I know you are, but what am I?

Dear Mrs Woog

Do you consider yourself a westie?

The reason I ask is that my best friend from high school stayed with me this last week, and after a couple of wines, shared with me her deep displeasure at me calling myself a westie. Rather, she believed we grew up in the country.  I was taken a back, as I just assumed our westie status was a given.

I’m sure her greatest issue with my self-description is that if I’m one, she definitely is one as well, and she has done her darnedest to put as much distance between herself and her school years as possible.

At any rate, it’s early on a Sunday, I’ve almost completed two weeks of solo parenting – hurry the fuck up husband – and these are the random thoughts that spring to mind…..

Take care,


Ps – I adore your blog. It makes me miss Sydney, my mates & family every single day x

Dear Angela,

First up, congrats on surviving two weeks of solo parenting. I am at the beginning stages of my solo parenting fortnight.  I have managed to palm the bigger one off to Grandma Woog for the weekend and the other one is sans pants, wearing a dress and a headband as he eats Cheesybite Vitawheats upside down on the couch.

Thanks for your nice words about my blog. It really likes you to,

Now to your issue. You have no issue. You know who you are and wear it proudly. May I suggest you get it tattooed across the top of your ass, wear pants two inches too low and your top two inches too high and let the world know! I AM WESTIE! HEAR ME SCREETCH AT MY KIDS IN THE KFC CARPARK.

Me? I was born in Tamworth (THE REAL COUNTRY) and then migrated to the Hawkesbury (Both the hottest and coldest place in the world) when I was 4, so it is really all I have ever known. I loved going to the local show in my black jeans and try my hardest to win a set of furry dice from a game manned by someone who should have clearly been in jail.

At the age of 12,  I was whisked off to a strange new world. A fancy ass North Shore Boarding school where I got some very strange looks from the girls and teachers who did not like my shaved in undercut.

Ahhh fuckem as we like to say. Fuckin snobs.

Looking at myself now,  I can say I am a westie,  albeit not so much a practicing westie these days. But there is an undeniable urge to rip open a Rum and Coke UDL when I hear a V8 storm by and I will never, ever tire of Cold Chisel.

Tell your friend to get a labradoodle up her,


Mrs Woog