Daylesford “Makeover Me”… Spa Hopping to fabulous!

Walking up to Frangos & Frangos for coffee this morning, and happened to catch my reflection in the window? Goodness me, when did I stop wearing makeup? And what is going on with my posture?  I go to pull out a tissue (to wipe away the tears) and notice my nails. Now I’m too traumatised to cry. Sitting over calming latte, a cunning plan comes to mind. I need a makeover! Given I live in the spa haven of Australia, with day spas on every corner, I wont need to walk far.

Some call me the Oprah of Makeovers. Even Trinny & Suzannah have asked for the occasional fashion tip. It happened quite by accident. I was cocktailing at Jude Law’s favourite pub, The Engineer in Highgate with fabulista friends, Tim and Laurence, when Dowdy Girl dressed head-to-toe in black bought me a glass of champagne. Immediate thought, “She’s either the kindest waitress in London or I’m looking particularly hot today?” I’m reminded of Father’s frequent rhetoric, “Why do these things keep happening to you?”

Long story abridged…. Dowdy Girl had had seen me presenting at a Marketing Conference, worked out that we both knew Laurence, and convinced him to arrange a meet. Putting aside her slight stalking tendencies, Dowdy Girl really did need a makeover. Forty eight hours later, 3 department stores, 4 jean brands, 5 coffees, 2 brandies and 1 terribly good lunch at Bluebird Café in Chelsea… Dowdy Girl disappeared and re-emerged as Smokin’ Hot Accountant. Word spread and soon I was doing 1-2 makeovers a month. 

Then moved to rural Australia, let my roots slip and turned into Cruella Down Under. My inner Supermodel screaming to get out. For maximum impact, Daylesford “Makeover Me” was scheduled over just one day....Read more...

Toast to a Sister, at the Altar

The sun is shining, its 28 ºC in the shade and my Nespresso coffee delivery has finally arrived. Let the holidays begin. Gerry and I celebrated by walking up to Altar Bar in the Convent Gallery gardens overlooking Daylesford. This is life as its meant to be lived. Terribly stylish Rose Champagne Cocktail precariously perched on rickety white wooden table, delicate perfume of old fashioned roses tantalizingly clinging to the twilight shadows, sitting under hallowed arches watching the sun set over the rooftops of this pretty town. The stresses of a long year melt away. A miracle in itself....Read more...

Donatella goes Wild at Christmas

It’s 6pm, Christmas Day. So far we’ve blown up the blender (making egg nog), burnt the Pavlova (that was to be expected) and lost the turkey. Why am I not surprised?

It all started two weeks ago.

After days of chuckling to himself, Gerry finally finished reading about living off the land in Off the Radar (by Kiwi comedian, Te Rada). Before the book could hit the floor, he was down at his favourite store, Home Timber & Hardware, bought stakes and chicken wire, and knocked up a run in the backyard; in anticipation of catching and cooking turkey for Christmas Dinner. For over a year, I haven’t been able to convince him that we should have chickens, but now we’re turkey farmers?

Gerry always cooks Christmas dinner in our family; it was this plan or cheese on toast. So we headed off to one of the largest (and best) farmers markets in Victoria, where the term “chook in a box” was coined, wood is whittled into chopping boards while you wait, potatoes still have the dirt on and young children take their pet pig for a walk. In the absence of Selfridge’s food court or Whole Foods, Talbot Farmers Market has become my ever so delightful, outdoor supermarket....Read more...

Rapunzel, let down your hair, or at least fix mine!

My hair is only two bad hair days away from turning into the evil protagonist in a Brothers Grimm fairytale. This morning, a small child started crying when I walked into Daylesford House Café. I can only assume she was as traumatised as me about the hair. Over the last 18 months, I’ve always flown back to Sydney and put my precious locks in the talented hands of Kim, stylist to the stars (read: Nicole Kidman) at Valonz.  But with Christmas just moments away and Parents practically on my doorstep, there’s no time for an emergency dash. Am now living every fashionistas worst nightmare: going to a new hairdresser.

Rapunzel

After extensive research and a large brandy, I arrived at Spice. First sign that all would be well was the sighting of Kevin Murphy products. Only the best hair products ever (Nicole agrees),exclusively used in about seven salons through the Southern Hemisphere! Its easier to find a Prince than Kevin Murphy in Australia...Read more...

