Nails, eggs, coffee, visit to the local op shop for winter trip clothes and now last wedding of the summer is upon us. Windsor, so must be minding my ps and qs.

Gosh, it would be nice to be enigmatic. For people to say, 'that Michelle, now there's a closed book. She's so mysterious. Never know with that one.'

Never going to happen. My heart is on my sleeve. It always has been, but I am proud of it now.

Ok uterus, I know you're annoyed at me cos I haven't used you in, well, ever, but please stop causing me so much trouble. I will do my best to utilise you in the next five years. Until then, calm down little organ.*

*It's been pointed out to me several times in the last few months that I am quite clucky and instead of being 'not opposed to concept', I actually am 'thinking about concept'. **Bag laughed at me when I conceded this one, saying she had known this about me for 'years'.

**However, I never want to define my happiness over something that could potentially be out of my control. That's all I am saying.***

***But I think it will happen, have a feeling.

In heat like this, there is really not much to do but alternate between crouching under the aircon unit and popping out for cold gin. But have found new household tip to share with you all, my readership of three: putting clothes on balcony infront of the hardworking extractor fan is akin to using a tumble dryer and probably more expeditious. You heard it here first.

Came home this afternoon from B&D's monster garage sale, and parked the hot rod in usual spot down by the creek. Alighted vehicle and was confronted with some music. Now, some Gen-y-ers occupy the two houses adjacent to mine, and some not so neighbourly disputes about music levels have been know to have been hurled back and forth over the fence, so it's not uncommon to hear a bit of noise disturbance near the Erk. But this music was not JT for once, it was soft and sensual and coming from the opposite direction. I walked down towards the creek where the bridge crosses over, and there was a guy underneath the bridge on his saxophone, the brick of the arches above him acting like a echo chamber. I stayed there not long enough, listening and smiling.

I had other things to do - all my linen was needing to be hung out and I had books to read on the balcony. There's always something more important to be doing isn't there....

Living in the moment is the only resolution I have for 2012 (now the tix to Dublin have been booked.) (Finally).

35 deg, dinner with Dingwall. Saved myself a click on the ticket by walking to Vic st and then walking home. People rallying round. Coming over bearing chocolates and beer. Keeping me company. Distracting me. Its never as bad as you think, really.

As I sit here with salt everywhere, it occurs to me I am so like a child. I have no idea what goes on in people's heads or hearts apart from my own. And even then it's no sure thing.

So the Baggage and Baggage’s boy got married on Friday, all very very exquisite. Lost my shit, then found it, then gave a reading. So special to have everyone together. It's been a massive campaign these few days. Feeling haggard. Need an afd if not an afw.

Currently taking an Aussie around the mainland.Things that Australians in NZ find amusing include:

 

• Paddocks full of white sheep (no idea)
• Briscoes ads (60% off zip kettles) 
• New Zealand men ‘kiwi boys all look the same sort of handsome’

 However she likes the feeesh. (She also likes the men).

 

Finally got into Chur chur late on Boxing day after the heartache of being cancelled on the 23rd (earthquake, bastards). Ended up hanging with Moulder at Xmas and flying all day on the 26th (via Auckland). Dad picked me up in latest beast, the Samoan people mover (his words not mine).


Am appalled that the bottle of tanqueray has disappeared. I blame Jay and Cath, who stitched me up royally last night. Am 32 today and off out for a hair o the dog.

Was asked today if I had much on, I said, no, I was going back to Christchurch, but ended up not going (wahhhhhhhhh) so instead had a lovely breakfast (Palominos) and bookshop exhibition (6 books for $50, so awesomely great).

Things that are making me laugh this week:
- Liam Gallagher's quotes. The guy's a twat, but if he is taking the piss, fair fucks to him.

Things that are making me pissed off this week:
- Whatever creature threw projectile at the car, resulting in dentage.
- Panelbeaters and their overuse of the word 'love.' Patronising fuckheads.

