Chalke Board

Family Reunion: Part 2

2008-08-13T22:16:00.023+01:00

Wowee, it has been a long time between posts. But don't blame me, blame Mr Speedtouch, who must have cottoned onto the fact that the huge jump in his internet usage was a little infeasible. But then I went back to Australia for a few weeks and he must have figured that it was safe to come out again. Ha! Sorry Mr Speedtouch, but thank you for coming back and once again failing to secure your network.

Anyway, I have some important blogging business to finish. After leaving the merry land of Worcester, Mum and Dad and I ventured into new and unexplored lands... Wales. It's funny but I don't think a lot of Aussies make the distinction between the different nations in Britain, but it is much more obvious over here. 3 useful things to know about the Welsh are: 1) their language reads like gibberish unless you understand their alphabet, 2) they love their rugby with a passion and 3) they are all amazing singers. Apparently the Welsh crowds at a rugby match singing Land of My Fathers is quite a sight to see.

The little town we went to was just over the border, called Hay-on-Wye. It was one of my favourite towns as it was entirely dedicated to books. For a village of about two thousand people, there were a good 30 bookstores and a great many of them themed. There was the murder mystery bookshop, the music bookshop, the poetry bookshop, the travel bookshop and so on. All were second hand and I think would probably struggle to survive if the town did not have a quite famous accompanying book festival. We just missed the festival unfortunately but I was amazed at some of the big names who were appearing (Salman Rushdie, Ian McEwan, Cherie Booth/Blair). This is a view of the outdoor bookshop near the derelict castle in the town centre:

I can think of a number of friends who would have been in Heaven in Hay (Audrey, Mtk).

Next it was back into England and Herefordshire, which is home to the beautiful Golden Valley, where the move Shadowlands was made. In the Golden Valley we stayed on a lovely little farm next to a medieval Abbey that had been converted into a parish church. We went for walks and drives rounds the country and ate God knows how many pub meals, but it was all lovely. This was a B & B, in the middle of nowhere:

The farmer and his wife who we stayed with were lovely, though I found it a little difficult to keep a straight face when he was complaining about the oft-spoken 'notorious' summer of 2006 when the place was 'practically a desert'. I found that a little hard to believe compared to the drought in Aus, but I did believe him when he was complaining about Tesco and the other big supermarket chains forcing all the small farms out of the market. Feckers.

The Golden Valley was absolutely beautiful. Everything was ridiculously green and lovely, and the buildings old and quaint, and all capped off by the Black Mountains in the background.

Here are my Mum and Dad out the front of the same church in a shot I like to call 'One foot in the Grave'. Hehe:

There was also a nice number of ruins, and ancient castles and battlegrounds from the many years of fighting between the English and the Welsh, as well as nice little novelties like the hill in the centre of the village where they used to conduct the hangings. Charming!

Lastly it was off to a town in the Cotswolds, Chipping Campden. The Cotswolds are one of the loveliest areas in England, in large part I think due to the presence in the area of a certain kind of limestone that all the little houses are built from. It is the kind of area where houses still have thatched roofs. Some of them were so small and so ancient, I felt like I was in Hobbiton. This isn't the best example but does get across how old the villages were:

After that, it was back to London, and a brief stay at our flat before my parents sensibly ditched it for the Novotel! Thanks for the trip Mum and Dad and here some some more happy snaps to remember it by. I like to put embarrassing photos of other family members as well as myself on this blog!!

Family Reunion: Part 1

2008-06-14T23:28:00.027+01:00

Well this is a bit of a special post. In May, I got my first (and probably only) familial visit to London - though my dear Mum and Dad didn't need any excuse to visit their old stomping ground. And I got the distinct impression that they would have been quite happy to take my place here!

Their visit was wonderful for lots of reasons but especially given that it was a chance to retread some of the ye olde Chalke history, and to revisit some of the places I could remember from my childhood. First up was Worcester, where we went round to the house my Dad spent his teenage years, and where he got up to questionable, though I'm sure perfectly innocent, activities with girls at the school across the road, which he was about to elaborate on when Mum cut him off!

Here's Dad and I with Worcester's favourite son, Edward Elgar (Pomp and Circumstance, Land of Hope and Glory etc):

It is amazing what lies in the dark recesses of the memory. Walking down the high street, somehow I could remember where the Marks and Spencer was, and which corner Boots was on, when it had been 13 years since I had last been there.

We also did the tour of the old school, and the old Cathedral, and all those other mainstays of medium sized English towns. All of which Dad seemed to know the history of and have an accompanying story about (which I am hoping he will record someday - hint!)

We went to the little village Dad grew up in, Crowle, and saw his old house and schoolhouse, and the stream he used to swim in as a boy and the big house on the hill. We went to the Old Chequers Inn where Grandpa Jack used to drink and take to Dad (who was waiting out front) a bottle of Vimto and crisps. We saw the barn where Dad used to park his bicycle which was near the stop for his school bus. We saw the old town hall where my grandfather used to dress up as Father Christmas for all the village children (prompting my Dad to recall a horrible year, when he was little, when the nasty boy behind him yelled 'That's Chris Chalke's Daddy!' thus ruining my Dad's fastasy of Father Christmas. Little Chris fled the room in tears - poor duck). And this was the village church:

A highlight was when we drove out to the real life house where Guy Fawkes and cronies planned the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. It was the coolest house in the world, all Tudor and wonky, with huge chimneys and it's own moat and it's own church - which was what we pretended to visit when we really wanted to snoop about the house, which is still privately owned:

We also visited what we know as the bluebell forest, which I have a vivid memory of from my childhood visits, the memory in question being a forest of hundreds of bluebells and a little make shift cubby house that my Dad had played in as a kid. How times have changed. Now the bluebell forest is fenced off by barbed wire, and all the gates were locked. We hardly saw one lousy bluebell, but it did give us the chance to see the beautiful countryside. Even though I've seen quite a bit of it over here, I don't think anyone that grows up in Australia ever gets used to seeing a landscape that's so green:

There is more to come, this is only the first installment, but it is obvious that I loved being back with the fam and in a place where I felt I had heritage, which due to being a first generation Aussie, is not something that I've ever felt particularly strongly at home. Because of this, being able to walk down the street and see where different generations of my family lived seemed truly amazing. It was this stuff, I think, which was what originally made me what to come and live in England, rather than that whole cliched thing about spending a year getting pissed in London. Well, I'd like to think so, anyway.

Next up: Hay-on-Wye (a whole town dedicated to books! Heaven!), the Golden Valley and the Cotswolds.

I'll have everything with extra feta

2008-06-03T22:09:00.025+01:00

My I am behind on my blogging, and I'm sure my loyal readership (hi family!) are wondering what has happened to me. Lots has been going on, including planning a move, a parental visit, a pilgrimage to the family origins (well on Dad's side anyway), and being bloody busy at work.*

Anyway, though it was a while ago now, I wanted to include a blog about Crete. You know you've had a good holiday when you're looking in real estate agent's windows to check out house prices.

My top 10 things about Crete were:

1. They fed you everywhere! You ordered a drink, they bought you food. You bought a coffee, they bought you food. And yummy food too. Salty food, which incidentally made you feel like another drink. So the only logical thing to do was order another one (and so on and so forth...)

2. And continuing from this, the Food! the Food was amazing, the sea food was fresh, the feta plentiful, the Tsaziki creamy, the Pizza toppings varied (yes, there was loads of Italian Food, something about shared history and past Italian conquests - I was too busy relaxing to be historical).

3. The little churches you would see all over the place - so simple and lovely.

4. The people - the Greek people are the most hospitable and relaxed I have ever met. Nothing is too much trouble for them. They were so friendly. In restaurants the service was so good. I'm not used to these things anymore.

5. Waking up, going out onto our balcony and seeing the ocean with the mountains behind it. Spectacular.

6. In conjunction with that, the beach. Yep it was a little on the rocky side, and that sand was awfully hot, and the water was absolutely frickin freezing, but I'll take whatever I can get these days.

7. Our lovely little beach was also home to a number of cute little bars - all with big sofas outside, just opposite the beach, where they served you cocktails and free food (see point 1).

8. There were people around but nowhere was too busy. You could walk around the streets and no one would bother you. That said, the traffic was still pretty busy. There will also a fair number of lappers, broadcasting the latest on the Greek charts, which made me laugh and reminded me of Rundle Street!

9.The colour of the water:

10. A nasty (in a good way) little aperitif called raki, which tastes like aniseed. You're supposed to drink it in little sips but as it came in a shot glass and we didn't know that, we were drinking it like shots, much to the bemusement of the locals sitting near us. There was also a little bottle of it in our room that got refilled each day. Curses.

*Not something I'm used to anymore. What a public servant I've become!

Charming Sharm

2008-04-27T20:53:00.022Z

After the madness of Cairo, a relax in Sharm el Skeikh (or 'Charming Sharm' as they called it) was definitely needed.

Sharm is a very strange place. Think of an endless desert with mountains and sand dunes and terrains and rocky bits, and then out of nowhere is the bluest sea you've ever seen, even from the plane, surrounded by reefs. Then add a couple of hundred (thousand?) white resort buildings in various formations with artificially cultivated bits of green, but still surrounded by an overwhelming desert at every point that hadn't been developed.

One of the most amazing things about being in Sharm was to take in the sight of the desert meeting the sea. I've been trying to dig out a pic that captures what an amazing contrast it was, but I don't have one, so try and imagine the one above and the one below combined together and you should just about have it!

The Patong Beach of Sharm was a place called Naama Bay, except obviously without the strip clubs! While it had enormous numbers of sheesa bars and lots to do, but it was a bit seedy for our liking and the Egyptian men that we had only just shaken off after Cairo were back in force. We ended up only going in there once and it didn't take much for us to get that drained feeling again and flee back to the resort.

In fact, in our effort to relax, we didn't get up to too much of anything. This was easy because our resort was all inclusive, including alcohol (although there wasn't much to it; it all seemed very watered down). The resort was nice enough although a little out of date - the singer in the bar was still churning out Backstreet Boys hits from the early 90's and things were falling apart a bit. But it had all the essentials so we couldn't complain.

One thing we did manage to get up to was a bit of snorkeling (Sharm is famous for its diving, but I was too wimpy/lazy for that). One day we went out on a lovely trip round various reefs, swam around in crystal blue water and feasted on a delicious food. Perfection!

So yes, a relaxing end to the madness of Cairo and Egypt in general. It was a lovely escape from it all, but it wasn't too hard to get back on the plane to somewhere more familiar...

Bright lights of Cairo

2008-04-09T21:25:00.031Z

When people have been asking me about Cairo, I have found myself saying repeatedly that it was exhilarating, exhausting, intense, fascinating, and really exhausting. That pretty much sums it up! I'm not easily daunted by big cities, but Cairo was something else.

First off, we spent an hour driving through the city on the way to the hotel. In all honesty, that hour was one of the most enlightening of my life. I saw donkeys and carts on the road next to the most insane traffic I have ever seen, military police swarming every block and huge army murals everywhere, the river Nile, strangely green median strips next to the encroaching desert and thousands of apartment blocks. There were men in Western clothes, others in traditional robes, women in the hajib and women who could have easily been plucked out of parts of London.

The Nile and downtown Cairo

Most of Cairo looks only half built. Apparently, this is because people are able to avoid paying land tax if they do not finish the outside of their buildings. I loved imagining these palatial residences with marble floors on the inside (though probably not) that looked life half-built brick shells from the outside.

On our first night, we had an amazing experience when we were sitting by the pool at our hotel and heard this low hum break out, which grew louder, more distinct and varied and felt like it was coming from every corner of the city: prayers. It was a moment of realisation that we really were in the Middle East.

We only had one full day in Cairo, so we decided to hire a guy to drive us around for £20 each to take us everywhere we wanted to go. If you think that sounds like a slightly dodgy thing to do in the biggest city in Africa, you'd be right. It was an invitation to be scammed at every turn, as we got shunted from one 'museum' (shop) and 'school' (shop) to the next. But we got to do the good stuff too. Firstly, the pyramids at Saqqara:

Yep, there's me getting scammed. But its okay, he only wanted money for his donkey.

Then onto the Giza pyramids and the Sphinx. Brenton was dying to go the whole hog with the Egyptian experience and approach the pyramids by camel. I was less keen, and my camel, whose name was Michael Jackson, obviously hated me and tried to throw me off every time he sat down.

We chose not to go inside the pyramids as I had a bit of a claustrophobic moment, but we were surprisingly given the option of climbing one of the smaller pyramids. Surprising as it's prohibited, but of course we didn't realise that. We both went up (well I gave up halfway but Brenton went up) only to be told on our descent that we had only been allowed to go up because our guide was friends with the policeman guarding that area, and now everyone needed to be paid off accordingly. We were cogs in a very well-oiled operation.

The corruption of the military police was incredibly blatant, so much so that we actually saw them dividing up their takings in the street. They were all over the place, at least a few for every corner in the city, swaggering around their patch, heavily armed and quite intimidating in their black uniforms and berets.

The final stop of the day was the Egyptian Museum, world renowned (as you'd expect) for its collection of ancient Egyptian artifacts and particularly the bounty from Tutankhamen's tomb. Their collection was amazing but unfortunately, a lot of it was very poorly lit and displayed.

A few other notables: being an Islamic country, you're told in all the guidebooks to dress modestly, i.e. trousers and long sleeves. Yes that's difficult in 35 degrees, but some tourists (and I can't assume as I normally would that they were American because there were none of them!) had a rather interesting interpretation of dressing modestly. For example, spaghetti straps were fine providing they're worn with a headscarf, and hotpantesque shorts also were fine providing they were worn with a long sleeve top. It was a wee bit baffling.

The traffic was seriously, seriously mad. There were thousands of ancient little tin cars on the roads that had been imported straight from the USSR. There were hardly any traffic lights and none of the ones I saw worked. And if you needed to overtake - not a problem! Just drive between two lanes of cars as fast as you can.

As a Western woman, you were also the object of a bit of dubious attention from the Egyptian men, who all refer to you as 'Princess' or 'Queen'. It wouldn't be a country I'd travel to without a guy. They all addressed Brenton about anything serious and I thought their politeness to me was feigned. But maybe that's my own preconceptions playing into it.

All of that amounted to this intense, crazy day that was fascinating and draining and overwhelming. I needed a break in more relaxing destination to recover (continued in the next post: the Red Sea and Sharm el Sheikh!)

The professionals say it better than I can

2008-03-06T21:21:00.006Z

Maybe because its been 13 months of straight winter, but I'm going through a bit of a phase of reading a lot of Australia oriented newspaper articles. Apart from the fact that they thought Ian 'Dicko' Dickson was an appropriate representative of all the British migrants in Australia, this is a good one.

I thought this article was unusually balanced for a British journalist assessing Australia. The first half is glowing; the second half sinks the boot in (a bit). Also, the psyche of Australia has changed a lot over the last 10 years, and this article sums it up well. It made me think that I am bit behind, being raised on the myth of the glorious motherland, which I think has sustained my excitement at being in London for much longer than might be considered usual. But then again, I don't want to be a strutting, boorish new-age Australian either.

Oh where oh where do I fit in!!!

Anyway, I'll stop harping on. This is the article.

