Cheers.

Up in my Hobart 'hood, on a still day you can smell the cloyingly heavy yeasty pong of barley and hops being turned into beer at nearby the Cascade Brewery:

Which is funny really, as the Governor, after whom my street was named, has gone down in the annals of Tasmanian history as nothing more than a drunken profligate. He may have been the son of of a woman called Temperance, yet he exhibited anything but, and is famous to this day for having invented a celebrated punch concoction called the 'Blow My Skull'.....a potent combination of rum, brandy, citrus, sugar, water and BEER. Luckily, 'The governor having an impenetrable cranium, and an iron frame could take several goblets of the alcoholic fluid, and walk away as lithe and happy as possible'. In a colony awash with booze, he spent a lot of his time drunk.

Some fifty years later, Henry Jones did not. He was a very strict teetotaller. He was also a local boy made good. Famous for starting work at age 12 in the Jam Factory down on the Hobart waterfront pasting labels on tins, he went on to own the company and became the first Tasmanian knighted.

Sir Henry Jones was a local entrepreneur with international interests - he had a finger in what seemed like every pie and created his enormous success through not only jam but also tin mining, fruit growing and shipping.  His personal motto was 'I excel in everything I do'. And he did. Our house was built for one of his nine daughters (he also had three sons) on the occasion of her marriage. He then built the two houses next door for other daughters.....one of which later became the childhood home of the errant, notorious, womanising cad, Errol Flynn.

These days the local Hobart boy made good that everybody is talking about is David Walsh. He with the deep, deep pockets....deep enough to have created MONA.....a personal museum, a monument to himself. All financed by his intricate gambling systems. It's been described as 'a subversive Disneyland for adults' and it really is extraordinary. It has changed the whole dynamic of Hobart tourism, suddenly punters aren't so interested in wading through the grim convict ruins of the past but rather are coming down by the plane load to marvel, star struck, at the heavily sex and death oriented exhibits in David's museum.

But destination MONA is not just about the art, they also grow and make Morilla wine and Moo Brew beer.....if you find yourself entering the parallel universe of a MONA event (Dark MOFO is next on the calendar in June, quick get your tickets) and drinking David's grog you will no doubt giggle that the plastic glasses in which they serve the beer are emblazoned with the logo 'Not suitable for Bogans'. Yes, really.

And then of course there's the local girl made good. Mary Donaldson, who met her future husband in a Sydney pub and went on to become a.....Crown Princess. I must admit to feeling somewhat ripped off as I too met the bloke I would ultimately marry in a pub....which resulted in my move from the big smoke of Sydney.....to Hobart. Last time Crown Princess Mary came back for a visit to her childhood home of Hobart, she embraced being a.....housewife.....by renting a home in the Hobart 'burbs and driving her family around in a family wagon. I suppose that Marie Antoinette, Queen of France used to play at being a milkmaid.

Anyway, why wouldn't you want to be a Hobart housewife? Although I'm afraid that I'm taking a mini break and moving my particular brand of domesticity off shore for the next three and a half months. See you when we get to France!

Rx

Visitors.

So what do you do in Hobart when you have visitors from the mainland? Over the last week we dedicated ourselves to the cause and engaged in some serious tourist behaviour......Hobart style.

We journeyed up to the top of Mt Wellington and looked down on Hobart.....which really does appear small and insignificant from such an elevated vantage point:

We ate cake at Sweet Envy......after seeing the stunning 'Life of Pi' in 3D at the fabulously converted State Cinema in North Hobart:

And we went to dinner at Piccolo, which used to be our favourite restaurant around town until we succumbed to the hype of Garragistes....we were wondering why we had left it literally years between meals.....especially as it accepts bookings and look how delicious the food is:

And OF COURSE, as 400,000 people did last year, we went and worshipped at the temple of David Walsh....submerging ourselves for the day at the 'subversive Disneyland for adults' which is (MONA):

Our visitors were lucky enough to score a double dose of the bizarreness which drives the whole David Walsh/MONA bandwagon, as last week was also the MONA festival of music and art, MONA FOMA, to which we all acquired festival passes:

Colloquially, it's referred to as MoFo.....which is a little bit rude, although maybe not as bad as the full word that it's short for. Even our premier referred to it by this moniker out loud on opening night.....the curator Bryan Ritchie from the 'Violent Femmes', who now resides in Hobart, couldn't help himself and had to make mention of much he loves to hear her say it.

We went to four of the five nights of music.....and might just have made it to five if we hadn't snuck in one rather early morning at the disturbingly decrepit and decadent festival nightclub, Faux Mo:

Regardless, we still experienced all manner of acts including a Spanish band kitted out in cowboy hats who played surf music, an Ethiopian Jazz singer, the French Orchestre Nationale de Jazz which played music for Robert Wyatt (who wasn't even there), an insanely boring organ recital in the Town Hall and on Sunday night, the piece de la resistance.....David Byrne and St Vincent.

When they came back for their first encore, Annie Clark recounted how she'd first heard David Byrne's music as a five year old watching the movie 'Revenge of the Nerds' and that she never would have imagined in her wildest dreams that she'd be playing a gig on stage with him.......in Tasmania. And she was.

Rx

PS While waiting for a concert out the front of the shed amongst the debris from the end of the world......which was how they'd decorated for MoFo.....I was chatting to a dad from school who, back in the mists of time had worked on 'Countdown'. I was recounting the anecdote of introducing our children to 'The Cockroaches' who turned into 'The Wiggles' and guess what....it's true.....Molly may have had a special relationship with the purple Wiggle. And there I was believing that it was just an urban myth for housewives.

Here.

