I’m reluctant to make a geopolitical crisis in the Middle East all about me, but it seems like every other person I talk to is off to Europe and most of us are supposed to fly through the Middle East.
Nat Locke
I have spent most of this week jumping to the obvious conclusion that the Turkish government hates me, which is a fairly bold statement, I know. Let me explain.
I feel for my friends with kids; experts are always popping up to say something that was fine last week is now the direst thing possible. The same thing happens to dog owners. Yes, it’s exactly the same.
Hearing about friends scrambling down rocky hillsides in Kalamunda after getting hopelessly lost reminded me of my own misadventure in the charmingly nicknamed “Stab City”…
We’ve been spoiled with sunny weather and now the harsh reality of a bitter Perth winter has started to impact. And by that, I mean, I have to put a cardigan on.
I suspect part of the problem is that whenever we are in a situation where previously we might have struck up a conversation with a stranger, we now doomscroll furiously while avoiding eye contact.
There’s the video footage of him going to a baseball game in 2005. Gasp! A future pope at the baseball? Whatever next? And don’t forget the TikTok video revealing his kissed someone’s mum at age 19.
I tried in vain to explain mental load to a mate. He’s adamant he’s an active dad. He does school pick-ups. He drops them to sports training. He goes to the supermarket. But who writes the shopping list?
I saw a product recall the other day that struck fear into my very heart because the fault in question caused people to fall over. It reminded me of my own concerning recall experience . . .
It’s one of life’s great paradoxes that two of the most soul satisfying things you can do are: 1. spend quality time with close friends and 2. cancel plans to spend time with close friends.
Now the dust has settled on the latest season of The White Lotus (no spoilers but seriously, if you haven’t watched by now, what are you waiting for?), I’d like to talk about one of the storylines.
Does persistently plucking out the same three chin hairs count as a hobby? Does doomscrolling on Instagram count as a hobby? It’s not that I haven’t tried to find a hobby as an adult, my spare room is proof.
Recently, I went to a great birthday party. The next day, still basking in a margarita infused afterglow, I popped up a post of appreciation on Instagram. Before long, I was caught in a message maelstrom.
Sometimes, something is argued that seems so obviously beyond debate that it’s a mystery why it’s being discussed. And so this week, we ponder the age old question: how often should you wash your gym gear?
I’ve proudly and loudly stated one rule that I hold myself to above all others, especially at this time of year. Yet in direct contravention of my very strident beliefs I have committed a heinous crime.
People can generally pick the top 30 guests. The best friends, the closest family members, the richest family members. But after that it gets tricky. Cousins. Do you invite them all?
It’s testament to the fact that Instagram advertising pays off, because after being fed an ad for the third time, I found myself saying, ‘Oh, why not?’
The most effective way is to call them. I don’t mean call them names. I mean actually call them on the phone. Gen Z are wired to communicate in many ways, but actually speak to you on the phone? Ew. Gross.
I recently fronted my own Fringe World show where I did stand-up and introduced funny friends to perform as well. It was a hit. Everyone loved it. Then came the giant slice of perspective just a week later.
My resolution is to do all the maintenance around the house. Old houses equal lots of niggling issues, and my house is a hundred and seventeen. Perhaps I should have started in January after all.
School went back this week for absolutely everyone, so it’s time for me to say something hackneyed and cliched like “Oh, it was different in my day!” This is true, because I am approximately 430 years old.
I definitely took for granted the fact that I can blithely flush toilet paper down the toilet when I’m at home, even with my dodgy old pipes. And don’t get me started on drinking tap water.
As we career towards Christmas with all of the control of me riding a bike after a couple of glasses of rosé, can we spare a thought for the real heroes of the season?
Am I too old to go clubbing? Absolutely. But this was different: several hundred women in their sparkliest outfits and most comfortable shoes, dancing to bangers. Just don’t read the Facebook comments.
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