Sport Hurts!

Idealistically speaking, sport crosses boundaries and promotes health, well-being and friendship.

In a bid to expand our minuscule social circles and reduce our waistlines, we had recently joined sports clubs.

A couple a weeks ago I signed up to play Over 35's football, or soccer as they say over here. Despite not having kicked a round ball in anger for a few years, I thought it would be a good way of tapping into the local British expat community.

All Brits love footy. Even I've found myself hankering to watch it over here, whereas previously, back home, I wouldn't have bothered unless Everton were involved.

Sure enough, the first night of training proved my theory to be true - around three-quarters of the old duffers there were British. I was surprised at the numbers, I knew there were a few poms in the area but I didn't think there were this many. It was almost like being at home as they hung around in their little cliques not bothering to greet an unfamiliar face.

Over the last couple of months I've become accustomed to overwhelming Australian friendliness and it felt quite odd being largely ignored by people.

Seeing as I didn't have the distraction of finding out what people had been up to during the off season, I threw myself into the game with vigour. I didn't do too badly for an egg-chaser and almost enjoyed myself. It was nice to hear some British wit/sarcasm once again as some of the 'efforts' on goal went out for throw-ins.

Some of the 'stiff-upper lips' did show signs of wilting during the session by muttering the odd word to me and one even took the very unBritish step of introducing himself. I was beginning to think that, given time, I may be allowed to join this social elite.

Such thoughts were banished though as I spent most of a sleepless night nursing my worn-out knees. The ground, as you'd expect for a region in drought, was bone-hard and my knees felt like they were on fire in the hours that followed.

Work, the following day, was torture and I can't remember wanting a day to end as desperately as I wanted this one to. I decided that my season was over before it had even begun and that I'd have to find other ways of making friends and keeping fit.

A possible solution came to me a couple of days into my 're-hab' - the hitherto untried sport of softball. With a name like that it can't be too dangerous surely. I rang the local team and with typical Australian friendliness we were welcomed into the fold immediately. We went down to the training session and I played, the wife played and the kids had a run too. At last, I thought, a sport that we can all take part in. They even loaned us some equipment so we could practice at home. They like a beer too, a further bonus.

The wife signed up for the ladies team and, fittingly, I joined the men's.

The girls season starts before the boys, so on Saturday we all went to cheer the wife and her team on in their opening game. It was an evenly matched game and the wife was performing adequately in the outfield. Soon, she got her turn to bat, and learnt the hard way what an inappropriately named game softball is, when she glanced a fastball straight into her grid.

The sound of the ball cannoning off her mush echoed around the ground and everyone rushed to her aid. She managed to keep her feet though and was steadied by the home-plate umpire and the opposition catcher.

As her team-mates and I approached, I had a flashback to the time when I belted my old mate Hed in the gob with a squash racket and he spat four of his front teeth out. This seemed a much harder wallop and I pictured the wife with a Joe Jordan-esque smile. Oh no! We haven't even got a dentist yet!

As it turned out it wasn't as bad as I had initially thought. Although she was a bit shaken up and played no further part in the game, all her teeth remained in her head. She has loosened her crown though and is booked into our brand new dentist this week. Additionally, she has a wicked 'fat' lip and an even wickeder 'Hitler' style bruise under her beak.

So, be warned kids, sport hurts - go hard or go home!

My Old Friend The Blues

Something extraordinary happened this week. It rained.

I reckon we've been in the region for about ten weeks and this was the first time we'd felt rain on our skin. It was lovely.

The heavens opened in a big way. It was like being at home. Everyone here is chuffed to bits and hopes there's plenty more on the way.

There is some forecast for the week ahead but it's back to hot and sunny today. Which, as we're going to a barbie later on today, is nice. Although we went to Hed's 40th birthday bash, I would consider this one today as our first 'proper' Aussie barbeque.

Having said that our hosts, Paul and Helen, are British expats, hailing from Liverpool and Wales respectively. They've been out here for fifteen years though.

Talking of home, it was great to watch some British telly after getting Austar fitted last Saturday. We had planned to go to the races after the bloke had finished installing it but we all got caught up watching old episodes of Footballers Wives, Coronation Street and Eastenders on UKTV and we spent the afternoon in front of the box. They're a bit behind the UK with the soaps but it was nice to see Annie Walker and Angie Watts back at the helm in their respective boozers!

