Don't worry... it says HELF

Shamelessly lifted from Amazon.uk

Hey - to all you good folks out there in the interwebs - I need some help!

Does anyone know where I can pick up a Nigella Lawson Black Milk jug like the one pictured for my friend Whirly-girl?

Amazon .com and .uk do stock them - but won't ship them to us antipodean Downunder dwellers.

They probably assume us uncultured scurvy convicts don't take our tea with milk - just straight out of the billy*.

Any assistance would be greatly appreciated - drop me a comment if you have any ideas!

P.S. I could arrange a trade for some vegimite! Though I'll admit that this might be a deterrent for some rather than an inducement :P


*My sifty memories of Grade 6 camp recall that boiled eucalyptus leaves (Billy tea for the uninitiated) served with a side of charred damper was surprisingly good - but I think I was delirious from a 16km hike (not to mention partially malnourished from the "quality" school camp food)

Wordless Wednesday

Pecan Sandies

I discovered a jar of pecans whilst I was cleaning out the pantry last week, so I decided to try out a recent recipe from my favourite gastro porn site.

(I'll spare you the details of my other pantry clean out cooking foray - though I remain unconvinced that quinoa, beetroot and pomegranate can't be friends)

Knowing that shortbread is finikity and having learnt my lesson from cooking blunders past, I followed the instructions TO THE LETTER. Or to the millimeter as it was in this case.

I'm not sure if my metal ruler is technically food safe, but I can attest that my biscuits were 1 inch square (+ or - 1/16th of an inch).

Obviously my keen quality assurance team (jms) found this tolerance suitable for taste testing purposes, and declared them a success.

I even managed to refrain from rerolling the scraps (god forbid the structural integrity of one's shortbread be compromised). I'm glad I did, because the texture of these biscuits was so light I swear a host of angels could be heard singing with each mouthful.

This did leave some less than photographic odds and ends that after yours truly was rendered too ill to cram any more dough into her mouth, were cooked and the QA department promptly devoured them in the name of Total Quality Management.

I'm not a huge fan of pecans - but I am a sucker for recipes that require toasted nuts. Like freshly ground coffee or baked bread, the smell of roasted nuts is one of those smells that I think makes a house feel like a home. And in this case, it really does turn a wee biscuit in to something not just nice, but delicious.

The simple act of enriching the oils with a slight caramelisation seems to take recipes to another level. That little extra step makes me feel like I am becoming an accomplished cook, and not just someone who throws stuff together when hunger dictates. Try toasting your pine nuts lightly next time you make pesto. Or add some gently toasted slivered almonds to a simple salad. Brownies (not that heaven needs improvement) do taste a little more special if you roast your hazelnuts or whatever first I am told. And I promise, the next time I make banana bread, to wave those walnut suckers near an open flame, just to see what happens.

For the sake of quality control purposes of course.























However, as I have informed my best beloved, this cook is on biscuit and cake hiatus until the delivery of a new mixer. So there.

I'm sorry folks, but an ultimatum has become necessary.

I am completely sick of wrangling my delapidated and partially melted mixer into submission. Sick of the splattering of crap all over the kitchen and the delectable smell of burning motor grease wafting throughout the house. And no, I don't want a replacement. I want one of those over priced and over blown ones that that sit along side Nigella's boobs and Jamie's "cor blimeys".

Shiny. Expensive. Cobalt Blue.

Kitchen closed 'till further notice.

To B or not to B

Whilst hanging out recently with my 3 yr old BF, she brought to my attention that I didn't have a Barbie doll of my own. She further suggested that if I got a my own Barbie doll, I could come over to her house and play. I was immediately smitten with the idea. Why can't a 30 something have her own Barbie?

While I know there is a raging discussion (that well intended feminists started before I was even born) about the appropriateness of Ms. B as a toy for impressionable minds. To the extent that she had a fairly extensive makeover (if going from a Dolly Parton to a Dita Von Teese bust size counts).

Unfortunately, I think the doll's demerits have been completely eclipsed by real life Barbie doll role models such as Ms. Hilton, Lohan et. al. and their questionable behaviour that is splattered all over the show.

My little friend's mother was denied a Barbie when she was growing up by her staunchly feminist mother (that should possibly have a capital F). And she in turn, intended to maintain a Barbie free zone – but eventually cracked after a protracted and difficult toilet training 'negotiation'.

However, after much discussion, we the adults have concluded (post purchase justification aside) that Barbie is OK. Not great, but also not psychologically damaging to a worrying extent.

Indeed, I survived a childhood beset with Barbie. Apart from my Lego (which I still have) Barbie proved to be the toy that got the most play longevity of all my toys. Furthermore, as a 16 year old I was markedly upset when the olds gave away my collection (without consultation) to a smaller relative. Jms and his brothers all turned out pretty good and they had (by all reports) a better collection than I (they had the spa AND the convertible).

In retrospect, I personally only developed body image issues after being given a (well intended) Dolly magazine subscription in my tweens. Jms, as far as I know, doesn't have any Barbie body issue problems (apart from a strange fixation with blue eye shadow). I admit that it is a bit of a merchandising flood gate – with matching outfits and vacuous DVDs by the truckload, but at least it gives you a moments break from the Wiggles.

But as the story predictably goes, I found myself wandering a large toy shop (looking for cheap Lego as it happens) when I found myself caught in the vortex of the pink isle. So pink it is visceral - your teeth ache with its artificial sweetness and you feel kinda claustrophobic. It is like crack for little girls and it makes parents wish they were colour blind.

The nearly bare, post-Christmas shelves showed a smattering of what I guess was second or even third tier dolls – with the exception of a handful of an "exclusive" design. A long haired temptress replete with butterfly wings and a layered blue and lilac ball gown. If I could have specified the kind of doll I'd be in to, they couldn't have done a better job (unless the dress was actually designed by Vivienne Westwood). But ultimately I walked away (read: dragged by husband).

I know I should really just wait until the op-shop down the road reopens and get a pre loved doll. It would certainly help my savings - and fly under the radar of Jms' House Deposit Plan of Ultimate Fiscal Restraint. But there was a certain something about that doll that I can't get off my mind.

I was trawling though my inspiration folder yesterday and found the following picture:






















(Many apologies, but I can't find a source for this)

So far I have fought the Blythe phenomenon tooth and nail, but as a crazy cat lady in the making, a Nikki doll is DEFINITELY on my wish list.

Obviously at its going rate on ebay (and the current list of useful items around the house that badly need replacing) it is an understatement to call it an extravagance. Simply out of the question. Not to mention that whole economic downturn thingy.

God knows why I feel I need it, but it does make a new Barbie seem a lot less over the top. Unfortunately I'd be getting a lot less aesthetic bang for my buck. A quick google image search reveals that the Barbie Mariposa Queen is just a little more 'gauche' than the 'haute' couture of my rose coloured recollection.

Dare I say garish?

Photo courtesy of Amazon.

Perhaps it was an overload of "fairy princess" games over the holidays. But then again, didn't Dolce & Gabbana do a range of over the top butterfly dresses a few years back? And Galliano and Lacroix can't seem to help vomiting lurid silk organza at every turn...

I actually have no idea what my point is here.

But I do think it might involve wanting to brush synthetic hair with a teeny comb and co-ordinate a small wardrobe. The pure escapism of matching shoes and handbags, ball gowns and up-dos without an unflattering mirror or fake tan booth in sight.

Dressing up is fun, but as an adult it seems to require so much more of a production (and hollywood tape). Barbie doesn't have to stress about underarm hair or a VPL.

And she doesn't get offended when ditched for a different game or lunch.

I'm sure impulsiveness has its merits

Who goes to IKEA and impulse purchases a FOUR POSTER BED??

YELLOW at that.

(But Jms - It was 70% off, and I've always wanted one since, well forever... and what do you mean I've never mentioned this before, I could have sworn it was in the wedding contract vows...)

You gotta feel sorry for the poor bugger, who then had to construct it single handedly. With onlookers. Exacting onlookers.

Nevermind also that we live in a small, dark Art Deco house. Admittedly the bed formed part of my "live in an lofty warehouse style apartment with double floor rooms" long term goal.

But why wait - life is NOT a dress rehearsal.

3 4 A Cause!

Over at Mikes the Mirabel auction is on!

Round 4 has started including my not so little contribution (yes the largest one is about 40 cm high)





















Put in a bid if you're able - Great value for money with three times the cuddle of your average softie!

As a free gift with purchase is the knowledge you are helping a wonderful organisation. Yay!

The days are getting brighter

I must apologise for the quality of posts lately. Its not that I don't like you - I've just been going through a bit of a blog fatigue patch. Add to that a bit of craft fatigue, cooking fatigue, work fatigue, injury fatigue and of course fatigue fatigue.

But I think it's on the cusp of breaking and when it does I think there will be a gush of new ideas and happenings around here.

The black cloud that threatened to settle in on my mind has been given its marching orders. Starting with a bit of pre-emptive spring cleaning and project completion around the house (plus a little dose of "Ikea Therapy"). If I'm going to be spending more time at home convalescing it might as well look nice and inspire positive thoughts.

So Bernard - the fish who claimed he was not long desitined for this world last Christmas, has new digs. He still "plays dead" just to keep me on my toes but at least I don't shudder everytime I look at the hideous pine stand his tank used to be on. The addition of a bright shiny piece of red furniture has truly transformed the feel of the room instantly.























Not the best photo I managed to take but the only one without a blur of dog with his new chew toy in the foreground.

I also got rid of my giant "hard rubbish" monitor (that used to sound like a WoMD everytime it turned on). The desk has been cleared and for the first time is not covered in random paperwork, giant dust bunnies and crap. Much more conducive to creative works. (Note. Charles Christopher wallpaper - more on that later)























Poor Europa though, has had to find alternative sleeping arrangments (and yes, he did try to climb on top - nearly cutting the new monitor and his own life drastically short). But I think the lack of radiation constantly frying his brain will do him some good in the long term. He has been acting a little strange since the new monitor has arrived. Maybe he's just coming down.

AND I finished my Mirabel sofie(s). But I'll post that later because otherwise I'll be here for hours fiddling with photos.

The final bit of news is that one of my best friends has just bought a beautiful house (today infact - at auction) that is only 20 minutes away. Which is MUCH better than nearly 1,000 kms away.

Mine!

It arrived almost a week ago - thanks Liz - It's perfect!

Just took me a while to get a decent photo... (I photoshopped out the cat hair)

'twas the cornerstone of my "Sex and the City" outfit last weekend, coupled with my new metallic boots (which incidentally co-ordinated nicely with the curtains at The Sun Theater).

Thanks also (again) to Ms Bollywood for organising an awesome night out and dragging us all over to Yarraville.

And from the post film discussion, I think my husband has proved he is more girly than me... I've never been so proud (except for the time he called me from Vegas and gushed about the Jimmy Choo shoes).

Broccoli and Bjork

Unfortunately in the weeks preceding the BIG DAY Jms and I had a need to go to Chadstone on many occasions. Dear God that place makes me worry for the fate of humanity, on so many levels.

But depressive, morally high-horsed diatribes aside - after the fix of fresh tempura salmon handrolls (still warm!) had quelled my distress, we happened to find ourselves in Borders in a postprandial bliss and stumbled upon the bargain bin books. More like the great wall of crazily cheap and random books that was at once inviting and overwhelming at the same time.

Well random indeed found me walking out with an armload of stuff including these two books. Possibly purchased only because they were so cheap - but both have proved to be outstanding little finds.














I don't know what caught my eye about this one - but I'm glad it did. A quick flick showed some really promising recipes. For the uninitiated, I LOVE soup. Bizarrely I never order it at restaurants, but if ever I can cook some, I'm there, wooden spoon at the ready. Perhaps its the lazy cook in me that likes the one pot meal coupled with the prep once for multiple meals.


Who could go past the strangeness of Broccoli and Oatmeal soup? Probably plenty - but not this little black duck. Just the kind of wackiness this doctor ordered - and it has proved to be an instant favourite.

(Though I may be biased - I am a Broccoli freak, I could eat it everyday - and actually try to. Jms achieved 5 star-husband status last week by discovering and cooking Oven Roasted Broccoli for me last week - OMG it was good) .

There are some really interesting flavour combinations (Brussel Sprout and Stilton, Carrot and Almond Cream, Dill and Turnip) that as you read make sense and get those taste buds tingling. It might be a little "new age" for some (soup as remedies for bad skin, circulation and sex drive starters!) but the recipes speak for themselves. There is also a really good section at the back for great soup additives - dumplings and such to turn simple soups into rib sticklers.






















Bargain Number two was this biography of the world's most famous Icelandic.

I've been a fan girl from the moment the first strains of "Birthday" entered my ears oh so many years ago. My obsession ran to slowly acquiring every single remix that ever existed (foot slog style visiting second hand music shops - in the days before P2P click and download entire oeuvre option). And to Jms' credit he stayed with me all through the 6 months of listening to Vespertine at least once, if not multiple times a day.

Fortunately though my fervour has waned - partly because other obsessions came (Decemberists anyone?) and because Volta still doesn't quite gel with me (apparently though I'm not the only one).

I found it an engrossing read that goes some way to reconcile the disparate images of the uber cool artist and the unstable and eccentric individual. As a creative finding my way in what seems a marketing and product driven world - it was comforting to read that commercial success was never sought by her and her meteoric rise up the pop charts was so out of left field it completely blindsided her world. I still admire her single mindedness and commitment to her art, and am admittedly somewhat jealous that she was able to find her calling at such a young age.

Sleepy kawaii

Every night, when the lights go out, Poika comes out, does a little flicker dance, and then pirouettes off to dreamland.

Jms got her for me for my birthday. I hope I never get too old for this sort of thing.

It was one of the many awesome gifts I received, not limited to, but including: the coolest torch (which I can't wait to take draining when the rain stops!), a super cute "Bear Paw" succulent, beautiful Dale jumper and beanie (obv cuter on me), kimono fabric, and this guy - who suspiciously looks like it might have been for the giver rather than the receiver (:P)

I am a very lucky girl. But enough of the gloating and stuff worship.

I do however wish I'd had a chance to blog about it all sooner. Lately quite a few things have been begging to be recorded - but alas, other things to do - and the moment passes. To me the joy of highlighting things is in their freshness and immediacy. Unfortunately, given that I am now a paid up and proud "wage slave" blogging is way down the list of priorities. Which is a shame because I really enjoy it and like the writing practice. In a previous life I was a professional writer (if you count legal documents and policy, nothing pretty). Words were very important to me and I really enjoyed flexing my intellectual muscle, grappling with the desire to create a precise turn of phrase.

Recently have been helping a friend get through a Graduate Diploma. An unbelievably talented person - but with no knowledge of academic writing. I've been pleasantly surprised how nice it was to put together something longer than a shopping list. Not to mention how easily I slipped into the rhythm - like a body memory. Years of essay writing built super-highway style neurotransmitters in my brain I guess. There has to be a plus side to having been at Uni for 6 1/2 years. And that was just the first time round!

God forbid I've been thinking about going back AGAIN. Only one subject though - I promise.


PS. Facebook is evil - spending 5 hours to become a Jedi Knight instead of posting. Aargh it robs me of my brain thinking!

Oh Hai!

It seems I have finally emerged from my creative hibernation - with a record 3 projects completed this weekend!

Firstly - the finishing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Admittedly not strictly my project per se - but as fellow gentle readers shall attest, it has been a commitment spanning several years. In many respects, as I had enjoyed the story so much, I was not looking forward to the final installment - the end of a fantastical journey filled with real tears and laughter. Not to mention nights cuddled up with my best beloved hanging off his every word. Yes I am the luckiest 32 yr old alive to still be read aloud to - he even does voices. But it is, or was, a privilege reserved only for the Potter series. No more arguments about pronunciation - cries of that's not Hagrid's voice - and the once surreal experience of discovering a small bat flying about the house during a particularly chilling chapter.

But without spoiling a thing for those who have not yet read - I am actually somewhat relieved now that it is over. Too many sleepless nights spent worrying about the emotional and physical wellbeing of a fictional teenage boy.

As a side note: the subsequent hysteria and caterwauling associated with the harm of actual people I know is a force to be reckoned with. And a warning to all vets: I am without doubt the most inept and appallingly behaved pet owner you could ever wish to deal with. Fortunately my brother is a vet, so you may be spared the indignity. Besides, years of abuse as my younger sibling has numbed him to all pain.

I digress. So the Potter saga is over - and while I may miss the thrill of the unknown ending, I am perfectly content in its conclusion and any pangs of longing I have for the exquisite world of Hogwart's can be instantaneously quenched by the opening of a book. Just as Narnia, Middle Earth and other such places will always exist on my bookshelf waiting to tempt an idle afternoon.

Second on my list of accomplishments is I have FINALLY put the binding on my quilt. Hurrah. Now I can rankle over what I wish I did differently and inevitably start collecting fabric for the next one. The sun even came out momentarily for a picture. Excuse the overly verdant garden but I also had to take a picture of my new sneakers. Not quite ruby slippers but just as magical (hey - they can put a smile on my face instantly - and I have been known to sing songs about them) I wonder if that's how it started for Imeda. First purple now silver. I have forewarned jms that this may become a problem. For him.

And finally the third project to have its eyes dotted and nose stitched - indeed the little face heading this post. Sometime this week M & J's new bub a.k.a. 'cashew nut' shall be making an appearance - so Aunty Cato had to extractus digitus and make a softie suitable for a lil 'un.






















Possibly a little too "if Jimi Hendrix made plush toys" yet for some reason this fabric always spoke to me of giraffes gone wild. Hopefully an ideal size for tiny grasping hands and a wee face ripe for sucking on. Partly "Splendid Toy Book" with a large shout out to julie giraffe, a treasured gift from Miss Red. And check out her sweet hiney.

What a week (or two)

For the record, my new job is awesome. I do seem to spend a remarkable amount of my time not knowing what the hell is going on - its so nice good to know age does not save us from being complete n00bs. ahem.
But so far no-one has actually called me retarded to my face and they seem genuinely happy to see me at the start of each working day. So until they change the security code, I'll still keep rocking up and in exchange I will receive more of those wonderful pay cheques.

Aaah - the bliss of disposable income. It's been a while my friend.

True to form I went out this weekend and blew my first pay on absolutely anything that took my fancy. Actually I was really quite restrained (jms - I swear they were all on special). Call me a little self indulgent - but I got a REAL hair cut and colour. Forgive my ego the indulgence.

The rest was really spent on the usuals - new jumper (yikes the morns have been frosty), t-shirts, new jeans (for work of course) socks and undies and the most delectable purple suede boots ever. Suede boots? PURPLE? Yes a tad extravagant. With my flush of funds I did something I never let myself do - and that is go into that certain spanish shoe shop.

I actually thought I'd get a demure pair of flats (with cutsy clothes sewn on them ^_^) But they were just too wide for my very little feets. After trying on nearly everything in the shop - the exasperated but determined assistant said "The only narrow shoes we've got in your size are these purple boots". I nearly didn't bother trying them on such was my disinterest. I mean purple - I only wear black. I only wear black. That's right - I only wear black - and it bores the %$#@ out of me. Goddammit if I'm not tryin' on ther purple boots.

sigh

It felt like I was putting my tootsies in marshmallow. I think I actually had an out of body experience. And the "PURPLE"? Well they kinda looked more bluish than plum and would actually look ultra hot with the skinny black jeans I'd just bought. What could I do?

Needless to say I spent the rest of the afternoon proudly sashaying around chaddy with a shoe box the size of a small car. And a smile to match.

It has poured with rain all day - so this is the closest these babies are going to get to being worn till they get waterproofed.

In other news there shall be much more craftyness afoot soon. Just over a week ago I had to go to hospital for day surgery (dear god - how much can two itty bitty stitches hurt?). I was a bit worse for wear after the general anesthetic, but my best beloved in his infinite wonderfulness had arranged for a little present to help speed my recovery.

Yes I am now the proud owner of the essential crafty tome "The Splendid Soft Toy Book". I feel like I have arrived. Its not for the faint of heart. There are some creepy, but indeed splendid, creatures in there. The 70's were definitely an interesting time so far as what adults deemed appropriate for children. The mere mention of the name H.R. Puffnstuff makes me feel nauseous - actually seeing a picture, we are talking fetal position quietly shaking.

I'm serious.

But I'm working through it. And what better way than to make some creatures of my own, plus our little circle of friends is about to get one small person bigger. I think softies are in order.

To the sewing machine!