Tuesday with Morrie... & Champagne Cider

Christmas is just around the corner, Mother and Father arrive any day now and the cellar is bare. Catastrophe!  With total disregard to my appearance (read: no micro-managing of crazy hair), I jump into non vintage car and hit the dirt track. All the way up to the little old, wooden cottage that is home to Captain’s Creek cellar door and… the best kept secret of the region, Organic Apple Cider.

Morrie kept on reading in the hope I'd eventually go away!

Walking up onto the rickety verandah, it feels like I’ve arrived on location for the revival of Little House on the Prairie. Could not be quainter. Walk inside and there sitting on a 1950’s plaid sofa in the corner of this most delightful cellar & café, reading the newspaper with glass of red in hand, is Morrie. Honestly, where are the cameras?...Read more...

Gastropub, the Secret Service & celebrity chickens

I’m concerned that Mother has me earmarked for the Religious Order (given marital progress has stalled to a glacial pace), and have decided to stop waiting at home for the Prince to come knocking. Father’s suggestions of “Have you forgotten what you do for a living?  Start marketing yourself!” or my personal favourite, “Buy a lavender farm (in Cromwell, NZ)… you’ll meet lots of farmers!” haven’t been particularly useful, so a more pragmatic approach is needed. My earlier cunning plan of starting up The Uncommitted & Extraordinary Club has yet to get off the ground. Still looking for the right venue. And dress.

After coercing local entrepreneur, Kieran to be my wingman, Friday night at Farmers Arms, the social hub of Daylesford was digitally diarised.

Despite a peculiarly British heritage, Farmers Arms is exactly what you imagine an idyllic country gastropub in Daylesford to be. Where Farmer, Lawyer, Plumber, Winemaker, and occasionally Eric Bana, sit side by side at the old, polished wooden bar; debating the ways of the world whilst getting intimate with the extensive wine list over outrageously good bar food. I’m addicted to the Crème Brûlée with poached fruit and house-made biscotti …legendary with the foodie glitterati. Friday nights draw locals and visitors like Sloane Rangers to an eligible Prince. Before I know it, we’re leaning on the bar, glass in hand, chatting to Retired Beekeeper, and being sold $10 raffle tickets for a frozen chook. In rural Australia, poultry has celebrity status. At 9pm sharp, a large ship bell is rung, signaling the raffle draw. As the new celebrity in town, I’m asked to pick out the winning number from an Akubra. The winner is Hot Architect from Melbourne. That prayer chain is certainly hard at work...Read more...

Boy band to Wine Masters – the tutorial

Happy Hour has been a tradition in our family since the invention of the cork screw. In the early years, it was a brief affair, starting at 6pm on the dot. Finishing 7pm on the dot. With Shakespearean drama, Father would open the drop down shelf in the wall unit, to reveal a well-stocked cocktail cabinet. Home to Baileys Irish Cream, Southern Comfort, Wild Turkey Kentucky bourbon whiskey, Gordon’s Gin, Apricot Liqueur (really just for Apricot Chicken) and a bottle of sherry for when Grandma visited. We were each handed a glass of our chosen tipple, then the cabinet door was rapidly raised like a moat bridge re-securing the castle under siege. Happy Hour had officially begun. Over the next hour, we were encouraged to share progress on love lives (never a long segment), discuss the state of sawmilling globally and plan careers (ideally in the sawmilling industry).

As the years passed, wine was invented! Some say that wine was already around before our family discovered it. Such naysayers. Nowadays, Happy Hour doesn’t really have a time limit… or wine limit.

Pat likes to dress for Happy Hour

The first night the boys arrived in Daylesford, I gathered them together for Happy Hour. It took me a moment to realise why they were preparing jokes and magic tricks. That sorted, everyone settled down with glass in hand. Before I could say the first toast for the evening (Happy Hour tradition), the boys had finished their wine… in a single gulpl!

Wine tutorial began immediately...Read more...

Nuns, angels and a heavenly day spa

Daylesford has turned into Arabian Nights; temperatures are so high, my hair has curled into a rolled up Persian rug. I’m surprised my skin hasn’t wandered off in search of water!  With older sister, Theresa (remember the one with English Rose skin who asks random strangers which one of us is the youngest?) arriving in Daylesford for Christmas, I’m going to need more than 8 glasses of water a day to restore this wreck. Times like this, I’m grateful for living in Australia’s famous spa town, with day spas on every corner and mineral springs spurting out of potholes.

