Cheers.

Up in my Hobart 'hood, on a still day you can smell the cloyingly heavy yeasty pong of barley and hops being turned into beer at nearby the Cascade Brewery:

Which is funny really, as the Governor, after whom my street was named, has gone down in the annals of Tasmanian history as nothing more than a drunken profligate. He may have been the son of of a woman called Temperance, yet he exhibited anything but, and is famous to this day for having invented a celebrated punch concoction called the 'Blow My Skull'.....a potent combination of rum, brandy, citrus, sugar, water and BEER. Luckily, 'The governor having an impenetrable cranium, and an iron frame could take several goblets of the alcoholic fluid, and walk away as lithe and happy as possible'. In a colony awash with booze, he spent a lot of his time drunk.

Some fifty years later, Henry Jones did not. He was a very strict teetotaller. He was also a local boy made good. Famous for starting work at age 12 in the Jam Factory down on the Hobart waterfront pasting labels on tins, he went on to own the company and became the first Tasmanian knighted.

Sir Henry Jones was a local entrepreneur with international interests - he had a finger in what seemed like every pie and created his enormous success through not only jam but also tin mining, fruit growing and shipping.  His personal motto was 'I excel in everything I do'. And he did. Our house was built for one of his nine daughters (he also had three sons) on the occasion of her marriage. He then built the two houses next door for other daughters.....one of which later became the childhood home of the errant, notorious, womanising cad, Errol Flynn.

These days the local Hobart boy made good that everybody is talking about is David Walsh. He with the deep, deep pockets....deep enough to have created MONA.....a personal museum, a monument to himself. All financed by his intricate gambling systems. It's been described as 'a subversive Disneyland for adults' and it really is extraordinary. It has changed the whole dynamic of Hobart tourism, suddenly punters aren't so interested in wading through the grim convict ruins of the past but rather are coming down by the plane load to marvel, star struck, at the heavily sex and death oriented exhibits in David's museum.

But destination MONA is not just about the art, they also grow and make Morilla wine and Moo Brew beer.....if you find yourself entering the parallel universe of a MONA event (Dark MOFO is next on the calendar in June, quick get your tickets) and drinking David's grog you will no doubt giggle that the plastic glasses in which they serve the beer are emblazoned with the logo 'Not suitable for Bogans'. Yes, really.

And then of course there's the local girl made good. Mary Donaldson, who met her future husband in a Sydney pub and went on to become a.....Crown Princess. I must admit to feeling somewhat ripped off as I too met the bloke I would ultimately marry in a pub....which resulted in my move from the big smoke of Sydney.....to Hobart. Last time Crown Princess Mary came back for a visit to her childhood home of Hobart, she embraced being a.....housewife.....by renting a home in the Hobart 'burbs and driving her family around in a family wagon. I suppose that Marie Antoinette, Queen of France used to play at being a milkmaid.

Anyway, why wouldn't you want to be a Hobart housewife? Although I'm afraid that I'm taking a mini break and moving my particular brand of domesticity off shore for the next three and a half months. See you when we get to France!

Rx

Cookbooks.

I spend a lot of time pondering life in Hobart. Tonight, exhausted and wishing myself at home we dropped into the supermarket in the city only to witness a woman bail up the chap stacking shelves with the whinge that she had cut her finger on a shelf and was going to report it to, of all places....The Mercury (the local paper). I grit my teeth.

But last night, Jane from Life on Planet Baby went to town to Fullers Bookshop to hear Tessa Kiros talk about her new cookbook Limoncello and Linen Water:

A sweetly pretty book where the recipes are nostalgic and woven together from myriad directions. Being Hobart, it only took a matter of minutes to materialise at the front of the queue for an inscription:

(Jane took this photo)

Of course, I couldn't help myself and had to tell her about how I regularly cook from her book Venezia in my kitchen in Hobart in an attempt to try and transport us back to Venice, if only for one fleeting dinner. It's a tenuous link but miraculously it works. Food is clever the way that it can do that.

