Competition

The first person to find some helpful istructions on how to harvest the honey from our new apiary- and send them to me - will win a prize.

They must be useful and have pictures. We have a smoker thing and funny helmet with a screeen for keeping the bees from the Burber King's face.

Look at that apiary. It looks all innocent and peaceful now. Just wait till we have a crack at it.

Frontier Town

About that frontier town nonsense- I am not sure where I picked that up. It was in some self-congratulatory nonsense I read recently. It makes me feel like I am in a western. Surrounded by red necks.

Darth Rudd

"Australia should aim to become a greater force for good in the world."

http://eherald.alp.org.au/articles/0307/natp11-01.php

Use the force, Kevin.

Burbs? What Burbs?

A big day today. Our ultimate non-burbs quest. A farm. A couple of hours ago the final settlement went through on a farming property we have bought in Margaret River in partnership with my brother and his wife. We are minor partners, but what the hell – we still have access to a farm. As Downsouth Realty describes, the farm is 120 acres ‘with 25 acres of bush and complimented by views of surrounding farms’. And it has a farm house. A FARM HOUSE!!! Arrrghhhhh!

The real estate blurbs don’t mention the two blind cows we have inherited. Blind Beauty is pictured around here somewhere.

Nor the ostrich. Yes. An ostrich. And the tractor. A TRACTOR!!! BurberKing is thrilled.

Its all very exciting for us. We are going down there this weekend to furnish.

Personally, I cannot wait for winter when I can set the massive granite fire place with a fire and then go walking around the paddocks and the bush in my wellington boots, only to return to the farmhouse to get warm. Leaving the muddies boots outside of course.

Please come and visit when you are in town.

Big Ships

Just the other week, the biggest ocean liner in the world docked in the Sydney Harbour. It was the Queen Mary 2. Twelve hours after the arrival of the QM2, her sister ship, the Queen Elizabeth 2 arrived in the Sydney Harbour.

It must have been quite a sight. The pictures here don’t quite do the event justice. The traffic problems the meeting caused in Sydney drew more attention on the air waves than the ships themselves. But who cares about cars stuck in jams when you have these two magnificent beauties cruising in. I wish I had been in Sydney to see it. Ocean liners never fail to amaze me.

Imagine the captains and their pilots manoeuvring these ocean liners through Sydney Harbour. As new and as massive as the Queen Mary 2 is, the QE2 is still a gorgeous and stylish craft. Seeing each other’s ships passing in this fantastic harbour must have been an amazing moment for the captains. It would have brought a tear to the eye.

I went on the QE2 once for a few hours when it was in Fremantle in 1990. My parents were off on a cruise to Africa. They like the ocean liners. They once took my four siblings around the world on a ship – the Angelina Lauro.

Dad arrived in Fremantle off a ship, like so many immigrants (these days and then; though Dad’s ship would have been more comfortable than our modern day refugee carriers. And the welcome more hospitable. Selfish Australia. Shame on you). In Fremantle, the local council recently built a wall and hung plaques on it with the names of all the European people that came to Western Australia as refugees after the Second World War. Nation builders they are called – now, at least. They wouldn’t have been called nation builders in 1946. They were unwelcome, but not as unwelcome as today’s refugees. Today’s refugees are all labelled as potential threats to our society, locked up in a cage in the desert to go mad. The threat to our society is allowing this awful situation to continue. I wonder what the plaques for these refugees will say.

What I know is that immigration is good for the economy, and I can’t get anyone to build me some decking for less than $220 per square metre – so let them in and share the wealth.

Take your medicine

Invite received

"We may just chuck some snags on the Barbie and slap it on a bit of bread."

Well, that is my Saturday night sorted.

Back

We are back from our holiday. We had a great couple of weeks skiing. We stayed in La Tania, a village in the middle of the 3 Valleys ski area. It is an area we had visited before; in 2000 for a particularly ridiculous holiday, and was where I had a more than ridiculous downhill accident. I took a picture of the slope for those of you that ever heard of my accident (in the web album link here somewhere); or who may have been there on the night. In retrospect, I was lucky to walk away clutching at my frozen rum and coke.

I have a web album up with some photos we took. http://picasaweb.google.com/luckymojito/January2007FranceAndBelgium

We just went skiing all day on most days so there is not much to tell – the photos set the scene. I will say one thing about skiing – this is the kind of sporting holiday you can do at any age from 3 to 70+. There are lots of old folks out there on the French slopes. By that age, sure, you are not going to be fond of icy black runs; or be queuing for the first lift (I must be prematurely 70) – but you can get out of bed, stretch your legs, get your gear on, trot outside, sit on a chair, ski down a gentle slope – maybe do that 2 or 3 times and off to lunch and then an afternoon nap. I doubt that there will ever be many 70 year old snowboarders out on the slopes. The assault on the knees and arse would be too much for the elderly. So there is a whole load of snow sport enthusiasts out there who might find that their winter holidays in the snow won’t continue because their mode of travel is designed primarily for youthful joints and those 20-somethings willing to wear their pants hanging down around their knees. I may be wrong about this. It makes for conversation.

There are a lot of Russians in Courcheval 1850 these days. It seemed a bit seedy. I know that it is bad to make generalisations about anyone. Having said that, there is a generalisation about rich Russians being crooked Russians. The poor French. They put up with the touring English for so many years, and now the Russians are coming. As well as this ill-informed generalising Australian (with a pommie passport). Still, someone is making loads of money up there. For instance, there is a pub that sells a half pint of Kronenburg for 25 Euros. A $7 half pint of Leffe in Perth pales in comparison.

After we had our dose of skiing, we went to Brussels, Belgium. We were greeted by our marvellous friends at the train station. They even had an esky waiting for us. It was a lovely week catching up with the Osborne’s and a lovely 30 minutes catching up with the Meston-Bunting’s. The latter got tragically ill and retired to the toilet for the next 3 days. Poor loves.
There are some photos from this expedition too. I was quite surprised at the beer. I had heard the Belgians were into it; but they really are very, very into it. And its great and its cheap.

Like us, our friends live in a house that needs some renovation, so we were glad to go and check out some salle de bains magasins with them. You’ll be glad to know that tiling and bathroom shops are much the same no matter where you go – located in the sticks and full of too many tiles that you could never hope to choose between. They did spy a great bath though.

I know I should write more about the holiday. But I am bad at it.

It was the usual long trip home plus 2 hours in the customs hall at Perth International Airport. No wonder there is a low unemployment rate – everyone is in uniform checking your passports or rifling through your luggage. One day I am going to be brave enough to re-enter Australia on my British Passport. When the ever-so-casual immigration man asks me how long I am staying, I will say ‘forever’ and get into some argument about visas. When it gets too much I’ll whip out the blue passport and tell him to go and get a real job. As if I can talk about real jobs…

Anyway, as soon as we got home, we jumped in the car and went to the beach. A swim in the ocean can cure so many things including the devastation of a 28 hour rail and air and customs hall journey. And then the next day we got back into the Burbs. Starting with picking up a big tray of Carnarvon mangoes for $11.99. Bargain.

Christmas 2006/7

I have just got back from a long 5 week break from work. 3 of those were spent overseas. But the other 2 were spent having a lovely Christmas and New Year time. Christmas was great - mucking about at the beach, doing jigsaw puzzles in the courtyard and drinking too much wine. Burber King and I took on the job of cooking the turkey for Christmas lunch. I only volunteered after having a brilliant turkey thanksgiving dinner in November with our wonderful neighbourhood friends. A good turkey really is possible. It doesn't have to be dried out after all. Turns out those Americans do know a thing or two - and cooking turkey is one of them (our friends aren't American (not that there is anything wrong with that... I adore Gore Vidal) they just lived there for a while). Anyway, our turkey was a success. And here is a picture of the family feeding on it.

New Year was a cool little home party with family and our neighbourhood friends. Big dinner, rowdiness and hats. I like the mini-party.

Here is a web-album of a few shots around this time. http://picasaweb.google.com.au/luckymojito/ChristmasTime20062007

Happy New Year

It doesn't feel much like a happy new year now that Glenn McGrath, Justin Langer, Damien Martyn and Shane Warne have all retired. And we thought the Chappell-Lillee-Marsh retirement was a bad time in Australian cricket...

We are leaving the Burbs for a few weeks. Off to the French Alps.

See ya. We will be back soon.

Happy new year!

Merry Christmas

It doesn't feel very much like Christmas now that Shane Warne has retired from cricket. Its like being given a lump of coal in your stocking. Next thing you know, we'll lose our best pace bowler and wicket-keeper/batsman...

Christmas time again. I am now on annual leave for 6 weeks. I haven't had a break like that since I took a year off 2 and half years ago. I am astoundingly lucky. We are off to France to have a bit of a ski, and then to Belgium to catch up with some absolutely super friends.

