There goes another Christmas

Some of the family at Christmas dinner. Real food at last!

Hi there bloggers I an back, pro tem The hospital let me out for Chrstmas!

Now am home for New Year,. It is so nice to be back ib my own surroundings, eating nice food again. Th above photo is nr with the grandchildren on Christmas night. I hope you alol had a wonderful Christmas. I certainly did. Daughter ibn lawim, made all my Christmas cakes and a ftiend made the puddin. We went to no.2 son for lunch and then everybody came back here for dinner. The gitls did all the work and did very well, cobsidering that I kept trying to do my own thing! It wsather marvellous. N[o,1 son threw a bit of aobbly after he had volunteered to do the dishes and found that the dinner service was not dishwasher safe. However. he stayed at the sink and everythong was done in a flash. I ferll into bed exhausted after all the excitement. We started the day with breakfast with friens wgich has become aa tradition now. Fresh berries and croissants. There is usually chanpagne, but I am not allowed to have alcohol for 12 months (Sob!) I have only faorly recently been able to drink tea! It was all I wanted after the stroke/ Yes, I could have a cuppa, if I didn't mind it thickened!! They were worried that I might choke at that time. abd I was on a mush diet. Urk!

T)hank you for all your good wishes for my recovery. They have worked as I am making excelleny progress. I am even taking steps with the help of the physiotherapist and a walking stick and am gradually regaining use of my left arm. I can lift a glass now, but I don;t think you will trust me wih the Waterford crystal just yet! Hoever the light at the end of the tunnel is getting brighter! I am looking forward to a wonderful 2008. I will share some wildfloers in my next blog. Our short stay in WA netted some lovely flora. HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL!

zforgivr errors. One handed typing is not easy for a former 100 wpm person.

Arachnophobia? Not me!

I noticed a post that commented on disliking spiders. I must admit that I am not very fond of these odd, hairy creatures either, but...

A not very good scan on the left, shows, if you look very hard, the beauty of a spider's web. They are fascinating things to look at, best seen when said spider is not in residence, and especially lovely when gleaming with dew drops, when they tend to look like crystal Christmas decorations slung between branches on trees. They can also form a sticky barrier when spun across the front verandah and one unwittingly walks into them. It takes forever to become unstuck, so I can imagine how impossible escape must be for an insect unfortunate enough to be caught. This ability to adhere is why they were/are sometimes used as wound dressings. They don't come off!
Peg Maltby, in her Fairy Book had a wonderful painting of the Cobweb Lace Wedding Dress. I have hunted high and low for a copy of said picture to post, but have had no luck to date.


In the picture above is a 'huntsman' spider. In my youth I would go completely hysterical if a spider came within six feet of my, and as you know, it is sometimes hard to spot a spider from this distance, but I always knew when one was around. Urk!! However, I 'grew up' and had children, and realised that I should not pass on my phobias to them so I learned to pretend that spiders were not a problem, indeed they were our friends, because they caught germ laden flies and ate them, and were really rather useful creatures. (I also learned to quell a very real fear of thunderstorms for the same reason). Time and again somebody in the house would point out where a hunstman spider had taken up residence and with a shudder I would say: 'It's okay, kids. He will catch the mosquitoes. Leave him be' And there he would stay, safe as houses as long as I could see him. It was when he disappeared that I became paranoid. If the creature was foolish enough to enter my bedroom it had to be removed. And who had to remove the critter? Brave me! Himself heartily dislikes spiders, the boys always said that I was such a good spider catcher they wouldn't even try! Up the ladder, or on the chair, wide mouthed jar in hand, I would carefully, nervously, inch the container towards the spider and wham! there it was, rearing up and threatening to have me for breakfast if I should just let it go.
A piece of cardboard carefully slipped under the container, a quick tip upside down and voila! one captured spider, duly carried out with great ceremony, to be emptied onto a shrub or dropped onto the ground. Oh, I was so brave!! Until the time a friend was living with us for a few months. She too disliked spiders and she appeared in the family room one night to inform us that a spider - a huge hairy beast - was lurking over her bedroom door and she couldn't get in. Don't be so silly, I scoffed and armed myself with the widenecked jar and chair, and very bravely caught the spider. I descended from my chair and - oh my! 'What did you do with the spider?' I gasped. It was nowhere to be found. A fairly thorough search was fruitless. Perhaps it is on your skirt, suggested the friend. I shook my head and lifted my skirt. It was a very brightly coloured floral skirt and was exceptionally full in shape. Carefully we moved the skirt through our hands and then, there it was, swinging gently from the hem. Oh horror. We both learned to do a quick and noisy tarantella as we headed for the door and outside, where the creature was brushed to the ground with a leafy twig. I must confess to not being quite as brave since this incident, but before I was very brave! I would pick up Daddy Long leg spiders from the bath, where they always seemed to congregate, and fling them aside, hoping that their legs would not come off. But they always did, and lame spiders would hobble in all directions seeking a dark hidey hole. I removed a huntsman spider from my youngsters head without turning a hair, just so that he would not be terrified.
I once, in my terror days, watched a couple of aunts in law play ball with the biggest tarantula/huntsman spider I had ever seen. We were at a family gathering and this foolish creature scuttled across the dance floor, to be scopped up and sent flying through the air by one aunt to the other. She caught it deftly and hurled it back. I was cringing in the corner and screeched when dancing feet squished the poor thing. They thought it was hysterical, especially my hysterics. But, in 'grown up' times, I was having a quick clean up one day, in an area that didn't know what a duster was, and I had to move some old bills to dust properly. As I picked the bills up into my hand there was an explosion of itsy bitsy spiders. I reckon at least a hundred, if not more, and they ran all over the shelf and my hands. Hysteria was lurking, until I spotted a beautiful, white silken circular object, about the size of a twenty cent piece, and realised that, because it was considered a safe place, a huntswoman spider had laid her eggs and encased them in this beautiful silken container. They had been lurking and scattered as I moved the papers. No, I don't think many survived because it was a long time before I saw another hutsman spider, but a short time before I dusted again in that particular spot.

I wonder if, to the right, you can make out the Eiffel Tower. In my not very good photography days, this was taken as the tower was lighting up for the night. It was one of the many magical moments in my life. I tooked as though a billion spiders were spinning molten gold webs around the structure. It was so beautiful, I cried. Amazing what a bit of light on an old metal structure can do. But spiders were the first thing I thought of to describe what I was seeing. I missed the rest of night time Paris, because I was so spectaculared out that I promptly fell asleep in the tour bus. It never does look quite as good in the daylight. Neither does the tower on our Arts Centre. It needs the night lights to show it as a thing of -well almost- beauty.
We are off to Western Australia for a couple of weeks, so I will not be blogging until October. I guess there will be lots of other blog news for me to catch up on when I return. I hope to have some impressive photos to post and share with you.
Cheers everybody.

Do I hear a waltz..

