You change, me change, tree change

Yahooza!

The Webb's are moving to the bush. And we're so bloody excited.

This November, we're gonna pack up our little Yarraville house... you know the one: the house that started this blog while we renovated knocked up to the sky rocket. Silly kids.

We're heading to Trentham, leaving our sweet 160sqm joint and spreading our wings on a quarter acre down  the road from the pub.

It's been a year in the making. Reggie started the ball rolling, but Alfie hit the pedal to the metal when he asked us if we could take the back fence down so we could keep running. I wish we could, but there's an apartment block in  the way.

Reg and I smashed some funds together, both working full time, dying a little of exhaustion - single parenting but living in the same house, just without a day off together.

We started hardcore house hunting six months ago, trying to find an old dame with a porch in  the sun. Each of us taking Alfie with us on separate days, Alfie exhausted at the thought of looking at another house.

We turned the house hunt into adventures, taking a measuring tape with us each  time to work out a space for a pirate ship-themed cubby with a trap door and a pterodactyl nest.

And then one day we cracked it, chucked in an offer on a joint and then sank some beers at the local pub while we watched our kid demolish chips.

We didn't get the house. Then a few weeks later... we did. I squealed like a madwoman in my open plan office.

So here we are, pooing our pants at the thought of the massive change ahead of us. A massive change involving a 110 year old house located next to a cemetery. Possibly haunted, definitely in need of renovation.

We don't really know what we're going to do. We don't have any daycare nearby, I'm going to be commuting to the city an hour each way five days a week, Reg is going to be hanging out with our kid growing some veggies and putting on a home brew until Christmas. Then I'm sure we will wing something to take us into the new year. We're gonna be poor, but we will have space for a bonfire which makes us happy.

All I can say is I'm so bloody relieved. Reggie and I suck at being adults. The chaotic life that we've had over the past year was all a bit much. Trying to be a grown up is hard and sometimes not very fun. We're chucking it all in and we're gonna make our own bread (in a COMBUSTION WOOD FIRE OVEN) and maybe purchase a piece of shit Holden and do it up in our front yard. Man, I'm also thinking about building a half pipe in the back yard. Just because we have space and I've always wanted my own skateboard ramp.

But I'm going to need some help. Firstly, I haven't lit a fire in  about 20 years. I haven't chopped wood in about 25. I've forgotten how to use preserved lemons - let alone how to preserve them. And our dunny is fucking OUTSIDE. That will change pretty quickly.. since it snows in Trentham.

I moved to the city from the bush when I was seventeen and I'm so excited to be heading back.

Wish us luck. We move in November.

Ali xx

Meet Dawn Tan - my illustrative superhero

Dawn Tan loves to draw vegetables and boy, does she do it well. Based in Yarraville, but an illustrator of the world, Dawn is the inner west’s Queen of Colour. I discovered her vibrant illustrations while reading one of my favourite magazines. I was first drawn to her watercolour drawing of a croissant, but a little research drew me to her sublime vegie sketches.

“I absolutely love vegetables. There’s something about the colours, textures, tastes and shapes. There are so many different varieties and ways of eating and cooking different vegetables. Growing up in Singapore, I was used to all the Asian vegetable varieties. I remember being in shock when I arrived in Australia – there were just so many new vegetable types that I had never seen before: Brussel sprouts, fennel, dill!

“My husband and I went to London recently and we were blown away by all the different salads at Ottolenghi. They were all filled with strange but new vegetables we’ve never seen or tried before. Vegetables are amazing!”

Dawn runs regular classes teaching food enthusiasts how to draw, paint and colour fruit and vegetables. Perhaps the perfect experience to expand your culinary horizons, but how do you choose what to draw as there are so many varieties to choose from?

“It’s so hard to pick what my favourite vegetable is, but I do draw a lot of corn. I love the colour yellow so it’s only natural that I like drawing (and eating) corn, right?”

