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1996 Dolly Horoscope

Sunday March 31st, 2019 in Diaries, School | No Comments »

Cover Dolly magazine. Woman with blonde hair crouching wearing an orange jacket.

A friend recently gave me a 1996 copy of Dolly that she found in her possessions.

This is a particularly thoughtful gift for two reasons: I was never allowed to have magazines growing up, and I love mocking things.

I’ve found many points of interest in the June 1996 Dolly magazine. Dolly Doctor has the usual rainbow of bodily discharges, the agony aunt gives some very racist dating advice and you had to call a phone number to vote in the Biggest Babe competition. The article ‘Is he lusting after you?’ contains 50 sure-fire signs to tell if a guy has the hots for you, including “he phones you” and “he doesn’t phone you” which has been a weird way to find out that every single man on the planet is lusting after me.  There’s a picture of a woman wearing white knitted shorts, which you don’t see often probably because of pilling and discharges.

That’s all well and good, but I feel it’s strayed too far from the topic of me, which brings me to the horoscopes.

I have never found astrology to be very uncannily accurate, but perhaps that’s because I’ve always been too close to events to be objective. With the benefit of more than twenty years of distance I want to reflect on my June 1996 Dolly horoscope (Leo), and analyse it against events in the my diary from that month.

Your social side really takes over this month, and friends become much more important.

It’s pretty hard to assess the relative importance of friends but what’s a KPI for if not to measure the unmeasurable for reasons no-one can remember? I will use the total number of friend mentions as an indicator of their importance to me.

In May 1996 I mentioned two friends.

In June 1996 I mentioned eight friends.

This is a quadrupling on the friendship-importance-o-metre. Well done horoscope. TICK.

New friendships with people who have loads of personality will start to take off.

I don’t mention any new friendships but on 9 June I updated my “list of 5 favourite people”. Confusingly, in a preamble to the list I write, “Just because someone is on my list of favourite people, doesn’t mean I like them the most, or indeed like them at all.” So, it’s debatable whether this list is a reliable friendships-taking-off indicator but I’ll leave that one for the auditors.

I culled four people from the list and added four new people. The lucky four new favourites were my dance teacher, the boy I had a crush on, and two girls from school who were very funny. These people never talked to me unless they were being paid. Naughty horoscope. FAIL.

There’s a tricky, intense situation with a friendship after the 15th but you both have to realise that there’s a bigger need for space and freedom in your lives these days.”

Could this refer to the fact that my dance teacher went to Ireland and we had a replacement dance teacher for a couple of weeks? No, as above, we don’t define people paid to talk to me as friends. FAIL.

To double your luck, try to involve friends or groups of people in your biggest plans, as they stand a better chance of working out.

This is more advice than a prediction, but it’s like giving comb-selection tips to a hairless cat. My only plan was to have my pen-friend come and visit me in the holidays. I wanted her to meet the boy I had a crush on (which would have been tricky because I never spoke to him). She told me he was the last person she wanted to meet. FAIL.

If you’re single, consider an eccentric guy, or a weird plan.

(See above). TICK.

So it’s a 40% success rate which is a big fail unless you’re in specialist maths and it might be okay after scaling.

In conclusion, horoscopes are a nonsense (or their uncanny accuracy takes longer than 23 years to emerge).

54 762631

Tuesday March 13th, 2018 in Home, School | 1 Comment »

Black and white photo of a '90s Tesltra cord phone.

Today I found out that my dad got rid of the land-line at his house. It’s the house I grew up in, and the phone number I grew up with too.

54 762631

I have a lot of feelings and stories.

When we first got the number, it was shorter – six digits was all that was needed in the early 90s.

I memorised 762631 as well as the numbers of my friends. We all lived in a tiny Central Victorian town called Newstead, so the 762 was a given, and we only needed to remember the last three digits.

Someone could ask, ‘What’s the Culvenor’s number again?’ and the reply would come, ‘627!’ It was a simpler time.

Knowing their home phone number is a good safety skill for children, but it isn’t always enough.

Before my primary school’s Melbourne Camp, we were told a telephone number horror story. A boy from Newstead got lost on an excursion to Melbourne, probably because he wasn’t listening. He had money for the pay phone, BUT he didn’t know he had to use the area code (03) to call home. So, he was stranded. I assume they got him back eventually, otherwise we wouldn’t know about the area code debacle, and there would be no teachable moment.

Anyway, terrifying but we all learned something.

An extra two digits (54) was added to the number when I was a teenager. I coped well. There were lots of changes happening to me at the time, as spelled out in the booklet we received in Grade 6, so the phone number lengthening was the least of my turmoil.

