Twee are the World

Please understand. We don't want no trouble.

We just want the right to be different. That's all.

Liner notes to Pulp’s Different Class, 1995

Melbourne played host to its inaugural Finders Keepers markets this weekend, with hundreds of people descending on a Docklands pier to check out stalls crammed with homemade clothes, jewellery, cards, home decorations and other kooky knick-knacks. In a celebration of the craft of craft, shoppers milled the converted warehouse to the sounds of angelic voiced singer-songwriters with acoustic guitars and xylophones.

Despite what I’m about to say, I think the Finders Keepers markets are a great thing. Set up to showcase the work of emerging designers and artists from around Australia and New Zealand, they bring together creative people who care about art and design, who seek more than financial reward from their craft, who value the handmade over the mass produced, and being an individual over blending into the crowd. My problem (and I will state categorically, it is my problem) is why did everything seem so, well, samey?

Crafty folks have been happily knitting one and pearling one in contented nerdy obscurity for decades. A ragtag mob of (mostly female) cross-stitch enthusiasts, sewing machine owners, Fimo manipulators and people who make those odd stuffed knitted dolls that always show up at school fetes and op shops. I come from a family of such people, their walls adorned with framed cross-stitch creations of their own hand depicting (for example) the alphabet alongside a cute woodland cottage. There is not a child born to this family that has not been clad in hand-knitted swaddling clothes. I myself have enjoyed many a pair of delightfully impractical woollen socks. It kept Grandma happy, it keeps my aunty happy and it keeps my cousins happy.

The craft scene as represented at Finders Keepers is a little different. It is post-modern and knowingly retro. It is two parts Anne Taintor, one part Fanny Craddock, a dash of Alice from the United States of Tara and (this is where I come in I guess) a spoonful of Morrissey. It takes the skills honed at nanna’s knee and seeks to cutesy them up. Gone are the useless woollen dolls, replaced by… useless woollen cupcakes. Goodbye cross-stitch pictures of doe-eyed Huckleberry Finn type children, hello woollen recreations of the cover of Belle and Sebastian’s Tigermilk.

This nu-craft was thrust into the limelight almost as soon as the global financial wobble became a full-blown crisis. The future was homemade. Recycle. Grow Your Own. Make Your Own. Craft (as I was reminded by a badge I saw yesterday) is the new black. Knitters (I was told by another) ain’t quitters… This is all well and good really. Rampant mass commercialism is evil. People should think for themselves. Using your brain and your hands is wonderful. Recycling is the future. Vegetables are rock and roll. What isn’t clear is why, when you have so many clever, interesting and artistic people all beavering away, do so many of them make the same thing? Here’s a quick run down of the totems of nu-craft on display several times over at Finders Keepers…

• Buttons as badges and brooches and earrings and basically anything. Especially buttons with material on
• Birds – predominantly of the owl variety (which is a shame because I do like an owl, despite the fact that they are not what they seem) though equally popular were birds in cages with variations on door open/door closed. Oh the symbolism.
• Fonts – WORDS. And LETTERS. In DIFFERENT FONTS. In FRAMES.
• Impractical Jewellery – especially earrings made out of found objects that look nice on a table on a velvet cushion but are not conducive to hanging comfortably from your lobes
• Things made out of old children's books – ‘Fanny and Dick were amazed to see how many things they could be exploited for.’
• Rabbits - cuwte lickle snuffle bunnies. On adults.
• Butterflies – oh yes. Butterflies. Fly my pretties. Next stop, unicorns.
• BIG patterns – their name is prints. And they is funky. And they is everywhere.
• Big Glasses – I expressed my angst about this alarming trend for enormous glasses last year. Did anyone listen? No. Many gigantic pairs spotted wandering around Docklands with little tiny people in cardigans underneath them.
• Antlers – mostly deer related (lots of fake hunting trophy heads) though a few creative souls had gotten all Island of Dr Moreau and started welding antlers to anything in sight
• Silhouettes – see most of the items in this list but without the filly-in middle bits
• Laser Cut everything – literally anything on earth that a laser can cut a shape into or cut something out of. See silhouettes. I did. Several times.
• Big things on chains - assorted random large items hung between two ends of a chain to be worn like an ineffectual breastplate
• Old Cameras - a shame this one, because I quite like the aesthetic and the symbolism of an old camera. Still that doesn’t mean I want to see t-shirts, jewellery, purses, cushions and wallpaper of old Pentaxes and Polaroids everywhere I go. Stop. You’re spoiling it now.

