La Trivialista

And so off the famiglia caravana trudged westward, as is our yearly wont, to expose the Junior Cost Centres to babies drinking Coke through teats, toddlers sporting mohawks and head carvings, adults missing many bottom teeth and more body art than one can poke a fairy floss-covered stick at.

Yup, the Sydney Royal Easter Show.

As usual, proof that los mothering standards are constantly on the slide was not hard to come by. Here’s just one of the many carny-built contraptions La actively encouraged the JCCs to go on.

Little fella JCC just never seems to grow fast enough for his liking. Here he is gazing wistfully at yet another heightist sign barring him from entry to a carny contraption. La suspects he could also be picking his nose. Or finding himself downwind of a less-than-salubrious Easter Show odour.

This little rather large piggy went to market. Well, technically not to market; rather to a Donald-Trump-style-Miss Universe ‘meat market’ pageant of the porcine world, where she found herself roundly objectified and judged on her weight, complexion and fairness of face.

After her swimsuit parade, she hot-hoofed it back to her pen, where she multitasked — resting while feeding her Junior Cost Centres — like any diligent, hard-working mum.

La just wishes someone had done the decent thing and removed the steaming wodge of piggy poo near her sleepy head before she dozed off.

We love los cows.

Someone once told La a failsafe way to tell a dairy moo from a meat moo: when viewed from the top, the former’s torso is shaped like a teardrop, and the latter’s like a rectangle.  Thoughts, farming people?

Couldn’t get high enough at the show to test this method. Sadly for La, big big shoes are verboten west of Five Dock; might need to unexpectedly run away from scary local folk missing teeth.

We fell in love — all over again — with the O’Packers (as Male JCC calls them).

Who could resist this face?

Here’s Mrs O’Packer at her own meat market parade… dealing well, though, with the critically appraising eyes and general objectification.

Trap for young players: beware los animal pats. Even in sale-shopped $40 ballet flats. A soleful of this stuff is an indignity that should not be visited upon even the cheapest of shoes.

But despite the beauty parades, evidence of infant malnutrition, inappropriately situated poo and fascist height directives, sure as Easter eggs we’ll be back next year.

x

So these were los hoofers all Bionda Castana-ed en route to meeting Mary at David Jones last week. When the hell will La learn to invest in regular pedicures, I ask you?

And don’t be nasty about the crazily long second toe — we all have our embarrassments of heredity.

Here’s the hugely stylish Ms GOS, who kindly blagged me into the Mary meet-and-greet on her invite. She’s a more valued customer of David Jones than La; mostly all I do is complain here beneath the virtual dusty rafters about how shop-soiled their goods are these days.

GOS wore “Georgie” by Piamento, the label of my lovely friend, Ms Jo Wondermaker. Do yourself a favour and click over there and away from here pronto. A couple of days after this photo was taken, Georgie Gardiner had a srsly self-referential clothing moment on the Today show, and also wore “Georgie”.

Aren’t GOS and I a veritable riot of print? Los coppers should have been after us with truncheons and tear gas.

So, off we set to bring about a reunion between my Dorchester blouse and its maker.

And here she is!

Los frocks were amazing, but GOS and La concurred that the models were too skinny, poor chickens. La must be getting old; used to feel envious of girls that slim, now I just want to force-feed them roast lamb and a generous helping of la special sticky date pud.

During a Q&A with Vogue ed Edwina McCann, Mary was charming, bright, unaffected, smart and generous with her time and answers. When Ms McCann called for questions from the assembled disciples members of the audience, La pounced, and asked Mary for the story of my Dorchester blouse.

She was visibly thrilled to see me wearing it (or, I guess, to see someone wearing it). She may even have been heard to squeal.

She said when she designed that collection she thought about her ideal windows, ideal doors, ideal chandeliers, ideal tables, ideal vistas, ideal flowers — you name it in terms of the elements we see in rooms. She loved doing it, and enjoyed being an interior designer as well as a fashion designer for a season.  So amazing to have the chance to hear from someone what they were thinking when they designed an item of clothing you love.

