I have spent the past two decades looking for the perfect corporate shoe.

If we were going on aesthetics alone, then these Christian Louboutins (above) are exactly right. They're elegant, have a sky-high heel and will make any woman look like they have the legs of a racehorse. 

However, in reality, these shoes fail on a very fundamental level: they're impossible to walk in. 

I used to have a pair of shoes that high and I felt nauseous whenever I wore them. I could barely walk from the bar to the table...

The thing is, they were stunning. Chocolate brown Spanish leather and sexy as hell. I just couldn't see the point if I couldn't wear them.

In the end, they became display shoes. I put them up on my mantelpiece and dusted them occasionally. They eventually departed in The Great Clean Out of 2010. 

So, what makes the perfect corporate shoe? Well, in my post-baby, post-40 life, my criteria has broadened and grown somewhat (just like my feet). 

The thing is, I don't have slim elegant legs. I'd love them, and i have been blessed in other departments, but my legs are not my best feature. Fortunately, I do have ankles, just.

So my perfect shoe must miraculously make my legs look slimmer. 

The perfect shoe should have a fine and gorgeous heel because chunky is well....chunky.

It would be lovely if the shoe was reasonably priced, but I've begun to realise I have very expensive feet.

As well as being aesthetically perfect, the shoes need to allow me to walk. For miles. Without a single blister or ache. 

I'm heading to Parliament House for Budget night in a week or so and I know my feet are in for a torturous experience. 

When I'm at Parliament, I'm walking all day on super-slippery parquet floorboards, marble or spongy carpet.

Halfway through the day, your feet are in excrutciating pain. By 5pm, they've given up altogether. No Slipper jokes, thank you!

Of course, you need to look professional and stylish while still being comfortable. Is it even possible? 

Today I made it my mission to find the perfect corporate shoe. 

First stop, DJ's Bondi Junction. 

I pull out five pairs of shoes from Naturaliser, Super Soft and Milana (no chance of those fitting me, but they were so gorgeous). 

It took forever to be served. I'd forgotten how tough it is in Department stores now. There are so few staff. I was up against some super-tough, Joh Bailey blow-dried Eastern Suburbs ladies, so I didn't stand a chance. 

I did try on wedges, but had forgotten that Prime Minister Julia Gillard wore a pair when she was rescued by that gorgeous security guard from a restaurant in Canberra.

Here's a gratuitous shot from the Herald Sun of the PM with 'The Bodyguard'.

Here's a not so attractive shot from the Daily Telegraph of her dislodged Midas wedge.

The only way I'd buy these shoes would be if they came with a guarantee I'd be rescued by the bodyguard.. 

Anyway, I eventually found myself in Myer, where I bought a stunning pair of claret coloured patent leather heels which professed to be super comfortable. 

Miraculously they were comfortable in the shop but when I got home, I realised I couldn't actually walk in them. 

I took photos of them just before I reluctantly took them back this afternoon. Sigh.

So in the end, I found a pair that fit nearly all the criteria. They're so comfortable, they're reasonable, they're not chunky, they're not flat, but oh Lord, you'd hardly call them beautiful. 

You can check them out on the Wittner site here.

They do look better on than in the photo, but they'd need to. 

There are some of my friends who might say my shoes are not the first thing people notice about me, but women do notice details like shoes and nails and hair. 

If I want to look professional, I need to look well groomed and in control. That's hard to do in a pair of thongs and equally hard in a super painful pair of stilettos.

I think the key is to find the shoes that allow me to use my brain without thinking about my feet once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

For a long time now, I've fancied myself as something of a red-headed Nigella. 

I admit it. It's not just a bosom thing (truly). It's not just that I am rather fond of curvaceous icons who make men swoon. It's more that I can cook anything I put my mind to.

Or at least I thought I could until today.

Today is in fact 'a date which will live in infamy'....it's the day of The Great Lemon Meringue Pie Disaster.

