And now an urgent news-break

Forgive me if this entry is a little incoherent. My mind is buzzing enough to generate its own heat and my hands are shaking enough to make one wicked cocktail.

Come with me, would you, on a little flashback (earlier this afternoon to be precise, 2.18pm if we're being pedantic.)

I pull into our driveway, ready to unload my mammoth grocery shop, when my eye catches an envelope sticking out of the letterbox. Or more specifically, catches the logo on the envelope: Brisbane City Council.

I sigh. I know what this is. I applied for this grant, you see, A Lord Mayor’s Emerging Performing Artists’ Fellowship and have been expecting to hear the results any day. I glance at the envelope again. It’s thin.

Bummer.

I pull myself out of the car, undo the boot and start taking my stuff upstairs, leaving the envelope of disappointment alone in the letterbox. On my next trip down, I decide that as if unpacking groceries doesn’t suck enough, I’m damned if I’m going to torture myself with the impending doom at the same time.

I rip open the envelope and don’t even bother unfolding the piece of paper. I flip it over and read:

“It is with great pleasure that I advise you of the success of your application to the 2006 Lord Mayor’s Young and Emerging Artists Fellowships.”

“You have been awarded $15,500.00 to travel to the USA to undertake three weeks of intensive improvisation training.”

HOLY. HECK.

BATMAN.

I stand dead still with my hand clasped over my mouth for a full three and a half minutes. I then commence giggling like a complete idiot (a state which I continue to burst into sporadically throughout the rest of the afternoon) and ring people to share my amazing news in between ramblings of disbelief and panic at the thought of how much I have to organize.

SO….the bottom line is that at the end of July, people, JULY! I shall be taking on New York, Boston and Las Vegas for three weeks of comedy and improv training with Second City and Daena Giardella, the best that the jolly good old US of A has to offer. I still cannot believe it, even as I type it. But here I am blogging it, so it must be real.

Oh and before you ask, the answer is yes: I’ll be blogging the entire thing.

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hormones, hormones and losing touch

Angelina Jolie, eat your heart out.

This is my beloved Frankie with the little angel of newborn goodness that is completely sending me nutty with hormonal desire. (And as a side-note, how the hell can anybody look this good hours after childbirth without a Vanity Fair team on the case? Time out, Frankie. Time out.)

Seriously, when I was holding dear little Charlotte the other day there was a split second where I was just like "YEP. That's it. I'm having another one. End of conversation."

Not that it was really a conversation with anybody other than myself, but you get the point. Thankfully I'm a really good debater and within minutes had delivered (to myself) an absolutely killer rebuttal, thus talking myself out of my absolute certainty that I should breed immediately.

The puter is still holding on, but barely. Thank you for your flowers, donations and notes of support. We have been overwhelmed. Truly.

But in the spirit of looking on the bright side, here are...

The Best 5 Things About Not Having Internet Access On Tap

1. I am writing (by writing I mean actual stuff I might get paid for plus comedy material) TONS

2. I have at least four hours extra in the evenings with which to attack whatever household task I choose. Last night I actually sorted out three completely separate and unrelated piles of clutter that have been the bane of my existence for over twelve months. Productivity - give me a 'P'!

3. The only pop ups I have to deal with are filled with juice

4. I am actually on top of my laundry pile (not literally cos that would just be gross, and what am I? Revolting?) for the first time EVER. Unfortunately Ella has decided to seize this same week to explore the wonders of bed-wetting. It's like "you sucker mama, you think you can handle the washing? Well handle THIS!!!!" (insert-sound-of-urinating-on-bedsheet-here) One night she was even in our bed when it happened. This alone is soooo enough of a reason to stay married: can you imagine trying to explain to your one-night-stand why his leg is wet and stinky?

5. I'm being forced to break boundaries with my artistry through time-capped blog entries. This forces me to write stuff like pathetic 'top 5' lists. Wow. Talk about living on the edge. Is it just me or is anyone else reading this getting Vertigo?

So there, every crap computer has a silver keyboard.

Oh dear...*contemplating last sentence*...on second thought, maybe my lack of cyber-life of late is just making me lose touch.

HELP!!!!!!!!!!!

Addictions that are hard to kick

1. Comedy

2. Blogging

3. Caffeine

I desperately need a support group and/or patches for all three.

In other news, our computer has taken a turn for the worse - we're expecting it to leave us for a better place any day now, so would appreciate some privacy at this very distressing time. In light of my thus restricted blogging time, I will release the following exclusive tid-bits about my life at present. But please, do not contact us for more details. You will receive a terse 'no comment'.

I AM:

• officially in love with Frankie's little baby Charlotte, who I properly met today. My clucky meter has skyrocketed and my uterus is throbbing. Damn you Frankie with your damn placid little piece of bubba, offering nothing to this world but untouched beauty. Damn you for luring me to your den of blissed out reproduction. Damn you to hell!!!!!
  
• reading "Crime and Punishment" for the first time and actually getting into it. Between that and the latest "Family Circle", I'm feeling pretty damn proud of myself.
  
• writing TONS of comedy at the moment - the other night alone I was so incredibly inspired by the country storm that hit while we were visiting Tim's dad out in the country (so inspiring that it actually blew up the television set - now THAT'S what I call creative destruction!) that I wrote not one, not two, but THREE entirely new comedy songs. And they're my new favourites. So there, Frankie! You can have your damn cute baby and I'll have my damn cute songs. At least my new babies don't bite my boobies.
  
• excited to have started workshopping my full-length comedy show with my lovely friend/improv coach/mentor Anne Pensalfini, just this very afternoon in fact. It's so wonderful to have the benefit of an outsider's eye who knows your strengths and weaknesses - plus I actually had apple & cranberry tea to offer her and thus was able to perform my little heart out while maintaining the illusion of being a great house-keeper. I'm such a fraud sometimes it kills me.

Well, that's about the wrap-up folks. So yeah, until further notice, I'll be limited to blogging only when I can get hold of a public computer. Or until I can get my a into g and hook my laptop up to the net.

Then again...it's probably a good thing to spend a little more time in the real world. My kids do need to be fed*, after all.

*Where the hell was that in the contract?

Things that make me envious and/or chuckle

My best friend Frankie had her baby last night!!! A little girl, the news of which is making me feel all mushy and jealous and even flirting again with the idea of having another. But don't freak out (just find a happy place, breathe deeply and put the peanut-butter away) I'm definitely not going down that path for at least a while, namely because:

a) We've gotta get through the madness of this year (with Tim on teaching prac and all) and get our relationship a billion times better before we can contemplate another stressor. Even if that stressor happens to be cute and little and innocent and so cuddly and nice-smelling and...

BOOF!

