Little Memories


Mrs Woog posed a question last night, regarding the heat and whether kids should be sent to school.

It reminded me of a time, when I was in around year 4.

It was swelteringly hot at the time. I was in a demountable classroom at my tiny little primary school. I was partnered up with a boy named Luke, and we were learning about invertebrates and skeletons and the like. The teacher had (somewhat foolishly, given the heat) brought in a couple of tins of sardines. We were pulling these oily little fish apart to look at their skeletons, when like a mirage my mum appeared at the classroom door. She laughed about the smell in the classroom and said she was here to take me home early, because it was hot and she’d finished work early.

That was a great day.


Nothing Without Labour. My primary school emblem.

I remember another time at primary school.

I’d lost something in the playground, and had pilfered permission to go back to the playground to search for whatever it was I had lost. In a moment of ten year old logic, I climbed up the highest bars we had in the playground. Now, ordinarily I wouldn’t have attempted to climb these bars. They were really high. But up I went. Got to the top, turned myself around, and gazed over the empty playground. Then I realised how high I was. My friend Paul came trotting out of a classroom and asked me what I was doing. I shouted down to him that I was maybe a little bit stuck. He climbed up and then we climbed down together. I can’t remember if I found what I had lost.


Miss Naughty Corner, in Kindy. Nothing much has changed.

The bus trip to and from school was long. I remember we were among the first kids on the bus and the last ones off. But in the morning as we came close to the school, there was a particular hill. And if you were in the back seat, and you bounced up and down and timed it just right, when the bus hit the bottom of that hill you’d get jolted up in the air. Another friend of mine lost her front tooth that way. But it was OK, it was a baby tooth.

This last memory I’m going to share with you is a bit fuzzy. Kind of like the lights are fully turned on in this part of my remembering, but I do like this memory.

It was very early in my schooling career. I think it was my first ever day of school. So I would have been 5. My sister, 9. And I remember her helping me get dressed. I had Strawberry Shortcake shoes. And a lisp. And for some reason I think my clothes were hanging over the grate that surrounded the fireplace, but then logic kicks in and I think but it would have been summer, why did we have the grate in place? Then adult reasoning kicks in, and to be honest I can’t imagine my parents packing up the grating just because the fire wasn’t being used. But yeah. My sister. Helping me get ready for school.

I loved primary school. It was small, it was safe, it was familiar. The wheels fell off a bit in high school because it the high school I went to was freaking huge. But isn’t it funny, how sometimes memories creep up behind you and embrace you and carry you back to a time when things were easier and gentler and nicer.

What was your favourite thing about primary school?



All Dressed Up


There’s a new layout on my blog writing thing and it’s slightly offputting. I have this feeling that I’m about to publish a blog to an entirely different universe but what the hell. Let’s see what happens.

After the fancy dress party on the weekend for beloved’s son, I was discussing the various costumes that I’ve come up with over the last few years. You see I love dressing up. I frigging love it. So I program dress up nights into my Cub program as often as I can. I thought the time was right to take you on a fancy dress trip down memory lane. Inspiration, ideas, down right idiocy, it’s all here. None of these costumes cost more than $15 to pull together. And each is more ridiculous than the next.

So strap yourself in! Here we go.


First cab off the rank is the cat in the litter box. This was for my friend’s Crazy Cat Lady party. Please note the actual kitty litter, and the (fake) poo.


Pirate Night was for Cubs. This was a dress up night that was actually badge work – Codes and Signals. SO. MUCH. FUN. The pirate shirt got another run a few years later:


Beloved’s daughter had a Carnival themed 18th. She’s now planning her 21st and that is going to be one hell of a challenge. I’m a fortune telling machine, kind of like the thing in Big that sets Tom Hanks off on his crazy adventure as a big person.


You know those friends you have where you’re so frigging honoured that they picked you to be in their life? Well my one of those friends had a 50’s housewife kitchen tea. I was still unable to walk when that one rolled around, so I wasn’t going to be able to rock a bubble skirt and high heels. Actually I can’t do that anyway. So this is what I came up with.

