brown paper packages...

Just running out the door to visit the Aged Poet, but thought I'd better leave you with something before the weekend runs away with me. Here's a little photo-essay about my exciting letterpress week:

















(images by Patsy Payne, poetry by Sarah Rice)

I'll come back & explain later -- running late now!

A glorious weekend

Q: What do you get when you cross a Train with a Harley?
A: Transports of delight, also known as a blissfully married couple.

Here's proof:



We (Best Beloved, Bumblebee and I, sadly leaving the cats at home) travelled down to the Victorian alpine region of Bright and surrounds this weekend, to attend the delightful nuptuals of Lexicon Harlot and Tim Will-Type-For-Food, two of my favoritest bloggers.

This is not the first blog wedding I have attended, but it is the first where both parties are bloggers, and actually got to know each other through blogging, despite persistent rumours that they went to the same university at the same time and did all the same courses. University unischmersity, this was a clear instance of like minds meeting each other in a thoroughly contemporary way, and the world can only benefit from it.

The last bloggy wedding was quite surreal in all its fun and beauty, due to the swiftness of my travelling, but this time we drove, and took our time, and enjoyed the journey as much as the destination.

We left on Friday night after BB finished work (Just in case you're wondering, Mr Rudd, he works long hours for you but tries not to let his work interfere with his family life... yah boo sucks to you.) and we headed down the Barton Highway, merging with the Hume Highway, to a MYSTERY DESTINATION. I had asked BB to book something cheap and cheerful to break up the long drive, and he was being coy about telling me where we were going, which made the drive interesting.

We ended up here, at a farm stay accommodation smack bang on the freeway between the Snowy Mountains Highway turnoff and the Sturt Highway turnoff. It's far back enough from the road to be blissfully quiet, and there were fun things to do like patting enormous mud-wallowing pigs and tiny fluffy doe-eyed alpaca. It was monstrously hot, but there was air-con, and nice Ikea furniture including a king-size bed, so we were as happy as the pigs outside in their mud. Good call, BB!


Cabin. All our water was recycled to use on the garden, which was good to know


Piggie-wigs.

Next day, yesterday, the wedding day, we kept driving, and discovered how many fab antique and junk shops there are in Holbrook. The antique shop on the Melbourne side of the sunken submarine is one of the best I've ever been to, with reasonable prices and a really interesting emphasis on textiles, thanks to the owner's hankering to have been a textile designer but having apparently missed all the opportunities to do so. She had a few unopened vintage boxes of 'swan-bill hooks', which are apparently the hooks used for corsets, something that fascinated me but I didn't buy a box. Now I wish I had because they'd make great book fasteners. She also had beautiful needle cases and Victorian crochet and other sewing tools. I managed to find a bookbinding hammer head without a handle (I'm hoping Bernice reads this and thinks "I can make you a handle! me! me!" :))

Then we followed our very careful directions through the Yackandarah and Myrtleford and so forth until we arrived at Porepunkah, where the Ovens and Buckland Rivers intersect, and where we'd booked an unpowered tent site (months ago!), which was the ONLY scrap of accommodation for miles, since there was a huge Aust. Day bicycle event happening in the region. This had seemed like a bit of a bummer, but it turned out to be wonderful because we were given a site right next to the Buckland River, so that once we had the tent up, we could get our togs on and go down the embankment to sit in the river and still see our tent.

I sat almost in the centre of the river, on a comfortable stony riverbed, with the water running over and around my legs but not covering them. I was in the shade of trees, and next to me was a lilo run that had been made by generations of regular campers. Upstream was a larger, marginally deeper part of the river, then there was a loose rocky dam that had a central opening that then had long snaking rock 'walls' forming the lilo run. As I sat and enjoyed the sound and feel of the water, kids and adults were scooting down the run on lilos and other inflatable shapes. (If you don't know what a lilo is, it's an inflatable single mattress, with bed and pillow section included.)

As some of you from hot dry areas will appreciate, the sound and feel of running water is quite possibly the most luxurious thing in the world. I could happily spend a week sitting in that river, just listening to it. It looked like others were doing just that, setting themselves up in pockets of shade with camping chairs, their bums and feet dangling in the water, drinking beers from a floating esky and reading their books while the kids played. Now that is my idea of holiday heaven, and I now know what I want to do next summer. I felt richer than any millionaire, just enjoying the coolness and the silky burbling water.