“I do cook quite a bit and really enjoy the process of doing so. I find it so relaxing. I love cooking soup at this time of year. I swear by this amazing chunky vegetable and bean soup by Jools Oliver. I’ve cooked it so much my husband is sick of it already, but it’s so good for you with all that crunchy kale.

“I love my local Pompello in Seddon and the Village Store in Yarraville for fruit and vegetables. However, for most of my weekly haul, my husband and I head to the fruit and vegetable store in Highpoint or venture to the South Melbourne Market.

If you don’t bump into Dawn at your local fruit and vegetable supplier, you can find her teaching at one of her workshops or head on over to her website to view her work at www.dawn-tan.com

Don’t like your daily dose of fruit and veg, Dawn does a wicked sketch of house frontages too.

Images courtesy of Dawn Tan.

This profile first appeared in the May issue of The Westsider.

Festival of the West

Summer is the best, especially in the West. This year, I spent the majority of summer at home and I found our days were filled with all the west has to offer. We are so close to all the action. Day trips to Indented Head, Queenscliff and Barwon Heads; boat watching down at Williamstown; food trucks and ace picnics in Yarraville Gardens; bike rides along the beach or through new parks; and two awesome festivals: So Frenchy So Chic at Werribee Park and Portarlington Mussel Festival, both within a short drive from our suburb.

And it’s festival season in the inner west with Lunar New Year on our doorstep and my favourite local event, the Yarraville Festival, is happening this month.

Celebrating its 35^th year, Yarraville Festival on Sunday 7 February is certainly an event to make the journey to (highly recommend by bike, train or walking). The Village shuts off its streets to cars, making way for stall vendors selling everything from puppets to terrariums, paella to choc ripple donuts.

For the kids, Fels Park off Simpson Street is filled with storytime shows, petting zoos and performers all ready to put a smile on your kid’s face.

But I can’t get past the scents coming from the street. As a local, I can smell the aromas of the street stalls from my house from early morning, chargrilling their goodies, toasting up some kind of yummy seed to put into some kind of yummy bread.

Alongside the sweet smell of delicious food you can hear the super sound of bands warming up ready to play to the crowds. This year there are seven stages showcasing the best of the community including my favourite, the Yarraville Mouth Organ Band (you need to see these guys and Instagram the hell out of this gig) and Middle Aged Weirdo. There’s some fresh talent to discover as well including local school bands and rad up and comers on the Freeza stage (my pick is Shewolf – awesome new talent featuring 17 year old triplet sisters and their best buddy).

Over 18? Ace. Collect a beer from Dawsons Cellars and enjoy the main stage with your cold amber liquid. You might even see me busting out some moves in my Mom Jeans with my two-year-old.

Have a two year old? Get a front row seat at the hottest fashion parade in the west. The Dog Parade is a highlight every year with pooches dressed in their finest gear from diamante collars to Buzz Lightyear ensembles. It’s fun – with or without a two year old. Just make sure you share the love on social media to make sure your eastern suburbs buddies come over for the action next year.

The 2016 Yarraville Festival is set to be the biggest yet. Set yourself up for a day of awesomeness. Pack some sunscreen and water and text your pals. Find out more at www.yarravillefestival.com.au

Need to pump yourself up for Yarraville Festival? Here’s my top five songs for this summer.

1.       April Sun in  Cuba – Dragon

2.       Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now – Starship

3.       Daniel – Elton John

4.       Friday on my Mind – Easy Beats

5.       Lazing on a Sunny Afternoon – The Kinks

Would love to know yours. See you at the Festival!

xx

All of these fabulous photos are by the super talented Paul Large, fellow local Yarravillian.
This article first appeared in my column Spun Webb in the February issue of The Westsider. 

Second Best

The inner west certainly knows how to seek out trash and turn it into treasure… but are we the only region living and breathing this refreshing view on pieces of the past?

I purchased an original 1960s plant stand in South Melbourne during a lunch break this week. It was cute, well priced and I loved it straight away. I was with a bunch of work colleagues who giggled at me as I tried to get it on the tram to take it back to our Southbank offices.

