Plug Yourself In, Switch on the Power (Ballads): Thesis Secrets

I’m not above admitting low brow musical tastes. Those of you who tune in regularly will know I’ve confessed on this blog that: I Heart One Direction; my pet fish are named after Prince songs; the fact that Big W’s in house radio station played I Want To Know What Love Is made my day; and Wham! and I share a profound spiritual connection, especially at Christmas.

But, I don’t feel I’ve fully explained to you the extent to which I am the Reigning Princess of Truly Awful Musical Taste (if that doesn’t deserve a pink rhinestone flashing tiara, I don’t know what does).

You see, I was that drunk chickybabe whose Big Night(s) Out started AND ended, rather than just ended, at ICBM dancing to Whitney Houston, my sticky dance floor times punctuated only by the briefest of interludes at the Phoenix (so so mouldy) where I promised/threatened to dance on the table if My Sharona was played.

Whether or not this event actually occurred shall remain a mystery.

I am that colleague of yours who sings Don’t Stop Believing while I help you file a backlog of paperwork, even thought I can’t carry a tune in a bucket and falter on the high falsetto while imploring you to ‘hold onto that feeling’.

I am that person at the traffic lights in the vehicle next to yours, head back, eyes closed, thrashing my head side to side, in a particularly emphatic sing along to Love is A Battlefield, while you wonder if I’m having an epileptic seizure.

I am the woman who covers the screen of her iPod on the bus so you can’t see that I’m listening to You Shook Me All Night Long at 8am on a freezing Canberra morning.

I am Richard Kingsmill’s worst nightmare.

I am, indeed, the Reigning Princess of Truly Awful Musical Taste.

Being royalty of this nature has its advantages. The most important of which is that I have at my disposal a superior armoury of epic ballads for those moments when you need to plug yourself in and turn on the Power.

These moments occur frequently when you are writing a PhD, or any piece of writing that is long, hard, and, ultimately, 100% worth the effort. Over the years of my PhD candidature, I’ve honed the perfect power ballad playlist for belting out a 500 word chunk of thesis.

Intuitively, you’d think tunes to mellow you out would be the best accompaniment to an intense writing sesh. However, I’ve found that the only way I can work with my thesis, rather than against it, is to embrace the high baroque drama of intellectual endeavour and thematically arrange my playlist to work me through the peaks and troughs that characterise my writing patterns.

Now, the cool part of you is saying no, but there’s a little bit of you, your inner dag, that’s curious to hear what’s on my Power playlist. Don’t try to hide it, I know it’s there.

Or, at very least, you want to read my justification for why it’s these songs, these deeply embarrassing, terminally uncool songs, with cheesy, dreadful, lyrics, some of which I’ve incorporated here, which help me pound out some serious wordage more than anything else.

Well. Here it is. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the Power surge:

Eye of The Tiger (Survivor) Any Power montage has to start here. It’s the only music you can do pre-typing stretching to. Take your time, take your chances.
If I Could Turn Back Time (Cher) You’ve opened the chapter you’re working on, and, if you could turn back time, you’d take back all those words you wrote yesterday, as they’re kind of awful.
Wanted Dead or Alive (Bon Jovi) The times when you’re alone, and all you do is think.
When Doves Cry (Prince) This is what it sounds like when doves cry.
Total Eclipse of the Heart (Bonnie Tyler) You’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks. You’re at the 200 word mark. Every now and then you fall apart.
I Would Do Anything For Love – (Meatloaf) You’re hitting 250 and the words don’t come easy. Take a vow, seal a pact. You will do anything for this to work.
November Rain – (Guns and Roses) Nothing lasts forever, even cold November Rain. Gunners are all that will get you through the 250-350 word doldrums.
I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing – (Aerosmith) Your work has turned a corner, but it’s not quite there yet. This means it’s time for a serious strings section. You could stay lost in this moment, this moment of knowing that you are so close to the finish, forever.
Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe – (Barry White) Debate this soul classic’s inclusion in a Power list all you want, but it’s at this point, where you’re whomping through that last 100 words in big, easy, sentences – something’s moving - that you need some serious soul.
Freedom ’90 – (George Michael) I won’t let you down, I will not give you up, you’ve got to have some faith in the sound, it’s the one good thing that I’ve got.

