It’s ANZAC Day already?

Where the hell did March and April go?

I know one week disappeared having my youth and vigour shamelessly exploited by certain disabled members of my family unit, but that’s a subject for a different post.

Another few weeks have been spent getting to know the new love of my life, Laila the Ford Fiesta. We adore each other, but there are some kinks to work out. First, being of European manufacture, her indicator lever is on the wrong damn side. A decade-old habit of simultaneously changing down gears and flicking on my blinkers has been abruptly stymied. This is how I turn corners now: Change gear – wiper – cuss word – wiper off – indicator on.

Secondly, we have vastly differing views on the appropriate RPM at which to change up gears. When I first took one for a test drive, I asked the salesman what the little green arrow was that kept popping up on the dash. Apparently it serves to indicate the most economical moment to change gears. Which, incidentally, is a consistent 2000 revs earlier than my usual driving preference. I’m going to cover it up with duct tape.

Finally, some German heller Funken decided a high-pitched ching-ching-ching-ching sound would be an effective deterrent to driving without a seat belt. Granted, I always drive with my seat belt on and so should you all. The problem is, I’ve adopted an odd habit from my Old Man. My parents live a very long way from anything relevant and after a long drive, when we turned into the start of our 6 kilometre long dirt road, he’d always unbuckle his seat belt. I’m not sure why, considering a seat belt isn’t exactly uncomfortable and fellow motorists are more likely to drive like unconscionable dickheads on a dirt road. I’ve always put it down to his special brand of crazy, but now it appears I do the same bloody thing. Except I live in the middle of the Melbourne suburbs, not some Far North Queensland backwater. I didn’t even realise I did it until I bought this car, but sometimes I’ll find myself unclicking the belt a good 3 kilometres down the road, and Laila absolutely flips her shit at me.


Calm down, we’re nearly there.


The speed limit is FORTY you stupid piece of machinery, the only danger is someone strolling up to the window and stabbing me –



Even worse, the damn thing has weight sensors that can tell whether there is someone in the passenger seat who should be wearing a seat belt. Last week, my adopted 20-year-old Nikki bought me a pink concrete Buddha statue. I’m not sure why, I guess it’s just something the young ‘uns do these days. So I tucked it safely into the passenger seat, headed off down the road and…


And so I found myself buckling up an inanimate concrete deity as if it was a toddler.

Aside from that, I LOVE her. We’re gonna get along fine.

Then there’s the Drummer Boy. He’d always been very clear about not wanting anything serious as he was suffering from some fairly severe Lady Induced Trauma. Which was cool with me to begin with, but after a couple of months it can become draining and unproductive. So last week I said mate, I’m happy to be friends, but you clearly have some issues to sort out so I’m going to put myself back on the market now. And oh, the drama. All of a sudden I’m the greatest thing since Megan Fox, and he’s wailing to Nikki in the corner of the pub while I’m trying to hide behind the bouncer and simultaneously avoid my ex, who’s there with his newest girlfriend that inexplicably hates me even though we broke up over four years ago.

So that’s been my Easter. How are you all?


19 thoughts on “It’s ANZAC Day already?

  1. How was my Easter? Boring. I don’t even have a car that goes ching-ching-ching. I think I’m a failure. And your ex is a dickhead.

    • I can ching at you, if it helps. Ching! Ching! Ching….ok, that’s enough.

      I’m fairly sure everyone’s ex is a dickhead. I’m 99% sure all my future ex’s will be dickheads too. Not really inspiring, innit.

  2. Ok, thanks. Now I’ve got my ching ching fix I can go to bed. You’re right. Any ex of Inga’s must be a dickhead to not realise that the offspring of GOF is a rare treasure indeed.

  3. The Duchess doesn’t put on her safety belt til we hit the county road (off our personal property). I started wearing mine at all times after my head knocked out the windscreen due to a drugged driver hitting us head on when I was a kid…

    I still drive barefoot (which is illegal). Can’t take the hills out of the girl.

    • The head/windscreen thing sounds horrific. I’d be buckling up forever after too.

      I also drive barefoot, and my entire shoe collection is stuffed into both the passenger and driver foot wells. That probably poses more of a danger than the actual barefootedness.

  4. “How are you all?”

    Thank you for asking….we’re fine, although it would help if I had someone younger here to do some more chainsawing and cleaning drains.

    The reason for seatbelt disconnection is a personal act of rebellion and defiance against The State……just as I refuse to go to a polling booth when they tell me to and instead always postal vote, so I declared the dirt road a seatbelt-free zone. …..oh, and the ching-ching-chinging…….nothing I can’t fix with my bolt cutters when I come down there next.

    Interesting comment from MT that driving barefoot is illegal in the US. Wonder what the state of play is here.

    • I googled it and apparently it’s not illegal in Victoria, however you can be charged with careless driving should someone deem your bare feet were in some way responsible for an accident.

      I’d happily support your rebellion and defiance if so much of it wasn’t so bloody hereditary. 😯 I’ll have a whole range of things for you to mend with bolt cutters when you come down, Drummer included.

  5. OMG, I so hear you. I adore my Toyota Yaris, but it does the same thing with the damn beeping. 30 seconds it’ll go on like that. It’s torture. Why oh why can’t the mice chew through the wires that connect to the beeper, instead of other, more critically important ones like the radio antenna? And, yes, sometimes it thinks there’s someone in the passenger seat instead of just my briefcase or an old T.V.
    Good luck with drummer boy… Hey! maybe you can hook him up with inexplicably hateful newest girlfriend…

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