There are two ways of looking at a delayed flight. The first way is to get all upset, and be pissed off, and start complaining, and make a complete nuisance of yourself. The second way is to get on with things, get out your book and be thankful that the airline is going to get you there in one piece.
Today, I chose the second way of doing things. My flight was delayed by nearly three hours due to inclement weather, and this did not make me very happy, but I would much rather get to the place I was going to in one piece. I was meeting friends for lunch. That turned out to be afternoon drinks, because I didn’t get to where I was going until three hours later than I was hoping. By this time, most of restaurants were closed until dinner time.
But on the good side of things, I’ve nearly finished my book group book, which I’m not enjoying but it is read for next week. I’m having a lovely time in my swanky hotel room, with a large bath, and some gin and tonic. I can’t complain about this.
I also had a lovely dinner with another friend who was in town for the day. She doesn’t know her around Sydney, so I got to show her just a little patch. It was nice to have dinner in the place I was planning to have lunch in with my other friends. It was also nice to make these plans for Christmas, seeing this friend lives in Adelaide.
Now, I’m just grateful to have a night away from everything. I’m doing some book planning. I’m going to have a long bath in a minute. And just spoil myself for a night. It can’t be bad…
It was one of those plays that I was going to love or hate. Jay mentioned that the reviews weren't that great. And what sort of play has the playwright in the cast?
Well, this one does.
Tong's play about family and responsibility is a gem in its own right. The MTC website describes it as, "Left to fend for themselves, a teenage girl is taken under the wing of her older brother. Trouble is, his gangster swagger is the real deal, and thug life doesn’t come with a parenting manual."
Tong plays the girl, (No name is given) from the ages of 14-21. Charles Wu plays the boy, her older brother with some pretty dodgy roots. The boy takes on the girl as his ward after their mother dies. The pair haven't seen each other in seven years after their mother threw the boy out.
I found a lot to like in this play. For one, being set in Singapore, the two actors did the play in Singlish (Singaporean English). Having numerous friends from that part of the world, I settled into the accent with ease and saw some things on stage I could see happening. Spending the hour and a half of the production wondering where things were going, I was kept suitably entertained. Two girls of Asian extraction at the end of the row, found this hilarious. Jay was bored.
Tessa Long's direction is assured, and I enjoyed how the play took you to places you rarely see. It also made you wonder just how good the decision it was of the girl to go along with her brother, who was a scammer at best. But strangely, they loved each other as well. The minimalist set really did a lot of favours to the play as well.
This won't be for everybody, but as it's closing tomorrow night there's no more chance to see it. For me, getting some insights into the Asian diaspora was a very good thing.
After two months and 28 days, I finally cracked. Two months and 28 days with no gluten, sugar, dairy or caffeine. I've let the odd alcoholic drink back in since the start of November. Only have a drink or two a week - the naturopath was fine with this.
But I cracked big time tonight.
And what made me throw my regime out the window?
French Food.
Jay and I have been plotting this for a while. It was Jay's birthday the other week and we never celebrated mine back in August, so tonight was the night. The venue, Bon Matin, a little French place at the bottom of Jay's building. Bon Matin. We have breakfast there regularly, but I've never done the dinner there. And at $45 for two courses, who's complaining?
Bon Matin has a very limited dinner menu, but what they do is amazing.
I started out with the pate with pickled shitake mushrooms on toast. For a starter, it was small, but perfect. That mix of the herby pate with the tang of the pickled mushrooms was exquisite. Jay went for the fish croquettes which she said were divine.
For mains, we both had Steak Frites - or steak and chips. For anybody who hasn't been to a French restaurant for steak, go do it! The steak was perfect, offset with shoestring fries and something called Cafe de Paris butter. For those who have never had French butter, this too should be on your list of things to do before you die. I don't know what they do to get such excellent butter, whether they massage the cows' udders or whip it with fairy wands, but it's most wonderful. Seriously amazing.
And after washing all of this down with a glass of rose, we had dessert. What is a birthday celebration without dessert? Jay had the Parisian Flan, which looked like a cheesecake. Me, I went for the Crepe Suzette, which were doused in an orange tainted butter and with a scoop of ice cream.
It was an amazing meal.
But there goes my gluten, dairy and sugar free existence.
It was worth every bite. It was a lovely, lovely meal, and I thoroughly recommend Bon Matin to all for wonderful, accessible and not overly expensive French food.
But its back on the wagon tomorrow. For me, there's far too many benefits for eating without the inflammatory effects gluten, dairy and sugar provide.
I went into this blind. I've not seen the musical, as I'm a bit picky about the musicals I see. I also chose my session, going to the cinema on a Tuesday evening, hoping the theatre kids were happily ensconced in their music lessons and not anywhere near me in the cinema. I chose well. I could hear nobody singing along.
Phew.
Wicked picks up where The Wizard of Oz leaves off before Dorothy returns to Kansas. The Wicked Witch of the West is dead and Glinda, the Good Witch of the North (Ariana Grande-Butera) is left to tell her story to the citizens of Munchkinland.
You see, at school, Galinda, and Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo) the green-skinned, overlooked daughter of a local mayor, were roommates at school. The girls become friends at Shiz University in the Land of Oz. After an encounter with the Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Jeff Goldblum), their friendship reaches a crossroads.
I won't go too far into the plot. It's a musical, after all. But I was impressed by the performances of both of the lead characters, particularly Erivo, who gives great depth to the misunderstood Elphaba. Ariana Grande's Galinda is delicious. Rounding out the cast is Jonathan Bailey as Fiyero, a love interest to both of the girls and Michelle Yeoh as Madame Morrible, the head teacher at the university who is not what she seems, and Jeff Goldblum as The Wizard.
This movie is going to be nominated for some Oscars. The costumes, the scenery and the cinematography are all exceptional.
My one reservation, not being across the stage play or book - the musical on stage runs for three hours. The movies, split into two films, are running for well over five. How did this happen.
I really enjoyed the film. I will see the second installment. It's great entertainment.
When writing about an almost universal experience, is that nobody's experience is the same.
