Big Fish

This morning I headed out the door at six thirty to buy a side of salmon from the Fish Markets. Sydney's Fish Markets are a bit of an institution (and conveniently very close to us) - on Christmas Eve, people queue for hours to buy their kilos of prawns and octopus and other wonderful fresh seafood. Fortunately, as it's still three days till Christmas, it wasn't actually crowded, so I managed to get there and back by about 7am. By 7.30 the gravlax was done and starting its three-day curing process.

There wasn't room for it in our existing fridge, so I walked up to the new house with it ... It could take us a long time to move house one dish at a time, I know.

The movers are booked for the 29th of December. That's exactly a week away. Boxes arrive today. I am already overwhelmed at the thought. It's been eight years since we last moved and I fear we have accumulated many, many more books in that time.

Although the new house is almost finished, the library won't be done until some time in January, so there will be dozens of boxes of books just sitting around. I never feel at home until my books are on shelves.

The Gift

A while back Duchesse blogged about Veronique Miljkovitch, a Canadian fashion designer.

I was instantly enamoured of her clothes, but she doesn't have an online shop, so I was going to shrug and do something else when I decided I'd just email and ask. Veronique came straight back to me to say she'd happily send stuff to me in Australia. So I ordered these.



The dress is in a sort of donkey grey; the top in a delicious purply burgundy (I love the blue, but it's not one of my colours).

Soon after I'd ordered them, mater posted about gifts 'to me, from me'. That made me feel a little bit better about spending money on clothes when I should be buying Christmas gifts and finishing a house ...

They arrived this morning. They are absolutely gorgeous. I had that thought, as you do, when looking at the clothes on a model, 'oh, they won't look as good on me'. They do. I love the dress so much I am going to wear it just to do my day-to-day stuff today.

The Santa Clause

Thank goodness for the lovely Northern hemisphere blogs I read. Summoning the fortitude to bake Christmas goodies when it's 28 degrees and sunny outside - and I'd rather be somewhere airconditioned, AWAY from my oven - can be a challenge. But I love imagining what it might be like to do the same thing when it's cold outside and dark early.

Growing up in Singapore, the weather at Christmas was much the same as it was all year, only sometimes wetter. We used to have our dinner on Christmas Eve - civilised and sensible in that climate - and visit people on Christmas Day.

Down in the Antipodes, we (or at least the family I am part of) cling tightly to our English notions of a Christmas lunch, so every year it's the turkey and the ham and everything else (hot) ... but usually outdoors. By mid-afternoon the children are normally having water fights.

An Australian Christmas is all about summer - mangoes and cherries, long evenings, lots of seafood, loud cicadas, sandy children and cold beer (or wine).

Nevertheless, I persist in baking shortbread, rolling chocolate truffles and heating my kitchen to unbearable temperatures.

The Colour Purple

Today I had my 'no jeans' meeting. So I wore a violently purple dress with a leopard print scarf. Add my almost strawberry-blonde hair and my shocking orange toenails, and I think I was scarier than I would have been in jeans.

So imagine my surprise when the other 'creative' (woman from ad agency) came into the meeting in black skinnies (and hair that looked like it might not have been washed too recently). Clearly she didn't get the memo. But you know what? I enjoyed dressing up a bit ...

The Nightmare Before Christmas

I am not looking forward to Christmas this year. As my only family in Sydney is my brother, we spend every Christmas with Andrew's family. Much as I love them, I am getting a little weary of the ever-enlarging Christmas lunch - last year there were people there I didn't even know!

This year, again, we have to drive quite a long way, to share lunch with about 30 other people. To add insult to injury, my gravlax (which I make every year) has been rejected as the starter.

To soothe my cooking ego, I thought it would be nice to cook a Christmas Eve dinner in the new house, for just our family (and Andrew's parents and siblings ...). I planned gravlax for starters, followed by roast duck with pickled cherry sauce - and I'm still thinking about dessert.

Unfortunately, we have a plumber who simply fails to turn up, so at the moment it looks like the only thing I will cook in the new house for Christmas might be a cup of tea. This is significantly damping my Christmas spirits.

Perhaps if I bake up a storm of gifts for school this weekend I will regain my Christmas mojo ...

The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants

A couple of days ago I got a call from a client I haven't worked with for a while. They have a new project coming up and want me to come in for a briefing. Time and place agreed for meeting - all good. Then yesterday I got an email saying 'By the way, the meeting place on Level 19 has a 'no jeans' dress policy'.

Well, I wasn't actually going to wear jeans anyway. I don't wear jeans to briefings. Call me old-fashioned.

But I did wonder how it works. I'm not staff, so do they have any right to tell me what to wear? What would happen if I did turn up at Level 19 wearing jeans? Are there bouncers or door bitches? Even better, is there a denim sensor in the lift? Would I be shown out the door for being inappropriately attired? It's almost tempting to give it a go ...

My Own Private Idaho

I'm not a particularly assiduous blogger at the best of times, but it surprised me how just one week of not being able to blog broke me of the 'habit'.

My week in the countryside of Tasmania was lovely. I didn't even have phone coverage most of the time. I had excellent plans to get up early and meditate and do yoga before starting on my baby-wrangling duties, but although I woke at about 5 every morning, instead of getting up, I luxuriated in the silent comfort of my bed until about 7am.

Most days I just planned and cooked meals, did laundry and housework and grocery shopping, cuddled/pacified/took away the baby and annoyed the toddler (by saying 'No' occasionally), and reassured my friend that the screaming baby was not ill, just a baby, and the feral toddler was not ill, just two years old and angry about the new arrival ... I also drank many cups of tea and went for a few walks. I wanted to work on their veggie garden as well, but I felt that I was already being enough of a bossy nanny-type person, so I resisted the urge.

