The flowers that bloom in the spring,
Tra la,
Breathe promise of merry sunshine —
As we merrily dance and we sing,
Tra la,
We welcome the hope that they bring,
Tra la,
Of a summer of roses and wine,
Of a summer of roses and wine.
And that's what we mean when we say that a thing
Is welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring.
Tra la la la la,
Tra la la la la,
The flowers that bloom in the spring.
Tra la,
Breathe promise of merry sunshine —
As we merrily dance and we sing,
Tra la,
We welcome the hope that they bring,
Tra la,
Of a summer of roses and wine,
Of a summer of roses and wine.
And that's what we mean when we say that a thing
Is welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring.
Tra la la la la,
Tra la la la la,
The flowers that bloom in the spring.
Injury news. Well I’m back at the gym now, slowly getting back into shape. Any exercise which requires a pushing motion (ie.most of them,) are now a bugger though. For instance my bench press has gone down 20 kilos on reps, and any "above shoulder" exercises I do using the pretty silver girly dumbells. It’s embarrassing being there at times, though Lee-Anne baulked at my idea of getting a t-shirt printed with; “I was in a bike crash, I’m still recovering,” on it. But thanks for asking how I was travelling. Those of you who did ask.
Both of you.
Oh, and despite my best intentions, I have not been completely abstinent from the vino. I still have a glass or two of red on a Saturday and Sunday night, and therefore people have still been getting haranguing phone calls from me, too early on their Sunday morning (UK time). Most have put up with them. So far.
My virtually fat free diet is going apace, but is not overly exciting. Have you ever tried soy cheese? No? Good! Take my advice and keep it that way.
One plus that’s come out of this whole bike crash shambles, was that they paid me out fully on the bike, and I even made a slight profit on it. This was helped by the fact that they also paid out in full for my helmet and leathers. As I had got the helmet free, and the leathers second hand, I was $400 up on the deal. I also had the great pleasure of owning and running the bike for two years, without paying a penny for it outside of running costs.
But with the bike payout, and a trip to Matt the Goth accountant, who got me a five grand tax rebate, we’ve covered our plane tickets home, and paid of most of our accommodation in the UK. Don’t worry boys; Lee-Anne has agreed that I can still get a new bike once we’re back from the UK! (I fancy a Suzuki Bandit 1200cc, I'll probably end up with a Postie bike. Check that for a burn out!!)
So we went to see Dylan Moran at the Canberra Centre, and bloody good it was too. But he’s obviously maturing , and like Ardal O’Hanlon was talking about babies and sofas, and other domestic things. Still bloody hysterically funny though and probably the best live stand up around these days. Oddly enough, or probably not, he got his biggest cheer of the night when he went off in a rant at a guy in the front row who he saw texting. “For fuck’s sake, be here now,’ was a particularly apt response to the idiot. (Although the loud shout of "WANKER!" by someone with a strong Welsh accent also got hearty approval.)
So I decided that, before our next trip home, (lots more on this later,) I’d get an Aussie passport. This would have the advantage of gaining me consular protection by Australian Embassies when I'm abroad, should I ever need it, but more importantly means I’d be able to join which ever queue was shortest at Sydney airport. Oh, and the time before last when I came back, I bumped into an old school mate. We had a conversation, throughout which he point blank refused to believe I lived in Aus. That was a memorable conversation;
Me; “Hi John!”
John; “Alan mun, didn’t recognise you, how you doing?”
Me; “Fine mate, just back here for a holiday, see the folks and that.”
John; “Where you living then?”
Me; “ Canberra.”
John; “Canberra?”
Me; “The capital of Australia.”
John; “Sydney’s the capital of Australia.”
Me; “Lots of people think that yeah, but it’s actually Canberra.”
John; “No it’s not.”
Me; “Yes it is mate, I should know, I live there.”
John; “No you don’t, you're taking the piss.”
Me; “Yes I do, lived there for about seven years now. Look, I’ve got these Aussie dollars I was just about to change.”
John;” You’ve just been there on holiday.”
Me; “No, I’ve got my Aussie driving license here somewhere…”
John; (edging away) "Anyway, good to see you, must be off, I’ve got things to do now…”
Me; “Look, my passport’s got my permanent resident visa in it.”
John; (speeding up) “Pull the other one…”
Me; “Come back you bastard…”
I'll get an Aussie passport then, that'll fucking show him.
These days you can apply for your passport online, so I did the doings at work to kill time.
I printed them all off and asked Gary my mate to endorse it. “I can’t, you need a passport number, and I don’t have a passport.” Ok, so I’ll ask Debs, another work colleague, to endorse it, “Sure no problem, I’ll bring it in next shift.” So after a fortnight of reminders, she brought it in. “Debs, this passport expired two years ago,” she looked at it, “Hell, I'd better get a new one, I’m going to Bali next month.” So I asked Steve to endorse it, and good as gold he did.
Next thing, arrange a “passport interview “at the local post office. No worries; I sorted it online. I turned up at the post office on the due date, and the girl goes though my paperwork thoroughly, and then looks at my photo; “Ooh these are no good, you’ve got some teeth showing and there’s some reflection from your glasses.” So we agree that I need new ones done, and she kindly (for a fee) agrees to do them there and then. This would be fine, but I then had to wait for another couple of days for Steve to endorse the back of the image again. Another problem was created by my,t the day after they were taken, shaving of three months worth of beard growth, (light stubble,) and so I now look fuck all like my passport photo. Again.
So Steve endorsed them, and I booked another passport interview online. I turned up at the post office and a different girl went through my stuff. “Ooh, these are no good, you’ve printed the forms double sided, they’re supposed to be single sided, I can’t accept them I’m sorry.”
So why hadn’t the silly bugger who first checked them told me that? I printed off another set, single sided, and took them back to work for Steve to sign. By this point he was getting worried that I had some sort of people smuggling scheme going.
No sign of the passport arriving yet, I live in hope.
The local flower festival is on at the mo. I went there on one of my days off and had a nose around. Quite pleasant this year, the displays are all well thought out, and the stalls and stands have some entertaining stuff for sale. But soon after I'd visited, a couple of evenings later in fact, Bethy asked me; "Do you fancy going to “Nightfest” at Floriade?” I looked it up online, and it sounded like a fun thing to do, not really my cuppa, but a good family night out, so I agreed, “Good, can you get a ticket for Reece as well?” Hmmm… Reece is Bethy’s latest beau; me and Lee-Anne hadn’t met him yet, so ok, why not? Reece is a "plank spanker", most boys of his age are.
So on the night we picked him up, and went off to Zen Yai, our favourite Thai restaurant. (By the way, someone who shall remain nameless, after last month’s write up, had the gall to take the piss out of me for complaining about the restaurant we had eaten at, and the fact that I had complained that they had not given recommended wines for each item on the menu. Just goes to show the sort of plebs I knock about with then.) After a tidy meal, we drove over to the Nightfest, where Bethy and Reece vanished off into the dark to do their own thing, (snog.) Me and Lee-Anne strolled around, and it was bloody wonderful! The whole of the pace was lit by moving spotlights, so the beds of flowers constantly changed hue and tone. There were jugglers and fire eaters, outdoor cinemas, gardening demonstrations, stand up comics, strolling musicians and of course the fairground with its large illuminated Ferris wheel was in full flow.
Me and Lee-Anne went up in the Ferris wheel. While it was at the top of a turn, I told her the story on the news earlier, of how a light aircraft had crashed into a Ferris wheel in Sydney. She liked that story. No, she didn’t really. Not at all.
Later on we were strolling down a long, pitch-black, avenue of very tall trees, when they lit up from top to bottom with a couple of hundred long thin strips of white lights.
These rippled and flowed, which made it look like it was raining. To add to the effect a couple of fog machines blew dry ice fog down the alley, and a sound system played rain and wind noises. It was totally enchanting, so we stopped to watch. After a minute or so there were a couple of hundred people stood around, all gobsmacked at the effect. But the best was yet to come. The rain noises stopped, and a "Daft Punk” track fired up. Then the lights burst into colour, and by some computer wizardry, they danced. I kid you not, THEY FUCKING DANCED! In all the gigs and raves I have been to, I have never seen such a display. I was sober and straight as I was driving, and they still made me feel like I was tripping. They moved and danced with the music, they shot forward, back, rotated, pulsed. I was so impressed, and so was Lee-Anne. So impressed in fact, that she didn’t even stop me dancing! (This is a first.) I'm going again next year, this time I'm taking some refreshments before going.
Not my video above, but it gives a taste of how good the lights were, watch it! (BTW Daft Punk are great, get into them!)
Oh, one other good thing came of the night, I got a new hat! It's one of these. Yes, I do look a twat in it, but I like it. I wonder which of my UK chums will be the first to notice why it may not be much good in the UK? Answers on an e-mail please.
Bethy's basketball team got through to the semi finals stage of the local tournament, but no further. At their presentation night, Bethy was awarded the "Coach's Award", which is normally given for outstanding contribution to the team.
(Click on image for larger view.)
Anyone following the rugby world cup? I suspect a few of my Welsh chums may have a passing interest in it. We wuz robbed in the Boer match, a clear penalty kick that did go over, and the match was ours, fucking ref! However I did have the great pleasure of becoming an honourary Irishman at work the other day, on the day Ireland beat the Aussies. This made me immensely popular in the office. I've got $10 on at the bookies for Wales to win the cup. If they pull it off I get $670.00 back,
Edited to add, since I posted this I had the great delight of watching Wales progress to the semi final stage by beating Ireland 22-10. I also watched England lose to France. I don't know which match gave me the most pleasure. A great deal of wine was consumed that evening! Following the Wales match I phoned a few Welsh mates to share in their joy. Jamesy informed me that he had been tempted to go to a local boozer to watch the match. It was opening early to show the game, and was offering "breakfasts". At 5.00 am. Offering "breakfasts" as in; "Pour me another pint of breakfast landlord please. And a side order off Scotch."
It's a simple equation; Wales win + England lose + 5.00 am drinking start = utter fucking carnage.
You may be wondering why this month’s gallery has some shots of overgrown boulders in it, there’s a story behind that, but it’s very boring.
(Click on image for larger view.)
On one of my days of I decided to go and find “Black Hills Boulders’ which I had been told held some of Canberra’s prime bouldering spots. I know I’m not allowed to climb, but still, a reccy wouldn’t do any harm. So one day I set off to find them. The drive itself was worthwhile, over some new ground for me, and I did spot a big raptor on the way, and I love raptors. I eventually found the place I was looking for, and spotted some boulders off in the undergrowth. These were magnificent, overgrown, but magnificent. I shot some photos, and tried some easy looking cracks on them without ever managing to get far up the buggers. I was intrigued. Obviously if these were in the UK, each individual boulder would be named, cleaned, all the under growth removed, and were big enough and impressive enough to be (for the UK) a major climbing area of note. Here they were just scruffy, unused, over grown, mossed up, and of no note. I got back to the car, and noticed a slight but obviously used, track behind it. I followed this out of interest, around a bend I came across some huge, bloody HUGE, boulders which were named individually, cleaned, had all the under growth removed, and were big enough and impressive enough to be (for Aus) a major climbing area. Yep, once again, I’d spent half a day wondering around totally the wrong area. Just to add insult to injury, my camera battery ran out, so I didn’t even get any photos of the proper boulders.
The photos of the Arch were taken at a local reservoir, I found that without problem, and didn’t even get lost while hunting down the arch.
Talking of photos, a couple in the gallery this month may need a little explanation.
(Click on image for larger view.)
The one above, for instance, was taken on my way home from walking the dogs. I had to stop the car as their was a lost Roo in the middle of the road. As I got out of the car, he bounded across the road, and was heading into that distinctly 60's looking artifact. Believe it of not that is a "heritage" bus stop. A Roo rushing for his bus? Nice one!
(Click on image for larger view.)
This one was down at the local shops. Taken on my phone rather than my camera, hence the low quality, It's of the services offered by a local Vietnamese couple, trying to earn a few bob. They should however have not just relied on the computer spell checkers, as hononyms and real words slip through. The list of items they offer to clean is rather funny.
Oh, and I got an e-mail not so long back, which read;
On 22/09/2011 3:03 AM, Dan Bailey - UKHillwalking.com wrote:
Hi I'd like to use this photo of yours from the site galleries of vixen tor http://www.ukclimbing.com/images/dbpage.html?id=121075 to go with a news article on UKH/UKC. I hope that's OK...
I’d like to promote a good book. Nope, not mine. If you get a chance, read “Gentleman’s relish” by Patrick Gale, a book of short stories in beautifully written prose, with great insights and some lovely twists in the tales. I’m biased of course as I've briefly met Patrick, and the book is dedicated to my mate Aidan. But believe me, it’s a bloody great read.
My book continues to sell, abet slowly. Very slowly. Glacially.
Work tales, from the front line of the psychiatric wars.
1. Phone call from an irate father;
Father; "Have you found him yet? We've not heard a thing from him since we kicked him out.
Me: "Nope not a thing."
Father: "Well why aren't you out there looking for him?"
