Goodbye Spring Green ...

... and hello Summer Yellow.

End of Movember ...

... no, I've not spelled it incorrectly, Movember. Mr Brown grew himself some mustaches, as you can see (the pic was taken about half-way through). And he's raised sufficient sponsorship $$ to be in the running for a shiny new ute. I have suffered through this hirsute month, not completely uncomplainingly. I hate the Mo, it makes him look like a biker-themed 70s porn star. That, or an underworld hitman (especially when he puts on dark glasses). He's promised to remove the thing this very evening, so harmony & love'n can return to the Brown-Mouse house.
Oh, it's also the end of NaBloPoMo (thank goodness). I've looked and counted and yes, I posted at least once a day for the whole of November. To celebrate, November's WordCloud.
And one more thing. I love this clock. Go watch it do its stuff.

Santa & Invisible Friends …

... There’s a little interview with Peter Jensen (the Anglican Archbishop of Sydney who cancelled the choir at St Andrews) in the (Sydney) magazine today. In it Jensen is quoted as saying “In my experience, children never confuse Santa with Jesus … they know that, with Jesus, they are dealing with reality”. Oh Really?

I could not live without ...

... If I were to be dumped on a desert island, I'd have to pack in my picnic basket - smoked salmon, avocados, chocolate (dark), bacon, potatoes, sun-warmed vine-ripened tomatoes, white nectarines, pasta, cream, butter, free range cackleberries, lamb shanks, lentils (all kinds) and proper coffee.
I could live without the above, but who'd want to?

Let's talk about overpackagaing shall we ...

... 6 books were delivered to our house today. Just 6 paperbacks. At least Ping got some value from the ridiculously excessive packaging.Tonight's pizza was potato, prosciutto & rosemary, no pics we were very hungry.
Also, a very well dressed, man with distinguished-silver hair got onto my train this afternoon. He was carrying an 18-pack of loo rolls, 12 fancy boutique beers and a teeny wee bottle of orange juice.

Shit ...

... Shit, shit, shitty, shit, shit.

What I should have said ...

... to the man picking the sleep out of his eyes on the train this morning. "Wash your face before you leave the house you grub!".
What I actually did was turn to the window, quietly gagging.

Politicians are good for one thing ...

... They inspire some great cartoons. I've loved this cartoonist's stuff throughout the election build up. I think this is the final one and it's just brilliant. Go to Crikey.com to see the archives, they will make you smile.

Don't vote ...

... it only encourages them.
Only we have to, voting's compulsory, if you don't you cop a fine. Not that I mind much, the voting that is. I do mind the politicians though. I've a more-than-healthy, cynical disrespect for anyone who goes into politics. My "side" won last night, and I hope it will make a difference. A little less "wedge" politics, getting rid of the vile "workplace reforms" introduced by the other side. Perhaps even a little more social justice, a kinder, gentler Australia.
I have, however, my doubts.

Shit ...

... I knew I was evil but HITLER? Perhaps I need to take a chill pill.

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Elections & rain ...

... Here, richly, with ridiculous display,
The Politician's corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintances sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.
(Words thanks to Joseph Hilaire Pierre Belloc)
My brother sent me that wee quote, with good luck wishes for polling day. I think we can guess where his sympathies don't lie.
Lee, from over at Pink Granite, commented in the last post that there's a union over in the US that has a slogan, "Unions, the folks who brought you the weekend". I think that's something the ACTU should steal.
It's raining, a nice soft rain. Mr Brown is off to say goodbye to his boat. This afternoon we shall wander about 30 metres to the polling booth and vote. I think we'll go out tonight, see a movie, have some laksa, avoid the news and wake up to a surprise tomorrow morning.

Only blind Freddy ...

... wouldn't have noticed there’s been a bit of campaigning for the federal election lately, culminating with a poll this Saturday. (Goodie, I get to fill in a form and partake of the wares of a traditional, fund-raising sausage sizzle.) And I can’t help but notice the anti-union scare campaign the coalition is running.
Now, I’m a person who has been very active in the union movement. I’m the daughter, grand daughter, great grand daughter, and probably beyond that, of union members. As are many, many Australians. Unions may not be perfect but without them we wouldn’t have sensible working hours, sick leave, maternity leave, holidays, a decent minimum wage (until recently anyway).
Anyway, my point is I’m actually pretty offended that, given the above, I, my family and thousands, probably millions, of Australians are being portrayed as thug-like ogres out to destroy our OWN way of life in the coalition’s campaign.
And the wording, “they will stuff the economy”. Honestly, don’t we deserve something a little better than that? It shows contempt for the voter. That is the only sort of language they believe we can understand. And they have the nerve to call those a little-to-the-left elitist!

At the movies ...

