Happy Christmas

December

A couple more piccies from the Christmas Dinner

Blimey, two weeks passed. Not sure where they’ve gone to.

So I got past the Christmas Party. I was working all week, the department’s getting busy again. I went out to Warrawong again, this time taking Ina to see the animals. More Possums this time, and the platypus put on a good show. So beautiful in the woods of the sanctuary at night, and the smell is unique. Actually it’s rained the past two days (yes, they do actually have water falling from the sky over here), and while the rain smells like it should when it starts, afterwards all you can smell is the eucalyptus, almost lemon.

Anyway, the few weeks before that had been v hot, the gardens wilting (I’ll replace those plants in the autumn when there’s a bit more chance of survival). I’ve even got a bucket in the shower catching water to go on the garden. Actually that’s more because the shower does cold or scalding and nothing in between.

I’ve actually had a couple of non-clinical days in the last couple of weeks, and it’s lovely to be able to take a bit of time at lunch. There’s a new café opened across North Terrace from the hospital (canny move, there – edible sandwiches, even if they are still practicing at the serving bit), and the botanic gardens next door. Almost how I imagine lunch-hour should be. Not having to stick a third of dinner back in the microwave ¾ hour after starting eating.

I actually had a weekend off last weekend (it doesn’t last – I’m off this w/end too, but on next Saturday). On Saturday there was a Salsa workshop (How to be ladylike – I thought I’d better go). Actually it was good, being shown what to do with your hands, and how to stand. Then I went to Marion (which is just like Meadowhell) to get a few bits. Including a tiny Christmas tree. Had to be done really. And the world’s most useless lights. Battery powered, which is good as there is a distinct lack of power points (see posts passim). But with about 30min life. Definitely to be kept specially for Christmas day.

Sunday I dragged myself out AGAIN in the morning to the rowing club. This time there was rowing – went out in a 4 with others who are learning. It was good fun, particularly when the timing was right. And great being out on the water, even if the boat (plank of wood?) lacked a big white flappy bit.

Sunday evening I went over to Brighton to Wendy’s house for supper, and a walk along the beach. That’s something I haven’t done enough of (been to the beach) yet. I had visions of all Aussies spending all their time surfing and running around on the beach playing Frisbee getting sun-bleached blond highlights. I think I’ve confused Adelaide with the rest of Australia. Anyway, it was a v pleasant evening.

Rundle Mall - People getting paid to make sandcastles. Are we in the wrong job?

Monday working – busy enough, then after Salsa class (thankfully at the stage where we were standing around talking afterwards), I got called back in. A combination of numbers of ambulances and a distinct lack of experience among the juniors that night. I’d have been tearing my hair out. Anyway, I got out at 9:30 so it wasn’t that bad.

The non-clinical days were spent sorting out paperwork. There are several different registration systems you have to keep current over here, and I’d missed one of them in September. Obviously no reminder letters sent (I bet if there was a charge attached to each, then a letter would be sent). It’s not like home where you start on a date and, providing you have a half-competent medical staffing dept, the paperwork is completed there and then. So even starting in July, the paperwork had to be re-done in September. There is no medical staffing / personnel dept here – it’s all done by the departmental admin staff.

Anyway, Wednesday was the consultant’s planning day and annual meal out. Obviously the evening shifts fell to the two Senior Registrars. (Strange how no fuss was kicked up this time about not having a consultant present, when they all want to go out). Another busy one – the dept running had been left to the Registrars during the day, and they don’t get a lot of tuition on how to manage the department. So when we walked in it was pretty ugly – 80 patients there. But we sorted it. (At least Conrad did – I was in resus ALL evening). Left at half one again.

Friday, back on the shop floor. Pretty unremarkable shift really. Intending to go home and change before going out, but I have no will-power, so I was in the pub at 5. One of the nurses has left – she’d been in the pub since 3. An “English pub”. Well it can’t be because the loos were clean and had locks on the doors. And you could walk around without sticking to the carpet. But the beer wasn’t too bad. At least by the 5th pint it wasn’t. Anyway we decided to eat at 9 and left to go to Schizo’s, sorry – Scoozi’s to get a pizza. Finally found one with enough chilli on.

Then yesterday we had a barbecue. Originally it was intended to be our Christmas meal, but expanded so we went up to Belair. It had been raining all morning, but the sun came out shortly after we got there and pretty much stayed out. Enough to get burnt playing cricket and rounders (which is “like cricket, but more round”) and Frisbee. Loads of food, too particularly as a lot of people didn’t turn up.

Afterwards we went up to see THE Adelaide Christmas attraction – The Lights of Lobethal. Well, that’s what the advertising would have you believe. It is signposted for miles around. I think the lights they actually mean are the red and white lights of the cars as they snake, nose-to-tail at 5 mph around the village. Oh, and a couple of the houses had Christmas decorations outside too. Two kids stood outside one house singing carols to all the closed windows of the cars on the conveyor belt. It was such a missed opportunity – close the road, make people walk and have a proper Christmas market and it could have been so much better. Poor Ina’s been invited up there again, too.

I made it to rowing this morning too. I can’t move now.

So...
This Friday was the Christmas party. Apart from Salsa on Monday night, Going back to the Barossa on Tuesday, going to the pictures again on Wednesday...

I’ve not been to the pictures so often for years. It was Elizabeth this time. Cate Blanchett carries the film, not a patch on the first one. Forget all the outcry from the Catholic Church (it was a fair cop), the imagery was just so obvious. Catholics – wear black or red, walk around dark garrets, speak foreign language, mutter a lot. The English – wear colours, live in light filled rooms (which looked very much like a gothic cathedral), etc. And Walter Raleigh personally saves the day with a ridiculous act of heroism. You get the picture. Not much subtlety in this one.


Tanunda

The Barossa trip was just to go shopping. To a couple of wineries, plus to go to some of the food places that are almost as good. Hahndorf (the “German” village actually in the Adelaide Hills) has a Strawberry farm that does PYO (sadly no Raspberries), and sells Jams / Sauces etc. Maggie Beer’s is an extremely cute (and fairly expensive) farm shop overlooking a lake. Worth it for the view alone, but the food is good too. It’s only available in Fortnum and Mason back home, apparently. Hmm. Maybe I’ll just take advantage of it while I’m over here. And then Angaston has a shop that sells dried fruit.