When I was in Year 10 I attended an International Nerd Camp in Melbourne. It was an exhilarating week mixing with kids from all over the world, and staying up past eleven o’ clock. I was having so much fun, that I neglected to call home on the first night, as requested. When I did call, my family members sounded a little miffed that I hadn’t checked in earlier. To make up for my previous tardiness, I called home, reverse charges, for the next four nights, and apparently it cost a lot of money.

When I moved to Melbourne to go to university 54 762631 took on a new meaning. It ceased to be my phone number, but became even more important as my link to home.

My two younger sisters, mum and dad were still living in Newstead so I would call 54 762631 fairly often (after 8pm when long-distance calls were charged at a flat rate) to catch up. At some point in the conversation the family member I was chatting with would yell out, ‘Does anybody else want to talk to Penny?’ There would be a pause and I’d hear some ‘Nahs’ or a reluctant shuffling.

Going home to Newstead for a visit, I would get off the train at Castlemaine station, walk out to the car park and look for a familiar face standing next to a silver sedan. Then I would turn around, and go back to the pay phone and dial, 54 762631. ‘I’m here, I got the 4:15, remember?’

Sometimes I dialled 54 762631 in a crisis. At the end of my first year of uni I had a dark night of the soul and after a short phone conversation, my mum drove to get me.

In recent years, 54 762631 has had problems. The arrival of the NBN was a total stuff-around that involved Dad’s phone being disconnected for three months. Then, it started working again, but 54 762631 connected to next door. This was a definite improvement as the neighbours could run over to Dad’s house and relay messages, but it wasn’t the high-tech future we’d been promised.

They fixed that problem and Dad got a big credit on his account, but when the phone line broke again recently and it was going to cost money to fix, he decided to go mobile only.

My point is, things change. 54 762631 I’ll remember forever.

A Personal Glossary of Netball

Wednesday April 19th, 2017 in Knowledge, School, Sport | No Comments »
Early game of netball with text of positions and oranges added. One player says 'If you Need!'

Early netball game

When I was in primary school I was desperate to start my netball career. I was certain that “career” was the right word as I planned to play netball for Australia and therefore become rich and famous. Behold my nesting dolls of delusion.

Joining my first team, Newstead Junior 2, was the start of a very steep netball learning curve. Unfortunately it wasn’t steep enough to lead to international netball, but I still learnt a few things, which I’d like to share.

Indoor Netball

When I was in high school I played a couple of seasons of mid-week indoor netball. This has all the same rules as outdoor netball except you’re allowed to kill people. It was an incredibly rough competition. Luckily the courts were surrounded with nets and there was no bitumen so breaking a pelvis didn’t hurt.

A team from a local low-security prison were also in the competition. One week one of their players threatened to kill Julia. This was clearly unacceptable. So at half-time our captain swapped Julia out of that position. And swapped me in. I was baffled by this decision because I tend to shit people at the best of times.

I kept my distance and the woman only threatened to punch me in the face. I didn’t play my best half of netball ever, but it wasn’t the point. I had discovered something important about myself; people didn’t always want to kill me.

The next week this lady apologised, explaining that she hadn’t been taking her medication. No worries I said. No worries at all.

As a general rule, the prison team were much less frightening than the young mums team who brought their toddlers to the game, smoked next to the court and absolutely hated our university-destined guts, to which I can only say fair enough as I imagine we were pretty annoying.


For me, netball and losing are intertwined. I have never been a member of a winning netball team. I’ve never played in a final. I probably lost 95% of all netball games I played in. The score for my first ever netball game was 17 – 1. With losing so inevitable I set other goals. I might feel like we’d had a great game because we achieved half the score of the winning team, or because we won one quarter, or because no-one wanted to kill me (see Indoor Netball).

Mixed Netball

Men playing netball may seem shocking but once you accept that not everyone will be classically trained (and you might witness such horrors as a Goal Attack taking a free pass outside the goal circle) mixed netball can be quite fun. I’ve filled in for a few mixed netball teams in Melbourne and have mainly enjoyed it without tsking.

Graph of straight line saying "What people think sucess looks like" next to a photo of a netball trophy Newstead Junior 2 Most ImprovedMost Improved

One of the proudest achievements of my life was winning the Most Improved trophy in my first netball season. I did deserve that trophy. I had started the season playing half games as a Wing Attack. I ended the year getting the occasional quarter as Centre. The lesson is, make sure you start as badly as you can to maximise apparent improvement.

Netball nicks

These are a pair of black underpants worn over your normal underpants so that no-one sees your underpants when your incredibly short skirt flies into the air. Here’s a thought – shorts.


