![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Y2O_YA4wyvRaNG4qVjIsGR9soZeIr0Jxj_E1MOGeM5Z28Ktatx8YKm6l2UnqvPFlr7jZmVkxEPmiZUVUvakda-miUIkkHctGvSGI-5-EKtGd5GFjOsRxQLS3rH_Zr2g5u6LB/s400/lamington.jpg)
What is one to do, when one finds oneself in a foreign land on the occasion of one's National Day?
One attempts to whip up a batch Lamingtons, of course.
In the process, I discovered a new found admiration for old-school, no mixmaster/kitchenaid cookery. Creaming butter and sugar by hand is a bitch.
How I longed for my old trusty Sunbeam Mixmaster (ca 1960). Ours was a multi-generational machine. When we left Australia I bequeathed it to my sister, so along with the family silver it has become a bit of an heirloom piece.
There was something about the way it sounded when it was cranked up to 10, something about the way it smelled - like machine oil and burning sugar - it always reminded me of a fairy floss machine. Most importantly, there was something remarkably pleasing about the way it creamed butter and sugar together without me getting a tired arm.
I'll admit, they are not the world's best Lamingtons, but not a bad first effort.
*Possibly the most ridiculous line in any national anthem - ever.