Medicare (D21)

Yesterday I went to see Newtown. A busy working class suburb. Reminds me of Longsight, Manchester, famously named in an Oasis song. But without Asian people. It is very white. There is a bustling main street with lots of little shops on both sides. There is also the University Teaching Hospital and the Heart Research Institute. A schooner costs $6.

I'm going to try to tell you about the Aussie health service, so if you're not interested move down to the end of the page. Aussies have a National Health Service called Medicare. They are proud of it and it is paid for from general taxation. The Medicare levy is 1.5% of taxable income. It is free at the point of need. Well, not quite.

The Medicare system will pay for a lot of things at a government set tariff price. This includes visits to the GP, cost of drugs, and referrals to specialists. Doctors, both GPs and Specialists can charge the government tariff or they can charge more if they like. The patient pays the doctor, then fills out a form and gets reimbursement at the Government tariff price. So any extra comes out of their pocket. There are Medicare centres in various places where people can cue up to get their reimbursements. Patients will judge if they want to go to a doctor that only charges tariff price (what's called 'bulk billing') or go to another doctor who charges more. The bigger your practice the more you can charge and the richer you get. Meanwhile those who can't afford it go to 'bulk billing' only doctors.

Some individuals and families on incomes above the Medicare levy surcharge (MLS) thresholds who do not have private patient hospital cover may have to pay the Medicare levy surcharge. This surcharge is in addition to the Medicare levy and is at the rate of 1% of your taxable income (including your total reportable fringe benefits). With me so far?

So you pay the surcharge if you are a single person with no dependants and a taxable income for MLS purposes greater than $70,000 (35,000 pounds); or a member of a family and the combined taxable income for MLS purposes was above the relevant family surcharge threshold shown in the family surcharge threshold table and you do not have private patient hospital cover. Yeah?

In the last year you do not have to pay MLS if you were in an exemption category for the whole of 2008–09 and you did not have any dependants or, if you had dependants, they were also all in an exemption category and/or they all had private patient hospital cover for the whole of 2008–09. Obviously.

You do not have to pay MLS if you had private patient hospital cover for the whole of 2008–09 and you did not have any dependants or, if you had dependants, they also all had private patient hospital cover for the whole of 2008–09 and/or they were all in an exemption category. Got it?

You do not have to pay MLS for the full year if you had private patient health cover for part of the year and:
you and your dependants, if any, were not in an exemption category at any time during 2008–09, and your taxable income or combined taxable income for MLS purposes was above the relevant threshold. However, you must pay MLS for the number of days you or any of your dependants did not have private patient hospital cover.

So many people take out extra insurance to cover extra costs if necessary and avoid the MLS.

Simple.

Doctors in big towns do alright for themselves, and so do accountants.

From the patient's point of view it seems much like the UK system. There is more freedom to pick and choose who you see, but you would usually pick a GP and stick with them. The waiting times for surgery and outpatient appointments are longer. There is also a proliferation of what we'd call complementary medicine. Every main street has Chiropractors, Thai massage, podiatrists, sports physios, you name it, you can get it. I'm not sure how they are regulated. Many GP practices will have these attached. They are not covered by Medicare usually. The bureaucracy is a constant complaint, not surprisingly, and successive governments try to address it. nevertheless Aussies are proud of it and will defend it as fervently as we defend our health service. Anything but the American system.

Now here's something I learnt yesterday. Granpere was a male midwife on Rodrigues, an island close to Mauritius. It was here that Matant Marcelyn was born and, Jocelyne thinks, he and Granmere were converted to Adventicism. Need confirmation of this, but another piece in the picture.

Sydney FC (D20)

It's a leisurely morning and then over to Jocelyne's. There's a misty pal over Sydney as we drive from Five Dock to Drummoyne where she lives. Somethings not right. There isn't a cloud in the sky, but it's not blue. It is grey. Viv thinks it's pollution. When we arrive, Jocelynes thinks it may be a bush fire, but Rob's not so sure. There isn't a smell of smoke in the air. Everyone agrees there's something odd about it.

On the news Malcolm Turnbull's leadership has been terminally damaged by chaos in the opposition Liberal Party over the emissions trading scheme (ETS). While a clear majority of the public supported Mr Turnbull's decision last week that the Government Coalition should pass the Carbon Pollution Reduction Scheme 66% in todays poll), there seems to be a majority of grass roots liberal supporters against this position. There was an avalanche of criticism levelled at Liberal MPs after their position was announced last week. Joe Hockey, former opposition treasurer and supporter of the ETS, like Mr Turnbull, is seen as the candidate thought most able to reunite the deeply divided parliamentary Liberal Party.

I say goodbye to Viv and am introduced to my very nice room. Jos and Rob live on a wonderfully interesting street. The architecture of houses and building is quite remarkable. They live in a Federation Style house. It is semidetached and long. Along the adjoining wall is a corridor that runs the length of the house. Off this corridor are the bed rooms. At the end, the kitchen and living room. Loads of space for two people. Mathew and Philip, their sons, have move away. The street has many other styles of house, all with their own stories. I'm going to the football, so the original plans are changed. We go for a walk round Five Dock bay, a watery extension of the harbour, instead. We walk for about an hour, stop for a beer then back. Several boats are moored up, it's low tide. A few plastic bags and bottles are washed up, but generally it's clean and the scenery spectacular, except that sky just isn't right. All this within walking distance of home, how amazing. The houses on the edge of the bay go for about three million dollars. It's a prime inner city spot. Then Rob kindly drives me to the ground of Sydney FC. Dave Benett is waiting for me.

A procession of people waving blue flags and singing football chants approaches and passes. These are the hard core supporters, says Dave. They have an average age of about 18, and nearly half of them can shave already. Walking behind so as not to cause embarrassment are their mums. The whole atmosphere is a fun one and I don't detect any trouble. This is the sixteenth game of the season for each team. There is keen anticipation that Sydney will take all three points. They are currently second on 25 points. Newcastle only have 16 points so far and are second from bottom. They would do well to come away with anything. The crowd gather. Dave reckons the ground holds about forty thousand and is packed for big national team matches. The last game was against Holland. Dave went to it. I didn't catch the score but the Dutch were a fouling lot.

Until recently teams were based on localities, and in Australia as we've discovered, localities means ethnic groups. This caused a lot of agro with Greek against Italian for instance. The worst were the Serbs against the Croates. Kind of makes you feel warm to think these tribal loyalties have been sustained across the other side of the world. So bad was the situation that the Aussie FA banned ethnically based teams and names had to change. Today is a family day out. Newcastle supporters mix in with the Sydney supporters. The group of young lads with banners have positioned themselves behind the goal on my right. The away support is minimal, one or two hundred and are behind the other goal. The game kicks off at five pm, bearably hot, although the sun is right in our faces still. We took a couple of beers onto the terrace and sat in our places. The ground is no more than a quarter full.

Newcastle start the brighter. Come on Sydney. Dave points out the big Newcastle centre half. He's half Mauritian, half Russian. My allegiances start to slip. Oops, one nil down. Never mind, a quick response is needed. Ah, two nil down. Come lads, one back before half time. Oh well, half time comes and chance to reassess the tactics and reassert their dominance. Come on Sydney.

Before the game we'd been handed a rectangular towelling thing with Sydney FC on it. This is the time to use it. There's a 'waving it around competition'. The winner gets to go in the draw for tickets to the world cup. It's a bit unclear what the criteria are for winning, never mind, I can wave as furiously as anyone. Oddly a couple of good looking young men get chosen and get to tell the crowd how pleased they are and how all that practice has paid off. The sponsor also gets a chance to say how generous they are. Everyone's a winner. Well except Sydney FC yet. But another 45 minutes to go. Come on you blue and whites. I think there must be free tickets for under 11s. A lot of them gather pitch side, right in front of us. 'Hey kids clear off, this is a mans game' I feel like saying. Their dads don't seem to mind them running around and hitting each other with small towels.