Things that make me smile this week:
- Eccentric bra salesladies in DJs
- Self present(new handbag) DJs
- Planning trip to back to Ireland (long overdue)
- The lovely elderly gentleman from the salvos on Bourke St shaking his tin. God bless me indeed.

Things that make me what to cry this week:
-Groin injuries and the black caps quad. Am pretending that we don't play cricket anymore. It's just too painful.

Things that I am really looking forward to at the end of this week
- A gin and tonic
- A weekend
- A catch up with Little S and the HoBag.

Nothing much happening right now. Frozen planet on telly. Coffee cake in the oven. Bum firmly on the couch. Two pt sessions this week - am actually fucked. Cannot walk up the stairs without wincing. Burny ouchie burny.

Ugh, Sunday night yet again. What will become a carrot cake is currently baking in the oven, have had a quick session in Brunswick, and am now chilling out and watching doco on SBS (Kissinger), as is my wont.

This time last year was in Thailand with my sister. Seriously need a break; I have worked non-stop since February. Contracts over the end of year period are like hen's teeth though, so mustn't whinge (much).

B&D got married last weekend, was totally beautiful, followed by most excellent pissup lasting til 4am with much homebrew and only a little of scandal. I was mauled by some very naughty mosquitoes and had to apply emergency toilet paper to my arm for 20 mins.

Yup, it's a slow news time in my life right now, fo sho.

I love this latest article regarding the races. Schoolies for adults is exactly what the races are about for 90% of those people at Flemington every year. With that in mind, I departed the city early this evening to get a head start on the pissed people staggering home in their zegna and saba, and popped past the Smackway on Smith st for dinnerparty ingredients. Thus, I find myself at home at 6 pm, which is unusual.

Was an epic weekend anyway, even without getting on the train to Flemington, what with hen's parties, McD's wedding and Grand for the traditional (it's been three years now = tradition) Cup Day sweep.

Take that

Things on this blog have been getting progressively bullety over the last few months / years, probably due to:
- my job as a writer of documents
- er, that's about it.

Will revert to the free flowing prose today.

For the very first time in my adult life, I can say with as much certainty as possible that I owe no money to anyone.* Like most students I had to borrow to pay for my degree, which started as law / arts double, and metamorphised to an Arts English Lit (oh how useful James Joyce has been to me) by the end in 2001. It took me 4 years to complete, essentially because I was very lazy and very burnt out after 2nd year law. Fortunately due to working quite a lot during my degree (sometimes even 35+ hours per week, if my memory serves me correctly and it generally does) I only ever had a loan for course fees rather than living costs - so I was very lucky.

I made as deal with the IRD a few years ago after I left the country to pay $1000 a year to pay off my student loan, but didn't realise until I saw a statement in 2008 how close I was to actually getting rid of the last debt I had. I haven't had a credit card for years, I never have bought a car in Australia (although it might be an idea) and because of very little effort, I have yet to get a mortgage either (this will happen in the next few years). Our much adored Poppa left us a few months ago, and as an indirect consquence I had a little surplus. So, thought I, I will pay silly thing off.

Paid silly thing off. Mum received letter saying the balance was 9 cents, and an accompanying letter saying it was paid off. So that was nice.

Sense of something achieved now. So bought myself a nice candle from spoilt. Might have a quiet wine.

* I say this now I have checked with BJ and Moulder and no, I owe them no drinking money for the time being.)

Tea, couch, world cup quarter win and Sean Connery on 7mate. Content.

Started new contract today - unsurprisingly buggered, and surprisingly have second cold of the year (sickness for me is normally confined to uterine pain and hangovers and the occasional bad back -- hence, I am a shit sick person).

Ho hum. Grumpy.

This blog is coming to you from (checks flightpath) 6715 meters, somewhere over Indonesia. Will post when I land however; this class doesn’t have wifi at this altitude.

An interesting week at work in Singapore, possibly the final time I will be there for work (at least on this project), topped off by an even more interesting afternoon. Colleague Jood and I schlepped off after today’s ‘briefing session’ at about 4.30 and decided to go back to hotel, gather things and head to Changi to take our chances on getting on the 9pm flight back to Melbourne (when currently booked on 12.25am). As we waited for cab outside hotel, I picked up my laptop case. It felt decidedly light.

