The Bowliest of Bowlcuts...

Nicky Bond: Star of unearthed
Australian cinefilm.

Good morning and welcome to your Monday morning round up of the week just gone. Spare a thought for Melbourne and its residents. They recently opened up after their latest lockdown - that's over 260 days of housebound restrictions this year. There's no point in mincing words, that must have been tough. But on the plus side, my Aussie cousin got around to digitising the family cinefilm! Every so often, amidst the shaky footage of a family do, I pop up! Yes! I've seen footage of myself as a toddler; of times I have only the scantest of memories, if any. Such a strange feeling to see unearthed action of my own life. I can confirm that at two years old I had the bowliest of bowlcuts, didn't crack a smile once, and was given a LOT of attention from whoever was in the vicinity. OH, HOW TIMES HAVE CHANGED.

The first rule of writing
group is, there is no
 writing group.

Writing News 

I'm not starting my next book until after Christmas but I'm still going to my fortnightly writing group. It really is the best fun you can have on a Wednesday night in a Portuguese beer garden with a bunch of people you only met through your shared passion. Honest. As we pay a small fee to attend, minutes have to be taken. It's one of those situations where everyone avoids eye contact or states clearly that they did them last time, when it comes to picking who takes responsibility. But, more often than not, it's me. It's OK though. I quite like taking minutes, I can't lie. There's something reassuring about having a pen in my hand. It makes me less fidgety and I listen better. No, the real problem comes when it's time to write them up. Because these aren't normal minutes. Oh no, these are Writer's Group Minutes. That means they must be witty and perceptive, analytical and engaging. It's simply not enough to write who was there, who said what, and what time it ended. Oh how I miss the governing body meetings at my last job for their simplicity. (Spoiler alert: I'm being sarky. I do not miss them for one second.) Nothing less than brilliant will do. So when it comes to deciphering my scrawled notes the next day, it can be quite the pressure. However, the fact is, when you're not in the middle of a Work in Progress, having to creatively write the minutes of a meeting, can be just the thing you need to keep your hand in. So last week, that's what I did.

Culture

Spencer is currently on at the cinema and, in my opinion, it's a very good film. Not a 'curl up on the sofa with a bottle and wine and settle down with a good film,' kind of good film. Definitely not that. But an uneasy, unnerving, stressful watch that takes you right into the heart of the character. By seeing the world through Diana's eyes we're gradually made to feel constricted, isolated, managed, reduced, and abandoned too. Walking out of the cinema felt like a relief, which is not the insult it sounds like it might be. The film was excellent but I probably won't rush to rewatch it for a while. Meanwhile, on Strictly, Rose Ayling-Ellis did this* and it was amazing. 

Marzipan and icing to come, 
but what a beauty!

Food and Drink

Stop Press: I've made my Christmas cake. Thank you for the applause. No, please, take your seats, you're too kind. The random thing is, I hate Christmas cake. At least all the other Christmas cakes I've eaten. I used to like making it with my mum when I was a kid, but that was because I had a special cherry-related job. I was solely responsible for coating then in flour to stop them sinking. No, YOU'RE welcome. Anyway, between that and the possibility of shovelling in offcuts of marzipan, I would show up every year to assist in the creation of something I wasn't ultimately faffed with. But when I was thirty, Nigella and her Christmas book came into my life. Her riff on the recipe is really simple, and as I can attest, easily adaptable. I replace the currents and sultanas with some of the more acceptable dried fruits. Mostly cranberries, dates, and dried cherries. I also use whatever booze I have to hand. This year it was port instead of coffee liqueur. Anyway, you whack everything into a pan and simmer away before pouring the mixture into a baking tin. Supremely satisfying, easy peasy, and the whole house smells like Christmas. It also tastes fit. Win.

Out and About

Friday saw me catch up with a mate over an afternoon of beer, which always seems a good way to do it. On Wednesday I had a pedi, where I switched my usual uniform of black nail vanish for festive red sparkles, and on Tuesday I had my hair cut.** Apart from the excessive beer, my week was mostly spent grooming. Who am I? Lady Muck?

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Technically this was the week before but who cares, right?  So, so good.

** Just a trim on my layers. No return to the bowlhead of my toddler years. No Ma'am.