The Apprentice

Neil's here!

I picked him up from Melbs safe and sound at daft o'clock on Monday morning. Since then we've done a bit of boozing, a bit of mooching around, etc.

Today he started to earn his keep by helping me fix the brakes on the car and he mowed our extensive grounds all by himself.

This weekend, if he continues his good behaviour, I might even give him some pocket money.

From Pools To Porridge

In exactly one weeks time my former apprentice/understudy/lacky, Neil Wynne, arrives in Australia.

He's in the enviable position of having a one year working visa to explore this great land. He plans to find some work locally and, in between jobs, have a good old mooch around the joint. He wants to do the normal touristy 'stuff' like visit Ayers Rock, the Barrier Reef and get around the state capitals, of course, but, in staying with us, he will also get the opportunity to experience life in 'country' Australia, something many tourists miss out on.

I'll be able to spend the entire week showing him around his new environment, which will be nice, as I've missed the little fella since we've been over here.

I finish my current job as a pool technician this Friday and have a free week before I begin the training for my new role as a prison officer with the Department of Justice.

It'll be a bitter sweet experience as I really have enjoyed what I've been doing for the last ten, or so, months. Working outside in mainly brilliant sunshine doing all sorts of jobs involving domestic and commercial pools has been, quite literally, a real breath of fresh air. I work with a great bunch of people, who I'm sure I'll miss. But, I'm also pretty excited about my new role and the challenges that it will bring.

Additionally, I'll be earning quite a few more beer tokens which, naturally, means quite a bit more beer. Can't be bad!

Where Everybody Knows Your Name...

Our friends from Wodonga, Jeff and Sharon are currently on a six week holiday in the good old U.K.

This week they called into World Headquarters to say 'Gidday' to my mum and dad.

My dad took Jeff down to that magical place known as 'the Esp'. They sent this snap over to make me feel homesick.

Do Nothing Day

I awoke this Sunday morning, wiped the drool from my chops, glanced at my watch, and turned my thoughts toward the day ahead.

Something was odd. Something didn't seem right. By my reckoning, for the first time in ages, we had absolutely no plans for the day in front of us. No work, no social engagements, no activities for the kids, no jobs around the house, no nothing. Doubting myself, I thought hard. Aside from returning Lowri's friend Portia to her parents after a sleepover, our agenda was empty.

I hopped out of bed, silently chastising myself for thinking of Portia as if she were a library book, and headed to the kitchen, with hope in my heart.

I found the Minister for Home Affairs outside, under the pergola, engaged in a telephone conversation. Judging by the time of day and her lip-speed, it was a call from the U.K.

If this were so, then I may have to wait some time to discover whether or not my hopes of a free day were to be dashed. I paced up and down the kitchen, scanning my minuscule, short-term memory for any recollections of arrangements that I may have overlooked. I checked the diary on my mobile too. Nothing. Zilch. Squat. Sweet F.A. My hopes were rising.

I looked through the patio window, the wife was still going at it hammer and tongs. While I was waiting, I allowed myself to think about how I should spend a completely vacant day. The pub? Hmmm, I could do worse, but no. A round of golf perhaps? Hmmm, tempting, but no, too busy on Sundays and the flies are growing in number.

Then it came to me - a day on the sofa, flicking through the channels on our new telly whilst shovelling scooby snacks into my mouth, pausing only for a nap around lunch-time and then more of the same in the arvo. Homer Heaven!

My excitement was growing, but at the forefront of my mind was the knowledge that women all over the world love nothing more than scuppering such bone-idle plans.

The wife being on the phone allowed me to ponder on how best I should broach the subject. Should I meekly ask what we had planned for the day, allowing her time to come up with no end of chores around the house for me to do? Or should I go straight on the attack by stating that we have nothing planned and just hope not to be corrected?

I opted for the latter as she came into the kitchen, still-hot phone in hand.

'We've got jack-shit to do today,' I said manly.

'Have we?' I added meekly.

I think she could sense the hope within me as she carefully considered what I'd said.

