Well that’s how I reckon Marcos Baghdatis was feeling right after he was beaten at the Australian Open. Those in the know say it was a veiled message at his racquet sponsor who is no more. I disagree. He just felt like throwing a tantrum. And you might as well be fined for going hard out. Four racquets is always better than one.

Anyway check out Marcos’ tanty. Sorry about the ad. I had terrible trouble finding the footage. Maybe Marcos threw another stirkey and got it banned. Powerful people those tennis people. The ad’s pretty funny too.

Yep, they are putting down their expensively shod feet and declaring the fascinator a big no-no. Oh no. That’s terrible news for me should I be attending Royal Ascot this year, as I am a fan of the fascinator. And so is my favourite person Princess Kate. This will be big news for her since the fascinator bar applies in the Royal Enclosure, and since she’s royal I’m guessing that’s where she’ll be.

I like a fascinator because you avoid the dreaded hat clash. You know the one when you lean in close to your big hat wearing friend and the brims of your hats collide causing both a wardrobe malfuntion and the abandonment of the wonderful piece of gossip you were going to share.

Anyway if you are intending to go to the Royal Enclosure at Ascot this year keep in mind the following dress code, or they won’t let you in.

For women:

• Hats are desirable but anything with a base of less than 4 inches in diameter is not acceptable as a hat. Got that.
• Skirts and dresses need to be of a ‘modest length’ and fall just above the knee or below.
• Pashminas are banned/barred/disallowed.
• Strapless tops (and I assume dresses) are also out.

For men:

• Waistcoat and tie are compulsory.
• No cravats (Matt Preston is not attending in protest).
• Black shoes only. Polished is mandatory.

What do think would happen if Kate lobbed up in a fascinator? Do you think they’d really chuck her out? Probably. They can be very rigid about these sorts of important things. Image

This is my weekly Gen X Girl column from the Townville Bulletin’s Savvy magazine.

Well it’s that time of the year again. We’re all scratching our heads trying to think of presents for our loved ones, and I’m here to help. Well I’m not going to help you. I’m going to help Santa find the perfect gift for some prominent Aussies who may have been naughty or nice this year.

Soon to be married Shane Warne. For you Warnie I gift a Twitter ban. Now I know that you are addicted to Twitter and enjoy sharing every banality of your relationship with Ms Hurley (and by the way congratulations on bagging her), but given your history with phones, you’re bound to blow it. So no more Twitter for you. Look what happened to Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore.

Cricketer Ricky Ponting. A gift of dignified retirement and every bit of news footage featuring Darren Lockyer in the last six months. That way you will have a practical and perfect example of how retirement should be handled properly.

Prime Minister Julia Gillard. For you Ms Gillard I gift Obama-inspired manchester. The item I have in mind features President Obama’s head and chest spread across a pillowcase. That way you can lay your head on his manly chest and slip him a quick kiss or two as you bed down for the night. Sweet dreams.

Champion racehorse Black Caviar. For you I gift the title of Australian of the Year. I can see nothing wrong with giving a racehorse the title. Can anyone out there even name the 2011 Australian of the Year?

Tennis player Sam Stosur. Another tennis grand slam victory for you Samantha. You proved yourself a worthy competitor and an inspirational winner. Such a breath of fresh air after those grunting Russians and injury-faking Williams sisters.

Hurdler Sally Pearson. Oh this is an easy one. For you Sally a gold medal at the Olympics next year. Quite simply, you deserve it. Go Sally.

Rugby league coach Wayne Bennet. Oh Wayne, you went with the money and you’re going to have to earn it. Nathan Tinkler, Newcastle’s owner, has sacked more people that he’s had hot dinners, and judging by his girth he’s had quite a lot of them. So Wayne I’m gifting you a thick hide. You’re going to need it.

Queensland Roar soccer team. I’m giving you the title of Queensland sports team of the year for 2012. You actually deserved it this year, but those mouthy rubgy union people who think that theirs is the only sport, gave it to the Reds. You were robbed.

The Cowboys, the Titans, the Broncos football teams. I gift you a place in the finals. Never again do I want to sit through the dilemma of not having a single team to care about. No wonder a person took to supporting The Roar.

Queensland Premier, Anna Bligh. I gift you an election defeat next year. You’re bored, we’re bored.

