X is for Xtravagant

X sure was for xtravagant. It was also for xcellent, xciting, xtremely good and any other phonetically x sounding word you can think of. EGG took me to Palazzo Versace for our Alphabet Weekend and I now know the location of heaven--it's Seaworld Drive, Gold Coast.

Now just to explain. We really know that extravagant doesn't begin with X, but considering the fairly ordinary options available for X, I was prepared to cut EGG a bit of slack. And didn't it pay off in spades.

Now I'm a well-travelled girl, and I know my luxury hotels, but nothing I've been to compares to this place. From the moment we pulled up in front of the hotel, we were spoiled rotten. I've never really envied people with money, but now I do. I want to be rich so I can go to Versace every weekend.

The bedroom was beautiful with parquetry floors and Versace lions all over the place. There was even free perfume for me and aftershave for EGG. There were robes and slippers and all the usual things. There was a pillow menu, and confusingly there was something called a Bath Blitz as part of our package.

After much discussion EGG and I decided that it was probably one of those fizzy bathbomb things that you toss in the bath, but no it was so much more. But back to that later.

We had a luxurious afternoon lounging around the bedroom, drinking champagne and contemplating our dinner options. We finally settled on a seafood buffet and advised housekeeping what time we would be back for our Bath Blitz.

Dinner was delicious and we waddled back to our room for our Bath Blitz. This was no bath bomb--how wrong we were. There were about twenty tea-light candles lit around the bath which has been filled will marshmallow scented bubbles. There was a chocolate fondue pot accompanied by strawberries and marshmallows. To follow was a whole tub of marshmallow scented body lotion. It truly was extravagant.

So we wallowed in the tub scoffing chocolate dipped strawberries and marshmallows. Did I mention that I want to be rich?

We slept like babies on our personally selected pillows and rose early for the BREAKFAST BUFFET. I must confess that I was initially disappointed when I didn't see my all-time favourite hotel buffet breakfast food--Eggs Benedict. But I was not to be disappointed for long as the chef prepares them fresh for each customer. EGG had two omelettes. I had four flat white coffees. It was so good. Did I mention that I want to be rich?

Like all good things it came to an end. We waddled out to checkout before I remembered that I hadn't visited the Versace boutique. Such is the seductiveness of the place that I actually started to think that $2385 was a very reasonable price for a dress and that the darling little black heels to match were a steal at $1495. I really, really want to be rich.

Luckily EGG called me on the phone and told me the car was waiting so no hasty purchases were made.

As we drove away I turned back and looked toward heaven on earth. "I want to go back," I whined to EGG.

I'm currently buying Lotto tickets in my quest to be rich. I want to go to Versace every weekend.

X is for Xtravagant.

W is for Wine on the Wharf

I came up with a fabulous W for our Alphabet Weekend. Wine on the Wharf. It ticked all the boxes with two W's in its title. And didn't we make a job of it!

There were 450 wines on offer. EGG and I sampled 275 of them in 90 minutes.

Then we went home for a sleep. It was only midday.

W is for Wine on the Wharf--what a winner.

V is for (Shirley) Valentine

It's was off to the theatre for EGG and I for we had tickets to see Shirley Valentine, the V letter of our Alphabet Weekend.

It was a true testimony to EGG's commitment to Alphabet Weekends that he did this for Shirley Valentine is the stage equivalent of a chick-flick and he was only one of a handful of men at the theatre. Actually the mere presence of EGG and I lowered the average age of the crowd by about 20 years.

However, Shirley Valentine was wonderful. I thoroughly enjoyed it once I got my head around the fact that she was vicariously talking to the audience via the wall. EGG missed all that though because he slept through the whole thing. He actually snored, but Shirley was in mid-rant so I think I was the only one who heard.

I got a bit excited at the end though when Shirley left her horrible husband for a new life in the Greek Islands. Sounds like a great plan to me only I want to take EGG with me.

I'm trying to convince EGG that we should throw our jobs in and do the same. We could do Alphabet Countries. Now there's a plan.

V is for (Shirley) Valentine.

