A little over ten years ago, the worlds greatest Mumma took her little girl to her very first concert; Ronan Keating.

To this day, I still couldn’t tell you the exact moment that he won us over, but from what I remember it all happened rather quickly. I’m not sure if it was his perfect voice or that cheeky little smile. If it was his sexy accent or that sneaky little pelvic thrust he always managed to slip in mid performance, but either way he well and truly charmed his way into our hearts and just like that, we were offically life long fans.

The kind of fans that listened to his CD on repeat, on every single car trip. Much to the boys disgust, we had well and truly memorised each and every word to every single song and we would always, always sing out loud. I would be lying if I said we could sing his songs well, but our level of talent never stopped us from trying. Nor did it stop the smile from spreading across our face everytime we pressed play on that favourite CD. At the very least, we were dedicated.

So naturally, it goes without saying that news of a second tour tens years on more than caught our attention. Two tickets as close to the stage as possible were booked within seconds and just like that, we were headed for a reunion that was long overdue. To say the least, we were very, very excited.

Walking into the concert no words needed to be exchanged, because the ear to ear smile on both of our faces said more than words ever could. He was back, finally, and that little girl who was almost all grown up was about to experience magic for a second time with the worlds greatest Mumma right by her side. Things could not have been more perfect.

The music started, out he came and once again just like that, every single girl in the crowd had fallen in love. I don’t blame them though, he definately had a little ‘Chuck Bass’ going on in his fancy little suit. It was quite impressive actually.

Now, after our first Ronan experience, Mumma and I had both agreed that his cheeky little pelvic thrust during “I love it when we do” was definately the highlight. It was hands down, no questions asked, our favourite part. There was no exlanation necessary. So you can understand our disappointment during his most recent concert, when that entire song was performed without even a hint of a pelvic thrust. It was devastating, heart breaking even. Like any true performer though, he didn’t leave us heartbroken for long. 

During his very next song, a sneaky little crutch grab was cheekily slipped in and just like that we were back in action. Ronan Keating was officially back and we  were officially impressed. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not saying that every good concert needs sexual innuendo attached, but this is Ronan Keating we’re talking about here.

 Today something amazing happened. Actually, two amazing things happened.

The first – I was early for an appointment for possibly the first time in my life.

The second – an unplanned adventure, led me to stumble across the place in which I have now decided to live someday. A place where I never would have expected to end up, but a place that took my breath away nonetheless.

A quiet little place, full of beautiful big houses and perfect green grass. A place filled with birds chirping and an overwhelmingly calm feeling. A place that felt strangely like home. Which, considering I have been down many roads before playfully searching for my dream house, is suprisingly harder to stumble across than you may think.

That ‘perfect house’ from the outside is not always the ‘perfect house’ from the inside and that white picket fence doesn’t always spell out a happy ending. There has to be more to it than that. At the end of the day, a pretty house without that welcoming feeling of warmth is just a pretty house and a pretty house is not what makes a perfect home.

These though, these were not just houses. Even at a quick glance there was something about them that made them homes. Homes in which I would happily live someday.

Granted, all of this might sound a little crazy without the intention of moving out in the near future or more importantly the money or a stable job to back it up and to be honest, I’m probably more talk than anything else. I mean let’s face it, when it comes down to it I would hands down take the cake for being the worlds biggest hipocrit in this subject, because really, as much as I talk about wanting that perfectly beautiful house, I’m that girl who loves living at home way too much to ever leave.

Someday though, someday I’m going to change my mind. Someday, I’m going to wake up on the adult side of the bed and I’ll be all grown up and ready to brave the world. When that day comes, I know just the boy I want braving the world with me.

So someday, if you’re ever out looking for me, just stop by that quiet little place full of beautiful big houses and perfect green grass. The place filled with birds chirping and that overwhelmingly calm feeling. The place that feels strangely like home, because someday that’s exactly where I’ll be.

