I Will Always Love You, Dolly.

I, like most people, have always known who Dolly Parton is. The sky is blue, the grass is green, Dolly Parton has humongous boobs.

My first encounter with her music, however, came in the 1990's, when I, like every other pre pubescent school girl became a fan of Australian band Frente, thanks to their catchy pop number Accidentally Kelly Street.

While I can't remember a single thing I learnt for my Year 12 Human Biology exam, I can still sing that song word for word.

Anyway I was given the single for Christmas that year, or perhaps it was my birthday? It was a tape of course in those days, and on the B side was a song called Here You Come Again. I loved that song even more than Accidentally Kelly Street and it got a fair amount of air time that summer at our holiday house.

While I explained to my parents how talented this Australian band Frente was, Dad did his usual job of raining on the parade. "They didn't write that song, Dolly Parton did. And she sung it well too, not like that woman with the nose ring."

(I think he would have like the cover better if Angie Hart didn't have a nose ring.)

This was a little bit of deja vu. A couple of years earlier I'd had a similar infatuation with Whitney Houston and what I thought was her song, I Will Always Love You.

On that occassion, Dad had been quick to point me in the right direction. "Dolly Parton wrote this and her version is far, far better."

After rifling through Mum and Dad's record collection,  I realised he was in fact right.  Dolly wasn't just all about the boobs.

And so begun my love affair with Dolly.

An affair helped along of course by statements Ms Parton made, like "Dumb blonde jokes don't offend me, because I know I'm not dumb. I also know I'm not blonde."

My kind of lady.

P.S Look how beautiful she was.

Giddy on...down.

Yesterday was Melbourne Cup Day.
I went shopping in the morning.  At 35 weeks I thought it was probably time I got a few things organised for the hospital. I bought All Bran cereal, absorbent pads for EVERYWHERE, nipple cream and ginormous undies.

As I was leaving the shop, two girls about my age dashed in, wearing gorgeous frocks, fabulous facinators and ridiculous but beautiful heels.

I looked at them, then looked in my shopping bag and before I knew it I could feel tears springing in my eyes. I raced to my car, well, waddled to my car, where I sat and sobbed for about ten minutes.

They were the first real tears I've cried since I got pregnant. Hormones are a funny thing. While husbands are given dire warnings about the emotional fragility of their wives during pregnancy, I for one have never felt more balanced. Gone is the monthly roller coaster of emotion and irritability. And tears, well I am struggling to remember crying even once over the last 9 months.

Mind you the bloke who tapped on my car window to ask if I was alright probably wouldn''t have believed that.

"Oh yes I'm fine, I'm just suffering severe back pain." was my reply.

Back pain, and heart break for a chapter in my life that's about to be closed.

I didn't dare tell him I was distressed because I'd traded bronzer for nipple cream, champagne for prune juice and stilettos for sneakers. And just as well.

"It's those shoes youse young girls wear these days, back breakers. Yer mad, all of youse."






 

The end of an innings for one of my great loves

With a few exceptions (including, it must be said, my brilliant husband), my track record with fellas hasn't been all that fabulous over the years.

Some blokes I've taken a fancy to have had minor issues. There was one with poor grooming habits and personal hygiene, one who supported the Dockers and another who drove a Hyundai Excel.

Others have had bigger issues. There was the one who is now gay, and another with drug induced anger management issues. 

One of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to men is that I have often been misguided in my loyalty.

Never was there a man that I was more loyal to than Shane Warne.

I was about 14 when I was first captivated by Warnie.

When he'd appear in the lounge room of our Miami holiday house a buzz would go through the room. Whether it was just me and Dad in front of the Rank Arena or a house full of holiday makers visiting for afternoon beers, the excitement was palpable.

He wasn't just a cricketer, he was a showman and I was in love.

It wasn't, obviously, just his cricketing prowess that sucked me in. He was a spunk then with bleach blonde hair and a bit of bling in his ear. I also really loved the fact that his diet consisted of baked beans and fags. What a man.

At the height of my Warnie mania I found out he was signing copies of his book in the City. My Dad wrote me a note to excuse me from a school excursion so I could go and get my book signed. I guess Dad thought giving me permission to meet Warnie was better than me wagging school to go to the beach?

I met Warnie, had my booked sign, my photo taken and went home on cloud 9. Thinking back on that meeting years later I was slightly miffed there was no untoward advances made in my direction.

