Scary 1970s flashback: the night I met Status Quo at the Hordern Pavilion

Life can be cruel. About 30 years ago I would've happily jumped the bones of Status Quo's lead singer.

But now I'm older and wiser, I know what men are like (and what they like - it's usually 20 years younger than me) and I no longer aspire to be a rock 'n' roll groupie. A glass of wine and a cuddle in front of the telly with Spanner is enough to warm my toes.

And I'm not the only one who's aged. SQ's lead singer Francis Rossi, once the object of my desire, is older - much older. Wiser? Well, Status Quo still tours and Rossi, who used to have a mane of long brown hair in the 1970s when the band was in its hey day, is now somewhat less hirsuit.

I know this because on Thursday night I revisited my youth at a Status Quo concert at the Hordern Pavilion, the same place I first saw the band in the 1970s. SPOOKY.

My friend Mr Squeaky bought me a ticket to the gig after learning that I once adored the band - or more to the point - Rossi.

For those of you who are too young to remember SQ, the band is English and its core members Rossi and Rick Parfitt (Alan Lancaster left the band in the '80s and immigrated to Australia) are now well into their 50s (possibly 60s?). Think EastEnders, though Parfitt's died-blonde mop and ruddy complexion cause him to resemble an ageing Cronulla surfie. Rossi fits the mould - he could be a character from a Guy Ritchie flick.

Anyway, the story is this. I meet Mr Squeaky at the Hordern where he informs me he's won a competition to meet the band. This is so funny I can't stop laughing. At first I think he's pulling my leg.

But it's true. After our friend Mr Clean arrives we, and the 10 other lucky winners (all of us middle-aged), are escorted backstage and upstairs to a fluorescent-lit room with a shabby bar and white plastic tables on which dried-out quiches and cakes are piled.

Fortunately, the food is for the band's entourage, as we're not offered anything and are abandoned in a far corner of the room where the walls shudder from the impact of the support band playing below. Am I in Chile?

But then the band arrives and we're shaking hands with a young drummer and a young bass player, and then the really old keyboardist-cum-guitarist who I don't know from a bar of soap.

By the time my former heroes, Rossi and Parfitt, arrive to shake our hands they've done the rounds and there's no time to chat. I'm disappointed for so many reasons. They're both shorter and altogether smaller than they used to be, I'm sure. Rossi's hair is thinning, grey and slicked back.

And Parfitt says, "'Ello love," as he offers me a limp hand.

Once we're back in our seats with the rest of the geriatric crowd, the show starts (gawd, get me a rum and coke) and I realise it's impossible to rekindle the past. Once it's gone, let it go.

GIVE ME BACK MY MEMORIES!!!!!!!!!!!!

PS: Above is a photo of Mr Squeaky, Rick Parfitt and Mr Clean.

My story made it into the RWA Little Gems Topaz short story anthology

Hey! Occasionally, I write stuff.

Like romantic fiction.

I say 'occasionally' because lately I haven't had time to scratch myself let alone sit down and work on my ms, which is in dire need of revision.

But yesterday I arrived home from work to a huge surprise. I was trawling through my emails when I saw one with the subject line: Little Gems. Being the eternal pessimist, I opened all my other messages first.

I clicked on the last email with a feeling of detachment (sorry - that's telling, not showing). To cut a long story short, the short story I entered in the 2010 RWA Little Gems contest has made it into the anthology.

I cried (more telling). My eyes filled and tears spilled onto the computer keyboard as I read and reread the message from the contest coordinator (that's better, although it's an exaggeration. I shed a few tears and dragged the family away from their favourite TV show My Kitchen Rules and made them read the email with me).

The contest coordinator wrote: 'Your story has gained a place in The Little Gems Topaz Anthology.'

Of the 59 stories entered, 14 were chosen (judged) for publication.

I was more relieved than anything else (bloody telling again). I liked my story and considered it good enough to make the cut. If it hadn't, I think I would have seriously thought about letting go of the dream.

