no boys allowed

Gentlemen, tune out now, 'cause you're not going to care for this rant. Ladies, may I have your attention. As a woman I've spent years being bemused by products being aimed at me. Lately it's the deodorant aimed at keeping your underarms pretty (seriously - do I CARE?)... But the most recent one is a doozy - tampons with wings, designed to catch stuff the others miss.

Um, I don't get it. Aren't tampons meant to be, well, you know, snug and stuff? How exactly are these wings going to help? 

You know what? I have to buy tampons, I'm not happy about it, but I do. I don't need a ridiculous, superfluous reason to buy them (that said, that tampon ad, with the beaver? Funny)

Wings? Fly back to the starting board buster, you need to try harder than that.

oh my

I do believe I'll be adding the December issue of British Vogue to my wishlist. While I'm not a fan of Kate Moss (call me a prude but I do believe that the only white powder a mother should use is talc) I do so adore Dior, tulle, cream and black, Karl, disco glam and ooh, the Tim Burton + Helena Bonham Carter shoot? Goodness gracious me. 

it's all about me... or maybe not

It takes some people a while to move from the egocentric toddler phase - you know, the one where they honestly believe the world revolves around them. Apparently it's taken me over 30 years. See I've always thought that if a salesperson gives me cruddy service, it's my fault. If I don't hear from an editor that I've pitched story ideas to, it's because my stories just weren't good enough. A friend doesn't seem friendly? Obviously I've done something to offend. Now, I finally realise, it's not all about me.

That salesperson could have had a fight with their partner that morning, or they're wearing poorly fitting shoes, or they just hate their job. The editor's flat out and has received over 100 emails that morning and the phone won't stop ringing. The friend's child has wet the bed again, another child has a fever and their husband's job isn't as secure as they'd hoped. Or they're just grumpy.

A more positive, optimistic frame of mind would help us all move through life easier. Obviously if you don't remember doing something to offend your friend, you haven't (or you need to revise your drinking habits). Thinking to yourself "This ALWAYS happens to me!" is the shortest route to assuring that crappy things will continue to be attracted to you. If you shrug, brush them off and move on, chances are things will be better tomorrow.

Change can often be a shock, but chances are it'll open your eyes to a whole new life.

on ice

I don't know if it's my fridge, but I'm not good at freezing. No matter how well I wrap items, they seem to come out coated in ice crystals, freezer burnt, dried out and tasteless. Until recently, I've only had luck freezing vodka and limoncello (what's that you say about priorities?)

However, I know that a full fridge is an effectively running fridge, so short of stocking it with a range of flavoured vodkas (however tempting that may be...) I've found a few items that work for me freezer-wise. I keep rice in the freezer as I've found rice to be weavil's best friend. I can't abide larder moths, and have found since popping the flour into the freezer for a week, and storing my rice in there long-term, I've had nary a moth flutter in my face. I also store the grated cheese in the cold zone. I've found that pre-grated cheese tends to mould faster than the regular kind, but I don't use enough of it to justify using it before it turns a greenish hue. I'll also pop the ends of bread in the freezer in a big bag too, so they're nice and solid when I need to grate them for fresh breadcrumbs. I've also taken to storing the wrapping from butter in there, so when I need to grease a tin, I'll take it out and within a few minutes it'll be ready for spreading.

Oh, and there's always plenty of ice cubes in there of course... A vodka tonic needs a few cubes to clink against.

on the cards

We're going to a wedding this afternoon, and excitingly, I'll be wearing heels with my physio's blessing. I've got the pressie and the paper, but oh my lord - the cards! Now, there are plenty of lovely cards around at the moment for birthdays. Pretty, fun, tasteful... but for weddings? Zilch. The only card I found vaguely appealing was $10. Yes, $10 for a card. I'll pay that for a glass of champagne, but not for a card, that's just silly. Luckily I fell back on my old standby of a pretty floral card with a blank interior. I'd much prefer to add my own words than fall on the twee offerings of the card companies. I'll raise a glass to my lovely readers this afternoon, and promise to tread carefully!

red hot

Making me smile today are these utterly adorable Betsey Johnson shoes. I love that woman, love what she does... and now need a pair of her heels. How perfect is the polkadot lining? I adore attention to detail and these are lacking in nothing. I'm also trying to ignore what I'm pretty sure is the most perfect thing I've ever seen - that little bow on the sole. Oh my...

model behaviour

Self-esteem and girls is a major issue. Speak to most adult women and they'll tell you they had major self-esteem issues as a teen - and some even as a pre-teen. There's a half a dozen reasons, or more, why this happens. Peer pressure, unrealistic images in the media... and your mother's attitude to her body and looks. 

I've always made it a point to never express any negative comment about my body - no matter how enormous or unattractive I may feel on any given day. Generally I'm pretty okay about it all. You know, my body holds all my organs in, my legs move me around, hands help me type... I scrub up okay, particularly with a smear of make-up. But I don't comment negatively about myself, or others, to my daughter. Hopefully this'll help her a little with her self-esteem. We also compliment her regularly on her intelligence, her sporting ability, her dancing - not enough to allow her to become deluded about her abilities - just enough. 

She's also got me as a role model for what a 41-year-old woman, who's had a child, looks like. She's seen my stomach and the rest of my body, and knows that this is normal - for me. So I pity Sunday Rose. In what I swear will be my final comment about Nicole Kidman (or She Who Must Not Be Named, Ever Again, Without Changing The Title Of This Blog To Nicole Kidman's Bad Plastic Surgery) what is Sunday Rose going to think when she looks back on pictures of her mum? She'll see what used to be a gorgeous red head, with a mass of curls, full cheeks, a normal nose and lips that tended to the thin side. Then, after Sunday's birth, she'll see a blonde generic glamazon with lips that now look like the love child of Angelina Jolie and Jamie Oliver. A girl will have to be pretty strong and well-adjusted to feel confident in her own looks, whether quirky or conventional, to overcome the impact of a mother who's constantly altering hers.

balancing act

In exciting news I went to my physio yesterday and have undergone a healing of miraculous proportions ankle-wise. I'm off crutches and able to drive again - two weeks early! Apparently I have the strongest ligaments he's seen in a while, which I must say is probably due to my flamingo impersonations. No, seriously, whenever I have to stand, I try to stand on one leg. I don't want to be one of those un-balanced senior citizens, so I've been studiously working on my balance for the past year and it's paid dividends with my speedy recovery. I mightn't be able to wear heels to the wedding on Friday (although I might, if they're tightly laced and my ankle's strapped...) but I'm free to leave the house which is a bonus. I make a mighty cranky shut-in.

movement at the station

On the list of women I love I can now include Diane Lane. She's a touch older than me, and, happily, looks it. She's utterly gorgeous, and yet capable of expression - and it's so nice to see that hasn't stopped her from being cast in films - playing a sexy woman.

I read a piece by Mia Freedman the other day where she said she walked out of a screening of The Women and the serious plastic surgery on many of the leading ladies' faces had a fair bit to do with it. Acting's a subtle craft. A good actor has great intonation, knows how to manipulate their body to convey expression and most importantly, can reveal so much with a raised eyebrow or furrowed brow. Take away that ability to raise said eyebrow or furrow aforementioned brow and you're taking away a fair chunk of an actors ability to craft.

I've stopped buying a lot of magazines as I feel they don't respect my intelligence and seriously, if Hollywood doesn't lay off the fillers, lifts and jabs, I'm going to refuse to see some films. That's why tonight I'm going to see Nights in Rodanthe as it stars Diane Lane in all her natural beauty. That's also why, despite my love for all the films of Baz Luhrman, I am staying away from Australia - and am boycotting a large chunk of mags featuring plastic Nic in their pages. 