Me; "What, you think that at 6.30 on Friday night, myself and my colleague should be driving around Canberra in the hope of spotting your son who you kicked out?"
Father; "Yes, what sort of a bloody service are you running there."
Me; "One with lots of clients to look after."
Father; " Well get your priorities right, he could be hurt or at risk."
Father: "Well why aren't you out there looking for him?"
Me; "What, you think that at 6.30 on Friday night, myself and my colleague should be driving around Canberra in the hope of spotting your son who you kicked out?"
Father; "Yes, what sort of a bloody service are you running there."
Me; "One with lots of clients to look after."
Father; " Well get your priorities right, he could be hurt or at risk."
Me; "He was hurt when you beat him up and threw him out".
Father: "Well, you should have sorted him out sooner, shouldn't you?"
Repeat until 7.30 pm. Hang up.
2. Phone call from an indigenous mother.
Her; "My son needs a Centrelink benefits form to claim disability allowance."
Me; Well if he picks one up, we'll get the consultant to fill it in.
Her: "Isn't that your job to go get it?"
Me; "No. We are mental health services."
Her; "Well you should go and get it for him. It is raining you know!"
Me; "………."
Me; "………."
3. Writing a tribunal report for the magistrates, to get someone involuntary admitted.
On 12/1/11 Parents contacted our service saying they could no longer cope with their son's behaviour. We attended the home, and assessed him as psychotic. We took him to the ward where he was seen by a consultant. The client was admitted to the psychiatric ward. Two days later he absconded from the ward, and run home. Parents contacted us to say they no longer wanted him to have any contact with mental health services, as they now believe his condition can be best treated by acupuncture and massage.
On 22/2/11 Parents contacted our service saying they could no longer cope with their son's behaviour. We attended the home, and assessed him as psychotic. We took him to the ward where he was seen by a consultant. The client was admitted to the psychiatric ward. Two days later he absconded from the ward, and run home. Parents contacted us to say they no longer wanted him to have any contact with mental health services, as they now believe his condition can be best treated by Reiki and naturopathy.
On 23/4/11 Parents contacted our service saying they could no longer cope with their son's behaviour. We attended the home, and assessed him as psychotic. We took him to the ward where he was seen by a consultant. The client was admitted to the psychiatric ward. Two days later he absconded from the ward, and run home. Parents contacted us to say they no longer wanted him to have any contact with mental health services, as they now believe his condition can be best treated by fish oil and herbs.
On 12/6/11 Parents contacted our service saying they could no longer cope with their son's behaviour. We attended the home, and assessed him as psychotic. We took him to the ward where he was seen by a consultant. The client was admitted to the psychiatric ward. Two days later he absconded from the ward, and run home. Parents contacted us to say they no longer wanted him to have any contact with mental health services, as they now believe his condition can be best treated by a chiropracter and meditation.
Repeat until you run out of paper.
Our holiday. People have been begging to know our plans, mainly due to them wanting to ensure they’ll be in Spain or Cuba for the time when we are over. So her we go, the tale so far. We’d booked the time off a while back, and what with us getting some bonus cash out of my crash, and from a tax rebate, it was time to start thinking seriously about getting started organising things. First priority, the flights. We’d all but committed to paying $8600 to Emirates, as they are great to fly with, and do decent vege grub, when one of the search engines we use and has our dates etc plugged in, threw up a deal for $6600.
$2000 off!
I feverishly slung my credit card at it, and hoped it suck. It did. So we’ve got a flight to Singapore with Qantas booked for the 17 th December, and flights from Singapore to errmmm … Moscow, then on to London, with errmmmmm…. Aeroflot. Don't tell me mum.
On the way back we have an 14 hour wait at Moscow Sheremetyevo International Airport, in the middle of winter.
Look, it was cheap, ok?
It sounds like a hoot actually, and Aeroflot have been rising in the ranks of carriers of late, and they haven’t had a plane of theirs crash for weeks now. The airport has loads of interesting restaurants;
Restaurant Vylet
Phone: (+7 495) 578-56-17
Average bill: 1315 rub.
If you have long to wait for a flight, visit the restaurant Vylet. The chef will surprise you with a variety of dishes, as here you can taste goose liver rolls fois gras, Athol Islands salad, the mysterious dish Ortolana, Helix snails, Catalonian harslet and to order as a hot dish Karelian trout or Saint Germaine salmon.
Café and bar Kino
Phone: (+7 495) 578-56-17
Average bill: 370 rub.
