quelle heure?

At the deli on Friday, picking up the ingredients to make a caramelised onion, proscuitto and goat cheese tart, I got to chatting with the girls behind the counter about food. I told them how I was making my tart (on a puff pastry base, spread with a little tapenade, then baked till golden) and one of them told me how she'd made a seven hour leg of lamb the day before. I'm so in.

So shortly, I'm studding a leg of lamb 12 times with teeny little cuts, just wide enough to fit in a slice of anchovy and a slice of garlic. Then I'll rub it with olive oil and salt and pepper, before browning all sides in a frypan. Next I'll pop it in my le crueset french oven, pour in a cup of white wine and a cup of chicken stock, cover it tightly and slowly cook it for sept heures at 100 degrees.

I think I'll serve it with a white bean salad - and something green.

ain't no sunshine

Oh the irony in this sunburned country. It's raining here again - just as it has been, off and on, for weeks, months, etc. Of course it's delayed the completion of our backyard, but we probably wouldn't be able to swim in the pool anyway because who wants to swim when it's raining! The frustrating thing is that my stepmother emailed me yesterday to say that all their rainwater tanks were empty and they were going to have to use town water for the first time in two years. I think my mum's tanks down the other end of Australia are also verging on empty. Whereas here, good grief, we could fill about 55 000 swimming pools with the rain we've had over our house in the past year or so. 

You'd at least think it would be good for the gardens but even the plants are over it. When there's a break in the rain on the weekend I'll have to fling some manure at the base of the plants to make up for all the nutrients that must be getting washed away in the downpours. At least all the songs I know about rain are now clouding up my head, rather than Some Girls by Racey which seemed to take up residence for the past few days.

Oh rain, go away. Go play with someone who needs you.

carrie on

Watching Sex and The City last night, as one does, I squealed in glee and told my husband "Oh, this is my favourite part ever" when the scene came on with Aiden, cooking in Carrie's kitchen, singing to Copacabana. Of course, long-term readers will know of my adoration for Aiden and my strange obsession with the song Copacabana - and I also have a soft spot for a bloke who'll whip up a meal. So there I am, smiling stupidly away at Aiden, and all his good points (he came up with the cutest pet names for Carrie - Poptart being my all-time fave) when I realised that it's also the episode where Carrie's Mac dies.

Now, as a writer, my computer is my life. I have the odd bit of info, such as deadlines, printed out, but usually I try to save trees and just have it alllllll stored on my computer. So when everyone told Carrie she should be backing up her work, a little voice inside my head said - 'hey, so should you'. And then I ignored it.

Until this morning.

I hit my start key on my Mac and. Nothing. No lovely little Mac waking up noise, just silence and a black screen. I tried a few more times, becoming increasingly hysterical, checked the power was on, then decided to wash my hair. Everything's better with clean hair. 

Out of the shower, I try again. Nothing. So then I unplug and replug the cords and - bliss - it started up.

You know what I'm doing today now don't you? Backing up till I can't back up no more. I've got, oh, about seven works in progress on the hard drive - due from now till the end of January. They've got research, interview transcriptions and even real words on them. Yes, backing up is today's must-do task.

seasons greetings

Christmas just begs for red does it not? Which is why these shoes caught my eye. They're patent, they're strappy and I do like the platform at the front which allows for even greater heel height. Now, I'd just need an emerald green satin frock to become Santa's sauciest helper...

scene stealers

Some frocks deserve top billing in a film. Marilyn Monroe's white halterneck was one, Holly Golightly's 'prison' sheath and hat another. A hero frock can almost make sitting through an appalling movie appealing. For example, the gorgeous green gown Keira Knightly is adorned with in Atonement. A shocker of a film, but, oh, what a frock.

I apply the same theory to eye candy. I'm normally pretty happy to give any film starring Johnny Depp a shot, knowing that his performance will be outstanding, and, um, yum, he's delicious. 

