I used to push gherkins in a gherkin factory.

I’ve had some weird jobs in my time! No idea why I started thinking about this yesterday, normally this topic is reserved for drunken story-telling. Everyone has weird job stories to tell after a few voddies. I need to come clean and share some of mine. This may come as a surprise but I didn’t start out as the uber-glamorous PR type I am today.

McDonalds Gherkin Factory.

You may not know this but all McDonalds gherkin’s used to come from my home-town, Griffith. I had a job there one summer where I stood at the end of this massive pit filled with dirty gherkins. I had a 6 foot pole and with that pole I had to push the gherkins down a shoot and into the factory. As the pit emptied the next truck would pull in and unload. It was dirty gherkins for days. And the stink! Awful. Gherkins in brine is truly revolting. I was practically paid as slave labour. I still can not bare to eat a McDonalds gherkin, I’ve seen what goes in that pit!

...revolting...

Brick Stacker.

This was hard, heavy work. While wearing thick leather gloves I had to stack the bricks after they’d come out of the kiln on to the pallets. Can you imagine anything more mind-numbing or exhausting? I learnt the stacking technique from an old-timer who I’d bludge a sneaky Horizon off at afternoon tea. No one spoke to anyone. And it was winter and freezing. I shudder still thinking about it. It was during that winter of brick-stacking that I resolutely decided I was not built for manual labour.

They looked EXACTLY like this, haunted!

Safety Bus Driver.

Who the hell gave me the keys to the safety bus? Now that’s just negligent! I had a licence to drive a 32 seater cause I was a Residential Tutor and to earn extra money I’d drive the safetly bus. The worst night to be rostered on would be a Thursday which was bar night. You’d end up with a bus full of pissed idiots singing Zombie at the top their lungs. What made it more infuriating was that the Thursday nights I wasn’t rostered on I’d be the one leading the pissed-idiot singing.

Country Music Festival.

Now this is one of the best fortnights of my professional life. The Divine Ms M got me a job as a journo at the “Foster’s Australasian Country Music Festival” – I remember that cause I had to say it at the start and the end of each voice report that I’d send through to metro radio stations. Why this job was weird was because I knew absolutely nothing about country music. Took a mad crash course over that fortnight so by the time we got to the big finale – the Golden Guitars – I was besties with all the big stars. I still so clearly remember doing a story on learning how to line-dance. I reckon I could still bust out those moves if the tune was right.

Tamworth Rocks, my mate Lee

Cocktail Waitress.

I had a one-night-only gig serving cocktails at a Mens Only event at the Botanical Gardens. Hold up, that story can’t be told here.

Pool Cleaner.

Let go of all those stereotypical ‘pool boy’ fantasies. It was an indoor pool and they had me in to clean it when it was shut. The irony of me having any sort of cleaning job is not lost on me. I’m a filthy bitch. The only reason I took the job was cause it was a stepping stone to earning a highly-prized lifeguard position. The best part about the job was that they would leave the pool kiosk open while I’d be cleaning and I used to gorge myself on Freckles and Red Frogs. I stunk of bleach all that summer.

I could go on for days on this topic. In fact there is a whole post on my days as a Bank Teller! Now that was a very special two years. Weird they let near the money of the safe, but ahhh, such good times at the State Bank Griffith. Will post that one soon.

Over and out, 10-4 Big Daddy, keep on truckin’!

Fuck you Smoking!

Goddamn I feel like I have spent most of my adult life trying to quit smoking.

***WARNING! A verbally violent (self-directed) post

Death vomit!

I am so sick of filthy smoking! I have pretty much been a smoker since the day I first had one at the grand old age of 20.5 years old. The dark years where up until about 34 when I ‘successfully’ quit for the first time – but that’s not to say I hadn’t tried heaps of times before. Since 34 I have gone long periods without one, and also very short periods before I’ve had my next.

I have literally tried every trick in the book to quit. Let me list them for you just so you get the full picture…

Hypnotherapy

Patches

Lozenges

Allen Carr Easy Way to Quite Smoking

Allen Carr If you Can’t Quit This Time You’re An Idiot

Champix

Zyban

Cold Turkey

I’ve seen doctors, therapists, self-help guru’s…

The most successful I’ve ever been was 6 months late last year on the lozenges then NYE fucked me up. Just did 3 weeks and then fucked up again last weekend. It just drives my insane and leaves me furious! Why are cigarette companies left to make millions off the sale of these little bitches of things.

