Happy birthday MUM!

My mum turned 58 on Friday. We got her a big bunch of roses, a bright red puffer vest (for her golf excursions) and a spiffy hairdryer that rotates as it blow-dries so that you get big volume and bouncy curls.

Weekend whimsy...

A balloon floats away and a tree goes half pink and half mauve as the sunset helpfully obliges.

When all you want is a goddamn pillow:

Glamour and spikes...

Miss LondonLook and Miss CarrieBradshaw always come to the office looking pretty awesome.

Depending on her mood, Miss LondonLook goes for an inspired kaleidoscopic ensemble that may or may not include crazy print tights, her newly acquired bronze cuffs and choker (think Wonder Woman), all finished off with a bright magenta lip, skyhigh bun and spikes.

Miss CarrieBradshaw also pulls off the sky high bun, but generally opts for all black, teamed with pared back make-up and her "I didn't even try but it's pretty damn good" mane of two tone hair. Then again she has her days where she goes out and pulls out the vintage Hermes belt, black pumps and pencil skirt. You couldn't top this Friday, though-- the glamour of a long, breezy, colourful floor length robe and those skyhigh boots:

"They're my Alexander McQueens" she purred

"Really?" I screeched

"Naaaahhhhhhh!"

We can only dream.

[Miss CarrieBradshaw in vintage Hermes:]

[Miss LondonLook and her choker:]

[Fabulous on Friday:]

Photos- because pictures say thousands of words...

I can't be bothered to write! Today is dedicated to pictures and brevity.

Oh, but I do need to tell you one thing. Miss IrishEyepatch's OIRISH accent is so misleading that when we were discussing lunch plans and a possible shopping trip to break up the day, I misheard her "Okay, we'll go to Myer", as "Okay we'll go tomorra!"

Initially, I thought to myself "Maybe she doesn't want to walk that far today. But curious and curiouser, Miss IrishEyepatch never gets sore legs! She runs marathons for Chrissake!" and then when she mosied down to my pod and asked "Are we still going to Myer" (except it still sounded like "Are we still going tomorra?") I was totally confused.

We laughed and laughed because Mr Hussy and Jathon both thought she was saying "tomorra" and not "to Myer".

It was uproariously funny.

Some pictures.

[Lunch at Mrs Rocke's with the family-- or as Mr Hussy says "the fambly" (he's in the depths of The Grapes of Wrath):]

[Mrs Rocke's remarkable garden- Solomon's Seals and other delightful flowers:]

[Happy Beans from Ireland:]

[Man from Mars stayed for the whole week. He wanted to watch tv but I wanted some peace and quiet to read, so on came his headphones and he listened to the tv while eating his dessert:]

[We cooked up a storm- chicken drumsticks, salad and rosemary and potato bread:]

[Pasta- or more like minestrone soup/pasta sauce:]

[Jathon and Mr Hussy rode really far on some Saturday morning, for some bike marathon:]

[Miss IrishEyepatch, the Farah and me in Hyde Park-- tiny little whiff of Chateaux de Versailles right there:]

[Miss IrishEyepatch and the Farah:]

[Miss LondonLook gets some love and roses from her man. The females in the office swooned. The men in the office looked away in despair. The standard for the perfect specimen of a boyfriend just went up that extra notch and the men prickled with mild panic:]

[Miss Tiny and the BuMaster:]

[Level 1 was off limits on Friday- it was getting re-tiled. I still pressed Level 1 though- them fools. A paper sticker does not an off limits area make!:]

Is that a real OWL? I literally did a triple take. It's fake, Man from Mars deadpanned. We found it in the trendiest of trendy corners of Surry Hills:

[Steps and busy patterns:]

[Miss IrishEyepatch and her beau- such a sporty, sweet and suitable couple:]

[Man from Mars and I:]

[Stars of Old Hollywood:]

[Miss IrishEyepatch and her beau:]

[Coogie after we leave Miss IrishEyepatch's pad:]

[Stuff the Bus with GOODIES! (It's the Xmas Appeal)]

[Sunday relaxation while Man from Mars was getting a haircut:]

[A tiny whiff of the Roman Forum right in the middle of Kingsford:]

And that is all.

It was a little mortifying...

Call me a creature of habit, but my morning routine is always exactly the same:

• 6 am: Rise and shine- a new day has dawned
• 6 - 6:15 am: Blend up some juice from oranges, applies, pears and celery. Distribute to family
• 6:15 - 6:40 am: Drink magic juice and then embark on the arduous task of chowing down the Big Bowl of Cereal (i.e. 2 weet-bix, how many do you do?-- some bran-- and to round it off, some Special K)
• 6:40- 6:50 am- Bit of porcelain throne business while reading Grazia
• 6:50-6:55 am- Brush the old teeth and make them smooth, get rid of the old fuzz
• 6:55 am - 7:10am- Get dressed, make up and listen to the radio- hum along some, because it's the morning, y'know?
• 7:10- one final porcelain throne check and whizz out the door

Comprehensive morning routine, I hear you say?

Only the most comprehensive, says I.

Generally it works like a charm- except today, in an exemplary display of Mondayitis, I whizzed out the door after my final porcelain throne visit with my outfit slightly askew. Dreaded amongst girls and literally the stuff of nightmares, I tucked my work skirt into my stockings so that my round bum was exposed and ready to make its presence known.

If it weren't for my long Spring coat, the commuters on my train station would have screeched:

My eyes!

Instead, that honour was reserved for Mr Russia who, having gotten to work before me, then had the misfortune of walking behind me to the kitchen:

Y'do know that your skirt is tucked halfway into your stockings

he pointed out unhelpfully.

Are you serious? I patted around at my skirt and there it was-- all that material bunched up like half a tutu-- or a frou frou skirt-- except it was neither elegant nor fashionable.

I yanked my skirt out and giggled a bit. Then I pretended like I didn't care and asked Mr Russia about his weekend-- as if all of that hadn't just happened.

We pretended to have a boring conversation about our respective weekends (yada yada yada, I don't even remember what I or he said, because I was too busy trying not to look mortified) and my frou frou skirt wasn't mentioned again.

It's the $64 million dollar question...

How do you like your Vegemite?

If you're like me, you love loads of butter oozing onto hot toast with tiny daubs of Vegemite, applied with gentle and even strokes.

If you're like Mr Hussy, you appreciate the Vegemite supreme saltiness by applying it like Nutella on a plain piece of toast. No butter included.

I think Mr Hussy's way is a travesty. He had it for afternoon tea and I took this photo to remind us all of how right Vegemite and Marge are as a couple. Once he tries my way, he'll never go back, I guarantee it.

[Such a happy little Vegemite, as bright as bright can be!:]

I tried my mum's curlers...

And ended up looking like a super electrocuted version of Diana Ross! This is how I looked after I woke up this morning (and believe me, it took some serious elbow grease to get my hair halfway decent for public viewing):

Also, check out my sister's Spaghetti Marinara on the weekend. YUMMY.