After that, Mary and I were besties.  Here we are.  She is compact in terms of height, and improbably young.

See?  “With all my love”. We are truly one.

As La’ve long said, there is indeed something about Mary.

x

So, today was awesome.

I met Mary.

I had my photo taken with Mary.

Mary was visibly moved by the fact I was wearing her Dorchester blouse.

Suffice to say, Mary and La are pretty much besties.

But – sadly – that’s where we leave it for now, as the Glamour of motherhood has once again intruded upon the fabulousness of fashion, and La’m at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital with a crook female Junior Cost Centre.

Right now, Mary’s probably having her toes kissed by textile design students and her hair fondled by Vogue editors. And I’m surrounded by red-faced, steaming, squealing, poorly infants. But hey ho. Nothing can break our bond.

More tomorrow, plus PICS.

X

A little while ago, this dodgy, fine-textured powder that has a srs effect on one’s nasal passages found its way into the Palazzo Trivialista postbox, evidently passing beneath la radar of the NSW Drug Squad.

It was from La Mamma Trivialista in the Bane of Bris. It’s her world-famous curry powder, which she learned how to make at her “Entertaining for Moderns” course in approximately 1983.

Here’s a much annotated and splodged copy of the recipe.

La thought it might be a good way to induct the loin fuits into the Hall of Spice. So I set about cooking.

It’s très retro in its sensibilities, the accompanying recipe. Contains apples and sultanas. Some people despise the thought of meatflesh and fruitstuffs cottaging and frottaging up to one another, but I do not count myself among their number.

OK, so this photo won’t cause Petrina Tinslay to break into a sweat about competition from La anytime soon, but you can’t deny this piccie gets your salivas going.

As would this one:

See, apparently these are key to getting Junior Cost Centres to eat curries. And at our Palazzo we don’t dum our pappas the healthy way like Mamma Trivialista used to, in the microwave — no sirree bob. We deep fry ’em. Only downside is the stench of smelly, expired cooking oil that lingers beneath the dusty rafters long after it’s welcome.

Everything seemed to meet with the female JCC’s approval. Favour curried, job well done. Thanks Mamma Triv.

Something’s going on with the Consumer gods right now. Not sure what it is but damn sure I don’t like it.

Hot on the heels of Macleans discontinuing la beloved Mildmint Protect fangpaste, Net-A-Porter seems to have erased — either through error or design — La’s entire Wishlist (what you want) and Closet (what you got) from their site. How the hell is Seriousimo supposed to be guided on birthday and Christmas purchases I ask you?

La’ve invested vast quantities of precious, valuable work time into building that Wishlist. Every bag, top, frock, pant and pump was judiciously selected with an eye on me lunching in St Tropez (with impeccably behaved Junior Cost Centres who would of course be reading Nicholas in French), sipping ouzo-based cocktails at sunset on Skopelos and strolling nonchalantly through St Germain-des-Pres, being asked for directions because I bore such a startling resemblance to a local. All that effort, all those dreams…for nowt.

Have sent the NAPsters a suitably stroppy email. Let’s hope I can wish la Wishlist — and la more glamorous life — back into existence STAT.

x

One thing you might not know about La is what a fiercely loyal creature she is. See this much-squeezed, much-loved tube?

Well you’re unlikely to see it for much longer, as it’s been discontinued.  Thank you GlaxoSmithKline and your silly run-together-with-the-odd-capital-letter name! Don’t you know La’ve used this Macleans Freshmint fangpaste and its sibling, Mildmint, since La literally sprouted fangs? Shame on you and your discontinuation.

La distress has led to panic buying from various chemist direct sites… only to result in (soon to be smelly) sighs of disappointment when the paste that arrives turns out to be the allegedly new and improved Macleans — with red, white and blue stripes. Blecchhh.

Thank los gods La Triv has access to this, her virtual organ of latrivialista.com — ’cause pretty soon you might not want to commune with me face-to-face.