Friday night was at a hotel in town. By the time I’d got home, been late to the hairdressers (then had to wait 20 min to get served), and got ready, there wasn’t a taxi to be had for love nor money. I tried. So I had to drive, and dump the car somewhere. There were a lot of the nurses there (but it is a large dept), not many of the consultants – just the usual faces you expect to turn up – and actually not many of the doctors until later when several of then had finished work. The food, which we were supposed to be “ordering” at 7, came just before 9, so there was quite a lot of wine had been drunk by then.


So a bit of dancing was done. One of the guys there has been doing salsa for a little while so I had a dance with him (obviously limited given the few steps I know – and it wasn’t easy communicating which I did know, at that stage. I mean that the music was loud and I lost my voice. Not any other reason for having difficulty communicating, you understand).

I’m not sure any of my photos will be any good, perhaps I will have to get a more portable camera. That’s the one drawback of using the phone – no flash.

Anyway, we got chucked out of the hotel at midnight, and ended up walking to the Stag which is at the other end of town. (That’s one thing about Adelaide – if a venue is at the other end of town, you know it’s a mile away). That’s obviously the place to be – bouncers with too much power, pants music, expensive drinks in bottles and everything. After several attempts to leave (thanks James, Lesley, Kitkat), I got away to get a cab and was home about 2:30.








Irritatingly I was awake at about 9 the next morning, with a real craving for greasy food. So I just had to go shopping to get some bacon and eggs. Plus I had a few christmas pressies to get in the post. Not cheap, but I’m nearly there. Such a good feeling.

In the afternoon, pretty much rehydrated, I met up for coffee on Unley Road with one of the girls from the Salsa class. She’s (I think) in need of an ear as she’s in the process of splitting up with husband, but it was a pleasant afternoon. And I managed to find the ice cream place where we went a few weeks ago, so a bit of a bonus.

Yesterday I was awake early, despite any intention to sleep in, so I cycled down to the rowing club. Sadly the Learn-to-Row session was cancelled as there were no boats in Adelaide suitable. My fault for not phoning earlier to find out, really. It was just starting to spit with rain as I got home, but sadly got no wetter. There are now pretty serious bush-fires out there, particularly on Kangaroo Island (maybe I won’t be going for a couple of months) and the Yorke Peninsula (ditto bracketed comment), and one person has died so far. Much, much earlier in the summer than usual.

Anyway, I had a migraine by the time I got to work probably just too knackered). Thankfully it was a quiet shift – which is very unusual for it to be so when you need it to be, and I got away at 12 and didn’t get called. The treatment for migraine here is an injection – my arm is now starting to feel a little less as though was involved in last night’s title fight.

And today, I’ve got most of my Christmas cards in the post. So the ball’s back in the court of those whose addresses I need (the address book was another casualty of the 20kg weight limit that Malaysian Airlines ridiculously impose). And I’ve just got to find some christmas decs for the house. I’ve made the mince pies today, plus some Italian biscuits (which should be interesting) for work and our christmas meal in a couple of weeks time.

So nearly there. But still I’m not convinced it’s Christmas.

What do I miss about England?

Apart from people (I have to say that first really, don’t I?).
Well I really miss not being able to just go out into the garden and pick raspberries (or blackberries, currants, blueberries, strawberries, elderberries etc). They’re $10 per punnet, and a punnet just doesn’t last very long.

I miss the car, particularly on cloudless days when you see everyone else with convertibles with the roof up! And just occasionally, after an intense shift I do miss the midnight blast up the A14 / A1, music loud to relax. (although I don’t miss the traffic jams trying to get to Cambridge, playing silly games to amuse myself like “which lorry would I hijack?” – usually a combination of the lorries carrying “French” bread from Sheffield, Greene King Ale and Davidstow cheese. That’d be me sorted. Don’t need expensive electronics.)

I miss shops like Fat Face and White Stuff and knowing which shops are likely to have clothes that fit and/or that I like. The two are mutually exclusive. If it's not fashionable or slightly different, it's not easy to find.

There’s a sort of superficiality about the culture, and I think a very wide streak of conformism here. (Although I admit I have been to the opera and the theatre to see a Tom Stoppard – “The Real Thing” which, apart from some v creaky English / Scottish accents, was excellent. So there’s more “high” culture than Peterborough.)

I think many people are very comfortable, and quite self-centred (I do not mean selfish) as a massively sweeping generalisation. Maybe because most people are recent émigrés and have found the lifestyle they like, and so that is what is expected. For example there’s a big outcry over house prices here. But when young couples are interviewed on the TV about not being able to get a first house, they all seem to be expecting to move straight into a detached 3 bed, 3 verandahed suburban house. And it is a good lifestyle, but of course that will come at a cost, which maybe Australia is now waking up to, because they haven’t been paying so far.

“The summers are getting hotter” (hottest Nov for years) – turn up the AC.
“There’s no water” (but MY grass will still be watered) – build a desalination plant. But goodness knows where the energy will come from, and we couldn’t possibly think of reusing run-off.
Petrol is now $1-45 per litre - “but I’ve Got to have a Ute or a 4x4, and I have to drive.”

Of course what I haven’t mentioned is the election last Saturday. Apart from being glad that it is over – every other ad on TV was one party sniping at another.
But anyway, from a very right-wing govt / PM (who has actually lost his seat too, it was announced on Sat) to a middle-of-centre one. If Rudd acts, then they will sign up to Kyoto and take action on the Health Service (did I ever say that things are v similar to the UK 6 or 7 yrs ago in that respect?).

But when that threatens comfort, how popular will he be?

So I could see him very much as a Blair-like figure, already talking about targets and such. And when business is threatened (for example, much of the Murray-Darling river basin problem is that while level are so low that ferries are shutting and small farms having to bulldoze their trees, big businesses are stockpiling water), how far will changes go?

Blimey that was a bit serious. And I haven’t been to Sydney or Melbourne which, I am told, are much more cosmopolitan. Adelaide is very insular, and quite local. There is good stuff going on, you just have to look for it. And I’ve had the same conversation twice recently, once with Doug, and then shortly after with an Aussie bloke, who didn’t disagree.

Anyway, have been working lots recently and I now have two whole days stretching in front of me. Annoyingly, because I was on call last night, I didn’t sleep particularly well. So I might just potter into town today.

