that's entertainment

I love having people over to dinner - but I don't like serving up the same thing twice. I adore experimenting, trying out new things, and surprising my friends. If it fails, well, there's always champagne to wash it down! However, I have always found it difficult to remember exactly what I served, to whom, and when. So I decided to write it all down.

When we moved from Sydney, my mother's group gave me a pretty Visitor's Book, with red tulips on the cover. It was sweet, but, realistically, who's going to ask their friend to sign a book when they've just popped in for a cup of coffee. So I decided to use it to note down what I cooked and when. Our friends each have a page, and I write down any nibbles, drinks, main course and sides, along with the pudding. It's great for jotting my memory now - and in years to come, to provide memories of great nights, good food and fabulous friends.

swoon-worthy

In my "trying something completely different" mood I cooked up dinner with a difference. I'd bought some yummy looking pork cutlets from the butcher and decided to frock them up with some crumbs... Oh, baby... I grated up some wholemeal bread, then some parmesan, then some lemon zest and seasoned it all with cracked black pepper and a smoosh of Maldon salt. I pounded out the pork a little flatter than it used to be (with a wooden rolling pin, I don't have a meat mallet) and dipped them in beaten egg, followed by pressing them into the combined crumb mixture. I shallow-fried them in olive oil till golden brown then popped them in a 160 degree oven to cook to medium rare. A squeeze of lemon juice over the top made them crunchy, munchy and utterly delish.

just call me alice...

Now, while I may not be having an actual affair with my butcher like the maid on the Brady Bunch, I have found something to love. Because I was never a boy scout (obviously) or a girl guide (o... well, we didn't have them in my neck of the woods) tying knots is not my forté. However, because I'm making roast beef wrapped in prosciutto tomorrow night, some bondage of the butchering kind is in order. So today, when I bought my pork cutlets, I asked if my butcher could show me how to truss up my beef and he agreed... but only if I didn't spill his secrets... so, apart from you guys, my lips are sealed...

summer lovin'

Allow me to introduce you to a saucy summer shoe. It's from Nine West and is a damn fine compromise to the white pump (which, despite Sarah Jessica wearing in the latter seasons of SATC I never quite warmed to). This, however, this is a laudably sexay shoe. I can just see it heading off to lunch with the girls, spiced up with fishnets for night or... wait for it... with my new tangerine summer frock. Must stop, have palpitations...

vegging out

It's kind of ironic that I was a vegetarian for 20 years and yet am a bit daft when it comes to vegetables. See, I've always been a bit of a one-pot-cook and side dishes have always left me a little bemused. But I'm trying to improve. Tomorrow night I'm going to be adventurous and try a vegie I've never cooked before. I'm not sure what, or how, but I will. 

I'm doing a roast beef, and I'm going to give it a lovely massage with olive oil, garlic, lemon zest and Italian parsley before wrapping it in proscuitto and baking it. I'll roast some cubes of potato, pumpkin and beetroot in duck fat to serve alongside, but I want something else... Ideas? We're just coming into spring in Australia, so I'd like something light-ish and maybe green-ish. I do also intend on starting a jus around lunchtime. I'm going to buy a really robust red and reduce it till it's a sticky syrup (oh, no, mouth watering... must go grab a glass of water)

rebound shoes

Sometimes you'll find a pair of shoes that you're completely smitten with. They'll work with so many outfits, always make you smile every time you look down and will feel like you're wearing satin slippers. I have a pair of these. They're red and white wedges with a slender cork heel. They're perfectly balanced and look fabulous with jeans or a skirt. I adore them.

Imagine my heartbreak when I realised that I'd left them behind when we were travelling in France. After backtracking for a few weeks I worked out that I'd left them in a gorgeous B&B in the Loire Valley so I emailed, and yes, there they were. Of course, I couldn't just drive back to the Loire Valley from Paris, so I had to wait till we came back to Australia to organise their return. Twasn't easy. I needed to organise postage, transfer the funds for the postage (in Euros) to the owners and wait. Six weeks and a bucketload of euros later (I'll give you a hint, it cost almost as much as the shoes cost me to start with - and they weren't cheap!) my shoes came home. I love those shoes.

Now, before I worked out where I left them, I bought a rebound pair of shoes in Paris. I thought I'd lost my beloved wedges, so when I saw a 'similar' pair, I rushed in and bought them. However, while these were cute, they weren't as versatile as my others. For a start, they were bright pink snakeskin and the heels were typically wide wedges, not the delicate slenderness of my faves. I've worn them a few times, but couldn't think of anything to do my rebound shoes justice. Until today...

Yesterday I visited my favourite op-shop near work and bought a dress that makes my complexion sing. It's bright tangerine and is the perfect summer frock. I also bought a sky blue seventies belt to wear with it and was trying to think of the perfect shoes. Hello, welcome back rebound shoes. I'm going to welcome spring with a bright, happy wardrobe and this outfit is going to do it. Pink and orange are two of my most adored combos, so now, my rebound shoes won't feel so neglected... they were just waiting for the perfect match.

dear john

I always used to wonder, when watching infomercials, how that spray on hair worked. 

Apparently it doesn't. 

je ne regrette rien

Driving home tonight my glance was accosted by a sign outside a church. Now, I'll always stop to read these. Regardless of the denomination, I'll always find something to muse over. But tonight's, well, I didn't muse - I fumed. It read "Learn from other people's mistakes, life's too short to make your own". Balderdash. Who is so perfect that they never make mistakes? Also, someone else's mistake might be another's surprise joy. 

I've made bucketloads of mistakes, and I'll continue to make more. If you don't make a mistake it's because you haven't taken a risk. I want to look back on my life and not regret anything, not one thing. While there are some things that I'd prefer not to have done, guys I'd have preferred not to date, words that should have remained unsaid... I've learned from all of them.

If I didn't date a string of unsuitable dudes I wouldn't have recognised the quiet beauty of my husband - a man who compliments me and makes me glad to wake every morning. If I didn't make mistakes in my work I wouldn't try so hard to improve on what I'd done. If I hadn't had fall outs with friends it wouldn't make me appreciate those I do have.

Mistakes aren't to be feared - they're to be embraced, accepted and acted upon.

accentuate the positive

Once upon a time I believed I had a shocking memory. Hideous. Faces, I'd never forget, but names? I'd never recall - people were Sweetie, Hon, Doll or... nothing at all. Then I interviewed a memory expert for a story on recall and her first piece of advice was "Never, ever say, 'oh, I've got a terrible memory' or 'I won't remember this' because then you're giving yourself permission to fail." Since then, I've been positive about my memory and it's, oh, I reckon about 1000 times better. I've also devised a trick for remembering names. None of the old tricks worked for me, so here's mine to share with you.

Whenever I'm introduced to someone I'll picture someone else with the same name just over their shoulder. This way, I'm using my excellent recall of faces to help with names. Whether it's a famous person, or just another friend with the same name this works magnificently. Just after implementing it I went to a function where I met 20 new people at once - normally my worst nightmare. Now, I know this sounds highly suspect, but I actually remembered every single name.

Remembering names is quite possibly one of the most polite acts you can perform - and I do love me some manners.

another brick in the wall

If I were to become a tradey - I'd want to be a bricklayer. Those dudes work fast. We had two bricklayers here at 7am and they left at 9am after building a five metre retaining wall in the courtyard. Now those walls are up we've got the other guys coming back soon to start the metal framework for the pool. With spring well and truly on the calendar it's nice to think we'll be swimming in our backyard sometime this summer.

photo finish

For most of my life I loathed having my photo taken. When I was a wee twig of a teenager I couldn't bear having my pic snapped 'cause I thought I looked "fat". Oh, how I wish I could travel back in time and have a word to that girl...

Two years ago I was at a work function when one of the columnists for our publication said to the Beauty Editor, "How come all your photos look beautiful and I'm lucky to get one decent shot of myself?" and she replied, "Because I like having my photo taken." Now this was a revelation. How could anyone possibly like having their photo taken? But I must say that I've been trying it out and it seems to work. 

See, the thing is, when you're frantically posing, trying not to have a double chin, pokey out tummy or wonky eyes chances are the photo gods will snicker at you and ensure that not only will you have all of these in the resulting shot - but other things you never even knew you had. So now, I turn at an angle to the camera (not in a Mariah Carey way, that's obsessive) and smile like the camera's my friend. And you know what? The photos don't look half bad. They look like me, and isn't that the point?

a life well-lived

I'm attending a funeral today. The funeral of a lovely, funny, charismatic man who touched the life of all who met him. A skilled football player, coach and all round gorgeous bloke. He finally lost his battle with cancer last week and is at peace and free of pain. 

