tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-245996752024-03-14T15:34:33.307+11:00Melbourne DreamingA collection of thoughts, recipes and occasional illustrations about my life after returning home to Melbourne after spending most of my twenties in London.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.comBlogger370125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-53143734382834480212015-09-29T11:44:00.003+10:002015-09-29T11:44:52.365+10:00I've moved!Hi there!<br />
<br />
I've migrated over to Wordpress (sorry, blogger... it's not me, it's you).<br />
<br />
You can now find me <a href="https://melbournedreamer.wordpress.com/">here.</a><br />
<br />
See you on the other side! melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-57589157193544985712015-07-27T13:15:00.000+10:002016-01-17T08:20:29.720+11:00Plunged into preggers-landI'm currently 14 weeks pregnant... and I have a LOT to share, so settle in people (or <span class="st">Ctrl+W</span>, those who aren't interested in other people's pregnancies).<br />
<br />
It took us 1.5 years to get here (and one surgical procedure). One and a half years – it doesn't sound that long in retrospect, does it? But at the time, lived out in 28 day chunks, it felt like <i>for-freakin-ever.</i> Actually, for the first six months – the timeline I'd allowed myself – I was pretty sanguine about it, but beyond that, it became much harder. It's pretty hard to be chill when every media outlet around is scolding women about how little time they have left to procreate. When you clock another birthday closer to the big 4-0. When you've been fretting about your fertility since your early thirties. As this is my first pregnancy, I didn't even know whether I could conceive, let alone how long it might take. <br />
<br />
We were actually booked in for our first IVF cycle, a step I was taking most reluctantly (thank god I dragged my feet).<br />
<br />
So when the positive test finally arrived, I was... mostly confused, actually.<br />
<br />
First of all, the line was so faint I thought I must have imagined it. It took several more tests, and a trip to the doctor to confirm that yes, that is an early positive result. A grin stole over my face when she delivered this news (no squealing, I'm not a squealer). I was excited but cautious. I wouldn't allow myself to be super-excited - I'm a grown up, I know the stats on miscarriage, I knew my age and history of endometriosis increased the risk.<br />
<br />
During those early weeks, I monitored myself for symptoms - are my boobs sore today? Is my tummy especially bloated? I felt a little tired, but nothing too extreme. One day, reading the paper on my lunchbreak, I found myself tearing up uncontrollably over a story of a man who had stood up to some bullies harassing a couple of muslim ladies on the train, and felt weirdly pleased with myself. There were days I craved meat so badly, I devoured lamb chop after lamb chop while my husband looked on, laughing at how out of character it was. One day my eyes were so dry and sore I could barely open them, and they streamed with tears all day. Other days, I felt absolutely normal, and worried about feeling absolutely normal.<br />
<br />
Around the week 7 mark, I started to feel a little seedy, and actually felt relieved – here was the classic, indisputable pregnancy symptom, proof that something was happening in there. It was a novelty at the beginning. I suspect I had romanticised morning sickness previously, when in reality, it's just like having food poisoning (or having had too much to drink the night before), but having it again and again without relief, for weeks on end. I am only physically sick in the mornings, but the nausea is constant and awful. Crackers, ginger, a spoonful of peanut butter, cheese, flat lemonade, B6 vitamins, medication – nothing has worked (I'm still suffering through it).<br />
<br />
We told my family, who were also excited but cautious (it's genetic). We
told V's family soon after, and they were thrilled and full of advice,
in the typical Indian fashion. Eat walnuts, his mum advised. They're
good for the developing brain. And almonds. Drink 2 glasses of milk a
day. Don't worry about putting on weight, just eat what you feel like.
They insisted we tell his aunt, a doctor, so that we could have on-call
medical advice from a trusted family member. His Dad worried about me
riding my bike.<br />
<br />
At week 11, we visited the obstetrician and were stunned into silence at the ultrasound image of a little creature moving in there. <i>Is this real life?</i> I wanted to ask V. Because it's still one step removed – you're watching it happen on a screen separate to your body – it feels unreal. You can see the movement happening, hear the galloping heartbeat, but there's no physical evidence of it in your body so it still feels unreal, intangible.<br />
<br />
I developed a rash of intensely itchy spots on my torso, spreading up to the back of my neck and down to my belly. This is normal, apparently, for people with sensitive skin or previous skin problems. I prowl the pregnancy forums, searching for tips on how to relieve the insane itch that torments me day and night.<br />
<br />
Is there some kind of conspiracy of silence around how much pregnancy sometimes sucks? Or did I just tune out all those conversations previously? The more people I talk to, the more I discover the disconnect between
what we expect pregnancy to be, and what it is actually like. It's different for everyone, of course, but for me the first trimester has been a strange journey of new experiences, physical discomfort, tears of distress at times, and the odd moment of elation. <br />
<br />
I guess it's good preparation for what's to come..? melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-68294473905392716842015-03-14T15:57:00.003+11:002015-03-14T15:57:49.335+11:00Tap, tap... is this thing on?Hi there!<br />
<br />
It's me again.<br />
<br />
It's been a heck of a long time between blog posts.<br />
<br />
I must admit, I rarely do something in my own time unless I <i>want</i> do that thing (lucky me, eh?) - and I haven't felt the urge to blog for a really long time. I'm not sure why - I'm busy with other stuff? The medication I'm on has affected my writing ability/confidence? I have other outlets for my creativity now?<br />
<br />
Goodness knows, but here we are.<br />
<br />
Today I felt the urge to write for the first time in a long time, and I think it has to do with where my head has been at for the past few months. If blogging is journaling into the void, then I feel the need to chronicle what's been happening with me. If I'm the only one who reads it, that's fine. If anyone else wants to read it - well, that's fine too. <br />
<br />
The past three months or so have been 'interesting' - exciting, stressful, different. V and I moved to the North Western suburbs of Melbourne, about 15k from the CBD, an area neither of us knew at all prior to looking for a place to buy. I underwent a laproscopy to try and help with the infertility issues we are dealing with. And I've been doing lots of temp work.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Moving to the burbs</b><br />
