Flowers.

Spring, of course reminds me that I nurse a rather serious flower fetish:

Although, since I've stopped up most of the holes in my garden beds, I now no longer take the local garden centre's rose catalogue and Botanica's Roses to read in bed during long winter nights. These days, I must admit to having this charming garden book next to my bed:

Sitting on top of Vita Sackville - West's Garden Book and In Your Garden Again inspired by her garden at Sissinghurst in the UK and a selection of Susan Irvine's books about her garden at Forest Hall in Northern Tasmania.  As Katherine Swift so succinctly states, most gardening is done in your head.

Even though my full name may be a herb rather than a flower, it still contains the word 'rose' which is lucky really, as it's my very favourite flower:

And that glorious 'coconut ice' coloured bloom in the front is 'Pierre de Ronsard', which if I had to choose only one rose to grow on a desert island, this would be it. I'm trying to festoon the front of our house with it....hopefully this season it will finally reach the second storey....it already clambers up two posts on the back veranda. It is utterly ravishing. Yet, I'm also rather partial to David Austen, Delbard and most heritage roses as I love a good story or connection.....like 'Souvenir de Malmaison' which was supposedly grown in Josephine's garden. Not in mine though, as when it flowered it treacherously turned out to be something else.

I was shamelessly flower centric when deciding on our daughter's names and each includes a bloom in their name  - Primrose for the eldest and  Camelia for the baby. In the language of flowers.....yes there is such a thing....Primrose means 'first love' and Camellia means 'graciousness'. I also toyed with Marigold and Magnolia....or 'dignity' and 'desire for riches'. Neither quite worked and unfortunately marigold's are a rather unprepossessing looking flower.....although I suppose that you can eat the petals in a salad.

Today, I took a turn around the garden looking for flowers. The camellia's were out:

Yet this was all that was left of the spring bulbs - three different daffodil varieties, muscari and forget -me - not, which, of course, is not a bulb but almost a weed:

I had more luck finding flowers inside. A Designer's Guild cushion:

And in the bedroom, a Coalport vase that belonged to my grandmother:

And a teacup and saucer that I bought at Gowans because of the foxgloves:

My favourite flowery dress is emblazoned with foxgloves:

I wore it to my 40th birthday party in our garden last year, after I spent the best part of a year weeding the waist high twitch out of it.....the garden that is:

Just before my party, my husband took me for a day trip to Melbourne to find 'the dress'. He endured sitting in numerous ladies change rooms around town all day while a friend and I conducted the search. We fortified him with steak frites and chocolate profiteroles, washed down with lashings of red wine at France Soir for lunch. I'm happy to report that his spirits didn't flag once.

This dress is a riot of sprays of flowers and birds:

I bought to wear to the Henley on Thames regatta:

I was a little bit pregnant, so was unable to make the most of the Pimm's Bar. Maybe next time.

Seeing yesterday was Thursday, I was compelled to make my weekly pilgrimage to Gowans Auctions. They were filming the new series of Auction Room with Gordon Brown:

Look how many flowers there were. A reproduction Faberge egg:

Lots of plates:

And this book of 17th century engravings, circa 1976:

Someone else was getting rid of their Princess Diana memorabilia.....only fifteen years since her tragic car accident in the Parisian tunnel which claimed her life:

What a pink larkspur......which represents 'fickleness', in case you don't speak flower.

Rx

Giveaway.

So this is a no holds barred, shameless attempt to lure more followers to subscribe to my blog. Wouldn't you love to flick through this beautiful coffee table book about some of Tasmania's gorgeous old homes:

My house isn't in this book, yet my friend Janey's is:

.....you can read all about how she chose her curtains. Old houses are something we have in abundance in Hobart. And compared to other capital cities in Australia, they cost less. If you don't believe me, click here and see for yourself.

But wait there's more. A jar of cumquat compote made by me with fruit from my own tree:

You could eat it with vanilla bean ice cream or on a fruit platter. To win the book and the compote all you have to do is become a follower. Please. Once you become a follower you are automatically in the draw. I will choose the lucky winner randomly at the end of the month.

