We're home and it's great to be here.
We arrived yesterday at half four local time.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
A Coal Miner's Daughter
At about 8pm on Monday night we received the dreaded news that Pauline's dad, Dan Jones, had passed away in Glan Clwyd Hospital.
In a few hours from now we're leaving Australia and heading home. Arriving at tea time on Thursday, U.K. time.
We both knew that a moment like this would come, but, however you steel yourself for it, you can never be prepared. Dan had been ill, on and off, since his heart attack and subsequent retirement a good while back, but he's been hanging in there without complaint ever since.
He was a good man. A family man. A son, a brother, a husband, a father and grandfather. He was a gentleman and a gentle man. He mined coal for all his working life, put food on the table and raised his kids the best he could.
And I know that Pauline was proud to be this coal miner's daughter.
In a few hours from now we're leaving Australia and heading home. Arriving at tea time on Thursday, U.K. time.
We both knew that a moment like this would come, but, however you steel yourself for it, you can never be prepared. Dan had been ill, on and off, since his heart attack and subsequent retirement a good while back, but he's been hanging in there without complaint ever since.
He was a good man. A family man. A son, a brother, a husband, a father and grandfather. He was a gentleman and a gentle man. He mined coal for all his working life, put food on the table and raised his kids the best he could.
And I know that Pauline was proud to be this coal miner's daughter.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Fred's Dead
Well, my week of being a single parent is nearly over.
Tomorrow, after work, me and the girls head down to Melbourne to meet up with the wife. We're having the weekend there. We're going to the Olympic gymnastic trials. We went to the swimming trials while we were in Sydney at Easter and the girls loved it.
This week hasn't been easy. It's the lack of freedom that I struggle with, you're chained to the house really. Last night was the first State of Origin game of the year and I would have loved to have watched it down the boozer, but, instead, watched it at home with the girls. They enjoyed it though, which was nice. They're getting into the rugby league now, especially Robyn.
We've also managed to let both of our remaining pets die during the wife's absence. Robyn discovered her pet lizard, Fred, dead in his converted former ice-cream tub yesterday morning and, tonight, when we got back from swimming - oddly enough - our goldfish had stopped swimming and was also brown bread.
We're having a double funeral tomorrow.
Tomorrow, after work, me and the girls head down to Melbourne to meet up with the wife. We're having the weekend there. We're going to the Olympic gymnastic trials. We went to the swimming trials while we were in Sydney at Easter and the girls loved it.
This week hasn't been easy. It's the lack of freedom that I struggle with, you're chained to the house really. Last night was the first State of Origin game of the year and I would have loved to have watched it down the boozer, but, instead, watched it at home with the girls. They enjoyed it though, which was nice. They're getting into the rugby league now, especially Robyn.
We've also managed to let both of our remaining pets die during the wife's absence. Robyn discovered her pet lizard, Fred, dead in his converted former ice-cream tub yesterday morning and, tonight, when we got back from swimming - oddly enough - our goldfish had stopped swimming and was also brown bread.
We're having a double funeral tomorrow.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
Cor blimey guv'nor, it was freezing here this morning.
Perhaps I'm turning into a nesh Aussie, feeling the cold more acutely than your average former northern hemisphere resident. The radio said it was five degrees, but it felt lower to me. It was really foggy and overcast too. Very reminiscent of a cold, late October morning back home.
The girls still wore their shorts to school, as did most of the kids I saw when I dropped them off there.
I'm playing the part of Mr. Mum again, as the wife left for Melbourne at the unearthly hour of four o'clock in the morning. This time it's for the full week too.
I used to do this sort of thing regularly back home, but it's much easier these days. The girls do a lot more for themselves. I used to have to do their hair, that was the worst bit. It used to take about fifteen minutes per head of hard labour and at the end of it they still looked like they'd been dragged through a hedge backwards.
Given that I've been sporting an inverted mohican for the last few years, it's hardly surprising that I'm no black belt when it comes to hair styling. I use a flannel when I need to tidy my barnet up.
Hair was a fleeting visitor during the early part of my life, and a nuisance at that, attracting girls and the like. I'm glad it's gone. Things are simpler now.
And, nowadays, the girls take care of their own hair. They do a pretty good job too, saving me time and them ridicule.
Perhaps I'm turning into a nesh Aussie, feeling the cold more acutely than your average former northern hemisphere resident. The radio said it was five degrees, but it felt lower to me. It was really foggy and overcast too. Very reminiscent of a cold, late October morning back home.
The girls still wore their shorts to school, as did most of the kids I saw when I dropped them off there.
I'm playing the part of Mr. Mum again, as the wife left for Melbourne at the unearthly hour of four o'clock in the morning. This time it's for the full week too.
I used to do this sort of thing regularly back home, but it's much easier these days. The girls do a lot more for themselves. I used to have to do their hair, that was the worst bit. It used to take about fifteen minutes per head of hard labour and at the end of it they still looked like they'd been dragged through a hedge backwards.
Given that I've been sporting an inverted mohican for the last few years, it's hardly surprising that I'm no black belt when it comes to hair styling. I use a flannel when I need to tidy my barnet up.
Hair was a fleeting visitor during the early part of my life, and a nuisance at that, attracting girls and the like. I'm glad it's gone. Things are simpler now.
And, nowadays, the girls take care of their own hair. They do a pretty good job too, saving me time and them ridicule.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Clearly Canadian
Sydney was as entertaining as ever.
The highlight of the weekend was returning to my old haunt of twelve years ago, the GarryOwen Hotel in Rozelle. Unbelievably, I was reunited with my old mate Yummy, who I last saw on a memorable Friday night in November 1996, when he gave me the most cherished gift of a South Sydney jersey.
It was amazing to see him again and we reminisced about the good old days and had a general catch-up of what we've been doing since.
The GarryOwen itself hasn't changed a jot. It's as if the place had been locked in a time warp, circa 1996, waiting for my return. I don't think it's even had a coat of paint since I was last in there. I think the website that I visited prior to moving over here, showing it looking like an Ikea showroom, was merely a group of projected images of what they intend to do with the place one day. For me, it was great to see it once again, in all it's shabby glory.
The only lowlight of the weekend was getting in such a state on Anzac day that I caused a bit of a kerfuffle in our dormitory on my return, after a full day on the turps.
We were in a four 'person' dorm and when we checked in, our room-mates were out. So, naturally, we had a quick scan of their gear to see what we could ascertain about them. The only items that weren't buried in dirty rucksacks, were a pair of boxer shorts on the top bunk and a map of Australia, written in French, on the bottom bunk. So me and Young Al assumed that our roomies were two French blokes, or hommes as they are so fittingly called in their native tongue.
That was at nine in the a.m. Fifteen hours, one emotional reunion and many, many schooners of VB later, I returned, prepared myself for slumber and crashed out.
I don't know how many hours later but I became aware of someone gently shaking me and speaking to me in a Chinese accent. I don't know how long this went on for, I thought I was dreaming, but eventually I stirred. I also became aware that I was coughing and spluttering like someone close to death. I sat up and looked to my right. There was this Chinese kid holding a bottle of water out to me, saying,
'You want drink water? You cough'.
I also heard frustrated rustlings from elsewhere in the dorm. I slowly realised that I had woken the whole room up with the cough I've had for the last week or so. I accepted the water and drank it.
The Chinese kid climbed back into his bunk and I tried to settle down again but had another coughing fit. I decided I should stretch my legs. Slowly rising from my pit, stretching, scratching and yawning, I scanned the dimly lit room for my jeans which contained my room key and the key to the bathrooms. Barely able to see, I fumbled around for an age before, once again, I heard a Chinese voice.
'You want more water?'
Before I could reply, I heard another voice. Quite a few octaves higher than the last, Canadian or American in origin and nowhere near as friendly.
'Hey man, this is a mixed dorm. I don't need to see your penis!'
Clearly female and clearly unimpressed.
Sure enough, previously unbeknown to me, my bojangles were on full display. In a futile act I used my hands as a temporary shield, found my undercrackers and headed for the door.
The next morning was tricky. My apologies seemed to fall on deaf ears. We left for our day out in Manly.
However, on our return from the beach, our female room-mate had mellowed somewhat. She introduced herself as Veronique, a French Canadian travelling around Australia. She even brought me a packet of cough sweets.
I apologised a few more times and she seemed to see the funny side of things.
My things, probably.
The highlight of the weekend was returning to my old haunt of twelve years ago, the GarryOwen Hotel in Rozelle. Unbelievably, I was reunited with my old mate Yummy, who I last saw on a memorable Friday night in November 1996, when he gave me the most cherished gift of a South Sydney jersey.
It was amazing to see him again and we reminisced about the good old days and had a general catch-up of what we've been doing since.
The GarryOwen itself hasn't changed a jot. It's as if the place had been locked in a time warp, circa 1996, waiting for my return. I don't think it's even had a coat of paint since I was last in there. I think the website that I visited prior to moving over here, showing it looking like an Ikea showroom, was merely a group of projected images of what they intend to do with the place one day. For me, it was great to see it once again, in all it's shabby glory.
The only lowlight of the weekend was getting in such a state on Anzac day that I caused a bit of a kerfuffle in our dormitory on my return, after a full day on the turps.
We were in a four 'person' dorm and when we checked in, our room-mates were out. So, naturally, we had a quick scan of their gear to see what we could ascertain about them. The only items that weren't buried in dirty rucksacks, were a pair of boxer shorts on the top bunk and a map of Australia, written in French, on the bottom bunk. So me and Young Al assumed that our roomies were two French blokes, or hommes as they are so fittingly called in their native tongue.
That was at nine in the a.m. Fifteen hours, one emotional reunion and many, many schooners of VB later, I returned, prepared myself for slumber and crashed out.
I don't know how many hours later but I became aware of someone gently shaking me and speaking to me in a Chinese accent. I don't know how long this went on for, I thought I was dreaming, but eventually I stirred. I also became aware that I was coughing and spluttering like someone close to death. I sat up and looked to my right. There was this Chinese kid holding a bottle of water out to me, saying,
'You want drink water? You cough'.
I also heard frustrated rustlings from elsewhere in the dorm. I slowly realised that I had woken the whole room up with the cough I've had for the last week or so. I accepted the water and drank it.
The Chinese kid climbed back into his bunk and I tried to settle down again but had another coughing fit. I decided I should stretch my legs. Slowly rising from my pit, stretching, scratching and yawning, I scanned the dimly lit room for my jeans which contained my room key and the key to the bathrooms. Barely able to see, I fumbled around for an age before, once again, I heard a Chinese voice.
'You want more water?'
Before I could reply, I heard another voice. Quite a few octaves higher than the last, Canadian or American in origin and nowhere near as friendly.
'Hey man, this is a mixed dorm. I don't need to see your penis!'
Clearly female and clearly unimpressed.
Sure enough, previously unbeknown to me, my bojangles were on full display. In a futile act I used my hands as a temporary shield, found my undercrackers and headed for the door.
The next morning was tricky. My apologies seemed to fall on deaf ears. We left for our day out in Manly.
However, on our return from the beach, our female room-mate had mellowed somewhat. She introduced herself as Veronique, a French Canadian travelling around Australia. She even brought me a packet of cough sweets.
I apologised a few more times and she seemed to see the funny side of things.
My things, probably.
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