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Southern high life

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On the weekend, La Caravana Trivialista-Seriousimo dragged itself to Moss Vale to celebrate Father’s Day.

We stayed in a button-cute cottage (no frottage) with a fireplace.  Seriousimo brushed away the stale legal briefs clinging to his Rodd & Gunns and got in touch with his inner caveman, lighting fires and whizzing back and forth to the Shell service station for replacement wood (sadly, no axe action) like greased lightning.

Only blight on the weekend was hearing the male Junior Cost Centre scream with blood-curdling terror as a “beetle” (i.e. cockroach) ran out of his baseball glove.  Srsly need to get these kids out of the big smoke more often.


La had read that that least PC of cuddly toys, the golliwog, was making a comeback.  And so it is:  here’s a colony of them in a Bowral toy shop.


Found this slightly alarming — swimmers for a seven-year-old, with built in boobies.  In La view, not good.

My friend Sarah Terrific-Home recently returned to the Harbour City from the Land-o’-Michiganders.  I installed myself beneath her dusty rafters for a couple of days to chat and help her unpack some of her goodies, among them her crazy tea set.  I got all re-inspired about my own, and bought three more bone china trios from Dirty Jane’s for $60.  Bargain.  No photo but.


Astute culture vultures would  know that Keithy and Nic have a bolthole in Sutton Forest called Bunya Hill.  Eye tried to spy it from Golden Vale Road, to no a-Vale.  Anyhows, the locals have obviously embraced the Urbmans, with this golden oldie from Keith’s back catalogue prominently displayed at a CD shop in town.  One could be forgiven for mistaking Keith for Nic in this pic.

Maybe more from his Caboolture days than his Nashville ones, non?

He’s come a long way…

It’d be no news to La’s three regular readers, including los dos blood relatives, that my photographic skills are virtually non-existent.  So you’ll just have to trust me that the cherry blossoms were amazing from Bowral to Berrima to Moss Vale to Robertson.  (I mean, srsly, look how bad this photo is!  Who buggers up cherry blossoms and cloud-spattered blue sky, I ask you?!?  I even had a private lesson with a nice and very patient Frenchman in Bronte.)20120904-115915.jpg

This is more than just another photographic travesty.  Before being mangled by La Triv it was (and probably still is) a dead cute higgledy-piggledy cottage in Berrima.


We munched some lunch at a little gaff in Berrima — next to Jimmy Barnes and his wife and what appeared to be a pre-school age grandchild.  All too cute, and a couple of notches up the celeb spot-o-meter from that morning’s other sighting, John Hewson.  (I swear that man checked me out.  How pervy.  Doesn’t he know he’s old enough to be my great-grandfather?)

And look..!  La did something she does as infrequently as pigs take to the skies:  bush-bashed.


Your eyes do not deceive you — that is an unsealed road!  La Beemer even got some dust on it.

After such out-of-character exertions, Father’s Day sustenance was in order.


Very tasty, but lots of that befuddling foodie concept du jour:  soil.

Then we hot-footed it back up the Hume to the familiarity of the Palazzo, just in time to tackle a mountain of laundry and banish the bush dust from Seriousimo’s beloved machina.

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