Four of us went up to Morialta yesterday. Jo was on night shifts, so they didn’t phone me until 130 yesterday afternoon. The weather wasn’t good for the beach, else we’d have been going there. No snakes at the beach (Jo got bitten by a stick last Saturday that reared up and bit her as she cycled past, and spent an unplanned night in the dept – she’s pretty lucky. Of course if she’d come out to dinner last Sat as she’d been planning on doing, then it would have been different. And ideal first aid for snake bite is immobilisation – not cycling home).

Anyway, we agreed to meet in half an hour (it’s only 15 min drive from here). And I thought I was doing so well when I pulled the door closed early, carrying my rucksack, car keys, boots, car stereo, iPod. In fact everything except my house keys. And as I realised, the door latched. Thankfully next door came home and I managed to get hold of a locksmith to let me in. That’s $95 I didn’t really need.

I made it for 2:30 – it was the others who got lost and were late. How long have Seb and Jo lived here? We got walking eventually – it was quite obvious I’ve not been up a hill for a while.

And how different is it? The waterfalls have dried up, leaving just stagnant puddles. The lush green is now grey and instead of a garden of flowers, there are only a few dried looking daisies. (Apart from a few scabious by the road in all shades of purple).

But no snakes.

Not more drinking....

Where am I to? (as someone said to me the other day. After all Plympton is near here. It would fit).

Gradually sampling the cuisine. Difficult to talk about work much. All is not well in the state of Denmark (which is actually probably a bit unfair to the Danish girls who are very good Drs). There’s some unrest among the consultants, a lot of politics (internal and imposed from the Health Board). So it’s not the happiest of places, and not the happiest of places if it’s taking a little while to settle in (which is what I thought might happen). So I got dragged out for a meal and whinge by Conrad (the other Sen Reg) and his wife Chris who didn’t really get a word in over the moaning. To one of those “breezeblock” places that looks like a transport caff but does very good, cheap Thai food. A bottle of wine (Rockford’s Alicante Bouchet – only 10% ABV and slightly sweeter, it’s a very pale red which tastes of strawberries. I’ve drunk a fair bit of it with various people) and an ice cream later and the world is a better place.

BTW I’m not trying to namedrop – this is just the only chance I have to remember the names of the wines.



Anyhow, there was a consultants’ meal arranged on the Friday night. I had an office day, so first I left early to go to the gym which is only 4 floors above the ED. Friday nights there are no classes so you get almost personal attention from the trainer it’s his empire really). I’ve not had time to go back this week, and it’s only surprising that I haven’t had a text asking where I am. Then I popped into town. I’ve been desperately searching for a dress for the Christmas do – now I’ve found the dress (in a boutique 30 sec walk from home) I need shoes. So I saw some green shoes a month or so ago, but obviously they’re not in the shop anymore. Try the outlet store (out by the airport). By the time I got out there it was 1800 – and obviously not late night shopping. So back home, which is closer than from work, quick shower and back out. By the time I got there it was just before 8. It was a Japanese restaurant two doors down from the curry house. We ordered about 45 min later when it became obvious that several people weren’t going to turn up – including the guy who organised it. Hmm. But the food was excellent (I had the sushi / sashimi / tempura platter).

In the name of wine tasting, the next day I was up at 730 to go to the Barossa. There were 7 of us – 4 from the rowing club, another friend of someone and Karen who is the mother of one of the Danish girls who sadly had to work. So we’d hired a minibus and driver, which is apparently a very common way of doing it.


There were 6 wineries, which is probably about one too many, unless you follow the traditional tasting order and just go for sweet wines at the last one. By the end the taste buds are saying “Yep. That’s wine all right” but not much else.

There are so many wineries in the Barossa, and most of them produce good wine. So the only way of distinguishing them really is the service at the cellar door. So the first seemed friendly, until the wine host spent 10 minutes ignoring us to talk to a friend. The next was busy, but we had to go as one of the girls is having her wedding there (held in the barn among the barrels). After that we were early to the next who suggested, fairly rudely, we go away for 20 min – so we had a bit of a walk across the creek, thinking that this wasn’t going to be fun. Anyway we did go back and (predictably I guess), we had the wine host to ourselves who explained all the wines (which were probably the best of the lot) and did much business as a result.

Lunch at another, then to Jacob’s Creek. Which is big, busy (given it was a Saturday), and impersonal. And I’m sorry but all the ones I tasted were still slurpin’ wines. As I said, the final place we just stuck to the sweet wines, which I’m a bit fussy about but had a great Tokay which tasted of sultanas and raisins (so a bottle was bought to go with the Christmas pud), and a Grand Tokay which was crying out to be drunk with treacle pudding.

When we got back, we went for an early dinner in Chinatown (ie a small stretch of Gouger St) and I cycled home. Sober enough to cycle by then.

Sadly I was working the next day, and in fact today (Friday) is the first day off since then. Which I am spending cooking, cleaning and shopping in between writing this. But I’ve had a couple of good shifts this week, so that's good.

Christmas Shopping

Too hot to go anywhere so I spent last weekend spending my hard-earned. Actually Friday I spent money on me. Or to be accurate, 4 new tyres for the car. Nice to be going round bends, rather than across them.

I am going round my friends and family (well the husbands) with a pair of bricks next year – not only Christmas, but children born in December too! You know who you are. At least I suppose I can put everything in a limited number of parcels.

The decs have been up in Burnside (over the road from home) for a few weeks now – v unimaginatively green and red. Holly and ivy just aren’t right. Not with the Jacaranda trees making the world purple where it should be green, and hibiscus all shades of orange. In the middle of Rundle Mall is a 15-20’ Santa, and Body Shop are selling their seasonal Cranberry and Spicy Plum flavours (both are pretty special actually, just well - wintery).

It is just wrong, sandals and summer clothes, with the shops playing songs about “dashing through the snow” and pictures of jolly elves in snow shoes. I was talking to one of the shop assistants (lots of shopping done in Myer – John Lewis equivalent – as there were a lot of money-off offers) who was ranting about the inappropriateness of it all. So if Aussies agree, you wonder who is making the decisions. And all at the same time as I’m looking for a summer dress for the Christmas Dinner.

Anyway, five hours later, wondering round town in the heat and my shopping is nearly done. At least the Sally-Ann weren’t polluting the air like they were in Brisbane (I hate brass band music). And now my lounge floor is covered with wrapped presents waiting for me to find the time to get to the Post Office to send them half-way around the world.