It all started innocently enough. A friend texted me this morning asking if I wanted to come over for dinner and would I bring dessert? She suggested icecream. Very sensible. 

I replied that I would bake. I was in a cafe at the time and spotted a gorgeous flourless chocolate cake for $29. I could have bought it then. It would have all been so very different.

But no. I figured $29 was a ludicrous amount for a cake when I could just whip up a lemon meringue pie and carry it across in one of those plastic cake carriers that always seem useless until you really need one.

I bought the posh pastry, I boughts lots of lemons, limes, special loose-bottomed pie tins (be kind, people) and well over $29 worth of supplies. I put on my over-priced french apron with the red love hearts.

Long story short, it was a total and absolute disaster. I think the fact is that I've forgotten how to make dessert. 

It's better for everyone that way. If you can make it, you can eat it. 

Firstly, I forgot that pastry shrinks. So the gorgeous, over-priced posh pastry sheet ended up being a tragic little disc resembling Donatella Versace's face on a bad day.

I then made pastry myself....let's not speak of that again. It did NOT go well.

My young kitchen apprentice may have made some rude comments while I whirled around, covering every available kitchen surface with flour.

I made him pay by forcing him to squeeze the juice of 20 lemons and limes....using only two fingers and standing on one leg singing Bohemian Rhapsody backwards.

He literally needed a Nurofen and a good lie down (with an iPad) to recover.

In the meantime, my kitchen really DOES look as though it's been caught in a flour storm.

So long story short, I think I have a rustic lemon meringue pie. I had to go for a puff pastry shell (yes, I KNOW) and I fear it's cracked in half because of the afore mentioned loose-bottom issue.  There's lemon and there's meringue. Maybe if I take enough alcohol no one will notice when it splits into two.

I wonder if the $29 cake is still going at the cafe.....

Postscript...of course anyone could see what would happen next. I slid the lemon meringue pie out of the specially purchased loose-bottomed tin and it somehow slipped, snapped in half and plunged into the cake box like the Titanic into the Atlantic. I'm now looking for Kate and Leo bobbing around clutching onto stray bits of pastry. 

 

It has come to my attention that the skirts of the nation have disappeared. Vanished. 

I was in Manly last Saturday night, and found myself caught in some kind of girlish time warp at the Manly Wharf Bar. 

My fabulous girlfriend and I could have been the mothers of these girls without being teenage brides. Gulp.

More offputting (if that's even possible) was the fact that these girls seem to have lost their skirts. 

Without wanting to sound like one of the Amish people, it was most disconcerting. 

At best, there was a bandage of material wound tightly around the hips. 

This was combined with alarmingly long legs and those hooker shoes that Kim Kardashian is responsible for inspiring.

And I am not tutting in disapproval. Oh no.

I am so profoundly jealous. J-E-A-L-O-U-S.

Even when I was that age, I could never have got away with that look. 

I am blessed in many ways. I have hair that generally behaves itself...except for the ill-advised 'Pretty Woman' style perm of the late 80s and far too much of the 90s. Or the Princess Diana flick thing I had going on in the 1980s.  

I have a cleavage that my friend likes to call 'The Abyss'. She makes her voice all echoey when she says it, which always make me laugh.

My skin is pretty good too (probably because I may actually be a vampire and no one has told me). 

However, the sad fact of the matter is that my legs are the Shetland Ponies of the 'leg world'. They're short, they're strong and they're robust. 

My Mum says I was fortunate to have ankles because she doesn't and had to survive the 60s mini skirt era. She has a point. I do have ankles. Just.

The cruelty of it is that my father had brilliant legs. Stunning. Long, thin, just the right amount of muscle. Why on earth couldn't I inherit those?

In pre air-brushing days, they used men as models for the stocking adds because they had the right legs.

When I was in my 20s, a man who shall remain a God to me came up to and said 'I love legs like yours'. I nominate him for an Australia Day Award every year. The GG Quentin Bryce has magnificent skinny legs though, so I doubt he'll be honoured.

