Isabella and The Pallet Garden.

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Isabella and The Pallet Garden.

It was another day in paradise and Isabella decided to tick off the first thing on her ‘must-do’ list attached to the refrigerator. She had been collecting non-treated pine pallets from the tip for 2 years now and today was the day she was going to turn one into her veggie patch. Isabella chose plants that could withstand the imminent frosts. Lettuce, leeks, silver beet and spring onions made the cut – all of which Isabella used extensively in the kitchen. Three hours later, Isabella was finished, exhausted and dying for a coldie. Luckily she had the foresight to put a couple of pale ales on ice at breakfast, alongside the quintessential bottle of Champagne. What a great day. What an even better evening.

Isabella and The Serious Need for Accessories.

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Isabella and The Serious Need for Accessories.

Isabella loved all things fashion. She particularly adored all things that adorned her outfits in the form of accessories. Beads and beads and beads. Silk flowers, necklaces, chokers, ribbons, jewels and bows. Isabella knew that it was one of her heroes – Coco Chanel – who said “before you walk out the door, take one thing off.” This was one bit of advice that Isabella refused to follow, and as such was the most accessorised individual on the block. Isabella lived for accessories and always looked gorgeous. That was not the problem. The main issue was that as an international model, Isabella was required to arrive at the airport 4 hours before departure in order for airport security to check every beep and buzz. Isabella always had to strip within a thread of her underpants to get the all clear. A more dedicated accessories advocate would never out-do our Isabella.

Isabella and The Poker Face Training.

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Isabella and The Poker Face Training.

Isabella was a dab hand at poker. There was something in her blood. It was years and years of playing poker with 1 and 2 cent wagers at her annual and compulsory holidays with her grand parents on the Gold Coast. Isabella’s hippie mother blamed the ‘materially-focused’ in-laws with corrupting her beautiful daughter with the ways of gambling. Needless to say, Isabella also loved the bingo at the lawn bowls club too but didn’t tell her mother about those adventures for fear of never getting to yell out “BINGO” ever again – for line or card. So whilst Isabella loved the game, her poker face was not her strong point. Opponents read her face, could determine her bluffs and knew when she had the hand of her life. For this reason Isabella commissioned her favourite ceramic artist to create a poker-faced training sculpture. Three times a day, Isabella trained with the sculpture, a packet of glossy cards and a tin of bronze, decommissioned coins. She had a charity poker tournament pending and needed to perfect the poker face. Isabella had a long way to go but should be commended on her dedication. Let’s hope she doesn’t get a pictured card in her first hand. God forbid a royal flush.

Isabella and The Hoon Identity Crisis.

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Isabella and The Hoon Identity Crisis.

Isabella liked to think of herself as a bit of a hoon when it came to driving. Her hoon identity crisis stemmed from the fact that she drove a 6 cylinder Ford 4 x 4 Ute with a wooden tray. Truth be known Isabella very rarely reached the speed limit and the radio was always tuned to the AM station her father listened to when she was a child. Simon and Garfunkel often featured on the ute’s stereo and was only turned off when collecting wine at the local drive through. Isabella could not risk her hoon status by playing and singing loudly to Scarborough Fair. Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme.

Isabella and The Hoard of National Geographics.

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Isabella and The Hoard of National Geographics.

Another beautiful Sunday morning. The coffee was brewing and Isabella decided to gather her hoard of National Geographic magazines into her favourite reading corner. She had a special place for those pre-1978 additions. This attraction for Isabella was not just for the out-of-this-world journalistic magnificence but for the photographs of the kitchie-kitch knitwear worn by all those captured by the lens. It was a special era for knitwear across the world. An era Isabella’s hippie parents embraced and encouraged throughout her childhood. Turtle necks, cable knits, toggle buttons, random hues of burnt orange and brown. Isabella knew her hoard of National Geographics was really meeting her need to relish her roots. God bless National Geographic.

Isabella and The Wheelie Bin.

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Isabella and The Wheelie Bin.

It was Thursday morning and Isabella was in a sleepy coma. It was early. It was cold. And there it was in the distance – the sound of the rubbish truck clunking up the street. Isabella’s eyes opened. Her body stiffened. “Fuck!” Isabella had forgotten to put the wheelie bin out for it’s weekly collection. Within a second she was out the door. Grabbing the bin, she began running to the kerb. The sun barely speckled the long and winding driveway. Isabella made it. She waved to the rubbish truck driver only to realise that she was half naked. Walking slowly back to the house, empty rubbish bin in one hand, she covered her nipple with the other and laughed out loud. Well, what’s one nipple between friends?

Isabella and The Succulents.

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Isabella and The Succulents.

Isabella loved to garden. She especially loved the succulents that thrived with such little attention. In the drought, they quietly did their thing and in the flooding rain they soaked up the goodness like plump sponges. Isabella especially loved the architectural nature of succulents. The angles and the structures of these plants played in the shadows of an otherwise uninhabitable environment. Isabella also loved their resilience. The way one broken petal could be shoved in soil and grow into a complete plant, bewildered Isabella. These amazing little succulents went about their business without any fuss. Isabella knew that the freezing frost was about to launch its wrath on these succulents. They had survived it in the past and again, they will conquer the cold with little complaint. Perhaps a lesson for us all.

Isabella and The Pile of Dirty Washing in the Laundry.

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Isabella and The Pile of Dirty Washing in the Laundry.

There was no denying it. The rain was no where to be seen and Isabella had no more excuses for the large pile of dirty washing in the laundry. She had never seen the sky so blue, the sun so warm, the air so clean. Isabella had laundry to do and there was nothing that would stop her. In an instant, Isabella stood back, took a deep breath and thought, “The sky is blue. The sun is warm. The air is clean. ” There began the procurement of fresh Australian king prawns, a perfectly ripe avocado and a bottle of chilled local white wine. With Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds playing, good food and great wine, Isabella believed herself to be the happiest she had been in ages. Thank God she had decided to stuff the laundry today. She may have to do the same tomorrow.

Isabella and the International Fruit Pickers.

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Isabella and the International Fruit Pickers.

Isabella spoke many languages – the language of love, the language of food, the language of wine. Luckily for Isabella, these languages are commonplace amongst the non-English speaking backpackers who frequented the Granite Belt every picking season. After a few awkward ‘oui ouis,’ Isabella broke out her picnic basket, cranked open the wine and shared the regions harvest with her new friends. It was lovely until the moment was interrupted abruptly by the farmer. In the confusion of meeting new people, Isabella had forgotten that the fruit had to be picked BEFORE they could celebrate the harvest. Lesson learned.

Isabella and The Good Looking Barista.

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Isabella and The Good Looking Barista.

Isabella was on to her fourth coffee. She was pretending to be waiting for a friend but truth be known, she was just perving at the good looking Barista. He had it all. Freshly roasted beans, ground to order, precision tampering, fast to engage and a crema that would make even the coffee gods weep with joy. Double shot short black, long macchiato, flat white, soy latte – the choice was endless. Isabella believed that she could withstand the caffeine overdose in the name of the good looking Barista…. if only she knew his name. And then she gazed into the Barista’s beautiful green eyes as he cleaned his frothing wand. His name didn’t matter any more. He will only ever be known to Isabella as The Good Looking Barista.