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After the lawyers have had a good long look at it.

OK, I'll publish the non-libellous bit ...
You'll just have to wait for the rest...
What else has been happening? In an attempt to try and raise moral in the dept and give the Regs a chance to informally chat and air their grievances, a barbecue was organised in Bel Air last weekend. Thankfully it was a gorgeous day, not a cloud in the sky. There was a good consultant showing, not bad from those rotated out to other hospitals and specialities. And you can imagine how many of the Regs currently working in the dept turned up. (Actually it was quite predictable, when you looked at the rota – all of those who turn up were either working or on holiday).

The blokes played footie while the rest of us stood around and chatted. Actually Claire and I went off to the Nursery – which specialises in native plants. So I can fill in the gaps that have appeared in the yard throughout the summer and the heatwave.

Sunday I spent doing chores. I’ve got to start using up what’s in the cupboard. So a mincemeat (I’d forgotten how alcoholic that stuff is), pear and frangipane tart (my pastry’s improving slowly) and some oat biscuits (see the other blog for the recipe).

When I took the biccies into work, one of the nurses took one look and said “Oh good, Anzac biscuits” and proceeded to reel off the recipe. As though they were something special. I’m amused.

It’s the best way to get rid of food (and to get on the right side of people at work) – take in food. Kind of brightens the day. The other thing that brightened my day was realising that my German is not O-Level / School-girl level. No. It’s about the level of “demented old lady” after I spent 10 minutes talking a sort of English/German hybrid. And having a conversation! I don’t think that’s a good thing.
I finish work in a couple of weeks. My visa is up on the 1st July, so officially the 30th June, but I’ve got holiday and days-in-lieu. I’ve booked to go an a tour from Broome to Darwin via the Kimberly. So I hope it should be pretty special. Which leaves me 12 days to do stuff before I leave. Perhaps stuff that is slightly cheaper. My plans have been slightly curtailed by having to transfer money from my account here into my current a/c back home as the darling building society won’t let me get at my money. I logged on to transfer some to be told I couldn’t do it as I didn’t have a “card reader”. A what? How exactly am I supposed to know I am supposed to have one if you don’t send me one, or tell me when it’s applicable from. I think I’d have been slightly less incandescent of the girl in the call centre hadn’t sounded like she really didn’t give a toss. She probably didn’t, but you don’t let people know that.

Stroppy letter in the post. And thankful that the dollar is strong at the mo – but it leaves me a little strapped over here. Which does make all the above negotiations stick in the craw slightly – I’m paid about half of what the consultants are to do the same job.
I don’t often talk about work. Partly because it’s not fair to the patients – even brief, oblique references nowhere near confidential, but still I wouldn’t like to be talked about, so do as you would be done by. And partly because most of it really isn’t that interesting, despite what you may all think. The things that make it worth while are little old ladies who say “Thank you”, the colleagues (nurses, Drs, clerks) who keep asking me when my leaving drinks are and the little laughs. (Actually maybe they want to make sure I really go). Every job has the mundane, and in ours that’s most of it. There are shifts when all I do is nag. Sometimes I may not even get involved with many patients but to keep the department flowing often doesn’t involve that. Most of what we do is get patients sorted into a holding pattern where they can recover, which to be honest they would probably do anyway because that’s what we’re designed to do. The sense of achievement is often much smaller.

Similarly there are the bad parts. Grumpy colleagues who just can’t be arsed because you haven’t sorted everything out to the nth degree, even when you’re asking for help. Difficult patients who seem to think that because they can fit Senior Politician’s names (or worse the Chief Exec) into the conversation that somehow they will get different / preferential treatment; the ones who turn up wanting god-knows-what, but not what you can offer; private hospitals who take one look at a patient and close the doors because they don’t fit their nice, clean criteria.
So last night wasn’t a bad night. It was an average Friday night. It didn’t throw up anything that you’d expect from a Friday – the same round of sick patients, difficult patients (which doesn’t stop the sick patients coming in, Sir) and drug addicts. But for once I actually felt as though I “saved a patient’s life”. It really doesn’t happen that often that you get that feeling. But last night I did. I took a sick patient and with an actually very small, simple thing by the time we’d finished he was in a position to get better. Not to die as he’d been desperately trying to do when he arrived. And of course, over the next few days I may find out that all I was doing was delaying the inevitable. But that’s not the point.