From the Sunday Times 24/2/08

What a difference a G'Day makes

Adell Rees, a 39-year-old PA from Durham, recently became an Australian citizen and vowed never to return to Britain, except on holiday. The thing Adell loves most about her adopted country is its “tolerance”: “I can even wear flip-flops to work,” she says. The local attitude that lets her wear them in the office appeals: so laid-back, free, uniquely Australian, she believes.

Adell is a PA at Naked Communications, an advertising firm whose parent company is British and whose dress standards are tolerant even by Aussie standards. She has joined tens of thousands of poms who have become Australian citizens in record numbers in recent years. And thongs (Aussie for flip-flops) join the list of other Aussie icons Adell loves: the sun and sand, the perfect blue skies, the BBQ, the lack of “class” – “In England everyone’s always in their box,” she says – and the bronzed male torsos. “What else do you need in a man?” she laughs, as we down schooners in a pub in Sydney.

Adell, who answers the phone, “Naked, Adell speaking,” has gone native. She has a mane of sun-bleached hair, her skin is nut-brown, she loves the beach and, but for traces of a northern accent, she seems a true-blue Aussie “sheila” (not that the term is used any more; younger Australian women tend to be referred to as babes or chicks). The only thing missing is her bloke (or “bruce”, as Aussie men used to be called). Adell is single. One reason is her chronic restlessness: until recently, she was a “boomerang pom”, having gone home and returned to Australia many times in the past 20 years. Yet last month, after a seven-month recce in England to see if the old country held any vestigial allure, Adell declared Australia “home”.

“This time, when I got back to Sydney, I felt I was at home at last. I love Australia! I love Sydney. I’m so happy to be here. I walk down the street and say to myself, ‘How lucky am I!’ This time I feel more settled than ever. I’m home.”

Indeed, if it came to a choice, Adell says she would happily discard her British passport in favour of an Australian one (she retains dual citizenship). So would Penny Hillier, an Essex-born nurse who is about to apply for Australian citizenship. She and her husband arrived in 1978, but only just applied for an Australian passport: “We love it here. When my mum dies, I won’t be going back to the UK,” Penny says.

Similarly, Birmingham-born Ian “Dicko” Dickson (a household name in Australia as a judge of Australian Idol), who swoons about being an Aussie. “The second we moved here, I knew this was the place I wanted to watch my family chase their dreams.”

His family – wife and two daughters – became Australian citizens on Australia Day, January 26, 2007. Known for his abrasive Brummie wit and savage dispatch of aspiring local stars, Dicko got the Australian Idol job because the producers needed “a venomous British man” on the judging panel. The celebrity aimed his most controversial remark at a scantily clad contestant of voluptuous proportions: “Choose more appropriate clothes or shed some pounds!” Dicko told her with bruising honesty – to the horror of the local press and that rather surly new breed of politically correct Australians.

Yet Dicko has been well received Down Under, which has fulfilled “the passionate love affair I’ve had with this country”, he says. “It feels like my wife and I are committing marriage-style to the nation. We’re making an honest woman of Australia. We’re doing the decent thing.”

Adell and Dicko are in good company. More British people are moving to Australia than ever. For the first time, Australia is the preferred destination for British emigrants, more popular than America and the Med. In 2006-7, 23,223 British people emigrated to Australia, according to the Department of Immigration and Citizenship; of the total, 3,837 were members of families who had uprooted, and 18,115 were “skilled migrants” granted resident visas under the more relaxed residential points system. The figure is double that of a decade ago, and compares with 18,000 in 2004.

British people make up almost a quarter of foreigners applying for Australian citizenship: in 2005-6, Australian citizenship was conferred on 103,350 people from over 175 different countries. Of those, people of British origin numbered 22,143, or 21.4% of the total.

Hundreds of thousands of British people go to Australia every year – for a holiday, a long-term stay, or to test the waters prior to emigrating. In the 12 months to July 2007, nearly 200,000 native British citizens packed their bags for Australia, the highest number to leave since the heavily subsidised mass emigration Down Under in the 1960s (1 in 12 Britons now lives abroad, a total of about 5.5m, according to a study by the Institute for Public Policy Research).

And the British easily top the census lists of foreigners resident in Australia and eligible to apply for citizenship. In 2001 they numbered 346,000, or 36.9% of the total ahead of the New Zealanders with 204,900 and Italians with 44,200. In fact, a quarter of a million British people (245,311) living in Australia claimed a British pension in 2006.

Many young arrivals have made a great success of Australia. Emma-Jane Granleese, 35, of Kew, London, came here almost a decade ago as a traveller and has recently obtained citizenship. She is now the managing director of the PR firm Weber Shandwick Australia. This year she plans to marry an Australian, Matthew Griffin, who runs a web-design firm, and with whom she lives in Bondi Beach. Her future husband is adamant that Emma-Jane fits in. Believing the new immigration test too lenient, he grills her on Aussie culture: “Matt asks me about cricket, history and books. I even had to know the author of something called Snugglepot and Cuddlepie” – a well-known Australian children’s book about two “gum-nut babies” who live in a eucalyptus tree. Oddly, he didn’t ask her whether she’d heard of Patrick White, Australia’s only Nobel laureate for literature, Robert Hughes, the acclaimed art critic, Germaine Greer or Clive James.

British public servants, too, have come Down Under in their tens of thousands, drawn by better relative salaries and living conditions (see panel, left). The state of South Australia has appealed in particular for British bobbies; and all states need British nurses and health workers.

Of the 8,000 nurses and midwives who left Britain in 2006, 3,000 opted for Australia, double the number that moved here a decade ago.

Constable Ian Crossland, 42, from South Yorkshire, arrived in South Australia as part of the first intake of UK police officers in March 2005. He left the joint Crime and Disorder Reduction Team in Westminster Council, where he was detective sergeant in charge of intelligence, to be an Australian policeman, starting again as a probationary officer. In August, his wife, Joanne, and their sons, Samuel, 12, and James, 9, became Australian citizens.

Other citizens landed in Australia by accident. Ruth Weeks, 40, from London, and her husband, Josef Dabbs, 42, from Lincolnshire, decided to settle in Australia in the late 1990s. “We decided we’d travel till we found somewhere we wanted to live,” said Ruth. The couple have two children, Maya, 6, and Dominic, 2, and live in the inner Sydney suburb of Newtown (a little like Islington). They love it here, but their chief complaint is the cost of childcare: “It’s hideously expensive,” Ruth said. Their daughter already corrects Ruth’s English pronunciation.

Local trades, too, such as plumbing, electrical services, building and bricklaying, are in need of skilled labour, and often advertise in Britain. While the salaries are about the same as in the UK, their purchasing power is greater because the cost of living in Australia is lower. Others go in search of love, or the promise of it. Australia’s outback regions are severely short of women, especially “young wife fodder”, said one farmer.

Many recent newcomers are middle-class professionals with young families, drawn by an immigration policy that appeals to the highly skilled. Australian cities fiercely compete for the most talented. Among last year’s British émigrés were a Sikh family – the father an investment banker, the mother a dentist – who settled here, their third country of residence, to enjoy better prospects and a more child-friendly environment.

And consider Andrew Woodmansey of Portsmouth, a former investment banker who met his wife, Christine, at Cambridge, where they studied languages. They moved to Australia in 2000 and have recently obtained citizenship. Andrew, 49, is now the business development director at Sydney’s Harbour Trust, a federal government agency responsible for developing the harbour for public use. The couple have a teenage son who attends Sydney grammar school, one of eight “great public schools”, as some of the city’s elite private schools are called, and which cost about $21,000 (£8,000) a year.

Andrew worked at several international banks before settling down in Australia. “Each time we went back to the UK, we felt we were becoming less and less English,” he said. “One of the great things is, you’re taken at face value. You’re treated the same as everyone else – whether you’ve been here for a few weeks or for 30 years. You’re not judged by your background or your accent. You’re judged by what you can do for Australia."

They advise others to enjoy the unique attributes of their new home, and not to compare Australia with Britain: “If you’re just running away from something – costs, crowds, traffic – you’ll be disappointed. There’ll always be something to whinge about.”

But not all emigrants are happy; even some long-standing ones have not adapted to Australia’s coarseness, freewheeling society and the dislocating lack of a recognisable class system.

Take Maisie McDonald, from Bristol, who went there as a child, aged nine, in the 1960s, with her parents and two sisters. They were 10-pound poms (Brits who migrated to Australia under an assisted-passage scheme) and she loathed her new home – as she told the recent Australian-made documentary Ten Pound Poms, shown on BBC2. Her father lacked the money to return to Britain, so Maisie grew up in her new home and married an Australian. Yet she seems to hate her “home” more intensely with every passing year: “When people say, ‘How do you like Australia?’ you don’t say, ‘I can’t stand the place, it’s horrible.’ You just learn to live a big lie: ‘Oh, yeah, it’s great, you know. I love living in Australia’… I always learnt to bite my tongue.

“In England, I’m allowed to complain and run it down, but if you run down Australia, Australians get nasty because they think their country is the best place in the world… but not everything about Australia is perfect. But they won’t always admit to that…

“The thing I love about England is the country, the greenery, the soft rolling hills… When I compare it with Australia, Australia is so stark, it’s barren, it’s harsh. There is nothing soft and gentle or even genteel about Australia. In England birds twitter; in Australia they squawk.”

There are many factors driving people out of Britain, despite Maisie’s twittering birds. Emigrants cite obvious factors such as the weather, hospital queues, crime rate and cost of living – variations of which exist in Australian cities, of course. And many émigrés seem shocked by what they find when they go “home” to Britain: a brutally self-confident chav culture, where good education and quality medical care are unavailable or unaffordable. The words “heartless” and “selfish” leap to mind, they say: “Everyone was looking after No 1,” Adell Rees said of her most recent trip to Britain.

Why Australia, though? Why not America? One obvious reason is the lighter residency conditions introduced last year. Britain’s love affair with Australia is, after all, a very recent phenomenon. But there are deep historical links. Not so long ago the British and Irish were forced or bribed to go there. From the day the first white settlers landed in what became Sydney in 1788, through to the early 19th century, Australia was a huge prison, the bloody and terrible terminus for thousands of British and Irish convicts, most transported for petty crimes, such as theft and prostitution.

News of Australia’s rare riches – vast fertile lands and enormous mineral wealth – spread to parts of Europe and Asia in the 19th century, culminating in the gold rush of the 1850s, which drew tens of thousands of Irish, British, Chinese and American settlers. Yet the distance and rapid exhaustion of the superficial gold fields soon pushed Australia well down the priority list for European emigrants. In fact, 100 years later, Australia was so desperate for labour it had to pay workers to come. The nation must “populate or perish”, insisted the prime minister Robert Menzies’s Liberal government in the 1950s, after two world wars in which Australia lost more young men per capita than any other nation fighting for the mother country. But populate with whom? Asians? Definitely not. The White Australia Policy, the first law enacted after federation in 1901, and in force until 1973, determined that all new arrivals be white, and preferably British.

In the 1950s, over 90% of Australians saw themselves as proudly British or Irish, regardless of whether they traced their lineage to a Georgian pickpocket, an East End prostitute, a déclassé aristocrat, a potato-famine refugee or a family of graziers (cattle herders) and squatters.

Today’s influx has subtly different motives for emigrating: they tend to be pursuing a realisable dream, rather than escaping a nightmare. Asked why they emigrated, most cite: sun and coastal living, lots of space, affordable housing (outside city centres), a generally reliable public health system, good, cheap schools, many jobs and relative security. They are also drawn by some of the world’s last unspoilt natural wildernesses, ie, Uluru (Ayers Rock), Tasmania, Kakadu and the Great Barrier Reef. Holidays to exotic South Pacific islands – Vanuatu, Fiji, New Caledonia – are relatively cheap and a few hours away.

But the latest wave of emigrants are motivated by deeper social and economic impulses. Christopher Wade, the director of British Council Australia, said: “Australia has a great work ethic, but a very good after-work ethic too.” He especially admires the “fair go” and egalitarian spirit. This is best expressed, he said, in the culture of “volunteerism”: for example, many parents commonly coach their children’s sports teams. There is such a thing as a community here, Wade insists.

Of course, it is Wade’s job to talk up the Australian-British relationship. But the nation’s rude economic success and political stability are strong magnets. During the past 15 years, Australia’s standard of living has risen constantly and in 2006 it surpassed that of all Group of Eight countries except the US, according to the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD). Since 1990, Australia’s real economy grew by an average of around 3.3% a year, coupled with low inflation averaging around 2.5% (however, it recently exceeded the Reserve Bank’s threshold, driving up variable interest rates to a mortgage-busting 8.97%, and rendering the cost of inner-city homes, as a multiple of income, less affordable than that of any other developed nation). There are jobs aplenty, however: the rate of unemployment fell from a peak of nearly 11% in 1992 to below 5% last year – its lowest level since the early 1970s.

The unprecedented Asian, chiefly Chinese, demand for Australia’s mineral resources is behind this boom. Australia has some of the world’s largest coal, iron ore and uranium reserves, and is one of the biggest gold and diamond producers. Western Australia, lavishly endowed with natural gas and minerals, is enjoying the biggest mining-led surge in its history, and Perth is one of the most expensive cities.

Buttressing that success is the world’s oldest continuous democracy. At first glance, Australian standards of public debate suggest an Anglo-Celtic version of Italy’s saloon-bar atmosphere. Yet the nation’s raucous politicians – witness the Welsh-born deputy prime minister, Julia Gillard, herself the daughter of 10-pound poms, who last year called an opponent “a snivelling little grub”, and the former prime minister Paul Keating, who regularly emerges from retirement to toss in a little more rebarbative Aussie wit (the former treasurer Paul Costello, he said last year, was “all tip and no iceberg”) – are constrained by a parliamentary system that draws on the best of the Westminster tradition and the English and Scots enlightenment. The November 2007 general election was a sublime example of Australian democracy. When the incumbent prime minister, John Howard, lost the election – and his seat – after 11 years in power, the leadership shifted seamlessly to Labor’s Kevin Rudd. Thanks to the compulsory system of preferential voting, the transition was gracious, popular, representative and bloodless.

Australians may dislike outside criticism but they’re practised at self-criticism. Many older, better-educated Aussies are quietly appalled at the new breed of thuggish Australian chauvinists, who appear unsportsmanlike, sneering and ugly. The boorish chant of “Aussie Aussie Aussie, oi oi oi” at sporting events suggests a lack of imagination, wit or self-confidence.

New Australia seems to have sidelined the supposedly traditional Aussie values of mateship, the fair go and self-sacrifice. Asked to nominate “true Australian values”, almost 40% cited “mateship” or “loyalty” in a survey last month in The Bulletin (itself snuffed out last month by private-equity investors who showed no loyalty to the magazine’s 128-year tradition). Yet the same proportion said Australia was no longer the land of the fair go; more than 80% said the gap between Australia’s rich and poor is increasing, and 70% said Australia was too close to America.

Asked to state what appealed to them most about their country, they replied, in no apparent order: “The Australian Rules football grand final. Mateship. The beach. Multiculturalism. The fair go. The Great Barrier Reef. The Boxing Day cricket test match. The spirit of adventure. Surfing. The Opera House. Indigenous heritage.” Not a single scientist, artist or national leader; not a single charity or cause, invention, social reform or business success.