Raphael, Angel in Waiting

A sign outside Endota Spa pronounces “Welcome to Heaven”. Usually a cliché. Not this time.

I expected white fluffy clouds and harps. Instead Angelina was the angel that awaited me. After a myriad of paper work (is it really that necessary?), in floats my therapist, Rachael, the poster child for day spas: beautiful big smile and healthy glow. I renamed her Raphael (in my head).

The darkened treatment room glowed with the twinkle of rose scented tea lights. Once Raphael had wrapped me in heated towels and aromatherapy pillows, she set to work on the monumental task of restoring youthful glow to my face. Usually I’m not terribly relaxed during facials; too busy analysing every step, assessing the short and long term efficacy and wondering how much time has passed so far. However, today was different. Something deeply therapeutic about Raphael’s touch, the treatment and the room, silenced the thousands of thoughts racing around in my mind and took me to another place with similar heavenly vibe. To one of my favourite places on earth...Read more...

The Prince and Me

The last time that I met a Prince was in Monte Carlo with Lela. She called me up early morning with the irresistible offer of a spare ticket for the Season Opening at Monaco Opera House, followed by 7-course dinner at the fabulous and outrageously posh Louis XV restaurant in Hotel de Paris. Prince Albert would be in attendance. Dress code was Formal Cocktail. Slight issue ... the only formal dress in my wardrobe on this side of the world was a Maid of Honour dress designed by NZ designer, Judith McGaffin, for the Whitianga wedding of my dear friend, Rosanne. With no time to cut the floor skimming hem to above the knee, take out the long sleeves and put in a plunging neckline, I took solace in the knowledge that if Grace Kelly were still alive, she would have approved and instantly encouraged her son, the Prince to marry me.  The fact that I felt like a nun in a room full of supermodels is neither here nor there.

Prince Albert sat at the next table. There was eye contact, but I think that was just him looking over wondering why such a hot chick had become a nun.

Prince Vigen... Australia's only royal barista

So technically I didn’t meet (read: marry) a Prince. This has frustrated me for years. Until yesterday.

Sitting in Gourmet Larder tapping out a blog, when a tattooed, African man with massive smile came up and gave me a hug...then sat down beside me. Even by my standards this is slightly out-there behaviour...Read more...

The tale of Cherry Cherry amour

Cherries fresh from the orchard in Bacchus Marsh

Am kicking myself that I missed the Bacchus Marsh Strawberries & Cherries festival in November. Mother converted me into a Cherry Cherry fan (not to be confused with the famous Neil Diamond song, Cherry Cherry) after her and Father relocated from NZ's sunny North Island to Dunedin, way down near the bottom of the South Island (and only a few hours dinghy's ride from the South Pole!). Now, every year, a few weeks before Christmas, Mother drives through Lord of the Rings terrain to Central Otago to stock up on cherries for the Christmas season. A pilgrimage worth making. Central Otago cherries are the celebrities of the cherry world. Fabulously larger than life (almost 2-3 times the size of cherries anywhere else in the world), adored far and wide, and sweetness personified under the spotlight. I'm mulling over the idea of setting up a fan club. Meanwhile, more important chores at hand. With Mother and Father coming to Daylesford this Christmas, it’s time to do my own cherry trek...Read more...

Three dirt tracks, two champagnes & one goat

I was on my way back from buying fresh vegetables at local farm gates and, feeling particularly country and western (in plaid shirt and True Religion jeans), decided to take the back roads home. Clearly not a well thought out plan. Who knew that when you turn down a country road in rural Australia, chances are you may not see a main road (or sign) … ever again? At one point I came to three detour signs, signaling me off the asphalt road down dirt tracks, all going in different directions! In a Girl Guide alumni moment, I stepped out of the car and walked up a nearby hill, hoping to get my geographical bearings. This was about as effective as pulling out the car cigarette lighter and trying to send smoke signals for help! Morale reached an all time low with the sighting of a handwritten sign saying “Adelaide. Not far now!” Optimism went down like the phone reception.

Surely I’d arrive somewhere… anywhere… soon?

Then like a long gin and tonic (with a twist of lime) during a heat wave, a winery appeared. I slammed on the brakes. Tales of the infamous Michal Unwin winery (Beaufort) and his beautiful One Goat label are widespread, but being such a specialist winemaker with limited releases each year, his wine is almost as rare as signposts around here...Read more...

spot the hot winemaker's arm in top right hand corner?

Lavender Champagne anyone?

