Old Dog, New Tricks

Today is my 40th birthday.

To celebrate this momentous event and also to bring in the New Year, we've journeyed to Sydney.

Last night we spent the evening down at The Rocks and Darling Harbour before heading back to the hotel where me and dad had a nightcap to bring in my birthday.

It's 7.30am here now, I got up extra early to open my cards and gifts. Thanks to everyone from home who got stuff out to me for the big day, it was overwhelming.

I won't bore you by listing all my pressies, but the main one was a flying lesson to be taken at Albury airport.

And, in one hours time, I will be meeting up with my old mate Hed for a surfing lesson at Bondi beach.

Following that we'll be having lunch out at Manly with the folks and then me and the wife are having a big night out in Sydney.

Contrast today's plans with my birthday last year - they're a world apart. Literally.

According to my blog entry one year ago, I spent a soggy day in Rhyl with Weeb as we scoured the towns pubs trying, unsuccessfully, to find somewhere to watch the Everton-Newcastle game.

I would dearly love to be drinking with Weeb today, but here in Sunny Sydney not Rainy Rhyl.

Field Of Dreams

Christmas has been good so far. Having the folks here has made all the difference.

Me and dad had a traditional Christmas lunchtime drink with fellow expats Glyn and Alun followed by Christmas lunch at home with all the trimmings. We rounded the day off with a pool party at Dave and Karen's house, around the corner from our own.

Boxing Day saw us visit Wodonga races. My luck was in as I backed the winner in the first three races. I lost the final three, but still ended up even-stevens overall.

We're in Melbourne at the moment. The girls have been to St. Kilda beach while me and dad have spent the day at the Melbourne Cricket Ground watching the test match between Australia and India.

The 'G', as it's affectionately known, is an awesome sporting arena and a must-see for any sports fan. Dad had his photo taken with the statues of Dennis Lillee and The Don himself, Sir Donald Bradman.

Being at a test match was a first for both of us and although it was a relatively ordinary days play it was still an unforgettable experience to be there, especially with the old man, who's a lifelong cricket fan.

I have fond childhood memories of watching cricket with him, as he explained the games intricacies to me as a young boy. I recall sitting cross-legged in front of the telly in our lounge in Winchester, watching some of the games greats like Lillee, Thomson, Richards, Lloyd and Boycott, with my dad in the armchair behind me.

Today, we were at the 'G' watching modern day greats Tendulkar, Hayden, Kumble and Lee.

The place and the names may have changed, but it was still me and my dad watching the cricket.

Do They Know It's Christmas?

It's lunchtime on Christmas Eve, the sun is shining and I've been working.

The latter two events may explain why I'm struggling to feel any Christmas spirit.

The calender says it's Christmas, so it must be. I think it's just a much lower key event over here. I can't say I'm too bothered about that, Christmas is over-hyped in the UK. People see it as a nice week or two off work over here and that's about it. Xmas decs go up, presents are exchanged and all that, but on a smaller scale.

I got a great pressie from my new boss - a Leatherman multi-tool. I've owned a Gerber one for a while but always fancied the more compact Leatherman. And now I've got one. Get in!

Fair do's to the guy, I've only been there a week or so. I'm working as a pool technician, repairing and installing swimming pool equipment. It's an interesting job with plenty of variety and I'm enjoying it thus far.

During the break we're taking the folks down to Melbourne, me and dad are going to the cricket at the MCG, and then off to Sydney for my birthday and the New Year.

I was on the phone to my old mate Weeb last night and he was telling me of his xmas plans - the lads are meeting up at two in the arvo, in about nine hours time, in the Swan and getting on it for the day. I wish I could join them for an hour or two's festive drinking.

We'll miss our xmas drink with Caroline and Paul this year in The Crown, Trelawnyd and our xmas day drink with everyone in the Esp.

We'll be thinking of everyone from home and we hope you all have a great, safe xmas.

Have one for us.

In Rod We Trust

Tonight is Wodonga's 'Carols By Candlelight' service down at nearby Willow Park.