That, and a completed 500 word chunk of your thesis. Power to you.

PS: if you got all the references to all the songs on my Power list, the title of Reigning Princess of Truly Awful Musical Taste falls rightfully to you. But I’m keeping the pink rhinestone flashing tiara.

Hotties, Heat Lamps, Hoodies and Warm Hearts: How to Survive a Canberra Winter

It’s the middle of winter in Canberra, and it’s Darwinism, pure and simple.

Only the fittest will survive.

Here’s the top ten secrets of the Capital's winter-fit. Now, go and make it work. We've still got two months left.

10) A proper coat. Proper, here, meaning thick wool tweed or worsted, lined, finishing - at least - at your thighs, but preferably longer, with roomy pockets. A lesser garment than the above will be insufficient. If you are new in town, this is the first order of business after ANZAC day (which Canberra natives know to be winter’s unofficial beginning).

A handy hint: the best coats I have found have been vintage, my guess is because air conditioning was less functional back in the day. My particular favourite winter coat was a $45 steal at Narabundah Vinnies. It is my very greatest bargain shopping purchase of all time.

9) Heat lamps and/or heating in your bathroom. Why? Let’s imagine you’re in a particularly awesome hot shower. It’s steamy, you’re washing your hair. You’ve even shaved your legs.

Nice.

Imagine, now, turning the taps off. You’re naked, you’re dripping wet. You step into a frigid bathroom. The air temp hovers just above ten degrees.

Not nice AT ALL.

I have lived in old, cold, Canberra houses/apartments where this sitch was a reality for June, July and August (PhD scholarship ghetto years, yo). It’s a suboptimal way to start the day, but you can avoid it by judicial deployment of energy-guzzling appliances.

8) American Apparel tights. Enough said.

7) A million and a half recipes for soup, or a mother/partner/housemate/really really good friend who will make soup for you. Unless you have a Spartan constitution, you will get sick at some point before a Canberra winter is through, particularly if you’re doing the hot shower-cold bathroom hop (see point nine). When you get sick, you need soup – chicken soup, lentil soup, pumpkin soup, pho, broth, laksa – to get you back to full health. That, and a whole lot of boxed sets of DVD’s.

Gavin and Stacey marathon, anyone?

6) Hoodies, preferably from your alma marta. Australian Bureau of Statistics data released this week indicates Canberra’s population is the most highly educated in Australia. It’s a safe town in which to get your nerd pride on.

If you’re a very clever cookie and have studied at more than one institution, pick your hoodies according to international rankings. Canberra is the only place in Australia with a population who knows and cares about such matters - choose your hoodies accordingly.

5) Hotties (Hot water bottles). If you are no longer deriving perverse pleasure from doing the whole Orwelian down-and-out-in-a-freezing-cold-climate thing, the simplest solution to your problems is to get into bed with multiple hotties.

You can pick them up for $3 at Big W. Too easy.

4) Proper Gloves. Proper, here, meaning fine calfskin leather, lined with cashmere, in a colour that says ‘Hi, my name is Fabulous’ (my gloves are violet, AKA Fabulous). As with coats (point ten), a lesser garment than the above will be insufficient. Good gloves will cost you (unless you or someone you know is travelling to Florence – in which case they will still cost you, but slightly less). It is worth the financial pain, though, because chilblains and knuckles-so-dry-from-the-cold-they-crack-and-bleed-as-you-type are best avoided.

You need the best gloves you can get your hands on. Or in. Just get some gloves.

3) Excellent company. If you are going to make the effort to leave your heater and get out of your trackpants, the conversation had better fucking sparkle.

Canberran natives know this. It’s why we all become fascinating people in the winter months.

2) Multiple Cardigans. You need at least one for each day that you are at work, because, if you are working indoors, heating levels will vary throughout the day and you may need an extra layer to keep you snug.

Some people bring blankets to work. My advice on this issue is that because its cold doesn’t mean you need your blankie. You're a grown up, put on a cardi.