The perfect summer day. Blue skies. Gentle warm breeze wafting scents of roses, lilac and rosemary through the garden.  Pink and white Rosellas bolding reclaiming the front lawn. Days like this are made for sitting on the front porch, glass of bubbles in hand, pondering life and all its crazy turns. Which is exactly what I planned to do until I noticed that the lavender had more issues than my neighbour's sheep with separation anxiety (he travels everywhere in the back seat of the car with his owner. Even out to coffee!).  Visit to Lavandula Farm required. Now!

Walking through the farm gates of Lavandula is like stepping inside a perfect little corner of Provence. Which way to go first? The Barn Shop packed floor to ceiling with lavender-infused everything just to the left of the farm gate? The lavender fields to my right? Or towards the vintage wheelbarrows overflowing with lavender plants (clearly the point of this visit)? Then the sun hits a sign in the distance, magnetically drawing me further down the lavender lined path to a little wooden cottage. And there it was.

“Lavender Champagne Cocktails $8”. Like a Tsunami, the memories came flooding back...Read more...

Star Crossed Coffee Lovers in Daylesford – PART 2

The boys have got wind that I’m doing one last round of the Coffee Route du Bonheur in Daylesford and have taken to sitting in the car whenever they see me pack the laptop and camera into my handbag. They make interesting sub-editors so I am acquiescent.  Am still wearing black!

Cliffy’s Emporium, Howe St, Daylesford

Pouring with rain this morning, but nothing can dampen the warmth and charm of Cliffy’s Emporium. Somewhere in between my all time favourite film, the whimsical Bagdad Café (with classic one-lines like “Stuck between a rock and a hot plate”) and the 1960's cult TV hit, Happy Days, Cliffy’s Emporium is basically a movie set waiting for Jack Palance to walk in. A mish mash of gilded mirrors bounce light from the chandeliers. Staff in paisley aprons and neck ties wander around putting menus written on paper bags back onto earring racks. And the occasional eccentric character or international rock star sips espresso at the rickety wooden table tucked in the front shop window....Read more...

Star Crossed Coffee Lovers in Daylesford – PART 1

Coffee has been the constant love in my life for the last 20 years. Now suddenly we are being torn apart to live on separate sides of the table … the last instructions from my hot surgeon as he turned to walk into the sunset. To help work through the grieving process, I organised a farewell Tribute to Coffee; sipping moorish espressos and lattes one last time at my favourite cafes around town. I wore black.  

I was first introduced to espresso in my late 20’s when working for illy caffe in New Zealand. After years of marketing Jif, Handy Andy, Vegemite and Philadelphia Cream, it was like stepping off the pavements onto the catwalk. Everyone was Italian, with lots of arm waving, crazy Vespa driving, impeccable style and always an espresso cup in hand. Every espresso had to be perfect, no matter who it was for. Optimum temperature, tamper level, grind, extraction time, crema depth, cup temperature and height to the millimeter. If not, “throw it away!” Unsurprisingly I picked up this contagious obsessive love for coffee perfection. To this day, if the coffee isn’t right, “send it back!” Friends and family have been driven under the table with my constant round robin of coffees. But coffee is such a lovely experience, why waste the moment? ...Read more...

Chocolate, Sex and the City and vintage Barbie

Once upon a time in Daylesford, back when stilettos were only fitted on horses, a handful of Swiss were busy making chocolate almost as valuable as the nearby discoveries of gold and mineral water. To this day, Daylesford and Chocolate seem to quietly fit just like Sarah Jessica Parker and vintage Prada or Barbie and Ken. I’ll admit to having a slightly wicked childhood when it comes to chocolate; hiding every Christmas and Easter chocolate ever received, then four months later, selling them to Gerry for highly inflated prices or slavery for a day. A marketer even then!

Sweet Decandence... my secret hideaway

Despite deep reverence for a Free Market approach to supply and demand of chocolate in my immediate world, “product samples” have always been kept aside, for market research purposes of course. A good marketer needs to truly love their product to be able to get others to love it...Read more...

