Everything's Coming Up Pistachio

When did pistachios become a thing? It's like overnight, this rather niche flavour has gone viral. 

It's so fetch. 

Like fetch, pistachios have been chipping away at the zeitgeist like a teenage wannabee chipping away at the popular kids lunch spot. 

What was a fairly uncommon flavour of nuts and the occasional gelati has gone absolutely nuts. 

Pistachio is a favourite colour now (I admit to being a fan of this pale green.)

 (This image is AI generated using the prompt "Design me a gif of a woman wearing a casual outfit in a pistachio green colour with an italian inspired background looking very pleased with herself.)

There is the pistachio version of nutella - which I rather like. 

I had a pistachio drink this evening made of pure coconut water infused with pistachio and white chocolate. It was very nice, even it it reeks of hippy shit. 

I've also had a pistachio flavoured pudding, which wasn't as successful. I think there are better ways to get 15 grams opf protein into my system. The pudding itself tasted too artificial, but as a low carb, high protein treat it was fine. Thanks to the predominance of GLP1's everything's coming up protein at the moment. 

I also have some pistachio flavoured toothpaste - but that's for use at night. I prefer minty breath using the day. 

But with this explosion of pistachio, I have some questions:

• Where are all the nuts coming from?
• Who has to shell them? 
• Is this fad going to last? 

Just saying...  I will admit that I rather like it, when the flavour isn't too artificial. 

And don't get me started on Biscoff. Unlike pistachio, I can't see myself using Biscoff toothpaste. 

(Yet another AI generated gif.)

Today's song: 

Sunday Morning Vibes

Sleep is an underrated commodity. 

After being woken by a storm early Saturday morning and being unable to to get back to sleep, yesterday was a bit of a write off. 

Taking myself off to bed early, avoiding the noise, the heat and the bumps of the evening dance party, I read and doomscrolled the evening away after a decent hot shower and a cup of tea. I located some sleeping tablets in my toiletries bag, deciding not to take one, but the option was there if slumber alluded me. Thankfully, it didn't come to that. 

Seven hours of decent sleep, a coffee, a sit by the fire, another shower, a few gentle chats and I'm feeling ready to start the day.  It's only 9.30. So far, I've talked with people on the subjects of:

• New Zealand politics
• The fact that Netanyahu is out
• The state of the Victorian elections
• The alternatives to Roundup
• Why the C-Word can be used by women, but not men
• The underrated joys of South Australia
• South Australian bakeries
• The joys of surfer boys
• Tarot
• Theta healing, among other topics. 

But now, I'm ready to face the day. 

I brought with me five books down with me for the trading table. I'm going home with four. Of these books, I found a copy of Michel Faber's The Crimson Petal and the White. This is one of my favourite books. I loaned my copy to somebody, on the proviso that it came back to me. It never did. I rue the day I loaned out that book. Yesterday, on the trading table, I found a copy of this book. My heart is full. 

On the clothes rack, I also found a pair of jeans, which fit. $20. Done. I'm wearing them now and they are so comfortable. 

I've also harassed the retreat cat, Oreo. But not in a bad way. 

Oreo and I are old friends. She knows if she comes near me, she will get a pat. Or worse. This morning, she was demanding exit from the Chapel. Of course, she had to pay the exit tax by being picked up, kissed on the head, and put down, before the door was open. It's cat law. 

She really is the best cat. She's tiny. Friendly, bolshie, fearless. She takes groups of people down the beach, leading the way like a sherpa. 

I love my time down here. I love these people. I know how blessed I am to spend time with my tribe. I am blessed to be able to make the space and time to write. I'm aware of the privilege to be able to do all of this. 

And I have a night on my own, in the chapel, where I can have the room and the peace to do as I will. I've snaffled a couple of beers in the fridge, procured a coffee pod machine so I can have a coffee in the morning. I'm told Emma may leave me some leftovers for dinner - if not, I'll schlep into Apollo Bay and find a pub meal. 

