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Wow! Feeling a bit special that alimardory nominated me for the Sunshine Blogger Award. We follow each other and I love that she, well, simply, talks about stuff. Her blogs resonate and they’re real. Thanks, alimardory and please go check out her site at https://belaboringthepoint.wordpress.com/

I posted my first blog 2^nd May 2025, so it’s fitting that here I am, on 2^nd May 2026, posting about the Sunshine Blogger Award. I love it.

The Sunshine Blogger Award recognises bloggers for inspiring content that promotes positivity. It’s a fun way for bloggers to connect and acknowledge each other’s hard work.

So, the guidelines for this award are as follows –

1. Display the award’s official logo somewhere on your blog.
2. Thank the person who nominated you.
3. Provide a link to your nominator’s blog
4. Answer your nominator’s questions.
5. Nominate up to eleven bloggers.
6. Ask your nominees eleven questions.
7. Notify your nominees by commenting on their blogs.

These are the questions I have been asked –

What’s a smell that instantly takes you back to childhood?

Hot chips with lots of salt and tomato sauce – nothing like it, when someone walks past with a bucket of chips and you catch a whiff.

If you were a minor character in a TV show, what would your one recurring line be?

I bought snacks and emotional support.

What is the best lie you have ever told?

I’m fine. Seriously, I’m a firm believer that when a woman says she’s fine, she is so not fine, it didn’t take my husband long to get this – probably gave it away, with the tone of my voice.

What song do you know all the words for?

Aahh, so many, I love music. One that comes to mind is ‘Don’t’ Stop Believin’, by Journey, a classic and whilst I sing a bit out of tune (not caterwauling bad though), I can belt this one out.

What is the weirdest food you’ve ever eaten?

When I was pregnant – pickles with peanut butter – it sounds illegal, but it did the trick for my cravings. p.s. no-one knows this, not even Simon.

What’s your favourite board game?

Snakes and Ladders. It’s all fun and games until you’re one square away from winning and a snake ruins your entire personality.

Which instrument has the funniest sound?

The kazoo. It sounds like a tiny duck.

What is the weirdest thing in your home?

Probably me! And my son Jackson’s baby teeth, stored in a beautiful velvet jewellery pouch in my jewellery drawer. It even sounds weird as I type this. Am I gifting them to him at some stage in his life??????????

What movie makes you laugh even after watching it multiple times?

The Hangover. It never gets old.

What is the best colour in the rainbow?

Green. It relates to the heart chakra. It’s about unconditional love.

I nominate the following bloggers who I regularly follow –

Kent Wayne – https://dirtyscifibuddha.com/ – My first ever like I received – I won’t forget it!

Neil Scheinin – https://yeahanotherblogger.com/

Kana Smith – https://kanasmith.com/

And here are my questions –

1. How difficult was it for you to come up with your blog name?
2. What has been the most challenging step for you in your blogging journey?
3. What do you like to do on weekends to relax?
4. What’s your favourite holiday you’ve ever been on?
5. Who or what are you most grateful for in life?
6. Favourite movie of all time?
7. Name a bucket list item?
8. What’s your all-time favourite song?
9. Which element do you identify yourself with?
10. What is the best lie you have ever told?
11. What is the weirdest thing in your home?

Enjoy!

Here I go again, still banging on about idioms. This time, I’m tackling that delightfully dramatic phrase ‘beggars belief.’

I’ve got to be upfront – for years, I used to think the phrase was ‘begs belief.’ I was confidently and incorrectly saying it wrong. I mean, it sounded right. It rolled off the tongue. It even felt logical, like someone was politely tapping you on the shoulder, saying, ‘Excuse me, could you perhaps believe this?’ Nice and civilised.

But I stand corrected. The correct phrase is actually ‘beggars belief.’ It’s far less polite. In fact, it’s downright aggressive.

The origin of this idiom can be traced back to the 17th century, when beggar wasn’t just someone asking for spare change – it was used as a verb, meaning ‘to reduce to poverty’ or ‘to exhaust the resources of.’ Over time, this evolved to convey the idea of something being so extreme that it ‘pauperises’ or ‘exhausts’ belief.