Robyn is taking part and virtually the whole town will be there to watch. She is part of a three girl group and will be singing three songs on the main stage.

She was on local telly on Friday promoting the event. And yesterday they performed at the Mate Street Festival in Albury. It was great to see her perform in front of a crowd and to have her grand parents there too was nice. She sings a solo part during 'Silver Bells', something she would have never have had the confidence to do back home.

Last night me and the wife had our first night out together since our arrival in Australia. It was the Softball team's Xmas do and we had a good time. I'm struggling to get my head around the fact that it's the festive season- it just doesn't seem right in the warmth of an Aussie summer.

Joining the Softball team, as gay as it sounds, was a social master stroke, as they're a great mob, all around our age with a similar outlook on life as ourselves.

Last night we both noticed how the Aussies seem to be charmingly lacking in self-consciousness. We spent a good deal of the night observing them as they let their hair down. They dance like no-one's watching.

We caught the excellent courtesy bus home for the bargain price of $5 apiece and whilst travelling we witnessed another example of them not giving too much of a hoot.

This pretty young girl got on the bus, her appearance not dishevelled even after a nights partying. She looked about eighteen or nineteen, prime age for vanity. She sat on her own near the front and about ten minutes into the journey she reaches into her handbag and pulls out this massive chicken leg and starts munching on it. Due to it's 'doggy-bag' style of packaging it was obvious that she had liberated said leg from the buffet of the Xmas party she had been attending. She gets down to the bone in no time and then, very delicately, wipes her chops as if she's at the Captains Table and folds up all her rubbish and tucks it neatly away into her bag.

Nothing too remarkable, I suppose, and no-one on the bus so much as raised an eyelid but it struck both me and the wife how unlikely it would have been to have witnessed this in the UK. She probably wouldn't have travelled alone to start with and it's unlikely such a bus service would even be running at that time of the morning anyway. Thirdly, self-consciousness would have prevented her British counterpart from, not only, eating her snack until she was safely out of the sight of her peers, but also of taking it in the first place.

In other local news, Wodonga's superbly named Mayor, Rodney Wangman, has been re-elected to serve a second term.

Although Rod possesses the classic political 'smiling assassin' look I'm glad, purely on the basis of him having such a cool name.

So Far So Good

My folks have been here for two weeks now.

It's absolutely flown by and it makes you realise the worth of having an extended stay over here. They didn't seem to suffer too badly from the jet lag that hampered our first week in Australia

We haven't done an awful lot, the folks are happy just coming and going as they please and sitting out in the sun all day.

We've had a couple of nights out down at the golf club and we went to Pete and Helen's for a barbie at the weekend. They seem to like their surroundings and it's been great for us to have them here.

Our house feels more like a home now they're here and even when they do go back, just the fact that they were here and we'll be able to relate our everyday environment to them will help. It'll help me anyway.

Although I'm enjoying life I'm still missing home. Not all the time but with varying frequency and intensity. Knowing we can go back is a great crutch for me. Whether we will or not remains to be seen. Life is better here, in many ways, but whether it's that much better to compensate for missing family, friends and familiarity, I'm unsure.

Whatever happens, this has been an amazing experience thus far and has benefited us a great deal. All of our horizons have been broadened massively and that can only be a good thing. As individuals and as a family I feel we have learnt an awful lot.

When I think about how far we've come, not in a physical sense, but in a development sense, I feel proud. We are carving out a life for ourselves from nothing in a brand new environment.

We've really challenged ourselves by moving so far away from what had become our comfort zone and we're doing OK.

All About Becks

My folks arrive in a few hours.

The girls are very excited although Lowri was disgusted to learn that she still had to go to school today as her friend had the day off when her nanna came out to Australia! She had a right stink about it this morning, more than likely due to the fact that this lunchtime, her and her partner in crime, Jed, are on litter duty for larking about yesterday.

