A feast of thick crunchy toast, antipasto and other delicious things I found in the fridge.
And of course my mum's fantastic (yumyumyumyumyum) Greek Salad.
And here comes the darling flower-bearer's requisite appearance in Sunday, doing his newspaper crossword... I must say I find there to be something so wonderfully intimate and endearing in that image.
I decided to go swimming at the beach... I can't go for a week without being with the ocean, it's so silly. So we packed our beach bags and waited impatiently to get there.
A sweet little fabric flower wrapped around my belt-loop made my day (and my outfit... heh).
Finally we got to the beach. I look like I've been swimming in this picture but it is in fact because my sister poured a bottle of water over my head. Still, it was so wonderful to be on the sand again. I was so so very excited to go swimming with my goggles and look at all the amazing fish that live in Clovelly (there are a family of Blue Groper that are like big beautiful puppy dogs under the sea).
Alas, it was not to be... as I first stepped out into the water I noticed something bobbing on top of the water. It was a bluebottle.
FUCK. That is so annoying.
For anyone who is unfamiliar, bluebottles are fucking horrible little stinging (for lack of a better word) jellyfish that sit on the surface of the water waiting to sting the shit out of people who are dumb or unlucky enough to swim through their path. My mum tells horror stories about big dirty long ones that wrapped themselves around her leg when she was young. They're not life-threatening but they are incredibly painful. And there's never just one - if you see one you can bet your life there are a thousand more blobbing towards you.
Basically, when you see one, you get out of the water. So there goes that great beach adventure. Poo.
The funny thing about bluebottles is that they have no choice in who they sting - they have no muscles or motor skills, they are just a pouch of air that floats on the water's surface and a tangle of blue tentacles that stretch out below. They don't attack, they just float where the sea takes them. Tomorrow morning the beach will be covered with them - they'll wash up on the beach and die, turning dark as they dry up in the sun. Wouldn't it be horrible to have that little control? One thing's for sure, when you're at the very bottom of the Buddhist cycle of reincarnation, you're a fucking bluebottle. Poor bastards. Still, get the hell away from me.
After our failed swimming expedition we returned home where I cooked my weekly meal. This week it was Emily's delicious Cherry Pilaf, with lovely firm grape tomatoes and beans.
Followed by DESERT PIZZA. Banana/Apple with caramel sauce. Oh my goodness. Death and heaven all in one.
Have happy weeks ahead, my loves!
2 comments:
Did I tell you that when I was a kid I got stung by a bluebottle along the knucles of my right foot?
oh. my god. the pain.
And to make it worse, there were no life guards around - they'd packed up while we were in the water and hadn't told us. Bloody Queenslanders. I'm just glad that I didn't get body-wrapped; I've heard the horror stories too.
Ah yes, my mum got bodywrapped!
Horror.
On the feet too - ouch. I feel for you.
Bloody Queenslanders indeed :P
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