My thoughts are with his adoring wife, who was blessed with a soulmate who shared her dreams, ideals and life, and with his two beautiful children. Bob Mountford, you're fondly remembered. Your infectious laughter, charm and wit will live on. May you rest in peace. 

finger painting

Nothing says spring like pastel nails and these little beauties from Zoya are tickling my fancy today. The pretty lilac shade has my name written all over it (well, it's got Miley's name on it, but let's play pretend...)

i'm keeping this for...

When it comes to keeping a tidy and clutter-free home there are some things that just get moved from one surface to another. I'm over that. As today is the first day of spring - and subsequently the perfect time for spring cleaning - these things are outta here. Case in point. Last year, for my birthday party we filled pale pink party bags 1/4 full with gravel and then popped tea lights in, lit them, and dotted them along the front path and up the stairs to the front door. Pretty. Well, over the past year I have managed to transfer the gravel from all the bags into one bag, and this bag has been moved from one spot in the study to another. Why? Because it's a sin to throw out something good. 

Today I'm taking action. That teeny white gravel is going to top my pink and white geranium in my pink with white polka dots pot on the front veranda, and the bag? In the recycling. If it doesn't have a purpose, doesn't add to our life, or have an immediate use I'm being ruthless and moving stuff out of here. Right now. That's my spring action plan.

tidy desk and mind

Last night I'd had enough of my messy study. Other rooms were looking good, which of course meant that all the clutter was accumulating in my study. Because I work from home three (to five) days a week I need to be able to concentrate, and teetering piles of clutter were distracting me. So I got in late last night and decluttered, tidied and cleaned and boy, what a difference. I now have space - and surfaces! All I need now is a fresh bunch of jasmine for my desk and a productive day is in order - just in time for the first day of spring.

spring fling

It's the first day of Spring. Hurrah! 

mermaid magic

I stumbled across this old favourite last night. Cher is an utter genius. Her role as the mum who feeds her two girls cocktail food is bewitchingly good. And oh, Christina Ricci was a bundle of bliss - no wonder I still adore her. The final scene where they're dancing around the kitchen singing, "If you want to be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife..." made me want to clap my hands in glee. Christina's little red swimsuit, Cher's lissom yet curvy bod, Winona's pale gorgeousness... Mermaids rule.

pool toons

These are too cute. Teeny little raindrop shaped speakers so you can use your iPod by the pool (or in the bathroom if you're into long showers). I do believe that little blue baby needs to come home and live with me!

simple suppers

I realised tonight that I don't do those simple Sunday night meals. You know, the cheese on toast, weet-bix or scrambled eggs and toast fingers. No, apparently I don't really like to give myself a night off. Tonight was as simple as it comes with Nigella's carbonara. Have you tried it yet? Go on. 

You cook up some pasta, fry up some bacon and garlic in a little oil till it's golden. Then tonight, because it was sticking, I tossed in a splash of white wine to deglaze the pan (while the bacon and garlic was still in it - yum). Drain the pasta, toss it in the pan with the bacon, then take off the heat and add two beaten eggs and quickly combine. Add pepper, a splash more white wine and some parmesan and there's dinner. Adding some mushroom and diced green spring onions would add some colour and texture - but also take away a little of the simplicity, and apparently that's what Sundays are all about.

well, well, well

I received lots of lovely books for my recent birthday and the Kate Spade series of three make very stylish additions to my bookshelf. Personally I can never read enough about manners, and this quirky little tome served to delight and inform. I think I'll start on Style next before moving on to the final in the series. Surely I'll be a far more poised Laydee after reading these!

straight up

Have you noticed that a makeover, virtually any makeover, involves straightening hair? Think back to any makeover you've ever seen and you can guarantee that any unruly kink was GHDd out of existence in the pursuit of perfection. My daughter and her friend are watching The Princess Diaries and guess what? Apparently being princess-worthy requires straight locks. Who knew? Is that why Fergie was never completely accepted into the royal family or the public bosom? Does unruly hair indicate a similarly unruly nature? 

You've got to love a makeover where they take a woman who's too busy to fuss with her appearance, make her over, and give her a hairstyle that requires serious attention with a blowdryer or straightening iron. Honestly, it takes nearly all my energy to wash, condition, comb and apply curl creme to my my hair. 

Of course, I'm biased, having a head of curls. But why is it, that despite fashion mags trumpeting the fashion appeal of curls and waves, a makeover isn't complete unless hair is tamed into submission?

what's your superpower?

One of my favourite bloggers, Molly from Les Cadeaux, suggested that each of us has a superpower. Hers is the uncanny ability to match up friends, mine is to tell the time, pretty much accurately to within a few minutes - without a watch. 

I like this idea. See, we're always trying to match ourselves up to an ideal that none of us can attain when realistically we should be championing these quirks within ourselves. 

Today my power's quite week as I'm hungover. Not in a good way. This is not the hungover that results from quaffing too much champagne - or even cheap wine. Nope, it's a migraine hangover - hence my lack of posts these last few days. I'm pale, insipid, and my brain is refusing to function in a manner that appeals to all I need to do. So I'll take it easy and hope that tomorrow my body and brain have resumed functionality.

french chick

We have a bucketload of images from our last trip to France - and funnily enough our daughter seems to feature in many of them. We stayed just around the corner from the exquisite Place des Vosges and walked through this park almost every time we explored the Marais.

Our gal was six when we holidayed, for six glorious weeks and luckily, she adored every minute. It's little wonder that when she grows up she wants an apartment in Paris, a Chateau in the Loire Valley and a little blue cottage around the corner from us in Merewether. Hope she lets us visit!

yay us

Ordinarily I despair of remakes. The original is normally the best. When Australia made a version of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy my worst fears were realised. And by the looks of things, the US version of Kath and Kim is sorely lacking any humour. But, we Aussies do deserve snaps for a few programs. I do adore the Aussie version of Project Runway. The competition was stiff - how could Henry hold up to Tim Gunn - or Kristy to Heidi? But they do - they completely and utterly hold their own. I could just squish Henry he's so divine. His observations are eerily accurate and delicately phrased, helping some of the designers continue to progress even when the constraints of the program have almost made them lose their way. Genius. Plus, we've uncovered some gems of designers - talent is seeping out of pores, despite some of the hideous challenges they've had to uphold. 

When it comes to favourites, I've long tossed up between Leigh and Petrova. They're both fabulous, have their own style and Petrova has the most covetous hair I've ever seen. This week's episode saw Petrova sneak out in front for managing to follow a brief, give the client what they want, and yet still create an outfit that's got her personality and unique genius stamped all over it. I hope that when the outfit goes on sale it positively sprints out of Myer stores. 

It's a tough call who'll come out in front as each designer remaining could easily shoot to the top of the Australian fashion industry - and I'll be applauding them all the way - and Leigh, if you're selling, I'm buying.

that's better

Because I wrote mean things about Pammy this morning, I was cursed. My skin looked and felt like crap - merely because I suggested she could use a good scrub. So I used something that made me look and feel a lot better. This!

I do so adore Dermalogica's Daily Microfolient. It doesn't feel like it's working, and yet it does - magnificently. So I cleansed, microfoliented, moisturised, then applied the daily face brightener and feel far more ready to face the world. My skin feels so much softer and smoother, and looks like I've dived face-first into a vat of Touché Eclat. I'm in love and plan on making this my daily routine. As penance. For being mean. To Pammy (but, really, don't you think she could do with some of this stuff?)

c'mon aussies

For some reason we've had Pamela Anderson in Australia twice this year. Twice. I reckon that's even more than Tara Reid. These days Pammy makes me want to cover up, and have a facial scrub - the years have not been kind to that girl. Now, I used to love Pammy. She was such a stereotype, and yet I used to believe that she had a strong sense of irony and played to it. Well, that irony seems to have gone the way of pants with Pammy these days. 

See, it's not that I'm a fan of acting your age. If Iggy Pop played a gig with his shirt on that would make me sad. And Debbie Harry? She'd break my heart of glass if she started dressing all nana. But still, there's sexy, and there's sad. Pammy? Sad. Sofia Loren? Sexy. Sharon Stone? Crazy, yet still kinda sexy (in that will bite your head off when she's had her way with you kind of way...) Demi Moore? Sexy. Helen Mirren? Meow! 

