glorified washing pile

So it turns out that Poet has taken a total of three daytime sleeps in the cot. Which is absolutely fine because it means I've had a big, vacant space for all her clothes. Yep, see that rather daunting mountain of clothes there - they're all hers. Ranging from size 00 to 3 - jumpsuits, dresses, knits and leggings-a-plenty (my mum kept all my little dresses from when we lived in England - they are absolutely fabulous and deserved of a post of their own). Since I've been moving the house around all our clothes have moved rooms too. Just for the record I never want to do it again. Right now I've given up - hence clothes in cot (they've been there for a week already). 

My 'work' work has been piling up too - I have about twenty stories to write in the next fortnight which means I'll be glued to the screen. My reprieve comes in the form of a daily 'cup of chino' (as Che calls it) and a long walk with Poet in the pram.

Planning holidays is fun too and come the end of March we will be in Tasmania with a very talented photographer to document the artisan food movement down there. The result will be a collection of beautiful photographs accompanied by thoughtful observations - very kinfolk shall we say.
 
For now I'm off to bed - to turn a blind eye to the washing pile and dream of crisp autumn apples from the Tasmanian tree (and the cheese, fresh bread, home grown vegies, just brewed cider, still-warm jam). YUM!