Or waaaaaaaay past it?

I will NEVER work with sheep again!

Oh the Christmas Pageant at the Community Hall was going so well - in rehearsals anyway.

I had been "voluntold" earlier in the week that I would be assisting with the directing part of the show: the scriptural tableaus - coaching the actors (well, other voluntolds, I expect) on bringing the scripture passages being read out over the course of the evening to life through mime, movement and well... mime, I guess.

We had some great people giving of their time and energy - Andy and Andre, Charlie and Ellie, Adam, Andronikus, Brent and John... all upstanding members of the community that had one thing in common: they weren't afraid to wear robes in public.

But there's always on actor in the lot that thinks the world of himself; that is NOT a team player; that is temperamental, moody and ruins it for everyone.

And for us at the Samford Community Church's Annual Christmas Pageant and Sausage Sizzle, it was this stroppy b@stard:



I SWEAR this stinking bugger will never work on stage in this town again as long as I have something to say about it!

And it had started so well. We began our evening rehearsals with our usual pilates warmup...


The men were all in dresses.... I mean costume....




The cast was in place....
And despite the fact that this miserable DIVA spent the rehearsals munching on costumes, sandals, props and a matte-black stage riser, he STILL ruined the one scene he was starring in:



All he had to do was run, with the shepherds, from one side of the stage to the other. But nooooo! It wasn't bad enough that during the rehearsals he decided that it wasn't in his contract to run from one side of the stage to the other; during the actual show, he decided to throw in the death scene from Hamlet!

That wretched, smelly, woolly little no good so-and-so decided to throw himself on the stage in a huff and lie there, pretending to be asleep!



Our wise-men were too ashamed to be part of it!


One third of our shepherds fainted...


And the other half tried to kill each other!

It was an utter disaster.

Next year, we are using goats.

The Colledges Go to Ikea

We went shopping today to an Ikea on the south side of Brisbane that dwarfed most airports. After a half hour in the carpark, looking for (and finding) a park near the entrance (but nowhere near the exit, curiously) and a VERY large plate of Swedish meatballs and flugenshnugen, we set off on what was to be a three-hour tour.

We were determined to find a gift for the three-year old son of friends of ours - a three year old that drives mind you - and we couldn't decide on the stuffed rat or the stuffed spider....

or the psychotic beaver:
... but we did find a little something to spice up our marriage:


But Ikea is a GREAT place to buy gifts for Christmas. I don't want to spoil anyone's surprise, but we got TC and Janine some Skarvolderkars, a lovely Hugenplugfen Skroken and Grandnad for Jeannie and Greg; and a year's supply of Fruggenbilden Toendershcnicken for the neighbours.

We were going to get a really cute Graben-Knacknurl for my mother, but we couldn't decide on a colour.

And Bruce didn't want to take these off...
... and can you blame him?

Catholic Prite?

Anglican?

The manger's a rough place

Is it just me, or do these two shepherds look like they're about to lay a beatdown on each other??

Goodbye my sweet Badger

No cat was ever more loved.

R.I.P.

I love my job....

My jeans are soaked through, there is tinsel in my hair, glitter on my arms, I have been deafened by a series of team chants and I've heard one too many children say "I can't find my pants".

That's right, today was our annual swim carnival.

The smell of hamburgers roasting on the barbecue filled the air; parents scurried too and fro with stopwatches, hats, sunscreen, goggles, swim togs and bottles of icy water, teachers were hollering only marginally louder than the children, and by 10:30am the temperature had reached 32 degrees with about 93% absolute humidity.

Brisbane in summer is a sauna.

By the time I arrived, one 9 year old girl was already in tears because she'd been disqualified from the butterfly race. I was relieved to find out she'd merely been disqualified for doing the breaststroke. Knowing how competitive these children are, it wouldn't have surprised me if she'd failed a random drug test or been arrested for interfering with a competitor.

Then the cries of "Chaplain Annie!" filled the air and within thirty seconds I had fourteen children hanging off me like cicadas off a gum tree. In short order I'd been offered my choice of muddy, sweaty towels on which to sit and was immediately inundated with indignant questions like "Whose team are you cheering for????" Foolishly, I made the mistake of answering "Well, no-one's". I didn't realise it at the time, but that apparently made it fair game for the children to mark me as their territory by weaving tinsel with team colours into my hair and covering me with coloured glitter. So enthusiastic were they I was only mildly surprised when their marking me for "their side" didn't actually involve human urine.

The children are wonderful, of course, and normally I don't mind sharing my ample lap with them; but today, a succession of wet bottoms have left my jeans soaked through. My litre bottle of icy cold water with lime cordial was passed from child to child like whisky in a brown paper bag, and in no time the bottle was empty. Still, I was treated to the inexpressible delight of a frozen ring of pineapple by a group of children that pooled their change to buy me a slice from the food stand. Somehow, a treat bought with hot, sweaty five-cent pieces is even more delicious than caviar.

The day was long, but tremendous fun. There were cheers and laughter, tears and fights. There were those children that were flush with victory, and those that were beating themselves up over losing a race. Hugs and a "high five" work in both situations. There were those that lost swimming caps and those that found their lunch had been stepped on. There were tins of spaghetti, gummi worms, sausages and frozen bananas to go 'round. There were quiet kids with their noses in a book, and loud kids with their noses in your face. There were cliques and loners, BFFs and children discovering their inner fascist dictator.

In other words, there was enough work for a Chaplain to do.