Peter and I share a well-established tradition of ignoring 26 January which we do not consider worthy of the name Australia Day. It celebrates invasion and dispossession and, despite both being globally vogue at the moment, they aren't very nice activities. If you want to celebrate the birth of our nation then do it on Federation Day - 1 January. That's the day the six colonies joined together to become Australia, the first nation in the history of nations to be voted directly into existence by its own citizens. Now that's something truly worth celebrating!
Former MP of the conservative persuasion, Ian Macfarlane, has
suggested 1 May as a more inclusive date for Australia Day because much of the
nation tends to be a tad tired, if not hungover on 1 January. It was on 1 May 1901 that the new
Commonwealth of Australia began to exercise the powers assigned to it by the
former colonies but that's really just a bit half-arsed. Perhaps 9 May might be a more appropriate
date - the day the first Parliament sat in a ceremonial opening session at the
Exhibition Building in a Melbourne as recorded here by Tom Roberts.
But I, myself, personally prefer May 8 as
recently suggested by Jordan Raskopolous. Do watch the attached video right through to
the end, the final line is the killer - quite literally!
But enough of the politics of Invasion Day,
Australia Day or just plain 26 January.
What did we do?
Well, first up I responded to Barnaby Joyce's
pronouncement that people who want to change the date of Australia Day should
"crawl under a rock" with a brief Facebook post which read "Fuck
you, Barnaby!" Nothing political
about that.
Then it was a leisurely morning of cleaning up
cat vomit and other outer suburban domestic pursuits in the Heights-of-Hornsby
before we set off to the residence of the Emeritus Principal Foy at Leura. He is currently doing a reverse Joanna Lumley
across Siberia (as one does during the northern winter) so we went up to
water his plants before they died (as
they do in the southern summer).
Our journey took me on a trip down memory lane,
along Annangrove Road in fact and past Annangrove Public School where I spent
my first three deliriously happy three years of teaching. It was a wonderful school with just one class
of each grade. I began with a Year 1
then another of the same the following year which I took on to Year 2 in my
final year.
The kids were a delight, even the odd crazy one,
and this was the late 1970s before we joined forces with parents to sap them of
every last drop of their resilience. And
speaking of parents, they were lovely too.
If they weren't there to support you they just kept out of the way. And the teachers - what a happy collegiate
bunch we were! I didn't experience that
again until I worked at Dee Why District Office nearly 20 years later.
So on we drove with me thinking I could go back
and do that all over again until I slapped myself around a little. Stupid, stupid man! By the time we hit the glorious crepe myrtles
of Windsor and Richmond I had recovered my bitterness and moved on.
And as is the Upper Blue Mountains way, the mist
rolled in right on cue at the nursery just east of Wentworth Falls. DeDe instinctively turned on both her
headlights and wipers as she does and on we went just a little more slowly,
unlike some who believe that fog or rain necessitates driving 10 km/h faster.
Now what could be a better way to round off any
kind of 26 January than a meal at the local Chinee restaurant and you will have
noticed that I've chosen to adopt the Kath Day-Knight culinary term for that
particular style of cuisine. The
Emeritus Principal did leave the take away menu in his "Welcome to
Leura" folder but had ominously marked it "Not that good!"
Well I think you know I'm up for a challenge, especially since the
nearby, and formally not-too-bad, Tamarin Indian Restaurant turned out to be a
bit shit last visit so we set off for the Leura Chinee with a South Australian
Riesling and a Marlborough Sav Blanc in tow since it was also our 20th
anniversary.
We were welcomed most warmly but also politely
cautioned that there was a $2.50 corkage charge for BYO, something which I
dismissed as easily as Donald Trump dismisses demands to release his tax
returns - the significant difference being I happily paid it.
What comes next is our part in an amazing
tableau of 21st Century Australiana.
Directly opposite was an Anglo-Polynesian same-sex couple, both working
men in fluoro safety gear but clearly much more than just colleagues. A single chap of middle age sat in the corner
having date night with his iPad and a combination chow mien while three
generations of a Chinese family whirled busily away at a lazy Susan just behind
me. But the best of it was directly
behind Peter - a table of fully mixed bogans!
As we sat down a rather large woman was hurling
forth about childbirth with a poor little strangled thing abseiling off a flank
or three on her right side as if in evidence.
"Well me water broke and next fing I know
little Cheryldene’s 'ed were out and she were lookin' right up at me wiv 'er
mowf wide open!" Of course the poor
love was just trying to get a breath of fresh air but let's not go there.
After 30 minutes of birthing recounts from the
Gina Reinhardt look-alike another woman joined in with first day of school
stories about her daughter who wasn't present because the court had awarded
equal custody to her ex. That's when the
nicotine addiction of the thinner, bedraggly bearded of the two men kicked in
and he went outside for a smoke. When he
returned it was all on about "Fucken Warren" from work who appeared
to have overstepped the mark rather severely.
Let me assure you right here, right now, that everyone
at the table had an opinion about "Fucken Warren" and none of it was
good! Another round of VB was ordered
and they all got stuck into it - the beer and
Warren!
By the time the banana fritters arrived they'd
done poor old Wazza to within an inch of his life, and his de facto Cheryl as
well, so Gina steered the conversation back to her recent and amazing
childbirth. It appears she didn't even
know she was pregnant until three weeks before Cheryldene miraculously appeared so the
whole experience was clearly still in a quite novel stage.
Leura Tucker Tip #1
The Leura Chinee Restaurant up the high end
of the Mall on the right-hand side going down the hill is beaut - not gourmet,
just beaut. The meal was surprisingly
good and the people charming. I asked if
they could make pork-free Singapore noodles and "Not a problem, luv!"
was the unmistakably Australian nasal response from our server who might
otherwise have been straight out of Shanghai.
Inspired by the banana fritters that
Boganville had sucked down we went for broke and ordered the Australian Chinee
restaurant classic - deep fried ice cream.
What are a few extra units of insulin - this was a celebration!
Well, it did not disappoint and when I
complimented our older server on the hint of lemon in the caramel sauce she
said "There no remon in sauce" but then I could see her mind ticking
over - "Oh bugg-arrr, broody Choi mix up remon chicken sauce an' caramel
sauce again!" But hey, it worked!
And Leura weather did not disappoint us in the
least. As we left the restaurant we were
engulfed by a Brigadoon-like mist.
Undaunted, we shuffled off happily but cautiously along the
pavement and into the darkness - but in
the wrong direction as it happened. You'd
have thought the hill would have given it away but on the plus side we found
ourselves gazing at the most magnificent koala-shaped teapot in the window of
the Leura Health Food shop and that, my friends, became Item #1 on next
morning's agenda.
All up, it was a truly beaut Invasion Day and
nobody can ask for more than that!