(The above picture is by Di Colman and titled 'Rhapsody')
I love to waltz! In fact, I just love to dance! But I do most of my dancing alone, especially the waltz as I am married to 'the man who will not dance' - if it can be avoided. Sometimes he cannot avoid his obligations, but he certainly tries. My first romantic attachment was to a boy who had learned to tap dance, and played the piano. Ipso facto, he could dance. Couldn't he? Well... the few times we went dancing, no matter what the music might be, he would steer me up one side of the dance floor, turn sharply, and steer me along the other. Sometimes in time to the music, but mostly just a quick march! So embarrassing! Then he would glare so savagely at anybody else who approached me for a dance, that it just wasn't worth the angst.
Eventually I convinced him that we should have dance lessons. With much muttering he agreed, so twice a week we would attend "Arthur Bosley's school of ballroom dancing'. Problem! I became so good at dancing with the instructor that I couldn't dance with anybody else. Ane then the boyfriend go jealous and refused to go dancing anymore because I only wanted to dance with the teacher - not him! Needless to say, dancing was soon off the agenda, so I would dance alone. I would have been a dead cert for Hollywood stardom if only Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire had spotted me! Eat your heart out Ginger Rogers and all you others who were spotted and became stars. I am still the greatest!
If I hear a waltz on the radio in the morning, I know I will have a good day. I used to love to hear a waltz on my way to work, especially for the few months before I retired. There was something about that old 1, 2, 3, that set me up for the day. Whilst on the way for a blood test this morning, I was lucky enough to hear the waltz from Der Rosenkavalier. It is one of the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard. One really has to listen to the orchestral version of this waltz, because Richard Strauss wrote singing counterpoint to this, and the voices tend to drown the beautiful music. Same as Puccini with Mietta's waltz song, from La Boheme. Ah well, the singers have to shine as well, I guess.
Needless to say, when we have been to Vienna I have been in waltz heaven. Himself, in a truly aberrant, but exciting, moment, waltzed me to the door when we went to a Strauss performance at the Schonbrunn Palace. This was a magical evening because, apart from himself dancing with me, it was so romantic to stand on a nearby balcony, with a full moon shining down and lighting up the gloriette in the distance, all to the background of a Strauss waltz! Oh yes, the stuff dreams are made of. There are just so many beautiful waltz pieces written and I couldn't even begin to list my favourite pieces, I have so many. Just play on, and I will continue to be a happy little vegemite!

And, after all that strenuous activity, I wonder
should we dare to drink tea from the pictured cups. I suspect they are just a bit of whimsy on someone's part, because I really can't see them being used. But dear friends have each presented me with a cup, and accompanying spoons in this very delicate china. Not English, of course! But, they look very pretty in the crystal cabinet or on the table when I decide to display them.
Cheers fellow bloggers.

Nan's Kitchen

Most of my young growing up was spent in the family kitchen, ruled over by my dearest Nan. She was the chief cook and bottlewasher, and none dared interfere when she began her baking. She cooked every day, of course, as women did until feminism saw them leaving the kitchen in droves. (Gotta admit to leaving my husband to it sometimes, when the boys were young, as I had become very involved with various organisations, which is probably why he won't cook now, unless I am too ill to do so. Can't remember when that last was!)
Sunday morning was THE cooking time. We always had visitors in the house on Sunday. I would waken to the crash and bang of cooking tins and utensils being banged around in the kitchen. In fact, the entire household would waken, because Nan always made an early start on this day of rest, and could never do it quietly. I can still hear my uncle groaning and asking why she had to cook on a Sunday. She was always in a hurry. I was usually the first to enter her domain, and she always greeted me with a smile and a chat, and breakfast. I was never allowed to miss breakfast and, if I was lucky enough to catch Nan just taking scones from the oven, she would butter one for me, and I would carefully eat the hot morsel, butter dripping down my chin, because Nan never skimped with the topping on scones. Then I would sit at the table, amongst the teetering pans and bowls, and watch as she made fruit pies, cakes and biscuits and a pudding for lunch. There would be flour and icing sugar dusting the table top and spilling over onto the floor, and I would sometimes lick my finger and dip it into the spilled icing sugar, or honey or golden syrup, or whatever tasty ingredient had missed the mixing bowl.
Nan would have every item available spread around the kitchen and was always pushing things onto the floor to make room for rolling out the pastry or cutting cookies. It was a fascinating place for a child to be. It may also account for why, even now, I am an untidy cook! Then, when the last item of baking was out of the oven, Nan would put the Sunday roast in, dutifully sitting in half a container of dripping so that it would bake nicely. (And I wonder why I have a weight problem now!)
then there would be more banging and crashing as she hurriedly washed all the dishes -and believe me there was always a lot of washing up to do. Then she would make a cup of tea for herself and cocoa for me and I got to sample all the goodies she had made.
My Nan was known far and wide for her beautiful scones. There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to the way she made them. I have watched her rub butter into flour, I have watched her use an egg and cream, and I think I even remember her just mixing SR flour, (well, on her time it was plain flour with baking powder and carb soda added) sugar and milk one time. But no matter what, the scones were always declicious. Now all of this remembering is because Alice asked me if I learned to cook by show and tell, or by following written down recipes. I think it was mostly show and tell, because I don't ever remember not being able to cook a roast, or make scones. Sometimes, if somebody asked, Nan would quickly pencil a recipe onto a piece of paper and put it in the dresser to pass on, or for my aunt to use. Never a book, just pieces of paper or an old envelope. Her shortbread was the best in the world, and I put her recipe on my last blog. I have only been making for the last few years because I never had her recipe. I mentioned this to my aunt one day and she was amazed. She promptly produced it for me, written in Nan's hurried, but ligible, script. But nobody had her recipe for pastry or her meat pies. I used to watch her make these pies, but have never been able to reproduce quite the same delicious recipe. Mind you, my family always liked my meat pies, and the grandchildren do now. Minced steak and vegetable filling encased in purchased puff pastry. Nan's pies would be made from scratch with the beef being minced in the old fashioned mincer attached to the old wooden kitchen table. She had a large aluminium (or something like, rectangular pie dish. Into this she would put the ground beef, any grated vegetables that she could lay her hand to, salt and pepper, and then pour boiling water over the lot and mix vigorously with a spoon. Then she would cover the lot with her very own pastry. She never had a failure. I used to be amazed that the meat would cook, but now I realise that it was the action of the boiling water that helped it on its way. Family still talk about her pies. All I know about her pastry is that it was made with dripping!
The pie would be served, and I would smother my

portion with Nan's delicious home made tomato

sauce. I have never tasted sauce like this for years. She made the best sauce, and pickles and preserves. Her cauliflower pickles were better than shop purchased. Her green tomato pickles were beautifully flavoured, and I didn't eat tomatoes because of the seeds. It is very hard to pick the seeds out of tomato pickles, but I used to manage. I had a terrible aversion to seeds, and I was in my thirties before I stopped deseeding tomatoes for my own consumption. I have only recently come to passionfruit. But I make sure that I don't crunch the seeds. A cousin asked if I had Nan's recipe for the tomato pickles as she could remember her own mother frantically making them, but I don't think the recipe was ever written down, or if it was, it got lost somewhere along the way. It was a recipe that came from my great grandmother, and presumably she had it from her mother, who emigrated to Australia from Cumbria, so I suspect it is an English recipe, just like last post's shortbread recipe.

