Travel is grand, but it's such a delight to settle back in at home and spend time in my sunny kitchen. 

Just popping in momentarily to let you know that things might seem a little bit different around here for a short while, as Peter and I embark on another exciting adventure. 

Call me quirky if you will, but the older I get, the more I love having mismatched blue crockery. 

It was in the breakfast bistro of a hotel just off Kensington High Street in London two years ago that I first tasted the pork chipolatas that could well be classed as THE very best sausages I have eaten in my entire life.

When was the last time you bathed in the forest? I'm not referring to the cooling shower you might take under a tropical waterfall, nor skinny-dipping in a billabong under the shade of a Coolabah tree.

I'm compiling this post from the deck of our holiday cabin at Kiama on the Illawarra Coast of New South Wales and, frankly, there's no other place in the world I would rather be at this moment. 

I could sense that there was "something different" about the vibe when we arrived at the Olympic swimming pool this morning - but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. I just knew it was going to be a good day.

Standing tall, with her shoulders back, she stares out over the shimmering depths beneath her. Drawing her eyes to the edge of the board, she takes two steps forward, her hands outstretched and her toes pointed, like a dancer. Lifting one leg, she jumps into the air, while balancing on the other, then quickly bringing up both knees and lifting her arms high above her head. Bouncing as she lands at the edge of the board, she springs forth into the air, bending slightly at the waist as she points her outstretched arms and body towards the pool below. She pierces the water in a clean, streamlined fashion, leaving a mere splash of tiny bubbles. Moments later, she emerges and swims to the edge of the pool, exiting gracefully by the tiled ladder. 

Seeing trays of deep-red heirloom tomatoes showcased at local greengrocers takes me back to summertime in the 1960s, when my father, András, grew a meaty and flavoursome Hungarian Oxheart variety from seed.

Every year, it seems, the festive season arrives faster than ever before. And this year is no different. Indeed, I can barely believe that it's just over three weeks until Christmas Day. Eeeks. Are you ready?! I'm not sure that I am, quite yet.