<b> </b><br />
The good: we have a beautiful new house, with so much room! There's an entire bedroom we hardly ever set foot in, which is currently devoted to clothes drying racks. After living in a teensy 36 square metre apartment, it feels <i>very</i> luxurious. Nice neighbours. Lots of great turkish bread and sweets in the area. A good zumba class up the street.<br />
<br />
The bad: it's a long way from family and friends (at least a half hour drive). We are deafened by choppers coming in and out of Essendon airport on a regular basis. You can't get good coffee. No good yoga classes. NOT RICHMOND.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Baby-making blues</b><br />
<br />
Don't think I really need to list the cons of this one - there are a million and one blogs out there devoted to various infertility stories. Suffice it to say, it's a stressful journey and I have a huge amount of empathy for anyone who has battled through it. We're currently looking down the barrel of IVF (reluctantly).<br />
<br />
<b>3. Lots of temp work</b><br />
<br />
Pros: It pays the bills. The team I'm working with are nice. They have an awesome coffee machine. I can (usually) sail out the door at 5.30pm.<br />
<br />
Cons: I'm now commuting for over an hour in each direction, by train or car-sharing with V. I'm juggling private freelance work as well, so I'm trying to squeeze in jobs on evenings and weekends. I barely have enough energy for the minimum level of socialising that is required to be an adult human. <br />
<br />
So that's what my life has been like the last little while. I'm just now realising that actually, there has been quite a bit going on and maybe I should cut myself some slack for not coping like a superhero. I also had the mini-revelation today that since I stopped doing my regular Saturday morning yoga class, my everyday level of anxiety has spiked, and as such am not coping with stress as well as I could. <br />
<br />
Then there was today.<br />
<br />
This morning I woke up to a glorious morning, put on some bacon and eggs, and went to scratch the head of my neighbours cat, who has forcibly adopted us as her surrogate owners and now lives in our front yard (even though we don't feed her or let her inside). Every day this week, she has been there when I open the door in the mornings to race for the train, and every night she is there waiting to twine around my legs when I come home. Today I had time to sit with her for a while, and I realised it's super-lovely having an unexpected porch buddy who just wants a little affection.<br />
<br />
As I patted our new pet (named 'cat cat'), I decided that in lieu of yoga, I'd go for an outdoor swim. I freewheeled down to the local pool and did 20 lazy laps, up and down, alternating breast-stroke, side-stroke, back-stroke, thinking about how things have been lately. There was just one other guy in the entire 50m pool, and the sun was so bright and the water so clear and pleasant that neither of us could believe our luck. We just smiled stupidly at each other as we passed, each in our own vast empty lane.<br />
<br />
Then I came home and my lovely husband was there. We sat happily entwined on the couch, watching the F1, sharing a beer. And despite everything that has happened and how much I've struggled over the past few months, I don't think I've ever been so happy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-90025956764950818572014-04-16T13:51:00.001+10:002014-04-16T14:51:20.121+10:00What really changes when you get married?I have always been a marriage sceptic. I just didn't think it was necessary, in this day and age, to go through a public ritual based on religious beliefs that I don't hold, in order to demonstrate my life-long commitment to another person. In my mind, this was a thing we had to do to prove to V's parents that we were serious and committed, and everything else - the dress, invites, cakes, certificate, reception - was fluff (expensive, fun fluff). The important thing was our relationship, how serious we were about one another, our commitment to a shared future.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">HOWEVER.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Since getting hitched, I have noticed a few things that have changed, for better or worse - some of which I didn't expect. I'm here to share my widsom 9 months post-vows. Let me hasten to add, some of these will apply to people in long-term relationships who <i>aren't</i> married - this is just my personal experience.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">People take you more seriously.</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It's subtle, but it's there. </span>People see the band on your finger and they think you've taken one more step on the ladder towards adulthood, and they treat you with more respect. Not that they didn't before, but... there are some people who find it hard to take eternal singletons seriously as grown-ups. Personally? I'm not even sure I want to qualify as a grown-up. E</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">ven saying 'my husband' makes me feel insanely self-conscious (I still can't do it without imagining it in a Posh Elderly English Lady accent). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You put on some 'wedded bliss' pudge.</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">YEAH. Did not expect that. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>But we lived together before we got married!</i> I hear you protest. Fat don't care. I guess there is some truth to the 'fat and happy' thing after all. That, and all the delicious Indian snacks/food I am exposed to now (and yes, V has put on weight too).</span><b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You argue about ridiculous things...</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Like, say, for instance, just hypothetically...what time you will have dinner every night. Because some people like to have a big snack after they get home from work, then a late dinner, while other, dare I say more rational people, </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">would prefer to eat at a reasonable hour. When you get married, you're aware that this is for REALS now, which means that you need to iron out some basic shit before you find yourself eating midnight curries for the rest of your life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Just hypothetically. </span><b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">- but the fights are less serious.</span></span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Because you're married now, yo. You can't get too mad at someone you chose to spend the rest of your life with or you're going to have a very unhappy life. Then again, we're new to this marriage gig, so ask me again in 5 years.</span></span><b> </b><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span><b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Some people expect you to change (and not just your name).</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I haven't changed my name (yet). I'm still undecided. But there has definitely been an expectation out there that I will, and I find myself reacting against that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It's expected that I will adapt to my husband's culture, learn to cook Maharashtrian food and speak Marathi. I'm doing good on the cooking front; not so hot on the language front (I can count to 10...)! The spiritual side is trickier; I'm an atheist (well, secular humanist) but open to practicing some rituals for the sake of respecting the cultural heritage I've married into.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Thank goodness V's an enlightened fella who loves to cook (and is reasonably clean), so those outdated 'traditional housewife' expectations that sometimes come from *ahem* less enlightened <strike>cavemen</strike> people, are politely ignored. Or sometimes impolitely ignored, if I'm feeling fiesty.</span><br />
