tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27467466543074707172024-03-14T00:07:07.511-07:00Just Another Day In SydneyBy Catriona LingJust Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.comBlogger240125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-20000262629585637582018-02-23T03:09:00.001-08:002018-02-23T03:09:15.460-08:00In the Swim - it's all in the togs, isn't it - Nude Swimming for beginners<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5oo67AD8s_E/Wo_13oo8BjI/AAAAAAAAAoc/6CWqqgNna3IcrEJbY3RqEOo6s89k5CwOgCEwYBhgL/s1600/Skinny%2Bswim%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5oo67AD8s_E/Wo_13oo8BjI/AAAAAAAAAoc/6CWqqgNna3IcrEJbY3RqEOo6s89k5CwOgCEwYBhgL/s400/Skinny%2Bswim%2B2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I have obviously got to that time of life where something inside me rumbles to push out of the comfort zone and so on March 11th this year I am participating in the Sydney Skinny Swim http://www.thesydneyskinny.com.au/about/sydney-skinny-ocean-swim-event.htm<br />
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- the ‘Skinny’ bit of the title referring to the unclothed nature of participants rather than a radical change to my outline which remains frighteningly robust in nature - it is in fact a nude ocean swim. The nudity bit is not concerning me that much, in that I am more worried about the fact that being a typical Brit, my preferred, and indeed only stroke, is breaststoke, with my head held high in a manner that generally ensures that I emerge from the water with my hairstyle intact and as immaculate as ever. I am therefore more stressed about the chances of me a) drowning or b) finishing a good hour after the rest of the swimmers rather than the fact that I am going to be minus my togs when completing it. Interesting fact - based on the random survey of my group of friends who along with me were invited to join in this event, the British, New Zealanders and Dutch are marginally more likely to take their clothes off, whilst their Australian counterparts, in a total defiance of national stereotypes, are robustly, almost to a woman, refusing to countenance entering the water naked.<br />
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I am also finding it somewhat alarming that the most common response to hearing I am about to bare all, is how brave I am and I wonder if I am misleading people somewhat, as in my mind I am just going to nip down some beach, into the water, swim for my life (literally) and then re-emerge dripping and reach for a towel- (the only thing that does worry me is being pulled from the water by a life guard who has mistaken the British breaststoke for the last gasp of the drowning - and if that occurs it won't be a pretty sight), however people are talking about this rare outbreak of nudity on my part as if I was proposing to go and conduct a television interview in the nude or something equally outre, so I am beginning to wonder if there is a catch I haven't caught up with eg a parade of stripped swimmers prior to the big dive. <br />
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The whole event is raising money for Brain Cancer research and I am also swimming/stripping in order to raise funds for Chris O’Brien Lifehouse in Sydney through a Just Giving page that you can access here:<br />
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https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Catriona-Ling<br />
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Lifehouse has been the Ling family home from home during the course of our daughter Harriet’s treatment over the last five years. The hospital is an integrated and focused centre of excellence, offering everything a cancer patient needs in one place. As we as a family know, they support not only the patient, but the entire family in a holistic and caring way that makes living through the stress of diagnosis and treatment much more bearable.<br />
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So far my practice sessions have not been uniformly successful with one ocean swim resulting in my swimming into an armada of bluebottles, the Australian version of Portugese Man O' War jellyfish, and getting robustly and comprehensively stung - fortunately I was in my swimsuit for this outing limiting the extent of the stings to just my arms, the mind boggles, and eyes water, to think what the experience might have been like, had I been nude. Following this pretty painful experience that also included a couple of days itching like a particularly deranged Mexican bandit, I have focused on practising the nude side of the event and restricted my dummy run activities to floating in the bath. However come March 11th, I will be giving the event a good go and crossing my fingers for no bluebottles and a finish before the next wave of competitors start.<br />
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Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-63652467006536116692016-06-05T20:57:00.001-07:002016-06-06T05:36:18.332-07:00"Whether the weather be fine, or whether the weather be not ......"<br />
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Sydney weather has been ricocheting around. May was totally glorious, I was in basking seal mode only a couple of weeks ago, swimming in the ocean off Lion Island in Pittwater, one of Sydney’s great natural harbours. The water was a bit bracing but nothing compared to my childhood summer swims off St Andrews where I used to enter the water, draw a sharp breath and exit swiftly climbing back into three layers of clothing and hoping the blue tinge to my flesh faded quickly. In contrast two weeks ago, we sat around the boat in the sunshine with that glorious feeling of salt drying on your skin and marvelled at one of the warmest Mays in record for Sydney with daytime temperatures over 20 oC every day for the first 26 days of the month.<br />
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But as in all good fairy stories there is always something nasty lurking in the woodshed. In this case, an East Coast Low, apparently partly caused by the high sea temperatures that were responsible for my unseasonal sea like frolicking. Having got a grand total of 7.2mm of rain in the whole of May, Sydney has received 226.2mm since Friday – most of which appears to have pooled under our house. Husband has been looking manly in shorts, up to his knees in water creating siphon systems with hoses to get the water out – I refused to do the sucking bit to start the siphons off, having had nasty experiences with that particular exercise, in the past, with emptying out fish tank water.<br />
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We went for breakfast on Sunday at our local beachside café, Bathers' Pavilion at Balmoral. As Balmoral is a harbour beach, rather than an ocean one, you normally get the kind of waves that you encourage your four year old to jump through, but as we sat at our window table, carefully avoiding the pools of water from the rain that was driving in through the frames, we could see surfers out on the water, surfing very respectable sized waves into the beach. <br />
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The storm coincided with the highest tide of the year, last night, a so called King Tide – have actually mentally labelled it the King Canute tide as he would have had more than a few problems trying to hold it back. We went back down to Balmoral for a walk last night as the tide was at its peak, fortunately the storm had abated but the size of the waves as they crashed onto the usually placid beach and over the esplanade walls was impressive. We spotted a pelican amongst the chaos of the surf, presumably looking for fish attracted by the Bathers' Pavilion lights that shine out at night over the water. As we marvelled at his skill in dodging waves, he suddenly got it wrong and had to fly for his life down the face of a giant wave coming zooming out of the froth and water, skimming millimetres away from the wall of water. It was one of those images that will stay with me for a long time as he flew in low towards us, before flapping off into the night in a somewhat disgruntled fashion.<br />
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It’s not just the weather that seems barmy in Sydney. My front garden looks bizarre at the moment, though I would hate to give you the impression it ever looks particularly flash. I have daffodils out, actually technically I think they are some kind of narcissi or jonquil but daffodils covers it, whilst at the same time the imported trees are turning gold and orange. Given both flowers and trees come from northern hemispheres – surely one or other species has got it wrong re Spring and Autumn as a concept in their adopted home – and I’m guessing it’s the daffodils who are confused.<br />
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Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-29045976804453000372016-05-06T20:09:00.003-07:002016-05-06T20:09:54.567-07:00Mother's Day - Champagne or Colonoscopy?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bKeK0tqbIb4/Vy1bls2lDXI/AAAAAAAAAmg/TDDyYuRZHMwzeBDhl947i9JAHc96Q3LEwCLcB/s1600/Mothers%2BDay%2B1%2B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bKeK0tqbIb4/Vy1bls2lDXI/AAAAAAAAAmg/TDDyYuRZHMwzeBDhl947i9JAHc96Q3LEwCLcB/s320/Mothers%2BDay%2B1%2B.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Tomorrow
is Mother’s Day in Australia. I would actually love it if we could get a global
Mother’s Day – an International Day of the Mother. UK Mothering Sunday is
linked to Easter and the Christian calendar and this year was March 6<sup>th</sup>,
whereas Australia and New Zealand follow the US custom of the second Sunday in
May, which is tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
unfortunate that the UK Mothering Sunday falls before the Australian
celebration in that it means my own mother’s chances of scoring a on time card
from this particular off shore offspring are remarkably low.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My
own Mother’s Day celebration tomorrow, is on paper, not shaping well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Drama Queen No.1 is in hospital
recuperating from an operation, Drama Queen No.2 is down at university in
Melbourne, recuperating from a night spent on a beach photographing a meteorite
shower and watching the phosphorescence in the waves, and Drama Queen No.3 is
spending the night at a friend’s place so I am going to wake up with no
daughters in residence – BUT IT GETS MUCH WORSE – because actually celebration
of motherhood and the implied goal of me getting my just rewards in terms of
cake and champagne does not actually require offspring physically present – I
am quite capable of quaffing it with Husband or on my own. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The disaster is the result of a move
that only I could make, I have somehow scheduled for Monday morning, the
routine, age related, something it would be good to do, colonoscopy that I have
been gently, and rightly, nagged into by my GP. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">This
fatal flaw on the timing front means that as per the instruction sheet, not
only am I taking a variety of what I presume are laxatives – and I must confess
to some worries about the speed and ferocity at which they work, based on the advice
to stay close to a toilet, but I also have to exist on a clear liquid diet for
24 hours before the procedure, which effectively scuppers any hopes of a
Mother’s Day high tea or indeed knees up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I did phone the doctor’s receptionist in the vain hope champagne might
qualify on the clear liquid front – it does, but sadly fails the no alcohol
test. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
upside is that I console myself that I am so lucky to live in a country with a
fabulous medical system that supports and cares for us as a family, and that I
am offered a test that could be invaluable in saving my life, so in the contest
between champagne and colonoscopy – I guess colonoscopy wins hands down – with
champagne afterwards naturally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And
of course there is the fact that I feel very loved by the dramatic offspring
everyday of the year, so before I get absurdly sentimental I’d like pay homage
to Tom Lehrer who wrote one of the best songs about loving your mother –
Oedipus Rex – that contains one of my favourite lines “I’d rather marry a
duck-billed platypus”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mScdJURKGWM">Oedipus Rex</a></span></div>
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Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-72447218789250474322016-04-18T19:07:00.001-07:002016-04-18T19:07:15.489-07:00Dum de Dum de Dum - The Archers and the joys of internet radio<div class="MsoNormal">
You know you are becoming a crusty old bore, akin to the
type of colonial relics that inhabit a Somerset Maugham short story, when you
start talking about ‘When I first went overseas …………. “</div>
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In the heady days of the early 90s there was no internet or
email so you wrote and received letters in the form of blue areogrammes that
you folded up and sent off – it was a red letter day when a blue letter arrived
and I used to skip up the steps to the various rented flats clutching one when
they came.</div>
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Phone calls to overseas countries were accompanied with a
timer and hissing of in-drawn breath – my parents-in-law only rang us a couple
of times during our years overseas as it was regarded as prohibitively
expensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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And if you wanted to listen to the BBC Radio 4 long running
serial, The Archers you had to get your parents to make a recording and send it
out to you.</div>
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I wasn’t actually such an Archers fan that these desperate
measures were required but when we lived in Hong Kong in the early 90’s, I had
a great friend, Laura, whose mother used to tape the omnibus edition every
Sunday and then send said tape to Laura.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I tell this story to anyone under the age of 30, I can see their
eyes roll in complete incomprehension, whilst they mentally pause and wonder
whether to ask for a translation.</div>
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I love having the internet, and email, but I also love my box
of tattered areogrammes, mainly from my mother who wrote the most superb
letters, but slightly irritating never dated them beyond the month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now realise I should have written the
year on them when I received them as it is now a deduction process from the
contents, and the address on the front, in terms of working out when it was actually
written.</div>
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One of the things I love most about life now is that I can
conjure up BBC Radio 4 and Radio 3 at the touch of a button on my computer,
either live or as a podcast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I
