My Amazing Week

During the second week on my holidays I promised my friends a blog post about my first week of holidays and how it completely blew my mind. But it seems once again I’ve promised more than I can deliver.

I’m going to the country, I thought. I don’t even get mobile phone coverage there, I reasoned. For god sake, my dear friend likes to read! Surely, SURELY I will have time to blog about the events of the most amazing week in at least 10 years?

Apparently not.

So as I sit here, first day back at work, I’m feeling guilty; sooooo bloody guilty that yet again I’ve promised to share something precious with you and I’ve let you down.

So here’s what I propose: I will write a list here of the events that rocked me to my core – in a good way (I hope you weren’t expecting death and destruction. If so, I’m about to disappoint you YET AGAIN… best opt out now) – and I will endeavour to write a little on each over the come weeks.

OK…

1.Caught up with a friend from school… massive, hugely confronting, and yet bought about an incredible sense of peace.
2.I decided to see a chiropractor about my rickety little hands. I’ve been putting it off for 20 years because it’s part of a bigger picture I avoid thinking about at all costs. Plus I knew it would hurt – and it did – but it was a good hurt, a moving-forward hurt. More about that later.
3.Finally, an event I’ve been praying would come to Sydney did, and it was like water after a week in the desert… utterly quenching. It went for just over two hours and when I walked back out into the daylight I thought I might burst. It was called Women of Letters and I will tell you more about it… cross my heart.

Did I mention today’s my first day back at work? Well, that was my lunch break so I’d better scoot so I can try and stay ahead and maybe, just maybe get a chance to tell you about my most amazing week.

xx

PS forgive my typos… I’m whipping this out so fast and that dreadful woman who took me for Business Writing in 1991 is in my head going ‘You’re not going to let it go out with proofreading, are you Tracey?” Well yes I am, Helen… and you can shove your ‘rules’ up your Fletcher Jones Twin Set.

Mood: Alive
Food: Warm roast chicken sandwich
Music: Philadelphia Grand Jury ‘Hope is for Hopers’

Up.

Have you watched the movie, 'Up'? I have just finished watching it and I'm teary and shellshocked. Forgive me.
At the 11 and a half minute mark, Georgie paused the DVD and looked at me, with giant tears rolling down his cheeks. Tears not unlike my own.
He's popped out to buy coffee now and I haven't asked what made him cry. My tears spilled when I realised the parallel to our life; and that one day, one of us will be alone.
It isn't a new thought - I've had it many times before - and at times the fear makes me wonder if it wouldn't have been easier to have never fallen in love.
But then what would I be without him? He is the reason I put two feet on the floor every morning... Imagine not having that? I can't.
Loving someone is a high risk adventure. Like tying balloons to your house and floating off in pursuit of a dream.
He'll be back in a moment and I've decided not to ask about his tears... I think I know the answer.

Mood: melancholy
Music: the theme to 'Up'
Food: the best coffee this end of town (thanks Georgie x)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Game

Well, it's taken for-bloody-ever but I fancy a little blogging.

It's a sunny Saturday arvo here in Sydders and the end of a rather thrilling week - the first in quite a while where I've felt excited about my work... the unexpected result of someone noticing that a mag I wrote was crap.

I can't tell you how fantastic it feels after four years of observations like "nobody reads the copy" to know that someone actually noticed when I was off my game.

I doubt the observer has any idea the impact he had. Admittedly he didn't use the word 'crap' (he's much too diplomatic) and his rant was directed at all the contributors. But he was right, it was a poor effort.

So this week I've been pounding the keyboard, furiously pursuing the thrill I get when I know I'm writing great stuff. And all it took was to be reminded that what I do - what we all do - matters.

Mood: reflective
Food: Cherry Ripe Cherry Roll
Music: Morphine 'Yes'

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Once upon a time...

... I started a blog. I had great hopes for my blog... an outlet for my creativity, a chance to connect with my own writing voice, and maybe, just maybe, reignite my passion for the written word.