I don't want Pammy to be a girl on the loose - that's just scary. We need Henry Higgins to pop on over and teach that gal a few things. "Just you wait, Henry Higgins..."

this week in shoe business

Pretty non? I must say, I'm not finding this shoe of the week thing as easy as I'd hoped - there are some mighty ooogly shoes out there this season. I like a classic shoe, one that doesn't scream Spring 2008, but makes you sigh just as if you've snuggled into a freshly made bed. That's what's doing it for me with these Jimmy Choos (although, I always have James Earl Jones, doing Sex and the City, on Will & Grace squealing "JIMEEH CHEW" - which can't be what Ms Mellon is after...) This red is the perfect shade - much like my nails today in Chanel Pirate. Can you ever have too many pairs of red shoes?

for slippery little suckers

I was thinly carving the roast beef the other night and was becoming increasingly bothered by the way my chopping board keep moving around while I was trying to slice. Annoying. Then I remembered a tip from Bill Granger. He said to place a folded tea towel beneath a mixing bowl to prevent it turning as you're whisking or blending - which is a damned fine idea that works perfectly well. And guess what? It adapts perfectly well to the chopping board too. Keeps it snugly in place so you've got a nice, stable surface while you're slicing.

Thanks Bill.

simply speaking

Friends asked on the weekend what my daughter thought when I told her we were no longer vegetarian... here's an example. I asked my eight-year-old what she wanted for dinner tonight and her answer was "beef". Of course, I needed her to elaborate and her response? Beef Bourginon... obviously the result of a francophile mother who also loves a bit of red meat. 

Now, it's 4.15pm so a wee bit late to be starting beef in burgundy, so I'll be roasting up a slab of beef, serving it with cubes of potatoes oven roasted with a little duck fat, some corn on the cob and green beans. Um, yes, roll on the lighter meals of spring!

clean sweep

In a first, today I dropped off four massive bags at the Salvos... and walked out with nothing! I'm all inspired by that man who, on the weekend, gave away all his belongings - yep, everything. Now, there's no way I'm going that far, but simplifying my house would be a big improvement. I'm starting with magazines. I have a scary amount on the bookshelf in my study - so many that there's no room for books, and novels're piled high on all my smaller bookshelves rather than luxuriating in the space they deserve. 

I must say that for years I bemoaned what the net would do to publishing and it's obviously having a huge impact on magazines - with readership dropping off in so many categories. Now, while I can never imagine reading a book on-line (I still love me a bound book) a magazine's a whole different kettle of fish... one that's slightly on the turn. I never thought I'd say this, but magazines aren't doing that much for me any more. I open them, skim them, and quickly move on. The trashy gossip mags are the worst. They're not even a guilty pleasure when most of the content is blatantly fabrication (Jen! So Sad: Jen! In love: Jen: My wedding plans...) I'm glad that most of my fave mags have websites though... I can't give 'em up cold turkey.

So today, it was Buh Bye to Donna Hay and Notebook: two mags I've kept lovingly since the start, but rarely ever refer back to. It's been spesh, but it's time for me to ditch the dust-gathering mags and make space for some new novels - I need to feed my brain. 

if you can't say anything nice

Then just shush, shhht, shut it or zip it. What's with those people who are ever so free with the negative comments? You know the ones, they're happy to meet you, greet you and then say, "Wow, you've put on weight" (or, as a girl did to me when I was in my twenties, poked me in the tummy and said "you're putting on the beef"). What's the point? Seriously, when I've put on weight, it hasn't escaped my notice. I know it's there and, chances are, I'm dealing with it - or ignoring it. It's the same with the sympathetic "oooh, you look tired". What the? If I'm tired the last thing I need is someone telling me I look pale, wan, puffy eyed and crappy. It won't inspire me to go home and take a nap, it'll just make me feel even worse than I already do. 

Are these people honestly happy for people to say the same to them? Um, doubt it. Personally I like to move through life effecting positive changes. I'd prefer to compliment someone, and normally you don't have to look too hard to find something nice to say. A deftly served compliment is the simplest way to give someone a boost.

Of course now that I'm more mature and wouldn't be quite so devastated by a negative comment it rarely happens, but next time it does I'm going to raise an eyebrow (probably my left, I can't seem to get the right one to move independently) and in a puzzled tone enquire "Why would you say that?"

party time, excellent

A good party is a rare and wonderful thing. It's a delicate balance, where so many aspects have to be in harmony, and if they're not, it's all a bit meh.

Well, I went to a fabulous party on the weekend. For a start, it was for a pretty spesh bloke who's managed to accumulate a number of diverse and interesting friends (which ticks the first box of party must-haves). Just like a dinner party should have an eclectic bunch of people gathered, so should a party. Too much similarity can lead to boredom, and a boring party. I met some amazing new people, caught up with old friends, and learned to love some people I'd admired on fleeting acquaintance. 

Secondly, the location was perfection. The right size space, decent moody, yet not-too-dim lighting, and sections where people could sit, stand or feel inspired mingle. That's why a party in a large, open space doesn't work. A party is like a garden, you shouldn't be able to see everything at first glance. You need to be led around, with surprises and delights around corners. 

Decent alcohol is, of course, a must, and finally - really good music. Music makes the party. Music needs to enhance your mood, move things forward and every now and again cause you to squeal excitedly "Oooh, I love this song!" and to do a little dance on the spot. When you have a party that people will continue to talk about for at least as long as you've been on the earth, you know you've had a hit.

better the devil

I was feeling a bit grumpy and put upon today - and the grey squally skies sure didn't help. You know those days where things go wrong and you feel as though it's someone sending a message (probably just one saying, "um, they're only little teeny tiny problems - get over it"...) Anyway I grumped on in the front door, decided to switch on the telly for a bit of mindlessness to cheer me up and saw The Devil Wears Prada playing. Well did it turn my frown upside down! 

Meryl - magnificent as always - will cheer me any day. And the montage of gorgeous outfits to Madonna's Vogue? Oh baby, you're playing my song. It also proved that while colour is divine, nothing is more chic than black.

Apart from making me strongly covet strings of Chanel beads (which, even if I DO win a million dollars I couldn't justify) it also gave me shivers of bliss at the first sight of the Eiffel Tower sparkling with thousands of lights. Paris always makes me smile.

a study in contrast

Is there really such a thing as clashing colours? Personally a combination of two raunchy hues will always make me smile. Pink and orange, pink and red, pink and yellow... that's what summer's all about. Or for the cooler months there's purple and red, purple and electric blue or purple and mint green. Polka dots and florals also pass muster. What are you favourite combos?

brain drain

When your brain decides to skip off on a holiday, abandoning you to a period of utter confusion you know it's time to get organised. My brain is off, presumably sunning itself on a deck chair somewhere, which is kind of selfish as I'm finding it difficult to function without it. 

If I only had a brain I wouldn't: forget really, really important things. Nor would I flit from unimportant task to mindless faffing back to silly superficialities again. 

Come back brain, all is so forgiven. In the meantime, I'm clearing my desk and writing down a complete and utter plan of action. Brain or no brain things are going to happen around here.

beautifully bland

When it comes to gorgeous I like a bit of quirk. If I were ever to have a nose job, it'd be so they could form me up a romanesque number. 

It always entertains me how every now and again magazines, papers and plastic surgeons will trumpet their latest finding on "The Perfect Face" and you look at it and think, "Yeah, pretty" and quickly forget about it. 

With so much attention paid to plastic surgery these days I worry about what's going to be considered the norm: rockmelons cut in half and placed on a set of ribs? That's what bugs me about shows like Extreme Makeover. Ultimately these people have problems, but usually it's down to rock bottom self-esteem and poor fashion sense. And that's what I love, love, love about programs such as Look Better Naked. I want Gok Wan to be my best friend. The transformation that man can wrought in just a few weeks is utterly phenomenal. 

I recall one episode where the girl hated her legs - hated them. She always wore tights, always, she even had a 'special' pair for when, ahem, she and her husband were intimate. Of course, Gok convinced her to bare her pins - and they were a damn fine pair of legs. Not Giselle's legs, but a pretty pair nonetheless. At the end of these programs the women strut on out reveling in their unique beauty and glowing with confidence. Vive la difference... 

loafing around

Revisiting childhood favourites is one of my most adored cooking adventures. And when they're also appreciated by my child, well, all the better. I've made a few meatloafs lately and we've all gobbled them down. A slice of loaf topped with gravy, some mash and some greens is a homey kind of meal that we've all been digging.