write now I have Essential Classics from Radio 3 playing in the background as I
am someone who always needs noise around to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most early evenings I will cook to the wake up call of the
BBC Radio 4 flagship ‘Today’ programme which sets the tone for news and views
each morning in the UK, and when ironing I will find a podcast from Woman’s
Hour or The Life Scientific – both of which are the most fantastic programmes
and I very rarely come away without having heard something that really
interested me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Desert Island
Discs is a weekly treat and when I find one I love, I am on a one-woman mission
to spread the word and all my friends find the link posted to their
inboxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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‘The Archers’ is typically British institution, a radio soap
opera that has been going since 1951, originally, and perhaps still, billed as
the ‘everyday story of country folk’, I can remember listening to the after
lunch slot in my primary school uniform and the theme tune is instantly
recognisable to any Brit of my age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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There is still a distinct rural flavour to it, and we are
definitely talking village life, complete with established families, wealthy
farmers, poor but honest (most of the time) tenant farmers and labourers,
village shop, now run by worthy volunteers and a village green.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no one could accuse The Archers of
not being of their time – over the past couple of years the storylines have
included a gay civil marriage, infidelity, donor insemination and the vicar
marrying a Hindu and my personal favourite, one character, Emma, managing to
marry not one, but two brothers in quick succession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to come clean and admit I am now totally addicted and
will listen to the 12 minutes slot whilst I cook most evenings.</div>
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In recent weeks the tension in The Archers community has
ratcheted up as a domestic abuse storyline took over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The build up was very dramatic and I was reduced to getting
up and listening to the next episode whilst I ate my breakfast, furiously
hushing any of my family who dared to interrupt the storyline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When things came to a head – or to
knifepoint – it was I think the story that stopped the nation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Today Programme had to utter a
spoiler alert before they discussed the episode as one of their leading news
stories of the day.</div>
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For anyone feeling nostalgic, here’s the theme tune, you
only need the first few bars to be transported.</div>
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKVGFP93bPg</div>
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<br /></div>
Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-54395141060816119892016-04-06T01:09:00.001-07:002016-04-06T01:09:41.902-07:00Dress Code - Pac-a mac or pearls<div class="MsoNormal">
Absolutely fabulous, hot autumnal afternoon in Sydney with
golden light slanting through the trees round the outdoor café I am sitting in,
but as with all good dramas this is now the point for a line of dramatic
dots……………… the weather forecast for the next few days is not good.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rain is normally not a problem in my life, however in a
crazed social organiser moment, crossed with the desire to embrace my inner
cultural being, I have revved up several of my friends about what fun it would
be to go to Turandot the Sydney Opera production staged outdoors on a floating
stage on Sydney Harbour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fear I
have perhaps waxed too lyrical about the operatic and dramatic delights in
store, to the extent Husband is convinced he is going to see a fire breathing dragon
– and whilst it is true there is definitely a giant pagoda and a mechanical
dragon, I am not completely convinced it is going to spit fire – but as a
result of my enthusiastic sales pitch, I now find myself in the fairly
unaccustomed role of heading up a party who qualify for a group discount – am
considering whether to get one of those little flags to wave so I can marshal
them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile I am haunted by a craven
fear that it will pour, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and my
loyal concert party of opera tragics will be glaring at me from beneath plastic
hoods as the rain drums around us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However there are few things as spectacular as an evening
spent sitting on the purpose built seating in the Botanic Gardens, complete
with the bars and restaurants that appear for a couple of months whilst the
Outdoor Cinema and the Opera on the Harbour are on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scenery is out of this world with the Opera
House and Bridge as a backdrop as the lights go down and then the lights around
the Harbour providing a sparkling frame as darkness falls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Flying Foxes (large and incontinent
bats) used to make sitting in the back row of seats, underneath the overhanging
trees, a bit of a sartorial challenge – what to wear that you don’t mind
getting covered in bat shit was always a puzzle, but now the bats have been
persuaded to move on, it is possible to sit in the back rows without more that
an occasional glance upwards.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not a great opera buff – hence have had to consult
Sydney Opera’s helpful ‘cheat sheet’ to discover that the final “t” in Turandot
is not pronounced – bit like the Drama Queens’ pronunciation of ‘water’ which
also generally lacks any mention of the ‘T’ sound, but I do love the drama of
the outdoor opera – and boy do they go to the max on set and effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fireworks are completely obligatory and
are apparently going to light up the sky during ‘Nessum Dorma’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During Carmen, a couple of years ago, a
vintage car appeared to great effect whilst one of the highlights of Aida last
year was getting up close with the camels that made a star appearance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However the biggest nightmare is of course, what happens if
it rains?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the closely related
question, what on earth am I going to wear, pac- a- mac or pashmina?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally I am never particularly
stressed by dress code questions, taking the fairly characteristic, eg lazy,
view that unless one looks spectacular or dreadful, people rarely notice and I
would prefer they remember me for my sparkling repartee rather than
outfit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Note this attitude is
mirrored by my thoughts on hosting dinner parties, where I feel that unless the
food is beyond delicious, or I poison people, then that’s fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Anyone who has been subjected to my
dinner party food – please feel free to rebut this statement).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However I do at times get the dress code so spectacularly
wrong that I am out of sight on the fashion front – and not in a Kardashian
type way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The worst I think
was the Derby Day – part of the racing festival centred around the Melbourne
Cup, in November– it was unfortunate that in the excitement of being invited
down to Derby Day in Melbourne I had failed to ask anyone about the Dress Code
– it turns out it is traditional to wear black and white to Derby Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was perhaps a tad unfortunate I had
gone for a celebratory fire station red outfit topped off by a red hat – if the
expression ‘sore thumb’ comes to mind then you have the correct and bizarrely
quite accurate picture in your mind of me, clad as the scarlet imposter, in the
midst of a sea of black and white – it was like an inverted “Where’s Wally?”
picture.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The good news is that being Sydney, anything will go at
Turandot, so I can get it wrong in good company, and if the rain lashes down,
I’ve got some great raingear that I wore daily in my northern hemisphere life that
now hangs in the laundry unused most of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as for the under layer, as it were, I’m going to take
Dan Porta, the set designer’s words to heart – “We have to temper the
aesthetics to the weather …… but still make everything look dangerous and
exciting” so I’m mentally channelling the black jumpsuit rather than jeans and
sweater.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just as a footnote, I have just heard on the radio that today was the hottest April day recorded in Sydney - no wonder it all seemed glorious - keep those opera loving fingers crossed it lasts.</div>
Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-32138832186760528102016-03-20T22:02:00.004-07:002016-03-20T22:02:33.350-07:00Real People and Imaginary Friends<div class="MsoNormal">
Today’s weather which is grey, not a scud of sun and heavy
rain alternating with drizzle is a forcible reminder that perhaps I wouldn’t be
that good at living in the UK any more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I have become too much of a Southern Hemisphere
gal – used to a default setting of sunshine, heat and blue skies, and rain that
is more of the tropical downpour variety than the depressing backdrop to life stuff
we are getting now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During the almost 25 years we have been married, we’ve only
spent 5 years in the UK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a
brief, undoubtedly rain-filled, but very happy, interlude, where we lived in
Balham, and went from having one child to three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Towards the end of the five years,</span> I went back to university and qualified as a
teacher, but before that foray back into student life, I spent a couple of
years based mostly on my knees or sitting on the floor, clutching a cup of tea,
chatting to my friends whilst numerous small children crawled and roamed around
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In terms of timing it was just
the best, our return to London, complete with a growing number of small
children coincided with the brief period of time when the majority of my
university friends were London based and all having children, so I had a ready
made social group and the great luxury of having time with people who made me
laugh, and even better understood my jokes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-trBTCR7DrB0/Vu98vLAX1aI/AAAAAAAAAmA/ugMh4_8EmtYSKQjUyR8tWsTrF3kvqYX9w/s1600/Late%2BFragments.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-trBTCR7DrB0/Vu98vLAX1aI/AAAAAAAAAmA/ugMh4_8EmtYSKQjUyR8tWsTrF3kvqYX9w/s320/Late%2BFragments.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have just read ‘Late Fragments – Everything I Want to Tell
You (About this</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Magnificent Life)’ by Kate Gross.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was as she says “ a successful thirty-something with an
amazing job through which I travel the world and converse with presidents and
prime ministers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My adorable twins
are three, and their father, Billy, is my soulmate, as well as being the
best-looking man I’ve ever kissed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And then she discovers she has advanced colon cancer, and she decides to
write a book for her twin sons to tell them who she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved the book, though I approached
it with some trepidation as I am always nervy of cancer/illness memoirs as I
think it takes really great writing to rise above the grief and misery, but
what I think sets Kate Gross’s book apart is her thoughts on the business of living
if you like, rather than dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
particularly liked her chapter on female friendships – I sat reading, going,
‘yes, yes, yes’ – thinking as I read that she was saying, so brilliantly, what
I have always thought, and I so wish she were still alive so that I could write
to her and say “Please, please, be my friend’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the things Kate says about her time at university is
that “I count my time at university as precious not just because it is where I
hatched [from a grub, as she characterises her teenage years], but because it
is where I made the friendships that have accompanied me ever since.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the upsides of moving round the
world is that it forces you into situations of similar type intensity to those
university days –<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a survive, make
friends or die type mentality, so I have been blessed in that I have continued
to make great friends in life, but in the end it is the university and school
friends who tend to get the middle of the night hysterical phone call or to
whom I can admit that I have just eaten a whole packet of Cadbury’s mini-eggs
and am now lurching round the kitchen like a Labrador that has committed a
similar transgression.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps I actually was a Labrador in a previous life as I’m
obviously very prone to wanting to bound up to people saying ‘Be my friend’ and
metaphorically nuzzling around their knees – though obviously giving the sniffing
their groin a miss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having just
read J K Rowling’s address to Harvard Graduates in 2008<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- (missed it at the time but it is just
doing the rounds on Facebook a mere eight years later), she is clearly going on
the list too as yet another inspirational and funny woman who seems to speak
for me, and to me, but who also I feel wouldn’t be averse to a gingernut dunked
in a mug of tea. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2008/06/text-of-j-k-rowling-speech/">http://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2008/06/text-of-j-k-rowling-speech/</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I get too carried away with my new all female fantasy
friendship group, I should add the person who started me off on the wanting
complete strangers, who take my fancy, as friends kick, which is now how I
typify people who I admire and who make me laugh, was Jimmy Mulville, after I
heard him on Desert Island Discs <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00t613s">http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00t613s</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Regardless of the rain outside and my bizarre Labrador like
