Lesley Truffle's Blog, page 4

Do Ghosts Exist?

 

 

Do Ghosts Exist?

 

I was very much of a fan of the idea that ghosts were real because that suggested there was hope … I think there is a very good reason we haven’t put ghosts on the same pile of redundant superstitions as unicorns and elves … They are the buffer zone between us and death.

                                                                                    British playwright Danny Robins.

William Shakespeare knew a lot about ghosts and primarily used them as a plot device. The Elizabethans were highly superstitious and despite the dogma of religion they continued to believe in demons, omens, astrology and witches.

The Bard’s ghosts appear rarely but when they do they  provide melodrama, tragedy and illumination of the plot. One of Shakespeare’s most famous ghosts is Banquo in the play Macbeth. Banquo’s ghost remains silent and is only visible to Macbeth. This unnerves Macbeth who employed assassins to murder him.

Macbeth is not a play known for its levity. For after murdering King Duncan to steal his throne Macbeth is destroyed by his own vaunting ambition, guilt and paranoia. Subsequently Lady Macbeth states her husband has become ‘quite unmann’d in folly.’

So strong is the rising aura of guilt and fear that Lady Macbeth becomes unhinged by the ghostly events. Her descent into madness is revealed in her obsessive attempts to wash her hands free of blood.

British playwright Danny Robins continues the ghostly tradition with his play ‘2:22: A Ghost Story’. However, his play is a comedy about the power of ghosts.

Robin’s play is essentially about two couples socializing at a suburban dinner party. One of the hosts confesses to her guests she’s been hearing footsteps in her baby’s nursery at the same time each night. Her husband snorts with derision and contempt.

Pretty soon there’s bickering and conflict between husband and wife. But they all decide to stay up late and see if the ghosts appear.

Ghosts are enormously popular and Robin’s play was performed in the West End in London followed by a successful season in Los Angeles. It’s now about to open in Australia.

Contemporary Western tales of ghosts tend to focus on the horror and bizarre aspects of ghosts. But many other cultures link ghosts to their ancestors and venerate them. Ghosts are accepted as benign and are not feared.

Mexico’s Day of the Dead is a celebration of the dead. Families dress up in brightly coloured costumes and face paint to share a feast at the graveyard, sing songs and talk to their ancestors. Babies who were born after their grandparents had died might be introduced to the ghosts of the dead.

Ghosts aren’t going away anytime soon. For despite many centuries of skepticism, scientific theories and dedicated ghost hunting, nobody has conclusively proved ghosts do not exist. The existence of ghosts cannot be proven as true or false – for they are outside all credible knowledge.

by Lesley Truffle

image: Caspar the Friendly Ghost  1945 cartoon. Caspar is a ghost who is friendly and personable but frequently criticized by his three wicked uncles.

 

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Indiana Jones Rides Again

Indiana Jones Rides Again

 

A bad guy in a movie has a lot of latitude for acting. He can walk up the wall, crawl across the ceiling, go piss in the corner and everybody will say, “Fantastic!” But somebody’s going to have to catch that sucker. Somebody’s going to have to play the guy who gets him in the end. And that’s a better part.

Harrison Ford.

 

I’ve always loved old school film making – character driven stories with great acting, fabulous locations, astute direction and lighting and immersive story lines.  Harrison Ford is one of the last great action heroes and personally I believe Disney’s Marvel superhero juggernaut fades by comparison.

Indiana Jones disappeared about fifteen years ago but he’s now back in The Dial of Destiny. It’s 1969 and Jones has had a gutful of disinterested, cynical archaeology students who have zero interest in learning about the the past.

Fortunately his goddaughter – Helena Shaw played by Phoebe Waller-Bridge – invades his life and drags him off to Tangiers. She’s in search of the missing half of an artifact fictionally created by Archimedes the ancient Greek scientist.

Archimedes was a brilliant man – an inventor, mathematician, astronomer and engineer. He lived in Syracuse and scenes for the movie were filmed in Sicily. Using an actual location definitely adds authenticity to the movie.

