My seven things

1) Keeping the musical theme going, when I saw 'Cats' as a kid, Mr Mistoffelees sat on my lap during his big number. He left glitter on my jumper. I was about 9. And when I saw 'Lion King' and the opening music played and the big puppet animals started to walk down the aisles to the stage, I became overwhelmed and started crying. I was 30.

2) I loved Bros during their five minutes of fame. My favourite song was the B-side of 'Drop the Boy', called 'The Boy is Dropped'. Have a listen - I dare you not to love it, especially after the tempo change at about 2:30... Oh, God! Brilliant. (edited to add - you must listen right through to the end...Bros is the boogie...erggghhhhhh...)

3) I snogged a visiting international athlete during the Sydney Olympics in 2000.

4) When I was about 5, we had a pet wallaroo (that's a cross between a kangaroo and a wallaby) called Angelina. A photo of me holding her appeared on the front page of the local paper. She eventually went to live at the Dubbo zoo.


5) At the end of a several-month stay in Berlin, my German friends took me out to dinner and then to the club Tresor for my farewell party. I have never been much into techno or taking drugs, but I had such a good time and danced nonstop till about 7am and just loved loved loved LOVED everything about the place and the people and the music. I remember staring at people and thinking how beautiful they were. Even the people on the train on their way to work the next morning as I made my way home were gorgeous. Gorgeous! It wasn't until years later that it occurred to me that someone might have slipped something into my drink.


6) I think I'm the only person who's been to Amsterdam (several times, in fact) who hasn't gotten stoned.


7)  I once shaved my head. It was very liberating, and a learning experience - I learned my skull is flat on the back and I have a conehead.

1. I liked Aimee's number 1 and so am following her example. The first theatre show that had an impact on me was also a musical; My Fair Lady starring my very own Great Aunt Mary at the Arts Centre in Melbourne. From that moment on I knew I wanted to be involved in theatre although I think I may have had a few more obstacles than most who are struck by the theatre at that age- can't sing, can't act, can't dance - thank god a good friend of my dad's opened my eyes to theatre production. Although this also proved challenging. My desire to be involved with musicals through stage management came to a crashing halt year 2 of university when my lecturer gave me a metronome to help call the lighting and sound cues in time with the music. Thankfully I have learned there are many more ways in this world to stay involved and in touch with theatre!

2. This one's a bit naff - the teddy bear my parents bought me aged 6 months still sits next to my bed and is even written into my will.

3. I learnt to drive on a ride on lawn mower on the farm. This wouldn't come as a surprise to too many people who have witnessed my driving skills.

4. I think I may be addicted to vitamins. I currently take 5 different vitamins each morning. I love wandering the aisles of health food shops especially the large Fresh and Wild or Planet Organic stores in London dreaming about how healthy I could be. Of course I could also stop drinking, give up chocolate, exercise a little more regularly etc etc.

5. My first kiss was at a high school disco - I was wearing an orange SES uniform and the song playing in the background was 'New Kids on the Block' - thankfully my love life has improved since these early days

6. I used to be in a rollerblading gang called 'The Cowboys'. I don't think I need to spend any more time on this matter.

7. The big one. A handful of people know this but this seems like a very fitting way to announce it to the world - Tim and I are moving back home to Australia. We both resigned this week, finish up end of February, a bit of travel and home by Easter. We're both so excited and have been making very long lists about all the things we want to do when we move back. If the girls will let me I'd still love to keep blogging. We're heading to Melbourne so technically I'm in a whole other city with loads of stuff to discover :)

This weeks task is a version of the popular versatile blogger concept - divulge seven things about yourself that most of us don't know?

1. First theatre show, that made a impact, was Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat!

Strangely musical theatre, especially the biggies have turned out to be my least favourite theatre style. Although I have many dear friends who are very accomplished at performing in them. Although having said that, Keating the musical was terrific and the Gareth Evans & Cheryl Kernot love duet has me slapping my thighs with laughter every time I hear it.