I really worry that with all this emphasis on surgery, kids these days are going to grow up without a sense of what's real. Will boys and girls expect that breasts are perfectly round objects that sit on chests like a  halved melon? Check out the cover of any men's mag - not a real breast to be seen - just these 'perfectly' spherical creations deigned as 'sexy'. 

While Hollywood and the media have always thrown out ideals of beauty that many of us can't fit into, at least they've been diverse and somewhat real. Now they're generic and totally unreal. When you spend a few minutes staring at a cover trying to work out is that her, or that other actress, or that model you know things are getting mighty similar. 

The only way to get them to stop, is for us to hit them where it hurts - in the bank account. Just say no to botoxed beauties in blockbusters.

manic monday

Oooh, some days are tough. Today's one. It's a monday, I had a touch too much champagne at a friend's house yesterday, the builders have come in today and have pulled down and are rebuilding the walls the bricklayers spent two days working on last week and blogger won't let me comment on my own blog. Rude!

Luckily, hangovers pass (especially when bacon's involved...), there are a half a dozen blokes out the backyard doing what one guy spent two days doing (poorly apparently) and I can state in my blog - "Yes Sara, I must borrow Big Fish on DVD as it was one of my favourite books - and if Marion Cotillard is in it it's now a must-see. And hey, is Ewan McGregor in that - or is that my hangover/fantasy self talking???" Obviously I can't change the fact it's a monday, and I can't drive for another two weeks or so, but I can put a positive spin on it. So here it is

Making Monday a Fun Day

Today I'm thankful...

That I don't have a plaster cast on my ankle

That I have lovely, utterly divine friends who care for me

That I have a husband I still love to bits and pieces

That I've been blessed with a very special daughter

That I have a roof over my head - and a very nice one at that

That I have fabulous readers who share so much with me

That I discovered a divine, cheap, French sparkling wine (Veuve Amiot... and you can always just say, "Would you like a glass of Veuve darling?")

What are you thankful for today?

masterchef and me

I'm not quite sure what I did before the food channel. Gastro-porn and me, we're like this (okay, a visual thing in a blog doesn't quite work - but you know where I'm heading don't you...) I've learned some pretty cool things thanks to the televisual chefs - which is handy considering the 20 years I went without cooking meat. There's a good "a-ha" moment most evenings, which makes me happy. 

I am obsessed with the english cook-off Masterchef and often spend half the program daydreaming what I'd make if I were one of the chosen few. The problem is that there's a strict time limit to most of the meals - and I'm a long, slow-cooking gal. Even if something only requires a brief introduction to a bbq plate, I'll have marinated it lovingly for up to 24 hours - a luxury nobody's afforded on Masterchef. 

However, today's challenge I'd have romped in. They needed to make an Italian-inspired meal and the primary ingredients were fresh tuna, fresh tomatoes and linguini - easy peasy. A light tomato sauce studded with olives, baby capers and basil would be wound through the al-dente linguine. Then, after lightly searing well-seasoned tuna, I'd fork chunks of the meat through the pasta and top it with chopped parsley, garlic and lemon zest. Surely that's a winner...

le divine

Marion Cotillard won my heart with her portrayal of Edith Piaf. Then, her acceptance speech at the Oscars, where she said she was overcome with sparkles and fireworks turned my crush into abiding love. Now, as the face of Lady Dior - atop the exquisite Tour Eiffel - she's heartstoppingly magnifique. I'll buy whatever she's selling and That Bag? Oh I covet...

flat out

Surely if I must schlep about in flats for at least six weeks I deserve something like this. Manolo Blahnik was recently quoted as saying that most women walk like beach bums in flats and I must say I'm one of them. Heels add a whole new swivel to hips and give you showgirl pins no matter who you are. Flats are perfect for long-limbed gals, and I veer pretty dramatically away from that category. My aim is to do some pretty amazing things to my top half (hair in particular) for the next few weeks, so people's attention is drawn away from the flat footsies below. Surely Coco would approve...

vice regal

A little bit of vice can be quite nice. Surely the odd vice makes virtues shine even brighter. My vices are obvious to anyone who cares to note: champagne, shoes and gourmet morsels. I'm also partial to a spot of make-up and deliciously painted toes. These are nice vices. Nobody's hurt, I'm unlikely to be inflicted with a ravaging illness as a result (well, obviously that depends on the amount of champagne or cocktails consumed...) My other vice is that I'm also a not-so-sneaky viewer of trashy telly.

I swore that I would not watch The Rachel Zoe Project. I loathed so much about her - and particularly the way the show was promoted (With Zoe saying "That's Ahmahzing" in the most ridiculously affected manner I nearly threw a shoe at the TV screen). But of course, solitary confinement on a couch means there's only so many programs to watch and I sneaked a peek - and got totally sucked in. I'm in love with her mini-YSL assistant Brad. LOVE HIM. And her other assistant? Mean and cranky Taylor? Televisual gold. And her closet, O.M.G. her closet - it makes me die. The scary thing is though, that on the show she doesn't look skinny - which worries me, because I know she's damned thin. I also want to know what she did to turn her forehead from its Gordon Ramsay-esque wrinkled state to smooth, yet not botox-shiny and extreme. Fillers? Brow lift? It is quite magnificent. And her hubby? Cute, puppy Rodger? Love him too. How did I so quickly turn from loathe to love?

relaxation under duress

Do you know what I've realised? I'm not very good at relaxing and doing absolutely nothing. I also loathe having to ask people to do ANYTHING for me. Which is a bit of a shocker when you literally can't do a great deal for yourself because you're on crutches. I'm trying to take it day by day, but as I can't drive for at least two weeks, I'm going to have to ask for favours - such as asking friends to drop my daughter home from school - not a real biggy, and certainly something I'd be pleased to offer in return, but still, it aches to ask.

Thankfully my physio has got me exercising three times a day, simple stretches and five minutes on the exercise bike. I was a bit worried that lying prone on a couch all day would see me cherry-picked from the house in a few months time. Tragically all this lolling around eating grapes hasn't helped me come up with any innovative blog entries, but I'm sure there are a few people nodding their heads at the old, asking for favours thing... Why is that? Is it an admission of incompetence? Am I scared of rejection? (surely not, my friends are adorable) Or is it just a simple hang-up from childhood that's hanging around despite repeated assurances it's just not wanted? 

Who knows, but I'm going to swallow my pride and send out an email calling for assistance. 

my achy-breaky ankle

Amazingly, I managed to get through 41 years - a lot of them sport-playing - without breaking a bone... until Monday night. Now I have a broken ankle, a broken right ankle, which means a lot of things. No driving, no real walking, no cleaning - and no HEELS!!! So not happy Jan. 

Thank goodness for a wide range of nail polish colours and a hubby who's going to be doing daily pedicures to keep me entertained. I'm already over Foxtel (aside from the aforementioned Northern Exposure - although it's been almost illegally light on Chris in the Morning sightings so far. Although when he's on.... sighhhhhh)

At least it gave me a chance to check out the US election coverage - and whoop in delight at the presidential result! I'll always have the answer close to mind when I'm asked "Where were you when you heard..." - laying on my couch! 

Off to pout and frown, in no particular order, they're just my standard facial expressions at the moment. Will be diving face-first into a vat of botox by the time I'm healed.

hop-a-long pink patents

Ouch. I was playing netball last night and caused myself a high-heel aversion injury - yep, I've sprained my ankle. Badly. It's swollen and purply blue, but I hopped my way into the study for a quick update. I'm off to the physio and to get an x-ray later on - it made an awful crunchy sound and then a crack when I fell, which surely isn't a good sign... However, at least my hubby has to pay me back for the months of nursing I undertook when he busted up his knee. 

