My boys no more

I recall Mia Freedman writing about her boys, and at every stage of their lives she felt like she was losing a big love as they grew into the next version of themselves. I nearly met her last year when a recruiter offered me a role that would inevitably mean I would have needed to step into her shoes as she stepped back from her other precious baby, Mamamia. As much as I thought it would be too much, so did she and I didn’t score the interview, someone with tenured magazine experience rightly did. But I would have liked to meet her, I think we would either instantly hated each other seeing the flaws we detest in ourselves clearly in the other, or be drawn together in empathy for being more emotional about this life than the Sydney delusionists like to deal with. 

My boys are now young men, more than a head taller than me and my husband at 14 and 16. This site was a dedication to them, a log of their childhood and our family’s misadventures. It is hard to believe this adventure that, at times, felt like it was dragging on forever, is nearing its end. I can now see myself saying goodbye to them at an airport more clearly than I can remember the long nights feeding and reading novels on my phone from 3-5am.

Like my older neighbour Jackie said to me “Don’t wish the time away, it goes by in a heartbeat.” And like parents before and after me I never quite understood, until now when it has nearly passed, and indeed in what feels like a blurred flash. 

I am still working as hard as ever and I am feeling the regret already, if only I had spent more time with them, if only, if only, if only. All is not lost though, not yet. My 16 year old is becoming this deep, calm and interesting human that is suddenly interested in novels, not just sport! So we are discussing literary greats and novelists that I love. I have dusted off my library searching through the bookcase for old penguin classics I have scattered amongst modern favourites like Khaled Hosseini, Margaret Atwood and Liane Moriarty. 

My youngest is going through the “my parents suck” phase so he’s not as vocal, but I can still sneak in big hug while he watches his phone over my shoulder, or a kiss goodnight as he moves his playstation headphones off one ear. He is also playing guitar and I sometimes hear my favourite foo fighters riffs resonating through his often closed door. He is learning ‘Come Alive” I hear because of me. 

One thing (I think) I am proud of is both are still very honest with us, so honest I sometimes squirm! I am hearing about all their exploits and new “interests” if you know what I mean. Our dinners out have become hilarious and known for Mum asking questions she shouldn’t and finding out more than what she bargained for. It often ends in hushed voices and everyone laughing either from embarrassment or bewilderment, but these nights are so precious right now and the best fun.

It is a new phase and they are definitely feeling a lot less like my boys, but while I miss their innocence and naivety, I can’t help but watch on with wonder as they form into adults, with their own opinions and ways that are wholly separate from Mum and Dad. I know there will be another phase soon and this one will be gone as quickly as the last. Luckily I can bottle some of this pure joy here, so I don’t forget who they were and are becoming.  

As is the case with every parent, we’ve not been perfect, but all I can hope for is that we’ve done enough to set them up for a long life of learning and love. 

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The Last Anniversary adaptation brings all womens’ hopes and dreams into one beautiful series

Liane Moriarty is a genius in my eyes. She bottles the fears and dreams we all have into the most intriguing characters that seem to be a reflection of every woman I know. I read The Last Anniversary a few years ago now and loved it along side The Husband’s secret, What Alice Forgot and Big Little Lies of course amongst many others. I love the familiar surroundings, the parts the Australian landscape plays in her stories, the leafy north shore in What Alice Forgot, the northern beaches in Big Little Lies and of course Scribbly Gum island in The Last Anniversary inspired by Danger Island on the Hawkesbury river, north of Sydney. 

All mean something special to this Sydney born-and-bred reader of the same vintage as Liane herself. But I wonder if we share the same experience of Danger Island. I was only 15 when I went there for the first time. I had all the hopes and dreams of a fun, exciting and successful life in front of me. My short stay on this island seemed to only confirm all this with certainty when a very tall and confident 17 year old boy, likely illegal by today’s laws, made a play for me. Passionate kisses and promises ensued, and the start of my first big love began at this strange little place with one corner store and an irregular ferry or tinny to the mainland. 

Watching The Last Anniversary come to life today in a new series on Binge / Foxtel brought my own teenage dreams back to me as I watched the characters faces, their own unrealised hopes, and shocking losses etched around their tired eyes. The two sisters at the centre of the story, Connie and Rose, are beautifully captured by Angela Punch McGregor and Miranda Richardson. And Sophie, who’s “not as I planned it” life is intercepted by her one-time connection with the elder sister, is both empathetically real and pitiful all at once with Teresa Palmer’s skilful characterisation.

