A teeny weeny Aquatini

The hunt for the world's great cocktails is exhausting, but I do my best. At right, a photograph of the "Aquatini" I imbibed at Aqua Spirit in Kowloon, Hong Kong, one Typhoon-sodden evening last June. At $25 a pop it's a tad pricey but it is iced with gold leaf. Re HK: Is there another city in the world that caters so well to the fashion obsessive? If so, I don't know of it. I mean, you can buy individual Armani chocolates for $6 a piece at Chater House. My advice is go during the famous shopping festival (June through August 31) when the Armani chocolates are still $6 but everything else is discounted up to 80%. You can read my story on shopping pornography in Hong Kong in the December issue of Australian Gourmet Traveller, out now.

The explosive lip gloss

This morning, I called Emirates airlines to check whether I was able to bring into the cabin with me my usual stash of moisturisers, facial sprays and lip-glosses. Apparently, the restriction of liquids in hand luggage only applies to flights going to the UK or USA, so I can happily spritz away from Sydney to Muscat. I got caught up in this security nonsense in August, when I was flying out of New York. (Mind you, the security people at JFK airport completely missed the finger-sized tube of La Prairie face cream I'd smuggled into my luggage with the intention of mixing it with the dressing that comes with the economy-class salad and making an explosive device - and, please, joking about this is not an arrestable offence if you're sitting at home at your desk, so back off Attorney-General's Department). I don't intend to say more about this nonsense, which rivals "duck and cover" as one of the great scams in the history of keep-em-scared-and-tame propaganda but I do refer you to the erudite Patrick Smith of Salon's Ask the Pilot column who beautifully debunks the whole Pythonesque farce we passengers are so passively accepting. (And here is Patrick's latest hilarious column on the subject, posted for Thanksgiving.)

Sheltering Sky Blue

I'm getting into a Sheltering Sky mood for my impending trip to Oman this weekend. I intend to have my hands and feet decorated with henna when there, as I usually do when visiting oriental countries (or anywhere else I can get it - I once had mehndi done in a shop in Manhattan's East Village), so the crucial decision before I go is this: what colour to paint my toenails? Quite coincidentally, yesterday the kind people at YSL sent me a bottle of next autumn's nail colour, no 32, a sparkling deep raspberry colour. But is it too Glam Rock for the dusty streets of Muscat? I was thinking more along the lines of desert shades like OPIs "It's a bird it's a plane it's OPI" orange (who thinks up these names?) or the Sheltering Blue Sky of M.A.C 's "Cabana". Perhaps I should paint my toes gold to go with my gold silk caftan or sinister purple-black (OPI's Lincoln Park) to go with my black one... This is an important decision, as I never feel quite right unless I've matched my toenail colour to my destination, in the same way I need to match my reading matter to my destination. (Olivia Manning's The Balkan Trilogy for Romania; Rohan Mistry's A Fine Balance for India and now Sultan in Oman by Jan Morris, written when she was a "he" in 1957.) Maybe I should try a date-coloured brown? Or - let's take this to its logical conclusion - camel-poop yellow?

Not in the third world anymore, baby

It's been a bad week for Romanians. First off, the villagers of Glod, from south-west Romania, discover that they have unwittingly doubled for Kazakhs in the new Borat movie. Then, that adorable spitfire Naomi Campbell accuses her maid, Gaby Gibson, of being a "stupid" Romanian and hurls the insult, "You're not in the third world anymore." In light of this I feel I must come to the defense of Romania, a beautiful country I discovered last year, where the wine is cheap, the food terrible, the countryside feudal, the trains always late, the toilet facilities challenging - in fact, one of the most enchanting places I've visited in a long while. Bucharest, in particular, still has the shabby glamour of yesteryear with dusty shops, Communist-era beauty parlours, cobblestone streets, crumbling medieval basilicas and bullet-ridden public buildings. I love it! Go before the country's entry into the EU turns it into one big Vuitton/Armani/Chanel outlet. And stay at the lovely Hotel Capsa, in the centre of town, a favourite of the king. Above, a bridal shop in Bucharest. (There are many.)

George W = sexually dysfunctional Clyde?

