We are still inbetween things today. It looks like I'm hosting the New Year's Eve party now. I don't mind really. It should be interesting at least.
I also get to meet Rachel's new boyfriend. He's an interesting young man who was in the RAF and now works as an aircraft engineer. He says he likes to work hard and play hard.I'm not sure what that means, but accept another drink from him before they're off to Lydia's birthday party. It's for their generation. In other words I need not attend!
An older relative has become ill over the last few days, probably precipitated by the excitement of Christmas but maybe also the flu jab. I'm called to go round and do so. I am missing my doctoring work and quite looking forward to returning to the coal face.
I also booked flights to Pisa and had a look at other Tuscan properties on the internet. This idea is starting to become more real. I wonder what will happen to it.
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Monday, 28 December 2009
Huddersfield
Between Christmas and New Year we go to my parents. They look forward to it all year and the organisation in meticulous. This year it's at a hotel, as catering is probably easier that way. We've had it at their house before and it all gets a bit fraught. We will pick up up the drinks tab. We have booked our meals in advance so the hotel know who is having what. Everyone descends on the place at the appointed time.
Despite initial hesitation we all get on very well. We always do as everyone is determined to have a good time. The seating has been carefully arranged to minimise any possible friction. My children are spread across each table, as are all the children. In fact we are all very well mixed up.
I have bought my parents a digital picture frame. So has Heather. Oh dear, hers is smaller than mine, so she feels a bit put out but able to smile about it. I've also loaded up photos which I hope will be OK. Many of the ones of my children are from facebook, and not necessarily the ones they'd choose for their grandparents, but hey, it's their natural way of being and more interesting than posed photos.
Then it's time to go back to mum & dad's house. They look forward to this bit too. My children prefer to go home a this stage, which is a shame because Granny and cousins would like them to stick around a bit longer. There is clearly a good reason for it, as always, and anyway Emily is going back to America tomorrow so no late night. Hmmm.
My brother, or more specifically Kate, his wife are able to take me home later so I stay a bit longer. Amongst other things we play giant pick-up-sticks. Excellent, must borrow for New Year party which, I've just heard, is going to be at mine, although no official work yet.
Christmas is finally over for another year. It's been fun. Now to face the New Year.
Despite initial hesitation we all get on very well. We always do as everyone is determined to have a good time. The seating has been carefully arranged to minimise any possible friction. My children are spread across each table, as are all the children. In fact we are all very well mixed up.
I have bought my parents a digital picture frame. So has Heather. Oh dear, hers is smaller than mine, so she feels a bit put out but able to smile about it. I've also loaded up photos which I hope will be OK. Many of the ones of my children are from facebook, and not necessarily the ones they'd choose for their grandparents, but hey, it's their natural way of being and more interesting than posed photos.
Then it's time to go back to mum & dad's house. They look forward to this bit too. My children prefer to go home a this stage, which is a shame because Granny and cousins would like them to stick around a bit longer. There is clearly a good reason for it, as always, and anyway Emily is going back to America tomorrow so no late night. Hmmm.
My brother, or more specifically Kate, his wife are able to take me home later so I stay a bit longer. Amongst other things we play giant pick-up-sticks. Excellent, must borrow for New Year party which, I've just heard, is going to be at mine, although no official work yet.
Christmas is finally over for another year. It's been fun. Now to face the New Year.
Sunday, 27 December 2009
Friends and relatives
Again loosing track of the days. Managed to get two large screen digital picture frames and loaded photos onto a memory stick. It looks good, I think grandparents like that sort of thing. Apart from that the 27th December is another of those in between sort of days that blur into each other. I didn't realise it was Sunday, so didn't go to church, anyway I think I'll give up on Emmanuel for now, perhaps just St James in the morning. Watched Man U win again, back to their unconvincing best. Arsenal, playing before them, were sublime when Fabrigas came on.
Then my friend Tim, the Baron von Hennel, Earl of Sharston and heir to all he surveys, came round and we gossiped, mostly about what to do about New Years Eve. There are so many conflicting personality dynamics. I think, like most people, I see Christmas as for family and New Year Eve for friends. Also like most people Christmas arrangements are full of balancing the wishes of the various people in the context of what is happening to them now, and has done in the past. There is history between people, especially relatives, as they have been relatives all their lives. They have grown up with each other.
Well, New Years Eve is becoming as fraught and stressful as Christmas. Treading on egg shells and not wanting to miss people out or upset them. History becomes longer with each passing year. The new Mrs Hennel has taken on a leadership role in organising so it's round to theirs for The Party. Ask an organiser to organise and it will be done. As the years go by, though, the relationships are getting as complex as the family relationships. We are no longer university students just getting together for a party. At least with families there's a reason for splitting off into subgroups, new babies for example. With friends, splitting off means somebody or other is, or feels, rejected.
With families, relationships break down, but they're still family and so have to find a way to make up or get on. With friends the same ties don't apply. Relationships, sometimes long term, break up. Then what happens? Either one or other does get asked, or both come and it's difficult all round.
I offered to have the party at mine, but I'm not sure that will help. I think changing the venue is as difficult as managing the relationships. They say you can choose your friends, you can't choose your family. Clearly, it's not as simple as that.
Perhaps I'll bring my 'Friends Trivia game' to the party. That should help it go with a swing. What?
Then my friend Tim, the Baron von Hennel, Earl of Sharston and heir to all he surveys, came round and we gossiped, mostly about what to do about New Years Eve. There are so many conflicting personality dynamics. I think, like most people, I see Christmas as for family and New Year Eve for friends. Also like most people Christmas arrangements are full of balancing the wishes of the various people in the context of what is happening to them now, and has done in the past. There is history between people, especially relatives, as they have been relatives all their lives. They have grown up with each other.
Well, New Years Eve is becoming as fraught and stressful as Christmas. Treading on egg shells and not wanting to miss people out or upset them. History becomes longer with each passing year. The new Mrs Hennel has taken on a leadership role in organising so it's round to theirs for The Party. Ask an organiser to organise and it will be done. As the years go by, though, the relationships are getting as complex as the family relationships. We are no longer university students just getting together for a party. At least with families there's a reason for splitting off into subgroups, new babies for example. With friends, splitting off means somebody or other is, or feels, rejected.
With families, relationships break down, but they're still family and so have to find a way to make up or get on. With friends the same ties don't apply. Relationships, sometimes long term, break up. Then what happens? Either one or other does get asked, or both come and it's difficult all round.
I offered to have the party at mine, but I'm not sure that will help. I think changing the venue is as difficult as managing the relationships. They say you can choose your friends, you can't choose your family. Clearly, it's not as simple as that.
Perhaps I'll bring my 'Friends Trivia game' to the party. That should help it go with a swing. What?
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Boxing Day 2009
Boxing day is a day for relaxing after the Christmas festivities, so that's what I've been doing. Nothing extraordinary happened. Eat, watched TV, watched 'In search of Eric' and went over the road for a drink. Earlier in the day I loaded up my photos onto the computer ready to transfer onto Grandparents digital screens.
Friday, 25 December 2009
It's Christmas Day
'Come on Ives, it's time to open the stockings'. It is no longer a crack of dawn thing, but this ritual of ours dates back to when the children were small, and used to get us up at seriously ridiculous o'clock. Its later now as the grown up children have themselves been up until late last night. So I get up. I think I'm still jet-lagged and have picked up a cold, and don't call me Ives.
Anne has spent a lot of time, as every year, preparing the stocking fillers for the children and the opening ceremony takes up an hour or so, and everyone has fun. Mustn't be grumpy. It is the start of Christmas day.
The 'children', by the way, are 26, 24, 21 and 17 years respectively
'Come on Ivan join in and cheer up'. 'I am cheered up' I force a smile, while still feeling headachey and sore throaty. I think being told to cheer up is enough to make anyone grumpy.
'Bags first in the shower', says one. 'Then me', says another. I'll go to my house (we're at Anne's), for a shower. I fancy the walk, it might clear my head. I think it's best anyway, relieve a bit of tension that is building up. 'I'll be back for church'. Of course I wasn't ready for church, and Anne had to come and pick me up.
Church on Christmas day is at Chorlton Central Church. This is the church we all went to together when the children were small. Anne still goes. It was originally a Baptist church, and still is officially, as far as I know. Being in Chorlton though it is very much at the 'liberal' end of the theological spectrum that is Christianity. It caters for all sorts. Just as it should be. There are people like me, normal. There are people with long term illnesses and people of a variety of orientations and races. Talking of being grumpy, even my friend Ged is there with his family. Well Catholics, lapsed or not, have to go to church on Christmas day. The congregation is small, about fifty or so, but it's lovely. After the service I express the hope that Ged received 'a cheerful disposition' this year. 'Not likely' comes back the Jordy response, and a list of shortcomings that have dogged the progress of Newcastle United this season.
The usual showing of presents from young children happens. Worryingly the number of small children has declined. I don't know what it's like normally but the presence of small children signifies, for me, a growing church. It may be different at other times. 'Any of those at that back got any presents?' 'No, not one' I say in a low voice which nobody notices. I actually don't mind not having lots of presents at this stage of the day. It would be nice to get a few later. The grown-ups will open theirs this afternoon. In any case I think there are too many presents. Chorlton is a liberal, eco-friendly, anti-capitalist, anti-materialist village where vegetarians can practice without fear of persecution and wholefood shops flourish. Even here, the number of presents given is the indicator of how important and seriously you are taking Christmas, and how much you care. Your status is based on how many presents are shared. My status is low, and so low numbers of presents. A bit like Jesus really, well except for the gold.
Christmas dinner is again a grand occasion and much appreciation shown to the cooks. A marvelous turkey, although Rachel has fish, and all the trimmings. A glass of wine and I'm stuffed. We do normally think about a walk after lunch, in recent years the thought has been just that. This year no-one even suggests it. It's TV and doze. Then off for more present opening.
I got a coffee maker, much needed since the last one died, a 'friends' trivia quiz, small bottles of wine, a calender, the Andrew Marr book on British history, pairs of socks, the video of the film 'looking for Eric' and a few other things which will come to me. Just the right amount and quality of presents.
Back for more TV. A little dispute about which programme, but as luck would have it nothing on except Dr Who, excellent.
In the evening it's more food then games, charades, peg in a milk bottle, the sock, the tray memory game. 'Boys name-girls name' has been shelved this year due to excessive competitiveness last year, the high status people have decided. Then Grandpa Richard tells a few stories during which I fall embarasingly asleep, and back home to bed.
Apart from a blip in the middle of the day, betraying remaining underlying issues, the day has gone well and everyone has enjoyed themselves. We can start planning for next year. Only 364 shopping days left.
Anne has spent a lot of time, as every year, preparing the stocking fillers for the children and the opening ceremony takes up an hour or so, and everyone has fun. Mustn't be grumpy. It is the start of Christmas day.
The 'children', by the way, are 26, 24, 21 and 17 years respectively
'Come on Ivan join in and cheer up'. 'I am cheered up' I force a smile, while still feeling headachey and sore throaty. I think being told to cheer up is enough to make anyone grumpy.
'Bags first in the shower', says one. 'Then me', says another. I'll go to my house (we're at Anne's), for a shower. I fancy the walk, it might clear my head. I think it's best anyway, relieve a bit of tension that is building up. 'I'll be back for church'. Of course I wasn't ready for church, and Anne had to come and pick me up.
Church on Christmas day is at Chorlton Central Church. This is the church we all went to together when the children were small. Anne still goes. It was originally a Baptist church, and still is officially, as far as I know. Being in Chorlton though it is very much at the 'liberal' end of the theological spectrum that is Christianity. It caters for all sorts. Just as it should be. There are people like me, normal. There are people with long term illnesses and people of a variety of orientations and races. Talking of being grumpy, even my friend Ged is there with his family. Well Catholics, lapsed or not, have to go to church on Christmas day. The congregation is small, about fifty or so, but it's lovely. After the service I express the hope that Ged received 'a cheerful disposition' this year. 'Not likely' comes back the Jordy response, and a list of shortcomings that have dogged the progress of Newcastle United this season.
The usual showing of presents from young children happens. Worryingly the number of small children has declined. I don't know what it's like normally but the presence of small children signifies, for me, a growing church. It may be different at other times. 'Any of those at that back got any presents?' 'No, not one' I say in a low voice which nobody notices. I actually don't mind not having lots of presents at this stage of the day. It would be nice to get a few later. The grown-ups will open theirs this afternoon. In any case I think there are too many presents. Chorlton is a liberal, eco-friendly, anti-capitalist, anti-materialist village where vegetarians can practice without fear of persecution and wholefood shops flourish. Even here, the number of presents given is the indicator of how important and seriously you are taking Christmas, and how much you care. Your status is based on how many presents are shared. My status is low, and so low numbers of presents. A bit like Jesus really, well except for the gold.
Christmas dinner is again a grand occasion and much appreciation shown to the cooks. A marvelous turkey, although Rachel has fish, and all the trimmings. A glass of wine and I'm stuffed. We do normally think about a walk after lunch, in recent years the thought has been just that. This year no-one even suggests it. It's TV and doze. Then off for more present opening.
I got a coffee maker, much needed since the last one died, a 'friends' trivia quiz, small bottles of wine, a calender, the Andrew Marr book on British history, pairs of socks, the video of the film 'looking for Eric' and a few other things which will come to me. Just the right amount and quality of presents.
Back for more TV. A little dispute about which programme, but as luck would have it nothing on except Dr Who, excellent.
In the evening it's more food then games, charades, peg in a milk bottle, the sock, the tray memory game. 'Boys name-girls name' has been shelved this year due to excessive competitiveness last year, the high status people have decided. Then Grandpa Richard tells a few stories during which I fall embarasingly asleep, and back home to bed.
Apart from a blip in the middle of the day, betraying remaining underlying issues, the day has gone well and everyone has enjoyed themselves. We can start planning for next year. Only 364 shopping days left.
Rien ne change
It's Christmas eve, the time we've been waiting for all year, the time we travel 'home' to be with family and loved ones. It's the time when we're going to be jolly come what may, and remember the reason why we celebrate it, and on decisions made in the past, for richer, for poorer, 'til death do us part.
By the way, I can't be doing with those cynics who say that it's just a pagan ritual anyway and there's no way Jesus was born on December 25th. You've missed the point maaan.
Christmas eve is an odd one though, and yesterday, for me particularly, was an odd one. I've got a cold and a sore throat and a headache. Also I've got to be jolly cos my friends want to see me too, then over to the family for buffet tea, then adult children are going out. By this time I'm too tired so have an early night after wrapping presents.
'Come on Ivan, cheer up'. 'I am cheered up, I just don't feel very well' I say to myself. It's very rare for me to have a cold, and it has always been difficult for me to be ill, there's always someone else who is more ill, or more tired. or more hard worked. 'You shouldn't have so much to drink' a helpful daughter suggests - a pint of beer and a glass of wine over six hours. You can't object though or it sounds defensive, and people think you're an alchy. 'No, OK' I say through gritted teeth. 'I'm ill' I mutter under my breath.
The family had gathered at Anne's sister's house for a joint tea. Everyone is jolly and joins in. Uncle John can't set off until tomorrow and is likely to be up at lunchtime. There's a murmur of understanding with an undercurrent of disapproval. No games tonight but may be tomorrow. Christmas day.
By the way, I can't be doing with those cynics who say that it's just a pagan ritual anyway and there's no way Jesus was born on December 25th. You've missed the point maaan.
Christmas eve is an odd one though, and yesterday, for me particularly, was an odd one. I've got a cold and a sore throat and a headache. Also I've got to be jolly cos my friends want to see me too, then over to the family for buffet tea, then adult children are going out. By this time I'm too tired so have an early night after wrapping presents.
'Come on Ivan, cheer up'. 'I am cheered up, I just don't feel very well' I say to myself. It's very rare for me to have a cold, and it has always been difficult for me to be ill, there's always someone else who is more ill, or more tired. or more hard worked. 'You shouldn't have so much to drink' a helpful daughter suggests - a pint of beer and a glass of wine over six hours. You can't object though or it sounds defensive, and people think you're an alchy. 'No, OK' I say through gritted teeth. 'I'm ill' I mutter under my breath.
The family had gathered at Anne's sister's house for a joint tea. Everyone is jolly and joins in. Uncle John can't set off until tomorrow and is likely to be up at lunchtime. There's a murmur of understanding with an undercurrent of disapproval. No games tonight but may be tomorrow. Christmas day.
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
All change
Benito, not Luigi as previously recorded, has e-mailed to say my offer has been accepted. This is a definite High.
The last couple of days have been recovery and back to reality days. My facebook status has changed and now I'm going back to be ploughing my own furrow for a while. Mind you I have been in Australia and I'm used to it. This is not the place for an analysis of feelings. Low
I had a call from Ade to wish me Happy Christmas, he also persuaded me to continue my blog. High. I'm not sure I'm in the right emotional place to say much today, but to note a few developments.Low.
Emily is back from NYC for a few days over Christmas. I do miss her when she's away. Apparently she's having a great time as an nanny and the family love her. How could you not? Seeing the others too, after a long break, was a great joy. I'm so proud of my children and am reluctant to go on about it publicly. I will just say I love them all enormously, they are such fun. High.
I didn't realise tomorrow is Christmas eve. Too late for present buying and need to get round to wrapping the ones I have. I'm going to go into the surgery today to pick up mail, deliver presents to staff and generally catch up. I also need to fax off a report from the hospital about the stroke. The last MRI scan showed that the infarct has shrunk a little, but I know that what is important is the functional recovery, and this seems static. Talking of which I spoke to my friend Chris, an eye specialist, who says that I cannot drive with my visual field defect. You need 180 degrees of horizontal field vision and at least 40 degrees up and down vertically. I don't have that. I'm missing the left upper quadrant, and that wont change. The DVLA will suspend my licence, but I can appeal to say that I have now adapted to it and can drive safely. This will mean going to them to undertake an assessment to see if I'm OK. I can't believe I'm going to have to go to Swansea for that. There must be somewhere closer. Low.