Sydney start the second half well. They've had a good dressing down in the changing room. Here we go. Early goal and then. Oh dear, how did that happen, three nil down. I was distracted by those pesky kids. The big screen replay shows a well taken goal. Rooney, no not our one, their nippy striker got put through and bent the ball round the keeper. Game over. Come on Newcastle. Sydney get a consolation goal late on, which encourages the crowd, but there's no way back. Time to play for pride, and your position in the team next week. I tell Dave he should be a city supporter. He shares their hopeless optimism. Still I got a souvenir, a small bit of towelling with Sydney FC written on it. Maybe its for drying up tears.

The game over and we leave the ground. No-one seems too disappointed I'm pleased to report, although there's some half hearted booing by the home crowd. The ticket was $32 after all, and the beer $6 for half a pint. The Aussie are wanting to host the next World Cup. I don't think so.

I was going to get a bus back, but choose a taxi instead. The sky seems to be blue again. In fact it had got blue as the game went on, unlike the game. Ha ha. When I got back Rob tells me the radio says the sky thing had been dust, blown up off the dessert. Rob's not seen this before in nearly forty years of living here. They missed the red dust that covered Sydney a few weeks ago, as they were on their Europe trip. Twice in a few months. Don't tell me there isn't something weird happening to the environment you climate change deniers.

Kings Cross

King's Cross has for a long time been known to most Australians as the drugs and red light capital of Australia. So, not surprisingly, it is another tourist hot spot. Most Australians who have visited Sydney have also wandered through the Cross, if only for a look at how the "other half" live and play. In recent years, however, this sleaze pocket of Sydney has changed into a richly vibrant part of the city. The strip clubs, topless waitresses, adult bookshops and tacky nightclubs are still there, but small, trendy cafes have sprung up on the fringes of the Cross that are attracting a different type of visitor.

Me for one. It's actually the occasion of Rachel's birthday celebrations. We have to turn up in masks and in cocktail dress. There's a big fuss to get the right clothes. Vivians decides she will drive and we split the parking fee. Wendy (the Mauritian lodger) and her new boy friend Jack also get a lift. They are a gorgeous couple. Both are psychiatric nurses, so I tell them about my famous friend Ian Wilson. They've never heard of him. 'He's written chapters in books and everything' I attempt to persuade them. They promise to look out for him, politely if unconvincingly.

When we arrive the dress code appears to be rather less strict than we had been lead to believe. Even the masks ($12 each) are discarded once entry to the 'Brasserie' has been achieved. Luckily there's lots of free wine and beer, and lots of very nice canapes. I also get to meet again Najia Sauer and David Benett. David asks if I'd like to go to watch Sydney FC tomorrow, Sunday. Yeah. He's a gooner (Arsenal), which gives me a chance to talk about Ian again. He hasn't heard of him either. Never mind. The evening progresses to a time when the over fifties need to make way for the under forties. Viv and I go home, leaving the young people to continue with the fun.

This is my last night at Viviane's. I shall miss her, and she says she'll miss me. There's an open invitation to visit again anytime. I will take her up on it.

The Benett Foundation (D19)

It is the Sabbath. The Sabbath is a day of rest and worship. It is the seventh day, so for me today, although it is Saturday, I'm going to church. The Stanmore Seventh-Day Adventist Church to be precise. Tristan has come down to Sydney to stay with his mum and that's what he'd like to do too. Tristan has a gift for preaching, but he's not preaching on this occasion. He's down for his sisters birthday party tonight. So Viviane, me, Tristan and Wendy the lodger set off for the Adventist church.

Viv is also excited because we might meet some very distant cousins there. Sure enough Henry and his daughter Michelle. Henry is the son on my Granmere Suzanne's cousin. It's a small world. Well perhaps. Remember how the Italians came over and tended to stay in areas where they new people, and that the church supported them. The same happened to Mauritians, and I suspect all migrating people.

After church introductions are made and photos taken. Henry looks uncannily, I mean uncannily, like one of my Indo-Jamaican patients. I wonder all over again if I'm related to my Caribbean patients. Everyone is very pleased to see me even though they're a bit mystified about the connection. He thinks he can remember my uncle Raymond (Phanphan) Benett. Well of course, he was a famous surgeon on the Island. Phanphan had five sons by his first marriage and one by his second. He also had a daughter and named her, appropriately, Suzanne. The others, in order, are Robert, Julian, John, Richard, David and Charles. I will be meeting Julian next week when I go to stay with him in Brisbane . Robert lives round the corner from us here in Sydney, but doesn't seem keen to meet. John, Richard and David all live in England. Of these three I've only met David once briefly in forty years. I don't know Charles at all, or where he lives, except that someone was trying to find him once and phoned my house. Note to self, make more effort when I get back. You're a Benett too? asks Tristan naively.

Stanmore Church can only be described as cute. It is a wooden structure dating back maybe a hundred years. The pews are straight back and wooden too. It holds about four hundred people when full. Today there are about fifty. It's the faces that are so cute. Every race under the sun again, but I mean especially the children. Dressed in their Sabbath best. Many are Mauritian, but there are Black, White and Chinese faces too. When we arrive the choir is singing. Four women and one fabulous male base. They are singing tight harmonies of tunes I thought I'd forgotten. Rousing old style evangelical tunes. The words are full of the imagery of people coming home from their toils, gathered in from the fields, rest after their labours. There's a negro spiritual feel about the hymns. They are sung in English and the service is in English. There's a piano, a rhythm guitar and a solitary trumpet, played by Henry. For some songs there's a backing track, Karaoke style. There's a little boy in the front row with his parents, he has neatly cut hair, a chequered shirt and a mischievous face. I am moved before the service even starts. This is my heritage.

There's something marvelously not quite professional about the proceedings. The leader of the service, an older white man with a broad Aussie accent, is wearing a terrible flowery shirt. Half way through the service the 'Mauritian Signers' do a piece. They have to start again because they had got out of synch with the backing track. The pastor is an Indian-looking man, who also looks like a patient. His jokes fall rather flat, but the congregation encourages him with 'hallelujahs' and 'praise the lord' especially when he asks them increasingly 'wha d'you say?'. The congregation is also invited, and responds, to complete verses of the Bible he introduces during his sermon.

I was critical of Adventicism in an earlier blog, and I stand by what I said. But this, this is what worship is about for me. People, not necessarily many, gathering regularly and amateurishly to support each other and praise the Lord. I love it.

The Adventist Church in Beau Bassin, Mauritius, was much larger. I dare say more formal too, judging by it's web-site, I can't remember. For all it's faults it was a focal point, a meeting point, and the centre of their social lives for many people. Couples would meet there, marry there, and bring up their children there. Many were poor and unable to complete their education or pay the fees to take their exams. How wonderful then to hear of The Benett foundation. Viviane tells me about it, and I hope I got it right. My grandpere, following up on an idea of his brother-in-law, donated a sum of money to L'Eglise de Beau Bassin, to put into a Trust fund. This fund would, through the interest it gained, be able to pay for the completion of the education of children whose families couldn't afford it. This is The Benett Foundation. But wait Viviane has more. For various reasons this first fund wasn't enough and so my father, tonton Yves, set up a second fund. How brilliant and bizarre is that? They are dark horses, my parents are. I'm very proud of them.

News Hound

For the News hungry amongst you, it is brought to you from the Sydney Daily Telegraph on this Saturday, 28th November.

THE GOVERNMENT is opening the path to an early climate change election as the Liberal Party crisis drags out into next week with a dramatic leadership showdown. Labor demanded the Liberals pass the Emissions Trading Scheme amendments on Monday but appeared certain to be defied, with the Opposition calling for a committee inquiry reporting in February.

An attempt to get the legislation passed yesterday failed, in part because Liberal supporters of the ETS left the Senate during the fiery debate, giving the chamber over to opponents of the scheme.

