Have a great week
Take care
and
Happy New Year!
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Time Out
Have a great week
Take care
and
Happy New Year!
Friday, December 24, 2004
Monday, December 20, 2004
but I DON"T cry at weddings!
Remember the Hen?
After 7 years together, Damo finally dropped to one knee before Little Sarah one fine day in Paris under the Arc de Triumph. Another year gone by and the two made it down an aisle on the rooftop of the Swiss Grande Hotel, Bondi, with the vista of Sydney’s most famous beach as backdrop. Our Little Sarah finally got hitched!
Gretta & I (and our fellas) were part of the school friends contingency pretty keen to see "another one bite the dust"… and she did so beautifully! It was the first wedding that has seen me sobbing away, frantically dabbing at tears with a borrowed hanky. I’m usually more of the "Oh isn’t that sweet" gooey smile type. Not this time! I guess watching and sharing in the forming and workings of such a great relationship over 8 years really gets the emotional hooks into you!
A better groom for our lovely girl, you could not find.
After the short an intimate ceremony, it was a side step to the right for Champagne, oysters and other luxurious morsels as we toasted and cheered and gushed over the new couple under the big blue Bondi sky. Naturally, as at any function inspired by Damo, dancing, bellowing and loutish behaviour soon radiated from the rest of the guests- from the earnest flower girl to the softly spoken Czech father of the bride.
(Special thanks to the "Forceful Sunscreen Reapplication Team" for the gorilla-style attack that left me dazed, greasy and very well protected!)
Our favourite Newlyweds headed off into the sunset leaving the rowdy guests to pick up our wedding cheer in one hand, our boozy emotions in the other, and head to the pub.
After 7 years together, Damo finally dropped to one knee before Little Sarah one fine day in Paris under the Arc de Triumph. Another year gone by and the two made it down an aisle on the rooftop of the Swiss Grande Hotel, Bondi, with the vista of Sydney’s most famous beach as backdrop. Our Little Sarah finally got hitched!
Gretta & I (and our fellas) were part of the school friends contingency pretty keen to see "another one bite the dust"… and she did so beautifully! It was the first wedding that has seen me sobbing away, frantically dabbing at tears with a borrowed hanky. I’m usually more of the "Oh isn’t that sweet" gooey smile type. Not this time! I guess watching and sharing in the forming and workings of such a great relationship over 8 years really gets the emotional hooks into you!
A better groom for our lovely girl, you could not find.
After the short an intimate ceremony, it was a side step to the right for Champagne, oysters and other luxurious morsels as we toasted and cheered and gushed over the new couple under the big blue Bondi sky. Naturally, as at any function inspired by Damo, dancing, bellowing and loutish behaviour soon radiated from the rest of the guests- from the earnest flower girl to the softly spoken Czech father of the bride.
(Special thanks to the "Forceful Sunscreen Reapplication Team" for the gorilla-style attack that left me dazed, greasy and very well protected!)
Our favourite Newlyweds headed off into the sunset leaving the rowdy guests to pick up our wedding cheer in one hand, our boozy emotions in the other, and head to the pub.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Season's Weakness
Introduction:
It is at this time of year that I find myself vulnerable to the temptation of the modestly packaged, deadly attraction of the Woollies brand fruit mince tart. The crumble of buttery pastry with the soft, spicy, Christmassy innards always lures me into a shameful indulgence behind the pantry door.
Aim:
This year, after spying the Nigella Lawson version of these little treats in a foodie magazine, I decided to take matters into my own hands and produce some tarts of my own.
Apparatus:
Two batches of sweet shortcrust pastry.
Some fruit mincemeat.
Lots of little tart trays.
Method:
Roll, cut, peel and place. Roll, cut, peel and place. Roll, cut, peel and place. (Repeat 21 times)
Scoop. Scoop. Scoop. (Repeat 21 times)
Roll, cut, peel and place. Roll, cut, peel and place. Roll, cut, peel and place. (Repeat 21 times)
Bake at 220 degrees C for 12 minutes.
Makes 24.