1) An iPod, full of cold weather songs, because listening to Bright Eyes transforms your twenty minute walk home from a cold and miserable plod to a beautiful, pathos-filled journey of wonder. We natives know that’s what a Canberra winter is really all about – cold hands, cold noses, cold toes…

And warm hearts.

Cheap Wine

Those of you who read my blog regularly will know there are things that I believe in spending money on, and things that I don’t.

For instance, I don’t think you should ever skimp when it comes to: American Apparel tights (yes, I’m obsessed), cardigans, gin, lingerie, perfume, and tea.

But, you can, and should, expect to economise on the following: handbags, shoes, costume jewellery, socks, sunglasses, and wine.

As the title of this post indicates, it is cheap wine with which I am concerned at present. I can, grudgingly, see the point in spending a couple more dollars on a bottle of wine that’s intended for drinking, particularly if the bottle is pretty and it’s a thanks-for-having-me present. There is no place, though, in my reality, for using expensive wine in cooking. Nor do I believe in blaming the wine if your bolognaise or bourguignon doesn’t turn out as well as you had hoped. You are the cook, you wield the wooden spoon, and, as such, it’s up to you, and not the ingredients, to make your food work.

This sounds a little harsh, but, really, it’s empowering. Too long have our food magazines promoted this ridiculous upper middle class idea of throwing fashionable, expensive 'good quality', pre-prepared ingredients together on a big white plate, and garnishing it with sea salt, as 'cooking'. That’s arranging, not cooking, and I find it hard to take seriously the credentials of a magazine when half of the dishes are of that ilk.

That’s not to say simplicity isn’t a virtue in the kitchen. On the contrary, what I love about cooking is how simple things – flour, water, salt, oil – can be transformed, through care and attention, into something so much greater than the sum of its parts – sourdough bread, for instance, is the result of these four things alone. It’s like Durkheimian mechanical solidarity on a plate, and it’s beautiful.

But back to the cheap wine.

I feel, after the above rant, that it’s only fair I share with you my favourite recipe for alchemically turning that half-used skanky bottle of red lurking at the back of the cupboard into something you can be truly happy to serve to your friends at a dinner party (and eat any leftovers while you do the dishes, listening to Cheap Wine by Cold Chisel, bathing in the sweetness of your irony).

With a little care and attention, and trust in your palette, you can get away with cheap wine. Which is a blessing, really, when you’ve spent all your money on tights (guilty as charged).

Cheap Wine Pears with Walnut Praline

Serves 4 (ish)

For the Pears
4 brown pears, peeled, halved, de-cored
Brown sugar – to start with, about ¼ cup, but you may need extra, depending on the wine
2 bruised cardoman pods
2 cloves
2 star anise
Nutmeg
Vanilla extract
Juice of an orange (and/or a strip of orange peel)
¾ of a bottle of cheap, skanky red wine (I normally have shiraz lying around, but you could use any red you have to hand)

