O is for Outdoor Cinema

Does anyone out there remember the movie The Wedding Planner? No surprises if you don't (it was pretty forgettable), but there is one scene in it that really stuck with me. Jennifer Lopez met up with Matthew McConaughey at the open air cinema in Central Park. It was a beautiful scene, with people reclining on blankets under the stars while a black and white Audrey Hepburn film played on the screen. So now you have my chick flick inspiration for dragging EGG off to the outdoor cinema for our O weekend.

The evening didn't start well. We traipsed from our far and distant carpark to the venue only to find we'd left our money behind. Well EGG left the money behind, but I said not a thing (my happy face glued in place), even when he came back much later and the movie had already begun.

The venue for this outdoor cinema was New Farm Park, a really lovely setting by the river in the middle of Brisbane. Despite the drought there are beautiful trees and vast lawns. Except for bit where the outdoor cinema is located. They must have called in thirty rugby teams to play on that patch of grass because it was the roughest, most decrepit bit of lawn in Brisbane. The "grass" expanse was surrounded by high wire fencing so the setting was actually more prison exercise yard than romantic movie venue. The only thing missing was the razor wire.

My Jennifer/Matthew moment was but a memory by now as we tried to get comfortable on the grass. Quite possibly the only thing that might have saved the evening was a decent slug of wine, but no that wasn't going to happen either because they closed the bar when the movie started--and we were late.

I was a bit devastated because I had the good/bad conscience wrestle about whether or not I should sneak some wine in and unfortunately good (and consequently sober) won. It's such a shame because a friend of mine had given me the best strategy. She told me that she smuggles her sauv blanc in via her children's waterbottles. She has even trained them to slug a mouthful back without flinching should an overzealous security guard try to examine the contents. I love this woman because she always gets her wine, but mostly because she is a very, very bad mother which makes me look like a very, very good one.

The movie, No Reservations, was really, really bad. Do not under any circumstances see this movie, don't even rent it on dvd. I have a gauge for assessing the shockingness of movies and that is the pillow fight scene. Any movie that has a pillow fight scene is automatically a dud. Don't know why, but they all are. Scriptwriters out there take note of my advice--if you want your movie to sink faster than the Titanic, then include a pillow fight. Don't say you haven't been warned.

EGG actually groaned when at the pillow fight scene. He'd had enough by this time and whined about how much longer we had to stay there. They haven't broken up yet, I whispered to him. Oh yeah, and the kid's got to run away, he replied. Keep in mind that neither of us had seen this load of rubbish before, it was just such a predictable movie. So within about half an hour they split up and the kid ran away. Surprise, surprise they got back together and (this is the bit you probably didn't see coming) they lived happily ever after.

We started packing up before the last big pash filled the screen.

I hope they use some of that $14 entry fee to buy some fertiliser for the grass.

O is for Outdoor Cinema.

N is for Nature Walk

There are a few things that I'm not overly fussed on. One of those is tripe--nasty stuff, smells bad, tastes worse, enough said. Another is warm champagne--no need to explain that one, it's a sin. But the one thing I think is vastly over-rated, and guaranteed not to make my heart jump, is nature. I can't stand nature, give me a five-star hotel any day of the week. Oh, it's a stunning sunset, I hear you say. But so is the new David Jones cosmetic section. Are those bird calls I hear? I'd rather listen to city traffic at 8am in the middle of the week.

So it was with a distinct lack of enthusiasm that I greeted EGG's proposal to go Nature Walking for our Alphabet Weekend. I'll cut him some slack here though, because it is a really hard letter, and I said he couldn't do his original choice which was n is for nothing.

I can't tell you how excited I was the night before our walk when it absolutely pelted rain. But of course it dawned a beautiful day and there was no escape for me. So off we went to Mt Glorious--oh joy.

Of course the first thing that greeted us was the sound of birds. Now I have a pathological hatred and fear of birds. I think they are going to attack me and peck me. A bit silly you may think, but this has actually happened to me. It was a vicious rainbow lorrikeet that gored me--it was about the size of a turkey (I may be exaggerating--slightly). It flew in through an open window, headed straight for me and got tangled up in my hair. Then (and this is true) it pecked me on the ear. It was truly terrible.

