Have you ever had a 'Mr Bean' day Part 2?

Still on the same tram (see previous posting) I suddenly espied the National Gallery of Victoria and on impulse, wishing my new-found friend a speedy goodbye, I decided to alight there and then, as there was an exhibition on which I wanted to see - and heh - it would be nice and cool in there!

By this time I was feeling decidedly peckish, but after viewing the rather tired-looking paninis and recycled quiches in the cafe on the ground floor of the gallery, I headed for the other cafe/bistro 'with garden view', which, too late I realised, was the rather swish, expensive restaurant option. However, no-one seemed to turn a blind eye at my attire (see previous posting) although my eyes practically did a somersault when I saw the prices.

I chose the watercress soup with gnocci and something or other - at $16 I thought it would be filling. After bringing me some rather nice bread and a perfect pat of unsalted butter, the waiter placed a huge, white, china soup plate, which was more surround than bowl, on the table in front of me. Two miniscule gnocci, each barely the size of my little fingernail, rested on the bottom of the bowl, accompanied by a sprig of watercress and two wafer-thin rolls of that something or other. He then poured the 'watercress puree', which was the colour of the green, green grass of home, from a tiny glass carafe onto the gnocci, as if it were some sacred elixir: the gnocci and their companions dutifully floated to the top of the liquid. I have to say the 'soup' was absolutely delicious although the whole ritual reminded me of the painting Circe Invidiosa by John Waterhouse, particularly when I compared the colour of my soup with the colour of the water in the gallery's garden pond. To my horror, I also discovered that my white top now sported a nice, green grass stain.

You'd think I'd have had the sense to pay up and shut up by now, wouldn't you? But no, my stomach was not satisfied, so instead of just ordering a skinny cap I acquiesced to the waiter's order, well rhetorical question really, to look at the dessert menu. Mango and grapefruit canelloni with yoghurt, lime sorbet and meringues tempted me - now that would surely quell my gastric juices and not be too calorific.

My waiter (yes, he was MY personal waiter by now) placed another huge, white, china, but this time dessert plate, with more surround than dish, in front of me, which acted as a canvas for an absolute work of art, so much so that I had to resist the temptation to take a photo with my I-phone. There were three little (and I mean tiny) morsels of golden-orange mango jelly canneloni, filled with yummy, milky-white yoghurt, and a dollop of sorbet with just a tinge of limewash colour, but whose sweet/sour flavour was like freshly-picked limes caressing my tingling tastebuds. However, where were the meringues and what were those slivers of pink that matched the flamingo pink stripes in my hair (courtesy of my hairdresser) and what were those crumbs of fragrant purple? With each scoop my spoon made all the colours on the plate swirled together until it resembled an artist's palette. (I might add the green smudge on my white top had now been joined by slightly less than artistic streaks of orange, pink and purple.) It finally dawned on me that the slivers of pink on my plate were the grapefruit, the crumbs of fragrant purple were crushed, crystallised violets, and what I thought were droppings of icing sugar were the meringues!

I asked for the bill - yes of course they took AMEX - didn't have the nerve to ask for a senior's discount - no I was not a member of the gallery as I was from Sydney (I thought too that might explain everything to this mild-mannered Melbournian) - and no I had let my NSW Art Gallery membership lapse - 'Tut!Tut!' - otherwise I could have had a reciprocal member's discount.

I think I redeemed myself though by passing my compliments to the chef on the food, especially that dessert.

Have you ever had a 'Mr Bean' day Part 1?

I was in Melbourne a couple of days ago, where, for that city, it was unfashionably very hot and humid. I offered to take my friends' dog for a walk in the morning to save them from having to get up so early before work - an offer which they and the dog leapt at. Somehow I managed to lose my way in the park and after walking round it twice a very tired pooch and myself finally made it home to flop on our respective 'beds'. To cool off, I decided to take myself off to the recently refurbished St Kilda Baths, so I didn't bother to change out of my rather sweaty walking/gym gear, and trundled off to the city on a tram.

I had only just boarded the tram when it braked rather suddenly and I went flying, only to tumble straight into the arms of a complete stranger, dressed in complete contrast to me in a rather nice suit and crisp white shirt. He seemed rather proud of his gallant act to break my fall and after enquiring if I was okay, held out his hand in a greeting: 'What a great way to meet people! I'm Michael.'

Always on the alert for writing material and being influenced by Lori Gottlieb's controversial book Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good EnoughI I thought about writing a book entitled: 101 Ways to Meet Someone. So Tip No. 55 - when travelling on public transport, choose someone you like the look of, stage a fall and stumble into their lap.

No need to add, I'm sure, that this book would be for the gander as well as the goose.

Are you in the mood?

Look at the two images accompanying this posting? They were both taken in Cambridge in the recent big freeze at slightly different times on the same day. However, what sort of different atmosphere or mood does each evoke? For me one is warm and golden, while the other definitely has a touch of the Jackson Pollock's! (This is an Australian slang reference to the painting Blue Poles by the artist Jackson Pollock, purchased by the Australian National Gallery at great expense and causing much controversy a few years ago. I think you can see the connection.)

What does each image say to you?

