Things are not adding up.
6 days in Melbourne does not equal 9 days (and counting) of penance.
I leave #1Hubby with The Feral Threesome for a mere
1 6 day conference, and I return to the big three:
I probably could've spared you the details and simply said "cold and flu and stomach bugs". Myeh.
The joys of Melbourne, are but a distant memory. My child-free bliss and zen has all but been obliterated with the first 24hrs post-bliss being spent ferrying kids from toilet to shower to sink, and spending so much time with the Pine O Clean in hand, that I seriously considered using the cap as a shot glass and consuming it, once I realised that the fumes may or may not have been affecting me in a remotely pleasant manner, amongst the fuzz of sleepless night/s and all those bodily fluids.
It was only when I received an email from Mr DearBabyG, asking if his wife had broken me during our Melbourne escapades, that I realised I had in fact been absent from the Interverse for a whole week.
I've been too preoccupied trying to offer the kids sympathy from a safe distance, as I'm sure the little mini bastards will take the first chance to snot on as much of my exposed skin surface as possible, sneeze in my face, cough down my throat, spew on my semi-clean clothes. Pretty much anything to spread the infected loving to me, just in time for Bali.
I'm nothing if not a totally caring and maternal motherly type.
Anyway to finish this post on a positive note, a few belated Melbourne shout-out's....
|John Olsen, the hotel's namesake, and his sketch of a Spoonbill|
A fabulous restaurant that I was lucky enough to attend the opening for. Once I got over feeling like an incredibly ordinary, sleep deprived, saggy, lumpy....kind of like a human half-deflated old balloon really....alleged female, amongst all the glamazons, it was actually quite awesome.
Admittedly, The Glowing One nearly being de-boobed by Tania Zaetta totally made my night.
The food was amazing. Paella, I would've wept if I was sure my mascara was waterproof.
The drink was...well, you all know me - I'm quite partial to drink regardless. But can I just say...BILLABONG COCKTAIL....you rocked my world and my health, as you covertly contained a large portion of a particular vegetable.
The venue itself is really quite lovely. There's even a private dining area upstairs. Delightfully open, mezzanine style, so that you may look down upon those in the regular person area. Which I did, while scoffing cold meat and cheese and bubbly....in a totally refined and ladylike manner. Maximum sophistication, I swear.
|The view from (the private dining area) above|
If you are in Melbourne, do yourself a favour and head to Spoonbill at The Olsen Hotel for a chicken slider burger (nomness), their mouth watering paella, and a Billabong cocktail or six. Trust me. You're welcome, in advance.
Located at the Prahran Market (and if anybody can tell me how you correctly pronounce Prahran, I will share my bounty), they have olives that would make angels weep. Weep, then fight in a totally unangelic manner over them. The only olives I've ever tasted that are creamy rather than bitter. Green goodness right there. They count as my green veg for the day, right?
We met Steve Harrison from Cleo's Deli at The Spoonbill opening, where he was dishing out the most divine meats and cheeses. He kindly spent the following morning showing The Glowing One and I around the best coffee in the area. Since The Glowing One doesn't drink coffee, she finally downed a Vodka at one establishment, smug that it was midday and therefore acceptable. At some point soon after, we did realise that it was only 9am back home in Perth. Myeh. We were acclimatising.
Seriously, go, try the green olives and the cured meats. It's as close to a religious experience as I've ever been without the assistance of booze. And please tell him that I sent you, so that he will know his time and generosity was not in vain. And also bring me more olives when you return. Please. And thank you.
As for me, I will down the face mask long enough to eat my last few olives, before returning to the lounge to squeal like #1Hubby in his bestest girly-man mode (like when he thinks the kids have taped over his Foxtel recordings of every freaking football related program in the universe with Dora), whenever the kids attempt to get closer than the 1 cushion buffer zone I have set up.