Only joking, we're not that far behind, but Charlie Stubbs is still lording it up around the 'Street'. Enjoy it while it lasts Charlie boy!

The highlight of the weekends viewing though was definitely the Merseyside Derby. Even though the nine men of Everton were pipped by the twelve of Liverpool, it was still great to watch. Robyn was as excited as me and sat in front of the telly decked out in all her Everton regalia.

Watching the boys this far away from home was like bumping into an old mate.

And, just like feeling rain on our skin once again, it was lovely.

Bon Chance Angleterre!

A big weekend looms.

Tomorrow we're getting Austar fitted, which is the Australian version of Sky TV, so I'll be able to watch tomorrows Merseyside Derby in the comfort of my own living room. Come on you Blues!

Also tomorrow is Wodonga Races and, as it's Caulfield Cup day, it promises to be a big one. The track is only about 5kms (3 miles in old money) from our house so we're heading down. Unlike the U.K. you don't have to wear your best bib and tucker for the races - you can just rock up in your flip-flops and shorts here if you like. The forecast is for a hot day so that's what I'll be wearing.

On Saturday night we're going to a local tavern to watch the Fridge Man perform the local leg of his world record attempt of stand-up comedy performances in one week. If he's as funny as the fridges he sells he'll go down a storm.

Then the derby game, followed by an early start on Sunday to watch England take on the Springboks in the Rugby Union World Cup Final.

Despite cheering for the Wallabies in the quarter-final, I'll be hoping for an England win. In all my years watching sport I've never seen a turnaround like it. Smashed by the Boks in the group stages and written off as no-hopers at home and abroad, this team has simply refused to die.

They've even managed to win the begrudging respect of pommie-basher extraordinaire David Campese. He's been in the press over here saying that if the Wallabies and the All Blacks had half the guts and determination that England had then they'd be untouchable. He did bombastically add that an England win would be a disaster for the code and ranted about how much he detests their 'kick and rumble' style of play. The man is an idiot though and has deservedly eaten more than his fair share of humble pie in the past.

I hope he gets another large slice this Sunday morning at around seven o'clock local time.

Golden Globe

Unfortunately the take-over bid on the company I was working for was unsuccessful.

The good news is I've secured three weeks work with a very reputable, local electrical company.

For the last week and a bit I've been giving people advice on energy saving practices and installing energy efficient light bulbs, or 'globes' as they're known here, and water saving shower heads into peoples homes.

It's been a very enjoyable and profitable week. I've met some great people in the area and the whole episode, getting laid off aside, has been a very positive experience.

False Start

Today was my first day at work.

And, probably, my last.

Things were going swimmingly until just after lunch-time, when the boss rings up and says that the company is folding in two weeks unless someone buys us out.

Great, back to being Mr. Mum for me then.

The Crying Colonel

The word surreal, according to the oracle that is Wikipedia, means bizarre or dreamlike and has, justifiably in my view, been one of the most commonly used adjectives in this blog, certainly over the last three or four months anyway.

Last Friday we had, perhaps, the most surreal experience of them all, as all our worldly possessions arrived on our new doorstep, bright and early on another beautiful Australian/Mexican morn.

As the lorry pulled up outside with the container on the back, I felt a tinge of sadness.

It should have been a jubilant occasion - the wife was doing cartwheels. I can only put my sadness down to the increased sense of permanency about our move that I felt at that moment.

It was supposed to be permanent, I know. But, of late, whenever homesickness strikes, I've eased the pain by telling myself that we could always go back. Now if we go back we've got all our stuff to take back too.

My sadness was short lived, as my old friend surreality returned to it's familiar position as my overriding emotion.

Seeing all these boxes being unloaded and carried into the house in exactly the same state as when we last saw them two months and ten thousand miles ago was, truly, surreal. Each and every box we opened full of near and distant memories. The kids 'old' school dresses from Dewi Sant folded over the dining chair exactly how we'd left them. The kitchen noticeboard with it's calender still on the July 2007 page with pen marks indicating what a frenzied period it was for us. Our big, old furniture, here, in Australia. Surreal.

