Nowt, I tell you, nowt to report

...but I won't let lack of material get in the way of a blog post.

Yesterday my bee-eff left for LA as part of his glamorous rock star lifestyle or whatever. The loving gee-eff in me is glad he's experiencing his first O/S travel in the more or less protective herd of manager and band mates and hopes the five-day trip will be all merriment and wonder.

The shadenfreundine in me, however, kind of hopes that at least a few people he attempts to communicate with in English look at him like he's speaking gibberish and is foaming at the mouth, even though he is just asking for change. It would be a tiny gain for me on the balance sheet of linguistic hardship if he could just once experience asking for a bottle of water and getting a plate of chicken wings instead, or accidentally saying 'hello' instead of 'thank you'.

When he left, the neurotic grandma in me checked planecrashinfo.com every thirty minutes just in case CNN missed a bulletin, but no, he landed safely. Never do this, by the way. And never watch Air Crash Investigation on cable. And never watch CNN for more time than it takes to change the channel, Anna Bloody Coren lurketh there.

What else? I'm not gravely ill anymore. Which is good in a sense and bad in that I no longer need Queen Latifah to change my breathing tube or Angelina Jolie to collect bone shards for me. Frankie is good company... mainly. He pissed on the doona about six seconds after I took it out of the fresh laundry and put it on the bed, but made up for it by catching a gigantic flying cockroach that was trying to hide under the cupboards. Speaking of which, massive flying cockroaches should stop existing. I can deal - *just* - with the non air-borne type, but cockroaches can generally climb up 90-degree angles and crawl across the roof, so what do they need flying skills for? Simply to horrify me is one potential right answer. To land on my head, get stuck in my hair and therefore cause me complete mental breakdown that eventually leads to coma and death is another.

I'm afraid Tom Yum Goong is on the telly and is infinitely more interesting than this, especially with its fake Aussie accents and kickboxing around Cockle Bay, so must go and eat some white carbohydrate while staring at the box.

More news as it doesn't happen...