With one kid gonski and the other vehicularly mobile, my Saturday mornings no longer resemble a scene from the Amazing race. As I sip on my latte and read the paper, I offer that ‘old persons’ empathetic smile to the procession of parents trying to grab a quick takeaway coffee prior to the ‘divide and conquer’ mission that involves wrangling kids into cars and ferrying them off to multiple sporting fields in far flung and (not so) exotic destinations. ...

I’m sitting at my desk, ready to write and all I can hear are the shrieks and squeals of “Marco” (pause) “Polo” from the kids two doors down. It’s happy noise and I’m not bothered by it but it has made me ponder … when did endless pool games and bombies stop being fun? ...

My son is bilingual. Actually, he has become so proficient in his new language that he rarely lapses back into his mother tongue. He picked up his second language with little or no formal instruction (#gifted) … via teenage osmosis I think. You may have heard of it … it’s called Gruntlish...

I have noticed that I am becoming increasingly intolerant. My list of annoyances grows by the day and includes everything from slow walkers, to cyclists, call centre help desks, poontzy dudes in flashy cars and anything to do with the post office. I frequently flip the bird, swear like a sailor when I’m driving and have been known to pull someone into line for trying to jump the queue at Bakers Delight. But all these things pale into insignificance when compared to the angst derived from the supermarket....