Yesterday, I went to the hairdresser. Oh the luxury of two hours where magazine consumption is de rigueur. And where they bring you cups of tea. The bliss. Sitting in the salon in Hobart, I started reminiscing about having my hair done in France. Because, can you believe that for colouring hair,  while Australian hairdresser's favourite kitchen roll is aluminium foil, French hairdresser's use cling wrap instead. Strange but true.

Over the eight months that we were in France I only went  to the hairdresser's twice. Initially, because I was too terrified that my French wouldn't be up to not only making the appointment but then, once I was in, ensuring that I didn't accidentally ask for short, brown or curly hair which in all honesty just doesn't suit me. Luckily, I made friends with Nicole who conveniently had a very similar hair do to me - blonde highlights, longish with straight layers. She facilitated the whole thing with her hairdresser in Beziers and it was the best hair I've EVER had. Disaster averted. Later on, after I had given birth in French, I deemed myself linguistically ready for anything.....even a cut and colour at a swanky Parisian salon under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower where I would have to negotiate the whole show myself. Mercifully, it worked.

So, back to the magazines. Flicking through the August issue of 'Harper's Bazaar' I was reassured that puffer's really are in fashion. See, there was a whole page dedicated to how to wear them:

Admittedly, not the stock standard black Kathmadu puffer sported by most Hobartians and that I too have in my wardrobe, yet surely the same rules apply? I wonder what mine would look like teamed with my Stuart Weitzman black patent leather wedges. Or do I need to shell out the best part of $6,000 for the Burberry Prorsum puffer to carry this look off? Might have to workshop the Kathmandu. One of the founder's of Kathmandu calls Tasmania home and Wikipedia says that she is the fourth richest woman in Australia......I wonder if she has the Burberry puffer?

The same magazine also had a double page spread showing fabulous things do while spending a weekend in an Australian capital city. And lo and behold, Hobart was included:

Because, Hobart now has MONA - the Museum of Old and New Art.....built by ultra eccentric Hobartian, David Walsh, who loves art and is very clever at gambling and winning mind-blowing amounts of money. Enough to fund both the art and the museum.....reputedly $180 million dollars worth. But now the Australian Tax Office is on to him...they've changed the rules around gambling profits so David owes them $37 million. It really is worth the trip to Hobart to see MONA....which, is free admission if you can produce a Tasmanian Drivers Licence (or a second head, so they say) and $20 for everybody else.

Coincidentally, we went on a family outing to MONA, on Sunday. My husband and our eldest son rode their bikes down our driveway and all the way there and back....40 odd kilometres:

The rest of us went in the car. The children insisted on seeing their favourite artworks. Of course the boys are enamoured with Wim Delvoye's 'Cloaca'....a digestive machine which is regularly fed and ultimately produces, yes, you guessed it.....poo:

(Source: The Mercury Online)

 and Erwin Wurm's 'The Fat Porshe':

(Source: The Mercury Online)

The girls prefer the soundproofed room where TV screens show 30 fans singing Madonna's 'Immaculate Collection' album all at the same time.....and with abandon:

However, this time we really went to see the new exhibition 'The Theatre of the World' curated by a Frenchman using David's collection and various bits and pieces from the TMAG. Truly, could you ever believe that in Hobart you would ever see a Picasso and a Damien Hirst in the same place at the same time. It is amazing. Put it on the list and go to MONA.

And of course, no article about Hobart these days is complete without a mention of Garagistes and quite rightly as it really is a fabulous food experience. I can't believe that we haven't been there since January.....might have to put it back on our list.

So when you're finished with art and food, this article suggests that you should spend the night at the beautiful Islington Hotel. I have daydreamed of staying there.......escaping for a night, away from the rigours of domesticity, to the Islington. Yet it's just too close to home.....let's face it, it wouldn't be quite the same experience if the children wandered up the road and materialised at the door. So escape, for us has to be further afield. And I'm liking the suggestion of the Freycinet Peninsula.....husband if you happen to be reading this, let's go.

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

Surprise.

I had every good  intention of going to yoga today. Yet the sight that greeted my eyes when I opened them this morning was this:

A surprise Valentine's Day, two days early. How could I not succumb and join in the festivities. Milly, the French baby did, showing a proclivity for champagne at such a tender age:

So then I ate this delicious nutella crepe made by my husband for breakfast and washed it down with champagne and it was too late for yoga or anything other than hedonistic V Day behaviour :

I did wonder where all this was leading and was further surprised by the knock on the door at 12.30pm. Abracadabra it was a babysitter. So what happened next? I frocked up in this:

And was whisked off to an undisclosed location. As we were driving along the Brooker Highway I was momentarily worried that we were going to the Hobart Cup. Mercifully we kept driving......to MONA and the Source Restaurant:

It is one of my favourite restaurants. The food was fabulous. I ate this slow roasted duck with mango, palm heart, basil and olive licorice:

While Kim had the pork special with blood sausage:

We shared this curious combination of rhubarb and beetroot amalgamated as a salad - look how vibrantly pink it was:

How could we not have desert? Mine was Brioche Pain Perdu with eggnog and milk icecream:

Whike Kim predictably went the chocolate praline option:



Seeing we were there, and for once without children, we gave into temptation and went down into the bowels of the museum and finally ventured beyond the red curtains and into the red area with the content warning. I won't rush back, as compared to other parts of the museum I found it somewhat gratuitous and hollow.

And then we had a turn around the Wim Delvoye exhibition. Have you ever wondered what a tatooed adult pigs tatooed skin hung on the wall would look like? I hadn't yet now that I've seen I'm surprised by how faded and almost transparent the Disney images and Louis Vuitton patterns looked. And what were those lipstick marks framed on posh hotel letterhead?.........Yes, really.

The real show stopper was cloaca world - a display of numerous machines which when fed, food usually from the cafe upstairs, turn it into stools. Not convinced? Smell.

Back to reality tomorrow.

R