Look inside. Yup. Case devoid of laptop. Bollock.

No bother, we think, cab can take us via office. Done and done. Meter left running, taxi parks semi illegally while I run back into office building, take lift 38 floors up, sneak back into office, find laptop sitting innocuously in meeting room with my diary and silver bracelet I always take off to type. Gather up items, while surreptitiously checking over shoulder so no-one sees me and a) tries to start talking to me about the Change stream, b) notices that I left valuable company property unattended. Sneak out to lift lobby humming ‘mission impossible’ to myself, only to get in lift with the Head of Recruitment for Asia who laughs, telling me he had seen the whole thing, and that I was wasting valuable drinking time.

Run back to cab. Get to airport. Flutter eyelashes, charm, get girls out etc to try and get on earlier flight. They will advise in 'due course' but flight chockers. I wander off for shower (lovely), then some risotto balls (yummy actually) and chased by campari and orange (several.) Colleague Jood, meanwhile, goes off to get whiskey for husband and perfume for herself. Note this; this will be important shortly.

Bored by the garrulous middle aged broads from Adelaide in lounge next to me, decide to pop out for quick ciggie, start talking to oil man from Auckland. Feeling fantastic and alive. Pop past customer service desk to obtain status on charming /nagging way onto earlier flight….

Success!! Yes, have been bumped onto sooner flight! Boarding pass for 9pm is issued. Hurrah!! However, problem. Jood has purchased not one, but two duty free items ready for pickup at the original gate at midnight. Must pass back there to advise. Much fucking around with dopey duty free attendants from shops one and two. Oh fuck. Flight closing. Fuckedity fuck. Run to gate. Get to gate, get duty free. Phew.

Sit in seat. Asked to change so couple in matching velour (!!!) can sit together. No bother. My this time in mild state of hypertension. Gratefully inhale complimentary champage (numbers one and two.)

Fucking fucking hell.
Anyway, all good now. On a flight pointing its nose at melbourne. Time for some stupid movies and another gin and tonic and if I am self medicating so fucking be it. Bumpy as fuck as it always seems to be over Indonesia.

Tomrorrow I will have a steak and broccli, have a proper latte and sleep in my own bed. And I literally cannot wait.

So as I walked home this afternoon, across the Merri creek bridge, having quickly popped out for broccoli, (working from home today – 40 documents to produce by end of next week, somehow) I indulged myself in a little fantasy. Cos fantasies are fun – just ask that chick from Offspring.

I fantasised I would get home, and after weeing, and find that:
- the letterbox would contain not just the mail of five departed flatmates, but the cashback cheque from Acer I am waiting on;
- new email notification would be waiting advising that Trip to Singapore was organised, including a weekend in Malaysia for being the best consultant the team has ever had;
- money would be credited to my account from my ex boss along with a quick voicemail to say 'sorry for the four month wait', and 'we have added on a bonus as a severance'.

None of the above happened. Perhaps I should be more realistic in my waking lucid dreams.

So, have ticked another of life's boxes - having travelled in business class (Singapore & return). Everything I thought it would be and more - flat beds, cocktails, and all the food they can chuck at you. And that's just in the air. They (work) wanted their pound of flesh for it though - 12 hour days and about 3 minutes to myself the whole time. Last week has been manic. Have turned into total corporate whore.

Exhausted. Tea, chocolate and Flying Doctors marathon on. Am going to have a bath and then I am going to bed.

If you ever wondered what it was women discussed amongst themselves, here is a quick summary of the topics covered by BJ Moulder and me after dinner last night (in chronological order, cocktails being consumed):
- Labor government
- Some people we know who rushed into a relationship and the current s.o.p.
- Aboriginal affairs
- Daylesford trip
- Real estate in Daylesford
- Bra brands
- Whether or not it was acceptable to not wear knickers if you are wearing control tights
- Back to Labor and the Malaysia solution
- Carbon tax
- Frustration as a voter
- Control underwear - warm in winter

Now you know. I haven't even censored this.