In case you think I’m being mean, I’ll reiterate that lots of the items on offer were splendid. Beautifully made, intricately detailed, lovingly imagined. I also get that all tribes have their trends. Punks, Goths, Mods, Emo Kids, Rude Boys (and Girls), football fans, bikers – there’s always something gangs build their identity around. The difference with this kind of art is that the unifying point is philosophical. It’s not based on a look or a person or a thing, but an idea - an appreciation of the personal.

Of course I can craft precisely nothing (though I am good at growing potatoes) so really have no right to criticise what people choose to make and sell. Perhaps I’d be less bothered if Finders Keepers had been billed as a celebration of (and place to buy) all things cute and mid-20^th century retro, but as a ‘showcase for emerging designers and artists’ I don’t think that was the point. In the end I came away from Finders Keepers with the distinct feeling that too much of a good thing is still too much. In the art world nothing kills an original and personal idea like a backdrop of sameness, which - unless it’s just about the money - surely defeats the purpose.

For more about the Finders Keepers markets click here or visit thefinderskeepers.com

Bear Necessities

In the hallway of our house, just a couple of steps beyond the front door, there stands a small brown bear. He is nude apart from his ageing fur, a splendid pair of shiny red wellington boots and an oversized Moroccan fez which perches on his nose. From underneath the fez you can just make out his bright eyes, fixed on the doorway in a very hard stare. His name is Major Paddington; the rank recognition of many years dedicated service to watching over the places we’ve lived, warding off burglars and monsters.

Paddington wasn’t always a major, nor was he always nude. Once – I’m told – he sported a magnificent blue duffle coat and a large black hat. Sadly they fell victim to moths and had to be thrown away. Ever since Paddington has maintained his vigils au naturel but no one seems to mind.

Perhaps this is because we’ve come to expect nudeness of our bears. By that I don’t mean real bears – grizzly, brown, polar, panda or otherwise – who seem quite content going about their business scaring humans and doing unmentionables in the woods in just their super furry glory. Rather I mean those cheeky, all-singing, all-dancing, joke-telling, honey-stealing, marmalade sandwich-eating bears that inhabit our children’s books, comics, television shows and movies. Like Kylie and Madonna they are immediately recognisable by their first names - Yogi, Boo Boo, Fozzie, Pooh, Baloo, Sootie, Rupert, Paddington, Humphrey – but at least the queens of pop know how to wear underwear.

Humphrey: 'hey ladies - guess what I'm not wearing...'

Here in Australia the most beloved eschewer of undergarments is Humphrey B Bear. Despite sporting a dapper straw boater, a preposterously ornate yellow ribbon cravat and tartan waistcoat (or vest to use the local parlance) it is more common to point out what he is not wearing: pants. What's more, he's semi-dressed and loving it. Humphrey may be mute but he has the biggest bear-laugh on television; I think this is the pleasure that comes from greeting the public tackle out. I assume so, as Humphrey is in distinguished company as this gallery of happy shiny bears - wide-eyed and pant-less - will attest…

Hair Bear Bunch: 'Ooh man, that is li-bear-ating!'

Man: 'Bear... please tell me you're wearing pants...'

Woman: 'Man... please tell me you're wearing pants...'

Sootie: 'Izzy whizzy let's get busy and ... *poof* ... pants are gone'

Bungle Bonce: 'I'm not wearing any WHAT?'

Pooh: 'Not at all dear Piglet, in fact a chill breeze across the buttocks is rather refreshing....'

Wacky Races' Blubber: 'drive slower, I got nuthin holding it in'

Pudsey: do NOT move the blocks

Flippy: giving new meaning to going commando

Yogi and Boo Boo: fragrantly pant-free


Care Bears: 'We care - just not about pants'

Kermit: 'Good grief, the comedian's a bear.'

Fozzie: 'No he's-a not. He's a'wearin' a neck-a tie!'

Superted: I may be a superhero on the inside but remember me thus...

