Once More Around the Sun - 2021

I've noticed that favoured weekly TV programs now seem to pop up about every three days and years last for around six months despite the constraints of COVID.  I remember a time when birthdays and Christmases took an age to roll around but not now.  I wish time could have passed this rapidly when I was doing playground duty or sitting captive in a staff meeting where things that could be said in 20 words or less were said in 200 then repeated with minor variance three more times.

And speaking of COVID and classrooms, how glad am I to be retired when I look at what teachers have had to endure these last two years and not just teachers?!  Bouquets to everyone who has keep society functioning and brickbats to the brats whose appalling behaviour prolonged lockdowns and killed so many people.  And I'm not even going to start on a particular nest of fuckwits in our federal government!

So moving on...

Pete and I have had a quiet year, most of it contained within the Shire of Hornsby although I did have numerous excursions to my dentist at Redfern, my endodontist in the city and an oral surgeon in Chatswood, all lovely folk... but!  Most of Peter's medical needs were attended to via Telehealth but you just can't Zoom a root canal, a filling or an extraction.

We did, however, manage to get to Melbourne during a delicious window between lockdowns.  We spent a night in Tumut en route and being autumn that was just lovely.  Interestingly enough everyone else seemed to have the same idea.  Motel rooms were all booked out a fortnight ahead but I managed to score the very last pub room with an en suite.  I don't sleep anywhere that's not within a couple of metres from a toilet!  The Tumut Broom Factory is apparently now the only manufacturer of genuine Australian made millet brooms so go there, buy one, buy three!  We did.

We stayed with Uncle Russell in Melbourne.  He's not actually our uncle and isn't even too much older than us but he possesses the wisdom and charming eccentricity of a much loved old uncle, hence the courtesy title.  And along much the same lines I hope we fulfilled the wise and eccentric but not really related uncle roles when we met our gorgeous Claytons great niece Tessa for the very first time.  The reason for the trip was to attend her first birthday celebration which was a real treat as was that evening's catch up with the Southern Cawthornes; my cousin Zelda and her daughter and grandchildren Tanya, Liev and Amalia.  What a brilliant time we had!

No visit with Uncle is ever long enough but we'd already driven him crazy and redesigned a chunk of his garden which was great fun, especially our three visits to Poynton's Nursery in Essendon.  It's a gardener's paradise with the most amazing variety and quality of stock all overlooking the Maribyrnong and just along from a classic Walter Burley Griffin and Marion Mahony incinerator.  And being as we are fans of all things Griffin-Mahony our return stop was in Canberra where we spent a couple of nights, did the galleries and enjoyed a few of nice restaurants.

https://cawthorne54.blogspot.com/2021/05/tales-of-subaru-southbound-2021.html

That was it for travel.  I had booked ten days away in August to visit lovely Aunty Joan on the Queensland Sunshine Coast with a couple of nights in Armidale on the way up and Brunswick Heads and Port Macquarie on the way back but much as I can break droughts simply by erecting a tent it seems I can now lockdown whole local government areas and even entire slabs of states just by planning to visit them.  First it was Armidale then all of South Eastern Queensland followed by five LGAs on the North Coast of NSW.  Sydney was also in lockdown by that point so we couldn't leave the Shire of Hornsby anyway then just for a little extra value adding beautiful Aunty Joan died the day before we would have left. 

Which brings me to a very important matter: Will you people please stop dying?!  We lost five of you in just three months.  First there was the extraordinary Anne van der Kley who left so many people right around the world wanting more.  Then there was my former boss Lance Richardson who went off just after his 90th birthday with a glass of wine in one hand and a Caramello Koala in the other.  Way to go Lance!  Then came Peter's gorgeous Aunty Joan who I claimed as my own within minutes of meeting her years ago.  My extraordinary cousin Des was next, the most positive man in the entire world.  He lost both legs and both kidneys but got replacements for all and had a glass that was so half full it was overflowing.  And last of all came Peter's sister Debra who he loved more than I can tell.  Deb was recovering from a very nasty fall and things were actually coming on quite nicely when she went off to bed one night and died with a TV remote control in her hand.  So enough you lot, no more!

But back to the land of the living...

Peter's squint surgery wasn't a success but was well worth a try because it might have been.  Both eyes are now aligned but double vision still occurs if he looks up or down and this would worsen if he was to go ahead with the second stage of the surgery and have the drooped eyelid lifted.  On a positive note, he can now manage without the patch at home but needs it when he goes out, especially to rehab.  And speaking of such things, that's going well thanks to excellent therapists and the amazing Lori who is Peter's support worker.  She attends with him and comes for four hours every Wednesday to do follow up.  We couldn't manage without Lori or Lars our garden maintenance chap who does things we can no longer attend to and does them well.