Tonight I'm going to try a different slant - lamb, mint and pinenut meatloaf. Never made it before, and no, I don't have a recipe, but here's how I'm going to do it.

Meatloaf

500g lamb mince

2 eggs

1/2 cup fresh grated breadcrumbs

4 strips of finely diced bacon 

a good 1/4 cup or so of fresh chopped mint

salt and pepper

Topping

pinenuts

dried mint leaves

I'll mix all the ingredients except the pinenuts together with my hands then toss them into a loaf tin, smooshing down well. Then I'm going to stud the top with the pinenuts, and maybe sprinkle dried mint leaves over the top as well, I love their peppery bite. I'll bake it for around an hour at 160 degrees, and if the top starts browning so much it resembles George Hamilton, I'll cover it with foil.

I'm going to serve it with finely sliced rounds of potato, tossed in olive oil, lemon and salt, before baking on a tray till they're crispy. Then I'll put a salad of diced tomato, cucumber and shallots on the side. Sounds yum doesn't it?

opposites attract

Here's a new motivational method I'm trying. See, the thing is, I loathe repetition. Sometimes I'll think, "If I have to unload this dishwasher one more time, I'm pretty sure screaming will result". But of course, I do have to empty the dishwasher as it's one of my chores. So I'm going to try doing a George Costanza and do things in the opposite way. Instead of starting at the top of the dishwasher and working my way down, I'll work my way up. Making the bed? I'll start on my side, then move around to Matt's. I'll sweep the bedrooms, then move toward the kitchen... It'll work, my brain's easily amused and confused. Surely with my new program of rewards and re-works things'll start to happen around here.

you were saying?

Now, I recall a few years ago, Baz Luhrman saying that botox was so not a good idea for actresses. And, if my memory serves, I am pretty sure he intimated that he'd quite prefer to use actresses whose faces did move in his films.

Well, I'm sure looking forward to his new film Australia where Nicole Kidman is presumably playing a porcelain doll who sits on a shelf, only to be taken down from time-to-time by Hugh Jackman's sensitive, doll-loving character. 

Or maybe, just as Keira Knightly acts with her jaw, Nicole can express a variety of emotions with her oh-so-emotive pupils.

Because really, does this face look like it moves?

punctuation marks

Having always been a flitter, and sometimes a quitter, I realised that one thing I really need to do is concentrate on one task at a time, complete it, and move on. It was this middle bit that got me. See, I'd concentrate on a task, do a bit of it, then move on. Silly. 

So instead, I've decided to punctuate my tasks. I start off Grandly (with a big capital letter) on the hardest part of the task, force myself to finish it, then punctuate it with a full stop. For example, when I'm cleaning that full stop is a spritz of lovely-smelling room spray to make my completely tidy room smell of Vanilla Bean (Bloom Room Spray - yummy) or Lavender (Trelivings - mmmmm). It's helping. Like a child tempted with the thought of ice cream after the brussell sprouts, a swish smelling room entices me to complete a task.

So now I'm off to make my bed, with my lavender-scented sheets and when it's done - spritz - a double-whammy of lavender bliss to ensure sweet dreams. Zzzzzzzzz.

sartorially speaking

Dressing for an event is quite a treat. Sometimes I'm pretty sure I enjoy the preparation more than the actual do. Before any big event I'll start planning a few weeks out and I'll either start with the top, or the bottom. Starting at the bottom means shoes - of course, while at the top it means eyeshadow. For example, I have a friend's 40th do coming up in a week and I've planned the frock (deep amethyst), hair (out and adorned with big, red flowers), lips (rouge) eyes (cats eye and a bit of gold glittery shadow - subtle, yet festive) and shoes (strappy red). But tomorrow night, I have a do, and no idea what to do...

See, I'm seeing David Sedaris. Yes, David Sedaris. I know, David Sedaris!! Now, I adore this man, I've laughed so much at his words I was worried I'd spit my teeth across the room (and no, I don't have falsies, they're firmly implanted in my gums). He demands respect. And let's face it, even if he weren't the oh-so-amusing David Sedaris, he'd still be Amy Sedaris's brother - and that's something worth frocking up for.

To top it off, his reading's been moved from some grungy Surry Hills club to The Sydney Opera House - and that place politely requests furs and jewels and a certain amount of polish. Shall I go with the Fleur Wood 50s style black chiffon skirt with the pale pink silk underlay, Wheels and Doll Baby ballet neckline top, fishnets and my black patent, t-bar platform stiletto (I know, long description, but they're worth it) with long black and pale pink beads? And perhaps a black flower in my hair (I know what you're thinking, black flower in black curly hair... the point? But it's a cute surprise when you get up close). Plus, because it's cold, I can bring out my black fur - can't I (most of it's fake, only the collar's real so Peta advocates shan't be throwing paint at me - surely). Thoughts?

sunny sundays

There's a whiff of Spring in the air today. The skies are achingly blue, my garden's filled with the intoxicating scent of jasmine and mini verdant leaves are budding all over my Robinia tree in the front yard. I'm a sucker for all the seasons and love to greet and acknowledge every one. So today, to honour the coming of spring, a little cleaning is in order. Dust has settled over almost every surface in my kitchen and living room thanks to a combination of heavy earth works in the backyard and ill-fitting windows in a 100 year + house. A couple of clean cloths, a bucket of hot water spritzed with a few drops of lime essential oil and a good scrubbing arm will see them right.

so not Pammy

Because I got some money for my birthday I thought I might splash out on a red one piece swimsuit for summer. However, when I told my hubby he said, "Oh, that's a bit Baywatch" and now I'm flummoxed. Surely a classy red one piece, on me, a brunette who's all natural (well, except for my hair colour...) wouldn't instantly connote Pammy. Would it?

Also, hello, that boat. So reminds me of the fabulous taxis on the Grand Canal in Venice...

toe and fro

Pedicures are the best. While I can't be bothered with manicures (I'd much rather do it myself), I do like a bit of pedi action. However, why is it that despite the wide range of colours salons seem to offer, I can rarely find anything to suit my exacting standards? I had a pedi today and wanted either a bright neon orange or pale sky blue to decorate my toes. Do you think they had those? Non. Merely an orange that was really a red in disguise, and a navy. So I eventually chose a pretty pale green, which I'm kinda digging and think I might need to track down. It's an O.P.I shade and quite puts me in a spring frame of mind. Now I need to change my deep, dark fingernails to suit. Chanel English Rose springs to mind as the perfect foil...

real men do eat quiche

And gals like me cook them. My homemade quiche last night was a delicious success. I'm aiming to make something I've never made before, in a style radically different to my usual, every week. Here's how I made this one (from my fave Food of France cookbook)

Quiche Lorraine

Preheat oven to 200 degrees.

Pastry:

220g plain flour

pinch of salt

150g cold butter

1 egg yolk

2-3tbsp cold water

Sift flour and salt into a bowl, then dice up butter and rub the butter into the flour with your fingers till it resembles wet sand. Then add the egg yolk and water mixing into the dough with a palette knife (I used a butter knife) till it just starts to form a dough. Then mould it into a ball with your hands, cover with cling wrap and refrigerate for 30 mins. 

Remove from fridge, roll out and place in a tart tin (now, mine shrunk a fair bit, even though I stabbed the base with a knife, I'd have a few cms overhang next time) and line with baking paper and beans or baking beads. Refrigerate for 10 mins.

Bake in a preheated 200 degree oven for 10 minutes, then take out paper and beans and cook for 3-5 minutes or until golden. Turn oven down to 180 degrees

300g smoked, streaky bacon

50g butter

3 eggs

300ml double cream

salt, pepper and fresh nutmeg to taste

Melt butter in frypan and fry diced bacon for 10 minutes or until so crispy and delicious you're almost fainting with joy. Remove and drain on kitchen paper. Mix together beaten eggs and cream before mixing in salt, pepper and nutmeg.

Sprinkle bacon over the base of the pie dish then pour the topping over top. Place in a 180 degree oven for 30 minutes, or until filling is set.

Remove from oven when it's golden brown and almost cry in delight (or is that just me?)

