Starting Over Even When There's No Over in Sight.

At times I wonder if I am like Most Other Bloggers.

For instance, I blog at Nite. Mostly.

Only its Daylite now. Saturday late morning. And it feels Unnatural.

My Internal Headmistress is sternly inquiring why I'm not sitting huddled in one of the local cafes sipping a latte & perhaps eating Corn Fritters, a frequent weekend treat. Or why I'm not across the road with my friend AJ critiquing all the outfits at the Faux Organic Markets. Or why I'm not rummaging through the racks at 'BednobsEtc'.

The answer is:

1. I've already done all that stuff except for the corn fritters which I am postponing because I am sampling Delayed Gratification as part of 'The Middleagedteacher Holiday Happiness Project'. So far, I'm not sure if putting off something good makes you feel happier in the long run. Like, leaving the best bits of food on your plate till last isn't necessarily going to make the Eating Experience better, is it?

2. I'm trying to Not Be a Slave to The Clock.

Look above at my new Bag which beautifully dovetails into 'The Double H Project' which is what I'm now going to call it.

(a) I love a New Bag. It always creates the illusion of a New Beginning, of Starting Over even if there isn't one in sight.

(b) It was a Gift. I love nothing more than a gift, although I've been told that giving is the same as receiving which may perhaps be right but I'm testing it out. Peter, the owner of 'Zinc', my totally favourite local cafe positioned right in the heart of Potts Point, the epicentre of Sydney Style, bought it back from a v. recent trip to Europe for me as well as a crucifix & a set of rosary beads from Notre Dame Cathedral. Was it an all-knowing Jesuit that said, 'Brainwash a child before the age of seven & you've got her for life' ?

The bag features The Joan Crawford Alphabet. E.G - 'A is for Axe', 'N is for Neuroses', 'R is for Rage'. Anyone who knows me knows that I love Joan Crawford & that I've modelled my eyebrows on her. The Ultimate Homarge.

I always expect that everyone knows who Joan was. Sadly, my expectations were not met earlier this week when I took the bag off to therapy to show St. Brendan, my All-Knowing Psychotherapist, at least I thought he was. He looked blank.

I wanted to scream at him, ' Well ,how the hell are you going to cure me if you don't know who Joan Crawford is?'

Instead, I smiled weakly & quietly murmured, 'No More Wire Coathangers'. And then he remembered.

Poor misunderstood Joan.

As part of 'The Double HP', I visited the Art Gallery yesterday with Trixie. We had a bumper of a time, doing all our favourite Gallery Things:

1. Drinking a latte at the cafe;

2. Visiting an exhibition where we picked out the artwork from each room that we'd most like to hang in our modest homes, size permitting. Yesterday was a show of Victorian Paintings, a subject of Particular Interest to both of us. My favourite was a large painting of a family of sheep, including lambs that were reclining on gravestones in a cemetery. Talk about cute.

Trixie's favourite was a portrait of a Redheaded Sneering Slattern.

3. Lunch back at the cafe.

4. Purchasing at the Gallery Shoppe. Trixie bought a Sherlock Holmes doll, part of

'The Unemployed Philosopher's Guild' range & I bought a perspex brooch of a vintage stiletto which will feature here soon.

5. Having a wardrobe photo taken next to a favourite Australian painting. This one is a self-portrait from twentieth century artist, Margaret Preston whose paintings & woodblocks of flowers & bushland I love & I may slavishly copy over the hols.

6. Taking a photo of a stylish woman at the cafe. I couldn't resist taking my camera out & quickly snapping this lady even though I was Mid-Mouthful. She had ocelot tights on & I was entranced by her Exciting Hemline.

Can't wait for another new episode of 'Doc Martin' tonite. Martin's ex-fiance, Louisa who is a peach now really really looks like one because she's six months pregnant. And his hateful old girlfriend has appeared. She has Seriously Nasty Hair that could perhaps be called a 'Quiff'.

Must cease typing as my hands are sore from aggressive boxing at Boot Camp on thursday. Hope its not arthritis instead.