Yet despite this vacuous ideal, a “cultural strut” seems to have replaced the old Australian “cultural cringe”, as the art critic Robert Hughes has observed. The cringe at least suggested modesty and self-effacement.

Humour is perhaps the best mirror of a nation’s psyche, and by this measure, New Australia is unrecognisable from the nation that gave us Barry Humphries and Paul Hogan. Today’s Australians are tickled pink by the silliest home videos, The Chaser (young men pulling stunts at other people’s expense), Summer Heights High (a clever mockumentary about a suburban state school) and, of course, Kath & Kim (a mother-and-daughter sitcom set in suburbia). With the exception of the silliest home videos, the new comedies tend to push a shared political view of Australia as coarse and class-ridden (along brutish materialistic lines). One Australian expatriate remarked on a website recently: “We laugh at Kath & Kim, but don’t really realise that we are Kath & Kim.”

One doesn’t have to look far to find them.

The bacchic orgy that is the Melbourne Cup – the nation’s premier horse race – fetches up images that routinely fail to edify the human race. The crowning image of last November’s event was a drunken, thickset blonde who appeared on the front pages pouring champagne from a great height into the mouth of an alcohol-engorged man lying dishevelled on the grass. And that was before the race began.

Christopher Wade saw a positive side to this behaviour: “One of the challenges for Australia in the 21st century is to adopt a more confident sense of itself, and not be so hidebound about its origins. That may play itself out in terms of boorish behaviour. But yobs are everywhere.”

By this argument, New Australia’s boorishness, beach-side ostentation, loud new money, aggressive republicanism, impatient energy and killer instincts are healthy expressions of youthful self-confidence embodied by the first lines of the national anthem: “Australians all let us rejoice/For we are young and free…”

It also signals the end of Old Australia, a land of irreverence and iconoclasm, charm and humility, dung heaps and dead ground, booze and boobs and hard, leathery men and women who survived the Depression and two world wars to build in their own good time the most durable of democracies.

The country is lavish in contradictions, of course: a monarchist nation that must slowly yield to a republic, yet with large numbers still clinging to the coat-tails of the Queen of Australia; a nation of young people who, unlike their parents, worship the Anzac tradition; and a “classless” Australia seeded with expensive private schools and controlled by powerful business and political elites. The racism – always denied – of white Australia seems most troubling for many new emigrants. It has had many disquieting manifestations. During the cold war, politicians stoked the hysterical fear of China – the “red-yellow peril” – in justifying the nation’s involvement in the Vietnam war.

In recent years the Muslim community has felt the sharp end of white Australian hostility. Consider the leafy commuter town of Camden, near Sydney, one of Australia’s oldest pastoral communities. In December, locals impaled bleeding pigs’ heads on stakes, draped them in the Australian flag and rammed them into the site of a proposed Islamic school.

The most damaging expression of racism is to be found in the whites’ treatment of the Aboriginals. An unofficial apartheid has always divided whites and blacks, as the former conservative politician Mal Brough observed last year when justifying his draconian intervention in Aboriginal communities of the Northern Territory, whose members were accused of rampant child sexual abuse. While some blacks, chiefly mothers living with alcoholic husbands, applauded the measures, others saw the intervention as another doomed attempt to legislate away social problems whose roots lie much deeper. Blacks were not even recognised as citizens until 1967, when they were granted the right to vote. Until then they were treated as a dying race, abused and forgotten. Unlike heads of cattle, they were not even counted on the census forms. Many blacks refer to Australia Day, which commemorates the arrival of the first white settlers, as “Invasion Day”.

The dismal history of white-black relations is alive in the minds of indigenous leaders. They relate many accounts of white drovers passing through their communities and raping their women; of the missionaries and government officials who took children, many of them mixed-race, from black families. The whites who ran the foster homes and mission schools that housed this “stolen generation” allegedly sexually abused 1 in 10 Aboriginal boys and up to 3 in 10 Aboriginal girls, according to testimonies given to the 1997 Bringing Them Home report on the stolen generation.

Can white Australia redeem the past? A starting point was perhaps Paul Keating’s famous speech in Redfern Park on December 10, 1992, when he said: “We committed the murders. We took the children from their mothers. We practised discrimination and exclusion. It was our ignorance and our prejudice… We failed to ask, ‘How would I feel if this were done to me?’”

Hope rests with the will of the people to acknowledge rather than deny their past. White Australians tried to do this on February 13, when the government apologised for the first time to the black people for past injustices. It will also depend on the young and newcomers to forge a constructive future with the original inhabitants. Gratitude is never far away, either. More Australians seem to realise how good they’ve got it, and how hard won. Every year more than 10,000 young Australians gather on the shores of Gallipoli on Anzac Day to commemorate the fallen Australian troops. The Kokoda Track and Milne Bay in Papua – the battleground on which Australian forces, many of them untrained militia, first defeated the imperial Japanese army on land – is now considered to be hallowed turf.

And as I watched younger Australians and British backpackers dance in the New Year and partying on the beaches of Sydney, it occurred to me that perhaps Britain had made a terrible mistake – surely they should have left the convicts at home and emigrated?

Picture Perfect

2008-02-03T13:48:00.000Z

You know, I just can't understand why people would bother buying a beach house at Carrickalinga etc. For the same price, you could have your holiday home here, in South-West France. Seriously, it doesn't have a beach, but it's too beautiful for words.

It was a mega-relaxing little break. Some days we just rose at 11, wandered (waddled?) down to the patisserie, picked up some croissants and a baguette, mosied back to the cottage, ate and read books, pestered Brenton to start a fire in the fireplace, and then snuggled in front of it. Then, more eating, reading, sleeping, in whatever order you like. It was all very easy, but you had to time it carefully, as there was no guarantee that shops would be open when they said they would. Basically, they opened in the morning, closed from 12 to 2, and then depending on whether the shop person could be bothered, reopened for a few hours in the afternoon. Good ol' French work ethic!

It was like staying in the village in Chocolat. Everything was old and cobblestoned and authentic. As it was Winter there were also hardly any tourists around (though I managed to detect an Aussie accent even on the first day. How does that happen everywhere?) and we practically had the village, and all of the surrounding sights, to ourselves. This was our street, and Brenton in our backyard being very manly and chopping the wood:

Other days we would wander a little further afield, but as I was tasked with driving the hire car we didn't try and go too far. When we did we visited various villages in Perigord and just generally admired the quaintness of them all. Everywhere you looked there was something beautiful to see, some tiny alley or little cafe or tree lined street. They were also very into their markets...

...which leads me to the food! Oh, it was magical. We didn't have a bad meal the whole time we were there (well, except for the night we went to the English pub because it was the only thing open). So much good cheese, fresh bread, little cakes (I'm sure there's a better name for them and that), coffee, poulet and canard, soups, roquefort and jambon crepes, hazelnut honey, icing sugar and chocolate covered walnuts. I'm hungry just reminiscing about it all.

On other days, we went castle hunting, as we called it. Perigord had a castle for practically every hill top, of which there were many. Chateau Baynac was on a cliff overlooking the Dordogne river. It was so authentic, it was like all the knights had just got up and left sometime in the 14th century and the place hadn't been touched since. Brenton has done a great account of it here.

The gardens at Marqueyssac were also a highlight. They snaked around the place in this incredible intricate fashion. Apparently, they were designed by the same person who had done the gardens at Versailles (though obviously I haven't fact checked what I was told!) I can imagine during summer it was be absolutely lovely, though it was still pretty spectacular.

The hire car deserves a special mention. To be honest I did get used to it but the French drivers terrified me. They haven't heard of things like speed limits or indicating. They also assume that you know the roads as well as them, and loathe foreign, left hand side drivers such as me, which is fair enough I suppose. The week's driving culminated in a hideous experience of driving back to Bordeaux in pitch black darkness, on tiny, twisty roads, with semi-trailers coming towards me and impatient locals trying to pass. It was horrible.

But, that aside, it was a lovely little break. We got back to London feeling very well-rested and felt a bit overwhelmed by all the people, which says something about how secluded we were. When I have a little money, I am going to buy a house round there (well I can dream), and come back in summer to enjoy the festivals, communal village meals, outdoor Shakespeare. They really know how to live in that little part of the world.

Christmas and Francais Festivities

2008-01-11T22:45:00.000Z

Well, it was as expected a cold and rainy Christmas in ye olde London town. The city was empty - anyone with any sense had fled to the country, and there was no public transport running. But I must say that Christmas feels better placed in Winter, and all the references to frost and snow in Christmas carols feel far more in context. Brown Dog's mum had also come over to join us for Christmas period to stop us from becoming a couple of sad saps who would end up having M&S ready meals for Christmas lunch and getting drunk on mulled wine.

Instead, we went to a lovely pub in Hampstead called the Freemason's Arms and had a delicious three course meal and some Aussie red wine to remind us of home. Due to the said lack of transport we made the unwise decision to walk to the pub and so were totally drenched by the time we arrived. But the day went well. Here's us enjoying our Chrissy lunch:

We then went for a walk on Hampstead Heath and watched the sunset - it seemed to be full of people despite the fact that it was cold, wet, and now also dark. Then we went home and watched the Dr Who special. So, all in all, a pretty British Christmas I think.

It was then off to Paris to spend the New Year and also a week down in South Western France. In my continuing quest to see every museum and exhibition I can lay my hands on, I saw the Colours of Paris exhibition at the Hotel De Ville and went to the Mus ee d'Orsay for the first time (lots of impressionists, if you're into that kind of thing). But I ran out of steam pretty quickly because of all the endless queuing. There seem to be a million more queues in Paris than anywhere else I've been to, all outside and even for the more obscure stuff - I can't figure out why this is.

I felt pretty chuffed as I managed to make my way around the city (okay, the Latin Quarter) without any need of a map (well, I had one look), and I had not one but two (stilted) conversations with shop people in French. Making progress!

I also had the chance to catch up with two of my wonderful girlfriends from 'delaide. It was great to see them, but next time girls, we need to have more champagne involved!

New Years Eve was a definite highlight as Brown Dog had organised for the three of us to go on a dinner dance cruise down the Seine. I know that sounds a bit middle aged, but it was fun. I started the night off well by drinking five glasses of champagne before I'd even set foot on the boat, but luckily it was a five course meal so I had something to even it all out. There was an interested mix of people - some French, some English, some Americans (including one woman who was apparently in Little Miss Sunshine), a lovely German lady and of course the mandatory bogan Australians.

(With the glass that stayed in my hand all night)

The lovely thing about the cruise was that everything was organised for you. All you had to do was sit there and consume and chat to people. And in our case, try and figure out what the beautiful American lesbian couple sitting opposite us were getting up to under the table.

(This photo is good for demonstrating (a) how drunk we were and (b) how under dressed we were)

When the clock stuck midnight, we were literally right next to the Eiffel Tower, and were able to watch it go all sparkly. It was very simple but effective and from what I saw, the French generally have Christmas light decorations down to a fine art (in the countryside, every village was beautifully but not garishly lit up). This was the magical moment:

A highlight of my week was making the trip out to Versailles, which I had been keen to visit for a very long time (especially since I read an excellent biography of Marie Antoinette). It was amazing, elegant and incredibly over the top. Unfortunately, all of the original furniture was looted during the revolution, so a lot of the furniture they had was borrowed from other European royal families. It is a shame in terms of preservation and I get the impression that it is not an uncommon problem in France. Anyway, for those history nerds like me, here is the door in the Queen's bedroom through which Marie Antoinette escaped the first night of the revolution, a.k.a angry washerwoman night:

This is another one of the back of Versailles, generally looking grand:

It was amazing to see despite the fact it was an absolutely freezing day, but I'll have to make a return trip in the summer to see the gardens in bloom and fountains on (apparently in time with classical music which is somehow broadcast) and the Petit Trianon (M-A's residence), which they are renovating and will not open until June. So, (sigh)... I guess I'll just have to return to Paris in June then.

Next post: the beautiful Belves and South West France.

Penny's Hints 'n' Tips for working in the Captial

2007-12-01T16:43:00.000Z

In celebration of my new job, I have decided to write a post on my experiences job hunting in London. This is because I received a lot of advice on this subject before I left home, some of it useful and some of it a load of old tosh.

The said new job is in the Comptroller and City Solicitor's department of the City of London. According to the website, my new job aim is to be 'committed to serving the needs of international business and maintaining the environment in which organisations and companies from all over the world can play their part in financing global trade and development'.

Eeek.

Anyways, here's my two cents on job hunting in London.

How much experience do you need?

It is infinitely useful to have some good experience in a 'real' job under your belt before you come over. This is because you then have a better chance of earning more money, which is crucial given that the cost of living over here is much higher than at home. London is only fun if you have money. It is no fun to be living in a share house in Putney with 15 other Australians, with your greatest indulgence being buying your weekly travel card and not being able to afford to go out and do anything. Unless you have a trust fund behind you to cushion the blow, I wouldn't recommend coming over when you've just finished uni. For reasons I shall expand upon below, it is even harder to get a decent job as a uni leaver than when you have had some experience.

There is no world outside of London

Notwithstanding that it helps to have experience, you quickly learn that the only experience people care about over here is UK experience. Experience in Adelaide means nothing to them. I could have been a Partner in my old firm in Adelaide, it's small fry to these people. From what I understand from friends, it's like that in most fields, not just law. So a large part of the challenge is trying to convince someone to take a chance on you even though you don't have any UK experience (for some people this takes a few months; I lucked out early on). All you can do is play up the experience that you've got and try and convince people that it still means something and can easily be applied in the UK.

This is utterly ridiculous because in a lot of ways, Australia is more advanced in its work practices than London and there is certainly a stronger work ethnic. But try telling them that.

If you don't have any work experience at home, therefore, getting your foot in the door to do anything other than crappy admin work is practically impossible.

The 2 Years PQE Myth

This bit is directed to the lawyers: the myth that you need to have 2 years Post Qualification Experience before you come to London is complete rubbish, perpetuated by the law 'scene' (for want of a better word) and your employers in Adelaide who want to discourage you from leaving, or at the very least, delay your leaving until they have had a few years making obscene amounts of money out of you while managing to get away with paying you like shit. Do not listen to them - you don't need 2 years PQE! You need good experience, but there is no magic number. I had 15 months PQE when I came over and I got a job in 3 days. Enough said.

The Temp Market

There is a significant market in London for temporary workers. No one ever really told me about it before I arrived. There are some advantages that I can see to being a temp. For starters, the pay is generally a bit better to compensate for the lack of job security, you can take leave whenever you want and there is plenty of work. Also, if you are a Pay As You Earn employee, you still accrue annual leave, which is a minimum of 24 days a year.

The downsides include the aforementioned lack of job security. Most jobs have a one week notice period for either side. Also, you are always on the outskirts of the work place as the temp worker, which can be a bit disheartening.

The Scourge of Job Hunting

The job market in London, for every field, is completely dominated by recruitment companies. They are a real double edged sword. The benefits are that the job hunting process is significantly faster - different recruiters specialise in different things so if you are signed up with the right ones, they will be contacting you all the time with jobs. In other words, they take all the effort out of job hunting. And because the application/interview/offer process is so fast, you don't have to bother with pesky stuff like application letters. They do the leg work for you.

