Conversation, early this morning ...

... He "Happy Anniversary Mouse."
Me "Happy Anniversary, 18 years eh?"
He "Yep."
Me "Shall we give it another?"
He "Sure, why not."

Dinner will be here, because that's 'tradition'. We will, no doubt, eat several different kinds of oysters, some Kosciusko Pearl Trout Roe on Potato Blinis with Wasabi & Crème Fraiche and follow that with the Snapper Pie with Smoked Tomato & Mashed Potato. We are nothing if not fixed in our ways.

Guess what Mr Brown wants? ...

.... This.

Actually he wants one of these but $12,000 to make 4 cups of coffee a week is a tad excessive.

End of an era ...

... just before we moved into the long, thin house (11 years ago), I suggested to Mr Brown that we purchase an old ute. This was to replace his very sporty V8 thingy that was very low to the ground and would be dreadful to drive on the steep and wibbly streets round where we were to live.
It was also so he could rip up all the concrete in the long, thin backyard, bring home turf and lay it. Do a little light middle-class removating and such like.
He came home with the Beaut, the beautiful ute. Not old and battered at all. Apparently the old battered utes were so terrible he couldn't bring himself to buy one. So, the pretty, almost new, teal-green ute became ours.
Beaut has served us well all these years. Has been the biggest boot in the Inner West and driven us all over in relative comfort. Beaut's not been the best for when we have guests. You can fit in three people, but not comfortably. But we don't have a lot of guests who need to be driven around. And if we did, we'd use their car.
But Beaut was starting to rattle a bit, the comfort factor was declining and, apparently something to do with Beaut being a Ford, rust was developing.So, last weekend, while I was blogging merrily about chocolate-covered rat brains, Mr Brown went looking at cars.
We've been talking about getting a new car for years now. An impasse had been reached. He wanted to keep the ute and get something sporty. I said two cars for a couple who don't have off-street parking, one of whom uses public transport to get to work (smug me), was excessive, silly and wasteful. What we needed was a compromise car, I said. Something that I may consider driving but which could tow a boat, have room for storage of various spare boat parts AND was nice and a bit sporty.
He found one. He picked it up on Friday, his birthday. Beaut is gone, traded in for this minx.We still have all that bloody concrete in the backyard.

Snack ?

..... Me: "Snack?"
He: "Ooo, what's this?"
Crunch, crunch, crunch."Chocolate covered rat poo."
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"No, really, what are they?""Chocolate covered rat feces. Really."
"Bollocks."
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"What are they?""Brain of rodent, lightly covered in rich, dark chocolate!"Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"No, no they're not .... Really?"I'll never tell!

Tigger helping Mr Brown ...

... get a little work done at home, before the weekend starts.

Boooo .....

.... ooooooooooo.
It would seem Mr Brown cocked up dinner reservations, I will not be stuffing my face with sea pearls and 8 texture chocolate cake at Quay next week.
He has no back up plan. I may have a self-indulgent little weep.
*sob*

A week or so ago ...

... the credit card got stopped by the bank because I bought something over the phone from a Stawell-based business, at about the same time Mr Brown was buying his heart's desire in Brisbane (of all places). The bank did not like the wide-spread spending and stopped the card.
It's all mended now and look, look what we got for the furry girls.It doesn't look like much and the girls weren't terribly impressed. Although they did like the boxes it came in.And approve or not, nothing was keeping Tigger away from interesting doings and goings on.The weather was, a tad inclement for building outside. But with the clever use of an umbrella, Mr Brown building and me holding things and handing things over, we got the job done. Something for unaccompanied, unsupervised outside time. Nobody, other than Mr Brown, has actually been in it yet, dainty paws don't like to get wet. But heads have been poked out the door, outside air has been sniffed. And I expect, as soon as the sun shines, these two will drag their furry arses out for a proper inspection.

On Sunday afternoon ...

