winsome, lose some

My cyclamen farm is coming on well.

But sadly I lost my crochet cardigan over Easter.

Previously I lost my Cruella Deville.
I loved them both, but they are a small price to pay for our indulgent Easters.

this bogan life

It's been a  livelier week.  Last week we had The Greatest Showman at The Orford Odeon.  I was a model of restraint and had a glass of bubbly and popcorn instead of my usual glass of red and a Mars Bar.

There was the market on Sunday where the lovely Puck weighed out Democrat apples by an ingenious device rigged up in the boot of his car.

You know I bought a bottle of the local gin at the previous market.  I am still searching for the perfect glasses from which to savour it.  I found this glass at the market and it's pretty close to what I have in mind.  Sadly there was only one so I'm doomed to drink alone for now.  I only have a thimble full and could probably get by with just smelling it.  The botanicals really come through.  One night when Steve was away, I had apple pie, cream and a glass of gin for dinner.  Divine.
I cooked the venison as a pot roast in the slow cooker with herbs from the garden, including myrtle leaves and berries in lieu of juniper.  I think it is delicious, though Steve deems it tasteless.  I have also slow cooked the quartered quinces and must get around to freezing them today.  I think they're delicious too.  I wish I was one of those people who don't enjoy their own cooking.
I had a suspicion that scallop pies were on the menu at The Fish Van so Jill and I trotted around to find out.

Yes indeed.  In case you think it is an inelegant way to lunch

I managed a small glass of white too.
The other exciting news, from my perspective, is that I just trimmed 6 bushes with the hedgetrimmer.  When I have undertaken this in the past, my wrists ache from the vibrations and my arms ache from the weight.  But today it was easy peasy, apart from throwing the ball for Jill at the same time.  The sessions at the gym must be working.

they also serve who only stand and wait

Not a lot to report in Tribes.  Snapped this little chap as I left the gym yesterday.  The rain has left the garden a joy to work in.  Weeds easy to pull out.  We've been given a haunch of venison to cook and I've decided to include some of our myrtle berries in lieu of juniper berries.  My googling doesn't indicate that the myrtle is poisonous but this could be the last post...

The Great Rains of 2018

At last we have had some rain.  The Gatehouse gardens had their own babbling brook thanks to the run-off from the school oval.

Last night I feared that the water may rise to flood the Gatehouse pavilion but it didn't quite get there.  Perhaps Venice has come to the Gatehouse.

The rain seems to be easing now.  Hopefully the wind won't persist long enough, or strong enough, to dry it all up.  The East Coast really needs a good soaking.

I spent yesterday curled up by the fire, reading Miss Read books and eating chocolate.  My friend The Queen of Hearts visited and, as we swapped stories, I realised that the appeal of country life had been re-woken in me back in 1974 when the cruel Education Department sent me to Bothwell for my teaching prac.  I stayed with the Goggins.  Mr Goggins drove the bus to Hobart and back each day.  Mrs Goggins introduced me to the rhythm of country life - fire and firewood rituals, vegies fresh from the garden, sheds smelling of stored apples.  I live a somewhat modified version of this, but I love it.
Wednesday night I went to the meeting of The Friends of Triabunna Reserves.  I took one of my newest treasures with me in case there was time for 'Show and Tell'.

Those of you who follow Jackie Morris' blog will know all about this book.  The Reservists were enchanted with its beauty.  As we turned the pages, we realised that nearly every plant and animal featured is a pest in Australia.  So many lessons.  Renouncing your country of birth is not always an easy decision.  I am very lucky to have Jackie Morris living my life in Wales.
And I think I will always love blackbirds.

Glad that I live am I

On Anzac Day I marched in the parade for the very first time.  This was not something I had ever expected to do given, to my knowledge, I have no personal connection to Gallipoli. But the Spring Bay Suicide Prevention Network marches every year and so I was invited.  I was given a book to place at the cenotaph in lieu of a wreath.  The books are then distributed to the schools.  I really want to read this one - and, Lady Jayne, I love the title.