Results:
Though the process of rolling, cutting, peeling and placing the fragile pastry is a little more involved than the slight elbow bend needed to pick up a pack from the supermarket shelf, the result are much the same! (Though mine look far cuter with the little stars, even if I do say so myself!)
Conclusion:
When looking for a relaxing, fiddly, timely exercise to wile away an hour or so and fill the house with yummy baking smells, little star tarts are the go. For all other fruit mince tart needs, see your local Woolworths bakery department.
It is at this time of year that I find myself vulnerable to the temptation of the modestly packaged, deadly attraction of the Woollies brand fruit mince tart. The crumble of buttery pastry with the soft, spicy, Christmassy innards always lures me into a shameful indulgence behind the pantry door.
Aim:
This year, after spying the Nigella Lawson version of these little treats in a foodie magazine, I decided to take matters into my own hands and produce some tarts of my own.
Apparatus:
Two batches of sweet shortcrust pastry.
Some fruit mincemeat.
Lots of little tart trays.
Method:
Roll, cut, peel and place. Roll, cut, peel and place. Roll, cut, peel and place. (Repeat 21 times)
Scoop. Scoop. Scoop. (Repeat 21 times)
Roll, cut, peel and place. Roll, cut, peel and place. Roll, cut, peel and place. (Repeat 21 times)
Bake at 220 degrees C for 12 minutes.
Makes 24.
Results:
Conclusion:
When looking for a relaxing, fiddly, timely exercise to wile away an hour or so and fill the house with yummy baking smells, little star tarts are the go. For all other fruit mince tart needs, see your local Woolworths bakery department.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
"Stalk" delivery
Introducing the Newest member of our family….
Spike the spruce.
He was brought home from the nursery on Sunday. It’ll be his first Christmas on the job this year, so we’ll only be giving him light duties like tinsel, some small ornaments and a training angel for the top. It’ll take him a few years before he’ll be able to take the full load but I’m sure he’ll do his very best right from the word go.
We’re all so very proud of the little tacker already. He seems pretty confident as he psychs himself up on the back step, before coming in for the few big days inside. He’s got large shoes to fill, since Annie retired last year (she now enjoys the boundless pot that is my grandparents garden). He’s very brave and excited about being the star of our Christmas every year. I think he’s going to be quite happy here with us.
Spike the spruce.
He was brought home from the nursery on Sunday. It’ll be his first Christmas on the job this year, so we’ll only be giving him light duties like tinsel, some small ornaments and a training angel for the top. It’ll take him a few years before he’ll be able to take the full load but I’m sure he’ll do his very best right from the word go.
We’re all so very proud of the little tacker already. He seems pretty confident as he psychs himself up on the back step, before coming in for the few big days inside. He’s got large shoes to fill, since Annie retired last year (she now enjoys the boundless pot that is my grandparents garden). He’s very brave and excited about being the star of our Christmas every year. I think he’s going to be quite happy here with us.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Saltwater Socialite
Here in Sydney, it is quite popular for organizations to give a harbour cruise for the company Christmas party. Some are given at night, cruising past the glamorous city lights, while others take advantage of perfect summer days to see the sites of the harbour in daylight. When the professor told me I was invited to his work party and that it was to be a “harbour cruise” I accepted with delight. My experience in the past of these affairs lead me to believe that it would be wonderfully sophisticated affair, sipping cold bevies on one of the many cruise ships to be chartered in and around the harbour.
It was also going to be my first meeting with the Professor’s work mates and his generous boss (who alway sends home special samples and freebees for me) so there needed to be particular regard given to outfit choice and small-talk ammo.
Come 11:30am on Saturday, the Professor and I were to be found waiting dutifully at the Pyrmont Bridge wharf, I in a smart but casual summery denim mini with a cute top and thongs (the footwear). The sun was beating down quite fiercely but I reckoned to be tucked up under the awnings of the boat in no time at all.
It was with a strained smile that I met the first arrivals, the SPF30+ starting to melt down my face and clag up my sweaty palms as I shook hands hello. All would be fine when we got on board and chugged off into the cool harbour.
Then as one big cruise ship pulled away and our party prepared to board the next, our vessel drifted up to the wharf. A yacht! Pardon? In short skirt and thongs? Should this have been mentioned BEFORE I got dressed this morning?