Bless Al Gore for imprinting on my brain one of the funniest (and apt) images about our dear Prime Minister's sycophantic - or is it psychofantic - increasingly isolated and altogether weird relationship with the American president. (I mean, they are going to Vietnam this week to discuss Iraq?) “Right now, Australia and the United States are the 'Bonnie and Clyde' of the global community on the climate crisis," Gore told Andrew Denton on Enough Rope in September. "If Bonnie goes straight and reforms, then Clyde is out there isolated and would feel a lot of pressure to change. If Australia changed its policy, it would put enormous pressure on the US to change." Back in Australia to recruit volunteers for a new campaign, Gore reminded us of the quote at his press conference. Wonder how Mr. Howard looks in a beret?

Abstract Expressionism Rocks

Oh, to be in New York tonight for the opening of a major exhibition of new works by "the painter's painter" Thornton Willis, whom I have had the privilege of knowing for a decade.

Thornton Willis was born, raised and educated in the South, completing his Masters work at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa. He moved to New York City in 1967 to pursue his career as an artist where he still lives and works.

This new group of paintings is a continuation of the dialogue with painting that Thornton began in those early years. His use of the triangle and strong diagonals has become a familiar trademark in his work. Here he continues the process of reexamination and refinement.

"I have always given credit to my influences, in particular to the New York School of Abstract Expressionism, which opened the door for what I call ‘Real Painting’," he says "and to those more contemporary artists whose dedication, work and focus have informed my art and created for it a historical context. For me, American Abstract Painting always has been, and remains, the most advanced means of visual expression available to a free society.”

Thornton has shown extensively in New York and in Europe and has work in the collections of the Museum of Modern Art, The Whitney Museum of American Art, the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C., Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, NY, the Powers Collection in Sydney, but to name a few.

This must-see opportunity to view Thornton's work is at the elizabeth harris gallery 529 w20 st ny 10011. Phone 212 463 9666. Closes December 22. The Gallery is located at 529 West 20th Street, 6th floor, and is open Tuesday through Saturday 11 – 6. For further information please contact Miles Manning at 212 463-9666.

The Bono Bonus

Lucky me, having tickets to last night's Kylie show where U2 lead and all round good guy Bono made a surprise appearance. Just as well he did, really, because it's the only thing that stuck in my head from the whole extravaganza - except for that near-naked male dancer with the dark curly hair. Not that a lot of it wasn't calculatedly fabulous, mind you, but it was half an hour too long, and no amount of ostrich feathers and stage hydrolics could disguise the thinness of the material. For two-thirds of the night I was entertained enough to think, well, Kylie sounds more like a budgie than ever but there's almost something Chinese Opera about her voice that's kinda cool. And there's a joy to her performance these days that no amount of window-dressing can swamp. But there's no depth beyond chirpiness and it palls after a while. There were a lot of old Madonna references - including a few bars from "Vogue" - and I don't think it's that wise for Kylie herself to beg the comparison. Madonna gets on a wave just before it's about to crest, but Kylie is definitely riding it in the backwash, when we've seen it all before. Ironically, it's this lack of pretension that she's anything but middle-of-the-road that gives her charm. As for the audience, it was a mixture of seven year-old girls in pink glitter, gay boys in pink glitter and middle-aged women with pink feathers in their hair. But mostly it was a sea of Kath and Kims, proving once and for all the brilliance of Jane Turner and Gina Riley in casting Kylie in series two as Epponnee-Rae.

Belinda Emmett

On a weekend when Kylie is boldly making her comeback from illness, the sad news that actress Belinda Emmett, who was only 32, has died from breast cancer. I saw her at Westfield only two or three weeks ago and she looked exceptionally frail. She was a lovely actress, with a real flair for comedy, and by all accounts a very dear person. Young girls need to know that vigilance is necessary. Go here for more information on breast cancer prevention.

Saving Face

Isn't life wonderfully rich and unexpected? Just as I was getting myself into a funk about the state of the world, what lobs across my desk but the latest offering from that kooky gang at Chanel? Really, this is a must-have: a box of one hundred bunny-soft Egyptian cotton makeup remover squares, embossed with the Chanel logo! It's too exquisite. You could pay $2 for something similar at Woolworth's but it wouldn't be as soft, it might scratch your skin and it doesn't have the Chanel cachet. And, let's face it, $22 is very little to pay for a bit of Coco in the bathroom.

Having a Rum time

From my friend Mark Trevorrow via YouTube, this hilarious Rummy spoof from Craig Ferguson's TV talk show. I've been silent on the matter of this week's US elections because there isn't a hell of a lot to celebrate, given the Iraq fiasco is still continuing and no hope in sight that John Howard will check his ego and admit what a debacle it is. (Mind you it is rather lovely to see the new, pained look on his face - although it's small comfort in light of the looks on 150,000 dead Iraqi faces.) But the Democrats win was something, eh? I almost have faith in Democracy again. In a couple of weeks I'm off to Oman, which is one of only two Sultantates in the world, and I'd like to see how that works. I rather fancy the idea of having a Sultana instead of a Queen.