Apparently Harrison Ford has a thing for Italian food and to the delight of one restaurant owner he dined there most days.

Mads Mikkelsen plays Nazi treasure hunter the sinister Jurgen Voller. And as we know, Indiana Jones just hates Nazis. Ditto anything resembling a snake – but there will be no spoilers here!

At the cinema we’d been upgraded to premium seating. This meant we adults could sit like kids in outsized luxurious lounge chairs with our feet resting on raised leg supports. It’s a marathon movie of nearly three hours and several folk had armed themselves with rations to last the distance.

The bloke sitting on my left was well equipped with mega sized popcorn, baked goods, sandwiches and three different beverages. He was in no danger of running out of food and noisily munched and slurped during the entire film. I guess we should have been grateful he left his seat to field phone calls. Heads turned and I got the distinct impression some members of the audience could cheerfully have strangled him. Indiana Jones has that effect on film buffs.

It was great to have another chance to admire the way Harrison Ford does the sly eyebrow lift accompanied by a lip curl when he’s totally disgusted with his fellow humans.

Jones self-containment and emotional restraint provided a glimpse into the repressed grief about his failed marriage. When Helena asks him what he’d do if he could turn back time Jones replies he’d prevent his son enlisting.

‘I would tell him that he would die, that his mother would be overcome with a grief so intense that his father would be unable to console her, and that it would end their marriage.’

I really enjoyed The Dial of Destiny – but I did feel it could have been edited down to about two hours or so. And at times I found Waller-Bridge’s interpretation of Helena a tad tedious. Admittedly she redeemed herself somewhat towards the end.

by Lesley Truffle

photo: Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones attire – usually a stylish fedora hat accessorized by a stock whip. Although in The Dial of Destiny he disguises himself by wearing a Nazi uniform.

 

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The Frida Kahlo Effect

 

 

The Frida Khalo Effect

 

Frida Kahlo – named Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderón  – took up painting in 1925 after a near fatal bus accident.  She was only 17 when an electric streetcar, also known as a trolley, rammed the bus she was travelling in.

Khalo was left with severe damage to her spine, pelvis, collarbone, right leg and foot and ribs. For decades she submitted to brutal surgical procedures which failed to repair her damaged spine.

The second accident she mentions was her passionate and turbulent relationship with the famous Mexican painter Diego Rivera. He was a political muralist and initially better known than Kahlo.

She  met Rivera at the age of 14 and promptly developed a crush on him. However, she didn’t become his lover until years later. Their political allegiance was primarily to Communism and they were united in their passionate love of Mexico.

They married in 1929 in Coyoacan, Mexico, divorced and then got married again. They both took other lovers and Khalo had affairs with both men and women.

Rivera distinguished himself and caused Kahlo great anguish by having an affair with her sister. Despite being a notorious womanizer Rivera was prone to jealousy and outbursts over Kahlo’s lovers.

Rivera was 21 years older than Kahlo. Whereas he was tall, robust and heavy set, Kahlo was petite, chic and elegant. Her mother alluded to them as a mismatched pair, describing them as ‘an elephant and a dove.’ Kahlo’s father, a German photographer, was more impressed with Diego than his wife.

Kahlo dressed in folk costumes and chunky Mexican jewellery. In her paintings she frequently overemphasized her monobrow and dark moustache. She was heavily influenced by Mexican folk art but developed her unique naïve style.

When Rivera became internationally acclaimed, they went to America so he could produce commissioned murals. Their residency in America bought Kahlo and her unique paintings to the attention of the international art world.

Kahlo was frequently bedridden and unable to leave the house. Her main subject became herself  – simply because other subjects were not available to her.

The Surrealists tried to claim her as their own – Andre Breton assumed the animals in her portraits were dream-like but Kahlo insisted she dealt only with reality. She was painting her domestic surroundings and her home was full of animals including monkeys and Mexican hairless dogs.

When she died at 47, she left a body of fifty paintings which were primarily self-portraits. Khalo constantly portrayed herself as she sought to define herself and her identity. She chose to paint her ongoing struggles to master her physical pain and make sense of her passionate but difficult relationship with Rivera.

