The Nook of Oz

At work a week or so ago, I heard about a strange recipe.
Now, I’m an adventurous cook, willing to try anything once, but when I was told the ingredients for this one, my eyebrows shot up.
Have a go at this:
Heat oven to 180C or around 320F
Take one packet of French Onion soup mix and coat some chicken wings with it.
I used a freezer bag to do the shake and roll thing. Less mess, always a bonus.
Put the wings into a baking dish.
Into the dish, with the wings and soup, pour one can of coke.
Normal, diet, zero, which ever you prefer. I used zero cos we like it.
I shit you not my friends.
Chicken wings, French Onion soup and coke.
I made it tonight, and let me assure you, it will be a regular on our menu from here on in!
Fucking beautiful!
You can use as much or as little soup mix and coke to your taste.
I did 1.2kg of wings and used 2 packs and 2 cans.
The soup mixes with the coke and creates a sauce that is good enough to dip bread in and eat once the wings are gone, or even if they’re not gone.
Now I know Mark thought I’d lost the plot when I asked him to bring some coke from downstairs so I could do dinner.
I got one of those “Do you need take a pill and lay down sweetheart?” looks.
He ain’t looking at me strange any more however.
After dipping several pieces of bread in the sauce and inhaling quite a few wings, he’s decided we can maybe try a variation on the wings.
Use thighs, or maybe breasts, coat them in the soup mix, only pour in one can of coke, then have the lot with rice perhaps?
As I said, the soup mix and coke can be adjusted to your taste, and if you want, the sauce can be thickened with corn flour, and you could even throw some veggies in if it takes your fancy.
Take care not to let it dry out in the oven though, and if it looks like it may, simply add more coke! Whatever is left in the can, well, if you have some good bourbon or scotch, there’s no need to waste that either!
Have a drink while waiting for one of the most tasty meals you’ll eat, from a couple of ingredients I would never have though to use together.
In fact one of them would never have entered my head to use at all!
How about you?
What’s the strangest recipe you’ve ever made?

Milk came in a real glass bottle rather than feral plastic or waxed cartons they come in these days, and you could actually have it delivered?
When bread was made of what it’s meant to be made of and didn’t have 99 different preservatives, colourings and flavourings added to it?
Being politically correct was NOT the first consideration on your mind before you opened your mouth to speak?
Gay was a word used when you were happy, not as an intended reference to someone’s sexuality? Really, who gives a damn? People need to do what makes them happy regardless of what it is, and that others feel the need to put a label on every damned thing gets clean up my nose!
Sorry, I digress, that’s a post all of it’s own!
People had respect for those older than them, and didn’t see them as objects of amusement or a source of quick, easy income because they tend to be easier to mug?
Going for a walk at night was something you could do without being concerned for your welfare and health?
Going about your employment was something you could do without worrying about getting shot?
A story such as the one above made more headlines than the death of someone who whilst brilliant in a musical sense, had quite lost his grip on reality {assuming he ever really had it}
In relation to the above, I feel for MJ’s family, but mostly I feel for those poor little kids who really have no idea of the world that awaits them, and the way the media will drag their father through the mill for the rest of their days, and the fact that they will never be able to have any privacy, and if some have their way, dignity either
More kids went outside to play in the sunshine and make mud pies and daisy chains than those were inside with the latest gaming console?
Teachers were allowed to comfort kids when they hurt themselves instead of needing to just look as they do now, because they fear allegations of inappropriate behaviour regardless of the circumstances?
A doctor would come to your house to see someone because they were too ill to get out of bed?
Fresh fruit and vegetables looked and tasted just like what they were meant to?
Fast food was fish and chips as a treat on Friday night rather than the whole fucking menu plan?
People held doors open for others when they were but a few steps behind them?
People would stand for a pregnant woman to have a seat?
Young people would help elderly people rather than poke fun and laugh at them?
People wore their pants above their arse crack?
When you could understand what the singers words were, and they played actual music as opposed to doof doof doof!
I remember all of the above, and damn, how nice it would be should we have the ability to get them back.
I’m tired, I’m cranky, I need a holiday and I’m just fucking over it.
I guess it shows huh?