How New Zealand's new grassroots record label began

I’m back! No more hospital gowns, nose-tubes or hot surgeon (sadly that wasn’t meant to be!). For over a month, my entire world shrunk to one room; totally reliant on wonderful friends, family and medical staff for everything. Experiences like this are a great reminder of just how much we need a strong support network around us. It’s difficult to imagine making something beautiful out of a horrible situation all on your own, but many people do. And are incredibly inspirational as a result. I’ve been asked many times over the last few weeks why I’ve taken on the Capree boys. ..and the music industry. Not a surprising question given that my guitar repertoire is limited to hymns (taught by Sister Sonia in primary school), I still get confused between Eminem and the more chocolaty M&M's, and once when sitting in a hotel spa, I asked Annie Lennox what she did for a living. 

With our Capree boys (in my PJ's and wellies!)

When I met the Capree boys, heard their singing and then their stories about rising above a world of drugs, gangs, violence and street living with only faith, sheer determination and music for company, it was impossible not to see that they were destined to become inspirational role models for the young generation. All they needed was a strong and caring support network wrapped around them. So that’s how five young Maori lads ended up on my doorstep in Daylesford, four days after major stomach surgery and Sticky Vinyl Productions was borne...Read more...

Daylesford becoming Australia’s own Abbey Road

It constantly surprises me how many gifted creatives live tucked away in little country villages around the world. You never know who you’ll bump into at the fruit and vege market. Just the other day, Gerry met Australian megawatt, Eric Bana at the local video store (he has a farmhouse on the village outskirts). Then I received an invitation for coffee with Daylesford local, the internationally acclaimed singer-songwriter, Adrian Kosky. Being as new to Boy Band management as Justin Bieber is to shaving, we need as much advice from music cognoscenti as possible, so I jumped at the espresso opportunity. 

My new best friend, Adrian Kosky

Originally a city lad, Adrian moved to Daylesford 10 years ago to become a full time musician. In the inspirational simplicity of rural life, Adrian found his mojo.  Heavily influenced by the Blues, Appalachian Folk and Bluegrass, he went on to produce four critically acclaimed, independent albums and tour extensively in USA.  Putting together a country singer with a Hip Hop Boy Band may seem left field, but in the creative arena, inspiration often springs from the most unsuspecting sources...Read more...

Online shopping…coffee, yachts and t-shirts

Nespresso.com
 

I’ve been an illycaffe devotee from way back, but one glorious summer’s morning in St Tropez, France, wandering along the waterfront packed with moored super yachts, this changed forever. Peering inconspicuously (as you do) into the yachts’ outside lounges, it was impossible not to notice that Nespresso had taken hold of the yachting set.  Nespresso machines were sitting on the terrace sideboards of almost every yacht. Clearly George had been there before me! Nautically uniformed staff were floating baristas, surreptitiously serving cup after cup of aromatic little espressos to the Beautiful People (BP) onboard. The BP sat on their decks in deep cushioned cane chairs, eating breakfast, sipping Nespressos, watching the world watch them.  Captivated by the scene, I sat down in a terrace café opposite the yachts and mentally willed the BP to notice me and send over an invite to come onboard.

No invitation came. Instead, I spent the rest of the morning with a slice of Tarte Tropezienne heaven...Read more...

Move over Juicy Couture, country scents rule!

Since being poorly these past few weeks, my sense of smell has gone into overdrive. Every little scent that wafts my way feels like an all-out assault on my nostrils. So despite outside temperatures near freezing, I’ve taken to opening the sash bedroom windows right up and luring the gorgeous country air inside. It’s mighty chilly and I’m wearing three jumpers to keep warm, but the smells are fabulous.

Granma, that blimen ram and Timmy

Sight may be the strongest sense for short term memory; however, sense of smell is the strongest and most vivid for instantly recalling long term memories. For me, the smell of fresh cut grass, trees, hay, hedges, firewood, and muddy paths after a downpour evoke glorious memories of childhood on my Grandparents dairy farm in Waikawau Bay on the tip of the Coromandel Peninsula, New Zealand. Although it was a 1200 acre farm, Grandad only kept 60 cows, each known by name. There were also pigs (with names!), kept very happy on a diet of skim milk straight from the cream in the milking shed. Running along one side of the farm was a tidal inlet where my siblings and I would swim for hours, catch fish and dig  fresh mussels out with our toes . When the tide was out, we could walk across to the other side of the inlet to a 2 mile, white sandy ocean surf beach. Not a soul in sight. This is why New Zealand is so special...Read more...

Internet shopping for rural fashionista

While waiting for my body to return to its former peak condition and the Queen-worthy cashmere socks to be delivered (5-10days), thought I would share some of the online stores that have been a lifeline since moving to Australia.  
  
outdoorandcountry.co.uk

Kate Moss, Liz,  Me...who isn't wearing Hunters?

