Since I was little, playing the piano has always fixed a gloomy mood. The familiarity and magic that my fingers can draw from this big instrument is something I am exceedingly grateful for. Tonight I've been writing a song and that's an even better drug than just playing.
Big, fat, sweet, juicy oysters are manna from heaven. My mum brought me half a dozen of delicious beauties today. I savoured them one by one with a glass of dry sherry.
No matter what the weather, there always seems to be some Marigold flouncing around my garden. Her orange splendour makes it easy to gloss over the mess in my garden and wallow in flowery magnificence.
There is something quite delightful about a flat-backed pot that sits so perfectly against a terracotta wall, sprouting verdant geranium. A little bubble of an Italian streetscape transplanted into a Melbourne suburb.
There's been a chill in my bones all day, so when I got home this evening I put my socks on the heater to warm up. How glorious the feeling of thrusting my icy feet into toasty warm socks, and then into fluffy slippers!
There's something about Friday that just feels better with a glass of wine in a nice little bistrot. Woods Yard in Albert Park is doing it perfectly. A beautifully balanced Albariño from Margan in Orange is in my glass next to a tasty bowl of olives.
I've started getting fit last week, which has me toddling off to training twice a week. It seems silly to drive me car to do exercise, so I ride my bike. This is no speed ride. Slow and sweaty is the feeling du jour on the way home along the creek, but I can feel
I do enjoy making things. Today's mission was to make bias binding for a waistcoat I'm making. I know you can buy it already made and perfectly ironed, but doing it myself is very satisfying and means I understand much better how it works.
Blood oranges are a very seasonal thing. So much so that I usually forget they even exist until one thrilling day there they are at the fruit shop. I love their dark, sometimes blotchy colour, ranging from orange through to dark purple, their dribbly juiciness, and their extra zingy flavour.
I read this beautiful Mary Oliver poem on the back of the toilet door at a friend's place today. It was such a lovely pause in the middle of an excellent conversation. Like a beautiful vista glimpsed through the window of a gorgeous room. SUMMER STORY - Mary Oliver When the hummingbirdsinks its faceinto the
