Monthly Archives: June 2016

Devo about Brexit. Srsly, what’s the world coming to?

Seriousimo and I have long laid plans to retire to Ye Olde Europa. The maroon passports were supposed to make that a cinch. Our recent visit to Dutchieland reinforced the need for self-care now to ensure arthritic knees will be able to push pedals over cobbles come the end of our working lives.

However, Brexit’s shoved a stick in the spokes of that plan. Action needs to be taken to avoid toppling gracelessly over the handlebars of life.

Cue this:

Yup. Needs must people, needs must.

Seriousimo and I are making plans to hark back to his Lithuanian heritage and seek citizenship of Lietuvos Respublika, or the Republic of Lithuania, from the loins of which sprang Seriousimo’s beloved Mamma Seriousimo.

Thanks to Lithuania’s membership of the EU and European rights of residence, no ignorant English racists will be getting between a 60-year-old Triv and my daily serve of poffertjes in Dam Square, nor will they stop me sinking my face into a wheel of vacherin in my Parisien bolthole while bathing in champagne.

However — it’s about the fashion. Yikes! La’m not sure where Céline would fit into this sartorial picture.

Here’s Seriousimo and I in a few years time, taking a turn about the village folk fair dance floor:

At least the national costume of his forebears features a hat to keep his noggin warm. The brim at the back may present challenges when he goes to wear it to bed, though.

And here we are exchanging a loving look after a fortifying meal of cepelinai and a bracing mountain stroll. Clock Seriousimo’s footwear — love the nod to gladiatoral lacing.

Seriousimo could call on his old piccolo-playing skills to serenade La in the village square, after I’ve fetched a pail of water and he’s been shopping for some new burlap dacks:

How will the Junior Cost Centres (JCCs) fare in the garb of their ancestral homeland?

Great! No jeggings and hoodies here, my friends!  The little lady loin fruit will love the accessorisation opportunities presented by headdresses, and the wee bloke will get right into the multicoloured waist sashes and floral hat corsages.

Oops, making fun of people from other countries makes me sound like a Brexiteer. Which, clearly, La’m NOT.

Sh*t. Time for another plan B..?

It’s cold. Love that though. Don’t know how to dress for summer unless it’s in a kaftan (my knees ceased to be my shorts-wearing ally somewhere around the time of the 1991 Café Neon dancing injury) and, bizarrely, flowy floral robes don’t go down well in Corporate Australia.

Had a weekend in Berry with the famiglia and was daylight-robbed by some shonk peddling this overpriced jar of snake-oil juice: am embarrassed to say I paid $8 for it, and realised too late. Fark.

Wheeled out the old Hunters. See how grubby they look? I know, makes me seem like a bona-fide bumpkin. However, the grub is the result of them sitting day and night on our front verandah and attracting the particulate matter from car exhausts that whiz past our house which is on a busy street. Fake it til you make it.

The male Junior Cost Centre (JCC) tooled his new RC vehicle around the Berry grounds. His clashing prints made me vomit a little bit in the back of my throat, but I took some deep breaths and a sip of $8 snake oil and survived until he changed.

As mentioned on the Facebooks, have been indulging in some insta-grat type self-treating. Look at these puppies! They are flats, though, which triggers a note to self: get working on shedding those last 10kg or patenting an optical illusion that makes calves and ankles look like two elegant exclamation marks rather than cankles. Flatties tend to flatter the bird-like.

Had a facial with Nerida, the best beauty expert ever. She put a youth-inducing mask on my moosh, then peeled it off. Voilà.

Looks like I’ve been captured mid-horror at seeing yet another ladybum clad in digi-print exercise pants at cocktail hour.

La’m continuing to be sh*tted on a regular basis by meaningless inspo. Here’s Kikki K’s latest effort. I mean, srsly, why don’t they just go with “Get dressed before you leave the house”, “Wax”, “Use your manners” and “Personal hygiene is good”?

Am having Palazzo Trivialista’s maquillage fixed up. The old girl’s showing signs of wear and tear (to be frank, who isn’t?) and she deserves some love. She’s been repointed, and her landing strip (stop it! I mean her tessellated tiles!) is about to be redone. Then she’ll have her trimmings painted, eyebrows feather-bladed, choppers bleached and she’ll ready to face the world for another 100 years.

Suggested these dacks to Signor Seriousimo, to no avail. He put them in the same sartorial basket marked ‘FAIL’ as the CR denim joggers. That man! He’s taken to wearing a tweed flat cap to bed “because my head gets cold”. I fear we are but a whisker from an argyle-patterned mohair man-cardi.

He could take some style tips from this man:

Can’t stop revisiting this pic of DBow. Keep having to remind myself it was taken in the week or two before he died, when he knew exactly what he was facing down. A good reminder to suck the marrow, live every day as if it’s your last, tell the Grim Reaper (channeling “Rake“), “Go on, go on, off you f*ck.”

Holy inspo Batgirl, sounds like it’s time for me to get a job at Kikki K. Who are you and what have you done with La Triv?!?

Ciao.