picnic fare

There's a christmas picnic at my daughter's school tomorrow night, and I can't for the life of me work out what to prepare. See, this is the fourth year we'll have attended, so I've made most of my favourites. Plus, friends are already bringing things I'd quite like. I do have teeny little gingerbread babies for the kids - but for adults I'm stumped.

Maybe cold things on a stick? Marinated chicken breast, a grape tomatoes and wedges of yummy fresh mozzarella? With a chunky fresh pesto dipping sauce? Do you think? Or prawn cocktails served in a cos lettuce leaf? Or a big bread salad with fresh tomatoes and slices of a spicy salami? Buttermilk fried chicken bits? Plus a green salad? 

For sweets it's got to be summer berry trifles - that's easy peasy. Ooooooh, or Eton Mess with strawberries, raspberries, meringue and cream. We will be drinking champagne - and then I'll be detoxing for a week. My poor liver, kidneys and other organs I didn't even know existed must be screaming in pain after the last week I've had. I think I'm renaming December the Festy Season...

so long

No, it's not a farewell post, more a post about me saying "thank goodness I didn't write a blog documenting the progress of my back yard - because, boy, this is taking some time..." The guys are out the back finally laying pavers, that we had delivered, oh, a few weeks ago. But once that's done, that's going to be pretty much it till mid-January. So we'll have a pool that's tiled, walls that are painted, paving done... but no landscaping, no pool interior - and most importantly, no pool fencing. But we're going to order the fencing today, with the hope it'll be installed in the first few weeks of January, then we'll have the pool cabana built, then they'll surface the interior of the pool and fill the darned thing.

Of course that meant our daughter's pool party is off till next year. Her birthday's at the end of this month, so I had to think quick and come up with a funky alternative. So now we're having a Rock Star party. I'm printing up Backstage Passes, laminating them and clipping them on lanyards for invites. We'll have rockstar makeovers (lots of coloured hair spray, glitter and dark nail polish), karaoke and dancing competitions. I haven't decided on the cake yet. Maybe a microphone, or a CD. It's gotta be funky and fun. And as for food... M&Ms with all the green ones taken out? It's got to be like a band's rider - except with pink lemonade instead of Jack Daniels!

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.