But you always have to remember that recruiters will put their own interests ahead of yours. Most often they get a hefty payment when they find you a job and, this shocked me when I first got here, they take a cut from your hourly rate as well. To emphasise: every hour you work, they make more money. I know for a fact that my previous recruiter was skimming a whopping £8 an hour off what my employer was paying them for my hourly services, and think of what that adds up to over 10 months of work. It makes me sick.

Recruiters can be extremely cunning and manipulative creatures. Unfortunately, the way the system is set up, they have to be or they will get screwed over by a fellow creature who is. I have had recruiters ring me about the same job offering completely different rates. This depends on the standard size of the agency's cut. They are all over you like a rash when you are looking for work, but you hardly ever hear from them again once you're working. They are terrible at giving feedback - don't expect to hear anything from them when they put you forward for a job unless you get an interview. They can be very pushy and will try and encourage you to apply for jobs that are totally unsuitable, just so they have a sufficient number of CVs to show the employer.

What can you do about this? Not much. You just have to play the game and make them work as hard for you as possible. Sign up with a lot of different agencies and make them compete to be the one who puts you forward for a job. Don't let yourself be put forward for jobs that you don't want. Ask them if rates are negotiable and push them to get you more money. They will always be trying to get as bigger cut as possible.

Well, that's all I have for the moment, but if I can think of anything else that is useful I'll post an update. Not much else going on generally, as I have gone into semi-hibernation for the winter. My chosen place of hibernation is our lovely new flat, which is very warm and cosy and as a friend says, much more 'something out of a Richard Curtis film' than our previous place of abode:

Cozy. Hope everyone else is enjoying the summer....don't let the blue sky in this photo deceive you, it's freezing here.

Sunshine and Sangria

2007-11-14T21:11:00.000Z

I should be spending this post writing at length about my cultural experience in Barcelona, all the beautiful Gaudi buildings I saw, the quaint Gothic quarter we were staying in, all the wonderful food I ate (and I will come to that), but in truth, my overwhelming highlight in Barcelona was this:

I haven't been to the beach since I left Australia, so its been 10 long months. My travelling companion and fellow temporary Londoner Emmalene and I went into throes of excitement at this sight, and spent most of a very lazy day lounging at one of the beach bars eating olives and drinking sangria.

It was inexpressibly good to be out in the sun and at the beach again. Especially since it is freezing in London right now and dark by 4.30 pm.... but I'm getting off topic.

Back to Barcelona.

I think that the best thing to ever happen to Barcelona was an architect, Antoni Gaudi. It isn't really possible to explain his architecture, you have to see it for yourself:

Gaudi's masterpiece is the Sagrada Familia, which construction began on in 1882 and it is nowhere near finished. The inside will be just incredible when it is finally completed - the columns of the church are all like tree trunks and the vaulted ceilings are made of leaves. What amazed me about all Gaudi's architecture was how functional it was. Everything had a practical as well as an aesthetic purpose, and a lot of things he designed were so innovative. I could go on about him all day.

Here is me, on top of La Pedrera, one of Gaudi's apartment blocks, with the Sagrada Familia in the background (I'm suffering a major case of squinty eye, but I was so thankful to have sun, I didn't care):

I've had a request from mtk to provide detail as regards the food. Well, I'm a born snacker, (unfortunately), so the Spanish diet of tapas suits me dangerously well. Despite tapas not really being traditional Catalan cuisine, there was an awful lot of it in Barcelona, which you could buy for a few Euro a plate. Amongst other dishes I tried some delicious fried sardines, but what I was determined to sample was a plate of jamon from one of the Grandpa bars that had legs of cured ham strung up from the ceiling. So I did just that. Here's me proudly sitting with my plate of meat:

Well, I got my comeuppance for that little culinary adventure. I felt nauseous for the next three days, which I attributed initially to the jamon, then to too much cava (champagne, entirely self inflicted), then to anxiety about the outcome of a job interview, and then the cursed jamon again.

We also managed to get to the main drag, La Rambla, which had some of the most impressive statue people I've ever seen. Normally statue performers annoy the bejesus out of me, but they seemed to go the extra mile in Barcelona:

All in all, it was a lovely little break, and it meant a lot to me to travel to a city that my family had once had to cancel a trip to when I was kid. I felt like I had finally conquered the last part of that long lost holiday (now Tori and Jeremy - you have to do it too!) Muchos gracias must also go to Emmalene, who was a great travelling partner and was very patient with having to do all the ordering and such for both of us, even if all of our travelling 'mug shots' had squinty eye and ended up getting cut off on at least one angle:

Adios!

La Dolce Vita

2007-10-28T14:22:00.000Z

My mission to conquer Europe by mini break continues!

I know I am starting to sound like a broken record when I do these blogs about the cities I visit. I realise that I proclaim each one as incredible and beautiful and one of my favourites. But Rome really was one of my favourites! Where to begin...

We spent the first day exploring the Colosseum and Roman Forum. Both are amazing beyond description, and the fact you are walking down the same road as Caesar, or looking at the spot where Mark Antony said 'Friends, Romans, Countrymen...' is almost too much to comprehend. The Colosseum is for the most part amazing well preserved, and those parts that are not we have the Vatican to thank for. We took about a million photos, which don't do it justice, but here are a few:

But I personally was more taken by the Roman forum, where you were literally wandering through the remains of the heart of the Roman Republic and then Empire. This was where the remains of the temples, courts and government administration building were. Even in the remains, I couldn't believe how sophisticated it was. They had drainage, toilets, taps, beautiful and complex buildings, posh suburbs, bad suburbs, a Senate... all thousands of years ago. You just can't help but be amazed by how advanced they were.

The next day we went to the Vatican. It was a must do, although I'm not sure why as neither of us are religious, let alone Catholic. But there you g0. We made the mistake of almost going on a guided tour with an extremely over bearing American guide, but bailed after the Piazza as we realised we didn't want to ave to keep answering questions like on a quiz show the whole tour.

The Vatican is stunning and I particularly liked the Piazza, with its beautiful columns and statues of the Saints looking down upon you. Shame that half the stone that built it was looted from the Colosseum. St Peters itself was very over the top, as you would expect, and so while I was taken aback by the sheer ostentatiousness of it all, it didn't inspire any particularly spiritual feeling in me.

We also went to the Vatican Museum, which is where, after what seems like an endless series of decorous passages and hallways and rooms, you finally, finally, get to see the Sistine Chapel. Yes it was amazing, if you were able to block out the hundreds of whispering people crammed in next to you and the fact you were being hassled by narky security guards.

The next days was devoted to the Pantheon and the squares of Campo de' Fiori and the Piazza Navona. The Pantheon, sounding like a broken record again, was incredible and I could not believe how well preserved it was. The Piazza was also beautiful but unfortunately, its primary attraction, Bernini's fountain of the Four Rivers, was closed for renovation. (And no, I did not see Jake Gyllenhaal and Reese Witherspoon, who reportedly were in the very same area on the same day. Damn.)

Another favourite was San Clemente. There were countless churches and they were all very impressive, but this one is particularly interesting as it was the site of pagan worship, early Christian worship when the religion was still prohibited and then a proper church was built when Christianity gained dominance. From the church you descended down into this amazingly complex network of underground passageways which had been carved out over the centuries, which featured a pagan temples and ancient frescoes and the graves of early Christian saints. It was dank and mysterious, and fascinating.

And of course, the amazing Trevi Fountain (or Fontana de Trevi - shame that the retaurant on Pirie Street doesn't do its namesake justice!):

And finally a special culinary mention. All the food was of a generally high standard (as you would expect), but if you are ever going to Rome, I recommend the Taverna Dei Fiori Imperiali on Via Madonna dei Monti for the Italian culinary experience of your life. Seriously, write the name down! I cannot rave about that place enough (and thanks to Ma and Pa Chalke for the recommendation).

Even though we saw most of the major sites, there is so much in Rome that you feel you have barely scratched the surface. The only downside to an otherwise fantastic trip was an air traffic controller strike on the day of our departure which lead to us having to stay another night in the tiny town outside Rome where Ryanair flew from, Ciampino, and paying a totally exorbitant price to get the only room left in the hotel.

Curse you Ryanair and your oh so irresistible prices but oh so shitty customer service!

Grand Final

2007-09-30T20:50:00.000Z

First some scene setting: 5.50am. Darkness. A cold and drizzly morning. Puzzle Pub, Hammersmith, London:

Yes, we were glued to the screen. And there were lots of us, who'd paid 9 squid each for a Tooheys New, soggy chips and a pie (chicken!).

And then there was me, decidedly flu-ey and grumpy:

Perhaps not the greatest of ideas considering I'd been sick all week with the world's most persistent cold. Ah well.

For a much better update of what I've been up to lately, see here. It will probably explain how I got the cold. Cursed partying and its detrimental effect on the immune system!

Too much of too many good things

2007-09-13T19:48:00.000Z

Last weekend Brenton and I visited Amsterdam to get our hit of.... culture (just kidding mum and dad!)

Well, I do wish that I could live in a city with canals. When I eventually tread my way back to Adelaide, I may suggest to the Council that some get built in the city centre since they add so much to the atmosphere of a place. How could you not enjoy having a view like this everyday?

One highlight was Anne Frank's house on Prinsengracht. I remember, like I'm sure everyone else does, reading that book at school and it having a profound effect on my 13 year old self. It has been years since then but it was still quite poignant to see the swinging bookcase and the hidden door, and wander around the tiny rooms of the Secret Annex. I was also thrilled to see the famous diary itself... until I found out it was only a facsimile due to 'humidity' issues.

(This is Anne Frank's house with Brenton out the front, trying to be funny)

We also saw Rembrandt's house, which was furnished as it was when he lived there, including the hilarious beds when everyone used to sleep upright because they thought they could be killed by a blot clot to the head if they lay down! And the Van Gogh museum was also amazing - we saw the famous Sunflowers and Irises, and his much gloomier earlier stuff. What a difference an artistic pilgrimage to Paris can make. From this:

To this:

Colour! Brenton had to drag me out of the place when I had finally exhausted looking at his early sketches (as mtk and Bonnie can testify, when I go to an exhibition, I see it all, even if it takes hours).

What strange people the Dutch are. They are extremely efficient - I was very impressed that you could buy your train ticket while you were waiting for you baggage to come onto the carousel. They also have quite an exhibitionist streak, houses were always on the street and curtains were always open. You could literally look into someones living room as you walked past, which was fascinating and unnerving, especially if someone inside looked back at you! I loved all the narrow, wonky little houses though:

And yes, we had a look at the red light district one night. Had to have a look, and it seemed there the Dutch exhibitionism manifested itself (though actually very few of the prostitutes were Dutch). I couldn't believe how unashamed everyone was. Not the tourists like us who had come for the novelty value, who were probably the majority of the people there. But the people participating in it and especially the men who would stand at the girls' windows negotiating their price and then walking back into a street full of people when they had finished, as nonchalant as if they were just leaving the hairdressers. Weird.

We stayed in a lovely little houseboat just near the central station, which was a lot of fun and had a lot of character. Unfortunately the two gentlemen we were sharing with were quite anti-social and spent most of their time there trying to fill the houseboat with as much smoke as possible. They were from the Isle of Mann, and I took it that they didn't get out much.

Incidentally, we both got a thrill when we were watching CNN on our houseboat TV and saw the Chaser prank at APEC. The reporting was hilarious: "According to a survey conducted by a national newspaper, most Australians thought the prank was 'very funny'". That cracked me up.

And lastly, a special mention must go to Febo/Smullers, the good people who have managed to take that last tiny bit of human interaction out of buying a hamburger. What a stroke of genius this contraption is, especially after a drink or two, which helps you forget the fact that you have no idea how long the burger has been sitting in the little metal dispenser...

So back to reality (i.e the finer points of food law) for now but I am packing in two more trips before Christmas; Rome in October and Barcelona in November with my compadre Emmalene. And we are also moving into a lurvely new flat, but that's another post...

Where is the warmth in global warming?

2007-08-24T22:03:00.000Z

Well, we are coming to the end of another glorious English summer, featuring scenes in London such as this:

This:

And this:

Okay, well, that last one is actually Blackpool, but I am including it to emphasise how completely rubbish summer in England has proven to be.

It is actually the wettest summer England has ever had since they began keeping records 240 years ago.

Since I had been hearing choruses of "Just wait until summer" and "London is so great during the summer" for months leading up to July I feel severely ripped off. The long nights I had pictured of dining al fresco and sitting in parks drinking bottles of wine til 10 o'clock at night have never eventuated.

It has been terrible for ice-cream manufacturers and clothing stores but apparently very good for travel agents and pizza chains.

I never even got an opportunity to retire my brolly from permanent item in handbag status. Ah well.

Just having a bit of a whinge. Apparently we are going to get a small respite this weekend, with temperatures of 26! All the Aussies are banding together and having, of course, a barbie to celebrate the last little bit of warmth before the descent into the real doom and gloom of winter.

I wish I were a Princess too

2007-08-05T22:09:00.001Z

It reached a peak during their engagement-wedding period, but my minor obsession with Princess Mary had petered out for a while. Until, that is, I arrived in Copenhagen. Then it all came flooding back! I am a sad sad person. I know it. I kept imagining what it must have been like for her when she first moved over to be with Frederik, anonymously wandering the streets, thinking, 'One day this will all be mine...' or something to that effect.

Anyway, now I've got that out of my system, I can say that I really enjoyed Copenhagen. It had a bit more character then Oslo with the addition of canals, which always add to a place's prettiness quotient I think. One of the things we did was take a canal tour, which enabled us to see lovely things like this:

And some interesting (what I assume is) modern Scandinavian architecture like this:

And this (their Opera house):

We also rode bikes around the city which was a great way to see a lot of the sights. Of course the Little Mermaid was on the list, although in reality she is ruined by the hundreds of tourists snapping away, Americans who actually wade out into the water and climb up on the statute even though everyone else is trying to take their photo, and canal tours like ours coming up from behind to take a look.

And of course, I had to have a look at the Palace, which actually consists of four palaces, and I was not exactly sure which one Mary and Fred lived in, but I was excited all the same.

Copenhagen seemed like an extremely liberal and relaxed city, as evidenced by the 24 hour porn on free to air tv! Helpfully, we were staying in the red light district (not intentionally but inevitably when you choose a two star hotel), so we got to see that first hand! I don't know what they are putting in the water up there, or if there's just not enough to do, or if it's so cold most of the year that there's nothing else to do, but yeah. Lots of that.

It was also a city full of buffets. Everywhere you looked, a pizza buffet. And if it weren't for me getting fussy, that's what the boys would have eaten the whole time. Ick.

But I really enjoyed the city centre, which basically consisted on one long high street intercepted by fountains and square and lined with cafes and restaurants. There was obviously a big restaurant culture, similar to Adelaide's, which of course was a big plus.

Anyway, I would thoroughly recommend Copenhagen, it had a good mix of old and new, trendy but accessible, liberal and traditional. Put it on your lists.

I've found the place we can all retire...

