La Trivialista

Ever wondered what parenthood looks like?

Some might think it looks like this.

Or this.

Or even this.

Well folks, La’m here to tell you They Would Be Wrong. Because parenthood, my friends, looks like this.

And, often, like this.

And, even more frequently, like this:

Parenthood, you see, is about two things, and two things only:  funds and raising.

However, in an effort to Raise said Funds, ladyfolk are under no circumstances allowed near one of these:

No-one’s really able to articulate why, but it’s possibly to do with paternalistic fears that female parents, most of whom in the normal course of their lives do so little cooking, might harm others or themselves (“Ouch! This big black thingamy-wotsit is hot! We need big strong men to manage these scary contraptions!”)

Yes, this timely reminder of the meaning of parenthood (and the place of women at a charity bbq event: prep buns, take orders, issue change but under no circumstances whatsoever touch los manstoves) took place yesterday at La City to Surf, at the gods’s own beach, Bondi.

Thankfully, had none with me, therefore none to lose.

All went well, despite the suspicion that L’odeur de Snag would be stuck in my hair and clothes for weeks, until I faced this:

See los black and yellow barricades? That’s where La had to be. And fast: Seriousimo was waiting at home with the loin fruits, but had to be at work sharpish. (Yep. On a Sunday. Like five weekdays of lawyers emitting their hot air and legal briefs into the atmosphere isn’t enough, then they have to go and pollute the blue planet on the weekends too!)

So: La waited and waited for a break in the phalanx of runners. Or at least for the heavily overweight, novelty dressed and walkers to come through. Alas, it didn’t look like it was happening anytime soon, so I had to jump into the mob, run a bit (in ballet flats — the horror!) then frogger my way to my right and toward GOS’s palazzo, where my wheels were parked (thanks GOS!).

This was the view from the right side of the road. Believe me, I don’t plan on taking la life in los hands like that again anytime soon.

After all that smelly Sport Billy craziness, order, beauty and a sense of internal calm were restored pronto when I spotted this window display at Mud in Edgecliff on la way home. Gorgeballs, non?

Between you and me, am srsly worried about Seriousimo. Something is happening on los weekends, and it’s none of it good.

He pops on his Lucky Brand jeans — no problem there. But then he proceeds to Tuck in His Shirt. This is not a good look, particularly as we live in the über-casual Harbour City. Fear I am going to have to shift along the spectrum from “subtly disapproving look” toward “overt comment re inappropriateness”. What’s worse is he stuffs his pants pockets full of BlackBerries (still the Camilla in our relationship), over-chocked wallets, change and various other accoutrements of manhood. This Cannot Continue, not least of all because los trousers have begun to Ride a Little Too High vis-à-vis the man’s natural waistline.

Obviously, a man bag is Out of the Question*.

What to do? And more importantly, if I tuck my shirt into my strides on a Sunday, pop lots of goodies in my pockets and mutter about legal briefs, would I get to work one of those manstoves next time?

Ciao.

*Distress obvious through extreme use of initial caps.

Love it when little boys’ hairs stick up at the crown. Especially when said heads are accessorised with jauntily-angled “Dark Vater” masks.

Last night, la poocha Trivialista, Diggers, was spied across the architectural vanity exercise courtyard making himself at home on the female junior cost centre’s (JCC’s) bed while we dined beneath the dusty rafters. Diggers knows lounging on beds is strictly verboten in Palazzo Trivialista. Clearly, if he was a schnauzer, he would understand German better and Know His Place.

Took Dark and his fellow Triv loin fruit to dinner here, our new favourite local gaff. Know many of you may not be as fluent in googling Italiano as La, so will tell you it translates to “shade”.

Fab tucker, lovely service, and their antipasto selection is to die for. Always thought that a strange word — how could one possibly be “anti” any arrangement of cheese, cured pork, bread, olives, grilled capsicum and eggplant all schnuzzling up to one another, accompanied by vino? La’m all for it.

This was the post-repast carnage — trust me, this photo does not do the mess justice. We tipped big.

Have been getting about the Harbour City a bit of late. We all know it’s a foodie’s paradise, but La thought this sandwich filling, spied recently at Sonoma (home of the smaller, personalised boule), raised things to new heights of insanity.

All the world’s leading fashionistas will tell us we should take inspiration from our surroundings, so when I spotted this marblework at Westfield Bongo Junction’s new Tiffany…

…los thoughts turned to this…

…from Whistles.

Couple of significant events coming up for which silk tops (and Tiffany bling for that matter) could come in handy: 25-year high school reunion (egads — are los bones really that old?  Kill me now!) and bi-annual Ladyfest trip Stateside with Brunswick Browser to visit Palisades resident and BrisVegas girl-done-good, Fancy Fowl. Our last catch-up was LAdyfest 2011 in Los Angeles and Palm Springs, which entailed much singing into hairbrushes and reminiscing about past frogs loves.

Thankfully on that trip, each of our husbandial specimens came up trumps vis-a-vis our past dalliances. Two years on I suspect little will have changed.

Unless, between now and then, Seriousimo curtails my Ladyfest shopping budget. Which could result in him being socked about the beefy cheek with a wanky sandwich.

Ciao x

This morning my little female junior cost centre (JCC) and La shimmied off to los marchés at Carriageworks. On the way we drove past what’s possibly one of los prettiest shopfronts in the Harbour City.

What a shame La’ve already bought the heirloom table, which currently every day has to be wiped clean of mould spores due to the extreme dustiness of the rafters at the new palazzo Trivialista-Seriousimo. Grr.

There’s no doubt the landscape on approach to los marchés is a bit of an urban gritfest.

But don’t let that turn you off, because inside it’s a greedy guts’s paradise.

Here’s the JCC with our new Spanish wheels: the Rolser, in large monochrome polka dot. We take this markets business srsly.

Hungry? How about some confused eggs?

Here, you know, you can even buy a small personalised boule from Sonoma with which to break your fast. Despite that, JCC opts religiously for sheep’s pecorino and a Sonoma mini-baguette, avec fresh juice.

For La, it’s Kylie Kwong’s Berkshire pork bun with housemade chilli all the way. Srsly, once you’ve had it you’ll wonder how you could ever go back to starting the day with Corn Flakes or even a small personalised boule.

Alex Herbert is here too, cooking up amazing brekkie rolls. Lines are long, so they must be good. Haven’t tried one though, as after two KK pork buns there’s little spare real estate in la gullet.

…and remember to mention to all your friends what a fabulous blog this is.

Rhubarb rhubarb! I would eat this, roasted with demerara and a cinnamon stick, seventeen times a day if it wasn’t for Seriousimo’s antipathy. How is that possible?, I ask him. He mutters something about bad memories of soggy nursery puddings at school in those Great United Kingdoms. Wish he would Move On.

JCC and I engaged in some competitive trolley-watching.

…and decided our Rolser was clearly the most stylish. Those poor punters had no idea what they were up against in the trolley style stakes.

Visited Hot Potato Guys (they said hi, Aunty Cait!). Got right up in their mixed grill and asked for a delicious mixed roasting bag — a steal at $5. Srsly, there’s something about that earthy spud smell that gets into your nostrils and makes you come over all soily and Druidish. Mmmmm…

Then we visited Sweet Mushroom Man and admired his fungal wares.

We’re frocking up tonight and heading off to dine with our good friends, los Grass Ponds, at their new gaff in Double Bay. They were renting, then bought the apartment two doors down the hallway. So to warm their new maison, La swangled up this bouquet from fleurs bought at los marchés. It’s a secret I’m now willing to put out there in everyone’s mixed grill:  La’m actually quite talented when it comes to flowers, having studied with master 1 and master 2 and all. But I’m not yet available for weddings or funerals.

So — not la first time I’ve urged you to join me for a pork bun at Everleigh Market, and it won’t be the last.

If I see you there next Saturday at 8am, buns are on me. Good weekend x

Regardless of what Gwyneth says about gluten being bad even for the average non-coeliac, La likes to start the day with a slice of toasted miche topped with raspberry Bonne Maman.

After all, whose life wouldn’t benefit from more smaller, personalised boules?

In other news, la famiglia Trivialista-Seriousimo recently moved to beneath some new and different dusty rafters. Only problem with the new digs is, ahem, the srsly dusty rafters.

La mentioned the problem of the dusty, mildewed, web-smothered rafters to someone recently who responded to la whinge with news that some place called “Bunnings” stocks something that will reach up to the nethers for the purposes of removing dust, spores and webs. What is this “Bunnings”, I ask you? And does it also stock Mary Katrantzou?

Speaking of Mary, and glancing back to la last post (hmm, sounds very ANZAC, non?), have been meaning to tell you all I did some Babcock & Brown-esque domestic financial engineering which meant that, in the end, la closet was able to benefit from the gobsmackingly amazing northern summer sales. Hallelujah! Voila — a selection of la loot.

Thanks to the generous sale gods at Matches, La scooped up this Mary K combo at 50% off… love love, and will wear next time I meet me ol’ China, Mares.

Notice the teeny tiny golden feet on the pouch? As it if could stand up on its own?!? And — aha! — I just noticed the little twenty quid insignias on the top; if Seriousimo asks how much it cost I do believe this is the figure I shall quote.

Nice, eh? And by this clever fella…

Gotta love picking Laself up a couple Erdem torso-coverings at 60% off from our friends at la Outnet.

Longtime readers of this virtual home of La Trivialista would be well aware of La’s love for Gwyneth. Often see piccies of her getting about Brentwood and Belsize Park sporting a fab shark-tooth necklace. So La copied, courtesy of Pucci at 60% off. (Specific information on percentage reductions is being included in case Signor Seriousimo ever overcomes his disbelief in blogs and happens to read of los shopping exploits.)

Scared the bejeezers out of a small Junior Cost Centre at the loin fruits’ school by telling him it was a walrus tooth I wrenched from the beast’s mouth after a bloody battle in Antarctica. Note to self: tone down the Steve Irwin yarns when dealing with five-year-old fruits of other women’s loins.

My super stylish friend M got me onto Markus Lupfer knits — too cute. Love the rainy one I bought super-cheap from Matches — apt, as it had been raining for about seven weeks in the Harbour City.

And this was possibly la bargainest purchase of all: a great piece of urban fatigue-wear. By Lot 78, this ‘parka’ was reduced from — wait for it — $780 to $250. One click, and that puppy was off the market.

Might not look like much, but am loving it. It’s posing here on some dusty slats.

How did you fare in the sales? The world outside our little bubble must really be hurting because they were goooood — even after factoring in the decimated state of our Pacific peso. Its reign as King of Currencies was good while it lasted…

Ciao x

As we all know, it’s sales time.

Unfortunately it’s also that danged time of the year when the dreaded Tax Undertaker comes sniffing around with his rheumy breath and bony fingers, rattling his musty old change purse, asking for money he claims is rightfully his. Curse his cadaverish frame, unfashionably draped in early 80s goth cloth.

The only two things La wants to be spending los spondies on right now are these:

Yup, NAVY sunnies. And these:

But, no. Not for La. Even on sale!

Despite my constant and sometimes feverish updating of the famiglia financial spreadsheets, La failed to see old jangly purse coming and sticking his claw out for cash*. So no sale shopping for me.

Which is a shame on so many levels, not least of all because la famiglia Trivialista-Seriousimo recently moved los family chattels to beneath some new and slightly less dusty rafters. And I have the best closet of my life, with added room for hiding clandestine purchases not meant for Seriousimo’s eyes.

I spy with my little eye…a secret under-the-eaves cupboard just the right size for shopping bags that need to serve an appropriate custodial sentence until I can sport their contents and truthfully say to Seriousimo, “What?  This old thing? Had it for ages…”

Sadly, my secret little cupboard is currently home to nowt but dead fans and heaters, and a couple of wheel-less suitcases.

Speaking of suitcases, here’s the female Junior Cost Centre toting her sparkly one to hospital recently, where they relieved her of her tonsils and adenoids.

She’s doing well, thanks. Let’s hope the removals of the obstructions allows the child finally to SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT.

To add to the poor tot’s misery, though, today I dispatched her here:

Yup, we don’t mess around beneath our dusty rafters — we head straight to the professionals.

Ah, the glamour.

x

*Sadly not the first time La’ve made this mistake! Really must start listening to that accountant…

I know. Long time, no Triv.

So, what’s l’excuse? It’s been a busy old time at the Wordporium, one that’s involved a disproportionate amount of dealing with wallies, causing La Bossa Trivialista to issue forth with her oft-quoted battle cry, “People are just NO DAMN GOOD!”* Grrr.

Anyhow, today “Loren” is helping me climb my way up la corporate ladder. It’s truly a day for meetings with short wallies men.

Anyone ferret through los piccies from La Met Gala in NYC last week? Theme was something like “Punk: From Chaos to Couture”. I think Loren’s a bit punk, non? Can’t wait to be invited to my first Met Gala. Will ask my old mate Mary K to fashion me a frock in a highly forgiving digi-print.

La’m also wearing my new Foxy top. Like its wearer, it’s neither particularly foxy nor particularly tops; it just has foxes on it. Around chest height.

Only time will tell whether fox-on-boob is the key to Monday corporate happiness.

Other excuse for radio blog silence is that I’ve truly been getting out and about.