2006 was a bit of a shitter of a year for me. Major personal disasters and then waking up one day in the burbs. This is nothing compared to the lives of some. I am astoundingly lucky. I will know by the end of the year if we have a farm in Margaret River. I would not have expected that to happen at the start of the year. Yet, it has, and we are now all excited about buying a tractor. Mortgages aside, there is really nothing to complain about. We cannot do all the things we had hoped to and dreamed of, but we have a good old crack at the others.

I like Christmas. I like celebrating the birth of a great man. Jesus had a good message: Love one another. 2006 years later, it rarely sounds like that same simple message. 2006 years is a long time to play chinese whispers.

One more thing. I miss my friends living overseas. Why is it we all only got to live in the same place for that amount of time? Have a great Christmas and we'll see you about.

I was going to put up a funny photo of us saying merry Christmas, but that would have been silly.

(Changed my mind. Merry Christmas!)

The Ashes

After feeling the pain of an Ashes defeat 15 months ago in England, McGrath said he had no sympathy for the opposition who had handed back the urn in just 15 days of cricket. "You don't feel too much for them," he said. "I remember standing on The Oval last year watching England celebrate when they won the Ashes. "I'm sure everyone else in Australia who met up with any England supporter since then has really copped it, so no, we don't feel sorry for them. Order has been restored."

Order has been restored. That is exactly what one of my companions said to me ysterday as we walked away from the WACA ground after having watched the Third Test of the Ashes. All is well.

I can't find the words to talk about Adam Gilchrist yet. The third day was a spectacular batting festival from various geniuses in the game of cricket; and from one Uber Genius, our Gilly. It was all too much for me at one stage that I needed to sit in the St John's cool room with the TV on. I ran out of there when Hussey was on 80. I wasn't going to miss his century. That was just the start of it.

I have some more pics and vid of the victory ball. They'll go up soon.

Wombats 2 Wombles 0

I must acknowledge that News Corporation owns the copyright in this spectacular piece of work. It was on the front page of The Sun today.

I'll state the obvious - it must be terrible to be an English cricketer. Firstly, because they are so bad at cricket. Secondly, for losing the second test of the Ashes series in the abysmal way that they did. Thirdly, becuase of the media treatment they are getting back home in Britain. Fourthly, because The Sun was the newspaper that made a very rich and very powerful Australian born person, very rich.

Words cannot express how happy I was to see England lose that cricket match yesterday. As a friend and I were discussing today, England need to be crushed.

As my friend put it: 'crush the English into oblivion so they lose all hope and sense of worth. Especially, Pieterson - he is a wankarrrrr.'

Done, done and done.

Thanks Punter. Thanks Warney.

Kevin Rudd

This man gave a good speech in the Australian Federal Parliament yesterday.

http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20876,20876230-601,00.html

Cranes

We saw this crane-carrying ship recently in the Port of Fremantle. It had come from China, had dropped off a crane, was then on to Brisbane and Japan to do the same.

Look what those Chinese folks do with all that iron-ore we send over there.

Its like a funny factory game. We ship the ore to China in big mounds of sludge; they keep it there for a bit, add a bit of this and a bit of that, then they ship it back to us looking like this crane.

Things are looking up

A friend of mine has just bought this bouncy castle. I am going to get a few free bounces in exchange for providing legal advice. What a deal! I feel like the luckiest person alive!

I never expected my practising certificate to get me so far.

This could start a whole new round of who can buy the best stuff. We once played that game when living in Jersey. We bought a ridiculously expensive radio. Someone else bought a painting in a high end ski resort. Another couple got drunk, got engaged and bought an engagement ring in the same high end French ski resort. Then things turned silly when competitors turned their attention to motor vehicles.

I am not sure how you could top a bouncy castle. Buying a farm in a rural idyll might get you there, but that news will have to wait until our mortgage broker has stitched up the deal…

Wally Foreman

Wally Foreman died last week. Wally was a broadcaster mainly for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and on the radio. I listened to Wally Foreman a lot. He would be with me on a Saturday morning when driving to the beach, or working in the garden, or reading the paper. Then, he’d be around again when the football came on. He was always a particular favourite commentator of mine as he played and loved hockey. He promoted the sport in WA and formed the WA Institute of Sport, and he would commentate the hockey at the Olympics. (Another favourite is Dennis Committee – he played in and coached West Perth. That man is a genius).

I was listening to Wally’s funeral service streaming over the ABC website yesterday and thinking how strange that a radio voice would mean so much to me and to so many other people. There were 4000 people at the service, and there must have been many, many more listening over the wireless. I really liked listening to Sportstalk on Saturday. Even when it is about tennis, which I detest. I have become an AM radio addict, and Wally was right in there feeding the habit.

So, I was thinking about how much a radio voice can mean to people. And that got me thinking about another radio broadcaster I met once. Sadly, only once. Older people and my parents’ neighbours often ask me if I am related to Catherine King. A new work colleague asked me this question just last week. I have to reply that I am only related through marriage and that Catherine King is my husband’s grandmother. The people I respond to always say how they remember her show on the ABC and how they, or their mum, always used to listen to the Women’s Sessions and how they liked Catherine King. I must admit, I could never quite understand why this woman was so significant to them. After all it was radio and not like the famousness of television or politics… Before Wally Foreman died, I did not appreciate how great a connection a listener has to a radio broadcaster; to a voice and a personality a listener lets into their lives on a regular basis. Well, after Wally’s death, I now know better. And I can understand why people ask me after Catherine King. She was their friend on the radio.

Now I have lost my friend on the radio as well.

Maybe I will one day meet ‘Mary’ Foreman in the future. I’ll ask tentatively: “are you any relation to Wally Foreman?” And she will respond: “Wally was my grandfather.” I’ll tell Mary that I loved her grandfather’s show on the radio and that he was a brilliant commentator and a great broadcaster. Mary will walk off and not really understand what Wally meant to us but for her it will be nice to know that her grandfather was liked by so many strangers.

I wonder if she’ll know what a radio is.

Tomato

Its tomato time. We’ve been at work in the garden. In this plot we have the tomatoes, encased in the empty tonic bottles. Also in this plot are potential string beans, radishes, chives, spring onions and mixed lettuces.

I love gardening. Or is it the idea of gardening? Whatever it is, the whole venture is rewarding. This is my second real vegetable patch. I have learned from the lessons of last year – there is no real need to plant 24 tomato seedlings. Certainly, there is a compulsion, but no real need. Loads of basil is in this year. And mesculin lettuce mix is a new one. Radishes and beans are what books recommend kids try and grow because it is easy and successful. You don’t have to tell me twice.

There is something special about eating food that you grow, whether its just the sticks of rosemary you add to your lamb roast, or a full home grown salad with herbs. Before I grew some veges I did sense that it would be a rewarding thing to do, and the suspicion is wholly confirmed. I think a smidge of our decision to buy the house we live in now came from their being a magnificent lemon tree in the yard. Never again for us, the torment of G&T, soul-less and woeful, without its slice of lemon. ...

If only the lime tree would come good…

We have abandoned strawberries, but that is just as well as look what they did to our friends in Glasgow. Fiendish things, with all their sticky little seeds on the outside, upsetting the norm in the fruit world.

Dad is 80

My dad turned 80 recently. I remember when he was 69.

When my dad was born, in 1926 in the UK, the life expectancy for a white man was about 55 years. If you are a white male born in the UK in 2006, your life expectancy is 78 years. How things have changed.

In 1996 he had a massive heart attack. Six months later he was the recipient of 6 new heart bypasses that were created using a healthy vein from his right leg. In open heart surgery, the surgeons have to use an electric saw to cut the chestplate in half to get to a persons heart. Knock on your chestplate, or your breast bone. It’s hard. Imagine someone sawing through that.

Dad’s heart was stopped. It is a wonder to me that your heart starts beating from when you are 6 week old embryo and does not stop again until you are dead. Or have open heart surgery, where it gets stopped on purpose, lifted from its place, fixed up, and replaced. And machines do its work while you are out nodding. Once the heart is fixed, the breastbone is placed back over the organs it protects; it is aligned and left to meld together once again. You can’t go walking in the wind for a little while and you need to wear a thick jumper if you do. This is to protect your fusing breastbone.

When a person comes out of the theatre after heart surgery, they don’t look much like a person. More like a big yellow swollen ex-person, with respirators in place to ensure they don’t actually become an ex-person.

I remember the first day my dad went swimming in the ocean after that operation. I bet he doesn’t remember. He was very nervous. I think because the shock of the cold water can lead to another attack, and these operations take away a lot of strength. We all grew up with the ocean, and it was a difficult moment to be a part of.

Anyways…there is no point to this really. Just indulgent reflection. But I would say that hearts are amazing things; heart surgeons and their teams are amazing things, and people that are always there looking after you are also amazing things.

He has made it to 80 and we had great dinner party with a dozen friends and some family and lamb roast and substantial amounts of red wine.

Here he is off to the beach he and mum have lived opposite since 1959.

Here is the beach.


And here is the champagne drinking...

Blaze

Don't you just love an early spring drive in the Perth countryside?

That blaze ruined someone's day.