Thank goodness there's a new channel on Foxtel which screens Northern Exposure - yay! Before Aiden won my heart on SATC, there was Chris in the Morning. Le sigh...

negatively geared

I raise my hand in admission that I tend toward optimism. I'd much prefer to expect a happy outcome than a negative one. If someone approaches me with an idea, I'll listen to it happily - and may well take it on enthusiastically. And while years of doing things in a specific way have made me feel that I've got the right approach, if someone offers up an alternative, I'll give it a shot. Surely being of an optimistic, open-minded disposition rides on one's face better than negativity and suspicion.

Which is why I find it so hard to deal with people who are so dissimilar to me in this way. It was only recently that I read that we imbue other people with qualities we have ourselves and it's so true. For example, I can't tell a lie - not even a fib to save myself. So when it appears that someone's lying, I'm incredulous, and deeply hurt, that they'd do such a thing. And people who are eternally negative, constantly seeing and expecting the worst are almost an alien species to me. Sure, something bad might happen, so let's see what we can do to fix it. I don't believe in not trying something in case I fail - I'll try it in case I succeed. 

I'll go into anything with a smile on my face, and if I don't succeed, chances are I'll come out laughing, plotting an alternative approach that may well succeed - if not next time, then surely the time after...

blooming marvelous

I love this rose. It's named after Gertrude Jeckyl and not only are the tightly petalled blooms ever-so-pretty, the scent is intoxicating. It's making me happy today.

boo!

Happy Halloween! Here are the spooky cupcakes I'm taking to the Halloween party tonight. I felt very Martha making them. The icing's a simple icing sugar, vanilla extract and warm water mix which is so glossy and pretty. I stuck the little ghosts' eyes (little bits of licorice) on with a dollop of icing and am very impressed. The spiderwebs were black icing, drawn on with a wooden skewer - while the spider were created from licorice too. 

While I adore the spookiness and kookiness of halloween it's also a time to remember our dead. So I'm going to spend the next five minutes thinking about those I've loved and lost - and will raise a glass to them later tonight. 

enough already

The poor retouchers at Parade must have been twiddling their thumbs when this cover came through. I know I hark on about it regularly, but Nicole - step away from the surgeon... The woman's my age, yet has skin like my daughter's and, strangely, looks like a hyper-lifted seventy-something. 

All the hype for the movie Australia can keep on twittering on, I can't think of a sum high enough that they'd have to pay me to see Nicole attempting to wring an expression from that frozen face of hers. 

It's a question I ask of all surgery addicts - can't they see themselves? Do they actually look in the mirror and walk away pleased? Why doesn't someone say something to them? And what are they going to look like at 60? 

fade to grey

I'm besotted with shades of grey in clothing and now I've found these shoes my lust is reaching obsessive levels. They're from Aldo who like to surprise me with the odd gem such as these cuties. I adore the shape of that heel - very Prada-esque non? I have some birthday money still unspent - don't you think this would be a very wise way to dispose of those dollars? I could wear them with my deep blue ankle length gown I wore to the ball the other week, and I have a purple silk frock that would dance in delight if paired with such a pretty pair of heels. Okay, settled then, I'm off to Westfield on the weekend to indulge myself.

all hallows eve

We don't do a large-scale Halloween in Aus. It's getting more popular, but many still bah humbug it as an event. But the old goth in me LOVES it. So imagine my delight at being invited to a Halloween party tomorrow night. It's a couple of families, there's going to be hotdogs and severed fingers and eyeballs (lollies, of course) for the kids, followed by trick or treating in the well-versed street. My daughter and her dear friend are dressing as black cats, while I'm popping a witch's hat to cover my witch's mane! I'm making teeny cupcakes to take along - half decorated in orange icing with little black spiderwebs and a black spider atop, the other half iced in ghoulish green with little ghosts I'm intending on shaping from flattened marshmallows. Cute!

The drinks? Has to be Death in the Afternoon - the absinthe/champagne cocktail discussed in an earlier post. They'll go perfectly with my black fingernails. Mwaaaah ha haaaaa...

accentuate the positive

When I'm in a grump there are normally a couple of things I can do to send my mood spiralling in an upwards manner.
* paint my nails - instantly uplifting
* step outside and pay attention to what nature's offering up today
* make a perfect cup of tea (so rare in my case that I do tend to applaud myself when I achieve it)
* sit back, close my eyes and let my memory revisit long-lost loves: my grandfather, nana and even a fondly-remembered pet or two
* plan a new eye-make-up scheme
* make one area of my home gleam with gorgeousness
* plot a dinner party and send out an invitation
* smear on some red lippy
* pop a flower in my hair - or in a teensy vase or tea cup on my desk
* dare to dream that if I wish hard enough, I'll be back in Paris again...

respondez sil vous plait

Is there some kind of email etiquette that I'm not party to? You know, the one where people feel they don't have to respond? It's a little like nodding on the end of the phone - you know you're doing it, but the person on the other end doesn't.

Because I've got a Mac, I can't seem to set my email to have a "read receipt" so unless somebody replies, I have no way of knowing if they've got my email, which can be a tad on the annoying side. 

That's my whinge for the day. I'll be off now. To email some friends who always reply!

rosy glow

My best ideas always come so late. As I was plating up the rosebud madeleines for the fete today (complete with petals and rosebuds from my garden) I realised what a great presentation idea it would be to buy some vintage cake plates and present them on those. Op Shops often have gorgeous little vintage rose plates for around a dollar and they would look ever-so-pretty. I'm going to start hunting around for next year!

wild about harry

Must say, I've got a fondness for anyone who's inspired to knock up a lovely drink. So tonight, I'm raising my champagne flute to Harry's Bar in Venice, home of the Bellini. Peach puree and prosecco (or any sparkling wine at a pinch) strike me as the perfect summer sip. Sante...

time trial

As queen procrastination of I'll-do-it-later-ville something needed to be done, simply so I could get things done. Whether it's housework, washing, tidying, or writing to earn a living, I needed a push. Here's what I do - and it works. I'll set a timer for 30 to 45 minutes and totally put my head down in the one spot until the time's up, or I've completed what I have to do. No distractions allowed - the phone goes to answering machine, emails go unchecked, blogs are not peeked at for 'inspiration'. It's astonishing what you can achieve in a solid block of time. Which reminds me, article due this afternoon, not complete... see you in 45 minutes!

local yokel

Economies around the world ain't looking so good, so I like to do one little thing that I think can help. I shop locally. I buy my meat from the butcher down the road, fruit and veg around the corner and obsessively stalk my local farmers market every fortnight. Those things I buy from the supermarket must be produced in Australia (except for a teensy few things I'm mad on from France and Italy... but surely that doesn't count?). The supermarket I shop at is also Australian-owned.

So imagine my displeasure when I found out that my daughter's school is changing her school sports uniform and the company they're proposing to go with manufactures all garments in China. Yes, that would be a place where people are campaigning for better conditions for workers, no sweatshops etc. Sigh. So I presumed that the locally made stuff must be more expensive and gave them a call. It's cheaper. Is it lesser quality? Apparently not. So why aren't we going with them? I'll let you know after I've done all my research and spoken to the principal. I think I'm fast moving from thorn in his side to festering wound...

eye spy

I used to be quite the fan of Dawson's Creek. While I was always a Pacey gal, I had a soft spot for Joey. So it saddens me to see pictures of her these days. That smile and those sparkly eyes that you see on the image on the left have been replaced by a tired-looking woman who looks twice her age. Come back Katie, planet earth misses you.

ice, ice, baby

The crazy weather's continuing here. It's only 10 degrees and my brain is bemused - it's meant to be spring, nearly summer, and yet it's colder than our average winter day. The rain's sporadic, pretty much starting up whenever I open the front door, and concluding when I close it again. 

