Here comes the sun, sun, sun

Just to prove I had been at least a partly good boy this year, the weather let up and miraculously provided the most perfect scene for a trip on a boat in Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National Park, up in the northern edge of the Sydney area. Another Christmas present - thank you boat crew for such a lovely day and arranging such wonderful weather. Cruising the fingers and coves of the Hawkesbury was good enough, but standing in the water drinking a beer and chatting with friends beside a sandy beach and gentle cleansing waterfall will forever be ingrained in the good memory bank.







The day was so good it demanded being extended as much as possible, and once disembarking and saying Adios to Adios, it was a rather darn good idea of Rod and Barb to take Amber for a walk in Manly and drag Jill and I along. What was particularly good about this idea wasn’t the ambient walk along to Shelly Beach, nor the pink hues of the day’s end, but the classic fish and chips and Bundy Ginger Beer to finish off. This is more like it



By now all this food required at least some exercise, especially after sitting two hours in the car driving up to Wentworth Falls in the Blue Mountains the next day. I read a few articles recently about the restoration of the National Pass track, a shortish six kilometres but descending into the Valley of the Waters, following midway down the escarpment to Wentworth Falls and - for the buns of steel workout - rising and ascending and climbing back to the car park. It was a lovely jaunt down to the Valley of the Waters, a series of falls and cascades, simultaneously providing trickles and plunges of water, home to lizards and snakes and climbers and perfect for a picnic of more Chrissie leftos.





Fuel was a good thing, not so much for getting across the escarpment to Wentworth Falls, but for climbing back up the hundreds of virtually vertical steps back up to the top. No pain no gain, or more aptly, nice gain for a little pain, the walk meaning a practically guilt free helping of chocolate meringue cake once back up the top and finding a place that was actually open for business in Leura. I’m not sure how far this guilt free feeling extended to Doughboy pizza once back in Sydney but it certainly tasted well deserved with a cold beer.

Into the tens... unlike most Aussie batsmen

And so with all that fine weather and exercise 2009 drew to a close. You may have seen the town of Sydney on your television set with a few fireworks saying hello to new year. It was the same again this year, as I was one of around one and a half million cramming the harbour foreshore to try and find a view among the buildings and trees. All the best spots were taken a long time earlier, but there was ample space for picnicking, playing chess and cards and splashing out on the $35 wine at Mrs Macquaries Point, and, come midnight, clusters of people from all over the world gathered at gaps in the trees to grab a view of 2010. Now how do I work my way up the pecking order to get on that boat in 2011...



2010 had an inauspicious start, with a bus breakdown on the way back to Coogee, tempered only by a walk along the shoreline once there to prepare for the long walk uphill to bed. Things got better the next day with a New Years Day lunch featuring an impressive array of salads which were very impressive and the best salads ever (yes, I made a couple of them) to go with some ham and cold bird. And then the trifle, oh yes, the trifle. A very happy new year.

If Christmas Day was a bit grey then New Year’s Day was a bit less grey and towards the late afternoon the sun even made an appearance. Perfect for a doze on Coogee Beach followed by a game of French Cricket (rules: shrug shoulders and munch on a raclette baguette). This was only bettered by the cleverly designed and improvised four way hit the thong poo game. Which was subsequently bettered by a cold beer in the Palace as cruisy guitar chords echoed out over the sands. A good first day of the year.

The second day of the year and the blessed occurence of a weekend meant that the good times continued, despite a stinker of a day where the humidity hit totally tropical man. Not quite ideal weather for a laksa, but the chance to have my best chicken laksa since Thai Cornar changed ownership was not worth passing up. Thai-riffic in Bondi Junction Westfield (with super views) if you happen to be in the area. As always with a good laksa, the ten minutes afterwards are like paralysis, unable to walk or talk very well, but thankfully wearing off enough in time for one of the best walks there is - Walk#3 from Taronga Wharf to Balmoral Beach on the North Shore.



And at Balmoral Beach, just enough time to cool off in the calm water of Middle Harbour before the storm rolls in.



So far the Christmas break had provided many of the typical Aussie trappings… prawns, beaches, snakes, coffee, and a lot of rubbish TV. Apart from some rather lame beach games there has been a distinct absence of sport, something which was rectified on my last day in Sydney. The sport of watching Aussie cricketers getting a once over by the Pakistani bowlers at the SCG. Despite yet more general drizzly dreariness which unfathomably gave me sunburnt knees whole delaying play, the first day of the second test yielded some excitement and atmosphere as the Aussies got skittled out for one of their lowest scores in a while.



You may recognise the face of Mark Nicholas, who must be the jammiest smarmy average former county cricket player in the world, covering TV cricket summers in Australia and England and doing a bit of eating on a cooking show in between. I bet he was on a good boat in the harbour for New Year’s Eve as well!

The cricket signalled pretty much the end of the holidays, with just another wonderful brunch at Globe in Coogee to see me on my way back to Canberra. It was as usual a pretty boring, but pleasingly quick drive and I arrived back to warmth and sunshine as if the summer had instantly returned following yesterday‘s all round Englishness (weather and batting totals). Another Aussie Christmas goes by (my third one!) and I’m still waiting for a scorching beach version. Christmas in the summer is all a bit odd but at the same time there is much of appeal about it. The washing line which now contains five pairs of shorts drying in the Canberra sun is testament to that - it was still pretty warm and there were some top top days. And like Christmas everywhere, there was no shortage of excess - too much food, too much drink, too much hit the thong (flip flop) game. While the food may decrease slightly, the good thing about an Aussie Christmas is that the summer is set to go on and we have more things to look forward to - like Australia Day, hopefully more pummelling of Aussie batsmen, and the continuation of light evenings, shorts and thongs. As for 2010, she’ll be right.

The big fat hairy man is coming

The last few weeks have gone just like an advent calendar, different every day. One day you get a flock of sheep, the next you’re crossing paths with some wise men, and then you get a visit from a jolly fat man. Now we are in the 20-something days, things are getting exciting, with work out of the way and the festivities commencing with food and shorts and coffees and catch ups and just a general great big relieving sigh.

Christmas should be a time for giving, a time for sharing, a time for extra spiders and snakes that could give you a scaring. If Santa does come he’d be best advised to avoid the creepies in the chimney. The thing lying around that looks like an old bike tire will down all seven reindeer in one ho ho ho. Visibility may be reduced by bushfire haze. Best stick to that Northern Hemisphere, where the sleigh is undoubtedly more suited than Eurostar.

For all its otherworldly perversity though, Christmas in Australia has some unique benefits, notably the weather but also some fine fresh food to enjoy, the air-con of the mall making Christmas shopping actually rather appealing, and the longer light evenings in which to gather and sing songs about the weather outside being frightful. It’s not a white Christmas but golden, from the flaming sun to the thirsty earth and, here‘s hoping, the tanned goddesses on Coogee beach.

Like Christmases and end of years everywhere it is a time for reflecting on what has been and what will be but more importantly not worrying about either and just living for the moment. Remembering those we love and loving those we remember and remembering to remember to not remember too much and love the day for the memories it will bring that you will love when you remember them during memory remembrances in the future. It is also about awful use of English language which is supposed to sound meaningful in Christmas cards. And opportunistically linking pictures to some term or word in the text, not that I would do such a thing, I reflected over at the War Memorial the other day.

And if I did, so what, it’s like water off a duck’s back.

And with Christmas cracker quality writing I’d like to grab a cold beer and wish you a wonderful holiday season. After a few days pottering around Canberra and rather enjoying it I’ll be off to Sydney, where the forecast for the big day itself is at best dubious, so no boozy antics getting sunburnt down at Bondi Beach thankfully. There should be brunches, beach bathing, boat trips, bowlers and bushwalks aplenty to look forward to over the next couple of weeks, which may or may not be documented on this very page. For now, farewell, adios, au revoir and a few sausages wrapped in bacon to you all.

Dreaming

It would be fair to say that things have been all a mo go since the last update, and somehow here we are, all smooth skinned and resplendent with Christmas just around the corner. Again, eating Gelatissimo alongside the Christmas decorations in the mall and writing Christmas cards in shorts is still all wrong, but I’m not complaining about the fantastic weather. Just hoping it stays that way come December 18th when work is done and the shorts are permanent.

The sun was out and about in Sydney last week, where I had a couple of days for the love of work, but outside of that thankfully had some morning time to jaunt around the Botanic Gardens and, blissfully touristy, take some time over a flat white perched beside the water at Circular Quay.



Canberra meanwhile has been on its best comfort blanket behaviour, all evening walks and coffee stops and BBQ moments. The hottest November on record hardly conducive to extra facial hair, but compensation aplenty in the extra shorts-wearing capacity it brings







And just in case this hot weather leading up to Christmas seemed too topsy-turvy, a little reminder of Britain was just round the corner, a sign indicating a ‘Terribly British Day’ just around another corner. It ended up being neither British or particularly terrible, just an array of classic cars, of which a larger than average proportion were British. All that there was to do was try out for best Top Gear presenter impression.



