'It's just another manic Monday'

Six o'clock already I was just in the middle of a dream

I was kissin' Valentino

By a crystal blue Italian stream

But I can't be late

'Cause then I guess I just won't get paid

These are the days

When you wish you were a kitten, hey?

It's just another manic Monday.

Manic, that is, for everyone but a certain Miss Molly. Whilst I grappled with the snooze function on my phone (a war I fight at least half a dozen times each morning), Molly dozed (like the happy contortionist that she is) on the end of the bed.

Molly knows nothing of The Bangles, but lives their dream - every one of her furry feline days is a Sunday, her fun-day.

Jealous much?

If this leaves you feeling a darker shade of green with respect to the leisurely lifestyle of the furry one who deigns to live with you, take a look at this genius comic.

'Garfield minus Garfield' will/might/should:

a. make you laugh at the prospect of erasing the smug felis catus from your life;

b. bring you to the realisation that without your smarmy yet lovable friend, the cartoon of your life would leave you looking (dare I say the word of the day? yes, yes, I do) - manic;

c. leave you mildly irritated about the fact that, everyday, people other than you and I have simple yet brilliant ideas, like this reinvented comic;

d. remind you that unlike Garfield, most cats are without the pleasures of foodstuffs like lasagne. Ha-ha. A win for the two-legged creatures; and, last but not least...

e. it is highly likely that it will make you feel superior that you have known about this amazing Garfield-less phenomenon for much longer than me. I only discovered it last night.

P.S. Molly wishes you all a Happy Monday, from her sun lounge.

The Hangover

Swigging cider seem like a fine idea on a Friday evening when you find yourself in a warehouse that seems to have been decorated by somebody's kitsch-hoarding, but oddly stylish, grandmother. The best of Motown and the 80s (and a strange collaboration between Norah Jones, Sesame Street's Elmo and the letter Y) plays on a dozen televisions around the space, garden gnomes with bare and voluptuous breasts leer at you, you find yourself sharing a floral armchair with three other people, and then a live band starts up on in a stage space so pink that even Barbie couldn't have dreamed it up. What's a girl to do but to take part in the delightful madness?

Somewhere between the delightful madness and being woken this morning at 8am by a friend keen for a yoga class, a troupe of devilish sprites must have crept in through my ear and had a roller disco inside my head. So this morning, I found myself thinking about all of the possible ways to undo the pain.

There are no pretty pictures on today's blog because, let's face it, there is nothing pretty about a hangover. Instead, I have pulled together a list of different strategies for coping. Obviously, none of these are good medical advice, rather the rantings of people, fictional or otherwise, who have found themselves in the foetal position more than once after a night out.

1. The traditional favourite of the masses: lots of water and a huge greasy fry-up, with extra grease. I'm told this may leave you feeling nauseous at the time, but it will be worth it.

2. My personal food cure: Toast any kind of bread you can get your shaking hands on. Butter liberally, swipe with vegemite. Pile on as much avocado as the toast can possibly hold. Squeeze on some lemon and a good grind of salt and pepper. This is a good one if your backing up for work, because it looks respectable enough to eat at your desk.

3. 'Fizzygoodmakesfeelnice'. Follow the lead of serial offender, Bernard Black, and guzzle down some fizzy good (a.k.a. Altza Seltzer) straight from the packet. Alternatively distract yourself from your own hangover with the comedy of his, here.

4. A little more hard core than Bernard? Is Withnail more your style? Do you find yourself saying things like 'I feel like a pig shat in my head', or knocking back lighter fluid when all of the drinkable alchohol is gone?. Then you will probably subscribe to the 'hair of the dog' theory. This only works if you plan to continue the bender - the new alcohol that you are taking in blocks your liver from breaking down the methanol in the alcohol that you drank last night; the break down of the methanol is what leaves you feeling so rubbish. Try a Bloody Mary for the vitamin content.

5. If you're a fan of the liquid cure but can't stomach the alcohol, the sugar and fizz in a bottle of Coca-Cola should kill the grouch in you.

6. For those bent on revenge, go the way of the voodoo. Haitian voodoo people apparently suggest sticking 13 black pins into the cork of the offending bottle to rid you of the pain. If nothing else, this should be mildly entertaining.

7. Late author, Amis Kingsley, has the last say. ' Immediately on waking, start telling yourself how lucky you are to be feeling so bloody awful. This recognises the truth that if you do not feel bloody awful after a hefty night, then you are still drunk and must sober up in a waking state before hangover dawns.'