2007-07-28T11:02:00.000Z

...Oslo! Except for the blistering cold and snow for eight months of the year, I think we'd all be very happy there. Firstly, Oslo is very green and beautiful:

Has some nice quaint parts to it:

And a ski jump for the boys:

The only problem is that you need to have your own mint to live in Norway - everything costs a fortune and makes London's prices look positively bargain basement. AUS$18 for a crappy Maccas meal makes it even less attractive than it was before. And another downside is that the alcohol is heavily regulated too - you can only buy it at government outlets, and it's incredibly expensive and only about 3.5%.

On the upside, if you actually live there you get free health care and education, free looking after when you get old, nice tax breaks and an extraordinarily high standard of living. I imagine you'd be able to travel all the time because everywhere else would seem comparatively cheap. Even if you're unemployed in Norway, the government gives you the equivalent of $50,000 a year, which I think anyone would agree you can live quite comfortably on.

The reason for all this, I discovered over there, is that Norway is astronomically wealthy due to its vast oil and natural gas reserves. Apparently the government's strict control of the economy is due to the fact that there is so much money that if they let it go unregulated, everything would just go berserk (that's my incredibly simplistic explanation of things, as I don't have a clue about economics). It's like living in Brunei or something, but with a bit of socialism thrown in. But it's good to see at least one country using their income from oil in a positive way.

We stayed with some relatives of Brenton's friend Ben, the lovely Jan Erik and Bjerg, who were the Norwegian version of my grandparents. They were fabulous to us and fed us well too - beautiful fresh seafood everyday. We also met a few of Ben's other relatives and gained a bit of an insight into the Norwegian approach to things. Norwegians struck me generally as a quite insular but down to earth bunch who were aware of how good they had it but had no desire to mooch off their country's wealth, or take more than they needed. They were also very environmentally minded and acutely aware of the need to preserve the their country's resources for future generations.

So, on the whole, a pretty impressive and progressive lot.

Some other things I liked about Oslo:

Amusing and unusual buskers:

The Munch Museum, whose main feature was a pastel version of The Scream. The 'real' version was still being restored after it was stolen from the Museum in 2005. (Incidentally, the previous time the painting was stolen, in 1994, it was stashed at the house next to Jan Erik and Bjerg's, who woke up one morning to find a sting operation taking place in their front garden).

Endearing public works of art:

And lots of water surrounded by luscious green, foresty areas:

Next post: the delightful Copenhagen, where I was extremely embarrassed to find out that they show Australian Princess on TV.

Older and more paranoid?

2007-07-11T19:40:00.000Z

Well team, another birthday has passed and I'm okay with it (just). I think I've told just about everyone I've ever met how much I hate ageing, but on reflection, life doesn't seem so bad at the mo. I'm living in my favourite place on earth and life seems to be rolling along quite smoothly. I have great friends, a decent fella and a relatively cushy job. All my family and friends are healthy and happy. And I am getting to travel all the time, which is my favourite thing to do. So, by way of birthday life review, I think it's all going okay.

I said in my last post that I would be saying something about the security situation in London. I am one of those unfortunate people who, over here, share their birthday with the anniversary of a terrorist attack. Because of this, security in London was amped up considerably in the weeks leading up to the date and getting anywhere was close to impossible. Thankfully it has eased up now, but at one point a tube station was being closed nearly every day due to a 'security alert'. Airports were being closed, causing the usual level of chaos. There were police everywhere. At the station close to my work, they closed 10/13 entrances and posted police next to the remaining ones to watch everyone coming in. I found myself scrutinising the people in my train carriage, which perhaps surprisingly I haven't really done before over here.

As it turns out, where terrorism fails you, incompetence steps in and fills the void. My usual train into the city, at the time I usually take it, derailed the other day at station before mine (Mile End) due to a tarpaulin being left on the track. It would have been horrible to be on that train, particularly since everyone on it would have been certain it was a terrorist attack and it would have been every bit as scary.

Anyway, things are relatively back to normal now, and the only problems on the train are the usual ones of signal failure or 'body under the train' (I kid you not). But, as a friend said the other day, at least we're living in a city of enough significance for someone to want to attack it.

Anyhoo, am off on Sunday for a week or so, to visit Oslo and Copenhagen. And yes I am planning to call on Princess Mary and yes I will say hi from all of you! Or maybe I will just try and test Australians' popularity in Copenhagen by trying to scam free drinks at the local bars. One or the other.

Oui, oui, c'est bon!

2007-07-03T19:48:00.000Z

Ahhh Paris. Just lovely. Given that Brenton and I are both novices when it comes to French (okay, every language other than English), we did a good job at getting ourselves around and semi-communicating with the natives. We were also very proud of our mastering of the Metro, which is far nicer and about 10 degrees cooler than the Tube.

We saw the beautiful Notre Dame, which I have decided is my favourite Cathedral, mainly because it was a lot neater than Canterbury. But surprisingly, they allow tourists to parade around Notre Dame during sermons, surely knowing that a large number of those tourists are loud and annoying Americans who have zero respect for the no flash rule:

We also did the compulsory meander over to the Louvre and Champs-Elysees, via a number of pet shops where was spent ages ogling the adorable puppies, though I got a bit teary when I saw a little Sammy lookalike. We then spent a while embracing the European way of life, i.e. spending long periods of sitting around leisurely:

I also stopped by mtk's favourite bookshop, Shakespeare & Co, which was so cute and eccentric. Unfortunately, the top four floors were closed. But the first floor, which the shelves to the ceiling and big piles of books, was great. Since mtk didn't post a photo, I'm putting one up now:

Shakespeare & Co was in the Latin Quarter, which was the cool cafe/bar/club district that I've noticed is present in every European city....

...and, as usual with every city, the gay/lesbian population had realised it was a cool area before anyone else and made it their own. It was International Pride Day I think, so the streets were filled with people, music and a massive parade. I was slightly more into the spirit of things than Brenton, who got a bit annoyed when I started singing along to Kylie!

Of course, the purpose of the trip was to see Genesis, playing at the Parc des Princes of Saturday night. For those of you who are not already wise to this, Genesis is really just Phil Collins. The other members are Mike from Mike and the Mechanics (so I'm told) and some other guy, but they don't really do a lot.

I was amazed by how many people were at the stadium - there must have been about 30,000 or so. Who knew so many people were still fans of Genesis? Phil was great and impressively conducted most of his banter with the audience in French. Although, he and the band seemed to have a taste for long instrumental numbers which were a bit exasperating, especially when you're standing up. The stage was also amazing with the clearest big screens that I've ever seen:

Yes, I was one of the youngest people there!

The next day, we were extremely tired and hungover, so much so that we even missed the complementary buffet breakfast. Shocking. But we did manage to squeeze in a quick walk down to the Eiffel Tower.

I loved Paris, and I am surprising myself to say that its the first city I've visited over here that I have actually thought I could live in as an alternative to London. Particularly with the security situation being what it is, but more on that later...

I liked the Pimms best

2007-06-27T20:31:00.000Z

It's funny how being in a different place compels you do things you would never usually be inclined to do. In my case, this includes attending a sporting event. It's funny how it had never even occurred to me to go to the Australian Open, but when we were offered tickets to Wimbledon, I suddenly decided I needed to go.

Wimbledon tournament takes place at the rather grandly named All England Tennis Club, and the Club has a wonderful sense of history and prestige. One of my favourite aspects of this were the army officers who were posted at the entrance to the smart seats:

I also loved the very twee looking linesmen/women and ball boys/girls, who were decked out head to toe in adorable Ralph Lauren outfits:

Given that we were in the cheap seats and didn't have access to Centre Court and therefore the famous players, we hung out at the smaller courts and watched some unknown/washed up Aussies play. First up was Wayne Arthurs, who is apparently 36, so I have to admire the fact he was still playing and actually won after five marathon sets. We were right next to the court which was amazing, and got to demonstrate our full repertoire of tennis noises....

'Oooohhh' = very good

'Aaauuuuu' = what a shame

'Arrrrrhh' (followed by sucking in air through teeth) = that was crap

Unfortunately we were not the only ones feeling vocal. There was the mandatory group of drunken Aussie blokes that yelled commentary, some hilarious but most inane, from the sidelines for the *entire* match. They were irritating in the extreme and I felt very embarrassed in front of the chilled out Dutch supporters of the opponent. But, when 'Wayno' took it out in the end, he rushed over to them, so it made me think they might have had something to do with it.

(Team Aus in a quiet moment)

The Age has written an article that sums the match up beautifully and features a photo of Wayne with his cheer squad. The guy at the back with the flag was particularly annoying.

We then saw a few bits and pieces of other matches, including catching a brief glimpse of Venus Williams, and then went to see another unknown Aussie, Chris Guiccone, play a British wild card.

It has to be said that the British fans were extremely boring on the cheering front: 'Go Alex!' was pretty much as creative as it got. So much so I was actually pleased when Team Australia showed up again and started chanting 'Get on the G-train!' and 'Go the Goochinator!!'.

All in all it was a lovely day, and we were exceptionally lucky with the weather, as despite it having rained everyday for the last two weeks we didn't have a drop all day. But I was a little bit disappointed that I wasn't able to use the new brolly I had purchased especially for the day.

And yes, strawberries and cream and Pimms and lemonade were both crossed off the list!

I know this is lazy but...

2007-06-22T16:16:00.000Z

...I am terribly terribly tired from my stressful government job and so rather than put in a bit of effort and write a post myself, I am exploiting the fruits of somebody else's blogging labour. Brown dog/newly-named Alpha and I spend a lovely day up in Canterbury last weekend, which was beautiful and quaint and quiet and just what we needed. He has written a great post about it, which can be found here.

I have decided that my excuse will be that he used all the good photos on his blog so there is hardly any point in me doing another one. I hope that's half convincing.

But I will leave people with this image:

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, believe it or not, *this* is the recently unveiled London 2012 Olympic Logo. I don't know if news of this has made it back to Australia, but there has been quite the backlash to it here. I believe it was triggered when the promotional video for it made people start getting migraines and having epileptic fits. Or perhaps it was because it was revealed that the design team was paid £400,000.00 for *this*. Or maybe because it's not as emblematic or reassuring as your standard Olympic logo. Or maybe it's just too pink and weird for most people.

I love a good fuss over nothing. I was almost considering entering an alternative logo competition being run by The London Paper and dusting off my On Dit Photoshop skills (which were pretty limited) but nay, I couldn't be bothered. In any case, the Olympic organising people have said that we're stuck with it. Though they have tried to jazz it up a bit for the paralympics:

I'm used to the logo now, and almost like it, though maybe its just because I'm delirious with tiredness as work has been really flat out this week. And yes, I'm at work now and I've managed to find time to write this post, but only just. It's been exhausting.

Too bland to think of a witty title

2007-06-16T13:17:00.000Z

Yesterday I was despatched to Birmingham by my work to watch a court hearing for a prosecution of Cadbury by Birmingham C.C. over last year's salmonella debacle, which cost the company a massive 30 million. My boss suggested that I spend the day there and get some sightseeing done (oh the joys of working in government!) He assured me, as did a number of other people in the office, that "Birmingham had improved a lot". That made me sceptical, but as I rule I NEVER turn down free travel.

The day did not start well when all the trains to Birmingham from Euston were cancelled due to flooding. I had to take three tubes over to Marylebone and catch an alternative train that took far longer. I was stressed and tired from having to get up so early. By the time I finally made it to Birmingham, I'd ended up missing the Court hearing altogether.

Oops. So I had a little time to kill.

Hmm... Birmingham. It was a challenge for even me, current champion of all things and places British, to find much to like in Birmingham. Perhaps it was the queue outside KFC at 11.00 in the morning that gave me a bad first impression. Or maybe it was the queue outside the Magistrates' Court, that actually stretched a good 30 metres from the entrance. Inside, I hadn't seen so many single mothers and babies since my brief stint in the Family Court in 2004, when I was just a little legal-spring chicken (or course, now I am a big fat haughty legal hen and would rather not leave my nice office at all, thank you very much!) On the upside, the court building looked like it was one of the prettiest in Birmingham, so at least I got to take a look.

After I had phoned in the outcome of the hearing (guilty!) I went exploring. Well, really just down to the main drag, but I'm pretty sure I saw all the highlights. This included a mall which I hate to say was not dissimilar to Rundle Mall. There was also a sad little makeshift beach, which was really just a large patch of sand. There was also a brand spanking new Selfridges store that was located in another architectural highlight - a brand new building that to me, resembled a giant piece of bubble wrap:

I also saw the city's cathedral, which according to my Dad (who as people who read the comments section know, is the fountain of knowledge for all things British) was hastily propped up in the eighteenth century in a far to small a space in the town centre so that Birmingham could officially be given the status of 'city'. Well, I can confirm that the space was too small, and the cathedral itself was somewhat overshadowed by the giant bubble-wrap building.

When it started to pour with rain I took it as a sign that it was time to head back to London, but was pleased to have ticked another place off the list. Not that Birmingham had necessarily been on the list. Ah well.

Another installment of Bits and Bobs...

2007-06-09T15:03:00.000Z

This is some random stuff I've been up to lately:

The London Dungeon: A warning to all visitors to London. DO NOT GO HERE. It is crap. Imagine being stuck in a series of claustrophobic, dark, smelly rooms with a bunch of American tourists. Yep. And I only have myself to blame for telling the others it would be fun and camp and novel. On the upside, we met a very nice 21 year old American girl called Dionne who was here on a Contiki tour and told us that if we ever wanted to catch up, we'd be able to find her in Juicy Couture.

Visiting Pub on the Park, a nice little pub with a big deck that borders our local park, where Brenton has managed to scam himself some casual work. He told them all about his years working in the Unibar and they were very impressed. Obviously bluffing can get you everywhere and his years spent in pubs have paid off. I was amazed by how quickly he has picked up pouring a beer and memorising all the strange drinks that English people seem to like (shandy's, spritzer's, Fosters).

Seeing some excellent exhibitions including Gilbert and George at the Tate Modern and How We Are: Photographing Britain at the Tate Britain. Gilbert and George are a funny pair and create what I think is the most self-indulgent art I'm ever likely to see. Photographing Britain was a fantastic exhibition of British photography throughout the ages, including some wonderful 19th Century photographs of patients in mental asylums, aristocrats on their way to costume parties who were dressed like they were in the Masquerade scene in Phantom of the Opera and my favourite, 'Wanted' photographs of suffragettes that were used by the Police in trying to track down those militant hormonal crazy ladies.

Seeing Billie Piper from Dr Who and the funny/weird guy from Love Actually in a play called Treats. It was surprisingly dark play and apparently inspired by The Doll's House, which I and probably everyone else remembers well from high school. The play was not amazing but had been extremely over hyped, so me being me, I had to leap on to the bandwagon.

Visiting Brick Lane in East London, which is a surprisingly long lane full of Indian restaurants and some pretty cool bars. The prices on the menus are purely tokenistic and you are basically expected to bargain for the cost of your meal. We managed to nab ourselves quite a good deal, but the experience was quite stressful and the food pretty average. But still worth seeing and apparently they import a whole lot of sand during the summer and turn the place into a mini beach.

Getting robbed at a pub on Goodge Street in what has to have been one of the most brazen robberies ever. One minute my bag was under the table beside my feet, the next it was gone. While I managed to retrieve the bag itself after a few minutes (I snatched it back from some poor girl who had found it), the canny bastards had managed to sift through it and extract my treasured iPod, phone, 40 quid and my Oyster (train) card. So I now have an ancient phone and a lengthy insurance form to complete. Tres annoying.