Should be coloured black!

Smoking is this unbelievably weird combination of emotional, physical and psychological addiction. Somehow you are meant to conquer all three addictions at once and still come out of it like life is normal. For me, and I know how tragic this sounds, smoking is a ‘normal life’ for me.

My chest hurts, I stink, stairs are my worst nightmare and given the history of cancer in my family I just know it will be the cause of my death – and chances are that will be premature.

And at the risk of grossing you out… I’ve lost 7, I repeat 7, teeth from gum disease. So not only is it causing death in almost every part of my body it will also mean I can eat nothing but soup for the rest of my life.

SMOKING MAKES ME SO ANGRY! Battling this demon is EXHAUSTING!

I 100% believe that smoking should be made illegal. It is a fool government that doesn’t try to push this through. As addicted as I have been over the years I know as fact that if it wasn’t so easy for me to buy them then I wouldn’t be able to smoke the way I have. The savings in healthcare for all involved would be astronomical! Just ban the fuckers and be done with it, PLEASE!

B&H - You have SOOOO much to answer for!

It is the single greatest regret of my life that I didn’t stop back when I was a carefree Uni student, back when I thought that my life was indestructible. I can not even fathom how different, how much better, my life would/will have been if I never started smoking. Fucking ridiculous that something that can so dramatically damage a life like that is available from Coles and Woolworths supermarkets, and your local newsagent.

Not making any promises here today. I’m sick of telling people I’ve quit only to have to try and explain why I’m holding a cigerette two weeks later. It’s the running joke with my workmates, I think my friends lost interest years ago. I goddamn bore myself with it.

Ban the shit-sticks and be done with it!

And I promise that I’ll try and extend my life by as much as possible and smoke as little as my stupid fucked-up addiction allows.

So You Think You Can Car-dance?

I’ve started passionately car-dancing. A lot! And I love it. I’ve spent far too long in the car this week and to keep me sane I’ve had the radio up loud and I’ve got my groove on. In particular with my left arm! I find it’s the most expressive limb while driving. Look at the emotion I am evoking here…

Now my favourite track by a country mile is David Guetta and Snoop Dog’s Sweat. It’s brilliant cause not only can you do some fabulous arm-work with the left and maintain a steering wheel beat with the right but you can also get the hips grinding into the back of the seat. It’s a song that gives you everything for a great car dance. I’ve made the call early in 2011, it’s the St. Murphy Song Of The Year!

While on great songs, my other two favourite songs to car-dance to are Ke$ha’s Blow and Stan Walker’s Loud. Both brilliant. With Blow you can do some very dramatic slo-mo ‘raise the roof, raise the roof’ sorta actions. And I can get a bit gangsta on this one. Stan is becoming the man with Loud and I loves it.

The thing with car-dancing is that you can always get caught which does have the potential for embarrassment. Luckily for me this week I don’t think I did so I am still dancing like no one is watching. Which is strange really cause I’m sure that some other motorist would have had to of seen my flamboyant head–rolls and shoulder-shrugging.

My signature dance move is the reverse perpendicular leg lift with pointed toe. See I used to think I was a really good dancer and that if I’d had of had any sort training when I was younger than I could have been with Sydney Dance Company. That is until I found myself on the first audition tour for So You Think You Can Dance! Even the shockers were better than me. No way could I do that with my little short legs and the judges kept talking about something called ‘core strength’ – this was not something I had or understood. At this point I stopped considering dance as one of my ‘could’ve if I wanted to’s’.

Could've been me! 

Now my dancing is limited to car, home and hotel rooms with full-length mirrors. The audiences in these venues have a real appreciation of my immense skill. Of course on the occasions I may get a little tipsy my moves might come out in public but that is a rarity these days.

It doesn't seem that long ago (...mmm, at least 6 years!) that I used go dancing for days at a time, dancing so much I’d still be dancing at the trough on a pee-break. Dancing with glow sticks, dancing with my shirt off, I’ve even danced in a cage. There is certainly no denying I used to be drawn to a podium like a magnet. I am secretly pleased that those days are behind me and that no more will anyone see me in a shoe-string singlet. 

