Pelicans

Victor Harbor will always hold some memories for me. My grandfather grew up here around the time of the First World War, and he told me about a lot of the lore of the land. He used to take me to pat the draught horses which pull the Granite Island tram. He told me about how his brother nearly got taken by a shark in his fishing boat. I found this small fact on Trove, where they store digital copies of old local newspapers. He explained to me about the stories of when he sailed out to Seal Rocks and Wright Island, and how Victor used to be a whaling station, and how the nature of the place made things special. 

Some fifty years on and my parents have just moved to Victor Harbor - well Encounter Bay. (And before you berate me about my spelling, when using the name, there is no U in harbour in Victor Harbor) I find myself down at this mythical place for Christmas. 

The parents are slowing down. At 84 and 79, they are allowed to get tired. particularly as they only moved house a fortnight ago. Rather than let the fatigue get to me, I took myself out for a walk this afternoon. 

Some things you should know about Victor. 

There are lots of dogs. And with lots of dogs, there are lots of people to chat to. And I will chat to pretty much anybody, so you find out lots of information. 

Today, I found out about the pelicans, which roost down near the bluff around Christmas time. There used to be a lot more of them, 15-20 of them who would perch on these rocks overnight. When I was driving through to Victor last night, I spotted a pelican in the sky. They really are majestic creatures. 

On my walk down to The Bluff this afternoon, I spotted another pelican heading West and I got a bit excited. A conversation was struck up with the owner of a proud looking Papillon who'd just been groomed. I pointed out the pelican.

"You sound excited. You know they come back here around Christmas time for a few weeks."

"No. I think pelicans are wonderful."

"Why?" the Papillon's other asked."

Without missing a beat, I said, "Because his beak can hold more than his belly can."

Grandpa would be proud. 

I ambled down to The Bluff, and this is what I saw. 

Four pelicans, asleep on the rocks. 

I feel very connected to this place. And very lucky. 

Today's song: 

I’ve driven from Melbourne to Adelaide today.

 I’m taking the night off. I’m buggered. 

Today’s song:

The Car is Nearly Packed

With all the travel I do, you'd think I'd be used to packing. But no. 

Making it harder is that I'm travelling with the beastie. Lucifer, once I catch him, will be bundled into the car and driven to Adelaide. He has to come with his belongings. It's like travelling with a toddler, albeit one that's a lot quieter in the car and less prone to tantrums once he's in the cage. Getting him in and out of the car is another matter, but I am praying to my better angels for help. A colleague has suggested rubbing Rescue Remedy into his ears before we go - it allegedly calms them down and can't do any harm. 

The car is nearly packed. The crate is set up, complete with a litter tray and bedding. The Christmas presents, my clothes, the food I'll take so Mum doesn't complain about the regime. All that needs to go in is the car is the computer and the cat, and me and we'll be on the way for the long drive back to Victor Harbor. 

Fun facts about Victor Harbor. 

1) When using the town name, there is no 'U' in harbour, unlike if you were spelling it like the place where boats park. 

2) It's God's waiting room. It's THE place to retire in South Australia. 

3) My grandfather started his career down there in 1915. He used to run telegrams for the post office. My great-grandmother was stuck with six kids when my great-grandfather went off to work for the military. 

4) It was initially thought to be the place for the state capital, but there was not enough water and it wasn't flat enough. Colonel Light chose the current site instead as there was more room to move and expand. 

5) Victor Harbor is where kids go to schoolies in Adelaide when they can't afford to go to the Gold Coast. 

6) There are three pubs in Victor. The Hotel Victor, The Crown and the Grosvener. A pub crawl in Victor means going round in a loop. Each used to have it's charms and pitfalls. 

7) Victor Harbor has a horse drawn tram which goes out to Granite Island. Granite Island is home to fairy (little) penguins. And rock wallabies. It is not a trip to Victor without a mooch over to Granite Island. 

8) There is a cinema at Victor Harbor. Tickets are $17 - like 2014 prices.

9) I am going to miss communing with the kangaroos and rosellas which used to frequent Mum's garden. I love being near kangaroos. The Eastern Greys are just wonderful. 

10) Victor Harbor has a ParkRun on Christmas Day. As it's going to be a hot day, it's a good excuse to go for a walk before it gets really hot. I'm hoping Mum has her printer hooked up as I've lost my barcode. 

Time for bed. It's going to be a big day tomorrow. 

Today's song:

Soft Poached Eggs

 Unpopular Opinion: Soft-poached eggs are the worst. 

I love poached eggs. When I make them myself, normally using those old 70's egg rings, like I've been poaching them for the last nearly 50 years, I tend to make them so the yolk is a bit firmer, not too runny. For me the perfect poached egg is semi-firm. Just a touch of ooze from the yolk in the middle. 

As cafe culture has overtaken the landscape, it seems the trend that you poach the egg so just the white firms up and the yolk remains really loose. 

And I don't like it that much. 

Part of me would like to ask that cafes leave the poaching egg in the water for another minute or two. But as I also normally order a large almond, decaf latte to go with my breakfast, I'm seen as enough of a wanker. Asking for firmer poached eggs is stretching the friendship just a little bit too much. 