I must add her that Quentin is a remarkable woman who has done many great things and is a fabulous ambassador for this country. She also has great legs. And skirts.

The thing is that bad hair can be fixed. Boobs can be bought. But legs... I've even looked into calf liposuction but I do know that's getting ridiculous.

What I wouldn't give for long race-horse style legs.

Bridget Jones carried off the no skirt look in Bridget Jones' Diary . I would contend that's because Renee Zellwegger's spooky skinny body was lurking underneath those curves.

My final note on the skirt shortage currently sweeping the nation is that while it can look fabulous, it can also look terrible. I saw this poor girl struggling up the hill yesterday. She was wearing black opaque stockings (which can be surprisingly transparent when you least expect it) and a skirt that barely covered the essential items. She looked miserable. 

The man in front of me was hilarious. He walked past her. Then his body froze with shock as he turned around 180 degrees to see if he'd imagined it. 

He hadn't. The girl had no skirt. The Emperor has no clothes. Where are the Amish when you need them? Bring on Kelly McGillis in Witness.

 

I've just started to watch the BBC series, The Hour and I love it. Why wouldn't I? It has a very strong strawberry blonde leading lady, fabulous characters, a great story line...and a wonderful conflicted alpha male leading man. What's not to like? 

Here's a totally gratuitous shot of said alpha male, Hector Madden (Dominic West).

(Yes, I know it's a combination of 'Blue Steel' and Don Draper from Mad Men but I can't help it).

What I love about The Hour is how it depicts a very experimental time in so-called 'heritage media'. It's funny that television is now seen by many as staid and boring, because for a long time, it was cutting edge.

I really enjoy watching the characters experiment with new ways of telling stories and creating formats that are now commonplace. 

I have often said that producers of online content are like the producers of radio and television when both were in their infancy. 

As a creator of online content, I can tell you that we're all experimenting. We're pushing boundaries. We're learning. Just when we think we have our head around a particular platform, it changes again. That includes you, posterous. 

I vividly remember a briefing by an advertising agency when I worked at CSIRO. The agency rep was telling us all about this new platform called YouTube.

I walked out of the briefing with my head buzzing. That buzzing head ended up in a collaboration with CSIRO Publishing and the www.csiro.au team, which generated a video of an Air Guitaring scientist that ended up in the top ten videos in the world on various sites, including Yahoo and NBC. You can still see the video here.

I would add that CSIRO has since moved it from it's original home and changed the text. However, at the time, it had hundreds of thousands of hits and crashed the www.csiro.au website several times. 

One of the wonderful things about online content creation is that it's turned many of us into story tellers. We can create our own stories, without depending on media outlets to do it for us.

The key is to develop a 'nose' for a good story and to tell it in a quality way. 

Those of us who have worked in 'heritage media' have a lot to learn about online media, but also have a lot of invaluable experience in the skill of telling a story and telling it well.

We're at the forefront of a new wave of communication. It's every green field and blue sky that you've ever imagined.

 

 

 

Occasionally, just very occasionally, I can wrestle my the iPad away from my son, who claimed it the very second I bought it. 

Now I knew that the iPad would be great for browsing websites, reading e-books and some gorgeous applications. 

What I didn't realise was it's remarkable capability as a creative tool. 

I took his shot of a rather gorgeous 10 year old I know recently, using one of the 'special effects' filters.

I certainly didn't expect it to look so beautiful, nor that it would somehow capture the stage of life she's at...caught between childhood and the world of the teenager.

I have said previously that the iPad is like alien technology. I'm quite sure the possibilities are endless.

At least they would be if I could find the iPad.

My son keeps hiding it from me...last time he hid it in the breadbin!

One of my favourite things in life is a gorgeous chandelier. What's not to love about light, sparkles and vintage beauty? 

I can hear my Mum talking about the dusting, but I figure if you can afford a chandelier like the one above, you can afford someone to clean it. 