Last week I found laself beneath los dusty rafters of the Harbour City Town Hall. Clock this amazing chandelier shot expertly from beneath.

Amazeballs, non? Hollering out to be used as inspiration for chandelearrings or a brooch.

After dusting the Town Hall pigeon poo from los shoulders, La ventured into La Strand Arcade to investigate its new guerrilla knitting installation done by some Bright Young Thing from la local Funky Artsy Fartsy Hipster College of Creativity (FAFHCC).

Love a bit of guerrilla knitting. You?

Found Laself at a worthies dinner recently where a slightly sozzled silvertail took to the stage to say a few words.

Yup, it’s Malcolm Turnbull, looking super-trim after his stint with La’s old buddy Dr Liu.  Rumours that La had had a few vinos — resulting in the blurry Malvision — may or may not be without basis.

Now, on to manstyle — one of la favourite bugbears.

Was unimpressed to clock this fella at my Mother’s Day luncheon at the Wick of Chis yesterday. (A certain Male Junior Cost Centre was bribed to pap the sight. Cost: one marshmallow. Youth these days are so easily bought.)

Weird thing was, he wasn’t even that chubby. (Nothing Dr Liu couldn’t help him sort out via a few tasty sachets.) What we have here, dear readers, is a srs case of Closet Dysmorphic Vestment Selection, i.e., wearing too-small clothes.

Really, could he not feel le shirt riding up and los dacks riding down, the whole thing srsly over-ventilating his kidney zone? Me, I hate nothing more than the feel of a chilly kidneyscape. And I thought showing the band on your Calvin Klein underdoodles was as last century as Marky Mark’s criminal past in Southy.

With that form, I hope he’s not waiting with bated breath for his invitation to La Met Gala.

x

* Have just re-read this post feel compelled to offer a clarification: as far as La’s aware, La Bossa Trivialista doesn’t think I’m no damn good (just selected others). Well, at least not as far as I’m aware…

Los specks on your screen right now would be the sand coming from La shooken, sun-drenched mane. Yup, that’s right folks – la famiglia Trivialista-Seriousimo is at la beach.

Which can only mean two things for a sun-hater like La: prawns and shopping.

Ever headed to the seaside and snaffled up a tie-dyed tote or two, a faux Camilla kaftan and a pair of rhinestone-encrusted Havaianas?

Nup, me neither. Well at least not for a decade or so.

Today I snaffled this:

La Anya Hindmarch navy sparkleclutch – half price at Toscani, Hastings Street, Noosa! La’ve been eyeing that puppy off online for about 18 months now. The whole happy experience was almost enough to restore la faith in bricks and mortar shopping.

This is the male Junior Cost Centre trying to bend it like Beckham, or do his best flamingo impression. Jury’s out. Get a load of the solo sandy bott cheek. How the hell did he manage that?

Los skies have been amazing. Have been loving them (you noticed, K Maxster!), and also loving Instagramming la hell out of them.

After a busy day wave- and clutch-chasing, Seriousmo and I are now relaxing on the sofa at la luxury rental at Sunshine Beach, the JCCs abed. Issue forth with joyful yowling. Well, let me clarify a few things: Seriousimo did not chase clutches today and knows nothing about the latest addition to la clutch arsenal (and nor will he until it has served the requisite time with the dust bunnies beneath the Marital Bed of Deceit); I’m relaxing in front of ep 1 of Game of Thrones, hoping to induce a new evening addiction that’s not Hobnobs; and Seriousmo’s relaxing by flicking through some legal briefs and draft precedents, casting the odd, loving glance at the Camilla in our marriage — la BlackBerry.

Astonishing we ended up together when you think about it.

x

Today there’s a nip in the air, heralding the imminent arrival of la favourite time of la year: chilly time. Perversely, cooler morns always make me want to head to la costa. So this frosty one los Junior Cost Centres and I hot-wheeled it to Vaucluse to break the fast at Il Grumpy Baker. And what a fracking great choice that turned out to be.

Just a trad, completely delicious brekkie menu. The Harbour City is riddled with tops brekkie gaffs, but srsly, this place is up there with the all-time top o’ the pops.

Ah, the happy situation of los scrambled googies sidling up to advocarto, which in turn is canoodling in the corner, like a horny teenager, with vine-linked oven roasted cherry tom-toms. Drool. Oh, and it being a bakery and all, homemade tostadas enchiladas. (That’s what we call toast beneath los dusty rafters of Palazzo Trivialista.)

