we're all making our own sense of things
My football wishes are few: that Port win and the Crows lose.
So it’s lucky we were in a place where we could listen to the game (the radio of course) by the light of a campfire with a clear sky full of stars.
And now if you’ll excuse me, there’re several loads of smokey, sandey washing to be done.
Having roughly scrubbed at the bottom with daggy dish-cleaning thingo, think to self ‘well, it’s not as-new, but as promised it is greatly improved, yep that’ll do it’, then step back and notice what you have done to the previously spotless external surface of your boiling apparatus.
And have you noticed? A story arc I didn’t have to impose on my characters? Like, it just appeared in this last post all of it’s own accord. How cool is that?
add more potent mix of straight vinegar and bicarb, boile with the lid off so that it doesn’t cut out (only under adult supervision and obviously don’t leave your kettle unattended – like, dude, this is really dangerous)
a discernible improvement, but still a bit grubby
ponder next steps while removing banana cake from the oven, slightly over-browned
Stage 3: note that bicarb on its own doesn’t seem to have made much difference.
Add vinegar.
Marvel at the colour of the water.
Stage two: the best bit.
Add copious amounts of bicarbonate of soda (as per instructions from SQ in that other post down there).
This isn’t really it at its most dramatic, but I’ve also got a banana cake in the oven, and the youngest child trying to get me to his performance of La Bamba in the other part of the room.
Back soon.
Stage one
Fill kettle before boiling.
Here you see the contrast between the inside and outside of my kettle.
My gorgeous mother-in-law made our kitchen smile while I was in Tasmania – the kettle, dishwasher and stove sparkle like they have never sparkled before.
Better go…the kettle has stopped boiling. Stay tuned for stage two.
it’s an important email to be sure, but really, does it need to have taken from 9 am this morning to not even be able to get these three sentences right?
On the left, this morning’s warm-the-cup water straight from the kettle. Any guesses as to what that gritty stuff might be? And on the right, the cup I just found on my desk after a three week absence.
How much did this house miss me?
This is of interest to only about three people reading this blog, but here be some photos of the Centennial Hall at the Royal Adelaide Showgrounds being demolished. The mister, who knows about such things, tells me that the building has concrete cancer. I noticed the bulldozers there a few days before I went away, but I forgot to go and get the photos before they knocked it down. So, while I am disappointed that I didn’t get the photos before it was completely knocked down, I am so glad that I managed to get even these.
The Show (and it’s just around the corner, folks) will not be the same without this building. It was a small, quiet haven for that time, say around three o’clock, when the mad mouse and the toffee apples got too much. Here is where they had the flower arrangements, the avocado and the apples for your yellow brick road showbag. And the apple juice. I have two glasses of apple juice each year, and of them comes – came – from here. There were too, a couple of those things you will only see at the show. Is this where they had that arrangement of the train tracks you could lay in your garden (front or back)? I think so. I think that was here.
The floorboards of Centennial Hall were the gentle type of town halls everywhere. They absorbed the sound and reflected it back in a much more civilised way than the scratchy carpet squares from the hall they’re using now. And there was music of a most soothing kind. The kind where men dress in black suits and bow ties even in the middle of the day.
And what will exams be without a final panic and cigarette on these steps.
I was the one everyone asked ‘did you study this’ and if I said ‘yes’ and they had not studied that, the colour drained from their faces as they thought to themselves ‘bloody hell, if even she’s done that it will be in there for sure’. I only ever failed one exam. I’m a lazy person with a conscience.
Goodbye Centennial Hall.
PS I’ve got more photos on my flickr page which I think is here, but in my blog, as in life, there are no guarantees. The photos there are much better quality – I have no idea why they come out so poorly on my blog and I don’t know how to copy them from flickr into here. And I guess I’m too lazy to work it out.