Today I began my day with Yoga. Not Yoga in a classroom or a gym, but yoga in my loungeroom with my Wii Fit and I must admit, it was noticeably harder than the last time I attempted to exercise. Much, much harder actually. In fact to be completely honest, I really don’t remember it ever being that hard. Don’t worry though I managed to push through, and all with a smile on my face might I add.

So this Yoga business, you really should believe all of those things that you hear. As it turns out, it actually is quite intense, even if it is in front of your TV, in your loungeroom, at home. Don’t let that fool you because it is by no means easier in any way. It still feels like a million hurdles that your legs just can’t quite make it over.

Hurdle #1 – deep breathing.

After just four minutes of deep breathing, believe it or not I found myself out of breath. Now it’s been a while, so I’m not exactly sure how this exercise idea works, but last time I checked the breathing part of the activity wasn’t actually designed to wear you out.

Hurdle #2 – stretching.

There really is no other way to describe stretching other than “ouch”. For a girl who was once extremely flexible, there were a lot of noises coming from the loungeroom that morning that did not at all sound pleasant. Despite my moaning and groaning however, I managed to pull off The Tree, The Sun Salutation and The Downward Facing Dog.  With extreme difficulty of course, but I did complete them nonetheless.

The final stretch on the ground however, where you place your opposite leg across your body, that could not be done. That leg was never going to make it across the other side of my body, there was just no way.

So as much as  it may look like you have won this round Mr. Yoga, don’t you worry because I will be back. Tomorrow, the next day, the next day and for however long it takes. I will be back getting stronger and stronger and although I may have only done twenty minutes today, eight of which may or may not have been intense deep breathing, eventually your deep breathing won’t leave me out of breath and eventually your stretching won’t cause me extreme pain. Eventually, I will master the art of Yoga, you just wait

 Today I went to visit my girls, my baseball girls. The ones I haven’t seen in far too long and my goodness I’ve missed them.

Somehow though, today it all felt different.

For the first time in a really long time, I wasn’t looking out at the field with the ache of not knowing when I would be back out there again. I wasn’t sitting on the sidelines like a zombie, not allowing myself to feel the love for the game. 

For the first time in a really long time, the ache was to be back out there again. It was feelings and emotions and an overwhelming love for the game and it was coming back stronger than ever.

For the first time in a really long time, I was allowing myself to feel again. I allowed myself to want it again. The glove, the ball, the bat; all of it.

Finally, I was able to let myself dream again. I was able to feel those emotions that go along with that perfect green grass and that rough brown dirt. The feelings that go with those dirty white pants and that perfectly fitted glove. Finally, I was wanting it again. Not just missing it, but really wanting it.

And sure, realistically it’s going to take a little longer than I expected before I’ll be out there with a ball in my glove ready to play again, but for now, the desire to play is more than enough to keep me going. That tiny glimmer of hope is enough for a lifetime.

Why else would my Lorna Jane clothes be set out on my bed, all ready for Yoga tomorrow?

Baby steps.

They always said that slow and steady wins the race. So here I am, going slow and steady making my way back into the race.

 Every year we wait patiently for the 14th to come back around, so that we can drive for hours into the middle of nowhere and hit the Glen Innes Races. So that we can get all dressed up to go into town, drive for miles and miles down a never ending dirt road and bet on horses that we know absolutely nothing about. Which, considering we never go to our own local races is probably a little strange.

 Our family though, we kind of always were a little out of the ordinary. That’s probably why I fit so nicely.

 Now on this particular Saturday that we had in fact waited 2 years for this time, the weather clearly had other plans. The previously blue skies had turned black within minutes and the rays of sunshine had turned into giant drops of rain, then with the rain, came the wind.

 So, me being the genius that I am had the brilliant idea to swap my fancy race day dress for tights, a pullover cardigan and a scarf, and the pretty little shoes that I had picked out were of course replaced with flats. Clever, right?