I came back, and suddenly it was December. I hate that. I love Christmas, but I am staggeringly unprepared. I haven't even got the lights up on the house.

The other house is at a point where the end might just be in sight, but I don't want to jinx it. Come Christmas itself, the process of moving begins.

In the last week I have learnt several things about building/renovating a house. Here are my top three, which are no doubt familiar to anyone who has done the same thing:

1. Everybody says you will go over budget. They are right. How on earth are you supposed to factor in things like escutcheons if you don't know that they exist or how much they cost? (But it's a cool word, isn't it?) And why are taps so expensive?

2. This is not the time to have faith in everyone. There is always someone out there who will try to take advantage of any trust you put in them. Most people will do the right thing, but not all.

3. Skilled, scrupulous tradesmen are valuable. Pay them well, praise their work and pass on their details.

Natural Born Killers

I have just spent six days on 30 beautiful acres in Tasmania. Tales of country life with two small children will follow, but first I have to tell a sad and strange story.

Many years ago, when Andrew and I were first going out together, my best friend B had a 'thing' with a handsome boy. I say a 'thing', because they were never exactly an item, and the more she seemed to want a relationship, the more he pulled away. She used to ring me, frequently, to obsess about him. Even Andrew remembers this.

We often saw them together but it was clear that he was in some way emotionally unavailable. It was interesting for me, because in the past it had always been B's role to play hard to get. Maybe she was fascinated to be on the other side of it. I never really understood it - he was certainly goodlooking, and could be quite charming when he felt like it, but there was something odd about him. I never felt I knew him, although we went to a couple of parties at his place and saw quite a bit of him for a while. He said he wanted to be an actor. Plenty of young, beautiful people think this is what they'll do, so it was nothing remarkable.

Eventually B moved on and had other relationships. Every so often we'd be chatting, and she'd say 'Guess who I heard from?' and it would be A. He used to get in touch with her, perhaps to reassure himself that he had friends - I think for a while she might still have fancied him, just a little, but that too wore off and more recently I thought she just felt sorry for him. Being an out-of-work actor when you're in your 20s is kind of cool; less so by the time you reach 40.

Anyway, B and I lost touch a couple of years back. We had been very close friends for over 20 years (she was my bridesmaid and was there when Holden was born), but I guess our lives went in different directions - when I invited her to my 40th birthday, she didn't reply and that was the last contact we had.

On Sunday last week I arrived in Tasmania. Phil, one of the friends I was staying with, said to me, 'Hey, what was B's last name?'. I told him. 'I thought so', he said. 'You know she was mentioned in one of the stories about those murders?'.

'Those murders' were a shocking story that has been all over Sydney since they happened almost three weeks ago. A man in his late 60s, a highly regarded art curator, and his daughter were stabbed to death at her home. His son (her brother) was the only suspect. I read the story once, including the names of all the players, and thought 'how sad'. I saw a photo of the suspect and thought he looked vaguely familiar, but since I read that he'd been an actor, I assumed I'd seen him on television. I didn't read any more articles, but I was aware that the police hadn't found him.

It wasn't until Phil asked me B's last name, that I realised it was him, her old flame. Apparently he was a paranoid schizophrenic who didn't take his medication. He was arrested yesterday. Chances are he will spend the rest of his life in prison or an institution.

Dressed to Kill

Most days, I wear jeans. I'm trying to break out of this particular rut, and I promised Imogen NOT to buy any more jeans (at least for a little while). I haven't managed to buy a skirt or a dress yet, despite really looking quite hard, but I have fished a couple of things out of the back of the cupboard.

On Monday I was teaching and the forecast was for hot weather, so I wore a SKIRT. The world did not end. No one screamed at the sight of my pale and freckly calves (except me, on the inside).

Emboldened, today I am wearing A DRESS. It is a sage green raw silk shirt dress - the green is probably not my best green, but I like it anyway. With these shoes. It is 9.30am and I have already had about 20 comments from people, ranging from 'Wow, I've never seen you in a dress' to 'You look pretty, Ms H' (small children at school).

It's rather novel.

The Birthday Girl

Yesterday was my birthday. I know it's childish, but no matter how old I get, I can't help secretly hoping that it will be special and exciting. You can imagine how many disappointing birthdays I've had. This was another.

Phoebe, bless her, put on a special puppet show for me. Holden was too 'busy' (yes, he's 12) on the weekend to get me a present, although he did have an attack of the guilts the night before and made me a card.

I got a text message from one of my best friends at 6.45am - I saw her name on the screen and thought 'Yay, someone has remembered me!'. It was about something else. She didn't remember my birthday.

If it weren't for the birthday reminder function on Facebook, I could have gone the whole day without a single birthday greeting apart from family ... Thank god there is only one birthday a year.

The Nanny Diaries

On Sunday, I am flying down to Tasmania to stay for a week with friends who have just had a new baby (they also have a two-year-old) - my job while there is to cook, do laundry, provide company and baby-wrangle.

So it's not exactly a holiday, but it will be a nice break from the voracious two-headed monster of work and house renovation. They live in a beautiful spot, and I plan to make the most of this view. (Perhaps I can multi-task and look at the view while washing dishes/calming baby?)


I will have to pay penance to my own family ('what do you mean you're going off to look after OTHER people?'). This will start before I go - I will fill the freezer with meals, write detailed instructions, organise school drop-offs and pickups with neighbours and family, etc. And while I am away, I will have to devote at least a few hours to finding extra-special presents for them all.

Saturday Night Fever (4)

Unfortunately, neither of us was very inspired about food yesterday. Perhaps we spent too long looking at stoves for the new house. I found the one I want, but I'd have to sell my children to buy it, so it will have to be yet another compromise. Sigh.

