The other night, The Boy woke at three in the morning, grumpy and wanting Daddy to sing him a song.
Which led in turn to the following conversation.
Mrs Insertnamehere: “Sing him a song Ramon, so we can all go back to bed.”
Me: “Well, I can’t think of any kids’ songs at the mo…”
Mrs Insertnamehere: “For God’s sake, just sing him anything”
So I sang him Bandiera Rossa, the marching song of the Italian left.
He loved it. I had to sing it three times and now he wants it every night before bed.
I just hope his Italian babysitter isn’t a supporter of fascism.
In other news, Melbourne radio “personality” Helen Razer has just turned 40 and to celebrate has created a blog of such startling vacuousness that I feel obliged to report said blog.
I have long despised Ms Razer, both for the utter shite she’s ground out over the years and for the fact that her ground-breaking work has given other “writers” (hi Clam!) the idea that stream of consciousness, self-centered babbling is somehow acceptable.
Next week, Helen talks about her appointment with the cosmetic surgeon.
Given that, to date, she has received zero (0) comments, I suspect very few give a flying fuck.
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8 comments:
I'm glad you spotted the work of the surgeon's knife. She does look a little.. enhanced.
My sister used to like me to sing And the band played Waltzing Matilda to put her to sleep. Nothing like a little Gallipoli ditty to ensure pleasant dreams.
I sing Wave of Mutiliation (a la Grant Lee Phillips) to Ms Rose and Ms Star. They also like White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes and (of course) Tigerland.
I like to sing 'Oh, dear! What can the matter be? Johnny's so long at the fair... he promised to buy me a pretty blue ribbon...'
In this way she will learn that a.people are late and b.people break promises and c.life is a bitter disappointment, but in a happy sing-song way
Important lessons all, squib.
H. Razer is quite the most awful thing on radio. (Macca is a close second) The one thing worse than the 8 seconds of her broadcast that you hear before you get to the radio to turn it off is the stray prose that she shits out onto various newspaper. She fancies herself a 'wordsmith'. In that she takes language, beats it flat, subjects it to unnatural stresses, then, yes, she is a word 'smith'.
Her self conscious, yet at the same time, self unaware rants display the sort of personality that make me stabby.
"We couldn't afford songs when I was a child. I remember one time we saved up and hummed a tune." *
*copyright catlick's ashes.
I heard Helen Razer banging on about her upcoming 40th on Richard Stubbs' show yesterday and he was making noises about how she's sporting the hot bod these days. Good bod or not - she'll always be a semi-albino half-blind bint to me.
Sources tell me Ms Razer is not the nicest person in the world to work for.
Macca is universally regarded as a cunt.
We do Humphrey Bear:
Look over there.
It's Humphrey Bear
He has best friends ev'rywhere
Children, trees,
Animals too,
He loves them all especially you.
If you feel glum then you'll need your chum,
Good old Humphrey Bear
Maybe he'll grow up an animal liberationist.
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