The boxes piled up. We unpacked as the 'movers' unloaded.

I looked at the boxes as they began to fill the room. I was starkly taken back to the occasion when I had seen them last and thought about home and our dear friend the 'Colonel'.

Aunty Lyndsey, as she is also known, had come to ours to assist in anyway she could. Because that's what she does. Always.

She cleaned and scrubbed our house with a vigour that the place had never experienced before. She stopped frequently, not through fatigue, but to cry. And she cried with as much vigour as she cleaned.

Today, as we unpacked, I shed a secret tear as I thought about the Colonel and how we miss her.

Surreality had moved aside once more for sadness.

I hope neither word appears on this blog again. For a while at least.

Australia's Game

September, in Australia, is the climax of the country's football seasons.

An exciting time for players and fans of both rugby league and Aussie Rules as the top teams battle it out to reach the Grand Final of their respective codes.

My NRL team the South Sydney Rabbitohs have had a great year. They made the Finals Series for the first time in eighteen years after a generation of being no-hopers. Despite going out on Saturday night to a strong Manly outfit, they've still provided me with some great moments since our arrival in Australia. I have still to achieve my ambition of seeing them play live, but I've watched them on the telly whenever possible since we've been over here and enjoyed it, I have.

Footy, as British people know it, is Association Football or soccer. In Australia, depending on where you are, footy can either be rugby league or Australian Rules football.

In Queensland and New South Wales rugby league dominates the headlines and the air-time, but here, in Kelly Country and in South and Western Australia, Aussie Rules is the go. In a big way. Much like home, everyone here has got a favourite team and the majority of the fans are fanatics.

I've heard and read that to understand a people you must understand their sport. Whilst in America I grew to enjoy baseball and, in turn, grew to enjoy America. So, this Sunday arvo, me and the family did the dinky-di and went to the footy. Which, roughly translated, means that the family and I did the typical Australian's thing this Sunday afternoon by going to watch an Aussie Rules game.

The code originated in Melbourne in 1858, and was devised to keep cricketers fit during the winter months. It's played on a cricket oval and there are 18 players on each team (I think!) And, given that all other sports played over here have their origins overseas, Australian Rules football can, without fear of contradiction, be regarded as Australia's Game.

To the untrained eye the game looks colourful yet chaotic. Melees break out frequently as players fight for possession. Once in possession players treat the ball like a hot potato and often get rid of it ultra-quickly by either hoofing down field as far as they can, or by punching it to a team-mate.

I didn't think I'd enjoy it and held out even less hope for the wife and kids. Playing time alone is two hours, split up into four half-hour quarters. I didn't expect us to see the full game out, but we did and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

It was the local team, Wodonga Bulldogs taking on the Yarrawonga Pigeons in a sudden-death finals match with the winner proceeding to a semi-final and the loser going out of the competition. So there was a lot at stake even at this semi-professional level and the teams got stuck straight into each other as soon as the game kicked off.

There were quite a few fights in the early stages and the girls absolutely loved it! One broke out on the boundary line near us and the girls were jumping up and down with excitement. What happened to my mild-mannered daughters who like doing cartwheels and making daisy chains?

I was surprised and impressed by the speed and physicality of the contest. The bloke standing next to me must have regretted his choice of vantage point as I questioned every aspect of play that I didn't understand. Which was almost everything. But, in what we've found to be typical of Australians, nothing was too much trouble and he answered my every question with enthusiasm and threw in plenty of additional information as well.

The teams change ends at the end of every quarter and during the break the crowd get to go on the pitch and 'have a kick'. I thought that was great and so did the kids.

Wodonga won the game 108-79 and advance to the semi-final being played this weekend.

I wouldn't be surprised if we do the dinky-di again soon.

Pay Little Pay Twice

On Thursday we successfully moved into the new house and officially became residents of Wodonga, Victoria.

We've settled in quite nicely despite being short of many items which we would normally regard as necessities.

The girls are sleeping in the double bed we've purchased for the spare bedroom, but the wife and I are sleeping on the two sofas we bought.

