SUNDAY / 49

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Home yesterday, and baking today. Just the way I like to settle back in. 

It was a case of a sleep-in, coffee with a friend, and a go at the carrot and ginger cake from Everything I Want To Eat, the Christmas gift I have loved and poured over for the past two weeks.  The recipe did not disappoint - carrot and ginger, with cinnamon, almond milk and apple sauce (though I used pear instead). It was nice to be home, to not wear shoes and water my plants and enjoy the afternoon light. 

A friend came over with a couple of pale ales (as all nice guys should), and we ate cake and talked and before you know it, the day was gone.

 

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE. 

 

SUNDAY / 47

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I had plans for my New Years day, this particular Sunday, but it was rainy and grey and I had just a third of A Little Life left to read. So I cancelled it all and stayed in bed reading, napping and crying, getting up only to make a cup of tea or some toast. I finished it just before dinner, an emotional wreck; so sad to leave the world of the book, so wrought and undone by it.

It is, without hesitation, the saddest and hardest thing I've read. Parts of it made me ill and had me sobbing outwardly. And yet, and yet. I found so much beauty in the relationships of the characters, of the men. Compassion and loyalty and deep, deep abiding love that I was also amazed and inspired by it. Full with the heart of it.

There was something so wonderful about starting my year in bed, lost in another world. It's a story to immerse yourself in, to give over to. 

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.  

SUNDAY / 46

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This one was actually a Monday. Sunday was Christmas Day, and I was too busy opening presents, eating ham and drinking wine by the pool to photograph or think of anything to write. It was another lovely and quiet one at ours, I managed a nap in the afternoon and we all swam before dinner since it was a hot one in Adelaide.

By the Monday the heat had dropped a little, and Victoria and I made the rounds of a few favourite pubs in true Boxing Day style (the Wheatsheaf and the Exeter), before fish and chips at the beach, right before the storm hit. Perfection, really.  

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.   

SUNDAY / 45

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Morning lattes with Tola - keeping things classic and quiet after a huge pre-Christmas week where I've felt constantly overwhelmed by work and mostly a little drunk. Dinners out, too much wine, quite a bit of whisky, the odd Manhattan, a few nights in a row and it had me waking up today feeling weary. Reuben Hills seemed like the right idea, as always. 

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.   

SUNDAY / 44

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When it's onesie weather! Short onesie weather, at that. 

An early morning, a run, a too-much breakfast with old friends (that included a milo milkshake, no less), some chores and then a wine with another old friend. The days are busier, people to see and hug before the year closes in and there's really nothing for it but to just try your best and feel lucky for all the cheer.

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.  

SUNDAY / 43

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Sunday was Liz's birthday. It's always lovely to celebrate another amazing year of a dear friend, but it's especially lovely when the friend happens to be in town and it means breakfast dates at Cornersmith and afternoon swims at the Boy Charlton pool and the evening at the pub with a bunch of her favourites. We were a loud and jolly bunch, bottles of wine and lots of shouting and laughing, which is just what you'd expect. 

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE. 

SUNDAY / 42

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Dunc has moved back to Sydney and taken a place in North Bondi. Being so close to the beach cuts out the admin - no bags, no hats, no dramas. Just a barefoot dash across the road, towel over your shoulder and then straight into the waves. We had a good breakky at Porch and Parlour afterwards and he listened patiently while I told him all the reasons I did not like Speed the Plow (even though the performances were good). He agreed, of course, and we had two rounds of coffee while the sky darkened. All that before 9 AM makes for a good start.   

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.