Italian Aperitivo, Hush Puppies and Eight Sheep

Living in Daylesford is every bit the fairytale and more. Winter being one of the most magical times; with roaring fires in restaurants and cafes, hot mineral baths warming weary and stressed bodies back to life, over-sized spa pools in all the self-catered accommodation and mulled wine served as frequently as espresso. There’s even mention that snow is just around the corner.  Such an enchanted time, except my 1850’s cottage was built with the insulation of a Gingerbread House. Nights have been hijacked by Jack Frost blowing gale force winds under doors and through non-insulated windows. I’m awake shivering half the night; desperately trying to convince the pussy cats to lay across my feet like a fluffy puffa jacket. Where are menopausal hot flashes when you need them? Clearly two duvets are not going to be enough to keep me warm through Daylesford winter. What I really need is a sheepie underblanket from Woolrest NZ. Imagine the virgin wool from eight merino and down sheep laid out on your mattress underneath the base sheet. Sheepskin slippers for your mattress. Now that's cosy.

Like writers throughout time, purchases are now measured in number of books. Time to head to The Larder to find out if “To Daylesford, with Love” has been flying off the shelves. Flight or Flop will determine whether I'll be ordering the super duper Deluxe Gold Fleece Mattress Slippers with 900grams of wool per square metre and favoured by the Queen. Or the slightly less fluffy, but still toasty warm Double Fleece Mattress slippers.

The Larder has recently gone through a seismic relaunch of their menu, branding (including dropping "Gourmet" from their name) and outdoor seating. I popped into their launch party a few weeks ago and instead of chatting to anyone, stood in the corner with winemaker extraordinaire, Giovanni Fontanella eating Hush Puppies. Giovanni and I instinctively knew that gratuitous talking would take attention away these lightly battered, crispy balls of gooey Gouda cheese. Damn you Hush Puppies for being so delicious.

Deli Delicacie

Book sales check-in coincided perfectly with Larder’s Aperitivo (5-7pm). Larder has always had a chilled out Verona vibe and excellent Italian delicatessen under the ownership of young couple, Luke & Sarah; now they’ve gone one step further. Returning the menu and dining style to local and familial Italian roots. Did I mention that Giovanni is Sarah’s Papa? Sitting down with my Aperitivo tasting board and glass of Fontanella Pinot Grigio, I quietly reminisced about the glorious simplicity of European life; where it’s considered civilised (not frivolous) to stop work at five and enjoy time with loved ones. Mid musings, in walked semi-locals Darren & Sharon, also here for Aperitivo. They haven’t tried Hush Puppies so without further ado, a bowl was ordered even before winter coats and scarves were shed. Once they'd settled into the banquette seats, taken their first few sips of wine and devoured  cheesy balls.. the verdict came back. Hush Puppies deserve a Michelin Star all of their own.

A lively debated ensued over whether Aperitivo is all about time after work to socialize, unwind, and nibble as dinner approaches, with a glass of wine accompanied by a plate of maybe thinly sliced Mortadella, chunks of salami and some crumbled seasoned Parmigiano or Grana Padano. Often (for Italians) Aperitivo acts as a light meal replacing the bigger dining moment. Well that was my theory. Darren was adamant that Aperitivo is a palate opener, gently easing you into the evening meal and pacifying rumbling tummies. (Sharon was Switzerland for the evening). To test both theories, I went all Italian and stayed with my Aperitivo Grazing board ($20 including glass of wine), while my fine dining companions ordered Pasta Fiesta (Aperitivo tasting board, fresh pasta and glass of wine $30). Then the Games began.

No, I didn't eat half a salami! For photographic purposes only.

For me, Larder’s Aperitivo is the Romeo to Fontanellas Pinot Grigio’s Juliet. A match made in heaven; where you fall in love with every mouthful. Certainly the Italians know how to woe the tastebuds. Often all it takes is the simplest of gestures.  For here is a plate that simply comprises traditionally cured Vercchieti salami, Provolene Dolce (semi-hard yet creamy cow’s milk cheese originating from Northern Italy) and locally sourced roasted Red Capsicums. Accompanied by freshly baked, warm Italian bread (Pane Casareccia); crusty on the outside and spongy soft on the inside (Casareccio means homemade). Following with Italian tradition, neither olive oil nor butter is served. Such a perfect combination of flavours and textures. Munching, sipping and chatting with dear friends, reminds me that the Good Life doesn’t always need to be so complicated.