The first episode can’t go by without mention of the intrigue and emotion created by Claude Scott-Mitchell’s imaginings of Grace, Connie’s grand-daughter. My own bewilderment at child-birth and loss sprang into my eyes as I watched these women struggle with three different dimensions of being or not being a mother. I didn’t even know why I was crying as nothing bad was happening but such is the power Moriarty in creating characters that represent all of us so accurately, and all the stages of our lives all at once in one beautifully told story. 

I don’t want to give away the mystery or even ruin episode one for you, I just want to celebrate that another beautiful production of a Liane Moriarty novel is with us to enjoy. I only met her once and shared with her that I’d wished I’d written more, and she signed my book “tell your story, Liane”. Thank you for writing Liane, and for continuing to inspire me to do the same. 

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Come Alive Come Alive

I bought many FooFighters albums, the last one was in 2007, seven years before I began working for Pandora, a place that made albums a distant memory as it generated made-for-you playlists from your favourite songs. Through my latest streaming app, I got introduced to a song off an album I own. Hilarious right. A song that turned out to be Taylor Hawkins' favourite and is now mine too. I didn't think 'The Pretender' could be toppled and have no idea how I missed this song the first time around, but 15 years later here we are. 

The song is Come Alive. 

There is a unique power to it that drags you from the present into a dreamlike overview of your existence. I've only flown twice in my dreams but this song gives me that feeling where I am above myself looking across my life from my childhood, to now and into the future of old age and ending. 

It is not for the fainthearted and if you are one that prefers to stay in the happy delusion of the everyday, it's a song to downright avoid. It is powerful stuff and it hurts. But for it's beauty I can't resist it. It draws me in, like a portal to an all-seeing dimension and it gets me as close to transcendental as I'll likely ever get. Of course the one thing we all don't want to see or face is our own ending, our own inability to imagine the day we no longer see the sky or those we love. It is unfathomable and more than distressing...but it is this life.

It is said that Dave Grohl wrote this about the birth of his daughter, which makes sense. But as I saw the pure frenetic and wild spirit of Taylor Hawkins stilled forever last year, I can't help but feel that it has transformed into a cry from Dave to bring Taylor back, who lost more than a drummer in that moment, but also his best friend. It reminds me of how I feel when I think of my friend Kim who died and I know I still think of why and how it could have happened that she was lost at such a young age. If only we could play God and make those we love come alive again. The repetition and the build only make the desperation for life over death to be true... please! 

If only. Instead my only comfort is we continue in a bizarro way in our children, parts of us turning up, surprisingly, in a mannerism or a turn of phrase, us but not really - like a riff stolen and placed in a new arrangement. A whole new unique human remixed from two others. 

Shane Hawkins performed with Foo Fighters soon after his Father's death

We are lucky we have Taylor's words, voice and music recorded for all to enjoy and for him to endure for us, but for him and for Kim I am broken that they can't hear our voices anymore, see our faces or wrap us in their arms. Come Alive Come Alive Come Alive!

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The Grandeur of Melissa McCarthy

Every now and then an actor comes along that is so exceptional she becomes the topic of a humble blog post. Upon first appearances Melissa McCarthy could be seen as an un-couth, potty-mouthed bogan, and these descriptions would be fair. I like to think of her as a genius of comedic timing, a master of facial expressions and an utter guru of knowing the exactly right and usually most damning response in every situation. I think the latter is why she has become my hero, she has written and performed the words that so often escape me when someone really needs a swift verbal kick up the arse.

She is such a master, my words here will unlikely do her justice, there is really only one thing you must do next time you are hunting around in Netflix et al and that is watch these scenes in the following movies:

 

Meeting the principal in ‘This is 40’ and the bloopers.

Any scene she graces in “Bridesmaids”

Every scene of “Spy” but in particular the scene where she is tied up to an italian spy 

Every scene in "The Heat" - I can't choose a favourite it is all too good. 

 

Worth watching out for are all the sneaky cameo appearances of her real-life husband Ben Falcone in most of her movies. The guy has laid his ego down to the god of comedy so we can laugh at some of the characters he plays, often a love interest, but always with a twist.

 

Warning though if you hate swearing you may not appreciate Melissa, she made peace with her inner swear bear many years ago and has gone on to make an artform of putting two words together in a way you have never heard before, well not in my neighbourhood anyway.

 

 

SPY can be purchased on Google and Amazon prime, but if you subscribe to Foxtel it is available to stream there.

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My kingdom for more life for you

My friend lost a battle today with a futile dysfunction that had no place occupying her body and her blood. It seems leukaemia is a determined disease and at last it has won, but to what end, other than breaking the hearts of everyone who has ever had the good fortune to know my friend. 

For no good reason this purposeless disease has left three beautiful children and a husband lost, and a mother having to say goodbye to her daughter, and this one friend bewildered and shocked at a world without her in it. 

I am new to this, I’ve been lucky so far, everyone has got well again, even she was well for four extra years thanks to her sister’s bone marrow. But here we are, the world seeming upside down and back the front. So many have been through this and lived with it, and I dare say I will too, but it is surreal and wrong and I wish it were a bad, bad dream.  

Kim Edwards, 16th July 1966 - 6th January 2018

I want her back and I didnt even see her every day, I can’t even imagine her family’s pain if this is how I feel, but thus was the depth of her. I know everyone says when someone dies that we almost canonise them, but she was always angelic to me. She was patient and kind, and generous, so generous. She didn’t judge or hold grudges, she was different to most. She was an extraordinary human being. And I feel so honoured that I knew her, if only for twelve short years. And they were too short, but I treasure the memories, the pragmatic and open way she spoke. Her laugh, her huge heart and the way she coaxed you off the edge with a simple ‘right?’ at the end of her sentences, gently pushing you towards a smarter thought. Thoughts that came so naturally to her. 

I am angry though, so angry that they couldnt save her, that “they” didnt deem her acute, she was acute to us! She was so acute whoever didn’t think so, so acute to us St Vincent’s, and your b/s about not enough beds! And hey, you think she may have been acute now that she didnt make it? I know she wouldnt approve of me being mad, it was not her style, but I would fight for her if she’d let me, and I’ll fight now, I’ll rage against the universe that decided this was a person that’s time was up. 

But you did fight my darling friend, you fought so hard, and now you can rest. And I hope you were at peace as much as this nonsensical proposition could leave you with. I miss you so bad already and we live in different cities. But I always relied on your next visit, our next wine under fairy lights, or you sleeping on our couch and being gorgeous to my boys, as only you, in your natural confidence could. You were so comfortable in your own skin, you put everyone you met at ease in theirs, even 7 year old boys were taken with your charm. 

I would do anything to have been able to comfort you as you did me, and save you the way you saved me. O if only, if only I could have brushed the hair from your face and made it all go away. O what I would give, what we all would have given to give you more life. 

There are no more words that can describe the hole you have left my darling, beautiful friend, Kim. I will miss you forever, I love you. I will try to live in a way that honours you and the inspiration you have been to me and to so many. Rest now, rest. 

Update: I am riding 40km in gear Up Girl to raise money for the Leukaemia Foundation, would appreciate anything you can give to support: please donate here and stop this senseless disease: https://give.everydayhero.com/au/nicole-does-40km-gearup-girl

 

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The UnData Project

I just finished reading 'The Undoing Project' by Michael Lewis, and like 'Moneyball' and 'The Big Short' before, it was remarkable, even quietly life changing. I knew a little about Behavioural Economics, specifically the human brain's preference to work in sub-conscious mode and I had heard of some of the biases we use to make decisions, but I had no idea how ingrained, nor universal it was, I thought it was just me! 

In short we are a mess of inaccuracy and emotion, that is baked in to brain design - no one is immune. The two psychologists that delivered my relief, Danny Kahneman and Amos Tsversky, are beautifully brought to life by Lewis, who has a talent for pulling you inside the hearts and minds of his subjects. As such, the ending creeps up on you and had me in sudden floods of tears, such was the force of the journey of these mens' lives. 