Wilma placed flowers as she does each Anzac Day.  It was all very uplifting, still a bit jingoistic and macho for my taste, but it is heartening how the community turns out in force.  And then, walking home,

the pavement filled with children's chalk drawings.  I haven't seen that for years.  And as I walked home, I found myself singing 'Glad that I live am I...' a favourite hymn from my childhood.

Some time during the week I spotted this little beauty at the end of our street

and later it pulled up briefly outside the house.  Small pleasures.

Back in Klemzig, it was time to curl up in the dappled sun and reflect

while others engaged in homely pursuits like fixing Mum's washing machine

and servicing my sewing machine.

Naturally, my mind was on higher things.

The Easterers met again for a dose of culture.  This opportunity really was too good to miss.

Pearl and I were entertained while we waited outside the gallery for Lady Jayne.  And afterwards as we made our way to our respective transports.

The exhibition proved just as uplifting.  Beautifully spaced and placed, it was just right to awe and inspire without sensory overload.  Well done Art Gallery SA.  Naturally we also availed ourselves of the restaurant facilities but just to get back in training for the big event.

Back to Longview for Sunday alla casa.  It was only a fortnight since Mum and I had last eaten there and the menu, being seasonal, was exactly the same so we knew what was coming up.  Such a joy for Mum and I to share this much loved experience.

We didn't think of photos till dessert was well on its way.  Four girls who like good food.

The next day was the big drive back to Melbourne which I managed well but couldn't relax till I was lined up next to the big boat.

Bye bye Melbourne,

hello early morning Devonport where I was reunited with my lost glasses and  case.

I found the bakery at Elizabeth Town and fulfilled my promise to buy date scones for Mrs Omniscient Henry.  I had a coffee and croissant for brekky and am hoping to return here for lunch soonish with Steve.  In the early morning it reminded me of the hotel Rosa Norte and I stayed in in Abergavenny.

Till the next Easter Dreaming.

Easter proper and otherwise

For the last few years we have started Easter on the Wednesday.  Being fiends for tradition, we did so again even though it involved me driving through the city in the early hours.  I left Mum's at 0600 and arrived in West Beach at 0630 having had a leisurely drive up North Terrace with scarcely a car in sight.  I loitered outside Pearl's until it was closer to my agreed arrival time, and then we shot through to loiter in the Ikea car park awaiting Lady Jayne's 'ready and waiting' txt.  Simultaneously, Lady Jayne was waiting with her bags outside the terminal for her scheduled airline ETA, her plane having landed super early.  We are all too too polite.  A short jaunt to Pearl's to unload and we were off to the city on the Glenelg tram.  It was after 9am by now so we could travel free as seniors.  Yippee!

We alighted in Victoria Square for the market and a dozen oysters to fuel us. It is difficult to see in the above photo (I was too busy eating oysters to move closer) but that strange contraption on the Providore counter was some sort of oozy chocolate foutain.  But we managed to resist.  Even chocolate can't surpass the tangy ocean hit that comes with a fresh oyster.  Brimming with zinc we made our way west to find the church in which Lady Jayne's forbears were married wayback.

It is surrounded by community gardens, op shop and offices of not-for-profit organisations.  The minister was charming as was the invocation to dance.

The church was destroyed by fire and has been rebuilt since the wedding of Lady J's great grandparents.  The windows were modern and beautifully done.  The photo below was supposed to showcase them but you'll have to content yourself with the woodwork instead.

We then sought out the mosque just to keep things in balance.  I was intrigued by the yarn bombed parking sign outside.

We wandered around without seeing anyone, past cleansing facilities and outdoor prayer spaces.

Having hedged our bets we explored this side of the city that was largely unknown to us.  Then down a part of King William Street far more westerly than we had ventured before.  We passed many a groovy little cafe / eatery and finally found a pub that we all felt was just right.