Case in point, today at my favourite cafe on Bambra Road, I ordered Latke and Lox. A couple of fried potato latkes (like a Jewish version of the hash brown, but better), with smoked salmon, horseradish cream and poached eggs, with a bit of dill on the side for good measure. It's wonderful. 

But the eggs were very, very runny. 

And it's not like I don't like the flavour, but I don't like the texture. 

I also don't like the fact that whenever I have soft poached eggs, invariably I end up wearing half of it down my front. Being the possessor of a shelf (read big tits), the yolk will always end up running down my front, not matter how careful I try to be. Soft poached eggs will always end up as something that looks like seagull poo running down my shirt. 

If they left them to cook for a minute longer, I'd be right. It can't be that hard!

Today's song: 

That's Work for the Year

 'Tis done.

It's over. 

That's it. 

No more sitting in front of a computer writing about electricity meters and bills for two whole weeks. 

Yay!

I'll admit to being a little burned out. it's been a big year. According to my hotel awards points I've spent 87 nights away from home this year.

And now I'm getting my head around the things I need to do over the next two weeks. This includes: 

• Driving to Adelaide with the cat. 
• Christmas in Victor Harbor.
• Seeing friends in Adelaide. 
• Driving back from Adelaide, with the cat. 
• Doing some writing. 
• Hopefully getting onto the second season of Bad Sisters. 
• Finally reading The Bee Sting. I want to get this done before I get onto the book group book. 
• Going to see the Yayoi Kazuma exhibition. 
• Go to the gym regularly
• Maybe do the ParkRun on Christmas Day in Victor Harbor. 
• Maybe not get a speeding ticket going out of Coonalpyn this year ($545 I'll never get back). 
• Maybe put myself back on the dating apps in the new year. This is a maybe. A big maybe. 

And I look at this list of things to do and I'm thinking I should book myself a week in Bali with a villa and its own pool and take a litre of gin from duty free and go toes up over there in the not-too-distant future. 

Ah well. At least I don't have to think about electricity meters for two weeks. 

Today's song: 

Vale Michael Leunig

I was trying to think of something to write tonight. 

Would I write about the fact that I have nearly completely checked out of work for the year? No. I have one more day, and one of my managers regularly reads this blog. Not that I've actually checked out, but I think most of us are at the stage where something comes up and it's not automatically a "January Problem." So yeah. Meter Testing Protocols. January Problem? Pre-paid electricity vouchers? January problem. Confluence repository structure for various parts of the business. Umm, better get that out of the way. 

Then I thought about writing about the book I'm listening to. Philip Pullman, where have you been all my life? I'm listening to the second book of the His Dark Materials trilogy and he's incredible. I still don't get how these buttoned up, repressed Oxbridge types can have access to such imagination and emotion. Think about CS Lewis... or TS Eliot...or.... the list goes on. 

The I hear the news that hit me with a thump. 

Michael Leunig has passed away, aged 79. 

Michael Leunig, the much maligned, rather controversial, always poking the bear cartoonist who's work adorned The Age for years. He is no more. Mind you, he's been in semi-retirement for years. 

Leunig's calendar, which came with The Age every year for decades, used to adorn my kitchen wall. 

Leunig, who used to make you think, and feel, with his witty and pithy observations. Sometimes they got a bit close to the mark. 

He was a left of centre thinker. I wasn't afraid to court controversy, and make you smile while he was doing it. 

And he'd go to places other were afraid to, which much success. 

I liked that saw the world a little differently. I could relate to his cartoons. 

He was a poet at heart. 

And he was never afraid to get political. 

And I've admired him for the 25 years I've lived in Melbourne. Love him or loathe him, as he was always polarising, it was great to see this man stir for such a long time. 

Vale Mr Leunig. May you, and Mr Curly and the ducks rest in peace.

Today's song: 

Listening to One's Self

 I'm very proud of me. I listened. To me. 

And I feel the better for it. 

This week is never an easy week. We'll avoid talking about the recent full moon or the fact that Mercury has just come out of retrograde. 

I'm not sure I'll ever feel right about the third week of December. It's a week of anniversaries. Nine years ago, on the 16th, my niece passed away after a battle with leukaemia. She was 15. She would have been sixteen on the 20th of December that year. On Friday, she would be turning 25, if she'd not died. 

I'm not sure this week will ever be easy again, not that it ever was. I've never been a big fan of Christmas. 

On top of this, it's Christmas Party week. I'm not great with large groups - preferring to hang out with groups of six or fewer. And yes, we had our old dream group meet up last night, and tonight it was supposed to be a meeting of the retreat girls, followed by a gig at the same place. The gig was starting at 8 pm. 

I woke, shuddering at the thought. Crippling social anxiety is hard to overcome, but the thought of going out, again, was not making me happy. I was also trying to work out how I was going get my work backpack home, feed the cat, get out to Northcote and still have a stress-free time. There's no way I was going to get out there feeling anything other than under the weather. 

So, I listened to myself. 

