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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Something from Anthony van Dyck's Inbred Period. |
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.
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| 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!
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| 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!
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| My Dads are home! |