Sister annoyed re below, writing to me that:

'BTW - the club in Whitechapel was drum and bass not trance. That is a gaff (sic) of sacrilegious proportions where I come from'

Indeed.

Singapore this week; work this time. Quite excited although it will be challenge.

Finally, despite rejections and despite the benefit of doubt being kicked back in my face, and no matter how exhausting it is being optimistic, I am still determined to live a happy life.

Saturday checklist:
- Conversation with class A sister who is about to 'head out to a fantastic trance club in Whitechapel' - done
- Wax - done
- Breakie, paper, coffee - done
- Hair - done
- Accompanying trash mags x3 (Kim K*rdasian's new curves / drug fears / engagement surprise / plastic surgery shocker) - check
- Smackway shopping for quiche - done
- Reply to text from Mother '$39 tunic dress from Stax!!!' - done
- Quiche in oven for BJ dinner - done
- Beer / cider in fridge - done
- Dylan Moran youtube clips - WIP
- Drink and giggles n roof -
- Wesley Ann for to see off Y. Maya -

Slight gap in Saturday schedule between laundry and nail taming, so popped up the High St in Westgarth for a quick nose around the arty farty designy shops. One second hand dealers near Ruckers Hill is run by an interesting woman of the older persuasion. As soon as I entered the cramped space that was the shop, filled with all manner of knick knacks, I was greeted by said manageress.

'Hello, love, good afternoon' she said.

'Hi there' I said, 'how are you?'

There was a pause.

'How am I? HOW AM I? If another person asks me that today I am going to get so angry. Honestly you don't know me, why would you ask me that?'

'Um, er, um...' I simpered, backing into a stack of mothballed fur coats and metre high stacks of 1950s newspapers.

'But love, why do people ask that? people who don't know me shouldn't ask how I am they don't want to know. Why don't they just say hello or good day?'

I inched toward the door, where I was relieved to see a couple come in. I winced, but she laughed as all he commented to her was: 'Surely, this place is a bit bare isn't it?'

I wonder if I am a bit mad looking as well, as I sit here in my hot rollers, dressing gown and a fag in the ashtray, but at least I am in the comfort of my own home. I fully intend to be an old eccentric one day, but think perhaps she takes it a little far; which is a shame because I am very fond of one of the old phones in the window but am too scared to go in again.

Finally I cracked it at the sorry state of my old bed frame last week and thusly, made tracks up to Norfland on Friday and purchased new bed with what Jaq termed a 'plantation shutter style headboard.' Obviously I was in new bed for much of the weekend and only moved twice; once to go and socialise with the young things at Maya's house; the other to suck on clinkers at Westgarth Palace with Beej (the Hangover, despite acting out a photocopied script, is still funny).

And seriously, death by planking is just natural selection. It is.

Just heard that the police are going to be able to fine people for swearing. BJ is going to be bankrupt in a week.

Chronology of mother's visit, May 2011. Several million calories.
1. Mother arrives, drinks then dinner @ Cafe Bedda, Sicilian joint in the N-cote. A-fucking-mazing scallops.
2. High tea at Windsor, pink champers, scones, pastries, sandwiches. Mother: 'you should see the loos. Amazing!'
3. Shop, shop, shop, shop. Wine, movie (water for elephants. Enjoyable but Pattinson is kind of a cock).
4. Breakie and Homo's. Shop, shop, shop, mother spends money money money on dresses. Rain storm hits. My feet get wet as fuck. Mother: 'no wonder you look a bit miserable'.
5. Y&J for some band listening with Moulder and Moulder's parents. (Moulder crushing on the guitarist.) Mother: 'You handled that very well.' (Referring to feral toothless Essendon player who crashed our party.)
6. Dumplings with Dingwall. Mother: 'I wanted to give Tim a kiss goodbye. Should I have or would that have freaked him out?'
7. Drinks with Leesh at supperclub. Mother: 'What a lovely girl!' (Leesh).
8. Dinner Hardware Lane. Gorgeous German waiter flirts. Mother: 'He likes you!'
9. Steak @ Terminus with N-cote crew. Mother tells advent calendar story.
10. Dinner @ melb central and then goodbyes to mother. Mother 'Your mascara is running, darling.'