Anyone involved in the 2011 natural disasters. I include victims, heroes, emergency service workers and volunteers. I wish for you peace and happiness and absolutely no reason to do anything but relax by the pool during the holiday season.  Image

A few years ago I had to get a strappers licence. For those of you who do n’t know what a strapper is, I’ll explain. Strappers are the people who do the grunt work of looking after racehorses. They’re the people you see leading the horse around at the races. Not very glamorous, not well paid and I was only doing it to help out a family member.

So what’s that got to do with a prince and millions. Well doesn’t it seem a bit weird that I had to cough up for a police check to pick up horse shit, but New Zealander, Joel Barlow, claiming to be a South Pacific prince can waltz into Queensland Health and embezzle $16 million dollars? Where was his required police clearance. He had a criminal record but no one bothered to check, relying solely on the pseudo prince’s say so.

Actually the whole thing is comical, something like you’d see in an overacted movie of the week. Fake prince cons the big wigs of Brisbane society, spends money left right and centre, signs his name HRH, steals some money, gets investigated, is cleared of wrong doing, steals lots more money, has a big party and invite bosses, buys a kick arse unit, is discovered, disappears, gets caught after sneaking back into kick arse unit because someone forgot to change the locks, is found snoring (so unprincely) after a suspected drug overdose, faces charges.

Nah that wouldn’t float as a movie of the week. Too far fetched.

Anyway seems that our racehorses are better policed than the Queensland Health coffers. Image

According to a company in China, Virgos and Scorpios are moody and critical. So firmly attached to this theory are they, that they have told anyone born under this star sign not to bother applying for any jobs they might offer. A spokesperson from the company said that Scorpios were moody and Virgos hugely critical.

“I hired people with those two star signs before and they either liked quarrelling with other collegues or they could not do the job for long,” she said.

OK, then. I guess that’s taking generalising to a whole new level.

However should you be a Capricorn, Pisces or Libra, then you will be welcomed with open arms, in fact prioritised.

Other argumentative Scorpios include Hillary Clinto, Pablo Picasso, Truman Copote and Goldie Hawn. Luckily for them they don’t live in China. Image

Anyway that’s off the point. Here’s one of Jane’s workout vids where she get Lilien to sing Do It. Tragically I remember all the words. I also remember my intense dislike of the exerciser wearing the stupid white visor. I hate visors–white or otherwise. And why does anyone need a visor inside? Wonder what she looks like now and if she’s still wearing that stupid white visor.

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This is from my weekly Gen X Girl column that appears in the Townsville Bulletin’s Savvy magazine.

Like a pre-teen girl to Justin Bieber, so is Julia Gillard to Barack Obama. That’s the only comparison I can make after last week’s touchy-feely visit from the most powerful leader in the world to our shores.

In fact I feel like chanting “Julia and Obama, sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G”. And I wouldn’t be lying because that’s all they seemed to do. Get off the plane, double cheeked kiss. Official function. Kissy, kissy. Another function—pucker up. And if they weren’t all kissy, kissy they were all handsy, handsy.

There is one photograph of a back view of the couple where they have their arms around each other, with Julia’s hand drifting very close to the President’s behind. I may have just vomited in my mouth a little as I wrote that. It’s a bit like finding out that your parents have sex.

Anyway, it’s all terribly inappropriate. They’re world leaders not dizzy teenagers.

Julia behaved like the nerdy high school girl who scored a date with the captain of the football team. She’s all blushing and batting her eyelashes and setting the women’s cause back forty years. And Obama isn’t setting any kind of example either, constantly putting his arm around the Prime Minister. If this were the real world he’d be up on a sexual harassment case.

We couldn’t even count on Quentin Bryce to behave herself either. She looked for all purposes like a proud mother of the bride watching Jules pecking away at Obama’s cheek. But then I realised that she was just waiting for her turn to grope the President with the longest handshake in history—even longer than her Melbourne Cup presentation speech.

Quentin further brought into the hoopla by dashing home and changing from the lemon-coloured suit and emerging in an orange affair half an hour later. She was a veritable bowl of citrus. Is our Governor General a head of state or an Academy Award presenter?

To Obama’s credit though, he has made Jules glow like a giddy schoolgirl and heaven knows she needs a bit of fun with her opinion poll numbers. His aren’t that flash either.

Just an aside: did you know that they were both born in 1961? And that they send each other birthday cards? I’ll bet Julia actually goes out to the newsagent and chooses the cleverest Hallmark card she can find, writes a personal message, seals it with a kiss and sends it off. I think Obama gets his secretary to do his.