Sorry, that was me smacking sense into myself.

b) We seriously want to get overseas next year and while that's still possible with three, my mummy-senses are telling me that it'd be quite a bit easier just with two (just fuzz up my hair and call me Einstein).

c) I've gotta wait til Frankie's finished breastfeeding so we can at least have one crazy girls-night-out before getting up the duff myself. There's no WAY I'm going two years straight without a single Frankie & Jen paint-the-town-red adventure. That's like asking me to give up dark chocolate. NEVER gonna happen, so please...let it go.

In completely unrelated news, my daughter is cracking me up no end with her bizarre rantings.

Last night...

Me: Alright kiddo time to wash your hands for dinner!

Ella: Whatever Trevor.

At least I know where she got that one. :-)

But I'm at a loss as for where she got this next one...

This morning...

Ella: I'M NOT YELLING AT YOU!!!!

Me: Yes you are yelling at me and you need to stop it or you'll be going into the dungeon of doom....(um, did I just type that? Sorry, I meant:) the bathroom.

Ella: Oh mummy, what would you know about true love?

What the?

But I'll leave you with her all-time favourite insult of the moment:

Ella: I don't believe you and nobody is going to believe you...EVER.

Have a great weekend everybody!

This morning: a sure-fire hit

TITLE: "A morning at Jen's Place"

Scene 1

A children's playground.

Jenny sits on a park-bench with Ella and Caleb, the three of them munching away on ***** brand chocolate bar (like hell I'm name-dropping them without proper paid product placement. Try saying that four times fast.)

An old-ish woman walks by, catches sight of the incredibly suger-laden diet being bestowed upon these two poor innocent creatures of goodness and glares very meanly at Jenny.

Very meanly.

As Jenny contemplates her next move, we dissolve to:

Scene 2

Earlier that morning...

The downstairs studio. Jenny, in an attempt to make herself feel like an actual 'good' mummy, spends the morning helping the kids to draw, write and resist the urge to hurl the basketball at the book-case.

All is calm, all is quiet, all is lovely. In fact if you listen closely you might even be able to hear the soundtrack to "The Mikado" in the background. Or not. Whatever, this is just the script, you can hear whatever you want.

CUT TO:

Scene 3

4 minutes later...

Jenny: NOOOOOO!!!!!

Ella: NOOOOO!!!!!

Caleb: YAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!

SLAM!

Caleb has slammed the dead-locked door to the house shut, thereby locking Jenny and Ella out and himself in.

Ella: Oh no, Mummy, we can't get in!

Jenny: It's okay, let's try the front door. (Note to actor: this should be played with outer calm but inner rage. Only an actor of pure brilliance could pull this off. Failing that, we'll just stick an ugly prosthetic nose on you.)

Ella: Caleb, that was very naughty!!!

CUT TO:

Scene 4

2 minutes later...

At the front door.

Jenny and Ella alternate knocking and screaming, trying to entice Caleb to the front room.

Jenny: Caleb! Caleb!

Ella: CALEB COME HERE YOU NAUGHTY STUPID BOY!!!

Jenny: Ella that's not nice. (adopting a nice voice) Caleb come here you naughty stupid boy!

Ella: Oh NOOO!!! He's not coming!!!

CUT TO:

Scene 5

2 minutes later

At back door.

Jenny: CALEB!!!! Go to the front room!

Scene 6

CUT TO:

1 minute later

Jenny and Ella circle the house trying to find that elusive open window. It is a mission that proves fruitless.

Ella: Holy banana benders batman, looks like we're in a spot of trouble!

(note to reader: some of this script has been fictionalised for dramatic purposes. Which bits is for you to decide)

CUT TO:

Scene 7

12 minutes later

At front door again.

A dishevelled, dehydrated and desperate Jenny is on her knees, her face stained with tears and her back dripping with blood. Why? We'll never know.

Jenny: Caleb. Caleb. Caleb.

Ella: He's not coming, mama.

Jenny: Caleb....

A dramatic pause. Did you feel that? Wasn't it dramatic?

Jenny: Caleb...do you want....CHOCOLATE?

A beat.

Cue climactic resolution music, as Caleb comes running joyously through the house to the front door, unlocking it with the ease of an Olympic Pole-Vaulter stepping over a turtle.

All: Oh Caleb, oh Ella, oh Mummy, oh Batman, etc...

We dissolve to:

Scene 8

PresentTime

We are back in the park, where the old woman has just delivered a filthy 'you revolting unfit-to-own-a-kitten-let-alone-breed-your-own-kind' look from hell.

Jenny smiles sweetly.

JENNY: It was this or a lock-smith. And chocolate's cheaper.

The old woman scowls, spits and suddenly begins to mutate: this is no innocent old lady, this is Hannibal Lector!

Hannibal: Tell me about the lambs, Jenny, tell me abou....

POW!

Before the freaky old woman/Hannibal can utter another syllable, Jenny whips out her very handy pocket-size blow-torch and fries the cannibal to a deep-fried perfection.

Before the smoke has even cleared, Ella looks up at mummy and says...

Ella: I want another chocolate!

Jenny: (looks directly to camera and shrugs) What can I say? It's been one of those mornings.

THE END

But do bloggers like being blogged about?

I just stumbled across Mrs Mogul, a fabulous blog (well, I didn't so much stumble as bump straight into it via my comments' section) which sparked off some pretty interesting thoughts in my sleep-deprived head about whether people like being blogged about or not. Specifically other bloggers.

It had never really occurred to me that people WOULDN'T want to be blogged about, unless of course, you were reporting something majorly personal. But then, as I found out this week, sometimes people don't like what you write. Even if you may have a very valid point to make. (Ehem, did I just type that? I'm sorry, for a moment there I thought I was talking to my hubby.)

Yeah, so I guess some people don't like being 'blogged'. But then others do and indeed, often even see doing so as a nice gesture. I've been really getting more into the blog thing lately (if, by 'getting more into', you mean 'solidifying a serious addiction') and in doing so have witnessed many generous and awesome linkages to other bits of worthy 'net-splatter', as my mate Gempires calls it.

I LOVE this. I just think it is so cool that as writers online, we are not restricted to simply popping up the text and that's it, but purely through that incomprehensible-to-my-mind thing called technology, we can immediately open up doors for each other to entire other worlds of writing, and beyond. Pictures. Videos. Random pop-up boxes advertising you stuff you've never even heard of, let alone need. All this stuff would simply blow the mind right off my grandmother's head. (You think I'm exaggerating? There's a reason she's terrified of computers, you know.)

But most of all, I love that there are people in the blogosphere who can and do extend a hand to help encourage and support each others' blogs. Even those bloggers who already have a huge following and their blog takes up enough of their own thought-life there's barely room to remember to shave, still...some of them are willing to share the love around.

