Fair wuther friends

Eyebrows are seldom raised in Fitzroy. It’s a case of anything goes and one should expect the unexpected. This quirkily cool suburb of Melbourne is home to an arty breed of boho folk. Think retro chic. Think vegan artisans with purple pigtails in hemp skirts on unicycles. (And that’s the blokes). Anything goes. But one event on Saturday garnered many bemused double-takes, as a flock of scarlet-clad Kate Bushes descended upon the Edinburgh Gardens.

The Most Wuthering Heights Day Ever is an annual celebration of the Kate Bush 1978 classic. First held in 2016, cities around the globe host the as-synchronised-as-time-zones-allow event, with attendees performing the choreography from that sublime video clip. This year marked the 40th anniversary of the song’s release, and being ’78 vintage myself, I wasn’t about to miss the Most Wuthering en masse majesty. The clip also happens to be one of my earliest music memories. It was strikingly different to other music videos at the time. It was elegant, ethereal… building to its very splendid waving/vanishing crescendo. I was hooked. Plus, Kate looked a lot like my Auntie Brenda.

I first ‘wuthered’ in 2016, and was really taken with the event. I wasn’t the only one – Melbourne’s inaugural turn-out was massive, with 1000+ “Cathys” in attendance, making it the biggest gathering worldwide. (Melbourne’s brilliant like that – we’ll turn up to anything really… arts, sport, comedy, the opening of an avocado…) Still hugely popular in its third year, it makes an entertaining if somewhat surprising spectacle for passers-by. Vixens in vermilion, of various shapes and sizes (and genders), with brunette manes flowing, recreating all those graceful (ahem) ballet moves. Burly, bearded Cathys, junior Cathys, even canine Cathys – all frolicking in the glorious winter sunshine. A community effort! Everyone’s welcome to “roll and fall in green” (BUT in red only. Them’s the rules). The event also raises funds for women’s health & services, with Melbourne’s Safe Steps Family Violence Response Centre and the Alannah and Madeline Foundation benefitting. Yay us!

It’s liberating and empowering, but the overarching emotion is pure euphoria. It warms your heart and is just so much fun, it’s difficult to convey to the uninitiated. This year I enjoyed the company of old high school buddy and fellow blogger Sim (check out her wonderfully warm words – Simone: By The River). She was a TMWHDE debutante and I was thrilled (and relieved!) that she relished the beautiful experience as much as I do. Being part of the whirling, twirling sea of red revellers is inexplicably joyous. And addictive! I am a committed, seasoned wutherer now.

Check out some past gatherings on Youtube, and whet your appetite for the next wuther!

It’s a curious equation that defies logic. Who would have thought…
Red dress + red tights + green eyeshadow x 400 or so = infinite fun?!

If only Emily Bronte could see us now.


Corio Oval

I have created a new blog category today, and will endeavour to unearth some of the lost golden nuggets of Geelong, and in due course pay homage to some of the region’s more interesting and/or forgotten historical figures. The hidden gems of G-Town, if you will.

For the uninitiated, Geelong is the 2nd-largest city in the Australian state of Victoria. Situated on Corio Bay, it is 75 kilometres (47 miles) southwest of the state capital Melbourne. This port city was named in 1827, a derivative of the local Wathaurong Aboriginal name for the area, Djillong. Geelong is sometimes referred to as a ‘gateway city’, being centrally located to popular Victorian regions including the surf coast and Great Ocean Road, the famed 1850s gold rush city Ballarat, and Melbourne. With a population today in excess of 220,000 it offers the benefits of both a small metropolis and a large township. City and country. Beach and ‘burbs. It is in many ways idyllic.