Not to worry. I clambered on board with some difficulty in maintaining my modesty. I perched awkwardly on the cabin roof, where I instantly became stranded, (due to cluttering up of all other short-skirt friendly vantages by fellow mariners). From there I missed further introductions, a drink and a lot of get to know you conversation. With no shelter and no hat, I baked and sweated and generally felt furious about the whole debacle.
It was only once we’d sailed out under the bridge gliding out into the gloriously blue day that I managed to dump my pain-the-in-the-hull attitude and get on with enjoying myself. What’s all the fuss about anyway Franky? You’re usually completely at home on a yacht! (I’ve spent many a Friday night in summer scampering around my parents 11 meter yacht as it skids through twilight races on the harbour). So I ditched my thongs and handbag and adopted the legs-over-the-side, happy-gaze-over-the-water position. I was soon joined by another disoriented partner and a cold beer, both providing good company for the rest of the afternoon.
Though I missed the chatting with nice boss lady, not to mention the whole work team, I did have a relaxing sail, learn a little about town planning (care of my new friend, name forgotten) and take home sunburnt thighs and yet another nearly-postcard photo of the Sydney Harbour landmarks.
It was also going to be my first meeting with the Professor’s work mates and his generous boss (who alway sends home special samples and freebees for me) so there needed to be particular regard given to outfit choice and small-talk ammo.
Come 11:30am on Saturday, the Professor and I were to be found waiting dutifully at the Pyrmont Bridge wharf, I in a smart but casual summery denim mini with a cute top and thongs (the footwear). The sun was beating down quite fiercely but I reckoned to be tucked up under the awnings of the boat in no time at all.
It was with a strained smile that I met the first arrivals, the SPF30+ starting to melt down my face and clag up my sweaty palms as I shook hands hello. All would be fine when we got on board and chugged off into the cool harbour.
Then as one big cruise ship pulled away and our party prepared to board the next, our vessel drifted up to the wharf. A yacht! Pardon? In short skirt and thongs? Should this have been mentioned BEFORE I got dressed this morning?
Not to worry. I clambered on board with some difficulty in maintaining my modesty. I perched awkwardly on the cabin roof, where I instantly became stranded, (due to cluttering up of all other short-skirt friendly vantages by fellow mariners). From there I missed further introductions, a drink and a lot of get to know you conversation. With no shelter and no hat, I baked and sweated and generally felt furious about the whole debacle.
It was only once we’d sailed out under the bridge gliding out into the gloriously blue day that I managed to dump my pain-the-in-the-hull attitude and get on with enjoying myself. What’s all the fuss about anyway Franky? You’re usually completely at home on a yacht! (I’ve spent many a Friday night in summer scampering around my parents 11 meter yacht as it skids through twilight races on the harbour). So I ditched my thongs and handbag and adopted the legs-over-the-side, happy-gaze-over-the-water position. I was soon joined by another disoriented partner and a cold beer, both providing good company for the rest of the afternoon.
Friday, December 10, 2004
Too Old for My Feelings?
This morning I awoke to the sounds of the parentals yelling. Not the “I’m fed up and I’m taking it out on you” type of yelling or the “Oh dear, something has gone terribly wrong here and I need help” type of yelling. It was the once a year, cheerful shouts that ring out when Ma has decided that the time has come for the Chrissy decorations to come out.
For some reason, the foraging for boxes, the positioning of angels and candles, the hanging of the wreath, can only be managed and directed in excited bellows.
When I stagger down stairs and see the wafts of tissue paper and piles of empty boxes scattered around, the parentals busy climbing on chairs to hold things up for judgement on ideal positioning, I can’t help but wander around after them with a dizzy grin and a juvenile jiggle of anticipation in my tummy. I still love Christmas with the wonderment of a child.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
New Tunes: Damien Rice
I have previously howled praises of the devilishly talented Damien Rice quite vigorously.
In keeping with the pledge made to allocate "unlimited funding towards my own procurement of Damien Rice albums and same-city concert tickets as long as we both shall live", this sexy little item found its’ funding somewhere in my currently RED Christmas budget.
Now it can croon along to my own thoughts of "Where will all the money come from?"
Here a Chooky, there a GeeGee...
one blistering hot Sydney Saturday
one excited hen
five of her closest friends
six frocks
twelve uncomfortable but pretty shoes
nine bottles of Champaign
and
a Race Day at Randwick Racecourse,
you’ll get dozens of unflattering close-ups of girls having a great time.
Franky’s picks won two races, thanks to her favourite numbers theory. (Go number 4!)
And, in a Yellow Brolly first… A photo of Franky herself…
Need it be said that the giggling, girly frolic went on long into the night?
(Due to the secrecy laws of the Hen's Day institution, no more photographic records can be shown.)
Friday, December 03, 2004
Out and About: The World
It was 2002. I was a little Aussie backpacker, worn and bedraggled after 3 solid months of noisy hostel dorm rooms, day long train rides, ten different foreign languages, too many breadsticks with sardines, underwear laundered in the shower and a constant cycle of companions- too many good-byes. (Now don’t get me wrong. I loved my trip. I loved the adventure, the sights, the culture, the food, the people, the languages, etc. but I guess there is a limit on how much you can take of any good thing.)
As a bit of a luxury and a total disregard for my 25 Euros a day budget, I booked a tour for my few weeks in Turkey so that I would be ferried around, fed and installed happily each night in hotel rooms with heavenly ensuits and a glorious lack of squeaking bunk beds.
Plan worked. Not only did I take some relief in the new comforts of the tour but I found myself happily nestled in a group of travelers that did not change from day to day. No more good-byes, for a little while.
However, after a few weeks of oily Turkish lunches, feta cheese and olives for breakfast everyday, a nice bout of tummy bug and a new intolerance for being told where to go and what to see, I realised that I was, at last, travel weary. So when some of the fine travelers from the tour offered to take me in when we returned to London, I snapped at the chance to spend a bit of time at a "surrogate" home.
Luxury! Cups of tea with scrambled eggs for breakfast, mornings lounging on the sofa in front of TV, TV IN ENGLISH! I left my toiletries in the shower and my pack unlocked. I ate Wheatbix and Tim Tams and caught up on news in the world. It was so terrific and just what I needed then to give me the energy and enthusiasm to go on with the end of my trip.
The point? Well one of the lovely couples I stayed with, London boys Paul and Ian, have just been here in my home town for a visit. It’s been a bit of catch-up, some sight seeing and a chance for me to show my appreciation for those life-saving cups of tea two years ago.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Devastation & Perspective
Sometimes Jolly is just too hard.
1. The kick in the stomach
The battle lasted two years. Our little family construction company vs the Sydney Water Board. After seemingly endless man hours and legal expense, our claim for payment (for a wharf we build for them years ago) was taken to expert determination. Two weeks ago, the decision was handed down.... We won! A dollar amount was assigned and it was to be a matter of days before our struggling bank account would see the green. We were relieved and proud and RELIEVED!
Today the news came from Sydney Water. “We don't agree with the Expert Determination. We'll give you half what they say we owe you. Take it or leave it.”
I didn't even know they could DO that!
Now we either:
A- Take them to arbitration... another few years and another stack of money we don't have and another round of fighting energy we can’t muster.
or
B- Take the crummy offer and cut our losses.
This is the first time in my life I've wanted to throw a brick through a window.
2. The bitter Pill
At work, our crazy old Scotsman with long white beard and blue boggly eyes, famous for his gruff temper and hilarious jokes, stood in front of me and broke into tears. His 39 year old daughter is riddled with cancer. It's so bad, they can't even figure out the primary source of it. Last week, she just felt a bit run down. This week, her whole world has changed.
And that makes our business problems seem preet small-fry.
1. The kick in the stomach
The battle lasted two years. Our little family construction company vs the Sydney Water Board. After seemingly endless man hours and legal expense, our claim for payment (for a wharf we build for them years ago) was taken to expert determination. Two weeks ago, the decision was handed down.... We won! A dollar amount was assigned and it was to be a matter of days before our struggling bank account would see the green. We were relieved and proud and RELIEVED!