tendencies to want to be friends with the outstanding who cross my path, in
print or on radio, what I should be reflecting on is how lucky I am like Kate
Gross, to have so many outstanding friends in my life already, who do inspire
and make me laugh on a daily basis, so this is a reminder to myself to cherish
them and always to have a packet of biscuits or a bottle of wine handy in case
they drop in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS Belatedly I realise the title for this post was stolen from the titles of two books by Alison Lurie, the American novelist, who is definitely on the list of desired friends, though such is the level of my admiration for her, I am not sure I would actually be able to utter a word were I ever to come face to face with her.</div>
Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-15876783344708858022016-03-12T19:31:00.001-08:002016-03-12T19:31:17.692-08:00Just a cough to the left, a splutter to the right<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been fabulous weather in Sydney and to be honest there are few places to beat Sydney Harbour when the sun is shining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sINCOAnWXGc/VuTelBzidJI/AAAAAAAAAlw/SfzAo41DXusD0d-suTigvxW-zmTGX9vBg/s1600/Sydney%2BHarbour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sINCOAnWXGc/VuTelBzidJI/AAAAAAAAAlw/SfzAo41DXusD0d-suTigvxW-zmTGX9vBg/s320/Sydney%2BHarbour.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
February is often the hottest month of
the year, coinciding helpfully as it does with school going back, but this year summer is
continuing to excel itself well into March.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sydney is in the middle of a record breaking run, 37 days in
a row where the temperature has been 26 oC or over and 21 nights where it has
been 20 oC – (for my Fahrenheit readers that’s a daily temperature of 79 oF or
over and a lot of the time it has been well over, we are not talking warm here,
we are talking days that are candle melting hot, and a nightly temperature that
hasn’t dropped below 68 oF). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically safe to say jolly consistently hot, no matter what
temperature gauge you are using.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went to see La Boheme at Sydney Opera House on Friday– please note the way I slipped that in, culture vulture that I
am – the reality is I am complete operatic philistine and were it not for
subtitles I would not have a clue about what is going on in any given opera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However I loved La Boheme and was
mesmerised by the music, energy generated by the performers and the set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heroine, Mimi dies of consumption
at the end – as in all operas in my limited experience, death seems to feature
pretty majorly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she coughed her
way to her last, I reflected upon the fact that despite the type of weather
than induces heat exhaustion rather than a constant hacking, coughs are pretty
much theme of the day in my household.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Based on past history a visit to my hairdresser is often fraught with drama –
over the past year the monthly snip has been interrupted in one instance by a
tow man towing my week old, brand new car out of the underground car park where
it had given up the ghost, many of the locals still dine out on the story of
the maniac woman with her hair in foils and wearing a black smock, who was
directing traffic (and swearing a lot) during that incident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there was the phone call I
received, also whilst clad in a becoming black gown, to say my brother had been knocked down
by a cyclist and was in an ambulance on his way to one of the major Sydney
hospitals – fortunately he was okay after a few stitches and a couple of days
rest, and equally fortunately (being totally self-centred as I am) Roger had finished
cutting my hair before the phone call came and I belted out of the saloon at
high speed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result of these
and other incidents, Roger and I both approach the cut as a time-trial before
fresh drama breaks out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> So w</span>hen my
phone buzzed this time and I saw it was a text from Drama Queen No. 2 who has
just started at university in Melbourne, approximately 876km from home, my
heart sank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her text read, “ What
do I have, a dry irritating cough or a chesty one?” – difficult to call that one from a distance I felt, but I was touched by her faith in my diagnostic
powers on the cough front.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However her chest ailments pale into insignificance next to
those of Husband who is marooned in the grey and cold of a UK March, and who claims
that he thinks he has got Legionnaire’s disease – there is an potential outbreak in
Sydney at the moment and the source is thought to be close to his office here – so technically he could be afflicted, particularly as he assures me the incubation period
is up to 10 days (he looked it up).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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In the great operatic tradition I feel I could be conducting
my own cough symphony quite soon, waving in the hypochondriac section, and then cuing
the student splutters, so that we finish in a combined family coughing fit of
which Mimi would be proud. Meanwhile I'm hoping we make 40 days in a row of great weather.</div>
Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-5209474137825842022016-03-05T23:15:00.000-08:002016-03-05T23:15:13.674-08:0021 and the joint is jumping<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Hooray, we survived. Actually, pause for a brief moment whilst I check on full count of teeth, limbs, state of marriage, number of Drama Queens still on talking terms with rest of family. All present and correct – just amazing, given I had expected to wake up post Drama Queen No. 1’s 21st Birthday Party in my own particular version of T S Eliot’s Wasteland.<br />
<br />
She was actually 21 four days before Christmas, but sensibly decided to postpone the party until a time when no other major birthday (Jesus or anyone else) or celebration could overshadow it. Having decided upon a Scottish theme, whiskey and haggis quickly hit the must have list – I vetoed requests for the sheep that would apparently add Scottish authenticity to our suburban Sydney house – apparently you can get one for $60 on Gumtree, but I remained resolute, having a pretty fair idea who’d be playing Little Bo Peep post party and frankly I’m far too old for the golden curls and shepherd’s crook called for by that particular role.<br />
<br />
The run up to the party, mentally billed in my own mind as the Ben Hur event, was relatively smooth as the birthday girl is a three hour drive away at university and aside from fielding the boxes of tartan themed objects turning up on the doorstep I was able to stay calm. Australian male friends wound up Husband with cries of “Mate (mate being drawn out in that peculiarly Australian way) you’re going to need more beer. More beer, Mate” – I’m never sure whether his friends find it necessary to repeat these kind of instructions because they think he is hard of hearing, or whether they worry about his powers of understanding. As a result in between the tartan paperchains, bunting and ribbon deliveries, boxes of beer kept arriving and our spare room was soon standing room only for bottles as well as potential guests.<br />
<br />
In the event we were blessed, it was a fabulous warm Sydney evening, the 21 year olds were on top form and a pleasure to have in the house. Even the dog dressed up as type of tartan shuttlecock and “My oath” another great Australianism, did they drink – at the end of the night we had six bottles of beer left which I think officially counts as being drunk dry and basically proves the Aussie blokes were right on the bottles of beer per head calculation. We had people in the pool and a naked dancer on the dance floor – events that frankly all good parties need. <br />
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I am now a convert to the concept of a 21st – forget 18th or 16th birthday parties. By 21 the guest list is that bit older, used to having a drink without going crazy and just an easier crowd to deal with in terms of the parental health and safety worries – not to mention sanity concerns. So thank you to all the guests for making it such a fun event that was a pleasure to host, and I’ll carry on taking down the bunting – anyone thinking of hosting a St Andrew’s Night or Burn’s Night supper, have I got the décor for you.<br />
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Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-75997799446022185452016-02-10T00:15:00.001-08:002016-02-10T00:15:22.290-08:00Cupboard Love<div class="MsoNormal">
We are of course in mid February and it is very true to form
that it is only now that I am reflecting upon Christmas presents and
resolutions for the New Year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
fact now I think about it I am just in time for Valentine’s Day, which is
traditionally actually the date I normally send out my Christmas Letter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whilst in the resolution reminiscent
mood I should make one resolution right now; that at some point today I will
find a suitably tasteful and romantic card to hand over to Husband on Sunday morning, thus avoiding the usual scramble at 5pm on February 13<sup>th</sup>, where
I, together with a group of disconsolate males, for strangely most of the other
late purchasers tend to be male, stand gazing at sad remnants of the left over
cards at the newsagent, these last minute tokens of love generally featuring
koalas and/or badly drawn teddy bears clutching roses to their chests, and have
quite rightly been deemed by more timely purchasers, as unfit for human
consumption.</div>
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My family gave me a copy of “The Life-Changing Magic of
Tidying” for Christmas, apparently, I asked to be given it, I have no memory of
making such a request but I do concede that if I was taking a clear look at
myself in the metaphorical mirror (generally smeary and surrounded by
interesting objects parked there over the years) I would perhaps have
acknowledged a guide to tidying could come in handy.</div>
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If I condense the wisdom of the author Marie Kondo in a
couple of sentences, the essence is discard, discard, discard and then tidy the
few possessions that remain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Key
to the discarding element is that if when you handle an object/book/clothing if
it doesn’t bring you an immediate jolt of pleasure/joy you get rid of it – am
so tempted to test this method on dog/Drama Queens/Husband but fear it might
lead to unfortunate scenes, particularly as our council ‘Throw away day’ is
coming up and I would hate to see a member of my family sitting on the kerb
looking for a new home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see
the sense of her particular ‘no joy and it’s out’ mantra and I am actually
looking forward to tackling my wardrobe as I do know there are many garments in
there that I pick up, consider as daily wear, and then put back on the grounds they fail to thrill.</div>
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However an infestation of pantry moths meant that the larder cupboard was the place that
needed my tidy-minded attention – top tip if every time you open the cupboard door, you are
greeted by a flutter of moths, and your teenage children are complaining that
the chocolate chips are full of weevils and they think they may have
unwittingly eaten some, then it’s time for action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cleaned out the whole thing, discarded, discarded and
discarded, less on the grounds did things give me joy, and more on the basis that were foodstuffs
a) infested with weevils, b) out of date by a number of years, c) conspicuously
bulging or d) fitting into the category of the type of food that is bought in a
fit of optimism but which clearly is never going to be eaten by any member of
the family – step forward flaxmeal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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The whole thing was a gloriously purging exercise – and I
was overcome with satisfaction at the end of it – until I opened the cupboard
door this morning and another moth flew out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose on the bright side at least the moths and weevils
have somewhere tidy to live – and I can now move onto the more entertaining
wardrobe purge, hopefully not moth infested in its turn.</div>
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Just to avoid embarrassing confusion - these are pictures of my larder cupboard POST clean-up!</div>
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.Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-56782313860718723442015-01-07T23:14:00.001-08:002015-01-07T23:14:26.338-08:00Pants Off New Year<br />
As with all January 1st’s, the first day of this new year was greeted by my crossing out 2014 at the top of the list of last year’s resolutions and writing 2015 in my best and boldest handwriting, resolved, yet again, that this would be a year where I finally get on top of the rotating resolutions. Basically those resolutions fall in two camps, those things I’m going to do more of including writing, exercise, spending relaxed time with Husband and Drama Queens and laughing with my friends, and in the red corner, things I am going to do less of, such as eating, moaning and procrastinating.<br />
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There is a comfortable familiarity to the whole thing. My resolutions and I are old friends, there’s a mutual understanding about expectations and reality involved. However I can safely say that as the fireworks blazed their spectacular way across the Sydney skyline, and 2015 blasted in, in technicolour, it never occurred to me that one of my resolutions for 2015 should be to remain fully clothed at all time in front of impressionable adolescents.<br />
<br />
On New Year’s Day, I was floating round the kitchen in my pyjamas feeling secretly rather pleased that here I was on a beautiful Sydney morning, all the windows and the doors open to the garden, surrounded by the Drama Queens and an assortment of their teenage friends. Carried away by my Martha Stewart, Gracious Hostess able to relate across the generations image, I was directing the morning breakfast traffic and trying to get to grips with the coffee, tea, green tea requirements when somehow the Moka coffee pot got knocked over and boiling coffee went all down my pyjama clad legs. I did what Martha Stewart and most self respecting 50-this-year-olds would do, and whilst shrieking in a fire engine like manner, ripped off my pyjama bottoms and hopped naked from the waist downwards round the kitchen. In the midst of all the agony I looked up and met the horrified gaze of Drama Queen No.2’s 18-year-old boyfriend whose goals for the New Year clearly did not include a full frontal of his girlfriend’s mother before 9am on New Year’s Day. The horror of the situation and the wide eyed nature of various teenage gazes was enough to have me ripping the pyjama bottoms back up as I exited the kitchen at speed to sit in a cold shower for 30 minutes.<br />