Mid-morning, I put my ticket up onto a reselling website, in the hope of getting my money back. There was no way I could do a gig tonight, no matter how much I wanted to go. I'll admit to being exhausted. 

I committed to going for a drink for an hour. Then do what is known in our circles as "Chucking a Charlie."

"Chucking a Charlie," named after a friend's son, who unabashedly goes out for an evening, stays for around an hour, then makes his excuses and leaves - usually sober, happy and fit for work the following day. Charlie looks after his mental health. Charlie has the right idea. Not bad for a kid in his early 20s. After an hour, you've normally talked to everybody you wanted to talk to anyway. What's the point in staying. 

I set this intention. Have a drink. Have a chat. Then go home. 

After work, I made my way straight out to Northcote. I had a lovely drink with two friends. We'd booked a table for eight at the pub. Four of our party bailed before the event. Another arrived after I'd left. As I'd made clear, I was going to "Chuck a Charlie." It was lovely to hang out with my friends in a quiet pub. The lovely weather made it even better. I didn't have to explain myself. I had a good time. 

An hour later, I said my goodbyes and caught the train home. 

The ticket sold on the website, so I got my money back, and somebody else got to enjoy the music. 

And I'm proud of me for listening to my needs. 

I'm feeling better for it already. 

Today's song: 

Goodbye Tupperware

 Tupperware has gone bankrupt. 

In Australia, you won't be able to buy Tupperware anymore. 

Seriously, no more Tupperware parties. Your friends are no longer going to be sending you catalogues or telling you to come and buy some stuff. The days of home shopping are over. 

Yes, Tupperware was expensive, but it was good. 

And now it is no more, and I'm half-cursing myself because I sort of coveted one of their drink bottles. 

It all seems a bit surreal. Tupperware, and Tupperware parties have been part of the Australian cultural landscape as long as I've been alive. 

I mean, doesn't everybody's family have a set of these containers?

It feels like a bit of my childhood has gone away. 

I also found out that Avon is no more. 

Many a long hour was spent pouring over the Avon catalogue. Avon's moderately priced makeup in ever colour under the sun was something I aspired to. And yes, I look in my handbag and there are many designer lipsticks floating around the bottom, but nothing used to beat a trawl through the latest Avon catalogue. I mean, where are all the grandmas going to get their SkinSoSoft oil now? And where can you get a soap on a rope for you Dad for his birthday?

It feels like the fabric of the universe is being dismantled. 

It's a sad day. 

Not that I ever need another piece of tupperware, but it's still sad. 

Today's song:

Front of mind

 It's a big week. 

It looks like this.

• Tonight I had a training session in the gym with Cleo over the earphones. (She's in Barcelona). 
• Tomorrow night is Dream Group End of Year catch up. It will be a mellow night. 
• Wednesday I'm off to a gig after meeting up with the retreat girls. 
• Thursday is a session with Chuck - who will be mean. 
• I'm working all week.
• Friday at the moment I have nothing going on. 
• Saturday is meditation and breakfast. I might try and get my eyebrows done, donate plasma and maybe a pedicure
• Sunday, get ready for the trip to Adelaide. 
• And on Monday the cat and I will be driving over to Victor Harbor. Oh, what fun. 

On the good side of things:

• Most of my Christmas shopping is done. 
• Most of the cat accoutrements are in the car already.
• The hot weather means my washing is up to date - the ironing not so much. 
• I finished one of the loveliest books I've read in ages today (Sarah Winman's The Year of Marvellous Ways. She's fast becoming one of my favourite authors. Oops, that reminds me. Must wrap Gloria's gift.)
• And I want to maybe do ParkRun (well, ParkWalk in my case) in Victor Harbor while I'm there. 

But yeah, there's a lot on. 

Or maybe I'm just trying not to think about the fact that my niece passed away nine years ago today. 

Time is a funny thing. 

Best get on with it. 

Today's song:

The Lovely Afternoon

 Happiness is a friend, some books, a swim in a swanky pool and a gin and tonic or two. Oh, and a not too hot day and trams which are behaving. Does life get any better. 

Millie and I have known each other for donkey's years, being fond of lots of similar things, like good food and books. I mean, how can you not like somebody who likes food and books. We also work in similar fields and enjoy exercise. 

Taking some time out, she was staying at one of the swanky hotels in town, giving herself a mini-break for a long weekend. She participated in some mad fitness yesterday morning and she was off to a show today, but she was at a loose end yesterday afternoon.

"You're always up for a swim."

" You know I am."

And it's true. Have bathers and a pool and I'll be the first one in and the last one out. I love being in the water. 

And that was Saturday.  

Today's song: 

The Daily Quibble: The Overpriced Skin Check

Maybe they should call it the Camberwell tax - or the weekend payment adjustment. Or just a rip off.

I have gone a bit gung-ho about getting skin checks after I had a squamous cell carcinoma cut out of my forehead two years ago. I'm not particularly moley, but as I'm a bit paranoid about these things, and get an annual skin check. 