I assume it's got something to do with my dogged optimism - I'm always determined to find something positive in even the most negative experiences. There's always something to be learned in every event.

i know what boys like

Well, I've always thought I knew what boys like, but going by some of the google searches that have led people to my blog - Mary Janes for Men and for Boys are surprisingly popular (unless it's the same person who keeps hoping to find something new week after week...) Who knew? I thought I had a handle on Mary Janes of all descriptions - hey, I own many of them, but my hubby... um, not so much. I'm trying not to be Judge Judy of JudgementVille, but I just can't see a bloke in Mary Janes. I've tried visualising Mark Jacobs or David Beckham in a pair - but so far, in my mind at least - even they haven't been able to get away with it.

Oh, and I tried to do a google search to find out more - and found myself back here!

wet and wild

This weather really is a bother. Last night it poured bucketfuls of rain, which meant that the painters, who'd come to paint the rendered walls, had to leave, with walls unpainted. Now, late in the afternoon, the skies are once again grey and threatening and I'm trying not to pout. Just when it seemed like we'd be swimming by Christmas, the completed pool project has once again been stalled, ironically, by the wet weather. 

Serenity now, serenity now...

special guest blogger

My eight-year-old daughter is desperate for a blog, so here's a post she'd like to share.

FRIENDSHIP

My best friend Maisie and I are 2 peas -in- a -pond we  do everything together we are always on the phone and meeting on webkinz .......

bill and ted were right

I've always struggled with perfectionism. Which to those who may know me will seem odd - as I'm a bit slapdash in what I do. But I think there's a reason for that - if I don't try to make things perfect, then nobody can notice that it's not. However, I will spend ages procrastinating on articles that I write, just in case the perfect word comes to mind. When I clean the house I'll always leave something askance, again, so people don't think I've tried to be perfect and failed.

But recently, I read an idea that was revolutionary. Don't try to be perfect, try to be excellent. It's true, nothing's perfect, but things can be excellent. I've been trying to apply this to my life, and it's working quite well. I'm getting ahead in my deadlines, and am happy with what I've been writing.  My house is pretty clean and tidy - I'm happy enough if people drop in unexpectedly. It's something I'm trying to take into all areas of my life. My relationship, parenting, friendships...

I saw a magnificent example of excellence yesterday at my daughter's dance concert. Her teacher, Miss Heidi, always puts on the most excellent concert. The music, the choreography and the joy on the dancers' faces are all excellent. It's not perfect, costumes get caught in the curtains and they fail to open, the odd step might be out of place, but the sheer joy on everyone's face, from the three-year-old tiny tots, to the senior dancers is infectious. You know that they are trying their darndest to be excellent - and every single one of them succeeded.

one upmanship

I don't know if it's a Leo thing, but I, and a few other leonine friends, have odd accidents. On three separate occasions I've had a small insect, probably a gnat, fly directly into my eye. It's disconcerting as you can watch it approach, seemingly in slow motion, and yet there's nothing you can do to stop it. You'd think that blinking, or turning your head would work, but no, the trajectory is actually at light speed, while appearing so, so much slower. I have also alighted from a car only to have the top of my ear catch on the corner of the car door. That smarts. 

You can guarantee that if some weird thing is going to occur to a human being it'll happen to me. Or my friend Nick. 

Which is why I knew that after breaking my ankle at my advanced age, he'd have to do something to top it. He has also had the ear/door connection thing - particularly impressive given his stature - nearly a good foot taller than me. The gnats in eyes? He's seen 'em coming plenty of times. So when he recounted a spectacular fall a few weeks ago on his blog (a grey area - see my list of buds to the side) I knew something would have to come of it. Yep, not just one measly break, but a few, in the ribcage. Honestly the things some people will do...

ritual habitual

I'm always trying to be a little more zen-like in my activities - particularly those repetitious chores around the house. That's why I'm soooooo looking forward to my backyard renovation completion, so I can return to one of my favourites.

I love, love, love hanging out washing. It's soothing and I'm good at it. In the past six months I've been either hanging on my clothes horse in the living room or (eek) in the dryer. I'm getting no satisfaction whatsoever from that. But soon I'll have an outside line again - whoopee. I adore standing in the sunshine, shaking out the clothes and pulling them flat before carefully hanging them and choosing contrasting pretty pegs to hang them. When bringing them in I shake and fold, so I never, ever iron a thing. Seriously, nothing - not even hubby's business shirts or my daughter's school uniforms. Nil.

So I cannot wait to christen my new outdoor line when it's installed. I don't know what kind it will be, but I'll be buying special, scented powder and may well wash my white, cotton sheets in lavender-scented water, before pegging them up with pale green or lilac pegs, and watching them shake and dry in the breeze.

addendum

I just thought I'd best clarify why I do so love me a bit of Posh Spice. 

1. She's hilarious and keen to have a laugh - while still never appearing to smile in public - that takes dedication.

2. She wanted to be a star and is happy to work at it. You'll never see Posh beating up a pap or hiding her face behind her Birkin.

3. She has a passion for fashion that goes above and beyond - I know that every single time I see her she's going to surprise or thrill me.

4. She's married to Becks - sigh.

5. She was in the Spice Girls.

6. She has an even greater dedication to heels than even me.

7. She stages perfect photo ops - working the media, rather than allowing them to work her.

8. Her boys are just divine - particularly when they break out in some seriously wicked dance moves on stage or courtside at a ball game.

9. Did I mention the whole David Beckham thing?

10. She's Posh...

love/hate relationships

There are some people I adore, and nothing they ever do will change that. Dita Von Teese is one. Kate Winslett another. The Fug Girls, Posh Spice - ooooh yeah. Others I loathe and they'll be able to do not one thing to win me over - Heather Mills, Siena Miller... 

However, sometimes I jump ship. My husband assures me I haven't always idolised Victoria Beckham, whereas I will swear I've always wanted her as a best friend. But one person I've totally turned on is Rachel Zoe. Loathed her, now love her. She's bananas. I die. Yes, all those catch phrases I so despised in the lead up to the Rachel Zoe Project now spill from my mouth like pearls. I adore her, covet her wardrobe, love her hubby, am besotted with her assistant Brad... and all this is balanced out by my loathing of her ever-so-mean assistant Taylor. I will be bereft when the show finishes - where will I get my vintage and couture visual fix from? Certainly not my wardrobe (even though I have a hefty stock of vintage, it pales in comparison to Rachel's - le sigh...)

a tribute

bargain box

Ooooh, Christmas shopping. It's weird how something that should be so joyous can be so stressful. We did most of ours in a fast four hour hit last Saturday while our daughter had her dress rehearsal, but I just tried to buy one final pressie - and failed. It's a special game, obviously THE game of this Christmas, on-sale today at a special price, with added bonuses. So, being an astute bargain hunter I called the store yesterday to confirm it would be on-sale today, yes, and was waiting at 8.50am this morning for the doors to spring open at 9am. I then raced through with other bargain hunters to find... the game not on the shelves. After waiting in line with other avid parents, while sales assistants fruitlessly went from dock, to storeroom, to counter, etc for 30 minutes, before finally ascertaining that the special courier, with the special order, wasn't here. Grrrrrrrr. So I've left my name at the desk, and they'll call me when it gets in. Grrrrrrr. Then I'll have to find another pre-christmas parking spot, schelp through the store, and hopefully buy the darned thing.

Oh well, that's what I get for wanting to buy what is obviously the Hero Gift this season. I really should have left that one for Santa...

seriously scentsual

Today, I didn't have any perfume at my desk so I dabbed some Agent Provocateur Tuberose Intoxication massage oil at my pulse points. Delish.

(Oh, and why the massage oil at my desk? Pressie from a PR of course!)

dizzy heights

Oh, how I miss my heels. On the weekend I tried on a beautiful pair of black patent sandals, with the most pencil-thin stiletto heel - and a platform at the front. Standing there, now much closer to six foot tall than five, I felt at home. Hopefully my husband took note of the yearning expression on my face and those shoes will find their way into my christmas stocking (surely if he's a smart man he'll be checking my blog for hints...non?)

I met a friend for lunch today, wearing flats. I felt I was doing our reunion an injustice. Even with lippy and a pretty lilac eyeshadow I didn't feel quite dressed up enough because my feet weren't at a Barbie angle.

