I am tired of getting 'Knocked Up'

It is Monday. I wish I was not at work. I wish I was at home, sleeping. I have not felt this tired since, well, at least last Monday…

I am knackered, dog-tired, bone-tired, I’m beat, burned out, dead on my feet, drained, drooping, droopy, drowsy, flagging, haggard, pooped, spent, plum tuckered out. I’m worn out. It is surprising that people who are apparently so tired have the energy to create so many euphemisms and synonyms to indicate just how tired they are.

But let me tell you about my favourite ‘feeling tired’ euphemism which amused me as a teenager. My step-grandfather, whenever my Grandmother was worn out, would say that she was ‘knocked up’. Considering that getting ‘knocked up’ is a euphemism for falling pregnant my sisters and I found quiet comical. If my grandmother was enduring a particularly taxing outing my step-grandfather would say that he better get her home before “she gets knocked-up” which would provoke my sisters and me to arch eyebrows, smirk and sometimes squeal with laughter.


Another source of amusement in those days came from the fact that my grandmother slept with my Uncle. Don’t be too aghast! Let me explain… When my grandmother began ‘stepping out’ with the man who was to become my step-grandfather I was encouraged to call him ‘Uncle’, seemingly because it was not ‘proper’ for a child to address an adult by their first name. However, by the time that they married the name had stuck which led to some strange and worried looks on the faces of my friends’ mothers when I would blithely announce that my grandmother and my uncle were married to each other and slept in the same bed… .

Bagging the PM

Australia's first female Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, won, if that is the word for such a knife-edge result, the first election ever contested by a female leader of a major political party. This was another milestone moment to please the hearts of the socially progressive (statistics show that female Premiers elected by the party room between elections have not been so lucky come polling day.)

Despite winning the election the Prime Minister has clearly still not won the right to rid herself of The Australian newspaper’s regressive, taunting scrutiny. Glenda Korporaal’s post election-result article ‘Julia enjoys the high life free of old bags’ is dedicated to the fact that the Prime Minister is rarely seen with a handbag. The writer, and the newspaper she works for, clearly considers this to be an issue worthy of mention and discussion.

The articles states that most woman carry handbags and infers that the PM considers herself to be apart, perhaps better, than the average Australian woman because she does not tote a bag. “There is an air of royalty about her that assumes someone else is following along answering the phone, parking the car, taking notes and paying for whatever needs to be paid for.” I do not recall seeing any of this country’s male Prime Minister’s carrying a briefcase, satchel or manbag. I do not recall bewildered articles in newspapers commenting on this fact and the existence of assistants employed to ‘assist’ them when they had held the office of most important public servant in the country.

The ‘journalist’ also uses the piece to snidely reference Julia Gillard’s childless state “it is certain our first female Prime Minister has never had to go through the tote-bag-as-mobile-nursery routine that is the lot of mothers of young children.”

What has raising a child got to do with carrying a handbag, and what does carrying a handbag, or not, got to do with running a country?

And more importantly what does writing articles like this have to do with journalism?

Frogging the memory

From my office window I watch people trying to cross the four lanes of traffic travelling in both directions on the road below. It is a bit like watching someone else play a game of Frogger.

Not being at the controls of the arcade game is nerve-wracking because some people seem to dawdle across the road oblivious to the on-coming traffic. Other people, usually teenagers, duck and weave through the traffic like Frogger maestros. I just hope that I am not looking out the window one day when it is GAME OVER for one of the players on the street below.


Thinking about playing Frogger as a child reminds me that much of my childhood was associated with frogs. My favourite chocolate was a frog-shaped chocolate, the Cadbury Freddo Frog,

my favourite computer game was Frogger, my favourite character on the Muppets was Kermit the Frog

and my favourite book was Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows where the main character was Toad

(yes, I know, not truly a frog but close enough surely especially considering he was so often represented as being more froggy than toady).

I am at a loss to explain why 1980’s children grew up in a world disproportionately filled with green tailless amphibians. But why explain it when you can simply embrace it?

I still love eating Freddo frogs. I considered it, and still do consider it, the greatest indulgence to eat a Freddo. When I was young the Freddo was a parentally approved special treat; apparently its small size would not ruin my appetite or my physique. Every year I purchased the Freddo show bag at the Royal Show and I would cherish the Freddo toy that came with it. Sure it was all crap – but it was Freddo crap and that made it special.

Whenever we dined at the Red Apple Restaurant (sigh! How I miss thee!) I would order Frog in the Pond for dessert, that is, a Freddo frog standing proudly in a pond of green jelly. Heaven in a bowl for a five year old. As a child I ordered a Semifreddo dessert at another restaurant and spent the rest of the meal trying to not let my parents see the disappointed look on my face as I searched in vain amongst the custardy cream mixture to locate the half of a chocolate frog I had ordered – and been promised!

Obvious news

So glad they added that it was 'against the law' otherwise I would have thought it was a story about legal-illegal camping.

Courtesy of Media Watch

Those Nazi muscle groups

Old conversation with a friend about the pain his body is experiencing due to his exercise regimen.

Josh: I've been working out 6 days a week, doing opposite work loads on alternate days

David: Ok.

Josh: I didn't have a problem last week. So I am unsure why it is hurting now

David: maybe your muscle groups have formed an Axis-style coalition against you

Josh: hahaha

David: ve protest in zee strongest possible manner against ure phzeeical regeeme

Josh: lol

David: ve vill not stand for zhis - hell ve can barely even seeet

Them ones' spellen misteaks

Two people sent emails to me with grammatical errors today.

Firstly I was informed that…

A list of the boards are provided below.

List is singular! It should be ‘is provided below’ And let's not forget that apostrophe for the boards i.e. boards'.

And then a senior legal officer sent me this asking…

What is there status? Their status!! That phrase would only work if I was a Roman named Status during the time of the Caesars and my questioner was asking, “Why go to Adelaide for a holiday? What is there, Status?

Not to mention the fact that the stationery cupboard’s name is Stationary Cupboard.

Breathe deeply David. Breathe deeply.