And then I got busy. So busy that writing for The Daily Boop kept slipping further and further down the list of things I had to write.

Then I forgot I had a blog.

And then I remembered again.

The end.

Or is it a new beginning.

x

Sunshine

Many years ago, my Mum did astrology charts for my husband Georgie and me, and she said that he will be the one who keeps the romance alive in our relationship. I remember thinking ‘What about me? I’m romantic!’

But you know what? She was right. He keeps life fun when I’m under the pump or strung out about something or racing the clock to be somewhere on time. And he can read me like a book which shits me sometimes because he knows everything… even when he knows nothing.

And when I’m venting, he gets in my face and smirks and says ‘Don’t you smile, Boopie!’

And then I smile.

My world wouldn’t be a patch on what it is without him. I love him so much and words don’t really cut it.

There’s a song by Sinead O’Connor called ‘Dancing Shoes’ (Google it. It’s beautiful) and each time I’m writing a card for Georgie I feel compelled to finish it by quoting a line from that song. I resist because I worry he’ll think I haven’t put thought into what I want to say, that I’ve just dragged out an old standard. Silly, eh?

So while I’m feeling brazen (and not just a little bit lovey) I’m going to drag out that ‘old standard’ and finish with this:

Darren Scarce, you take my rainy days and make them go away. I love you.

For you and my dad... and everything after

It's been such an interesting start to 2009 and while I began with the best intentions of making The Daily Boop a 'daily' thing, I think you and I both know by now that that just ain't gonna happen.

So I thought I'd post a little catch-up on the year so far, as seen from the desk at The Daily Boop's head office (read: my lounge room).

It began in Tasmania with a long-planned holiday to catch up with my sister Sasha and my best friend Mrs Bearly. We took at least one photo for every kilometre travelled and had quite a good trip. Then we spent a few days hanging out at home before heading back to the nine-to-five and I'm ever so glad we did: this global economic crisis thing had everyone on their toes with last-minute plans to shore up the business and the businesses of those who depend on us. Being the girl with the words meant the following months became one very long and hastily-written sentence.

In between times, my father-in-law (Gra-Gra) gave us all the fright of our lives when he was diagnosed with the big C. For a while, he was the thing behind every thought we had; and while I'm not one for prayers, I think ours were answered as he seems to be making a full recovery. My Mum and I also reestablished contact and with everything going on with Gra-Gra, I was reminded again of how life is just too bloody short.

Coming up to Easter, the George and I were stuffed. Writing anything felt like giving birth to a block of flats and I was finding myself getting really cross with everything which is most unlike me. So we took the week after Easter off just to hang out. He spent most of it in his studio and I spent it cross stitching. We went to the gorgeous Blue Mountain to see the autumn leaves before they dropped and took some beautiful photos (I'll post some shortly). That was the day we actually started to wind down, and when I landed back at the nine to five this week I found the words were flowing freely once again.

So now back to The Daily Boop. I love his little blog of mine... it's never become the thing I planned it to be and that's the way most things go with me: I start with an idea and as life is breathed into it, it kind of takes over and leads me where it wants to go.

Tomorrow is the seventh anniversary of my dad's passing. A year or two before he died he rang me at work (which he rarely ever did) to tell me that he'd just seen an old friend of mine from school and he had told her about my plans to write a book. He finished off by saying, "I really hope you do, kiddo".

Well Dad, just so you know, the book still bubbles away in the back of my mind and when it's ready to be written, I promise you I'll write it.

In loving memory of my Dad, Ian Linnell. 27 June 1950 - 26 April 2002

For you and your genius

I've been saving up posts for about two months now, not having had the chance to finesse things the way I like to before I hit the scary orange 'publish post' button. But right now I'm going to do something I've never done: publish a post without reading, re-reading and editing the edits 37 times.

But you have to trust me.