Of course, as luck would have it, that weekend they screened the movie The Birds, where poor Tippi Hedren got attacked by vicious birds (I know they looked as realistic as the shark in Jaws, but there was no reasoning with me). I knew just how poor Tippi felt and my relationship with all bird-like creatures was forever ruined.

EGG distracted me from the impending marauding birds by telling me to be careful on the muddy track. He had good reason for this because once I fell down a mountain. Are the pieces falling into place now as to why I hate nature? Actually it was a ravine, but as I fell all five metres, it certainly felt like a mountain to me. Fortunately only my pride was hurt, but I wasn't taking any chances this time.

So I tread my way carefully up the path as we headed to Greenes Falls. I tried really hard to appreciate nature. I pointed out that the bush turkey nest looked just like SSS's bedroom. EGG helped by pointing out that the area looked just like the place in Wolf Creek where the backpackers were murdered. Nature--bring it on.

We eventually arrived at Greenes Falls and frankly I felt a bit dudded. It was a pathetic little waterfall, but that didn't stop the professional bushwalkers (and I don't mean EGG and I) from revelling in it. They were literally sitting in the waterfall--with cups of coffee and trail mix, you know that chocolate and dried fruit stuff that keeps you going for hours and hours when you are a bushwalking pro even though it only took 30 minutes to get there.

The bushwalkers had backpacks and really serious boots with thick socks bunched up around the top of them. Actually I wish I had some of those boots because I was worried about getting mud on my runners which I wanted to wear them to the gym the next day.

EGG and I took a photo of each other and left the professionals to enjoy the sad waterfall.

All in all it wasn't a bad little outing. It hasn't made me appreciate nature any more, but as we moved to the car park I noticed a group of people that had been there an hour before we set off on our walk still examining the foliage of the same tree.

Now that would have been really boring.

N is for nature.

M is for Meditation

I'm a bit keen on all things based on middle eastern philosophies. Love yoga(I can stand on my head--showing off, I know), briefly subscribed to feng shui (I'm still looking for my wealth corner) and have given tai chi a whirl, but never meditation. EGG on the other hand subscribes to the philosophy of scotch and tv.
I'll just go to sleep he said when I told he what we were doing--he'd had a long week. Well he was in for a surprise wasn't he!

I had a few pre-conceived ideas about meditation--all wrong as it turns out. What do you think of when you think of meditation? Dimmed lighting, a lot of people sitting cross-legged saying ommm, a sense of serenity?

Well we must have gone to a different meditation because this one was in a concrete hall, smack in the middle of one of Brisbane's busiest suburbs. There was Indian music, rows of plastic chairs, a photo of an Indian woman with a huge bindi and a TV. What's this TV all about, I thought, don't they eschew the technological values of our consumer-driven society?

So we sat on the orange plastic chairs and waited to meditate. We waited a while because a man, who looked more like Barry from the hardware shop than a spiritual leader, welcomed us and started his spiel all the while staring directly at EGG who squirmed in his chair. Barry (let's call him that because he didn't introduce himself--perhaps politeness is not spiritual) must have thought EGG needed some special guidance because he didn't let EGG out of his sight range for the whole patter which must have lasted for at least 10 minutes.

Barry finished up with a pointed stare at EGG, who by this time was eying off the open door in hopes of a speedy escape. But then Mike, the computer programmer, well he looked like one and he didn't introduce himself either, got us started on meditation.

We had to close our eyes and hold our hand on various parts of our bodies while silently chanting to mother (whoever she was). The chants were so long and complicated that I forgot how they went and I started getting stressed --I don't think I'm very good at meditation. But finally I got into the swing of it, focussing on my thoughts all the while ignoring the police chase and car alarm that drifted in through the open door, when bang--it was over.

You may think time flew but no, we only got to meditate for five minute because we had to watch a video of the Indian lady who kept talking about Asmet. I later found out that she was talking about asthma, that's how much sense it made.

I tried to catch EGG's eye but he wouldn't look at me. Surely he didn't think I was trying to make him laugh. But then, bonus, it was time to meditate again and then Mike muttered something about workshops.