In a lovely relaxed pace, the Pasta dishes arrived. Damn you, Roasted Pumpkin and Goats Cheese Agnolotti (super-sized ravioli) with burnt butter sauce for being so delectably delicate and moorish. Just one whiff of the rich buttery aroma had me casting aside all thoughts of winning the aforementioned debate over Italian dining rituals. Who cares with pasta like this gracing the table? To which Sharon politely pointed out that in fact, this was HER plate and could I please stop eating her Agnolotti! If only I’d ordered Pasta Fiesta!

In a bid to distract myself from thinking too much about Sharon’s Agnolotti, I checked in with Luke to see how many “To Daylesford, with Love” books have sold this week. I might not be on the New York Best Seller list yet, but I can afford a Woolrest Double Fleece underblanket. Yay! With the change, might even splash out on some NZ merino mittens. Finally I can stop wearing my possum jumper to bed.

Who would have thought that my simple quest for eight fluffy sheep would turn into a QI evening with  friends, sharing a bowl of delectissimo cheesy Hush Puppies, falling in love with Aperitivo all over again, and discovering the best Agnolotti this side of Naples. Mission accomplished and just in time for MasterChef.

P.S. Was still bit peckish, so clearly I'm not an Aperitivo-only type person. Took home some of Larder's signature Chicken Liver & Sherry Parfait with a loaf of Ciabatta bread to munch on watching Gary, George and the utterly gorgeous Matt Moran. Good times.

Buona note

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Two Grandmas sow Wild Oats & Apple Strudel

The humble oat is underestimated. Most people wouldn’t give this a second thought. Not me. I’m out there investigating the hard-hitting issues, no matter how small. This particular oat-sized exposé came to light a few weeks ago with The Oat Challenge (aka Budgetary Readjustments for Writer Living the Dream).

After twelve days of eating supermarket purchased Oats in various guises, my taste buds went into meltdown. To the point that the mushroom village in my back yard was starting to look particularly appetising.  Hearing that mushroom poisoning was just a few mouthfuls away, the lovely Klika arrived at my front porch with a basket full of her delicious Farmhouse Muesli.

Over a few bowls of Farmhouse Muesli, Klika poured out a lifetime of stories about growing up on a farm at the foothills of Slovenia. Similar to the childhood of Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie, just without palaces, a milkman or central heating. Every morning, Klika rose at 5am to cut wood so that the house and stove could be heated. Meanwhile, Grandma Katarina (or Kata) would be milking cows for fresh creamy milk to pour over oats for breakfast. To make the oats tastier, Kata stirred in leftover apple strudel, poppy seed cake or apricot jam. Not all at once! Forget Princesses, this is breakfeast fit for a King .

Croats love their oats. Not just because they are one of the largest agriculture crop of this little Central European country (which interestingly has almost identical population and geographical landmass to New Zealand). Oats are the unassuming noblesse of breakfast; equally at home in muddy wellies one day and ball gown the next. Croatians have long been mixing Viennese pastries or French pâtes de fruits with Oats;  transforming breakfast from ordinary to bourgeois. Fast forward a few generations, and Klika's oat-based muesli's are making mouths water from one end of Australia to the other.  I've never really understood what the MasterChef judges mean when they talk about, "Cook with Love and you'll create something special." Now I do. It’s impossible not to taste the love, or feel the presence of Kata in Klika’s Farmhouse Muesli. This is a rare treat.

I'm sitting at feet of Grandma Managh on right hand side

All this nostalgic talk of love and Grandmothers has momentarily made me take a step back and contemplate the matriarchal influence on my life. Like Klika’s Kata, my Grandma Managh lived her life (all 97 years) by the values of resilience, strength of character and tenacity. Grandma didn’t consider it a hardship to live in a tent for two years while Grandad built a home for the family. I’ve inherited this same gene, never hesitating to put dreams before hardship. We grew up hearing how Grandma insisted Father not leave the table until he finished all his porridge (even after it went cold). Father won’t be seen within a mile of oats ever since, but nevertheless he’s passed onto my brothers, sister and I, the same tenacity to finish what we start… no matter how difficult. Then there’s the competitive side to our family. Having a Grandma who represented New Zealand Croquet for many years, instilled in subsequent Managh generations, a determination to take on the world. Now if only I could bake pinwheel scones half as well!

