The Liberation That Having No Plans Can Create

It is Monday morning & I am sitting at my desk in the staff room slightly sweating even though I am not wearing synthetics. In fact, I'm wearing a silk Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress that gapes a little at the front. Outside I can hear a teacher in a v grave voice tell a class of hangdog girls that he is v disappointed in them. A colleague in an adjoining desk who is frantically trying to record marks remarks that there are some voices that are so irritating that you just can't block them out. I wearily agree.
Welcome to the end of the year.

Our school year finishes on Friday & as usual I'm thinking, Not a Moment too Soon. If we went on much longer, someone might lose an eye.
Many weeks of holidays await me & as I ponder this thought, I'm inwardly quivering with anticipation.
You may be wondering, what are her plans? Will she go skiing in Gstaad or maybe Aspen this time? Perhaps a leisurely jaunt through some Arcadian Wine Country? A recuperative stay in a clinic? A course of Botox?
Sadly, none of these.

Apart from a fab beach holiday over Christmas with Maeflower & Tacitus, I have no plans.
Nothing. And may I say , what a liberating thought. The possibilities are endless:

I might create artworks.

Frolic in the sea but only venture to waist height in order to avoid rips & sharks.

Sit in cafés & sip lattes instead of getting takeaways & rushing out.

Buy an onion slicer.

Add to my list of Signature Dishes.

Go to "Bednobs" my favourite op shop every single day instead of just twice a week.

Make a Xmas wreath from fake flowers.

Actually read a book. In fact, I have a book that I bought months ago called "Life After Life" by Kate Atkinson that I saw was on someone's top ten books of this year. How Zeitgeisty of me.

Go to the gym to attend my favourite class, Body Balance, which is a clever mixture of yoga, Pilates & tai chi. Usually I only make it once or at a stretch, twice a week. In anticipation, I've already bought a whole slew of footless tights from Cotton On which are far chicer & cheaper than Luluwhatsit or LornaMaryJane, not that I'm promoting a brand, heaven forbid, I'm just stating an opinion.

In the meantime, I'm still at school. But it's not all bad. As you might see if you stick around to see the photos below.

Photo 1. I was given a wonderful gift of a Kate Spade pencil case which really made me reflect on how much I like to get gifts particularly if they have a designer label attached.

Photo2. I've been wearing freshly thrifted dresses that remind me of macaron colours.

Photo 3. I confiscated a Hermes bracelet from a student whose mother didn't know she'd borrowed it. I wore it for the whole lesson & didn't want to give it back.

Photo 4. I coveted the riotous Ginger & Smart shoes (another unintentional plug for a brand) that my Ex-Student Teacher wore to school.

Photo5. I loved layering necklaces that looked like old piano keys.

Photo 6. I enjoyed practising empathy.

Phot 7. I occasionally dressed like Mother of the Bride at work.

Things to Wonder & Complain About

The Big Handbag Philosophical Questions

What does your handbag say about you?
Sadly, I didn't feel that I was equipped to answer , so I consulted a range of experts.
Top of the list was Hello Kitty, who said that a handbag is a "mirror of who you are now".

Wise words. But then if that's true, what does my constant usage of fake bags say about me? My priceless Toy Chanel, my Pleather Fendi Spy Bag, my adorable Toy Louis Croissant Bag, to
name just a few ?
Am I just a Big Fake? A walking counterfeit?
Don't answer that.

Perhaps I should abandon the big Handbag Philosophical Questions for now & get on with what I want to tell you.
Last weekend my daughter Maeflower & her fiancé Tacitus drove up from their bijou apartment in Canberra to stay with me. The purpose of the trip was partly to take receipt of the Chanel 2:55 quilted handbag in the Large Size that I bought for her.
It was so much fun.
You know, I've always nodded & smiled whenever I've heard the old adage, "it's better to give than to receive", but it's never really made any sense to me. I just pretended it did.
And on the face of it, it doesn't. Why would you rather give something away when you can have it yourself?
But in this case, it was loads more fun to give it to Maeflower than to keep it myself for the following reasons:
1. It was totally guilt free shopping. I'm riddled with guilt. Blame my mother who loved to say that all I ever did was "take take take!" When she said it, she always made sure she said the word "take" three times for maximum effect. It worked like a charm.
2. I got to see the look on my daughter's face when she first saw it.
3. It was fab to see her walking down the street with it swinging from her shoulder.
4. I got to keep the box & the wrappings.
5. I did manage to buy myself a Chanel bracelet whilst I was in the store, so I didn't actually walk away with nothing. You can see it in the last photo.
6. Buying it was as good as going on a short holiday.

