The cream rises to the top

There was a time when I enjoyed the actual count part of the Brownlow medal count. This was when I was younger and completely engrossed in all things sport. Now as a mature woman of a certain age, I do still appreciate the drama of a close count, although the hideous lengthy pauses that Andrew Demetriou injects into the count remind me of Keanu Reeves' overacting (sorry, Keanu, you know I love you!) "Geelong, 3 votes, J ...
...
Bartel".
btw, congratulations to Geelong's Jimmy (or is that now James) Bartel.

Anyway, now I enjoy the red carpet arrivals beforehand and especially enjoy the Tuesday morning newspaper websites for a complete view of the best and worst of couture.

While the gentlemen have been instructed to wear black tie & dinner suits, the women are free to explore an often brazen use of colour and design.





Now before reviewing the colour and style of the frocks, I feel the need to make a comment about the pretty young things that drape the arm of a footballer. The excess use of spray tan (I do hope it's not a solarium tan), peroxide and silicone does tend to make the young women on the carpet blend in together. A few looked like they hadn't eaten in weeks to fit into their frocks and also looked ill as a result. Please, young women of our future, trust yourself and what you like, not what a man, a magazine or the media tell you!! (here endeth today's lesson) Black was an ever popular stalwart, and while totally respectable at a black tie event, the preponderance of black made only the most stunningly good (or bad) of black dresses stand out.






Cream seems to be an early leader in the spring fashion stakes in Melbourne. I must keep an eye out for similar trends as the Spring Racing Carnival commences.




However, this year, I was pleasantly surprised by the bold (far from brazen) use of colour and variable hemlines.


And the winner? How can I go past Susie Koutafides - a mother of 2 has no right to look that good in a skimpy cream number, and perfectly sets off the pecs and shoulders on her arm (that's them at the right of the photo)



(photos courtesy of Herald Sun)

A wall of words

I love words. (no big surprise there to anyone who's listened to me ramble on)

I'm not sure of it's origin, but I can always remember finding joy in a story book, whether read by my parents, aunt or siblings (occasionally). When at primary school, my treat for a good report card was the choice of one or more books through the school book club. The number of books I was allowed to buy directly related to my grades and teacher comments - I received bonus points for effort and being well behaved.

As I have mentioned, I'm in the market for a new home, and in that process will be selling my current unit, which has served me so well. To keep that process moving along, I had a couple of schmoozy types real estate agents around to my place last week. While both gave me a similar quote on the value of my place, their manner and approach varied. Having wandered through the 4 rooms, we quickly reached my junk spare room, with its single bed, 1970's style laminated desk, built in linen closet (aka wardrobe) and library.

You see, to me, 8 shelves running the length of a wall and filling the entire height constitutes a library. My Dad lovingly varnished the 2 wide, 3 medium and 3 narrow pine shelves; installed brackets and created a functional and yes, quite stylish framework for my many books. As I stood back admiring my library, one of the aforementioned schmoozy types real estate agents commented that 'they (the shelves) are removable - good' and proceeded to make a note in his fancy leather compendium. I stood, mouth agape with horror - guess who won't be getting my business?

Once I'd pushed him out the door said goodbye, I returned to my spare room and resumed my reverie. OK, I admit, I am now trying to store 2 layers of books on each shelf, and one shelf has been given over to videos (remember those quaint historical artifacts?), but once I tidy it up a bit (?), those shelves contain some of the best memories of my life.

The whole top shelf is devoted to Enid Blyton, and a few other childhood favourites. A delicate hardbook copy of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang brings back memories of accusing my parents of skipping bits of the story, as they read me that book for the 75th time and I recited the story.

I have an eclectic mix of biographies, recipe books, a compendium of Winnie the Pooh and poetry. I also have the complete sets of Narnia, Anne of Green Gables and nearly all of Beatrix Potter.

Of course, I have the complete works of Jane Austen, as well as the Brontes (though not all of those books have been read). My copies of Pride & Prejudice and Persuasion are lovingly dog-eared and almost spineless. They sit alongside economics, psychology and employment law text books, and close to atlases and other reference books (including a thesaurus passed down from mother to daughter). It's not quite the dewey decimal system, but there is logic to the collection.

Imagine my joy when my good friend and exercise buddy lurextoga showed me this link to a website on which you can record all of your books - oh wow, I think I'm in heaven!! I look forward to spending many constructive hours documenting my wall of words.

... and here's just the start of my collection, by me!!!