In the end, it was probably just as well that our minds were elsewhere. About 6pm we got a call to say that Holden - who was at a sleepover - had a splinter in his toe that would need local anaesthetic to remove (the parents are both doctors, so we had to take their word for it). Andrew drove over, picked him up and took him to the nearest casualty, where they sat for almost three hours until being seen. Hol, happily, went back to his friend's place - Andrew finally got home at about 10pm.

I will try to revive my cooking mojo for dinner on Wednesday night, when we have family coming over. Today is the third Sunday in a row that I am working, so I'm promising myself some time at the end of the day to pore over cookbooks (if I finish the work I have to do).

In Her Shoes

Linda Grant wrote an article in The Guardian the other day about comfortable shoes, and how real people - even, god forbid, stylish people - eschew (haha) the pornographic skyscrapers we're told are fashionable.

I also prefer shoes I can walk in, although I have been known to wear shoes I can't walk in for special occasions (and just because they look wonderful). But day-to-day, I want to be able to negotiate bad paving and city streets and downward slopes and children and all those things that high heels render dangerous.

I like ballet flats, but I don't want to live in ballet flats. I like a bit of heel, but I don't want a stiletto. I do wear Converse if it's the weekend and I'm at kids' sport, but I don't want to pretend to be 15.

So what else is there? I looked at the 'comfort' shoe section of a department store recently, out of curiosity. I wish I hadn't ...

Loafers are everywhere. Alexa Chung may be able to wear them and look cool (with or without irony, that is the postmodern question?). But I fear that if I wore them I'd look like Mutton Dressed as Old Lady. There are other gorgeous classics, like the Roger Vivier Pilgrim, but I fear the same result (even if I could afford them).

I have seen just one shoe shop that has potential. It's near my main client, stocks imported Italian shoes, and seems to have some positively attractive mid-height heels. Thus far, I've only walked past at 8am, too early for it to be open. And by lunchtime, I've been so dispirited/busy/cognisant of my lack of funds, I haven't retraced my steps and gone in.

Next week, if I have to go in for the client, I am going to go into that damn shop.

The Pursuit of Happyness

It's been one of those weeks where finding 'the happy' is more of a challenge than usual. I guess that makes it even more worthwhile to look for it. So I'm feeling sad and strung out, but here are some things that can still make me happy:

1. Always, my kids. This is particularly fitting - my aunt (who is ill) is and always has been a particularly enthusiastic and happy parent. I can remember how she could always find humour in the situation, even when her four kids were driving her nuts. I once told her, when I was all of about eleven, that I wanted to remember something she said about being a mother. She shrieked with laughter - 'you won't remember bloody anything once you have some of these!', she said.

2. Today, seeing lots and lots of utterly fabulous 'older' (yeah, older than the 14-year-olds who advertise face cream) women. They ranged from the classic chic (navy blazer, loafers, silk scarf/pearls) through to the artistic (incredible asymmetrical jacket with wide-legged pants and huge beads) to the funky/punky (spiked hair and black mini skirt with bright orange tights) and they all looked wonderful.

3. The view from my mother's new house (photos shown above). A fine sunset and an expanse of clear water will always soothe me.

The Time Bandits

Really, time is all we have - or don't have - isn't it? I found out yesterday that a much-loved aunt, who was recently diagnosed with colon cancer, also has metastatic liver cancer. No matter how we try to keep our chins up and be positive, the prognosis is very poor.

The Time Traveler's Wife

I started that book and somehow couldn't be bothered. I'm not sure why. So I probably won't see the movie, even if it does feature the charming Rachel McAdams.

I don't often think of myself as 'wife', but this is one instance where I'm claiming spousal rights - Andrew has decided to run the NY Marathon next year (he just realised the other day that he meets the qualifying time for his age). And naturally I will have to go with him. I have never been to New York, and I was beginning to think I'd NEVER get there.

So I have 12 months to plot and scheme and work out where I'm going to stay/visit/eat/shop/walk/peruse ... The children are not impressed as we have to sacrifice a planned skiing holiday in July to manage the NY trip. Without them. They will hate us for a while, but maybe they'll get over it. We're promising to take them to Europe for a couple of months, probably in 2011 or 2012.

It may be a year away, but it's still something to look forward to ...

One Hundred Years of Solitude

Even just a couple of days would do me. I need a little quiet time to recharge my batteries, do things with my hands - knitting, cooking, gardening, making Xmas cards, doesn't matter what, really - so my brain can wander off and do whatever it needs to do, and come back refreshed. A vista like this would probably help.


I understand now why people go on retreats, just to step back from it all and regain some perspective.

It's not that I'm especially stressed or unhappy. Things are fine. But I do crave quiet, by myself.

Saturday Night Fever (3)

Last night was Saturday night, the night I have to cook something new and interesting, unlike weeknights when I'm likely to throw together anything reasonably healthy and tasty that I can do without thinking.

I pulled out a recipe for grilled green-chilli quail on a Turkish spoon salad. It wasn't hard to do - even butterflying the quail wasn't exactly a challenge. It looked nice on the plate. But it didn't thrill me. I couldn't quite explain why - maybe it was underseasoned; maybe I just expected it to taste more exotic.

I don't have a big sweet tooth, but I like making desserts, especially really over-the-top ones. So I picked a chocolate lime pie, recipe by Nigella Lawson. As I read the recipe, I kept thinking 'this is not going to set - there's nothing in it to make it set'. Then I thought 'hey, her recipes normally work, I'll trust this one'. Turns out I should have trusted my instincts. Pie did NOT set (not even overnight) despite the fact that I snuck in a leaf of gelatine. So now I have scraped all the filling back out and given it some more gelatine ... unorthodox and possibly a bit yucky of me, but I want to see if it will work.

Not much culinary success then. As my brother reassuringly said 'Well, obviously, if they're recipes you haven't tried before, some aren't going to be great'. Can't argue with that logic.