It beggars belief that he would do such a thing. The phrase means that something is so astonishing or outrageous that it is difficult to believe. It means that something is unbelievable, is not deserving to be believed, is questionable. The phrase doesn’t gently request your acceptance, it absolutely drains your ability to believe anything ever again.

It’s the linguistic equivalent of your brain throwing its hands up and saying, ‘Right, I’m done. I’ve got nothing left. You’ve used up all the belief.’

Which, when you think about it, is far more satisfying. It’s like someone is saying ‘How dare you.’

Consider the example ‘It beggars belief that he would do such a thing.’ This isn’t a mild statement. This is full-blown disbelief. This is you staring into the middle distance, questioning reality, possibly reconsidering your life choices.

Compare that with ‘begs belief,’ which accidentally suggests the situation is quite reasonable and just needs a bit of support. Completely the wrong vibe.

Of course, ‘begs belief’ has snuck its way into everyday conversation, and plenty of people use it without a second thought. Language evolves, mistakes become habits, and habits become accepted usage. But if you’re aiming for accuracy – or just want to sound like you know exactly what you’re talking about at a dinner party – ‘beggars belief’ is the one to go for.

So yes, I stand corrected. Publicly. Boldly. Possibly for the last time – though history suggests otherwise.

And don’t get me started on ‘pauperise’ or ‘pauperize’, which one is it? They’re both verbs, why is it so difficult? Pick one and stop making it so complicated.

And honestly, it beggars belief that I got it wrong for so long.

There was no-one better with their words than my dad. The way he expressed, well everything – the good, the bad, the ugly – had me enthralled. He could turn an ordinary moment into a story, a warning into a performance, and a throwaway comment into something unforgettable.

He had that rare gift of making words feel alive. They didn’t just leave his mouth and disappear into the air – they landed, they lingered, they made themselves at home inside you.

Then there were the quirky, outrageous things he would say – the kind of lines that shocked you, made you laugh, and at times really upset me, but over time made perfect sense all at once.

For example, the time he told my boyfriend, well technically ex-boyfriend at the time, that came back knocking on my door, after sleeping with another girl. Dad didn’t miss a beat. He marched up to within an inch of his face and said, ‘IF YOU HURT MY DAUGHTER AGAIN, I’LL GET A SHOTGUN, STICK IT UP YOUR BACKSIDE, AND BLOW YOU FROM HERE TO KINGDOM COME.’ It was dramatic, ridiculous, fiercely protective and so undeniably him.

Over the years, somewhere, somehow, I became a lover of idioms. I think that love began with him. I loved the meaning of different words, which were just individual words, put together to make some sort of sense. Words for me could be playful and clever, they could paint a picture while saying something deeper underneath.

I remember Dad saying, ‘Well he’s up shit creek without a paddle.’ What’s going on? Was the creek actually full of shit? If it was, whose shit? What happened to the paddle? Where’s the boat, that was meant to have the paddle?’ Was there even a boat, or someone stranded in the middle of this dark, filthy creek? I found this kind of language hilarious, confusing and endlessly interesting.

Time and age eventually gave me understanding. Oh yeah, you’re in a difficult situation, with no easy way of getting out of it. It meant you were properly stuck – stranded in the middle of a mess, with no control over where you were headed and no easy way of getting yourself out. It sounded funny, but it carried a sense of helplessness, of consequences already in motion, of being forced to sit in the discomfort of something that had gone wrong.

Maybe that’s why it stayed with me. It wasn’t a neat or polite expression, but it was honest, and Dad was nothing but honest. Somehow, in Dad’s way of saying it, even something bleak sounded vivid, funny and strangely wise.

That was the beauty of Dad’s expressions, they made language feel bigger than itself. It invited me to imagine, to question, to laugh before I even understood.

Made perfect sense….to me. It was the magic of Dad’s words and I loved words. I think I loved them because he did first.

It’s one of those phrases that sounds mildly illegal, vaguely disgusting, but strangely poetic all at once.

It’s when you use dead bait, old fish carcasses – the bits nobody puts on a menu, cut up in many small pieces. Mixed thoroughly, with added fish remains and blood, like the world’s worst smoothie, you are ready to go chum the waters. Weird words, but they serve a purpose. When you chum the waters, you’re trying to attract fish in water. It’s essentially bait lure.