Putting the emotion aside for a second, the book is especially relevant to my everyday work in marketing. I am lucky to have now lead the marketing for two digital native companies, eHarmony and Pandora. For the poor digital natives that have invited me with high hopes, to many a predominantly 30-something male lunch or dinner, I have let them down sorely. Asking questions about digital and data they not only don't have the answers for, but are offended by the very thought of. I mean who questions digital and data, especially from within? Well unfortunately for me and them, me! But I am passionately consumer-focused and I have not seen the sort of marketing blindness I have recently since the literally "blind" or more accurately "high" days of 90s advertising. 

Basically measureability has become the small god of marketing. If you can't measure it, it may as well not exist.

The irony of all this is that the proponents of digital are the first to say that Marketing has been 'Moneyballed'. Unfortunately though the premise for their data and the countless ad-tech salesmen selling solve-all algorithms to marketers, is that customers don't act like computers. The purchase decision process has not evolved alongside the marketers' ability to process big data or deploy machine learning. We are also not online every waking hour, easy to forget when your day-to-day is, I know. Making these broad-based assumptions and extrapolations to understand the consumer, feels lazy to me and seemingly, given recent revelations around some programmatic advertising, a fast way to a quick, albeit ineffective, buck. 

Instead we need to understand psychology to make sense of post-action data. Humans are not one-dimensional, they are complex and irrational. The good news is that marketers pre-digital know this well. GenX, the only generation that is digital/analogue ambidextrous, not only understand digital and it's opportunity, they also know how to get a thought wedged into someone's mind with a catchy tune or a message subtly placed repeatedly on their way to work. They know that positive emotion is the biggest drivers of advertising effectiveness. There is a world of joy beyond the rationality of ultra-convenience and personalisation. 

Of course in this day and age customers expect a certain level of relevance and at a base level we have to use all the data we can deploy to make our messages right for that customer, so right it adds a little bit of convenience to their everyday lives. But that will only get you in the door, it won't keep customers coming back, and it most definitely won't create a step change en masse. To create something that stands out in the mess of ads chasing us around online and offline, you need to 'surprise and delight'. A funny little concept that even pre-dates millennials. 

'Surprise and delight' doesn't have to be full blown disruption either, it can be a song they hear and desperately swipe to shazam, it can be a killer line or simply an inspiring association. Of course if you do have the means, a new dopamine-driving app or UX change can supercharge you onto a new level of growth, but that is usually reserved for the few, despite every "entrepreneur" talking about the "uber of..." every chance they get. 

When my suggestion of a more human-focus in our approach was rudely dismissed by a 30-something self-proclaimed AI entrepreneur at another cliche-filled lunch, (this time blockchain was somethign every marketer needed to know about it...stat) initially I was confused and offended.

But then I stopped and I just felt sad. Sad that they will never experience what it feels like to truly inspire an audience, or understand the human condition to a point where they will create something that actually does have the ability to change the world. Beauty is not in 1s and 0s, beauty can come from it, but only if you search for it in the data and yearn to invent rather than iterate. 

Beauty lies for all to see in the human spirit. In the every day, in a look or a gesture, in a memory, in love and in human connection. Brands need to find a way to promote the human spirit even in the humblest and simplest of ways to be truly relevant and to have any chance of becoming a part of their customers' life story. When my 8 year old started singing "must be Santa, must be Santa..." yesterday, I desperately wanted to contact the marketer who created the ad, as it has become a part of our lives within a week of launch for the simplest of reasons.

And before I get relegated to a "vintage car driver in a 747 cockpit", lamenting the passing of the good old days, the closest thing to longitudinal studies in advertising proves that this approach translates to much higher revenues. My own case study results backed this data in real life and I got to experience a rare and elusive moment in my career where I created a huge step change using emotion, music and an integrated approach, after years of rational digital only. 

What happens when you capture some real emotion in your advertising - pre-spike was SEM and display advertising only

You will only understand the power of a human approach, if you delve into the immeasurable world of emotion, the irrational architecture of the brain and lean into its perfect imperfection. I don't think it is beyond data science, I just think it is outside the comfort zone and definitely not an easy fix, but if an art director can become a dashboard creating, tableau super-user anything is possible. 