My Fair Lady

I remember watching My Fair Lady (featuring the inimitable Audrey) as a child, and my parents' snorts of amusement at Eliza shrieking 'move your bloomin' arse' at the races - they were amused, no doubt, by the thought that anyone would believe that a Cockney ragamuffin would utter anything so polite.

Unfortunately, that was the last time I found horse racing even slightly interesting. I have many vices (wine, anyone?), and I love riding, but gambling and dressing like a hussy and/or idiot don't rate for me, and they are the traditional ways to enjoy the races in this country. So I'm always rather flummoxed by Melbourne Cup Day. Melbourne has the public holiday, but Sydney more or less shuts down at lunchtime also.

That, combined with a languid (ha) THIRTY SEVEN degrees, made it a very slow town today. It was so damn hot I had to eschew my normal jeans and fish a skirt out of my wardrobe. So I felt like a sausage - skirts always highlight my, um, 'boyish' figure a.k.a. lack of waist - but at least I was a slightly more comfortable sausage than I would have been in jeans.

I have been perusing my favourite Northern Hemisphere blogs with even more envy than usual as people pack away their summer wardrobes and pull out their woollens ...

Three Colours: Red

(image from wikipedia)

I've been seeing red about one of my clients for a few weeks now. The person is in a temporary role in a company I've worked for (happily, I should add) for years. She doesn't understand the business and she doesn't know how to brief a writer. Apparently I am supposed to write without a brief, to a ludicrous deadline - and probably thank her for her business, into the bargain.

It was bound to come to sticky end. Maybe I was already in a less-than-sanguine mood (having put in an 11-hour work day on Sunday); maybe I just don't need to be patronised by fools. I did something I've done only once before - I sacked her as a client.

Sometimes you just have to weigh up the financial cost against the mental health cost, I guess. Worst case, I may not get work from that part of the business again until after she leaves at Christmas. Can I survive that? Sure.

Now I'm going to go for a run, just to get the last of the red out of my system.

Halloween II

I love Halloween. Creating costumes, dressing up, carving pumpkins, making ghoulish food, decorating the house and throwing a party complete with apple bobbing, mummy wrapping and costume competitions is my idea of fun.

In Australia, it's never been a big thing. I've had to sweet talk greengrocers into finding me carving pumpkins; I've ordered my candy corn and jelly pumpkins etc from a specialist US food website; I've created (with one of my best friends) crazy decorations from scratch.

This year, however, things are different. Maybe it's because Halloween is on a Saturday. Maybe it's because - post-Bush - we're allowed to indulge in things American and not feel politically incorrect. Whatever the reason, there has been Halloween stuff everywhere. So much of it, in fact, that I didn't even bother trying to buy my pumpkins until yesterday (we can't carve in advance because they rot in the heat!). And guess what? It seems every pumpkin in Sydney has sold out.

My house, which is normally the spookiest in the neighbourhood, is going to be pumpkin-less. I'm not sure if I'm going to cope ...

Analyze This

Reams of paper (and gigs of webspace) have been devoted to the therapeutic properties of cooking, I know. Sometimes I'm not so sure - where is the therapy in having to throw together a meal after a hideous day, when you really just want to collapse on the couch?

But today, after a long and difficult work week, I did get some therapy in the kitchen. This morning, knowing the day ahead was going to be tough, I decided to make meringue 'bones' to send in to Phoebe's class for Halloween. I had already bagged up (specially ordered American) candy to send in, but usually I make something and I didn't feel right about not doing so. Piping meringue into bone shapes at 7.30 in the morning isn't everyone's idea of fun, but, bizarrely, it perked me up no end.

By the end of the day, I had failed to meet two deadlines for work (a rare and awful thing for me). I thought about what the consequences of this might be: 1. For the first job, nothing. 2. For the second job, a book publishing closer to the edge of its reporting period than the publisher might like. Will they think less of me? Given the deadlines I was given to start with, and my usual promptness, one would hope not.

So at 5.30pm, I left my work where it was and went into the kitchen. I rummaged through fridge, freezer and files, and found a recipe I'd wanted to try for ages and the necessary ingredients. I put Lucinda Williams on the stereo, poured myself a glass of wine and started chopping, measuring and pouring.

I will still be working over the weekend (again), but at least I will have enjoyed my Friday evening. Perhaps it was the puttering in the kitchen; perhaps the solitude; perhaps the giving up of unrealistic expectations.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I am so completely frazzled with work etc that I can barely string two words together.

And because I haven't even had time to take photos of the progress inside the house, here's an aerial shot.

There is stuff happening inside, just not necessarily in the order or timeframes that we might have expected. A cuckoo's nest indeed.

Saturday Night Fever (2)

Okay, so I'm continuing from last Saturday night where the new recipe was less than thrilling. Last night [it was Sunday when I wrote this post; it just took me ages to post it] I decided to try a recipe I cut out of a magazine 10 years ago - blue-eye cod with chilli-tomato compote and saffron butter sauce

This really was a restaurant style recipe - at one point I had four pans on the stove at the same time, just for the one dish. The saffron sauce was a classic French reduction, easy and delicious (and loaded with so much butter and cream my arteries will be groaning for a month). The chilli-ginger 'jam' part of the 'compote' was a mix of Asian that I was worried wasn't going to work, but was completely superb. It was served on a bed of julienned zucchini (courgette) lightly cooked in butter, with the oven roasted tomatoes on top of the fish, then the chilli-ginger, and the butter sauce poured around.

It was divine. I think my brother was glad he'd chosen last night to drop by. Maybe it will keep me going for a week's worth of rushed post-work dinners!

The Big Blue

A busy week, full of mundane things. Rather than bore myself with details of house developments and work I thought I'd pick up mater's blue meme.

