"We've given your table away," said the Maitre'D.

Admittedly Ange and I were running about 10 minutes late for lunch. But it did get me thinking, why did I give my phone number to them if they were just going to cancel my booking at the merest hint that we wouldn't show?

Though it wasn't a good start, the Maitre'D (if he can be called that) did give us another table. He was also kind enough to admonish us with a "Next time show up earlier" as we walked past him. Prick.

While we waited for Mike and Justine to show - victims of the dreaded Daylight Savings change - we had a chance to watch the restaurant in full swing. AY Teahouse is boutique yum cha for the western customer. Trolleys are replaced with trays that the waitresses carry by hand to each table, sacrificing efficiency for style.

The food itself was standard yum cha fare. Though the best thing they had there was only vaguely asian: deep fried chicken wings tossed with salt and spices. Along with the chicken wings, Ange and I tried a few other plates while we waited. The aforementioned wings, prawn dumplings, shark-fin dumplings and chinese broccoli with oyster sauce.
We took a break then, after realising we'd just blown about $40. $10 on the broccoli dish alone!

When Mike and Justine showed up we shared a plate of salty spiced squid while they grabbed prawn toast, some sort of greasy, rice noodle-wrapped dish and pork dumplings. Dessert, when the tray eventually came around, was jelly cubes and egg tarts.

The food was good I'll give it that, but ultimately not value for money. Any yum cha bill that creeps into three figures must be looked upon with a certain level of scorn, especially when there's only four people at the table.

Well as Mike mentioned I've signed up for Canon's latest photo competition. I'm hoping the upload, photo tracking and voting system are better than last year's competition. IT was so terrible I gave up after uploading just one photo. I do think they've done the right thing by restricting this competition to 2500 people. At least the voting should be relatively even.

Though I signed up mid last week, my box only just arrived today. I've only been at this new job for 3 weeks, so the box had been sitting on some lady's desk while she tried to figure out who I was. Lesson learned, next time I need a package delivered I'll add every detail I can to the address field. Geographical coordinates, altitude, distance to the sun, you name it.

For something that was made entirely from cardboard, the box was nearly impossible to open. The little compartments containing the "props" were harder still. But, with a little persistence I got there in the end. Once inside the boxes I discovered I've been given a red balloon, piece of blue chalk, strip of yellow dots and a sheet of blue cellophane. If I had a pair of blunt scissors and a bottle of clag it'd be grade four all over again.

So I've got until mid-November to take five photos, featuring one item in each. Which is good because even though I've had almost a week to think up ideas I'm still drawing a blank.

"but of course that's why he was doing that, and that means that..."
Neil Gaiman on writing.

After travelling Australia for two months Dad wasn't particularly interested in having a massive party for his 60th, so Sunday the immediate family (eight of us now) gathered in the city to celebrate.

We'd booked lunch at Antica Gelataria del Corso on Collins Street for 1:30pm. Ange and I arrived at the restaurant slightly late, but that didn't matter. Though Sarah had called to confirm, twice, they had still managed to lose our reservation. Of course that didn't matter either as the chef wasn't even rostered on to work Sundays!

With the Melbourne Romp in full swing, it would be difficult, but surely somewhere would have eight seats to spare. We settled on Chinotto, a little eatery in Federation Square that offered us a table sandwiched between two immovable bench seats (more on those later).

Service there was slow, but we were happy with our meals when they arrived. Although a request for more drinks sent the waiter running in the opposite direction and we never did get that 2nd round. Strange indeed.

When our stomachs were full and the conversation had died a bit down we left Chinotto, but not without incident. You'd think with a gathering to celebrate a 60th there would be a senile moment. And there was, only it didn't come from the old man, it came from me.

Remember those seats I mentioned earlier?
Those bolted-to-the-table-never-to-move-again benchseats?
Well, as I was trying to navigate my way between two of them my foot got caught and gravity took over, sending me crashing into a strategically placed stainless steel box. No damage down (to me or the box) but I bet it was one hell of a show.

The first rule of showmanship is to leave your audience wanting more, so we escaped back up Street to the new Koko Black store at the top end. Once there Sarah revealed the real reason for the trip to the city: They were talking him to see the Priscilla musical. He was thrilled. (Apparently he's a big fan.)

As is the family way, we all overindulged in the chocolate treats on offer. The chocolate ice cream martini I ordered was both fantastic and the envy of the table and I recommend it. The waitress had accidentally made one too many Iced Mochas so Dad, being the birthday boy, got to have two servings.

I wasn't that interested in seeing the musical. (I'd watched the film at least a dozen times while studying it for high school media class). So Ange and I said our goodbyes and headed home, leaving them to the mercy of 70's disco songs and brightly coloured drag queens.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

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