#268: “The King’s Speech” at Dendy Premium
CJ and I have now been married for two years – and we still like each other.
We celebrated by visiting Dendy Premium cinemas for “The King’s Speech” (knowing via word of mouth that it would be stellar).
My perfect evening involves food, dessert, Baileys, CJ, a couch, and a movie – Dendy has it all. You order from a menu half an hour before going in, and you sit in pairs of enormous reclining arm chairs, where your meal and drinks are delivered at whatever time/s you desire.
Brilliant.
The film itself is all about the horrible (and real) situation King George VI suffered through: being a public person without the ability to speak in public. As he says, “We’re not a family; we’re a firm.” Colin Firth plays the king (or rather prince), and the pain in his face is excruciating without ever becoming too much for the audience.
His wife, Elizabeth, is played flawlessly by Helena Bonham Carter (who’s come a long way since selling the worst pies in London). Geoffrey Rush plays the last in a long line of speech therapists – a determinedly antipodean fellow with determinedly antipodean manners. I hadn’t realised Rush was actually playing an Australian, and blogging this film for Australia Day turned out to be overwhelmingly appropriate (even more so since Rush has been nominated for an Oscar – along with Nicole Kidman and Jackie Weaver). Australians are no longer proud of Mel Gibson or Russell Crowe (because they’re violently idiotic and/or racist), but Rush’s performance made my heart sing.
Colin Firth, however, deserves an Oscar even more.
This is certainly not an action film, but it is full of human triumph, and is often funny. Wikipedia informs me that many of the best lines were taken directly from the real-life speech therapist’s diary of his experience.
*historical spoiler*
The speech of the title – his first as King – is familiar to every British schoolboy. It is a triumphant part of the UK psyche, born in a moment that could easily have been filled with utter despair.
#113: A Five Course Meal
You can tell by the (relatively) low number that this was on my list waaaaaayyyy back in March 2010 when I started my plan of a year of Daily Awesomeness. Since then I’ve been studying manners for my steampunk book, so when I couldn’t get inspired by anything awesome last Sunday and I glanced at my wall of awesomenesses and saw #113, it was a beautiful moment.
I needed to not spend any money – but I love a challenge, especially a ridiculous one. The traditional five course meal is made up of:
1. Appetisers
2. Soup course
3. Salad course
4. Meat course
5. Dessert
I. . . adjusted the traditions. Of course. I adjusted even more when my sister-in-law invited CJ and I out to dinner and I counter-invited them to our increasingly complex soiree (luckily, they also bought wine*). My aim was to manage five courses for four people based on what was in my house at the time (I had originally planned to have sushi that night, mainly because we had half a cucumber that needed eating). Since I’m eating healthily these days, I also needed to use very small portions.
For fun, I decided to go nuts on the table settings and be as ultra-classy as possible. And so it was that I donned regency garb and strolled nonchalantly next door to steal some of their best roses**.
Here’s the final result of the table organisation, moments before we ate.
Our appetiser is cashew nuts, served in the two green bowls (cutlery: teaspoons). This was followed by “Invisible soup” served on bread and butter plates “with”. . . well, bread and butter (is there anything more delicious than soft white bread spread with real butter?) Our salad course featured cucumber, avocado and Asian mayonaisse served inside sushi rolls (or whatever they’re called. For that, the cutlery was chopsticks). For the meat course, each of us ate one-fourth of a single forlorn yet delicious piece of lasagna I discovered in the freezer, solving the dilemma of how I whether I’d share it with CJ or eat it when he wasn’t looking (cutlery: knives and forks). For dessert we partook of fruit salad (with dessert spoons, naturally). We drank water, orange juice, and wine.
The ladies used serviettes (cloth, naturally – we’re not COLONIALS for goodness’ sake), although the gentlemen declined them (which was a good thing, since I could only find two that weren’t disposable).
It was a delicious meal, and I recommend you see what you can scrounge up from your own cupboard when a five-course mood strikes you.
*And lots of it. This later altered the whole “don’t spend money” thing and the “eat healthily” thing (see http://shootingthrough.net/2011/01/23/266-late-night-ice-cream-run/), and was totally worth it.
**not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.
Tomorrow: See “The King’s Speech” at Dendy Premium cinemas – yep, I’ll be reviewing it for you.
#267: Let him kill the spider
I’m scared of a lot of things, so my fear of spiders is no big deal. But it’s nice, every so often, to not bother being brave. And it’s nice, every so often, for a man to do the manly thing. So in our house, CJ kills the spiders. It’s an elegant symbol of my trust and his strength.
It was a whitetail, by the way – a spider wikipedia says is “known to bite humans”.