How vivid is the memory of the giddy thrill that came with swapping the plane for a water taxi and speeding through the haze where the sky and water were indistinguishable....before the incredibleness that is Venice was revealed:

And the first, much anticipated, taste of gelato (pistachio)......of course there was a gelateria right next to where our feet touched land.

Then, just because I could, I told her how powerfully the quote on the back cover resonated with me:

Suddenly the talk veered towards the aqua alta, sirens and thunderstorms and the watery beauty and unpredictability of Venice. Tessa Kiros lives in the countryside somewhere between Siena and Florence. She lives in a beautiful part of the world.....and then she told me that I do too. And she's right. But it's very easy to forget.

Rx

PS Who has stumbled on Heidi's gorgeous new blog? Back in May, when I was totally demoralised by the fact that I had been blogging for quite some time and had NEVER received a comment, Heidi was one of the first to make one and has regularly and perceptively continued to do so. She has a distinctive voice and a wide range as a comment maker in blogland yet now you can read about and see pictures of her life in Adelaide....I thoroughly recommend having a look.

Here.

Yesterday, I went to the hairdresser. Oh the luxury of two hours where magazine consumption is de rigueur. And where they bring you cups of tea. The bliss. Sitting in the salon in Hobart, I started reminiscing about having my hair done in France. Because, can you believe that for colouring hair,  while Australian hairdresser's favourite kitchen roll is aluminium foil, French hairdresser's use cling wrap instead. Strange but true.

Over the eight months that we were in France I only went  to the hairdresser's twice. Initially, because I was too terrified that my French wouldn't be up to not only making the appointment but then, once I was in, ensuring that I didn't accidentally ask for short, brown or curly hair which in all honesty just doesn't suit me. Luckily, I made friends with Nicole who conveniently had a very similar hair do to me - blonde highlights, longish with straight layers. She facilitated the whole thing with her hairdresser in Beziers and it was the best hair I've EVER had. Disaster averted. Later on, after I had given birth in French, I deemed myself linguistically ready for anything.....even a cut and colour at a swanky Parisian salon under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower where I would have to negotiate the whole show myself. Mercifully, it worked.

So, back to the magazines. Flicking through the August issue of 'Harper's Bazaar' I was reassured that puffer's really are in fashion. See, there was a whole page dedicated to how to wear them:

Admittedly, not the stock standard black Kathmadu puffer sported by most Hobartians and that I too have in my wardrobe, yet surely the same rules apply? I wonder what mine would look like teamed with my Stuart Weitzman black patent leather wedges. Or do I need to shell out the best part of $6,000 for the Burberry Prorsum puffer to carry this look off? Might have to workshop the Kathmandu. One of the founder's of Kathmandu calls Tasmania home and Wikipedia says that she is the fourth richest woman in Australia......I wonder if she has the Burberry puffer?

The same magazine also had a double page spread showing fabulous things do while spending a weekend in an Australian capital city. And lo and behold, Hobart was included:

Because, Hobart now has MONA - the Museum of Old and New Art.....built by ultra eccentric Hobartian, David Walsh, who loves art and is very clever at gambling and winning mind-blowing amounts of money. Enough to fund both the art and the museum.....reputedly $180 million dollars worth. But now the Australian Tax Office is on to him...they've changed the rules around gambling profits so David owes them $37 million. It really is worth the trip to Hobart to see MONA....which, is free admission if you can produce a Tasmanian Drivers Licence (or a second head, so they say) and $20 for everybody else.

Coincidentally, we went on a family outing to MONA, on Sunday. My husband and our eldest son rode their bikes down our driveway and all the way there and back....40 odd kilometres:

The rest of us went in the car. The children insisted on seeing their favourite artworks. Of course the boys are enamoured with Wim Delvoye's 'Cloaca'....a digestive machine which is regularly fed and ultimately produces, yes, you guessed it.....poo:

(Source: The Mercury Online)

 and Erwin Wurm's 'The Fat Porshe':

(Source: The Mercury Online)

The girls prefer the soundproofed room where TV screens show 30 fans singing Madonna's 'Immaculate Collection' album all at the same time.....and with abandon:

However, this time we really went to see the new exhibition 'The Theatre of the World' curated by a Frenchman using David's collection and various bits and pieces from the TMAG. Truly, could you ever believe that in Hobart you would ever see a Picasso and a Damien Hirst in the same place at the same time. It is amazing. Put it on the list and go to MONA.

