Friday, September 30, 2016


Tozer & Jeffery, Solicitors (as the firm was known when I worked there from 1960 to 1965)

Me aged 16 on Mooloolaba Beach...I'd got my hair lopped off after leaving school circa 1960/61
Me, Val, Graham Jeffery, Vickie and Vonda circa 1964

To preface: One of the fun things about reading the blogs of others, and their various comments on my own blog is they rekindle memories of my own.  This interesting, magical phenomenon applies to our highly-acclaimed blogger, none other than the Honourable Yorkie of Yorkshire Pudding fame...aka Mr. Pudding (only the select few in the inner circle are allowed to call him “Mr. Pudding”; even less are allowed to call him “Mr. Pud”)!  Mr. Pud accused me of plagiarism the other day.  He accused me of stealing from the equally highly-acclaimed, world famous, celebrated purveyor of ramblings Lee George.  I am here to set the record straight, Sir Pudding!  (I know you know I'm just kidding around with you - as you were with me). Waving my arm in the air, I freely and willingly admit – I own up - I, in fact, did steal from Lee George...if stealing from one’s own self is possible. She did give me her permission to do so.  However, I did sign the papers saying I had the right to apply poetic licence. Said Lee George was born Lee Nicholson, but her biological name soon morphed into Lee Hill (“Hill” being the name of her much-hated stepfather). Throughout her childhood and teenage years she was known to all and sundry (“all and sundry” never did know the true story) by her latter nom de plume; one which she carried through until she married at the tender age of 21 years.  Lee Hill then became Lee Cummings. I was happy to be rid of the name “Hill”. 10 years later, after a very civil, amicable divorce, Lee re-married.  She then became Lee George.  Another 10 years flowed under many bridges or like sand in an hour glass...after marrying and divorcing a second time, Lee retained the surname “George”...because she likes it!  It’s direct, straight to the frills, bells or whistles.

Still bearing the name “Lee Hill” I enrolled at Gympie State High School the subjects I chose to study were Maths A, bookkeeping, shorthand, typing, English, History, Geography and Home Science. 

Throughout primary school I did well in class. My record both as a scholar and attendee continued into high school.  I never hit “top of the class...Number One place setting”, but I was always in the top four or five.  From my recollection, class sizes in the Fifties and early Sixties were around 30 or so...give or take.  I attended co-ed schools, primary and secondary.   The course I took in high school was a “Commercial Course”...and it consisted of girls only; but the school as a whole was co-educational.

I liked school; I enjoyed school, but my desire to earn money – to be able to bring money into our home - was far stronger.  

I knew by leaving school I’d also be leaving my school friends behind because I left high school midway through the year; but that didn’t deter me.  There were new people to meet...and a whole new life to live.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, my mother wanted me to go through onto Teachers’ Training College, but I didn’t.  My stance to leave school was the first time I set my heels, feet and toes in and fought my battle – not “to get my own get what I wanted” in those simple terms...I toed the line, stood tall, faced Mum eye to eye while I stated my case...gave my reasons.  Nana, who, at first was Mum’s ally in our almighty battle, in time, became a fair, clear-minded negotiator, intermediary. It was Nana who finally swayed my mother to my way of thinking.

From the moment I walked out of the school gate for the last time in July, 1960 at the age of 15 years - I turned 16 in November, 1960 - to commence my working life as a legal secretary in the office of Tozer & Jeffery, a local Gympie law firm, I harboured a secret yearning to leave Gympie, the town in which I was raised and educated. I desperately wanted to spread my wings and fly away (or be driven away to the city; even by train, if I couldn’t get a lift)!

However, I was aware I was too young, and far too inexperienced to leave home at the age I was. In the meantime, I was prepared to exercise patience. I kept a lid on my dream, knowing one day it would come into fruition.   

I’d been a shy child.  The shyness continue into my early teens ; but I knew being a shrinking violet wouldn’t be to my advantage if I wanted to grow and learn.   