<b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You gain an entire other family.</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In previous relationships, my in-laws were kept at arms length for various reasons (physical distance, family issues, lack of closeness). Now, I feel like my family has exploded in size. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In Indian culture, you don't marry an individual, you marry into a whole family (distant cousins and random great-uncles included).</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Everyone has a stake in your marriage. This has been a major adjustment for me, as a fiercely independent human female person.</span><b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><b>There's no back-up plan.</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Which
I guess is scary for some people? But for me, it's just a massive
relief TBH. More than any other relationship I've been in, I feel
secure. I know the divorce rate is crazy-high; and people change; and a
lifetime is an incredibly long time, yada yada - but for me, this is the
first time I've let myself be in a relationship without having a plan B
at the back of my mind in case things go pear-shaped. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><b>It feels different.</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It just feels <i>different. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">TLDR: Marriage: it's not for everybody, but it works for me.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-7473466774547200212014-03-25T22:15:00.000+11:002014-03-25T22:15:10.521+11:00Clambering out of the wilderness yearsOh hi there! Gosh it's been a while. I'm a little out of practice with this writing thing, so be patient with me. I'm also typing this with two fingers on an iPad keyboard (#humblebrag #sowhiterightnow)<br />
<br />
Where were we?<br />
<br />
Last time we talked, I had moved back to Australia and I was working as a freelance designer, internet dating like a fiend, loving my home town and basking in the warmth of the family circle. All of these still apply, apart from the dating one. Thank god.<br />
<br />
Internet dating is the worst. But I did meet my husband that way, so it's got that going for it.<br />
<br />
Yup, the lovely Indian dude I mentioned came through with the goods, stood up to his parents and asked me to marry him. Well, technically he didn't ask - it was the natural result of many conversations over a number of months, as we grew closer and found ourselves on the <i>fucking serious</i> relationship level - the level where you talk about the practicalities of raising bilingual kids, and caring for elderly parents, and what time you'll eat dinner (our most fraught ongoing discussion to date), and how you'll reconcile your two very different cultural upbringings, and how much spice is too much (NO SUCH THING he insists, while I sweat pure curry out of my eyeballs), etc etc.<br />
<br />
Sexy as hell, no? No diamond either, cos I'm with <a href="http://youtu.be/N5kWu1ifBGU" target="_blank">this guy</a> on the whole diamond engagement ring scam. I'm practical like that.<br />
<br />
It has been awesome. And terrifying. And stressful. And wonderful. And eye-opening.<br />
<br />
I have a closet bedazzled with Indian jewellery and colourful outfits, a pantry full of weird smelling powders and snacks in non-English packets, and a beautiful dark-eyed man to spend the rest of my life with. I can't quite believe it myself.<br />
<br />
One day I'll tell the story of how our wedding actually came together despite all the odds, but not right now.<br />
<br />
Right now, I'll just say that things are good, and that I hope to do more writing. Watch this space.<br />
<br />
<br />melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-86291904415135384712012-09-04T20:08:00.003+10:002012-09-04T20:09:43.336+10:00Farewell, dreamers!It's true - Melbourne Dreaming has come to a natural conclusion after its inception way back in <a href="http://melbournedreaming.blogspot.com.au/2006/03/why-blog.html" target="_blank">March '06</a>.<br />
<br />
I no longer feel the need to keep everyone back 'home' updated on my various to-ings and fro-ings now that I'm back in their lives and just a train or bike ride away. There's also less to record, truthfully:
less exotic travel, fewer gigs and events, less of the stimulation and variety that come from living in a bustling, global hub of a city. On the other hand, there's more socialising, more networking, more time spent outdoors and exercising, and rejoining the circle of my expanding family (did I mention I have acquired two lovely sisters-in-law and an impending niece/nephew?). It
sounds boring; because it is - I <i>needed</i> more boring in my life. My life is less glamorous now, but more satisfying and settled.<br />
<br />
And of course, I'm focusing on <a href="http://www.kellyreynolds.com.au/" target="_blank">working for myself</a> and putting a lot of mental energy into that. Now that I am fully engaged in generating my own work and juggling clients and projects, I no longer feel a need for the creative release of writing. I'm fully engaged in creating my own life, and it's grand.<br />
<br />
You can still keep up with my professional profiles on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelly-Reynolds-Design-Illustration/211524402228733" target="_blank">facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/KR_DesignMelb" target="_blank">twitter</a>, plus I'll continue to act as social media coordinator for <a href="http://www.thesqueakywheel.com.au/" target="_blank">The Squeaky Wheel</a>, so check out their feeds for bike-related posts.<br />
<br />