2. The music in the Beatrix Potter DVD's that Hugo loves, really really scares me. I have to put on a brave face when he wants to watch one.

3. I regularly use hemming tape, I cannot stitch in time to save my life. I have even been known to staple a hem at the last minute.

4. Ummm I was a life drawing model in New York when I was a student.........'I was young and needed the money'.

5. My first kiss was on stage, it was a High School production of Chekhov's THE BEAR, and was pretty funny if I remember correctly. I kept avoiding it in rehearsals and saved the big moment for opening night.

6. After a few glasses of champagne at my wedding I tucked my dress into my undies to stop treading on it whilst on the dance floor.

7. I once faked a faint.

Task 27

This weeks task is a version of the popular versatile blogger concept - divulge seven things about yourself that most of us don't know?

Why you are Australian by Nikki Gemmell

Like I need reminding what I love about Australia but what a trip down memory lane this book was. Nikki Gemmell's easy, relatively large print new book 'Why you are Australian' was left on my desk at work by a colleague with a warning scribbled on a bright yellow post-it-note; 'this will make you homesick'. And it did but only a little - the larger emotion was one of joy. Joy that I had been fortunate to grow up in this open sunshine filled land. The story begins with Gemmell opting to take a break from her many years of life as a London expat to return home with her children. A journey prompted by her little boy's matter of fact explanation that the night stars were only seen in movies.

′Achingly I want you to know what it is to be Aussie kids. Where playing barefoot is a signifier of freedom not impoverishment. Where a backyard′s a given not a luxury. Where sunshine and fresh food grow children tall. Where you know what a rash shirt is and a nipper, a Paddle Pop and a Boogie Board.′

This book managed to draw out so many of my childhood experiences and in contrast also reflected on my new experiences as an expat. I had many 'ah ha' and 'oh my gosh you've experienced that too' moments. In the end the book probably had the opposite effect of what was intended. It made me actually want to read more stories about London written by foreigners. I'd like to know more about how others interpret this chameleon of a city, how is it seen through their eyes? The reading list grows again!

Brooklyn

I don't get a lot of reading time lately but now that the little matching pair have been moved into their own room, I'm managing to turn a few pages each night before bed. I'm working my way through a bit of a backlog so I'll admit there's not much point putting the word out there to borrow from my pals. However, I did recently borrow a book from a friend - one that was on the list - and it was a thoroughly enjoyable read (and one that handled the bitsy three-pages-a-night treatment that I could afford it).

One of my mums' group pals was, until recently, a publicist with a big publisher, and one of their clients was Colm Toibin. His last book Brooklyn got lots of publicity when he was out here for the Sydney Writers' Festival earlier this year. My friend met him and said he was just lovely. And then she lent me the book.

It starts in a small Irish town in the '50s and follows the main character, Eilis, to Brooklyn where a job has been found for her in a department store. She is tentative at first, but soon sinks into her new life and the opportunities it can offer her. When she has to return home following a family death, she struggles to decide where she really wants to be and must make a heart-wrenching decision.

It's a beautiful book and has all the things I need in my reading list these days - a great story, likeable characters, beautifully written but nothing tooooooooo challenging, and something that lets me put it down and pick it up a zillion times without losing the thread. And now I have to add Toibin's latest book The Empty Family to my list.

Women's Weekly Retrospective

Borrow a favourite book- perhaps someone you know has a favourite to lend you or you're a member of the local library.

I was lucky enough to be able to borrow THE ORIGINAL (well a reprint of the original) Women's Weekly Birthday Cake Book. My upstairs neighbour Michelle is a great source for things like ginger bread cutters, wizard capes and as it turns out she did not let me down on this sought after beauty. Like many 70's babes, I salivated over the contents each year as my birthday drew near. It is impossible now to get your hands on a copy of the original, but I have recently bought the current edition and enjoyed comparing the influence of political correctness and more relaxed gender depictions over the 30 odd years between the two editions.