There were loads of questions from everyone: “You actually paid for that?”, “Why did you buy that?” “What is it?”, “What are you going to do with it?”

No one really understood the plant stand or the fact that I had paid $20 for a ‘rusty piece of metal’.

I thought I was sitting on a pot of garden gold.

I carried the stand through Southbank on my way home, dodging the judging stares while trying to avoid cutting someone’s arm with the rusty leg. When I swiped my Myki at Flinders Street, I became an awkward mess as I juggled my laptop, handbag, magazines and lunch box with the plant stand. 

The Myki Man shook his head at me begrudgingly and let me through the wider access point.

I took the plant stand on the escalator down to the Laverton train platform and found a spot out of the way to stand with my retro treat. A kid kicked it accidently and kept walking like he had accidently kicked an empty can.

My train to Yarraville arrived and I hopped on with the stand and instantly felt eyes on me. A woman offered me a seat and asked me about the stand. “Where did I get such a fine piece?” she asked. A fellow passenger piped in, “how much did you pay, they’re worth a bit?” I told them my story and they both nodded in appreciation. The people around me were interested. One man even picked up the stand and inspected it closely. $20 wasn’t bad they all agreed. They were aware of plant stand love. I was on the right train home.

What is it about people of the inner west who love and adore vintage, recycled goods and self-made fare? I know it’s not just me.

Looking around our local suburbs are some of the greatest second hand lands from the classic favourites: Vinnies in Newport, Salvos on Koroit Creek Road, Savers in Footscray, Green Collective in Yarraville right through to the treasure hunters gem box: One in a Mill in Newport, The Lost Ark Restorers Barn in Willy, the kooky vintage store on the corner of Princess Highway and Barkly Street, just down from the grave stone maker, and my favourite, the eccentric Diamond Dogs vintage clothing store in Seddon.

But it’s not just second hand stores that are embraced by the inner west. Walking my pooch around the neighbourhood is like watching house porn. I take note of the recycled restored furniture on porches, the veggie patches thriving in front yards, the sound of chooks clucking in the backyard, the baskets hanging on fences offering free rosemary/lemons/limes/figs/oranges you name the season, there’s always something available. I look for the anodized planters, the metal trikes, the letter boxes created with recycled tin in the shape of a kookaburra, the church pews, the macramé hangers, the house numbers spelled out in letters, the vintage door knockers and umbrella stands. I love them all.

The Inner West Buy Swap Sell Facebook group now has over 20,000 members, most of which enjoy looking for a bargain or selling items to make money. There’s now even an Inner West Vintage and Retro Facebook group which offers great second hand treats at great prices, but you have to get in quick as someone’s trash is always someone’s treasure. Retro gems are picked up in seconds.

Are residents inspired by each other? Or are there other people out there like me who enjoy the hunt, the storytelling and the surprise of finding such a cool, unique item that means so much straight away?

For me, it’s always about the hunt. When I step into Diamond Dogs I’m immediately attracted to a pattern or a style that stands out and I hope and pray that it’s in my size (there’s never two when it comes to vintage, unless you find bookends).

When I case my local op shops, I head to the crockery looking for small indoor plant pots (my latest obsession). In the past it was vintage trench coats and mod dresses, nowadays it’s Richard Scarry books and bib-n-brace.

It doesn’t matter what your second hand treat is, whether it is a chair, a pouffe, a cane magazine holder or a cement frog statue, the best part about a retro find is how you came to find it. Perhaps you brought it home on a train in peak hour.

I’d love to know your favourite retro hang out.

Fabulous photos by Paul Large.

This article first appeared in The Westsider December 2015 issue.

Once Upon a Time in the West

I love tiny objects, tiny discoveries, tiny treasure. And we all know the inner west is full of them. Walking around Seddon and surrounds I’m always intrigued by the secret tiny lane, opposite the station, that leads to a brass Buddha’s head, to the colourful and oh-so-nineties Simpsons graffiti located on a wall behind Gamon Street; the tiny top of Marge’s blue hair peeking above the fence line.

You don’t have to look too far to find the tiny libraries scattered around the suburbs, sitting on fences, waiting for little hands to reach in and discover magical stories, or for mum’s like me to find a light rom-com or a Mills and Boon raunch fest.

So what are all these Little Free Libraries doing around our neighbourhood?

A community project which started in the US has made its way to Seddon, Yarraville, Newport, Kingsville and beyond, treating local residents of all ages with access to free books in exchange for a book of their own. It’s as simple as take a book, give a book.

Not only does this concept encourage reading, it also shows trust and an element of sharing within a community.

While the Free Little Libraries are that: little, the books inside are not just for the littlies. I discovered crime novels, cook books, diet books, biographies of forgotten sports stars, theories of getting rich quick and, my favourite, a picture book on Roger Moore produced in the early-eighties. I grabbed this beauty off the tiny shelf and replaced it with Tom Wolfe’s Bonfire of the Vanities. I thought it was a decent swap – strong tans, power suits, gold pinky rings and all.

There are almost 25,000 Free Little Libraries in the world, each one encouraging literacy and promoting the love of reading in communities. I found three in my local neighbourhood but I’m sure there’s plenty more to be discovered.

I encourage you to switch off the TV today and journey around the west to score yourself a free book to read in the sun. Don’t forget to replace it with one of your own and share your favourite tales with a new friend. Perhaps write a message in the cover and make a new buddy?

Keep an eye out for your local Little Free Library, some of which look like dollhouses attached to a fence. These tiny colourful gems are dotted around your neighbourhood just for you to discover.

Here are a few of my faves:

5 Hobbs Street, Seddon.

Grab a book and sit on one of the many free swings lining this beautiful street.

183 Somerville Road, Yarraville

The fence alone is a treat to admire. A great selection of current crime novels.

Hedgecorner, Corner of Hansen and Nesnah Streets, Kingsville

This Free Little Library has its own Facebook page. Search Hedgecorner for updates on book avails.

Become a Little Free Library supporter or member at http://littlefreelibrary.org/

This article first appeared in the November 2015 issue of The Westsider.

Photos by Paul Large. 

How to buy a house by watching cracking classic films

A few years ago my then-boyfriend-now-husband Reggie and I were lying in our bed in our rented house in Windsor. It was an ace house filled with cracks and splinters. It was next to a pub with an pink elephant on the roof and it was home for five years.

We had been asleep for about an hour. I was sleep stressing because I had to get up at 4.30am the next morning to work on a film shoot. So I had one eye open and on the clock.

I must have drifted because when I heard the HUGE gunshot outside my window I leaped out of bed and peeked through the corner of my curtain.

There was a man lying on the ground softly saying 'Help, help'. Reggie was already out the door (and fully dressed - no shoes) helping the man get off the road. My neighbour's boyfriend was next to him (wearing his girlfriend's pj's) and they were chatting to the shot dude seeing if he was ok.

Within minutes an ambulance and a couple of cop cars turned up. The shooter was nowhere to be seen and it was all a little scary.

Cheef Dog hid under the quilt the whole time. The shot guy was ok, lost a bit of blood from his leg and was taken to hospital. A giant vacuum cleaner came and swept the street and washed the blood down the drain. By the time I left for work, it looked like nothing had EVER happened there. Except every time I walked past my fence, I would notice the bullet hole that sat right in front of our bedroom.

So we decided to buy a house. We'd been looking for a bit and had saved a little deposit, but it was time to get serious. But we had to save more money and quickly.

I sat and thought hard. Super hard. How could I save ALL my money but still have a life? It was coming up to winter, movie night time!

I sent all the people I liked an email asking for their all-time top five favourite films listed in order. I took all these lists and created a giant list of 100 films I had never seen and watched them over winter and spring. The idea was to hire VIDEOS each week instead of going to the pub and boozing on.

And it worked. I saved HEAPS of money. We were finally able to move out of Windsor to the western suburbs of Melbourne (because that's safer... right?)

Here's my top ten films in order if you are planning to buy a house:

1. High Noon

2. Cool Hand Luke

3. Bullitt

4. The Wild Bunch

5. The Apartment

6. The Last Picture Show

7. Roadhouse

8. 12 Angry Men

9. Hud

10. How the West Was Won

Happy savings!
xx

More Than Just A Milk Bar

It doesn’t matter which store you enter, they all have that familiar soft bell chime the minute you push open the door.

I find it fascinating that even today, in our world of online shopping, fast food, cheap milk and bread, and Status Quo waving big foam hands around, we can still find the classic milk bar on the corner or a corner nearby. And I encourage you to discover your local!

The inner west is filled with classic corner stores boasting shop counters and shelves filled with interesting items from coloured pens to raspberry licorice, mints to hair ties, toilet rolls to onions, the item you have gone in to find is usually there. Milk Bar owners, most likely living above or behind the store, seem to have a knack at having the right ‘last minute’ items you need ready in stock. 

Perhaps it’s because they live and breathe the store 7am-8pm, 7 days a week.

But besides from the highly sought after milk, bread and newspapers, these familiar stores can offer so much more, you just need to pretend you’re a child again.

Stepping into one of my favourite inner-westie milk bars located opposite Williamstown Beach train station, I’m always thrilled to purchase one of the homemade dips or other Lebanese goodies from the counter: cabbage rolls, dolmades, tabouli.  Add to this a sweet treat such as a baklava, Queen’s Finger or a Bird’s Nest and you have yourself a pretty impressive beach picnic. You can’t go pass the kebab though, the spiced minced lamb delight complimented with pinenuts and a dob of this Milk Bar’s special hummus is something to keep going back for.

The Milk Bar on the corner of Ovens and Stephen Street in Yarraville is just as special. This local gem has a glorious display of freshly packed mixed lolly bags placed in a neat grid-like pattern on the counter. There’s 15 lollies in every bag (choc buds, freckles, snakes, teeth, pineapples and milk bottles) and it’s hard to resist picking up a pack for your pocket as you purchase your paper.  

It’s touches like this that make every Milk Bar unique. A point of difference, whether it is the homemade goodies for sale, the ‘vintage’ Tazos on display behind the counter or the brilliant retro-esque signage screaming Mirinda, Kirks, Tarax, Tab Cola, Gobbledock, Ruffles, Smiths, Peters. 

There’s something fun about rediscovering candies from your youth that would make your eyes pop: Big Boss, Fags (now called Fads), Zappo, Hubba Bubba (remember when bubblegum used to be 50c and you’d get a free tattoo?).

Milk Bars are still a step back in time – the worn linoleum grey-marbled tiles, the timber and glass counters, the signs unashamedly advertising tobacco, the cans of Tarax lemonade in the fridge. Next time you walk past one, look up and check out the sign display most likely stating that ‘Tobacco’, ‘Cigarettes’, ‘The Herald’ or ‘The Sun’ can be found inside. Take a peek at the fonts used in the familiar words MILK BAR. And poke your head inside, there’s treasure to be found. Grab yourself a Killer Python and a can of Pasito to snack on after your Saturday afternoon lawn mow.

My favourite Milk Bars

Zac and Jenny Take Away Milk Bar, 74 Railway Crescent, Williamstown

Forget lugging an esky on the train, pick up awesome Lebanese goodies for the perfect beach picnic.

TT Milk Bar, 204 Somerville Road, Kingsville

Great selection of Kirks drinks to align with your fish and chips bought next door.

Milk Bar, Corner Ovens and Stephen Streets, Yarraville

Cheapest toilet paper and tissues around.

Milk Bar, 87 Anderson Street, Yarraville

Excellent lolly counter.

Photographs by Paul Large.

This article first appeared in The Westsider, October 2015 issue.

Bricks and Mortar of Melbourne

They’ve been labelled the ‘Ugly Duckling’ of Australian architecture, but I am fascinated with post-war cream brick houses of Melbourne.

Moving to Melbourne from country Victoria when I was just 17 I remember thinking how foreign these houses felt. I had grown up in Victorian-esque houses from the 1890s with massive wrap around verandahs, embedded history, creaking boards, fireplaces and ghosts.

The first time I ever stepped into a Cream Brick was to ask my elderly neighbour, who  lived next to my crappy Richmond rental, if I could please have a lemon.

The lemon tree with its painted white stump stood pride of place in the centre of the trimmed lawn, surrounded by a garden edging of yucca-like plants with the leaves braided towards the middle. It was always fully laden when in season. My neighbour gave me a 4 litre ice-cream tub of lemons, as well as fresh rosemary, a jar of sandwich pickles and tomato relish with a red checked fabric top cut with pinking shears. I didn’t understand a word she said, except “too skinny, you eat. Eat.”

Years later I moved to Yarraville and was thrilled to bits seeing two immaculate cream brick houses at the end of my new street, sitting tall and proud like twins in pressed sailor suits.

Both houses had fully formed rose bushes standing strong, vibrant and pruned in the front yards. The driveways were washed every weekend and the footpaths swept within an inch of their lives each morning. The nonnas in each house had so much pride, working hard each day in their floral aprons and knits buttoned to the neckline. I had so much admiration and respect for these beautiful houses and their widowed homemakers.

Then, as life goes on, one of the nonnas passed away and quickly we saw a for sale board go up, then slashed with a SOLD sticker. It sat like this for a while. The neatly trimmed lawn grew weeds and became patchy. The rose petals fell apart and the thorns grew thick. Rubbish blew into the driveway from the footpath and the brick fence started to crack. Some kid tagged the real estate sign, then the letterbox, then the fence. The decorative stone concrete porch started to sink and the house number lost a screw and flipped on its bum. Someone knicked the letterbox. I couldn’t believe how much the house deteriorated in just a few months.

One morning my son and I walked past and a digger was sweeping its bucket right through the front curved corner window, ripping the house guts out and pulling out a wall which had built in laminate shelving still attached to it. On our way back home just an hour later, the house had been demolished, piles of bricks lay across the block. The fully laden lemon tree out the back had been bulldozed and there was a strong smell of citris, but because of all the dust, it smelled like Airwick. Lemons lay across the ground like a war-zone.

But what punched me right in the guts was seeing a ceramic fish with a soft pink and mint green glaze lying amongst the rubble. The fish must have been sitting on the shelves when they were ripped out.

Three three story townhouses will be built on the block, complete with carspaces, artificial grass, hired artwork, and ‘pops’ of colour. They will look pretty and shiny and will sell for over a million dollars. We will have new neighbours to meet and hopefully new kids to play in the street.

There are two cream brick houses remaining on my street. Will they be there in 20 years time? Who knows? While they are still standing I’m going to take advantage of the stunning hospitality of my elderly neighbours and share garden produce and tips on pruning roses while they enjoy watching my son grow and water their gardens wearing just his nappy and gumboots. 

Photos by Paul Large.

This article first appeared in the September 2015 issue of The Westsider.

The Barber of Seddonville

There aren’t many ‘men-only’ places left in this city. Apart from men’s toilets, a barber shop seems to be the only likely place you will find five bearded men sitting side-by-side, not saying a word to each other on a Saturday morning.

I’ve always found barber shops mysterious. As a female, I don’t really need to step foot into one, especially as I have a gazillion hairdressers on my door step. But there is something so intriguing about a barber shop. They’re so old school, so classy, so charming. And nothing has had me more intrigued then Doug Howie’s bright yellow barber shop in Seddon.

I’ve got an excellent excuse to visit the barber on this rainy Saturday morning. I’ve got a two year old son with a feral blonde mullet sitting on top of his flannelette collar. It needs a chop. I wait until 10am to head to the barber as I just expected most places open at this time. Not Doug. He’s open from 7am until 1pm on a Saturday.