I am a creature of habit. Thursday is Bikram Yoga, a trip to Gowans Auctions, lunch, school pick up, ensuing chaos. If you are unfamiliar with my routine, read all about a Thursday in January here. Today, I was reflecting on life in Hobart. The capital of this funny little state of Tasmania which has a population of just over 500,000. Curious things do happen here, in Hobart, every now and again. Out at Gowans rifling through the usual hotchpotch of stuff, I saw the sign for the Hamilton Inn Couch that they have on proud display in the corridor leading to where you register to bid:

Before I regale you with this fantastic tale of auction going riches beyond anyone's wildest imaginings, I must just give you an honest visual of what it's like at Gowans:

It may be an Aladdin's Cave of treasure but you really do have to sift through the crap.....and don't be deceived, it could NEVER be described as glamorous.

In 2005, an unrestored colonial red cedar couch, which had been stored in a shed, came up for auction......because the owner wanted to raise enough money for a fence:

Initially, this dishevelled piece of furniture was knocked down for $48,000. Then someone complained so bidding started again. It eventually finished at $310,800. One of the highest prices ever paid for a piece of Australian furniture. It dates from 1820 and the value was in the fact that over it's 190 year history, it had never been tinkered with. Apparently the owners kept bits that had broken off in a box with a view to restoring it in the future. Luckily they didn't. The Hamilton Inn Couch is Hobart's version of a Vermeer in the attic.

Like most of the fabulous art to come to Hobart in recent times, the Hamilton Inn Couch was paid for predominantly with gambling money. The Federal Group (which own Tasmania's two casinos as well as the license to operate all poker machines in Tasmania) purchased it and donated it to the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery. The other fabulous art in Hobart funded by gambling is David Walsh's Museum of Old and New Art, MONA. Funded in it's entirety by the spoils of gambling, which used to be tax free. Now the ATO are after David Walsh to pay a tax debt of $37 million. Was I suggesting that Hobart is dull?

R

Cycling.

My husband has recently become a MAMIL - for those of you unfamiliar with the acronym - A Middle Aged Man in Lycra. If you were to knock on my front door this sight would greet your eyes:

And this is last thing at night...all ready for a 5.30am start:

It goes without saying that we are watching Le Tour de France and cheering on Cadel Evans. When I saw The Dalai Lama's public talk in Hobart, almost three years ago, Cadel Evans (Cadel who?) introduced His Holiness. In 2008 Cadel had worn a cycling undershirt with the Tibetan flag and supported freedom for Tibet. He said: 'Trying to bring awareness of the Tibet movement is something someone in my position can do. I just feel really sorry for them. They don't harm anyone and they are getting their culture taken away from them.' I hope he wins again.

On 14 July, the stage ends at Le Cap d'Agde. A beautiful seaside resort on the Mediterranean....which is home to one of Europe's oldest and largest 'Village Naturiste'. No, not an eco town but rather a nudist colony. Over 40,000 visitors a day hang out here in peak season....they can go to the shops, the bank or even to the hairdresser....stark naked:

They are mad about naturism in this part of the South of France, there are even nudist caravan parks, if you are that way inclined....imagine. I couldn't think of anything worse.

I'm pleased to report that last week I had success at Gowans Auctions with my stingy bidding:

I was outbid on the Chinese Temple Dogs. Honestly, why would you go to a shop when you can go to an auction?

R

Unglamorous.

It really is very unglamorous being me. Today, I thought it was going to be different as I had a long overdue hairdressers appointment. At 7.50am it was cancelled. This was just after I came inside from chasing our very elderly beagles around the garden in my dressing gown and ugg boots with a cake tin (one which I never use, I'd better add) in the quest for samples of their urine. Without going into too much detail, the poor old darlings are incontinent and I'm afraid that my marriage is at risk due to arguing over who's turn it is to clean up dog pee. At a party on Friday night, even though I was wearing a dress with sparkles, I found myself having a conversation about this very problem....which can apparently be easily fixed with a tablet. I am going to get those tablets....even if I have to subject myself to such undignified behaviour first thing in the morning.

