Have you ever been on a plane smaller than a bus? ‘Cos right now, I’m on a plane that’s smaller than a bus. It’s unnerving. Fun fact: I am the only person not in a fluoro vest on this bus plane. Another fun fact: Not only am I the only person not in a fluoro vest, I’m also the only person without a penis. Yes, I’m on a bus/plane full of miners. I am not a miner.
Truth be told, I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I want to weep. Everything is wrong. I’m on my way to Paraburdoo, and even spellcheck is like, FUCK THAT, I got nothing. From Paraburdoo I have to drive about an hour to Tom Price, which frightens me, because kangaroos and trucks and what if my phone doesn’t have reception and I get lost, which admittedly would be hard ‘cos it’s, like, ONE ROAD, but that’s not the point.
We just got served food on the bus/plane, which came as as surprise. It’s a beef, feta and kate fatayer and it’s hotter than the sun.
Also worrying me is what I’m going to eat tonight. I’m staying in one of only two hotels in Tom Price, which I made the mistake of reading the reviews of. It’s also not a hotel. It’s the Bottlemart Express, which as any good traveller will tell you, IS NOT THE NAME OF ANY FIVE-STAR HOTEL I’VE COME ACROSS. There’ll be a pub in Tom Price, certainly, but I’m not entirely sure they’ll have quinoa salads. Parmies and boobies, yes, undoubtedly, but low-carb super-meals? Probably not. I’ve packed some crackers and peanut butter in my case for emergencies, and I’ll be sure to Insta-story the grand occasion of pro-star super-blogger (not really) Lisa Shearon eating crackers with peanut butter at a bottle-o in a mining town. #livingthedream
The guy behind me on the bus/plane just asked for a second beef, feta and kale fatayer because he FUCKING LOVES THEM.
It’s been a weird old week. I’m not sure if Mercury’s in retrograde or Jupiter’s up my arse but everything’s WEIRD. It started on Sunday night, when Alice feel asleep on the sofa at, like, 5.30pm. We were making tea and were, like, where’s Alice? And there she was, curled up, fast asleep. That was weird. I put her to bed, then went to check on her an hour later. She was sitting up in bed, staring into the distance, with this mad glazed look about her. I was, like, “Alice, you okay darling?” And then – steady yourself – she started making weird devil noises at me and sticking out her tongue. Well, I was fucked up. I shouted for Paul and he and Frankie came running in. Paul thought it was fucking hilarious, but Frankie and I were scared shitless. I wouldn’t have been any more freaked out if her head had spun a full 360. And then – straight up – she just lay back down and went to sleep. That was weird.
Monday was a public holiday, but not one worth remembering, because EVERYTHING WAS WEIRD. Ben lost his phone and I lost my shit – both with him and the automated phone system at Optus. God, did I lose my shit. There was no option for “report my phone as lost or stolen,” and every other option ended with, “I’m sorry, we’re experiencing technical difficulties,” or “we don’t know what you want, you complete fucking loser, so we’re hanging up now. Good luck with a being a loser, loser!” Well, I shouted at that fucking robot, let me tell you. It’s the last time she’ll disconnect me! (It’s not.) In the end, I resorted to “live chat” on their website, which ended with me typing in capital letters to a grammatically challenged fellow called Odin words along the lines of: “I’M STILL NOT CLEAR WHAT YOU’RE ASKING ME TO DO, ODIN” and “THOSE WORDS DON’T FORM A COHERENT SENTENCE, ODIN.” Upshot is, Ben doesn’t have a phone and the fuckers who took it out of his bag at Kinross skate park are merrily using all my internet allowance and the REST. Paul says I’m being a dick for worrying about the Kinross skate park fuckers using up my internet allowance. He says Kinross skate park fuckers have better things to do than google with gay abandon, but I’m not so sure.
Once I’d calmed the fuck down, and apologised to Odin, we took the kids to glow-in-the-dark dinosaur golf. Now, I’m not necessarily sure those two things need to go together. In fact, I’m almost certain those two things don’t go together. It was not the place for me. It was weird. Frankie threw the MOTHERFUCKER of all tantrums because he didn’t get a hole in one, which culminated in him ditching a glow-in-the-dark golf ball and its accompanying club across the room, narrowly missing a dinosaur and a dad. I was, like, fuck this, and left him to it, only to walk straight into an old lady spewing dramatically into a spotted (possibly glow-in-the-dark) bucket. And just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder, we made the mistake of spending money at the café, where the kids ate food items so dry that they actually crumbled as you looked at them. Note to self: cafés with handwritten signs offering muffins with a free “can of drink” are not to be trusted.
The week got EVEN WEIRDER when Ben and I appeared on SBS Insight, talking about technology in schools. I’d kind of forgotten we’d done that, about a month or so ago, in Sydney. It was weird when it popped up on Facebook and TV, and even weirder when I read the comments accompanying a clip of me saying that kids shouldn’t have computers at school. First rule: NEVER READ THE COMMENTS. One motherfucker was, like, “Ha ha, blogger’s just another word for unemployed,” and I was, like, FUCK YOU, DWAYNE, I’M ACTUALLY GAINFULLY EMPLOYED SO FUCK OFF.” It really got my back up! The vast majority of people seemed to think I was saying kids shouldn’t be learning tech skills at all, and should be writing essays with a fucking quill, or something, but that wasn’t my point AT ALL. My point was, kids shouldn’t be totally fucking reliant on technology for their learning. Ben’s old school was. The kids were on their MacBooks before the siren went, for all their lessons, during lunchtime, and after school. It was FUCKED. That was my point – everything in moderation. But that message got lost in translation, with the result that silly fuckers were commenting that I was a fuckwit, “because don’t you know that every single job in the future is going to be tech-based?” Which is bollocks, obviously, because what about:
And don’t tell me that those jobs will use technology because yeah, they might, but they’re not going to be solely reliant on technology and humans are going to still need basic fucking life skills you PRICKS.
Also don’t tell me that we need to future proof our children for jobs that haven’t even been invented yet because GUESS WHAT, my job didn’t exist when I was a kid – or even a teenager – and I’m doing okay, thank you very fucking much, you silly fuckers.
As you can see, the issue got my back up, ever so slightly. Sorry for the excessive fucking swearing.
And now, here I am, on a bus/plane, really really needing a wee but there’s absolutely no fucking way I’m going to wake up the sleeping miner next to me to get to the toilet. Do bus/planes even have toilets? I mean, they have beef, feta and kale fatayers, so they should have toilets, am I right.
Here’s another weird thing: Alice has been watching HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALICE songs on YouTube all week. On repeat. Believe it or, there’s a whole raft of them. She uses the speaker thingy to search for songs and all you can hear is her saying, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALICE,” and then the song. It’s been a weird week.
I did inappropriate swearing this week too, which I feel bad about. A mum gave me a birthday invitation and it was for the same day that I’d planned to have Alice’s party (but hadn’t got my act together to write the invitations for) and I opened it and said, OH FUCK, in front of the mum and her two small, charming daughters. She looked shocked and I felt bad, even though I apologised profusely.
The miners are all asleep on the bus/plane. All of them. Poor tired miners.