Gradually, as I matured I knew how to handle my to disguise it; how to face the world and those in it head held high.  Stand tall, shoulders back, head high, stomach pulled in and look the world in the eye... as Nana and Mum used to always tell me and my older brother, Graham to do.

I recall one night, years later in the early Seventies when my mother was visiting me in Brisbane.  She and Nana were living at Slade Point, via Mackay at the time.  Mum and I were enjoying a wine or three over dinner while conversing at length.  I was around 28 years old; living a single life having separated from my first husband three or so years earlier. 

My first husband and I didn’t divorce until five years after our separation.  Neither of us was in a hurry; nor did we have any bad feelings towards each other. We’re still on friendly terms. When we finally did divorce I handled all the paperwork myself without using a solicitor/lawyer.  I’d had five years experience working as a legal secretary, which meant I had a fair idea what I was doing without having to spend unnecessary money for a solicitor to do work I was capable of doing myself. Also, around that time the Divorce Law Reform had come into play.

The magistrate in front of whom I appeared wasn’t too impressed by my not calling upon one of his mates in the legal profession.  He was no doubt part of “the old boys’ club”.   But, that was okay because I wasn’t too impressed by the magistrate’s grumpy, holier-than-thou attitude either.  Our divorce cost us peanuts...just the price of my taxi fare to the law court and a dollar or two more for stationery. I didn’t charge for my time!

Returning to the conversation of the particular Saturday night between my mother and me – Mum told me she’d held fears for me when I was a little girl because I was so shy around strangers.  Because of my shyness, she feared I wouldn't be able to cope “out there in the wide, wild world”. She’d hoped that my shyness wouldn’t stop me from enjoying and experiencing life and all the good things it had to offer.  In many ways, upon reflection, my shyness as a child was my shield, I think.  

In truth, the inner “Lee”; the true “Lee” is still shy. Through many years of experience, I've learned to control it...disguise and hide it from the prying eyes of others.

I’m not Robinson Crusoe. I believe many of us are shy in our own way.  We learn how to handle it; how deal with it. 

Not long after I started working I realised I didn’t want to be the wallflower lurking in the shadows, alone.  I didn’t want to “miss out” - on anything.  It was time to take a deep, deep breath....take the tentative first step....

One of the first rude (and necessary) awakenings I received was during my early days as a legal secretary.  A short while after commencing work I knocked on my boss’s office door.  Gingerly, I entered his office. Equally timidly I asked my boss, Mr. Jeffery (John Jeffery) if I could “go to the toilet”. 

Mr. Jeffery smiled at me kindly, and said: “Lee, you’re no longer at school.  You never have to ask my permission to go to the toilet.” 
And I never did ever again.

I don’t recall the exact Monday I commenced work, but I guarantee I would’ve been a bundle of nerves, and probably had turned purple from holding that deep breath! 

I entered the office as the youngest among my co-workers.  The two other girls were older than I was.  One was three years older and the other four or five years. 

When I first started working in the office there were two girls...I was replacing one of them who was moving to Brisbane to live.  Eventually, as time went by, our number grew from two to four.

My two co-workers in those early days were sisters.  The older sister, Dallas was the one I was replacing.

The office consisted of the legal secretaries, Mr. Jeffery, the solicitor, his law clerks, Mr. Alf Boban and Mr. Keith Brown (“Brownie” as he was affectionately called) and Mrs Jeffery, who handled the firm’s bookkeeping requirements.  And then, Mr. Jeffery's eldest son, Graham, joined us.  He did his Articles under his father's jurisdiction.  Graham was the same age as my brother...both were two or so years older than me.  I'm still friends with Graham Jeffery.
Mostly I handled Brownie’s work...which meant taking shorthand from him.  He was fun to work with.  He was also the town photographer, called upon for weddings, news stories, balls and any other likely event.  His photos were published in the local newspaper, the “Gympie Times”; and very soon I became one of his favoured subjects.  I was easy prey, I suppose - "Johnny on the Spot...or Lee on the Spot"!