And of course, no article about Hobart these days is complete without a mention of Garagistes and quite rightly as it really is a fabulous food experience. I can't believe that we haven't been there since January.....might have to put it back on our list.

So when you're finished with art and food, this article suggests that you should spend the night at the beautiful Islington Hotel. I have daydreamed of staying there.......escaping for a night, away from the rigours of domesticity, to the Islington. Yet it's just too close to home.....let's face it, it wouldn't be quite the same experience if the children wandered up the road and materialised at the door. So escape, for us has to be further afield. And I'm liking the suggestion of the Freycinet Peninsula.....husband if you happen to be reading this, let's go.

Rx

Henry.

So today I was telling my husband how, so far, my most popular posts have been when I have worn something a bit outrageous out in public. Remember the feathery skirt and the ten year old pink bridesmaids dress? I asked him for suggestions......he said that I should wear a bikini to pick up our children from school. I kid you not. Needless to say, I didn't.

Instead, here are some photo's of the inside of my house:

Which has an interesting pedigree, having been built 100 years ago for one of Henry Jones' nine daughters....he also had three boys. Henry Jones is one of Hobart's favourite sons, the other being Errol Flynn but he didn't live in my house....he lived two doors down the road. Any Hobartian will tell you that Henry Jones started pasting labels on tins at the Jam Factory down at the waterfront when he was a child and by the time he turned thirty he owned the place. He changed the factory's name to IXL - I excel at everything I do - and you can still buy a derivation of this iconic jam brand at the supermarket.....except that it's now owned by SPC.

These days the Jam Factory has been gussied up to be the fancy Henry Jones Art Hotel:

And the University of Tasmania's Centre for the Arts. Which is where I came to do post graduate work when I quit my job at the Art Gallery of NSW in Sydney and moved to Hobart.

Have you seen that email telling you about how most expensive lipstick brands contain lead which causes breast cancer? It explains there is a test that you can do where you put lipstick on your hand and then rub it with a gold ring. If it turns black then it contains lead and is poisonous. I tested the two old Lancome lipsticks that I had in my handbag and nothing happened. And then yesterday I took possession of my latest order from Strawberry Net. Inside was a beautiful new Chanel Rouge Coco Lipstick which I duly submitted to the test. It turned black. Panic stations. And then, to my intense relief,  I found this website which addresses the concerns listed in the email.....which started doing the rounds way back in 2003. Further proof of how behind we are here in Hobart.

R

Plea.

Yesterday, when the opportunity presented,  I had a bit of a  flitter around blogland. In the course of my exploration I discovered School Gate Style. I was speechless with incredulity as this blog get's over 500 hits........a day.

I will admit to being somewhat demoralised by the teeny, tiny number hits that I get. So in an attempt to see if I can attract followers or even elicit a comment, I am styling myself up as Hobart's answer to a Stay-at-Home-Mum, concerned with what I wear to pick up my children from school. Except that today's Saturday and yesterday was the last day of term. Not to be thwarted by circumstance, I am going to deem it the first day of School Holiday Style. So without further ado I give you exhibit one:

Now before you wade in, I am compelled to remind you that Hobartian's have a penchant for polar fleece and puffa's which are worn in every social situation, not only at the school gate. Track pants are also popular. I was at a party recently when a friend reminded me how there was a time when I indulged in wearing track pants in public (when I first moved to Hobart) only to have them thrown in the bin by my then boyfriend.....who is now my husband. Said friend was inspired by this (all those years ago) and has relegated hers to wearing only in the privacy of her own home. I'm happy to report that my delinquent behaviour was only very fleeting.

This morning, after much wardrobe deliberation, this is what I donned for a round trip to the hardware shop, to pick up my daughter from Irish Dancing and then for a milkshake/green tea and a book borrow at the library.