I also can't for the life of me think what to cook for meals in this weather. I'd undergone the shift to spring foods, and with my dedication to buying locally and seasonally that seems logical. But tonight I don't want salmon and asian greens. I want a steaming plate of slow-cooked meat, heavy on the red wine and herbs. It's confusing. I'm also itching to bbq after watching Jamie Oliver marinate a leg of lamb, a spatchcocked chicken and some ribs in this amazing bbq sauce. However, I'm pretty sure that if I step foot on my back veranda to light the bbq I'll get blown away or the wild rains will start up again. 

I'm trying to live in tune with the seasons, but at the moment it's like the dial is slightly off centre and instead of decent radio station all I'm getting is white noise.

if I had a little l.a.m.b.

I do so love Gwen Stefani. Not only has she not been spotted swanning about in skinny jeans moments after her baby's birth - she's always rocking a mighty hot look. And may I suggest that these shoes are on fire. The perfect match? A full black skirt, preferably with tulle underlay. Pale pink cashmere twinset. A juicy, red set of lips. Yes please...

i don't agree with what you have to say, but...

Last night I went to the weirdest meeting. It was at my daughter's school and was to be attended by, I presumed, adults. However, when I got there, I realised that there were apparently mean girls disguised as adults dotted around the room. Clever huh? Now these mean girls had a hissy whenever anyone questioned their statements, required explanation, or deviated one millimetre from their ideas. I was pretty sure I was in an episode of Twilight Zone, but unfortunately there was no pithy narrator with a 'punny' conclusion to round out the evening. 

Luckily I also attended with a couple of like-minded mums who were intelligent, impassioned and eloquent in their ideas. These mums didn't have rejoinders such as the classic toddler-statement,"No it's not" when someone expressed an opinion. These mums stated their case sensibly and in a sane manner. These mums also came back to my house for a couple of Kir Royales to calm the nerves afterwards...

Why is it that committees appear to attract the loons? Is there some reason why power-hungry attention seekers vie for posts while those who are willing to quietly achieve stand back? 

It's only been the last few years that I've been brave enough to politely speak up if I disagree with someone. But I'm damned polite about it. No matter how extreme or ridiculous an opinion I can't conceive of scoffing, eye-rolling, or shouting over someone. Yep, that's what happened last night. 

However, we got what we wanted. Unfortunately that also means I'm now on the committee with these charmers - give me strength... or a couple more Kir Royals...

under the weather

Here in Oz, particularly in my little neck of it, the weather is a bit Courtney Love crazy. Dizzying highs inspire cooling off periods in the ocean baths, while the wild rains and nine degree temperatures this morning had me reaching for my ugg boots. Even the leaves on the deciduous trees don't seem to know what to do: grow, change colour, fall off, have a mojito? Makes all the pooh poohing of climate change seem a little hollow doesn't it? 

fair food

There's a fete on at my daughter's school on Sunday so I'm trying to work out what to bake for the cake stall. These fetes are my chance to try out something different. Two years ago I made the most gorgeous little petit fours. They were teensy squares of sponge, coated in raspberry jam then coated in pastel fondant (pale pink, pale blue, lemon and mint) with a dainty sugar flower on top. Last year I made individual cheesecakes in mini muffin tins - and they were sublime. They were a Nigella recipe and I truly believe that if you're going to make a recipe for the first time, without any practice, a Nigella recipe's the way to go - that woman loves food far too much to allow a dodgy recipe to bear her name.

This year I'm tossing up between rosebud madeleines (made with rosewater syrup and then decorated with petals from the garden) and revisiting the mini cheesecakes. Actually, considering how often I swear I'll never cook treats in the mini muffin tins  - and swear while I'm trying to clean the darned things up - maybe the madeleines are the best option. I'll take pics and put up some photos on the weekend.

holy sheet

The key ingredient for a good night's sleep, for me, is nice, clean sheets. Sheets that are taut, fresh and untainted by even the merest speck of grit or grime. Ideally I'd wash my sheets every day, but for the environment's sake I settle for weekly. 

I got myself a spray tan last night, to prepare for the ball I'm heading to this evening and I must say that I'm loving the effect. However, I'm not loving what it's done to my gorgeous white cotton sheets! I tossed, I turned, I was sticky, I created grit - and that led to me getting out of bed at 2.30am and logging on. I had a spontaneous chat with a facebook friend in Dubai, musing about morals in a Muslim country, checked out a few blogs, then went back to my no-longer-pristine sheets. I'm about to brave them in a moment to toss them in the wash and hang them on my side veranda to dry in the breeze (in the absence of an actual outside line at the moment). I hope they forgive my sins and regain their purity - my need for sleep demands it.

but i didn't inhale

If I were a celebrity I'd use up my 15 minutes pretty quickly. See, the thing is, I'm honest - about myself that is. Seriously, ask me a question and I'll answer it truthfully, even if I'm internally smacking myself in the forehead moments after the words have left my mouth. I'd be like Eva Longoria when she first tasted fame - a girl who gave out waaaaay too much information.

Which is why I'm in two minds about this whole admitting to plastic surgery thing. Obviously there are some gals out there who've had some work, damn fine work, to look the way they do (Demi, Sophia Loren, Susan Sarandon...) and they just smile through their perfect faces and allow us all to speculate. Others have bad work done and lie about it (Nicole Kidman, I'm talking to you and your plasma screen forehead - thanks for that one Sharon Osborne!) Others take the half road - such as Courteney Cox-Arquette who in an interview this month admitted to 'trying' botox. Um, have you seen her lately? Cos I reckon she's done more than just 'try' it. It's all or nothing with confessions - you're either Joan Rivers or Joan Collins (and secretly, because of her stint in Dynasty, I reckon I'm more of a Joan Collins bless her cashmere socks...)

a cinderella story

Tomorrow night I'm going to a ball, so I'm in a Cinderella frame of mind. I've got the frock - a floor-length Wayne Cooper number in a deep petrol blue - but haven't quite decided on the shoes, or the make-up. For the hair, I'm doing a low bun on the side, with a big red flower in the middle (I'm thinking one of my roses that are fully blown - who'll need perfume with a Oaklahoma rose in one's tresses?). Lips will be red (but of course) - so maybe a simple black cats eye and a rosy glow of blush. If only I had these shoes... although maybe my Manolos could come out from their box for the evening...

the aftermath

Although I'm still surrounded by squalor, I have made some inroads into my post-holiday re-organisation. My bag is unpacked into piles on my bed, I've called my lawn mowing man to get him to get in and slash the jungle of grass that's bound to be hiding whole tribes of jungle beasts, and I paid my rude bill. Why rude? Well, how's a heading, in, oh, around 24 point, bold and all caps screaming out BROKEN CONTRACT sound? There may well have been an exclamation point and a sad face on there as well, I was too flumoxed to notice. Personally I reckon, YOU FORGOT ME or even HEY, WHAT ABOUT ME? would have been more suitable, but I can't say I understand the brains of telecommunications companies. I paid it - but with a cranky face, so I'll be sending them the bill for my botox with IT WAS YOUR FAULT printed at the top. Rudeness!

