Murphy's Law

You don’t hear people use the term ‘Murphy ’s Law’ much these days. But you do hear people exclaiming things like ‘it’s just my luck’ or’ this always happens to me!’ Ever feel like the world is against you? That things always happen to foil your plans?

Is it real though? I sometimes think that absolutely the universe is plotting against me. Of course I am really not that important that the universe would decide to give itself a chuckle by making me run around in circles…

But some days…

For example today I was going to walk to the daycare to pick up my son. I decided this yesterday. I am getting over a cold and wanted to re start some gentle exercise. So this was perfect. So what do you think happens? It rained. Not just sprinkling but absolutely pissing it down. So that plan goes out the window. What is more it seems as though this always happen. If I plan a walk in advance it rains. I’m not really a spontaneous exercise person. It seems to take some sort of strategy. Perhaps I should become more of a spontaneous person. Look the sun is out! I’m going to drop everything and go for a walk! Hmmm why can’t I see this happening?

So do you know the feeling? My husband insists if he picks the queue at the supermarket it will be the slowest moving. In fact the person in front will somehow break the eftpos machine and send staff members aflutter trying to sort it out. Supervisors will be called. Apologies will be given. Meanwhile the next line is moving quickly as people pay with cash and no customer feels the need to tell the cashier everything they did that day. The thing is this is in fact often the case. Don’t let hubby pick the line. Simple. It is his curse.

What else?

How about after a busy day you make a cup of tea, settle into your favorite chair and cover yourself with a blanket. You go to turn the TV on only you can’t because the remote is missing.. again. Another 20 minutes trying to convince your kid (or kids) to tell you where they put it, your tea is cold and you want to kick in the TV. You finally turn it on and it’s the last few seconds of your favorite comedy and then a reality show or even worse Neighbors comes on. You groan and turn it off and look for your book. Where did you put that freaking book? Oh there it is only who took the bookmark out? You’re missing your place….again. Just run the bath already…..where is the bath plug? ‘C’mon mate where did you put it? No it’s not funny.’  Bath plug found you shout out to hubby asking if he washed the towels. Well yes he did but they are not dry because they are still on the line and of course (what else?) it rained today… 

Just go to bed already. The world is against you. Something is telling you to just go to bed!

Any days like that? Yes? No? Well good for you. You are obviously one of those people blessed by the universe. Good for you. Now go away and leave me alone in my misery!

So in all seriousness (well I can be a bit serious) doesn't it feel like that sometimes? No matter how much you try and focus on the positives things just don’t go your way. For those of you too young to know Murphy’s Law is basically ‘If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong.” These days we are taught not to think like that; if we focus on negativity then that is what we will get. Which is of course, a far better way of looking at things but sometimes I catch myself thinking the worst. What will go wrong here? Or things are going too well….when will it fall apart? It’s just my luck!

So what about you? Tell me your story. What happens to you that makes you think you are somehow cursed? Come on… fess up!

Why I could never go on Masterchef...

The new series of Masterchef Australia is now gracing our TV screens. Another group of hopefuls will take on each other at various baking and cooking tasks.  People will tweet about it. They will comment on Matt Preston’s cravats, how yummy the cakes look, which contestants they love…or hate.  They will reminisce about their favorite winners from years gone by. Former contestants might even have an opinion or two.

The contestants do of course make the show. Their personalities’ are often as important as their cooking ability. Personally I admire each and every one of them. Yes even the ones everyone else hates; even the ones that get eliminated in the first week; even those that cry at the drop of a hat. In fact I even admire those that cringe when asked to cook a desert because they never cook desert. I mean it’s not as if they knew before going on national television that they might be asked to make such a thing and perhaps should have, you know, practiced. Yes I even admire those fools people.

Now I am not one of those people who boasts about my inability to boil water as though it is in fact a redeeming quality. This is not my reason for such admiration. Not at all. It is not like I admire anyone who can use a sharp knife and work out how to turn on the stove.

I do in fact enjoy cooking. I love trying new things and experimenting. I have a basic knowledge of food and flavors. I understand that cooking can be fun and artistic and an expression of love. Unlike some Masterchef contestants of years gone by I can in fact tell the difference between veal and pork.

