Timbuktu or Woop Woop?  Stay tuned for some (not so) exciting developments.

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To Be A Bogan, Or Not To Be A Bogan? That Is The Question

As you know by now, Micky Blue Eyes, the boys and I live in the truly glamorous area of Sydney I've called Boganville.  The blog title is a bit of a give away. 

This begs the obvious question.  Are we, indeed, bogans? I must confess, I'm not really sure that we are.

I am currently sitting here in my most alluring outfit of old tracky daks and a polar fleece jacket that I have owned for years. In a home that is in utter disarray. A ramshackle old fibro box.  All extremely classy.  We will usually have some sort of elegant and refined meal for dinner. Like bangers and mash.

On the other hand, I'm not terribly fond of many of the things that the stereo-typical bogan supposedly is.Which, according the web-site Things Bogans Like include:

• Reality TV
•  Acca Dacca
•  Tatoos
• Meat Lovers Pizza
• Pauline Hanson, and erm..
•  Hot Asian Chicks

I mean, I have nothing against Hot Asian Chicks, of course, they're perfectly fine.  They're just not really  my thing, if you know what I mean.

The list is very comprehensive and can be found here.


Frankly I'm not even entirely sure what Dikileaks is, which is #205 on the list.  Can anybody tell me? On second thoughts, do I really want to know?

In fact the only things (or celebrities really), that I do like, after a quick squiz at that list, are Michael Buble and Sarah Jessica Parker, in spite of her alleged resemblance to a horse. I must admit, I am also rather partial to a mild curry.

However, not one of my boys has a rats tail. Or a wacky, weirdly spelt name that sounds like something out The Days Of Our Lives. Only worse.  You know, something like Blayze or Foxx or Jaxxon.  Apparently those are just some of the Baby Names Bogans Like, as well as:

• Calcypher (I guess you could shorten it to Cal)
• Caramel ( I thought this was a milk shake flavour, not a name. Silly me.)
• Chaos (well, children do sometimes cause chaos so it could be apt)
• Chardonnay ( Yes please, but chilled and in a wine glass, not on my child's birth certificate)
• Frolic (once again, it could be apt where children are concerned as they often do. Frolic, that is)
• Luscious  (Sounds a tad like a porn name, but maybe that's just me)

I could go on, but the list is rather long. 

In addition to my boys having boring names, I am so tedious and tragic that I don't have any tatoos or piercings.  To make matters worse, my favourite music is Carpenters. In other words, Nanna music or elevator music.  Doesn't exactly scream Bogan does it? (It may scream mega nerd from hell, but that's another story.)

A woman this classy
could never be a Bogan.
Nope. No way.

Of course, as the site points out, the old concept of the Bogan has evolved  from just the flannie wearing, mullet-headed, heavy metal loving, garden variety Bogan to the more upwardly mobile Cashed Up Bogans.  These Bogans favour McMansions, Masterchef and rather pretentious weddings.

As I've mentioned in previous blogs, I did sport a quite fetching mullet-perm as a teenager, but that was when I was suffering from *TES, as opposed to being a bogan.

So, I can only come to the logical conclusion that this is yet another of those little ironies in my life. I'm a non-bogan living in Boganville. Yep, definitely not a bogan at all. 


Now that we've settled that, I think I'll go put my Uggs on, my feet are freezing.

*Tragic Eighties Syndrome

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

Do you like 'Bogan Style' Baby Names? Or anything that Bogans Like?

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