Selling up

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The day has come when Palazzo Chichi has been put on the market. The Colonel retires in December and with the economy the way it is we have decided to put the house up for sale sooner rather than later. Over the next couple of weeks there will be a frenzy of activity as we have the interior and exterior of the house painted, and a whole lot of little things to titivate the place and increase the curb appeal.

The sign went up today and It's a bit scary seeing this house that I have become so attached to being made ready for sale. Who will feed Robert Mugabe after we are gone??? Not to mention Dame Judi Dench or Barry the Oppossum who sometimes sneaks in through the cat door to feast on some kitty snacks and who 'rolls' with my cat Romeo. A cat and an oppossum BFF's, who would have thought.

This afternoon I went out for an epicurian repast with The Colonel, my Aussie mate, and two of the Colonel's friends. We went to a famous Spanish restaurant in Ybor city called Colombias. I am not fond of Spanish food. The fare on offer did nothing to change my opinion. I barely ate any of what I ordered, how very disappointing.

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The restaurant is very pretty and the outside is decorated with ceramic tiles with a kind of horror vacui artwork. The inside is much calmer and the indoor fountain was lovely.

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Spanish food, I hate you. Why must you taste so repulsive?

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Carry on Bleaching.

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Rejoicing from Palazzo Chichi. It looks like my hair colour woes may be over.


I just returned from my hairdresser with a luscious shade of nordic blonde, it's so much cooler than the golden, buttery glow I had. I like golden and buttery when I am eating an English crumpet, not when I am looking in the mirror.

I called up my coiffeuse the other day in a state of near hysterics after getting home and seeing my limoncello locks. The problem appears to have been, as I first suspected, that awful copper band from Bozo the Clown at Saks. For some reason it just would not lift. My roots had gone a lovely white colour, which I didn't really see in the haze of lemon flavoured panic I was in at first.
The copper band, for some reason was not lifting. I went back and only the middle yellow parts were re-bleached. It took another full 45 minutes to get them to lift. This week that part of my hair has spent 90 minutes being bleached. Awful stuff, still hoping it does not all fall out after this chemical party I have been having on my head.

Finally, my hair is a lovely beige blonde, just like I had it in Australia. The toner left a bit of pink residue on the ends, which were a nasty shade of overprocessed stripper white. I can handle a touch of pink for a couple of days, anything but the yellow peril.

On top of that, the hairdresser has 2 German Shepherds which were in the salon all day. Magnificient beasts, I came home covered in fur and with lovely coloured hair.

Oh Tampa, there is hope for you yet.

Creepy Critters of Flori-duh, or WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE.

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Just when I thought the bug situation could not get any worse, I have found an infestation of LOCUSTS in my garden. I didn't even know there were still Locusts in the world, so far they have existed to me only in the form of a Biblical Plague. I may be a dumb blonde for not knowing they are still around eating people's gardens, but quite frankly I would rather not be acquainted with any kind of knowledge on these beastly buggers.

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One of the many locust's gorging on my garden.

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This place is full of bugs, overloaded with them. I have never seen such a plentiful supply of nasty creepy crawlies in my whole life. Prior to moving here I had seen maybe 2 Cockroaches my entire life. Now I am lucky if I don't see more than 2 a day. It's like a freak show. Some people call them Palmetto Bugs. Is that an attempt to titivate a Cockroach? Make it sound less offensive? Well as the saying goes, 'You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig', and a Palmetto Bug, is still a dirty Cockroach.

I'm a walking smorgasboard for mozzies who voraciously feast on my obviously tasty blood. Those suckers.

People know Australia for it's venomnous snakes but I have only ever seen one snake in my entire life downunder, and it was dead. I have had snakes in my front garden, on the back patio and a few in the backyard. Just the other day I saved one from my cat Runty who was acting like a gaoler at Abu Gharib as he tortured the poor snake.

Runty, he looks cute enough but to the snakes and gecko's of Tampa, he is Ivan Milat.

It's just plain gross. Florida, your heat and humidity, dentist's and hairdressers are punishment enough, must you inflict these noxious insects upon me too?