Enough.






On Sunday I thought I’d have a wander down to the craft market at the Festival Hall. Like I said, it’s strange how you spend lots of time in one place then don’t go again because you keep going to another.

So I seem to be going to the Festival Hall a lot. First for the Opera. Figaro. A very bizarre set (slightly Gaudi-esque, apparently - although I’ve not been to Barcelona). The singer playing Figaro was excellent (used to be a brickie), and even made the famous Figaro song make sense. As well as some very amusing silent players in the background who, in a very silent movie way, gave life to the production. People do dress up here to go to the opera (although that may have been because it was Saturday night). Then the craft market – which is very small but has a couple of very good stalls, including one with really unusual jewellery. Bought one piece; will probably be going back there.

After that I walked along the embankment, which takes about 3 minutes, before rushing home to dump the car and walk to Norwood where I met up with Ina. She’s a Danish anaesthetist who has decided she wants to be involved in starting EM as a specialty in Denmark. So that was a very pleasant couple of hours with a bottle of wine (Grant Burge Sauv Blanc), before staggering walking home to go to bed to get up at silly o’clock for work on Friday.

Some pictures of Adelaide

And then what?

Well it’s now getting too hot for walking – most of the parks close if the temp is to be over 30, which it was for the best part of 2 weeks. Plus work has been busier – back to having the corridors full of patients again, no beds in the hospital. About the only thing we don’t have is 10 ambulances outside waiting to unload. Every other hospital in the area can close its doors to relieve pressure – we don’t and we receive patients from most of the rest of the state, too.

The junior doctors have changed over – at least here they don’t all change on the same date, but they do seem to change very frequently which means that you are in a state of working with very green staff quite a lot of the time.

So what else have I been doing? I’ve been promising to learn to dance for a long time, so I started Salsa. Only 3 sessions so far – it’s fun, and good exercise. Plus it’s only a 15 min walk from home. The steps so far are simple (I didn’t say easy), but obviously the bit I am struggling with is the idea that I have to follow the man in every move (even when they get it wrong).

What else? After a particularly hard day (which was the junior change-over, but on a Wednesday when teaching was on so no registrars), a few of us went to the pictures to see Death at a Funeral. Funnier than I thought, in fact completely barking-mad, (although I suspect it wouldn’t stand up to a second viewing).

I’ve fallen in with a bad crowd. We went for a curry Monday, are going to the Barossa wineries on Saturday. The pay-off is that I am being tempted. No, pressured even. To go rowing! Some of the girls want to get an ED boat together, although the chances of getting everyone there at the same time are, I would say, pretty small. Anyway, so when I’ve got time I’ll probably give it a go.


Yet again I’m working Christmas. It’s getting to the stage where I’m not particularly bothered about it, actually. Anyhow, a few of us talked about getting together for a traditional meal sometime beforehand. And somehow I agreed to make a Christmas pud. I wasn’t even drunk at the time.

It took a day, and several supermarkets to get all the ingredients together. It is so wrong buying suet when the outside temp is over 30. I mixed it up in the evening so I’d have a day to cook the things. The recipe (handily I had one) said 6 hours. So 7 hours later and they are still boiling (I’d quartered the quantities and then divided into two). I took one off the heat – still sloppy. 1130 pm, I gave up and went to bed. God knows how much longer and they are going to need. And how much more alcohol I’ll need to put in to make them edible (they taste OK so far, but…)

And these are some random pictures of Adelaide - the festival hall abd embankment are surrounded by lots of sculpture.

Who knows, it may even mean something?

It's nice to have a working computer again (touch wood)

Doesn’t time fly... and all that?

I can probably skip over the week after the gig. Rapidly. Fairly busy at work, and I’ve never liked coming home from a holiday. Plus a cold that wouldn’t come out and wouldn’t go away.

So the next big thing was teaching on an EMST course. That’s ATLS to the rest of the world. Only 9½ yrs since first being asked to be an instructor, but I’d always been too junior. (Felt a bit like always being too young for the DofE at school.)

Anyway. After several days preparing the lectures, and being slightly unsure exactly how the whole thing was going to differ from the course back home.

I flew to Brisbane on Thursday evening – thankfully, considering I had left work after 0100 on Thursday morning and back into work for 10 the same day, Brisbane is a whole 30 minutes behind Adelaide. At leaast that was what I was telling myself to make me feel better. A 2 hour flight, I got to the hotel at 10. It was so much more humid.

The course started Friday, with a faculty meeting at 7:15. The hotel reckoned it was either 20 minutes, or 3km to walk to the hospital so I left at 6:30, not wanting to take any chances. Given that the hospital was the big building on the hill I could see as soon as I walked out of the hotel... (see photo above - hospital on teh extremem right) Anyway I stopped at Hungry Jacks (aka Burger King) for coffee. I’ve obviously discovered where you go in Australia to find men.


It turns out the course is pretty similar to ours. There was one other ED doc teaching, the rest were all surgeons. (I gather it is unusual to have that many). The candidates were mostly surgical and GP trainees with one (brave) physician. Bizarrely ED trainees don’t have to do it.

The days were long. In the first demonstration (how not to do it) I was the victim – theatrical make-up and fake broken bones, drunk and abusive (I love playing that part). I had to die. I survived the second time round. The lectures went fine – after all the stressing about how to fit the material into the time .

The course dinner was Friday night at a (-n apparently famous) rugby club. So famous I can't remember the name. The after dinner speaker was a fascinating anaesthetist (no jokes about oxymorons) who had done mountain rescue in South Africa. Proper mountains, hanging from 30 year old helicopters (and taking photos) in minus 10 degrees. Amazing.

Next morning wasn’t quite such an early start, in fact a couple of us were given an hour off while the surgical skills were taught. There was a big thing about how this “wasn’t an animal lab”, which is very rare here. I have never done a course where there are live, anaesthetised animals. I’m glad.

Saturday afternoon was spent in the blazing heat, lying wedged half under a rubbish skip in a very dusty loading bay. While groups of candidates tried to pull me out, roll me out, carry me out (less of the jokes about weight reduction surgery, thank you, you weaklings). And by the time we’d done it four times, I was having great fun arguing with Amanda (who had “run me over”, “followed me”, “been stalking me” etc etc). It was all videoed so that the final session on Sunday was a prizegiving and lets-all-have-a-laugh clips show.

