proof positive

Santa came to my home last night.




He drank his Coopers Pale Ale to the lees.




He ate his star-shaped iced shortbread.




And the reindeer had a gnaw on a carrot.

I wish you all a merry Xmas and a peaceful holiday season. Be safe & well.

palindromes are erasemordnilap

... which has nothing to do with this picture, which I call 'leafs'(sfael).

pointy

Inspired by this post by headbang8 over at Deutschland Uber Elvis, I give you my favourite New York building.


And my favourite poem, by John Lillison:

O pointy birds, o pointy pointy.
Anoint my head, anointy-nointy.

Such heights of poesy as Joey & Atlas can only dream on.

wheel

Bougainvillea spectabilis redux

Last year, we visited a bougainvillea in Spain, with a dear little amphibian to boot. Here is a spectacular specimen living near Michaelangelo Optica and Cowboy Gee in Erskineville.



The heady honey fragrance can be nosed from metres away (yards for our newly Democratic friends). I'd like to bottle it for Anaglyph.

the Race that Stops a Nation

It is the first Tuesday in November, and today a race will be run which brings an entire Nation together. Hope will struggle with Despair, Triumph hand in hand with Defeat. A whole Nation's hearts will beat strongly, quickly, as one. Then Joy unalloyed for the Winner, and the losers drag home with empty wallets, dreading the hangover of the morrow.

Yes, folks, it is Melbourne Cup Day. Don't ring Australia at 3.20pm, no-one will answer the phone.

Before the day is out, you must make the eternal, and difficult, choice between a fascinator and a hat.

Oh, and the horses. The beautiful horses.





So good luck to us all today in our voting, er I mean, betting. I like a hat, but this year I'm all for the Fascinator.

update: 45-1 roughie Viewed has won the Melbourne Cup, the twelfth for magic trainer Bart Cummings.

Brachychiton acerifolius

here's another view of the Illawarra Flame Tree because chickie liked it so much.

John Mills Himself

Now you know as much as I do.

Brisbane, Queensland

(thanks to Schatzi for the last two photos, and to the stunning State Library of Queensland for the wireless connection)

new kid on the block

And so we welcome Angry Ginger into the world. He jumped the gun, and is tearing ahead.

Cissy Aged One has some words of wisdom for him:
Have your stuffed koala beside you at all times, taking care he is not larger than you are; ensure you are wearing a jaunty hat made out of a birthday card; and always, I mean always, have your hand down your pants.

dad

Dad died three years ago today. Here he is in 1960 with 8 week old Cissy and her brother.



Mum labelled the photo on the back ...

("Dad's hard afternoon")




Here we are in LA, on the porch of our house. Dad was at USC on a Fullbright scholarship.



Sydney 1963. And there's nothing like tickling fingers to induce hysteria in small children.

He was a great dad as dads go. And as dads go, he went. (Special 'dad joke' for Dad, who had many).

Magnolia grandiflora

Magnolias are scenting the air. It'll be the jacarandas next. Wonderful.

rosy fingered dawn

Outside my window this morning. Happy Sunday everyone. I'm at the bookshop today if you want to drop by.

Spring continues apace

I love trees. But I wouldn't want to be one.

pirates off the port bow

Avast, ye lubbers, Bella Grim & her grimy band of scallywags have boarded the SS Ginger Stick. Break out the Rum, smartly now, and keep a weather eye out for the Squid.

black berries

Shiny. But only eat them if you'd like a swift trip to a convenient mortuary. Or, maybe they are delicious. Who can say? Who was the first homo sapiens sapiens to try one? Hey, Barry, this is shiny. Eat this. *snigger*. Maybe Homo sapiens idaltu tested it out. And that's why they are extinct (take that, fraternal sub-species).

I'm just hanging out for Friday.

completely cactus

jugs

I promised Miss Rag.

bud

Spring is busting out all over.

candy stripe pistol shrimp

Prompted by JR's pedantry over at Tetherd Cow Ahead, I present you with the Candy Stripe Pistol Shrimp, one of several species named for my father. (The latin name, dear readers. I don't want you getting the idea dad was Mister Pistol Shrimp. [That's Doctor Pistol Shrimp, to you.] Though that would have been cool, no?)

Of course, being a research scientist, a marine biologist by trade, it is not uncommon to have a species named after you. But Dad is the envy of his gang in that he has a Genus named after him too. Go Dad. Dead three years come October 9th, but alive in taxonomy.

Next up in the series: the Stout-Legged Wren - extinct, but on a stamp.

funerary cherub

This morning, a lovely grey veiling rain is falling on Sydney. My home is a haven. Today I am drawing. It is the last day of Winter. This chap stands sentinel on a grave in Bubenreuth cemetery. I wonder what sky he is under today.

putting your whole life on eBay - some thoughts

The decision to put your whole life on eBay is not taken lightly. But once taken, a rush of energy and a sense of elation takes hold. Then there's the coughing as your burrowing dislodges years of dust.