Hobag flogs sheepskin products for a living these days, and is often quite generous with some of the sample products, including a pair of luxuriously soft yummy gloves, that my friend Dom described as 'Ugg boots for your hands.'

Certainly required this week as the cold of the Melbourne winter hits us like a slap to a bare bum.

Seems both my sister and I are tragic cases of genes and conditioning, as both of us have been drinking and sleeping and crying out for people to fetch us toast all weekend, albeit on opposite sides of planet. I am so proud of her.

Now the daily grind of life has paused, I find myself sleeping 12 hours a day and spoinging off the hospitality of a kind family down in Torkers; very relaxing and lovely. Am actually a bit over the hot cross buns and chocolate now. Never thought I would say that.

And as the media sharks continue on feeding frenzy of royal nuptials, am I the only one who thinks that spending the wedding night at Granny's house is a little odd? Can just imagine it 'you kids alright in there? Warm enough? There's an extra doona in the cupboard if you need one' etc.

It's not that I particularly care about the wedding itself and I don't really care particularly for the royals either. It's the historical bit and the fact the world will watch that interests me.

Back to CV. Frickin CV.

Five Good Things

Whenever I am having a whinge my mother tells me to list five good things, right then and there. And considering the amount of whingeing I have been doing lately, I should probably lay some out. So.

1. I fucking love woggy hilarious cab drivers (an increasingly rare commodity in this city), especially ones that take us from Chapel st to Richmond and take part in our hilarious pisstake of drunken short businessman texting on iphone in line to the feral swan at midnight.

2. Leather blazers, like for instance, the one I have just bought.

3. Hot cross buns, espcially the ones from Brioche on Queen St. They have so much fruit in them it's like eating your five f&vs for the day. And they are fucking delish.

4. My friend Tim with his gammy eye.

5. The hot mint chocolate I am about to make.

Right. Back to some CV updatage.

Sometimes (more than sometimes), you leave your phone at home (under the duvet where it woke you up), and then get home after long day's work (slog) to find no-one has called or messaged anyway and it made no difference whatsoever you left your phone at home and you feel all emo and throw phone across room yelling 'no-one loves me'.

Proved wrong today. Got home at 6.30, to lovely lovely news on phone. It wouldn't have made any difference having known it earlier, but it made my day.

And I really am furious that production on Mad Men s5 has been delayed til 2012. Total rubbish.

Once upon a time a man and a woman shared a house. Theirs was not sharing in the biblical sense; indeed, they were so unbiblical they chose to advertise for a third person to share the good times and the rent, and Noo moved in to Chez Smuth.

And so it came to pass, many years later, (and last weekend) that Dingwall and I made our way up to Daylesford to watch our Noo get married. Bless her. Really the nicest day. And although in some ways marriage is a bit outmoded, I can still see the place for such traditions (and it was a MIGHTY fine pissup. Dingwall and I were the last people there, except for the bride's parents, one sober bridesmaid, and one very very pissed and vomiting bridesmaid who was being looked after by the sober one.)

So, yes, well done Noo, lovely. I feel slightly more optimistic about this marriage than everyone presumably did about this one. (I mean, after 7 failed attempts, wouldn't you possibly be thinking marriage perhaps wasn't for you?)

I first smeared on makeup when I was about 14, during a nutrimetics party. I loved how it covered my adolescent zits and it made me look older, which at my age, was very desirable. Mineral, liquid, powders, I have used them all to polish and define.

It was only very recently I realised I now have to wear it to look younger, rather than older (undesirable).

Oh fuck, that's right. I am 31. 31! Shouldn't I have a house / husband / househusband by now?

Another wine I think. Undoing my work with pt tonight, but am not caring.