Locust update; I sprayed the little blighters with a solution of citrus mouthwash and citrus dish washing detergent as advised by a local. Not sure how successful this was just yet. I like the idea of homemade remedies but am quite fond of the idea of blasting those bugs into oblivion with a nuclear strength chemical pesticide. Really they are hideous, just getting up close to them so I could squirt the stuff was harrowing. I also learned that locusts leave large and plentiful deposits all over the place. I thought they were laying eggs and was spraying the supposed larve, which I thought happened to look a lot like turds, only to find out they were in fact the latter. So I spent some time in the garden, in the hot sun spraying locust crap with mouthwash? Surely there is a better way to have spent the day.

Surprising Getaway.

Last night the Colonel surprised me with a trip to a resort. May is military appreciation month and the Sirata resort in St Petes Beach gave away free rooms for active military personal.

St Pete's beach is gorgeous, very much like Surfer's Paradise in Queensland. It's only about 40 minutes from our house but what a surprising adventure to go off to a resort for the night. I couldn't refuse. .

Stunning views from our rooms.

We had a lovely time, drove around the area looking at the beautiful homes and down to one of my favourite hotels, The Don Cesar. That place is purported to be haunted, but it is just beautiful.

We sometimes go there and sit in the bar and have drinks while listening to the grand piano being played. The restaurant is excellent but for one thing, those clowns won't serve me desert because I stupidly told them I was alergic to nuts. It turns out that the chef flat out refuses to give me desert just in case. They will only serve me ice-cream and I don't even like that. I can get icecream at any old shop, why go to a fancy restaurant for that?

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We sat at the Rum Runners bar next to the pool in the evening watching the sunset. I wanted a cappucino, they don't have that, then I ordered a white coffee, ummm what the heck is that? I keep forgetting that certain words and phrases here are not used, just like at dinner when I tried to order a Sarsparilla forgetting that here it's called 'Root Beer'. I think Root beer sounds like something saucy so I hate saying it. I went on to ask for milk for coffee, oh no none of that. I had to use those creamer things, and I have to say, they are complete and utter crap and my coffee tasted like dirty water that someone had washed their sports socks in. Needless to say, it ended up in the bin.

Thanks for the free getaway Sirata!

Things I hate about America

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Dentists

While there may be excellent ones out there, every dentist I visit is a barbarian, and I apologise to the barbarians for unfairly comparing them to dentists.

When I call my current dentist the Butcher of Bombay and find him infinately better than my last one, something is obviously wrong. My first dentist here gave me a crown. Before fitting the final porcelain cover, a temporary cap was put in place. I spent a week in intense pain. Finally I took a look in my mouth and found a white pus like substance. Oh no, an infection I thought! As I attempted to clean that muck out, I found it was in fact a piece of my skin from my cheek that had been scraped down when the cap was fitted. This piece of skin was still attached to my cheek, and was also stuck under the cap. How very lovely. No wonder it hurt. I managed to remove the skin from under the cap, and then proceeded to pull the skin off my cheek, only to watch this hunk of my flesh quickly decompose in my hand, UNBELIEVEABLE. Unsurprisingly, the pain quickly started to die down. I had spent a week in that condition.
When I returned to the dentist and relayed my sorry experience it was met with a simple shrug of the shoulders.

Hairdressers

After living here in 1999-2000, I returned to Australia and my regular hairdresser there spent A YEAR repairing it. Now I fear there is no return from the damage being wrought by a bunch of clowns that profess to be hairdressers when a trained chimp could do a better job, blindfolded. I won't go into detail here as my previous post explicitly outlined the atrocities being done to my hair. I will say this, I am not happy at all about the fact that everytime I look in the mirror, big bird is staring back at me. I love gold, but as an adornment, not a hair colour. I would be quite happy to have a canary diamond ring, a canary handbag or even a blooming canary sitting on a perch making sweet canary music, but atop my head? NO WAY.

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Self portrait.

Television

I have never in my life seen such a complete and utter lack of quality programming on the TV. We have cable with hundreds of stations and it seems that all of them screen absolute rubbish. When I eagerly look forward to Seinfeld each day, even though I have seen every episode multiple times, one knows something is lacking. When the highlight of my viewing week is the most degenerate, degrading, intellectually comatose reality program, Rock of love 1, Rock of Love 2 and Rock of love Bus, then really the situation has reached critical mass. If watching a washed up old has been pop star (Bret Michaels) who wears more make up than most drag queens, attempting to find a love interest among a bevy of skanky strippers and porn stars, is the only thing entertaining on telly, then things have reached an all time low. What I wouldn't give for a night's viewing of the ABC or SBS. No one here knows what Inspector Rex is, much less cares.