And you have to find an angle.
And work out what's going to be for the best.
And why am I wanting to write about menopause anyway?
Actually, that's the easy question. I want to write about menopause because it can feel like the most isolating experience in the world where you don't know if you're going mad, you feel like crap and everything you thought you knew has been taken away from you.
There's a lot to write about.
Also, I'm not a doctor or allied health practitioner. I cannot
So, I've got thinking - my experience is just one experience.
And everybody is different.
Questions like:
When did you start the change?
How did you feel about it?
What surprised you about it?
Did you talk to anybody about it?
Have you talked to any medical or allied health professionals?
How did you find perimenopause?
What do you wish you knew about before this started?
Have you talked to your family about this?
What is the worst thing that happened/is happening to you?
What's worked for you?
Any funny stories?
Are there any good sides to this?
What would be your advice to women starting on their menopause journey?
What are your non-negotiables?
If you were to go through this again, what would you do differently?
What bit of knowledge would
And something that goes from being a little project gets soooooo much bigger.
Also, if you'd like to be part of this project, get in touch with me. I'd love to have a chat. I can see my darling cousins, the ones I sit around family reunions with, talking about HRT/MRT patch strengths.
This: (I saw them live on Thursday - still wonderful after all these years)
What is your favorite thing about the place you live?
As in where I live? I live in a really funky suburb in inner Melbourne. It's great for public transport and cafes. Melbourne is a huge multicultural city, which I love too.
What is your earliest childhood memory?
Although I have indistinct memories of man landing on the moon - I was just under a year old and lying in a bassinette, I have a few memories of me being at kindergarten. The play equipment was excellent.
If you could be any animal, what would you be?
Either a well-loved housecat, or a sloth. I think sloths have it good.
Who do you trust the most in your life?
Me. I do trust my close friends, but I trust me more. It's an independence thing.
How many languages can you say "hello" in?
Let me see...French, Dutch, English, Italian, Spanish, German, Greek, Japanese, Balinise, Thai, Mandarin, Hindi and Australian Bogan (G'day).
What can I say? Love love learning languages.
What is your favorite kind of weather?
Autumnal weather, cool and crisp and possibly overcast. A light breeze is always nice too.
How did you discover that Santa wasn't real and how old were you?
I found out about Santa not being real when I was five years old. The family across the road were Jehovah's Witnesses who have nothing to do with Santa. Karin Haawkes told me all about it. I asked my parents about this and they confirmed it, but I was not allowed to tell my sister.
What is the best feeling in the world?
Achieving something you've been struggling to do.
What is your favorite color?
Pillarbox Red or Cobalt Blue. One or the other - but there are many colours I adore.
Is there a language you would love to learn?
I wish my French was fluent. I speak more than passable French, but I wish it was better. I'd also love to learn Spanish. It makes travelling around South America and Spain really easy.
How do you feel about reality TV?
I watch some reality television, but avoid most of it like the plague. We have a renovating show, The Block, which I enjoy, as I love Married at First Sight and Masterchef - but that's it. The rest I tend to leave. The really trashy shows, like Love Island or The Batchelor - no thanks.
So, I think the answer to this is watch sparingly.
Did you ever skip school when you were a kid?
No. I was a goody-two-shoes and as we lived a couple of kilometres out of the nearest town, it was all too hard to negotiate.
Today saw me at a self-publishing workshop run by the wonderful Julie Postance of Iinspire Media, and facilitated by Catherine Deveny. We learned how we can break into this potentially lucrative market and get on with things with all things regarding getting your book out there.
And inspire she does.
My brain has gone berserk! It was
Walking into the session I told Dev that I was there because I wanted to shove a rocket up my bum and get something published, because I am worth it.
Then Julie was saying about book lengths and what goes into them, and how a non-fiction book could be around 50,000 words, and how you could write that in three months if you put in a bit of commitment, you could have your book.
All you have to do is write your passion.
Hmm.
Well, as a novelist, I have two unfinished manuscripts sitting on this computer. One is a fictionalised memoir, the other, a dystopian literary novel. One's sitting at about 80,000 words, the other at 60,000 words. And I've done next to nothing on them.
Then somehow, for some reason, as I was sitting there in this bar on Lygon Street, the inspiration came.
Write non-fiction, you fool.
Write what you know.
Fill that market.
What do I want to write about?
Menopause. A New User's Guide.
Why? Well, I had a shocking perimenopausal experience. I've run the gamut of hormones and emotions and the general crap that comes with the change - and its life-change effects. I've discovered HRT. And I have a hell of a lot to say. I'm also watching my friends being flabbergasted at this change of life.
So why not?
Talking to my mate, Tandoori (not her real name), we've got each other as accountability monitors. We're going to set up a weekly 20-minute catch up to see how we are going. (She's writing something too) Writing is such a solitary business, you need your allies.
15 minutes a day. I can dictate into the computer if I must - but I do think that letting the words turn over as you type is a better way of doing things
A lot of this is me being bloody-minded and spending that 15-minute every day writing and getting on with things.
Coming out from the session today, I got home, fed the cat and mind-mapped some chapter headings.
In an effort to get a bit more culture into me, and after being blown away by the Red Stitch's production of Iphiginia in Splott, I purchased a ticket to Your Name Means Dream. It turned out to be a great move.
The Red Stitch Actor's Theatre is my type of place. Intimate. Topical. Out there. They put on interesting, challenging plays, performed by top calibre actors. What's not to love?
Your Name Means Dream starts out when we meet Aislin (Caroline Lee) who is coming to terms with her new carer Stacy (Lucy Ansell). Stacy is a robot, and AI enhanced robot who should be able to get to know her charge and develop a relationship with her, but Aislin is having none of it.
The concept of the play is thought provoking. Will aged care be farmed out to AI? Do we have, as a human race, the ability to have a relationship with AI at this time of life.