... Mr Brown & I went to see Elizabeth: The Golden Age on Monday night - an amazingly beautiful spectacle of a film, if horribly historically inaccurate. Anyway, it reminded my of how much I loved this picture, the Ermine Portrait, attributed to William Segar, 1585. (And can I just say, that Clive Owen chappie ... yum.)

pic thanks to ...

Finally ...

This was for CAW on the 17th, it would not load, now it has.
Belateds Ms CAW. xx

Wednesday night pizza ...

... Fresh tomato tossed with pesto. Prosciutto. Fresh mozzarella. Mmmmmm, pizza.

Yesterday morning ...

… I opened the lounge-room door and was greeted by an overpowering pong, cat wee.
Search as I might I could not locate the spot. I cleared out the girls’ tray, hoping it had just been a particularly hot night, and they drank more than usual. But no, the smell persisted.
Mr Brown got up. He noticed. He said horrid things to the furry girls, but still we could not find the spot.
Then it clicked, I’d chopped up a lot of basil the night before and the stalks and stuff were in the bowl ready to go out to the compost bin. It was removed and so was the smell.
Isn’t if funny how something that smells as fabulous a fresh basil can smell so nasty once wilted!
And also, I've just done all my xmas shopping at Oxfam Unwrapped, perhaps you should too.

Hot ...

... it was so hot while I was out at lunchtime that I was compelled to buy some Jurlique Rosewater Balancing Mist, to hydrate & refresh my poor hot face. This does not bode well for the summer.

Naiad ...

... isn't she lovely? The bucket does not do her justice but a beautiful pot is being prepared for her. These things take time and we weren't expecting a waterlily to come and live at our house. She is our deity-parent gift (we gave the boykin a purple elephant, almost as big as he, as I could not find a toy Ganesha anywhere). She was to be a lotus but .... thank goodness one could not be found, I don't think we've room for anything quite that big.
Have you spotted the "theme"? Try looking at his teeny green singlet.
In case our in-case-of-emergencies role is called upon, we have been instructed to bring him up a "good heathen".

And this is for CAW ....

... Because it's her birthday - yesterday in Australia & today in the US. This is supposed to be a video of the summer breeze wafting the Jac flowers all about but after 4 attempts last night and another 2 this morning, I've given up. Bastard birthday spoiling blogger!

Second, some bebe blogging ...

... I promise I won't do this often but the wee nephew has charmed my blackened & shrivelled heart, he was quite the most delightful creature, soft, pink, squirmy and with a cheeky grin. And we were asked to his in-case-of-emergencies, which has got to be the nicest thing we've ever been asked. The deal was sweetened with the gift of a beautiful yellow waterlily, so Mr Brown is outside as I type, preparing a pot to put her in (pics of her later).
And so, if you'll indulge me a moment, pics!

First the beast ...

... as promised. One of the many reasons I like Mr Brown so much is that he knows exactly what I like (well mostly) and what would delight me. So when he was BBQing our salmon the other night he called me out, there was something I had to see. A Cicada. A Green-Grocer Cicada. The most magnificent green, jewel of an insect.

We are off to deepest, darkest ...

... Maianbar this afternoon. To meet the wee nephew at last (he lives with his parents in Queensland of all places). Confit of duck will be consumed (my brother wants Mr Brown to rub duck fat into the toes of the small one) as will some red wine I suspect. I'm a little nervous, what if said nephew is totally vile and I don't like him? Do I have to pretend for the rest of my life? Are you allowed to have favourites with nephews & nieces? (I know you're not supposed to as a parent or grandparent but what about aunties & uncles?) There were several years, after all, when my brother & I each thought the other total poison. Not any more mind, but still ...
I return tomorrow, to stun you with pictures of the beautiful beastie Mr Brown found for me in the back garden.

For a recipe to make it ...

... in the Brown-Mouse House, it has to be simple. Nothing is more guaranteed to put me in a filthy mood than dozens of fiddly ingredients and general faffing about. I like just a few ingredients, a simple method. I don't mind lots of chopping though, it's rather soothing.
So, last night worked well, though there was no actual recipe to follow, simple, quick and just a few ingredients. Some lovely salmon fillets. Some white beans (thank you Mr Pressure Cooker), the zest & juice of a lemon, olive oil, salt & pepper, asparagus and snow peas. Mr Brown got to fire up the BBQ (first for the season) and it was lovely.

How scary ...

... is your part of the world?
And now for Wednesday night's pizza. This time, the construction of it. First the sliced mushrooms & rocket (last of the weekend harvest, it keeps well if washed, dried, wrapped in paper towels and popped in a plastic bag). There's nothing on the base before the mushrooms because they release so much mushroomy juice to soak into the bread. Then prosciutto, local (though I suspect not within 100km of home, I did not dig deep). And then the cheese, semi-hard mozzarella, expertly grated by the handy Mr Brown. No final shot, we were hungry and House was about to start.

If I ever become independently wealthy ...

... I'm going to mess with the minds of my enemies.

So does a bear shit in the woods?