A variation on this post first appeared in CIO Advisor Magazine

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My first recipe post: Steak a la Morning Fresh

I have written many a shame-driven post about my failure at housewifery. At some point though I have to admit it is so bad it's funny, and I'm just grateful I've married a modern male. Not sure he finds it funny but you can't have everything. 

So this one busy weekend I noticed that our grill plate was filthy and somehow this time I decided to take some action against dirt and grime. Reaching for some dishwashing liquid - I did what every time-poor person should do - soak a baked-in grime situation until the hot water and detergent take some of the edge off what would have been a long scrub. 

Problem with this decision is my life is so full, if a reminder of some description, usually in the form of a calendar alarm, doesn't exist then follow up action becomes equally non-existent. So it was in this instant. When my husband sat down to enjoy his $20 eye fillet two nights later, my brain still had no recollection of my mini-foray into housewifery. He had commented on the bubbles he'd seen form as he cooked his steak, even this had not prompted my memory. It was not until the words "this tastes like soap", that the correct neurons fired to trigger a conscious memory of my dismal unfinished effort to clean the grill plate. At this point I started giggling, unfortunately he most certainly did not. 

Here ends the directions of my first recipe post - how to caramelise expensive steak in dishwashing liquid and live to tell the tale. If you are worried, I am still married, just, not sure how or why, maybe I keep his ordered life interesting and somewhere buried deep down he appreciates that... I mean who doesn't love bubbles?! 

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A truly scary soccer mum!

Today I was kicking a football. This is not that normal for me, growing up I wasn't some undiscovered football talent, more a shiny lycra-clad jazz ballet student, the tightness of which once had me banned from liturgical dance (I know... it takes a lot to share that, be kind). 

But the last two weekends I kicked one back and forth between my five and six year olds and my hubby. And each session I kicked at least one of them in the guts. No I am not a psychopath masquerading as a mother of two, I am seemingly just an effing good shot. And I love it. I love the feeling as you look before you kick, it reminds me of playing pool when you get in the zone, but it's more accurate cause you don't have a 4 foot piece of wood between your body and your brain. 

So here I am kicking away, hubby saying "go easy" or "that was too high to count for a goal" as I belt it around a field loving myself silly. Loving it most of all because I married Mr "I played cricket with Brett Lee" and "my golf handicap is 6", while all I can lay claim to is almost injuring our 6 year old by kicking the ball so accurately that I still managed to knock him off his feet while he was mid air. Luckily he landed such that only his knee was slightly hurt, what I can I say...I have a killer right foot, and my hubby is basically jealous that he couldn't hit the target, ie. Me from 20m out. And let's be real, there was some serious intention there and he still missed! I, on the other hand, am mortified at hurting the little people but seem to not be able to control my aim. Although when hubby was the target mortification turned to glee, his hand eye co-ordination was all that saved him, but not every time. Score!

Seriously, for a second though, running around with three boys was so fun and I reckon we'll end up doing it most weekends, even if it's just for me to get a chance to smash hubby in the head with something hard that won't kill him. Beats the iPad, getting out and about with the little people and an inflated piece of leather, kicks the shite out of screen time. Do it peeps, do some rolling around in the grass screaming and holding your shins, or preferably cause someone else to, I highly recommend it. Nx 

Him getting me back... 

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Hand me the tissues! #theBacheloretteAU tearjerker

Wow, ok so I have written about the Bachelor franchise once before when I was so relieved Tim "Bryll cream" Robards chose a real person with some level of substance over what could only be called a walking plastic mannequin. Although the next series had some interest with Laurina "self awareness of a knat" Fleure, and her infamous #dirtystreetpie moment in the limelight, Blake's inexplicable weirdness meant it never made it to this hallowed place. Even gorgeous Sam, from earlier this year although the most intelligent and normal of the Bachelors so far, didn't grab my heart. But that little closet bogan with the same name, that fell for that weirdo Blake, has seemingly won the hearts of more than one guy tonight, even Osher's hair seemed to soften.

The difference between this first Bachelorette series in Australia and the three preceding Bachelor series was being able to witness for the first time what some describe as love at first sight. She literally melted when she met Sasha and their first kiss was insanely sexy - and I've been married 10 years, I know what I'm missing. He kissed her with pure lust, no awkwardness, no second guessing, all in. It was natural and as real as two people with six cameras on their every move, can be. 

