Milk no sugar

Mostly when I read mainstream fashion magazines I'm pointedly ignoring the text and poring over the pictures. Even with this level of sifting I find it hard to avoid references to tea dresses.

Before every fashion writer started banging on about tea dresses I had a very fixed idea of what they were: light vaporous dresses in gelato shades and floral prints, trimmed with wisps of lace and smelling faintly of violets.  Julia Ryder wore them in Brideshead Revisited, the Mitford sisters would have had dozens between them. You can wear them with hats and gloves, or bare feet and uncombed hair, and either way look enchanting.

Now it seems any kind of dress made from any old fabric in any variation of a floral or even abstract print is a tea dress.  Certainly this is what I am learning from the magazines.

This is my tea dress. It's second hand and the shape and details suggest it dates back to the late seventies (it has draw string shoulders and tiers). I gave an obliging young man thirty dollars for it at the Surry Hills Market five years ago.

It's made by Simona Couture, a division of an Australian label. I understand the dress would be made from a pattern but to the specific measurements of the buyer. The fabric is marked as Swiss cotton and the colour can't help but improve your mood.

Regrettably no one ever invites me for tea but my tea dress still gets lots of outings every Summer. This year I wore it for Christmas dinner, with neither gloves nor bare feet but a vintage Gucci belt:

If you have a tea dress or a tea dress anecdote, or a view to what actually constitutes a tea dress, I'd be very interested to know.

Does my blog look big in this?

Call me primitive, but I always wondered how everyone else made their blog look so nice.

Now I know.

The teacups of summer

One of the warning signs of holidays at my place is the trail of teacups I leave around the house as I waste time from room to room. During the dreary work year I quaff huge drafts of tea from mugs that could comfortably house colonies of large frogs but on my break I use dainty little teacups that hold a mere tadpole's worth of beverage.

I always check the china shelves for orphaned tea cups when I'm scouring op shops. Cups with saucers are not so common - if they are pretty and in tact, chances are they won't be donated. But single cups - well, they're a burden to the orderly housekeeper.

Not to me.

Here's some hunting tips if you think you have space in your heart and cupboard for some orphan teacups:

*Check them carefully for chips and cracks. This kind of damage is fatal and will - sooner or later- lead to your teacup breaking either in service or during washing up. Run your finger around the rim, around the inside surface and have a good look around the handle. All clear? Perfect.

*Regard stains with suspicion. Tannin stains from tea and coffee can sometimes be soaked away by filling the cup with a good squeeze of lemon, or warm water and a healthy splosh of vinegar ... but not always.

*Run your finger over the surface of the pattern. Is it slightly raised, can you actually feel the outlines? Bravo! It's hand painted. Completely smooth surfaces don't necessarily mean transfers, particularly with more modern pieces and very sophisticated glazing techniques. If you're looking at English china from the first half of the twentieth century, chances are it's hand painted. However, the same goes for German pieces of the late twentieth century. The value of the hand painted pieces are commensurate with any hand made piece of art - you're buying a little slice of someone's time and talent.

*I pay between fifty cents and two dollars for a cup, depending on how lovely it is. They have no real monetary value without their saucers except to collectors, so remember as you shop that you're buying little pieces of pretty, not investing in priceless antiques.

*I buy cups because they are pretty and have flowers, but it's always interesting to know a little bit about what you're buying. Here are some manufacturers to look out for: Wedgwood, Royal Doulton, Shelley, Royal Worcester, Royal Winton and Spode (all English). Thomas and Rosenthal are two modern German firms, while the danish firm Royal Copenhagen makes excellent coffee cups. Noritake is one of the more popular Japanese manufacturers.

Companies change their brandings frequently so a cup's markings are a good way to pick the age of a piece (if that's important to you):

I just want to add here that I think Moss Rose is a beautiful name for a floral pattern.

As you become more cup-confident, you'll start to amass an interesting range of orphans and occasionally stumble across a wonderful piece with a saucer. Here are three of my favourites:

I might have to travel in economy on the actual plane but for $1.00 at the Salvation Army I managed to get an upgrade I can enjoy in my own home.

Yes, that's a Christian Dior rose in that cup. You'd be surprised how good this little cup can make black coffee and a macaroon taste.

And this strange old timer came from a market in Tasmania. The design is quite raised and the cup appears to be made from stone and clay, or maybe ground bone and clay (as in bone china). There are no clues to the maker expect this:

I use my teacups for all kinds of dining pleasures: serves of yoghurt, slices of peaches and a dollop of ice cream, a strong shot of espresso with a spoonful of vanilla ice cream (bliss), a serve of jelly beans, a serving of dry cereal, a cup of rice milk with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, some cous cous with chopped up dried apricot. And obviously for tea or coffee.

They are also a great way to distract a tableful of guests when the dessert cake has sunk. Everyone likes to compare their cup so you can slice a woeful cake while everyone is chattering. If serving tea or coffee without a saucer irks you, plain white bread and butter plates show of the design and colours of the cup and allow room for biscuits too.

One final plea - no dishwashers! Warm soapy water in the sink or you'll soon have plain white cups.

Consider the goannas of the field when you take the long way home

Happy New Year!

Sloth has certainly undone me today. Sadly, at 8 in the evening, I am still in my pyjamas and smirking inwardly at the high point of today's activity being the consumption of a full bag of violent yellow cheese puff things.

They were delicious.

Yesterday I visited my mother who lives about up on the tip of the Central Coast, just below Lake Macquarie. It was a very hot day so we decided to take the long way home to see just how hot it actually was.

Conclusion: very hot.