And then my baby has hand, foot and mouth disease. It sounds like a fatal diagnosis yet according to my GP it is quite common and not very serious yet it is infectious enough that she needed to wag her one day of the week at creche. I must say that to me it looks serious....some of the sores are as I imagine the first stages of leprosy must look. Luckily I'm not a doctor. She seems quite happy though:

This afternoon, after I engaged in the glorified chauffeuring that is picking my children up from school, the car just happened to drive itself out to Gowans Auctions. Look at some of the bits and pieces on offer tomorrow:

I'm contemplating indulging in some absentee bidding, as we'll be at the vet with the beagles, hopefully one step closer to the tablets.

R

Addicted.

I knew better yet I just couldn't resist. While packing school lunches this morning I ate the merest sliver of baked chocolate cheesecake even though I knew I was going to a 9.30am Bikram Yoga Class. Big mistake. By Standing Head to Knee Pose I felt the full consequences - faint, nauseous and tingly in my extremities all at one. It is a bad, bad feeling.

So now I have declared a moratorium on doing our tax until after the school holidays which start this afternoon. I'm not going to kid myself - four children and time to do tax...it's never going to happen. Sometimes I think about back in the day when I used to manage the Trust Account for our business, how did I ever do that? I've never been gifted at maths  - l'll fess up that I did veggie maths at school. Then I  console myself that I did manage to get a First Class Honours Degree........the problem being that it is in Art Theory.

Anyway I digress. I have been musing about addiction and what I might admit to being addicted to. This is what gives me heart palpitations and sweaty palms if I go cold turkey. You are welcome to either laugh or cry.

1. Green Tea:

To be honest, most days I knock back five or even six cups. I know this is too much because if I don't drink it, I get a headache. Don't be put off by my teacup, it is a 'breakfast cup' and has the dimensions of a bucket. Actually, I used to like coffee (a good old Australian flat white). Actually, that would be an understatement. We took an espresso machine to hospital when I had Mimi. And then three years ago an old school friend and I went and had a week at The Golden Door in the Hunter Valley. There was a time when we would have roared with laughter if someone from the future had told us that we would move heaven and earth to have our families looked after so that we could detox, diet and exercise our heads off. We used to be a tad hedonistic when we got together (she has lived in Melbourne, London and Launceston to my Sydney, South of France and Hobart). So, for a whole week, we gave up caffeine, alcohol and red meat and got up every morning in time to do tai chi while the sun rose. For about six months I drank no caffeine and then it started sneaking in in the guise of green tea. Alcohol, unfortunately was another story, I'm ashamed to admit that we broke out the bubbly on the flight home from the Golden Door, much to our fellow inmates glee!

2. Bikram Yoga:

I try and go to Bikram Yoga classes at Studio Newtown at least five times a week. Otherwise, I get the above listed withdrawal symptoms. I have been a convert since my first class in Hobart three years ago. As it is an international phenomenon, I have been to Bikram Yoga classes in Hobart, Sydney, Bali and I tried to go in Paris yet was turned away as it was only five weeks since my fourth caesarian. I tried. I have also been to garden variety yoga classes in Bali, in the gorgeous gardens at the Ayana and overlooking the ocean at the Karma Kandara and in India, on the roof of the Lake Palace and on a hilltop at the Devi Garh. Not last year, but the year before, when I was pregnant and living in the South of France, I used to lug myself into the cobbled streets of Beziers at least twice a week to go to classes at the Yoga Centre. It was a world away from extreme, sweaty, scantily clad Bikram Yoga (which was three hours away in Marseilles). Genevieve must have been in her sixties yet looked twenty years younger. In class, her hair was always 'coiffed' and she wore full 'macquillage' and colour matched her toenail polish with her yoga outfit - her fingernails were always an immaculate French polish. Are there any other Bikram Yoga practitioners out there reading this reading this to appreciate the humour?! I learnt the French words for every body part along with stock standard yoga poses - Chien qui Tombe, anyone?


Earlier this year I did a week long seminar with Bikram Choudhury himself. You can read all about it in graphic detail here, here, here, here and here. Say what you will about him but he really is a walking advert for the yoga that he sells - can you believe that he's over seventy (that's him in the middle of the picture in the speedos with his hair in a bun)? I think I'd rather have yoga than botox any day.