The “Tozer” of Tozer & Jeffery” no longer existed other than in name only.  The building in Mary Street, Gympie housing the firm (now known as Jeffery, Cuddihy & Joyce. Graham took over his father's firm.  Graham is now retired} is a heritage-listing building. It was built in 1896. It was built for Horace Tozer who was later knighted.   

The building is a two-story building with a basement below street level.  It was in the basement we enjoyed our lengthy morning tea breaks.  (More about the length of those breaks later...other than to say they returned to their normal length after I left the company)!  The basement also housed a rather large strong room that was filled with documents, books, ledgers, files etc., from years gone by, as did the dusty, wooden shelves along the walls.

(The town of Gympie was established after James Nash discovered gold in the Mary River and its surrounds in 1867.  Horace Tozer began practising as a solicitor in Gympe in 1868, specialising in mining law.

My new work mates immediately took me under their wings, making me their protégé; their pet project.

They invited me to accompany them to the dances; and there I met many new people, most of whom were older than I was. Everyone welcomed me to their world.  Even though, my friends were still going to school, we retained our friendship...and some have remained my friends to this day.

Life was so much easier and so much simpler in those days...the days of wine and roses....

The young men I met at the dances, knowing I was still just a kid, treated me well and with respect. 

One fellow, Frank Fitzpatrick (he’d attended the Christian Brothers...a Catholic school – I was raised Protestant) whom I’d not met until after I’d left school was one of those young men.  Frank was probably around four or five years older than me. Without any hidden agendas he would always walk me home after the dance at the Soldiers’ Hall was at an end.  He’d escort me to the corner at the top of my street, and there he’d wait to until I reached home...four houses along from the corner.  He’d then go on his way. 
One would hope there are young men around nowadays who do similar; who treat young girls with respect.  There probably are; they are the ones who we don’t hear about; the ones who don’t make the headlines...unfortunately.

Not wanting to waste a precious minute, I got on with life at hand.  There was so much to learn; and much fun to be had.  I was entering a brand new chapter filled with unknowns. 

I enjoyed my teenage years spent in Gympie, my hometown.

And the nearby coast, consisting a list of golden beaches and rolling surf  e.g Mooloolaba, Alexandra Headlands, Maroochydore, Coolum, Peregian Beach, Sunshine Beach...and, of course, the crème de la crème...Noosa Heads needed my in-depth exploration!  Soon every weekend from September through to June was spent at the coast.  The lure of the coast was impossible to ignore.

Leaving school and having taken the brave step into a whole new world was enough for me to deal with. The capital city of Brisbane and all its bright lights could wait a while.

Burying my uncertainties and shyness, I took a deep breath – more than one – in preparation for what lay ahead. To be honest, when I applied for the position advertised in the local newspaper, the “Gympie Times”, I had no idea what a solicitor was, other than it had something to do with the law!

Stepping out from childhood into semi-adulthood was a huge step to take. In many ways, I was on my own.  What I did from that moment forth was on my own shoulders; how I handled my life was my responsibility.

From the moment I commenced working I hit the ground running.

My teenage years in Gympie were eventful and filled with fun, the way one’s teenage years should be. My mind was open; ready and eager to learn what life had to offer.

However, I was keen to move onto a “new world”.  My mind was always racing, planning, researching and investigating avenues I could traverse.

During my lunch break one day, I raced home excitedly and  breathlessly broke my news to my mother. My great “plan” had been concocted in my mind during morning dictation!

When I rushed in, my mother was dressing and applying her make-up, readying herself for work.  She sat patiently listening as I carefully explained, in detail, my decision to join the Australian Air Force. Of course, by joining the air force, I would have to leave Gympie and head south to Victoria, which is a very long way from Gympie, hearth and home.

After I finished gushing out my grandiose plan, Mum barely blinked an eye, not stopping what she was doing; nor did she turn towards me when she had her chance to offer her opinion. Slowly directing her gaze away from her own reflection in the mirror as she toyed at her lips with her tube of lipstick, through the mirror, she looked at me and said;

 “I think that is a wonderful idea, love.”