Just because it sounds so exotic, I'll start with the boots that I bought.....in Paris.....almost four years ago from Comptoir des Cotonniers, when winter set in early during spring, and I hadn't packed warm shoes. They were the result of my husband reaching his limit over me complaining of cold feet.

The Hudson jeans I bought last year over the internet from Revolve , when there were vast savings to be had (these jeans from memory were $150 with free shipping - when you were able to buy them in Hobart, they set you back $400).......before international suppliers bumped up the web price for Australians. What a sad day.

Moving on, under my new jacket from Asos is a long sleeved v neck tee from Country Road. I still remember back in the day (OK...sometime in the early eighties) when I was at boarding school in Sydney, when the Eurythmics 'Sweet Dreams...Are Made of This' was in the charts and when Country Road first came onto my radar (when CR pictures in magazines were plastered onto a school friends' folder). And you can still buy it.

Back to my jacket, this was my first purchase from Asos, and for a leather jacket it was inexpensive (under $200) yet it is beautifully made and envelops you in that delicious leather smell. Like a brand new, expensive car.....although I must admit that it is a dim memory for me as somedays my car smells like sweaty yoga kit or the baby's bottom and most days the leather smell is simply drowned out by some indefinable je ne said quoi smell.

The scarf was another discount internet find, it's By Malene Birger from The Outnet. I love the decadent tassels:

Don't you agree that more clothes should sport tassels? I do.

So, I wonder if this post will garner me any more followers. To date I have three. I can't believe that I just publicly typed that dismal statistic. Luckily, one of them is the really, really, really popular Jane over at Life on Planet Baby and even better she is not a personal friend that I forced to follow (although as you can tell this hasn't worked). Anyway,  Jane recently posted about blogging do's and don'ts. Number five is don't worry about your statistics. I am going to take her advice.

Must dash to workshop with my almost eleven year old daughter what to wear to a party up the road tonight.....while chipping away at the million domestic chores I need to complete before I can even set foot out the door.

R

First.

Hello and welcome to my first post - coming this evening from my kitchen benchtop in South Hobart!

The idea to start a blog manifested itself in my head on the mat during a Bikram Yoga class last week. Of course I wasn't meant to be listening to my monkey mind, yet I did. I came home and told my husband the news.  I have a track record of random 'idea visualisations' which arrive unannounced. The last one was five years ago when I was away at a course in Sydney - it resulted in the birth of Tobes, our third child. Before this I had quite vocally denounced, to anyone who would listen, ever having any more children than the two I already had. How lucky I was to have followed through, as children are such precious gifts.

Yesterday, our fourth child, Camelia,  celebrated her first birthday. What better timing to start a blog (have I mentioned yet that it's also the first day of the school holidays)?

Here is a photo of the early morning festivities yesterday:

And a close up of the cake for our little girl who shares a name with a flower - 3 layers, light pink, dark pink and mauve. I sprinkled the top with the petals of the only rose in my garden still in flower (David Austin's Sharifa Asma):

Surprising, as this was my back garden three weeks ago:

This time last year we weren't living at home in Hobart, we were living in France. Sigh. For eight months our family lived a dreamlike existence, outside our usual everyday reality, in the tiny village of Espondeilhan, in the Languedoc, South West France. 

The setting was a converted stone stable behind a chateau: 

set amongst vines as far as the eye could see:

After three years of fastidious planning - it was like a part time job organising children, houses, schools, cars, visas, language, kennels for beagles, new homes for chooks etc etc etc - we discovered three weeks before we got on the plane that we were having a surprise pregnancy with a due date scheduled for while we were away. Camelia was born in the Clinique Champeau Mediteranee in the nearby city of Beziers. My fourth caesarian was in French and, now that I've whetted your appetite, it might have to be a story for another day.  

So, as I've talked about living in France for most of last year it's time to bring up my other favourite topic of conversation - Bikram Yoga - to which I nurse an addiction and practice most days. And the other first, which was that today my eldest daughter Mimi, who is ten, didn't continue up the stairs to the child minding as she usually does, she came into the hot room to do the floor series for the first time!

Here she is out the front of Studio New Town before class:

Later, as we left she said that she felt 'amazing and light and floaty'. It really is an amazing feeling. 

R