Actually, sometimes when a patient is trying to die it’s right to say “enough”, let’s just make them comfortable and peaceful. Quite often it is, actually, just depends on the patient. But sometimes you can make a difference. It’s an intense feeling, it’s not necessarily a big deal, but it makes the job worth doing. It’s why we do Emergency.

Why am I writing this? Partly because I can’t yet publish most of what I’ve written, plus I guess to show that it’s not all negative, that sometimes it’s the best job in the world

And sometimes it ain’t.

An Early Start

3:30am. I don’t do 3:30am, it’s so early, it’s still last night. But that was the time the alarm went off. Obviously, knowing I had to be up at that time, I didn’t fall asleep until about half past 2. That’s just normal when I have to be up so early. It would have been slightly later that I set the alarm for, but there were things I’d forgotten to do the night before, one of which was to have enough money in my purse for a taxi. Good job the cashpoint is just over the road, really.

So the taxi arrived (early) just before half four and I was standing in the queue to get through airport security before five. Before even the coffee shop was open, but only just. We left Adelaide as the sky was starting to lighten over the hills, several dawns as we flew eastward delicately touching the clouds so they looked like mountains on fire.

Melbourne was cooler, busy. There is no trainline to the airport as the govt (allegedly) signed a contract not to build one for an extended period of time after the toll road opened. So onto the bus which is the only alternative to the $50 taxi fare. It drops at the bus station on Spencer St next to the main railway station, which is basically a very large wavy roof over some train tracks. It’s pretty impressive, or at least I’m sure it would have been had I not already been up for five hours and still walking through the morning rush hour.

Over the river to the conference centre, which is in the Crown Entertainment Centre – a huge complex with casino, cinema, conference centre built around two hotels. Probably the first time I’ve ever been in a casino as I walked through, and probably the last time for a very long time.

I actually got to the conference with time for (another) coffee and to find a corner to sit down and sleep. Along with several others. I did not book the tickets for that early – I wouldn’t. But someone else was paying, so I’d no choice. I was going in lieu of Andrew Pearce who’s just had the baby , paid for by the SA Red Cross Transfusion Service. It turned out that I was definitely the only Emergency Physician, and almost the only doctor – there were about 8 others. So mostly lab staff.

It was an interesting first day – much of which was interesting in an “I’m a doc so most of this sciency stuff is interesting”, although there were useful bits. Lunch time I went to find the hotel, having left my bags in a random corner at the conference. Just over the river, only about 10 min walk and opposite Flinders St Station. That’s easy. I left the after-session drinks early and went back to have a shower. Something to wake up, anyway. Then the choice of going to the evening lecture or falling asleep and maybe not bothering to eat. Sadly just too knackered to really appreciate any sort of culture, so I went to the lecture. It was fairly interesting, about Biobanks which is a research sort of thing, but by a lawyer / ethicist who was obviously a supporter so not much discussion of the controversial side or debate about them.

I stopped for food on the way back, eventually finding a Greek restaurant that actually had Greek beer – haven’t had that for a few years (and not usually only one bottle at a time!). It was a restaurant that was crying out for Gordon Ramsay to sort out. As I walked in there was a strong smell of red wine, and a group of blokes sitting on the balcony watching the waiter mop up a smashed bottle. Inside there were a few other people (it was early and a Monday – none of the other places I’d walked past were particularly busy). The décor was OK, although not really capturing that sapphire sky, sparkling sea, green Cyprus covered hills that I think of in Greece. Instead the word that spring to mind was “red”. There was a long back of deep red lights along one wall with sparkly bits hanging over them.

The waiting staff were fighting a bit of an uphill battle. I ordered Mezze – three dishes, but more just kept arriving. The waitress (who was French – so European) spent her time apologising to the couple behind me for various things (and I’m still not sure if there was genuinely something to apologise about or if that was just her natural demeanour), and taking dishes away from my table. The dolmades were disappointing – I can make better – but the cheese and spinach pie was pretty good. As was the pita, although a tad oily. A new menu, apparently.

So a bizarre place which could have been great but just fell a little short.