I'm lucky with my skin. At 56, my skin is going me well. Bar the odd wrinkle, dry skin on my arms and the occasional skin tag, I can't complain. Still, I make sure I get the docs to give me the once over annually, just for peace of mind. 

My first skin check after having the skin cancer removed was last year. The doctor was lovely. The 20-minute appointment was thorough - she even zapped off a patch of discoloured skin with her dry ice machine, all a part of the consultation. It was a bit more than I wanted to pay - $215. But I had a record with the clinic, who had a good name for themselves and I had a record with a skin cancer clinic, not that I had any spots that were causing me any worry. 

Today, I went back to the same clinic for my annual check. 

The doctor gave me a cursory once over. I asked about some spots on my forehead. Dry skin from sun damage she said. Nothing to worry about. 

I was in and out in five minutes. 

The clinic charged me $255 for the privilege - with a Medicare rebate of $82. 

Next year, I'm going to my normal doctor. Sorry, stuff that. 

Personally, in this country of fair skinned people who've abused the sun for decades, why skin cancer checks aren't fully covered by Medicare is beyond me. (Then again, I think HRT should be covered by Medicare - it would be a service to the nation). 

Regardless, you try and do the right thing and you get stung. 

(And for the medicos reading this, I'm painfully aware of the great work you all do, and that running a clinic or practice is bloody expensive - but this did seem excessive.)

Today's song: 

Movie Review: Hors-Saison (Out of Season)

Film numero 39 de 2024

Le film: Hors-Saison (Out of Season)

Le Cinema: Kino Cinema - Collins Street

Les etoiles: 4

Excusez-moi, mais j'ai vu un film français, donc ma critique sera en français. 

Malheuresement, j'ai oublie mes lunettes, et ja'i un petit mal au tete. Quelle domage. 

J’ai aimé ce film. C'est l'histoire de Mathieu (Guillaume Canet), un acteur qui traverse une crise de mi-carrièr. Il se rend dans un spa de la côte bretonne pour réfléchir à la vie. Apres deux jours, Alice (Alba Rohrwacher), son ancienne petite amie le contacte. Ils ont eu une mauvaise rupture, mais c’était il y a des années. 

Mathieu et Alice se reconnectent. Alice est mariée et mère d’une fille. Mathieu est un peu perdu. 

J'aime bien ce film. J'adore les films francais, mais j'aimais cette histoire douce. C'est tres bien. 

-oOo-

Okay, for those who don't speak French this is a gentle film about connections and re-connections. 

Matthieu (Guillaume Canet) is an actor having a mid-career crisis. He checks himself into a posh wellness clinic for a week to regroup. After a few days of trying to relax (even though his notoriety is not giving him much peace), he's contacted by Alice (Alba Rohrwacher), an old flame. 

It appears that Matthieu and Alice had a short, but intense love affair. Alice relates that her current husband doesn't know about their affair, only that he left her in pieces. 

And the two gently rekindle their relationship. 

I loved that this was set on the Brittany coast in Winter, the rough coastline a good counterpoint to the couple's strained relationship . I also loved how Alice brought Matthieu gently back into her life by inviting him along to a wedding. The wedding was really cute. 

I love seeing French cinema. It's good for my language skills, although next time, I'll remember to bring my glasses. Although I can see the screen without too many hassles, I've got a bit of a headache.

Never to mind - I did enjoy this gentle film about people reconnecting. 

Today's song:  

Ten things I don't understand

 I'm too tired to write. I ache all over, in a good way. Both Chuck and Cleo have pummeled me senseless in the gym and now I just want to go to bed. 

Anyway, here are ten things I don't understand, with no commentary. 

1. Why do we sing about reindeers and snow and sleigh rides in Australia? Christmas is hot. It's stupid. 

2. As a secular country, why do we celebrate Christmas? It feels hypocritical. 

3. Why is there a large number of the population who don't see addiction as a disease, but a lifestyle choice. 

4. How people listen to Adele and Ed Sheeran end on end. A little bit is fine, but on an endless loop - no way. 

5. Right wing politics. 

6. The Cult of Donald Trump. What is in that Kool-Aid over in America?

7. Why people drop weights all over the place at the gym. The ones that throw their weights down need to be shot, noisy buggers. 

8. Men. 

9. My cat's need to sit anywhere I want to be in two minutes time. 

10. How billionaires have been allowed to accumulate so much money and not pay taxes on it.

That will do. 

Today's song:

Wine Snob

 As a rule, I don't drink wine. 

I drink gin.

Wine and I have a strange relationship. I can't drink red wine anymore. The palpitations and sleepless nights are too much to take. There's no point me drinking it. It makes me feel too sick. No point drinking it. 

Rose and white wine are fine in small doses. I'd much rather have a glass of wine with dinner than just aimlessly drinking it. I'm better with champagne and dry sparkling wine, and I'm not a fan of prosecco. That stuff is garbage. It's the lambrusco or Blue Nun equivalent of our time. 

But, coming from near McLaren Vale and actually liking wine before I stopped drinking it, I've got a reasonable palate and a bit of knowledge behind me. 

Today's Christmas task was to buy a bottle of wine for Chuck, my trainer. 