After what seemed like an age, she said, ' No, you're right. I don't think we have'

I walked away, concealing my inner joy, but half expecting a post-script statement beginning along the lines of 'Oh no, I forgot. We have to...'

I increased my pace to get out of earshot should such a statement be made, but nothing was forthcoming. Yes! It was on!

The rest of the day went exactly as I had planned. I love our new telly and I love food.

I had plenty of both.

Big Game Big Screen

We've splashed out on a new telly.

It's a 42" plasma and in Australian terms would be described as being 'schmick' or 'schmicko', which, roughly translated, means it's the dogs bollocks.

I've been stuck in front of it for the last couple of days, only straying from viewing range to go to work and use the toilet. Today is Aussie Rules Grand Final day and we've pledged our attendance at a barbie. I've offered to drive so I won't be drinking, enabling me to remain fully focused to watch tonight's major sporting events on the big screen.

Firstly, Manly take on the NZ Warriors in the rugby league and then the main course - the Merseyside Derby, Everton v. Liverpool.

This time last year we were all excited as we had Austar fitted on the day of the game, but it ended in disappointment as the dirty Reds got the win, ably assisted by the referee.

I wonder who they've got reffing for them this year.

Taking The Mick

It's a beautiful Sunday morning here and my day, despite having a headache for no apparent reason , just got off to an amusing start.

Reading the Daily Post website I see that ex-Manchester United player Mickey Thomas had his car pinched outside Anfield last week after commentating on the Liverpool/Man. U. game.

Mickey's a colourful character and imagining him wandering around 'enemy territory' scratching his dome, looking for his motor, makes me laugh.

Even funnier though, he's appealed to the 'good' people of Mersyside to come forward with any info regarding his cars current whereabouts. Yeah, righto Mickey, that's likely to happen! Talk about wasting your breath!

Scousers may be good at 'liberating' stuff, but are also renowned for not dobbing their mates in, particularly if the victim of the felony is a former United player who himself is not adverse to a bit of gaining personal wealth through illegal means.

Typical Tim

Super Timmy Cahill made his long awaited Everton comeback this weekend. Typically, the Australian Pele scored the winner with a trademark header.

My behaviour was also fairly predictable as I dozed off on the sofa and missed the entire match.

My pre-match preparations weren't ideal, I suppose. They began well enough with me having an afternoon nap after mowing the lawn, but ended poorly as I headed down the Golf Club and sank a few schooners of the amber nectar, rendering me useless for anything, apart from eating six bags of crisps, a sandwich and a bacon omelette, of course.

Needless to say, no sooner had I parked my fat arse in front of the telly, my eyes were shut.

I woke up, covered in crumbs, just in time to see the credits roll. Typical.

Victoria's Empire

'I believe that children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way' - Linda Creed, 1986.

Surely there can be no finer tonic for life's woes than seeing a whole bunch of kids trying their hearts out and giving it their all.

And last weekend in Melbourne, as privileged guests at the Victoria State School Spectacular, that's exactly what we witnessed.

Pupils from schools all over Victoria were taking part, including forty students from Wodonga Primary, our Robyn being amongst them.

The event was hosted by the Hisense Arena - formerly, and more famously, known as the Vodafone Arena. Believe me, this joint is no two-bit Girl Guide hut, it's a world-class venue more used to hosting major sporting events like the Commonwealth Games than a bunch of schoolkids singing and dancing.

Even more impressive than the venue was the production itself. The logistics, organisation, props, choreography, costumes and make-up would have been befitting a West End musical or a Broadway show.

And the kids themselves - they were something else. Unbelievable. Thousands of 'em were involved and everywhere you looked they were trying their level best. There was no bludging, no having a breather on the wing - from go to whoa they gave it absolute socks. Few things in life touch me as much as a 'young 'un' giving it max, and I barely had a dry eye from the anthem to the encore.

In contrast to the modern trend of over-statement and exaggeration, the Victoria State School Spectacular was appropriately named.

Gee, I was impressed and I was proud - proud of Robyn, proud of the kids from Wodonga Primary and proud of being a resident of Victoria.

Bad News Bears

I haven't blogged in ages.

It's not that there's nothing going on, there's plenty, but bad news from home has left us reeling.