It wasn't Lowri's fault, of course. Jed 'dacked' her and they both copped it from a passing teacher. 'Dacks' meaning trousers and 'dacking' being the noble art of pulling someone's strides down when they're least expecting it. One of my old mate Pepsi's favorite stunts. I wonder who he's 'dacking' now that his favourite victim (me) is living in Australia. Whoever, I'm sure that he'd be pleased to know that his greatest skill is being utilised and appreciated on the other side of the world.

Also visiting Australia at the moment is world superstar David Beckham. He's over here with his team the LA Galaxy and last night they played in front of a full house in Sydney against A-League outfit Sydney FC.

Sydney won an entertaining game 5-3, but it was more about the phenomenon Becks than footy. All week he's been all over the media. If you think he's only big in Europe then think again. 80,000+ fans attended the game last night - Sydney FC usually get a fraction of that. This was all about Becks.

He duly scored with a trademark free-kick, an absolute carbon copy of the goal he scored for England at Old Trafford in their crucial World Cup qualifier against Greece a few years back. He also played a full game as well, even though he got some 'rough' treatment in what was quite a spiteful game for a 'friendly'.

The Galaxy are staying in town doing promotional stuff for a few days before leaving for New Zealand on a similar mission. I say Galaxy but the spotlight will solely be on Becks. The media circus surrounding 'his' visit is of the volume normally reserved for a visiting monarch or the head of the Catholic Church.

For the Aussies to pour this much acclaim on a sportsman has really surprised me. A foreign sportsman at that and, above all, a pom. I think it goes some way to show how much football is growing here.

They even call it football now, and it's official. The Aussie governing body recently renamed itself the Football Federation of Australia (FFA) from it's old title of Soccer Australia.

But, for the game to become fully embraced by Australia, one of two things will have to dramatically change.

Either the game changes and players stop acting like they've been shot when an opponent brushes past them. True blue, dinky-di Aussies, to a man, won't put up with the absolute rubbish that takes place on football fields the world over. Although the A-League games can lack a bit of quality at times, they still maintain a degree of honesty, toughness and integrity that has all but vanished from the modern-day game.

If the game doesn't change then the Aussies might. The more their kids see of these underhand antics on the field and on TV then they may begin to view them as acceptable and adopt similar. And it doesn't stop on the field either, I think it manifests itself in life. Australian sports are the epitome of tough, honest and courageous competition and that has had a very positive effect on the culture of this great nation.

So, while I'd like to see football gain credibility and popularity over here, if it comes at a cost of the deterioration of good old Australian morality and values then I'd happily start calling it soccer again and watch other countries play it every four years. For that would be too great a levy to pay.

The ball's in your court Becks. Do the right thing.

Meet The Parents

I had a day out at Wodonga races this weekend with my 'first' Aussie mate, Fridgey.

Aside from the flies and poor horse selection, we had a good day.

It's a small racecourse, reminding me very much of Bangor-on-Dee at home, which is just how I like it - no queues, plenty of room, not-extortionate beer and food pricing. All in all, a lovely place. All the ladies dress up to the nines and the blokes get to wear their scruffs, which is also just how I like it.

They hold meetings throughout the year and the next one, on Boxing Day, is regarded as the biggest and busiest. We plan to go with my mum and dad, who arrive this Wednesday evening at half-eight local time for a two month stay.

We left home on July 23rd, little over four months ago although it seems like much, much longer. It feels closer to a year to me. Oddly enough though, it only seems like yesterday that I said goodbye to my folks - to my mum in the conservatory of their house and to my dad, with a firm, manly handshake in the Esp.

It'll be great to see the old duffers and we've got a few things planned for their stay. My dad and I have got tickets for the second day of the cricket test match between Australia and India down at the Melbourne Cricket Ground and we'll be spending the New Year in Sydney. We'll visit the local wineries too and take them around the region's attractions, including Wodonga races.

I hope my mum behaves.

Wet Weekend

Last weekend began with the great news from home that Pauline's dad was home from hospital and was progressing well with his recovery.

My mood was good and, even when the car broke down later that day, it remained so.

On Friday evening we ventured down to Wodonga High Street for the inaugural 'Lounging on High' event.