So we meditated happily until Mike walked up behind EGG and asked him what he could feel. Ummm, I've got tingling in my hands he said. Big liar, he felt nothing, he just said that so that Mike would leave him alone, I know him too well. But this is the good bit, Mike decided to workshop him. By this time I couldn't help myself so I peered throught half open eyes and looked at the shadow (should've been a spy). Mike was standing behind EGG flicking his wrists, making circles above his head and clicking his fingers like a puppet on broken strings for oh about, TEN minutes. EGG is so lucky. His aura must be as clean as whistle.

Then it was time to wake up. Mike and Barry asked us to stay back and discuss our experiences, but, by this time, EGG had hold of my hand and was dragging me to the door.

Do you think EGG might like to make this meditation a weekly thing?

M is for meditation---oommmm!

L is for Lennon Brother's Circus

EGG and I ran away to join the circus this weekend. After initially thinking that a visit to the circus was l for lame, I have to admit that I was wrong (and I don't do that too often). The circus was brilliant (I can't think of a sufficiently glowing l word to describe it). And the best bit--all we had to do was sit there and be entertained--no singing, no dancing, no death defying feats. Aaah bliss.

However things were not as they seemed, and it was before the performance began that EGG admitted how truly traumatic it was for him to be there at the circus. Holding my hand he revealed the story.

Years ago, when he was only a tiny boy in a tiny Queensland outback town, he had gone to the circus with his family. He was chosen at random from the crowd to be harnessed up to ride the Shetland pony. He galloped around the ring on the pony's back, and no he didn't fall off. It was much, much worse. The horse galloped out of the ring and little EGG was left dangling in the harness. And then it happened. A clown raced over and pulled down poor little EGG's pants. Oh the shame and humiliation that an act like that can do to a four year old EGG's confidence.

I patted his back in sympathy, holding back my tears of laughter while vowing mutual and eternal hatred of all clowns.

Actually I do hate clowns. They wear awful clothes, too much makeup, have stupid haircuts and sing really bad songs. Oh goodness, it sounds like I'm talking about that poor mite Britney Spears, but I'm not. And why do clowns always do that stupid water joke where they throw the bucket of paper into the crowd? And why do people always flinch--like they don't know it isn't water. This is Queensland people. We don't have water to waste, not to mention the circus company's potential dry cleaning bill.

But anyway back to the acts. There were trapeze artists, the wheel of death, a twisty girl and a pole dancer. I've attached her picture. EGG wants me to practice the pose. That is not going to happen.

They had lions (which I didn't like--I actually hoped the cranky boy lion would bite the cranky boy lion tamer). They had a great dog show, alpacas and geese. It must have been a bit of a comedown for Mr Liontamer to be taming the geese, but I've heard they can be ornery little devils.

The audience was tough. They wouldn't clap. EGG and I had red hands trying to make up the deficit. We didn't clap the clowns though. EGG kept muttering that he reckoned the fat clown was the one who pulled his pants down and he was going to get him.

We left right after the show finished. I didn't want EGG calling the clown outside to settle unfinished business.

L is for Lennon Brother's Circus.

K is for Karaoke

I've long suspected that the way to be a successful singer is simply to add alcohol. Brittany, Lindsay, Robbie--I think I've made my point. So it was with well-lubricated vocal cords that EGG and I set off on our K adventure--Karaoke (and there was a $500 prize).

Can't we go kayaking? EGG whimpered, but I've put my foot down on adventure letters after all my recent disasters, and by god, we were going to sing! Or so I thought.

It is not easy to get a song at our near neighbourhood pub, because there exists a karaoke clique. I thought cliques were all about high school, but no, they lurk in a karaoke pub near you. It works this way (its ingenuity is in its simplicity)--if you're not a member of the clique, you don't get to sing.

I was reliably informed of this by my new Polish friend who I met at the karaoke pub. Clique members also carry a bit of padding around the middle, have had a long pre-karaoke session with the hair straightener and wear clothes a couple of sizes too small for them. They are also clued up as to all the songs that don't have high notes which makes Funky Cold Medina a big hit. This is all true, but maybe my bitterness is making me a wee bit judgmental.

I laughed when Polish Man told me all this. Surely they would be begging for people to sing--I mean is it up there on your Top Five things to do on a Saturday night? No, didn't think so, but as our night started to drag into the second hour, I was starting to believe him.

