Ah, you gotta love the Aussie vernacular! Across the country, there are many different words for the humble swimsuit - togs, bathers, swimmers, boardies. Depends where you come from.

But the best by a country mile is used for those abbreviated swim trunks most people call speedos.

Here, they’re known as “budgie smugglers“. 

And if you take a real good look to the right, you’ll see why.

I think it’s clever, and funny and dry - real Oz humour.  Also, um, very visual. *chuckle*

At the moment, there’s a debate raging in lifesaving circles. (You guys Over There call them lifeguards.) Budgie smugglers or board shorts? Apparently, young men aren’t signing on because having to appear in public wearing their speedos makes them feel uncomfortable. Old hands say it’s more important to be fast and safe in the water during a rescue. The local press have the story here. It’s accompanied by a complete gallery of budgie smugglers, so you can see for yourself.

I’m ambivalent. After all, a man needs incredible self-confidence and a body like a god to be able carry off a pair of budgie smugglers - and let’s face it, there aren’t too many of them!

The billboard says it all really. What do you think? Do speedos on the beach put you off your lunch? I don’t see how the principle is all that different from a bikini, to be honest. It’s all about the body - and the budgies.

What do you call a swimsuit where you’re from? A swimsuit? Or something else entirely?

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I recall Sesame Street with tremendous fondness.  I always had an especially soft spot for Ze Count (”vun bat, two bats!”), but I loved Cookie Monster too, and the gentle Mr Snuffleupagus. Mind you, I’d have to love a beastie with such a wonderfully onomatopoeic name. Don’t worry, I had to use the spell check for that one. *blush*

I was reminded of those days of sticky little fingers when I came across this online interview with Cookie Monster. Go and watch, it’s the sweetest thing. Persevere through the short ad beforehand. The interviewer asks Cookie Monster a number of questions from the “Proust Questionnaire” and I got the strongest sense of deja vue when I heard them.

Then I remembered. Not long after I first signed with Ellora’s Cave, I did an interview with Just Erotic Romance Reviews and they asked a couple of the Proust questions. Here are all the questions Cookie Monster was asked and I’ve included my answers to ones from the JERR interview. The whole JERR interview is here on my website if you’re curious about the rest of it. Seems a long time ago now…

1. What is your favourite word?

2. What is your least favourite word?

3. What sound do you love?

An operatic baritone like Bryn Terfel reduces me to a puddle. Gotta love a man who can sing! Then there’s that chirrup of greeting cats offer to a beloved human. So sweet.

4. What sound do you hate?

Angry shouting - and it’s worse if the combatants are drunk.

5. What is your favourite curse word?

[I must admit, I thought long and hard about how to answer this one. So does Cookie Monster.]

Aussies aren’t known for being mealy-mouthed, so I’m afraid I let rip with all the usual obscenities, but my favorite cussword is “Pox!” You can say it in almost any company and it has a lovely virulent edge to it. Muttering “pox-rotted trollop” at some idiot (don’t care about gender) always relieves my feelings. Very eighteenth century.

6. Who would you like to see on a new dollar bill?

7. What profession other than your own, would you least like to do?

8. If you were reincarnated as some other animal or plant, what would it be?

9. If Heaven exists, what would you like God to say to you as you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

I hope She’ll say something like - “Not bad for a first try, little one. Want another go?”

I’d love to hear your responses to any or all of these questions. They’re interesting, aren’t they? And quite revealing too.Clever guy, that Proust.

It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 11

A Calendar of Choices

The story so far:

Kate and Jack make love in the hot pool, but Kate manages to hold her own, (so to speak). “No one steals my heart and soul,” she tells him. “Not even a pirate.” But something’s moving, out there in the jungle…

“Well, hell,” said Jack. He turned to look over his shoulder and the flex of his hips made his hardness shift deep inside Kate. She gasped.

Then she squeaked with dismay.

The fronds were parting and pirates were stepping out of the jungle, one by one, a calendar of buccaneer beefcake. In the lead was the giant Duka, the sun gleaming off the gleaming chocolate expanse of his splendid chest. The First Mate was followed by Peter, his blond hair thick and shiny, peering over the top of his spectacles like some sexy professor.

Oh yeah, mama, whispered Tess. She and Ess were sitting on a tree branch, their mouths hanging open, their wings beating the air in time with Kate’s agitated pulse.

