Bummer

LEBOWSKI
As you can see, it is a ransom note.
Sent by cowards. Men who are unable
to achieve on a level field of play.
Men who will not sign their names.
Weaklings. Bums.

THE DUDE EXAMINES THE FAX:

WE HAVE BUNNY. GATHER ONE MILLION DOLLARS IN UNMARKED NON-CONSECUTIVE TWENTIES. AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS. NO FUNNY STUFF.

DUDE
Bummer.

Sometimes a sequence of events takes you into a situation where you've lost control.
People react to this in different ways.
Some people look back and attempt to analyse what brought them to the circumstance.

Some folk attempt to use their analysis to assist changing the circumstance.
Some don't have any interest in how circumstances develop.
Some folk claim "fate" to be their guiding force.
Some people carve their own future, and don't ever look back.
Then there's the Dude.
He can't change history and he's not aware what influence he could possibly have on the future.
He lives in the Now.

Asking for trouble

Several months back I made a decision. It started inside me as deep self-annoyance, culminating in the most "fence getting-off" I've done in a long time.
I didn't expect such internal conflict and angst when first entering the local eco-café . I was with boyo, asleep in his Bugaboo. I weaved past crowded tables, carefully pushing chairs out of the way for the buggy, to take my place in the small queue. I took a mo to check on sleepboy, and when I turned back, three hairy student band types had moved into the queue, so self absorbed with their hipness that they appeared to be strongly body-languaging that I was never in any queue. So I body-languaged back into position. This was blatantly ignored by the hairiest of the skinny-jeaned trio, who placed his effeminate coffee order.

I thought; "Ok, you can be next, but I'M having the sofa" (I was meeting my bro). So I moved sleepboy in Bugaboo over to the leather lounge area and rejoined the queue after The Kings of Leon.

And yes, they took their lattes over to the sofa, the third one looking distinctly awkward as he balanced past the buggy, commenting and gesturing to his chums.

I had it all planned, the intelligent sarcasm I was going to unleash upon them... I had time to plan it, and no excuse.

But I didn't, I just got the boyo and pushed past several chairs to a non-cosy table in the centre of the café. All Hanson got was a Paddington hard stare.

The decision I made was to not be so British... so reserved, and accepting of mild to moderate inconvenience, rudeness and selfishness. I felt so annoyed... at ME, for being such a wuss.

I decided from this point on, I will always exert my ego...mainly to make other people notice what's going on beyond their bubble.

Maybe even if this means I'm asking for trouble.

Zon

Zon is the title my brother creatively gave to the World of Cheese on Toast.

This world is one I lived in for several years, and contrary to common misconception, Zon expands your mind.

In the quest for perfect Zon, such diverse store ingredients are sought, and such fridge delights are held in high esteem.

Historical companions to mild Cheddars, Vintage Mature Cheddars, Red Leicesters and Double Gloucesters have included:

Celery and Celery Salt
Fresh Pineapple in huge quantities
Banana and Raisin
Leftover Vegemince-based Curry/Chilli
Cherry Tomatoes placed after toasting, and squashed into the melted cheese stack.
Anchovies and Wholegrain Mustard.

I've omitted Tuna, Onions and Beans owing to their ubiquity.

I'm guilty of applying butter to the toast 99% of the time.

Malapropism: the humorous misuse of a word.

My Mum-in-Law (not pictured left) is the crowned queen of malapropism. Past masterpieces include substituting "Ingoldmells" for a popular Swedish furniture outlet.

This week, upon seeing a new pair of Toy Story Buzz Lightyear pyjamas belonging to my boyo, she proudly proclaimed; "To Infirmity and Beyond!".

That's Mrs Malaprop on the left, by the way.