Taff Down Under 15

I’m going to take up golf. No cancel that, it may rain. I’m going to take up ten-pin bowling. It’s indoors, it’s easy to get to, you can have a brew and play, you can just turn up, it’s not dependent on the sun, wind, rain or stage of the fucking tide.

Yup, I’ve been trying to go flying again.

I had been missing it a lot, but with paragliding being a rather selfish sport, I was not really pushing to go out. But Lee-Anne being the little darling she is, and possibly getting sick to the back teeth of me looking into the sky and sighing wistfully every weekend, has been encouraging me to get out. Virtually pushing me out the door in fact.

My main contact here for flying is Peter Bowyer, a top class Aussie pilot, who runs the Australian Paragliding Centre. Here’s his website, when you open it; little paragliders’ follow your cursor around. Cute.

http://www.australianparagliding.com/

 

Anyway, our conversations tend to go like this. (These take place at 8.00am, on weekends, now is that sick or what?)

Me: Hi Pete, what’s the score?

Peter: Blown out Taff.

 

Me: Hi Pete, what’s it like out your way.

Peter: Can’t see your hand in front of your face Taff, fucking foggy.

Me: Hi Pete, what it doing?

Peter: No wind at all Taff.

Occasionally it gets exciting.

Me: How’s it looking Peter?

Peter: Looks good we’re heading down to Lake George to check it out, give me a ring on the mobile in an hour.

(One hour later)

Me: Any joy Pete?

Peter: It was great here for an hour, but it’s died to nothing now.

Some days it gets really fun.

Me: Any joy Pete?

Peter: Yep, see you at Pig Hill in 20 mins.

Get to Pig hill, blag a lift to the top in a 4WD. (It’s a two hour uphill walk carrying the kit otherwise.) Get to the top, watch all the guys in the air come down and land.

Peter: It’s gone off, lets go to Spring Hill.

Drive 50 clicks to spring hill in time to see everyone there landing.

Go home.

Ten-pin bowling sounds good to me, but then I look at the piccies on the club website. Bugger!

http://members.ozemail.com.au/~acthpa/

 

Ozzie Parliament House

We went on the second big anti-war protest in Canberra, huge turn out, and it took place in front of Parliament house. Not that it did much good, but once again it was good to give vent to feelings.

Bethy, rather unwisely, decided to do the whole day in her brand new roller blades. She spent a few hours in front of parliament, skating up and down, and then went on the march, which blocked the whole road leading to parliament. She then decided, when we got home, to go off and show her friends her new blades. In total she spent seven hours wearing them.

The words, “two pieces of raw beef,” leap to mind.

 

 

My project held a “Chalk Street Art” contest. Hmmm…

It was all part of Canberra’s “Youth Week” event. http://www.youthweek.com

It was my co-worker Michelle’s baby; her swansong in fact as her husband had got a job researching physics at Imperial College London. This neatly buggered up my favourite piss taking of him:

“What do you say to a guy with a doctorate in physics and a job?”

“Burger and fries please!”

Poor bloody Michelle, the Monday before the competition; her granny down in Melbourne goes and pops her clogs. Poor bloody me; the whole thing then falls in my lap.

On the Saturday, I thought I’d get in here about 9.00am ish, set the stuff up, and wait for the punters to arrive. I got here at 8.45am to find a queue of them waiting. Eek…

I gave them forms, set up a table, and sent my trusty assistant Vince Tatiyakorn, out to set up the barbie. Anyway, it all went off spiffingly, and great fun was had by all.

Luckily Michelle got back in time to enjoy most of the day. Bethy had a go, and although both Lee-Anne and me thought her drawing was the best of the lot, I couldn’t wangle one of the $100.00 prizes for me…Sorry, her.

Bethy working on her chalk art.

We got in the local press and on TV. This below is from the Canberra Times.

Chalking it up to

Imagination as

Art hits the street

By Scott Hannaford

BELCONNEN’S young people gave the public a
piece of their mind yesterday when they took to
the streets with chalk and imagination as part of

National Youth Week.