Most of all, I'm looking forward to the quiet. The only sound is the rumble of the Southern Ocean and the occasional passing car. An evening to delve into the silence. 

Today's song: 

Sunday Stealing searches for meaning

 I am once again down the Great Ocean Road on a writer's retreat. It is supposed to be late Spring, however last night it was blowing a gale, tipping down and generally miserable. Due to the stormy conditions, I've only had three hours sleep. Although I'm amped on coffee and Ritalin, I'm not sure I'm up to looking at the meaning of life. I think I'd rather sit by the fire in the dining room and nap.

Regardless, I'll give these a go. I probably won't have much to say - I'd like to get back to penning my novel. And I'm sitting here in a Metallica t-shirt and sparkly pink gumboots. This is my writing uniform. I can't waste this time, especially as it looks like I'll be going back to work soon. 

Questions, as always, have come from Sunday Stealing.

1. If you could go back to any age, which would you choose and why?

I'm going to say 42. I had most of my crap together at 42 and it was just before the joys of perimenopause started to bite. Fun, heh!

2. If you could snap your fingers and change any single aspect of your life today, what would you change?

Seriously, I'd love to be a size 14 (I think that equates to size 10 in the American sizes. I've always been big, but I reckon size 14 would be a great thing to be. Size 16 is my aspirational, happy place size. I know it's a number. I know I'm healthy, but being bigger makes getting clothes hard. It's better than it was - and I'm not that big - but you have more choice when you're smaller. 

3. Define a "good" or "successful" life.

If I'm really honest, if you are stable, have friends, have your emotional, spiritual and physical needs met, get to be challenged every now and then and 

4. What's the best compliment you've ever received?

Not so much a compliment, but I love when people tell me they have no idea what I'm thinking. 

5. What's the most valuable thing your parents taught you?

Resilience. 

Today's song: 

And now for the hard bit.

The car is packed. I've thrown out the rubbish, turned off unnecessary outlets. The bed is made. The dishes have been washed

I've got the snackies and the drinks and the car trips necessities. 

All is well. 

Now, I just have to get the cat into his carrier and we can go. 

He knows something his up. His blanket isn't where it's supposed to be. I've been moving stuff around the place, taking the weekend's needs down to the car. 

Just wish me luck.

At least chasing around an eight-year-old cat is a little easier than chasing round a two-year-old critter.

Great Ocean Road here I come. 

Today's song: 

Trip Prep

I'm three seasons into Slow Horses and loving every minute of it, which is making packing for this three days down the Great Ocean Road a little bit slow. 

The clothes are in piles. The books for the trading table are in a bag, as are the bits and pieces required for a weekend away where I intend to write - jelly snakes, half a block of chocolate, coffee pods, my keep cup, a brick of almond milk, protein powder... you know the drill. 

As I'm still between gigs (good news pending, but I won't say anything until the ink is dry) I'll be spending another night down at the retreat location - an old chapel that overlooks the sea, maybe with one or two others, maybe alone. 

Lucifer will be ensconsed in Blarney's spare room for the weekend.

I've got the book I'm on the way to finishing (Katherine Stockett's The Calamity Club - good, but far too long) and the book group book for this month.. 

My travel laptop and iPad are charged up and in my backpack, with the peripherals. 

Lucifer's food and litter are ready to go. I'll take his blanket and his manky mouse too. He loves his manky mouse (I just wish he'd stop leaving it on the bed.)

The car was topped up with petrol and the tyres are now all compliant and free from punctures. 

My meds are in my suitcase.

Yep, I'm ready to go away with my strange, fun like-minded mates. 

It should be wonderful. 

And now I can go back to Slow Horses. One of the most odious characters has just been knocked off. It's great. Psychopaths the lot of them. 

Today's song:

Not my election

This is not my election - but it's taken up a lot of the day. 