Next day was a little more of the same, but had the relevant stuff about trauma. Again, actually pretty useful and I think it was a shame there weren’t more doctors there. Why do conference centres here always provide a small box of mints? I just don’t know, but you just sit there eating them which is irritating. The girl next to me, who was an obstetrician who’d just flown in from KL, fell asleep.

The evening was the gala dinner. Not knowing anyone (and therefore not really talking to anyone other than small talk with people, I didn’t sign up to the seating plan but left it to the organisers. So I ended up being put with various others from Adelaide – lab staff from the RAH, Lyell-Mac, Women’s and Children and one of the private labs. Good for a bit of informal discussion to take back to the dept, and actually they were a laugh, but I left as soon as the food was over. The food was OK, but over-reaching itself a little. Well done for having fish as the beef was raw (with no option of having it cooked any other way) but the way it was served was an equal number of each dish to each table then you had to swap between you. The wine was OK, but not special.

To be honest, I was still knackered and already knew I was going down with something – sore throat and headache. Plus I was flying back the next day to go pretty much straight into work.

I went to the first session the next day, mainly to pick up any handouts that were hanging around, then left to get to the airport. Still cold, although any rain only happened while we were in the conference. I’ve never flown so much as I have here. Although to be honest it’s easier – only a couple of companies to check prices and you book tickets online just like booking a hotel.

It was surprisingly warm in Adelaide, and I picked a taxi with a very talkative driver. I managed an hour in bed when I got back then into work to carry on.

The sore throat just got worse. Friday the car battery was dead again. Well, almost dead. And yes, the boot light was warm when I opened up – so I’m sure that is the problem. The offending bulb is now not in the car. The bus gets me to work at five past 8, which is very irritating. Once is OK, but I couldn’t get it every morning with a ward round at 8.

I did nothing at the weekend – lay on the sofa, reading. It wasn’t fair to go to the party I was supposed to go to and share the cold around, I didn’t think. Sunday I had to go out – had to go and drive the car for a while to recharge the battery once the RAC had kindly got it started. Again.

I drove north. The weather was beautiful, so up towards the Barossa to see how far I could get. The petrol in the tank (which wasn’t much) lasted as far as Truro, which is a little village by the side of the Sturt Highway on its way to Sydney. It’s strange hearing the names as I always seem to see two places at the same time. Obviously no cathedral, no grey clouds (like the last time I was in Truro), no river – but there was an old bank in a mid-west US style, roses and bougainvillea. And a service station, thankfully.

On the way back I went via Kapunda, to look at the miner. Map Kernow (which is “Son of Corwall” – has become Map the Miner in Aussie terms). There is the old copper mine site, which is about a mile to walk round. About my limit currently, it took about 20 minutes. Much of the open excavations are still there, which you can walk into, and many of the shafts which obviously you can’t. There are no buildings left, just a few walls and a chimney which you’ll see on any poster of the area. The sun was dropping, already and I failed to find the old pumphouse – good old Aussie signposts. Or maybe it was the very small stone hut by the pond. Probably was. So I drive round the back of the town (two IGAs within 100 yds of each other and little else). Most of the streets are dirt tracks once you get off the main road and many houses look like mobile homes.


The very large miner is a monument to Cornish miners, but is only 20 yrs old. Yet another in the fad for very-large-things-that-might-just-attract-a-tourist. So back to Adelaide.









In the sunset I drove off round the hills for a bit. Up One Tree Hill Road – which is a hill with lots of trees. Into valleys where night falls early as soon as the sun drops to the west. The last glow of the sun on the tops of the trees turning the far hills and trees pink and purple. And over the ridge again into Adelaide via Golden Grove as the sun fell burnt orange into the sea, melting away. It was dark by the time I got back home.

Watervale

Is a little village halfway between here and there. Auburn and Clare, sorry. I woke eventually at about nine, although it hadn’t been the most of unbroken of sleep as the curtains didn’t quite meet and the sun was shining on to the pillow.

Ina had already been up and run for a couple of hours by the time I got up – I don’t know how she does it, it’s not right. But at least she knew the way to the bike track. Breakfast, as I said, had been kindly left by the owners. Maybe not the port, perhaps. So we had fresh coffee and cereal. And we were only half an hour later leaving than planned, which probably wasn’t that bad.

The bikes were in the shed, waiting with tyres full of air. That makes a change for me. I didn’t know tyres could be hard. Although the air had a slight chill, the sun was warm and it wasn’t long before I was cycling in a T-Shirt. After a short climb to the Riesling Trail we went South to Auburn as that was closer. It was lovely cycling, small grey puffy clouds stopping the temp becoming ridiculously hot. We passed a couple cycling the other way and had a discussion about where to get coffee. I wonder if they managed to – because obviously we were a great help


It was fine until we then came to the first legend-bearing board, explaining that the Riesling Trail follows the old mining railway that carried metal to the docks – consequently sloped gently downhill all the way from Clare to Adelaide. Which confirmed my suspicions. I’d been told that it was gently undulating by Jack (shares the office) so I’d read it to mean Up and Down. But it did gently undulate – to Adelaide.

So the ride into Auburn was lovely, quick etc. The trail brings you out on the main road through – the place looked so much more alive than in the dark the night before. A C19th chapel was a café with couples sitting at tables outside, billboards and people outside the IGA. Where else can you see a sign to 3 corners of England and a deep south all-American cowgirl? (Actually Tarlee is a couple of houses and a feed factory).

None of the festival events down this end started before 12 so we went down one of the side streets (THE side street?) past the oval – which every hamlet and speed limit seems to have – to an olive shop. Home made and processed, and you could even buy your olive tree there. The Red Wine, Basil and Black Pepper ones were definitely the best.








We cycled on and as it was already getting close to 12, out of Auburn to Eyre Creek where the Barossa Cheese Company were doing cheese tasting. Could hardly miss that one. Actually they do a grenache that was the closest we got to a pink wine all day, and a pretty special deep purple shiraz. Apparently these people have only been here a few years, although the some of the vines are over 100 yrs old. Doing a good job so far.

So weaving our way onwards, and definitely upwards. Next stop was food – and one of the wineries had a wood fired pizza thing going. Going slowly, that is. We arrived at just after one. We left at nearly three. The first mistake was to look at the wines first. They missed a trick – only three wines to try. Admittedly two were pre-release (they were OK), but there should have been some of the rest of the range indoors. Given how slow the food was, they’d have sold a lot. The second mistake was ordering pizza. Ten numbers (or so) to go, but the old boy making them had one speed. And it wasn’t fast. One at a time. Then another. Take the first out. Etc, etc. pick a random number to shout out to give the pizza to. Get the picture.

The third mistake was not changing the order to pasta earlier. As it happened several people had obviously left, and Ina’s pasta hadn’t even been started. Still, time to sober up. But it became apparent very soon that there was no way we were going to even get as far as Sevenhill, the next village above Watervale.

So onwards, and when we got back to Watervale, we decided to leave the festivities behind, pick a local road with several wineries on and just do that.

Superb idea. The first was Crabtree, makers of Riesling, Tempranillo, and others. Although Riesling is the Clare specialty and Shiraz is SA’s, there was a good v variety of grapes on show. The cellar door was busy but we had good attention and the wines were excellent.

Ignoring the trail, we carried on up the hill. Damn. And it turned out that the gears on the bike I’d picked needed a good kicking. Or a screwdriver. Whichever is handy, really. Still, no hurry. Up the ridge, dirt road to an artist’s studio. Peacefully hiding away among the trees, with the brazier that seems common to all touristy rooms in winter. And an amazing view. The clouds had gone from the sky, the sun was starting to get lower and more gold. The paintings (actually mostly limited edition prints) were something too. Most were landscapes, fairly impressionistic but obviously South Australia, The figures were arresting. Can you tell I was impressed? And he was affable, chatty. Probably got a lot more sales that way.

Back onto the path and downhill pretty much all the way to Olssen winery. It’s just over the main ridge in a small narrow valley that could, were it not for the gum trees, have been in France. The was leaving the valley as we left, several bottles heavier. I’ve never had Primitivo, nor several of the other grapes. At least not knowingly; they specialise in Burgundian varieties.

