Musings on life, the universe and an elephant named Flobo


I have a confession to make. Those of you who do not know me may be shocked, those that do know me may be slightly less shocked – or they may be more so.

Firstly, I have never really understood the whole purpose of confessions. I used to get dragged to the confessional by my parents a couple of times a year (generally around Lent from memory) and as, in my mind, a well-behaved girl I never thought I really had much to confess. I didn’t tend to lie or steal, hadn’t murdered anyone and was far too young to even think of converting my neighbours arse (donkey or otherwise). So, to pass the time and so that my father would see that I had taken part in this ritual and been granted penance, I would use my story telling abilities to concoct some rather far-fetched lies. I would then, confess to lying and figured that I had successfully navigated the religious path. The priest, would usually shake his head slightly, occasionally smile and tell me I had kinda missed the point and give me some Hail Mary’s to say. Generally I would leave the confessional, go out into a pew, kneel and spend a couple of minutes coming up with future stories to tell the priest. Anyway, I digress… my confession..

As some of you may be aware, I am an Aussie girl, born and bred. My confession today shakes my sun-kissed heritage to its knees. I stand here before you (just close your eyes and pretend I am standing before you – come on, play along) to admit that I…hate Vegemite. Yes, you heard that correctly. I absolutely loathe the putrid stuff. If I wanted to consume that yeast, I would just drink beer – after all, as far as I am aware, that is where it is extracted from – shit left over from beer. I can almost hear gasps of shock and disbelief coming from the Aussies reading this. Yes, I know it is an unAustralian thing to admit however the truth needed to be said. I do not like the colour, I do not like the taste, the smell makes me hurl and I do not belong in the Promite, Marmite or any other mite camp. If it is anything even remotely like Vegemite, it should be tossed in the bin.

Well, that felt good. Like a weight has been lifted. Let’s see… what else can I get off my chest.

I hate the Spice Girls. I always did. Whenever one of the songs came on (apart from being as catchy as hell), I wanted to take an impact drill to my temples. The music may have been a pivotal part of the 90’s when I was in primary school although that does not mean I had to like it. I love 90’s music. Spice Girls definitely excluded. On the subject of music, also can’t stand Kylie Minogue (yep – taking down a fellow Aussie) or Madonna.

An even bigger confession would be, I hated Moby Dick. It is still one of the few books I have not been able to finish. I found it an absolute snoozefest. I fell asleep during the first chapters of Fifty Shades of Grey and have never read or seen any of the Twilight series because I think that the last decent vampire story was Dracula.

As far as movies, I cannot stand to watch One flew over the cuckoos nest as the last scene where the Chief obligingly suffocates the main character just makes me gag – and I have a strong stomach. I walked out of the cinema when Suckerpunch was playing (I also thought the term was Soccer punch) and don’t like Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, or a host of other actors and actresses and… I am really creeped out by David Attenborough. I don’t know what it is about him, I find his nature documentaries to be quite fascinating but he personally gives me the creeps – although I love his bro in Jurassic Park, The Great Escape and Miracle on 34th Street.

I hate strawberries, I saw a microscopic picture of those things years ago and have not wanted to put one in my mouth since, although I love strawberry flavoured foods – especially Strawberry Freddo.

I am sure my confession could go on and on, although I have probably clocked up more than a few Hail Mary’s with this list so I will leave it at that for the time being.

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