8 Easy Dinner Ideas When You’ve Lost the Will to Cook

August 30, 2014

You’ve been up since Dawn’s crack, and everyone has had a piece of you all day.

You’ve already had to feed everyone a few times today and those needy little creatures want you to feed them once more before you can shut them away  put the little sweethearts to bed and finally have some you time to fold Mount Washmore and clean the kitchen whilst necking a bottle of wine.

You open your fridge and there may even be food but it all needs to be cooked lovingly and you have lost the will to cook.

Fear not.

Here are some fast ideas that will fill little tummies, and you will know that you’re still a contender in the Mother of the Year competition unless you forget to pick your daughter up from day care, and get disqualified like I did.

Continue Reading…

Dinner, Dinner, Featured, Food for Big People, Food for Little People

Favorite bedroom appliance and Fetta stuffed Greek rissoles.

August 25, 2014

fetta stuffed greek rissolesAs a ‘domestic’ blogger I often get asked what my favourite household appliance is and I always think “how could I possibly choose?”

I’m rather fond of the kettle but that vacuum cleaner can kiss my arse.
The fridge keeps the wine cold, so I guess we’re firm friends.

Something much easier for me to name as prized is my favourite bedroom appliance.

Not my hairdryer, nor my bedside clock.

My vibrator.

I currently only have one and it doesn’t even work properly any more but I’ll take that over the washing machine or the even my food processor any day of the week.

The food processor definitely brings me a modicum of joy, but my tickle stick?

No competition.

I bought it at Sexpo under the watchful eye of my sex therapist friend Isiah whom I presumed has much experience in these matters. She hailed this one as the bomb. The brand was titled Fun Factory, which was remeniscent of a 90’s dance group so I envisaged hours of solo disco.

My previous battery operated lovers had been lurid phallic looking monstrosities but not so with this little darling. She, yes, she was compact, sleek and looked bugger all like a penis.

She looked gentle and friendly, rather than like a truncheon that wished to terrorise my soft bits. She was almost unassuming enough to try to sneak into hand luggage through an airport, but not quite, because as friendly in appearance as my buzzing friend may be she would still cause an awkward conversation at the X-ray.

I realise discussing self-pleasuring is not everyone’s cup of tea, but whether you keep on the down low or sing it from the roof tops I thoroughly recommend everyone rubs one out from time to time…. or all the time if you wish.

It’s a great reliever of stress and puts you in a better mood. When it’s just you you needn’t care about waxing your bikini line, nor need you worry about how long it’s taking or whether you’re being suitably appreciative.

Or if you say the wrong name – Joe Manganiello for instance.


If you wish to languorously make love to yourself, rock on, but if you want to jump straight into lift-off position and be back about your business in a couple of minutes flat – power to you.

I didn’t mean to disrespect my food processor before, I really do love it. For turning mundane mince into orgasmic little, creamy centred rissoles my food processor is essential, but my point was if I needed to pick just one household appliance to take to the desert island my mince would be mundane for eternity.

After all this wank talk, before we get onto the food, I do recommend thoroughly washing your hands.

PS Champagne Carolyn, I cannot resist a dare.

fetta stuffed greek rissoles


Fetta Stuffed Greek Rissoles, with Crispy Cubed Potatoes

Serves 4

What you will need :

For the rissoles – 

  • 500g lamb mince
  • 1 spanish onion
  • 3 cloves garlic, peeled
  • zest of one lemon
  • 1.2 packed cup of mint
  • 1 teaspoon dried oregano
  • 1 egg
  • 100g fetta (I used delish goat’s fetta today) cut into 1cm cubes.

For the potatoes – 

  • one potato per person, plus one cheeky extra one
  • two sprigs fresh rosemary
  • olive oil
  • salt and pepper

For the salad -

  • remainder of the bunch of mint
  • 3 tomatoes, cut into eighths
  • 2 cucumbers, cut length ways then chopped
  • 1 roast capsicum, home grilled or from a jar
  • lemon juice
  • olive oil


What you will need to do :

Pop your potatoes into a saucepan of boiling water and boil until just tender.

Preheat oven to 200C.

Chop potatoes into cubes and toss with olive oil, salt, pepper and rosemary. Chuck them in, tossing now and then.

crispy cubed potatoes

Into your for processor toss your spanish onion, garlic, lemon zest, mint and oregano. Wazz it up until it’s a paste. Add it to your mince, chuck in the egg, season well and mix that sucker with your hands.