My mother’s blasé, calm and agreeable reaction certainly burst my bubble right there and then!  Having expected a “battle royale”, one in which I would plead my case (and win), from her measured, agreeable response I was bitterly disappointed and defeated in one foul stroke.

To me it sounded like she'd be happy to be rid of me!

I never did enlist in the air force.

Nor did I become a nurse, which was another of my mind-explosions one morning, with a repeated effort of running up and down the hills of Gympie to my home during another lunch hour to announce I was going to Brisbane to train to become a nurse; and to do the training at the Princess Alexandra Hospital.

Somehow the edges of my plans were swiftly removed and shattered when my mother agreed they were good ideas! 

I had to learn to beat Mum at her brilliant psychological game, I decided! I wasn’t going to be defeated. I just had to go about the matter of my “escape” differently!

Wednesday, September 21, 2016


Maggie Tabberer Circa 1958
Maggie T Circa 1959
Maggie T
Ruth Cracknell
Ruth Cracknell & Garry McDonald aka "Mother and Son"
The Seekers
Torvill & Dean

Since I was a teenager and first became aware of her, I’ve always been an admirer of the iconic, beautiful, stylish, Aussie fashion designer/television personality/ex-model Maggie Tabberer.

From the late Sixties to the late Seventies I was employed within the fashion industry, the head office and factory of which was in the Sydney suburb of Liverpool.  I was employed as secretary to the Queensland Manager in the Queensland office, based in Brisbane.  I was thrilled when one division of the company contracted Maggie to put her name on a range of new season women’s wear. The range, of course, was well-received.

In the early to mid-80s when I operated my greengrocery-health food store in Noosa Heads a holidaying Maggie was a customer; a most elegant one even in casual attire.  In person, she was a very pleasant and natural to deal with, showing no over-inflated, egoistical signs of her well-known status.

Maggie has always been down-to-earth, unaffected by her beauty and fame.  Reading her autobiography in 1999 I realised we’d had a mutual acquaintance.  When I finished reading the book I penned (by hand/hard copy – not email) a brief letter to Maggie via her publisher expressing how much I’d enjoyed the autobiography.  In my letter I made mention of our mutual connections through the years.  It wasn’t a flowery, gushing missive.  Not expecting a response, I thought that would be that.  I’d said what I’d wanted to say.

Within a couple of weeks I received a hand-written note from the lady herself.  The person she’d referred to in her autobiography was, indeed, the same person I’d known.   

Once again, further evidence of  “six degrees of separation”.

Maggie turns 80 on 11th December, 2016.  It’s hard to believe her two daughters are now in their early 60s. 

Elusive time moves too fast. 

As well as Maggie T other interesting folk walked through my shop doors. (In case you’re wondering, I did allow them to leave again). 

One day I was surprised to discover a customer towering over the produce on display was the unforgettable radio, television, theatre and film character actress (and author) Ruth Cracknell. A striking woman, she radiated “presence”.   Ruth Cracknell was a very tall, imposing woman.  Her silver-white hair framed her face.  The unforgettable, hilarious “Maggie” of the much-loved and enjoyed long-running TV comedy, “Mother and Son” was in my shop!!   “Mother and Son” ran for 10 years. What a wonderful comedy series it was.  

I’d grown up listening to Ruth Cracknell because she appeared in many radio plays. She was a regular, familiar voice.  Radio aka “the wireless” played a huge role in my childhood.  She was both a dramatic and comedy actress; and was brilliant at both.  

Sadly, Cracknell passed away in 2002, aged 76.

Judith Durham of “The Seekers”, who at the time lived in the Sunshine Coast hinterland with her husband (who has since passed away), paid a couple of visits. I should’ve asked Judith to sing “Georgy Girl” for me, but I didn’t!  Being as nice in reality as she is in concert and interviews she probably would’ve done so.

Well-known and respected TV journalist Jana Wendt during the height of her “60 Minutes” years was a vacationing customer as was the then Victorian Premier, John Cain.