I won't go into the specifics.

I'll be back.

Pole Dancing

As I downloaded the photographs taken on my mobile phone over the last few months, this one struck me as being particularly noteworthy.

This one, simple photograph says a lot about the changing face of multicultural, small town Britain.

It was taken on a Sunday night in Ellis', a nightspot in Rhyl's town centre. In the photograph are a young Chinese kid and a Polish fella. People who reside in bigger, more cosmopolitan areas of the world may think this unremarkable. But to someone like me, who left this country ten months ago, two things are remarkable. Firstly, that there was anyone in Ellis' on a Sunday night at all and, secondly, that it was full of people from all over the world.

Sunday nights out in Rhyl are shit, or, I should say, were shit. Things have changed. On this Sunday, we had a ripper night.

The dance floor resembled a 'ho-down' at the U.N. with nationalities galore strutting their funky stuff. Poles, Latvians, Turks, Indians and Chinese, to name but a few. The fashion police would've had a field day, not to mention the Ku Klux Klan.

The Poles ruled the roost numerically and the lad in the photo ruled the busy dance floor. He danced and pouted his way around the joint like the Polish John Travolta. I studied the scene in awe. All these people. Foreign people. Was this really a Sunday night in Rhyl?

Although this multicultural miracle was mighty impressive, I reckoned it still lacked some antipodean influence. I limbered up, not wanting to 'do a hammy', and decided to enter the fray, representing Australia. I kicked off my thongs and tripped the light fantastic, throwing out some big shapes. My moves were loosely based on an aboriginal dance I'd seen on The Discovery Channel. For added authenticity, I danced in true Aussie fashion - like no one was watching.

My efforts seemed to be appreciated by most, with a couple of noticeable exceptions. Namely, the Polish lad whose spotlight I'd stolen and the bouncer, who told me to put my shoes back on or get out.

Miserable git. Some things will never change.

Murder In The Dong

On the way to work this morning, we heard the shocking news that a man had been beaten to death right here in Wodonga.

It happened in the early hours of Sunday morning, after closing time in the car park of a nearby tavern. We're stunned, as are most of the towns folk.

We only live a couple of kms away and the girls have their swimming lessons in the leisure centre close by.

You can read all about it in the Border Mail.

Trans Tasman Timmy

I'm excited.

Five sleeps to go before our friends, Tim and Louise, arrive from New Zealand for a fortnights holiday with us.

Me and Tim go back a long way, our friendship forged on the rugby league fields of England's north west. Timmy was a no-nonsense front rower and one of my sporting heroes.

I remember the first time we met - we were playing at a sevens tournament in Blackpool when this almighty brawl broke out. Timmy wasn't playing in the game but was on the sideline cheering us on, wearing his best clothes ready for a night out on the town. It was a mucky day and Tim had borrowed an umbrella to keep himself dry. The brawl started on the pitch but soon spilled over to the benches. Timmy, who never needed asking twice to participate in such proceedings, discarded his brolly to join in the fun, forgetting the fact that he had his best gear on. My lasting memory of the incident was seeing him stood there 'wind-milling' his way through half of their team! He flattened loads of them and even managed to get himself undressed in the middle of it all. I can see him now, covered in mud, picking up bits of his clothing and hunting around the floor for his watch when the fighting ceased.

I decided that day that I'd like to have him as a friend. Since then we've had loads of laughs together, both on the rugby field and off it. Even though Tim lived in Rochdale we always kept in touch and got together, even after we'd finished playing.

Tim and Lou moved to New Zealand with Tim's job, a couple of years ago and were a big influence on our decision to emigrate. Whenever I was feeling homesick earlier in the proceedings, Tim was always on the end of the phone for me, cheering me up and making me laugh, like he always does. We still chat for at least an hour a week on the blower and I look forward to his calls.

And now they're coming to Oz for a holiday. They arrive in Melbourne on Friday and will both be celebrating their fortieth birthdays while they're with us.

Bring it on!

G.I. 11

July 23rd is a date that will be etched on my mind for time eternal.