In order to finance my Italy thing I'm going to rent out one of my rooms. I haven't discussed with Rachel yet, so must do today. I went to the bank, and it seems surprisingly, remarkably straight forward to borrow extra money, effectively remortgaging the house. I thought I was going to have to sell and had arranged for Estate Agents to come and value it. I don't have to do that now. I really didn't want to have to. I love my house. High.
My Italy thing is a villa in Tuscany. I can rent it as a holiday home and also use it myself. I guess I'll find out who my friends are, but I think I already know that and they can come for free. It is 50 minutes from skiing one way and the beach the other, with fabulous views across the valley. The place is currently owned by a couple who have split up and it looks like a bargain. I'm going to go over in early January to have a look. Meanwhile, and all being well, we have arrived at a price of €250,000. The other outstanding issue is how to get there, but Jet2 have flights in the summer. High
The work situation is sill developing as we seek to come to a new arrangement and incorporate a new partner. I have been re-energised by my firen Winn and looking forward to taking it forward. High
So there are definitely more highs than lows, and certainly a few changes. Cup still half full. It will be interesting.
The last couple of days have been recovery and back to reality days. My facebook status has changed and now I'm going back to be ploughing my own furrow for a while. Mind you I have been in Australia and I'm used to it. This is not the place for an analysis of feelings. Low
I had a call from Ade to wish me Happy Christmas, he also persuaded me to continue my blog. High. I'm not sure I'm in the right emotional place to say much today, but to note a few developments.Low.
Emily is back from NYC for a few days over Christmas. I do miss her when she's away. Apparently she's having a great time as an nanny and the family love her. How could you not? Seeing the others too, after a long break, was a great joy. I'm so proud of my children and am reluctant to go on about it publicly. I will just say I love them all enormously, they are such fun. High.
I didn't realise tomorrow is Christmas eve. Too late for present buying and need to get round to wrapping the ones I have. I'm going to go into the surgery today to pick up mail, deliver presents to staff and generally catch up. I also need to fax off a report from the hospital about the stroke. The last MRI scan showed that the infarct has shrunk a little, but I know that what is important is the functional recovery, and this seems static. Talking of which I spoke to my friend Chris, an eye specialist, who says that I cannot drive with my visual field defect. You need 180 degrees of horizontal field vision and at least 40 degrees up and down vertically. I don't have that. I'm missing the left upper quadrant, and that wont change. The DVLA will suspend my licence, but I can appeal to say that I have now adapted to it and can drive safely. This will mean going to them to undertake an assessment to see if I'm OK. I can't believe I'm going to have to go to Swansea for that. There must be somewhere closer. Low.
In order to finance my Italy thing I'm going to rent out one of my rooms. I haven't discussed with Rachel yet, so must do today. I went to the bank, and it seems surprisingly, remarkably straight forward to borrow extra money, effectively remortgaging the house. I thought I was going to have to sell and had arranged for Estate Agents to come and value it. I don't have to do that now. I really didn't want to have to. I love my house. High.
My Italy thing is a villa in Tuscany. I can rent it as a holiday home and also use it myself. I guess I'll find out who my friends are, but I think I already know that and they can come for free. It is 50 minutes from skiing one way and the beach the other, with fabulous views across the valley. The place is currently owned by a couple who have split up and it looks like a bargain. I'm going to go over in early January to have a look. Meanwhile, and all being well, we have arrived at a price of €250,000. The other outstanding issue is how to get there, but Jet2 have flights in the summer. HighThe work situation is sill developing as we seek to come to a new arrangement and incorporate a new partner. I have been re-energised by my firen Winn and looking forward to taking it forward. High
So there are definitely more highs than lows, and certainly a few changes. Cup still half full. It will be interesting.
Monday, 21 December 2009
Sleep deprived post script
I'm sitting in Terminal 5. I haven't slept properly for about 32 hours. The weather is cold outside and apparently very bad in Aberdeen. My flight BA1386 is delayed. I can't say how long for. It hasn't even set off from Aberdeen yet.
I know, don't ask. I have no idea why it's coming from Aberdeen. I thought it was a domestic flight, not from a foreign country, albeit an ex-colony. In fact I've only been through ex-colonies on this trip, and all the flights have been on time. Up until now. We say it each year, but why does snow always surprise us when it comes?
The old queueing thing that was going on in Australia and Hong Kong is going on here as well. Only this time there were some irate Mancunians who were late for their connection. 'Calm down. You'll catch you're flight, they're not going to go with out you all are they?' I don't say any of this of course for fear of inflaming the situation or them thinking I was a scouse. Actually, now I think about it, I haven't shaved for six weeks, I haven't had a wash for nearly 24 hours, I'm wearing my jeans with the holes in and flip flops and my nails have grown too long in the time I've been away and my hair is probably a matted mess from the flight. So I'm not sure what I look like. There is a lot of heat, angry words, jostling, but no extra speed to get through passport control. It turned out their flight was also delayed.
I've just looked up at the Departures Board for my flight and it says 'enquire airline'. This is not good. I better go enquire.
***
Told you. The flight has been cancelled due to extreme weather in Manchester. HELLO. Anyway they are arranging ground transportation. Bus I suppose. They're arranging it now, the apologetic man says on the loud speaker. Departure time unknown.
It was going so well too. Had a nice barbecue last night. Kangaroo kebabs, fresh prawns and excellent company. Today my stomach was a bit off. Well quite a lot off. Lucky I had an aisle seat. So that didn't help the sleep situation. But plenty of water and I'll be fine.
Come to think of it. Did my baggage get checked in all the way through to Manchester? I better go and find out. The fraught looking nice man says they'll be at baggage reclaim. I'm not sure how he knows. He seems in control though, and very confident. We'll see. There don't actually seem to be many Mancunians on this flight, they all seem pretty calm. Sort of resigned. We get our bags, and to my relief mine is there. Then more queuing. If this was torture I'd have told all a long time ago. I wonder how the other Manchs from the previous late flight are getting on. I'm glad I'm not with them. I look too much like one of the foreigners or vagrants they were complaining about.
Oh look, my brother's come to get me. That's odd, how did he know? Oh no it isn't, just looks like him. Oh lord, don't say I'm hallucinating. We'll I'm not hallucinating about my bowels. I can feel a little rumble again and it settles. We've all been ushered down stairs to un-book from the flight and to re-book for the bus transfer. We are given a 10 pound refreshment voucher and invited to join a queue and wait for the bus. I don't feel hungry and I don't feel well. Another tummy rumble. Better go for a coffee and buy some water, then join the queue. Others get the same idea, but their place in the queue is kept by someone else.
It's an odd thing, extreme fatigue. There's a distortion of almost everything. It's like when time travellers go a bit slower through time than the rest, and yet time remains the same. Words seem stretched out and almost echoy, their faces somehow distorted. People walking past the corner of your eye seem to move too quickly and then too slowly. I'm not sure where my glasses are so everything looks a bit blurred anyway.
***
I've been for half a coffee and a bottle of water. I thought I'd better come back, I don't want to miss the bus. Sure enough I've joined the back of the queue. How many people are on this flight? Someone said about 200. Each bus takes about 30 people. They're coming as quickly as they can about every 15 minutes! Others join the queue so I'm not at the back, must be about half way. 'Oh God' I pray and wait. Another tummy rumble, a bit more insistent this time. There can't be anything left surely. More waiting. 'Please hurry' now to the God of hurrying buses up. I better go for a wee before the journey, it's a four hour trip. Time is definitely standing still now.I'm sooo tired. OK. I'm going to have to go. A kind lady says she'll keep an eye on my bags. By now several people have had the same idea, so it doesn't sound weird. She gives me a funny look, and I remember how I look, so I speak in my best doctor voice and she seems OK about it. Oops another tummy rumble, better hurry. I think I've got wind. I follow the trickle of people who seem to know the way. Through the door to the loo. Another rumble-come-crampy feeling.
It wasn't wind as I reached to toilet door.
'Oh Gooood'. I really do need Divine inspiration. I'll just have to clean myself up as best I can and deposit the underpants in the bin. 'Thank you', plenty of people have travelled 'commando' before this intrepid adventurer.
Back to the queue. Where is my place? Where is the nice lady who was looking after my bags? I look up and down. Nowhere to be seen. She's actually moved about thirty places down the cue, and there are my bags too. I thank her, and explain it took a bit longer than I thought. I think enough information, don't you? She explains that a bus has come, in a slurry time distorted way. Woew, did the room spin? No, just feel a bit light headed. I don't pursue the conversation, except 'I hope we get through next time'. She agrees and turns away as if there's a bad smell.
Waiting is such a soul destroying thing. It's such a waste of time and you're so helpless. The first thing I'll do when I get home after a shower is to cut my nails. Really I don't know how they grew so quickly, and now they are a bit dirty too.
I suddenly realise I look, smell and feel like a tramp. The room is spinning, and I feel sooooo tired. I suppose if I lie down on the floor and go to sleep nobody would be surprised. 'Oh God, I'm sorry for ever doubting you. Please deliver your servant from this hell, I don't mind how. A miracle or something like that, to prove to these unbelievers, say a magic carpet or a cloud and heavenly hosts. I don't mind'
***
Another bus has arrived. Will we make it? There's a lot of people in front. We all quicken our pace so as not to loose our position. A man is counting at the front of the queue. It comes to me. 'Are you travelling with anyone?''No I reply quickly' and hurry through as the tape comes down. I look back at the remaining queue, and the lady who looked after my bags. I should have let her go through really. 'Sorry Lord'.
I get to the bus. It's freezing outside. Please don't have miscounted. The bus driver is packing away the luggage in the hold. Great, loads of space. I've made it. On to the bus. Only one space left. The boy who has his bag on the seat next to him, hoping a weirdo wont sit next to him, has to move it. He has a university scarf round his neck. Looks like a posh boy travelling north to Mater and Pater for Christmas. It is now his nightmare too. I speak in as plummy a voice as I can. as I apologise for having to get him to move his stuff. I now sound like one of those aristocratic intellectuals who has fallen on hard times or had a mental illness. Oh sod it, don't care anymore. He's young enough and needs to know that not all weirdos are weird.
***
This is when the time distorting effect of sleep deprivation has it's benefit. The next thing I know we're half way home at Warwick motorway services and we have a 15 minute break. I feel a bit better, and buy some grapes. Wrong thing to do. I spend the rest of the break on the loo. Still, no more accidents. Then back home. It's feels like one of those ski trip transfers. Glistening snow on the ground and bright sunshine outside. One of my favourite feelings. I wonder if I can go skiing again. The boy next to me is sleeping with a hanky over his nose. I think that's a bit extreme really. We get to T3 in no time. I'm first off, and first with my bags off. Into a taxi and back home. I'm sure, before he pulled away, the taxi man sprayed something into the back seat.
Rachel is waiting to let me in. I give her a little hug and explain. Upstairs and shower. I'm a new man. Cup of tea, and need to make some decision. They'll wait until the new year. The phone goes, it's Luigi from Italy...but that's another story.
I know, don't ask. I have no idea why it's coming from Aberdeen. I thought it was a domestic flight, not from a foreign country, albeit an ex-colony. In fact I've only been through ex-colonies on this trip, and all the flights have been on time. Up until now. We say it each year, but why does snow always surprise us when it comes?
The old queueing thing that was going on in Australia and Hong Kong is going on here as well. Only this time there were some irate Mancunians who were late for their connection. 'Calm down. You'll catch you're flight, they're not going to go with out you all are they?' I don't say any of this of course for fear of inflaming the situation or them thinking I was a scouse. Actually, now I think about it, I haven't shaved for six weeks, I haven't had a wash for nearly 24 hours, I'm wearing my jeans with the holes in and flip flops and my nails have grown too long in the time I've been away and my hair is probably a matted mess from the flight. So I'm not sure what I look like. There is a lot of heat, angry words, jostling, but no extra speed to get through passport control. It turned out their flight was also delayed.
I've just looked up at the Departures Board for my flight and it says 'enquire airline'. This is not good. I better go enquire.
***
Told you. The flight has been cancelled due to extreme weather in Manchester. HELLO. Anyway they are arranging ground transportation. Bus I suppose. They're arranging it now, the apologetic man says on the loud speaker. Departure time unknown.
It was going so well too. Had a nice barbecue last night. Kangaroo kebabs, fresh prawns and excellent company. Today my stomach was a bit off. Well quite a lot off. Lucky I had an aisle seat. So that didn't help the sleep situation. But plenty of water and I'll be fine.
Come to think of it. Did my baggage get checked in all the way through to Manchester? I better go and find out. The fraught looking nice man says they'll be at baggage reclaim. I'm not sure how he knows. He seems in control though, and very confident. We'll see. There don't actually seem to be many Mancunians on this flight, they all seem pretty calm. Sort of resigned. We get our bags, and to my relief mine is there. Then more queuing. If this was torture I'd have told all a long time ago. I wonder how the other Manchs from the previous late flight are getting on. I'm glad I'm not with them. I look too much like one of the foreigners or vagrants they were complaining about.
Oh look, my brother's come to get me. That's odd, how did he know? Oh no it isn't, just looks like him. Oh lord, don't say I'm hallucinating. We'll I'm not hallucinating about my bowels. I can feel a little rumble again and it settles. We've all been ushered down stairs to un-book from the flight and to re-book for the bus transfer. We are given a 10 pound refreshment voucher and invited to join a queue and wait for the bus. I don't feel hungry and I don't feel well. Another tummy rumble. Better go for a coffee and buy some water, then join the queue. Others get the same idea, but their place in the queue is kept by someone else.
It's an odd thing, extreme fatigue. There's a distortion of almost everything. It's like when time travellers go a bit slower through time than the rest, and yet time remains the same. Words seem stretched out and almost echoy, their faces somehow distorted. People walking past the corner of your eye seem to move too quickly and then too slowly. I'm not sure where my glasses are so everything looks a bit blurred anyway.
***
I've been for half a coffee and a bottle of water. I thought I'd better come back, I don't want to miss the bus. Sure enough I've joined the back of the queue. How many people are on this flight? Someone said about 200. Each bus takes about 30 people. They're coming as quickly as they can about every 15 minutes! Others join the queue so I'm not at the back, must be about half way. 'Oh God' I pray and wait. Another tummy rumble, a bit more insistent this time. There can't be anything left surely. More waiting. 'Please hurry' now to the God of hurrying buses up. I better go for a wee before the journey, it's a four hour trip. Time is definitely standing still now.I'm sooo tired. OK. I'm going to have to go. A kind lady says she'll keep an eye on my bags. By now several people have had the same idea, so it doesn't sound weird. She gives me a funny look, and I remember how I look, so I speak in my best doctor voice and she seems OK about it. Oops another tummy rumble, better hurry. I think I've got wind. I follow the trickle of people who seem to know the way. Through the door to the loo. Another rumble-come-crampy feeling.
It wasn't wind as I reached to toilet door.
'Oh Gooood'. I really do need Divine inspiration. I'll just have to clean myself up as best I can and deposit the underpants in the bin. 'Thank you', plenty of people have travelled 'commando' before this intrepid adventurer.
Back to the queue. Where is my place? Where is the nice lady who was looking after my bags? I look up and down. Nowhere to be seen. She's actually moved about thirty places down the cue, and there are my bags too. I thank her, and explain it took a bit longer than I thought. I think enough information, don't you? She explains that a bus has come, in a slurry time distorted way. Woew, did the room spin? No, just feel a bit light headed. I don't pursue the conversation, except 'I hope we get through next time'. She agrees and turns away as if there's a bad smell.
Waiting is such a soul destroying thing. It's such a waste of time and you're so helpless. The first thing I'll do when I get home after a shower is to cut my nails. Really I don't know how they grew so quickly, and now they are a bit dirty too.
I suddenly realise I look, smell and feel like a tramp. The room is spinning, and I feel sooooo tired. I suppose if I lie down on the floor and go to sleep nobody would be surprised. 'Oh God, I'm sorry for ever doubting you. Please deliver your servant from this hell, I don't mind how. A miracle or something like that, to prove to these unbelievers, say a magic carpet or a cloud and heavenly hosts. I don't mind'
***
Another bus has arrived. Will we make it? There's a lot of people in front. We all quicken our pace so as not to loose our position. A man is counting at the front of the queue. It comes to me. 'Are you travelling with anyone?''No I reply quickly' and hurry through as the tape comes down. I look back at the remaining queue, and the lady who looked after my bags. I should have let her go through really. 'Sorry Lord'.
I get to the bus. It's freezing outside. Please don't have miscounted. The bus driver is packing away the luggage in the hold. Great, loads of space. I've made it. On to the bus. Only one space left. The boy who has his bag on the seat next to him, hoping a weirdo wont sit next to him, has to move it. He has a university scarf round his neck. Looks like a posh boy travelling north to Mater and Pater for Christmas. It is now his nightmare too. I speak in as plummy a voice as I can. as I apologise for having to get him to move his stuff. I now sound like one of those aristocratic intellectuals who has fallen on hard times or had a mental illness. Oh sod it, don't care anymore. He's young enough and needs to know that not all weirdos are weird.
***
This is when the time distorting effect of sleep deprivation has it's benefit. The next thing I know we're half way home at Warwick motorway services and we have a 15 minute break. I feel a bit better, and buy some grapes. Wrong thing to do. I spend the rest of the break on the loo. Still, no more accidents. Then back home. It's feels like one of those ski trip transfers. Glistening snow on the ground and bright sunshine outside. One of my favourite feelings. I wonder if I can go skiing again. The boy next to me is sleeping with a hanky over his nose. I think that's a bit extreme really. We get to T3 in no time. I'm first off, and first with my bags off. Into a taxi and back home. I'm sure, before he pulled away, the taxi man sprayed something into the back seat.
Rachel is waiting to let me in. I give her a little hug and explain. Upstairs and shower. I'm a new man. Cup of tea, and need to make some decision. They'll wait until the new year. The phone goes, it's Luigi from Italy...but that's another story.
Saturday, 19 December 2009
Coming Home
My last day. We're going to take it easy. Outside is too hot to move anyway. So I'm indoors doodling on the internet. One of my friends is selling a house in Tuscany. Wouldn't it be great to have such a place. I wonder??
