That is a photo of a photo (I don't have a scanner. Oh! Actually yes I do! The printer broke recently [see previous
I can post this because they don't look like that any more because it was taken nine years ago. It's an out-take from a photo session we were doing in the backyard one Christmas Eve trying to get The Perfect Family Shot. They look hot, don't they? And grumpy. It was about 40 degrees, from memory.
Why I'm showing you an out-take, I have no idea. Probably cos the one decent shot (out of the 753 I took that day, trying to get three small children to all open their eyes and smile and sit still at the same time) is in a frame at my parents' house.
Moving on ...
I finished up my week of all weeks with some terribly social outings. It never rains but it pours. There was a violin concert on Thursday night, featuring the blonde curly bonced one up there.
Friday night saw a lovely lovely dinner with some lovely lovely women. BlueMountainsMary was in town, and as I had to work while she was out gallivanting with the other Melbourne bloggers, we arranged a post-work drink, with Shula too. Blogging is a wondrous thing, no? You meet someone you've never actually 'met' before yet you feel like old friends. Which of course you are; I'm not being very eloquent am I? As Shula and I were chatting, Mary opened the door to the cafe and it was instant recognition. As Mary said, all the filtering has been done and the small talk can be dispensed with. Anyway, I haven't met an axe murderer yet. I love youse all.
And I had the best, butteriest melt in your mouth gnocchi with pumpkin and basil I've had in my life.
On Saturday we had friends over for lunch which means the house finally got cleaned. Mr Soup made a delicious concoction in the crockpot which had cooked all night long, I made sticky toffee pudding for dessert and we had a fine old time sitting by the fire, chatting and inhaling the scent of newborn babe. Little Lulu arrived wearing this and a pair of these which made my heart skip a little skip of joy, not to mention relief that they fit. Son #3 was particularly enamoured with the baby (who is quite divine, good natured and in possession of a remarkable set of eyelashes courtesy of her Spanish father) and announced that he would quite like one too thank you very much.
Saturday night featured a fabulous party with great company and food to die for, to help a friend celebrate official middle age. I don't usually like parties (the what-to-wear and the you-have-to-mingle and talk to people, y'know?) but it was great fun and I didn't spill anything down my dress or drool, and I successfully completed a game of Spot the Partner.
This morning saw a soccer match each for the youngest (6-0) and middle child (1-0) and a spot of busking for the eldest ($$$).
And now I'm pooped.
This week had better be quieter.
In reading terms, I made a start on the big pile that's been languishing by my bed for the past few weeks. I picked up Allegra Goodman's Intuition which I'd had to abandon when life went crazy. I had been about a third of the way through but I can't get back into it. I'm sick of the lab, the mice, the postdocs with their lovers' tantrums. It went back to the library this morning, unfinished. Next in the pile is Broken for You by Stephanie Kallos which I picked up at the library the other day when I was looking for a new audio book but purposely avoiding the print books until my essays and crazydays life was over, and accidentally fell over the large print aisle. BabelBabe recommended this one and she never fails me (well, except for Intuition) so I picked it up. (Reading large print books is odd though; makes me feel like I'm being shouted at).
Audio book-wise, I just finished listening to Friends, Lovers, Chocolate by Alexander McCall Smith which was totally inoffensive and passed the time nicely. The narrator has a beautiful soft Scottish burr (Edinburgh maybe? Quite unlike the Glaswegian tones of Mr Soup's late parents), and the story features a niece who runs a delicatessen. Where I am I going with this, you're wondering? Well, there was a great deal of cheese discussion and I kept waiting for her to say gorgonzola but she didn't. Camembert, reggio, parmesan, brie, but no gorgonzola and now I have a quite irrational and allconsuming desire to hear someone with a strong Scottish accent say it. Isabelle? (I even asked Mr Soup to say it like your mum would, but it came out like a growly drunken soccer fan which was not the effect I was after. It was useless to say, pretend you're a woman, and you're from Edinburgh and you're genteel. He was already looking at me very oddly).
I can't remember what I listened to prior to FLC, but I gave it a B+. When I remember I'll come back and update. [Update: It was Unless by Carol Shields. Excellent stuff.] Next up is The Return of the Native which I grabbed because
Here's a badly lit photo of a quince for you to look at. It smells divine so I had to include it. It went in the crockpot with five others just like it last Tuesday and was served with ice cream on Wednesday and Thursday.
Ok, my wine is quaffed, the kettle is on the boil and I'm about to take to my bed with a cuppa and a new book (Ithe shouty one).
Remember, "gorgonzola" with a Scottish accent please. I'm counting on you.