However, it's our wedding anniversary next week and we'll be heading to the city's finest restaurant so my Manolos will be delicately lifted from their box and placed on my feet with a sigh. Surely that's the best possible way to reintroduce my feet to the joy of heels.

cherry cheer

Ah, the joys of seasonal eating. I'm sitting here, nibbling on cherries - perfectly presented in a pink ramekin - and plotting christmas pudding recipes. We're off to a friends in two weeks for a christmas do, and I volunteered to make the pud for 10 adults. I'm planning on making a sweet number that nods in the direction of a summer pud, but with a difference. I'm lining a big pudding bowl with slices of chocolate cake, that I'm going to drizzle with some liqueur - not sure which flavour yet... then I'm going to allow some really nice vanilla icecream to soften before stirring in raspberries, cherries, unsalted pistachios and shards of dark chocolate. I'll then fill the chocolate well with this mix, then top it with more chocolate cake, weigh it down and refrigerate. I'll take it out an hour or so before serving, so the icecream's not too hard. Invert it, slice it and serve it with a vanilla marscapone 'custard' - studded with more pistachios. Yummo.

clean queen

My handy hubby fixed my vacuum cleaner yesterday and I'm rather thrilled. While I've been enjoying sweeping, from a purely meditative perspective, I have re-embraced my electronic cleaner. The dust, sand and grit in the house was almost overwhelming thanks to the various gaps in the house that allow it to enter during construction in the backyard, combined with mud and crud being trekked in on the bottom of our feet. However, a few rounds with the vacuum have seen my floors taken to a new level of clean and it's always astonishing how much a clean home can elevate my mood.

My moods are dramatically affected by many things; grey skies, seemingly overwhelming deadlines, tired and cranky children, my dodgy sleep patterns - and also, it seems, by a messy, dirty home. Alternatively blue skies make my mood soar, being organised enough to deal with deadlines makes me very happy, popping a child to bed early so she gets her beauty sleep is a tonic for all in the family, a night only broken by waking three to four times seems like bliss to me, and a clean, tidy home makes my heart sing.

Now when this is combined with the scents of tonight's meal cooking (bbq prawns and chorizo on salad), well, I'll be so giddily happy giggles and smiles will have to ensue.

belle fille

Emilie Simon not only has the most exquisite voice I've heard in some time, her face could launch a thousand sighs. I've just found out she has a new album, which I'm also adding to my christmas wish list. I adore The Flower Book, which includes the most amazing version of Iggy Pop's I Wanna Be Your Dog, plus many glorious french tunes to tickle your eardrums in the most delightful way. So I hope her new album offers half as much promise! PS. I do need an event to wear headgear as pretty as this little number.

la la love

Today I am madly in love with my new discovery. Admittedly, it's something that's been around for a while, but hey, I'm a luddite/late adaptor, so forgive me my sins. 

Because, from next year, I'm purely working from home on a freelance basis (hurrah, and yet, eek) I'll need to be super dooper megalooper organised. So I recalled someone mentioning Google Calender - could be Nick, or anyone else who wants to put their hand up for it... and I'm besotted. It's easy to understand, update and read - sends you lovely email reminders and is quite possibly going to be my number one organisational tool. Plus, there's no wasting of paper scrawling out to-do lists, I can't lose it and it satisfies the anally retentive side in me. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I just received an email reminding me that in one minute I'm to start researching another story. Toodles x

blissfully happy today because

My gorgeous friend Mel has just returned to Aus from the UK and we've just made plans to catch up. I adore Mel, and while I was thrilled that she had such an amazing OS adventure, the selfish side of me is giggling with glee that I'll be able to share her wicked sense of humour and contagious grin again. There may also be a catch up at our fave restaurant at some stage too - I do believe a plate of capitan prawns is calling our name...

oh, surprise

I always thought I'd love a surprise party. You know, coming home, friends leaping out, holding bottles of champagne aloft... But now I've realised I'm not a surprise kinda gal. I need time to mull things over and work out how I really feel. If I were 'treated' to a surprise party I'd probably spend a reasonable amount of time peeved with myself for not creating the right make-up look for the night - which would obviously take valuable time away from dancing which is just plain silly!

It's the whole backyard renovation thing that's made me realise how I just really don't adapt well to change. And that's been highlighted by the sudden changing of the sports uniform at my daughter's school. I need to be eased into things slowly. Firstly, I need to be made aware of the possibility of change - however small. Then, I need to be fed teeny, tiny snippets of information - one at a time - about the change. Then, after I've digested all of this, I may well be ready to contemplate it.

It's like the issue of becoming a meat eater after being vegetarian for 20-years thing. It took me a good 18 months of silent contemplation before I raised the issue with my husband. Then we needed to sneakily try a piece of chicken while our daughter was at school, then fish, then tell her... and then I dived back into carnivorous behaviour - with gusto.

See, chances are, that with a little preparation I will be an enthusiastic advocate of change. But I need to take dolly steps, not a gigantic leap with my eyes closed.

shoe wow wa

Sorry the image is so teensy, but if it were huge it'd probably be too dazzling. I do so like this shoe of the week. Red patent always makes me smile, and I love the combination of the cutaway platform, the thick slingback and the buckle. Combined with deep, glossy purple toenails I'd probably never look up again.

splish splash

We're getting so close to the completion of our pool that I can almost imagine dipping my toes in the water. The majority of the tiling's done (and it looks amazing if I may say so) and we're just waiting for the renderers to come next week before they can lay paving, surface the pool and pop in our pool ladder. 

Of course, things like the pool house and the final landscaping won't be completed until probably around February sometime - but we can always pop an umbrella up there for a bit of shade in between splashes.

It's been a long journey this renovation thing - but once it's done we've got a lifetime to enjoy it.

scentsations

If I lost my sense of smell I'd be pretty darned devastated. Fresh scents make my day. The gardenia by my front stairs is currently covered in glossy white blooms and the fragrance is big, blowsy and utterly beautiful. I've mentioned before how I love my fleurs to look and smell pretty and it's days like today that I'm reminded of why. 

When spring is heralded by the sweet scent of jasmine and closed with gardenia's rich perfume - how can that not make you happy? I can also see that the 100+ year old frangipani trees next door (one of which comes onto our yard by a good metre and a half, so I see it down the end of the veranda from my study door) have tightly furled buds that will open and tickle my senses for the summer season. Bliss.

Add these to the various blooms of roses, lavender and orange blossom and you've got a garden of scented delights richer and more exquisite than any fine perfume. Le sigh...

frugal bugle

I've been having a think, and realised that I already do quite a few thifty things. So I thought I'd share them with you. The nice thing is, that as well as saving you money, they're often earth-friendly tips that help you become a little greener with each step.

1. Once a week have a 'pantry meal' where you buy absolutely nothing new but have to devise a meal out of whatever's in the cupboard, fridge or freezer. This could be a chore, but I like to turn it into a Masterchef Challenge to see what amazing dinners I can create with a few key items.

2. Extend your meat. Regular readers will know that I'm now a carnivore after 20 years as a vegetarian, and as such, can't bear to go a meal without meat. However, I will pad it out a little. Obviously fresh, seasonal veg is a cheap way to do so, but legumes are even better thanks to their high protein quota which helps keep you fuller, longer. Lamb and french lentils are the perfect pairing, but I'll also throw some chickpeas in with a curry, or add red kidney beans to a plate of spicy beef.

3. Switch off. Getting into the habit of turning off lights and non-essential electrical appliances (such as microwaves and DVD players) at the wall, it not only gives you a green glow - it cuts your energy bills by quite a bit too.

4. Halve it. Whenever I wash clothes, dishes or my hair, I halve the recommended size of the washing suds - that way, I only need to buy them half as often!

5. People power. Whenever possible these days I try to walk, rather than drive. The price of petrol is scary and I'd rather expel my own hot air than stinky fumes from my car.

food fight

Tough economic times, and a backyard renovation that's escalating in cost every second or so, are making me rethink my shopping budget. In winter it's easy to cook cheap and easy meals - as I do so love slow-cooked cheap cuts. However, in summer I spend most of my time firing up the bbq, and I've yet to work out an alternative to salmon or thick, organic steaks. Stir-fries perhaps? What's your best frugal tip for the food world?

salt and pepper

I'm a huge fan of salt - particularly Maldon, Murray River Pink Salt and the pretty grey french salt. And peppercorns, oh I adore them, couldn't make a meal without them. However, in my hair? Not so appealing. 

I've been dying my hair a glossy raven hue for more than half my life, but it's really starting to fight back now with the white hairs outnumbering the brunette, oh, by about a million to one. I'm sitting here now with my head fill of dye, showercap on, hoping the builders don't decide to wander past my study window and peek in - cos it's not pretty.

Touching up the regrowth every three weeks is an ideal I never attain, but what are my options? I've already stated that I'm only embracing the platinum on my 60th birthday - and I can't go lighter - can I? I love chocolate locks on others, and I'm sure it'd make the greys less Bride of Frankenstein obvious (hey, shouldn't that be Bride of Frankenstein's monster...) but I'm still a fan of being back in black. 

j'adore

At the moment I'm totally crushing on Dior. It all started with the new campaign featuring Marion and has escalated to dizzying heights. Therefore, I had no option but to feature these as my shoe of the week. I know it's late, so late that it actually qualifies as Saturday's Shoe, but I adore its simplicity and style. Glossy red toes, with a touch of sparkle, would beg to peep from these. Non?

book shelf

Obviously the grey skies have me in a cocooning frame of mind. Here's another book I'm just desperate to read. I am bewitched by Maggie Alderson. I pounce on her columns and avidly read her books over again. She has such a perfect tone. And look at this cover - it's perfection. I'm pretty sure that when she saw it her heart leapt with glee - as did mine. Hope my hubby's got a few ideas for my christmas stocking by now. Any gaps? Fill 'em with boxes from Tiffany & Co I would imagine...

pour moi

Here's another book that's making me sigh. I got my little hands on a copy last week (thank you Nicola xx) and it's bliss in hardcover. So many shoes to sigh over. I also found out that my favourite French red suede shoes (mary janes, with a double straps and a cute black heel) were made by Charles Jourdan - which is a pleasant surprise, but they're so comfortable and stylish I'm hardly surprised.

I was continually amazed at the level of experimentation in shoes going back to the 30s and 40s when there was some pretty avant garde stuff happening. If you see a copy snavel it up. In Aus the cover has a pretty pale pink champagne background which melts my heart and would look amazing on a glass-topped coffee table. If you're a shoe gal, this is a must-have.

wish list

For Christmas I've got a hankering for this book. I adore Tessa's book Apples for Jam, and think Venezia could float me back to the grand canal and the tiny, cobbled streets of Venice. Look at those scallops served in their shells - nature's provided the perfect serving dish and my mouth's watering in anticipation. Should I unwrap this little beauty I'm bound to hug it close to my heart, and yes, little claps of glee are bound to spring from my joy.

try hards

Yesterday I went with my daughter's class on an interesting excursion. She's in year 3, so it was a class of eight and nine year olds, and they went on a bus down to Sydney to Centrepoint Tower for a trip through the kitchens and coldrooms before heading to the restaurant for a buffet meal. The kids were rather interested in the massive pots of bones and vegies used for making stock and sauces, and by the sheer size of the vat used for boiling up the ravioli. I was curious to see how adventurous these children would be when confronted by a range of foods, and being allowed to pick and choose.

I'd expected that there'd be some adventurous eaters, but I guess that when you point out the chicken nuggets and fries, that's what most kids will load their bowls with. I must say I was impressed with my gal, who tried the salad leaves, a few king prawns, ravioli, spring rolls and a singapore noodle dish with glee. She also loaded up on some lovely rare roast beef and tried the kangaroo too. Obviously my adventurous eating's rubbing off on her!

making me happy today

• Gardenia blooming by my front steps

• Friends popping in for morning tea

• Roses kissed by the rain

• Coffee in a pretty cup

• Ham and cheese toasted sandwiches

• Sheets swirling in the washing machine

• Fence posts ready to go in the ground - to create a nice high fence to hide the neighbour's house

• Giggling over funny bits on the Rachel Zoe Project (new obsession - and a serious one)

• Tom Ford's sexay perfume

• Tiles being laid in my pool, hinting at the icy blue water soon to follow

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?