My glute has been a literal pain in the arse and all points south of there on the right side but I'm slowly getting there with the help of a new physiotherapist.  My former one retired so the quest is on to ensure that all of our new healthcare supports are at least 30 years younger than us.

Pete was quite literally full of shit in the middle of the most recent lockdown so had four nights in a private suite at Hornsby Hospital where they went at him from both ends at the same time and finally cleared the blockage.  Between the pico-prep and the enemas thank goodness for everyone's sake that he had his own bathroom.  Too much information?

Jan and Tony are managing remarkably well.  Jan has had two operations on vertebrae in her neck over the last 12 months to free up nerves that were being compressed by calcification and denying her proper use of her hands.  If you need a good neurosurgeon we have a name for you and trust me, we shopped around.  You don't cut one of mine until I'm sure I've found the best!  Mind you, there was no time to go through an interview process when the hematoma on her leg turned nasty in early November with a repeat performance a month later, it was the first surgeon off the block.  All appears to be sorted now.

Bruce is fabulously well and loved lockdown.  He had his two favourite beings in the entire world  to himself and the tucker just kept on coming.  Six Million Dollar Chook Hazel Hawke finally had the green dream mid-year after a great deal of medical intervention over six of the seven years of her quite blessed life.  Then our matriarch Oodgeroo left us a week ago while I had her at the vet getting antibiotics for a chronic throat condition.  She suddenly fitted and it was all over in minute.  Hell of a way to save on a vet bill!  Our Girls are part of the family so although Hazel and Oodg are gone they're not forgotten.  The others are all fine as the two turtles are and the three pigeons.

Not so the fish though with their numbers down from around 200 to possibly just a dozen thanks to evil raven bastard Russell Crow who treats their pond as his own private larder.  It's topped with 50mm galvanised mesh but that just provided a fishing platform through which he stuck his head and went for it.  That's when Lars came up with a simple solution I should have thought of years ago; lift them mesh by the height of a paver and see what happens.  It will probably take a million years for Russell's descendants to evolve into long-necked ravens so we're good for now.

But is a million years of evolution now even possible?  I regard our coal-fired federal government with contempt and despair and I'm not sure a Labor victory at next year's election will herald much in the way of improvement.  The Glasgow Climate Change Summit was just a shit show so temperatures and sea levels will continue to rise.  The profit of a few is at the core of everything but come the tipping point there will be no more profit to be made.

And with that, my friends, I wish you all Happy Holidays and a COVID-free New Year - personally at least.  Yes, Holidays!  There are lots of them around this time of year, not just the obvious one which should actually be celebrated in the northern summer.  It's highly unlikely that Joseph and Mary would have been quite literally hauling ass to a census in the middle of a Palestinian winter but never allow fact to get in the way of a good story.

Peace, love and mung beans baby

 Glenn, Peter and Bruce, et al

 

 

Tales from the Bushland Shire - Part 4 - Crosslands

Crosslands is a little piece of estuarine paradise not too far from home.  In my younger days I would ride my bike most of the way there then struggle down to the water but the indistinct track finally become a road in around 1970 which was then sealed during the 80s.  Hallelujah!

And speaking of hallelujah, some may attribute the name Crosslands to the Seventh Day Adventist youth camp that stands on the western shore but not so.  After the Indigenous Dharug people were forcibly moved on or very conveniently died from disease or perhaps lead poisoning, Burton Crosslands and Matthew Charlton set themselves up on the western and eastern banks respectively.  They cut timber, grew fruit, fished and built boats for a living.  The Crosslands eventually bought out the Charltons and the SDAs and Scouts bought the western shore from them in the 1940s while Hornsby Council resumed the eastern side.  That become a reserve which has since been incorporated into Berowra Valley National Park and thus begins our walk.

There is quite wondrous thing called the Great North Walk which runs from Sydney all the way to Newcastle and today's short ramble covered a very small part of that.  We only did a couple of km which I though wasn't too bad for a couple of old blokes with mobility issues and only 2.75 eyes between them.  Once past the wheelchair friendly boardwalk the path has a good many roots and rocks to navigate.  We went another 500m or so until I had a vision of one or both of us tripping and rumbling down towards the mangroves below so we headed back.

 

What we did do was lovely though and we were joined by our newest best friend for a bit more of a wander around a backwater and the wide slip-off slope by the long sweeping bend of the Berowra Creek which accommodates the reserve.

When I studied geography in high school newly accessible Crosslands was the site of our 5th form (now Year 11) river geomorphology field study with Palm Beach being used for coastal geomorphology in 6th form and what we observed in the sand dunes that day is a whole other story.  Being not quite as handy to Asquith Boys' High, alpine geomorphology came straight out of the textbooks but I still remember the names of all the features which hasn't served me that well these last 50 years apart from one trip to the Colorado Rockies in the 1970s then two more to the Canadian Rockies 30 years on where I was able to say "Look, there's a cirque!"  