As someone who's only been blogging hard-core for a few months (and am already on the waiting list to have my eye surgically removed from my navel), I find that notion not only cool, but something to aspire to.

Rock on, people! It's not quite the Age of Aquarius (and I KNOW I'm not getting nude, I don't care how many nice posts you write) but seriously..."Can You Feel the Love Tonight??!!!

So apparently reviewers don't like being reviewed.

Oops! My 'review of the review' seems to have landed me in a bit of trouble.

From my first piece of hate-mail (to my post-script of "was that way too bitter?" an anonymous person posted "yes it was you talentless hack", which by the way, might hurt if my daughter wasn't in the midst of a phase of calling me 'dung-head') to a reply from a rep from The Pun (a publication to which I have no ill-feeling whatsoever, having written for them myself) I really didn't mean to stir up a puddle of poo. Believe me, there's already more than enough floating around my den of toddler-dom.

Just in case you're one of those people who doesn't read comments, here's how the latest is panning out:

***

Chloe from The Pun said...

Jenny, you did a couple of reviews for The Pun, you know how hard it is to cover something in 250 words without generalising. In shows that feature several acts, that problem is amplified to the power of (n), with (n) being the number of acts in the show.

I reviewed The Lion, The Bitch and the Closet which was basically 2 and a half full length performances in one. I totally slagged off Christine Basil because I could only give her 30-50 words and I didn't have enough room to balance out what I was saying about her.

I said:

Hey Chloe,

Of course I know you can't possibly cover EVERYTHING in that number of words. And especially when you're reviewing a show-case, you can't really go through each individual comedian in turn. I do acknowledge that.

But saying that EVERY comedian did this, and 'IF ONLY ONE comedian' had done something other than complete crap (paraphrased) is just not true. I thought the review - especially given it was a 'new comics' night and seemed to lack any patience towards that fact - was pretty mean-spirited. As, you might say, was mine.

But what are we saying here: that we can review and slag off a show but not review and slag off a review??!??!

I've written nasty reviews in my time too, but I'm also subject to criticism and I do believe that what goes around comes around.

But I do think it sucks that most reviewers can dish it out without ever having to put themselves in a position where they have to take it.

I stand by my review. But thanks Chloe for taking the effort to comment with more eloquence than a 'you talentless hack'. :-)

***
So there you are, officially updated.

Ooh, and to think I never ever thought of myself as controversial. On the bright side, I think I may have inadvertently stumbled onto a fabulous title for my show next year: "My Life as a Talentless Hack."

Now if that ain't making lemonade out of a lemon, then I don't know what is.

****

LATEST UPDATE:

Here's an idea for the reviewer in question - how's about you review my review of your review, then I'll review your review of my review of your review.

Come on! You criticise me, I'll criticise your criticism and so on. It'll be just like marriage. ;-)

An ode to Lord Cheeks

This is a little poem for my dear friend and fellow comic-in-crime Chris Daniel:

Dear Chris you know it's often said
That men are just from Mars
Well I don't think that is true
Cos most I've met are found in bars.

But that's beside the point you see
The reason that I'm writing
Is to say I think you rock the world
With your manner so inviting.

You give advice (and car-rides too)
Which makes me feel quite happy
Your marriage even inspires me
To make mine not so crappy.

So thank you Chris for being nice
Like pancakes gooed with honey
But most of all, I thank you Chris
For being cool AND funny!

*Disclaimer: the crappy quality of poetry contained within is by no means any reflection on the poem's subject. Chris Daniel is in no way cliched, crappy, nor does he resort to dodgy rhythms to achieve rhyme. At least, not usually.

Reviewing the Review

I just came across this review on The Pun website the other day, while indulging in the little self-pleasuring rite otherwise known as googling. I performed in this show, (The Hot Comics' Showcase) on a few different nights so I'm afraid I can't even recall which night he's writing about except that I do remember there being a few brits in the crowd (as he mentions). Nonetheless, I've decided to seize upon an idea put forth by my 4ZZZ co-host and lovely friend Alex Oliver and 'review the review'.

Drumroll please...

***
Now, if I were a truly bitter wench, I would start this review with:

"A comedy review hey? Well maybe we need to get a different reviewer because this one did a pretty awful job. "

But I'm not. Because:

a) I'm not a wench;
b) I'm not truly bitter (just bitter); and
b) The reviewer didn't do an AWFUL job, just a lazy one.

Let me be clear - I don't object to the fact that the review is mostly negative. That's fair enough, it probably was quite a mediocre night for all I can remember. And I definitely did a few crappy performances during the fest. But what I do object to is the gross over-generalisations and over-use of 'each performer' did this, 'each performer' did that, 'each performer' sucked, and so on. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury:

The night wasn't a total loss though, as the question of the differences between men and women was answered thoroughly by each performer in turn.

Uh, sorry sir but that's just not true. As I said, I can't even remember the exact night but I know for a fact that I didn't do any of my hack 'battle of the sexes' material in Melbourne. I saved that gold for Tassie. ;-)

But wait, it gets better:

It was not that most of the performers were predominantly sexist, racist or unimaginative; it was the fact that it was all so profoundly uninteresting and dull. If just one of them had perhaps decided to do more than tell jokes about how a section of the audience were British (end of punchline) then I would have been impressed.

Uh, sorry sir but my BS detector is going off and I can't find the pin. From my (admittedly sketchy) memory, only a few comics at most even addressed the British component of the audience. But when you say "all" I assume you mean, well..."all." I'd like to inform you that there are other words in the dictionary. That's not confirmed but it is an educated guess - I've got an Oxford's sitting in my cupboard and it does look rather thick.

With all due respect sir, you are an obvious meistro of exaggeration, deception and bullshit: if this reviewing thing doesn't work out, might I suggest you consider a career in comedy?

On a personal note, at least I did rate a mention:

Of all the comics who stepped up (there were more than 10 during the night, with five minutes each), young Gareth Moloney got the most few laughs. Jenny Wynter got a clap at the end and a bit of a cheer for at least being confident, if not outwardly humorous.

Oh thank God. NOW I know what that cheer was for - my confidence. Because you know, I had started to wonder, wearing my humorous-ness on the inside and all.

Thanks reviewer.

I applaud and cheer your review for at least being confident, if not outwardly...you know, sensical.

*Did that sound way too bitter?

Me, Me, Me!!!

One of my favourite bloggers RockstarMommy has just done this and you know, I want to be just like her. That and I don't really have anything interesting to blog about today. Well, I do, but hey, it's Friday and I'm lazy.