 The rest of the town though, they clearly didn’t have the same idea. Pretty little dresses everywhere became soaking wet, hair that had been straightened and curled became a frizzy nightmare and perfectly new heels spent the afternoon sinking into the muddy grass. I couldn’t help but sit back and smile, it was definately a sight to see.

 Karma though, he must have seen me smiling, because from about then on I couldn’t catch a break. Actually, come to think of it, I must have unknowingly picked the polite horses from the bunch. The ones with manners. The ones who were taught to let everyone else go first, they were my horses. The polite ones, the ones who were well mannered and the ones who were not making me a single cent, because each one of my horses was no where to be seen. That is, not until every single other horse had crossed the finish line before them. Then finally, when I did fluke myself a winner, I missed out on paying the bookie by no less than a second.

 Not to worry though, because a race in Flemington had a pretty little horse called Lady Antebellum coming up in the next race that was sure to be a winner. So I did what any country music fan would do and I backed it.

 I was sure my luck was about to turn around, this was it. Karma though, he clearly still had other plans for me. Pretty little Lady Antebellum found herself boxed in and she couldn’t find her way out. Then finally when she did catch a break and she tried her best to make a run for it, she had left it a little too late and my ‘winning’ horse saw me tallying up yet another loss for the day.

 Brother though, he was basically a bookie himself. In fact, I probably could have won more money by paying him instead of the TAB. You could name the winner of any one of those races that day and he would have found it, backed it and made money on it. No questions asked.

  Chalk it down to luck: maybe.

 Brains: probably.

 Grant gene: definately.

 Me though, I think I must have skipped that gene. 

 Somewhere along the way though I managed to pick up a gene that my brother didn’t; the gene with pretty little feet instead of the monkey toes. Which, considering I wear thongs more than I back horses, was definately a win.

 The racing idea though, I figured maybe next time I should take a leaf out of brothers book. Maybe that little booklet they give you about with all the horses in it is for reading, not for drawing pictures in. Maybe I should back the horses a little more based on their statistics, numbers and past performance and a little less on how pretty their name sounds, how shiny their coat is or how beautiful they look prancing around before the race. Maybe then I’ll have a little more luck.

 So tell me, why is it that when you’re already running late, every single tiny little thing that could possibly happen to make you even later does in fact happen, and happen easily might I add, like it was no trouble at all?

My family and I we’re due to leave a little after 9:00am to drive to Glen Innes, our usual family camping spot. It’s around 6 hours drive, so the plan was to leave straight after breakfast.

 On this particular morning I was up, packed and ready to go by 8:30am. Now if you know me then you would know that I am never ready on time, let alone before the rest of the family, so it was nothing short of a miracle and a definate first for me. This so called miracle however, it didn’t take long before it turned itself into a disaster.

 Well, maybe not so much a disaster, but the ‘usual outcome’ for me – extremely late.

 It was about the time I sat down for breakfast that the disaster started. My eyes quickly strayed from my cereal bowl and I noticed the specials catalogues sitting on the end of the table. Now, just so you know, the junk mail is quite possibly my favourite part of the entire week. In fact, after doing a letter box drop a few weeks back, I was completely astounded to discover that some people request not to have junk mail delivered to their letterbox. I almost felt sorry for them actually. What a sad, sad life, to never receive junk mail. If anything, people should ask for more junk mail, double, triple even, but none, that was something I couldn’t understand.

 So as you can imagine with my extreme love of junk mail and a table full of specials, it didn’t take long before I realised that there were far too many items I needed and that they were far too tempting to leave behind for a whole week. Just like that, I decided that with my spare 30 minutes, I needed to visit the shopping centre.

 The plan was to race in, find what we needed and race home again, we even had a game plan already worked out. We’d park at the Big W end first, quickly go to the dvd section, find the Vampire Diaries Season 1 & 2, find a third dvd so that we could get one for free and out we would go. We would quickly drive back to the Kmart end, find my giraffe pillow and then we would head home. Then maybe, just maybe, if we were super quick we could stop in at Valleygirl and take my shoes back. Only if we had time though, of course.