The same legend chicky had a Circus themed 30th. She issued the challenge for someone to go as the “blow job clown”. You know, the clowns with the mouth open wide waiting for someone to shove balls into it. Challenge: accepted.


What’s next…


Cowboys and Indians night at Cubs! This one is totally out of focus but gosh it was a good night. I remember telling the kids I wanted to see at least one horse. AND I GOT MY HORSE!


Medieval night at Cubs was the night I scared some of my younger kids. These pustules were truly gross. They’re made out of bubble wrap. The joy was that it was a hot night, and because they were secured with bandaids, they eventually filled with sweat and condensation. So I was able to pop them. Brilliant.


We also had a rock n roll night. I can’t remember the reasoning behind this one but does it matter?

And this brings us back to the most recent costume, Gru.


My reasoning with dress ups is that you either throw everything into it, or you don’t bother. And the person dressed up will never look like the goose – it’s the person who doesn’t try that ends up looking silly.

Do you like dress ups? Have any costumes of note?



We got this face paint that says it comes off really easily. I slathered beloved’s face and hair in the stuff, then went to wash my hands. My hands didn’t realise that the face paint was meant to come off easily so it stayed on my hands. After doing several loads of dishes and numerous toilet trips, and a shower this morning, I still have yellow on my hands.

Things aren’t looking good for beloved tomorrow when she goes to work.

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

She’s a minion!

Beloved’s son turned 18 this week so that meant a party to deal with. It was hero and villian themed. I’m Gru, who I am told is the bad dude in Despicable Me. Here’s a better look at those costumes:

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

I have been told that Gru is the villian who didn’t turn out to be a villian. This is good to know, particularly in the light of racist hatred that has been the result of the terror attack in Paris during the last 24 hours.

Source: unknown

Source: unknown

I don’t know what is going to happen with all the hate in the world at the moment. But for the handful of arseholes that were responsible for the attacks in Paris, there are many more people rising up with love as their response.

An unknown man rode his bike to the scene of one of the attacks. He was towing a piano. He started playing, roughly ten metres from the Bataclan Theatre. He played Imagine by John Lennon. A crowd gathered. With a white peace sign scrawled on the piano, he played the notes that are known worldwide. He created unity. Sent a message of hope, of how to respond.

Just imagine.



I know it isn’t nice to use the word “hate” but you know what? I fucking hate change. Particularly when it is change for a stupid reason.

I’ve written before about how the number of ripples my brain can cope with is three. That might be three major events, three upsets, three issues, or in this case, three changes. I’m at three now and yesterday I woke up to discover my special pillow (affectionately referred to as pootoo) has a tear in it.

Just… just fuck this.

My head knows that change is something that a lot of people have trouble with. But when sameness is what helps you thrive, the ripples that change make feel akin to those whopping big waves at the beach that dump you to the bottom of the ocean, fill every nook and crevice with sand, then laugh at you as the stagger to your feel minus your swimmers.

Oh my GOD Scouty just made the most horrific smell. I must change rooms. Hang on.


Seriously how does such a delightful fur baby who gives endless love and just wants to play create such smells? How does this happen?

Actually it’s kind of what change makes me feel like. A growing awareness of impending doom, straight from the bowels of hell. It becomes overwhelming and there is nothing to do but either breathe it in until you are physically ill or evacuate.

need sameness. Life doesn’t stay the same. And so I developed ways to deal with the ripples life throws just as a part of the human condition. But it’s not so easy this time. You see the way I developed those ways has changed. Since I met my therapist, I realised for the first time that I’m not completely useless. I learned what it was that made my head the way it is. I found ways to work with it instead of against it. I got through things and started to thrive. But I feel a bit like this:

Imagine you have a shitty car. This is quite easy for me because I used to own a Kia. You take your car off to get serviced. You’ve seen many mechanics in the past who have simply patched what’s wrong and sent you on your way. But now you’ve found a brilliant mechanic. You take your Kia in and it receives regular work. Things start to change. Windows go up and down. You don’t stall as much. The clutch doesn’t snap. You start driving further and further. You gain confidence with the car and start being pleased that your lemon is now more of an orange.