Otherwise, feel free to browse the archives for <a href="http://www.melbournedreaming.blogspot.com.au/search/label/recipes" target="_blank">recipes</a> or stories from my <a href="http://www.melbournedreaming.blogspot.com.au/search/label/london" target="_blank">London</a> years (or the three wonderful months I spent in <a href="http://www.melbournedreaming.blogspot.com.au/search/label/new%20york" target="_blank">New York</a> in 2008).<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading, friends. Until our next adventure!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ZxddiM8eWW4_SZv_jtHhu0Gu5nhyphenhyphenGYUW1pkGLEx93zdwKqVmhWI9QinPbvAnHw4xQrRBxYj5kVP0V5bOPt-QrdkAJ3fLx3dSvkb3z9rcDO5gk28XkzDykFJy8QACPT5dzSIrdQ/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-09-04+at+6.13.04+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ZxddiM8eWW4_SZv_jtHhu0Gu5nhyphenhyphenGYUW1pkGLEx93zdwKqVmhWI9QinPbvAnHw4xQrRBxYj5kVP0V5bOPt-QrdkAJ3fLx3dSvkb3z9rcDO5gk28XkzDykFJy8QACPT5dzSIrdQ/s320/Screen+shot+2012-09-04+at+6.13.04+PM.png" width="240" /></a></div>
melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-7020205528899977752012-08-06T20:12:00.000+10:002012-08-06T21:57:46.340+10:00Roast beetroot and carrot soup with mintThis is using my super easy soup method - just roast all the veggies, add stock, simmer and blend. The sweetness of the carrot and sharpness of the mint and yoghurt counteract that beety 'dirt flavour'.<br />
<br />
500gm beetroot, 500gm carrot and 1 onion, all peeled and cut into chunks<br />
olive oil<br />
1 large garlic clove, crushed<br />
About 5 cups stock<br />
salt and pepper<br />
Greek style yoghurt<br />
Fresh mint leaves<br />
<br />
Put the carrot, beet, onion and garlic into a roasting dish and add a slug of olive oil and a good grinding of salt and pepper, mixing it up until everything is coated nicely. Roast in a hot oven for 40-50 minutes or until the veggies are just starting to get soft and it's browning at the edges.<br />
<br />
Remove from the oven and dump it all in a big saucepan, cover with stock and simmer until soft enough to mash. Blend with a hand blender and serve with a dollop of yoghurt, topped with a small handful of fresh, chopped mint leaves.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-42336302224259699602012-07-27T10:36:00.000+10:002012-07-27T10:36:29.024+10:00Boys on Bikes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtDy5hjfYImeV2lHvnOBs99BPbatyFAgAV3D6B1SWbETUm_UNQ8C4FB8B5o_fDHw5GVnkUoQc9PmPnIcMee1igLPrf9qHeaZmRFCBkCkC96pDBW1yvGD4Vtl3kvetQCBdHuj9Yw/s1600/bike_elvis_3.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtDy5hjfYImeV2lHvnOBs99BPbatyFAgAV3D6B1SWbETUm_UNQ8C4FB8B5o_fDHw5GVnkUoQc9PmPnIcMee1igLPrf9qHeaZmRFCBkCkC96pDBW1yvGD4Vtl3kvetQCBdHuj9Yw/s400/bike_elvis_3.jpg" width="282" /></a>melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-73358294540758829192012-07-13T17:02:00.001+10:002012-07-25T14:38:46.103+10:00Easy Green-sy Veggie CannelloniIt's mid-Winter in Melbourne. The sun is currently shining beatifically
and there are blue patches of sky, in between rain showers. It's
generally gorgeous weather, if a little chilly at night. Sorry to rub it
in, but it's about a <i>billion</i> times more bearable than Winter in London.<br />
<br />
It's the kind of weather when a girls thoughts turn to casseroles,
hearty soups and stews, and delicious cheesy cannelloni/lasagne type
dishes that warm the flat while they're baking.<br />
<br />
This recipe gets the 'Ouit-Spald-atron-5000' seal of approval.<br />
<br />
Olive oil<br />
1 small red onion, finely chopped<br />
2 cloves garlic, crushed<br />
2 tins chopped tomatoes<br />
2 tbs of fresh herbs (whatever you have to hand, I used thyme)<br />
350gm brocolli, cut into florets<br />
Small handful finely grated parmesan<br />
some finely grated lemon rind <br />
handful pinenuts<br />
450gm ricotta cheese<br />
4 fresh lasagne sheets, halved crossways<br />
<br />
Pre-heat oven to 180<span class="st">°</span>. Heat a slug of oil in a
frying pan over medium heat. Stir in onion for 5 mins, add garlic for 1
minute, then the chopped tomatoes. Cook for 10 mins until thick, then
stir in herbs.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, steam the brocolli for 3-5 minutes until al dente. Refresh
under cold water and drain. Use a hand blender to blend the brocolli,
then add the ricotta, pine nuts, parmesan and lemon rind. <br />
<br />
Spread about 2/3 cup of the tomato sauce in a greased 1.5l baking dish.
One at a time, place the lasagnes sheet in the pan and spoon 1/4 cup of
the ricotta mixture along the centre, rolling loosely to enclose. Don't
worry about being perfect; it will be a delicious mess. When you're
done, spoon the remaining tomato sauce and ricotta mixture over the top.<br />
<br />
Bake for 25 minutes and enjoy hot hot hot from the oven, possibly with a blanket over your knees (nanna style).melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-23575368436505221792012-07-09T16:52:00.000+10:002012-07-09T18:05:18.859+10:00I still ❤ LondonHello, you! How's things?<br />
<br />
Are you excited about the Olympics? Are you cosying up to the hearth, enjoying a pinot noir in icy, icy Melbourne, or celebrating Mid-Summer in Europe? Did you read 50 Shades of Grey yet*?<br />
<br />
Don't worry, this blog isn't going to suddenly morph into an upbeat, uber-friendly, insta-bestest-buddies site a la <a href="http://meetmeatmikes.com/" target="_blank">Meet Me At Mikes</a> (which I love, but whose relentless perkiness can be a bit much sometimes).<br />
<br />
I've been in London and Sweden for a couple of epic weddings, where a friend told me she missed reading my blog posts. Cherry Merry Muffin Cakes, this one goes out to you.<br />
<br />
It was such a weird feeling to be back in the UK - like being transported to a parallel universe where everything is just as you remember it, but slightly changed. I felt like I was in a bubble, removed from my surroundings for much of the first week. By week 2 however, I was fully re-assimilated; hopping on and off buses, weaving expertly around the dawdling crowds on Oxford street, perusing the weekend <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/" target="_blank">Guardian</a> and visiting favourite haunts.<br />
<br />
And of course, it was a joy to catch up with my lovely London crew and attend the various wedding-related events.<br />
<br />
It's funny - since I've been back in Melbourne, I've not felt the slightest inkling to return to my former life in London. <br />
<br />
It turns out I did miss that dang town. It just took a whirlwind trip there in the middle of Summer, post-Jubilee celebrations, pre-Olympics craziness to remind me. London in the Summertime is a thrilling place - I missed that big-city feeling of <i>anything can happen.</i> Not knowing what urban adventure you might stumble upon next. The feeling of being surrounded by life, spilling out all around you. The low, endless cityscape rendered in - well, 50 shades of grey.<br />
<br />
All the <a href="http://melbournedreaming.blogspot.com.au/search?q=london+love" target="_blank">things I have written about London</a> before, still hold true. And then some, because now they are brushed with a soft, beautiful wash of nostalgia.<br />
<br />
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*I haven't and probably won't, because I prefer my literary erotica to be a little more <a href="http://www.ericajong.com/flying.htm" target="_blank">highbrow</a>, if you know what I mean.<br />