For all time sake the jelly pool will always be my favourite. And although my husband claims to have never seen the book (impossible for an aussie I would have thought) I am pretty sure he would have dog eared the cricket pitch as his fav. N.b. the versatility of coloured desiccated coconut - where has that gone over the years.

But it is the gender depictions that really amaze me. Even though it was first published in 1980 (I could have sworn it was earlier) the bra burners had yet to infiltrate the ideas factory of The Women's Weekly. The G is for Girls chapter is devoted to cakes such as Sewing Machines, Kitchens, and Dressing Tables. Whilst the B is for Boys section is devoted to sports of all kinds, and an Alien cake.

I wonder if the emerging enigmatic writer nowadays gets as much inspiration from a Laptop Cake as the old Typewriter Cake could evoke!

And for the record I believe the standard between the original and the later edition has surged. So even though we had the feminist revolution in that time we are expected to be career women, yummy mummies, and now it would seem professional cake decorators.

Here are a few comparisons between the editions - gone is butter cream and in with the stretchy smooth stuff. And after what Greer endured making my wedding cake with the stretchy smooth stuff, I am way too scared to broach it.

And who can forget this one. Clearly before the era of PC birthday parties. I am not sure this would appear in any North American Birthday Party Cake books.

In the era of mass merchandising and brand power, I crumbled and gave my newly 3 year old exactly what he asked for. After all, who can forget the joy of looking at that birthday cake you truly wanted.

Task # 26

Borrow a favourite book- perhaps someone you know has a favourite to lend you or you're a member of the local library.

Dear Greer...

I don't like to whinge, but I think this task might be a bit oriented towards the Tale of Three'ers who aren't actually living at home. Postcards are meant for people who are away to send to people back home, not for those at home to send to others at home. If you know what I mean. Yes, there's something romantic and a bit retro about an economically worded card, scrawled on and stamped and popped in the post.  A brief note to a lover. A quick hi to an old pal. But to be perfectly honest, all the people who I probably need to get in contact with deserve far more than just a postcard - they need a letter or a card (maybe one of the gazillion birth announcement cards I had printed after Pearl and Stella were born) or even a good old-fashioned phone call. But the truth is, I'll probably email them or write on their Wall at some point. So, yes, while I get the underlying purpose of this task, I am struggling with it a bit. I'm not sure who to write to. And I realise now that I've never really needed postcards except when I've been away somewhere, because damned if I could actually find one to buy in the past week. Don't people travelling to Sydney buy postcards to send to their families back home?

In the end, I came at it in reverse. I was in Dymocks today buying a Christmas present (Christmas comes early in our family this year) when, on the way to the counter to pay, I noticed a lonely fragile postcard stand in a dusty corner. I dashed over, hoping to find something a bit more art and a bit less tourist, but it was all tourist. I paid my 50 cents and left, wondering who the hell would be the recipient. And then, glancing at that glorious harbour vista, it came to me.

Many years ago in another lifetime, I was working in a hostel in Berlin and a pair of American brothers came to stay for a few days. Ernie was a fair bit older than Cameron and, if I remember correctly, was treating his little brother to a trip around Europe to celebrate his graduation. Most of the guests stayed in dorms but Ernie and Cameron shared a double room known as the honeymoon suite - something we found hilarious at the time. They were lovely guys, lots of fun and we parted with promises to keep in touch.

Anyway, we didn't, but years later Ernie and I reunited through the magic of Facebook, and that was how I learned Cameron was coming to Sydney on his honeymoon. I met up with him and his new wife down by the harbour one sunny morning in 2008 and had a lovely catch-up. Then a few months later I got a message from them saying their honeymoon had been far more productive than they'd planned, they were expecting a baby, it was a little girl and would I mind terribly if they named her Greer. 

