Loot soup

Saturday just gone was one of those stellar days you dream of when you're planning a slow weekend. Wake up, mooch around the house for an hour or so and head out to the nearest Farmer's Market. I hit up Fairfield and had a funny feeling in my bones I'd see my buddy Scott.

So it was as natural as could be when I saw the man wandering up the street with an armful of groceries. He kindly escorted me to the markets and was perfectly patient as I fondled every pumpkin, smelled the garlic and squeezed each oranges. I'm nothing if not a tactile shopper.

A sniffly soup

This morning I woke at 4am. Blocked schnoz, dry throat and dodgy tummy. Fun fun fun! The day before I'd ridden to work sans gloves. It felt as though someone was driving pins into my fingers. I'm going to blame that because my constitution is a bit like a delicate flower - a slight breeze and I'm wilting, pleading for my smelling salts.

I lay in bed grumbling for an hour or two (that Matt, he's such a lucky guy to end up with a gal like me!) and decided work was not going to happen. I'm that person who chastises sick people for coming to work, spreading their nasties around the office. It probably wouldn't be cool for me to do the same.

Fennel, sausage and borlotti bean soup

It's officially autumn in Melbourne. My tootsies are getting colder and colder every day. I'm adapting to the weather: the ugg boots are out of storage, black stockings have been dusted off and my beanie is due for an appearance any day now. But the thing that makes the weather so distinctly Melbourne is the forecast this week: a 4 day stretch above 20ºC.

So it's not cold enough to turn on the heater (Matt assures me), but it's not hot enough for cocktails in the sun (but fear not: there's always indoors!). It's light pinot weather - that in between stage where you can't handle a bold red but a white is too fresh for when the mercury drops after sundown. Oh, who am I kidding? If it's open and not vinegar, I'll drink it.

Broccoli soup with crispy bacon

There are some weekends where you know you've done yourself some damage. Waking up Sunday morning is the ultimate punishment for a night of excess. This weekend was particularly bad for me. I woke up with a severe case of cotton mouth and a splitting, thumping, brain-bending headache. But for once, these symptoms weren't also accompanied by the "hangover regrets".

My Saturday was not spent holding up a bar or or praying to the porcelain gods. Nope, it was spent on the couch with my main lady (Mumsy Bennetto) watching The Holiday. A bit of cheesy rom-com does wonders for the soul.