For the Praline
¾ cup of walnuts
1 cup sugar
A little water

1) Preheat oven to 160 degrees.
2) Place the pears, sliced-side up, in a baking dish. Sprinkle with the brown sugar. Add the wine, the spices, vanilla and the orange juice.
3) Bake, turning every half hour or so, until tender. This will largely depend on how firm your pears are. I find that an hour and a half softens even the firmest of pears.
4) While you bake your pears, make the praline. In a small saucepan, place the sugar and a little water – I would probably say a few tablespoons – over a high heat. Boil the sugar and water until thick and amber-coloured.
5) Line a baking tray with baking paper. Spread walnuts out on the baking paper, and carefully pour over the toffee (remember, sugar burns HURT). While the toffee is still liquid, jiggle the sides of the baking paper to ensure that all the walnuts are somehow connected to the great land-mass of toffee. To paraphrase Donne, no walnut is an island. Place in freezer to chill.
6) Check your pears. They should be tender. Remove pears to an oven proof bowl (save time and washing up by using the bowl you intend to serve from) and place the poaching liquid into a small saucepan. Cover the pears with foil and return to the oven (dropped down to 100 degrees) to keep warm. If you are making this dish ahead of time, you can put the pears, at this stage, into the fridge, and just reheat them in a slow oven about a half hour before you want to serve them.
7) Taste test the poaching liquid. It’s here where you need to exercise your palette. Is the sauce too tart? Add some more brown sugar. Is the sauce too tannic? Add some orange zest and vanilla extract (I don’t know why this works but it does). Heat the poaching liquid, taste testing and adjusting regularly, over a high heat until it’s bubbling thickly and has a glassy sheen. Pour into some sort of serving vessel (I like using a dainty little milk jug, juxtaposing the wine-dark sauce, but then I can be a bit twee sometimes), and set aside.
8) By now, the praline should be completely set. Place into a large zip loc bag and bash with a rolling pin until the praline is roughly broken up – you want some power and some chunky toffee-nut pieces. Transfer to a pretty bowl to put on the table, so people can add extra praline to their pears if they so desire, or simply nibble on the chunky toffee-nut pieces as decorum levels take a nose dive (it’s after desert when the truth comes out, I tell you).
9) Serve the pears, sprinkled with a generous amount of praline and drizzled with your dark, rich, cheap wine sauce.

Bad Face Incidents (Brow Jobs Make it Better)

Having a Bad Face Incident? Spots, wrinkles, redness, dryness, freckles in weird places, funky dark under eye circles, bags, sags, itches, make up that decides to turn on you for no apparent reason?

I hear you.

Bad Face Incidents happen. To everybody. It’s a part of being human. Whilst it’s unlikely that you’ll have the full gamut listed above all at once (if you do, you poor thing, here’s a digital cuddle), I’d wager the next six months’ pay that not one of you reading this post can say that you haven’t had at least one of the above problems in the last twelve months. That’s ladies AND gentlemen, because I know blokes get Bad Face Incidents, too, even if they appear to shrug them off more easily than women.

What I know to be true is that until such time as the miracle cream/pill/product is invented, that wipes out spots/wrinkles/redness/freckles/cold sores et al, we’re all going to be in the Bad Face Incident boat at one point or another. Cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless, to know that it’s as much of a certainty as death and taxes that most humans will wake up, look in the mirror while brushing their teeth, and baulk.

So what can you do when you find yourself facing a Bad Face Incident? There are certainly things to address the specific concerns you have that, to a greater of lesser degree, are largely dependant on your budget, willingness to change your lifestyle (goodbye, Benson and Hedges, the bells of our love will ring in my heart 4 evah) and your stance on botulism as a suitable injectable (for the record, I’m undecided on that one, let’s have a chat about it after my next milestone birthday). Most of the remedies to Bad Face Incidents, though, take a little time to bear fruit. This isn’t helpful when you are mid-baulk, with your toothbrush lolling about your gaping-in-surprise mouth, and wondering how you are going to face the day without a paper bag.

While it’s not going to solve your wrinkles, your itches, your cold sores or your under eye circles, I do have something simple to suggest that will make you look infinitely better, irrespective of the particular Bad Face Incident that you have the misfortune of living through. I’m going to tell you, right now, because if you are having a Bad Face Incident, there’s no time to be tardy.

You need to grab a pair of tweezers, set yourself in front of a well lit mirror, and pluck your eyebrows. You too, boys.

The beauty of a good brow job is that no one will notice WHAT you did, but everyone will notice that you did something that makes you look better. Here’s why.

A good brow job will open up your eye area, making you look instantly more awake and younger. If you ARE younger, it will make you look FRESHER, which is also a good thing, particularly if you are so very, very unfresh as a result of adopting a youthful attitude to drinking, ciggies, and late nights cleaning up vom (belonging to you and, worse, to others) at house parties. This is especially true if your brows are like the Spice Girls song, and take ‘Two Become One’ as a directive. Gentlemen, this is a move your brows seem particularly fond of, so I would recommend starting in the middle of your brow and working outwards until there are two distinct hairy places as opposed to one. Feeling better already, aren’t we lads?

