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Monthly Archives: June 2012

Times out in London

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Apparently, there will soon be a congregation of sweaty youths in these here United Kingdoms.


Major jet lag calls for major coffee. Plus side is La Famiglia Trivialista found some, minus side is we had to wait until it opened at 7.30. A coffee boîte that doesn’t open til 7.30?!? We’re not in Kansas anymore, JCCs.



We’re working our way through this list and results so far have been pleasing. This was The Espresso Room on Great Ormond Street.  Fab coffee and nice peeps.

Coffee’s come a long way in Londra since La Triv was last resident, thanks to the Antipodean diaspora. God bless you and yours, Velcro sandal-wearing backpackers, fighting for our right to a good bean.

Happily, Signor Seriousimo has now joined us. He emerged, blinking into the daylight, from a Green Tomato minicab this morning at 5.45, with only two dusty legal briefs stubbornly sticking to his person.  Needless to say, after hugs and kissies were exchanged, La Fam was off to purchase a BlackBerry charger, in case some e-legal briefs wanted to share our holiday.  To expunge thoughts of the legal briefs, we broke the fast at the Fifth Floor Cafe at Harvey Nicks. Sadly, La Visage Trivialista is now slight pocked with fork marks, as I was so busy staring at the amazing Mary Katrantzou windows I kept missing my gob.


Holy Mary mother of god, that woman’s a talent.

And finally – non UK-based peony fans, read the price on these beauties, and weep.


Ferris meets fruits

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Since beginning our journey to the Troubled Eurozone, La Triv hadn’t managed more than 2.5 hours of sleep in any one day. Right now, my eye bags are giving my wheelie bags a run for their money.

But last night was better…four hours! Female JCC trotted out seven, and male JCC managed eight, so all was looking up this morning. That was a good thing, as today is an auspicious one: the staging of the annual Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

This is a time-honored tradition Miss A and I have been observing for *whips out many fingers and then toes* 24 years *gasps in shock and horror*.

It started at La Mamma and Pappa’s castello with house-made guacamole, which featured bacon (srsly). This was when Wayne Goss still ruled George Street and velvet Alice bands, white leather Reeboks and a sharp-shouldered tee were all the rage.

Today it culminated in…Heston’s meat fruits.


Oh. Mon. Dieu. Srsly, the only thing you need to believe is the hype.

Finally, a Londra

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And so we have – after an unscheduled stop in La Grande Pomme, one round of antibiotics, three flights, two oceans, one absent Seriousimo and 10 calls to insurers – arrived in the welcoming embrace of the Troubled Eurozone.

And here we are chez Senior Seriousimos, that chez being in a London landmark of immense historical and touristical significance.


Here is female Junior Cost Centre doing some gardening – with a view.




Long live these great United Kingdoms.

Bella Brooklyn

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In the midst of iced transit plans, three-quarters of La Famiglia Trivialista-Seriousimo visited some tops friends, Los Hopkii, and enjoyed a wander around their new digs in Park Slope. Lovely Italiano dinner for all, then home to La Crosby on the F train.

Gotta love New York.

La Grande Pomme

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La Triv and both the male and female Junior Cost Centres (JCCs) decided to travel to the Troubled Eurozone via America.  In transito, Male JCC became ill.  What would normally be a very happy happenstance — an unexpected stopover in La Grande Pomme — is now a very strange stance, as all La Famiglia Trivialista (minus Signor Seriousimo, who can’t depart the Wide Brown Land just yet) have seen of NYC is the inside of an albeit very nice hotel room, and a paediatric medical centre.

It’s all out there on my doorstep…so near and yet so very, very far.  I literally cannot believe I am here, and sorta kinda not here.

Like, in transit.  Or purgatory.

We are now armed with antibiotics for Male JCC, who’s happily showing signs of improvement.  He needs to be “back to himself” to fly, i.e. cheeky and ably channeling his inner rapscallion.  Looks like La Triv could be up for a battle with the Faceless Men of the insurance world on our return home; I’ll be ready to whack them with sheafs of hotel bills and airline change fee receipts.  Really looking forward to that.


Winsome Wednesday

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It is truly a foulinski day here in TrivTown.  Not even character-feature-rich architecture glimpsed from beneath the colourful fronds of a Marimekko brolly makes it any better.  Srsly, get lost rain.

However, there are a few pathetically trivial things on Ma Mind.

1.  Guillaume.  Pronounced “Ghee-om”.  (If it reaches La ears that someone is calling him “Gwill-arm”, there will be Consequences, and Junior Cost Centres 1 and 2 could attest to their severity.)  The Triv Media Control Console was tuned to French Food Safari last night, and — man! — he is tan.  Does that guy ever see the inside of a kitchen?  Or just sunbeds?  I know he has the advantage of Gallic and naturally olive planche, but, really, next time I go to Bennelong I’m going to wonder who’s cooking my food while he suns it up on Ile de Ré.  That said, there could be space for him inside the Spunk Yurt.  We’ll see.  Thoughts?

