Contrasts

I often begin this blog by making a pithy comment about the weather because, well, if there’s one thing we all like to talk about, it’s the weather, and it’s been something to talk about of late. I then insert some photos to illustrate the point. A picture speaks a thousand words, or in this case, two pictures back up sixty-one.

We are nothing if not creatures of habit and I can once again tell you how I walked up Red Hill, how I drank coffee around 11am each day, put off necessary shoe-shopping again, watched more Heroes, made some reasonable attempts at work, and engaged in some unreasonable attempts at thinking about the slight possibility of mowing the lawn, should it be given the chance to dry out. There you go, talking about the weather again, and as for old reliable Red Hill, here is a creature inhabiting the comforting habitat on one of my habitual walks (this on a sparkling sunny Saturday morning by the way).

In something of a disruption to routine, lucky Canberrans were awarded with a public holiday to celebrate Canberra, the one perk of situating yourself in the national capital. Some call it compensation. The holiday marks the city’s ninety-ninth birthday this year and the maturing lady milks it for all it’s worth, with free concerts, balloons, fireworks, jelly and ice cream, pass the brown envelope stuffed with cash to bribe politicians etc. And like a handful of candles haphazardly poked into the national capital sponge cake, a few of its prominent buildings have been illuminated to bring a glow to the faces of its residents.

Believe it or not, these projections last until 1am in the morning, perhaps catering for the merry revellers on their way back from town, for whom renaissance becomes pop art. I was more in tune and time zone with the family audience, and the backdrop, occasional snippets of live music in the air, and mild Friday night weather delivered a mellow, satisfying icing on this particular sponge cake.

Despite this sweetness, in characteristic disinterested ambivalence, a large chunk of the population gets out of Canberra on its birthday, as if invited to a party for someone they don’t really like so much. Most go to ‘wash their hair’ down on the coast, and I – in a blatant attempt to both have my cake and eat it – joined them for the last couple of days of the holiday weekend. After a frustrating, bank holiday style drive, the reward at the end was a sunny Narooma, fish and chips a precursor to a walk around the winding, serene Wagonga Inlet, dodging soldier crabs and fishing rods and catching the last rays of gold before a blanket of cloud moved in to end the day.

It was a highlight, especially as the next day – the holiday Monday – dawned gloomy and didn’t really change until I was reunited at day’s end with the birthday girl again. There were some bright spots however, such as a decent breakfast, shoe-shopping success, and a trip back in time and place to Tilba. Here, the greenest pastoral scene, peppered with cows and cream and country lanes, Devon on cockatoos.

Good cheese making country, worthy of a takeaway block of local three year vintage to enjoy back up the coast at Broulee. This was a different place from a month before, washed out and foamy, damp and grey. Wet sand loses so much of its lustre. The cheese didn’t, and I am now just about to pop to the fridge I think, so just...nom nom nom...

...Well, that’s the nightmares sorted for tonight, the dark after the light, the bad after the sublime, the scary after the cheesy. Contrasts, all of which make this routine life anything but.