And so, just a few more weeks and we will be ready for some prawns on the barbie and a dip in the sea, the quintessential Aussie Christmas. I’m really quite looking forward to it.

You're so hot

Well, I just realised that my last entry was prior to the Melbourne Cup and I am pleased to report I picked the winner and made a profit of $42 from the day. Back then it was still Spring and I was all fresh faced. How things have changed, with hairy moustacheness that has evolved rapidly not really suited to the hot dusty winds and flies sweeping in from the parched inland that has taken hold even more rapidly. Both seem to be culminating in tandem, hair bristling in a week which gave us 39C and a shower pretty much pointless apart from dumping some spots of mud on the black paintwork of the Magna.

Mo and I have also been back to Melbourne since the cup, this time to work and spend most of my winnings consoling myself with a beer. And of course, I’ve been taking advantage of the light and balmy evenings with walks and BBQs and the usual encounters with Redbacks and lakes and lookouts and stuff around Canberra.



After what the weatherman calls a stinker of a Friday evening, I decided to escape to the hopefully cooler climes of the coast on Saturday where it was, slightly, cooler but still warm enough to test the waters and find that they were actually quite pleasant. It was a typical coast trip really, a spot of relaxation, a bit of walking and a smidgeon of food. Upon hitting the coast I turned north, for leaky Beetroot sandwiches and books at Tabourie Beach, and then onto fair dinkum Aussie surfing boat lifesaving iron men and women competitions at Mollymook Beach, followed by buckets and spades at Narrawallee.



Beyond here a little further north was the highlight of the day, at Conjola Lake. A place of great natural bounty and beauty, not that you would know it, approaching through Guantanamo campground where stubby coolers and eskies litter the shoreline. But the campground has to end somewhere, and where it does, the winding shallow waters of Conjola Lake mesmerise the eyes and draw in the feet as they head out towards the Tasman Sea.



By now the sun was hot and the storm clouds were gathering inland. Time was getting on but gloriously there was still a fair bit of daylight left. Enough time to grab some tucker and sit in the warmth and light one last time before ascending the mountain home.

From fine fillies to old mares

As October drifts into Movember, all eyes and noses and facial hairs are on Melbourne, with the Spring Racing Festival and the old Cup itself on Tuesday bringing out silver suits and chunky pink ties, pointy shoes, eight inch heels and a few clumps of material and wires and other random bits picked from a hoover bag known quite wonderfully as fascinators. The racegoers and Melbourne are one… all spruced up and immaculate, the façade of sophistication wearing off after a few too many bubbles in the sun and revealing itself as it stutters along sqwawking in broken heels. Whatever form it takes, it is life and soul and noise and the hum that goes into humanity, welcome respite from the can be very beautiful and easy to live that goes into Canberra.

So here I was on Friday night after a work trip, very happy to mull around in the sultry night air, soaking up the love of light evenings and not at all surprised that it is 8:45 in the evening and women everywhere are still shopping for shoes. I meanwhile was eating ice cream on the south bank, while a busker seemed to be on a never-ending acoustically dreamy version of the lambada.



The next day was Derby Day, and a hot one for the many fascinators and hats and scruffed up hairy heads seen milling about Flinders Street Station. I suddenly felt very underdressed in my shorts and T-shirt and sandals, and promptly headed to the ‘coast’, the nearby suburb of Williamstown on Port Phillip Bay, which felt a different world from the hubbub of central Melbourne. It had a more easy going feel about it, much more suited to my shorts and T shirt and sandals taking in the first coffee of the day beside the water.

From here I walked on round the headland, the coastline nothing like the surf beaches of the South Coast but just as many jellyfish!



Back in the city, the Derby passed off without much fuss, more people congregated in Federation Square to protest about persecution of Sri Lankans than watching horses on the big screen. I tried to understand the Victorian TAB system to at least try and make it interesting but couldn’t work it out so gave up and went for a cold pint by the river. It was a good call, and at least I got something for my money that way.

With no afternoon storms appearing, and things seriously hotting up, I decided to spend the last few hours of the day down once again by the water at St Kilda. Here, the ragged edges were starting to show, a day of drinking and gambling starting to alter minds and raise vocals, fascinators slightly askew and hooned up youths frisky on heat. And then came the change, the famous weather change, winds turning southerly, clouds rolling in. Back in town and dresses were now too short (well, for half the population at least) and hats needed tethering down. Melbourne, like the thousands of people now spilling out of Flinders Street looking tired and emotional, was a changed city. The lip gloss had worn off, the suited Prince had become a foul mouthed bogan. But the humanity was still humming, in many senses of the word. Let’s do it all again on Tuesday!