The usual gallery of mediocre photography can be found here…
Fans of my music will be glad to know that the whole of the original “Dartmoor Suite” has been remastered and rerecorded. You can find it here…
Sat at home the other day, and there was a knock on the front door, I open it to find a little old lady with a very excitable dog; “Sorry, I’ve thrown his ball into your back garden, can I have it back please?” I was wondering how she’d managed it to be honest, she didn’t look like she could have lifted that high, let alone thrown it over. She was carrying one of those flexible ball-throw poles however.
It struck me as a lovely take on the old; “Can I have my ball back please mister?” meme.
Mary was up in Sydney the other week, she was at one of her veteran’s throwing competitions. So her car was at our place. Usually we’d have had her dog to look after too, but we’re in the bad books on that as the little fucker escaped the last time we looked after it.
One morning we awoke to find that someone had put a brick through the car’s back fan light, and had, presumably, had a rummage about inside for goodies. I say “presumably” as Mary’s car interior normally looks like a jumble sale, and your chances of finding something of value are about the same.
Bastards!!!
We paid $380 to get the glass replaced. Mary confirmed there had not been anything worth nicking in the car. So some bastard had cost me a fortune for no purpose. I suppose the chance of giving them a good kicking is out of the question?
We had Clarkie and Catherine (C&C) arriving from Ireland to stay. This was ever so nice of them, they had taken just over a week out of their holidays, and all the expense of flying to Australia, as; “We wanted to see where you’ve been living for the last 16 years, before you left.” God bless them, what lovely people.
Some people, who like to bask in the reflected glory of calling themselves; “my oldest mate”, and “my best mate”, could really do with taking a fucking leaf out of their books, before it’s all too fucking late.
I’ll leave it at that.
Anyway, as when other people have stayed with us, and just about all my Pommy mates have now, apart from two who shall remain nameless, L~A wanted the house, boiled, disinfected, sanitised, and moved two inches to the left.
And so it was.
However, L~A got this bee in her bonnet about how C&C were big coffee drinkers, conessewers of the stuff, and we had no coffee making kit at home. I was sent on a mission to buy a cafetiere. I looked frigging everywhere, well at least in Coles and Bunnings, and found none. It’s not surprising I didn’t find any in Bunnings, it’s a hardware store. I hate shopping.
There is a (VERY FUCKING) expensive posh food kit retailer at the local markets. Being a lazy sod, and not being arsed to trawl through the endless food gear emporiums at the local mall, I went there instead. They had one. I bought that and rushed home to share the joy with L~A. “Too small, I want a bigger one” said SWMBO. (She’s always saying that.)
So back I went, and, after some wrangling, I managed to exchange it for a bigger one. “That’s very expensive,” said the lass, “you must really like your coffee!” “I can’t stand the flaming stuff,” was my reply.
I drove home, only to find I’d left my credit card behind at the shop. Oh happy day.
Funny (not) thing is, is that C&C aren’t really that fussed about coffee, mainly drinking tea. We’ve still not used the cafetiere. Nor have we tried the posh coffee we bought.
C&C came to stay, and we had the usual great time with them.
Welcome to Sydney
It’s so good that, most, but not all, of my mates will now know what I’m talking about should I mention “The War Memorial” or “The Pinnacle” in conversations. However, I must be very careful not to become one of those boring twats when I return, (open goal there for you Charlie,) the sort who’s every sentence begins; “Of course, when I lived in Australia…”
I drove up to Sydney to collect them. They were staying in an “AirB&B” place, conveniently located in the centre of the city, but up 3000 flights of very steep stairs, (according to Clarkie.) I stayed at the Meriton. We met at the main station in the city, or at least me and Catherine did, Clarkie was doing his usual; “I’ll just go and have a look over here…Oops I’m lost again…” routine.
We took a bus ride out to Bondi, but only after I had bought a new bus card as I’d sent my usual ones to C&C. That’s three I own now, shame I don’t live in Sydney. We walked on the beach, had a beer at a hotel, then went back into the city to catch up with Debbie Midwinter, (Debs lives in Bondi.)