Just because one lives in the country,  rummaging around Farmers’ Markets,  converting the gardens into Australia’s own Duchy Home Farm, and  photographing cows, doesn’t mean that dress standards should drop. As Liz Hurley and I frequently say, the country really is sexier than the city, so one should dress accordingly.  Mud, sun or  rain… Hunter wellies are a must. Outdoor and Country UK is one of the main distributors for Hunter Wellies, and although they don’t technically post outside UK, after a wee chat to them a while back, the lovely Manager told me how to get around the system: register with outdoorandcountry.com and purchase through outdoorandcountry.co.uk. May seem like a lot of hassle for a pair of wellies, but the UK branch has access to the entire Hunter range, including all limited editions, and really, would any other brand look as fabulous?
(aside: my fabulous Hunter RHS (Royal Horticultural Society) Pull-Ons were A$140 delivered)...Read more...

Knee high socks, Prada and The Queen

It’s a glorious Daylesford winter morning and I’m tucked up in bed still recovering from recent visit to hospital; all toasty under two feather duvets, one woollen blanket and a possum throw.  But something's missing? Serenading French Army around the bed? Good hair? Jumping out of bed to go make a pot of tea, warm feet hit the Titanic chill of naked floor boards. Ahhh... that's it...socks! With no Marks and Spencer, Sock Shop or even British Home Stores (bhs) just down the road, a whole new plan is needed for this sock crisis.

Adjusting from European High Street to village shops has been interesting. Previously my shopping basket wove around Selfridges and Marylebone High Street (London), Galleries Lafayette and Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré (Paris). Happily, I haven’t exactly landed in a shopping desert, as Daylesford has probably the most picturesque streetscape of boutique shops and florists that one is ever likely to find in Australia. It’s a delicious mix of artisan (lots of wrought iron, handmade paper, Alpca clothing), art, homewares, antiques, collectibles, wool, and quite surprisingly, great kitchenware. The chicest of all has to be Peonies and Picnics, with its rustic French linen table clothes and napkins, antique French glassware and Gallic pewter plates and platters, piled up on antique European furniture.  But no knee high socks in sight!...Read more...

Louboutin heels open doors

Day 7 Going Home

It’s incredible how quickly a hospital room and medical team become the centre of your universe. Nurses congregate in my room each night for MasterChef, Gerry has set up a technology and media centre around my bed (including 6 points for Bose headsets for the telly), and discussions have been initiated with management about making a few small tweaks to Prada-up the staff uniforms. It’s my own little beautiful private universe. There are few things in life more delicious than Going Private.

Going Private infiltrates every aspect of life these days, accessible at all different levels. The pinnacle being the American Express invitation-only Centurion Card (colloquially referred to as The Black Card) and Private Members Clubs of England. I’m not exactly sitting by the phone waiting for the call from American Express (unless 1,000,000 people suddenly signup as followers for Tweed, Tea and Wellies™, publishers turn it into a book, then Hollywood releases the movie, starring Audrey Tautou playing me, which ultimately wins an Oscar), so the next closest on the Going Private Bucket List is being a member of a quintessential Private Club in London. Being neither rich nor titled, the usual prerequisite for entry, I was lucky to have the next best thing; a sister who is the General Manager for just such a club in New Zealand...Read more...

Chanel saves the day

A young child walked past my hospital room this morning and burst into tears.  Had my ashen white face and crazed bag lady appearance given this young impressionable mind a nightmare that will last her lifetime? Gerry has been brilliant about bringing in various bits and bobs, but like many man, some of the finer details on the list were overlooked or couldn’t be found. The result? No deodorant, comb, shampoo, moisturizer, perfume or cash for the last 4 days has left me at a visual low. Definitely time for an Extreme Makeover...Read more...

Hot Surgeon, nose tubes and Paris Hilton!

Rung Gerry at 5am to get me to hospital. Stat. Most likely an out-of-control, mind-numbingly awful case of indigestion but worth checking out. The highly muscle-toned and tanned paramedics were almost as effective as the morphine in taking my mind off the pain during the 20 minutes ambulance journey to Ballarat. Even had sirens going.

