its okay if stubby holders are your friends

good ol stubbie holders eh. who knew you could get so much enjoyment from a cheap piece of screen printed wetsuit sewed together?

i come from a long line of beer drinkers. real beer drinkers that is. none of this imported, cant pronounce it properly, i'm only having 1, designer bottle, low carb, low alcohol, light bubbles with a twist of lime bullshit. twist of lime! we're not in mexico anymore toto.

there is only one way to say beer in my family and that's 'VB'. those tasty hand grenades are unbeatable. but its not just about the beer. its about the culture of drinking beer. that fair dinkum sit down feet up kind of relaxation after a hard half day's work.

beer isn't beer unless it almost frozen. that's why, in our family, beer had it's own fridge. those kind of temperatures don't go down too well with bowling ball bogan lettuce and its distant cousin celery. uh uh.

if we were having a party the beer was moved out of the fridge and into iced packed eskies. as we all know, especially living in darwin, nothin tastes crisper than a cold one fresh off the ice. whoa oh oh its magic.

so you got your beer and its not only ice cold, its covered with small chunks of ice like a polar bear waking up from its chilly slumber. problem... how in jack frost's name do you hold this?

you could set it down on the table and watch it sweat an olympic size pool of water moistening elbows and shirt sleeves in its slippery wake. wait. hang about. why dont ya chuck some of this spare bit of wetsuit round its belly and keep ya hand from losing all circulation and put a bit underneath, catch some of that dripstone cliffs? great idea mate. you bloody beauty.

my dad got an old bit of piping, sealed off one end, cut a stubbie holder sized hole above the seal, nailed it to the wall. its stubbie holder dispenser. it fits like 10 regulation sized holders. ripper.

our humble little household they mean more, so much more. when my better half and i did a road trip from melbourne to darwin i took one photo a 1/2 hour in. then the camera went flat. we had no cord to recharge. dang.

oh i know. at every roadhouse, road stop, pub, club, hotel, motel, gift store, op shop, tip shop, tire repair shop (my fault) we would buy a stubbie holder to remember fondly (except that last place) all the fine establishments we visited to eat, drink, sleep or bomb the dunny.

what a fine collection we had saved. some would call it a practical photo album.

what's the moral of this story?

drink cold beer. tastes so good, once it hits your lips.

peas and carrots

we are the lamps
born ready
to roll

marketeering nancies
crafty collection
purple pant

high fives
switcharoos
funny magoos

come with us
on a journey
to the land of imagination

dont worry be happy yess markets are baaaaaaaaack...

winning

after a long hiatus i'm out of hibernation and refreshed with innovative ideas and new stories to tell.  for example, last week i went on that trip to vietnam.

we ate dog.  we drank moonshine with marinating cockroaches inside.  we splashed out on a private tour guide, personal driver and an automobile (if you've been to vietnam you'll understand how the latter is perhaps the most indulgent luxury) and journeyed to a mountain-top lake in a national park of the far northern highlands.

we saw uncle ho's embalmed body.  you're not allowed to photograph it.  you'll just have to take my word for it; he's aging well.

we started drinking local beer by noon each day and kicked on until at least 10 pm (midnight darwin time.  very extreme).  we visited mediocre museums and feigned inquisitive interest (but we were drunk so we probably weren't as convincing as we thought). we sat on plastic stools that could have fit inside a dollhouse and ate pho at roadside vendors.  we drank at bia hois and met wine brokers and stock brokers and listened to stories about what its like to grow up in vietnam. 

we observed capitalism in its purest form and indulged in tailor-made goodies, wooden instruments and counterfeit dvds that don't play properly.  for the first time in my life, i treated myself to a stint in a five star french colonial hotel on the banks of a river including gourmet breakfast, room service dessert, lobby cocktails and four hours being pampered by three staff at the spa.

we woke up too early and couldn't sleep on the planes.  we drank water from the tap, had ice in our drinks, forgot to take our malaria tablets and didn't suffer too many consequences.  we didn't miss our phones or our regular internet access or facebook or even this blog.

we accidentally dropped our camera and bought a used [stolen] camera that had been fixed up [barely works] to document our trip and map out our blurry memories for years and decades and eons to come.

we had the time of our lives.  we spent more than one hour together, just the two of us, for the first time in a very, very long time.

we made ourselves tired and we were very pleased to arrive home.

home.

it was me.

i've been reasonably well-behaved year to year so, very fortunately, santa's always paid me a christmas visit. i just love it when santa gets it this right. 

this year mr clause brought me the lovely resin goodness of sydney-based, up-and-comers it was me.  effortlessly chic and locally handmade, it was me's bangles really stack up.  these hard-edged statement-makers are tempered by soft lace and dainty bow details, producing a city-meets-seaside affect i can't get enough of.  in less than 24 hours these ladies have already elevated a vintage t-shirt and cut-offs combo and my new favourite tlux black dress. carried by the likes of sydney's the corner shop, these bangin bracelets are quickly taking australia by storm.  for stockists or some online shopping visit it was me online. 

thanks it was me for making such perfect accessories. and, as always, thank you santa x