It was very hard to leave the water, and if it wasn't for the prospect of a life-affirming event starting soon down the road, I would have stayed there all night. But we managed to dry ourselves off and put on our glad-rags, and we got to the wedding on time, cheered by the sight of myriad purple and green origami creatures festooning the front of the house.

The wedding was hosted by Alexis's parents in their amazing house up in the hills of Bright, with a view that provided a setting better than any chapel. I love a wedding that is simple and creative, and this was not a disappointment. I can't understand why people need to spend a quarter of a million dollars on an event that will stress them out if it's not perfect, when they can keep it simple and meaningful and enhance the love rather than stretch it.

Here are the simple and creative things that made this wedding amazing:

-- There were bagpipes, and a wonder-beagle who ensured that all were entertained (and that cleaning up afterwards didn't involve any food scraps).



-- there was real, meaningful poetry, actually written by the bride and groom! Serving suggestion only, should only be attempted if you feel confident with your word skillz. In this case they were poems that brought tears of joy to the eye, not tears of pain, and each poem reflected the aesthetic of the writer, so A's poem was seriously beautiful, and T's poem was comically touching.

There was also fun poetry, in the form of The Owl and The Pussy-Cat, which made the pigs from the night before mean more to us as a family, and also made us all hold hands as we listened, because Bumblebee read that aloud at our wedding.

-- there was handfasting as well as ring-exchanging, just in case no-one had taken the situation seriously enough. It was impressive.



-- As you can see above, there were no meringue-shaped expensive dresses nor hired suits. The bride rocked a green sari and magenta top hat, and the groom looked (fittingly) like he was taking a break from his vaudeville act and was due back on stage at any minute. Everyone else followed orders to dress "casually smart, for the weather".

-- There was a *killer* view, provided by Mother Nature, of forests and sky and house tops and clouds. It was a dreamy view, often hindering conversation during the evening.

-- There was a vegetarian feast of nibblies followed by a dessert fest. The cake was green, topped with two ceramic kissing beagles. Perfect!



-- Guests were given lolly-bags upon their leaving: hand-sewn, with Scrabble-piece brooches pinned to them. We got to choose our letters. I seem to have a collection of Scrabble jewellery now: I have a 'G' pendant set in resin within a silver spoon, and at Woodford I bought a 'C' wooden letter pendant. Now I am the proud owner of a 'Q' brooch, since the points might bring me luck next time I play Tim (or Byrd, both of whom flog me regularly).

Added extras at this splendiferous event:

-- catching up with Ms Lucy Tartan and her offsider Arty Fufkin, whose wedding was my first blog wedding experience.


Not a particularly flattering portrait of LT, but the best I could manage with my iphone and a glass of wine or three. Bumblebee is standing behind her.

LT looked amazing in her 1950s dance attire, complete with black & white saddle shoes and her new black glasses. It turns out that we have very similar eyesight, but my optometrist (when I was 7) insisted upon my needing glasses, and all her optometrists insisting until recently that she didn't have to unless she wanted them. And so she has only recently realised that trees have leaves, and clouds have texture rather than just mass.

-- Going down to the cellar and meeting Harriet and Beatrice, whose adventures I have avidly followed since their adoption by A. They are larger than kittens (but small compared to my two black beasts) and very fluffy. And gorgeous. Beatrice seemed much more relaxed than Harriet, who seemed eager to join the party/ torment Wilbur.

I am very grateful to have been asked to such a wonderful and special event. I cannot stress more fiercely how marvellous it is that two such singular people should find each other and recognise each other's qualities. I expect extreme happiness to radiate from their respective blogs, and mayhap they may even create a new merged blog in the spirit of their collaborative poetry performances. I wish them every happiness in their brave new world.

I went to sleep in the tent at Punkepore listening to the sound of the river. My only regret of the weekend is that I didn't take a photo of it, but I suspect the aural memory will stay with my all the stronger for the lack of visual stimulus.

Today we cruised back to the Hume Freeway via Beechworth, telling Bumblebee all about Ned Kelly and the gold rush, two things his woeful primary school didn't teach him anything about. We revisited a bookshop in Holbrook, and a junkshop in Yass, where I picked up some old pianola rolls for $3 each.

When we got home I called in upon Zoe, who was entertaining a posse of pals including Nabakov, Iconophilia and Pammy Faye. I only stayed a while, just to check that all was right with the world, and then came home to type this all up before I forget about it.

