Whenever I am home, my mama likes to show me the various things she has bought in the time I have been away. Her ever-changing taste never ceases to amaze me.

"I got new jeans," she said, proudly showing off a pair of pale blue jeans.

They looked innocent enough. Until I noticed the zippers that ran along each side from the waist down to the bottom of the legs.

Essentially, my mama bought stripper jeans.

"Look at the zippers!" She said excitedly when she noticed me staring at them in shock, "they are the best part!"

I am spending this weekend with my parents in Sydney. I've not seen them since Easter and that equals almost four months without their eccentricities and salivating home cooking.

As soon as we got home from the airport last night, my mother put the kettle on. As I stood there waiting for the water to boil, she informed me that the water in the kettle was off limits but there was enough hot water in the thermos for me to make tea.

"What are you doing?" I asked, as she started to concoct a strange mix of green herbs with Indian henna dye.

"I take sick days for the next three days you here," she said while beating an egg into the mixture. "I need to dye my ankle to look like a bruise. Tomorrow I go doctors, look real and I get medical certificate."

"Why can't you pretend to have a cold? Or a migraine?"

"Not severe enough," she said with an air of experience. "Here, help me bind my ankle. Make the strapping tight."

When my parents got their passports renewed recently, I was their "in case of emergency". Such a role came with heavy responsibility, which to be frank, I overlooked initially until one chilly morning I received a phone call as I was on my way into work.

Serious person on phone: "I understand from Father of Swell Mademoiselle's passport application that you are his in case of emergency contact."

Oh no, I thought. What kind of hot water has my passive papa got himself into? A phone call like that about my mama is not unexpected, but the solid paternal figure of my life never gets into any trouble.

Serious person on phone: "We have just received his passport application and there appears to be a bit of problem."

Me: "Okay."

Serious person on phone: "He's smiling."

Me: "And that's a problem?"

Serious person on phone: "Yes, he can't smile on passport photos. It's a problem for the facial recognition program used for machine readable passports. He should have a neutral expression showing no teeth or gum."

Me [finding this all too funny]: "Right. I guess none of those terrorists ever smile eh? Not a hint of gum there."

Serious person on phone: "This is a serious matter, can you please just pass on the message to your father please.

Me: "Sure, no problem."