A new game we all can play

The Curmudgeon and I were enjoying a fine breakfast out on Sunday when we struck upon a genius new game. It’s called “Who would play your dog in a movie.”

To wit:

The Dog. AKA The Squid.

Defining characteristics: short of stature. Bit of a ranga. Slightly kooky, sometimes neurotic. Definitely the sassy best friend character rather than the leading lady. Spooks easily.

My suggestion:

His counter-suggestions:

Dunno, I’m not happy with any of them. They seem brittle and not earthy enough. Any better ideas? How about…

Who would play your dog in a movie?

Exchanges with strangers

I was crossing a major intersection when a man on a Vespa decided it was a good idea to share the pedestrian crossing with me. “You’re on the wrong side of the road,” I observed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s OK.” he said. I felt reassured.

Then, I was on a bike track when a man hurtled past. “Oooh, boobies!” he yelled. At volume.

 

Riding round on old junk

We had a phenomenally successful garage sale this weekend. So many large, unnecessary objects were hauled out onto the street and flogged for cold hard cash. They got bargains, I got moolah. I was absolutely giddy when it was all over – partly exhaustion, but partly with relief and delight. I’ve been hoarding so much junk for so long. Now it’s gone. Praise be.

And the cash? The cash will be sunk into a shiny new bicycle. So every time I go for a ride, I’ll think about all the junk that paid for the pushy.

Put your Lotus in your Dirk and jump on your Brooks

Three cults from Europe have bewitched me of late.

1. Dirk

I’m told, by the folks who brought a Dirk bag for me back from Amsterdam, that Dirk van den Broek is a cult supermarket in the Netherlands. If you’re cool, you tote your stuff in a Dirk bag. Totes. And I love mine. “Shall we take Dirk?” I ask the Curmudgeon. He’s capacious, uncomplaining, and carries my books. Dirk, I mean. Curmudgeon not so much.

2. Lotus

I’m teaching some folks how to sew frocks. They are doing a smashing job of it. One of them has inherited a cult status Elna Lotus from her grandmother. I’m wondering whether she will be able to bear the responsibility of having such a coveted machine. Latest discovery: it fits in a bike pannier. All bow down and praise the almighty Lotus.

3. Brooks

I’ve been riding around on a 30 year old Brooks saddle for the past year or so. I pulled it off an old bike and thought it was pretty fine. Sadly, time and neglect took its toll and it’s all worn through. So I bought into the cult and bought a new one. I was told they’re hard and mean and slippery and take months to wear in. Pah, I said, I’m TOUGH. No wuckas.

A day later I can confirm – it’s flipping excrutiating. My ‘sit bones’ (hilarious euphemism) are screaming. Not so much the ‘sit bones’ but the lardy buttocky flesh that cushions them does not like the new saddle. I’m told that people with babies never tell people without babies just how sucky childbirth is until after they’ve birthed the kid because they’re trying to recruit the childless to that most sinister of secret organisations, the Uterus Club. Then as soon as you’re knocked up, they laugh and say, yup, it’s torture. Bwooahahahrrrr. I think the Brooks Cult might share similar sadistic subterfuge. So I’ll grin and bear it, wear the saddle in, and a year from now, tell everyone how fabulous their saddles are. Sure, you should get one!

So, what cult have you joined? Go on. Comment from your iPhone.

Zombie plums

No, I’m not talking about the balls of the undead. I’m talking about these demonic fruits we spotted at the market yesterday:

Do these not look like the flesh of something long-demised? In the rigors of mortis?

Who would want such unholy drupes to cross their thresholds? Although, it might be fun to pop some in a bowl with some passionfruit and watch the fruity good vs evil battle.

Books with birds in the title

My list:

• To Kill a Mockingbird
• One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
• John Steinbeck’s classic, Canary Row

His list:

• The Thorn Birds
• Jemima Puddleduck
• Mr Chicken Goes to Paris

Your turn. Go on, put a bird on it.

Household spider

The Curmudgeon thinks Google should create Household Spider. You know the spiders that crawl the web, plucking out tasty keywords and making everything googleable? Well, this technology should go domestic so you know where all your things are. Car keys, cuff links, spare batteries, all that stuff. 

Conceptually, it’s brilliant, but I think there’s a technology leap required. My proposal until the technology is up to speed: we get a second dog, called Spider (preferably gangly with shaggy black or brown hair), who is trained to find stuff. Spider can snuffle through the house constantly, keeping track of everything.

This idea is less popular among my two coinhabitants. But: Squid and Spider – both eight-legged invertebrates*. Wouldn’t that be great?

Eight legs’ worth of dog (that is to say, two pooches, my canine niece and nephew) went missing yesterday. There was much terror and dread. Until they cruised home at midnight, strolling in the door, after tucking in to the nosh that had been left out for them. If Spider had been around, he’d have told us immediately where they were.

*I KNOW squids have 10 appendages but two are feeding tentacles. Pedants, back away.

Mmmmm, yummy.

Did you know about Lissy’s excellent blog, The Hungry Ataxophile, in which she details one woman’s journey to cook from each and every one of her 311 cookbooks this year to justify their existence to her cruel, judgemental husband?

Well, Lissy put out an open call for people to give her more cookbooks. So when in the wild, wild west of Melbourne, I stumbled across this little BEE-YOOTY, I had to procure it for her.

As if the cover’s face collaged from meat, fish and pickles in homage to Arcimboldo is not enough to convince you of the book’s true and rightful place in her cookbook collection, behold these lurid photos of Goose Liver (cold) and Fisherman’s Soup:

Doesn’t that just make you want to go out and strangle a goose for its tasty cold liver? And milk a fisherman for his soup?

To stomp all over my triumph, the Curmudgeon quietly observed that Lissy’s fella is of the vegetarian persuasion. So perhaps he will not covet the Jellied Carp, Pickled Scraps of Suckling-Pig or Pancakes with Calf’s Brains but will choose instead Asparagus in the Hungarian Way (Hungarian Way = breadcrumbs, sour cream, butter and paprika), Stuffed Kohlrabi or Cooked Lettuce.

I can’t wait to deliver this tome into her hands next week. Ooooh! Boiled Paste with Curd Cheese!