<br />
The whole episode led to a number of interesting observations:<br />
<br />
Firstly burns are unbelievably painful. I was very lucky in that the pyjama bottoms were flannel (of course an obvious choice to sleep in, in high summer in Sydney) and having a thickish layer on my legs definitely saved me from the worst of the hot coffee and getting under cold water immediately was crucial. I still have interesting red patches on my legs that are moving from sore to itchy but no blistering so I am pretty sure I have been really fortunate and escaped any kind of permanent damage.<br />
<br />
Secondly there is a clear generation gap with regard to pyjama etiquette. In reviewing the whole mortifying experience, the Drama Queens’ main concern was of course the fact that their friends and romantic interests had been mentally scarred by the experience of seeing their hostess perform a type of portly Highland Fling, naked from the waist down, rather than their mother’s brush with pain, suffering and potential actual scarring. However the girls were quite clear that in their opinion the debacle could have been avoided had I been wearing underwear under my pyjamas. I was brought up in the no underwear under pyjamas camp but completely unrealised by me this is apparently a complete no no in teenage circles. I am going to make a mass generalisation – people my age in the UK generally don’t wear underwear under their pyjamas but perhaps I’m wrong? Let me know – which side of the night-time knicker line do you fall? Also very grateful if anyone has an answer to the question, why do Australian boys and men under the age of 30 wear underwear under their boardshorts when they swim?<br />
<br />
Regardless of outcome of the pants/pyjama debate I am adding a new resolution to the list. “Stay fully clothed at all times unless I are sure my audience’s eyes are going to pop for the right reason and that there is no clapping their hands over their eyes in horror type reaction involved.’<br />
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Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-6845622584471481032014-06-10T20:33:00.001-07:002014-06-10T21:13:16.754-07:00Move over Nigella - and just be grateful for the marmalade <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I do definitely buy into the concept of a gratitude diary
and the shift in your thinking produced by just trying to be mindful of the
things that make you happy and lift your day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my Christmas presents was in fact a real life Gratitude
Diary – who says stationery companies can’t spot and flog a trend?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I paint myself into a ‘ Little
House on the North Shore’ vision of apple pie wholesomeness I should also point
out I was also given a journal to record ‘Lovers I had and liked’ and the
juxtaposition of the two (blank) books on my bedside table gives me great
pleasure.</div>
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However of course being me, the idea of noting things I am
grateful for in a daily log goes out the window, so my own particular version
of a gratitude diary would be more akin to the Gratitude Weekly – and in fact probably
more like the grandmother of all Australian magazines, The Australian Women’s
Weekly, that is published confusingly once a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do try over supper as a kick start conversation opener to
get everyone to talk about three gratitude things that happened to them during
the day – and I have to say it is a useful way of inducing everyone to talk
about their day, and I do buy into the notion that if you are consciously looking for things to feel happy about, then your brain does start trending towards the more cheerful, but once again am a bit nervous of us all sounding like the Waltons on a high. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> In a more realistic snapshot of life a la Ling, </span>Drama Queens 2 and 3 and I were in fact all <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">arguing in</span> the car
this morning as to who could claim the sight
of a large fluffy dog hanging out of a car window as the driver barrelled down
the motorway slipway towards Sydney Harbour Bridge as one of their gratitude
things for the day - having endured three years of what seems like constant learner driver supervision I am actually just grateful to climb out of the car alive most days.</div>
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I looked out of the kitchen window last week to see a huge
sulphur crested cockatoo sitting on top of our small pot bound lemon tree,
wrenching off the lemons. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LA6ObZrz454/U5fNjo07-CI/AAAAAAAAAgA/5IepJrJA9g4/s1600/cockatoo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LA6ObZrz454/U5fNjo07-CI/AAAAAAAAAgA/5IepJrJA9g4/s1600/cockatoo+3.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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They are
such amazing looking birds that this was definitely a gratitude diary winner in
terms of colour and interest and “oh my goodness’ moments though in fact
cockatoos are such a nuisance and so destructive in terms of pulling things off
houses that rental leases in areas close to bushland will specify you must not
feed birds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This particular one flew
off with a lemon in its beak – and it was clear from the debris around the bush
that this wasn’t its first attempt at fruit snacking. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The sight of the citrus produce departing skywards was
enough to send Husband into a Nigella like marmalade making frenzy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Drama Queen 2 planted a grapefruit tree
years ago and it has never really done much until this year when it has gone
troppo and consequently the lawn has been taking direct hits from large and
very sour yellow grapefruits, and he gathered up all the sodden grapefruit and
the remaining unravaged lemons and boiled up an enormous batch of grapefruit
and lemon marmalade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The smell of
citrus and sugar on the boil definitely gets a gratitude mention – and as for
the fact that as the Drama Queens pointed out this morning, it still hasn’t set
– slightly alarmingly they were holding a couple of jars upside down when they
made this observation, well that’s just a minor hiccup – it’s the wholesome
thought that counts so perhaps my own personal Nigella better go in the Lovers diary as well.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rtHmHWE0lJc/U5fN8GPTiYI/AAAAAAAAAgI/A2Iw6JUr-tE/s1600/marmalade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rtHmHWE0lJc/U5fN8GPTiYI/AAAAAAAAAgI/A2Iw6JUr-tE/s1600/marmalade.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-88766046588869777322014-06-05T21:39:00.000-07:002014-06-05T21:39:14.450-07:00So do you believe in Dog Poo fairies?
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I seem to have been stuck in one of those periods of life,
and OMG as I type those words I think, this is it, what I am describing has a
name – and that name is ‘MIDDLE AGE’ – but joy-sapping labels aside, it has been a couple of months where I seem to poised at the start of a
rant when anyone foolishly asks me how I am and life events have had a nasty habit
of being more on the depressing side of death, decline and the drip-drip
aggravation of living with teenage life forms– so I love it when I come across
something that makes me laugh out loud,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>and this particular notice that has appeared down at the dog park, stuck
prominently on the dog poo bin had me snorting away as I binned the poo. So
well done that unexpected source of merriment, Mosman Council, this particular
ratepayer loves you, however I am of course now worrying about the fact I am
potentially old and grey inside as well as out!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4UhTt6JPPSk/U5FFwR5JojI/AAAAAAAAAfc/xT2P-bgMgZk/s1600/dog+poo+fairy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4UhTt6JPPSk/U5FFwR5JojI/AAAAAAAAAfc/xT2P-bgMgZk/s1600/dog+poo+fairy.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-7232908680194158062014-04-01T16:17:00.001-07:002014-04-01T16:17:33.064-07:00Street Art - Street Smart, got to make you smile<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Sunday was one of those champagne days of life that you try and store in your mental photograph album of life to flick back to when days are grey and cheerless. A day we
spent on the boat on Sydney Harbour with a group of friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Summer seems endless at the moment with still enough heat here for endless swims off the back of the boat and that blissful sensation of sitting in the sun with salt drying on the skin. We were moored off a beach underneath the old Quarantine Station at the top of the Harbour, with lunch that great standby of British
picnic food, Coronation chicken complete with a glass of Rose and a great sail
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Difficult to pick up
and go to work, school and normal routines of the week – but fortunately my days are
brightened by the imagination and brilliance of the artists and creators who
have created two separate forms of street art in Sydney.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How can you not smile at these Rhinos that are dotted round
Sydney CBD as part of Taronga Zoo’s Wild Rhinos sculpture trail to raise funds
for their Black Rhino Conservation Programme? -<a href="https://taronga.org.au/wild-rhinos">https://taronga.org.au/wild-rhinos</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0377Wz4LZwY/UztF3HL7zCI/AAAAAAAAAdc/nEL9GA721y8/s1600/Chupa+Chips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0377Wz4LZwY/UztF3HL7zCI/AAAAAAAAAdc/nEL9GA721y8/s1600/Chupa+Chips.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g5flq4ieXuk/UztF54_jrQI/AAAAAAAAAdk/Ys8b35--B6s/s1600/Animal+Print+Rhino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g5flq4ieXuk/UztF54_jrQI/AAAAAAAAAdk/Ys8b35--B6s/s1600/Animal+Print+Rhino.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wj53VJsNKTk/UztF8NM25nI/AAAAAAAAAds/AIJBiYnfrx8/s1600/NY+Rhino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wj53VJsNKTk/UztF8NM25nI/AAAAAAAAAds/AIJBiYnfrx8/s1600/NY+Rhino.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bn26oQ_2Atg/UztF-ifKRTI/AAAAAAAAAd0/Y4DwS0An2vI/s1600/Zebra+Rhino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bn26oQ_2Atg/UztF-ifKRTI/AAAAAAAAAd0/Y4DwS0An2vI/s1600/Zebra+Rhino.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
North Sydney Council is also bringing a smile to my face
every time I see one of their brilliant new look traffic signal boxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are taking these boring, green,
rectangular boxes that are such a mundane part of the urban streetscape that
you never even really notice them and with the help of local artists, Karen
Atkins, Jessica Birk and Ad Long, turning them into colourful works of art that
bring interest and zing to the street. http://www.northsydney.nsw.gov.au/Community_Services/Arts_Culture/Public_Art/Colouring_our_Habitat</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-niyzlEinfG4/UztGIMFfyLI/AAAAAAAAAd8/i7s4Q5Hj-08/s1600/Street+Art+Before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-niyzlEinfG4/UztGIMFfyLI/AAAAAAAAAd8/i7s4Q5Hj-08/s1600/Street+Art+Before.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THE BEFORE VERSION</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0mCAZw5Wps0/UztGyWEQJcI/AAAAAAAAAec/5hIlFW-HUlI/s1600/Jessica+Birk+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0mCAZw5Wps0/UztGyWEQJcI/AAAAAAAAAec/5hIlFW-HUlI/s1600/Jessica+Birk+1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jessica Birk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-97gHZZdKONg/UztG1Nh20BI/AAAAAAAAAek/cbYd_7Mgljk/s1600/Jessica+Birk+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-97gHZZdKONg/UztG1Nh20BI/AAAAAAAAAek/cbYd_7Mgljk/s1600/Jessica+Birk+2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jessica Birk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vl2OLPA1Gsw/UztG4f5hINI/AAAAAAAAAes/78nGjtdxmEA/s1600/Karen+Atkins+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vl2OLPA1Gsw/UztG4f5hINI/AAAAAAAAAes/78nGjtdxmEA/s1600/Karen+Atkins+1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karen Atkins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My particular favourite is this envelope box that is
addressed to the Neutral Bay Senior Citizens Club, it has cheered my day every
day I drive past it, the colour and wit make me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WHl1cp53h7Y/UztH8VQ07UI/AAAAAAAAAe8/paW0oOK-gTQ/s1600/Street+art+grafitti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WHl1cp53h7Y/UztH8VQ07UI/AAAAAAAAAe8/paW0oOK-gTQ/s1600/Street+art+grafitti.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ad Long</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0SreYEvkm8E/UztHZRjjtOI/AAAAAAAAAe0/suNV-vDrOaE/s1600/Street+Art+Envelope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0SreYEvkm8E/UztHZRjjtOI/AAAAAAAAAe0/suNV-vDrOaE/s1600/Street+Art+Envelope.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ad Long</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The downside is that I am incandescent with
rage about the fact that some Goth of a Vandal has decided this would be a
suitable site for their pathetic self promotion graffiti.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go and look for a green traffic
signal box next time, there are plenty around, rather than ruining a piece of
art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately it’s too nice a
day here to be cross for long and what better than a geometric rhino to make my
day and if this detail from Karen Atkins' take on Sydney Harbour doesn't make you smile then nothing will.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FLJmBEAeAw0/UztIVe1EkJI/AAAAAAAAAfE/L0Cdwy6sNZ4/s1600/Geometric+Rhino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FLJmBEAeAw0/UztIVe1EkJI/AAAAAAAAAfE/L0Cdwy6sNZ4/s1600/Geometric+Rhino.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dyZn9fRD-LY/UztIXdF40kI/AAAAAAAAAfM/w_2iM8jfC7U/s1600/Detail+Karen+Atkins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dyZn9fRD-LY/UztIXdF40kI/AAAAAAAAAfM/w_2iM8jfC7U/s1600/Detail+Karen+Atkins.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karen Atkins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-84810845195743666852014-03-27T20:49:00.003-07:002014-03-27T20:49:48.142-07:00Facebook - Friend or Foe
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Call me the Queen of Procrastinators on the blogging front,