We waited for TWO hours to sing. The members of the clique sang one, two, three songs each, and I was starting to get a little cross (I was also starting to get a little drunk). But Polish Man to the rescue. He stormed up to Mr Music and demanded I be allowed to sing, and sing I did.
It's a little daggy (OK a lot daggy) but I sang Lipstick on Your Collar off key, wriggled my hips and did a lot of finger pointing (maybe I was more than a little drunk). Then it was EGG's turn. He sang Start Me Up and it was as if Mick Jagger appeared. He waved his arm around his head and then strutted around the front like a little rooster. He couldn't sing, but he got ten out of ten for attitude.

Meanwhile, I was dancing with Polish Man who spent a lot of time grooving up to Mr Music, comparing him to people involved in World War 2, all the while waving his middle fingers while saying a word that starts with and means the same as fornication but is much more effective for expressing your feelings.

Lovely and helpful though Polish Man was we thought we had best cut short our brief association and EGG and I called it a night.

I wonder if we won the 500 bucks?

K is for Karaoke.

J is for Journey

Guess where EGG and I are off to this week? Europe, yes Europe for a whole month so this weekend's activity consisted of us both maniacally running around the place getting reading for our European adventure.

You know for just a minute there I almost nailed Posh Spice--oh we're off to Europe; for a month; should be fab--but this is where Posh and I part ways. Yes it's the journey and for Posh it's the private jet, but for poor lil old me it's good old economy. But I live in hope that a check in person is going to be overwhelmed by my sparkling personality and upgrade me to first class (but I'll settle for business--I'm not fussy, hear).

You know I have a little confession to make. I was once upgraded to business class for a trip to Singapore. It was my first big overseas trip and EGG and I got upgraded. It was heaven. I practically crash tackled the lovely little attendant as she handed out all that free booze. I luxuriated in that great big seat and I scoffed down every meal off lovely china plates--ooh it was good. But it ruined me. I mistakenly thought all international flights were like that but no. On the return journey home, EGG and I turned right instead of left at the door and my glamorous international jet setting career was over. I sobbed into my seat all the way back to Australia casting furtive glances around my seat and down the aisle where my former comrades laid back in the luxury I knew was there. That was my first and last tilt at the high life but I live in hope.

EGG on the other hand gets upgraded all the time. Once, they upgraded him as he turned right. They grabbed him by the arm and steered him left, all the way to first class. You know SSS and I half suspected that he was making it up, but no he brings home all those cool little toiletries bags that SSS and I pathetically squabble over. Pre-terrorism he actually got to sit in the cockpit.

EGG actually wanted to fly separately to me because he thought he might be a chance of being upgraded if he was solo. He might also be a chance of being divorced if this were to happen.

I was allocated a good seat last year when I flew to Europe. It was right near the exit. Of course this was the only row where the television didn't work, but I didn't mind because lots of people thought it would be a great place to do their anti DVT exercises. Who needs TV when you can get a free sideshow of big bums and sweaty armpits and all that scintillating conversation. Needless to say I was happy to sit elsewhere on the return home.

EGG has brilliant plans for our time away. Can you believe he wants to ride a scooter around the Amalfi Coast, with me on the back, me who falls off everything. He wants to climb the Eiffel Tower, he wants to hire a boat at Lake Como, he wants to take me in a gondola in Venice. I'll probably plumment off the Eiffel Tower, sink the boat at Como and what are the odds I'll fall out of that gondola into the stinky canal.

I, on the other hand, will be quite content to stroll around museums, take long luxurious drinks in cafes, eat everything in sight and guzzle French wine till my heart's content.

I can't wait. This is my last post for a month or so.

Au revoir and ciao.

J is for journey.

I is for Ice Skating

I've alway wanted to be a Spice Girl. Yeah I know I can't sing, but neither can they, so the only question for me was which one would I be? I've had every hair colour except red so that cancels out Ginger, I'm about 30 years too late to be Baby and Scary is just plain scary (although EGG and SSS say I resemble her before my morning espresso). So that leaves Posh and Sporty--and Sporty was a real possibility until today's letter, because after completing our I is for Ice Skating, I have had my lofty visions of having any sporting prowess come crashing to the ground.

Yes I know you probably think I crashed and fell all over that skating rink, but the reality is much, much, much more humiliating.

EGG had been ice skating many moons ago so he was a bit excited when I announced my I. "Are you sure? You know you're not real good at this balancing thing."