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melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-45700040793021338382012-06-04T18:57:00.004+10:002012-06-04T18:57:53.508+10:00Living life car-freeRecently, I was lucky enough to have access to my <strike>boyfriend's</strike> ex's car while he was away in India. For nearly three weeks, I was the proud care-taker of a generic blue Astra. It felt very luxurious to be behind the wheel again - I'd forgotten how lovely that feeling of freedom is, speeding along the highway through unknown suburbs and towns; being able to change your destination on a whim; staying in a warm bubble from door to door.<br />
<br />
And yet... I still don't want my own car.<br />
<br />
Having a vehicle for this time reminded me how the act of driving tends to bring out the worst in people (or is it just me?).<br />
<br />
<b>Traffic -</b> on my bike, I sail past the queues of cars, straight up to the lights. In a car, I fume and rant and become ridiculously impatient with my fellow car drivers within mere seconds of pulling my seatbelt on.<br />
<br />
<b>Parking -</b> hellish, especially when you're used to pulling up literally anywhere and hitching your ride to the nearest pole. See also 'Cost'.<br />
<br />
<b>Owning a car makes you lazy</b> - if there's a car there, it's that much easier to jump in and drive down the road rather than walking or getting on your bike, even if you love walking and getting on your bike (and I do).<br />
<br />
<b>Greed for speed </b>- when you're doing 20k on a bike, you really feel how fast you're going. You're working for that movement. On a freeway, 80k feels like you're crawling - you barely feel like you're moving at all. It just makes you want to go <i>faster.</i> There's no sensation of the energy spent to transport you at that speed. <br />
<br />
<b>Cost -</b> do you <i>know</i> how much a tank of petrol costs these days?? I didn't. Also, I got a parking fine of $160 (or 'vague tax' as I like to think of it).<br />
<br />
So all up, I enjoyed my time on four wheels - especially visiting far-flung friends who insist on living miles from the nearest rail station - but I wasn't sad to hand back the keys. I think my bike missed me while I played at car ownership. I know I missed her.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-43629013131297355442012-05-28T00:19:00.000+10:002012-05-28T13:01:19.397+10:00The Cross-cultural Collision Course (or why I will never date an Indian man again)So the complicated relationship to which I have been alluding for about 8 months now has come crumbling to the ground.<br />
<br />
This time, however, it was not the usual <i>he's driving me crazy; he met someone else; we don't want the same things; he can't commit</i> kind of relationship ending with which I have <strike>far too much</strike> some experience.<br />
<br />
This time, the decision was taken out of my hands entirely; out of even <i>his</i> hands to a great extent. How can that be? Well, he was Indian. An only son. Which I have come to understand means that he comes as a package, closely bound with mum, dad and sister at the heart; extended family after that; and the wider Indian community beyond that.<br />
<br />
He was lovely. Super lovely. Easy to be around, gentle-natured, funny and kind. Very cute. He'd been living in Melbourne for nearly 4 years; he had an accent but dressed like a local. I was wary at first about the age gap and the cultural difference, but that melted away soon enough as I spent more time with him and found him to be thoughtful and open-minded. I introduced him to my family, who welcomed him with open arms. We became closer after that, talking about everything and sharing our histories, marvelling at the many overlaps in our personalities and interests despite our very different upbringings. I still had concerns, especially after doing a bit of research online and coming across many forums detailing the stories of western women who had had their hearts broken by Indian men, most of who ended up <span class="st">acquiescing</span> to their parents desire for an Indian daughter-in-law. Nervous about becoming one of those women, I asked him to tell his parents about me, and being a lovely bloke, he did.<br />
<br />
I think it's fair to say that they freaked the f*ck out.<br />
<br />
Not only was I not Indian, I was 5 years older than him. I might as well have been an eight-headed monster shooting laser beams from my eyes.<br />
<br />
It was awful. We talked and cried and tried to break up and got back together and cried and talked some more. We decided we both cared enough about each other to try to stay together despite his parents extreme disapproval, deciding that he would talk with them more in the hope that they might come around. <br />
<br />
A further four months down the track - four months of agonising, talking through various scenarios, negative horoscope readings, and long-distance arguments with his parents culminating in a visit to Mumbai - it became apparent that they were not coming around, and that his continuing to be with me was causing a major rift in his family and he couldn't bear it anymore. <br />
<br />
That was the end of us.<br />
<br />
* * * * * * * <br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>What have I taken away from this?</b><br />
<br />
1. Cross cultural relationships are really difficult, sometimes impossibly so. I was naive; even after I became aware how common this scenario is, I was hopeful that we would somehow be exempt. <br />
<br />
2. If you're thinking about dating a man from a traditional Indian background, meet his family first. They will be the ones who decide your fate.<br />
<br />
3. And finally: be thankful to have been raised in an enlightened country where we take our freedom and independence for granted.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-84021305178540553482012-05-04T12:19:00.001+10:002012-05-07T12:23:58.674+10:00Me. Running.My boyfriend <span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">(of the eternally complicated status)</span> </span>was signed up for a <a href="http://www.r4k.com.au/r4k/" target="_blank">5k run</a> recently by his boss, as were all of his workmates. I decided to join him on some training runs, just for the hell of it.<br />
<br />
I should explain, my relationship with running up 'til now has always been a 'hate-hate' one - give me a bike, some roller-blades, a boogie board and a beach - ANYTHING but trudging joylessly around an oval with my butt fat jiggling with every tortured step. <br />
<br />
I've tried engaging with running a few times in my life, as a means of getting fitter or dealing with stress in my life, but it's never 'taken'. I appreciate the cardio workout, and the fact that it's a no-kit form of exercise, but I never really enjoyed it enough to keep it up.<br />
<br />
This time, however, it's been different. Maybe it's to do with returning to Australia, where people are generally much more health-conscious and the weather is more conducive to spending time outdoors. Maybe it was the incentive of training for an official run, with a running partner. I found myself looking forward to doing a lap of the <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com.au/runningguide/arg.php?pagename=Main.TheTanTrack" target="_blank">Tan</a>, and I would always feel good afterwards, even when I was feeling lethargic to begin with. <br />