... Mr Brown came home unexpectedly early from sailing.
The following conversation actually took place.
"Boo."
"Scream."
"I'm home, early. We can sit on the couch, hold hands and talk."
Silent moment until the full enormity of the occasion hits.
"O, really? So we can sit for hours and hours and talk?"
"Yes, because I am a good husband ©"
"Talk, talk about us? Is on the couch and talk about 'our relationship'?" (I did finger quotes)
"Yes."
"Wouldn't you rather clear the gutters?"
Picture Mr Brown, frantically hauling out the ladders. Both of them.

Been a while ...

... since the last post.
No reason, not blue, just tired.
So, to catch up ... I burned my arm about a week ago, it got infected and there was pus. I think it's going to develop into a reasonably cool scar. I'll be able to tell people I got it in a kitchen fight, or something.
I've ordered some new, quite fancy, pens and am waiting for them to arrive. I hate waiting.
I saw a poor little dead flying fox on the way home, hanging from some power lines.
And today at lunchtime I sneezed 5 times without it hurting. Huzzah!

O, and it looks like Italy in July is the go! Anybody wanna come keep me company while Mr Brown plays with his boating friends?

So, on Sunday ...

... afternoon, before I wrote the last post and before we went to bed ... Mr Brown and I went for a little drive to one of those 'homemaker' centres to visit a bedding shop.
We went to buy one of these. I blush a little because it turns out the product was designed for persons undergoing the ... menopause. But fuck it, I was HOT and could bear it no more.
Then we went to the movies, because there was air conditioning and ice cream (rather good, gelatissimo ice cream as it happens) and then we lingered over our weekly grocery shop at the 'old persons' cooling centre' aka a Mall! (thanks for the term Cookie). When we stepped outside after the hunt&gather the cool change had hit.
Which rendered the purchase of the cooling sleeping mat a little redundant. Still, as a Twitter peep said, "Summer's not over yet".
Anyhoo, I popped the thing on the bed anyway, just to see. Most cooling it was, lovely, almost as if heat was being drawn from our hot little (he hem) bodies. We slept the sleep of the just, with a sheet over us and everything. Bliss.
Until 3am when I am wakened by a frantic Mr Brown.
"Quick, we've got to get this bloody thing OFF. I'm BOILING."
"What? What? What d' y' want to do?"
"Get it OFF, I'm dying!"
He was right, the mat had sucked out all the heat and, ultimately, ran out of cooling mojo and started just storing the warm.
We stripped the bed, pulled it off, remade the bed and went back to sleep. Well, he did, I lay there, cursing, fretting and being cross about the $300-odd lump of pointless gel mat lying on the floor.
I could have bought a nice pen with that $$. Bastard thing.

Last evening ...

... it was eleventy million degrees hot, so Mr Brown popped out into the backyard to spray some water on the poor hot wilty plants.
I remained inside, where it was only eleventy thousand degrees hot.
But then he called me to come outside, "quickly, come look at this".
"No way, I'm not going out there, bugger off matey boy," was my initial response.
"No, really Mouse, come look, it's worth it."And so I did and it was.Frogs, frogs that sound like a drip in the pipes, frog have chosen our little blue pot to deposit their spawn.Potential bebe frogs, each and every one.You can rest assured, we'll be monitoring water levels and spawn/tadpole/froglett status, daily.
Ribbet.

Mr Brown's best xmas gift ...

... I mentioned it earlier, here's the evidence.
The Pudding. The Eating of the Pudding, while testing blood pressure*.


* Why yes, I did marry a lunatic.

I forgot to pack Rupert ...