He may have been referring to one of the times I fell off my bike, or that disaster with the skateboard, or maybe that time with the windsurfer, or probably that thing with the kayak, but this time it was going to be different.

So off we went, laced on the cool boots and then I stood up. Things went down hill from there. I couldn't stand up--at all. Where I had previously had a good grip on the earth, there were these skinny metal blades. You can see I hadn't really given this much thought. I'm not sure what I thought I would be skating on.

EGG fell around laughing for about five minutes, got bored and told me to "just get out there".

So I did and then turned around and sat back down. I couldn't do it. Oh the shame.

I sent EGG off without me and sat on the seat trying to build up the courage to go out on the rink--there were tiny children out there for goodness sake, how hard could it be? By the time EGG had completed his first lap I was ready to give it a go.

So I tripped out and clung to the wall with both hands (check out the picture). And that's where they stayed for the whole tortuous lap--and believe me there was only one lap.

I couldn't make those stupid skates work. When EGG told me to point my feet together more, they crashed into one another making me plummet forward, when he told me to take bigger steps my legs went in opposite directions. But I didn't crash because I hung onto that wall.

Anyone who was in the way of my progress around that wall I asked to move out of the way--and I didn't care if they were old or young. Three year olds giggled as they skated past me. But I did not let go of that wall as I sweated and swore my way around that rink. It was the most embarrassing fifteen minutes of my life.

EGG to his credit stuck with me the whole way, sensibly laughing behind my back so I couldn't see him. Then he took off and did a few impressive laps on his own (that's him showing off in the picture), not holding my hand as we skated side by side as I imagined when I first thought up the ridiculous idea.

Anyway thank you to all my friends who pointed out that ice skating would probably lead to broken legs, arms, wrists etc. No I didn't break anything, but I really, really hurt my arm clinging on to the wall (stop that laughing). I might have to go to the physio.

You know I think I'll be Posh Spice--just a fatter, poorer, David Beckham-free version.

I is for ice skating.

H is for Harry Potter

Isn't EGG clever? He combined two of my favourite things in life--a trip to the movies and drinking wine. But I'm ahead of myself.


I was slightly underwhelmed when EGG announced that Harry Potter was my H, but then he followed throught with the magic words "Gold Class" and I was all aflutter.

I'm slightly embarrassed to admit that I had never been to Gold Class before. Before I joined the Gold Class Club (GCC) I will own up to perpetuating those misconceptions about GCC that float around like "why would I pay 35 bucks for something I can see for half that price" and "it can't be that good" and "what a fuss--it's just a flash chair in a movie theatre" and I'm here to tell you that I was wrong, wrong, wrong.

It is that good and it is worth double the money and it's so much more than a chair--it's an experience.

So for more than 2 hours, EGG and I luxuriated in the plush armchairs, legs resting on footstools, bottle of wine at the ready and snacks at our beck and call (check out the picture). This is how movies are meant to be viewed.

So if you hear anyone tell you that GCC is too dear and really isn't that good, then you know they've never actually been there.

Oh and the movie was good too.

H is for Harry Potter.

G is for Go Kart

EGG has crowned me World's Best Wife after I presented him with my G--go karts. He's lucky I went ahead with the idea because he guessed it earlier in the week, and only a bit of nonchalance on my behalf threw him off the scent.

Driving over to the go kart track I was feeling a bit (quite a lot) nervous, visions of me lying unconscious on the track having caused a four kart pile up being at the forefront of my mind. But such is my commitment to showing EGG a great Alphabet Weekend, that I sucked it down and put on my brave face. EGG on the other hand could not contain himself, confidence in his driving ability and need for speed high on his agenda.

We got our compulsory licence (a labourious and stressful process that involved us writing our names, date of birth, signing it and handing over five bucks). We then collected Woolworths' deli attendant hairnets. Then we put on our full face helmets and became Darth Vader. Actually I was Darth Vader, EGG thought he was Michael Schumacher. I was stressed out about the germ factor and spent the next hour freaking out that I was going to catch the killer flu from the helmet.

So off we went for our 13 (they are precise about this) minute journey around the track after a kickstart from the support vehicle. Before I knew it I was on the track. Thank god I was second because I really wouldn't have known where to go. All I could think of was not running into the orange tyres because if I did I would be off the track--oh the disgrace.