So all is right with the world, and life goes on, a little bit happier than it was before.




(Finally, I came home to find this link, which I hope will make everyone, except the vegetarian newly weds, even happier. Unless the thought of meat being used for something besides eating makes them happy. Snaps to Poppyletterpress for the pleasure, who ironically needs clients who spend a lot on their weddings!)

Running away

I ran away again. Always to the same place, Depot Beach, far away in time. And again, we left Best Beloved behind to his work and his study (he's starting a Masters in something governmental) and the cats.

Usually when we go to Depot, we camp at the wonderful National Parks camping ground, or we hire a cabin from the same place or from the posher private cabins complex next door. This time, however, we were offered a stay in a house that looks like this:



Architect-designed, it was like something from a magazine. My friend Wazza has access to it, it's a family-owned thing, and it's heaven on a stick, so to speak.



This is the view from the main section of the house. You can open up the big glass doors to make the living room and balcony one big space, and in winter you can roll the roof back to let more sunshine in.



This is the view from the guest bedroom. I could have the window open all night to let the sea breeze and the sound of the waves in. It was divine.

Bumblebee has stopped being resistant to the idea of us hoping to sell our house and get a bigger one one day (over the rainbow). I don't think he realises that we can't have one like this, but he now knows what it is like to have SPACE around you.

The weather was cool, the sea was glorious (not that I actually swam, I didn't feel like it this trip) and the walks were lovely. Wazza and I made good food, drank lots of G&Ts, and wrangled the kids. Plus did lots of reading, or at least, I did. I was reading the first of the Millennium trilogy, given to me by my mother-in-law, and I'm not much of a crime fiction reader, so I was struggling with it a bit.

On the first night at the coast, I woke up in the night and decided, since I didn't have the sleep princess with me, that I'd read myself back to sleep. Suddenly I hit a really exciting bit of the book, and the next thing I knew, it was dawn and I had no idea how much or little sleep I'd had... So I'm a Larsson convert, and I'm well into the second book, which I'm not actually sure if I am enjoying after all. It's all getting a bit bitsy, and that always annoys me, but I'm sure he'll put it all together soon.

If you're reading this, Wazza (when you get back yourself), thanks so much for the chance to breathe before the year gets crazy!

In other new year news, I have joined the local gym, and since my startling assessment, when I was gauged to be fitter than I thought I was, I have been twice and am trying not to feel smug, since I know that the newby enthusiasm will wear off fairly soon.

Also! I have a shipment of brand spanking new type arriving today, and I'm very excited. And two books lined up to use it, so it's work ho! from hereon in.

Also also! the countdown is on for Bumblebee's new high school experience, starting 1 Feb. He seems calm enough, and excited that they'll have a camp in the first few weeks, but I haven't told him yet that before camp is... vaccinations. Yeek!

nostalgic guff du jour

My cousin scanned an old photo album and put the images onto facebook. There were many that made me wistful, but this one just makes me smile wryly.

We have a few photos from this particular series, and the occasion is Colonel Duck's graduation from military college back when he was Cadet Duckling. There's one photo that's always been on the mantlepiece, of just Colonel and Lady Duck standing together, skinny he in his uniform and her, dewy in her white satin dress. Woof, they looked young and hot.

Isn't mum gorgeous in this photo? I used to think that the mantlepiece photo was their wedding photo, and until I was old enough to understand, my mother didn't disillusion me, because it's probably the closest thing she got to a wedding celebration anyway, since they'd been illegally and secretly married for eight months already (and she'd done the deed in a hot pink mini-suit, which was really much cooler than a white satin dress anyway) and at the end of this big swanky grad do she had to go home and hang out with me, who was with one of my usual family babysitters. So I'm guessing she enjoyed this evening as the last time she'd ever have to hide my nappies on the hills hoist (apparently she would peg them to the line on the inner rings and then put vast amounts of the family washing -- mother, father, three sisters, grandfather -- around the outer rings to hide them), and after this night she'd actually be able to cohabit with my father. Back then, cadets weren't allowed wives & kids or cars; these days they can have anything they want, and they can even live off-campus with their wives or husbands. Tuh! What is the world coming to?

The other thing that makes me smile wryly is my grandmother, on the left. This is the famous Nanny Annie whom I invoke when I clean my house furiously. Today my father and I worked out that in this photo she is only one year older than I am today. That is a sobering thought. My grandmother always seemed OLD, and I can't relate to her ever being my age! The three of them look a bit tense; it's probably been a long evening...