Back in the early morning Daylesford sun, Klika has morphed into James May (Top Gear); delivering a complex explanation of how Oats are graded. A fleeting reprieve came when she popped inside to get a box of supermarket rolled oats from the pantry.  Breakfast then turned into an interactive challenge; spot the difference between generic oats and Klika Oats?  Amazingly a) this was more interesting than it sounds and b) there was a dramatic difference. Being highly processed, generic oats are almost translucent, crumbling in your fingers (goes mushy when heated), compared to Klika’s “rolled once” organic oats with soft grain texture and hard centre, retaining their shape when heated.

Now I’m craving Apple Strudel. Klika has given us her Kata’s recipe, apples are from next door and Gerry has the apron on.  Perfect Sunday

To Grandma Managh, with Love. (1918 – 2012)

Hepburn Bathhouse and Chanel swimwear...so Hot right now

I’m a wreck. Rundown from a cold that’s like the house guest who ignores the Three Day rule, pale hormonal skin that’s scaring away young children and lie-down-and-sleep-for-a-week tired from worrying about what the future holds for Gerry and me. As I’m half dozing over a Hot Toddie outside of Jimmy’s Bar, an outlandishly healthy looking chap parked his bicycle, stripped down to Lycra and sat next to me. Introducing himself in a posh Scottish accent as John Hibbert, new-ish General Manager at Hepburn Bathhouse & Spa. I didn’t even mentally plan our wedding…that’s how tired I was.  What DID Jimmy put in that Hot Toddie? I’d completely forgotten we were meeting for my story investigating the benefits of bathing in mineral water. Myth or Mystery?

Before I even have time to cough, John had raced into a detailed anthropological explanation of spas. Like Champagne, there’s a certain pedigree and authenticity attached to being a “spa,” grounded in the healing powers of mineral waters. Dating back to prehistoric times no less. Getting down to tin-tacks, this means that spas must have curative water therapies and bathing pools originating from authenticated water spring reserves to be worthy of the title. So while there are many methode traditionelles wrapped in fluffy bathrobes and slippers, Australia actually only has TWO genuine spas; thermal waters in Morningside Peninsula and mineral waters at Hepburn Bathhouse & Spa. (Everyone else should actually be called Spa Salone, or for the more cosmopolitan set, Institut De Beauté. Lovely titles, and so much more accurate).

With semantics out of the way, John moved on to how his beautiful Bathhouse could physically and visibly get me healthy again. Really? Mother and Father are emphatic the only thing that can get me healthy again is Any Man that will have me, a Wedding Dress and living Two Doors Down from them. None of those options are on the immediate horizon, so Hepburn Bathhouse & Spa it is!

While Hepburn Bathhouse has almost as many beautiful bathing options as Chanel’s S/S12 swimwear collection, John suggested 45 minutes in the Pure Mineral Water Bath to start my “visible difference” overhaul. Unlike the Atrium Relaxation Pool filled with 50% mineral water and heated to approximately 38°C, these private hot baths are 100% mineral water, freshly filled for each guest.

For the first 20 minutes, soaking in the murky mineralised and algae water, I’ll admit to being slightly skeptical. My mind racing with all the things I should be doing instead of lying here, with no apparent transformational results in sight. John had given me some scientific documentation on the benefits of medicinal bathing in Hepburn mineral water. Now seemed as good a time as any to start on background research.

From the slightly damp pile of papers, I learn that mineral water pumped from spring reserves beneath the Bathhouse Pavilion is internationally renowned for its high levels of Bicarbonate and Magnesium. Feeling a bit of a Dr Quinn Medicine Woman moment coming on here. Bicarbonate is essential for balancing the pH in your blood stream, which if out of kilter too long, can result in nerve and joint pain, insomnia, or issues with kidneys, bowel or pancreas. Incredibly, taking sodium bicarbonate tablets are not recommended as they produce a whole other set of repercussions, so bathing in Hepburn Mineral Water is actually on the prescription pads (for both preventative and reactive measures) of most doctors throughout Australia. Meanwhile Magnesium is equally as fabulous, responsible for over 300 chemical reactions in the body, coupled with maintaining healthy muscle, nerve and digestive functions. There’s a load of other goodies in the water as well, including Potassium, Calcium and Silica. People from all around the world come to Hepburn Bathhouse with everything from pulled muscles to digestive disorders, and leave all Energiser Bunny’ed Up. It’s not quite Loudres (in France), but I’m praying this is the battery charger that brings back my bounce.