The Senate debate is less than 10 per cent through consideration of more than 200 amendments to the scheme, despite 28 hours of debate which will resume on Monday. The Liberal opposition will be grappling with it's own internal problems on that day. The leadership contest is between two reluctant candidates and one determined incumbent. [Recipe for farce]

AFTER bowing out as Sydney's long-serving No. 1 newsreader, Ian "Roscoe" Ross now plans to lead a rather humble life - drinking champagne and travelling. [Could be worse]

GOLFING superstar Tiger Woods has been released from a Florida hospital today after suffering facial lacerations in a car accident in his driveway. [Best Wishes]

BRYNNE Gordon is getting hitched tomorrow. The wedding bill? Rumoured to be a lazy $2 million. It might be more, but the buxom blonde from Arizona doesn't worry herself with the details. "I haven't seen the bill," she says."That was one of the agreements, we wouldn't let cost get in the way." That's one of the benefits of tying the knot with one of Australia's richest men, colourful cashed-up entrepreneur Geoffrey Edelsten.[It's tough at the top]

RACHEL ALEXANDER will be hosting her 30th birthday celebrations. Rachel, daughter of the infamous Viviane Jones (nee Cheron) and newly married to Gavin, has asked guests to appear, or rather hide, behind masks. Visiting dignitaries and celebs can only guess as to the motive behind this unusual request. Maybe there'll be a guess the guest competition. The occasion promises to be a glitzy affair.[I'll let you know]

The Rocks, Sydney

The Rocks is the part of Sydney opposite the main Circular Quay of the Harbour. It is where the original convicts were dumped. It was a dirty, slummy, rat infested part of Sydney until the city fathers decided to make it an 'out door museum'. Now it is the most visited part Sydney. A must on the tourist trail and lots of backpacking hostels near by.

Viviane took me there last night. Friday night is a big night for going out in Sydney. This is the buzzing part of down town Sydney to be. Full of old bars and restaurants. There's a market selling stuff to tourists to take as souvenirs. A lady on stilts, dressed in can-can clothes of red lace and flamboyance is being followed by a man with an accordion playing Moulin Rouge type music. Street barbecues are sizzling, and a buskers is entertaining. The buzzing stops when he adjusts his speakers. It's still busy and bustling.

We found a French restaurant and sat outside. Marvelous.

The Italian Forum (D18)

I think I have just had the perfect pizza. The perfect pizza is a bit like the perfect baguette, but attainable. I can tell you what makes a perfect pizza. I can't yet tell you what makes a perfect baguette. A perfect pizza includes a perfect pizza base, not thick but not crispy. Then it's a basic Margarita plus onions, mushrooms, olives, capers, anchovies and peperoni. Occasionally thin red pepper for colour. A perfect baguette, as those who have been following this blog will know, is a metaphor for happiness. Don't worry I'll let you know when I find one.

I had this perfect pizza for lunch at a pizzeria in the Italian Forum in Leichhart. I had set off on a walk from Vivs, only this time I checked I knew the way. You have to walk through Habberfield to get to Leichhart. This time also I noticed the buses that were passing. The 438 to Abbertsford. On the way out of Five Dock you pass a bronze statue erected by and for Italians who moved to the area. The dates on the plinth show settlement in the late fifties and sixties. There is a roll call of names of the families who settled in Five Dock. According to the last census, there are over a million people who call themselves Italian in this country. They have been migrating for over a century. They came initially as builders and labourers. Mainly of peasant stock , they worked the mines of Western Australia, the sugar plantations of Queensland, and the Gold mines of Victoria. In New South Wales many worked on the Snowy Mountain Scheme and the Warragamba Dam project. They were used to the climate, cheap and willing to work. Their industry caused them to come into conflict with the already established Anglo-Celtic working class, with distinct racist undertones. 'Taking our jobs and women' no doubt. Much was 'chain' migration, where people joined other family or community members who were already in here. People from the same part of Italy naturally settled near each other.

Italian Australians like to celebrate their cultural heritage in festivals held all over the country. The best known include the Lygon Street festival in Carlton, Melbourne, and the Australian Italian Festival held in Ingham, North Queensland. Here Viva Leichhart happens over three weeks in May/June. Their motto is Mangiamo, Beviamo and Cantiamo (Eat, Drink and Celebrate), who can argue with that? As well as social festivals they have religious festivals, which celebrate the patron saints of Italian towns or regions back home. They like to enjoy themselves, and at the same time reaffirm their cultural identity. This seems to be a theme of migrating people. A careful balance between integration with the local population and maintaining identity.

Today both Habberfield and Leichhart are very Italian. The people look Italian and speak Italian. The Italian Forum in Leichhart is built as a courtyard surrounded on four sides by shops, restaurants and apartments. People sit out in the shade drinking and talking. Families come here at night, knowing children will be safe from traffic.

So I had my perfect pizza with a glass of white wine and a green salad. I was on my own. People came and went. The breeze and shade helped with the heat. Time drifted by. I was in no rush. I was enjoying this little bit of Italy.

One thing I've noticed in Australia, they don't seem to have a siesta. The shops stay open throughout, air conditioned, and busy. I wonder if they're missing a trick. The Mediterraneans have had a siesta for thousands of years, there must be a good reason. This weather is very Mediterranean and exhausting.

After another glass of wine I think it's time I had a siesta. I found the 438 and for $3.10 I'm back at Viv's. Soon after that I'm away to the land of siesta.

Le Sega (D17)

Time for a little Mauritian experience, courtesy of Viviane. First, you need to know that Creole refers to the language and to mixed race people from various backgrounds. We are Creole.

Dinner today was prepared to the sound of Sega. U-tube 'Mauritian sega' to hear some. It is Mauritian music, it is Creole music. One of it's greatest exponents was Jean Alphonse Ravaton, alias Ti Frere. Born April 29th, 1900, he became know as the King of Sega. Well that's what his fans call him. Sega was frowned upon and even forbidden, at first, for being music associated with the African Creoles, descendants of African slaves, now known as 'Nation' [pron. nacion]. Versions of Sega can be found on the islands of Madagascar, Reunion, Rodrigues and the Seychelles.

The slaves would gather at night fall, after working in the sugar plantations and tell stories. They would make up "sirandanes" (Creole riddles) and sing about the joys and woes of life, dancing to their African rhythms. Ancient sega also had magical and sacred functions, which being non Christian, was another reason for it's disapproval. I think I remember it being talked of as the music of Voodoo, Devil music. Certainly it was the music of the 'basse classe'. How wrong can you be? Le Sega also helped people remember, commemorate and grieve. The "Death Sega", for example, accompanied funeral rites. Eight days after someone died, a sega whould be organised to finally usher away the spirit of the deceased to the after life. You wouldn't want that spirit hanging around on this side, would you? Sadly, the ritualised role of le sega is largely a thing of the past. Le sega is now party dance music, rhythmical, sexy and played at night after dark.

One memorable occasion on October 30th 1964, four years away from independence, the famous "Night Of the Sega" was held on Mt. Le Morne. Le Morne was where slaves would go to escape captivity. It is a high point on the South West corner of the island. Many met their deaths here. On this occasion Creoles wanted to assert their Afro-Mauritian identity. The African-Creole community, was seen as low class (basse classe), uneducated and primitive compared to the Indian, Muslim, European, Chinese and other Creole groups they were living along side. The Sega was their medium for doing this. That night was the night Ti Frere was crowned "Roi du Sega". I can remember being taken indoors on one occasion, having been terrified by a procession of people snaking it's way through the lanes playing this music, singing and dancing. It all seemed very sinister to a small child. I wonder if this was that occasion.

For dinner Viv made a curry Gros Pois (Lima Beans) and Dohl Purri. Very typical Mauritian food. I'm going to make some when I get back. Dohl Purri is a flat bread rather like a chapati but made with white flour and yellow lentils. The curry Gros Pois is placed inside the Dohl Purri and eaten like a wrap. Desert is tinned Jack fruit. I always thought the Dohl Purri referred to a lentil mixture, no wonder I've never been able to recreate it yet.

I can tell you want to visit yourselves now. So, here's some useful Mauritian creole expressions I've picked up from Viv, in case you need them:

La tete pas bon - you're not right in the head
To fou - You're crazy. or, 'you want to be my friend, are you crazy?', ...'to fou?'
Allez do [doh] - you're kidding, get away with you, no way
Qui to le [lais]- what do you want (said abruptly)
A la la - here we go, oh my goodness
Ah i o [a yo] - oh dear

There are others of course which can't be published. Anyway you get a sense perhaps of our conversations. Don't you just love her?