This is a talk (a TED Talk to be exact) given by an author I don't know (Elizabeth Gilbert), who wrote a book I've never heard of (Eat, Pray Love). It takes 19 minutes but it'll be 19 minutes well spent. I promise.

The Best... and the not so Best

It's 21 minutes until the Bakers Oven pops out a lovely loaf of wholemeal (with 10% selenium apparenty) so I thought I'd take a minute (or 21) to record the Top Five Best and Worst of my first week back at in the real world.

So starting at the top... the winners for Best of the Week are:

1 Pay day
2 Discovering I'd managed to LOSE 1.5 kilos over Christmas (making it 7 since September)
3 Getting a pay rise
4 Finding out my favourite person at the nine to five had been promoted (Yay for you, SJW)
5 Getting a long-overdue hair tint (goodbye greys!)

But every rose has it thorns... the Worst of the Week is as follows:

1 Pay day (Note to self, next time you decide to take leave without pay, DON'T)
2 Waiting for a long-overdue hair tint (and finding at least one new grey everyday)
3 Getting sick with a cough that made me sound (and possibly feel) like I'd taken up smoking
4 'My Penis and Everyone Elses' on SBS last Friday night (Listen you stupid galoot, nobody cares about your three and a half inch todger... frankly, I'm surprised you can see it past your colossal girth and dolly-esque breasts! Now go away and get a life.)
5 Boy George going to jail

My plan for week two in the real world is to spend less, watch less, cough less and continue to eat less; sleep more, write more, laugh more and remind myself more often of the things that really matter. I'll let you know how I go.

For Tani and Bear (the best friends a Boop could have)

With my sister's wedding at the beginning of the year, a major holiday at the end and some expensive living in between, 2008 can be summed up in two words: cash strapped. So when it came to Christmas presents we made a pact with our closest friends that each of us would only do gifts for the children.

Now 2008 was an interesting year for me and along with Georgie and my sister Sasha, my two dearest friends Tani (yes, my personal tutu maker)and Bear were never far away when I needed them most.

These two beautiful girls have a knack of knowing when things aren't right and a call will come out of the blue. Their friendship means the world to me and I wanted to recognise that at Christmas whilst not breaking our 'no-gift' pact. So I made them each an apron (I adore aprons... but that's another story) which turned out so fabulously I'm making myself one in a ladybird print.

So for Tani and Bear... thank you gorgeouses... I love you both more than even I can say. For everyone else, here's an introduction to the best friends a Boop could have... and of course, their aprons.

Tani

Tani is a beautiful girl blessed with an enviable pout so I sometimes call her Lips... especially when she signs my cards with a big red lipstick blot. We met at work in Adelaide about 10 years ago and we just connected. Her gorgeous daughters, Taylah and Lilly are my godchildren and my favourite reason to get back to Adelaide whenever we can.

Tani's Apron

Bear

Bear has been my best friend since high school but we've known each other since primary school. Her name is actually Andrea but with her beautiful dark curls and gorgeous round face she looks like a panda bear... and that's how she got her life-long nickname. I most often call her Mrs Bearly and she's a very proud mummy to Evie, a favourite subject in my last post.

Bear's Apron

The Biggest Post Ever (so get comfortable)

My podiatrist talks too much and it’s rare for me to actually hear what he’s saying but when I visited for a toe-tidy before our Christmas holiday I told him about our planned road trip from Sydney to Hobart and he said I should keep a travel diary. So I did.

My plan was to post regularly to The Daily Boop but it never quite happened. We arrived home in the wee hours of last Monday 5 January and have spent the last few days sleeping, unpacking, and downloading and organising the 2000-odd photos we took along the way. Georgie went back to work today and with some time alone for the first time in almost a month I’ve sat down at my Mac and began Daily Booping. So here it is… my travel diary (as suggested by my oh-so verbose podiatrist).

