Reg helped me self-medicate with Guinness over the weekend, but unfortunately I couldn't drink the quantities required to help kill the bacteria. He was also kind enough not to comment on my new drag queen voice. Ghost, on the other hand, nearly went berserk with glee when I lost my voice entirely a couple of days later. His sympathy underwhelms me.

That's more information than you need and it's not what I'm here for. I've actually been inspired by the lovely Saint Mahone and Femme De La Creme. But before I move on, for the benefit of Shane and Loz:

Chook = chicken
Dunny = outdoor toilet

'May your chooks turn into emus and kick your dunny down' = old fashioned Australian curse which translates to 'may your domesticated fowl transform into oversized native flightless birds and deprive you of your primitive water closet facilities.'

I hope that helps.

Saint Mahone commented about my choice of musical accompaniment for my daily walks (which have been postponed due to astonishing quantities of mucus) and Femme followed this up by another of her insightful (some may say 'inciteful') blogs.

There is a very good reason why the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras Party Anthems CD remains close to my heart.

With more cheese than a stuffed crust pizza and a divine cover by the exquisite Pierre et Gilles, made all the more scandalous because one of the girls on the cover was reputed to be... GASP... a breeder, this particular CD represents one of the proudest moments in my life.

Cast your mind back to 1997. Your hostess is but a wee Tree-let who has just moved out of home into an apartment the size of a shoebox. My baby brother had taken to visiting regularly as an outlet to get away from mum for a bit and a chance for a chat over pizza and beer. He'd been seriously down for several years, prompting much worry.

Mum had gone away on holidays. One afternoon I got a deeply ominous phone call from my brother. "Tree, I need to come over. I need to talk to you about something."

Being the sensible, rational person I was, I went into full panic. He was on drugs, he was contemplating suicide, something TERRIBLE was about to happen. I had no idea how I was going to handle the situation and I dreaded his arrival.

When he did finally get there (and I'd stopped convincing myself he had a fatal illness), we chatted about this and that until finally he looked at me and asked me a very strange question.

He wanted to know what expectations mum and I had for him.

I was astonished. I spluttered out something along the lines of hoping for his health and his happiness but not really having any expectations other than him never becoming a cannibal or a Mormon.

And then he told me.

"I'm gay."

I felt like my strings were cut. I nearly collapsed onto the couch.

Not with horror. But with sheer relief.

My exact words to him?

"Oh, is THAT all! I thought something terrible had happened!"

This was not the response he was expecting.

The poor lad was totally bewildered. Despite mum having raised us to regard homosexuality as just another part of life, he was convinced that we would ostracise him, throw him out of the family and rain curses down on his head. Instead, I took him down to the local gaybourhood (just down the road from the shoebox apartment) and helped him pick out books, clothes and scrummy looking boys.

We spent the rest of the time together plotting how to tell mum. I wasn't expecting her to freak out or anything, but it's still big news and you want to get it right. And she was due back on Mother's Day and I just KNEW that was not the day to tell her.

He did tell her, and eventually the whole family. He's out at work and in all parts of his social life. He chose to not tell some friends because he felt that they would not accept him, and phased those people out of his life. He's not had a single negative response about his sexuality.

He is one of the luckiest people I know.

For his 21st birthday the following year, mum and I gave him two tickets to the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras. He asked his big sister to come along. And I proudly marched beside him as part of PFLAG's (Parents, Family & Friends of Lesbians & Gays) 'A Family Outing'.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the proudest moments of my life.

For long-time listeners, you know the role Earl Grey plays in my life. The miraculous transformation I undergo after that first mug (who needs evolution when you can start the day with a good, hot cuppa?) Basically, I don't leave home without it. I need it like some people need coffee. That is, until I discovered the wonder that is T2's soft spice tea. I have a gigantic tea bowl at home (seriously, it's a soup bowl with a handle and saucer) that I fill with chai each morning and BLISS! Mmmmm, clove, cinnamon and vanilla-y tea goodness. So T2 take note, am willing to sell myself for the opportunity to snuggle up in my jammies with vats of chai.

Well, it's not all sitting around. I've noticed some expansion caused by all this bad living and thought it was about time I got off my proverbial and used this spare time to lose the spare tire. I've been legging it around Alma Park of a morning, quite delightful. I've found that the first disc of 1995's (e-gads, I'm such an old fag hag!) Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras Party Anthems is paced just right for avoiding the dog poop and getting the heart and lungs doing their thing. Nothing like a little "We Are Family" to put a swing in your step. The weather in the mornings has been glorious and so far I've been treated to the sight of lovely boys rappelling out of trees (lopping branches) and the reason why most girls should not play Aussie Rules football (ladies, do NOT shriek and run when the ball comes toward your goal, OK?) I just wish I'd stop coughing up a lung afterwards...

I've also... er... acquired (hurriedly stuffs her copy of Kazaa out of sight) some pilates videos. I remember doing pilates a few years ago at a week-long belly dance workshop. It was bloody hard work, but made me feel good afterwards, so I'm going to try that in conjunction with walking to see if I can regain my girlish figure. Unfortunately, the videos I've got have been recorded in artificial letterbox format, so when the instructor tells me to stretch my arms out, I'm sure she doesn't want me to look as freakishly distorted as the girls on the video do...

Got together with the witches of East St Kilda this week. We'd not done anything vaguely witchy in the longest time. There was a full moon, which was as good an excuse as any for we three to meet again, although there was rather less thunder and lightning and rather more wine and candles and only a little hurlyburly. Us blessed wanna be's (thank you, Mr Joss Whedon) sat about, gossiped and threw around a little prosperity magic. I'd also been itching for an excuse for an earth-mother baking frenzy, so we chowed down on Herbed Onion Tart, Spicy Pumpkin Soup with Herbed Damper Rolls (damper is an Australian bread, made rather like scones) and an Apple Cake with Vanilla Cream Sauce afterwards. Yum.

So, with a bit of luck, we'll all be doing what we want to be doing and be paid well for it by the new moon. That, or I suddenly have an overabundance of frankincense, flame red candles and jars of honey in my freezer.

P.S. If you can't post comments to this site, drop me a line and let me know what browser you are using and what error message (if any) you're getting. If you're just too lazy to comment, may your chooks turn into emus and kick your dunny down.