The ANZAC bridge

When I went walkabout I wasn't as far from Balmain as I'd thought. In fact I'd come out pretty much where the Anzac Bridge appears on the Rozelle part of Sydney. We drove past the very spot today. The bridge was designed by Percy Allan and opened on December 3, 1995 to relieve traffic congestion. It carries eight lanes of traffic, a cycle path and pedestrian walk way. It takes 30-40 minute to walk across it. The bridge was given its current name on Remembrance Day in 1998 to honour the memory of the soldiers of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) who served in World War I. A bronze statue of an Aussie soldier (or "digger") faces a Kiwi one at the Western end.

The Infamous Broadway Clock incident (D16)

MAIN NEWS OF THE DAY Brought to you by the Daily Telegraph: The infamous Broadway clock tower rendezvous may be an act of indecency, according to police, but it appears Sydney's men are filled with admiration.

Several wanted to claim responsibility for the steamy encounter, or nominate a mate as the culprit. But, according to police yesterday, not a single witness to the naked clocktower clinch has lodged a complaint, meaning police were not currently investigating it.

"Obviously it is something we would look into as an act of indecency," Inspector Bell said. "We often get cases like it in Hyde Park or Belmore Park. If we're told about it we'll grab them."

Are you Sydney’s clock tower lovers - or do you know them? Contact us on phone (02) 9288 3413, email news@dailytelegraph.com.au or fax (02) 9288 2608.

Meanwhile former Miss Universe Australia, Erin McNaught, has had to undergo emergency surgery after an accident while shooting a story for [Channel] Nine's Cybershack program.

HOURS before his trashed hotel room was found, Matthew Newton [who he?]threw airline staff into a panic after he mysteriously got off a flight just before take off.

Abducted Aussie journalist Nigel Brennan has been freed from a terrifying ordeal of reported torture and cruelty at the hands of the world's most evil kidnappers in Somalia. $ 1,000,000 ransom has been paid to the captors for his release.

Critics reckon Willie Mason's NRL career is headed south, and they just might be proven right. The big Rooster has had talks with the Dragons and Storm.

Malcolm Turnbull, opposition leader has promised to be less abrasive. Apparently he's been horrid to people in his own party. Kevin Rudd [PM], who speaks fluent Mandarin according to my friend Ade, said 'I don't give a Peking Duck' (only kidding)

Breaking NEWS 8:15AM A MAJOR air and sea search has begun today for a young man feared drowned after he and his Sydney mate went swimming late last night at Schoolies Week.

The weather forecast is for mainly sunny spells with temperatures 16-20 degrees.

With all this going on I am persuaded that if I should have my time again it would be spent in Sydney. It is my favourite of all the cities in the world. Except Manchester of course, which is my home. Talking of which we went to see a British Comic, whose name just escapes me, at the famous Sydney Opera House. He was doing an amusing monologue rather than stand up. He's apparently a famous stand up comedian in the UK, at the Edingurgh Fringe, no less. I had to say I'd not heard of him myself. His name will come to me in a second. But his piece was about his relationship with his rented flat 66A Church Road, Crystal Palace. It was funny, as also quite moving, how he ultimately had to leave it and how he felt he hadn't really tried all he could to stay, and how the landlord had ruined His Home by the botched renovations of it. It was about the nature of 'home'. It's the sort of thing that you had to be there for, if you know what I mean.

Earlier in the day Viv had taken me to what I think is one of the Top Ten most beautiful places in the World. Bradley's head. It is a small beach opposite the main Circular Harbour and overlooks the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. The sky is a piercing blue, no clouds, no aeroplane tracks, just blue. The sea more of a bright opaque turquoise. The white-sailed boats follow each other like rows of ducklings trying to keep up. Occasionally a passenger boat carves up the bay with a frothy white streak which then melts away. An old style replica Elizabethan boat, no doubt carrying tourists, passes in front of the Opera House. Where did it go? Oh there it is again.

Above the beach is Athol Hall, an old but well maintained colonial house, where lovers meet for secret liaisons, and Sydneysiders come to revel on New Years Eve and see the fireworks from the Bridge. Viv's daughter, Rachel, had her reception here. A Cat pulls up on the jetty and a wedding party alight. They're going to be here a while.

Daniel Kitsen, that's his name. He made me feel rather nostalgic and home sick. You had to be there.

Walkabout (15)

If you want to go walkabout in Australia make sure you know where you're going. It's a long way if you get it wrong. I set off to walk to Balmain. Every sign to Balmain says 4. At first I thought 4Km. But no, route 4. Only after a while did the penny drop. Until then I thought I only had 4Km to walk. I never got to Balmain. Instead my thong started to rub.

OK, I wasn't being weird. Aussies call flip flops, thongs. After four hours walking yours would rub too. Well I didn't think I'd be that long.

When Aboriginal Australians go on 'Walkabout', they undertake a spiritual journey to a Belonging Place to renew their relationship with their Dreaming and the Landscape. The land is their life, their mother, their way, their nourishment, and their spiritual connectedness.

Adolescents boys, when they come of age, are sent out on their own to fend for themselves for six months. It focuses the mind on learning I suppose.

Their story goes that during the Dreamtime the Ancestral Spirits gave form to the land and established community relationships. Afterwards, in order to liven up the landscape, the Ancestral Spirits changed into animals, stars, hills, trees, and other aspects of the landscape, empowering the Natural World with their numinous presence in forms that are most commonly referred to nowadays as Devas, Nature Spirits, and Elementals. If you believed this you would treat the land with care and reverence, wouldn't you?

For the Aboriginals, their spirituality and the Sacred is deeply rooted in the Landscape and in their relationship to the environment which sustains them. There are many different Aboriginal tribes who have their own Dreamtime folklore, customs, languages, and totems. They also share many things like Animal Totems, strong kinship, and family structures.

Dreaming Tracks or Songlines distinguish all features of the land created by their Spirit Ancestors as they Journeyed and travelled across it. The story of the Aboriginals is in the land; the law is imprinted on their Sacred Spaces. These Songlines are the footprints of their Spirit Ancestors as they sang Beingness into the landscape, setting the law.

Today the Journeying Walkabouts of the Spirit Ancestors are brought to life through these Songlines. By performing the appropriate Corroborees Ceremonies and singing certain songs at precise points along the Dreaming Tracks, the Aboriginals gain direct access to the Dreaming.

Many groups travel, Journeying along these Dreaming Tracks with their children, educating them by telling them stories of the Dreamtime. Through the verses of songs, Aboriginal Australians know every part of the Landscape and where to find sources of water and food. I hope someone is keeping these memories and songs alive.

Aboriginals also use their Songlines when they move about within the territory of the tribe or when visiting other tribes. Clan members regularly move camp and go on cultural Journeys for Taking Care and for Corroborees, initiations, and other cyclical, ritualized ceremonies of the Dreamtime.

My walkabout wasn't so spiritual. One of the things I just had to do was to have a beer. I had been going for some time by then. I walked into the first Aussie pub I came to, somewhere in a working class part of the city, not far from the harbour. The bar looks just like those in Hulme, Manchester, when I first worked there 25 years ago. The television is on, big screen, sound off. The music is middle of the road eighties pop. Half a dozen men are sitting on stools around a semi-circular bar. The language being spoken was not discernible. Australia is now smoke free so no fumes. In the corner is a pool table, ageing and unloved. Posters on the walls are peeling off and in any case the events they're advertising are well past. Did it go silent for a moment, and did they look round when I walked in? I'm not sure. They returned to their brogue once I'd ordered my drink. $3 a scooner, the cheapest by far and unlikely to be matched anywhere.

I resumed my treck. After another hour my songline was distinctly stuttering. I found myself in Birkenhead. Birkenhead Point actually. It used to be a series of warehouses dockside. Over time it became derelict, and in the last year or so has been renovated. It is now a series of retail outlets. Large parts of Sydney docklands have been modernised to cater for the materialistic dreamtimes of our society. Like Manchester, Sydney has moved into the 21st century. I kept going.

