Channel 9 should give themselves a swift kick in the testicles for giving any time whatsoever to irrelevant harpy Gai Waterhouse’s absurd ramblings about Julia Gillard’s fashion sense.
Crap like this is incredibly sexist and should not be considered news. If J.Gill starts wearing pasties and lamè hot pants, a makeover might be required. Until then? STFU and focus on policy.
Crispy parmesan potatoes
Tomato, zucchini and onion bake
Chocolate Mousse Filled Easter Eggs
God, I’m full. So, so full.
Why, yes. I believe I will. :)
Shut up. You are.
they said sex will have left you aged normally,
and so i guess it’s sorta like smoking and walking at the same time
in that it will have left you aged normally” —Why? - ‘Into The Shadows of my Embrace’
On Saturday, after riding around the Carlton-FItzroy area for hours on end to attend a total of five average (read: awful) house inspections, the posse and I decided to head to Depot De Pain on Rathdowne St for a lazy breakfast.
Now, Alex had recently read a glowing review of this place in Epicure, so we were all looking forward to it. I would love to be able to tell you all about the food, but unfortunately I cannot. Why, you ask?
Because my food never arrived. Like, seriously. It wasn’t late. It just straight up never arrived.
To add salt to the wound (or rather, the seasoning to my non-existent breakfast), when we asked a waiter if it was coming, he responded with, “Are you in a rush?” Yeah, man. I’m wanted in surgery. Or, you know. I’m just fucking hungry. Whatever.
So after waiting what must have been close to an hour for a croque madame - which is effectively a fucking toasted sandwich, which I am capable of making in five minutes after ten beers - we decided to fix up the bill and leave. Did they offer us so much as a free coffee or even a sincere apology? I’ll let you guess the answer to that one.
According to Thom and Alex, who did get their food, it was pretty damn good. But given the frankly piss-poor attitude of the staff, I don’t think that’s enough to warrant another visit. Not when there’s far friendlier, equally delicious cafes in the same precinct.
To conclude: I give Depot de Pain two arrogantly French thumbs-down. Au revoir, idiots.
At some stage in my life, I reached a point where leaving the house in leopard-print pants, clogs and a faux-fur gilet seems entirely reasonable.
I do not need to go to Splendour just to see Kanye West and Pulp. I do not need to go to Splendour just to see Kanye West and Pulp. I do not need to go to Splendour just to see Kanye West and Pulp. I do not need to go to Splendour just to see Kanye West and Pulp.
Attention Australian clothing retailers - there are other models out there besides Elyse Taylor, Bambi Northwood-Blyth and Jess Hart. Seriously.