With the Sydney postcard in my hands today, it occurred to me that little Chicago Greer (as I've come to know her) is turning two next month, and as she was conceived in this city and named after one of its most upstanding citizens, perhaps I should drop her a line. 

Happy birthday, Greer! I haven't sent the postcard yet but it's on the list!

One, two, three

I started writing one postcard and suddenly it became three. I can be quite hopeless at keeping in touch with people back home and so the moment I found myself in the post office (just off Trafalgar Square nonetheless) I indulged in reaching out to a few old mates and my two brothers. The latter sent to their shared house in Melbourne more as a reminder that I exist and that perhaps if they pop the card on the beer fridge they'll remember to call from time to time. The other postcards were sent to my first school friend Jane, who I've known since preschool aged three and then one to my friend Biz who joined Jane and I at school in year 7. Two beautiful friends who are now used to my disappearing act yet still have the kindness to welcome me back each time as though it were yesterday. My news to all was short and sweet, not home for Christmas but absolutely back for Easter and can't wait to see them again. Now if only I could do this simple task more often!

Oceans and Friends

My postcard is going to a very dear friend who I don't contact nearly enough. Anne-France Tardiveau Almdal, such a great name isn't it. We met back in 2000, fresh off the boat in New York City, young aspiring actresses from Sydney and Montreux (Switzerland). We were 23. Anne-France and I quickly became friends, she had a wicked sense of humor and was already an accomplished actor. She handled New York with far more grace than I, but that didn't stop us tackling the city by roller blades or bars.

This pic was taken in October 2000, when we made a short film in Montreux, which is undeniably one of the most picturesque places I have ever visited. Yes I was blonde once....

Since then we visited each other or met up where we could; Montreux, Paris, LA, Sydney. Our lives have often felt on parallel. We were at each others weddings and along the way have many great memories over bottles of wine - Talking about theatre, husbands, families, and now kids. The last time I saw Anne-France was three years ago now in Paris, where she was in a comedy play and I was lucky enough to meet her beautiful baby girl, Charlie. Since then there has been Hugo (me), Cameron (AF), and the tiniest Nikki (AF) and I guess my bump will be a babe before we meet again. Mmmmm three and a half years and 4 kids later. Anyway I often think about Anne-France and her life in the heartbreakingly beautiful Swiss countryside and the balances we both now experience with family and creativity and the glorious blend when it meets.

We hope to meet next year, and Mauritius has been mentioned. There are lots of places in between Hong Kong and Switzerland. And I hope hope we can manage it, amongst the billions of reasons not to.

The postcard I am sending is one of my favourite Hong Kong images. It is the old airport (as recent as 1996). A world away from Hong Kong's illustrious airport today. But this picture sums up so much about order and chaos that is perfectly mastered in this city.

TASK # 25

Write a postcard to a friend you haven't contacted in a while - what postcard did you pick, who is the lucky recipient and what news went with the card?

Air of Opportunity

OK I am lucky enough to read the other entries before my post. And can I indulge in comment for a moment and say this weeks blog represents the essence of the three different tales perfectly. The haunting quality of dawn London, the heartstrings of home just by looking at Aussie soil and the unknown limits of the east.

Now I have been battling the weather in HK more than I have ever been at odds with environment. This year has been hard and sweaty. After months of perspiration and unchanging heat, the air suddenly sprung to life and whistled a tune. I will never ever take for granted a breeze again. For once the air moved (about a week ago) I have felt an ocean of possibility creep into my life.

I can breath again and it makes me want to dance!

This week my cousin is in town, and we indulged in that famous HK past time - reflexology. But on the way we stopped in at a Chinese medicine shop for a spot of tea. If I can work it out I will attach a little video of the medicine man's spectacular work on the abacus. And after our foot work out we had some dumplings hidden by a doona of noodles.

And did I mention, the air, at a crisp 23 deg I am so so grateful.

