The Nessville Saga So Far

Welcome to another marvellous Monday. The only day of the week when  you feel like a scotch before 9AM. Or is that just me?

Raychael over the Mystery Case  blog has started a Blog Exchange
 group. I thought this sounded like a great idea to help me out of my blogging rut. We are supposed to 'blog like no one is reading', which is quite apt in my case. No one is. Sigh. Or hardly anyone, really. She suggested writing about our blogging thoughts and experiences so far. 

So here goes:

I started blogging in March of 2012. It was an idea I'd toyed with off and on since I had started writing those God awful 'Christmas Letter Updates' to send out to friends and family. These are a chance to regale every one with all the wondrous achievements and awe-inspiring adventures you've been up to through the year. 

The only problem was, there was nothing particularly awe-inspiring or wondrous about my mediocre little life. So I did the only sensible thing and wrote them 'tongue-in-cheek' and definitely 'taking the piss'. They were a hit among my very polite friends. I considered starting a blog but dismissed it thinking I wouldn't have much to say and I certainly didn't want to bore any one. 

Then one day when I was in a completely weird, disjointed mood I decided I was over-thinking things and just did it. It seemed like it might be a fun hobby. Also, as a child and teenager I had been praised by teachers for my writing ability but I never really believed this or took it seriously. I figured having a blog was at least a way of attempting to get into a habit of doing some sort of regular writing. 

Of course I was absolutely clueless about the 'blogosphere'and had no idea that so-called 'Mummy blogs' were even a thing. Furthermore, that they are universally sneered at and considered to be the biggest pile of steaming excrement gracing the internet. So that was certainly handy to discover. 

Additionally, I had the thoroughly genius delusion that I was writing some sort of satirical parody of our life as 'bogans'. Yep, I was the classy bogan blogger. I began this space with the elegant title: Ness Of Boganville.

I figured this was a witty pun of the classic novel Tess Of The D'Urbervilles. Who wouldn't make the connection between bogans and classic literature? Makes perfect sense, right? Plus, while we're not exactly living in Struggle Street, I did grow up there and haven't ventured very far away as an adult. I like to stay classy.

Weirdly enough, it seemed that there were some folk (albeit only a minuscule amount) who found my bogan ramblings entertaining and amusing. Unfortunately, this didn't extend to Mickey Blue Eyes. For some reason he objects to being portrayed as a bogan. I can't imagine why. 

I attempted to explain to him that while many people only show the highlight reels of their (seemingly) bright, shiny, happy lives on social media, I wanted to show that my life isn't always perfect but at the same time I haven't lost my sense of humour about it. 


I plodded on with my musings. I discovered other blogs and link-ups and tentatively began participating in them. Notably, I Must Confess, which is hosted by Kirsty at My Home Truths
 every Monday. I've avoided some of the other link-ups such as I Blog On Tuesdays purely because it's all so time consuming. I could feel myself being sucked into a vortex of blog reading and commenting. I love it, but meanwhile the whole house could cave in around me and I wouldn't notice. Plus, I'm rather ad-hoc and erratic with it all these days. 

If you're just blogging as a hobby like I am, then you have to be rational and realistic about exactly how much time you want to spend on it. It's so much more time consuming than people realise, even as a hobby. So I couldn't even begin to imagine how much work, time and effort it would take to be a professional blogger. 

I really don't understand or know anything about that World. I've never attended a blogging conference and have no idea how to check my stats other than seeing the number of page views that blogger tells you when you log onto your dashboard. This is an abominably low and laughable number. It's my own fault, however. 



We do? *scratches head*

I don't blog often enough and I am absolutely abysmal at self-promotion. I have a Facebook page and I frequently forget about it. Oops.

There is a belief that blog content should be useful, so sometimes I feel like an eejit blathering on about nothing. But then I remind myself that there are a bajillion useful blogs out there and they all bore the bejesus out of me. There, I said it.

I've only ever spent about 20 minutes looking at The Organised Housewife blog (one of the most popular blogs in Oz) and I've never been so depressed in my life. If I'm surfing the web, it's because I'm procrastinating from doing the house work, not trying to find the most effective methods! But that's just me. Ahem.

It's just not my thing. Clearly I don't have a useful bone in my body and no amount of blog-reading (or writing) is going to change that. 

There is also a lot of talk about tribes and cliques within the blogging community. I think they do exist and it would be naive to think they don't. I tend to be the same as I am in person in the blogosphere. The quiet person in the corner. This is exactly the way I am in real life. So I guess I just fly under the radar for the most part.

Therefore I won't say anything pretentious like I've 'found my tribe'. What I will say is that I have found that the bloggers who've swung by here from time to time have been exceptionally kind and supportive and I'm grateful. I haven't experienced any nastiness or 'trolls'. It's easy to avoid them when you're under the radar and your main readers are your Mum and a handful of friends.

If there have been any people who were horrified with my word vomit at least they just clicked away without comment. I mean seriously, how hard is it?

Eventually I came to the conclusion that I am way too refined and dignified to be a bogan (shut up) and needed to lose the 'bogan' theme. I'm hopeless at coming up with titles. After agonising over this all-important issue, I decided to just quite literally take the bogan bit out of the title Ness Of Boganville and leave it as Nessville. Since I am always off in my own little World it seemed fitting. Plus, I can't help thinking that this form of title has worked out very well for two very prolific and high-profile bloggers Woogsworld and Edenland. 

OK, so Nessville hasn't exactly caught on in quite the same way, but, you know- details. 

I can't really figure myself out. I have this weird dichotomy where on the one hand I really do not desire to be famous, (not that there is even remotely a chance of this happening), but at the same time I guess you don't want to be completely ignored or you might as well take your writing completely offline and go scribble in a notebook. And I do that as well from time to time. 

I really am an incredibly shy, introverted and private person. It seems incongruous to share my life on a blog. There are certain things that are sacrosanct.  Things that I would never share, ever. I'm also finding that as my boys get older they have absolutely no desire to be featured in these annals. And I shall respect their wishes. Of course I'll mention them, but I will draw a line where I stop. I did not start this space to upset them or anyone in my family. It's all very well to have fun and be tongue-in-cheek but I have to be mindful of not taking it too far because they may not find it amusing the way I do. 

So that's me bumbling along in my own little World, unsure of where I fit into this thing called the 'blogosphere'. I have this space for a fun hobby, an outlet and a way of expressing myself. I express myself much better with writing than talking. In person I rarely talk. 

