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Limes and condensed milk
Jan. 9th, 2010 10:13 pmA man in today's paper was called Berwyck Poad.
Today I went to the annual antiques fair, which is normally held in the Greyhound Racing Club rooms at the Showgrounds. This year they had a scheduling conflict with the annual amateur gemstone collectors' fair, which obviously booked the Greyhound rooms first, so the antiques fair had to go to the St Pius X Primary School hall. I used to go there for exams, so, yes, what a blast from the past that was. (Elsewhere in the City by the Sea, one could go to the annual vintage car exhibition, so, clearly, this is the place to be this weekend).
Anyway, the antiques fair was a pleasant morning outing, with some really lovely pieces and some old tat. Something for everyone, then. I hadn't planned to buy anything, but amongst some vintage prints I found a lovely Ida Rentoul Outhwaite one from 1918 that just sort of jumped into my hand.
It's currently sitting on a side table with the photo of the shipwreck I got for Christmas and a wirework Eiffel Tower that I got a couple of Christmases ago and, do you know, I think they look quite good together. I may leave them there.
( ..at least until I find a frame )
Today I also bought a birthday present for a birthday in April. I am just that organised. Ha. Not really. It is my mother's sixtieth birthday this year. Her friend Lyn turned sixty a couple of years ago and her daughter organised a huge surprise party. I asked my mother did she want the same (obviously without the surprise) and she did not. What did she want, then? Nothing, apparently, nothing special. 'I'll just have an egg,' she said, which is family code for being a bit of a martyr (that is what my grandmother used to say if my mother offered to take her grocery shopping. 'Oh, I don't need anything,' she would say pathetically. 'I'll just have an egg.') I persevered and said I had to get something special because it is her sixtieth and because her friend Lyn would think I was a bad daughter compared to her surprise-party-organising one. Under that level of pressure, she thought she might like to see Tom Jones in concert. I said I would buy her tickets but she had to get herself to Las Vegas, and she said, no, he is touring Victorian wineries in March. I assume he is singing in them, not just holidaying with people watching him. Whatever he's doing, I've booked two tickets for my mother and John to attend. And for the actual day of her birthday a month later, I might just get her an egg.
Also, it has been hot the last couple of days, so this afternoon I made some Brazilian lemonade. It is good stuff and refreshing, and whoever thought of putting limes and condensed milk together should be commended. If they could work out a way to incorporate salt and vinegar chips, it would pretty much be my ideal dish.
Today I went to the annual antiques fair, which is normally held in the Greyhound Racing Club rooms at the Showgrounds. This year they had a scheduling conflict with the annual amateur gemstone collectors' fair, which obviously booked the Greyhound rooms first, so the antiques fair had to go to the St Pius X Primary School hall. I used to go there for exams, so, yes, what a blast from the past that was. (Elsewhere in the City by the Sea, one could go to the annual vintage car exhibition, so, clearly, this is the place to be this weekend).
Anyway, the antiques fair was a pleasant morning outing, with some really lovely pieces and some old tat. Something for everyone, then. I hadn't planned to buy anything, but amongst some vintage prints I found a lovely Ida Rentoul Outhwaite one from 1918 that just sort of jumped into my hand.
It's currently sitting on a side table with the photo of the shipwreck I got for Christmas and a wirework Eiffel Tower that I got a couple of Christmases ago and, do you know, I think they look quite good together. I may leave them there.
( ..at least until I find a frame )
Today I also bought a birthday present for a birthday in April. I am just that organised. Ha. Not really. It is my mother's sixtieth birthday this year. Her friend Lyn turned sixty a couple of years ago and her daughter organised a huge surprise party. I asked my mother did she want the same (obviously without the surprise) and she did not. What did she want, then? Nothing, apparently, nothing special. 'I'll just have an egg,' she said, which is family code for being a bit of a martyr (that is what my grandmother used to say if my mother offered to take her grocery shopping. 'Oh, I don't need anything,' she would say pathetically. 'I'll just have an egg.') I persevered and said I had to get something special because it is her sixtieth and because her friend Lyn would think I was a bad daughter compared to her surprise-party-organising one. Under that level of pressure, she thought she might like to see Tom Jones in concert. I said I would buy her tickets but she had to get herself to Las Vegas, and she said, no, he is touring Victorian wineries in March. I assume he is singing in them, not just holidaying with people watching him. Whatever he's doing, I've booked two tickets for my mother and John to attend. And for the actual day of her birthday a month later, I might just get her an egg.
Also, it has been hot the last couple of days, so this afternoon I made some Brazilian lemonade. It is good stuff and refreshing, and whoever thought of putting limes and condensed milk together should be commended. If they could work out a way to incorporate salt and vinegar chips, it would pretty much be my ideal dish.