Cool things about our holiday: our daughter got to pat an echidna (with its spikes down), stand within a metre of a wombat and gaze in awe at whole big bunches of kangaroos at my parents place. We also went to an open range zoo which had, wait for it, TWO meercat exhibits!!! You know what's better than meercats? Nothing. We also got to relax and forget about the demolition site in our backyard and came back to progress which is nice. Our garden also doubled in size in our absence. There are about a gazillion roses in bloom so you are nearly knocked over with their scent as soon as you walk past. The scabiosa and penstemon are a few seconds off blooming, and all the shasta daisies are ready to reveal their pretty faces too. Our cat's beside himself with bliss that we've returned - and have kept the yappy puppy far away. So all's good. Oh, and I also found that Dan Murphy's bottle shops stock a real French version of Cassis - and a guy at the shop also told me that Chambord makes a delish Kir Royale as well. Hurrah - I'm off shopping at the weekend!

I'm now about to start work on my three kilometre to-do list. Wish me luck...

i'm back

Goodness gracious, why is it that sometimes a holiday leaves one in need of, well, a holiday? We walked in the front door at midnight last night, and I left before 6am this morning for work, and walked back in the door at 8pm. Am exhaustipated. Bags remain unpacked, bills are screaming to be paid and our lawn mowing man has apparently run off to join the circus or somesuch leaving us in need of a machete or two to hack our way through our front lawn. 

Will refresh this poor, abandoned blog tomorrow. Till then, kisses!

au revoir

We're off on a wee holiday down south to visit my mum, step-dad and baby bro. I'm not sure what their internet connection access is like so chances are I'll be having a break for a week. In the meantime, check out this vintage air hostess shot - how much better would flying be if we had uniforms like that to look forward to!

sweet dreams

I'm ever-so-sleepy. Interstate visitors and their barking puppy have just left and my head is desperate to hit my pillow. I think I'll need to lull myself to sleep with sugar-coated dreams of the parisian kind... I've just been drooling over the Ladurée website and wishing I'd indulged more when I was there. How would one delicately bite into this beauty?

a few of my favourite things

 Manolo Blahnik, a Laduree palette and Marie Antoinette. Le sigh...

carry on

How's this for a challenge - a one-week holiday - with only carry-on luggage? It's going to give the term capsule wardrobe a whole new meaning. I'll be rolling and stuffing with abandon, but the worst thing is... NO SHOPPING!

could do better...

While I generally feel I do most things to the best of my ability there are a few things I'm absolutely crap at - and am working on.

1. I make a shocking cup of tea. I love drinking the stuff, but my impatience always impels me to remove the tea bag or pour the pot before the tea's drawn properly. Or if I force myself to walk away I'll forget and come back to a tepid, over-stewed mess.

2. I am really, really, really bad at confrontation. I could be served a cold meal, garnished with dead flies, and I'd be lucky to put in more than an inspid, "Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry, but..." Yep, do me wrong and chances are you'll never know it, cos I won't be mentioning it. I'm really working on this one though. Truly. I'm trying to get in early, lower my voice an octave, and not being apologetic for taking offence when half the time that was probably what was meant. Starting now, I'm speaking up. Truly.

fishy business

I've just been for a trip to my local fishmongers which was quite amazing. The last time I visited was well over a year ago, and I wasn't too inspired by what was on display, but today I was spoiled for choice. I've bought some plump white snapper fillets and scallops for the bbq - but I was sorely tempted by the garfish on display - they're such kooky looking fish. Shall I do a fresh fennel and chilli salad to go on the side? Sounds about right doesn't it? I'm simply going to pop the seasoned seafood on the bbq grill - maybe with a little lime zest and black pepper dressing the scallops. I can feel myself just getting smarter thinking about all this brain food!

yum on a stick

I had a friend to dinner last night, and while I had the second lot of summer puddings chilling in the fridge, I just couldn't work out what to do for a main. Then I had a thought - spanish chicken kebabs. I chopped up some skinless chicken breasts and marinated them in the juice and zest of half a huge lemon, a cup of white wine (sauvignon blanc), masses of chopped garlic and black pepper. I popped it in the fridge for an hour and then threaded it onto sticks in between big chunks of chorizo. I browned each side, then put the lid down to let them steam and they were delish. I also sauteed up some chunks of red capsicum and slices of orange sweet potato and served it all with a platter of salad leaves, roasted beetroot, goat cheese feta and hazelnuts.

They were scrummy. I'm going to cook them again.

cascades

I'm besotted with my wisteria. Here's another view of it from the top of the stairs, glancing over your left shoulder. Pretty huh!

summer love

Okay, I have officially found my new summer sweet. The strawberry summer pud was a big hit last night (and the lamb? Melted in mouths and got rave reviews) Here's how I did it.

I popped a couple of punnets of strawberries and one punnet of raspberries in a small saucepan, along with a good shake of golden caster sugar (probably 1/4 cup) then I added a dash of vanilla extract as I had no more vanilla beans in the cupboard. I let it simmer for a few minutes, just until it formed a syrup, then I lined the bottom of four ramekins with a round of sliced, white bread. I poured in some syrup to soak into it, then divided the berries amongst the pots and then placed another round of bread over the top and poured the syrup over it. 

Now, because I didn't have an enormous amount of syrup, it didn't completely cover the tops, but that made it a really pretty marbled pink and white effect which I liked to pretend was intentional. I also drizzed it with my Violette syrup - a rose syrup would also work well, or a liqueur... I didn't line or grease the ramekins (because I forgot) but it didn't matter as they popped out readily. I also loosely placed cling film over the top and popped tins on the top to weigh them town. 

I turned them out onto pretty plates bedazzled with pink roses and threw a dob of vanilla bean yoghurt over the top (King Island) which balanced them out beautifully. Oh, and because I was feeling posh, I also decorated the plates with a strawberry I sliced almost down to the stem in about five places, then fanned out. Very restaurant-like. 

I'll be making these again. Probably tonight when my friend Milissa comes to dinner... they'll go down beautifully with her favourite pink champagne!

d.i.y.

Typical. I fall in love with something (a butterflied, marinated lamb leg to be precise) and decide to invite friends around to share it and... yep, not in the store. Dayum. So I've just gone to the butcher, asked them to butterfly a leg, and I've made my own marinade. About a cup of olive oil, the juice and zest of one whopper of a lemon, around a quarter cup of fresh oregano, a big head of garlic and lashings of fresh black pepper. It's in a zip lock bag and I smooshed it all around and I'll leave it for a couple of hours before smooshing and turning again. Then it's going on the bbq, lid down, for around 45 minutes, resting for 15, and then being laid on a bed of mesclun, watercress, fresh mint, roasted quarters of beetroot and some chunks of goat cheese feta. I'll dress it with a simple red wine vinegar and garlic dressing and serve it with hunks of baguette.

The summer puddings are in the fridge with tins of tuna weighing them down. I did them in individual ramekins and they look dead cute. I've yet to track down any Cassis LJ, but I did drizzle some Violette syrup over the top. I decided against mascapone, and went for a vanilla bean yoghurt from King Island in Tasmania. I'm determined to try out my ability to make quenelles tonight when I serve it. Oooh, best dash off and pop some champers and rosé in the fridge. Hopefully I'll find that Cassis and a Kir Royale will have my name on it around 5pm...

the shoe shoe song

Oscar de la Renta is the man behind these shoes. Paired with a pencil skirt and a peach chiffon blouse I'd be ready to be James Spader's secretary. I'm hankering for some sensible black shoes and I do believe that I need something like this. Of course, they need to be Mary Janes, and a peep toe is perfect for displaying a touch of coloured toenails. 

what would dita do?

There's my new motto when shopping, decorating, dressing... Whenever I'm about to ask a decision I'll think, "Now, what would Dita do?" Now that I know the answer doesn't involve intimate acts with Marilyn Manson, I'm pretty comfortable in following her lead. 