Have been slightly scattered of late, and although I could put this down to pressures of new job / home issues but I think its just me being generally a bit shit. I have managed to, of late, for example:

- email Baggage twice in three days with exactly the same news
- leave razor in toilet bag, forage round in toilet bag for mineral makeup, slash off portion of finger skin with furtive razor,
- leave phone in Riggsy's car last night, and
- have it in my head that McD's engagement party was Fri, instead of Sat, when I am oop North at Noo Nuptials.

Yeah, bit shit. But meh.

Been a lame arse all week. New dayjob fullon, meaning too tired (lame) to go out and have a quiet pint for St Paddys. Got a text from the man himself in Dub this eve - saying he had 'gone for a few drinks' the night before, and felt like a 'bladder on a stick'. Funny fucker.

Creme egg was everything I remembered, especially with cup of tea.

And, as much as my housekeeping skills have improved since moving out of home 10 years ago, I will never figure out how to fold up a fitted sheet. Seems like a waste of my time and energy. And time and energy is much better spent at present by boxing sessions, job procurement, and mooning over Anne of Green Gables books.

Yup.

Things are already getting better. I know this because the I won division 6 in Lotto on Saturday - a whole $24!

A ne wjob would be nice though.

As would a creme egg. Only the original kind though. The ads are on already!

Quite difficult to know what to say here.

The funeral was sad, but fine. Jack had a great turnout, despite the brown dust flinging itself everywhere around town, and then a few cronies came back here and drank with us. Good job we had beer here of course, as we didn't have running water until last night.

Truly grateful that no-one close to us died in the disaster. And truly grateful for the sense of humour in my family when dealing with: the organic bog out the back (truly awesome kiwi ingenuity: large bucket, grass clippings, a shovel); the constant boiling of water, having to use bottled water to brush teeth, etc. Only thing of real note at Mum & dads is the pool is cracked, and the fact the bedroom door in my old room is skewed so that it can't be shut - minor things. My paternal grandmother is currently living at Chez St Martins also, as her house isn't quite liveable yet. All manageable. Have felt a few tremors, not very nice. Touch wood.

Went for a walk and saw the old library exposed. The old New World is not going to be re-opened. I saw a couple of guys in diggers playing dodgems and spoke to some nice people around the neighbourhood helping to clean up.

The weather here is quite lovely - I haven't been home at this time for three years and had forgotten how nice the early autumn is. A dip in the pool would be nice, if the pool hadn't drained itself.

Feeling sick with anxiety. Sitting in office alone, attempting to work, all I can think about was how I have to go back to Christchurch.

Weekend improved exponentially, in the company of my brilliant mates on a progressive houseparty through the streets of Northcote. Have done fuckall today besides make some cookies, it's been good.

I know this opinion may not make me the most popular person, but it saddens me very much to see some of the facebook pages calling for public humiliation of those people arrested for looting in Christchurch. I am as appalled by this behaviour as anyone and I am certainly not defending them - truly despicable behaviour. However some of the comments on these pages are beyond hatemongering... some of the posts are downright disturbing. The concept of justice seperates us from the animals, people. This is a time of high emotions and behaving like a lynch mob is not helpful to the healing process.

That's all.

Moulder and I just had some breakie down at Homos - after 4 bottles of wine she couldnt get home last night. Riveted and appalled by the images from home in The Age. 'It pisses me off Michelle,' she said, 'that the papers are actually publishing other news that is going on in the world. Makes me all indignant. There IS no other news!'

I am not an especially spiritual person. I like churches for their historical significance rather than their religious significance. But there was a bit of comfort in the service I attended today at St Pauls, and the Archbishop's sermon was quite onto it. I was a bit weirded out when I noticed that the roof was leaking onto my cleavage, but on closer inspection I realised I was crying. Haven't really cried properly yet. Distracted myself by counting the number of times the 3aw reporter near the front pulpit (Gen Y, heavy handed on the bronzer, brown mary janes) yawned.

Am heading back on Tuesday as Jack's service is likely to be Wednesday. Really, really not relishing going back. But it has been pointed out that I could well have the inbound plane to myself.

