I asked Dad if he had any small milk jugs at the shop, as I’m chasing one. He sent a pic through of a plain white one and I said that’s nice. Any others?
Then he sent this video. He didn’t even leave the room he was in when I asked him. I’m genuinely pissing myself laughing.
Sat next to a Mexican lady on my train from San Diego to LA. Got chatting to her. She was 82 years old, walks 3 miles every day, Zoomba four days a week and also swims.
I’m not naturally dark. I’m tanned. Look at this.
She holds her arm up against my alabaster skin to prove her point. She’s the eldest of nine kids and her parents used to belt them if they argued with their siblings because family is everything. You aren’t allowed to argue with family. She lives in Arizona now.
After a while another woman appears in the aisle beside us.
Right love, you get ready as we’re off at the next stop. I ask where in Oz she’s from. She looks at me. I’m from Gold Coast. Where are you from?
Vic. But you didn’t grow up on the Gold Coast, did you? You’re from Vic too. She laughed and told me she was but had been on the Goldy for years now.
Directly behind my new Mexican friend was her next door neighbour, a Kiwi. The three of them were travelling together. They’d just left Vegas and were on their way to an Aussie bank in LA because the Aussie had lost all her cash on the pokies.
I CAN AFFORD IT!
Then why are we going to the bank?
They think this is hilarious. They’re all over 80. They somehow fill the entire carriage.
As they leave, my Mexican pal grabs my hand. Smiles.
You have a beautiful adventure.
Thanks to everyone that’s wished me a happy birthday. I’m feeling a bit more grounded every year that passes, and a bit luckier to have the friends and family that I do. My nieces and nephews, big and small, fill my heart so entirely that sometimes I wonder if I could survive without them. Then I remember that I’ve survived 20 years without Essendon winning a final. To finish my night off, here’s my Dad subtly trying to convince me to take magic mushrooms. Go Bombers.
A skydiving pal had an accident on the weekend and is in pretty bad shape. He’s going to need a lot of help to get back on his feet.
He’s a kind, generous, exceptionally annoying human who is loved by a whole bunch of people.
Half an hour before the accident, he was manning the DZ bbq, handing out sausages that were clearly half cooked. As we were arranging to catch up next weekend I mentioned how much he’d been jumping the past 12 months and he said, “I just love skydiving at the moment. I can’t get enough of it.”
Then he went and did something stupid.
You’re a drongo, Heath. When you wake up, there’s a queue of people a mile long who’ll want to put you back into a coma.
Nonetheless, I’m taking a break from atheism to call in a favour from the big guy. Last time I did a prayer, I was about 13 years old and it was mumbled under my breath just before I called a girl to ask her to go out with me. She laughed so hard I thought she was having a heart attack. This time round I knelt down, shut my eyes, clasped the hands, the whole shebang. If he/she is out there, the message got through.
Everything is up in the air at the moment, the next few days will reveal more, but whatever the outcome, Heath has a long road ahead of him.
If anyone can spare a few bucks towards his recovery, his family would greatly appreciate it.
And if anyone out there owes me a favour, this is me calling it in. ❤️
Godspeed Heathy. Ya dickhead.
Every month one of these magazines drops in my mailbox. I open the first page and see my little sister staring back at me and always have to double-take at the line under her name; Deputy Mayor of Ballarat. An entire world away from Dumbouy. She’s so passionate about her role and as active a local member as you’ll find. She’s out there making a difference and I am just so incredibly proud of who she’s become.