Yes, it’s definitely best that I keep my dancing to within the four doors of my little Peugeot. No one loses an eye that way.

Jeez I love hotels!

Just for the sake of sharing something...





My love of hotels is well-documented. My love of hotels is nearly as strong as my love of planes and airports.





This is where I've landed tonight. Not sure what style you'd call it but to me it screams 'COMFY'. About to lose 7 hours in that sucker!

Goodnight friends of St. Murphy, dreaming of you while sleeping is this giant bed. 

I've got nothing today except the shits! Why?

I'm getting pretty organised with this blogging thing now and I've even been known to put some thought and planning into it. I was planning on an insightful, witty piece for today on the weird things about being single but yesterday left me very sad, tense and with the shits. Here are the reasons why...

I spent six and a half hours on the road in yesterday's weather which I think would make anyone anxious. All drivers were so tense you could feel it. It was an open road drive on a freeway and I guarantee you there was not one car speeding. You just felt on edge the whole time. It was so exhausting. 

Then in the final stages I passed by the horrific accident northbound on the F3. You knew immediately that there must have been lives lost. It was an incredibly sad sight, and just so eery. Emergency services were everywhere and they were still working on one of the cars. Heard on the radio moments later they were still trying to rescue passengers. Your heart broke for those involved. One fatality, two rushed to hospital. Devastating. 

As horrific as that accident was, I believe there would have been many more except everyone on the road was being so careful and cautious yesterday. THANK YOU FELLOW DRIVERS! I feel very reassured that when it gets tough most drivers forget about time, rushing and whatever else is going on in their lives and just focus on safety. Prevented many more accidents I'm sure - and saved lives!

The thing that gave me the shits yesterday, and it is incredibly superficial and silly in the grand scheme of things, was that after my dramatic drunken injuries on Saturday night I am a physical mess. Can't believe I'm 38 and still falling over. Not sure which to blame more, the slipping or the intoxication, leaning towards the intoxication. Old enough to know better that’s for goddamn sure!

So now I am limping around with a sore knee and corked thigh with a giant scab on my forehead. I'm going to have to wear a hat to work cause I can't do my hair and no one should have to look at it. Yes, yes it’s a completely superficial wound which will be gone in a few days, but its still gives me the shits I have it at all. But in comparison to other events of yesterday it is ridiculous to even bring it up.

Sadness for the life lost, tense from the driving and shitty at my own stupidity means not the post I'd planned today. 

Sending deepest sympathies to the family and friends of the driver who lost his life. So unbelievably tragic.

I can't blog today. Two reasons...

I can't blog today.





I am too emotional.





I am overcome with such a sense of loss I can barely function.





I haven't felt this sad since Susie O'Neill retired from swimming. Or since Will & Grace was cancelled.





Its an absolute double whammy today, a big back-handed slap across the face. First the most devastating news. One of the all-time hottest cops called it a day. My Christopher Meloni announced that he was leaving my beloved Law & Order SVU after 12 glorious seasons. I can not go on... I am too upset. RIP DET. ELLIOT STABLER!

Det. Stabler

And of course, it goes without saying, that today being the final episode ever of Oprah leaves me with a heavy heart. I've watched the last two nights and I've teared up about 3 times each ep - even with that giant layer of cheese. Over the years I have loved Oprah, watched with great regularity (I do have a tv on my desk at work...!). There is now a big whole in my viewing schedule...





Love you Oprah, miss you already!!!

Bye Bye

And just because I can... Here is a nudie shot of Christopher Meloni to put a brief smile on your face on an otherwise sad, sad day.

Hi-FIVE!... Opera House, Planking, Ms G's, Mr MDJ & Bangkok

Just like some of my favourite things... the Spice Girls, the Olympic Rings, 5-star hotels, my right hand... I like things that come in 5's. Today I have 5 little tales from the past few days that will hopefully offer some explanation as to why there have been no posts here recently! Again I say, I am so easily distracted - most commonly by vodka, food and friends.

Tale 1. Jackson and Sam play Tourist.

Jackson is my son who I lost in the divorce, but with our joint custody arrangement (when one of us has to travel) I have my blonde bombshell staying with me for the week. On staurday I got to take Jackson and his step brother Little Sammy on their first trip to the Lady Macquarie’s Chair to see the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. They loved it!!! The sites were spectacular for their little eyes to see.