In fact at first thought I imagined I would be just the person to go on the show. I love to cook and I can cook really well. Everyone says so. But no; I would fail miserably if I attempted to audition. I simply do not have the extreme passion and dedication these people have and this folks is what I admire so.

The people who go on this show really love food and cooking. I mean really passionately love it. So much so it seems a little bit abnormal. These people want to be chefs really, really badly. I suspect that if the show involved diving into a tank of sharks with the last one out alive being hailed the winner then these people would still do it. They would stare death in the face crying about how much their dream means to them.

Make no mistake. Good on them. Passion is a wonderful thing. But you know I just couldn't cut it. I don’t have the dream. I don’t have this ability to love each and every mouthful of food I consume and I don’t have the addiction to cooking. I thought maybe I did but I don’t. It’s a bit a sad actually. A poor reflection on what I thought was my love of cooking.

Some of these contestants talk about cooking as a way to relax after a tough stressful day. You know what I say?  Let’s just get some takeaway. Sometimes cooking can be fun but there are many times I truly can’t be bothered. Certainly a bath and a glass of wine are preferable than cooking a three course meal for relaxation. But maybe that’s just me.

I admit there are some foods I don’t like and don’t ever wish to ingest. I’m not talking religious reasons either but rather those ‘that looks and smells disgusting’ kind of reasons. Duck? Pigeon? Liver? Nah thanks not really keen. It’s not cooked properly you say? Well I don’t really care as I have no intention of eating it. So you want me to cook a seafood stew? Great stuff. Perhaps the best way to do this is throw it all together and taste it. Then when I want to throw up I will know it is just right?

If I imagine myself as a contestant it is as the one contestant that stands out from the crowd but not because of my cooking skills. One of the top chef’s in this country if not the world presents his signature dish. I am the only contestant not bowing and scraping but instead exclaiming, ‘Yuck that looks revolting. You expect me to taste that?’

Also imagine the would-be tear jerker scene when the judges ask me about my food dream. I say something like; ‘well I just thought it would be really cool to get on TV and learn to cook better. I mean my own cookbook would be so cool but I would rather die than ever have to work in a commercial kitchen. It looks like sheer hell in there!’

I do love it when the teams win challenges and are given a treat. At first they are usually told they will be having a lunch at some out of this world restaurant. So I would be thinking that this sounds great! Long lunch! Imagine the great wine list we could get stuck into? Then the clincher; that there will also be a class with the chef of said super dooper restaurant. What? You mean you actually have to work? Isn't this a prize for goodness sake? Can’t we just eat and get stuck into the booze then go back to the house and nap? But no the contestant’s actually get more excited about the learning opportunity then the free lunch! That is dedication. I would be ostracized if I was a contestant and gave my true opinion on the subject.

So there you have it. I love food and cooking but it turns out not nearly as much as I ever thought I did. These people put me to shame. I rarely see people so enthusiastic about a new career path. This is of course, lovely to see, but also a stern reminder of my own limitations. So please excuse me while I go and cook a lamb roast for dinner, with fresh rosemary or mint. No I won’t forget the correct resting time. I will however probably be using gravox so any would be Masterchef contestant best look away now.   

What about you? Could you cut it on Masterchef?

State of Origin time again. The question of Passion will arise...

It is that time of year again. The time where every Rugby League fan declares themselves blue or maroon(apparently pronounced maroan... don't get me started...) The time of year where friends turn to bitter enemies. Where you are suddenly the biggest fan of players you would normally detest simply because of the colour jersey they put on. It is State of Origin (SOO) time.

Now I live in Queensland. This does not make me a Queenslander. This is state of 'origin' after all and I originally came from the blue state. The wonderful state of NSW. Sydney to be precise. Now why I live in Queensland is a long story beyond the scope of this piece. I imagine you are shaking your head wondering how I have managed the past seven years. Well it has not been easy, I do not hide my Blues status. I wear it like a badge of honour which does of course mean this time of year tends to be difficult for me.

Though it is not the losing that bothers me the most. I mean of course it bothers me. No one likes their team to lose. I have been following NRL since I was a small child. I still have not quite gotten over Balmain's grand final loses in 1988 and 1989. The scars are still there. So losing seven years straight has not been pleasant. At times it has been downright depressing. But the current Queensland squad is made up of some of the best players in the world. It is little wonder they keep winning.