<br />
Also, there's something stoic about running which appeals to a stubborn bugger like me. It's harder than any other exercise that I do. It's boring. My pace is steady, so the only variation comes from hills. It requires perserverance: an ability to <i>just keep going</i>.<br />
<br />
So the bf's boss heard about me training with him and very kindly offered to sign me up as part of their team. It wasn't long before I received my kit and instructions in the mail - number to pin to my top; timing tag to tie to my laces; complicated instructions about starting points and baggage drops. It was kind of exciting.<br />
<br />
On the day, I woke up grumpy after not getting enough sleep, forced down some porridge, grunted at my boyfriend when he arrived at the door, and sulkily followed him on my bike to the event. It was buzzing with people, random stalls and porta-loos just like a music festival, except <i>way</i> more clear-eyed. There were teams of people dressed up in costume, people with t-shirts bearing the faces of the kids they were running for, and lots of mums and bubs. After forcing our way through the crowd to the secure bike stand and checking our bags, we met up with the rest of the team with minutes to spare, and took off in a big, slow, straggly group which gradually dispersed as the 'real' runners took off and left the fun runners and walkers behind. My bf, generally the slower of the two of us in our training runs, took off ahead of me at a steady trot. My competitive streak kicked in and I upped my pace to match his.<br />
<br />
At times it was more like an obstacle course than a race, weaving around the crowd and jumping gutters, but I got into a steady rhythm and carried on.<br />
<br />
Coming up the 4k mark, I felt a sense of pre-emptive victory and ran a little faster. Very quickly, the finish line was in sight and without even trying, almost as if I was on auto-pilot, my legs went into overdrive. It was an amazing feeling - almost as though I was a machine, and the movement was absolutely effortless. As I crossed the line, just a second behind my running partner, I had to force myself to put on the brakes and slow to a walk. We high-fived and congratulated each other in breathless voices, got ourselves some water and untangled the timing tags from our laces. <br />
<br />
So, am I a runner now? My heart says no. It's still boring and hard. But my diary says I've signed up for the 8k Mother's Day Classic.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-21650841676165284102012-04-29T13:44:00.001+10:002012-04-29T22:17:22.708+10:00Socially Awkward Penguin MeHave you seen this meme? It's basically a diagram of my life. With penguins.<br />
<br />
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Can't count the number of times I've done this. Most recently I wished a friend happy birthday (on my birthday) the year before last, on my 34th. <br />
<br />
That's right, I can't remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, but embarrassing memories are there for life. Way to go, brain.<br />
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Um, yes. I've walked into a hanging pot plant and apologised to it. In my defense, I may not have been entirely sober at the time. Witnesses to the event probably don't remember it as vividly as I do.<br />
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Oh lord. This is an especially awkward one that I seem to have gotten myself mired in on a few occassions. The problem is that I usually give people the benefit of the doubt, thinking I may have just misheard them - but then further down the track, I realise they <i>are</i> calling me Kylie. Or Kaylee. Or Renee. Or Emma. Or Helen.<br />
<br />
My yoga teacher in London called me Helen for the first 6 months I was going to his class. I didn't correct him because I couldn't be sure he was talking to me (I was generally upside down or facing away from him at the time). MASSIVELY AWKWARD.<br />
<br />
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The number of times this has happened to me... and the 'd'oh!' that echoes around your head when you realise you've missed your chance to say that really funny/clever/appropriate thing. <br />
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High School is the peak awkward phase - for me, and for most people I suspect. I remember preparing to give a presentation in class and counting down the number of other students who'd done theirs so I could calculate the odds of me being called on next (we were called up AT RANDOM. Terror upon terror!). Praise be those days are behind me.<br />
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The penguin speaketh the truth.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-86982550703125617592012-04-23T12:28:00.001+10:002012-04-23T12:28:14.184+10:00Knit Make your own muesliFor a long time - maybe a year or more - I had the same breakfast <i>every single day</i>. Porridge with whatever topping was handy. This comforting stand-by made sense in freezing old London, but not so much in steamy Melbourne, so this morning I decided to make some toasted muesli, not too sweet (but you can always add more sweet stuff if you prefer). Great with natural, Greek style full-fat yoghurt.<br />
<br />
2.5 cups rolled oats (the big ones)<br />
2 tablespoons sunflower oil <br />
50g honey<br />
A good slurp of pure maple syrup<br />
1/2 cup sunflower seeds <br />
1/2 cup chopped almonds<br />
1/2 cup of shredded coconut<br />
1 cup sultanas <br />
1/2 tsp cinnamon<br />
<br />
<br />
Preheat your oven to 160°C. Mix everything in a large bowl. If the honey is thick and not runny, you might want to warm it first so it doesn't create clumps. Mix well. Spread mixture over a large tray (I used a Pyrex dish) and bake for about 30 minutes, stirring
regularly with a wooden spoon to prevent burning. You want to get the
ingredients browned, and for the fruit to become deliciously chewy. When it looks about right, take it out of the oven and allow to cool before pouring into a suitable container.<br />
<br />
Lovely!melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-55593774479158252772012-04-09T22:44:00.000+10:002012-04-09T22:44:38.091+10:00Not Cross BunsI made hot cross buns! But I ran out of time so they didn't have crosses. Oh well, I guess that is only proper for an atheist who doesn't believe in people rising from the dead (unless they're zombies).<br />
<br />
500gm plain flour<br />
45gm butter, cubed<br />
45gm raw sugar + 2 extra tablespoons<br />
1tsp salt<br />
1tsp cinnamon<br />
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg<br />
1/2 tsp ground cloves<br />
1 1/2 tsp dried yeast<br />
1 egg<br />
275ml whole milk + 4 extra tablespoons<br />
100gm sultanas<br />
<br />
Sift 500gm of the flour in a bowl and rub in the butter. Stir in 45gm raw sugar, salt, spices and yeast. Add the egg and milk, and knead into a pliable dough. Knead 5 minutes until the dough is smooth and elastic.<br />