Also grateful I wasn't swept up in the typhoon that brought about the change in temp, but send my thoughts out to poor China that keeps whisking away these typhoons from Hong Kong Harbour at the very last minute.

Very busy medicine shop, the staff fulfill prescriptions in brown packages of amazing land and sea produce that certainly look effective.

For instance this enormous looking Gecko can treat asthma and strengthen liver function. But could it really be a natural alternative to Viagra too! The sign says so.

I am in awe of this ancient skill but the sound of the clicking is like being tickled.

I wanted to steal this sign for Hugo's room. It was at the reflexology lounge. When my cousin and I noticed it, we had to stifle pant wetting laughter. The kindly staff thought we didn't understand the context of the notice and re-enacted (in charades) how some people react when having there feet massaged.

Yep hungry!

and off home in that lovely lovely air!

Wetlands

I have long believed that this blog thing is good for me. It gets me thinking and it forces me out and about when otherwise I'd be a brain-dead blob of exhaustion lying on the couch in a puddle of bleuuuurrrggghhh.  And another handy side-effect, I'm realising, is that it is helping  me discover little pockets of wonderfulness in my own little neighbourhood. Like this:

That, my exotic, foreign-land-dwelling friends, is a bona fide, albeit man-made, wetlands bang smack in the inner west, a few k's from the CBD and no more than three blocks from my very own front door! And until I was blog-obligated to take a walk today, I never knew it existed. It is the Whites Creek Wetlands, apparently constructed in 2002 to clean nitrogen and phosphorus from stormwater in the nearby Whites Creek and help prevent algal blooms in Sydney Harbour further downstream. Cool, huh? There are ducks and frogs and insects and lizards and, best of all, the peculiar and calming sound of trickling water. Lovely.

An October stroll

I decided to give the joy of the tube a miss this morning in favour of a stroll to work. I really love this photo that I took along the way for its ability to capture the time of year and something I love about London.



The photo is taken at about the half way point between home at London Bridge and work at Canary Wharf on the week before the clocks turn back for daylight savings. In the foreground is a community kayak centre whilst the neon towers of the financial district loom in the background. To me the photo sums up the little gems you can still find in a heaving metropolis like London. The world's money might be changing hands in the towers above but a stone's throw away beginners are learning how to navigate the Thames in a plastic kayak. Of course I think they're mad to try but I like the fact that they can.

TASK #24

Its walking time again- take the camera and head outside for a stroll.

Naff comedy

Oh how I long for a good video shop, to be able to pop down to the local shops with my trackie dacks on a Sunday night for some videos and chocolate. Perhaps I am walking around blind but I haven't actually seen a video shop in my time in the UK. DVDs are either hired on-line through dedicated websites (LOVEFILM comes to mind) or bought in the very regular HMV sales. Unfortunately I haven't been able to do either this week because we've been away - AGAIN!! This time to beautiful Venice for the weekend where so many of the buildings and sights have appeared in films over the years.













So what are we watching at the moment? Tim and I are slowly making our way through the first series of the television show, West Wing. We're up to DVD 4 of 7 so technically over half way through. Its brilliant. I love the sharp dialogue, the political setting and its ability to mirror what's happening in the world in real life.

Now if I had found the VideoEzy oasis or equivalent the weekly movie I'd have picked would be 'Weekend at Bernies'. I love all types of genres but am a sucker for a really naff comedy.

That's the end of the travelling now for a while so I'm looking forward to embracing the blog again and perhaps buying a few new DVDs to get through the long winter ahead.

All over Almadovar

Oh Pedro, there is no other filmmaker that can paint the world like you.

From the moment I first watched ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER I knew I would always love Pedro. The fiery combination of passionate strong women, tragic circumstances and colours so bold it looks like a 3 year old chose the palate. But for me Almadovar accomplishes the almost impossible, where style, plot, character and themes all take centre stage.

TALK TO HER is the story of two women, a dancer and a female bull fighter who both end up in a coma. It is the story of the men who love them. The irony that these once beautiful accomplished bodies now lie lifeless and limp, but continue to shape the lives of those around them. Thrown in for good luck are a smattering of ballets, operas, and a silent movie about a shrinking tiny man who ends his life in a final moment of pleasure for his full sized lover.

Almadovar pays homage to women of all ages in his movies, and dare I say it, he writes female characters better than most female writers, I always get a sense that he loves women. And his women are so beautiful, seductive and strong and there is nothing Hollywood about them (except for Penelope Cruz but she is not really Hollywood).

When I first saw TALK TO HER, I was a bit awestruck, how could I walk out of a film about disability, death, rape and love and feel as if I had just tasted sangria for the first time.

Yep this movie was a good as I remembered. I thrust aside BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S, FERRIS and DIRTY DANCING for this choice. And as good as those choices are, I was not disappointed in mine.

So here is a biggie to chew on; Do we in 2010, still trust artists with the daunting task of easing our worldly fears?

Well if so, Almadovar you are able to colour life's continuum in a way that makes my heart sing.

Some Kind of Fabulous

I'm at Video Ezy in Marrickville and it's my second video shop of the day and my last chance to find a little-known film from 1988 that changed my life. Satisfaction was about a girl band who spent one long summer living at the beach and playing their music in a bar at night. I don't remember much about it, except that I loved it and I wanted to be one of those girls. Me and a group of friends were so inspired we decided to start our own band. We got as far as naming ourselves - The Fact (right on!) - and having a slumber party to discuss who would play what instrument. But with one classical pianist (me) and not much else between us, a pop band was a bit of a stretch. We did all master the art of blowing rhythmically across the top of a bottle as demonstrated in the Iko Iko scene, but that can only get you so far in the music world. Oh, the songs, the songs - Mr Big Stuff, Dedicated to the One I Love, C'mon Everybody - just glancing through the list on imdb.com now takes me right back to my 13-year-old self. I wanted to be Justine Bateman. I wanted Liam Neeson to sweep me off my feet. I wanted to be friends with that other chick - hey, that's Julia Roberts before she was famous!

Anyway, Satisfaction doesn't seem to have made the transition to DVD so I better pick something else. I'm purposely ignoring the new releases in case I'm tempted to go off task and watch one of the zillion films I've missed recently instead. Hello, Precious. Oh, Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, I promise I'll have time for you soon. And there it is - Some Kind of Wonderful. In my rusty old memory, it's blurring together with all the other John Hughes films that filled the weekends of my teen years. I've got Strictly Ballroom in my hand. There's Ferris Bueller. St Elmo's Fire? Stand By Me? Pump Up the Volume? No, the only one I haven't rewatched since I was a kid is Some Kind of Wonderful, and in this moment I know I have to see it again.

I had a crush on Eric Stolz and I think I probably had one on Mary Stuart Masterson too. She could pull off short hair in a way I never quite managed to, but not for want of trying - God, I had some bad hair in the '80s. They play Keith and Watts, high school odd-bods and best buddies, even though she, a tomboy, secretly loves him, an artist. She stoically helps him in his quest to date the popular chick, Amanda Jones (who curiously has the same wavy red hair as him - they could be brother and sister). Of course, he gets the girl and then, of course, realises he really wanted Watts all along. Oh, that final scene at night after the jock guy's party, the rain on the road a metaphor for the tears on Watts's cheeks as she walks away with her broken heart, only to hear him calling her - "Watts! Watts!" - and she turns and he smiles and they kiss and she ends up with the diamond earrings he spent his college money on. Some kind of bloody cheesy brilliant.

TASK # 23

Take a visit to your video store and rent a weekly. Find a film you once loved? Why did you love it so much and is it as good as you remembered?

