Queen of the quince

I was feeling very Maggie Beer last week so poached some quinces. That's where the channelling ended as, unlike Maggie Beer, I'm no queen of the quince and didn't really know what to do with them. So in the fridge they sat.

On Friday, I bought the June issue of Country Style and there, on page 73, was the inspiration, or, more accurately, the recipe, I'd been waiting for: warm quince and almond cake. My Maggie muse had returned so I cranked up a bit of Rod Stewart crooning Maggie May and got baking. I'm possibly embellishing the last bit.

I served it as suggested, with cream and reduced poaching liquid, and gave the Child a tiny slice as didn't think it'd be something she'd go for. She held out her bowl, Oliver-like, and asked for more.

Can't ask for more than that. Well you can. But she wasn't allowed a third serving.

Chalk it up, part 2

A more practical use for yesterday's liquid chalk pens. Never mix up the self-raising with the plain or the basmati with the jasmine again.

Chalk it up

While waiting at my local cafe this week, the owner saw me staring at his row of pretty cakes in a glass cabinet. Or so he thought. What I was actually looking at was the handwritten descriptions and prices on the glass. He constantly has new cakes and the writing changes daily so it must be easy to remove.

Realising he wasn't going to get a sale beyond my latte, he pulled out his pens to reveal a collection of liquid chalk markers that can be used on non-porous surfaces - glass is perfect - and are easily wiped off with a cloth.

I'm not a great drawer so I'm experimenting with shopping lists and birds on windows in the kitchen but have plans for the Child (who is handy with a pencil) to have a go at something at the bottom of a glass door Banksy-style, rather than the less-inspiring offerings mother-style.

See what others are doing in their creative spaces today here.

Pillage of the woollen village

I thought I was clever buying an affordable cashmere/silk dress, which I wear over jeans. Would be soft, cosy, warm, I thought. I was right, it is. But it also pills. Ergh.

Refusing to buy one of those battery operated pill removers sometimes spruiked in shopping centres I remembered that pumice stones are supposed to work. So I tried a gentle pumice on the offending item and declare the result to be me: 1, offending item: 0.

So now all my recalcitrant woollen troops have been given the once over and are fit to be marched publicly again. Nothing like wool peace.

End of the floor show

This $10 vintage basket has brought calm to the house. Didn't know exactly what I'd use it for when I spotted it last week but it was too good to leave behind, so home it came.

Walked in the door and then into the Child's room. Inspiration struck. Did she like the basket? Yes. If I left it in her room would she use it to put her dirty clothes in? Yes.

And she does. No more bits and pieces left all over the floor where they last dropped from her little body.

Home is where the heart (and art) is

Sometimes when flicking through magazines like Australian Country Style or English Country Living, I wish I lived somewhere like on those pages. Sydney's often maligned as being too busy, too crowded, too noisy, too expensive, too pushy, too avaricious. Often, it is all of those things. Other times, like the weekend just gone, it's magical and I can't imagine being anywhere else.

Highlights included the Finders Keepers market at Carriageworks and then waiting in a (short) queue to be served pork dumplings by Kylie Kwong at the adjacent Farmers' Market. I love it that a celebrated Sydney chef is humble enough to man her own stall. Every week. I also love it that the Child falls in love with a handmade scarf and a print of an original local artwork.

In the evening, we join two other families for homemade fish pie and golden syrup dumplings.

On Sunday we decide to leave the car at home and walk in the luminous Autumn sunshine through back streets to Marrickville Markets. We wander down unknown streets where unexpected towering gums pierce the urban sky and we return the same way carrying crunchy apples picked just days before.

In the afternoon, we leave the house and 15 minutes later we're at the Sydney Writers' Festival where we hear author Markus Zusack read a short story he'd written when he was 16. It was, by his own admission, probably the worst piece of writing that had ever been read at the festival and the room laughed along with him. It was a generous gesture and made to help launch the Sydney Story Factory, a not-for-profit children's writing program that may be just what our 12-year-old budding novelist is looking for.

A very good weekend.

And entrance to all these events was absolutely free.

Pictured: Catherine Campbell print, $25, Elkhorn scarf, $55, and vintage pillowcase, $8, from the Frankie stand at Finders Keepers.

Forever friday

Friday is my favourite day of the week. It's the anticipation of two entire free days that lay ahead for the whole family. Reminds me of preparing for a holiday.

I like to get the house spruced, with fresh bedlinen, clean towels and a bunch of eucalyptus scenting the air. Even the Cat's barkcloth-covered beanbag that lives in front of the fireplace gets a shake and air in the sun in readiness for tonight.

The favourite grey linen apron in the top pic was bought at Merci in Paris, as I like to pick up everyday homewares to remind me of places. Things I'll touch and use all the time. Travel can be a weekend in Orange or a night in the Blue Mountains. Doesn't have to be an exotic location at all. But we were lucky enough to go to Europe last year, from where I also brought home dishcloths (yes, for washing up) from Muji in Rome.

Better than snowdomes, to me.