Welcome to Pleasantville

We have recently moved, and I have to say, I feel pretty fortunate.
Not only because, for the first time in our 10 plus years together, Cory and I are finally in our own home… I have dreamed of being able to hammer nails into walls without fear of retribution for years, such joy.
But, we also have really awesome neighbours.

These days, most neighbours either can’t stand you for no, good reason or couldn’t give a rat’s wazoo that you live next door unless you keep them up past 1am on a Sunday.
It makes me feel pretty good to know that we’ve just met a new bunch of friends, which in itself is pretty amazing, but to make it even better…
They will keep an eye on our house while we’re away, will give me a call if they see my Alpaca playing in the street (Yes, when our fences go up, I’m getting an Alpaca and his name will be Kerry Packer) and surely lend me milk if I can’t make the shops.
Furthermore, if I’ve ingested just a few too many Vodka Soda’s and have started Katy Perry karaoke, instead of calling the cops, they will no doubt just come over and join me for some high pitched squawking.

They have great kids too.
I bring my daughter’s home from school, and within 15 minutes, they are off to the neighbours to hang out on the trampoline and play with Loom bands (only a mother will know what these annoying plastic bands are).
I don’t see them till they come home at dinner time, or unless I call out and one of the street’s kids will either get them for me or point me to the house that they are currently playing at.
They all hang out together like some pre-teen rat pack, ageing from 13 to 3.
I feel as though when we bought our place we morphed into a 1950’s vortex, and I love it.

A couple of Saturdays ago, the lovely people next door put on a BBQ for our family as a ‘Welcome to the Neighbourhood’.
This is the kind of event and neighbourly camaraderie that I thought was lost to us all and only still existed on Ramsay Street.
And, before you get all cynical on me and think to yourself “Well, of course they want to be your friends… you were on TV”…
I will tell you this.
Everyone in my neighbourhood is friendly with each other. They would’ve held this dinner for us anyway.
It just helps everyone involved that we can skip the whole ‘getting to know you’ bizzo, since they already feel like they do because, I was forced into their lounge rooms for 4 nights a week.
And yes, it was against their will.
We all know, that you have absolutely no choice but to watch My Kitchen Rules, because it’s more addictive than crack.
Or so they say on the street… but not MY street.

OK, obviously we had to get some of the stock standard questions out of the way…
‘Yes, Manu’s accent is real… he’s French…not Tasmanian’
‘Yes, we were all launching food at the plates in HQ, because we genuinely, always ran out of time’
‘Yes, Jess-aaay and I, are still friends’

Anyway, I was thoroughly enjoying myself, even though on this eve, I was flying solo.
Cory was busy, off gallivanting on his Honda. He was with mates on an annual pilgrimage to the Riverland.
Bikes, Swags, Mono’s and Beer… Hmmm, think I’ll pass (not that I would ever be invited anyway). Rather be at the neighbours.

I got the usual apprehensive looks when the food arrived.
I was used to people not wanting to cook for me before MKR, you can only imagine how bad it is now.
I was informed that a BBQ is all anyone is prepared to ever cook me. That’s cool, I love a good barbie… but, surely you can throw a couple of roasts my way too?… Please.

Please note: I would never judge my friends food and I hope they would never judge mine. I’m actually quite partial to the Bunnings sausage sizzle… what does that say about me?

Well, this was no sausage sizzle.
I am pleased to report, that they all appear, to really love food.
They loved my BBQ wings, they loved my Roasted Pumpkin and Dukkah salad and they loved my Chimichurri.

They served me Prawns (yes, they know the way to my heart).
They served me Porterhouse Steak (Ohhh yes, they definitely know the way to my heart).
They served me cheese and dips and chips, and there was not a single piece of badly buttered bread in sight.
My gorgeous neighbour even cracked the expensive champagne she’d been holding onto since her birthday.
These new friends know me so well, it’s just a little bit scary.

But, how can this be?
I thought we were fortunate just to own our first home. But this, this is too much. How lucky can you get?
I now know, that our initial plans to move in 5 years and do the mandatory upgrade are dashed. We can’t leave. It is a vortex.
Great neighbours, who love to eat? I’m in cul-de-sac heaven.
My kids are in heaven too, because there’s a swimming pool on either side of us.

Well, as you all know friends, I love to cook. And more than that, I love to cook for the people I love.
I think I’m going to really love these people, and I look forward to feeding them all.
There is just one thing I ask for in return…

Dear new neighbours, if you’re going to score me, I’m best not knowing unless it’s a 10/10.

In honour of my new found friendships and the retro lifestyle I’m now happily living, I’m sharing with you the most retro drink of them all… An oldie, but an oh, so, goody…

Do you like Pina Colada?…

Why yes. Yes I do.

Disclaimer: Havana Club have not endorsed this post, but I endorse them. I love that Rum… Muy Bien Senors and Senoritas!