<br />
Return to the bowl, cover with cling film and leave somewhere warm for an hour (it should double in size).<br />
<br />
Tip the dough onto a floured surface and knock the air out, knead well then split into 12 even-sized buns. Cover with oiled cling film and leave for another 30 mins (I left this step out but they turned out ok regardless!)<br />
<br />
Bake for 15 minutes at 200<span class="st">°</span> until golden. Meanwhile, put the extra milk and sugar in a pan and heat gently to dissolve the sugar, then boil for a few minutes. Brush the glaze over the warm buns.<br />
<br />
If you want to add crosses, just mix 125gm flour with some water to make a paste, and pipe onto the buns before baking. <br />
<br />
Serve hot from the oven, split open with butter.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-18241685586560590202012-04-03T10:35:00.000+10:002012-04-03T10:35:49.644+10:00Nic Cage losing his sh*t<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="182" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xP1-oquwoL8" width="300"></iframe><br />
<br />
Oh my lord, this is gold. I think I'm going to have to see Deadfall now just to witness Nic's epic comic performance.<br />
<br />
Thanks for the tip, Posc!melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-56833295799699380312012-03-26T18:59:00.003+11:002012-03-29T12:10:30.357+11:00On being 35 and singleOK technically, I'm not <i>quite</i> single. But the relationship I'm in is very complicated and I'm not sure we're going to make it through the obstacle course we've been presented with. I am, however, 35, unmarried, and at that delicate point where my fertility is apparently starting to nosedive. Can I just say, and I'm sorry if this sounds like I'm stating the obvious: it's <i>really difficult</i> being in this position. It's properly, existentially, painful.<br />
<br />
Despite this, I enjoy my freedom. I like my life, even though I feel the lack of a significant other keenly. But the hardest thing about being 35 and single? Feeling like (and being treated like) you're abnormal. <br />
<br />
Most of my friends are happily married with several mini-me's occupying their spare bedrooms. This is fine - great, even, if you like kids (and I do) - but there are times when it's impossible to avoid feeling like a complete freak of nature (behold, The Last Single Girl On Earth!) - an object of pity and/or a problem to be solved (usually by pairing me off with various other stragglers in the game of bonk/marry/procreate).<br />
<br />
Here are some of my coping strategies for the other single thirty-something-never-married-no-kids peeps out there. If anyone else has advice, please feel free to share!<br />
<br />
- Make the most of your friends kids. I may or may not have kids of my own - I know that it's out of my hands - but I get to have relationships with my friends kids, and that makes me feel slightly better about it. Plus, I can't wait for my future nieces and nephews to make an appearance. <br />
<br />
- Observe your friends relationships and take notes. One couple I know are great at treating their kids like people (not cute playthings); another have conversations where they look at and listen to each other - surprisingly rare in a lot of long-term relationships. Spending this much time on your own, you've got more time to figure out what you want and don't want from a long-term partner.<br />
<br />
- Cultivate friends outside your age bracket. It will give you a different perspective having friends who are older and wiser, as well as younger and more wide-eyed. Easier said than done, but I'm lucky to have come across a few good ones that I treasure.<br />
<br />
- Male friends help. Thank goodness for the single blokes out there - ex-boyfriends and old school mates who are still footloose & fancy-free. I find blokes in my age bracket are more likely to be single/unmarried and a whole lot less likely to angst about it.<br />
<br />
- Don't feel obliged to attend every engagement party/baby shower/first birthday/christening you are invited to. There are a shed-load of these things, and it can get tiring being the only single person surrounded by families. Your friends won't mind if you skip a few, or just show your face briefly, especially if you're feeling vulnerable.<br />
<br />
<i>- Enjoy this time. </i>I can't help feeling like I will look back on this time and envy the boundless freedom I currently enjoy.<br />
<br />
- Don't lose heart. Yuh, it's hard. If you find yourself in that terrible dark place where all seems bleak and hopeless and just too damn hard - <i>wait it out</i>. One day the spark will reappear and you'll be on the roller-coaster again.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-89975828048360546092012-03-14T21:37:00.003+11:002012-03-14T21:41:09.241+11:00OMG THEY MADE MY THEME SONG<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="182" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/IhHfGyhFv0Q" width="300"></iframe>melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-13694808488330756202012-03-10T19:08:00.000+11:002012-03-10T19:08:22.012+11:00I will never be as good at ukulele as this guy<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="233" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wKtH3t3iX98" width="300"></iframe><br />
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...and I'm ok with that.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-83048966416288640112012-03-08T12:10:00.001+11:002012-03-29T12:03:31.768+11:00Cyclists vs. DriversIt's war out there, yo. Road war. Peopled by Road Warriors.<br />
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One one side are the <b>Pedal Powered Peeps</b>, or the PPP (of which I am one, clearly) - putting their bodies on the line every day, weaving deftly between SUVs, trucks and buses (why does no one have a small car anymore?), scaring pedestrians*, all while saving the planet and solving the obesity crisis.<br />
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On the other side are the <b>Miffed Melbourne Motorists</b>, or the MMM - piloting the aforementioned SUVs, trucks and buses through the daily snarls of traffic, seeing red when cyclists squeeze past them, sail through red lights, whizz by their open doors with millimetres to spare, or slow them down by riding two abreast or single file in a narrow lane.<br />
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Things seem to have been escalating recently, with more people signing up on both sides as Melbourne's population booms. Truthfully, I think we're only a few years away from some kind of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4TdPxOXuYw" target="_blank">Mad Max</a> scenario.<br />
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If you don't believe me, watch this video: <br />