I don't have a lot of blue in my house, so it was moderately entertaining rummaging around to find things to photograph. This is what I came up with:

1. An antique French plate which I bought for a ridiculous (that's bad ridiculous, not good ridiculous) price because it amused me so much. Monsieur is reading Le Figaro and demanding 'Ou est le garçon?'. It sits on a shelf in my kitchen.


2. Two glass paperweights; one made in his student days by a friend who is now a rather well-known glass artist; the other a gift from Venice.


3. Bowls that were given to us as a wedding present. We eat out of these many times a week, and we've only broken one (there were eight) in all these years.


4. A Le Creuset stoneware baking dish.


5. A ceramic bowl thrown and glazed by my paternal grandmother (I think in the 70s).


6. Predictably enough, with my name, some Tiffany blue boxes and a beautiful little Tiffany pen my mother gave me.


7. Two old soft drink bottles I picked up in a junk shop years and years ago and haven't the heart to get rid of.

Stormy Monday

Today was one of those days. Not the weather, actually, but the general, um, vibe.

I was happy enough to be working in the city, but Little Miss was NOT happy about going to before school care, and the Almost-Teen has been having an extended meltdown about homework for the last hour and a half (and it's still going).

I did go window shopping for a bit at lunchtime. It was dire. I didn't even see any shoes I liked. I resorted to the makeup counters, figuring I can always find a lipstick in times of retail desperation. Even they failed me - apparently I have hit the age of invisibility with such a vengeance that even the overly made-up 12-year-olds behind the counters couldn't be bothered to try to sell me anything ...

Then I had the joyous task of chasing up overdue invoice payments. 'But', said one client, 'It's only a few days late.' I wanted to ask him if: a) he'd be thrilled if his pay was 'only a few days late' (with no payment in sight); and b) whether I could just submit work when it suits me and say 'well, it's only a few days past deadline'. Of course I didn't. But I kind of wish I had.

Saturday Night Fever

Most Saturday nights we're at home. We have friends who go out at least once a week, and spend a not-very-small fortune on babysitters, but we generally stay home with the kids and attempt to create our own fun.

Andrew likes to do this by forcing the kids to watch movies he considers to be 'classics'. (I think his interpretation of 'classic' is a little loose at times.)

For me, it usually takes the form of cooking something that's either: a) time-consuming and therefore a treat only for weekends; b) new, so untested and therefore potentially exciting; or c) slightly extravagant (think duck, truffle oil, etc).

Last night I made a barbecued seafood salad with prawns and baby octopus, potatoes and zucchini, served with a salsa romanesca. For dessert I made a strawberry shortcake.

To be honest, the salad was slightly disappointing. I'm not sure why - maybe a bit bland, not enough textural interest. But the salsa was delicious and I'll definitely make that again. I thought the kids would love the strawberry shortcake, but they were a little underwhelmed by it. So not the most successful of Saturday cook-fests ... Perhaps I'll do better next week.

School resumes tomorrow, and I'm in the city for a client, so the relaxed morning pace of the last couple of weeks will soon be a pleasant memory.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I honestly have not spent the last few weeks thinking about nothing other than my clothes. The offspring have been on school holidays, which means that I have also been perched up here in Command Central (my studio), working and occasionally looking down at the house and wondering how many hours Phoebe can spend reading Harry Potter without getting bored.

If I hear shouting, I actually walk down to the house and negotiate, but Holden hasn't been around much - he sets off with friends for the nearest skate park every morning (with a bottle of water, money for lunch and his mobile phone) and returns at about 5pm.

Sometimes I wonder whether I have extremely low-maintenance children or I'm just an extremely neglectful mother? In my defence, I did take them horseriding on the weekend. And I do feed them.


And they have done other fun things too, like go to the movies and have sleepovers.

As well as working fitfully, hating my wardrobe and neglecting my children, I have also spent plenty of fun time talking to eletricians and plumbers, and gazing glumly at the house, wondering if it will EVER be finished. It seems unlikely. We had a tiler through on Saturday, who showed me lots of pictures of previous jobs - like the pool area of one house that was larger than our whole block ... I have a funny feeling his quote might be out of our range.

Julie and Julia

Through a happy coincidence, rather than clever planning on my part, both the kids were elsewhere last night, so Andrew and I decided to make the most of it and see a movie. I think Andrew suggested Julie & Julia because he thought I'd enjoy it.

He was right. It was fun, and Meryl Streep was obviously having a ball with her role. I have no idea what the real Julie Powell is like, but the screen Julie was a little wet - there were several times when I just wanted to slap her ... Also, it could just be me, but I simply could not live with someone who eats like her husband, no matter how handsome and saintly he might be.

The food? Well, I was really hanging out to see a real duck-boning - something Julie leaves till last because it's so challenging - but of course we didn't. Boeuf bourguignon? It's something I love to cook, but not necessarily to look at. I did swoon over the accoutrements, the dozens of copper pans and Le Creuset casseroles, even the sink in the Paris appartment.

When Harry Met Sally, also by Nora Ephron, is my favourite rom-com of all time. But did she really need to have Julie utter the same line's as Carrie Fisher's character - 'You're right, you're right, I know you're right'. I thought that was lazy. Or maybe it was just referential ...

Twister

Today I made the first purchase for my 'new' wardrobe. It's true, I didn't leave my desk and try things on the way I'm supposed to. But it is silk/cashmere, and it is ridiculously versatile if this is anything to go by.

And mine is green. Not exactly a neutral, I know, but I didn't want black, and hot pink is definitely not my colour.


I'm thinking of it as a reward for writing a whole flipping website about derivatives.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

Yesterday the awesome Imogen came over to 'do my colours' and give me some wardrobe inspiration. The colour stuff was great - it was nice to know that most of my (very few) clothes are in colours that suit me. I got rid of very little, and one thing I would have been upset to part with turned out to be silk (I hadn't ever checked the label), so I can dye it.

It's also tremendously fun to have a little shade card to play with, especially looking at colours I wouldn't ever have thought of wearing. And I finally understand why I cannot part with my orange jacket ...

The wardrobe bit was slightly sadder. I have no clothes. As Imogen said, no wonder I'm bored with my clothes - I don't have any options. She wrote me a HUGE list of things I need. I now have a licence to shop; just need to find the time and the cash, of course!

One of the most helpful things Imogen did was look at my existing clothes and work out what defines my choices - what I like in terms of fabric, pattern, texture, etc. Armed with all this information, I can gradually build a wardrobe that will look good and make me happy.

I made a solemn vow to buy NO MORE JEANS. I may have also promised to buy at least one skirt and one day dress. Feel the fear and do it anyway, right?

Pretty in Pink

I did a panic shop on the morning of the wedding and bought a pink dress that I hated pretty much by the time I got it home. I wore it anyway and felt unattractive all night. There is a lesson in there.

But there was one bright point. We dropped the kids off at my in-laws' house on the way to the wedding, and when my mother-in-law saw me wearing my cheap but pretty freshwater pearls, she said 'Come with me'. Turns out she'd had HER mother-in-law's pearls restrung and cleaned and was giving them to ME.

I know pearls are old-fashioned (these are circa 1930s/40s) but how I love them.

27 Dresses

Ok, not 27, but three. I was planning to wear this dress to the wedding tomorrow. It's simple, but I love the colour.


Then I decided that maybe it's a bit shapeless and maybe I should go more 'va va voom', so I dragged this one out of the cupboard. It's so tight I can't even fit shapewear under it. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.


Then I got my hair coloured and I hate it and I feel frumpy and thought maybe I should just stick to the same damn dress I wear every time, this one.


I was going to treat myself to a new cardigan and/or shoes, but I seriously can't justify it, not with the cash-inhaling activities going on in the new house. So I have to wear whatever I can find. It's either sensible black heels or crazy vintage snakeskin numbers that I can stand in (but not much else).


I did get the manicure. Even that fell a little short of expectations - the colour is good, but they didn't pay much attention to the shaping. And it's so long since I've had painted fingernails (about 12 years!) that I keep getting a shock when I see my hands.



By tomorrow afternoon, when it's time to get dressed, I fear I will be in a complete funk.

The Wedding Planner

I have a wedding to go to this weekend. It is spring here, but the weather is being unpredictable - tops range between 21 and 31 degrees at the moment. This means that although I will wear a light dress (it's a beach wedding) I will need a cardigan. I am thinking about a silver sequined one.

As for shoes, I still want these, but clearly that is out of the question, so I have to find something else.


I have also decided, if I can find the time, to have a manicure! I never paint my fingernails (the last time was my own wedding) but I love the short dark nails here, so I'm going to see if they work on me.

True Romance

For years I have been assiduously collecting pictures from magazines and keeping a file of What My House Will Look Like.

Reality, sadly, is no match for fantasy. In my dream house, I have a big kitchen, with plenty of space for everything, including my rather large antique French oak dining table. In the house over the fence, I barely have room for the necessities. This is what it looks like at the moment.


But I am willing to 'refine' my possessions so that I can have, at the very least, a decent fridge and a decent cooker.


This is my fridge. Apparently it is smarter than some of my ex-boyfriends (and definitely more attractive). It's so clever it needs its own plumbing.

Before I can put the fridge in, however, I must get said plumbing. And a floor.

Just a couple more photos so that I can remind myself - when it's done - what it looked like. This is poor Phoebe's room ...

The Strong Life Test for Women

Work avoidance? Possibly. But I did this quiz that was on The Huffington Post and the results were uncanny.

The Trouble with Harry

The Trouble with Me is that I want clothes that have nothing to do with the life I live.

My weekday generally goes like this: Get up (grumpy), shower, throw on jeans and a top, pack lunches, get children to eat breakfast, get child/ren to school, go up to studio and write. At the end of the day, it's much the same, except in reverse and there's dinner and homework involved.

Weekends are a similarly glamorous whirl of kids' sport and housework.

I want to wear dresses like this:


when my life is more like this:

Happy Feet

Back to the topic of happiness, it seems even world leaders have been thinking about it. Apparently Sarkozy has been talking about a happiness index instead of GDP - an interesting topic briefly covered here (the comments are also worth reading).

Closer to home, we sent a bit of birthday happiness to school with Phoebe this morning. We're not supposed to send in whole cakes and I think I will scream if I see another cupcake, let alone have to make and decorate 33 of them ... I really don't understand the whole Cupcake Thing.

Oops, I went off on a cupcake rant. It's been a long week.

Back to the title of this post - since it's Happy Feet, I have decided that what would make my feet happy is some new shoes for summer. For some reason I'm very taken with silly colours right now. So I've been checking out these (I have a silk top in the same colour)


and these (and I HATE yellow)


or the ever-useful silver.


I have even been considering the humble espadrille


(probably NOT in pink), but maybe I'm getting carried away with the warmer weather and straying into frump territory?

Apocalypse Now

This is what my street looked like at six o'clock this morning. Not the aftermath of a nuclear explosion, but a dust storm blown across the state by gale force winds. Even more extraordinary than the orange sky was the blue sun - no photo, unfortunately.

Walking around it's like wearing an orange filter, so the blue in everything is highlighted - trees and grass are an eery blue-green and Phoebe's eyes are bluer than normal. There is a layer of orange dust on absolutely everything, including the rabbits! Plans to hang washing on the line have been derailed.