If you’re looking for big fish, chumming the waters is the way to go. Eau de Chum has you covered. It’s gross, it’s effective and it definitely isn’t going to win any awards for fragrance.

You take this grim little soup and toss it into the water to chum the waters, which is fishing’s version of turning on a neon sign that reads – FREE SNACKS THIS WAY. You’re not trying to feed the fish a full meal—you’re creating a scent trail, a tasty rumour, a breadcrumb path of chaos that says, something delicious is happening over here.

It’s basically bait marketing. Small fish show up curious. Bigger fish show up confident. And if you’re aiming for the heavyweight champions—the kind of fish that look like they pay rent—chumming is one of the best ways to get their attention. Big fish don’t chase tiny opportunities, they cruise in when there’s a clear signal that the buffet is open.

But, the phrase doesn’t stay politely on the boat. To chum the waters also works as a metaphor and honestly, it’s almost better there because it’s equal parts vivid and savage.

It is a provocative word, intentionally creating a strong reaction. When someone drops a controversial statement – politics at Christmas lunch, unsolicited parenting advice, dropping a financial opinion knowing it will offend, an unpopular comment online, or that one mate who says Actually…..like it’s a personality trait—it’s like tossing chum into a calm sea. Suddenly the water isn’t calm anymore. People materialise out of nowhere. The replies start circling.

It’s the internet’s favourite sport – chum in the waters – one provocative statement, and boom—the sharks come in for a feeding frenzy. Not because everyone’s hungry for truth, but because drama smells like blood in the water. And once you’ve chummed the waters, you don’t really get to act surprised when the sharks show up. You rang the dinner bell. They just RSVP’d. They’re hungry.

It’s a metaphor popularised by Vietnam War fighter pilot Charles Plumb – after being shot down, he survived because a parachute—packed by someone he’d never met—did its job perfectly.

Because we all have parachute packers.

Not literal ones – unless you’re doing skydiving – I mean the people in your life who quietly support you—mentally, emotionally, physically—often without you even noticing until you’re mid–free fall and suddenly thinking, ‘Oh… this would be a terrible time for my coping skills to go on lunch break.’

These people make space for you in times of need. They steady you. They help you reset. They remind you who you are when you’ve temporarily forgotten.

For me, it’s my sister, Ang.

When I’m angry, sad, broken, tired, down in the dumps, or heartbroken, a call to Ang—usually accompanied by a truly majestic rant—means I live to fight another day. She doesn’t judge. She doesn’t rush me. She just listens, gives me a warm hug over the phone, and somehow delivers advice that lands exactly where it needs to. It’s like she has a PhD in calm down, but in a way that doesn’t make you want to throw your phone.

Without a doubt, Ang contributes to my daily success and expects nothing in return. In effect, she gently pushes me out of the plane when I’m stuck, pulls the cord when I can’t, and helps me land safely when life gets rough. Then, as if by magic, there she is, basically my emotional ground crew, ready to greet me on landing, without me scraping my knees and backside.

Ang is there with me, through all the turbulence, sideways, ups and down of life, a calm voice in the chaos of my world, putting the brakes on when I hit panic speed.

And she doesn’t pack just one parachute either. I keep Ang busy packing the whole set — my physical parachute, my mental parachute, my emotional parachute, and my spiritual parachute too.

She makes sure they’re folded properly, with all the silks of each chute in place, so my fate stays favourable even when my brain is trying to write a disaster movie.

She checks the straps, tightens the buckles, and somehow knows exactly which part of me is about to freefall before I do. When I’m spiralling, she’s steady. When I’m overthinking, she’s calm. When I’m convincing myself the wind is stronger than it is, she reminds me I’ve jumped before — and I’ve landed every time.

So, thanks, Sis, for always packing my parachute. I hope that on the days you need it, I pack yours too — even if mine has a slightly wonky fold and a snack tucked in the pocket for emergencies.

Now I’ll throw it to you – who’s packing your parachute? Who makes your day safer, easier, or more pleasant—quietly, consistently, and probably without enough credit?

*Image by Subbu Rayan on Pexels

Nothing untoward is one of those quietly reassuring phrases that does a lot of heavy lifting with very few words.

