Helens' Fruit Cake

This is Helen. She looks a bit fruity in this picture! In fact she does fruity well... she makes a ripper fruit cake that's a staple of the Matthews family Christmas.

When I was little, and if the truth be told, not so little, I would go through the fruit while it was left on the stove absorbing the grog and golden syrup and pick all the cherrys out.

I also like eating the creamed butter and sugar.

Once the cake's baked, it's especially nice with a thick spread of butter on it, a nasty habit my father taught me. Others enjoy it with cream or icecream. Mum reckons it's best by itself with a cup of tea.

Here 'tis- in old fashioned measurements.

2 1/2 pounds of mixed fruit

2 tablespoons of golden syrup ( or honey)

3 (or more) tablespoons of brandy, sherry or rum

3/4 cup of water

1/2 teaspoon of salt

1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon

1/2 pound of butter

1/2 pound of brown sugar

5 eggs

10 ounces of plain flour

2 ounces of self raising flour

2 teaspoons of mixed spice

3/4 teaspoon of nutmeg

Place fruit, golden syrup, brandy and water in a saucepan and boil for two minutes. Pour onto a bowl, cover and stand overnight. ( Here is the opportunity to steal the cherry's!)

Cream butter and sugar, add eggs one at a time.

Sift dry ingredients then sift half of the dry ingredients over the boiled fruit mixture, mix lightly, then blend into creamed mixture. Add remainder of flour and blend well.

Line an eight inch tin with baking paper THREE times. Bake at 150 degrees celsius for two and a half hours.

You could bake it in a terracotta flower pot, then turn it upside down then cover it in icing...then you have a christmas bell! If you are going to bake it in a terracotta pot, only bake at 120 degrees celsius.

Wedding Weight Woes

In recent months I've tried a range of weight loss techniques in order to fit into a wedding dress that at the time of purchase was a size and a bit too small for me.

The ladies at the shop try their best to convince me to, at the very least, order a 14. I even sign a form saying I won't hold them liable if I don't fit into the size 12 dress when it arrives FOUR months later.

The problem is, the dress arrives THREE months later, meaning I am four weeks and five kilos out in the weight loss regime.

(Please note I use the term regime fairly loosely.)

The first five came off quite quickly. Root canal gone wrong, three stints in hospital, allergic reaction to pain killers, throw up for a week and presto. Five kilos gone. And a tooth to boot!

During this tooth nightmare, I discovered laxatives. A handful of laxatives does the trick on the scales. The only problem is that when you work in an open plan office with one female toilet, running back and forward ten times an hour starts to look suspicious.

I've tried the high protein no carb diet, which again is good for the weight loss, but again, not so good in an open plan office. One more tin of sardines and my colleagues will lodge a grievance against me.

Speaking of grievances, I will be launching one against said bridal frock shop. A letter arrives saying my dress is in store ready to be paid for in full, a month early, and I can collect it Monday to Friday between 9 and 4.

Well, I live in the country and the dress is a month early and I'm still five kilos overweight, I'll just collect the dress at my convenience.

Snotty shop lady: It must be paid for in full within seven days of it arriving in our store.

Kate: I'll pay you over the phone then come and collect it next time I'm in Perth.

Snotty shop lady: No you must try it on and check it before it can be paid for.

Kate: Well I live in Geraldton and work full time so it will have to be on a Saturday in a few weeks time.

Snotty shop lady: No it must be this week and it can't be a Saturday. You'll have to take a day off work, there are too many people in the store on a Saturday, someone might step on it or touch it.

Kate: Lady, it's just a dress. I can't take a day off work just to pick up a dress.

Snotty shop lady: THIS MY DEAR IS NOT JUST A DRESS!!!

After a while she got my drift and I tried it on and paid for it on a SATURDAY. And it fit too, which I was quite smug about.

I just can't sit down in it or drink or eat anything while wearing it.

So for the next two months, it's air & water. And no alcohol. And probably a bit of exercise.

So much effort for one single day!

To look good for a bloke who had no problem conning me up, and as it turns out falling in love with me, when I tipped the scales at 83 kilos.

I've said it once, I'll say it again. Our priorities are all arse about. (A sizable arse.)

PS. That's not actually me in the photo...

Redemption?

Two of my all time favourite famous people are Benny Cousins and Johnny Cash.

I adore Cash's music. So much so that we've named our new dog after him. Now we have Cash and Dusty, after Slim. Let it be said that Dusty pre dates me so I had no hand in naming him.

Likewise I have adored Benny Cousins since I was fifteen years old. I am a West Coast devotee, but it was certainly Ben's good looks, hot bod and charisma that got me hooked at 15. It's an addiction I've been unable to kick since, despite the circus of the past ten years.

I can't say I adore him now, but I can't write him off.