I am a proud Geelong person. I am also a proud Geelong Football Club supporter, and a proud descendant of four of the club’s past players. The GFC is a professional Australian Rules football club, and is one of 18 teams in the AFL (Australian Football League, and pre-1990, Victorian Football League). Established in 1859, the club is the 2nd oldest in the AFL, and one of the oldest football clubs in the world. (Internationally renowned football (or soccer) clubs are younger – Manchester United (est. 1878), Liverpool (1892), Real Madrid (1902)… Quite remarkable really!) Known since the 1920s as the ‘Cats’, the GFC was previously nicknamed the ‘Pivotonians’ and the ‘Seagulls’, with these monikers referencing the city’s early industry and its seaside location.

The Cats host AFL matches at GMHBA Stadium, part of a sports complex called Kardinia Park. Prior to this, for the period 1878-1940, the club’s home ground was Corio Oval, located in East Geelong. The oval was used by the Army as a military training camp during World War II, which prompted the club relocation.

I wonder how many Geelong Cats supporters or life-long Geelong residents would know about this? Or indeed, how many might have discovered this inconspicuous commemorative plaque, signifying the old Corio Oval location in Eastern Park? Weekend joggers or dog walkers may stumble across it occasionally. A conference centre stands on the edge of the space today, neighbouring parkland. It’s hard to imagine a footy oval and packed grandstand there, with crowds of around 20,000+ witness to the fierce rivalries of the era. Geelong versus Melbourne, Geelong versus Collingwood, Geelong versus Richmond… And grandfather Hardiman versus anyone who dared to offer him a deft clip… or so the legend goes.

Bellissimo: gluten free Italy

Travelling overseas can be daunting for someone with special dietary requirements. Where there is a language barrier, it is stressful trusting the dish served up is genuinely harmless. For me, consuming gluten would result in 48-72 hrs of violent illness, severe dehydration and exhaustion – less than ideal where lengthy flights or coach travel is involved.

I was diagnosed with Coeliac (Celiac) disease in 2007, and until that point had only ventured outside of Australia twice. I now rue the lost opportunities at travelling on a ‘normal’ diet. Carefree sure beats gluten free. It took me several years to gain the confidence to travel internationally adhering to this diet. Happily, I haven’t been ‘glutened’ overseas, which I put down to careful planning and a good deal of luck.

Italy, the carbs-laden land of pasta and pizza, reads like a Coeliac’s nightmare, but it’s actually very accommodating. My positive gastronomical experience in Rome 4 years ago was in part the catalyst for my recent return to the country. I was very glad to find Northern Italy brimming with senza glutine delicacies. (I even found beer and icecream cones at Cinque Terre – tricky enough to find these in Melbourne!)

My highlights:

O Peperino e Milano
The most delicious capricciosa, followed by a tiramisu (that disappeared before a photo could be taken). Extensive GF options here. I was even asked if I needed a gluten free menu.

Ristorante Pizzeria Il Portico
Risotto al persico. Beautiful perch. Easily the best risotto I’ve ever had. Cooked to perfection.

Trattoria Alle Due Torri
Streppe al pesto. Odd-looking pasta but generous surface area to soak up that pesto! Three pages in the menu dedicated to GF. House made bread rolls were fantastic.

Ristorante Delfino
Penne al pomodoro. Simple flavour done well. Also had delicious frittata here.

Ristorante da Ely
Gnocchi al pesto. Really tender, in a superb pesto.

Extra info:
* Not all menus will promote the availability of GF options, but I found every cafe I enquired at was able to cater, even if only minimal choices. Risottos were generally fine (but still do ask, in case barley is in the stock). And salads are a pretty safe bet, if you’re ever really unsure.

* It’s customary to be served bread before your meal appears. If you’ve specified “senza glutine”, you’ll probably receive suitable rolls or crackers, which makes even a small dish satisfying.

* Social media is great as a research tool. Instagram is very helpful for dining recommendations.

I encourage all Coeliacs to explore Italy. It’s foodie heaven, even gluten free. Buon appetito!

Kates, Debbies and Laurens of Arabia

Some travel destinations in this big, wide world can be challenging for a female. In the UAE, there are certainly more rules (religious and/or societal) than I am subjected to at home in Australia. As a non-Muslim in a Muslim state, you should always be mindful and respectful of where you are, particularly so as a female solo traveller.