Jose Rivera's play is as funny as it is touching. Making this work even more is the performances. Caroline Lee is pitch perfect at the irascible Aislin, ailing, bitter and feeling hopeless. Lucy Ansell's Stacy blew me away. As something who has a big dislike for AI, she brought an incredible depth to Stacy. The physicality associated with the character, acting as a robot, who appears to be on the edge of human, is extraordinary. At times, I thought I was watching a robot.
Kat Henry's direction is sensitive, but she also brings out the humour and pathos in this very relevant play.
As this only has two days left in its run, it's a pity more won't be able to see this. And although the play leaves more questions that you'd like answered, it is a fantastic look at aging and the world we may become.
I'm very glad I got to see this, particulary for Lee and Ansell's wonderful performances.
The Gig: The Hoodoo Gurus - Stoneage Romeos 40th Anniversary Tour
The Venue: The Forum
Stars: 4.5 (but I am biased)
It's taken me three days to write this.
My love for the Hoodoo Gurus is expansive and pure. They are my old, nostalgic love. The one that has never done you any harm, and in many ways never really went away. The love that washes over you as you walk down the aisles of Coles and one of their songs and feel instantly good about life. They are as Australian as AFL, meat pies, Skippy and the long defunct Holden.
I last saw the Hoodoo Gurus live in around 1988. It was a New Years Day gig at one of the parks in Adelaide. They were fabulous.
I've loved the Hoodoo Gurus back in the time when Dave Faulkner had hair and Brad Shepherd was a sexy young man. And despite the 40 years, these guys are still the absolute bomb.
And Stoneage Romeos has always been one of my favourite albums, and always bill be.
I remember teaching an English friend in London about the absolute brilliance of Leilani. And I was a Kamikaze Pilot was my theme song in my 20s. (See Today's Song).
Stoneage Romeos is one of my comfort albums. It is quintessential 1980's Australian rock. And yes, I realise this is dating me and showing my parochial roots.
So, when it was announced that the band were going to be playing a 40th Anniversary gig, I needed to be there. I found some likeminded friends, paid for our tickets and off we went. The band t-shirt was bought, partly out of reverence for a late friend, and mostly because I wanted to show my solidarity with the band.
I am a Generation X anachronism. I own it.
Sticking in my Loop earplugs to dial down the din, I went in and ROCKED!.
From the first strains of Let's all Turn On, to the bass riff start of I Want You Back, to singing along with the call and response of Arthur (Do WAAAAAA), to feeling a bit mental with the tempo of Death Ship, to the glory that is Dig It Up (as we found out, it was an homage to The Cramps), to imagining walking a greyhound as My Girl came on (look at the video on YouTube - you'll understand), to the song, Zanzibar, which encouraged me to travel, although I've never been to Africa, to the brilliance that is Leilani, and Tojo, which I sing in my head every time I land in Darwin, to wondering why the put In the Echo Chamber on the album, and then finally, singing my favourite song, I Was a Kamikaze Pilot... yes, I was in heaven.
As was the 3000 strong audience, made up of mostly 40 and 50 somethings, with sensible shoes, glasses, bald spots, grey hair and the knowledge that they were out on a school night and were going to be hurting the following day. There's no seating at The Forum. The people going to the show at The Palais on the Friday and Saturday had seats. But wouldn't have been the same.
The second half of the set had some standards, and not so standards. Bittersweet a favourite song which seems to get a bit of airplay on Gold FM and Coles Radio. The audience lapped it up.
The last three songs of the set, Bittersweet, Miss Freelove '69 and 1000 Miles Away brought the show to a perfect conclusion. And they played Axegrinder,What's my Scene and Like Wow, Wipeout in the encore.
They were perfect. Old, loud, fun and perfect.
And sure, Dave, Brad, Richard and Nik are in their 60s, they are still wonderful.
I will look back on this night with some happy nostalgia, for I was once young, and this music is a true reflection of who I was. And who I am.
334 pages. Published 2024. Goodreads.com score: 4.00. Australian author.
I heard about this at Silent Book Group in Darwin and I'm currently listening to it on Audible. It's wonderful.
It's about a middle-aged woman who finds herself increasingly invisible. It's fun, funny, relatable and wise and there would be a lot to talk about with this one. It's also a fairly easy read, which is never a bad thing.
320 pages. Published 2023. Goodreads.com score: 3.58. Australian Author.
This book defies genre and time. Spanning the period from 1933 to 2181, this book reminded me a lot of David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas.
You meet the characters in their parts, and they all come together in the end - in what was, and is Footscray. Along with the AI component, which is terrifying and hilarious in equal measure. I loved this book. It made me laugh and think. Kate Mildenhall is a bit of a national treasure in the making.
277 pages. Published 2024. Goodreads.com score 4.45. Australian Author. Queer Author.
This is a book of first love and awakenings. I've read their Below Deck (2020) and was very impressed by it. Hardcastle now identifies as trans-masc, not that has anything to do with the price of eggs. Their writing is amazing. And something with queer themes might stir up book group a bit. It's something different.
352 pages. Published 2024. Goodreads.com score: 4.06. American Author. New York story.
I loved reading this. The story of four close knit sisters, one of whom has passed, and how the rest of the family are coping on the anniversary of one of their passing.
It's a novel about sisters, addiction, family trauma and grieving. It's also fun, funny and relatable in a lot of places. It's a good, but easy read too. There'd be lots to talk about.
235 pages. Published 2024, Goodreads.com score: 4.07. Australian Author. Literary Thriller.
I picked this up on spec after reading the back and seeing that a favourite author of mine (Sarah Winman) raved about it. The book has an environmental bent too, which will please a few of the book group. It has me intrigued.
I'll do another five books that make up the long list in the next few days.
I finished the book in my tea break today. If it wasn't for book group I'd have thrown it against the wall, picked it up when I was cleaning then taken it straight to a street library.
But I don't like doing that to authors I genuinely admire.
The book. The Fraud. The author. Zadie Smith.
It took me 10 days to read - all 454 pages of it.
The chapters were short. This was good and bad. Great in you could put the book down easily. Dreadful for narrative thrust. It was all over the place going from one part of the 19th Century to the next willy-nilly.
