Sausage Rolls Rule

I'm a big fan of sausage rolls.

All that meaty goodness, wrapped in puff pastry.  It's just fabulous.

Of course they're not so fabulous when done wrong.  When I bite into a sausage roll only to find it's an actual sausage wrapped in pastry with cheap tomato sauce spread between the pastry and sausage I want to throw a hissy.

But when I bite into a sausage roll using good sausage meat (ha!  'good sausage meat' surely an oxymoron) I am one happy lassie.

Of course the best sausage rolls are homemade and that's exactly what I did this arvo.  I use the Edmonds cookbook recipe but substitute tomato sauce for tomato paste.  And the result?  YUM!!!  Can't wait for them to cool down because much like pizza some things are best eaten cold.

Hibernation

The first of May is still a whole month away from winter.  However the moment daylight savings ends my body goes 'it's winter go to sleep!!!'  Yes with three exclamation marks.  Hence why I've been such a slack poster.  My body and brain have spent the last few weeks in constant nanna-nap/grumpy-i-hate-winter mode.  But now that they're used to these shorter darker days they're raring to go again.

Today I officially came out of hibernation.

I woke up full of beans and embraced the wild wind to walk to the supermarche.  Picking up some yummy fresh ingredients I came home and made Annabelle Langbein's fabulous Busy People's Bread.

Then I made Louise Slice which tasted incredibly amazing while still warm and gooey from the oven.

And I finished it all off with beef bourguinon.

... Oh and I lit the fire for the third night in a row.

My body has adapted.  My mind is ready to rock and roll again.  Bring on the real winter, I'm ready.

I've caught royal wedding fever! AKA Playing dress ups is fun!!

I'm a big fan of playing dress ups.

A while ago I read an article with someone (Lord knows who, the old memory goes blank), but they talked about how when they got out of bed they liked to dress up to a theme and pretend they were someone else.

This struck a chord with me and since then every now and then I wake up and go 'today I'm going to be .....'

Some of my favourite outfits are:

The Fat Out Of Work Ballerina - a black bodysuit with a flippy twirly skirt and ballet flats, often combined with a lightweight knit shrug for when the aircon at work runs cold.

The Mary Tyler Moore Show Mary - High waisted flares with a gorgeous purple flimsy shirt, teamed with 70's chunky heels.

French Miss - quite simply a breton top with black pants (not seen since about 7kgs ago, but still a favourite)

My latest addition?  The Kate Middleton.

Inspired by her love of navy, inspired by her simple tastes.  And inspired by the budget of a radio copywriter.

Quite simply, a navy frock.  Simple black flats (yes she wears heels but she doesn't have to get up and down thirty times a day to voice ads/grab scripts/put scripts in trays/find cds/etc) and a simple piece of bling to fancy it up.  Oh, I also actually blow dried and semi straightened my hair for that relaxed yet styled look (it looked good 11 hours ago).  The only thing I didn't do?  Wear lipstick.  I just forgot.  Anyway after a hard days work the husband took a pic of me ... I think I'll offically call this the old, tired, haggard, with a wicked five-fingered-forehead, Kate Middleton look ...

Shallow and Proud! ... (kinda)

Today I added to my diamond collection.

It's a very small diamond collection.

Consisting of a few very small diamonds.

I have small diamond earrings, a small diamond necklace and today I add to that collection a small diamond dress ring.

(Now potential burglars before you get excited when I say small I mean SMALL, my diamonds wouldn't pay for a P hit.)

Yes they're small but I love them anyway.

Every time I add a new piece to the collection I'm filled with glee.  It's like it's my birthday all over again.  And I guess that means I'm shallow.  Actually I know I'm shallow.

Yes I know there are starving children out there.  Yes I'm aware that Mother Nature is pissed at us for disrespecting her good self.  Yes I know that there are dancing bears whose lives are made miserable by evil bastards intent on making money.   And you know what?  I do actually care.  But I figure if I spent every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year of every decade worrying and feeling bad for those less fortunate I'd become a gibbering wreck.  So instead I stop and care every now and then.  I give money when I'm confronted with a collector.  I make a point of recycling as much as possible.  And I try not to support those who abuse an animal in the name of entertainment (although I'm sure the hardcore greenies out there would consider my love of fashion shows animal abuse due to the sheer amount of leather/fur/feathers etc often found at them).

But what do I do with the majority of my time?  I be shallow.  I admire beautiful shoes.  I desire gorgeous frocks.  And most of all I look down at my small sparkly diamonds and I smile.

I may be shallow, but at least I'm happy.

A rose by any other name.

I may have just butchered some poor sods line.  I'm not sure.  I'm not big on the remembering.  I envy those who are.  If only I could remember what happened yesterday, a week ago, three years ago, then I might be better at winning arguments.  Alas I have the memory of a really cheap sieve so things just go in one ear, get processed, then go out the other.  On the upside I'm a very forgiving person.

"He/she said what?  I can't believe it!  I'm so angry!  I'll never forgive them!"

One hour/two days/three months later:

"Love her/him!  Fabulous!  Excellent human being!"

Sigh.

Anyway.  This is just a post to post the photo of flowers I bought the other day.  Vintage roses they're called, I think (can't remember!) but they're gorgeous and I was lucky to find them as people (apparently according to the florist) think they're all old and ready to die as they have a brown tinge to them.  Which is clearly wrong because one week on they're blooming beautifully, unlike my memory.

Green is Evil ... so says I

I get paid monthly.

And every month I try and do a decent grocery shop so I don't have to go to the supermarket so often, as every time I go to the supermarket I magically spend $30 even if I'm going in to buy one thing.

So the theory clearly is, go once, buy lots, spend less over the course of the month.

The other theory is that I won't waste so much food by only going once (with a few additional trips for necessities like chocolate/soda water/plastic cheese).

Yep, the theory is that I will use all that food I bought up.  Not waste any of it.  

It's a good theory ...

But as I discovered this morning while clearing out my vege bin, I have an aversion to green food.  I'm 'greenist'.  And no matter how much I dream of eating all my veges and saving money some part of me just can't seem to eat green food.  Goodbye well intentioned silverbeet, see ya later health giving salad leaves, au revoir over ripe avos.  

So what have I learnt from this revelation?  I can save a good $15 a month at least by not buying green foods ... and I can instead spend it on my favourite 'c' foods.  As I'm 'c-ist' too.  Cheese ... chocolate ... chardonnay ... cheezels.  CHOICE!

Ovary Pangs

For many many years I declared myself a baby-free zone.

No way was I going to infect myself with a parasite that would suck away at the minerals and vitamins in my body, only to be pushed out nine months later with me panting and swearing and screaming.
No way was I going to give up my life of eating indulgent foods and drinking nice inexpensive wine to feed and clothe and indulge a child who would turn into a) a bitchy teenager who would tell me she hated at me every second day before jumping out her window to meet with friends in a park and pash boys I would not approve of  ... or b) a teenage boy who was stinky, never washed and only grunted at me when he wants something.

Clearly the idea repulsed me.  And then I married my husband.  All of a sudden I felt a dull throb about the ovary area.  I would see an olive skin, dark haired child with a cheeky personality and I'd think 'our baby would be like that'.  Then I'd think 'what are you on?  you don't want kids'.  But the fact is marriage ruined me.  It turned me into a wannabe mother.  And it introduced me to ovary pangs.

When a newborn passes me in the street (in it's pram of course) I just want to cuddle it.
When a toddler looks at me and gives me a grin I want to chat to her/him.
When a teenager has a 'meh' at their mum I want to give them an earful about respecting their parents.

And each time I feel an ovary pang.

Unfortunately these pangs cannot be killed by cuddling friends babies, they just make them worse.  There's only one thing for it.  To actually have your own.

Goodbye minerals.  Goodbye vitamins.  Hello pain.
Followed by (potentially) hello to years of love followed by years of 'i hate you's'.
Followed by years praying that they end up liking you enough not to put your in a second rate retirement village.

Do I really want to try and do this baby making lark?  *pang*  Yes I do.  

(PS.  If and when a baby arrives Quite Simply Kellie will remain a baby-post free zone, cause I stand by the notion that only parents think their kids are interesting, while the rest of the world do not.)