The plan was fool proof, or so we thought.

 1. A complete lack of staff at the serving counter had us waiting for over 20 minutes. So just like that, our quick trip to the dvd section of Big W set us behind right from the word go. Definately not a good start to the ‘Game Plan’.

2. The item we came for was nowhere to be seen. It was displayed quite clearly in the catalogue, but was obviously playing hide and seek on the shelves.

3. The sale price was in fact a trick and did not apply to the items we came specifically to buy. So after a good 10 minutes of searching for dvds that were on sale, we failed to find one that we wanted and ended up paying full price.

4. Every staff member we asked for assistance went on to tell us to look in completely different sections of the store, none of which had what we were looking for.

It didn’t take long before our quick trip had turned into a wild goose chase.

5. The item we were looking for was in fact still boxed up out the back and not in the seven other aisles that we were sent to. Note: Staff members, if you’re going to advertise a product on sale then atleast put the product on the shelves.

6. Finally, by some miracle, we had found and paid for everything that we’d been searching for and we were on our way home – only an hour late might I add.

Now, one last decision: do we choose left or do we choose right?

7. Just for the record, next time don’t choose left. It is definately not quicker.

8. The ‘quicker’ way not only had roadworks at 9:30am, but it also had a giant water truck who felt the need to do 20km in a 70km zone, watering random area’s of the footpath as he went and going by his watering skills, the driver clearly never learnt to colour between the lines in preschool. It was not pretty.

So in hindsight, taking the left turn was a terrible decision.

Arrival time back at home, 10:03am.

Mission: Failed.

Really though, considering I can’t even shower myself and be dressed in half an hour on a good day, this whole adventure was never really even a possibility. Not in half an hour anyway. Not only that though, nothing I do is ever on time. I don’t own a watch and I don’t check the clock. I have no concept of time and I am completely unorganised. I think that I am doing well, time wise, only to find that there are still a million and one things left to do and there is no way it can be done on time.

Really, I’m just a nightmare to go anywhere with, because at the end of the day it’s a certainty that I will be late. Not on purpose though, not at all. If you were to ask me, I would tell you that I was going as fast as I can every single time, and considering I am late every single time, as much as my Mumma would disagree, I really am starting to think that maybe it is the truth. Maybe some people are born to live by the clock and others are born not too?

I mean, you wouldn’t yell at a snail for taking too long to get somewhere, because at the end of the day a snail is a snail and it goes as fast as it can. So next time, if it just so happens that I’m late or extremely far from being on time, don’t point out the clock to me and don’t buy me a watch. Just smile and think of me as the snail, because even if it doesn’t seem like it, I promise you that I will be going as fast as I can.

 So I’m just curious, is the task of packing stressful for most girls or is it just another fun little activity where I differ from the rest of the world? Because of all the things that need to be done in life, packing would have to be my least favourite, of all time.

 In all honestly, if there was one job in this world where I could snap my fingers and have it magically done for me, it would definately be packing. I’m not really quite sure what it is about it that drives me so insane but I just can’t stand it. Even just the thought of having to pack for something is enough to make me want to scream. Which is slightly ridiculous considering the act of packing normally leads to some kind of beautiful holiday. However in this case, even that is not enough to ease the frustration.

 Surely you would think that packing a single bag for a few nights away with your family wouldn’t be a difficult task. Think again my friend, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. For me, the task is not only never ending but it is near impossible.

 After pulling almost every piece of clothing I own out of my wardrobe, every single time I attempt to pack, I have come to the conclusion that packing could in fact become a little easier if I only had less clothes in my wardrobe.

 Logically, less clothes means less choices, which in turn means less frustration. Realistically though, what girl in her right mind is going to halve the size of her wardrobe, just because she is terrible at packing? The answer should be me, but the fact that it’s not is clearly the reason I continue to struggle.

