Daddy, I wanna pony

and a fawn too, pleeeease!

The inimitable Audrey Hepburn and her pet fawn, Pippin.

(Images from AnOther)

Paris

When I first arrived in Paris in 2003, I was young, naive and green. The city’s beauty literally floored me and I spent much of my first visit being a flâneur, silent and awestruck by the broad boulevards, les petites jardins and the grand, beautiful buildings. And stuffing myself full of pastries and baguettes.

On my recent visit almost a decade later, a more experienced and mature me was less dumbfounded but no less in awe. Even in the melancholy depths of winter, the greyness of the skies – and the pale European sunshine when it breaks through – enhances the delicate lines of the buildings and its the streets.  And the city’s inhabitants?  C’est chic, bien sûr. Parisian fashion is not showy or flamboyant.  But the surprising colour of a scarf, the turn of a lady’s heel, the chic, tousled ‘i-haven’t-tried-too-hard’ hair, the subtle, perfect fit of a young banker’s suit… well, it’s just… quietly, fabulously chic.

Some snaps from my recent visit.

Le Tour D’Eiffel in the limpid wintry afternoon sunshine.

Bread and butter pud (à la française) in the 3ème arrondisement.

Carousel by the Seine.

Buildings in the 5ème arrondissement.

Ticket stubs from Paris.

Perfect summer

Just back from a lovely weekend spent in Bondi, Sydney with a couple of old friends. When I sat down to download my photos from the weekend, it came with some surprise to find that I hadn’t taken many photos at all. There is always some tension between enjoying a moment and capturing it. And I suppose that this weekend, I suppressed my inner shutterbug in favour of living in the present.

As for the weekend itself? Perfect, perfect summer.

Leaf

Lazy, hazy, crazy summer is just around the corner.
Hot, dry days.
Languid, lackadaisical, afternoons.
Sudden afternoon storms.

Christmas and the new year also peeking around the corner.
Carols, tinsel and ridiculous amounts of food still seem at odds with the hot weather.

Where on earth did the last year go?

Saturday a.m.

Calm. Quiet.

The coffee maker (from Sorrento, Italy) burbling merrily on the stove.

The occasional call of the bellbird.

An intermittent passing car.

The smell of mushrooms, topped with blue cheese and butter, under the grill.

Baked beans heating on the stove.

And the scent of fresh lilies.

The Ikea Run

By a quirky, unexpected turn of circumstances, serendipitous meetings, straight out opportunism, leaps of faith and perhaps pure, blind luck (always easy to see, in retrospect), I seem to have landed pretty much where I want to be: in a new job in a beautiful building with friendly, supportive managers and colleagues, and I’m just about to move into a lovely light-filled house close to shops, a cosy café or two, lovely restaurants, a purveyor of fine wines and a fabulous bookshop and library.

The only catch?  It’s not in my hometown of Melbourne but rather, Canberra – Australia’s capital – and famed for well, just that fact. Cultural goings-on are minimal, and certainly not of the eccentric, underground sort which Melbourne and London is known for.  Canberra is also famed for the grand ole business of government, of course.  But, as I’ve said plenty of times, life certainly takes you where you least expect and sometimes, you need to grasp opportunities when they present themselves, even if all the boxes aren’t ticked.  And given the upcoming federal election, it’s quite the place to be.

The one fly in the ointment? There is no Ikea. A revelation which seriously made me reconsider my move. Because no matter what those design snobs say, there is nowhere like Ikea for a well-designed, nice-looking, inexpensive household bits n’bobs. Especially for people new in town.  Quite a glaring omission for the Swedish company, I think, given Canberra’s highly-skilled, cashed-up, transient population. Apparently ‘Ikea runs’ (2-3 hours’ drive to the nearest store in Homebush, Sydney) is quite the thing in this town.

But one thumbs up for Canberra? No Starbucks. Apparently the last one fled town a couple of years ago. And amen to that.

A tasty exotic mushroom pizza with a perfect crust. At one of Canberra’s culinary surprises.

Une Année

Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.

~Terry Pratchett in A Hat Full of Sky

Only late tonight did I realise it has been a year to a day since I arrived in Melbourne after 7.5 years in London.  Odd, and mildly disconcerting how the 365 days have flown by since that jetlagged funk of a day.  Any regrets? plenty of people have asked.  None, I can still say, despite a somewhat rocky re-entry into life back where I started.  Save the friends which I left in London.

It has primarily been a year of internal and external realisation, reconnection and recalibration.  Knitting together my disparate Melbourne and London lives has been an involved, necessary process.

And now the road has opened up once again, and is about to take me down an unexpected, but not wholly unwelcome path.

Life is pretty cool like that.

Sunset over Battersea Bridge, London, 2005

Round

Winter Light and Shadow

One crisp winter’s afternoon, I noticed the graceful silhouette of a bare wisteria vine projected onto a window by the diffuse, milky, peach-gold rays of the low-hanging sun.

Immensely difficult to capture on my little point-and-shoot, and a DSLR is definitely right up there on my list of  ‘must get’s’.

Rainy Weekend

The steady pitter patter of rain on the roof, a little Nina Simone, a dash of Jacques Brel, some homemade apple and rhubarb crumble, and, of course, a cup of tea…