LATER: I keep noticing little details. Check out Nana's hands, curled into fists: she was a miner's wife from dusty Kalgoorie, and I'm sure she was nervous about such a ceremonial occasion. Also mum's wonderful black satin gloves. I wonder if she still owns those? And Nana's gloves -- I'm presuming they're also black gloves, unbuttoned and curled back? Were black gloves a requirement or did my family decided to be co-ordinated? So many questions! Time to phone home again :)






My pillows should be on their way home today. I can't wait for a good sleep, my head feels claggy. For those who are interested, I rang Lady Duck, and apparently the brand is 'Aussie Pillow Fibresoft' -- it's a microfibre pillow that I bought at Domaine (or Domain, or however that chain of homewares stores is spelled). The pillow itself has a satin seam around the edge of the pillow, and it's a slightly cheaper alternative to duckdown or goosedown. It might be available in other stores, and there are probably other brands that are similar...

this is an odd thought

I just suddenly remembered that I was browsing the 2008 Guinness Book of Records whilst on the loo at Kyogle and that the record for the most live snails on a human face was SEVEN. That seemed rather low, I remember thinking. I could do better than that. Imagine hosting seven slimy creatures that won't stop trying to get off your hot dry face, I pondered. Perhaps you need a damp cool face?

I just googled this and discovered that others had reacted the same way. Soon after, someone managed 25 snails. And then a boy managed FORTY-THREE. Check out the photo...

No-one over the age of fifteen seems to want to challenge this record. Surely adults would have a larger head? Maybe a bald fellow could achieve more?

As you were.

pillow yearnings

You know how I made those pillowbooks about yearning? Sigh. Pillows + yearning. Here's another sorry tale:

We always take our pillows on holiday with us. They are beautiful expensive microfibre pillows that mould under your neck and manage all through the night to shift when you shift and stay plump in the right places and flat in the right places. My neck never hurts with my special pillow. It transformed my life a couple of years ago and I've been ever so grateful ever since.

We travelled for three weeks with our pillows and then forgot them on the second last night of the trip and left them in a motel in Singleton. Last night, when we discovered this fact just before bedtime at Bernice's lovely shack, I felt bereft. And guilty as hell, as if I'd left my child behind at the shop.

Bernice had ok pillows. Now we've come home to all our second-best pillows. I don't want to look at my bed now, because my pillow isn't there. I miss my pillow more than I miss my cervix, and I miss that quite a lot; it always felt like a friendly nose-tip pushing back at me. Sorry, that was a sudden thought, and obviously just for you females. Didn't mean to gross out the boys -- but ladies, you know what I mean, don't you?

Sigh. We got home today and I had a speeding fine waiting for me. O joy. My first for years and I'd achieved it only metres from home before we left on our trip. Only metres away from arriving home, I'd been pondering whether to pursue my old pillows or swallow the guilt and buy some new pillows, but the speeding fine was around the same cost as new pillows, so I rang the motel in Singleton and organised to have them returned, which will be a LOT cheaper. And I'll feel less guilty about forgetting them in the first place. I'm not Catholic, but I do enjoy a touch of penance.

Whether my pillow will forgive me and be quite as comfortable again is the next issue.

It's very nice to be home.

The cats haven't sulked at all at our tardy return from wherever they thought we'd gone. In fact, they've been ever so clingy and loving, with constant love-eyes* and much lolling at our feet wherever we happen to be unpacking / sitting / sweating. For lo! it is hot, not as hot as poor Adelaide, but hotter than most other capital cities, I notice. The cats are so hot they're loving a quick surreptitious spray with the water misters we bought for Woodford and never used because the sky spat on us sufficiently. They lie in front of the fan with their sprayed fur and purr at us with the love-eyes.

Tomorrow I plan to clean the studio up, since it will be horribly messy from my rushed end of year, and at least ten degrees cooler than the house. And then to the pool, which is between the studio and home and the logical place to be on a stinking hot afternoon when all you want to do it curl up in the shade with a book and all your son wants to do is track down his friends after weeks in the country with his father. If he doesn't find a friend or two at the pool tomorrow, I'll be very surprised.