Back to the normal world, I promised to report on my success or otherwise yesterday:


1. The Tardis got finished. It is wonky and weird, but we built it from scavenged stuff and masking tape, so it has an excuse.


2. The baby was happy. So happy it didn't even notice its mother was absent for three hours. Is it bizarre that my youngest is not quite 9 and I'm already looking forward to grandchildren?

3. The profiteroles were horrid. They looked pretty enough, but I'm not sure they were edible (I was so full by then I didn't even try; my mother left one on her plate, which was a loud and clear THESE ARE DISGUSTING message). Normally a kitchen failure would drive me to despair, but hey, life's too short.


4. Dinner was lovely (apart from the profiteroles). I had duck and pistachio terrine, pork fillet with lentils and the cheese platter. I thought I might explode. The almost birthday girl had steak and frites (and ice cream). And escargots, of course. This is the child who doesn't eat egg, mashed potato or tuna ...

5. The floors are progressing, but I didn't get a photo. Other people's houses-in-progress are dull in the extreme, I imagine.

The Commitments

I am a little overloaded at the moment. It's partly because I have a number of big jobs on for several different clients. And it's partly because I am prone to overcommitting, not because I am a nice person (I'm not) but because I WANT to do everything.

I normally do come through with what I promise, but sometimes at the expense of my own sanity. Today, for instance, I have a deadline on a job and a phone conference briefing for another job; I am also finishing creating a Tardis as a prop for the school musical; I have agreed to look after a friend's baby while she goes on a job; I agreed to make a croquembouche for Phoebe's birthday dinner tonight; I have to check that the contractor in the new house is going ok with the floors.

To help motivate myself, I will photograph what I manage to achieve, except the work ...

Happiness

Lots of bloggers have been talking about happiness recently, so I thought it might be my turn.

I don't think of myself as an UNhappy person, but I'm the first to admit I'm not always cheerful. I'm easily frustrated (a trait shared by my son) and sometimes find it hard to let go of things that are bothering me.

Life has thrown up some challenges over the last few months and I know I haven't met them with anything of the grace and good humour I would like. But I do keep trying to see the sunshine.

So, a top 12 of things that make me happy, in no particular order (if I added lists, it would be 13, so I won't):

1. Putting plants into our new garden with Little Miss Sunshine, who tells me that she LOVES gardening and that she can't WAIT for her strawberries to fruit. She speaks in capitalised words, truly.

2. The fact that LMS is the most naturally happy person in the world. It can't help rubbing off on me sometimes. She had a very difficult start to life - born at 26 weeks, 102 days in intensive care - and yet her capacity for joy is something to behold.

3. Talking to Mr Almost a Teen when he's in the mood. When he's not being monosyllabic, and we're not fighting (note the similarities in temperament), I love listening to my boy. He has a lovely mind. When he was three, he said to me 'Mummy, if you could taste the sun, it would be melted butter'.

4. Watching Andrew dedicate himself to teaching the kids things like riding a bike, throwing a baseball, catching a ball, etc. Even when I can tell he doesn't really want to do it, he does. Because he wants to be the best dad in the galaxy (which is what Phoebe calls him).

5. Listening to the kids this morning, talking about what they will eat for Phoebe's birthday dinner tomorrow night - 'I want snails for starters and I'm having the cheese plate for dessert'. Music to a foodie parent's ears.

6. Watching them in the kitchen with my mother. Every child should learn to cook something with their grandmother, especially if she writes cookbooks.

7. Catching Andrew and Phoebe pulling up in the car with the music on full blast, singing their heads off. I don't tend to like loud music, so when it's just the two of them, they really cut loose.

8. Talking about books and movies with Andrew (except when he asks me the plot of a novel that a) I have only just started or b) doesn't really have a 'plot').

9. Cooking a special meal that takes hours on a Saturday afternoon, just for the four of us. Or cooking food for a big party of friends.

10. 'Getting' (mind and body) a yoga pose that challenges me. It's a flow thing.

11. Reading a book (or a poem or anything) where a sentence or even just a phrase resonates so strongly that I think 'that's EXACTLY how I would have put it'.

12. Watching both the kids, curled up on the couch, totally engrossed in books.

Se7en

The Seven Deadly Sins. Wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, knowledge without character, commerce without morality, science without humanity, worship without sacrifice, and politics without principle. - MK Gandhi

If only one could live up to such lofty ideals.

Less lofty ideals, well, I have a few of those too. One of these is to grow some food in our small inner city backyard. Generally, spouse is more amused by than interested in this concept.

But last night, he said to me and the small one 'let's get chooks at the new house'. Knock me down with a feather, etc. So chickens we will have. Phoebe has been researching chickens on the internet and is determined to have a bantam. She doesn't eat eggs but maybe having her very own laying hens will change her mind.

Of course, this is some way off, given that we probably won't move in until January or February, but it's exciting making plans.

She's Gotta Have It

I don't diet. But way back when I was in my late teens or early 20s and tried a couple of times, I noticed that the minute I decided I couldn't have a certain food, it was all I wanted.

Resolving not to buy anything unnecessary is the same sort of thing. Suddenly I NEED a white/cream blazer for summer, some metallic sandals, a couple of new scarves, maybe even a new suit for those occasional corporate moments ... or a maxi-dress.

Of course I don't need any of it. But I confess I snapped up a pair of True Religion jeans when they landed in my email inbox at a staggering discount. They are this cut, but not this wash or this stitching. And, miracle of miracles, they fit 100% perfectly, except for length. How many women out there wear size 25 jeans and are 6ft tall? I just have to wonder, given how LONG these are.

Tomorrow, apparently, I have to buy a bath. I'd much rather buy some more clothes or shoes or books ...