Today the news came from Sydney Water. “We don't agree with the Expert Determination. We'll give you half what they say we owe you. Take it or leave it.”
I didn't even know they could DO that!
Now we either:
A- Take them to arbitration... another few years and another stack of money we don't have and another round of fighting energy we can’t muster.
or
B- Take the crummy offer and cut our losses.
This is the first time in my life I've wanted to throw a brick through a window.
2. The bitter Pill
At work, our crazy old Scotsman with long white beard and blue boggly eyes, famous for his gruff temper and hilarious jokes, stood in front of me and broke into tears. His 39 year old daughter is riddled with cancer. It's so bad, they can't even figure out the primary source of it. Last week, she just felt a bit run down. This week, her whole world has changed.
And that makes our business problems seem preet small-fry.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Out and About: Canberra, the Un-City
Disaster of disasters! I have lost my Pipstar to the city summer forgot.
Yes yes, fabulous new job, blossoming career, excitement, adventure, new friends, new car. Blah blah blah. What about ME?! What about shopping trips and domestic bliss days, girly movies, baking days and general sofa gossip?
Well, when you can’t keep em, join em!
Bright and early on Saturday morning I swept past Miss Pip’s old Sydney residence to collect the yawning girl and a few tonne of her essentials (things to get her by till removalists collect the rest). Then off we headed, south west along Rememberance Drive to her new home town, the nation’s capital and agoraphobics’ nightmare, Canberra.
Clutching our Sydney newspaper, we detoured to Collector to investigate the reputable Lynwood Café, featured in the glossy pages of our trusted rag. Though we got a nasty shock, stepping out of the car as icy cold air licked our bare summery legs, we took heart at the sight of the open fire and cozy rustic setting the heritage cottage offered us.
Homemade beef stout pies with roast vegetables and chutney won out over a Devonshire tea and after stuffing ourselves, we perused the homemade jam selection and left with a yummy looking Seville Orange Marmalade for later tasting.
To Canberra!
It’s the invisible city, nestled quietly under bushes, and shrubs, scattered in secret pockets of swirling bushland and rugged hillsides, so that the untrained eye can see only the curling roads spinning off into the scrub. With a new local in the navigator’s seat, however, we followed round a particular arcing road and bang! A suburb!
With Pipstar’s temporary apartment as our base, we spent our days discovering other hidden suburbs, tracking down shopping spots, foody spots, browsing Sunday markets and kicking off our Christmas shopping. Amongst my Canberra booty is the blue enamel colander I’ve had my eye on for months now (this thrills me) and my first ever art purchase- darling little painting series of poppies by a local artist.
On Saturday night, we dumped our weary bodies on the couch and fed them cabanossi sausage and fresh crusty white bread with dips, olives and tomatoes. A few DVD’s and gourmet chocolates later and we were heaving off to bed. Who would ever have thought the un-city could wear us out?
Yes yes, fabulous new job, blossoming career, excitement, adventure, new friends, new car. Blah blah blah. What about ME?! What about shopping trips and domestic bliss days, girly movies, baking days and general sofa gossip?
Well, when you can’t keep em, join em!
Bright and early on Saturday morning I swept past Miss Pip’s old Sydney residence to collect the yawning girl and a few tonne of her essentials (things to get her by till removalists collect the rest). Then off we headed, south west along Rememberance Drive to her new home town, the nation’s capital and agoraphobics’ nightmare, Canberra.
Clutching our Sydney newspaper, we detoured to Collector to investigate the reputable Lynwood Café, featured in the glossy pages of our trusted rag. Though we got a nasty shock, stepping out of the car as icy cold air licked our bare summery legs, we took heart at the sight of the open fire and cozy rustic setting the heritage cottage offered us.
Homemade beef stout pies with roast vegetables and chutney won out over a Devonshire tea and after stuffing ourselves, we perused the homemade jam selection and left with a yummy looking Seville Orange Marmalade for later tasting.
To Canberra!
It’s the invisible city, nestled quietly under bushes, and shrubs, scattered in secret pockets of swirling bushland and rugged hillsides, so that the untrained eye can see only the curling roads spinning off into the scrub. With a new local in the navigator’s seat, however, we followed round a particular arcing road and bang! A suburb!