Been arrested?
God yes!
Regretted something you did?
No, I don’t do regrets
Been kissed so perfectly, you never wanted it to end?
Regularly
Laughed till you cried {literally}
More times than I can count
Seen death
Sadly, yes, and more than once
Played spin the bottle?
Yes *giggle*
Seen your life pass in front of your eyes
Again, yes, and again, more than once
Wondered how the hell you survived to the age you are?
F.U.C.K Y.E.S
Done drugs?
Yes
Offered your life for the sake of someone else’s?
Yes
Walked on a beach in the moonlight, alone?
Yes
Wished for more than you had?
Rarely
Prayed to die?
Yes
Been glad your prayer wasn’t answered?
Hell yes!
Wished on a falling star?
Yes
Been to the depths of despair?
Yes
Lit a candle for someone hoping it would help them?
Yes
Danced in the moonlight
Yes
Slept with someone the first time you went out with them?
Yes. I married him {but which one is the real question? *snigger*}
Felt pure unaduterated love?
I’m a mother…nuff said
Shaved your head?
No, but it’s not for the lack of desire!
Skinny dipped?
Well duh!!!
Been in such a blissful state you smiled for days?
Yes
Lost total faith in everything and everyone?
Yes
These are but some of the questions I’ve been asked in my 52 years, and many of them by total strangers.
This post came about from a conversation with someone at work today.
Feel free to either answer these yourself, or even pose some others.
I know most of you, so it won’t be nearly as intrusive as being asked by strangers I can assure you.

I’ve had quite the relaxing {read LAZY} weekend.
Done what I needed to do, had a couple of Skype calls, spoken to 2 daughters and made a regular weekly phone call to the states.
After all these were accomplished, I decided to wander around the net, stumbling at will, but I got sick of it.
Decided to come back here and check my spam bucket.
Do you have any idea how many people are trying to hawk naked pics of Myley Cyrus?
Dozens of the bastards.
What the hell they think I want with them I have no freaking idea, but they seem to think I’m quite keen.
At this point I would like to assure you, I AM NOT.
Nor do I have any desire for videos of women or men being raped, school girls in a gang bang, or men having sex with each other, however some of the drugs on offer could come in handy for an upcoming overseas flight, being the bad flier that I am.
I wandered over to Facebook after cleaning out the filth in my spam.
I am now officially hooked on FARKLE and Farmtown.
{Like I need any more obsessions??}
F**king FARKLE will be the death of me.
After muttering f**king FARKLE quite a few times {a girl can only take so many first roll FARKLES!!} I decided to click the link of a quiz that someone else did.
Fatal mistake!
I ended up doing 6 of those inane damned things!
WTF??
Yeah. Too much time on my hands for sure.
I need to get a life I think.
I was going to attempt some visits and comments, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen.
Been a long time since I got out of bed, and it’s not nearly long enough till the alarm.
Hope your weekend has treated you well.
Happy Fathers day to all Dads in the northern hemisphere too.
Just because they celebrate on a different day to us doesn’t make the day any less special now does it?

The time has come.
The public has spoken!
You wanted her!
You got her!
Our very own Annie was voted in to do the final chapter of our very own soap opera. Fried Green Bloggers at the Twitter Cafe.
I can assure you, she has not disappointed, but she has left it open for Frying more Green Bloggers in the most brilliant way possible.
I promised it would be tonight, and tonight it is!
Before I say anything else, I need to thank every single person who contributed to this drama of ours.
Blondie
Widdle Shamrock
The Mistress
Cris
Anja
Annie
Evyl
Cowgal
Burnie
Each of you did a wonderful job, and I thank you deeply for playing along.
These things are always a hoot aren’t they?
I’ve had a ball, and I hope you did too!
We’ll do it again, I’m sure. Don’t know when, but we will do it again for sure!
Annie, you’ve done a fabulous job! Thank you so much for being brave enough to take this on. It was quite the daunting little task I know.
Now, onwards.
Our story do far…

He stepped from the plane into the crowded airport, the face of who he was seeking, fixed firmly in his mind.
He had seen it numerous times, but knew, even if it had been revealed only once, it was a face he would never forget.
How could he ever forget the face of the person responsible for the single most painful experience of his life?
The devastation it had created was an event he would not allow himself to forget.
He was driven to not only find her, but make her suffer the way he had. Ensure she experienced the total overwhelming feeling that had been his constant companion for more than 10 years.
The hopelessness, anguish and feeling of loss, all of which kept him awake, or haunted his dreams, turning every night into a tortuous time to be dreaded, in every waking moment…….
Constance sat in the study looking out over the garden. She loved to be in this room. It was just how she had imagined she would have her own room just for her writing, all those years ago. The garden was showing the first signs of spring approaching. There were new buds on all the plants and the winter chill had gone from the air today, so she had happily let Alison play outside.
She was distracted from her writing while watching Alison play in the garden. The child had a wonderful imagination and Constance loved to watch her play. As the sun glistened on Alison’s hair and she poured tea for the teddy bears, Constance wondered how their lives would have turned out if she had made a different decision on that fateful day. For the first time in many years, she let her mind wonder to Alison’s father. Constance had not let herself think about him since that day. As she was thinking about him, she felt a shiver go up her spine and felt a sense of dread that she hadn’t experienced in a long time…
Dermot ran his hand through his hair. He was still a ‘looker’ and he knew it. He felt the glances from women as he walked through the airport to the taxi stand.
“Mmm, Nice eye candy.” he heard a woman mutter quietly to her friend.
He smiled to himself. Nice eye candy indeed. Standing at almost 6ft tall, Dermot had thick, black, wavy hair with tinges of grey. While he was no body builder, he kept himself in good shape. It was his eyes that women loved the most though, his deep, sea blue eyes. Many a woman had gazed into those eyes and fallen prey to his charms. Many a woman had known what it was like to be loved and tossed aside like a broken toy when he had had enough. Dermot hadn’t always been like that, a cruel, hard hearted bastard. There was a time when he loved freely and unashamedly, trusted implicitly. That was before Con….
Dermot shook his head. There was no time for that.
He hailed a cab, and when it pulled up, threw his overnight bag in the back and got in.
“Where to?” the cab driver asked.
Dermot paused. What now? He had waited for this for 10 years, plotted, planned, changed his mind over and over, never letting the flame of revenge die in his heart. He was here now. It was time.
Yes, where to?
He directed the driver to his hotel resisting the impulse to rush the confrontation that he knew was to come, remembering the events that led up to that fateful night that changed all their lives forever.
His mind drifted back in time as he remembered her despair that her husband was slowly drinking himself to death, her grief for the marriage and life that she would never now have. He remembered pulling her close initially to try to calm her weeping but later, oh later………. of holding her closer, much closer than a brother in law should as they sought to affirm the life that they both should have been living .
He remembered the gentleness of her fingers as they explored his muscles, the softness of her silky smooth skin, how she shivered when he kissed her neck, how her body arched beneath his as they took what each needed from the other.
It was the most incredible night he had ever known, he’d never found that kind of satisfaction with another woman since. She’d ruined him for anyone else and he’d never trusted another women again after what she did. Falling in love with his brother’s wife was bad enough and he had hated himself for it but for her to tell James while he was still so vulnerable…….. The bitch killed him!
She shouldn’t have told him, she should have stayed silent and forgotten about that night, that one night that they had turned to each other for comfort after taking James to rehab. If only she hadn’t told him he would never have been drunk at the wheel that night and had a chance of maintaining control of the car on the snow covered mountain road.
She killed James and then she vanished!
He’d been looking for her this whole time. It was time someone held her accountable.
Constance sat with a vague sense of unease, watching her daughter. She was struck by the need to go out and grab that beautiful child and run. She could not put her finger on the reason, but the fear began to grow in her. She hadn’t felt this in years. ‘Not since…..No, I will not let my mind go there…it was long ago and I am past it now,’ she thought.
But her mind continued to wander, down, deeper into her memories. All she could remember was the heart shattering loss, feeling like she was spiraling deep into nothingness, emptiness and like her heart had been cut from her.
The sound of the telephone cut through the silence like a chain saw, but Constance was locked deep in her mind, and could not reach out for the phone. At the same time Allison heard the phone ringing from outside and came running into the house. Mommy had just started allowing her to answer the phone on occasion, and if it was still ringing …….she ran to the phone, stopping short when she saw her mom sitting there.
“Mommy, Mommy are you ok?” shouted Allison.
The crystal glass shattered against the terrazzo tiles, shocking Constance back into reality. He was behind Allison, close enough to touch her. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes that made her drown in a pool of lust and passion were staring at her daughter. His long fingers were about to touch her hair. Constance was chained to her chair in fright. She knew why he was here. He was here to take away the one thing that was good and beautiful in the world – he was here for Allison. Her mind was in turmoil, her thoughts a myriad of confusion. How could she love a man that had vowed to make her suffer? How could she still feel that warm rush of ecstasy at the thought of him touching her, when she knew he was on a mission to destroy her. He smiled at Allison; that familiar smile he would deliver to her all those years ago. Constance died inside when she heard his voice. The pain cut through her heart when she heard him say,
“Hello, Allison. I have waited a long time to see you. I am your father”
Allison’s large green eyes regarded the tall stranger with distrust. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Dermott McDawg,” he replied, a smile so oily it could have dressed salad.
“Kermit the Frog?” Allison smirked. “Mummy, what is he doing here? I have a twitter date and I’m going to be late. You told me I never had to meet him. You told me he eats small children for lunch.”
Constance gasped and looked truly surprised and shrugged at Dermott. “I really didn’t…Allison, this is your…”
“Oh knock it off, Mummy – we both know this is the bastard that slept with you and caused me to kill myself on that lonely mountain road.” Allison leveled a rather scary gaze at Dermott. “If it weren’t for you I would still be a virile man sleeping with my hot wife and making babies of our own, instead of having to come back as your love child conducting fake tea parties on the lawn with teddy bears.”
Dermot was speechless, all his plans of vengence fading quickly and being replaced with a sense of fear. “Well, ah, Allison dear…”
“Don’t you dear, me, you rat-bastard waste of space wanker!” Allison stamped her foot and pulled a can of pepper spray from her pretty pink pinafore. Psst. “Take that you lowlife, treacherous wife fucker!”
“My eyes! My eyes!” Dermott cried rubbing them with his fists. He could not see a thing but he felt a sudden chill of fear race his spine when….
He realized that all the years of seeking divine retribution was suddenly regurgitated on his lap. He was the one that caused his brother’s death. He was the one that by one night of pure unadulterated lust pushed his drunken bum of a brother over the edge.
And that is when he realized the truth. His brother, James, was a fucking douchebag. What gave him the right to come back as the child of his night of passion. As he thought about Constance breast feeding this evil spawn from hell, rage filled his soul. Those perfect breasts should have been mine for the suckling.
Even though he could not see the fiend that had sprayed him, he could hear her breathing and he could smell her rancid tea breath. Dermot jumped and grabbed the demon spawn by the throat. Then he heard the distinctive sound of a shell being pumped into a twelve gauge shotgun. He knew that Constance would shoot. But who? The man that she loved and had been robbed of by her drunken bum of a husband or the demon spawn that had stolen the life that belonged to her child?
Dermot knew that he had no chance of changing anbody’s mind with tricks or lies in the next few crutial moments. Honesty would be the only way out of this predicament. Blindly he opened his arm to where he presumed that Constance was. With all the pent up anger and frustration comming to the surface, as well as the pepper spray in his eyes, he started to cry. “Baby,” he started towards her, “if I can’t be with you, well then I would rather die. Living without you after that beautiful night we shared, I can hold no other woman and not long for your body.” he patentily waited for some type of sign, but when nothing presented itself he saw no danger in continuing recalling for his brother all the expliced details of that night of passion.
Constance was torn, for the fear she had dealt with for 10 years of Dermot finding them was still real. She had run for so long, and she was tired of running, and she was tired of never being able to love another man the way she had him. Not to mention she could never bring a man around Alison, they all reacted to her the same way…
They all wanted to feed her to Constance’s pets.
Those flesh eating scum that showed up and stayed after Allison was born a boy and Constance had a gender surgery done on him when she realized he was her bastard husband James reincarnated.
But she had fixed him and and now he was a she.
Now that Dermott had returned she would, with his help, be able to kill the bastard that had been castrating all her other boy friends, and feeding the bits to the flesh eating pets, but would a shot gun really kill this monster from hell?

After having outted herself to the treacherous wife-fucker and the penis butcher Allison (or Al as she liked to think of herself) felt she could wreak the havoc of her true self upon the perpetrators of her demise directly instead of using her stuffed teddies and dollies as poor substitutes.
Sure, Constance had the shotgun pumped and aimed at her but Al knew that Constance didn’t have the guts. She has always been such a frail and easily manipulated flower that it would take little to nothing to get Constance to put the gun down. “Mummy? Are you really going to kill me?” Alligator tears fell perfectly and gracefully from her large emerald eyes. “I’m your little girl, Mummy. The one you had custom made. You cut off my wee-wee just so I could be just like you, remember? We have the matching pink dresses and everything.”
Constance wavered, her hands trembled trying to keep the shotgun aimed and her arms ached and truth be told she couldn’t look into Allison’s eyes without feeling true maternal loyalty and instinct. “Well dear, you’ve been hurting people. And you put that terrible pepper spray in Dermott’s eyes. I mean, no matter what, he is your father.”
Al nodded woefully and swatted at her tears. “Yes, Mummy…you’re right. I’m so sorry Daddy. Here, let me wipe those eyes for you. She took her lace hankie and dabbed it in her teapot to moisten it. “Bend down, Daddy, I’ll wipe your eyes for you.”
And when Dermott bent down to his daughter at her request, she crashed the teapot over his head and sent his sprawling across the living room floor. Constance was so startled that her trigger finger flinched and boom went the shotgun. Constance screamed and dropped the gun, but it was too late – she had shot Allison, who was lying on the floor, covered in blood, barely breathing.
Constance rushed to her daughter, “Oh Allison, Mummy is so sorry. Oh dear, don’t die.” But Allison clutched her mother’s breast one last time and was gone.
She and Dermott buried Allison in the veggie garden, knowing that Allison would be happy to know that she would live on in some way. And then quite out of nowhere, they made mad, passionate, dirty love atop the fresh grave – then promptly fell to sleep.
In the morning when they woke in the veggie patch, they held each other and both sighed a sigh of relief. It was sad that Allison had died but knowing they could now be together with impunity filled their hearts with great hope. “I love you so,” Constance said, stroking the curly black hair on Dermott’s chest.
“And I love you too,” Dermott kissed the top of her head.
“And I love you both,” Allison’s teddy bear said and ran toward them, “and I shall never leave you.”

We’re thrilled to announce the arrival of Lucas John, born Monday June 15th @ 2.21pm, weighing in at 7lb 7ozs.
Mum and baby are both well, Dad is strutting around like he invented fatherhood, Poppy is back slapping and Nannys nerves are shot.
Hey! Gimme a break here.
That this is number 9 doesn’t make any difference, so before you say it, I can assure you it does NOT get any easier as time goes by.
That’s my baby giving birth dammit!
{No, that’s not him in the pic. He’s a lot cuter than that thank you very much!!}

Now, onto other news.
Polling has closed and we have a winner!!
Damn it was close, but there can only be one as we all know, and the one is………
***drum roll***
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Annie!
The voting was so close I had to wait for votes to come to a result, and there was only one vote in it at the end.
Everybody did very well as we all know, but as I said, there can only be one writer for the final chapter, and Annie was the one.
I actually have the final chapter, and tomorrow night it will be posted, so make sure you check back for the gripping conclusion to Fried Green Bloggers at the Twitter Cafe.
Before someone says it, yes, I know there is not one thing in there about bloggers or Twitter, but I love the way it rolls off the tongue!

So, until tomorrow night, be good.
If you can’t be good, make sure you’re good at being bad!

Just a quick post with a couple of little things you need to know about.
The votes are coming in, and with only 2 people still to cast theirs, it close.
I mean, CLOSE!
There is very little in it and could go any way at this stage.
No, I will not say who voted for who, suffice to say it’s been interesting reading the emails that have come in.
I’ve been and visited the 2 people left to vote because I NEED them before I can let the person know for sure.
One vote for any of them could swing it, that’s how close it is.
Emails have been sent to the people in the running just to give them a heads up so they have time to gather their thoughts should they need them.
As soon as I know, and I’ve let the person involved know, then I’ll let everyone else know through a post.
On another note, tomorrow is quite the day in our household.
At around 1.30 tomorrow we’ll have another grandson.
Mel and Steve have let everyone know what they’re having and tomorrow is the day we’ve been waiting for since it was scheduled.
Send some prayers to whoever you worship for me, if you would be so kind?
She’s had some problems, and one or 2 may continue after the birth, so I’ve got fingers, noses and toeses crossed.
I’ll be at the hospital by the time they’ve got him out, cos that’s what Mums do isn’t it?
In fact wild horses couldn’t keep me away!
As you go about your day tomorrow, spare Melissa a thought if you could.
I know I would appreciate it, and have no doubt Mel will as well.
I hope your weekend has treated you kindly. I know mine has.
And with the promise of another munchkin joining our family tomorrow, I’m sure the week will be just as good.

Our masterpiece has only one more chapter to be done, and it will be complete.
Every person who contributed did a briliant job, and I thank each of you for your effort, from the bottom of my heart.
That people are willing to give up their time to play along means much to me.
Each of you gets to have a say in who you think should have the bastard job honor of putting the icing on our cake.
I tried to put a poll in, but the bastid would not cooperate, no matter how I begged, pleaded, cajoled or swore, so we’re going to do this the old fashioned way.
A show of hands.
The only thing I ask is that you do it via the contact form rather than in the comments.
Last time we had the show of hands, I got some emails saying people felt bad about choosing because several others had done such a good job.
I’ve left the link for you to make it easier.
To refresh your memory, here are the people who were brave enough to put their hands up.
These are in the order of contribution.
Blondie
Widdle Shamrock
The Mistress
Cris
Anja
Annie
Evyl
Cowgal
Burnie
Please note I’m not there, as per usual. Being the instigator and coordinator has got to have some benefits after all!

Once the result is in, I’ll post the name of the winner {loser??}.
I would ask the person who is doing it to send it to me by email, and I’ll post their stunning conclusion here, and yes, there will be more links to all of you.
Nothing like a bit of link love now is there?
So there you have them. The brave souls who have been willing to play along in this, our very own soap opera….
Fried Green Bloggers at the Twitter Cafe
Now jump over to the contact form and have your say.
Don’t be shy.
ETA: The vote is open to anyone who has been following and commented, as well as those who did their bit. I think that’s only fair….

We’re all but done.
The burnmaster has done his bit here.
He was reasonably well behaved, for which I am eternally grateful I can tell you!
**phew**
I’ve added his bit to the rest of it, as I have with all the others on it’s very own page.

Our drama is almost done! MOST exciting!

Now to decide how to finish it off. I’m in 2 minds, but the decison will be made within 24 hours at the most, so wander bck tomorrow night to see whats going to happen.

On another note, I’ve managed to catch up my comments at your blogs {at last..YAY!!} Only a couple of days later than I would have liked, but it’s done all the same.

I hope life is treating you well, and is full of sunhsine and smiles

While we wait for the Burnmaster to concoct his twisted little part of our momumental saga, I thought it best to not let the cobwebs gather here at the Nook, so I’ve been thinking {yes, I DO know how dangerous that can be!!}
I started blogging when I was 49. It was October 2006 when I did my very first post, however it was not my first experience with this strange thing we all do.
I had been vicariously blogging by posting in comments for some time. Apparently.
At that point I had no idea I even wanted to blog, however others did.
Those more knowledgable, seasoned and experienced saw it coming a mile away.
Everybody {except me} knew the time was near.
Again, Apparently.
Yes, there is a point coming.
Stay with me here.
I don’t collect things, nor do I have a particular interest in any one thing, thus I don’t have a hobby as such.
My interests are many and varied, but none have endured if that makes sense?
I know I read many, many books, but reading is not so much a hobby as a passtime in my mind.
Never have I been able to fully comprehend what it is about blogging that appeals to me, and believe me, I’ve thought much about this particular subject.
My ultimate decision is probably light years away, but the in the interim, I’ve been considering other points in regard to blogging.
How long will I blog?
Until they pry the laptop from my cold dead fingers is that answer to that one.
Will I ever stop?
Hell no!
I have no intention of ever stopping totally.
There have been a few stop/starts, yes, but I’m quite resigned to the fact that blogging is in my blood.
It’s managed to worm it’s way deep inside me, in a manner that nothing else ever has in the way of hobbies.
These thoughts bring me to the question of bloggers ages.
We all appreciate there are millions of people who blog, most of the time we don’t know their age do we?
Age seems to be a subject many shy away from for some unknown reason, not only in real life, but in their blogging life as well.
Not me.
I’m 52, and in addition to that, I’m loud and proud of it.
I really don’t give a rats arse if people know how old I am.
Many things I’m anal about, but my age is not one of them. Hard to tell huh???
I know there are many in my blogging circle who openly admit to their years, although some don’t, which doesn’t worry me BTW.
I think the oldest age I’ve seen mentioned on a blog owners About Me page, is 66.
That leads me to ask, at what age do you think you’ll stop blogging? {that was my point in case you were wondering!}
Assuming you ever do stop of course.
Can you see yourself at 82, in front of the laptop holding forth about the perils of traversing traffic lights and supermarkets, whether or not incontinence is now dictating when you do and don’t laugh, how the young people of the day have no respect for their elders {you!} how the world has gone to hell on a bus, and forever saying those words that we all dread “In MY day….”
Hell, I can see myself doing all of the above and more!
I’m pretty sure the last thing I’ll do before I leave for my funeral is a post about how I want the hearse driver to get me there. <—- preferably the same way I do everything else…at 100mph!

Come on…’fess up?
Do you have any idea how long you’ll keep doing this odd thing we all do, or have you not even considered it?