Saturday, April 16, 2011

Red and yellow and pink and green

No other time of year paints a picture that differs each and every day. The endless summer days would become monotonous if they weren’t so warm and radiant and full of sizzling snag aromas. The cool winter days test patience with their bone chilling frosts and winds blowing down from the peaks. But in between the two we have ever changing scenes of greens and yellows turning to blazing reds underneath still mild blue skies.



These are perfect days for perfect walks, and by golly have I pottered and ambled in earnest over recent weekends. Usually with a pre-walk flat white and a post-walk dose of comfort food, perhaps with a break for some leisurely reading somewhere in the middle. It’s a pipe and slippers kind of life, a contrast to working weekdays which are more 20-a-day and runners (don’t worry it’s an analogy, I’m not smoking...er, or running!). It’s like the contrast between snag filled smells of summer and icy cold winds of winter. And here we are somewhere in between.


So apart from ambles and rambles, emails and work travails, there’s not much else to say. I’m kind of racking my brains for something amusing to share, a jolly good Australia cliché or stereotype to throw around. I saw some kangaroos this morning! They bounced.


Food is naturally an ever present in the mix and I’ve been donning the Masterchef apron on several occasions... spicy pork goulash, butter chicken, and today a warming beef and Guinness filler slowly melting away for tomorrow’s pie fiesta. And with a work trip to Sydney came some splendid sushi and mighty Malaysian to feast upon. I love the quality and diversity of Asian food here.


There is also a girl with a dragon tattoo taking up my time, a plunge into populism so addictive it is providing pipe and slipper weekends and diversionary endings to wacky weekdays. I really should read more. Or more often. Or more quickly.


There are also plans to plan. I need to make a plan so that I make a plan for travel back to Europe in a few months. And in the short term, a plan for Easter and the Anzac Day holiday. I sense water and sand, and probably a flat white with a Lindt bunny in there somewhere.


So it turns out different things are still happening every day. Each sunrise brings with it something anew, a different conversation to cherish, a clean pair of pants to also cherish, a slight variation of some stupid political debate going on to cherish a lot less, another government department wasting a different lump of money that they don’t really cherish much, and a new sale to end all sales at Harvey Norman with cheap sofas (in cerise red). It’s an ever-changing picture, where greens turn yellow, and reds blush their way through the blues. And very rarely is it grey.

Monday, April 04, 2011

Here, there, and everywhere

To capture the essence of the whirlwind weeks of March let’s keep this short. I mean, it’s not like I have time to type at any less than one hundrewd worsds per minut. It’s not liek the qualty suffers or owt. In many ways it is great to have been busy, weekend upon weekend of fun times happily counteracting week upon week of stuff far less jovial. And when the busyness and business stops, you finally come up to smell the roses and notice the roses are actually starting to wilt as April hits. Meanwhile the leaves are reddening with each hour of gorgeous autumn sunshine. Fun was the name of the game a couple of weekends past, a boozy Friday leaving lunch drifting into a boozy evening Aussie BBQ at Narrabundah Heights. It was a great night so a public thanks to those who came and brought a surplus of sausages, a battery of beers and a wonderment for wombats.


It’s not just because I think they actually read this thing that I would like to give special thanks go to my interstate visitors, Sophie and Jason, for providing a weekend of merriment in between bad singing, dodgy driving, snoring and Jewel of India. How do you show interstate visitors a good time in Canberra? Tidy up after them, drive them around, force them to go to roller-derby and then watch an Adam Sandler movie? Thankfully places like Mount Ainslie and the NGA make up for my mediocre attempts at entertainment.


Next up on the funbus we move very briefly onto Sydney, for a midweek training trip. The wonders of Office 2007 perked up by an evening in Coogee the night before. Time for a beach stroll, a cold beer in the Palace, and a yummy evening meal in the warming air. And then the next day some nervous excitement at the revelation of SmartArt, yum yum dim sum lunchies at Pyrmont and then back to Canberra, home of the photomarathon.


A few snaps later it was then off to Albury, a town on the NSW border next to the Victorian town of Wodonga. The trip on one of the smallest planes I have been on, mercifully calm thanks to the very fine weather and fact that Sophie Mirabella never made it on despite several final calls. I never made it to Wodonga, but did cross into Victoria one morning, crossing the vast inland artificial sea that is Lake Hume. Despite the challenges of fitting in sightseeing with work, it was good to at least see a little of this place... the Victorian High Country beyond still appeals. Yes, I am indeed a smart traveller...


It was back on the little plane to Canberra on Wednesday morning and finally things very gradually started to calm. I could detect the aroma of roses. The days, inching to the weekend, becoming finer and finer, the skies bluer and bluer, the trees redder and redder. A gorgeous weekend with food and walks and more half arsed hosting of visitors. Luckily the hosting is far easier when Canberra is at its best like this.



And so we have made it to a Monday night in April, the clocks now changed, the night time coolness edging occasionally into coldness. Slippers making guest appearances, hoodies back on the agenda. Comfort clothes and comfort food on the menu. And with this comes the calm, the stillness returning all around. The whirlwind has abated for now, replaced by the gentle wafts of autumn breeze flickering through the trees, delicately cradling the burnished ochre of a leaf gently back to rejoin the earth.