sceince Your little hearts went pitter patter when you saw my post pop up didn’t it, my sweets? I know, you’ve all missed me these last few days.

I fell into Monday after our adventure in Melbourne, and I tumbled right through the week and only just emerged out the other side this very Saturday morning. A little mental breakdown may have occurred Tuesday to Friday. Yes, it certainly did.

Mayhem was created in the library by a science teacher, who thought it was a very, good idea to hold a science fair in the library. Never a good idea, but some people have to see the proof of their idiotcy. To compound it, he, yes it is indeed a male who had this brilliant thought, he chose to abuse us with his precence across three days and one night.

First, there was the decent of the entire year 8 cohort, about 190 students, and one stupid science teacher.  This was day one, until we weeded out the passengers who were never go to attend on the night.

Then day two, was their planning day and experimenting day. By this stage Minerva and I were taking no prisoners. After I recused an arm load of books that a student was using to balance plastic cups of food dye water, I started throwing out students. Minerva was just saying no to every request. She had already handed out pairs of scissors only to find them stabbed into lemons to conduct electricity. I know where she really wanted to stab the scissors.

We weren’t to have been involved at all…

I collared the Deputy Principal to do walk through look and see on the first day, which he did periodically, and by day’s end was saying through gritted teeth “never again”. He disappeared into hospital for tests after that, which I am sure he would claim had nothing to do with the shock from witnessing what was happening in the library, but I know better.

Day three, the final day with the culmination of the night time Science Fair with parents attending. Mr FD’s parting words to me as I left home that day were “Remember, you can’t hurt the year 8s.”

Numbers had dwindled and I continued to challenge those students that I knew had no intention of completing anything or attending. They denied, but I was proved correct on both counts.

Half way through the day, Minerva retreated to the library work room and locked the door. She had counted how many students were conducting “experiments” using coke cola. The mentos that were suppose to be for experiments were more often in students’ mouths and they were all on a sugar high. I sent Minerva home at the end of the school day and remained to hold the fort.

I retreated to my office, where I could see, but not hear the bedlam, as students and parents tried to manoeuvre their way around the various display areas and the book stacks. A massive storm hit just prior to the starting time, which decimated parts of Brisbane (lucky you missed that one, Obama!) but only slightly impacted on our numbers.

There wasn’t much I could do at this stage, but wait to pick up the pieces next day. Armageddon had arrived, run over us, and backed up again. I handed out buckets and cloths when an erupting volcano experiment outside the library threatened to ooze through the main doors, but my tears were spent. The elephant toothpaste was its own disaster.

Strangely, no one stayed back to help clean up at the end. It was eight o’clock, and it had been an 13 hour day for me, without a break, which had included teaching as well. Some of the students had not had the decency to go home for the time between end of school and the start of the science fair, and remained to torture me.

The automatic doors thought about malfunctioning as I left, but sensed I would have torn them down had they really tried, and so eventually closed on the devastation.

Next morning I asked the Operations Manager to prioritise washing down the volcano encrusted tiles outside, but she had to see to believe before being convinced. She took photos and screamed “Never Again!” The groundsman used a high pressure hose, and then stupidly a hot air blower to dry the tiles, but as the lava refused to budge we fear he just baked it onto the tile surface. It may need acid cleaning now.

And who told them all that a library was not a place for a science fair? I wonder if anyone ever thought of holding it in, say, the SCIENCE LABS! Remember when a library was just a library? What a lovely world that was.

Someone gets number one position on the Stick List for Christmas.

what a lady does

pearls and hats

Driving to work I really, really, wanted to give a bully driver the finger. I had to remember that two wrongs don’t make a right, and think about Petit Fille to control my natural instincts. I was wearing pearls as well, and a woman wearing pearls never raises the finger.

As we all know, she renders punishment with a stick. I used the white light to send bad karma his way too. No one bullies the Flamingo Dancer.

when they are good, they are sufferable, but when they are bad, they are vermin


Excuse me, but I have the rather urgent need to vent.

People who do a five minute walk through tour and then make snap decisions, should be snapped in half themselves and their pieces scattered on a motorway.

May all those self-indulgent parents who told their child that they were wonderful for merely drawing breath; and may all those parents who don’t give a shit about their feral children and never taught them any values or manners, may you all rot in hell before coming back as a teacher in your next life, if there is one and get to teach your kid; otherwise just burn in hell. Twice.

“Don’t leave your bag in the doorway”


“Because someone will trip over it.”

“It’s not my fault if they are stupid enough to fall over it.”


Treat others as you would like to be treated, or I will surely break your arms and legs off.

Argue about the literal meaning of a proverb over the metaphor one more time and I will ram your arms and legs where the sun don’t shine and post you home to mother.

Why should class be fun? Why can’t you just pay attention for 40 minutes and learn something for once in your damn life.

Can I put up an Easter reading suggestion display with the slogan “Don’t be a wasted space, read a book for once”?

May the subject coordinators who create dodgy lesson plans for teachers to present, be locked into an eternal Groundhog Day of teaching that lesson. May you be eaten alive at the end of each day. No exit clause.

Would someone for f-ing sake build covered walkways between our classrooms so that we don’t end up with 152 sopping wet students in the library at lunch time.

Sometimes, sonny boy, you just don’t get to negotiate or argue every point, sometimes you just need to shut up and do.

Don’t give me the finger because you don’t know how to merge on the highway. I see your finger and raise it one as well.

Stop trying to rearrange the front of my car and attach my car to yours by changing  into my lane without allowing enough space between our cars.

“Put your phone away”

“It’s my mum”

“Tell Mum that Mrs FD is trying to teach you right now.”

“But she wants to know ,,, whether to wash my blue blouse or my pink; where I left the remote; whether she can borrow some money…”

“Tell Mum to send a text that you can answer after class.”

Total disbelief as an expression from student who continues conversation with parent.


Enough with the rain already, we need to dry out.

I am a goddess why are my feet in the bloody trenches?


Even Norman Rockwell has moved on with the times.

1950s, Fashion, Photography, Suzy Parker, Vintage, Vogue

Whooo, I feel better now.

I was cranky earlier today, especially around lunch time when other people’s clutter in the library was making it impossible to function and Minerva kept complaining about it, but it has its own timeline and we just have to wait for it all to play out and then disappear. Then there was the teacher who crossed me by leaving a stack of folders in one of the public rooms when we told her she couldn’t  and that really ANNOYED me, and she is person uno at the moment on the stick list (GOM, you are so far down the  stick list now that you are practically off the list).

Then I walked in the door at home and picked on Mr FD for the first  10 minutes I was home, and I felt much better after that.

I put it all down to lack of chocolate (and I told Mr FD that he had better produce some tomorrow if he doesn’t want to be traded away; and it has nothing to do with Valentine’s Day which is just a silly commercial enterprise to make a lot of women unhappy, but because Mr FD has the time to go to the stores) and the fact that my grandchild to be has yet to make an appearance, not that she is due until Saturday, but I am always early for all my appointments and so should she (obviously she takes after her mother, Daughter1 who is always late, though she was early for her own birth!)

It was Ash Wednesday today and class teachers had to put the ashes on the foreheads of all the students. As a form teacher, despite being somewhat a lapsed Catholic I did the job and ashed all my class and a few other students who couldn’t get through the seated crowd to get to their class teacher. I was quite into the swing of it by the end, and it soon became obvious that I am called to a higher post, and so, yes, as you no doubt expected, I am going to offer myself as the next Pope.

Pope Flamingo Dancer, has quite the ring to it don’t you think ( the papal ring, hahahaha) ? I am a Goddess, so yes, Pope is a bit of a step down, but one must do ones bit for the common people. I will allow women to be priests, I will allow all male priests to marry, and I will allow all women, especially those in poor countries to use contraception. I shall encourage contraception. And then on the second day…

Don’t you just love the way The Pope formerly known as Benedict turfed a group of cloistered nuns out of their convent to take over their pad? Last papal decree indeed.

And just because I am feeling eclectic tonight… Yesterday I passed some old men sitting on benches outside the Village post office. When I was a small child there used to be an outdoor set of draughts for locals to play, but they have long sense disappeared, no doubt stolen along with our respect, gratitude and enjoyment for such things; but that is a rant for another day.

So I was driving to work and the old men were sitting gossiping on the bench under the trees. I was filled with warm and fuzzy memories and felt like I was living a Norman Rockwell moment.

This morning I drove by and only one old man was sitting on the bench. He was chatting on his mobile phone. Even Norman Rockwell has moved with the times.

breathe in, breathe out; I’ll give a bit of breathe in, breathe out all right with a serving of stick on the side

Stick list 2

I’m sorry I try to be nice, I really do, but today I just wanted to beat people to death with my stick. I am tired of hearing people tell students how great they are when they are little buggers and will never learn to lift their behaviour because we are always telling them how great the are.

I also wanted to beat people for their inconsiderate and selfish behaviour towards other people. I wanted to beat them for being lazy and for how when you give them an inch they take the entire continent.

I wanted to beat my students because they are lazy and expect an instant free ride and for someone else to do the work for them. I wanted to beat them because they are always negative and I told them that it is easy to be negative and that being negative is cheap entertainment and if we all did that no one would ever get out of bed and then where we would all be?

I wanted to  beat management with my stick because they won’t give up on an unworkable idea that is both insulting and just plain stupid and will cause me both inconvenience and an increased workload until they realise that no one is going to take up the stupid idea they are wasting time on when there are more important things to fix like the behaviour of kids who think they are perfect when they are really little lazy spawn.

stick long end

And I wanted to hit the Big Whatever because it is only Monday and it was a shit Monday and I have to go back and do Tuesday and why can’t some old dusty relative somewhere cark it and leave me like a gizzillion dollars so I could just sit in my House on the Hill and buy my groceries online and never go out into the nasty world unless I chose, and then only very occasionally.

I swear, just stay out of my way, or you will be seeing some stick action.

Stick list 1

move over Julia Childs, Martha Stewart and Jamie Oliver, here comes Flamingo Dancer!

I strained my shoulder preparing a leg of lamb for the oven. It was a dead leg. I didn’t have to go out and rope a live lamb, or anything as adventurous as that. I merely had to take it out of its vacuum sealed pack. And that is how I was injured.

SIL dropped in on Tuesday with a leg of lamb that she intended roasting in our oven so that we could use it for meals the following day when I wanted to devote the day to final house decluttering. It was to be waiting for me when I came home from work. However, by the time she made the half hour trip across town with it, her plans changed and she decided to go to the movies. So, the leg of lamb became my task.

I arrived home to have Mr FD inform me that I now had extra cooking on my clean-up day. He didn’t quite understand my hesitancy over his sister’s thoughtfulness. Deciding I really had other battles to win, I said no more and accepted my fate.

Next day, I took the meat parcel from the fridge and cut the seal with the kitchen scissors. I pulled on the plastic, but nothing gave. I cut more plastic and grabbed more handfuls of packaging, but it still refused to give. Repeat and repeat again.

The vacuum seal was so tight that the inside layer of wrap was actually impaled into the top layer of the meat. I positively had to wrestle that damn lamb leg across the kitchen bench and back again. I screamed at Mr FD in the next room that I was going to need a lie down after freeing the damn roast. He chose to ignore me. He also chose to ignore the fact that I was muttering nasty things about the past three generations of his family as well.

One more heave and the leg was free of its shroud, just as I felt my right shoulder screamed in protest. I required pain killers to get through the next day.

Mr FD may need painkillers a lot longer than that though, once I recover, for if he didn’t have such a “thoughtful” sibling, I would have a functioning shoulder.

And the lamb roast? It was baked with a layer of mustard and eaten accompanied by roasted vegetables, gravy and a sense of sweet revenge.  I was very careful with the carving knife though.

forget the stick list, we’re going high velocity!

High velocity rockets are set to be stationed on the rooftop of an East London block of flats as the UK makes security preparations for the London Olympics.

Residents in the Lexington building, a private gated block of flats in Bow which holds 700 people, have been informed that ten soldiers will control the premises around the clock during the games.

I don’t know about you, but if I knew I had high velocity rockets just upstairs, I would be so tempted to creep up that staircase and accidentally on purpose take out a few neighbours, relatives and politicians that just don’t make the cut. I mean how often do you get access to a rocket missile that can  travels faster than three times the speed of sound, has a range of 5km and uses a system of three dart-like projectiles to allow multiple hits on a target? Oh, be still my beating heart.

There are already at least four names on my take out list, and no doubt by noon I can summon at least another 67. Mary Wagner, you never should have told Sister Mary Merciless that I had meat on my sandwich during Lent. I got sentenced to a trip to confession and a full rosary; now I am going to vaporise you faster than than three times the speed of sound (I would have been impressed at it just being at the speed of sound, but who am I to complain of over achievement?). That is as soon as I discover your married name,and your address  (Hopefully your present position is within a range of 5 kilometres of my rooftop weapon.  Life is never easy, even mass destruction has its if and buts but I shall prevail).

Oh the sweet, sweet taste of revenge. Take me to the tower …  how fast can you cover 5 kilometres?

article link

R me hearties!


Rand Home Computer

RAT (caption read Rat on the left has been fed on a diet of meat and potatoes)

Reader in a cigar factory


Reflections, 1900

Relics of convict discipline, Hobart, Tasmania, Australia 1910‏

Replica of an English suffragette's purple woven plant fibre hat

Report from The Morning Post newspaper, June 1914, on the trial of men accused of attacking militant Suffragettes

Resolution passed by the Australian Parliament in 1910


rifle team of Drexel Institute

roller skates

Russian dancer



sticking the hot stuff

I went to the hair salon today. It was a little unsatisfying. In fact, the beautician has made it onto my stick list, despite it being the season to be merry and ho, ho, ho. The wax was not only too hot, but she tore off a piece of the Flamingo Dancer skin just below my right eyebrow and made me bleed. This is not really something that I can tolerate, and so she is on the stick list.  This Christmas may be her last.

The other irritation in my beauty afternoon was that I was forced to make conversation. Witty repartee as only a Flamingo Dancer can.

I have found that in the last few weeks I have adopted patterns of silence. I think my spirit needs nourishment and time to replenish before launching into a new year. I have been seeking solace and quiet moments of peace and serenity. This has particularly taken hold in the past two weeks since I have been on vacation. I find myself sitting quietly with no need for words or conversation.

So, going to have my hair styled meant having to make conversation, and I found it almost an intrusion into my private world. Well, more of an intrusion than usual.  I sat quietly when I could, responded when required, but the whole time I just wanted my peace and solitude.

Somehow it was fitting that the beautician made it onto the stick list, as she really was irritating with her constant chatter; what are you doing for Christmas, have you finished your Christmas shopping, are you going away over the holidays, can you believe how fast this year has gone by? I felt like she was on fast forward and repeat at the same time.

I seriously considered dropping her into the wax and sticking a cuticle stick in a inappropriate place, especially when she caused me pain, but settled for the stick list. Some things, such as revenge are worth waiting for.

It shall come to pass, as shall she.