Poppalina

A bit blue, and probably a little light deprived

Cold and grey.

Grey and cold.

A bleak combination of words, no matter which way you say them.

Thank God for frozen blueberries, aka Summer in a Box. With apple.

And innumerable blessings on the genius who invented crumble.

Breakfast Saturday

Rice Porridge, how do I love thee?

Well...

With tinned apricots and coffee, for one.

Breakfast Sunday

I haven't really been eating breakfast, lately. Sleeping the hours I do, it's hard to know what time breakfast even is.

But I baked some plums, and had some cream.

So.

Breakfast Sunday

The Breakfast Club

Breakfast with Stomper is always comfortable and relaxed,

so much so that it's easy to forget that I actually haven't known her for years.

 

 

And yes, I am Officially Awake, (thank you, Pen).

Just not quite talking, yet. Maybe Stomper will have more to say about it.

Need. More. Caffeine.

A Very Short Summer

I emerge from suspended animation just long enough to notice that berries are suddenly hard to come by.

That Autumn is upon us.

And that it is time, once again, to give due consideration to The Breakfast Vegetable.

I observe, also, that it's an excellent time for cherry tomatoes,

Before falling back to sleep.

Breakfast Sunday.

A Friend for Breakfast

Breakfast Sunday.

Well brunch, really. We often eat breakfast in the pm on Sundays.

A Civilized Hour, I call it.

Our friend, Kapinny, fresh off the plane from India, with a head full of Wedding Plans.

I'm trying desperately to think up something groovy to sing at her wedding.

But haven't a clue, at this point.

She gets married in two weeks.

It will be on the beach, probably singing into a major headwind. With one (count it) ONE acoustic guitar, and no amps.

So let's hear those suggestions. Think Lucinda Williams, to get you started.

The first one to suggest The Rose will be shot.

Breakfast of Zombies

Breakfast Sunday

The slog continues.

A gaggle of teenage girls, feverishly reinventing themselves on the ceiling, all night, presented me with the opportunity to work until dawn.

So I've almost finished my theory assignment, which is kind of groovy,

In a gutted, train-wreck sort of way.

I hereby give thanks for pumpkin bread and especially strong coffee,

Without which, for sure, I would not have made it through the morning without tearing off somebody's head and eating it, just for fun.

Well, I'll be buggered....

Breakfast Sunday

It's raining.

Rain is a Beautiful Thing in Melbourne. We don't get anywhere near enough of it.

And my baby has just announced (rather bravely, I thought) that she wants to learn yoga.

This, from a teenager who can be relied upon to mutter expletives under her breath at the mere mention of the word, 'yoga'.

A day of pleasant surprises.

Being Big

Breakfast Sunday

There are people in the world who might question the wisdom of sweet biscuits for breakfast.

But there are times when you just have to celebrate being a grownup.

A grownup can, of course, be defined as Someone Big who doesn't have Someone Even Bigger around to tell them what to do.

Anyone else still wiped out from Christmas?

Breakfast Sunday

I've been waiting so patiently for my floors to wash themselves, but it just hasn't happened.