Through the years, through the scandals, from diuretics to text messages and extramarital affairs, my candle for Warnie may have waned a little but, it was never extinguished completely.

That was until yesterday when a cold bucket of water was tipped right over said flame.

Yesterday I discovered the attached photo of the newly dubbed "Scrawny Warnie."

It is perhaps the long overdue end of what has been one of the great loves of my lifetime.

Thanks for the memories Warnie.

Now bugger off, I can no longer look at you.

Pulled Pork

My friend Claire is in New York City at the moment and stumbled upon this terrific street stall.

The Mystery of the Missing Diary

I was reunited with my diary yesterday.

Last week I turned my house, office and car upside down looking for my diary.

My life is literally in that little book. Every appointment, meeting, interview and important phone number is in that diary. My menstrual and pay cycles are also well documented in that diary. Not that the two are in any way related.

I was a mess last week. Was I coming or going? Was I Arthur or Martha?

A breakthrough in the mystery of the disappearing diary came last Wednesday with a phone call.

"G'day Kate, it's Danny at Dowerin, I've got your diary."

Come gain, excuse me, or as the young kids say these days WTF?  How on earth did my diary end up in Dowerin?

"I won the quiz on your breakfast show last week, you know the Ukulele Quiz? Well I've just received my prize in the mail- great CD, but your diary was also in the envelope."

It went on.

"I'm really sorry, but I've read some of it. I thought it was part of the prize but then I saw all these appointments written in in pen and pencil and realised it belonged to you."

Oh Lord. Has he read about which body parts I have waxed on a regular basis? Does he now know when I'm ovulating? He certainly now knows that I'm not naturally blonde these days.

Horrified, looking to somehow explain my embarrassing mishap, I told Danny at Dowerin that it must have been a blonde moment. Nice work Kate, just in case he didn't already think you had a few screws loose.

Although, it's possible that Danny read enough of my diary to suspect that I may well have had an attack of so called baby brain.

Unable to have a stiff drink to overcome my embarrassment, I think I'll have to buy Danny one when I'm in Dowerin for the Field Days in August.

A Live Debate (mach 2)

Like most people having their two bobs worth on the issue at the moment, I am no expert on the live trade. I have, however spent a number of years working in pastoral areas of  Western Australia as a rural journalist, and along the way I have formed an opinion or two. I am also married to a live exporter and my in-laws farm beef.

I have been trying to bite my tongue and ignore the comments by both friends and strangers calling for a total ban on live export since Four Corners broadcast A Bloody Business on Monday night.

But remaining balanced and without an opinion at work is one thing. It's the right thing, and I respect my position and would never and have never expressed a view or opinion about anything other than my football team.

But it doesn't stop me wanting to defend the livelihood of my family and friends "out of hours."

The footage on Four Corners on Monday night was disgraceful. Two days on I still haven't been able to watch the entire program. (Although it should be said I'm a bit soft when it comes to seeing roos shot and chooks beheaded too.)

The subsequent decision by the federal government to block trade to 11 abattoirs was the right decision. However I totally disagree with calls to completely banning the export of cattle from Australia to Indonesia.

Why? Because banning the live trade will do NOTHING to address animal cruelty in Indonesia. Surely those of you calling for a ban on the live trade are concerned about the plight of animals of every race and religion? Not just Australian animals?

If Australia stops exporting to Indonesia, that country will simply source live cattle elsewhere. This week the the Indonesian government has confirmed it is not interested in taking any more chilled boxed meat from Australia.

The only impact a total ban on live trade will have, will be to decimate the Australian cattle industry (not just those involved in live export) and the many thousands of people, families and communities that make a living from farming cattle.

I personally feel that Livecorp and MLA have a massive case to answer. There job is to prevent cruelty to Australian animals in Indonesia. They have failed. There needs to be a total overhaul of management, auditing and inspection of all facilities in Indonesia.

And those that don’t comply need to be shut out of the Australian market immediately. Without question.

However I believe that what was broadcast on Four Corners this week is a minority practice in Indonesia. It’s a minority practice because Australia has been working there for years teaching Indonesians how to kill cattle in a way that is acceptable to those of us living in the Western world.


It's simply not newsworthy to broadcast images of the clean abattoirs where they kill animals using Western methods and meet Western standards.

Without Australians working in Indonesia, chipping away slowly but surely with education and resources, the cruelty towards animals will NEVER end.

