šuti

Šuti means "shut up" in Croatian and I heard it a lot on Christmas day. Uncle Ivan, seventy-something and rather tipsy, was explaining in detail how to tell if your fish monger is ripping you off (there's a complicated equation with the price of a fillet versus the price of a whole fish). His son, Stefan, bounded upstairs with a present: "Šuti!" he shoved the present into Ivan's lap, "Open this, old man!".

In between talking about fish prices, Dalmatia and the act of being Dalmatian (if you get a bunch of elder Dalmatians together, I swear, its all they talk about) I ate a pile of kroštule, otherwise known as hrvoštule. They're little pastry bows, deep fried until just golden and dusted with icing sugar. My Aunty Marlene is the only person in our family who makes them and has promised to teach me the recipe before she dies. A cousin said I'll only receive it on Marlene's death-bed because "Marlene wants to be the only person alive who knows the recipe", which I think is true! There are recipes here and here but I doubt they are anywhere near as good as the one locked away in Aunty Marlene's head.

squinting into the sunset

Last weekend we gave each other boys names, such as Keith, Bruce, Garth, Oliver and Darren. Mine is Rupert, which is, in fact, what my parents were going to call me if I was a boy.

My mother dressed us all as very eclectically and I imagine that as the only boy in the family, little Rupert would have had extra attention paid to his wardrobe. I see Mum dressing Rupert in a Croatian patchwork poncho over a Batman t shirt and raspberry coloured woolen cardigan, tucked into olive coloured corduroy pants held up by patterned suspenders with shiny little red gumboots. I envisage tiny John Lennon glasses, too.

Rupert probably would have been a bit reserved and shy, as you would be after being teased so mercilessly about your clothes at school. I think would have grown up to be adorable to the girls he tutored English Lit 101, especially when he took off his glasses to clean them during class and had to squint a little.

boogaloo and shake!

My exceptionally talented older sister, Francie, and our equally talented amie Christobel made a video for a Le Specs competition, to advertise their new "lenticular" frames that change colour when you move your head.

Turns out that they won! This is amazing for them, and, well, embarrassing for me because I'm in it, and I'm a bit drunk. The video also stars Jennie, Georgie and William. All I can say is: beware of older sisters armed with champagne, asking for favours. You may end up on the internet.

The plus side is, free sunglasses!

I'm getting these ones :

chip chip chip chip chip

Sorry to tirade you with posts about my life which only Lou will care about BUT look at this photo of my family's new kitten. His name is Chip! I wanted to call him Rudy but my sisters said no. This photo was taken around the time that he had the, err, snip? Apparently he wept a single tear, but afterwards was fine. Anyway, just LOOK AT HIS LITTLE FACE.

spoken word

This article from the New York Times, about a father who read to his daughter every night for years and years and years is the sweetest thing I've read in ages.

"In those nine-plus years, they survived many close calls. When Kristen was still in elementary school, her father and older sister went to Washington. “The phone rings at 10:45 at the hotel and it’s Kristen,” Mr. Brozina recalled. “She says, ‘Dad, we forgot The Streak!’ Fortunately, I always travel with several books and we read right then and there.”