If it walks like Kylie, smells like Kylie, then...

Spoilt beautynistas got the pink carpet treatment last night and went home from the launch of Kylie Minogue's first fragrance, Darl, with a swag of goodies that attest to the commercial juggernaut that is the petite cancer survivor's post-op career. Included in the stash - one copy of book The Showgirl Princess: A true fairy tale full of glitter and dreams, one 2CD/DVD Special Edition: Ultimate Kylie, one pair Foxy Fishents LK Legs by LoveKylie, one 75ml bottle eau de toilette Kylie Minogue Darling, one Official Kylie Minogue Calendar 2007, two tickets to Sunday's Showgirl Homecoming Tour. The announcement of the last elicited gasps and applause from the pink champagne- sodden, gift-saturated crowd - testament to the fact that Kylie, who made a graceful appearance in the chic-est black dress, is still Australia's darl.

I work for shoes

Word this morning that Imelda Marcos is turning her old clothes and shoes into a new fashion collection, produced with her daughter Imee. Which gives me the opportunity to now pass on one of my favourite quotes from the apparently much-wronged former First Lady of the Philippines: "I did not have three thousand pairs of shoes, I had one thousand and sixty." So there. Glad we've got that right.

Hatastrophe

I'm a Melbourne girl, so today, Melbourne Cup Day, always brings a frisson of nostalgia. And a litle moue of annoyance that people persist in getting hats so wrong. I read that the Fascinator was "out" this year, which must have meant a crisis of sorts in the estimable closets of suburban Melbourne. What will stylish Melbourne women do without a bit of net and feather to stick on their heads? Will they have to wear brims? Appropriately, if they have to run around like a pack of chooks with their heads cut off, they do it in a place called The Birdcage. In the old days, we had sandwiches and champagne out of our car boot and some of us even went down to the finishing line to watch the race. These days, people boast they haven't seen a horse for years. Now they like to huddle in tents and pretend they are in Versailles, surrounded by courtiers and kings, rather than the same old Sydney set who has just transferred to Melbourne for the week. (And, by the way, don't the sponsors who have taken Marie-Antoinette as a theme this year know that Sophie Coppola's movie is reportedly a dud according to the world's best film critic, Anthony Lane of The New Yorker?) Pity, they miss the genuine thrill of those horses thundering down the straight and the smell of turf being hoofed up. Love it.... As a little token of the day I offer up an illustration of a very chic hat by the divine Richard Gray, which appears in my book Perfect Pink Polish.

Raining on our parade

Ironically, it's a foul and unseasonably cold day in Sydney this morning. But that's no excuse not to pull on galoshes and join GetUp's Walk Against Warming throughout Australia today.

The Passionate Shopper

I'm a bit of a Passionate Op Shopper myself, but I just love Marion von Adlerstein's lighthearted and juicy romp through the world's best shops, souks and bazaars, with a little help from 17 of her well-travelled friends. The book was royally launched on Wednesday night with pink Moet and lobster sandwiches at the new Hermes store on Sydney's Market Street. I arrived to find publisher Julie Gibbs receiving a lesson in scarf folding, Parisian style, from the adorable Liliane - and learnt a few things myself about how to make those clever knots and drapes as French women do. (Not sure what I did during my two years in Paris, but I never learned this.) The event was a bit of a nostalgia trip for ex-Vogue staffers like me, with three legendary Vogue women in the room - Marion, former editor June McCallum and former publisher Eve Harmon. Wandering among the expensive handbags was quite a sobering experience. Kick me in the head if I'm wrong here, but I thought the idea of owning a classic bag like the Hermes Birkin was that you wore it forever, it was the only bag you needed and it got better with the patina of time. But these days, handbag queens are buying a new bag at least every season (and often every week.) It's all about the bag the fashion magazines keep on telling us. Sorry babes, for me it's all about a lot of other things but never a bag.

The Doctor's Advice

Dr. Who fans might recall the Doctor's effective way of getting rid of the British Prime Minister in an early episode of the last series. There was nothing supernatural about it. All he need do was whisper in the right ear, "Doesn't she look tired?" Well, given John Howard's recent performances on both Iraq and climate change, where has well and truly painted himself into a corner, I'd just like to say one thing: Doesn't he look tired?