Same designer you think?

images from www.imdb.com

A night at the museum

On Tuesday night I was lucky enough to attend the 2011 season of Jurassic Lounge at The Australian Museum.

A few weeks ago I put my name forward as a photographer for an evening or three. I was asked to come along on opening night and snap away.

This I did. I went in not really knowing all that much about the event, but really it a marketing vehicle to encourage people who wouldn’t normally go to the museum to go. Having been to the museum, I was familiar with it, but to see it lit differently with games, activities, bands, DJs and artists or the painting and performing types amongst the exhibits, the whole place came alive, which was nice, because it usually has a kinda stuffed feel about it.

I would encourage you all to get along to one of the evenings if you can, it was really fun.


Burlesque eyelashes


Pluck those strings


Create your own 'zine


Skeleton gallery


Mayor Clover arrives


Self portrait by funkyfotobooths (careful, this site has music!)

More photos can be found here, including a few more of mine :-)

That’s not real!

Next week I shall start my new job with a government agency. I’m looking forward to it.

I preparation for the start, my new agency are asking me to fill in all sorts of paperwork. That’s pretty normal. What isn’t normal is being asked to complete an online learning module about OH&S.

I used to teach this going back a few years, so it’s not that I know nothing about the subject it just strange because in all the year since I taught it, I have never been asked to sign an agreement that I understand my obligations under the work place safety act.

While doing the module I came across a couple of things that made me think, ‘That’s not a real thing.’ But it turns out they are both real, only one is completely the wrong use of the word.

The first was during the page of information about wrist rests. It says, ‘Wrist rests should not be used while typing or mousing – only while resting’.

Mousing, what the crap is mousing? Oren does mousing, Puss sometimes helps. Cara plays with Mousey Mousey and I use a mouse. Being the curious bunny that I am, I looked up the word ‘mousing’ and found that it has nothing to do with the use of a computer mouse, but more to do with fishing.

Should I tell the agency that their eLearning module is wrong?


The second thing was Occupational Overuse Syndrome. WTF!? RSI has been renamed it appears. I don’t know when this name change occurred because it hasn’t been communicated to anyone but the internet and quite frankly, it sounds rubbish. Everyone knows what RSI means. It’s called what it is, a repetitive strain that has caused an injury. This makes sense to me.

It sounds made up, like runcible. When Edward Lear made that up in the 1870s he was ridiculed, and it still get picked up by spell checkers despite being in the dictionary, now it appears that making things up is fully acceptable. Benifer, sexting, mousing and OOS...please stop making names up for things that already have perfecting good names.

It makes me smile, because it’s given me something to do for twenty minutes and I enjoyed reading about the life of the master of nonsense.


Thank you to this site for the graphic image of what my cats think mousing looks like.

Creative time wasting

I realised today, as I added another 40 rubber bands to RubberBandBallMkII that I have become a master of killing time on the job.

I am usually a very productive employee, but on occasion there are times when a lull in work causes the use of imagination to look busy. We’ve all done it; we take advantage of the slow days to refresh the brain for the onslaught that is bound to happen due to poor time management (by others and yourself). Having said that, I don’t think the following has every interfered with me actually getting something done on or before the required deadline.

The following are a few of the things I have done to occupy my time during the hours of 9 – 5.30 Monday – Friday.

- Internet shopping (I curse Amazon.com)
- Make Christmas cards (yes, I actually made cards one year, many moons ago)
- Read novels (with the advent of e-books came the chance to read a saucy novel in .pdf format that looks like a business document)
- Complete Uni assignments, and therefore my Masters degree (I know I’m not alone with this one)
- Write blog entries :-)
- Make paper clip necklaces (one colleague actually wore one out)

It takes a somewhat active imagination to do some of these things...but I’d be interested to know what you do to kill that down time when you can’t just get up out of your seat and walk out and do something more interesting.

Incidentally, RubberBandBallMkII is now 47mm in diameter.

Liar liar...

...pants on fire.

Last week I went to see a tax agent to submit my income tax for 2010/11. I had spent a large proportion of the weekend going through receipts, calculating percentages and generally going around in circles. Numbers are not my forte.

I presented the agent with three pages of spreadsheets, salary summaries and contributions to health fund. All she had to do was plug the information into the tax offices systems and it should have all been done. An hour and a half later, several explanations of why I claimed this, and why I claimed that, I signed the return, paid my $125 and left, thankful that it was done for another year.

Today, I received a call for Roman (name has not been changed to protect the douchebag), he explained that he was overseeing my return and he was ‘not convinced’ that I was eligible to claim certain items.

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ I asked.

‘No, I am just trying to clarify if you are claiming a home office as a convenience?’ he said.

I won’t go into the following conversation, but I ended up walking into the office, stating in a loud voice that I did not appreciate being called a liar, and demanding that all my paperwork be returned to me.

It’s been a while since I have been so offended. I don’t offend easily, but to be called into question about deductions that have been a repeated item for some 10 years, really p*ssed me off. I don’t claim charity donations (I could) and I don’t claim car expenses (I could). I have never in all my life tried to avoid paying tax, despite the fact I seemingly get very little in return for the 43% I pay.

To have some jumped up git who has no idea who I am, what I do or understand my circumstances doubt my honesty, well, let’s just say I was remarkably kind.

Park Life

I've had a very busy, productive but good weekend. This has facilitated by the fantastic weather we have experienced considering it's still winter. On Saturday it was 21degrees. I had what I consider to be a Ferris Day on Saturday, I got so much done, you can look at it and think, how!? especially as I didn't even get up until just gone 10am.

I took some lovely photos of the family, see ‘Back to Front’ below.

I went into town to pick up a camera flash; I’m still replacing bits from when my bag was stolen in Kenya. Cara got to walk on George Street and didn’t freak out.

We went for a walk in Lane Cove National Park, well next door really as dogs aren’t allowed in the park. We relaxed and chilled for about half an hour.


We popped into Eden Gardens for some garden stakes.

Went home and started digging a veggie patch. CatTV got to eat fresh worms, Cara got to roll in cow manure and Oren stalked the chooks. Puss, being wise old man that her is, just lay in the sun and supervised.

I wasn’t feeling great on Sunday, but pottered about in the veggie patch and planted the seedlings I had. About four o’clock I went inside, showered and sat and watched Food Inc. while I was eating a sandwich. This is a disturbing documentary about the food industry in the US. While it isn’t directly related to what goes on in Australia, I’m sure there are some similarities.

Footage of cows being unable to stand and being folk lifted to the killing floor made my think of the recent ‘live export’ footage of Malaysia and the uproar that that caused. Do similar things happen here in a bid to grow food fatter, faster, and cheaper? I’m sure they do.

One thing the movie did do, was reinforce my choice to buy meat from my local butcher and fruit and veggies from my local market. I really don’t need images of thousands of naked hanging chooks flying about an air-hanger sized warehouse on a conveyer belt, in my mind when I tuck into my grilled chicken salad. And did you know, that much raw meat in America is treated with ammonia or chlorine to kill off any potentially harmful bacteria, such as e-coli and salmonella (at least it was in 2008 when the film was made).