The Lost Weekend

It was a weekend of house stuff, mostly pulling out dreadful plants that having been growing wild for almost 30 years. On Sunday afternoon we did manage to have a small gathering of sorts - we invited all our current neighbours to come and have a look at the new place and drink a glass of bubbles with us. The picture above is our (haha) 'water view' from the upstairs living room, which has improved slightly since the large daytura (Angel's Trumpet) has now been removed. I must add that the mess at the bottom is the neighbour's backyard, NOT ours!

It was fun, and was the only time on the weekend when I wasn't dressed in ripped denim shorts and a faded, paint-spattered Nanowrimo t-shirt. Obviously enough, things sartorial were far from my mind, although the very warm weather (30 degrees on Sunday) did bring out everybody's summer wardrobes.

I celebrated by donning white jeans - so impractical, which is why they always feel slightly glamorous to me. I noticed when dashing up to the shops for supplies for Sunday afternoon that the maxi dress was EVERYWHERE. I'm still not sure about it. I can see the appeal but I'm not sure it's something I could do ... maybe because I'm too 'petite' (just say SHORT, people!). Or maybe because I'm not great with prints. Hmmm.

The Big Easy

Inspired by my inability to finish anything right now, I bought more yarn ...

I love the look of this simple cardigan, which is sort of a shrug with a bit of body added to it, so I decided to splurge. The sage colour is this picture is beautiful, but I worried that it might not go with enough things. I bought grey. Am I terminally DULL?!

Changing Lanes

Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future. - John F. Kennedy

Today [this was written yesterday] is the day I get the keys to the new house. So it seems wonderfully fitting that my daily 'meditation' email was the quote above.

Of course, moving over the back fence is NOT a big deal. I've had much more momentous changes in the past. In fact, I used to be an itchy feet sort of person. Maybe that itself has changed?

Before this house, the longest I'd lived anywhere as an adult was almost four years - and that was our apartment at Bondi, which preceded this place. I think part of it is having kids. The big one is deeply averse to change; the little one is happy wherever you take it, but both of them love our area. We are part of the community, what with school and baseball and soccer and swimming ... and bumping into at least five people you know every time you go out. It's hard to break with that just for the sake of it.

I wonder whether it will change again when the kids leave home and we are empty nesters? Will we move again - I like the idea of a small house or apartment in the city and a small block of land in the country - or will we be SO habit-bound by then that we DIE in the same house!?

9 to 5

I know I'm lucky because I don't have to go into an office every day. I know I'm lucky because my work is something that fits my skills, indulges my love of solitude and pays reasonably.

Here are the Top 3 things I don't love about it:

1. Clients who think that they are writers. They brief you. You write exactly to brief. They change it all, with particular attention to adding words and syllables, then send it back to you so that you can take in their changes. You wonder why they hired a writer in the first place. You grit your teeth and bill them.

2. Clients who don't know what they want. They don't brief you. Instead, they call you in for meeting after meeting. You make suggestions. You submit proposals. They still don't know what they want. You go ahead and write something anyway. They discover what they DON'T want - which is, of course, what you've just written. Grit teeth. Bill.

3. Clients who think you sit around all day waiting for their call. They ring you or email you and say 'I need some help with this'. You say 'Fine, I can get it back to you by ...'. 'Oh no', they say, 'Actually I need it this afternoon.' You wonder how long it has been sitting on their desk. Depending on how often they pull this stunt, and how many other client sins they commit, you grit teeth and get it done, or say 'sorry, no can do'.

I am really complaining a lot at the moment, aren't I? I probably just need a slap and a good shake. Or as a friend of mine used to say 'Remember - at least you're not plucking chickens in the Western Suburbs'.

The House of Sand and Fog

Lordy, that was a sad movie. Then I read the book (I normally do it the other way around) and it was more than sad. It was bleak beyond belief.

So, a cheery introduction, no? I'm feeling a bit like that today. This morning I went (in the drizzle) for a final pre-settlement inspection of the half house we've just bought. It seems to have got even smaller than last time I looked at it ...

I have been dying to get the keys and get started on fixing it up, but my enthusiasm seems to have waned. I hate shopping because there are too many options, and I get overwhelmed - it seems to be the same with this renovating lark. Just as I think 'yes, I'll do it like that' some helpful person says 'oh, but have you thought about THIS?'.

Looking on the upside, there is a strange room that we have decided to call, rather pretentiously, the 'library'. In the short term we'll just pile all our bookcases in there - nine at last count; longer term we'll build them in right up to the ceiling and have one of those cool library ladders. The library also has a working fireplace and french doors onto the internal courtyard, so it's potentially a fabulous place to curl up with a book or some knitting ... there will be NO television in there.

Home Alone

I've just been in Perth visiting my oldest and dearest friend (we grew up together in Singapore) for a few days, which was great fun. While there I cooked a huge chilli crab lunch for family and friends and much eating, drinking and laughing was done by all.

Although I had a fabulous time, I did miss my people, and was very happy to see them all last night. This morning it was back to the airport again, dropping my mother off to catch a plane to visit her sister for a week.

So right now, for the first time in weeks and weeks, I am in my studio, all by myself. It is almost disconcerting ... I may even have to do some work.

Babette's Feast

Holden came home with an assignment the other day. 'Mum', he said, 'I have to cook an Italian meal for the family, and then hand in recipes and menu (in Italian) and photos'.

Well, thank goodness he comes from a foodie family, I say.

We discussed various options, and he finally settled on: prosciutto wrapped melon; osso buco with gremolata, served with ciabatta and salad; gelato (bought) for dessert.

Here's how it went ...

1. He squealed when asked to dust the veal shin in seasoned flour ('it feels gross, mum!'), but bravely persisted.

2. He chopped garlic with great gusto and surprising skill.


3. It all simmered away while he wrapped melon in prosciutto and made salad dressing and gremolata.



4. We ate lots and lots.


5. I think he'll pass his assignment.