Will I ever find a decent dentist who does not cause more pain then necessary, who does not create more problems every time a procedure is done? I should add that the teeth where the crown was fitted hurt frequently, as opposed to pre-dental work when they did not hurt, AT ALL. Additionally, cavities worked on by the Butcher of Bombay have also been the source of much grievance when previously they were the source of NONE.

I have made the rule never to use expletives in my blog, it was with great restraint, and some backspacing that I have managed to carry it off in this post. The words in capitals however do denote shouting.

MY FAMILY IS NOT HERE and I miss them terribly.

What I like about America.

No one here knows who Kevin Rudd is.

Home shopping channels.

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NOT HAPPY.......JAN

Big Birds Revenge

.Blackadder, 1st series.

My hair woes continue. Why oh why is it impossible to find a decent hairdresser in Tampa?

I finally gave up on my guy at Saks 5th Ave. I had not been happy with him for a long time but he used Loreal colour, very rare here, and he managed to keep my hair from being yellow. My natural colour is fairly mousey but it throws out so much gold, having my hair bleached and turning a buttery yellow is my worst hair problem.

He did however manage to bleach the living daylights out of my hair, to the point where it was breaking off and leaving me with a couple of centimetre long fringe, as well as centimetre long sides. The resulting haircut is what I called Blackadders revenge.

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A haircut Blackadder would be proud of.

To make things worse, I went in and asked him to colour my hair a little darker so as to avoid more damage. His inexplicable solution was to use a non bleach lift on the roots. What the??? This resulted in a very bright coppery brown line around my head. No attempt was made to blend the new colour in with the old, there was a bright copper band surrounded by very white hair. UGLY.

I decided I had suffered enough and found a new hairdresser who also uses Loreal. I have just come home and my hair is yellow. Canary yellow. My new colour is called Big Bird's Revenge, it's neon. I cannot believe my bad luck with hairdressers since moving here. I am not sure if the yellow is the result of trying to bleach that copper band or not. I understand if the copper band is making things difficult, but if the roots are yellow too then I am in trouble. I may even have to go back to the guy at Saks because at least I was able to get a decent colour, most of the time anyway.

Not so Mellow Yellow.

I was really happy with my hair colour in Australia, since I have been here my hair has done nothing but make me miserable. Oh America......why.....why....

Memorial Day

Today is Memorial day in the USA. It's the time the nation celebrates and remembers the men and women who died in service. The event was begun during the Civil War and has since gone on to commemorate those who served in all successive conflicts. It's the American equivalent to Anzac day, but disappointingly it lacks the ceremonies of Anzac Day. I miss the parades of the old diggers through the city streets, and the televised Dawn services. Turner Classic Movies has been playing old war movies all weekend as a homage to the troops, a fitting tribute.

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We had a BBQ with some of The Colonel's work friends and a lovely Aussie lady I met at the Anzac Day service.

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The Colonel's gas grill.

The Colonel is an amazing cook and did a great job with all the BBQing. He made something called chevapchichi, a Serbian ground meat concotion that is scrumptious and didn't last very long. I am quite partial to this Serbian treat and made sure I had a few on my plate. OM NOM NOM NOM NOM.

Chevapchichi.

My Tuna Dip was edaciously consumed by all, including myself. I like to use it as a sandwich spread as well as a dip. My sister in Australia really likes this recipe and I always think of her when I make it.

Tuna Dip

1 or 2 small cans of Tuna
Olive oil
2-4 oz Cream cheese with homegrown chopped garlic chives

Lemon juice.

Process in blender until smooth and creamy.

It was a really nice way to spend the day. I had a great time, but kept thinking about my family back in Australia and how much I missed having BBQ's with them. We did have a special guest of honour today, our friend's dog.

Atticus was recently adopted after spending time at the Humane Society Shelter here in Tampa. I love people who rescue dogs in need of help. I think that a true sign of a good person is to see how they treat the weak and the vulnerable. I tend to judge people as good or bad by noting whether or not they like dogs, however I hear that Hitler liked dogs, so that has thrown my theory into some confusion.

Atticus

We ended the meal with a no-bake cherry cheesecake, from a Nigella Lawson recipe. It tasted great but the presention left a lot to be desired, I forgot to grease the springform pan so the whole thing kind of stuck. While it looked like something the cat vomited up, it tasted pretty good.