A good brow job will make your eyes the focal point of your face. Which means that when people look at you, they won’t be looking at your spots/wonky lippie/sprouting mole/as yet unspecified bad face incident. No, sirs et madams, they will be looking into your eyes, deep into your eyes, entranced by the beauty that they no doubt will find there. Because, if you haven’t noticed already, everybody has absolutely beautiful eyes, in one way or another. Go on, have a look. Don’t stare (it’s rude) but next time you encounter a real live person, take a peep at their peepers. See? Beauty. Right there. Even if their owners were otherwise totesies mingsies (Totally minging. I’ve been watching Bondi Hipsters on YouTube, and have been inadvertently hipsterising my vocab all week. Soz). Let’s accentuate what’s no doubt lovely about you with some lovely brows. Ming mitigated.

A good brow job will make your face so much more expressive. Back in the day when I used to be a Flirty Florence (many, many, many birthdays ago), the final arrow in my cupid’s bow was a quick flick of my meticulous brow, and I was, most of the time, In. Likewise, I was (and still am) a sucker for a cocked brow. Beyond flirting, though, a good brow job will allow your quirky/cute/serious/sincere/downright hilarious facial expressions to show – never a bad thing, provided you can modulate your face for the appropriate social setting. I once got told off by a student for wincing whenever he spoke in tutorial. Probably would have been good, in that situation, to have a less expressive face. Let’s revise my previous statement, then, to it is ALMOST never a bad thing to allow your facial expressions to show. (Although, having great brows certainly helped me pull a convincing Face of Contrition during the subsequent conversation. Perhaps greater facial expressivity granted by a good brow job is a double edged sword. Best wield it wisely).

Finally, and most importantly, a good brow job, for the above reasons, will make you FEEL fifty million per cent better about your face. Which, as we all know, is the real crux of the bad face incident – it’s about how you feel about your face, not as much about that wrinkle or that pimple that shouldn’t be there. So when that morning I described at the beginning of this post happens (and it will happen), and you find yourself confronted with a Bad Face Incident, remember two very important things: first, you are not alone, and second, grab those tweezers and get that swaggah back.

No One Likes a Hosiery Hoe

Tip #1: Always, always, always, always, ALWAYS keep a virgin pair of basic black tights and basic black or nude stockings in your hosiery drawer for laundry/ladder/last-minute-important-event emergencies. By virgin, I mean still in plastic. Those black opaques you’ve worn twice do not count as virgins. They’ve been around the block already, sister.

Tip #2: Avoid snags (which always occur when you’re running late for the bus and have already busted out your virgin pair) by filing your nails as soon as you trim/break them. Similarly, put your jewellery on after you’ve put on your hosiery, or select pieces with smooth settings. Gentlemen, if you are looking for a significant piece of jewellery for a significant other, factor in the hosiery-snag-factor in your final decision. It will save your household money and running-late tantrums, thus enhancing your domestic bliss quotient.

Tip #3: Unless you are nubile and/or a fan of hip flexor stretches, DON’T put one leg of your tights on and roll all the way up to your crotch. You will have to bend yourself like a paperclip to get the other leg in. DO insert your legs into your tights simultaneously, so that you can pull the tights up both sides at once and avoid groin strain. If, however, you enjoy an early morning challenge, go right ahead and relish the joy of having Birkram bendy legs. And keep the number of your chiro handy, just in case you are not quite the yogi you thought you were.

Tip #4: Manage ladders with a dab of clear nail polish. This works best if you apply it while you are wearing the tights.

Tip #5: To stretch tights that are too short, tie one end securely to a bedpost. Wind the tights around the other bedpost, loop them, and stretch them back to the first bedpost. Fasten securely, leave overnight, and, voila, your tights will be long enough in the morning. For drastic cases, do this with wet tights. NEVER have a pair of tights stretching on your bedposts when you entertain guests. It can imply some proclivities you may not be comfortable with.

Tip #6: You can easily repair tears in openwork lace or fishnet tights (SO big this season) by carefully drawing together the two sides of the tear with a needle and thread. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work for opaques, sheers, or printed tights.

