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...