Archive for August, 2010


Four days of Sydney sunshine

August 31, 2010

Oh boy, that was nice. First, there was the bit where we didn’t go to work on Friday or Monday.

OK, there was the bit where our hotel was really naff. But that might be because I chose it for its proximity to the best bakery in the world – Bourke St Bakery in Surry Hills. Specifically: its proximity to their ginger brulee tarts.

But in Sydney it’s important to…

One way you might achieve this is to shop in a classy Sydney boutique:

Errr, yess.

It’s also important to look right at the Fifties Fair. Here are the fabulous finalists in the best-dressed comp:

Ms Olive Floral second from left won. Her prize? I got her dress. We both win! Hurrah!

What else, what else….

More Fifties Fair lovelies. Big crowd!

And some wandering housewives..

And, of course, we missed the Squid so much that we talked to every dog we encountered. Even if sometimes they weren’t very interactive:

But all good things must bugger off. We’re back home in Melbourne rain (wettest winter since the mid nineties! Hurrah!). And while we were away, Spring started.

So, how was your weekend?



August 21, 2010

Oh lawdy, I can’t bear to watch. Oh please, oh please, oh please…


Here, kitty, kitty

August 14, 2010

Yesterday Squid the dog fulfilled one of her life’s ambitions.

We were trotting along on our morning walk, having a lovely time, when she caught scent of something. She indicated politely but firmly that she wished to investigate further. So, we left the path to look behind the tree.

I got there a moment after she did, just in time to see her take a nibble of the Thing that had attracted her.

The Thing had ginger fur.

It was a headless cat. Kitty roadkill.

Squid has now tasted cat.



August 10, 2010

Day two zu Hause bleiben. Some fractious and antagonistic microbe is camping in my gut and wreaking havoc. Yesterday I managed to move from bed to couch, to bed to couch, to bed. Today it’s 100% couch and Mad Men re-runs and a souvenir festering feeling in my belly. Ugh. Woe = me, etc.


You are my nothing

August 8, 2010

Our final film of MIFF 2010 was Strange Powers, a documentary about the fascinating Stephin Merritt of The Magnetic Fields. It was utterly compelling. Equally so was the woman in front of us who had a bucket of pop corn and a choc-top. She ate the popcorn by dipping the choc top into the bucket, adhering it to the ice cream, then slurping it off before going in for another dunk. Never seen this before – have you? Seemed appropriate, though, given the ‘choc top vs pop corn’ ad campaign for the festival this year. Perhaps it was a statement of diplomacy.

OH! and coincidentally, this is my 69th post since moving to WordPress – stop snickering, I only point it out because The Magnetic Fields rose to indie superstardom on the strength of their audio triptych, 69 Love Songs. Proof of its cult status: it has its own wiki.


Becoming one of THEM.

August 6, 2010

I met the Curmudgeon outside the Melbourne Art Fair last night and we prepared to step therein. “Hold on,” he said, fishing in his jacket pocket, “I’ll just get the tickets.” [rummage rummage] “Oh, THAT’S not them!” he exclaimed as he theatrically extracted an iPhone from the recesses of his attire, grinning fiendishly.¬†

See, we are not, or have not been thus far, iPhone owners. He thought about getting one and lost interest (or so I thought). I work with oodles of people who have them and whimper like lost kittens when they are more than a metre away from their precious appendage. So until now I’ve been an iPhone eye-roller and have had no idea to do with them when I’ve been instructed, on the odd occasion, to find a map or make a call on someone else’s.

But then, later that night, I was playing with the thing and became completely absorbed. It’s entrapment, I tell you. Like a hypnotist dangling a soporific watch.


Head toxins

August 1, 2010

I was rabbiting on about something or other yesterday morning, who knows what, when it became clear that the Curmudgeon wasn’t really listening to me.

“I’m sorry Lady, it’s just that your hair is so big. I’m looking at this tiny round face amid a mass of hair.”

My usual gauge for when I need a haircut is when it starts looking like the follicular statement sported by Lyn from Neighbours:

but maybe this time I’ve ignored the warning signs. Perhaps it’s what’s been causing my sore neck¬† – it’s not that I “suffer from inefficient draining of toxins from my head*” but that my hair is larger than my neck can support.

In happier news, yesterday I made the calculator cake I’ve been promising to make for the Curmudgeon for about three years:

calculator cake

I hope it inspires the same puerile snickering in y’all that it did for us. I always enjoyed the humour of 5,318,008 more than the other classic number, 71,077,345.

*hilarious quote in the ludicrous Sunday magazine’s alternative therapy column last week. I believe it comes from one who proclaims expertise in aromatherapy and kinesiology. It made me laugh so hard that I hurt my neck.