Roos with Views

With just five weeks to go till we depart for the UK, mid-winter found us heading south to catch up with friends and have Peter’s eye patches tightened up by the Mogo man who makes them.  Being leather, the straps stretch over time so they require a service every 6-12 months unless Pete lets his hair grow really thick or gets an otherwise swollen head.

First stop was Kiama, famous for its blowhole which has, on occasion, swallowed those who have failed to heed the warning sign and climbed the fence for a final closer look.  Never mind though, that’s just Darwinism at work.  Without it we’d all still be amoeba. 

Peter’s oldest mate lives in a retirement village in Kiama and we like to get down to visit a couple of times a year if we can so this time we coupled lunch with a night at the Sebel Harbourside and a good combination it was!

Kiama Accommodation Tip #1

Check the online booking sites for one that has a room and breakfast deal for the Sebel Harbourside Kiama – you won’t be disappointed.  And don’t be afraid to ask for a room with a view.  We scored an upgrade which simply never happens to me unless it's a car rental in North America and that's rarely ever a good thing but our studio room with its view of the harbour was excellent. 

The hotel is built around an old granite and sandstone infants' school which now serves as its function centre.  The old building is along the lines of the school in 'Doc Martin', as NSW public schools were in the mid-19th century – almost church-like.  The rest of the hotel is a fairly modern structure that circles the old buildings without compromising them too much.

Allow a little longer for the generous buffet breakfast than you might think necessary and drink in the view.  Eat slowly and just enjoy being there.

Kiama Tucker Tip #1

And whilst on the topic of food, dinner at the Hanoi on Manning is now on my Kiama must-do list.  This excellent Vietnamese is just around the corner and across the road from the post office and is open for dinner and lunch every day except Tuesdays.

We started with a Vietnamese pancake filled with prawns, chicken and bean shoots then moved on to a green papaya salad – one of my very favourites.  The main was a most extraordinary marinated and pan fried fish fillet – beautifully done. 

There are plenty of excellent vegetarian options as well.  We didn’t need dessert but it all sounded so good.  I went with the sago pudding.  My grandmother used to make sago but I hated it because I thought it was frog spawn.  Go figure!

When the woman who was serving us returned, she asked if we enjoyed out desserts – as they do.  I waxed about mine and said it was just like my grandmother used to make – apart from the banana and roasted peanuts.   She asked if my grandmother still made it and I said "Goodness no, she's dead!"

Well, the poor woman was mortified; she thought she'd said the most insensitive thing in the world.  I immediately launched into "No darl, it's alright, really!  She's been gone for almost 50 years, it's OK, truly!"  But despite all my reassurances, I doubt she'll ask after anyone's grandmother ever again.

Next morning was glorious.  I left Sleeping Beauty to his slumbers and headed out, new camera at the ready, to enjoy the morning light.  There's a small harbour below the hotel so I walked around that and up to the town.  Everyone over the age of 40 greeted me with a cheery "Morning" at the very least whilst the rest just hurried by with eyes and thighs firmly glued to their iDildos.  I chatted with numerous dogs and birds, taking photographs of the latter, and all was perfectly right with the world.

Well, it was until I had a near-death experience on the way into Batemans Bay.  I stopped for a pee and inadvertently picked up some hitchhikers who tried to kill me - albeit slowly!

We were headed to the village of Mogo to see Peter's patch man and I knew that would put undue pressure on the bladder by the time we finally arrived at Cate and Brian's so I pulled over and hit the bush for a piddle.  And what lush bush it was, lush and rather MOIST as it happened!  All was good but a couple of Ks down the road I had the feeling that things were not right in the sock department...

Leeches, there were bloody vampire leeches sucking on me like Donald Trump and Warren Buffett at an asset-stripping orgy!

I pulled over, jumped out of the car and danced around like a redneck hillbilly at a hoedown!  In hindsight, I was a complete and utter embarrassment to myself but I had leeches sucking on both legs!

Peter was useless, he just sat there bewildered, and I couldn't pull the buggers off because my fingers kept slipping on their slimy leech skin. 

Now up here for thinkin', down there for dancin' – I ripped open the glove box and grabbed one of the paper napkins I hoped was in there, wrapped it around the first ever-expanding mongrel leech and pulled!  It worked but the damned thing slipped straight out of the napkin and headed for my hand, angrier and uglier than ever!  I yelled, I swore and I danced some more and in the process flung the foul bloody thing to who-knows-where but then I realised it was not alone!  The removal process continued a little more methodically from that point onward but with none of the respect I normally show to all lifeforms, even cockroaches – I stomped on each of those satanic annelids bastards and ground them into the dirt!

A little further down the road, during a calmer more reflective moment, I wondered what worthwhile purpose leeches actually serve in the greater scheme of things.  Would the planet be a lesser place if all of them were to simply disappear from its face – and perhaps take Tony Abbott & Co along for company?

We had a great catch-up with the McFoleys, arriving just as Cate’s towering 15 year-old nephew, Dom, was helping Brian assemble an outdoor heater that looked suspiciously like a device that ASIO might use to eavesdrop on those who do not play on Team Australia.

Dom & Brian with the ASIO listening device.

We visited Mogo Zoo and their famous white lions next day, but the highlight was a chance meeting with one of the keepers who was sharing quality time with a lonely Brazilian tapir that had recently lost his sister and life-long companion.  The search is on for another tapir, Brazilian or Malay, and failing that a capybara.  Should all that prove fruitless Mendez will be sharing his old age with a pig which should work.  He’s a lovely creature.

From there it was on to Maloneys Beach which is a bayside suburb just north of town.  It abuts the national park and long the grassy strip betwixt water and street is home to a troop of over a hundred Eastern Greys – roos with views!

I remember the first wild kangaroo I ever saw as a kid and how excited I was.  That excitement and delight has never waned and each kangaroo I see is like the first so I was beside myself wandering amongst a hundred of them who were completely accepting of the ecstatic stranger in their midst.

It’s always difficult to turn the Pathfinder northward after visiting the McFoleys at their patch of heaven but north we went with visions of kangaroo poo dancing in our heads – lots and lots of kangaroo poo!

Click on the roo poo for the slideshow

A Postcard from the Gold Coast

I can see how Paradise slipped into the name of this place.  The beach isn’t at all shabby and for just $145 a night you can stay in a very smart two bedroom apartment on the 12^th floor of a building that’s directly opposite the ocean.  And although you have to lean over the balcony rail to see the street, it’s the perfect perch from which to make god-like pontifications about the limited parking abilities of sub-mortals below.  But the view is the real attraction.  When we opened the door and walked in, the convergence of the sky and the Pacific was all we could see and it is superlatively gobsmacking!

Morning breaking

The car drop-off, the flight up, the rental pick-up and the drive from the airport were all uncharacteristically flawless as was the meet-up with the apartment owner’s agent.  After a chorus of vista-inspired gasps, we headed to Pacific Fair to stock up on breakfast essential plus a few bottles of wine and some vodka so we could enjoy a wee nip mixed with an organic guilt-free and completely diabetic-friendly citrus concoction I rather fancy.  When fused with the aforementioned vodka, it’s rather reminiscent of the tray drinks an extremely kind waiter saved for us when we were late to the captain’s cocktail party on our Royal Caribbean Alaska cruise aboard the ‘Peasant Clubbing, Lurex & Diamanté Encrusted, Vision of the Seas’.  

Cheers

That was back around 2000 and of course Royal Caribbean has moved on.  Their glass elevators have been replaced with teleporters and all America-based cruises now feature daily on-board executions of death-row inmates – twice-daily for cruises out of Galveston TX.  Themed executions like ‘Pirates of the Royal Caribbean Walk-the-Plank’ are a particular hit with the kiddies.  As usual though, I do digress but you know how Americans value gratuitous violence with a hefty side-serve of down-home Judaeo-Christian vengeance.

And speaking of things Judaeo-Christian, our first engagement of the trip was an après-Evensong dinner with a certain Reverend Principal and her Cleric-Consort.  The RP deserted Public Education several years ago for the Dark Side and has more recently landed the top job at a private school that’s so exclusive its name cannot be spoken aloud and may only be scribed without vowels. 

I nearly choked on my fettucine al fungi when the Reverend Principal revealed that not only do she and the good lady bishop go shoe and handbag shopping but that she also sits on the synod – the parliament of the diocese!  It is within her power to have McWilliams port banished from the Eucharistic wine list and replaced with her favorite Vasse Felix or any other tipple that takes her fancy – red, white or sparkling.  Perhaps Grange for Christmas and Easter?

Gold Coast Tucker Tip #1

It’s all peace, love and mung beans at Govinda’s right opposite the Surfers Paradise tram stop.  Govinda’s is completely vegan and absolutely stinks of Krishna consciousness.  If you ever find yourself on the Coast, ‘hare’ on down there for a feed.