We had a meal at a restaurant at The Rocks, did the Opera House thing, and then retired for the night. It was great to catch up with Debs again, albeit briefly. I got some lovely pictures of a storm hitting Sydney the next morning.
Meriton view
We drove out to the Blue Mountains, and had a stroll there, then drove back to Canberra, stopping only for coffee and cakes at Berrima.
One thing I learned from this trip is that our car is fuck all good for long journeys, it was reliable enough, just bloody uncomfortable to drive that far. I was so fuckered after this jaunt, that C&C kindly agreed to take a bus back to Sydney airport when they left.
Unfortunately, it was ”Estimates week” for L~A, so she had to be at work, and was only able to join us for the evenings, (most of which we spent emptying my wine rack, or devouring the four bottles of Irish Whisky that C&C kindly donated to the cause.) I’ve still got some very nice old bottles of red wine in my wine rack, some over 10 yrs old, should any mates from home want to share them before we leave.
The rest of the week we spent doing the Canberra thing; mainly walking our mutts and visiting the sights. When we went to see Parliament, it was time for Prime Minister’s Questions, and so C&C got to see the PM in full flow. We were lucky, as it was an important debate that day, on an education bill. We saw the upper house in session too.
I always feel that taking mates to see the parliament in action is similar to, but cheaper and more entertaining, than taking them to see feeding time at the zoo.
We did the lake, and Govvy house, and C&C got to see their first roos. We did Tidbinbilla where they saw thousands of the fuckers.
At Tidbinbilla, Clarkie, being Clarkie, was like a kid in a new playground, climbing everything in sight.
We did the obligatory Deep Space Tracking Station, and Stromlo. We did the National War Memorial, which to me is still the best museum in the world. C&C were suitably blown away by it.
We did the National Museum, Telstra tower, and Mt Painter. We did the National Arboretum, (they’re still using my photos there!)
At Shepherd’s Lookout, however the wind was in the wrong quarter, the smell was strong with that one, what with it overlooking the sewage works. We took in Aranda Bush to see the termite mounds.
All of which will be familiar to, most, of you. Every place we went Clarkie seemed to find a way of diverting us into a cafe.
Me and Clarkie even blagged a night out at the climbing wall, where we soon proved how fat, old, and unfit we’d got.
Catfunt
We did manage to haul ourselves up some of the more big-juggy routes, but only by giving ourselves long rest in between them. There was an 8 yr old girl there who spent the whole time running around on the holds on the walls, at speeds which made her a blur, she was amazing, if not a little (lot) envy making. Opposite the climbing wall venue is a brightly lit brothel , “Pretty Woman”, we didn’t visit this.
On their last night C&C insisted of treating us to a meal out. This was good of them as I’d been having to wrestle C&C to the ground to get them to close their wallets. They wanted to pay for everything everywhere we went.
We decided to go somewhere where we hadn’t been before. We were enthused to go there as their head chef had been on “Masterchef” only the week before, and had set a challenge for the contestants. This proved to be a bad move.
I’ll give you my Tripadvisor review in full;
We had friends from Ireland staying with us, they wanted to treat us to a meal out on their last night with us. Rather than go for one of our known venues, we decided to try out “Monster bar”, a big mistake.
It’s not a bar, it’s not a restaurant, it’s not a cafe, it’s trying to be a hipster version of all three at one time. (No “bar” serves only tinned beers.) The decor was a cross between a lumber yard and a builders merchants, with no real ambiance. No one took our coats, so they were left on our chair backs. The wait staff were pleasant enough. We were informed of the “sharing plates” concept, and ordered what we were told would be sufficient for our party of five.
Now, I may be old fashioned here, but if I am ordering “sharing plates” then I would normally expect big generous serves to be shared among friends, what we got was just normal serve sized, tending to the small, plates of food.