I was just about to read the section on muscle tone when my body lifted off the marble base and started to float. Mesmorised by the gentle sway of feet popping up just above water level, all thoughts of PH levels, long lost muscle tone and why there isn’t a wedding dress hanging in my wardrobe simply ….. disappeared. The next 25 minutes evaporated into a gentle reverie until a quiet knock at the door, advised, “Time’s up.” Stepping out of the gigantic marbled bath felt like the end of a three week holiday in Fiji. All is well in the world again.

After drying off, moisturising all over with delicious honeydew body lotion, and wrapping up in a large white fluffy bathrobe, I floated over to the Salone wing. All the treatment rooms overlook native bush and a rambling stream. It’s lovely to be in a spa room with natural light and just an arm’s throw from nature. That’s therapeutic in itself. Next on the schedule was a deep tissue massage. In an all-time first, I fell asleep…. until jolted awake by my own snoring!  Definitely not a Prada moment. Thankfully the therapist graciously pretended not to notice. By the time my lovely therapist moved onto the La Gaia facial, I was back on the Fijian beach lounger listening to the waves quietly wash against the shore. To be honest, I don’t have much memory of the rest of that afternoon, except noticing upon arriving home that I’d driven the whole way in second gear.  Two hours later, I’m tucked up in bed fast asleep.

At 6am the following morning, I jumped up like the Energiser Bunny. That was a week ago and I’m still racing around with so much life and joie de vivre that friends are starting to comment. Miraculously my skin has also never looked better. Honestly. Blemishes have disappeared, bags gone from under my eyes and complexion looks fresher, less dry. Goodness me, I must have looked a wreck before!!  I’ve tried and tested many skin products over the years, (including some that have cost £500 for a small pot) but have never seen such a dramatic positive result. Incredible. Intrigued, I looked up La Gaia website and discovered that this simple naturaceutical brand is all about balancing the skin’s pH.  I have no idea what that means or whether there is any connection between the mineral water and La Gaia working together for an even more optimised result ? But having found the Prada of Skincare, I’m jumping head first into the world of La Gaia and going to find out. Watch this space.

Thank goodness there are locals rates at Hepburn Bathhouse as its already become my second home. And John, please stop looking so ridiculously healthy. The rest of us just can't keep up.

Gotta dash. 1001 things to do. (Oh and almost forgot. Mystery solved; bathing in mineral water is essential for life. Full Stop)

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Slipper couture to Mother, with Love

Mother is a saint putting up with me. Last time when I was home, we did yet another “wardrobe cleansing” to bring back her Mother Couture. Followed by a shopping tutorial on layering. This has been going on for years. Once I even threw her slippers in the trailer because they didn’t coordinate with her lounging-at-home wear. How she found them again is beyond me. To solve Slippergate once and for all, I’ve sent Mother these heavenly felt slippers from Daylesford’s beautiful design store, Topham Trading.

People are a little too Carpe Diem with their slippers for my liking, throwing on any old thing to potter around the house. Let’s be clear… rubber massaging slip-ons and Crocs are NOT slippers. Anything fluffy, pink or with dusters on the bottom is just wrong! Such sacrilege needs divine intervention. Or in this instance, felt slippers. Legend has it that during The Middle Ages, St Clement, the patron saint of hatters, was doing some serious power walking with St Christopher (patron saint of travelers). Fleeing persecution is hard work on the tootsies, so Christopher and Clement packed sheep’s fleece into their sandals, cushioning the holy footsies against potential blisters. At the end of their journey, the movement and sweat had turned the wool into felt slipper liners. The first ever record of Heaven-sent fashion.

A few centuries later, we are blessed with these felted floral loop, limited edition slippers, each individually hand cut and sewn using 100% (super thermal) wool and soft leather soles. The creator of couture slipper heaven, Kirsty Powell, designs and releases a new "flower" every season from her London atelier. It's difficult to decide whether slipper couture fits best in the fashion industry or homewares, as they seem to straddles both beautifully. After graduating from one of the world's most famous fashion schools, Central St Martin's, Kirsty launched her first wearable art collection in 2004, at the Paris Maison et Objet homewares Exhibition. Where she took home the award for ‘Best Newcomer in Textiles. Fast forward a few years and Kirsty's sculptured textiles, including these adorable slippers, are in the spotlight at Selfridges, Conran Shop, Barney's New York… and Topham Trading in Daylesford (handy  for those who don’t have a visit to London or New York diarised in for the near future). The saints must have been keeping a watchful eye over Kirsty.

I've loved slippers ever since my early fashionista days. Almost every childhood photos of me features pom poms and slippers (that's me on the far left). The sheepskin and felt always seemed so much more glamorous than shoes! A phone call from Mother jolts me out of slipper reverie; she's received her Kirsty Powell's and finally admits that slippers are a fashion accessory. Promising to never again deviate from slipper couture. I'll sleep easier tonight knowing this. Although am a little concerned that Mother's going to start wearing her slippers out to the supermarket. 

(Slipper Couture is dedicated to Granma Managh, who today slipped away peacefully in her sleep. May she rest in peace in Heaven. With Love xx)

Daylesford crafting its way into Milan Furniture Fair 2012

Who would have thought? Daylesford sculptor and furniture maker, Miriam Porter is in the international spotlight following the recent Milan Furniture Fair 2012. It was inevitable. Miriam is an Australian treasure, her iconic craftsmanship as coveted as anything out of the Prada workroom. Now Miriam’s Bodger Ladder-back Chairs have caught the world’s attention, after the showcase exhibition “Bodging Milano” at Milan Furniture Fair became the talk of Milan. London. New York. Even Japan. CRAFTED is the new furniture couture.

 I’ve had Furniture Royalty living next door and never knew. An audience and history lesson was immediately set up. Miriam kindly obliged, but not before organising a basket of freshly picked vegetables from her garden, to take home later. Cup of tea in hand. Notebook at the ready. Let chair history unfold.

 Originating in Buckinghamshire, England back in the late 1800’s, Bodging is one of the most recognised traditional chair-making in history. Influencing the Windsor Chair, and inspiring Arts and Crafts designers well into the 20th Century. One of the most famous Bodgers is Ernest Gimson (1892-1904), whose ash wood ladder-back chair with rush seat sits in London’s V&A museum.

These days, there’s only a handful of authentic Bodgers around the world. Miriam Porter being one of them.

Miriam has been bodging ladder-back chairs for over 20 years, becoming internationally recognised for her museum quality skills. Her 6-foot high Ladder-Backs are rare works of arts, selling through the prestigious auction house, Christie’s for up to A$8000. I've never seen anything quite like a Miriam Porter chair. As well as being hand constructed and whittled in true Bodger style using willow and rush from Daylesford Lake, each chair has exquisite hand sculptured, wooden cockatoos (or kookaburras) perched on a carved ledge. Birds so vividly life-size and life-like, they could have just flown down to rest for a moment.

Against the ubiquitous mass produced chair, Miriam Porter chairs are a masterpiece of economy and simplicity, of comfort, strength and beauty. They don’t wriggle loose over time, look dated within a year, or break when you tip back after one too many after-dinner digestifs. Does this mean craftsmanship may finally be pushing mass production to the sidelines? According to trend analysts in Milan, the answer is a resounding YES. Meanwhile over in Paris, HANDMADE was one of the three key trends coming out of the prestigious Maison & Objet Trade Fair in Paris, February 2012. All signs seem to be pointing to a more bespoke personal world.

Hallelujah. Or as Miriam says, “About bloody time.”

Aside: Miriam Porter’s chairs can be purchased for $3750. Enquiries through Tweed Tea & Wellies. Additionally Chairs are on display and available for purchase at Hepburn Bathhouse.

Chef in a Box; marry or eat?