... so I've no photos to show you of our seasonal festive feast.
You'll just have to believe me when I tell you the duck crisped and crackled up a treat. The pieces looked lovely on their beds of tiny lentils with just a ball or 2 of the pickled pear (which was declared piquant and delicious).
Mr Brown was given a blood pressure self testing machine (backstory, my dad has one and the first thing Mr Brown does upon walking in the door of my parents' place is say hello, then he pulls out the machine and tests his blood pressure, then he brags about his fabulous blood pressure). I think he must have used it 16 times in 10 minutes, we made him wear it and self test throughout his consumption of the lion's share of the tiramisu. There's a photo of that on mum's dainty wee camera, don't forget to email it Ma!
We went to the Maianbar carols again for some traditional seasonal folk tunes, we ate too much, several times over. We exchanged a few, well chosen gifts, but did not go overboard in a disgusting display of over-consumerism. Except for the uncomfortable (read fucking painful) trip there and back it was all most wonderful indeed.
Mr Brown and I exchanged boxes - mine will keep pens in it and his will keep his cufflinks safe from thieving, velvet grey paws.
My dad dug out his old fountain pen, a Parker 51 Aerometric, and gave it to me. Apparently when his was a "flash young man" some 50 or so years ago, he liked to sign with a fountain pen.
That's been my little task for the last day or so, flushing crusted, 50-year-old, peacock blue ink out of the pen's bladder. THAT I have pictures of!
I've also got pictures of Tigger playing with the toy her grandparents gave her and Ping. Ping's not so keen but Tigger thinks it's the bees knees. Pictures of that too! It is, afterall, time to return to my more traditional mad-cat-lady blogging.

On Friday night I killed our stove ...

... I was going through the motions of making Spinach Rice Gratin, to go with our lovely bits of salmon for dinner. I popped a small pot of water on the stove to bring to the boil and stepped outside to pick spinach & sliverbeet.
Having been outside for only a moment, certainly not long enough for the water to even have begun bubbling, I heard a BANG. Then I heard Mr Brown say a very rude word. Then he called me inside and showed me this.A fault in the pot created a hot spot which burned right through. The water leaked out into the stove element, flooded it and BANG. Sparks flew and the stove died.Twittering helped calm my frazzles, laughing about shit like this helps ease the pain. I was, however, actually quite distressed, as I'd planned to make duck confit on Saturday, for the annual seasonal feast with my parents.Nothing worked and nothing seemed to fix it. At first glance it appeared it wasn't the fuse and I had pictures of violently-expensive-weekend-emergency electrician visits and/or stove shopping the week before xmas! I do not like the shops at this time of year.I did not sleep well that night.Still, tomorrow is always another day and closer inspection led Mr Brown to believe the 16-million-year-old fuse may actually be the problem after all. A call though to my dad and a visit to the evil that is Bunnings, and HUZZAH, the stove lives to cook another day.The moral to this story? Marry a chap who's good with his hands *wink*

For years ...

... my sister would dress up her small girl in festive, seasonal outfits, snap a few photos, stick them on cards and bingo, a seasonal greeting.
They were nice, cute, they made you smile. I guess now she's practically a grown up the kid won't cooperate anymore. They are like that, children, or so I'm told.
Cats, too, are like that. Ours have never cooperated in any sort of dress-ups. Hell, we can hardly get Tigger to stay still long enough to snap anything but a blurr.
And yet, I hankered for a picture or two of our Fur Kinder all gussied up for the season. So, with our hopes not high, a set of bespangled paper wings and a pair of golden pipe-cleaner halos, we locked ourselves, and one cat at a time, in the Library.
Mr Brown tried his hand at one of those professional studio sheet set ups.
I set Rupert on auto-focus, sports shot.
And away we went.
These are the outtakes. If we are fond of you (and have your snail mail address) you may well get a festively seasonal greeting type card in the mail, complete with one of the few shots that we consider successful.

I would like to thank Miss Pingu the Wonder Cat and her sidekick, Miss Tigger the Perpetual-Motion Cat, and Mr Brown the Cat Wrangler. Without them this whole enterprise could never have happened:)

When Mr Brown calls ....

