Chocolate, I'm missing you

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It seemed like such a good idea at the time. It was New Year's Eve, and the perfect date to think of resolutions for 2014.

On New Year's Eve 2013, The Absolute Gentleman and the oldest Blighter decided to give up what they like to call 'soft lollies' - what I liked to call revolting sugary things that come in the shape of snakes and frogs.

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Giving up soft lollies would have been no hardship to me; in my humble opinion, they don't belong to any of the food groups. However, for the Gent and Imogen, it was a torturous year of deprivation.

They held out for the full twelve months, and on NY Eve 2014, indulged in an orgy of multicoloured squishies.

Imogen and the Gent are renowned for their impassive, stoic abstinence and determination. I like to think that Hal and I are more flexible, easy going creatures, but this year I was determined not to be outdone.

In a rash, foolish moment, I vowed to give up chocolate for 12 months.

This is a big deal. One of my cherished sayings is, 'A day without chocolate is a day without joy'. Another is: 'Life without chocolate is not worth living'.

The Blighters have suffered a lifetime of 'tax'. Should they order a delicious dessert at a restaurant, or snack on a heavenly bar of chocolate in the safety of their own home, they are always obliged to pay tax to their Mother. They're not always eager to comply, so I've developed a singular phrase to ensure acquiescence: 'Give me that chocolate before I simply take it from you'.

Not surprisingly, after two months of abstinence I'm finding it a bit of a trial. The first month was (relatively) easy, but now I'm craving it like I would sunshine or coffee, if they had also gone AWOL.

I was unpacking some boxes this morning (haven't quite finished moving in yet) and found this very old Cadbury's chocolate box, which is part of the Henry Collection. Henry was a friend of my father in law, George. Henry was a hoarder who gave George a tremendous stash of  old tins and boxes not long before Henry died. George gave some of the stash to us a while ago. I particularly like the Milo tin - it's an austerity design from the IIWW.

Finding the box and tins was apt today, as the Gent is away this weekend, helping his parents move house. Much of Henry's stash has been sold along with the house. It is sitting, waiting, in George's old shed, ready for the new owners to discover it.

The move was not forced upon my in-laws, but it comes at a very late stage in their lives, and isn't easy for them. They will be living in a different and much larger town. For George, this is discombobulating. He's lived in the same, very small country town his entire life.

I sent some chocolate with the Gent when he went back to his parents' house to help them pack. I hope George had some. He, too, is a chocoholic. Unfortunately, my mother in law, Shirley is diabetic and never eats chocolate at all. I guess that puts my year of abstinence into perspective.

I couldn't manage without my radio

I grew up with BBC Radio 4; it was invariably on in the background at home. Mum is a radio addict and I have inherited the predilection.

When I was about 14, the age my daughter is now, we went on a fantastic holiday to a villa in Andalucia, Spain. I found a small transister radio there, and discovered the BBC World Service.

I also discovered The Archers, 'essential drama from the heart of the country'.

I have listened to it ever since, no matter where I have lived. It's the one thing about being English that I wouldn't like to be without.

When I lived in NZ, teaching at a boys' boarding school, a friend would tape if for me from his farm in Northumberland and send out the audio cassettes to my upstairs flat in a little town on the North Island.

Now, thank goodness, I can listen to it on my iPhone. Each morning, I download the podcast at 6.30am and enjoy it with the first cup of coffee for the day.

Circles

I've got a thing about circles. I like their perfection, their lack of angular sharpness, their round softness, their completeness.

I like the way circles meet themselves on their way home; coming back to the beginning, as it were.

Life moves in circles, for most of us. We can see the patterns emerging as we dance new moves. We think we're changing tempo, but, invariably, the shapes we make are the same.

After nine moves in and out of Australia, we have come 'home' to a house built in 1937. Looking back over the old blog posts, I know that this period is a time I love to circle back to.

Everything we own looks right here. Our life fits well into these surroundings.

I've just seen my Mum onto the plane back home to Northumberland. There were many circles to our life there, when growing up. Those threads that shaped my early story.

The gift of this house, this current life, is transient. All the more precious for not being ours to keep.

Lorn Road Summerhouse, London

Jellicoe House

Jellicoe House is a delicious mixture of simplicity and sophistication.

The Barossa B&B belongs to Sorby Adams Wines, and is run by the fabulous Simon and Helen Adams.

 We went there to celebrate my 40th birthday with some very special friends. Jellicoe House is nestled against the gentle slope of an Eden Valley vineyard.

What it is to greet some rare winter sunshine in the early morning, knowing that the voices in the next room are stretching into a luxurious breakfast, cooked with special ingredients stored in the 19th century pantry.