Young people aged between eight and 25
decorated the walkways around the Belconnen
library with bold designs that captured the then
What’s good for your mind?

The chalk art competition was organised by the
Bungee Youth Resilience program as part of the
Belconnen Community Services, and attracted 29
participants.

Support worker and competition organiser with
Bungee Michelle O’Neill said there had been an
incredible amount of diversity in the designs but
wasn’t a surprise to see how good some of the art
was.

“Young people are very talented, it’s not really:

Such a surprise,” she said.

She said the Bungee program was the only one
of its kind in the ACT to actively encourage a
message of preventing mental health problems in
young people.

Among the designs was a large brain with
conflicting thoughts and over the top the word
“Peace”. For others, good mental health meant
relaxing and spending time with friends and
family.

Taff Thomas, Bungee manager said the art

benefited not only the young people
who got to express their feelings about mental
health, but also other members of the public.

Five winners: Tesse Leckenby, Reece Everist,
Alexandra Frith, Maddy Packard and Majella
Brown were awarded $100 each for their design.

 

It’s autumn here now, and it’s bloody lovely. Amazing sunsets ripped raw red into the sky. Cool misty mornings, warm, mild days. Be better if it was fucking flyable, but you can’t have it all.

The funniest thing is, as we head into winter, I’m finding odd that we aint heading into Xmas. Like really odd and disconcerting. I’ve been here in two winters, and didn’t find that odd, just seemed like a mild British summer. I had Xmas in the warm sun, didn’t find that odd. But heading into winter with no Xmas on the horizon is striking me as very peculiar. Live and learn. Or just live in my case.

But seeing as it’s autumn Lee-Anne decided we should go pick wild mushrooms. We got up at a god awfully unearthly hour of 4.30 am, on a Saturday morning. We drove out of Canberra in the dark, but were crossing the southern tablelands as the sun came up. And to be quite frank, it was beautiful. It was worth getting up for that. On the way there we saw many packs of wallabies (think small hairy kangaroos) by the side of the road, and an eagle hovered above us for some way. We got to the place Lee-Anne knew, Araleun, and walked around for hours. Amazing place, a deep wooded valley, lovely spot to live. The place we were hunting around in was so riddled with wombat burrows it must have been like Swiss cheese underfoot. We did find a mushroom, just the one.

 

 

Bloody animals. Bloody fucking animals. Bloody fucking pain in the arse cat and dog.

First the cat. One night Lee-Anne says to me; “does Tiger look odd at all?” “No more than usual” I replied. Got up the next day and he had a head and a half. Poor bugger had an abscess that had swollen his ugly mush up to a huge size. One trip to the vets, who booked a holiday in the Caribbean as soon as he clapped eyes on him, later, and we have a moggy with a half-shaved head, with two “drainage” pipes hanging out of it. Yucky.

After the pipes came out, and getting his head sown up again, and a course of antibiotics (read $$$$ later), he’s fine. We’re skint, but he’s fine.

Now the pissing, fuckwitted, dog.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the bloody mutt, but there are times when I could happily kill him. Apart from pissing on the mother-in-laws curtains the other night, (if he’s going to do it why can’t he wait till she’s not looking,) he’s given me heart attacks of late.

You see he has this big blind spot. He doesn’t realize that car are big heavy things that will carpet the road with him if he gets under one.

The other day Bethy and me took him for a walk. Just to make it interesting we took our bikes, well actually I took Lee-Anne’s bike as mine had a puncture, that knackered me for a start. All went swimmingly, the dog trotted along in front of us, occasionally causing us to brake rapidly, and along we went. Great, I bloody loved it.

We came to the main road, no worries I thought, there’s a nature strip along here, we’ll use that. Most main roads in Canberra have a nature strip, a 40 foot wide strip of bushes, trees and rough ground, with the cycle path / pavement, on the inside edge. Along we go, happy as Larry. Until Barnum spots a magpie.