Dress code aside, I have actually found Abu Dhabi quite liberating. I had a mixed experience in Dubai two years ago, but on this brief visit to the UAE’s capital city, I feel more comfortable and confident to be out and about. There are noticeably more women in the workforce here, particularly at a managerial level. The majority of university students are female. There is virtually no crime in Abu Dhabi (possibly linked to the absence of poverty – you can only stay here if you have a job), and as a woman, you feel safe and respected. You can readily make it from A to B without Emirati men furrowing their brows. It’s great. (Having said that, I did venture into the fish markets as part of a guided city tour yesterday – and instantly had a hundred pairs of male eyes on me. I guess I was a novelty for them. My eyes instead were firmly fixed on the morning’s haul of prawns. O.M.G. These local “shrimp” were massive, many about 9 or 10 inches in length! Somebody get some BBQs over here, stat!!)

And really, it’s not a huge deal to dress modestly in the UAE. Save your skimpy tops for the pool at the hotel. If you’re around worship areas you keep your shoulders covered. Easy. And it’s advised to not wear anything shorter than knee-length. (My modus operandi irrespective of location – my lily-white thighs could burn retinas.)

I strolled along the picturesque Corniche this evening. I sat alone, by a date palm, watching the sunset. A bright pink blush stained the dusk sky, and some of the highrise buildings around me disappeared into the humid haze. It was lovely, and it’s there for everyone – even lily-white non-Muslim women – to enjoy. We’re probably much better off sitting there than under the Flinders Street clocks, to be frank.


You can feel the love in Italy. It’s palpable and everywhere.

It’s not hard to love the place. From the major cities to the countryside, the Alpine regions to the beaches… It’s very easy to look it.

Italy is also very easy to listen to. I absolutely love the language. It’s emotive, charming and sexy and surely the envy of all other languages. If the well-tailored Lotharios of Milano are the eye-candy then surely the native tongue is the ear-chocolate.

It’s the passion of the Italian people that really resonates though. They are ardently, demonstrably passionate about so much in their lives, with a real zest for life itself. Many live simply but in doing so they live well. Work/life balance feels very achievable here. Priorities seem clearer.

They love their wine, and their food. Food is not fuel, it’s heritage, ritual and a daily celebration. It’s to be enjoyed slowly. The concept of a quick bite (or worse still, takeaway) is lost on these folk. You simply must sit for a couple of hours and enjoy. There’s a procedure to be respected and followed. After a delicious perch risotto on my 75-minute lunch stop in Stresa, I asked for the check. The waiter looked confused and asked “Check already?” I pointed to my watch, shrugged my shoulders and said “Sorry, no time”. I could see the pity in his eyes. I was a hopeless tourist who just didn’t get it. (Note, even if it’s the BEST RISOTTO OF YOUR LIFE, tour coaches wait for no-one).

They love their coffee too, and would love for you to love it their way, the right way. They will however make it the way you want it – I found the latte macchiato was very drinkable in many cafes – but just don’t blatantly add sugar. It’s a stake to the barista’s heart.

Italians certainly love their soccer, (or calcio). It dominates newspaper headlines. You can sense the national hurt over a World Cup senza Italia. I counted 8 soccer TV channels at one hotel. Imagine if they were actually taking part.

And operators of most forms of transport are evidently passionate about frightening the bejesus out of strangers. Italy is home to many of the world’s most incredible sports cars, and also an alarmingly large population of crazy drivers… anyone else see an issue with that? I vividly recall my transfer to Fiumicino airport a few years ago. I think the taxi may have been airborne at one point. This love for a speedy road trip contradicts their desire for a relaxed pace in most other facets of life. Perhaps the breakneck race home allows for a 4-hour, 6 course dinner. Priorities.