Used a lot in formal settings, like medical notes, police statements, carefully worded emails or legal documents. It conveys calm, neutrality and understatement – in other words, no big deal.

At its core, saying nothing untoward means exactly what it sounds like: nothing unusual, unexpected, inappropriate, or problematic happened. Everything proceeded as it should have. The situation remained ordinary, uneventful, and free from drama.

All good. No issues. Move along. Everything was fine. It’s polite.

Nothing untoward, downplays events without dismissing them.

Rather than enthusiastically declaring that everything was excellent or perfect, the phrase gives quiet reassurance and suggests that things were checked and reviewed and that no red flags were found.

It’s the verbal equivalent of a professional nod.

Casual conversation might say – nothing weird happened, it was all normal, no problems at all. A more formal language opts for – nothing untoward.

To fully understand the phrase, it helps to unpack the word untoward itself. While it’s not commonly used on its own in everyday speech, it does carry meaning.

Something untoward is out of the ordinary — not what was expected or planned. It doesn’t have to be catastrophic, it simply signals that something didn’t go according to script.

Something untoward is anything that strays from the expected path — an event, action or outcome that wasn’t expected, planned or welcomed. It suggests a deviation from the norm, often with a faint undertone of concern or impropriety, without spelling out anything dramatic.

Saying nothing untoward happened reassures the reader that events followed the expected course. The phrase quietly confirms that no lines were crossed. There were no problems, disruptions or adverse outcomes.

I think it sounds so serious because part of the charm — and sometimes the frustration — of nothing untoward is its formality. It can feel deliberately vague, as though something could have gone wrong, but didn’t. This makes it ideal for contexts where precision matters, or where understatement is preferred over emotional language.

Nothing untoward is a calm, composed way of saying that everything remained normal and uneventful. It confirms the absence of problems, impropriety, or surprises — without fuss, flourish, or fanfare.

Translated into plain English: No bad stuff. No drama. No fuss. Just as promised.

So, when someone tells you that nothing untoward occurred, take it at face value. It means the wheels stayed on, the forms were ticked, and no one had to escalate anything. Nothing blew up, nothing crossed a line, and nothing ended up becoming ‘a situation’.

In plain Aussie terms: everyone behaved, nothing went pear-shaped, and there’s no need to carry on about it. All good. Move along. Nothing untoward.

Its meaning is clear – calm down, relax, chill out – it’s Aussie slang, the kind we use to tell someone to settle their nerves or stop getting worked up about something.

Linguistically, it’s a classic example of Aussie English that’s meant to soften a directive with rhyme and humour, much like ‘no worries’ or ‘she’ll be right.’

On paper, it’s meant to be playful, casual even, similar to saying ‘take it easy’ in a sing-song way. A phrase that, in theory, should immediately lower your cortisol levels and return the universe to balance.

BUT, why is it that when someone says this to me, my stress is NOT managed, my chaotic situation becomes worse, I am instantly more unsettled and frankly, too flipping mad at them for saying it to – seriously – take it easy.

Psychologically speaking, telling someone to ‘calm down’ often has the opposite effect. So, while the phrase might be wrapped in humour, the message underneath can feel like your reaction is the problem, the situation itself.

It may be informal Australian English, but to me it makes me flip a switch. I see red, and I certainly don’t feel like everything is going to be fine and dandy.

It doesn’t feel folksy. There’s no stress relief, and there’s no damn humour in someone essentially telling you you’re overreacting. Are you trying to soothe me, or are you patronising me? Because let me tell you, it lands squarely in the latter.

It’s an idiom that stops me in my tracks and makes me feel like an idiot – why do my emotions need correcting, managing, or reining in for the comfort of everyone else?

Informal, you say. I don’t think so. More like rude and oh, by the way, thanks so much for pointing out that my situation or emotions are out of control.

So, if you’re telling me to relax, don’t give me that ‘calm your farm’ authentic Aussie touch, unless you want me to bite your head off, kick you back to the land of woop woop, tell you to put a sock in it, or crack the shits, big time. 

Oh, and one last rant, because rest assured – the farm was calm – until you mentioned it.

*Image by Pixabay