I’ve learnt a few things over the past few days, which is always a good thing as they say the day you stop learning is the day you stop living. (Do they? I just made that up but I’m sure someone said it once).
Lesson 1: Don’t let an Aussie ramble on about becoming a republic.
We have just had the Queens birthday long weekend, where everyone gets a day off and, in Canberra at least, has the legal right to buy fireworks and more than happily takes up this privilege into the small hours. So a day off and fireworks all for someone they claim to want to get rid off. Who are they kidding, sneaky Australians?!
For my part, I celebrated by eating some cake and swinging on monkey bars. I guess the monkey bars were a way of working off the cake and getting a fix of the outdoors. In between other weekend at home tasks I headed up the far southern peak of the Red Hill Nature Reserve at the end of a superbly sunny Saturday for some classical bush capital scenes.
Quick Canberra geography lesson (see, you can learn something too!): Red Hill is in the south of Canberra but the very refined la-di-da inner south. Further south and things get slightly more bogan in Woden, but still fairly respectable. Then you get to the deep south of Tuggeranong which, like deep souths everywhere, has the distant sound of banjos being played from sofas on verandas.
There is a North side to Canberra too, signaled by the spray of the Captain Cook Memorial Jet on your car windscreen. It’s very much a reflection of the south, getting ever so slightly more dubious the further from civilized society you head. I think things were still reasonably civilized when I found myself on the algae filled shores of Lake Ginninderra in the North on a much greyer, more wintry Sunday afternoon. Surprisingly there is significant North v South rivalry and I tried to hide my southern roots on a stroll around the lake.
Now, Melbourne is a place in which the Canberra North v South rivalry pales into significance, especially whilst I’m in the midst of watching Underbelly, charting the gangland murders of the past ten years. It’s pure sex, drugs and violence but what marks it out for distinction is that it’s actually an Australian made TV series which is, well, good. It was with several murders in the back of my head that I ventured to Melbourne on the holiday Monday.
Lesson 2: You really do need a jacket in Australia outside of the national capital.
OK, hands up in England who thinks Australia is 365 days of sunshine, all singlets and barbies on the beach? Yeah, well, while some in the know will be aware of the 60 nights of frost Canberra experiences each year (more learning, see), it’s still hard to take ‘winter’ seriously. So hard that, once out of Canberra, you forget that you might just need that extra layer after all. So it was on a dreary English-like day in St Kilda, a beachside suburb a few miles from the centre of Melbourne, that I found myself strolling along rather briskly to keep the blood pumping and warmth flowing. If anything was going to prepare me for my trip to Blackpool in a couple of months, this was it.
Having said that, the fish and chips in St Kilda were pretty good and there is a strip of fabulous coffee and cake shops, perfect to warm the cockles of the heart – it’s just a shame there’s only really room in the belly for one cake out of the hundreds of options.
The air was slightly warmer in the city, away from Port Philip Bay, where I didn’t do much bar stock up on a few souvenirs (tat central) and got lost possibly in the most confusing department store known to mankind (Myers in Lonsdale Street… or is it Collins Street… oh, it’s both… how confusing…). Perhaps I should have gone to the footy down at the G, but really I didn’t fancy sitting, clueless, with a bunch of well watered Collingwood supporters for the afternoon, so I just walked along the river and took some pictures as the night came all too quickly.
My presence in Melbourne wasn’t purely out of love of the place or fascination with the gangland haunts of the Moran Boys, but, sigh, work. For the most part it was actually all rather fine, amazing how things can go when you expect the worse. Everything done and dusted… now off to the airport.
Lesson 3: Don’t assume just because you are in a large metropolis you can easily get a taxi.
Ah, you know, should be easy to flag one down on the street, I figured, this being the world’s 17th most livable city and all (they were actually up in arms about this and wondering how the hell Auckland came 5th and Sydney 10th. Meanwhile, Canberras were just up in arms that they got overlooked completely…you’d have thought they’d have got used to that by now). Thus it was with half an hour until my piddly Qantas flight something or other was about to take off I finally left the city. Thankfully there is such demand from the people of Melbourne to come to Canberra that plenty of flights take those pour lost souls to Capital City and I managed to weasel my way onto a flight an hour later.
I didn’t really learn anything else, apart from the fact that the snacks on board those flights are getting worse… they really just shouldn’t bother anymore. I don’t think my brain could have taken anything else in anyway, struggling as I was to utter a few simple words to the taxi driver on the way home. Actually, it’s quite a wonder I’ve been able to write such a brilliant, eloquent and oh so charming narrative of the weekend’s events don’t you think. I better stop before I lose all of those remaining brain cells, and end up in a shack in Tuggeranong with my banjo or something.