Taking dessert spoon sized chucks, roll into balls then dig a hole with your thumb. Insert a cube of fetta and close the mince back up over it. Continue until you’re all done.

fetta stuffed greek rissolesCook your rissoles on the BBQ until they’re cooked through and the cheese is melty. 6-7 minutes a side.

Toss your salad ingredients onto your serving plate and mix well with lemon juice and olive before serving the rest of your stuff on the platter and chucking it on the table.

Dinner is served.


fetta stuffed greek rissoles and crispy potato cubes



Cook Once, Feed All COVER_lr

Cook Once, Feed All is about making your life easier whilst preparing nutritious and quick food for your family. Hailed by Mouths of Mums as the ‘must have recipe book for all families’, this book is a collection of family friendly recipes, all accompanied by stories from my life.

To order your hardcopy of Cook Once, Feed All head to the Holsby Shop right now.

If you like what you’re reading why not like my Facebook page now or subscribe via email, to be sure to always keep up with the Holsbys.

Ramblings of a Suburban Urbanite, Uncategorized

What not to say to a newly separated lady.

August 21, 2014


I got this.

If you follow me on Facebook you would have heard me mention that the neighbours are circling like gulls trying to ascertain WTF the new living arrangements at my gaff are.

If this is your first ever post, I’ll fill you in quickly – My marriage just ended and I’m doing a remarkable job of pretending it’s business as usual. I wear bright lipstick and stick a smile on my face and I drink a lot of wine.

This shituation is under control.

As I step out of my front gate I get swooped upon by curious suburban neighbourly types fishing for information to which I’m infuriatingly schtum.

My bestie suggested we build a man-sized mound of dirt in the back yard to really ‘fuck with them’. I personally thought that was pure gold. I could make it the new naughty corner and really look like the Mansons had moved in.

I explained the sitch to my direct neighbours because they’re home a lot. Now on my own in the house I thought having some neighbourhood watch was a sound plan. They’re a nice enough young fam bam. We say hi over the fence and it has real warmth but that warmth has not extended to backyard BBQS or key parties.

I’m good with that.

There is one particular Mrs Mangle nosey neighbour a few doors down whom I have avoided for about a year because I don’t dig her swag. Neighbourhood gossip ain’t my bag, and although pleasant enough, there’s not enough time for the peeps I’m crazy about let alone ones I’m lukewarm on.

So, the nice young Fam Bam was having a pretend picnic with their dinosaurs and teddies on a lovely rug in the gentle winter sun, and I stepped onto my back deck (which in awesome suburban style looks straight onto their greying knickers on the Hills Hoist), I gave them a ‘nice day for it’ salute and we all felt fuzzy for a moment and went about our business, until I heard my name being yelled across two gardens and a couple of fences by Mrs Mangle.

“Danieeeeeellle, where’s your husband? I haven’t seen him lately. Is he here? I saw him packing boxes into the car a couple of months ago.”

It was like a punch in the face to be honest. I could see the fam bam slowly sinking into the ground as they wish for invisibility and I did that thing where your tummy drops and your wee nearly squeezes out like silent tear from your urethra.

“He doesn’t live here anymore” I yelled back ” but perhaps over two fences and two gardens and a teddy bear’s picnic isn’t the best way to chat about it.”

And I stalked in, slamming the sliding door enough to shatter the glass into a million pieces – At least in my head I did. I really just politely closed it grumbling to myself because even though I never want to speak to her again I still want her to like me.

The other one I’m loving at the moment is “Wow, you have we very second weekend off from your kids. You’re so lucky.”

Yes, I am lucky. Because my marriage didn’t work out how we planned and I’m a single mum struggling to keep my shit together I get two days a fortnight to try and regain sanity. It’s awesomesauce. Everyone should have a crack at it.

In truth, the weekend thing is nice, but in an ideal world everything works out swell and you get a little ‘me’ time and family time is balanced  and everything is shiny and life is played to the ‘Family Ties’ theme song…..

“I bet we’ve been together for a million years, I bet we’ll be together for a million more…. sha la la laaa.”

*earworm alert – you’re welcome.

I’d also like to say if you have a distant acquaintance going through this, asking them about their financial status is actually rude. Asking me how I’m getting along financially is a little bit like asking me if my bowels are regular, and what’s the consistency.

Actually, you know, I’ll take the scat chat, please.

