Have licence, will travel.

Do you remember it ? That little thrill of sitting in the drivers seat, buckling in, turning on the engine and then glancing over at the unoccupied passenger seat ? Oh yes, you had your drivers licence baby and you were now in full control of the vehicle. You could adjust the seat, turn up the volume on the radio (urm, in my case, the luxury of a tape deck or cd player was still a few years off, not that I'm saying I'm a thousand years old or anything *ahem*) and rest your elbow on the wound down window ledge so that you looked like an old pro, cool as a cumber, yep been doing this ol' driving business for a good....few months now.

I do remember it but sadly my driving experience is a little more 'run of the mill' then 'thrill' these days. I don't know, maybe it's the depressing eau de mouldy carpet scent that gently permeates the interior of the car on a humid day, care of one of my dear, dear BILs who accidentally spilled an entire 1.5lt bottle of water throughout my boot. Maybe it's the size 1 foot that keeps 'accidentally' prodding me in the back as I attempt to admire the scenery and focus on what a pleasurable driving experience the mountain provides.

Speaking of which, driving on a mountain, sigh, you would think that without a single set of traffic lights and nary a traffic jam to be seen that it would be one of the most joyful driving experiences around. I'm afraid you would be mistaken. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate that this is a tourist destination and that means that we often get...well...tourists, but it would seem that the tourists sometimes forget that there are also residents here who may actually want to get somewhere before...say, I don't know, next Christmas.

There's one particular area of our lovely mountain where you will find a t-intersection, it also happens to be the spot where a rather large map of the mountain is placed, rather conveniently, right next to the road. Now, at the risk of sounding like a grouchy old mountain nanna, if I had a penny for every time that I've turned right at the intersection and been forced to screech on the brakes to prevent myself from driving straight up the wazoo of a delightful visitor to the mountain who has simply stopped their car in the middle of the road so that they could read the tourist map....well....I'd have quite a few pennies, let me tell you (which would probably amount to the richly sum of about $2.50, so I think we can all agree that it's a rather sad state of affairs that I haven't in fact been hording pennies somewhere in my glove box).

Oh, and then there was the time I was driving down off the mountain (oh yes, amongst real traffic, I know you're impressed now) and found myself thoroughly confused as I watched a car driving toward me, in my lane. Yes, I admit, I had a moment where I mentally strummed through the pages of my 'learn to drive' manual and confirmed that I was actually on the correct side of the road. Naturally I began to slow down as the other car continued to creep towards me. By this time, I could see the occupants of the other car, a young couple of foreign nationality, he was hunched over the steering wheel wearing an expression of steely determination, whilst she was waving at me and mouthing the words "sorry" (or it could have been 'nori' or 'lorry', I guess that's open to interpretation). Anyway, I stopped my car and they continued on, turning right, again into the wrong lane, whilst manically waving, ooookay then.

There's never a dull moment when you're out on the open roads, that's for sure, and some days, no amount of easy listening music can ease the white-knuckled grip I have on my steering wheel. But when you least expect it, you can find yourself humming along to a song, enjoying the breeze as you navigate tree-lined, sun dappled roads and you think "Oh yeah, how good is this, have licence, will travel."

Um....Hi there......

I've been putting it off, putting it off, putting it off (hey, that sounds like the beginnings of a kick arse dance track, don't you think ?), but I can't really explain why or how I sort of fell in to a blogging void. Things have been a changing around Casa Del Waffler and my little routine was thrown on its head. I've been busy re-adjusting and finding my new groove...slowly I'm getting there. Thank goodness for that.

And how apt, I have made my return on Anzac Day, a day that resonates quite strongly with me. It's a day when we remember those who have fallen and those who have left our shores to take up posts overseas. I get teary every. Single. Year. Just can't help myself. As I listen to the services my mind wonders off to battle fields long since overgrown. I try to imagine what the men and women of our armed services went through, and I feel overwhelmed with emotion.

Lest We Forget

I apologise for the incredibly dis-jointed nature of this post, guess it's not like riding a bike after all. Really I just wanted to swing by and say I'm still here and I will be back. And since you are here, I wanted to say thank-you for being so patient and waiting around for me to get my act together.


And in another completely unrelated matter, here is a collection of treasures that I stumbled upon at one of our small mountain book shops last weekend and was simply unable to resist. Made me think of a certain well known blogger who has had a soft spot for the Moomin Family for as long as I can remember. Horray for unexpected finds at little book shops I say.