I always make my own conserves, having watched Nan for many years making a variety of jams. It is something that I always seemed to know, although I had to check the first time for quantities. The only jam that Nan made that I haven't attempted to make,is melon and lemon, and melon and pineapple, because a) those melons are awfully big and b) who on earth knows what they are these days. I remember that Nan sometimes used to let me get the seeds out of them before she chopped the melon, but I was too slow for her. I always got the seeds on my toast! But, I shall never forget the warmth and generosity that came from her kitchen, because she showed her love for family and friends by feeding them. She would be wounded if anybody refused any of her fare, but honestly, it is very hard to have yet another helping just to show someone that you love them back, when you feel that you are about to burst. I wonder will we ever return to the days of everyone being involved in the cooking. Christmas is the closest I come to all the bustle, but that doesn'thappen every year, now that I have daughters in law, and extended family have all grown up and like to play host to the family Christmas. Mind you, I am not complaining!

Catch you next time, folks.

I am starry eyed and vaguely discontented....

So goes the song 'It might as well be spring' and boy, ain't it the truth! I would like to be able to divert my spring fever to something more practical, but I am too busy meandering amongst the flowers and planning massive changes to the garden. It might well involve some statuary and very tall tubs, and himself being very busy! (Dream on!)
Just as a reminder that 'sumer is acumin' in....'
we had a new air conditioner installed this morning. It is an evaporative one, and I wonder how long it will be before the govt. says we can't use that extra water. Never. the electrician assured me, because if we all converted to refrigerated air conditioners the national electric grid would not cope with all the extra call on power. So nobody is saying anything. Hmm. Damned if we do, damned if we don't!
If you look hard, you might see some disembodied little globe shapes, yellowish, as I tried to get a picture of our absolutely loaded to the ground, lemon tree. (In the middle, just above the hop bush.) It has been wonderfully bountiful this season, so much so that I can't even give them away, so I guess everybody else has had the same bounty. I have juiced the fruit, grated the skin and popped it into the freezer for later use when lemons are a tad scarcer. I did read that one can put the whole fruit into the freezer and use the juice, but I think it might destroy the rind. Make it to wet to grate. I would make lemonade if the boys were still here, but I suppose that is a no no these days as there is just so much sugar in it to counteract the acidity of the lemons. (Which I quite enjoy, and no.2 son eats lemons like we would eat oranges. But not mine because the shop brought ones are better! Never mind that they are probably cheap imports for which he is paying a lot of money, and weeks old by the time they hit the shelves in the super market. I really must work on the grandchildren so that they always like home grown better. Any lemon recipes out there, apart from lemon meringue pie, marmalade and cakes? I suppose the pies would freeze, but then I would have to find the correct containers for storage. (We should all have such minute problems!)
The hop bush is holding its lovely soft red colour, and to the left the geraldton wax bush has just come into flower. I can't believe how beautiful and colourful the gardens have been this spring, and I am hoping it is not a last burst before everything dies of thirst. (Oh, dreadful thought!). Victoria is still parched and desperately in need of rain (as many of you will know!). And today, there is a very strong, warm north wind blowing, which is drying the already dry earth even more so! At least the washing is dry already!

Below is a photo of the kamikaze noisy miner that keeps attacking the kitchen window. He is recuperating his strength for another attack by sipping the nectar in the grevillea. He was so busy I was able to creep close enough to catch the blighter on camera. Fat lot of good it did me! He was back with a vengeance yesterday, and had the nerve to bring a couple of mates along to get rid of what he sees as an intruder. I hope they were able to tell him it was his own reflection! (Some hope!) I have been checking the bird book, and he is just as horrid as I have always thought



Problem at the moment is that he and his kind have gone forth and multiplied, so we have a new crop of juveniles coming along, who will soon be learning to attack my kitchen window, no doubt. I do wish they would all move on! The book says that during the nesting season these birds produce a lovely song at sunrise. I haven't really heard anything special, despite sometimes waking up at that time. I maybe don't believe there is anything at all nice about these birds, aggressive, nasty beasts that they are. He looks as though butter wouldn't melt, doesn't he!

I just had to post this photo of the only flower on our tree paeony. Isn't it delicate? I have visions of eventually having a tall tree smothered
in these beautiful blooms. When I lived in Kyneton in my early teens, we had 'ordinary' paeonies which grew at the front of our house. They were a magnificent, double petalled, deep burgundy colour. If I was lucky, my Nan would sometimes allow me to take a small bunch to school, to decorate our form room, thereby winning points for our form each week. Do children still do this I wonder? Or has this sort of competition vanished along with all other competitiveness!
It was the same at chrysthanthemum time. We had a massive growth of autumn toned flowers which were magnificent. We used to nearly always win the form room comp. at certain times of the year. There was usually a chocolate frog, or a packet of sweets from a very pleased form teacher. The simple joys of country life in the 50s!

And after all that, perhaps a cup of tea might go down well. I thought we might try outdoors this time, but it is a bit blowy today. Never mind, it is reasonably sheltered near the house and the perfume of the hyacinths is delightful. I thought you might like to try my Nan's shortbread recipe, which she had from her mother and her grandmother before her. I suspect it is a recipe that came out from Cumbria with my great great grandparents in 1852. So I don't really know how old it is, but it is just so simple!

Nan's Shortbread.

1lb plain flour (500 gms)

10 ozs butter (310 gms) ?

4 ounces sugar (125 gms)

Method

Cream butter and sugar then add flour and stir until all blended. Knead lightly on floured board. Cut shortbread into four pieces and roll out rounds onto a tray. Pinch edges and mark into 8 pieces and prick with a fork. Of course, you can roll flatter and cut out whatever shape you want. Bake in a slow oven until just coloured. The original recipe said 15-20 minutes, but it varies.

(Absolutely delicious!)

Please note the absence of rice flour in this recipe. I suppose it could be added, but it would be impossible to mix the ingredients. I tend to melt the butter to very soft then add the other ingredients. It is much easier then to mix in the flour (and to knead and roll). Cheating I know, but it doesn't alter the flavour one whit!

One can add chopped glace ginger, choc chips or macadamia nuts if desired. Me, I tend to like just plain shortbread.

So, bake and enjoy this very old recipe.

Cheers to everybody!

Just some nice things and a recipe

Firstly, an invitation to tea and a chance to try my very favourite biscuit (cookie) recipe. The recipe was published in Melbourne's Herald Sun in 1992 - so I have been making them for a long time now. It doesn't seem as though I have been baking them for 15 years though! (Ouch!)

BASIC BISCUIT RECIPE.

Melt 4 ozs. butter or margarine,
Add 3/4 cup of sugar, 1 egg, 1 1/2 cups of self raising flour, 1 teaspoon vanilla.
Mix and use.

Lack of imagination is all that can limit what you can do with this recipe.
It can be rolled and used as pastry for jam tarts, raspberry slice, apple slice.
(For raspberry slice, line lamington tin with pastry, and spread with layer of raspberry jam and top with coconut, egg white and sugar mix. For apple slice, roll out as base, add stewed apple and top with another layer of pastry)
Biscuits:
Roll out and cut into shapes (stars, crescents, rounds. Place on oven tray and top with cherries, or walnuts.
For drop biscuits:
Omit some of the flour and make up with custard powder. Drop onto tray and flatten with a fork. When cooked join together with butter icing. (Yo-Yos)
Coconut and chopped glace cherries.
Choc chips and chopped macadamia or pecan nuts.
Diced glace ginger, and ginger powder, These are delicious sandwiched together with lemon butter icing.
Choc chips and sultanas.
Peanut butter and peanuts.
Cocoa powder and coconut.
All of the above are baked in a moderately hot over, for approximately 17 mins.