I was going to put in a whitetail pic, but wordpress is acting up. You’ll just have to imagine it.
Oh, and that regency dress thing? There were two bottles of wine involved. All will be revealed tomorrow.
#266: Late-night ice cream run
I don’t actually need to write this entry at all since I feel certain you’re all sitting at your computer/phone, nodding in agreement.
I hear you. Late-night ice cream runs are, by their very nature, awesome.
This one was more awesomer. First, because there was a group of us going. Second, because it was the legendary Cold Rock Ice Cream company, which has just opened in Canberra (in Gungahlin, my Canberra peeps). So bundling the four of us into our cars and driving over there just before they closed felt naughty, and silly, and special – arguably the three most necessary ingredients of the best awesomenesses.
If you’re not familiar with Cold Rock Ice Cream, here’s how it works:
Step One: Decide to go – just because you can.
Step Two: Walk in. Pause. Gibber.
Step Three: Choose an ice cream flavour (see Step Two). I was torn between Baileys and English Toffee, but eventually chose Cake Batter. CJ chose Rocky Road.
Step Four: Choose add-ins from a wide range of popular chocolate and lolly varieties including Ferrero Rocher, Sour Gummy Worms, Skittles, Maltesers, Caramello Koalas, and MANY more (see Step Two). I chose Cookie Dough, Mint Freddo Frog, and Crunchie Bar. CJ chose Chocolate Fudge, strawberries (the real fruit kind), and a Bounty Bar.
Step Five: Explain why you’re taking photos as your assistant puts a chunk of your selected ice cream flavour onto a wide stone bench that is cold (see name of store).
Step Six: Watch in awe as your assistant smashes up your selection of candy and expertly folds it into the ice cream.
Step Seven: Take blurry photos of the final product due to overexcitement.
Step Eight: Nom nom.
Some general advice:
1. Don’t get a large size. Trust me on this one.
2. Choose your genre of fruit, sweet, sour, or mixed carefully. Also be advised that some things – Skittles, Sour Worms, Gummi Bears – don’t smash up, and others, like Cookie Dough or Fudge, tend to flatten rather than fracture.
3. Stay calm. There are suggestions on the wall if you really can’t make up your mind.
4. More than three add-ins tends to overwhelm the otherwise elegant symphony of flavour.
5. If you’re at Cold Rock for the first time, ignore # 4 and # 1.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Anyone wondering why I’m wearing a Regency dress? There is actually a reason, and it’s not “coz I felt like it”.
You’ll find out the truth on Tuesday.
#265: Film a twitchy kitty
I recently discovered that Ana sleeps – and dreams – with her eyes open. (Not weird at all.)
Every so often, CJ will smile at me and say, “Did you sleep well?”
When this happens, I panic.
Most recently, it turned out that I (apparently awake some time after midnight) had laughed and said to him, “I just had a dream I ate your neck.”
I recall none of this. None. Not the dream, not the laugh, not the sharing. None.
Again: Not weird at all.
Being a twit
I’m currently planning a steampunk novel (and, shockingly, it’s already turned into a trilogy), but I don’t feel I know enough about the 1800s. So I’m not going to let myself start the writing until:
-I’ve read at least twenty books in full (so far I’ve read one on bushrangers, one on “History’s Worst Inventions” and one on early Australian manners, called “Savage or Civilised” – my story is set mainly in Victoria)
-I’ve written all my twittertales for this year, and twelve flash stories (I have an email list that gets a flash tale at the beginning of each month).
So far I have about 5000 words of notes, and every so often I have another brilliant idea for some scene or moment or invention – and I resist my urge to begin, and instead write it down for later. The suspense is fantastic. And my twittertales are happening much, much faster than usual.
I’m excited to be doing this book “properly” and I’ll have a good long (honest) look at the outline before I let myself rush into things that will be problematic later.
My main character is Emmeline, a convict from London.
*zips lip*
Here’s a random steampunk picture, from http://brassbolts.blogspot.com/
You’re welcome.
#264: Vodka and caviar
Today’s mission (suggested by Ben) was:
Eat something ‘gross’ that is considered a delicacy in another culture.
Ever since watching “The Strange Case of Benjamin Button” (which, sidebar, I didn’t like due to the excessive sadness) I’ve wanted to combine vodka and caviar – like Tilda Swinton’s character does in the film.
Since I’m buying caviar for my epic birthday feast – but don’t plan to buy enough vodka for everyone – I chose to indulge myself today.
I discovered that, ironically, vodka “ice” (unlike regular vodka) can freeze. After waiting for it to unfreeze, CJ and I ate Russia’s answer to Devonshire Tea.