Chuck is a bastard. He's mean. Okay, Chuck is lovely - but when it comes to training, he's mean. I asked him what he wanted for a Christmas present. Socks? Chocolates? Books?

He wanted wine. Red wine. Pinot? Cabernet Sauvignon? Temperanillo? Grenache? 

A full-bodied Shiraz would do nicely. 

My issue is when I'm asked to get wine, particularly red wine, I go one of two ways. McLaren Vale, or Langhorne Creek. If he'd asked for a decent Pinot, I'd probably look out for a lovely bottle of Curly Flat from Lancefield. 

Yes, I'm a red wine non-drinking wine snob. 

And after today's hammering at the gym, where Chuck kept upping my weights, I went wine shopping. Blackheart and Sparrows had a decent, but limited supply.

Liquorland had a better range. Not a bottle of Langhorne Creek red in sight, but a reasonable lot of McLaren Vale reds. 

If I was sensible, I'd find him a bottle for a cellar door when I go home in ten days, but as he's pissing off to get married after next week and we won't see him until late January. 

But I found him a bottle. The girl in the store was really helpful. 

And which one did I buy? A bottle called Fat Bastard, or one called The Murder.

I did what any sane person would do under the same circumstances. 

I went with the one with the pretty label. 

Today's song:

Lockstep

My favourite summer days are the cooler ones, where the sun is shining, but there's a breeze, and it's not much more than 25. Today was one of those days. 

Making the most of the weather, I walked down to the local shopping centre to pick up some lunch. I took the back lanes, as I often do during the daytime.

So off I waked. 

Richmond is an old, working-class suburb. It used to be filled with workingman's cottages, complete with a network of back lanes, which used to home the backyard outhouses, back when the dunny man would clear away the night soil. Thankfully, all of these are gone now, but the lanes remain. 

As I started by journey down these labyrinthine passages, I noticed a woman pass me, going in the other direction, looking a little flustered. She was wearing active wear. Blonde hair. In her 30s.

I then turned the corner to see a street person rummaging through a box, muttering to himself. Although he wasn't threatening, he gave off a bit of an air. This is Richmond. Once you've lived here a while, you get used to the local flora and fauna. In this case, I was wondering whether I turn back and take the main road or carry on. 

I then heard footsteps behind me. It was the blonde in activewear. She'd obviously had the same thoughts. 

I turned to her as we were just about to pass the man with his head in the box. 

"Hello, friend. Safety in numbers."

"Thank you," 

"I nearly turned around myself. But he seemed harmless."

"Yeah, but I didn't want to risk it."

"I'll walk with you. Safety in numbers."

We had a lovely chat about all sorts of things. How the nearby injecting room has stopped us having to call the ambulance for dead and nearly dead junkies in our laneways and carports. How the methadone dispensary has been really well done - you wouldn't know it was there unless it was pointed out to you. 

We only spent five minutes in eachother's company, but I was taken by the solidarity we women have when it comes to our safety. 

We bid each other a good day. 

I got my lunch. 

And I walked home, taking the main roads. Just in case.

Today's song:

Movie Review: Kneecap

Movie Number 38 of 2024

The Movie: Kneecap

The Cinema: The Nova, Carlton

Stars: 4.5

A film, mostly in Irish, about a Hip Hop band that came out of the streets of Belfast. Who knew?

This is brilliant. Thoroughly bonkers, but brilliant. It's got Oscar nomination for best International film all over it. Actually, this is the Republic of Ireland's entry for the 2025 Oscars. 

Do you need to know anything about the situation in Northern Ireland before going into this film? It does help, but it's not entirely necessary. 

I also reckon that speaking Gaelic would take this to another level, but my Irish runs to 'cheers' (sláinte) and 'up your bum' (póg mo thóin). Still, this is a fantastic film. 

The other thing to say. This is a kind of biopic, a bastardised story of how the Hip Hop band Kneecap came about. 

Here's a synopsis, pilfered from the pages of imdb.com. 

As one of a small number of Irish speakers in Belfast, JJ O Dochartaigh is called into a police meeting as an interpreter, where he meets Liam Og O Hannaidh who is pretending that he only speaks Irish to annoy Detective Ellis (Josie Walker). JJ sees a book of hip-hop lyrics, written in Irish, by Liam and his friend Naoise O Cairaellain. A music teacher, and in a relationship with an advocate for the Irish language, JJ sees the potential for using music to increase awareness. When the trio start to perform, they quickly gain a following, but the content of their lyrics makes them enemies in both the police, and with a dissident Republican organisation that are against the promotion of drug use in the city.

This movie has a cast of unknowns, making this even better. The only big name here is Michael Fassbender, who plays Moglai's father, a paramilitary dissident on the run. He's a hoot. I love when you're watching actors who are obviously having the time of their lives. 

DJ Provai plays himself, a teacher who sees potential in the boy's music. DJ Provai is a teacher in real life. This also adds another level to the film. 

And the music is pretty good too. Even if you don't understand the Gaelic, there a subtitles to help you along. 