There was a 70-page bit set in Jamaica which was relevant and interesting - but also short lived.
I loved that a lot of it was set around North London.
With the exception of one character, I couldn't get into any of the characters.
The book was meticulously researched, but it came off as a bit of a passion project.
And generally, I didn't really care much about what went on in the book.
It's got a lowly 3.29 GoodReads.com score, which is often a good indicator if you're going to like the book. Looking at the comments, most people gave it around a three and the reviews state they had exactly the same problems with it that I did.
And in book group, we all had a similar reaction to it.
But it's good to be a part of a group which, even when you don't like something that much, you can have a lively and civil discussion about something, and nobody gets mad or angry.
We went to see Pearl Jam last night at Marvel Stadium. I got home at about 11.45 p.m. Hence no blog yesterday.
But, here are some notes from what I found at Marvel Stadium.
1. The Pixies are still God. And Emma Richardson the new bassist is excellent.
2. Get a mob of Gen X people together in a stadium and they tend to look after each other. It was a really respectful crowd.
3. You have to buy the t-shirt. If you don't buy the t-shirt, you weren't there. Okay, that's not really true, but in memory of my mate Andy, who had the best collection of band t-shirts ever, I'm trying to catch up a bit.
4. Eddie Vedder appears to be a really nice man. At one stage somebody in the audience got into trouble. He stopped mid-song, made sure the person got help, then went on. It was a really cool moment.
5. Pearl Jam fans seem to be middle aged men. And a lot of rather fine middle aged me. Where do they hide normally?
6. How is it a t-shirt can cost the same as a round of drinks? The drinks were a dollar more than the t-shirt. Oh well.
7. There is a big difference between loving a band and LOVING a band.
I LOVE The Pixies.
I like Pearl Jam.
I can see the appeal of the latter, but The Pixies will always be my band.
8. Standing up and not moving much over four hours in a stadium is hard when you're in your 50s. The thought, I'm too old for this shit comes to mind, but it's still fun.
9. Loop Engage earplugs make concerts all the better. I put mine in for Pearl Jam - got to hear everything, but 20 decibels quieter. No ringing ears the next day. I love that.
10. Pearl Jam did a wonderful cover of Hunters and Collectors Throw Your Arms Around Me, and Neil Young's Rocking in the Free World. The latter I heard from outside the stadium as I was walking to the train.
It's going to be a quick Sunday Stealing this week. I'm trying to finish my book group book. I will get there, but I'm not enjoying the book at all, making it hard. And it's a huge week.
Probably an almond decaf latte if it was on-alcoholic. A coffee negroni if it was an alcoholic drink. (Or a gin and tonic)
Something I’ve let go of, as I’ve grown older
The thought that one day I'll have a flat stomach.
The things I’m most likely to lie about
The reason I'm running late. I'm often late on the weekend. Quite often I'm just messing about and lose track of time. I'll often blame my lateness on a phone call.
What’s something I wish I had more time to learn
How to play the piano. And maybe tango. I love the look of the tango, but I dance like a fridge.
Social media trends that puzzle me
I don't get Tik Tok or Snapchat. Never used them, don't like the look of them.
Local phrases and terms I use often
Yeah/Nah. It's an Australian thing, which means "No, you have to be joking."
If I could only wear only three colors, I’d pick these...
Bright red.
Melbourne black.
Green.
Favorite books, music, tv, movies, and media this month
Favourite book: I've just discovered Philip Pullman and I'm working my way through the His Dark Materials series. Yes, I know I'm late to the party.
Favourite music. I'm seeing The Pixies and Pearl Jam tomorrow night and The Hoodoo Gurus on Thursday. It's a big week.
Favourite TV.: I'm about to start watching Bad Sisters on Apple +. Hopefully it's as good as the first series.
Favourite Movie: I've seen two movies I've loved in the last month. Memoir of a Snail is an Australian film, and that was excellent. I love Adam Elliot.
I also loved Saturday Night. I was so well done.
Today's song (which was playing in the blood bank earlier today):
I arrived back in Melbourne first thing this morning. After unpacking, and doing a load of washing and having a big sleep, before going out to pick up the cat.
To say he's miffed is an understatement.
My friends who look after him love him to bits, even if he did piss on a box of Mister's Porsche car parts (he only got the cardboard, and after made a big effort to pee directly into the centre of the litter tray). Why he decided to pee on the car parts I could not tell you. He's an exemplary cat when it comes to those sorts of things, but he's decided that the one of love of my friend's is one too many loves for him.
We also had a bit of a trial getting him into his travel cage. Once he was in, he was fine.
Since being home, he's been in a better mood, but there is still a lot of placating to do.
Lots of treats have come his way, after his late dinner.
He's ignoring the remote-control flappy bird toy I bought him as a guilt gift.
And although he's letting me pick him up, he's not happy about it.
I'll just have to keep trying to placate the little bugger. I have my work cut out for me.
It's another night for another card draw. I'm due to go to the airport in about an hour and a half and I want to get my blog out of the way before this. I'm showered and mostly packed, so it's blog time.
Well, that and I have to drop off my recycling and then I'll go to the airport.
Tonight, it's another one of Catherine Deveny's writing prompt cards. Tonight the prompt reads "20 things you find beautiful, and why.
So here I go.
1. Kerbside roses
I love any rose that I find in people's front yards where I can stop, smell the rose, take it's photo and enjoy the whole experience of slowing down, admiring the beauty, and smelling something wonderful. I love the scent of rose. Even better when they are overblown and a bit neglected. They're the ones the smell the best.
2. Darwin Sunsets
I had to put this in. They are some of the best sunsets in the world. Some times they're dramatic, other times understated. You never know what you're going to get, and that's what makes them so good. Melbourne has some of the best sunsets in Winter.
3. The feel of satin.
I find satin has a very calming effect on me. It's something so everyday, yet so perfect. I think it runs from when I had a security blanket which was lined in satin.
4. My cat.
My bog-standard black cat, Lucifer, is magnificent. He's really a small house panther, majestic and powerful, but he's tucked into a six kilogram body. He's just a beautiful boy, and I tell him this every day.