But the true revelation was these button mushies, normally the tasteless, forsaken members of the funghi family. Here, they were lightly sauteed in beurre then mixed with some cream and softened onions. Oh my holy Pope Francis: genius.

Both Male and Female JCCs were most impressed with these little open-faced ham and cheese scenarios.

Female JCC bought us a Grumpy sourdough bread baby, freshly baked and swaddled.

Here he is. We are so proud. Mum and bub both doing well.

Afterwards, somewhat morbidly, Male JCC wanted to have a squiz at the cemetary. This triggered lots of talk about who in la famiglia Trivialista-Seriousimo would be buried and who would be “sprinkled”. Most present seemed to opt for sprinkling. Apparently Zermatt’s Matterhorn will play host to Female JCCs dusty remnants.

Shielded small innocent eyes from this on the way out of the “dead centre of Vaucluse” (Ha ha! Dad joke!). Someone’s obviously had a merry old time post-Grumpy and pre-sprinkling. Think it was the roasted cherry tom-toms and the advocarto?

Ciao — La’m off to eat my young (bread baby). x

Ok…so. Let’s say you work at Country Road. You haven’t been there long – just a few days. You’re summoned to an A/W 2013 design meeting and you’re super excited. You think, “This is my shot…my chance to make a mark. Show the buying ladies of the Wide Brown Land what this once-great label is capable of doing, of being…”

You toddle off, purposefully clutching your compendium and mini-mood boards to your fashionable chest. Full of ideas. Full of anticipation. Full of hope.

And you end up being part of a design team that creates this.

It’s about then you realise your sartorial talents would be better put to use in the road safety / fluoro vest design department of Bunnings.

There are so many crimes being committed here La doesn’t know where to begin.

First up, what evil did this innocent piece of gauzy fabric ever visit upon the designers at CR to cause them to seek such bitter revenge? Many Chinese polyesters died in the making of that bolt of cloth, and you can bet your bottom renminbi they deserved a better ending than this.

And about the visual merchandising. Can they not do better than a mannequin shoved hard up against the fire hose reel door? And why did someone in VM really think this toptunic travesty was stylish enough to feature in the flagship window in the first place?

Imagine being a poor, innocent burgher of the Harbour City. You’re blamelessly making your way to the doctor, the shops or the Wordporium, when suddenly your visual senses are assaulted with this. A sartorial trip back to 1985, and not in a good way.

According to the CR seers, the gathered drop waist — something most of us bid farewell to in Home Ec class — is back! But don’t be alarmed, they tell us: we’ve updated it by incorporating it into a tunic! In Thai restaurant waitress fabric! And after you’ve ferreted out your Stuart Membery pants to pair it with, you should exchange Marky Mumford, Florence and Bruno Mars on your iPod with Foreigner and Tears for Fears!

Oh, and book yourself a holiday to Thailand! Because if these fash travesties bother me you so much, it’s a surefire sign that it’s time to get away.

x

Am still loving la Miu Miu necklace sick, especially with la new Tibi top. Don’t tell Seriousimo about the latter or it’ll be curtains for any more Miu Miu necklaces.

The weather in la Harbour City has once more turned toxic. This was my world view en route to the Wordporium as I awaited the arrival of my mass transit vehicle. Love that Marimekko brolly — echoes la beloved Dinosaur Designs.

Lunched yesterday with LaTanna, a stratospherically glamorous friend of mine. We ate near my beloved birdcages.

Remember los birdcages? They commemorate all the little birdies, such as the White-throated Treecreeper, that no longer flit about the bowels of the Harbour City because their trees have been replaced by skyscrapers to house Wordporia.

LaTanna is a major foodie — even her dog is named after one of the world’s leading chefs, who happens to be Japanese-Australian and one of her best chums. LaTanna’s funny, smart, mega well-connected and always has top-shelf goss.

Liked this lamp tableau; might track it down for an appropriate corner in Palazzo Trivialista. Though preferably not underneath a pigeon-poo splattered rafter.

Channeling a wilder, zanier, less permanently employed woman, La drank two items from this list. With lychees. At lunchtime. On a Wordporium day. What is the world coming to? I blame that blasted clock change and early-waking Junior Cost Centres.

Lately, have found Laself pondering the concept of regret. Must be something to do with notching up another year beyond 40 35. I know, it’s a decidedly untrivial, non-small stuff topic, and I know you all like to get what it says on the packet here beneath the virtual rafters. But don’t panic — the thing La’ll rue on la deathbed came to me in a flash.  And it’s summed up in one small, ramrod-straight word: posture.

Shoulders back people.

x