How cheap strawberries are
This photo encapsulates all my dreams realised. I’ve loved strawberries for as long as I can remember. Not strawberry cake, milkshakes or ice cream. Strawberries. I remember hearing at the start of the year, when strawberries were also at bargain basement prices, that some farmers weren’t bothering to pick them because it wasn’t worth their time. So they just let the plant die. I have no idea if this is correct but if you are a strawberry farmer, please don’t do this. And if you are a strawberry farmer how strange it is that you should enjoy random non farm related blogs, welcome!
How responsible I am becoming
I have been trusted TWICE in TWO weeks to feed hounds belonging to other people. I must just exude responsibility at the moment. Too bad I forgot to put the bins out last week. That would have been a responsible grown up thing to do. Now my driveway smells. You win some…
The Federal Election
Or more specifically, how there WASN’T a sausage sizzle at my local polling booth. Disappointment doesn’t really cover it, especially as this was the first Federal Election I’ve been present to vote in. Last time I was in Vienna and the time before that I was in Vietnam. I did consider flying to Venezuela just for continuity but I couldn’t get a visa in time. That’s a lie. We had sausages in bread at home on Sunday to make up for Saturday.
How I can’t stop reading Maggie Kelly’s blog
Why are you even reading my blog when you could be reading Maggie’s? She is all kinds of hilarious, including the sweary and crass kind (which might not appeal to everyone). Her commentary on everything is spot on. Especially about people who can’t help but constantly city-name-drop about their travels, recent or distant:
“In the true spirit of the inherently Australian ‘Tall Poppy Syndrome’, the average punter would far prefer to hear about someone’s long weekend escape in the Kalgoorlie caravan park than their two month escapade in the south of France.” Hahaha. Go there. Now.
How delicious Bircher muesli is?
From a cafe I mean. I had homemade Bircher once and it tasted like cold hospital food combined with dregs from the kitchen sink. I’m pleased to report that Bircher may now be removed from my list of ‘lame things you shouldn’t bother ordering at a cafe’, where it once sat right alongside fruit toast and those tiny lame cakes called ‘friands’.