Spring Lunch, August 30th

The Script Producer (10 year veteran of Australia's favourite police show and now living in the mountains) drove up with her brother one fine spring day.  I had hoped they might stay for a couple of days until I found out the Script Producer's new diet; no carbs.  In my blithe consumption of grains, my understanding of what a carb involved probably stretched to a dim recognition that beans might be implicated.  And then there's the rest... no grains, no beans, no rice, no bread, no cake, no potatoes (!!!how can someone live without potatoes! And why would you want to?)  What on earth would I feed them?

My non-carb catering could just stretch to one meal, but not a weekend.

While I'd be slashing my wrists if anyone told me cheese had to disappear forever from my plate, the Script Producer was taking the new austerity with surprising complacency.  Mainly, she said, because meat and wine were still allowed.  So that's what we had for lunch.  Meat (a fine butterflied lamb leg on the BBQ) and wine (an even finer red brought by the guests).

Now the Script Producer is one of those beloved guests who first visited early in the renovation project, when the comforts were extremely limited.  Despite this she was an endless source of encouragement and motivation - and breezed in with helpful suggestions and - even more helpful - curtains, which still hang in the main guest bedroom.  She also brought me (on the way back from parts further north west) a small eucalypt, which is now growing in the far corner of the triangle paddock.

Once more she brought with her exactly the thing I needed but hadn't got around to organising.  I had been thinking a circle of roses might be just the thing for out the front (mainly because everyone assures me roses - like geraniums - are pretty much impervious to my limited gardening skills, at least in this soil).  And there was the Script Producer, with a beautiful lush rose bush in a pot.

They left late afternoon, and while I was planting the rose in pride of place out the front I noticed the cow in the next door paddock - which I'd been stalking for days waiting for her long overdue (by my standards, not hers) calf - had indeed given birth to said calf.

Ah Spring, rose bushes and calves.  The season of growth.  And what a lovely lunch and great company to start the season with.

The Script Producer's rose bush

TV Marathon August 19-22

Psych Girl arrived with Busta the Wonder Dog for another excellent weekend of... basically sitting on the lounge in front of the fire and watching the entire series of The Staircase.  I love winter.  No grass to mow.  No trees to water.  No gardens to weed.  Humans can live through winter as nature intended - in caves with fur and big meat dinners - and DVDs.

Psych Girl is also known as The Demographic.  One of my few friends in the age group tv executives are passionately interested in: female consumers under 30.  So her opinion on anything tv is pored over like sand in the creek (there's gold in them thar hills).  Her timing coincided with the premier ep of Underbelly Razor.  She took great delight when she realised she was 'the friend' I told the Mudgee Guardian I'd be watching the episode with (I could hardly confess to our local tabloid that on the night Razor went to air I'd probably be sitting Nigel No Friends alone in front of the telly.  Unfortunately, that got me into trouble with everyone who read the article and wasn't with me that night.  Why aren't they the special friend...?)

Despite our self-imposed (Lack of) Work Ethic we did managed to cram a lot into the weekend.  Much wood was gathered for fires, a last farewell to the neighbours who've sold the property bordering mine, some cattle moving and fox baiting filled in the time between eating large meals of red meat and watching tv.

The Parents got points for bonding with Busta (lifting him onto the ute when they worried he was getting tired from the run up through the bush) and lost them again by nearly running over him!  (No dog stands between my father and Scrabble apparently).
 
But everyone finished the weekend alive - though no doubt kilos fatter!  And The Dog and I sadly waved goodbye to The Demographic and Busta the Wonder Dog....

Actually, that's not quite true.  As they drove off in one direction (hastily dispatched slightly earlier than usual) I abandoned The Dog to care of The Parents and drove at speed to the airport.  At short notice a dinner had been convened by The Cowboy Producer (he's from Western Australia, which I tend to think of as being something like Texas) with Incredibly Spunky Actor (one of The Demographic's favourites, in fact).  Another person might have turned down the offer... no, no, I'd love to be there, but a friend is staying, I couldn't possibly abandon her...  But that would be another person that's not me.  Off you you, Demographic, what's a few hours less, yes, I know you drove all this way to spend time with me, but I'm sure you'll want to get back to Sydney early so you're all ready for work on Monday...

So I drove, then I flew, then I taxied, then I walked on titter-totter heels - by now dressed in finest of clothes for dazzling Incredibly Spunky Actor with incredible beauty, graciousness and poise (what, this old thing, just something I threw on at the last minute...) to arrive at the glamorous restaurant and be told... Incredibly Spunky Actor had had last minute tooth surgery (what??) and wouldn't be joining us (I say again what??)  Needless to say, The Demographic laughed herself silly.

And I felt just a little bit, just a tiny bit, just a wee little tad... silly myself.