The financial advisory service

My phone rings. An unknown number.

“Hello, Sean speaking.”



A click.

“Hello, Sean this is Sarah from the financial advisory service.”

“Which financial advisory service is that, Sarah?”


How it happened

Ro and I are snuggling before the alarm goes off.

Me: Rosie, how did you get to be so beautiful?

Rosie: I fell off a chair and broke my leg.

Once were worriers #blogjune

Fi’s training Ró to say, “let’s go, Broncos!”

She turns to me and asks me what my guy’s war cry is.


“The Warriors.”

“Uh, it’s ‘we did really well that one year we got to the finals.'”

Am I still in charge at this point? #blogjune

I’ve been trying to add a little negotiation to the discipline process. I’ve been giving the expectation, and if not met outlining a consequence with a count of three to avoid it happening. It’s not stopped the mischief but it’s making the picking up and so on a calmer affair.

Tonight she climbed up on the TV cabinet.

“Darling, can you get down from there?”

“No way!”

“Please get down, sweetheart.”

“Count fwee.”

Orange: the return #blogjune

Sandwich for dinner tonight, by request. Orange for after.

I get the orange from the fridge.


“Yes, cold.”

She’s handed the orange to check. It’s cold.

I take it to the bench.

“Daddy orange?”

“Yes, I’m cutting the orange.”


I hold up the partially cut orange.

“Yellow orange, blue orange!”

“Well more like orange orange, really. Here you go.”

The oranges are tipped off the plate. I take it away saying:

“OK, no plate but please eat the orange.”


“You want plate now?”


“OK, but please eat the orange.”

“Of course.”

Let the record reflect no orange was eaten.


What happened yesterday instead of blogging #blogjune 18 make up post


Another Craig one, this time earlier. #blogjune 17

I met Craig at the start of high school. We were kindred spirits, weird and silly. What I liked about him on the first day we sat together in class was that he had a sellotape dispenser he called “Super Snail”.

We got close enough as friends to hang out at each other’s places. There were weird rules at his place. For some reason he wasn’t allowed to be inside the house until his mother or stepfather came home from work. I remember long afternoons sitting in the sun on his back deck, mostly bored. It’s probably where his overactive imagination developed.

Other times, if we had money, we’d go up to the local shops and play videogames. Further afield lay Lynnmall, what we thought of as a big shopping centre in the pre-Westfield era.

We were there one day when Craig had a bright idea for fun. The Farmers there had a set of pick-and-mix bins. If you were quick, you could enter the shop, grab some lollies and be out the door before they could stop you.

The first time was a rush. We got away with a couple of lollies apiece and ate them quickly, proud of our wicked bravery.

The second time, we were followed by a security guard and apprehended outside the door. He asked us if we still had the lollies, which we did. He told us how very serious our behaviour had been and that we had to come back inside the shop with him while they decided whether to call the police or not.

On the way into the shop he said, “Nice day, isn’t it?”

“It all depends on whether you’ve been caught shoplifting or not.”