When I arrive I’m struck by the scent of masculinity: I feel like I have stepped into an Archie’s comic book. I can smell my grandpa and Bryl Cream. It’s really comforting, but so incredibly manly. There’s already three men sitting in the shop on a 1960s tartan lounge surrounded by hundreds (literally hundreds) of vintage toys: a red ride-on car, a nineties neon Simpson wall hanging, a wooden Tiki mask, plenty of books on steam trains, and right smack bang above the central mirror, a poster of a powerful eighties woman donning a hi-cut bikini brief. I can’t take my eyes off her thighs. My son points to the poster and says ‘mummy’. I say, ‘I wish’. The seated men laugh, then look back down at their copies of the Herald Sun.

Doug is dressed just like you imagine a barber should be dressed – in a waistcoat and shiny shoes.  He’s superb when it comes to kids and cutting their hair. My son sits on my knee in front of the mirror which is covered with photos of Doug’s grandson Lachlan. He’s about the same age as my son and you can tell he’s the apple of Doug’s eye.

Are the toys for his grandson? “No, they are just my little world. I’ve been collecting them for years. They’re not for anyone else really, just for my enjoyment.”

Doug has been cutting hair in the area for almost 50 years. He completed his apprenticeship with a Swiss barber in the City, who he says taught him everything.  “He could have sacked me a hundred times, but he was too good to me. I owe him everything. I’ve been very lucky working in this industry.”

Doug seems to have cut everyone’s hair, but the most famous being The Ink Spots, an African American group who rose to fame in the 1940-50s. They were touring Australia in the 1960s when they came across Doug’s hair cutting skills while he was working at a salon in Bourke Street.

Working as a barber in a salon on Somerville Rd, as well as in Newport and now Seddon, I’m interested to know what changes he has seen in the area over the past 50 years.

“There used to be a whole lot of factories and warehouses in the area, so I always had customers seeking short back and sides. When The Beatles came into fashion, barbers almost went out of business – not because blokes were growing their hair, but because unisex salons popped up. I’ve been very lucky, people always need to get their hair cut. Short back and sides has kept me in the business for a long time.”

Recently Doug was told that his lease was up and he would have to move out. The iconic yellow building would be turned into apartments.

But, at age 70 he’s not going to retire. “This is life, I just move on. I’m going to find somewhere nearby and set up a shop. I’ve got another 30 years left in me. If I go longer I will, if I drop dead I can’t help it.”

I ask the blokes sitting on the tartan lounge why they keep coming back. The tough looking guy reading the train book quickly responds: “Doug’s been cutting my hair since I was five. My dad used to bring me to see him. He used to cut my dad’s hair too. It’s what he did and what I do.”

My son’s cut is complete. He has a little quiff, like Tin Tin, his hair parted with a comb on one side. I think it’s the first time he’s had any product in his hair. His head smells like California, coconut, rum and Old Spice all rolled into one. He’s become a tiny man.

At $10 for a kid’s cut – short back and sides – I will be tracking down Doug’s new barber shop. At the rate my kid’s hair grows, I hope to be seeing Doug once a month for the next thirty years.

Doug Howie’s Barbershop is located at 65 Williamstown Road, Seddon. You can’t miss the bright yellow corner building. Get in quick as it won’t be there for long.

Photos by Paul Large.

This article first appeared in The Westsider.

Hey, dough face!

It looks a bit like a dog's breakfast, but it tastes like vegetable

As you've guessed, I'm on a food wastage free bandwagon. I've been trying to get our weekly food bill down to around $50 and it's bloody tough. The best I have done is $68 and I was hardcore hanging for a steak by the end of the week. But I'm determined as hell to work this out. Why should we have to spend $5200 + a year on food.

Alfie is a morning sleeper - he has a snooze around 9.30am on a Friday for about three hours - he is so knackered from three hardcore days at daycare. This gives me heaps of time to make some excellent food.

