Christmas to me means hot days at the beach, the smell of sunscreen and sand sticking to my sunburnt skin Piercing sun and afternoon rain showers, but there is always an electricity of excitement in the air. When we were younger, we would pile into the car and head to Kingscliff. I miss the smell of dry pine trees and all us kids running wild through the park, playing with our new loot, than cooling off in the crashing Pacific waves. The year before last, we found ourselves alone on Christmas day, me and my twin, in our St Kilda apartment. After opening our single present to each other, we spent the majority of the day cooking up a storm, with no hungry mouths to feed. Instead of letting the food spoil in the 40 degree heat, we had the ingenious idea to roll ourselves a little green happiness, eat and reminisce about previous Christmas's. This year, a distant memory away, I watched the first snow flakes float down and settle on my sleeve. I didn't believe my eyes at first, bu

day 47.  Its cold. Un-fashionably cold. Forget lace leggings, suede pumps, full skirts with cropped jackets, colourful scarves and matching berates, delicate gloves under cocktail rings, red lips and sleek eyeliner... Its snow gear cold. Forget the female figure, and dont mention make-up. Its so wet and muggy that the Italian fashionistas have been forced into hiding, onto jet-planes somewhere warmer, or into triple quilted snuggy looking outfits that render them unrecognisable. Maybe this trip to Germany on Sunday is just what I need. Its a regular freeze there, so I trust the locals are better equipped to fashionable handle the cold. that, and to relocate my spiritual center. Back in August my mum convinced me to meet her in Spain to do a training course in Breathwork/Rebirthing. It is something I have grown up with, but have always been afraid to explore. Plus what teenager is going to want to follow a spiritual path that involves lavender smelling Hippies coming up to you and ask

so I had an interesting event that occurred Saturday. I live with 5 guys and there is at least 7 people in the house at all times, so I was surprised when I woke up sat morning and noone was around. I called a few mobiles and no answers so decided to go for my regular morning latte. Two coffees later and I realise to my building frustration that I dont have house keys. I have been wanting to get to the Salvatore Ferragamo museum for awhile, so take the opportunity to distract myself.  Its closed until the 18th December. Its an understatment to say that I was in a bad mood. I could have kicked a puppy. I decided to go to my favorite place in Florence to chill out. It was 3 in the afternoon and Michelangelos square over looking the city would be warm enough from the days sunshine (its winter here, and freezing!) As I was walking up the path some creep must have spotted me alone and decided to wait around the corner, pants to the ground, touching himself!for some reason I wasn't 

... what the hell was I thinking! I mean, sure things with the boy are going better than ever, but how could I be so ignorant to think that a culture that is so based on the romantic notion of love, could harbour and support a workaholic like myself!! I bet the word doesnt even exist in Italian! I should have done my research more... or attempted to learn the language. I wrongly assumed that because I moved here for love that naturally the language of love would evolve, like a budding rose or a butterfly. But it continues to evade me - as if to tell me that my skeptical ideals of love are not welcome here, and therefore its secret language of 'amour' cannot be mine to express. I can only say for those that I have come across - but the modern Italians appear to lack work ethic. Paired with the recent economic downturn, Florence businesses (with the friendly exception of pubs and bars) in winter are barely alive. Shop after shop are either closed or vacant, so one would assume

... and missed this years Australian Rosemount Fashion Week. I couldnt be there, but here are my favorites from the line up: Romance Was Born 'Renaissance Dinosaur' show Romance Was Born Camilla and Marc displayed some gorgeous designs but the head wear really stood out for me. Here a model wears a floating feathers headpiece created by milner, Johnathan Howard. The feathers are hand-dyed turkey feathers and a similar piece can be ordered by contacting Johnathan via www.hatmaker.com.au Kirrily Johnston 'Apocolypto' collection Kirrily Johnston 'Apocolypto' collection. I love the double wrap belt. Florence is renowned for their amazing belt work. I had a couple made specially for me that triple wrap around my waist Dion Lee. This is a gorgeous photo with the Sydney Harbour bridge reflected in the glass Alice McCall designed the belts she used for her collection. This year was no exception to the caliber, quality and design that is showcased year after year at t

...the pesto pasta at Luca's restaurant in Rome, I confess, was love. It was served piping hot with the Parmesan and olive oil oozing, a taste that made me weep. All the loneliness I had felt in the few hours before disappeared. This was the reawakening of a love affair I had started with Italian food over 4 years ago here in Rome.  Food and I have always shared a mutual love. Born into the Hindu Hare Krsna Religion just about guaranteed that at the very least we would be well fed with a variety westernised Indian prasadam (a word meaning "spiritual food" - "  By the tongue you can chant  Hare Krsna , and by the tongue you can taste Krsna  prasadam , spiritual food")  . It also meant that we were vegetarian, a lifestyle choice I have since, and always will maintain. How good is payday? That little nudge of joy I feel in the back of my stomach when that wonderful fortnight rolls around started when I was a child. Payday meant food! The food that as a child was

CHECK OUT today's candid shots of these young Florence trend setters (I snuck a pic of me in there) :   australiandesignmadeinitaly.blogspot.com I moved to Italy for  Its impossible for me not to love a city where spending that extra time in the morning to create your daily look is so appreciated. Despite driving your boyfriend mad, he, being European, will not let the effort go unnoticed - nor will the other hundred Europeans you pass as you cross the through the city. I have found the cliche to be true; if you ever feel rejected, broken hearted, lonely, or simply having a bad hair day, walk down any street in Florence or Rome. Your sure to find a cure in the open and down right blatant attention you will undoubtedly attract from the macho male race that reside in these places. Tip: If it the attention becomes overwhelming, pick out a nice looking man. The one thing the European's don't tolerate is a woman being harassed. Its sounds like a catch 22, but if you are i

The Europeans have this distinct unique way of expressing themselves through fashion. My love of fashion grew out of my sisters garage in Uki, New South Wales, but flourished in international magazines like Vogue and Harpers Bazaar. I learned to sew in that garage. My sister already had a business creating unique tie dyed clothing for children. My twin sister and I had an obsession with Barbie and had lost our impressive collection when our house burnt down, aged 10. The community came together and we ended up with more Barbie's than we knew what to do with! Kat had the ingenious idea of combining her tie dying with our massive (and losing popularity with puberty) Barbie collection, and thus "Feral Sheryl" was born!  At the time it was all a bit of fun. Designs were glued onto the dolls, along with glitter face paint and hair techno colours, until we were trusted enough to use The Singer - a gorgeous old school sewing machine which we only broke it a few dozen times. I s

I moved to Italy for Love ... love of Fashion, Food and Italian Men. Or in my case A man, and an Albanian man at that. I discovered Italy 3 years ago at the end of my marriage. An intensely religious Jewish background, my husbands family sent us here as a last ditch effort to keep our marriage intact. Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love describes Rome's word as "sex", and although I will later change my mind - this couldnt be further from the word I could describe Rome on that last trip I would ever take with the man whom I vowed 'forever'. "Despair" seeped in my blood like a plague and threatened to interrupt my holiday plans. But like any stubborn Aries, I put my head up high, and pulled my socks up higher and sauntered through the Vatican, Berghese and Valentino Galleries, husband luke warm on my heels. We separated 3 months later. Looking back (at the photos) I have no regrets. In fact it was the best move Ive made. You see I had married a prof