In the end I spotted a bus stop, and to my relief there was a bus going to Five Dock. When it came I got on, paid the $3.50 and got back. Phew. One of the things I feared travelling abroad is that I would not be able to find my way about. The bit of visual cortex I lost is responsible for recognition and so I'd tend to get confused about where I am. I passed this unexpected test with flying colours. I'm tired but pleased with myself. Time for a little dreamtime of my own.

Kishna Mootialoo (D14)

Viviane has discovered some interesting information about mon Grandpere. Strangely, spending time with my Mauritian family is making me slip into French almost without realising. I'm not at their stage of just drifting between the English, French and Creole fluently. Grandpere changed his name to Raymond Benett at some stage, presumably when he became a Catholic and/or to further his career as a nurse in a Port Louis, the Capital. On the 19th October 1921, aged 26 years, he married Marie Suzanne Eugenie Davis, Great grandaughter of Dr Clarenc. She was 21 years old. He went on to outlive his wife by many years. Granpere's parents were called Yerramah Yallappa (mere) and Pothamah Mootialoo (pere). Pothamah's father was Lingoo and mother Elloo (nee Assuna). The Indian heritage is unmistakable from the names alone. The question is which part of Indian. That would be interesting. I'm guessing southern India, maybe Tamil Nadu, we'll see. I have Jamaican patients whose origins are from India. I wonder if I'm related to them distantly. Presumably, workers emigrated from India, some stopped off in Mauritius, others went on to the more far flung colonies.

Talking of mixtures of races, I went to Norwood with Viv yesterday. It looks and feels like a place like Rusholme but without the curry houses. Every race and colour was walking up and down the main street. White Caucasians were walking hand in hand with Chinese, African men were busying about their business, Polynesian girls were giggling outside a clothes shop, an Aboriginal man was begging and others, mixed raced, were queuing outside the labour exchange. Suddenly a young white man came rushing out of the building cursing and swearing about the stupidity of computers, shaking his arms about and looking agitated. He disappeared down the street as people first bristled and then relaxed as he passed.

Then it rained. Not a storm rain, a fine rain, the sort of rain that wets you right through. It was cold as well. How can this be, we were in a heat wave yesterday? Viv says it's a bit of a myth about the constant hot weather in Sydney. Some people, she smiles, don't bring any blankets with them when they emigrate. Well immigrate I suppose, except it's emigrate if it's from Europe. It seems my first impressions of Sydney, based on Neighbours, Home and Away and further out suburbs was wrong. The older parts of town are much more like England. There are Greek kebab shops, Chinese take aways, Italian pizza and icecream parlours, cheap clothes, jewelers, convenience stores.

Norwood looks to me how Australia is going to be, and England I suppose. Rich in mixtures of races and cultures and beliefs. We're going to need that diversity if we're going to survive. In nature diversity is strength.

I didn't have a camera with me yesterday in Norwood, so today I'm going to walk around Five Dock to try to capture what that's like. Sydney is great, despite the weather.

Grandmere & Matant Marilyn photo

Five Dock (D13)

I'm at Viviane's now for the next few days. She lives in a fashionable part of inner Sydney, Five Dock. It has much more of the feel of an English town. There's a high street, a pub, and an Italian Deli, and people walking up and down the street. The supermarket is called Supabarn. It's just like a Co-op or Tesco.The temperature however, is rising. Bush fires are being predicted. Another Black Saturday is in prospect. Over the years dry tinder gathers on the forest floor. Sooner or later it's going to go up. They're talking energy similar to a nuclear bomb detonation, so serious stuff. Last time this happened the fire ball caught up with escaping cars, engulfing all and everything in it's devastating path. It is natures way of clearing the debris and you'd better not get in the way. In the safety of Inner Sydney we retreat in doors anyway. It's just too hot to do anything, forty one degrees, not even mad dogs are out in this.

The TV channel ABC is showing a programme called 'Message Stick', a totally Aboriginal production, they say. It is showing a musical performance in the Yoda Yoda language of the beginning of time. The faces are of mainly mixed race people, some very white so as you can only just tell they have Aboriginal blood in them. They are dressed formally in Sunday best. Some are playing violins and other instruments. There are a variety of voices from base to soprano. They are also singing gospel songs. Hallelujah!

In 1975 a film 'Rabbit proof fence' shocked Australians as it told the story of the 'lost generation'. Aboriginal children taken forcibly from their parents because they were judged to be unable to bring up their children properly. It was not until the 1967 census that Aboriginals were recognised as people at all.

The Australian nation feels a collective guilt about the way the Aboriginals were treated. The Prime Minister has apologised for the brutality meted out to them. Yet many feel that the Aboriginals do little to help themselves. They rely on state hand-outs and are generally feckless. Don't they know they can't just take stuff just because they need it, or go where they like just because they fancy it. There are reports of suicides in custody, the villains preferring to die rather than be locked up. Some feel the Aboriginal is beyond help, they are a broken race, they are a dying culture.

I suppose their fate will be that of the North American natives, the South American tribes, and the African. How fortunate then that someone has got them to see the way of the Lord and salvation through Jesus Christ. Dress them properly and teach them proper instruments. Read the Bible and pray. It looks from ABC TV that they are being civilised after all. An educated middle class is emerging. Jesus Christ indeed.

Now that the temperature has settled a bit we're going to hit Wooloomaloo tonight to eat at the famous pie shop - Harry's Cafe de Wheels. Harry tells us this is where the rich and famous come to taste genuine Aussie tucker, mate. Change of plan, it's going to be too busy and we wont be able to park. We will go to Balmain instead.

Balmain is a port village opposite the main Sydney harbour. You can see the Bridge across the water. Here harbour workers built their houses. It was the Salford or Hulme of the emerging city. In recent years it has become gentrified. The housing stock has become modernised. The prices have gone up. It is a desirable and trendy part of town, and hidden from the ordinary traveller. It has a main street with road side cafes and restaurants. The houses are old colonial style with verandas. Many are built of sandstone. They must be cool inside. The old workers houses now fetch a million dollars or so. This is where I would live if I lived in Sydney. I love it.

Over dinner I learn more about Viv and her family. She's some lady. I will meet her son Tristan at her daughter, Rachel's, 30th party next week. Back at her place I book my stay at Daydream Island, one of the Whitsunday Islands. From there I'll be able to access the great barrier reef. Hey ho. I wont have time to visit the great Aussie tourist, and sacred Aboriginal, sites of Uluru (Ayres rock), the Olgas or the Valley of Winds. Not this time anyway.

Home and Away (D 12)

Palm beach is the setting for the soap op. Home and Away. It is north of Sydney about an hour away and that's where we set off to in the morning.

On the way we first pass, but then call into, the Sydney Baha'i House of Worship. It is an impressive yet simple structure and seats probably 2-3 hundred people when full. There are about half a dozen of these throughout the world on each continent. Local communities have their own smaller versions. This is like their Cathedral. The Baha'i faith seems to be my kind of faith. Inclusive. They believe all faiths are valid. It originated in Persia in 1844 by The Bab, the last prophet. He was executed for his trouble. In 1863 Baha'u'llah declared himself the One prophesied by Bab and went on to establish Baha'i. They have special large meetings for world peace, women's day, refugee day etc and one 'Teacher appreciation day'. I think the prophet's missus must have been a teacher. They believe in equality of races and genders, the pursuit of science and rationalism, and recognise the oneness of humanity with God. It supports my One Faith, many paths, view of religion. There appear to be no catches, they didn't even ask for money!

Then on to Palm beach, lunch and a beer. We climb the trail to Barrenjoy Lighthouse. From here you get a spectacular view of the Pacific facing Palm Beach and Pitt Water - a calm water inlet - separated by the strip of land we've just come along. It also overlooks the Ku-ring-gai Chase National park where there are ancient Aboriginal carvings.

There's no time for this though. We need to get back for a party being held in my honour. It is being hosted by Marie-Claire, one of Viv's sisters and all available cousins and offspring will be there. The order has gone out.