Apparently Dita always wears her favourite shoes when shopping for a new pair. If she doesn't love the pair in the store enough to swap them for the ones on her feet she says "No" and moves on. Love it or leave it ladies.

making scents

When you have a super-heightened sense of smell you want to make sure that you're surrounded by things that smell delish. My dresser is scattered with perfume - Lovely, Tom Ford, YSL, Chanel, Stella McCartney... every scent has its place in my life. The day doesn't seem right if I don't spritz myself with perfume before walking out the door. 

It's the same with my home. I adore my lavender and vanilla room sprays - and I have a scented spiced pear candle that nearly sends me into a state of bliss when the wick is lit. Same deal with food. I love a meal that I can smell before I taste - bland and boring won't cut it.

Of course it's hardly surprising that I clean my home with essential oils sprinkled in warm water and white vinegar. Even if a chemical cleaner promises a pretty scent it's always an acrid version of something I loved - it's like cheese in a can. Why?

All the roses in my garden have a scent, and the only flowers I have in the garden that are unscented have got some pretty spectacular qualities (such as the pale green and pale pink nodding hellebores - stunningly pretty). 

I don't see the point in not surrounding yourself with things that are gorgeous and make you feel happy. Even practical can be pretty.

goody two shoes

I cannot for the life of me break a rule knowingly. It's entirely possible I'm the world's most law-abiding citizen. When crossing the road, I walk for miles to find a zebra crossing or lights. Any music I download is paid for on iTunes. Someone hands me too much change, I count it and hand it right back.

I'm also mortally offended if I see others knowingly flaunting the law. Couples who eat at a hotel's buffet breakfast - loading up on the bacon and eggs, then paying at the cashier and saying "oh, just a cold buffet for one," while the partner sneaks out on the end of another party's line.

Like now, I'm writing this at work - AT WORK. However, I'm on my lunchbreak, I thought you'd miss me, and I'm not doing anything that jepardises my job. Not like an editor I worked for who'd sit at her desk furiously typing away at freelance articles for other mags, or her first novel (rude!). See, I'm justifying my behaviour because it's for others. For you. Now, where's my gold star?

i lied

Hey, you know how the other day I said that cocktails were for delicate sipping and not guzzling? My Margarita hangover on Sunday would really like to beg to differ...

weather or not

It's obvious now that I suffer from a form of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Give me a grey old day and my mood will turn a smouldering shade of charcoal. However, on a day like today: brilliant blue skies, verdant green grass, a gardening shimmering with promise, and the perfect level of warmth... well, I'm almost exploding with good cheer. 

I've just been out watering my pool (as you do with curing concrete apparently) and realised that today is one of those, wow kind of days. Walking out the front door one's head is brushed with dozens of sweetly-scented wisteria blooms and everywhere you look the eye is assaulted by plants in ruddy good health. Obviously it's time for my next application of fertiliser - but it's stinky chicken manure's turn, and I've got guests coming for dinner on Thursday night. Guess I'll have to apply, water madly, and hope their noses are too dazzled by the wisteria and murraya blossoms to note the distinctly barnyard aroma...

easy entertaining

Having friends over for a meal is one of my greatest joys. I love thinking of the menu, cooking it up, then relaxing with a glass over wine over giggles and good food. In winter, it's easy - slow cooking's the way to go. But in summer, lighter meals are called for. So I'm thrilled about my latest find. It's Cleavers Organic Lamb and my new love is the Butterflied leg marinated in lemon and oregano. Yummo. We had it for dinner the other night and it was delish. 

When friends come around I'm going to cook it on the bbq then lightly slice it on the diagonal after it's rested. I'll serve it with a platter of salad and some crusty bread - with a bottle of rosé. For the kids I'll make mini burgers on teeny buns with little rissoles, lambs lettuce, tomato sauce and cheese. Perfect.

For nibbles to be served with champagne, I'll saute some slices of chorizo, roast and spice some chickpeas and marinate some olives. Because the children of my friends have exotic tastes, the kids also get olives and chorizo, plus some brie and crackers...

For sweets, I've got a hankering for summer pudding made with strawberries, brioche and served with vanilla-spiced mascapone. I might even top it with a little lemon zest (but don't tell my hubby, he thinks I'm a little obsessed with lemon at the moment...)

cocktail cravings

I have a deep, and almost unnatural love for cocktails. They're glamorous and often dangerous - and can't be knocked back quickly. I've realised how deep my affection runs when I thought about the two songs that most often cause me to break out a tune. Some people like to doodle, I like to sing, and when I like the sing, the songs I like to sing are: Don't You Want Me by Human League and Copacabana by Mr Manilow... Note the theme here? 

Opening like of Don't You Want Me, "She was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar" and for Copacabana "Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl". Now it's pretty hard to imagine that someone with yellow feathers in her hair didn't knock back the odd Manhattan or five - in my mind she does. Other songs may come and go, but these two, with their imagery of mixed drinks of the elegant kind, will forever hold a place in my heart - and shower stall...

That said I'm off to a cocktail party on the weekend. I mayn't have yellow feathers to wear in my hair, but I do have pretty nails in Kiss Me Coral that'll entwine nicely around the stem of a glass. Cheers dears...

purple rein

My wisteria is completely in bloom at the moment and I'm besotted with it. When combined with the lavender hedges, the Indigo spires, and the pale pink roses my front garden is looking picture perfect...

parfait

yes please

Miss Betsey Johnson, you've made a mighty purdy pair of heels here. I particularly like the pink sole which is a nice alternative to the on-every-starlet's-foot Louboutin. I do believe that a black tulle skirt would be the perfect accessory for this shoe of the week.

modern manners

It's true that manners are social lubrication. I love me a well mannered lad or lass. Not faux well-mannered in the "How do you do?" way, but a way that shows me that people care. I get cranky when I see ill-manners. I cannot abide those who stand chatting on their mobiles while they're getting served in a store - if it's so important step outside! I do believe that everyone should have to work in a store or a cafe at some stage - I did, and having walked in those shoes I have the ultimate respect for these people. I'll also be encouraging our daughter to work in a cafe or shop as soon as she's old enough - which will serve a double purpose - gaining independence and an income and learning a little about human nature.

and so to bed

To celebrate spring I ditched the cozy flannelette sheets for crisp white cotton yesterday. I love a ritual, particularly one that celebrates a season. We don't seem to have enough rituals in Oz, so I'm v envious of my friends in the US who not only get Thanksgiving, but Halloween too. I'd like to make every week thanksgiving. Counting your blessings is the quickest path to happiness. I'm also thinking of hosting a small Halloween soiree for my daughter this year. C'mon, who can resist little orange cupcakes decorated with black spiders? Not this little black duck that's for sure.

that's what friends are for

I've been lucky to make some really wonderful friends over the years (balanced out with some dead-crap ones mind). It's got me thinking about what a good friend is. Friends should balance you out, bring out your good side, and help tame the dodgy side. Friends should make you laugh and make you feel fabulous. You should have friends for different occasions: phone friends, cocktail friends, dinner friends, email friends... and the new category, blog friends. I love how I can log onto a blog and get a little insight into what someone's doing and why. It's kind of like how I love wandering the streets at dusk, peering into windows to see what's going on in other worlds - how they've decorated, what they're eating... I know, only slightly peeping Tom.

I most admire my friends who are good at maintaining friendships (yes, I'm talking about you again M!). Thank goodness for email and facebook, otherwise life would zoom past me and before I knew it, it would be years before I caught up with some friends. I also love friends who are good at asking questions and who genuinely seem to care about others. I'm trying to bring that quality out in myself although it goes against my upbringing and being warned not to pry...

I'm going to treat my friends like a delicious sponge cake. Feed them all the right ingredients, carefully nurture them, then dive in and enjoy them. 

a touch of tuscany

I had my first sip of a frosty cold shot of limoncello right about here. This is the terrazza of the Ristoro Di Lomole and on the same night I tried fresh, black truffles shaved over creamy gnocchi.