This is a council organised affair where the locals are encouraged to head down to the town centre with a chair or blanket, bring some refreshments and, basically, hang-out on and around the High Street.

They closed part of the road, there was a band on, face painting and entertainment for the kids, the new lights were illuminated on the town's iconic water tower and there was much merriment for all ages. It was pleasing to be recognised and greeted by a few people as we meandered around waving the flies away.

We met up with our South Walian buddies, Glyn, Deb and their son Al. After which, much beer began to flow. It was a balmy night and it felt like we were on holiday.

The party continued back at Glyn and Deb's house until the wee small hours where I proved that I had lost very little of my ping-pong skill by becoming the house champion, beating all-comers with an ease that could, in part, be attributed to the drunken state of my opponents.

The boozing continued on Saturday when we attended the official opening of the Wodonga Golf Club.

This place, due to it's close proximity to our house, will, undoubtedly, become our local. It's had a big refurbishment and is looking like a new pin. Again, there was much to do for the kids with bouncy castles, face-painting, free sausage sizzle, ball games and a cracking firework display. Again we were joined by Glyn, Deb and Al. We also met some new people and had another good night.

Finally, I'm beginning to feel the comforting warmth of a social circle developing.

A World Away

I've felt, of late, that I've turned a corner with regard to homesickness.

I still think about home regularly, but it doesn't hurt as much as it did. The events of this week, however, have made me think again.

Pauline's dad has been hospitalized after a fall at home. He's on the mend, but we're still worried.

The distance between us and our loved ones seems all the more apparent in a situation like this.

People say the world's a small place and you can be anywhere in a day. That's true idealistically, but, realistically, unless you own a private jet, things are a little trickier to say the least.

We want to be there to support Pauline's mum in anyway we can, but we can't and it hurts. We can phone and email but it's not the same as a visit and a hug.

We knew a situation like this would arise sooner or later. You always hope for later but we don't call the shots. All we can do is hope.

Get well soon, Danny Rhyl. We're thinking of you.

European Breakfast

It's Friday once again. Everyone's favourite week day.

This weekend we're off to the Celtic Festival down at Beechworth. It's mostly a Scottish/Irish affair but hopefully there'll be some Welsh input too. The wife emailed the organisers earlier this week and they have asked if our eldest daughter, Robyn, would like to sing in Welsh at next years festival. Bendegedig, as they say yn Gymraeg.

Also this weekend our boy travels to Belize in Central America with his battalion for some jungle manoeuvres. He's coping admirably without us around, as we thought and hoped he would. Bon Voyage Champ!

This morning I had the pleasure of watching the Super Blues play in Europe as I ate my cornflakes. I do apologise to readers who haven't the slightest interest in sporting matters for continually banging on about Everton on this blog, but I find it absolutely mind-blowing that I get to watch them 'live' on this side of the planet! On a Friday morning too!

They smashed the krauts two-nil as well, which was nice. Away from home too. I wonder how many Rhylbillies made the trip out to Germany. I would have gone had I been still a resident of Europe. I like Germany - great beer and even better food.

Not to mention the lederhosen.

Dead Ringer for The King

I went down to Melbourne yesterday.

Wasn't over-impressed with the place but I'll get to that later.

While I was there I walked down a lane that was full of buskers doing their thang, when I spotted this Chinese Elvis singing 'Blue Suede Shoes'.

He was the absolute double of young Stuey Harris from back home, so I got a snap to prove it.

I couldn't believe my ears when I saw him. Let me know what you think Rhylbillies!

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'.

It's a Small World After All...

Today we re-visited Seaworld to enable the girls to have their frolic with the dolphins that they missed out on Friday, thanks largely to my inability to read instructions properly.

I'm glad we did. Not just because because the girls loved it, but, because while we were there, we miraculously bumped into fellow Rhylbillies, the Hassett family.

Sean Snr. and I have played rugby together in the past and it was amazing to meet and chat to them. They moved out here, to Coffs Harbour, Northern NSW, in May this year and were on a day trip to Seaworld today, when our paths crossed.