We've also bought a fridge. Despite the wife's advice I got it from a couple of lads who advertise in the local paper. They basically buy busted fridges and washing machines and repair them to sell on. I gave them a ring and arranged to go around and look at their wares. They were friendly sorts and I spent a bit of time chatting about fridges and life in general, as you do.

Mark and Craig were their names and Mark, who has spent time in the UK, became the first person over here to pick me as a Welshman. In doing so proving himself to have a very keen ear and an extensive knowledge of the extremely varied subject of British accents and dialects. Craig seemed mildly pleased when I told him his name translates to 'rock' in Welsh.

Anyhow, having taken a liking to the lads I decided to ignore the wife's advice and have one of their fridges. Not only were they decent lads, but the fridge, at $350, was $200 cheaper than its nearest rival. It also fitted perfectly into the back of our car, once all the seats were down, thus saving us a delivery fee.

That's where the good news ends however. Although we'd checked it over in Craig's garage, when we got it home and plugged it in, it made a right old racket. I've heard quieter fire alarms.

I tried all the usual, universal remedies – 're-booted' it, kicked it, opened and closed the doors, played about with the thermostat, all to no avail. In our big empty house with it's opera-house style acoustics, it sounded like a jet engine.

The next day, after a noisy, sleepless night, I gave the boys a ring and Mark came around that afternoon. We got chatting again and it turns out that Mark is only a refrigeration engineer, or 'fridgey', by day and, at nights and weekends, is a stand-up comedian. How often does that happen to you?!

He told me all about his career to date. How, at the age of 34 and against the wishes of his wife at the time, he entered a talent contest in Melbourne. He'd been a 'fridgey' for all of his working life, but he'd wanted to do stand-up for his entire life. He won the contest but ended up losing his wife. She decided she didn't want to be married to a comic.

That was eight years ago and since that night in Melbourne, he's performed all over Australia in some of the country's most prestigious venues. In October he's attempting to get into the Guinness Book of Records by performing a world-record, thirty, half-hour shows in seven days. If you look closely at the photograph at the top of this entry you can see the poster advertising his act.

As well as being a funny bloke, Mark also managed to quieten the fridge down, although he is returning this week to replace the compressor. You can't say fairer than that.

The Fridge Man is a cool bloke.

Who knows, we may even become friends.

Down Mexico Way

We didn't do an awful lot this weekend.

We spent most of it buying some essentials to enable us to move into our new home, pictured left. I say ours, but it's rented.

The ship carrying our container, with almost all our worldly goods in, docked in Melbourne on Friday just gone.

Unfortunately for us it will take approximately seven to ten working days to clear customs and is unlikely to be delivered to us before the 19th September.

That's a shame, as we're moving house this Thursday, 6th September.

So, for around a fortnight, we'll be 'roughing' it without all our stuff from home. We've bought a double bed for the girls to sleep on, two sofas, which will double up as beds for the wife and I, a telly, fridge, kettle and some kitchen utensils. Just enough to keep us going until the cavalry arrives. Our friends Dave and Kaz live just down the road and have offered us use of their laundry services and anything else we may be short of.

The house itself is a big, spacious four-bedder with plenty of room for guests. So, if any of the good folk from home want to visit, we've got ample space.

It's in Wodonga, which is across the Murray River from Albury. It is also in another state, as the border between New South Wales and Victoria also separates the twin cities.

In days of yorn the border between the states was much more obtrusive. Different size railway gauges prevented the same train travelling between the two states - passengers travelling from Melbourne to Sydney used to have to disembark at Wodonga and get on a different train to continue their journey. That's not all. Apparently, and remarkably, the two places, at certain times of the year, were in different time-zones!

It is still forbidden to carry fruit across the border because of fruit-fly. Again, apparently, the searching of vehicles was commonplace in a bid to stop 'fruit-runners'.

Now though, the two cities have became a single entity in many ways. In name, the term Albury-Wodonga is used an awful lot now and much has been done to eliminate the 'red-tape' differences that had previously hampered commerce and general life between the two settlements.

There are some annoying regulations still in place though. Notably the fact that the wife and I will have to re-apply, at our own cost, for Victorian driving licences, having already forked out for NSW ones. Also, again at our expense, we will have to register the car in Victoria and change it's number plates having registered it only three weeks ago in NSW.

There also remains a certain amount of elitism on the side of NSW. Although mostly in banter, they feel Albury has the edge in many ways over it's smaller Victorian twin.

I'm fairly sure that it's not only a geographical reference when the NSW locals call Victoria, Mexico, and it's residents, Mexicans.

Which, rather neatly, brings me on to my favourite Mexican gag.

Why did the Mexican push his wife off the cliff?

TEQUILA, of course!

Stood Where Ned Stood

On Saturday we set about exploring.

We had planned to visit Australia's capital city, Canberra, but I overslept and, as it's a three hour drive away, we opted to stay closer to home.

So, instead, we visited the towns of Beechworth and Wangaratta, an area of north-eastern Victoria known as Kelly Country.

Beechworth is described as a living museum and it's not hard to see why. The town retains much of it's original lay-out and buildings. And, in doing so, it holds a unique and memorable charm.

There are no 'pokies' in Beechworth. A 'poky' being a gambling machine - what people back home would call a 'bandit'. This may seem unremarkable, but, believe me, in Australia 'pokies' are in abundance in every pub, tavern and club. I personally think there are more 'pokies' than people in Australia.

Not in Beechworth though. So remarkable is this, that the town declare the fact, albeit discreetly, on many signs up and down the place. And rightly so, if you can't uphold and enjoy Victorian values in Victoria, then where can you?

The majority of our time here was spent in the telegraph station and in the towns courthouse.

The telegraph station was built in 1858 as a relay point between Melbourne and Albury. You can still send a telegram to anywhere in the world from the station and we sent a couple home. Here, we also had a very interesting lesson in Morse Code from the old chap who 'manned' the station.

The courthouse, I'm sure, is Beechworth's major attraction. For it was here, at the back-end of the 19th century, that several members of the Kelly family, including Edward 'Ned' Kelly himself, were tried for their crimes.

Early on in his criminal career Ned was sentenced to three years imprisonment here for 'receiving a horse'. Sounds painful doesn't it?

In 1880, after two years on the run, Ned was captured at Glenrowan and was brought here, to Beechworth's Courthouse, where he was committed to stand trial in Melbourne and subsequently hanged.

We spent an enjoyable four hours here. Like I said it's a charming place and I was captivated by it's well kept, historical past.

Although lacking Beechworth's old-world charm, Wangaratta is a nice enough place too. Ned's brother James is buried there somewhere.

My favourite things about Wangaratta are the names the locals use for the town.

Some simply and affectionately call it 'Wang' while others, less simply and less affectionately call it 'W#nk and Splatter'.

I say, how un-Victorian.

That's Our Girl!

We continue to settle, slowly but surely, into our new surroundings.

As we'd hoped and, to a degree, expected, the girls seem to be settling much more quickly.

They love their new school, have made new friends and, in Lowri's case, found true love.

Yes, Lowri informed us on Friday that she is in love with Dray. I think that's how you spell it, although it could be Dre, like the famous medical practitioner come rap star.

So, young Jacob, back home in Wales, appears to be officially dumped. However, as a six year old enjoying his summer holidays, I doubt whether this will affect his mood in the slightest.

Whilst Lowri has been busying herself with the fellas, our eldest daughter Robyn, has been wowing them on the athletics track.

With complete disregard for the recent sporting tradition that Aussies win everything and us Brits finish as plucky losers, the Robsta went out and won three foot races on her sports day.

She won the hurdles, the one hundred and two hundred metre events for ten year olds.

We were as proud as punch. Go Robyn!

If It's Not One Thing, It's Your Mother

The kids love their new school and the wife likes her new job. I'm quite enjoying my temporary role as well.

I've done the school run, dropped the wife off at work, done a bit of housework, watched some daytime telly (Oz Aerobics) and now I'm in Albury's wonderful, new library.

Such is my daily routine as Mr. Mum.

I had my first mild bout of homesickness this weekend. It was very mild and only lasted an hour or two. It was brought on by a couple of happenings from home - the Esplanade Club's annual outing to Bangor-on-Dee races and the boys from the Swan phoning me up in the middle of their Sunday session.