After dinner we were walking back to our cars when our eyes were dazzled by dozens of fireflies. I'd only read of these magical creatures before and at first sight was in awe of their fairylike charm.

Bellisimo...

peachy keen

Happiness is... all the glorious shades of peach, apricot and petal pink I'm seeing around at the moment. On lips, on hips, on nails or tails they're girly shades that make me smile.

green eyes

What's the point of jealousy? It's such an insidious vice. I don't do jealousy. Envy? Hell yeah. I envy my best friend's gorgeousness and amazing style. Since the first day I saw her at Uni I envied how well she could put together the most incredible clothing and always look stunning and unique. She still does. I'm also dead-envious of the fact that she can dye her hair bright red - my fave hair hue. Envious? Yup. Jealous? Nope.

We also have friends who jet off to Paris every year and boy, that pushes my envy button. But I'm not jealous - I'm thrilled that they get to do this (particularly 'cause they bring me back violet food treats!)

Which is why I'm always startled when I see people who are jealous. It's destructive and I reckon it causes mean wrinkles that even Kidman-strength botox couldn't eradicate. Vive la difference, live and let live, que sera sera... so many songs sum up how I feel about this topic. But I guess that deep down, while my wardrobe will disagree, green's not my colour.

the number's up

I've made nearly 250 posts (I have conflicting info here - thanks blogger) since starting this wee bloggy a while back, and I've still yet to decide on a theme. I guess it's because I'm doing this for fun, and to hopefully ensure a few people get a giggle, swoon over a pair of shoes or try something different today. 

Just like an athlete needs to warm up before getting into the serious stuff, that's how I see this blog - as stretching my writing muscles. I need to warm up before getting into the stuff I get paid for... and it works. I've never been one to keep a journal although I love the romance of the idea. Hopefully this blog is stretching me to try new things and learn to share more of myself - I've always been crap at that.

These days I'm big on experiences. Show me something new and I'll give it a shot. So this weekend, I'm fetching to try something completely different... I just don't know what it is yet. It's gotta be achievable, cheap (or free, my bank balance is groaning) and fun. I'll let you know what I got up to if you let me in on your secrets too

everyone's a winner baby

Since signing up for gmail I've become so incredibly lucky. Every single day is like winning the lottery - which apparently I have in the UK, Ireland and sometimes even the United States. Nice. 

Not only that, but I've also become the beneficiary of quite a few estates which is handy considering my rampant shoe addiction.

And loans? I'll have money spilling from my ears at this rate - people are positively falling over themselves to give me money. I no longer need to sing, "If I had a little money..." 'cause now I'm part of this rich man's world.

However, for some reason the emails seem to be filed under a section previously reserved for a spiced luncheon meat...

it hurts

The first time I checked out lol cats I was obviously in a mood - I just didn't get it. Now, oh, now... I can haz cheezburger is totally saving my sanity. Whenever I'm in the mood for a quick giggle I'll choose a page at random and snickers will result. I've already watched the ninja cat video from You Tube, oh, I don't know, around 10 times, and it delights me every single viewing. No wonder people become crazy cat people, they're funny critters those kittehs.

sweet dreams are made of this...

heaven must be missing an angel

And that angel would have been wearing these shoes. Oh I want these so badly it hurts... Can't say I've heard of Charlotte Olympia in the shoe design arena before, but that little lady's fought some mighty big lions to gain today's top spot. You likee?

faux foe

In some ways I'm a fake it till you make it gal. My hair's ebony hue comes from a bottle every few weeks, and there's nothing I love more than slapping on the make-up for a big night out. But the one thing I don't understand is fake designer stuff. I was sitting on the train yesterday behind a woman in a shell suit, her hair tied up in a Scrunchie, with a "Louis Vuitton" handbag. Um, I don't think so... 

I still can't come to terms with shelling out for a fake. 

I nearly wept when I heard there is a fake Tiffany in Thailand. Fake Tiffany!!! What would Audrey say?

When we were in Rome (what, me, namedropping???) there were lines of gorgeous Nigerian men selling fakes along the lines to the Vatican, and to kill time (it was an hour and a half wait to see the Sistene Chapel, a girl gets bored) I glanced over at the bags. It was so sad to see faux Chanel, Dior and the ubiquitous Vuitton spread out on a blanket on the ground. However, my eye was caught by one pretty floral number. I kept glancing over and noted it didn't have any gigantic label emblazoned on it, it just looked like a pretty white, floral bag. This is where I made my fatal mistake and caught the guy's eye. "Pretty bag, you want pretty bag?" "Um, not really... well, how much is it?" Zing! "Fifty euros, special price, for you!"

That's when I thought about it, do I really want to spend that much money on a fraudulent bag. Nope. But guess how easily my bag seller gave up? At various points along the line, he'd pop over saying "Forty euros - because you beautiful lady", then "thirty eight, special price, today only..." I was exhausted by the time we reached the Chapel, but managed to soothe myself by gazing up, down and all around at the stunning art. 

Walking out, who comes running? Yep, bag man. My bag's now only 15 euros... I gave him some money for his troubles, and sent him on his way.

girl talk

What's more fun than a girly get-together? Summer frocks, champagne, giggles and nibbles are the perfect ingredients for a successful night out. We're christening the gorgeous Nicola's new pad and I can't wait to peek inside. 

Hopefully this unseasonably warm weather will continue and we'll be sipping bubbles in the courtyard until way after sunset. The moon's pretty full too, so it'll cast a flattering glow over all our faces - and who doesn't love that?

spooky

Guess what movie was on foxtel last night (but I missed 'cause I was dancing with the stars instead)? Pretty In Pink! Ah Molly, I do believe that she was my first strawberry blonde crush. Oh, and her car! I must say though, I'd always go for the funky boy over the pretty, bland boy...

work in progress

This is almost a cocktail-eye view of our pool-to-be. Standing here, you'll have just walked up the stairs into the pool house/pavillion/cabana... But whatever you call it, you'll probably have a cocktail in hand and be itching to dive into the azure waters.

le sigh

Paris is filled with these beauties, and every single one made my heart sing. My gorgeous girl couldn't resist a twirl either. 

This here's one that still makes my heart skip a beat. It's a two storey carousel at the foot of the dazzling white church that kisses the sky at the top of Paris.

Carousels in Australia have always let me down. For a start, the horsies never go up and down... probably due to fear of litigation should a child fall from grace.

However, in Paris, the subtle, muted beauties eternally enchant children, and the young at heart.

green fairyland

It's rare for me to meet a cocktail I don't like. That said, I can always pass up on a sweet cocktail (although maybe for dessert...) I like a lip-puckering cocktail, preferably one with lime, cranberry or lemon as the base. A margarita isn't complete without a rim of salt that I can slowly work my way around - and if anyone would like to argue that that's not the classic manner, well, fine, I'll move onto a Mojito. That said, should a cocktail contain Absinthe my hand will be shooting up in a "Yes Please!" It's the romance, the brooding gothic qualities and the hint of danger that appeal to me. So, when I was reading Kate Spade's Occasions last night I couldn't contain my squeal of joy when I read of this cocktail - a deadly combo of my two favourite obsessions...

Ernest Hemingway's Death-In-The-Afternoon Cocktail

Invite a friend over.

Pour one jigger of absinthe into each champagne glass.

Fill with champagne.

Drink 3, 4, or 5 of these very slowly while discussing fly-fishing (or the 1920s art scene in Paris, which is my preferred option - surely by number 5 Toulouse Latrec will have joined you...)

past perfect

Lately I've been revisiting some old movie favourites, and enjoying them immensely. The other week I happened upon Mermaids, and today, Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I cannot make the smile on my face budge when I'm watching that film. Matthew Broderick is so lucky. No matter what he did he could just say, "Excuse me honey..." and pop on that DVD and Sarah Jessica would forgive him anything. 

