Love:Hate IKEA

Who doesn't love a little bit of IKEA? But man - the process is a killer, isn't it??

We moved office about a month ago and needed some additional furniture. Being on a 'prudent' budget, quite a few pieces are from the famous Swedish flat-packer.

Last Sunday, my biz partner Mandy took the long-distant hike out to IKEA and placed the order for the last of the furniture. I brought the appropriate tools into the office in anticipation of throwing it together. The day wore on and nothing.

I called and having waited while they checked, discovered that Mands had in fact, forgotten to pay for said purchases so they'd cancelled the order. No worries, I said, I'll just grab my credit card and pay over the phone and they can deliver it tomorrow.

Whoa up there, girlfriend! 

No - you can't do that! That would be way too easy and obvious. No. You need to come back in-store and do it all again.

Kill me now!

So on Saturday morning, after a frantic week of work,  I decided to rip this thing off like a band-aid and took the not-insignificant journey out to the store. I avoided the compulsory long distance meander through every department, thinking I was oh-so clever ducking straight in via Returns. I still had Mands' paper work so it was all quite smooth and I was feeling super smug and efficient  - until it got to the delivery.

Can I have that delivered to the office on Monday, please?

No of course you can't you silly customer! If you buy it today, there is only next day delivery. That will tomorrow, Sunday. Or, you can come back to the store on Sunday and order it then, pray we still have what you want in stock, and have it delivered Monday.

Not very flexible, is it? I noted, stating the obvious. No, my customer service guy agreed, it's not.

So my Sunday morning was spent in the office. I'd chosen the 8am - 12noon 'window' and a couple of cheery young guys called in advance and lugged it up the stairs. It's built and it's done and for the money, it looks pretty good!

I just hope I don't have to go back there any time soon.....


PS My proof reader Penny is galavanting around Europe, bathed in warmth and culture, chilled wine and delicious food.... lucky thing. But it means there are probably typos galore - soz.

The New Bag

Is there a check list for a new bag?

There should be as I've invested in a new bag and apart from liking the look, I hate it.

Yes, I know hate is a very strong word, but it's driving me crazy.

I'm not one of those fashionable types who changes their bag to match each outfit - I wish I was but I'm not. On the odd occasion I do swap a bag, guaranteed something vital will be left behind like my security pass or the lipstick that's just the right colour - so I find it much easier to have one bag and use it everyday for, well, at least a year.

Here's my old bag:

And my new one:

Hard to tell from the pics but the new one is:

• Pony (cow hide/fuzzy)
• Has a flap over the front (saddle bag style) and a chain that loops around and clips it shut
• Black
• Quite a bit smaller
• Giving me the shits!!!

Okay - so I have had my money's worth from the old one. I loved the patent leather, the blue, the gold hardware, the top zip that meant I could keep throwing things in it -  my sunglasses, the computer charger, note books, a projector adaptor, bottles of perfume, pens, lipsticks and glosses galore - until it was a veritable mobile stationery and cosmetic cupboard.

But the new one... no chance.

I can't even get my reading glasses and sunglasses in it.

So what was I thinking?

Clearly, I wasn't. Just "Need new bag. Can't find anything I love. Bored. Oh that will do."

And so I'm now paying the price. Yes it looks cute but its as practical as an ashtray on a motorcycle.

So I'm sharing this as a warning.... although I suspect everyone already knew this!!

More sexisim

Gee - sexism is alive and well in the world of real estate (although in fairness, I know plenty who aren't).

Remember the woman at netball who asked if I was a nurse? This one tops even that.

But I'm clearly a woman of menopausal age, which, according to research, means the filter between my brain and mouth is disappearing fast (if it ever existed!) so for god's sake do NOT provoke me!! Or an unpleasant exchange like this one may ensue.

So, picture this; an apartment in the block that overlooks our backyard was open for inspection and Sass was dead keen to have a look on our way to the dry cleaners. Up we popped and discovered you can't really see into our yard at all.

Dad!! Sass yelled over the balcony, knowing Geoff was working on the shed.

What, Sass? he yelled back

You can't see into the backyard from up here.

The real estate agent joined us.

Tell dad to come up .... and bring his cheque book!

Oh hilarious - not. 

Not him, but in the ballpark.

Actually mate, I said (and I rarely use the term 'mate' but I was determined to drag him to my level - up or down, I wasn't sure) eyeballing him, I'm the one with the money*. 

I was so deadpan, I even surprised myself, but it took the stupid grin off his face as he tried desperately to dig himself out of that hole.

Well, he spluttered, they do say the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.

Seriously. 

I'm not talking about raising kids, I quipped, cool as a cucumber. I even hated me by this point. I was being so breathtakingly rude I could have given myself a slap, but I was so riled by his casual, blatant sexism - it was inexcusable behaviour. By both of us.

And we left.

*  I just made up that comment about the money - it's not true - but I was provoked. 

The Capsule

You probably remember that I do a bit of volunteer work with Avalon Centre, which accepts donations of second hand clothes and bedding and distributes them to the homeless (among other fabulous services).

One of my favourite jobs is going through the old handbags - just to see if someone has inadvertently left us a huge wad of cash or some other valuable treasure (so far nothing but a few foreign coins, but I live in hope!)

