too many ducks in the park

the ducks fly south

2009-11-25T09:52:00.007Z

So, it's time to go. Four and a half years. Way longer than i thought we would stay. Not that we really had a plan. Part of the attraction was to have new and unpredictable experiences. We'll miss it here.* London seems to exist in a state of constant excitement. We're taking away so much from our time here... not just our little duckling, way too much check-in luggage and the inability to hear the word 'zucchini' and not think 'courgette'.

I feel like a different person to the one that boarded a flight to Rome in May 2005. Now settling back into life in Melbourne will be the new adventure. Again there are many uncertainties and part of me would like to fast forward a year or so to when (hopefully, fingers crossed, oh my god, what are we doing with our lives?!) everything is sorted... but what would be the fun in that? So again, into the great unknown.

89 blog entries and time to say goodbye. Too many ducks in the park signing out.

*Not the flat. What a dump. Eat my dust green walls.

paris for the day...

2009-11-14T06:00:00.001Z

because when will i be able to say that again?

i find it pretty incredible that i can be at my house at 7.30am and by 8am be at the train terminal that will whisk me to 'the continent' and the city of Paris in about 2 hours.

it was wonderful to visit this amazing city again, this time with my friend michelle. Going with a girlfriend meant i could spend time browsing and visiting shops (which brendan enjoys about as much as a poke in the eye... actually he would probably choose the poke in the eye if given the option). We visited Galeries Lafayette, which puts up a bit of a christmas tree and decorations:

they also have paris's answer to the myer christmas windows, but there must have been something that was lost in the translation. the first few windows displayed cheerful gingerbread men and teddy bears having innocent adventures, to the delight of the viewing children...

but then it went on to show bunny rabbits in tight leather living it up in giant glasses of champagne and posing provocatively... ooh la la! joyeux noel indeed!

last minute london

2009-10-18T04:38:00.001+01:00

columbia road's sunday flower market and lovely shops... followed by lunch at jamie oliver's fifteen restaurant... delightful

Algarve

2009-10-17T10:21:00.004+01:00

aaarghhh

2009-10-17T10:06:00.004+01:00

The other day I came home and panicked: ‘oh my god! We’ve been broken into!’ but no that was just how messy I had left the house. This photo pretty much sums up life at the moment as we inch towards our departure from London.

Dah-dah dah-dah Lim-BO!

2009-08-15T11:42:00.004+01:00

Limbo:
a) to manoeuvre under a pole, most usually done by zany party people;
b) that dodgy place you learn about in Catholic school where God leaves you while he decides if you deserve to join him for all eternity in the paradise of heaven or burn and wail in hell’s raging fires and brimstone;
c) the state we currently find ourselves in living in London but thinking of home.

When we came here we bought one-way tickets as an incentive to stay at least a year. Now over four years later we’re looking to head back but that seems easier said than done. London is great but unfortunately not an option for us long-term. We want Romily to grow up knowing her extended family and I want a backyard, a dishwasher, and hey, call me spoiled, not to be sleeping on a futon in the lounge room.

Brendan feels the responsibility of having to bring home the bacon and in these uncertain financial times rightly believes that a piglet in the hand is worth two at the trough… or something like that. I’m a definite believer in quitting while you’re ahead and it’s frustrating when you’ve mentally moved on from a situation that you remain physically stuck in. In the meantime we are reminding ourselves that Melbourne in August is gloomy and are planning a Summer holiday, so should soon have some sunny snaps to post here. But to tell you the truth, as much as I’ll miss it, the blog post I’m looking forward to is the one that will be entitled ‘Farewell London’.

*

Now here’s someone who is certainly not in limbo but moving ahead in leaps and bounds:

Fun and games

2009-04-15T08:48:00.001+01:00

Mid-April already… how did that happen?

Now, here’s an idea for the world’s most difficult computer game: a true-to-life simulation of looking after a baby. The game must be played 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It comes with one hundred instruction manuals, all with slightly different rules. Just when you think you have a handle on things you are whisked to a new level and the state of play is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. What you consider a brilliant move one day turns out to be a complete failure the next. You are permitted to hand the joystick over to someone else, however the effect of this on your score is hard to determine. The game is not ‘fun’ as such but the interface is so damn cute that the moment you start playing you are addicted. With over six billion people/ex-babies in the world surely I’m onto something here.

I now realise that women with young children talk about these children so much not because they want to be baby-obsessed bores, but because there is so little time left for anything else. For example since we’ve been back from Melbourne Romily’s sleep hasn’t been the best (let’s put it this way, I knew we were in trouble when I found myself thinking ‘last night wasn’t so bad, she only woke up three times…’) and so the majority of my day is spent planning and plotting and implementing methods that may help her get through the night and have good naps. The happenings of the wider world seem trivial by comparison.

What started as a ‘tales of our travels’ blog now looks like turning into a ‘lets look at the baby’ blog which was obviously not the intention at the outset. And while I find it fascinating that Romily can now roll over and seems to be displaying a preference for sweet potato over pear, I wonder if anyone else (well, aside from the other gals in my mothers’ group… and my mum) thinks this is an interesting topic of discussion. But it’s all I got, so here you go…

The Romily Tour: Melbourne February 2009

2009-04-13T08:47:00.024+01:00

Standard question number one: so, how was she on the flight?

Standard answer: she was great… we were wrecks… but she was great!

I think my favourite moment was at the end of the ‘oh my god when will it ever end… I think time is moving backwards… dear god are we still just over the Indian ocean’ leg, otherwise known as the dubai to melbourne leg or what I prefer to call 16-hours in hell, when I turned to see all the other passengers waiting to disembark, each looking more tired, dishevelled and refugee-like than the next and there was little R bright eyed and bushy tailed, smiling and bouncing and looking like it was just the best day ever…ahh youth. I guess for a baby getting to sleep on one of their parents is the equivalent to a first class cabin.

Romily, like all babies, was born believing she is the centre of the universe. Being ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over every day by scores of new people only consolidated this view. I don’t think she could have asked for more from a holiday. The sun was shining, B had a month off work and I got to sleep-in on occasion, so I don’t think we could have asked for more either.

Meet the Grandparents

and the GREAT-grandma

I've not come across warm weather before... but I think I like it!

Taking to Melbourne cafe culture like a native

The maternal line

Just chillin' with some family ...

...and friends

with baby in brussels

2009-01-20T11:53:00.005Z

And now we enter the age of Travel A.C. (after child). We had been warned, ‘It’s not that you can’t holiday with children, it’s just that you won’t enjoy it’. So we thought we’d try a trip while Romily is still in her easy portability stage (that is, before her idea of a good time becomes crawling along a filthy carriage floor or toddling through a crowded airport terminal). Although our luggage may have suggested otherwise, our trip of choice wasn’t a six week hiking expedition through the wilds of the Himalayas but one night in a swish hotel in Brussels via Eurostar.

We found the city charming and the people friendly and laidback. I was able to meet up with my cousin and her husband, and as fellow parents we were able to indulge in baby-related chat as well as receiving an insider’s view of the city.

A significant difference to Travel B.C. (before child) is that strangers regularly spoke to us - or, more accurately, they spoke to our baby… with a few follow-up questions to us… primarily to get information about her.

Our next travel challenge is a 24-hour flight to Melbourne. Previously in a departure lounge we would be amongst the passengers eyeing the family with a small child and silently praying, ‘please god, let them not be sitting next to us’. Now we will be the dreaded passengers… the power! I can’t wait!

the rules are there ain't no rules

2008-12-01T10:52:00.004Z

We are all born with a reflex to grip onto things. If you put your finger in a baby’s palm it will grasp it and if you put your finger under a baby’s toes, its little toes will curl under and attempt to grab. I read that this is a carry over from the time when we were all covered in fur and little (furry) babies would ride on their mother’s backs clinging on with their fingers and toes.

Aside from the being covered in fur part, this is quite a nice image. I imagine mother and baby in the cave slowly plodding along, sleeping, eating, cooing. Dad would occasionally go out with the other cavemen to hunt a woolly mammoth and for entertainment there were stories around the campfire and drawings on the cave walls. It was a simpler time. Okay, probably everybody died at twenty-five but there didn’t seem to be the multitude of stresses that we now subject ourselves to - the extra complications that we choose to add to our lives. Figuring out how to look after a baby is an area especially prone to this over-complication.

While other mothers-to-be in my antenatal class had pre-baby sleepless nights thinking about childbirth, it was my pre-bedtime reading of The Contented Little Baby, with its quarterly hourly instructions, that left me waking in a cold sweat. I thought it would make more sense once we’d actually had the baby, but a few weeks of trying to follow it (albeit vaguely) did my head in. Here’s a sample, for a one-week-old baby:

7AM
· Baby should be awake, nappy changed and feeding no later than 7am (a bit hard to enforce if you only managed to get the baby back to sleep at 6am after a night feed)
· He needs 25-35 minutes on the full breast, then offer 10-15 minutes on the second breast after you have expressed 60-90mls. (Romily would have 20 minutes max at this age. Expressing is fiddly and time consuming so why bother with expressing if you’re not planning to use the milk?)
· If he fed at 5am or 6am, offer 20-25 minutes from the second breast after expressing approximately 90mls. (These ‘if…’ instructions add to the confusion).
· Do not feed after 8am, as it will put baby off his next feed (the use of bold type is especially terrifying)
· He can stay awake for up to one and a half hours (at one week Romily was doing well if she was staying awake for up to one and a half minutes).

And on it goes, followed by another four and a half pages of detailed instructions to get you through the rest of the day. At two weeks the routine changes, then again at four weeks, with ten routines in the first year. For night feeds there is to be ‘no talking or eye contact’; naps must be ‘fully swaddled and in the dark with the door shut’; baby must be tucked up in bed each night by 7pm (good luck with this one!)

Criticizing this book is like shooting fish is a barrel but for the clueless first time parent its tempting to believe that an established set of guidelines will work and make your life easier. In reality I would like to meet the infant and parents who conform exactly to its rule (although I wonder if they could find the time to fit meeting me into their timetable).

Following my extensive (i.e. nine weeks) experience as a parent I am planning to pen a baby care manual of my own. It’s tentatively titled The Baby Cuddler and here are some of main points:

· As long as the baby feeds every two to fours hours and basically knows the difference between night and day, what she chooses to do with the rest of her time is up to her.

· You can’t spoil a baby. They know how to do a few things but manipulating you isn’t one of them. So go ahead and pick her up when she cries. It reduces her stress levels as well as yours.

· Cuddle your baby to sleep. Okay this may turn into a habit, but what else do you have to do?

· Do not follow this advice! It works for us and our kid, but who’s to say it will work for you? And it’s just working for us now. Things change all the time. Any minute things could all go pear-shaped.

· Slow down. Think ‘caveman’. Hope for the best.

tuning into the baby channel: all baby all of the time

2008-10-29T12:26:00.005Z

Jerry Seinfeld has said:

The funny thing about being single… see I had married friends and I wouldn’t visit them when I was single because I thought their life was so pathetically depressing.

And then, now that I’m married and I have single friends, I feel I don’t really like to be with them now `cos I find their lives trivial and meaningless.

And I think in both cases I was correct.

Substitute ‘single’ for ‘childless’ and ‘married’ for ‘parent’ and you have an idea of our experience of the chasm between these states of before and after. When we didn’t have a child we really didn’t think about children much, them being small beings belonging to other people … now that we do have our own she is the absolute focus of our attention.

Everyone says your life changes when a baby comes along, but you have to experience it for yourself to understand how totally. It’s not just the different things you have to do (feeding, changing and settling making up a good proportion of the day) but how you feel - we can spend hours just staring at her and cuddling her - marvelling at her wonderfulness. All she has to do is be herself - a lovely little baby who is now more interactive - making eye contact and smiling at us - melting our hearts and adding so much to our lives.

Okay, I guess this is quite a soppy post, different to the ones that have gone before, but like I said, now we’re living on the flipside.

and baby makes three

2008-10-04T13:18:00.003+01:00

Romily Eloise Donovan born Thursday 25 September 2008. The cutest baby in Belsize.

the waiting game

2008-09-14T11:48:00.002+01:00

Officially one week to go...