Cherry Cheesecake

1 1/4 cups graham cracker crumbs

6 tablespoons soft butter

2 tablespoons granulated sugar

10 oz cream cheese

1/2 cup icing sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon lemon juice

1 cup heavy cream

1 jar of st Dalfour Rhapsodie de Fruits black cherry spread, or cherry conserve

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Mix the graham cracker crumbs with the butter and sugar until the mixture coheres.

Press this mixture into an 8 inch springform pan; press a little up the sides to form a slight ridge.

Beat together the cream cheese, sugar, vanilla, and lemon juice in a bowl until smooth.

Lightly whip the cream, and then fold it into the cream cheese mixture.

Spooon the cheesecake filling on top of the graham cracker base and smooth with a spatula. Put it in the fridge for 3 hours or overnight.

When you are ready to seve the cheesecake, unmold it by removing the sides of the springform pan and spread the black cherries over the top.

PS, I gained a kilo after the day's festivities. Bugger.

Stuff I like: Skin Care

After having had problematic, Rosacea prone skin for the past 10 years, I have tried everything to improve my skin. All the high end creams, and everything in between have been used but to no avail. I was using Sisley products for about a year, Creme de La Mer, (Creme de la crap) before that. Both were hugely expensive.

Sisley, all day all year face cream. It currently retails at department for stores for around $398.00, plus tax.

My skin makes me so miserable that I was prepared to pay exhorbitant amounts for even the slightest sign of improvement. Predictably, a pleasing result was seldom evidenced.

I spent $$$$$ dollars on Sisley, not to mention La Mer which cost $450.00 a jar in Australia, yet only $250.00 for the same size here. Estee Lauder, parent company of La Mer, knows it can get away with charging Australians a whole lot more. Is that Antipodian discrimination? What a rip off.

Both Sisley and Creme de La Mer plumped up my skin because of all the fillers and silicones. They did little to actually improve skin surface or tone. Sometimes the fillers and natural fragrances in the creams would cause irritation. There is no need at all for fragrance, it's put there because people like to use something that smells nice. If people are that stupid, they deserve skin care that does not work! Finding products without the superfluous fragrances is not an easy task though.
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The sales people at Saks 5th Ave where I would purchase Sisley, La Mer and the odd La Prairie, were really aggressive, like hungry barracudas devouring their hapless prey, as long as that prey was wielding a credit card that is.

I was spending vast amounts and still was not completely happy with my results. The sales people would call me constantly to come in for a 'free' facial and make up. Of course the free facial meant I had to buy a product. The cheapest thing they sell is a lipgloss worth $50.00, plus taxes. It's good lip gloss but comes off and runs just as easily as one worth $10.00.

Once they realised I was easy prey, they sunk their manicured talons in and called me often, sometimes as much as once a week. Eventually I was able to stop the Sales Sirens before I and my Saks credit card were fatally dashed against the rocks. Those merciless harpies! I had to firmly state that I had found something better, something scientific rather than an overpriced cream that could only offer flower power to fecklessly defend my fragile skin against the ravages of time. They kept informing me that Sisley used only the best botanical ingredients, grown organically in the lush valleys of France. Whatever. Those pampered flowers performed no better than a neglected lavender shrub growing in a junk yard would have. What a load of hype and nonsense, of course I was stupid enough to fall for it.

Some of the creams include crushed gemstones, purportedly to create a coruscating effect. Such a pompous claim. I use a Creme de La Mer exfoliant with crushed diamonds and sea quartz, no radiant gleam of scintillating light refracts from my face, but it's a bugger to get a bit in the eye. I want my gem stones around my neck, not scratching my eyeballs.

When people see the gleaming remnants of diamond bits, they inform me that I have glitter on my face. Either I tell them that it's really crushed diamonds and sound like a flaunting clown with Marie Antoinette delusions, or let them think it's tawdry glitter only to have them ponder what a woman my age is doing with it on her aging moue. Perhaps a job moonlighting at a seedy dancing establishment?

In this post I aim to extoll the praises of the new line I use because it's just brilliant, and to exhort my friends to be weary of falling victim to the siren song of department store and their money grabbing schemes. Walking into Saks 5th Ave and seeing them all lined up behind the counters or prowling around calls to mind the lines by Coleridge in Kubla Khan,

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !

The worst area is the skin around my eyes. Always dry and full of dehydration lines. In exasperation one day I began looking online for a good eyecream. I went to the Shopnbc.com page and found the ISOMERS range. There were so many amazing customer reviews that I jumped in and bought their One 3000 for eyes. The results were spectacular. Nothing else I had ever used created such dramatic results.

The Carnosine + by Isomers is potent cream I cannot be without.

An even better antioxidant than pure idebenone - independent laboratory testing shows that Isomers Carnosine+ Complex is over 250 times more powerful than pure idebenone (an analogue of co-enzyme Q-10) as an anti-oxidant (using the Trolox Laboratory method) Carnosine+ Complex is designed to help support skin elasticity


My favourite item so far is the Nutritone system. A hand held device that emits micro-currents into the facial muscles. I thought that I would give it a try, but thought the claims were a bit too outlandish to be true. I was so wrong.

It's purpose is to target fine lines and wrinkles, plumping skin out and increase luminosity.

My Rosacea prone skin constantly has a red flush, which is not too bad if one wears makeup daily. It's way too humid to do that here for most of the year, and on top of that, I am lazy. I have been to dermatologist's and tried the creams they gave me but with no success.

After one use of Nutritone I noticed a dramatic reduction of facial redness. With repeated use I have noticed more and more improvements.

I am currently using a Copper P Serum, Matrixyl, One 3000 serum, Skin Stacker, H Pur 100, Synchroniser, Vitamin K serum, One 3000 for eyes, Desert Youth and Daily Exfoliating serum. Some are for morning, others for night. When applying serums I combine a drop of each in my palm, making a serum cocktail.

For the first time in the past ten years I am finally happy with my skin. Isomers is a miracle product for my skin.

No more shall I enter a fancy department store and allow myself to be cornerned by the over made up, over primped and over the top sales staff who are expertly skilled in luring a half witted milquetoast like me into handing over the credit card.

Tea for two

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I finally found somewhere in Tampa to have High Tea. It seems there are a few tea houses around town. Nothing as grand as the Windsor, but there is a very cute place called Tea Rose Cottage.

Situatied in the old historic part of town, it's a shabby chic oasis. All white and pink, chandeliers and floral porcelain.

I dragged the Colonel along to share in the dainty delights, but he was a bit taken aback when he saw the pink confection setting he had been placed into. He looked like a nervous pig on the way to the slaughter house when he sat down surrounded by all those chintzy patterns. The other patrons were all ladies, and unfortunately we could hear them blathering on about all kinds of tedious stuff, so incredibly banal, it did nothing to make him feel less out of place.

Fortunately the tea arrived and our attentions were diverted. I had a pot of Tea Rose tea which reminded me of Turkish Delight, something I can't get here. The three tiered stand soon arrived full of delectable goodies.

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The scones however were an utter disappointment. I found that they were not in fact scones, but some heavy, very sweet kind of cake instead. I told the waitress how much nicer it would be with proper scones to which she replied that Americans don't like plain scones, they want sweet ones. Well, that is not too surprising. As one can see from an earlier post on fashion, the portly are truly at home here, and it would figure that sweet scones are prized over plain ones. There is just no accounting for some taste's.



Fortunately I have an excellent scone recipe, thanks to my sister Carla. For anyone who is not a fan of the sickly concotion some here unfathomably call scones, I have included the recipe.





In the USA it is pronounced S-cone, as in stone. For goodness sake people, It's a scone, as in gone. Fact.

Scones

Sift 2 cups of SELF RAISING flour into a bowl

Pour in small container of cream, (remove half for whipping)

Top up container with milk, shake and add to flour

Mix with a knife, butter knife is perfect.

Turn out onto floured surface, roll out and cut into circles.

Place on lightly floured tray.

Bake 15 mins in 180 C oven.

Brush tops with milk.

Sometimes I use all cream but a variation is to use 150 ml of cream and 150 ml of milk.

Dates or sultanas can also be added.

God Save the Queen, and all her fabulous frocks.

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I am a great fan of Royalty, especially the British Monarchs. All the pomp and pageantry, the crown jewels, the stately palaces, The Queen and her tireless dedication to her Kingdom.

The frocks and tiara's are always a sumptuous visual feast. No one captured the glamour better than the late and contraversial, Princess of Wales.