“We was wonderin’, Cap’n,” murmured another man, a gorgeous oriental specimen, his almond eyes dark and intense over high, slashing cheekbones and a straight blade of a nose. He had a small goatee, neatly trimmed. “Where ye’d got to.”

“Aye.” Duka draped a huge arm over the man’s lean shoulders, making him stagger for an instant before he recovered. “And now we know.” The First Mate winked. “Not that we’re surprised.” He glanced at the rest of the calendar. “Are we, lads?”

All up, there was four months’ worth of magnificent male flesh, including Harley, the poster boy for bikers who preferred boats. And Jack.

Holy shit.

Hunching down, Kate tried to conceal herself behind Jack’s body, but he laughed and nuzzled her hair. “They don’t bother me, pretty Kate.” God, he’d stiffened inside her! Despite herself, she bore down on his delicious hardness, her flesh rippling.

“Pervert!” she hissed, wriggling the slightest bit.

Jack grinned, unrepentant, and her stupid heart did giddy-ups.

Kate released her death grip on his shoulders to put her hands to her burning cheeks. “Don’t you have any inhibitions at all?” she snapped.

“Not a one.” He paused and his brows drew down. “Pity though…”

“Pity? What’s a pity?”

Jack gave a theatrical sigh, his eyes dancing, which meant his chest expanded, brushing against her nipples. Kate bit her lip to keep the moan from escaping. “We need to dry you off. Dammit all to hell, you feel so hot and tight and bloody gorgeous and I’m going to have to pull out.” As he spoke, he began to ease away, his satin-steel cock slipping reluctantly over her slick tissues.

“No.” Kate grabbed his hips and clenched her thighs, shivering with sensation. “Don’t. They’ll see.” She swallowed. “See all of me.”

He throbbed inside her like a second heart. “Darlin’ girl.” He dropped a kiss on her nose, another on her panting mouth. “I told you.” Although he beamed with apparently simple pleasure and his eyes were guileless, his teeth shone very white. Sharp.

Kate had to lick her lips. Someone growled, but she couldn’t tell who. “Told me what?”

“You’re mine, sweetheart.” He rocked back into her, punctuating each word with a short thrust. “Body. Heart. And Soul.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see pirates kicking off their boots. A shirt sailed through the air and landed in a billow of white on the branch next to the Hormone Harlots. Their eyes as wide as dolls’ house dinner plates, they didn’t even flinch.

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Americans do some things Very Well - lots of things, I’ve discovered. Making a decent cup of tea isn’t one of them, but plumbing is. America gets the Gold Medal in the Restroom Olympics, as far as I’m concerned. Because I have a bladder the size of a pea, I have already made an extensive study, on both continents.

The only problem is, American plumbing is so incredibly sophisticated, I’m totally bemused by it - also confused, and occasionally, seriously startled.

I have never - ever- seen such a bewildering array of levers, knobs and dials. And that includes taps (faucets), showers and toilets. What’s worse is that no two of them are alike.

It requires a degree in engineering to take a shower. Which bit do you pull, or twist or press - and in which direction? Clockwise or anti? Ouch! One night, I decided I deserved a hot bath, but I couldn’t work out how to keep the plug in, so there I was, trying to relax with one heel jammed on top of the recalcitrant plug. Humpf! Not conducive.

Faucet-wise, my most inglorious moment was having a ten year old explain to me that you wave your hands under the tap to start the water flowing. Duh! Dumb Aussie! Oh, and the water is warm! I can’t get over it.

As for the toilets! OMG! The first time one of them flushed all by itself when it detected daylight past my rising derrière, I just about ricocheted off the ceiling. Just as well I’d already done what I went there for. Even the compost loos in Yosemite weren’t too bad. And there’s always paper. I was so impressed.

So in scatological conclusion, here’s some highly significant bear poop, recorded on location in Yosemite. Note that the bear had a real blow-out on wild raspberries. Looks like happy bear poop to me. We did see a mama bear and cub, BTW, in the distance. Very exciting!

To improve the tone a trifle, here are a couple more Yosemite pics - a better one of Mirror Lake and one of me about to die partway up the almost-vertical stone staircase to the top of Vernal Falls, the Mist Trail. A “once in a lifetime experience” - as in, NEVER, EVER AGAIN! I swear it. A gradient of 1 in 8. (Note charm bracelet, BTW)

Back to San Francisco tomorrow, to see if I can find another romance writer to squeal hello to. Think I might get lucky? More later about Monterey, Hearst Castle, crappy Mustangs and elephant seals.