After the movie I gave Cara a bath, and then we cuddled up in the warm house and watched the evening movie, Iron Man 2. It was a good weekend.

Back to front

It's such a beautiful day in Sydney today. The sun is shining, the animals are all outside and I'm soaking up a few rays myself. A hearty dose of Vitamin D before the sun has the power to fry me in 30 seconds flat.

I had my camera with me and I managed to get a few snapshots of my babies, but I decided to show you a different side to each of them...


This Is Rizzo. She is the Leader of CatTV, and one of four chooks that roam around my garden at the weekend, and currently, the only one laying eggs.


This is O-Ren. Youngest in age of the four legged children, and the one that causes the most heart-ache. Loves to climb trees, hang out under cars and keep CatTV on their toes.


This is Cara, also known as 'The Killer', not because she vicious, just because. She's the smallest in the house. She like eating, sleeping, and the occasional walk on the beach, oh and sleeping.


This is Puss. The oldest, biggest and grumpiest. He's my boy in a house of girls.

New Friends, yet to meet

I noticed a while ago that I now have six followers here. This pleases me.

Four of you I know well.

Two of you not at all. I shall ask you a couple of questions, be honest, open up, you’re amongst friends.

I’m curious, how did you stumble across my random ramblings?

Which post inspired you to click the follow button?

Thank you, please leave your responses in the comments ;-)

The perils of Winter entertaining

Many years ago, when I first visited the shore of this wide brown land, I decided to go to the movies. My host asked me, ‘Why tonight, it’s raining?’

I was confused. In my native land of Britannia, if you didn’t venture out wearing an over coat and wellies you would never leave the comfort of your home. It rains much of the time in England, it still amuses me when folks back home say, ‘Where did summer go?’

Really!? Just except it, Great Britain never has and never will have a reliable summer; Global Warming has not changed this fact and never will. Anywho, I digress...

Winters in Aussie tend to be kinder, with chilled days and clear blue skies. This year has been a bit strange. It appears that Al Nino has decided to throw us a curve ball and make it cold, wet and windy, all at once. Facilities Management doesn’t know what to do, turn the air-con off, heating on, then back on with the air-con, then off again. So we have, for the first time since I’ve lived Down Under had a proper winter.

It takes months of grey skies and early darkness before a weather hardened Pommie starts suffering the winter blues, in Aussie it’s a matter of days. Seasonal Ambience Disorder hits here and hard. A nation that spends months in the sun and heat, the slightest dip below 10degrees and you’d think the end of the world is nigh. Doors gets locked, coats come out and social lives go into hiatus until the sun come out again and the world defrosts.

The Tupperware party I have booked for tonight has become a victim of this. In fact, I’ve started to refer to it as a Tupper-where party. Because where are my guests? It didn’t even start out as my party...I agreed to have it at my house for someone else.



Many are suffering from ‘Blurgh’. While not technically an illness, it is a reason to stay at home and recover. So they shall miss out on the mountains of funky plastic storage wear and me being the hostess with the mostess.

Others simply got a better offer.

I’m going ahead tonight as I have made food and cleaned my house, and the Tupperware Lady said four including the hostess (that would be me) is a nice number. I think she’s being kind. I was hoping for more than just a Tupperware party, I was hoping for a girls night in where we would continue after the TL lady had gone.



I have learnt my lesson and will never attempt any kind of entertainment in the winter again. I too shall hibernate and get with the Aussie winter program and embrace the feeling of Blurgh! Bring on BBQ season, I say :-)

Get well soon.

First picture from here, funny article to go with it.
Second picture from here.

News Flash!

Yesterday I was lucky enough to secure a new contract. This means I can I exit stage right from my current nightmare and start afresh in the hope that a new location and different environment brings better mental health.

In the mean time, of course, I shall continue my current general admin duties, I have been collating training documentation today, and in my considerable down time I shall blog and continue to develop the lifestyle of the rubber bands on my desk.

RubberBandBall MkII hit the 35mm diameter today, and as you can see, there is plenty more weight just waiting to be added.


Ps. The Pink Lady apple I just ate was really tart!

Embryo

I had a plethora of rubber bands on my desk after collating several training documents today. What to do with these poor lost souls of the latex variety?

I decided they needed a purpose in life, so I have given them a calling.
In an attempt to stave off madness and to kill time during the next couple of weeks I have decided to start RubberBandBall MkII.

Watch it grow, from tiny seeds, mighty RubberBand Balls grow :-)



Last time I did one of these was in 2007...amazing how things come back into vogue.

Club 27

Amy Winehouse died over the weekend, at the age of 27. It makes her eligible to join other famous singers that have passed away at the same age. Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones and Jimi Hendrix. Current speculation is that it was a drug overdose, there has been no official cause of death released.

I’m not sure it club anyone would aspire to be a member of.

Amy Winehouse was an undeniable talent that deserves to receive the tributes she will receive. If the news was a contest there would always be a more deserving case in someone’s eyes. But I would like to say, every life lost is a tragedy, no matter what the circumstances. If a death is proceeded by years of addiction, eating disorders and every wrong move being reported in the press then I hope peace has finally been found.

But what has really interested me about this death, while tragic, she was after all a woman in her prime with a talent that a lot would kill for, is the online reactions of some people on groups, social networking sites and in the comments spaces under online media. Frankly, I’m disgusted.

It appears that it is completely acceptable to write derogatory comments about the way she lived her life. Apart from I have gleaned from the media coverage of her career and troubled private I wouldn’t dream of assuming that I know anything about what was REALLY going on in her life. Therefore, all I can say is:

Rest in Peace, Your music will be your legacy.

I wish others could have been as neutral, but sincere. Comments such as ‘Glad she’s dead, hope Lady Gaga and Beiber are next’, are simply uncalled for. The amount of, ‘she wouldn’t go to rehab, no, no, no’ is astounding, and the number of folks saying she choose a life of drugs and alcohol and she choose her end so she deserved to die, makes me think that they were probably puffing on a cigarette as they typed.

I have seen this before and it always annoys me. People hiding behind their computer.

Whenever a posting from NSW Police tells of a death on the roads, posters start blaming the driver that died. I’ll never forget the day that the wife of a truck driver had also posted early on in the thread saying her husband was driving that route that day. She would have been alerted every time a nasty comment was posted, because so many don’t read earlier posts, he’d crashed into a car and all had died.

I have a personal policy. If I wouldn’t be prepared to say something to the originator’s face or the family of the victim, I don’t post.

Isn’t this one of the cardinal rules of Netiquette?

Please people, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything.



Pinched the image from here

Seek and you shall find

I don’t have a full time job. As in, I’m a contractor, so not on anyone’s books from a payroll point of view. In the past this has caused issues due to extensive periods of unemployment, but in line with attempt of finding the positives in everything and my new mantra of ‘Mah Na Mah Na’ I have found the silver lining of being a contractor.



I have made many lasting friends.

Goddess, The Director, Tiger, Bling Bling, Knitter, Cat Lady, Pho, and a couple of others I can’t think of witty nicknames for right now. Of course I do have a few other friends that I have met through alternate means: interwebs, friends of friends and talking to strangers.