I am quite certain that shortly things will get better, as they will have to. Phone call this morning at 6.30 to advise Poppa Jack has passed away; then home town flattened by earthquake. People dead this time. Fucked.

BJ & Leesh just turned up with wine, chocolate and pizza to distract me. Slightly in shock I think, although the shiraz has taken the edge off for a bit.

ARGHHH. Had enough of recruiters*, my thighs hurt from pump class and there are no creme eggs in the house.

Who says 31 is too old for a tantrum?

Also, Canada is in the ICC cricket world cup. As long as we beat them.

*Full throttle on the job procurement. I have three weeks to go though, so really musn't panic. What would Gail do in my situation?

Am perfectly certain, that my Hell, if I am so unfortunate as to get there, will be squats and lunges in pump class. Ouchy fuckin ouch.

And, seriously, why did Neighbours have to go on Channel 11? I have to watch it online now.

Tender head this afternoon and as I peer down at the recycling bin, I think I know why. Four empty bottles of wine, which accompanied me and the girls' thai feast last night. Freaking fabulous way to show off my thai cooking skillz, as well as break the dishwasher (again).

Sunday night is not only ironing night, but put the bins out night. It wasn't until I was hauling the second bin out to the street, the yellow lidded recycling one, that I realised my attire: green pyjama pants, black socks, red ballet ballets and a black cardi. Would have been embarrassed, and then realised I had probably inadvertently started some sort of trend: your average Northcote hipster might spend hours cultivating such a look.

Weary.

It's awards season, not just out there, but in here. So here begins: Miche's fave shit, first in a series of we are not sure how many yet.

Today, the shopping awards:

The' Oooooer Missus' Smalls award

For smalls you cannot, cannot go past Bendon Factory Shop on Smith St. They stock fayreform, bendon and assorted awesomeness. The girls there are super lovely without being overbearing, and they go up to a size g, bless them. Today's bargain? 2 x DimitySo bras plus matching knickers, RRP $121, for $49. They also have shapewear and sleep wear, ranging from naughty to cute to nunlike.

The 'Sorry Edina, we don't have your size' for bitch shop girls award:
Unreservedly, La Figure in DFO. Get over yourselves, and ps, a smile won't break your face.

The 'Internet is not just good for porn' shopping award

Headed up this season by recent ebay discovery:Hibiscus and Sparrow. Good variety, nice styles, reasonably priced. Have several essentials from here and not one disappointment. Honourable mention: Ezibuy. Yup, the good old house of e has been around since I have been buying clothes, and is not bad for work purchases and the odd bargain. Fave e/b label is Grace Hill, fits the old boobs well and pieces have a classic cut.

The 'Oh bloody hell, I have a party this weekend and nothing to wear' great prices, fun dresses award:

Right, couple of frontrunners on this one. Winning by a nose is Friends of Couture. These guys have only been around since 2008, but already have a great profile in Melbourne, with shops in Fitzroy, Collingwood and Brunswick. Lovely vintage inspired bits and pieces and accessories; very 50-60s and ladylike, highly recommended. Runner up, Christopher Ari back on the hallowed turf o Bridge Road. Feminine, fun, bright. Lots of cute sweet dresses, cheap as chips. Picked up outfit for birthday for $39.95 the other week.

The 'am off to a wedding, and am not the bride this time' something special award:

On High St,Madame Farquhars of Westgarth. Little boutique with a few local designs, the girls there know their stuff and will get you to try on all sort of left field dresses that you will go 'oh! look at that! I look nice in orange' etc. Not the cheapest, but for something a bit special, this place is well worth trying.

The UGH I hate having to spend money on work clothes but at least I don't have to wear an ugly uniform' work attire award

Annoying but has to be done, and as women we dont have to blow $1000 on a suit everytime. Pop on down to the basement at Portmans Bourke St mall. Some of the jackets and skirts will be last seasons but well worth a look. Honourable mention goes to Barkins. (Smith St or DFO Spencer St. Structured work dresses and shifts galore. Things from there won't last forever, but reasonably priced anyway.

That's all for now kids. Stay tuned for food awards - The Age has got nothin on me