Sure enough the gathering is large. I'm introduced to them all, who until now, have been just names. I tell you we turn out some gorgeous girls, and the boys aren't bad looking either. Rachel, Nadja, Melonie and Anja. Matthew and David. All my female cousins are now Grandmere. I refuse to be Grand Tonton (uncle). Marie-Claire, our host, is younger than me. I only remember her as three or four years old. She's been over to England a few times but we've always missed each other. She's a social worker and is delighted to hear that my Lizzie is going to be doing that course at uni. The house is lovely, open plan and on split level. There's a new thatched sun shelter in the garden. Jeugen, Marie-Claire's German husband has done it himself that very afternoon. I think he had a deadline. There's a pool, BBQ and everything. Right out of a TV show. Very Aussie.

Matant is also there to make sure it all goes smoothly.
Jean-Daniel or Gilbert or Zant, depending on your fancy, is also there with his partner Kim. Marilyn, me and him were the three musketeers. We were like those kids in the film Slumbdog, until they grew up suddenly. At least that how my memory likes to recall it. I'm going to the blue mountains with Jean-Daniel so will get to know him again there.

Meanwhile, like the omnibus version of a soap opera in fast forward, I'm trying to catch up on missed episodes.

Thornleigh (D11)

It's hot, the sort of hot that doesn't wet your clothes, the sort of hot that distorts the pavement if you're foolish enough to go out in it. That's the sort of hot that I set out in to visit the shops. Thornleigh, were Marilyn lives, is a north Sydney suburb and I thought I'd go explore. Her road opens out on to what I later discover is the end of the freeway, like Princess Parkway comes off the M56. The heat is hellish. The centre consists of a shopping mall, mercifully air conditioned, but that's it. I was surprised to see a Woolworths, I thought they'd folded. This one was more of a supermarket than ours were. There are no pubs in Thornleigh and no road side cafes. There's one cafe in the shopping mall and three people in it. People don't go into Thornleigh to meet up. They live off take outs. There are several churches. I guess that's where they socialise. Mostly, it seems, people stay out of the sun and in their air conditioned houses. I don't blame them.

Marilyn is having lunch in the city with some girl friends, she needs to network. I thought I'd have another look round. I end up in Darling Harbour again. It's busier this time. It's Friday lunchtime. There seems to be a lot of networking going on. I'd gone especially to find the place Rachel worked at when she was here. It's called Fioriani's. It's nowhere to be found. So I had lunch at the Blue Fish. This harbour side restaurant is renowned for it's fish and chips, the best in Australia, I'm told. There's a placard outside that says so. Anyway it's not at all bad. I do recommend it.

People watching is great. There are lots of smartly dressed young men, with straight backs, strutting around the harbour in small groups. A few lovely girls and no, but no, Aboriginals still. Come to think of it I'm yet to come across one. Did you know that there are more Greeks in Sydney than anywhere other than Greece itself. Suddenly within about ten minutes the skies darkened, thunder clapped and lightening struck. Those Greeks, I wonder what they've been up to now? The storm soon passes.

At the time of British settlement the population of Australia was about 350,000. It is now 21.5 million. Migrants have come from all over the world.

The first people to arrive came at least 40,000 years ago from the islands to the north. Portuguese & Dutch sailors landed in Western Australia several times during the 17th century but didn't settle. Not like our own Captain James Cook who landed, settled and bags'd it for Great Britain in 1770. At that time, there were as many as 500 tribes, speaking many different languages. They were hunter gatherers and had a rich mystical spiritual life based on the earthly elements around them. Today, many tribal Aborigines lead a settled traditional life in remote areas of northern, central, and western Australia. Let's hope they keep their way of life going. Diversity is the key to survival and you never know when we might need their deep knowledge and wisdom. In the south most Aborigines are of mixed descent and live in the cities. They have low status and high deprivation. Many drift into alcoholism, diabetes and an early grave.

Around the corner is the Australian Maritime Museum. There is a replica of Captain Cook's ship, the Endeavour. I decline the chance to experience life aboard the museum's submarine, HMAS Onslow. A little further on is the Chinese Garden of Friendship. That's nice of them, isn't it? It's footpaths join exotic pavilions, waterfalls and lily-padded lakes.

We have arranged to meet up at Star City in a couple of hours, after Marilyn is done. It's like a small Trafford Centre. There is a cinema complex, indoor shops and everything. There are nice young men standing around chatting and shopping. And lots of women. Aussies like to shop in doors it seems.

In Australia, and especially Sydney, there are many more women than men of eligible age. The reason is less easy to understand. Sydney is also, so says Viv, the gay capital of the world, which makes matters worse for single young women like her. So come on chaps get down here.

Tomaree - tall mountain (D9)

Tomaree is the Aboriginal word for tall mountain. Coincidentally there's a tall mountain over looking Shoal Bay called Tomaree. It' a steady rise of about 631m from the bay and takes 20 minutes or so. We are helped by steps and walk ways. The locals call it 'heart break hill' as the more energetic ones run up it.

At it's summit there's a wonderful view of Shoal Bay and other surrounding bays that make up Port Stephen. You can see the beaches exposed to the Pacific Ocean directly and the ones protected from it's power. Some of those waves are awesome even from the safety of a mountain top.

Shoal bay is one of the gentle ones. The story goes that the area belonged to the Woromi Aboriginal tribe. Belongs or belonged, I'm not sure. Anyway they would climb Tomaree from where they could see shoals of fish entering the bay. They'd then rush down and catch them. Can you imagine their faces if, when they got back down, the fish had gone?

We did the climb in the late afternoon before dinner. It was cooler by then.

In the morning we'd been on the beach. We began with a stroll, dragging our feet in the, at first, cold sea. This place is so Mauritius and we resolve to definitely visit there together. Marilyn & Viv's children have never seen the Island and Marilyn hasn't been since coming to Australia age 9. She's never been back. Mind you, I've only been back once and that was interrupted by a call back home. I went with my own brother and sisters and our children.

On that occasion we'd hired a Campmant or beach villa, just like in the old days. Each family had a separate one. The kids played amongst themselves and the adults did their own thing either together or separately. It was just as our childhood was, a huge extended family.

A cousin relationship is different from either close friend or sibling relationship. You can choose or loose your friends, and as time goes by they come and go. Siblings are just always there whether you like them or not. You'd trust them with you life and rely on them in times of need. You grew up with them wherever the family went.

Cousins are somewhere in between. They can ask questions friends wouldn't know to ask and sibs wouldn'd dare to ask. Cousins can be gone for 40 years and you can pick up with them instantly. Cousins know the dark family secrets that no one talks about. Cousins can be irreverent. Well these two can anyway.

Earlier, lunch had been a bit of a drama, well a minor drama anyway. I had asked for a ham sandwich. $8.50. It came as two bits of white sliced bread with a piece of boiled ham in between. I would have just silently moaned about it, but the girls took it back, got the money back and we stormed off 'disgusted'. The trouble is everywhere else was closed. In the end we had to get in the car and went to the neighbouring Nelson bay. Apparently all the men in the family are useless, so it's not just me.

In the evening there appears to be a gathering of conference goers. The exiled white male tribe of old England are in town. In the only bar around it's good to see that the ancient drinking rites have been preserved, handed down from one generation to the next. They are dressed in their national costume of course. Shorts, snugly fitting T shirts with witty sayings on them , and trainers.

I guess they're getting ready for the run up Tomaree. D'ya reckon?

Zenith Beach (D10)

Time to go back to Sydney. Before we do, Marilyn and I visit Zenith Beach. It is Pacific facing, noisy and with amazingly high waves. There are no warning signs so I guess it's OK to swim. Since Helen was carried off by a rip ride I've been anxious about these sorts of beaches. I tell everyone I know that if such a tide gets you, not to swim against it, just go with it. Eventually it'll drop you off somewhere out at sea. You can swim back from there or someone will come and get you. You just have to stay afloat and not panic.
I just can't resist jumping in and diving around in the surf. The sun is hot, very hot. My shoulders, arms and face are sore. Extra factor 30 for me. Viv went back last night and I miss her. She's a hoot. I've uploaded a photo, also of Shoal Bay and Tomaree.
We stopped off for lunch in Nelson Bay.

