Covered in Art

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picture from the Brooklyn Arts Hotel website
So few times post teenage life does one enjoy an opportunity to stay in an abode in the home city, that’s not home. I live here afterall, weekends to Daylesford or the Mornington Peninsula have always taken precedence, the excitement of something new is somehow connected to unfamiliar geography, usually with a view!

This weekend, my partner and I, cashed in on a gift voucher for one evening in Fitzroy, all of about 20 mins drive from where we live. The Brooklyn Arts Hotel is in George St and although it took 6 months to get a booking for 1 night (Maggie prefers weekend bookings of minimum 2 nights and singles) it was a beneficial lesson in patience.

We have been together for almost 8 years so ‘special’ takes effort, suprise even moreso but my beloved absconded from work for a half day to ready the room with native flowers from Mr Lincoln (my favourite ‘eco-sound‘ florist), Haighs chocolates (sweets from heaven) and a cold bottle of bubbly. He changed my mood from tired to ecstatic in seconds, I even put a face on (that’s makeup in old peeps speak)!

We had booked a 9 course banquet at Anada, with delectability off the richter, I could have eaten the plate. I have memory morsels of the night credited to the delivery of single tapas plates. Seafood intro of oysters, pork belly at its most delectable somewhere in the middle, freshly baked bread to literally die for (I caved on my coeliacism for a taste), a shooter of celeriac soup, slow cooked beef, sardine wrapped in vine leaf – serious scrumptiousness. All of it. The service was super efficient without any pretension and the bank balance did not suffer the normal weight of a beautiful meal in a fanciful environment. Really, what more could two foodies ask? And then the wine hit me, and maybe I should have taken a bet on flash flood drunkeness ‘cos that’s really what happened next.
The romance of the night somehow slipped away in a laughing attack which exhausted my sexiness and my poor poor partner! We fell asleep under luxury linen with four pillows each, not suprisingly I awoke in the middle of the night, the music and lights blaring and glaring and our necks at right angles to our bodies.
And the issue of 20 minutes from home arose sometime during the next morning. We were close enough to public transport to avoid the cost of a cab and with my hanging hangover mustering strength, I proceeded cautiously and nauseously with a walk of shame to Parliament station. Did I just have a one-night stand with Fitzroy?!
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