Vodka is pretty yucky without sugar, but cruisers always taste nice. Caviar is an extraordinarily neat food – both in the jar and on the tongue. Each sphere is perfectly formed and doesn’t taste of anything much. They feel surprisingly solid, like tiny marbles. Then you bite down and juicy saltiness just explodes. (I forgot to note back at the “sushi” entry that I do like one salty food – caviar.)
Then you have a little more vodka. Then some more caviar. Then vodka. Then caviar. I think the effect of the vodka is to burn away the flavour so each new mouthful of caviar is a brilliant surprise.
I enjoyed this very much. (The little jars, by the way, only cost about $6.)
In the past, I’ve also eaten:
Chicken feet and neck (tastes like. . . er, chicken. Particularly chicken wings).
Crocodile (like very dense, dry chicken).
Dog (like extremely tough red meat – yuck).
Turtle/Tortoise (I don’t know which because no-one there spoke English), which was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. It tasted wrong and dirty and gravelly – much like I expected dog to taste, actually.
And I’ve eaten frog’s legs (like extremely tiny drumsticks, and perfectly nice despite the difficulty of actually eating them) and. . . drum roll. . . fried frog’s skin.
The fried frog’s skin was crunchy – crunchier than crunchy potato chips – and mostly tasted burnt.
One question remains: Who on earth goes around peeling frogs?
PS Now I want to go eat some more caviar. And have more vodka.
Yay for Russia.
“Zeppelin Jack and the Black Diamond” so far
1
My best friend Nip and I snuck into a real bar – sort of. We’d annoyed our zeppelin’s one and only barkeep until he punished us with dishes.
Giz parped in my pocket. Things are truly dull when your automata complains. But then I saw two men whispering, with their heads bent close.
I snuck closer and heard one man mutter that the black diamond had to be found. As I took their empty mugs, I heard a name – Esmerelda.
2
“But Jack,” Nip said again, narrowing his Chinese eyes at me until he went cross-eyed, “we don’t know an Esmerelda, and nor does anyone.”
We were half mad with curiousity, so we went and asked Matron if she knew an Esmerelda. “Oh no,” she said, “other than me, none at all.”
“Do you know anything about a black diamond?” I asked. She blushed three shades of red: “You orphans weren’t meant to know I was engaged.”
3
Nip and I hid outside the jeweller’s where Matron’s ring was getting polished. “So it was her fiancé we threw off the zeppelin roof,” I said.
“He DID try to kill us,” said Nip. “And, we blew him up.” “Shh! Gizmo’s coming out!” Giz parped frantically at us, and fled down a pipe.
The jeweller was deep in conversation with a hooded man. I crept in to listen and heard, “Do you think Esme knows what it is?” “No chance.”
4
Nip and I went to the library (ugh!) to learn (ugh!) about black diamonds. The librarian scowled at us, but she let us in.
Nip said, “Hey Jack! Black diamonds come from outer space.” “Is that why the jewellers are interested in Matron’s one?” “I don’t think so.”
5
I rubbed more grease into my side of the cog while Nip worked on the other side, hidden by the mechanism. The engine thrummed around us.
I said, “Black diamonds are exciting, when people aren’t silly enough to make them all lovey-dovey. But I think Matron’s ring is special.”
Gizmo said, “Bing!” and we moved on to the next piston. I said, “There’s only one way to figure out what it is, and that’s to steal it.”
6
Nip and I snuck into Matron’s gondola, wincing at the girly stink of it. I reminded myself she wasn’t a real girl, and was able to go on.
Hoping against hope that Matron was too old for cooties, I snuck close and saw the ring glinting beside her bed. I reached out and-
-she whipped out a hand and got me. “Jack? You’re demoted to sixth assistant cogmonkey for this. And you should be ashamed!” “I am.”
7
Nip and I bravely crept back to Matron’s gondola. There were other boys at her door, and when they spotted us they gave a shout! We ran off.
8
Nip knew the boys Matron had set outside her door, so he sacrificed himself for my sake, and challenged them to a kung fu battle elsewhere.
Giz and I crept to Matron’s gondola alone – only to be foiled again. More boys! As Matron, Esme had an endless supply. Giz parped sadly.
9
I reported to Matron for my extra duties, wearing my saddest, most parentless face. She shook my hand by way of forgiveness.
Her diamond ring slid off, neat as you please. Being a good boy is worth it after all! I took it to Nip and once.
There was something strange about the ring. The surface was badly scratched, despite the supposed polish. Giz rolled over to look.
10
Nip and I broke into an alchemist’s lab (much easier than Matron’s gondola, and far less hazardous in cooties terms) to borrow their scope.