What really bothers me though more than that whole seven year thing is the whole issue of passion. No not bedroom passion. I'm not talking about that nude picture of Robbie Farah from that calendar a few years back. The one with the picture of him holding that seemingly effortlessly placed brick. No I don't mean that kind of passion. Not at all... Wait hang on where was I?

Oh yes. Passion. That thing that the Queenslander insist they have much more of. That intangible something else they insist is the secret behind their wins. You see the Queenslander would have us believe that they are more passionate than their NSW counterparts. They say their pride in the jersey is stronger. Queensland players grew up, they say, wanting to wear the maroon jersey. The New South Welshmen it is said want to wear the Australian jersey. The country they represent is more important to them than the state. This is why they keep losing. They don't have the passion.

Every single year it is mentioned. Often by the players themselves, former players, coaches etc. It is not just a media beat up. These men believe that: they believe they are superior to those south of the border... At least where this pride and passion are concerned.

It is interesting to think about that fact that wanting to play for your country is somehow not a good thing. It would seem Queenslander are Queenslander first and Aussies second. Hmmmm...Interesting. But forget about that for now. What I want to explain to you is how it felt growing up in Sydney as a rugby league fan. What I know of the passion those of us from south of border feel.

If we can just remember for a minute that there was not always a Queensland team in the NRL. In fact before it was the NRL it was the NSWRL. It consisted of teams mostly in and around the Sydney area. It started in 1908. So this is how long players who hail from NSW have had to take pride in where they come from.

Only I think we see it differently. Back then we were not perhaps as passionate about being from NSW because the enemies were closer than that of another state up north. When I was growing up the pride in your team went right alongside with the pride in where you came from. In my case it was western Sydney. Which means South Sydney and Manly where the enemy. The deadly enemy. You want passion? Try watching a game played at Brookvale, Redfern or Leichhardt oval played anytime last century and see for yourself.

Even now over 100 years later these rivalries live on. These relationships full of hate still exist. I cannot barrack for Souths. No matter that each player on his own may be nice enough. It is what it represents. Souths are the enemy. That is it. That is all. Souths supporters are as passionate about hating us Westies. We both hate the Eastern suburbs and everyone hates Manly.

Passion about where we come from? We have it in spades thank you very much Mr. Queenslander. It is just different to yours. It comes from over 100 years of rivalries. Something you would know nothing about having joined the comp so late.

So once SOO started those rivalries were still there. They took a group of guys who on the field were used to hating each other and often even trying to hurt each other and said you now play as a team. We are all from NSW and the enemy is Queensland. Now to be fair they caught on pretty quick. Players came from north of the bridge, south and east and west of it and somehow formed a team.

Now after all these years I would say they still do it pretty well. Perhaps even the passion for the part of Sydney you come from isn't as strong as it used to be. Players often do not live in the suburbs that their team represents. But if it has ever seemed that these players lack passion for the Blues jerseys ( and let's face it like I said before, it is said of them, every single year) then I think this is why. It is hard to forget old rivalries. Brisbane is one team in the comp. They have no history of hating other teams from a few suburbs away. There was no quickly driving through a suburb after getting lost when you realise you are driving through Redfern with a Wests bumper sticker. There are no great punch ups in final matches that live on in folklore between two teams from the opposite sides of the tracks that made up Sydney, the punches thrown with every ounce of passion and pride these men possessed.This sort of passion is unknown to the Queenslanders who go on about it so much.

So if we are going to talk about passion then lets get it right. Both sides have passion. Both sides are proud of where they came from. It is just different. It comes from a different place based on the different history behind the formation of each states journey through the great game of Rugby League.

I don't doubt the passion of the Queenslander. I actually like quite a few Queenslanders... well at least at other times of the year. But I am quite tired of my boys in Blue being labelled as something lesser than their Queensland counterparts. Whether we win this year or not all I ask is that the players play their guts out and show their pride in the jersey. I'm certain they will. They have been outplayed the last seven years because of a discrepancy in skill and experience. Passion is not and has never been the difference.

Chrissie Swan & Smoking in pregnancy.

It would seem opinions are divided on the latest mini scandal involving radio host and presenter Chrissie Swan. After a photographer took a picture of her smoking she admitted on air in a teary confession that she has smoked while pregnant. She explained she smoked approximately five a week and feels terrible about it. She has found it impossible to quit.