At 'Rivers' clearance outlet I stock up with T shirts. While we were walking round I recognised the tell tale Creole of an arguing couple. It's such an expressive language. It's a sort of pigeon French. When spoken slowly (never gently)you can just about make out the meaning, if you know French. No chance if their going at it. There's lots of arm waving and jabbering. Evidently they've come all this way and he's left his wallet behind. She is not best pleased and she wants him to know it. We all get to know it.

'Mauricien?' I tentatively enquire after it seems to calm down. They are indeed Mauritian, from Beau Bassin what's more. They lived in the street round the corner from Marilyn and down the road from our Rue Telephone. They don't remember us or our family. Still what a coincidence. We're everywhere.


It's a long drive back. The car radio plays ageing rock and pop. I have a doze. It's been a tiring couple of days, but exactly as I imaged and hoped it would be.

View from Tomaree

 

Me photo

 

Vivianne photo

 

The Shoal Bay Experience (D8)

North of Sydney runs the Pacific Highway and after about two hours you get to Shoal Bay.

The road is long and straight as you'd expect, but otherwise you could be in England. Driving is on the left,. The traffic is moderately heavy, but tolerable. The makes of car are similar, if a little older than in the UK. It's not a motorway as we'd know it. More like the A1 on a weekday afternoon.

I alternated cars, first Marilyn then Vivianne. Stuck in a car, on your own, with inquisitive female cousins you haven't seen for several decades means that travelling in silence is not an option. I've already talked a lot to Marilyn and now it's Viv's turn. They aren't too concerned about specific achievement except to acknowledge that in our family status is determined by achievement. No, they want to know about relationships. Who what when where and why. It's a two way thing., and it's great. The consequences of our exodus from Mauritius and the divorce and remarriage of my uncle are still powerfully with us.

The shoal bay holiday resort is a splendid, if aging, complex with elements of art deco and tiredness. It looks like it was built in the fifties and hasn't quite kept up. My room is spacious, comfortable, clean and self-catering. A walk through the car park and you're right there in reception. Across the road and you're on the beach.

The bay makes me think of Mauritius. A long curved sandy strip slides gently under the softly lapping waves. The horizon is surprisingly close. Above the shoreline, trees parade along the surrounding road. Shoal bay is quiet. Very few cars.

The cafe attached to the complex has a few Aussies of a certain age having an afternoon drink. In the distance some incongruously smartly dressed teenagers are chattering and laughing. Apparently they've gathered for their High School Formal - I think that's the same as a Prom - and on their way to Newcastle for the evening.

After a walk along the beach we went for spa-jacuzzi thing, then dinner. Two inquisitive female cousins meant that none of this was done in silence. I love them both more than I ever knew.

After dinner we thanked the young looking manageress and said how lovely it is here. ' Can't stand it' she surprised us, 'it's like living in home-and-away, everyone knows your business. I've lived here all my life and I can't fart without everyone knowing', her think Aussie accent giving it extra resonance. 'At least I know if my boys have bunked off school before they even get home.'

Back to the girls room for coffee. Inquisitiveness cranks up a notch. What a great experience. I think it's time for bed.

Darling Harbour (D7)

We took the train to Darling Harbour today for lunch. The carriages are those large double decker air conditioned ones. Smooth, fast and comfortable. The harbour has been fantastically modernised. It has cafes and shops in a U shape around the water. In the middle is a pontoon which is used as a stage for big performances. In the dark the harbour is lit up and thousands of Sydney people and visitors gather to watch whatever's on.

We stopped for a sandwich and a beer at one of the cafes. I asked if they did a perfect baguette. The waitress said that they did. Crispy on the outside and soft in the middle. A perfect baguette is a metaphor my friend Tim and I have for happiness. We are going to write a book called 'In search of the perfect baguette'. This girl wasn't to know that of course. A beer here is $9.50, at about two dollars to the pound. The cafes were full, though not crowded. It's Monday afternoon.

Around the harbour area itself is the large commercial and financial district of Sydney, with its tall skyscrapers and water features. I was in Lyon (France)earlier in the year and it reminded me of the centre of that city or Canary Wharf in London. The financial crisis in Australia is apparently easing off and house prices are rising. There is still a worry that this is a false recovery based on a fiscal stimulus into that sector. The cheap loans to first time buyers will be coming to an end soon. When this happens the fear is of another slump. The recovery may be an illusion. Big companies are still slimming down and jobs are still hard to come by. You want my analysis? There is a recovery but slower than we'd like. The multinationals are using this as an excuse to trim and reorganise. Meanwhile young people are finding it hard to get established and older ones are being laid off. The news of the death of capitalism is indeed premature.

Tomorrow Marilyn, Vivianne and me are going to Shoal Bay. Its a holiday resort north of Sydney. The apartments are almost on the beach itself. Dave, Marilyn's husband, wants to take me on a day trip to the outback, and I'm also going to arrange to spend time at Ularu (Ayres Rock). Now that's what I'm talking about.

The second beer was even colder and the fresh breeze kept us cool in the shade.The beautiful people strolled past us, unhurried and fashionable. The harbour boats bobbed up and down gently. When the baguette came it wasn't perfect, but it was pretty close.

I love Australia (D6)

Sydney is a great city. Marilyn and I went into the city and had lunch with Dave and Vivianne at one of the harbour cafes. We went into the Opera house, walked through the botanical gardens and generally chilled out. We came across a plaque to a guy called Philip. He apparently took this Aboriginal fella to London some time a couple of hundred years ago. Dressed him up in western clothes, and exhibited him to London society. The guy died of smallpox soon after.

Vivianne has just come back from a trip to Mauritius. We talked about life in Mauritius and the history of the family. The skeletons came tumbling out.

Dr Hector Clarenc, a French doctor and Diplomat and my great great great grandfather, established the Alliance Francaise in Mauritius. It was the largest outside of France itself at the time. That's why we hold doctors in such esteem in our family. I suppose he's the reason why I became a doctor, ultimately.

Anyway Dr Clarenc took a mistress called Louise after the death of her husband, his coach driver. They had five children between them. That sort of thing seemed to be accepted in those days. Dr Clarenc appears on one of the first Mauritian stamps. We're all very proud of this tenuous aristocratic connection. He looked after Luoise and their children financially and probably emotionally too. One of their daughters was called Marie. Marie had a daughter called Suzanne who became my Granmere. She married my Granpere, a relationship frowned upon at the time because of his Indian heritage, but she loved him and that was that. The rest is too complicated for a public blog. They converted from Roman Catholicism to becoming Seventh Day Adventists.

Paul Badaut, an Adventist Missionary, converted many people from different faiths to Adventicism. It now has a large following on the island and world wide. Adventists have a strong base in New South Wales, and Sydney in particular. Adventicism is a controlling faith which insists that its members follow strict rules. It disapproves of scepticism and rationalism, providing instead the reassurance of certainty and everlasting life. It is one of those sects that bizarrely adheres to the literal truth of creationism and the eternal damnation of non-believers, sceptics and sinners generally. To question or doubt means the devil has got at you, if not directly then through his Roman Catholic followers, Hindus or whatever else.

Never the less growing up in Mauritius 'till I was nine was fun. A great extended family with lots of cousins. There was the older group of Francis and Robert (Rose), Vivianne and Joselyn (Cheron) and Robert, Julian and John Benett. My group were Jean-Daniel and Marie-Claire Cheron, Marilyn Rose, me and my brother. I remember only playing, fooling around and getting up to mischief. Later Richard and David Benett joined our group. There are other cousins and siblings but they were either not born, too young or not in the country.

In 1966 we all suddenly split up, the Cheron and Rose family went to Australia. The Benetts came to England. We rarely saw the other Benetts in England and since my uncle's divorce and remarriage have hardly seen them. 1965 was the end of our carefree childhood, and now 45 years later I'm just finding out what happened to us all.

No wonder there's a high level of mental illness in second generation immigrants. We have more than our share. The combination of crazy religious injunctions, rootlessness and rejection in our new country must screw with minds and emotions. My dad has written a book about his experience of migrating from Mauritius and reflects thoughts which I guess are common for people undergoing a similar journey.

