Huh well…

Milk chocolate was trying to kill me. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not generally a hyperbole kind of girl so the truth is I have added milk chocolate to a long list of things I cannot eat. Yeah, there were other foods trying to kill me too (My IBS friends know what I mean) but chocolate just seems like an innocent creature. Man, was I wrong.

 It’s okay I like dark chocolate which is an approved substitute. 

But it continues to fascinate me how food I have loved and eaten for years has been undermining me all this time! In just a week off milk chocolate, a continuing scalp rash I have had for six months has started to heal up. Sorry tmi, but I want to shout it to the rooftops. Tell everyone, after being gobsmacked by the rapidly healing scabs under my hair, that milk chocolate was trying to kill me. 




I don’t understand this world. Is how I put it.

It means I don’t relate to other people particularly well. I don’t look them in the face and I don’t seem to get the big picture.

But I get the little picture – the one that is actually the biggest of them all. I’m friendly, I love people, I care about them and I actually socialise pretty well. Get me at a party and I am happy to be he life of it if that’s what it needs or let someone else shine or whatever. My mum tells me I have a big heart.

I’m not an angel though. I’m narcissistic and I can’t for the life of me feel connected unless I’m there in person. Even phone calls feel wrong. Skype helps me a lot because they can see my body language but it’s not perfect.

Not that body language hasn’t failed me either. I once had a boss yelling and screaming at me for a supposed slight. I still have no idea what I did to her. I was joking with a friend over who was going to do the vacuuming and she started screaming at me to “just f&@$ing do it”. Over reaction maybe? Or maybe she was having a bad day.

But then my own father recently was talking to me and I was only half listening. Something about the Truck terrorist attack in Nice and I semi-disagreed on a point he was making. Next thing he is arguing with me over it and I’m trying to tell him I don’t really care. I wander of to the room I’m staying in while I’m with them. When I come back a few minutes later he tries to sit me down and tell me “You can’t just walk away when you disagree or are angry with someone”. That’s about the time I lose it.

“I didn’t care about our argument I’m not even sure what we were disagreeing on!”

“Well you’re clearly angry”

“Yes now I’m angry because you’re telling me that I walked off in some huff, as if our conversation even registered on my radar! I didn’t care about our conversation”


I’m paraphrasing but that’s the gist.

So you can probably tell that I don’t really like being told, well anything, especially from parents. It’s ongoing teenage rebellion but there’s an aspect of – If I screw it up it’s my own fault and I can live with that. But if someone else screws it up I am devastated.


This all feels a bit like word vomit, but I need to start writing this stuff down.





Just there

“I can’t breatheeeeeee without you and I have to”

I know it is nerdy but It is on repeat in my head and it is by far the best line I can sing, so I am probably never going to like it again.

I think about Charlie (my former Cavalier King Charles Spaniel) the most when I am alone which I am now, which is why I cannot get the song out of my head.

Whenever I go into my backyard it’s worse. We bought Charlie a fruit Fig tree. This is not those Australian-native massive fig trees, it only gets to 3 metres tall which is exactly what we need in the yard of our new home.

Exactly where I used to sit with Charlie at my feet I now sit with the Fig tree straight ahead. I will it to grow and be strong. And I worry it will one day take out the fence… Have we planted it too close?

And most of all. I wish Charlie could see it with me. Sniff it maybe.
And I would scratch is neck and hug him tight…

Or maybe that would be macabre. “There Charlie – that is where we will bury you”.

Now I start to think of the future. If this stays on the web forever and someday someone reads it. Will they come and dig him up? ‘The dog of social media’. That would make me so angry. Charlie lived his life unassumingly. Happy to sit behind you or go to sleep nearby – that is a trait of the breed. And it was one of my favourite things about Charlie.

Cavaliers were bred to be lapdogs, to sit with ladies during their portrait painting or needlepoint. Queen Victoria had a couple. Her favourite was Dash and I have to post here the inscription on his memorial.

“Here lies Dash, the favorite spaniel of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, by whose command this memorial was erected.

He died on the 20thDecember 1840 in his ninth year. His attachment was without selfishness, his playfulness without malice, his fidelity without deceit.

Reader, if you would live beloved and die regretted, profit by the example of Dash.”

But for the name, this could be Charlie.



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We call them so many names. Often we discuss their names, some are too human (and there are people out there who don’t like that) and some are odd or do not fit them and sometimes you get the right one.

Me, well, I called him Charlie and it fit him.

My father picked it on the drive home as we cycled through all the possible names. I was not very imaginative at 14 it seems, because I could not think of one that suited. Plus the name I eventually chose related to his breed; a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel and was extremely popular for them. But I guess that’s another story.

I very rarely used it though. Charlie was Chunk Buddy, Charles (said in a snooty way), Small Fry, Little Man, Chunky and Char to name a few.

Small Fry was my favourite. To be honest I use it on my nephew and I have no doubts I will one day use it on my own kids. Charlie joined me at a time when I could treat him like my little brother and I guess I never stopped. By now I am sure you can guess that Charlie was my dog and he was my best friend too, and he died, as small dogs with too big hearts are wont to do (but that too is another story).

And I am expected to say goodbye quickly which is something I cannot and will not do. So I will write and maybe someone out there will want to know about Charlie and in return I would love to hear about there dog – loved and possibly lost. Maybe my keenness for writing about him will eventually fade, but for the moment this is something I need to do.