One of the themes of my stay has been to discover more about my genealogy, and I've certainly discovered a lot. I wonder what comes up if I google the name Benett. There is a Benett family website www.benett.com but it's completely empty. A blind alley I'm afraid. According to the website thinkbabynames.com, Benett has the variant forms of Bennett, Benet, Bennet and Benoit. Benett is an uncommon first name for men but a very common surname. The name is pronounced BEN-et. It is the medieval vernacular form of Benedict. The name Benedict [b(e)-nedi-ct, ben(e)-dict] is pronounced BEN-a-dikt. It is of Latin origin, and its meaning is "blessed", from the Latin Benedictus. The name Benedict was used by 16 popes. Saint Benedict gave his name to the monastic order, the Benedictines. The great Benedictine monastery at Monte Cassino in Italy is known to be simple, restrained, and practical. Shakespeare's Benedick in "Much Ado About Nothing" is a self-assured, witty bachelor. Benedict is a name used mainly by Roman Catholics. So Granpere made a pretty good choice when he changed his name to Benett.
Talking of Pope Benedict, the news today is that he is about to cononise the Blessed Mary MacKillop. She was an Australian Roman Catholic nun who, together with Father Julian Tenison Woods, founded the Sisters of St Joseph of the Sacred Heart. She is said to have miraculously cured a woman with inoperable lung cancer. On 17th July 2008, Pope Benedict XVI prayed at her tomb during his visit to Sydney, for World Youth Day.Since her death she has attracted much veneration within Australia. She is the only Australian to be beatified. Yesterday the Vatican announced her imminent canonisation as a saint which is likely to be completed early next year.
More news from Australia and another theme has been the climate change debate here. PM Kevin Rudd said world leaders had brought global climate negotiations back from the "abyss" after 17 hours of continual discussions that ended at 1am in the Danish capital city today. But Australia’s Prime Minister conceded that the final Copenhagen Accord left “much more to be done”.
As it stands, the accord simply describes Australia’s current emission reduction target range of 5 per cent to 25 per cent in the political agreement. Mr Rudd said Australia would announce its final target once all nations had submitted their targets by February 1. Tony Abbot, the opposition leader said it was a typical Kevin Rudd agreement, more talk than action.
I pack my bags for home, as best I can. Taxi for airport is booked. We're going to Joss's for a barbecue tonight. A chance to celebrate my stay and thank those who have put me up and put up with me. I'm very grateful to them all for making this little break a great success.
I'm going to sign off from the blog for now, but may be back if something interesting happens. Need to focus on the practice, my health and relationships in the New Year
One of the themes of my stay has been to discover more about my genealogy, and I've certainly discovered a lot. I wonder what comes up if I google the name Benett. There is a Benett family website www.benett.com but it's completely empty. A blind alley I'm afraid. According to the website thinkbabynames.com, Benett has the variant forms of Bennett, Benet, Bennet and Benoit. Benett is an uncommon first name for men but a very common surname. The name is pronounced BEN-et. It is the medieval vernacular form of Benedict. The name Benedict [b(e)-nedi-ct, ben(e)-dict] is pronounced BEN-a-dikt. It is of Latin origin, and its meaning is "blessed", from the Latin Benedictus. The name Benedict was used by 16 popes. Saint Benedict gave his name to the monastic order, the Benedictines. The great Benedictine monastery at Monte Cassino in Italy is known to be simple, restrained, and practical. Shakespeare's Benedick in "Much Ado About Nothing" is a self-assured, witty bachelor. Benedict is a name used mainly by Roman Catholics. So Granpere made a pretty good choice when he changed his name to Benett.
Talking of Pope Benedict, the news today is that he is about to cononise the Blessed Mary MacKillop. She was an Australian Roman Catholic nun who, together with Father Julian Tenison Woods, founded the Sisters of St Joseph of the Sacred Heart. She is said to have miraculously cured a woman with inoperable lung cancer. On 17th July 2008, Pope Benedict XVI prayed at her tomb during his visit to Sydney, for World Youth Day.Since her death she has attracted much veneration within Australia. She is the only Australian to be beatified. Yesterday the Vatican announced her imminent canonisation as a saint which is likely to be completed early next year.
More news from Australia and another theme has been the climate change debate here. PM Kevin Rudd said world leaders had brought global climate negotiations back from the "abyss" after 17 hours of continual discussions that ended at 1am in the Danish capital city today. But Australia’s Prime Minister conceded that the final Copenhagen Accord left “much more to be done”.
As it stands, the accord simply describes Australia’s current emission reduction target range of 5 per cent to 25 per cent in the political agreement. Mr Rudd said Australia would announce its final target once all nations had submitted their targets by February 1. Tony Abbot, the opposition leader said it was a typical Kevin Rudd agreement, more talk than action.
I pack my bags for home, as best I can. Taxi for airport is booked. We're going to Joss's for a barbecue tonight. A chance to celebrate my stay and thank those who have put me up and put up with me. I'm very grateful to them all for making this little break a great success.
I'm going to sign off from the blog for now, but may be back if something interesting happens. Need to focus on the practice, my health and relationships in the New Year
Friday, 18 December 2009
Great Granparents Donald and Davis (D39)
For some reason I didn't realise I had today, or at least I was confusing today with tomorrow. So it feels like I've got an extra day. I'm at Vivs and she needs to go to work. The plan is for me to see Matant Marceline and Robert Benett, my eldest cousin, in the afternoon.
Viv drops me off at the train stations and I buy the ticket to Carlton. The train goes from platform 4. No worries. I make my way to platform 4. A train is due in 6 minutes, marvelous. One problem, the list of stations on the helpful screen does not list Carlton. So I go back upstairs and ask someone and sure enough platform 4 is correct. If it says 'and all stations', that'll be right, I am assured.
There are lots of people on the platform so this must be a mainline destination. Stay calm. Still not mentioning Carlton though. All sorts of people on the platform. Shapes, sizes, colours, expressions, all different. A lot look Mediterranean. I always thought Italians and Greeks were a good looking lot. Not any more.
A train is pulling in. 'The train arriving at platform 4 is the 13.45 to ##***## calling at *##$#** and all stations'. Excellent. But still no mention of Carlton on the screen. Oh well, this must be it. The train pulls in, the doors open. I'm just about to get on when a guard seems to be in the doorway. I know, I'd better just check. Don't want to get it wrong. That would be a laugh wouldn't it? Not. 'Nah mate you want the next train to Sutherland in about ten minutes' he says in a peculiar mixture of Aussie and (I think) Greek. Thanks.
The correct train comes along and on I get. The carriage is one of those double decker, air conditioned good ones. They have a seat that you can flip over to change the direction you're facing if you want. I face forward as not sure when to get off.
That's a point, when do I get off? I forgot to check how many stops it was and which station was before Carlton. I think it was about five, or was it four? I definitely can't remember.
There is a line map at the front of the carriage. No, that would mean getting up and looking at it, and giving away that I'm a tourist and lost. That would make me look silly. Not that it's already obvious, with my 'man bag', shorts and flip flops.
Shall I ask the young lady facing me with her i-pod in her ear? I don't think so. She might think I'm trying to make up a feeble excuse to chat her up - 'Do you travel on this line often, can you tell me where the Carlton station is and would you like a dance?' Anyway, she doesn't look like she'd want to be disturbed and is studiously looking out of the window. I don't want to make her feel uncomfortable and so avoid eye contact altogether. My daughters tell me about travelling on public transport and weirdos staring at them. I definitely don't want her to think I'm a weirdo.
What about the Chinese man sitting next to me? Oh, I don't know. He's reading a magazine with squiggly writing that goes up and down, presumably Chinese. What if he's not very good at English? Then I'd have to shout and people would know I didn't know the way, and it would be embarrassing. No one else looks likely to be able to help. There are some 'young people' playing their music loudly. 'We don't all want to hear that stuff' I think to myself, silently. I turn into a grumpy old man for a while. No seriously, why do people think you'd want to listen to their racket? They seem to live in a world of their own, oblivious to anyone else. Someone in the carriage has severe BO. How can people walk around and not notice themselves? I have a discrete sniff, just in case it's me. Not me. Honestly.
The train pulls in to a station. It can't be mine, and the platform sign confirms that it isn't. The train announcer announces something indiscernible, then 'crackle crackle, the next stop will be crackle crackle'. Hmm, well at least there's an announcement. I'll listen carefully next time.
Next time comes, and no better. At least I figured I probably have enough time between seeing the platform sign and and the train stopping to get off before it leaves again. Still it would be nice to know.
Fortunately, out of the blue, my phone goes and it's Viv. She wants to check I got on the train OK. That's nice. 'I'm just pulling into Killi Willi station (or something)', I inform her. 'Where?' she responds. After a little confusion it turns out that rather than being on the wrong train, this is a new station that she hasn't heard of before. So brief panic over and now more confident of getting off at the right place.
I duly do get off at the right place. I don't know what all the fuss was about. Marcelines is about 10 minutes away. Robert comes and gets us and we go to his house for a cup of tea. There I meet Karen, his wife, and we discuss family stuff again. Veronique lives and works in London for the Nursing Council in some capacity, and Alexandra lives at home with mum and dad. Robert and Karen are coming to London in a few days to see Veronique. I get to see the view of the city from their lovely house, and the story behind the rebuild they went through about seven years ago.
Richard Benett, Robert's brother has scanned in a load of pictures of our family from way back when. We have a look, and Marceline helps us to name the various people. There are various family names who are all a bit of a jumble to me. There are Abrahams, Derblays, Davis's, Donalds, and of course Benetts. Where they all fit is still a bit of a mystery to me, but I have got one more bit of the tree. I also discover that my father had two brothers who died. France was second born and died age two of what sounds like septicaemia of some sort. The other was called George, the last to be born, age ten days, cause unknown. Robert burns a CD of all these photos. Now I just have to remember who's who. I might have to get my father onto this one.
So then Marie-Claire, Marcelines youngest and JD, Viv and Joss's sister, comes to take us to her house for dinner. Marie-Claire too has a lovely house and I get a brief chance to catch up with her. The evening ends all too soon. It's been a long day by now and I'm ready for bed. Viv is up when I get in, so we look through the family photos. She seems to know most of the people. There's a picture of Granmere Suzanne's mother Marie Davis (nee Donald) and Marie's sisters Marthe and Rose, and her brother Louis. There is also one of them all with their mother Louise, the mistress of Dr Clarenc. There's also a picture of Suzanne's father David Davis. There are lots more sisters and brothers of Suzanne, but by now it's in one ear and out the other. They had so many children in those days, I wonder they coped. I certainly can't , so it's off to bed. Tomorrow really is the last day. I think I'll try to write some of this down.
Wouldn't it be nice to have a house in the sun, like JD and Kim have? Within easy access. My cousins could come and stay from Australia, and my children too when they have their own, and my friends...I start to dream, as I drift off to sleep.
Viv drops me off at the train stations and I buy the ticket to Carlton. The train goes from platform 4. No worries. I make my way to platform 4. A train is due in 6 minutes, marvelous. One problem, the list of stations on the helpful screen does not list Carlton. So I go back upstairs and ask someone and sure enough platform 4 is correct. If it says 'and all stations', that'll be right, I am assured.
There are lots of people on the platform so this must be a mainline destination. Stay calm. Still not mentioning Carlton though. All sorts of people on the platform. Shapes, sizes, colours, expressions, all different. A lot look Mediterranean. I always thought Italians and Greeks were a good looking lot. Not any more.
A train is pulling in. 'The train arriving at platform 4 is the 13.45 to ##***## calling at *##$#** and all stations'. Excellent. But still no mention of Carlton on the screen. Oh well, this must be it. The train pulls in, the doors open. I'm just about to get on when a guard seems to be in the doorway. I know, I'd better just check. Don't want to get it wrong. That would be a laugh wouldn't it? Not. 'Nah mate you want the next train to Sutherland in about ten minutes' he says in a peculiar mixture of Aussie and (I think) Greek. Thanks.
The correct train comes along and on I get. The carriage is one of those double decker, air conditioned good ones. They have a seat that you can flip over to change the direction you're facing if you want. I face forward as not sure when to get off.
That's a point, when do I get off? I forgot to check how many stops it was and which station was before Carlton. I think it was about five, or was it four? I definitely can't remember.
There is a line map at the front of the carriage. No, that would mean getting up and looking at it, and giving away that I'm a tourist and lost. That would make me look silly. Not that it's already obvious, with my 'man bag', shorts and flip flops.
Shall I ask the young lady facing me with her i-pod in her ear? I don't think so. She might think I'm trying to make up a feeble excuse to chat her up - 'Do you travel on this line often, can you tell me where the Carlton station is and would you like a dance?' Anyway, she doesn't look like she'd want to be disturbed and is studiously looking out of the window. I don't want to make her feel uncomfortable and so avoid eye contact altogether. My daughters tell me about travelling on public transport and weirdos staring at them. I definitely don't want her to think I'm a weirdo.
What about the Chinese man sitting next to me? Oh, I don't know. He's reading a magazine with squiggly writing that goes up and down, presumably Chinese. What if he's not very good at English? Then I'd have to shout and people would know I didn't know the way, and it would be embarrassing. No one else looks likely to be able to help. There are some 'young people' playing their music loudly. 'We don't all want to hear that stuff' I think to myself, silently. I turn into a grumpy old man for a while. No seriously, why do people think you'd want to listen to their racket? They seem to live in a world of their own, oblivious to anyone else. Someone in the carriage has severe BO. How can people walk around and not notice themselves? I have a discrete sniff, just in case it's me. Not me. Honestly.
The train pulls in to a station. It can't be mine, and the platform sign confirms that it isn't. The train announcer announces something indiscernible, then 'crackle crackle, the next stop will be crackle crackle'. Hmm, well at least there's an announcement. I'll listen carefully next time.
Next time comes, and no better. At least I figured I probably have enough time between seeing the platform sign and and the train stopping to get off before it leaves again. Still it would be nice to know.
Fortunately, out of the blue, my phone goes and it's Viv. She wants to check I got on the train OK. That's nice. 'I'm just pulling into Killi Willi station (or something)', I inform her. 'Where?' she responds. After a little confusion it turns out that rather than being on the wrong train, this is a new station that she hasn't heard of before. So brief panic over and now more confident of getting off at the right place.
I duly do get off at the right place. I don't know what all the fuss was about. Marcelines is about 10 minutes away. Robert comes and gets us and we go to his house for a cup of tea. There I meet Karen, his wife, and we discuss family stuff again. Veronique lives and works in London for the Nursing Council in some capacity, and Alexandra lives at home with mum and dad. Robert and Karen are coming to London in a few days to see Veronique. I get to see the view of the city from their lovely house, and the story behind the rebuild they went through about seven years ago.
Richard Benett, Robert's brother has scanned in a load of pictures of our family from way back when. We have a look, and Marceline helps us to name the various people. There are various family names who are all a bit of a jumble to me. There are Abrahams, Derblays, Davis's, Donalds, and of course Benetts. Where they all fit is still a bit of a mystery to me, but I have got one more bit of the tree. I also discover that my father had two brothers who died. France was second born and died age two of what sounds like septicaemia of some sort. The other was called George, the last to be born, age ten days, cause unknown. Robert burns a CD of all these photos. Now I just have to remember who's who. I might have to get my father onto this one.
So then Marie-Claire, Marcelines youngest and JD, Viv and Joss's sister, comes to take us to her house for dinner. Marie-Claire too has a lovely house and I get a brief chance to catch up with her. The evening ends all too soon. It's been a long day by now and I'm ready for bed. Viv is up when I get in, so we look through the family photos. She seems to know most of the people. There's a picture of Granmere Suzanne's mother Marie Davis (nee Donald) and Marie's sisters Marthe and Rose, and her brother Louis. There is also one of them all with their mother Louise, the mistress of Dr Clarenc. There's also a picture of Suzanne's father David Davis. There are lots more sisters and brothers of Suzanne, but by now it's in one ear and out the other. They had so many children in those days, I wonder they coped. I certainly can't , so it's off to bed. Tomorrow really is the last day. I think I'll try to write some of this down.
Wouldn't it be nice to have a house in the sun, like JD and Kim have? Within easy access. My cousins could come and stay from Australia, and my children too when they have their own, and my friends...I start to dream, as I drift off to sleep.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Bye Bye Blue Mountains (D38)
It's time to think about the return journey to England, and work in sunny Manchester. On the way back to Sydney we call in at Hartley, a historical convict village. In order to remind myself of the Blue Mountains this blog is mainly about some interesting facts about convict life and Blue Mountain History. Pass on if this is not your cup of tea.
The Blue Mountains were originally named "Carmarthen Hills" and "Landsdowne Hills" by Governor Phillip. The distinctive blue haze surrounding them though meant that the name 'Blue Mountains' stuck.
The Blue Mountains is densely populated by oil bearing Eucalyptus trees. The atmosphere is filled with finely dispersed droplets of oil, which, in combination with dust particles and water vapour, scatter short-wavelength rays of light at the blue end of the spectrum.
The Blue Mountains were thought to be impassible at first. Then, in 1813, the famous explorers Blaxland, Wentworth and Lawson successfully found a route across. They were accompanied and assisted by convict labour from New South Wales. They had been sent from Great Britain to serve their time either working for the Government or as free labour for wealthy gentry.
Many had been convicted for relatively minor, but repeated offences. The journey by ship took many months, and when they got here the weather was in hospitable and the conditions harsh.
As Sydney Town grew, the need for grazing and farmland became increasingly urgent. So crossing of the Mountains became imperative to open up fertile acres of land beyond. Convicts were to play a vital role in this development, in particular the building of a road mountains. In 1814, William Cox, an engineer, assembled a team of thirty convicts and eight guards to build the road. Starting at Emu Plains in four months they had completed the 47 mile road to Mount York. Chain gangs, guarded by the soldiers, toiled in the sun and freezing winter to build and maintain the Coxs Road over to Bathurst. The 101 mile road was completed in just six months.
