Month: September 2006

I should be packing. We go camping tomorrow. Instead I’ve just finished a glass of red and am now “sampling” a shot of Chef’s coffee liqueur. I’m up to packing clothes for the kids, and just tipping their entire wardrobe (they’re boys, they wear essentially two sets of clothes on high rotation) into a New Zealand suitcase and being done with it. But then I come over all “but what if it gets cold”, “what about something for at night” blah blah blah. So I’m drinking instead.

Seems perfectly logical to me.

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I read something today that the US are looking at our program Kath & Kim. I’m really hoping they just air it rather than recreating it. This is some of my favourite television of all time, and not just because the daughter (with a muffin top to rival my own) has my name. I’m shallow but not that shallow.
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Did anyone else just cry like a baby when they saw Bindi reading her eulogy for her dad? And the cameras cutting to Terri trying to hold it together with Bob on her lap? The tears did flow from my eyes.
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I put in a job application today at the institution where Bec and I met. For a job I kind of worked on in a more junior role before I had Felix, as a contractor. As I entered the building, dealt with the useless security guard at the entrance (who just let me sign in my name and then enter the entire building to wander wherever I so wished), and found the office (a laser printed sign blue-tacked to a door) and just wandered in, I couldn’t help muttering to myself “never go back, you’re not meant to ever go back, never go back…”. It was 4.50 and the place was deserted. (Although – Bex – I saw Lyn and we had a great catch-up. I’d be working with her, the groovemeister that she is. Oh to be so funky.) That said, someone is working in the job and wants it, and is good at it and so it would be highly unlikely they wouldn’t get it. Don’t you just love the public service…
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OK, I must away. I may return as a mini-reward for myself after getting the boys gear together.
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Johnny Knoxville is on The Daily Show. OHHHH the things I would let that man do to me.

Sigh sigh sigh sigh sigh sigh sigh.

The spiced up meme from Bec

Five things I wish were in my freezer: (sorry Bec, but there are many reasons we are friends!)
– A bottle of Absolut Citron; (although Chef has just made a new batch of limoncello and coffee liqueur)
– the pesto I should have made last summer;
– the chicken stock I keep meaning to make;
– a range of home-made frozen dinners;
– a big box of blackberries.

Five things that shouldn’t be in my wardrobe:
– Stunning brown suede stiletto knee-high boots ( I wore them once this year as none of my wardrobe that goes with them fits and they’re too high);
– my turning-30 wardrobe – when I lost a lot of weight over the eight months preceding and had not one, but two pairs of size 10, TEN, pants… that now barely get past my knees;
– a Carla Zampatti jacket circa 1990 (think Dynasty shoulder pads);something like 12 pairs of jeans;
– two massive bags of maternity clothes (despite what Chef says, we are not done).

Five things I hate about my car:
– The dint(s) on the back panel – from when I scraped against Mum’s car on the third day I had it. It’s now 6 years old.
– All the stickers Oscar has stuck on the front passenger’s window (from his speech therapist);
– How dirty the front windscreen is;
– All the kid crud in the back seat;
– The front drink holders are too close together, and have different circumferences so two simple bottles of water don’t fit.
(and an extra one – it’s a cheap Korean car, not a luxury European one)

Five things I should throw out of my handbag/purse/briefcase/backpack:
Lego;
dirty tissues;
receipts, receipts, receipts!!;
arrowroot biscuits in a snaplock bag,
crushed to eleventy gagillion pieces;
a plastic envelope of bills I keep meaning to pay, but don’t because I’d rather spend the money on fun things… like childcare.

Five things I don’t want to admit are in my bathroom:
– Crappy broken bath toys and kitchen utensils;
– about 500 empty toilet paper rolls because those who finish them (Chef) just drop them on the floor and I refuse to pick them up;
– lint;
– vaginal pessaries (some herbal shit to balance my biorhythms or some such. All they did were make my bits even more manky than they were at the time I went to the naturopath with manky bits);
– cockroaches – we live in Sydney, near the beach, get used to it.

I too tag the first five to comment…but seeing as the people who comment here comment at Bec’s, we may end up going around in circles.

Joke mentioned that he had some tomato glut going on over at his place. Here’s one possible solution:

Slow roasted tomatoes
This was a major obsession last summer. I was known to stand at the fridge, chunks of sourdough in hand, eating through the leftovers, all Nigella-like. Shame it did nothing to make me as pretty, glamorouse or rich.

Lots of tomatoes – normally I do between 12 and 18, let’s say 2 kilos – cut into halves or quarters, depending on their size.
A few glugs of olive oil
A few cloves of garlic, smooshed
A few slurps of balsamic vinegar
Lots of sea salt
Lots of freshly cracked pepper
Fresh basil, torn up

– Mix the lot together
– Bake in a 150-160C oven for as long as you like, but normally a minimum of an hour. The longer you bake them the darker they become and the more intense the flavour.

This is sublime as part of a brekkie/brunch spread but it has myriad applications:
– tossed through pasta with pan-fried prawns
– tossed through spaghetti al’oglio
– tossed with chick peas and tuna and served w/rice or a green salad

But is best with fresh sourdough to slurp up the oily juices and as an edible plate for the gooshy tomatoes.

Just because…