Sunday, November 28, 2010

Thoroughly modern man

One has to love a man who not only recruits his very knowledgeable mother to help buy a state-of-the-art overlocker as a birthday present for someone who loves sewing.

But who then picks her up from work, drives her to a sewing shop to buy thread, and then takes her to dinner.

Apart from the having-to-go-to-work bit, it was a lovely birthday.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Many, many happy returns

It is perversely pleasing

to wake up on one's birthday

(when one is well into middle age)

to discover incontrovertible proof of youth

upon one's chin.

(a pimple)

Thursday, November 11, 2010

$500 very well spent

Pre-dessert.

A concept rich with promise - the ultimate anticipatory delight.

And it did not disappoint.

To explain - last night was a special night. And to celebrate it, Prudence and her beloved indulged in an eight-course degustation with matched wines.

Take it as read that the savoury courses were exquisite in their composition and execution, and elicited appropriate swoons.

It was pre-dessert that really caught Prudence's imagination.

First the waiter brought a bowl of lightly steaming fairy floss, then another poured a champagne and blood orange concoction over it, whereupon the floss elegantly disintegrated to reveal a berry compote with lemony marscapone (there was a lot more to it, but Prudence was well and truly on the other side of tipsy at this point).

"Clever," giggled Prudence.

"Oh no," dead-panned the waiter, "clever is too noble a word to apply to fairy floss, it's more devious."

Monday, November 8, 2010

Not the usual bomboniere

Is there anything so bogan, Prudence wonders, as a wedding commemorative stubby holder?

Don't answer that.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

A somewhat feline perspective

On a work trip to Cue (go to Geraldton, turn right and drive through the iron ore country for 400-odd kilometres), Prudence hosted a sausage sizzle in the main street.

Colleague J was earnestly chatting to a local about this and that, when the local's face lit up, she looked slightly to the right, and exclaimed: "Pussy!"

J was quite discombobulated, until she about-faced, to be facing a morbidly obese, middle-aged man in a t-shirt of dubious vintage, stubbies (always dubious) and thongs ('nuff said), along with a receding hairline and shoulder-length greasy curls. And quite an unnerving smile.

The oddest thing was, he didn't seem to mind being called Pussy.