Try the pakoras but don't forget the chutney

Gold Coast Tucker Tip #2

If you prefer the bouzouki over the sitar why not try George’s at Sanctuary Cove?  Provided you avoid the Miles Franklin Award winning wine list you can enjoy a stunning meal at an extraordinarily reasonable price.  I had a main of the best garlic prawns I have ever tasted for just $18.  They were served over a bed of perfect rice infused with a butter sauce that would have made a meal on its own.  The serving was generous but I very nearly cried when it was finished.  George’s is already on the list for our next visit to the Gold Coast. 

Aunty Joan & Peter

And that should be roughly the same time next year.  The reason we go north is to visit Peter’s lovely Aunty Joan who is a most special lady.  She moved up here some years ago to be closer to her daughter who then lived at the aforementioned Sanctuary Cove which is, as you probably know, a seriously flash gated community that’s built on what Queensland does best – a massive canal development.  You are never really sure about what you’re standing on in this part of the world.  Twenty years ago it might have been land or it might have been water or, more likely, something in between.  Never let it be said that Queenslanders tolerate mangroves – not even for a moment!

 

We took Aunty Joan and her lovely little dog, Honey, on a drive up to Tamborine Mountain which is an excursion to be recommended.  Once the grades of up to 20’ are negotiated you will find yourself in the place where Kuranda meets Mt Wilson.  You can wander happily through the forests; stare in awe at waterfalls; or simply sift through all the tourist detritus – whatever takes your fancy.  There’s even a scaled-back Georges up there or you can throw the heap in low gear and head back down the mountain to the waterside Georges as we did.

Aunty Joan, Peter & Honey

The new Gold Coast Light Rail is an efficient system that’s worth a ride.  It doesn’t yet connect with the Gold Coast to Brisbane rail line should do so in time for the 2018 Commonwealth Games for which preparations are well underway without the obscene slave labourer death toll we are currently standing by and simply observing in Qatar.

Peter & the Gold Coast G:link

That said, ‘Develop and Consume’ should be the motto of the Gold Coast is it isn’t already.  Since having helped edit that terribly green handbook a few years ago, the last drop of feral consumerism has been drained from my being to the point where I crave a daily dose of genuine sustainability – my chooks, our 10,000 litre water tank, the solar panels on our house and my veggie garden.

Gold Coast Real Estate Tip #1

Don’t!  Properties often come back on the market at less than their original purchase price.  This is great if you want to live there but it’s not the place to invest.

One of the many Towers of Babel

A highlight was a visit to the new Tweed Regional Gallery which is built on a hillside south of Murwillumbah that has spectacular view of Mt Warning-Wollumbin and the Tweed Valley.  I had been promised several rooms of Margaret Olley and assumed there were several rooms of her work on display but it is quite literally several rooms of the late artist’s Paddington home/studio faithfully transported and recreated inside the gallery.  I have seen whole-room installations before but nothing like the organised chaos in which Margaret Olley lived and worked.  The smell of the dust alone has heritage value.  A repeat visit is required.

Have a look... 

Mt Warning-Wollumbin from the Tweed Regional Gallery

From there it was on for an audience with the Reverend Principal at the Holy See itself.  Both the NSW and Australian Governments have been very kind to the Dark Side – it was good to see my tax dollars at work. 

OK, that was said completely tongue-in-cheek.  I remain forever yours, a dedicated free-market socialist along the lines of the Nordic Model, and an avid supporter of Public Education.

Cheers comrades

Glenn

A Christo masterpiece at Robina Town Centre

Somebody Else’s Mouth - A Cautionary Tale of Gum Disease

I am currently grieving the loss of the mouth I have become accustom to these last 60 years whilst, at the same time, trying to adjust to what feels like somebody else’s oral cavity complete with stitches and sensations which range from simple discomfort through to moderate pain.  I am generally good with the latter; it’s the flatness that I really don’t like – probably a side effect from several more hours of anaesthetic than what was originally planned.

I have undergone the latest ‘must-have’ periodontal procedure which is all the rage in Hollywood and the less trashy parts of Europe – the removal of enlarged and fibrous gingival tissue – an oral circumcision of sorts.  I joked about that but it’s come back to bite me. 

Having been ringbarked at three or four days, like almost all Australian males of my age, I was certain there was nothing below my chin that would enter into proceedings so imagine my surprise and discomfort when I woke up to find a plastic tube protruding from my penis.  There had been no discussion of this during the planning stages but we were originally talking about a two and a half hour operation, not the five and half hours I ended up with.

I understand that there are individuals who actually derive pleasure from recreational ureteral intrusion but I can assure you that I do not count myself amongst their number!

I woke up good with the anaesthetic but feeling as if the lower part of my face had been battered about with a brick, both inside and out.  And not a quality brick either, more of a grubby, mortar-encrusted common from the very bottom of seconds pile.  I appeared to have a mass of attachments in and around my mouth.  These ranged from icepacks to what I was certain was a shoe horn.  This later revealed itself as the back of my upper front teeth – an uncomfortable reality that I am still in the process of accepting.  I thought I had a mouth full of packing and dressing but the vast majority of it was simply the new trim and exposed me.

The complex and protracted conversation about litigation I was overhearing from the nursing station in the recovery room turned out not to involve me which was an eventual relief but then I was set upon by my periodontist, his assistant, the anaesthetist and several others which was just way too many people in one small space but it got worse when I was wheeled, not-so-gently, to my private room with the very nice view across Middle Harbour, over The Spit and on to North Head beyond.

It was an anti-tardis – smaller on the inside than the outside!  How could this be?  I had only viewed the rooms from the exterior of the building and must say the bay windows are completely deceptive.  They make the rooms look spacious but in reality I was tightly wedged into an undersized bed which fronted a mushroom colored wall all-too-closely. 

Now, I’m tall but not exceptionally so.  Why is it that all hospital beds seem to conform to dimensions established by Florence Nightingale during the Crimean War when your average male was the height of a malnourished Yorkshire coalminer?  Four people were fussing over me; checking my BGLs which were hovering around 19 and my blood pressure which was similarly elevated; packing more ice on my swollen face; checking the cannula and the accursed catheter; and generally making a very small room close in even further on me.

There seemed only one course of action to take.  I burst into a sweat and all the terror of that hideous night I spent imprisoned in a Gold Class cabin on that godforsaken relic of the 1970s, the Indian-bloody-Pacific, came flooding back.  “Drugs trolley, sweetie; drugs trolley!”

They all retreated except for Anne, my own personal RN who worked with me through the night to bring my BGLs down to a glorious 4.9 and then by change of shift I was an unheard of 3.4 so it was onto the sugary orange juice – pure luxury.

Somewhere along the way a very pleasant young man in Muslim head gear arrived with an extension for the bed.  I thanked him in a most sincere, if somewhat sibilant, way.  He had every opportunity to decapitate me whilst munching on a halal lamb chop and crying “Allah Akbar!” but of course 99.9999999999% of them just don’t do that – contrary to what Senator Jacqui Lambie and the scare-mongers from the Murdoch Press would have us all believe.  There would be no relief that night!

After a long and very close relationship with Channel 11, dawn finally broke and Our Lady of the Orange Juice returned to check my BGLs and blood pressure but this time also announced that she would remove the catheter.  This instilled in me the expectations of all of my childhood Christmases bundled into one single, beautifully wrapped package.  Oh joy, oh bliss!  Perhaps the reason slightly more twisted individuals willingly assault their urethras is for the shear physical and psychological relief of having the bloody obstruction removed.

Two jubilant rainbow lorikeets flew by my window, turned and flew back again then, with the cannula also removed, we were all ready for a new unattached day.

Castlecrag Private Hospital Tip #1

Request – no, demand – room 21.  It is the only one with an unobstructed water view.  The hospital is actually the expansion of a house designed and built by Walter Burley Griffin and just out my window and to the right was another of his treasures.

Periodontal Tip #1

If you are on long-term blood pressure medication have a serious talk with your doctor about the periodontal implications of your particular pharmaceutical brew.  Some 30+ years of the same inappropriate drug is precisely what caused my gingival tissue to become fibrous and enlarge – and you don’t want to go there, trust me!

Postscript

I am, of course, home now.  Two nights in hospital was quite enough, I was eager to return to my own familiar space.  Peter is taking great care of me as are Jan and Tony and Kevin was simply beside himself at my return.  Our boy does like to have both his dards corralled in the same space where he can be fully in charge of all proceedings.

I have an appointment with Bill the periodontist on Friday at which time the stitches may or may not come out.  I will at least be reassured by his examination.  Of course some sedation may well be in order when I receive the updated account.  The original estimate was a shocker so given the extra time on the table I’m bracing myself for something closer to double, less than half of which will be covered by my health fund and Medicare combined.  Good news is the hospital stay was fully covered by Teachers Health – my first claim in 40 years of contributions.

Hospital Wine List Tip #1

Should you ever have oral surgery and find yourself served grilled barramundi with mango salsa the following evening, best break with tradition and select a red.  The white was far too chill on the back of the teeth.