Last, as the clock was starting to beat us and the light was lowering, was on the way back into Watervale, called Stephen John. Strange man, the proprietor, who seemed glad to get rid of the couple before who’d been there, he said, for and hour and a half. Pretty Excessive. Again, a good range and we found white and red sparkling. And a pino noir that I actually liked. (Maybe Pino Noir is just better after several other types – I’ve always found it too cabbagy). And I’ll have to get people back home into the sparkling Shiraz thing.

Back at the cottage and it was dusk. Warmer than the night before so we sat down with a bottle before making our way back to the pub. Much busier tonight, they actually looked doubtful as to whether they could find us a table. They did – which was a good job as there would have been no driving into Clare that night. Fish and Chips and a Penna Lane Rose (strawberries and creams).

Afterwards we went into the main bar where we took the only spot at the bar. Which obviously was the regular spot of one of the locals. Through the slurred speech and giving Ina a little too much attention, he managed to say that (allegedly) he was the poet that we’d just missed at Clos Clare when we’d left in disgust. Gave us a poem. Goodness knows if it was or not, and as I never caught any more of his name then Max, so I’ll never know.

Next morning the weather was even clearer. We packed up the cottage and left. Once again the intention was to go to one of the festival venues to get breakfast. This time it was Paullett just off the road to Clare. And once again the queue was ridiculous – this time to have a dollop of something slopped on a plate with “pancakes” (the thick American large drop-scone type). It may have been good but we didn’t give it a chance. Particularly as I wasn’t going to be drinking. Too much driving to do. Another coach-party arrived and we left to try Clare.

Jo and Seb were on the way up, with Jo’s Mother, to meet us. So we cancelled that one and tried Clare. For 11 o’clock on a Festival Sunday, Clare was closed. The only cafés were chippies and greasy spoons rather than coffee shops, or Subway. And that was it.


Somebody needs to really sort the marketing out. The “festival site” on the showground had a couple of marquees and nobody there. You’d have thought there’s be enough money floating around there, with the wineries, to have really got hold of this thing and run with it. Particularly as it is the premier showcase for the area. But no, you’d be far better going on an normal day and doing your own thing and that was when we had really started to enjoy it.

We stopped at the take-away (which was a little more than that) from Friday and met the others there. So we sat in the sun, and had brunch and coffee. Very pleasant – good view, good weather, good company etc. On the way out they were to follow us top try some of the wineries we’d been to the day before.

The only problem was that the first, which we’d been assured would be open, was definitely not. I think he possibly missed out on some money as we were going back to buy, and the others possibly would have too. Never mind. We split up, they went on to Olssen and we went to the artist studio (Murray Edwards – worth Googling). Where we both bought a couple of prints.

After that back to Crabtree (still sold out of Rose) and then Eyre Creek and out of Clare. It’s much prettier than the Barossa – smaller, more trees and of course now the vines are turning the colours are autumnal and more so in the golden light. Definitely the right time to visit. On the way back we went through Kapunda – which had been where the whole mining thing started (the wine took over as the main farming activity when the mining finished) where there is a twenty (or so) foot statue of a Cornish Miner.

We stopped off at Krystel and Jeffo’s place in Greenock for coffee. They moved in Jan and it was the first time I’d been up, although Ina has been regularly. Nice house, over looking an oval at the back and a flood plain at the front. Near Maggie Beer’s and Charles Melton winery. I could think of worse places.

That’s only an hour from Adelaide, and we were back just after four. Which is a good job as I was on the 6 o’clock flight to Melbourne the next morning. And no, I didn’t book those tickets, before you say anything.

Carrick Hill to Clare

Such a long time since I last wrote. Only 2 months to go, this time in 2 months I will be packing up, trying to decide exactly how many of my warm clothes I dare send on a slow 3 month trip round the world so I can satisfy Air Malaysia’s ridiculous weight limit on hold luggage which is less than the Qantas limit for hand-bags. Trying to work out what I can safely leave in the house for the Landlady to use without it looking like I’ve left all my rubbish. Not much then. But I’m sure she needs a new frying pan.

Actually, going home is so close that I’m in two minds whether I want to just be back home Right Now, or not bother going home at all. I’m should be up in the Barossa at a thirtieth b’day party today, but I don’t think anyone really wants this cold. But more of that later. Back to that weekend....