I don’t think I can even claim to have Writer’s Block, as that implies you have
got out of the starting blocks instead of fiddling about at the start claiming
that you need to tie your shoe laces and style your hair before you line up.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bruce Springsteen, The ‘Boss’ was in town recently – and
when I say recently I do mean at least four weeks ago, at this point you begin
to realise I am not joking on the procrastination front.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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As part of Springsteen’s Australian tour, he did a concert
in the Hunter Valley, a wine growing area a couple of hours outside of
Sydney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having my finger on the
pulse of popular culture as I do, I had completely failed to spot this event
and then was slightly miffed to discover every friend and acquaintance that I
possessed was off to see him strut his stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be honest according to Facebook, social media and the
school grapevine, I was the only person of a certain age left in Sydney that
weekend.</div>
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What I found interesting was my frankly juvenile reaction to all the Facebook photos and posts that appeared in nanoseconds. Bizarrely it felt as if I had been left out in some way - and nothing could be further from the truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> But it did make me</span> realise how difficult
life is for my teenage daughters in today’s immediate world of posts and
tweets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one ever puts up a sad
photo of them having a grim time on Facebook, everyone is always having a fabulous evening out encompassing wine, women and song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My reaction was completely irrational, given the fact the nearest I
have ever got to being a Springsteen fan was when discussing the lyrics of “Cover Me’
with a chap called Mickey who I was marginally keen on, whilst we were both
dressed in togas at a garden party at 11am – this detail giving you some idea
of the fact we are talking different eras here – and also reinforcing the fact
that all credit to him, Springsteen has been around a long time, but it does make me think that there is probably a universal human reaction - a giant FOMO emotion that Facebook intensifies. </div>
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I reckon that I and my cohort, got off lightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During my teenage and toga wearing
years, the only record of events was a photo that you then had to trot off to
Boots to have developed, so by the time the 12 out of focus shots appeared, you
could be weeks after the event and everyone had lost interest anyway; the party
was passé.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel for my daughters
completely bombarded with immediate evidence of what a good time everyone else
is having, without the reality check that this is a snapshot of life not the
full blown novel.</div>
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<br /></div>
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However having slammed Facebook, I now have to confess I
have really enjoyed seeing the recent pictures a long lost school friend posted
there of us all as teenagers on a school ski holiday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OMG what were our mothers thinking letting us out with those
pudding bowl haircuts, I think we were all channelling Joanna Lumley in her New
Avengers persona (and failing dismally – Purdy we were not).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the clothes, I had to peer at the
bizarrely clad teenage version of myself to check it was actually me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But once again the glorious fact about
those teenage days was that even if someone took a picture of you looking
‘daggy’ and believe you me, we put the ‘dag’ into that fabulously descriptive
Australian word ‘daggy’, it took at least two weeks for the evidence to surface
(or in fact 35 years in this case).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RyWvSYzj3-E/UzTwEQMsjgI/AAAAAAAAAdM/7Z1nKo53kac/s1600/Ski+holiday+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RyWvSYzj3-E/UzTwEQMsjgI/AAAAAAAAAdM/7Z1nKo53kac/s1600/Ski+holiday+photo.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pudding Bowl or Purdy - take your pick!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-75511585700705513382014-02-13T19:33:00.002-08:002014-02-13T19:37:10.702-08:00Valentine's Day Massacre - Knives at dawn<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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It was knives at dawn in our household in a somewhat new
rendering of the Valentine’s Day spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are not big on Valentine’s Day and to be honest Husband can usually
count himself lucky to receive the type of bent and mangled tasteless card that
is the only thing left at 8pm on the 13<sup>th</sup> when true to form I
suddenly remember I am supposed to have succumbed to romantic fervour.</div>
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This year I managed to get my hearts and flowers together,
and actually got a relatively inoffensive card and a present that exceeded the
usual packet of dried mango in the excitement stakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bread knife is an obvious romantic gift and given that the
sailing boat he has just purchased is clearly the new love of his life, then
what could be more appropriate than a knife (in traditional day glo orange) to go with it?</div>
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It was not one of those mornings where we sprang out of bed,
having had a late night outing to see the somewhat puzzling “Inside Llewyn
Davis” at the Outdoor Cinema at Sydney’s Botanic gardens – the cinematic drama
enhanced by the vivid lightning flashes illuminating the iconic skyline behind
the screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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As light dawned, and alarm clocks buzzed, I whipped out my present and card with a fair show of
smugness, needless to say in a nod to the traditional lateness I had had to wrap it
post cinema, bent double behind the laundry basket, swearing away about the
fact that there was not a working roll of Sellotape in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Husband then looked even smugger as he matched me on the knife front with the completely original present of a cakeslice - in the form of a pink daschund!</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jTMdp3yRaY8/Uv2NZWE5-xI/AAAAAAAAAco/X5V_N6ztejo/s1600/cake+slice+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jTMdp3yRaY8/Uv2NZWE5-xI/AAAAAAAAAco/X5V_N6ztejo/s1600/cake+slice+1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How can you not love a pink swirly daschund of a cake slice?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I reckon if you have a cake slice, it has to be frivolous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My last one was a Kriskringle present from
about 5 years ago and played, somewhat tinnily, a variety of useful tunes from
Happy Birthday to the Wedding March.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sadly it had one too many plunges into the washing up bowl and had
disintergrated – so yes I was in the market for<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a new cake slice.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And this one is such a joy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who could have guessed I would derive such pleasure from a
cake slice?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it is the
colourfulness of it – I am a girl of bright colours, a pair of rainbow wellies
with transparent heels being one of my prized student possessions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X_IPdApRIXM/Uv2ONN8W6TI/AAAAAAAAAc4/CJIQx8UM1BU/s1600/rainbow+wellies+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X_IPdApRIXM/Uv2ONN8W6TI/AAAAAAAAAc4/CJIQx8UM1BU/s1600/rainbow+wellies+blog.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Was pleased to find Rainbow wellies are back in fashion??? But have yet to spot anyone actually wearing them.</td></tr>
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The other winner is I think it is just
such a clever design, practical but guaranteed to make you smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shop it came from is called
Pylones, their Sydney store is just a riot of colour, the Joseph and His
Amazing Coloured Coat of retail.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D0bU0OK2k3Q/Uv2NbritvJI/AAAAAAAAAcw/JezU3gD98P4/s1600/cakeslice+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D0bU0OK2k3Q/Uv2NbritvJI/AAAAAAAAAcw/JezU3gD98P4/s1600/cakeslice+2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Keep your roses and chocolates, I’m off to eat cake!</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-50434262592601814682014-02-11T23:06:00.002-08:002014-02-11T23:06:34.597-08:00Hand me the tissues - it's Kindergarten all over again<br />
There are milestones in family life, some may be optional eg marriage, you don’t actually have to nip up the aisle in a froth of white fantasy to create a family, but if you have children, unless you belong to the essentially noble but completely mad band of homeschoolers, (and I use mad here in the full knowledge of the homicidal rage that fills me whenever I try to teach any of my children anything on the academic front), one of the milestones of life is when your child starts ‘Big’ school for the first time.<br />
<br />
Drama Queen No. 1 was keen on the concept of school for the introductory half day, less enthused by the first full day and completely baulked at the thought of returning for a full on Friday. She took off the school uniform she looked so angelic in, hid all of it and climbed back into the top bunk, a position that she knew from experience that it was almost impossible for an adult to dislodge her from. I succeeded in persuading/wrestling her into the car and as I drove her to school pointed out that arriving wearing only a pair of knickers might cause a stir. Bear in mind at this point I was also wrestling with a 2 week old baby and a 2 year old, in fact I was wrestling with life basically. She went into school, very reluctantly, though in a wave to convention she did consent to put her clothes back in, and sailed through the day and the rest of her school life in triumph. I in contrast retreated home a complete wreck and burst into tears every time everyone spoke to me.<br />
<br />
Given that it seems only the other day that the Kindergarten strip off took place, Husband and I, who in our minds have only just left university, were somewhat stunned to find ourselves back in the car, driving DQ no. 1 off to start yet another educational milestone. Fortuitously, this time she opted to keep her clothes on, though I am sure arriving at college for the start of her university career wearing just her knickers would have ensured a certain kind of notoriety and possibly popularity.<br />
<br />
Australians, particularly those living in the major cities, tend to live at home to go to university, which is in contrast to the UK and American experience. Having just paid the first Semester’s residential fees for DQ No.1’s college, I have full sympathy for the economic reasons behind this. You can put university course fees on a student loan but residential fees generally end up being paid by parents. However I can’t help feeling that going from school to university and continuing to live at home does contribute to the tight knit nature of Sydney society – I always used to typify this as per the following conversation at a party. ME: “So how do you and [THE HOST] know each other?” STRANGER (who given my luck, is generally less of the tall dark variety of stranger and more of the small and mousy) “We lived on the same street, went to the same school, went to Sydney Uni together and then I married his sister.” ME “Oh, so you’re close then.”<br />
<br />
For both Husband and me, going away from home to live at university was such a formative experience in our lives that we have really encouraged the DQs to think about doing the same, such unselfish encouragement having nothing to do with a wish to regain control of the car/laundry/fridge/tv control and bathroom.<br />
<br />
We dropped DQ1 off in the amazingly organised and welcoming environs of her residential college and drove home feeling a little emotional that this was probably the end of the five of us all living together permanently as a family unit. However the upside is that having just sent out my traditional Christmas letter, traditional that is to February, to my overseas friends, when I looked at the distribution list (because of course when I say letter, what I mean is email), I realised how many of the friends on it, are of course my university friends. These are the people I still classify almost thirty years on, as ‘the ring in the middle of the night’ type friends, and if that is the gift that DQ No.1 picks up from going away to college, then it is worth any amount of money as it is those friends who will keep her going when she has forgotten every lecture, for as one of my favourite quotes goes; “Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything one has learned in school”. Albert Einstein<br />
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Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-14078569085385304602014-01-19T23:58:00.000-08:002014-01-19T23:58:32.925-08:00Do Not Drink Unless Desperate - good advice from the Under 21s
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Last
week Melbourne absolutely sweltered in 40 plus degrees, not good news for those
playing in the Australian Tennis Open which became more of a Bikram Yoga
session than a Wimbledon like event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sydney in contrast to the Southern half of Australia had the most
glorious weather, temperatures in the low 30s and a bit of cool in the evenings
and early mornings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">One
of the hot weather habits we have adopted is keeping cold bottles of water in
the fridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bombay Sapphire gin
bottles have always struck me as the ideal water bottles, in terms of weight
and aesthetic looks and provided we keep an eye on guests trying to throw out
the tops, it’s been a great system over the years, though it has led to raised
eyebrows at time re my drinking habits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-5B_V5GWpg/UtzVpl7YcTI/AAAAAAAAAcM/QkQruYxnwAE/s1600/bottle+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-5B_V5GWpg/UtzVpl7YcTI/AAAAAAAAAcM/QkQruYxnwAE/s1600/bottle+2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do
you always drink gin at breakfast?” being an example of a penetrating questions from
one of my nephews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Like all great systems there are always the glitches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to the kitchen fridge we
