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...