fourth floor feminism | sociable speculation

32 Days until I experience L-Space when reading Terry Pratchett, and not because I can't find a book in the Reid Library. Today I was read a historical monograph of the benandanti of the Fruili region of Italy in the 16th Century. The epically named The Night Battles is a fabulous read, mostly for the extraordinary images of the male witches of the region fighting with fennel and sorghum stalks to determine the fertility of the land and the nefarious Inquisition transforming their agrarian Holy Legions to Demonic Legions by sheer bloody-mindedness. Aquileia Basilica Fruili is the only region of Italy I have actually visited, and the towns of Trieste, Montefalcone and Aquileia mentioned in the text are the towns I know from my few days there with Kim . While reading The Night Battles I could picture the region as I remember it, although my visit in 2003 is separated by oceans of time and context from my reading today. Today I am looking forward to the end of my year of s

In honour of the release of The Bourne Ultimatum I had decided to make my 'kill-some-brain-cells-to-unwind-before-I-go-to-bed' reading the first of Robert Ludlum's oeuvre I had ever read. Plunging back into the fantastic Corsican landscape with Scofield took me right back to the start of my love of assassins. It was USSR (uninterrupted sustained silent reading) in Yr 7 and as my classmates commenced their Judy Blume and Paul Jennings novellas I pulled out The Materese Circle. Frankly disbelieving, my teacher pulled the schools’ Head Girl up the front to ask in a shocked whisper if my parents knew I was reading the book. I blithely assured him that I was a precocious reader and this was shaping up to be as good a Frederick Forsyth. I was released to read more about the nefarious aims of the USSR (Union of Soviet Socialist Republics) in the conspiratorial and overblown style of Mr Ludlum and in the next book I went on to meet my favourite of Robert’s assassins, Jason Bourne

In winter last year I was alone in my apartment listening to a storm break around my balcony and reading Beowulf on the couch in a blanket. Falling asleep I dreamt of viking verses and when awake composed my own, incomparably inferior, for my own amusement. Again today the wind is sweeping in from the coast and today, unseasonally warm for spring, has again woken the undistinguished yet unbowed poet within me. We perch before the wind on this scarp of brittle land It bows our trees and scours our beaches and drives the fires on It takes the sun and threads our skin with heat in every strand We perch beneath the blue sky on this slice of salted earth It draws our eyes and drinks our water and meets the sea at last It takes the wind and hurls it down upon the green and burnt We perch, we plunder, we partition, we preserve We persecute, we plow, we plead We pray, we take our pleasure and we play with vultures perched.

It may have been a small turn for mankind, but it was a big turn for me. I cooked my first BBQ meats without male supervision tonight. To perfection. Which is a good thing because it was Father's Day and Dad had especially requested lamp chops and sausages, so I had to make sure it was done well. :) And by golly was it done well! And not well done either, but medium rare, just the way we like it. I even ensured I maintained the 'Aussie Male BBQing Stance' for the duration of the cooking to guarantee optimum BBQing feng shui. Or something. All Aussie men take 'The Stance' when BBQing, although they almost always have a beer in the hand that rests near the hip while the other hand uses the tongs to turn the meat. My variation was a lady-like hand on a pastel-clad hip while I turned the roasting meats. Still, it worked well.

Today Sophie hosted a beautiful High Tea at her house for her 23rd Birthday, with the special guest appearance of a birthday cake made from The Woman's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Book. Sophie's mother (hereafter referred to as the Legendary Mrs Hall) had provided the following to make her daughter's guests feel as if they were safe amongst the hedgerows and moors of Somerset or Devon: The Legendary Mrs Hall's Menu: Cucumber sandwiches, ham sandwiches and cheese pastries. Chocolate slice and scones, jam and cream. A cake from The Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Book and matching cupcakes. Iced tea, champagne, juice, tea and coffee. The party was exclusive and gracious, the Legendary Mrs Hall and Mr Hall fabulous hosts and the food was top-notch nosh. The cheese pastries were tasty, the cucumber sandwiches tart, the chocolate slice rich, the scones bite sized and the marshmallow icing on the dense sponge cake and cupcakes heavenly. Am