But I’m not immune to putting my foot in my mouth. No, sireeeee, Bob.

In fact, I’ve put my foot so far in my mouth on occasion, it was easier to remove it rectally than it was to cough that shit up, so I’m not judging anyone for their lack of tact….. however, if you’d care to express concern or curiosity buy me some goddamned $5 flowers and invite yourself over for a cup of tea.

Like I would do.

Or simply grab my hand, look me in the eye, and ask me,

“Are you cool? Can I do anything?”

I’ll say “yes, I’m cool”, and “no you can’t” so you’re off the hook but at least you weren’t a thoughtless dick.









Ramblings of a Suburban Urbanite

Portrait 365 : 222 – 229

August 19, 2014


“I lost my father when I was 12 and my mother raised my sister and I in Nepal. It was a struggle, and I came here to study. I had no money so I had to work to pay my way. There are no bad jobs.I did everything, housekeeping, supermarkets, Bunnings. Now I’m a baker and I still struggle to get my residency but soon it will come and then things will be easier.”





“South Australian 12 year old 200 metre butterfly champ.”



He was deaf and he didn’t speak English but armed with smiles and charades we got there anyway.





“I’m heading home to my house in the Riverina after a month holidaying in Cairns. I was up there with family and we went out on the dirt roads to Weipa and had a bit of an adventure. It’s really cold here though.”



“I competed in tennis until I was 15. I used to play with Laura Robson but then I moved to a school that wasn’t sporty at all so I didn’t compete any longer; which was a down point. Then I became a tennis coach which I love to this day. I should have carried on with tennis however I discovered drugs and boys.”



“I’m proud that I finally got my electrical license. I started my apprenticeship, and then I stopped doing it. I got lazy, but I knew that I needed to go back and finish it and sort my life out.”

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Ramblings of a Suburban Urbanite

How I became a podium dancing alcoholic.

August 17, 2014
So sweet and innocent. Me at 2. Before clubbing.

So sweet and innocent. Me at 3. Before podium dancing in clubs.

My Dad is in Australia at the moment to do some traveling.

Some months ago he bought a Winnebago that he fondly named Wind Bag and periodically he skips across the ditch and takes off on a road adventure. He’s cool like that.

He stopped a couple of nights at mine on his way to pick up the Wind Bag and told me of his plan to drive from Melbourne through South Australia and up to Alice Springs before heading to Ayers Rock and the Olgas by the end of September. My green eyed monster’s eyes shone like emeralds…. that was one cool mo’fo’ road trip.

I sure would like to do that some time.

… But I have two kids and important routines that must be adhered to or my neurotic sky will fall down. I’m positively tied to all of my responsibilities so I could never to do something so crazy, could I?

The more spiced rum and lime juice we had to drink the more plausible it seemed.

There’s enough sleeping room for everyone. The kids can play outside if the space gets too cramped and there’s a tv for evenings. But the sleeping routine? I don’t know about you but I’m a stickler for it.

Dinner is 5.30

Bath is 6pm.

TV for half an hour at 6.30

Teeth and bed is 7pm

Reading a few books until 7.30 unless I speed read to get the hell out of there because I’ve had enough of them for the day.

I’m flexi within 10 or so minutes of this routine but then I start to get twitchy.

What would happen to this routine if we went on the road, all four of us sharing a living space smaller than my lounge?


Nah, too hard. My control freak couldn’t be bothered.

I asked Mister H if he could take a week off work so I could go on a road trip with my Dad. As amicable as Mister H and I may be I’m well aware that there will not be a lot of weeks in the year during which I can take off sans bambinos, so when Mister H told me to let him know how serious I was and he’d make arrangements I got to thinking if this was my only time off all year is a road trip with my Dad the prime way to spend it?

No offence Dad.

What if I want to go to Bali or Thailand with a friend? Or a lover, heaven forbid (I’ll get laid eventually, right??).

Kids will suck hard on that trip….

What if I want to go on a volunteer trip to a third world country, or trekking up some really ridiculously big hills?

Kids will suck hard on those trips too.

Screw it, I decided. I would go on this cool mo’fo road trip adventure will my Dad, and I will take the kids.

I can relax my regime, the sky will not fall. In fact, it will be good for us all (except maybe Dad whose serenity will be completely screwed, but he’s a good sport.)

I remember a photograph of myself as a child sitting at a table in a restaurant at night on a trip we had to the Canary Islands. I would have been about 3.