Then you find out that the mechanic is moving. The best you can hope for now are those patch up jobs. And as your car sits idling in the driveway of the mechanics, the exhaust starts to splutter. The wheels begin to tremble. As you back it out to return to a smaller radius of safe driving areas, the wheels fall off.

Sure, there are other mechanics. But when every other mechanic has only been able to do patch it jobs, you’re kind of left with nowhere to go. The car is in the driveway but you don’t want to drive it because you know it’s not going to be able to get the help it needs if something goes wrong. The best you can hope for now is a courtesy car while your car splutters along from crisis to crisis.

That brilliant mechanic? Not using their mechanic skills anymore, even though they are the absolute best.

The cars the mechanic helped? They either manage the change or splutter to silence.

I have no idea what’s going to happen. I met a new “mechanic” today and he spoke to me like I was a three year old. Stories of houses and shoes. I still got there though, and I made an appointment to go back.

Will the car make it? No idea.

Will my brilliant mechanic return? I fucking hope so.

There’s nothing worse than wasted skills. And there are a lot of people in Newcastle who need a good mechanic.

And now Scouty has followed me to the study and released another hellish odour.

Time to get my joggers on and head to the gym. While it’s still there. Because yay and hoorah. That’s changing too.

Some days you’re just not full of sunshine and light.

How do you manage with change? Any tips?



I hit a new personal best today at the gym. 3km in 32 minutes. Here is my after face:

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

Full of sweat and stinking like a fly blown cow.

It’s a funny thing. Shops like Lorna Jane don’t stock workout gear that fit larger people, when it’s larger people who actually need that encouragement to get active. As it is, the range of work out gear for bigger people is still decent, if you don’t mind tights as pants. I’ve found ways around this and yes occasionally I do wear tights as pants for the gym. But I make sure these aren’t days when I have to get fuel.

What I don’t understand is why there isn’t a better range of plus size sportswear, swimmers, sports bras and so on. I mean, aren’t we the target market for “get fit” wear? Why then have we been so forgotten?

A couple of weeks ago, I decided I wanted to buy a sports bra. Now, my puppies are definitely shrinking but the thing is, it is still really hard to get a decently priced sports bra to fit my girls. So I turned to the internet, and found not just one but a range of sports bras that would fit!

Not being a fan of underwires, I went for a soft cotton scaffolding system. It was reasonably priced. Had good reviews.

Then I saw the name of this particular bra.

You know how you can buy bras with names like “Luxury” or “Comfort Plus”?

My bra?

It’s name is Bessie.

Fucking Bessie.

So now, I go to the gym in my tights as pants or men’s sport shorts. I have my special joggers on that keep my Achilles happy.

And I wear Bessie.

She’s comfortable, she’s supportive, and I’ll buy more Bessies.

But what the actual fuck is with that name. Pretty sure it isn’t something Lorna Jane would sell.

The battle now is that I need new swimmers. I’ve got my eye on the Minky Deluxe, although the Flipper 500 seems to have a supportive shelf in the bust region.

What do you reckon? Can you point me towards somewhere decent to get my gym gear from?

Of Neil Diamond, Wet Knickers, and Hundreds of White Paper Bags


It’s been a busy few days here in the Naughty Corner, which is my vague attempt of explaining why I’ve missed a couple of posts. But never fear, the catch up blog is here!

Friday, I was pouring my bowl of Special K when the phone rang. As a rule I tend to avoid numbers that come up as private, so I’m not sure what particular vein of boldness came to surface. But answer I did, and I received the happy news that I had won two tickets to NEIL DIAMOND! I was chuffed! I rang Dad to tell him that his Christmas present had come early, but he had bowls and golf. So my sister came and we froze are butts off together.