As I said, only your imagination can limit what you do with this basic mix.
Bake and enjoy, folks.


Here is a picture of some of my very favourtie Portmeirion pottery. We went to the little town of Portmerion some years ago, and I thought that this was where the pottery was made. It wasn't of course, but it was on sale in their shop. (All they have 'made' here is the series The Prisoner, with Patrick McGoohan. I wonder how many of you remember that series. I actually hired a couple of videos after our first visit, and enjoyed seeing the town all over again. Trouble was, it was a black and white series.)
The pottery is made at Stoke on Trent of course, and each trip to England has included a visit to the factory shop for some purchases which have been sent home and usually arrived some time after we got home. For someone who loves fine china, I really do like this ware. It is so cheerful. If you look hard, you will see that I have a matching rolling pin in the bowl, which I was lucky enough to purchase at a garage sale in Essex, or it may have been Suffolk. I didn't notice when we changed from one county to the other. When I made 'oh look' noises, my cousin did a u turn and back we went. The lady was selling quite a bit of Portmerion, including three rolling pins. She had decided that she really couldn't use them all and had a fourth one for her own use. I have never seen one in Australia, so I was quite chuffed.
The pottery also brings back happy memories of sitting in the dining room of a b & b in Yorkshire, overlooking a ruined castle which was one of Richard 111s favourite homes and eating breakfast from Portmerion pottery, my very first experience of it. And yes, I am a Riccardian. I don't believe for a moment that he murdered the prines in the tower. That was Henry v11! I continue to collect this pottery, because they are always bringing out new designs, some of which I like and buy, others which I find a tad clumsy and don't buy.

To the right is a view of the front of our property, as it is just now. I think I said in another blog that we are about to landscape this front bit. You can see where a couple of smallish trees have been removed. All those little rocks will be taken
away as part of the new work. We expect a
delivery of BIG rocks and soil in a week or so, and then the landscaper will get busy arranging them. So, in a few weeks, I should be able to show you a much improved front of property.

I was gazing out of my kitchen window the other morning, admiring the pink blossom on the prunus tree, and as I watched the petals began to drift gently down, just like pink snow, and I couldn't help thinking how transient this beautiful spring can be. Theprunus seems to hold its blossom just for long enough to admire, before suddenly being replaced with burgundy coloured leaves, which are very pretty too. I then began to sing (well, sort of) the old Nat King Cole hit 'A blossom fell...' I came over all nostalgic and decided that I really should hunt out all those old records and start playing them again. Or I might even have them transposed to CD and then I won't have to turn them over to play the other side. I was also reminded of that lovely scene in the film 'Carousel' where the blossoms were drifting off the trees and Gordon MacRae and Shirly Jones were working up to singing 'If I loved you.'
And on that nostalgic note, I am going to take myself off and see what I can do to annoy his peaceful self, who is drowsing in his chair.
And yes, Gina, I did take the photo of the kookaburra. Would you like a copy?

Roaming the ranges

Above is a photo of a brown boronia megastima. It is one of our most insignificant flowers, as you can see. Small brown round bells growing in masses along the stems of the shrub. The inside of the flowers are a deep mustard yellow colour. You could easily pass it by on a ramble, except suddenly your senses are overpowered by one of the sweetest perfumes on this earth. Even if only one flower is open, it tends to scent the air around. Perfumiers have tried for many years to emulate the beautiful perfume, but it just can't be done. There are many boronia scented products around, but it is not like the natural perfume. These days boronias also come in green and purple. The perfume is still strong and beautiful, but this is the original of course. This is one of several that grow around our garden, and it really is a case of 'spring is in the air'.

epacris impressa.

The above plant is the stae emblem of Victoria.

' I know a bank whereon the wild clematis grows,

Where correas and the nodding boronia blows,

Quite overcanopied with eaucalypt and banksia,

With sweet bursaria and epacris impressa.'

I have to apologise to the great Will Shakespeare for the above parodyof his verse in Midsummer Night's dream, but honestly, our banks of wildflowers are just a delight to see. The wild epacris is in two shades of pink and there is a white one. They were growing along all the embankments on both sides of the Melba Highway when we drove up to Kinglake today. It had started off a lovely sunny day, but gradually degenerated into grey and very cold. It didn't stop me from taking photos though. At one stage we were driving along through the bush, admiring wattles and epacris and various other native plants, including the occasional grevillea. Suddenly a large brown bird, with a long draggin tail flashed across the highway - yes - a lyrebird, which disappeared into the bush alongside the road. Himself stood on the brake, and I dived out of the car to see if I could see the elusive bird.

It popped out of the bush just as I stepped forward and the noise startled it back into cover. I stood around for ages, camera poised, but never saw the bird again. I certainly heard him singing in his imitative style though. It is nice to know that these birds can still be seen, if only as they flash across in front of cars. This bird did not become a road fatality, as some do.

We then drove into de Bortoli's winery, just so that I could photograph the view back towards Yarra Glen, so that you can see how lovely the rolling valley and hills can be, despite the dark sky. The vines are marching in straight rows towards the shadow on the hill, not even in leaf at this time of the year, but the prospect was still rather beautiful.

This part of Melbourne was settled originally by Scottish migrants, some of whom came for gold, and others who decided to settle because the scenery was reminiscent of Scotland. Not so much now of course, but I can imagine how it must have been in the early 1800s.

Gulf Station, a bit closer to Yarra Glen was built by a Scottish family, who lived there for many years, and actually built a small school for the local children on their property. The property is now owned by our National Trust, and is fascinating to look around, especially the early timber farmhouse. They have farm animals on display, including the wonderful shire horses. My little boys love the horses, and the ducks, and especially
the pigs. Lovely, large black pigs, who will no doubt have a litter by now, so I must take the boys up to investigate. There are also cows, and on special days they have demonstrations of how the old time farmer used to plough, and a blacksmith making wares etc. Well worth a day trip when these things are happening.

The picture to the right is another taken at de Bortoli's just across the way from the restaurant. Have you been to the restaurant? The chef creates the most delicious Italian cuisine, interspersed with dishes that could come from anywhere in Europe. I especially like the creme brulee dessert. The wines are very good as well.

In fact folks, I love every part of the Yarra Valley, and will be out and about taking more photographs over the next few weeks, just so that you can see how very lush and well endowed with wonderful wineries and restaurants this part of our state is. I like nothing better than to breakfast at Chateau Yering on any morning of the week. We usually save it for a special occasion like a birthday, anniversary or a getting together with infrequently seen friends. Balloons take off from the paddocks opposite the Chateau and then the balloonists come into the dining room for breakfast. I like watching the balloons come down, never being early enough to see them go up!

Hmm! I think I will go and plan several day outings for me and him where we can take in the scenery and the good food and wine.