So despite have moments of desperate financial distress, I have become rich with friendship

Thanks to this site, for the image

Recommendation

I had dinner with a good friend tonight. He came into my life as an employer and boss, so it comes in handy to be able to give his number when I need a reference for a new contract.

Agent: And what would you say is Jodie’s weakness?

PH: She doesn’t like or handle being micro-managed very well. I found it best to give her a task and point her in the direction you wish end up in and you get results better than you expected.

The Rules

Yesterday I had the privilege of presenting to a Communications group about keeping presentations simple, but engaging. I think it went well, at least 18 of the 20 strong audience took a card, I figure if I’d been boring, they wouldn’t have taken a card, but then they are very spiffy cards.

I took them through my 10 rules of creating a MS PowerPoint presentation, it took an hour, they asked questions, they laughed (very important), I said OK a lot at the beginning (always do, it’s the nerves) and they left feedback, but didn’t nick my post-it notes. It was good.

The issue was I had to get back to the office in a different suburb. I’d already had a two hour lunch break, so I decided to get a taxi rather than take the train. It would save me about half an hour. Ohh how wrong can you be?

My driver was a middle aged Asian man, fairly standard for Sydney, who had little grip on the English language, also fairly standard for a Sydney taxi driver. After he had run over more than his fair share of cats eyes, I asked him if it was knocking off time soon. Change over happens at 3pm, it was about two fifteen. He pointed at his face, shook his head and said ‘nose’. I had noticed he’d been sniffing, but that wasn't my question.

We got onto the Warringah Freeway, barely mind you, he had to swerve to avoid the concrete barrier. At that point I decided I would ask him to let me out at the first possible stopping point. 30 seconds later, I realised he wasn’t following the rules. The Goddess of Driving Rules (an American friend of mine) includes a rule that states, ‘You can never drive faster than the car in front of you’.

Clearly my driver did not know of these rules and tried to drive faster than the Lexus in front. He realised what he was doing and slammed on the anchors, unfortunately the extremely wet weather outside the vehicle made the stopping process somewhat slower than normal and we hit the shiny silver Lexus in the backend at about 30kph.

Having been on the receiving end of a couple of rear-enders (get your mind out of the gutter JH) I know that bracing for impact is the worst thing you can do, so I exhaled, relaxed into my seat and did my very best impression of a jelly.

The following 45 minutes involved a woman in her 50s wearing more labels than a rally car and a face that looked like a leather handbag that had been stretched out of shape, shouting at a tired Chinese man that shouted back. Neither of them understood each other.

I got back to the office later than if I’d have caught the train and I even had to pay the taxi that picked me up from the side of the road.

New Rule: If you err at taking a taxi...take the train.

Today, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus but I’m riding high on Voltaren flowing in my veins. I know it’s muscular pain only, nothing broken or sprained. Another hot bath tonight, so can someone please remind me to buy bubble bath!

With age

There are many sayings about age and wisdom, most ring true, some not so.

True:
Boys will be boys, and so will a lot of middle-aged men.
Kin Hubbard (1868 - 1930)

Wisdom is what's left after we've run out of personal opinions.
Cullen Hightower

Could be agued:
Wisdom doesn't automatically come with old age. Nothing does - except wrinkles. It's true, some wines improve with age. But only if the grapes were good in the first place.
Abigail Van Buren (1918 - )

I’d like to add one.

‘If you’re a woman a few things happen with age. You get breasts, the ability to have children and a desire to build a nest. You also learn to control your emotions. No one tells you you’re going start sprouting hair from your chin and you’re going to need a plastering qualification to fill the cracks next to your eyes. That was not in the advertising materials!’

It never rains...

...but it pours.

In good times and bad. As you’ll no doubt be aware I’ve had a pretty rough few years, well it seems to be changing, at last.

I’ll whisper the next bit in case the Gods of the Short, Sharp, Shafting with a Big Stick hear, but I’ve have four job offers in less than a week. Five if you include the part–time photography gig and six if you include the wacky Board of Director thing for a community radio station.

Fingers crossed this good fortune continues, I have placed money trees at my back and front doors to help with my feng shui, so maybe it could :-)


Picture borrowed from here. Thank you!

It's been a while

I have been travelling by bus lately. I like it because it slows down the inevitable arrival at work. Last night I was sitting my favourite seat (back row right). I was nearly home for the evening when the driver hit the curb for the sixth time on the journey.

‘Dude, stop hitting them, they’ve always been there.’ I muttered under my breath.

The guy sitting two seats away starting giggling.

I looked over at him, he looked back and said, ‘Hi’.

He looked like he should have been wearing school uniform. He had short wavy hair on the top of his head, a silly mullet thing growing out of the back. He was wearing jeans and casual jacket with trainers on his leg ends.

We started chatting, he had to take a bus and two trains to get to his job in Marrickville, he was a storeman.

He asked me about my job, I told him I was a corporate trainer, he asked me ‘what’s that then?’ I explained.

He asked why I didn’t drive to work, I told him I liked taking the bus because it meant I could read.

He led the repartee, when I fell silent he’d think of another question to ask. Being polite, I replied and tried to engage in the conversation.

Then I asked why he didn’t drive. ‘I’ve just got my Ls. I’m 17.’

My stop arrived.

As I climbed off the bus I heard, ‘I catch this bus every day, hope to see you again.’

Women!

Over the past few days I've been giving consideration as to why there's an issue with the woman I work with. I can't even begin to guess what's going on in her head but I do have a clear insight into my own.

While others support me by saying things like, 'she's insecure because you're better at your job than her' and 'she's a skank', yes, someone (other than SI) said that and while I tend to agree, not really all that helpful, but thanks.

My thinking and over-analysing has led me to this conclusion.

I don't work well with women.

History has taught me this, not just the current issue. Every time I've ever had an issue at work, it's always been a woman. Except once, when I worked for a guy in his 60s and he told me women should stay at home to cook, clean and have babies. That was 1999 for you.

Back to the ladies. I don't think like a girl. I've been told this by many a female and male acquaintances. I have no burning desire to prove myself capable of being able to hold down a full time job. I don't live to work. I work to live, but it needs to be a job I enjoy with people who know how to relax.

I'm pretty sure I've never manipulated anyone to do something they didn't really want to do. In any part of my life.

I don't have and have never wanted babies. I like other people's kids 'cause you can give them back when they start crying. I'm a sucker for a broken animal though.

If I have an issue with the way someone is behaving I try to address it. I do not passive aggressively try to control the situation. I wear my heart on my sleeve and deal with it, if it can’t be dealt with I will extract myself from the situation at the first possible opportunity.

Which brings me back to my point.

I speak up. And as I said in my last post, I internalise a lot.

Let me explain the history of working with ladies in reverse. Only a couple of things per person, I don’t wish to bore you too much.

LC: was supposed to hand over all project work and move to another project. Hasn't, is still directing me to do admin tasks, took me aside and bollocked me for doing what I'm supposed to be doing. Got me to do 'urgent' report then told me the data I'd been working from was incomplete and I had to number crunch again. Constantly chases me and makes a point of saying, 'GOOD MORNING', while looking at her watch.

RA: After 3 years of employment I started to report to a new manager. This one completely rewrote everything I wrote and started to check where I was. Luckily, I left before this one started to really became an issue.

DJ: gave me Whooping Cough because despite being really sick considered herself indispensable and coughed on me for two weeks before proudly announcing the doctor had officially diagnosed her. When I got back from three week sick she had a go at me for being behind in my work. She clock watched. She knee capped me in a meeting, I handed in my notice 20 minutes later.

Of course I always second guess myself and think I'm imagining this behaviour, am I just being paranoid? Until someone else spots it and brings it to my attention, I’ll torture myself that it’s all in my imagination, because what could they possibly be getting out behaving in such a manner? On the occasions that I have confronted passive aggressive behaviour, it just gets worse in the following days, such as yesterday's phantom report that prevented me from attending a training session for the project I'm working on.

I've never had these sorts of problems when working with/for a guy. I find if guys have a problem, they just tell you. Men are upfront. 'You're crap! Because of X Y and Z' and this conversation is likely to take place at lunch, in a pub.

Women, especially those with children, start talking to you as if you have an IQ of 10. They always do this in front of people. I apologise if you are not such a woman, this is from MY experiences in horror employment.

'Oh, well done, Jodie!'

Condescending Biatch!

They explain things to you as if it's a completely new concept to the world.

'Now, I'd like you to make up an address label for this box, addressed to XYZ and then, get a trolley and take it up to the mail room for posting'.

Really, I need to let the mail room know where I want it to go? Why don't I make the address label up for someone completely different, surely ESP will get it to the correct person?

Supercilious Biatch!



Now granted, I've got an attitude about this, but despite getting sick to my stomach with stage fright, I'm a good little actress when I need to be. I take it for the sake of reducing chances of escalation. Confronting it, always, leads to escalation.

I'll bide my time, perform like Sandra Bullock in The Blind Side (and maybe a bit of Miss Congeniality) at any up-coming interviews and get the hell outta Dodge and remember, work with men.


Thank you to this website for the image :-)

Mangy Mongrel

For nearly 15years I have suffered bouts of depression. It’s what my doctor refers to as ‘reactionary’, meaning that something triggers it rather than it occurring for no apparent reason.

For the last few years I have constantly struggled to get the black dog to back off and leave me alone. Six months ago I resorted to trying to kill it with a daily dose of 50mg of Zoloft, but I figured something out last night. The mongrel really doesn’t like being slowly poisoned to death, it knows you’re trying to do it, and it bites back. Hard.

Being brought up with a stiff upper lip and not showing emotion in public I have developed a stoicism that often leave completely in the dark as to my mental state until I crash. I’ve crashed. I want to retreat from the world, tell everyone to get lost and stay in bed surrounded by the family that gives me comfort.

Unfortunately, one of the reasons this black dog is following me my every waking moment is money worry. Nearly 18 month of unemployment in the last three years has made a massive dent in my finances that I am desperately trying to claw my way out of. This month, I’m going from fortnightly to monthly pay, after all my bills got paid the day the cash hit my account, I now have just $100 to last me until the end of July. Just another reason to retreat.

I was doing OK until yesterday, my brave face has held up mostly, but an incident at work yesterday, sent me sliding down the spiral into the jaws of the pi*sed off dog.

I got told off for doing my job by a woman who isn’t even supposed to be working on the project anymore.

I know it sounds insignificant, but without going into the whole long, back story, you’ll just have to trust me that it’s just another thing from a long line of controlling behaviour by a woman who thinks she owns me.



While I acknowledge I have quite a dominant personality. I really don’t have a competitive bone in my body. I just want to do a good job and go home at the end of the day. However, I have come across the odd colleague that sees me as a challenge. They win of course, because I don’t have the fight in me, I can’t be arsed. It’s not that I can’t fight, I have in the past I just find it’s not that important to prove I have the biggest testicles and that I can be a wife, mother and high-powered executive. I don’t care, no, really. I simply do not care. I really just want to do MY job, do it well, get paid for doing said job and go home to my life. So when I come across someone who wants to control me, by clock watching, checking up on me and generally limiting my ability to do my job effectively it has a profoundly negative effect on me. It makes me not want to get up and go to the job. It makes me not want to do anything while I’m at the job and it really makes me wanna bitch-slap the biatch that’s making me wanna bitch-slap them. Of course I do get up, I do do stuff once there and I don’t resort to physical violence.

While dominant, I’m fairly mellow, good natured and generous (time wise and financially when able) to those that treat me well, even those that I don’t know are gonna turn on me and stab me firmly in the back when I turn to pay for lunch. Once you F#ck with me at work (I’ll always try to find out what’s going on with friends), I shut down. I become uncommunicative (for a Communications specialist this can be an issue), I become withdrawn and I will not engage with your behaviour. I will not confront you, it’s what you want, fight. I will moan to others (sorry others), but mostly I will internalise. And we’re back to the dog.

Time has come for me to withdraw from the world again. Heal. Deal with the shemozzle that is my life for the next 36 sleeps (my dealing with the dog breeder ends in 12th August), I need to focus on securing a new contract, and sorting out my house. Once the black dog moves in all facade of houseproudness flies out the window. I need to sort out my tax paperwork.

It’s likely you’ll still see me around, but it won’t be out and about town, it won’t be Farmville and it won’t be at any social events organised through work because I can tell you I can hear that fake laugh at 1000 paces, see the annoying hand gestures through concrete walls and most of all I can feel my air being polluted by it’s breath.

I will continue to smile. Never fear, I have a fur family that would miss me too much.

Anniversary

Yesterday saw the third anniversary of a day that affected my life in a way that cannot be described. I became motherless. Clearly I had a mother, but on the 4th July 2008 mine, Sally, ceased to exist in this world and moved into one where she could wear red shoes all the time, drink G&T with more more G than T and cook up a storm at any time of the day.

In memory of my Muv, I finally figured out her Bread and Butter Pudding recipe, I think.



The weather wasn't rainy in Sydney, in fact the sun was shining, but I thought I share this picture of Muv and me on the Isle of Wight in the early 80s, because it reflects the feeling in my heart on the day that marks her death. Rain, muddy knees and a desire to stop waiting

MasterChef

I've been taking in the odd episode of MasterChef this year and I've enjoyed what I've seen. I saw this episode the other night and I absolutely love this recap, because it's true. It's all taken so ridiculously serious by so many people :-)

Bus Vs Train

I have a well known loathing of public transport. It is of course a necessary evil that gets me to work and saves me from paying astronomical sums of cash for car parking.

I usually travel by train, which at my new abode it not as simple as it used to be. Once I had a three minute walk to the station and a train straight through to my destination. Now my trip to work looks something like this;
1. Drive to the vicinity of the station and park as close as possible. 10-15 minutes.
2. Walk from car to station. About 10 minutes, depending if I parked outside number 8 or 15 and anywhere in between.
3. Wait for train, could be up to 15minutes if I have just missed one.
4. Travel to Epping. 5 minutes.
5. Change trains at Epping, can be up to 14 minutes and involves going down two very long escalators and waiting.
6. Ride train through the Tunnel from Epping to Chatswood. 25 minutes of blackness outside and usually a flickering fluorescent inside.
7. Walk from station to office, 5 minutes.

This is of course done in reverse order on the way home. So I travel for up to an hour and a half each way, with a number of changes and loads of waiting. I find it very hard to do anything on my trip, such as reading, because I’m not really settled for very long in any particular place. I find it hard to read on the stations, because frankly, I just try to stay warm, which is not always possible when the platforms seem to be a wind funnel.

Today I tried another option to see if it was a better way to travel. I took the bus:
1. Walk to bus stop. 6minutes. Today I stepped straight onto the bus, but there could be up to a 5 minute wait.
2. Sit on bus for an hour and watch the world go by.
3. Get off bus and walk to office. 3 minutes.

This is a 70 minute option. It knocks 20 minutes off the trip, plus I don’t have to fight for a seat or do the escalator shuffle. I’m going to give this a go for the rest of the week to see how it goes. I arrived at work feeling marginally more relaxed than when I travel by train despite the constant stop start to let passengers on and off and the driver locking us all in while he nipped to the loo at Macquarie Uni.

What I like about the bus is that you get to look around. The world passes you by just a little slower and you get to see things you would normally miss. You travel down roads you always wondered where they led. This morning I saw the side of Eastwood I have never seen before and discovered there is Rice Cake shop there. Love rice cake :-) Also, no travelling backwards on a bus...backs of heads only, sometime an ear if you're near the sideways seats in the disabled bit.

You still get inconsiderate passengers of course. No feet on seats, but some woman did get on with a pull along suitcase and proceed to put it on the seat. It had muddy wheels.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Head over heels

Also known as arse over tit when you're falling over rather than in love.

I had such a tumble on Thursday whilst walking into a work site on my way to deliver training. I stepped on a manhole cover which gave way and my right foot disappeared down the hole. I tried to right myself, but as these things go, it happened very quickly and I ended up in a pile on the gravel ground. My right knee and palm caught the brunt on the damage but my left elbow impacted too as I attempted to stop the bags I was carrying from hitting the ground too hard. Cara was in one of them. She's fine.

The two big tough construction types out for a smoko saw me go down with the grace of a fairy elephant and came to my rescue. Meanwhile I was the colour of my coat.

I have a tiny graze on my palm, a bruise on my elbow and a tenderised knee. Considering the minor nature of my booboos the rest of my body feels like it's done ten rounds with the current heavy weight champion. I hurt.

The last time I feel over was in Coles about three years ago (I slipped on flower water). I didn't think I'd fall over again so soon.

It's true what they say, you really do fall harder the older you get, but only because you're not used to it and you don't bounce like you used too.

Interesting...

and true. I've been on the receiving end of some strange comments and even been called selfish.

OMG!

Today's word de jour is yarely. Possibly not a word you would see on Sesame Street, but a good word none the less.

For me, it ranks up there with betwixt and comely as underused and sorely in need of a revival. These are good words harking back to the days of cummerbunds and bustles. When ladies and gentlemen dressed for dinner and barbers offered 'something for the weekend'.

Many words are over used. Awesome!

Many words are abused. Should I really? Phrase it a different way and I may be more inclined to acquiesce to your request.

Many words are underutilised. Berate, admonish, and chide all sound fabulously better than a good telling off.

I like words, all words, with possibly the exception of Hate. Don't like that one so much. They have a power over me than can’t be described. They have the power to make me feel dumb or eloquent, alas I fear that some will simply disappear. Others will fade into the pile of balderdash that is also known as the acronym.

Everybody

'The best way to become acquainted with a subject is to write a book about it.'
Benjamin Disraeli (1804 - 1881)

They say everyone has a book in them, I tried to find out who ‘they’ were, but failed so I decided to quote a once UK Prime Minister instead, the quote seemed fitting.

I have wanted to do something to remember Muv for a while. I thought about a sunflower tattoo, but decided against it, when I couldn’t come up with a design I liked. I starting collecting copies of The Scarlett Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy because it was one of her favourite stories (I have eight editions now). Recently I have been cooking.

I have decided to write a book about The Things Muv Used to Make. I’ll self publish because I will include anecdotes about her and words of wisdom that I carry with me. So far on the list:

1.Bread and Butter Pudding
2.Steak and Kidney Pie
3.Prawn Vol-a-vont
4.Salmon and Sweetcorn Quiche
5.Asparagus Quiche
6.Parma Ham/Cheese/Fig Pasta
7.Cottage Pie
8.Shepards Pie
9.Lemon Butter
10.Good Cuppa Tea
11.Tea Cosy
12.Gin and Tonic
13.Coffee Cake
14.Rum Truffle
15.Stew and Dumplings
16.Prawn Wontons
17.Chicken Liver Pate and Melba Toasts
18.Christmas Pudding
19.Fruit Cake
20.Almond Slice
21.Banana Custard
22.Soups (Leek and Potato etc.)
23.Sherry Trifle
24.Rhubarb Crumble
25.Lemon Meringue Pie

This is a brain dump, so it is in no particular order or preference, it may also be added to and have thing taken away. I will more than likely divide it into one of the following categories. WD and AD which stands for With Dad and After Dad, her cooking expanded into the more exotic after the divorce, or the classic, Starter, Main, Dessert and Seasonal. As this is a work in progress, this will be decided later. Of course, I may even decide to just make it completely random, just like her cooking style.

I have signed up for an account with www.blurb.com.au to put the book together and as yet there is no release date as I have to somehow figure out how to make these things considering there are no recipes. I’ve come up with a few, I remember a few, but some things elude me, such as the spongy bit on the almond slice and the binding agent on the Bread and Butter pudding. Barb-a-rub Crumble may be a challenge as I don’t think I’ve seen rhubarb for sale in Sydney.

I look forward to the challenge, after all I don’t have any at work at the moment.

Creamed Leek and Potato Soup

This would have to be one of my favourites, running a close second to Pea and Ham.

Vegetarian - serves 4 - 6

Ingredients
50g of butter
1 small onion
2 good sized leeks
4 medium potatoes
1/2 pint of water
1/2 pint of vegetable stock
salt and pepper to taste

Cream
Parmesan Cheese

Method
Chop the leeks into 1cm pieces and the onion into small pieces
Melt the butter and soften the leeks
Add the fluid
Add the chopped and peeled potato
Add the salt and pepper
Bring to the boil stir then lower the heat until the pot is simmering.
Simmer with the lid on for 40 minutes

Allow to cool before blending to a smooth consistency. Of course you can leave it chunky if you like, it just won't be creamed ;-)

To Serve
Stir in 1/4 cup of cream
Garnish with grated parmesan and freshly ground pepper

Bells of St. Clements

I have a very healthy and productive lemon tree growing in my garden. For a few weeks now it's been dropping fruit all over the garden and me being me, I hate to see them go to waste. So I've been making squash instead of buying it. It's remarkably easy and tasty.

Lemon Squash

Ingredients
1 pint of water
500g of caster sugar
1.5 pints of lemon juice

Method
Dissolve the sugar in the water, do not let it boil.
Allow the sugar water to cool
Add the juice and stir.

Add water (still or sparkling) to drink, sparkling water and you have lemonade.

I've started freezing the mix now as I have over 10 pints. It'll be nice in the summer :-)



Now I have to figure out what to do with the darn mandarins and oranges.


The Bells of London

Gay go up and gay go down,
To ring the bells of London town.

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clements.

Bull's eyes and targets,
Say the bells of St. Marg'ret's.

Brickbats and tiles,
Say the bells of St. Giles'.

Halfpence and farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin's.

Pancakes and fritters,
Say the bells of St. Peter's.

Two sticks and an apple,
Say the bells of Whitechapel.

Pokers and tongs,
Say the bells of St. John's.

Kettles and pans,
Say the bells of St. Ann's.

Old Father Baldpate,
Say the slow bells of Aldgate.

You owe me ten shillings,
Say the bells of St. Helen's.

When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.

Pray when will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

Chop chop chop chop
The last man's dead!

Ginger Slab Cake

Ingredients
225g of softened butter
1 cup of caster sugar
1 cup of treacle
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup of milk
3 cups of plain flour
1 teaspoon of ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon of grated nutmeg
2 teaspoon of ground ginger
2 teaspoons of bicarbonate of soda

Method
Preheat oven to 160 degreesC. Grease and line a 23cm square cake tin.

Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Slowly add the eggs until well combined.

Heat the treacle and milk in a saucepan. Allow to cool before stirring into butter and sugar mix.

Sift the flour, spices and bicarbonate of soda together and then fold into other mixtures.

Spoon the batter in the prepared tin.

Bake for 60minutes or until you can insert a skewer into the middle and extract cleanly.

Allow to cool before turning out of tin.

I knew it!

Thin isn't always best :-)

Memories are made of this

Having had a houseguest for the last week I’ve been playing kitchen goddess all weekend. I baked up a storm, but sweet things rather than bread.

I decided to broaden my horizons and rolled out the oats, brown sugar and treacle plus a few dried fruits.

At one point I noticed I now have a rather fully loaded pantry. It reminded me of Muv. I had a pang of sadness as I had a realization that I even have glaze cherries in the fridge. I’ll eat them later and I won’t tell myself until I come to make something next weekend then be annoyed and tell myself I’m disappointed in me. That will really bring back the memories :-)

Figgy Fingers

Ingredients
125g of butter
1 cup of soft brown sugar
1 cup of desiccated coconut
2 cups of rolled oats
1/2 cup of dried figs
1 tablespoon of golden syrup

Method
Preheat oven to 180 degree C. Lightly grease a 20cm slab tin.

Melt the butter and golden syrup in a saucepan.

Chop the dried figs and discard the hard stalks

Combine all of the ingredients and then press into the tin.

Bake for 20 minutes or until golden brown. Leave till cool, then cut into slices or squares.

Frannies Not-so-Fancies

Ingredients
100g Butter
1/4 cup of castor sugar
1/4 cup treacle
1 cup of plain flour
2 teaspoons of baking power
1/2 teaspoon of salt
80g of rolled oats
20g of flaked almonds
1/2 cup of sultanas
1/4 cup of glaze cherries

Method
Preheat oven to 180 degree C. Lightly grease and line a 19 x 29cm slice tin.

Gently heat the butter, sugar and treacle in a saucepan until butter has melted and sugar dissolved.

The flour, baking powder and salt should be sifted into a bowl. Stir in the rest of the ingredients in and then stir in the butter/treacle mix.

The mixture will be thick and sticky. Press it into the prepared tin and bake for 20 minutes.

Allow to cool before cutting into slices. You should get between 16 and 24 depending how big you cut them.

I heart Bread

I do, I really, really do. I like bread so much that I even learnt how to make it. I can make plain white bread, olive bread for those days when you just fancy bread and cheese and I recently added mulit-grain and wholemeal to my repertoire.

I also like pasta, cakes and biscuits. But nothing comes quite as close to being as good as fresh bread with butter and honey.

I do however have an issue. I really shouldn’t eat bread. While I am not Coeliac, my body doesn’t like to overdose on the wheat products and take it from me, it’s in nearly everything bar, meat and veg.

Of course, when finances are tight, bread becomes a staple because rice, while nice and easy for home, isn’t so easy for work. The accompanying sauce tend to have strong odours that don’t always go down well in an office environment. So I’ve been eating bread, making it, then eating it.

Yum!

But now, after a few weeks of having a wheat rich diet I’m starting to feel the effects. I’m tired, all the time. My skin is terrible, spotty, grey and itchy. And I can’t blame the dog anymore. My insides are constantly churning, I feel bloated and only get a moments relief when I release some of the gaseous build-up. I need to do a de-tox. Badly.

So, rice and corn it is. No more wheat based products. Corn and rice cakes (aka coasters) instead of yummy bread. No afternoon tea biscuits, only nuts and seeds. I’ll have to invest in a fruit basket so I can have my daily three (I really miss walking past a fruit and veggie shop on the way into the office) and I’ll have to make soups, canned one have flour thickeners.

I can still make bread, but for friends only.

I must rid my body of these toxins!

Run away life

Have you ever had one of those weeks where life has taken control and you find yourself on a roller coaster going up and down, round the corners and through the tunnel of turmoil?

The last seven days have been like that for me. I’ve been travelling for work, organised a photo shoot for work, I’ve been on the radio, I’ve added to my fur family, I’ve had a house guest and I sold a bed on eBay.

On Friday I went to Port Macquarie for work. Flew there in the morning gave a half hour presentation and then climbed on a prop for the trip home at 5pm. It was a 12 hour day, (four in airports, one and three quarters on aeroplanes, driving driving to and from airports, two and three quarters sat in a management meeting listening to gumph about road building and my half hour) all for half an hour in front of the room showing some slides and doing a bit of talking. Daft beyond believe, but I did get to pop into Cassegrain Wines on the way back to the airport.

Last Wednesday night I was on the radio. Yes, actual radio. Ok, so it was community radio with a radius of 10 yards, but radio none the less. I was on the Uncle Mike and Mama Carol Show on Flame FM 100.9 (or Auburn and Bankstown Regional Radio as it’s know while the licence request goes through). Uncle Mike was off watching rugby (State of Origin, a big thing for those in NSW or QLD) so I got to fill in. Carol drove the control centre while we chatted, played songs, did Bing Bong (read out Overheards for the free commuter newspaper) and generally brought the whole community into disarray. It was an absolute hoot. At the end of it, I was offered my own show. Mad!

I added three chickens to my fur family at the weekend. I wanted some for a while, they are cheap and easy to keep and they give you eggs. Plus, as an added bonus in my house they keep the cats entertained. Oren has decided they are better than TV. She sits and watches them for hours. She follows them around as they walk around the pen. Cara is interested, but as they are outside and prefers being inside, in the warm, she takes a quick look on her way back in after toilet breaks. Puss has seen it all before and simply ignores them as he does with anything he deems not worthy of his attentions.