Last week, as I dug through a 'Fendi' bag (I say 'Fendi' because I don't think was actually a Fendi) I found a capsule that looked just like this, in the lining.

I wonder what it is.... I asked of no one in particular.

Maybe you should take it and find out, Deb, the woman behind Avalon suggested as she bustled past, we'll all sit around and see what happens.... but not before you've finished all your work!

Laugh! No wonder I keep turning up.

A few bags later, I pulled out a computer satchel. What do you think of this bag, Grace?  I asked a fellow volunteer and started modelling it, slinging it from my shoulder, tucking it under my arm, doing my best catwalk impersonation. 

Have you taken that tablet? Grace asked me with a serious expression. 

Ha! No - just high on life, Grace!

A different kind of run

Last night, my buddy (and trusty proof-reader) Penny, her son Darcy and I did the Wings For Life World Run. Yes, no champagne for us this Mother's Day.

On the start line and still brimming with energy!

It started at 9pm here in Melbourne as it happens at the same time in 34 locations across the globe. It had bucketed rain most of the day but miraculously stopped while we ran.

With global sponsors like Puma, Garmin and Red Bull, it's a fantastic marketing event as 100% of the $50 entry fee is donated to spinal cord research ('Run for those who can't') and it's a really novel event.

You're given a race kit including a head torch and a fluro T with a big arrow pointing right to remind participants to stick to the right as they run down the freeway. Because, as we discovered, there are trucks full of sheep and other cargo and cars whistling down the lanes on the left at about 100km per hour!!

Once you set off, there is no set distance, it's as far as you get before the Catcher Car catches you. Here's how that works:

It was fun, novel and a good cause. I made 11.6km (the car must scan you as it passes as you are wearing race bibs) and then walked to the 12km stop to await a bus. Although I met a couple of really lovely people, a light drizzle and breeze while standing on the side of a freeway at 11pm on a Sunday isn't much fun. We were issued space blankets and water on the bus when it eventually arrived.

The volunteer was radio-ing HQ:
Shall we drive on to 14ks or head straight back?
Head straight back!!! Yelled the passengers.
Drive on? Okay.
Only if we can take our photo with the 14k marker... I suggested. Didn't happen...

Maybe I just need to run a bit faster next year.

The CCC

Back before every one had smart phones, you actually had a separate piece of equipment to take photos or videos. Imagine! My partner's family, whose surname starts with a C, swore they had been inflicted with a camera curse - known as the CCC.

The CCC presented itself whenever there was a particularly important family event, big overseas holiday or other milestone when said equipment invariably failed.

One such occasion was one of the girls' baptism. (Yes, yes, we're atheists - let's just put that down to tradition and pleasing grandparents.) The camera just wouldn't take a picture. Geoff suggested it was because the chapel was too cold, which is funny really because even then I was sure I'd seen photos taken in Antarctica and I'm pretty sure that would have been a shite-load colder than a chapel in Melbourne.

Now we all have the ability to capture a moment on our phones, it seems the curse has moved on.... to construction.

Oh. My. God. I cannot begin to tell you how frustrating the construction of our shed has been. We had trouble with council and permits, getting the design finalised, the steel was delayed, the concreters were delayed due to rain, the wrong cedar was ordered, our original window guy fell through (I'm sure you remember that story!), the carpenter's mother became ill, the shutter people tried to cancel the job about 8 times because they thought is was too hard, an urgent renovation came up for Geoff and his team - on and on and on it goes.

Even at our street Christmas party, waaaaay back in December I was lamenting the languishing of this project.
I should never have started sleeping with the builder! I exclaimed in exasperation.
Gathering from the awkward expression on some of my neighbours' faces, I realised they were unaware that Geoff is the builder! Tempted though I was not to clarify, I did. (Unlike me, I know...)

Some progress has occurred. The structure is up, the windows are in, the shutters installed, the graffiti on the exterior is complete and the ceiling is all in. Geoff assures me the cabinet maker is coming next week and the tiler shortly after that.... I'll get back to you.

And the CCC continues....

Ceiling and windows - finally in.

Graffiti by Dan and Mayonaize through 90Degrees on the exterior facing the laneways... to deter graffiti!!

The Price of Authenticity

I love a little authenticity, something bespoke, organic, rustic - especially in the kitchen.

Which is why I'm a huge fan of MudAustralia porcelain plates, bowls, serving dishes, mugs, et al. Each is an original, all hand poured, hand glazed and finished. Mine are mostly seconds, although to me, that slight 'flaw' is actually more evidence of their bespoke origin and character.

Similarly, I'm a big fan of the iron wood chopping boards that we use instead of small plates. They're very handy - you can make your sandwich straight on them, cut and eat, use them as trivets for hot dishes on the table and even as serving boards for cheese.

At Christmas, I took it one step further and got wooden handled cutlery. Isn't it gorgeous? Each piece unique.

So perhaps it was understandable that I was a little bit excited when I saw this in The Good Weekend - 250 million year old Himalayan salt chunks with block and grater.

Look at this, Elle! I enthused. How amazing is that? 250 million years old... it's beautiful!!

She did not share my enthusiasm. Indignant to the max she said, Oh,,, my... god! Is it not enough that we have to hand wash the cutlery? That we'll  now have to grate our own salt??

I haven't bought it... yet.