The best thing is that I had about 1/2 the dough leftover, because my dish is so small, so I'm making mini tarts to take to a friend's on the weekend! 1/2 quiche lorraine, 1/2 blue cheese and walnut. Oooooh yeah.

so eye see

Experimenting with eyeshadow is one of my fave activities. Today, 'cause I'm wearing a pale green top, I decided to line my eyes with a fabulous purple-pink shadow... but then I looked like I had a bad case of pink-eye - and that's not pretty. So I then lashed out and piled my lashes with electric blue mascara and whoa - perfect peepers!

making me happy today

* the blue, blue sky

* teeny little lamingtons with a cup of tea

* the stocks and sweet peas my hubby and daughter bought for my birthday. Still blooming in a riot of shades of mauve, violet and lavender - perfect against the Laduree green of our living room walls

* watching the landscapers lug our huge sandstone blocks from the old retaining wall and knowing that we can reuse them in our new drystone wall

* the soundtrack to Mamma Mia helping me revisit the joy of the film

* deciding to make quiche and a salad for dinner

* all the new shoots on my roses - so rich and plentiful

* comments from new blog friends

every gal

Needs a shed. A pretty shed, covered in roses and other climbing delights. We're planning on installing a pretty shed around the corner of our house, under the sheltering arms of our Golden Ash. It too will be pretty, and may well feature window boxes, with pink and red geraniums spilling forth. It'll have gables, panelled windows and a cute little door. And it will be grey and white - to match the house, with accents of violet, naturally.

discovery channelled

Hot shoe of the week. Gorgeous femme Sara put me onto these, and boy, do I likee. So much so that shoe of the week is moving so far forward that's it almost beyond shoe of the day and into shoe of the moment. Peep toes, patent, buckles, a jaunty angle to that strap... meow.

holey moley

There's a pool-shaped hole in my backyard that by summer will morph into something like this. we're going for huge rectangular pavers, with a square edge for a classic look. And yep, we're having a pool ladder rather than stairs. It's reminiscent of the ocean baths and it's a look I'm smitten with. All I need now is a red one piece swimsuit to wear when I drape myself around the edges... yes, with a cocktail... and pink toenails...

and now for something completely different

Reading Julie and Julia has inspired me to try something I wouldn't normally cook for dinner. Strangely enough it's not a complex french dish - but a simple quiche. I've never made one, but think that I'd quite like to. Eggs, bacon and pastry - the best things in life.

specially engineered

If you'd told me 20 years ago that I would marry an engineer, I would have scoffed. At uni there were no two more disparate groups than communications students and engineers. And yet, we met, fell in love and 15 years later are still besotted. Nice huh.

He's also useful. With complex backyard renovations going on it's handy for someone with a mathematical brain and engineering logic to go out and chat with the builders every day to ensure walls are built in the right spot and at the correct angle. I make the builders coffee.

20 years ago I thought I wanted someone who read me Shakespeare's love sonnets in bed. I'd be bored of that now. I want someone who makes me laugh, shares my dreams and complements me (not in a "gee, you look gorgeous way" although, that's nice too). And if they also like Sex and the City and buy me Manolos... sold.

je ne comprends pas

I've been puzzling over KK's hair for, like, days now. The fug girls brought it to my attention, other blogs have mused over it, and I still just don't get it. It's just not Vogue sweetie.

And let's not even go into the outfit...

currently reading

When I opened this pressie this morning I squealed. Can't wait to immerse myself it its pages - and be inspired to whip up the odd french feast.

birthday girl

Some people never lose their childish sense of anticipation and delight. They just adore birthdays and squeal excitedly at every gift-wrapped token of affection.

I'm one of them. Today's my birthday and I'm so, so happy!

vive la difference

I think you always want what you don't have which is why I think redheads are divine. Look at this bunch of beauty from www.ararebreed.blogspot.com

Little girls with strawberry blonde curls make my heart sing. It's the same with the grown ups too - boys and girls. If I had a lush head of titian I'd forever wear emerald green, brilliant blue, pink, and of course, red. And walk around with a parasol in the harsh Aussie sun!

what goes up

I think I'm too empathetic. My moods are seriously governed by what's around me - what I see, hear and watch other people do. That's one of the reasons why we don't watch televised news - I'll read the headlines, but I don't want to see the gore. 

Yesterday I floated home singing Dancing Queen and The Winner Takes It All after seeing Mamma Mia - an uplifting film if ever I'd seen one. I adored it and just want to go see it again. But then, last night, because my husband was out on a boy's night, I thought I'd catch a 'girly' film on Foxtel. My choices were PS I Love You and Atonement. Now, had I not had a memory like a sieve, I would have remembered reading Atonement, but no, that only came back to me about 30 minutes into the film.

Subsequently, at the end of the film I was left feeling more deflated than Mamma Mia left me feeling inflated. I tried to concentrate on the gorgeousity of the riotous mix of florals in the stately home. Nope, didn't bring me up. Then I thought of the magnificent bouquet Keira Knightly carried, with Peonies, Larkspur and other English cottage beauties. Didn't do it either. The green frock Keira wore... oooh, almost lifted me up.

So now, with husband and daughter off to do the final bits of birthday shopping, I'm going to elevate my mood. I've just washed my hair and it smells delightfully of Angel Wash and Angel Rinse (Kevin Murphy - brilliant, and just perfect for my fine curly hair), I have a little antique glass jug filled with sprigs of jasmine on my desk, I'm going to make myself a cup of Violette tea in my lavender tea cup and browse through some blogs to lift myself right up again.

so vanilla

I'm very traditional in my dessert tastes. If there's a creme brulee I'll be cracking the top and diving in. But, I like my brulee vanilla... or so I thought. Last night we went to the gorgeous Bistro Tartine for my birthday dinner. I had the most exquisite pork belly, Matt had the duck confit and Annabella had, from the child's menu, roast pork, sauteed potatoes and veg (um, hello, it was pork belly, potatoes probably cooked in duck fat and lemon green bean - for only $9 - perfect for mini gourmet tastebuds!). For afters I couldn't go past the brulee - although I did hesitate because it was chocolate.

Oh.

My.

God.

A dusting of bitter chocolate coated the most perfectly crisp caramelised top that cracked satisfyingly when whacked with a spoon. Diving in was a heavenly, chocolate creme - oh. It was bitter, yet sweet, rich, yet not cloying. Chef, take a bow. 

Annabella and I shared, but if she wasn't my child, I would have hogged every single morsel. 

oh mamma

We had a girly day today and Annabella and I went off to see Mamma Mia. As a major Abba fan, who's bred another one, it was sheer delight. I'm now pining for a trip to the greek isles and need to decorate, something, anything, in blue. Meryl Streep is also my new role model - she's just gorgeous - all the gals were.

One thing I didn't understand. Reviews mentioned the godawfulness of Pierce Brosnan's voice, but, well, he wasn't bad. He wasn't great, but I loved the fact he sang. 

Oh, and Colin Firth in the wet white shirt? Gotta love referencing of the gorgeous kind. 

I love a film that lifts the spirits and this one sure did that for me. Such a nice way to spend a birthday weekend.

lavender love

I adore lavender oil. Adore it. Today I've found yet another use for it- removing the sticky residue from sticky tape or stickers. 

I was cleaning off marks around the light switches today, when my brow furrowed at the sight of goopy, grey marks left on the back of the front door from an abundance of sticky tape. (long story: used to have a long, pokey out screw coming from the handle and my husband worried that child would impale her forehead on it when scootering down the hall - so he liberally coated it in sticky tape.) Since we've now re-installed the door handle with a shorter screw we've taken off the sticky tape, and the goopy marks have remained. But no more.

Today, I thought I'd try to use some lavender oil on a cotton ball to remove it - just like you do with eucalyptus oil - and it worked. I rubbed, and the marks vanished. Plus, now my front door is scented with lavender. Mmmm. It also worked on a sticker mark so old it was probably at my third birthday party. True.

pour moi?

In honour of my 41st birthday on Monday, here is Saturday's shoe (on friday, I know, think I might rename it Shoe of the Week). A red patent mary jane created with aching beauty by that artiste, Manolo Blahnik. How can you not bow down at his genius?

it's my party

Well, not exactly. I hit the big 4 0 last year and had the pink and red themed soiree to go with it. But it's my birthday on Monday so we're off to our favourite french restaurant for dinner tonight. To go with the theme, Annabella's wearing her beret, and I'm going adorned in my black lace top I bought on the Isle St Louis (I am incapable of thinking of that place without sighing...) I'll also take the handbag I fell in love with in the same shop - but didn't buy.