Have I mentioned how much I missed Bumblebee over the last three weeks? He's missed me too: we've been hugging each other at every opportunity, which is not fun when it's so hot, because we make a weird sweaty ripping noise every time we pull apart. He seems to be inches taller, and he now looks like a high school student, so I'm almost used to the idea. Our mutual relief at having never to see or deal with his old headmistress again is more than words can express.

I think it's time to go and sit on the front step in the cool before going to bed. The night breeze is spectacular, but it doesn't seem to want to come inside, no matter how many windows and doors I open. Never mind, I don't blame it for not wanting to be inside, I'll go out to it, seems the logical thing to do. I think my belief system, if I have anything near such a formal concept, has a large dash of Shintoism in it, or something that allows inanimate objects and natural elements to have personalities of their own. The wind is feeling shy and stubborn, my pillows are sulking in a lost property room in Singleton, and the cats are just glad that everything is back to normal. Sort of. My neck will grumble in its sleep tonight...








*Can it be possible that anyone doesn't know about kitty love-eyes? If you don't like cats, never glare at them with angry squinted eyes, because in cat language you are telling them how much you adore them and their bespittled fur and they will instantly jump on your lap and wish to be adored in return. If you want to keep them away and confused as to why you don't succumb to their irresistible charms, glare with eyes wide, wide open and don't blink for a while. Our cats look at us with long slow winks, which is deep love and appreciation, and I do the same back to them, which ensures that we get on most agreeably.

twilit breathing

It's quite odd being somewhere that has broadband access but no mobile phone coverage. Another laptop, another opportunity, more rain, this time there's thunder rolling around the valley as well, which is usually a sign to unplug & switch off, but not here where the computer is on my lap and the only noise beside the thunder is a horsefly buzzing around behind my head and the sound of my fingers tapping.

I'm in Kyogle with my beautiful siblings-in-law. Best Beloved has driven into Lismore to have some kwality time with his nephew watching Avatar in 3D (something you can't do at the Kyogle cinema), and I'm coming out of the fug that my brain became after reading all four Twilight books bumper to bumper in three days.

I've been wanting to read them for ages, to experience them firsthand but not keen to purchase them. This time last year we bought them for the niece, so now I was determined to get my money's worth. The first two books went down the gullet like McDonalds burgers: no chewing necessary; by the last two I'm guessing she'd had some professional plotting help, and it improved them enough to make me chortle occasionally. I can't say I actively disliked them. They reminded me of lying in bed furtively reading Flowers in the Attic when I was 13 or so, without the stomach-churning naughtiness. I can see why women are enjoying it as much as girls, but not having seen the movies I can't understand why they're obsessing so much about the poor actor who plays Edward so much that they're actively screwing up his life. He's going to split at the seams soon, poor dear.

Wow, there's a thick curtain of rain outside, and I feel guilty at being annoyed with it. I've had one full day of sunshine since leaving home, and my poor parents are sitting at the dessicated Prickle Farm watching the grass curl up and die. I wish I could shoo some rain south for them, and for Ronnie, and anyone else who needs it. Right here we need some sunshine, or we won't have enough solar power to run the home theatre tonight :) Luckily there's a back-up generator. In the meantime, we're sitting in the gloaming, using whatever natural light we can find.

Today is our last day here, and then we're wending our way home. I keep thinking of the things I want to do when I get back, and then all the things I HAVE to do, and then I remember that it's also school holidays, the last before high school (!) so I should make the most of my time with Bumblebee before he starts morphing into teenagehood, and then I just stop thinking, because it's so quiet here and green and damp and calming. Breathing is about the only thing worth doing in steamy heat apart from reading. And at least there's plenty of water, so baths are in the picture too.

I can't remember if I told you about Byrd's latest show? It's an online show, so anyone can attend. I was just thinking about the hand-painted stickers he'd given us when we caught him in Coff's Harbour on the way up; I put some around the Woodford site, and also in the carpark of the MOMA in Brisbane when we went to see the Asia-Pacific Triennial a few days ago. It was fun, being furtive. The Triennial was fun, in parts. Sometimes I felt a bit frustrated by the way people respond best to art when there's a bit of novelty or 'magic' to it. I really enjoyed Tracy Moffatt's video, I always like her sense of humour. We ran into a number of Canberra people, which was surprising... and yet not, since they were all artists.

