Poor Shelley Winters

Another miracle on Australian TV.
They screened A Place in the Sun (1951) on the weekend:

A fabulous drama aided by the fact that Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Clift were at their most unspeakably glamorous:

Liz was a teenager.
Her best line?

"Tell mama... Tell mama all."

Sensational.

Where's Suzi?

Her new favourite hiding spot:

Sounds a bit queer #3

Heard yesterday at Pender Place.

I think it's now official:

The Coco Channel: He's a she!

Forgive me.

Due to the fact our new equine neighbour was always wearing a coat, I mistakenly identified Lofty (that's the real name; Mick ran into the owner) as male.

Au contraire.
Lofty just happens to be a very big-boned gal*:

She's actually slightly taller than Wiz, so I suppose the name fits, in an overly literal way.

Never mind, she's the consummate model.

The hair-flick:

The all-important "I eat, too" shot:

She's a natural.
Coco is pissed.

* k d lang knows all about it:

Dickheads and slappers and hoons, oh my!

A pictorial of our normally sleepy street over the past few weeks, i.e. why I hate summer:

No, I don't know what the body paint is about, although I suspect the letters spelt the name of an overpaid, overweight, peroxided cricketer at one point.

It's that time of year.

There's no place like Oz

I've only just recovered from the intoxicating wave of patriotic fervour over the Australia Day long weekend.

I was pissing green-and-gold all over this wide, brown land along with all the other proud Aussies and I have never felt more validated as a human being. Especially when telling someone who wasn't nearly as Anglo-pure as myself that "I grew here!"

In truth, I avoided all contact with anyone wielding a Southern Cross in any form.
I did, however, capture a glorious sunrise:

By the way, the fucking cancer is back. Somehow I'm not surprised.
Looks like more chemo is the only way to go.

Oi oi vey.

Suzi, action dog

It's always important to project an air of enthusiastic exertion, even if only in one's choice of venue:

Similarly, when returned home, pose attractively and emit a sigh of exhausted self-satisfaction:

Demand food.

The Coco Channel: Who the hell is this?

The horses have a new arrival.
He's chestnut, which I presume translates as ginger in the horse world.

Here they are last week, managing to get along – warily – in the face of new carrots:

The semblance of harmony was short-lived, however.
Coco, in particular, has shown her true colours and has rejected him.

Just quietly, they're not becoming on her – she turns, I tell you. 

Here's an abstract of what I assure you was not a pretty sight:

Anyway, this new neighbour – given his white feet, we're hedging our bets and calling him Socks – is hanging in there and doing his best to fit in. He's a little timid for his own good, unfortunately.

He could literally be starved for attention by the end of the month...

Back on track

I've managed to crawl out of my slump, sort of. I think.

In this spirit, I share this:

Via The Antipodean Homo, who says this is Nadine Strittmatter standing up for fashion at Christian Dior.