also have what is known as the back fridge in the dog room cum laundry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The back fridge is where we keep the
alcohol, as opposed to the decomposing vegetables, clingfilmed leftovers that I
am hopeful will be eaten soon despite the fact they were rejected on the first
outing, and out of date yoghurts that reside in the kitchen fridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of last week owing to the
fact that some one – I was going to write child but could equally be Husband,
as age is not the criteria for this scapegoat role, rather lack of common
sense, turned the back fridge thermostat up to high, leading to a very dramatic
Diet Coke explosion that blew the door open and scattered Diet Coke crystals
across the laundry and dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
clean up, I took all the bottles out, including the gin and the 20 bottles of
beer that for some reason reside there, neither of us actually drinks beer but
it would be social death in Australia not to have a beer to hand for visitors
and rewarding tradesmen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having
washed everything down I left the bottles to dry and wandered off, came back, restacked
back fridge without noticing I was missing a bottle of gin that someone in
unaccustomed helpful mode had put in the kitchen fridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We came home from a night out to an
accusing gin bottle and accompanying note from Drama Queen No.1 who had
obviously attempted to pour herself a glass of water and received a full on
dose of ‘Mother’s Ruin’ – glad to see she hasn’t got a taste for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m5sX7_bk8Ro/UtzWmhBBQdI/AAAAAAAAAcU/1oEqlr9Y8ls/s1600/gin+desperate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m5sX7_bk8Ro/UtzWmhBBQdI/AAAAAAAAAcU/1oEqlr9Y8ls/s1600/gin+desperate.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"THIS IS GIN - DO NOT DRINK UNLESS DESPERATE"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I do remember trying to drink Gin mixed
with water and sugar at university as we were too lazy/broke to go out for
tonic – and it was pretty nasty, so I am with DQ No. 1 on the 'desperate' sentiment.</span><!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-87087111285254781272014-01-08T23:55:00.002-08:002014-01-08T23:55:38.532-08:002014 is going to be a Frangipani of a year
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Happy
New Year!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have abandoned New
Year Resolutions as a bad idea as not only do I break them within a week, but I
am then wracked with guilt about what a feeble human being I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In past years I was full of good ideas,
strangely enough the same ones every year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It probably comes as no surprise that these annual notes to
self always seem to focus on daily exercise, miraculously weight loss and
writing more, perhaps in retrospect I should have thought about a way of combining
the last two and attempted to write the best selling, ‘Read Your Way Down a Dress Size Diet” or “The Novel Diet” – am thinking of copywriting the latter
title which will feature as its central tenet that rather than reaching for the
biscuit tin, one should select a riveting read and lie on the bed or in the
bath – sure to be a bestseller amongst the London literary set and just imagine
the fun I could have selecting titles as alternatives to various foodstuffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway best selling diet book fantasies aside, this
year I have taken a chill pill on the resolution front as it were and made a
realistic assessment of my stock of will power and decided that my only
resolution is to be happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
nothing else the drama of our lives in 2012 and 2013 has taught me that that
love and happiness are really the only things that matter in life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Happily,
in this context we did have a lovely Christmas and New Year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This particular Christmas was spent in
Lymington on the south coast of England and was made extra special by the fact
that owing to the winter storms, we spent three days from the 23<sup>rd</sup>
to the 26<sup>th</sup> living by candlelight and open fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All very romantic in theory, but
actually very inconvenient, if like my noble sister-in-law you have to contend with 12 in the
house with no dishwasher, guttering candles and unwashed relatives unwilling to
face cold showers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Based on life without power
I came to a number of conclusions:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">a) <span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">You can never have enough candles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forget period drama showing ball rooms
lit by a few discreet tapers, the reality is it takes a huge amount of candles
to create a liveable amount of light. Likewise tea lights may be atmospheric in
an airy fairy type way but do not last for any meaningful amount of time and
bear in mind that given the bleak midwinter timing of Christmas, that it gets
dark at 3.30pm and not reliably light until 8am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact early morning stocking openers had to be sent back
to bed until adults could actually see what was going on as the combination of
wrapping paper, bed linen and candles was deemed as too inflammable for anyone
to face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"> b) </span></span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s remarkable how much
wood you burn when you are relying on fires to heat your house rather than to
provide atmospheric flickering and back up to the central heating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Husband took on the role of wood boy
and like the poor man in ‘Good King Wenceslas’ did a lot of ‘gathering winter
fuel’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"> c) </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Should I ever live in the UK
countryside I need to remember the importance of having at least three
different sources of heating – and one of those must be an Aga.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It radiated cheerful heat, provided
Christmas dinner and heated the numerous kettles of water that were needed for bracing cups of tea needed when we weren’t taking to alcohol to cheer ourselves
up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As
ever with these situations, it’s the company you keep that makes the
difference, not the environment, and we couldn’t have had a better Christmas in
terms of general jollity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">So
here’s hoping that 2014 keeps up the happiness quotient that Christmas
kicked off to such a good start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back in Sydney, my heart
thrills to see that for the first time in my career as a gardener, a career characterised less by green
fingers, and more by being the harbinger of the black kiss of death to most plants, I have managed to get a
frangipani to flower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
orchid that I did manage to keep alive for a whole year wasn’t quite so lucky and is looking a little less festive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMripjYrI38/Us5US1jaIrI/AAAAAAAAAb0/wJ3QItFE8EY/s1600/Frangipani.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMripjYrI38/Us5US1jaIrI/AAAAAAAAAb0/wJ3QItFE8EY/s1600/Frangipani.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ezq9WWBYsTE/Us5UY7y89-I/AAAAAAAAAb8/72pZ29pfH4o/s1600/Dead+orchid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ezq9WWBYsTE/Us5UY7y89-I/AAAAAAAAAb8/72pZ29pfH4o/s1600/Dead+orchid.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-22624715613870108422013-11-18T04:20:00.002-08:002013-11-18T04:22:49.003-08:00The proof of the Christmas pudding is ........?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The weather in Sydney over the last few days has been drear,
dreich and generally wet, wet, wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Given that last week I was skipping along the beach glorying in
spectacular sunshine this is particularly irritating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wZhkxQgebEY/UooC15WxO6I/AAAAAAAAAbQ/xVo4fOejjfw/s1600/Beach+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wZhkxQgebEY/UooC15WxO6I/AAAAAAAAAbQ/xVo4fOejjfw/s320/Beach+.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only you'd been here last week!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sent this picture of the sad swimming pool to a friend in
New Zealand this morning to convince her that she should be packing her Sou
wester for her upcoming trip to Sydney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fn604OfpQQY/UooDFCX8MqI/AAAAAAAAAbY/Dnzlq5f6iW0/s1600/wet+pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fn604OfpQQY/UooDFCX8MqI/AAAAAAAAAbY/Dnzlq5f6iW0/s320/wet+pool.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
She pointed out that at least it was warm and whilst I did restrain
myself from posting back a selfie of me muffled up in my ancient holey cashmere
jumper which was the warmest garment to hand this morning, the observation re
respective warmths of climate did reinforce my opinion that a move to Auckland
might be a bit like returning to my Scottish roots in terms of weather.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Weather aside I did in fact have the most fabulous
weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A friend who has a beach
house an hour or so up the coast at a place called Patonga invited me up for a
girls’ weekend of Christmas baking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Given my culinary skills this would normally have me running for the
hills and in fact I have to own up to a moment of complete panic when I
realised I had failed at the first hurdle and had completely stuffed the
marinating of the mixed peel and fruit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However I remained calm (relatively) and consoled
myself that most things, and indeed people, are greatly improved by being
soaked in brandy for a week rather than the mere skimpy 24 hours that the
recipe apparently called for.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Patonga is a former fishing village, transformed into the
ideal weekend getaway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bags of
character, stunning scenery, at the end of the road so off the beaten track,
whilst containing all the essentials of life in the form of a ferry jetty, an
active pub and a fish and chip shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact the Christmas pudding courtesy of a Maggie Beer
recipe, was comparatively simple to make, particularly once I axed the notion
of dehydrated cumquats as an ingredient, I do after all know my limitations. There is nothing so good I have now decided as the citrusy and brandy scented smell of boiling puddings and cooking cakes on
a wet afternoon when the rain is lashing down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have to admit the cumquats that my more ambitious
friend tackled with aplomb did smell divine once hydrated with brandy – but once
again, what wouldn’t?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t know the other three women who had also been invited for the
pudding project weekend, but I have to say we bonded over the whole thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were all stars on the cooking
front and whilst they remained effortlessly polite, they were reduced to
hysteria by my method of cutting up a pumpkin – not for the pudding I should
add, I may be a cooking novice but I do know the limits of pumpkin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However I remain firm that there is no
right way to slice a pumpkin and if I choose to do it in a completely bizarre
way that no decent cook would contemplate, so long as I am not a) using my
teeth or b) losing a finger, then that’s all right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Puddings and stunning views aside the best bit of the
weekend, in fact the plum in the pudding as it were, was the conversations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such a fabulous group of women, three
different nationalities and five different professions between us, and somehow
we all just jelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laughed and
laughed and by the end of the weekend we were all writing up lists of
each other’s recommendations, from films to see and books to read to auction
houses to frequent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did make a mental note on this last one
that given I am supposed to be de-cluttering the debris of the last 22 years
currently stored in boxes balanced on top of wardrobes, an auction house
addiction might be somewhat dangerous; particularly given my love of kitsch
that combined with a competitive nature<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>will lead to bidding wars<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>and impulse buys and I can just see Husband’s face when I return with a
set of gnome salt and pepper shakers and 68 mismatched glasses.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am feeling very proud of my two puddings, that I reckon
look the business swathed as they are in calico.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BnH6qdwTiHk/UooF6YnUCJI/AAAAAAAAAbk/Npx9Vkp8Z4U/s1600/Figgy+pudding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BnH6qdwTiHk/UooF6YnUCJI/AAAAAAAAAbk/Npx9Vkp8Z4U/s320/Figgy+pudding.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puddings of which to be proud</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However I am slightly more nervous about the instructions re
hanging them in a cool place until Christmas, and the accompanying warnings about
humidity and the dangers of mould.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have the general feeling it might be difficult to pass off a pudding
with a stilton-like blue bloom around it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My family tend to be somewhat suspicious of my culinary masterpieces and
it may require a major sleight of hand to disguise a furry tendency round the
edges of the pudding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However I
can but hope for the best and if the worst comes to the worst, and given most
of my coats and shoes grow whiskers of mould given half a chance – and the fact
that torrential rain and warm conditions does add up to humid, I think I am not
being overly pessimistic in assuming mould is an option, there is always the
remedy of yet more brandy and setting fire to the thing prior to the glorious
entry.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-25333347417379652832013-10-30T00:20:00.000-07:002013-10-30T00:20:31.655-07:00Different sides of the street - which side do you walk?
