Tuesday, June 12 2007, 23:49

It's marvellous, Melbourne!

I've been busy living life instead of reporting on it, so I'm a bit behind with my blog. John was off in London and Rome for a couple of weeks, so I thought, while the cat's off having fun in Europe, the mouse is going interstate. So I did. Hot on the heels of my weekend in Brisbane with Chris, I zipped over to Melbourne with a native Victorian, John W at the end of May. Until the goldrush kicked off in the 1850s, Melbourne only had 29,000 people. Three years later, there were 123,000 people in what had come to be known as "Marvellous Melbourne", and by the 1880s Melbourne was one of the greatest cities of the British Empire. Over and over through the weekend, John quoted Kath (of Kath & Kim), "it's marvellous, Melbourne". And it is.

Practically every Victorian I've ever spoken to has told me that Melbourne is cultured while Sydney is dull, sophisticated while Sydney is boorish, cosmopolitan and multifaceted while Sydney is shallow and brassy. Harsh really. Visiting Brits have told me that it has a more European feel, and while less aesthetically stunning than Sydney on its glittering harbour, there's just more going on if you only scratch the surface. And everyone bangs on about the "cafe culture", as if I really care how many places there are to drink coffee...

My own opinion of Melbourne is half-formed - I was only there for a weekend, so it's hardly any basis for a solid judgement. But I can see what people mean about the European feel; when you walk through its streets, the old buildings feel less like the occasional gems they are in Sydney, and more like part of the normal fabric of the place. Every other sidestreet boasts a cafe or ten, or a dozen little shops flinging their bright lights onto the otherwise sun-starved footpaths, while in Sydney these streets are empty, grey lanes with subterranean carpark entrances or congregations of wheelie bins. Maybe I just don't know where to shop in Sydney, but the shops in Melbourne seem much more varied and plentiful - not just the high street chains, but an abundance of independent, quirky shops offering you something you haven't seen elsewhere. Those trams that circle the CBD and radiate outwards remind me of the San Francisco cable cars, so I'm always reminded that I'm in the New World.

Is there more going on beneath the surface? I don't know. It's easy to get stuck in a routine in a place and be blinkered to all the things that are going on around you - and I'm sure I haven't seen everything that Sydney has to offer. But Melbourne's definitely worth several return visits to scratch off more of that surface!

I haven't really told you much about what I did that weekend - you can do that by having a walk through the photos. Enjoy!

Photos from my weekend in Melbourne.

Wednesday, June 6 2007, 22:00

Storm-tossed in Port Stephens

For some reason, I can't keep this damn blog up-to-date anymore. Well I've luckily got a topical hook to hang this one on... I'm not sure if you've all heard about the storms battering New South Wales at the moment. Earlier this week we were told to expect cyclonic winds, but come the following morning, there was no sign of Dorothy or Toto, newly arrived in Oz, looking for the Yellow Brick Road. But the worst of the weather hit two weeks ago, and it was then that John, Chris, and I had decided to have a weekend away.

Chris drove us north up the coast in a nice hire car from the airport, through rain that was bucketing against the windscreen. I was glad I wasn't driving (not least because the last time I drove was for half an hour with Wally in 2003, and before that, who knows?), but Chris seemed happy enough, turning to chat to John in the back from time to time, although eventually John decided he'd be happier if Chris just looked ahead so he shut up. We were completely oblivious of the fact that the worst storms in thirty years were lashing the Central Coast, and around us in the darkness floods were rising, people were drowning, boats were being driven onto beaches, sections of highway were collapsing, and trees were flung to the ground and waving their surprised roots at the sky. We noticed some power outage in a service station, but that was about it.

Our accommodation for the weekend was at Soldier's Point, Port Stephens, with a perfectly nice room overlooking the sea in the bay. From here, on Saturday, we went exploring, wandering around the seafront at Nelson Bay, and taking in the lovely band serenading the oncoming traffic as part of the Nelson Bay Country Music Festival; later we bought some cute souvenirlets for the home, before letting John loose on the tourist info office, whence he emerged with armloads of leaflets that we didn't use. Instead, we drove out to Shoal Bay to take in the view of the waves crashing between the heads in the rain, and then, a little wetter and colder, we drove out to a winery for some plonk-tasting and a late lunch.

I keep saying "we drove", but in fact it was me, keen to get back in the driver's seat and reacquaint myself with the pleasures of being in charge of a lethal machine. I don't think I scared my passengers too much. After a bit more sight-seeing in the wind, we returned to our hotel to find the whole area plunged in darkness - but only temporarily. The romance of a candle-lit dinner was swept away by the reinstated harsh lamps, although sadly the menu remained pruned by power outage and not that appealing. Soon after, we retired to our room for a game of Risk.

After a quiet morning of tempting noisy lorikeets to our balcony, we drove back on Sunday by way of Newcastle so we could stop and see the tanker that had been blown ashore there. Turns out we weren't the only ones with that idea, for lines of traffic led all the way to the seafront; we got out and walked with the throng of people who'd taken children and dogs to go and see the impending ecological disaster washed up on Nobby's Beach [sic]. What a fun day out! I'm glad we had a camera :)

So that was it really. You'd think a weekend away in storm-tossed country in the rain with two slightly ill people might not be much fun, but you'd be wrong! We all had a great time, enjoying the scenery and chilling out, laughing and ripping the piss... and I loved driving again. Even though it was slightly scary at times.

Port Stephens photos

Monday, June 18 2007, 15:50

Bryan becomes a little less Oirish

Last Friday was a very special day indeed. It was the day that my good friend, Bryan, was initiated into the ranks of those chirpy souls, the Aussies - a people renowned for being laid back, informal, fun, and welcoming, and generally loved the world over for not being Yanks or Brits (maybe a little less so in the Middle East these days...).

Brian, Darren, and I accompanied him to Sydney Town Hall for the prestigious occasion of his citizenship ceremony, during which a motley bunch of forty or so hopefuls went up, one by one, to receive a splendid certificate and a handshake from Sydney's grinning Lord Mayor, Clover Moore. While we were waiting for the tardy latecomers, we sat and cringed while a well-coiffed lady at the front hammered out a rather over-embellished version of Waltzing Matilda on a grand piano, followed by what sounded to me like a lot of Playschool favourites dressed up magnificently, and which Darren assured me were old Aussie favourites. Informality was definitely the order of the day, and the Lord Mayor pressed on with speech kept to a minimum. To her credit, Clover looked pretty sincere and welcoming, and held onto her well-practised smile throughout the proceedings, although she must have welcomed unnumbered Johnny Foreigners in this twice-weekly event - quite a large chunk of her time considering she's Lord Mayor of Sydney and (controversially) an MP.

Unlike Darren and me, who whispered scathing remarks to each other about each person, Clover was above it all. She didn't sneer at the guy who scuttled up first in jeaners, scruffy trainers and an anorak; she didn't raise an eyebrow at the young Asian girl accompanied by a much older Caucasian gent ("I don't think he's not her dad!", chortled Darren); she didn't smirk at the chap of middle years who had unusual lines bleached through his red/grey hair; and most importantly, she didn't tut at Bryan, as he strolled up chewing gum!

When the show was over, we had a quick Australian afternoon tea of meat pies and lamingtons(!) before heading down the pub. A more serious Aussie drinking session began much later in the Rocks, probably one of Australia's oldest inhabited areas (by Europeans that is), and full of Aussie history (spot a theme here?). Our first choice of pub, the Lord Nelson, although claiming to be Australia's oldest pub, was packed out. A bit of typical Aussie laddishness nearly resulted in a scrap, so we headed out into rather British weather, and took shelter in the next pub, the Hero of Waterloo. Despite this similarly British-sounding name, we discovered a live band playing some old Irish folk songs! Far too bizarre. Bryan appeared to be getting far too in the swing of his Irishness, so we all jumped in cabs and headed back to Surry Hills for some beers in a normal nice bar, where I made him wear all of his new Aussie gear, namely an Aussie flag, an Aussie tshirt, an Aussie oven glove, hat, and stuffed kangaroo (see photo).

Congratulations Bryan!