Later, from the early 1820s, still using convict labour, large colonial properties were developed in the Mountains. The oldest surviving buildings being those of what was known as the Woodford Academy between Springwood and Hazelbrook, and Collitt's Inn (1823) at the base of Mt York in Hartley Vale. Several colonial Governors, including Lachlan Macquarie, stayed there on their travels.
In the 1850’s Gold was discovered in the Bathurst district.The Gold Rush attracted many prospectors. Many Chinese also came, not so much interested in gold as trading across the Blue Mountains. Springwood, with it’s pleasant climate, became the camping ground for people around this time. As hundreds of people flocked to the gold fields, the need for better and faster transport became clear. In the early 1860s a survey was under-way for the Blue Mountains railway.
Along the Blue Mountains railway line there is an area, called the "Crushes", where stone was quarried to provide ballast. It was at this point that trains stopped to adjust the brakes of the carriages to allow them to descend safely into Springwood. The name "Crushes" was changed to Katoomba in 1877.
In 1879 J.B. North opened the Katoomba Coal Mine. Coal was obtained from the side of the mountain near Orphan Rock using a cable car to bring the coal to the top. The now famous Scenic Railway operates in the original cutting in the mountain side. The steepest fenicular in the world, it descends of 415 m.
The first hotel, the ‘Great Western Hotel’, in Katoomba was erected in 1882. It attracted many visitors and tourists to the area. In 1886 it was renamed "The Carrington" after the then Governor.
As the Blue Mountains developed, wealthy businessmen and landowners built some spectacular homes and hotels. As well as the Carrington Hotel at Katoomba there is the Hydro Majestic Hotel, The Chalet Guesthouse and the Old Post Office - all at Medlow Bath; the old Fairfax home and the Hotel Imperial at Mt Victoria; the Comet Inn at Hartley Vale; Caves House at Jenolan; the Norman Lindsay Gallery & Museum at Faulconbridge and Abercrombie House just outside Bathurst. Colonian flamboyance was alive and well. It was built on cheap convict labour. We went to the Norman Lindsay House and park and had lunch. Lovely.
Nearby, Hartley is a fine example of a convict village. It dates from the 1840s. We called into the village and went into the heritage centre. It has been preserved for posterity and school educational trips.
Convicts who behaved themselves were able to be attached to free men and used as cheap labour. Opposite is a photo of the Harley Court House where convicts out on parole would be taken if they transgressed. Punishment was severe. The rest of the village consists of two churches, one Catholic and the other Anglican. The rest are small shops and pubs. The convicts were dressed in uniform so they could be identified when they went into the village.
When they had served their time they were released as 'free convicts' and given land to establish a new life. They built homes and were themselves able to use convict labour. Women convicts were also about, but some women came to Australia for a better life than they had in Britain, for example single mothers or those abandoned by their families for what ever reason. It was easy to find a husband in these parts.
At Lithgow, in the Western foothills are also the ruins of Australia's first blast furnace, plus the glorious Esbank House and the towering sandstone viaducts of the Zig Zag Steam Railway. On the edge of Bathurst are the amazing old gold towns of Hill End and Sofala. Many of the fabulous Gold Rush era buildings remain intact.
So there ends my little trip around Blue Mountain history and heritage, and back safely in Vivians house. I hope you enjoyed the trip.
The Blue Mountains were originally named "Carmarthen Hills" and "Landsdowne Hills" by Governor Phillip. The distinctive blue haze surrounding them though meant that the name 'Blue Mountains' stuck.
The Blue Mountains is densely populated by oil bearing Eucalyptus trees. The atmosphere is filled with finely dispersed droplets of oil, which, in combination with dust particles and water vapour, scatter short-wavelength rays of light at the blue end of the spectrum.
The Blue Mountains were thought to be impassible at first. Then, in 1813, the famous explorers Blaxland, Wentworth and Lawson successfully found a route across. They were accompanied and assisted by convict labour from New South Wales. They had been sent from Great Britain to serve their time either working for the Government or as free labour for wealthy gentry.
Many had been convicted for relatively minor, but repeated offences. The journey by ship took many months, and when they got here the weather was in hospitable and the conditions harsh.
As Sydney Town grew, the need for grazing and farmland became increasingly urgent. So crossing of the Mountains became imperative to open up fertile acres of land beyond. Convicts were to play a vital role in this development, in particular the building of a road mountains. In 1814, William Cox, an engineer, assembled a team of thirty convicts and eight guards to build the road. Starting at Emu Plains in four months they had completed the 47 mile road to Mount York. Chain gangs, guarded by the soldiers, toiled in the sun and freezing winter to build and maintain the Coxs Road over to Bathurst. The 101 mile road was completed in just six months.
Later, from the early 1820s, still using convict labour, large colonial properties were developed in the Mountains. The oldest surviving buildings being those of what was known as the Woodford Academy between Springwood and Hazelbrook, and Collitt's Inn (1823) at the base of Mt York in Hartley Vale. Several colonial Governors, including Lachlan Macquarie, stayed there on their travels.
In the 1850’s Gold was discovered in the Bathurst district.The Gold Rush attracted many prospectors. Many Chinese also came, not so much interested in gold as trading across the Blue Mountains. Springwood, with it’s pleasant climate, became the camping ground for people around this time. As hundreds of people flocked to the gold fields, the need for better and faster transport became clear. In the early 1860s a survey was under-way for the Blue Mountains railway.
Along the Blue Mountains railway line there is an area, called the "Crushes", where stone was quarried to provide ballast. It was at this point that trains stopped to adjust the brakes of the carriages to allow them to descend safely into Springwood. The name "Crushes" was changed to Katoomba in 1877.
In 1879 J.B. North opened the Katoomba Coal Mine. Coal was obtained from the side of the mountain near Orphan Rock using a cable car to bring the coal to the top. The now famous Scenic Railway operates in the original cutting in the mountain side. The steepest fenicular in the world, it descends of 415 m.
The first hotel, the ‘Great Western Hotel’, in Katoomba was erected in 1882. It attracted many visitors and tourists to the area. In 1886 it was renamed "The Carrington" after the then Governor.
As the Blue Mountains developed, wealthy businessmen and landowners built some spectacular homes and hotels. As well as the Carrington Hotel at Katoomba there is the Hydro Majestic Hotel, The Chalet Guesthouse and the Old Post Office - all at Medlow Bath; the old Fairfax home and the Hotel Imperial at Mt Victoria; the Comet Inn at Hartley Vale; Caves House at Jenolan; the Norman Lindsay Gallery & Museum at Faulconbridge and Abercrombie House just outside Bathurst. Colonian flamboyance was alive and well. It was built on cheap convict labour. We went to the Norman Lindsay House and park and had lunch. Lovely.
Nearby, Hartley is a fine example of a convict village. It dates from the 1840s. We called into the village and went into the heritage centre. It has been preserved for posterity and school educational trips.
Convicts who behaved themselves were able to be attached to free men and used as cheap labour. Opposite is a photo of the Harley Court House where convicts out on parole would be taken if they transgressed. Punishment was severe. The rest of the village consists of two churches, one Catholic and the other Anglican. The rest are small shops and pubs. The convicts were dressed in uniform so they could be identified when they went into the village. When they had served their time they were released as 'free convicts' and given land to establish a new life. They built homes and were themselves able to use convict labour. Women convicts were also about, but some women came to Australia for a better life than they had in Britain, for example single mothers or those abandoned by their families for what ever reason. It was easy to find a husband in these parts.
At Lithgow, in the Western foothills are also the ruins of Australia's first blast furnace, plus the glorious Esbank House and the towering sandstone viaducts of the Zig Zag Steam Railway. On the edge of Bathurst are the amazing old gold towns of Hill End and Sofala. Many of the fabulous Gold Rush era buildings remain intact.So there ends my little trip around Blue Mountain history and heritage, and back safely in Vivians house. I hope you enjoyed the trip.
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Summer skin - tripleguard (D37)
I've never itched so much in all my life. It would drive you mad. It's stopping me sleep, and once you start that's it. You can't stop until it's painful, then it hurts. I could have got Ross River Fever or something.
Yesterday was a lovely day. The sun was out, not too hot, just right. A gentle morning, shorts, T-shirt and thongs. I'm not explaining again about the thongs. Sunnies, what they call sun glasses, and suncream (SPF15), it's gonna be a scorcher. A cup of tea in the dappled shade. The Crimson Rosellas and King Parrots feeding off the bird tables. Vegetables are growing on the vegetable patch. Bird and insect noises enlivening the moment. A white butterfly skips between the petunias, roses and Peruvian lilies The Buddha, serenely surveys his vista. He has arrived at his place of peace and enlightenment.
This is where I must have been bitten to fury, all the way up both legs and arms, for this little paradise is home to millions of these little biting creatures. At the time you don't feel anything, but as the histamine is released the itching becomes irresistible. I've escaped the other animal hazards in this country only to be got by these insects.
'There's a dying rat in the corner, what shall we do?' says JD in a rather too casual way. 'Shit' I jump up. 'Where?' It's over there in the corner. A disgusting rodent, lying on it's side, twitching occasionally.
I forgot to tell you there is a raised pond in the garden and an island in the middle of it. So I'm off to it and stay there until the situation is resolved.
Kim is, by now, appraised of the situation. JD is going to have to pick it up and put it into a bag for disposal. He seems reluctant. 'Don't look at me' I whimper. 'My heroes' observes Kim sarcastically.
No, well, it needs thinking about, JD, correctly in my opinion, asserts. This is not to be rushed into. Kim hands him a plastic bag, a stick and some yellow marigold gloves. He approaches the creature gingerly and, from the safety of a low wall prods it tentatively and jumps back. It moved. OMG it isn't dead yet. 'Lets leave it til later' I offer helpfully from my vantage point. No, it's going to have to be done now. OK then. He prods it again, less movement.
'Give me the gloves' says Kim firmly. To everyones relief Kim takes charge. 'You get the bag' she orders, 'and I'll hold the stick'. The rat is by now trapped, helpless in it's weakened state, by the stick. But will it muster a final Hurrah? or be able to inflict a deadly bite? What if it's carrying a horrible disease? I'm not moving. JD needs to consider the options carefully. There's no point rushing these things. It's got to be done properly. 'Get on with it' barks Sargent major.
JD approaches the rat again with the bag. Maybe two bags in case it escapes one. 'Hurry up'. He approaches once more. Now what? ' You grab it's tail and stick it in the bag.' he quivers. 'My braveheart' mutters Kim again under her breath. Sure enough though, she grabs the tail and into the bag. The rat twisted, it's last resistance, before giving up to it's fate.
We all relax, well nearly. I'm still not sure it's dead so wait a little until finally, bravely, coming down from my position. Sorted.
Next stop, collect some pies from Blackheath and we'll have a picnic lunch on Mt Blackheath itself. Blackheath is a suburb of Blue Mountain city. It's really a little town of it's own, with little shops and cafes. It's lovely. The town was first called Hounslow by the British explorer Lachlan Macquarie when he came across it in 1815. On his way back he changed his mind and called it what it is today. In 1836 the place was visited by Charles Darwin, no less. It is known for it's quirkiness and Rhododendron Garden. Jenny Kee is a local Asian artist who hung around the music scene in the 60s, and then settled here. One of the buildings carries a mural of hers. It is impressive in size and beautiful. We call into the shop originally run by the owner of JD & Kim's house. It is still new-agey, and I buy a hipipy necklace for myself. I think I can carry it off, don't you?
We dump the still moving rodent, and pick up the food and up the hill we go. On the way there we listen to some Ragga music. It is a cross between Sega and Reggae. Bob Marley is a bit of a hero to Mauritian youth, who can identify with him as coming from an Island formerly under colonial rule. Also he made good music. So modern Sega has changed to Ragga and clearly has influences of both. JD says I can have the CD.
It's hot. Slip slap slop, and on goes the tripleguard. JD was impressed with my tan, comparing it to Bridget Jones' father-in-law's. Like Dale Winton's he reckons. The cheek, the nerve, the very idea. This tan has been carefully nurtured in the Queensland sun. A little at a time. A gradual build up so as not to burn. 'More like orange spray paint', he jibes.
'Look, this is what I use to protect myself in the sun' I say defensively. The suggestion of cheating is starting to hurt. I hand them my Tripleguard, summer skin, gradual tan SPF15 that I bought at Shoal Bay.
They begin to titter between themselves, and point at the back of the bottle. The tittering becomes a laugh. 'Alright, what is it?' I ask curiously. 'No, it's OK' replies JD before collapsing into laughter again. 'No, it's a really nice tan' sniggers Kim, holding back the tears. 'What Is It? I assert. They hand me back the bottle and point to the relevant paragraphs.
'... helps you built a natural looking tan. With a hint of self tanning agent, achieve a radiant skin all year round even on cloudy days. Apply once a day, preferably after showering, to achieve an even, streak free tan. For external use only ...'
HaHa. Very funny.
Mount Blackheath is hot, but worth the drive. The view of the valley below is breathtaking. In fact geologically these valleys are not made by river erosion. The rivers aren't big enough, rather by the contortions caused by movement of the Earths crust.
So back for a siesta and then dinner in Blackheath. We really should walk into the village. OK then, we reluctantly agree. It's a bit steep. Then I remember I left my camera at the house. What a shame, we'll have to go back and get it, and it is steep. We got back and drive to the curry place. Chat, laugh and chat, then back for an early night. We're back to Sydney tomorrow for the final leg of the trip.
Yesterday was a lovely day. The sun was out, not too hot, just right. A gentle morning, shorts, T-shirt and thongs. I'm not explaining again about the thongs. Sunnies, what they call sun glasses, and suncream (SPF15), it's gonna be a scorcher. A cup of tea in the dappled shade. The Crimson Rosellas and King Parrots feeding off the bird tables. Vegetables are growing on the vegetable patch. Bird and insect noises enlivening the moment. A white butterfly skips between the petunias, roses and Peruvian lilies The Buddha, serenely surveys his vista. He has arrived at his place of peace and enlightenment.
This is where I must have been bitten to fury, all the way up both legs and arms, for this little paradise is home to millions of these little biting creatures. At the time you don't feel anything, but as the histamine is released the itching becomes irresistible. I've escaped the other animal hazards in this country only to be got by these insects.
'There's a dying rat in the corner, what shall we do?' says JD in a rather too casual way. 'Shit' I jump up. 'Where?' It's over there in the corner. A disgusting rodent, lying on it's side, twitching occasionally.
I forgot to tell you there is a raised pond in the garden and an island in the middle of it. So I'm off to it and stay there until the situation is resolved.
Kim is, by now, appraised of the situation. JD is going to have to pick it up and put it into a bag for disposal. He seems reluctant. 'Don't look at me' I whimper. 'My heroes' observes Kim sarcastically.
No, well, it needs thinking about, JD, correctly in my opinion, asserts. This is not to be rushed into. Kim hands him a plastic bag, a stick and some yellow marigold gloves. He approaches the creature gingerly and, from the safety of a low wall prods it tentatively and jumps back. It moved. OMG it isn't dead yet. 'Lets leave it til later' I offer helpfully from my vantage point. No, it's going to have to be done now. OK then. He prods it again, less movement.
'Give me the gloves' says Kim firmly. To everyones relief Kim takes charge. 'You get the bag' she orders, 'and I'll hold the stick'. The rat is by now trapped, helpless in it's weakened state, by the stick. But will it muster a final Hurrah? or be able to inflict a deadly bite? What if it's carrying a horrible disease? I'm not moving. JD needs to consider the options carefully. There's no point rushing these things. It's got to be done properly. 'Get on with it' barks Sargent major.
JD approaches the rat again with the bag. Maybe two bags in case it escapes one. 'Hurry up'. He approaches once more. Now what? ' You grab it's tail and stick it in the bag.' he quivers. 'My braveheart' mutters Kim again under her breath. Sure enough though, she grabs the tail and into the bag. The rat twisted, it's last resistance, before giving up to it's fate.
We all relax, well nearly. I'm still not sure it's dead so wait a little until finally, bravely, coming down from my position. Sorted.
Next stop, collect some pies from Blackheath and we'll have a picnic lunch on Mt Blackheath itself. Blackheath is a suburb of Blue Mountain city. It's really a little town of it's own, with little shops and cafes. It's lovely. The town was first called Hounslow by the British explorer Lachlan Macquarie when he came across it in 1815. On his way back he changed his mind and called it what it is today. In 1836 the place was visited by Charles Darwin, no less. It is known for it's quirkiness and Rhododendron Garden. Jenny Kee is a local Asian artist who hung around the music scene in the 60s, and then settled here. One of the buildings carries a mural of hers. It is impressive in size and beautiful. We call into the shop originally run by the owner of JD & Kim's house. It is still new-agey, and I buy a hipipy necklace for myself. I think I can carry it off, don't you?
We dump the still moving rodent, and pick up the food and up the hill we go. On the way there we listen to some Ragga music. It is a cross between Sega and Reggae. Bob Marley is a bit of a hero to Mauritian youth, who can identify with him as coming from an Island formerly under colonial rule. Also he made good music. So modern Sega has changed to Ragga and clearly has influences of both. JD says I can have the CD.
It's hot. Slip slap slop, and on goes the tripleguard. JD was impressed with my tan, comparing it to Bridget Jones' father-in-law's. Like Dale Winton's he reckons. The cheek, the nerve, the very idea. This tan has been carefully nurtured in the Queensland sun. A little at a time. A gradual build up so as not to burn. 'More like orange spray paint', he jibes.
'Look, this is what I use to protect myself in the sun' I say defensively. The suggestion of cheating is starting to hurt. I hand them my Tripleguard, summer skin, gradual tan SPF15 that I bought at Shoal Bay.
They begin to titter between themselves, and point at the back of the bottle. The tittering becomes a laugh. 'Alright, what is it?' I ask curiously. 'No, it's OK' replies JD before collapsing into laughter again. 'No, it's a really nice tan' sniggers Kim, holding back the tears. 'What Is It? I assert. They hand me back the bottle and point to the relevant paragraphs.
'... helps you built a natural looking tan. With a hint of self tanning agent, achieve a radiant skin all year round even on cloudy days. Apply once a day, preferably after showering, to achieve an even, streak free tan. For external use only ...'