Actinidia chinensis confiture

I've made jam before. Jam, chutney, sauce, curd. I've chopped and stirred and bottled into sterilised jars. I've Christmas gifted jam and I've sold it at markets (a long time ago, mind). And while a good bit of jam-making features strongly in my life-in-the-country fantasies, in reality I don't eat much of it. It's pretty much only good on a slice of hot buttered toast or a freshly baked scone with cream - the former reminds me of late-night binges as a student, and the latter of God knows what, but there isn't a lot of scone baking going on around here.

As for fruit in abundance here in Oz, I could have gone with blueberries or strawberries, or even mangoes, which are starting to make an appearance. I toyed with the idea of figs - they were on the shelves at the grocer yesterday. But in the end I went with kiwifruit, 'cause they're everywhere at the moment. I found a recipe online, adjusted it down in quantity and the result was a single jar of sticky, sweet, scrummy jam that tastes of...well, jam. I might just be having toast for dessert tonight.

10 kiwi fruit, about 1.5 cups, crushed

1/3 cup lemon juice

2 apples, halved

1.5 cups white sugar

Stir the kiwi, juice and apples until boiling. Add sugar and stir till dissolved. Simmer for about half an hour, or until a smudge of it on a plate sets in the fridge. Jar it. (I didn't sterilise anything because a) I didn't have time and couldn't be bothered and b) I only made enough for one jar so there won't be any sitting on the shelf till 2015.)

PS Spoutie, send a jar of that strawberry jam my way. You know the address! That should clear some space in the beer fridge.

Partners support group plea

Girls and blog readers - Tim is making a plea for a blog partners support group to be established. He wants to know exactly what Scott and Angelo think of their beer fridges being filled with jam, having to listen to japanese poetry and being dragged out in the middle of winter to eat ice cream. Quite the rant going on in the background here which is very amusing!

English strawberry jam

When I first moved here I had trouble appreciating all the new things in my life, all the change. I compared everything with home. I'd left Australia to discover a new world, to try new things yet my mindset was still firmly entrenched in Australian soil. Nothing could quiet measure up over here until of course the day an English strawberry passed my lips. Wow.

I've had a little history with strawberries - there were the tiny ones we used to dig for in Grandma's veggie patch and at the other end of the scale the larger than life strawberries retrieved each Christmas from the strawberry farm near mum's house. Despite how much emotional value I might attach to these two varieties of strawberries I'm afraid to say that neither can compare with the English strawberry. This strawberry is perfect in every way. Perfectly formed, just the right size, ranging from pink to bright red and absolutely bursting with flavour. It is also part of English culture and so to appreciate the strawberry is to appreciate this country I now live in. No summer picnic or day out at the tennis is ever complete without strawberries and cream.

And so I have my first ingredient for my first ever attempt at making jam.

I'm half way through this attempt as I write my blog and feel the need to confess - I am no Susie homemaker.

Step 1: Google jam recipe - tick
Step 2: Google ingredient 'jam sugar' - what the???
Step 3: Google 'substitute jam sugar' - tick - running with caster sugar and lemon
Step 4: Trip to Sainsburys at the end of our street. Bill is £14.38 ($23.32 australian) - just to be clear that is enough to buy 37 bottles of supermarket jam!
Step 5: Embrace the kitchen - not easily done given how little we've been home lately but almost everything seems to be where I left it except of course the thing I really want - no sign of metallic mixing bowl. Beginning to wonder if I actually own one or if I'm thinking of one I used to have in Oz. Not to worry figure I'll just side step the middle man and chuck everything into the saucepan which is where it'll end up anyway
Step 5: strawberries in, lemon juice in, bloody hell how much sugar??? seriously that is a ridiculous amount of sugar. 39 calories per tablespoon apparently.

And thats where I am now at with my jam making. The recipe tells me I now need to leave the strawberries to sit overnight which in my world means they'll sit there until about 5pm today because I don't have time to tackle to jam tomorrow. In the mean time I need to work out what I'm going to put all of this jam in - all 3kg of it! I may be down at the farmers market in Bermondsey Street next weekend selling my wares!

