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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Ten Fascinating Things About Me

 Here goes. Ten utterly fascinating things about me. Using 'fascinating' in the sense of 'mind-numbing'....

1. I've never had a sister (I have one older brother) though I do have two excellent sister-in-laws, Mick's sister Janette and my brother's wife, Nicole. Likewise, I will never have a daughter. One day I may have a daughter-in-law or three. I'm hoping they'll be excellent too. 
2. My middle name is Faye with an 'e'. Clearly, or I would have spelt it Fay. 
3. I lived with my parents until I was 23 when I moved in with Micky Blue Eyes so it's distinctly possible that I've lived a sheltered life. In Boganville. I find this ironic.
4. I went to Holland with my parents when I was 10 years old in 1981. This seems destined to be my first and last overseas trip. Sigh. 
5. I'm starting to wonder if I'm in peri-menopause as my moods are somewhat erratic: I'm joyous then weeping then feeling like I could punch the next person who glances sideways at me then having a panic attack then joyous again and around it goes..... Totally normal, right?
6. I was 26 weeks pregnant with Mr 12 in 2001 before I noticed this minor detail. Oops.
7. I lost a little man when I had a still birth 19 weeks into the pregnancy in 2007. 
8. I was diagnosed with Asperger's in 2011 at age 40. 
9. I have 150 plus Facebook 'friends' but my closest real life friend is my friend Kim, who was born five days before me and is the smartest person in the whole World - because she's my friend obviously - and because she doesn't use Facebook or any social media at all. 
10. I am shamefully hopeless when it comes to taking and organising photos. I have boxes of them stashed in cupboards instead of sorted into albums. I tried to find some photos of Kimmy and my sister-in-laws to post here and I could only find ones that are really old. So guess what? No photos. You are saved the embarrassment. You can thank me later. 

Two Ten things I love....

1. Karen Carpenter
2. Cakies
3. Karen Carpenter
4. Cakies
5. Karen Carpenter
6. Cakies
7. Karen Carpenter
8. Cakies
9. Karen Carpenter
10. Oh yeah, I have kids. They're alright, too. 

Ten things I would like to ban from the World forever...

1. Lego 
2. Lego
3. Lego
4. Lego
5. Lego
6. Lego
7. Lego
8. Lego
9. Lego - and, finally..
10. Lego

Okay, that's only one thing as such but it's one thing that means A MILLION pieces so it counts as ten! Shut up. 

Ten Reasons To End This Pointless Post...

1. I have house work to do.
2. I have nothing remotely interesting to say about myself. 
3. I have exercise to do. 
4. I've wasted the whole morning coming up with absolutely nothing of any note to say about myself.
5. There are such entertaining day time television programmes on that I'm missing. 
6. It's lunch time and I might turn into one of those strange people who forget to eat.
7. I have important places to be and important people to see. 
8. There must be a million other things I could be doing.
9. I think I may be procrastinating just a teensy, tiny bit. 
10. All of the above.

Ten Counter Points To The Above List...

1. House work sucks.
2. That's never stopped you before.
3. You can do it later - why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?
4. At least you didn't waste it doing house work.
5. Since when have infomercials about funeral insurance been entertaining? (Although, you have to admit a bit of Dr Phil is sometimes entertaining).
6. Rahahahahaha!
7. Well, I can imagine I do. Shut up.
8. Meh, it's only a million. Do them later. See counter point number 3. 
9. You think?
10. Details. Hmph! 

Okay, I think I'm done now. I'm off to find ten more ways to procrastinate. I'll spare you the list this time. You're welcome.

Linking up with Musings of The Misguided for The Lounge.

                                               What are ten ways to procrastinate?

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Sweating As A Skill

This week’s I Must Confess topic is confessing to any skills or talents I may have. I must admit that when I read this topic I was rather dismayed. I don’t have any skills or talents, I thought forlornly, as weepy violin music swelled in the background. What the hell will I write? I am a great big vacuum of mediocrity. Not exactly truly great or truly terrible at anything.  Oh wait….

I am worse than terrible at many things. In fact, I could write a comprehensive bullet point list of  The Things I’m Terrible At. Because what is a blog post without the ubiquitous bullet list?

Things I’m Terrible At

• Sport – particularly team sports or anything with balls in it *shudders*.
• Small talk – or, you know, just talking. Period.
• Maths – the thought of doing any of those Sudoku things is terrifying.
• Cooking – unless toast counts as cooking. It does right? Ahem. Truthfully, this is possibly a talent I could develop, especially cooking cakies. The problem with this is that it would lead to the eating of the cooked cakies, something I need to less of, not more of, so I figure it’s better to avoid the temptation.
• Sewing – when I did Textiles, or whatever  it’s called, in Year 7, I sewed my own finger. Enough said.
• Art – I really can’t paint or draw. Well, I can – stick figures. This is totally my brother’s fault. He stole all the artistic genes instead of leaving some for me. Hmph.
• Music – can’t play any instrument. From time to time I have had the delusion fanciful notion that I may be able to sing a little if I’d ever learnt to sing in my own comfortable range instead of attempting to channel Karen Carpenter. Impossible. Since I can never sing in front of people regardless, clearly Adele and Susan Boyle have nothing to fear from this bogan.
• Dancing – Two left feet. No co-ordination or sense of rhythm AT ALL. Awkward and self-conscious as fuck. Forget it.
• Craft – however, craft is evil so I’m terribly distressed by this one.
• Acting – I’m never destined to win an Academy Award. It may be a Asperger’s thing but my face is usually blank and expressionless no matter what emotion I may be feeling internally. Meryl Streep can rest assured – her job is safe. 

 After completing that woeful list I’m feeling a tad despondent. There must be something I’m good at. Maybe I just don’t know what it is because I rarely try doing new things. Using ‘rarely’ in the sense of ‘never’.  All the cool people seem to be into crochet these days. I’ve thought about giving it a go. This thought usually lasts about 2.3 seconds. 

In order to finish this post with at least a shred of dignity I’m going to claim one dubious thing as a ‘talent’ or ‘skill’. For the last few weeks I’ve exercised every single day. I’ve done so without any expensive gym membership or personal trainer. Take THAT Michelle Bridges. I’ve just dutifully put on a DVD (okay, at least one of them featured Michelle Bridges) or a Youtube clip and became sweaty.

That’s something, right? Shut up. I’m saying it is. So ner!

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

                                             What are your skills or talents?

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Sefish Bogan?

.

I  was sitting here in blissful, wonderful silence this morning reading this post  by the wonderful Emily at Have A Laugh On Me and her questions got me to thinking. Yes, that’s what that  burning smell is. I do  occasionally think about  other  things beside cake or Karen Carpenter. See? I waited until the third sentence to mention them! Hmph. 

I love quiet time. I guess it goes with the territory of being quiet, shy, introverted and an Aspie.  Yep, I certainly hit the jackpot there with all those marvellous traits. Apparently, I don't know how to spell marvellous anymore as it has just appeared with one of those annoying squiggly red lines under it. Or spell, period. Isn't that just MARVELLOUS? Or however the fuck you spell it. HMPH.


I also have to confess that sometimes this fervent love of solitude makes me feel like I may be a tad selfish and self-absorbed at times. Which is just plain silly, right? This is a theory that I've actually had suggested to me: that quiet people are selfish. At the time I remember thinking that this was utter bullshit but of course I didn't say anything. After all, I'm quiet (or selfish depending on your point of view) so I kept my 'what a load of bullshit' thought to myself.



The irony was that this occurred in a group I attended to do with confidence building.  Oddly enough being told that you're considered selfish didn't do a great deal to boost my confidence. Funny about that.


Another funny thing is that I before I had children I kind of knew this about myself - that I had an extreme need for quiet time and solitude and that this would probably be my biggest challenge with having children. In spite of this, I still plunged ahead and had three of these delightful creatures, proving that in addition to being selfish I am also a masochist. On the plus side, it's nice to have yourself figured out at this advanced age. Meaning, the wrong side of forty. I’m a selfish, self-absorbed masochist. Nice.



Which brings me to Emily’s question  about volunteering for the school tuck shop, P & C or as a parent helper. As a stay at home mum who doesn’t do any of these things am I being selfish? Even though I feel  like I have  valid reasons, are those reasons selfish or wrong?




Reasons:





I don’t have good people skills:  People are scary. You have to talk to them and make eye contact, which are two things I am simply not stellar at. Should I force myself to do so in spite of this?





I have helped in the canteen at the boys soccer grounds. Once. Shut up. This involved a hatrick of skills I do not  possess. Talking to and serving people,  remembering orders and adding up the money. I was a nervous wreck at the end of an hour and have never wished to repeat the experience.





I struggle with just helping my boys with their homework. This is something I’m not proud of, but there it is. It’s quite humiliating to not understand primary school homework, so  perhaps I do need to  return to school. However, not as a parent helper, but as a student, so I can learn basic grammar (this blog could certainly benefit from it) and maths all over again and how to spell words like marvellous. Plus, I’m sure I’d still look quite cute in a uniform and pig tails. No?


Previously, I took Mr 5 to a Play Group where the interactions between parents sometimes became slightly political while I  tried to remain like Switzerland – neutral – and not get  involved. For this reason I prefer to avoid P&C committees with the same sleuth like elusiveness I employ in avoiding the I Quit Sugar craze. In fact, that is where you would find me at Play Group. In the corner where the morning tea cakies were, shoving them in my gob to avoid talking and, you know, just because I’m addicted to cake. Ahem.  If  P&C meetings involved cake of any description, I’d be a candidate for The Biggest Loser before the year is through.


I did volunteer to help in the library at the boys  previous school. I figured that I do have a Library Practice Diploma (even though it's more than twenty years old - details) and experience working in specialist libraries ( a long time ago, but again- details). I was given a stack of books to take home and cover. I didn't mind doing this. Where other people might find it tedious and prefer social contact, I'd rather work with books than people. I'm weird. So perhaps I could try that again and play to my strengths.


Now I’m back to my original point about LOVING quiet time. I as I stated, it does seem somewhat selfish but the truth is that I desperately, desperately need to have time to myself or, to be completely blunt and honest, I feel that my mental health starts to suffer.  In order to function as a mother of three boys and keep on top of everything that goes with the territory I need time to recharge. I also need to do physical exercise and break a sweat every day. I know everyone needs this, but as a person who has challenges with anxiety requiring medication I need this like I need air. It does seem selfish and a tad self-absorbed at times but it’s the truth.


 And that little myth about having more time once the kids are all at school? That’s what it is: a myth. Sorry to burst that bubble if your kidlets are not at school yet. I personally find that school brings with it much more stuff to organise and remember and also constant socialising in the form of school fetes, assemblies and the inevitable birthday party invitations that arrive. These are things I need to pace myself with. As someone on the spectrum, I have different challenges than other Mum’s who perhaps can handle the whole multi-tasking, socialising, P&C committee attending, soccer Mum thing with greater ease than me.





And ultimately, as I read in the book Power Over Panic by Bronwyn Fox, my mental health  has to be more important than what someone might think of me. This is now my mantra.





Do you need quiet time to cope with the demands of parenting?  How do you recharge? Or do you think I’m selfish?

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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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Sport Makes Me Snooze

It is totally un-Australian (that's a word, right?) of me but all sport bores the bejesus out of me. There. I said it. I've always really wished I was the sporty type. One of those Mum's who turn up at school pick-up clad in tight Lycra looking svelte, spray tanned and smug. I think I can safely say that at age 43, it just isn't going to happen. I loathe Gyms and abhor all team sport. I am uncoordinated and uncompetitive. Considering that I had to Google the word competitive because I appear to have forgotten how to spell and apparently the synonyms for competitive are: ruthless, merciless, aggressive and fierce. I'm reasonably certain nobody has ever uttered any of those words and my name in the same sentence. It is quite clear that I was never meant to be an Olympian. Unless they ever make Cake Eating an Olympic event. Then I'm in with a shot.

I do not even enjoy watching any sport. Cricket and tennis are just the three B's to me. Meaning, bats, balls - BORING! Micky Blue Eyes, who is thoroughly addicted to all things soccer whether it's playing or spectating, cannot comprehend my antipathy toward sport. To him it's the equivalent of saying you don't like breathing.

"You didn't even like any sport when you were a kid?" he'll ask in utter bewilderment.

"No," I assure him.

"I don't understand how you could be a kid and not enjoy running around, playing sport," he stares at me as if he doesn't know me and is worried that he may have married some bizarre alien creature.

Perhaps it is something to do with being Aspergian. I gather that a great deal of us do not gravitate toward sport. I don't mind doing a bit of moderately paced basic aerobics (grapevine, anyone?) as long as it's not too complex with too many fancy moves. And as long as I don't have to wear leg warmers and a leotard. The 80's, Olivia Newton John and Jane Fonda have a lot to answer for.

I've recently taken to doing various workouts on Youtube at home. I'm weird. This way nobody has to see all my wobbly bits jiggling up and down or how hopelessly uncoordinated I am. I can wear my daggiest, most comfortable gear. It works for me. Kind of. It might work a bit better if I wasn't addicted to cake. Ahem.

As far as watching sport, the only thing I can tolerate watching is figure skating. There is music and they have pretty costumes and the moves are incredible. Although it does make me feel a bit wobbly and dizzy just watching them spinning around.

Thankfully my parents never insisted that my brother and I had to do any sports when we were growing up. I would have found it torturous. Micky Blue Eyes is most insistent that our boys should all be doing at least one sport. Mr 12 and 9 have been playing soccer for a number of years now and they seem to like it, especially Mr 12. They have also learnt to swim. I haven't learnt to suddenly become all passionate and intense about soccer even when it's my boys playing. I know. Mother Of The Year, right? The shame....

Plus, having an interest in sport would certainly be an advantage when it comes to small talk. Another thing I am simply not stellar at. Sigh. Instead, when people start discussing the tennis, cricket, footy or anything else with balls in it, I sit there and fade into the furniture. Some sporting dude apparently became Australian Of The Year and I had never even heard of him. Don't ask me to remember his name. Shut up.

On the plus side, at least I will always have a convenient cure for insomnia. I watch sport - instant snooze fest. In fact, after writing this, I already feel a Nanna nap coming on...

Oh well, that's me. UNsporty Spice. Later, dudes.

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

                                                         Is it UnAustralian to not like sport?

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The Bogan And The Not So Beautiful Go To Budgewoi

Happy New Year, all you lovely people! Yes, I'm aware that it's currently February so I probably should have managed this salutation a tad earlier. Oops.

I've been missing from this space for a while. I'm not sure I can string a coherent sentence together. I seem to have lost my blojo. Meaning: blogging mojo. Possibly because I never even had one in the first place. Sigh. I just started to feel like I was boring myself with this thing so I came to the logical conclusion that if I was bored writing it, readers must be bored too and it was time to take a break. Plus, you know me. Always super busy eating all the cake doing all the things.

Meanwhile, certain things have been happening among some of our acquaintances and old friends which I won't go into because that is their stuff. Suffice to say that it all just reiterates the fact that life is short, life is a lottery and frankly, pretty fucking unfair at times so you had better do the things that make you happy. Therefore, if laughing at myself with this ridonkulous little blog and using words like ridonkulous which isn't even word makes me (or anyone else) giggle, then dammit, I'd better keep doing it. Those who are bored by my banal musings can easily click away. Or not click at all as the case may be.

We've been busy little bogans. Or not so little bogans, in my case. Nope, haven't managed to go cold turkey on the cakies. I am exercising, so that's something. Of course the exercise would be much more beneficial if I could quit the cakes but you get that.

Christmas was a subdued affair. We spent the day at home eating a whole lot of food. Because nobody ever does that and we like to be different. Cutting edge and all that.  The next day we went to my brother and sister-in-law's place and ate even more food. Might as well be consistent with certain things.

New Year's Eve and day seemed like just another day. Except it was suddenly another year. I had a lovely, child free (Grandma to the rescue!) lunch out with friends to celebrate mine and my friend Kim's birthdays before packing our bags for yet another bogan road trip. This time we headed to the Central Coast which is basically similar to Boganville but with a beach. We figured we may as well keep things classy.

During the hour long drive, the boys pondered over whether the NSW Central Coast town of Budgewoi is pronounced Budgie Woi or Budge Woi. Apparently the locals call it Budgie. The Woi is optional. It was good to see that the boys take after their mother, always wanting to know the answers to important questions.

Arriving at our cabin, I was already a lovely rosy hue of pink despite slathering myself with five hundred layers of 50 plus sunscreen and wearing long sleeves. This phenomenon continued for the duration of the stay if I so much as ventured outdoors for even a nano-second. If there was ever a person who could be sunburned indoors during a blizzard, I'm sure it would be me.

Nevertheless, I did bravely head to the beach. Once. Shut up. It's torture for us Rangas! I'm not so sure I love a sunburned country. Or being sunburned in this sunburned country, anyway.  You know what I mean. If you don't, then just pretend you do. We're good? Okay, to the next thing. I also celebrated my 43rd birthday while there, when Micky Blue Eyes and the boys presented me with an overwhelming gift. Wait for it:

A card.

They even signed it and everything.

Grounds for divorce?

That evening we sauntered down to the local pub which felt more like a sauna. Haven't the owners heard of air conditioning?

Once there, we ordered some burgers with chips and bangers and mash for Mr 9 (typical classy bogan fare) for which we clearly and politely requested that the gravy be served on the side. Not a particularly burdensome or difficult request. However, the dish arrived smothered in gravy which Mr 9 loathes but Mr 12 loves, hence ordering it 'on the side'. Consequently, Micky Blue Eyes took it back only to endure the disgruntled chef scowling and slamming things. I can only pray that  the resulting gravy free dish that reappeared didn't have something worse in it. Yikes. We scored some cakies at a bakery on the way back to make up for that lacklustre culinary experience. Besides, it was my birthday. Shut up.

The boys struck up a friendship with some other kids in the next cabin and enjoyed the park's movie nights replete with microwaved popcorn.

The real highlight of the trip came when we enjoyed lunch at Toukley RSL before hitting the local Vinnies and Salvo's stores. It's hard work being a Professional Bogan, people. You have to be seen in all the right places.

Some days later we were back in Boganville, where intense preparations began to have Mr 12 ready to start High School. We had to purchase an Ipad as they use those instead of text books and we didn't already own one. Maybe one of these days I'll also get an Iphone and finally catch up with 2014. Or at least 2007. Or something. Ahem.

Hair cuts were the next item on the agenda. Those completed, I took the boys home where Mr 12 kept scratching furiously. Finally, Micky Blue Eyes turned to me and uttered the dreaded 'N' word.

"Do you think he might have nits?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"It could be just dandruff," I replied hopefully.

Wrong.

An examination of his head proved otherwise. Up until this point we had managed 12 glorious nit-free years. On the plus side, at least this now clarifies or emphasises our bogan status. SO proud. Okay, not really...

We frantically treated all of our hair and washed all bed linen. This is not what you want just days before school returns!

Thankfully, the little buggers seem to have disappeared and Mr 12 made it to his first three days of High School. His verdict? Too easy. We shall see, dear. Especially once homework, assignments and essays start rolling in.  Also, he was super excited when he had a double period of PE on Thursday. This makes me rather concerned that he may not even really be my child at all. To say I was never excited about PE during High School could be the understatement of the century.

On Monday Mr 5 officially starts Kindergarten. I won't cry. No way. Not me. I might have something in my eye. Sniff. I should be celebrating. After all, doesn't this mean I will suddenly, magically have all this extra time on my hands to do important things?  Like update this blog more frequently!

BOOM! Be warned.

Stayed tuned for the next exciting episode of Days Of Our Bogan Lives....

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