When people want to express the epitomal point of something, it’s common to just add the word “pure” before the feeling or emotion, as if that purity enables the emotion or feeling to reach the utmost and extreme point of said emotion or feeling. 

Right now, I am feeling pure exhaustion. 

Which is ironic, because there is not a single thing pure about it. 

I am fuelled by caffeine and thoughts of new adventures. For the past week I have been sleeping (read “napping”) on the fold out couch, even as it is listed on Gumtree for free in the hopes that some sucker person in need comes and moves it for us. I’m surrounded by packing boxes, my best friend and flatmate is moving to Melbourne and I am wearing a huge boot on one leg. 

But I’m happy. 

The only thing I would change about this situation is the damn boot. 

My flatmate and I have lived together for eight years. She had a niece born at around the same time as I moved in, so as little niece grew she marked the time that my flatmate and I spent together. And my god we were a mess when we first met. 

But little by little, then lot by lot, we started getting our shit together. I guess in a way we grew up, grew into the versions of ourselves that we had tucked away as goals and hopes. They came to life as our friendship continued to grow and change and strengthen. 

This is what is pure. The friendship we made. Be it blessing or luck or timing, or whatever pre-ordained serendipity, we have a friendship that time and space will only continue to build upon. 

So dear flatmate, I love you endlessly and purely and wherever we live, you’ll always be my flatmate simply because I know we both co-habitate in the heart of a friendship that won’t change. 

Big love. 


Nailed it


Our little Harry man has very long nails. He wriggles like a tapeworm any time the groomer tries to trim them, so his nails keep growing.

This is Harry, also known as Harold Bartholomew:


My beloved recently put floorboards through the house. Harry and his nails have quite a distinctive sound as he bustles and prances his way around the house. He clickety clacks to the doggy door, he taptaptaptaptaps his way to the lounge room and he scritches stealth missions into the kitchen.

Last night, I took my boot off. I’m allowed to take it off for bed and showers. Other than that the boot is my constant companion while my broken ankle heals. For some reason, I saw fit to extend my foot towards my beloved’s leg. With trembling toes, I reached out and began scratching her leg. You see, I can’t manipulate my foot into the correct yoga pose for toenail cutting at the moment, so I am growing some pretty spectacular appendages. These nails are long. I’m giving Harry a run for his Goodo, and that, my friends, is saying something.

The moment my beloved realized what was happening was almost audible.

Her breathing changed, and I knew the tone she was going to use before she even opened her mouth.

“That is disgusting.”

I pulled my foot away, and giggled.

Then I stretched it out again. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

“Would you fuck off?”

“No. I can’t reach to cut them, baby. My ankle is broken, you know.”

It was around this time – 1am, if you’re interested – that she offered to chew the frigging things off.

I felt this was somewhat harsh.

It’s funny, because one of my biggest phobias is unattached toenails. Toenail clippings. They scare the bajeezus out of me.

But if I’m honest, I actually kind of like the idea of being able to clickety clack my way around the floorboards when I am out of the boot. To be able to tap out Morse code messages as I make my way around the house. Obviously it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye, however if someone did lose an eye I could kebab it onto my big toe nail. This would enable me to look under couches and deep inside my shoes.

I told my beloved of these plans. She seemed less than thrilled by my lofty ambitions.

I rolled over and returned to the shredding of the sheets, before I eventually fell asleep and dreamed dreams of a world that appreciated my more brilliant ideas.

The mighty music


We were walking back to our cabin. My beloved and I had just attended the first “elegant” dinner on our cruise. For me, elegant means clean undies, deodorant, and shoes. But this time, I had to make to make an effort. I had to look like a girl.

It was a little overwhelming, and I had had some practice attempts at dressing up…


This particular night on board, everything went fine.

I realized I hadn’t packed a hair brush, but then remembered that I hadn’t actually owned a hairbrush since 2007.

It was when we were walking from dinner that we heard it: music.

Soulful, touching, real music. A funky bass that sought to compliment an acoustic guitar. A voice full of husk and heart. And it was a female playing the guitar. Playing the guitar beautifully as she sung.

I was transported back to the times when this was what I did. Making music. Loving it. I know the buzz of being live. The burning fingertips from steel strings. The microphones, the secret hand signals between players. I know it and I miss it. Five arm surgeries have left my beautiful Maton largely untouched for the past couple of years. And it’s like missing a limb or a section of my heartbeat.

My beloved and I paused, and took in the music. From soul to jazz to blues to pop to rock, this woman played it all. I was impressed, I was jealous… And I was inspired.

The duo playing are called Soulfire. The woman with the VOICE and the GUITAR is a very cool chick named Sam Crane. And because of the way the cruise ship was created, Soulfire were currently pressing their music into almost every level. It was like a warm glow, a glow that reminded me that music is my home.

And so, I was inspired.

More determined than ever to get back to my guitar playing and djembe, I vowed that I would wear my wrist brace as often as possible to assist in the tendon recovery. It was a new day, damnit. I was ready to take on the world.

Of course, the next night I fell over on my way back to the room. Went down like a sack of shit and wound up with a broken ankle. Couldn’t wear the wrist brace as I needed to use my hands to help me get around.

But there’s a song that tells it like it is:

You can’t stop the music.

Te Best of Tins


Tere are times wen it pas to be able to look on te briter side of life. For example, I am currently usin te very broken keyboard on my laptop to write tis post. But wat can I say, it just seems to reek of te Nauty Corner, doesnt it. So I am embracin te ridiculousness of it, and enjoyin presentin te callene of interpretation to people.