Today I've smashed out a good ol' minestrone using the remaining items of last week's veggie box:
Carrots, sweet potato, potato, zucchini, mushies, kidney beans, end-of-packet pasta, stock and the special ingredient is Rocco's passata sauce purchased from my local Italian deli in West Footscray. Nothing tastes better than a nonna's homemade passata!

Whack it all in a pot and bam, there's lunch for the kid and I. The plan is to pick up some yum pumpkin bread from Sourdough Kitchen in Seddon to dip into the veggie mass. I'm going to have to coat the top of Alfie's dish in Parmesan cheese to disguise all the green veg.

For tea, I've made a quick-as-hell pizza dough, from a recipe on Taste. It's a fucking freezing day so I'm hoping it rises in time - it's got only seven hours to do so.

The dough has already started to rise!

It's a little tradition for Alfie and I to head to Rocco's Deli every Friday and stock up with pastas, pestos and other goodies for the week. I'm going to add prosciutto or parma ham to the pizza and maybe a little bit of pineapple... we all deserve a bit of Tropicana in our lives during winter.

It's going to be a lot of funny making these sweet pizzas with my little man this evening.

How good is it when meals for the day are sorted by 11am?A rarity in our house, but what the Helen-of-Troy, it makes me feel freakin' excellent.

Happy Friday punks.

xx

Mother's Day sucks pom poms

It sucks balls.  I dread it every year because it’s yet another reminder that our family is not a normal nine-to-five family where everyone sits around the table at the same time telling tales about bigfoot sightings and camping adventures. We’re a tag-team family who work hours unbeknownst to many, and sometimes our hours clash and we panic.

Mother’s Day is a day that I avoid all family locations – zoos, lunch spots, picnic areas, day spas (ha) – because I want to cry my face off when I see parents together with their kids celebrating all things mum.

The Welcome Mat

The inner west has only been home to me for four years. When I told my inner Eastern suburban pals that we were moving to the west, they had great concern for me: “But you don’t do drugs? How are you going to get to work in the City? We will never see each other – Yarraville is hours away from Richmond, I will have to catch a V-Line.” And so on.

It was weird only knowing a handful of people in this new pocket of Melbourne we had barely visited before we bought our house. We renovated our shack, got knocked up, had a baby boy, then started sorting through the mountains of stuff that we had held onto for years, not knowing what to do with it all.

The Tunnel of Youth

I turn 33 next week. For some odd reason, it dawned on me, only today, that I was reaching the end of my ‘early thirties’. Shit. I’ve really enjoyed my early thirties, even more so after today.

Alfie and I went to Yarraville Gardens. We were a bit sick of our regular park, with its basic-but-still-awesome playground and wanted to stretch our legs. I’ve always been funny about the playground at Yarraville Gardens. It’s pretty high, and having a slight fear of enclosed spaces, I was pretty terrified of the tunnel slide.

Heather Dell High

When I was ridiculously pregnant and enormous, I had daily cravings for Neenish Tarts. The pink and brown pattern would wake me in the middle of the night and I would stare at the ceiling, counting the hours until Heather Dell Cakes opened.

There’s something so charming about Heather Dell. It represents your nanna, through its sweet smell, its window display, its tin canisters on the shelves, the curried egg sandwiches, the biscuits and treats, the photos on the fridge, right down to the local fruit and veg supplier calendar with its perforated months highlighting birthdays, anniversaries and special events.

Rocco's Role

I’m greeted by a friendly ‘ciao’ when I enter Rocco’s Delicatessen. The store smells good, like a home cooked meal. Rocco smiles at me and there’s a definite twinkle in his eye. Everything about this place is familiar, like I have stepped back to a moment in my childhood.

Rocco and his wife Adriana opened their store in February 1977, 38 years ago. The store is full of reminders of the past, from the vintage signs behind the counter reminding you to purchase a TAB cola or how you can be a mod while smoking a Virginian Slim, to the family photos behind the register and the sound the door makes when you open it.