Tuesday 30 December 2008
It feels like weeks since I updated the Daily Boop and damn me it’s been three! The first few weeks in December were spent frantically getting ready for our big road/boat trip from Sydney to my home state of Tasmania and trying desperately to get ahead at the nine to five. By the time we left Sydney we were exhausted but it didn’t take us long to get into the swing of being on holidays. Somehow I don’t think we’ll switch back into work-mode as easily.

My sister and her husband have renovated an old hall and moved in just a few weeks before we arrived and as lovely as it is it’s missing one very important amenity – internet connection. So I’ve saved up my postings ready for one long coffee break in an internet café which so far hasn’t happened… and I’m determined to get at least one post in before the New Year.

Postscript:
Arrived at a café in North Hobart called Omba which has wifi connection but just not today. I can’t believe that we can find an automatic paper towel dispenser but not an internet café (at least one that doesn’t stink of burnt bacon). Maybe tomorrow.

Tuesday 16 December 2008
8.38 pm

On the road... at last

What a day! We’ve just arrived in Goulburn (188 km from the Royal Price Alfred Hospital – our last stop before we left Sydney) and we’re hungry and tired but so happy that we’re finally on holidays. We both worked until 2.00 pm as we had an appointment to see a specialist at the RPA at 2.45. We arrived in the waiting area at 2.40 and spent the next two hours waiting. To pass the time, we chatted about our holiday, grrrr’d about the wait, told jokes, grrrr’d about the wait, ate Freddo Frogs, grrrr’d about the wait and renamed it the ‘waiting and waiting and waiting room’.

Getting out of Sydney (much later than planned) was a tiny nightmare but once we hit the open road we were just so happy. Right now we’re going to find something to eat and hit the hay. Tomorrow we’re driving around 400 kilometres to Beechworth in northern Victoria’s alpine region.

Wednesday 17 December 2008
Ghost tour at Mayday Hills Insane Asylum, Beechworth, Victoria

Our quirky host

OK, tell me they are not orbs.

Thursday 18 December 2008
10.05 am
Breakfast at the Bouchon at Botanicals, Beechworth, Victoria


8.02 pm
Leaving Melbourne on board the Spirit of Tasmania

The Spirit of Tasmania II

Looks rough, eh?

Bye Melbourne

Friday 19 December 2008
12.56 am
Funny about the things that wake you up… a hoon in his boyishly loud car, possums fighting outside your bedroom window or your husband doing a summersault whilst fast asleep (why it doesn’t wake him up, I’ll never know).

But a few minutes ago we were woken up as the bow of the boat lunged down into the water followed by a huge thump that made my heart skip what seemed like a whole minute of beats. We’d left our curtains open so we could see the water and looking out explained it all: huge whitecaps sitting high on the blackness of Bass Strait, looking considerably larger than the one and half metre swell predicted by the Captain in his announcement as we left Port Melbourne.

Somehow this calmed us down and Georgie is rather pleased that he put his baby blue travel sickness bands on before he went to sleep. We’ve decided to sit up for a while and look out for Spirit of Tasmania One that we’re apparently passing at 1.15 am.

5.31 am

Hello Devonport

We’ve just woken up as the Spirit of Tasmania is docking in Devonport (North West Tasmania). Twiggy (our cute little car, so named because she’s skinny like the model) is parked on level six and in about half and hour we’ll be called down to drive her off the boat. An announcement about declaring fruit, veg and fish has just come over the PA and we’ve decided to come clean about our little Glad bag of home grown cherry tomatoes… at least the ones we can’t gobble up before we get to the quarantine station.

Postscript

North West Tasmania

Ashgrove Cheese's cute cows

It took us about half an hour to get through quarantine but we we’re pleased we declared our tomatoes. We took off down the road towards Hobart and were wrapt to find Ashgrove Cheeses open (at just after seven in the morning) down the road. We took lots of pictures of their cute cows, bought some Lavender, Wensleydale and Vintage Cheddar cheeses and we met a couple in a Winnebago who recommended breakfast at Christmas Hill Raspberry Farm about five kilometres down the road. We stopped in there and shared a toasted baguette with Tasmanian bacon, melted Mersey Valley Cheddar and grilled banana piled on top and garnished with Christmas Hill raspberries and raspberry coulis. Delish!

Christmas Hill Raspberry Farm

Christmas Hill Raspberry Farm

We pulled up outside my sister’s house (just under 300 kilometres from Devonport) at exactly 11.11 am which made us double take because 11/11 is my birthday. Spooky!

Monday 22 December 2008
Having a great old time but have had little time to rest. The highlights so far have been catching up with my sister Sasha and her kids, seeing Evie (Bear’s 18 month old daughter) for the first time since she started walking and the arrival of my tutu from Adelaide… a gift from my clever friend Tania.

I’m surrounded by my darling husband and family, friends I love and now I have a tutu. Not even Santa could top this.

Thursday 25 December 2008

Happy Christmas from The Daily Boop

Friday 26 December 2008
Christmas Day was a blur of wrapping paper, tulle and roasting dishes. I cooked lunch and dinner in my tutu and cleverly managed to avoid setting myself on fire. It was a bit too crazy for photos but between Georgie and myself we managed to snap one or two.

Katie got a skateboard

James got an electric guitar

Ellie got a craft set

And Evie got a piano

Saturday 27 December 2008
11.41 pm

Ellie and James in between marshmallow toastings

For the second night in a row, the kids and I built a little campfire and toasted marshmallows. James has found a three-pronged stick which means he has three times the toasting power than any of us but he’s setting three times as many on fire. Katie has become Chief Fanner as she fans the fire with a piece of cardboard as we’re getting it going and Ellie spends the time coming up with as many ways as possible to put the fire out so we can go inside and play Sing Star on the Playstation.

Tomorrow is James’ birthday the little tacker will be turning 11. I want to tell him that I remember being 11 but he’d ask me how many years ago that was and I’d say 28 and he’d say ‘Geez you’re old Auntie Trace.’

Little bugger.

Sunday 28 December

Welcome to Evie's house

Monday 29 December 2008
1.27 pm
It’s hard to believe Christmas has come and gone and so too has my nephew James’ eleventh birthday. The yachts have left Sydney Harbour and I just heard on the one o’clock news that 26 have now docked in Hobart.

I’m sitting in a little café in North Hobart called Kaos eating a ham and cheese toastie, drinking chai latte and wishing I didn’t feel so blue. I shouldn’t feel blue… we’ve been planning this holiday for months and I was so damn excited about it but maybe I let myself get too excited. Y’see there was a reason I left Tasmania and I had kind of forgotten exactly what it was. Until today.

It’s a very small town compared to Sydney and I don’t mind that so much but in recent years it has developed a real second-class status about itself and it breaks my heart. Don’t get me wrong, the place is as beautiful as ever… it’s the people. Georgie pointed something out the other day that I hadn’t noticed and now it’s all I can see. It’s in the girls… the teenage girls. In any other place the beautiful young things with the potential to be who or whatever they wanted would be the majority… here they’re the minority. Many of the others have seen, heard and done to much in their young lives and I can’t help but wonder if they’re now helplessly locked into a life nobody in their right mind would wish upon a child.

On Saturday, we’ll be driving to Devonport and boarding the boat back to the mainland, leaving these seemingly broken people behind us. I think I’ll be pleased to get away but it’s not without worry. My niece Katie is 12, her sister Ellie is nine… is this what the future holds for them?

My toastie is cold now, and my latte is all but done. I’m going to drive down to the dock and have a look at the boats. They’ll leave here too in a little while.