HaHa. Very funny.
Mount Blackheath is hot, but worth the drive. The view of the valley below is breathtaking. In fact geologically these valleys are not made by river erosion. The rivers aren't big enough, rather by the contortions caused by movement of the Earths crust.
So back for a siesta and then dinner in Blackheath. We really should walk into the village. OK then, we reluctantly agree. It's a bit steep. Then I remember I left my camera at the house. What a shame, we'll have to go back and get it, and it is steep. We got back and drive to the curry place. Chat, laugh and chat, then back for an early night. We're back to Sydney tomorrow for the final leg of the trip.
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Goomblar's Dreaming (D36)
Christmas is coming. A time for tradition and census, when we go to our ancestral homes to be counted and to reaffirm the ancient rites and rituals enacted by our tribes. I love it. I also love the fact that the Aussie part of the family have exactly the same kind of conversations as we do in England. The grumpies, like me, think it's far too commercialised, the organisers and doers are worrying about who what where, and how much. This year everyone is descending on Matant to celebrate 40 years in that house. Everyone is coming. Perhaps next year the small units, now bigger, will split off and do their own thing. In England the smaller units did this some time ago, but we will be going to my parents, as we usually do, between Christmas and New Year. The getting together and clan thing is alive on both continents, whether we like it or not, it is more powerful than us as individuals. In Mauritius we would gather similarly, eat and exchange presents, and we are passing on our traditions to the next generation. Now it's not far away.
Here in the Blue Mountains we went for a bush walk. To Govett's leap, then on to the valley of waters to the Empress water falls. They were fabulous. To get there we need to climb down some seriously steep steps, me JD and Kim.
Kim is from Parramatta, a western suburb, and is 'very good for Jean-Daniel' according to his sisters. I think so too. He's written a song about her which is beautiful. I wondered why one of his first questions to me was about my band, Harvey. I told him about it in suitably modest and truthful terms. In fact he's an accomplished musician. I asked him to play some of his stuff. It is seriously good, heart felt lyrics and I found myself hummimg the tunes. He's too modest about it, but he has a skill to be proud of. He also writes short stories, like Joss's husband Rob. JDs music is in the form of short stories. Kim, an avid reader, helps him with the stories.
So there we are at the top of this cliff looking down at a wonderful waterfall. Voices are rising up from below. Some school children are absailing down the falls. There's a mixture of excitement, anxiety and fear in their voices. They are having the time of their lives. The sun, after a bit of a poor start, is breaking through the trees, it's rays making the rocks glow gold. To get down there we're going to have to climb down some steep metal steps. 'I can't do it' says Kim. Oh dear, she has vertigo at the thought and sight of heights. 'Oh, come on' we exhort her. 'OK, but someone will have to go in front of me'. I rush forward to do my gallant best and start down. ' So what happens when this gets you, cos you seem to be doing fine' I try to jolly her along half way down. 'I vomit' she stutters, looking down at me. Pause to consider options. 'Oh well nearly there' I say encouragingly, 'best keep going then' and I turn to keep slightly further away for her than before. We do get to the falls without incident, and as the man half way down predicted, we didn't regret it.
Eventually, after some pausing and panting, and complaining about the aging process, and letting younger un-breathless people rush past, we get the the top again. Fortunately it was beer o'clock, so we had one. Then drive on to the three sisters. This is a sandstone rock formation, and is subject to erosion.
According the Gondungurra Dreaming, or legend, three beautiful sisters called Meehni, Wimlah and Gunnedoo fell in love with three brothers from the neighbouring Dharruk nation. Tribal law forbade marriage. So the boys, brave warriors, decided to take them by force. A war began and so the Kuradjuri (wise man) of the Gundungurra, to prevent further blood shed, turned them to stone. He was going to turn them back when things had settled. Unfortunately he was speared through the heart and died in one of the battles. To this day no one has been able to return the sisters to their natural form. At sunrise and sometimes at sunset you can see the sisters smiling at what might have been, and now never will. I put this last bit in myself to encourage you to go.
The whole day was actually planned around going to see Goomblar. He is performing at (about) 5pm. We were phoned earlier as we are the only ones going to be there, but we'd still like to see it. Later we are told that it's still on and Goomblar is OK to perform. He's going to tell us about his dreaming. I'm excited to hear it. We are told that the show is an on-stage history of the Yidaki (Didjeridoo), and combines music, dance and story telling. It has been passed down to each successive generation for 40 thousand years.
We arrive on time. The show is on in a cinema and the stage is the bit at the front under the screen. There are some mixed race kids messing about in the foyer around the pool table, one of them looks to have learning difficulties but he's joining in with the fun. Egging them on is a big black man with a shaggy beard and long matted hair. There's white paint on his face. That's Goomblar says JD. No! the show is about to start. We take our seats in the dark auditorium at the front, and wait a few moments.
In comes the big black man with shaggy beard and long matted hair, followed by the rowdy kids. 'G'day' he says as he comes up to us and offers a hand shake. 'Where are you all from' he asks politely and with a slight lisp. The others say they're from Sydney. 'England' I reply meekly. 'Oh, England' he replies mock sinisterly. Then seriously 'Come on, we're on in five. Take as many pictures as you like guys' and the rowdy kids follow him out.
'Many years ago, in the Dreamtime the spirits got together and formed the heavens and the earth and the animals. They put humans in charge of it all and keep it in balance' booms out a big voice to a background of fast moving images of the sky, and land, and plants. Then in comes Goomblar, he is the booming voice, and he tells us about his dreaming.
One of the stories is of the serpent who died, but as he died, he shed his shiny sparkling skin. As it's spirit left the skin went and became the milky way. The spirits are why the land is how it is and we should respect it.
One day Yidaki was walking in the bush when he came upon a hollowed out log. He liked the look of it, and blew out the termites nest from the middle of it. As he did so he notice that it made a sound. A sound of an animal he'd never heard before. Then he found he could immitate the sound of all the animals of the land. He perfected the sounds by being able to constantly breath into the log, by circular breathing. To this day the spirit of Yidaki lives on in the Didjeridoo that carries his name.
Then, quite suddenly, we are entertained to a brilliant, loud, stirring rumble of animal noises. The musician is one of the rowdy boy, now dressed in shorts and body paint. He looks about 16. The other boys come in dancing. The narrator explains the various animals that they are dancing. The flightless emu, the fluttering butterfly, the bouncing kangaroo and it goes on. How wonderful. The little learning difficulty boy joins in, only needing to be occasionally guided.
The music stops. Scarily Goomblar approaches us. I am taken to the front of the stage and shown how to be a tree, while they swirl around me as stingless bees, the music getting louder and more frantic. I notice the flash bulbs going. and then the music stops. One of the boys gets JD and some other men out and we are shown how to do the dances. I don't think it matters if you don't get it exactly right. The rowdy boys though, do seem to have the steps more like the real animals. Then we are thanked and it's the women's turn.
I think this tops even the Barrier Reef or Whtehaven Sands. After the performance ends, Goomblar invites us all to the front for photos. He has set up a foundation to promote Aboriginal culture. This show has travelled all around the world. The whole thing is uplifting and wonderful.
What a brilliant way to remember and celebrate culture, history and family. A bit like our Christmas really, it's important for traditions to be handed down form one to the next, and for us to remember who we are and where we come from, and why we are here. I'm starting to look forward to my Christmas. Perhaps I'll start a story telling tradition for our family.
Here in the Blue Mountains we went for a bush walk. To Govett's leap, then on to the valley of waters to the Empress water falls. They were fabulous. To get there we need to climb down some seriously steep steps, me JD and Kim.
Kim is from Parramatta, a western suburb, and is 'very good for Jean-Daniel' according to his sisters. I think so too. He's written a song about her which is beautiful. I wondered why one of his first questions to me was about my band, Harvey. I told him about it in suitably modest and truthful terms. In fact he's an accomplished musician. I asked him to play some of his stuff. It is seriously good, heart felt lyrics and I found myself hummimg the tunes. He's too modest about it, but he has a skill to be proud of. He also writes short stories, like Joss's husband Rob. JDs music is in the form of short stories. Kim, an avid reader, helps him with the stories.
So there we are at the top of this cliff looking down at a wonderful waterfall. Voices are rising up from below. Some school children are absailing down the falls. There's a mixture of excitement, anxiety and fear in their voices. They are having the time of their lives. The sun, after a bit of a poor start, is breaking through the trees, it's rays making the rocks glow gold. To get down there we're going to have to climb down some steep metal steps. 'I can't do it' says Kim. Oh dear, she has vertigo at the thought and sight of heights. 'Oh, come on' we exhort her. 'OK, but someone will have to go in front of me'. I rush forward to do my gallant best and start down. ' So what happens when this gets you, cos you seem to be doing fine' I try to jolly her along half way down. 'I vomit' she stutters, looking down at me. Pause to consider options. 'Oh well nearly there' I say encouragingly, 'best keep going then' and I turn to keep slightly further away for her than before. We do get to the falls without incident, and as the man half way down predicted, we didn't regret it.
Eventually, after some pausing and panting, and complaining about the aging process, and letting younger un-breathless people rush past, we get the the top again. Fortunately it was beer o'clock, so we had one. Then drive on to the three sisters. This is a sandstone rock formation, and is subject to erosion.
According the Gondungurra Dreaming, or legend, three beautiful sisters called Meehni, Wimlah and Gunnedoo fell in love with three brothers from the neighbouring Dharruk nation. Tribal law forbade marriage. So the boys, brave warriors, decided to take them by force. A war began and so the Kuradjuri (wise man) of the Gundungurra, to prevent further blood shed, turned them to stone. He was going to turn them back when things had settled. Unfortunately he was speared through the heart and died in one of the battles. To this day no one has been able to return the sisters to their natural form. At sunrise and sometimes at sunset you can see the sisters smiling at what might have been, and now never will. I put this last bit in myself to encourage you to go.The whole day was actually planned around going to see Goomblar. He is performing at (about) 5pm. We were phoned earlier as we are the only ones going to be there, but we'd still like to see it. Later we are told that it's still on and Goomblar is OK to perform. He's going to tell us about his dreaming. I'm excited to hear it. We are told that the show is an on-stage history of the Yidaki (Didjeridoo), and combines music, dance and story telling. It has been passed down to each successive generation for 40 thousand years.
We arrive on time. The show is on in a cinema and the stage is the bit at the front under the screen. There are some mixed race kids messing about in the foyer around the pool table, one of them looks to have learning difficulties but he's joining in with the fun. Egging them on is a big black man with a shaggy beard and long matted hair. There's white paint on his face. That's Goomblar says JD. No! the show is about to start. We take our seats in the dark auditorium at the front, and wait a few moments.
In comes the big black man with shaggy beard and long matted hair, followed by the rowdy kids. 'G'day' he says as he comes up to us and offers a hand shake. 'Where are you all from' he asks politely and with a slight lisp. The others say they're from Sydney. 'England' I reply meekly. 'Oh, England' he replies mock sinisterly. Then seriously 'Come on, we're on in five. Take as many pictures as you like guys' and the rowdy kids follow him out.
'Many years ago, in the Dreamtime the spirits got together and formed the heavens and the earth and the animals. They put humans in charge of it all and keep it in balance' booms out a big voice to a background of fast moving images of the sky, and land, and plants. Then in comes Goomblar, he is the booming voice, and he tells us about his dreaming.One of the stories is of the serpent who died, but as he died, he shed his shiny sparkling skin. As it's spirit left the skin went and became the milky way. The spirits are why the land is how it is and we should respect it.
One day Yidaki was walking in the bush when he came upon a hollowed out log. He liked the look of it, and blew out the termites nest from the middle of it. As he did so he notice that it made a sound. A sound of an animal he'd never heard before. Then he found he could immitate the sound of all the animals of the land. He perfected the sounds by being able to constantly breath into the log, by circular breathing. To this day the spirit of Yidaki lives on in the Didjeridoo that carries his name.
Then, quite suddenly, we are entertained to a brilliant, loud, stirring rumble of animal noises. The musician is one of the rowdy boy, now dressed in shorts and body paint. He looks about 16. The other boys come in dancing. The narrator explains the various animals that they are dancing. The flightless emu, the fluttering butterfly, the bouncing kangaroo and it goes on. How wonderful. The little learning difficulty boy joins in, only needing to be occasionally guided.The music stops. Scarily Goomblar approaches us. I am taken to the front of the stage and shown how to be a tree, while they swirl around me as stingless bees, the music getting louder and more frantic. I notice the flash bulbs going. and then the music stops. One of the boys gets JD and some other men out and we are shown how to do the dances. I don't think it matters if you don't get it exactly right. The rowdy boys though, do seem to have the steps more like the real animals. Then we are thanked and it's the women's turn.
I think this tops even the Barrier Reef or Whtehaven Sands. After the performance ends, Goomblar invites us all to the front for photos. He has set up a foundation to promote Aboriginal culture. This show has travelled all around the world. The whole thing is uplifting and wonderful.
What a brilliant way to remember and celebrate culture, history and family. A bit like our Christmas really, it's important for traditions to be handed down form one to the next, and for us to remember who we are and where we come from, and why we are here. I'm starting to look forward to my Christmas. Perhaps I'll start a story telling tradition for our family.
Monday, 14 December 2009
Blackheath (D35)
It was cold, drizzly and grey. I shivered in my flip-flops and shorts. No I wasn't back in Manchester, though the weather was just like it. I was waiting outside Sydney airport for Jean-Daniel to phone.
That morning I'd flown back from Brissy. The plan was to phone JD when I landed and he would come and get me. Just one tiny little floor. Yes I had got his number, and yes there was enough on the battery, just. I had meant to charge it up the night before but forgot. So no problem with Viv's pay as you go Aussie phone. Except..... when I tried I got 'you do not have enough credit to make this call'. Shit, panic. I don't know how to top it up, and there aren't any shops anyway.
I know I'll use my ordinary phone. Double shit, my phone wont work either. I don't know why, the key paid wont respond. -it's not locked, I thought of that, it just wont bloody work. I feel like giving it a severe thrashing after I repeatedly tell it to work. It's no good. 'What is the point of having you? I mean really WHAT IS THE POINT' I think to myself in my best Basil Fawlty. But seriously, what do I do now? I'm stuck. JD is waiting for a call. He'll be wondering what's happening. Remember I've only met him briefly at Marie-Claire's barbecue a couple of weeks ago, after a 40 year gap. He'll think I'm being rude, or stupid. What am i going to do?
Fortunately, before full panic sets in, my phone goes and it's JD. I explain briefly and he's on his way. Phew. I've had a few phews lately.
We stopped off at Botany Bay for a coffee. This was where many were dropped off and it in now a Greek and Italian place. Then back to his, before picking up Kim, his partner from Parramatta.
We're off to the Blue Mountains. Yeah. Only it feels still like Manchester on a November morning. As we get closer the mist descends. It's normally a fabulous view from here, they assure me.
They have a house up here and it's gorgeous. They rent it out mostly as a holiday home, but obviously stay in it themselves when they want.
It was previously owned by an older lady who was into mysticism and Buddhism and Hinduism, but moved to Queensland for a new challenge. The house is well proportioned and full of character. They have left much of the decor, which is slightly new age, but I think works perfectly. Pinks and purples, oranges and yellows, and flowery motifs. There's a fire place if we need it. The bathroom and kitchen are modern. The garden is well cared for and there's a Buddha looking peaceful, if a bit damp today.
We'll have to have indoor activities for now, so the beers are opened. One inquisitive male cousin makes for a lively and interesting discussion about mutual recollections of childhood. JD particularly liked coming round to our house because it was always relaxed, lots to play with and interesting. The only thing was having to go to bed early if they stayed over. Mum and Dad were always kind and welcoming. It was fun coming to our house, it was a happy house.
I heard about what it was like for him when they came over to Australia. I didn't realise that they spoke no English at all. On the first day of school he was dropped off at the gate and had to go into a class where he understood nothing. When the register was read out he didn't understand his name being called, only Cheron, his surname in an Aussie accent. Then it was Jean Daniel(le) Cheron, in Aussie, much to the hilarity of the class and embarrassment of Jean-Daniel. After that his teacher suggested he be called by his second name, hence Gilbert.
I wont laugh, you're still Jean-Daniel to me. Kim is also lovely. After 6 or so years she feels part of the family, and remembers my mum and dad when they last came here. She doesn't understand the creole stuff but knows whether it's funny angry or serious by the intonation and body language. J-D and Kim share ownership of this house, where we will be for the next few days. It's going to be fun as they are both easy to get on with.
That morning I'd flown back from Brissy. The plan was to phone JD when I landed and he would come and get me. Just one tiny little floor. Yes I had got his number, and yes there was enough on the battery, just. I had meant to charge it up the night before but forgot. So no problem with Viv's pay as you go Aussie phone. Except..... when I tried I got 'you do not have enough credit to make this call'. Shit, panic. I don't know how to top it up, and there aren't any shops anyway.
I know I'll use my ordinary phone. Double shit, my phone wont work either. I don't know why, the key paid wont respond. -it's not locked, I thought of that, it just wont bloody work. I feel like giving it a severe thrashing after I repeatedly tell it to work. It's no good. 'What is the point of having you? I mean really WHAT IS THE POINT' I think to myself in my best Basil Fawlty. But seriously, what do I do now? I'm stuck. JD is waiting for a call. He'll be wondering what's happening. Remember I've only met him briefly at Marie-Claire's barbecue a couple of weeks ago, after a 40 year gap. He'll think I'm being rude, or stupid. What am i going to do?
Fortunately, before full panic sets in, my phone goes and it's JD. I explain briefly and he's on his way. Phew. I've had a few phews lately.
We stopped off at Botany Bay for a coffee. This was where many were dropped off and it in now a Greek and Italian place. Then back to his, before picking up Kim, his partner from Parramatta.
We're off to the Blue Mountains. Yeah. Only it feels still like Manchester on a November morning. As we get closer the mist descends. It's normally a fabulous view from here, they assure me.
They have a house up here and it's gorgeous. They rent it out mostly as a holiday home, but obviously stay in it themselves when they want.
It was previously owned by an older lady who was into mysticism and Buddhism and Hinduism, but moved to Queensland for a new challenge. The house is well proportioned and full of character. They have left much of the decor, which is slightly new age, but I think works perfectly. Pinks and purples, oranges and yellows, and flowery motifs. There's a fire place if we need it. The bathroom and kitchen are modern. The garden is well cared for and there's a Buddha looking peaceful, if a bit damp today.
We'll have to have indoor activities for now, so the beers are opened. One inquisitive male cousin makes for a lively and interesting discussion about mutual recollections of childhood. JD particularly liked coming round to our house because it was always relaxed, lots to play with and interesting. The only thing was having to go to bed early if they stayed over. Mum and Dad were always kind and welcoming. It was fun coming to our house, it was a happy house.
I heard about what it was like for him when they came over to Australia. I didn't realise that they spoke no English at all. On the first day of school he was dropped off at the gate and had to go into a class where he understood nothing. When the register was read out he didn't understand his name being called, only Cheron, his surname in an Aussie accent. Then it was Jean Daniel(le) Cheron, in Aussie, much to the hilarity of the class and embarrassment of Jean-Daniel. After that his teacher suggested he be called by his second name, hence Gilbert.
I wont laugh, you're still Jean-Daniel to me. Kim is also lovely. After 6 or so years she feels part of the family, and remembers my mum and dad when they last came here. She doesn't understand the creole stuff but knows whether it's funny angry or serious by the intonation and body language. J-D and Kim share ownership of this house, where we will be for the next few days. It's going to be fun as they are both easy to get on with.
Sunday, 13 December 2009
The History of Brisbane
In 2009 Brisbane celebrates 150 years since its declaration as a city. The following is an official history of the city if you're interested, but that's it on this blog.
Aboriginal culture before 1824:
Brisbane was home to the Jagera and Turrbal Aboriginal clans. Before European settlement, the land, the river and its tributaries were the source and support of life in all its dimensions. The river's abundant supply of food included fish, shellfish, crabs and shrimps. The good fishing places became campsites and the focus of group activities.
Moreton Bay Penal Settlement from 1824 until 1842:
The selection of Brisbane as a gaol site was actually an afterthought. Redcliffe, north of the city, was the original preference when Surveyor General John Oxley, aboard the cutter 'Mermaid', first surveyed the region late in 1823.
The boat was anchored off Bribie Island when the crew saw a group of Aborigines and "one who appeared larger than the rest" on the shore. This was an ex-convict called Thomas Pamphlett, one of four men who had left Sydney earlier that year on an ill-fated journey to sail south to buy cedar.
Pamphlett and a fellow survivor of the journey, Finnegan, had been living with the Aborigines for several months when Oxley spotted Pamphlett on a beach in Moreton Bay. Pamphlett and Finnegan told Oxley of a large river they had seen in the area. Intrigued, Oxley set off in a whaleboat with a small crew and Finnegan as their guide.
Oxley found the river the next day and named it in honour of the then Governor of New South Wales, Sir Thomas Brisbane. It was the red cliffs north of the river that impressed him as the most suitable site for the new penal settlement.
In 1825, less than a year after the convicts arrived, the Redcliffe site was abandoned mainly because Brisbane had a more reliable water supply. It was also surrounded by a bend in the river, which meant that escape was more difficult.
With a government decree forbidding unauthorised people coming within fifty miles, the walled gaol operated for the next seventeen years, taking only the toughest prisoners from Sydney. However, mounting pressure on decision makers in England to stop sending convicts to Australia finally led to Moreton Bay district being opened to free settlers in 1842.
Free settlement 1842-1900:
Brisbane was free to grow as a city. Grand homes like Palma Rosa at Hamilton and Brisbane's oldest surviving residence, Newstead House, sprang up among the slab huts and shanties.
The population grew from 829 in 1846 to almost 6,000 by 1859 when Brisbane became capital of the self-governing colony of Queensland. By 1888, most evidence of convict occupation in the central business district was gone. In its place stood imposing buildings like Old Government House and Customs House. The grandeur of these buildings highlighted the strength of Brisbane's growing economy.
A new century 1901-2000:
By the time of Federation in 1901, Queensland was the fastest growing state in the new nation and Brisbane was its economic hub. Despite the drought, floods and depression of the 1890s, trade and industry were booming. The Brisbane River was a hive of maritime activity.
Post World War I and the Great Depression
After World War I, Brisbane became the largest local authority in Australia. The 1924 City of Brisbane Act abolished two cities, six towns and ten shires to create a single council governing 1,220 square kilometres.
Ironically, landmark buildings like City Hall and the Masonic Temple were built in 1930 just as the Great Depression took hold. For Brisbane, as well as for other cities, the early thirties brought high unemployment and desperate poverty. Construction of the Story Bridge was the city's biggest Depression-time project. 'Tent cities' sprang up around Brisbane to house the homeless. Read more about Brisbane during this era of hardship.
World War II:
World War II and the threat of Japanese attack transformed many parts of Brisbane into military camps. In 1942, the AMP building became headquarters for the United States General Douglas MacArthur, the Commander in Chief of the South-West Pacific Campaign. See photos from that time.
Thousands of United States servicemen were stationed in Brisbane, boosting the population to over 750,000. As city services strained to meet the needs of the extra populaton, tensions mounted between American and Australian servicemen. On 26 and 27 November 1942, those tensions erupted into the infamous streetfight that is now remembered as the 'Battle of Brisbane'.
The boom years:
After World War II came the boom years, a period marked by increased industrial activity and population levels boosted by immigration. In Brisbane, suburbs began to flourish. There was a major focus on sealing roads and providing the city with sewerage services.
Floods and fame
In 1974 floods devastated Brisbane. Sixteen people lost their lives and an estimated $300 million damage was caused. Brisbane soon recovered to host two major world events - the 1982 Commonwealth Games and World Expo 1988. These events brought new sports and cultural facilities to Brisbane, as well as a renewed identity. The media coverage of the Games was the biggest broadcasting operation ever undertaken in Australia at that time and in 1988 World Expo was hailed as another major international success for Australia.
Aboriginal culture before 1824:
Brisbane was home to the Jagera and Turrbal Aboriginal clans. Before European settlement, the land, the river and its tributaries were the source and support of life in all its dimensions. The river's abundant supply of food included fish, shellfish, crabs and shrimps. The good fishing places became campsites and the focus of group activities.
Moreton Bay Penal Settlement from 1824 until 1842:
The selection of Brisbane as a gaol site was actually an afterthought. Redcliffe, north of the city, was the original preference when Surveyor General John Oxley, aboard the cutter 'Mermaid', first surveyed the region late in 1823.
The boat was anchored off Bribie Island when the crew saw a group of Aborigines and "one who appeared larger than the rest" on the shore. This was an ex-convict called Thomas Pamphlett, one of four men who had left Sydney earlier that year on an ill-fated journey to sail south to buy cedar.
Pamphlett and a fellow survivor of the journey, Finnegan, had been living with the Aborigines for several months when Oxley spotted Pamphlett on a beach in Moreton Bay. Pamphlett and Finnegan told Oxley of a large river they had seen in the area. Intrigued, Oxley set off in a whaleboat with a small crew and Finnegan as their guide.
Oxley found the river the next day and named it in honour of the then Governor of New South Wales, Sir Thomas Brisbane. It was the red cliffs north of the river that impressed him as the most suitable site for the new penal settlement.
In 1825, less than a year after the convicts arrived, the Redcliffe site was abandoned mainly because Brisbane had a more reliable water supply. It was also surrounded by a bend in the river, which meant that escape was more difficult.
With a government decree forbidding unauthorised people coming within fifty miles, the walled gaol operated for the next seventeen years, taking only the toughest prisoners from Sydney. However, mounting pressure on decision makers in England to stop sending convicts to Australia finally led to Moreton Bay district being opened to free settlers in 1842.
Free settlement 1842-1900:
Brisbane was free to grow as a city. Grand homes like Palma Rosa at Hamilton and Brisbane's oldest surviving residence, Newstead House, sprang up among the slab huts and shanties.
The population grew from 829 in 1846 to almost 6,000 by 1859 when Brisbane became capital of the self-governing colony of Queensland. By 1888, most evidence of convict occupation in the central business district was gone. In its place stood imposing buildings like Old Government House and Customs House. The grandeur of these buildings highlighted the strength of Brisbane's growing economy.
A new century 1901-2000:
By the time of Federation in 1901, Queensland was the fastest growing state in the new nation and Brisbane was its economic hub. Despite the drought, floods and depression of the 1890s, trade and industry were booming. The Brisbane River was a hive of maritime activity.
Post World War I and the Great Depression
After World War I, Brisbane became the largest local authority in Australia. The 1924 City of Brisbane Act abolished two cities, six towns and ten shires to create a single council governing 1,220 square kilometres.
Ironically, landmark buildings like City Hall and the Masonic Temple were built in 1930 just as the Great Depression took hold. For Brisbane, as well as for other cities, the early thirties brought high unemployment and desperate poverty. Construction of the Story Bridge was the city's biggest Depression-time project. 'Tent cities' sprang up around Brisbane to house the homeless. Read more about Brisbane during this era of hardship.
World War II:
World War II and the threat of Japanese attack transformed many parts of Brisbane into military camps. In 1942, the AMP building became headquarters for the United States General Douglas MacArthur, the Commander in Chief of the South-West Pacific Campaign. See photos from that time.
Thousands of United States servicemen were stationed in Brisbane, boosting the population to over 750,000. As city services strained to meet the needs of the extra populaton, tensions mounted between American and Australian servicemen. On 26 and 27 November 1942, those tensions erupted into the infamous streetfight that is now remembered as the 'Battle of Brisbane'.
The boom years:
After World War II came the boom years, a period marked by increased industrial activity and population levels boosted by immigration. In Brisbane, suburbs began to flourish. There was a major focus on sealing roads and providing the city with sewerage services.
Floods and fame
In 1974 floods devastated Brisbane. Sixteen people lost their lives and an estimated $300 million damage was caused. Brisbane soon recovered to host two major world events - the 1982 Commonwealth Games and World Expo 1988. These events brought new sports and cultural facilities to Brisbane, as well as a renewed identity. The media coverage of the Games was the biggest broadcasting operation ever undertaken in Australia at that time and in 1988 World Expo was hailed as another major international success for Australia.
Drinks by the pool (D34)
Queensland is the sunshine state. One day it's beautiful, and the next it's perfect. The rain is only liquid sunshine. That's what Julian says.
Brisbane is it's main city and is huge. It straddles the river Brisbane. I've added a more detailed history in a separate blog. Over looking the city is Mt Coot Tha. From here you see the whole city, and at night the stars are so clear that an observatory was established to study the firmament. This is where went in the morning. Worth a visit at night and I definitely would if I was spending more time here. As it is this is my only day, and I'm sorry about that. Julian and Heather are lovely and hospitable.
Julian is ex-army and that's why they settled here, and the weather of course. Over coffee at Mt Coot Tha he tells me about the dangers of the bush all over again. He is used to camping out as part of army stuff. As well as all the other ones I already know about, there are the red back spiders. These are highly dangerous. So before settling down for the night you would check the site for these and snakes.
So then we had a good look around the city, especially the fashionable south bank. New bars and restaurants. There is also a marvellous open air artificial stream and pool including a beach. Brisbanites flock here to bask in the red hot heat, soak up the atmosphere and generally have family fun time.It saves spending an hour on the freeway to reach the nearest real beach.
Then it's back to their fabulous house to sink into their pool, a couple of beers, chat about our upbringing, and generally chill. What can I say?
At about 6.30 Trent and his new wife Sophie arrive and we have pizza and a chat. Then I get to see their wedding video. This is a very touching and sweet sight and I feel as though I was there. They are a lovely couple and make each other laugh. A recipe for success if ever there was one.
Brisbane is it's main city and is huge. It straddles the river Brisbane. I've added a more detailed history in a separate blog. Over looking the city is Mt Coot Tha. From here you see the whole city, and at night the stars are so clear that an observatory was established to study the firmament. This is where went in the morning. Worth a visit at night and I definitely would if I was spending more time here. As it is this is my only day, and I'm sorry about that. Julian and Heather are lovely and hospitable.
Julian is ex-army and that's why they settled here, and the weather of course. Over coffee at Mt Coot Tha he tells me about the dangers of the bush all over again. He is used to camping out as part of army stuff. As well as all the other ones I already know about, there are the red back spiders. These are highly dangerous. So before settling down for the night you would check the site for these and snakes.
So then we had a good look around the city, especially the fashionable south bank. New bars and restaurants. There is also a marvellous open air artificial stream and pool including a beach. Brisbanites flock here to bask in the red hot heat, soak up the atmosphere and generally have family fun time.It saves spending an hour on the freeway to reach the nearest real beach.
Then it's back to their fabulous house to sink into their pool, a couple of beers, chat about our upbringing, and generally chill. What can I say?
At about 6.30 Trent and his new wife Sophie arrive and we have pizza and a chat. Then I get to see their wedding video. This is a very touching and sweet sight and I feel as though I was there. They are a lovely couple and make each other laugh. A recipe for success if ever there was one.
Saturday, 12 December 2009
The Brisbane Benetts (D33)
Yep, the Brisbane Benetts. Well I've already told you about Dave Benett, who took me to see Sydney FC. His dad is my cousin Julian, son of Raymond my uncle. His wife is called Heather, from Scotland but now definitely Aussie. Their other son is Trent. He recently married a most beautiful woman from Samoa. I like to think she is Samoan royalty. I'm meeting them tonight.
Julian and Heather visited Mauritius with Viviane recently, and we watched the video he took. It was fascinatingly brilliant. I want to go back and stay a bit longer. They went to hospital (?Victoria Hospital) where Raymond worked as a surgeon. They met the current doctor in charge who recognised the name and showed them round. I'll get him name shortly. The interesting thing was that he mainly remembered my father form being taught by him all those years ago. Julian says he was highly respectful, even reverential towards my father. He taught them great truths, he says. Isn't that brilliant to be remembered as a teacher all those years later. He must have been doing something right. Respect old man.
Julian has also found out that our granpere's original name of Moutialoo originates from North eastern India, so I was wrong about the Tamils, but anyway it takes us a bit further in that direction. The generation before my granpere were Indian workers who were brought over for 5 rupees a year. Slavery had been a abolished and so they had to be paid. I'm not sure if I got this bit right.
Brisbane looks like a perfectly lovely city, on a river. Yes I had to ask, and it is the river Brisbane. It looks new from driving through it from the airport. They live in a suburb called 'The Gap' which is extremely picturesque, and they have a lovely house. It seems to be a sort of valley with views of the trees in most directions. We went on a short walk and down to a creek. I going to enjoy my all too brief stay here
Julian and Heather visited Mauritius with Viviane recently, and we watched the video he took. It was fascinatingly brilliant. I want to go back and stay a bit longer. They went to hospital (?Victoria Hospital) where Raymond worked as a surgeon. They met the current doctor in charge who recognised the name and showed them round. I'll get him name shortly. The interesting thing was that he mainly remembered my father form being taught by him all those years ago. Julian says he was highly respectful, even reverential towards my father. He taught them great truths, he says. Isn't that brilliant to be remembered as a teacher all those years later. He must have been doing something right. Respect old man.
Julian has also found out that our granpere's original name of Moutialoo originates from North eastern India, so I was wrong about the Tamils, but anyway it takes us a bit further in that direction. The generation before my granpere were Indian workers who were brought over for 5 rupees a year. Slavery had been a abolished and so they had to be paid. I'm not sure if I got this bit right.
Brisbane looks like a perfectly lovely city, on a river. Yes I had to ask, and it is the river Brisbane. It looks new from driving through it from the airport. They live in a suburb called 'The Gap' which is extremely picturesque, and they have a lovely house. It seems to be a sort of valley with views of the trees in most directions. We went on a short walk and down to a creek. I going to enjoy my all too brief stay here
Friday, 11 December 2009
Last day on Daydream (D32)
Today is my last day on Daydream Island. I have had massive highs, but today is briefly a low. The credit card malfunction situation has come home to roost, I'm going to have to find a way of paying my, by now, huge bill. You don't notice when you put everything on the room. I wont go into the tortuous details, sufice to say I ended up getting my friend Andy to settle it. He's a solicitor, which is irrelevant here. What counts is that he has card that works.
I spent the day 'on island' due to needing to sort out the card situation. My day started with breakfast. It is my favourite place to people watch. Their expressions, who they are with, what mood they're in. Big people always have big breakfasts, I don't care what the adverts say. The most interesting thing for me is that Aussies look, dress and eat exactly the same as we do.
One mother is still cutting up her son's food, and he's 30...only joking. Laughing couples, quiet couples, excited kids, told off kids.
I forgot to say before, but about the only entertainment 'on island' is Bingo. Yep. At five o'clock every afternoon people gather, collect their cards, and away they go. When I first saw them the number 66 was called. Instantly everyone started clicking their fingers. 22 and everyone started clucking. Bizare. I didn't have a go, so maybe I'm missing something.
There are helpful people all over the place wearing brighly coloured shirts with fish pictures on them. They are always saying 'g'day' and ' how's it goin'. I think in a colder climate they'd be wearing red blazers.
Some of the other stuff is just a bit corny or tired. There are three polynesian type statues of men with an unlikely story (mystery) attached to them. The 'nature walk' has only one brief explanation plaque.
On the other hand it does boast the largest man made lagoon in Australia, probably. There are live corals and lots of different fish, including sharks and stingrays. Yes, the real thing. They do take this bit seriously and do it well, with educational tours and demonstrations. You can get in and feed the fish if you like, and have the big fish swimming around your ankles and eating out of your hand. Not for me though.
So apart from the card not working and the other one being out of date, and the food being terrible, and the resort being a bit naff. Apart from all that, I loved it. I'm back at the Mermaid restaurant and have a prime position looking out at the mermaids just in the sea. There's a lovely breeze and all the angst of the day has gone.
The food is again hardly edible, score 6\10, which is also what I give Daydream Island. So if you come to the Whitsundays you'll love it, but go to a different resort.
I spent the day 'on island' due to needing to sort out the card situation. My day started with breakfast. It is my favourite place to people watch. Their expressions, who they are with, what mood they're in. Big people always have big breakfasts, I don't care what the adverts say. The most interesting thing for me is that Aussies look, dress and eat exactly the same as we do.
One mother is still cutting up her son's food, and he's 30...only joking. Laughing couples, quiet couples, excited kids, told off kids.
I forgot to say before, but about the only entertainment 'on island' is Bingo. Yep. At five o'clock every afternoon people gather, collect their cards, and away they go. When I first saw them the number 66 was called. Instantly everyone started clicking their fingers. 22 and everyone started clucking. Bizare. I didn't have a go, so maybe I'm missing something.
There are helpful people all over the place wearing brighly coloured shirts with fish pictures on them. They are always saying 'g'day' and ' how's it goin'. I think in a colder climate they'd be wearing red blazers.
Some of the other stuff is just a bit corny or tired. There are three polynesian type statues of men with an unlikely story (mystery) attached to them. The 'nature walk' has only one brief explanation plaque.
On the other hand it does boast the largest man made lagoon in Australia, probably. There are live corals and lots of different fish, including sharks and stingrays. Yes, the real thing. They do take this bit seriously and do it well, with educational tours and demonstrations. You can get in and feed the fish if you like, and have the big fish swimming around your ankles and eating out of your hand. Not for me though.
So apart from the card not working and the other one being out of date, and the food being terrible, and the resort being a bit naff. Apart from all that, I loved it. I'm back at the Mermaid restaurant and have a prime position looking out at the mermaids just in the sea. There's a lovely breeze and all the angst of the day has gone.
The food is again hardly edible, score 6\10, which is also what I give Daydream Island. So if you come to the Whitsundays you'll love it, but go to a different resort.
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Stingrays on Whitehaven Beach (D31)
We've had sharks and leeches and ticks and snakes and stingers. How about stingrays? They hardly ever kill people, only if you stand on them or corner them. More people die from vending machine accidents. I wonder why they are taken as the international standard for dangerous things. That's what Glen reckons anyway. He should know as he is in charge today. I'm off to Whitehaven on a fast boat. It's the type with rubber sides and sticks it's nose in the air when it goes fast. Brilliant.
There are sharks of course (!), but they won't bother us. 'They're more scared of you' he asserts, then adds 'probably'.
Glen counts up. Twenty one on board. 'But you're all going to have to wear stinger suits, cos they're out today' says Shane the second in command. Both men in charge are young, weather beaten, good old Aussie chaps who like the outdoor life, and no doubt barbies and beers. But right now they've got to be serious. 'By law I need to know that you've heard this, so on me for five minutes please'. The Japanese girls stop giggling and sit up straight. We go through the safety routines. 'Have any of yous ever beeing stung?' he asks in proper Aussie. 'Yes, a bottle of beer cost me $8.50, last night' I think to myself. Not the time to joke, and I'd have to explain anyway. A sting can be pretty nasty, and he explains. It sounds like it induces a panic feeling. 'Don't worry, this baby can get us to a hospital in half an hour' he pats his boat. 'You ready to go? he asks rhetorically. 'Yeah' we reply limply. We try it again. 'OK let's make this baby work'. Away we go, nose in the air. 'She's unsinkable' shouts Shane, 'but you're not so all sit down and enjoy the ride.
There are some French and Americans. Mostly they are groups of girls in their twenties on a day trip with friends and out to have fun. Some couples who are holding on to each other silently. There is a family who are from England but have settled in Australia. They have remnants of a Cumbrian accent. I wonder if they think we're going to our Whitehaven. I'm sure they're not, the other is a dump, or it was when I worked there. They are particularly keen to point out how much better the weather is in Australia.
This Whitehaven is like Heaven itself, it is a paradise island. The sand is pure off-white, and 'pure silica quartz' says Shane once we've landed and climbed the hill for a view. Everyone has their picture taken against the swirling backdrop of blue and white. The silica is from an underwater volcano which erupts every million years just there, he points to a patch of deeper blue, beyond a sandy bar.
Back down for lunch on the boat or beach which ever we prefer. Glen is serious again. 'Do Not Leiave eni lidda or food on the beich'. Then into our stinger suits and in the water to cool down. We can go for a walk to look out for stingrays and sharks if we like.
I set off expecting others to follow, but they go their own way. Never mind. After a while I spot a bark shadow ahead. Stay calm, remember what they said and they wouldn't let us our here if it was dangerous. It gets close. Phew, it's a stingray. Suddenly it turns and starts wafting it's way directly towards me. Well I know what they said, but I also know some famous Aussie explorer trod on one and was killed. Probably best if I leave now. No point swimming, so I wade. With the water at my knees it's heavy going, and as I speed up probably rather funny. I'm not laughing though, as it gets closer, and I get more frantic. Maybe I've been stung by a stinger. Stick to the herd I think to myself. I now know what a wounded zebra feels like. It gets closer. Heart beats faster. 'Go away' I actually say out loud. And it turned and went away.
I look round to see if anyone was watching and pretend to mess about in the water as if I was just having fun all along. I think I'll join the rest now.
When I get back to the rest Glen is skipping along the water, rather like I was, and pointing at something. 'Come on guys, follow me. There's a shark.' People look up but only the boys move. This goes on for a bit and then they stop. It got away. I expect it was frightened.
Back on the beach you can see indentations in the sand where the stingrays had been lying in shallow water. I've never been happy with the expression 'bottom feeder', but I suppose that's what they are.
One bloke is wanting to go off and explore. His girlfriend doesn't want him to. He's training to be a PE teacher we found out earlier and they are engaged. They are arguing in that discrete way long standing partners do. He sets off anyway and she looks huffy. 'Let him go, he'll be back soon enough and you are going to spent the rest of your life together' I want to tell her, 'or you will if you let him do his thing, not if you stifle him to death'. Why do people do that?
Next we go the a small bay and we have the best snorkeling I've ever had anywhere. The colours of coral and fish beat even the Barrier reef experience. Fantastic. Then another not so good bay. Others see a turtle, but not me. I pretend I saw one, of course. My only disappointment of the day. Then back to base An early tea and early night. One of the best days so far 9 out of 10.
There are sharks of course (!), but they won't bother us. 'They're more scared of you' he asserts, then adds 'probably'.
Glen counts up. Twenty one on board. 'But you're all going to have to wear stinger suits, cos they're out today' says Shane the second in command. Both men in charge are young, weather beaten, good old Aussie chaps who like the outdoor life, and no doubt barbies and beers. But right now they've got to be serious. 'By law I need to know that you've heard this, so on me for five minutes please'. The Japanese girls stop giggling and sit up straight. We go through the safety routines. 'Have any of yous ever beeing stung?' he asks in proper Aussie. 'Yes, a bottle of beer cost me $8.50, last night' I think to myself. Not the time to joke, and I'd have to explain anyway. A sting can be pretty nasty, and he explains. It sounds like it induces a panic feeling. 'Don't worry, this baby can get us to a hospital in half an hour' he pats his boat. 'You ready to go? he asks rhetorically. 'Yeah' we reply limply. We try it again. 'OK let's make this baby work'. Away we go, nose in the air. 'She's unsinkable' shouts Shane, 'but you're not so all sit down and enjoy the ride.
There are some French and Americans. Mostly they are groups of girls in their twenties on a day trip with friends and out to have fun. Some couples who are holding on to each other silently. There is a family who are from England but have settled in Australia. They have remnants of a Cumbrian accent. I wonder if they think we're going to our Whitehaven. I'm sure they're not, the other is a dump, or it was when I worked there. They are particularly keen to point out how much better the weather is in Australia.
This Whitehaven is like Heaven itself, it is a paradise island. The sand is pure off-white, and 'pure silica quartz' says Shane once we've landed and climbed the hill for a view. Everyone has their picture taken against the swirling backdrop of blue and white. The silica is from an underwater volcano which erupts every million years just there, he points to a patch of deeper blue, beyond a sandy bar.
Back down for lunch on the boat or beach which ever we prefer. Glen is serious again. 'Do Not Leiave eni lidda or food on the beich'. Then into our stinger suits and in the water to cool down. We can go for a walk to look out for stingrays and sharks if we like.
I set off expecting others to follow, but they go their own way. Never mind. After a while I spot a bark shadow ahead. Stay calm, remember what they said and they wouldn't let us our here if it was dangerous. It gets close. Phew, it's a stingray. Suddenly it turns and starts wafting it's way directly towards me. Well I know what they said, but I also know some famous Aussie explorer trod on one and was killed. Probably best if I leave now. No point swimming, so I wade. With the water at my knees it's heavy going, and as I speed up probably rather funny. I'm not laughing though, as it gets closer, and I get more frantic. Maybe I've been stung by a stinger. Stick to the herd I think to myself. I now know what a wounded zebra feels like. It gets closer. Heart beats faster. 'Go away' I actually say out loud. And it turned and went away.
I look round to see if anyone was watching and pretend to mess about in the water as if I was just having fun all along. I think I'll join the rest now.
When I get back to the rest Glen is skipping along the water, rather like I was, and pointing at something. 'Come on guys, follow me. There's a shark.' People look up but only the boys move. This goes on for a bit and then they stop. It got away. I expect it was frightened.
Back on the beach you can see indentations in the sand where the stingrays had been lying in shallow water. I've never been happy with the expression 'bottom feeder', but I suppose that's what they are.
One bloke is wanting to go off and explore. His girlfriend doesn't want him to. He's training to be a PE teacher we found out earlier and they are engaged. They are arguing in that discrete way long standing partners do. He sets off anyway and she looks huffy. 'Let him go, he'll be back soon enough and you are going to spent the rest of your life together' I want to tell her, 'or you will if you let him do his thing, not if you stifle him to death'. Why do people do that?
Next we go the a small bay and we have the best snorkeling I've ever had anywhere. The colours of coral and fish beat even the Barrier reef experience. Fantastic. Then another not so good bay. Others see a turtle, but not me. I pretend I saw one, of course. My only disappointment of the day. Then back to base An early tea and early night. One of the best days so far 9 out of 10.
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Experiences
Are experiences like the falling tree in the forrest? Unless they are shared, did they exist? I woke up thinking about this. Mainly because I'm on my own and would love to be sharing all this with some of you.
I had thought, at the begining, that writting this blog was a way of recording what has hapenned, and letting you know what I was up to. Then it also became a way of passing time creatively. Now it has become a sharing of experiences and thoughts.
For this to happen it is has become important for you to be reading the blog, or at least for me to believe that they are. No actually, to be really reading it. And I know that you are. It seems to make the experiences real. For example, the sun set from last night. Did it really happen? Before long I may have forgotten about it and so I may as well not have ever experienced it. But now you've experienced it too, because I've told you about it, so it makes it somehow more real.
Conversely if I embelish a story in my blog, does it become true? It does if you want it to, and then it becomes one of my experiences.
Also, if I write about something but the computer doesn't save it, it is lost forever. I have found that I can never re-write something in the same way twice. It is always slightly different. Never quite the same. So, like a photographic snaps slightly after each other, the one you look at becomes the truth at that time.
With modern technology you can follow it as at happens, which also makes it more real.
Does all this matter? I suppose not, but some experiences do have impacts, like when we are taught a lesson. I also think it's important to experience sunsets and giant clams and Shoal bay and exploring the bush and to share them with the people you love. And that's you.
I had thought, at the begining, that writting this blog was a way of recording what has hapenned, and letting you know what I was up to. Then it also became a way of passing time creatively. Now it has become a sharing of experiences and thoughts.
For this to happen it is has become important for you to be reading the blog, or at least for me to believe that they are. No actually, to be really reading it. And I know that you are. It seems to make the experiences real. For example, the sun set from last night. Did it really happen? Before long I may have forgotten about it and so I may as well not have ever experienced it. But now you've experienced it too, because I've told you about it, so it makes it somehow more real.
Conversely if I embelish a story in my blog, does it become true? It does if you want it to, and then it becomes one of my experiences.
Also, if I write about something but the computer doesn't save it, it is lost forever. I have found that I can never re-write something in the same way twice. It is always slightly different. Never quite the same. So, like a photographic snaps slightly after each other, the one you look at becomes the truth at that time.
With modern technology you can follow it as at happens, which also makes it more real.
Does all this matter? I suppose not, but some experiences do have impacts, like when we are taught a lesson. I also think it's important to experience sunsets and giant clams and Shoal bay and exploring the bush and to share them with the people you love. And that's you.
Sunset on Daydream (D30)
I don't believe it. You wont either. I've come to the only other food outlet on the island. The fish bowel restaurant. So called because it overlooks a fish pond with seriously big fish in it. Also brightly coloured ones. About 30 meters away they are showing an open air film about a man and his new puppy golden Labrador. You can watch the movie on the beach or from the restaurant. Sounds perfect.
The menu is basic, which is good. Less chance to **** up. I'll go for pizza. They can't mess this up. OK, you're ahead of me. It is disgusting, thick gloopy cheese, un cooked base, pieces of boiled ham. How can they be proud of producing this stuff? It's shameful. They have a monopoly, one company owns the whole resort. I can't be bothered to complain this time I just leave it three quarters uneaten and hope they get the message. When the waitress comes she asks if I've finished. I have.
The day began on the beach. I swear those mermaids are in different positions, and it really can't be that cold on the water. The horizon occupies about twenty degrees to my left. A dark straight line separates dark blue from light blue. The remainder of the sky line is formed by the small islands that for the Whitsundays. They are covered in trees. A few sail boats are minding their own and someone is paragliding.
A the end of the last ice age the water line was 30m lower, the islands were the hilltops.
The first European to sail round here was our own captain Cook. He named the islands on Whitsunday 1779. Evidently the French were never far behind, but narrowly lost out on this magnificent continent.
Matthew Flinders is generally credited with mapping most of this coast line. For some reason, which I must find out, he had a cat and was put in leg irons in Mauritius, where he later died. There must be a good story there.
Today is definitely a chillaxing day. In fact I'm not quite sure what's happened to it. This evening though I climbed the island hill to see the sunset. I'll post a photo when I can. To get there you have to go on the forest walk. Yes, as dusk is falling, and no there aren't any lights up there, and no I didn't think of this when I set off.
Well whether forest jungle bush or whatever it's pretty spooky in the dark. As the sun goes down the forest noises suddenly get louder. The screeching, squawking and cawing get closer. I begin to hope that the aboriginal spirits weren't too offended by the photos I took of their cave. Photo's done I set off at a steady pace. Was that a bite on my ankle. I hope there aren't leeches here, or ticks. My pace quickens. Something rustles the leaves just in front. I can't see what it is. Suddenly a dark shadow leaps across me. My heart stops. The shadow hops away with ghostly silence. I start to trot, now like Man Friday hiding from Crusoe, trying to stay silent and not rouse any slumbering spirits. By the time I reach the bottom it is really quite dark.
Within half an hour the stars are all out. They are brighter down here. I'm surprised how prominent old Orion and his belt are. This is when I decided it was time to go for some food. Oh well those sun set shots should be great.
The menu is basic, which is good. Less chance to **** up. I'll go for pizza. They can't mess this up. OK, you're ahead of me. It is disgusting, thick gloopy cheese, un cooked base, pieces of boiled ham. How can they be proud of producing this stuff? It's shameful. They have a monopoly, one company owns the whole resort. I can't be bothered to complain this time I just leave it three quarters uneaten and hope they get the message. When the waitress comes she asks if I've finished. I have.
The day began on the beach. I swear those mermaids are in different positions, and it really can't be that cold on the water. The horizon occupies about twenty degrees to my left. A dark straight line separates dark blue from light blue. The remainder of the sky line is formed by the small islands that for the Whitsundays. They are covered in trees. A few sail boats are minding their own and someone is paragliding.
A the end of the last ice age the water line was 30m lower, the islands were the hilltops.
The first European to sail round here was our own captain Cook. He named the islands on Whitsunday 1779. Evidently the French were never far behind, but narrowly lost out on this magnificent continent.
Matthew Flinders is generally credited with mapping most of this coast line. For some reason, which I must find out, he had a cat and was put in leg irons in Mauritius, where he later died. There must be a good story there.
Today is definitely a chillaxing day. In fact I'm not quite sure what's happened to it. This evening though I climbed the island hill to see the sunset. I'll post a photo when I can. To get there you have to go on the forest walk. Yes, as dusk is falling, and no there aren't any lights up there, and no I didn't think of this when I set off.
Well whether forest jungle bush or whatever it's pretty spooky in the dark. As the sun goes down the forest noises suddenly get louder. The screeching, squawking and cawing get closer. I begin to hope that the aboriginal spirits weren't too offended by the photos I took of their cave. Photo's done I set off at a steady pace. Was that a bite on my ankle. I hope there aren't leeches here, or ticks. My pace quickens. Something rustles the leaves just in front. I can't see what it is. Suddenly a dark shadow leaps across me. My heart stops. The shadow hops away with ghostly silence. I start to trot, now like Man Friday hiding from Crusoe, trying to stay silent and not rouse any slumbering spirits. By the time I reach the bottom it is really quite dark.
Within half an hour the stars are all out. They are brighter down here. I'm surprised how prominent old Orion and his belt are. This is when I decided it was time to go for some food. Oh well those sun set shots should be great.
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
Mermaids (D29)
'How were the Oysters, sir?' 'Do you want me to be honest?' The waitress smiles ascent. 'Terrible' I said 'small, dry and horrible, are they fresh?'. ' I think so but I will tell the chef.' Now it's not always good to tell chef, is it? Apart from putting nasty stuff in your next course, they also get cross. Still, she did ask, and I'd already been annoyed as they wouldn't give me just three instead of six. I should have left them I suppose but at $3 each and the size of a fifty pence, I thought I should give them a try. I can see the sea so they can't have come far.
I'm at the Mermaid restaurant, the main one on the island. In fact the only one. The rest are cafes. There are three statues of mermaids. The first is called Serenity, representing the mind. The second is Aphrodesia, representing the body. Third is Infinity. She represents the soul by guiding your inner spirit to see your own essence with clarity and your place in the world. she helps you fight the illusion of the myth and reality of ageless youth. You can see the attraction.