There's loads more to say & complain about.
Like, why are my upper arms, after years of boxing, still like a couple of large pork chops?
Or, how can our prime minister deny climate change when our weather is so totally weirder than it's ever been?
Or, how come I've lived this long & I still don't know where Belize is?

But I won't . I'll hop into bed & maybe dream I'm turning into a bag.

The New Me Maybe

The Risk of Sounding Vulgar

I've so much to report.
Lame but Adorable:
Like today my year 8 class put a v. Realistic Fake Tarantula on my chair in the classroom & waited breathlessly for me to go ballistic. Sadly for them I didn't as I could tell it was fake immediately, & besides, I'm weirdly not scared of spiders.
But I did wear it for the rest of the lesson. You can see a picture below.

A Non-Travel Tale:
Like on Sunday, I walked into the Chanel shoppe in Westfield Bondi Junction & bought my daughter Maeflower a 2:55 quilted bag in the large size. She deserves it. And she's a luxury item herself so she may as well carry one.
At the risk of sounding vulgar, the 2:55 (named after the month & year it was released - February 1955) was the price of a budget trip to Europe for a couple of weeks. Or maybe three weeks in Vietnam & Cambodia with a few nites at a luxury resort in Phuket thrown in.
I only mention this because travel seems to be the acceptable way of blowing all your savings at my age. If you blow it on a handbag people look at you as if you're unhinged.
Don't get me wrong, I love travel. But I love Designer Handbags more.
There, I've said it. It sounds almost as incomprehensible as saying you don't like watching videos of Yawning Baby Pandas.
Or maybe it's even a bit blasphemous. Like watching the Pope going to the bathroom.
But I comfort myself in the knowledge that more than 2000 people a day tramp all over Machu Pinchu & their footsteps are eroding the whole joint at a semi-alarming rate. And I'm not doing it.
I'm staying at home toying with my Designer Handbag Collection.

The Dress that Sounds Like An Ironing Aid.
In Australia, Preen is the name of a popular brand of spray- on ironing aid.
But in the UK, it is the name of a cult clothing label.
It's one of those brands that when ,say Gweneth Paltrow is asked who are her favourite designers, she might say, "well, my BFF Stella McCartney of course. Alexander McQueen ,Chloe & Preen."
So it was with great suppressed excitement & a soupçon of smugness that I casually tried on a Preen dress with the tags still on at my favourite Op shop, Bednobs & Broomsticks last week. Clearly, the volunteers at the shop had no idea because it was $15 & there was a whole lot of discussion about the rather vulgar ruffles at the sleeves. It was suggested that I cut them off when I got the dress home .
I smiled & nodded & dutifully paid my dough.
As soon as I got home, I tried the dress on & decided that the accordion pleated sleeves were a marvel of craftsmanship & creativity & I wasn't going anywhere near the dress with a pair of scissors.
Once that was settled, I consulted the internet & discovered that anything by Preen costs hundreds & hundreds & maybe even thousands of pounds.
I spent the rest of the evening basking in the knowledge of how much I'd saved. Much like how much good I've done by not going to Machu Pinchu.

I'm Nothing Like French Woman

Today is Sunday.
Since childhood, I have frequently suffered from Sunday Afternoon Ennui which was probably caused by having to sit up & eat Roast Pork for Sunday lunch as a child when I had been told that it really wasn't pork which I thought tasted weird, but a New variation of meat called "chicken-pork".
My parents' ability to creatively bend the truth when it suited them was kind of adorable in a traumatising way.
While we ate, the TV was on. From memory, it was usually something excruciating like Celebrity Golf Tournaments.
By now you're probably thinking what an appalling Dickensian Childhood I had.
And I don't blame you for thinking that.

