Old news if you Tweet ....

... but if you don't, the Brown-Mice trended/styled up a little last week.
I've seen, gloated over, desired Anglepoise Lamps for years. You know the ones, like the little Pixar logo *boing, boing, boing*.And something just snapped the other day, "fuck it" I thought, "I'll just BUY some".
A little light googling found the UK site but try as I might I could not get my payment accepted! It fair drove me bonkers.
Then, I discovered a place that sells them right here in Sydney, a discrete phone call was made and a nice young lady arranged for 2 to be delivered to Mr Brown's office before the week's end.
Any you know what? About $20 cheaper than shipping them in from the UK including the £160 shipping fee! Win!
Delivered they were, as promised. A little light assembly was required. And the instructions did not lie, that base is one weighty bastard. Of course there's an obligatory Tigger-in-a-box picture, what did you expect? Tigger is Mr Brown's most ardent assistant, removal was required.And here they are, Mr Brown's (which required his taking the electrical bits apart and reassembling so it would work. Easier than taking it back to sway between 10 and 4 on a Saturday). And mine. From a reclining Mouse point-of-view!

I bring you this ...

... simply because I can.
Enjoy.

I bought a watch ....

... I didn't mean to, but I did.
It's a MeisterSinger Neo.A one-handed watch, and yet, amazingly enough, time can still be read from it.
Accurate to about 5 minutes.So, not the watch for someone who demands extreme accuracy. But fine for me who needs to know the time, but is happy to wibble a minute here or there.It was that festering-pit of enabling, Twitter, that led me there. And, like my last watch indulgence, Master-Watch-Enabler @aptronym held my hand and did the bargaining.You read, time and again, about the dangers of the Internet, and yet, I've met some really lovely people online who've turned out to be pretty fabulous in real life.
For this, I am thankful & glad. Also, Crikey, I do still have a lot of freckles don't I?

O, all photos were taken by @aptronym :)

I have a tiny green spider living in my beard ...

... my beard of Spanish Moss that is. I've yet to start cultivating old-lady whiskers!And while outside I noticed, not for the first time in the last week or so, that there is a definite air of Spring about the place. This Wisteria has survived. The pale pink Camellia (technically an Autumn flower) lingers on. The Bay Tree is in flower. The dainty Canberra Bluebells are out and wafting about on their elegant stalks. The Freesias are blooming. And the Jasmine has gone berserk, the smell is amazing. And look, it was cold enough this winter to tempt a Jonquil out. Esmeralda's nest is still sound, and nestled in Persephone's new green leaves. And this, I can't remember what it is, but it's bound to make some bees happy!

Seasons ...

... it doesn't get cold here in Sydney. Not really, properly cold like Mr Brown & I grew up with.
Because of this there's no real seasons, it just gets colder for a bit, and then warmer and then HORRIBLE AND HUMID, then warm then a bit cooler.
I really miss seasons, especially Autumn and that fantastic Autumn colour.I used to park my car on the roofless, top storey of a car park in Canberra, so I could look out over the 'burbs full of brilliant reds, oranges and yellows. I used to take different, much longer, routes home, so I could savour the colours of Autumn.Nowadays we have to drive up to the mountains to do any leaf-peeping, and we generally forget because by the time it's "Autumn" in Sydney Town it's practically browned-off Winter up there.This year, however, it a little different. This year it's actually quite chilly. And so this year the Maple in the backyard is turning, reds and yellows are slowly engulfing the tree. We may even get a proper leaf drop*I think it's beautiful and it make me smile.



* Most years it's simply not cold enough to trigger whatever it is that turns the leaves. They eventually brown off a little and then get pushed off the tree by the new, spring growth. Not very satisfactory at all.

On the hunt for collars ...

... nice collars, for cats, our furry girlcats.
Most cat collars, when you google these things or even visit a pet accoutrement emporium , are horribly vulgar contrivances, all bling and sparkle. Which I don't understand as cats are generally discrete creatures of impeccable taste. And yet this is the sort of thing I am offered when I pootle through the interwebs looking for something with a little style, a little elegance to grace the delicate furry necks of the Brown-Mouse girls. It's a little like, I assume, being the mother of a little girl and trying to buy her something not pink or princessy. Nothing would compel me to put one of these around the throat of Miss Tigger. And I'm quite convinced Miss Pingu would die of shame if forced to wear this floral tribute. Ugg.Other offerings, like these for example, are too bright and, I suspect, not genuine leather, peeled from a cow. They just don't look well made. This is slightly tempting, particularly for Miss Tigger, who's neck is so thin that no matter how dainty the collar, it just looks huge on her. But, you know, it's nylon and nylon gets ratty, quickly. Well, it does on our cats anyway. Sharp toenails are, I think, the problem. I am quite taken with these, particularly when I spotted the "Tigger in Lime" but up close it's leather is thin and the stitching is not particularly well done. The little fish bell, though, squeee.I really want something not colourful, something a little reminiscent of bridles and harnesses. Smooth, deep brown, oiled leather. Plain with the simplest of attachments. Well made. I found them of course, they are made in Montreal, Quebec. They are perfect. They are just exactly what I am looking for. They are $292 each.
EDITED TO ADD - Bugger, I've just noticed that those beautiful collars don't have the anti-strangulation bit of elastic on them. The search continues.