So I pottered around, braking carefully into the corners, sticking to the outside so as not to get in anyone's way. Please don't let me crash the mantra I recited in my head.

EGG on the other hand had taken on his Michael Schumacher persona for real. He screamed past me and everyone else on the track, overtaking on corners, thundering down the straights until he crashed. I waved as I trundled past, taking it easy around the nasty turn.But then EGG was back on the track, and he screeched past me, cutting another driver off at the corner, but I was too busy to notice this until I plodded around the corner and saw that EGG has crashed again. I didn't wave this time, I had the steering wheel in a death grip.

Driver after driver crashed, but not me. I did a Steven Bradbury(Australian gold medal speed skater)--as they crashed out in front, I was the only one left--the winner (well I thought I was--careful driving cannot be under-rated).

All too soon (oh who am I kidding--it seemed to take forever) the 13 minutes was up and we returned to the pit. I pulled the germ ridden helmet off, shook off the attractive hair net and chalked go karting up as an experience (that I wasn't in a hurry to repeat). But EGG was--he'd booked in for another go and was mad keen to show what he could do.

Long story short, he nailed them (check him out in the photos). He burned the guts out of that little go kart as he drove like a man possessed trying to get in front of everyone (a bit like he drives on the M1). He took the hairpin curves at great speed, he gunned it so he wouldn't get behind the slow drivers (no they weren't as slow as me), he planted it down the straight. But there was one driver he couldn't catch. Turns out he had paid more for a fast kart, but EGG didn't know that.

"I think I should buy a go kart," he said as we drove home. Yeah, that's going to happen.

I hope I don't get the flu.

G is for Go Kart.

F is for (Greaze) Fest

EGG never ceases to amaze me. Well at first he didn't because he came up with most men would think of for f, but I told him it wasn't in the rules.

But then he showed me a couple of texts that his mates had sent and one had the magic words fortune teller. I was really annoyed because after he showed me that early in the week, I knew that was absolutely no chance that we were going to do that one and I really, really wanted to to go to a fortune teller even though my last visit to one was less than successful. That particular tarot card reader used a book (Tarot Cards for Dummies--I may have made that title up) and flicked back and forth from the index to read my fortune (I'm not making that bit up). EGG thought it hilarious and even though he got a good laugh out of it there was no way he was chancing a repeat of that little incident. He kept muttering about a good waste of $40 and how he could get a book from the library and tell my fortune for free.

What he did come up with however was GreazeFest. He told me on Saturday afternoon where we were going and I thought he meant a Greek festival. Hadn't we already done an Italian Festival, but no this was nothing like anything we had done before or quite possibly ever will again.

The festival was a rally for old hotted up cars. They were beautifully restored and very cool (and I'm not really into cars). The people at the festival were dressed up in fifties gear. Betty Boop was a huge style inspriration for the women (I thought she was just big with preteen girls, silly me)--short black fringes, tightly curled hair, but Betty didn't have the facial piercings that some of these women had. Men sported gravity defying updos with enough gel to cause an Exxon-sized oil slick. Skirts were full or really, really tight and men had cuffed jeans (boys, there is a very good reason why that look disappeared from the fashion calendar fifty years ago).

There was a whole industry of fashion for wannabe fifties boys, girls and cars. There were stalls for high heeled shoes, dancing shoes, badges for cars, badges for people, shirts, shirts and net petticoats.

So we oohed and aahhed over the cars for a bit, took lots of photos and looked on in stunned amazement at some of the people we saw. The music was great and I'm sorry we didn't stick around longer to see the dancing but as usual we arrived at lunch time and couldn't face the very long hamburger queue and I was hungry so we left in search of some decent food.

I'm not entirely sure that EGG has got away with this. I think GreazeFest is a g not an f, but I'll let him have it.

F is for (Greaze)Fest--fast cars and fashion?

E is for Equine

Enough of EGG showing me up in this Alphabet Weekend lark. I had to think of something so good that it would blow my previously dismal efforts out of the water--and I did. E is for Equine.

I had a repetoire of E's at my disposal. E is for exhibit (too obvious), E is for Edith (as in Piaf in La Vie En Rose, but we'd already done a foreign language film), E is for Eagle Farm (but they were racing at Doomben). Then I chanced across an ad for showjumping at Elysian Fields at Canungra.

I had no idea of what to expect, so I packed the camping chairs, a picnic, put in some warm coats, hats and off we went with Edith Piaf playing on the CD player as we made our way to Canungra, about an hour from home.

What a surprise. It was brilliant. The showjumping course was professional, the organisation was organised, there was a big screen and best of all Olympians competing.

We abandoned our idea to have our picnic at Mt Tambourine, and opted to eat at Elysian Fields. I had packed a lunch of salmon and couscous salad and meringues with macerated strawberries. I had got super organised and put in a bottle of low alcohol Bella sparkling to drink but alcohol was not allowed in the grounds so we settled for San Pellegrino.

We practised our digital photography on the nearest jump. We stomped the divots down on the showjumping field, had our photos taken leaning on the jumps, and entered the free raffle for a horse float (what we would do with it if we won we had no idea).

From reading Jilly Cooper novels I had a rough idea of the scoring system and we settled down to watch the professional show jumpers at work. What a treat.

I've put together a list of essentials for future viewing of show jumping that may come in useful.

1. Camping chairs (be prepared for security to pat these down looking for hidden bottles of alcohol)


2. Picnic (be prepared for security to check thoroughly for hidden bottles of alcohol)


3. Hats (it gets hot in that sun, particularly if you have no alcohol)


4. Water (be prepared for security to sniff it to ensure it contains no hidden alcohol)


5. Digital camera (to practice action photography, particularly as photographer is not under the influence of alcohol)

EGG and I decided this was the best of our letters so far. So relieved, I can rest on my laurels for the next two weeks. EGG meanwhile has been madly texting his mates in the hope that between them they can come up with something to equal my E.

E is for Equine--excellent.

D is for Drama

EGG really is getting good at this Alphabet Weekend thing. He announced that we were going to a Drama at the local town hall for a theatre group production.

You've probably got the idea that EGG is a typical Aussie bloke, so you can imagine how surprised I was by his choice--local drama in the town hall. Even I would never have come up with something like that, but the idea of this is to try new thing and EGG has really nailed it.

EGG admitted that he was having trouble verifying the booking he made over the phone, so he took me out for an early dinner near the location of the town hall so he could check out whether or not we had tickets--and we did.

We took our seats in the hall (there were about 15 of us) while EGG muttered that we could possibly escape at half time if it wasn't any good.

I don't know about good, but it certainly was different. The lights weren't turned down so much that I couldn't see the stunned look on EGG's face as one of the lead actors threw herself on stage screeching out lines from Shakespeare. I actually caught myself with my mouth agape, and made a conscious effort to shut it.

EGG started snickering and when I elbowed him in the side he whispered that he wished his mates were there. I'm glad they weren't. We went out at half time for a drink. EGG and I chose the red wine and drank it down very fast. Should we stick it out or make a quick getaway?

The fact that the audience was so small convinced us to stay and see it through to the end. We're heathens and it may have been very good, what would we know.

EGG regaled his friends the next day (they were watching the boxing--you see what I mean about him being a typical Aussie guy) with his Shakespearean rants.

I don't really think the play was a D for Drama. I think it was more a C for Comedy that was actually a T for Tragedy.

D is for Drama--damn.

C is for Continental Cafe

You know this whole Alphabet Weekend thing was my idea, but I'm the one who keeps coming up with lame ideas for my letters.

This weekend I had C, but as I had been away for a whole week for work with no phone, no internet, no newspaper and no television, I had absolutely no idea what to do. I felt as if I had been in a black hole and indeed I had been--a communication/information black hole.

I was laying in bed when a brilliant idea came to me--Castlemaine Brewery. EGG and I have lived in Brisbane for 12 years, and had never done more than drink the stuff and drive past its Milton St headquarters. However the best laid plans...it didn't open for brewery tours on the weekend. Such a great idea.

I sort of went into anti-climax mode after that and settled for Continental Cafe, a favoured restaurant that does not need to be settled for, but it seemed a bit of a let down in the context of the alphabet rules.

EGG didn't mind in the least. He loves Continental Cafe and was looking forward to one of their fantastic breakfasts. So we scoffed eggs, toast, coffee and sides of Hollandaise sauce and walked away happy. But I'm still not satisfied.