I discovered this chandelier last night at a wonderful cocktail bar at The Emporium in Brisbane. 

I was feeling pretty wilted after a late night at the Walkley Awards on Sunday night, but I came alive when I saw this wondrous place. 

It really is all light and mirrors and glass.

Forget the 'form follows function fun-police' design approach...this is luxurious and eclectic without being chaotic. Everything is beautiful simply because it can just be beautiful.

One of my favourite things is the 'icecube' wine cellar.

I might talk to my very brilliant brother Graeme about installing one. Here's another view.

Then there's the super funky lifts.

and finally, the mirrored doors, that change colour depending on the lighting above them.

Oh, and the cocktail I chose? A Bohemian Mojito. Of course... 

 

 

 

One of the many things that strikes me about this photo of the very fabulous actress Christina Hendricks in GQ Magazine is her beautiful pale skin. 

Now, I do realise it's possibly not the first thing that's obvious about Christina.  

She plays Joan Holloway in Mad Men and I remember laughing out loud when she came onto the screen..you just don't see women with curves like that on the screen any more. In one scene, a group of Japanese businessmen were talking about her and said 'it's a wonder she doesn't topple over'. 

Anyway, let's get back to the skin. Focus people. The skin. It's pale. Very pale. 

I've realised that nearly every woman I've featured on this blog so far is pale...including Dita Von Teese. 

Now I know I should be in praise of the ivory complexioned. As many of you know, I'm quite possibly a vampire, with an aversion to sun and any climate over 21 degrees. 

I am a fan of pale skin. Just not on my legs. The rest of me actually tans (if I ever let my body see the sun) but my natural melanin clearly stops at legs.

What I wouldn't give for tanned legs. Really gorgeous glowing natural-looking tanned legs. Long ones preferably, but one shouldn't be greedy.  

It IS possible. There are some wonderful spray tans that come in colours just for women like me....but here's the horrible downside. 

I'm allergic to fake tan. Yes, allergic. It's the colourings, the scent and probably the flavourings. 

I can't fake tan. This is not good. Because I don't come with mobile PhotoShop. I can't just adjust the lily white factor or airbrush bruises.

I know that being ivory skinned is better than being a fake tanned Oompa Loompa, but I do secretly yearn for a golden tan that wipes off 5 kilos and makes me look and feel like I've been on holiday for weeks...

Here's another photo of Christina in GQ Magazine, because let's face it, it's a great excuse to show photos of this particular pale Goddess.

 

 

 

I was watching Hugh Grant in action yesterday, talking about the News of the World phone hacking inquiry and he was fantastic. I loved it when he said News Ltd had argued that he'd traded off his good name and he said 'what good name? I'd been caught having sex with a prostitute...'.

It wasn't so much the comment, but the honesty and the voice and the time-weathered face and the smile. 

So here it is...I can't help it. I have to confess... when it comes to the movie Bridget Jones' Diary, I'm more than a bit fond of Daniel Cleaver (played by Hugh Grant) than Mark Darcy (Colin Firth)

Daniel is so irreverant and sexy and funny and just plain bad and oh my...

I'd never fancied Hugh Grant before that movie. He was all floppy hair and silly mannerisms.

However, he came into his own in Bridget Jones.

That great scene where he gets out of the lift and looks around as if he knows every woman there fancies him...which of course they do. 

Just look at this photo and sing R-E-S-P-E-C-T to yourself. 

I'm not saying I'd choose him over Mark Darcy...oh maybe I am. Mark Darcy is gorgeous and smart and loves Bridget just as she is. Not smarter or thinner or with slightly bigger boobs. Which is great. He's quietly sexy and still waters obviously run deep, but Daniel Cleaver is just so politically incorrect.

Bridget: 'isn't it terrible about Chechnya?'

Daniel: 'who gives a f*ck Jones?' Happy Days.

I asked a friend this morning who she'd choose and she said 'can't I have both'? 

Perhaps this is one area of my life where I would indeed compromise.