But now I have the boost I need to carry on.

As if the world needs another writer!

PS: Congratulations to my fellow Bootcamp 109ers, Jenn (who read my story and offered wise advice) and Fiona (who is celebrating her third Little Gems victory). Oh, and thanks to my other lovely booty cat girls - Anita, Mon and Shell, for their invaluable feedback.

PPS: This is the 2010 Little Gems cover, designed by Helen Katsinis. My story title Finders Keepers will appear on the list on the back cover.

Woohoo! A little ripper of a swim at Manly

Ocean swimmers were spoilt for choice this weekend with Sydney events at Manly and Freshwater, and up the coast at Lake Macquarie (Saturday), Caves Beach and Coffs Harbour.

Davo and I chose the Manly Daily Ocean Swim. Let me tell you fine people from around the world who occasionally stumble across this blog, not many things compare to a sunny day at the beach in Sydney. Bliss.

The angels blew in on a north-easterly wind that teased up soft, foamy waves. There was a smattering of weed and a bluebottle warning, but we managed to avoid the nasty translucent creatures and their wispy, stinger tendrils. Whew (blueys freak me out).

As we arrived at South Steyne (Manly's southern end), the first of the 1 km swimmers were pounding up the sand to the finish line. There are more and more people doing ocean swims, with most dipping their toes into the shorter course.

We strolled north to the starting line opposite the Corso, where a much smaller group of nutters waited for the 2 km event. Davo and I were in the same wave. When the starter gun went off I followed him in but he was soon out of sight - smarty pants.

OK, here's the report in full. Because it was low tide and shallow, it took a little while to get through, under and over the white-wash waves. My cossie had collected a fair amount of weed by the time I got to the first buoy, about 800 metres offshore. This is my excuse for not beating Davo (again) this time.

Next, a right-hand turn and out to sea -sort of. That's how it felt swimming across to Fairy Bower (Manly Point?) and over the shark net that runs the length of Manly beach. How cool is that? The net is way way down and appears affixed to the ocean floor. It's not that high. That was the first swim highlight.

The second was the leg to Fairy Bower, a popular diving spot off Shelley Beach. On the reef I saw small fish (Davo saw big ones, of course). Down below, scuba divers blew air balloons that rose up to meet me. Initially, I thought the bubbles were sea creatures, some sort of jelly blubber. But then I noticed the disembodied divers' fins. Mystery solved.

I was buggered by time I rounded the last buoy, but the swell gave me a gentle nudge towards my destination.

Because I'm not a runner (I used to love it but had to stop because of a dodgy hip) the lengthy exit along the sand was annoying and other swimmers passed me.

As usual, Davo was on the beach to wave me in as I 'shuffled' the 30 or so metres to the finish line (BASTARD - I forgive you).

In summary, Davo and I have declared the Manly Daily Ocean Swim one of the best this season - a swim that challenges, enthralls and contains small surprises at every turn.

La vita e bella!

What ought one to do? Or Why is my life such a mess?

'What ought one to do?' Socrates posed this question and it forms the basis for the study of ethics. Do I sound intellectual? Well, that's about as much as I know about the subject.

However, every so often I find myself facing an ethical dilemma. Usually, this occurs in relation to my working life and it usually has something to do with my inability to say 'no' to a request, my fears about ending up on the pension with a diet of tinned cat food (possibly better than dried?) and my concerns about letting people down. Also, I procrastinate a lot.

I'm now in a situation, not dissimilar to last year, where I'm working harder than I would like and am therefore finding it hard to indulge in my two favourite pastimes - swimming and writing.

The question is, do I quit one of my jobs? The answer is easy. Yes.

But when? And what of the consequences for my work mates who are relying on me?

Did I also mention I'm a coward who hates confrontation?

Maybe I'll just go get a cuppa and think about it some more...

Better still, squeeze in a swim!