I feel heartbroken after watching "Such is Life" last night. Say what you will about Ben Cousin's, watching his father speak about his ordeal was emotional and distressing.

And my distress and sadness is heightened, because I honestly wonder how Ben Cousins is ever going to survive post football. When you've adored someone for almost 15 years, albeit from a far, it's sad to face the reality that perhaps their ultimate demise is inevitable.

My hope comes from Johnny Cash. Perhaps the most influential singer song writer in history.

A drug addict.

Johnny Cash's story was one of extreme talent, extreme success and extreme wealth. His story was one of struggle for survival and ultimately one of redemption.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if Ben continues to walk the Johnny Cash line until the very end.

Like father like daughter

I'm turning into my father. (See picture.)

If it was his admirable attributes I was acquiring then I wouldn't be concerned in the slightest.

He is a man of honesty, integrity, loyalty and passion.

But, I fear, that his dark side is becoming my dark side.

I, like my father, am the quintessential bad sport.

You see, football, is determining my state of mind, and my state of mind tonight, is poor.

To say the least.

And what's worse, is that I'm less concerned about my side losing three on the trot, than I am about the arch enemy winning three on the trot.

While I know deep down that it's sheer arsey luck that the opposition have won their first three matches and that they will, inevitably, come crashing down to earth, I still hate to see them succeed.

Even for five minutes.

And mark my word, that's what it is. Five minutes. Not a second more.

What's more, I absolutely detest people who support my team, but say, "Oh well at least it's another WA team doing well. "

It's club football. Not state football. You dickheads

For the love of god learn some integrity. And while you're at it, some loyalty, honesty and passion.

Thank you and goodnight.

Credit where credit is due

Goon, boxy, chateau de cardboard, plonk or lady in a boat.

There's no denying it, the trusty old cask wine holds a special place in the heart of most Australians whether they admit it or not.

Australians drink more than 180 litres of cask wine a year.

I know it's not terribly high brow of me to blog about goon, but following the death of its inventor Thomas Angove last week, I thought a few words were in order.

South Australian winemaker Thomas Angove died aged 92. He invented the wine in a box in 1965.

What a legacy he's left.

My own personal experience occurred in 1998 somewhere in the Perth Hills. I say somewhere in the Perth Hills because after half a carton of fruity lexia I had no idea where I was.

It's been said that "fruity lexia makes you sexier." So true. I was HOT that February night. It's just a shame I was the only one who thought so.

The sexy theory wasn't the only one I'd worked on that day. "Eating's cheating" is another one that's ringing bells.

I was in Year 1o and at a party held by a boy in my class. For a teenage girl with low self esteem cask wine was a panacea.

I've never forgotten the kindness said year 10 boys sisters showed me that night. Holding my hair while I threw up in their parents bath.

Not that I've had a chance to forget. One of them is now married to one of Woody's best mates. (Perth. Capital city or small town?)

But my point is, who doesn't have a story similar to that? I reckon there's plenty and many worse than mine.

How many children have been conceived after a night on the goon? (I may have even been one of them? Or it could have been West Coast Coolers, not sure?)

Even now, many of my amazing women friends (although not my Kimberley mates- cask wine is banned there) have been seen doing the bottle shop walk of shame, quickly ducking into the bottlo after work, then ducking out again eyes down, cask tucked under the arm, praying they don't see anyone they know.

So as I sit here sipping (swigging) my glass of Vasse Felix white, thinking I'm all grown up, I salute you Thomas Angove.

May you Rest in Peace. And may the wine be plentiful!

A live debate

I'm getting on my soap box for just a minute.

The Live Export debate has reared its head again this week following the death of more than two hundred and fifty head of cattle en route to Egypt from WA.

http://www.abc.net.au/rural/wa/content/2010/03/s2855150.htm

Five years ago, like most city kids, I knew nothing about the live trade. And despite knowing nothing, if asked, I most likely would have said I opposed it.

Some people will never be convinced that the trade is "right", and that's perfectly reasonable. Everyone's entitled to their opinion.

But wouldn't it be nice if everyone who had an opinion on the live trade had an informed opinion.

Meet my mate Annabelle Coppin. A Pilbara pastoralist, Annabelle won a Nuffield Scholarship and spent most of 2008 investigating and developing a clearer understanding of why it is so important that the live trade continues.

Animal welfare was just one of the issues Annabelle considered.

"There is legitimacy behind some of the pressure from animal interests groups in response to isolated but unacceptable animal welfare practices in the live export supply chain. Changes, even for the better, do not usually eventuate in any human culture without pressure. However, the solution put forward by these groups in response to any of these challenges is to simply ban the live export trade. This is a vision which does not appreciate the thousands of livelihoods involved in the supply chain or the Australian livestock industry’s future contribution to the nation’s economy and responsibility to supply the global market place with food it demands and requires.