It was Robyn and Sean's daughter who recognised each other and they came over to chat. I was mooching around a nearby food outlet at this stage and as I returned to join the family I spotted Sean.

Anyway, we had a good old chin-wag and exchanged phone numbers. We're passing through Coffs on our journey south so we're going to stop off and visit them.

It's a big old haystack, Australia, and meeting someone you know so far away from home is almost beyond belief.

Life Begins At Forty

We all enjoyed Seaworld on Friday. I didn't think it would be my bag but I had a thoroughly good time.

It's owned and run by the same mob that have the one in Orlando, Florida. But, whereas the Orlando theme parks are all hustle and bustle, full to the brim, pay-through-the-nose affairs, the Aussie equivalent is typical of the country - big, spacious, laid back and relaxed.

We're going back on Monday as I misread the instructions for the girls' swimming with dolphins experience and we turned up late. The girls were well miffed and I was mad with myself for fluffing it up, but the lovely people at Seaworld have arranged for us to return to the park tomorrow, free of charge, so the girls can have their swim after all.

In fact, the Australian people have been great with us so far, with only a couple of exceptions - most notably, the rather rude chap who hammered on the toilet door and shouted "HURRY UP!' whilst I was enjoying a download in Surfers Paradise. Cheeky monkey.

Yesterday was Hed's 40th birthday and we had a busy day celebrating. It started with go-karting at 7.30am and then we had an all-day barbie down at the communal barbie-pit down by the lake in Pacific Pines.

This was my first chance to see the Aussie at play and I was eager to learn as much as I could. They were a pretty tame bunch compared to what I'm used to, with only one casualty - a skinny, young bird that got stretchered off at tea-time. Not surprising really, she had consumed more than her own body weight in wine.

The emphasis is definitely on the kids here, with all-day boozing just a sideline as oppose to being the main event, like back home.

Ah well, you can't have everything.

In The Deep Mid-Winter

Today we're going to Seaworld.

The girls are mucho excited as they'll be swimming with dolphins.

Yesterday, while Hed and I went golfing, Annabel took wifey and the girls to see some kangaroos. They saw loads including some 'joeys' and they loved it.

The weather here is beautiful, even though it's the height of winter. It's been in the twenties every day since we arrived, without so much as a drop of rain. Which, having left the wettest place on earth, makes a welcome change. Hed took the cover off the swimming pool yesterday and we had a dip, but it was freezing so we ended up pool-side on the sun loungers.

I still haven't shaken off the jet-lag, although this morning I had a 'lie-in' until five a.m. It also seems to be affecting the girls - they can't keep their eyes open at tea-time but are awake dead early. They keep me company, at least.

In other news, our long-lost shoe bag finally arrived - it had been left behind in Manchester.

We have our shoes back, we are complete.

Shoeless in Surfers

We arrived in Brisbane at eight o'clock local time. Hed and Annabel were at the gate to meet us with little pressies for the kids. Which was nice.

It was great to see them and they both look tanned and well.

They live about an hour from the airport in a place called Pacific Pines, near Surfers Paradise. Their house is immense, a massive four-bedder with a pool. Its the type of house that dreams are made of.

We've had a couple of mishaps already - I managed to leave my mobile phone in the bog on the plane from Singapore to Brisbane and someone had it away. And Singapore Airlines have mis-laid one of our bags. The big black one with everyone's shoes in it.

It's half four in the morning here now and everyone apart from me is fast asleep. I woke up half an hour ago with jet-lag and I'm wide awake. I think I'll take a look at whats on offer in Hed's fridge.

Tomorrow, after sorting out banking, tax and medicare, we're heading down to Surfers to check out the beach. It's mid-winter here so I don't know what it'll be like. It was warm enough to sit out til half ten last night and have a few beers though, but I don't know what's forecast today.

Some fun, I hope.

Crying Eyes

We're at Changi Airport, Singapore. Making the most of the excellent facilities including free internet access.

Its six a.m. local time and eleven at night in the good old U.K. We've got three hours here before our connecting flight to Brisbane.