We stopped in the middle of nowhere to stretch our legs.

Here we were greeted by a local who measured about two metres from the tip of his snout to the end of his tail:

Isn't he wonderful? He'd been sunning himself near the fence when we arrived and made a graceful exit to the nearest tree when he saw my camera. I've heard that in open country goannas will run up the nearest vertical structure if they are frightened. If you can make out his claws in this photos you can see why I took my snaps from a distance.

I wasn't dressed appropriately to chase goannas but perfectly for the forty degree Celsius heat.

The silk dress is by Sarah Jane (a lovely local designer who has a great outlet store in Newtown), the silk-cotton cardi (chosen to protect my shoulders from the sun rather than modesty) is from Lee Mathews, the Raybans and the thongs are from New York. The necklace is a favourite - freshwater pearls strung on a length of suede. Apologies for the distant shot. I would have taken another one except I was expiring from heat and irrational fear of being shredded by a nervous goanna.

Come in, sit down, have some cake

The clock is ticking fast in Sydney; 2010 is slipping out under the front door for all time, while the Year of the Rabbit has snuck in around the back and is about to undo the latch.

I started this blog back in February with the sole intention of posting travel photos for a couple of colleagues. It turned out to be a good deal more fun than I envisaged, and the communication with so many clever people was an added bonus. That these delightful clever people have publicly declared their allegiance as followers is a never ending source of pleasure to me: that eight of you follow me is at least eight more followers than I expected. Thank you all for coming by, and thank you too for not only reading the posts but taking the time to comment. Your thoughts are regularly the highlight of my day.

Allow me to offer you a rainbow lorikeet as a token of my esteem and gratitude:

And to you lurkers - thank you also for taking the time to read! Few things can remind you of your place in the world as quickly as noting that someone in Germany, Brazil, Malaysia, Slovenia or Lithuania has taken time to read about my dresses. (Seriously - Brazil! Lithuania! Slovenia! Brazil! Germany! Wow!)

Please accept a lilac rose with my compliments.

Special thanks to freedastyle.blogspot.com and inprofessorialfashion.blogspot.com, both of whom have posted links to the Shillings on their blog. I send you a magical singing chicken with gratitude:

I hope you, the lurking countries and Charlotte, Shybiker, Sheila, Lawyerdoll, Jenarcissist, E-Dubs, D-Med and my learned friend Luke will now join me for some cake. It's made with real cream.

But just excuse me a minute while I unlock the back door.

Gravity and waggery

Christopher Smart is one of my favourite poets (ticks all the boxes: complex, given to madness and visions, wildly competent with metre) and his piece for his cat Jeoffry (his spelling), from the Jubilate Agno, is one of my favourite poems. I also like cows and was reminded of this the other day when I met four - the two up there, and their neighbours across the road who wandered over to see what all the fuss was about.

And it got me thinking of cows, and one thing led to another and I next thing I know I'm writing poetry like I swore I never would again. I thought I'd sneak in here on the busiest night of the year when no one is watching.

For I Will Consider the Importance of Cows (after Christopher Smart)

And their ready-made suede.

For they are large and imposing.

For they have no desire to impose.

For they stare at you benignly.

For they chew their cud with care.

For they bring forth little cows.

For they share their thick milk

Hot, shiny, and capped with fat cream.

For they stand with full dignity.

For they do not resent the sun.

For they will move for the barking dog.

For they will not budge in the rain.

For they are often the perfect chestnut colour.

For their delicate feminine legs more than amply support their ponderous weight.

For their tails swing like fine chains.

For their udders hang like church bells.

For they are utterly unconcerned.

For their eyes are black and dull

Yet they notice all things.

For they are peaceful and meditative.

For they have always been.

For no time has been unhindered by cows.

For they are sacred in some lands.

For they, the cows, do not care either way.

For they live on farms.

For they are too docile to be feral.

For they are civilised and composed.

For they have an expanse of teeth.

For they choose not to bite each other.

For they prefer harmony and bliss.

For they become a vast range of foods.

For they become stock in soup.

For they are the meat in curries.

For their butter covers breads.

For their cream thickens custard.

For they are in pies.

For you can serve them hot or cold.

For they become clothes.

For young people learn to walk in shoes borne of their skin.

For older people stay warm in their supple skin.

For most people carry their goods in their skin.

For some people lay their skin on the floor, near the fire.

For they are large and can moo.

For they moo to communicate.

For they will not moo in malice.

For they are gentle and gracious.

For they graze, and sleep still on their feet.

So various, so beautiful, so new

We took a day trip down to Nowra on the South Coast. The South Coast is serious dairy country covered with cows and studded with lots of little seaside villages that are currently filled with people making summer holidays.

I kept my wardrobe very simple.

The jeans are J Brand (the style is Steve), the Birkenstocks came from eBay, the white blouse was on the five dollar rack in a local hippie store. The bag, which is hard to see but nonetheless sitting on my right is a Vivienne Westwood and one of the great thrift store finds of 2008. It cost me $12.00. My swimmers (just visible under the blouse) are from the Land End catalogue, a document which brings me great joy now that our dollar has parity with the US dollar.

I'm chilling in black and white next to the old Culburra lighthouse. Sadly this lovely building is abandoned; the trash inside suggested that it provides privacy and shelter for local teenagers.

For me it provides a bit of fuel for the imagination wherein I somehow magically inherit the old building, restore it and spend the rest of my days preventing shipwrecks.

Oh, and here's a better look at the bag. For those of you who love Vivienne Westwood, note that she even gives a waist line to the simplest messenger bag.