Bikram Yoga is a ninety minute open eye meditation where you also get to work your body inside and out. As extreme as it sometimes seems, in class, I have NEVER seen anybody come to any physical  harm. At my last Body Pump class at a gym in town, they had to get an ambulance for someone who was having a heart attack.

3. Gowans Auctions:

Thursday is viewing day. Yesterday, I had to fight every fibre of my being to stop myself heading out to Main Road, Moonah to check out what was on offer - maybe this week that unknown 'thing' that I didn't realise that I couldn't live without just might be there. My reaction caused me to investigate the whole addiction question. Let me tell you, in my life, on Thursdays all roads lead to Moonah, either by car or, I have even been known to rollerblade from the Cenotaph along the Cycleway, which conveniently runs just behind the auction sheds.....with a double pram. Last Thursday, I mistakenly took the children and bought a Wendy House. It maxed out the credit card. It has to be the ultimate way to go shopping, the stock changes every week and then there is the rush involved in trying to choose the price. Unfortunately you can't always call it cheap thrills as it can be ruinously expensive....and everything in between. Last week you could have bought the entire six volume set of Gibbon's 'The History of Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire' or a brand new, stainless steel, freestanding Smeg cooker, if you were so inclined. I bought the Wendy House:

Note to self, remember NOT to take the children out to Gowans. However, I might just have a quick look at the catalogue for what's up in next week's auction.....online.

R

Taxidermy.

So I have to confess to nurturing a taxidermy fetish. I readily admit that there is an element of the macabre to all this. Yet to me taxidermy transcends just plain old 'dead' by recognising beauty in the natural world. While it is a memento mori it is also a reminder of life and isn't the relationship between life and death always complex and intertwined? I try and justify it by the fact that nearly all of my bits and pieces have been found second, third, fourth hand or more at the Aladdin's Cave that is Gowans Auctions and have been rescued from being somebody else's cast offs to my treasure.

Without a doubt, the jewel in my taxidermy crown is a rather dishevelled zebra skin:

You can see by the holes and the patches where the hair has rubbed off that it has been dead for a long time and that I obviously wasn't responsible for killing it. It was an utter bargain selling under the hammer for a mere $320. My children used to pat it and while playing with animal figurines at creche used to tell people that they had a zebra at home.....'Of course you do'! They did.

The only other animal (or part of an animal) that we have is a deer:

And a painting of a deer by local Hobart artist Helen Wright:

My first foray into taxidermy was collecting butterflies which, as you can see I set about with some dedication:

The iridescent turquoise specimen came from the ultimate taxidermy mecca  that is Deyrolle in the Rue du Bac, on the Left Bank in Paris. An almost encyclopaedic range of taxidermied animals are all on display and for sale - polar bears, lions, bunny rabbits, chickens, you name it from the animal kingdom and then there are drawers full of butterflies and insects and cabinets full of shells. I only had room in the suitcase for one butterfly.

Have you seen Woody Allen's 'Midnight in Paris'? One of the fabulous after midnight jaunts back in time was to a party set amongst the taxidermy at Deyrolle.

I've been spending a bit of time thinking about painting our front door.....and my first voice was pink. You won't be surprised to hear that my husband wasn't so keen on that particular shade. So I've also been toying with blues and greens. Today, while bogged down doing our tax (yes, I know it's a bit late) I investigated feng shui  colours for front doors. After I took the compass reading to determine that our door faces North West I discovered that the colours which will support and nourish the chi entering our home are silver, gold, white, yellow and........magenta. Bingo. Just to clarify I checked Magenta on Wikipedia and I quote that it is 'a bright purple pinkish colour'. Now my husband went to a boy's school around town which sports a bright pink stripe on the blazer to which they are indoctrinated to believe is NOT pink but Magenta. And magenta has even more special, manly, connotations as it alludes to the colour of blood spilt at the 1859 Battle of Magenta in Italy. So guess what, I've got the thumbs up to go magenta on the door. And I'm seeing something like this:

Source: Doorgasm

What do you think?