The new toy

A few months ago I succumbed to my love of totally unnecessary gadgets and got an iphone. Two days of playing with it convinced me that it was actually an essential requirement for life in the 21st century. This realisation coincided with my dropping it onto a tiled floor and busting it to the tune of $288. (As this blog isn't rated 'adult content' I'll refrain from relaying the language that ensued). So, after several phone calls to my phone company and the folks at Apple, I stuffed it back in its box (more expletives) and vowed to get it fixed when I had taken care of life's other necessities, restaurant bills, tobacco, music downloads, single-malt, yarn, etc.

Finally, with $300 grasped in my paw, I headed into the service centre. A charming, confident woman with cropped hair and sensible shoes insisted that I have a new phone, no charge, and a bonus protective cover. Having saved the equivalent of an entire box of Cuban cigars due to 'rainbow' connections, it struck me that sometimes it's a good thing to look a complete stereo-type.

Since then the laptop and digital camera have gathered dust whilst waiting for my ipod obsession to fade from absurd to slightly annoying whilst in public. I think I've got there. The fact that I'm now looking out of the window to check if its raining rather than hitting the global weather application has got to be a good sign, right?

Corny Essex

I've had this hankering for a while. I've wanted to make cornbread. There are so many blogs out there steeped in American or Mexican style cooking, I have to admit to being a little sheepish. You can take the girl out of England, but, evidently, you can't take England out of the girl. This is my roundabout way of owning up to using a Jamie Oliver recipe, as Deep South as only Essex can be. In my defence, I probably would not have stopped dead in my tracks if I hadn't read the irresistible trio of ingredients cheese, green chili and caramelized onions. What makes me even more of a nosh harlot is that I'm already wondering, when the chili's gone, if I can toast it dotted with blue-cheese crumbs and have it with bacon for brekky.

Whilst on the subject of Chili, these are my favourite chockies. Each fortnight I pop into the Swan Valley and pick up half a kilo of my favourite coffee blend from Yahava which is bitter as hell and thick with body (I indulge with a cigar and, therefore, need to be hit in the side of the head with the flavour as I'm busy numbing my taste-buds with nicotine). It just so happens, or this may be proof there is a god depending on your belief system, that Margaret River Chocolate Factory is within a stone's throw, so, it's inevitable that I take a small detour and pick up half a dozen of these little guys. I love the ridiculous richness of the truffle, followed by a gradual awareness of the subtle chili - like a warm kiss on the inside of your cheeks.

Well, I'm off to put the kennel back. It's new, I paid $126 for a super-duper plastic kennel which is roomy, hygenic and can convert to a day bed in Summer. I put it out the back for her ladyship at 8am. It's now 11am and she has already chewed the vent off of it, thrown her blanket in a hole, and dragged it round the garden backwards numerous times. Not that she's not appreciative. It's the biggest, most expensive chew toy she's ever been given, "Thanks Mum!" Grrrr!

Boneyard, beetroot and mitts.

I've read several recipes combining legumes and beetroot as a warm salad, so yesterday I gave it a go. Substantial enough for a main, the earthiness of the beetroot went well with the creamier borlotti beans. A glug of evoo, a splash of balsamic, and a dollop of cheese and I was in heaven. Today I've finished the leftovers off with grilled, marinated pork strips. I think this salad would also go well with goat's cheese or fetta.

I've finally knitted the mittens my poor long-suffering niece requested a year ago. Part of me, the less pleasant, selfish part, is hoping she hates them and I get to keep the little treasures. They're plain, fit well, and are a perfect solution for keeping your hands warm at the same time as indulging in a Cuban. I know this as I couldn't help giving them a test run with my disgusting habit, (prior to washing them I might add). I wish I could remember the pattern name, but, I have to admit to being quite remiss. I found it for free on Ravelry some time ago and, because it was so simple, I just scrawled the few pattern rows into my notebook. Now I have gone back to find a reference, I realise I've called it Charlotte's mittens, which is of no help, Charlotte being the said niece. Oops! I feel rather guilty because if someone is kind enough to share a lovely pattern for free, the least you should be able to do is give credit where it is due. I've hunted to no avail, but, if I come across it again I will give a belated thanks.

On the needles at the moment is a ridiculously easy 'Boneyard Shawl' by Stephen West. I think part of the reason I like this project is the name. You imagine a Danse Macabre, or a Dickensian 'Rag and Bone' man. But, most of all, after the lace projects, there are no holes! Yay! On cold mornings I wrap up in a huge 70's style scarf I knitted a while back. Given the fact that my morning coordination is a bit dicey, it does sometimes feel like I'm trying to wrestle with an Anaconda, particularly as the scarf is green. So, I thought time for a non-femmey (smashing on others, just plain weird on me), plain shawl. It seems to be pretty unisex, I saw one knitter had referred to it as a M-awl (up there with 'manbag' I guess).

I'm using a classic 8ply from Bendigo Woollen Mills in the 'silver twist' colourway (this is a ghastly photo). I've only got this wool because mother sent it to me. It was very kind of her, but, I must admit to not being a fan of this particular yarn. The final plying seems too loose, resulting in a yarn that is easily split whilst knitting and lacking in life. Still, I figure with a shawl all it has to do is drape, how much life does it need? I've finished 9 repeats, but need 12 before I do the border, which, of course, with a shawl is not as far along as it sounds. They are very sneaky projects in that the closer you get to the end, the longer the rows. You begin to feel as though time is standing still and there is always that slight anxiety that you haven't calculated the yarn requirements accurately. It does add an element of suspense to the closing rows!

