Last night I met up with two friends I used to work with. Libby is an American and Niki is a Kiwi, both are journalists. We are able to cover numerous subjects at break-neck speed; books, old frocks, offspring, wrinkles.
We met at The Junk Bar in Ashgrove, which I have been wanting to visit since it opened.
It's furnished in mainly mid-century classic furniture, and some that is not so classic. It really hit the spot; dark, cool and comfy. I was half expecting some of the staff from Sterling Cooper to walk through the door.
(loved the forest wallpaper)
On Niki's recommendation I tried a Whiskey Sour, and I must say, I have a new favourite.
This is a Whiskey Sour recipe I found on Drinksmixer, but it's not exactly what I had last night.
2 oz blended whiskey
juice of 1/2 lemons
1/2 tsp powdered sugar
1/2 slice lemon
Shake blended whiskey, juice of lemon, and powdered sugar with ice and strain into a whiskey sour glass
Interesting fact. Libby has a photo of her father at the opening of a play in the 50s (?). Standing next to him is Marilyn Monroe, looking exactly as glamorous as you'd expect. It hangs on Libby's wall.
That reminds me of a similar story. My Dad once sold a pair of shoes to Kamahl.
Now you may be wondering about the birthday cake.
Yesterday morning I opened the fridge door to get some milk. My husband asked me, 'how's the cake today?', like it may have righted itself overnight, which it certainly hadn't.
The morning turned out to be quite hectic. Everyone seemed to arrive at once, and I was still getting ready. Then the tots jumped in the pool, and although there was only six of them, it seemed like 36.
In the end, I threw the cake to the wild animals, the ones with Crocs where their hooves should be.
For all your reassuring words that they'd love it anyway, they didn't. A cake has got to be pretty bad before a three year old rejects it. After the masses left I threw several pieces in the bin, untouched.
One of the mums asked me, "Hmm? Is that marmalade in the middle?" Something else I forgot to add, I ran out of strawberry jam and had to use its inferior rival, marmalade.
I am certainly suffering birthday fatigue, but I just have to muster 28 hours more enthusiasm and it'll all be over. We have the kindy kids tomorrow morning.
Valentine's Day is coming up, which means next to nothing to me. I get fed the rubbish line, 'it's too commercial' or alternately and even worse, 'everyday is Valentine's day for us'.
However, I recently discovered this portrait studio called Sherbet Birdie who does 40s, 50s and 60s style portraits. I tried to pilfer one of their pictures to show you, but they'd done something tricky so it couldn't be copied. Their website is www.sherbetbirdie.com
P.S. If you're a regular reader but not a follower, give me some encouragement and join up! I thrive on praise.