Poor old Signor Seriousimo, who’s such a good sport when it comes to doing as he’s told. He’s now using the vile tri-stripe so that what’s left of the old fave can be conserved for La’s fangalistas. In response to the most recent bout of weeping, wailing and tearing of vestments, he was possibly heard to mutter, “You know, you might just have to let it go,” or possibly not. To speak such blasphemy would be the act of a braver man than him.

So — because in the near future la breath could be smelly and los fangalistas furry, figure it will be best to blind people with a cracking digi-print.

With the help of the srsly stylish Ms GOS (she owned the requisite DJs Amex card, me having chopped mine up declined to continue my membership), I bought this with a whopping 50 per cent off. I know, that’s a reduction of almost northern hemispheric proportions.

Yup, Mary. Mary with an orange sale dot = even better. And guess what? This Friday GOS and La will be meeting her in the ladyflesh.

Time for los pointy elbows to come out so I secure a pic. So what to wear when La meets the lady herself  — Cake-A-Flake frock or Dorchester blouse?

Vote now!

This past Saturday La Trivialista ticked over another number closer to the grave. Well, that’s los pessimistalistas’ view of birthdays. Not mine but!

Day started with an omelette cooked by the female Junior Cost Centre. Have to say, it’s fab when those JCCs start returning on one’s investment. It was topped with herbs grown beneath los dusty rafters of Palazzo Trivialista, as well as some general green foliage that I’m not sure passes as foodstuff. But that girl has a top eye for presentation.

Seriousimo outdid himself with this little morsel.

Yup, srsly. Love it sick.

Boated to dinner with some ladyfriends, as you do when you live in the Harbour City.

Only slightly alarming part was that there was no jetty. WE HAD TO CLIMB OVER THE LIP OF THIS WHARF in our big shoes and fine frocks. Yup, all of our little noggins literally popped over the edge. If fellow Finger Wharf diners were amused by the sudden materialisation of five ladies from beneath the boards so regularly trod by Rusty Crowe and John Laws, they hid it well.

Hopefully los ladies will all still be my friends after the tube’s empty.

x

Today, La did something very un-Trivish. It involved a long trip up la Parramatta Road. It involved discount shopping. And it involved jostling between large trolleys and small, aggressive, pointy-elbowed, multi-generational families.

La went to *deep breath* Costco.

Am soooo late to la party (as usual). But that place is more fracking amazing than a slew of coal seam gas profits. I walked around with la mouth agog, touching stock, fondling price tags, looking sideways for another newbie with whom to share my wonderment and awe. (Gods bless Jan from Terrey Hills, who stepped into the breach in the cold cuts aisle.)

Need a massive flat screen with your 15 loaves of bread and 12 litres of milk?

Or perhaps some Swarovski figurines with your…

Or what about a…

…with your chafing dish?

Sounds painful, non? But if the chafing exacts too high a toll, you could recline on your chaise “lounge”…

…while you nibble away at your whole San Daniele prosciutto at only – wait for it, smallgoods fans – $28 dollares a kilo! At that price you’d have enough spare coin to hire Javier Bardem to feed it to you.

Loo roll, kitchen towel, razors for los Seriousimo face bristles, giant yoghurts, body moisturiser, wheat fields of pasta, udders of sliced cheese, hand wash, a lasagne for the Junior Cost Centres (Seriousimo was on the receiving end of a sky-high, disapproving Trivialista eyebrow when he made an off-colour joke about horse mince), a done-and-dusted antipasto platter for tomorrow evening’s guests (you know who you are, WonderWandies!), and a few of these bargain basement beauties…

Who doesn’t love a Danish pat?

However, all this cheapness came at a cost.

Yee-ouch. That’s almost a Mary Katrantzou dress there. Suspect overspending during one’s first trip to Costco is a trap for young players.

Next time I’ll take a list — and a smaller trolley.

x

So, here’s little Carey Mulligan looking fetching in Gatsby mode.

L’am too scared to tell her how much I love her cherubic-faced, embryo-aged hubby, Marky Mumford. That bloke is a chubby little musical genius.