Hanging with Brenton at Green Park, Buckingham Palace and St James's Park (below), which were very beautiful and but not as manicured as you'd expect the gardens surrounding Buckingham Palace to be (or perhaps that section is just not open to the riff raff).

Attending an organ recital with Aj at Westminster Abbey. The organ sounded beautiful but proving that all the culture I have talked about above is actually wasted on me, I fell asleep.

Diary of a weekend in Brussels

2007-05-29T19:03:00.000Z

(One of the few photos where we aren't eating or drinking)

Friday 25 May

10.20pm: Aj, Brenton, Mtk and I arrive at Brussels National. Quickly jump on train into the city and congratulate ourselves of successful mastering of the public transport system and simultaneous fare evasion.
10.40 pm: Arrive at the hostel and commence drinking. I drink Frambroise (raspberry flavoured beer) until realising its only 2.9%. I switch to white wine.
1.00am: Group decides we need late night Yiros-style snack at nearby Turkish place. Realise the owner is the greasy looking guy in Brasil soccer shirt that has been sitting watching our group in hostel most of the night. Mel decides to strike up a conversation with him. He tells us that Western women are sluts who offer to make f**k in exchange for food (or something thereabouts). Later he obviously feels guilty and comes over to show us a photo of his son. Strange.

Saturday 26 May

Approximately 3.00am: Drunk/stoned Frenchmen on the roof below our window wake us with inane chatter and sporadic guitar playing. Brenton yells at them, and they go away.
4.00am: Frenchmen are back. Brenton yells again.
11.00am: Group awake feeling tired and hungover. Decide to eat at first available opportunity. Wander into Brussels city centre. Check out large parks and Royal Palace. Then walk over to the central touristy district and sample chocolate at the various shops.

1.00-3.30pm: Lunch. Mtk and Aj have mussels in Brussels. Brenton and I have pommes frites with mayonnaise. We feel very touristy but decide it has to be done.
4.00pm: Stumble around until we find Grand Place, the magnificent central square of Brussels. Discover there is a jazz festival going on. Have a wine and listen to some jazz for awhile.

6.00pm: Nap time.
8.00pm - 1.00am: Resurface for some dinner and discover a delicious Greek restaurant called Mykonos. Gorge ourselves. Then move onto a bar that features a 'beer degustation'. Ingest much beer and stumble home. See Turkish guy from last night, who appears not to have been home to change his outfit. Yick. Leave cans of beer by the window to spray on Frenchies if they wake us again.

Sunday 27 May

12.30 pm: Surface and decide to find some waffles. Half an hour later, feeling sick but satisfied from waffles and chocolate.
2.00pm: Visit an amazing Museum of Musical Instruments. It was located in a fantastic Art Deco building that has somehow been renovated to resemble (from the outside) a giant sheet of music. Or perhaps all the Belgium beer has gone to my head. In the museum, we get a set of headphones that automatically play the sound of each instrument as you walk past it.

4.00pm: Meet up with Mtk's high school friend for drinks at the bar on the top floor of the Museum. She gives us a bit of a walking tour and we eventually settle at a cafe for another drink and toastie snack.
7.00pm: Leave cafe and move on the restaurant for dinner - we decide to stick with what we know - back to Mykonos for more delicious Greek.
8.30pm - Have eaten until we can eat no further, so move on to a pub on Grand Place for some drinks.

Monday 28 May

12.30am: Appetite has returned. We get some delicious waffles with strawberries, cream and ice cream. Retire to the hostel for some beer. Strike various drunken poses round the city on the walk home (pictured - Abbey Road on the marble tiled zebra-crossing).

2.30am: Bed time.
3.30am: The Frenchies are back on the roof and louder than ever. I wake up first and try to talk to them calmly and rationally to convince them to go to bed but have no luck. Mel goes next and yells at them in her teacher voice. Still nothing except stoned laughter. Brenton wakes up and unleashes a torrent of abuse that probably wakes up half the surrounding neighbourhood. But it works - the Frenchies shuffle over to the far side of the roof but unfortunately none of them fall off.
11.30 am: commence the long journey home after a sleepless night.
2.00pm-rest of day: sleeeeep. Phew.

The new arrival

2007-05-17T19:05:00.000Z

Well, sorry for the lack of posting lately - but Brenton has just arrived and so I have been busy showing off my newly acquired London-savvyness to him. This has involved such activities as leading him around on the Tube, demonstrating how to use the Tesco self-checkout and pointing out obvious landmarks like "that's Big Ben" or "that's the London Eye".

I feel like quite the London expert (despite everyone else I know being far more London-savvy than I am).

Unfortunately, despite my attempts to cram in as many highlights as I could in the first few days and thus convince Brenton that London is a go-go, the weather Gods were not on my side and it was rainy and cold. Despite that, we managed to fit in Trafalgar Square, Southbank, the Tate Modern and Porky's Cafe in Covent Garden (obviously not my pick).

We also briefly stopped by the Walkabout so the Brenton could be assured that there will still be a way to watch AFL over here - I have a feeling that the 'Walkie' is going to get much harder to avoid. But I'll still do my best.

Naturally, now that I have gone back to work, the rain has stopped and the sun is shining again. But Brenton has been doing a good job of exploring the city and has figured out some stuff that it took me at least two months to do. I am choosing to attribute that to all the London knowledge I have been imparting on him! It's only logical really.

Below is a photo of Brenton looking across the Thames (not posing at all!) and featuring the dark and thunderous sky that greeted him on arrival.

The Leprechauns made me do it....

2007-05-08T19:38:00.000Z

Here is a brief run down of my weekend in Dublin:

The Irish People

The Irish people were jolly and lovely. They were the friendliest people I've met and had absolutely no problem chatting to strangers. This made for a lot of random encounters, including a friendly gay chap who Kate and I never found out the name of (we were too busy drunkenly asking him if he was 'the only gay in the village?') and a very nice group of young men who were Afghan war veterans and talked constantly about the war and didn't need counselling at all.

We were also very chuffed with the plethora of compliments we received, and decided that there must be some weird lack of women in Dublin, as there was quite a noticeable gender imbalance. Then again, we were hanging out in Temple Bar, which any self-respecting woman would steer well clear of - I will expand upon that later.

Touristy things

We managed to fit in a fair bit of cultural stuff and visited Trinity College, the beautiful St Stephen's Green (above), the Hugh Lane Gallery, Dublin Writers Museum and the Guinness factory. While I could only manage one sip of my complimentary pint of Guinness before wanting to throw up, the museum section was very impressive and had a touch of Willy Wonka about it, including big mysterious gates and a glass elevator.

Stag and Hen Central

As I said, we were staying in an area called Temple Bar, also known as the Stag and Hen night capital of Europe. And not only was everyone there for that purpose, a large proportion of these groups were hilariously costumed, including gangsters, doctors, fire women, pirates, pink ladies and angels. I'm sure most of them thought they looked pretty hot, given how they were swaggering around the pubs in their ensembles. They didn't.

I'm not sure how it came to be that Dublin claimed this dubious title, but I suspect the increase in cheap flights from London has something to do with it. Turns out you can still spot a chav, even in a different country!

Interesting times

It turns out that we were in Dublin during an interesting time in Ireland's political history. The city (and country) was gearing up for an election, and additionally, today has been a rather momentous day in Irish history with the commencement of power sharing in Northern Ireland. You certainly felt like you were in an interesting political environment when you were walking down the street and saw things like this:

Odd reaction to sunshine

Sunshine is obviously something that the Irish don't experience very often. So perhaps that's why when some finally arrives, it is peoples first instinct, wherever they may be, to strip down to their underwear and lay out in the sun for a while.

Exhibit A:

Exhibits B and C:

And this was outside a Cathedral! I would be interested to see what kind of restraint would have been shown if they were at the beach.

A reminder of home

And finally, I got very excited when I saw this little reminder of home:

I know its just a traffic signal thingy, and probably lots of cities round the world have the same ones, but it's so Adelaide that I had to get a photo!

Sammy

2007-05-02T21:32:00.000Z

My little dog, Sam, has succumbed to the borag. He was diagnosed with cancer a couple of months ago and unfortunately it was aggressive. My kind parents didn't tell how much he'd deteriorated because they didn't want to upset me. But he had to be put down yesterday.

These are the things I remember about him.

Sammy was my family's dog. He arrived when I was 16. I remember I was swimming in the pool and the rest of my family arrived home with him. He was a tiny little thing - the runt of the litter. It turned out he had some kind of worms and needed medical treatment almost immediately after. He was sick many times over his life, and had to have several major operations. He teetered on the brink a few times, but he always survived and seemed to go on, which made me think he would always recover from his strange illnesses.

Sammy was a happy dog and he loved being around people. He was always the first to greet you when you got home, bounding up to you with his tail wagging. He loved going to the racecourse and rolling around in the puddles. I feel like I should have taken him on more walks, as I know how happy they made him. I used to take him to Concordia College and he would love wandering around smelling the plants (and trying to eat the garbage). He got so excited when he was taken for a walk that he'd be pulling so hard on the lead you had to jog to keep up with him.

He loved eating, like all dogs he downed his food in five seconds. When he was little, we used to feed him table scraps, and he got really overweight. So we had to only feed him once a day. One exception to Sam's affectionate nature was if you went near his food, or his bed. Then you would get a glimpse of angry Sam who would snarl at you.

Of all of us, Sammy loved my Dad the most. He would follow Dad around to the front garden each morning to collect the paper. When Dad went out, Sam would often wait by the gate for him to get home. When Dad was outside cooking the barbie, Sam would be sitting at his feet. Dad didn't lavish him with attention like the rest of us (especially the kids), so when it did come, Sam was extra happy.

My Mum had never been into pets, she agreed to get a dog because she knew we all wanted one. But she loved Sam as well and nine years later I think she was nearly a dog person!

As Mum just said to me on the phone, Sam's death is the end of an era for my family. Now there's only my parents and my brother in our house, my sister and I are both far away. They're not going to get another dog, because the time has passed. Everyone has grown up, and he was part of our childhood. But he was one of the Chalkes and we will never forget him.

Bye Sam, I will miss you.

A very English ANZAC Day

2007-04-29T10:43:00.000Z

One of the advantages of having a boss who is a rabid monarchist (his exact words: "I would rather die than see Australia become a republic") is that he is more than happy to let you take two hours off in the middle of a working day to attend the ANZAC Day service at Westminster Abbey. So I did.

On arriving I was pretty impressed by the way we Australian and Kiwi ex pats had successfully managed to ensure that the street on which all the most important and fancy buildings seemed to lie (Whitehall) had been closed for the occasion. There had also been a parade and wreath laying ceremony earlier in the day. But perhaps not so surprising given that there are (what feels like) 100 million of us over here.

The turnout I think was mostly Aussies and Kiwis who lived in London, a smattering of tourists and what seemed like a large amount of military personnel from various countries. The Australian and New Zealander High Commissioners were in attendance, as well as someone who I think was high up in the Turkish embassy and the Lord Mayor of Westminster. Disappointingly, no Royal was present (as my boss had lead me to believe). I guess our war dead were not considered important enough for a member of the Royal family to take some time out from their collectively busy schedules of ribbon cutting, playing army games and taking high tea.

Below is a photo of the inside of Westminster Abbey, though its a bit wonky because I had to take it on the sly, as it's a bit inappropriate to be taking photos at a memorial service, and I was getting dirty looks from the girl next to me who was taking it all terribly seriously. But the photo can't really to the Abbey justice, as it is just incredible and I spent the whole service getting slightly distracted by the aesthetics of the place. It was designed to make you go 'wow' in awe and given that it was designed a thousand years ago and still has that effect, I think mission accomplished.

The service itself included all of the usual things but with some extra bells and whistles, including trumpets, the loudest and grandest sounding organ in the world, and an incredible church choir. I'm not a big hymn person but listening to all the hymns (you know, the ones you remember from school) being sung by the Westminster Abbey choir was amazing and added to the general feeling of holiness of the place. It almost made me feel religious, and that's saying a lot.

Interestingly, the service commenced with a rousing version of God Save the Queen, complete with afore mentioned trumpets and organ doing a very long winded intro. I couldn't help but wonder why things were starting this way - I certainly don't think an Australian ANZAC service would commence with the British national anthem. It did make me feel rather colonial - as if to remind us that Britain was the main player in the whole shebang and New Zealand and Australia only had bit parts, though I doubt it was intended that way.

There was a long address by an Australian military chaplain reflecting on the impact that the ANZAC's have had on our national identity, being the first bloody battle we ever fought as a nation. He also included a touch of the political, making reference to the 'two Gulf wars' and how Australia would continue to work with the UN to achieve peace around the world. Hmmm.

And, following that, never missing out on an opportunity to play on people's consciences and make a quick buck, the ushers managed seize the moment to pass around the collection tin. My cynicism towards religion was quickly restored.

By the way, the Australian and New Zealand anthems were sung at the end. Very Serious Girl knew the words to both off by heart, including God Defend New Zealand in Maori.

All in all, a very worthwhile experience that reminded me that I really am an Aussie, but also how we are inextricably, like it or not, tied by our history to the UK. It is not something I'd ever really associated ANZAC Day with, so it was an interesting feeling.

Putting the 'ass' in class

2007-04-23T21:37:00.001Z

(Just in case you didn't know what they looked like)

The London press has recently been abuzz with talk of the shattered fairytale that is Kate and William's break up. And me being me, I have been enthusiastically lapping up every moment of it!

But am I the only one who is incredulous that there are commentators in the media who could actually analyse Kate's 'breeding' with a straight face? (As opposed to the Royal family's inbreeding?) Who actually went to the effort of tracing Kate's ancestry back to coal mining stock? Who were devoting op-ed pieces to the incident where Kate's mum accidentally said 'Pleased to meet you' rather than 'How do you do' when she met the Queen?

It's like everyone temporarily travelled back in time and started seriously considering things like whether people should be saying 'lavatory', 'loo' or 'toilet', or how many surnames a person had, or how many acres of land the so-and-so family owned, or whether Elizabeth Bennett was good enough to marry Mr Darcy considering her sister Lydia was a complete trollop... you get my drift.

Anyway, just in case anyone is interested, the Daily Mail (my favourite disseminator of real life reads such as 'My husband was a paedophile' and 'I live with my husband and my boyfriend') has offered up a quiz to give its readers a quick and efficient way of finding out how much class they have.

Okay, rant's over now. There's probably some other stuff going on in the world that I should be paying more attention to...

Fug National

2007-04-16T20:51:00.000Z

Last weekend I trekked up to Liverpool (or Liverpewl) to witness one of England's strangely iconic events, the Grand National.

The weekend started with a thoroughly enjoyable train ride on Virgin Trains from London to Liverpool. Thanks to the lateness of my booking, I was forced to go first class and so got to enjoy the perks of the exclusive lounge (free diet coke and cookies!), a great big seat in a ritzy carriage, sandwiches and Mr Branson's red wine which was being very generously dispensed by the attendants. Needless to say, I was in a fantastic mood by the time I arrived in Liverpool.

Lesson learnt (they love doing this kind of analysis at my work): when arriving in a place one has never been before, alone and at 11.00pm, try not to turn up pissed.

The next day we ventured to Aintree to see the race and get our hit of good ol' horse flogging action. This is a photo of some horses:

And of Kate and I watching them. Yes we were drinking Fosters. There was a really long line for anything other than the bottle bar, okay?

Only a fraction of the horses actually finished the race, but apparently the year was considered a successful one because none of the horses died. A worrying yardstick. Actually, the race was rather ghastly to watch, given that either a horse was refusing a jump, or throwing off its jockey, or a jockey was being trampled by another horse, or a horse was running round the track without a jockey (and at one point the horse was actually winning).

But my ethical objections proved to be a bit half arsed as I have to admit I did have a flutter and won £19 on my horse Slim Pickings, proving once again that my theory of picking horses based on their names is completely foolproof... well maybe, one in four times.

While the horse race watching was pretty average, the people watching was spectacular! There was enough bad fashion to keep the Go Fug Yourself girls in material for the next year.

There were some bad hats:

Some big wedges paired with very short skirts:

Some terrible separate puffy sleeve thingies:

(Note the couple to the left looking in my direction. I'm not sure if they're looking at me running to capture this fashion disaster on camera, or the guy I shoved aside in the process who was being escorted out by security.)

And then there were some ensembles which just screamed Chav:

And these weren't even the best of the outfits, which I couldn't capture because I was worried their scary looking Chav boyfriends would see what I was doing and attack me. Yoy.

Next weekend, I'm staying in London, where the people are normal. Normalish.

Berlin, Deutschland

2007-04-11T20:03:00.000Z

Here is some stuff I didn't know about Berlin until a week ago:

The official mascot of Berlin used to be the bear, but it has now been usurped by the Ampelmann. The Ampelmann is the little man that comes up at the traffic lights to tell you whether to walk or stop. There are two types of little men at the traffic lights in Berlin, depending on whether you are in the former East or West. Ampelmann belongs to East Berlin and was designed to look like a happy and motivated proletariat. West Berlin had a generic little man.

When the city was reunited, they started to replace all the Ampelmenn with generic little men, to great public outcry. East Berliners felt their whole identity was being swallowed up by the West, and cute little Ampelmann was pretty much the only thing they had done better. So, to cut a long story short, Ampelmann - 1, generic little man - 0.

The other way to tell the former East Berlin from West Berlin are the trams. Only East Berlin had them. (The West had the underground. Snobs.)

Berlin is one of the cheapest cities in Europe to live in. You can rent a room there, bills included, for a meagre 150 Euro a month. That's around what I'm paying per week in London. Tres depressing.

While I was under the impression that Germany had a booming economy, Berlin as a city is running at a serious deficit and has a massive 20% unemployment. My guess is that part of the reason for the huge amount of debt is all the building they have had to do since the end of the war and the fall of the Berlin wall. Not only has almost everything had to be rebuilt, it has all had to be appropriately memorialised. And some of it is just plain superfluous, for example, reinstalling Ampelmann at all the traffic lights.

Though you would think that the crime rate would be high, Berlin felt incredibly safe. Public transport works on an honour system. You never had to pay for your meal or drinks until you finished up. Random bikes were left around town that people could get on and ride, as long as they logged onto the internet to say where they'd left them. Restaurants would leave their tables and chairs outside at night, unsecured. I know a few people in 'delaide that would see such a thing and think: new outdoor setting for moi!

There is graffiti everywhere. Some of it is kind of artistic, a lot of it isn't. Really, everywhere. None of it is painted over, I suppose because it adds to the whole thing Berlin has going about being 'edgy'.

It does not seem easy to decide what to do with the historical sites in Berlin. The ruins of the former headquarters of the Gestapo have become a museum called Topography of Terror. It is outdoors as the city has run out of money to build a proper museum (photo below). The Berlin Wall has been turned into an outdoor art gallery called the East Side Gallery. The former Nazi Headquarters is now the tax office!

There is a massive Turkish population in Berlin, and they have opened a delicious array of eateries. Mtk and I ate extremely well while we were there, and I really only had one authentic German meal - currywurst. Currywurst is this sausage roll type thing, covered with tomato sauce and curry sauce. It was.... interesting.

Checkpoint Charlie was another popular site. There were a couple of guys dressed up as American and East German soldiers running a brilliant scam charging tourists (primarily Americans) 1 Euro to have a photo with them next to the Checkpoint Charlie cabin. Ingenius! Another thing that got the Americans excited - the hotel where Michael Jackson dangled baby Blanket out the window in 2005:

Disturbingly, couples in Berlin make out all over the place. Kissey wissey pashy washy everywhere. And I thought Germans were supposed to be stern and disciplined and repressed.

There is now a car park where Hitler's bunker used to be. There is a small sign marking it, which was only put up a couple of years ago. Until then the site was unmarked, as the city was worried about turning it into a shrine.

Unfortunately, I never made it to the Berlin Zoo to see Knut. There was just too much other stuff to see, and I don't think I would have made it past the hordes of schoolgirls to get much of a look at him anyway. Ah well.

Funny things about English people

2007-04-03T20:15:00.000Z

There have been two things that have happened at work lately that have highlighted the vast chasm of differences between the Australian workplace and the English workplace.

Incident #1: Inappropriate use of the word 'Hi'
Yes, I actually got reprimanded for using 'Hi' in an email to a client. And by client, I really only mean a person in another department, not an actual outside client (although for some reason they're still called that). As I have been doing for the last two years, I began the email with 'Hi so-and-so'. Perfectly normal. But when I gave the email to someone to look over, she actually crossed out the 'Hi'. When she came and spoke to me about it, she said that 'Hi' did not sound professional in an email and instead, I should just address the person by their name only.

For example:

'Greg,

....... '

is fine. But definitely not:

'Hi Greg,

......'

Because 'Hi' just sounds way too friendly and not nearly uptight enough. I wanted to tell her that I thought that just calling someone by their name only sounded cold, bordering on rude, but I bit my tongue. Hmph.

And don't even get me started on their use of phrases like 'for which many thanks....'

Incident #2: Tying of the special ribbon
In contrast to Incident #1, the other day a smile was brought to my face when I watched a colleague spend 20 minutes trying to appropriately tie up a brief to a barrister with ribbon. No ordinary ribbon mind you, but special ribbon that was purchased for the specific purpose of tying briefs for barristers. Only, he couldn't quite manage to tie the ribbon so it actually looked right and not ridiculous (and it has to be said, because it was). When the colleague asked me for assistance, I suggested using a rubber band, and was scoffed at:

"You can't just use a rubber band, Penny. Typical suggestion for a person from the colonies."

"Well, in Australia we wouldn't spend 20 minutes faffing around with ribbon!"

Man, these people are strange.

Knutty for Knut*

2007-03-29T20:59:00.000Z

This is one of the funniest opening paragraphs of any newspaper article I've ever read:

'Clinging to his handler's trouser leg, Knut emerged from his enclosure into the chill spring day, finally silencing a group of small children who had been crying "Knut is cute, we want Knut!" for over an hour.'

I just had to post this little piece of journalistic gold for everyone to enjoy. I don't know if people at home have heard a lot about Knut, but he is quite the celebrity over here. He has legions of fans, was photographed by Annie Leibovitz for the cover of German Vanity Fair, has government ministers fawning over him for political mileage and sleeps in a hammock while his handler strums Elvis on the guitar. You get the picture - what's not to love?

Knut can now be visited at the Berlin Zoo. Guess where I'm going next weekend!

* Thanks to Bel, Tobs and Bonnie for the tres clever title.

Oxford wandering

2007-03-26T19:41:00.000Z

Continuing on from my Chelmsford adventure last weekend, on Saturday Bonnie and I journeyed to Oxford to visit our dear friend Bel and her real life genius boyfriend, Toby (author of Only Connectivity) for a day of sightseeing around their lovely hood, and of course the mandatory pub lunch.

The day was bound to go well when, riding through the town on the bus, Bonnie and I discovered that the Oxford Literary Festival was on that weekend. Of course, we instantly had two thoughts: 1) Was there a bag? 2) How quickly could we obtain one? (By the way, we did, it's calico and has 'Oxford Literary Festival' in big letters and I can't wait to show it off next Writer's Week!)

Oxford is extremely beautiful and extremely cold! There is such a grand history and tradition that it is actually slightly overwhelming. It is like going back in time to a golden era of intellectuals and art and culture. And it's the home of Hogwarts! This is the entrance to the dining hall at Christ Church college, which you may recognise from the Harry movies:

Unfortunately the very snooty custodian guarding the dining hall was not letting us or anyone else in during the Literary Fest, as he had been posted to that spot specifically to keep the riff raff out, thank you very much.

We also visited the Turf, the pub which was the sight of the legendary Bob Hawke world record setting skull, and The Eagle and Child, below, where J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis used to hang out doing such things (I imagine) as drinking port, smoking pipes, partaking in witty banter and reciting poetry.

One thing that no tourist can avoid when visiting Oxford are the highly visible and somewhat militant groups of anti-vivisection protesters. Oxford has a reasonably new biomedical centre where a lot of medical testing on animals is conducted. The centre took years to build due to contractors withdrawing from the project due to threats and intimidation. Apparently going to work there is akin to being a Doctor at an abortion clinic in the deep South.

I'd be interested to know what people think about this because I can appreciate the necessity of testing on animals but I'm very uncomfortable with it. I believe that it should be kept to the absolute minimum and the animals kept in as humane conditions as possible, which from the protesters' materials, did not seem to be happening. Also, it would be preferable to be able to develop methods of medical testing that do not involve animals at all, though I have no idea if that's possible.

Anyway, to wrap up my otherwise light hearted travelogue, we ended the afternoon with tea and scones to complete our Oxford experience. And to end things on a high, I'm inserting one more pretty Oxford photo, as it is a truly beautiful town.

Bogans and Chavs

2007-03-20T20:33:00.000Z

I had only thought of the Walkabout - 'The Awesome Spirit of Australia' - existing in a bizarre and abstract sense before I got to London. People who have been to London joke about it, but it is only when you dare step foot inside the place that it becomes horribly real.

My first attempt to visit the Walkabout was actually Saturday two weeks ago. Emmalene, Darren and I stepped inside, approached the bar, I started hyperventilating a little and announced we had to leave, and we did. But I made a second attempt last Friday night as I was invited out and decided that it was better to give it another try than go home and be a Nigel-no-friends (or as they inexplicably say over here, a Billy-no-mates).

Highlights of the Walkabout included: £4.50 for a glass of Jacob's Creek Sauvignon Blanc. I still feel sick when I think about it. Luckily the cricket was on (two matches simultaneously!) so there was also an 'awesome' selection of good ol' fashioned Aussie bogans, New Zealand and South African bogan equivalents as well as a not insignificant number of English yobs. Fosters was considered one of the better beers available and there was also about as much bar etiquette being shown as grand final day at the Alma. Yuck.

I spent the whole time there with a horrible feeling that I was going to run into someone from Adelaide and would have to justify my presence, but at least they would too.

On Saturday I went further afield to Chelmsford, Essex, to visit a stronghold of the bogan's British cousin, the chav. A chav is also closely related to an Essex girl and I haven't fully worked out the distinction between them. The telltale marks of a chav/Essex girl appear to be bling, leggings, leopard print stilettos (or white boots in Winter), bimbo persona, heavy makeup and loud, obnoxious voice. Their beverage of choice is a Cherry Sour, which looks and tastes exactly like children's Panadol.

This was Edwards, the place to be seen for a chav on a night out in Chelmsford. Apparently sometimes they let the queue build up a little out the front to make it look really happening:

Unfortunately, there weren't as many chavs/Essex girls in Chelmsford as I was hoping for - it's a pretty civilised little town really. Apparently Kent is the place to go for some really good chav spotting, so I'll have to plan another trip. But many thanks to mtk for being a great hostess and showing me all the hot spots.

The world (slightly) beyond Zone 2

2007-03-13T23:03:00.001Z

Last weekend I decided to go a little further afield, beyond the comfortable world of Zones 1 and 2 and into the mysterious outer realm of Zone 3!

My first stop was Wimbledon to visit my friends Emmalene and Darren. Em and I spent a delightful afternoon wandering around the lovely Wimbledon Village, which included the mandatory pub visit that I seem to need every five hours or so over here!

This photo is for the benefit of my old work peeps, though Em might kill me, she doesn't have this blog address so no one fill her in!

Wimbledon is very green and residential. There were proper houses there, with backyards, something I haven't seen in a while. It was also very much South London. It is hard to pinpoint the distinction between North and South London, but there is a very, very different vibe down there. It's a bit rougher in parts but more relaxed and seems to feel more like a community.

I then trekked across the city on Sunday (okay, got on a train and sat for 45 minutes - but it was exhausting) to meet up with another friend Marcus and to visit what I have to proclaim my new favourite place in London, the beautiful and lovely Hampstead. My parents used to live there, and quite frankly, I'm quite peeved they ever left. Every aspect of the area is just idyllic - the quirky little shops, charming little cafes, quaint alleyways and old pubs. It's every English cliche you can muster... I loved it! This is my Dad's old street, Flask Walk:

And my Mum's old old street, Gayton Road:

(Oh why, WHY?!) It was also the nicest day we've had all year, so Marcus and I went for a walk around the nearby Hampstead Heath. Check this out for picturesque. This is actually a real photo:

I am in love with Hampstead right now. I am refusing to think of what it would actually cost to live there... I'm not ready to shatter the dream....

Cultural education

2007-03-08T23:24:00.000Z

Mtk and I went to see The History Boys on Saturday night. Not only was the play terrific, but I do believe we picked up an essential London skill in the process, being that of the eleventh-hour-attendance.

The basic steps are: you decide you want to go to a play 20 minutes before it's due to begin, you park yourselves in the lobby of the theatre where said play is running, pester the attendants, take a number (literally) and if people don't show up, you can actually score yourself a ticket on the spot! At a rather exorbitant cost, unfortunately. But I guess they have to penalise you for not booking ahead one way or another.

In addition to the thrill of the last-minute-attendance, we also discovered that they actually sell standing room tickets in the theatre - as in stand in the aisle and at the back of the theatre. So during the performance there are people sprawled all over the floor as well as in seats. Crazy! Being a law nerd, my first thoughts were of course the potential liability issues. "Is that not a rather obvious fire hazard! Is the theatre's insurer aware of this practice?"

And naturally: "This would never be allowed in Australia."

But I squeezed these thoughts out of my mind, and ate some delicious Haagen Dazs during the interval, which they served in handy little pots that you could eat in your seat. I also noticed a number of people drinking in the theatre. So I guess going to the theatre in London is riskier but far more amusing!

The most wonderful time of the year!

2007-03-04T22:43:00.000Z

Spring! God bless! Apparently it doesn't start here officially until 15 March (?), but on Saturday the sky shined blue and the world was right again. Well, for about an hour. Then it rained periodically the rest of the day. But I would not be deterred!

I was so excited that I went to Hyde Park to lap up some sunny goodness. I walked around for a few hours, sat by The Serpentine (above), strolled across some spacious green fields and visited various monuments (the Diana memorial is below - luckily the photo doesn't show the ugly fence surrounding it).

I may have gone a little overboard on the photo taking in the process. Nevertheless I am going to inflict my Springtime joy on everyone:

Aaaaahh. It was lovely (when it wasn't raining).

You can take the girl out of Ramsey Street...

2007-02-20T20:19:00.000Z

...or so said the Yeoman Warder (aka Beefeater) to me after taking this photo. One cheesy photo and I'm labelled an Occa. Even though I think mtk is correct in thinking that they probably just have stock standard jokes that they pull out for every nationality, I was still a bit offended! (Not that I'm knocking Neighbours, 'cause I actually love it and perhaps should be flattered that I was put in the same league as Susan, Toady and Janelle.)

As the photo indicates, on Sunday mtk and I were complete tourists and visited the Tower of London. We got the full highlights of the castle - Beefeaters, crown jewels, cannons, bloody murder, executions. But the coolest part of the castle was discovering that the Beefeaters and their families all live there. When walking around you could actually see their houses, many of which had roof balconies and looked extremely cool. We were tres jealous.

Below is a view of the castle from the inside and featuring the ravens that live there. By royal decree of Charles II (back in the day), there must always be at least six kept at the castle. So the story goes, the day the ravens leave the Tower of London, the monarchy will collapse. I know what some of you are thinking but I'm not going to go there!

Continuing in my mission to see every single gallery and museum in London, I went to the National Portrait Gallery the other day and saw the Face of Fashion exhibition. It was no Gerster and the entire thing was basically a shrine to Kate Moss. But still reasonably cool.

I also visited London's biggest market, on Portobello Road, which was just mad. It was incredibly busy with tourists - 20 languages being spoken around you and not one of them English. You also really had to sort through the crappy stalls to get to the decent ones. It was something I had to see, but I actually preferred the little market closer to my flat. Or perhaps there's just better food at the market closer to my flat!

I would love to have more photos to post, but I've spent a lot of the last couple of weeks in various pubs and luckily there isn't any photographic evidence of that!

I am also starting to organise some trips over to the continent. I am off to Berlin over Easter and Brown Dog and I have also booked a trip to Paris at the end of June to go and see *Genesis* live in concert! I think AJ put it pretty succinctly when he said: "That sounds exactly like something our parents would do." Sad but true.

Lush green pastures

2007-02-20T19:19:00.000Z

Although this article about a London lawyer who died at the Tate Modern came out about a week ago, it has been on my mind ever since. I can only imagine how desperate and trapped he must have felt to have done what he did. Everybody knows that professionals in a city like London work crazily long hours. It has been that way for a long time and getting worse. I'm told that these kinds of incidents occur relatively frequently here.

What really upset me was that this guy's father, who you would think would be the person most firmly pointing the finger at his son's law firm, Freshfields Bruckhaus Deringer, seemed to be making excuses for them and was almost sounding apologetic that his son had inconvenienced his employer by killing himself. I felt deeply depressed when I read that his quote that he felt his son had so much more to offer his employer, his friends and everybody whose lives he touched - very telling that he listed them in that order.

Most heartbreaking of all: "I think he might have gone on to things other than the law. He always wanted to write." How sad.

The only thing that makes me feel better is to think that the partners at Freshfields will now be desperately cutting back back on their juniors workloads so as to cover their own arses should such an incident happen again. Hopefully they're losing a lot of money in the process. Perhaps no £1 million salary this year!! (Or maybe they'll just cut everyone else's bonus.)

Me? Well, I've recently crossed over from the private sector to what an old colleague used to call 'the lush green pastures of government'. I don't know about green (obviously not even a distant possibility of £1 million) but it certainly seems pretty lush. I start at 9.30 am and I'm one of the first ones there! And I'm finally rid of budgets and units, which I can't say I'm remotely sorry to see the back of. On the other hand, such systems do have the advantage of actually making people work. There are a few employees at my new work who apparently have very little to do and seem to be proud of it.

For example the conversation I overheard the other night:

Public servant #1: "What have you been doing all day? Wasting taxpayers money?"

Public Servant #2: "Well I have been for the last seven years, why stop now!!"

Both: [chuckle]

Public servant #1: "Well, you really just have to think of it as, you're a taxpayer, so you're just wasting you're own taxes."

Both: [chuckle more]

It's a different world...

Bits and pieces of stuff

2007-02-11T00:39:00.000Z

Hiya,

Thanks to the new job, plus the fact I've blown a ludicrous amount of money since I arrived, I have been forced to lay off the extracurricular activities a bit this last week. But I've managed to do a few things:

I went to the British Museum and checked out the last day of an amazing exhibition of Georg Gerster called 'The Past From Above'. Gerster specialises in taking ariel photographs of archaeological sites around the world. What an amazing job. The exhibition was wonderfully organised, a path through the continents beginning with Africa and the sites where the earliest traces of humanity were discovered. I was so entranced with it that I'm inserting a photo right now:

I have also been discovering a wonderful thing called High Street fashion. 'High Street', if anyone doesn't know, is a generic term for the primary business street in a town. So basically, 'High Street fashion' are the clothing stores that would normally be located on such a street - big generic chain stores. Luckily these stores are all pretty trendy and relatively affordable. This is good for me as I determined pretty much on arrival that an entirely new wardrobe would need to be purchased. I'm happy to report that I am already part way to accomplishing this goal! (See reference to ludicrous expenditure above.)

I also visited the local V&A Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. The museum itself was reasonably interesting and at the risk of sounding like a gigantic nerd, it had a really cool collection of dollhouses throughout the centuries (so lame). However, accompanying me to the museum were about 1000 screaming little kids. Anyone who knows me would be able to guess how I felt about my quiet museum time being interrupted by little snots who run around the place and bump into you and put their greasy fingers on the exhibits and make so MUCH noise. Unfortunately, I can't say Lonely Planet didn't warn me.

I discovered during the visit above that my area, the Borough of Hackney, has one of the most ethnically diverse populations in the UK. Just thought that somebody else might find it interesting, because I did, that the top ten countries of birth for people in Hackney are:

England,
Bangladesh,
India,
Nigeria,
Pakistan,
Republic of Ireland,
Turkey,
Scotland,
Jamaica and
Somalia.

I also visited my friend Bonita in her hood Brixton, which was loads of fun. As if the area was determined to live up to its name, I got offered skunk weed on the three minute walk from the station to the bar and pills on the walk back to the station again! (Don't worry mum and dad - I turned them down.) I also went with AJ to a lovely and cheap little French Restaurant, Le Vie en Rose, which just happens to be across the road from our flat. Despite knowing far too much about abattoirs these days, I braved the pork and duck pate.

I have also been working a lot which I won't discuss too much but will insert a picture of my office as it is a really pretty building and right in the middle of London, in Holborn, a hop-skip-and-jump from Covent Garden, which is a hop-skip-and-jump from Leicester Square, and so on:

And on my way to work, I entertain myself by reading London's favourite free celebrity trash rag, London Lite. It's like getting NW, everyday, for free! I know people understand what I'm saying!!

And finally, on a personal note, I just wanted to give a shout out to my little bro Jeremy, who got accepted to study medicine at Adelaide Uni the other day. Congratulations Jez and just to let you know, the onus of caring for mum and dad in their old age is now firmly on your shoulders as the doctor of the family!

Snow horrible snow

2007-02-10T23:48:00.000Z

As a newbie in England, you can imagine my excitement when snow was forecast for last Thursday. To us Aussies, snow is this glorious exotic stuff which we associate with Christmas, building snowmen and hot chocolate. But have we ever stopped to think about the practical implications?

Late Wednesday night, the heaviest snow in seven years started to fall in London. Approximately five minutes later, the entire transport infrastructure of the city collapsed. There seemed to be, amazingly, no contingency plan (well, except for everyone just staying at home for the day and frolicking in the snow, which quite a few people seemed to do).

I expected more from a city where it has surely snowed many times before over the last approximately 1000 years! Plan for these things, people.

The weather made everyone cranky, least of all me, who arrived 20 minutes late on the second day of my new job. Super. This was mainly due to the congestion on all the trains coming through my station because of snow related track problems further out. I also didn't have any of the warming gear that Londoners seem to be given at birth to wear in this kind of weather. Instead I had leaky shoes and an extremely unfashionable beanie.

All the snow caused frustrations (I assume) gave rise to a rather interesting, if worrying, incident on the tube:

Seemingly normal girl: 'Stop bumping into me!'

Other girl: 'I can't help it.'

Seemingly normal girl: 'Hold onto something!!'

Other girl: 'There's nothing to hold onto, sorry.'

Seemingly normal girl BODY SLAMS other girl in the middle of the train.

Me (internally): 'Jesus. Definitely getting off at the next stop.'

I now dread snow.

Do you know how to get to......?

2007-02-05T19:13:00.000Z

Hello and sorry for the lack of updates since I arrived! I have had a lot to get my head around in the last week. However, things are slowly falling into place. Here's an update of what I've been doing:

My cruel new housemate AJ insisted on keeping me awake the entire day when I arrived and took me on a walking tour of central London, including Piccadilly Circus and Covent Garden, and then dragged me to a sweet little pub called the Old Coffee House and forced me to drink for about four straight hours. It was horrible but somehow I made it through.

I have spent many, many hours trying to comprehend and make my way through the London transport system. I'm happy to report that the tube is really easy so long as you've grasped whether you're heading East or West. It's once you've left the tube where it get tricky - i.e., a myriad of streets that are not properly marked. The layout of London is very confusing - there is absolutely no symmetry and the streets are placed willy nilly all over the place. It almost makes me long for the simplicity of the streets of Adelaide. Actually, not really.

I spent Friday night catching up with my friend Emmalene where I had great fun filling her in on approximately a year of missed office gossip. She took me to a wonderful little Greek place in Covent Garden and then out to a pub - can't remember the name - which I think is a testament to how many beers I had. She is a great girl and seems to have the London thing nailed.

On Saturday I awoke late and stumbled down to the 'local organic market' that AJ had casually mentioned took place on our street every Saturday. He hadn't trumped it up nearly enough as when I actually got there, around 2 pm, I discovered it was awesome. My fave stalls included to anti-bacterial insense stall, the crepes stall, the samosas with many-a-different-sauce stall, the pottery stall and the many cheese stalls (God bless). It was great and I am definitely going back there next Saturday (which makes sense given that its downstairs from my flat and I have to go past it to go anywhere).

Speaking of my street, Broadway Market, here's a photo:

As you can see it is very villagey and has a great selection of cool little shops including clothes shops, galleries, cafes and my new favourite place, the La Bouche French Patisserie (which of course I gravitated to on my first day). It also has two very cute pubs and a big green park at the end which I have been intending to explore but haven't yet. I'm told that the park contains London's first, and only, Olympic size swimming pool, but I have yet to verify this (coming up in the next post).

On Saturday night mtk came in from Chelmsford and we met our friend Bonita down at Southbank. We had a warming bottle of red in the freezing cold outside of the National Film Theatre and then went to this fabulous restaurant called Buono Sera in Chelsea, which had tables built into the ceiling that could only be reached by ladder. We were at the top of the ladder and the waiters had to climb up to give us our food. It is a bit hard to describe but loads of fun and we felt like we were eating in a tree house. Here is a photo of me in upstairs of the restaurant but unfortunately it doesn't do the place justice:

On Sunday mtk and I went to the Victoria and Albert Museum to check out an exhibition on 60's fashion, which was fascinating, and the fashion and photography collections, which were amazing. Because of its close proximity, we also stopped by Harrods. The structure of the Harrods food halls (the only bits we really looked at) is that there are lots of mini cafes specialising in different kinds of cuisine. The highlight for me was a pizzeria where, I kid you not, one of the chefs would randomly start singing opera while tossing the pizza dough. I'm talking fully blown aria with background music. In the pizzeria. To all the customers. Though we could scarcely afford a thing in the whole store, we treated ourselves to one item. Fudge!

Finally, I'm happy to report that my job hunt over here has been mercifully short and I have gained employment as an in house solicitor at the Food Standards Agency. This was after a terrifying five days dealing with recruiters, which I'm sure anyone who's been through could testify is slightly harrowing. While it makes it easy to apply for jobs, they are scary people seem in a constant state of hysteria. Everything is a race, but I guess that's just the nature of the job. I have no idea how they do it without having nervous breakdowns.

Well, that's all for now, hope everyone is well....

Penny's media pickings vol #1

2007-01-31T13:08:00.000Z

I always find it interesting reading what foreign journalists write about Australia. I read this article on the plane on the way to Singapore. It was in the International Herald Tribune, which is published by the NY Times and in my view, is an unbiased, thoughtful and not to mention beautifully written paper. I first discovered the Tribune in Phuket and completely forgot how fantastic it was until the flight.

The article relates to the debate concerning multiculturalism in Australia and disturbed me. I highlight one snippet quoting our very own Voldmor... I mean, Prime Minister:

If multiculturalism "means that we're going to encourage people to maintain their differences and that basically we have an attitude that, well, all cultures are equal, all cultures are the same, then I don't think people feel comfortable with that," he said in a radio interview last year.

This article made me sad to be leaving Australia right now, when everything seems to be going in the wrong direction. The way the article was written, in a matter-of-fact way that was not taking sides or being critical of the government, made this apparent swing in attitudes at home, from tolerance and pride in cultural differences to nationalism and forced adoption of Ostralya's 'values' (determined by who?), seem all the more real and bleak.

This is a sensitive topic and I'm not even going to pretend that I understand or am able to articulate all the different sides to the debate. But now I have arrived in London I am reminded that in Australia, we don't even really know what true multiculturalism is.

In other less depressing news, London related posts and pictures are on their way! Just as soon as I've figured how to upload pictures to my new housemate, AJ's, computer. Funny how I never learnt how to do that.

Oh happy day!

2007-01-22T04:21:00.000Z

This blog was not supposed to be for political commentary. But occasionally a particular event occurs and you just have to express yourself...

Hillary is in the race! YAY!!!!!!!

I've been waiting for this day for a while (I've been waiting for it in Australia too, but I think I'll be waiting a long time for that one).

Okay so, maybe she buggered up health care (even more) in the US when she had a crack at reforming it during the presidency of her husband, Bill 'hot pants' Clinton. Maybe she's changed her position on Iraq far too many times (not to mention supporting the war in the first place). Maybe she has made some questionable hair-related decisions in the past. And maybe, she is a wee bit vapid. I don't care. I still love her.

She's not perfect, but I hope I'm not alone in thinking how great it would be to have a woman who is so intelligent, responsible, tough and a DEMOCRAT as the US President (Go away Condoleezza - I'm not interested in you).

Okay, rant's over now. But America, don't let me down.

Jumping on the bandwagon

2007-01-17T12:49:00.000Z

Hi,

Well, I've done it at last. It's taken me a while, because I much prefer reading what everyone else has to say. But since I'm going away and have always been a totally shithouse group emailer, I'm giving this a try instead. So this is a bit experimental for me. Bear with me here! Remember I've spent the last two years drafting legal documents.

This blog is for friends and family. It probably won't contain any astute observations about anything. I probably talk a fair bit about Harry Potter (especially since I'll be so much nearer JK's home base). And the joys of being unemployed in an extremely expensive city. Stuff like that.

Feel free to leave me comments so I don't look like a nigel-no-friends. But take note that my parents/relatives/younger siblings will be reading this bog. So keep it clean. Okay.

Bye!