Jingle Jangle

In what is likely to be the last blog post of 2011 (barring any torrential rain days, which is always a possibility this summer), it’s good to reflect on the year that has gone with a feeling that I end it in a better place than I started. Well, geographically speaking that’s not true – I’m in the same place, pretty much, apart from the random meanderings, which have long been a feature of the last five years anyhow. The trips have been relatively sparse over the last month, jeopardising my frequent flyer status, but a recent diversion was divertingly refreshing and the entry into Christmas comes via the eastern suburbs of Sydney where, once again, it is at a knife edge as to whether Christmas Day will bring miserable weather or not.

Talking of the weather still, because I remain English at heart, it’s been the coldest start to summer for 50 years, making it so far akin to June days in Blighty. What this means is that shorts one day become redundant the next, brollies are all the rage, and planning any outdoor activity becomes subject to the lottery of nimbostratus and electrostatic discharge. Hence it’s been pretty good to stick close to home, making the most of days when the chance of showers remains just a chance rather than reality, and the longer summer nights beckon glowing evening walks with the wildlife for company.

Weekends at home have been invaluable for maintaining some control of a garden in constant celebration mode, plus the chance to catch up with good friends, to cook and eat what is cooked, and to get on top of Christmas. But I was glad to get away for a couple of days just recently, to open up the shoulders and rekindle the spark that is driving around random areas of Australia doing generally random things in a haphazard fashion. Not to mention finding myself in an area of fine, warm but not too hot weather, where golden, sunbaked Australia was still alive and well.

Thus I found myself driving along the Riverina Highway alongside golden wheat fields to the NSW town of Mulwala one Monday evening, enjoying the occasional glimpse of the Murray River as it seeped over the land and spread out into the gum pocketed expanse of Lake Mulwala. It’s great to end up in a place you know nothing about – had never even heard of – and find its existence is taking place in a fully functional and agreeable kind of way.

The heart of these places tends to be the RSL. I figure I have not talked so much about RSLs on this blog but they are a pervasive feature of Australian life. For the life of me, I cannot figure out why they are so popular. Typically cavernous 60s style blocks of concrete and glass, sheltering expansive halls of poker machines, stale beer odours wafting their way under and over the revolting carpets, and endless rows of tables constituting the ‘bistro’. Now a bistro to me conjures up images of France, a little eatery on the high street serving up fresh and hearty fare on chequered tablecloths, the faces of customers glowing courtesy of candlelight and a glass or two of red wine. Contrast this with a crumbed bit of processed chicken served in an environment of glaring lights overhead, puke coloured carpet beneath, all washed down with caustic beer and the exploitative jingle of problem-gambling. Something lost in translation.

To be fair I’m not so sure this one called itself a bistro, and I neither had indigestion nor illness from the evening’s events. So all was well as I made my way alongside the river before daylight disappeared, nature’s lights an antidote to the yellowish tinge of the RSL. The noise was less calming however, as thousands of cockatoos wrought their nightly havoc, a cacophony of white flitting from tree to tree alongside the placid banks of the Murray. Despite being grating, a reassuring soundtrack to country Australia.


The following day allowed for some time to wander on the way back to Albury airport, and I spent most of it on the southern side of the Murray River in Victoria. There seems to be something rather charming about the small country towns that dot their way around Victoria with a typically more refined character and essence than those to the north. I think much of it has to do with gold, which made genteel towns out of nothing and provided sturdy Victorian architecture and, in places, relative grandeur. Today the gold is being pillaged in Western Australia and leaving a legacy of fibro shacks and shipping container housing. The new gold in places like Rutherglen and Beechworth appears to be fruit, wine, fresh local meats and cheeses, and passing tourists keen for some gourmet treats along with their bushwalking.

I stopped briefly in Rutherglen for a delicious pie from the local bakery and, further out of town, called by at a vineyard to buy some sparkly Christmas plonk. But most of my time was spent ambling in Beechworth, a former gold town situated on the edge of the Victorian High Country, which is of itself great appeal when time and circumstance allows. On this trip however, I was content with a walk around Beechworth, checking out various gold-related settlements. If it wasn’t about extracting and selling gold then it was about stealing and engaging in highway robbery of the bushranger variety. The local court and lock up preserved, with a roll call of once famous visitors to their wooden flooring and golden brickwork.

Which all in a characteristically roundabout way brings us back to Christmas, for I confess to stealing the occasional gold wrapped hazelnut encased in nutty chocolate in a way which is spoiling us confection from Mum’s stocks. I wasn’t put in a cell, but did endure three hours of Coronation Street followed by Emmerdale, then Eastenders, then Corrie again, followed by Enders. Oh and then a Holby City Christmas Special for another hour! Tis the season to be jolly after all.

Seasonal jolliness emerges in the most unlikely of places, a very affluent suburban enclave of ‘boring Canberra’ being one. For I leave you with the sparkling lights of the non-pokie-in-RSL variety from a house in one of those wonderful, sweeping tree lined circles of Forrest, not so far from the PM’s pad. Apparently it holds a world record for having the highest number of light bulbs in use for Christmas decorations. This is mainly achieved by using those lights you tend to see on Christmas trees. Heaven knows what happens when one of them blows and needs replacing! The display is sponsored by the local energy company ActewAGL. Happy Holidays!