We've done the reading... been to the classes...

washed the clothes... assembled the flat-pack furniture....

now its just a matter of waiting for the stork to make its delivery

buying for baby

2008-08-11T09:35:00.006+01:00

'Babies R Us' have over 50 soothers to choose from' the catalogue says... like it's a good thing. 18 varieties of baby monitors... 43 pages of strollers... nine baths... four bath supports... a multitude of nappies (disposable or reusable?)... baby wipes (regular, sensitive, extracare, fragrance free, biodegradable)... etc. etc... and this is just one store. you have your high street stores, online stores, eco-friendly stores, department stores and each with their own collections, selections, ideas and 'must haves'.

the choice is overwhelming, especially when you are dealing with products you've had no real contact with before. like there are lots of varieties of cars around, but you see them everyday and get a feeling of what you like and what might suit your lifestyle. the range of baby products present a whole new world of consumerism.

the first thing to do is to filter out the unnecessary money spinners (like the £330 breastfeeding chair with optional £110 stool) and the fear factor products (e.g. the fetal heart monitoring system - although this picture does make it look like fun for the whole family). then you have to consider products that may be useful even though the idea of them may be somewhat terrifying. another thing is not to get sucked in by the very cute child they have chosen to model the product or the other classic guaranteed to tempt a pregnant woman: the caring dad with baby shot.

even baring in mind all these guidelines there are plenty of lovely things to buy. it feels a bit like christmas has come early at our place as the parcels and packages are piling up. while we have a lot more still to get i guess the most important rule to remember is that the baby won't be arriving expecting everything to have been bought for it on the day its born... at least i hope not!

malta: take 2

2008-07-14T07:51:00.000+01:00

more a memory than recent news (we went a month ago) but worth posting nonetheless...

after a... shall we say 'mixed result' last time... this was a completely different malta experience... a summer holiday with consistent hot sunny weather each day, balmy nights, and many different beaches to explore... best of all B was in good health and able to enjoy the sights (see below), sounds (people beeping as we zoomed around the island in our hire car; me attempting to speak maltese... badly!) and meeting of various relatives...

this top photo is of a beach called 'ghar tuffieha' which my dad said we should not under any circumstances swim in ... so of course we had to make it one of our first ports of call... i'm happy to report that we didn't get swept out to sea (nor did any of the small children swimming there... it isn't *always* dangerous)... and we didn't fall in a pot hole either for that matter... just took it easy... and ate a few pastizzi...

half way there

2008-05-10T14:29:00.004+01:00

8 May marked not only our three year anniversary overseas, but the day of the 20 week scan . It was great to hear that so far everything is progressing as it should be. The picture above (in case it isn’t blindingly obvious) is of our little baby’s foot (we’re taking their word for it).

I have to admit that when I saw the picture of my friend Elissa’s scan I was expecting something, well, perhaps a little clearer. But I guess on the NHS a fuzzy blur is about all you can expect. I’ve read that the second trimester is apparently the ‘golden period’ of pregnancy, where you feel good health-wise, have lots of energy and the tummy is not in the way too much. I have to agree - aside from the growing bump I feel pretty normal, which is very reassuring seeing all the changes ahead.

In other news, B’s mum is staying with us as she sets off for her own adventures in the UK, France and Ireland. Luckily for us she brought the warm Melbourne weather with her. Literally, until the day before she arrived it was like winter here (on 6 April we had three inches of snow) and overnight summer arrived… hopefully it will stick around for a while.

if its wednesday it must be vienna, or a tale of three cities

2008-04-17T11:40:00.008+01:00

During the week around Easter we visited the cities of Budapest, Vienna and Prague. First stop was the Hungarian capital Budapest, an interesting city divided by the River Danube (which is not blue in case you were wondering) into two regions - Buda and Pest. The city is a mix of modern redevelopment, authentic un-developed zones and pretty historic areas.

Unsurprisingly capitalism is now well and truly entrenched, with the streets lined with many of the stores you’ll find in London (including Marks and Spencer and Tesco – lucky them). However not all changes have been as quick as might have been expected. For example our tour guide mentioned that when she was working only five years ago she could clearly tell the difference between the locals and the people hanging around the meeting spot waiting for a tour. Now, she says, everyone dresses the same and she no longer makes assumptions about who the tourists are. (Although I think if your citizens are looking as scruffy as backpackers, this may be cause for concern).

One of our excursions was to what is basically a graveyard for the old propaganda statues that used to dominate the streetscape during the communist era. I guess the new government didn’t feel right just destroying them all and instead have relegated them to a park out in the middle of nowhere-ville. Now tourists can visit and treat them with the respect they deserve.

We spent one very cold day in Vienna. After an in-depth twenty-four hours I can say that it basically it all looks like this:

There were loads of tourists about and nearly the same number of men dressed in period costume trying to convince the tourists to attend Mozart performances.

Last but not least was the fairytale-like Prague, complete with a castle on a hilltop. Prague was one of the few European capitals to avoid damage during WWII and retains a range of beautiful buildings from the 10th century to the present, and includes examples of Romanesque, Gothic, Baroque, Renaissance and Art Nouveau architectural styles.

Also on offer were a fantastic choice of cafes and teahouses. We had breakfast at the Café Louvre (frequented by Einstein and Kafka in their day), lunch at the Café Slavia and afternoon tea and cake at the U Zeleneho café. Then the next day it was brunch at the Radost FX, tea at the Café Savoy and…well the interiors were amazing and it was cold outside... do we really need an excuse?

And now, a nice segue...

a bear walks into a bar

2008-04-05T13:57:00.005+01:00

The bartender says, ‘What’ll you have?’
The bear says, ‘… … … I’ll have a beer’.
The bartender says, ‘Why the big paws?’

And so may you be wondering (or maybe not) why the big break in news. Well hopefully my excuse is a good one. Okay here goes: I’ve been preoccupied with the not insignificant task of growing a little person inside me. Yes I have a bun in the oven, am in the family way, eating for two, knocked up, or whatever your preferred euphemism may be. Pregnant! B and I will be expecting a visit from the stork towards the end of September.

What with trying not to throw up for the past couple of months or so, getting to the computer and thinking up a snappy entry has been a bit beyond me. Morning sickness is awful (and a complete false term: it lasts all day! The phrase was obviously thought up by a man: ‘Why, you can’t be feeling sick Mrs Smith - it’s a quarter past twelve!’) and coincided with what was already a really busy time. Although I was only working part time (again not what the terminology would have you believe - initially it felt like doing a full time job but in less hours and for less money) I was at school the other days plus doing a short course one or two nights per week and having to deal with homework (something I was naively not expecting). Luckily everything has settled down now. And although school means homework, on the plus side it also means school holidays, which I’ve been enjoying the past few weeks.

Although B and I are both the type who would prefer not to have to make the announcement until about a month or so before the baby is actually due, it’s getting hard to hide the reality of the situation. Unfortunately my desire for a ‘Rachel from Friends’-style pregnancy (i.e. no weight gain except for a slight bump in the tummy region) is not to be (damn misleading television) as I am expanding rapidly in all directions (except for vertically, alas) .

So, that's our big news and the next stage of our adventure. More updates as the story continues…

as we were going to st ives...

2008-01-11T13:12:00.001Z

Amazing golden beaches, beautiful clear blue water (the photos do the colour no justice), a lovely town, the Tate St Ives and wonderful Barbara Hepworth sculpture garden and some cool kids to hang with and get all fancy-dressed up with for a very fun New Year's Eve... a great way to start the year.

But perhaps the best part of all? The fact that we were 2 boys and 7 girls meant that one of the boys could say, 'As I was going to St Ives I met a man with seven wives, and every wife had seven sacks and every sack had seven cats...' and aside from not enough actual marriages and a total lack of sacks and cats, etc. it was all totally true!

bath

2008-01-11T12:58:00.001Z

If we couldn't spend Christmas at home, then I guess a World Heritage Site steeped in Roman and Georgian history would have to do. So we trained ourselves over to Bath for a few nights of relaxation and cheer.

On Christmas Eve we heard carols in the magnificent Abbey. We were told that at a later service, Nicholas Cage - who owns a little holiday shack in the Royal Crescent - and his entourage (including some brassy LA-blondes and Jack Osbourne) were in attendance. Amongst the beige slacks and parka/pearls local set I'm sure they would have been really inconspicuous.

Christmas Day held present opening, a five-course lunch and strolling through the quiet streets as the sun set before going back to our B&B for a DVD, Monopoly and to sleep it all off.

Over the next few days we combined sightseeing with a bit of shopping (although I enjoyed the shop windows more than anything they were selling in the sales) and capped it all off with a visit to the Thermae Bath Spa - a health complex with baths fed by the naturally warm (about 35 degrees), mineral rich waters from the springs which have made the city famous. It was pretty amazing to be swimming outside in naturally warmed water in a rooftop pool on a freezing cold day.

The image above is taken from their website as alas we saw no blue skys. In fact, when reflecting on the trip, B described the weather as having been 'perfect'... 'perfect' in this instance meaning that it only rained when we happened to be asleep or indoors somewhere, luckily never when we were out and about... what other proof do you need that we have really been over here for a while now?

it may be cold, but at least it's purdy

2007-11-21T14:27:00.000Z

The Vegemite Tales

2007-11-01T12:55:00.000Z

The other Saturday we caught the matinee session of The Vegemite Tales, a play written in 2001 by an Australian living in London. It’s currently winding up its season on the West End, with the current production starring Blair from Big Brother and the guy who played Tad - brother of Toad - on Neighbours.

The play aims to represent the ‘typical Aussies living in London experience’, with a share house comprised of: father figure Sam whose been in London for seven and a half years (although based on the actor playing the role, I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘ok, but are you supposed to look like you arrived when you were over 35?’); Dan (hot - yes played by Blair- but shallow guy who tries to become less shallow to get ‘the girl’); Ed (dosser who sleeps on a surfboard in the living room and always wears thongs - even with a suit); Jane (hot but from Melbourne, so obviously stuck up and called a bitch a lot); Gemma (who I can only describe as the ‘oh my God I have to get an abortion to inject this play with some gritty realism’ girl); and Gio, ‘the Italian guy’ A.K.A token ethnic bi-sexual character whose misuse of the English language is the cause of much merriment amongst the rest of the house. Maddie is ‘the girl’/love interest who lives around the corner.

I can not deny that the play was very funny - a laugh a minute type funny. But there is also no question that what is being laughed at (what we are laughing along with) are cringing, embarrassing moments, toilet jokes and the Australian traits of racism, homophobia and chauvinism.

The Italian character Gio is like something out of a sitcom from the 1970s (I think his opening line was ‘shuduppa ya face’). They accept that fact that he is bi (well, he is one of them hot-blooded Italian Lothario types, so what can you expect?), but anything other than 100% ‘masculinity’ from the Aussie guys is the cause of ridicule.

A big problem I had (along with the acting, which involved way too much shouting - although Tad from Neighbours was good and kept his shouting pretty much to context - and referencing of other better known characters: Gio channelling Borat and Jane occasionally slipping into some Pru and Tru from Kath and Kim) was the imbalance of tone: shifting between ‘anything for a laugh’ and ‘hey guys, this is serious’.

Probably the worst bit was following the crisis scene where Gemma breaks down and admits to her abortion (a dramatic scene including more shouting and concluding with crying on the floor - some people in the audience giggled at this bit and I felt bad for the actress) which leads to Dan missing his date with ‘the girl’ and the end of their budding relationship.

The next scene sees Ed call an emergency house meeting to discuss a big problem: the fact that Gemma is still having a hard time dealing with her abortion? No - this is never mentioned again. The fact that buddy Dan has been acting ‘like a pansy’ since breaking up with ‘the girl’. Pansy = not getting drunk every night, not playing footy, doing yoga and - gasp! - writing poetry. Its visualised by Dan appearing in an ‘Annie: the musical’ sleeveless t-shirt, leggings under short-shorts and a headband.

The subsequent intervention involves luring him back to masculinity with a copy of Maxim magazine and yes, the boobs win the day.

Although I think it’s fantastic that a young woman wrote this play and found great success with it, I also think it’s somewhat disappointing that this is the play a young woman would write. The boys get the vast majority of the funny lines and are all way more developed. The girls are largely token characters: either representing object of desire, love interest or crisis. Jane is accepted as a housemate because she is gorgeous and Dan thinks he can sleep with her. When she doesn’t, and wants the house to be neat, they hate her guts - this is pretty much her entire character.

What I was expecting from this play, and I what I think could have worked better, was a total send up of the ex-pat experience. A cursory glance through TNT magazine provides a wealth of material: Snakebites at the Walkabout, Contiki tours (Hogmanay, Gallipoli, Running of the Bulls, La Tomatina, Oktoberfest), the Quicksilver uniform, rock gigs, complaints about money, public transport and the weather.

As for love and drama, look no further than the ‘Desperately Seeking’ back page column.

Houseshare sentimentality:

‘Farewell Tammy: You’ll be dearly missed by the 440 crew. We don’t know what we’ll do without our Mum. Thank you for being such a great housemate and friend. We all wish you the very best back in BrisVegas. Lots of love, Jason, Kristy, Nathan, Amanda and Fluffy.’

Love from afar:
‘The girl in the bunny suit at The Church wants the guy in the silver lycra body suit, who randomly kissed her at the Shu Bu Walkie on Sunday, October 21 to get in touch. I want more kisses! Email me on cassieadriaansz@ hotmail.com’

And true, true love:
‘My lovely George: Happy six month anniversary! I never thought we’d last this long but whatever we’re doing it seems to be working, so let’s keep doing it :). I love you and look forward to spending Christmas with your family in NZ. Love always, Laura.’

Now that’s reality.

*
And speaking of TNT magazine, who featured in last Monday’s issue? Well, none other than Miss Hill, watching the rugby at the Clapham Grand. What a good Aussie!

All images (although not the one of Michelle obviously; that's from TNT mag) from The Vegemite Tales website

plug for my other blog

2007-09-27T13:28:00.000+01:00

There is a great website called Illustration Friday, where... each Friday, people are challenged to create... an illustration to a suggested theme. You then share the results with other participants. I have been doing it for a couple of months (the theme last week was 'juggle' - above). As I have none of that fancy illustration-type software I create the images using the draw function in MSWord (hence the simplistic style). You can explore the delights at http://mumuji.blogspot.com/.

three roundabout, related reasons why we went to the Aeolian Islands for our summer holiday (and one pragmatic reason)

2007-09-17T12:39:00.000+01:00

Reason 1 - there is a song on the 1998 album Mermaid Avenue (in which Billy Bragg and Wilco put music to and perform songs using previously unheard lyrics by late American folk singer Woody Guthrie) called ‘Ingrid Bergman’ that goes: ‘Ingrid Bergman, Ingrid Bergman/ Let's go make a picture/ On the island of Stromboli/ Ingrid Bergman’ and then goes: ‘Ingrid Bergman, you're so purty/ You'd make any mountain quiver/ You'd make fire fly from the crater/ Ingrid Bergman’ and so on and is Guthrie’s ode to Bergman after seeing the 1950s film ‘Stromboli’ and is a pretty fantastic song.

Reason 2 - on an observer film weekly podcast they were interviewing Isabella Rossellini as she was about to open a film festival celebrating the work of her father Roberto Rossellini who directed, amongst other things, the above mentioned film ‘Stromboli’ and not only that but, as she revealed, it was in the making of said film on said island that Roberto and Ingrid fell in love and as such came to produce, a few years later, Isabella herself. She said that until quite recently the island was a poor fishing community known for its earthquakes and although very beautiful had become quite abandoned after World War 2 when many locals left for places such as the Australia and the United States but had now transformed itself into a wealthy resort (although she didn’t holiday there much herself because on the few times she had visited found herself too celebrated, with too many parties thrown in her honour and said in her accent this sounded very charming) and during the interview the interviewer mentioned that his upcoming honeymoon was going to begin in Stromboli and I wondered if he planned his honeymoon this way so that he could just slip that little fact into his interview with Isabella Rossellini.

Reason 3 - outside Angel tube station there was a news stall where the proprietor had placed a box of old or damaged magazines at the cost of three for £1. So I selected a Vanity Fair and a movie magazine and a copy of Conde Nast Traveller, the latter of which I would never usually buy due to its highfalutin reputation but which was promoting ‘affordable europe’ on its cover and that sounded promising although later closer examination revealed that the idea of ‘affordable’ is subjective and would mean something different to someone who, say, owns their own yacht. That magazine has led us to the Greek Islands, south of France and now the Aeolian Islands (although the article about the latter I had not previously noticed but now stood out due to reasons one and two above) and I have to admit has come to cost us considerably more than the initial 33p.

Reason 4 - we took such a long time finalising dates that tickets to Croatia (the original plan) had become ridiculously expensive and we had to choose somewhere fast and we loved Italy the first time round and so flights to Palermo it was to be.

The Aeolians are a string of seven volcanic islands north of Siciliy. They vary in their degrees of sophistication and modernity. While some attract the international fashion crowd and P. Diddy-types, we were after a more key affair.

We chose Salina, where we holidayed amongst the holidaying Italians. There were no multi-language ‘touristico’ menus here. In fact some places did not even have menus, instead describing to you (in Italian*) the various catches and specials of the day. The film Il Postino was filmed here. It is set in 1952 and they apparently didn’t have to change much to give it that retro vibe.

We also stayed on Filicudi, where we were two of the total of four people who got off the boat from Salina and two of the couple of hundred people in total on the island.

One day we did a hike where we saw not a sole except for a dog who looked like Santa’s Little Helper with one of those white cone things around its head and a bandage around its stomach (and it ran by too quickly to get a photo of it but it looked something like this: ) The hike reminded me of when we were in the Cinque Terre on our first trip to Italy but only because although the scenery was equally beautiful the atmosphere was the complete opposite - there I felt like I had landed in an episode of The O.C., ‘Spring Break in the Cinque Terre Special’ such was the extent of American college kids around and here it was just us and the nature and the sun and sea and all was good.

* At one point, as we looked particularly blank, the waiter realised our difficulties - which included not only our lack of Italian but our attempts to explain Brendan’s coeliac disease and his inability to eat pasta, bread, pizza, flour, etc. so called over an English speaker (who luckily was working at the restaurant and was not a fellow diner whose meal we were interrupting - which is what happened at another place, much to our mortification) and he came over and not only could he speak English but did so with an Australian accent and it turned out that he was from Sydney and his father owned the restaurant and they spend six months of the year in Siciliy and six in Sydney and he had had eight summers in a row which sounds like a nice life if you can get it and he asked if we had relatives on the island and when we said no he said, so why did you come here then? and I said because it sounded nice (rather than going into the whole explanation as per above) and then he informed us that the restaurant, on an island with a population of 2,000 people, served gluten free pasta (and the next night we found out it also served gluten free pizza) which was pretty amazing as we have never been offered this in London restaurants who probably serve that many people in a week.

stockholm

2007-08-23T21:05:00.001+01:00

Giving the world Stefan Edberg and Ikea furniture is possibly enough for any one country. But Stockholm showed that Sweden has a much more on offer.

This was our first trip to a Scandinavian destination and we were not disappointed.

The stereotype of blonde and tanned people, attractive from healthy living and enjoying the outdoors, rang true. Low population density, wide streets, plenty of green space and the calming affect of being surrounded by water added to the city’s charm.

Stockholm is comprised of series of islands and, like good module furniture, each seemed to be organised to house a particular theme:

* Gamla Stan is the old town
* Södermalm is good for cool bars, clubs and restaurants
* Skeppsholmen is full of museums
* Östermalm is the downtown area with cutting edge design shops and top brand designer stores

* Djurgården is lovely greenery

Although not a city where you feel you must escape the hustle and bustle (because there is neither hustle nor bustle), one day we took a ferry out to the island of Vaxholm, known as the gateway to the Stockholm archipelago. People live here year round but on the sunny day we visited it had a real summer holiday feel - wooden houses, boats coming into harbour, a main general store and a constant stream of people consuming ice cream.

Enjoying this island so much, we would be interested to see what the others in the archipelago are like… one down about 23,999 left to check out.

simpsonize me

2007-08-22T13:10:00.001+01:00

if you are as yet to make yourself into a simpsons character do so immediately.

must be a slow news day

2007-08-22T13:03:00.001+01:00

...because thelondonpaper published another one of my columns. if you didn't get your hardcopy, like these happy commuters, you can read it online.

'hey, we're going to ibiza' (...for a yoga retreat not necessarily to party)

2007-08-08T12:44:00.000+01:00

I've gotten many benefits from doing yoga, but surely one of the best must be treating myself to a week-long yoga retreat on the Mediterranean island of Ibiza.*

I heard about the retreat from a book (‘Liz Jones's Diary: How One Single Girl Got Married’, a true-life memoir of a late-30-something woman who hooks up with a 20-something man who is generally no good yet who she supports for years while he ‘writes his novel’ and who she pampers with many holidays and mini-breaks, including one at Ibiza Yoga and the unputdownable quality of this book is best explained in the fact that B. had no problem reading it in public despite its hot pink girly cover) and although I had been looking forward to it for seemingly ages, it really did live up to my expectations.

Each day involved perfect sunshine, a three-hour yoga session, fresh vegetarian food and time on the beach where the most pressing concern was deciding whether to read, sleep, sunbake or swim. This was combined with occasional nature walks and dinner out with the other the participants - mainly young, female, Londoners and all very nice. I slept in a pagoda. I showered outdoors. I saw nothing of the high rise resorts and club scene. It might not be everyone's idea of a good time, but it was just my cup of (herbal) tea.

* unfortunately I can not even think the word ‘Ibiza’ without my mind singing back the annoying late-90s Vengaboys dance track: ‘hey, we’re going to Ibiza, hey, we’re going to the island, hey, we’re going...’ Get out! Get out! Get out!!

the summer of one thousand umbrellas

2007-07-20T21:58:00.000+01:00

after last summer I thought the English were a whiney bunch always complaining about their weather. In the midst of this ‘summer’ I know exactly what they mean - it has rained about five days a week for the past three months. Today I was supposed to go to Brighton for work but was turned back three-quarters of the way there due to flooding on the line. And there’s another thing I don’t understand - for a country that experiences so much rain its odd that at the first bit of wet weather the whole system shuts down. Okay, enough of that before I turn into a whinger myself.

*

So, some recent happenings… on Saturday night we went to hear B’s friend Ron play a set at London pub The Wilmington. At first we weren’t sure we were at the right place, as the front bar is very much an ‘old man’s pub’. But at the back its a great venue for live, original music and although we were there to hear Ron (mild mannered accountant by day, soulful singer-songwriter by night) we stayed to hear all four acts and were most impressed.

You can check out Ron's music at www.myspace.com/thesevenns

The photos are B and Ron’s wife Bo, Ron on stage and with fellow artist Matt Fitch and Bo with some Wayne’s World-esque cool dudes.

This week we had Melbourne friends Margaret and Magnus staying with us on the tail end of their month-long European tour. They spent their days around London then at night we all went out for dinner - which made the four days seem like a bit of a holiday for us too. On their last night by some miracle it was not cold and/or rainy and we had a picnic at the top of Hampstead Heath.

Another night Michelle came out with us and we spent time reminiscing about the old days and I think that back in our days in the ‘hood (i.e Bentleigh) if someone had said one day we’d all be hanging out together in London I wouldn’t have understood what they were talking about, although I doubt that back then I could have even imagined being over 30… but then again I think that’s something that I can’t quite believe even now.

Post Script:
Tuesday 24 July 2007

I feel guilty about what I described above as a bit of rain. When I wrote it I wasn’t aware of the extent of the problem, but each morning at work I receive a summary of the day’s newspapers and here is today’s:

‘Today's papers focus on what have now been described by the environment agency as the worst floods in modern British history.The news that thousands of people across Britain have been left without access to electricity and drinking water dominates this mornings newspapers.The Daily Telegraph - "The crisis deepens", the Times - "100, homes flooded, 50,000 without power, 150,000 have no water", the Independent - "A 21st Century Catastrophe".In this mornings tabloids, the Sun describes the "Rescue of the water babies", detailing the work of the emergency services in the crisis, the Daily Express offers "Flood panic" and the Daily Mail tells its readers "1m victims of the deluge".Taking a look at the reasons behind the flooding the Times offers "A catastrophe with mankind's footprints stamped on it", while the Guardian asserts "Ministers warned three years ago over flood defence failings".' !

foxy

2007-06-28T13:12:00.001+01:00

I was up early the other morning (because it’s summer it gets light at about 5am yet because its London the weather feels little better than winter – o.k. end of whinge) when out of the corner of my eye I saw a creature on our balcony. It was a lovely little fox.

By the time I put down my breakfast and leapt for the camera it had run into the garden. Due to the low light the photos are terrible, but you can definitely make the fox out. We stared at each other for a little while before it skipped off (and I say ‘skipped’ because it had quite a spring in its step).

I am told that London has a large fox population and I wonder if all these foxes are historical foxes, i.e. the descendants of foxes who have always lived in the area and have adapted to the development that has gone on around them or if they are more like wilderness foxes who have moved to the city lured by easier pickings from the multitude of rubbish bins. But more importantly I wonder, would they make good pets?

cotswolds

2007-06-19T13:20:00.000+01:00

On a very rainy bank holiday Monday in late May we boarded a coach at London Victoria bound for the Cotswolds.

I had tended to associate daytrip coach travel with the elderly, but our coach (advertised in the ex-pat favourite TNT magazine) was targeted squarely at the budget traveller. Our bus (of the reconditioned last-legs variety) was overshadowed at the rest stops by coaches of the shiny new plush reclining seats type. While I did not envy them this, I’m sure their guide was someone other than a 21-year old Canadian, seemingly just off the boat and with a vocabulary that did not extend far beyond the ability to describe places as ‘really, really beautiful’, ‘really, really historic’ or ‘really, really historical and beautiful’. She varied the tone when recounting a famous medieval battle (‘the streets were like flowing with blood and gore, it was like, really, really bloody’), although the description may have been slightly more evocative if she had waited until we had entered the town rather than describing it while we were stuck in a traffic jam outside a BP service station.

The Cotswolds are a collection of small towns and villages, known for being traditionally ‘English’. This means plenty of tea shops, antique stores and rolling countryside. While they were once thriving rural villages, I think they now primarily cater to tourists and moneyed Londoners who roll up on the weekends in their 4-wheel drives.

The weather meant plenty of excuses to duck inside tearooms for a warm drink and slice of cake (or in Brendan’s case a smuggled gluten-free macaroon). It was, like, a really, really beautiful day … and historical, you guys. Really.

watching the glutes

2007-06-15T12:25:00.000+01:00

A change is as good as a holiday, so the saying goes. Brendan might take issue with this sentiment when the change proposed is a life devoid of regular bread, pasta and cakes and the immediate impact is the cancellation of two planned holidays (Madrid and Ireland).

So, instead of some lovely photos from European destinations, I have little more to present than a fascinating insight into coeliac disease.

Brendan’s sickness (mentioned in the previous post) did not clear up when we got home from Malta. After many weeks, doctors visits and tests, a diagnosis of coeliac disease was confirmed. Neither of us knew anything about this condition, other than perhaps a vague awareness of ‘gluten-free’ as a dietary requirement. Now we feel armed with enough knowledge to write our own guide, cookery book and regular advice column.

While Brendan’s Irish heritage enabled him to get an EU passport it could also be a clue to the condition – centuries of reliance on vegetables (ok, potatoes) and limited processed grains has led the Irish to having one of the highest rates per capita of gluten intolerance.

B has been adapting to his new diet for over a month now, relying on home cooking and a range of food substitutes and supermarket snacks. Eating out is more problematic, although not impossible. The biggest challenge to date will be his upcoming work trip to Tacoma in Washington State, USA. While he is looking forward to indulging daily in steaks the size of compact cars, finding a gluten-free donut may be slightly more problematic.

maltese vacation

2007-05-25T13:38:00.000+01:00

Here are some differences between this holiday and the others: I had visited twice before (three times if you count the fact I was born there); my parents would be on holiday with us (and we were sharing an apartment with them); I would be seeing relatives who hadn’t seen me since I was 15 years old; and... Brendan was sick the entire time.

In a way it more of a pilgrimage than a holiday.

Worst things first - Brendan spent about 80% of the trip in the hotel room. He made an effort to come out and see a few things but when you’re sick it’s hard to focus on anything else. He had really been looking forward to the trip and all the relatives had been keen to meet him, so it was disappointing to continually have to report back ‘no change, still sick’ when asked about the state of his health. After a few weeks off work he’s feeling better now, but it really was unfortunate timing.

I, on the other hand, was in good health and trying hard not to feel too much like Mr Rochester, going out and having a good time while the mad wife is locked away in the attic.

Sharing an apartment with my parents was fine, but I have to admit this was helped by the fact that it was the probably the nicest hotel I have ever stayed at.

One of main things I realised is that the last time I was there I really hadn’t been paying much attention (being a teenager and overwhelmingly distraught by the fact that I was away from my friends and wouldn’t be able to go to the Blue Light Disco probably didn’t help). I remembered little things, but largely it was like seeing it for the first time.

Meeting up with all the relatives was a definite highlight. It was also an added benefit to be in a country where my parents could point out points of personal historic significance – like the places they grew up and the hospital where I was born and to see family legends like the washing machine that was bought to wash my nappies and is still going strong.

stop the press

2007-05-15T16:49:00.000+01:00

There’s a column in the london paper (free evening publication given out at tube stops around the city, circulation 400,000) where they invite readers to submit an article. So I did, and they published it. Its titled ‘Cold turkey to beat TV addiction’ and you can read it online.

Que?

2007-04-14T13:54:00.000+01:00

When I told a French work colleague I would be spending Easter in the rural region of Burgundy she looked at me blankly. Surely she’s heard of it I thought. ‘You know, famous for its wineries’ I said, ‘the capital is Dijon… where the mustard comes from’. ‘Ooohhhh’, she said, suddenly getting it, ‘you mean Bourghhhhunh…’ pronouncing the word like she was simultaneously clearing her throat.

This would be the first of many times when our feeble attempts at the language were met with complete incomprehension, so that by the end of the trip even the ‘oui’s and ‘merci’s were coming out doubtfully. Not that I’m complaining - I’m all for places that couldn’t care less what language the tourists speak – it makes you feel like you are visiting an actual place, rather than the place that has been created with your intended visit in mind. And there are times when the language barrier can come in handy - like I don’t really know what the man at the market stall was saying when I took this photograph of his hats, but I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of, ‘Hey, you! Stop taking photographs of my hats!’ But not understanding I just innocently smiled as if to say, ‘Thank you for asking, but I’m right for hats at the moment’.

One of the main things we wanted to do on our trip was ride bikes along the country roads and vineyards, stopping at small villages along the way. The first half hour of our excursion saw us on a road strongly reminiscent of the Princes Highway and conspicuously unlike the pictures on the brochure. Fortunately it was a case of missing the turnoff rather than false advertising and we were soon experiencing all that had been promised. Wineries, rolling fields, a slower pace of life.

Entries to the villages are clearly marked, as you might expect, but they also let you know where the village ends, with an ominous crossing out of the town name. It seems so definite – as if they are saying, ‘You leave our village – you are dead to us now!’

Other things:
An owl carved into a 13th century gothic church – now the symbol of Dijon – which is also famous for its gingerbread (and should also be famous for serving superb rhubarb crumble).

Beaune’s charity hospital was founded in the 1400s and aimed to heal the body and the spirit… all within the same room.

We spent our last night in a chateau. It came complete with a shaggy dog in the breakfast room and an original Gauguin(!) hanging above the mantlepiece. Bien! (I think…).

winter update

2007-03-09T14:45:00.000Z

So, what’s news?
It’s still pretty cold out there… boo!
But it’s staying light until almost six o’clock… yay!
Michelle has moved out of our place… boo!
But she’s only moved around the corner… yay!
Work has been pretty busy for both of us… boo!
But the plan is to take it easy any time now… yay!
Haven’t gone travelling anywhere this year yet … boo!
But two trips are booked in for April… yay!
The house has been invaded by bugs… boo!
But they are lovely ladybugs…yay!
I’m doing an art project involving lots of boiled sweets… yay!
B says: ‘I can’t believe I’m not allowed to eat them… boooo!’
The Chinese New Year dragon photo seems hopelessly out of date now… boo!
But it’s the only remotely relevant image I have to represent this period so give me a break okay!

let it snow

2007-02-08T09:55:00.000Z

2007-01-19T16:43:00.000Z

Most people returning from an Australian holiday would be content bringing back a toy kangaroo and a couple of Caramello Koalas. But we thought: what better way to commemorate our trip than to bring back an actual Australian. And hence my friend Michelle is living with us at the moment.

London 'dossers' tend to have a bad reputation as freeloaders but Michelle is more than earning her place in our flat and the piddly foam cushions we can offer as a ‘bed’. In addition to her delightful company we are receiving new meals to try as well as an abundance of chocolate and cups of tea. Perhaps most importantly she’s providing the motivation to get out there and do more ‘London things’. To date we have visited Greenwich – home of Mean Time, the Prime Meridian and the Painted Hall, tried out some new restaurants (including the local Ethiopian where you use pancakes as cutlery) and last Sunday had afternoon tea at the Wolseley Hotel followed by a look at the window display at Fortnum and Mason. Also planned are West End shows, London walks and trips further afield.

I must admit though that I’m not on board with all of Michelle’s plans: namely her ‘Take a Photograph at Every Single Tube Stop’ plan.
‘What’s the point?’ I said.
‘There’s just too many of them’, I said.
‘What are you going to do with all the photos once you have them?’ I said.
But then I thought, ‘You could start a blog. A page per tube line. Updated weekly. Contextualising the whole thing. Making it worthwhile somehow. Instead of it being like when a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it fall…’
I’m not sure if she in convinced. But watch this space. A link just might follow.

holiday home: week 3(+) highlights

2007-01-04T12:54:00.000Z

Back in London now. Its 4:30pm, pitch black outside and these photos seem more like a lifetime away than a week. Highlights in our last and a bit week included…

Christmas shopping in the city with mum and seeing Melbourne through tourist eyes.

Dinner at the Freemans, where everyone is fed in style.

Italian at Geppetto’s East Melbourne with ex-Londoners Ben and Lisa

A ‘day off’ touring the old favourite haunts around Red Hill, Flinders and Sorrento

Boiling hot day in St Kilda featuring drinks with Laura and hanging out with Narelle and James

(who later checked out this little run around
)

Saturday morning coffee in Bentleigh with Michelle, another great sushi lunch and a drive to the Dandenongs.

And let's not forget... Christmas

A nd all too soon - it was time to go...

holiday home: week 2 highlights

2006-12-22T22:50:00.000Z

included... catching up with old workmates in Springvale for a Vietnamese lunch ~ a final dinner at Michelle's place in Yarraville before she heads off to join us in London (yay!) ~

a few days enjoying the delights of Elwood from Trish, Paris and Hugo's place: the Point Cafe with B's folks, the Turtle Cafe, Jerry's Milk Bar and the Elwood Lounge with James & Narelle ~

~ dinner in the old 'hood with Paul and Elissa and new edition Charlie ~

~ Friday night catch up with old school friend Nicole and B's drinks in the city and Port Melbourne ~ A Saturday afternoon drive along the coast ~

~ followed by dinner with Margaret and Magnus (and the ever excitable Jasmine) ~

~ Sunday morning visit to the Dog Beach with dad ~ and afternoon tea with Deb and Sunny ~

~ meeting nephew Samuel and experiencing the whirlwind of all three little ones (plus everyone else) together in the same place at the same time for a Donovan family dinner (good practice for upcoming Christmas eve) ~

holiday home: week 1 highlights

2006-12-15T23:45:00.000Z

included... being met at the airport ~ a welcome home feast at 4am at the Donovans ~ stinking hot weather ~ remeeting hugo (who was only this big last time we saw him) ~ meeting Julia Rose ~

~ dinner with the gang at Blue Tongue ~ B's lunch with old workmates at Cafe D'orsay ~

~ lunch at Santucci's (where the number 7 sandwich is still $4.40 and the mocha coffee is still the best ever) ~

~ night out in St Kilda with the family ~

~ Melbourne's wedding of the year!~

~ capped off on Sunday afternoon with the great Aussie bbq ~

the way things are going we'll need a holiday to recover from this one.

the november project

2006-11-04T14:27:00.000Z

In about a month we’ll be in Melbourne and although we’re coming back to London it has started me thinking about wanting to capture more about our life over here. So I’ve started a side blog for the month of November called dah dah dah da… the november project.

Its separate from this site because, well this is kind of a collection of all the interesting stuff, whereas the november project will be day-to-day life during which time I’m pretty sure there’s not going to be much of note happening and which I don’t really want to inflict on people who will sit patiently through someone telling them about their latest holiday but don’t really have time for the story about the boiler breaking (featured in the super exciting November 1 entry). But I still wanted to post it because there’s something about blogging, whereby even if you’re not sure that anyone reads it (and most blogs have an average of one regular reader: the writer), makes you more disciplined to write it.

Ok, so enough explanation. It exists, maybe check it out sometime.

Greece Part 4 and final: Crete

2006-10-23T17:50:00.000+01:00

I think I have been dragging out these Greece posts because in a way its like hanging onto the experience, but let's face facts: 1. we were there over a month ago; 2. daylight savings (aka british summer time) ends this weekend; and 3. although I haven't retrieved the big coat from the wardrobe yet, I know its time is nigh. So let's just wrap this up...

Crete was our final stop. Laidback island life must have made an impact on us because we were still choosing where we would stay on the ferry ride over from Santorini. We decided on the historic town of Rethymno and arrived there by bus at about 10pm. Its funny how all the accumulated relaxation and light-heartedness flies out the window when you have been dragging your backpack around from hotel to hotel for an hour and a half, everyone is shutting up shop and your partner suggests in a serious tone that sleeping on the streets may be the only option. Luckily we found a place on the busy main road and although basic (read: the shower was over the toilet) we got a good night’s sleep and were able to find something better in the morning (which goes to show that spontaneity is okay – at the right time).

Crete kept up the high standard we were now well accustomed to when it came to magnificent weather, fantastic food and friendly people. Although Rethymno is popular with tourists you still get a feel of what life is like for those who live there day-to-day.

The beaches were the best we had seen so far and the beach we visited on our last day – once we had backed cautiously away from the elderly citizens’ nudist colony we had innocently wandered into – was the best beach of all. An amazing, unforgettable trip overall and the images (not just of the saggy, saggy skin) will surely stay with us forever.

*

p.s. is it just me or a truly uncanny resemblance?

Greece Part 3: Santorini

2006-10-13T05:40:00.000+01:00

where the photo speak for themselves...

Greece Part 2: Naxos

2006-10-07T16:10:00.000+01:00

Naxos was six days of loafing. We stayed in mikra vigla, in walking distance of three beaches, six tavernas, a small supermarket and not much else – but what else do you really need? (okay some people need a twenty-four techno beach party, but we’re not them). On day one we slept in late, had breakfast on our balcony, swam, sunbaked, ate, read and ate some more. That worked out pretty well, so we repeated much of the same on days two through six. The sunbaking part was something of a necessity in that on our first day on the beach we were so much paler than all the other people we almost felt we should apologise.

One day we managed to raise our energy levels and caught the bus to Naxos Town. The town is actually a small village, but after our isolationist state we felt like country mice venturing out to the big smoke. It was a lovely day trip, but we didn't mind when the time came for us to head back to resume our beach bum ways.

Stay tuned for Part Three: Santorini...

Greece: a post in four parts - Part 1: Athens

2006-09-18T13:05:00.000+01:00

Athens gets a bad rap in the guidebooks, ‘famous for its sprawl, noise, pollution’, ‘smeared with grime’ and ‘layer of nefos (smog) overhead’. Well we experienced none of this (and for the record haven't seen the supposedly notorious London fog yet either) and with such low expectations, thought the city delightful. It must be admitted however that our visit was more of the tour-bus variety in that we were only there for 24 hours, confined ourselves to the 19th century ‘old town’, hit all main sites, then got out quick.

Though the Athens 2004 Olympics games were poorly attended (evidenced by the fact that many of the shops are still trying to flog Olympics-related merchandise, which I found sadly optimistic – if people didn’t buy it in the heat of Olympics fever do you really think you’ve got a chance of getting rid of it two years after the event? That’s why I could never own a shop, I can’t imagine anyone actually wanting to buy about 99.5% of things that are on sale anywhere… but I digress) and the people of Greece will be paying the debt for many years to come, a big benefit is that the city got a big spruce up and now features a clean, modern transport system, pedestrian-only streets and a wealth of outdoor cafes, restaurants and bars (all very much buzzing well into the Sunday night we were there). Athens is a surprisingly leafy (though not necessarily green) city, and this combined with very hot weather, gave an excellent summer holiday-ey feel to the start of our summer holiday.

First stop was the Acropolis (which means the edge of a town or a high city and because you can see it from all around is very handy for getting your bearings). The main temples here (the Parthenon, the Erechtheion, and the Temple of Nike) were erected during about 450-330 B.C. which is well, a very long time ago indeed. I tried to imagine a group of men lazing around philosophising in long white robes (while their wives were at home doing all the work) and the atmosphere was certainly conducive to reflection and inspiration.

Day two saw us take in the temple of Olympian Zeus, the Ancient Agora and a guard with pom-poms on his shoes. Then it was down to the port at Pireaus and onto the ferry for our first island stop…. to be continued.

b's birthday in bruges

2006-08-24T21:39:00.000+01:00

At just over two hours by train from Waterloo, Belgium is the perfect place for a weekend away. The country’s most popular destination is Bruges, a medieval city with cobble-stoned streets lined with chocolate shops and tea rooms. While it looks like a perfectly preserved town from centuries ago, apparently much of the architecture is only as old as the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (although which buildings were old and which were new remained a mystery to us – the short tour we went on involved a guide repeating his spiel in Flemish, French and his best attempt at English over a muffled microphone. The only bit we could make out was the part at the end about gratuities being appreciated.)

There are no people in Bruges, only tourists. Tourists taking canal tours and rides in horse-drawn carriages. It’s like being at Sovereign Hill. I mean that in a good way – you feel like you’re getting away from reality. You can just walk around enjoying the sites in a contented daze full of coffee and waffles.

Ok, of course there are real people living in Bruges – the people working in the shops for a start (who were all very friendly by the way) – but exactly who the larger population were and what they were all about was as much of a mystery as the buildings. And the way some of them decorated their front windows only added to the intrigue. I think they were trying to tell us something, but what?

P.S.
And just so you don't think this whole blog is being written from a secret bunker in Oakleigh, here's some proof that we were actually there:

summer update

2006-07-14T12:10:00.000+01:00

The sun shines over London and has done so pretty much consistently for the last 6 weeks or so – it’s a lovely, proper summer. We haven’t been abroad lately and won’t be going anywhere until late August. Fortunately London is offering enough diversions in terms of parks, galleries, movies, etc. to keep us occupied. Have you noticed yet that there’s nothing much to report in this post? Things are just rolling along nicely. If you’re not interested in random ramblings then I would recommend you stop reading now and do something more productive with your time... Okay, so a few weeks ago I was going to blog on how the whole country was World Cup mad blah, blah, blah… but frankly I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm (although I must say I find this quite inspiring). Brendan went to a few soccer-related corporate events and to the Henley Rowing Regatta (rah! rah!) and had a week or so of bliss flicking between simultaneous live coverage of the World Cup, Wimbledon and the Tour de France (the joys of being in the right time zone). We have joined our local Leisure Centre, which is a swishbang, brand new facility and I’ve borrowed a bike and have started riding to work. We’ve been to a few BBQs which invariably involve at least a half hour argument with English people about how gas barbeques do so count as being a proper barbeque. I have learnt that non-organic salmon is that pink colour because they feed them something that makes their flesh the colour that people imagine it should be (there are colour charts for this). We’ve booked tickets for our visit home in December and Brendan’s had a haircut. Okay, consider yourselves updated!

you say yogurt, i say yog-hurt

2006-06-13T17:46:00.000+01:00

The other day, a girl I met (who was born in the former Soviet Union, had spent from the age of ten in the Netherlands and was now studying at Cambridge) asked me (quite seriously) how I was finding the process of assimilating into this new English culture. I replied that as far as culture change goes we’d selected an easy option – to the extent that I wondered if it really counted as experiencing a different culture at all. But we’ve been here a year and maybe things that once seemed strange now seem normal. As John Travolta says in Pulp Fiction, it’s the little differences, so here’s a list of them before I forget.

Language
When something is bad (as in rubbish) its ‘pants’. Underpants are also pants (while our pants are known as trousers). Someone who is really into a hobby (like train spotting) or knows a lot about something is an ‘anorak’. Calling someone a Muppet doesn’t mean they are cute (and possibly furry) – it’s an insult meaning they’re thick.

The word ‘bespoke’ (made to your specifications) is used a lot and is also really popular as a concept. The word ‘do’ is inserted into sentences that would make perfect sense without it.

Example:
If you are interested in our bespoke trousers please do get in touch. Our passion for tailoring is quite unsurpassed and we are proud to admit we are all anoraks in this regard. Frankly our competitors are pants and anyone who tells you otherwise is a complete muppet.

‘Hiya!’ is a standard greeting. ‘Bless’ is used (often by secretaries) as a response to someone (usually a man or a child) doing something sweet or admirable (example: ‘My husband always makes me a cup of tea in the evening’ – ‘Oooh, bless’. Variation: ‘Oh, bless ‘im’).

Unfortunately no one ever says 'righty-o old chap’ and the police are rarely heard to exclaim ‘allo, allo, what’s goin’ on ‘ere then?’ – which is a shame really.

Food
The most readily available snacks are sandwiches (‘sarnies’), which are pre-packaged and sold everywhere (supermarkets, chemists, coffee shops). There are hundreds of varieties, but the prawn fillings scare me the most.

Fruit and vegetables at the supermarket are often individually wrapped in plastic – two zucchini on a tray all wrapped in plastic is common.

Coffee chains (Starbucks, Costa, Café Nero, Eat, Pret, Benjis, etc.) are everywhere, as are chain restaurants (Giraffe, Nando’s, Gourmet Burger Kitchen, Carluccio’s, Pizza Express, etc). Pizza Hut restaurants still exist.

Regular people (not just old men hanging around Spencer Street Station types) go to ‘cafs’ or ‘greasy spoons’ that look unchanged since 1954 and serve cooked English breakfasts that look the same.

There’s a wide selection of supermarkets to suit every social demographic. From the upmarket Waitrose, to the middle of the road Sainsburys (promoted by Jamie Oliver) to the downmarket Iceland (one of my favourite tv commercials sees C-list celebrity mum [the former girl group member who is the ex-wife of the guy who went out with Delta Goodrum if you must know) flick through a recipe book exasperated at the idea of cooking a roast – who’s got the time for this she thinks when Iceland sells a roast you can put in the oven straight from frozen – and for only £7!)

Society at large
At work you can’t just make yourself a cup of tea… you firstly have to check if your fellow team members would also like a cup of tea, coffee, hot chocolate, soup or cold beverage. This is something I discovered after being ‘the PA who never once offered her boss a drink’ (not that he ever mentioned it – which I put down to British reserve).

Long queues are common. English people love to stand in orderly queues, but what they love even more is when someone tries to push in so that they can tell them off and explain the queue to them and indignantly let them know that they were there first.