Ready Meals are a HUGE market and like my early menopausal waistline, expanding by the minute. I even created a few of those Fine-Dining-in-a-Box moments at Marks & Spencers, Tescos and Sainsbury’s, in the crazy cocktail days of leading an innovation consultancy. Neither Natasha, co-founder of Headliners, nor I were gifted cooks, so we loved working out how to get a chef into the kitchen without actually marrying one. Now I’m in the glamazone of Australian countryside, that in-home chef in-a-box is needed more than ever, purely for self-esteem reasons if nothing else. Every man, woman and B&B owner seem to be one apron away from winning MasterChef, while I’m still floundering around trying to regulate an old gas oven with two temperatures; hot and OFF.

Thankfully, Daylesford is a rural outpost of Marks & Spencers ready-to-eat aisle, with more straight-from-the-garden/ paddock/ oven Ready-to-Eat meal options than mutton suburbanites dressed up as lamb . At this rate, I might not need to marry a chef. Now.... what to eat tonight?

Grocery shopping for dinner began with a macchiato and melting moment (there’s that waistline issue again) at Larder (previously Gourmet Larder until just a few days away) in Daylesford. Their delicatessen at the back is my out-of-home refrigerated pantry, crammed with melt-in-the-mouth cheeses, locally cured hams & prosciutto, plump olives, antipasto and tapas fabulousness. However today I was drawn more to the shelves heaving under the weight of  Larder's signature Relishes and Jams. Beetroot Relish, Green Tomato Pickle, Potato Pickle, Tomato Relish, and throwing a cat among the cockatoos, Quince Jam. Preserved and slow cooked in the Larder Kitchens. So fresh and chunky, you can all but visualise the veges rolling in from the garden, dusting themselves off, then waiting patiently for the chop.  

I desperately wanted some quiet time to nibble through the butter cream filling and mull WHICH  relish, and WHAT to do with it. But co-owner Luke kept distracting me with chatter about cold drip coffee brewing methods, single origin beans from goodness knows where and “why do people put milk in coffee?” rhetoric. Incredibly interesting, but the only thing on my mind was dinner. Had to resort to Below-the-Counter tactics, encouraging  patrons walking through the door to ask for coffee in Owl Take Away cups featured on the cover of Lost Magazine recently. Forcing Luke to race out to the storeroom for more Owls. Peace at last. Back to the relishes. Seemed wrong to discriminate, so bought one of each. In little antipasto pots. YUM.

That sorted, next stop was Harvest Café. The Monte Carlo of Pies. On any given day, Harvest Café is serving between 14-18 varieties of seasonal handmade pies. Lamb & Guinness, Chicken & Mushroom, Chicken Zucchini & Feta, Moroccan Lamb, Beef & Onion, Thai Chicken. You get the picture. The wholemeal shortcrust pastry has a slightly nutty flavour but really is all about the butter. Giving me the second melting moment for the day.  Worth eating these pies JUST FOR THE PASTRY.

Saying that, the pie fillings more than hold their own in the style stakes.  Harvest Café’s chef, Anthony explained that the best pie fillings are fine seasonal ingredients, slow cooked over many hours. After dining on the Beef & Mushroom (with the relish antipasto plate), I wholeheartedly agree. The beef was like shank meat, falling off the bone in moist chunky shreds. Whole chestnut mushrooms, tender without going mushy. No bland gravy in sight.  The final piece de resistance is the principality size of each pie. 

Now that's what I call a Ready Meal (as Mother would say). Although I'd still marry a chef should the opportunity arise.

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Tried & Tested Natural Beauty remedies – MASSAGE OILS

Years ago, an Aveda Beautician explained when the Chanel Rouge Allure #207 lipstick I love so much disappears from the lips; it hasn’t gone to Makeup Heaven but directly to my stomach. Admittedly I’m no Muriel Hemingway (Ambassador for World Wellness Week); nevertheless there is a plan to be still radiating good health even after receiving Prada’s Senior Citizens Concession Card. “Eating” my way through 4kg of lipstick parabens each year is probably not going to help. Ever since then I’ve walked the Nature Trail to Fabulousness; testing a world of products to work out which bring out my Natural Beauty.