The Gelman Collection of Frida Khalo’s paintings have arrived for exhibition in Adelaide. The exhibition is titled –  Frida and Diego: Love and Revolution.

The Gelman Collection is so popular it tours the world continually – but it will be ‘rested’ after its visit to South Australia.

In a recent interview, the curator of international art at the Art Gallery of SA spoke about the allure of Khalo’s work. Tansy Curtin believes Kahlo fascinates because she’s in direct communication with the viewer.

‘By laying herself bare, we the audience are essentially laying ourselves bare. We see ourselves in a way that we perhaps don’t show to people around us…’

by Lesley Truffle

image:  Self Portrait, Dedicated to Dr Eloesser  by Frida Kahlo 1940.

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Caught in the Act

 

Caught in the Act

The great thing about Courtney Act is that she’s not a “dumb blonde”, even if she chooses to act like it sometimes. Beneath Courtney’s wig, Jenek’s brain is working, taking an almost scholarly approach to issues of gender, sexuality, and society that would make him the talk of Britain and eventually the winner of Celebrity Big Brother UK .

Chad Armstrong  Sept 17 2022 – thequeerreview.com

 

Born in Brisbane in 1982, Shane Jenek (aka Courtney Act) published a memoir titled Caught in the Act in 2021. It’s a walk on the wild side of Sydney and Los Angeles with many other cities along the way.

Shane Jenek writes about being a child performer learning to act at an Australian stage school and later transforming into the famous drag queen Courtney Act. He writes, My pronouns, in case you are wondering, are ‘he’ when dressed as a boy and ‘she’ when dressed as a girl – and ‘they’ works however I am dressed!

Courtney became well known on mainstream television series such as Australian Idol, Ru Paul’s Drag Race, Celebrity Big Brother and Dancing with the Stars. Blessed with comedic talent and dancing and singing skills the rise to fame seems easy. It wasn’t.

The author was raised by caring, compassionate parents and he’s very close to both of them. But despite having their unconditional love and full support, he experienced severe depression in his teens.

After leaving his home in Brisbane, Jenek moved to Sydney’s notorious King’s Cross. He writes about experimenting with various illicit substances while living in a small bedsit and trying to make a living. But by sheer strength of will he managed to extricate himself from an escalating drug habit.

The author is now in his early forties and in the writing of his memoir he describes what it was like to grow up conflicted about identity, gender and sexuality. The memoir is told with wit, warmth and flair. Regular asides – titled Courtney Facts – provide biological and psychological facts, anecdotes and social observations.

I got the impression the author is immensely personable. Jenek’s natural wit, warmth and intelligence helped forge the necessary connections to succeed in the difficult world of show business. Early in the piece Jenek formed close friendships within the gay community and was advised and guided by veteran drag queens.

Not all the Courtney Facts are about biology, gender, terminology and destiny. Several snippets are about how drag queens do their face makeup, waxing of body parts, fascinating facts about human hair wigs and the taping of penises prior to a drag performance.

Courtney effortlessly slides from educational facts to reality TV gossip. There are many explicit sexual details but the sex scenes are not gratuitous – they’re simply part of Courtney’s and Shane’s evolution.

Beauty tips and the secrets of her success are explained in Courtney’s Facts with Courtney’s customary flair and wit:

Eyebrows were hierarchical in the Sydney scene: a well maintained and smooth wax job was a badge of honour and skill … it took me ten years and a move to LA to learn that the same effect could be achieved with none of the downsides by using Elmer’s Glue Stick for $0.59 from Target.

One of the stories that made me smile was Shane’s coming out as gay to his parents. He was distressed and terribly anxious about how to break the news and dreaded their reaction. Subsequently he was stunned that after the big revelation his mother texted back with – That’s nice dear.

To Shane’s surprise not only had his parents never suspected he was gay but they’d also known drag queens professionally and socially. His mother, who worked as a beauty technician, had waxed the legs of Les Girls drag queens and enjoyed their company. And his father informed him he’d been to a Sleaze Ball in the 1970’s in full drag. He’d even shaved off his bushy signature moustache. Just for the hell of it.

Caught in the Act is an easy read because the serious stuff is mixed in with showbiz chittychats and true stories of LA showbiz excesses. In the telling of his tale Shane Jenek is not afraid to reveal his mistakes or weaknesses. And he does so in a candid manner laced with humour.

by Lesley Truffle

image: book cover Caught in the Act by Shane Jenek (aka Courtney Act). Pantera Press 2022:  cover photo by Mitch Fong, cover designed by Alissa Dinallo.

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The Cake and I

 

The Cake and I

 

Once upon a time – before the outsourcing of dogs and children’s parties – mothers and caregivers made birthday cakes themselves. But sometimes a shop bought ice-cream cake was required.

Usually for girls this involved a legless doll about the size of a Barbie doll, embedded in a sturdy ice-cream gown. It would be heavily decorated with ribbons and piped ice-cream frills (similar to the photo above).

When it was unpacked at a birthday parties we kids were agog with delight. The ice-cream cake was packed in its own ritzy box, ensconced in a bed of dry ice. So when the box was opened the cake appeared magically on a cloud of heavenly mist.

The ice-cream cake was greeted with silent awe. Then it would be stabbed cautiously with a sharp blade so the birthday boy or girl could make a secret wish.

The Australian Women’s Weekly is celebrating its 90th year and on display in a regional gallery is their 1980 children’s birthday cake cookbook. So popular were homemade birthday cakes that this particular cookbook sold 80 million copies worldwide.

My mother was not a devotee of children’s birthdays or birthday cakes. The only cake Sarah enjoyed baking was Winston Churchill’s 80th birthday cake.

She followed the recipe down to the last raisin. Then over a period of days would saturate the huge fruit cake with lashings of  first rate Cognac. After which Churchill’s cake would relax in a dark antique sideboard in the dining room until it made its debut. Usually for an adult’s birthday or the Christmas season.

Sarah had learnt to cheat when it came to making cakes. She would purchase two plain round sponge cakes from the supermarket. Then she’d fill them with hand whipped cream and ice them with either coffee icing for adults or strawberry or chocolate icing for children.

Having added candles and some creative touches, she’d ensure the sponge’s wrappings were out of sight – buried deeply in the kitchen rubbish bin. Because she was such a damned good cook our guests assumed she’d been slaving over a hot oven.

Children’s birthday parties in our town were not sophisticated. They usually involved decorated Victoria sponges or rainbow cake, Fairy Bread, sausage rolls, petite frankfurters with tomato sauce, cupcakes and jelly with ice-cream. Sometimes there would be Chocolate Crackles – rice bubbles smothered in an excess of chocolate and set in paper cupcake liners.

Fairy Bread was thinly sliced buttered white bread enhanced with the addition of hundreds and thousands. These were minute multi-coloured cake decorating sweeties.

When my English mother wanted to belittle something she’d declare it to be suburban. So if she put down another woman’s baking as suburban I intuitively knew it just had to be absolutely delicious. And I had to get my hands on it.

At one stage she had a lot to say about frozen peas which had been made violently green with bicarbonate of soda. I couldn’t wait to be invited somewhere where they served such exciting vegetables.

My friends mothers were adept at Hedgehog Cake – delicious chocolate squares embedded with crunchy biscuits, White Snow – confectionery involving of puffed rice and shredded coconut and cupcakes – with slashed tops filled with cream and all manner of sweet nothings. Unbelievably good. As were Chocolate Christmas Logs – a sensational pairing of sherry soaked chocolate biscuits smothered in whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles and shaped into a Christmas Yule log. Creative homemakers added a few little snippets of pine or a flamboyant loop of glittering tinsel.

I’d had to the back teeth with Pork Vindaloo, Beef Wellington, Coq au Vin and Bœuf bourguignon. My idea of fine dining was fish and chips from the local chippery. Eaten straight from the paper wrapping at the kitchen table with an excess of tomato sauce and everyone being funny and cheerful.

Fortunately I was frequently invited to my best friend’s house for dinner. Fish and chips on Friday night was a tradition in the Brown household.  Subsequently I went through a brief stage of wondering how the hell I could get adopted by the Brown family.

by Lesley Truffle

photo: Dolly Varden cake from the 1980 Australian Women’s Weekly cookbook.

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The Perils of Pickup Trucks

 

The Perils of Pickup Trucks

 

Somewhere tucked away in my family tree is a property developer. I’ll call him Geoff. He appeared for a few months and then disappeared. However for many years he continued to visit my mother, bearing huge boxes of chocolates and seasonal fresh flowers.

Geoff invited me to lunch at a restaurant. I hadn’t had much to do with him so I was somewhat surprised. It turned out he wanted to explain why he didn’t want to get embedded in my family tree.

I was bemused but sympathetic to his cause as I’d always secretly wished the stork had dropped me down the chimney of a less troublesome family. I felt it was a terrible mistake that I hadn’t ended up with the cheerful family of seven up the road.

Geoff picked me up in his new racy Mercedes Benz. It was a recent model and rather on the hefty size. The interior involved lashings of premium leather and sheepskin covers. It suited him, he was a robust bloke who liked big things. Geoff had a penchant for chunky gold man jewellery, expensive gold Swiss watches and tailored silk shirts.

He suggested I might like to drive his golden chariot to the restaurant. Geoff never travelled anywhere without several bottles of premium champagne clinking in his car boot. I could never work out why – given we lived in a booze soaked city where adult beverages were readily available day and night.

On the way Geoff told me about the accoutrements of his chariot. It was a glamorous piece of machinery and the German engineering ensured a smooth ride. With the air conditioning purring and lay-back music oozing from first-rate speakers, I had to keep watching the speedometer. Mainly because it felt like we were barely moving.

At we whispered along the city streets, I mentioned a motor journalist who’d stated, ‘Only ever buy as much car as your ego requires.’

Geoff smoothly replied that he needed a hell of a lot of car to appease his big ego.

Fast forward to 2023. Geoff has passed on. But I suspect if he hadn’t, he’d definitely be in the market for something about the size of the biggest Toyota HiLuxe. A newspaper journalist noted that they’re about the same size as the Sherman tanks used in World War Two.

Apparently Australia’s city streets are groaning under the weight of Ford F-150s and huge Dodge Rams which weigh around three tonnes. Pickup trucks of this size are hard to park in standard car spaces. They’re no longer mostly owned by hard working tradies but have become the vehicle of choice for cashed up city drivers.

Where I live these vehicles protrude so much when they’re parked that you have to veer around them. There are also visibility safety issues involving small children. They’re hazardous on streets designed for smaller cars and dangerous to cyclists peddling in designated bike lanes and pedestrians. Apparently very few pickup truck drivers ever go off-road.

So – why are such massive vehicles becoming all the rage in the city? And who really needs a truckzilla to do the school run, pick up groceries or negotiate peak hour traffic?

No doubt the late Sigmund Freud could have come up with an answer. After all he was known as the father of psychoanalysis and had a deep interest in our divided selves.

Freud believed we all have an Id (primitive wants and desires – your wild child), Ego (reality, tries to juggle logic and reason – your grown-up self) and Superego (morality, philosophical and morals – your quest for perfection).

Who knows, maybe it all comes down to the wicked old Id sparring with our Ego and Superego?

 

by Lesley Truffle

photo: by Les Truffle. Restored 1950’s Cadillac with fabulous ’48 fins.

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Autumn in the City

 

Autumn in the City

 

It’s been a particularly lovely Melbourne autumn this year but now the days are getting shorter as we head into winter. Taking the city bound tram and heading off very early to work on golden autumn mornings has been quite enjoyable for the first half of the trip.

But recently on my tram line, the older trams – which are less than half the size of the newer trams – have been in service first thing in the mornings. This means that by the time we hit St Kilda Road things are getting more than a tad cosy.

There are so many passengers crammed onto the tram that it’s impossible not to stand on toes or inadvertently whack another commuter with bags, elbows or furled umbrellas. Fortunately, most city workers are adept at keeping themselves nice in tight situations.

There is however the odd unfortunate situation – such as the tall businessman who was strap hanging when he accidentally sneezed on my hair. It was very quiet on the tram and several passengers immediately disengaged from their mobile devices. I suspected that they were gleefully anticipating a little argy-bargy.

The businessman was mortified and he apologised fervently. Even though I kept assuring him that I knew it was accidental, it made no  difference because several passengers were glaring at him. One woman was making furious tut-tutting noises.

There is a code of ethics on public transport that is enforced by the dirty look. Even more effective are the commuters who can pull off a withering look. This is usually reserved for passengers who hog more than one seat, or those who use their mobiles on speaker phone – while having a domestic argument with their partner.

It was obvious when the businessman kept glancing at the door, that he was trying to decide if he should just get the hell off the tram at the next stop and leave his embarrassment behind. He stuck it out till Flinders Street and then bolted with his head down.

I couldn’t wait to get off the tram and get caffeinated at my favourite city café. The owner is a jovial bloke and within a couple of minutes I was situated under a tree at a café table. I watched the golden leaves detach themselves and drift down.

Some landed on my head which made me smile. All was well in the world.

by Lesley Truffle

 

 

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Hold Your Fire

 

 

 

Hold Your Fire

 

Seek the company of people who, when left alone in a room with a tea cosy, will always try it on.

Billy Connolly  – actor, comedian & writer.

 

We live in an era where it is astonishingly easy for pretty much anyone to be ‘cancelled’. Meantime many creative works being are being ‘corrected’ or ‘amended’ for not being compliant with what is considered acceptable.

In the last few months wordsmiths have been under fire including children’s writer Roald Dahl. It’s not his first time either. Descriptor words have been changed to remove any possible offence.

Roald Dahl originally described the Oompa Loompas from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as ‘small men’ but now they’ve been renamed ‘small people’.

Extra bits are also inserted to modify or change what Dhal wrote. In The Witches Dahl described the witches as being bald underneath their wigs. But now there’s an additional new sentence – ‘There are plenty of other reasons why women might wear wigs and there is certainly nothing wrong with that.’

Enid Blyton’s children’s books stand corrected regularly. And several exceptionally popular Australian children’s books have been cited as worthy of being banned. I’m hoping Eloise – from Kaye Thompson’s book series Eloise – doesn’t come under scrutiny.

Eloise is a six year old child who rather enjoys peaches in champagne. In Hilary Knight’s splendid drawing of her chaotic bedroom at New York’s Plaza hotel he’s depicted a large bottle of gin sitting on her bookshelf – next to a hack saw.

Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels are being ‘updated’ once again. Sensitivity Consultants have been called in to sort the matter. What is defined as unacceptable is mooted as a universal truth – but how the judgements are made is an unknown.

American writer, the late Philip Roth, is regularly hauled over the coals for being vulgar, crude and misogynistic. Worth noting: Roth’s 2004 novel, The Plot Against America, finally negated the ongoing accusations that Roth was a Jewish anti-Semite. His novel focused on the deep terrors of anti-Semitism in America. And in 2011 President Obama presented Roth with a National Humanities Medal.

Meantime, Rap music lyrics seem to have passed on by largely unnoticed. And HBO’s fantasy epic Game of Thrones appears to have gotten away with all manner of rape, pillage and obscene violence.

Recently the Hollywood movie Babylon slid past uncorrected by sensitivity consultants. As New York critic Leah Greenblatt slyly described the movie, …  It’s still three turgid, clattering hours of nudity, depravity, and mislaid alligators, but also, you know, art.

Yet again the late, great Pablo Picasso is in bad odour for his alleged misogynistic attitude to women. His huge abstract mural Guernica – depicting the horrors of the Spanish Civil War – is widely known as a powerful statement about the moral decrepitude and obscenity of war. I find it bizarre that Guernica and Picasso’s many works might be destined for oblivion.

I’ve been reading Billy Connolly’s marvellous 2021 autobiography, Windswept and Interesting. Connolly prides himself on saying exactly what he wants to say. He doesn’t mention ever having been cancelled.

Connelly is unapologetic about what he talked about during his unscripted stage shows. His comedy has always been about characters and life rather than the telling of scripted jokes. Connelly’s advice in the prologue to his autobiography is – ‘You have to genuinely not give a fuck for what any other living human being thinks of you.’

by Lesley Truffle

photo: Billy Connolly riding his purple motorbike in Australia’s desert region the mid nineties.

 

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Easter in a Bottle

 

 

Easter in a Bottle

 

Using the simplest of recipes, we have taken Nutmeg, Cinnamon, and locally produced dried Flame Seedless grapes and steeped them in our Original Gin Elixir to create Easter in a bottle. With citrus notes being the strong but subtle foundations of this Gin, they have lifted the spices to a truly recognisable and genuine flavour that will leave you smiling and wanting oh so much more!

                                       Tasting notes from an Australian gin distillery.

 

Halloween, Christmas and Easter have been slyly involved in a merger by commercial cartels. No  wonder small children are confused as to the connection between the three festivities.

Hot cross buns used to be an Easter treat but their charisma is diminishing. Whereas they used to appear modestly in late March they’re now shamelessly flaunting themselves in town in December. Rumour has it they’ve even been glimpsed much earlier even in chic boutique bakeries.

One supermarket conglomerate brags about the volume of Easter buns consumed each year – it used to be a yearly load of a mere 2.5 million buns of all varieties but many more are expected to be devoured in 2023.

The only festival that has kept its dignity is New Year’s Eve. Depending of course how one chooses to spend the evening. Reputations lost at the office Christmas party are rarely redeemed by the guilty parties on New Years Eve.

I used to work in ‘hospitality’ as a cocktail girl. And many of my comrades dreaded the horrors lying in wait for us during the countdown to midnight and its messy aftermath.

But who knows? Soon New Year might be persuaded to show up earlier and merge with Christmas. Frankly, I’ve always been keen on celebrating two New Years.

I’m devoted to the Lunar New Year which is celebrated by numerous cultures in various ways at diverse dates. It’s based on the first new moon of a lunar calendar whose months are moon cycles. So even if my New Year’s Eve – on the last day of December – is a debacle I can have another go at it late January – early February.

Getting back to Hot Cross Buns. Not only are they becoming available all year round but the traditional bun is under threat. Familiarity has bred contempt.

Chocolate hot cross buns are still popular but somewhat passe. To be truly chic it is important to go all out with hybrid hot cross buns. Easter buns are no longer simply a sweet, spicy yeast bun chock full of raisons and mixed fruit peel decorated with a white cross.

Hell no. On offer are bacon buns where the crosses are made with thin rashes of bacon draped across the bun in a wanton fashion. Then there’s the burger sauce bun and an Australian culinary delight where the bun is flavoured with Vegemite and molten cheese.

For those who like to walk on the culinary edge there’s hybrids involving ingredients such as kimchi, corned beef or smoked oysters.

And for those who are devoted to a liquid Easter breakfast you can bypass the bun altogether and drink gin laced with traditional Hot Cross Bun flavours. About four years ago Gin distilleries began making small batches of gin infused with spices such as Anise Myrtle, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger.

You can drink it with a mixer or slosh a generous amount over ice. Cocktail recipes are also offered should you want to firm up the gin and hot cross bun flavours with more spiritous liquors.

I’ve been admiring the boutique gin distilleries advertisements with photographs of the hot cross bun gin bottle peeking cheekily out from a pile of traditional buttered buns.

No doubt sophisticates who aspire to being avant-garde will pair their infused gin with the latest in flat Easter eggs. Apparently the chocolate egg is flattened and makes it so much easier to transport and package.

It makes me nostalgic for childhood Easters where big, hollow chocolate Easter eggs were wrapped in exquisite coloured foils and topped with decorative fluffy chickens on spindly red plastic legs.

by Lesley Truffle

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Our Lady of Paris

 

 

Our Lady of Paris

On the face of this ancient queen of our cathedrals, beside each wrinkle one invariably finds a scar. ‘Tempus edax, homo edacior,’ which I would be inclined to translate: ‘Time is blind, but man is senseless.’

                                               Victor Hugo 1831 ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’

Notre Dame Cathedral is widely perceived to be the heart and soul of Paris. The first time I visited Notre-Dame on the Île de la Cité, it was wasn’t just the cathedral’s sublime beauty that captivated me. It was the fabulous French Gothic architecture, accentuated by the most extraordinary gargoyles, mythical chimeras and artworks.

During the devastating fire at Notre Dame in 2019, the distressed French President Emmanuel Macron stated, ‘Like all our compatriots, I am sad this evening to see this part of us burning.’

Later as the smoke receded and distraught Parisians attempted to deal with loss of their cultural symbol Macron firmly stated, ‘We will rebuild this cathedral.’

After numerous setbacks and pandemic complications, the cathedral is being painstakingly restored to its former magnificence. The reopening date is currently set for December 2024.

The restoration has been an incredibly expensive business. Unfortunately many donors reneged on their pledges to assist in the cost of the restoration. So to help raise money an international fundraising group offered ‘adoption’ of a Notre-Dame art piece. Alternately you could donate to the restoration of the cathedral itself.

I ‘adopted’ a gargoyle in memory of a British woman, a lover of all things French. She was devoted to Notre Dame Cathedral and its louche, wicked gargoyles. During her honeymoon in Paris, she sought out sculpted reproductions of Notre Dame’s gargoyles.

Gargoyles can appear frightening because they’re monsters, wild beasts and fantastical creatures. The myth is that gargoyles keep evil forces and demons away from a church and protect its sanctity.

Many fire damaged sections of the cathedral were made of wood. Over one thousand trees from all over France have been selected for the reconstruction. The spire’s base which is made of oak measures 15 metres on one side. It will support the new lead-covered spire which is over 90 metres tall.

French general, Jean-Louis Georgelin – who’s been overseeing repair work to Notre Dame since 2013 – has also been overseeing the current restoration project. It’s been a divisive, messy business with church representatives, architects, citizens, journalists and politicians all feverishly arguing about what the rebuild should look like.

Known as Our Lady of Paris, the cathedral has been a source of inspiration, controversy and mystery ever since the first stone was laid in 1163. It was also one of the first buildings to feature magnificent flying buttresses. The initial construction  was completed in 1345 but the famous Notre Dame gargoyles were not installed until 1831.

My English mother purchased several gargoyle reproductions in Paris and they sailed with us from London to Australia on a P&O ship. Gargoyles became a big part of my childhood. They loomed at me from our bookshelves. It was their bulging eyes that killed me. Especially when the open fire was crackling, incense burning and the room dimly lit. My mother was very keen on red and orange light shades, which effectively meant only the kitchen sink was brightly lit.

As a child I thought one of the most exciting places you could possibly visit was Hell. I also suspected the gargoyles knew my deepest secret fears. Sadly in my mother’s absence the gargoyles and other valuables were later removed from her home. Who knows, perhaps the gargoyles will exert their strange mystique over those who took them?

The largest gargoyle – gnawing on what appeared to be a human shin bone – dangled a mellow light over the open fireplace. Our landline telephone was situated just below him. In high school I liked to imagine he was listening in as he thoughtfully chewed on his bone. He had a very cynical expression, especially when the local lads rang up seeking dates.

Seeing footage of Notre Dame’s restoration in progress is quite cheering. For as Bogart murmured in the film Casablanca. ‘We shall always have Paris’.

And it seems we shall soon have Our Lady of Paris.

by Lesley Truffle

Image above: detail from Victor Hugo’s, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, illustration by Luc-Olivier Merson 1881. The laconic gargoyles appear to be observing the male figure desperately clinging to the building.

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