It is a very difficult task and one that Australia has a moral obligation to continue.

Have you been to Bali for a holiday? When you see how the Indonesians treat their own people, you can see how hard it is to change their mindset in regard to animals. But terrific work is being done and real, measurable progress has been made.

You call the Live Trade shameful? I believe to simply walk away from Indonesia and wash our hands of their animal welfare issues would be shameful.

And it’s worth making the distinction- live exporting, putting animals on boats to Indonesia is not the problem. The problem lies in some abattoirs, not the actual process of exporting the cattle.

I feel that it would be a complete disaster if the atrocious actions of a minority were to result in the whole industry being wiped out. We don’t sack entire police forces because of a handful of corrupt coppers; we don’t ban the entire church because of a handful of perverted priests.

Oh and one more thing. Those of you who have now given up eating meat because of what you saw on Four Corners? You’re simply depriving yourselves of one of the joys in life. The only thing that forgoing that juicy steak will impact is your protein level. You won’t influence the live trade or the Indonesian industry in any way shape or form.

To be sure!

Happy St Pat's to you!

Isn't it fabulous the way we Aussie's embrace and celebrate St Patrick's Day with such enthusiasm?

We wouldn't dream of paying hommage to the Poms, Yanks or Frenchies with such gusto.

I'd like to say it's about more than just the drinking, but I'm not so sure?

Anyway in the spirit of St Patrick's Day, I would like to introduce you to my new favourite band.

Their name is Flogging Molly and fronted by a bloke by the name of David King.

Their sound? There's no mistaking it, they're quintessentialy Irish.

The Passion is back

It was only a matter of time and quite frankly I am suprised it's taken this long. I discovered Passion Pop in a can on the weekend at the Mingenew Races.

It had been about eleven years since my last sip, swig or guzzle of the Pop, and I have to say I was pleasantly surprised.

It's no Veuve or Bolly, but it was delish none the less.

If the young fillies track side are a barometer, the repackaging has seen Passion Pop make a come back.

That's the thing about Passion Pop, as I learnt many years ago, it just keeps coming back...

A closed book

I've given up the Book. Cold Turkey. Well if the truth be told, I did have a look over the husband's shoulder a few nights ago, but I am no longer participating in Facebook.

The Book was starting to trouble me. Had Facebook changed? Or had I?

Don't get me wrong, I had no problem with others knowing my business, it was other peoples business that was making me uncomfortable.



DISCOMFORT # 1.
I was "friends" with teenage children of friends. Children who should not be having sex, much less posting details of it on Facebook. Children who are too young to be using the C word that rhymes stunt. Children who most definitely shouldn't be talking about the "gear" they're lining up for the weekend’s party.

DISCOMFORT #2.
Ultrasound pictures of foetuses. Perhaps it's because I am not a mother that I don't understand why anyone would post an ultrasound picture of their developing foetus on Facebook. To me there are some things that are deeply personal and for me my womb is one of them.

DISCOMFORT #3.
People are a lot ballsier, or perhaps just a lot ruder on Facey. I found that some people were writing things that they wouldn't dream of saying to my face.

In the beginning I adored Facebook. It quenched my insatiable desire to know everything that was going on in everyone's world. The Book also helped me reconnect with some old mates. But over time I realised there are reasons why they're "old" mates. (Not to be confused with mates I've had for a long time!)

Since bushing the Book, my productivity has soared in the office and at home. I have had far more, what I like to call "voice-on-voice" conversations with gorgeous friends and perhaps most telling of all I have stopped thinking in status updates.

It's been delightful to hear fabulous news on the old fashioned "grape-vine" and it's a lot easier to take unpleasant news when someone tells you to your face rather than accidentally stumbling over it on the Book.

I'm not the first to give up Facey and I will not be the last. And it may not be a permanent move. But at this point in time, I am happy not knowing what you cooked for dinner.

And I'll bet you're just as happy not knowing that I bought yet another pair of boots.

To market, to market

Farmers Markets are super popular here in the West right now and the Geraldton Farmers Market is small but fabulous.

I'm not a hippie and I don't have a thing about eating organic tucker...I just LOVE all the beautiful produce.

Farm eggs, Vietnamese veggies, pickles & jams, mangoes from Carnarvon, pot plants and even chooks for sale!

I bought some olive oil soap and this baby pink snapper. YUMMO.

It got us thinking...we know a town that would kill it in with a farmers market, and we just might be able to come up with something to sell too!