Sadly what I think they were most interested in though was being the Flower Girls for this gorgeous Japanese couple having their weeding photos.

Tale 2. Planking at The Imperial (and I ain't being dirty)!

Everyone knows I am an absolute victim of popular culture – if anyone else is doing something than I have to join in! Fact! So while out enjoying some fabulous gayness on Saturday night at the Inner West’s very best Impie, and after numerous vodka’s, we decided to do some planking – if KAK can than we sure as hell can as well. My partners in crime where people who should know better and certainly be more mature, Lucky Paulie and Newshound Brad, but somehow I was the only one foolish enough to try.

Of course I made it as easy for myself as possible, I have no core strength, so did it on the dance floor… Laying flat!

Not sure who that is treading on me...

Please note: No one was injured, and this ridiculousless was carried out before the ‘balcony incident’ in Qld. Lucky I only tried it on the floor. AND... I can 100% confirm that a man of a certain age should not go out disco dancing for 6 hours, I could hardly walk on Monday; back, neck and I think I pulled a hammie.

Tale 3. Miss Cal knows her food!

She most certainly does! We went on an exploration of my new neighbourhood on Sunday with the sole purpose of eating lunch. On Miss Cal’s recommendation we stumbled into Ms G’s on Victoria St, Miss Cal had read a great review. Its cute, its funky, it has an atrium with great afternoon sun. We just wanted to be warm so we were happy to wait for a table out the back. Can I just say, so worth the wait!!! The food was spectacular – I loved my wagyu beef in chilli broth with noodles. Miss Cal loved hers too but I can’t remember exactly what it was, too distracted by the wagyu in front of me. The only slight imperfection, as is often the case in the Eastern Suburbs, attiitude does not mean service. Out the back it was great, up the front not so flash. Can be overlooked… I recommend.

Atrium at Ms G's

Tale 4. Mr MDJ has a Birthday!

Thank god I have cool friends who know the cool places to go cause I have literally no idea! Mr MDJ is probably my oldest friend in Syd-er-ney after we met mid-90’s when he was a barman and I was a cocktail waitress at the very (non)glamorous Banana Bar at Taylor Square. When I write my memoirs about memorable nights out Mr MDJ will feature HEAVILY!!! His dear friend, the Cougar, organised a gorgeous birthday dinner at somewhere far too cool and gorgeous for me to even know about called Bar H. The food was AMARSING! The company even better. Jeez, they took good care of us, even when we started shouting and making jokes that I’m sure only we would find funny. Huge thank you to the Cougar for organising, and HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDY Mr MDJ.

Mr MDJ and the gorgeous Cougar

Tale 5. My Birthday ‘escape’ is locked and loaded!!!

For some reason this year I do not want to be in Sydney for my birthday. Normally I force everyone in a 75km radius to celebrate it with me, willingly or not. This year its my 39^th which is such a nothing birthday when you know you have the MASSIVE 40^th celebration next year (mark it in your diaries now people!). And I also I really like the idea of being ‘newly independent St. Murphy’ and going on holidays by myself for the first time in years. After much debate, much indecision and much advice I decided on a week in Bangkok cause it has everything! Only ever had 1 night there and I adored it. Time to go back…

SHOPPING! SHOPPING! SHOPPING!

As luck should have it, one of Mr MDJ’s nearest and dearest is also a very fabulous travel agent. Within the space of, and I swear I am not exaggerating, 2 hours she had the whole thing sorted and booked - all by email. I actually think she may be a genius! I’m calling her Julie McCoy (bonus points if you know why?). Beside myself now, so excited! Six days in Bangkok is just what a 39^th Birthday needs!

LeBua Hotel Sky Bar... where I'll start my evening cocktails!

Man's Greatest Curse

I believe that the Man-Flu is one of the most crippling, debilitating diseases known to humanity and much more money needs to be invested into medical research to find a cure.

Men should not have to suffer like this!

Dramatic re-enactment of Man-Flu!

I was on deaths-door this week with a devastatingly bad dose of the Man-Flu. It hit me like a tonne of bricks Monday afternoon and by 6pm I was reaching for the phone to call my mummy. By 8pm I was trolling convenience stores for cold&flu pills, by 10 I was ready to call an ambulance. Why does this strain of flu hit men so hard, why are we being punished like this?

