In which Betty gets out and about in the bush, and finds POO!

Oh, communing with nature – there’s nothing like it. Well, perhaps there is. I suppose the inner-city hipster version is having a killer coffee in a café with a killer barista and great art on the walls. I suppose both of these take you out of your home-world to a degree, but I prefer mine - and it's caffeine-free! Look at this:

I wandered lonely as a cloud…

The sign on the main road said ‘Sandy Point 3km’. I drove my low-slung little Hyundai about 300m along the trail before I got a bit nervous, and found a spot to pull over.

The (at times) steepish trail was pretty ordinary, and after half an hour of trudging along and sweating in the autumnal semi-warmth, I must confess to muttering under my breath: ‘This’d better be worth it!’

Of course it was! This is Croajingalong National Park, after all.

 The view was amazing –and (surprise surprise!) Sandy Point had a gorgeous little sandy beach! It was (mostly) soooo quiet there – would love to take a tent and spend a night or two there in warmer weather. A houseboat across the lake proved to be the source of the incongruous raucous laughter – someone was clearly having a fab time over there.

The walk back is never as long as the walk there, I reckon, because you have a vague idea of how far your destination is. Therefore, I didn’t rush, and enjoyed the flora:

 

Not sure whether fungus counts as flora.... but anyway...

the fauna (I wasn’t quick enough on the draw with the camera, and the wallaby sharing the path hopped away, dammit!) I spent a lot of time scanning the treetops for koalas, but to no avail…

And then there was the poo. Yes, the poo.  I’m no expert on critter poop. Growing up in suburbia I’m all too-familiar with those disgusting doggie leavings on the nature strips of local streets. I’ve been a bird-poop victim on occasions, and I’m all too-familiar with the awful stuff that appears in the kitty litter on a regular basis.

I discovered some interesting poop today though. While I can’t be certain, I think it’s wombat poop. Here, have a look:

The thing is, this poop appeared every few metres along the trail, some of it fairly new, some old, and in various stages of breakdown. Oh, look – here’s another one!

 Are wombats so incontinent? Or is there perhaps a population explosion of wombats around Mallacoota? Are they just exhibitionists? (What the heck is so attractive about the track as a pooping place???) I noticed lots of potential wombat hideyholes by the sides of the track (although why ANYTHING with a bumhole big enough to produce monster turds like this would need a hideyhole, I’m not sure!) I am now intrigued, and plotting a way to find out who/what is producing these massive piles of poo that make Rottweiler poop look like icky brown tic-tacs.

I’m really loving this bushwalking lark. My feetses, in their fabulous Redback safety boots, were a little tired by the end of it all - and my horrid arthritic bits were whining at me (bloody nuisances!) but my spirit felt renewed and recharged, so *two finger salute to arthritis!* Wheeeeeeeeee!

Too Busy to Blog - feels like the world is ending!

•  School has eaten my life 
• My inferior pubic ramus refuses to knit 
•  I am battling bikelessness and the depression that naturally follows that state
• I don’t know how long I can keep this up 
•  I miss my blog, dammit!

The less said about my lack of healing, the better. No idea when I’ll be able to get back on a bike, and this is causing me massive distress. Don’t even ask, coz I’ll bite. Or cry. Crying is more likely…

So, to distract myself, I’ve been thinking about toilet paper – as you do. 

I buy an ‘eco-friendly’ brand. Apparently it’s recycled (eeeew, I hope it’s not recycled from Other People’s toilet paper! YUK….) 

My toilet paper has little green frogs printed on it. This is supposed to show that it’s frog-friendly toilet paper, I suppose – but I find that peculiar. If someone wiped their bum on pictures of ME, I wouldn’t assume they were using Betty-friendly toilet paper… I would assume they were – oh, come ON – if somebody wiped their arse on YOU, would you think they were respecting you or caring about you???

Why do toilet paper manufacturers put cutesy pics on toilet paper? The other day at my daughter's house I had to wipe my bum on cute little puppy paw prints. Awwwwww..... And wtf have sea-shells ever done to deserve the ol' arse-wiping treatment?

Here’s a message to the manufacturers of the eco-friendly toilet paper – I would rather be wiping my bum on images of nasty environmental ravagers and destroyers – images of Exxon execs, for example – than poor innocent little green frogs/sea shells/puppies...

Just saying…

Oh. My. God. I need to be riding a motorcycle again. 

The Heroic Postie Bike - a tribute

My new toy - Daisy the Postie Bike - a Honda CT110

I did it! I am now a multiple bike owner. Uh-oh.... it always starts with a postie bike, and before you know it you need a bigger shed.

