The Matrix

I taught today, which was a fun end to the week (and got my mind off the damn house). The class is the one Holden used to be in, so I've known these kids well since they were 5-year-olds. They are now all hurtling towards adolescence at breakneck speed ...

As I was striding through the playground - in leather coat and sunglasses, because winter here is slightly chilly and very bright - to take the naughtiest boy in the school into 'the Orange Room' (as lunchtime detention is known), he looked at me and said 'You know, Ms H, you look like Trinity in The Matrix in that coat'. I pointed out that my coat is a dark red, not black. 'Yeah', he said, 'but still way cool.'

If the Naughtiest Boy in the School thinks my coat is 'way cool', who am I to argue?

The House that Jack Built

Not so long ago, we failed to buy a house because I got cold feet about moving to the 'burbs. I'm not sure that I've been entirely forgiven for that.

So instead of buying a crazy rambling 70s house further away, we've now just bought half a house which is, and I am not joking, over the fence. It's diagonally behind the house we live in right now. If you look at the photo, the big gumtree at the right is in our current garden!

And by half a house, I mean a house that someone started rebuilding ... then gave up on. No kitchen, no bathroom, no floors (other than slab). I always said to Andrew that I didn't want to pay for someone else's idea of a perfect kitchen. Be careful what you wish for.

The plan is that we will stay here for six months while we finish the house, then move in. Taking into account six-week settlement, etc, we should be moving in March next year.

I've never built (or even half-built) a house before. Deep breath.

One Fine Day

Things in our lives are still a little topsy-turvy, but I'm trying to find time to stop and smell the roses (or any other flower that presents itself to me). The kids have probably had their least fun-filled school holidays to date, but last weekend we did manage to go on our planned camping expedition for Holden's birthday: four adults and nine children, swelling to nine adults and twelve children on Saturday afternoon.

The Basin is a magical spot, even in the middle of winter - wallabies (including a couple with joeys in pouches), kookaburras, brush turkeys, plovers, ducks and parrots everywhere. A couple of ticks and leeches too, but the less said about them the better. Only two other groups (one large, one tiny) were camping at the same time, so we had lots of room and lots of fun (and food).

I think my favourite thing about camping is that life is really reduced to the basics - cooking, eating, sleeping, looking at nature, walking, playing games (or not, in my case!), talking, occasionally reading. Even coming home to a mountain of laundry and a full inbox of work emails can't take that away!

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

Something truly awful happened, not to me but in my life, this week. I went about the business of dealing with it on autopilot at first, then thought I might like to talk about it with someone other than poor Andrew and my brother (who have discussed it quite enough).

In a roundabout way, this has made me think about friendships.

Over the years, I have had friends come to me with all manner of woes - broken hearts, broken ankles, troubled relationships, dying parents, failed pregnancies ... You name it, I've listened. And, where appropriate, I've offered tea or wine or a bed or a meal or my thoughts on the matter.

So why is it that when I realised I wanted to talk to someone I couldn't think of a single person I could call? Actually, I could think of a number of people, but every time I thought of someone, my automatic response was 'oh, no, she's busy, she has small children' or 'oh, no, I'm sure he has enough on his plate'.

Do I have bad friends? Nup. It seems I just don't like to share my feelings with people - I'm FINE with everyone telling me their deepest darkest secrets and worries, but me, hey, I'm FINE. Little Ms Competent Don't Worry About Me.

This is stupid, right? I think it is. So I rang one of my best friends and told him. And you know what? The earth did NOT swallow me up because I admitted to feeling angry, hurt, confused, sad and scared.

And today, another friend called me, and I told her too. And she was wonderful.

Odd - or not - how life's crises can teach you something.

Perfume

In one of those moments of synchronicity, I was staring at my bottles of perfume yesterday morning, musing about whether I should - shock, horror - lash out and try a NEW perfume; not half an hour later, I read mater's post about buying perfume at Merci in Paris.

Once I'd recovered from my fit of envy (why can't I be buying perfume in Paris?!), I thought a little more about perfume. A few years ago, Andrew wrote a freelance article which was about bespoke perfumes. Some (not very impressive) perfumer mixed up a few 'signature' scents for him and we amused ourselves greatly smelling them all and coming up with variously insulting names, including 'student accommodation' (heavy on the sandalwood) and 'old lady' (heavy on the rose).

Once we'd started the game, I decided I wanted to test the kids' associations with scent, so I asked them to smell several of my perfumes and tell me which smelt like 'me' to them. Unsurprisingly, it was the one I wear most, Chloe Narcisse.

For me, the smell with the most association is sandalwood. It reminds me of my mother in the 70s (she'd passed her 60s Mod phase and was right into the hippy thing, including - briefly - afro and kaftans) and when we lived in Java. Whenever I smell it - still - I expect to also hear the soft clanking of the bangles she wore.

It's been a long time since she wore sandalwood as her perfume, but I think olfactory memories are like that. Coppertone, for instance, always takes me back to the same era. Even somewhat unpleasant smells, like OFF, can trigger happy memories ...

And, of course, there's nothing quite like a whiff of Opium to bring back the 80s in all their big-haired glory.

A Star is Born

Holden recently surprised us - and himself - by auditioning for the 6th class play and getting a major role. Last night was opening night, and here I caught him racing down the corridor, before the show, looking for his trooper's hat ... It's the only photo I got, and I am slightly disconcerted by his resemblance to George Harrison on the cover of Sergeant Pepper's.

The play was an adaptation of Randolph Stow's Midnite and was surprisingly (for a kids' play) enjoyable. I'm not sure he's going to grow up to be Richard Burton, but he remembered his lines and got plenty of laughs (where he was supposed to). We were there, plus his best uncle and his paternal grandparents - and we all went out for pasta afterwards, so it was a lovely evening.

Phoebe loved it, but her favourite bit was where he appeared in a fairy godmother outfit. Hmmm.

Young Miss herself gets her big appearance later this year, when her school choir is going to perform (with lots of others) at the Opera House, no less.