A hint to the kitchen, when you are sending out “shared plates” to a table of five, then sending out plates with the food portioned in serves of two or three, means a lot of juggling and messing about for each person to try a mouthful. And a mouthful of each is all we got. (“No, no, you have a little bit more, I’ve tried some…”) Not only that, but the way the food was delivered, first one plate, (mouthful each,) finished that, then a wait, then two plates, (mouthful of each,) finished them, then a wait, then two more plates, etc… means that no one had a decent plate of food in front of them at any time. Very unsatisfying. The worse event was the chips, under-cooked, soggy, near cold, limp purple things. At one point we asked for bread to be delivered to our table, to stave off the pangs between plates. Some of the food was good, the pickled fish was very good, but overall it was neither sufficient nor satisfying.
Don’t get me wrong here, we’re not strangers to fine dining, and we’re used to and appreciative of small portions of exquisite food, but not when these are to be “shared”, it just doesn’t work
Our Irish friends, being very generous, insisted on paying, I was embarrassed. We didn’t bother with dessert, we went home and got fed.
On their last day with us, I did something brave, nay, foolhardy, and let Clarkie drive them off for a spin in my car, just for themto have some time together alone in Aus. It’s, mostly, still in one piece.
But all too soon they had to go, and I saw them off at the bus depot. So good to have shared Aus with, most, of my friends.
More images from their stay, here…
As you will be bored of hearing, we usually spend a few weekday mornings in the gym. Getting up that early, normally nursing a hangover, and getting a workout done before work, has been going on for 12 years now. It’s not got any easier, nor do we seem to be any fitter for it. But I suppose it’s all worthwhile, somehow.
One morning, we were leaving the gym as per norm; I picked up my car keys from the shelf where I normally leave them. I took L~A into work, and took the dogs to the bottom walk of the Pinnacle Nature reserve. When I went to lock the car before our walk I realised I had two sets of keys…
Oh fuck! They were on an identical fob to mine I tell you!!! I had visions of me having taken some huge, muscly, martial-arts-obsessed, bloke’s key, and him being stranded in his gym kit, miles from home, and making him late for work. I was crapping myself. I haired it back to the gym.
The personal trainer lad who runs the place was there, and I started giving my abject apologies before the door was properly opened. The lad said it was all good, and him and the bloke had been having a right laugh about it.
I didn’t go back to the gym for the rest of the week.
Walking the dogs one dark night at Aranda Bush nature reserve, I had my headlamp on. A moth, obviously attracted by the light swooped down and landed on my nose. “Aww how cute,” I hear you say.
Was it hell! This was an Aussie moth, and, as you may imagine, the size of a fucking herring gull.
I don’t think I’ll be wearing those trousers again.
Oh you’ll love this! Remember last episode I was bumping my gums about Brandon and him having to get an “Official Government Passport” to go to Tuvalu to work? This actually meant he was travelling as a representative of the Aussie government. After a quite lot of faffing about, and multiple paper and certificates chasings, he managed to get one.
All well and good. Now you have to remember that Brandon, is the most modest and unassuming person you will ever meet. (Totally different to me then.) So, armed with his official passport he flew off to the tropical paradise which is Tuvalu. On landing he presented his passport to the customs geezer, who took one look at it, looked at Brandon, and informed him; “I want you to go and wait over there on those seats, I cannot let you into the country yet.”
“Oh bollocks,” thought our hero, worrying that his passport may be not valid for some reason, or that he was on some list of ne’er do wells. A little while later he was approached by a large bunch of Tuvalu men, all in suits, looking like a heavy mob. This did not help his anxiety one bit. One of them approached him, stuck his hand out and said; “Hello Mr Owen, I am Enele Sopoaga, Prime Minister of Tuvalu, welcome to our country.” I fucking kid you not! Brandon had a great time for the rest of his trip, apparently.
L~A has built a pea palace. Yes, a pea palace. What happened was this.
L~A bought a packet of “mixed winter veg” seeds, hoping to do for our winter food stock, what she had already achieved for our summer larder, that is, fill it too bursting with fresh veg. Unfortunately on planting the seeds, the only thing which came up were pea sprouts. Fucking hundreds of them. Peas are not a winter veg.