Meet Daisy, my little CT110. Perfect for short runs to the shops, and perhaps that once-a-year trip out to Funkytown on the dreaded gravel road.

Postie bikes are fabulous little critters. They may be small, but they perform a vital job for the people of this country. Forget the old 1950s adage, back in the golden years of the wool industry, when Australia was said to 'ride on the sheep's back'. These days Australia's future rides a CT110. Let me explain.

Remember a while back I was talking about the joys of turning 50? Remember the National Bowel Screening Program test kit the Government sent me for my birthday? You know, the one I kept ignoring because I couldn't bring myself to poke around in poo and then send it through the post? The one that had me terribly worried for all the Australia Post employees who would have to trundle bags of poo around the country on their postie bikes?

Can you believe the gov sent me a reminder letter? A "Dear Betty, to date we have not received your poo, please send ASAP" type missive. I couldn't believe it. The government of this country was really desperate for my little ol' poo. I was touched.

I carefully read through the material that came with the poo-kit, and learned that I was one of a select number of old folk invited to poo for Australia. It was, in fact, quite a special thing to receive a defecation invitation from the folk that run the nation. A Very Special Thing Indeed.

Somehow, though, as I carefully laid the special dissolving poo-catcher paper mat in the toilet bowl, then tried to perform under pressure (the poo-catcher dissolves after only 5 minutes of contact with the loo water, so you don't have a lot of time to recompose yourself afterwards), and then poked around in the - oh, it's all too awful - I didn't feel very special. In fact, I couldn't help but get this screamingly funny image of thousands of middle-aged Aussies in their PJs and fluffy slippers, bent bare-arsed over their dunnies and poking about with great seriousness in their business to collect samples for the government before the poo-catcher dissolved.

And (this is the best bit) you have to do it twice! One poo is not enough for the Government of Australia. Participation in the national bowel screening program is a two poo jobbie, so to speak. While you're waiting for your number two Number Two, your carefully labelled number one Number Two goes into THE FRIDGE (yes, you read that right), along with the raspberry jam, the limp bunch of celery that you'd forgotten was there and half a litre of soy milk.

The job(s) finally done, and carefully packaged, I felt horribly conspicuous, hobbling to the letterbox at the local shops with my little post-pack of poo, (with my name written on the OUTSIDE of the post-pack where anybody could see it!) and breathed a great sigh of relief as it plopped through the slot of the post-box. What an ordeal. Over to you, Australia Post. Ride like the wind, little postie bikes, to deliver your precious cargo!

So - any time you feel like sneering at those little wee postie-bikes, just remind yourself that they play a vital part in the screening of the nation's bowels, and be very very thankful that they do.

Jodie's Fab Fortieth

The aus.moto contingent gets stuck into it!

Maldon is a tiny town in rural Victoria; a heritage-listed goldmining town straight out of the 19^th century. It was also the location for ausmoto buddy Jodie's fabulous fortieth festivities last weekend.

I hopped on my trusty motorbike on Friday and was greatly rewarded - inspiration for a novel hit me just outside Tarcutta, NSW, and I spent fifteen minutes crouched in the gutter in the shade of my bike, scribbling ideas into a hastily-bought exercise book before they evaporated. I was also treated to a home-cooked meal by another bike friend, Stewie, later on in Albury. Life's good!

Getting lost in Bendigo was fun, apart from the fact that as well as being lost, I was busting for a wee and couldn't find a loo. These days I find that a full bladder prevents my brain from functioning. Will go back to explore Bendigo one day - the little bit I saw of it was just beautiful - but last weekend I was on a mission to Maldon, and didn't stick around.

Maldon's population pretty much doubled as people came from all over the place to celebrate the milestone birthday with Jodie – what a great day & night it was too, with a tent city springing up in the back yard, and much consumption of beer, chateaux cardboards and plentiful BBQ fare, not to mention a monstrous chocolate birthday cake. Molly the Energiser Bunny organised everybody, and led a posse of youngsters around for face-painting, trampoline bouncing and pinata bashing, while the grown-ups sat and celebrated. In the background, the sounds of two-piece ensemble Twofold Tofu wafted on the warm afternoon air - all very laid-back and lovely, it was. And rightly so - it's not every day that you turn 40, after all, Jodie – and it is special, if for no other reason than that it's probably the last decade of dignity that you will be allowed.

Molly the Energiser Bunny advises the old girl on cake-cutting, while Geoff looks on. (Photo: Nikolas Axaris)

Make the most of it Jodz! At 40 you're young enough to still have fun, and old enough not to care what people think. At 40 your health will probably never get any better than it is now – it's a bit of a peak time really. I'm not saying one is poised at the top of a slippery slope to decrepitude, although some unkind friends have told me that is indeed the way it is. I don't believe them. If 50 is the new 30, then 40 is even younger, right?

