Ay Corona

Call me a bloody hippy, but much good will come out of this time of corona madness. A whole new world is waiting to be born

We have stopped buying plastic crap we don’t need that is shipped here from overseas

All children may get access to good schooling and new technology

We will stop working in jobs we hate to buy crap we think we want

People have stopped injecting their bodies with botulism toxin

Maybe we will finally close the gap and have good health outcomes for our first nations people

Kids who aren’t neurotypical and don’t fit into our one size fits all school system will have other options for learning

Neighbours are looking after lonely, elderly folk because they’re not at work all the time

Billionaires and foreign companies who make massive profits may actually have to pay some tax to put money back into society.

People have stopped adding plastic to their fingers and breathing in solvents painted on their toes

Foxtel may go bust with no live sport being played; good riddance Rupert

People will wake up and realise that housing is a human right, not an investment opportunity. We may get rid of over blown rents, negative gearing and have housing that is fair for all

Families will spend quality time together; eating, arguing and singing

The planet will breathe while we’re not stampeding through every river and canal throwing plastic bottles into the sea

We finally appreciate and give thanks to doctors, ambos, nurses, teachers, garbos, shelf stackers, child care workers, aged care lovelies, check out chicks and roosters and start to honour how they keep our society going with their hard work

We will stop buying too many clothes, and not prop up an industry that exploits too many underpaid workers in countries that have no labour laws.

We will grow our own food, share with our neighbours, distribute goods according to need

We will live according to the seasons and honour the ebb and flow of mother nature

We may start to fund our scientists and actually listen when they impart their knowledge

We will swap clothes with our friends, mend and repair broken bits and bobs and remember that compulsive shopping doesn’t fill our hearts

We will crave our connection to nature and appreciate every blade of grass once it is safe to be back in the world

Without organised religious gatherings, people will start to question their beliefs and maybe not hide the paedophiles

We may realise that we don’t need the latest technology to be happy

200,000 poker machines are now sitting idle

We will discover we don’t need to pollute the planet with balloons at gender reveal parties, we can actually live with surprises

We will wake up and stop listening to and voting for greedy mad men who can barely turn up to do their job and finally decide to elect visionary leaders

We can no longer queue and panic buy phones and shoes and other stuff that we really can live without

Huge floating Petri dishes have been stopped from polluting precious cities and oceans across the world

We will have time to dance and sing together (online) and tell our stories and have time with our babies without having to rush off to feed the planet destroying capitalist beast

People will find out the real value of a dollar or a euro and realise that the share market is a house of cards, favouring only the fortunate

And the dolphins and the fish and the worms and the birds will come out of hiding and say ‘what took you so long silly humans?’

This revolution will be televised


2020 vision

The Pollard definitive guide to enjoying 2020:

Pat puppies and kiss kittens

Don’t vote for morons

Eat, drink and be merry

Don’t buy ‘beauty’ products

Stay off the internet

Help a refugee family

Read books

Unsubscribe

Stop buying plastic crap

Thank firies, ambos and nurses

Check your emotional baggage

Get fresh on the dance floor

Support the Uluru Statement

Be kind, even to dickheads

Don’t use the words onboarding, textural or disruptor

Buy the Big Issue

Sing every day

Bring home the facon (don’t harm piggies)

Love your friends

Swim in the ocean

 

 

 

 


Sundaze

Pollard’s perfect single mother Sunday:
Gently woken from a sleep in by difficult middle child quietly whispering,
“I’ve cleaned my room and made breakfast.”

Fresh juice on the bedside table

Someone has changed the kitty litter

Breakfast in bed

More sleep

Cancer is cured, affordable health care for all is announced
Reading

 

Tony Abbott has been silenced

 

I frolic in the park with a gorgeous man, cavort with my cocker spaniel and happily play frisbee with jolly well-dressed children, after 11.30am. Kids have silently scrubbed the bathroom and I haven’t had to get out of bed to stop them fighting

Long lunch at a restaurant with loved ones

 

Donald Trump is impeached; he, Putin, Dutton and Kim Jong Ugh have been shipped off to a labour camp in Siberia

Afternoon nap uninterrupted by school run

Ping pong tournament with silly people ends in giggles and singalong

Dinner of nibblies and wine provided by an anonymous benefactor, while having a great chat with dear friends = perfection

Turn on news: we have a fantastic indigenous female Prime Minister. She outlaws homelessness and makes companies who profit from food and housing illegal.

After a long, lavender-scented bath, I go to sleep in a freshly made bed

 

I wake up on Monday morning and youngest child says,

“I’ve made my lunch and I’m getting myself to school mum, love you, I’ll make dinner tonight, bye.”

Lou Pollard you’re dreamin’


Poke ’em & go

Dear 11-year-old child,

I know you’re really busy saving the world by watching people playing Minecraft on Youtube all day, but I’d like to ask a favour. Could you please catch and keep the following Pokemon people/creature/alien/thingies/whateverthehelltheyare?

Cleandyourbedroom a saurus

Oddishwasher won’t empty itself

Clefairy liquid over the sink and wash the dishes

Remove the Vileplume from your sister’s walk on floor-drobe

Meowth and change the kitty litter while you’re at it

Machop up some veggies for dinner

Rapidash to the bathroom to hang up your sisters’ wet towels

Slowpoke the dunny brush around the toilet

Weedle your way out of whinging about housework no more

Thank you great light of my life

Mother dearest

Whistle While You Work – Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs


Thank you Siri

My fur child jumped on my iPhone this morning, causing Siri to ask “What can I help you with?”