Cheap and Chic

Short and sweet today, I simply wanted to rate the Red Carpet at the Alan Border Medal last night.

Snaps to the Cricketers WAG's, who, in the whole, were exceptionally beautiful and very classy. Chic.

I especially loved Amy and Kirsty Hussey and Lee Furlong.

It's hard not to compare them to the AFL WAG's who appear to channel Dolly Parton, who once said "You'd be surprised how much it costs to look this cheap."  Think Brynne Edelsten and Tanya Buckley.

Fast money

I have a penchant for fast food. I pretty much love most things that come out of a bain-marie. Crab sticks, hot chips and toasted sandwiches are my favourites.

And I have a confession to make. I really do like crumbed chicken, cheese sausages.

I don’t eat them often.

In fact the last time I had one was at the end of ’09,  at Roebuck Plains Roadhouse.


My beloved just about had a coronary; it was a side of me that he had never seen. My deep dark secret. I justified my choice by claiming the worst hang over I’d EVER had (It was pretty nasty) and I have never again ordered one, such was the severity of the scolding.

Having just confessed all that, I’m a little bit miffed by my absolute horror at the number of people driving in and out of a certain fried chicken shop next door to my office. It starts at about ten o’clock in the morning and doesn’t let up ALL DAY. I’m not even sure if it’s open at ten- people could be queuing to get in?

I wish I could bottle the smell that wafts through the air conditioner in the morning, as the children who work there change the oil. I would distribute little vials all around Geraldton.

Guaranteed, no one would eat there again.

My horror is partly at the number of people eating there so early in the day, but, at the risk of sounding a little bit uppity, it’s partly at the sort of person eating there so early in the day. I’m sure you don’t need me to paint you a picture, but I have included one with this post just in case you’re not sure what I’m getting at.

Cashed up bogans are partial to sucking on a fried leg, however in the main, from my astute observation, it looks as though it’s the low income earners in town who eat there.

This miffs me too.

The only reason I can think of as to why they’d shop there rather than across the road at the very nice family run and significantly CHEAPER fish and chip shop, which also does fried chicken, is that next door you do not have to get out of your car.

I don’t for one second think that I’m living in a glass house, but HELLO lady in your hotted up 1992 Commodore with your “Fuck off we’re full” bumper sticker and noisy exhaust! You NEED to get out of your car.

But rather than encouraging Commodore lady out of her car to burn off even a couple of those chicken calories, this town is working hard to facilitate her.

Geraldton proudly boasts (and when I say boast I mean BOAST) the state’s first ever drive thru ATM? I thought it was a joke when someone first told me, and I thought, “Poor Geraldton, everyone giving it such a hard time!” But no my friends, it’s no joke, we are in fact too lazy to stand at an ATM and punch a few numbers in.

So as the forty-fifth commodore of the day pulls into the drive thru next door for lunch, via the ANZ ATM no doubt, I ponder my lunch options.

I really do fancy a toasted chicken, cheese and mayo sandwich from across the road.

But I have no cash and will have to walk about five hundred meters up the road to an ATM.

Don't forget the Gascoyne!

I had a birds eye view of two historic events during 2010, both declared natural disasters.

My year started at work, in Toodyay, covering the aftermath of the bushfire that destroyed almost 40 homes, businesses, farms and local infrastructure.

I finished the year at work in Carnarvon, covering the flooding of the Gascoyne River, which inundated hundreds of homes, businesses and destroyed farms, stations and local infrastructure.

While the Toodyay fire happened more than a year ago, the recovery continues, both practically for those who continue to rebuild their homes and emotionally for those who continue to rebuild their lives.

The clean up and recovery from the Gascoyne flood has only just begun, and it won't be a quick process.

For those of us who don't live in the Gascoyne, it's easy to forget what happened there only a matter of weeks ago. Carnarvon has disappeared from the front page of the newspaper and it no longer gets a spot on our nightly news. (Though it must be said the ABC Local Radio coverage continues!)

Most of us have enjoyed a Christmas and New Year celebration since then.

And now Queensland is dominating the headlines, as that state braces for its worst flooding in history.

While there's no doubt that Queensland will need the help of the entire nation, to clean up and rebuild, let's not forget the people of the Gascoyne, who contribute so much to this fabulous, but at times, cruel, state of ours.

Donate to the Perth Lord Mayor's Appeal.