Being a Natural Beauty can be strenuous (don’t let anyone tell you otherwise), so yesterday I popped in to see Louise at Endota Day Spa for a much needed massage. Endota are such big fans of nurturing Nature back to life the natural way, they even have their own spa product range with the promise “Down to Earth ingredients. Heavenly Results.” Love that they realise it’s not enough to simply have no petroleum derivatives, parabens, synthetics, dibutyl pthalate, sodium lauryl sulphate or formaldehyde. Any woman would tell you…noticeable results are just as important. After a deep tissue massage, I want to see the stress magically removed from my face. Body back to relaxed state the way nature intended. Thankfully, Louise never fails me or my frowning brow line.

As usual, the massage started with a delicious exfoliating foot bath. Such lovely way to relax before climbing into gently heated blankets on the massage table. Wish my bed was this cosy.

Louise knows I’m in love with Olive and Macadamia Massage Oil; the heavy duty stress eliminator, capable even of deknotting the body chaos that ensued after hearing news that my sister has taken to wearing Crocs. Before I could suggest Louise just pour the whole bottle over me, towels were tightly tucked around my head to stifle any further chat. Well played. Olives and Macadamia’s have similar compositions, both Super Foods with high absorption anti-inflammatory properties. No dilly dallying around with oils that smell good and that’s about it. Within 20 minutes, I could physically feel knots unravel like the career of the person who created Crocs. Except for the sharp pain across my shoulders. Must be all that stressing about how to explain to Theresa that she must burn those Crocs.  Like a mind reader, Louise brought out the Mother of all DeKnotters, Clove & Mint Muscle Magic.

This magical muscle balm is the Va Va Voom of remedial massage. Clove is a quiet overachiever; charming its way into the body as a powerful natural painkiller and anesthetic. With warming properties similar to Vicks Vapour, just much more natural. Mix this with a variety of mint oils including peppermint, cajuput and camphor oils, which interestingly do the reverse; cooling the skin, reducing bruising and relaxing muscles and ligaments. Somehow all this heating and cooling works its magic and Voilà, shoulders sorted. Furrowed forehead lines….GONE. Honest to goodness Truth.

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International Fragrance Awards 2012 – Prada dares, Chanel Chic & Burberry what?

Fragrances are one of the most delicious accessories one can wear. Evoking memories, turning heads, raising compliments, even transcending the worst hair day. However, now I’m so aesthetically traumatised by the conflict of wearing city-centric fragrances in the countryside, I’ve taken to spritzing myself with L’Occitane Lavender air freshener. Not ideal. Have been planning the Tweed Tea & Wellies rural couture fragrance for months, but progress is slower than sales of Mariah Carey’s “Lollipop Bling” perfume.  Thankfully this week’s Marie Claire International Fragrance Awards 2012 have renewed my enthusiasm for smelling beautiful.

And the Grand Prix goes to…. Chanel No. 19 Poudré.  Reinforcing (yet again) that “Style never goes out of Fashion.” I’d love to say that it’s the lingering powdery iris notes with a touch of sandalwood that make Chanel No. 19 so deserving of this prestigious accolade. For some, maybe it is. Sadly, I can’t tell the difference between high notes and low notes, let alone sandalwood and musk.  So for me, the gorgeousness of Chanel No. 19 is that it’s bottled Parisian Chic. Light dusting of powder and soft cashmere sensuality accented with an exquisite silk scarf of fleur de lys.  Dab dab of Chanel No.19, natural make-up, bright red lips, hair coiffed within an inch of its life, perfect nails and outfit coordinated right down to the shoes … you’re en route to becoming a Parisian style icon.  Or the next Ines de la Fressange (Chanel Ambassador). Just never carry a handbag larger than your dog.

Moving along, Prada has made me proud (yet again) by winning Most Daring Fragrance for Women.  Despite Prada’s reputation for forward-thinking design, no-one expected Miuccia to release the daring little perfume, Prada Candy.  Apparently she was in the mood for something sweet. Once you get your head around wearing a vanilla-caramel gelato, the-delicate sugar scent is addictive. Sweet cherry on top is the delicious bottle. Couture Candy, you've got my vote.

Finally, the Best Packaging Award went to Burberry Body. Usually Burberry has the royal seal of fabulousness, however in this instance I cannot for the life of me understand a) why Burberry Body packaging is so ordinary and b) how on earth they won Best Packaging.  It’s not bad but …..

I'm convinced more than ever that there's a huge gap in the fragrance market for Tweed Tea & Wellies country couture perfume. These others are all gorgeous perfumes but none are suitable to be worn with wellies. Making anything couture takes times so for now I'll have to suffice with air freshener.