Excuses, excuses

Hello all. Its been a while - you may remember me- I used to drop in once a week before dropping off the face of the earth with no blog in sight! Well I'm back and gearing up to make jam this weekend.... just as soon as I visit the supermarket to find out what exactly is in season at the moment in the UK! Tim and I have had up to 7 weekends away (some short, some long). Chaos, but wonderful chaos.

I thought before beginning the weekend jam festival I should present my excuses to the blog and share a our travels over the last little while in some highlight photos;

Week 1: Oxford with Dad. Such a special trip with my dad that made me want to move home tomorrow just to have more time hanging out.













Week 2: Istanbul. Highlight- smoking shish (apple flavour), drinking Turkish tea (apple again) and laughing over absolutely nothing.


















Week 3: Belly from Melbourne comes to stay. Highlight: The massive green turf chairs in front of the Arts Centre


















Week 4: Road trip from Seville to La Herradura, Spain. Highlight: first ray of sunshine













....and Bels home made Sangria













...which led to this













Week 5: Palma Mallorca. Highlight: oh how the other half live!













Week 6: Mum comes to stay. Highlight: Seeing mum- brilliant, op-shopping and a trip to the Dordogne in France. Mum would tell you her highlight was eating duck for 3 days straight whereas mine was the spectacular views over the Dordogne river.













Week 7: Croatia. Highlight: Spending time with my TJ



















I've had the BEST time travelling but there is nothing like coming home again to a quiet house and just stopping, staying still for 5 minutes and appreciating just how lucky you are. Its great to be home and even better to be back on the blog.

Huge thanks to the superwomen in my life, Aims and Greer, for holding the fort in my absence.

Now about that jam - anyone have a recipe?

The Big Banana

In my early 20's I travelled through India, and after about a month, I was desperate for an alternative to fish curry and perhaps a few flavours of home. I had heard about a French woman who ran a bakery called the Clafoutis Bakery on the cliffs of Kerala and everyday she made fresh bread and jam with whichever fruit she could get her hands on. This news was enough to sustain the day long train ride to the south (and the beautiful beaches).

And the punt paid off in jam, delicious jam - her recipe was to match the weight of the fruit with sugar and she told me you can make anything into jam (this was an amazing concept to a jam making virgin). Even though I remember her instructions really well, I am not game enough to do it without a recipe so this is one I dug up on the net.

Oh and here is the fruit that is

always in abundance here,

although I think they actually come from the Philippines. I am a true banana lover, especially having

grown up in Coffs Harbour!

I struggled getting a little bottle of rum here in DB so regrettably I omitted it. I have to say 3 3/4 cups of lush brown sugar makes for a rather impressive caramel mound. Even a bit overwhelming for a sweet tooth as developed as mine! It was a sticky, lovely, sweet, toffee smell that filled the house. Unfortunately my jam hasn't seemed to have set as it should have and therefore is a bit runny, and it seems darker than the picture. But it is DELICIOUS with a really tart unflavoured yoghurt or ice-cream. Apparently the french tradition is to have it with a fresh tangy cheese called Petites Suisse.

Banana Jam

2 lbs ripe bananas (1 Kg)
3 3/4 Cup brown sugar (750 g)
1 1/3 Cup water (3 dl)
juice of 3 limes (or lemons)
1 teaspoon cinnamon (1 cc)
3 tablespoons of pure vanilla extract (or use real vanilla beans) (1 cs)
1 dash of ginger powder
1/4 Cup of rum (1/2 dl)

Peel and mash the bananas.
Mix water, lime juice, sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, ginger over moderate heat and stir until syrup thickens. Add the mashed bananas and let cook 20 to 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add rum during the last few minutes of cooking to let alcohol burn off. Immediately place in jam jars and seal.