Trust him, you'll like it.

Le Artiste has been a busy little beaver this morning. He awoke at 6.20am (yes, that is 6.20am precisely, not 6.19 and not 6.21, trust me, he double checked on the kitchen clock) and set to work putting together a marketing plan to knock the chocolate bar conglomerates off their perches. I'm telling you, if the new Chock Rock bar from Snip,Snap doesn't blow you away then my name's not Waffles. Let me share some of the excellent selling points as presented on Le Artiste's fine advertising poster.

Well obviously it's the yummyest and juicest chocolate bar EVER ! How can you go past that ? I will most certainly be re-assessing all my chocolate bars from now on and if they don't rate highly on the 'juicy' scale, I will definitely reconsider any future purchases.

And don't we all love a product that is free from artifital colours or flavours with no presurvatives. Especially when it also contains mashmellos and a cream & caramel sauce. Mmm, got to love those mashmellos.

Alright, so say you're not swayed by the ingredients. Surely you wouldn't turn down the incloosion of a plazma TV. I know it's almost too good to be true but I'm sure it's not a misprint, it's even circled with a bright red box. So for the bargain price of 5c (or free, depending on which box you read) you'll not only get a delicious, healthy chocolate bar but you'll get a free plazma television. But wait....there's more....

...it's yummy, healthy, keeps you smart and NEW. It's like a super food, a food of the Gods perhaps, and it will keep you NEW. I'm getting giddy at the mere thought of it.

And if you're still not convinced that the Chock Rock bar is for you, well just take a look at the expression on the face of the non-smoking, skull and crossbone wearing chap above. If you can't take his word for it that it is 'delitous too,' then I am at a complete loss.

Now I'm no marketing guru but if I was the head honcho at Cadburys I would be very worried, very worried indeed.

By jove this kid can talk.

This morning Petal has been sitting at the breakfast table for forty-five minutes. You may think this is because I have served her seven eggs, twelve rashers of bacon, four tomatoes and fourteen slices of toast, but no, forty-five minutes is the period required for Petal to consume one lonely, solitary little piece of toast, oh, and a glass of juice, but the juice took approximately two minutes.

The reason Petal takes so long at the the table is that she likes to talk, actually saying that she likes to talk is like saying that Garfield likes lasagna, a serious understatement if ever there was one. She doesn't just like to talk, she LOVES to talk, and this kid could talk for Queensland, in fact I would go as far as saying I think she could talk for Australia....watch out Nations of the world.

Perhaps you think that I'm exaggerating, so let me share this mornings conversation with you.

*munch munch* "Mummy I know how to sing Hot Cross Buns *insert full rendition of Hot Cross Buns*, I can also sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star *insert full rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star*, how does Santa know if we've been good can he see us all the time ? Is Santa outside in a tree ? What about in space ? Is Santa in space ? He must be magic I would like to be in space can I go in to space mummy ? Mummy I know the actions for the Macarena *insert humming of The Macarena WITH actions* Is tomorrow a school day ? I like school days because I get to play with play doh and do stuff I like to do stuff. *munch* What's inside ice ? Is it crystals ? *insert mummy explaining where ice comes from* But does it come from a shop an ice shop ? You can't draw on it you know but it's very nice I like ice especially in my juice but it's very cold and crunchy "*giggle giggle*.....and so it goes on.....

Now I have to confess this is merely a snippet of the rather one sided conversation taking place at the breakfast table and to be perfectly honest, I can't remember what else she mentioned because the topics change at break neck speed and I haven't had a coffee yet. I struggle to keep up at the best of times which is saying something because you'll be extraordinarily surprised to learn that I, myself, am a rather accomplished talker. But it does make me pause for a moment to ponder what may come. I am a talker, my daughter is a turbo talker....so what would this make my grand-daughter ? Eek, I think I feel a little headache coming on.

The mama roared her terrible roar and ganached her terrible teeth.

Obviously I was getting cocky. Ganache, no problemo, I could whip up a batch in my sleep. Sure I'd learnt that a milk chocolate ganche took longer to set to a spreadable consistency then a pure dark chocolate ganache, but would a white chocolate ganche be any trickier ? Pfffff nah, thought I.

I also had a stroke of baking visionary genius, imagine it, a white chocolate ganache sneakily hiding a rich, moist dark and milk chocolate cake. My how pretty it would look with it's classic brown and cream tones, perched delicately on a butter plate.