Today I attended an exhibition in Tampa that displayed several of the dresses and outfits worn by Diana. A collector here had purchased them at auction, not long before Diana's untimely death. There was also an extensive collection of memorabilia, including hand written notes by the Princess.

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During the Royal visit Downunder I had the good fortune to be looked at and waved to by Diana. As the car carrying Charles, Di and baby William approach, other traffic was stopped. My mother had to pull our car over while they passed. I vividly remember Diana waving at us, we were the only car pulled over on that quiet backstreet.

While I applaud Diana's being down to earth and her charity work, I think the whole People's Princess moniker gets a little bit cheesy. She deserves great praise for her work in charity and with AIDS patients, yet as a Royal she left a lot to be desired. Perhaps she was just a product of the modern age with it's obsession on the individual, the 'What about Me' factor. Queen Elizabeth is an outstanding example of service, having dedicated her entire life to her somewhat fickle subjects.

A piece of the Royal Wedding cake.

The whole divorce thing was unsavoury, the cries for attention by revealing private matters regarding the royal marriage, and even her own love affairs, to the press was distasteful. Diana was from the Spencer family, a very old lineage, heirs to Althorp mannor with the most magnificent Library this side of ancient Alexandria. As a Spencer, Diana was a true blue blood and in this writer's opinion, should have known what the Royalty caper is all about. 'Suck it up buttercup' is the advice I would have given her.

The woman who almost bought down the Monarchy did have some lovely frocks, even if she were a bit of a dizzy cow.

Strange bedfellows.

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Are Dame Judi Dench and little Bobby Mugabe BFF's?

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I just spotted the dynamic duo on my front porch. The grand dame was scoffing down the cat food in a most unladylike fashion, while poor Robert Mugabe sat idly by. While I applaud her healthy appetite I worry that she is not sharing as a Lady should.
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I'm very glad to see that Mugabe, that little ragamuffin, has plumped out a lot since I started feeding him, but that won't keep up if Dame Judi insists of devouring the kitty snacks. At least they were amicable about the whole thing

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Animals are always cuter when they are fat. Fact.

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Pennsylvania woman and her pet Raccoon.

Flori-duh, land of the fashion faux pas

The sub-tropics, one either loves it or hates it. Unfortunately I fall into the latter category. The heat and humidity, not to mention the fashion, is enough to drive one insane.

I have a real issue with clothing at the moment. I will only wear natural fibres during the summer here. Silk, cotton or linen, with no hint of synthetic. Anything with a bit of rayon, a bit of polyester, becomes a sweat trap and is incredibly uncomfortable.

Surprisingly, it's not all that easy to find natural linens, (without rayon added) or even 100% cotton in a lot of the stores here. I would have thought that there would be a huge market for such breathable fabrics in this climate.

It seems that the people of Florida are somewhat sartorially challenged. Good dress sense is very rare here. Being from Melbourne, the fashion epicentre of the Antipodes, as well as being half Italian, I was used to dressing up for outings such as eating out and so on. It turns out that my fashion sense is very out of place here.

I refuse to follow the trend and abandon all sense of style and continue to wear my normal attire, but the price I pay for it is to be subjected to censurous stares from the herd, which can seriously erode one's confidence.

Detail from Butterfly Top.

I saw an older lady yesterday, wearing a glamorous emerald and gold caftan. Perfect. It looked stunning, such elan, I applaud her on that bold fashion choice. On the same outing I saw a woman that can only be described as Liza Minnelli after she let herself go, wearing tight, tight short denims and a tight white t-shirt as well as copious amounts of garish make-up and an over abundance of brummagem baubles. When it comes to style, Liza Minnelli is perhaps not the best role model.

The heat goes on and I will continue to wear my asymetrical skirts over pants, linens and caftan style silk tops, despite the peer group pressure, I will not succomb to the power of the herd. Keep your tight T-shirts and denim shorty short shorts Flori-duh!

More news from nowhere.

The surprising adventures continue. The Colonel and I just returned from a week long trip to Idaho where we looked at various properties for sale in the quest to find our new abode. I can't wait to leave Florida. The weather has turned nasty and will stay this way for 7 months or more. It's hot and humid, morning, noon and night. The humidity is great for my skin, but that's about it.


The trip out there was quite excruciating. The flight was overbooked, as usual the airlines mess us poor travelling folk around, calling for volunteers to give up their seat on the plane. That really cheeses me off.

