The Course

I've undertaken a course. I've been wanting to do it for a couple of years and did a few things to prepare - like getting onto a NFP board. Finally, my chance arrived and I jumped in head first!

Truth be known, I am an unmitigated nerd.

I received the course reading material and a link to the pre-course course, 'Interpreting Financial Statements' which I launched into immediately. It took a few hours on a Saturday afternoon but I passed, printed off my own certificate and posted in to Facebook.

Do I know you? commented a friend I used to work with. Clearly I'd managed to hide my inner-nerd from her!

The pre-reading was estimated to take 30+ hours. In my case it was probably 60+ as I set myself my own little memory tests and Googled the unfamiliar. In fact, it took me to the Sunday before it started to get it done.

The course started last Monday. I tried to look like a proper business person, really I did. I had my nails done in a neutral beige - no green, blue, black, metallic, fluro or pastel -  I wore a black dress and didn't drop the f-bomb once!  

Not sure I nailed it. 

Maybe the it was the hooker shoes, the visible tattoo or the striped feathers and/or purple extensions in my hair - but they seemed to notice I wasn't one of them.

There were drinks after day one. I grabbed a glass of sparkling water and stood there for a bit before one of the guys from the organisation that runs the course came over and spoke to me. He was friendly. He popped over to get a drink and I swear - I was standing there again, wedged in between about 15 people and not one of them spoke to me or attempted to include me in the conversations going on around me. Shag on a rock. I was forced to wait for the 'host' to rescue me. It was so humiliating. Here's me on the phone to my business partner, telling her it was like day one at school and discovering none of the kids like you :(

Anyway, as the week rolled on, it did get better. In fact, by Friday, I had found some amazing people I was keen to connect with. (Although when I was telling the girls about one guy, who really was extremely impressive, Sass asked Are you going to ditch Dad?! For the record - no!) Also by Friday I'd let go of all attempts to fit in wardrobe-wise and went straight for the gold jeans and alpaca fur shrug. 

Now I just need to complete my assignment (suggested hours: 20-30, at the rate I do things, probably 50+) and a 2 1/2 hour exam and I'm done!

So if you've been wondering what's happened to the frequency of posts, now you know! 

Port Fairy Folk Festival 2015

Yes... that's where I've been. Well, that and having to read two huge folders in preparation for my course next week - but I'll save that for another post. Back to the #PFFF.

Some people think this is a festival of such daggy proportions they're surprised it draws a crowd at all. But it does! And an old crowd at that. We hazard to guess the mean cohort is in their late 60s. Perhaps the $290 a ticket and about $100 for kids between 12-18 is the reason why, but like our cruise on the Queen Mary 2, I felt young! And surely that's worth $290??

So, 'who was there?' I hear you ask.

Here's a taste:

Mark Seymour. My goodness, isn't he hot?! He can come and play his guitar and sing to me on my couch anytime!! According to wikipedia, he's also turning 59 this year. Amazing.

Sinaed O'Connor was the star billing. Christ knows why, she was shocking. She didn't speak and her mannerisms indicated a real annoyance and agitation to even be there. Luckily, we might have snuck in a cheeky red and some divine French brie - so all was not lost. So dull was it that I started Googling her - she's one fascinatingly strange and probably unhinged chick. My fave story was when her biggest hit, Nothing Compares 2U was at its peak. Prince, who wrote it, summonsed her to his house to let her know he was not happy with the language she was using during interviews, She told him to fuck off. I liked her better after reading that!

Mike Brady. I thought I was mistaken when I heard Up There Cazaly belting out from a tent - but no, he was there. When I saw him the next day - too briefly - he was singing Celtic ballads. He has a beautiful voice and can really tell a story that stabs you right in the heart. Go Mike!

Steve Poltz. Laugh! Unlike we peeps in advertising and marketing, this guy is actually a proper story teller - (a small distraction but if you have time, check out this very funny video on we creative types who think we're story tellers - language warning!)  - so much so I reckon he only sang about four songs in his hour-long gig. One story was about when he was dating Jewel (You Were Meant For Me - which Steve wrote and features in the clip). They went to Mexico and got caught up in a big drug bust. It was so funny it seemed implausible. So I Googled and found this....!!

Frankie J Holden and Wilbur Wild - I'm sad to say this was in the Shebeen (beer aplenty) but was like the Wiggles for the elderly. Fail.

Wagon - they're okay.

Geoff is a big fan of Shane Howard and Richard Thomas - both masters of their game.

BUT - and here's the big revelation, if you're looking for something cooler, head out of the enclosed ticketed area and into the streets and pubs. Two bands we spotted last year were back and as brilliant as ever. The crowd out here is about 30 years younger too - and ticketless!

Zeon. Yes - they're folky but get over it! The lead singer has an incredible voice - reminds me a bit of Dolores O'Riordan from the Cranberries.

And Buddha in A Chocolate Box. They played at The Stump pub. It was packed and heaving. Somehow we found ourselves front and centre. It was huge! It was also unbelievably hot with everyone sweating profusely. Apparently the aircon interferes with the equipment. My guess is it interferes with the sale of beer. One gorgeous young thing near us had such perfect make up we asked if she'd just arrived. 'No,' she said, 'I just spray my face with hairspray. Works a treat. Just the cheap strongest hold from the supermarket.' I must try that! I wonder if it takes out wrinkles?
Anyway, these guys are incredible - watch out for them around town. We're now officially groupies!

 









We're seeing Hozier at The Corner Hotel in a couple of weeks, so no doubt I'll bore you with my unprofessional critique of him as well. That'll be something to look forward to!!!

Elle's Ls

Elle got her Learner's Permit last week. Yay! She passed with two questions to spare. Am I alone in hoping the questions she got wrong weren't the important ones - like what to do at a red light??

Elle's a bit of a late starter. Most of her friends turned 16 and got their Ls last year. And oh how I laughed - the stories! Girls turning corners in heavy traffic, only to forget which side of the road they were meant to be on, parents insisting cars be stopped - in the middle of the road - and learners ordered out of the driver's seat, language that parents really shouldn't direct at their own offspring. Oh yes, it was all very funny. But now it's our turn.

Geoff took her out first. The talk and coordination of the time took longer than lesson - which lasted seven minutes. I hadn't even realised they'd gone.

Me: When are you taking Elle for her lesson?
Geoff: I did.
Me: Really??

For someone who's pretty quick to be giving me driving tips, turns out she can't drive ducks to water. So afraid was she of getting out of control, she didn't get over 10km per hour.

Elle: So Dad's telling me to speed up and we're going down this really narrow street with a BMW on one side and a Porsche on the other....
Geoff: I had to grab the wheel before she drove into something!

I mentioned to my brother that Elle had her learners and mooted the idea of a neighbourhood letterbox drop. Fair warning I thought. He suggested I explore the system used by CityLink that interrupts radio frequency in the tunnel to deliver 'important messages'.

We're heading to a folk music festival in a few days - 3 hours out of town. I had thought it would be a good chance to get Elle's hours up. Geoff says it's a good chance we'll all be killed. It's not happening. In fact, he's insisting we're not ever both in a car when she's driving.

So I've booked her in with the RACV to have lessons. The first one went well - and managed to last the full hour! Next one later this week. Watch this space. And watch out for Elle on the roads!!!

Gravlax

This is a very easy way to dazzle your friends and family! (Well.....if they like smoked salmon that is, then they'll love this.)

Gavlax is simply cured salmon. It has the same texture as smoked salmon and you serve it in much the same way. You need to cure it for a minimum 2 days - longer is better, like 4. And it'll last, well-wrapped, in the fridge for at least a couple of weeks.

I adapted this recipe from BBC Good Food.

Ask at the fish shop for a centre piece of salmon, skin off. For this batch, I had about 700g. At Christmas, I did two pieces (yes - just chucked them in together) of about 500g each. It's not a science.

In the Nutri-bullet or food processor, blend:

• 75g sea salt flakes (no need to be exact - but it's a fair bit and necessary for the curing process)
• 75g/ml something sweet - some recipes use caster sugar or brown sugar - I used 100% pure maple syrup and I reckon it was better
• 1 small bunch of dill (20g)  - just pluck off the frilly bits and leave out the major stalks
• A good slug of vodka or gin - I used gin
• 8 - 10 juniper berries - I found dried ones at the green grocer
• A few black pepper corns
• Some grated lemon zest

Tip the green sludge into a plastic bag. (Think about recycling the one the fish came in.) Add the fish and squish it about a bit to make sure it's well covered. Roll the bag closed, trying to eliminate all the air you can. Pop it in a small-ish dish so the fit is snug, then weight it down with a few cans of whatever - tomatoes, coconut milk - anything heavy. I can get 5 cans on mine! Chuck it in the fridge.

If you remember, turn it over in a day or two.

After 4 days or so, take it out and slice as thinly as you can (you can see mine is not very thin.... I need new knives...). 

I served it on pumpernickel bread, with a dollop of black caviar (just Lump Fish roe from the supermarket - not the fancy-pants Beluga Fish caviar from your drug dealer!!) and a little dressing made of dill, Dijon mustard and a little more maple syrup or honey - in the Nutri-bullet.

There you have it people. Go forth and cure!

