Himalayan, Her A-Layin'

A few years ago, my identical twin sister and I lived with our respective blokes a couple of suburbs away from each other. For the purpose of this story, imagine that identical twins share the same DNA and look sort of similar. It's better that way.

Within walking distance of both houses was an excellent Himalayan restaurant – outstanding food, questionable décor, and friendly, laid-back staff. I still question whether or not you can actually find prawns in the Himalayas, but their appearance on the menu was a welcome one, along with lamb, goat, chicken, and hands-down winner of the Best Goddamn Dumpling In The Cosmos award – the Mo-Mo. If you've never had a Mo-Mo before, best to just cut out your tongue and whack it in the garbage disposal now, as you've obviously been wasting it. Chickens around the world willingly offer their breasts for the sake of these delectable morsels – sort of like Tara Reid, but a lot classier and considerably more symmetrical.

Anyway, every couple of weeks, my then-boyfriend and I would either sit in for a Himalayan meal or drop in to pick up some take-away. My sister Shelley and her partner would frequent the restaurant about as often. After around two years, we realised we'd never all been there together, so we booked a table, picked up some wine and settled in to peruse the menu.

A few minutes into our visit, we noticed that the waiters and the chef were looking over at our table, laughing and whispering. Much as I adore being the subject of ill-disguised derision, I must have made a noticeable face, as one of the waiters hurried over to explain himself.

"Sorry," he said, addressing Shelley and me, "but we never realised you were twins before. For the last two years, we all thought there was just one of you, and you were seeing two different guys, and you had the balls to keep bringing both guys to the same restaurant. We laughed about it every time you came in. We thought you were an absolute legend. Frankly, we're a little disappointed".

I almost wish they'd never discovered the truth. For a while there, I was a brazen harlot with a taste for chickpeas, yoghurt, and semi-clandestine affairs. Now I'm just a… oh. Oh, I see.

Between A Rock And A Harness

Things I have recently learned about indoor rock-climbing:

· Nobody's arse looks good in a harness, however when everybody in the room is wearing a harness, the usual rules apply.

· Gentlemen who rock-climb a lot have bodies that make me cry.

· Looking at gentlemen who rock-climb a lot from behind and underneath is a pleasant way to spend an evening.

· In the context of rock-climbing, I have strong legs.

· In the context of rock-climbing, my spindly spaghetti arms are about as much use as a bra on a bowling ball.

· When one of your mates yells out a frustrated "Fuck!" in an indoor rock-climbing gym, it echoes like a bastard.

· The first beer after two hours of rock-climbing tastes better than just about any other beer in the whole world. If you can get it to your mouth with your recently-gone-into-spasm spindly spagettti arms, that is.

Papa's Got Some Brand New Scrags

I had a dream last night. I was on the top of a steep hill, which was slippery with grease from innumerable Chiko Rolls and dotted with discarded globs of chewing gum. The sky was distressed-denim blue, and the birds in the sky seemed to squawk "Scraaaaag! Scraaaag!". Down the bottom of the hill, I could see thirteen straightened-out paper-clips, all nestled in their own pair of Jimmy Choos, and whenever the wind blew, the paper-clips would grate against each other, sparks would fly, and the English language would suffer heinous atrocities.

At first I thought maybe I'd eaten too much cheese before bed (but really – how much is too much?). Then I realised that my dream was a metaphor, and that in less than a month, Series 4 of Australia's Next Top Model starts.

I've had a sneak-peek at this year's crop of modules here, and, as is my custom, I've decided to make instant judgements about the girls based on very little, and make outrageously inaccurate predictions from three photographs, primarily because it's so much fun, and lots of people seem to hate it. I'd like to say a special hello to those of you who have just Googled your own name and found yourself here – welcome! Wipe your feet.

So here they are – long hair, big lips, vacant stares, and names inspired by chucking a bunch of Scrabble tiles in a bowl. Bless you, my lovelies. Don't let me down.

Alexandra Girdwood, 20, Sydney
Quote: "Learn as much as you can along the journey and don't regret anything". Really? Not even that fringe?
Good stuff: Ridiculously long legs, decent bone structure, and a vague air of sophistication.
Bad stuff: Small mouth, not much shape, quite possibly a man.
Prediction: Will be criticised by judges for having the same facial expression in every shot, but will brush this away as her 'signature look'. Less 'Blue Steel' than 'Bored Salamander'.

Leiden Kronemberger, 18, Sydney
Quote: "Living la vida loca". If the name doesn't give her Spanish heritage away, the quote certainly will.
Good stuff: The only one with 'edgy' short hair, and what looks like a versatile, interesting face.
Bad stuff: Doesn't say 'model' to me. Sort of says 'bi-curious security guard with large dog as pet'.
Prediction: Struggles to look feminine in photo-shoots, compensates by cradling a bottle of bourbon in the bathtub.

Kristy Coulcher, 19, Sydney
Quote: "Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die tomorrow". Vomit as if you've just had this quote printed on a t-shirt.
Good stuff: Owns actual boobs and a perfect nose. Can rock straight and curly hair. The versatility!
Bad stuff: Eyes are about three suburbs apart. A little bit too men's magazine, particularly as read in prison.
Prediction: Will look at most other modules with barely-concealed disdain and spell badly.

Alamela Rowan, 17, Byron
Quote: "We all want world peace but who is going to make it happen?". Sorry, what?
Good stuff: Um…. no obvious scars?
Bad stuff: I don't get it. Possibly the prettiest girl at Nimbin Coles, but not a module. Shadow cast by eyebrows has prevented tanning.
Prediction: Bye.