So many people travel extensively nowadays, and Italy remains a popular destination. My colleagues, family and friends talk about enjoying particular countries, liking them, being surprised or fascinated by them, but practically all visitors love Italy. Not only the land, but the lifestyle and the locals. It’s a package deal. Love is in the air there and some of it just sticks. It sneaks into your suitcase and into your soul. It’s profound. You know when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie? It’s exactly like that.

Paradise at a price

I’d like to be able to tell you that it’s true. All you’ve read, all you’ve heard, all the plaudits suggesting this little Italian resort village is one of the most stunningly exquisite locations on planet Earth. Well, it is all true. Portofino is divino. And possibly a little bit magical.

Travelling through the northern Italian lakes district, the weather had been stormy. Conditions affected visits to both lakes Como and Maggiore. Entering the Liguria region and reaching Santa Margherita, the skies remained dark and ominous. Portofino would prove to be the light at the end of our tunnel. We made the short trip there by boat and were greeted with incredible sunshine, right on cue. Every colour in the harbour was illuminated. Hashtag: ‘no filter’. We’d left Kansas and were now very much in Oz. (See, magical).

Portofino was primarily a fishing village for many years. Exactly which species inhabit this area nowadays is unclear to me, but if you’re single and have access to a bloody big boat, you’re a strong chance to hook a hottie.

From the 1950s this has been a holiday destination for the well-to-do, a picturesque locale for the rich and famous. A place to be seen and a flaunted lifestyle of excess, evident by the many moored giant luxury yachts, and the number of exclusive boutiques stocking high-end labels. This is for the creme de la creme (or more accurately, the crema di crema). It’s all about beauty and the finer things in life. No talk of controversial refugee policies or political instability here. Any ugliness is neatly off-show. It’s la bella figura cranked up to eleven, and a scene befitting a Robin Leach voiceover (for those old enough to get that reference).

There’s no denying the setting is stunning. Cheerfully painted buildings in red, peach and yellow hug the harbour, contrasting the crisp white watercraft, sapphire waters and verdant landscape – it’s gorgeous. And the pace is attractive. You can sit at one of the cafes with an Aperol Spritz or a glass of the local sassarini and watch a fancier world go by. Handsome boat crew in nautical stripes, smart chinos and Armani sunglasses casually fiddle about with ropes at the jetty, their olive arms glistening in the sun. I quite enjoyed this view.

I came prepared to pooh-pooh Portofino for all its lavish excesses but was instead seduced by the glamour. Resistance is futile. I couldn’t afford to stay there – I opted for a €0.60 postcard over a Rolex – but it was a fabulous place to wine, dine and while away a couple of hours. A glimpse into how the other half live, or at least how they appear to live.

Monumental beauty

Now, I’m one of those (peculiar) people who appreciates a good cemetery stroll. Let me tell you, the Cimitero Monumentale di Milano is like no cemetery I’d seen before.

The idea to build such a memorial garden first came about in 1837. Yet it was in 1862, after Milan had won independence from Austrian domination, that it started to take shape, influenced by Lombardy architect Carlo Maciachini. The result is spectacular, as the many wandering photographers can attest.

Beyond the grandiose entrance lies a necropolis filled with thousands of displays of artistic craftsmanship. Large, beautiful monuments adorn almost every grave. Maciachini’s work is a fusion of various art influences, reflecting the eclectic taste of the age. There are biblical and celestial figures, Roman gods, war heroes, as well as more personal homages. It’s like a magnificent open air gallery, set amongst lush gardens.

The mausoleums are also highly decorative. I suspect there’s some one-upmanship going on, a bit of ‘keeping up with the Giovannis’, however it’s all within the context of this visually stunning cemetery.

I respect that many will prefer simple, understated gravestones or plaques to remember their dearly departed. But to me these incredible works of art are a wonderful way to celebrate a life. These are lasting tributes for families to revere and revisit.

I’m grateful this hidden gem was recommended to me. In Milan, the style capital of the world, beauty really is all around.