The World According To Me

Okay, okay, so after the complete fucking atrocity of my birthday last year I swore there would be no repeat of that ever again because, well, birthdays are supposed to be special, right?

Have promised to go to the local footy today, only it is bloody freezing and drizzling and my hair is starting to frizz in anticipation.

Do I rug up and venture out into the day, drink cheap beer and eat sausages in bread whilst stemming the inevitable drippy-cold nose? Or do I pike and spend as much as humanly possible of my Saturday in pyjamas, eating crisps?


Ooooooh, conundrum.

I'm completely addicted. The ones I got from the market on the weekend were a disappointment, to be honest. Not bitey enough. 'Always Fresh' do the best wasabi peas. I have an open packet beside me, my nose is running and my mouth is burning like a motherfucker. Half a handful at once will do that.

But I won't stop, oh no no no.

A Friday night girly gathering. Big glasses of mid-priced wine, poorly played darts, Shaun of the Dead for the 40th time (still love it).


A Saturday morning girly trip to the markets.


Purchased: A big bag of wasabi peas (finished off as I type this). A headwrap in chocolate browns from an English hippy.


Spotted: Michael Leunig. I wanted to stop him and tell him that my fridge is covered with his work, ripped unevenly from the newspaper. I didn't. A tall man with shaggy brown hair and piercing blue eyes (an actor from Seachange apparently. I never watched it so I've no idea who he is, but even amongst the hoards at the Violet Town markets he stood out to me. He had a presence). A friend who has spent the last twelve months in far away places doing volunteer work for OzGREEN. He hugged me so tightly I almost lost my breath. I have never before known someone who has such an aura of kindness about them. He is very special.


Ate: Everything possible. Samples of relish with relish. Mustard on broken crackers. Slivers of brie that was so creamy it melted onto fingers. Two chicken satay sticks with the most delectable peanut sauce you could conceive. The lady who runs that stall is the real deal. "Can you tell me what the curry puffs have in them?", "Just wegies. Only wegies".




A Saturday night spent with girl(y)friends. Platters of cheese, olives, big dark sundried tomatoes, pumpkin and cashew dip, the best tapenade I have ever tasted, warm turkish bread with olive oil and dukkah, so much wine. The Beatles in the background.



A long-ish walk to a trendy bar. Marveling at the young poppets and the scarceness of adequate clothing. Illusion shots at the bar, vodka and orange in the beer garden. Dancing in front of the decks. We are really too old for that shit. But now and again we love it.


This morning I pointedly brewed coffee and poached two eggs, setting them on grain-filled toast with cracked pepper and warm hollandaise from the jar. The eggs were perfect. I have never perfectly poached eggs before. I like to think the universe is conspiring. I sat at the table while my housemates slept, ate the eggs, drank the coffee and watched out on to the street for something interesting to happen. An elderly man walked his dog past the house, slowly.


I pointedly made a lunch of vegetable frittata and salad, with kalamata olives and danish feta included. I sat at the table and ate while reading the A2. I watched out on the street for something interesting to happen. The neighbour across from our house parked his porche.


There is a pot of soup cooling on the stove, waiting for my brand new stick mixer to come and finish it up. Pumpkin and sweet potato, with plenty of turmeric. My winter soup.


I am utterly obsessed with food right now. Is it obvious?



This weekend has been lovely. It is important for me to take stock once in a while, to remember how lucky I am, really. To remember that sometimes the shit just needs to take a back seat and let the good things shine through.