It’s hard to believe, I know, but my good friend and critique partner, Christine Wells, seems to have incarcerated poor Lady Kate from The Dangerous Duke. The Unfortunate Lady appears to be locked up in some strange labyrinth called the Writer’s Mind, her only consolation a strange little device called a lapdog - uh, top.

The story so far: The Dangerous Duke heroine, Lady Kate Fairchild, has been kidnapped by Romance Bandits and taken to their Lair. As punishment for the pain she caused her creator, Lady Kate must write a Diary of her Adventures, while served cocktails by Sven, the resident Swedish masseur. The Duke of Lyle is self-appointed editor of this mass of over-sentimentalized text.

For heaven’s sake, go and talk to the poor woman! I shudder to think of what may happen to Lady Kate, who is, after all, An Innocent. (Well, more or less.) She needs distraction. Oh dear, oh dear.

One lucky commenter in June will win an autographed copy of A Red Hot New Year, four sizzling stories to ring in the New Year, including my contribution, Coming on Strong!

It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 9

Harlot Heaven

The story so far:

Having arrived at Sweet Sisters Isle, Kate is finding it difficult to fight the buzz of magic in her blood, let alone cope with Jack’s distracting, sexy presence or the sight of Duka mastering the Duchess. To her surprise, Jack gives her the choice as to what they do next. And she thought he only had one thing on his mind…

The path through the jungle was as lovely as everything else on Sweet Sisters Isle, deeply shaded, the deep, fine sand pleasantly cool between Kate’s bare toes. Every now and then it narrowed, and she had the guilty pleasure of watching the flex of Jack’s muscular buttocks, swinging along in front of her.

Great ass, observed the husky-voiced Harlot. Biteable.

The air shimmered at the edges of Kate’s vision, as if a large dragon-fly had just whisked out of existence. She jerked around, but there was nothing to be seen, only the feathery fronds of jungle plants-and what was that? An orchid?

Smiling, Kate reached out to stroke her fingertips over the thick, creamy petals. The lilac coloured throat emitted a low mewl of pleasure.

“Aaargh!” She jumped back, and Jack’s arms slid around her waist from behind, reassuringly strong and solid.

“Relax, Kate,” a deep voice purred in her ear. It’s just the magic.”

“But it made a noise!”

“So what? It likes you.” He nuzzled her cheek. “You’re a vortex for the magic. It’s drawn to you. I can see it swirling all over your head and shoulders. Rather like a halo.” He gave a decidedly devilish chuckle. “One I intend to tarnish, good and proper.”

Before Kate could think of a suitably scathing reply, he took her hand, lacing their fingers together, tugging her along. “C’mon, just a little further.”

A narrow path branched upward and Jack took it at a rapid pace, his hand strong in hers.

The air grew warm and steamy and the chuckle of water falling on stone filled the air. The vegetation grew positively luxuriant - rampant vines looped over silky tree trunks, flowers bloomed profusely, everywhere she looked, in every possible shade of pastel, gleaming in iridescent tones from cream to violet and back again. And it smelled - God, it smelled absolutely divine!

Despite herself, Kate’s eyes filled with tears. When she saw Jack had turned to stare, she dashed a hand across her eyes. “Don’t say it,” she snarled. “I’m a sentimental fool.”

Jack said nothing, but he bent his handsome head and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. Then he ushered her through a tumbledown arch made of honey-gold stone.

All the breath punched out of Kate’s lungs.

They stood on the lip of a pool of clear water, as green as jade. It lay like a jewel in the dappled sunlight, tendrils of steam drifting above the surface in slow arabesques. For all the world, it looked as though a team of ancient Greek sculptors had completed half the coping and then become bored and wandered off, leaving the rest to Nature. Marble steps descended into the translucent depths, and a statue of a gracefully bending maiden emptied an urn into the pool, the long stream of falling water as smooth and beautiful as the finest Venetian glass. Rather to Kate’s surprise, the maiden was decorously clad in a flowing tunic that left one stone shoulder bare.

“Do you like it?” Jack smiled at her and for a moment, Kate thought she could glimpse the boy in the man.