Will keep you posted.

Cheers

Kookaburra sits on the old gum tree....

Here is a lovely shot of Eastern beach, Geelong, taken on a lovely suny day. Doesn't it make you want to race down and have a swim. The photo was taken from the Geelong Botanical Gardens on a sunny winter's day, in July. Our garden group had gone to look at the Australian Dry Garden (ho.hum!) I had seen it several times before so take myself off for a short walk and some photograpy.
Eastern Beach Geelong

Jordan and Harrison looking at the kookaburra in his tree.

Here is the fellow they were looking at, in all his feathery glory. They do like to get up close and personal, these birds.

The idea is to take along some bread or something that they might like to snack on, and they will sometimes even out of your hand.

Nicholas, Daniel, Grandad and I had the experience of them being a bit too close and personal.

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,

Now he has his foot in my cup of tea.....

That is exactly what happened. A friend had told us about the scavenging birds, and so off we set with our picnic basket and thermos just to see what would happen. We each had our drink, and a scone (biscuit) and some biscuits (cookies) and were happily munching when a whirr of wings and a squawk announced the arrival of the first of several birds. The beady eye was fixed on a scone, and before the boys had a chance to even blink, the kookaburra had snatched the scone from Daniel's hand. But that wasn't enough. Nicholas and Grandad were smart enough to gobble their scones down, and I managed to hide mine under my hand - I thought. Next thing the bird was sitting on my cup, one foot in the tea and staring beadily at my hand. 'I can see you've got food and I am not moving until you give it to me" was his attitude. Eventually I broke off a bit of scone and the bird deigned to take it from my hand, but sat on waiting for me. Eventually I gave in, and he very kindly removed himself from my cup and onto the table, searching around for more, and eyeing everybody suspiciously until he was convinced that there was no more food, at which stage he flew into the gum tree just behind us, and announced with a great chortle that he had fooled the humans again. The boys were beside themselves with excitement. Daring to try to swim in grandma's cuppa was not the way to go!

Unfotunately Harrison and Jordan were unable to get quite this close and personal with the birds. They did get to hear them go off into peals of raucous laughter.

Apple blossom time, Melbourne on the Yarra and Galahs

It's not quite apple blossom time here in Australia. The above picture was taken in Spring in England, at Snowshill Manor in the Cotswolds to be precise. But, of course, our own apple blossom will be just as beautiful in a few weeks time. I was discovering how good the digital camera was for taking 'portraits' of flowers, which I have never been able to do on my old camera, well, not this clearly anyway.

I have been into the city today, and was so disgruntled by the time that I arrived, that I thought I'd best hunt out some photos to remind myself that Melbourne is usually quite beautiful on a sunny day. This is actually from last February, towards the end of one of our very hottest summers, which seemed to go on forever, and was still warm after we returned from colder climes on the 1st May. Mind you, we were in England during the warmest April on record. The 18 degree heat was beautiful after our run of high 30s before we went away.

However, I was disgruntled because I chose to go into the city by train, and I was surrounded by people, four of whom were talking very loudly into the mobile phones, in four different languages. Sorry folks, but I don't need to hear your business on the train. I was trying to read, as I know the passing scenery as well as I know anything, and peace and quiet should have been the order of the day. People shouting on the assumption that those on the other end of the telephone were deaf, and someone had the nerve to share their music with us. Not for long, thank goodness, because I was feeling quite murderous at having my trip so disrupted.

Today, Melbourne was not at all as I expect it to be. Crowds of people wandering aimlessly around and getting in my way. I am always amazed at how one person, one mind you, can take up and entire footpath. It is almost as if they have a rear vision mirror just so that they can step into my pathway as I try to dodge by. As you can see, Melbourne on the Yarra really is quite a
pretty place. People enjoying themselves in the sunshine, watching the passing parade. From this angle it is not a towering city and looks as though it should be comfortable.

The above photo is looking back towards Princes Bridge and the city. Along the Yarra, especially on the opposite bank is a great place to be on a pleasantly warm sunny day. Lots of attractions, and many, many wonderful restaurants looking out over the water. You can just make out some of the small ferries and water craft that will take you sailing along the river, or around the bay to Williamstown, another good place for restaurants.

Galahs feeding in our garden The above picture was taken towards the end of last summer, and we had to race out and take photos with our new toy (the digital). The galahs had been hanging around in flocks all summer, obviously in the hope of seed and water. They had spent some time in the gum trees, nipping the flower buds and seed pods off. They are nearly as bad as the cockatoos - of which we had many last summer - for chomping flowers off. If you happen to stand under a tree as they are feeding, one is freely showered with flowers, pods and sometimes something nasty. We all kow the expression 'ya stupid galah' but frankly, these birds are very smart, as are all birds I think (except our stupid kamikaze noisy miner which is still attacking the kitchen window) but I suppose there is always an exception to the rule of smart! Nature certainly gave the galah a lovely colour combination. Their grey, pink and white is delightful when a flock settles in a bare tree.

I was reading one of Kerry Greenwood's Phryne Fisher novels the other day, and this description was very apt for how I was feeling just at that time.'....rummaging furiously
in a mind which appeared to have entirely lost its card index' D'you ever have one of those days? I have more than I like these days, so the coming trip to the West is starting to look pretty good.

Happy days.

When the circus came to town, tea and more spring.

I just have to share a story about circuses and the small central Victorian town where the river kept trying to swallow me. I just loved the circus when I was a child and had been taken to several by my dad when quite small. But it was when my grandmother and I went to live in the country that these events became a large part of my life. The house we shared with my Gran's sister had its back fence facing the High Street, the only way into and out of the town. So, imagine my surprise when we had only been there for a short while when a man knocked on our back door.

'Hey, lady,' he greeted my Gran. 'Can we use your back fence for the circus signs? There are free tickets for the family if you give us the okay.'

Nan said yes, she could see no harm in this, and there were traces of old advertising posters already on the fence. The tickets were handed over, and I went to watch the man paste the poster. 'WIRTH"S CIRCUS' it read, in large red capital letters with a picture of a clown underneath. And I was going to go to the circus for free!

(Picture is part of the Princeton University Collection)


We became very blase about tickets and posters, and were even cheeky enough to ask for extra tickets one time. I saw every circus that came to the small country town, and was the envy of all my friends because I had free tickets for the very best seats, often front row. Which was a bit dangerous when the elephants were lumbering around. This was in the day of real circuses, when the big cats would roar as their trainer put them through their paces, threatening to bite his head off every few minutes. When the elephants performed something akin to handstands, and stood on very small upended buckets. We saw Chief Little Wolf, ex wrestler, perform his famous Indian Death Lock move on the town larrikin, who thought he could beat the performer. He was a whimpering mess in seconds. All this activity, and the Chief's flowing feathered headress never even moved. I found all this excitement this a tad tedious when I grew older, and I think I may well have been 'circused out' because I have never taken my own kiddies, or grandies, to a circus. I didn't like the jugglers or acrobats and I still have an aversion to these very clever people even now. (Mean gran that I am!)

