So off to Lady Aerobocise for a Boxing Day feast. Over prawns and white wine, we hatched a plan to walk the Great Wall of China to raise funds for the Blackdog Institute. This idea was soon ambushed by Mr SawHole and Mr Aerobocise.

Mr SawHole said: "You complain enough about putting the washing on the line, how are you going to do that?"

My reply that I was a high achieving student of Roberto's School of Pain & Personal Training and if Mr SawHole wanted to try it on, we should have a mini-triathlon. This statement went into outer space because Mr SawHole is scared. Pussy.

And so to New Year's Eve at the waterfront home of Mr and Mrs O'Bother. I do not have much to report about their soiree, other than the arrival of Rusty's new woman (who to my surprise was not a Staffordshire Terrier), because I fell asleep in Mr O'Bothers' recliner chair sometime after the 9pm fireworks. Even Miss Charisma outpartied me, twirling her way up and down the foreshore singing her new and most favorite tune: (big instrumental start please) "What about me? It isn't fair. I have had enough now I want my share." She tells me it was the Moving Pictures version, not the Shannon Noll single.

The highlight of my night was when Mrs O'Bother took Mr SawHole to task when he said he was going to run over my new hat with his lawnmower. How rude of him!

A few days later, the SawHoles had their big away game in Sydney. After a fruitful morning stalking Mrs Woog's fattist neighbour Peter, and cleaning the guinea pig's house, we made our way to the Sydney Opera House We not only had to sit through an hour of Charlie and Lola, we saw a truly most hideous thing. It was something I thought was a Sydney myth, like straight, single men in Surry Hills.

Mrs Woog has spoken of these creatures - she says they wear puffer vests and own Labradoodles.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! It was The Lower North Shore Alpha Mum! In the Flesh! (cue Jaws music).

It happened while we were at the ice cream stand. Mr SawHole wanted a Diet Coke and Miss Charisma required Magnum ice cream. As I paid the exorbitant amount of $20.99 for the two items, I saw her.

She was dressed in cream linen shorts, with a striped nautical-style t-shirt (a nod to one of this season's trends) and a cream jumper around her neck.

Alpha Mum then spoke: "Tallulah, perhaps you should consider having a gelato like those ones we get at Kirribilli."

Poor Tallulah. All she wanted was a Drumstick and to use her new Charlie and Lola sticker book. Instead Mum made her eat a tiny scoop of organic Vanilla Bean ice-cream.

Mrs Woog was correct about the accent, too. It really was a hybrid English/South African voice. (But hey I can't talk. I sound like the cockatoo in this advertisement)

As soon as Alpha Mum left, I asked Mr SawHole if he had heard that conversation and he rolled his eyes towards her. That's a sure sign. Mr SawHole normally does not agree with my bitchiness, but this woman was a walking, breathing stereotype.

I later relayed this story to Mr and Mrs Paige, of the Stocko Paiges, today while we rode the Taronga Zoo's Sky Safari. I told them of Mrs Woog's observations of this tribe. We agreed that a game of "Spotto" puffer vest was totally in order.

And, specifically, I mentioned the labradoodle.

Mr Paige said his aunt bred labradoodles and I asked if she lived on the Lower North Shore.
He said: "Nah, mate, she lives at Teralba."

Now SawHole has been to Teralba, specifically the Teralba Bowling Club for the meat raffles, and there was not an Alpha Mum in sight. Cheers to that.

Over and out.