5. My work suitcase
It may be a bit strange to say that you find your black, plastic, $80 Kmart suitcase that you bought for work trips beautiful, but it's covered with stickers from the Northern Territory and it reminds me of fun times and good friends and great trips, which makes it beautiful to me.
6. The Poetry of Rumi
Rumi gets you all over. As a poet who has been dead for many centuries, that is a feat.
Love Rumi.
7. Open fires
This is from my childhood. I could stare into an open fire for hours. I love being in charge of the fire at home. There is something comforting about them.
8. Deserted beaches, particularly in winter
I don't get to the beach often enough, but I love the pure energy you feel from being near the ocean. Sure, some beaches are lovelier than others, but there is nothing better than walking along a long stretch of beach, taking in the sounds and smells.
9. English Cathedrals
I find their sheer size incredible. The work, the carving, how they ever go stone to do such things with rudimentary tools... Leaving aside the damage the Catholic Church has done to the world over the last 2000 years, I like English Cathedrals because they've weathered a lot of change. I find going into a space which contains the prayers of millions incredibly moving.
10. My eyes.
I have pretty eyes. I find their deep green colour incredibly beautiful. Is that vain of me?
11. The Stained Glass Roof at the Art Gallery in Melbourne.
It is art. Lying on the floor, looking at the ceiling is transformative experience, and it's different every time you go, and depending on the time and the weather outside. I try to go there regularly.
12. Autumn
The cooler weather. The changing leaves. The mellow evening. Autumn is my favourite season by far.
13. Juliette Binoche
Possibly the only woman I would turn for. Even in her sixties, she is an incredibly beautiful woman.
14. The Great Ocean Road
Australian Landscape at its very best. It twists and turns it way along the South Coast of Victoria and it is just magic.
15. The turn of a well-crafted sentence
As a writer, there is nothing better than the feeling of a piece of prose that takes your breath away.
16. My grandmother's yoyo biscuits.
My grandmother died twenty years ago, but her legendary yoyo biscuit recipe lives on. They are the absolute bomb.
17. A certain friend's chest hair
I can't tell you who owns this chest hair, but it's just perfect. Not to much, not too little, and sure it's peppered with grey hairs now, but it's still great. I love the feel of it. It's comforting. He's neither here nor there about it, but I find it beautiful.
18. My red wrap
I bought this wrap to wear at my 40th birthday party. It's crepey red wool in that wonderful fire engine red and I feel a million dollars when I wear it.
19. The hands of old women.
I remember watchimg my grandmother's hands. You can only ask where they have been, what they have done, what they have touched. They hold such beauty and strength.
20. Unmade beds in hotel rooms.
They wreak of unseen potential and untold stories. There is something very beautiful about crumpled crisp white sheets.
The Deckchair Cinema is going into its wet season hiatus next week and I was relishing the chance to go back there one last time. As my contract is up at the end of March, and the "Deckie" as it's fondly known won't be coming back until April, this may have been my last chance to get to one of my favourite bits of Darwin. I love traipsing down the hill, and having the movie start as the sun sets behind the trees, and the smell of the home-grown bug repellent that feels like you're plastering yourself with olive oil and watching the geckos run across the screen and the bats fly into the trees. It's a quintessential part of Darwin that I'll never forget.
Tonight, a group of new friends, in that they're not in my team and I've befriended them over the last few months, we wended our way down the hill and sundown, we met another there, dinner was had, and a beer, and we settled in to watch Memoir of a Snail.
Never heard of it? I'm telling you about it now. I've long been a fan of Adam Elliot. I loved Max and Mary and Harvey Crumpet. This is just as good.
Rotten Tomatoes gives synopsis of the film as such:
"In 1970s Australia, Grace's life is troubled by misfortune and loss. After their mother dies during pregnancy, she and her twin brother, Gilbert, are raised by their paraplegic-alcoholic former juggler father, Percy. Despite a life filled with love, tragedy strikes anew when Percy passes away in his sleep. The siblings are forcibly separated and thrust into separate homes. Gilbert finds himself in the care of a cruel evangelical family, while Grace, grappling with intense loneliness, gradually withdraws into her shell, much like the snails she adopts. As the years pass, and despite new disappointments and sorrows, a glimmer of hope emerges when she strikes up an enduring friendship with an elderly eccentric woman called Pinky."
To break this down further, Grace Pudel has a tough life, but she makes the most of it. The film follows her story as she tries to find a community, although life brings her some pretty hard knocks.
It is absolutely marvelous.
The film is only 90 minutes long, but it packs a punch. It is also VERY Australian and plays to the Australian sense of humour. Going to see the film with a bunch of Gen-Xers we probably picked up a lot more of the in jokes that a more diverse audience might miss.
Voiced by some great Australian talent, with Sarah Snook as Grace and Jacqui Weaver as the wonderful Pinky, this was a joy.
Hands down, the best thing about this is the stop-motion animation. Adam Elliot, the writer, director and cinematographer, is a genius. The details are so well defined. This only just trumps the pathos that lines the film, along with it's quirky sense of humour.
And yes, this film looks at some pretty big themes, including isolation, loneliness, othering and the Child Services, it also has some great laughs. Heartfelt belly laughs.
This is what Adam Elliot does best.
This film should be getting more attention that it's currently receiving.
It is wonderful. So, if this was the last time I get to the Deckchair Cinema, I went out with a bang.
Chicken tonics and thunderstorms. You can't beat them.
(Chicken tonics is not a typo from me dictating into the phone - but it was last night, and I quite like it.)
Tonight was a good night.
After work, I went to the Silent Book Group - which had me reading my book while sipping on a drink and eating sweet potato chips. This was all fantastic with the exception of the book. At the end of our silent reading in this bar off Cavenagh Street, the group talk about their books. My comment about my book was that I wanted to throw the book against the wall and pick it up when I next cleaned and if it wasn't for the fact that this was a book group book, I'd have abandoned it 100 pages before. (The book is Zadie Smith's The Fraud. Sorry, Zadie, I don't rate it at all - too convoluted.)