My house guest arrived on Sunday, but the prep had caused a minor frenzy of activity. Cleaning, making up his room, going to IKEA to purchase a duvet and pillows (thanks goodness for the ‘As-Is’ bin, saved $40 on the pillows). I also made bread. Then as a last minute thing, I decided to use the lemons bombarding my back lawn, by making lemonade. I had no idea it was so easy to make what is essentially a lemon cordial/squash. I made much more than the recipe suggested due the overflowing bowl of lemons and by the end of it I had three bottles of lemon squash for the price of a bag of sugar.

I sold a bed on eBay. Those of you that know me well will know of my general distaste for eBay. But, as I had a double bed cluttering up the hallway, I decided to bite the bullet and get rid of it. The guy that brought it came to pick it up in Sunday night. He had hired a van and hadn’t taken the sizes provided into account when hiring, so he had to dismantle it in my driveway, using my tools. Idiot! It was dark, I was busy, I left him too it. My house guest N. was kind enough to sort out the boys with the bed. My distaste for this selling medium comes from this sort of stoopidity that comes with folks wanting a bargain. I have yet to have a reasonable selling experience.

The photo shoot for work turned out OK, but the start of the day wasn’t looking too hopeful. It was raining heavily and it was supposed to be an outdoorsy shoot. We had hired talent for the day, a photographer and organised a construction site to be available. It had to be done the day it was booked for. We managed to get a couple of breaks in the weather where it wasn’t throwing buckets over us, but we still needed to put plastic bags over the flash units and an umbrella over the photographer.

I have a message for the planet. Please stop, I would like to get off for just a short break.

It's just a name

I had a dream last night about something that got me to thinking this morning about names. I can’t remember the dream, but I pretty sure it involved someone knocking on my door. Of course someone may actually have knocked on my real door, but seeing as it was still dark at the time, I’ll consider it a dream and not a desperate plea of help. Anywho...back to my point...

Many years ago I saw Disney’s 101 Dalmatians. Apart from Cruella deVil being one of the scariest villains ever, I always recall seeing the scene where Roger and Anita walk through the park and see all the dogs that look like their owners. The long coated Afghan cantering with a lanky hippy, the bulldog with a pumped up fighter and the small fluffy with a well dressed girl in pink with ribbons. Like for like is what they were saying, I think.

So the name thing can also be like for like. I know a Mr. Gumm, he’s a dentist. He wasn’t my surgeon, but Mr. Andrew Bone worked in the same building as my orthopaedic doctor. Mr. Kidney is a nephrologist on the list of specialists that my Doctor looked at when she was looking for a consultant for me. A guy I worked with was called Mr. Trainer; he’s the Learning and Development Manager and was a school teacher.

The same goes for addresses...I live on Rope Crescent, those that know me, know I have a passion for knots.

Can you imagine though, standing in an elevator, ascending to the 13th floor and noticing that the maintenance company for said lift, lists their address as Ricketty Street

Muffin stuffin'

A couple months ago I did a bread baking class. I got me to thinking…I like cooking and I’m not terrible at it.

So after spending a day in the kitchen last weekend, kneading dough and making a Lamb Shank Casserole for dinner, I decided to make savoury muffins on Tuesday. My first attempt at this recipe turned out a bit flat, I was copying it from the book 'The Baking Bible', but I misread so I used plain flour instead of self-raising. I also used tomato paste (as the book tells you too). The result was a bit stodgy, but tasty, so I decided to fiddle with the recipe and make it my own. This a quick dish that could be rustled up for those surprise guests that just 'pop in'. I give you:

Pesto and Cheese Muffins

Prep time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 10-15 minutes

Ingredients
2 cups of self-raising flour
½ tsp of salt and pepper (mixed)
1 egg
¾ cup of water
1.5 cups of grated cheese (I used Vintage Cheddar)
¼ cup of pesto

Method
Pre-grease your muffin trays.
Put all the dry ingredients in a large bowl, gently combine with a folk.
Add the egg and water and combine with folk until all the ingredients are together. Mixture will be firm but sticky.
Spoon the approximately half the mixture into then tins.
Add one teaspoon of pesto to the top of the mixture.
Add the other half of the mixture to cover the pesto. Too much pesto and the top will not stick to the bottom and seal the pesto in.
Sprinkle a little grated cheese to the top of the muffin (I used Parmesan).

Place in the preheated oven (200degrees) and bake for 10 minutes or until golden brown.


Eat while warm and you'll eat them all. Eat the following day and you'll be able to pace yourself, but barely :-)

As an afterthought I decided you could pretty much use any pasta pesto for this recipe. I have a nice roasted capsicum (pepper), cashew and chilli paste in the cupboard, I may try that next.

Tick Tock

In the last 24 hours I have pulled two ticks off Oren (for those just joining us, Oren is my second feline child). One was attached to her lacrimal punctum (the bit a human would put eyeliner on) and one on her lip. They were both small, but they were paralysis ticks, and they are renowned for being nasty little buggers. While the native wildlife can sustain many at a time, imported critters, such as cats, dogs, sheep and cows, tend to have a nasty experience with them and often die.

She is two and half now and these are the first ticks I’ve ever found on her. It means I have to search her daily now to ensure she gets no more and if she does, get them off as soon as possible.

I may even need to keep an eye on Cara (first canine child). While she doesn’t spend any extended time outside, she so small, if she was to pick one up I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to have an effect on her.

Puss (first feline child) used to get a lot of them when I lived a little further north and he was more of an outside explorer. Now he’s nearly 12 and a tad arthritic, I’m not so worried about him, but there was a time he nearly died for tick poisoning, so I’m very aware of the dangers of not finding them quickly.

I found him lying on his side, half under the bed, breathing laboured. I rushed him to the vet, it took us half an hour of searching before we found the offender. It was a female, engorged to the size of my little finger nail, sucking the blood from the inside of his lip. The size of the sucker, she would have been there about five days, it's more than likely his continued exposure that meant that he surrived as long as he did with one attached. He had a dose of anti-venom, but it was still touch and go for a while. He vomited pure green, fitted, spasmed and drew the blood of the vet. I cried at the thought of losing him. He had a two day stay at Auntie Anna’s (the vet) I had a large bill.

I’ll be body searching my kids daily from here on out.

1st April, again?

I was on the train travelling to work when this email popped up on my phone. It's from the office manager where I work. I really did have to stifle a snort of laughter upon reading it.

I came into work this morning with the intention of finding out what the term ‘planking’ amongst social networkers means. This was prompted for 2 reasons:

• About 50% of our Corporate Office personnel are young and I feel the need to remain in touch with the ‘lingo’.

• Media vehicles are concerned about the increased number of personal injuries and deaths reported in the past week.

For those of you who don’t know, some rather interesting sites define ‘planking’ as the ‘ART’ (???)of challenging our body physically by trying to balance it on or between objects and it appears that the more extreme the idea the better.

I have been made aware that ‘planking’ is being practised in our own office.

Please be advised that ‘planking’ at work goes against our ‘safety above all else’ value and the practice is unacceptable.

I'm definitely gonna stick to Teapotting after this email, it scared me off being a planker. :-)

The Joy of Honey

At the request of my current housemate, I made dessert. I didn’t have anything fancy in the cupboard, but thanks to the recipe on the side of the Kellogg’s Cornflakes I was able to rustle up a treat or four.

