Melbourne experienced its largest earth tremor (it takes no regional 'u' while favour, colour, labour and rumour do: why?) since 1961 around 10.30pm last night. Radio talkback callers reported rattling china. Maybe my teapot knew something after all and dropped its handle ahead of time.
Chez Kitchen Hand, we didn't hear or feel a thing. We were all tucked up in bed and sound asleep after a delicious Sunday night supper of smoked kippers with buttered sourdough bread and mashed potatoes on the side. I poached the kippers and added some butter and parsley to the water at the end, reduced it and poured it over the kippers, adding some capers and a squeeze of lemon. There is something very Sunday night about a meal like this. (By the way, ignore the dateline. I must fix it. It is Monday morning here right now.)
We are already operating on Eastern Summer Time around here, rising with the sun, craving lunch around 11 and planning dinner by 6 o'clock. This morning we were about by 5.30. Glorious sun was streaming in through the lace curtains. It's a shame to miss these golden mid-Spring hours when the garden is wakening into full flower and leaf; yet the streets are still quiet, apart from the dinging of an early tram and the distant swish and clack of the first train.
Of course, it's all William's fault. He wakes up talking: raises his sleepy head and says a tentative word or two, sits up, looks around and launches into shorter or longer paragraphs of baby sentences which make as much sense as our own first mutterings for the day.
We will be even busier very shortly: within days. My original reported projection of November was incorrect.
*Speaking of martinis, here's one not to have.
Chez Kitchen Hand, we didn't hear or feel a thing. We were all tucked up in bed and sound asleep after a delicious Sunday night supper of smoked kippers with buttered sourdough bread and mashed potatoes on the side. I poached the kippers and added some butter and parsley to the water at the end, reduced it and poured it over the kippers, adding some capers and a squeeze of lemon. There is something very Sunday night about a meal like this. (By the way, ignore the dateline. I must fix it. It is Monday morning here right now.)
We are already operating on Eastern Summer Time around here, rising with the sun, craving lunch around 11 and planning dinner by 6 o'clock. This morning we were about by 5.30. Glorious sun was streaming in through the lace curtains. It's a shame to miss these golden mid-Spring hours when the garden is wakening into full flower and leaf; yet the streets are still quiet, apart from the dinging of an early tram and the distant swish and clack of the first train.
Of course, it's all William's fault. He wakes up talking: raises his sleepy head and says a tentative word or two, sits up, looks around and launches into shorter or longer paragraphs of baby sentences which make as much sense as our own first mutterings for the day.
We will be even busier very shortly: within days. My original reported projection of November was incorrect.
*Speaking of martinis, here's one not to have.
Those tremors usually shake our house around a lot (as we live in the Foothills of Confusion), but last night, nothing... not that I mind :).
ReplyDeleteAre they called that because I always get lost when I drive up that way, Ian?
ReplyDeleteHey--just how many days are we talking!? I see on my calendar that today is Labour Day in New Zealand--you aren't trying to coordinate with THAT, are you!?
ReplyDeleteI hadn't known it was Kiwi Labour Day Terry. But we made it by one minute. More later!
ReplyDelete