:: hearing ::
:: waking up to the sound of duelling kookaburras.
:: the thud of children's footsteps running past my study window as they played hide n seek in the crisp twilight air.
:: the news of mayhem and chaos in East Timor.
:: Mr Soup singing The Northern Lights of Old Aberdeen to Son #3 as his bedtime song. Mr Soup's mother used to sing it when she'd had half a lager down the pub. And her accent was the real McCoy.* But Mr Soup does a mean Glaswegian knock-off himself.
:: seeing ::
:: Romeo and Juliet at the Playhouse with Son #1. Mr Soup's health ain't up to it at the moment, so the eldest child got to accompany me to the theatre. It was rather good. Melburnians, go see it. Go on. Go!
:: the final episode of this [very short] season's Rose and Maloney. (Actually shown on Friday but I taped it and watched it on the weekend so it counts for this post). The English do the best crime shows. And I like that they don't franchise them. Because, you know, I hate spinoffs and franchises. Any day now I expect to see ads for CSI Hundred Acre Wood/Sherwood Forest or Law and Order: Special Unit for Crimes Involving One-Armed Black Jewish Short-Statured Lesbians. Who are Single Mothers. And Work in Libraries. Okay, so I just alienated half my readership. Don't crash the site, all commenting at once.
:: beautiful white rhododendron blooms just beginning to open. I am not a rhododendron girl. Would never plant one in a pink fit. They always seem to feature garish purple or sickly orange blooms and be paired with mauve azaleas, all contained within cats piss box hedges. But this inherited one wot came with the house? This one is staying. I'm quite smitten.
:: touching ::
:: the soft wool of Son #3's jumper. Coming along nicely despite interruptions to knit both him and Son #1 a pair of mittens each plus four more pairs for the market stall.
:: my new red felted hat, purchased at the market. For me! I had been thinking during the last couple of weeks that I must knit myself a hat for the winter. This is warmerand more aesthetically pleasing than I could ever have created.
:: smelling ::
:: shepherds' pie. Made by Mr Soup on Saturday night. The smell drew me in from the garden where I was throwing ...
:: horse pooh about in the garden beds.**
:: tasting ::
:: the crunchy bits of potato on the top of the shepherds' pie.
:: warm, buttered sourdough bread. Baked on Sunday and served for lunch with split pea soup.
*Who was McCoy? One of you brilliant lot out there must know. You lot know everything.
**The dog just sniffed the garden and rushed indoors looking rather intimidated. When we used to live near the zoo, I would sometimes come home with a bag of Zoo Poo, and then he would get really scared.