Never mind, fresh local reef fish of the day next, served with a green leaf salad, chips and home made tartare sauce. I am doing this blog as it happens. The fish tastes and looks like chicken. There is a green leaf with it I admit. The chips are OK. The tartare sauce tastes mustardy. Oh dear. Is it special Aussie tartare sauce or is it rubbish tartare sauce, or is it not tartare sauce at all? And, what am I going to do about it. I wish my cousins were here.
'Excuse me' I nervously call over a waiter. 'I'm not one to complain....I'm not sure this is tartare sauce.' 'Oh sir, well chef has his own recipe'. ' And the fish is rubbery' I throw in with bravado, as he tastes the tartare. 'Well I think you may be right' he accepts. 'Can I bring you something else?' ' No, I'll think about it'.
You see I don't know what to do now. I have thought about it and I'd rather just sit here for now and write this blog. No one has come back, so I'll just wait and see.
I know, I'll take inspiration from Serenity. She has come to the island to relieve the stress of the world, to soothe the mind and relax your thoughts. To remove fear and face truths and challenges. To trust in yourself and allow your mind to explore and accept. That should help.
'Have you decided what you'd like' asks a new waiter. I have to explain that I just sent some back. Well anyway 'I don't think I want anything now' Pause. ' And I do not expect to receive a bill' delivered as Bernard Cribbins does in Faulty Towers. He's got to ask the supervisor. I know what he's going to say, so a large swig of wine. ' We wont charge for the food, so it's just the wine'. I'd prepared. ' You are kidding, it tastes like mustard now'. Off he went and back. No charge.
I wonder if Aphrodesia can help?
I'm at the Mermaid restaurant, the main one on the island. In fact the only one. The rest are cafes. There are three statues of mermaids. The first is called Serenity, representing the mind. The second is Aphrodesia, representing the body. Third is Infinity. She represents the soul by guiding your inner spirit to see your own essence with clarity and your place in the world. she helps you fight the illusion of the myth and reality of ageless youth. You can see the attraction.
Never mind, fresh local reef fish of the day next, served with a green leaf salad, chips and home made tartare sauce. I am doing this blog as it happens. The fish tastes and looks like chicken. There is a green leaf with it I admit. The chips are OK. The tartare sauce tastes mustardy. Oh dear. Is it special Aussie tartare sauce or is it rubbish tartare sauce, or is it not tartare sauce at all? And, what am I going to do about it. I wish my cousins were here.
'Excuse me' I nervously call over a waiter. 'I'm not one to complain....I'm not sure this is tartare sauce.' 'Oh sir, well chef has his own recipe'. ' And the fish is rubbery' I throw in with bravado, as he tastes the tartare. 'Well I think you may be right' he accepts. 'Can I bring you something else?' ' No, I'll think about it'.
You see I don't know what to do now. I have thought about it and I'd rather just sit here for now and write this blog. No one has come back, so I'll just wait and see.
I know, I'll take inspiration from Serenity. She has come to the island to relieve the stress of the world, to soothe the mind and relax your thoughts. To remove fear and face truths and challenges. To trust in yourself and allow your mind to explore and accept. That should help.
'Have you decided what you'd like' asks a new waiter. I have to explain that I just sent some back. Well anyway 'I don't think I want anything now' Pause. ' And I do not expect to receive a bill' delivered as Bernard Cribbins does in Faulty Towers. He's got to ask the supervisor. I know what he's going to say, so a large swig of wine. ' We wont charge for the food, so it's just the wine'. I'd prepared. ' You are kidding, it tastes like mustard now'. Off he went and back. No charge.
I wonder if Aphrodesia can help?
Monday, 7 December 2009
The Great Barrier Reef (D28)
It's an early start to be at the South Jetty at 8.15 prompt. All I need is my swimmers and scuba diving here we come. At 8.35 the big cat arrives. Andy jumps off. He's the captain and tells us what to do. The reef 100km away so we sit down and make ourselves comfortable. Cost is $104.50. Our MC for the day is Gary, he's Scottish and lets us know. He's very funny you know. He points to the sun and explains to the Brits what it is. I told you he was funny. The Barrier Reef is one of the UN's world heritage sites along with places like the Amazonian rain forrest and the Grand Canyon. It covers an area half the size of Texas.
We have to sign a piece of paper to say we've been told that it is stinger season. Jelly fish. They hardly ever do sting but it can be very uncomfortable, says Gary. The thing to do is not to panic and squirt vinegar over where it gets you. I remember my brother being stung when we were kids in Mauritius. It seemed rather more than just uncomfortable.
There are several groups of people on board. There's a small group of French, or should I say a group of small French people. One of them is clearly in charge of them. I think he may be Corsican. There are Americans too, a few English but mainly Aussie.
Our part of the reef, Knuckle Reef, is apparently quite healthy. The average temperature of the water needs to be 29 degrees, any higher and the coral dies. The health of the reef is partly due to a generous donation by the tour company of $4.50 per passenger. Scuba diving will be another $100. I haven't brought any cash, well not much and no credit cards. Anyway I'm not sure they'd work any way after yesterday. Oh well another ambition thwarted. Actually I went 20 years ago. The colours of the coral were disappointing then, and now I find out why. The interesting wavelengths get filtered out by the water, so you loose the red end of the spectrum. If you cut your finger deep down it looks green. Coral is an animal you know, and lives symbiotically with algae. It is this that gives them their colour and feeds them. The bright colours we're used to seeing on TV is because the photographers shine ultraviolet light on the coral.
Snorkeling it is then, and it's free. Actually, most of the interesting coral is nearer the surface anyway and can't be seen by the scuba divers. Lots of bright blue, and pinky purple and yellow.
My highlight is a giant clam. They get up to a meter in diameter, and I think this one is. Two French people are looking at it and photographing it with an underground camera. I heard them talking on the pontoon. I'm sure his name is Jack. The clam has a blue rim and inside it has a purply blue belly. Wonderful. Jack dives down and wafts water towards it and it closes a little. Amazing, fabulous and awesome.
Nothing else comes up to that. I went on the glass bottom boat and the submarine. Boring. No turtles or shark or stingrays unfortunately.
On the way back the French and Americans seem to be getting on very well. I wonder whats going on so move to the front to listen in. The French seem now to be talking American. Maybe they're Canadian after all.
We arrive back at Daydream. It's been a long day. You can get pictures of the reef, but there's nothing like actually being there, and collecting the T-shirt.
The TV tonight is full of the Copenhagan meeting. Meanwhile in Australia the opposition is underfire for having no policy on climate change. Aussies seem to be taking the issue very seriously. The issues here are difficult. Australia is a major exporter of coal to China, but temperatures are rising. Bush fires are threatened, and there's a ban on fires in the Sydney area. Other parts of the Barrier Reefs are dying. We have two weeks to save the world, Sky News tells us.
We have to sign a piece of paper to say we've been told that it is stinger season. Jelly fish. They hardly ever do sting but it can be very uncomfortable, says Gary. The thing to do is not to panic and squirt vinegar over where it gets you. I remember my brother being stung when we were kids in Mauritius. It seemed rather more than just uncomfortable.
There are several groups of people on board. There's a small group of French, or should I say a group of small French people. One of them is clearly in charge of them. I think he may be Corsican. There are Americans too, a few English but mainly Aussie.
Our part of the reef, Knuckle Reef, is apparently quite healthy. The average temperature of the water needs to be 29 degrees, any higher and the coral dies. The health of the reef is partly due to a generous donation by the tour company of $4.50 per passenger. Scuba diving will be another $100. I haven't brought any cash, well not much and no credit cards. Anyway I'm not sure they'd work any way after yesterday. Oh well another ambition thwarted. Actually I went 20 years ago. The colours of the coral were disappointing then, and now I find out why. The interesting wavelengths get filtered out by the water, so you loose the red end of the spectrum. If you cut your finger deep down it looks green. Coral is an animal you know, and lives symbiotically with algae. It is this that gives them their colour and feeds them. The bright colours we're used to seeing on TV is because the photographers shine ultraviolet light on the coral.
Snorkeling it is then, and it's free. Actually, most of the interesting coral is nearer the surface anyway and can't be seen by the scuba divers. Lots of bright blue, and pinky purple and yellow.
My highlight is a giant clam. They get up to a meter in diameter, and I think this one is. Two French people are looking at it and photographing it with an underground camera. I heard them talking on the pontoon. I'm sure his name is Jack. The clam has a blue rim and inside it has a purply blue belly. Wonderful. Jack dives down and wafts water towards it and it closes a little. Amazing, fabulous and awesome.
Nothing else comes up to that. I went on the glass bottom boat and the submarine. Boring. No turtles or shark or stingrays unfortunately.
On the way back the French and Americans seem to be getting on very well. I wonder whats going on so move to the front to listen in. The French seem now to be talking American. Maybe they're Canadian after all.
We arrive back at Daydream. It's been a long day. You can get pictures of the reef, but there's nothing like actually being there, and collecting the T-shirt.
The TV tonight is full of the Copenhagan meeting. Meanwhile in Australia the opposition is underfire for having no policy on climate change. Aussies seem to be taking the issue very seriously. The issues here are difficult. Australia is a major exporter of coal to China, but temperatures are rising. Bush fires are threatened, and there's a ban on fires in the Sydney area. Other parts of the Barrier Reefs are dying. We have two weeks to save the world, Sky News tells us.
Sunday, 6 December 2009
Daydream island (D27)
I landed on Hamilton Island on time. The sun was high and hot. It is the hub airport for the Whitsunday Islands. It looks just like the American sixties TV holiday island programme. Was it called Dreamboat? I need to catch a ferry. Excellent, my stop is fist. On get the actors of this weeks episode. There's a group of noisy teenagers, a tired single mother on her own with a baby, a silent uncommunicative couple and three important middle-aged buisnessmen. There are others but not as interesting characters for a storyline.
We land at our destination. Only the buisness men get off. The other characters seem to have failed the audition.
We are greeted by a cheerful Germanic sounding young lady. 'You are here for zee conference, yah?' The others nod. 'Ah well I ....' I began. 'Follow me please' she turned and headed towards the resort.
There's a nice cocktail for us, so I help myself. The others know each other by now and are looking at me quizzically. 'Here for the conference' one of them introduces himself. 'No' I replied sheepishly. 'Ah, he's a tourist, good on ya mate' he shouts across to the others. I shuffle away towards the reception desk to check in, reaching for another cocktail as I leave.
Oh joy, they are expecting me. 'Can we just take a swipe of your card?' asks the helpful girl. 'Yes of course young man' I jest. There is an awkward silence as I look around for a response, a smile would do. The first card has just expired. How stupid can you be? Never mind, 'try this one', I looked round and grinned at the gathering audience. A pause and a frown. 'I'm sorry this one is rejected as well' the now irritating girl says, slightly louder than she really need to. 'I'm going to have to talk to my superior'. Yes OK, keep your voice down and get on with it.
The manageress beckons me round the back of the desk. I scuttle round, head bowed. Now the crowd can't hear what we're saying, but can see us gesticulating behind the glass screen.
'Mr Benett' she sighs. 'Err doctor actually' I only think, and I wait for the call to the police, 'this machine often doesn't connect to Europe, so please just charge things to your room, and we'll try again tomorrow, sorry for the inconvenience'. Phew, ' I don't suppose you could say that to them out there' I thought as the faces look in to see the outcome. A stage smile from me I think conveyed the message.
My room is good, light and cool. I've had a look round and am going to the barrier reef tomorrow. The north beach, no more than thirty yards from the sliding door, is corally and white. There are mirmaids on rocks in the bay. Time for a beer at $8.50. Put it on my room please.
We land at our destination. Only the buisness men get off. The other characters seem to have failed the audition.
We are greeted by a cheerful Germanic sounding young lady. 'You are here for zee conference, yah?' The others nod. 'Ah well I ....' I began. 'Follow me please' she turned and headed towards the resort.
There's a nice cocktail for us, so I help myself. The others know each other by now and are looking at me quizzically. 'Here for the conference' one of them introduces himself. 'No' I replied sheepishly. 'Ah, he's a tourist, good on ya mate' he shouts across to the others. I shuffle away towards the reception desk to check in, reaching for another cocktail as I leave.
Oh joy, they are expecting me. 'Can we just take a swipe of your card?' asks the helpful girl. 'Yes of course young man' I jest. There is an awkward silence as I look around for a response, a smile would do. The first card has just expired. How stupid can you be? Never mind, 'try this one', I looked round and grinned at the gathering audience. A pause and a frown. 'I'm sorry this one is rejected as well' the now irritating girl says, slightly louder than she really need to. 'I'm going to have to talk to my superior'. Yes OK, keep your voice down and get on with it.
The manageress beckons me round the back of the desk. I scuttle round, head bowed. Now the crowd can't hear what we're saying, but can see us gesticulating behind the glass screen.
'Mr Benett' she sighs. 'Err doctor actually' I only think, and I wait for the call to the police, 'this machine often doesn't connect to Europe, so please just charge things to your room, and we'll try again tomorrow, sorry for the inconvenience'. Phew, ' I don't suppose you could say that to them out there' I thought as the faces look in to see the outcome. A stage smile from me I think conveyed the message.
My room is good, light and cool. I've had a look round and am going to the barrier reef tomorrow. The north beach, no more than thirty yards from the sliding door, is corally and white. There are mirmaids on rocks in the bay. Time for a beer at $8.50. Put it on my room please.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Five go Bush Bashing (D26)
Today is one of the most memorable days of the trip so far. We set off early into the bush. We'll need a four wheel drive because we're going off road. Jos, Rob and I meet Marilyn at hers and are joined by Dave at 9.15 prompt. Except Dave is late. Well he is chef du tour, so he can do what he likes. He's taken lots of school trips into the bush. He's a teacher and takes then on Duke of Edinburgh things. And he's got a big car. Jos has packed her lipstick. Marilyn is persuaded to leave her high heels behind. There are loads of sandwiches and lashings of ginger beer.
After about three hours Dave goes down an old track. There we are, this is Aussie bush. Lots of thin trees and thick undergrowth. I explain to my fellow travellers that bush means something different in Manchester.
The track takes us past a row of mail boxes, different shapes and sizes. One is an old fridge and another is a tumble dryer. They've been adapted for the purpose.
Then onto an area of open land. There are a couple of kangaroos nibbling the grass. We stop under a tree for it's shade, but also to light a fire for a cup of tea. We get out. The flies are instantlty oppressive. They buzz around my eyes and hair. Strangely there seems to be a lot of cow dung around, although we haven't seen any cows. They must graze here. Dave has some fly repellant roll-on which smells horible.
'Wanna drive mate?'asks Dave. Yeah. This is fun. Top draw.
So I drive to Devils Rock. It is in Yango National Park. This is an Aboriginal sacred site so we are careful. We stop the car and have lunch. Then it's a two hundred meter walk up pretty inaccessible terrain to a flat piece of rock which overlooks the valley. On it are Aboriginal carvings. There's what looks to be a fertility sort of caving. One of the figures has a large protuberance. There are also circles. These circles are where the young men would have to stand as part of their initiation rites. The elders would sharpen stones and heat then up, then run them down the young mans body, scarring them. If he so much as flinched he would be castrated and banished from the tribe. A bit harsh. There is a hole which is a foot deep and wide and used to be filled with water. Next to it are the marks in the stone where their instruments were sharpened. Fascinating.
Further into the park we stop again. This time we get out where the path ends. Dave, our guide and Marilyn's husband, has been here many times before, well a couple of times, and fairly recently. 'It's somewhere over there' he says confidently. The sort of confidence a school master has. The sort of confidence years later you realise was misplaced. The sort of confidence you naively put your trust in. 'Now then, you can back out at this point and it's OK' he says curiously, as if any of us would back out at tis stage. 'We need to bash our way through this lot', he points to thick spiky undergrowth, 'for a couple of hundred yards and we should hit a track'. It's at this point I'm starting to doubt the wisdom of wearing shorts. Sure enough none of the others is. I was going to wear sandals but Dave said I should really trainers, and I had.
We reached the track and it took us deeper into the bush. We're not to call it forest or gungle. It's very different. It's australian. Every now and then there was a rustling sound either ahead or at the side. Nothing to see. 'Come on, lets keep moving', says our leader encouragingly 'we don't want leeches to attack us'.
What? Leeches? Yes apparently they lie in wait for people to go by and then attached themselves to your legs and suck you dry, sort of. 'Leeches' I asked calmly, 'so what do you do if they do attach themselves?' 'You need to get a match to them' Dave replies as if he's done this lots. ' A match' I titter nervously, 'you mean one that looks exactly the same?'. I had to explain.
Somewhere here there's a turn of to the right. Luckily some previous traveller had left a pile of rocks where we're to turn. Otherwise, to be honest, even Dave might have missed it. It wasn't really a track, more of a feeling, a sense. The trees and saplings are getting closer together. 'Keep up. We don't want to loose anyone'. They say he's a good teacher. 'Just down here somewhere', he leads authoritatively.
Then sure enough there are two low caves. The stone is sandstone and against the walls are the genuine 14th century cave painting we've been looking far. Amazing and wonderful. I'm wary of taking photos for fear of offending the spirits, and then remember that I don't believe in spirits. So just a couple to show respect.
These a tin box nearby with a book to sign, and instruction not to deface the site, as if we would. You can feel the presence of their spirits and imagine, only just, their existence. There's a creek a little further down the valley for water. Fresh berries, nuts and the odd Kangaroo was their diet. Nature was in balance and they survived for many centuries.
We bashed our way back to the car. 'Not many snakes today', says Dave, 'at least I didn't see any. Just as well, they can be a bit nasty' Oh yes? 'and when you get home check your legs for ticks'.
It's quite late by now so we stopped off at St Albans. Everyone looked either like tourists, or the same as each other. The pub was nice though and had good food. Back to Drummoyne, then to bed. I'm off to Daydream Island tomorrow. I think today's been a bit of a daydream too.
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