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1101964/Distilled-Kingsley-The-late-great-author--prodigious-drinker--gives-advice-beating-hangover.html#ixzz0Osy201X4

A green glow...

Miss Molly the pussycat went to play
In a beautiful pea-green bag..

On shopping day, kitten rediscovers her favourite thing. The green bag. As the groceries are unpacked, she paws closer and closer, until the bag is empty and there is sufficient space for her to wriggle in.

I like to think that kitten loves the green bag because, at heart, she is a little furry eco-warrier. More likely, I suspect, she likes the pea-green colour and its function as her playground.

That said, I like my things to be beautiful and functional as well as environmentally friendly. So you can imagine how delighted this caffeine-fiend was to find this lovely item at the Young Blood markets on the weekend, at the closing of the Sydney Design Festival...


The Keep Cup is the first barista standard reusable coffee cup. Very sexy. All the pieces come in a variety of colours (polaroid tones don't do them any justice), so you can mix and match until you have one that suits you. Take a look at the website for more information about the design and concept, and if you're as taken as me, to buy one for yourself.

www.keepcup.com.au

Jam, with a side of nonsense

Having revisited Edward Lear's poem, 'The Owl and the Pussycat', I was inspired to buy a bag full of quinces on a recent shopping trip. Dining on quince seemed like quite a sweet thing to do...

"They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon."

Unfortunately, the only variety of quince that I have found in Australia is rather inedible raw - too hard and sour - so I use it to make jam.

I started out with a Tessa Kiros recipe (from her book 'Apples for Jam') and made a couple of changes. At mid-August, I believe we are at the end of the quince season, so snap to it if you're interested...

You will need...
3 cups caster sugar
4 quinces
2 apples
1 lemon
a splash of vanilla essence
jars (of any shape or size) to store the jam in

The how-to...

1. Rinse the quince, apples and lemon. The quince skin will probably be a little sticky, and covered in a grey-ish fuzz. Scrub this off.
2. Quarter the lemon, and then pop it into a large pot with the quince and apples (leave these whole for now). Tip in enough water to just cover everything and then heat it all on the stove top. You want to bring the water to boil, and then to let it all simmer for about 30 minutes. Then, turn off the heat and leave it all to soak overnight.
3. The next day, drain the fruit, and keep the liquid. Peel, core and dice the apples and quinces. Squeeze the quartered lemon , flesh and all, into the reserved liquid. Discard the lemon skin. Scoop out any seeds that have fallen into the liquid.
4. Put the diced fruit back into the pot. You need to add ten cups of liquid to this. Use the liquid that you reserved earlier, and then make the rest of the quantity up with water.
5. Add the sugar and a splash or two of vanilla - the vanilla adds a toffee taste to the jam - and turn on the heat. Stir until the sugar has dissolved, then bring to the boil. Cool to a simmer, and let it bubble gently for about two and a half hours (if you like your jam runny, a little less, and if you like it really thick, a little more).
6. Whilst the jam does its thing, you can prepare the jars. Pre heat your oven to around 200 degrees. Soak them in hot water to remove any labels, and then wash the jars and their lids in hot soapy water. Rinse the soap off and then put the jars and lids into the pre heated oven on baking paper-lined trays. Leave them there for about 20 - 30 minutes, or until they are thoroughly dry. This process sterilises the jars.
7. Back to the jam. The quince will have turned a lovely ruby-red colour. Once it is at your desired consistency, turn the heat off. If you like a smooth jam, blend or mash the fruit, otherwise you can leave it as is.
8. Let it cool a little, then spoon it into the warm jars. Put the lids on the jars, then turn them over to create a seal. Unopened, this should last in the cupboard for 10 - 12 months. Once you have opened it, you will need to keep it in the fridge.


It's quite nice to make this using lots of small jars, because then you can give them away to friends. With a ribbon tied around the lid, these make quite a pretty present.

Quince jam for me, quince jam for you, quince jam we shall eat. If you like nonsense with your jam, then you can read 'The Owl and the Pussycat' (and gander at the illustrations) here. Find someone to dance on the sand with and then get your quince on!

P.S. For the Sydney-siders...if you like homemade jam but don't have time to make your own, try Paul Simon's 'Jam packed'. You can buy it from him at 324 Cleveland St, Surry Hills, or Google the name for online grocers who stock his lovely preserves.

While the cat's away, the vegetables will play

Things that my vegetables did last Saturday night...