Is it because we can lift heavy things? Or because we can pee standing up? Or because we aren’t expected to wear heels? I just don’t understand.

Now while I have suffered in silence these past few days (cough! cough!), it has been brought to my attention that some women feel that men are whingers when it comes to the dreaded Man-Flu. Let me assure you we are not. I went through 6 hankies, 2 packs of Codral, endless Aspro Clear, 4 litres of orange juice, 2 Hawaiian pizza’s, a large Cadbury’s block and box of Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies – now that is sick!

So sick!

I was even known to moan out loud! (but just thinking about that it could have been indigestion)

The only saving grace of the devastating Man-Flu is that in my experience it passes quite quickly. It could have been the sheer volume of drugs I took that cleared it up in 2 days? Or what I think is much more likely is that men are bred incredibly tough and resilient, and our bodies fight such disease with great gusto and determination to rid ourselves of it as quick as possible. We do not whinge, we do not whine, we just fight the good fight and get on with life.

Just like I did this week! (cough! choke! cough!)

Back at my desk by Thursday with a spring in my step and a glow in my cheeks - Man-Flu beaten once again!

On describing my critical condition to my dear colleague and Melbourne’s very best, KDPublicity, she insisted I watch this YouTube video…

KD, what are you trying to tell me???

Thanks everyone for your support and love during this incredibly tough and trying time, me and my Man-Flu thank you.

And just thank your higher-power that us men don’t have to go through child-birth.

Whingey, Whiney...

So I have this amazing post that will shock and astound you all ready to go. But alas you don't get it today...

Two reasons, the first is there is something wrong at Blogspot who have the honour of hosting this glorious page (said tongue in cheek). Even after much clever advice from v. smart blogging people I still couldn't master the 'old' system. I had a shitload of problems with the pics. So looks like my spectacular post will now be tomorrow. A little tease, St. Murphy is branching out into fashion and will have a winter fashion spread tomorrow.

Second reason, I have the much-dreaded MAN-FLU! And it is such a bad case of man-flu I think the world may be about to end. And it is definitely that most particular strain that only men can get. Head is gonna explode, nose dripping like a tap, gravel rash on my throat. I had to call my mummy so she could make me feel better.

By the time you read this I'll be as high as a kite on over-the-counter cold & flu tablets.

Lucky I've already written my next post...

Whingey, whiney...

St. Murphy

Things that I love but don’t get enough of!

Oscars. I find it real odd that I haven’t won one yet. It’s somewhat of a travesty that the Academy has overlooked me all these years.

  

Musk Sticks. You can’t get the good ones anywhere. There’s a place on Cleveland St and that’s about it. Supermarkets are hopeless, they package them with those awful rip-offs, the yellow and the green.

Gay romantic comedies. They literally do not exist, or are so appalling even I can’t shed a tear.

Mail. I never get anything in the mail except bills, catalogues and menu’s. I miss letters.

Happy Pants. I don’t care what anyone says, they would have to be the most comfortable fashion that there has ever been.

I still have a pair...

Shoulder-rubs. Wouldn’t it be great if people just walked around giving shoulder rubs, would make the day so much more pleasant.

Paparazzi. They never follow me. They don’t stake out my balcony for a nudie shot. Why aren’t I prized by the paps? Is it cause I’m not famous?

Weight-loss. I just don’t get enough of it. Why doesn’t weight-loss come to you instead of you having to go find it?

Green lights. I hate red, despise orange.

Olympics. Ludicrous that they only get their act together every 4 years. What are the hot swimmers doing the rest of the time? They should be annually at least.

Botox. I just wish my face was crinkle free and immobile. I wouldn’t mind looking like a statue or Courtney Cox at all.

Head massages. Especially at the hair-dressers. They should be a minimum of 45mins with unnecessary pressure.

Compliments. I am never stopped in the street.

Twitter. Yes, yes I know – how could I possibly suggest I don’t get enough Twitter. You can never have too much Twitter.

Glitter. Everything should sparkle.

A new Madonna album. No explanation required – she is my personal guru and her lyrics get me through any crisis.

Royal Weddings. C’mon Harry, hurry up and propose to either me or James Middleton!

Hot boys hitting on me. Why can’t they see my inner beauty?

Hang-over-free vodka. That would just make life so much more pleasurable.

Winter. 9 months are wasted.

Steak Dianne. Mmmmmmm… what donuts are to Homer.

Openly gay politicians. I’d love to be able to vote for someone who’s had the same life experiences as me. Including The Shift in the 90’s.

Silence.

I’m a bad blogger, but it’s because of the MUMMY-BLOGGERS!

Oh dear…

I had planned on this insightful, intellectual, mildly amusing but distinctly St. Murphy blog post today. But unfortunately I ended up at a Book Launch followed by an ‘after-party’ that left me incapable and too tired to string a coherent sentence together.

You see, last night I blagged my way into the launch of…

...by Kerri Sackville

…cause, as I said to Mrs Woog, I’ve never met a party I couldn’t get myself invited to! (except the Ballroom at this years Logies, but that’s a whole other post)

It turns out the author of said book, KerriSackville, is an incredible writer, I think a former journo, and with an amazingly similar circle of (online) friends to me even though we’d never met.

The book, the launch, the guests, Kerri – all too FABULOUS for words!

Had a ball! Subsequently, no post this morning. Primarily because I spent a rather long night meeting new, amazing people – all of them fellow Twitter/Blogging addicts – who I now love and adore. And just to clarify the title, 99.9% of them were Mummy-Bloggers.

We had many of these…

French Martini's on the advice of StylingYou

Well, Mrs Woog and I did anyways.

Met so many people that I already follow on Twitter that to name them (as if I could remember?) would be impolite. So, so cool to put real faces to the avatars I’ve seen so many times.

So besides last night demonstrating that this blogging thing can slowly and surely turn into something very special, it also showed me that Mummy-Bloggers know how to drink.

Subsequently, no post this morning.

Bad blogger St. Murphy, bad blogger.

Blagged myself in so late I had to write my own nametag...

Special Note: Huge congratulations to Kerri Sackville on her book and Random House for publishing it. Best-seller without a doubt.

Special Note #2: My amarsing blogging-friend StylingYou took out the Bloggers award at yesterday’s Jasmine Awards for this post. Sincere Congrats StylingYou! Such a shame we spent your entire winnings on French Martini’s last night. Love ya Nikki!

It's every boys dream to marry a Prince!

I don’t care what anyone says – I am OBSESSED with the Royal Wedding and I will be glued to the television this Friday night!

I mean who doesn’t want to whisked off their feet by a dashing Prince and marry into such extreme wealth that us mere mortals will never comprehend?

Who doesn’t want to have a wedding with an A-List guest list like Will & Kate’s?

It’s every little boys fantasy to marry a 6-foot tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Prince who looks so dashing in a uniform and can fly a helicopter. It’s certainly mine!

For the grand occasion I will be perched on the edge of my couch with my best gal, Miss Cal, beside me. Of course we will both be fantasizing that we are Miss Kate Middleton. We will have a fully stocked snack bar of tuna dip, crackers, chocolate and cornchips. We will have a vodka, lime and soda or two to toast the radiant couple. We will mock, scorn and critique every bow, bustle and bouquet. It’s going to be brilliant. How can you not get caught up in such over-the-top pageantry. It will be the campest wedding ever (discounting Posh and Becks who did have those phenomenally OTT thrones).

I spent yesterday morning pouring over the women’s mags absorbing every detail. I desperately want to know Kate’s final decision on whether she will wear the traditional tiara or less conservative flowers? Or the even more troubling question of whether she will go with a half-up, half-down do or something completely left-of-field. Oh the potential controversy astounds me. And you just know we will all be watching and thinking of our beautiful Princess Di looking down on her eldest son with a single tear rolling down her cheek (cue Elton John with English Rose).

It is all pure escapism, the likes of which could never be scripted.  If this wedding was a chick-flick we wouldn’t buy it for a second. That’s how extreme this story/event is.

But through it all I have one little nagging thought chipping away at my happiness. For a wedding, where two souls allegedly become one, there is a complete lack of intimacy. The mere fact it is going to be watched by millions and choreographed down to every second takes all the intimacy out of it for Will and Kate and leaves them just putting on a show. And can you imagine their nerves! They won’t remember a thing after.

I bet they are both just aching to get to the final party of the night, the one where it is just their family and friends. I’m sure that will be the highlight for them. I feel I know them intimately after all I’ve read so I can say this as if I am their bestie.  I hope they get to that party, rip off their veil and tie and cut loose on the dance floor. I hope they do some shots, make requests of the DJ and slide across the dance-floor on their knees. I want them to behave like Harry would!