Paris Hilton - busy as ever

Apparently it isn’t indigestion. Its out of control fatty deposits (abscess) inside my bowel. Here’s me thinking for the last couple of months that my rounding of girth was due to the slower pace of Daylesford life slowing down my metabolism. (Obviously nothing to do with the light as feather scones, jam and cream introduced to the hotel's afternoon tea menu). Instead, my Paris Hilton bowel was chunking up on its own accord. It’s always been so lazy before – so why such a massive burst of energy now? If that wasn’t bad enough, my right hand with the drip in it, was also blowing up to the size of boxer's fist. The chubby was spreading!! Could this day get any worse?...Read more...

Truffles, car chases and serenading French Army – Part 2

Driving with the roof down into the nestled Provencal village of Aups (third largest truffle market in France), the air was thick with a pungent yet delicate aroma of truffles, rich as the earth itself.  Restaurateurs from as far as Nice come to the Aups weekly winter Truffle Market to buy their black gold straight from the forest. I’m here after convincing a magazine back in New Zealand to let me be their roving European journalist...Read more...

Truffles, car chases and serenading French Army – Part 1

Ellender Estate wine lab

It’s a chilly winter’s day with bracing winds outside tearing trees limb from limb. Meanwhile, I’m as toasty as a rugged-up Eskimo, sitting under the gas heater with a glass of Ellender wine in hand, two hot men on either side and a well dressed Labrador snoring in the corner. We’re on the terrace of Ellender Estate winery for their annual truffle lunch. The food and truffle aroma is heavenly. But conversation moves away from me (would never have seen that coming), so my mind wanders to one of the most famous truffle chefs in France; Read more...

Farmer wants a Wife cameo

My parents were beside themselves with delight when they heard that I was moving to the countryside; Father’s face lighting up like a Christmas tree, “finally you’ll meet a farmer and get married.” (the ultimate answer to a prayer chain that’s been running for the last 9 years).  Possible? Maybe not!  I was on W&C’s farm over in Clunes last week for a photo shoot of their British White cows, and came face to face with the fundamental flaw in my eternally hopeful parent’s plan.  Muddy paddocks, dawn, cows-that-don’t-listen-to-reason and Me, might not be a match made in heaven.

Part of the shoot involved wrapping up the calves in winter woollies (it’s mighty cold out there at 6am, why wouldn’t they want to be all rugged up?). The cows however, were too busy pooping on my leather boots to be concerned with the task at hand.  A particularly low point was watching Wayne chasing a calf around the paddock, trying to get my £300 Joseph cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck, and then in a last ditch effort,  just throwing it at the four-legged diva’s backside. Only to have it stomped on by the five (not particularly lightly footed) cows racing along behind!...Read more...

Winter is cramping my style

It's another minus 2degrees morning and I'm wrapped head to toe in layers of merino and wool, finished off with a long sheepskin cardigan. I resemble a chubby Eskimo dressed for a trek to the store 60km away, but am extremely toastie nonetheless. What I don’t understand, is why keeping warm usually means turning into a fashion pharaoh? Especially when fashion from fleece has long been a favourite of couturiers from Milan right down to New Zealand. 

Naturally, I have a theory. No fashionista in their right mind is ever chunky (I am the very rare exception), so they never wear clothes that show them as anything other than skinny. High fashion is designed for the fashionistas, so winter wear is more about being fashionably hot than wraparound warm...Read more...

Stalked by a giant kangaroo

It’s 9.30pm. The kittens and I are huddled together under the bed covers, trying to keep a low profile. Outside, a giant kangaroo is knocking on the front door. Whether he wants to warm up in front of the fire or get revenge after spotting all my fur cushions through the windows, it’s difficult to tell.  

Only a few hours earlier, I was berating Jodie (our Operations Manager) for her slack attitude in following my blog.  As she downed another few drops of Rescue Remedy, she explained that whilst reading my version of life in the Wild Wild West is usually at the top of her priority list...Read more...

Me and Capree

Move over Mary J Blige, there’s a zeitgeist happening in the hip hop world.  Me! That’s right; I keep an ear to the street and stay hip to the jive. I might not actually sing, break-dance or even stay out later than 9.30pm, but behind the scenes, I’m practically Queen Latifah … on a count of being surrogate Mum for the gorgeous boys of Capree, Australia’s newest hip hop boy band, and their creator, Maurice June.  This weekend, Gerry and I were in the big smoke (Melbourne) for the filming of Capree in the semi finals of Australia's Got Talent 2011...Read more...