2.  Dinner Friday.  La Moi and Signor Seriousimo are off to a dinner to farewell a good Amigo who’s off to live in the Troubled Eurozone, specifically, the Land of Blight.  Rumour has it a Semi-Prominent Media Personage may or may not be in attendance.  What to say?  Nerve-numbing bubbles will be in order.  Unrelatedly, I’m recalling the experience of another Amigo who, several years ago, found herself at a swanky dinner in the Land of Blight.  To her right was a balding accountant with buck teeth and a few strands of hair stretched across his pate.  To her left was Hugh Grant.  She’s all class, this Amigo, and she proceeded to converse with each equally, and purported to have absolutely no idea who Hugh was, nor any prior knowledge of famous lovers or Hollywood Boulevard escapades.  Love it.

3.  I am still sometimes disbelieving that “Winsome” is a Real Flesh And Blood name.  But it is.  Think it will stage a comeback some day?

Nappy dacks

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While we may have had past cause to question Jennifer Aniston’s taste in men (John Mayer, anyone?), we’ve rarely had a reason to question her taste in fashion.

Until now.

Cop the nappy dacks!  What was she thinking?  And, equally importantly, what do you think Justin was thinking when he saw her appear in the doorway sporting those?  Think she asked, “Does my crotch look big in this?”  Think he said “No!”?

That said, La Triv poo-pooed the Boyfriend Jean back in the day, and now has two pairs of Current/Elliotts she loves, purchased after a directive received from La Gwyneth.

Still — if you see me in the Nappy Crotch anytime soon, feel free to take me out the back and shoot.


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La Famiglia Trivialista/Seriousimo is off soon to the Troubled Eurozone.  We’re doing our bit.  The Phenergan-laced caravan will pass through only London and Paris, but there’s much excitement right now beneath the dusty rafters.  Both male and female Junior Cost Centres are excited about seeing La Mamma and Il Papa Seriousimo, who happen to live in a Site of Historical Significance with first-grade dusty rafters.

La Triv, in contrast, is anxious — not just about managing the Junior Cost Centres’ jetlag alone until Signor Seriousimo lands in Blighty, blinking at the light and probably with a few legal briefs still stuck to his person.  But also about a possible Grexit during transit.  Fact is, the whole concept of austerity gives Triv Les Creeps.  No word scares her more — except maybe “offal” or “colonoscopy”.

This aside, a highlight will be seeing Ms A, aka BFFFFS (Best Friends Forever For F**** Sake).  She intones the latter phrase often and earnestly, like a prayer or a tick.  Heston B may or may not be cooking us lunch at Dinner at some stage, hopefully offal-free.

Not just another brick in the wall

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Sydney sandstone. Just ’cause.


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Treeps:  I know our relationship is fresh.  After all, this is only my 9th post (so sayeth the WordPress Overlord), and I know there are only two of you reading this blog.  And one of you is, it has to be said, a blood relative.

I haven’t even yawned theatrically and finagled my arm across the back of your seat yet.  But…you’re beginning to feel like you know La Triv, non?  We’re working toward a scenario of mutual respect, aren’t we..?  Baby-stepping our way towards full-blown trust?

If so, you should follow one of the diktats of La Triv Manifesto (sadly, still a work in progress), which is:  Cover Yourself in Kaftastic Glory.  And the best way for you to comply with this diktat is by pouring your form into a Tallulah & Hope kaftan.

Srsly, if La Triv had a choice between one of these and a lifetime supply of caramel slices, caramel slices would be the wallflower at the disco, looking longingly at La retreating back swathed in gloriously floaty T&H gorgeousness.  (Goes without saying that the nice thing about kaftans is their highly Forgiving Shape, which means one could literally ingest nada but caramel slices for a lifetime and still look chic — if well accessorised).

I thank the wonderful Liberty London Girl for introducing me to T&H *nods slowly in direction of LLG HQ in respectful manner of Japanese person*.

And, for Australianos and anyone else outside the Troubled Eurozone, the lovely Zoe and Lisa at T&H (the latter of whose status as a Real Flesh And Blood Person La Triv can attest to; our meeting in Shoreditch in September 2010 may or may not have involved the clandestine handover of a marine/sandgrouse Hero kaftan) always seem to deduct the UK’s evil VAT.  That’s 2000 basis points off the listed price.

Their new n/hemi summer range is online now…and looking for a dance partner.