Lesson 1: Don’t let an Aussie ramble on about becoming a republic.
We have just had the Queens birthday long weekend, where everyone gets a day off and, in Canberra at least, has the legal right to buy fireworks and more than happily takes up this privilege into the small hours. So a day off and fireworks all for someone they claim to want to get rid off. Who are they kidding, sneaky Australians?!
For my part, I celebrated by eating some cake and swinging on monkey bars. I guess the monkey bars were a way of working off the cake and getting a fix of the outdoors. In between other weekend at home tasks I headed up the far southern peak of the Red Hill Nature Reserve at the end of a superbly sunny Saturday for some classical bush capital scenes.
Quick Canberra geography lesson (see, you can learn something too!): Red Hill is in the south of Canberra but the very refined la-di-da inner south. Further south and things get slightly more bogan in Woden, but still fairly respectable. Then you get to the deep south of Tuggeranong which, like deep souths everywhere, has the distant sound of banjos being played from sofas on verandas.
There is a North side to Canberra too, signaled by the spray of the Captain Cook Memorial Jet on your car windscreen. It’s very much a reflection of the south, getting ever so slightly more dubious the further from civilized society you head. I think things were still reasonably civilized when I found myself on the algae filled shores of Lake Ginninderra in the North on a much greyer, more wintry Sunday afternoon. Surprisingly there is significant North v South rivalry and I tried to hide my southern roots on a stroll around the lake.Now, Melbourne is a place in which the Canberra North v South rivalry pales into significance, especially whilst I’m in the midst of watching Underbelly, charting the gangland murders of the past ten years. It’s pure sex, drugs and violence but what marks it out for distinction is that it’s actually an Australian made TV series which is, well, good. It was with several murders in the back of my head that I ventured to Melbourne on the holiday Monday.
Lesson 2: You really do need a jacket in Australia outside of the national capital.
OK, hands up in England who thinks Australia is 365 days of sunshine, all singlets and barbies on the beach? Yeah, well, while some in the know will be aware of the 60 nights of frost Canberra experiences each year (more learning, see), it’s still hard to take ‘winter’ seriously. So hard that, once out of Canberra, you forget that you might just need that extra layer after all. So it was on a dreary English-like day in St Kilda, a beachside suburb a few miles from the centre of Melbourne, that I found myself strolling along rather briskly to keep the blood pumping and warmth flowing. If anything was going to prepare me for my trip to Blackpool in a couple of months, this was it.
Having said that, the fish and chips in St Kilda were pretty good and there is a strip of fabulous coffee and cake shops, perfect to warm the cockles of the heart – it’s just a shame there’s only really room in the belly for one cake out of the hundreds of options.
The air was slightly warmer in the city, away from Port Philip Bay, where I didn’t do much bar stock up on a few souvenirs (tat central) and got lost possibly in the most confusing department store known to mankind (Myers in Lonsdale Street… or is it Collins Street… oh, it’s both… how confusing…). Perhaps I should have gone to the footy down at the G, but really I didn’t fancy sitting, clueless, with a bunch of well watered Collingwood supporters for the afternoon, so I just walked along the river and took some pictures as the night came all too quickly.
My presence in Melbourne wasn’t purely out of love of the place or fascination with the gangland haunts of the Moran Boys, but, sigh, work. For the most part it was actually all rather fine, amazing how things can go when you expect the worse. Everything done and dusted… now off to the airport.
Lesson 3: Don’t assume just because you are in a large metropolis you can easily get a taxi.
Ah, you know, should be easy to flag one down on the street, I figured, this being the world’s 17th most livable city and all (they were actually up in arms about this and wondering how the hell Auckland came 5th and Sydney 10th. Meanwhile, Canberras were just up in arms that they got overlooked completely…you’d have thought they’d have got used to that by now). Thus it was with half an hour until my piddly Qantas flight something or other was about to take off I finally left the city. Thankfully there is such demand from the people of Melbourne to come to Canberra that plenty of flights take those pour lost souls to Capital City and I managed to weasel my way onto a flight an hour later.
I didn’t really learn anything else, apart from the fact that the snacks on board those flights are getting worse… they really just shouldn’t bother anymore. I don’t think my brain could have taken anything else in anyway, struggling as I was to utter a few simple words to the taxi driver on the way home. Actually, it’s quite a wonder I’ve been able to write such a brilliant, eloquent and oh so charming narrative of the weekend’s events don’t you think. I better stop before I lose all of those remaining brain cells, and end up in a shack in Tuggeranong with my banjo or something.
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