Wednesday 31 December 2008
Around Hobart

Sydney to Hobart Yachts

Sydney to Hobart Yachts

Cascade Brewery with Mt Wellington in the background

Hobart at night

Friday 2 January 2009
A day at Richmond

St Johns at Richmond, Australia's oldest Catholic church

Inside St Johns
Inside St Johns

Richmond, Tasmania

The Richmond Bridge

Georgie


Bear, Evie and Tim

Saturday 3 January 2009
The things I miss the most about Hobart

Me, Evie and Bear

Ellie, James and Katie

Monday 5 January 2009
1.21 am


We’re home… to tired to write as we’ve just driven 11 hours straight from Melbourne. Caught up with the lovely Miss Marzie in Melbourne this morning (or was it yesterday morning) and she’d made raspberry friands… delicious and special considering the early hour we arrived. Wish we had more time with her the Marzies… another visit a must.

Uneventful drive really… surprisingly little traffic, got lost finding our way out of a late night fuel stop at Mittagong and as the sun was setting we stopped at Gundagai to snap the Dog on the Tuckerbox. We were welcomed home by a squished blue tongue lizard on the driveway, playing host to a million ants and a vile stench (note to self, find out if ants can smell) and fat garden orb weaver taking over the backyard with its untidy web. As I write this Georgie is putting an end to his/her reign with a lethal dose of Mortein Outdoor. Can’t stand freeloaders.

Redottification

When I was just thinking about starting a blog, my friend Miss Marzie - herself a longtime blogger - said that you meet some lovely people in blog world. Now it's not that I disbelieved her, it's just that meeting lovely people was not high on my list of motivations for starting the Daily Boop... and then I met Whimsy Cate.

Y'see the luscious, lolly-like dots you see here before you (as opposed to gloomy green and yucky yellow) are thanks to Cate and her man Tim, who wrote a comprehensive step-by-step guide through image editing and HTML that was so easy to get, I had new dots up by lunchtime.

So when Miss Marzie said I'd meet some lovely people online she was so right! Thank you Cate and Tim... you have made me a very happy Boop!

PS Whimsy Cate writes a lovely blog, as does the gorgeous Miss Marzie. So if you haven't ventured out into blog world yet, I highly recommend doing so. You'll be amazed at what - and who - is out there.

Beginnings

When I was just two years and nine days old, my little sister came into the world. I don't know why my dad thought I needed a present to mark the occasion but I doubt very much that he was aware of the impact the three little books he gave me would have on my life.

They were by the creator of Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne: When We Were Very Young, Now We Are Six, and The House at Pooh Corner. I adored these books - especially the first two - and even now I love to pull them off the bookcase and read them loud and animated like a primary school librarian.

I don't know why I love these poems so much and I don't want to think about it too deeply in case it tarnishes the beautiful innocence of it all. But I do know there's something uplifting and inspiring and beautiful about the way stories like these can shape a child's imagination; and I'd like to think they had a similar influence on mine.

My favourites have changed over the years. When I was really little I loved one called 'Happiness' which was about John and his great big waterproof boots. As I got older I laughed out loud to 'Bad Sir Brian Botany' (an eccentric old soldier whose long-suffering neighbours took their revenge in a duck pond), and wondered at how that precocious little upstart, James James Morrison Morison Weatherby George Dupree, persuaded the King to help him look for his mother in 'Disobedience'.

But this is my all time favourite AA Milne poem. It's called 'The Four Friends' and it's from When We Were Very Young.

Ernest was an elephant, a great big fellow,
Leonard was a lion with a six foot tail,
George was a goat, and his beard was yellow,
And James was a very small snail.

Leonard had a stall, and a great big strong one,
Earnest had a manger, and its walls were thick,
George found a pen, but I think it was the wrong one,
And James sat down on a brick.

Earnest started trumpeting, and cracked his manger,
Leonard started roaring, and shivered his stall,
James gave a huffle of a snail in danger
And nobody heard him at all.

Earnest started trumpeting and raised such a rumpus,
Leonard started roaring and trying to kick,
James went on a journey with the goats new compass
And he reached the end of his brick.