Obviously we had to eat on Saturday night, too so it was the faculty dinner. In a posh (at least the restaurant thought it was) restaurant on the pier. Nice fish, shame they forgot to cook my order. So time to drink lots of wine. Then five of us went on to another bar. It was about 1:20 when I looked at the clock as I staggered in after an interesting taxi ride, with a driver who swore he knew where he was going. So much so that he drove past two hotels, and only managed to get to the front entrance of my hotel after a lot of yelling (and a very high speed U-turn).

The course finished Sunday, and for once I was not involved in scenario testing, but invigilating the exam (or reading yesterday’s paper – call it what you will), and doing one of the discussions. After the prizegiving for the extrication exercise, the course was over. To be honest I nearly blew the instructor thing. I’d been seen drinking water when we went out Saturday night. I’ll know next time.


Anyway, I had a couple of hours to kill before the plane in the evening so I went into town. Luckily Vijey was going through town so I got a lift in. Most of the shops in the centre were open, but I was carrying my bags and a very heavy manual and after finding a train timetable (no useful buses from the bus station, but a very handy transport information booth) I wandered over to the museum. Mainly because I knew I’d find a bag-drop for an hour or so. Strange place. Lots of exhibits set out for children (you are this big, a kangaroo is this big), and then a tiny corner where a case of Pacific island artefacts were next to some Etruscan ones, between a case of old bottles from a landfill site and someone’s private collection of Staffordshire pottery. And all next to the stuffed animals. Upstairs was a bit of an exhibition about the Aborigines and Torres Strait islanders which was interesting but a tad repetitious, then downstairs were Queensland Icons (a surfer and some XXXX), and a display on “How we Move Around.” There were two old planes and a fire engine. And a lot of empty space. I’d better not get asked to review the museum for the local rag. Don’t think I’d get paid.

After that it was back out into the grey, hot humidity and I walked along the South bank (closed for construction mostly) with its tiny patch of tropical garden and Vietnamese pagoda, then through the Uni to the Botanic gardens (= Park) and it was time to get the train. Thankfully as we got to the Airport, there was a slight breeze and it got slightly less muggy. Still tired, plus hungover, all I wanted to do was sleep on the plane. Opposite me, however, was Kev. A very loud, not especially bright, brickie who was on his way to work in Wagga via Adelaide with his group of mates, who almost invited the whole plane out drinking on Hindley St that night and, by the time we were waiting to disembark, was trying to sell his mate Andrew to the highest bidder. (At that stage we knew Andrew’s entire life history, propensity to get airsick etc.).

I was home and in bed less than an hour after the plane landed.

What I like about Aus

- The cheese
- Wine
- Greengrocers / the fruit
- It's socially acceptable to wear shorts to work
- Women can wear hats without being thought to be A) manic or B) have a personality disorder

- The language:

Nick Cave and Grinderman. A review

If you like your rock music heavy in a conventional sense, don’t go to see Nick Cave. If you like it dark, then he may be acceptable. But if you like it as weighty as a ton of pig iron, black and dirty, then this is for you.

Coming at the end of a weeks residency in Melbourne, the show blew in on a tornado to Adelaide. Accompanied by two of the Bad Seeds (Martyn Casey and Jim Sclavunos), and long-time collaborator Warren Ellis, this show rocked the school-hall like Thebarton Theatre and the walls reverberated.

Grinderman is the dirty side. Not dirty (that conjures images of Christine Aguilera in fishnet tights), but grimy. Fast and furious blues, Cave’s voice is unlike any other. Too grubby to be called erotic, this was pornographic.

The second half was Cave playing his solo material, although the band were the same. Ellis is a dervish on the fiddle, sometimes playing it like a guitar, occasionally wielding it like an axe, a sound like all the devils in hell are playing. And the crowd loved it. Cave can be tender and loving, but the attraction is that feeling of danger that he exudes. He’s a man who you feel wouldn’t just threaten. He would. And when he told a bloke in the crowd who was acting up to get out, right in the middle of Tupelo, it was all part of the persona.

The show was what detractors would call disorganised, but lovers would describe as anarchic, and it all added to the feeling of being a thrown together session, rather than a polished, well-rehearsed play (which it undoubtedly was). Anarchy is what the music needs.

The show started just after 8, with Grinderman raising the roof for nearly an hour, finishing with No Pussy Blues (“the saddest song in the world” – self-mocking and desperate but honest). Nick Cave solo appeared less than half an hour later and played for an hour, with some of his most well known songs and others less so. After he had disappeared from stage, the crowd howled. Apparently that just isn’t what they do in Adelaide. The band reappeared and played four more songs, until Cave’s growl was worn to a mere shadow of a voice, but still more powerful than most that make up the rock-scene. We left with ears bleeding.

And let me tell you, with a voice like that, I would. And the saddest song in the world would never have been written.

The Ghan

Surprisingly, given the early hours of the last few days, I slept until 7:30. Check out at 10. Washed my hair – again. You forget how unpleasant fag smoke is when you don’t have it around you. Dropped the camera. Bugger. Actually that’s not what I said. I said “Oh no, not again.” Or words to that effect.

I’ve never been a morning person. I had to meet with Judy and Rosie to return the boot, but I didn’t do that until 10 when we wandered into town and sat in the sun for a coffee. Recaffeinated, I then had to go and do a bit of shopping. Mainly to buy another pair of shoes as I couldn’t face wearing the ones I had on for a whole 24 hours. Not until they’d been washed! Then back to the hotel (no time to do anything else in Alice) to get my bags and walk the hot 10 minutes to the railway station which is a the back of an industrial estate.

Onto the “Legendary Ghan” as the train manager insisted on saying Every time she spoke to us. I get the message – and I hope that you’re embarrassed by the music that accompanies the information tape “Experience the legend that is...the Ghan.”

I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a train. It does an average of 60kph for 24 hours, with stops totalling about 3 hours to wait for freight trains to clear the single track sections (one of which was over 100 wagons long, with 4 locos). It travels through the desert, 10 hours of which are in darkness. It’s not Intercity.