1. First, they started on the boutique beer.


2. A little tipsy, they started making faces at each other.


The lemon took things a little too far. Turns out lemons are angry drunks.



3. Then things really escalated.

The zucchini and capsicum got a little close (the lemon, pointy teeth and all, was left out). They manoeuvred themselves into some complex positions (aided and abetted by the Kiwi who has been hanging out on our couch for six weeks).



Said Kiwi calls this, in hushed and reverent tones, 'Science'.

After this series of misdemeanours, the vegetables have been condemned to be roasted and blended into a delicious wintery soup. Sentence will be passed down later this week...stay tuned.

Sweeten the deal

Come 4.30pm on a Sunday afternoon, I usually feel the onset of Monday-itis. The sun starts to set, the temperature drops, and I realise that I haven't washed my work clothes yet. Damn.

I imagine the reason that late Sunday is filled with the dread of impending Monday is that the days have struck a deal, whereby Monday takes over early from Sunday. It goes something like this, in my stress-scrambled brain... Sunday feels like she has had a damned long day - first looking out for the drunken revellers who partied on past Saturday's handover and then nursing the cursed souls through the worst of their collective hangover. Monday kind of fancies Sunday and, knowing that the early part of his shift will be quiet as the bulk of the population turns in early in preparation for the working week, offers to take over early in exchange for a date on a mutual day off.

Sunday and Monday come out of this deal warm and fuzzy, but us mere (Monday to Friday, 9 to 5) mortals don't fare so well. Which is why I propose to sweeten the deal with these here chocolate and walnut brownies. Pop a square of this in your bag for work and Monday won't seem so bad.

You will need...
150g butter
200g dark chocolate*
3 eggs, at room temperature
3/4 cup plain flour
1/2 cup cocoa powder
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup toasted walnuts, roughly chopped
100g milk chocolate, roughly chopped*

*real chocolate, not the cooking substitute. In Australia, the 'You'll love Coles' brand is surprisingly tasty and good value.

The how-to...
1. Preheat your oven to 180 degrees, and line a square tin with baking paper (this way, you can just lift the entire slab of brownie out once it is cooked).
2. Melt the butter and dark chocolate in a saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly. Set the mixture aside to cool a little.
3. Sift the flour and cocoa into a mixing bowl. Tip in the sugar. Beat the eggs, one at a time, in a separate bowl and add them to the flour mixture. Pour in the cooled chocolate mixture and mix everything until combined. Add the chopped walnuts and milk chocolate and stir through.
4. Scrape the mixture into the baking paper lined tin and smooth the surface with the back of a spoon. Pop it into the oven for about 30 - 35 minutes, or until set. Let it cool in the tin for about 10 minutes - this will give it time to firm up.

5. Cut it up - this recipe makes 16 neat squares - and put it onto a pretty plate. If your feeling friendly, leave it out someplace where your flatmates can find it.

You could make this with any other kind of nut - macadamias and hazelnuts go quite nicely with chocolate - or try adding a couple of shakes of chilli powder, or a splash of your favourite liqueur.

The filth wizard

Anyone who has spent any time in a sharehouse will know about the dilemma that is cleaning.

The first approach is pretending - or hoping - that the house is self-cleaning. This state of blissful ignorance usually lasts a week and ends with something that resembles Bernard Black's kitchen. 'Dirty'. Flatmates can be found eating food directly off the table with the cat litter scoop to avoid acknowledging the teetering pile of dishes in the sink.

You don't want to be the first person to crack, because that makes you the cleaning nazi. Inevitably, the first person who writes the scathing email and sticks up a roster is the baddie. Alternatively, you can be the martyr. Vacuuming around your flatmates as they watch television, scrubbing the toilet whilst they shower and collecting all of their stray items and hurling them at their bedroom door in the night (I actually know someone who did this) will all earn you this title.

This evening, however, I found a new solution. My flatmate's boyfriend. A genuinely cool guy who we all like to hang out with, he had a sudden case of guilt this evening about all the time he spends here and wanted to give back to the house. He started by re-arranging the glasses, cups and crockery according to size and frequency of use. I thought it was an odd place to start, but wasn't about to discourage the man.


The result is rather pleasing, and makes me want to embrace my inner cleaning nazi and ban my flatmates from using anything lest they ruin the display. A hostile post-it should suffice.

Moral of the story: there is an inner cleaning fairy just waiting to be coaxed out of your flatmate's boyfriend. All it needs is occasional kindness, a guilt trip and a pair of pretty pink dishwashing gloves.