For some years I have managed to convince myself that I'm not really passionate about writing. Otherwise, I reasoned, I would make time for it. The theory is that we make time for the things we love. I often don't make time for it or prioritise it in my life. 

However, I read the book The Happiness Trap by Russ Harris and this changed my way of thinking. 

It's hard to sum up the book in a sentence but the basic nitty-gritty of it revolves around connecting to your true values. Towards the end of the book the author explains:

And if this goal really IS something you value, then you are faced with a choice: either act in accordance with what you value or let yourself be pushed around by your own thoughts. 
In particular, you need to watch out for this sneaky thought: 'If this were really so important to me, I'd be doing it already!' This thought is just another reason in disguise. The reasoning goes something like this: 'I haven't taken action up to now, which means it can't really be that important, which means it's not a true value of mine, which means there's no point in putting any effort into it.'
This reasoning is based on the false assumption that humans will NATURALLY act in line with their values. But if this were true, there would be no need for a book like this or a therapy such as ACT.  The fact is, many of us DON'T act on our values for long periods of time: months, years or even decades. But those values are always deep inside us, no matter how remote from them we are. A value is like your body: even if you've totally neglected it for years it's still there, it's still an essential part of your life, and it's never too late to connect with it. 

MIND. OFFICIALLY. BLOWN.  

I want to make writing a priority in my life. It may only be a hobby, but it has the same effect on me as exercise. I never wake up in the morning and have this burning and over-whelming desire to HAVE to do it. However, if I force myself to begin after a while I start to think 'This isn't so bad, I actually like this!' A while longer and I'm in a zone where I can forget the World. Suddenly I've gone from having to force myself to start to having to force myself to stop! And I feel better when I'm finished. 

Sometimes I'm embarrassed about sharing these posts. I know I'm not the most poetic, eloquent writer. My grammar is all over the place. But then I remind myself that considering who I am and my own experiences in life and my level of education, I'm not too bad. 

I mean, I failed high school English, have never been to University and have spent the last 14 years being a stay at home mother. Additionally, I have Aspergers (officially diagnosed) and ADD (self-diagnosed -but I believe, accurately so). 

I can't really compare myself to other bloggers who may be professional writers or come from a journalistic background. I'll just keep on with what I'm doing. I think of these posts as me writing a letter to friends. That's the only way I know how to write here at the moment. Hopefully I'll push myself out of my comfort zone somewhere along the way. 

Thanks for reading this rather long ramble. See you around the blogosphere!

Linking up for I Must Confess.

What are your thoughts about blogging?

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The Topic Of Titles

Morning all and welcome to another marvellous Monday morning! Don't you just love them? No? Oh well, that is where I come in to provide you with this entertaining post and make it a bit less painful. Or not. At the very least it will provide you with a minute or two of procrastination from your Monday To Do List. You're welcome.

It's time for another round of confessing and today's topic is: If I started over, what else might I have called this blog? This has opened a veritable minefield of possibilities that for some inexplicable reason I had never paused to consider being utterly unoriginal and bereft of ideas when it comes to titles.

The inspiration for the title Ness Of Boganville was the classic novel Tess Of The D'urbervilles. I basically decided to go with a pun of that title because I couldn't think of anything else and naturally bogans and classic literature seem like a perfect match. Okay, maybe not. But I like the contradiction of that. I'm weird. But you already knew that.

Back to the minefield. I have now realised that had I given it more than two seconds of thought, there was literally a plethora of possible titles I could have gone with while still maintaining my classy bogan theme. Because if you're onto a good thing why mess with it?

There are so many other classic works of literature that I could have ripped off used as inspiration.

Such as:


The Taming Of The Shrew - The Taming Of The Bogans
As You Like It - As Bogans Like It
The Last Of The Mohicans - The Last Of The Bogans
A Tale Of Two Cities - A Tale Of Five Bogans
Bleak House - Bogan House
Great Expectations- Bogan Expectations
Little Women - Little Bogans
Pilgrim's Progress - Bogan's Progress
The Importance Of Being Earnest - The Importance Of Being Bogans
Sons And Lovers - Sons And Bogans
What Katy Did - What Bogans Did
Much Ado About Nothing - Much Ado About Bogans
The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz - The Wonderful Bogans Of Oz
Tales From The Arabian Nights - Tales From The Boganville Nights
The Secret Garden - The Secret Bogan
Journey To The Centre Of The Earth - Journey To The Centre of Boganville ( or the arsehole of the universe as some people think of it. Hmph. )
A Room With A View - A Room With A Bogan
The Lord Of The Rings - The Lord Of The Bogans
From Here To Eternity - From Here To Boganville
The Great Gatsby - The Great Bogan
A Town Like Alice - A Town Like Boganville
For Whom The Bell Tolls - For Whom The Bogan Tells ( I rather like that one.)
A Passage To India - A Passage To Boganville
A Good Man Is Hard To Find - A Good Bogan Is Hard To Find
Brideshead Revisited - Boganville Revisited
Women In Love - Bogans In Love

And I could go on and on. The possibilities are endless. The other alternative may have been to use other novel titles as puns. The kind of novels that they used to make into a trashy mini-series in the 1980's with big hair, shoulder pads and lots of melodramatics (don't pretend you never watched them) usually written by somebody like Barbara Taylor Bradford or Jackie Collins:

A Woman Of Substance - A Bogan Of Substance
To Be The Best - To Be The Bogan
Voice Of The Heart (also the title of a Carpenters album) - Voice Of The Bogan
Power Of A Woman - Power Of A Bogan

The World Is Full Of Married Men - The World Is Full Of Married Bogans
The Bitch - The Bogan
Poor Little Bitch Girl - Poor Little Bogan Girl
Hollywood Wives - Boganville Wife

There are also quite a few modern chick lit classics that would have offered viable puns:

The Secret Dream World Of A Shopaholic  - The Secret Dream World Of A Cakeaholic
Bridget Jones's Diary - Bogan Ness's Diary
I Don't Know How She Does It - I Don't Know How Bogans Do It?? (Not sure if you'd want to know. Okay, scratch that one.)
The Devil Wears Prada - The Bogan Wears Best & Less (my personal favourite and definitely in the running should I ever decide to start a fashion blog, being ever so stylish. Shut up.)
The Nanny Diaries - The Bogan Diaries
In Her Shoes - In Her Thongs
This Charming Man - This Charming Bogan
The Rise And Fall Of A Yummy Mummy - The Rise And Fall Of A Bogan Mummy

I also could have taken a trip back to the books of my childhood beginning with Enid Blyton. Who else?