After we wrapped up, I went for a drink with the colleague who introduced me to this fine institution
At 8.30 I was summoned by another colleague.
The message read, "Debrief. Pool. Now."
Which is what we do up here - meet for a chat in the pool in the evening when the kids are gone.
I bid farewell to my mate, ran home, changed, shoved on a load of washing, then went down to the pool, only to find my colleague coming out, a storm brewing and deckchairs flying around the pool deck."
"Umm, it's a bit dangerous here," they said.
"I can see that."
"Pity."
Lightning lit up the sky,
We had to pivot.
"I have gin. Fancy a gin and tonic and watching the storms from the 18th floor."
"Sounds like a plan."
And for the next hour we got to chew the fat while drinking gin and lemonade (ran out of tonic) while watching the best Darwin could bring.
For every showing of fork lightning, we cheered. We marveled at how Darwin Harbour lit up as the sheet lightning enveloped the sky.
And though we didn't get any exercise in, I couldn't think of a better thing to do.
Before I came up to Darwin, I took a photo of a couple of prompt cards from Catherine Deveny's prompt set, knowing that there would be a few days where I had no inspriation.
Today was one of those days.
My card today read:
“Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.” WH Auden. Discuss.
I look back at the night as one of our best. A near perfect night, one which will not be forgotten. It was always the three off us. A triumvirate of oddities. A whip smart Asian and two care-worn Gen-Xers, clinging to our youth with the tenacity of a barnacle. We’d bonded over music, a sense of the absurd and workplace politics which were far from ideal.
We’d met up this evening for dinner at our Darwin-based colleagues place in one of the inner suburbs. What we found on that night was his home patch, surprised and bemused me in equal measure. Despite his scruffy exterior, our colleague was extremely tidy. He said an ex-partner had beaten it into him. We compared notes. As a neurodiverse woman living alone, I’m on the other end of the spectrum – clean, but terribly untidy.
Our dinner was held out on the balcony. He had planned to cook for us, and had steaks in the fridge, but he had hosted a dinner party in the days before, there was plenty of biscuits and pate and cheese to eat. Paired with a couple of gin and tonics, it was about as perfect to me as we could have.
We spent the night laughing and talking about nothing much in particular. We kept the music down low, just loud enough to tune into to argue the semantics of which band was better, who did it better and the best concert.
Over the hills, there were thunderstorms. Distant thunder. Dry storms in which didn’t seem to be any rain, well at least not from where we were sitting.
The light show was incredible.
But it was the thunder that remains with me. The storms were far enough to away that the rumbles were comforting rather than scary. Omniscient, omnipotent power, but a power that would cause no harm.
We watched the storms for a couple of hours, grateful to be able to witness such splendor. Indeed, we were grateful for each other’s company. It really was a perfect night.
That was six months ago.
My friend who hosted us passed away in July.
I don’t like to think that those storms were a portent to his demise. I don’t think the storms were a warning for anything. They were just a display of the greatness that is the world and incredible beauty of the Top End in the wet season.
The thing about distant thunder is that you never know if the storm is coming your way. It’s all about the potential, and the power contained by nature.
In many ways, the thunder provides the knowledge that we are such a small part of this enormous world.
And just like when I see a butterfly I think of my niece who passed away eight years ago, I think now, when I hear the sound of thunder, I will think of my friend, and the bond we shared, and the simple things can be so life-enriching. The simple act of eating and drinking and sharing stories and the lightning and thunder tore through the sky on a humid night in the Darwin inner suburbs. It's an evening I will always cherish.
It would not be a trip to Darwin without the ringing of the fire alarm. It happens at least once a trip, and it always happens at the most inconvenient out of times. Today I had just removed my bra. Other times I’ve been in the shower, or just on my way to falling asleep.
One great thing about the fire alarm is it in all of my time coming up here? I’ve never been evacuated. Some of my colleagues have.
Other than tonight, when the alarm woke me up, I was half scared that there would be an evacuation. The thought of walking down 18 flights of stairs in 30° heat doesn’t sound like fun. Yes, I'm on the 18th floor. In this weather, the stairwell would be excruciatingly, horribly hot. Well, without a bra, in my pyjamas, trip down would be even worse.
Normally, the fire alarm is set off by somebody shower or a toaster that’s going a bit too far.
As I said, it happens at least one a trip.
Then there's the thought of when you're finally downstairs, you're standing around in the University quadrangle at the end of the street, in your pyjamas, only to wait another half an hour to get back in the building.
Regardless, it's all a bit discombobulating these loud noises which wake you up, warning you that you that you might have to make a tit out of yourself.
Or maybe is just me exhausted and in need of a bit more sleep/
My flat is not the same without Lucifer. There's nobody pawing at my leg demanding treats, or wanting a cuddle. He was taken to his uncle and auntie's place last night where he will lord it over them for the next week.
I'm trying to pack a bit lighter.
I'm there until Saturday.
Four linen dresses.
Two pairs of linen trousers.
Two t-shirts.
Two spare bras.
Play clothes for after work.
Shorty pyjamas.
Four pairs of knickers.
Bathers.
Sarong.
Running shoes.
Birkenstocks.
Washing powder and fabric softener for one load.
Then there's the toiletry bag, the travel electric toothbrush, some makeup and medication for the week.
All in the bag.
I don't need to take a spare book - I've only just finished the one I'm reading and started reading this month's book group book today. I hope to be more than halfway through this one by the time I get back next Saturday.
Spare glasses and sunglasses.
Protein powder for breakfast for a week. No point buying it up there as I have more than enough for a week here.
Various charging cables.
My bluetooth keyboard.
My knitting.
I think that's it. And yes, this is my laundry list for packing. Thinks like my headphones, mints, wallet, phone and lipstick are all in my banana bag.
The work computer, book and peripherals are in the backpack.
I'm just back from dinner at Jonella and Stav's place, and it was a lovely, easy dinner which has left me replete. I am now home, missing my cat, who's happily ensconced down with his favourite cat sitters down near where Jonella lives. My place feels empty. It feels a bit tragic.
I will power through with this week's questions, which have been provided, as always, by Bev at Sunday Stealing.
Hobbies I've learned from a friend.
This is a strange one, but I took up running at the age of 40, and I have my friend Reindert to thank for that. Reindert is an ultra-marathon runner. I can run 100 miles in a day. I used to be able to do nothing like that, but in my time, I could run a half marathon in under two and a half hours, which if you knew me, you'd work out this was a bit of a miracle. I don't run anymore - too hard on the joints, but I miss it.
My physical activity preferences.
I'm in the gym about three times a week and I love this. I also enjoy walking as much as I can, at least an hour at a time a few times a week. When I'm in Darwin, I swim daily. I'd swim more if I could make myself get up earlier, but it's such a palaver swimming, going to the pool, having to get dry, get home, get the chlorine out of your hair. I still love it.
Music I think is essential for everyone to hear.
To get into the psyche and sense of humour of Australian, everybody should be introduced to The Angels singing Am I Ever Going to See Your Face Again, and see what we do with the chorus.
The same goes for Smokie, with Living Next Door to Alice. You can't play this in any form without this happening:
And no wedding is complete without Tina Turner playing Nutbush City Limits. It's an Australian thing. Some have called it the Australian Macarana. EVERYBODY will get up when this is played at a wedding.
Something I have to relearn every time I do it.
There are a few things in various computer programs I have to learn again and again. Confluence and Jira are the bane of my life and I'm forever going online to relearn stupid elements. Thankfully I pick up things pretty quickly.
When I start thinking about holiday season planning.
Oh, is Christmas coming. As my family aren't big into Christmas, my mind turns to how I am going to get the cat into the back of the car and drive ten hours to Victor Harbor in South Australia to my parents' new house.
Quirks & preferences I have about writing letters.
I can't remember the last time I wrote a letter on paper - though I do send post cards.
Generally, I email when I want to put pen to paper to a friend.
If I had to limit my reading to only 3 genres, I’d pick...
Literary fiction - unlimited fodder here.
Decent chick lit
And well-written young adult fiction (think The Hunger Games, still one of the best young adult novels I've ever read).
When joining teams, would I rather lead or follow.
I don't mind doing either. I can follow, especially if I feel out of my depth, but as a Leo, I'm quite happy to lead too.
What’s my dream concert, and who would be performing?
I would see David Byrne, with or without Talking Heads, any minute of any day. He's spectacular.
I'm seeing The Pixies, who are supporting Pearl Jam in a few weeks' time here in Melbourne. I love The Pixies, but they are just trumped by David Byrne.
The funniest, weirdest, silliest, animal/pet I’ve ever met?
My sister has had some funny animals in her time. Bozley the Golden Retriever used to dig me out of bed when I stayed with them. He mellowed out about five-years-old, but before than he was a terror.
She's also had some strange cats. Maggie used to love sitting on pelmets, watching the world go by from the top of the curtains. That was her spot. Sweet cat who met an untimely end. Cats have little road sense.
How has love changed for me over the years.
It's a lot mellower and nowhere near as fraught as it was in my younger days.
A book, movie, or song that brings me a sense of peace.
I'll answer all three.
Song: Reckless by Australian Crawl. I think it's the slow beat. I have a lot of history with this song.
Book: Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres. It's an old friend.
Film: Lost in Translation (2003). It speaks to me like no other film.
Names I like but wouldn’t suit me.
Okay, I don't love my actual name, but it does suit me.
I write under Pandora Behr - and I don't mind Pandora as a girl's name.
I also write under Trellawney Thom. I like how Trellawney is so unexpected. It also plays to my Cornish roots.
I love Irish names. A friend of mine recently amended her name, going from the 1960s standard middle name of Jane, to putting Seraphina Maeve in as her middle name. It really suits her.
If I were to amend my middle names I've probably throw in a Freya
I love the names Saoirse, Aoife and Roisin, but none of them would suit me. Being of Cornish descent, I'd be more a Tamsin, Morwen or Arwen.
What’s a part of myself I’m still working to understand?
I'm getting to grips that I'm neurodiverse - and about to get a diagnosis for ADHD. It's something that's a blessing and a curse, but I'm learning more and more about it as well as tactics to manage the challenges it provides.
Something I love about myself today.
I've managed to get through the day without eating anything with processed sugar.
And I finished a great book. (Blue Sisters by Coco Mellors). Now to start to book group book for the month.
I've gone for something rather benign tonight. The card reads:
"The best room in the world. Is this somewhere you know? Have you been there? Are you imagining it? Share why it's the best."
My best room is large. Large and wood paneled, and at least one wall is floor to ceiling bookshelves which are stuffed with all sorts of book. They books are loosely sorted into genres. There's the kids book section, where you'll find battered copies of Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket, Artemis Fowl and Philip Pullman. There's shelves of Shakespeare and Shakespeare-adjacent books, and a section of non-fiction to one side, which some might find surprising. The rest of the books are general fiction, and mainly paperbacks. There's a ladder on wheels which can reach all of the high up shelves. I love that the dark wood makes the room smell like an old library. You can imagine this room being used by scholars and writers of all kinds.
There's a big bay window which looks out over the sea, where one can sit on the window ledges, which have inbuild storage, and cushions on top, so you can not only read in the window, but ponder the sea for hours at a time.
Off to one side is a large chaise lounge, upholstered in a rich brown leather, a lot like my current Hemingway chair (which is also my cat's current throne) Soft blankets on rich tones hang over the arms as well, next to a couple more overstuffed cushions). This is the most perfect place to read.
Against a wall, not too far from the large fireplace, is a large wooden desk, with a battered leather top, which has meaningful, sporadic piles of papers, books and notepads. A laptop sits in the middle of the desk, with a large water bottle and a number of coffee cups, resting on notepads. There is no such thing as a coaster in this room. That's what notepads are for.
A large black cat slinks around the room, trying to decide what surface to sleep on. The windowsill? The chair? The end of the desk? Or in the cat bed which he has commandeered the space on a sunny shelf near the window, where the afternoon sun hits just right. He likes the shelf. It keeps him out of the eyeline of the Bernese Mountain Dog asleep on the large, colourful rag rug, which protects the floorboards.
A crystal pendulum hangs from the curtain rails sending light around the room. A lit candle diffuses the scent of sandalwood, amber and vetiver around the space. It's an earthy scent, very much in keeping with the room and its owner.
Although this is an imaginary space, it is very much my most perfect room, as it is near the sea - not the bay with its limited tides, but near a changeling ocean, which ebbs and flows with the moon and isobars, fickle in its placidity or ferocity, depending on its mood. There is a path which leads to the sea, which is used daily.
Although this place is imaginary, I like to think that one day I would own such a space.
And if not this, then my second most favourite room is at L'Hotel des Oranges in Sommiere, which is as close to heaven as I have ever been. This is the view from the bathroom.
I'm checking my privilege. I do this periodically so I can remember where my viewpoints have formed.
I was born in 1968, just before Czechoslovakia fell to the Russians and Ringo quit The Beatles for the first time. Bobby Kennedy has been buried two months before. Martin Luther King, two months before that. The Vietnam War was still happening. Australia had conscription. The average Australian house price in 1968 was $18,000. The Flower Children and the Hippies were beginning to bud. John Gorton was Prime Minister. They were still hoping Harold Holt was in a Chinese submarine.
I was born to parents who were both war babies. Both hold the scars and quirks of having parents born pre-World War One. One of my grandfathers enlisted in 1918, willing to do his bit for King and Country. They didn't take him. Too skinny. And the war was nearly over. And his mother had already lost one son. My grandfather's brother was a decorated war hero. One of the most decorated non-combatants in WWI. Look him up. Eric Roy Jarvis. He's my Mum's uncle.
I come from a family of Methodists. On one side, they are Methodist clergy. I went to Sunday School until I was about 16, when at that time, as it made no sense to me, and I had to drive myself, I gave it up, handing in my Christian ticket a few years later when I worked out what spirituality worked better for me. I think the only thing Sunday School gave me was the ability to argue about religion and a love of ritual.
Are you following?
I can be classed as:
CIS gendered
Heterosexual
Spiritual but not religious
Generation X
6th Generation White Australian of English (Cornish), Welsh and Scottish heritage.
I am a feminist
I like to think that I am kind
I'm reasonably well read
I love pop culture
And I'm an armchair political commentator
I am educated. My first degree was mostly paid for by the Australian Federal Government thanks to Gough Whitlam and the fact that Tertiary Education was basically free until 1988. My Master's degree I paid for myself, but as it directly related to my field of work was able to claim it as a tax deduction.
Being basically healthy, I've not had to over-utilise Medicare, the Australian health service. I am eternally grateful that, as I'm grateful that I live in a country with Government-sponsored socialised medicine, where if you have a heart attack, you're not sent bankrupt. I don't mind that a couple of thousand dollars of my taxes goes to Medicare. If I don't use it, somebody else will. It's there in case I need it. It's a bit like the theory of donating blood, which is not paid for here in Australia. If I donate blood, other people use it. If, by some misfortune, I need blood, hopefully somebody will have donated some enabling the saving of my life. You give. You get. What you put in, you get back. As above, so below.
Australia is also a country which has decent workforce laws, provides people, mostly, with a living wage. A waitress doesn't need to hustle for tips. People don't need to work three jobs to keep a roof over their heads or food in their bellies. (Though with the housing crisis, we shudder a bit)
I am secure in my reproductive rights. My body. My choice. Being one of the one in three women who have had an abortion in their lifetime, I know that this was one of the best decisions I have made. I have always had access to contraception, with no qualms from any medical practitioner. I know that if anybody in Australia presents with and ectopic pregnancy or other life threatening pregnancy complication, they will be treated with compassion and speed to have the situation rectified. Abortion is healthcare and is treated as such in Australia. There are limitations and guard rails around late term abortions, but these laws are enacted by medical practitioners. This makes sense to me. No conservative, pale, stale male dictates what I can and can't do with my reproductive organs. (We won't go into John Howard, Tony Abbott, Brian Harridine and the abortion pill debacle of the early 2000s.)
I live in a country with strict gun control legislation. I grew up around guns. There are reasons people need guns. But there is a difference between carting around a handgun, or owning semi-automatic weapons and having a single action shot gun, which was used for putting down ailing livestock and shooting cans off of fence posts.
Australia is a secular country with the right to religious freedom entrenched in our constitution. I love that I get to celebrate not only Christian festivals, but Diwali, Eid, Hanukah and various Asian New Year festivities. When being sworn in as a politician, you can choose to affirm your allegiances. No Bible, Koran, Talmud, Baghavad Gita, Egyptian Book of the Dead required. It's your choice.
I do not live in Utopia. There is plenty wrong about Australia. There's a hell of a lot that is not good at all. Dreadful politicians from across the board. Inaction over climate change. The cost of living. Aged care. Violence against women, Conservative politicians and their dog whistling.... the list can go on.
But for all that is not great about, I still find myself checking my privilege and give thanks for all that I have. For the freedoms our laws provide.
And that I empathise with those who don't have what has been bestowed on me, whether by luck, hard work, generational fortitude or sheer chance.
It's this empathy, the ability to feel for what others are going through, that makes me most grateful, and hopeful.
Because, in the words of the philosopher Hannah Arendt, "The death of human empathy is one of the earliest and most telling signs of a culture about to fall into barbarism."
I wish America would check their privilege and start to empathise with many of their own citizens. Have a look at see that there are other ways of doing things. You don't have to go all kumbaya to do this. As Harper Lee's Atticus Finch once said, "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it."
I've tried to get into the skin of a Trump-voting American.
I don't understand. I don't get it. I don't like it.
But it's not my country, not my government, not my president, and I can't do anything about it, but hope that some empathy, and foresight, and common sense starts to prevail.