A whole bunch of pen orders arrived today ...

... one of these. One of these. One of these. One of these. And one of these.
The last one, in ivory, is particularly lovely to hold (the others are just fun, for work, I don't use taxpayer provided pens, they are crap). I'll have to come up with a very nice ink indeed for that one.
Tomorrow, a visit to the pen shop at the QVB for some inks, perhaps some scented ones that actually work!r

Ears ...

... and what makes them different.
Young Tigger has the most delightful fairy tufts at the delicate points of her butterfly-wing ears. You can only see them in a certain light. I'm not entirely sure if they are a kitten thing (I read somewhere once that some babies have ear fur) and will rub off with age. I hope not, I find them delightful, slightly eccentric.
Pingu, on the other hand, has no ear-tip tufts. Pingu's velvety snippet ears round off smoothly, like the almond-shaped toes on bespoke shoes. They are, however, chock full of tufty fur she allows me to gently tweak, when the mood takes us both.

Bathtime in the afternoon ....

... Pingu's a bit of an obsessive licker, she's constantly washing. This is why she's the cleanest cat in the inner west.
The arrival of Miss Tigger has simply given Ping something else to wash. Mostly Tigger does not object. While I was taking these photographs (on our unmade, sheet-free bed as it happens) I could hear the Tigger-purrs from across the room.

Bowl ...

... when I pointed to this bowl, in the gift shop at the Art Gallery of NSW, indicating that was the one I wanted to purchase and take home with me that very night, the woman said to me "promise you won't freak out if I tell you what it's modeled on?" So of course I looked carefully at it, and said, "a boob?". "Possibly," she replied, "or a buttock".
"Goodness," said I, clutching at my (imagined) pearls, "a remarkably poky-out buttock". The woman then confessed she wasn't actually sure, but she believed the big blue one, alongside, was modeled on a fecund woman about to do the wild howl at the moon thing. This, of course, did not freak me out one little bit, I've even tried it on! It's one of Samantha Robinson's many and fabulous watermelon bowls.

A grumble ...

... but in grumbling I will reveal something shameful about myself. Please do not judge me too harshly.
I read comic books. Yes, really. Not by choice so much as circumstance. I'd much rather read the adventures of Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, in novel form. But Mr Gaiman chose not to provide the story as a nice book, but as a comic book, a series of comic books. It's not as if he couldn't have written a good book, he's written several, most of which I think I possess. But no, he went for comics and I must suffer the shameful consequences of becoming a comic geek.
Calling them graphic novels does not help.
The gripe? Well, having paid $ehemm for parts 1 & 2 in a local bookshop, I chuffed off to Amazon.com and found I could get the rest of the series for half price or under. I ordered the rest, paying only $ehemm.
(Mr Brown reads this blog from time to time and even though it's my own money, earned by the sweat of my own brow there are still some things married couples do NOT need to share. How much I spend on publications is one of those things).
This morning there was a delivery, I ripped open the box while Mr Brown was in the shower, I received parts 4, 5, 7, 9 & 10.
According to the Amazon.com docket thingy parts 3, 6, 8 & 11, were sent the same day, but clearly in a different fucking box, that was not delivered this morning.
WHY, Amazon.com, of why didn't you just bung the whole lot in the same box??
Here endeth the gripe.
In other, slightly book-related news, while out scouring the CBD for lunchibles, I found this plate in a Japanese teashop window.It's coming home with me this very evening.

The plan for today was ...

... get up early(ish). Have breakfast cooked for us in some cafe or other. Drive to our old home town. Go look at some pretty pictures that are visiting all the way from La Belle France (including Starry, Starry Night *sighs*). Have lunch somewhere nice. Do a little poking about a proper, good plant nursery (me), visit a sister and collect the last of the 'inheritance' (him). Come home.
What actually happened?
Mr Brown ended up having to go to work. I know if he didn't work we'd be poor and sad and I couldn't have frocks galore but still, a day off, once in a blue moon, not too much to ask surely?
So, Ping and I had a girls day at home. We slept in, read a bit. Washed the new sheets. And painted our toenails. Well, I painted mine while she watched. That's not to say Pingu doesn't take care of her toenails.
I'll cook a lovely dinner of chicken with pasta and peas for poor Mr Brown. Generally a weekend sort of dinner but what the hell, I have the time. I may even throw in a couple of lovely, buttery, herb-y dumplings!