Yes, well, lets just say that at 11pm the night before Petal's 5th birthday party, my vision dissolved in a glob of runny white chocolate and cream *ahem* ganache. After almost five hours my ganache still wasn't firming up. The Coach was helpfully suggesting that I "bung it in the fridge for a bit," as I tore out my hair, rolled my eyes and muttered "The fridge ? Butter and cream and chocolate, silly man, pfffft."

Well it was getting late, I was growing more tired and emotional by the second, and in an act of desperation, I simply decided to bung my soft, slightly runny (but devilishly tasty, if I don't say so myself) ganache on to the cake. As you can see from the photo, the end result wasn't quite the heavenly vision I had started out with, but with sheer determination, considerable cursing and one or two finger licking moments, I think it all ended up okay. And as we all know, when your ganache doesn't work out quite so perfectly, there are always silver flakes and sparkling cachous to sprinkle all over the top as an excellent distraction. Oh, and butterflies, butterflies work a treat.

Then this week we have been submerged back in to the clouds. All week, nothing but rain and grey skies. The message is clear folks....

We must poach, poach pears in a vanilla bean and lemon syrup. Then we will take our poached pears and a punnet of delectable fresh raspberries and we will bake a sour cream, pear and raspberry cake with absolutely, NOT ONE SINGLE DOLLOP OF GANACHE ON TOP. Has it got me beat ? Not at all. I'm already thinking about that batch of white chocolate cupcakes I'm going to make in the coming weeks...mmmm, yum.

My Creative Space

Not so many words this week, but given that we have established what a detective extraordinaire I am, perhaps today we should see how well you fare. We have butterflies attached to floral wire. We have silver shimmer flakes. We have blocks of fine Belgian chocolate and, oh yes, we have candles. What mischief could be afoot at Casa Del Waffler, hmmmm ?

Oh, and for those of you who were simply giddy with delight at the word 'tatterdemalion', this week we focus on the letter 'i' and I give you, imbroglio.

Mavis : But I am adamant, we simply must have scones.

Beryl : I appreciate your determination dear sister, but I must disagree, it can only be fruit cake.

Mavis : Oh dear, another imbroglio we find ourselves in.

Now whilst you digest that little gem why not swing by Kirsty's and enjoy a whole lotta creativity.

It was the four year old, in the bedroom, with a red crayon.

Perhaps I wasn't looking hard enough for the fine print in my guide to rearing children book. Maybe an entire chapter had mysteriously gone missing. But no where did it mention that upon having children I would have to don a blue plastic suit and whip out my forensics kit at a moments notice to solve many a household mystery.

If you have children, I imagine that you are nodding your head at this very moment. Every day seems to hold a new and exciting puzzle to solve, some easy, some, not so much.

Le Artiste, thankfully, does not seem destined for a life of crime (there you go mum, that should help you sleep easier at nights). When a sticky blue snake is to be found dangling from his bedroom ceiling, he will simply stare at the floor, stare back at the snake, shrug his shoulders and say "Yes, sorry mum, it was me. I threw the snake at the ceiling." Which is always handy as it saves me many unnecessary hours of canvasing the neighbourhood looking for someone who is randomly throwing sticky blue snakes around.

Petal, on the other hand, will deny all crimes, regardless of how blatantly all signs point to her. Whilst using a handy blue biro to scrawl a tag on the lamp shade when no one is around seems like a well executed plan, scrawling your own name will in fact give the game away entirely. As it will when written on the bookshelf or across Dolly's forehead. I'm sure with age she will attempt a wee bit more discretion, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I won't be fooled if I see *Mummy* penned cunningly on to the coffee table, oh no, I will be onto that like a shot... just as soon as I check out my own alibi.

Admittedly, I have a small crime file of my very own, some misdemeanors which I remember and some which I'm sure my parents would be more than happy to remind me of. There was the time I thought it would be a fabulous idea to cut some decorative shapes into my bedroom blind. The time I thought I would try my hand at hairdressing and trim myself a fringe (or bangs, for you American folks) which I then thought I could cleverly disguise with around 20 bobby pins. Oh, and not to forget the time I aimed my slingshot at a lemon and instead took out the stained glass panel next to our neighbours front door, for which my sister caught the initial blame, oops. Ah yes, happy memories, don't you agree mum ? I just know you're reading this with a smile on your face.

Anyway, now it is my turn to play detective. Will I ever be able to solve the mystery of the bent towel rail ? Hmm, yes my dear Watson, I think I see a clue.