It seems that England is more liberal than Australia, yet also more politically correct. Politically correct in that it’s the country that labelled Enid Blyton racist and sexist, proposed banning the nursery rhyme ‘baa baa black sheep’, and suspended the London mayor for a month for comments comparing a Jewish journalist to a concentration camp guard (which is definitely not a good thing to say but seems an over reaction). On the other hand same-sex marriage is allowed, there’s way more swearing and nudity in the media (page 3 girl, anyone?), more leniency towards crime and you don’t have to wear a bike helmet or vote. But then again you can be stopped by police on the street for wearing a hooded sweatshirt, so it’s hard to generalise in this regard.

switzerland

2006-06-03T08:34:00.000+01:00

When I was a kid my dad went on a business trip to Switzerland and brought back an amazing block of chocolate. It was displayed like a storybook – you would open the top flap of the box, which was around A4-size, and reveal a milk chocolate hazelnut scene of the Swiss Alps. Evidently this chocolate was too good for children and so was hidden in my mum’s bedside drawer (ingenious!). It was the most delicious chocolate I had ever tasted. I could not stop myself eating it. I would sneak in for a small piece (maybe a bit of the mountain tops) and then ten minutes later another piece… then another… and another, until after a few days all that was left was perhaps a lone goat grazing in the corner meadow (my logic: I haven’t eaten the whole thing so maybe they won’t notice). I’m pleased to report that our recent Swiss experience was just as delectable (without the guilt and slightly queasy aftermath).

We spent 5 days travelling across Switzerland by train and were amazed by the natural beauty of the country: a diverse mix of snow-covered mountains, lakes, rivers, steep cliffs, waterfalls, meadows and pastures, farmland, rugged landscapes and palm-tree lined shores. The cows really do wear big bells around their necks, the air is fresh and you can understand how Heidi was restored to full health through nature’s curative properties.

Day 1: Golden Pass train around Lake Geneva to Montreux to Lauterbrunnen (just outside Interlaken). This is known as Bernese Oberland country and is the setting for many Bollywood films – the spectacular landscapes are seen as an appropriate backdrop for the dramatic, highly romantic themes in the films. As such, the area is a large Indian tourist market (the first we’ve noticed in Europe so far). Our hotel room had waterfall views.

Day 2: up Jungfraujoch (the highest station in Europe and guaranteed snow year round) then Golden Express train from Interlaken to Luzern. Luzern is also situated on a lake and is home to Europe’s oldest wooden bridge and a lovely historic town centre.

Day 3: Luzern to Chur to catch the Glacier Express train to St Moritz. This journey takes you across bridges, through tunnels blasted out of the mountains, along cliffs and through stark landscapes. St Moritz is huge during the ski season and in summer, but at this time of year it’s a ghost town (we didn’t mind). We saw a deer while walking in the woods (I originally thought it was a large hare – who knew deer had fluffy cotton tails?)

Day 4: Bernina Express from St Moritz across the Bernina Pass, into Italy at Tirano, bus around Lake Como, back into Switzerland at Lugano. Again, amazing views and between St Moritz and Tirano you descend some 7,000 feet around like a corkscrew. A flash rainstorm meant that we couldn’t really see Como, but enough to remember how much we loved Italy and to appreciate the more laidback sites (as the guidebook says, ‘While the Swiss love meticulously manicured gardens and painstakingly renovated houses, the Italians take things a bit easier’).

Day 5: Lugano and home from Milan Malpensa airport. Lugano is a great summer, sunshine holiday town with Italian-speaking, very well dressed people, and a great place to just relax (in that strange last day of the holiday, can feel the hours ticking down to when you have to get to the airport, please let me stay… just a bit longer, I’m not ready to go back yet, please, PLEASE!!! relaxed kind of way).

meanwhile in london, its flowery too

2006-05-21T07:59:00.000+01:00

tiptoe through the...

2006-05-06T10:11:00.000+01:00

what would a springtime trip to amsterdam be without admiring the...

and more...

and seeing a...
and checking out all the...

and going ahead and trying on a pair if you’re really keen?

then you can get on your...
or take a ride in a...
and just watch the world go by...

yes, prime minister

2006-04-28T19:06:00.000+01:00

The organisation I work for* recently received an invitation for a number of people to attend a private tour of 10 Downing Street and I was one of the lucky ones pulled out of the hat to participate.

No. 10 is the Prime Minister’s home and office (although the Blairs really live next door at No.11 – we saw young Leo’s swing set in the backyard) and contains all the pomp and history you would expect of such a place. We were shown around by the Prime Minister’s private secretary (who I assume would be the equivalent of the Sebastian character on Little Britain [although I didn’t ask – even though there was question time – he was nothing like him by the way]) who had some good stories... the only one of which I can seem to remember right now is that when the weather is warm Tony likes to get out of the cabinet room and read his very important papers outside in a sun chair ... just like a normal person... so there you go.

*the organisation is involved in lobbying the government regarding voluntary/community sector reform and I guess as such has connections in reasonably high places which is why we scored an invited… in case you were interested.

is it nice?

2006-04-22T09:35:00.000+01:00

Nice hit its peak around the 1920s as a summer playground for the likes of Coco Chanel, F Scott Fitzgerald and Isadora Duncan (who dramatically died when her scarf caught in the wheel of her convertible as she appoached the Hotel Negresco). It was pretty clear when we arrived that we had missed the boat by about 80 years. Authentic small French shops and restaurants do exist, but you have work hard to seek them out amongst the more abundant tourist traps. Away from the main towns the charms of the

Côte d’Azur

are easier to appreciate: dramatic cliff sides, beautiful sea and a warm, sunny climate.

... and maybe a long lost relative?

spring.... well maybe one day

2006-04-02T10:36:00.000+01:00

No, I haven’t just been lazy and re-posted the winter photo under a different heading. What you are looking at is the second month of what’s supposed to be spring. At the start of winter we were doing okay. 7 degrees isn’t really that much colder than 13 degrees, and you can even get used to 2 and 3 degree weather after awhile. So yes, during October, November, December, even January, we thought we were doing fine. We even became so cocky as to appreciate the experience of a ‘real winter’ – going so far as to suggest that reports about the horridness of London winters were perhaps a tad exaggerated. But you see, that was before we realised that the winter was NEVER GOING TO END. It’s actually gotten worse – February and March have not only been cold, but rainy and windy as well. If you look really, really closely at the tree you may be able to make out tiny, tiny buds starting to appear. We continue to live in hope.

newbies

2006-03-26T16:14:00.000+01:00

when we left home we had zero nieces and nephews. now, within a year, we have three - two of whom we are still looking forward to meet. don't worry about australian population figures declining - the donovans have swung into action.

very moorish

2006-03-17T22:57:00.000Z

Hands up who knew that the Moors were the medieval North African Arab Muslim inhabitants of al-Andalus (the Iberian Peninsula including the present day Spain and Portugal) who dominated the region for some 800 years from 711AD. Yeah, me neither.

We went to Spain primarily to escape the seemingly never-ending London winter and grey sky. Witness exhibit A: London sky v. Seville sky:

In the moments we could tear ourselves away from the sunlight and 22 degree warmth (warm enough to take off your jumper – woo hoo!) we learnt a bit about the history of Seville, Cordoba and Granada, as reflected in their main monuments.

In Cordoba they have the twelve hundred year old Mezquita, the grandest and most beautiful mosque built by the Moors. When the Christians ‘reconquested’ the area they left it untouched for some three centuries. Then in 1523 they took another look at it and thought… 'hmmm... something seems to be missing...' Yes, what it really needed was to have its centre demolished and a Roman Catholic cathedral built slap bang in the middle.

Even the ruler who gave this idea the go-ahead (Emperor Carlos V, aka Carlos the Clueless) had second thoughts when he saw the finished product, declaring: ‘You have built what you might have built anywhere, but you have destroyed something that was unique in the world’.

You think? And what exactly were you expecting? Also, was space at such a premium? This is not Tokyo we are talking about. Surely an alternative site could have been found, say, I don’t know… anywhere other than in the middle of a pre-existing building? But I guess that wasn’t the point.

Seville is home to the world’s largest cathedral. Although it is commonly thought that St Peter’s Basilica in Rome and St Paul’s in London are bigger, according to the Guinness Book of World Records, on a square foot basis, Seville’s Cathedral wins the title. And you would hope so too, as the main aim when it was being envisaged was ‘a building on so magnificent a scale that prosperity will believe we were mad’. You wouldn’t naturally think that entering into a project with the express aim of having the world question your mental health was a good idea, but there you go, it can actually pay off.

For the builders of Christian churches the prevailing design principle seems to be the more ornamentation, decoration and decadence the better. On the other hand Islamic design emphasizes simplicity, harmony, order and symmetry of form, evident in the Moorish palaces of the Alcazar in Seville and Royal Palace in the Alhambra in Granada. Carlos V also ordered the demolition of a wing of rooms in this latter building in order to construct yet another grandiose Renaissance palace. For some reason he lost interest in the project. The palace was never finished and he left Granada altogether.

Who knows why (maybe the sun went to his head) but I know where I'd prefer to be right now.

ahh... the memories

2006-02-19T16:28:00.000Z

and now the moment we have all been waiting for... the italy photos are online - only a mere nine months after we were actually there.

you can see them at:
http://photos.yahoo.com/sarahportanier

an angel at my table

2006-02-13T12:56:00.000Z

a squirrel at my window.
delightful woodland creature or disgusting suburban rodent? you decide.

pop will eat itself

2006-01-30T13:34:00.000Z

The latest series of Celebrity Big Brother has just finished over here. We didn’t watch it, not least of all because of the 12 or so ‘celebrities’ featured, there was only one we had even heard of before. The British love their celebrities: everyone from the A-list right through to the Z-list (Big Brother draws its cast largely from the bottom end of the alphabet). Tellingly, the only ‘celebrity’ we did know wasn’t even a local one, being American ex-basketballer/ general weirdo Dennis Rodman.

Saturday morning TV repeated the grand finale episode and everyone could have saved themselves the effort of sitting through three weeks of the show by tuning into this collected highlights package.

The twist for the series was that amongst the celebrities was a ‘nobody from Essex’ called Chantelle. Her task was to convince the ‘real celebrities’ that she was actually a celebrity too, specifically a member of the fictitious five-strong girl band Kandyfloss (‘With a K!’). They showed a clip of her singing their supposed hit single and despite the fact that she had no singing ability whatsoever, the other housemates were all easily convinced and she was allowed to stay and compete for the Celebrity Big Brother title.

In real life Chantelle worked as an office temp/ Paris Hilton impersonator, a look she maintained in the house, with her super short outfits and constant flicking of waist-length blonde hair extensions. So here she is pretending to be someone famous, largely by imitating someone famous, who is famous primarily for nothing more than being famous. And she did a pretty good job of it too; because she actually went on to win the show with over 50 percent of the vote.

I think my favourite bit was when an older celebrity, realising her obvious popularity on the outside as one of the few remaining competitors, said to her in a serious and encouraging mentor-like tone, ‘You know, if you want to make the most of this, you’ve got it in you to become a celebrity’. Yes that’s right, he wasn’t encouraging her to pursue a singing career or an acting career or any career at all for that matter, but as someone who knows, he felt that she had already proven that she was good at being a celebrity - a job that clearly doesn’t require any special skills at all.

With a logic that makes my brain hurt, as the only person on the show without the actual celebrity credential she really did deserve to emerge victorious as everyone’s favourite celebrity.

london photo #2

2006-01-27T14:07:00.000Z

This week’s photo takes us ‘sarf of the riva’ to Tooting High Street. If only I could put in a video rather than a photo to give you the full impact of the robotic model that turns her head as she raises and lowers her hands in prayer… but you get the idea. A bit frightening really.

london photo #1

2006-01-20T11:02:00.000Z

Time Out London magazine has started a competition asking people to send in unusual images of London. I’ve set myself the challenge of taking one photo a week for the next few months and here’s the first: a pavement stone on our street.

This, somewhat obscurely, tells people to clean up after their dogs. They’ve chosen a cute symbol, but unfortunately it doesn’t really do the job.

You know how you always hear that there is a lot of dog poo on the streets of Paris? This rumour was obviously started by the English to deflect the attention from their own poo-lined streets. I remember how yucky it was to see the occasional deposit on a Melbourne nature strip. Well there ain’t no nature strips here baby – it’s right on the pavement. When you see images of Londoners walking purposefully with their heads tucked down into their jackets, they’re not shielding themselves from the cold and the wind. No, they are intently staring down as they make their way through the minefield, vigilantly watching and dodging and hoping, hoping that each footfall comes out clean.

Lisbon (…its in Portugal)

2006-01-13T12:14:00.000Z

Lisbon is a cool, laidback place that doesn’t draw attention to itself. So much so that people tend to have a vague notion of it being a place… somewhere… in the world – not that they feel confident saying exactly where. Although it’s a capital city, as Europe’s smallest, with cobblestone streets and old school stores, it very much has a ‘getting away from it all’ vibe.

One evening whilst out strolling we were approached by some lost Australian tourists who asked if we knew the way to the Barrio Alto area - the trendy part of town with the best nightlife, bars and restaurants. (Of course we did, we’d been in Lisbon for three days - we were practically locals.) The fact was we were standing in the middle of it. It doesn’t announce itself: the streets are dark and places keep their doors closed, with perhaps a small window illuminated at the top to indicate they are open for business. The overall impression is of an exclusive club open to those who are willing to explore beyond the obvious places.

The trip coincided with my thirtieth birthday and we chose Lisbon mainly for its advertised average of eight hours a day of sunlight in January (compared with London’s measly two hours). It didn’t disappoint, with beautiful warm sunshine everyday and the added benefits of great coffee everywhere for just 50¢, fantastic scenery, sights and food including reportedly the world’s best custard tarts (we had at least ten and can vouch for the claim). A surprising bonus was seeing people of all ages living in the city, including not a small number of post-retirement aged ladies and gentlemen. I say this was surprising because it really drew my attention to the fact that everyone is London is aged 20 to 35*, placing me on the older side of the curve. So what a lovely present: to feel like a young girl again, if only for a few days.

*statistic may not be actual

snow in the back garden

2006-01-06T15:56:00.000Z

winter

2006-01-06T14:41:00.000Z

same tree, different season

that time of year

2005-12-21T15:26:00.000Z

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, Frosty the Snowman… it’s all starting to make sense!

Christmas imagery is undeniably winter imagery and the two do seem to be a natural good fit.

Firstly, winter is dark and cold, so colourful Christmas decorations and lights are an excellent way to liven it up. Secondly, winter is generally the more boring, dull part of the year: having Christmas in the middle gives you something to look forward to, with the associated parties, get-togethers and presents, etc. On a related theme, Christmas is invariably a time when you eat more, so it’s handy to know that you can indulge and hide any potential weight gain underneath a pile of thick jumpers, scarves and coats (rather than eating what you want, because hey its Christmas, but having in the back of your mind that you may be seen in a bathing suit in a few weeks time, so maybe another handful of chocolate covered nuts aren’t the best idea – okay this is probably just a girl thing, or maybe its just me) . Christmas also means at least two free days off work (including weekends, Brendan gets 5 full days and 2 half days, I get 10 without having to take any annual leave) – which makes a nice contrast to the Melbournian June to November no-public holiday abyss.

But summer or winter, its still remains that for something that is supposedly wonderful and fun, Christmas is actually stressful and hard work. Although shopping at Chadstone has given me panic attacks in the past, it now seems preferable to trying to find things to buy online (or not… as the reality probably will be – hmmmm sorry about that).

As we’ve always been lucky enough to have Christmas meals fully catered for by family at home and seeing this as the ‘normal’ thing to do, I wrongly assumed that we would be part of only a very small minority of people having to resort to a restaurant meal for Christmas lunch – maybe so, but everything decent looks to have been booked up months in advance (to give you an idea of what’s on offer, TNT magazine suggested two options in our area: 1 offered a two-course pub meal for £7.95, the other a five-course pub meal for £55 – neither seemed exactly right somehow).

Anyway, we got into a discussion about the fact that if Christmas is ultimately about spending time with family and we’re not doing that, does it really matter what we do anyway? (Kind of like if a tree falls down in the woods and no one is around to hear it - does it make a sound?) We’ve decided that yes it does, but probably not so much. So the plan is Carols by Candlelight at Royal Albert Hall and dinner out on Christmas Eve and a gourmet breakfast, then church, followed by present opening on Christmas Day, with possibly a walk to Hyde Park and definitely a hearty home cooked meal for dinner. Ok, it’s not the same… and at the risk of sounding too much like a sappy Christmas-special sitcom episode, although we will be here, our thoughts will be at home.

Damn, maybe if we’d planned it better we could have booked a trip to some non-Christmas celebrating country… maybe somewhere warm.

less than zero

2005-12-06T17:38:00.000Z

Good lord it was cold in Berlin. We got snowed on! - A first, including times when we’ve actually ‘gone to the snow’. Lovely snowflake shaped snow like this:
and this .

There’s nothing like sub-zero temperatures to get you excited about London’s current 7-9 degree weather (or as a very small child said in a café the other day, ‘Its quite mild today, daddy’. I don’t know if it’s the accents or what, but children over here seem incredibly mature).
From what we saw Berliners don’t use umbrellas when it snows (I guess because its not technically wet). As proponents of the ‘when in rome…’ school of travel we decided not to use one either, but then when it was really, really snowing, we were happy to see at least one lady under an umbrella – it looked like she had just had her hair done – a very bouffant Iron Curtain-era affair.

In Berlin we stayed in the old east – which somewhat ironically is now the desired place to live. When the wall came down a lot of people just up and abandoned their apartments (what did they care – they were owned by the state and anyway they looked like this:

so a lot of artists and students took advantage of the situation and moved in rent free. They were eventually given squatters rights and now the area is home to loads of cutting edge cafes, bars, clubs, galleries and shops.

Ways to tell you are in the old east include the fact that trams run here (the west got rid of them shortly after the end of the war, declaring them ‘so 1942’) and through the pedestrian traffic signals – known as the Ampelmann.

The green ‘walk’ Ampelmann was apparently used to cheer the comrades along as they marched off to their jobs of a morning – you have to admit he does look quite lively. With reunification the people in change of the traffic lights wanted to replace them all with the more staid west german model. This was greeted by protests and petitions from the people, who essentially said ‘we didn’t have much in stinking east berlin, but hey, at least we had the Ampelmann!' Don't you think it's great that people can find positive memories even of an oppressive communist regime?

arrivals and departures

2005-11-15T13:30:00.000Z

If you commit a terrible crime and are on the run from the law, or if you’re looking for a fresh new start in a place where (unlike Cheers bar) nobody knows your name, you would think that a big city would offer the anonymity you desire. But if you’re a Melbournian in London it is likely your cover will be blown in a matter of days. At least 4 times since we have been here Brendan has spotted someone in the street and said, ‘That guy/girl used to work at [insert name of financial institution here]. Of course, that does not include the people we knew from back home before we arrived.

This phenomenon reached its peak during the last weekend of October. Firstly we met with Vinka, who used to live around the corner in Hughesdale, but more recently was on holiday from tour guiding in Vietnam and visiting her brother Yuri (of Carnegie). On Saturday night we visited St Albans to bid a sad farewell to Trish, Paris and Hugo (from Kensington, moving to Elwood) whose England adventure has come to an end after three years.

On Sunday we met up with Margaret (old Bentleigh school chum) who was over in London on a work conference.
With so many familiar faces it makes it seem perfectly natural to be having coffee or dinner with someone you’re used to seeing on the other side of the world. My first temp job was so full of antipodeans (collective noun for Australians, New Zealanders and South Africans) and the cubicles were so similar to my last office (universal grey), it sometimes made me wonder just how far from home I’d travelled.

*
In other news I started a new job on 1 November. Probably for the first time all year, I have been really busy at work, hence the long gap between entries. Also, they have a strict policy on accessing hotmail on work computers, meaning I haven’t been able to check my messages in a while (unlike at my last job where I had the time to checked them, oh, at least five times a day). I was also hoping to download the digital camera software here, but unfortunately its bared. I’m really enjoying my new job, but I consider it a great shame that you can’t bring up your extracurricular computer requirements when they invariably ask at job interviews, ‘So, do you have any questions for us?’

autumn

2005-10-27T11:50:00.000+01:00

rounding the corner to walk to the station

Rowdy for Gaudi

2005-10-25T09:37:00.000+01:00

What do you know about Barcelona? I didn’t know much except that I wanted to go there after watching the diving at the ’92 Olympics set against the amazing background of the city and Mediterranean Sea.*

Before we arrived the dominant message was: Barcelona: Land of the Pickpocket. On their visit Trish and Paris got hit with the famous ‘Excuse you me, I’ve just spilt some tomato sauce on your jacket – now let me try to steal your bag while I pretend to help you clean it off’ scam and our travelling companions Ben and Lisa also had their ‘it happened to a friend of mine’ story. While in most cities you can usually expect your hotel to provide you with a map and maybe some restaurant recommendations, ours had an A4 laminated sheet of all the tricks people will try to pull on you to separate you from your wallet. We were alert (yet not alarmed) and escaped unmolested. In fact, we didn’t even glimpse anything looking remotely dodgy. In a way this was somewhat (very slightly) disappointing – just because we were expecting it as part of the Barcelona experience (seen this – tick, done that – tick, got pick pocketed – no, didn’t get around to it).

A major highlight of the city is the architecture of Gaudi who embraced natural forms, the sea and colour in his design. The creations are so interesting and uplifting, but I guess practically has meant that buildings like these are the exception rather than the norm. The church La Sagrada Familia has been a work in progress since 1884 and they are trying to get it finished by 2026 to celebrate the centenary of his death. On the other hand, the stunning and spectacular Palau De La Musica Catalana designed by architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner was built in under 2 years which proves that beautiful and interesting spaces can be built in a sane amount of time... we just choose not to.

*this was also the Olympics that had the archery guy lighting the Olympic flame by shooting an arrow into the cauldron – if any sporting performance ever deserved a gold medal surely it was this.

oui monsieur, j'adore gai paris

2005-10-06T15:26:00.000+01:00

Last Friday we took the Eurostar for 4 fabulous days in Paris.

If you’re planning to catch the Eurostar, here’s a handy hint you won’t get in any of your fancy guidebooks: do not buy coffee before checking in - even if its 5am and you really, really need one. Because you will not be allowed to take it through the security check. And as such, you will be most put out when you have to throw it away after only a few small sips. And you may find yourself having a conversation where one person says, ‘I told you we should have bought one after we went through’ and the another person says, ‘don’t blame me, you wanted coffee too’ and the first person says ‘this is ridiculous – I’ve taken drinks through airports – this is just a train for goodness sakes’, and grumbles ‘well there goes 10bucks worth of coffee down the drain – great!’ And in the general confusion and heated discussion, someone (hint: the let’s get the coffee now decider) may leave their mobile phone behind at the x-ray desk. And not realise this until well into the train journey. And may think all is hopeless and nothing can be done. However. After some investigation from the wise ‘of course you can get coffee on the other side’ person, the news that the phone is safe and sound in lost and found may cause all great joy and relief and merriment and laughter. Perhaps more delight than you would usually experience on a train at 5am had the phone not gone missing in the first place. So, maybe you could get the coffee after all – it’s really up to you.

Anyhow, Paris was just amazing. I ‘get’ Paris in a way that I can’t seem to ‘get’ London - there’s an overall visual aesthetic and in a word, it’s beautiful. You can see how the city fits together and it has been planned out so well. It hasn’t sold its soul to chain stores. There are interesting shops and cafes around every corner. The people are friendly, even when you can’t speak a word of French and stupidly keep saying ‘si’ instead of ‘oui’. It seems to be a culture that strives for excellence – on the Saturday morning there was a market near our hotel and everything on sale was perfect – every loaf of bread, every vegetable and piece of fruit, every petal on every flower – I haven’t seen anything like it in my life – it was just wonderful.

One thing we didn’t get to do was take a moonlight stroll along the banks of the Seine (a la ‘An American in Paris' and ‘Everyone Says I Love You’), because it was soooo cold and rainy (much colder than any weather we've had in London so far), but I guess we have that to look forward to on our next visit.

tales from the tube

2005-09-27T17:26:00.000+01:00

Around the time of the London bombings my dad sent me an SMS that read: All OK here + Try to avoid tube + take Care dad. Obviously this was a thoughtful message but I may as well have written back: glad yr well + have a nice drive to work + try to avoid all roads. Because the reality of the situation is that unless you are planning on not leaving the house much, the tube will be your primary means of transportation in London. With that being the case, here are some observations garnered from many journeys.

1. Escalator etiquette: If you wish to stand and merely enjoy the escalator ride, stand to the right – that way people in a rush are free to walk up on the left. So, if you wish to walk up, walk up on the left – unless of course the right is free, in which case you should walk up on the right, leaving the left free for people who may wish to run up on the left.

2. Carriage as Tardis: The train car arrives. To say it is packed would be an understatement – canned sardines enjoy roomier surrounds. You survey the situation. You think, I’m kinda small, maybe I could somehow manage to squeeze myself in. You take the challenge. You take a deep breathe. Somehow, someway you cram yourself in. You are standing closer to strangers than you would ever wish to stand. The train pulls into the next stop. A platform of people look in expectantly. They look envious, for you are one of the lucky ones – one of the ‘already on the train people’. Sorry folks, you think, no way you are getting on this carriage. Two people exit the carriage. Fully fifteen more people get on.

3. Managing expectations. In Melbourne trains depart about every twenty minutes and the feeling of just missing one is quite a disappointment – you know that you have a bit of a wait ahead. You can imagine what a joy it is to come to place where wait times are regularly only 1 to 3 minutes. How great is that! you say. How marvellous! What a city! But soon, the joy wears off – it becomes a mere expectation. The other day I was on the platform for 5, maybe 6 minutes. I was getting tense – I couldn’t understand what was going on – when would the train arrive? I couldn’t take the suspense anymore. I went to the stationmaster – Is something wrong? I asked. Is the whole line down or something? Every 10 minutes for that line, he said. What?! Ten minutes! Good grief – what a disgrace!

4. Occasionally you will see tourists taking photos of themselves or each other on the tube. They seem so excited to be in London, they just have to capture this unique London moment. Look-ey here ma, I’m on the London tube train! they seem to be saying with their happy snap smiles. You will laugh derisively and shake your head into your copy of Metro. Dumb tourists, you will think.

In The News: Kate Moss In Cocaine Snorting Shock!

I’m sorry, but did anyone actually think that Kate Moss wasn’t on drugs? This was front-page news here all last week – which lucrative contract will Kate lose today? In my opinion – and everyone has one on this topic – Kate’s job is to look gorgeous – a job she does spectacularly well. I would boycott the companies that have dumped her just on principal. Unfortunately I can either not afford their stuff anyway (Chanel, Burberry) or they sell some of the few things that I actually can afford (Rimmel, H&M), therefore I can’t afford not to buy from them.

And in other news: “Twiggy: Fat Folk Have No Excuse” - such helpful words from the swinging sixties super-skinny freak of nature.

a very big chair

2005-09-19T17:24:00.000+01:00

...and table. this is a public art piece in hampstead heath and it really is very, very big. it supposedly symbolises the loneliness of the writer (and as such is called 'the writer'). before we saw this i read a piece in the local paper along the lines of: 'locals were shocked and called the police when they noticed 3 young teenage couples having sex on a public statue. the offending couples departed before police arrived'. you really have to commend their dexterity and their climbing skills.

you've gotta see the baby

2005-09-19T16:32:00.000+01:00

but of course we were delighted to see the baby - the baby being hugo xavier brunton - our very first nephew! these photos were taken on 7 august when he was just 11 days old.

bank holidays: not just for banks

2005-09-09T17:36:00.000+01:00

we recently had a monday 'bank holiday'. no one seemed to have any idea what it was in aid of (labour day?, queen's birthday? anyone, anyone?) but who are we to argue with a long weekend?

friday night we went to the prince charles cinema near leicester square* and saw 'the life aquatic with steve zissou' which was actually very good. i say 'actually' because the trailers for this film did it no justice - we thought we'd give it a go even though it didn't look that great but it turned out to be fantastic - the story, the sea, the little creatures in cgi, the david bowie covers in portugese and a particular shade of blue used throughout - all quite surreal and different.

On Saturday we explored the local area and discovered that we can walk to Primrose Hill, Regent’s Park and the London Zoo. Primrose Hill is a park and also where apparently every London celebrity and their dog live. Our eyes were peeled but Jamie Oliver, Gwen Stefani, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow and little Apple were obviously all away for the weekend.

On Sunday the Notting Hill festival was on. This is the largest carnival in Europe (so they say) and takes over the streets of Notting Hill with Jamaican music, food, horns, whistles and parades. The place was just packed (1 million people attended over the two days) and it was a really hot day. After a few hours looking around and enjoying barbequed corn on the cob we realised we weren’t drunk enough to put up with much more, so headed to our regular late Sunday afternoon coffee/ paper session at Café Nero (a chain slightly less tragic than Starbucks – we are still to find a café we can call home).

Monday was another great day weather-wise so we decided to head to the seaside. We caught the train to Brighton. Because Brighton really came to the fore in the Victorian era, my image of the place was genteel ladies in petticoats, gentleman strolling along the pier in top hats and children playing quietly with buckets and spades. Okay – maybe not that delusional but we thought it would be nice. The reality is a little more, how shall I say, like this.

They have put a giant casino on the boardwalk so, as well as obstructing the sea views, you have these people, at the beach, inside, in the dark, playing the pokies. After some undercooked hot chips we ventured into the town. This was a whole other story – very trendy with really cool little boutiques, speciality stores, organic food cafes – a total contrast. It looked like we weren’t the only ones who noticed the difference. From what we could tell, the boardwalk people do not go into the town, and the town people do not go near the boardwalk. After sitting on the pebbles in the sun (no sand at all on the beach), and not even contemplating swimming (about 4 or 5 brave souls were actually in the water), then taking a long walk along the foreshore and feeling sorry for the bathing boxes perched on concrete, we caught the train back home – a very different experience to an Australian day at the beach indeed.

* bargain london tip: friday is 1 pound day** - movies, popcorn, drinks, all 1 pound.
**just noticed my keyboard at my new job does not have the pound symbol - a sign

Miss Haversham I presume

2005-08-25T15:57:00.000+01:00

On Saturday we moved into our new place. As a cost saving measure, and because it wasn’t that far a journey, and because we don’t have that much stuff, we decided it would be a good idea to just carry our things over. I would not recommend this. While a bag may seem reasonably okay to pick up, when you’re carrying a few, along with a backpack and wheelie case, you get tired pretty quickly. It also didn’t help that Brendan insisted we go the long way round for fear that our ex-‘housemates’ were following us. (I think they were just going out for coffee). Another thing is the embarrassment factor. It’s a ‘good’ area: the houses are gorgeous (all white this time rather than all brown) and all the cars quite flash. Walking down the street: BMW, Mercedes, BMW, BMW, Audi, posh couple, SAAB, new four wheel drive, posh couple with stroller, posh couple with posh dog, BMW …and here we come down the street like refugees.

But now that we are in, it’s great. The place itself is big, very old, but very functional. It’s a flat in a Victorian conversion. The first time Brendan met our landlady (who I presume once had the whole house as her family home) he described her to me as Miss Haversham. This has more to do with her age, the grandness of the house and her love of fake plastic flowers and stuffed toy animals… rather than her being jilted at the altar and never getting over it – she was married for forty years and currently has a ‘lover’ (her word).

We are trading space for mod cons. The place doesn’t have a TV*. When we asked whether there was an aerial point we could plug into, she suggested a set-top aerial, commenting, ‘Some people put aerials on their houses, don’t they, but that’s quite a modern thing’. Okay. The place is quiet – in her words: ‘The only sound you will hear are the bullfrogs in mating season’. But really she seems very nice and since we have moved in we haven’t seen her once and I don’t think you can ask for better than that.

*Currently 6 days without TV and counting – how long will it be before we crack?

between the bridges

2005-08-19T10:44:00.000+01:00

i work in between tower bridge (see below) and london bridge (see right) on the south side of the thames. both these photos were taken from inside the office - not a bad view huh?

nor-way do we like you

2005-08-12T11:22:00.000+01:00

Things have irrevocably broken down with our ‘housemates’, especially the 37-year-old Norwegian guy. When things blew up (the first time) I said to Brendan, ‘From now on I’m calling him C.F.’ ‘Hmm, that’s a bit strong coming from you’, Brendan replied, a bit surprised. ‘Why? I think Control Freak is entirely appropriate,’ I said. ‘Oh, I thought you meant the other C.F.’ But you know what – they are both entirely appropriate!

You never know with strangers. People may seem normal but then choose to send you emailed lists of demands ending with… and if this is not agreed to you’ll have to move out. You would think that he owned the place himself. You would think that we aren’t good to live with (but let me tell you – we are!) I don’t know how much I can go into here but if anyone wants the sordid details (including the list of Red Flags That Should Not Have Been Ignored), please let me know.

The good news is we have found another place. Its near where we are but actually in a better part of town (a very good part of town if I may say). The place itself is as old as the hills but its ours... ours I tell ya - ALL ours!!! no more sharing - wooo hooo!

should we talk about the weather?

2005-08-02T18:20:00.000+01:00

the weather is a hot topic of conversation around here. we've had some beautiful summer days where everyone seems to congregate in the parks. people sunbake in their bathing suits (although they're nowhere near water which is pretty wierd to see). weather forecasters refer to the temperature reaching 'scorching highs of 28 degrees' and on the tube on days above 25 degrees there are announcements advising people to keep well hydrated. today's newspapers have reported that london's weather on average has increased by 2 degrees over the past 20 years - ahh the benefits of global warming.

the (half) pad

2005-07-30T20:07:00.000+01:00

see that top window - that's our place. when i say 'our place' - its half our place - we share with another couple (yet still pay more than we would for our own 2bdr top notch place in say, south yarra - you may have heard london is expensive).

because every house in our very long street is virtually identical, about half the time i miss it and walk straight by. the other times i have to make a conscious effort to look out for it... approaching it slowly, wondering... is that it? yes, that's it...no, no... its that one. ok - yes, yes! that's it!

we have a good view from our front window. check out our dare devil neighbours.

so this is london

2005-07-30T19:39:00.000+01:00

after st albans we moved to london nw3 4dj. i'm not exactly sure what our suburb is - its all postcodes around here. we are in north west london and near gospel oak (nearest railway), belsize park (nearest tube) and hampstead (nearest high street).

one of the best things about where we live is that its just below hampstead heath. this is a huge park brendan describes thus: in parts enchanted forest, in parts rolling hills, in parts grassy knolls and winding pathways, with long grasses, natural ponds and magnificent vistas and views.

the great thing is you can really get lost and feel like you are out in the country, but you are only 4 miles from the heart of the city - sweet!

find out more here: http://www.compulink.co.uk/~archaeology/hampstead-heath/index.htm

first stop: st albans (no, not that one)

2005-07-28T19:19:00.000+01:00

i can not express how grateful we were to be able to stay at paris and trish's* place rather than some anonymous london hostel for our first few weeks in england. st albans is a lovely village north of the city (about 20 minutes on the express train). it is home to quaint houses, roman ruins, a cathedral, ye olde fighting cocks** and the aforementioned too many ducks.

fun fact: a train ticket into london from st albans costs £17 - that's nearly $40 - per day- each!

*brendan's sister and her husband
**a traditional english pub

before we start...

2005-07-27T19:27:00.000+01:00

So you make this decision to come to London and you start getting ready for the big move and then you realise you are changing your whole life and that makes you pause momentarily and think, hmmm... why exactly do I want to go to London again? What do I know about England anyway?

I came up with this random list of pop culture references that make me feel good about our decision:

Enid Blyton, Oscar Wilde, Alice in Wonderland, afternoon tea, Nick Hornby, Little Britain, Badly Drawn Boy, Hugh Grant, The Famous Five, The Goodies, Britpop, the Sadler Wells ballet school, Absolutely Fabulous, What Not to Wear, Cold Comfort Farm, I Capture the Castle, mittens, Press Gang, Adrian Mole, Kate Moss, This Life, roses, guards at Buckingham Palace, posh people at boarding school, Roald Dahl (and Sophie), the Beatles and the Stones, the Blitz, Winnie the Pooh (old style of course)

but I fear my expectations may be slightly unrealistic!

this is us

2005-07-27T19:18:00.000+01:00

2005-07-22T13:48:00.000+01:00

really august 2007 - update of profile photo