Orange quarters are the perfect food for half-time. All athletes like to be sticky and have bits in their teeth.

Ra Ra Ra

When I played classical netball, at the end of each game both teams were required to stand in a circle with our arms around each other and chant:

Three cheers for “Winning Team”, Ra, Ra, Ra.

Three cheers for “Losing Team”, Ra, Ra, Ra.

Three cheers for the umpires, Ra, Ra, Ra.

I presume we were made to do this to prepare us for the for the indignities of giving birth.


Socks were very controversial on the ’90s netball court. Ankle sports socks were the fashion but were banned. Everyone still wore them (except me because my mum wouldn’t let me) and usually nothing was said. The exception was on the one occasion when my C Grade team Wesley Hill unexpectedly and uniquely won a game. Our opposition team (I say that, but I mean their mums) put in an official complaint about our socks and we didn’t get the match points.

I like to hope that these dark ’90s days of socking shaming teenage girls have passed, but I thought that about Pauline Hanson.


I am always shocked by sports where the players criticise the umpires. This was not allowed when I played netball. I don’t know how they achieved such discipline but I think it involved making examples of people.

I only personally umpired one game of netball. I had aced the written netball umpiring test and felt quietly confident. Then I discovered that in real life it’s  all a lot more confusing than in the book. No-one actually abused me while the game was going on, but after there were a number of official complaints, including from the team who won.


Things my maths teacher told me

Saturday February 11th, 2017 in School | No Comments »

Florence Nightingale

(The image shows a painting of Florence Nightingale holding a lamp.)

When I was in year 12 I wrote a ‘quote of the day’ in my school diary. Sometimes the quotes were from famous people like Oscar Wilde (he was terribly witty and sometimes it feels good to copy that stuff down with a pen). Sometimes the quote was something a friend had said.

The majority of my quotes of the day came from my maths teacher, Fletch.

27 January 1999: “It’s us against the rest of the state…up the front.”

On the first day of Year 12 Specialist Maths we sat at the back of the classroom (we were all maths nerds so it was our one chance). When Fletch came in he made us move to the front tables then gave us a motivational speech. He said the only way we country state school students could compete against the fancy private schools was to work together. We rolled our eyes and acted like it was stupid, but as the year went on we developed some top quality academic camaraderie, and just quietly, we did okay.

4 Febuary 1999: “We haven’t multiplied vectors yet. Shut up Rod.”

Fletch was a self-reflective teacher and kept up a running commentary on his performance as he taught. When he felt he’d made a wrong turn he told himself to shut up. Every time, I wrote it down.

10 March 1999: “I just thought I’d better tell you; I’m in Florence Nightingale mode.”

Fletch told us that when tackling a difficult maths problem you should be like Florence Nightingale holding her lantern. You can’t always see the whole path, but you can see where to take the next step. He returned to this analogy often and would sometimes mime holding a lantern while doing a difficult problem at the board.

The Florence Nightingale technique doesn’t just work for maths. I have found his advice useful in writing, life and drinking wine.

10 May 1999: “Aw bum, I mean sugar.”

Cute! He’d probably made a sign error.

16 August: “Go mg sin theta!”

Fletch told us he would shout “Go mg sin theta” as he rode his bike downhill during his school days. The best maths teachers are born, not made.

13 October 1999: “I just want to vomit. Not for you, but for the injustices of the world.”

When he said this to our class, Fletch was talking about inconsistencies in maths symbolism. No, not East Timor. Maths symbols.

I’m not sure if we appreciated Fletch enough at the time. I remember rolling my eyes at his daggy anecdotes. One time no-one in the class would examine the interesting way the light from the window was hitting the chalk on the blackboard, even when Fletch repeatedly peered at it, told us how interesting it was, and invited us to come and look. Sometimes when he asked almost rhetorically, ‘What’s the square root of 16?’ Someone would answer, ‘Four’ just to see him go apoplectic, ‘PLUS OR MINUS FOUR!’

Far and away the best maths teacher I’ve ever had.

At the end of year 12 we gave him a lantern.

Articles you should never write

Friday December 16th, 2016 in Parenting, School, Writing | No Comments »


(Image is of an older man in 1870 with a bald head and long hair at the back.)

I am not the boss of you. Never-the-less here follows a list of things you shouldn’t be writing about and publicising on the internet. You might wonder why I don’t simply avoid articles I dislike, but these fingers were made for clicking. I can’t stop myself, so I will try to stop other people.

Telling other people what to wear

It is helpful to have someone on the internet defining ‘business casual’ and ‘formal attire below the knee only’ but these articles should be a guide to common practise, and not be written in a prescriptive tone.

If you see someone wearing yoga pants, shorts to a wedding, or a hat that doesn’t suit the shape of their face, keep that thought in your shallow shameful little head. Let people wear what they want, it doesn’t affect you. Definitely DO NOT take to your laptop and write a little think piece about it.

Although I guess there’s some stuff about cultural appropriation and exploitation relating to clothes that might be important to write about. In those cases, you do you.

Telling other people what to do with their hair

When I was in Year 8 I told my friend’s boyfriend that he couldn’t sit with us unless he cut his hair (he had a long ponytail and was getting teased a lot). He didn’t. He kept sitting with us because luckily I have no power.

Now that I’m 37 instead of 14 I have stopped telling other people what to do with their hair. High five for me. Am I going to get some kind of award? No? That’s just called being reasonable. Shame.

At times I have taken my commitment not to interfere with other people’s hair too far. Once, in a bar my friend’s hair literally caught on fire after he leaned back into a tee-light candle. I waited for him to signal that he was unhappy with having a burning halo before I offered to smother it. Some may argue this was bordering on callous but I still think that unless someone has specifically and directly asked you for help with their hair, do not give it to them verbally, in writing or by implementing emergency procedures.

In particular, do not write articles about how men who have a comb-over or a pony tail or a mullet make you be sick in your mouth. I know that women have copped this kind of thing a lot longer and worse than men, but hows about we let men keep the vote as well? Jeez I’m broadminded today.

Telling people 183 things they shouldn’t say to someone who…

Some of these articles are useful. Some people console grieving parents by telling them there’s a reason for everything, and these people need to be told to stoppit as quickly and often as necessary.

I have learned many good communication tips from ‘100 things not to say’ articles. However, some writers go to far in my opinion, and as a result I’m left floundering when I meet someone who has a cold. Should I ask how they’re feeling? (No, they’ll either have to lie or be negative.) Should I mention their copious mucous? (No, you should allow them to bring this up IF they want to.) Should I say ‘Hope you feel better soon!’ (No, it doesn’t matter if they feel better soon, the point is they feel shit now.)

The only thing I’m left with is patting them on the head, which is actually one of the things that you are definitely actually really not supposed to EVER do to someone over the age of five (seriously, don’t do this).

Telling modern parents they’re responsible for the terrible state of children these days

These articles contain some combination of the following insights:

  • Screens rot the brain and you should smash them all as soon as you finish reading this article.
  • Childcare does something. We’re not sure what but you’re being very selfish.
  • The kids aren’t learning phonetics and the bridges will all fall down.
  • We need to bring back bitumen and burn the tanbark because hot feet and an acquired brain injury help kids learn.
  • Buy the author’s book or your child will murder you in your sleep and it will be all your fault.

I’ve read it all before, but I’ll read it all before the week is out.

‘Stop reading them Penny’ you say. Next you’ll be suggesting I don’t click on Where Are They Now articles. As if.


Monday July 4th, 2016 in School | No Comments »

I’ve just remembered the 1+1 game.

I invented this game in high school. It involved pressing ‘1+1’ on a graphing calculator (mine was a TI83) for 60 seconds and then pressing equals to get the score at the end. Any mistakes (for example entering ++ or 11) were fixed after the time elapsed and 10 points deducted.

I played this game a lot and convinced other people to play as well.

I was in Year 12 and so 18 years old when this brilliant idea came to me.

Then, in celebration of 9 September 1999 I held the 9+9 challenge where I convinced more than a dozen of my classmates to press 9+9 on their calculators for 60 seconds (should have made it 99 but hindsight is 20/20).

There’s something very special about being that bored.

The picture below shows the scorecard, which I have kept through nostalgia and the desire to have as much paper as possible in my cupboards.

9 Challenge

Things I NEVER said when I was a child

Monday June 27th, 2016 in Baby-Sitters Club, Reading, School | No Comments »

Third Year at Malory Towers

Anne is my favourite member of the Famous Five because she gets to make all the sandwiches.

If I could be anyone in Little Women, I’d be Meg because she gets married really young and has twins.

Everyone in the Secret Seven has a really important role in solving the mysteries; nobody is there just to make up the numbers.

I completely understand why the Malory Towers girls are always sneaking out to cook sausages, I’d be the same.

The first two chapters of the Baby-Sitters Club books are the best bits and I learn something new about the club and characters every time.

Black Beauty: what a whinger.

I hope Roald Dahl is right about the witches and I get to meet one.

Aslan is not my real Dad.

I wish Anne of Green Gables had fewer bits with Gilbert in it.

Funny boys?

Saturday May 21st, 2016 in Comedy, School | No Comments »

All the funny people at my school were girls. I regularly laughed so hard at netball training that I thought I would collapse. Eating lunch was perilous as there was a high probability that someone would say something hilarious and I would spit out my sandwich. Two of my best friends once put me in the bin and I nearly wet my pants I was laughing so hard.

On the other hand, the boys were not so funny. I can only remember a handful of funny occasions. Once in Year 8 some boys did an hilarious parody of a Life Be In It ad where they changed the last line from ‘They were exercising’ to ‘They were trespassing’.

But I could name the incidents where a boy made me laugh hysterically on one hand, whereas I’d need to take my socks off just to get through the top shelf netball japes.

From this, I conclude that girls are funnier than boys and by extension women are funnier than men.

Couple of things. Almost all my friends at school were girls. I sat with girls at lunch time and in class. After school I did extra-curricular activities with girls. 90% of my conversations were with girls. So it’s possible that the boys were actually hilarious I just didn’t know it because I spoke to them a lot less often, and when I did talk to them I had other things on my mind like the fact that I didn’t know how to talk to boys.

With maturity has come a greater understanding that people with different genitals are people too. You can just talk to them like you would with any other person. And by actually speaking to them and listening to what they have to say I have come to realise that some men actually are quite funny. Try it, you might be surprised.

Life Education

Friday April 29th, 2016 in Diaries, School | No Comments »

life-education-vanI remember the time the Life Education van came to my primary school. It was a very exciting day and I wrote about it in my diary.

life van diary

31/3/1993 Boy time flies. Tomorrow we have netball. Today the Life Education van came. It was really good. I can’t wait for Friday. We are leaving school early to go to Melbourne. Then on Sunday I’m going to Emma’s party. I made a really nice broach in art yesterday.

The fact that I mentioned at least five unconnected topics in the same paragraph, of which the Life Education van was only one belies its importance to me. I’ve forgotten the broach, trip to Melbourne and most of Emma’s party but the Life Education van is clear in my mind.

What I remember is that the Life Education van’s visit came as a complete surprise to me and the rest of my Grade 5/6 class. We thought we were in for an afternoon of Maths when suddenly we were ushered up the steps of the most exciting van you could imagine (think mobile library, but better).

I remember that it was terribly exciting but the only bit of the presentation that I clearly recall is a hand puppet called Harold singing a song that went:

If you smoke you’re gonna choke

And if you drink you’re gonna feel real blue

Then a chorus of chipmunks said ‘Come on Harold, let’s go behind the dunnies for a smoke.’

Harold, you’ve got to make a decision

I think there must have been more to the Life Education van than that because the program made a big impression on me and my classmates. We all pledged to never try smoking. We were told there would be peer pressure at high school but it was hard to imagine giving in to it given the horrors of smoking and the fact that it was clearly a completely stupid thing to do.

When I got home that night I told my older sister, who was in Year 7, about the Life Education van and that no-one in my class would ever smoke. ‘Everyone says that,’ she said. ‘But it’s different in high school.’

I knew she was wrong.

Olympic Dreams

Friday April 22nd, 2016 in School, Sport | No Comments »


I’ve been reflecting a lot recently on my dream to be an Olympic athlete.

It started when I was in Grade 5 and the Olympics were in Barcelona. It was a great Olympics. The theme song by Andrew Lloyd Weber Amigos Para Siempre was even more moving than Memory, Kieren Perkins smashed his own world record in the 1500m freestyle final, and I became determined to march into an Olympic stadium as an athlete.

I wrote in my Grade 5 diary:

“I have a dream to get to the Olympics not as a spectator but as a competitor. And God Dam it if I don’t. I am turning 11 next week. My days of being ten are numbered.”

The only problem was that I wasn’t at all sure which sport I would excel in. I wasn’t worried though. I assumed it would only be a matter of time before I discovered it.

It hasn’t happened. Instead, one by one I have gotten too old for all the sports. It started with gymnastics. By the age of 13, when I should have been reaching my gymnastical peak I couldn’t touch my toes. Then I realised I couldn’t swim fast, then I realised I couldn’t run fast. Then I realised I was hopelessly uncoordinated, ruling out all ball sports and anything with a stick.

Fortunately, in my primary school diaries I also said I wanted to be an actor, a great debator, travel around the world without using aeroplanes like Michael Palin, and (this was implied) become a nun. So still, lots of options. But oh! The Olympics would have been great.

PS I also used to want to be one of the cats in Cats but that’s not happening either.