Cute story. Because I'd already bought a handbag in Tuscany, I had to resist the gorgeous little black handbag with the leather bow around it. But I really, really regretted it. A year later, as friends were planning their month-long holiday in Paris, staying on the Isle St Louis (I know, if they weren't the nicest people I know I'd hate them) I mentioned, "Oh, if you happen to see this cute little handbag, with a bow, in a shop just opposite Bertillon, text me..." 

Upon their return poor Georgina had her eardrums burst with my squeal when she'd bought my bag - the last one in the store. Serendipitous or what?

dig in

Oh, I am so excited. Although the skies are grey, diggers have been in my backyard for four hours! My pool is finally taking shape. It's a slow, slow process and believe me, I've been trying so hard to be "zen" about it all that I almost calmed myself into a coma. But there's progress, messy, clay-ridden, "please keep my convict sandstone blocks", coffee-making progress. It may have been months since the DA approval, but at least it looks like I'm getting a pool now, not just a barren wasteland where my yard used to be.

Happiness is a big red digger (and not just for 3 year old boys!).

hanging by the telephone

Having been married for quite a few years, and coupled for substantially longer, I thought my days of wistfully waiting by the phone - will he call, won't he... were way gone. But, oh no, fate doesn't like you to be a smug married with no woes. Our backyard renovation saga is continuing, or should I say dragging? From the first clearing, way back in June, to the first excavation in July, to now. August. My builder promised, today, if it's clear, first thing. Today. It's clear. No thing. 

I feel like an expectant teen, my heart leaping, not at the expected sight of my lust object appearing from around a corner, but at what could quite possibly be a dump truck driving up the street. Only to be disappointed when it's a dump truck, but not my dump truck.

Anywhoodle. Tomorrow. If there's no rain. Absolutely. Or maybe Friday. For sure...

in short

When I was a wee lass, long talons were where it was at. If your nails didn't zoom on out way past the tips of your fingers, you were nobody. But now, I'm in lust with the fact that short nails are the only way to go. See, I love playing netball, and I'm also fond of a well-polished nail. But, unless you want to look like a girly weirdo with taped nails, you've got to cut your nails short to hit the field. 

These days, as fashion dictates, short nails look mighty fine with a strong coverage of colour. Today I'm channelling a deep, dark mocha and when I'm over that look, I'm dusting off and painting on a bright orange to sunshine up my mood a notch.

i just don't get it

I am quite possibly one of the biggest fans of Sex and the City, and, undoubtedly, Carrie's number one admirer. However, while I get so many things about her, I can't come to grips with her taste in men. I've already mused about Berger (erk), and let's not get into the Jazz Man with the pork pie hat (...?) and while Big has a certain appeal, I'm just not feeling it. But here's where I go completely spare. Aiden. I love Aiden. I would never let Aiden go. He's hot, he's thoughtful, he calls her PopTart (which inexplicably makes me tingle) and on the episode last night, she came home and he was cooking TO Copacabana. Now, when a straight man's getting his groove on to the tale of Lola, the showgirl, that's it, I've got one melted heart happening in my chest. 

Why?

habitually tidy

My husband and I (good grief, how Queen-like does that sound - or is that just in my head?) have been instituting good habits lately. We're becoming tidy people. We're becoming people that don't mind if you just "drop in" 'cause the house looks just fine. Not perfect, that'd be weird, but fine. 

We've been all domestically blissful and tidying together. You know, stacking the dishwasher straight after dinner, putting the clean clothes away into drawers, rather than just shifting piles of folded stuff from one surface to another. And it's nice. 

You see, I like my house, it's pretty. And it's always been offensive when its prettiness has been obscured by crap. I've also discovered that the best thing is that tidying begets tidying. Because everything's in the right place, we'll tend to then move on and clean out a drawer, or a shelf, or wash a window or two.

We've been keeping on top of the gardens too, and today, I only spent 15 minutes weeding - rather than it being a 15 hour job (truly! Cottage gardens are much more labour-intensive than they look!) This also meant we could get in and deal with some other fiddly jobs that are normally pushed back in an attempt to hack away at the weed situation.

It's been nearly two weeks now since we've established these fine habits, and I'd quite like to stick to them.

shoe business

Yep, it's Saturday's shoe... on Sunday. Sorry! But it's Marc Jacobs - and it's really, really keyoot!

smitten chicken

In my early carnivorous years chicken was my favourite meat. These days though, chicken doesn't always rock my boat. I do love spanish chicken, but probably because it's an excuse to eat chorizo. Hence, tonight's meal - an excuse to eat prosciutto... should you need one.

Chicken sausages

500g chicken mince

1/4 cup fresh bread crumbs (I used a piece of dry baguette)

1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

1 small onion, finely diced or grated

the zest of 1 lemon

salt and pepper

12 slices prosciutto

Mix together all ingredients in a bowl (use your hands, go on, just wash them well afterwards). Then, after wetting your hands, form the mince into sausage-like fingers. Leave to rest for 10 minutes then wrap in prosciutto. Heat a little olive oil in a pan till piping hot then start to saute sausages till golden brown on all sides and cooked through. So yum.

hearts on fire

I heard of a deed so good this week it didn't just warm my heart, it nearly made it spontaneously combust. My in-laws live about 45 minutes away, in Maitland. They're in their 70s, but still like to do plenty in the yard and around the house. But they've been a bit under the weather lately, a chest infection caught both of them and has hung on for weeks. 

Now, the other day, they got a load of firewood delivered for their heater. A whole uteload of wood was dumped out the front and James had to pick it up, load it into a barrow and shift it to the wood pile around the back. Now this isn't an easy job for a strapping young lad, let along a man in his 70s. Anyway, one load and James was struggling, sweat pouring down his face despite the five degree temperature. It breaks my heart just thinking about it. So he gave up, came in, washed his face and they set off to do some shopping.

The next morning there's a knock on the door. It's a bloke from down the street, a guy who James used to teach, and always had a little bit of extra time for. This guy had seen James struggling, raced home to get his barrow and ute, but by the time he got back, James and Annette had gone out for the afternoon.

So, God love him, this bloke came back early the next morning and wheeled the whole load around the back, accepting only a glass of water and the most greatful thank-yous. When I called later that day, Annette told me the story and I was so extraordinarily touched. It's obviously a case of paying it forward though. My in-laws are the kindest, and most generous people you could meet. As a teacher James would have been one of those chatty teachers that everyone loved - and who always had time for everyone - even the tearaways that other teachers steered clear of. 

That's what I call good behaviour. And kindness will always be rewarded in kind.

in conclusion...

Um, you know how the other day I couldn't find the receipt for my printer, computer and software for tax purposes? Well, I went and visited 'nice man' at the Mac shop and sheepishly took my new receipt, jumped in the car, and put the receipt in the glove box - because I didn't want to fold it and shove it in my teeny bag. Oh, what was that I put the receipt on top of? Ah ha, that would be the original receipt. oh.

budget busting

I walked around the supermarket today tutting and tsking like a pensioner at the price of groceries (speaking of pensioners, how on earth do the poor things survive? I find everything astronomically-priced and we're on two incomes!) Thank goodness for the slow cooker. I bought a kilo of beef blade roast - a huge big chunk of meat - for $10. Brought it home, chopped up some onions, placed them on the bottom of the slow cooker, popped the beef on top, seasoned it, then placed some halved potatoes, sweet potatoes and whole, baby onions around the edges. I poured the requisite 1/2 cup of water over the top, turned it on low, and tonight, around 8 hours later, it'll be ready for dinner. Of course, we'll get seconds so that'll be two meals, for three, for around $15 (including veg). I like my vegies crispy so I'll pop them in the oven on high for ten minutes while I rest the meat and use the pan juices to make a gravy (if there's heaps, I'll transfer a ladle-ful to a pan and add some red wine, if there's only a small amount, I'll turn the slow cooker to high, add the wine and stir till it thickens). I'll serve it with some steamed green beans to get our vitamin B intake soaring.

organised - not chaotic

I've gone dead-off being disorganised. It's not clever, and it's not funny. So we've been going through the house, room at a time, tidying and tossing out - and boy, it feels good. Because we'd been organising, our dining table was clear which meant my hubby was able to sit down last night and go through all his medical bills for his knee op and recovery. And because he did that I was able to visit medicare this morning and get a rather special refund that should help pay for some of our pool waterline tiles (should the rain ever ease enough for them to get back to work on building the actual pool...)

