Blogging, or the writing of a web log, is not something I ever considered before December last year, or even understood, until trying it. The concept of writing an online diary to an unknown audience for no gain other than to share is a tad strange, but then so is twittering (which I still don’t really understand).

I have enjoyed blogging far more than I ever thought. It is so enjoyable that I often use any spare moments (such as walking down the street) constructing my next blog in my head. Sometimes I even wake in the middle of the night with an idea for my next blog.

I have also found blogging helps me determine my opinion on things (having to articulate something takes things far beyond being thought fragments swimming around your head) as well as capture my favourite recipes safely (rather than pieces of paper floating around the kitchen). I have found this process strangely rewarding and when I get comments or feedback, better still.

So, I have decided to use today’s blog to share something that I find deeply concerning, in that hope that I might come to terms with it, move on so to speak.

This blog concerns my parents. I know it’s not uncommon for adults to have ‘parent issues’, it really just comes down to what the issue is. I am unsure here on this one.

I am not sure if I should be proud of my parents commitment to reducing carbon emissions, recycling and saving the planet, or embarrassed by it.

Last year on New Years Day Mum and Dad got back from a holiday in Sydney. I had been dog-sitting their 15 year old dachshund Tilly (aka Silly Tilly because she really is the silliest dog I have ever seen) and they came to pick her up.

Normally, when people come to collect an animal, they use appropriate transportation. But not my parents. They came on a scooter.

To make things worse, they don’t spend money on proper motorbike clothing. Instead they come dressed in second-hand helmets, and what they think is just as good as proper motorbike clothing – leather pants and leather jackets that have walked straight out of some trash and treasure market screaming ‘I’m from the 80’s and I am loaded with shoulder pads, pleats and gathered waists’! Fashion boots do not double as motorbike boots (or not in an accident anyway).

What would some poor motorist do if they hit them? Call an ambulance or try and hide the remainder of bad 80’s fashion?

I admire their efforts to reduce carbon emissions, but my mind did wonder to where the dog would travel. Not to mention that they then trundled down to the Salvation Army store in search of a few bargains, and as usual, found some. It’s just these bargains happened to be a rather large plant pot. On top of this, they picked up a weeks produce at the market (big bag of oranges, other fruit and vege).

Can you see where I am going here?

So, I had two options. Go outside and help them get everything on the bike, or hide behind the security door and pretend I didn’t know them. What was I to do? I decided to take photos, because no one at work would believe me. I certainly can’t tell my parents what to do. I wouldn’t even try. As much as I think the clothes are unsafe, or the mode of pet transportation unethical. There’s absolutely no point. I will get to make decisions and call a few shots in 20 years time when I pick their nursing home (I often threaten Dad with that one).

So here is the evidence.

Either my parents are trend setters, way ahead of their time and we will all being doing this in a few years time when petrol wells dry up (and they are just not understood like Vincent van Gogh)…or I need therapy. Which is it?

I certainly can’t get these images out of my head (nor too any passing motorists on that day).