Mike 1; Korrena 0

In honour of the forthcoming World Cup, I have decided to devise an 'imaginary' game between Mike and I, as we are legendary rivals and absolutely hate to lose to one another. It's kind of like a face-off between Germany and England only with more boos and more kicking. Anyway, generally, through sheer stubbornness and/or luck, I usually come out on top in all of the following activities:

1) Boggle
2) Scrabble
3) Baking
4) Exercise of any kind, such as cycling, mountain hiking, swimming, tae kwon do, running
5) Exchanges of insults
6) Dressing oneself appropriately for any occasion

However, I was sorely defeated when we went iceskating on Friday and his innate Canuck-ism shone through. He was apparently sent to figure skating lessons as a child (perhaps in a leotard?) and skated once a week for manys a year. This didn't excuse my poor showing, which basically consisted of me frantically propelling myself along with one foot, like I was on a skateboard. To my credit, I only fell over twice, and only one of those was considered 'hilarious'. He was indeed the victor on this occasion.

I feel it is time for a Mike-astophe update, in the spirit of competition:
1) He bought a dubiously mint green and white striped t-shirt from Target. Innocuous enough, I hear you say. Well, it was until we saw two other people wearing the shirt, both under the age of 16.
2) He was mocked by a bus driver for not being able to pull the ticket from the machine without ripping it irreparably. Said bus driver referred to him as 'Mr Strong' and added, 'Let me get that for you' whenever he got onto the bus.

There have been others but I will save them up in my own personal store of Mike based mirth. I can never complain about life being dull with him loitering about.

Apart from picnics, DNA Tower climbing, ice skating, DaVinci Code/Hidden viewing and hospital going, we have been living the quiet life. Roll on Adelaide, I say!

The Irresistability of English Geniuses Coming Back To Life*

Hee!

I just received an e-mail from Conor 'Absent' Murray and it contained this address, which is a link to pure unadulterated hilarity: http://houseoffame.blogspot.com/ . When I was at Queen's University, I was lucky enough to have studied Chaucer with the wonderfully expressive Dr Ivan Herbison. Others commented on him as being the 'very reincarnation of Chaucer himself'. This website is definitely the second best thing. Go medieval, yo!

* Chaucer died October 25th 1400

Even more hilariously, I was flicking through the West Australian newspaper this morning and sandwiched between a savage editorial about John Howard and a touching story about Chewy, the koala that can only eat hummus, was a large colour picture of this year's Eurovision winners, Lordi. Described as being a 'monster rock band' and having a 'close resemblance to Slipknot', all I could think about, and mourn, was the Irish entry. The thorny Eurovision crown shall never return to our fair land until Brian Kennedy Kiss-es himself up and attempts to resemble a hygiene-challenged Nordic troll.

Memories.....

My godmother, Ann, just showed me some photos of when I was merely an even more insignificant speck on the Planet Earth (i.e a baby) and my first thought was: 'Did I ever not have hair?'. Every photo, giant head of fluffy black hair. Maybe it was there to disguise my poorly developed skull, or something.

Things have been a little quiet lately because Mike and I are planning on a getaway to Bali for a few days. It's really cheap to go there from WA and it's meant to have to some terrific dive spots. Ironically, it's cheaper to go overseas than it is to travel within the confines of WA itself. Boo to that.

Mike-astophe update : One mug, smashed. Insists on wearing giant sun hat that proclaims 'Australia' in tasteful yellow lettering.

I think I may have mentioned this before but a working holiday visa is a strange half way place. If you're rich, then you can discard the working part, probably with a lot of disdain as only the wealthy can. But if you're moderately poor, then you're in an odd, desert like place with random trips as oases and palm trees, and casual work as your water supply.

I went drinking with a friend in a Belgian Beer Cafe and one of the barmen had the nerve - NERVE! - to say that Irish beer is crap. He called it 'bland and same-old'. After I had finished punching him to death, I drank a giant pint of Stella in celebration. It would be criminal to not drink Belgian beer in a Belgian bar.

I Declare The Mullet....Alive!

Y'ello, all. I am writing from the depths of stupidity as this morning, when running, I managed to sprain my ankle. Mike tried to give me a piggy back ride home but nearly concussed me on thorny branches. Then, when I asked him to help me bandage it, he accidentally hit the sore area a thwack with the ice pack. It has put any vigorous exercise based plans out of the questions for a while. Speaking of those, we managed to go horseback riding on Wednesday at Yanchep National Park, when you follow hilly sand dunes and bush all the way to the most beautiful beach. It was stunning to see and Mike had a surprisingly successful go of it for his first time - even managing to forgo the painful arse that a morning of horse riding inevitably brings.

I was on a train two days ago when something happened that was both amusing and horrific. When you think businessman do you think:

a) briefcase
b) shocking personal hygiene and body odour
c) a fully fluffed up, proudly quaffed mullet
d) all of the above

(D) was of course the right answer. Of course there was a smelly business man sitting beside me whilst I frantically turned my iPod up higher. Of course his blonde mullet caught the sunlight in a rather fetching manner. And of course, he is probably a man of respected position and power because this is Australia, where the mullet is a haircut not of ridicule but of pride and survival-against-the-odds.

Is the entire world actually salivating to see The DaVinci Code? I am salivating to see it, but I'm not sure if this is because I am being swept up in some kind of feverish group mind warp or if it was because I enjoyed the book's delicate character development and the subtle narrative touches for which Mr Brown is clearly famous.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, She's A Lady

This weekend I met a girl much after my own heart. She loves to wear Havaiana flipflops (they have to be Havaianas), sings voraciously along to the Gorillaz, including the rap bits, likes to wear makeup, bounces happily on trampolines for hours and is extremely single minded.

The lady in question is five years old.

Which begs the question - how on earth does a five year old know that she likes to wear a certain kind of flip flop? She asked me where I got mine from and I told her 'Target' (which is the Aussie version of Dunnes) and she immediately lost interest. It's a terrifying life lesson when a cute as wallaby five year old is already fifty times cooler than you'll ever be. When I was five, I'm pretty sure my mum was still dressing me in t-bar shoes and crushed velvet and ensuring that my unruly hair was tightly dashed away in eye-watering braids.

Mike and I spent a lovely day on Penguin Island earlier this week, where tiny little fairy penguins, pelicans and other seabirds convene and compete to make the most noise possible. It was unfortunately seagull nesting season and all gulls with eggs took it upon themselves to squawk angrily and swoop threateningly at our exposed heads, probably for an unscheduled lobotomy. Conversation during the day went something like this:

K: Freeman, I dare you steal an egg
M: list of deleted expletives
K (patronisingly): But you can put it back afterwards...
M: Then you steal it!
K: But you can run faster!

Honestly. I think even the tiny fairy penguin (appropriately called Piggy) that ate about seventy fish in a row had more simple common sense than us.