Weekly Photo Challenge: From Lines to Patterns


From lines to patterns or from patterns to lines, a wooden pathway set amongst the trees. This photograph was taken at Pullman Resort, Bunker Bay, Western Australia. Having lived on the east coast of Australia almost all my life, I was curious about a sunset over the ocean. The end of this pathway opened up to this spectacular view…



Crazy Neighbour: This Time it’s Personal

It’s high time for a crazy neighbour update. Unfortunately, the singing was short lived. I did get one more song about my office chair, it’s on wheels, fancy that. Not sure what he thought I was doing but the song went a little something like this…

“Do you really have to dra-ag it?”

“Can’t you just pick it up and pu-ut it down?”

I responded by pausing for just long enough for him to think I’d heeded his request and then continued to go about my business. My passive aggressive taunting just does his head in, I’m sort of banking on him NEVER coming across this blog.

After that song, there were a few days of quiet…then he changed his tune. A random act of door slamming startled us awake at an ungodly hour the following week. It wasn’t just one door slam, it was at least six, with stomping in between, Meb was not amused. Words were exchanged, war tunes were whistled and calm was (somehow) restored…until two weeks later.

Not very original, more door slamming but this time he waited until Meb had left the house. Did I mention he’s a bit of a coward? I didn’t respond or retaliate, just listened to what he had to say, in his creepy old voice, through the floorboards…

“You tell that boy of yours to stop slamming the door on his way out”

“You think it’s just me making all the noise, you should hear how loud you are, stomping around like an elephant”

Little did he know, this elephant was about to bake some cupcakes…and her electric mixer sounds just like an electric drill. As you can imagine, Captain Crazypants was more than a little bit upset. I’d love to be able to tell you what he was shouting at me but I couldn’t hear him over the mixer. He was aware of that and moved to a different tactic, I think he may have been hitting his ceiling with a broom or something. I was quietly amused at the effort he was putting in to try to annoy me while I was driving him nuts just happily baking away.

As you might imagine, his carry on continued well after I’d turned the mixer off so, when I left the flat that morning, I didn’t do it quietly. Yes, I slammed  my door on the way out, indeed I launched myself off the third step *thud* and, just for good measure, the communal door may have been pulled shut in an abrupt manner.

His retaliation amused, puzzled and, quite frankly, embarrassed me a little bit. First, he bashed on his front window to get my attention. Next, having succeeded in getting my attention, he flipped me the bird. I responded  to his unfathomable maturity with a smile and a wave, at which point he opened his window and started yelling at me. Now, keep in mind, I was at a safe distance from him when this happened and here’s what he had to say…

“Stop slamming the doors you f–king bitch!” Standard, and fair enough, “You’re so f–king loud, stomping around like an elephant!” Not like I haven’t heard that one before. Then came the puzzling part…

“You’re moulting ya bitch, you’ve got to stop straightening your hair, it’s getting in me fish tank, you’re killing me bloody fish ya bitch.”

Bit personal. I feel the need to defend myself here. I assure you, good people of the blogosphere, I’m losing no more hair than your average thirty something but that’s beside the point. How the hell is my hair getting into his fish tank? Furthermore, must he yell this at me while I’m walking down this street with a whole bunch of normal people? If his devilish ploy is to embarrass me in public then touché Captain Crazypants, I think he may have won that round.

An Unwelcome Hitch Hiker

It was a Friday night and Meb (My very English Boyfriend) had dutifully arrived at the airport to pick me up. I opened the car door and he frantically greeted me with…

“Quick, get in and close the door, there’s a spider on the car!” It should be noted that the placement of comers in this quote are in the interest of good grammar, there were no such pauses in Meb’s speech.

Naturally, I did as he said, quietly hoping that I’d been quick enough to keep the spider on the outside of the car but also having an enthusiastic giggle at his obvious terror. Truth be told, I was scared too. I couldn’t see the offending spider so, for all I knew, I could’ve let it in.

My relief came when we stopped at a set of lights and the spider appeared on the outside of my passenger window…


Meb, on the other hand, was far from relieved…

“Why won’t it get off? I’ve been doing 80km/h! How is it still on the car? It’s got sticky feet the little fucker!”

Brits don’t like spiders. Especially when they’re about the size of a wing mirror, hairy and you can count all eight of their beady little eyes from where you sit. The rant of horror continued as I snapped the picture…

“This must be what they do for kicks on Friday nights, jump on cars and terrorize humans!” He wasn’t laughing, he was genuinely angry at this creature for cramping his style, invading his space, planting his sticky feet all over his auto-mobile!

We managed to make it home without a closer encounter but the evacuation from the vehicle was a little bit intense. There was a bit of “you go first”, “no, you go first”, followed by a count of three, synchronised door slams and a bee-line for the insect repellent. I had barely sprayed it when it leapt off the car (for the record, Meb leapt higher) and legged it across the driveway. Hopefully it won’t be joyriding with us again any time soon.

Weekly photo challenge: Sea

Where do I start? I’ve been fortunate enough to live most of my life on the east coast of Australia. I spent most summer weekends at the beach and almost all summer holidays at small beach towns dotted along the coast. To me, summer is the sea. Actually, more accurately, summer is the surf and swimming is just no fun without it.

I took this picture at Fingal Bay, Port Stephens. There’s a unique spot on the beach where two currents meet. It’s the kind of place where you sit and marvel at the heights reached by clashing waves. If it were warmer, I’m sure I would’ve had a much closer look.