And while Matt was being productive, I sat myself down and started getting things ready for my tax. Now, I remember years ago laughing along at a co-worker when she described plonking a shoe box full of receipts in front of her accountant at tax time. Let me tell you how I wish I'd put all my receipts in the one shoe box. My receipts are, well, kind of all over the place really, and the only one I can't find is for my computer, printer and software - yes, that would be the most expensive and claimable things I've bought! However, in the frantic scrabble to find it, I was able to do some tidying of one cupboard, toss some books I've no use for in the 'to sell' pile and find a couple of books I'd forgotten existed and would quite like to read. That makes me happy.

Now, although I didn't find the receipt I did call the Mac shop and the nice man's going to print out another copy for me today. Bless him. Every shop should have a nice man...

sante

It's champagne o'clock, and boy, would I like to be here again. Only in Paris do you find this is a department store....

saturday's shoe

I would like to add a new feature to my blog: Saturday's Shoe. Now, I'm not kidding myself, or you, that I can afford these - but aren't they purdy! I have an electric blue dress that would be set off nicely by a pretty t-bar heel and although I'm a Leo, this is the only time I've ever been tempted by an animal print. And boy, am I tempted... I am woman hear me Rrrrrroar.

restorative blooms

It might be still raining, but at lunchtime, when the downpour eased, I stepped outside and walked around the garden and guess what? Yep, nearly every rose had little red or green shoots poking up to say "Cheer up Linda" and it worked!

you're dead to me

Mould I'm talking about, mould. Not you, I adore you! 

Now, on June 29 I sprayed my shower recess with a mix of bi-carb soda, white vinegar and water and gave it a good scrub a dub to remove a wide range of multi-hued moulds. A lot of mould. Not the amount of mould that's the equivalent of "Oh, excuse the mess" when you walk into a pristine home with barely a magazine at a jaunty angle. Serious, disgusting, you'd thing a bunch of boys lived in the bathroom mould. (I'd been busy, and when I'm busy, I'm a slattern - it's my thing).

Anywhoodle, today is July 25 which is nearly a calendar month later and guess how much mould is in my shower recess? None. Guess how many times I've cleaned it since then? Yep, none. Bi-carb and vinegar kill mould, are nice to the environment and don't make you choke on toxic fumes. 

If, like me, you think pretty-smelling things do a better job, pop a few drops of essential oil in the bottle (I adore orange blossom in the bathroom - it smells clean and fresh, but I'll never say no to a few drops of rose oil).

on struggle street

I'm an unflinchingly optimistic person. I refuse to believe that something can't be done, and always find a positive in a negative. Today, I'm struggling. With the excavations for our backyard starting on Wednesday they've been stopped dead by the relentless downpour. Now, when it rains in Newcastle, it rains. Hard. And long. Until recently we had nearly four months without a dry day. I know, it's impossible to believe when we are still hearing about the drought which I know is affecting so many. But here, I'm dead off the rain. I don't like the fact that half the retaining wall is pulled down and there's an exposed metre and a half of just sheer dirt and clay between us and the enormous house behind us on the hill. I'm also not terribly fond of the fact that the exposed surface where they've excavated on the ground is just clay - so even when it stops raining it'll just sit there until there's a lot of sun and/or wind to dry it up.

I need distraction, and work's not cutting it. In my study I look straight out the window behind my computer - and I see rain. Or if I turn my head to the right I look out the glass panel at the top of the door - and see rain. I am grateful that we weeded, fertilised and mulched the gardens recently. Hopefully the rain will prod the just-pruned roses to start shooting. Red-tipped shoots and the promise of blooms might just turn my mood around.

bucolic bliss

Can't you just smell that country air? This was the view from our holiday house in Burrawang, and isn't it a beauty? Oh, and that's the house. Sweet non?

scarier than clowns

Yes, I may be going a little too far with that title, cause, really, nothing's scarier than a clown. However, I've discovered something while cleaning that kinda made the hackles on the back of my neck stand up.

I've dumped my vacuum cleaner. Not by text, not by post it, but in the old fashioned, "Just ignore it and hope it'll go away kind of way." Actually, it wasn't really a dumping, more of a mutual "you're fired", "No, you can't fire me, I quit". "You can't quit, you're fired" kind of thing. See, it's stopped working properly and I don't really feel inclined to fix it (the fridge and washing machine are first in line for the repairman's long-overdue visit). So what I'm doing is I'm sweeping - yep, even the rug (and you know what? Sweeping is a far better way to remove cat hair than vacuuming!) However, sweeping has a down side. While it's completely carbon friendly, and is a nice form of incidental exercise, it reveals in piles of growing horror exactly how much dust, dirt and hair was on your floor.

Now, I've been sweeping every day or two, not like my weekly, or fortnightly vacuum and yet great gobs of hair still appear. Mulberry sheds so much blue fluff I wouldn't be surprised to see him rendered completely hairless, but nup, he's not cultivating a Kojak look just yet.

Does fluff, dust and hair have the same breeding cycle as wire hangers?

dampening my enthusiasm

In exciting news yesterday the diggers came into our yard and started excavations. Whooppeeee! It's amazing the changes they created in a single day. Our yard's much lower than it was yesterday, and happily, looks larger. I can now actually picture how low our pool will be (I'll be able to gaze into it from my kitchen window!) and where everything's going. 

So because everything was going along so swimingly with our pool construction the weather decided that, gee, haven't rained for a while, let's see what a combination of a downpour and a newly excavation can create. Um, that'd be mud. I have fingers, toes and even strands of hair crossed that the rain will let up and a great gust of wind will come and dry the yard out so they can come back next week some time. Make a wish with me?

order in the house

I'm almost not game enough to say it, but I think the excavators are coming in tomorrow. It's been such an amazingly drawn out process. Everything has taken so much longer than expected - ridiculously so. I guess because I've always worked on magazines to me, a deadline is a deadline and must be met or there'll be blank pages - not what the reader requires. So if I'm given a deadline, I stick to it - unless circumstances cause me to beg for an extra day. So when I'm told I'll have plans by a Friday, colour me naive, but I expect them on a Friday, not months later. The structural plans that were meant to take two weeks took three months - and that's after we had to keep sending them back because my husband kept discovering major errors (retaining walls located in our neighbour's yard - other walls that didn't exist...) and now, the construction certificate that takes "seven days, max" is still not complete - 25 days later. Sigh.

But the excavators are still coming in tomorrow to do 'pre-excavation' work - whatever that is. I don't care, so long as it's progress. With only four months till summer I want to be swimming in my own backyard - and not in the Barbie paddling pool - in our real pool! After all, I already have the frock for our "pool cooling party" and have chosen a cocktail to co-ordinate (it's a red and white strapless frock and I reckon a pale blue cocktail "Splashing Out" will be just peachy).

Here's how I'm going to make said cocktail (served in a martini glass - the only way to drink a cocktail)

Splashing Out

A shot of vodka

A shot of blue Curacao (for colour - use more or less to match your pool - our pool's going to be a very retro ice blue - with a white interior so I reckon just a splash of curacao will do it)

A shot of Limoncello

Soda water to top it up

I'll garnish it with a twist of lemon zest and will pop a red mermaid on the side, what's a water-themed cocktail without a mermaid perched on the side? Nibbles to go along with it will include chicken, chorizo and haloumi kebabs, prawn puffs with a smoked chilli dipping sauce and some other delights... Bring on summer.

brand loyalty

I was applying my moisturiser today and realised I'm a bit of a floozy when it comes to products. There's one of almost every label on the market inside my bathroom cabinet, dressing table or linen closet (where I keep the overflow - that's what happens when you write about beauty!). But there are some brands I hero worship because I know I'm going to love what they do. Here they are:

Moisturiser: Gatineau. Day, night, anti-aging, body, serums, they all work for me no matter what the season. And they smell yummy too. And their facials? Bliss!

Hair: MOP. I love their shampoo and conditioner, and their curl cream works a treat too. But I must admit, I'm now more than a bit partial to the Kevin Murphy Motion Lotion. It defines curls, fights frizz and doesn't give my hair an awful crunchy look a-la Michael Jackson in the Pepsi commercial era.