I managed to get to the Central Market on Saturday, and finished my shopping at the Farmer’s Market on Sunday. Needed to get some more rabbit – that last lot was wonderful. Really sweet and tender. Not fluffy at all. Sadly the goat’s cheese Camembert lady wasn’t there. Oh well. Saturday evening we went to the pictures again, this time to see The Painted Veil. The film was good, with stunning scenery – actually filmed in China. But I’d like to read the book.

The weather was changeable (in the way that Ireland in September is). Warm sunshine and not a cloud in the sky to black clouds and hail in 5 minutes). So when I went for a walk in the afternoon, I fully expected to get wet. This time went up Brownhill to overlook the creek where we walked on Friday. The early Adelaideans obviously spent a long time deciding what to call the hills. Black Hill, Brown Hill...I wonder where Greenhill road goes. Answers on the back of a map of Adelaide to...
I parked at Carrick Hill, walked up Brown Hill which is much more open grassland than most of the hills, then down the side to McElligott’s Quarry which is only a small park but has a little bit of geology going on. The side of the quarry has uncovered ripples made by the sea several dozen million years ago – and they run vertically up the cliff face. The back of the quarry is a very small, narrow gully – and probably where you go to find crystal meth, I imagine.




Carrick Hill itself is a house built by some of the Adelaide Set in the 30s using some of the interior of a Tudor manor that was being demolished in Shropshire. The grounds are a slight disappointment (apart from the corrugated elephants), as many council owned places are. When the grand plans for renovation are complete, they may be worthwhile but the attractions are currently slightly overplayed. However, the house is interesting. It is full of painting by artists like John Dowie (a local sculptor who did the big fountain in Victoria Sq and died recently), Nora Heysen (a local, the wife of Hans Heysen who painted South Australia and the long distance path is named after), Augustus John, Walter Sickert and Stanley Spencer. Even I’d heard of them. Plus several French impressionist pictures. (Worth Googling “Carrick Hill” for the catalogue).

What was very bizarre was that the grounds were being used for a wedding, but we could all walk around while the ceremony was going. And when it rained, the family came inside for photos on the stairs, trapping quite a few of us upstairs.

It was getting cold outside when I left. The sun was still out, but nearly set and it was definitely time for a cup of tea.

The next week involved two evening shifts in a row, both with on-calls as well. The rota is getting harder as more and more people leave – for good, or on sabbatical – or go to conferences. And as I’m one of the few people with a full time clinical commitment, the burden is falling on just a few of us. For the first time I had a phone call on Thurs night / Fri morning. The moral of the story is to sleep with the toxicology book by the bed.

So a weekend away was welcome. Friday was an office day, and after sitting staring at the computer for a few hours wishing I’d had some sleep, I went home. I managed an hour of sleep (or so) before driving up to Clare. Of course, that meant we ended up leaving right in the middle of Friday rush hour, but apart from a minor shunt on Main North Road which held us up for a few minutes, there was no traffic. Particularly as we left the Sturt Highway to go to Clare. Nothing on the roads.

I’d had trouble finding somewhere to stay. There are lots of websites in Aus all with accommodation of all types. However, it turned out that there was a gourmet food and wine festival on in Clare so pretty much everywhere was booked on Saturday night. One of my colleagues has a cottage in Auburn, but as he was away having a baby, I didn’t get to talk to him and it too was booked up. After much trawling I found a place, which given the name was “Granma’s” and it was a B&B, didn’t sound too hopeful.

But “B&B” doesn’t really describe it. We should have been in the attic rooms of an elderly couple with an avocado bathroom suite and doors that were locked at 10pm. Instead, the owners live in Adelaide, it was the back part of a cottage (which can be opened up to accommodate 6 people) with two rooms with Queen beds, a lounge, kitchen diner, cereal and ground coffee and a decanter of port. Well worth the hunt.

However, we arrived at about 8 (which, to be fair was when I said we would). Except that the local pub (which was very local), stopped serving food at 8 and couldn’t even find a cheese sandwich. So back to the cottage (the stars were amazing, such a clear - and cold - night), back in the car and up to Clare to get a takeaway. From a place that sold bottles of wine but not as a carry out. So up into Clare itself to find an offy.

Eventually we got back to the cottage, ate and I managed to actually get some sleep.

Brown Hill Creek