As we arrived to do our Christmas shopping at the Plaza, I became that person who everybody hates – a Christmas parking predator.

So desperate was I for a car park that I began stalking people leaving the shops to go to their car.

By that I mean I slowly drove behind them as if herding them towards their auto. Until, under pressure from my bull bar, they hurriedly unlocked their car, giving me a half-smile as they reversed.

As with all car park predators, I nudged the front of my car into the park before they’d even left it to show everyone that I had laid claim to that space and it was now mine.

The interesting thing is that as I left the shopping centre the very same thing happened to me. There’s nothing worse than walking to your car with a Hyundai Getz snapping at your heels.

A Poppy moment

Every now and again you have a special moment with your child where you sort of connect on another level.

This was the case when Poppy came and sat beside me on the lounge – unfortunately for her, snuggling her head into my armpit.

Once she’d regained consciousness she began stroking my beard and asking me questions.

“Were you born with a beard, Dad?”

I quickly replied: “No darling, I grew it.”

She continued: “Have you always had a moustache?”

Her mind was obviously wandering. “Did your father have a moustache?”

I put my arm around her and said: “Sometimes he did.”

She thought for a moment, and with an evil grin looked up and said: “What about your mother?”

A sign of the times

I had to look twice as I drove north past the Paradise Shopping Centre and saw a sign advertising Minyama Meats which said: “Christmas Special, duck and camel.”

Please tell me you’re joking, Minyama Meats. I don’t mind Peking duck but I couldn’t come at a dromedary dessert. Or should that be desert?

I have pneumonia

It was such a lovely day I decided to ride my scooter to work. There’s nothing that compares with the feeling of freedom you get with the wind whistling over your scalp.

Things went terribly wrong when I went to leave. It had started to rain and it was then that I made the worst decision of my life, and that was to ride home in it.

Within a kilometre or two the rain became heavier, soaking my T-shirt and jeans.

The temperature dropped so drastically as I rode over the new Maroochy bridge that I’m sure one of my nipples fell off.

The rain became more driving, so much so that it actually stung my neck as the drops hit.

Not only that but the humidity inside the helmet also made my visor fog up.

I got home, staggered through the door and stood there looking like John Jarrett in Wolf Creek.

My family gasped and stared. “Don’t ask, I said, just don’t ask.”

Big Bob for the big job

I was so pleased to be invited to introduce Bob Abbot at the launch of his campaign to become the mayor of the super council on the Sunshine Coast.

Since arriving on the Coast I have seen him at numerous small businesses, fundraisers and community events.

It became obvious to me that this man is popular because basically he talks straight and listens hard. He is what he is and no pretences. He also plays a mean blues harp.

For my money, I’d like to see him get the top job, or snap his braces trying.

Planning my funeral

As I said last week, I went to Carol’s funeral. It was a sad and sombre affair that convinced me that when I finally fall off the perch I’m not going to have a sad funeral.

There’ll be no-one making speeches about me, except me. I’m going to record something light to be played at my funeral; perhaps I’ll give prizes away during it.

You know, the old “if there’s a sticker under your pew’’ ... and of course I’ll insist on some seriously loud music, perhaps Zeppelin or AC/DC. And finish on Monty Python’s Always look on the bright side of death.

It’ll be invitation only, no more than 20 people, and if it’s successful I may release the DVD and soundtrack and take the stage show on tour.

Unfortunately someone has pinched my idea of having a midget pop out of the coffin at the end.