I AM: delighted that I'm starting to get some e-mails cranking in for my new blogging experiment Not the Supernanny and am having a ball writing replies. Not that it's me...

I SAID: I'd never start another blog.

I WANT: To go overseas next year.

I WISH: I could go to New York and learn comedy stuff.

I HATE: Feeling like a crap mum.

I MISS: Being a naieve little fifteen-year-old. It was all downhill from there.

I FEAR: Turning into Selma from The Simpsons. Not likely, but anything's possible.

I HEAR: Britney's up the duff again. Oops...

I WONDER: Why on earth we're all here.

I REGRET: Being mean to my little sister when we were growing up, like being completely inspired after watching an episode of 'You can't do that on television' and spitting all over her face (the deal was, I'd have a turn then she'd have a turn) then renegging on the deal after I'd covered her in spittle. That was just wrong.

I AM NOT: Gonna apologise in person though.

I DANCE: With vigour that surprises even me.

I SING: Almost constantly.

I AM NOT ALWAYS: This sexy. No really.

I MADE: Two babies. This is in part responsible for the previous answer.

I CONFUSE: Starfruit and Pomegranates. And my kids' names.

I NEED: Way too many energy drinks. Maybe even a stiff drink.

I SHOULD: Shut up.

I START: A few billion projects a year.

I FINISH: Two.

I BELIEVE: Johnny Depp and I would be together if my hubby hadn't gotten in first.

I KNOW: Johnny Depp and I would be together if my hubby hadn't gotten in first.

I CAN: Pull the world's best monkey face ever.

I CAN’T: Climb trees, eat six bananas in one sitting or touch my own butt and smell it. That stuff just kills me.

I SEE: A bright future involving world domination and month-long island holidays. It's not my future, but it's nice nonetheless.

I BLOG: Against my will. It's this weird little troll holding a machete to my head and yelling 'BLOG OR BE CHOPPED INTO PIECES YOU SILLY SAD LITTLE WOMAN!!!'

I READ: Not nearly as much as I'd like to. But a fair few blogs.

I AM AROUSED BY: Eyebrows. And intellect. And being kissed on the neck. In that order.

IT PISSES ME OFF: When people are mean. Or pretentious. Or too well-waxed.

I FIND: Random crap all throughout my house.

I LIKE: Writing silly blog entries like on my new one Not the Supernanny.

I LOVE: The opportunity to plug something twice in one page. It's just so beautifully shameless.

Don't ask questions, just scroll down!

Byron photos are FINALLY up! What a relief - some little life-jackets to help you through the ocean of words in that entry. Happy safe swimming kids!

"One Night in Labour" lyrics

Okay, so due to popular demand (if by 'popular' you mean 'at the request of two people'), here are the lyrics to my favourite song to perform (at the moment). I hope it means as much to you as it does to me. Ehem.

"One Night in Labour"

Labour, hospital setting
And the mama don't know what the mama is getting
The creme de la creme of humilia-shen
She'll be showin' everything but Guy Sebastien

Time slows, it doesn't seem a minute
And you're wanting to get out but damn you're in it
Gimme gas! Don't you know once this thing's started
There ain't no ordinary way out

There's epidural, or a ceasar, or a bullet
Or...or this place

Chorus:
One night in labour and the world's your oyster
The baby's cute but it don't come for free
You'll soon find out if it's a girl or boyster
And if you're lucky it'll end quickly
I can feel a baby coming out of me

One kid's much like the other
When you're head's sucking down on the gas young mother

Hospital staff
It's a shame, yes it really is a pity
To be meeting your child when you're feeling so shitty

Mama
Whaddya mean? You've felt one pain you've felt 'em all!

Hospital staff
Blood, puke and placenta
That shit just ain't heaven senta

Mama
Hey man, you're talkin' to a gal
Who's pain threshold makes the guys go 'wow!'
I feel my kicks below the waistline, sunshine!

Chorus:
One night in labour makes a hard girl humble
You're just as shattered as your dignity
One night in labour and the tough girls crumble
Your one vagina suddenly feels like three (ow!)
I can feel a baby coming out of me

My hubby's gonna be a witness
To the ultime display of birthing fitness
More legs in the air than you would see
From the world's greatest yoga devotee
Put the camera away honey
Before I shove it up your...

Spread out like a piece of meat
And four doctors have a front row seat
I'd ask you in, yes I'd invite you
But the nudity in here would not excite you

Best get back to your drinking and your sleeping in and your...life

Chorus:
One night in labour and the world's your oyster
The baby's cute but it don't come for free
You'll soon find out if it's a girl or boyster
And if you're lucky it'll end quickly
Why'd I let my hubby put his dick near me?

One night in labour makes a hard girl humble
You're just as shattered as your dignity
One night in labour and the tough girls crumble
Your one vagina now feels like thirty (ow!)
Someone get this freakin' baby out of me!

*insert thunderous applause*

By the way, now you've read the lyrics that does NOT mean you've got an excuse not to come to a future show. There ain't nothing like seeing the real thing live, sistas.

Not the Supernanny - a blogging experiment

Okay, so I'm starting a little blogging experiment and am looking for willing guinea-pigs.

Check it out: www.notthesupernanny.blogspot.com

It's just getting started, it's just for a bit of fun as evidently I don't have enough on my plate. So let all who are game, be game!!!

And no, you don't even have to be a real mummy to participate. Heaven's knows I'm not a real nanny. To be honest I'm starting to wonder whether I should even be allowed near children.

Back to earth with a thud

I'm officially a basket-case.

Even without the dramatic contrast to the bliss-filled weekend, tonight would be tough. Ella has finally succumbed to sleep but Caleb is still going strong, throwing what is becoming not only the world's largest tantrum, but the longest. It's his birthday and he'll cry if he wants to. Apparently for two hours forty-three minutes at last count.

There's no emoticon that describes how I'm feeling right now, but if there was I suspect it might look like this.

Help wanted.

Byron Bay, will you marry me?

Warning: this entry is quite long-winded, but I think it's fitting given it's about one of the best weekends of my ENTIRE LIFE! But, being the thoughtful lass I am, I've even broken it up into chapters, so you can take it in bite-size chunks, go away for a breather and then return when you're ready for the next course. See? I really do aim to please.

Chapter One: The Birthday Party

Chopping fruit, assembling platters and icing the semi-burnt birthday cake. Oh how I love birthday party preparations (there was a little sarcastic inflection there for those of you who missed it). And the birthday cake: check it out!

Not too shabby if I don't say so myself. And the cupcake stack came in very handy seeing as, in typical form, we forgot to bring a knife.

It all goes rather smoothly, Caleb is suitably chuffed (if not a little bemused) and all the kids have a grand time at the park. As we bundle up the troops, my brother James asks: "Where are they? I thought I had three kids."
Me: "So did I. I think I left one at a park once."

