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...