Allow me to quote the prophet Oprah: "You show who you are by how you treat people who are serving you."

I literally almost wept with mirth. (PMS? Possibly).

Sometimes I love Jezebel.

"Happy Period?" This reminds me of that lie about how childbirth is a wonderful, magical experience.

I take the point about fruit being high in sugar, and consequently I mostly avoid fruit juice and dried fruits, but I think the potential insulin spike of whole fruits is mitigated by the fibre and other nutrients.

The food chain is so obviously a myth perpetuated by David Attenborough. Wild animals really just want to cuddle each other and play roly poly in the grass. And I am going to live with them, and hug them and squeeze them into itty-bitty pieces.

Then you are clearly not ready to move on to the next stage of enlightenment, a state between self-indulgence and self-mortification (ie. baby goats).

Next time, bring goats.

I feel like "The Internet" is actually a sinister, enigmatic man in a trench coat who follows us around and stands under street lamps outside our homes at night, smoking a Cuban cigar, talking into a Dictaphone and observing us through a newspaper with eye-holes cut into it.

When Australian Lindy Chamberlain was accused of murdering her baby (the baby famously taken by a dingo), she was told not under any circumstances to cry on the stand, and she didn't. Subsequently people accused her of being a cold-hearted bitch. Then when she did cry on the stand, people said she was simply trying to…

It is frightening, because the impression you get from film and television is much more enlightened than real life. I'm Australian, but I grew up watching The Cosby Show and Sesame Street and other American shows that suggest that everyone gets along just fine. Then stories like these hit the headlines and it's quite…

Yes!! Stormfront. That's exactly it. It's freaky. I prefer to think of internet racists as a latent fringe minority, but suddenly everyone everywhere is slinging racial epithets as though we've* made no progress whatsoever since the 60's. It's very disturbing.

I have great penmanship. It bothers me that so few of the strangers I encounter on the internets know that, which is why I have no compunction about telling you, openly.

Only, the paparazzo, who was probably standing across the street. As far as I know none of the other customers took photos.

This is not an excuse, but they were in a semi-private eating area and I kind of get the impression from the pictures and eyewitness comments that the throat-grabbing was quiet and menacing rather than a sudden, violent outburst, so it might have taken a while for people to realise what was actually happening. By then…

I like the voiceover. "It's a dawg chasing little goldfish in his pooool." It sounds like he's a cowboy trying to sell me the smooth, cooool taste of a Marlboro cigarette. (I'm not buying, but I'd like some goldfish and a little dawg in a pooool.)

Yes! Exactly.

I'm not convinced about the experiences thing. My sister and I are both pretty penurious. She scrapes and saves all her pennies until she can afford to jump out of a plane (strapped to an instructor) a couple of times a year. It lasts for a few minutes. Once when I was still a student I scraped and saved all my…

My freckles sort of disappeared. At least the big childhood freckles that look like they've been painted on. I don't know why. I'd like them back. I wonder if I could literally paint them on?

Oh, that makes sense. It's winter in the southern hemisphere, so we're subsisting on parsnips and turnips. And turnip cobbler SUUUCKS.