She could only nod, lost for words, her eyes still stinging with an emotion she didn’t understand.

A warm palm rubbed gentle circles over her spine. “You need this, pretty Kate. Think of it as the gift of the Sweet Sisters - peace, at least for a little while.”

“P-peace?”

Want more? You can read all of Kate and see more pirates on the Rackety Kate page.

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One lucky commenter in June will win an autographed copy of A Red Hot New Year, four sizzling stories to ring in the New Year, including my contribution, Coming on Strong!

The things people do never cease to amaze me - juvenile, quirky and just plain nuts. Like taking their pants off in public. Recently I came across the 7th Annual No Pants! Subway Ride. Yep, you read that right - no pants.

It’s so weird, the whole concept has its own endearing charm - in a totally off-the-wall kinda way.

On Saturday January 12th, 2008 nearly 2,000 people took off their pants on subways in 10 cities around the world. In New York’s 7th Annual No Pants! Subway Ride there were around 900 participants, spread out over three subway lines.

Here’s a video of the event. Some of the looks on the bystanders’ faces are priceless. I’m not sure what my reaction would be - shock, embarrassment, amusement. What about you? Perhaps you think it’s stupid and a waste of time.

It was organised by a group called Improv Everywhere. (”We cause scenes”). Here’s what they say about themselves -

Improve Everywhere causes scenes of chaos and joy in public places. Created in August of 2001 by Charlie Todd, Improv Everywhere has executed over 70 missions involving thousands of undercover agents. The group is based in New York City.

Improv Everywhere is, at its core, about having fun. We’re big believers in “organized fun”. Our missions are a fun source of entertainment for the participants, those who happen to see us live, and those who read this website. We get satisfaction from coming up with an awesome idea and making it come to life. In the process we bring excitement to otherwise unexciting locales and give strangers a story they can tell for the rest of their lives. We’re out to prove that a prank doesn’t have to involve humiliation or embarrassment; it can simply be about making someone laugh, smile, or stop to notice the world around them.

Their Frozen Grand Central Station is a real hoot too.

I like the idea of random chaos and amusement. Not so sure about joy though! All those skinny hairy legs…

Have you ever done something zany “just because”? On a mad impulse? Or have you observed when someone else did? How did it turn out? Have you laughed ’til you cried in a crowd? It’s beautifully infectious that kind of thing, bonding though hilarity.

Sad to relate, I can’t think of an instance in my own life, though there must be some. I know I’ve worn some pretty strange clothes, also fancy dress costumes, in my time. But overall, I fear I’m a pretty staid character. *sigh*

And if you haven’t, like me, what do you think holds you back? What would make it possible? A group like this?

One lucky commenter in June will win an autographed copy of A Red Hot New Year, four sizzling stories to ring in the New Year, including my contribution, Coming on Strong!

Are you a cat person or a dog person? I love dogs, but I cannot imagine life without a cat. To have a cat lie sleeping in your lap, all sort of boneless and heavy and sleek, that’s such a gift. And it always makes me feel calmer. I love their little concrete feet - it’s amazing how an animal so light and graceful can have a tread like an elephant stepping on your stomach!

I’d like you to meet Merlin, our current Burmese boy. It’s winter here and cold (well, a little bit). I’d been working on the laptop and left it open on the bed, nice and warm. When I returned, this is what I found.

If you look closely, you’ll see that His Feline Lordship had opened Firefox Help and even done a search for me -

111qjw1gbhgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg

Poor Firefox!

Merlin’s an inveterate head-butter and although he’s a tiny little fellow, the runt of the litter, his tokens of affection can make you see stars.

He used to assist the Muse by sitting on top of the monitor and letting his tail dangle down, dead centre. He said it gave me something long and gorgeous to use for inspiration! I used to say it sent me cross-eyed.

These days, I use the laptop almost exclusively, so he’s learned to walk on the keyboard instead. An excellent way of getting my attention! It results in books written like thissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss…………………..

And they’re all so different. My sweet old fatty cat, who died at nineteen, rarely moved faster than a stately waddle. The only time he sped up was when the phone rang, so he could jump onto my lap if I sat down. In fact, he died on my lap, purring loudly as the vet slid in the needle. He didn’t “go to sleep”, not really. He just – stopped. It was so peaceful, so beautiful. And I’ve made myself cry, even though that was nine years ago. I still miss him, my dear old friend.