Some more of my tea collection above. The chintz wear teapot, sugar basin and creamer are part of a set that was given to my aunt, for her engagement and added to for a wedding gift. I must have been barely three when it came into our house and I fell instantly in love with the beautiful, bright spring flowers on it. I used to open the sideboard and set it all out on the floor and pretend I was having afternoon tea. Unfortunately there was a large gathering at our house and the cups and saucers were set out, with many others, to cater for the number of people awaiting tea. My grandmother was pouring, as only grandmas can, and as she poured the hot tea, each beautiful cup split in half and tea poured over the heavily starched tablecloth. Disaster! What was left was put into the back recesses of a cupboard, and didn't see the light of day for many a long year. I was still admiring said remain when I was in my middle age and being told that it was mine when my aunt passed on. And then, one day, I saw exactly the same teapot in an antique shop for a phenomenal price and duly passed the news on. My aunt burst into tears and said that she had never, in her entire life, owned something so valuable. It came out of hiding and was given pride of place in her crystal cabinet where everyone who came to the house could admire it. After a few short years, she decided that I should take it all home as I was the only family member who had ever loved it. Now, of course, I use the dessert plates, and the sugar bowl and creamer, but would not dare to use the teapot, in case it goes the way of the cups. (I never did tell her that I stood on one of the plates and split it very neatly in half, and she never discovered that it had been repaired.) This part setting is still one of my very favourite things.

So now we can take tea in the other cups whilst you admire my hyacinths.

When we were last in England, I saw an enormous tub, at least twice the size of my half wine barrel, full of deep blue hyacinths. I opted for mauve flowers, and they are just coming to their peak now, with quite a few still not there yet. The perfume is beautifully pervasive and I tend to sit around outside sniffing the air, and thinking wonderful nature is to provide us with such beauty.

We are working madly around the garden at the moment, and today I have been up close and personal, actually sitting in the dirt, as we uproot grass so that we can lay mulch to continue our bush type pathways around the garden. The sun has been shining, shedding warmth on my back as I worked, and I came inside this evening feeling quite chuffed with myself. Himself has been busy mulching a tree that we had cut down on Monday. Mulching trees is very noisy work, and he has to work when the little one next door is not sleeping. But, there have been no complaints so far. I know I have been labouring the point, but I just adore this time of year. I guess I am just overwhelmed by all the beauty around me at the moment, and truly appreciating it all.

Hope you are all enjoying the spring here, and the autumn (almost) in the northern hemisphere.

Cheers

Springtime is.....well, restless!

...and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils. (Wordsworth)

(picture taken at Ightam Mote in Kent, U.K.)

***********************
'When the daffodils dance in the sun and the rain
then we know that the springtime is coming again...'

Hands up if you remember singing the above song at school each year round springtime. It used to make me feel very happy every time I heard it.
I have been thinking a lot about the little country town in Central Victoria where I lived for four years. (Which always had lots of daffodils, and now has a daffodil festival each year) I had my secondary education here, but allowed my self to be seduced at age 14 - by the lure of earning my own money. I was foolish enough to come home from school one day and announce that two of my friends had left school to go to work. Unfortunately, I mentioned that they were going to work for a government department and be earning 6 pounds 15/- per week, a huge sum for a fourteen year old in 1956. (My computer doesn't do pound signs unfortunately) In today's money, $13 per week. Nan worked on me for several weeks, telling me how wonderful it would be to have my own money and I have to say, the salary was more than some men earned. So, I allowed myself to be seduced away from school and into the work force. Within six weeks I wanted to go back, but was told that I couldn't. So, I was a slave to the $ until 11 years ago, when I retired, and then went back to work on a temporary basis in the private school system. I gave this away nearly four years ago, having decided that I was only working to spend! Which leads me to say how very lucky I was to survive my four years in the small country town! I left before the water nymphs caught me!

The township is built on a large curve of the Campaspe River, which meant that the river embraced it on three sides. It is full of historic blue stone cottages and was on the main road to the gold mines in Bendigo and surrounding areas. The old coaching station for horse changes was on our corner. That river and I had many a tussle. My birth sign is Aquarius, and the water was quite determined to get me. Everytime I went near the river I fell in. Admittedly in shallow parts, but I was always straggling home in wet clothes of a weekend. The water nymphs must have wanted me for their own. But, it wasn't only the river. I fell backwards into a sewerage outlet on a family picnic, and back then the waste was not purified at this particular point. I had to be stripped and bundled into a blanket and driven some miles home. The stench came with us of course. I slipped face first into a huge mud puddle in front of a whole football team of young lads, and their supporters, and was laughed out of the ground. I can still hear that dreadful laughter. Not a word of sympathy did I get from anybody! But, my best performance was at a Sunday School picnic, when I was nearly twelve. My Nan decided that it was a bit cold for swimming so off I went and was most annoyed when it became quite hot and I was unable to swim. But, the water nymphs struck again. I tripped near the edge of the swimming pool and went head first in. The mums who had come to help with the picnic dragged me out, despite the fact that I could swim, and tried to dry me off. In the end they surrounded me with towels and one of them passed over the swimming costume she had in her bag. Like Venus rising from the sea, I emerged from the crowd of mums clad in a pale blue costume with white frills. I had developed just enough shape to fit comfortablywithin it, and was able to spend the afternoon swimming. Lucky me! But, back to the spring garden.

Here is a photo of an eremophila (common name, emu bush) that grows and flowers profusely on our nature strip (or verge) These plants are very hardy in dry weather and create a wonderful display all year round. This one is very pale, but they come in all sorts of colours. White, pink, mauve, yellow, orange right through to a deep cerise colour. The red flowers beyond it are those of a grevillea. Himself has spent quite a bit of time around the garden today, I think creating an easy to walk along pathway for me, which will entail placing steps with low risers. Hallelujah!

This is a mixture of spring flowers taken across the front of our house to the house next door, and shows some of the wattles in bloom. eriostemon, grevillea and eremophila are in bloom in the foreground.

The church choir I sing with has been performing tonight. We did quite well I think, and had lots of enthusiastic clapping from our captive audience. At practise on Thursday night it was absolutely horrendous, and I was quite determined not to attend this evening, but as I was hosting a table of guests, I duly made my way to the venue. So pleased that I did as it has been a very pleasant evening.

Sunday: today is a typical August day here in Melbourne. Bright sunshine, blustery north wind, which is having an awful drying effect on the garden but, we hope for some rain before the really hot weather sets in.

'Rough winds do shake the darling buds of September and summer's lease is something we'd rather not remember.' (Apologies to Shakespeare!)

But, I do love this early Spring weather. I could wander for miles but, perphaps fortunately, have confined myself to the home and am spending time in the garden - and more time as soon as I post this.

