Happy Times

OK. So it’s never been any secret that the previous owner of our house in London was murdered there. I mean, it DOES have a Bell Tower, what did you expect? And about a year ago award-winning author Tim Lott visited me and had a look around as he was writing a piece on the murder. You see, it was his former literary agent, Rod Hall, who had been killed there. He told me he was writing a piece for a literary magazine in memoriam and I was more than happy for him to have a look around, to look at the Lofts book that our house has been featured in etc. I was a little star-struck in my own nerdy way (he won the Orange Prize! I had read one of his books!). What I did not expect was that a month or two later the article is FRONT PAGE news in the Guardian’s weekend Observer magazine. Complete with pictures (of him in my/his house!), it was both an enthralling and very sad read for me. Whilst it probably gave me waaaaaaaay more insight than I needed, it definitely painted a picture of a man that I had not given too much thought to. What a sad and disturbing story. Dave has yet to read it as he often slept in the room the murder took place (as did many of our visitors!!!) when we were dealing with a non-sleeping Fred. If you have a strong constitution (and a spare half hour as it’s not short) you can read it here.

But the reason I mention it, is that one of his star clients and good friends– Simon Beaufoy – just won an Academy Award for his screenplay. And one suspects that, had things been different, Rod would have been instrumental in this achievement and be getting very drunk at this moment. Indeed, when another of his client’s film – Charles Rutherford’s Billy Elliot – was nominated a few years back, he commissioned the amazing dining room table which we bought from the estate and enjoyed many a dinner party on for the two years we lived there. So I’m not too sure where I’m going with this other than to say I’m well pleased that Slumdog Millionaire has done so well.

You know you're Australian if...

You know the meaning of ‘girt’;

You believe that stubbies can either be worn or drunk;

You think it is normal to have a Prime Minister called Kevin;

You waddle when you walk due to the 53 expired petrol discount vouchers stuffed in your wallet or purse;

You’ve made a bong out of your garden hose rather than use it for something illegal such as watering the garden;

You understand that the phrase ‘a group of women wearing black thongs’ refers to footwear and may be less alluring than it sounds;

You believe the ‘L’ in the word ‘ Australia is optional;

You can translate: ‘Dazza and Shazza played Acca Dacca on the way to Maccas’;

You believe it makes perfect sense for a nation to decorate its highways with large fibreglass bananas, prawns and sheep;

You call your best friend ‘a total bastard’ but someone you really, truly despise is just ‘a bit of a bastard’;

You think ‘Woolloomooloo’ is a perfectly reasonable name for a place;

You believe it makes sense for a country to have a $1 coin that’s twice as big as its $2 coin;

You understand that ‘Wagga Wagga’ can be abbreviated to ‘Wagga’ but ‘Woy Woy’ can’t be called ‘Woy’;

You believe that cooked-down axlegrease makes a good breakfast spread;

You believe all famous Kiwis are actually Australian, until they stuff up, at which point they again become Kiwis;

You know, whatever the tourist books say, that no one says ‘cobber’;

You still don’t get why the ‘Labor’ in ‘Australian Labor Party’ is not spelt with a ‘u’;

You wear Ugh boots outside the house;

You believe that the more you shorten someone’s name, the more you like them;

Whatever your linguistic skills, you find yourself able to order takeaway fluently in every Asian language;

You understand that ‘excuse me’ can sound rude, while ‘scuse me’ is always polite;

You know what it’s like to swallow a fly, on occasion via your nose;

You understand that ‘you’ has a plural and that it’s ‘youse’;

You know it’s not summer until the steering wheel is too hot to handle;

Your biggest family argument over the summer concerned the rules of beach cricket;

You shake your head in horror when companies try to market what they call ‘Anzac cookies’;

You still think of Kylie as ‘that girl off Neighbours’;

When returning home from overseas, you expect to be brutally strip-searched by Customs - just in case you’re trying to sneak in fruit;

You believe the phrase ‘smart casual’ refers to a pair of black tracky-daks, suitably laundered;

You understand that all train timetables are works of fiction;

When working at a bar, you understand male customers will feel the need to offer an excuse whenever they order low-alcohol beer;

You get choked up with emotion by the first verse of the national anthem and then have trouble remembering the second;

You find yourself ignorant of nearly all the facts deemed essential in the government’s new test for migrants.

my new love.

Adele's album is one of those one's I've had on my iPod for over 6months but never given a proper listen.... which is somewhat sad. I fondly remember those days of only having a few CDs and getting to know each one intimately, and with computer proliferation, ipods nad file-swapping I somehow find myself with over 36 days worth of music the bulk of which is rarely listened to .

I digress.

I'm trying to get to the point that I've always been a huge fan of ladies that sing good, particualrly of those that are singer-songwriters. Adele's album (titled '19' cos she's 19 years old when she wrote it) has taken my breath away in a way no singer has since Fiona (!!). I neglected her for so long becuase I sort of put her in the bracket of a singer that had one OK-ish song (chasing pavements) over-saturating the airwaves, but as KT Tunstall showed that mainstream success doesn't have ot be at the expense of an entirely quality album, I thank god that I took the time to give it a good listen. Now, she's not for everyone - i know that- but I know a few people who share my lady-loving tastes and therefore urge them to drop everything nad go and purchase her album. She is a level of awesome beyond her years, a richness of voice I dream of owning. And she's from South-East London. Respect.

If you run her name through YouTUbe you will find an enormous amount of live recordings of her and they too are good. But below are my two favs (well, today anyway). THe first one is called 'Best for Last' and is a cover of a Bob Dylan song (damn, that man can catch a sentiment) which I believe has been released as a single. I'm not sure, I dont listen to the radio much. The second is a song called Best for Last. I can not wait for to see what she does next.

Things Fred Coutts Ligertwood is NOT to be trusted with:

(sans supervision )

- crayons
- pencils
- anything else that could possibly be used to draw with – like almonds. (seriously)
- his brother
- anything with glass in it
- potentially sharp things, e.g. coathangers
- valuable things, like the camera.
- the first 10cm from the edge of all counters
- water (it travels)
- potentially carpet-staining food (it travels)
- walking by himself in public (does not heal)
- low-lying cupboards and their contents
- door handles (door knobs are ok)
- things with buttons that do exciting things like dvd players and televisions
- artwork that can be reached by climbing
- cans
- being in the same room as an open laptop
- did I mention crayons?

the result of me changing Rocco's nappy and leaving his crayons too close to the edge of the counter. Seriously. Though i must applaud his theory that if he did it under the table, I would be none the wiser. I like the way you think, kiddo.

close-up

resultant tantrum from crayon confiscation

Snow!

Look, I know if you're from Canada your ganna be all 'you call that snow?' etc. BUT what has happened here in the last 24 hours (and is still happening) is more snow than I've ever seen in London. This stuff isn't melting after an hour - in fact more and more is coming!! It is so beautiful nad Fred nad I have spent a lot of time just watching it and giggling at how beautiful it is. Hopefully it stops soon so I can rug up Monkey1 and let him have a play. In the meantime me and hte boys have decided to rug-up in our dressing gowns, do some colouring-in, watch some dvds and eat popcorn.

these were taken at about 8.30pm last night. Normally it would be pitch black outside, but it was as though someone forgot to turn the lights out (lesson: white reflects light).

this morning. from the dining room window (onto the back yard)

out the front window

there be car in this picture.

buzzy bee, this weather is just not for thee

ch-ch-ch-changes

cos its just hair, right? and when you've essentially had the same hair for 15 years, its time to try something new. I didn't mind it at first, still don't really mind it (don't love it either) but thoughts have taken something of a blow from Dave's assertion that it was 'Mum-sy' Which is indeed an accurate deduction for a stranger to make, but none-the-less, not one I want made. HOWEVER perhaps I should just accept the overwhelming evidence - becasue when I think about where I'm at and what I'm missing, whilst a few drinks are a nice idea, I could quite happily never be hung-over again. And when I think about what truly excites me, it's not a night out watching a band play, it's cooking a roast chicken and watching another episode of SeaChange. Mumsy? Yes. But definitely a hot one.

(you're all probably wondering what I'm talking about as you have been unable to rip your eyes away from hte beauty and joy which is Rocco's face)