Welcome 2009!

Can you see the four children on the left, and the balloon caught in the tree, to the right?

We walked to the Oval today with our neighbour's children, carrying a basket of Hal's home made paper aeroplanes. He was hoping to fly them into the duck pond and see how they fared as flying-planes-that-are-also-boats.

The children all delighted in seeing the balloon in the tree; a remnant from someone's revelries last night. Fragile, fun, trapped and irretrievable (despite much tree shaking).

On the Eve, I stayed up beyond the witching hour, and was surprised (in our very quiet street) by all the fireworks, cheering...and running.

Yep.

Naturally, if I hadn't been looking after the blighters I'd have been out there myself. Gangs of people seemed to run to and fro, calling out good naturedly to one another. A bizarre South Australian phenomenon? As my chum Jodie pointed out, if only there'd been a good exercise bike at the party she was at, she'd have been spinning the wheels at midnight!

I shan't let you see the New Year's Eve created pin boards until they are installed in their new homes. (I am concerned that they are too fussy, but it will take hours of careful styling to be sure.)

In our new home. Our seventh in twelve years. It is just round the corner, so not a huge upheaval, but oh, so much better than our current one. Instead of falling over furniture (quite literally, quite a lot) I am wondering whether it will all look rather insubstantial in the new place.

As I do very frequently, I have been musing on the nature of my domestic life, which is transient but rich, imperfect but full of lessons...no answers, just thoughts.

We made it to the Oval today. There were too many ducks to attempt the flying plane come boat (didn't want to pose a duck threat) so the boys indulged in normal paper aeroplane flying. The girls wandered about and sang (apart from me. That would have been hazardous to the ducks.)

This afternoon we had a MAJOR clean out of the blighter's bedrooms (financial reward for the most things put in the bin or given to the Sally Army) and I scourged my wardrobe. I decided I would rather have hardly anything in there than lots of grim, old things to depress me. Some of those babies had lived in each of the 7 houses! Time to go!

Well, it's possible I'm rambling. I'm sure a rambling blog is an oxymoron, so it's time to go.

Happy New Year, or Can You Eat Too Much Sushi?

At last, something that even I could make, or me and my treadle sewing machine. I constructed Santa's stockings without any instructions; who would know that the stocking on the right wasn't an ingenious personal design? Some might even suppose the zig zag trim to have been sewn on upside down in a frenetic pre-Christmas frenzy...

Santa was very good and. God was good and gave us sunshine, apricots, whiting, prawns from Port Lincoln and fine wine from South Australia. Some smashing friends came and spent Boxing Day with us. The chaps fished (more Whiting) and the women and children read, lolled and got burnt on the beach.

Blighter Hal lost his first tooth; the Tooth Fairy followed the pixie dust and made it to the shack - and left him $2.

Now the Gent is away for New Year, and the blighters and I have indulged ourselves. Imogen and I had our first attempt at sushi. It was such a success that I now feel sick. Hal declined and ate some sausage rolls with good old tomato sauce. He is fast asleep. Im is reading.

I may not make it to midnight. We purchased some fabric to make covered pin boards today; it's just me, the canvas and a staple gun. Watch out!

Not Rudolph, but clearly one of Santa's reindeers. They are probably snoozing right now, preparing for their big dash around the world tonight.

We are at the shack, counting down the minutes (literally). Impending current excitement is a visit to Spog's Shed in Minlaton, where vintage Famous Five books can be bought for cents, not to mention broken guitars, shabby chairs and aluminium trunks.

The Gent is going fishing with his fishing buddy this afternoon,after raking all the pine needles and gum leaves out of the garden. This morning he plucked a whole bucket of fresh apricots from a burdened nearby tree, so we should dine will tonight.

Imogen and Hal are desperately hoping that 9 pm Mass will be cancelled tonight in order avoid any deviation from present worship. Crazy Gill's gifts arrived in very good time and look splendid in their wrapping under the tree. Kiwi Cousin's are also snuggled there. Oh, brother mine, I think your parcel has been delayed...

We decamped here on Sunday morning, after my big work function at (Clivv Pagg!) the Adelaide Cricket Oval! All went jolly well, and The BeatNIX, flown in from Sydney, were fantastic. Is it tragic to love the Beatles? It was compulsory listening in Earlswood Park as a child.

I am able to write this as Gent's new super status gives him a laptop with wireless connection. However, I was not prepared for this excitement, and thus have not brought my password for my regular email with me.

Fear not, dear readers! You can email me on essatshack@live.com.au

I shall supply you with more thrilling updates on Christmas Day.