 I’m sure there would have to be an easier way than my current strategy and yet still, I continue to put myself in the same situation, over and over again. My strategic plan; pack everything that I may feel like wearing at some stage during the holiday, regardless of how many days we are actually holiday-ing for.

 Whether it’s 2 days or 7 days, when it boils down to it, it really just depends on what clothes I like best in my wardrobe at the time. Jumpsuits over shorts, maxi dresses over skirts, tights over jeans. It all depends on the day really. Wel,l the day and of course the mood. Oh, and let’s not forget the weather. Every time without fail, the weather always finds his own little way to throw me. Perfect days filled with sunshine all week leading up to the trip, then sure enough, the day I am due to pack I wake up to the sound of the pouring rain, and just like that the frustration begins.

 As if my task wasn’t already hard enough, now I have to pack summer clothes and winter clothes because the odds have since changed. Now it’s just as likely to be cold as it is hot, which means the number of clothes needing to be packed has just doubled within seconds.

 So that my friends, that is the reason you will always see me with a bag triple the size it needs to be, because really, at the end of the day I just can’t quite make a decision. Not even about packing a few clothes.

  As much as I would like to tell you otherwise, the poor decision making t doesn’t quite stop there. The second a bag is packed and zipped, I’m already second guessing what’s in there. Did I pack everything I needed? Should I take a few things out? Did I really need to pack that extra jumper? Maybe I should put in an extra pair of shorts instead? What if I don’t feel like wearing any of that, did I pack a maxi dress? Do you think I could try and fit it into a smaller bag? Shoes, did I really pack enough shoes? What if everyone laughs at my giant bag?

 The list is honestly endless and my clever little brain finds itself going over every single possibility and every single wardrobe option, atleast twice an hour. In fact, it’s so bad that even right up until the time we leave, I’m still second guessing myself – about packing.

 Most days, even with a suitcase packed to the brim I still manage to wander around and pack my handbag full of bits and pieces that I’ve forgotten. Bits and pieces that really don’t need to be packed mind you, but that end up coming along for the ride anyway. 

 Then when we finally get there, just like Murhpy’s Law, I either end up wearing the same few pieces of clothing over and over or out of the million and one different outfits I’ve packed, I’ll still have absolutely nothing I want to wear. So either way, I’ve basically spent an entire day of packing, stressing and planning outfits for no reason at all.

 To tell you the truth though, it’s always been a disaster really. I mean sure, it’s quite a talent having the ability to pack an entire wardrobe into a single suitcase, every single time I travel, but it’s still a talented disaster nonetheless. 

I’m just hoping that come April I might have grown out of this so called ‘talent’ of mine, because there’s no way I’ll be able to afford the excess luggage fee for Vegas with my current packing strategies.

Now don’t get me wrong, growing up I had an absolutely amazing childhood, one of the best actually. Between swimming, gymnastics, little athletics, tennis, trampolining, taekwondo and baseball, I really didn’t miss out on much, bt out of the million and one things that I was lucky enough to get the chance to do when I was younger, there are two things that I am recently wishing I had done a little more of.

The first – dance lessons.

The second – visit the beach, more than once.

The dance lessons idea I would say is rather self explanatory. Actually, let me rephrase that; if you’ve ever had the pleasure of watching me attempt to dance, then the need for lessons would well and truly explain itself. Trust me, it’s not pretty.

I think I did try lessons once, unsuccessfully of course. Mumma decided to take me to a ballet class, but before it had even started I was crying on her lap begging for her to take me home. Sadly for the ‘now-grown-up’ me, she did what all good Mummas would do and she took me home. Needless to say, I never went back and I never learnt to dance.

I don’t blame her though, not at all. To be honest, I really don’t think lessons would have been able to help all that much anyway. Co-ordination isn’t something you can teach, it’s something you’re born with and going by the level of talent between my brother and I, I think the ability to dance definately skipped a generation. Unlike me though, he would never admit it. As far as he is concerned, not only was he blessed with moves like Michael Jackson but he was born with the voice of an angel. The rest of the world though, they might tend to disagree.

Now for the beach visits, where do I even start?

Firstly, it doesn’t help the embarrassment level when you have a boyfriend who has basically had the beach as his backyard since he was born and who is a complete stud in the ocean. Surfing, body boarding, being able to stay alive in the waves, he can do it all. In fact, if I was being completely honest and not at all bias, he has pretty much got it down to a fine art. It’s rather impressive.

Then there’s me.

I’m that girl you see out there standing waist deep in the water, who miraculously still manages to find herself being knocked over by every single breaking wave and no, in this case size does not at all matter. Even the smallest of waves seem to be smarter than I am. It’s quite embarrassing really.

I’m that girl who isn’t quite brave enough to leave the wading water in fear of a giant wave knocking me over while I am unable to touch the ground. Which, let’s be honest, the probability of a giant wave coming at some stage while i’m out there is a fairly safe bet. I would even go as far as to say it’s a certainty actually. 

I’m that girl who still, wave after wave, somehow manages to be suprised when yet another wave pops up, rolls on in and sweeps me off my feet.

On that off chance that by some miracle you manage to trick me into swimming out past the waist deep water, well then I’m that girl who ducks so far down under the water to try and get away from the wave that I basically sit myself down on the ocean floor. Sure, it sounds like a good idea in theory. Right?

Wrong.

Whether it happens underneath the water or above the water, it really doesn’t matter. Either way, the end result is the same; Sam having a near death experience with the big horrible wave. Every, single, time.

I’m that girl who stands up after being knocked over by the wave, wipes my eyes and only just has enough time to open them again before being knocked back over within seconds. Graceful, extremely graceful.

I’m that girl who stands in between the flags about where the toddlers swim and still manages to end up face first in the ocean, countless times more than they do.

I’m that girl who watches the other girls out there, enviously. The ones that run and jump and frolick without a care in the world. The girls that clearly evolved from the mermaid family, with their graceful swimming and their lack of fear when it comes to waves. The girls that no matter what, still manage to come out from the water looking more like baywatch than a drowned rat. The girls that don’t almost drown with every single wave and who don’t get laughed at by three year olds. The girls that seem to belong out there. The girls that are nothing at all like me.

Just between you and me though, I’m still holding out hope that maybe, eventually, by some crazy miracle, I grow a tail too, because really, all jokes aside, I would make a pretty impressive mermaid.

For now though, my stud of a boyfriend is doing a pretty good job at saving my life. Everytime a giant wave comes he races back over to where I am, pulls me into his chest and holds me extra tight while the waves crash around him. He’s kind of like my very own brick wall. My perfect little lifesaver. So I just hold on tight, close my eyes, and go along for the ride, because really, tail or no tail, at the end of the day I’m always going to be ‘that girl’. 

Maybe ’that girl’ can’t dance like the rest of the world or swim like a fish in the ocean, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t one of the luckiest girls in the world, because ‘that girl’ has found something that all of those other girls out there are still searching for.

She was lucky enough to find ‘that boy’ and she has never been happier.

I’m not quite sure whether it was lack of sleep or whether the heat was just finally starting to get to my brain, but somewhere around midnight last night my mind began to wander. When exactly should a person be able to sleep alone in the dark, contently, without being slightly afraid of ‘Monsters’ as such?

Surely an almost 21 year old couldn’t still be afraid of the dark. Surely that same girl who grew up with her little toes as far away from the end of the bed as possible, in fear of Gremlins sneaking out from underneath the bed to bite on them, wasn’t still afraid of monsters – or was she?

My answer, should you have asked me a couple of days ago, would have been a strong and confident no. However now, I’m not quite sure what to tell you. There’s just something about the dark of the night that makes me uncomfortably nervous.