Learning to be a Rock (just like Princess Diana's butler)

You can't be a softie living in the country. Sturdy constitutions are required (unless you're Madonna) for wood chopping, fighting possums with your bare hands, driving through walls of locusts, making bread from scratch before you can have a sandwich, living in freezing cold houses and digging the driveway out from under a sea of wet, just starting to go mouldy, leaves at the end of Autumn.

50th Wedding Anniversary

Luckily my gorgeous parents had an early premonition that the Wild Wild West was to be my destiny, so they prepared us (three siblings and myself) with a childhood worthy of Davy Crockett (legendary King of the Wild Frontier)...Read more...

Three blind mice & their 1400 best friends

Chanel Earmuffs bought on eBay

It started a couple of weeks ago with an occasional little squeak in my bedroom (not what you're thinking!). As the days went by, it became clear that the Animal Kingdom had set up a Rave Party in my ceiling; thousands of lightly footed critters moshing together, wildly jumping up and down to the repetitive sounds of mass squealing till dawn. Within a matter of days, the noise reached such fever pitch that I had to wear my Chanel Earmuffs to get any sleep. This party needed to be shut down!

First step..identify the party goers. Living in Jurassic Park, there are many potential suspects, but now that I'm getting used to living in the Wild Wild West, it was relatively easy to eliminate the list down to the culprits. It couldn't be possums (too heavy footed), snakes (more loners than party animals), white cockatoos (far too vain to get dirty under dusty ceilings), giant spiders (too light footed), bats (too busy out hunting at night) or Koalas (too chubby to get under the corrugated roof)...Read more...

Madonna's next country home...Daylesford?

Each year, a flocking phenomenon occurs amongst city dwellers, in response to rising costs of city habitat, dwindling family time, stressful traffic, poor health or high pressured, high paid jobs. Around the world, urban professionals are migrating in droves to commuter-distant villages; embracing rural ways, wearing True Religion jeans, Barbour jackets and Prada wellies (okay that might just be me?). In England, this phenomenon is referred to as the “New Squirearchy”.

The Queen of New Squirearchy has to be Madonna, and as such she's was been a big inspiration for my flying the city coop and landing in rural Daylesford. If she can move  to the slow hum of the English countryside, write children's books about english roses and embrace Harris Tweed, then so can I. Interestingly, many people over the years have commented on the similarities  between Madonna and myself...Read more...

The spa capital of Australia...who knew?

Over many years of obsessive enthusiasm for day spas, I've become something of a spa snob (is anyone really that surprised?!). There are many wannabes in the spa world, but only a select few entitled to wear the precious spa tiara. 

My favourite London sash bearers include the women's only Sanctuary Spa in Covent Garden (made infamous in 1978 when Joan Collins appeared in a scene on the spa's swing in The Stud), The Dorchester Spa(favourite of the Royal family) and Spa NK in the terribly fashionable Notting Hill. Walk into these wonderlands of calm, far far away from everyday life, and be blanketed in pampering...Read more...

Welcome to Jurassic Park

The first clue that I had moved to glamazon Jurassic Park came  while sitting on the terrace at dear friends, John and Marie Couani‘s home in Sydney, a few days after arriving in Australia. Marie was pottering in the flower baskets and nonchalantly held up a tiny black spider.  I was supposed to memorise the features of this little creature because it was deadly and would kill within moments of coming in contact with human skin. Good to know!

Once arriving in Daylesford, Jurassic reality quickly sunk in. Chris and Wayne  were suspiciously keen to give me a couple of (supposedly their favourite) kittens from their pack of farm cats. I later heard that cats are essential to keeping snakes away from the house. Also , good to know!...Read more... 

Prada vs. Wellies

While living for 13 years in the fashion capital of the world (just eight doors down from Jamie Oliver and moments away from Selfridges), I developed a deep love affair with Prada shoes, Emma Hope handmade high heels and Anne Fontaine's exquisite shirts. With the addition of True Religion jeans, these angels of style have been my devoted fashion entourage for years. Contrary to popular belief, I think one can never be overdressed. The one exception being the London Savoy Lounge, where I was once asked to leave because management thought I was a high-end prostitute. Apparently I was too well dressed!...Read more...

Last Hope

Being a single city girl, recently relocated from London to the quiet little village of Daylesford in rural Victoria, Australia, hasn't turned out quite how I expected. My bosses, Chris and Wayne, are counting down the days till I give up all hope and become a lesbian and my parents have started a prayer chain seeking divine intervention to get me into a nun habit...Read more...