Back to the visit though. The first bloke, Tim Whathisname, knew that he was beaten. He didn’t even hang around to wait for a car to take him to The Lodge. He hot-footed it out of the lovefest with a comment that Obama was a good bloke. Smart man. Who wants to be Kevin Dillon when George Clooney’s in town?

Benneton have just had to pull an ad campaign that featured Obama kissing the Chinese president and the leader of Venezuela. Those images were photo-shopped and condemned by the US Government.

Silly Benneton, they just had to wait around till Obama visited with Julia. Kissing everywhere. No photoshopping necessary. Image

Addressing a group of young French mothers he described breastfeeding as “a kind of slavery”.

His wife Carla Bruni gave birth to their first child, Giulia, last month. He told the group that Bruni was “worried about not having enough milk”.
He went on to share his feelings on breastfeeding in general. Though it may be “a joy and a kind of slavery” for the woman, Sarkozy said, he was pleased that it let men off the hook: “It does free men of blame because we don’t have the problem of bottle-feeding. You don’t have to get up at night”.

He does however, “open one eye”.

Right then, I’m glad he got all that off his chest, though here’s a thought. Couldn’t he get up and get the baby and hand it to the breastfeeding slave and then put it back when the slave girl has finished? Just mentioning, mind you.

Anyway I’ve decided that there’s far too much thought put into this when you take into consideration the fact that most mothers breast feed because it’s good for the baby. And that’s what mothers do–stuff that is good for the baby.

I breastfed my child for nine months. Then she bit me.  Then I weaned her. I didn’t once however feel like a slave. I did it because I knew that breast feeding was the ideal nourishment for my baby. It was just a job that had to be done. And there were no bottles to sanitise and warm and formula to mix–that was handy.

So with no expectation of joyfulness and fulfilment to buoy me and no negativity borne from slave like tendencies, I just treated it like a job. See no overthinking. Easy. Image

I’ve always been one for a fad. If something new comes along, I’m the first one to jump on the bandwagon. Call me gullible, call me credulous, but if there’s something new in town you can guarantee I found it weeks ago, no months ago, gave it a test run and then abandoned it. I may grasp a fad with unbridled enthusiasm, but like a twenty year old after a one-night stand, I quickly move on to a new conquest.

Does anyone remember the kambucha tea craze? I was there. Kambucha tea was elixir of life; ringing any bells all you Gen Xers? Drinking it daily would ensure optimum health, glowing skin, a size ten figure, the secret the universe, and end to poverty—there was nothing it couldn’t do.

For such a wonder product it worked quite simply. You obtained a dinner plate sized mushroom, placed it in a container, covered it with tea and sugar and let it grow for a week in a dark, cool place, then—hey presto, mushroom juice. Sounds like compost, but no, it was the key to a long and healthy life.

Weight loss fads—tried them all—first. Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Atkins, The Zone, and Cabbage Soup are old friends. There’s been green tea, home gyms, and I even had one of the original Jane Fonda tapes which I had to hide from my husband who insisted I fast forward it to the pelvic thrust bit while he watched with his tongue hanging out.

I was the first to aerobic classes. I grapevined right instead of left causing a human pileup in the aerobic room. I was banned. Oh the shame. Since then lots of people have been banished, but it was me who was banished first—I started that fad.

I’ve dabbled in laser eye surgery, chemical peels, facial massage and acupuncture in my quest for youth. I’ve embraced soy, green tea and shark cartilage. I’ve eaten more salmon than a brown bear and I pop fish oil capsules like lollies.

There were a few fads I refused to engage with. I have never had decals on my toenails, I’ve always hated matt lipstick, scrunchies are a crime against hair and there is no way I am ever going to sport a butterfly tattoo on my behind.

There a few things on my fad radar right now—ear candling for one. This is how it works. A burning candle is inserted into the ear (true—I’m not making this up) and wax instantly melts away. I’m not sure where it melts to, but it sounds intriguing. It is also gets rid of headaches. Clean ears and no headaches—it’s got me already.

I’m also keen to give the vibrogym a whirl. Apparently you stand on a vibrating plate and all the shaking gives you defined muscles, eliminates cellulite and is good for your heart health. It has fad, and therefore my name, written all over it.

You probably think I’m a sucker. You’re right, but there’s every chance that there’s a residual effect to all those health and fitness fads and I’ll live to enjoy yet more fads well in to my nineties. You never know I might restart the kambucha tea craze from my vibrating nursing home bed.  Image