So far so good. Singapore Airlines are very good. The entertainment system in the headrest in front has eighty movies, hundreds of quality telly programs, more cd's than you can shake a stick at and hundreds of arcade games to play. I've never known twelve waking hours pass so quickly.

Our leaving do was a good night. Loads of people turned up and we got a stack of cards, pressies, dosh and, most importantly, free booze. It got a bit emotional at the end but that was nothing compared to saying goodbye to everyone in the cold light of the following day.

I've been very naive, thinking I would breeze through these farewells with a smile on my face. I'd read and heard of other peoples experiences but completely underestimated the strength of feeling I felt on Sunday.

I woke up feeling sick, not with nausea but with dread. I simply didn't want to leave. It's as if it wasn't real before, but now, all of a sudden, it was very real - we were leaving our hometown, family and life-long friends behind for who knows how long.

Saying goodbye to our parents was bad enough but the mass farewell we had outside our local, the Esplanade Club, was very heavy.

I bawled like a girl half-way to Manchester Airport.

Work Hard, Party Harder!

Two hours before our leaving do.

It's been an absolutely manic week and we've worked our socks off.

It's all done now, the house is an empty shell. The lads from John Mason International, our movers, were absolutely brilliant. I don't know what kind of dough they're on but they earn every penny.

All we've got to do now is go out and get well and truly spannered. Now that we can do. With bells on.

The kids have got their party clothes on, the wife has loaded up with fake tan and I've treated myself to a shower. We're ready.

Tonight, we're having it large.

Week of Weeks

The worst appears to be over. Physically speaking that is.

The movers arrived this morning and, after a quick brew, got stuck straight into it. It's three o'clock now and they reckon they'll work until seven this evening and come back and load the container at nine tomorrow morning. We should be done by lunch-time.

It's been a roller coaster of a week for me personally speaking. The wife has been her usual rock-solid, unflappable, industrious self and the kids are getting more excited by the day - but me, my mood has been changing like the weather and, as any resident of this island would surely concur, the weather has been unbelievable in its variety of late.

However, as the end of this week nears and, finally, there appears to be a light at the end of the tunnel, I'm beginning to feel more like I would have expected to feel.

The car has been sold today and there's a chap called Steve winging his way north from Plymouth as I type to collect it. Good timing, we leave on Sunday.

So, tomorrow lunch-time, the house should be empty, the movers should be gone, as should the car and we should be considerably richer than we are today. Lovely jubbly.

All that remains then are a few points of admin, some last-minute cleaning/painting and, to round the week off, our leaving bash on Saturday night.

Should be a good night. Some of our oldest friends are coming from various parts of the UK and, of course, all the local friends and family. I'm looking forward to it, but in a strange way.

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Thatcher's Millions

Finished work on Friday. So did the wife. Both went on our respective leaving do's.

Wifey went on the beer around Liverpool with her crew while I had a box-standard night out in Sunny Rhyl.

We both had a good time.

We also did really well on the leaving present front amassing some $550 of the Aussie variety. I was also given a boomerang which I managed to lose after an experimental 'throw' down Rhyl High Street. I think it's on the roof of 'Listers' but I can't be sure. It just seemed to vanish mid-flight.

So now, for the first time in our lives, we're both unemployed. Unfortunately though, we can't afford to do any lazing around as we've got an absolute sh1t-load of 'stuff' to do before we jet-off next week. The excitement of going has been well and truly neutralized by the sheer work-load in front of us, coupled with the sadness of saying goodbye to so many people.

It's a weird sensation this 'leaving' business. One that I'd struggle to explain. It's akin to attending your own wake, all these people saying nice things about you, the realisation that you're going to be missed. Quite often in the least expected quarters.

Ah well, life goes on.

Smell Ya Later!

T minus 17 days. And counting...

Today I said my first goodbyes. Not your normal 'see you later/tomorrow' goodbyes, but the abnormal 'have a nice life/nice knowing you' goodbyes.

A couple of people at work are leaving for annual holidays and won't return until we've set off for Australia, so today was, very likely, the last time I'll ever see these people again.