Ah comedy. Without you I think child-rearing would have me curled in a little ball in some random corner of the world crying for a shot of Pethadine.

We get the kids settled in with our babysitters-of-choice (or more accurately, our babysitters-who-could) and hit the road for a romance and gig-fuelled weekend at my favourite place in the entire world: Byron Bay.

Chapter Two: The Child-Free Weekend Away

We are seriously overdue for this. And I cannot help but point out to Tim that without comedy (which he sometimes sees as the 'other man' in my life and mortal enemy) this weekend would simply not be happening. The pay's not great for this gig, but we do get a free cabin at Byron Bay Beach Resort and considering the stress our relationship's been under this year, that my friends, is priceless. Highlights include:

- Going shopping: Tim buys me my Mother's Day gift of choice - a new cap - which, while neither practical nor writing-related (usually the only two things I'm comfortable spending money on) makes me feel like a million bucks. Well, at least $15,000.

- Having the yummiest immunity-building juice ever (I'm not sure if that claim is substantiated, but it certainly made me feel happier at the time, so let's run with it.)
Me: "Here, have a taste of my world."
Tim (sipping my juice): "I think that's very symbolic."

- Taking our time strolling on the beach and talking for hours, uninterrupted. Inconceivable.

- Heading back to the Beach Resort for the gig and realising it actually starts in half an hour!

Chapter Three: The Gig

- Chowing down on curry galore, which leaves me wondering how I'll cope gigging on a full stomach.

- Having the sound guy approach me literally SECONDS before I go onstage to tell me he's not sure if the CD is going to work. Aaaaagghh!

- Putting on a calm facade and taking the stage before the most amazing crowd ever. I'm starting to think it's just not possible to have a bad gig in northern NSW. There are around three hundred people there (including, I'm told later, the Director of the Byron Bay Writers Festival, the local Chief Magistrate, Editors of both local newspapers and more) all wanting to be there and oozing happy Byron vibes. One of them tells my hubby later "We're on a higher vibration here in Byron." Whatever it is, I want some. Even the CD player - after a heart-stopping minute of 'will it or won't it?' manages to kick its third chakra into gear. Remember what I said about realizing some audiences just aren't your audience? Well...this one is mine. I'm home.

- Getting an actual standing ovation after "One Night" (okay, so it was only three people, but I'll take what I can get) and having one woman grab her table's floral arrangement and throwing it towards the stage. Three pairs of legs and a couple of daisies: I have arrived.

- Seeing Tim gush - it's been a while since he's come to see me perform (something which we fully intend to remedy regularly as part of our 'let's make our marriage an actual priority' strategy) so to have him support me verbally as well as practically is magic.

- Having people come up afterwards and give beautiful Byron-ish compliment after compliment, especially the mummies. Some of my favourites:

"You were the highlight of the whole night!"
"I miss you already!" (blowing me a kiss)
"Gees you're tall."

- Receiving another request for the lyrics to "One Night in Labour" (the other was from a lady in Tassie) so I may well bite the bullet and put them on my website soon. If it's good enough for Tim Minchin...

- Meeting Mandy Nolan, who's basically the IT girl of Byron Bay comedy. We've spoken and e-mailed a couple of times but this is the first time she's seen me (and what a night for her to see). She tells me she's got a women in comedy night coming up in a month or so and asks for a card.

- Having Sandy Gandhi, who organised and hosted the entire night, give me incredibly kind praise, thanks and a promise of a return invite.


Seriously, Byron Bay, will you marry me? I don't think it counts as bigamy if you happen to be a town.

Chapter Four: The Good Night's Sleep

After hot chocolates at a suitably funky cafe, Tim and I hit the hay.

Tim: "Shall I set the alarm clock?"

Big pause.

Tim: "Gotchya!"

We sleep in until 10.42am.

Wait, let me type that again, I just want to check something.

We sleep in until 10.42am.

Yep, still smiling!

Tim then goes out to the car and brings in a big box.

Tim: "I think Dad put something in here for you."

Me: "What?"

I open it up and look inside. I cannot believe it. Luckily Tim has a forklift on hand to assist with getting my jaw off the ground and reassembling it to my head.

A brand-spanking-new laptop computer.

I think I am going to die.

Thus, I sit at 11.25am in bed, typing away on my new lap-top.

Wait, let me type that again, I just want to check something.

Thus, I sit at 11.25am in bed, typing away on my new lap-top.

Yep, still smiling.

A tantalising taste of the weekend that was

Dear all,

Just got back from a weekend that included:

- 1 x birthday party (Caleb's)

- 1 x best gig of my entire life (mine)

- 1 x romance-inducing weekend away at Byron Bay (mine and Tim's)

Update coming soon.

Wish you were here.

Jen. x

If a photo paints a thousand words...

Hooray! My photo-blogging thing is working again, plus Caleb's home sick (not so hooray) but the point is I've nothing to do but wait on my almost-2-year-old and stuff around with my blog. Thus, I thought I'd add some photos to put faces to the names of the Tassie kids. There, don't you feel better now? I know I do.




The entire kiddy clan from left to right: Caleb, Ella (both mine), Brock, Rachel & Jessie. Purely coincidentally, they are actually arranged in chronological order. Dig it.





My sister away from sisters, my cousin Alice. And me too. Whaddya know?




Saturday Night Live, Schmatterday Night Live...this is THE comedic ensemble.




I like to call this one: "Tugging on Heart-Strings". This is the stray kitten which Caleb became obsessed with and the cat was so completely dying for attention that it even took Caleb's strangling holds and suffocating hugs as a compliment. It gave me flashbacks of ex-boyfriends, actually.





And finally, my favourite. I like to call this one: "Brock Finds God."

Oh yeah, and check out my dodgy-pram-manouvre photo if you're looking for mildly illegal things to do with kids. Cos I'm nothing if not inspiring.

Birthday cake blues

It's Caleb's 2nd birthday party tomorrow and I'm feeling a mixture of pride and terror. Pride that we've even managed to get him to this point with all appendages in place, terror at the prospect of confronting the whole birthday cake ordeal.

You see, I SUCK at birthday cakes. As a kid I loved nothing more than flicking through that huge Women's Weekly Birthday Cake book and picking out that year's indulgence of choice, and once I became a mummy I entertained fantasies of bake, bake, baking up such fantasy cakes with the ease of Martha Stewart and the sex appeal of a domestic geisha.

But alas, it was not to be. Take for instance, my daughter's 2nd birthday cake. We went through the book together and she proudly picked out a butterfly. (Actually, she picked out a castle first until I convinced her Mummy would have a much higher chance of success at something that was only on one level.)

Now, in the BOOK, the cake looked like a beautifully crafted vision of butterfly-mixed-with-confectionary goodness.

In Jenny-land, the cake looked like this:



On the bright side, the kids devoured it within minutes so I wasn't taunted by my inadequacies for long.

So tomorrow...I'm leaning towards a muffin stack. Then at least people can congratulate me on being novel. Wish me luck!

No hard selling here!

So I've had a full day with the kids (poor me, poor me, right? Actually, it was surprisingly enjoyable given Caleb's a bit under the weather) but as I head towards the inevitable madness of dinner/bath/bedtime, I'm sorry to shatter your illusions by revealing that I'm all out of subtlety and wit.

So I'll just come out with it: my website's updated a little bit if you want to check it out. No pressure. See, if I was hard-sell I'd be all like:

(twirling hair)
"Yesterday my website was a nightmare. But now, thanks to a couple of superficial changes, some textual additions and a couple of new photos, my website is so cool I'm thinking of making two. One for home and one for the boat."

But I'm not.

Just...it's there. You know. Do what you want.

www.jennywynter.com

Mission Impossible III

Took myself on a good old-fashioned Jenny date (i.e. me, myself and I: well, plus popcorn and post-mix Coke if I'm to be entirely accurate) to see "Mission Impossible III".

It was everything you would expect of "Mission Impossible III."

There you go, briefest review ever.

I couldn't help thinking:

a) how much Tom Cruise's love interest reminded me of Katie Holmes;
b) how nobody does 'running intensely' like Tom Cruise; and
c) how, if Tom Cruise's public persona hadn't been put through the ringer in the past year, you could almost have a crush on him.

Gone are the "Cocktail" days, when I longed to have his tequila parked in my sunrise... now if he offered me tequila I'd just go "SLAMMER!" and that'd be that.

I don't even know what I'm writing. It's after midnight, I'm cranky and delirious.

Good night to you.

Morning TV and The Meaning of Life

The only thing worse than facing the cardio room at the gym, is being force-fed morning television at the same time.

Yes, that's right, today I hit the gym again for the first time since I've been back and no, absence does not make the heart grow fonder. It still sucks. But on the bright side, the advertorial-infested television was ripe with comedic fodder - picture this:

Bimbo on couch: "My old vacuum cleaner was an absolute nightmare."

(Really? I mean, REALLY? To me a nightmare is being chased by a chain-saw wielding maniac when instead of running, you can only bounce. Or meeting Tim Minchin and realising you're a star-struck idiot.)

Bimbo: "But now thanks to the (brand), vacuuming is so easy, we even got two. I've got one for the home, and my husband has one for the boat."

(Wow, THE BOAT! How handy. I love it when marketers are so completely in touch.)

In other news, I have booked in a few more gigs, which I SWORE I wouldn't do, but one was offered at the Py-Hi (where I did my first full-length shows and attracted a fan-club of drunken construction workers) which does hold a special spot in my heart. Plus these days I am SOOO much better at dealing with hecklers I can't wait to see if my old clan of fellas are still there! Then I spoke with Fedele from the Sit Down Comedy Club, explained my dilemma and he was really understanding: we booked in just three gigs over the next two months. Believe me people, THREE gigs in TWO months is a significant improvement in my over-cluttered lifestyle!

But I do want to keep my skills up and of course, actually try out my reams upon reams of new material to shape it properly. But that's IT! No more gigs for me! *slapping wrists*

I had this huge revelation the other night, which I may just share. In fact, I will. For those of you who don't know, my mum died when I was five, a fact which I've always found incredibly motivating in terms of just putting myself out there for what I really want, because I'm very much aware that my time is finite.

But then talking to Frankie (my bestest bestest friend) the other night, I realised that even if I DID only have a few years left, why would I want to spend them all chasing career stuff? Honestly, if that really were the case, I'd much rather be spending them with my family and my friends. I've always tried to learn from my mum's life: she was a singer, a great singer actually and the tragic thing was that she had quite literally JUST won a song-writing competition, the prize of which was a recording session in Sydney, when she died before she could even claim it.

I'd always thought the lesson to draw from that was 'well, you've gotta go for gold in chasing your dreams NOW', but now I think it's actually 'well, you've gotta savour every moment with the people you love, because the time you invest in career stuff may not even matter'. Not that I'm not going to still follow my dreams, but now I'm just trying to do it in moderation. Because I am nothing if not a walking cliche.

Enough rambling from me...we've both got work to do. You do yours, I'll do mine and everybody's happy. ;-)

Hulk Hogan, you ain't got nothing on my son

If his career as a pro soccer player doesn't work out, I think my son has a real future in the World Wrestling Championships. You know, the one where it's all televised and theatrical and they slag each other off verbally before the physical onslaught begins.

Yes, Caleb practices his best moves on me daily. Climbing high onto the couch, he jumps into the air and lands on my tummy/neck/nearest-innocently-bystanding-appendage (and yes, sometimes he yells out during it and yes, sometimes it really hurts) but here's the clincher: instead of going in for the final lethal head-butt, he cuddles me to bits.

What a damn good thing toddlers are cute.

Random musings: where I'm at right now

I'm sitting here at my desk, blissfully child-free and staring out at the beautiful blue Brissie sky and wishing I could cut out the gorgeous cloudy streaks and sew them onto a t-shirt. Except of course that's impossible: I suck at sewing.

I feel a little nauseous cos I just chowed down on yet another one of those damn chocolate fundraising boxes for the kids' day-care centre. Will the torture never end?

This is my first day alone with no commitments and no kiddly-winks in weeks and to be honest, I don't know quite what to do with myself. I'm procrastinating big-time (can you tell?) from the jobs I have to do, including unpacking. Mind you, I'm justified in procrastinating that one - unfortunately a tin of coffee came undone during the flight and thus half my luggage is covered in thin coffee granules. *shudder* Oh well, at least it's not snot.

It hasn't been entirely unproductive - got the car fixed, wrote a basic structure of my full-length show (that's actually quite a massive achievement when I think about it) and even fed myself. Woohoo.

Am missing the Tassie kids a bit. Like Brock, my cousin's youngest son (he's 5) who just cracks me up more than anything with his random Keanu Reeves-like thoughts.

Him: (walking backwards and smiling up at me) I like walking backwards.

Him: (hopping on one leg and smiling up at me) I like hopping on one leg.

Him: (twisting the head off an innocent frog) I like apricots.

Okay, so I made that last one up.

But he's adorable.

And Jessie, the oldest (she's 9) who is just like the biggest helper you've ever met in your life. I even rang my bestest friend Frankie just to tell her "you'll never guess it: once they get older they can make toast, dress themselves and EVEN WASH UP!" Hell, I'm sure if I buy Ella a little maid's outfit she'd get right into it.

Pass the gaffer tape and call me J-Lo.

Then there's Rachel who is cheeky as all hell (Ella has become suspiciously whingey since we got back) but so hilarious. She makes this bizarre groaning noise whenever she draws (which is often) and threw a huge tantrum when she wasn't allowed to come watch me perform. Now THAT is the kinda audience member I want!

And Joscelyn and Tilda, my uncle's kids. They actually DID come watch me perform, and after I got off-stage, were staring up at me awe-struck as though I was Hilary Duff (hey, it was dark.) It was so cute, they were too shy to even speak and my uncle said "I think you've got a couple of groupies!" Awwww...

And my own little muppets. I'm actually missing them now for the first time in AGES. How pathetic. But the thing is, I know this avo will rock around and within minutes of having them home I'll be ready to throw the toaster into the bath. But until then... oh, they're so cute...

So there you have it. That's where I'm at right now.

Review of Tim Minchin's "Darkside"

As promised, here's the link to my review of Tim Minchin's "Darkside".

Warning: he is my favourite comedian, so it's not completely unbiased. Enjoy!

Things I learned on Tour

Okay, so I lied about writing this debrief on Friday. Sorry bout that. Truth be told I ended up wasting hours upon hours just sorting through the billions of e-mails clogging up my very neglected inbox. But you don't need to be bored with details, do you? Hell no. Let me try and write this succintly. 'Yeah right,' I hear you say. Oh ye of little faith.

The past few weeks have been the most intense of my entire life. Now, you might think 'oh yeah, Jen, but maybe that's just cos you just live a boring crappy little life.'

That would hurt if I wasn't so secure.

No, rest assured my life is always nuts, so much so that my old flatmate Paul once said to me 'Jen, you're that one person that when I ask 'so what's been happening?' will always have some dramatic story to tell.'

Touche.

So yes, when I say the tour was intense, I mean it was INTENSE. There you go, in capitals and all. I met so many amazing people, saw so much cool comedy, got up close and personal with heaps of my favourite people, talked comedy, walked comedy, bloody well bled comedy. I feel like I've had this little glimpse of what could be, which was both exciting and terrifying. Exciting because now it all seems so possible, I'm completely inspired and feel like I'm closer than ever to becoming the performer I want to be. But terrifying because I was struck by the realisation that being a comedian AND a good mummy and wife is going to be a hell of a lot harder than I thought. So without further ado...

Things I learned on Tour

1. Don't try and do too much.
I definitely stuffed this one up, cramming in way too many gigs in way too little time. Add parenting to the mix (single parenting for the first four and final nine days) and congratulations: you've just bought a one-way ticket to burn-out. (When the hell did I become the narrator of "Cops"?)

2. Don't ever go on tour without a nanny.
Mary Poppins, where were you when I needed you? No doubt helping some over-wealthy stuck up British kids with a thoughtless merchant banker for a father, but what about two little dumplings with a broke mummy comedian on tour somewhere in the lower regions of little old Australia who actually REALLY NEED HELP?! I'm going to be writing a rather terse letter to Julie Andrews.

3. Do include your hubby in your world.
Originally I thought 'oh, it will be so cool for Tim to come, he can do uni work through the day and I'll go gigging at night'. Which is exactly what we did and while it worked well from a practical point of view, I can see now that this is definitely NOT the way to do things. We just end up passing like ships in the night and we both end up feeling like we're living separate lives. So next time...I'm definitely kidnapping Mary Poppins so that Tim can come to gigs and be part of that world as well. I think I can still do comedy and be a good wife, but I just need to do things differently.

4. Think outside the box.
For instance, there I was trying to convince my beyond-nap-time 3-year-old to continue the long trek home, when it dawned on me: don't fight her, just strap her into the pram and pop little brother on top. Check it out:

Some might call this technique 'dodgy', I prefer 'innovative'.

5. When solo parenting, the park is your best friend.
Followed very closely by "Monsters Inc", "Shark's Tale" (which I HATE, by the way) and Sesame Street. And guilt over the revolting amount of television you're allowing your kids to watch is bad. After all, who's to say I'm not inspiring the Scorsese's of tomorrow? Cos as we all know, if there was one shining light of inspiration to good old Martin's body of work, it was Big Bird.

6. When in Tassie, heaters are your best friend.
Followed very closely by dodgy Eminem hooded fleecy sweaters, kindly lent to me by my cousin, conveniently providing me with warm padding AND the chance to get in touch with my inner white-trash hick. When in Rome...

7. Don't be afraid to use heckler comebacks on abusive strangers.
Let me set the scene: I was trying to get Caleb out of his car-seat while she reverse-parked her ute, an action which a random woman, (le's call her middle-aged-flannelette-wearing-redneck-biatch-from-hell)obviously found deeply offensive despite my trying to take up as little space as possible while doing so. It was only after she'd screamed at me (completely incoherently, might I add) for thirty seconds or so that I suddenly realised 'hang on, I don't have to take this crap. I'm a comedian! I do hecklers all the time!!'

Me: EXCUSE ME?

(I know, brilliant.)

Her: (quite literally running into the butcher shop while continuing to yell unintelligible babble) babble...car....babble...f***ing...babble...dangerous...babble

Me: (trying to dish out one of my heckler comebacks but torn between leaving my son in the car and following the old bag into the butchers): WHAT DID YOU SAY?!?!!

Her: (continuing to back away and hurl abuse)

Me: WHY DON'T YOU SAVE YOUR BREATH FOR YOUR BOYFRIEND, YOU'LL HAVE TO INFLATE HIM LATER!!!

Okay, so I didn't really say that. But I WANTED to. And in fact, I totally would have (no really) if the wench had just stood still! That's what annoyed me the most actually. If you're gonna dish it out, then at least have the guts to stand face to face and do it. But she was screaming and running away at the same time into the embassy known as the Huonville Meat Store.

My cousin since informed me she's kinda the town crazy. I felt quite shaken up afterwards, but reassured in the knowledge I'd get some good material out of it. And as an added bonus, I actually have a newfound respect for hecklers. At least they sit in the one spot. That and they're prepared to have a show-down against someone with a microphone.

Damn, what I would have done for a microphone.

***

So there you go. I learned a lot more things too, (really, aren't I clever?) specifically about the kind of performances I want to do in future. I'm sticking to my guns and not taking on any more gigs in the near future and instead using the time to rewrite my new material, especially more songs. I'm completely inspired after seeing the likes of Tim Minchin to create a much more theatrical show and am quite turned off the idea of doing pub gigs for a while. I want to do a SHOW, damn it!

I could write tons more (as you well know) but then I did promise to keep it short, didn't I? And I am very much a woman of my word. Evidently.

Meeting Tim Minchin: check

It may be a little difficult to type this entry, seeing as my hands are otherwise occupied trying to hold my spinning head in place. For today I met my favourite comedian in the entire world: Mr Tim Minchin.

Now, if you're a long-termish blog-reader (and what's long-term these days anyway? I mean really) then you may recall me being all in a tizzy about the opportunity to interview Tim for The Pun (where incidentally, you can check out my review of Dave Hughes' show if you like). Well, evidently that interview fell through for reasons I am yet to understand, but now it is of no matter dear fellows.

Allow me to illuminate the steps leading up to happy ending:

- months ago I asked my Vibewire editor if I could pretty please review Tim's show when it came to Brisbane in May

- several days ago she replied saying yes, indeed I could

- last night I went and saw his show "Darkside" at the Powerhouse, taking along my dear little brother Billy for company. Needless to say I LOVED it (I'll post a link to the review itself once its up) and even went so far as to splurge on a Tim Minchin canvass shopping bag, but showed great self-control in not buying the CD though not for lack of wanting!

- this morning I realised my radio show was on this avo, and wondered whether we might have a shot at getting Tim on for an interview

- I ummed and aahed over whether to bother, thinking that it would look pretty unprofessional to be asking a publicist for an interview that very afternoon. Finally, I thought 'what the hell' and shot off the requisite e-mail.

- two hours later, received a phone-call from the Powerhouse rep asking for more details and saying she'd call me back. Five minutes later she did, saying "Yep, Tim's keen, how about I give you his mobile number in case there's any probs?"
Dramatic pause. Rewind. "...how about I give you his mobile number...?"

- 5.30pm, I open the studio door and there he is. I manage to hold together my star-struckedness (at least I hope I did) to make it through the interview. Off-air, we chat. I tell him that I'm the crazy mummy comedian from Brisbane who e-mailed him some months ago and he remembers checking out my site (or at least he says he does, but he did e-mail me back after that which is a good sign!) He asks what I've been up to: I tell him a bit about the Melbourne Comedy Festival and he says he thinks that was a really smart way to go about it. "The thing is, don't go putting on a big show until you know you're really ready. Then when you know you're ready, just go for it." Oh boy.

- as we wrap it up, he hands us a copy of his "Darkside" CD (which I fully intend to make very good use of) and I tell him I saw the show last night and am reviewing it for Vibewire. "I'll e-mail you a copy once it's up," I say. "Don't worry, it's all good. You're my favourite comedian." He goes all coy and then he hugs me. Dramatic pause. Rewind. He hugs me.

- on the dizzying come-down on the train-ride home, I check my phone and see a missed call from...Tim Minchin (that's right, I put him straight in my phonebook). I suddenly realise that we forgot to give Tim the names of the ticket winners on the show. I text Alex (my co-host), he texts me back and I text Tim. He texts back: Thanks Jenny. Was grand to meet yez. x

So now I have two, yes that's right TWO never-to-be-erased text messages on my phone, ONE hug and ONE Darkside CD from my favourite ever comedian: I'm still coming down. Tomorrow's gonna hurt.

Even my hubby was happy for me and bless his little cottonsocks: not in the least bit threatened, even when I burst out with: "I LOVE him!!!" (insert very awkward silence here)"You know, purely in a comedic sense."

But come on, I'm entitled to go a little nuts here in my very daggy star-struck way. Cos there's probably only two people in the world I would get this excited about meeting. Tim Minchin and Johnny Depp.

One down...

Home again, home again, jiggedy jig

Just wanted to let my billions upon billions of loyal readers know that the tour is now officially OVER. In fact, it's so last week. Pfft.

But...for those of you intent on hanging onto the past, I shall do a full wrap-up tomorrow. Because tomorrow is da-da-da-da-da-da...DAYCARE DAY!!! Be still my beating uterus.

I cannot believe how tough the past week has been. In fact, my disbelief is so strong that whenever questioned about it I just dissolve into giggles like the madwoman I apparently am. Even Tim, who was so incredibly excited and in love with the kids after having had 10 days away from them, sighed in exasperation some half-hour after getting them home... "Oh man, how on earth did you DO it?!?!"

I don't know.

All I can say is that I'm re-thinking the whole "Mums who dare to dream" book. Not to get rid of it, but just to re-work the angle. Because the last thing I want to do is put pressure on mummies to go forth and conquer. Not that they can't, but that bloody hell, it takes a lot out of you. Out with the Supermummy! Because for the past few weeks I've been her, and frankly, the experience is completely over-rated.

Did you hear that?

That was me collapsing in a heap.

I hate blogging under pressure

Left: Rachel (my beloved Melbournian goddess without whom NONE of this could have happened) and I at her place. Rachel: I LOVE YOU.

Yikes...so here I am, my first child-free half hour in five days and the pressure's on. Plus my net access here is below-appalling (as you've no doubt guessed) and so here I am, my cousin's picking me up in 5 minutes as I've just spent all my time clearing out my inbox and downloading photos. AAGGGH!!!

In summary:

- thank you so much to everybody who's been writing, posting comments and so on. I'm sorry I haven't been able to respond properly yet, but as you can see I've got pretty good excuses!

- the Palais gig was incredibly well received, if only by a small audience. Still the acoustics in the place were amazing so it sounded like laughter from a packed house.

- I ended up without babysitting that night, so for the first time in history my kids came with me to the gig. It was a mixture of elation (Ella fell asleep en route and I set her up in a side-room with a mattress and blankies) and horror (Caleb was wired the entire time, running through the hall and calling out "Mummy! Mummy!" during my set. "Aagh!" I cried. "I'm being heckled by my son!"

- finally am spending my gig-free time in Tassie just thinking about life and choices and stuff, and writing HEAPS. It seems all the inspiration overload of the past couple of weeks is finally being given space to come out in the form of new material. Hooray!

- I found a whole pile of old books I brought down here years ago, including..... plays I've written and since lost and my old very personal journal!!! So very cool, I'm almost turning into fairy floss just thinking about it. Which is handy too, as I'm going to need an extra income stream when I get back, and I've heard fairy floss sells quite well.

- SOOO much more to tell but seriously have to run. I'll try to post a couple of pics here too. See how onto it I am? Seriously.

Love you all and cannot wait to have un-time-ticking blogging space!

Jen. x



This is me in my current role: Mummy/Aunty Jenny with the flock of kids including 2 of my own plus 3 cousins. Needless to say I am often seen bursting into renditions of "Do Ra Mi" and ripping down curtains to sew stuff. Somebody save me!!!!