It was the middle of the night here and I was fast asleep when my mobile went off. I looked at the caller ID on my phone - Pepsi Max.

Now, everyone at home reading this blog knows Pepsi to be the ultimate pest and nuisance calls are a big part of his very limited repertoire, so I rejected the call. I sat up in bed, put my phone on silent, 'puffed up' my pillow and lay back down, hoping to resume my 'sandwich' dream from last week.

A sleepless minute passed before my phone started vibrating. Although my phone was in silent mode, in the dead of night the noise from the vibration is quite audible. I looked at the screen, it read 'Private Number'.

This is the caller ID you get from an unrecognised number from the U.K. I immediately associated the call with Pepsi the Pest and let it ring. It rang for an absolute age before ceasing. 'Very persistent,' I thought.

A couple of minutes later it rang again with the same ID. Again, it rang for ages. By now I was awake, thinking something dreadful had happened back home and someone was desperate to get hold of us.

The next time it rang I picked up straight away, only to be greeted by some clown asking for a kebab. The next thing I heard was raucous laughter - the type of laughter you get when the people doing the laughing have consumed an afternoon's worth of ale.

And that's exactly what it was, the lads down at The Swan enjoying their Sunday afternoon drink and, more so, enjoying interrupting my much required beauty sleep. It must have been on speaker-phone because I could hear all of the idiots

I spoke to a couple of them, which was nice, but it was the background noise of a busy British pub that made me want to be there.

As for the Esplanade trip to the races, this was the first one I've missed for years. It's a great day out, definitely one of the highlights on our social calender. The memories we've got from this event down the years still tickle me - I can still see Bob Bishop hurtling down the centre aisle of the coach last year, microphone in hand, crashing into the windscreen.

How we all laughed as he was carried out of the Esp on a spinal board.

I'm crying laughing just writing about it. To those who don't know, I'm pleased to say that Bob made a full recovery and was present on the trip this year. Tina had to book a different coach firm though, I believe.

My mum and dad are regulars on the trip these days and I had a few text messages from them and from friends letting me know how the day was going. Once again Mum managed to uphold the proud family tradition by getting well and truly trashed.

The last two text messages I got were from Matty.

The first one said -'Your mum is sh#tfaced'

'Oh no, not again,' I said to the wife.

The second one, an hour later, informed me that she'd been sick on Tina, the landlady.

Ma, what are you like?

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

Here are the girls looking very proud of their selves in the uniform of their new school, Wodonga Primary.

If you click on the snap to enlarge it, you may be able to make out the Welsh and Australian flag pin-badges on their hats. These were given to them as leaving gifts.

They were up like larks this morning, super-excited about their first day.

On the way to school I asked Robyn,

'On a scale of one to ten, how excited are you?'

'Nine and a half' she said, ' and half nervous' she added.

Mrs. Martin, the Principal, was waiting for them in reception and she took us to their respective classrooms. I was touched by Robyn's new teacher - she told the girls she knew exactly how they felt as she had moved to Australia from Scotland aged six. She'd also been in our old neck of the woods quite recently as she visited Llangollen last December.

Anyway, the good news is me and the wife have got the day to ourselves for the first time in ages. We've already been out for breakfast and we plan to spend some quality time together house-hunting.

In other news it's been raining here overnight and was still spitting this morning. Unlike home, people here are glad to see the rain as the country is locked in it's worst drought in living memory.

The wife and I were awoken from our slumber last night by the loudest thunder I have ever heard. It sounded as though it was right above us. It was a different noise than that of thunder back home, it wasn't a sharp, crackling sound, more a dull, deeper and immensely louder din.

Talking of slumber, I've been having some quite vivid dreams over the last couple of nights. Nothing exciting I'm afraid, but the dream experts out there may be able to see some sort of meaning.

The night before last I dreamt that I was enjoying a snooze on some sort of temporary bed above a pub back home in Rhyl - not my local pub, but the George Hotel, where I worked many, many moons ago. I was awakened by the not unpleasant sight of Kirsty, the girl that runs my old local, delivering a masterpiece of a sandwich for my apres-nap consumption. It was the size of a bin lid and had salad garnish surrounding it on all sides. I continued to doze but, from time to time, stirred to stare at the sandwich which lay on a plate rested on my chest. I awoke several times, each time thinking, something along the lines of, 'Oooohhh, I'm looking forward to eating that sandwich'

However, when I'd finally finished my nap, I looked at the plate on my chest and it was empty, apart from a few tell-tale crumbs.

Kirsty appeared.

'What happened to my sandwich?' I asked despondently.

'Oh that,' she said, 'I sold it.'

I was gutted, so gutted that I woke up for real. I was starving too, so I dived straight into the fridge.

So, dream-readers, what do you make of that?

Turning Japanese

It's a big day for the girls tomorrow - they're going to their new school, Wodonga Primary.

We looked at lots of schools in the area, both north and south of the border, and they all seemed good. What made us plump for Wodonga was their Principal (Headmistress in old money). Her enthusiasm and friendliness was a joy to behold. And, most importantly, the girls liked this school best. They'll be learning Japanese!

We got all their new clobber yesterday. I can honestly say I've never known them so excited - I think they're plumb fed up of hanging around with me and their mum.

Punk'd!

Well, we've been here five days now and I'm starting to feel a tad at home.

I must admit to having felt a little deflated for the first couple of days. We were so excited about finally getting here but, after visiting the Gold Coast and Sydney, the place looked small and a bit behind the times.

Albury initially reminded me of Marty McFly's hometown in Back To The Future - when the Doc and him go back in time. That's not being insulting to the place, it's just like nowhere I've ever visited before and the only physical similarity I can see is to old-time American towns from the movies.

So, as you may be able to imagine, it was a bit of a culture shock to say the least. Five days in though, we're warming to the place.

We've joined a couple of social clubs in town and have made our first friends, Dave and Karen. Dave is ex-REME, same as me, and has transferred to the Aussie army. We'd been in contact by email via the British Expats website before we left the U.K., but on Sunday we met up with them at the Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen's Club in Albury. As I expected of an ex- British squaddie and his wife, they're earthy, funny and excellent company. Dave knows quite a few lads that I served with and it was great to hear how they've progressed in life. We enjoyed our day with them very much.

The wife had her second interview with the city council yesterday. It must have gone well because they asked her to go for a functionality test that afternoon.

She went along and was thoroughly checked over by a physio. Following that they had her moving chairs around, doing some shoulder press reps with a PC monitor and then, and this is the funny bit, crawling under desks! Ten times they made her crawl under this desk, stand up at the other end, get back down and crawl back to the other side! I personally think she's been secretly filmed and will be appearing on Australia's Funniest Home Videos in the next series.

She's never been much of a crawler, but they liked what they saw because she's been offered the job.

Brunstrom's Brother

After an epic journey we have finally arrived in our adopted hometown of Albury, New South Wales.

To actually be here, after casing the joint out on the internet for over a year, was amongst the most surreal experiences I have ever had.

We drove down Dean Street, Albury's main drag, past all the shops, pubs, clubs and food outlets that I'd been reading about in the Border Mail online. Past Sweethearts Pizza, scene of many a newsworthy, late-night scuffle.

It was turning dusk when we arrived, but first impressions are quite positive. Unbelievably one of the first sights we saw on our arrival was a road-wide banner advertising the Albury Wodonga Eisteddfod! The exclamation mark at the end of that sentence may seem misplaced to any of my readers outside of Wales, but, to folks back home, they'll know exactly where I'm coming from.

We've rented ourselves a two-bedroomed unit, care of the Albury Motor Village in nearby Lavington. It's only for a fortnight provisionally until we find somewhere suitable for long term residence.

The trip from Sydney took six hours and wasn't a chore at all. We were excited about finally heading to Albury and the road was uncluttered and open.

So open in fact that, in my eagerness to get here, I got pinged for speeding. They're quite strict on it here in New South Wales much like they are in Old North Wales. Perhaps the notorious Chief Constable from home has got family here.