On this day one year ago, myself, Pauline and the girls, flew to Australia, embarking on the biggest and most exciting adventure of our lives. A year on, we're all well and enjoying the challenges and rewards of life down under.

On this day two years ago, Gary Dyson, Mark Davies, Russ Jones, Ray Shackleton and I completed the 'Three Peaks Challenge'. Namely, climbing to the summits of Ben Nevis in Scotland, Scafell Pike in England and Snowdon in Wales, within a 24 hour time frame. Our team, named G.I.9, for reasons that may become apparent to the more cryptically astute of my readers, finished first. And our time of 18 hours 23 minutes surprised everyone, especially ourselves. In doing so we raised about five grand for Cancer Research in the memory of our dear friend Peter 'Conrad' Jones. It was a day we'll never forget.

Finally, and most importantly, on this day eleven years ago, my godson George Dyson was born. He starts High School in September. I still remember the days when he used to let the snot run so far out of his nose he could lick it! My, where has the time gone?

Happy Birthday George!

Purple Rain

We've been blessed.

For the last seven days we've had rain in varying quantities. Some days just light showers and other days more substantive amounts of H2O have been deposited on this barren land. Today it has rained all day, from morning til night. I reckon we've had 50mm, which is massive for the region.

Everyone is chuffed to bits and hopes we get plenty more. In the time we've been here I can't remember it raining for two consecutive days and, until today, I've never known it rain for an entire day.

The drought is of big concern all over Australia and we've got it worse than most. Lake Hume dropped to as low as 20% full, following this summer. When we're driving around the countryside my workmate Marty points out to me where the edge of the lake used to be and it beggars belief. The water's edge is literally miles away from where it should be. The land has reclaimed the land.

It's funny, I hated the persistent rain back home - it's one of the reasons we're here. But now, like the natives, I welcome it's presence and understand it's importance in our lives and livelihoods.

Hopefully the purple patch we're in at present will continue and, once again, Lake Hume and the mighty Murray River will be returned to their former glories.

The F Word

For the first time in ages I find myself unable to sleep.

I was knackered earlier and turned it in at nine o'clock. I woke up half an hour ago, tried to get back off to sleep, but failed. So, here I am, on the computer. At three in the morning.

Just checked in on the phenomena that is Facebook. More addictive than crack cocaine and nearly as much fun, this website has become our first, and sometimes only, port of call when logging on.

I spend at least an hour a day 'facebooking', and I know I'm not alone. It's global. When Collins publish the next version of their Oxford English Dictionary, don't be surprised if several new entries are based around the 'F' word.

In our house only Lowri seems immune to it's magnetism. The wife and Robyn have become equally as dependant as I, borne out by the fact that you almost have to book a time-slot on our PC these days.

In fact, tonight's sleeplessness has given me the opportunity to 'facebook' in peace.

Perhaps my subconscious woke me entirely for that purpose.

The Pride Of The League

I've just witnessed a rugby league miracle! The second one in just over a week.

South Sydney, after being 24-6 down, came back to beat the Bulldogs 34-30 in extra time.

It was heart stopping stuff, I was up and down like a yo-yo. South's season got off to a shocking start, losing eight games on the run. Now they've won the last four and have put some pride back into the old green and red jumper.

Last week they were 28-4 down to the Cowboys and came back from the dead to win that one.

I don't want to put the mockers on them, but there's even talk of them making the play-offs.

Who knows? Anything's possible the way these lads are playing.

Childs Play

The weekend's here already.

We've been back a week now and, jet lag aside, things are going well.

I've had an enjoyable first week back in work with a little jaunt down to Melbourne for a couple of days, breaking the week up nicely. The wife has had a hectic time, hampering any feelings of possible homesickness.

The girls have settled straight back into school. We were worried that our trip home would unsettle them, as they had such a good time meeting up with their old friends. They had a full day in Dewi Sant, their old school, and Lowri cried that night saying she wanted to stay in Wales, questioning, for the first time, why we had to move to Australia in the first place. Robyn looked a bit glum at the prospect of returning too.

During our stay, the girls both made rather poignant comments to me which I could really relate to. The sort of comments that only a child could make, but sum up the situation perfectly.