It would seem there are two very diverse opinions here. Those that say she is selfish and that her behaviour is inexcusable. Then there are those that say we all make mistakes and we should not judge her.

Smoking while pregnant is not recommend due to increased risks of many health problems for the baby. It is heavily frowned upon by most. What mother would knowingly damage her child?

One can understand people saying well in this case I am going to judge. Smoking while pregnant is wrong. It is dangerous and it is inexcusable.

Then again what do any of us know of her situation? Perhaps those who have never been addicted to a substance should not be judging.

Because addiction is an illness that cannot be controlled. You know the old way of treating alcoholics where people would just tell the person to simply stop drinking? Remember how well that approach worked?

Smoking is an addiction and a very difficult one to kick. I have heard smokers who have not smoked for many years still crave cigarettes. Overcoming an addiction to cigarettes is an extremely difficult thing to do. Willpower alone is often not enough despite what well intentioned non smokers might think.

Perhaps Chrissie's admission will make us see that when a woman becomes pregnant as much as she might want to do everything right for her baby giving up an addiction is not something that can just be done?

Yes there are plenty of people out there that have quit cold turkey and although I don't have the statistics I think perhaps most people fail in this approach. Why else would things like Nicolette etc be such big business?

Imagine a pregnant woman who has the odd smoke as she cannot control her addiction? What would she most likely do? Probably what Chrissie did and sneak them when no one was around as she would feel ashamed to tell anyone.

So instead of demonising Chrissie and those like her perhaps it is time to admit that quitting smoking is tough and that pregnant women should in fact ask for help?

This is a problem when things become unacceptable in society. We don't admit to them to anyone, don't ask for help and continue to suffer. The same can be said of alcoholics or compulsive gamblers.

I don't condone smoking in pregnancy. I think every pregnant woman should make great efforts to quit. In fact I don't like smoking at all. But perhaps we need to hate the habit and not the person who is addicted to it? Just a thought.

What do you think?

My night on Twitter

I spent last night on Twitter. By that of course I mean I spent the night watching tv with my phone beside me occasionally checking the words of wisdom coming from some amazing people.

Because Twitter and the people on it can be amazing. A night on Twitter can be a life changing experience. It truly can . Last night is a case in question. I managed to go through a wide range of emotions last night all due to the information imparted to me via my phone screen.

It started off when my beloved Wests Tigers won. There were quite a few fans tweeting congratulations and talking about player performances. Curtis Sironen made his first grade debut. People my age remember his dad, Paul as one of the best Tigers players to ever play the game. Tweets about the nostalgia felt by some fans nearly made me well up with tears. It is a just a game perhaps but capable of giving us some lovely heartfelt moments.

Then it would appear Eurovision was on tv. On SBS here in Australia to be precise and just about everyone I follow on Twitter was watching, and tweeting and making me laugh hysterically. I was not even watching, had never intended to and probably never will but these tweets were clever, funny and basically left out any need for me to watch the program myself. It was all unfolding on Twitter. It has happened to me before. I never have to watch the program qanda as my Twitter stream reliably informs me what is happening.

In any case back to Eurovision. Of course there was the odd tweet about the human rights record of the host country but that didn't seem to bother anyone. They kept the jokes up regardless.

Everything from urging the Azerbaijani entrants to make a run for it to questioning what would happen to next years Eurovision if Greece won. Not to mention that the outfits, including one very big pair of trousers were discussed (for 'discussed' read 'had the piss taken out of.') as did the hair and props etc. Surprisingly most remained quiet about the actual singing. If you don't believe such musings can be entertaining then type #sbseurovision into the search in Twitter and see for yourselves.


So Sweden won. I think it was rather an anti climax as the tweets stopped pretty much when it was clear who would be winning. Did the best team win? I have no idea. It seems irrelevant.

Then it was race time! Yes the Monaco F1 Grand Prix was on tv and Twitter last night. Having been laid low with a nasty bug and coughing so much it was hard to sleep I was staying up to watch it. I was ensconced in my warm bed with my toddler asleep beside me (don't ask...) about to watch the race. I found a few F1 twitter fans to follow to help me enjoy the race.