Between having the window completely open, letting not only a cool breeze through but a whole range of strange and eery sounds and the bedroom door open wide enough to let the air circulate; my bravery was decreasing by the second. Soon enough, I began slowly pulling my toes up from the end of the bed and then before I knew it, the ever famous ‘Safety Blanket’ or as normal people may refer to it, a bedsheet, was being pulled up over my head. One million and one degree weather and yes, I needed my sheet on. That’s just the kind of brave I am.

So in reality, after last nights events, it would seem that the answer to my question is actually a yes. Sadly, an almost 21 year old is in fact still afraid of the dark or at the very least, still highly afraid of those Gremlins showing up to nibble at her toes.

In my defence though, I never really was the bravest of brave. Unless your idea of brave is watching an entire scary movie with your finger on the mute button? Really though, what little girl needs to be brave when she grows up with Superman for a big brother?

So last night when my clumbsy fingers tapped the wrong key on my laptop, resulting in the disappearance of my entire blog, it got me thinking. It was that exact thought, that led me to todays blog; the story of the many technological challenges that life throws my way, daily.

For example, two days ago I could have sworn we were in the middle of a heat wave, unable to venture outside in fear of melting. So instead of sitting inside and doing just that, I decided to be proactive. I opened up all of the garage doors to let as much air flow in as possible, messaged my bestfriend to come over, turned on the tv, placed ‘One Tree Hill Season One’ in the dvd player, pushed play, sat myself down on the couch and waited. However, to my suprise, there was no sound. Not slight sound or muffled sound, but no sound at all.

So after using every ounce of energy we had left just to make it up off the couch, we managed to find a single loose cord in amongst the mess that was plugged in on one side, but without a home on the other. For the next hour, my bestfriend and I proceeded to place this single silver cord into every possible hole of every single electrical device, hoping for a miracle. Needless to say, there were no miracles that day.

 Moral of the story: Just because there is a loose cord does not mean that it infact has a home, nor does it mean you will find that home.

 Technology 1 – Sam 0

To be honest though, this is nothing new for me. For almost as long as I can remember every single mobile telephone that I have ever owned, has hated me. Now I don’t use the word hate very often, but there really is no other word I could use to describe the way the phone world has turned against me. The only possible explanation is that of a past life. Obviously without knowing it, I must have done something so terrible, and so extreme that every single brand of mobile telephones have band together and vowed to turn themselves against me, because let me tell you, they have done exactly that. Samsung, LG, Sony Ericsson, Motorola, Nokia, basically every brand of mobile phone that you can possibly think of has decided to jump on the bandwagon. 

Moral of the story: When they start to gang up on you to that extent, you never really stood a chance.

Technology 7 – Sam 0

 Now, anyone who has been through what I have over the past couple of years would understand completely the bond that you develop with your heat pack. He was only tiny, but he always, always did his job. He was reliable and for that I loved him dearly. That is, until I killed him.

Mumma had this fantastic bright idea of getting a new microwave. One of those fancy ones that works as both a microwave and an oven. However, with this handy little double trouble microwave came a number of different accessories; one being a tall wire rack.

Now might I just add, this wire rack came with the microwave, so it would make sense that it would then be suitable to use in that very same appliance. I am sad to say, that this was not the case.

I had this ingenius idea of placing my heat pack on top of the wire rack while it heated in the microwave. Needless to say, the wire rack was designed for the convection oven only, not the microwave. So within seconds, my tiny baby heat pack was on fire and his life was taken away long before his prime. The wire rack – competely unharmed.

Moral of the story: Fancy microwave ovens should come with more instructions, or consequently, the users of these fancy microwave ovens should pay more attention to those very same instructions.

 Technology 8 – Sam still 0

 Now in most circumstances, statistics are a true indication of both parties efforts. This case however, is not most circumstances. If points were allocated for fighting back, then it would be a completely different story. Trust me.