Baloo: proudly displaying his bare necessities

So why don’t our bears wear pants? Well, a better question might be why do they wear anything at all? After all, most if not all of the above choose to wear at least some items of clothing. Some theories are posited by our good friends over at TV Tropes. Noting that this is a phenomenon not just limited to bears (indeed there is a popular urban myth that Donald Duck was banned in Finland for not wearing pants over his down-enhanced bottom) they feel that limits were placed on the amount of clothing our furry friends wear because over-dressing might stop them being recognisable as the animals they are. Safe in the knowledge that people love a bit of anthropomorphism from their animals, our authors have dressed them up to make them more human, but not so much that you’d forget their true bear-ness.

As plausible as this is, I can’t help but feel that the reason for their increasingly pantless state is that bears are fighting a silent war to reclaim their ursine heritage. Denied their basic bear rights and forced to entertain generation after generation of homo sapiens through song, dance and faux camaradarie with children's televsion presenters, the bear nation has decided enough is enough. 'Yes, we will entertain your children; the adulation is addictive and the smiles on their little faces can be quite moving. Mostly though we need the money. So yes, we will wear stupid hats and comedy bow ties and yes, we may once again get ourselves into embarrasing situations over a jar of honey to pay the bills. But know this humans, you will not break us. We are noble and strong. We are ancient and proud. We are bears.'

And what better way to show your independence in co-dependence than by silently asserting your right to do what you do best? This pantlessness is no empty gesture when you remember what bears do in the woods. Think about it. How difficult it must be to remove boxer shorts in a hurry with claws? How easy to put your huge clumsy furry fingers through the delicate lace of a pair of bear-bikini bottoms? Surely you need an opposable thumb to un-wedgie a lycra thong when you just gotta go? Is it not inconceivable that bears, constrained by human-imposed 95% cotton 5% elastane bonds have slowly and secretly removed their pants so they can do what they gotta do? 'Humans - can't live with them, can't live without them - but I'll be damned if I'm gonna ask to go poop.'

Of course there are people who are on to bears. Stephen Colbert's hatred/fear of bears is more easily explained in this context. Still it would be unfair to suggest that there is a secret war between all humans and bears. Parties on both sides have made moves to cross the great divide, drawing inspiration from each other and showing that we can peacefully coexist. Consider if you will the similarities between Rupert the Bear and Starsky and Hutch's jive-talking snitch, Huggy Bear. Whilst Rupert may be the straightest, whitest bear alive both he and Huggy share a sense of dandy style and love of flamboyant checky trousers.

Huggy: one pant-lovin' bear


Rupert: gaye and free

Meanwhile there are humans all too happy to support the bear cause. There are many who have taken inspiration from the bears pursuit of freedom from clothing... and one or two other habits besides...

Bears: free and gay


Chief Scout and adventurer Bear Grylls: inspiring young boys everywhere

We have considered buying Major Paddington a new coat, a smart bright red jacket becoming of his seniority and important role as head of security in our family. We still may, but rest asured we will never forget the he is first and foremost a bear, noble and proud, and furthermore we will never, ever force him to wear pants.

***********

Post Script: clearly there are a great many bear fans out there as this remains the #1 story on Mint Custard. Please show your real love of all things ursine with a visit to www.freethebears.org.au which is dedicated to ending cruelty to bears worldwide. They need your internet hit more than me and Bear Grylls do...

Harem Scarem

Proof were it required that best place to look for the next big thing in fashion is 20 years ago; this morning I saw a woman in the street wearing MC Hammer pants. Yes, the harem pant is back, let loose on society and being worn by otherwise sensibly-dressed office workers.

Hammer: Prince of Pants

For those of you who are interested, this particular lady accessorised her gold and green nappy trousers with a rather fetching vintage purple blouse and a string of Lisa Simpson pearls and as such actually looked quite nice. However she did lose points for a casual walking style which failed to show off her flamboyant pantaloons in quite the same way that any variation on the running man dance could have done.

Now, why not celebrate the ongoing curiosity of modern existence that is fashion recycling by treating yourself to a few minutes of Tricky’s Brand New You’re Retro from 1995, featuring one of the best Jacko samples ever…

Monsieur Pantouflard's Big Night Out

Never let it be said that modern life cannot be exciting. After an otherwise uneventful Friday, and much to my surprise, I finished the day at a concert wearing my slippers.

I’ll admit that the occasion (the Lucksmiths performing their penultimate ever show before calling it a day) and the venue (the Thornbury Theatre, a thoroughly unmodern and spectacular ballroom whose bar is carpeted, with sofas and armchairs and looks like my Aunty Lil’s living room) were highly conducive to a spot of extra-domicile slipper-wearing success, but still the comfy-thrills were quite visceral.