Friday, June 22 2007, 0:17

Descent into nightmare

Today is the last day of the Sydney Film Festival, and being the culture vultures that we are, John and I just couldn't let it slip by unattended. Last night, we went to Sydney's fabulous art-deco State Theatre to watch David Lynch's new film, Inland Empire. John described the building as "West-End Theatre meets Westminster Abbey", and it is indeed a sumptuous and lavish frottage of Hollywood Mediaeval over Chrysler Building, reassuringly gaudy and over the top in the style of the best Theatreland playhouse. I'm incredulous that Wikipedia has no entry for this building, but their own website has some great virtual tours.

I'd hate to miss one of Laura Dern's "bravura performances" (and thus was it billed), even if it's to be an arse-numbing three hours long, and even if I've been pre-warned that Lynch's films are famously dark and twisted. And yet nothing could have prepared me for the ennui that unfolded. Cramped up in the gods, we watched as what began as a slightly eerie tale of two actors being drawn into the characters of the (apparently cursed) film they're shooting turned into a progressively wilder kaleidoscope of bizarre scenes. I was desensitised to the curious figures with rabbit heads from the outset, but when the slatternly women in Laura Dern's grotty front room jumped to their feet for an impromptu rendition of The Locomotion, replete with disco lights and pumping music, I felt we'd seen enough. I say 'we', but in fact John had dozed off after twenty minutes, so God only knows what he was making of it at this stage, an hour later.

Through my deep-seated British need to not make a fuss, I don't like to leave a performance early ("Oh no, I loved it! But I do have a terrible headache. Sorry, did I step on your foot? My fault! Oops, sorry! Sorry!" [apologetic grimaces all round]). But with an hour and a half of this murder still to go, even I overwhelmed my natural mortification at drawing attention to myself leaving, and with the profoundest relief, we escaped into the chill night air. Later, at the bus stop, in response to my remarking upon the camera's almost Blair Witch-style proximity to the actors, John replied, "My whole life with you is like a David Lynch camera angle, isn't it? Beady eyes pressed up against the lens!"

Charming.

Thursday, June 28 2007, 15:34

A crackers Christmas in June

Remember that Bomb the Bass track, Winter in July? I never thought about it much until this last few weeks, when I'm reminded again how this whole upside down seasons thing is very odd. Just last weekend, John and I joined Tony and some other pals on a trip into the Blue Mountains for a novelty winter Christmas. It was cold and gusty and definitely jackets and scarves weather; we had the heating cranked up in our gorgeous old five bedroom house, there were bright stockings hanging up at the bay window, and a pile of gifts by the fireside when we arrived on 'Christmas Eve', and after a few hours of games and drinks, we snuggled up in our electric blanket-heated beds and went to sleep.

The following morning, frost had rimed the grass outside and turned the green blades silvery, and we began our day with a big breakfast and champagne. In the afternoon, six of us went to a Japanese spa (of all things) called Sparadise (ha ha ha), and spent the afternoon sitting in the steaming hot pools, alternating between indoor and outdoor; bizarrely, although perishing cold during our introductory tour of the place, I was quite comfortable to sit outside in the sunshine on that cold day in just my little swimmers for half an hour, probably because my innards were still super-heated from the hot dip.

When we got back, the kitchen was abuzz with culinary activity, and soon enough we were tucking into a turkey roast with all the trimmings, followed by the christmas pudding that John forced me to help him make from scratch (do you know you have to steam those things for eight hours?), as well as Phil's delicious trifle and Delia's scrumptious cinnamon ice cream (made in our nice new baby pink ice cream maker). A yuletide feast, and no mistake. When our bellies were full, we ravaged the wrapping from our Secret Santa gifts, before collapsing, glasses in hands, into the lounge for some board games.

Now if you think none of that sounds very novel to you, you're obviously a fellow northern hemisphere person. For me, Christmas Day is all about being cooped up indoors in the warmth, stuffing your faces with hot, rich food, getting slightly pissed, playing board games, and generally making the most of friends and bringing a bit of party atmosphere to an otherwise mournful season. I certainly felt more Christmassy in those two days than I did in the whole of last December - it was great!

PS. If you were hoping for some antipodean references in that song, I just looked up the lyrics and there are none. What a load of crap!

Photos coming soon...