David Lange, New Zealand’s 32nd Prime Minister was a customer in my humble little store, much to his minder’s surprise.  His minder told me David Lange, a big man, had an insatiable love of junk food. Apparently, it was hard work keeping Mr. Lange away from “Miss Piggy’s”, the take-away in the same centre as my shop of healthy goodies, or from the take-away across the street that was conveniently (or inconveniently) situated next door to where David Lange was staying in Hastings Street. The minder didn’t mind Mr. Lange buying fruit for a change.

One day a young woman, small of stature, strolled into my shop. In fact, she was 1.6m (5ft 2) tall; not that I dragged out my tape measure on the spot to measure her. She wasn’t tall, but she was very wiry.

It was Jayne Torvill; one half of the skating duo “Torvill & Dean” who cemented their fame at the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics where they received a perfect score for their performance set to Ravel’s “Boléro”. She and I even shared a cup of coffee. Well, she had her own cup and I had mine.  

Those few moments were as memorable, to me, as her famous performance with Christopher Dean.

I can drop more names, too. 

Namely, Ross, the kind gentleman, a stranger, who pumped air into my tyres a couple of weeks ago.  Some might say I’m full of hot air, but none was going into my tyres that morning before Ross generously took over the job.

 And what an angel David, the plumber is. With little notice, he came to my aid with nary a murmur. Nothing leaks past David!  (The genial plumber’s name is “David Angel”).

Leek & Silverbeet Gratin: Blanch 700g silverbeet, stems removed until wilted, about 1min. Drain; squeeze dry; chop; remove excess moisture. Hear 1-1/2tbs x-virgin olive oil in pot; add 3 med-leeks, white and tender green parts only, sliced ¼-inch thick and pinch of salt; cover; cook over med-low heat, until tender. Add 1-1/2 garlic cloves, minced; cook 2mins; add silverbeet; season. Grease casserole dish.  Make a béchamel sauce; add 1/4c each shredded gruyere and parmesan cheeses to the bechamel. Combine sauce and vegetables. Transfer to casserole dish. Bake in 218C oven, 25-30mins.

Leek Fritters: Chop very finely 2 or 3 trimmed leeks. Mix with 3 eggs, 1c crumbled feta, 1/4c each finely chopped parsley and mint, 3/4c flour, salt and pepper; if too runny, add more flour. Heat ½c oil in pan over med-heat. Drop scoops of batter into hot oil. Fry until golden. Beat 1c yoghurt with 1minced clove garlic and salt; serve with fritters.

Cheesy Leek Tart: Heat oven, 190C. Trim 700g baby leeks; wash well; dry thoroughly. Unroll 375g ready-made puff pastry onto large baking sheet; arrange leeks and small bunch of spinach or rocket, drizzled with a little lemon juice, on top. Sprinkle 100g crumbled Stilton and 50g roughly chopped walnuts over top. Bake 25-30mins, until pastry rises and is golden round edges.

Warm Leek & Apple Salad: Combine 1tbs balsamic, 2tbs cider vinegar, 1tbs ex-virgin olive oil, 1tsp prepared mustard, 1 minced garlic clove and 1/4tsp salt; shake well. To fry pan over low heat, add 2tbs pine nuts; toast 2-3mins; set aside. Cut 3 leeks in half, then into 1-inch pieces; rinse; drain well. Cut 1 med-apple into eighths; slice thinly. Sauté apples and leeks 4-6mins until dark green leek pieces soften a little. Put in bowl; toss with vinaigrette and 3-4 chopped dates; serve warm.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016


Around the corner, to the left, and along the road a bit from where I live
Around the corner on the right from where I live...I pass this area every time I go to the supermarket
This, too, is just around the corner from where I's a few metres before the hang-gliding area
Aloe! Aloe!

I doubt there will ever again be a duo as brilliant as US folk-rock singer-songwriters Simon & Garfunkel.  Their lyrics are thought-provoking; their music captivating.  Their harmonising is beyond compare; many of their songs are unforgettable and ageless – unlike me!