With Pipstar’s temporary apartment as our base, we spent our days discovering other hidden suburbs, tracking down shopping spots, foody spots, browsing Sunday markets and kicking off our Christmas shopping. Amongst my Canberra booty is the blue enamel colander I’ve had my eye on for months now (this thrills me) and my first ever art purchase- darling little painting series of poppies by a local artist.
On Saturday night, we dumped our weary bodies on the couch and fed them cabanossi sausage and fresh crusty white bread with dips, olives and tomatoes. A few DVD’s and gourmet chocolates later and we were heaving off to bed. Who would ever have thought the un-city could wear us out?
Friday, November 19, 2004
Ricotta Tarts
One of mankind’s greatest discoveries is in my opinion, without doubt, cheese. To my knowledge, there is no dish, no meal, no time of the day that can not be made better with the simple addition of cheese, -be it breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, dessert, midnight snack, afternoon tea, morning tea, second breakfast or elevenses. It’s glorious range of flavours and ever-so smooshy textures make me a willing slave to its dairy goodness every day of my privileged life. My heart forever weeps for those who are lactose intolerant, or more pitifully, voluntary vegan (cultural sensitivities aside).
For me, I choose the life of cheese, determined to snatch every opportunity the dairy fairy brings me with both chubby little hands.
Hence one of my favourite lunch snacks for a hot summers day- Spinach Ricotta tarts
Eaten cooled with fresh tomato or roasted tomatoes. Sit happily in the sunshine with hands on belly and ponder the joys of being alive.
For me, I choose the life of cheese, determined to snatch every opportunity the dairy fairy brings me with both chubby little hands.
Hence one of my favourite lunch snacks for a hot summers day- Spinach Ricotta tarts
Eaten cooled with fresh tomato or roasted tomatoes. Sit happily in the sunshine with hands on belly and ponder the joys of being alive.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
What is that delicious smell?
Yes... I believe it is the sweet smell of freedom!
I am officially back in the land of the socially active again now that the last burst of assignments and tests and fiddly classes is behind me.
Onward! ...to sunny days, pink sky nights, beach weather,
Onward to pub nights, Girls' Nights, Hen's Days, Christmas parties, road trips, BBQ's, weddings,
Onward to baking days, Christmas shopping, Me shopping,
... to over eating, over drinking, over dancing,
Hello summer!
I am officially back in the land of the socially active again now that the last burst of assignments and tests and fiddly classes is behind me.
Onward! ...to sunny days, pink sky nights, beach weather,
Onward to pub nights, Girls' Nights, Hen's Days, Christmas parties, road trips, BBQ's, weddings,
Onward to baking days, Christmas shopping, Me shopping,
... to over eating, over drinking, over dancing,
Hello summer!
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Easy Saturday Supper
Allow me to take a quick pause in my work to leave a little glimmer of the pleasure I enjoyed for supper yesterday while I was tucked up inside watching the wild and blowy day go by.
Fried Kransky sausage with grainy mustard and hot buttered toast.
Sometimes it really is the simple things…
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
LONG weekend in Buninyong
The Professor and I have just come back from a quick weekend visit to his folks in pretty old Buninyong, Victoria. Apparently, someone has forgotten to let the grumpy southern state know that is in fact SPRING time here in Australia and that daily temperatures of 10 degrees C and below is really rather ridiculous! Had the sun not made a brief appearance yesterday, I would wonder if he’d been offended by something down there…
Weather aside, we had five glorious days, eating, sleeping in, taking brisk afternoon walks and generally enjoying the cosiness of lazing around indoors with books, music and good conversation. The ideal break before the last big push of study and work and the madness of the Christmas season ahead!
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Pipstar's High Tea Farewell
This is where we met. The ethereal Tea Room of the Queen Victoria Building. A table for two and tea to match.
With a pot of tea each and a wonderful collection of goodies.
Despite intermittent complaints of “too too much to eat”, we ate it all.
It was a delightful couple of hours to spend chatting away and such a fitting farewell for my lovely lady.
