The joys of hoarding.

I'm the weird type of person that grows emotionally attached to objects and often attributes them with feelings. Better again if these object have faces then I can fully fall heads over heels for them. I often wonder if I was left to my own devices off in some isolated country house somewhere with non frequent visitors could I become a fully fledged certifiably crazy hoarder. Unable to depart with any of my junk and over-come by guilt because I couldn't possibly pay everything sufficient attention. Then one day my family would turn up with an American cable channel and they'd try to preform an intervention as I break down with them attempting to pry my egg carton plants from my bare hands.

So with this insight to my neurosis in mind, you can imagine how attached I become to actual people. I think this is what drives my photography addiction, which is also getting out of hand. Why actually experience something when you can photograph it. Derp!

There are times though, when I'm so glad to be the way I am. These pictures of my great uncle Hughie are case and point. I think I took them about 10 years ago. I was a photography student at the time, learning how to process and develop and as you can see making a right mess of every print I got my hands on. Despite the dodgy processing these shots make me happy and a little sad. They bring back memories and I always smile when I remember the story Hughie told me and my brother about why he had no right thumb. We were obsessed it, or rather the lack of it.  We constantly questioned everyone but him about it. One day when we were feeding the cows and lambs I got up the courage to ask him why and he told me a cow ate it when he was a wee boy. I couldn't understand why he would keep feeding them cows after they'd ate his thumb. He told us if we didn't feed them then they'd die. It was such a dilemma for Patrick and I. We certainly didn't want the animals to die, especially the lambs but we were quite attached to our own thumbs too. The next time we went to visit Hughie we came prepared with rubber gloves and kitchen tongs. We had a job to do but we weren't about to lose our thumbs in the process. 

Tom Selleck and I are getting married.

For those of you that don't know (which is essentially everyone as it happened so fast) I've moved to Australia. Yes, that's Australia, in the Southern Hemisphere, Australia with all them kangaroos and koala bears, crocodiles and Mick Dundee and what not. Ta daaaaa! I'm here. Didn't see that one coming, me neither but I'm here. And yes, it's wonderful. That makes 2011 a dual-emigration-across-three-different-continents new record for me. Allows pause for approving nod. I'm getting to see loads of the world and it's fabulous, yadda yadda yadda. That's not what I'm here to talk about. No, it's far more interesting. TomSelleckcalledmesexy kind of interesting. That's what I'm here to tell you about today. That's my news. What enormous fabulous news I hear you say. Of course I'll elaborate, thanks for asking. Here's the background:
So I'm sitting in my new temporary abode one evening on my lonesome, minding my own business, watching telly (it's all go here I tell you) drinking tea and rediscovering the delights of Fry's Turkish delight (available in all good petrol stations). When I flick over the channels and lo and behold to my utter delight there stands Tom Selleck in all his magnificent mustached glory. He was just as I remembered him, manly and gorgeous and coming and going as he pleased. Leaving behind him a trail of swooning high waisted short wearing, bouffant haired, females. I was delighted to see him, man I miss Magnum PI. I'd even forgotten how much I'd loved him. Thank you Australia for your endless repeats of nostalgia. It makes the prospect of involuntary unemployment somewhat less daunting knowing I can solve mysteries with Jessica Fletcher. Anyhow, speaking of people who never worked- did we ever truly find out if Higgins was indeed the elusive Robin Masters? I have vague recollection of a confession but it's blurred out by all the sexiness Tom was extruding (extruding. Is that even a word? Fuckit, it's late I'm not deleting nor googling it). Answers on a postcard please.


Back to my point. Being on my lonesome as afore mentioned,  who could I possibly gush too except the whole universe. Hello twitter. Well, the gods shone down on me and heard my tiny tweet and alerted none other than the man himself, Mr Selleck. Yes, Tom Selleck replied....... Pauses for exceptionally long period followed by appreciative gasp and slow clap and mostly the opportunity for readers to make sense of the below screen grab. 

See Fig 1:

Can you imagine my utter elation waking up the next morning to a response from ze Tom Selleck. That's a rhetorical question because OF COURSE YOU CAN. So this happens and I float to work that morning through a beatific haze of possibility. On my way I imagine how our online affair shall progress. Now that he thinks I'm sexy he'll probably want to marry me, naturally. Which I'm ok with. Though there's always Fergal (my long suffering boyfriend) to consider. Sheesh, talk about an inconvenience. I wonder how Tom would feel about some kind of polygamous relationship? I decide Fergal and Tom will probably be ok with this, after all I am sexy. Next problem is where we'd live. Man, I'd only just arrived in Australia, another international move would be really draining. I decide it's probably best we live out our polygamous marriage here as I quite like it and after all I'm sexy, they should come to me. All is going swimmingly when I realise Tom's pretty old now and he'll probably tell me he doesn't want kids, just like he did to Monica. This could have been devastating were I not one step ahead of him. I'd have my Tom Selleck babies with Fergal and then we'd all raise them in one joyous, strangely hairy polygamous family. That day at work I was an absolute delight, if somewhat unproductive. 


My new fond marital bliss was short lived though, very short lived. Almost as short as Kim Kardashians. Seven hours to be exact. I should have known better. I'd read People magazines a million times. All celebrity marriages are doomed, hollywood romances never last. Of course it was the ultimate in humiliation to find out the way I did. Logging back on to stalk my future husband I discover:  

Had he forgotten that I was sexy already? Did the tweet mean nothing to him?  Despair. And so it as quickly as it began it was over. All my hopes and dreams dashed by one Mia Bethany's and her happy vagina.


Well that's taught me my lesson. I'm much nicer to Fergal now, even though he knew nothing of our imaginary polygamous marriage and Tom Selleck babies. But best of all he's not on twitter.