A word of warning, there's quite a lot of party drug use and the odd bit of violence in this gem of a film. Thankfully this violence is quick, justified, and often very funny.

I'm very glad I got to see this. It's one of the standouts of the year. Hunt it out. 

Today's song: 

After

 We had a lovely book group today. The weather was perfect for sitting outside on the deck of of La Camera restaurant. The conversation flowed, as always, and our annual book group choosing went off without a hitch. 

As we normally, as our book group has been going on for well over a decade. We voted on the books after discussing the pros and cons of why we wanted to read said books. The lolly vote, where we all have 25 lollies (Sweets/candies) to vote with (and a rubber glove to protect the sweets - these are handed on to the wait staff after the vote). 

And the list is great!

There were some cool things that happened. Fee's father passed in the last ten days. The two books she put up came out of her father's wardrobe, which she found when she started the cleaning process. Both are new books by modern Australian writers. Both are on the list. The two I put up made it onto the list too - both will challenge in different ways. (The Dylin Hardcastle and the Miranda July).

In all, it's a great list for the year. 

After lunch, once proceedings had ended and we said our goodbyes, I was hoping to check out the market which normally occurs outside the Art Centre, but it was not to be. 

Instead, I made my way down to the National Gallery of Victoria. 

One of the great things about public art galleries in Australia - they're free, 

Even better, a favourite artist is having an exhibition, starting later next week. I love Yayoi Kazuma. They've even wrapped the trees outside in polka dots. 

A quick mooch upstairs to say hello to the Francis Bacon and the Chagall. Then up into the Red Room with the 18th Century decorative sculpture and painting, the onto a wander around Lee Bul's extraordinary installation. 

And then I caught the train home. 

It was a very successful day. Nourishing. 

Today's song: 

The Weather

 In the absence of the normal weekend questions, which have not been posted as yet, I've dibbed into my box of Catherine Deveny's writing prompt cards for inspiration. 

After shuffling round the cards, I selected this one:

What is your favourite weather? What is the weather like now?

The change has come at last, not that the hot spell was overly long or arduous. As hot spells go, it was fine. Not too humid, not too hot - but sunny enough to warm up the flat and have the heat get trapped in the walls. There's a stiffening breeze outside. I can only tell this because the toilet door is rattling. It's not too bad as the shaking door is not too loud for the moment. 

But this is not my favourite weather. 

I'm a cold person. I love winter. I love blustery overcast days, where the last of the leaves fall from the trees. Those days when you need to rug up, put on that scarf and shove your hands in your pockets to keep them warm. Those days where you can wear boots all day. When you deliberately wear layers to keep the weather out. Those days when the wind prickles at your cheeks. It's why I prefer the weather in England. Other than it's overcast most of the time, saving your skin from the regular UV battering, the natural progression from Autumn, with its occasional sunny day, into full wither, to the unrelenting cold and dark days appeals to me.

I also love the skies in winter, which vary from those bright, crisp days when the sun shines with no heat, to those cloudy days which yield amazing sunsets.

Oh, and I love wet winter nights, when you can snuggle up under the duvet and listen to the rain on the roof. Even better if it's a tin roof. It might be a childhood thing, but I find it comforting. 

Today's song:

Theatre Review: My Brilliant Career

 The Performance: My Brilliant Career (the Musical)

The Company: Melbourne Theatre Company

The Theatre: Southbank Theatre

Stars: 4.5

Until 21 December

I went into this performance with a sense of trepidation. Generally, I'm not a fan of musicals, nor do I love it when they wreck classics for the sake of art. 

Thankfully, the MTC's reworking of Miles Franklin's beloved novel does not do this at all. They've done a cracking job of taking this wonderful Australian novel and turning into a high energy, feminist slanting musical with a great ensemble cast with tons of entertainment value. 

Making things even more interesting, the fire alarm went off about ten minutes before the interval, the auditorium was evacuated, three fire trucks turned up - but we were let back in about half an hour later to finish the performance. I'm glad we got to see the end of this. This went above and beyond my expectations. 

For those who don't know the story of My Brilliant Career, either read the book or get your hands on the wonderful 1979 film with a very young Judy Davis and Sam Neill. It's wonderful. 

The plot hasn't changed at all. It's nearing the turn of the century and young Sybylla Melvyn (Kala Gare) wants nothing more than to live a life of culture and arts. Instead, she, with her family, are living a hand-to-mouth existence on a failing dairy farm. Her father is drinking, her mother eternally pregnant, and at 17, Sybylla is a drain on the family coffers. Sybylla doesn't want to marry, which was pretty much her only option at the time. However, a compromise is found, and she goes to live with her grandmother, a woman of means. 

While there, she is courted by the dreadful Harry (Cameron Bajraktarevic-Hayward), before meeting the much more suitable Frank (Raj Labade) with whom she falls in love, not that she knows it. Harry loses his fortune and Sybylla is sent to work as a governess to pay off her father's debt to a neighbour. It is only later that Sybylla learns that her fortitude and kindness put her in good stead. She also works out that she must pursue her life as an artist. 

What got me the most about this production is the high-energy performance that came from the mostly unknown cast. Making things even more amazing, everybody on stage plays an instrument. The cast are the band. The fiddle, cello, double bass, a couple of keyboards, a couple of guitars, a bloke on the drums and a percussionist. They not only play in the band but sing and act. 

The story has been adapted to the stage by Sheridan Harbridge, who has starred in the MTC productions including Prima Facie and North by Northwest. She's done an amazing job. The music was composed by Matthew Frank and the lyrics developed by Dean Bryant, another MTC stalwart. Anne Louise Sarks direction is punchy, but allows for the reflective nature of the material, where women had next to no options, and life was hard for most. 

Despite the evacuation, and having to take up the action just as a crucial ball scene was about to play out, and where the cast took up the action when we came back (and it felt they lost a bit of pace) the second act was back at the pace where we were before they turfed us out on the street for half an hour. Thankfully, they cut the interval to 10 minutes to get a bit of time back. 

There was a long-standing ovation at the end of the night. The cast earned it. 

This production reminded me a little of Come From Away. It's got that plucky, country enthusiasm about it that makes you think, but also makes you feel good. 

This comes highly recommended. Tickets are a bit hard to find - indeed, they may extend this into the new year if you're lucky. If the sold-out auditorium on a Friday night this side of Christmas is anything to go by, beg, borrow, steal or buy your way to see this. 

It's wonderful. 

(And revisit the original 1979 movie and swoon over Sam Neill. You can rent it through the streaming services, of if SBS is feeling generous they might put it on rotation again.)

Today's song: 

No blog post today.

 I'm feeling decidedly off-colour.

I'll be fine. But I think I should go to bed now. 

On the good side of things I met a lovely guide dog in training named Elwood. His handler asked if I wanted a pat (he was out of his harnesses and he asked me) Of course I wanted a pat. They're awesome. 

Anyway, now I'll go to bed. 

And play a favourite song. 

That will do. 

Today's song: 

Damn You, Thane Rivers

Oh, Thane Rivers. damn you. 

What you do to me?

I mean, how can a bloke, with a beard and tattoos in a pair of pyjama bottoms, having a stretch and drinking coffee have such and effect? Oh, he has some nice huskies. 

And he never wears underwear. Pity. Not. 

Seriously?

I mean what right to I have watching this self-styled "Lumbersnack"?

Like, I know it's all harmless, but how is a rather nicely built bloke, having a stretch and drinking coffee, oh, and there's the little bounce which comes in most of his videos - why or why is he sooooooooo watchable? Making it a better experience, if you follow him on Instagram, the comments section is gold. 

He has an awesome collection of pyjama bottoms. 

And an awesome collection of coffee mugs. 

And a rather gorgeous deep breathy voice which hails from Minnesota (though I reckon he might be Canadian, because he's THAT nice.)

Oh my. 

Be still my basically dead ovaries. 

I'll go back to something productive now, maybe after another sneaky view. 

It's all in the growl and the bounce. 

It's the little things that keep us happy. 

Today's song: 

You'll have something...

 The call came through at  4.30 p.m.

Jezza: Hey, help me.

Pand: Sure, what can I do? 

Jezza: We have a Christmas Party on Friday night. My costume options have fallen through. 

Pand: Oh, what happened. 

Jezza: My 'Choose Life' t-shirt won't get to me on time. 

Pand: But the 80's is easy to sort. 

Jezza: That's why I'm calling you. Can you help me out?

Do I look like the sort of person who can whip an 80's costume out of my bum? Seems like I am. 

Pand: Do you have some blue jeans? Maybe on the snug side?

Jezza: I'm perimenopausal - everything is a bit tight. 

Pand: Do you have a denim jacket in the same material? If not, I can loan you mine. 

Jezza: I think I do. 

Pand: Do you have some white runners and some colourful long socks?

Jezza: Yes, I've got them. 

Pand: Well. Accessorise that outfit. Find a colourful loose t-shirt, a scrunchie, some pearls and a black lace glove. You're done. 

Jezza: Where am I going to get pearls and a glove at this late stage?

Pand: I can loan you some. 

Yes. I am the person who has one lace glove, and a few strings of imitation pearls tucked away, out of sight, for such occasions. 

I feel rather naff. 

We arranged to meet between our places. I needed to get myself to the hairdresser in a Bayside suburb at 7 p.m. Jezza lives east. We met in the Red Rooster car park near the top of Warrigal Road. (Out of interest, had anybody ever seen anybody ever go into a Red Rooster restaurant?)

And I got to the hairdresser on time - with ten minutes to spare even. 

I just find it strange that people would think I have this stuff lying around. 

Today's song: 

When Worlds Collide

 I cherish my time in Sydney. The feel of high thread-count sheets, of the luxury of a lay in, of time spent with friends you wouldn't normally see, of the sheer delight of reading in a long, warm bath, of drinking gin and tonics in bed. Thoroughly decadent, but very much needed every so often. 

