Hello readers, sorry for the delay. I am back now for good! Lots to share and even more to achieve. My camera has just arrived today for filming is going to start Friday. I'm excited and terrified all at once. I am doing my first series on addictive tendencies. Basically coping with two brains - a logical, educated and cultured brain versus a infantile, wants what it wants and always wants it now brain.
Moving house took much longer than I anticipated, in fact there are still too many errant cardboard boxes around for my liking but generally speaking, we are comfortably settled into "Heroinegirl Manor". Seriously, my new home, which I share with my beloved Boo and his little daughter Jas on weekends, is five bedrooms, four bathrooms etc, etc with a huge fish pond which takes precedence over the entrance foyer. Initially, I held reservations about getting such a palatial home; the rent wasn't exactly cheap and the upkeep seemed daunting for three stories and more bathrooms than a couple could possibly use, albeit keep moss from covering the cisterns. However, my heart sung when I spied the gorgeous master suite, complete with parents retreat, walk in robes and the cherry on top of the cake; a giant white and royal red and gold spa bathroom, with double sinks and gold finishings. It's one of those "oooooh and ahhh's" places, something Boo and I felt we deserved after both looking after other people for a good hunk of our little lives. I realise that I am lucky to have such a steady and secure life nowdays, *(not a night goes by that I don't thank all and sundry for the miracles that unfurl in my life ) however both of us figured out that if we supported each other financially now, that wealth of pooled finances could afford us own little prime piece of paradise. Dream big, it works.
During my childhood, I always remember the next door nieghbour's house flourishing beside our modest three bedder. Even though our acreage was roughly the same size as theirs, it was as if they had splashed money all over it, it just looked so much better than ours. The family (A quiet Married couple with expensive hair and glasses had two primary school daughters, much to be my delight, named Annabel and Felicity) The kids quickly made friends whilst my socially inept parents languished over the dreaded introductions by avoiding them all together. This wasn't customary behaviour, my Stepmother just preferred to befriend women on the lower end of the social economic scale, normally the long suffering wives of the soggy alcoholics Dad managed to aqquire sometimes when on a week long bender. Dicks, Charlies and Franks - They always ended up staying on our couch, but I noticed that Mum never offered the Sheridan sheets (which suspiciously fell of a back of a truck once and I spent many years literally thinking that my father scoured highways, dedicated to finding us our new toaster, comforter or trampoline literally falling off the back of trucks hurtling down the highway, with reckless abandon for their load. Instead of our prized Sheridan sheets , our overnight guests that came from the boozer always got the itchy acrylic blanket (which always made me allergic) it was poo brown and was less likely to show up any similar stains of a suspicious nature.
Instead of my mother running over to our affluent nieghbours with a deliciously warm butter cake (I don't think australians do this at all) yet another teary eyed, single mum was pouring her heart out to my Stepmother in our lime green kitchen, whilst my Stepmother patted her hand , barely concealing her selfish need to feel better about her life - only by making someone feel so much worse about theirs. She obviously delighted in hearing the woes and torment of some other person, it made her feel so much better to know that despite her alcoholic husband and shit box of a house, this woman spoon feeding a dirty faced toddler tinned sheeps brains had no where to sleep that night. That had to be worse off than her!
Next door to us, a congregation of moving trucks were emptying contents into the house; matching treadmills, gold framed mirrors, the largest zebra skin that I have ever seen, numerous lamps and sofa after sofa after sofa. I thought everyone only had one - and it was called a lounge. Doctors, my mother said primly, predicting their occupation through the ancient art of surburban divination, (they turned out to be lawyers) My Stepmother always kept a cool distance from them after that, declining offers to come and play on the tennis courts, lush green fields that had been neatly manicured to almost an obessive perfection. I cursed my families poorness but even more I cursed my father's lack of standards and ambition to dream something better for all of us to fly with.