Dinorarium

Someone once told me that to cure worms you need to wave a torch light in front of your bum at midnight, while holding a Boston bun nearby. Apparently the worm is drawn to the light, but makes his decision to escape your body from the sensational delights of the sweet bun.

I think about this all the time when I see my son scooting around the house. Running, crashing, burning, jumping, smashing, wriggling like a worm. Does my son have worms? Has he been spending too much time with Cheef Dog?

The Welcome Mat

The inner west has only been home to me for four years. When I told my inner Eastern suburban pals that we were moving to the west, they had great concern for me: “But you don’t do drugs? How are you going to get to work in the City? We will never see each other – Yarraville is hours away from Richmond, I will have to catch a V-Line.” And so on.

It was weird only knowing a handful of people in this new pocket of Melbourne we had barely visited before we bought our house. We renovated our shack, got knocked up, had a baby boy, then started sorting through the mountains of stuff that we had held onto for years, not knowing what to do with it all.

An overalled thief in the night

I'm a thief.

I have started cruising the streets of Yarraville with the pram and my boys with a pair of scissors. No sidewalk succulent is safe from my snippity-snips. I figure that now that I dress like Bonita from Playschool I look less intrusive and more inquisitive, so I feel I can get away with this...

Succulent-ish