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the things I have loved about living in different
countries is the writing and books you discover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>America was a classic case, I arrived there in 2002
convinced on the basis of loving Alison Lurie, that I knew all about American
writers and of course had my arrogance and naivety immediately blown away by the
talent and wonder of Barbara Kingsolver, Wally Lamb, Ann Patchett and Anne
Tyler to name just a few contemporary American authors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can still remember sitting in the Rye
Free Reading Room, reading Wally Lamb’s “I Know This Much Is True.” and just
going ‘WOW’.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Likewise Australia has been a delight in terms of
introducing me to authors such as Tim Winton, Kate Grenville, Peter Temple and
Craig Silvey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However it is not just novels that one discovers, great
realms of poetry appear, and in America I came back to Robert Frost, via one of
the children’s school books, and some of his lines do just stay with me, in
particular these lines from “The Road Not Taken”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I took the one less travelled by,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that has made all the difference.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a creature of habit, I have walked the same road, every
morning at about 6 a.m. with small adjustments for light and downpours, same
dog, same route, same coffee stop at Arena’s Deli at 7 a.m. every morning where
I nod to the other regulars and then last week I decided to take the road
less travelled by, and I walked up the other side of the street and discovered
the joy of a new view, a fabulous new bakery that I had never realised
existed<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- (it’s been there for a
least a year apparently so spot the woman with her finger on the pulse) – La
Banette, purveyors of baguettes, hot from the oven at that time of the morning,
conjuring up the taste of France via Vietnam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qz5YRTZKjLA/UnCxW_CH7mI/AAAAAAAAAa4/RjpK34nyeCI/s1600/La+Banette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qz5YRTZKjLA/UnCxW_CH7mI/AAAAAAAAAa4/RjpK34nyeCI/s320/La+Banette.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Banette</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Having decided stepping out of the groove is good for the
soul – if not the waistline, (baguette with butter and jam anyone?) I then
followed the bakery detour up with a visit to the Night Noodle Markets that set
up in Sydney’s Hyde Park during Sydney’s Good Food Month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fabulous idea, set up 40 stalls selling
every variety of Asian street food, add in chairs and tables, open up at 5pm
every night and wait for the masses to roll in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colour for the eye, tongue and the all important soul and I am
coming to the conclusion I should be setting myself a goal, were it not for the fact that my goal keeping record is pretty abysmal, but anyway one can only aspire - so here goes for a goal. I should be either a) doing
something I’ve never done before, b) reading an new author or c) taking the other side of the road as it
were, every week.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OdktydQn-zg/UnCyEHGe1xI/AAAAAAAAAbA/b-CCm26Y1qA/s1600/Noolde+markets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OdktydQn-zg/UnCyEHGe1xI/AAAAAAAAAbA/b-CCm26Y1qA/s400/Noolde+markets.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sydney's Night Noodle Markets</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-28479717844023363472013-10-20T22:43:00.002-07:002013-10-20T22:43:51.957-07:00Happy Trafalgar Day - wish I could say as the smoke clears
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Happy Trafalgar Day – 208 years since Horatio Nelson’s naval
victory at the Battle of Trafalgar on October 21<sup>st </sup>1805.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only reason I know this bit of
trivia is that it is also the birthday of one of my three brothers, so Happy
Birthday Alasdair, and your present is in the post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This tardiness on the present front comes despite the fact
that Husband has just set a world record on the international mail front and proved
it is possible to send something from the US to Australia in two days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However the downside to this speediness
is that if you are absent minded and fail to specify that when you say
‘Airmail’ you don’t actually mean “Fedex the dammed thing”, you subsequently
discover the modern equivalent of a man running full speed with a forked stick
is in fact very, very expensive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Out on the water this morning on one of my rowing outings,
it did in fact feel a bit like being on a Trafalgar Day type naval battlefield,
not because of any crowded conditions as in fact we had Middle Harbour to
ourselves as we rowed up the river, but more as a result of the smoke drifting
down through the gum trees and trickling over the sandstone cliffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The huge bushfires that are burning outside
Sydney are a good hour’s drive away, but the smoke from exploding bushland
clouds the city sky and creates the type of sullen, yellowing light that I
associate with the end of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unfortunately New South Wales is due for a further round of hot, windy
days so the fire fighters who have already been battling blazes for days, have
a mammoth task in front of them in their efforts to protect various townships
and property.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SCbvN0Vqtk8/UmS-3un9VdI/AAAAAAAAAao/QF-8Lh4zJ3g/s1600/smoke+haze.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SCbvN0Vqtk8/UmS-3un9VdI/AAAAAAAAAao/QF-8Lh4zJ3g/s640/smoke+haze.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-45165953978127239812013-10-13T05:01:00.000-07:002013-10-13T15:06:16.587-07:00Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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“Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot,” I just love these clips with the music from Bina Mistry from the
end of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Bend it like Beckham’,
which has to be one of the original feel good movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/8I9HGdrlRE4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whenever I see actors and production crews goofing around
and obviously having a really good time, as they were in these clips, I find it
almost impossible to imagine bankers and teachers cavorting around having such
fun and I am thus tempted to rush off and enrol myself in NIDA, the National
Institute of Dramatic Art in Sydney, for after all there must be some roles for
middle aged ladies with a good track record.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a tone-deaf child it was a requirement of my totally
terrifying primary school music teacher who was an ex opera singer with the
requisite chest to match, that I make an appearance on stage rather than
wrecking her choir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My great
dramatic moments thus included a baby angel (a number of times) and lured on by
this early success, numerous senior school productions including a totally
dreadful Mrs Sullen in a Restoration comedy called The Beaux Stratagem (with hindsight
I cannot think what madness overcame the Glasgow Academy master who chose that
one as there has never been a play less suitable for a school packed with
teenage boys).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a ball as one
of the four girls imported into the cast to provide the love interest but I
don’t think any of the cast – or indeed the audience, ever understood what on
earth was going on in the play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
dramatic career may have peaked with a performance as an “Old Etonian Fag and
Friend” in ‘Lady Audley’s Secret’ – funny how some lines stay in your mind for
ever, just recalling my 16 year old appearance in plus fours and a cap also
makes me wonder why my girls’ school didn’t return the dramatic favour and
import some boys for the roles that called fairly obviously for a bit of testosterone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Bend it like Beckham’ and actors hamming it up aside, ‘Hot,
Hot, Hot’ applies to Sydney today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>34 oC or 93 oF today at 4pm, with a hot wind blasting through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Drama Queens and I took ourselves
off down to the beach at 6pm, the water temperature is about 20 oC and was cold
enough compared to the air temperature to provide an initial shock, but such bliss to come out of the water and
be warm within seconds – being a product of windswept Scottish beaches where
running up and down the beach was required to restart circulation and no one in
their right mind stood still to let the wind dry them off for fear of
hypothermia setting in, I find warm weather bathing an ongoing treat, particularly when followed by a walk along the beach to the bottle shop to buy an ice cream. Doesn't come any better than a small tub of Ben and Jerry's, sitting with my girls on the esplanade watching the beach day come to an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The wind is getting up this evening as I type as what is called a
‘Southerly Buster’ blows in and cools everything down, but there is a joyous
feeling that even if the stage fails to beckon me forward into the spotlight,
there is at least the long, hazy days of a Sydney summer where the locals don’t
wear shoes, to look forward to.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-27732118691139703952013-09-24T23:07:00.000-07:002013-09-24T23:07:29.582-07:00OMG - The Tension – The America’s Cup
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I am not sure I can stand much more of this, it is not just
every sail and line on the futuristic America’s Cup catamarans careening down
San Francisco Bay that are stretched to breaking point, my nerves are also twanging
in sympathy and my finger nails are a dim and distant memory as the 34<sup>th</sup>
America’s Cup moves into a cliffhanger finish after 18 races. The alarm has gone off at 5.30am every morning for the last week and the entire family has assembled on the sofa to watch the increasingly tense, we've gone beyond exciting as an adjective here, America's Cup sailing competition.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
New Zealand, population 4.4m has been battling it out on the
water with the USA, population 314m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I say battling but in fact New Zealand had them on the run initially, particularly
as the Americans had been given a 2 race penalty for altering the design of the
boat – not quite clear what they actually did, as it seems incredible anyone
could make these boats go any faster, they already blast round the course at
over 40 knots at times, with the boats coming up onto what are called foils to
slice across the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would
say they skim across the waves like hovercraft, except these are slim line,
blade like machines from the space age that bear no resemblance to the
wallowing hippo-like lines of a traditional hovercraft.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By last Thursday, New Zealand had won 8 races to America’s
1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To win the series New
Zealand just had to win a final race – and they did, but they ran out of time –
so it didn’t count – I think it was at that point the finger nails met their
end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But never mind we all thought
– or all of us down in the Southern Hemisphere Kiwi supporting part of the
world, all they have to do is just win that last race and they’ve got 7 races
in hand to do it – no problem was the mantra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well don’t we look foolish now, America has now won 7 races
in succession, and much though it pains me to admit in great style, and so as
of this morning New Zealand and America are now head to head at 8 races each, and
whoever wins the next race takes home the cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There has been a certain sick feeling akin to watching Tim
Henman at Wimbledon beginning to creep over me during the last few races, but I
am keeping a firm grip on myself and just reminding myself good things come to
those who wait, watching the action between their fingers as the tension
mounts, Andy Murray’s Wimbledon victory being a prime example.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You couldn’t get a more exciting final, and more of a
Sponsor’s dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a very
nasty cynical side of me that says that the American boat is primarily a
Sponsor’s boat – Team Oracle rather than a truly American national team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The American commentary team are not
unnaturally enthusiastic about the three man group of skipper and helmsman
Jimmy Spithill and strategists and tacticians, Tom Slingsby and Ben Ainslie who
are storming the American boat towards the winner’s podium, but during the deservedly