I’ve probably got a slightly jaundiced view – I should have done the journey on the way up when I hadn’t spent 3 days driving through the outback. And it really was cattle class. The seats were airline recliners, and if you stepped beyond the “red kangaroo” class into the gold coaches, there was real trouble. The down side of having a lot of leg room is that with no foot rest you just slide off the seat. So my sleeping bag ended up as a foot rest instead of keeping me warm as I’d intended. Stupidly I’d also left my ear plugs in the bag that got checked in, and there was a babe that cried every hour, on the hour. I reckon I slept for about 20 min. The carriage shower was OK, though, and they supplied towels.

The food was BR c. 1990. (supplied by Qantas, I noticed). The prices were c 1990 too, to be fair, but still...

Anyway I got my diary right up to date, read a couple of books. Wore my iPod batteries out, that sort of thing. At least there was a lounge car so you didn’t have to sit in your seat for 24 hours. Thursday’s scenery was very similar (/ the same) as the last 3 days, as we went back south through the bottom of the Northern Territory and the sun set on flat earth. We were just north of Port Augusta as the sun came up over the Southern Flinders Mountains, and it is very noticeable how much drier the landscape is in SA – hardly any trees. The land in still flat but eventually gives way to fields of corn (very sparse fields of corn), then you’re riding past Parafield airport and in Adelaide.

There were 3 others from the tour on the train, all of them Japanese so I chatted to them for a bit, but there was quite a language barrier. The bloke next to me was from Rushden and I spent a bit of time talking to him and his friends.

Then I was waiting for baggage reclaim, then a taxi, and I was home. With several loads of washing to do I slept for about 40 minutes (which was a surprise given that someone was using a chainsaw outside the window), before getting ready to go out again.

Piccies may (or may not) follow when I get the film processed

King's Canyon - the end

Hooray. 4:55, and someone is snoring – but it doesn’t really matter because the Backstreet Boys will be playing very soon. Bloody song. Time to watch the stars.

After a bit of farting around trying to get a very large (and very warm) sleeping bag into a large sack, I was a little more awake and managed to get all my tea down my throat. Drink problem solved.

This time we drove out of the camp, along the dust track, for the last time to go to King’s Canyon. The sun was rising as we left, and in the low, bright light, the grass glowed white as though it had snowed.

King’s Canyon was full of the same buses as usual – all running round the same sights, and there was a queue walking up the first hill (which was steep but short). After that the track wound along the top of the canyon, through mounds of cracked sandstone like wicker beehives as far as you could see. One, that projected over the canyon was like the silhouette of a head with mouth open waiting to speak. You can see exactly how these places became sacred to a people without the science or the tools to explain it. The trees on top are ghost gums, which are covered in a white powder that works as sun block, and with the ability to selectively shut down and lose limbs if there has been no rain. Where the sea once flowed are ripples on the rock, and there are fossil remnants of jellyfish if you know where to look.


We then descended into the back of the canyon to the water hole, hidden so you’d never find it if you didn’t know it was there, with sheer cliffs that must be well over 50m high, ochre and orange striped. Back up again and it was still only just after 9am, but still would have been hot were it not for the breeze. The rocks form steps and amphitheatres, and cycads grow. It would have been very easy to lose the trail. Soon enough we descended, but it felt like we had finally done a proper walk (even if it was only 6km ish).

We left to go back to the “resort” (campground) with the swimming pool and had a dip and a shower before lunch at 1130. Then we started the 5 hour drive back to Alice. The road wasn’t any more interesting than before (I wouldn’t want it exciting, however). A road where 30m between service stations is counted as too close. I only managed to sleep for bout 30 min, so when the chance came to sit up front and talk to someone who wasn’t asleep (hopefully), I took it. Can’t believe we were talking about movies – how long is it since I last went to the pictures? It avoided playing I Spy all the way home. Phew.

And then we were back in Alice and dropping people off at their hotels. When we got back to the Desert Rose, Judy found that one of her boots that had been on the edge of the shelf in the trailer (the same pair that she thought she had forgotten when we started out) was no longer there. After a search through, the bus turned round and headed back to look for it.

This time I had the room two along, right at the end, which sadly was a twin, not a double. I managed to avoid falling asleep (narrowly) before getting a taxi back into town (which was actually about a 10min walk, but it was dark). Everyone converges on the one bar (Bojangles) in town after the tours. It’s pretty impressive – there’s even a web site where you can get people who aren’t there to put money in the kitty. Several people were already there when I arrived, then Damo arrived with the boot in a plastic bag – which had been sitting on the roadside outside a hostel. Next challenge – remembering to take it back to the hostel with me. The food was pretty good, although one portion would have served about 3 people. People watching (and gossip) – don’t you love it. Kate got sweet revenge on Damo for all the early mornings by getting the DJ to play the BackStreet Boys, going out live on radio Alice.

Later, after closing time, we went on to a v dodgy club. More like a warehouse (but not in a trendy way, in a transport depot sort of way) with concrete floor, a few pool tables and, er, that’s it. Oh – a dance floor. Dire music. We spent an hour trying to leave, getting Team Japan to teach us those moves they do in front of the camera and what they mean. I think it was about 2am when we managed to get away. Should have waited another 3 hours, and we’d have been up for 24.

Uluru Proper

We were woken by the BackStreet Boys at stupid o’clock. There’s one thing about an alarm like that – it makes you get up. I said upright, not awake. That happened about 15 min later when I chucked a hot cup a tea over myself. Don’t ask why, cos I haven’t a clue. War wound 3.

Back on the bus and I was sat in the front passenger seat to watch Uluru come into sight, a black shadow against the teal and crimson of the dawn just showing. Kodak moment.

When we got to the viewing site it was full with the same crowd as the night before (strangely some of the buses were taking people away). Dawn was at 6:11: we had about 25 min to wait in the cool. It was a cold grey light, gradually warming and you start to see shadows on the rock, then pools of light, then the orange rock and the shadows creep away. And you take yet another photo, hoping this will be THE one, or if you’re Japanese of your friwnds doing yet another strange gesture in front of the camera.


We started the walk around the base of the rock at about 7. The climb was open – a steady stream of emmets climbing a very steep shoulder. The Anangu don’t like you climbing, I suppose that at least by allowing one way up, it makes it marginally safer. But it’s not surprising that 35 people have fallen off in 10 year: were Uluru in a mountain range, not on the tourist trail you would not attempt it without gear. In fact, you’d probably walk around thinking “how the hell am I going to get up there?”. Anna and James got about halfway before being put off by a man scrambling down out of control.