  The King's Head is totally devoted to South Australian food and beverages.  We felt very cool sitting among the young things on their lunch break.  We returned to the market to stock up on fruit, cheeses and far more bread than we really needed, then trammed home again, inadvertently illegally because it was just past 3 o'clock.  It took us a while to work out why our seniors tickets weren't working.  Actually someone on the very crowded tram explained it to us so we would stop monopolising the validating machine, causing all those boarding after us to also be travelling illegally.
That evening Pearl took us to another superduper place, Plant 4 in the former Clipsal factory.  It has an amazing range of food stalls and bars.  I was delighted that there was an outdoor area where people could bring their dogs to play while their owners could eat at strategically placed tables.  Very civilised.

view of Plant 4 from upstairs

view of very happy customer with fresh coconut juice bought at a bar

Thursday we wended our way to Normanville via an almost Vietnamese-style coffee shop at Aldinga, and then The Victory, a pub I've always wanted to try for lunch.  It did not disappoint.  The food was good and the wine (of a grape variety I'd never heard of) was made from fruit of the vines at the front of the pub.

We soon made ourselves at home at Pebbles Cottage where we had a light evening meal of Adelaide Market fare, a little bit of wine, and lots of Poldark after a bracing evening walk accompanied by a cacophony of barking dogs.  Some of us enjoyed this more than others.
Good Friday we explored Normanville and environs by foot and walked to the pub for dinner.  We had a great meal there but a little sad cos there weren't many other punters, and management and staff were disappointed.

Saturday we explored the Second Valley market.

(proof)

This turned out to be a great little market, small but with good quality produce, arts and crafts.

Pearl went crazy for the metal ware, filling the car boot with treasures.  This added an extra thrill to the event because parking was confined to a very narrow road with many bends to keep you guessing when the next 4WD would come screaming along and flatten you.  We also investigated property for sale at a little hamlet opposite.  Very nice.

We checked out Second Valley beach which teemed with jaunty people.  The sea, however, was calm and clear.  In the spirit of adventure fully indulged at Easter, we tried the restaurant in the old mill.  This is a charming building with tables in the gardens or inside with lovely artwork.  The meal was exquisitely presented and we paid over $80 for food that would have fitted in a sardine can with room to spare.  Total wanky rip-off.

At Pearl's brilliant suggestion we repaired to the Surf Lifesaving Club at Normanville Beach (which, like Second Valley, is no longer a sleepy hollow) and consumed a bottle of their best bubbly on a deck with unbeatable views.

Very happy, we walked home to Pebbles for more market delicacies and Poldark.

Sunday we woke befuddled because it was April Fool's Day plus Easter Sunday plus end of daylight saving and we had dutifully put our clocks forward the night before thus robbing ourselves of 2 hours beauty sleep.  Chocolate and sugared almonds and lots of coffee did atone for this to some extent but I still can't work out which day we found the Yankalilla Cemetery above, plus visited the plant nursery and very nice Visitor Information Centre.  I do know that we set off for another lunch at The Victory on Easter Sunday, this time to rendezvous with some of Lady Jayne's rels.  We went the long way round to take in Myponga Beach which none of us could remember visiting before.  I have to mention that we happened upon Maggie Beer.  Previously we had met Simon Birmingham and daughters on the bike path to Normanville. You can't move for celebrities in these parts.
After another yummy Victory lunch, though there was a strange interlude when we discovered that  you had to go down into the cellar if you wanted to buy a bottle of red which seemed both pretentious and difficult for the less ambulatory, we were invited to Aldinga for a cup of tea and family history chat, then drove Pebblesward in the dark, a rare event for us Easterers.
Easter Monday was time to say goodbye to Pebbles.  We took a long soulful walk along Normanville Beach as we did as teenagers, though much water has passed under the bridge since then and we've gained a lot of soul.

Lady Jayne's scullery maid did a fine job of the final clean up, and possibly the bottle of red.  Then the drive to Pearl's at West Beach to pick up my car, drop Lady J at the airport to pick up a car, and back to Klemzig to start planning next year.