In With the New…

Happy New Year! The old year’s gone with a burst of fireworks, and the new year is brand spanking new, and chock full of all sorts of exciting possibilities.

The celebration of New Year’s Day is a very old tradition, going back to Babylonian times. But it was Julius Caesar who designated January 1 as the first day of the year, in 46 BC. The Romans dedicated the month of January to the god Janus, from whom it takes its name. God of gates and doors, beginnings, endings and time, two-faced Janus was able to see both into the past and the future. 

I for one however, am glad we mortals cannot: the slate is wiped clean, and the new year dawns full of promise. We can make new year’s resolutions and actually hope that we’ll fulfil them this time.

Speaking of which, I’m being haunted by a remnant of last year… in the form of the ironing basket. One of my resolutions must be to finally get on top of the ironing! Who knows, I might even discover some ‘new’ clothes…

Out With the Old…

Well, it’s officially the end of the Noughties, and the start… and the start of the Teensies (as I have dubbed them).

As New Year’s Eve is also sometimes referred to Old Year’s Day, I thought it would behove me to reflect on the year past. Nothing too deep and meaningful, let me hastily assure you, this is not that kind of journal. Merely, let us allow our thoughts to dwell momentarily on the delicious additions to my wardrobe this year…

To wit: a vintage 1940s saucy tilt hat in tomato red, embellished with galloons; a bold tangerine striped top by Veronika Maine; an awesome and dashing pair of over-the-knee boots in buff leather; and last but certainly not least, an irresistible pair of shorts in candy pink taffeta found in Kinki Gerlinki. (I resisted that purchase for all of 24 hours.)

These were certainly not all my serendipitous discoveries this year. I call them serendipitous because I happened upon them when I was not shopping at all. Those are the most delightful finds of all!

So before you drink in the New Year, do take a moment to salute the old. Chin-chin!

Caught in the Act!

’Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a mouse…  EXCEPT FOR A NAUGHTY ELF WHO WAS EATING THE COOKIES AND MILK LEFT OUT FOR SANTA!

Breaking news from the Yuletide Bureau:

Little did Tatiana – employed in the Siberian division of Santa Inc as an ‘elf’ on temporary assignment to assist during the busy Christmas period – know that Mr Claus had sent his crack SS (Secret Santa) troops out into Christmas Eve night, armed with infra red goggles and high-definition telescopic-lensed DSLRs that were able to spot a misbehaving employee from a very long way away.

They spotted her breaking and entering through the chimney of a small cottage in southern Bulgaria (under the ostensible reason of checking that the chimney’s dimensions would allow Mr Claus’ not inconsiderable girth to pass), and within moments of the perp’s entry had taken strategic positions in and around the cottage’s sitting room. And when they saw her flagrantly breaching her contract with Santa Inc., they were not slow in capturing firsthand evidence of her crime.

Caught in the glare of the flash, Ms Tatiana (as she calls herself, refusing to disclose a surname) could not deny she had indeed been sampling the milk and cookies left out for Santa. When questioned directly, she insisted that she was tasting the goods merely in order to ascertain the quantity of sugar in the cookies. “You know he’s diabetic?” she added in an ingenuous tone. “I couldn’t risk the possibility that Mr Claus might suffer a fatal attack on my watch.”

This was a serious allegation against Mr Claus, the CEO of a major global corporation, but no-one from the headquarters of Santa Inc could be reached for comment.

Ms Tatiana has been remanded in custody pending further investigation.

Merry Christmas.

Sometimes Mother Does Not Know Best

Must… protect… hair… And also not be recognised whilst doing so.I love my mum. She is not, however, a woman overly interested in fashion and style. She believes in being appropriately dressed for the occasion; she favours modest attire (not too low, not too short); eccentricity receives a dubious frown, and she has strict notions of what looks ridiculous.

“You look like a gypsy!” she declared when I wore an emerald green Indian paisley printed hippy skirt with bells sewn in the hem (I was at art school at the time); too much ethnic jewellery is condemned as ‘drangulije’ – a lovely Croatian word for gewgaws; but her favourite Croatian phrase was an exhortation to ‘be proper!’ Er, perhaps I was a bit of a hoyden when I was younger. And more recently, when I wore my tomato red 40s hat on a visit to the parental home, it was not received with any degree of approbation: it was too odd in Mum’s book. In summary, one should not attract undue attention to one’s attire.

So I was justly indignant when my mother recently suggested that in case I should find myself outdoors in inclement weather, I should carry in my purse a plastic bag that I could place on my head in lieu of an umbrella. I’d like to see her do this. A more ridiculous notion I have never heard!

A plastic bag on the head would be a perfect substitute for an umbrella.

Prada’s clear plastic raincoat that turns opaque when wetMelbourne was experiencing some nasty winter weather at the time, and mum professed concern at my mode of transport to and from work: on foot through the Botanic Gardens. She questioned me closely on my attire, and I informed her reassuringly that I was wearing my red wool and cashmere coat, so was very warm. But that, apparently, was quite inadequate, as there are long splits on the sides under the sleeves. A plastic raincoat would be far more practical. Regrettably, I do not own a plastic raincoat (but if I ever saw one of those fabulous transparent ones Prada made a few years ago, I would snap it up).

A plastic bag on the head would be a perfect substitute for an umbrella. A good quality plastic bag, naturally; not one of those nasty cheap ones from the supermarket.

“Ven it is vindy, the rain blows under the umbrella and you get vet, darling!”

“But mum!” I protested between gales of laughter, “I would look like a lunatic!”

“Who cares! At least you vould be dry!”

“People would call the police if they saw me!”

“Bah! You are talking nonsense.”

It was remarkable how she could carry on with her exhortations even through my continued laughter. I need hardly add that on this occasion I did not take my mum’s advice!

Up, Up and Awaaay!

That’s just where my pussycat Hero will be spending her time while I am away – when she is not receiving visitors.

…But not with TAA* – with Tiger Airlines. It’s 5am on Wednesday morning, still dark, but I’m at the end of my driveway waiting to be picked up by a friend. Then we’re off to the airport to be whisked away on a two-day adventure in Bris-vegas. What fun!

Ostensibly I am going to see the Valentino retrospective showing at the Queensland Art Gallery (for some unknown and deeply mysterious reason this exhibition is not travelling to the southern states). To honour the maestro I will be wearing a red silk dress that features shirring at the waist, and very pretty short sleeves like tulip petals. It is not (ahem) by Valentino, but at least it is in his signature colour.

The exhibition finishes this weekend – see it if you possibly can. Bye, must fly!

* Who remembers that darling little jingle? It was used by both TAA (AU) and TWA (US) airlines.