I’m late.

I run across the road and try not to trip or drop the contents of my makeup-laden handbag on the road. Abi and Arianna (Ari) smile and wave to me from their table in the café, an offering called My Kingdom For A Horse. The paint scheme inside is divine: a tri-coloured horizontal stripe that skates its way around the café interior. Bright red, orange and yellow fly past us on whitewashed bricks. It’s got a daggy-new-again feel, like my puffer jacket in the 80s. Something you were once embarrassed by, because your mum made you wear it on cold casual days at school. Something you squeal over with delight when you see it again, after you’re old enough to make your own decisions and your mum doesn’t care what you wear anymore. 

The sun shimmers in the bamboo and dappled light falls through, staining Fred’s face different shades of gold in the morning. He wanders up the long driveway to check the rainwater tank. The tank blocks out the view of the gumtrees behind it, and throws shade onto the grassy nests below. Snakes lean on it to capture the sun, and the warmth of the concrete.   

Was I always a fan of David Bowie? Not particularly. I mean, I quite liked him as Jareth in the wacky cult movie Labyrinth, for which he penned much of the soundtrack. Cue saxophones, bursting singalongs by a jaded romantic prince-villain, and rousing lullabies to a borrowed/stolen baby. Weird, right? I’d expect nothing less of him.

Gender identities in advertising are constructed to seem natural, but are based around ‘ideal’ identities that circulate in society. An imagined ‘femininity’ (concerning the 2004 Elle MacPherson Intimates lingerie campaign) is constructed through a binary relationship with an imagined masculine ‘other’, and attracts consumers through its combination of cosmopolitan appeal with an Australian femininity.

2.00am, Saturday morning: You wake up in the dark. The bed is warm and your husband sleeps soundly next to you. There’s a rhythmic cramp spreading throughout your pelvic area, like a period cramp. But it feels too repetitive for that. You don’t know much about your pelvis except that there’s been a lot going on in that area of late. A person’s head. Their fingernails, nose, feet and elbows. All in there. In that comfy cocoon you built, a baby-sized sleeping bag for your passenger. Your friends tell you you’re a wizard.

Ginger snaps. Delicious treats constructed from ginger-flavoured biscuity-stuff rolled into a cigar, and pumped full of brandy cream. The cigars can be prepared ahead of time and frozen for several months, so they’re basically available whenever you want to devour them. Ginger Snaps (the film) tells the story of the Fitzgerald girls, who are far less interested in your satisfaction. Ginger Fitzgerald (Katherine Isabelle) and her sister Brigitte (Emily Perkins) hate anyone acting sweet, and Ginger’s going to do most of the devouring in this feature length film directed by John Fawcett.