Banishing Australian livestock will not magically improve animal welfare and slaughter practices as there is no evidence to support the claim that stopping live exports will have any positive influence on attitudinal change towards global animal welfare."

Check out the rest of Annabelle's report "Sailing ahead - the Australian livestock export trade"

http://www.liveexportcare.com.au/StockmansBlog/Annabelle/AnnabellesBlog.htm

Off me soap box now.

Sabotage

So far this year I have been in the midst of fire and flood (kind of)...all I need now is a famine and I'd have the full compliment.

Then I might actually lose some weight. Lord knows it would be the only way.

Admittedly I did get off to a good start, but I have now come to a big fat stand still.

Why, you ask?

Last week:
Lady issues. Which, if you didn't know fellas, gives the ladies the licence to eat whatever they like, whenever they like in whatever quantity they like.

So on Sunday, lady issues done and dusted, I proclaimed the next ten days would be all about discipline.

Monday:
Perth's worst storm ever, a massive day at work. (This means I'm allowed to eat whatever carb/fat/sugar laden food I can get my hands on.)

Tuesday:
No sleep due to thunder and lightening.
Woken by Woody's alarm 5.30am.
No power. Which, on farm means no water. Armpit/crutch wash with soapy flannel and ice cold water from the fridge. (Power clearly hadn't been out THAT long.)
Wet day, good excuse to wear hot leather boots. Break heel as soon as leave house. Go to Midland Gate.(Which is a separate story all together.)Boot maker cannot fix on spot. No other shoes in car so buy cheap (but real) leather boots from Target.
Back car into concrete post in ABC car park.
Made to feel stupid by Woody.
Kate: "I accidentally scraped the car on the post."
Woody: "Didn't the remote sensors on the car work?"
Kate: "Yes, but I usually just ignore them."
Drive all the way to Joondalup for ONE interview about storm.
Lotto machine in Toodyay broken so no ticket for 20 million draw.

I'm still smiling.

Why?

Goodbye diet, hello wine.

News Kids on the Block

For the last ten years or so I've thought it would be a brilliant idea to get some alpacas. Even when I lived in my little shoe box in Como, and I'd only ever been on one farm (thanks to Large Westlake in Calingiri) I still thought owning some alpacas was an ingenious idea.

Why?

Tess McLeod.

Everything I knew about farming, pre-Woody, I learnt from Tess, Claire and Stevie. Oh don't forget Kate and Jodie.

And Tess McLeod was all about the alpacas.

So after four and a half years of talking up the benefits of alpacas (as stated by Tess McLeod)and dropping hints and sending subliminal messages and demanding a pet alpaca, Woody and his Dad have actually bought some.

I've named them Rocky, Willie and Kenny. (As in Balboa, Nelson and Rogers.)

But you know what Tess failed to mention?

They're arseholes.

The Bingle bingle

I'm sorry, but I do care. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, I want to know. I am hungry for more. Feed me tabloids, feed me. (Maybe I'm confusing my hunger for Bingle gossip, with hunger for carbs?)

It's wrong, oh so wrong, but I'm not just enjoying the Bingle bingle. I have an opinion too. Actually a couple of opinions.

Opinion 1. Michael Clarke should not be given the Australian captaincy. He should, however, be given a cup of cement.

Opinion 2. Lara Bingle is not very bright. Brendan Fevola. Max Markson. The SCG. John Ibrahim. Allegedly.

Opinion 3. Lara Bingle is young. Young people make mistakes. (Lord knows I've made plenty.) But sadly for the luscious Lara, mistakes that denigrate the reputation of Australian cricketers are the worst kind of mistake you can make in this country. Messing with an Australian cricketer that most people are particularly fond of is particularly unforgivable.

Because that's why the public's so outraged at the Bingle bingle.

Right?

It's got nothing to do with the enjoyment we mere mortals get at seeing a pretty, thin, rich model-girl squirm.

Right?

AC/DC revival

What a show. Last night's AC/DC concert at Subiaco Oval was a thrill on so many levels. Of course there was the music, and while I'm no expert nor critic, I know what I like. I didn't like last nights performance. I LOVED it.

But there was so much more to the concert than the music.

I LOVED Everything about it. Even the girls up the front who flashed their boobs on the big screen. I even loved the girls with yucky pointy saggy boobs. Those girls were just so happy and excited, it was hard not to be happy and excited too.

I loved that so many people from so many walks of life, from so many socio-economic backgrounds, with so many diverse political beliefs, so many different values, so many different morals and so many different tattoos could come together for a common cause. (I especially loved that the diverse bunch came together in the Western suburbs. Something nice about that don't you think?)

The highlight of the night? I'm finding it hard to choose between Dirty Deeds, Thunderstruck and Highway to Hell.

Low light? The bloke in front of me who vomited in his beer cup during the third song, then proceeded to drink from it.

All part of life's rich tapestry.