Kids and Money.

PLEASE READ THIS;

Recently I launched into a new (for me) piece of technology known as
Bloglines, this is a program that notifies you when your subscribers
have updated their sites.

With my expanding blogroll (no, I didn’t mean to type waistline!!)
this was viewed as a major technical break-through that would save
me hours of time each day.

For the first few weeks, with only a couple of hiccups, this proved to
be the case, just enough time to lull me into a false sense of security,
then the notifications slowed down dramatically… Hmmmm lots of
people seem to be taking a sabbatical I thought.

At last the penny dropped and I checked some sites manually only
to find I was a week or more out of date with their postings.. Grrrrr
so it looks like we are back to square one and destined to check
sites manually again, may also be time to do a little pruning sadly.

So if you haven’t had the pleasure of my witty comments of late this
is the reason, hopefully over the next few days I’ll catch up.

If anyone has a better solution than Bloglines for checking
sites I would love to hear about them.

A young businessman in Brisbane in 1947.

Kids and money.

I just love delving into history (recent history, say 150 years ago, not
that dry old stuff we were taught in school) my interest was caught by
this old photo in the Sunday paper.

It depicts an enterprising youngster who has hitched his pet goat to a
billy cart and is busily collecting returnable bottles to supplement his
pocket money, which is never enough to buy all the things a child
desires.

The photo was taken in an inner city suburb of Brisbane in 1947, for
any car buffs who may not recognize the car, it is a Vauxhall about
1938 vintage, cars were very scarce in Australia in the years after
World War 2 and those that were available were mainly of British build.

I may do a separate post on our Motor industry at some time.

Back to the important issue of pocket money (read allowance) and it’s
supplementation, there were many ways of earning some cash
available to those willing to look around.

During this period all Australian cities had morning and evening
newspapers (before the television news explosion killed of all the
evening editions, and a few of the morning ones too) so the home
delivery and street corner selling of newspapers was a big employer.

As well as home delivery of newspapers there was also many other
products brought right to your door, until PROGRESS killed them
off, we had bread, milk, meat, groceries and ice, pre refrigeration,
the packaging or delivery of these all offering part time employment
to those kids who wanted to work and earn money.

There was even the introduction to small time crime in some of
these ventures, like climbing the back fence at the store and
releasing some refundable bottles for a second round of refunds,
I am ashamed (but not very ashamed) to admit that I have
indulged in this activity.

There were also family enterprises like the supply of fresh eggs and
fresh chickens delivered to your door, one such enterprise had the
whole family involved in the process of killing, plucking, cleaning and
stuffing of chickens.

Due to an unprecedented demand at Christmas time the supply ran
out, determined that this wouldn’t happen the next year so extra
birds were bred only to find that “market forces” beat them again
and demand declined, (or maybe frozen chickens hit the market?)
the family ate a lot of chicken that year.

Lost in the Supermarket.

Two blokes are pushing their shopping trolleys around a supermarket
when they collide.

The first bloke says to the second bloke, "Sorry about that. I'm looking
for my wife, and I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was going".

The second bloke says, "That's OK. It's a coincidence. I'm looking for my
wife, too. I can't find her and I'm getting a little desperate".

The first bloke says, "Well, maybe we can help each other. What does
your wife look like"?

The second bloke says, "Well, she is 27 yrs old, 5 feet 11 inches tall,
with blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs, long legs and is wearing tiny
little shorts and a crop top. What does your wife look like"?

The first bloke says, "Doesn't matter.. let's look for yours."

People feel fame gives them some kind

of privilege to walk up to you and say

anything to you

and it won't hurt your feelings

like it's happening to your clothing.