U is for U2 3D

EGG and I are finding this late part of the alphabet pretty hard going. So it was with great relief that I found our Alphabet Weekend U at the movie theater when we saw U2 3D.

We don't often go to concerts. It's not because we can't be bothered (though there is an element of that). No, it's because we usually never get around to booking until...oh, about two days before the concert, and then of course it's sold out and we get a bit stroppy.

I blame Harry Connick Jr for this of course. A few years ago when he came to the thriving metropolis of Brisbane, I decided, on the day of the concert, that I had a whim to see that fine young man. I rang up and low and behold they had some tickets, but they were in the press seats at the front and would that be ok? By golly gosh, was it ok!

EGG and I rocked up to the venue and walked all the way down the front (the last time we got to sit at the front of anything was when we sneaked down the the front of the theatre at intermission because our seats at the back were so crap we couldn't see anything).

So there we were, legitimately sitting right at the front, waiting for the lovely Harry to appear. And appear he did where he made special eye contact with me all night long. (I actually may have made that last bit up, but the rest is true).

So that whole episode sort of spoilt our future concert plans as we think that the same thing is going to happen again one day. We wait in hope.

Obviously we missed seeing U2 when they last came to town. I rang up two days before hand and enquired about the availability of seats, but the telephonist just laughed and hung up. Guess not!

But what we saw was nearly as good, in fact I'll say it was even better. It was just like being at a U2 concert, or what I imagine it would be like if I actually ever got to one.

And it was made even more spectacular because it was in 3D. Now the last time I went to a 3D movie we had to wear these dinky little glasses made of white cardboard with one green cellophane lens and one red one.

Well haven't these little numbers made some progress in the last 20 or so years. No more red and green cellophane--no now they are like Roy Orbison sun glasses. So much cooler than they used to be. I was so taken with mine that I carried them in my handbag for about a month showing them to everybody I met.

But back to the concert. There was heaps of great music, lots of crowd atmosphere (on the movie, the crowd in the theatre was a bit subdued). And aren't U2 such a considerate band to each other. No wonder they've stayed together so long--they are very good sharers. No one hogged the limelight (well Bono does a bit, but that really can't be helped) and they all take turns.

The 3D effects were spectacular. At one stage I was going to have a chat with the naughty children sitting in front of me who kept waving their hands in the air until I realised it was on the movie. Midway through the movie, Bono reached out to me (shades of Harry Connick Jr) and I was going to give him a high five until commonsense took over. How ridiculous would I have looked--high fiving the air, all the while wearing Roy Orbison sunglasses. Bad enough that I was waving my mobile about to fit in with the rest of the crowd.

EGG loved the movie and asked why we didn't go to more concerts when I reminded him about our sad ticket buying history.

"That was way better than going to the concerts," he said. "Why don't they all do that and save themselves the bother of touring?"

Hey concert promoters, he might just be on to something. But remember you read it here first.

U is for U2 3D.

T is for Toowong Cemetery Ghost Tour

Ever wondered where the good people of Brisbane like to spend their Saturday nights? Partying like it's 1994? Dancing in the streets? Celebrating? No, the people of Brisbane do not spend their nights recreating song hit titles from the 90's. The people of Brisbane go ghost hunting, or so it would seem after being part of the impressive number of people who turned up for the Toowong Cemetery Ghost Tour that was EGG's latest contribution to our Alphabet Weekend.

By now you've probably gathered that I can be a wee bit judgmental, so quite frankly I was expecting to be part of a group of whackos. Who spends their Saturday nights traipsing around a cemetery? Well EGG and I, but at least we had an excuse--we were up to T and EGG got in big trouble off me for suggesting Ten Pin Bowling. As for the rest of the group--and I wasn't expecting too many--well, they had to be just plain weird. But they weren't weird, they were more like Bob an Cheryl from the corner shop, and there were about 24 Bob and Cheryls of varying ages. Who knew?