Jodz, over the next decade you have so much to look forward to! Now you are eligible to be a Junior member of the Ulysses Club. To be a 'Junior' anything at your age has to be a good thing, right?

But that's not all! More than likely, sometime in the next ten years, as you go hooning around on your scooter, or driving the school bus, your thermostat will start to go a bit wobbly. You will notice some interesting eyebrow growth. Gravity will exert its authority on bits of you that you would prefer it to keep away from. There may be twinges here and there – little gifts from above that remind you to get out and have fun while you still can.

Oh yes – the forties really are fabulous! These tiny reminders are gentle - nothing like the sledgehammers that will bludgeon you as soon as you hit 50.

Not-so-old Chooks R Us - Jodie & Betty (photo: Geoff Hansford)

A woman of 50, in Australia, is inundated with reminders of her age and her impending cronedom, no matter how youthful and energetic she feels. Australia Post is a co-conspirator in this campaign.

First, the postie will deliver the reminder that she is now eligible for free mammograms every two years. Oh joy! For years I have waited to have my boobs stretched out for free, and squashed flat between two cold glass plates, while I stand on tiptoe with teeth gritted and wonder WTF happened to the prospect of a dignified middle age. It's hard to be dignified when you're trapped by your tits in the jaws of a cold machine.

But wait, there's more! Australia Post will duly deliver a request to take part in the National Bowel Screening Program. That screening kit, which arrived at my house while I was away celebrating Jodie's arrival into fabulousness, is still sitting unopened on my table. I can't quite bring myself to send poo through the post. In fact, I haven't yet been able to read the 'how-to' booklet that came with the kit. I'm not the least bit curious about how to harvest the right amount of poo over a period of two or three days – or how to store Poo #1 while I wait for Poo #2 - or how to package it all up before posting it to a government laboratory for analysis. I pity the poor posties who ferry this icky cargo.

So Jodz – enjoy your 40s – possibly the last dignified decade you will be permitted! Thanks heaps for the great party - it was terrific!

A Crappy Post from a Shitty Blogger - a rant.

Poo in public toilets. I know, I know, this is not polite conversation – I hope nobody is reading this over their Weeties.

It’s just that this issue has bothered me for a very long time, and that sort of stuff is better out than in. Like poo, really.

This is what I find annoying. In the Ladies’ Toilets in many public places – railway stations, shopping malls, cinemas – there are often long queues of women waiting cross-legged, hopping up and down and waiting for a free loo (because you know how long it takes a lot of women to do whatever they have to do – and we do it privately in our separate little cubicles, unlike blokes, who can just whip it out and get on with it at the urinal).

Almost without exception, though, there will be one loo free that is avoided by the busting horde. Occasionally the next person in the queue will enter that loo, and with a squeal of distaste, exit again in a hurry. That’s usually enough to put off at least the next half dozen people who might have been hopefully eyeing the spare dunny.

Almost invariably, the only thing wrong with that loo is that some grotty prior user has not flushed it, and there’s a big poo in the bowl. Prospective loo-users take one look at that ol’ floater bobbing about in there and run for their lives – without flushing the loo, and therefore leaving it for the next unsuspecting full-bladdered lady, who squeals and hops away, leaving it for the next…. Ad bloody infinitum.

What I want to know is WHY? Why, in the first place, has somebody left the loo without flushing? Are they so busy that they can’t spare the half second it takes? Are they mentally deficient? Are they too short to reach the button? Is it their idea of a sick joke?

And what about the finders of the ‘left log’ – the ones who take one look and bolt, thereby creating a compound offence? Do they think the poo will jump out and get them if they try to flush it away? Do they think the owner of the poo left it there on purpose and might come back for it later?

Maybe the owner of the poo will get to work, or home, or whatever, slap themselves on the forehead, say “OMIGOD, I forgot to flush after that giant poo!” and dash back to the public toilet to finish what they began, elbowing their way through the waiting queue and apologising profusely:

“’Scuse me, I’m not queue-jumping – it’s just that I accidentally left my poo in there this morning, terribly sorry, and, you know, I want to put things right.”

That's not very likely, ladies – so here’s a tip: unless the poo is all over the seat, floor or walls of the toilet, it’s safe to flush the loo and send the offending poo to a far, far better place – like a sewage outfall at a beach near you, where it can chase the surfers and frolic in the sun. If you’re too squeamish to actually use the loo yourself after that, just because you caught a glimpse of someone else’s poo and had to face the grim reality that everybody else craps too, then at least flush it away and leave the loo ready for somebody else.

Please.