When I say my whole life is on eBay, I might be exaggerating just slightly. But basically everything I own is coming under intense scrutiny, and 83% of it is up for sale. There are things I felt I could never part with, which now I can't wait to enshrine in bubble wrap and entrust to Australia Post.

(Whoever else is making money on eBay, the Post Office is creaming it.)

I now have CHOAS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome) as there is stuff literally everywhere all over my apartment. Yes, Rev - literally. Me and my laptop and my tape measure and my scales crouch in a small clearing, surrounded by tottering piles. I sleep with clothing scattered all over the bed. (Don't you wish you knew my username so you could buy some of that stuff)

Everyone wants in. Somehow the idea excites or scares or challenges people. Although some are initially taken aback, now I'm a clearinghouse for friends' bits and bobs. Oh you should see the garments the Gucci Mama has given me to sell, with the swing tags twinkling in the light.

I wrap everything beautifully. I would say it is in my nature to do so, but also I think of the people receiving the items, and the pleasure they will get. More than that, I have realised I'm honouring my things, having a little moment with them before they are sent away. Because it's not that I don't like them.

Funny, the handful of things that gave me a real pang to list, I thought, okay if it doesn't sell, you can keep it. You know the tag of that story. They all sold.

I try to write lively & engaging descriptions. And I am scrupulous about indicating faults.

But describing is not easy. You may think, oh yes, this top is funky, I'll put funky. Then you find yourself holding up a top and staring at it for minutes at a time as you interrogate the question, "Is this top really 'funky'? Or not? Is it perhaps 'spunky'? If I call it 'groovy' is that a naughty fib?"

Here are some of my favourite describing words: fresh, suave, pretty, unusual, wild, stylish, elegant, cheeky, classic, soft, divine, unique, jazzy, snazzy, crisp, chic, fab.

Here are some of the colour names I used: asparagus, deep leaf, donkey, crimson, dirty brown, mushroom, oatmeal (trying very hard not to say 'beige'), french blue, powder blue, navy, peach, chocolate, grey marle, silver, black, deep black & true black.

And I'll be doing some "live" selling too. Schmoopy & I are having a stall at Rozelle Markets on Sunday. Come down & say hi.

only these

Here is a small thing which drives me crazy with exasperation. Say you want a red 7 litre plastic bucket. You go to a hardware shop. You say "Do you have any red plastic buckets?" The sales persons say "No, only these" pointing to a stack of red 7 litre plastic buckets.

What is it with the "only these"? I have exactly what you are after, but I respond "No, only these".

I thought perhaps this was an Antipodean habit. But on my recent trip to the United States, I found myself in picturesque Pennsylvania. I have been wanting some old wooden children's blocks for a while, so when I spotted a charming bric-a-brac shop in Frenchtown, naturally I made moves to enquire. "Good morning", I began. "I wonder if you would have any old wooden children's blocks at all?". "No," replied the sweet silver-haired shop woman, "Only these".

my medal

Forget those pesky Olympics.



While many of you were sleeping, I did the 14 kilometre City 2 Surf, from lovely downtown Sydney to the sands of Bondi Beach.




Can you pick me out?

Christo in Paris

The French are just so bloody stylish, non?

hair today

Now that I have finished my film role, I can cut my hair. I've had to let it grow all these months - a little thing called continuity. But I don't know what to do with it. Has any woman ever said "I don't know what to do with my hair" before this? I wonder.

When I was a girl, I had long red hair down to my bum. As a grown-up I've had - long hair, short hair, shoulder length, several bobs including one 'shattered', Flock-of-Seagulls hair, perms (both body & root), a number 3, an asymetrical razor cut, a shag, plaits, Culture Club hair, a mohawk, a Vidal Sassoon, ponies high & low, braided extensions, seldom a fringe, and never a Farrah, a Diana, or a Jennifer (but I am considering an Aggy.) My dos have included, but not been limited to, french rolls, bouffants, messy day tease mad-woman hair, serious backcombing, crimping, curlering and enough product to float Queen Mary (the queen, not the ship).

And by the way, when am I going to get my first white hair? Every other woman I know dyes their hair (except the Gucci Mama - her blonde hair is turning an elegant silver).

Is it that I have had every hairstyle in the known universe and there's nothing left to try?

What oh what am I going to do with my hair?

Bridge

I met Doris twenty years ago on the comedy circuit. Today we took our first Bridge class. We are wondering if it is now time to put a wisteria rinse through our hair, and start referring to everyone as 'dear'.