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Ouch. Not a proud moment for the MMM (UK division). Don't think that it doesn't <a href="http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/angry-drivers-make-a-cyclists-life-hell-20110215-1aure.html" target="_blank">happen here, too</a> - it's just that we don't have CCTV cameras on every street corner to capture the evidence. Closer to home, a fellow PPP swore at a driver who cut him off recently, only to have the driver chase him down, push him off and proceed to trash his bike.<br />
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You may have head about a <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2012-01-18/warne-wants-cyclists-registered/3780942" target="_blank">recent clash</a> between a PPP and a high-profile MMM. Shane Warne claimed the cyclist cut him off, abused him and hit his car. The cyclist claims that Warnie deliberately knocked him over and wrecked his expensive bike before hooning off. Naturally, the King of Spin got straight onto twitter to blast the cyclist in a drawn-out rant, rallying his followers in a public howl for cyclist blood.<br />
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I'm going to keep an uncharacteristically objective distance on this one and let you decide for yourself which side you are on - however, the I believe the evidence (one wrecked bike + one unscathed Merc + a driver who admitted leaving the scene of an accident) seems to fall in favour of the PPP.<br />
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The problem is that the PPP is a small movement that has been steadily growing in profile, while the MMM - a vast army of personal car users who are used to having everything built around their needs - are looking increasingly unsustainable.<br />
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What is the solution for bringing these two disparate sides together? Greater civility between both parties would be great, obviously - but the best way to encourage that? Bike registration, as called for by Warney and his pack, would be costly and <a href="http://blogs.crikey.com.au/theurbanist/2012/02/06/should-bicycles-be-registered-2/" target="_blank">largely pointless</a>. <a href="http://www.bv.com.au/general/bike-futures/11522/" target="_blank">Separate bike lanes</a> are great, but <a href="http://melbourne-leader.whereilive.com.au/news/story/controversial-east-melbourne-bike-lanes-to-stay/" target="_blank">controversial</a>. Cyclist-awareness programs should definitely be a part of any driver licensing; and of course cyclists who endanger pedestrians or act unlawfully should be punished.<br />
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What many drivers don't appreciate is that the vast majority of cyclists are <i>also</i> car users - which means that they have an insight into the mind of their enemy, <i>and</i> they contribute to the cost of road infrastructure (one of the MMM's more petulant arguments being that cyclists don't pay to use the road, therefore they have no rights). Sadly, it seems that the MMM are just not ready to climb down from their SUVs, trucks and buses to experience the road on two wheels, with only a styrofoam helmet for armour.<br />
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<i></i><br />
<i>*anti-social cyclists. Yes, there are asshole cyclists just as there are asshole drivers. It's just that the asshole drivers are more numerous and control a machine capable of killing.</i>melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-28690297320756671812012-02-14T09:08:00.002+11:002012-02-14T09:35:49.723+11:00Happy V Day fellow geeks!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibJgWcIsw8e3ykwu9B15iL-V2LfM3OUgWT-IYeTj-iHlkHwHA6uoOT49QOgi-8zubBusx0W8HbnT6Cugait7WZjIFQfjmO6mObkxR36cHtU5uek9eySQ4ltX8PM5nubJphteOZvA/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-02-12+at+10.17.29+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibJgWcIsw8e3ykwu9B15iL-V2LfM3OUgWT-IYeTj-iHlkHwHA6uoOT49QOgi-8zubBusx0W8HbnT6Cugait7WZjIFQfjmO6mObkxR36cHtU5uek9eySQ4ltX8PM5nubJphteOZvA/s320/Screen+shot+2012-02-12+at+10.17.29+PM.png" width="253" /></a></div>For those among us who went through puberty in the nineties. And fellow <a href="http://melbournedreaming.blogspot.com.au/2010/05/friday-hall-of-immense-anonymous.html" target="_blank">eyebrow</a> <a href="http://melbournedreaming.blogspot.com.au/2009/08/hot-list-revisited.html" target="_blank">freaks</a>.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-10190311598586704832012-02-10T10:05:00.000+11:002012-02-10T10:05:59.566+11:00Inspiration Friday<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/34414313?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400">&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;gt;G&lt;/p&gt;</iframe><br />
So beautiful. So true.melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-55490127745630172082012-02-05T23:09:00.000+11:002012-02-05T23:09:00.824+11:00Sunday 7-up<div style="color: black;"><b style="color: purple;">Reading: </b><span style="color: purple;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Remains-Day-Kazuo-Ishiguro/dp/0679731725/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1328159432&sr=8-1" target="_blank">The Remains of the Day</a> by </span></span><span class="st" style="color: black;">Kazuo Ishiguro</span></div><b><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Browsing:</span> </b><a href="http://www.letterheady.com/" target="_blank">Letterheady</a><br />
<b style="color: #6aa84f;">Watching:</b> John Safran's <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/tv/racerelations/" target="_blank">Race Relations</a><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LdJeW053KLs&feature=related" target="_blank"></a> <br />
<b style="color: #f1c232;">Eating:</b> Icy-poles<a href="http://melbournedreaming.blogspot.com/2009/12/im-dreaming-of-some-white-christmas.html" target="_blank"></a><br />
<b style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="background-color: white; color: orange;">Listening:</span> </b>Born to Die by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGR1iDuKabU" target="_blank">Lana Del Rey</a><br />
<b style="color: #e06666;">Visiting:</b> <a href="http://stali.com.au/au/" target="_blank">St Ali</a> (recommend the 'Bada Bing Bada Boom') <br />
<b style="color: #cc0000;">Wanting:</b><span style="color: red;"> </span>More paid work...melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24599675.post-76183137415776817842012-02-01T17:25:00.002+11:002012-02-01T17:28:02.023+11:00Duke Uke'emI'm learning to play a simple version of 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow', largely thanks to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxWayKYBYi8&feature=related" target="_blank">this awesome kid</a>. As you can see, I've a ways to go yet. I haven't yet mastered the art of doing anything else while playing, like say, singing along or keeping time. Sorry about the pauses while I change chords.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz96IQqbhQBV-UkkBDgOre5uZMgWrwHV2mJfyUZASW9JJhz8dsTD2w32_iqQ1Oc60K1d4CWX_gD5uY' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But it's loads of fun. I highly recommend it.</div>melbourne dreaminghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044717713978744095noreply@blogger.com1