The street where we live

To the right is a rather poor image of a photo of our dear little departed dog, Finn. As I have said, we are petless at the moment, having decided to be so until we stop travelling far and wide and start spending more time at home. Finn was a LabradorxCocker spaniel. A most affectionate animal who adored his family, but was just a little bit 'thick' if I may say so. He developed the worst traits of both breeds. He was sitting on our outdoor table this day, having decided that it was a good vantage point from which to spot birds who dared to come into his territory. He used to chase raindrops when ever it rained, yapping hysterically. Otherwise, he was a very quiet animal, and all the neighbours knew that if he started barking and it wasn't raining, to come and investigate. He succumbed to old age and dementia several years ago and we have been missing him eversince. All this is because I want to tell you about a dog from my very young childhood. I used to think I remembered this dog, Mandrake by name, very well until I got older and realised that I had been told so often about the animal, as a child and adult, that he had become my memory He was a fox terrier, crossed with something not much bigger, and was a mad as they come. He was the usual brown and white colour and quite savage. He spent most of his life confined behind a fence, and every day, when the coast was clear, a brave member of the family would carefully open the gate and stand behind it whilst the dog shot forth, faster than a speeding bullet and as dangerous as a cannon ball, because colliding with him meant being knocked down and bitten. I remember one particular day (from having heard the story so often) when my mother came to collect me from my grandmother's house. She had apparently looked around and there was no Mandrake to be seen, so very carefully and quietly, she opened the back gate and stepped into the yard. All hell broke loose! A blur of brown and white fur cannoned into her and knocked bottom first into the nearby dubtbin, lidless just at that time. Her hysterics as she tried to get out of the bin, legs and arms waving in all directions, combined with the dog's mad racing around the garden, stopping now and then to growl threateningly at anyone who came within barking range of his fun, had the entire household in uproar. Rescue finally appeared in the form of my grandfather who found a rope and finally cornered the dog, dragging him back to his pen, where he began to complain loudly and bitterly about having his fun ruined! My by now weeping mother was led into the house for a restorative cup of tea, amidst unseemly laughter at her predicament. I think I really do remember the dog, but not the incident. He came to a sad end when someone carelessly opened the back gate and he raced into the road to attack a rare passing automobile.

The restorative tea was possibly served in a setting something like this, as my grandmother always had a table set for a cuppa, and the kettle on the boil. These are my green and yellow cups, a bit blurred, but very nice for all that. The cloth, hard to see the embroidery, is cross=stitched with a mexican boy and girl, and cacti. I have been catching up with afternoon tea sites and admiring all the finery there is to see. I really do wish we spent more time with friends over tea, but everybody is so busy racing the clock that it is almost impossible.

I have a tin of Harrod's Tea purchased in London, and it is a most delicious brew, which I now keep for special afternoon teas, when I must use the teapot and tea strainer, rather than a tea bag.

To the left is a photo of the street on which we live, with all its trees. Ours is the nature strip in the foreground, with some of the shrubs in bloom. As you can see, the street is full of trees and shrubbery and is very pretty. There are no cars parked here at the moment. Had I taken a photo at the other end of the street you would have been forgiven for thinking that I lived in a used car yard with lots of trees around it. A new crop of 18 year olds have their licences now, and the cars to go with them. Our street has no on road parking as such, so many nature strips have been given over to parking. It looks dreadful but...that's modern life. One household has at least six cars on site, and often more of a weekend. Modern living is a tad depressing sometimes.


Another lot of Australian native flowers. Ray had been to a garden club meeting, and came home with these. Amongst the wattle there is epacris, hakea, dryandra and grevilla. They certainly show up well in a vase, but unfortunately do not have a long life span. However, this is a wonderful time of year for flowers.

Spring is really here, because himself is out mowing the grass. Not lawn, just a mown patch of weeds, which we hope to be totally rid of over the next few weeks to create a bush landscape with mulched pathways meandering between the flora. The tablecloth is embroidered with Australian birds and flowers.

Back to dogs and my library days. My second school library was at a secondary boy's school in a rather tough area of Melbourne. I was very nervous about going there, but it was convenient to home and for on time pick up for my own youngest from school. Once the boys had seen me in action and they realised I was okay, they were wonderful. Not altogether the academic types, but they would be alright when grown. I was on reference duty one day when a young lad came bouncing through the door with a wide smila and a 'g'day Miss, I need a book on dogs!'

Me: 'What sort of dogs?'
Him (looking puzzled) 'Canines Miss.'

Me (trying to keep a straight face) 'What sort of canines."

Him: 'I told you Miss! Dogs!'

I managed to find him a book all about the various breeds of dogs and he went off happily, very pleased with Miss, despite her being a bit dim. A restorative cuppa was called for after yet another crossed line!

Happy blogging people

Cheers!

An Australian Spring

I love these cool morning and sunny days and that vague scent of Spring that assails one's nostrils if one steps outside. At the moment the perfume is wattle (acacia or mimosa if you live in Europe) And yes, the urge to springclean is with me, so it will be interesting to see what I might unearth over the next few weeks. I will let you know if anything exiting turns up.

Clematis microphylla

This is a true harbinger of Spring around Victoria. We were on the Bellarine Peninsula, south west of Melbourne through the week, and poor Ray screeched to a halt when I yelled as I spotted this wondrous plant, Affectionately hugging a roadside native tree. It was stunning and the flowers appeared to be a pale lemon colour, but look more white in the photograph. It is, as you will perhaps notice, a very delicate clematis, with small, but not at all shy, flowers. The vine scrambles its way over anything in its path. It has a rather nice perfume as well, reminiscent of honey. It looks lovely scrambling over fences and through shrubs and trees. Sometimes, if there is nothing very high to climb, it grows over itself, and fills hollows in the nearby ground.

Acacia boormanni, looking quite spectacular
growing happily between our house and the house next door. It forms a nice open hedge and when in bloom is truly spectacular. A true bright gold colour and everybody stops to ooh! and ahh! over it. We met some new neighbours some time ago, before the actually moved into our court, because they stopped to admire, and to ask of the gardener (himself) what variety of wattle it was. He happily obliged and oh happiness, the newer neighbours are native plant people. The same as the new friends next door, so we are quite happy with the gardens around us these days. It is so nice to see more and more people growing Australian native plants. Mind you, I still like the English garden too, but unfortunately, he and I sometimes confront each other with shovels at 20 paces as I attempt to plant another non native. We haveln't done too badly on a compromise though, and I have some camellias and azales and even a poor little stellata magnolia that struggles to keep its head up, not being particularly fond of our hot summers. It tries hard to oblige, but the flowering period is brief and not spectacular. I think we will be passing it on to someone in the not too distant future. You will also notice that at this time of year there are a lot of yellow flowers in bloom. Lots of grevilleas and hakeas in different colours but just now, the yellow is superb. We have been madly pulling weeds today, and I managed to plant another half dozen shrubs which we hope will survive if we have another very dry summer. The soil is still very dry underneath, but, we live in hope.

and her, of course are two examples of my favourite English places. The lovely wisteria scrambles over this lovely Cotswold stone cottage at Broadway, in England. This is my favourite Cotswold town, follwed closely by Bourton on the Water. I suspect only because of this lovely plant, which hasn't let me down any time I have been to Broadway in the Spring. I just adore Britain in the Spring. The soft, but bright, colours are everywhere, and one can actually smell Spring in the air, even more so than here at home. Lilac, wisteria, blossom and everything beautiful, as only Britain can show it.

I really would like to live in Britain for 12 months so that I can experience the distinct change in seasons. The seasons tend to blur a bit here in Australia I find, whereas in the northern hemisphere the changes are very distinct, and seem to happen suddenly. (Just my opinion folks!)

And this photo on the right is Hidcote Manor garden at its spectacular best. I was on overload here and I loooked at all the beauty around me.