So if, as Martin Gray in The Dictionary of Literary Terms, says: “Mood is a term used synonymously with atmosphere to indicate in a literary work the prevailing feeling or frame of mind, especially at the start of a play, poem, or novel, creating a sense of expectation about what is to follow.”, as writers, how do we achieve the same mood in prose as these images convey?

Is truth stranger than fiction?

I have just been to the opening of a Japanese photography exhibition. What intrigued me as much as the exhibits was one of the invitees, who reminded me of one of the characters in the novel I am writing. In my novel the female protagonist has a rather colourful drill instructor at 'spy camp', who has tattoos all over his body and who is bequeathing his skin to an art gallery when he dies.

I am not sure whether the person who attended the exhibition has tattoos all over his body, but I suspect he does as they were all over his face, interspersed with studs and piercings, his neck and his hands, which were adorned with rather expensive looking rings. He was probably about 50, and really was a very unusual person. I decided to turn him into a character study and took particular note of how he was dressed: fairly normal dark trousers, shirt and jacket with a purple tie, Doc Martins, dark curly hair held in place with a black bandana, a long pony tail of dreadlocks trailing down his back, and a pair of reflective sunglasses. He made frequent trips to the bar and wolfed down the sushi like it was his last meal. I wish I'd had the nerve to go up and talk to him...

However, what else evolved from the evening was that I learnt there is to be a Tattoo & Body Art Expo in Sydney during March, so I thought I might go along - no not to have a tattoo - I mean I'd love to - but I'm a coward and have a low pain threshhold - henna ones are as far as I will go - but to find some more larger than life characters.

Whose point of view?

Yes, as you'll see from this post's accompanying images, it's a flower arranging day. Despite our tutor's modelling, as usual I started off today's arrangement with no particular design in mind (shame on me, I know!), but it usually works for me, as flowers, like us girls' hair, tend to have a mind of their own when it comes to which way they want to go. Want something curly, that lovely leaf you carefully so picked for its curves, will stand up straight; want a flower to turn its head right, it'll twist around to the left, and so on.

Moving on to the point I'm really trying to make, when I'd finished my composition, on a whim I turned the vase to face diagonally instead of square-on and thought: 'Wow! That works too!'. When I got home I took the usual photos of my creative attempts turning the vase this way and that.

So, as with writing, not only can a piece vary depending from whose viewpoint we are writing, but it can also be interpreted differently depending on what angle the reader takes on the work. I was also strongly reminded today of our Advanced Practice tutor's first lecture, when he referred us to different paintings, which all told a different narrative, and which changed or anamorphed and exposed other details depending from what position you viewed the paintings. Holbein's The Ambassadors is a prime example of this. If you're not familiar with this painting, see if you can find the skull depicted in it.

Tread gingerly

Today's posting was going to be a hotch potch of scattered ideas, inspired, no doubt, because today was the first day of term for my flower arranging course this year, which always seems to get my creative juices flowing, and which made me get out my camera for the inevitable photo. As this coming Sunday is Valentine's Day today's arrangement figured roses - not red ones - but the most heavenly-scented pink ones. The yellow spiky-looking bloom on the left, whose flowers are still to come out, is Australian ginger. It too has the most exquisite, heady perfume, closest to it is probably jasmine. So why hasn't someone created a ginger fragrance? I'm sure it would be a winner with both genders - I find its aroma intoxicating and addictive - I couldn't stop sniffing one that was in full bloom in class, much to the amusement of my tutor, and can't wait till mine blossoms.

This elusive scent reminded me of the novel Perfume: Story of a Murderer by Patrick Susskind, so I have chosen to just refer to that work in this posting and will leave the other ideas for future postings. (Keep reading over the next few days!) If you have read this macabre murder novel you will know what an excellent job Susskind did in making the reader experience the different scents he wrote about, to the point where I could certainly smell them. I never saw the film version of the novel, but I do question why someone doesn't come up with the idea of a multisensory film or theatre piece, where the cinema or theatre exposes the audience to different sensations, such as cold, heat, smell... Hmm, maybe those ginger flowers had hallucinogenic properties, like Angels Trumpets...

But we speak the same language, don't we?

Two separate events occurred over the weekend, which led me to think about communication between the English-speaking countries of the world.

The first was when a peer, who was critiquing the extract from my novel, which I am planning to submit for the Advanced Practice Unit of my MA in Professional Writing, remarked that she couldn't understand some of the Australianisms I'd used in this piece of work. So, the dilemma is to find a balance between a prose, which the wider English-speaking community would understand without losing the Australian flavour and setting of this particular piece.

The second event took place at the movies (cinema to some). I went to see the British comedy In the loop with a dinky di Australian friend, who complained that they couldn't understand the Scottish accent and missed out on some of the cultural references.

I realise I can easily move between the two cultures (Australian and British), and, as a bit of a lingist, between a couple of others too. As a languages eductor I aim to bring my students to the point where they can do this too - we call this finding the third place, a zone where you feel comfortable between the two cultures, which may not be the same for everyone. You know which form of language to use, how to behave and what is expected in different situations, but may not feel comfortable taking on board every aspect of the target culture even though you respect and accept it. Some examples, which illustrate this, might be bowing in Japanese culture or visiting a public Japanese bath-house where you are expected to be naked, or to non-Anglos - queueing! These customs wouldn't bother some people but they might others.

So, as writers, how do we bring our readers to that third place?

For a review of the film In the loop, please go to my website