So as Sam shook out her fears in her final speech, and choked up as she explained she couldn't understand why she had been hurt so many times ... until she met him, and then it all became clear that she had been waiting her whole life to meet him and f#*k it, I melted then too and forgot about the cheesy mermaid dress, the constant need to travel by air effing everywhere, the thickness of so many that have graced the rooms of the classless, over-dressed waterfront mansions, the banal date surprise speeches - I did all this for... xyz, when we know there is an overworked and underpaid production team shipping in a multitude of plush 2-seaters into places that sofas are just not meant to be. And the constant cheese platters that dont get touched because dairy...doh! Sam's speech, Sasha's "I want to jump your bones this instant"-ness, brought not one, but two tears to my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. 

It seems living with a male that rarely speaks unless yelling at a sporting match, four forceps, many stitches, and many more sleepless nights have not cured this romantic heart. Whatever happens now doesn't really matter because for that moment those two people fell into eacho ther seamlessly and it was a beautiful thing to witness and when I read the truth beyond that moment tomorrow - maybe I will feel foolish, but maybe just maybe, there is love at first sight and I'm really hoping those two make the most of that. 

Go Sam and the best on-screen kisser I've ever seen - Sash! xxx

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My True Social Club

It's been a while since I've been to a local live gig. Pre-minipeople I was a regular at the Annandale, the gaelic club, the Hopetoun and my local The Hollywood. I tried relaying my satisfaction tonight at being in a place that reminded me of the venues of old as I surveyed the surroundings and the felt-hatted clientele of the Newtown Social Club. My 20-something team members looked down at me (somehow I have hired two girls that are both over 6ft) blankly as I reminisced having not heard of any of the classic venues I mentioned. But there I was loving the black everywhere, the eclectic and fascinating crowd, the friendliness that you never find east of the city and I know that even though I'm not the young carefree single swaying into the eyes of the lead singer _ i am at home in beards, pink hair, tattoos, Fedoras and freaks. They are my people, their weirdness is their beauty, their open hearts irresistible, and their creativity their ticket to never a dull moment. Thank you #RollingStoneLiveLodge and gorgeous #Pandora girls for dragging me out of mummyland into the beautiful black filled with the music that is our lives...

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Lover you should have come over - dedicated to Jeff Buckley

18 years ago today I woke to find the only musician that still adorned my walls had died. Music transcends time and it seems like yesterday his flowing, blood-driven voice wrapped itself around my open heart.

I was a backpacker just settled into my first share house in London, my room not much larger than a walk-in robe, lit up with his beauty. At work that day I mourned in isolation, as the middle-class English girls had no clue who I was talking about. Luckily the music journos of the day did and every major newspaper in London had full page spreads set aside telling of the untimely loss of Jeff Buckley. 

Like so many that felt as though he had let them inside his soul, we cried at what we would no longer feel. Without him serenading us, understanding the depths of our heart, it would ache restlessly. We cried because we felt his pain, we knew he'd been abandoned by his father, Tim Buckley, who's own death at 28 meant they never knew each other and met only once for fifteen minutes. We knew his depth threatened to engulf him and fame overwhelm, but we never imagined that he would drown, we all thought he would float and keep singing. 

He will always be my dream brother, and the lines in my head will remain for him, from him.

"So I'll wait for you and I'll burn

Will I ever see your sweet return

Oh, will I ever learn?

Oh, lover, you should have come over

'Cause it's not too late"

Jeff Buckley
November 17, 1966 - May 29, 1997

 

Listen to him here pdora.co/JeffBuckley or to the live interview and performance below

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Actor transforms grown woman into hysterical teenager!

I've always been quite proud to admit I've never been an hysterical fan. When I watch young girls screaming and crying as some slightly talented teenage boys lip-sync in front of them, I often find my top lip involuntarily lifting in disdain... that was until last night... 

This was me inside a slightly older body with darker hair... (key word slightly)

I am lucky enough to work for a corporate sponsor of the Sydney Theatre Company and I therefore get to attend a few opening nights a year. Now this particular opening night was almost going to hit the scrap heap of many of my social possibilities, in favour of sleeping, so as to deal with mr 4 and 5 the next day. Knowing it was Cyrano de Bergerac and Richard Roxborough I thought, in my constant state of exhaustion, "drag yourself along" and so I did. 