The café menu includes cold and hot dishes including beef medallions with countryside potatoes and other ordinary and unordinary meals.
Shokoladnitsa Cafeteria
Phone: (+7 495) 229-34-89
Average bill: 590 rub.
Rich variegated menu, high quality of dishes and drinks and a huge selection of desserts specially invented by our confectioners using exclusively natural products. The menu includes a wide selection of coffee and chocolate drinks, fruit and milk cocktails and elite tea brands, freshly squeezed juice, pancakes with various fillings (the most popular fillings are chocolate with nuts and meat), salads, soups, sandwiches (hot and cold), hot pirogi, original recipes of desserts (strawberry and raspberry with cream, fruit jelly), original pies and pastries, cakes.
Café Bread & Salt
Phone: (+7 495) 578-56-17
Average bill: 370 rub.
The Bread & Salt café with a Russian tea bar may serve as a presentation of our country to foreign guests. The hospitable Russian table accommodates side by side Nizhny Novgorod skoblyanka, Samarkand pilaff, Italian pasta and rainbow trout. Any dish here will satisfy the most exquisite taste, while the size of the helping will feed even the hungriest of travelers. The cooks’ miraculous fusion of professionalism, imagination of love of their job turns even the traditional Russian dishes into magnificent delicacies. The pride of the Bread & Salt restaurant is the Russian tea bar. The wide selection of tea drinks will please any tea fan; the culture of tea drinking is not restricted to China.
Restaurant T. G. I. FRIDAY’S
Phone: (+7 495) 730-68-11
When customers read the T.G.I. Friday’s menu, they often have the problem what to prefer? The choice is difficult indeed. Judge for yourself, Friday’s mushrooms bread-crumbed and fried to crisp; Friday’s quesadilla, tortilla cake with chicken fillet; Alfredo fettuccino, pasta with thick parmesan cream sauce; Jack Daniels soft pork ribs in glaze; these are just a few of the most popular dishes. There are also salads, sandwiches, Friday’s hamburgers, juicy steaks and recipes from South-West America. Not to mention desserts and drinks. However, T.G.I. Friday’s will help you resolve the problem; waiters will readily tell you about various dishes and you will only have to make the order.
http://svo.aero/en/restaurants/1/
Now, on past trips we’ve been blessed by the generosity of friends who have put us up, fed us, plied us with booze, and lavished us with fine hospitality, we’re humbled and grateful. But this year we’re doing it different. As we have a few bob in the bank, and there’s nothing Lee-Anne and I like more than spending our hard earned on ephemera, we’ve booked lodgings for the whole duration. Much as we love staying with friends, we thought this trip back we’d play hosts ourselves. We love cooking for people, we love having people over, so this time the treats will be on us. You bring the booze. Oh, apart from with my family of course. My mother has refused to come to us from Xmas lunch as; “I’m going to your sister’s, she cooks a lovely Xmas dinner. You’ll only cook strange spicy stuff in any case,..” My sister hates cooking Xmas dinner, and we cook a traditional roast each year, but mother will not be told. Oh, and I’m desperately pleading with my sister to let us treat her to a decent meal out at a class restaurant, she’s yet to be persuaded, don’t ask why.
So then, the itinery.
We depart Saturday 17th dec from Sydders. Arrive Sunday 18 th at Theifrow, pick up the hire car.
From there we drive to Chipping Norton in the Cotswolds. We’ll have a few days here to get over the jetlag, chill out, explore Oxford again, and hopefully eat at The Fat Duck, (if Lee-Anne’s cunning scheme works.)
Then on to Llanelli on the 21 st Dec, to stay at the flat where we stayed last time. This one. It's the top floor of the blue building on the left.
We’ll have Xmas in Llanelli, with my family to a greater or lesser degree, depending on how much we can persuade them to come out, and obviously with our friends there, and leave on New year Eve for Sennen. Sennen for New Years Eve, mindblowing, mad, and possibly not survivable!!
We leave Sennen on the 7 th Jan, and head up to Peter Tavy. We have booked this barn there, and will be here until the 18 th Jan. Doing the moors, Plymouth and Exeter, and generally chilling. The barn has room to put people up, bring sleeping bags.
From there we travel to Heathrow, return the car, then go into London for a few days shopping and generally bankrupting ourselves.
So that’s the trip. Put in your bids now for the pleasure of our company.
Oh, Clarkie, the mad bastard, may come over to see us when we’re in Llanelli. It’s bad enough me taking my family there, Lord knows how I could impose that on a mate.
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