Now I happen to know a lot about cemeteries because I have spent hours of my time watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In fact I have often fancied myself as Buffy, but as you know I am useless at the physical stuff and the world would have been taken over by any number of demons and bad guys if I really were Buffy. But I do have an encylopaedic knowledge about repelling demons, ghosts and vampires in cemeteries (or anywhere else for that matter). Of course I didn't trot out with garlic or holy water--that would have been stupid. I even forgot my crucifix, but as I sat outside the cemetery gates waiting for the rest of the group to arrive, I did find a little stick which I sharpened to a point and surreptitiously planted in the back pocket of my jeans. Who's weird now, I hear you ask.

And, it's lucky I did, because Toowong Cemetery has a vampire. Now you may think that my little sharpened stick was not going to do much harm in a vampire-related incident, but you would be wrong. You would be wrong because the Toowong Cemetery vampire is called Lily. A vampire called Lily! It's like calling a rotweiller Mopsy. I reckoned that if Lily got cranky then I could fell her with one poke of my sharpened stick. She was obviously a wuzzy vampire.

As it turned out I didn't need my little stick because Lily didn't appear. Nor did any other ghosts, but then I don't think any one really expected them too. The tour guide tried hard to build up some atmosphere. He did have us all a bit worried at one stage when he had us all stand in a circle, holding hands while he chanted something about asking some ghost to appear. I think the ghost might have got a bit annoyed and decided not to show when someone deadpanned "Ohhh, I'm so scared." We stood there holding hands with each other for ages though because the guide told us that a lady who broke the circle had a car accident on the big roundabout outside the cemetery and that roundabout was the only way out of the cemetery and no one was going to risk it.

There was a bit of excitement when someone reckoned they saw something and it turned out they were right, but it was only a man walking his dog! In the middle of the night. In a cemetery. Now there's the whacko I was looking for.

That was the high spot for excitement on the night but we did learn a lot about Brisbane's very interesting history.

EGG and I went home and I found Buffy on Foxtel to show him what really happens in cemeteries.

I should have taken that stick out of my pocket before I sat down, though.

T is for Toowong Cemetery Ghost Tour.

S is for Sexpo

I had a wide variety of things to choose from for our S alphabet weekend. There was a Storey Bridge climb or a surf school, but the chicken heart in me (all that potential for falling) caved in to peer pressure from EGG and chose S is for for Sexpo.

And what an experience that turned out to be.

Sexpo conjures up darkened corners and silhouettes doing something your Auntie Nora would never dream of. Sexpo means an Amsterdam shop window right in the middle of Brisbane--or so you would think. Sorry to say but Sexpo was a bit desperate.

EGG thought he was in for a bumper day when he walked in a saw a topless woman, but let's just say that was as raunchy as it got. Me, I was going for the oh I'm so open-minded and there's nothing here that can shock me thing, and well, I didn't have to pretend because it was tame, tame, tame.

Sure there were little booths with lots of sex toys. There was a strip poker arena with fully clothed men looking desperately for someone to strip off other than the Freds sitting across the table from them. There was a big lineup for the Love Train, but as EGG and I make it a rule to never ever line up for anything, well that wasn't going to happen. There was also a lineup for meet the pornstar and even EGG scoffed at that. No one wants to talk to a porn star, they just want them to rip their gear off and get on what they're good at and that's sure not scintillating converstation.

There were lots of glass penises in display cases. Now this is where I am a bit confused. Are they for decoration? Do you polish them up with the Windex and leave them on display in the good china cabinet or do you actually use them because if you do you would need to be mighty careful. You could do yourself a lot of damage if you got carried away.

I was also amazed by the number of men with Sexpo showbags. Surely you are making yourself redundent boys if you trot home with that bag of goodies for the girls. (And ladies I would be very careful of that stuff, it's probably from China and you remember the lead paint scare.) Those boys who didn't have goodie bags had blow up doll girl friends with little puckered mouths (and probably puckered up other bits). Saddest show of the day however was the man wondering around with the inflatable pig. Now that's how to win on to the girl of your dreams, pull out your pig.

There was a fashion show however and lovely little items on display that came in sizes 8 to 24 (yes the Britney school girl outfit comes in size 24).

So we did the rounds of Sexpo twice thinking it would get better, but it didn't. The best bit of all was Pricasso who painted portraits (and they were very good) with his penis dipped into a palette. Oh the poor man must have some calluses--and the clean up. Did he have to use turps on it? Oh the pain of art.

I was sick of it all by then and redeemed the day by finding a nearby cocktail bar--a fitting way to end the day.

S is for Sexpo.

R is for Rifle Shooting

EGG told me a big fat lie. He told me we couldn't go pistol shooting a couple of weeks ago because of Australian gun laws and that is not true. We didn't go pistol shooting because he was too lazy to organise it. (Oh and there was whole Sopranos violence issue I had going on at the time).

But he came good because for this week's Alphabet Weekend he took me Rifle Shooting and it was excellent.

Did you know lots of people go rifle shooting? It was 8:45am on a Sunday morning and the rifle range was packed. It didn't actually start off well for me because everytime someone shot their rifle I jumped. I was twitching around the place and starting to get a big headache and then I remembered the earplugs I'd brought. I put them in--problem solved.

I got me my big gun, my bullets, got some instruction and guess what--I can shoot--straight.

I am so relieved because over the past year of doing these Alphabet Weekends I had come to a horrific conclusion (and you probably have too). I am totally and utterly useless at doing anything physical. I drive slowly, have no balance and absolutely hate anything to do with physical exertion.

I has been with a heavy heart that I have realised that if the world is going to end and it is up to me to save the hero by stopping him from falling off a window saved only by my strong hand grip or that a car chase through the streets of the city will stop the evil poison from falling into the hands of the bad guy set to dominate the world then the world is doomed. Until I took up shooting. I can save the world with my dead straight aim. What a relief. (You can probably tell from the above that I watch far too much TV, but it really had me worried me).

A very nice man showed me how to load and unload my rifle. Did you know that rifle shooters are amongst the nicest people I've encountered while doing Alphabet Weekends? I must say I was surprised. I was expecting a lot of people called Bubba who spoke with slow American accents, wore baseball caps and had facial hair (again that TV thing). But no, they're nothing like this. There was even a lady there wearing pearls who looked more likely to be going to high tea than the rifle range. Just goes to show that you (maybe I) shouldn't judge.

EGG of course got a great big gun and great big bullets. But I was happy with my nice little 22 and shot happily away, hitting my target and generally showing off. EGG reckons I was lucky and that his target was much further away and that I had to stop making fun of him. I might give him a few pointers next time so he doesn't pout so much.

See the picture of my target here and my rifle set up. Very pro. Obviously EGG doesn't want anyone to see his target.

If anyone needs me to save the world you know where to find me.

R is for Rifle Shooting.

Q is for Queensland Roar

EGG and I have been together for a very long time and mostly it has been a happy time, except for one glaring little fault that EGG has (and it drives me mad)--he's a fair weather fan. Now he loves his sport, any sport, but he has been known to jump on the bandwagon of whatever sport we are doing well with.

Now we can mean anything--it can be an Australian team, a Queensland team, a Brisbane team, a worldwide team with a single Australian member (even if they only lived here for two weeks of their entire life)--it doesn't matter, just so long as we are winning. The Olympics sends him into a frenzy--he's an expert on judo, badminton and the high jump--any sport that might win us a medal. What he doesn't know about water polo since the Sydney Olympics? To his credit he sticks with his new team and its sport for a long time, but the thing that sends me crackers is that he never watched, read about, discussed that sport until we started doing well at it.

So it was a no-brainer really when I took him off to Q is for Queensland Roar because we are in the finals. Yes, Queensland with a long and lengthy history of two years in the comp, was in the finals. EGG had been talking about it all week and about how well we we doing.

So off we went with SSS in tow (she like her mother is not adverse to watching good looking boys run around a field for 80 minutes). But alas it almost fell through as a massive thunderstorm struck a half hour before kickoff and it looked like the Alphabet Family was going to be enjoying Q is for Queensland Rail for that is where we spent the first hour of our outing--stranded at Milton train station.