Ernest was an elephant and very well intentioned,
Leonard was a lion with a brave new tail,
George was a goat, as I think I have mentioned,
but James was only a snail.

I survived self promotion (and other stupid stories from the bad old days)

You may find this hard to believe but I turn into a wobbling blob of insecurity if ever I'm faced with the need to self-promote. Happily, at the grand old age of 39 I have found myself in the fortunate position of not having do it anymore... I have a job I like and, all going well, I won't need to hit the streets, trumpet in hand with which to impress a doubtful employer.

I have a husband I plan to keep, so as long as he's happy to keep me too, I won't be out trolling the clubs promoting myself as an ideal incubator for a 40-something nobody who's already been rejected by the majority of my peers.

No, it seems I've managed to all but wipe out the need to tell people what a great girl I am. But a girl will do almost anything when she's hungry... she'll even stoop to self promotion.

So I'm guessing it would have been early April in 1997. My job, along with those of a handful of my colleagues, had been made redundant in the previous January when the ad agency I worked for lost a major account. All I can remember doing with my redundancy package was buying a bikini, a bottle of Baileys and paying for fornightly visits to a tarot card reader called Annie at Orange Lane Markets. By April the money was gone.

I'd visited the two creative directors who didn't scare me to the point of peeing my pants and started to pick up a bit of freelance work but not enough to survive on. So to avoid any face-to-face time with Adelaide's creative directors, I wrote a headline, added a heart-wrenching story, a pic I'd hijacked from the newspaper and made it look like the lead the article on the front page of The Advertiser (Adelaide's daily rag). I then mailed it to every creative director I knew of and waited for the work to come flooding in.

Of course, it didn't and looking at it now, I realise it was really dumb to use than name of a real Advertiser journalist. Super dumb. Unbelievably dumb.

Anyway, last week I was preparing the spare room for a visit from my mother in law* and I came across my old portfolio; and in a tatty, yellowing envelope, I found my pitiful poverty ad.

Poverty stricken writer forced to eat her own words
By Scott McKenzie (aka the alias that probably did me out of a week's work) in Adelaide

A spokesperson from the Royal Adelaide Hospital has this morning told of the amazing survival of Tracey Linnell, a copywriter driven to survive on words alone after a prolonged dry spell in the advertising industry.

Tipped off by concerned neighbours, police entered Miss Linnell's home on Sunday; and while initially driven back by the stench of foul language, they found the woman in a room at the rear of the house, huddled unconscious over her thesaurus.

"When police found Miss Linnell, she was in a very bad way. Her condition suggested she had been eating words for at least a month, and tests showed no vowel movement for quite some time," the spokesperson said.

Asked of her current condition, he replied "Miss Linnell has responded well to treatment. Fortunately she chose her words carefully and the damage to her vocabulary was kept to a minimum."

It's expected Miss Linnell will be released later today and be fit to make an immediate return to work.

*Now that I know my mother in law's a reader of The Daily Boop, I'll refer to her by her first name (which is Lyn), refrain from swearing and blasphemy and not blame her for Georgie's wind trouble.

Indisposed

This is the first - but probably not the last - post I've ever written from my nine to five desk. It's been a busy, busy time in the world of traceyboop because every day when I finish work I go to my other job which is conveniently located in my head and it's called inertia.

I've only been working at inertia for the last few weeks and it's the easiest job I've ever had! I leave my nine to five and furiously fight my way through the Sydney traffic, eager to get home to the couch where the real work begins.

I try to be there by seven which coincides with the start of the Colbert Report on the Comedy Channel. The boss doesn't mind if I'm a bit late because the show is repeated on Comedy 2 at nine so in between times I can get busy doing stuff all.

When the Colbert Report is done it's time for a break so I rest my head back and look at the ceiling. I know I do this because I've noticed there's dust in the light fitting and I've made a mental note to fix it when I finish my stint at inertia. Not long after that I get so busy doing nothing that before I know where I am the time has gone and I'm back at my nine to five again.

