Month: September 2012

I’d never thought about it much. For the most part, my walls were covered in wallpaper. The chosen pattern, selected in a moment of panic, was of light blue cricketers. This would have made sense if I was fond of either cricket or Smurfs, but as I was not particularly drawn to either, it was simply misleading. No one else had panicked when picking wallpaper. Of my brothers, Cameron chose motorbikes and Lachlan selected spaceships. My sisters chose Holly Hobbie. Only I acted in haste.
Continue reading “Poster Child: Travels with a Slightly Effeminate Humphrey Bogart”

Science is all about taking humankind to a better place. Sometimes this means that long-held beliefs are challenged and that orthodoxy is upended. In the case of the beanbag it meant that we, as a species, had to overcome our prejudice and accept that not all chairs need to have legs. Beanbags were so much more than just a piece of furniture – they were the future.
Continue reading “Viva La Beanbag: Prince of Chairs”

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Why Beelzebub hasn’t made the switch to bitumen is, quite frankly, anybody’s guess. I’ve no idea what kind road surface you get from ‘good intentions’; whether they play merry havoc with the suspension system or offer a superior driving experience, I simply couldn’t say. Then there is the also matter of the road less travelled. Sometimes such a road is less travelled for good reason, such as a lack of quality paving (there are, after all, only so many ‘good intentions’ to go around) or a faulty GPS. But I can’t blame either of these. For me, the road less travelled is precisely that because of brutal combination of being risk averse and laziness.
Continue reading “Postcards from the Road Less Travelled”

It snuck up on me. So far as I was concerned, I had remained much the same age for the past twenty years. But somewhere along the line, things have changed. I suppose there were signs. Creaking joints, eyebrows that can only a Whipper Snipper can control and a face with more creases than un-ironed laundry – all of them clues to my advancing years. But I ignored them all. Only when the truth was staring at me in the face and holding a mirror did it truly dawn upon me – I am getting on.
Continue reading “Confessions of a Teenage Contortionist”

It’s the ultimate question. One that seeks to separate the wheat from the all-too-common chaff. It is always delivered with zeal, if not a little bit of venom. ‘What are you – some kind of expert?’ Perhaps it’s the double-barrelled nature of the inquisition that makes it so difficult to respond to. Worse still, it’s the kind of question that demands an immediate response. There is no hope of taking it on notice and coming back. If a person is worked up enough to issue such a challenge, you must immediately answer.
Continue reading “The Bridges of Madison County Death Match”