Tip #7: Extend the life of your torn and laddered plains by layering under a pair of openwork lace or mesh tights. Double the warmth, with the advantage that no one will notice the tears and ladders in the pair underneath.

Tip #8: Similarly, if crotch tears threaten imminent disgrace to your reputation as a lady, layer a (large, plain, respectable) pair of panties over your tights. I maintain this is how the undies-over-the-tights look got so big in comics. Bruce Wayne was merely rationalising his hosiery expenditure.

Tip #9: Dark colours minimise, bright/light colors magnify. Vertical stripes or patterning will lengthen your legs, horizontal patterns or detailing will expand them. A black dress, black tights or stockings, and black shoes, will lengthen the eye line. Select hosiery with these principles in mind.

Tip #10: Try a garter belt and stockings, they are more practical than you might think. It’s easier to carry a single stocking (in case of tears and ladders) in your purse, as opposed to a balled-up pair of tights. Stockings are also cost effective, in that if you wreck one half of a pair, you can save its lonely other half as a backup. Just be sure to pick a brand and colour and stick to it if you are not a fan of the mismatched legs look.

And, finally…

Tip #11: Remember, at all times, that tights and stockings are a capitalist lie, designed to part women of the world from their hard earned dollars. If you really to revolt, wear them ripped, torn, layered, and mismatched. But just remember tip #8 about being a lady. Make like Batman and layer with sensible panties, because no one likes a hosiery hoe.

Collective Wisdom

Does anybody else love ABC’s Collectors as much as I do? In the desert that is summer broadcasting, the lack of Collectors is something I’ve felt more keenly than other telivisual deprivations. (This post is going to get no less nana-ish, by the way, so if premature aging offends, tune out now). There’s something compelling about hearing stories of people who have spent their lives collecting Stuff. From the obscure (key rings) to the obvious (Wedgewood), from the ridiculous (paper napkins) to the sublime (art), I find people and their Stuff fascinating.

It’s become a trend to make the claim, however dubious, that one is ‘not materialistic’. The amount of times I’ve been told that true freedom is being able to fit all your worldly goods in a Kathmandu trekking pack is fast approaching triple figures. I once dated a boy, amazingly for quite some time, who refused to buy the correct sized sheets for his bed (a king single – bad design idea # 153) because he ‘didn’t want to be tied down with Stuff’. Given that I have rather a lot of soft, cuddly, freshly-washed-at-all-times high thread count bed linen, the relationship was clearly doomed from the beginning. The point that I’m trying to make, in a roundabout way, readers, is that it’s cool to not be Stuffed in the most literal sense of the word – to be without Stuff.

But I have a confession to make. I love Stuff. I love buying Stuff. I love tracking Stuff down in second hand shops. I love getting Stuff as presents. I love being given Stuff for any old reason. I love using Stuff. I love organising Stuff. I love looking at Stuff. I love passing Stuff on to other people when I no longer need it. There isn’t much about Stuff I don’t love.

The environmental and social ethics of consumption are things I might write about in the future, when there are several fewer deadlines looming over my head. In brief defence of my Stuff Loving, the vast majority of my Stuff is actually recycled – it’s on its second or third lease on life. Which allows me to add a new Love to my reasons why I love my (second or third hand) Stuff: I love saving Stuff from becoming landfill. In other defences, I bus to uni when possible, buy as little as possible in plastic wrap, and pay the extra monies for GreenChoice electricity.

But let’s leave the moral high ground relatively untrammelled, and get back to talking about the glorious business of Stuff.

For a while now, inspired by collectors and my enjoyment of Stuff, I’ve been toying with the idea of starting a collection myself. The question arose: out of all the wonderful sorts of Stuff out there, what particular item of Stuff should I collect?

My collectable Stuff, I decided, had to fit into some tight categories. Numero Uno: Inexpensive. Easy enough to understand. Numero Two-o. Useful. Out with collecting figurines, then. Numero Three-o. Must not take up a lot of space, be breakable, smelly, collect dust, or attract vermin. I’m a renter – again, easy enough to understand all of these specifications. And, Numero Final-o, it had to be something I like. After all, what’s the point of collecting something if you don’t?