So I hope you understand my not having time to update the Daily Boop... because I'm hell-mad with myself for letting it slip.

So... fresh, new and insightful posts will be delivered daily - as promised - to this here blog... if I gotta break the telly to do it.

Heavens Above

When we’re in Hobart, we stay in a lovely old mansion called Ednam House. It’s filled with antiques, heavy drapes and something that I’ve never seen but my pounding heart tells me is there. To avoid looking into nothing and seeing something, I lose myself in the intricate details of the fittings… like this chandelier in the Augusta suite.


Red Bubble

Words

It's been a really busy time at the nine to five and I feel like I'm running out of words. Today however, there was a small reprieve... a 700 to 800 word article has morphed into a table with just a headline and an intro, saving me anything up to 600 words.

It was tempting, I must admit, to blow it all in a phone call to Bear (my best friend who uses at least three times as many words as me); or waste it on random lyric generation as Georgie and I made dinner. But I think I'll get better mileage out of writing rather than speaking. At least here I can monitor the number of words I use (120 to here) and maybe save just enough so I don't go to bed speechless.

When I first started out as a copywriter, I found myself at odds with the writer's need to have thing 'just so'. If I wasn't working with a black Artline 210 on an A3 pad of bond paper, all I could think about was not having a black Artline and a pad of the starchy bond. If it was too noisy I grumbled, if it was too quiet I turned my music up. The writer in me was a wanker and I have very, very little time for wankers.

But then one day I read about a legendary copywriter named David Abbott. He was the man behind the award-winning print campaign for The Economist (which I think inspired the brilliant bush-shelter campaign for the Financial Review) and he said that to write these ads he needed to draw up a page of perfectly ruled 10 x 3 boxes with (if I recall correctly) a particular red pen before he could begin. (293 words)

Now when it comes to copywriting, I am not a hair on David Abbott's little finger; but he changed the relationship between me and the writer forever. In just a few words he made it OK for me to have a ritual around my work, and that needing one didn't make me a precious little tosser.

I don't need bond paper anymore and I could write in a thunderstorm (like the one happening outside right now), but still I can't think straight without an Artline in my hand. (381 words)

Now if I finish now, I'll have just enough words for two minutes of pointless chatter with George before turning out the light. Nigh night. (413)

For God sake, Mr Sandman... bring me a bloody dream

So what does a girl do when she can't sleep? She takes a picture of herself not sleeping and posts it on her blog of course. I mean, where else am I going to be at 4.28 in the morning?

It's been a really busy week and my nine to five has become my eight to eight; although come to think of it, it's never really was a nine to five.

For a while now it's been my 9.30 to 6.30 but that doesn't sound as compact as 'nine to five'. Before that it was eight to five but that's much too early to be poetic and frankly the traffic is just awful at that hour. Before that I had a different job and I I caught the bus to work... that was hell on earth regardless of the time. I didn't like my job much either so if I could have billed them for the time I spent traveling to and from their hall of shame in a dirty yellow rust bucket, I would've.

Anyway, it's 15 minutes until my alarm goes off... maybe I should turn it off so it doesn't wake the sleeping George. Or maybe I could be devious and let it go because then he'll make me a lovely coffee. Hmmm... I now have 13 minutes to weigh up the pros and cons...

So back to my busy week... I'm on holidays soon and while I'm away I'm going to phase out the use of the word 'yes' and replace it with something like 'Sure I can do that! It will take [insert time] to write and I can do it on [insert day]'. It's longer, I know (and probably won't fit on a sticky note) but I'm done with long days and sleepless nights... and I look terrible at this hour!

Postscript: I didn't realise my alarm clock is four minutes fast so when I heard my alarm bleating at 5.11 I bolted into the bedroom to turn it off before it woke George. I needn't have worried though... he could sleep through anything. Even my sleepless night.