However, in true Aussie fashion, the experience wasn't an unpleasant one in the slightest. No 'cloak and dagger' sneaky photos here. The 'busy' in question was sitting in his car on the grassy central reservation when I sped past at 136kmh causing his car to shake and, no doubt, him to spill his brew. He pulled out of his 'hide', whacked the red and blue lights on and began his pursuit, Roscoe P. Coltrane style.

I was briefly tempted to do what Bo and Luke Duke would have done in my position, but decided it against it - our car is alright, but it's no General Lee.

Anyhow I pulled over after what I thought was a respectable length of pursuit and faced Roscoe.

He was a decent chap. He introduced himself as a constable of the Yass Police. He informed me of the Aussie speed limits (110kmh), told me what speed I was doing, asked all about our travels and called me 'mate', which I thought was nice. Then he issued me, ever so politely, with a $238 fine.

Cheers mate.

Extra Time

We're having an extra day in Sydney.

The wife's got a job interview here for a position she applied for prior to us leaving the U.K. It's over the bridge in North Sydney and we've been over on the bus for a reccie today.

While she's getting grilled me and the kids are heading to Luna Park for some fairground fun, Coney Island style.

Sydney Sober

Sydney is a great place to hang out.

I came here with Deaf Dave eleven years ago but, pretty much, all we did was tank it up from the moment we arrived until we flew home.

This time around things are much different. The kids are here for one. Rather poignantly I was here in Sydney when the wife broke the news to me that she was expecting Robyn. I was half-cut in Manly to be exact, on a pay-phone. And on Sunday that's where we headed - Manly Beach to show the Robsta where her old man heard the news of her impending arrival.

Yesterday we went to Bondi Beach in the morning, The Rocks in the afternoon and Darling Harbour in the evening.

Dave and I set out to Bondi but stopped off at the pub on the way to the beach and it was dark by the time we reached the ocean. Yesterday we arrived early on another beautiful Sydney winters morning. The beach was well populated with surfers and bathers and their playground was like a scene from a picture postcard - bluey-green sea with white-capped waves lapping the shore.

In The Rocks - where the First Fleet initially made camp in 1788, making it Sydney's oldest 'neighbourhood' - you get a real feel for the history of the place. Again, although we visited this area, this was something that passed me and Dave by.

Too little blood in our alcohol stream, no doubt.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

G'day peeps.

Just a quickie as we're in an internet cafe in Sydney paying through the bugle for this.

Had a very interesting trip down to Sydney stopping off in Byron Bay, Coffs Harbour, Port Macquarie, Nelson Bay and Newcastle-Not-Upon-Tyne.

Whilst we were staying with Aussie Paul and Tracey in Newcastle we bought a car - a Ford Fairmont estate. It's a bit of a shed but it was only $2,500(about 1200 in proper money). It's a beast though, a 4 litre, straight six. The last time I drove a vehicle with a petrol engine this big, said vehicle was armour-plated, had tracks instead of wheels and was painted green.

We're lodging in the cheapskate-renowned Formula One in Kings Cross.

We're exploring Sydney until Wednesday and then heading off to Albury.

If the tank makes it, of course.

Due South

In a few hours we leave The Sunshine State and head south to Sydney.

We pick up our hire car, a 4 litre Ford Falcon (or similar), at two o'clock this afternoon.

The plan is to reach Coffs Harbour tonight, spend tomorrow looking around it with Sean and his family and then continue on down the M1 to Newcastle to visit Paul and Tracey before arriving in Sydney for the weekend.

I may be unable to blog while we're travelling, I don't know. But, rest assured, I'll resume as soon as is possible.

I'll miss Hed and Annabel, they've been great. They're off to New Zealand this evening for a well-deserved holiday.

They've housed us, fed us and given us invaluable advice on all things Australian. They've ferried us around and been at our beck and call since we arrived and we'll forever be in their debt. Without them being at this end to meet us, things would have been so much harder and they've given us a fantastic introduction to the Aussie lifestyle.

It's going to be tough not having them around after today. I'm going to feel like a kid who's had the stabilisers taken off his bike.

I'll miss Queensland too. They've made us very welcome and, above all, they really appreciate the finer things in life - beer, pies and rugby league.

They've got a saying up here that describes the place pretty well;
'Queensland - beautiful one day, perfect the next'.