Not just the tulip beds, but everywhere I turned
there seemed to be something spectacular. We
spent a long time browsing the beauties of Hidcote, finding it very difficult to tear ourselves away and head back to our B&B. However, the time came wlhen we had to say farewell and move on. We were actually on our way home and were only 3 days away from flying out of the country and back to my dear old Oz. Dorothea McKellar's poem really sums it all up when she says "I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping planes....the wide brown land for me.'

I actually heard her evocative words sung earlier this week, and it really should/could have been our national anthem. A bit jingoistic I guess but lovely, for all that. I think many Australians become embarrassed about expressing their love for their land. I must admit that I used to cringe whenever I heard Waltzing Matilda, and I still prefer it without words, but as I get older I realise that I am nationalistic after all. Despite having been of the generation reared to be British, celebrating Empire Day and all the other British events. But hey, it hasn't done me any harm and I love both countries to bits!

I found those 'lost' photos at last. It was such a simple process when I finally got serious in my search for same.

Happy days, bloggers!

Spring is in the air...

I guess this pelican, pictured on the banks of the Murray River, trying to look totally nonchalant as the seagulls have moved in, and succeeding I think is perahps not quite spring, but it certainly was in the air this day. I didn't see another pelican, so obviously it wasn't time to choose a partner pelican at this stage. Just thinking about it!

This blog was meant to be a celebration of spring, with photos of all our spring flowers around the garden, and elsewhere, but, as usual, I have lost the photos that I added to an unknown file somewhere in this computer. I keep forgetting to name the new uploads and therefore lose them. I suppose I will learn one of these days. I get sooooo frustrated by it all!!

So let's move onto afternoon tea. This time, I chose to use some of the blue cups, on a hand stitched bluebird cloth, which I hope you will enjoy.
For those of you out there who may be interested in recipes, the following is a cookie recipe which I discovered on a sheet of paper in a book a very elderly friend gave me in the 1960s. I found it about two months ago, and have been making these very easy, very economical biscuits ever since. I suspect that the recipe may well date from the 1930s It is very tasty, so I do hope you enjoy! I tend to double the recipe and do all sorts of things with it, including beating a meringue of the left over whites and spreading it on top of the biscuits before putting them into the oven. It is just something a little bit different. Sorry about the weights being in the old imperial, but that is how old the recipe is, and I can't be bothered working out the metric equivalents. Too tired!

VANILLA BISCUITS.

Ingredients:

4 ozs of Self raising flour, 2 ozs butter, 2 ozs sugar, yolk of 1 egg, vanilla essence to taste.

METHOD:
Cream butter and sugar and add yolk of egg. Beat well and add vanilla and flour. Knead lightly and roll into thin sheet of pastry. Cut into circles (or any shape) and glaze with the white of egg (unbeaten). Put a piece of almond on each biscuit and bake in a moderate oven for 10 mins. They should be light brown. when cooked.

(They are very nice with glace ginger added to mixture, put together with butter icing flavoured with vanilla, or lemon juice, or with meringue spread on top before baking.)

We have been busy around the garden and, I actually planted 11 new shrubs this week, and he has placed more around awaiting my expert attention. This weather really makes me want to be outside, doing interesting things. We went along to a meeting, with youngest grandson in tow, to listen to a friend speak about Australian native plants. Now grandson is a great fan of this particular friend of ours, and spent most of the time sitting up close and personal as he was presenting his talk. I finally coaxed him down to sit with me, but that was boring. Far more fun being with our friend. But he was busy talking and not paying the right attention, so young grandson asked, quite loudly, 'When is he going to stop talking, grandma?' Friend eventually wound up and showed some slides, but eventually harmony was restored and grandson helped friend clean up all his samples and is looking forward to seeing him again one of these days.

Anyway, enough. I am going to track down these 'demned elusive photos'. 'I seek them here, I seek them there, these demned elusive photos.' (apologies to Scarlet Pimpernel!)

Flowers, fine china and marmalade

Girl and poodle with 'pimelia physoides'.

(see below for comment)

Yellow carlton ware 'cottage' with primose

design.

This is a not very good shot (too much light) of my yellow carlton ware bits and pieces of tea set. The figurine in the middle is also yellow, and I couldn't resist putting a sprig of wattle under her arm. The wattle is just beautiful at the moment. Such a lovely, bright sunshiney yellow!

I used to have a large collection of carlton ware, but because it is prone to 'crazing' I very seldom used it. Of course, I have never used these cups or the teapot, just in case they cracked. Never having been seasoned, I dare not, and they will go back into the cupboard. I suppose I should sell them off to someone who might like to enlarge a collection of said ware. I need to think about that! My youngest son is always offering to sell things on ebay for me, but I am not ready to part with a lot of part collections that I have acquired. Ah well, I am determined not to buy a bigger home just so that I can store more. That would also mean my husband storing more 'rubbish' if that happens. (Well, I think a lot of it is rubbish. I mean, who wants 10 year old accounting magazines and receipts etc.? Not me! I can't get my 'stuff' into the filing cabinet now.

I just had to share the beauty of our pimelia physiodes (above) with you. It is a native of Western Australia, but seems to grow very well here in Victoria. We have a lovely example growing in the back garden. Green bell like petals, overlaid with a light burgundy colour, and long yellow stamens. The honey eating birds just love it as it is full of nectar. In fact, our aggressive kamikaze bird and his kin spend a lot of time feeding from these flowers. They bounce around and break pieces off, hence I was able to have a small vase inside. So, I decided to try a bit of fancy photography, again showing one of my embroidered tablecloths, and a figurine that my sister purchased for me last Christmas. It goes well with all the green.

I am busy making blood orange marmalade at the moment. It is bubbling merrily away on the stove and will be for some time yet, as I have to wait for the peel to soften before I can add the sugar. I have always wanted to use blood oranges. I found a recipe in one of my Gourmet Traveller magazines, so it is obviously upmarket jam! A bit like chilli jam I suppose, for being popular with the gourmands of this world! We will see what my end result is! The above photos are those I was complaining about losing in my last post. After much frustration, I finally found the missing photos. Hooray! Blogging is obviously teaching me other things as well.

Well, I am off now to add the sugar to the jam. And hopefully to get outside to do some planting. It is raining and off, quite heavily at times, and it would be good to get plants in so they don't dry out. I am just loving all this rain (yes, I know Some of you have had too much.) But here in Melbourne there is still not enough to boost our water storages to a reasonable level. However....

Did anyone watch Juan Deigo Flores on SBS television yesterday afternoon? He has a glorious voice and I could listen for hours, and do, since we purchased his CD. Also Rolando Vilazon, who was on SBS the week before. He has lost his voice I heard yesterday, and has pulled out of the Salzburg Festival this year, along with several other big names. The commentator wondered if singers said 'yes' too often these days. Once they took weeks to get to a destination, and now they can sing in New York one evening, and be in Milan or Paris to sing the next night. Could be something in that, I suppose. No rest for the vocally gifted these days!

Enough waffle from me! Happy blogging people!!

Ps. A possum raced across the roof last night and scared the living daylights out of me! Sounded like a herd of elephants! The possum strikes back!