Ten years ago

I confess. I watched The Wedding. Who doesn't want to see some real life fairy tale action?

Despite my earlier pondering over the media coverage of it, my curiosity got the better of me. I had to see The Dress. A mild bout of cough-induced insomnia saw me still awake at midnight, and I briefly toyed with the idea of watching the live broadcast - which I believe saw the ceremony airing at 4am West Coast time - but I quickly realised that would result in one zombiefied mumma for the rest of the day.

Instead, I set the DVR to record it, and in the morning I informed the Faery that rather than Sesame Street, our breakfast viewing would be The Wedding. And that's what we did - with my finger on fast forward for the more boring parts.

I surprised myself, and enjoyed the pomp and pageantry far more than expected. I may have even had a tear or two spring up. As for The Dress? I approve. Elegance personified.

I also had another reason for feeling sentimental over The Wedding.

You see, in two days' time (May 1st), J and I will be celebrating the fact that we got hitched ten years ago. In London, long before the world had heard of Kate Middleton.

Watching the London scenery on TV brought back memories of our own spring wedding in Cool Britannia. Of course, ours was a much simpler affair with just a handful of friends and family, at the local town hall, against the backdrop of the London May Day riots. It was practically an elopement, followed by a merry dinner of tapas and too much sangria - fourteen jugs between eleven of us. A fabulous night in Covent Garden, and then an equally fabulous week in Barcelona.

As spectacular as The Wedding was to watch, I am so glad that mine was such a simple day. Although, I imagine the roar of hundreds of thousands of spectators outside the abbey, cheering for you and your love, would be more than impressive. An everlasting memory, I'm sure.

However, I love the memories of our special day. My red dress. Impossibly green gardens. Grey skies. Tulips. Relaxed. Sweetness in the air. Black cabs. Laughter. Sangria. Love.

Lots of love.

Bagged and chilled

If this had been written five years ago, it would have been about my handbag addiction. Sadly, small children and limited funding put that vice to rest. Instead, it's the simple things - like a group of brown paper grocery bags plonked onto my kitchen bench - that (sometimes) satisfy me. How sad. It's the hippy child in me that likes to rear her frizzy-maned head at times, though. I could go all environmental here and rant about the evils of plastic bags, but I'll spare you. Plus, I'm just as guilty as the next person of violating the planet at times, so it would be hypocritical of me. But yes, I like paper bags... even if they just end up being receptacles for my recycling.

What's inside?

However, I like paper bags even more when they're holding delectables like these:

Meet some of the loves of my life...

I've had a longstanding love affair with Ben & Jerry's ice cream. I first fell in love with these tubs of heaven when J and I were living in the UK. Movie nights at home rarely didn't involve a whole tub of this goodness split between the two of us. We were younger then, and our metabolisms were faster... well, a little faster. Then we returned to Australia and I had to go cold turkey. No more Ben & Jerry's because it wasn't available. Six years without. I missed it so much, and then last year I heard a rumour that they were opening their first store in Sydney. Being pregnant at the time, I was super excited. I kept checking their website. There were some delays along the way, and I was hormonal enough to call their head office to pester them for details. Then came November, and the store finally opened. I waddled in, barely able to contain myself (or my belly), but just about fell over when I saw each pint-sized tub was selling for AU$11... say what? Heaven just got more expensive. Fortunately, now that we're living in LA, I can easily consume entire pints from around $3 or $4. Oh, happy days...