Just another surreal experience to go with all the others I'm having lately.

Cruel Summer

Today was our youngest daughter, Lowri's, sports day.

It should have been yesterday, but, typically, it was postponed because of the rain.

And although the rain held off, the weather was absolute pony. I turned up in short sleeve order and after five minutes of dithering and watching Lowri, also in short sleeves, dither - I decided to nip home and get our cold weather kit. In my absence of fifteen minutes or so, I missed her first two races. She proudly showed me her two 'silver' medals for her second-place finishes as I gave her coat. She was shivering and grateful that I'd skipped across the track with it.

As the afternoon wore on more and more parents, realising their kids were in danger of going down with hypothermia, did the same thing.

As us parents and grandparents sat there freezing our collective knackers and knockers off, the kids performed admirably and Lowri won two 'golds' in the relay. Go Lowsta!!

Back to the weather. If ever I felt vindicated in making our decision to move to Australia then this afternoon was that moment. Earlier this year, as the meteorological experts predicated a baking hot summer, I predicated a summer of self-doubt, soul-searching and personal anguish over our decision to emigrate.

As it happens, things haven't turned out like that; we had a decent start to the summer with some hot days and balmy nights but for the last three weeks it's been dreadful. Rain has lashed this island in monsoon-like volume, causing flooding and misery to many. But for me, whilst I feel for the victims, the weather has helped me, easing the anguish of taking the kids away from their family and friends, justifying our hair-brained notion to move to the other side of the globe.

I'd estimate that the Australian climate compared to Britain's and the lifestyle that climate encourages is the biggest single factor by a long way in us making this move.

Today the weather sucked. Today was a good day.

For Queen and Country

Saturday was one of the proudest days of my life.

We went to London to watch our son take part in the Trooping of the Colour, the Queens Official birthday parade.

He's a member of 3 Company, 1st Battalion Welsh Guards, currently based in London.

It was the Colour of the Coldstream Guards that was being 'trooped' but the majority of the soldiers, NCO's and officers on parade were from the Welsh Guards, with the battalion providing almost four hundred men.

I've watched the event since my youth in the seventies, but to actually be there and with Cory taking part, was a truly unforgettable experience.

He's only eighteen, our boy. Yet, already, he's been in the regular army for almost two and a half years, he's been on an operational tour to Bosnia, has done umpteen Royal guards at Windsor and in London, he's passed his driving test, boxed, skied and has made his mum and dad very proud.

We had great seats for the parade, the weather held(just!) and, whilst Cory's little sisters have become a tad blase about seeing him in his tunic and bearskin in the presence of Her Majesty, we thoroughly enjoyed the event.

He's a modest young chap too - while his mates hung around in their uniforms and medals to pose for photos, Cory was out of his as soon as he could, preferring to get into his comfy civvies and have a pint rather than be the centre of attention.

And what does a young guardsman do of an evening after his first 'Troop'?

Our boy took his little sisters to the pictures.

Wet Wet Wet

Despite the weather my golfing renaissance continued this week.

I've been playing the game sporadically, without success, for the best part of twenty years.

However, a couple of years back, following my rugby retirement, I decided it was time I made a concerted effort to become a competent player. I didn't want to join the PGA Tour or anything serious like that, I just wanted to be able to smack one off the first tee without being embarrassed because the divot went further than the ball.

I recall being on holiday with the family in Florida - we rented a villa on this lush golf complex just outside of Orlando. I watched the golfers going round every day, chatting, joking and playing. I thought 'I fancy some of this'. The course was a beaut, just like something off the telly. Immaculately presented and painstakingly-well maintained with the greenest grass, the whitest of sand with shimmering water features (I was later to learn these are actually called 'hazards'.)