So the rest of us walked around the bottom which is around 6miles. Sadly the most dramatic parts are sacred sites so photos are forbidden. They also seemed to all be on the side that was in shadow for longest – not stupid there. The rock is shades of red, ochre and orange with holes in it that look like honeycomb, or icing dripping down. The grass is green and yellow, the leaves on the mulga silvery-blue. You get closer to the rock after about halfway and the surface is surprisingly dirty, pitted and crazed like a jigsaw or scales. This side is the waterhole, so there are trees and flowers (although it is a long time since meaningful rain). There are great gashes where huge slabs of rock have fallen that look as though someone has slashed at the rok with a machete, and one of them is a mouth with lips and a tongue. (Imagine it speaking).

Further on round another shoulder and you think you must be nearly there, but there is another slope in front of you, then another, until finally you see the trail of people stupid enough to start the way up in the heat, pulling themseves up by the hand-rail and you’re back in the car park.




We did one final short walk before moving on, into a cave that looks like a breaking wave, frozen, and had an illustrated talk - with actions – on some of the creation stories. After that was the cultural centre which had more illustrations of the history and culture from the Anangu, but was mostly a chance to by tourist tat of varying prices.

There is an interesting quote from one of the owners that recurs, saying “The tourist comes here with the camera taking pictures all over. What has he got? Another photo to take home... ” which I think is an interesting illustration of a difference between the cultures. A photo is not just a picture, it’s an attempt to capture the feelings, emotions and experience of a place or event so that you have more than just the memory.

We then had a quick coach ride back to the camp for a lunch of chicken burgers (now I remember why I don’t buy them – but we are camping so it didn’t really matter), then back into the bus for another few hours. There were two stops – the first was for the viewing spot for Mt Conner (another table mountain) and Coach-Captain fag break, the second was because we needed wood for the fire to cook on. Actually I’m lying, because there was a stop for a quick (half-hour) to have a swim / shower before we got to the George Gill Hilton (beng in the George Gill Mtns). There was some gas to cook on, but we had a dinner of salmonella (or was it Listeria, I can’t remember) chicken cooked on the fire with damper, which is like scone.

We turned in late (11 o’clock) after sitting around the fire chatting, burning marshmallows and drinking beer. Most of us slept outside. The stars (at least until I take off my glasses) are incredible. Orion (upside down... is that a sword in your pocket...?) and the Southern cross (about all I know), with a finger-nail paring of a moon and space hardware rushing across the sky.

Monday

The hotel, an ex motel, had connecting doors between the rooms. They were completely un-soundproofed. So I know the blokes next door went out at half 8, came back with friends sometime later etc. They either came back in at 4:45, or were getting up. Which wasn’t much of a problem for me getting up a half-hour later as I was already wide awake.

The bus was v slightly early, and two others from the tour (Rosie and Judy) were staying at the Desert Rose too. After a short time looking for Judy’s boots which she may or may not have packed (nice to not be the disorganised one), we went round picking everyone else up then left Alice on the 5 hour drive to Yulara (Ayer’s Rock resort). It’s an interesting road, the Stuart Highway – scrub, sand, rocks, bushes, more sand. For about 5 minutes.

The first stop was at a camel farm, which thankfully also sold a sort of coffee, the effects of which lasted for about 10 minutes before I fell asleep. When I woke up, the desert was still the same. It’s surprisingly green and very much flat, except for the table mountains that line up in the distance like carriages in a great yard waiting to be shunted into a proper mountain range. Buzzards and Kites swooped in front of the bus. Civilisation is a 60kph speed limit and a radio transmitter mast.


Eventually, after about 2 hours, we took a right turn (directions out here aren’t complicated) down the Lasseter Highway through more scrub, the burnt trunks of the sheoaks stark against the green grass and red earth. The most striking thing is the colour.

Finally, poking a huge orange head over the dunes you see Uluru to the left, and dark Kata Tjuta looking like Homer Simpson lying on his back to the left. We stopped in the campsite in Yulara for lunch, then it was back on the bus (a beaten up old Mitsubishi with god-knows how many miles on the clock, a faded yellow logo, a menagerie of cuddly toys in the front and vinyl seats! And a CD player that only seemed to play the BackStreet Boys) to go to Kata Tjuta. On the way we all introduced ourselves, favourite film (of the moment), favourite food (any, as far as I’m concerned) and star sign (obviously I’m an archetypal home-loving cancerian).

Broadly speaking there were around 7 Brits, 3 Aussies, a Danish girl, a German girl, and Team Japan with an honorary South Korean. There were only 6 blokes. Oh and a Canadian guy who I don’t think said a word, just looked at the whole thing with distaste. Certainly did very little cooking. The leader was a fireman called Damo.














Kata Tjuta is a range of 35 lumps of concrete (sorry, conglomerate), the tallest is over 500m (although I don’t know the height of the plain surrounding it) formed when the whole of central Aus was 50 fathoms deep. It’s an Aboriginal sacred males place, although they allow the tourists in. (Heavitree Gap, which is the way south out of Alice is another – the only time Aboriginal women are allowed to look at it (thankfully) is when they are driving.)

The temp was well over 30ºC, maybe over 35º. It was the only walk in the afternoon heat – what few climbs there were seemed longer in the baking sun. Plus that key ring that caused so much trouble a few weeks ago has become a piece of sharp wire in my bag. War wound No 1.

The trail of tourists winds round the tallest head, to a green lawn with a shady gum tree. Then along the walls of a v deep valley, the sides scarred black and pitted by water. The valley looks like it could lead to anywhere in the world, but eventually you climb up a steep incline to a magical view over the valley in the centre. Below are the silver trunks winding through the greenery, surrounded by the round deep red heads of the mountains. I guess there must be water somewhere.


45 min later (it wasn’t a long walk) we were back on the bus, chasing the clock to get to the viewing site for sunset over Uluru. Hundreds of buses spewing tourists onto the car park. Who started the tradition of alcohol at the viewing? If you pay enough, you get a white-clothed table with cold champagne in glasses. We drank it out of plastic beakers, with the chips and dips set up on top of the eskie, while we stood in the rapidly cooling evening watching the sun sink behind Kata Tjuta, turning Uluru even redder, then greying it. The coming night was a purple shadow behind the rock, split by camera flashes. However, I now have photos to prove that I’m not in hiding in Peterborough writing this blog.