Back to the sights. Aussies are rightly proud of Sydney Harbour, its magnificent bridge and iconic Opera House. Both were set off brilliantly against a blue blue sky. The bars around the harbour were buzzing with beautiful people enjoying a Sunday drink in the early summer sun. Not an Aboriginal in sight. Like our family, a complex blend of fabulousness, contradictions and dark secrets. I love it.

Hong Kong Fooy (D2)

Oh brilliant. I woke up at 3.20....am. Left arm asleep. Frightened the life out of me, but OK. You all must be getting ready for bed and I'm wide awake. It's now 6.30. Too tired to read but not tired enough to sleep.

Ah breakfast. Breakfast is rather weird in HK. It could be any time of day food. There's toast if you fancy it, or spicy soup, fried rice, boiled egg and strange fruit. Well you got to have a go at all that, init Steve... Restaurant opens in an hour. Marvelous.

It turns out the beer first night was about £6 not £10, as originally thought, so feel much better about that. Last nights world famous Hong Kong goose has given me indigestion.

My up graded room is rather nice. It's two rooms really. A bed room and en-suit, and a sitting room. TV is of course in Chinese, well Cantoneses I suppose. Apart from BBC world. Did you know that Africa has had a raw deal from the West all these years and the Russian economy isn't as brilliant as everyone thinks?
The view from the room is grey. The concrete blocks merge into the sky as if this horizon is still to be coloured in.
It's raining outside. Of course why wouldn't it ? The transfer to the airport is due in 12 hours and I didn't pack my umbrella. For Australia. Silly really. Now I'll have to wander around in the rain.

Feeling slightly vulnerable on own, just in case anything happens, no reason why it should. Just. Well, what if it does. But it wont.

I'm going to explore a bit more of HK today and let you know aaaall about it. I think there's a park somewhere. There must be. It can't all be concrete.

That's good, it's getting lighter outside. I think I'll run a bath. My arm is OK now. I think Australia will be good.
Ivan
Ian can you pass on to Ken Ged etc ?

Chop sticks, beer and world famous goose (D1)

Hawo evewy one.

Finally managed to work out this gadget. Tried to set up a blog but failed. Rach can you send to family, Ade to 'the guys', Avril to the team and Fee, you can have this all to yourself.

Just settling in to the world famous Young Fee restaurant - sorry Yung Kee, and their world famous goose.

My goodness. what a place Hong Kong is. by the way Heathrow is definitely the worst big airport I've been to, but also I arrived at HK for the world 'standing in a line waiting' competition. Man, they like to get people in line here.

Normally quite cool about this sort of thing but just spent a million hours next to boozed up ashtray smelling guy with a posh accent. Still I did manage a manly grunt before ignoring him the whole trip. Not easy and had to grunt another couple of times to climb over him for a wee.

Anyway, here now. Bit of a cock up on the transfer from the airport - like the planned one wasn't there. Oh and the hotel weren't expecting me. never mind got an up graded room.

Yes I did try to up grade the flight seat but apparently my ticket is noh upgwadabal.

Today I've been on a boat trip round Kowloon Bay. The whole place is so busy and so steeped in history it seems to be oozing out of the drains and exhaust fumes of capitalist hubris. Got to see it to believe it.

Chop sticks working well, no problem, seem to be blending in to the locals no trouble. Seriously and obviously most people are Chinese but also pretty cosmopolitan, and funny hearing people talking in Cantonese interspersed with broken English. It's difficult to appreciate the influence of the British here. Everything is in English. Odd fusion of fashion which is a fashion of its own I suppose. Hardly chic though, despite all the brand named shops.

The cantonese goose is here so bye for now.
Not sure why its world famous. Not worth writing home about. oh I just have. I suppose its meant to have those bits of broken bone in. and a beer last night was 73HK$ (£10).

Lovely being here. Hope the transfer comes on time tomorrow

Taking over the world on the 14th November (D5)

Got here. Arrived after another massive flight in a Cathay Pacific massive carrier thing. I was in the middle of the middle row and got virtually no sleep.

Guess what? The Aussies win again. The airport has obviously prepared well. They've been practicing. At peak landing time for several massive flights they put on three passport control people. Then, to keep things interesting everyone has to go through a line of customs guys who unpack almost one in three bags looking for smuggled in drugs, fresh fruit (why would you do that?), fresh meat (
Yes the Aussies beat the Chinese, hands down, in The 'standing in a line' competition. I can tell you Hong Kong 'you're wasting you're time'. The Aussies have it.

They cheated of course. What d'you expect? At least half of the people were themselves Chinese. Clever these Aussies. You can tell the original immigrants here were a cunning lot, beating the Chinese at their own (queuing) game!

I was met by my lovely wonderful cousin Marilyn and her husband Dave in a massive 4x4. Dave's a high school teacher. We drove through the busy Saturday afternoon suburbs to pick up my aunt Marceline (Matant)and had lunch with another cousin Joceline and her husband Rob. Rob is an ex cockney who is a proper Sydney Aussie now, accent and all.

I gave Aussie a B- for first impressions. Could do better.

I was surprised by the views expressed by Matant about the Chinese. I think she was joking. She must have been joking. When my parents moved us to England there was a lot of overt racism. There still is. Now more dark and pernicious and ominous. I'm pretty sure the same is true in. There's a lot of xenophobic invective on the radio about asylum seekers. For all their apparent easy goingness, my impression of many Aussies is that they're a pretty conservative bunch. I'm sure Matant, and her husband Guidoux(now died) and children Joceline, Vivianne, Jean-Daniel, and Marie-Claire were no strangers to prejudice. We certainly weren't in England when I grew up. A 'no tolerance' policy seems right. My preferred response is ridicule, I'm too soft for confrontation and too old for violence.

I'm afraid Aussie, you better get used your Chinese neighbours. There are more of them, it's their part of the world, and they'd win in a fight. Meanwhile, good on ya mate for showing them how to be world champion 'standing in a liners'

Wonderful Hong Kong (D4)

Today HK is completely different. It's sunny for a start. A brisk walk to the sea front was a literal breath of fresh air. On the way you have to go on amazing walkways above the roads so you don't have to cross the street. On the promenade people are out jogging and everyone seems young and bright. They've even got a Royal Yacht Club.
As the runners go by it occurs to me how similar their body shapes are to those in the West. Kind of obvious I guess but such a fuss made about different races and it's quite clear we're all the same under the skin. Not a startling revelation perhaps but I've not been with so many Chinese before..
I bought a pearl necklace today. I think the exchange rate is getting better. They were very attentive and helpful in the shop.
I now know where the beautiful people go. They go to the exhibition centre. I think I'll stay for some lunch. HK, for all I said yesterday, does some things well, and this exhibition centre is one of them. It's bright, clean, smoke free and over looks Kowloon Bay. There are people with signs offering to help and lots of smiles.
There was another really nice guy who came up to me right out of the blue. I was just admiring the habour thinking about whether to go for a beer at £6 a glass. He said I looked very thoughtful, and like someone who spoke his mind and didn't stand for nonsense from other people. So true. He said I was going to be really lucky this year in work, with my children and mostly in money. December 2009 he reckons. He said he could prove it and read my palm and predicted my favourite animal, colour and number. Amazing, it must be true. All he wanted from me was some money to help feed the orphan children that his guru was looking after. So I gave him some. He said it would make sure the luck came to me. I'm glad obout that.

The sun is hot now. The grey skys have definitely lifted. The colouring fairy has done her job well. Maybe I'll stay longer next time.

Entering the blogasphere (D3)

Well I've started the blog on day three partly so I can make up days one and two, and partly cos I've only just got this blog thing going.
Now I don't mean days as in the Biblical sense. I mean literally the third day since I set off from Manchester for Australia. The days are rather shorter as I'm changing time zones all the time so I'm starting to get confused.
So far I've got to Hong Kong and when I get to a PC i'll copy in what happened earlier. For now I'm happy to have got this started.
Australia is where my cousins are so I'll be exploring with them my days in Mauritius. At the same time I'll have some distance from my situation at home, especially at work, to reflect and look forward to what is going to be an exciting and unpredictable time ahead.
I know this is a bit self indulgent and you don't have to follow it if you don't want, but I think the next stages are going to be fun. You can come along with me for free.