Fat-bottomed flies

It's a smashing morning. For the last few days the sun has been shining and it really does feel like spring is in the air. It's quite hard not to frolic and recipes that can be cooked on the barbie plate pop into mind. For lunch I'm thinking a combination of squid, bacon, mushroom and capsicum, all sizzling away whilst I lounge in the stripey deck chair with a pale ale. I'm feeling so enthused I can even imagine firing up the lawnmower tomorrow. If you knew me, this statement would be met with the same incredulity as my announcing a missionary trip to Africa.

Some mornings, when I get home from work, I fancy a leisurely stroll in the park. By definition this does not include Agatha. I hasten to add that she's taken on the boisterous, energetic sprint that passes for a dog walk later in the day. Just a little time to commune with nature and contemplate the everyday and monumental stuff of life. It happens once in a blue moon, far less often than desired, due to the fact that I have to get past this:

I have been known to get halfway down the drive before breaking, but, normally I go back for the lead before getting off the porch. This morning Aggie and I (yes, I was conned into it this morning too) absent-mindedly marched through an area thick with fat-bottomed flies. Aggie was snapping and I was whacking their arses out of the way. We continued on thinking nothing more of it. On the way back, ponderings shelved for the day, I paid a little more attention.

Gulp! I don't even want to think about Aggie with a bee-stung mouth! All I can say is those little guys are either wearing leather breeches or are drunk on spring blooms. They would have to be the most good-natured honey makers I've ever encountered. Aggie and I apologised from afar and I vowed to never smack a bee's bottom again.

It had to end this way

Yes, it's over, call it a day
Sorry that it had to end this way
No reason to pretend
We knew it had to end some day

Apologies, I break into song whenever I look at this photo. Lesson learnt? If I don't like it half-way in, nothing miraculous is going to happen to change my mind by the time it's finished. When in doubt . . . "RIP IT!"

Never mind, the dreaded L@#e Scarf is finished. I feel only a warm sense of relief that the saga is over. Oh, and a vague uneasiness that I am able to recall Johny Mathis lyrics. It may be time to start fudging my DOB . . .

Too much, too little, too late to try again with you
We're in the middle of ending something that we knew . . .

Weather control

I've learnt to control the weather! We've had the wettest September for decades here in Western Australia. Our first month of Spring has been grey and damp. So, I knitted a beanie . . . a beanie that fits well (too loose you look a goose, too tight your head feels light), a beanie that I love the colours of, a beanie that I want to wear all week with the possible exception of whilst lying in bed.This morning, when I drew back the curtains, the sun was streaming through the window and I'm going to have to put on SPF15 before walking the dog. This is powerful stuff. Obviously, when I'm sick of Summer in a few months time, I just have to knit a bikini!

The pattern, Stella's Hat was lovely to knit. I chose to start it on the DPN's rather than begin with a circular and change later. I never really see the point of that if it's a small project. But, then maybe I'm a tightwad when it comes to buying needles unnecessarily.

It took one ball of Cleckheaton's Vintage Hues pure wool to complete, plus, a couple of episodes of 'The Wire'. I had a bit of yarn left over, however, I had shortened the pattern by an inch as I didn't want the roominess at the top. The decreases for the crown were a doddle, fitting beautifully across the 4 needles with no stitch jiggling required. It was smashing to be knitting something woolly, almost hairy, that was scruffy enough for me eagerly anticipate wearing.

I'm off to wash the dreaded L@#e Scarf. A bit of water, 50 pins, and 2 days drying is all that stands between me and the end of the saga. Then Aggie and I will go frolic in the park until heat exhaustion threatens (yes, I am going to wear the beanie).

Ishbel tishbel

I finally took some photos of the finished Ishbel Scarf (the smaller version). I did enjoy knitting it and the problem of what the heck to do with the FO is solved. I mentioned it to mother and apparently, although it will be dragging coals to Newcastle, she would like to have it. Something about owning an item her daughter knitted (an unexpected warm, fuzzy). She also mentioned having recently knitted an asparagus green jumper that this will go with. So, all's well that ends well with this particular item. I've finished the other dreaded L@#e Scarf and will be blocking it over the next couple of days, which leaves me feeling pretty chirpy as I have met my knitting goals for the month and can start something that I won't feel daft wearing. (It's going to be a while before I try lace again, and it will have to be with a present for someone in mind).

Agatha abandoned me for a new love yesterday. It was, however, short-lived. As soon as the BBQ was turned off she suddenly remembered who took her for walks and that maybe I wasn't such a bad old stick. Shame, really. I'd planned on finishing my beer and sneaking home whilst she was still ogling the cook's legs.

Piggy in the pot

Pork. Hmm . . . rolled shoulder of pork, covered with mustard and fennel and cooked with pears in a little cider. Vegies. Brussell sprouts and carrots cooked in honey and bacon. All in all, rib-sticking winter fare.


Cooked in the slow-cooker, this was a no-brainer. But, lush as the meal was, I must admit my plebby nature loves nothing more than cold pork sandwiches.

So, today finds me with my bare feet planted in over-grown grass, my rear comfortably ensconced in the stripey deck chair, the sun on my back and my hands gripping pork and chutney door-stops. Other than some muesli and fruit this will do me for the day. Which is just as well, as work has rung and my settled routine is an illusion. Someone's taken a sickie and can I work a double? Sigh!