As usual the luminescent Cate Blanchett floated past me at the pre-show function, and as in the other few times I have seen her, I admired her Grace Kelly-like elegance, but coolly continued my champers and conversations with my colleagues (that wasn't the case the first time I saw her by the way). 

Looking forward to what turned out to be a great production, I had no idea that the state teenage girls seemingly often find themselves in was my destiny in a few short minutes. The whisper of one of the gorgeous STC staff produced such an effect as the words "Robert Redford" were matched to some other words, namely, "do you know who's here with Cate?". 

My jaw dropped in shock "Nooooo" left my mouth around 4 times as I struggled with this reality, my breath and adrenaline. And there I was morphed within seconds into a fluttering teenage groupie out of control and hell bent on seeing, talking, touching this actor prior to fainting.  

Now just to be clear, I am not the type that gets giddy, I mean I would be completely giggly if Gerard Butler or Ryan Gosling were having a drink within metres of me, but I would probably approach them more for the selfie-fame than because I literally couldn't stop myself. 

Robert Redford on the other hand represented something altogether different, I mean he's in his 70s so it wasn't lust, it was more like my life flashed before my eyes. Don't get me wrong I'm not that old, but I am lucky enough to have a Mum with amazing movie taste and I watched Robert Redford and Paul Newman from a very young age. 

Of course I became Katie in the 'The Way We Were' hopelessly in love with Hubbell, I was also Karen in 'Out of Africa', jelly in Denys' hands, and later after I was married I was Diana and Annie, tempted away from monogamy in 'Indecent Proposal' and 'The Horse Whisperer' by his easy confidence and determination. The guy has been every man I wanted and couldn't have, stringing me along for years and there he was the real representation of my fantastical romantic history, just standing there. Shiiittttt!

Alas social etiquette kicked in and I was held down by two STC staff...well not really but that's how it felt as I was being drawn to him like metal to a magnet. Instead I had to stand still and pretend I was so important myself, being a fellow "VIP" (as if!), that Robert Redford was nothing to me. 

As I walked away from what I knew was my one chance to make a complete ar5e of myself I was philosophical about not getting to hear his unmistakeable voice ... comforting myself that it was for the best and it may have smashed my fantasy about the legend with a less than extraordinary reaction to what would have been a huge foot in mouth moment from me... then I metaphorically slapped myself in the head and began to figure out how I could get another chance! 

So Robert Redford you still may have to endure 2 minutes of raving compliments at some time in your not too distant future. Hopefully it will be fun and flattering - well I can only continue to dream! "Looooooovvvvveeee yoooooooooouuuuuu!" ah argghhh arrrrrrrr *cue hysterics* 

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Yoga - girly pastime or extreme sport?

My gorgeous svelte neighbour got me into Yoga earlier this year and I thought I would go along to relax and chill-out. You know get in touch with my inner self and all that palava, I mean I was kinda desperate being a corporate tragic with two boys under five. Half way through I was dripping with sweat trying to get my arms behind my ears with my arse in the air. It was FULL on. 

Downward facing dog - more like downward facing agony with breathing added in so you don't die. I was shocked! 

And at times when doing planks and upward dogs, downward dogs at speed I took the option of collapsing on my face to recover, the instructor said it was ok and that I was in child pose (she was being nice!)

Although you wouldn't know it to look at me now I was once a rower, I even did surfboats for a season, so I have subjected myself to all sorts torture many times over (6km erg tests are the worst). And unlike the one person in the world that stopped rowing in a race, that happened to happen in the Olympics, I'm like the other 99.99999% of them and never have. So being done in by Yoga, was a little bit of a surprise, albeit (eventually) a pleasant one. 

There is a reason, I discovered, why there are Yoga studios popping up on every single street corner, it is a weird juxtaposition of spirituality and physical exertion that makes it so amazing. What other sport do you feel like your inner being is being worked on while your hamstrings scream in agony. It is completely illogical and completely effective. 

The eagle pose - note the sweat people - hardcore.... 

I was lucky enough to be at a resort for two weeks that had Yoga most mornings so I went along and found that my downward facing dog started to get less agonising even within an hour and a half. I also noticed my shoulders that normally are attached to my ears dropped a little more after each class. My 'question mark' body normally curved around a device was straightening out and turning the other way (?) and it seemed that maybe some more blood was getting to my brain. 

Look my point is quite simply if you are a hardcore cardio tragic and you think Yoga would be too light for your amazing VO2 then think again, it will be right up your alley and it might calm you down at the same time as working the crap out of your bunched up muscles.

Do it peeps - it so rocks, even for rowers, runners, spin-junkies and any other psychotic sport-types. Namaste!

Update: Discovered hot yogi that can only be described as a walking muscle at my local - even happier now!

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How to do the celebrity intercept with substance and no style - Marc Newson

This celebrity behaviour started a long time ago, I think it is somehow related to one of two things: I'm either out of touch with reality so badly that I think they would actually want to talk to a stranger, or the one I prefer, that my reality is they are just human, like me and so why wouldn't they chat to someone friendly with a big smile???!!!! (I think the words "like me" are what's wrong with my justification)

Would you say no to this look? It was 14 years ago but I'm sure I recognise it...

Yet it is what it is and no amount of working out 'why' is going to stop me it seems. The following is the story of my first celebrity intercept, yes this is where all the craziness started, and how I have times be labelled, wrongly I might add, as a stalker (thank you Joe Hildebrand!). 

It all started back in the year 2000, I was heading to a gala evening celebrating the lighting of the Opera House for the first time, this was the father of VIVID. A man I had admired due mainly to his creation of quite a few biomorphic metal objects, was going to be there as he had designed the lighting. And as I had designed the event identity nothing was going to stop me from talking to this gorgeous fellow designer, marc newson. Think gluon, orgone or as I did at the time, embryo...

I think he was wearing orange - can't believe I remember that, I think he was single too. I unfortunately had my then boyfriend there with me, but this was a minor moral bump that I happily skipped over as I approached my idol. "I loved him way before I'd even met my boyfriend" I rationalised. 

I started quite normally explaining my bower-bird-like attraction to his bright shiny objects (we're talking furnishings at this point people) and that I had designed the identity on the flags all over Circular Quay with his 'neon' signature within it. Which he did confirm was a designed identity rather than the real thing, "Oh yeah of course", like I knew that, arggh, it was going well...not. 

Just in case you thought this was a work of fiction. 

Just when it looked like I had escaped an awkward moment, out of the blue and with little context I blurt out "So are you making any money yet?". This does cause him pause, I suddenly see myself through his still, wide eyes and time slows as his thoughts form in a bubble above his head "wow, gold-digging and proud of it, interesting", his turn to spin a little white lie, "a little yes..." 

Mortified by now I try to start explaining at high speed, "Sorry, no, it's just that I watched a documentary a few years ago and you said there was no money in Industrial design and I studied Industrial design but have never practised it because yes there seems to be no money in it, nor any jobs and of course I'm not as talented as you and I was just interested because I only earn..." and on I went, I can't even remember the rest as it blurred into pure desperation transformed into lots and lots of words.  

By now he was smiling, amused by my lack of filter, I can only presume, or maybe impressed by my ability to verbosely back pedal, seemingly make logical sense at the same time as flirting. Our conversation was just levelling out and he was kinda getting friendly, he even complimented some brightly coloured thing I was wearing. Well that's what I was telling myself, when my boyfriend wandered over. Celebrity intercept almost turning into groupie evening foiled, damn. I did the polite thing and introduced them and in true rock star celebrity-style Marc moved pragmatically on. Let's face it there were probably ten of me at every event he went to, and the other nine were quite possibly a lot cooler, inconceivable!? 

The celebrity lesson here? No it's not "don't ask celebrities how much money they make", and it's definitely not "leave them alone you groupie weirdo", I'm sure he was at least entertained. It is without a doubt - if you are going out with someone and you realise you want to go home with Marc Newson instead, chances are you're with the wrong guy. We broke up soon after, but unfortunately not as a result of me running off and living in London on a Lockheed Lounge. Damn!

Fortunately for you there are more stories like this to come - so stay tuned and if you follow my tips I'm guessing you may learn from my mistakes and end of bagging Prince Harry or something... but probably not if you have a couple of kids and are married... we can just dream. 

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