But it cleared and we joined the massive crowd for the kickoff. The atmosphere was tense, the crowd was cheering the home team and booing the opposition--gosh it was exciting, for about five minutes. I'm sorry, I just don't get soccer. I kept asking EGG why no one defended anyone and he tried to explain but then he gave up. The game must have been a bit too much for some of the players because they kept getting injured and then lay down on the ground trying to get the referee to wave around a piece of yellow paper. In fact that piece of yellow paper should have been an Academy Award considering all the acting that was going on. They called it injury, the fans called it milking a penalty, but me, I think they were just tired and needed a rest.

And why does the referee write all the bad things that the players do down in the little notebook he carries. It's 2008, surely they should use a Blackberry, or a PDA or at least a dictophone. Why don't they just look at the video replay?

Don't get me wrong though--I learned a lot. I learned a really cool chant that goes "North, south, east, west--this ref is dumb and deaf." I learned that when the goalkeeper from Queensland has the ball everyone chants gooooalllllkeeeeeper in a deep voice but when the opposition goalkeeper has the ball everyone yells "throw the ball you Sydney wanker". I learned that one from the delightful 9 year old fishwife sitting behind me. She's going to make some man very happy one day.

Anyway Queensland won 2-nil. EGG was beside himself. We'd won.

Q is for Queensland Roar--soccer is so boring.

P is for Psychic

EGG was apologetic when he announced that P was for Psychic. But I wasn't disappointed, no I was very excited given the fact that I really hate surprises and now I was going to know my future and be prepared for anything life was going to throw my way.

EGG's apology however, sprang from the fact that his original P selection was a no-goer. He'd really wanted to take me P for Pistol Shooting. Wow! How good would that have been? But those pesky little things called the Australian gun laws ensured that wasn't going to happen. Normally EGG and I are great supporters of the anti-gun lobby, but of late we are becoming a product of our environment.

It all began on Christmas Day when SSS presented EGG with the first season DVD of The Sopranos. EGG and I had missed the whole Sopranos shebang six years ago because it was on so late, and Channel 9 kept changing the times so we gave it a miss. Well didn't we lose out. So since Boxing Day EGG and I have watched the entire Sopranos series--all 86 episodes.

We watched so much of it that we were referring to the FBI as the bad guys. We watched so much of it that phrases like "stop breaking my balls" and "enough already" started creeping into our everyday speech. We watched so much of it that we were starting to understand why Tony Soprano had so many good looking goomahs (that's a mistress for all you non-fans--see we really have got the lingo). We watched so much of it that we started thinking Carmella had a sense of fashion. We watched so much of it that when we greeted people we went in for the big double kiss-hug combination. We were so addicted that we stopped going out, other than to visit the video store to get our fix. So you can see how pistol shooting was a natural progression. We had been exposed to so much gratuitous violence that a gun in our hand was the next step. Thank you Australian gun laws for saving us from ourselves.

So we tore ourselves away from the DVD player and a-psychic hunting we went. And where is the mecca for psychics in Brisbane? Why South Bank Markets of course. So $90 poorer we found out that EGG and I have the world's most wonderful relationship which means that we'll stay together long enough to at least work our way through the rest of the letters of our Alphabet Weekends. We found out that we're going to travel, have interesting careers and that SSS will be a constant joy to us both. Sound just like a Disney film, doesn't it?

That's all I can remember because even though she was talking about one of my favourite subjects--me--I sort of tuned out and nodded sagely at appropriate times. She did however point out that I was a drama queen. Moi--I was shocked. EGG fell around the place laughing until I told him to "stop breaking my balls". You see how bad the whole Sopranos thing had got.

So EGG and I now have a big Sopranoless void in our predicted happy lives. We're not sure how life will be without Tony, Patsy, Syl, Christopher and the gang. OK, we know they're psychopathic killers and that it's only a TV show but.... Anyway there's another series called Deadwood that might be right up our alley--lots of violence, cursing and killing. SSS suggests we watch Bambi instead.

I'm off to the video shop--well the pyschic said that I would make a journey.

P is for psychic.