XXXX
Good luck Miss Pipstar! I'll miss you.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Ahhhh
What is the best medicine for a girl who is tired, run down, grumpy and stressed out? How do you brighten her up after a fortnight of bad sleep, frantic work, pesky assignments and a family emergency thrown in for extra worry?
I mean, of course, aside from constant cups of tea, a little paracetamol, a few comfy bowls of pasta and lashings of thoughtful TLC from a certain lovely fellow…
Why, naturally I refer to
Shoe therapy!
Now the sceptics amongst us may consider the cost of this medicine a little bit too extravagant, but in this day and age, one must take care of one’s self if one is to make it from one Boxing Day to another.
So allow me to introduce my latest self-prescribed balm…
I call em “Big Reds”.
They could heel any sole. (Sorry. Couldn’t resist that one.)
So soon after the last ones though Franky?
Yes, yes. I know. I assure you though that I felt an appropriate amount of guilt.
And they were on sale- really on sale!
I mean, of course, aside from constant cups of tea, a little paracetamol, a few comfy bowls of pasta and lashings of thoughtful TLC from a certain lovely fellow…
Why, naturally I refer to
Now the sceptics amongst us may consider the cost of this medicine a little bit too extravagant, but in this day and age, one must take care of one’s self if one is to make it from one Boxing Day to another.
So allow me to introduce my latest self-prescribed balm…
They could heel any sole. (Sorry. Couldn’t resist that one.)
So soon after the last ones though Franky?
Yes, yes. I know. I assure you though that I felt an appropriate amount of guilt.
And they were on sale- really on sale!
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Nanna Report
Thanks for your kind words last week.
Last night it was a week since Nanna’s accident. I am so happy to say that contrary to prognosis, she is steadily recovering. Yesterday, after a week of wowing the intensive care staff with her astounding progress, she was moved to a rehab hospital where she’ll get constant care and a whole new set of nurses to battle wills with. (I do not envy whoever gets stuck with the job of telling Nanna what to do!) They just don't make 'em like they used to!
I would not have believed this news if I'd read it last Tuesday.
Last night it was a week since Nanna’s accident. I am so happy to say that contrary to prognosis, she is steadily recovering. Yesterday, after a week of wowing the intensive care staff with her astounding progress, she was moved to a rehab hospital where she’ll get constant care and a whole new set of nurses to battle wills with. (I do not envy whoever gets stuck with the job of telling Nanna what to do!) They just don't make 'em like they used to!
I would not have believed this news if I'd read it last Tuesday.
Friday, October 22, 2004
SOLD!
Yes. I agree. Damien Rice IS the most talented and amazing musician/human on the planet today.
I, Franky, do hereby pledge unlimited funding towards my own procurement of Damien Rice albums and same-city concert tickets as long as we both shall live.
Well it just so happened months ago that my little brother had alerted me to the sale of tix to see Mr Rice, minus his band, at the Metro here in Sydney on Tuesday night last. As an admirer of his album, I jumped on the phone and snaffled tix for myself and the Professor- always on board for some melancholic live music.
Come Tuesday night, though there was much to-ing and fro-ing after the drama with my Nanna, the decision was made that we would use our tickets, in the expectation that we would have a "nice" relaxing night out together with a very "lovely" soundtrack to soothe my nerves and pick me up.
Oh Boy!
It was, without a doubt, the BEST concert experience (sharing top place WITH the Eels 2003 show in Melbourne) of my life.
I have to admit that the emotional drain of the preceding 24 hours had left me as the perfect receptacle for some delicate soulful music. However, Damien’s brilliant songs were delivered in a perfect live performance- innovative, stirring and seamless. He engaged us with charming stories that eventually intertwined magically with songs we thought we knew so well. A wonderful intimacy developed between the adoring audience and the musician as he struck a perfect balance between wry reservation and soul-baring generosity.
After the mandatory faux conclusion (Why do they even bother saying goodbye? We all know they’ll always just grab a drink and then come back out for the "encore"!) he surprised us with the impromptu visit of Missy Higgins, whom he had met that same afternoon, and the two of them continued to stun us with beautiful duets while they casually shared a bottle of wine and a cigarette.
I reserve the right to gush and conclude that it was a magnificent spiritual experience never to be forgotten!
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