Between the three of us, we drew the pattern of scratches from the ring’s surface. The scientist returned, but we just hid under the desk.
11
I returned Matron’s ring and told her a story about rescuing it from a Nasty Piece of Work. “Thanks,” she said drily, “you’re my hero.”
Somehow I found myself demoted to seventh assistant cogmonkey. Oh well – it could be worse. I could be blown up and thrown off the roof.
12
I had a dream and woke up knowing what was scratched on the black diamond. “It’s a map!” I said. Gizmo said, “Bing!” and I knew I was right.
Nip was unimpressed. He said, “A map of what? It’s just squiggly lines and a picture of a lemon.” I said, “And an X. Don’t forget THAT.”
13
The picture of a lemon was definitely A Clue. Nip and I went to the grocer to “investigate”. We stole three lemons, two limes and a tomato.
The fruit was delicious. The clue remained a mystery. What kind of treasure had anything to do with citrus fruits?
14
Nip passed me a rag saturated with oil, and I wiped down the number four piston. As I leaned forward, the map fell out of my shirt.
I grabbed the map, but it was covered in engine grease. Gizmo rolled around on his six little legs, parping miserably.
Nip carefully spread it out: “It’s okay, Jack. The oil seeped into the pencil grooves, but we can still read it.”
15
I slept with the map under my head, determined to keep it safe. When I woke up, my pillow was covered in squiggly lines of oil.
Matron called Nip and I to her office. Did she know about the fruit? I hid Giz in my metal arm in case she tried to confiscate him.
Matron dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief: “You boys know what happened to my fiancé, don’t you?” I said, “Didn’t know you had one.”
16
“We’re going to have to tell her,” I told Nip. Matron burst in: “Tell me what?” I panicked, and showed her the map taken from her ring.
Matron said, “A map? Really? It’s just squiggly lines and a picture of a lemon.” “And an X,” I said. She said, “Hmm.”
17
Nip and I had Gizmo thoroughly check we were alone before we dared to talk openly about the death of Matron’s evil fiancé.
“We have to tell her,” I said. Nip said, “She’ll kill us to death for not telling her sooner.” “Yes.”
18
I woke up and the map was gone! Someone had snuck into the foundlings’ quarters and stolen the only valuable thing. I suspected Matron.
Nip searched with me, but it was no use. The map was gone. But all was not lost – we still had a backward copy of the map on my pillow.
19
Nip and Giz and I were temporarily assigned to roof cleaning duties. The burnt nets where Matron’s fiancé had fallen through were fixed now.
When I’d scraped off the bird poo, I stopped to look at the view. Below me the wide sea was smooth, and the few people in the bay were tiny.
I pulled the stained pillow from my shirt and yelled for Nip, “Come here quick! It’s the bay! The map shows the coastline of Botany Bay!”
20
Nip and I went up on the roof again, so no-one could eavesdrop. I said, “How do we get down?” Nip said, “Can you fly? Because I can’t.”
Nip said, “Isn’t the Bay full of convicts anyway? Isn’t that why all reputable folk are up here in an airship – to avoid them?”
I said, “We’ll deal with the convicts later, once I’ve thought of a way down. Nip – Gizmo – we’re going to fly!” Nip said, “We ARE flying.”
21
I went to Matron and told her the truth: her fiancé had given her a treasure map. “We need your help to get down and collect it,” I said.
“There’s no way I’m applying for permission to take you on land,” she said, “You’d be a bad influence on all those convicts. I’ll go.”
“Nice work,” said Nip when I told him. I said, “Yep. Now we gotta get down there before she does. I bet she’s made copies of the map, too.”
#253: Make the world
Yesterday I went without internet and TV for another long, painful 24 hours. (When I have a child, I plan to keep them from TV for at least two years. . . that should be HILARIOUS.)
I didn’t get that babysitting job I wanted, but I don’t think it was because she suspected I was a criminal mastermind.*
I have a headache from reading so darn much about bushrangers and early Australian manners (two different books, both fascinating).
I also amused myself making a giant world map for my “Food of the World” party next month. It’s now labelled (colour coded for appetiser, main meal, dessert, and drinks) and blue-tacked to the underside of our glass dining table.
I used pencil lines of latitude and longitude to divide it into a 150% copy of our wall map. There are some errors, but it DOES look pretty. If you do the same thing, I recommend you use a rectangular map rather than the semicurved version.
Here’s what our table usually looks like:
*In fact I think I can say that for certain.
#129: Buy a lemon tree
On Monday the second of May, 2010, I bought a lemon tree. This is what it looked like then:
One month later (I rigged a towel over our clothes horse to protect it from frost):
And on December 27th 2010, there were lemons growing:
Yay! I made food!