Of course that made it all completely worthwhile.  Anyway to this day I can recognise a slip-off slope when I'm walking on one and a brush turkey as well.  Here's a bit of both...

Tales from the Bushland Shire - Part 3 - Full of It!

Five nights at the Gemini Resort on Golden Beach would have been wonderful and the views are fabulous but the level of care at Hornsby Ku-ring-gai Hospital is far superior and that's where Peter ended up on what should have been our final day in Caloundra - had we gone.

It all began with a couple of days of increasing pain around the area which once contained his appendix but that was removed in Nuku'alofa over 40 years when he was there with Australian Volunteers Abroad.  He should have been airlifted to either Brisbane or Auckland on an RAAF or NZAF flight but missed both so the king's own doctor did the surgery, one of the first appendectomies ever performed in the Kingdom of Tonga, appendicitis not being something Tongans suffered at that time.  

 

The young chap in the next bed was one of the Fasi Bad Boys who was recovering from a knife fight with a rival gang.  He was quite perplexed and wanted to know when Peter's extracted organ was going to be put back.  The Bad Boy's assailant brought him a cake by way of apology which he very kindly shared with Peter, meals being provided by family not the hospital and Peter having none handy.

 

But back to the present...

 

Our doctor at the Hornsby GP clinic determined that something was wrong but was unable to diagnose exactly what without bloods and a CT scan.  She decided the quickest way to get both done was to send Peter to ER on the other side of the hospital so called ahead and off we set on another little holiday adventure.  

 

Hornsby Hospital is being demolished and rebuilt all at the same time so there was no direct route but the one we took was most interesting.  Those of you who are familiar with Hornsby will remember the circular Lumby Building which was state-of-the-art back when it opened in around 1970 but was several decades past its best by date when it finally closed earlier this year.  The original plan was to refurbish it as an administration centre until all the asbestos was discovered so it's now being very carefully demolished. 

 

Deconstruction of the Lumby Building with its replacement in the background.

 

Here's where I present bouquets all around to Hornsby Ku-ring-gai Hospital which is a well oiled machine with an intense focus on its patients and also their families.

We presented at the ER just after noon and Peter, seated in an electric wheelchair, was gliding into a room on a ward four hours later all blood tested and CT scanned and having been seen by nurses, doctors, medical technicians and specialists along the way, all pleasant, all personable and all professional.  My relationship to Peter as both partner and also carer because of his ABI was celebrated not questioned and despite the current COVID restrictions I was able to accompany him throughout his entire journey doing a little photo doco as we went.

 

 

I also commend the Northern Sydney Health Service for its inclusivity which is announced with desk sets of the Australian, Aboriginal, Torres Strait Islands and Rainbow flags on counters right throughout the hospital.

 

 

So what's the problem?

 

It would appear that Peter is full of shit, or at least he was.  The CT showed evidence of chronic constipation so they went at it from both ends which made for a fairly uncomfortable and unpleasant evacuation.  That done things have settled down considerably and I am expecting him home tomorrow after a few more tests and a little more observation.

 

It's a difficult time to be in hospital as well we know from Peter's sister's experience of having broken her pelvis a month ago.  There can be no visitors and although I was present for all of Peter's admission procedures the closest I can now get with a bag of fresh PJs and undies is the front door which is fine.  That's what we must do in order to keep everyone safe, this pandemic being a very real and potentially fatal thing unless you're a denier, an anti-vaxxer, an extreme capitalist or just plain dumber than dog shit in which case it's only the flu or not even a thing at all.

A paracetamol goon bag.  What will they think of next?!

Tales from the Bushland Shire - Part 2 - Fagan Park

Fagan Park at Galston was gifted to the people of NSW by the Fagan Family in 1980 with Hornsby Shire Council as trustee of the 55 hectare parcel of land.  It had been a large and very successful citrus orchard but The Depression brought an end to that and saw it converted to a dairy farm specialising in the breeding of Jersey cows which were popular at the time.  My mother's family always had a Jersey house cow which kept much of their street in milk during those difficult years.  It also fertilised my grandfather's gardens that helped feed much of that same street.

So fast forward to the Celebration of a Nation or the Masturbation of a Nation as I preferred to call it, our gloriously self-indulgent Bicentenary Year of 1988 when NSW Premier Nick Greiner took time off from closing public schools to open Fagan Park, "the crown jewel of Hornsby Shire's parks".  The latter was probably written by some aspiring PR consultant from the council or even an actual councillor seeking immortality as some do.  I may attach an addendum of Hornsby Shire councillors who fit this category.

To our great shame Peter and I had only visited Fagan Park once before and then just the southern end where the old farmhouse and outbuildings are located.  Given our commitment to holiday within the Shire of Hornsby this seemed like a perfect place to begin and explore some other parts of this very large park.  Besides, my good friend Dawnie had been on my back to get out and move my fat arse so move it I did.

Those of you who remember the Masturbation of a Nation will recall it was a bit like the Sydney Olympics only it went for a full 12 months.  It was the Olympics of steroids which of course the actual Olympics largely were back in those days.  We congratulated ourselves for just about everything apart from Indigenous health, education, housing and stealing the continent off them in the first place.  But never mind that, let's all sing...  "Masturbation of a Nation, give us a hand... "

There were a few good outcomes though, especially for people who made brass plaques because there are more of them scattered around the country than in the crematorium grounds at Rookwood Cemetery.  One is attached to a rock somewhere in Fagan Park which was clearly the result of a very grand 1980s plan which has languished a little over the decades.

Don't get me wrong here, the park is well maintained but some of the vision has been lost.  The international themed gardens have form but their content has thinned over the years as plantings have failed and management has taken a more minimalist approach which is disappointing.  The Japanese Garden has probably fared best of all with hardy plantings of blossoming trees, camellias and azaleas which are all hard to kill.

The Dutch Garden was a bit of a mystery until we spotted the faux canal complete with little bridge which looks like it may have been designed to be raised.  But there's not a tulip to be seen and certainly no cannabis cafes.  Ditto with the English Garden which I think was just a couple of shrubs tacked onto the side of the Dutch Garden.

The North American Garden features a neat little white New England style house with skillfully bricked paths and garden edges which once probably contained an actual garden but now there are just four large succulents borrowed from the nearby South American Garden.

South America, Africa and the Mediterranean have all been stocked with extremely hardy plants, many of them succulents which you'd be hard pressed to kill with a bushfire.  Each garden contains some kind of structure which is indicative of its region and that's all a bit of fun.  I was reminded of the pixie houses I enjoyed so much during Sunday School picnics at the Fairyland Pleasure Grounds by the Lane Cove River only these are much slicker.

There are several ponds, on one of which my mind's eye saw paddle boats which were another childhood joy of mine.  But there are no paddle boats, just ducks and coots who are probably very glad of the absence of water craft.

We left the Australian Garden for when we return in a few weeks to see the blossom trees in the Chinese and Japanese Gardens.  Given that every other garden has a themed structure of some sort be it the terraces and fountain in the Mediterranean Garden or the circular Ndebele hut in the African Garden my money's on a dunny in the Australian Garden.

Tales from the Bushland Shire - Part 1 - The Rationale

 

This here's the wattle, the emblem of our land...

There was a time when I could break a drought simply by erecting a tent.  Now it seems I can shut down a local government area or even a whole chunk of a state simply by planning to go there.  We were headed to Queensland today, 12 August 2021, the plan being to spend five nights at our long favoured Gemini Resort in Caloundra and travel down to Bongaree on the southern end of Bribie Island several times to visit our lovely Aunty Joan.

The booking was made months ago but then Sydney went into lockdown again and we aren't to leave the Shire of Hornsby although there is a sliver of The Hills Shire within our 10km radius which thankfully includes both Bunnings and Flower Power at Dural and Glenhaven respectively.  The only other places I need access to are a supermarket and a grog shop - Coles and Liquorland at Asquith or Woolies and Dan Murphy's in Hornsby, it didn't matter which.

 

When the initial two week lockdown extended to four weeks then six and eventually Easter, I rang the Gemini and cancelled.  They were fabulous - full refund, no problem.  We'd planned three nights in Armidale on the way up and wouldn't you know it, that went into lockdown as well.  Of course by this time all of South-Eastern Queensland had shut up shop as had every LGA in the Northern Rivers Region of Northern NSW where we were staying on the way home.

 

Then there was some truly unfortunate value adding when our lovely Aunty Joan passed away quite suddenly the week before we were due to head north, not that we could anyway.  That was Universal Reality Check #879 and Zoom funeral #2 in just three weeks so it was a case of count your blessings and where to from here?

 

I did think of blogging the trip regardless as I did with Return of the Native 2.1 to Wales, Ireland, England and Singapore last year but despite an explanation in the first post, numerous hints in the others and some clearly unlikely encounters along the way a number of you actually believed we were there which is entirely to my credit.  I should have gone into politics!  

 

My long-ago ex even rang to see if we were staying in the apartment he recommended in Soho.  "Fabulous!" I told him, "Thanks for the tip.  It's close to everything and right opposite The King's Arms and you won't believe who we met there last night!  Philip Jamieson's Aunty Eulene's late husband Ray's sister's son Barry and his partner Trevor, the Christmas tree farmers from Te Kuiti.  We're catching up with them again tonight for dinner."

 

Vera Vindaloo was never known for his attentiveness all those years ago or since for that matter but that was just bloody ridiculous!

 

So here's the new plan, we're having a holiday within a 10km radius of home which I'll blog instead so look out for Tales from the Bushland Shire which will be hitting the interweb and email quite soon.  And by the way, Bruce is loving himself sick with both his Dads home almost 24/7.  He wasn’t looking at all forward to us being away for twelve days but that's no longer a problem.  Don't get me wrong here, Bruce quite likes Uncle Tony but sadly poor Aunty Jan just doesn't cut the mustard.

Tales of the Subaru - Southbound 2021

DeDe knows the way now, this being her third trip south.  We put her on cruise control just past Campbelltown, sat back and enjoyed the journey.  First stop was Yass which iconic Armidale and Sydney radio announcer the Reverend Doctor Doug Mulray once compared to Adelaide which he said was like Yass with poofters.  I like to think we created something of a conundrum, albeit temporarily.

 

In memory of the Rev Dr Doug, not that he's dead or anything.

Sydney to Melbourne was once a day trip with even a couple of hours in Rutherglen en route to stock up on wine but that was once.  These days we stop over somewhere and this trip's overnight was in Tumut which is a rather lovely town that's nestled into the western foothills of the Snowy Mountains.  It seems we aren't the only ones who think it's lovely because the last motel room in the town was booked out ten days before we got there which is when I was fortunate enough to grab the last hotel room with en-suite which is unusual for an old country pub.  We both have excellent PSA levels but we're now on the 70 side of 60 so we need to get up to pee at some point of time through the night.

 

All checked in and looking forward to dinner at the on-site Thai restaurant we set off for a walk to the river with its associated parkland and full autumnal glory.  Even with the walking stick I only made it 200m before my sacroiliac very boldly announced that it would be going no further and that was completely nonnegotiable.

 

As luck would have it this occurred right outside another pub which had boutique beer on tap so after a brief consultation with the woman behind the bar formally known as a barmaid we settled on a couple of schooners of Bridge Road Celtic Red Ale from Beechworth which is just across the Victorian Border.  We then parked ourselves on a matching pair of comfortable leather lounges and called it a day - well apart from the aforementioned dinner at the on-site Thai restaurant which proved most satisfactory.

 

Next morning we drove the kilometre to the Tumut River which was flowing like the clappers as it usually does.  These days the river fed by the overflow from nearby Blowering Reservoir, the lowest of many dams throughout the amazing aquatic network that is the Snowy Mountains Scheme.  But whatever the reason for the flow best not fall in least your body wash ashore in Gundagai by lunchtime.

 

The Tumut River at Tumut.

I know we had Thai for dinner but we can't pass Wodonga without stopping at The Real Thai Kitchen which has been a favourite for ours 20 years now.  It serves the world's tastiest and lightest tod mum (fish cakes) and once again they did not disappoint, in fact they are so good we ordered a second serve for dessert.  What did disappoint was the fact that the owner and chef is now running the entire restaurant by himself, poor bugger.  Like many businesses it took a real battering during the lengthy Victorian COVID lockdowns.  When the federal government recently withdrew JobKeeper that was the end of employing any staff but the important thing is it worked well for the likes of Gerry Harvey who was able to pay himself a huge bonus at taxpayer expense.  That's the Liberal Party doing it for themselves, to more or less paraphrase the Eurythmics. 

 

Not tod mun but our other favourite, green papaya salad.

From there it was back on the freeway and off to the outskirts of Melbourne and I'm careful to specify outskirts because that's where Thelma the slightly confused sat nav told me to turn off the M31 and onto the old Hume Highway.  Then she said "turn right and join that traffic jam for the next 3km" which I dutifully did.  We arrived at Uncle Russell's an hour later when it should have taken just 15 minutes but never mind.

 

It was lovely to see our old friend again, it having been two years and two more years before that.  But all four of Russell's grandparents were born in Ireland which is why I cannot present a clear photograph of him in this tome.  He was half way through his biannual Efudex treatment in preparation for a visit to the skin specialist so was shunning all photographs since he did look a little like he was made up for Halloween.  He did, however, consent to a veiled shot in Queens Park right near the site of Burke and Wills first encampment on their long and rather fatal journey to find Australia's inland sea.  Of course the sea actually did exist albeit a hundred million years before Bob and Bill went looking for it.  Sadly the Eromanga Sea all of its wonders are no longer there, only fossils remain which is rather ironic given the outcome of the expedition.

 

Peter and the camera shy Uncle Russell at Queens Park.

This was the first time we've been to Melbourne without venturing into the city proper.  We've had an extremely fortunate time with COVID down here near the end of the Earth but I remain reluctant to push my luck with public transport and crowds.  We hung happily in the 'burbs with no less than three visits to Poynton's Nursery in nearby Essendon.  Uncle wanted to replant a corner of his garden and I'm always up for a bit of horticulture so off we went, and again, and again.

 

Poynton's is by far the best nursery I've ever had the privilege to visit.  The range of plants is astounding and the quality just superb.  We went some years ago and much like the shan tung chicken from Timmy's Kitchen in Manuka it's stayed in my mind but more of Timmy's later.

 

Camellia sasanqua Yule Tide is now the dominant feature of Russell's new corner and I purchased ten assorted punnets of seedlings to bring home for our own garden: lupins, Livingston daises, an assortment of pansies and some red chard.  There's something at Poynton's for everyone even if you're not a gardener.  They have an excellent homewares and furnishings section and then there's the cafe for the Ladies Who Lunch - and I use the word Ladies in completely gender non-specific non-binary way.

 

Imagine my delight when we discovered a Walter Burley Griffin-Marion Mahony incinerator just along the road from the nursery.  The Essendon Incinerator is one of eighteen built across the eastern states and South Australia, nine of which still survive as restaurants, theatres or galleries.  It is not as elaborate as some but it was still a real treat to have a good look about and meet somebody who knew its history and evolution.  I can't say I was as excited about the several art exhibitions throughout the structure but I'm sure they work for some just as Griffin-Mahony projects work for me.

 

The Essendon Incinerator.

 

The reason for the trip south was the first birthday of our Claytons great-niece Tessa who we had not previously met, 2020 being as 2020 was.  Proud parents Sara and Mags turned on the perfect party with about two dozen guests of all sizes and ages, Tessa being the youngest and her great-grandad the oldest.  Everyone had a lovely time but nobody more than the birthday girl herself.

 

Peter, Tessa and Glenn.

We were reconnecting with the Southern Cawthornes that evening and what was pretty much half way between party central at Williamstown and dinner in Caulfield South but the Botanic Gardens which just happens to be one of our favourite spots in Melbourne.  Once a park as finally secured there went a couple of very pleasant wandering hours.

 

The Botanic Gardens, Melbourne.

Thelma the sat nav once again proved herself to be a lying bitch as we headed south from the Gardens.  Common sense told me to take St Kilda Road but Thelma said "No, don't do that, I want you to take a zigzag route and that way you can get stuck in all the football traffic heading home along Punt Road."

 

What followed was a great deal of swearing but we managed to get to Dan Murphy's in Malvern then back to Cousin Zelda's at Caulfield North and on to the home of daughter Tanya and grandchildren Liev and Amalia arriving at both destinations within minutes of the appointed times.  I put that all down to the power of a foul mouth.

 

But what calm when we reached our final destination!  Tanya and her two kids haven't been long in their new home, the top floor of a one up one down in a particularly leafy part of Caulfield South, and what a serene and comfortable home she's created!  The place has wonderful bones but Tanya has made it into a real home which has both style and context. And as a recovering teacher I give her an A+ for parenting.  Liev and Amalia are truly wonderful kids and Poppy the cat is right up there as well as is Zelda's Phoebe who loves Peter.  We had the best evening and I was sad when time finally came to turn DeDe northwards from the southernmost point of our sojourn. 

Zelda, Tanya, Liev, Glenn & Amalia.

 

This seems like a good point to digress onto the topic of Melbourne roads...

 

How Victoria got its freeways

 

Imagine, if you will, a large grid of streets which essentially begins on the southern bank of the River Murray then extends southward to Bass Strait and the other watery bits on either side. This, with very few exceptions, is the road pattern of the State of Victoria.  

 

Now imagine that grid becoming much denser at one more or less central southern point. That is the state capital, Melbourne.  Put traffic lights and railway level crossings everywhere and I do mean everywhere and you have 1970s Melbourne.  And tram lines (we mustn't forget the tram lines) and hook turns in the CBD because they're great fun, especially for interstaters.

 

If you're not geographically inclined you can now relax a moment because we are off to the emerging Yarra Valley wine region for a Chardy-fueled week of fun, frivolity and town planning at the biennial Country Roads Board conference, this being the predecessor to VicRoads.

 

These had previously been closed door events but this was the early 70s and emerging TV journalists like Mike Willesee and Carolyn Jones were always sniffing about for a story so it was deemed prudent to take along a couple of maps, just as distracting props.  One featured the grid that was the road pattern of the State of Victoria and the other the grid that was the City of Melbourne.

 

Then a most interesting thing happened...

 

Spaghetti marinara was served on the third night of the conference along with generous lashings of a young but rather moreish Pinot Noir.  Well it wasn't long before things turned ugly when a couple of the less cultured attendees from The Mallee took offence at the wog tucker that had been set before them.  "What do you think I am?" shouted one "A bloody dago or a fucken seagull?!"  He then hurled a mussel at the waiter which was rather rude but possibly fortunate because it had failed to open during the cooking process and was therefore most likely off.

 

One thing lead to another and the spaghetti followed, some of it landing completely unnoticed on the two maps which were on a nearby table.  It wasn't until two days later that the dried mess was observed by a particularly well travelled town planner from to Toorak who had visited Disneyland and been on the Autopia ride.  "Freeways!" he bellowed.  "Fucken freeways, that's what we need!  Sir Henry will fucken love it!  Now where's that fucken waiter with the fucken Chardy?!"

 

And that is the story of how Victoria got its freeways.  They didn't bother with any needs based analysis or even surveying.  They just got a couple of lasses from the typing pool to give each strand of spaghetti a letter followed by a number then built the whole system exactly as it looked that day minus the prawns and oysters.  Those were pocketed by an observer from the NSW Department of Main Roads then replicated in massive proportion by the side of the Pacific Highway at Ballina and Taree respectively.  

 

Next morning we said our thanks and goodbyes to Uncle Russell and joined one of the aforementioned freeways at Bulla Road expecting to see a sign which read Sydney, Canberra or at least Wodonga but no such thing exists.  A few minutes later we were on the Calder Freeway heading towards Ballarat.  Some route recalculation finally got us onto the rather oddly styled M31 and a full hour later we spotted the very first Wodonga sign which confirmed we were indeed on the right road.  Two hours on there was one which read Sydney.  Nice work VicRoads, the lads at the 1972 biennial piss-up in the Yarra Valley would be proud of youse.  

 

It was not too far north of the Sydney sign that I pulled off the freeway and into what we thought might be the famous roadhouse restaurant at Wangaratta, ever hopeful of spotting the wahini but she's long gone as is her husband Craig.  Their lauded establishment has been replaced by an unholy trinity of Maccas, KFC and Hungry Jack's all huddled together in a cholesterol cluster just on the south side of town.  We continued on to a Mexican place called Zambrero which promotes itself as being both healthy and environmentally sound and it probably is but don't rush.
 

We were headed for Canberra that night but it turned out to be a long drive with us arriving at our accommodation just in time to break out the walking stick for the shortish sprint to Timmy's Kitchen in Manuka.  I will admit to being a tad obsessive about their shan tung chicken which we always pair with serve of English spinach and garlic.  We're such creatures of habit.

 

The bed at the Forrest Lodge Hotel and Apartments was super comfortable which was much appreciated after a very long drive, in fact so appreciated that it was an effort to get up and go to the Botticelli to Van Gogh exhibition at the NGA next morning but we had tickets and that was the whole point of being in Canberra.

 

Car park full just 20 minutes after the gallery opened; queues to get in; and queues for the exhibition.  It's true what they say, everyone is travelling at home this year especially the old codgers who have to stand in front of every picture for half a bloody hour then spend another fifteen minutes reading the blurb on the wall and talking about it.  We were suddenly back in the traffic jam Thelma that sat nav directed us to join in the north of Melbourne five days earlier. That gave me time to remember exactly why I dislike ticketed art events, especially ones where people can use a QR code to download a commentary onto their device and stand about blocking bloody traffic for even longer. 

 

Never mind, serenity now, serenity now.  It wasn't a bad exhibition, not as extensive as it might have been but Van Gogh's Sunflowers is worth a look in the right light and it was.  But the van Dyck took my eye, something from his Inbred Period.  There's something about the vacant stares.

 

Something from Anthony van Dyck's Inbred Period.

We parked below the nearby National Portrait Gallery which is always a must see and there were absolutely no disappointments there.  I've been known to stop and chat with portraits, some being so engaging as to draw you right into them.

 

Now way back in the day I loved the Tradesmen's Union Club up in Dixon because they had old Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane and Adelaide trams inside the building.  In fact it looked like they'd positioned them first then built around them just a tradesmen might do.  You could have a beer in a tram; enjoy one of their famous schnitties in a tram; have coffee and cake in a tram; or even play the pokies in a tram.  The membership badge was an enamelled tram which had me renewing year after year to get a new one but the badges have long gone as had all but one of the trams.  But they still serve a damed fine schnitty for a member's price of just $12 so I'm a member again for the next three years at least and that only cost the saving on a couple of beers.

 

While we were over that side of town a stroll in the National Botanic Gardens at the foot of Black Mountain seemed in order and did we get the timing right or what?!  We arrived at the Rainforest Gully just as the misters came on which they do three times a day.  Now talk about Gorillas in the Mist, we couldn't see the fingers on our own outstretched arms!  Less adventurous souls were cautiously fleeing the area but I had the walking stick so tapped my way along the raised metal path with Peter holding on to my shirt tail.  What jolly fun we had! The below picture was taken when the fog began to clear, the ones I took earlier just look like mistakes.

 

A Gorilla in the Mist.