One in particular stood out. At one low point during the race he announces he is off to put fish cakes in the oven and then proceeded throughout the race to inform us of the status of his meal including his observation that the Red Bull pit team can change four tyres quicker then he can move from the couch to the kitchen and turn two fish cakes. He timed it. His Twitter name is sniffpetrol. Go and find his tweets. Even now after the race is over you will still laugh.

As much as I have enjoyed watching the racing this year after an hiatus from viewing the sport I cant remember laughing so much during a sports broadcast and it had nothing to do with the commentary.

So Mark Webber won. So what an day! A great Tigers win, Sweden wins Eurovision and an Aussie wins in Monaco! All is right with the world!

Except of course it was not and is not. I could not, as much as at times I would have liked to, avoid the more serious stuff on my Twitter stream. A retweet from someone I follow made me aware of an horrific situation going on in Syria. Yes while the jokes flew around Eurovision, children were being beaten to death in Syria. There was an amazing person,I don't know their gender, for some reason I imagined they were female, sitting in her home in Syria whilst chaos rained around her and she was tweeting about it.

Her updates were terrifying and devastating. She spoke of the sounds of the soldiers, the constant gunshot and rumblings. She tweeted pictures of a photographer who was killed filming the carnage, pictures of happy children before the violence broke out. I learned that children were being slaughtered and the claim was 'self defense.' No help was forthcoming. There were no UN monitors in sight. There was no medical assistance. Field hospitals were being targeted by the shelling. At one point she causally describes a weapon she can see and asks whether anyone on Twitter can tell her what it is.

It broke my heart and made me weep. All this while I was also laughing about fish cakes of all things.

So here I was. Sick certainly but warm and comfortable watching very privileged young men ( ok and Michael Schumacher, a privileged not so young man...) sitting in very expensive cars driving around a picturesque peaceful principality that just reeks of wealth and prestige. Every now and then the cars would pass under the massive signs for the Monte Carlo Casino or whizz past the opulent building with a bright blue swimming pool atop it. At times you would not have been surprised if the crowd had been holding up signs saying 'We are all very wealthy.' with a smiley face drawn underneath. They cross to the pits and show the worried faces of the crew as rain threatened. Could be disastrous. Completely. The stress must be awful.

First world problems huh? You betcha. How many of this pit crew had witnessed a baby being beaten to death? How could I even imagine checking my Twitter feed whilst typing furiously wondering if each tweet might be my last as I was in the middle of a war zone?

So as much as I enjoyed the race and the Eurovision jokes I wonder how many people knew what else was going on in the world? Whilst Swedish people celebrated and champagne was flowing in Monaco, citizens in a place that is geographically not all that far away were being slaughtered.

So as I turned the TV off and put my phone away I found I could not sleep. Many things going through my head. How great that the Tigers are winning again, our national anthem being played in Monaco. Not to mention my fears for myself. Will I manage this week? What with my chronic fatigue symptoms and this flu I have been struggling. But my thoughts kept going back to a person in Syria. Sitting like I was, perhaps even with a child beside them. One they would protect with their lives. How much easier it was for me.

I try and imagine. What if I could not venture outside for fear of being killed? I envisage hearing the artillery, gunshots, stampeding soldiers who may or may not stop outside my front door. The cries of the wounded, the screams of the grieving mothers, the silence of the dying. In my head is that dead baby and children. How can this happen in the world?

So my night on Twitter was a mixed bag to say the least. It perhaps changed me just a little. Those of you who do not use Twitter perhaps do not know the power it can have. It is an eye into the world; all the good, the hilarious and the bad, often the very very bad.

So last night Twitter made me think, reminisce, laugh, guffaw, cry and feel outrage. For that I thank it.

From the Vault of old Blogs... What's in a name?

Lazy today. Well actually not lazy but rather the muse has completly left me. I have written two blogs both of which I have rejected as utter rubbish. So I thought I would bring you something from the vault! I may well keep doing this if it proves popular (with myself anyway..) So here is a blog I wrote back in 2008 about the great game of Rugby League and the great Australian tradition of nicknames...

The Hill at Henson Park had somewhat of a reputation for being uncomfortable and crowded. Crowded, because every weekend the Newtown jets played at home, we would all head to the ground and park ourselves on the hill to watch the game. Comfort was just not a factor. Mum and Dad would sometimes bring little fold up chairs, a blue rug to cover mum's knees in the winter. Always with her was a transistor radio to listen to the commentary and her copy of the Big League so as to be able to name every player and possibly keep tab of the penalties.