So I can’t wait for Friday night! More specifically, I can’t wait for 8pm when we get the first full look at the frock! I will be beside myself. After-all, it is every boys dream to marry a prince.

Miss Call and I will be fighting over the Kate mask.

STOP THE PRESSES!!! I've just watched the most brilliant piece of television ever made - the William and Kate telemovie! If you thought I was obsessed before this has taken it to a whole new level. Now I know them INTIMATELY!!!!





** Please note that I just got through a whole post about a wedding without once mentioning that GAYS CAN’T MARRY! In England gays can marry so I will direct my bitterness elsewhere.

State of Emergency

There has been a state of emergency declared at Man Pit! I am without an internet connection and won’t have one for up to 7 days. I am beside myself. It’s like having an arm removed or Madonna dying.

I’ve had to change carriers because apparently I live in a ‘blackhole’. I thought they were an urban myth but they do in fact exist – 500m from the CBD. I won’t name names as to the carrier as the abuse I’ve hurled on Twitter is more than enough. I’ve now got a very comprehensive adsl/wifi/mobile broadband package coming my way from their biggest competitor. Revenge feels sweet.

I am distraught to not have internet though, cause as you well know I rely on social media like oxygen. It’s such a catastrophe I’m calling in Anna Bligh to handle it for me. She knows how to get through a crisis.

Thank god I still have Twitter on my phone otherwise I would have had to be committed.

It means that St. Murphy will be sporadic this next week as I’m pretty sure my employer would rather me work than blog during business hours. Go figure! So apologies in advance that this will be a messy, inconsistent page the next few days.

When I am once again connected you will hear me screaming with joy from the rooftops.

Until then…

Xoxoxo

St. Murphy

Call-Centre Revenge!

I have a little story for you today that comes from my dear friend Hamish Von Trapp. Hamish is a founding member of my Inner Circle. He is, and who we all affectionately call, our ‘eccentric’ friend. He’s smarter than 99.99% of the population and once set fire to himself with a cigarette when he fell asleep watching porn on our lounge.

Now this story will ring so true with a great many of you. The reason it hit a nerve with me is that over the past week I have had a succession of bad experiences with off-shore call centres. The worst of them resulted in me hanging up mid sentence on some poor woman inadequately trying to do her job. Hamish’s call-centre revenge is on an illegal scam so lets all get some pleasure from it. Over to Hamish Von Trapp…

For the about 10th time I've just had a phone call from someone at Microsoft/Windows in India telling me that dangerous viruses have been downloaded to my computer, but they can fix it. Normally I just hang-up, but today I was in the mood to waste as much of their time as possible. I basically played the role of a computer illiterate ‘older’ man... First up let me tell you I have a Mac, so whatever he is going to tell me is not going to be relevant, so I have to play dumb.

"Let me go to the other room and turn the computer on. I'm a bit slow on my feet so give me a minute or two... now how do I turn it on again?" (I waste 5 minutes as it is very slow computer).

"Sir, now if you go to your computer, and.."

"Yes, I'm in front of my computer"…

"No Sir, if you click on my computer…"

"I'm not going to hit my computer"….

"No Sir, if you look on the screen there should be an icon which says, my computer"…

"No there isn't".

"What do you have on your desktop?"

"I have the computer, a calculator, a couple of pens, cup of coffee…"

"No, No Mr Bowden…what is on your screen?"

"A picture of my six cats and me"

"OK, Sir, I will go through this slowly. If you press start"….

"Oh, the computer just turned off! You did say to press the start button didn't you? I'm not very good with computers" (I think that comment got him excited, waste another few minutes whilst pretending to wait for the computer to restart)

"No, if you go to the bottom left corner of the screen and click on start.”

"There's nothing there."

This went on and on for 20 minutes - before he asked me what type of computer I had. I told him I had a Mac, and he promptly hung up.

That reminds me, I need to invest in a whistle, when I'm not in the mood.

Brilliant, just brilliant! And I can 100% confirm that Hamish Von Trapp now owns a whistle. He keeps it by the phone. I sincerely pity the next tele-marketer that tries to sell him anything.

Their ears will be ringing for weeks!