Beautiful young girls rule the world

I was walking the dog the other day when another dog walker passed me on the way back home.

There's nothing unusual about this scenario, except she was plugged into her iPod and singing at the top of her lungs. The sound was enough to send all the neighbourhood dogs crazy. It was whiny and screechy, but she was oblivious to her lack of vocal talent.

She sashayed past me with a flick of her shiny, waist-length brown hair, dragging a small, white feather-duster dog on a diamante leash.

The walker was around 20, with legs up to her ears and wearing brief, hot-pink shorts and a skimpy top that showed a healthy amount of cleavage.

Get the picture?

I slowed down and contemplated my own dog-walking ensemble. From top to bottom it was: Gilligan hat in lime green, mauve T-shirt, a pair of tomato-sauce red terry-towelling gym pants with GT stripe on the outside legs (they're a 'size 14 girl', but my two daughters wouldn't wear them). And on the feet, a pair of red ecco sandals with velcro straps that I snapped up for $3 at the Salvo's store in Ulladulla (had to put that in - what a bargain!)

Accessories: mongrel dog, grubby lime-green leash and one bag of steaming dog poo.

As I dragged my heels (and the mutt), I wondered how it had come to this. The thing is I no longer set out to impress anyone with my appearance. That's not to say I don't care. But it is to say I don't worry. It's a middle-age thing.

As I turned the corner, the gorgeous young thing with a voice like a fishwife (thank god she wasn't perfect) walked straight ahead to the main road.

At the same time, a middle-aged bloke in a 4WD drove past and towards the main road and almost veered into a light pole. And it wasn't because he was horrified by my outfit.

In ya dreams, mate!

Al Green to tour Australia and I'm missing out

For half my life I have waited for the Reverend Al Green to tour Australia.

I love Al Green. I worship the stage upon which he walks and the pulpit from which he preaches. His music transports me to that space between heaven and earth where the seraphims hover on his soulful sounds.

But enough hero worship. Al Green is coming to Australia for the first time and I won't be here. Well, I will. But I won't be on mainland Australia. I'll be in bloody Tasmania!

Tassie seemed like an excellent idea at the time. I've never been to the Apple Isle and was looking forward to seeing some of the most spectular scenery the world has to offer.

But then Green's peeps come along and put a spanner in the works. Green is the headline artist at the launch of the Sydney Festival in the Domain on January 9. That's the day I fly down to Tassie.

*Sob*

Green is also doing two shows at the State Theatre, probably the best venue in Sydney to see a live act. Then he goes to Melbourne on the 14th and up to BrizVegas on the 19th. He's doing Perth too. But NOT Tassie. No one does Tassie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I arrive back home on the 17th. I am soooooooo disappointed. The planets are not aligned in my favour. The stars are out of sync. Is there a God? Green thinks so, but I reckon God has slammed the big golden door in my face. Our Father has decided I don't deserve to see Al Green.

Poor alternative: Load The message is love, Nearer my God to Thee, I can't get next to you, How can you mend a broken heart, Take me to the river and Here I am onto my iPod. And pretend I am nearer Al to thee.

The things people say when you decide to quit your job

I didn't quit my job on a whim.

Before I decided to resign, I went on and on and on about it - the long hours, working on weekends, no holiday pay, no sick leave, little support, no spare time, no me time, no kids' time (ha), no Spanner time (ha-ha), anger issues (take that you helpess ant! You call this a glass? Give me the f'in' bottle).

Result: burnt, wrung, dried and strung out. No doubt.

I had turned into a grumpy old bitch a couple of years ahead of schedule.

To shut me up, friends and family either a) supported my decision with encouraging words - you're better than this... where one door closes, another opens... they've exploited you for too long...

Or

b) warned me to be careful of what I was giving up. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$.

When I told one I didn't have enough time to breathe, let alone write, and that I was juggling at least four tasks at once, he said, 'Remember the old saying, if you want the job done give it to a busy person.'

When I considered these two opposite reactions, it became clear that those who support the resignation have long-term secure jobs and earn good money.

The doomsayers are those whose career paths have tended to be less secure.

But it is done.

Surprisingly, my mum, who is the head cheerleader for shock-jock Alan Jones, is on my team.

She said, 'You're not happy. Take a break.'

I hope she lends me her David Jones card.

What on earth have I done? I quit my job in the middle of the GFC

This is the story so far.

I recently handed in my resignation. In the middle of a global recession I decided that, after nine years in a demanding job, I'd had enough. I was bloody buggered, burnt out and bitter.

I have a cartoon on my fridge by the author and illustrator Tohby Riddle. There are four frames. In the first is a drawing of a joyful young boy, arms flung wide, who says: 'When I grow up I'm going to be an artist!'

In the second frame is the boy grown up in a suit. Still smiling, he says: 'When I get some spare time I'm going to be an artist!'

Are you starting to get the picture?

Frame 3 is a semi-balding grey-haired man: 'When I retire I'm going to be an artist,' he says.

In the final frame is a wrinkled old man lying in a bed, above him a thought bubble: 'When I get off this life support system I'm going to be an artist.'

This is one of the reasons I quit my job.

When I mailed off my resignation to head office I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders, but now I'm sort of like freaking like right out like!

To be continued - after I have a big glass of chilled white wine, which I won't be able to afford this time next year!

Above is one of Tohby's beautiful illustrations of a clever fox, which might be me one year from now. I reckon Riddle surpasses Leunig as an illustrator. And his magical fantastical stories are whimsical, humorous and scattered with marvellous aphorisms - my BIG WORD OF THE DAY.