rapturous assessment of the partnership and their results, the commentators
carefully avoid mentioning the fact that both Jimmy Spithill and Tom Slingsby,
the Gold Medallist Laser sailor are Australians and Ben Ainslie is of course
Sir Ben Ainslie, the British quadruple Gold and Silver Olympic medallist.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In contrast Team Emirates New Zealand might have the odd Australian
aboard, those Aussies get everywhere, but the main men on the boat, skipper
Dean Barker, tactician Ray Davies and Managing Director Grant Dalton are all
undeniably Kiwis through and through and when you throw in people like Rob
Waddell who won a rowing Olympic Gold medal for New Zealand in single sculls in
the 2000 Olympics before he tried his hand at sailing, it just looks like a
different kind of team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Difficult one to call this one as a fairy tale ending – do
you want the Americans, or rather the British and Australians sailing for the
American team to claw their way back against overwhelming odds and it is hard
not to cheer for Jimmy Spithill who has done such an stellar job of staring
down what looked like certain defeat, or do you go for New Zealand, the
underdog team in terms of population and funding who have fronted up and done
an amazing job finding a truly representative national team despite the fact
their population is </div>
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<span style="font-size: 24.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">78 times
smaller </span>than their competitors.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So as a point of principle, and to support small nations everywhere and the Down Under
neighbours I am cheering New Zealand all the way across the finish line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A certain selfishness also comes
into the equation given I have lots of Kiwi friends and am thus guaranteed a bed in
Auckland to watch the next America’s Cup if they win, so cross your fingers for
favourable winds, and cunning tacks and jibes to see off the opposition tomorrow. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">SO GO NEW ZEALAND</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fo1RVMdj4T4/UkJ9kXUrPmI/AAAAAAAAAaY/3kvW48htVuU/s1600/Photo+of+boat+for+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fo1RVMdj4T4/UkJ9kXUrPmI/AAAAAAAAAaY/3kvW48htVuU/s320/Photo+of+boat+for+blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-10031130543398495012013-09-24T01:13:00.001-07:002013-09-24T16:19:13.556-07:00The Ladies' Thinking Club<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Australia has a new Prime Minister, Tony Abbott (NB this
is not meant as a breaking news flash as the election was 7<sup>th</sup>
September).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whilst his victory was
not unexpected, the line up of his new cabinet aroused considerable comment as
there is only one woman, Julie Bishop the new Foreign Minister, amongst the nineteen
members.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you can imagine this
has given rise to lots of comments and discussion about quotas and female
representation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost every
female of note in Australia seems to have been asked for their opinion, though
strangely no one has come knocking on my door, whilst there are emotive statistics
flying around about the fact that Afghanistan now has more female
representation at a senior parliamentarian level than Australia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However it is worth noting only a
year ago Australia had a female Prime Minister, female Governor General and
female Head of State (Queen Elizabeth).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I think I fall on the side of encouraging good women
rather than imposing quotas that could lead to mediocre women to match the numerous
mediocre men in government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of
the arguments out there is there aren’t enough good women – but one only has to
look around to see that isn’t true, the correct response is there aren’t enough
good women prepared to consider politics as a career, and the reason for that
lies with the nature of politics and politicians rather than the potential
calibre of women as a race.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Whilst considering the women in politics question I
listened to the following interview with Agnieszka Fryckowska the Base
Commander at the British Halley VI base station in Antarctica.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is in charge of a 13 man team, with
most team members doing 18 months on the base, 9 months of which are spent as a
small group isolated from the outside world with the added bonus that for a
couple of those months the sun fails to make it over the horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p01gw80d">http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p01gw80d</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Agnieszka sounds
a fabulous woman in a fascinating job, and what had me cheering was when she
was asked about being the only woman, not to mention the boss, her response was
that as members of the team “We are hired for our ability to do the job, not
whether we are male or female.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And in the end I think whether you are running the equivalent of Ice
Station Zebra or the Australian Liberal Party that has to be the right answer,
notwithstanding there are lots of things you can do to make life easier for
talented women to apply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">When I was back in the UK earlier on in the Northern
Hemisphere summer I came across some sample questions from the General Paper
for the Fellowship Exam at All Souls College at Oxford.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The questions were in one of the Sunday
papers and the Drama Queens and I whiled away a train journey whilst
considering issues such as “Does the moral character of an orgy change when the
participants wear Nazi uniforms?” and “Is it an extremely unnatural condition
for a male and female to live continuously together?” and one of my particular
favourites; “It has been said architecture is frozen music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does this make any sense?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://www.all-souls.ox.ac.uk/userfiles/file/EF/PastPapers/General.pdf">http://www.all-souls.ox.ac.uk/userfiles/file/EF/PastPapers/General.pdf</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I got back to
Sydney and stuck up a copy of some of the questions above the cooker – always
useful to have something to read whilst supper chars, before deciding that I
don’t see enough of my female friends and I should have an evening where I made
them talk about some of these questions – a kind of Ladies Thinking (and
obviously Drinking) outing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--8ZgeymE-gg/UkFJnAqtXkI/AAAAAAAAAZM/xkwp7iis-zc/s1600/All+Souls+questions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--8ZgeymE-gg/UkFJnAqtXkI/AAAAAAAAAZM/xkwp7iis-zc/s320/All+Souls+questions.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I know
it sounds incredibly pretentious but I love my book club
both for the books we read and the discussions we have about them, but also for
the fact it gives us all an excuse to get together, and I thought having a think
about some of these questions would give us a focus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was a complete
bundle of nerves before the 14 women turned up and in fact was in the running
to invent a question of my own along the lines of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How advisable is it for the hostess to have a couple of
quick drinks before guests arrive?” but I have to say it was the most fantastic
success and people really seemed to enjoy the chance to talk about all kinds of
issues and really welcomed the chance to be forced to move off the
children/husband/dog/holiday conversation roundabout we sometimes all get
caught on – generally enjoyably I should add as if you want mindless banter at the
school drinks party then I am your woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However I certainly came away from the evening feeling completely buoyed
by what a fantastic, thought provoking, interesting, risk taking group of
female friends I have, who lift me up emotionally, and intellectually and make
me laugh big time, and if I was Tony Abbott I’d be giving them a call quick
smart as they are just the kind of people to run the country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tony Abbott was
a Rhodes scholar so will be familiar with All Souls College, but I can’t help feeling that
had he had a go at this question in the run up to the election he might have at
least had some answers for his critics!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“If
you were Prime Minister, what considerations would you take into account in
deciding the size and composition of your Cabinet?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746746654307470717.post-47282186957453267452013-09-16T02:26:00.004-07:002013-09-16T02:26:59.953-07:00Row, Row your boat
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It’s raining in Sydney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Raining in a remorseless dirge like fashion that makes
nonsense out of words like drizzle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before it got dark I kept glancing behind me in the manner of one
starring in a low budget horror movie to a darkened horizon with clouds bulging
up behind each other in a way that made the continuing downpour a
certainty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You get out of the way of rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve have had weeks of dry weather, with sun and warmth on
tap and I have begun to take an early summer for granted and so consequently I
now feel aggrieved that having shaved my legs ready to burst upon the world in
my shorts, the weather takes a turn for the nasty and not only am I back in my
jeans, but I am also wondering where my head to toe waterproofs are.</div>
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I row in a social Ladies’ four every couple of weeks or
so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other three and the long-suffering
coach go out every week and another lady and I act as part time subs. The time
interval between my outings means that there is no muscle memory involved and
each hour and a half outing hits my protesting body like, well like an hour and
a half on a rowing machine, and I have to be practically craned out of the
flimsy shell when we return to dry land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Muscle moaning apart, Middle Harbour which is one of the arms of Sydney
Harbour, has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world to have a
Monday morning row with a bunch of friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally we row through harbour mansions and on into
secluded creeks fringed by gums and sandstone escarpments dropping down to the
water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the upper
reaches of Middle Harbour are within Garigal National Park so it comes as
almost a shock when the arches of Roseville Bridge, a major throughway between
Central Sydney and the Northern Beaches hoves into view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Middle Harbour is reputed to be a shark
breeding ground and is undeniably the site of the last shark fatality in the
harbour, as a result I tend not to trail my hand through the water – not that
there is much opportunity for hand trailing as I row with a crew that likes to
push itself (and half kill their weaker brethren e.g. me) and thus rather than
lounging around on the water in the Three Men in a Boat mode, we are more
likely to be doing pyramids – 5 firm, 5 light, 10 firm, 10 light – I am sure
you are getting the picture and also hopefully the general sense of why I
return from these outings puce in the face and bent over like a banana.</div>
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It was looking grey this morning as we set out, but as I say
these are Everest climbing type ladies – they don’t do wimpy so off we went and
of course as soon as we got to the point of no return, the heavens opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is interesting to note that this
point of no return rule applies to rowing outing as well as my childhood
Scottish walks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got back to the
dock with water gushing off us, dripping would be inaccurate, as a description,
though I did note that my bra that was obviously inside my clothes was
dripping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t think it was
possible to get any wetter until we turned the boat upside down to carry it up
to the boatshed and promptly emptied a couple of buckets of water over ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got in a hot shower, noting with
interest that my fingers had that wrinkled washerwoman look I associate with
Beatrix Potter’s Mrs Tiggywinkle, but as I stood under the glorious hot water I
did get a grip on reality and thank my lucky stars that a wet Spring day in
Sydney rowing in a Fab Four still knocks the spots off a cold wet day in most of the rest of the
world.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Just Another Day in Sydneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01744526376009778275noreply@blogger.com1