I hadn’t intended on wearing my slippers out but having come home and put them on I was loathe to take them off again. Mrs Custard suggested no one would notice anyway and then she turned it into a dare which, like Marty in Back to the Future, I was not going to turn down.

It’s funny how when we are self conscious we can convince ourselves that everyone is staring and making mental notes to come over and kill us at some point. They usually aren’t. Once safely past the shoe-fascist door bitch (to be fair she was lovely, very helpful and appeared not to notice my indoors-outdoors soft-shoe-shuffle, but that doesn’t make for good drama does it?) I hid behind the safety of a big comfy couch and did my best to shield my slippers from view. After a while I realised that most people had more important things on their minds, like love and law and poetry, than a silly looking man seemingly in need of help getting dressed of an evening.

As it was, most people’s minds were on the Lucksmiths who were quite marvellous. That said, given the occasion this didn’t feel much like a goodbye gig. They played two great sets, but it wasn’t until near the very end (after a triumphant T-Shirt Weather) that the crowd seemed to remember that this was pretty much it. Perhaps people were overwhelmed by the venue (described adroitly by bass player Mark as ‘the inside of a wedding cake’) which whilst spectacular wasn’t very intimate. I’m sure Saturday night’s show at the Corner with Darren Hanlon was a more emotional affair.

And so, after a lovely closing rendition of Fiction (accompanied by Mr Hanlon on banjo) they were gone - another Candle snuffed out by time and tide and the fact that Austereo perpetuates the idea that it’s OK to have rubbish taste in music. Boo sucks to them, but more importantly yay to the Lucksmiths for existing in the first place and writing lots of lovely songs about girls and weather and the seasons and travel and doonas and life and for letting me enjoy your (almost) final gig in the comfort of my slippers.

Post-Script: For any slipper fanciers, chaussuristes and foot fetishists, this season I favour the Grosby Christian in chocolate. Whilst I’d prefer a more secular shoe, it offers a solid non-slip sole, a comfortable plush inner fur lining and a stylish yet soft suede-feel upper that goes well with both types of trouser: corduroy and pyjama. Rock on.

Society of the Spectacles

There is no escaping the fact that, in fashion, what comes around goes around. Yesterday’s discarded object of fashion ridicule will be tomorrow’s band new retro. Just as my folks must have been bemused by my enthusiasm for flares and brown corduroy, so it’s been bizarre watching fashion horrors from the Eighties excavated by the high street and sold to knowing (and unknowing) Gen-Y kids.

And yet, even though we’ve seen the return of ra-ra skirts, footless tights, slogan tees, neon, Rayban Wayfarers and vintage Kylie-style prom dresses, there is one sartorial frontier that I hitherto thought unbreachable; big glasses. Now before you get all fashionista on me, I’m not talking about those enormous bug-eyed sunglasses favoured by footballers’ wives and Paris Hilton. No, I’m talking about those large unattractive plastic spectacles your mum might have favoured in 1986.


You know the ones I mean. They wore them on The Golden Girls. Like Clark Kent in reverse Dustin Hoffman became Tootsie the minute the big glasses (and other accoutrements) went on. I don’t know when they became popular but a generation of mums, aunties and teachers must have looked at Estelle Getty and thought ‘I’ll have me some of that.’


Usually accompanied by a tight bubble perm, such glasses have been by used by comedians for the past twenty years to denote a certain type of woman; one who never left the eighties, in attitude or fashion. Consider the Fast Show’s Roy and Renée (‘Oh I got a really dicky tummy on the Wednesday, I said oh Roy, my tummy’s off- what did I say Roy? You said you could have shit through the eye of a needle. I did not say that Roy).



An eerily similar look is favoured by undercover social benefits investigator Beverley Hilscopto (think about it) in Peter Kay’s Phoenix Nights.



And when Shane Meadows wanted to make sure we understood that young Shaun’s mum in This is England was downtrodden and a bit mousy, he did this to the otherwise attractive Jo Hartley:



And yet, curiously, I am starting to see young women wearing these monstrosities in 2009. Young, attractive, fashion conscious and otherwise immaculately turned out women, with my Grandma’s enormous glasses perched on their nose. Why do they do it? To be different I guess. All generations wants to prove they’re different from the last, and what better way, superficially at least, than to embrace everything that the last generation held up for ridicule?