... "Mouse, come quick, bring Rupert".
It's always best to drop everything and do exactly as he says. So far he's never let me down on the exciting-discovery-in-the-garden stakes*.
This morning he thought he'd found me a stick insect! It wasn't though, he wasn't wearing his glasses and closer, pointy-mouse-eyed, inspection revealed 8 legs, not 6.Still, what an amazing looking beastie!
A quick google and I think I've identified her, a Deinopis Subrfua, also known as a Rufous-Net-Casting Spider. Her 2 beady little eyes right at the front are the give away I think.Rest assured, I'll be stalking Ms Deinopis until I catch her wielding her net.
In other, spider-related, news a golden orb weaver wove her web in the best human-catching spot, just near the back steps. We never actually got caught because the web always had something in it, be it some Jacaranda flowers, or a poor desiccated xmas beetle.I'm forgiving the killing of the harbinger of xmas because, as you can see, she also caught one of those blood sucking little fuckers, a mosquito.

* Nor the cute-bebe-animal-on- TV stakes, or the freaky-person-doing/wearing-something-odd stakes either!

Rabbit Ragu ...

... most nom-worthy.
You will need:-
a bunny, chopped into bits (we prefer wild to farmed, the flavour is more, rabbity)
a carrot, grated or finely chopped
an onion, finely chopped
a few celery sticks, finely chopped
a clove or 2 of smashed garlic
a fistful of herbs (bay, thyme, parsley) all tied up with string
EVOO, flour, salt, pepper
White wine (dryish is best, certainly not a sweetie)
A lovely beloved who doesn't mind doing the icky bits.
The 'Method':-
Have your beloved remove all the organs from the bunny's internal cavity. Have a wee gag in the other room while this is done (I did try to do it myself first but lost the plot when I got bits of LUNG under my fingernails). Then toss the organ-free bunny bits in the seasoned flour.Have you heated the oil in you heavy-based pan? No, quick go do that, then brown the bits of bunny and put them aside.Now, all those chopped veg and garlic, into the pan until soft. Pop in the fistful of herbs (after carefully checking for small spiders and sundry other insect life) and top off with the browned bunny bits (I love alliteration, don't you love alliteration?).Pour over about 1/2 a bottle of the wine over and let it all bubble away 'til the alcohol burns off. Cover it over with a little paper coat and the pan lid and pop in the oven (180 degrees - preheated) for about an hour.Share the rest of the wine with your beloved and give the organ bits to your cats.Check for liquid levels, there should be quite a bit, if not add a little stock or water. Take off the paper, replace the lid and give it another 30-45 minutes, the meat should pull away from the bones.
Throw away the limp herbs, their job here is done. Ensure the string is also removed.
Hand your beloved 2 forks and let him/her remove ALL the bones from the meat, then shred it fine.
Meanwhile, you are reducing the veg/wine/bunny juice mix to a nice ragu consistency (thick).
Add the shredded meat to the sauce and let it warm through while you boil up some fat, flat pasta.
Serve and eat while singing Run Rabbit Run.
NO not that one, this one!

Art for the office of a very busy & important Mr Brown ...

... to keep his head small enough to fit through his office door at least. We took it in and hung it on the wall this afternoon. Then I took some fancy pens and post it notes from the desk drawer (left over from the last office inhabitant, now commonly referred to as "the arse-hole") and we came home in the pouring rain.

Tonight ...

... Mr Brown & I will be sipping some celebratory bubbles (Moet Grand Vintage 2000 as it happens).
Mr Brown was made CEO of his workplace-that-shall-not-be-named today.
It's been a long hard slog at this place for my poor Mr Brown over the past year to two, dealing with a boss (now gone, hence Mr Brown's elevation) who was ... not a nice, good or honest person.
Mr Brown's work life was made very difficult, fraught and worrisome. It made him sick at times and it made me sick with worry for him.
But, for once, the shit did not float and it would appear the good-guy actually won for a change.
Congratulations Mr Brown *mmmmwaaah*