Lips: Guerlain. Their kiss kiss range is infinitely pashable. I adore the Cherry Shine which is more than a gloss, more than a stain - and with a hint of glitter thrown in. I'm down to the last remnants of mine, which shows how much I love it.

Eyeshadow: Ooh, a tough one. I like my fashion colours, but I need it to go on smoothly and stay. I'm tossing up between Chanel and MAC here - with the odd Dior thrown in too.

Eyeliner: Liquids are easy - you can go cheap and cheerful here - but for the ultimate black pencil, for me, it's Shiseido. Goes on smoothly without pulling, and shapens easily.

Foundation: I love Diorskin, or Chanel for a porcelain finish. I adore Laura Mercier tinted moisturiser in summer for a glow that covers any nasties.

Mascara: For night it's Dior Blackout. Long, lush, thick and not sticky. Daytime I like Napoleon Madame Lash.

Nail Polish: once a season I treat myself to Chanel, but for fashion colours that go on smoothly and last, it's Revlon all the way baby. For pretty on-fashion toes, they've got the hottest colours around.

Blush: Becca creme - no others will do.

Problem solving: adult acne, super-dry patches - all can be solved by Dermalogica. Reliable, effective products with responsible research behind it.

Lipbalm: Propolene. I've lost my rose-scented tube and need to find me another quick smart. I love well-moisturised lips and need a balm I can apply before my lippy. Napoleon's Lip Primer also works a treat though.

Facemask: Palmer's Skin Success Eventone Brightening Facial Mask. This is soooooo cheap and Sooooooooo Good! It actually does what it says and leaves your face looking brighter, skintone more even and feeling daisy-fresh.

Perfume: Daily, I'm a sucker for Lovely by SJP. It's just, lovely! To vamp it up a notch I love me a bit of Tom Ford (who wouldn't?)

fine lines

I'm not one for slavishly following fashion - that's for skinny 20 teens - I know what suits me and it's vintage or op-shops all the way for moi. That said, I do like to update my make-up every season. I'm always checking out the mags and on-line for looks that'll update my face and this season, it's all about the cats eye. Now, I'm 40, there's no way I'll be doing an Amy Winehouse style line, only she can get away with that one. But a well done cats eye will do amazing things to your peepers.

Personally, I like a liquid liner. Years as a goth in my late teens had me wielding liquid liner like a pro - but there is a secret - practice and position. You can't expect to master something so tricky so well straight away - otherwise everyone would be doing it. Sit yourself down one afternoon with plenty of cleanser and eye-make-up remover and have a play. Now, as for the position, I like to keep my eyeliner on a firm surface, so when I'm painting on my upper eye line, I'm resting the foot of my palm on my cheekbone - or resting it in my cheek. This makes my eyeliner work almost like a compass. 

Secondly, keep your line as close as possible to your lash line. The aim is to look as though you've got thick, lush lashes. If you want it thicker, so a second line next to it - or flatten your brush out more by pressing down a little.Stop a few millimetres from the end of your eye before flicking up at the same angle as a nicely curled eyelash.

Colour-wise there are plenty of options. Black's the ultimate, and looks perfect with a flawless foundationed face, a hint of blush and a red lip. I had an amazing brown happening yesterday (YSL Eyeliner Moire) and today I'm going with a MAC fluidline in turquoise (I'm wearing a red and white patterned dress to go shopping, it seemed like a logical option). 

burnt offerings

I was dead impressed with myself last night making yummo carrots to go with the leftover meatloaf and brand new mash. I'd sliced them beautifully on the diagonal - so well they could easily go undercover at a silver-service dinner. Then I popped them in my little saucepan, covered them with chicken stock, added a little butter and some salt, pepper and finely chopped parsley. YUM.

However, I set them to simmer and then wandered off to hang up some washing - I know, what was I thinking, it's a four minute simmer at the most, and hanging the washing is a good 10 minute job. Of course I came back to a very, very, very burnt pan - complete with tragic diagnonally-sliced carrots stuck to the bottom. Not happy Jan.

Now, because this was one of my good pans (not a copper one - I'm still not grown up enough for those!) I worked hard at getting it clean. Here's how:

Rinse out and scrape and burnt vegies off the bottom of the pan. Cover the entire base with bi-carb soda and then fill pan around 1/2 way (or up till where your burn marks end). Now, put it on the stove, turn to high and bring to the boil. Allow to boil for one minute, then turn off the heat and pop lid on. Allow to soak overnight, then drain, and wash as usual - scrubbing off the loosened black stuff with a scourer. If it's really, really stubborn, repeat the bi-carb, but pour some white vinegar over the top so it fizzes. Then fill with water and do it again. I had one really badly burnt saucepan once and after soaking it over night I left it in the backyard with the lid off. I do believe that sunshine has special healing powers (notice how tomato sauce stains when hung on the line will be gone that afternoon?).

Next time I'll be hovering over my carrots like parents over a first-born sleeping babe.

I'll make you happy

I've realised that the list of what makes me happy (pinkofperfection project for July) is far too vast just for the 16 I dashed off yesterday - and is a rather nice start to the day. So here's some more.

17. Walking along the beach at that time when the ocean is shimmering and dusted with a melange of pearlescent colours - from pink, to yellow to the iciest blue (it was 4.30pm yesterday - might be 4.35 today).

18. Smiling at as many other walkers, runners, surfers getting their exercise fix down by the beach - and feeling joyous when some smile back.

19. Finding a treasure in an op shop or antique store.

20. Old people holding hands. Actually, anyone holding hands. Life's all about expressing how you feel so anyone from toddlers to the elderly grasping digits will elicit an "Oh, bless" from me. Here's my most recent favourite. At the premiere of Sex and the City a distinguished elderly lady entered. From her gorgeous grey chignon to her leopard print accessories, she was everything I want to be at her age. Then I noticed her hubby behind her - resplendent with the most extraordinary moustache cultivated outside Yosemite Sam. Now, this was cute! Then, at the end of the film, she got up, he got up, and they held hands and walked out together. Good grief, I thought I'd cried enough during the film! That's why love lasts.

21. That first cup of coffee - especially when it's served in a pale blue bol from Paris.

22. Emile Simon's tunes. Discovered her yet? She'll make you smile.

23. Unexpected thoughtfulness from my hubby. 15 years and he still does it for me.

24. Spying people walking past gaining joy from our front garden. I love a person who is drawn to smiling by a few well-placed flowers.

25. A good book, a comfy chair and a really good cup of tea in a china cup. Sigh.

Margaret's doin' dinner

Tonight is a very special event. It's the first time I'm using a recipe from my new (old) and very, very spesh Margaret Fulton's Crockpot Cookbook. I'm making Coq au Vin - one of our faves, but I normally do it in the le crueset rather than the slow cooker. 

Because I'm kind, I'll share the recipe with you.

1.5kg chicken pieces (I'm using drumsticks and thighs, cause they're more moist)

3 rashers of bacon, diced

1/2 cup spring onions, diced (I'm using French Shallots)

4 small onions halved (as above)

250g small mushrooms, whole

1 clove garlic, crushed (I'll use three, we're immune to the stuff)

1 tsp salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

8 small new potatoes, scrubbed and halved

1 cup red wine

1 cup chicken stock

chopped parsley

In a large frypan sauté diced bacon and onion until the bacon fat is clear. Remove and drain on a paper towel. Add the chicken pieces to the pan and brown well on all sides. Remove the chicken when it has browned and set aside. Put the peeled, quartered onions (or whole french shallots), mushrooms and garlic in the crock-pot. Add the browned chicken pieces, bacon and spring onions, salt and pepper, thyme, potatoes, wine and chicken stock. Cover and set on low for 7 - 8 hours, or high 3-4 hours.

Serve garnished with plenty of chopped parsley.

Serves 4-6.

mouldy oldy

Before we went on holidays I cleaned our so-mouldy-it-looked-like-a-science-experiment- shower recess with a mixture of bi-carb, white vinegar and water. I popped it all in a spray bottle - roughly 1/4 bi-cab, 1/4 white vinegar to 1/2 warm water and sprayed it all over the tiles and grout. I then scrubbed my little arms off till it was all white and shiny. Well, colour me tickled pink because I was just about to clean the bathroom when I realised that two weeks later, there's no mould in the shower - none. And it's been used, so it's not that no water's hit the surface. I am amazed. But don't worry, I won't become blasé and ignore it till more mould grows back - I'm intending on wiping over it regularly. 

Just thought I'd share that with you.