Last weekend, I was whisked away. Yes, whisked away from my humdrum existence by a dashing hero on horseback. Okay, let me qualify that. First, my existence is far from humdrum, but I (we) hadn't been away for ages and really needed a break from "the building site". Second, he was driving a Citroen, not a white charger. But he's still dashing enough for me.
And the fairytale destination? Bangalow - that prettiest of pretty little north coast New South Wales towns. Who needs Paris when there's this romantic little getaway so close to home? Why look - the pavements are scattered with rose petals.


Bangalow. It has always felt strangely like home. Something about the place. Sometimes wonder why I never settled there. Every time I visit, I leave a teensy bit of heart behind, just to remind me to come back. And when I do, I come back to the Bangalow Hotel, with its 1930s brick walls and frosted glass doors and Art Deco curves. The accommodation may not be 4-star, but who needs an ensuite in a pub with only four rooms? Once across the threshold I'm settled in as though I own the place - in a fat velvet armchair by a crackling fire in winter, or on the back deck under the Bangalow palms on a steamy summer's night.
The pub grub is damn fine, too. (For a start, they can make a perfect chip - sadly, something of a feat these days). In recent years, they've extended the old deck into a rather posh a-la-carte restaurant, but the locals and I tend to stick to the more democratically-priced original. Funnily enough, the food comes from the same kitchen.  

After dinner, there's always time for a quiet nightcap on the upstairs balcony. These days I'm kind of partial to the rooms with street view. Since the highway by-pass, trucks no longer scream their way through the town. Nothing but the stars above, the birds at eye level in the trees, and the village nightlife below.


Next morning, it's just a quick dash across the rose petals to Utopia Cafe, the very chic and spacious restaurant next door for breakfast.
Hmmmm, let's see now ... bacon and eggs? In Bangalow they're justifiably proud of their famous Bangalow pork - it sits centre stage in the butcher's window, and features on almost every menu. But it's always a treat to spot something different, so I went straight for the banana with black sticky rice, coconut milk and palm sugar caramel. It was heavenly. I believe (and remember, this is a Queensland girl talking) it may have been the best banana I've had in my life. Can't believe I'm still banging on about it.

And all this with a charming view across the green fields to the weekly farmer's market (hence the rose petals). Bangalow is all about quality over quantity. And theirs is a real grower's market: the beekeeper with their honey; the coffee grower with their coffee; the salad grower with their greens - you get the picture. Locals strolling around and chatting and buying their food at a market that is for them first and tourists second.
I love Eumundi - but how I wish its markets could be run on a similarly "less is more" principle.

Surrounded as it is by some of the lushest dairy country in Australia, Bangalow bears all the hallmarks of a wealthy town. The tree-lined main street is flanked with the elegant solidity of 19th century brick architecture. Old bank buildings stand tall and proud. Substantial shop fronts are edged with patinated copper detailing, their windows beautifully arranged with all things alluring, unique and quirky. Oodles of class, yet little pretention. Happily, the doughty CWA ladies, and their display of handmade aprons and tea cosies, still maintain their stronghold in the centre of town.

On this visit, I seem to have been too dreamily preoccupied with wandering to take many pics. Apart from this shot of the extremely photo-worthy Red Ginger: a little jewel of a shop, impeccably fitted out as a traditional Chinese teahouse, and stocked with richly glazed ceramics, embroidered velvet slippers, vibrant enamelware, and all the accoutrements you'd need for delicious tea and yum cha.
(A somewhat wistful glimpse of an ancient and beautiful China - the pre plastic toys, polyester clothing and cheap electronica era).


Please stop me someone. Okay, before you do, a short list of some favourite Bangalow things:

• Barebones Artspace: Inviting and uninhibiting little gallery established in 1994. Lots of interesting, quality and affordable local artworks.
• Milton Cater Oriental Carpets: Hesitate to use the cliched "Alladin's Cave", but nothing else conjurs it up. Walls and floors thick with exquisite - and genuine - handmade rugs. (And sold - or rather, curated - by someone who really knows what he's talking about.)
• Heath's Old Wares: Antiques and collectables barn behind the pub offering endless browsing pleasure. Packed to the rafters (really) with old tools, industria, kitchenalia, architectural antiques ... and behind the long counter, a very impressive, somewhat precarious-looking wall of treadle sewing machine drawers.
• And of course, just about every cafe and restaurant in town.

Oh there's so much more to this wonderful place, but I really have to stop now.
I'm not leaving it another two years to go back. And next time I'm taking more photos.

Or : How to receive a standing ovation for dinner whilst barely lifting a finger.

First, get thee to a second-hand store, market or garage sale, and pick yourself up a vintage slow cooker. I doubt you'll find one as cute as this (she said smugly), but you can always try.


Don't know what I love most - that fabulous 1970s orange and olive green, that wacky typeface (and the fact that they needed to state it was Electric), or those oh-so-Japanesey, totemo kawaii* flowers.
And check out the controls: off, low, high. Trust me, it really is that easy to use these things. No wonder they're making a comeback.
I believe there's been at least one slow cooker recipe book released. But even without benefit of book or instruction manual, my maiden voyage was - well - too easy!
Here's how it panned out:

Guests coming, and the evening promises to be just crisp enough for something hearty.
1. (3pm) Off to the incomparable Eumundi Meats to purchase some (pre-marinated**) lamb shanks.
2. Return home, place shanks in cooker with tinned tomatoes.
3. Turn cooker to high*** and replace lid.
4. Lounge around for four hours or so (okay, I did check them a couple of times - just to feel I was actually doing something).
5. (7pm) Five minutes or so before seating guests, steam up couscous (mmmmmmm ... lamb and couscous - honestly, is there any sweeter food couple?)


Now here's the best bit. Lift out the stylish, honey-glazed inner pot and it's straight to table to serve. The meat is heavenly - succulent and almost dripping from the bone. Dinner conversation fades away. Look proudly round the table. Look at those happy faces, tucking in. Yes Wendy, I think you deserve a second glass of that cheeky Clare Valley shiraz.

I must say I am completely won over. This has to be the ultimate in Slow Fast Food. Or should that be Fast Slow Food? I love cooking from scratch, I really do - but between Eumundi Meats and Electric Slow Cooker, my services could easily be made redundant.

* totemo kawaii = totally cute. And pretty much the limit of my Japanese (thank you Mari!)
** Yes, I have tried marinating my own lamb shanks. I have to admit the butcher does it better. But only until I find out his secret ...
***I have yet to try using "low" - that is, the "turn it on, go to work, and come home to the aroma of dinner cooking" setting. But with winter nights finally setting in here in the subtropics, there's bound to be experimentation aplenty.

And thanks to Oliver (clever chap did all his Christmas shopping at the New Farm Antique Centre) for a gift that just keeps on giving.

... according to Andy Muirhead. And as this is now my fourth, it would seem I'm a collector.


No-one's more surprised than me. Despite loving old stuff since the 70s, despite having Jethro Tull's Living in the Past on high rotation from age 15 to 17, despite once eloping with an antiques dealer, despite becoming an antiques dealer - I'm more of a purger than a hoarder. For me, one's usually enough.
This collecting business is all down to Phil. He found a bargain (yes, another) at the Yandina Markets: a beautiful, jet black, glass-sided Imperial - an ex-newspaper model with a super long carriage - and presented me with it last birthday. Since then I've found it hard to leave anything in good condition under $25 behind.


Seems I'm just one of the crowd though. Typewriters are everywhere these days - often with three figure price tags. They're all over the net, where 60s-70s era portables (preferably orange or sky blue) are the must-have vintage item for crafty chicky-babes. And stylists can't get enough of them. Spotted one in a restautant window in Bangalow this weekend. Then last night, first episode of the new series Dr Who, and blow me down if there wasn't a typewriter at the control panel of the remodelled Tardis. Seems the latest Doctor (rather a retro boy himself) needs to type something to start her up.

Notwithstanding the inevitably inflated prices that come with such a resurge of popularity, all this typewriter love makes me happy because:

• Like most things old and mechanical, typewriters are things of beauty and integrity: fine examples of ingenious, simple, elegant design. And bursting with character.
• They offer blessed relief from the overburden of choice. Just one font, black or red, caps or lower case. Oh, and underline. That's it. Not an emoticon in sight. Funnily enough, we used to be perfectly capable of expressing ourselves without them.
• Unplugged, and thus environmentally friendly. Also distraction free - no net surfing, just creating.
• Slow. And slow is usually better.
• "Clickety-clack, clickety-clack" sounds great. So does "Ca-ching!"

Yes, the inked ribbons are still available. There's no excuse. Go forth and collect. Save one or more of these robust, handsome beasts from landfill. Then, taking a pen and old-fashioned address book, make a shortlist of your real friends (the true ones, not all 150 on facebook). Brew a proper pot of tea. Sit by a sunny window. Let the warmth spread across your shoulders and onto your page. Tap merrily away. Seal your heartfelt missive in an envelope (with a kiss if appropriate). Stroll to the nearest letter box and post.

As a couple, Phil and I bond over scavenging. We pride ourselves in spotting potential, in appreciating good bones, in re-imagining, in being able to envision the "after" in the "before". In the words of Regurgitator: "We like your old stuff better than your new stuff". And here on the Sunshine Coast, whilst the pickings may not be as rich as the big city, I'm glad to report there are still some happy scrounging grounds for the DIY enthusiast.
One of which is the Noosa Tip Shop (AKA Briteside Recycling) where, abandoned out in the yard, covered in gunk, I spotted this little beauty (yes, I'm taking credit for this one):


Phil had been hunting the perfect studio workbench for some time - and this one measured up. The criteria: industrial design, sturdy, open framework, and space for tool drawers/storage. Time to hitch up the rescue trailer and bring this baby home.
Above: After coaxing out some hesitant bolts, the stunning (albeit grease-covered) timber top was lifted off, and the galvanised steel frame given a light sand and anti-rust touch up.


Then a coat of Galmet Hammered Metal Finish in Jade Green. Highly recommend this quality product. It's easily applied, gives great coverage, and leaves behind an appealing dimpled finish that hides surface imperfections - whilst imparting some industrial chic.
Finally, some sanding, filling and oiling of those handsome, chunky top boards. And here it is - in situ:

Look - the green perfectly matches that square of marmoleum. And how about that slide-out shelf? It came with those cute brass knobs. (Well, one of them. Phil just happened to have another to match). He's yet to construct drawers to fit underneath, but that bench is keen and waiting to take all the hammering, filing and soldering action he can dish out.


Total cost: $75. Yep $75. Bench $50. Paint $25. Plus a couple of days work, of course. But he seemed to be enjoying himself. He really did.