I think I was eating a bowl of eating ice-cream and strewn around the table were wine glasses and my Mum was in the picture too but barely. She was at the head of the table which was fading off into black.

During a phone conversation with Mama about the potential trip I mentioned the photo. I mentioned how she used to take us away on jaunty adventures where all of the routines were broken and it was fine, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

And she said, “Darling, after dinner we’d take you into the nightclub and you’d dance with us on the dance floor.”

She back-pedalled saying they didn’t stay out until 2am, and nightclubs there weren’t filled with Class A drugs in those days, but the go-go dancer was out of the cage.

That. Explains. Everything.

How it all began. Note my wine glass and food all over my face.  *not the actual photo I'm referring to in post

How it all began. Note my wine glass and food all over my face.
*not the actual photo I’m referring to in post


Photography, Portrait 365, Ramblings of a Suburban Urbanite

The difference three minutes can make

August 13, 2014

When I was chatting to my friend Carolyn from Champagne Cartel about how the Portrait 365 project came about because I’m essentially too lazy to study photography, she loved it so much she asked me to write a guest post for her.

it took me a little while get around to it, but I finally pulled finger and today I’m wrapped to be guesting over at Champagne Cartel.

Those chicks are fairly well flipping’ fab.

Number 1, Day 1, Portrait 365

Number 1, Day 1, Portrait 365

I’m the kind of person who learns best by just doing stuff.

When I was a fledgling TV producer I would just hire crew that had a million times more experience than me and I would watch them like a hawk and learn how it all worked by observation. I’d hazard a guess that people suspected I was faking it, but if you fake stuff a few times it becomes reality before you know it.

Except orgasms. Never fake orgasms.

To see the rest of this post check it out here.


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Ramblings of a Suburban Urbanite

The tee shirt X File and Chai Chia breakfast trifle

August 10, 2014

chai chia breakfast trifle

(sorry there is no ingredients shot. I planned on doing it this morning but I’ve been up all night with a sick babe and I’m uninspired to say the least.)

I posed a little question on Facebook the other day about the infuriating mystery that is the little holes that appear in EVERY. SINGLE. tee shirt I own in the front at the bottom.

I thought I was alone in this strange phenomenon but I was comforted to discover that this wardrobe scourge is widespread and equally frustrating across the globe. Possibly the Universe.

You may think this is barely a topic worth writing about but by jove, I want to get to the freakin’ bottom of this shit.

Many people suggested it was all about the belt buckle rubbing on it, but then other sufferers of this professed to never wearing belts with their jeans (how do they keep them up? Another hard hitting, life changing subject for another day).

People queried the height of my kitchen bench, on the presumption that I grind myself back and forth as I cook…. alas, this is not it either. Firstly my kitchen bench is as smooth as a proverbial baby’s butt, and secondly, I don’t actually spend as much time in the kitchen as you may think, but if this was the case, why only my tees?

Why not everything I wear?

One reader swears it’s moths. She said her entire tee shirt collection is the same, as is her husbands. But are moths really that OCD that they all only want to eat that one little delectable spot that possibly smacks of bellybutton pheromones? What I loved best about her comment was a thread that followed when her sympathetic friend offered condolences for her moth plague and offered a shoulder if ever she needed to talk about it without fear of judgement.

Have I ever mentioned how funny you guys are? I love my peeps (and their imaginary moths). You endlessly amuse the shit out of me.

People thought their washing machines were too rough, or their cat was doing something jerky all over their tees, and I am still no closer to the truth.

The truth is out there, peeps. We need Moulder and Scully on this shit post haste.

He's obviously trying to hide the holes..... onto you, Mulder.

He’s obviously trying to hide the holes….. onto you, Mulder.

When I google “why do my tee shirts…”

“Why do my tee shirts get holes at the bottom” comes up third on the list. THIS IS A REAL PROBLEM.

The internets worry that they are too fat, or the quality of their tees are too shit, but the explanation that all roads keep coming back to is this –


tee shirt x file


I’m sure that all of this super sleuthing has made you ravenous for a breakfast of champions and being as chia is packed with Omega 3 it’s proper brain food so you’ll be back on the case in no time….

I have some great loose Chai tea so I made a pot for this….. you could use Chai tea bags if you have, but not that Chai Latte stuff cos it’s FULL of sugar (which is why it’s so yummy)

chai chia breakfast trifle

Chai Chia Breakfast Trifle

What you will need :

  • 300ml black Chai tea
  • 80 ml coconut milk
  • 1/4 cup of chia
  • honey to taste
  • apple or pear, berries and yoghurt to serve

What you will need to do :

Steep your tea for a good 10-15 minutes, add your coconut milk and honey to the tea. Pop your chia and the tea into the container, cover and toss in the fridge overnight.

In the morning, grate your apple or pear and stir it through the chia mix.

Pop a spoon into your serving bowl, add a layer of yoghurt and berries, then add another layer of chia topped with more yoghurt and berries.

Seriously great way to start the day!

chai chia breakfast trifle get in my mouth

I always smirk at my breakfast before I eat it.

Cook Once, Feed All COVER_lr

Cook Once, Feed All is about making your life easier whilst preparing nutritious and quick food for your family. Hailed by Mouths of Mums as the ‘must have recipe book for all families’, this book is a collection of family friendly recipes, all accompanied by stories from my life.

To order your hardcopy of Cook Once, Feed All head to the Holsby Shop right now.

If you like what you’re reading why not like my Facebook page now or subscribe via email, to be sure to always keep up with the Holsbys.

Ramblings of a Suburban Urbanite

A letter to the twerp who flashed me.

August 8, 2014

Funniest_Memes_honey-i-m-too-tired-to-slap-you_6218-2Hey dude,

I’m the late-30’s mother of two you flashed last night whilst I was stopped at the lights. Just wanted a quick word with you that I never got to have because I thought getting out of my car to rant at you may not have been the best plan of action.

I’d been admiring you and your 15 strong crew of pals because you looked awesome. I would have high-fived the kid whose party you’d been at because 1980’s gym wear is a cracking theme for a party, and you lot were quite the spectacle in your lycra and terry towelling as you weaved across the street in front of traffic not giving a shit because you’re 22 and in-fucking-vincible.

I was just driving home from a brief catch up with a friend to relieve the sitter so I was annoyed that your buddy in his lycra, midriff, tank top stood in front of my car at the lights, air-humping, with his little packed lunch cowering from the 12 degree winter’s night.

And my annoyance was amplified significantly when the light turned green and he continued to make whoopee with the bonnet of my car.

Being as mowing that skinny, little jerk down would have got in me in a smidgeon of trouble (luckily I didn’t get a foot cramp, mofo), my best recourse was my car horn…. perhaps my horn made you think of your flute because you whipped that kit outta your pants and waggled it all up in my face quick smart.

Maybe your friends laughed, shit, maybe if I was 22 with a skin full of booze and an 80’s g-string leotard up my butt-crack I’d think it was funny, but I ain’t….. I’m too friggin’ old, and too friggin’ tired to want to play balls. Specifically, yours.

You may think you’re cool but you, young man, are a prize dick. Your mother would be ashamed, and I feel old for saying it but that what I think.

I know it wasn’t personal, and I’m not really even offended, however I do want you to know that you should keep that ridiculous looking shit in your pants until summer if you really want to intimidate someone.

So, yeah, thanks for the flash. Penises are silly looking at the best of times but when they’re wrapped in fluro Spandex, attached to showy prats, you looked a total tit.

Give yourself an upper cut from me.

Yours sincerely,


photo copyright Living Pages

photo copyright Living Pages

Ramblings of a Suburban Urbanite

Portrait 365 : 215 – 221

August 6, 2014



I didn’t want to interrupt Jack mid-song. I just quickly asked his name and guerilla’d him.

Stolen moment

Stolen moment



“I went sky diving in Surfer’s Paradise recently. I was really scared to do it, and I knew I would be really scared while doing it, but I also really wanted to do it. It was amazing.”



“I started doing ballroom dancing 20 years ago and then I stopped for 13 years. I just started again because I found a local club that has ballroom nights on for free. It’s so much fun.”

I walked into Phil’s shop and he was cranking some serious ballroom tunes loudly. At first I thought it was karaoke but his story impressed me way more.



“I gave up smoking last Christmas after 50 odd years. I don’t even want one when I drink because I went so far as to change my brand of beer. I used to be a VB man, but now I’m Pure Blonde.”



“I’m proud of my three kids. I’m from the baby boomer generation; I’m in my mid-60’s, I had a good life, and I retired at 55. My life has been great and I sure don’t have anything to complain about.”



Green tea towel cape : check

Cauliflower in my trike trunk : check

Let’s roll.

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