You see, as we walked into the vineyard where the concert was held, the heavens opened. They opened like mother fuckers. It poured, it thundered, the wind picked up and the rain got bigger and fuller and heavier. All around us was a sea of well dressed people scurrying to get themselves and their wine under those poncho rain coat things that in supermarkets might set you back $2, but at the vineyards they cost more than double that. My sister and I did not have ponchos. We finally found our seats in the downpour, sat in sizeable puddles, and started the famous family giggle that has gotten us into trouble so many times in the past.

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

We had fantastic seats, but for one reason or another the sound seemed to wash straight over the top of us. It was about halfway through that I realised I needed a wee. My sister almost snapped her legs trying to stand up to accompany me, so cold she was. We found port-a-loo strip, and I took one look at the crowd of people waiting and realised that no. This would not do for my delicate bottom. The rain fired up again and my sister and I looked at each other. We made the decision to leave early, simply due to the cold, the walk we had to do that was quickly becoming a slippery, clay filled quagmire of hazards, and the fact that everything we were wearing, including our undies, was totally, utterly drenched.

But before Neil Diamond, was Relay For Life.

If you aren’t familiar with what Relay For Life is, the answer is easy. It’s about hope. Hope, and raising awareness and funds for the Cancer Council. If you want to find out more and perhaps even start a team for 2016, here is the link to the Newcastle/Lake Macquarie Relay For Life. I was there bright and early as a Cub Scout Leader. We had volunteered to lend Relay For Life a hand this year. I set up my activities (reef knots and pop rockets), hung my Scouting paraphernalia, then sourced out the best source of caffeine available. My small and select army of helpers arrived throughout the day, but our main job was to set up this incredible sign. It’s made up of paper bags, sand and battery operated candles. When the sun goes down, the candles get turned on.

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

Sunday was a day that was focused on recovery.

Monday rolled around, jaunty and full of itself. I too was feeling jaunty and full of myself, so I took myself off to the gym. Did a quick warm up, started boxing with my brilliant trainer, and then I couldn’t breathe. Hello, asthma, you cow of a thing.

But today is Tuesday. Things look better today. My undies are dry, hope is still alive and I can breathe.

All is well.

How was your weekend?

“Click Submit”


That’s what it said. And I did.

Last night I signed up for my first ever fun run. I’m doing the Variety Santa Run in December, the weekend after my birthday. Variety Children’s Charity supports Aussie kids who are disadvantaged. I spend a lot of time hanging out with kids. They’re fun. But there are so many ways that they can be disadvantaged. It might be related to poverty, to health, to disability. But as I found out more about Variety, I knew that this was a cause I should get behind.

I’m generally very obedient, when it comes to inanimate objects telling me what to do. Take for example this photo from a wedding I attended last year:

Aye aye, Cap'n. Image by The Naughty Corner.

Aye aye, Cap’n. Image by The Naughty Corner.

In fact, the one and only reason why I would ever consider using an iPhone is so that I could chat to Siri. I often exchange wisdom with her on my beloved’s phone (much to beloved’s frustration). But really, Siri likes to listen, she likes to help, she makes great suggestions – so why wouldn’t I enjoy chatting with her?

I remember just after the big storms in Newcastle earlier this year, beloved and I were driving to the shops. We passed a massive sign that I imagine had been put up due to the number of people taking green waste to the tip, following the destruction of the storms. The sign said: “TIP: KEEP LEFT”. Beloved saw it, and immediately changed into the left hand lane. I was surprised, and asked her what she was doing. It was like a penny dropped and she started giggling like crazy. You see, beloved thought that the sign was offering a general tip for driving. To keep left. But really, it was telling people that if they were going to the tip, then they should stay in the left hand lane.

I’ve totally over-explained that, haven’t I.

Anyway anyway, the whole point of this post is that I’m hoping if I tell you that I am doing the Santa run for Variety, and that you can sponsor me, with all money going to Variety to help support Aussie kids, then you might be inclined to sponsor me.

Here’s how you do it!

Just click here!

Have you done the Santa run? Do the words “fun” and “run” really belong in the same sentence?