I recall the first time I pulled my Dad’s black horn-rimmed NHS glasses out of the loft and started wearing them out, even though I couldn’t see through them properly. I was inspired by a photo of Jarvis Cocker recreating this classic shot of Michael Caine by David Bailey.


My Dad and my friends all thought I was a bit odd (fair enough) which is interesting considering how common and ordinary they are these days. I’m certainly no fashion risk taker - I just wanted to look cool like Jarvis, so I can kind of understand wearing something that other people might see as horrible to stand out a bit.

Perhaps the same will happen with Tootsie specs. In five years time everyone will be wearing them too. Maybe, but those oft-mocked NHS black-frames somehow became ‘classics’ because there is something attractive about them in the first place – the sleek plastic, harsh black edges, the way they dominate a person’s face. This is as much about taste as anything else, but it’s hard to imagine those enormous vaguely-clear-brown plastic horrors in quite the same way regardless of how many beautiful young things wear them. At least not for me – not whilst I can still see Estelle Getty’s little eyes peering out from them.

Baby it's Cold Inside

The first true week of winter has descended upon Melbourne and despite having high hopes when I left Sydney I’m sad to report that homes here are as tragically under-equipped for cold weather as their NSW counterparts. It seems there is a collective disbelief that winter is actually real. Our place is draughty, slow to heat up, quick to cool down and our bathroom is like the inside of an esky.

It all brings back long-buried memories of frozen toilets, burst pipes and icy baths that I can still feel in my bones. I’m sure I’m not alone in shivering the night away and as a seasoned hand I feel honour-bound to help the goose-pimpled masses in their coldest hour. I therefore present the Mint Custard guide to DIY home heating…

Power Up: we live in a technological age and there isn’t a portable electronic device on earth that doesn’t come with an oversized charger that needs plugging in once a day. Handily those chargers get nice and warm after just a few minutes providing a convenient hand defroster. Plug in your mobile phones, i-pods, laptops, cameras and rechargeable batteries all at once for chillier nights.

Roastie = Toastie: everyone loves a roast dinner. It smells nice, it tastes nice and importantly it makes your kitchen warm and steamy. Chickens can take ages to do right, and even roast potatoes need an hour – long enough to use some of that excess heat for thawing your skinny asses. What’s more, after a few weeks eating fat-laden roast dinners you’ll have added a few inches to your lard jackets and we all know how good blubber is for keeping warm – just ask a whale.

Copy Cats: anyone who has worked in an office knows that freshly photocopied paper has it’s own unique heat source. No one knows why, it just is. The astute (and ute-owning) amongst you could do a lot worse than stealing a photocopier from work and setting it up in your front room to do a thousand copies an hour. For all your greenies worried about paper usage, just cuddle the paper until it goes cold and then feed it straight back into the machine. Recycling at its best. (Tip: when stealing machine from employer ensure you are wearing overalls and carrying a clipboard).

Girls’ Night In: for all you ladies (and any gents with lovely ladylike hair) why not invite your friends around for a hair-drying party? Get everyone to wash their hair before they arrive (you don’t want them using your hot water) and bring their own dryer. Once you get six or seven of those mamas going your living room will heat up nice and quick. Note – might make meaningful conversation somewhat tricky.



1930s Retro Chic. Anyone who has an elder relative or has read The Road to Wigan Pier will tell you that in the old days people only had one room – and they were lucky. They would cook and eat and relax and sleep there with 17 other siblings as well as parents, grandparents, cousins and the dog. Well, retro has never been so in so go all 1930s on your home and move everyone and everything into the front room. Make sure this includes tumble dryers (left on permanently), rice cookers (mmm, lovely steam) and hair straighteners…

Brain Training: all pain management is mind over matter. Launch a pre-emptive winter strike on your brain by having some hypnotherapy, which tells your body to ignore the usual telltale signs of the cold and just pretend it’s a balmy 26 degrees all year round. Tip: if your skin goes a waxy, red colour and then black, you are getting frostbite. This generally is not good.