I have a couple of friends who really don’t like cats. They say felines give them the willies. The funny thing is, all my cats have always made a beeline for those people, even to the extent of having to be locked away in another room. I couldn’t work it out until I read that it’s cat etiquette not to meet the eyes of another cat, not until you’re properly introduced and sniffed. People who dislike cats avoid looking at them. My cats must have been thinking,”What excellent manners!” Meanwhile ignoring the peasants snapping their fingers and calling, ‘Puss, puss!’”

Ironic, really.

What about you? Cat person or dog person? And what is it you particularly enjoy about cats? I love their grace and their pride. No one acts cooler than an offended cat.

I’ll be announcing the winner of everything droolworthy as soon as I can get My Beloved to pick the name. Something different for June, I think…. Keep the comments coming!

We first discovered My Beloved was afraid of heights in a cable car dangling thousands of feet in the air above an Alpine valley. It was not a happy moment.

I don’t have the same problem. I’ll tell you about my idea of hell at the end of this post. But don’t worry, that’s after we’ve been to lunch in the restaurant on the mountain. It’s my shout - an Aussie expression meaning I’ll pay.

Ready? First, hop on the cable car to reach the start of the trail.

Here’s the path. Off you go now.

Be sure to hold onto the “railing.”

Keep an eye on the guys in front.

And be careful if you have to pass someone going the other way…

Up a few steps now. Oh, can’t see them? On the left.

It’s a bit steeper here. Better get your toes in those holes.

Only a few more steps. Trust me…

Hey, look! You made it. The table’s in my name and guess what? The food’s free for anyone who makes it to the restaurant. Talk among yourselves, okay? I’ll join you later.

My idea of hell?

I’m not real good at small spaces and I hate arguing and anger. Hell for me is being locked in a metal box with wheels (ie a car) with My Beloved while we circle an underground car park looking for a space - endlessly, endlessly - and he rages and curses with frustration. It drives me insane.

Do you have phobias? Heights? Caves? Spiders? The number thirteen?

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

This is really really weird, but somehow this lovely post got corrupted so that it looks really weird in Firefox. Internet Explorer doesn’t seem to be affected. I’ve had to delete the entire post - and ALL the comments to fix it. Sorree…

So now I’m going to try adding the comments back in, because I saved them all. Cunning, eh? It’s going to look like I’m talking to myself, but there you go… *grump*

I’ve never thought much about why people forward jokes, but a friend sent me this beautiful message the other day, and the lights went on. Read this and you’ll never think of a message that starts FWD: Three men walked into a bar…. quite the same way again.

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead.

He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side

When he was close enough, he called out, ‘Excuse me, where are we?’

‘This is Heaven, sir,’ the man answered.

‘Wow! Would you happen to have some water?’ the man asked.

‘Of course, sir. Come right in, and I’ll have some ice water brought right up.’ The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

‘Can my friend,’ gesturing toward his dog, ‘come in, too?’ the traveller asked.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t accept pets.’

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

‘Excuse me!’ he called to the man. ‘Do you have any water?’

‘Yeah, sure, there’s a pump over there, come on in.’

‘How about my friend here?’ the traveller gestured to the dog.

‘There should be a bowl by the pump.’

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.

The traveller filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree.

‘What do you call this place?’ the traveller asked.

‘This is Heaven,’ he answered.

‘Well, that’s confusing,’ the traveller said. ‘The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.’

‘Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That’s hell.’

‘Doesn’t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?’

‘No, we’re just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.’

***

So…

Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us without writing a word. Maybe this will explain.

When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes.

When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.

When you have something to say, but don’t know what, and don’t know how, you forward jokes.

Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you get?

A forwarded joke.

So, next time if you get a joke, don’t think that you’ve been sent just another forwarded joke, but that you’ve been thought of today and your friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.

You are all welcome @ my water bowl anytime.

I can’t imagine an afterlife worthy of the name where my old friends wouldn’t be welcome. Not when they gave me so much in their comparatively short lives. A part of the family.

It’s rather a different take on jokes, isn’t it? What’s your first thought when you see a forwarded joke in your email? Anticipation or irritation? Perhaps you run a joke list. If so, why? What do you gain from it?

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!