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Paris Maison & Objet 2012 – trends, textiles & movie star style

Love Australia. But why is it so far from Europe? Forget Virgin’s spaceship to the Moon. The future of travel is a five hour commute between Melbourne and Paris. I’ve sent a detailed email to Richard Branson. Still waiting for his reply. In the meantime, I did my own Eurohopping with a visit to Ballarat’s Doyenne of Style, Melinda Ross, to hear about the latest textile trends out of Paris Maison & Objet 2012.  As creator of interior design store, Topham Trading, it was inevitable that Melinda’s home would be stylish, but after walking through the front door of her 1910 restored villa, my home in comparison looks like a Target store. On the other hand, Melinda's home is furnished like a Parisian apartment on Ile St Louis. Plump silk curtains, crisp white shutters, soaring decorative ceilings, duck egg upholstered Louis XV chairs, hand-embroidered felt throws. Trying not to be torn apart with interior envy, I couldn't help but appreciate Melinda's talent for styling rooms beautifully. She puts things together in a classic, yet fashion-forward way worthy of the best couture designers in the world. Is this the future; Fashion design for Interiors? Hope so.

Melinda pulled me back to the quest at hand with espresso and seriously delicious homemade Apple & Pecan Cake (what doesn’t this woman do??), then proceeded to share in Technicolor detail, what’s hot in textiles this year.  

TRIBAL
If you’re home doesn’t have a dash of Where the Wild Things Are, then you are definitely not on-trend. Tribal textiles are handmade in some of the most remote villages of the world, using ancient techniques handed down over generations. Exquisitely chameleon in the way they are equally at home in a Burmese bamboo hut or Nigella Lawson's Edwardian home with Charles Saatchi in London. I really should borrow a Tribal piece from Topham Trading to test this theory in my little Daylesford cottage.

I’ve particularly fallen in love with Melinda's Kazakh felt rugs. The felt originates from flocks of sheep raised  in the Kazakhstan Mountains by nomadic communities high. Intricate hand appliqué techniques are used to cut felt into complex patterns, then added to contrasting backgrounds. The rugs are so thick; they're like woollen central heating. If ever there was a beautiful example of provenance and Rural Couture, this is it! 

LINEN
Linen has and always will be the Grace Kelly of textiles. Timeless elegance that transcends eras, cultures and continents. With a quiet sophistication that evokes dreams of living in a castle, reading high brow books and marrying a Prince. Although, that could just be me projecting desperate hopefulness. In Paris, one of my favourite sights are the Literati sitting in Café de Flore, infamous second home for many an intellectual (including Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir and Pablo Picasso), attired in well-worn linen shirts, rumpled and crumpled, taking on a certain languor and ease that comes with linen.  In the linen kingdom, Belgian Linen is the Princess with Movie Star status. It has a crispness, finish, body and weave that are pure luxury.

I recently met Libeco (one of the oldest Belgian Linen Mills) and was taken through their Melbourne showroom. The classic naturalness and textures of their fabric is absolutely stunning. Whether used as upholstery, sheets or curtains, it oozes style. And as Coco Chanel says, “Style never goes out of Fashion.” 

ART & CRAFT
Textiles have always had their arty side, but the recent myriad of art and textile mergers has the stylish set turning their homes into mini textile art galleries. Usually I'm up there with the trendsetters, but in this instance I will quietly admit that my front room isn’t exactly the Guggenheim. However, it’s one step closer today after getting some striking Margo Selby cushions onto my sofa.

Margo Selby’s decorative work is the talk of stylistas from one end of Avenue des Champs-Élysées to the other; recognisable for its three-dimensional structure, striking colour and geometric pattern.  The fabrics are all hand created by Margo on a handloom in her London studio then woven up by silk mills in the UK.  Interestingly, Margo was able to open her studio in 2003 with the help of a development grant from the UK Crafts Council. Previously I thought of craft as lady toilet roll holders made by Granma Knitting Groups. Not any more.

Now having dipped my toe in the wonderful world of interiors...can see an entire house make-over coming on. Wonder if Margo would consider exchanging Tweed Tea & Wellie books for cushions? Must ask.

Aside: All items pictured at Topham Traders, Daylesford