My sister and I would wear Newtown beanies when it was cold and eat meat pies and sometimes run around paying football with other kids. Sometimes we would even watch the game, totally captivated, if we happened to be winning. Eventually we would get season tickets in the grandstand but the memory of the noisy crowded hill lingers.

Over the hum of the crowd Dad would occasionally throw Mum a question. 'Who is the ref?' 'Who was that bloke that just dropped the bloody ball?' 'Who just came on as a replacement?'

Mum would use her binoculars and consult her Big League to answer the questions. My questions generally went along the lines of 'Can I have an ice cream? Or 'when does the big game start?' She did not have to consult her Big League or the binoculars for those.

'So who came on as the replacement?'
'What'
'Who came on as the replacement?'
'What'
'I SAID!! - WHO CAME ON AS THE REPLACEMENT??'
'I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!!- IT WAS WATT!!!'

I am not making this up – it actually happened. A man named Watt came on as a replacement and much hilarity ensued.

So what is in a name? Generally Rugby league players go by a nickname. I am not sure what they called the fellow Watt but most players rarely get called by the name they were christened with.

I have a greater understanding of the game these days and am as fanatical as my mother was then. The Newtown Jets are no more and neither is Balmain, the club that replaced Newtown in my affections. Now my affections lay totally with the Wests Tigers, an amalgamation of Balmain and Wests.

I watch the Footy Show on a regular basis which is hosted by guys that used to play when I was younger. They may no longer be playing but they still seem to unable to appreciate the concept of a Christian name.

The footy show host, Paul Vautin is still (affectionately) called 'Fatty' or 'The fat man'. They even use it on the promos for the show. Really – 'The footy show hosted by the great Fatty Vautin. He is joined by Sterlo, The Chief and Matty with guest appearance by The Falcon.'

Some of my favorite players ever from the great Balmain team of the late 80's must sometimes have to look at their birth certificates to remember their names. There was 'Jimmy' Jack, 'Junior' Pearce, 'Blocker' Roach.

Yes just for the record Blocker was not known for his brains but also the terms suited his build and how it felt when you ran into him…

Then there was poor Paul Sironnen who only got 'Siro'. I suppose there is something to be said for having a name that shortens easily into a nickname rather than having to come up with something appropriate to the player's personality or the like.

These days' things are bit less interesting with name shortening being the option most taken. Though Andrew Johns was (and still is, in retirement) known as 'Joey'. His brother Matthew simply got Matty. Thought thinking about it, Andy would not have suited Joey at all…

So anyway in the Tigers, Brett Hodgson gets Hoddgo, Benji Marshall gets well Benji… I have no idea if his real name is actually Benjamin but he has only ever been known as Benji, even listed in the program. Or Robbie Farah. Is he a Robert? Same goes for The Storms Billy Slater. Is he really a William? Who Knows? Check the guides – he is listed as Billy. Does he have another nickname or is Billy enough?

Then there was the great Laurie Daley. Was he ever a Lawrence? Or Willie Mason? When did he decide he would be professionally known as Willie? Not that you would ever ask lest you get your head bashed in….

On a strange note Jonathan Thurston is known as Jonathan. I have never heard him referred to as John or Johnny. Very unusual, perhaps he is one of those people that insist he be called his full name. I wonder how he got into Rugby League?

Then there is the case of those that just have a great name to start with and have no need for anything else.

Ray Warren has been commentating for years and though he said some gems over the years he is always very careful to pronounce the names of the players correctly. As the game becomes more cosmopolitan his job is being made much harder. Little wonder some of the players resort to nicknames.

The classic at the moment and I mean no offence at all to this guy, who is a great player is Fuifui Moimoi. The commentators, including Rabbits (Ray Warren – get it?) love calling it when he gets the ball. They never use a nickname, his name is great enough. Neither do they simply say his surname (Moimoi) or his Christian name (Fuifui) but rather get a buzz out of shouting out the whole thing.

'The balls goes to ground and is picked up by FUIFUI MOIMOI!!!' It sounds as though he has won the game single handed every time he gets the ball. I have no idea if he has a nickname. I can only imagine.