I Will Survive: I have a great fondness for the antics of super-posh pretend SAS man and TV survival expert Bear Grylls. I have spent many a happy Saturday morning watching Bear eat elephant poo and larvae, telling us how to not get eaten by a lion and making cosy shelters out of palm leaves. He is often found in the tundra of the frozen north or on icy Patagonian hillsides telling us how not to freeze our collective knackers off should we find ourselves in a similar predicament. This essentially boils down to two things. Firstly Bear loves a bit of Empire Strikes Back-style animal gutting and has been known to sleep inside the skin of a dead deer AND a camel’s stomach. If these are available in your ‘hood then go for it. Secondly, Mr Grylls is a big fan of getting his kit off. This may be a gimmick to get more viewers but it’s truly amazing the amount of times when he is at his coldest that he will take off all his clothes and then do press-ups and star jumps in the nip. So again, providing you have good curtains this is apparently a great way to beat the cold. And hey, at least if it doesn’t work you’ll have some Harvey Krumpet-style nudie fun.

Wrappers Delight: keeping your house warm is basically a war between heaters that make the air warm and walls, and windows that let that air escape. You can make like America in this war by arming one side with weapons of mass insulation. Bubble wrap not only provides great insulation when attached to walls, ceilings, windows and floors, but it’s also fun to walk on and pop when you’re bored. You’ll probably need the average supply of a suburban post office for each rooms, but it’ll be worth it and your house will be cosy and a bit space age. Tip: no candles dudes.


Fashion: In my short time here I have learnt that Melbourne is a fashion and style conscious city. However, whilst we all want to look cool, we don’t want to feel cool so you really need to rug up. Winter fashion is all about layers darlings and the more the better when it comes to blocking out breezes and keeping your extremities warm. This will make you look like the Ghostbusters’ Stay Puft Marshmallow Man but it’s a small price to pay. Whilst we’re talking clothes, remember that age-old rule about colour. We all know wearing light coloured clothes is a great way to keep cool in summer. Ipso facto wearing dark clothes in winter must keep your warmer, right? That’s why so many people in Melbourne wear black. Honest.

Taking a leaf from comedy: if reality isn’t keeping you warm then why not try stealing a few ideas from television and film. Comedy in particular seems to have addressed this issue a few times, with a perennial favourite being to burn things: see the Young Ones (Cash), Red Dwarf (Marooned). The rule here seems to be if you are going to burn things, make sure they belong to other people. A favourite of mine is from Planes, Trains and Automobiles where reluctant travelling buddies Steve Martin and John Candy double up in a motel bed… But if you can’t burn stuff or find a 35 stone bed-buddy I advocate the Withnail and I route which amounts to smoking cigarettes, drinking lighter fluid and cheap wine and covering your body in Deep Heat muscle relaxant cream. Oh yeah, and burning things...

Stay in Bed. Not much science needed here. Bears hibernate for a reason – they can’t be arsed being cold. Bed is always ace, so get in there and don’t leave. As Wham! once poignantly noted, ‘it’s cold out there but it’s warm in bed, they can dance, we’ll stay home instead.’ And when did George Michael ever say or do anything stupid…

Let’s All Have a Disco: As Nelly is fond of saying, ‘it’s getting hot in here – so take off all your clothes’. Whilst it’s likely that he was directing his meteorological observations towards a particularly unfortunate young honey, the video to Hot in Here points the way to a friendly and social solution to your heating needs – run a nightclub in your house. Sure there’ll be a few people sitting around the edges at first looking shy (or all night if you decide to run an indie club) but supply alcohol and get the bass pumping and soon you’ll have a room full of sweaty bodies nudging the mercury up on your thermometer. Heat-a-licious. One final tip – charge an entry exorbitant entry fee, then you’ll be able to buy an enormous fuck-off heater for next year…

Old Man Take a Look at My Life...

More proof of the early onset of old age, this time manifested as footwear. I was in K-Mart looking for gardening stuff and inadvertently wandered into the slippers aisle. I haven’t had a pair of slippers since I was about 13 and my dad used to make us take our shoes off in the house under pain of death. Having spent the past twenty years rebelling – long distance – the thought that slippers might actually have a function other than to make one look like a child/pensioner had never occurred.

I tried some on for a laugh and was surprised by the warm and cosy sensation of putting my feet inside two teddy bears. Ever since I have been strutting around at home in my old man shoes – one more weapon in the fight against my first Melbourne winter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to put the kettle on for a nice cup of Horlicks and work out how to smoke a pipe.