Maybe I need to accidentally catch a viewing of Pretty in Pink next... Or, Legally Blonde (yes, I realise that willing it to happen probably won't help - it's only upon being surprised by these films that I remain enchanted - deliberate viewing only results in disappointment)

moody blues

cutey patootey

I've never bought online before, but this little number from forever 21 might inspire me to. Admittedly I'd have to cut out the label, 'cause really, nothing would say "tragic mutton" more than a label stating "forever 21" but still, I'd chance it for those opiate-like poppies.

bella babes

I've always adored Miss Minogue, but I must say, I love my Kylie even more with curves (and curls)

who's the boss?

Earlier today I was awaiting coronation as Queen of Procrastination, but I decided that rather than wearing that tiara, I'd act instead. I decided to be my own boss and set to work for 45 minutes non-stop, and guess what? It worked. In that 45 minutes I wrote 750 words of a 1200 word article and it inspired me to keep going. At 11am I'd written 100 words, now, at 2pm I'm at 1150... and have organised the final interview I'll need to tidy the story up.

I've read about the timer method before, but never actually put in into practice, but it does work. It forces you to concentrate solely on the one task and knowing that there's an end in sight makes it easier to do what you have to do. 

I feel better now...

in the stars?

Currently I'm vying for the title of Queen of Procrastination - seriously. I have much to do, and apparently, am incapable of actually doing it. It's not my hair, I washed it earlier. My study's in a relatively tidy state, so that's not the problem. Yes, the house could do with cleaning and tidying, but I'm meant to ignore that when I'm working. The headache I've had for the past two weeks isn't helping. Today it's only low-grade though, so I can't really blame that. 

It's two minutes to 11am, so spot on the dot of 11 I'm going to put my head down and not move for 45 minutes - surely I'll achieve something in that time...

tippy toes

Shoe of the week has once again gone to Mr Marc Jacobs - I do love that man. How pretty would these be in a pale, petal pink? That said, they're like the LBD of the evening shoe world and would add a bit of vavoom to any outfit. Should someone suddenly decide to give me $700 US dollars I'd be insane not to buy them, non?

constant craving

You know what's better than macarons from Laduree?

Nothing.

pool lounging

At the end of our pool we're having a cabana and I'd like it to be all-white, and very, very inviting. I'm picturing a little something like this... but with a massive white chandelier in the centre (we've already bought it and it's been sitting next to our bed for, oh, 10 months now...) The roof will also be pitched and lined with boards - painted white... naturally.

I'd love really wide timber decking, which we'll either paint white, or leave to weather to grey. We'll also build in seating like this - with a day bed taking pride of place at one end. There may also be a retro bar, probably a 1940s chrome number that can be wheeled out as required to keep us refreshed. Can't you just see lazy nights around the pool in this?

zest for life

I'm feeling all citrus-inspired at the moment - in cuisine and fashion. 

Nary a food item isn't improved by a squeeze of citrus - meats, salads and vegies. I do admit that the zest of lemon and lime is a delightful addition to any meal. However, this spring I'd like to expand my repertoire and include the zest of mandarin, oranges and grapefruit to my meals. I do think I could even enjoy chicken breast if it were spiced up with grapefruit juice and zest with some sparkly white wine reduced to a jus, served with an olive and tomato salsa and with some chunks of feta cheese on the side. 

Fashion wise I'm having an orange moment. My nails are a fabulous shade of tangelo, which is the perfect contrast for the green pedicure that's still hanging on weeks later (but only if I squint at it through my lashes, it's probably time for a re-do). I'm also waiting for the weather to heat up a touch more so I can bring out my tangerine dress - worn with a teeny green cardi. I think all I need now are some bright yellow plastic beads - which I bet I can find at my fave op-shop on Darby Street... A visit might be in order.

expansion joints

Why is it that everything expands to take up any extra space you allow it? For example, if I set aside three hours to clean the house, it takes three hours - but, should I dedicate five hours I'll still be beavering away four hours and fifty nine minutes into the task? It's the same with any pay rise. Even there'll be no discernible jump in my style of living (I don't go from using truffle oil to fresh truffles, or from Chandon to Moet et Chandon...) I'll still have zero dollars left at the end of the pay period. 

The same applies to clothes. My wardrobe was overflowing, thanks to all my recent op-shopping success and I could not squish another thing in there. So, while we're waiting for built-ins, or some other suitably ginormous wardrobe for our bedroom, I swapped my pretty Art Noveau wardrobe space in our bedroom, with my husband who was using the twice-as-big built-in wardrobe in the study. Now, I thought I would be giving my clothes room to move and groove, but nooooooooo. Sure, they're not as squooshed as they were in the previous space, but it's still pretty squooshy in there. Perhaps I need to cull? Nah, I think I'll just have to speed up the arrival of the new, and suitably huge wardrobe in the bedroom.

just like samson

My hair doesn't give me any superpowers, and yet, oddly, when it's in need of a wash it zaps me of all inspiration, creativity and energy. 

When I was younger I had two odd 'phobias' (they weren't that bad - hence the quotation marks): the first was of spontaneous combustion. I'd seen a spooky show about it once and became quite obsessive about it - I even used to practice how I'd put myself out should I ever start to spontaneously combust. I now wonder what I may have achieved if that energy were expended elsewhere...

The second was felting. Now, apparently, in very rare cases, girls with long hair (such as myself) would wake in the morning and find that all their hair had fused together into one gigantic dreadlock - hence the term felting. Having naturally curly hair, that will tend to form dreads if unkempt for too long a period, I felt this was something I should be wary of. While I'm now over these irrational fears, obviously something's still lingering on in the felting category - which is why I have issues if I go longer than three days without washing my hair. 

Anywho, it's now washed, smelling delightfully of Kevin Murphy's Angel Wash and Angel Rinse, has a bucketload of MOP's curl creme smooshed through and looks about as far from felting as hair could be. Guess that means I should actually get a move on and get some work done now.

in perspective

I found this today. It's 52 meditations on life and the author chooses one each Sunday night to reflect on. Reading through the list helped me get a few things into perspective. Check it out and see what it does for you. www.marcandangel.com/2008/09/04/52-sunday-evening-meditations-on-life/ (I hope this link works for you - damned if I can get blogger to cut and paste anything!)

kid stuff

Should these be my daughter's first pair of Docs?

cutting edge

Sandwiches taste better when they're cut in triangles, preferably teeny, quarter-sized triangles. Buttered toast is at its zenith of awesomeness when sliced into three to four toast soldiers. Carrots and zucchini should be in lovely, fine julienne strips or sliced on the diagonal. I prefer my tomato diced. Shredded chicken breast tastes better than chunks.

I've always said I wasn't fussy about my food, but reading the above, well, some revisiting of that attitude is in order.

i feel like dancing

As an adult, a real, proper grown-up, there's nary an opportunity for dancing and I love, love, love to dance. I flicked onto an old episode of Friends last night and there they were, dancing away at a college party... Sigh, I miss parties. So now I'm plotting and planning a way to get dancing. I could take lessons, but the chances of roping my husband in are, good grief, impossible. So that'd mean solo dancing and I don't think they offer "Abandoned dancing to hits of your teens and early twenties" at the local academy.

My netball team is planning a night out at the end of this season, and rather than just a sedate dinner on a weeknight I'm going to highjack it and organise cocktails and dancing on a weekend - I've got some pretty fun gals in my team who'd be up for it. Now, to find a club where I won't feel like everyone's grandma...