Last night, two of my world's collided. After spending some time with friends at drinks (because my late arrival, lunch was out of the question) I met up with my friend Kaz, who was over from Adelaide for the day doing a speaking engagement and then to catch a matinee. Her flight back to Adelaide wasn't until later, so we had time for lunch

Kaz doesn't know Sydney well at all. She was relishing some time on her own, away from her kids and her normal life. 

We agreed to meet at my hotel at 6 p.m. By that time my friends will be on their way home and I'll have had a bit of time to relax. Kaz had to be back at the airport for a 9 p.m. flight, so we had time for a quick dinner. 

Kaz is a wonderful friend. Her pool house is known as my place - I stay at her place when we have mason's business in Adelaide. Her family take me in as one of their own. It's very much appreciated. We dumped her cabin bag in my room. And it was there my feelings of world's colliding hit me

We met up at the designated time. As it was raining in Sydney, we found a cheap and cheerful Italian place about two-minutes' walk away from the hotel, where we put the world to rights. 

There were some funny emotions as I put Kaz in a cab about an hour later. 

"Why don't you take the train?" I asked. 

"I don't know Sydney, and I don't know how," she answered. 

"It's easy. And cheaper than a cab."

"I can write the trip off to the company." 

"Fair enough."

It hit me how much our lives differ. Kaz is married with two lovely tween-age boys. She has a house with a pool and a one-eyed black cat who's adorable, and an editing business and so much more. 

Me, I know my way around Central Sydney like the back of my hand. I'm not afraid to navigate different cities - I relish getting around different cities, finding their quirks and excrescences. I think nothing of taking myself off to a lovely hotel in another city every now and then and having a weekend for myself, normally taking in art, or theatre or music (once a cat sitter has been arranged)

And it struck me just how lucky I am to be able to do this.

Today's song: 

Sunday Stealing: Books

Oh, I am really gonna enjoy these questions. I love talking about books. 

Thanks to Bev at Sunday Stealing for providing them.

1. Has reading a book ever changed your life? Which one and why, if yes?

There has been a few books which have altered the course of my life. Louis de Bernières Captain Corelli’s Mandolin sent me off to Greece. Anthony Doerr’s All The Light We Cannot See sent me to St Malo last year..

But it’s Dr Spencer Johnson’s Who Moved My Cheese  that really changed my life. It’s a little book about change management. The big message in the book, for me, was ‘What would you do if you weren’t scared?’ I asked myself that at least once a day.

2. Do you prefer to read fiction or non-fiction?

Generally, I prefer fiction, however there is nothing better than a really well-crafted non-fiction book. I love the works of Bill Bryson., And there is a book called Born to Run by Christopher McDougall which I adore.

3. If you could be a character in any novel you’ve read who would you be?

I would really love to be part of Hogwarts one day, and I think I’d make a great Hermione Granger. Hermione is the bomb. We're a bit alike, down to the fuzzy hair. 

If it were a grown-up book, I think I would like to be a character in Sarah Winman’s Still Life, mainly because I would love to be living in Florence. Also, the family environment at the pensione is wonderful.

4. His reading a book ever made you cry?

Yes.

5. Which one, and why?

Other than my year 11th physics textbook at school, which drove me to tears of bored and rage, Any book which has an animal which suffers in it or normally bring me to tears very quickly.

A lot of books about adversity and war will also make me cry.

6. How many books do you read a year?

This year, according to my goodreads.com challenge I am on target to read 60 books this year. I will normally read somewhere between 45 and 50 books. I will remind you that I always have an audiobook on as well as something on paper or my going at the same time.

7. Name a book you had to read but hated.

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.

8. Why did he hate it?

Okay, I’ll let you in on a secret. I hate Russian literature. Seriously, all they do is sit around doing nothing complaining for around 700 pages. While reading Anna Karenina I couldn’t wait for her to jump under the train. I just find it really annoying. I can cope with Chekhov, but that’s because he writes plays and they’re short. 

9. If somebody wrote a book about your life, what would it be called?

She’s not the Messiah, She’s a Very Naughty Girl.

10. Have you ever written (Or started to write) a book?

Yes. I have two novels of which I have about 60 to 80,000 words written and I’m just starting on a new non-Fiction adventure. I’ve got about 5000 words written of that. I will finish one of them in the near future.

11. If you could pick a book you’ve read to make into a movie, what would it be?

I am a big fan of Sarah Winman. I love her book Still Life I can see that being a wonderful movie. Even though Benedict Cumberbatch is a little bit old to play Ulysses now.

12. What was your favourite book as a child?

I remember spending hours pouring over my grandmother’s encyclopaedias. Does not feel the same as the pages of a good encyclopaedia , even if the information dates.

I also remember loving Snugglepot and Cuddlepie and The Magic Pudding. They are very Australian books. Enid Blyton was great too.

13. What are you reading right now?

At the moment on audiobook, I am listening to Bill Bryson’s The Body – A Guide for Occupants. It’s both informative and entertaining.

On paper, I am reading Benjamin Stevenson’s Everybody on this Train is a Suspect. I’m reading it for book group, and it’s not really my genre and I don’t like the writing style, but I only have 30 pages to go and that’s done for the month. Looking forward to reading something a little bit more substantial.

Today’s Song: