Nikki Webster's first lingerie shoot!!!

I've just finished watching the Brownlow Medal presentation, which was interspersed with ads for some bloke's magazine which this month features Nikki Webster's first lingerie shoot.

I don't care how old she is now. That's just wrong.

Grumpy gross-out warning on the pile link

I've got a touch of the Tinea - under the fourth toe on my left foot, if you must know.

I feel like a bit of a nong, not because I have an itchy toe, but because I didn't know the term 'athlete's foot' was a euphemism for said condition. Instead, I thought 'athlete's foot' was some tendon strain only suffered by hard-training athletes - somehow more noble than a toe-eating fungus.

Next they'll be telling me 'tennis elbow' is a fancy-pants term for haemorrhoids.

The grumpy bird catches a turd

Hazel's kicking up her heels at her 20th anniversary school reunion with her friends The Burp and The Statesman. On account of me never going to my own school reunions, there was no way in WA I was gonna go to hers.

That's until, swanning out the door, she explained the reunion was in a pub and that Burp's other half, the Rooster, would have attended if he and I could have absconded to another bar and drunk beers.

I hope that by the time the 30th anniversary of her matriculation rolls around Hazel remembers this decade-long maxim: Reunion bad. Beers good.

Ghana, Ghanaian, Ghan

Haze and I were enjoying a lovely meal at Ha Tien Vietnamese in Victoria Park last night with K and D, who were visiting from their adopted homeland of Ghana.

Because we hadn't seen K and D for some time, out of habit we started referring to ourselves by our blog names - that is until Hazel got a chill down her spine.

We wondered, was that fellow bloggist, Spud Mack, and the Little Red Headed Girl sitting at the table opposite?

Only time, and Spud, will tell.

Man or mouse?

After falling into our foetid fish pond yesterday, no doubt in futile search of something scaley, Cattus Cattus lobbed a large mouse onto the doorstep this morning.

It was a damn large mouse. Either that, or a smallish marsupial. In either case, she was pretty chuffed with her efforts and was heartily rewarded with a handful of Scooby Snacks.

The only problem is, I don't particularly want to be the one who has to get rid of said mouse. Here's hoping old Cattus decides to eat it.

Turps about the house

I'm kicking back, flicking between the daytime soaps, when who should appear on my screen than master of the bleeding obvious, Ian "Turps" Turpey, spruiking the latest life assurance product.

"Death happens often and can be unexpected," he says, all deadpan like.