Afterwards it was back to the campsite with its bizarre canvas huts (not really tents) for a dinner of barbequed kangaroo steak and the most bizarre sausages I’ve ever had (except maybe the bright pink, cheap Wall’s ones you get in the UK). Damo was not a bad cook, just to much bloody garlic in everything.

We all went to bed after dinner given the early start. I was so tired that I slept in the cabin I’d put my stuff, couldn’t even be bothered to find a swag to sleep outside. Certainly not awake enough to see the fence post I tripped over (war wound no 2) and I have a palm-of-hand size bruise on my right shin.

A Whole New Territory

The taxi to the airport arrived at 0800, and I spent the journey chatting to the driver about his family who had been among the children sent here from the UK after the war. So many here have interesting stories to tell. At the airport I tried to check in by machine to be told that I had been allocated an exit seat – and had to check in by person. The queue was huge, so I asked and got shunted to the business class desk (sadly not a business class seat) and was through in 5 minutes. It’s strange starting a trip in a foreign airport and not being on the way home.

The plane journey was OK, until about 10 minutes before landing when the pilot came on the tannoy (interestingly that’s not a common word over here) to say that he apologised very much but the “office had just informed” him that the baggage machine had “broken down” at Adelaide and half the bags had been left behind. A quiet, anxious murmur ran round the plane. We flew over Uluru which looks like a red puddle from the air.

Thankfully my bag appeared (I had been envisaging a frantic afternoon shopping), probably due to the fact that I had missed the check in queue. There’s a shuttle bus from the airport into Alice Springs. There either seem to be backpacker’s hostels (8 to a room and the couple on the bunk below doing what they should be doing in private) or 5 star hotels. The place I was in was a hostel converted from a motel, so to get a private room ensuite I was right at the back. Still they were easy going and waived the night's payment until I got back from the tour.

I had a look round Alice in the afternoon, in the heat. It’s a small town that would be much smaller were the tourists not leaving from there to go to the desert. Most shops were closed, there were cafes open for food, and many Aborigines accosting you in the street to buy their paintings of very varied value ($2 about right for some). I would worry that I would buy one, turn it over and find “Made in China” printed there. Sadly several of the Aborigines were already passing-out drunk, contrasting with the tourists looking through their cameras.

Predictably, given the lack of things open, I went to the Botanical Gardens. It’s a patch of hard earth where a large selection of desert (it’s actually semi-arid) plants are collected, and a sacred hill in the middle which you can climb providing you keep to the path. Alice is strange attenuated place which is spread around several rocky foothills of the McDonnell Ranges, and with the wide Todd River running through the middle. You can tell it’s a river because there are trees growing along the course. Right along the middle of it. In the local creation-time stories (Tjukurpa), it is supposed to have been the gathering place of caterpillar, although if the hill in the Botanic Gdns is a caterpillar, the McDonnells are anacondas. Actually the gardens were really peaceful, even if the only shady place to lie is the top of a picnic bench.


When I got back to the room I turned on the TV – there are 2 channels. The local one (Imparja) is loosely based on Channel 9, and ABC. Thankfully the news was on and I managed to find out the Rugby score. Good effort. I thought the TV ads in Adelaide (all furniture stores and building materials) were strange, but in the NT they were for cow dip, horse auctions and “don’t go out in a boat without looking at the weather first!” Large country, small population.

From then to now

Slightly behind – that’s what happens when you go away. These next few will abbreviations of my holiday diary (you really don’t want the ramblings). So where was I? Oh yes, the Pharmacists Farewell (thanks to Jo for the photos).

Next day I wasn’t in until 4pm – just as well really. Saturday I spent booking train tickets, which made the trip away finally seem real. Then in the evening, given I was working late the next day, there wasn’t much point in going to be until after the rugby. Happily I got to see the game again the next morning too! Just in case any Poms missed the result the first time round. Surprisingly the commentary wasn’t that biased as I think the England team earned the respect of the commentators. (Not like the other game – you wouldn’t believe that France were actually on the pitch). I think the Aussie media response to the loss was quite muted. At work Sunday night there strangely wasn’t much mention of the game. At least from the Aussies there wasn’t. New Zealand, however, collectively imploded.


I was up at a decent time on Monday, but still too lazy to get away and do the walk I had planned. So I cut a couple of miles off and dumped the car on a roadside verge somewhere up Mt Lofty. I probably cut off the best part of the walk, as it turns out. The plan was to follow the Heysen trail down to Bridgewater Mill, which is the best way I can think of to go wine tasting on my own.

Considering the Heysen trail was opened, celebrated, commemorated at the scout camp (home to two New Guinean totem poles) the trail has been diverted to run along the perimeter road with forbidding signs warning of prosecution if you put a step wrong. Then of course the golfers had diverted the oath onto the roads too. Eventually I got to Mt George, which is a tranquil walk – the birds the hush of the wind in the leaves, the rumble and drone of the Southern Expressway. The path then dives away through an underpass under the road (see graffiti piccie) to Cox Creek which runs through Arbury (nothing like the Arbury where I nearly bought a house – you’d want to live here). There are turtles the size of dinner plates – well NHS plates, really (ie not large enough to hold a proper portion), and Kookaburras, which are big mean birds that’s have your burger out of your hand as soon as look at you (I spoke to the witnesses) and have the most unearthly call.


A pleasant 15 minutes at Bridgewater Mill (Unwin's sell the wine, apparently) and time to return. The warm all's-right-with-the-world (lunchtime drinking!) carried me back to the top of Mt George, but I really wouldn’t recommend the rest of the walk.

I was working the rest of the week, did a not entirely successful teaching session (it had worked really well in the UK – guess it was just a little bit too different here), and had a Friday that was one of those days that creeps up like a storm, then leaves you afterwards wondering what the hell just hit you. At least the time goes quickly.


Actually I had a really blonde day – it wasn’t until I got halfway across the parklands that I realised that I had forgotten to put on my cycle helmet. It doesn’t matter in England if you do that. So I ended up leaving the bike at work and walking home Friday night. It’s just under an hour. And I had to walk into town Saturday to pick the bike up. Irritatingly my iPod speaker has blown a fuse – for the sake of a ha’penny fuse I’m going to have to junk a £100 set of speakers. I know because I spent an hour trailing round town looking for a power supply.