Sons and lovers (PM)

Market breakfasting

Nice story, mate, nice story. Sometimes I ask Baby for a bite of whatever he is eating. If it is some sort of sweet treat he usually breaks off a piece between the fingernails of his thumb and forefinger so as to ensure just the tiniest amount is broken off - usually the size of a large crumb. He, like ElderPaddy, wants to be a good boy and share, he just doesn't want to give up his food.

LB, Baby, Newbie and I usually go to the Queen Vic Market on a Sunday. Sometimes a Saturday. We get some breakfast, a cup of Joe, buy some fish, cheese, bread. Get to the vegetable section buy a couple of things before I get too overwhelmed by people, say "I'll come back during the week" and then buy all my fruit and veggies from the supermarket. Anyway, I love watching the other people having their breakfast at the market. There are always lots of families. Sometimes they seem local and often there are tourists. There are lots of families with young kids but I like to check out the ones with teenage kids.

I don't really remember doing things with my parents between the ages of about 14 and 20. It's possible that is because my brain was so focused on high school bullshit that anything else going on in my life failed to attract enough brain space to create memories. Certainly I got along well enough with my family over those years, perfectly well, but I just don't know that I did stuff with them. Maybe shopping with my mum from time to time. That seems like something that could have happened. Anyway, I think that's why I particularly like watching the families with teenagers, I'm intrigued. Also because teenagers get such a bad wrap, but there is something so cute about seeing them sit down with their parents for a weekend breakfast at the market. I hope I'm still going to the market with Baby and Newbie in 10-15 years. But I guess they may need new pseudonyms by then. 

Sons and lovers (AM)

I've loved being in Belfast, and I'll be quite sad to leave next weekend. It's quite lovely here. Sure, it's grey all the time. It's hard to get any work done because people literally talk constantly (and I mean literally constantly not figuratively constantly). But it has been quite great. 

  

I've spent a good amount of my time at this particular coffee shop, because it has good coffee. It's where I'm sitting right now. Sitting here day after day, watching the people come and go, it's made me notice that people seem to have their kids super young over here, and people my age seem to have three little ones by now. Biologically it's not super young, just culturally, by our standards I guess. 

I was looking at one of these young families in the coffee shop before and saw something very adorable happen. The troop consisted of a Mum, a Dad and three little boys. I'd say a five year old, a three year old and a little one in a pram, perhaps 18 months old. The older two—lets call them ElderPaddy and MidPaddy—were those good behaved types that seem to calmly observe the world around them, rather than crazily get up in the world's grill like Midbro and Elderbro used to  some other boys might. I guess they were getting rewarded for being that way,  because the parents had bought them a shortbread to share and boy were they loving that shortbread fully sick. The little guy in the pram, TinyPaddy, was looking on, something the Mum noticed, prompting her to say:

"Boys, perhaps you could give TinyPaddy a bit of your shortbread". 

Well. 

MidPaddy was on to it straight away, instantly shoving the rest of his shortbread into his mouth and shaking his head earnestly.  ElderPaddy looked panicked for a split second, then his shoulders sank, he sighed and he got up. He walked over to TinyPaddy's pram and gave him a bit of shortbread about the size of a penny while sadly gazing out the window.

The whole display was completely hilarious and also a little touching and made me miss my bros and my Mate and Baby and Newbie and Niecey and Little Nut so damned much. I guess the experience was not peculiar to Belfast, or to young families, but it's where I saw it so it makes me think of these things together. And how nice Belfast is. It's made me think about how nice Belfast is.  Come, if you get the chance. 

Welsh Delights (PM)

I spent one day in Wales 20 years ago. I went with my folks and checked out a castle then Russeth and I made Dad drive through Pontypridd, Tom Jones' home town, because... well I'm sure no explanation is needed. So I guess I'm not so intimate with Wales and its delight but I know a thing or two (literally a thing, maybe two) about Wales' delights.

For example, there is a place in Wales called Snowdonia! Snowdonia! It's like something from a children's fantasy novel. I was so happy when I learned about Snowdonia. I thought, "How delightful!"