All last year I pondered what it is I should collect, but nothing seemed to be quite right. Until, after unwrapping my Christmas presents from Kitty Gillfeather and Clementine Kemp, the perfect Stuff to collect dawned on me.

Tea Towels.





(Don’t laugh, you were warned that this post involved premature aging).

When I sat back and though about it, it made perfect sense. Tea towels are inexpensive – even the top of the range Irish linen ones rarely go for more than $30. They are highly useful – everyone needs a tea towel within grabbing distance in the kitchen. They are compact, and, if laundered correctly, don’t smell, and don’t collect dust or little creatures. Tea towels, although humble, combine two things I really love – kitchen stuff and textiles – in the one practical object, and, are a fabulous blank canvas for all sorts of beautiful designs, cheeky slogans, and cheesy touristy gimmickry that I so love. Furthermore, there’s a nice sense of legacy in collecting tea towels – MamaK always keeps a large family of tea towels in rotation.

Popping Kitty and Clem’s presents into the linen cupboard – a funky Babushka print and a Hamlin Fistula Hospital charity design respectively - it turns out I already had a fair start on a good collection of tea towels.




Over the years, they’ve persistently found their way into my Christmas and birthday piles, and, in an almost subconscious gesture to what I knew I myself loved, I have always been one of those annoying people who gives tea towels as gifts, welcome or not.

Oh, and if I may allow myself to edge a toe onto the moral high ground? Tea towels are biodegradable.

Farmer’s Market Fashion

My dear friend Mimi Goss and I have a standing date every Saturday morning with the Canberra Region Farmer’s Markets, to stock up on lovely fresh fruit and vegetables for the week.

Have you been? If not, you are missing out on, amongst other things, the cutest and most kitschy cherry bags. See below.



Apart from being fantastic fun, the markets are the best place in town to go to for cheap, excellent produce from the local region. Without going too far into the area of ethical consumption – that’s more Virginia Boots’s area – it’s a nice feeling to know that the dollars you spend at the markets are going straight to the farmer who grew the produce you’re buying, rather than your dollars going to Mr Coles or Mr Woolworths and a few measly cents to Mr Farmer.



But there are a few downsides to the markets. Firstly, you need to get there early, because the hipsters invade after 8.30am, complete with babies and baskets and ironic glasses, and with endless comparisons of the ‘Can-Bra’ markets to the ‘Mel-Bun’ markets (Mel-Bun, of course, being unsurpassable in the hipster stakes). Secondly, you will have to carry all of your fruit and veg to the car, which, by the time I’ve stocked up for the week, is a heavy task. Finally, you will have to work out, at a very early hour on a Saturday, What To Wear To The Markets.

In a combined solution to all three of the above problems, Mimi and I have developed a strategy of getting in early, with cute carry bags, and in outfits that, whilst not entirely hipster, are hip enough to trick the invading hipster hordes into believing that, although we may not be one of them, we’re certainly formidable enough in our style to warrant not being taken out by a side-swipe of an organic wicker basket. In short, dear friends, we’ve perfected Farmers Market Fashion.




As you can see in the above picture of some of my favourite Farmer’s Market Fashions, there’s a strong emphasis on jersey –just as comfortable as pyjamas – which is an important thing to consider at 7.30am on a Saturday. Washability is also paramount, as organic produce oftentimes means wash-it-yourself produce-which-likes-to-dirty-your-clothes. A burst of colour, a cute pattern, or some funky stripes will help keep you visible, particularly when you are re-grouping with your shopping buddy at the HOT bakery, where the tastiest…croissants…hang out.

Complete the look with one or two canvas totes with funky prints, and you’re in clover.




The Canberra Region Farmer’s Markets run every Saturday from about 7.30am onwards, at the Epic Markets, off the Federal Highway. They will be open next Saturday (18 December), but will be closed until 15 January for the holiday period. This post, although gushy, was in no way a paid advertisement or endorsement of the Farmer’s Markets – just a suggestion from one savvy shopper to another! Enjoy!