Lowri said to me, 'Dad, when I'm in Wales I don't think about people in Australia, but when I'm in Australia I always think about people in Wales.'

And after her day at her old school, Robyn said, 'Dad, in school some people called us the Australian girls. In Australia they call us the Welsh girls. I don't like it.'

What they said struck a chord with me and I had concerns about their feelings and emotions. Fortunately though, they got straight back into it and seem glad to be here.

They both came home today with outstanding mid-year school reports which made Pauline and I proud.

Australian or Welsh, they're good girls.

Home From Home

It's four o'clock on Sunday morning here and we've just arrived back in the Dong.

Door to door, that's a 35 hour journey. Sounds bad , but it was actually alright. As our son, Cory, was 'Trooping the Colour' on Horse Guards Parade in London, I was watching Billy Elliot over Indonesia

Despite it being the wee small hours, I'm wide awake. Still on Rhyl time, I guess. It's seven p.m. there. The iced coffee with added guarana I had an hour ago may also be a contributing factor.

It's a weird feeling. We're home, but we've just left home.

As we flew into Sydney we had a great view over the harbour. Being greeted by the iconic sight of the Opera House and the 'Old Coathanger' left me with a warm, welcoming feeling inside.

We're home. From home.

Singapore Swim

For the second time in just under a year we find ourselves at Singapore's marvellous Changi Airport, en route to Australia.

I feel a lot better than last time we were here, when the wounds of leaving home were still raw.

We had a great time at home and leaving this time around wasn't half as bad as I imagined it would be.

Me and the girls have just been for a swim in the nice little outdoor pool they've got here. It's an ideal way to freshen up after a long flight.

We board the plane to Sydney in ten minutes.

Bitter Sweet Symphony

Well, what a fortnight it's been.

Pauline's dad's funeral was very sad, but, as far as funerals go, went perfectly. It was a beautiful day. The service was superbly attended, tributes were read and performed by family members and Reverend Glover's eulogy was made all the more special by the fact that he knew Dan personally. It was a fitting tribute to a special man. He would have been so proud.

Dan's bereavement aside, the rest of our time here has been a blur of reunions and a roller coaster of emotions. We've seen Rhyl in glorious sunshine, in the middle of it's massive, much needed face lift. The town, after wallowing on the canvas for an age, is on it's way up at last.

We've been away for a little over ten months. That's the longest I've ever been away from Rhyl, doubling my previous best of five months. There have been times when it's seemed like we'd been gone for two years, but as I stepped into the Esplanade Club on my return, it felt like I'd been away for just a couple of weeks.

Catching up with friends and family cannot be described easily. Euphoria would be the closest I could get to explaining my feelings as I continued, day after day, to be reunited with people I hold dear.

It's been a hectic period too. I've felt the pressure of trying to get around to seeing people and doing things that I had planned to do. It hasn't been like any other holiday I've ever experienced.

We've also received some tragic news from Australia whilst we've been here. One of my oldest friends Steve O'Rourke, who lives in Adelaide, has been diagnosed with motor neurone disease. The doctors have told him he's got the worst strain of the disease and his life expectancy isn't very long.

Steve and I are the same age. We served, and laughed through, a big portion of our army careers together. He is one of the funniest people I've ever met and we have shared some great times in Germany, the USA and in Britain. We joined at around same time and left on the exact same day. In fact we travelled home together the day we left, Steve dropped me and my gear off at Rhyl before he headed home to Oldham.

I remember the journey well, two young blokes set free from the military with their lives in front of them, full of excitement and hope as they headed into 'Civvy Street'.

Steve, Jen and their daughters emigrated to Adelaide almost three years ago and their move was a big factor in us taking the plunge and leaving these shores too. They have both provided Pauline and I with help, support and advice since our Australian adventure began.

As we embark on our gruelling journey from Rhyl to Wodonga, early tomorrow morning, I'll be thinking of my old mate. However down I may be feeling about leaving the comforting bosom of friends and family once again, it will be nothing in comparison to what Steve and Jen are going through right now.

It's a bitter sweet symphony this life.