C is for Continental Cafe--what a cop out.

B is for Black Book

EGG didn't have much to live up to after my A debacle, so I beyond surprised when he announced his B.

"We're going to see Black Book and we're going there on the bus," he announced.

Now you may think my surprise somewhat excessive, but when I explain EGG's history with foreign language film you will be as impressed with him as I was.

Last year, after a lovely lunch in James St, I decided that EGG and I would go to Palace Centro to see The Ax, a French language film that had been receiving great reviews. It is testimony to amount of wine that both EGG and I had drunk that we would even consider it--EGG is more of a kill and thrill movie type and usually I wouldn't be able to drag him to such a movie.

Before buying our ticket, EGG took a moment to quiz the attendant about the speed at which the sub titles appeared. "I'm not a very fast reader," he explained. After reassuring him that he would keep up, a mollified EGG enjoyed the movie (and managed to keep up with the sub titles).

However, I put it down to a one-off as I went to Palace and Dendy alone for the next ten months because those "reading movies" really were too much work for EGG.

Anyway he made a great choice and went to a lot of trouble to organise it. He looked up the times in the movie guide (a skill most married men lose about two minutes after the marriage ceremony), found the bus schedule on the internet, and organised me to be on time for both.

It was so worth it. What a fabulous movie. It had it all--spies, a mystery, double crossing, a treasure, torture (not too much said EGG), sex (not enough said EGG) and full frontal nudity (what a great movie said EGG).

B is for Black Book--brilliant.

A is for Almade Tango

The quest was on to find the perfect A. Something that EGG wouldn't guess and something I wanted to do which immediately cancelled out abseiling. I thought about the Art Gallery (boring--not the gallery, but the idea was hardly original). I saw that the Lions were playing Port Adelaide but we were in middle of a cold snap and I wasn't that keen.

I'd been seeing all these snippet about the Festitalia and was keen to go. I got onto their website and there it was, the answer that I was looking for--Almade Tango. EGG and I have a bit of history with Latin dancing. I dragged him along for some classes last year and we were truly terrible. There were only two people in our class (EGG and me) and still they couldn't teach us how to dance. Well here was our second chance.

All excited, I printed the info off the website and put it in a bright yellow envelope. SSS (Sometimes Sweet Sixteen-year-old) was most impressed with my ingenuity (the event, not the fact I can print off from a website). I held out all day Saturday and presented him with the envelope on Sunday morning. The look on his face was priceless.
"Have you forgotten how bad we are at this?"
"No, we'll be fine. That bloke mustn't have been a very good teacher. We'll be great!"

After a delayed start we finally arrived at the RNA for Festitalia and our Saturday (Sunday) Night Fever moment. Well Saturday Night Fever never arrived. There were so many people--you've got to hand to Brissie people, they turn up in droves to support an event.

We had foolishly waited until peak time to arrive. We lined up for 20 minutes for food, we wouldn't line up for 20 minutes for coffee. So a bit thirsty and full of lasagne that we ate sitting on the grass (that was too close to the men's toilet) we had a look at the program that we had bought. Almade Tango was not programmed for another two hours!!!

Just then a cold wind kicked in, blowing our food plates over. I took it as a sign, and after depositing said plates in the nearest bin, decided that we might give Almade Tango a miss.

A is not for Almade Tango--I should have taken him abseiling!

I Know What We'll Do--Alphabet Weekends

Having just survived the most fantastic anniversay party, Easy Going Guy (EGG) and myself were experiencing a bit of an anti-climax. You know that anti-climax you get about five minutes after all the Christmas presents are opened and the wrapping paper is stewn around the floor? Well that's what we were like. We'd spent months planning our cocktail party and now what?

Itwas from a book that my bright idea evolved. I had just finished Elizabeth Noble's Alphabet Weekends (OK book, great story premise) and the plan evolved from there. Every weekend we would take an alternate letter of the alphabet and plan an activity around that letter. Simple.

I sat long-suffering EGG down and we nutted out some rules.

• it had to be something that we wouldn't usually do
• it had to be something that we would both enjoy
• it couldn't be too expensive
• no swapping letters
• the letter owner had to organise all of the arrangements
• activities were not to be divulged until the weekend

I couldn't wait for the weekend. I had A.