Barnum hates magpies. We think one must have attacked him when he was young. They attack me, so he’s easy meat I suppose. But he hates them with a vengeance. So he chases it … across four lanes of traffic.

And back again.

Luckily the traffic was light that day, so he’s still alive. Also luckily I was so shocked by the whole thing I didn’t beat him to death. I tried to though.

One thing his total disregard for oncoming traffic is good for though, is the cycle nazi’s.

Every morning I walk him along a safe bit of nature strip for half an hour. This gives him a chance to have a shit, and me a chance to work off the hangover.

Each morning, I say hello to the other dog walkers, exchange nods and pleasantries with a few exercise walkers, smile at the joggers while feeling guilty about being so unfit, and give a friendly wave to the work cyclists. The cycle nazi’s are oblivious to all of this; all they want to do is shave 0.5 seconds off their best time.

Bugger the fact that the walkway is a public place, bugger the fact that the old dears getting their early morning constitutional may not be as limber as they used to be, bugger the fact that people out exercising have as much right to be on the path as them, these are driven folk.

They all wear lycra, have windswept shades on, all have the latest high tech titanium framed ubber bikes, aerodynamic water bottles, both sexes shave their legs, and all of them can fuck off and die as far as I am concerned.

So when you see two of them, (they always travel in packs,) heading towards Barnum, and you know any moment now he’s going to suddenly turn 90 degrees and walk in front of them, it makes getting up at 7.00am worthwhile. I’ve taken to pointing him out to other walkers, so they can enjoy the event.

The squeal of brakes, screams and swearing can be heard for miles. I love it when they have to go off road to avoid him, those bikes aint built for that. Fuckers shouldn’t travel so fast then, should they? J

 

A couple of weeks ago we went to the party from hell. It was so bad it was good. Lee-Anne was so impressed, she wrote it up for the discussion forum we use.

In her own words, here it is.

Anyway, Taff and I went to a themed 60’s party tonight/yesterday.

We decided to have a blast and go as authentic as we could, given the short time to actually get costumed.

Taff and I went to the local charity shop and got a bonza bargain to boot.

He went as the king of sartorial elegance. He had on a long sleeved flower power shirt of purples and blues. He teamed it with a short-sleeved fawn safari suit, and finished it off with a purple cravat. On his feet he worn white socks and sandals and put his dark sunnies on. Chez Cool. Really Groovy. Quite embarrassing.

I had a pair of black lacy see-through bell-bottoms. I found a wonderful float flowery chiffon blouse with the major colours of yellow, orange, purple, green and blue. To ensure that all the naughty bits were covered I wore a navy blue Mary Quant styled long line vest. But the piece de resistance were the 8-inch platform shoes I snapped up for a pittance and sprayed gold. To go the whole hog, I crimped my hair.

So you get the general idea. No holds barred. We were embarrassment personified. BUT, as authentic as possible.

So apart from being a totally sad fashion statement we both looked “wild”, “totally wild Man”.

Actually, it was fun crimping my hair again. I haven’t done it for yonks. I wonder if I can bring it back into fashion by appearing in public regularly crimped? Taff mentioned something about, “Not if he can help it”, but I dunno? I am sure I could bring it back again. Just look for the full blown Afro in about 5 years time. I reckon that’s making a come back too.

BUT … on to the party!

On the way to the party, I had to keep smacking Taff as he gave all passing motorists the peace symbol and toking on one of his ENORMOUS Cheech type joints. (Made entirely out of tobacco, as the party I was going to was for a Christian and I didn’t think she would appreciate us being THAT authentic.)

We arrived triumphantly. I removed my driving shoes and got into my 8 inch gold platforms to enter the backyard where the festivities were happening. Lots of Peter, Paul and Mary blasting out and I was in the mood for a decent dance.

I entered. Taff entered. People stopped and looked. Jaws hit the ground. They had NO idea what hit them.

When people invite me to a themed party, call me strange, but I expect people to actually follow the theme. My hair was wild, my makeup was too. I had stopped short of drawing long eyelashes on my face, a la Clockwork Orange. But the rest of the eye makeup was pure psychedelic.

We looked around to find someone, anyone who had come in 60’s gear.

With a bit of effort, we found a bloke who had drawn a peace symbol on his tee shirt. Another bird held up a piece of enameled jewelry and said, “This is my token effort”. The hostess had a cheesecloth blouse on and had stuck some contact flowers to her jeans. The most authentic looking dude, (apart from Taff) was a 71 year old born again Christian who had hair to his waist pulled back in a pigtail.

He made a beeline to both of us. We thought he had seen the killer joints poking out from Taff‘s safari jacket and was going to ask for a toke. No.

He was a lovely born-again Christian. He took my hands and asked my to look deep into his eyes, whilst he sang me a Celtic love song. He then blessed us both and let us know that Jesus would visit us very shortly. Tomorrow, Taff has to do the vacuuming. Buggered if Jesus is arriving when there is dog hair on the carpet.

It was a lovely party, really it was. But my issue is, why are people so hesitant of letting their hair down to enter into the spirit of the theme?

Maybe this is a particularly Ozzie thing? But no. I have gone to other themed do’s and most go to quite some effort. Maybe it is a Christian thing? I will admit that this was the first heavily populated with Christian’s party I have ever been too.

Have others of you ever found yourself in a similar situation?

We ended up being the star attractions and people lined up to get their photos taken with the “weirdoes”?

 

We took Bethy to the climbing wall again the other day. Fuck you don’t half lose it quickly don’t you? I was never that great a climber, (ok I was fucking useless at it,) but Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. That day I climbed like a 90 year old one legged, arthritic, cripple with piles.

And as ever the place was full of anorexic little weirdo’s (climbing joke) who spent all their time hanging sloth like from finger dabs and toe jambs. Wankers.

As a famous climber once said. “I’ve either got to do a whole lot more climbing, or just a little bit less..”

 

We went to the dawn service on ANZAC day, bit odd you may think for two, sorry three, people who aren’t religious and have been spending time at anti-war demos of late, but still.

What is Anzac Day?

Anzac Day – 25 April – is probably Australia’s most important national occasion. It marks the anniversary of the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand forces during the First World War. ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. The soldiers in those forces quickly became known as Anzacs, and the pride they soon took in that name endures to this day.

 

 Up at 5.00am, and drove to the national war memorial. Crowds, bloody big crowds of people turned up.

The best guy we saw looked like he had just come down from the mountains, think big beard, shaved head, check shirt, braces, and big boots. I guess his name would have been something like Elmer, Bubba, or Billy Joe if he was in America. But as this is Oz he was probably called Dave. He was slouching towards the memorial, with a tinny of beer in each hand slurping from each alternately. At 5.30am.

We got there, and it was ever so touching. The number of old men and women wearing their gongs proudly, alongside soldiers who didn’t look old enough to shave, put things in perspective. And the last post being played as the sun comes up should put a tear in your eye, no matter what your views on war.

Made me think of my old mate Osty, who went down on HMS Sheffield in the Falklands debacle. I hope Thatcher burns in hell for eternity.

In the mall where I get my bun for lunch, they’ve had a spate of bright young things wanting to sell you stuff, mostly debt. You know what I mean, “Sign up for a credit card sir, and we’ll give you this free lollipop.”

I must have SUCKER tattooed on my forehead, as they always make a beeline for me. I’ve found the answer though, as soon as they start the spiel, I crank the accent up to 11 and say, “I’m not from around here, look you, boy Bach!” Or some such nonsense, I even throw in a few bits of Welsh if I’m feeling Taffpy. One of these days one of them’ll answer in Welsh. Then I’m fucked.

 

Nature time.

We had a praying mantis on the window the other day. I was in raptures over it, Bethy thought I was stupid. No change there then.

Byeeee for now, write again soon!