But Today was nothing like those long ago Sundays. I did not eat any Pig Products, although I briefly toyed with the idea of frying some bacon.
And the TV was silent.
But for some strange reason, I did experience a tiny soupçon of Ennui. OMG, I do love it when I spontaneously break out into Franglais, something I haven't done for ages!
Perhaps it is because I was reading in the paper today about Mirielle Guilano,the author of the popular book, French Women Don't Get Fat.
Sadly, I can't exactly remember what I was reading about her. But I do know that she says that French women don't get fat.
Apparently it's rude in France to have more than a sliver of cheese from a platter. And then they wear flat shoes which means they can walk everywhere or perhaps cycle & shop everyday for food which they have to lug up six flights of wrought iron Art Nouveau stairs to reach their bijou apartments to cook in their quaint kitchens. It sounds so adorable, I feel I've been transported inside the film Amelie!
I'm nothing like a French woman, although I do prefer flats but I can't cycle & my Art Deco apartment building has a lift installed.
And, quelle horreur, call me a Madwoman, but I do have a fondness for dieting.
After at least four months, maybe more , I'm still doing two days a week intermittent fasting.
Mondays & Wednesdays.
Whilst my colleagues happily spend their days shovelling in delicate pig tartlets & massive brownies, I nibble on julienned carrots & celery sticks.
Has it worked? you may be asking.
I must admit that I ask myself the same question.
Truth be told, I can't really tell. Some months ago, I banished the bathroom scales to a far distant shelf in a cupboard where they are waiting to be thrown out. So, I'm forced to scrutinise my silhouette at regular intervals to inspect for signs of shrinkage.
It's like my friend Marge who eliminated caffeine, sugar & alcohol from her life as part of an Ayervedic diet & instead ate loads of ghee & almond butter. At the end of three months, she wasn't sure what it did.

I've just realised, the Ennui has gone.
Thank you Della.

Never Wear a Pony Tail Smaller Than Your Nose

It is now Sunday early evening although it doesn't feel like it thanks to lousy, stinking Daylight Saving that everyone else seems to love, but I loathe. I'm one of those Old School types who likes to get to the end of the day when it's dark. I don't want to sit up & eat dinner with the tv on in broad daylight.
It feels wrong. Like watching tv in the middle of the day.
Another thing that feels wrong is the weather. It's now 34 degrees Celsius. And all day it's been blowing a nasty hot gale. And it's October.
But enough of what's wrong.
Let's move on to what's what.

Sadly, I'm using my iPad Blogger app so I can't organise my photos around my text. It's so crap that the photos just trail along at the end like some dreary afterthought.
If you can be bothered to scroll down to the photos , you may notice that I'm back in the classroom for the last glorious term of the year. Tomorrow my students begin their hateful HSC exam so all day I've been receiving desperate little emails with HEELP!!! As their title.
I've enjoyed throwing them tasty little morsels of mini essays that they can spew out tomorrow.

As well, I've been madly emailing my two o'erseas amigos, Trixie, who has been staying at the Savoy in London & visiting Sissinghust, the home of my ex idol, Vita Sackville-West, & Marge who is staying in a v v old Adobe (which has nothing to do with photoshop) in maybe Taos New Mexico.
In case you were wondering, I'm not in the least jealous of their exotic travels & am perfectly happy stationed next to the whiteboard in the classroom.

My big news is that I wore my hair out this week. I finally went to the hairdressers to have its twice-yearly haircut . In an effort to save money, I washed my hair beforehand but when, Jenny, the inscrutable hairdresser ran her hands through it, she grimaced & flatly said that it would have to be re-washed because it felt bad. Something about the shampoo & conditioner I was using not being strong enough. I don't even use conditioner as I've never believed in it. But I didn't tell her that.
I was revolted & immediately decided that in the interests of Public Health I needed to wear my hair out more often as maybe I was growing a birds nest in there or something.
So you can see the results in the photos.

So as I don't appear too Self Obsessed, quelle horreur, I've included a photo of three of my colleagues showing the importance of The Constant Application of Lipstick.

I'll leave you with a little hair tip that Rose, my lovely colleague gave me. "Never wear a pony tail that's smaller than your nose."