... apparently, yes.

No idea where this pic came from, it was one of those email things.

Am I the only ...

... women in the inner west who puts her makeup on in the bathroom anymore? I don’t object to seeing a bit of lippy applied, or a nose being powdered, but I’m sick and tired of watching women apply the full slap! Foundation, cheek stuff, several kinds of eye stuff, layer upon layer of mascara, lip liner, lipstick, lip gloss! If I can manage to get to the train on time, fully slapped up, so should we all.

True devotion ...

... … this morning I watched a woman vomit on the train.
She was terribly neat and discrete about it, getting everything in a plastic bag, no mess, no fuss. But what I noticed the most was how terribly sweet her husband (one assumes) was about the whole thing. He found her the plastic bag, tied it with a knot after the deed, found her tissues for the little mop up, gave her a little cuddle and generally fussed and took care of her. I thought it a lovely example of true devotion, when it counts. Flowers and dinners out are all well and good but when you are puking on public transport, that's when a beloved really needs to come to the fore.

It's my only pleasure ...

... I've taken to irritating the poo out of the generally mellow Mr Brown by leaning across the shopping trolley after I've just popped in a treat (like the delicious Rieme Limonade Artisanale, or some Aunty Joan's Toffee, or a wafer-thin bar of Lindt Excellence chocolate) and saying, "it's my only pleasure".
This makes him roll his eyes and sigh and say something horrid like "bullshit mouse". He's demanded that I stop using the phrase.
But what, gentle reader, shall I say in its stead?

Rocket ...

... yesterday I said I'd have to do something about the rampant rocket taking over the salad bed. So I did. All harvested it filled a washing (laundry) basket and I spent some time suffering the cricket on TV (Mr Brown turned it on) plucking leaves and dividing them into 2 piles, big leaves for pesto and little leaves for a salad. Washed and minced (and with plenty of pine nuts, olive oil and Parmesan cheese added of course), all that rocket became about 300g of rocket pesto. The most amazing green, peppery, tangy pesto.
In other news, Ping introduced me to her pet flea, Ferdinand, last night. My fault, I should have started the annual anti-flea regime last month but forgot. So it started last night with that toxic squeeze-on-the-back-of-the-neck stuff being administered to both furry girls and a good bedding wash and vacuum this morning. The calender is marked for the next toxic dose. Things should be fine from now on. It's funny though, how as soon as I spotted Ferdinand I started to itch.

After a week of near constant rain ...

... and a mighty rain storm last night, the sun came out this morning.
Just what the doctor ordered for Persephone and the wee solar garden lights we've been trying to power up for a week. The Rocket has taken over the salad garden, I'm really going to have to do something about that. Though it's become quite the skink habitat. This morning I quietly watch a skink skitter and leap from leaf to leaf, a coppery, bright-eyed acrobat.
The moist and mild conditions seem to suit the hydrangea. It's gone completely ape-poo, putting on an astoundingly, almost blinding-white display of it's fluffy floral art. And the ginger lily is at it again. I do love that I can have my weekend wanderings in the tiny garden, tis soothing to the spirit.

The only problem ...

... with carpets of beautiful mauve Jacaranda flowers is it turns to this. A brown, slimy mess that is horrid under one's bare footsies.

Bum wars 2 ...

Bum #1 (gentleman of the homeless persuasion) was selling the Big Issue outside David Jones, right at the crossroads of Castlereagh & Market streets.
Bum #2 (another gentleman of the homeless persuasion) came along with his dog and sets up shop (cardboard box asking for money, not selling Big Issue) a wee bit up Market Street, right outside DJ’s doors.
Bum #1 takes umbrage, believing Bum #2 is poaching his pitch.
A robust tiff ensues, many “fuck offs” expressed, the dog starts barking fretfully.
I can’t stay to see the end.

Bum wars ...

... I could not be descried as a svelte, wee-slip-of-a-thing by any means but, so far, I manage to confine my bum to one seat. Even with those mean skinny seats on the light rail, I do not spill over.
You could not say the same for quite a few of my fellow commuters. Like the corpulent be-suited gentleman who got on this morning. I shall call him Mr Lard-Arse McFattybotbot.
He sat next to me and I immediately felt the pressure, the warm, meaty pressing for more space, that space being my seat.
“Up with this I shall not put”, I thought to myself, and firmly sat my ground.
He was insistent, I was squeezed, if I’d have stood up there would have been a pop, resembling that of a cork from a bottle.
And so it was for the journey, push, shove, jostle, press … this is bum wars.
Also, it was pizza night last night, smoked chicken breast, capsicum jam & semi-hard mozzarella.

My birthday pomegranate ...

... tree finally arrived this morning. Bright & early. She's been de-boxed and is now sitting on the back step getting rained on.
The box has been thoroughly inspectedinside and out by Security Chief Ping and her able assistant Small.I think I'll call her Persephone.