Also enjoyable for Rabs and his ilk are Feleti Mateo and Setaimata Sa. The great coach and now commentator Phil 'Gus' Gould once said he longs for the day Setaimata and Fuifui are playing in the same game and involved in the same play just to test Rabbits' skills.

I think having a name like Braith Anasta is pretty cool as well. Can't think what you would shorten that too.

So while they might be prevalent in Rugby League I thinking shortening names and nicknames are something of an Australian institution.

There is something very informal about Australians and for some reason many of us feel that calling someone something different to their Christian name is a sign of affection. When people call me Kell for example I know they like me. Why else would they call me that?

So while many non Australians might be thinking we are all a bit strange. The truth is if you are being called Robert or William by an Australian then chances are you either insist on being called that (and run the risk of being called something much worse), are sitting on the High Court of Australia or else they don't like you. Chances also are you don't play much Rugby League

I spent $25 on a showbag. Now you may chastise me...

I spent $25 on a show bag. Yep that’s right, I have now become one of those people that have justified the price of a show bag and so that is it, we can never go back. The prices will keep going up and up and I will not be able to complain. I am now part of the problem.

In my defence I would like to say it was for my son. It was a Thomas the Tank bag and the stuff in it was so great. I mean a little Thomas Umbrella? How could I NOT buy it? Nonetheless I did feel a sense of doing something wrong, something quite naughty once I decided to go ahead and do it!

I looked at the other bags and thought I don’t really want to get him a bag full of chocolate (I did of course buy myself a bag full of chocolate!) I told myself that the stuff in the Thomas bag was so cool and he would love it and isn’t that what a day at the show is all about? So I very shakily got my purse out and handed over the money, $31 in total for two (count em…) show bags.

My inner voice inside me was trying to get my attention whilst I was doing this to tell me how crazy it was to even think about spending that much money on a show bag. Where were my wits?  How can it be justified?

At the risk of sounding very old and annoying I want to say I remember what show bags used to cost. When I was a kid $5 was expensive for a show bag. If a parent bought you a $5 bag then you were thrilled and got to boast about it. Chances are you only got just that one bag as opposed to the other kids who got a whole heap of $2 bags. Of course those kids actually had more money spent on them overall but that was not the point. The $5 bags were prestigious, a symbol of decadence, something to salivate over and dream about.

I remember too when the $2 bags rose in price by 50 cents and how horrifying it was. My husband, bless him, remembers when show bags were actually still good old sample bags and free because they actually contained samples in them.

There were no licensed bags in my day though I do seem to recall them limping in sometime in my teens. No mostly they contained chips or chocolates and pathetic little toys. No My little Pony or Thomas or Sesame Street or anything that a small child might go nuts about. I seem to recall the odd non-food bag such as the Magic Bag which I really wanted one year but then decided against when upon closer viewing I discovered it was full of crap. Very clever of me I think to see through the marketing hype back then. Where has that person gone?

So now we have $25 bags and it would seem there is no shortage of people buying them for their kids. I got sucked in and I bet there are even some kids that get more than one of them. Imagine $50 on show bags?  Even $6 is steep really for a bag full of chocolate that probably costs less than that to buy at the supermarket. I imagine there are some people who refuse to buy them based on the crazy prices. I wish I was one of them.  I remember when my husband first expressed the thought to me; ‘Why not just go to the shop and buy some freddo’s?’  Was he kidding? Did he not see the point of THE SHOW BAG??

I am just thinking what I could do with $25 that does not involve buying one licenced bag and giving more proceeds to a company that must make a packet each year.  That is one very long list and would probably be very depressing if I wrote it down, so I won’t. I tell you what I will say, come up with a great concept for a kids TV show and have someone come on board to market the images of the cute characters on toys, toothbrushes, umbrella’s, socks, cartons of milk, ant farms etc and you will have it made.

So I am still calming down a little bit. One minute I tell myself that it is all fine. It is done now and can’t be undone and doesn’t that little backpack look just sooooo cute? At others I wonder what to make of myself. What have I become? Someone who has succumbed to hype about what is required for a good day out, someone lacking common sense and decency?

Yes folks, that is what I have become. I spent $25 on a show bag for my son and this is my confession. Now do with me what you will.