Also, as previously mentioned I have (essentially) a Welsh brother-in-law and he is pretty delightful. He is funny and a good cook and is covered in old sailor-style tattoos. Sure, a borderline (?) alcoholic but I understand that is pretty much par for the course in his home town.

And, as previously mentioned, Tom Jones!

Oh and let's not forget this guy!

Message in a book (AM)

I give books as presents quite often. And pretty much always to kids. Because kids have so much shit already. And books really are the gift that keep on giving, especially for little kids who like to read books over and over and over. Oh sure, at the time of gift giving/receipt books are the gift that a kid couldn't give a shit about because there are all the shiny gifts they've just received to play with, but trust me books really are keepers.

You know who else like to give books to kids? Really old people like great aunts and great grandmothers. I sure never had any great grandparents. There were a couple of great aunts around, one on my mum's side who, according to family legend*, used to make her husband eat dinner outside and another on my dad's side who, according to family legend*, once gave my dad a ball of silver foil as some kind of cruel joke of a present. So you can bet I never got presents from those crazy old ladies. I'm not complaining, I didn't need presents, I'm just saying that's not how I know what old ladies give there great grand kids/nieces, I know because the books they give end up in op shops. And then they end up at my house. 

For some time now a great favourite if Baby's has been a Walt Disney Peter Pan book and every time I open it I read the inscription.

Great great (!) aunt Cassie bought the book for Leigh inscribed it and then later realised she spelled the name wrong. Shit. Shit. That is always what I thought happened but now as I write this and look at the inscription I realise that isn't what happened at all. Leigh must have corrected it later. Whatever happened I can't help but feel a bit sad. Like G.G. Aunt Cassie was invited to the birthday party of some barely known great niece or nephew and thought she did everything right but she spelled the name wrong and some years later the book ended up in the op shop. It's a pretty boring book and there are a million books I'd rather be reading to Baby so I understand why it ended up in the op shop, but that doesn't make me feel better for Aunt Cassie, it makes me feel worse.

Recently Baby has gotten interested in an abridged version of The Magic Pudding. 

At least Lachlan may have hung on to this copy for a little longer. A lot longer. But look at this inscription. Under the sign off and date does that say "(Nan Giles**, your great grandmother)"? First she is calling him "Lachlan darling" and next she has to explain who she is, as if the sign off isn't enough. 

It's all too much to bare. Or am I just feeling sensitive because I just watched Dr Drew's sex addiction rehab show? Either way, alls I know is that I am never inscribing a book again!

*The legends went something like that, forgive me keepers of the legends if the details are not entirely accurate.
**I actually have no idea if that says Giles, old lady hand writing is hard to decipher, even though this is similar to my own nana's handwriting which I could always read fine. But I did know who she was so that would have helped. 

Wanna be startin' something (AM)

Started the week with the best of intentions

Then at Seder ate too much to mention

This week celebrates Easter 

And the birth of my sister

And your expecting from me something like invention?!

Strange baking: Vanilla and coconut cake truffles (AM)

When I was little, my grandmother used to always make a little something she called snowballs but were in fact akin to something you might know as 'truffles'.

I realise that's not a very helpful distinction, because a truffle can be something like this:

this:

or like this:

What we're talking about here is the last kind of truffle. A treat made from crushed marie biscuits, butter, cocoa, condensed milk and coconut. She used to make those delicious bastards all the time, such that my school lunchbox pretty much always had little bits of coconut in the bottom. This is something I look back on very very fondly, and makes me wish I still got to eat them and that my handbag had little bits of coconut in the bottom, instead of tampons, information leaflets from tampon packets, and general bag detritus stuck to chewing gum stuck to loose change.

But I digress. The reason I tell you all of this is so you will understand why I sat up and took notice when I found this recipe the other day for Vanilla and coconut cake truffles.

I got excited thinking these truffles must be like a blonde version of the snowballs my grandma used to make, just as the blondie is the blonde version of the brownie and the white chocolate mud cake is the blonde version of the chocolate mud cake (Pickle made one once, it was delicious). But then I read the recipe and realised...what this is, is not a truffle. It is some kind of cake bite. This is basically crumbled up buttercake, mixed with vanilla buttercream icing, rolled in coconut.   

What the eff , people. What the eff??!!. Obviously I decided I had to make it immediately.  

It starts with making a whole cake. 

Then crumbling the whole thing up, and making vanilla buttermilk icing.

Then combining the two and making them in to little balls and, as you may have guessed, rolling them in coconut. 

All through this process I couldn't help thinking how idiotic it was. Making an intensely buttery cake only to destroy and then try to rebuild it with icing that really could have just gone on top with a sprinkling of coconut? Why would you do that? No really, why? I needed these blonde snowballs to be super delicious so the questions would stop.

Look, they were fine. But they are very very sweet. And they look so much like lemon slice that I found it disappointing that they didn't taste like lemon slice.

And they really needed to have some crushed marie biscuits involved somehow. They would have been so much better. I think I'm just going to make lemon slice next time. Or snowballs. 

A year of the new guy (AM)

Children. Some people believe they are our future. I'm an agnostic myself, but if there's one thing I can say for sure, it's that there are a LOT of them around these days. So that indicates to me that the future is probably full of them too. And that's OK by me. Have you seen how cute some of them are? Off the charts. 

 

A year ago yesterday I wrote this, because my nephew was born. Little Nut. The son of my Midbro. The brother of my Niecey. Yesterday was his birthday and to celebrate, we had a picnic on the sidelines of Midbro's Minkey football game. 

If I was a different kind of person, I might say something like "I can't believe it's been a year since Little Nut was born" or "They grow up so fast" or "Time goes by so quickly....if you don't stop to look around once in a while, you might miss it."

But readers, I'm not and I won't. Because the thing I can't believe is not they grow up so fast, but that this person for whom I feel so much love has only 365 days under his tiny tiny belt. I mean, I love him a LOT, and it feels like I've been cultivating that love for longer than a year. 

HB Little Nut. 

Happy Jew Year! (PM)

I didn't take a single picture of last night's dinner either. Only because I was having such a nice time, and such a sweet start to the new year. On Saturday, however, I did manage to capture a picture of the car that is sometimes parked outside my house, the one I am always telling J about because its numberplate amuses me.

PLZBLV. Hahahaha. That's a nice rosh hashanah message, isn't it?
Also, for a sweet start to the new year, may I recommend baking challah, and living in a house the size of a Hotel Formule 1 room? You'll dream of sweet honey all night long.
Shana tova, lovely readers.

Just some stuff I thought about (PM)

I am absolutely the wrong person to ask about what one can and can not say regarding the Paralympics. 

I can't even talk about the most benign of topics without saying something questionable, so this is kind of a minefield for me. I'm just going to stick to the facts.

a) It is a fact that simply reading about the lack of punchlines in the Mooney/Pang/Zwar paralympic commentary makes my comedy balls ache so much I feel like I am going to have to watch some internet comedy before I can continue with this day. 

b) It is also a fact that a member of the wider Miss Soft Crab community is ON THE AUSTRALIAN PARALYMPIC TEAM IN CAPITAL LETTERS!

It's true!

This is her. She is a friend of Midbro and Lady Midbro. She is a swimmer and is short-statured which I am delighted to advise is the approved term. Apparently she competes in the next few days and is a dead-set medal chance. 

That's all guys. Nothing to see here. 

An open letter to Harvey Norman (PS/PM)

Dear Harvey Norman,

What the eff is wrong with you?!?! 


Truth be told I haven't seen the ad K wrote about this morning, 'cause, you know I am too busy in the kitchen and the only people that watch TV in my household are my boyfriend and son. Jokies! IDIOTS! As if! I just haven't seen your stupid ad because fortune has smiled upon me I guess. If I had seen it though I would be feeling exactly like K is. In fact I am feeling the exact way K is.

Do you know how I feel when my team is playing and I am cooking and I come in to look at the TV briefly and see my boyfriend watching the footy. I feel fucking resentful.

Eff you Harvey Norman. EFF YOU!!!

Also, seriously, I know you are a successful business, but I would never buy a TV from you. Even before this despicable ad, your ads have never, ever appealed to me. So there!

Love
J

An open letter to Harvey Norman (AM)

Dear Harvey Norman,

Usually when Miss Soft Crab writes an open letter, Miss Soft Crab eases in to it. Miss Soft Crab starts nice and gentle, and then Miss Soft Crab rams it home when Miss Soft Crab is good and ready.  But Harvey Norman, your latest ad is such a bunch a total bullshit, Miss Soft Crab does not feel like doing you any favours. 

You know the ad i'm talking about.  It's the one where a man and a woman are in the kitchen doing some domestic labour. The man excuses himself because the footy's about to start.  He goes in to the living room, which miraculously turns in to a football ground  (I assume this is to indicate that the TVs and shit you guys sell are so rad, they will make you feel like you're at the ground, but I hate this ad so much I haven't even registered what it's for. Truth be told, Harvey Norman, I'm not even 100% sure it's your ad, but I think it is, and I need someone to blame). The man looks really really happy, and then a small boy comes in the room and says "Daddy!" and hops up on the couch with the man so they can watch TV together. In the background, the woman comes out of the kitchen and leans against the door frame and tilts her head as if she is really touched by this vision of the special men in her life bonding over the football.

Um, you've got to be fucking kidding me Harvey Norman.You're trying to sell TVs by telling us:

• women belong in the kitchen, and have no interest in the footy
• only men and their infant sons like sitting on the couch watching the footy  
• women derive a LOT of satisfaction from taking a brief break from their domestic labour to look at the back of their man's head while he is sitting on the couch watching the footy. 

WTF, Harvey Norman.This ad peddles a totally antiquated, totally effed version of domestic life, and one made even more nightmarish by the implication that in this world, women don't like football. What the eff?!  Nuclear families. Women working while Men relax. I guess he's been at work all week and needs to relax, right Harvey Norman?  I guess she's just been at home looking after the kid all week, and therefore doesn't need that time on the couch.
This is the worst kind of bullshit Harvey Norman. The kind that appears simple and innocuous and fleeting, but nevertheless implies things that are totally effed and have no place on my TV, which, I'm sorry to say, I bought at Harvey Norman.  You should know better. And if you know nothing else, know this: I wouldn't buy electronic goods from you if you were the last purveyor of electronic goods on earth. Bam!


Love from K




PS: Also you want to sell some TVs? Storyboard this, mother effers. 

OPTION 1 - Based on actual events that took place at Chez K on Sunday


Note: This scene takes place in a small but cosy apartment, where there are no dishes to be done because the occupant cleverly went out for brunch to avoid creating dishes. Specifically the breakfast pizza here - try it, it's unbelievable  


Woman gets on couch an hour before the footy starts, to be sure she doesn't miss it. 
Woman is delighted to discover that a repeat of Downton Abbey is on. 
Woman watches it until the footy starts. 
Woman has a lovely time, especially up until three quarter time because her team has been quite competitive. 
 FIN

OPTION 2 - Based on events that are yet to occur but universe, if you're listening, it would be really rad if they could occur at some point this winter. 


Note: This scene takes place in a cosy cottage type deal, possibly in Hobart, and there may be a fire going in the background. There is definitely a cute dog curled up on a rug somewhere. It opens with a man and woman in a kitchen. Man loooks like a young Mandy Patinkin. 

Man: "Honey, the footy's about to start."

Woman: High five!

Man goes to oven and pulls out tray of party pies and sausage rolls.

Woman places tomato sauce, stubbies (in stubbie holders...football is a winter sport after all and no one likes a cold hand) and serviettes on the coffee table.

Man, woman, cute dog all take a seat at the couch.

All take a party pie and start eating.

First siren sounds.

FIN

Bam! TVs get sold. 

I think I have something in my eye (AM)

Mondays. They just keep rolling around, don't they? 

And faster every time, if you ask me. 

Apparently it is the coldest morning of the year so far. One of them's got to be, I suppose. 

This post comes to you from my kitchen table, where I have the heater on and a hot cup of coffee by my side. Well, kind of. Nescafe Blend 43. I ran out of home brew and developed something of a taste for Nescafe whilst at the Bacchus Marsh Motel for the Blizzie wedding on the weekend. No, Blizzie didn't get married at the Bacchus Marsh Motel. We just stayed there is all. Blizzie got married in a beautiful ceremony in a beautiful place where everyone looked beautiful and said such beautiful things that I had something in my eye pretty much all day. Anyway,  normally, I would be on my way to work by now. Or maybe watering the plants on the balcony. Today, I am intentionally dawdling by writing this and drinking Nescafe Blend 43 at my kitchen table. Why am I doing this? I'm glad you asked readers. 

See that picture at the top of this post? It's the first thing I saw when I returned home from the Marsh yesterday. When I headed off on Friday, I left my house in a diabolical state. Dishes in the sink. Stuff strewn everywhere. Bits of cotton and fabric all over the shop. It was totally gross. But as you know, it was a mega busy week, and I didn't have time to clean. You people who manage to keep your houses clean all the time: who are you people? You people are wizards. Anyway, I am not one of these people, as my Mother well knows because she is, and it bewilders her that someone so clean could produce someone so scruffy. 

So when I arrived home yesterday morning - tired, hungover and dreading the terrible state of my house  - and found this on my table, well. You can imagine my mother flipping delight.

The note reads:

Hi K* 

I thought it might brighten you up if you came back to a tidy living room. 

Hope you don't mind.

Love,

The Cleaning Lady and her two 4 legged helpers

XXX

PS: Hate this pen!!

I didn't do your bedroom and bathroom as I thought you might think it a "bit intrusive". 

The house was spotless of course. Mum had used the spare set of keys I gave her (in case I ever lock myself out) to come over with the dogs and clean my house. Just because she knew that when I am tired and hungover I have a propensity to gaze out the window and mournfully hum Rainy Days and Mondays, and because everyone knows a clean house makes you feel better, she thought she would do me a solid and clean it up for me. Just because. 

Hands down, the nicest lady in the world, and she's my mother! Unbelievable. 

Boy do I have something in my eye right now. 

In praise of siblings (PM)

Siblings do rule!

I've got two of 'em and they are both swell. Sadly I did not see them this weekend. But I did see some of LB's.

I learned from Paz that he is so blind he did not see K at the supermarket the other day. So that he did not see her expectant face looking up at him  fall as he walked past ignoring her (K's words not mine). I also learned that he has worn through yet another pair of shoes and, seriously, that guy is walking around with his socks touching the ground through his shoes. Not for the first time mind you.

I also learned that while siblings do rule, and therefore I'd like to give Baby one, I do not want to give him three. LB's sister is pregnant with her fourth baby and boy does that look tiring.

Siblings rule! In moderation!

In praise of siblings (AM)

Hello Monday!
Normally I wouldn't be so happy to see you, but given that there are only two work days to get through until this week throws us another day off, I feel fine that you're here. Plus, I had a super nice weekend, so I can't complain.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon at Midbro's house. We ate pies and sausage rolls and watched the footy on foxtel while Niecey played with a jar of buttons. Niecey's ability to entertain herself while we are watching the footy is really astounding. She's such a top kid. As is Little Nut, her super adorable baby brother. 

Can you believe Little Nut is two months old already? Unbelievable. 

Such a cutehead. 

Midbro and Mrs Midbro live next door my my parents, which comes in handy when they run out of things. Like tomato sauce, essential when one is eating pies and sausage rolls. When we discovered that the Midbro household had indeed run out of T-sauce, I went next door to get some. Mum and Dad are in Qld at the moment, visiting Elderbro, so I took my time, mainly looking in the fridge and pantry to see if they had anything good.  I quickly discovered they had a bunch of easter eggs - Top deck easter eggs - sitting in a bowl in the pantry for anyone to stumble upon.  I figured that if they really wanted them, they would have eaten them by now, or at least taken them along to Qld to enjoy them gradually day by day. I also figured they wouldn't miss a few teeny weeny little eggs, so I swiped some (four). I also ate one while I was standing at the pantry figuring out whether it would be OK to swipe some. I felt a little bad about it, but I figured that it was a victimless crime. 

Once I finished my egg and hid the wrapper, I grabbed the sauce and returned to the Midbro residence.  

The reason I am telling you all of this, dear readers, will become apparent in a moment, but first we must briefly return to Niecey and Little Nut for a moment. As I've said before, I can't wait to see what happens as the two of them grow up. I effing love my brothers and I'm so happy that Niecey has one now. Having someone to hang out with all through childhood, someone who probably has the same sense of humour as you and certainly has to cop the same parental weirdness as you? Forget about it -  it is basically the best thing ever. Siblings rule! Right now, Niecey loves Little Nut fully sick, so I think she would agree that siblings rule. Of course this won't last. Soon, they will get on each others nerves and then by the time they are both at school, this mild irritation will progress to full-blown hating one another's guts, which will probably last until they are adults. So it goes. It will all come good in the end though. 

As it has with my brothers and I, which was evidenced by Midbro's reaction to my stealing easter eggs from our parents. As we were having coffee later, I offered everyone one of the stolen eggs, and because I was raised catholic, I also had to confess that they were indeed stolen from Mum and Dad. Midbro gratefully accepted, one and said "yeah, these are great, I stole some earlier today. They've got Tim Tams too, you know."

Siblings rule OK!

The New Guy (AM)

This post goes straight out to Midbro and Mrs. Midbro.
Yesterday, those dudes added a whole new person to the Miss Soft Crab family and people, the new guy is so cute I just want to quit my job and cuddle the shit out of him professionally.

I effing love it when my favourite people multiply.

And I can't wait for Niecey to start terrorising him the way Midbro used to terrorise me.

Nature vs. Nurture (AM)

This post was going to be about gardening - how much I love growing things and how much I love my little collection of plants, especially my current favourite, the Maidenhair Fern, which looked like it wanted to die a few weeks ago, but is now looking really good:

I spent a lot of time in the garden this weekend you see, and so gardens and plants are really on my mind. I think garden love is going to make a great post some day, but today is not that day, and this is not that post. Something happened yesterday that I think is ultimately more enjoyable than the garden post would have been, so I think you guys should really hear about that instead.  This post is related to the garden, but really it is a chance to indulge in a little lowbrow humour, which frankly is probably he reason you are all here, right?

Ok, first a little background. I went to visit Midbro, Mrs Midbro and Niecey yesterday. Poor Mrs. Midbro. She's a million weeks pregnant and it seems that summer and extreme pregnancy do not mix. From what I could gather, summer pregnancy looks less like this:

And more like this:

Lady is in no mood to do anything at all. Even breathing seemed like a total drag. But Mrs Midbro is a total trooper and never complains about anything.
Nevertheless, Mum and I thought we would do her a solid by taking Niecey off her hands for a while.  We decided to hang out in Mum and Dad's garden where it was nice and cool.

What a wholesome and delightful a scene it was - my adorable little niece frolicking amongst the flowers while my sweet old Mum picked fresh daisies for me to take home.
This is the life, I was thinking. We're all so down to earth, tending the garden and walking around barefoot. So salt of the earth. I also thought. High five to us!
Then my Mum started giggling and said "Have a look at this!!". I scampered down to see what she was pointing at assuming it was something charming and natural, befitting the scene. It wasn't, guys. It wasn't. It was this:

Mum told me that they call it the  Penis Plant. Well, obviously. How could they not, right? It was not what I was expecting, but gee whiz, it is pretty hilarious. Sorry to lower the tone so early in the week, guys, but can you believe this thing? Apparently it just grew like that.

A daughter "to be proud of" (AM)

My Mum and Dad sent me a Christmas card yesterday.

This is what it looked like on the front:



Yikes.


This is what it said inside:



Note addition of quotation marks.

I don't know whether it's because of the Christmas fever we were talking about on Monday, or the fact that I am over tired from work, or some other reason, but this card makes me so happy I want to cry.
Mum and Dad, you may be "proud" of me, but I effing love the mother effing shi+ out of you guys.

(Sorry I said the eff word)
(You know I'm seeing you guys on Christmas Day, right?)
(Right?)

Anticipating Christmas (PM)

I also love the anticipation of Christmas. I actually tend to enjoy Christmas day generally. I like spending time with my family and I enjoy spending time with LB’s family. But I do hate how my family gathering is overshadowed by the fact that we always have to leave earlyish to get to LB’s family gathering. I don’t like how this usually also means a long drive. And it is a total bummer that I am always super full from my family gathering but still need to eat at the next one. So I guess you are right, Real Christmas is not as good as Anticipated Christmas.

Anticipated Christmas is awesome. I always have a clean house on Real Christmas Eve, and it has that special Christmas clean feel about it. I want to watch films like Sleepless in Seattle (gross me the fuck out – I don’t know what happens to me). I like buying presents for people, even more since the introduction of KK into both families means you only have to buy a few gifts making it a pleasant not stressful experience.  

I like how the love for your friends and family increases, and how this kind of remains in the lead up to New Year’s as well. I love the love. I love how there is a certain buzz in the air.  

But then you have Christmas and the next day the sky is always grey and you feel fat and oily from all the food. So hells yeah! Let’s just anticipate the shit out of Christmas while we can.

Anticipating Christmas (AM)

The other day I had my first fruit mince pie of the season. Moments later, I had my second. During the second, it really hit me: I am so effing excited about Christmas! 

It happens like this every year. When I see the decorations go up I’m all for pete’s sake! Its November!Then I eat a mince pie or I hear a pleasing Christmas carol and bam! suddenly I am full with the milk of Christmas cheer and am totally busting for it to come because I just know it’s going to be the best day ever. I pretty much love every one and every thing overnight. If I wasn’t the kind of person who smiles at strangers normally, I would totally start when Christmas fever takes hold.  When I hang out with my people, I want to hug them so damn hard at the end of the night and maybe even let myself tear up because I love those effing guys and it’s Christmas!

Truth be told, this pre-Christmas feeling of love for the world and all its creatures is actually my favourite part about the whole thing. Real Christmas is kind of a bust compared to my imagination. Don’t get me wrong, I love the K family and look forward to eating ham and drinking beer with them on Real Christmas day. But its quite likely that my imagination of it, where the food is delicious, the conversation stimulating and amusing in equal parts and there is  much ruffling of one another's hair because we're all such a bunch of scallywags will be slightly better than the reality, which will involve one or more of the following:

• wanting to cry because I'm too full for second dinner 
• wanting to cry because when we inevitably start talking about football, I realise that Melbourne  may never ever win a grand final
• depending on how drunk I am, wanting to cry because I know I will never captain the Melbourne Football Club to a winning grand final
• wanting to punch everybody because when we start playing board games no one takes it seriously enough
• wanting to punch everybody, and then find a new family, because people are sharing their political views
• wanting to watch TV because I am bored. 

Not that these things are without charm. Even writing that list just now fills me with a pleasing sense of familiarity. But I guess that's just goes to show how nice anticipating Christmas really is. Plus, anticipating Christmas last for days and days! Real Christmas is over in a flash. Anticipate Christmas with me everybody!

Sparkle Motion

Our friend Sparkle Motion is a special lady.
She is one of those people who is always doing awesome things and makes you feel like you are wasting your life. Not that she would ever make you feel that way. She is way too nice for that. But still. Sometimes I feel that.
Like right now, she is living in LA and studying film scoring at UCLA. Isn't that awesome? Doesn't it make you feel kind of like you are wasting your life? 
Before she went to LA, she made a whole bunch of music here in Melbs. Some of it she made with folks like Oliver Mann and Magic Silver White, but the stuff she made on her own as Sparkle Motion is definitely my favourite. You can listen to it here, but before you do, check out this clip which is hot off the presses.
I friggen love this clip, I can't stop watching it.
You guys should watch it too!