Alyce Crawford, 18, Kiama
Quote: "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened". Let's remember this come elimination time, shall we?
Good stuff: Completely fucking gorgeous.
Bad stuff: Blue lycra stockings. Possible permanent sneer.
Prediction: Will act like she's won already. Binger. Purger.

Belinda Hodge, 18, Melbourne
Quote: "Go hard and kick arse". And what's more, please proof-read my dissertation.
Good stuff: Relatively buxom, and great hair.
Bad stuff: Just… looks… like a scrag. May be the first to drop either the c-bomb or her skinny jeans.
Prediction: Turns up late to photo shoots due to skiving off for a cig behind the make-up van.

Caris Eves, 19, Perth
Quote: "Being broke is a temporary situation. Being poor is a state of mind". Oh, get stuffed. That's almost clever! And yet not.
Good stuff: Ridiculously stunning. People inject themselves with cattle hormones for those cheekbones and lips.
Bad stuff: Buggered if I know. Probably gets the hiccups occasionally?
Prediction: Wins the bloody thing.

Demelza Reveley, 16, Wollongong
Quote: "Don't be a bitch". Concise. Direct. Unrealistic.
Good stuff: Big, limpid Twiggy-eyes and proper curves. Cutey-McCute from Sweetsville.
Bad stuff: A little bit deer-in-the-headlights. A little bit girl-next-door. A little bit 'I'm sorry, who are you again?'. Oh, that's right. You're Demelza.
Prediction: Fails maths and eats chips.

Emma O'Sullivan, 17, Queensland
Quote: "Take every day as it comes". The alternative being…?
Good stuff: Body and hair to die for.
Bad stuff: Lined up twice for jawbone and fish-lips.
Prediction: Cries a lot and just wants all the other girls to get along.

Jamie Lee, 21, Adelaide
Quote: "Live life to the fullest, don't waste a second". Take time out for hair-straightening and self-tanning, though.
Good stuff: Awesome face and easily the best haircut.
Bad stuff: Blockish torso, peculiar nose, name not ridiculous enough.
Prediction: A quiet achiever with a raspy voice and a secret love of bacon.

Kamila Markowska, 18, Adelaide
Quote: "Time of your life". I love it when people pick quotes from Hello Kitty pencil-cases.
Good stuff: Unusual, with a mix of sweet and Eastern-European sultry. She piddy.
Bad stuff: Looks like she has the personality of wet cardboard, and a broken neck.
Prediction: Shy, unassuming, and constantly struggling against her father's insistence that she become a vet.

Rebecca Jobson, 18, Wollongong
Quote: "If you want something bad enough go out and get it". Chlamydia, for example.
Good stuff: Heaps exotic n'that. Amazonian to the point of terrifying.
Bad stuff: Pretty sure she's cross-eyed.
Prediction: Will go far in the competition, looking down on the others from a hoity height and slamming a lot of doors.

Samantha Downie, 19, Melbourne
Quote: "Keep trying no matter what, just don't give up". Yawn.
Good stuff: Incredible skin and eyes, legs up to her armpits
Bad stuff: Despite being seemingly flawless, she doesn't seem to stand out.
Prediction: I'll bet money she's the bitch of the series. Cries inside.

So there you have it. Joydhi, Shiny Alex Perry, Charlotte Dawson and Jonathan Pease are all back (I'll miss you and your constantly displayed upper chest, Jez), and from April 22nd, the fun, bitchiness, and hats at jaunty angles all start. I'll be recapping episodes a day or two after broadcast, and then carrying on with my otherwise windswept and glamorous existence. And maybe ordering some Thai.

Shaking Up Thoughts In A Bag.

· Hot damn, I love this ad. Sure, there's some hoo-hah about the implication of the word 'beaver', but the word isn't actually mentioned, and it's a much better euphemism than an eye-dropper full of blue ink. They could've used a cat. Or a vagina.

· I spoke to my sister on the day preceding what was destined to be a big night out last week, and I was letting her know it was going to be a bit… well, pissy. She said "Oh! That reminds me – I must marinate the chicken".

· My one-and-a-half year old nephew has started to spell. He's a freakin' genius. Next: air-guitar lessons.

· A mate this week asked: "When you rest on your laurels, are they in your feet, or your arse?"

· For the last two weeks, I've found the word "penis" inexplicably hilarious. I don't want to even start thinking about what that might mean.

Two Candles, A Bunch Of Scrags, Some Rhyming, And Really Quite A Lot Of Swearing.

This blog is two years old today.

For its birthday, it wants comments, cash, and a genetically engineered Dylan Moran/Clive Owen hybrid.

You Had Me At "Tooheys" #9, or This Week's Pick-up Line

I adore being able to pinpoint the exact moment at which a guy realises his pick-up line is utter pants.

Case in point: my friend Kate and I were having a quiet drink at one of our locals (which is, for the point of the story, across the road from a hospital), when a young gent tried to get Kate's attention.

"Excuse me," he said. "Are you a nurse?"

A mediocre start, which could really go either way. He didn't look like he had a zinger in the wings, though.

"A nurse?" replied Kate. "No. I'm not a nurse. Why do you ask?".

The guy shuffles a bit, but soldiers on.

"Because… your shoes… look… really… um… comfortable?".

See that italic type there? That represents the exact moment that the poor guy's testicles shrank up into his chest. Right before he finished his sentence, he knew he was toast.

Gentlemen, a tip: There are thousands, nay, tens of thousands of ways to start a conversation with a girl you wouldn't mind rubbing naked against. All of them are better than telling her that her shoes look comfortable.

You want me to tell you your penis is 'cute'?
No.
No, you don't.