I dislike the way people, when travelling, act like a flock of sheep. In their compact seats, looking at nothing most of the time, staring at the back of the seat or towards anyone who dares to move. It's horrid being at the front of the plane, getting up to give one's aching posterior a rest, only to see HUNDREDS of pairs of beady little eyes staring. It's quite disconcerting and you can forget about pulling out the grundies that have disappeared into one's nether regions.

I once pretended to be having an Ebola style coughing fit on a plane just so that no-one would sit next to me. Some joker sat down just as I burst into a particularly offensive volley of coughing, sounding as though I were bringing up a lung. Sitting next to me is more crazy than a person who pretends they have Ebola just to get some extra room. Or is it?

Idaho is beautiful. We stayed in a place called Sandpoint. There is a skiing resort there, beautiful lakes, friendly people and even great food. There was this one magnificent Lake that even reminded me of the beautiful Lake Como. The difference is that in Italy they build grand villa's around the lake and beautiful homes. In Idaho, there are moribund shacks on the lake front, with a junk yard for a garden, filled with broken down cars, tractors and so on. Not so much around Sandpoint, as it's a very trendy arty community, but move away from there and one goes into Texas chainsaw massacre country.

We followed our intrepid friend on a 3 hour drive to a house we wanted to see. As we drove away from Sandpoint the terrain became very much like that in Victoria. Undulating hills, cows grazing, fields growing crops. It was just like a country drive back home, with one unique factor, the massive number of derelict farm houses and barns, curious and rather lugubrious buildings in various states of disrepair. It is fascinating, even quaint at first, then after seeing so many it becomes disturbing. Add to this the pastiche of broken down cars, tractors, and car parts scattered seemingly randomly.

We reached an area in the vicinity of the property we were looking for. Driving up steep, gravel roads we saw house after house that looked quite shabby with junk yards surrounding them and in quite remote locations. Our Realtor stopped to ask a farmer working on his tractor for directions. I thought this was a bad move. I started to hum the tune of the 'Dueling Banjos' from the movie Deliverance. I was sure this moment was going to end with the words, 'Squeal like a pig'.

Fortunately, we were not lured into the barn only to find a big guy with a chainsaw waiting. The farmer, after giving the directions said, 'Be careful you could get shot going up there.' He insisted he was serious in response to the Realtor's nervous laugh. That really did nothing to assuage my fears of impending doom. I have seen horror movies that begin like this. Being the pusillanimous weakling that I am, I immediately insisted we turn back and be grateful we escaped with our lives before running into Ivan Milat's US cousin out there.

The Colonel had his trusted hand gun and assured me that we would, 'Go down fighting' and that it would be a two-way range. Did that make me feel any more safe? NO.

We visited one property up near that mountains that was also quite good but with a hefty price tag. The house was nice, if one can look past all the stuffed animals filling up the place. It was like a museum of natural history. I can't imagine being alone in there at night or trying to watch a spot of telly with all those glassy eyes staring into space. I am not as afraid of stuffed animals as I am of manniquins though, that fear is almost pathological. Can I blame that one on ADHD or is it just strangeness?

When I first walked in, I saw a mezzanine level with a stuffed small bear leaning over the top of the railing. I stupidly thought they had a pet bear, A blonde moment, until it was pointed out to me that the bear was 'stuffed'. How indignified an end for such a magnificent beast, and how embarrasing a gaffe for Chichi.

Stuffed Mountain Goat, http://www.billingtonranchtaxidermy.com/_MountainGoat01.jpg

The front room was large with a clear story. I looked up to see HUGE moose heads mounted on the wall. Unsettling but I had seen Moose heads in just about every house we visited. I turned around and in one corner, mounted about halfway up the wall was a huge mountain goat. It was standing on some rock feature, looking down at us. I hate goats even when alive. They have devil eyes, truly they do. Next to it was some kind of wolverine creature. The whole room had stuffed animals all over it. It was macabre. Even the kitchen had a puma over the doorway and a whole host of deceased critters, littered all over the house. The Colonel and our two Realtors thought it was all very impressive, while I was trying not to be sick or run from the house screaming.

The owner of the house told us that his wife had shot most of them. How charming. I didn't meet the little lady and am grateful for that. I feared that I might be shot and stuffed and stuck up on the wall as an exotic species.

Look out Idaho, Countess Chichi is coming to town.