Sadly, due to artistic disagreements their collaboration fell apart, as did their friendship; a friendship and mutual musical interest that first began in the early 50s when they were kids living in Queens, New York. In their teenage years they called themselves “Tom & Jerry”.  Their relationship, which fell apart in 1970, has lasted longer than many marriages, including my own two duos.

Maybe what they needed was a bridge over troubled waters; perhaps a session or two with Mrs. Robinson would’ve helped. When their neighbour, the boxer, suggested they seek counselling all he received in return for what he figured was a thoughtful, well-meaning idea was the sound of silence.

Later Simon, still feeling put out by his interference, told the boxer he sported such a perfect pair of cauliflower ears they’d make excellent bookends! 

Ignoring the uncouth remark, the boxer nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. To no one in particular, mumbled quietly, “I am a rock!”, before he continued onto Scarborough Fair where he hoped he’d run into Cecelia. 

It was late in the evening, but it was a possibility. 

He was homeward bound so it was on his way without having to make a detour via El Condor Pasa and the 59th Street Bridge.
Earlier he’d met me and Julio down in the schoolyard. I told him he could call me Al before I burst into a rendition of Kathy’s song in an effort to amuse him. By the way, in case you’re wondering - she’s still crazy after all these years; and to top it off, if that’s not enough, she still wears diamonds on the soles of her shoes even though she keeps slip slidin’ away !

Simon & Garfunkel break-up and make up. It’s an ongoing relationship thing.  ‘Tis true! I know what I know.

One thing I know is I love fresh herbs.  I used to grow a variety of herbs, but not so much nowadays. I love using fresh herbs (and dried) in cooking.

I don’t mean plonking a huge bunch of parsley on plates for garnish, along with a twisted orange slice as once was in vogue not only in RSL and Bowls Clubs across the country, but in many restaurants, too. It was the era when you thought the debonair fellow at the next table was staring at you because he found you attractive. 


Embarrassingly, you later discovered he’d been staring because you had a complete garden plot of parsley caught in your front teeth – and no one had bothered to tell you!

Once upon a time I had a green thumb. Through the years long gone I grew and harvested a variety of herbs; a veritable mint.  As well as my hair, my thumb has since changed colour; my hair was never green, though. 

The only herb I grow now is flat-leaf/Italian parsley; with a shallot or two thrown into the mix. Sometimes I duck for cover and bury a shooting garlic clove.

Parsley, with its many nutritional benefits, has been cultivated by man for more than 2, 000 years; and by me, here where I hang out, for nigh on 14 years.  

These days my many flat-leaf parsley plants grow freely in a couple of large planters, and also in two polystyrene boxes.  When the plants seed, the seeds drop; the circle of life continues. My stocks are replenished year after year.  It’s a bit like “Deliverance” country...lots of inter-breeding going on in my parsley plots!

Every so often (it happened again the other day), my landlord, dressed like a Ghostbuster with his spray pack on his back, wanders around blindly spraying weeds.

The spray he uses isn’t noxious, but it still knocks out the weeds, or some of them.  

He also knocks out some of my parsley!   

For reasons known only to him – I think he wears invisible blinkers – he always manages to spray some of my parsley plants; plants that are obviously what they are...and they’re in their own boxes/planters!  Upon my latest discovery, I loudly blurted out a few spicy words.  Of course I did...I do every time I discover his folly; and, of course, the words were screamed into the ether.  I do still need a roof over my head and four walls around me!  

I’m constantly intrigued and bewildered.  My landlord is a member of a local gardening club.  As well as maintaining eight or more avocado trees and a few citrus trees, he and his wife have cultivated quite a large area in which they grow a variety of vegetables (including curly-leaf parsley) not only for their personal consumption, but for sale to the public at the “Green Shed” on Sundays, too!   The “Green Shed” sells fresh produce grown by locals.

When I first came to live here there was a pre-existing garden plot close by, out from the back area of my cabin.  Slightly raised, it was bordered by timber sleepers.  I grew a veritable greengrocery in there, including a couple of aloe vera plants.  