Well Siri this morning you can help me with my poor taste in men, my lack of style, my mangy hair and my hangover. Then you can drive my kids to school, clean my flat, shop for food, disturb the mad voices in my head while I slumber and book me a holiday. Today I’d like to write, read, swim under a waterfall, sing, dance, do a yoga class, finish my tax return, laugh, have lunch with friends, eat lobster, watch a movie, drink expensive champagne, go sailing, walk on the beach, go to Bali and still have dinner on the table early


I’m your mother, I’m supposed to drive you crazy

Flowers, chocolates, cards, a new house and a new car, my kids know how to spoil me on Mother’s Day, but apparently today they forgot what I really like so they got me some soap. And candles so that my cheeky youngest child, who is a trainee fire starter, can melt wax all over the house. Joy. And as it is Mother’s Day I am supposed to smile sweetly and be grateful and pretend that it doesn’t bother me, otherwise in a few years they will relocate me to a home for the bewildered that plays Phil Collins songs all day. Sigh. Motherhood is so glamorous and exciting isn’t it? Rest up today mamas, it’s going to be a big year


May the Fourth be with you

Long, long ago in a far, far away galaxy called my delinquent childhood, I wanted to be an outer space princess. My best friend’s dad took us to see the Star Wars fillum when it was first released at the beautiful State Theatre in Sydney. Most 70s movies were a complete cockfest but this movie had our feminist heroine Princess Leia fighting the blokes while rocking a Grecian gown and sporting hair donuts that all of us gals copied immediately for school the following week. Now when I am exhausted and my children are screaming at each other I mutter, ‘Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.” May the force be with you…..


Pretendo

A woman said to me at a party recently, “You really have to get it right when you’re picking the husband who is going to be the father of your children.” I wanted to punch her in the face and say, ‘thanks so much for reminding me that I’m a really bad picker. That’s why I went out of my way to choose someone who refuses to support his children.”

I’m such a bad picker it is best that I only have imaginary boyfriends. Last night as I reheated old beans for dinner, I said to I-mag boyfriend, ‘where are you when I need you?’ My fantasy boyfriend makes the bed, buys me expensive restaurant meals, takes out the garbage and doesn’t mind that I am a professional fool.

Maybe us old feminist gals don’t have time for in-real-life boyfriends. How can we plan the revolution when we’re busy whispering sweet nothings into someone’s hairy ear? Luckily social media saved me from my mad late night musings and I didn’t have to be depressed and alone for too long. Another new boyfriend sent me a Facebook message at midnight which just about saved my life:

Hello,I’m Justin jack ,an Engineer live in England a divorcee.Your profile caught my attention! You look so cute and charming, saw your profile and was moved with what i saw. I will like to know you more.I want to learn more about you.I wait for your response.

Oh yippee!

TLC – No Scrubs


I’ve got an app for that

Because I am a sad lonely old stylish stuck at home single mother I spend far too many nights binge posting on social media until the wee hours. Fuelled by cheap leftover Christmas sherry, one night I posted, ‘used my boobs to get out of a speeding fine’ on Facebook as a joke with a friend who lives in another city. It was my most popular post. Ever. And it was complete bullshit. I was home in my pyjamas sitting on the couch at the time. The only car I’ve driven in recent memory was my mate’s 1995 Daihatsu which couldn’t earn me a speeding fine unless I poured Red Bull into the fuel tank. The comments posted were priceless:

How much did you have to use them and could you go into a lot of detail please?

I did that too. But on CityRail…

Good girl, me too.

Luv it, excellent choice

Very impressed – that would not work for me

Can I borrow them sometime?

My type of gal! Damn I wish I could use my man boobs for anything.

Well done. Excellent work

Well I’m not surprised- they are particularly nice tits

Lucky cop. I’m proud of you

My brother said ‘I can’t believe someone in my family has acted in this way.’ Never worked for me. Not once.

(.) (.) life is good! Go Lou

I’m giving that a go… I tried the ‘trouser” option once…

Well done. Make ’em useful I say!

Noice work. So proud x

Picture please

Good for you! I do that all the time

Is this your most liked post ever? One of my favourite posts for a long time, you go girl, use it or lose it

Now come on they were paired with your charm and intelligent banter I’m sure they don’t get all the glory. Go Cougar Woman!

As I was feeling the lurve from other Farcebook addicts, I realised us Gen X-ers are very easy to please on the interwebs, a fart joke, a petition to sign, a flash of boobs or a cute cat to watch keeps us happy and bantering for hours. Us old bags don’t need too much digital interference or constant tech updates, we need connection.

Maybe all the upgrades and downloads are a way for young geeks to justify their hours at work? Apparently the young whipper snappers are leaving Facebook in droves, turning the once hot social media site into old fart book, which may lead to a name change. Come to Old Fart Book where dreary status updates about your new vacuum cleaner are not only welcome but encouraged.

Sorry Facebook, it’s been fun, but I do think your popularity has peaked. And I think I’ve found the latest, greatest bit of tech wizardry. The app that’s really hot right now is ‘Tap And Fart’, I use it at work all the time, especially the squeezed fart.


My bloody Valentine

Today I feel sorry for my postman, he’ll be off on compo for months after breaking his back delivering 1000s of cards, flowers, chocolates, garden gnomes, truffles, pet pigs and poison pen letters to my front door. I’ll give him a big hug and all my love when he gets out of hospital. I’m sure my 157 Facebook boyfriends have sent me their bank account details as well. As I reflect on the sorry state of my love life this Valentine’s Day, AKA VD or Singles Appreciation Day (thank you teenage daughter for that bit of wisdom) I’m thinking of the words of my spiritual guru George Michael,
It’s so hard to love, there’s so much to hate, when there is no hope to speak of….” I don’t know how George Michael knew about my future love life and unsuccessful internet dating attempts when he wrote that song back in the glory days of the 1980s, but I feel there’s something in those profound words for all of us.