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...
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