A couple of days into the holiday I timidly approached the resplendent clubhouse, just to have a mooch round to see what I could learn about this game and its culture. To a working-class lad like me, the game, its players and their facilities, were held in Freemason-like esteem. I'm not sure esteem is the right word actually, nor Freemason for that matter, but it certainly had a foreboding effect on me and those like me. Like we were on the outside and they were on the in. Hence my trepidation as I walked through the doors and exited the brilliant Florida sunshine. To my surprise nobody pounced on me questioning the legitimacy of my presence or, in fact, raised so much as an eyebrow as I approached the bar. On the contrary, I was made to feel most welcome. Perhaps I look like a golfer, I thought to myself. Anyway golfer or not, I spent the best part of an enjoyable afternoon there, just watching the comings and goings, ear-wigging and drinking. I returned the next day with my Dad, I felt quite the local as a few of the people I was spying on the day before extended rather pleasing 'nods' in my direction. Theme parks beckoned though and I was forced to miss the next couple of afternoons.

Whilst the wife,kids and my mum, understandably, revelled in the 'magic' of Disney, to me and, to some extent, my dad, the golf clubhouse had become the focal point of our holiday. We returned as often as possible for our afternoon bevvy and towards the end of our fortnight I had plucked up the courage to have a go on the driving range. A day later, the posh old Scouser in the villa next door beckoned me over to his poolside from ours.

'Saw you and your dad coming out of the golf club yesterday. I'm dying for a game, do you play?' he asked.

'Er, yes' I spluttered out, a lie fuelled by the King of Beers. Even I knew that playing once or twice a summer on pitch and putt did not make me a 'player'.

'Oh great' said Posh Scouse, 'we'll have a round tomorrow then.'

For a moment I thought about accepting, then I had a vision of me spinning around and landing on my arse on the first tee in front of all my new golf friends looking on from the clubhouse. Like the good book says, 'better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt'.

'I can't, er, I think we're off to the Florida Mall, shopping.'

'What about the day after?' Scouse persisted.

'We're doing Epcot' I fired back. The King of Beers was now assisting me to get out of the tangle that it had assisted me to get into in the first place.

'Never mind then,' he said, his disappointment clear. 'We're going home after that.'

'Yeah, I would've loved to have played on a course like this.' I said glancing over my shoulder at the fairway behind me. This time I wasn't lying.

Later that day I decided that on our return home I would fill my sporting void by joining Rhyl Golf Club and perhaps, one day, return to this course and, not only look the part but play the part too.

That was two years ago. I did join Rhyl Golf Club when we got home and I played all summer long. It was hard at first and it didn't get any easier. I already had some friends that were members and I made a few new ones along the way, all of them offering advice, tips and guidance. But, whilst gratefully received, it was to no avail - I was actually getting worse. Not just making little or no progress but actually going backwards. I damaged two passing cars on two separate occasions with slices that defied the laws of physics. I toughed out the year of membership and when it lapsed I didn't renew. Using the 'we're waiting for our visa, it could come at anytime' line when asked by my long-suffering golf buddies why I hadn't re-joined. I think some of them were quite relieved. Local motorists certainly were.

So, that was that. Golf wasn't for me. I wasn't too upset , after all it wasn't like I hadn't tried. The clubs were banished to the shed, fortunately I hadn't invested too heavily on equipment - I got the lot for £60 second-hand, and I thought I might dust the old rugby boots off again. And that's what I did, played another season for the seconds and felt like I'd been involved in an RTA all week following a game.

And that was that until a month ago when I was invited for a game. At the time I was feeling particularly stressed about our upcoming move and felt that it might take my mind off things by playing. And play I did, relatively speaking anyway. Only played the best round of my life! Thinking it was a fluke I returned a week later. Same again, played really well by my standards, albeit low standards.

I played again last night and although I didn't play as well as the previous two rounds, I still enjoyed it and played some good shots, especially off the tee. The weather was absolute pony. It waited until we got as far away from the clubhouse as possible then lashed it down big-time. We played out the nine as it was on the way back but survival became more important than good golf as the monsoon raged. The four of us were like drowned rats on our return. I didn't get that wet the last time I went swimming.

Its going to rain all week they reckon, so the golf will have to wait. I'm eager to see if my form continues or whether I've lost my golf mojo once again. The weather sucks but my golf doesn't, for a change. Funny old game innit?