So, faced with this dilemma, there was only one option. Well two actually, the first being complain like buggery to “Mr Fothergill’s Seed Co” about their lack of quality control in their seed packing. The second one was to build a temporary green house/poly tunnel, to encourage the seeds to grow. Seeing as it’s been down to -8 here recently, this was fortuitous and seems to have worked. Here it is in all it’s glory, she’s rightly proud of it.
As I had fuck all to do with the construction it’s still standing, and the peas are coming on a treat.
Pea palace
Mind you, the peas are going to cost us about $5.00 each, and we’re going to be eating them by the frigging bucketful.
As I said in the last episode our kid had got herself on a course, “The Exquisite Corpse”, which was aimed at blending art and anatomy studies for students on various related degrees. Part of this was using a dead person as a life model. The irony.
We were invited along to see the resultant exhibition, and as per norm, were blown away by how totally amazing our kid is.
Exquisite Corpse.
This is an amazing animation, which Bethy and Brandon produced for her course. I think it’s totally brilliant, (but I’m biased.)
After the exhibition, we treated her and Brandon to a meal at the Duxton pub. Not a bad little meal, and they had a very nice drop of ale on, “Coopers Vintage.” This, despite being served, as all Aussie beers are, at teeth-cracking-cold temperatures, was very palatable.
The treat was not only to celebrate her exhibition, but to recognise the fact that in the three units of her degree she completed this year, she had achieved 2 distinctions and a credit.
Oh, and here’s a facebook group which uses Bethy as a role model.
Yes, I am boasting!! She’s my daughter, and I’m so, so, so, proud of her.
While I’m in congratulatory mood, I’ll give a big “well done mate” to our friend and Trevilley neighbour Patrick Gale, whose “Man in an orange shirt” for aunty Beeb, has had rave reviews.
Retirement plans are coming one, with, as you can imagine, the usual measures of farce and farrago throw in.
L~A has applied for her Pommy passport, and that’s being processed. Fingers crossed for her eh? She had to send off reams of documentation for it, as you can imagine. I insisted she ask them to return them all, as not only are they of great personal providence, but there’s one passport image of her, from her younger days, in which she’s so drop dead gorgeous I am in awe every time I see it..
Funnily enough, my Pommy passport was coming up to it’s expiry date, so I had to send off for a new one. We may soon be in a situation where L~A has a Pommy passport and I do not.
Getting the dogs in is proving to be even harder than getting L~A a Pommy passport though. For a start the quotes we’ve had have all been in the $4500 to $5500 mark, (that’s for the pair of them.)
We decided to go with Jetpets, as their service seemed to be more “all inclusive”, and they have rave reviews online. Then the paperwork started. Dear god, you’d have sworn I was trying to import a couple of Siberian wolves, not two half-arsed Jack Russell crosses. They needed a record of all their vaccinations and dates, I got those from our vets. They had to have rabies jabs, no worries, I called their vet. “We’re not certified for animal export jabs” So I ended up taking them half way across the city, to the poshest vets in Canberra to get rabies jabs done. They relieved me of a substantial wedge of cash.
I sent those off to Jetpets, they sent them back; “Ginger’s chip number is all to fuck, it’s got an extra digit,” or words to that effect. Oh bollocks, back to the posho vets, and after a huge apology, (but no refund) off them, I got new certificates.
Of course, now Ginger had a new number, so I had to redo all the forms and pdf I’d already sent, filling in his actual proper number, and send off new copies.
Next month we’ll get our superannuation statements; these will give us an idea of whether we’ll be living in penury, or poverty, for the next 6 years. Luckily L~A’s done some back of an envelope calculations, and found that by taking her annual, long service, and flex leave at 1/2 pay, we will still have an income paid into our bank until…..
….June 2019. So that’s rather reassuring
I’ve now started contacting conservatory builders and plumbers and the like, in anticipation of getting the whole of Trevilley refurbed.
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