Here he is in action in the SiriusXM studios in LA with his banjo-plucking sons. WARNING to readers of delicato sensibilities: he really lays into the big marquee f-word  in this number — and all the better, La says.

La just can’t get enough of those former public school boys who go a bit rough’n’ready and rock’n’roll. And yes I’m talking to you, Chris Martin and Co. Now, eyes to the front of the room and pay attention or there’ll be detention.

Srsly, if you’re ever stuck at computer with nothing to do (as if) — or even with loads of really important stuff to do — have a look at Sirius’s live sessions channel on YouTube. Pink singing “Who Knew” is an absolute revelation. That woman has one srs set of pipes.

Time for a reader poll. Why is it — apart from geographical convenience — that I always go here…

…for one of these ricotta and blueberry monsters…

…before I go here?

It’s never going to end well stuffing one’s freshly de-toxed face (better than bo-toxed face) full of muffin before flicking through the rails at a skinnylady store like S&T.

Bless those Scanlans, though, as I still managed to find a couple of extra special somethings.

Mystery bloom of the day:  anyone know what they are? Love them, as do the Fat Bird and the blue sofa.

Watched the Foxtel IQed Oscars last night. Overall, yawwwwwn. When it came to commentary, though, Signor Seriousimo left Seth McJuvenile eating his dust. Highlights from the big man included:

“Sheesh, there’s lots of songs.”

“That girl in the foofy dress who won the Oscar tripped over on purpose! That was just some kind of publicity stunt.” (WTF-?!?! What kind of prima donna, attention-seeking antics is that man used to putting up with?!?)

“That Ang Lee’s a great bloke. He’s the only one who had the decency to thank his lawyer.”

Happy Thursday x

Since La received my “eating plan” from Dr Liu last week, you know, the one Chairman Mao laughed uproariously at in la last post, I’ve been taking a different path and partaking of the finer fruits of the earth.

Due to his recommendation that La eats no more than half a Lebanese cucumber each day for seven days, plus sachets of sino-sludge, Dr Liu and I have temporarily parted ways.

La celebrated this divorce and the end of a super-busy stint at the Wordporium with a drink with Bateman’s Bay at Palmer & Co, where, happily, we bumped into Sarah Terrific-Home and her chums Wenty and Becster.

Bateman’s and I met at 5, and I figured I’d be home to relieve La Nanny Trivialista by 6.30, 6.45 at a pinch.

But believe it or not, La Lushalista tottered out of there on los towering Bionda Castanas at 10.15.

Signor Seriousimo was gracious enough not to make a big deal of la late repatriation to the palazzo in such a ruffled state. Bless that bloke.

Was still feeling ever-so-slightly grog-poisoned yesterday morning; yep, it proved to be that wiliest of beasts, the nasty two-day hangover.

So I dragged the Junior Cost Centres off to Eveleigh Markets so Kylie Kwong could personally cook me an organic, locavore, super-sustainable restorative street food brekkie of pork buns.

Those markets are so awesome; love them sick.

The male Junior Cost Centre chose market-appropriate neckwear.

And the girlchild coordinated her rain-repelling attire.

“Holy crepe!” we cried in unison, then went in for the kill.

La was in bloom heaven.

There are loads of happy poochalistas at Eveleigh.

And L’am back on the bean, but only one a day.

Lord knows what Dr Liu would make of all this. Think I prefer the Kylie Kwong regime to his, though.

Ciao x

It’s been busy busy busy here at the Wordporium. Los pod colleagues and La have been squeezing important words out like a bunch of egg-laying hens.

But today, my words fly off into the ether and la work here is done. Or I should say then it’s back to just la normal grind of producing words with far fewer material ramifications for the share portfolios of Wide Brown Land citizens.

So today, la cloak of seriousness is to be shed for what this blog does best – superficiality, surface and frippery.

Yup, it’s time for some fash. And today, it’s all about Mary.