We had a music night here a couple of nights ago, enhanced by the presence of an old friend from Canberra who had moved to Sydney and was visiting her old friend in Lismore, who was a musician himself and greatly enhanced the family musical moments. We played music all over the spectrum, from Van Morrison to Van Halen, Abba to Green Day. It was hot & sweaty and completely amateurish, but excellent fun. I sang a song I used to belt out with my old band but my voice was so rusty I can't bring myself to listen again to the recording we made of the night. The tantric-sex version of Gloria sung was so funny I'm still hugging the memory close, and I suspect I always will, with all of the musicians on their knees and the lead singer doing a deadpan monologue about touching palms & letting the sensuality of the universe flow through each other etc etc before launching into the full-blown screaming of G-L-O-R-I-I--I-I--I-I again.

This is such a lovely mudbrick type of house, with lots of wooden beams and chunks of tree-trunks as poles inside the rooms, bright colours and inspirational pictures everywhere and outside there is a lovely fishpond full of purple-blue lotus flowers and a waterfall that houses a wild carpet-snake. The atmosphere is relaxed and loving, and it's the perfect place to wind down before launching into another busy year. On the cards this year: a couple of exhibitions, some workshops (including a typography summer school in February that I really need to advertise more -- watch this space or go to my website for details soon) and a conference or two, some writing gigs and a residency in New Zealand in August/September followed by a stint as artist-in-residence for the Majura Women's Group...

Stop. Breathe. Breathe... listen to the waterfall. Find something else to do. Bye!

Here I sit, at the benchtop of a friend's place in the Sunshine coast, drinking cold wine, with dry feet and the prospect of a dry bed at the end of an entertaining dinner. i hadn't expected a chance to play with a laptop, but here it is.

I'm sorry about the weird spacing in the post below... I just tried to fix it, but I can't seem to change it properly. It's because I had to write it and save it on my phone and then cut & paste it into my blog because my Blogger app didn't seem to work and I can't update it until I get home.

The sun came up this morning and we had blue sky all the way through packing up our gear and our tent, and then when we started driving the skies opened up again and we drove through heavy rain. Thank you, universe.

The friend we're staying with is a recent graduate from my department at the art school, and anyone who knows S will not be surprised to know that she gave us the weirdest directions EVA to get to her mum's house. At one point they told us to take a ramp off the M1, follow a road, and then get back on the M1. I thought this was odd, but dutifully followed the directions, and we found ourselves driving a small off-highway service road parallel to the freeway, waving at the cars and then rejoining them a minute later. It was then that I remembered that she doesn't drive, and that she must have just sent us a Google-maps description that was a bit addled.

Anyhoo, we eventually in a very roundabout way got to the right place. We're sleeping in a cute retro caravan, and there's two gorgeous Burmese cat brothers to play with who have the same boy twin dynamics as our lovely boys: one thin & clever, one fat and cheery but a bit bitey. Bliss!

Ooh! dinner's ready. Pip pip, tally ho!

Steamy

Damn, I just wrote a nice long post about being at Woodford, and then lost it. Bugger.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I'm sitting in the Green Room, waiting to be paid... The dudes from Tripod are sitting nearby, as are many other prominent musicians and circus types. There's a wonderful jam session happening in a corner centred on Liz Frencham.  

It's wet, and when the rain stops, it's steamy, which was very exotic for a while for a dessicated Canberra chick but not anymore. Now I'm counting down the days to a dry towel and bed. I've abandoned my crocs, now I'm wearing blundstones (?sp) with nice dry socks so that my feet avoid foot rot.

My classes have been great on the whole, once I'd overcome a few obstacles. The kids classes have been the best; I love what kids do when you chuck some ideas and materials at them.  

I've seen some good music & acts, many by accident. Last night a big group of us wandered around the festival in fancy dress. My costume was a slinky frock layered on long trousers plus a long curly irridescent red wig, a cowboy hat and a pig snout. 

I went to Jen Cloher's NY gig and danced barefoot down the front, to the side with my back to the audience. At one point I spun around and the woman dancing behind me screamed at the sight of my pig snout. Then we laughed together heartily. Nothing like a shock :)

Last night tonight, then it's back to the real world, for better or for worse. We're going to nip into the Asia-Pacific Triennial in Brisbane and then head to the sodden climes of Kyogle for a few days before meandering home by next weekend. 

And then the busy-ness starts afresh, so I'll be doing some heavy duty lolling over the next week. 

Hope your heads don't hurt too much, see you in the soup (eventually).