I had Cornflakes, honey, butter and sugar, but I didn’t have cup cake cases, so I rolled out a few ramekins. It meant I had supersize Honey joys and only four, rather than 16.

They were yummy, crisp and buttery :)


Kellogg's Honey Joys

Ingredients
90g margarine or butter (I picked butter:-)
1/3 cup sugar (I went half/half white and raw)
1 tbsp honey
4 cups of Kellogg's Cornflakes

Method
Preheat oven to 150 degrees.
Melt butter/marg sugar and honey in saucepan until frothy.
Add Kellogg's Cornflakes and mix well.
Spoon into paper cupcake cases.
Bake in slow oven for 10 minutes
Allow to cool.


I'll keep working on my food photography :-)

It's not our policy

Yesterday I misplaced my fortnightly train ticket. I searched all my bags including Cara's and to no avail. Gone. I have no idea how, it's a total mystery.

I did however have the receipt in my wallet. $62 (that converts to US$65.86, 40UKPounds, 5,716 Kenyan Shillings, 10,267 Nigerian Naira and 187.66 Turkmenistan New Manats)

After being sent to the Station Master by the ticket seller I was told my ticket was considered lost as if it where cash.

'If you lost a fifty dollar note you wouldn't expect it to be replaced' he told me.

I immediately came back with, ‘If I lost $50 I wouldn’t have a receipt’.

‘It’s not our policy to replace tickets based on a receipt’.

After a little sweet talk from me, he very kindly gave me a blue replacement ticket until the 23rd (same as the lost ticket). But I still walked out of the office thinking how ridiculous it is to give receipts but them to mean nothing. Every other business in the world has to honour the receipt, why not Rail Corp?

Stranger things have happened

I confess, I can’t think of many, but I’m sure they have.

The weather has turned cold in Sydney. Those of you that live here will know what I speak off, those that reside in other, far flung place, may not. On average Sydney gets seven days of temperatures below five degrees overnight in Winter. We’re still in Autumn and we have clocked up nearly two week of frosts. FROST! In Sydney. It’s almost unheard of.

Now, I’m not really one to complain about the weather, I like cold days with sunshine. Not too keen on wind or rain, but those lovely crisp days when the sun shines and the flowers still smile, make my heart sing. Thanks to a southerly coming up from Antarctica we’re getting those kind of days.

When I moved in November I moved my belonging into a house with a real fireplace. One you put logs in. I was told when I took up residence that it was in good working order, I found out on February, that it wasn’t. The baffle (the think steel plate just below the chimney hole) was melted through and it was missing several insulation bricks. After much tooing and frowing, the Landlord finally decreed that they would pay for the repairs. Of course, this was just as every man and his dog also wanted their chimneys and fireplaces serviced. So I’m on a list...he’s coming on 21st May.

The cold snap has been here for a few weeks now and the house was becoming as cold inside as outside. It was inhumane, to me, my housemate S and the animals. When you can see your breath inside, it’s too cold. So I lit the fire.

After three days the baffle snapped in half and fell out.

Fan heaters didn’t do a bad job for a couple of days, then the temperature dropped again. On Saturday, I’d had enough of not being able to feel my fingers so I lit the fire. Baffle and bricks be damned...I needed heat.

The smell of the wood, the heat that filled the room, the gentle roar and the glow in the house brought out the domestic goddess. I baked bread, I cooked lamb shanks and I felt like making biscuits. I never really want to cook. I’m sure it was the influence of the real fire burning in the corner. Maybe it’s a primal instinct to make home and nest. Maybe, and I think this may be it, it was the years of a real fire as a child when we’d spend time in the kitchen in the colder months (most of the year in the UK) baking cakes, Muv made a mean Victoria Sponge, making sweeties (rum truffle or clotted cream fudge anyone?), Yum Yum Pie, Bread and Butter pudding and all manner of other goodies. Muv was a regular Barbara Good. There was always a cake in the cupboard.

The bread has gone and due to lack of ingredients the only sweet treat I could make was Honey Joys. I had sugar, butter, honey and cornflakes in the cupboard, but as I didn’t have any paper cases I made giant ones in pate ramekins. It was a bit of fun.

I’ve been out and purchased baking things...almonds, castor and icing sugar, vanilla essence, condensed milk, and a couple of things to try a Jamie Oliver recipe. I’m even thinking of doing what Julie Powell did, but unlike her, rather than a book of savouries’ and general Frenchieness, I thought I'd work my way through the Baking Bible.

Wiring

Why is it when we a presented with a circle we work clockwise?

A picture: Start at the top, move to the right and work your way around the bottom and back up the left side until you reach the top again.

A Cricket Oval: walk to the left and work your way around. If you were being watched from above, you’d be going clockwise. I tried walking to the right, but it felt strange.

I don’t know about you, but I also look at images in clockwise. What’s the first thing you notice about this image?



Then where did you look?

It’s just a theory of mine, but it could just be me. Feel free to debunk this generalist view if you like.

The Printed Word

I watched a movie last night. It was released in 1998. You may have heard of it, it called ‘You’ve got Mail’ and it stars Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

For those that have been living under a rock for 13 years and may not have seen it, it’s about two people who meet online and fall in love despite not knowing each others names, meanwhile in the real world they do know each other and only ever really exchange cutting remarks as they are competitors in business. She own a small book store that specialises in children’s books and service (she knows all of her customer’s names), he a mulit-millionaire that own a chain of book superstores that offer books at a cheap price, but little in the way of service or knowledge about books (think Borders). Of course, as with all romantic comedies, it turns out well in the end.

Apart from the sound of dial-up internet, which I had almost forgotten, the movie got me thinking about books and where they are heading.

I’m sure when Nora Ephron devised the tale, she had no idea that in 2011 book superstores would be closing because people had stopped buy books made from paper and had switched to electronic tomes. No everybody of course. I still love the feel of the paper and board in my hands, the smell of the ink on freshly pulped wood. I know it’s frightfully un-PC of me, but I like books.

I enjoy spending time fossicking the shelves of second hand book shops for that illusive find. Being surrounded by the mustiness of the years of thumbing the pages have seen. The paper of varying thickness; tissue thin in wartime to save resources, sturdy and wrinkle free in the 60s when nothing needed to be saved, including love. Foxy spots of yellow on the pages and inscriptions of congratulations, happy birthday and ownership; you read more than just the story in print. Sometimes you find added bonuses between the pages; a theatre ticket, a train ticket or postcard. These items tell you even more about the previous owner.

With an electronic book you can make notations and highlight interesting passages, you can turn the pages and you can, or course, read it. But you can’t feel it, smell it, and love it. You can’t take care not to crack the spine, you can’t inscribe it as a gift and you can’t pass it on.

I hope books don’t disappear in my lifetime, after all where would the girl of the world be without pearls of wisdom like ‘Linda Learns to Type’ by Patirica Baldwin written in 1961. What will the world do without tales of young ladies aspiring to be private secretaries?

ANTM

America's Next Top Model cycle 15 has started screening in Australia.

That's all I have to say about that :-)


The beautiful, and educational Miss Tyra Banks