Here I am in my much-teasured Dorchester blouse by l’amazing Mary Katrantzou. Sadly, these days every two-bit starlet harbouring dreams of starring in her own sex tape is frocking up in Mares, but La’s fanhood goes back a long, looooong way. Like, 2.5 years or something. (That sound fash enough?!)

Because I am Mary’s BFF on Facebook, I’ve been flicking through her latest collection from London Fash Week, and, boy, does that girly know her way around a digi-print.

We love Mary here beneath los dusty rafters* of Palazzo Trivialista.

We also love Emma Cook — she’s a whiz with a digi too. How gorgeous is this summer holiday silky top? Thing about a fab digi is that it does so much more than merely protect one’s modesty.

And how cool would your loin fruits think you were if you got about in a silk sharky tunic?

Maybe it says something about my predatory, perpetually starving loinies that they would really dig me in this. Maybe your Junior Cost Centres are more the panda/koala digi-print-types. Each to their own.

To do my Dorchester justice I’ve strapped on some Bionda Castanas, seconds sold to me über cheap by my other fash bestie, Natalia (the Castana in Bionda Castana).

Srsly l’am so, so tall in these shoes, I feel like an all-towering, all-powerful deity. Obviously pretty much how my six-foot-one chum Bateman’s Bay feels 24/7.

Meeting Batemans this afternoon for a drink at one of Justin Hemmes’s gaffs, Palmer & Co. Does that man now own every single watering hole in the Harbour City? Feels like it. But he gives good mojito, so we’ll suffer on.

“Triv, what happened to your abstinence and sino-sludge starvation cleanse regimen?” I hear you ask. More on that later. Suffice to say, L’am no longer a contender for Red Star Weight Loss Superstar of the Week.

Chairman Mao, reading La Triv’s “eating plan” from Dr Liu and finding it near impossible to mask his amusement. “It’s the Great Chinese Famine of ’61 all over again,” he thinks.

Happy Thursday x

* Oops, La accidentally typed “farters”. La keyboard is obviously onto La Poocha Trivialista, Diggers’s, dirty, stinky secret. I promise we’ll take him to the vet. Soon.

Here La am, live-blogging from starvation cleanse central.

Had a major wobble last night – that shepherd’s pie I’d prepared for los famiglia troops proved just too tempting, what with its cheesy gratinated mash top and alluring sprinkle of paprika…

And let’s not get into my — ahem — testing of the leftover choc-dipped strawberries I’d prepared to sit atop pancakes for the JCCs as a Shrove Tuesday treat.

Sheesh — I think I’m becoming a “feeder”. (For the elucidation of los readers in Bulgaria who may be unsure of my meaning, rest assured I tried to link to more information but the pics on every single “feeders” web page are wa-hay too eye-popping. They are also what La’ll look like if I don’t ease up on the caramel slice and come round to Dr Liu’s way of thinking STAT.)

However, all’s back on track this morning. But why does that track always seem so much easier to be back on in the morning, and so hard at 5 o’clock in the afternoon?

Was told by Dr Liu at the centre yesterday that once I’m burdening the earth with six kilos less of my mass, he will give me my “eating plan”.

Don’t get excited though, as La sneaked a peek at one last week and noticed los words “lebanese cucumber” featured prominently. Scanned and scanned for mentions of Toby’s Estate caramel slice and shepherds pie, to no avail.

However, it’s not all sino-sludge, bone-crushing massage and 41 acupuncture pins here. Each morning I get to entertain myself with gems such as this: a mint condition 1983 Cleo.

L’article that caught my eye, of course, was “Superbodies — is perfection worth all the pain?” Ah, dunno…ask me when the 41st pin goes into my right shin.

Here’s Linda, Heather, Christie and Jane going at it. Don’t you just love Linda’s white legwarmers? Apparently her astrologer helped her remain in tip-top shape for all those ’80s years of glittery Dynasty frocks. Personally, I’d be happy to borrow a few sets of her power-suit shoulder pads from back in the day — think they’d balance los hips out nicely. Then La could bid huí tóu jiàn to Dr Liu and my mugs of sino-sludge for-evuh.

Huí tóu jiàn.