Recently, my beloved and I went on a cruise. It was on te tird nit tat I fell over. Te seas were rou tat nit, friends, and in te swayn of te sip I was rendered into a pile of body parts, bruisin and bizarre swellin:


Te swellin continued into te nit, and te followin mornin I returned to te sips medical centre and was iven a back slab. Tat is wen te fun really started.

Meet Lone Wolf.

Image Now, unless you ave a firm commitment to makin te best of tins, avin Lone Wolf come alon on a oliday could really make for a crappy time. I tink it is possibly made easier by te fact tat EVERYTIN is fodder for te blo.

But ere are te adventures of Lone Wolf, aboard Carnival Spirit, sailin to New Caledonia…


A very bi weekend


Tats meant to be BI, not bi.

And I could totally o and write tis on my tablet or on my beloveds computer, but tat just wouldnt fit in wit te Nauty Corner, would it…

You see, upon returnin ome from te Cruise, i discovered tat my laptop ad decided to trow an almity tantrum. I ave now lost te use of a dozen keys on te keyboard, includin te backspace and te .


Tere is BI NEWS for tis weekend, friends!


You can come up to Newcastle and see me at te Newcastle Writers Festival! Yay! Im oin to be readin on SUNDAY at 11:15am. Te link to et more inomation is ere. Id love to see you tere, so if you come be sure to point yourself out to me.


Tere is a NEW BUTTON on te blo! Look! its tere, on te top rit and column! YES! You can vote for me in Te Peoples Coice round of te Best Australian Blos for 2014. If you click on te button, it will take you to te forms to vote. Just keep ittin NEXT until you find Te Nauty Corner of Social Niceties.

Wo knows, if I win, maybe I will be able to buy myself a new laptop…

Are you oin to come and see me on Sunday?

Are you oin to vote for me?

Are you oin to tell everyone you know in te entire WORLD to vote for me?

Tank you. You rock.



If the ocean’s a-rocking…

If the ocean’s a-rocking…

… Then I’m probably curled up with a busted ankle, giggling about rude stories and popping seasickness pills at an alarming rate.

The holiday is over, friends, and my beloved and I have returned home to the bosom of our fur babies. We had a spectacular time…





We left from Sydney and headed to New Caledonia. I’ve decided I am quite a fan of going away with my beloved, particularly when it includes a cruise ship, amazing music and lots of fun. Nothing could make a dent in our holiday spirits. Nothing.


And it was actually in these really shitful moments surrounding a busted ankle that the staff aboard the Carnival Spirit raised the bar. I’ve had a think about it, and I reckon it comes down to this: value. The staff members, from our gorgeous cabin steward Sam through to Jacqueline at guest services, from Dessi the maître d’ through to Soulfire, with the stunningly talented Sam Crane – these individuals seem to genuinely place value on people, and their experience on board. It matters that the passengers have a great holiday. And if they can help make that happen, then you can bet anything that the Carnival team will do it.





I made many tales to tell about the last ten days. And I reckon that every single person on board has their own set of tales to tell. One thing that I realized while on holidays is that even though it looks like we’re all traveling the same direction, there’s no way we can assume that we’re taking in identical views. So stay tuned, and I’ll share some of my own stories aboard the Carnival Spirit with you.

But right now, I need to come up with a way to convince my beloved that we need to book our next cruise sooner rather than later!

Are you a cruiser? Do you love it? What has been your best ever experience on holidays?

The sack in the hallway


Here is a hot tip: chairs with wooden legs slide quite nicely, however if you are sliding them over tiles you should make yourself aware of  grout or gaps between tiles.

Here is another hot tip: wheelchairs may not fit easily through your cabin door.

One more hot tip?

If you’ve recently made your way through five surgeries for your arms and wrists, and you’re currently wearing a wrist splint? Crutches are hard work.

Last night I rocked the boat. As is my will. My beloved and I had an awesome time doing karaoke with a band. For three minutes, she was Joan Jett and I was Jet. She loved rock and roll and I asked if she was going to be my girl. Sure there may have been more talented people there. But we were louder and more enthusiastic. We were given Artist tags and for a few moments I considered trying to use my tag to get back stage.

Then I got backstage in a very rock star way.

It was close to 1am when my beloved and I were making our way back to the cabin. We were giggling, not really overly drunk, we’d just had our goodnight cuppas. And then from out of nowhere, the air leaped up and knocked me to my feet. Friends, I went down like a sack of shit. This was a phrase that I’m pretty sure Nurse Misty from the USA wasn’t familiar with. It certainly didn’t cut it as a sufficient incident report.

Meanwhile, my ankle continued to change shape.

Last night the verdict wasn’t good: possibly fractured ankle, won’t find out for sure til we dock at Nouméa and get to their emergency clinic. Apparently the xray stuff is being reinstalled the day the cruise ends. Til then? I have to sit quietly, preferably with my foot elevated, and find out about back slabs to stabilise the joint this morning. The cruise folk have been awesome sauce, however I’d prefer not to need as much help as I’m needing.

So. Is the foot broken? Will we get a refund on our shore excursion tickets? Back slab or no back slab? Is this as unromantic as it gets? Have you ever sat on a cruise toilet and flushed it and been scared of having your entire intestine system sucked out of your bottom hole?