Wintry buds

Bleak, last week.
(Much sunnier today)

The stuff superstitions are made of

I got up this morning just before 5am kickoff for Australia vs Croatia, but forgot to grab my hat as I stumbled from the bedroom. Thinking, well it doesn't really matter, I'm watching it alone anyway, I just grabbed a different beanie from the hall cupboard. K got up for a quick update not long after Croatia's second goal, and boy were things were looking grim. It wasn't long before I gave in to the primitive side of my brain and went to retrieve the proper coloured headwear from the bedroom. From there it only took a few minutes for the goal to come, resulting in a draw that feels like a win (for those who aren't following along at home, that's because it gets us through to the next round).

You better chow down or it's gonna get cold

So here we were eating pizza again. But this was quite a different proposition. I knew K was planning something out of the ordinary when we did the grocery shopping on Sunday evening. He kept disappearing to hunt down odd items or simply to seek inspiration. And he indicated that what he was planning was for Monday night because there wouldn't be the proper amount of time that night for whatever extravaganza he was planning.


I am not usually one to make 'best-of' statements. But I think this really was the best pizza I ever ate. The base was thick but light, kind of like a light sourdough. Secret ingredient: a small quantity of potato. The toppings included all my favourite things: including - but not limited to - olives, artichoke hearts, pine nuts, tomato, a little more potato. And, FOUR kinds of cheese, including wasabi cheese which we've only just discovered.

For a while I've been taking photos of lovely meals people cook for me. I don't really like spending much time cooking so I really appreciate a good meal cooked by someone else. I even appreciate a merely edible meal cooked by someone else. I quickly discovered that it's really hard to take good food photos. It's usually at night so the lack of natural light makes it tricky. But it's not just that, it also seems to me that a non-professional food photo can look really good if you have the memory to go with it of how the food tasted and smelled, but otherwise might lack a certain something. I think it's not just the photogaphy skills (though I could do with more of those) but also the food styling - perfect plate, no crumbs or spills around the edge, and probably some other arcane stuff I don't know about. I'm usually in too much of a hurry to get on with eating to spend a long time getting the photo right.

The delicious dinner option that dare not speak its name

K and I had pizza for dinner. This is often a delicate negotiation process. The problem is that once the word 'pizza' has been said aloud, even just as part of a question, there is no going back. So it goes along the lines of: I don't want to cook tonight. Do you think you might feel like cooking? If not, I could give you a call just before I head home, to see what you want to do.

This at least leaves the appearance of the option of one of us being virtuous by cooking something.

And no, I don't think it would work if we spelled it out, like some people do with dogs and the exciting word that starts with 'w'. We never bother to spell it with Mia and Elvis because that would be a waste of good entertainment. They don't even need the actual word, just something that sounds similar-ish, as long as it is in the right kind of sentence. They can always be relied upon to go nuts in response to: Mia, do you want to have a little talk? And my favourite: Elvis.... are you ready to ROCK?!

You've got the power to know you're indestructible

The hat is done (since last Wednesday, actually). The stage is set. Don't suck, Socceroos! I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Life is very short, and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friends

Despite several much lovelier projects calling, after watching the Socceroos not losing on Sunday night, I suddenly had to go into Lincraft for an assortment of tacky acrylic in patriotic colours, to make a Don't-Suck-Socceroos hat. I had to hurry because I'm a realist and their World Cup campaign might not last that long. (Isn't it good to be there, though!) How often will I wear a green and gold beanie that surely doesn't suit me? Oh well, maybe it will be called into service again for the definitely don't-suck-Opals or Matildas.

The higher you fly the deeper you go

Yesterday afternoon I suddenly realised it was the last day to see 65 Roses, an exhibition at the School of Art Foyer Gallery, seeking to raise awareness of Cystic Fibrosis and raise money for the Australian Cystic Fibrosis Research Trust. The name comes from a bittersweet story about a little boy who was told his sister had cystic fibrosis but heard it as, you guessed it, '65 Roses'. So the rose was the theme of the show. The main reason I made the effort was to see Demelza's sweet Dolly before she went off to her new owner.

Some of the rose-themed work was a bit cute or obvious for my liking but there was also a lot of good stuff. It was nice to see such a range of artists' work all at once.

I bought this one. Untitled, by Paloma Ramos. Couldn't resist that green monkey and all the green roses. I love the way it looks like a little shrine, sort of like the Catholic ones that fasinated me in Poland. I would like to find out the story behind it.