Follow me

Come on over and hang out with me at my new blog, The Lucky Portfolio at:

It’s been up for a few weeks now and it’s the same author, the same sense of humour, just with a more streamlined topic focusing on style and fashion.

I’d love to have you join me.

Love and peace xxx



Hi team,

Just developing a new blog at the moment so Project Lucky in its current format (haven’t decided about the name change yet) is being abandoned/ I’m fading it. Apologies for not updating you on this sooner.

What I would like from you is to get in touch with me via the blog or other ways with what you’ve liked and not liked about Project Lucky so that I can make the next blog even better.

At this stage I’m hoping to have my new baby up and running in the new year, giving me Christmas to plan it and New Years to get silly and improve those plans. See you in January!

If you need other blogs to follow in the meantime/my Christmas gift to you:,,,

Thanks, with love and peace,


Rather Be

It’s supposed to be summer here. But the gales are howling, the rain is running and there’s even been a tornado. It’s a horrible 19 degrees Celsius, that’s horrible because it’s not hot enough to wear shorts but not cold enough to wear actual winter clothes and every time I step outside the wind blows my hair and it sticks to my lipgloss which then leads to me trying to flick it off with my tongue because the feeling of lipglossed hair on fingers is really gross. Such as hassle.

I’ve been having a bit of a fantasy for the last few weeks about being holed up in a cottage in the English countryside. Wearing layers of clothing, rambling across paddocks, cosy fires and copious cups of tea. That way, I could just read and ramble and not actually have to do anything. Or I could become more consistent with writing a blog (now that would be a nice change wouldn’t it?).

Here’s what I’m thinking:

Off My Chest

I spent most of last Friday afternoon with my top off. No, it’s not a new day job or a new boyfriend, I was at the breast clinic. I got prodded, poked, groped, injected and questioned all in the name of medical discovery. I left with my dignity intact but my chest a little worse for wear.

Since then I’ve been thinking about breasts a lot. I have such a love/hate relationship with mine: I can have cleavage/I think cleavage looks slutty, I don’t need push up bras/I always have to wear a bra, they’ve got the attentions of some nice boys/they’ve got the attention of some not so nice boys. And then there’s just the bad things (for all of you who think bigger is better): no backless dresses, they hurt if you get hit, few pretty bras because they don’t make them that cute in my size and ditto (I found out this morning) for bikinis.

I don’t need to give any references to the blatant fact that, like the rest of the female body today, boobs are over-photographed, over-sexualised and over-scandalised for the benefit of a heterosexual male audience, but we still use them to our advantage. On the radio the other day women who used their cleavage to their advantage were asked to phone in and there were all sorts of stories: getting out of speeding tickets, getting service at bars, discounts at electronics stores. But us girls are also very attached to them, I’m a bit worried about getting mine hacked into because I’ll have a scar. I love my other scars, they’re reminders of good stories (and stupid mistakes) but I feel like it will be so… what’s the female version of emasculating?

As Julia Roberts said in Notting Hill (is that not the most quotable movie of all time?) “What is it about men and nudity? Particularly breasts? How can you be so interested in them?… What’s all the fuss about?” I don’t know but despite the awkardness of my pre-teen years and the trauma of bra shopping, I’m suddenly very protective of mine.


What do we think of this? In another blog I look at (for men) this image was posted in reference to a partner. I usually hate these sort of criteria but I’m really struggling to think of exclusions to there being just two of those three things. Can you have it all? And are these three things the foundations to relationships? If we girls were making one up about the men in our lives, or women (we are not hetro-normative around here) would it be the same? Or would we have other attributes? And where does fun-ness and funniness come in? Because that’s vitally important, right? Or is that just me?

Life Story

There’s a man who lives in my suburb, he’s multi-millionaire, has had three wives, multiple children and lives in a beautiful house in an amazing location. He’s old now, going blind and is, as far as I know, living alone. No more wives, no more kids, with his health slipping away.

First day back at work I had to wrap up all his Christmas presents. He’d made a list of 25 people and to 23 of them he is giving the same book. What makes it even more curious is that he’s written personal messages inside each of them, no cards, just scrawling black ink on typed cover pages.

In my infinite curiosity, I read the messages and they made me indescribably sad.

Things such as (names changed):

“Dear Margaret, I had hoped we would be spending Xmas together this year…”

“Dear Frank, thank you so much for all you help during the year, you’ve been so kind…”

“Dear Joe, I hope you the house will be finished in time for Xmas, you and Sarah are always welcome at my place, whenever you are able to visit…”

“Dear Harry, I miss you terribly, now that your mother and I have got a divorce I hope that we can reestablish our relationship..”

That last one is the saddest one of all, what a heart laid bare, and how out of place it looked, on the cover page of a book where one usually writes such simple, banal and sentimental messages.

I think of all the people in my life now, when I’m 90 will there only be 25 and will some of them not want to see me? Or is it a representation of money not buying happiness etc? Or is this simply what happens when you get old, that people leave you and then leave you alone?

Hunters & Collectors

I used to collect stickers, you know, when sticker books were the fad of the nineties, I mean, for goodness’ sake, could you imagine giving someone stickers these days?? What did we do with them?

At the end of my sticker phase inherited a stamp collection which sits in a wooden box on my bookcase and looks accusingly at me for not doing anything with it – I haven’t added to the collection but I also haven’t sold it to a true stamp fan so that they may enjoy it. I don’t even look at it, it’s just there.

Now, I’ve realised, I collect words or phrases that we don’t have an English equivalent for, apparently they’re called ‘loan words’. You know, words that we’ve had to borrow from other languages because silly old English just isn’t proficient enough to provide us with simply the right, concise way to express what we mean. German does it well with compound words like zeitgeist and my personal favourite, schadenfreude and my study of French has given me an intense liking for déjà vu, ennui and l’esprit d’escalier (when you think of the perfect response/comeback after the conversation is over).

Here’s my latest, it’s Welsh and like it’s homeland, it’s a real beauty:

That’s exactly the word I’ve been looking for.

Previous Older Entries