The Famous Five - The Bogan Five (Oh I say, that title is smashing!)

And Lucy Maud Montgomery:

Anne Of Green Gables - Ness Of Bogan Tales
The Blue Castle - The Bogan Castle
The Story Girl - The Bogan Girl or The Aspie Girl


Alternatively, I could have left the World of literature for my inspiration and called on music instead. What better place to start than with my favourite Carpenters Albums:

Ticket To Ride - Ticket To Boganville
Close To You - Close To Bogans
A Song For You - A Bogan For You ( Interestingly, if I was being serious for a millisecond - perish the thought - the title A Blog For You actually kind of works)
Christmas Portrait - Bogan Portrait
Made In America - Made In Boganville

Or just for something completely different ditch the Carpenters (GASP) and use classic rock album titles:

Dark Side Of The Moon - Dark Side Of The Bogan
Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols - Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Bogans
Blood Sugar Sex Magick - Bogan Sugar Sex Magic? (No. Just - no. Sorry for that  mental image...)
Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy - yes, apparently The Who have an album with this title. I'm not sure I want to know where they got their inspiration from but Meaty Beaty Big And Bogan does have a ring to it.
Stop Making Sense - Stop Making Bogans 

At the very least I should stop making up silly bogan blog titles. Well, just a couple more. It's fun. Yes, I need to get out more.

A few other random possibilities:

Days Of Our Bogan Lives
Lifestyles Of The Broke And Aimless
Diary Of A Mad Boganville Housewife

What I am ultimately saying is that if I hadn't used my current title I would have just used another pun being completely unimaginative and devoid of even a shred of originality. So there you have it. My complete list of possible pun like titles. Classy.

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

Which one do you think I should have used? Or can you think of any others to add to my lists? 

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What Does My Family Think Of My Blog?

Good morning, all you groovy people! It's Monday, which means it's time to confess something. This week the wonderful Kirsty is asking the question: What does your family think of your blog?


They think it's awesome, of course! After all, everyone's entitled to my opinion! Okay, I made that up....


Hmmmm, Let me think about this.


They never really say much about it so I haven't got much to go on. The 12 year old has mentioned perhaps once that he thinks it's "Sort of cool." My nine year old doesn't mention it at all. However, if I ever post anything on Facebook about him, regardless if it's something positive, he doesn't like it whatsoever, so I'd presume he's less enthusiastic. Mr 5 doesn't know what a blog is and that I have one so he has no opinion.


Meanwhile, Micky Blue Eyes has complimented me on my writing ability, declaring me 'witty'. Despite this, he apparently has some objections to being portrayed as a bogan (can't imagine why) and thinks I should be 'more positive' suggesting I change the blog title. Since I'm lazy and quite unimaginative when it comes to thinking of titles, I just decided to completely ignore him.


Besides, I conducted a comprehensive survey (posting a question on Facebook counts as a survey, right?) asking if I should change it and the results were unanimous. The whole two people out of my 150 plus Facebook 'friends' who politely pretend to read my blog said I should keep the title because I'm totally famous on the Internet and a Professional Bogan of Kath n' Kim proportions. Or something.


My only concern about it - the blog in general and the title- is if it ever impacts negatively on my boys. I wouldn't want them to ever be picked on or bullied and called a 'bogan' as an insult because of my blog. I don't worry about it too much because hardly anyone reads this space except a handful of people who already know us. I'm assuming they wouldn't wish to associate with us whatsoever if they really thought we were horrifically embarrassing bogans. They get that the bogan theme is intended to be somewhat tongue in cheek.  Anyway, I'm prepared to either ditch the blog  altogether or change it if ever did become a problem for my boys.


This is not very likely as the number one fan of  this blog is my Mum who has always believed that I'm some sort of writerly genius just waiting to happen ever since some of my primary school teachers told her this was a possibility. More than 30 years  ago. Still hasn't happened. Oops. But it's nice that my Mum never gives up on me and thinks this blog is work of blinding brilliance. Thanks Mum. I don't think my Dad ever reads it. Not because  he doesn't care but because when he's online all  he ever thinks about is Manchester United with the same kind of intensity and passion I reserve for my Karen Carpenter fascination. My brother, who inherited all the artistic talent, happily designed the banner/header thing for me so I assume he somewhat approves.


In the end it doesn't really matter what anyone thinks, anyway. It's like Dr Phil says (you have to love Dr Phil's sayings) : You wouldn't worry about what other people thought of you if you knew how seldom they did.


Similarly, I wouldn't worry about what others thought of my blog if I knew how seldom they did. I mean, I'm not exactly trying to change the World here or writing anything profound. I'm just having a bit of fun for the heck of it. So I'm not concerned about who does or doesn't like or read it.  I'll just continue banging on to myself  here for as long as it makes me  happy. So ner!


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







Enough about me and my blog….

What do YOU think of me and my blog?

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The Last Hurrah

Greetings Earthlings, from planet Boganville! Oh okay, it's more like a Sydney suburb in NSW, Australia, which as far as I'm aware, is on planet Earth. DETAILS. It certainly seems like we bogans are creatures from the planet Zorg, though, right? Don't answer that...

This post may be my last hurrah for the momentous year of 2013. And what a year it's been for myself and my family. Jam-packed with all our usual under achievements and boring as bat shit astonishing escapades.

I wouldn't even  know where to begin. Oh right - January. That's usually the first month of the year, I believe. Here goes nothing. I mean, seriously and truly - NOTHING. But I figure since I'm noted for posts about nothing, why break this record now?

JANUARY

We ventured up  north to Queensland and the beautiful sunshine coast where it was, not surprisingly, quite sunny. I'm taking a wild guess here and assuming that's why it's referred to as The Sunshine Coast. You think? While there, I turned 42 and did not discover the Meaning Of Life AT ALL. I blame it all on Douglas Adams, quite frankly. He shouldn't have set me up for such lofty expectations of this age. HOW RUDE.

FEBRUARY

This is the shortest month of the year. I only mention this because I can't remember a thing of what I did during it and I have to make up something. Traditionally, my Dad would always go on a February Diet for this reason. Instead, I broke the tradition by eating like a Wildebeest* (and becoming one) because, you know - REBEL and all that. Not to mention a glutton. Hey, we weren't mentioning that!!

MARCH

Mr 8 became Mr 9. Moving on, as I can't remember anything else from this month...

APRIL

Easter! Which means chocolate! That would be the highlight of April for  me. Shut up.

MAY

I'm sure something happened in May. At the very least I would eaten and showered and even fed my kids occasionally.  I think. I hope. Maybe. Well, they're still alive, aren't they? HUMPH.

JUNE

June was so crazy, action packed and momentous that I struggle to put it all into words! So I won't. You're welcome.

JULY

Mr 11 became Mr 12. There was cake involved.  Nothing to do with the birthday, there just always is  cake involved in my life. Which finally caught up with me when I had a blood test and discovered I had high cholesterol and blood sugar. Classy.

AUGUST

Micky Blue Eyes turned  50. There was more cake and yet more food. What else?

SEPTEMBER

What can I say about September? Seriously, WHAT can I say about it? Help me out, here. I need to make some shit up....

OCTOBER

Is the month that comes after September. Always has, always will. Interestingly, it's also the only month that begins with the letter O. I mention this purely because I don't want to mention cake again. Oh. Oops.

NOVEMBER

In this magnificent month Mr 4 became Mr 5 and Micky Blue Eyes and I celebrated our 18th Wedding Anniversary WITHOUT cake!!  I know! I can't believe it, either!

DECEMBER

Well, here we are folks, limping through to the finish line of the wonderful year we've called 2013. Mr 5 has 'graduated' from pre-school and heading to 'big' school next year. Mr 12 is also heading off to High School. He had his Year 6 Farewell this week and looked rather dashing in his outfit.

Meanwhile, yesterday I received the best and only Christmas present I want when Micky Blue Eyes has his annual procedure and received the all clear from Cancer for the 9th year in row!! Now, THAT'S worth celebrating! With cake. Too bad we didn't have any. Oh well, wine it is, then!

Cheers!

*Pauses to take a long sip*

Ahhhh - refreshing!

Now, where was I? Oh yes - December! Unfortunately, I failed in my frantic efforts to cancel Christmas, which means it's going ahead on the 25th as per usual. This year we are spending the day at home. I can't remember ever having done that since the boys were born so I'm actually looking forward to it.

Then, 2014 shall arrive and we are heading off for another one of our ubiquitous bogan jaunts. This time to the Central Coast where we shall be staying in a lovely cabin type arrangement, because why stay here in the cramped conditions of the Bogan Box with 3 boys fighting over a computer when we can go to even more cramped conditions and do the same thing there? Makes perfect sense, really.

Well, folks, that's it from me, except to wish each and every one (well - there's at least one) of my lovely readers a very happy festive season and a wonderful New Year!

*It turns out that Wildebeests mainly eat grass, not cake. Who knew?

Linking up with Robomum for The Lounge. Better late than never, right?

                                              Was 2013 an action-packed year for you?

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I'm Dreaming of A Cancelled Christmas....

Good morning Groovers and Shakers, welcome to another Monday, the most universally loathed day of the week. It occurs to me that there seems to be rather a lot of songs written about Mondays considering that it is a much despised day.

Think about it:

Manic Monday
Rainy Days And Mondays (always get me down)
Monday Monday (can't trust that day)
I Don't Like Mondays

Hmmm, I think I'm starting to see a pattern here.

Anyway, the point of this post was not to talk about Mondays but to confess to how I really feel about Christmas. Since I have just spent the last couple of months trying to desperately to cancel it - to no avail - I think my feelings are rather obvious. I'm trying to work out exactly where this antipathy to the silly season comes from. The only answer I'm left with is my rather unhelpful tendency to catastrophise everything.

After all, I don't really have that many people to buy gifts for. Nor do I sweat it out in the kitchen on the big day cooking a gigantic traditional turkey Christmas lunch with all the trimmings. No way. We tend to go with the seafood and salads option in our family.

Some people will be horrified at this declaring that it's not really Christmas without a Turkey or a roast dinner. However, my Mother being the sensible woman she is, steadfastly refused to ever cook a roast on a hot Summer's day when my brother and I were growing up, so it's never really been a tradition for me. We live in the land of Oz, therefore no White Christmas for us! It doesn't make sense to have roasts when you're already roasting, people!

Instead, we had this off beat tradition of going out for dinner on Christmas Eve to a Chinese restaurant, because if you're going to have traditions they may as well be classy ones. And what could be classier than spring rolls and fried rice?  Over the years this tradition faded, but we have finally decided to re-ignite it and are heading out with my parents for some sizzling platters on the 24th before coming home, leaving the carrots out for the Reindeer's and then bundling three excited boys full of anticipation and MSG into bed. Should be fun.

On boxing day we are invited to my brother and SIL's home for a good old fashioned Aussie BBQ. On the actual day nothing is planned. Besides being woken up at Stupid O' Clock by three excited boys screaming that Santa's been. Again - should be fun.

I have, in fact, begrudgingly accepted that Christmas is on and I am not able to cancel it, much to my disgust. I even tried to get into the spirit and put the Christmas tree up yesterday. Okay, technically it was actually Micky Blue Eyes who did it. Mr 9 and 5 helped to decorate it and the results were quite stunning. In a sort of abstract bogan way. No photos, so you'll have to imagine it.

The main reason I dread the silly season is basically because of the shopping. The fact that it is entirely my own fault that I tend to leave this until almost the last minute despite vowing never to do so again is completely IRRELEVANT.  Also, I have the internet at my disposal with a plethora of online shopping opportunities so why I don't plan ahead and do this is beyond my comprehension.

I tend to assume that it's all up to Santa.  So get that red suit on and the sleigh ready and get to it, old dude!  What do my boys want?

Mr 12 wants a PS4 which only costs an arm, a leg and a kidney, so I'm counting on you, Santa! Mr 9 wants Lego and some obscure Club Penguin paraphernalia which does not appear to exist in any store, so again - your job Santa! And Mr 5? Well- he only wants every Lego set made in the whole World Ever, all of which cost around a gazillion dollars. No problem, right Santa?? I'll consider it sorted!

Just one question - you don't hang out with that lazy old Dinner Fairy, do you?? If you do, she should definitely be on your Naughty List. She has been very naughty. Very, very, very naughty INDEED. And no - I have NOT been reading Enid Blyton again. Shut up.

Okay folks, that's enough from me.  Only 23 days to go - but who's counting? 

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

                                                
                                                      Have you been naughty  or nice?

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More Boring As Batshit Bogan Bullshit - Because I CAN

Hello from Boganville! Yes, I am still alive, thanks for asking.

I'm trying to write something here even if it's crap. It's hilarious how I put the word 'if' in that sentence. Funny me. I'm SUCH a comedienne. Or something.

Anyway, what can I say about all the things I've achieved whilst missing in action?

I'm a svelte size 10, addicted to exercise and healthy eating and planning an amazing trip to Europe on our private jet while we wait for our mansion to be built, Micky Blue Eyes having finally followed through on his promise of becoming a millionaire by the age of 40, ten years later??!!

Nope. Can't say that. I CAN bore you with the same old boring as batshit bogan bullshit, though. You're welcome.

In fact, I've been missing in action because I've been extremely busy doing lots of interesting, important things. What, you ask? Okay, you didn't but I'm telling you anyway. So ner.

Here is a comprehensive list:

Sleeping
Eating
Reading
Sleeping some more
Eating some more
Reading some more
Shopping - but only because I needed more food so I could resume;
Eating
Shopping again - but only because I needed more books so I could keep on:
Reading
Sleeping -because all that reading and eating is EXHAUSTING.

I may have showered at some point, too. After all, I would have needed to frequently with all that exertion. Exhausting. Phew.

In between all of this monumental effort I did manage to schedule in a pap smear which was fun. SAID NO ONE EVER.

I also managed to schedule in a Girls Day Out with some friends and a spot of shopping, having finally accepted that Christmas is not going to be cancelled. I ventured to the shops with some trepidation expecting the familiar wailing of Mariah Carey but instead there was more of the old Jingle Bell Rock action happening which is quite jolly and cheering at first. However, I suspect that in another 26 days or so I shall be Jingle Bell Rocked OUT. Says the woman who can listen to the same Carpenters songs over and over and over for 30 years. Shut up.

On that note, (listening to same songs over and over) I not only DO NOT care what a fox says but I do know what I would like to say to the creators of THAT particular ear worm as my boys are rather enamoured with it. If you do not know what I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky.

While shopping, after having lunch with the girls, I ventured into Target, being classy like that, where I spotted a fetching shirt and vest type arrangement which I thought would do for Mr 12 to wear to his Year 6 Farewell. I popped the vest over the top of the shirt to see what it would look like. When it looked good I took it to the cashier and handed it over absent-mindedly. The cashier proceeded to scan the shirt but not the vest just as absent-mindedly. I had unwittingly ended up with a bargain. Or became a closet kleptomaniac. One or the other. Ahem.

It also transpired that Micky Blue Eyes and I had completely forgotten that it was my mother-in-laws birthday that same day until my father-in-law reminded us. Therefore, I came home from lunch and went straight back out again for dinner with the the out-laws. The next morning yet more shopping was planned with my parents. This meant I had to go out AGAIN in order to drink coffee and spend money. I mean, honestly it's exhausting and extremely rude to have to suffer indignities. HMPH!

Also, Mr 12 had his final High School Orientation on that same Monday and I had forgotten to complete the necessary paperwork for his bus pass application and so forth. Oddly enough this kind of scatter brained forgetfulness does not seem to endear me to Micky Blue Eyes. Sigh.

In a futile attempt to become more organised I had printed out some calendars, filled them out with all of our upcoming things to remember and pinned them on a cork board near the computer desk. Somehow they managed to go missing. When Mick found them again I realised I had totally forgotten to take Mr 5 for a free hearing test at his Kindy the previous Friday. Oops.

I had actually managed to score a hatrick of forgetfulness. Mother-in-laws birthday, High School paperwork and a hearing test. This could mean I'm already on the slippery slope to Alzheimer's or that I have ADD. Or all of the above. Interestingly, I have taken online tests for ADD and scored through the roof for having it but what I am meant to do with this information I don't know. After all, it hasn't changed a thing worked out so well receiving my Ass Burgers diagnonsense. Sigh.

On a brighter note, at least I never forget to eat like some wacky people! So that's something, right? Ahem. And I never forget to feed my children. Mostly. They don't even have to dig for worms anymore! It's been raining so there'll be plenty of snails for them. Done. Dinner sorted.

And I don't even go to paid work! Can you imagine if I did? I'd probably forget my own children's names! Oh wait...

There's a reason I call them 'honey' or 'sweetheart' all the time and Mr's 12, 9 and 5 here. Oh dear.

On that note, I'm sure there was more I was going to tell you - but I've forgotten what it was...

Until next time, take it easy and I'll catch up with you later!

Ness

What have you forgotten about lately? 

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A Post About Nothing

I Must Confess I have nothing to say. Absolutely nothing. Just so we're clear, I repeat: NOTHING.

Well, nothing interesting, anyway.

But that's never stopped me before.  So, in keeping with the Seinfeldian theme of this blog, I bring to you a rather riveting post about nothing. You're welcome.

I'm sure you're all bursting to know what is going on in the dim, dark recesses of my mind. It is well known that I am extremely deep, enigmatic and introspective. Always brooding, ruminating and contemplating the very important issues in life such as:

Why did Karen Carpenter have to pass at 32?

Why can't I have my cake? And eat it too?

What can I have for dinner? Especially when that pesky old Dinner Fairy refuses to show her luminous face. Hmph.

Why is Gilbert Blythe a fictional character? And why couldn't he love ME not Anne?! I have red hair!

In addition to such pressing issues, I am also constantly wondering why exactly is it SUCH a herculean task to keep a house consisting of approximately 7 rooms anything even remotely resembling clean or tidy? Therein may lay the answer....

If I am really being my usual happy, sunny, perky, cheerful, positive self - and we all know that's always the way I roll - there may be a few other things I would pause to pointlessly ponder over, such as:

Why am I so shy?

Why am I so introverted?

Why do I have Ass Burgers?

Why do I have dizziness/middle ear or some fictional thing I made up according to some specialists?

Why do I keep asking pointless questions?

I have been dutifully trotting off to see my counsellor. She gave me some information regarding an Adult Asperger's Support Group which was not terribly far from Boganville.  Therefore, I did not have an excuse to procrastinate about going to one anymore. But I did anyway. I put off making the call until after the school holidays. Finally, I pressed in the number. A robotic voice informed me: No one is available to take your call! Please leave a message after the tone. So I left one, tripping over my words and feeling foolish as I did so. That was nearly a week ago. Nobody has called back.

Meanwhile, I had an appointment scheduled with  my counsellor which was confirmed with a phone call from the centre. Half an hour later somebody else called back and said my counsellor isn't doing counselling anymore and would I like to make an appointment with somebody else?  This is annoying when you're a shy, introverted Aspie. Having to start over with a  new counsellor. Sighing, I agreed but she said she would have to ring back with an appointment time. That was days ago. Nobody has rang me back.

I suppose that means I have to go to the tremendous effort of ringing them again. If I get the machine again, I should leave a huffy. indignant message. Except I won't. Because I'm too nice. GAH.

Why can't I be a BITCH?  I went for a whole two paragraphs without a pointless question so I had to slide another one in. Shut up.

In other extremely fascinating news, I need to buy a new vacuum cleaner. I am going to get one on Thursday or Friday. This will probably be the most exciting thing I do all week. I was perusing the Bogan Box last night and thinking that it resembled a brothel until I realised that I have no idea what brothels actually look like. They're most likely MUCH cleaner than my house. I mean, just think about it. If you were going to have kinky, illicit sex you'd want to be doing that shit on freshly laundered sheets, right?

In the midst of all this excitement I managed to win Slapdash Mama Sarah's Blogaversary Competition! I've never won anything so this was quite thrilling indeed. She wrote a lovely poem about me or actually about Boganville I think, which was quite charming and you can read it here. Thanks Sarah!

Of course this leads me to another confession. In writing this poem, Slapdash somehow managed to 'out' me and reveal my darkest secret.

You may be shocked to discover that I am not really a bogan despite my Boganville address. GASP.

Oh okay, I outed myself in the comments (and every other week here in my own space, when I bang on about The Carpenters). Minor detail. Anyway, since I've really got nothing else to write about except the same old boring as batshit bogan shtick, I think we can all just overlook that and go with it, right? Besides, whether I'm really a bogan or not is debatable. I live in bogan territory and that alone is enough for some folk. So ner. Added to the fact that I write gibberish with dubious attention to grammar and phrases like so ner. So ner. NER NER NER NER!!

THIS turned up in my Facebook feed the other day.

 To the person who posted it, it worked. I am, quite frankly annoyed that nobody is with me on this cancel Christmas thing. It will be your own fault when you feel like poking your own eyeballs out from hearing Mariah Carey wailing about what she wants for Christmas for the billionth time. You've been warned.

Another thing that has been bothering me of late is the fact that I suddenly  remembered that a few months ago a lovely blogger presented me with one of those Leibster Awards or some such thing. Anyway, because I perpetually have my head lodged firmly up my posterior and I'm SUCH a space cadet I have forgotten who that lovely person was and not responded. So, whoever you were THANKYOU. It's not you, it's me, okay?

And that brings me limping to the end of this pointless post about nothing. Stay tuned for the next post when I'll actually blog about SOMETHING. Or nothing again. You never know. Ahem.

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

'                                      Should  I really ask another pointless question? Oh look, I did!

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The Bogan Is Back!!

Hello everyone! I'M BACK!! How are we all? All my adoring fans. The whole two of you. I'm sure you've just been pining away waiting longingly for my words of wisdom. After all, who wouldn't?  Don't answer that. Ahem.

Anyway, I must confess that I've actually enjoyed having a bit of a bloggy break. I mean it is just so damn exhausting keeping up the standards that are necessary to be a Professional Bogan. Think about it. This means that I have to drag my sorry arse out of bed at 11am every single morning, or you know, just whenever I can be bothered, pull on my trackie dacks and ugg boots and then come up with these wonderfully witty and intensely riveting tales of our boring as batshit exciting and glamorous lives here in Boganville.

For instance, just this morning, I stumbled out of bed and bid farewell, bleary eyed,  to two out of three boys who set off to school, Micky Blue Eyes trailing behind them. Then I made myself porridge and positioned myself in front of the lap top where I proceeded to scroll down my Facebook news feed.

Fascinating stuff, right?

In addition to this, these last two weeks of my hiatus have been so action packed and absorbing that I simply do not know where to begin. Actually it was so exciting during the first week of the holidays that I can't even remember what happened. Yep, THAT exciting.

We did manage to get out for one of our ubiquitous Sunday drives. On a Sunday, strangely enough. Our destination was a nearby reserve or park type arrangement with picturesque gardens including a Japanese styled one. As soon as we disembarked from the car my head began to pound. Helpful.

 The boys sailed around merrily on their scooters while we meandered around behind them. Eventually though, my pounding head was too much to endure and we headed on to a nearby pub where we had lunch and I was able to have a much needed coffee and drugs. While there we decided it was indeed a very suitable and classy establishment in which to celebrate Mick's 50th birthday next month. There are pokies and everything. Noice.

The next day I did some grocery shopping, purchasing around 25 tonnes of food and spending around a billion bucks. Thereabouts*. This was all devoured within days.

On Wednesday Mr 11 became Mr 12, so I went to the tremendous effort of mixing up a packet cake for him. Caramel mud, to be precise. I certainly hope that child appreciates the sacrifices I make for him.  We then proceeded, clutching cake, to my parents house where the plan was to have pizza followed by the previously mentioned cake, with my brother and nephews also in attendance.

The only ploy to this plan was that I had apparently decided to have the Headache From Hell. AGAIN. Handy. This time no amount of coffee or drugs alleviated my pain. My head pounded steadfastly on. As it turned out, my Mum had also made her famous Apple Pie so the day could only be described as Headache Hell with an Apple Pie Heaven twist.

The next day we were scheduled to go the circus. I'm not sure why we would bother actually paying money for this when we can experience it at home. Mick is a clown, I'm the bearded lady and the boys are animals. Done. All we need is a trapeze. Just saying.

However, I was feeling somewhat wobbly and dizzy so I stayed home while Micky Blue Eyes took the boys and my mother-in-law in my place. Reportedly they had fun. Without me. How rude.

Then, after I started to feel a bit better I had another frightfully horrid wobbly, dizzy spell last Sunday, without ever even having a drop of alcohol. Smashing. What is with THAT? The no alcohol and the channelling Enid Blyton thing. Weird.

This has left me feeling rather despondent, dejected, gloomy, forlorn and any other sad adjective you can think of. I resisted the urge to consult a thesaurus there, you will be grateful to know. Suffice to say: Not. Happy. Jan. Hmph.

Then it occurred to me that a few days before these wobbly turns I was craving a good steak with a side of spinach. I NEVER crave spinach. I think my body is telling me to lay off the cakies and actually hit it with some nutrition including a bit of iron. Rude body. 

Therefore I am really in need of a good old Aussie Barbeque (you see how I did that, Loungers?)  with a steak the size of my head and lots of greenery on the side.  Weirdly enough, we just don't have enough barbecues. Disgraceful, if we are to call ourselves proud bogans.  Mick has some sort of paranoia about  gas ones, preferring the old fashioned wood ones. That all seems like too much effort for me to go to for a burnt sausage. Plus it is just too cold at this time of year.

I might have to make an exception though and get my barbeque on this weekend if possible. Why not? Bogans love burning things. We could even be really Klassy Bogans and throw a few pineapple rings on the barbie instead of shrimp. I have honestly never been to a barbecue where there have been 'shrimp' on the barbie, anyway. Plus, we call them prawns. Get it right, Hoges.

Until the next scintillating chapter, it's over and out from me.

*May be a slight exaggeration.

Linking up rather late (better late than never, right?) with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

Also linking up with Robomum for The Lounge.

What exciting things have been happening in your world? Do you like a good old bogan BBQ?

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An Idyllic Day

Long ago and far away in the fun and fabulous days of our former bogan existence, life was full of exciting bogan adventures. These adventures often included the wonderful, idyllic days we referred to as our 'Family Fun Days'. This was using the word fun in the same sense of the expression 'Fun Run'. Oxymoron, anyone?  When I remember those grand and glorious days my eyes become misty and I am filled with bittersweet nostalgia.

I recall waking on a Sunday morning feeling zombie like and ancient refreshed and energetic.Micky Blue Eyes hands me a lovely, frothy vegetable juice fresh from the juicer. With beaming eyes he  then utters the fateful words:

"Why don't we go out today for a Family Fun Day?"

Evidently making me drink those juices isn't quite enough torture. The boys greet this suggestion with all the enthusiasm they usually reserve for doing their homework and cleaning their rooms.

On my ideal day I wouldn't wake up to this

"NOOOOO!!" Mr 11 is wild eyed and frantic, while Mr 9 can barely manage a low, pitiful moaning of dull despair. There was no escape. Once Micky Blue Eyes made up his mind we were doomed.

Previous outings had involved driving somewhere in the car. Now, however, we had discovered the "Family Fun Day'.This meant we could purchase a train ticket from Boganville into the city for a family and it would only cost around ten bucks, Mick decided this was a bargain that these non cashed up bogans couldn't miss.

Reluctantly, I showered, dressed and we bundled into the car to drive to the train station.

"Have you got the pram and everything?" I asked as Mick reversed the car from the driveway. He assured me we did and we set off. We parked a block or so away from the station and walked there, avoiding eye contact with the usual unsavoury types loitering around the station negotiating drug deals or whatever it is that they do there. Not sure.  Boganville. So classy. Sigh.

Upon boarding the train, I was assigned to 'stroller sit' while Mick ventured down into the carriage to attempt the impossible. Make three boys with raging testosterone, including a hyperactive three year old sit still and be quiet for the duration of the journey. Good luck with that, I thought as I happily assumed position next to the stroller which was laden with all the essentials for a family day out.

Several minutes passed as the train hurtled along the tracks. At the next stop two young dudes boarded the train and I eavesdropped on their interesting conversation about weed, until they got off a few stops later, possibly to score more weed. Not sure.

At this point, Mick and the boys clambered back up from below. Mr 8 needed to blow his nose. I scrambled in my handbag for a tissue, but came out empty-handed.

"Oh, can't I just wipe it on my shirt?" he wailed.

"NO!" we both shouted, simultaneously. Thankfully, he refrained. We had to resort to using a piece of paper. So elegant.

It was at this point that we realised we had forgotten Mr 3's bag with the change of clothes. Just in case. We could only cross our fingers and pray that he didn't present us with what is known in the Bogan Box as a Mt. Tomah Moment. This refers to the time we went to the Mt. Tomah Botanic Gardens for a picnic and Mr 11 who was then Mr 2 decided to poop his entire body weight, and we had forgotten the nappy bag. Charming.

We finally disembarked at Central station, upon discovering that the train lines were closed, so we would have to walk all the way to the Botanic Gardens. Immediately, the hustle and bustle of the city was completely over-whelming for this Aspergirl. I pondered with some wonder, how I had ever managed to work there a decade ago.

Plodding on , we schlepped up George Street. The boys spotted a Maccas in the distance like a mirage. However there seemed to be even more ratbags and feral bogans loitering around George Street than there were back in our beloved Boganville, so we pressed on until we found another Maccas where the boys filled up on nuggets and fries. After this, we strolled through a rather snazzy and upmarket shopping mall, where I proceeded to go into full on Aspie sensory overload from all the bright shinyness.  Fluorescent lights bouncing off shiny floors, garish Christmas decorations added to the overall effect which resulted in me feeling nauseous.

Feeling sick and light-headed we trudged back past Gucci and Prada.I pondered the fact that even if I had the bucks to shop there, I couldn't stand all the lights and brightness. But I guess that's what online shopping if for, should I ever win lotto.  Eventually we reached the Botanic Gardens where we sat and watched the boats sailing by on the harbour, for a blissful half hour. Mr 3 chased birds around. The other two boys whined that they were bored, shattering our short lived bliss. So it was on to Chinatown, where we had some Chinese food.

While there, Mr 8 exclaimed loudly "Why are there so many Chinese people here? It's FREAKING ME OUT!!"

Awkward. Ahem.

We purchased some fresh fruit at the markets before heading back to Boganville, relieved that yet another Family 'Fun' Day had finally finished.  Just like so many previous ones, which included:

• Visiting Cronulla Beach. It pissed rain.
• Visiting the Blue Mountains. Froze our bogan bums off.
• Visiting the Central Coast by train. We spent most of the day on the train, where we also had to change a 'Mt. Tomah' style nappy while in a cramped country train vestibule trying to hang on for dear life. So. Much. Fun.

I must confess those Family Fun Days were not exactly my ideal day out. We did manage to come close to something resembling my ideal day out recently. During the school holidays we decided to drive to Megalong Valley. On the way up the mountain we stopped at a cake shop. CAKIES! Then at a Vinnies. BOOKS! A day that involves books, cakies and minimum stress is my ideal day out. After this we went for a bush walk, then went to the Megalong Valley Tea Rooms where we had scones with jam and cream. More cakies! Sort of. Not really. But still good. It was a relaxing day out for a change. Still, I can't help feeling like my ideal day at the moment wouldn't really be a day out at all, but a day in.

Alone. Just me, my books, cakies and Carpenters.

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

 

What is your ideal day out? Or would you prefer a day in, like me?

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Fashion Fails: Bogan Style

Hello all! Another Monday. Another Confession. This week Kirsty has asked us to share our most humorous post. I wasn't sure which one of mine to choose considering they are all  pretty ordinary comedy gold but judging from the comments, this one seemed to elicit a few laughs. So for the second time around, I present my Bogan Fashion Fails. You're welcome!

This week the illustrious Lounge Lizards have us talking fashion. It tends to strike me that 90 percent of the fashion I spot on the telly or in magazines looks completely and utterly hideous even on tall, slim, stunning models.  I shudder to think what it might look like on me. Perhaps it's a blessing that I can never afford it anyway. Therefore I've cultivated a certain look and style of my own. I like to refer to it as - Bogan Chic.

Once upon a time I delighted in clothes shopping.  This was some 20 years ago when I could dress in clinging black lycra, unperturbed by the thought of any bumps and bulges. Or a tragic combo of hot pants and doc martins. Observe.

 

The only snap I could find of
this alluring attire appears to
have something stuck on it
which I couldn't get off, but you
get the idea.

 

Actually this is not strictly true, as  I used to worry unduly about being supposedly 'fat'. Pah! I didn't know the meaning of the word.  I have since discovered it though.

Anyway, it's always interesting, when I go to the local shopping mall here in Boganville.  The are many badly dressed, unattractive people there.  I fear I am one of them.  Then I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window and my fears are realised.

I notice that my backside is astonishingly large.  This always comes as a tremendous shock, as when I dress, I tend to only look at myself front on to avoid reality.  Side on, I also look distinctly pregnant.

Then, inevitably, some old dear, at least 85 in the shade, will hobble past on a walking frame, wearing an identical shirt to mine.  Millers.  Size 16. On Sale.  This once horrified me. The fact that I no longer care is evidence that:

a) I  am getting old

b) I am getting fat (oh okay, I already am fat), and

c) I am too broke to have any choice in the matter, anyway.

 

Other Bogan Chic Tit Bits. Or is it Tid bits? Or is it not even an expression at all? Who knows. Let's just call them Bogan Fashion Tips then, shall we? Fine. They are:

• I mostly wear black, as I am a fatty boombah.  Sadly no amount of black can disguise my double chin.  Okay, chins.
• I don't  do pink, frilly or sequins. Ugh.
• I don't do white. I am fat, fair skinned and a Mother. Enough said.
• Jeans are over rated. Skinny jeans are probably single handedly responsible for many an eating disorder. Not to mention how inconvenient they are if you are ever in the habit of say, for example, sitting down. Which I am. Frequently. Which is probably half of the reason that I cannot wear skinny jeans. The other half of the reason is that, when I am sitting, I am usually eating cake. Meh, details.
• I simply detest bras. Luckily I was always small breasted, so therefore I was able to get away with not wearing them for many years. Those days are over. Now that I have droopy National Geographic boobs, I need the best push-up bra I can get my hands on. That, or a boob job. Hard to figure out which is the more expensive and painful of the two.
• Trackies and polar fleece jumpers and jackets are the most unchic, unflattering, daggy clothes ever known to the human race. They are also the most toasty warm when I'm freezing my butt off, as well as being affective contraception. So, who cares. I am a bogan after all.

 

Now, onto some more of my Fashion Fails. Check these out. And while we're at it, whoever stole my twenty something body, can you please return it. Pronto. Obviously the fact that it has disappeared to be replaced by something resembling a Teletubby has nothing to do with the afore mentioned cake eating. No way. It must be some sinister type invasion of the body snatchers super natural thing. Only possible explanation.

Me, as Morticia. That's my Dad hovering
protectively next to me, possibly reluctant to let
me leave the house dressed like that.

And now for something completely different.

My 'Laura Ashley just
threw up all over me' look. Lovely.

 

Continuing the floral theme, I appeared in public wearing this.

The early 90's look of
high waisted jeans and
a body suit. Floral of
course. So sweet. A
poodle perm completed the look.

A gorgeous floral blouse, primly buttoned
right up to my throat. My Mum's spoon
collection in the background. Nobody collects
spoons anymore. Or wears hideous floral blouses.
Sad, really.

This next one is especially for Mumabulous. She is not the only one who could rock an emerald green taffeta frock.

Dressed like a Bridesmaid, but not actually
a Bridesmaid. I was just ducking out to the
shops for some milk.

When I met Micky Blue Eyes, the bogan chic tradition continued unabated. This one speaks for itself.

Micky Blue Eyes and I wearing
clothes that appear to have been
made from hotel bedspreads or
curtains. His shirt, my pants.

Following this lovely 'Best Western Bogan Chic' style, I went onto my next

stunning look. Wearing clothes that resembled table cloths. Not to mention ridiculous bloody hats. But I'm a ranga, I have no choice! Especially when visiting places like Darwin, which is where that shot is taken.

 

 

Breathtaking Darwin scenery. Not so breath-
taking shirt and hat.

 

 

 

 I had to survive the heat somehow. Similarly, when it was cold I had this absurd notion that I should keep warm and wear silly jumpers.

Stupid jumper, leggings and
boots and a stupid expression
on my face. The wombat attached to
my leg was also a unique fashion accessory

It's hard work being
this stylish.

Or an attractive combo of a turtle neck and - wait for it, a pinafore. I couldn't find a full length shot. But you get the idea.

Of course. with that track record of fashion flair, once I became a Mum I was really onto this whole 'Yummy Mummy' thing. As you can see, below.

At my bogan best. Comatose in trackies, clutching
my similarly comatose infant.

 Imagine my delight to discover that Miller's currently has a sale on, so I can continue the bogan tradition of bedraggled frumpiness. I like the sound of that. Bedraggled frumpiness. A shame that the sight of it isn't so becoming.

Linking up for The Lounge which is being hosted this week by Slapdash Mama Sarah.

 

Also linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday.

 

 

 

What are your most memorable 'fashion fails'?

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