Open post of the week - puppies, penthouses and more.

With Mamamia Sky News EP Paul Zorzi

It’s open post time where you can discuss anything, anything at all. I’ll kick off with some highlights from my week.


So I’m down in Melbourne to do a presentation last week and I check into my favourite hotel, The Olsen. It’s part of the Art Series chain of hotels in Melbourne and it’s where I always stay when I’m there. Creature of habit. It’s right on Chapel St so I can sometimes wander up the road to shop and I just love everything about it. I usually always stay in the same room (habit creature) but when I booked in, the concierge said “Good news, we’ve upgraded you because we’re full.” Oh, really? That’s never happened before. “You’ll be staying in the Penthouse.” Oh. OK. I’M COOL WITH THAT. Apparently, the Presidents Cup was on so they were chockers. I leaned over the counter to ask quietly “Is that a horse race?” No, it’s a golf tournament.

Whatevs, I’M STAYING IN THE PENTHOUSE BITCHEZ. See that right there? I was already getting all Penthousey with my lingo.

I take the lift to the top floor, find the door to The John Olsen Penthouse and nearly lose my shit when I walk inside.

Ba-na-nas. I’ve included some images in the gallery below so you can see what I saw but bottom line is that there were 2 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a laundry, dining area for 15, massive living area, open kitchen, balcony with another dining area for 12, outdoor jacuzzi, the best desk I’ve ever seen and a giant walk-in wardrobe.


And me. With my very small wheelie bag and my jaw dragging along behind me on the floor.

While I was overcome by the urge to invite 30 friends over to PAR-TAY, I remembered I didn’t know 30 people in Melbourne and also that I was not Kanye. Or even J-Lo.


By the time I’d looked in all the rooms and chosen which one to sleep in, I was late for dinner with my beloved friend Wendy. It was also much colder than I’d expected so I had to put on everything I’d brought at once. Luckily, I was in Melbourne where layers are the norm. Because I was wearing mullet pants with layered tops, an asymmetrical jacket and a trenchcoat over the top of the whole mess.

Thank you Melbourne for not laughing at me.

I had a brilliant dinner with Wendy and arrived back in my Penthouse which really needed its own postcode about 11:30. I sheepishly got into my pjs and climbed into bed with my computer feeling a hot flush of shame that I had failed my penthouse.

I was sober, alone and working at midnight. That is plainly not penthouse behaviour. No wonder I’d never been upgraded before.

The next morning, I woke up early, went to the gym for a quick run and returned to my Penthouse by 8:30. I then had two of the most glorious hours of my life, drinking tea, munching Weet Bix and sitting at my luxurious desk doing work in silence until I had to check out and head to my speaking engagement.

While it was an incredible experience, I do feel on some deep level that I let my Penthouse down. I did not even venture out onto the balcony. I did not have any nude rockstars in my jacuzzi. No champagne – or alcohol of any kind – was consumed.

PenthouseWIN. MiaFAIL.


I came crashing down to earth over the weekend when PMT hit me with its full force. At one point, driven insane by the incessant, seemingly torturous behaviour of everyone around me, I hissed to Jason “I JUST FEEL LIKE EVERYONE IN THIS FAMILY IS TRYING TO EAT MY FLESH”


PMT? he enquired mildly.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, I hissed back, trying to stop my head from spinning around and green slime from coming out of my ears.

Yes, that.


How was your Saturday night? Mine was spent partially in an after-hours chemist buying Combantrin. “You know you have to treat the whole family, even if they aren’t scratching their bottoms?” enquired the chemist. Saturday nights don’t get more fun than that, DO THEY PEOPLE?


As I write this, I’m a bit bleary-eyed, having spent the night sleeping on the floor with a puppy. Our friend Margie owns a pet store called Dogue and occasionally has puppies (from lovely, reputable non-puppy farm breeders) for sale. We babysit them sometimes but usually there are 2-4 of them so we just lock them in a bathroom with all their gear and they’re fine, all snuggled up together. This time though, there were meant to be 2 brothers but one was sold yesterday so we only had one. It was his first night without his brother and he was not at all interested in sleeping in his little crate. So I slept on the floor and he slept on my head.

That’s why 24hrs of puppy-sitting is about my limit. Luckily I no longer have PMT.

Oh, and on a COMPLETELY different note, I wanted to share this. It’s why I won’t be eating ham this Christmas.

Here’s what else has been happening around the office:

So that’s what’s been OMM (on my mind) this week.  How was your week? What’s on your mind? Anything you care to share?