Earlier this morning, there was the interview, which I thought was last week. It went well. They're seeing other candidates, but my fingers are crossed. I burned some green candles to help the energy along. I'll know by early next week. Mercury is in retrograde until next week. Communications are help up. I just have to remember to relax and have faith. 

With the interview out of the way, I raced into the bathroom, removed the make up, watched another episode of Slow Horses (lastest obsession, but I've loved Gary Oldman since he was Sid Vicious, and in The Fifth Element and everything else he's done. Plus, he can dance)

The only problem is that around lunchtime, the American election results started to come in.

As a political junkie, it was necessary to keep my eye on what's going on. I find all of this fascinating, not that it's my election to commentate, but it's been very entertaining. Friends were messaging over the day. "Did you see this?" and "Are you watching?" and "TALARICO!"

The cast of Hamilton said it well. 

I'm in Australia. None of this has any direct effect on me. 

I will say, it does feel like a bit of normality has been restored to the world. People with some backbone, morals and humanity appear to have got in. Some who don't skip leg day. (Ahmed Al-Sayed anyone?) Christians who don't think that one of the tenets of the Bible is to screw your neighbour over (James Talarico). Women. Queer folk. First Nations people are getting to be in the highest offices in the land. It's a wonder to behold. 

It's going to be hard. The nation feels like some of the divisions have been corrected. Oversight might actually happen now. Who knows what's going to happen, but it's going to be fun to watch. 

A little bit of my faith in America has been restored. 

Now we just have to do the same here are drive out One Nation....

Today's song:

Movie Review: Wicker

Movie Number 44 of 2026

The Movie: Wicker

The Cinema: Hoyts Victoria Gardens

Runtime: One hour 45 minutes

Stars: 4.5

Opens Thursday

Who knew that a fairytale could have so many good feminist messages about going against the grain, being kind and accepting people for who and what they are? 

Wicker provides this in spades. 

It’s wonderfully bonkers, but with Olivia Colman and Alexander Skarsgard in the lead roles, it was bound to be a bit left of centre. 

I loved this. It was predestined. Written in the stars and a part of the moon cycle. It's the perfect film to go to with your friends, sit back and enjoy. 

The story is based on a short story, The Wicker Husband by Ursula Wills. 

It tells the tale of the local fisherwoman (Olivia Colman), ostracised by the village locals for not conforming to the social norms of the day. Unmarried, she lives alone outside of the village. The rest of the women in the town are kept under then thumbs of their rather tedious husbands. Women are married by having a metal collar placed around their necks. Joy. 

After a wedding tradition goes wrong, where she does the equivalent of catching the bouquet at the wedding, she asks the local basket weaver (Peter Dinklage) to make her a husband. This he does. 

A month later the fisherwoman turns up at the church and her husband is present in the wicker form of Alexander Skarsgard. Oh my. The basket weaver did a bloody good job. 

The other thing about the wicker husband is that he lacks the social norms that have made the men so, to be frank, awful. The wicker husband is kind, attentive, helpful. He pays lots of attention to his bride, who doesn't always know what to do with all of this. 

The women of the village, particularly the tailor's wife (Elizabeth Debicki) aren't happy with this. They get jealous and start rumours about the wicker husband. The men of the village can't see what they're doing wrong - like they've always had control of their wives. 

In the end, all of the rumours and back biting come to a head, with consequences for the whole town . 

I will say no more. 

Anything with Olivia Colman in it is going to be wonderful. She's brilliant in this. Alexander Skarsgard, under some amazing makeup and costumes, is perfect as her wicker groom. And the rest of the town is a hoot. Nobody has a name. The dishwasher, the drunk, the tailor and their wives. It's very cool.

Eleanor Wilson and Alex Huston Fischer have done a wonderful job of writing and directing this joyous fable about finding your person, no matter what the greater society says about your choices. As gorgeous as this film is, the feminist message is strong, but not that is slaps you about the face. 

See it. It's wonderful. 

Today's song: