Homeward Bound

Just to emphasize my last point about the friendship circle that seems to exist around Susan, we were joined by another one of her group, Rhonda, at breakfast, just to come and say goodbye. There will be similar circumstances in the UK but we are not accustomed to it, certainly not around the south-east, and it has been one of the highlights of the trip to participate in such a warm support group.

Susan was able to join us at the departure gate for a final coffee. Name one major UK airport that nowadays allows non-passengers into the airside environment, even if only domestic? The little English lady terrorist was again singled out at both Melbourne and Sydney for special attention by the security staff, and is now so familiar with the test procedures for explosives residue that she is thinking of applying for a job at Gatwick or Heathrow. She made great friends with the guy at Sydney who explained the whole process very thoroughly. Panic shopping ensued at Sydney, because we had 3 hours to kill and used up 2 ½ of them before we had eventually got rid of all the cash.

It’s now midnight, Australian time, 9 p.m. in Bangkok, and 3 p.m. in England. I expect to be disturbed shortly, to have to consume some of British Airways finest finger sandwiches and lukewarm tea. Publishing this in the Qantas Lounge in Bangkok will have to take second place to the shower facility, and the rate of upload of pictures is very variable, so the final sentence may have to wait to 31 Abbotswood tomorrow. It’s been a great trip and a temptation to repeat it soon – if the big Premium Bond prize is waiting when we get home.

Unfortunately there was no £1 million cheque, only a rather stand-offish cat whose body language (absence of instant purring) conveyed clearly his annoyance at having been left to look after Elinor for all that time. He came round eventually but methinks that trust will have to be re-earned before he brings us mouse remains to share. The weather recognised our need for a gentle let-down and has been sunny and almost warm.

So here endeth the first blog according to Yrret – it’s hard work trying to keep reasonably up to date, especially when uploading isn’t available on a daily basis. I’m not sure how serious diarists do it; assigning a fixed period at a regular time must be the knack…but that assumes a consistent lifestyle and is close to work! Got that out of the system, thank you!

Winding Down

The end of a vacation is always something of an anti-climax, but we were left with no opportunity to wonder how to wile away the last 24 hours. Packing, checking out, panic shopping for the next event, travelling to drop off the rental car at the airport, having dropped the cases at Essendon, and attempted souvenir shopping at the nearby mall (only about the size of Lakeside) left us with barely enough time to attack Susan’s computer again to see if there was a cure for the dreaded incompatibility squabble between W7 and Office 2007. Heidi’s Andrew eventually scored maximum points for finding a suggestion that running the 2 programmes whilst having administrator’s rights assigned might be a cause…and so it was!...But only for Word – Excel still continues to hiccup. There was no re-installing, no downloading an update or a patch, just a buried box that had to be unticked. Software designers, bless their little cotton socks!

And yet again we were whisked off to Jan and Rob’s for the final “roast tea”. I think Jan must be one of the most amazing cooks we have ever come across, because she had turned some of the surplus barbecue steak into a huge, gorgeous pie with beautiful vegetables, followed by an apple sponge of gargantuan proportions. They are truly, homely, hospitable Aussies (fourth generation) with a sizeable local family, all of whom seem to support each other with no effort or question whatsoever. It was a privilege to have met them and been accepted, via Susan, into their circle. A little blogging when we got home to try and catch up so that it finishes near enough the same time as the trip, and then the final night sleeping upside down.

No Picnic at Hanging Rock

Daily chores out of the way we made our way up to Essendon, to meet Susan at her church charity shop, where she was busily tidying up and organising for the summer to winter stock changeover, having already taken Clodagh and Ben to the airport. She was keen that she entertained us to the maximum and had suggested one of two possible excursions, either to Hanging Rock whence came the book name, or to Philip Island, to observe the dusk arrival of penguins. We felt that either would involve lengthy car journeys and probable late returns to Brighton so we were keen to take a more leisurely approach. In the end more dog-walking was chosen and without revealing the objective of her selected destination, to avoid possible disappointment, Susan took us to a park that included a retirement home for aging racehorses. The great treat, however, was that it turned out to be the area where kangaroos came to graze as the afternoon wore on, and we were in luck. Having sighted them in the distance, we marched boldly off the path across the field (fear of snakes put aside) and approached initially quite gently to about 100 yards, and fully expected them to bound off at any instant. Far from it! One or two, once they became aware of our interest, bounded towards us, as if they were looking as though they might try to come to scare us off….until the dogs started barking and then the (insert collective noun for kangaroos) all set off together at the bounce. It was a lovely sight and a mild sensation of being on a safari in the outback, notwithstanding the A380 that had just taken off from the nearby Melbourne airport.

We then met up with Jan and Rob Maltman at Bob MacMillan’s grave, where a little gardening was conducted and the nice touch of placing one of the wedding posies to adorn the headstone. Bob was obviously a much loved husband, father and friend.

On return Susan instantly produced a pasta dish, and we left to do our packing, and to wash trousers bearing evidence of two boisterous Labradors.

Not Late For A Change

If something is worth doing it’s worth doing well, or at least twice. Tradition has it, if not throughout Australia then at least in this small community, that on the day following a wedding the stragglers re-assemble for … a barbecue! Because Clodagh and Ben were not leaving for their honeymoon (in the Maldives) until the Monday they were there too. Having got to bed rather late we struggled out of bed as early as we could manage it, breakfasted and set off to the venue, about 10 minutes further on from where the wedding was, to a house rented for the family and guests for the occasion. The invite said “11 a.m. onwards” and we had to stop to buy a “slab” (case of beer), and being Easter Sunday and near the coast, it seemed as if the whole of Melbourne was out for the day. We were never going to be on time, but our watches said 12.45 when we eventually staggered in making profuse apologies about our tardiness. People were a little surprised at our apology, as we were to find that, far from being the last, several arrived after us. Guess which day daylight saving ends in Australia? Just as well we didn’t know as we could have been a genuine hour and three-quarters late, but it’s the first time I have genuinely not adjusted our timepieces and made a big mistake with an appointment.

Much meat and salad was consumed and a feeble attempt made to walk it off, on yet another nearby archetypal sandy beach, before we meandered our way home followed by Susan to collect the Easter Eggs that had not made their intended journey that morning.

The Great Day

What does one expect of a wedding? Perfect weather, idyllic surroundings, smiling happy people, loads of genuine warmth and affection, a few happy tears, good food and drink, amusing recollections, riotous dancing, and all the other elements that go to make up a lasting memory. Every box was duly ticked. We've got used to mainly church weddings that are formally structured in content and procedure, so that the expectation of a civil procedure is that it is a fairly quick legal formality. Not so here: the celebrant was a long-standing friend who personalised the ceremony; there were some pertinent readings, though not from a religious source, one from each godmother (how did that English accent steal the show!); Very personal public statements. of love and commitment from the happy couple; the only thing missing was congregational singing, though music was provided to cover the signing of the registers by Heidi playing a solo oboe, beautifully, of Robbie Williams song, Angels.

One of the memorable highlights was when Ben and Clodagh led the evening's dancing as is seemingly expected of the bride and groom, but they turned it almost into a "Strictly ..." moment have danced a selection of ballroom steps, suddenly after a frenzy of jacket. removing launched into a hip-hop demonstration, quite brilliantly.

The couple were staying the night at the residence, and so instead of sending them off, we were all eventually turfed out, for a 50-minute drive home, where ... we collapsed into bed.

“I Actually Found It Quite Interesting!”

Good Friday was definitely the day that we wanted to keep out of the way of the wedding preparations, whilst the last minute family arrangements went on. We had little plan of what we wanted to do, other than realising that the city would be mainly “closed” because of Easter. The forecast was OK and whilst we had been in the Tourist Information Centre the previous day I had idly picked up a brochure for Australia’s “primary” Aviation Museum. It was at Moorabbin airport only 10 minutes from where we were staying and with a slight hesitancy I suggested that we could drive past on our way to the coast to see what it looked like, and so the plan was made.

From the outside it looked like a graveyard for airframe hulks, not a good indicator in my experience for what might be concealed. We parked adjacent to the other car in the car park and I said I didn’t think it would be worth the entrance fee. However, insistence was forthcoming that I should investigate, as postcards could be written whilst I indulged. Two middle-aged, gentlemen aviation enthusiasts greeted me, in the reception, and a “concession” rate was quickly allowed, so low that I purchased 2 tickets because of the invite for my wife to use the lounge facilities whilst I perused. An interesting conversation ensued about the model of the DH 88 Comet hanging in the lounge (G-ACSS for the cognoscenti) that had won the 1934 England to Australia air race. It had a tail wheel not a tailskid, which identified it as a model of the replica, not the original, but at least the two guys knew of it as belonging to the Shuttleworth collection – small world.

The museum itself was a delightful example of aviation enthusiasm, but had the one piece that had originally caught my attention, a mostly intact Bristol Beaufighter. There were lots of snippets of Australian aviation history, and full value for money was obtained for both of us. I explained the differences between some of the aero engines on display and pointed out interesting features on a few of the aircraft, expecting a barely stifled yawn, but later the following day, when recounting to the locals what we had done whilst not under supervision, you could have knocked me down with a feather when the words: “I actually found it quite interesting” were uttered. RAF Museum, Science Museum, and Imperial War Museum here we come!

We went on for a beach picnic, came across the national sandcastle sculpture competition, and cruised gently home seeking Friday’s fish and chip shop, which turned out to be a mere 200 yards from the apartment. Everything was freshly cooked as we waited and as usual included chips to feed an army. I may eventually learn to leave food, but only when I grow up! Strangely, we didn’t have to collapse into bed that evening.

If You Can’t Beat ‘Em, Join ‘Em

By Thursday we were desperate to see some of the city sights of Melbourne, and so we opted to catch the train into town, firstly to re-visit Victoria Market, to have a longer look at all the wonderful produce and other shopping opportunities, and then to pick up on a little of the riverbank scene. Although we bought wraps at one of the delicatessen stalls we couldn’t resist another Borek, the hot Turkish pastry wraps.

There is a free circular tram route that tours the inner city and gives a commentary of the nearby places of interest as it nears each stop. It is very popular (because it’s free?) and we crammed in for half a circuit until we got back to the railway station where we got out to go on a walk by the river. We were just getting ourselves armed with information in the Tourist Information Centre, and were thinking of letting Susan know what we were up to, when the phone rang and supper was offered, to help with the disposal of the previous evening’s leftovers, and our, as yet, uneaten lunch selection would provide some variety for the menu. Refusal was not an option, but the follow-on invite to join the Maundy service at church would have left us with another very late finish.

Then two close shaves ensued! We hadn’t been long at Susan’s, after the tram ride from the city to the end of her road, just about 6 p.m. when conversation turned to what each had been doing all day. It was the trigger to remind Susan that Heidi’s dress had not been collected from the dry cleaners; and that the following day was Good Friday; and the family were decamping down south to the wedding venue; and the dry cleaners close at 6 p.m. Only the squeal of tyres hid the stream of expletives as she shot off, leaving us to contemplate the switching on of her computer to check for emails. It was fairly dark in the little computer area, and in an effort to make room for me to assist with the initial power up, the little English lady terrorist stepped slightly backwards and to one side…and almost disappeared through a hole in the floor! Susan had removed the cover to the shallow wine cellar and it was very fortunate that more injury did not occur. A triple of bruises to her back, on top of the shock of the bottom dropping out of her world, was the extent but it could have been so much worse. Where are the Health and Safety people when they are most needed? Susan returned soon after, with dress, having, armed only with a $20 note, ambushed the manager of the dry cleaners as he was trying to escape by car and forced him to re-open. Someone was obviously smiling down on us, although prepared to fire warning shots across our bows. Supper over, Susan dropped us at the tram stop outside her church and we made our way home via tram and train, despite the best efforts of the railway management to hide the whereabouts of the required platform by ceasing to provide signs before the platform was in sight. We got home, one of us battered and bruised….and collapsed into bed.

Route Version 17 from Brighton to Essendon

Wednesday morning dawned with the prospect of another battle with the Melbourne traffic, from south to north and later the reverse. It feels as if Melbourne has the highest density of traffic-light-controlled junctions in the world. On top of that it has a fairly extensive tram network that co-exists and mainly shares the same road space as cars. Trams have priorities in most conflicts, and tram stops are often in the centre of the road with no pedestrian island for passengers to alight on to. Thus the trams put on their flashing lights, extend a small STOP flag, and cars must not overtake to allow passengers to alight and walk safely and directly to the kerb. It doesn’t half concentrate the mind when near a tram, and the final straw is a procedure called a “Hook Turn”. Where the tramlines run down the centre of the road, a car wishing to turn right must not do so in front of a tram. Instead the car must position itself on the most left-hand lane, indicate to turn right, wait until the lights turn red, and those in the road into which it is turning go green, before proceeding. Traffic going straight on drives through in the right lane overtaking the vehicle indicating to turn right – it feels a very uncomfortable sandwich and a recipe for a side-swipe. Thus we have looked for routes that avoid tram routes as much as possible, but the grid layout means that traffic lights are almost invariable in number irrespective of route chosen. Oh, and of course, there are the toll roads to be avoided!

To steal ourselves for the battle we took a late morning stroll by the sea at the end of the street where we are staying. Quite a change from the surf to hear the bay waters making a gentle musical lapping against the shore wall…and it was warm and sunny, again. We worked our way by car northwards up the shore line and then took a deep breath before plunging into the maelstrom. When we got to Susan’s it was dog-walking time and a car ride to a parkland where we enjoyed views over Melbourne and being sprayed by a joyous Labrador who was permitted to go swimming for the first time in ages.

The evening was a “cellar party” given by Clodagh’s other godmother, Jan, who put on a spread to end all diets! She is renowned for her cooking, a reputation well-earned, especially the huge selection of desserts, some of which have graced our fridge (in diminishing amounts!) ever since. We followed Susan to their house and had little idea about which part of Melbourne we were in. The return journey was, therefore, an interesting debate between the TomTom and the recommended route from the locals. In the main we took the advice of the locals and had the fastest, smoothest passage home so far. Of course it was already pretty late when we got home….where we collapsed into bed!

Sovereign Hill Gold Town at Ballarat

It was an early start on Tuesday to get to Susan’s, in order to make the trip (about an hour and a half) to Ballarat, where there is a recreation of an 1860’s gold town. Heidi and Andrew had arrived the evening before, after we had left to come home, and were remarkably bright. We all piled into Alastair’s car (it’s a long and complicated explanation but easy when insurance covers anyone to drive with the owner’s permission) and drove into the hills. If you can imagine taking out all the schmaltz that Walt Disney would put into a theme park, and having working craftsmen, using tools of the era, with steam-engine-powered, belt-driven lathes and pumps, shops selling home-cooking style pies and pastries, boiled sweets being made, and horse-drawn carriages riding up and down the sandy streets in between the wooden boardwalks leading to old-fashioned schoolhouses and residences, then you are beginning to get a flavour of how great a place it is to learn about the Gold Rush. We took a trip down into the old workings of a mine, but still operational in other parts of the town, and reluctantly dragged ourselves away, only because we had to get to Clodagh and Ben’s (late, of course) for a barbecue. If Clodagh decides against the marriage at the last minute, Ben can come back and cook for us – I must learn his skill of not charring meat on the outside whilst leaving it raw in the centre. Apparently, he does much of the cooking and with food like that, why not? We had to go back to Susan’s to collect our car and had one of our more efficient return journeys, where eventually….we collapsed into bed.

Using Coriolis Effect to Cure a Slice

Monday saw us crawl out of bed at our usual holiday hour, just in time to have breakfast and then set out for our first attempt to get across Melbourne without being seduced inadvertently on to one of the toll roads. The road map that came with the car was a standard single sheet with too small an area on one side and too large a scale on the other. Susan has lent us a book map, which has all the appearance of a 500-page telephone directory, and is absolutely comprehensive in street detail. Trouble is that it is almost too large a scale and there is no overlap between pages. Because of this, poor Mum has great difficulty in keeping up with the plan that the TomTom has, and if I miss a turn then she has finding the right page, before the next recovery junction is manic. Never mind, we’ve kissed and made up again!

Expecting a leisurely afternoon and polite evening conversation, I had not dressed entirely appropriately for the next event. Susan was going to whisk Mum around on the various pre-wedding and weekly errands, whilst Alastair was to take me to play golf! Nil desperandum – I have nearly the same size feet as Alastair, and Susan had already bought me from her charity shop a cotton Aussie-style brim hat, so there was nothing holding us back. Susan’s clubs fitted me OK – she now thinks they must be too long for her – and we enjoyed 18 holes at Yarra Park Public Course; very pretty, lovely birdlife, and only $20 for 18 holes. Who needs to be a member of a club here at those prices? Alastair did say that membership at some clubs was about $3-400….sigh!

Now, in the northern hemisphere a thing called the Coriolis Effect causes winds to veer to the right when blowing from high to low pressure (and for water to go down the plughole clockwise). In the southern hemisphere the opposite happens. If you have a tendency to slice golf shots, then does Coriolis make it worse in the northern hemisphere and better in the southern? Answer: probably…but the evidence of my first 6 drives, with alien clubs, all bisecting the fairway, did not disprove the thesis. Once I had managed to get back to old habits of making too steep a swing and hitting the ball just near passing aircraft Alastair started to forgive me for initially looking too much like a professional, although the birdie at the 14^th and driving the green at the 175 yard 17^th had him looking askance at me again. I hadn’t anticipated playing golf whilst we were away, and it was a welcome event to be able to go home and tell The Boys about.

Of course, we were late back and dinner was being held up because of us. Vicar and wife were irreverent (is that an oxymoron?) and great fun, but with the late start all thoughts of worshipping Bill Gates went out of the window. Just hope that there is time to make another assault before we leave. We have managed to change our flights from Melbourne to Sydney to Wednesday 7^th, and so we shall stay the last night with Susan instead of having to find somewhere in Sydney. Evetually, we left and found our way home…where we collapsed into bed!

The Fun Police Haven’t Got Here Yet!

The brief for Sunday was that we would meet The Gang in Melbourne for a look-around. We are only 5 minutes walk from the local station and the cost of an all-day fare, using any of the bus, tram or train options was cheaper than the cost of parking and petrol. We set out about 11 o’clock and walked down the local main street consisting of restaurants of several different cuisines, a few boutiques and the usual assortment of high street essentials. The one that caught the eye, however, was the toy shop called “Golliwogs Toy Store”. I wonder if the BBC could send Carol Thatcher to do an interview with the owners on “The Dangers of Unintended Racism”!

The journey is about 30 minutes and the arrival station is Flinders Street, which outside the main entrance has a series of clocks showing the time at various venues. Meetings in Melbourne have to be “on the steps at Flinders Street”, which is under the clocks and is the iconic equivalent of “under the clock at Waterloo”. A lot of people meet a lot of other people in Melbourne because it was hard to actually get out of the station for the bodies adorning the steps. Not unexpectedly the first words from Susan were: “There’s been a slight change of plan” and we were whisked on to a tram to go to the other side of the city centre to Queen Victoria Market. Oh, M & S, Waitrose, Tesco, Sainsburys, ASDA, Morrisons, Aldi, Lidl, and any other supermarket, you don’t know how lucky you are not to have competition like this. There are superb delicatessens, masses of fresh meat and fish stalls, fresh fruit and veg by the tonne (metric), clothes stalls, ethnic barbecues, and UGG boots by the foot (non-metric), and many other sorts of goods. Lunch was had, on the pavement but with tables and chairs provided, from a couple of the highly recommended fast food stalls, one serving Turkish hot pastry wraps called Boreks and the other the best tasting Bratwurst (with all the works) that I can recall. Normally one tends to shy away from such places because they come with free salmonella and e-coli, but there were no ailing birds or dogs in the vicinity so no worries!

Shopping complete, it was back to Susan’s for tea, watch the F1 Grand Prix, church for the ladies whilst I tried without complete success to troubleshoot Susan’s new computer, despite on-line advice from the UK. Although yet to be confirmed, it appeared that there was an incompatibility between the new operating system (Windows 7) and the older Microsoft Office 2007. However, without the installation discs the solution was going to require divine intervention i.e. the vicar had to be invited for “roast tea” (Australian for supper) the following day…and to bring his discs! Finally, following a lift from Susan to Flinders Street station, back home by train, where we collapsed into bed.