Vicky's Funeral

Vicky was a neighbour from the 'hood. A Greek woman of indeterminable age. She had long hair, smooth skin, a good grip on English and Jesus in her heart. She was devastated when our daughter Jaz died and almost inconsolable when George, our oldest also died, just three and a half years later. She wept at the mere mention of his name and repeatedly asked 'Jesus, why?'

We were all very fond of Vicky. She was a beautiful soul. A seamstress by trade and a perfectionist by nature, the local fancy-pants interior designers kept her busy with custom-made cushions using outrageously expensive fabrics and trim.  But sewing for neighbours often took priority. At the start of each year, she'd take George's school pants in and up and let them out and down each term as he grew. She even whipped up four cushions from let over fabric one week - one for each of the kids.

At Easter, and in spite of my protesting, she'd often slip me $5 or $10 and insist I buy some chocolate for the children.

Vicky's sister lives down the road from us and Vicky would walk past our house - almost daily - to visit her and have coffee, so we ran into her regularly. 'I loooove youuuuu,' was her usual greeting.

Vicky died last week. Turned out she was 79.

I mentioned to our elderly Italian neighbour we were going to the funeral and we'd be happy to take him. 'No, no, no... I no go' he insisted. Hmmmm. There's a story there I'll never know.

The funeral was Friday. It was all Greek to me - literally. Occasionally I recognised a word and realised they'd slipped into English - but it was suspiciously similar - probably had something to do with the singing. The church was spectacular, the bells ritualistic, the incense heady, the day warm - it was very meditative. Sadly, there was no eulogy as we know it - no back story of Vicky, who had never married or had children. A woman who was so generous of heart and probably physically beautiful in her youth - I'd love to have known more about her.

Our neighbourhood Greek Orthodox church.

However, what I did notice in the church, was that all the women - her contemporaries I assume - were all versions of a very, very clear theme. They were all quite short and stocky, most had short hair, much of it blow-waved or permed. Their clothes could all have come from the same shop they were so similar, right down to the fabric and pattern, and even their gold jewellery seemed part of the 'uniform'. It was uncanny.

It got me thinking; do my peers and I also look like versions of the same theme? I was sitting with a couple of them - also neighbours. I stole a glance along the pew - long hair, high heels, make up, tailored dresses - yep. Same same.

Vale Vicky. We looooove youuuuu!

Do you have what you love? Or love what you have?

It's a question I've been contemplating a lot lately.

We're hoping to eventually embark on that renovation and it does force you to be realistic about your innate style and the way you live.

Not so long ago, my dream was 'minimalist'. Both the interior style and the concept of living with less, with everything in place and a place for everything. Something like this. Ahhh.... the serenity!

And then I woke up.


We don't live like that! We are messy people - all of us. And we love stuff. Not all crap, although there's certainly plenty of that. The books have filled the available bookshelves so we now have a few piles as well (yes, a home for them all is a priority for the reno). We have more art (and I use that term in its most eclectic definition) than wall space - and yes, of course there'll be less walls after the reno so not sure how that's going to work - we may need to be selective, god forbid! And Geoff's collection of music and movies (among the more significant of his 'collections') including hundreds of vinyls, CDs and DVDs, seems to be added to almost daily.

I confess I am a 'What if I throw out those pipe-cleaners and then next week, I need a pipe-cleaner?' kinda chick. And hard to believe, but I loathe contributing to landfill unnecessarily if I can avoid it. I know it would be better to throw out the pipe-cleaner and if we ever need some, buy them then - but I just can't.

In addition, we probably have too much furniture - gorgeous church pews, my grandfather's tool chest, Geoff's antique writing desk, my grandmother's pianola - that we feel some connection with, so that can't go either. Add a treadmill, too many cushions (what is it with cushions???) a penchant for 'objet d'art' and pieces collected from our regular travels  - and you'll be getting the picture. Now just squish that all into a modest (some might say small) abode. Welcome to chaos and clutter!

As my sister-in-law would say, we've lost all hope and are now just praying for a fire!

So, how are things at your place? Are you sufficiently ruthless and detached to have exactly what you love - right now at this moment in history? Or like me, have you had to accept defeat because you love what you have?

Maybe, like most things in life, it's a spectrum and some of us, like me, are hanging in the extremes.

Yes, Constable!

The police had been around to our house.

He-who-I'm-not-allowed-to-blog-about (AKA Geoff) got a card on the front door, requesting him to call.

Intuitively, because there was no reason we could think of, we were nervous.

He called.

Am I in trouble? he asked.

I'll give you a tip, the cop said. If you are in trouble, we don't leave a card and ask you to call.

See - that's good to know isn't it?