After all my years cooking in restaurants etc., (and from when I had my own greengrocery/healthfood shop) I got used to having aloe vera growing.  I sold potted plants in my Noosa shop; and I always had an aloe vera plant or two close at hand when I was cooking professionally.  There is nothing better for the treatment of burns than aloe vera.

Anything that shot or seeded got buried in the garden plot I used to have. Not that I was mimicking the local cemetery, of course!

Everything was growing and going great for a while until my landlord demolished the whole thing because it was getting in the way of his Mad Max machine...his ride-on mower.  Bye-bye garden and all it produced!
In the plot I also had a massive rosemary bush.  I’d bought a small potted rosemary plant at the Sunday market.  Once transplanted into the ground, the plant flourished. Jack of the beanstalk fame would've been envious!

Even though my rosemary bush lasted for a while after the garden was flattened, it, too, no longer exists.  (Its demise wasn’t at my hands - he-who-shall-remain-nameless was the culprit)! 

Come Anzac Day I used give sprigs of rosemary to the RSL Club for them to hand out to those honouring our past and present servicemen and women.

The soil here on Tamborine Mountain is rich, red, volcanic soil...a plant’s delight!

However, other than my flat-leaf/Italian parsley plants, the odd shallot, onion, garlic  (there's nothing odd about my onions, shallots and garlic!) and my lemon tree, I’ve retired from gardening.  It’s too risky!

Generously I add parsley to many meals I prepare for myself.  I never use it as a garnish, but I still check to see if any is stuck where it shouldn’t be stuck.  A girl can’t be too careful.   

These days it’s a given if a fellow was staring at me from a neighbouring restaurant table parsley would be the reason for his fixation. 

He’d have no thyme for me, only for Rosemary. I’ll have you know...I’m a sage when it comes to these matters!

Roast Cauli &Herbs: Place 12c cauliflower florets in roasting pan; drizzle with 1-1/2tbs olive oil; toss to coat; bake at 230C, 20mins or so until browned; stir often; sprinkle with chopped parsley, thyme, tarragon/sage and 3 minced garlic cloves; bake further 5mins; combine cauliflower with ¼ freshly grated Parmesan, 2tbs lemon juice; season; toss well. You can add almonds, pecans, walnuts or pine nuts to the florets before baking, too, if you like.

One Pan Herbed Chicken: Preheat oven 230C.  Julienne into 2-inch pieces, 250g carrots and 250g parsnips; dut 250g green beans into 2-inch pieces. Place vegetables on baking sheet; drizzle with 1tbs avocado oil; season; toss to coat. Mix together 2tbs avo oil, 1tbs Dijon mustard, 1tbs cider vinegar, 2tbs maple syrup, 1tsp minced garlic and 1tbs each of chopped thyme, sage, flat leaf parsley and rosemary. Nestle 1.5kg bone-in chicken thighs in between vegies; sprinkle with salt and freshly-cracked pepper; spoon over dressing; reserving a little less than half. Bake 30-35mins; half way through baste with remaining dressing; stir vegies a little. If needed, brown chicken further under grill for a few mins.

Mixed Herb Salad: In bowl, season 1c halved grape tomatoes; put in fine strainer over bowl; drain, 20mins.  Whisk together1tbs balsamic, 1tbs x-virgin olive oil, 1/2tbs lemon juice, zest of ½ lemon and 1-1/2tbs Dijon; season. Combine tomatoes with 3c rocket, 1c roughly chopped coriander, 1/2c freshly shredded fresh mozzarella or goat cheese, ½ cup roughly chopped parsley, 3tbs each roughly chopped basil and mint, 2tbs each roughly chopped pitted green and kalamata olives and 1tbs lemon thyme or thyme. Add dressing; toss; serve.

Quinoa Herb Salad: Combine 2c cooked quinoa, ½ pecans or pine nuts, 3tbs chopped mint. 3tbs chopped shallots and 1/2c chopped parsley in bowl. Whisk together 3tbs x-olive oil, 2tbs lemon juice, crushed garlic, salt and pepper; gently mix through quinoa, evenly; chill 20-30mins to infuse flavours.