The very next road along goes up to the Telstra Tower on Black Mountain and it had been decades so why not?!  I'd forgotten just how good the view is and there's a lot more of it than there was 30 years ago, Canberra having grown some.  It was night that time as well and therein lies a story...

 

The Tale of the Fish Fillet and the non-Kosher Band-Aid

 

Back when I taught at Artarmon it was our practice to take Year 6 on an annual two night excursion to Canberra; three nights one year when we added on the snow.  This was a regular year though, sometime in the early 90s.  We'd had bad accommodation experiences in the past so ratcheted things up a few notches to a large and rather comfortable hotel in Narrabundah which has since restyled itself as an Ibis.

 

All was going swimmingly well until a scream rent the air at dinner the first evening.  The kid who'd ordered the kosher meal discovered a band-aid in between his piece of fish and its coating.  And it wasn't just any bandaid, it was a used bandaid that had clearly slipped off the finger of whoever prepared the fish, something that happened off-site as we were assured minutes later when all six teachers stormed into the kitchen carrying the offending piece of fish with the band-aid which had been retrieved from the mouth of the still screaming child.

 

Management was mortified.  All meals were hastily recalled with an assurance of something freshly prepared on-site by staff who's fingers we were welcome to inspect.  The problem was that wouldn't happen immediately and when it did they could only feed about two-thirds the kids first up.

 

The bus drivers were even more mortified than the hotel manager because it was their company that had organised the whole thing.  They offered to take the waiting third on a night tour of Canberra while the rest of us took turns relaxing or supervising those that remained. What did they know about duty of care?  Forty kids on a bus with no teachers, that wasn't gonna happen.

 

My good friend Anstee and I volunteered to go out with the first group, one of our stops being the Telstra Tower and here I am almost 30 years on pointing out the location of the non-Kosher Band-Aid Hotel with my walking stick.  My how time flies!

 

Pointing towards the non-Kosher Bandaid Hotel.

But the Narrabundah Hotel wasn't just memorable for its band-aids, something else happened there once a month on a Thursday evening.

 

With all children now fed it was decided that the night tour would continue but Anstee and I, having done the initial trek and still in need of dinner, could stay behind while the other four took charge.  The embarrassed manager ushered us out of the group area and into the main dinning room where we were told to order whatever we liked from the menu.  All good.

 

I was just headed to the bar to get drinks when a couple of well dressed handsome gentlemen appeared at our table.  Now Anstee was then and still is quite the glamor with personality to match.  The eyelids started to flutter and the charm began to flow and moments later the two well dressed handsome gentlemen offered to buy us drinks.  She, of course accepted and when they went off to the bar adjusted her Telstra Tower blown hair and assured me that this sort of thing happened to her all the time.

 

The well dressed handsome gentlemen returned with four drinks and accepted our invitation to sit down but just then our meals arrived so they suggested we join them in the bar around the corner for another drink when we finished and off they went with a friendly glance over their respective shoulders as they disappeared around the corner.

 

Anstee was absolutely glowing by that point, so much so in fact that her glass of handsome man Chardonnay was beginning to bubble.

 

We finished our meals then Anstee refreshed her lipstick and off we went to the bar around the corner where our two new friends introduced us to the rest of their group - the Canberra Gay Business Association.  Now remember this was 30 years and 25kg ago.  It seems I'd proved a hit with my then dark hair and beard, swimmer's body, leather bomber jacket, cargo shorts and Hi-Tops.  Anstee, on the other hand, was glamorously polite if somewhat crestfallen.  All I could think of was what fun it was going to be telling the story in the staffroom back at school the following Monday.  Damn shame we had to go and check on the kiddies though or might be living in Canberra right now!

 

A ramble about the Jerrabomberra Wetlands and a bit of twitching was on the agenda for next morning but rain coupled with a flat tyre put paid to that plan.  I no longer do tyres so put in a call to the NRMA (AA) and we were soon on our way to an exhibition of treasures at the National Library which was probably a better way to spend what was left of the morning than trudging about in the rain in a swamp, as interesting as that particular swamp might be.

 

A very nice Turkish lunch saw us back on the road for the unnecessarily longish drive home to the Heights-of-Hornsby.  NSW governments of the conservative persuasion have had a habit of greasing the palms of their mates for half a century or more and so it was when the contract to build and run the orbital M7 motorway was let.  It should have been constructed with three lanes in each direction but there was money to be saved and profit to be made by only building two lanes each way with no room for future expansion because all the bridges and elevated easements are too narrow to accommodate an extra lane.  The motorway, like the M5 tunnel before it, opened to maximum capacity on Day 1.

 

But what does Bruce know or even care of institutional corruption, he was just pleased to have his Dads home and very nearly turned himself inside out with joy.  What a happy, happy Boy!

 

My Dads are home!