Secret Santa

Just in case Secret Santa reads the blog, and to make it easy for him or her, Sue would like the CD by Geofferey Gurrumul Yunupingu which won the ARIA award for best independent release.
See you Christmas if not before.

IMPOSSIBLE

Dearest Cat and Kell,

Well my dears I suspect by now your wondering just what has happened to your favourite aunty. Even more you must be dying to know what is happening in our world so far across the seas. You’ll be anxious for a report on the family day and I shall surely get to that as well as the dramatic events of the following days that have kept me from writing.

Before that though I must tell you of my adventures in Australand, the virtual world in which I have recently been living. Yes I am a living avatar, married already, twice, and being sought by the police over the demise of one of my spouse’s exes. I’m a millionaire with a mansion and a whole village of investment property. I’m getting plenty of sex but I have to watch my back. You’ve no idea how jealous these avatars can be. Best of all though Australand’s Peter Dollars of which as I say I have millions, are not loosing their value against the $US as the Aussie dollar is so I’ll probably soon be a squillionare. Wanna buy some shares?

Yes, yes! All bullshit but based on legitimate research of reliable sources vis. The Sydney Morning Herald, Weekend Edition, October 25-26 2008. Some woman somewhere in avatar land is being sought by police in the real world for murdering her avatar ex who divorced her without notice, apparently possible in cyberworld which sounds quite civilised don’t you think? Meanwhile some Australian couples fortunes in their own invented cyberworld are indeed holding their own against the $US and now buying almost twice as many $A as they were only a few weeks ago. I have yet to find the money exchange dealing in Peter (whatever, unfortunately my source material is already in the recycle bin downstairs and I’m reluctant to dress and retrieve it) Dollars but I’ll be sure to look around on my days off. Maybe that one on the old Pyrmont Bridge above Cockle Bay, it always looks willing to deal anything.

Back in the almost real world, my well managed family day was a brilliant success and may win honours come Anzac day or whenever such honours are awarded. First off, apologies to you Kell for that very early morning call. All I can say in my defence is that you yourself predicted it and I was loath to be the one who scotched your soothsayer qualifications. We may have conveyed in our boisterousness the delightful ‘vibe’ of the day but just in case the details were blurred I shall endeavour here to oblige.

In leafy shade (at least on my side of the table) on this perfect spring day at the Warren View with all local family except for Mat, who had only gotten in from work at six, poor slave and Betty, who the ignorant host had failed to invite, in attendance, we settled to drink eat and laugh the afternoon away. With Jamie looking wonderfully creative and Luke whose boyish figure is beginning to show signs of manhood, in rare attendance it was indeed a special day. You weren’t the lone receiver of calls from loving relatives infused with the desire to spread joy and happiness on this ‘summers day of love’. Cat, Chris P, Steven and your own mum and dad were contacted with various degrees of success and in varying degrees of wakefulness.

Secret Santa was successfully organised and better still without placing responsibility on me for any bar my own presentee whom I have not yet forgotten. Even better designated drivers must have borne up under the weight of their responsibilities as I’ve heard nothing to the contrary, as surely I would. Alice and Jack drove over but cleverly contrived to leave their car for me to return the next day for the reward of lunch with Alice. Perfectly OK with me and I hasten here to offer this same service to any who may care to partake of it. Should it become popular we might involve Hugh in the scheme as he like I has the gift of senior’s access to our superlative public transport systems.

I chose to forgo the public transport in favour of a belated morning walk home from McMahons Point Monday afternoon. This proved an excellent educational experience and I learned: That a morning pre breakfast walk is quite different to an afternoon, post lunch and wine walk. That walker’s should keep in mind a clear picture of destination when proceeding from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’. That there is a ‘growing’ energy available in mornings as opposed to a ‘declining’ energy afternoon. That’s enough, you get it, it took me three and a half hours and a number of pit stops at those blessed road houses to make it home and I had an early night.

A good night’s sleep onboard I decided next morning to take my early walk through the Sculpture by the Sea exhibition on the coast walk from Bondi to Bronte. A most rewarding experience even had the hundred odd blow up sex dolls not chosen the same morning to sunbake at Bronte, proving again that great minds think alike. Sculptors from near and far exhibit here as you no doubt remember, many with a good sense of humour. My own favourites were the impossible links of linked granite chain and the absolutely impossible cast bronze men climbing on concrete stair treads floating in space. The dolls were certainly eye catching and I was fortunate to catch their brief visit. They are very sensitive to the harsh conditions of the Australian outdoors as I’m sure you understand and a few were beginning to look quiet deflated.

Back home mid morning and contemplating activities no more strenuous than picking up the washing and having a after lunch nap, as you do, I received a call from Kara suggesting we take up on our rain check for lunch from some time past. Two hours and three flagons each of wine later it seemed a good idea to debunk to my place with a bottle where I could purr like a pussycat as Kara commended my magnificent photography. At some stage during this ‘would you like to come and see my etchings’ scenario I received a call from a work colleague wondering what time we should assemble tomorrow for our not well planned trip to Arndell Park (don’t ask) for training in ‘Flatpacks’ (don’t ask) which reminded me of work in a conceptual way and of its immanent nature. Sometime in the early hours of the next morning I woke with the dreadful certainty that there were no pain killers in house and that the alarm would sound at five thirty.

So you see I had little time to communicate, though you two should feel assured, were never far from my conscious mind. I haven’t burdened you here with tales of Pilgrim’s Virus which beset me through these times or of the accompanying breath disorder, relieved only by coughing awake and forcing sleepers to do so whilst sitting. I know the state of New South Wales is bankrupt and has terrible problems with its rail and road transport systems, chronic failures in health and failing infrastructure left right and centre but don’t you think these all pale into insignificance in face of my trials and tribulations.

Aah! On this delightful clutch of clichés I shall cease this drivel and bid you adieu.

Love

Aunty

Meggzie flies down Wendys fence

A blasphemous comment on Sydney traffic?

Looking good

You know I love this stuff

Impossible

Absolutly Impossible

Some Boys!

Sunshine over Big Ben

Hi guys, hope you're all well.

I've been super busy mainly trying to advertise my room cause Mart and I have decided to move in together! It's very big news - living with a boy! And we're both very excited. I will move into Mart's place probably sometime in November, but I have to find someone to take my current room first.

Anyway, not much else to report. We've been having lovely warm autumn days with plenty of sunshine and blue skies. I was crossing over Westminster Bridge the other evening and had an I love London moment! Check out the sunshine over Big Ben. Cat and I see this view from our offices every day! Life's tough.

Speak to you soon xx probably on Sunday morning bright and early for family day call!

I Dun'no, Yada Yada I suppose

Dear Cat and Kell

Dear Sonja,

In anticipation of the flow on effect to the landlords ‘holding costs’ of the recent drop in interest rates, and the subsequent hand on by banks of point eight of a percentage point, will you be reconsidering the projected rent hike in December? I’m no expert but it seems to me that this drop in interest rates might put the landlord in an even better financial position than that he occupied when I undertook to rent from him six months ago and under these conditions he could even consider a rent reduction.

Regards

Robert O’Keefe

That’s the letter I wrote and sent to the estate agent this week and this was the response; at least from him this time and not his texting specialist lackey.

Dear Robert,
Thanks for your email. The issue of rent increase is always a difficult one. There is no easy way of saying this but landlords outgoings have gone up, been water, council and land tax. In terms of comparisons we have leased 2 one bedrooms this week one for $320p.w and the other for $300 in Stanmore.

Due to the activity in the current rental market, the shortage of properties available and the increase in the landlords outgoing’s, the rental of $260 per week is still reasonable and the rent increase will still take effect.

Please do not hesitate to contact us for any further information. (‘Yada Yada’)

Regards

Don Josipovic

Certainly there’s no easy way to speak of the landlords difficulty with his ‘been water’. It’s a topic that should be kept strictly between him and his doctor in my opinion and I’m sure you’d agree. I’ve no idea why Don raised it with me and wish he hadn’t. I suppose I could retort with a winge about my own life expectancy, point out that shortage of properties is his problem and that comparisons are odious (never understood that cliché but have always wanted to use it) but every time I try the thought of the landlords ‘been water’ disarms me.

Never mind, at least there’s good news. An Australian tourist was beaten to death in Goa by three Indian waiters because he was too arrogant with his beer order. Surely the word arrogant (better allocated to a Brit) is the result of poor translation and should have read any or all of the following; chunderous, racist, arswipe (Word suggests arsine, nearly as good, look it up), chauvinist, ignorant pig Aussie Aussie Aussie Oi Oi Oi. Apart from that, the notion that three Indian “oh yes sahib, anything else sahib” waiters would beat an Australian to death over a beer order raises in my mind a picture that John Cleese and Eric Idle would still swap their fortunes for today. One might kill a man in any amount of ways almost by accident but to beat a man to death takes great conviction and require serious sleight don’t you think? Then of course I feel the sub editors disappointment when the facts get in the way of a good headline. Yes the tourist was sixty five not twenty five and the waiters were joined by a security guard. I’m sixty two and unsure of how hard three young men would have to beat me to dispatch me from this vale of tears but suspect not as much as say Steve ‘beaver’ Menzies even without his bash hat. I’m sure Barry Humphries invented Sir Les Patterson as a satirical device, not as an example for Australians abroad so I was appalled to read recently of hostels and camp grounds in Spain displaying signs saying ‘No Aussies’ because of their disgusting behavior. Were not Americans (I Thought) We appreciate sarcasm (I thought). When I first traveled in the Viet Nam war period Australian was a badge of honor, probably only because of good PR or rather no PR in contrast to USA’s very bad PR. Now it seems we are in competition with the Americans for ‘The Ugly’ title. Not alone though I suspect, I recall the Israelis in the competition long ago and the Poms are always willing to give it a go.

Ringing round today to shore up a side for my family day next Sunday (at the Warren View twelve thirtyish in case I missed anyone) I discovered that all the other girls in the family excluding their favorite aunty, who had not been invited, and Hugh I guess, were at Jamie’s baby shower. Nigel* knows what that could mean but whatever it’s certainly secret women’s business to me. Is it any wonder that there are still only token cracks in the glass ceiling when those with the most lumps on their heads requiring butter, go off on these sexist girls only initiation camps.

I suppose I should say something about the current financial crisis to fulfil my obligation as a wise and respected elder. My superannuation fund didn’t do very well this year but I’m not blaming them, left to my devices I wouldn’t have one. I have noticed that as it swells it becomes a more potent factor in my reality and thus the threat of its loss a more potent loss though that said I guess I’m still closer to that end covered by the old proverb “when you’ve got nothing you’ve got nothing to loose”. From this perspective it strikes me that all this so called wealth is just a magician’s (have you noticed how cartoonists always dress bankers as magicians) smoke and mirrors trick. None of these billionaires go around with a million or two in each pocket; it’s all just numbers on a ledger somewhere. If they try to turn it into cash, especially if they all try to do it at the same time as we see now, a clearer picture of wealth develops not from but into the negative.

I guess it’s a greater blow to those already living on their investments like the nomads but judging by the grins on Sue and Chris’s faces in their latest blog, (I must get the name of their dentist) the news hasn’t yet reached north west Queensland (Baz Lurman’s own country) or as I suspect they have learned that other great proverb by heart “don’t worry be happy”.

Otherwise I see little to complain of in these marvellous machinations of the market place. My taxes are bailing out the bankers and they will remember their debt surely. Those for whom I care most, you young’ns listen up, will be able to enter the market on a less steep slope if that takes your fancy and all will be able to say that they weathered the crash of 08 and learned that it was 90% hype.

You two over in Blighty enjoy, continue to represent your homeland in the manner your aunty expects and never lose sight of how many Indian waiters are about. Looking forward to Christmas.

Your esteemed elder

Aunty

*copyrights applied for


PD Jack who recently recieved a golden handshake from Fairfaxe's Financial Review pointing west in his last editorial, to indicate the direction of the Australian economy.

He dosen't look worried

News from SOK

Hi All, I spoke to Stephen yesterday and he is leaving Darwin on Monday to head over to Broome. He is still working at Kuri Bay for Paspaley pearls (do you know he gets a 50% discount?) But the good news is he is planning to fly to Sydney on Christmas day to be with us all on Boxing day. PS he is looking for somewhere to stay for a week or so in Sydney.

Tonight we are are in Rubyvale in Central Qld, almost on the tropic of Capricorn. Heading towards Bundaberg over the next few days then Sunshine coast, Goald Coast and NSW coast to be home for Christmas.

Attached a few pics of our last days in Mission Beach, we went out on one of our neighbours two boats and also a huge modern "Queenslander" in Chaters Towers.

Love, Sue, Chris & Olly

Test

I don't know if it appears so to you but my last two blogs are green, with envy I suppose though of what I'm not sure. Now writing this straight into Blogspot rather than pasting from word, my text is black. Mmmm.... very interesting.

The Enmore Clarrion

Dear Cat and Kell (and Chris I suppose)

My own eccentricities of dress and deportment, calf length pale khaki cargoes with braces over white tummy touting tee, black ankle socks and work boots, could not begin to compete at the blue moon festival in Enmore this afternoon. I’ve been taking advantage as best as possible of the new eight hour Saturday regime at Bunnings and left work at three PM adding what seemed like an additional day to this long weekend. Without any plan I let gravity, my favourite force, lead me to one of those tankards of red at The Duke where I encountered the Goths in all their corseted Absinth beauty. One even featured, through a daring split in her floor length fitted skirt, fish nets that ended at the knee from where the leg itself was replaced by hi-tek chromium artificial leg that must have been the envy of her scarified and piercing peers.

Reluctantly leaving this splendour in favour of a take away, I stepped from The Duke into the path of a very handsome horse drawn hearse complete with coffin and could, had there been musical accompaniment, have been an extra in ‘St James Infirmary Rag’ the movie. This and the accompanying 1940’s restored Cadillac hearse, not to mention the fifties powder blue Cadillac hearse featuring the signs ‘weird tours’ and ‘scary Sydney’, in procession brought my attention to the street where all the way to Newtown was black with Goth.

Taking the irresistible tour I discovered the marketers. Most who you’d find at any market had here taken the precaution of wearing black and featuring wares only in black or pillar box red. Most of the colour in this cloth black and skin white phenomena comes from lipstick ‘ruby’ and hair colour ‘cerise and blue’ making me wonder what Joeys may have to do with Goths. The favoured site was that outside ‘T.J.Andrews Funeral Directors’ of course and maybe not so surprisingly the second was adjacent to ‘70, 24 hours OPEN’ and subtitled ‘Fallen Angles’ all in equal font neon. The girl with the pink and blue tattooed bows across her insteps was cute and all told there was an air of cheer though none seemed able to embrace me as brother, parent or even dearly departed. I’m thinking of having my body tattooed with an evening suit, ruff shirt and bow tie the lot, so that if ever inconveniently caught on the way home from work by another such parade I can simply doff my clothes and enter into the spirit.

Yes, yes you’re right I don’t have the figure anymore for a buff evening suit tattoo.

Now it’s tomorrow and I’m woken an hour late (daylight saving) by a cacophony of animal noises. It’s quite fascinating here in Stanmore, directly under the flight path and right on the rail line, to be most often woken by animal noise. Birds, all of whom seem to fancy themselves as roosters, announce the dawn in all manner of raucousness and alert the dogs who love any excuse to sound off. Interesting isn’t it that of all of evolutions creations the birds seem to be the loudest and rawest. Perhaps if others could so easily escape recrimination by flight they would also indulge their vocal chords. I know I enjoy a good old discordant whoopee now and then.

Alice’s graduation went off as quickly and efficiently as such a boring procedure can last Monday, over a hundred graduates I suspect. She now has a piece of paper to adorn an office wall in years to come and even better, as you’ll only find out from a proud father, a distinction average that will enable her should she ever wish, to undertake a doctoral degree. Jane Jack and I celebrated with Alice at an early evening Spanish dinner in the city followed as such occasions demand, by karaoke at a Korean lounge in Goulburn Street. Here in a semi soundproofed private room with built in lounge accommodation for about six people, a giant screen treated us to video snapshots of waves etc as well as the words to songs we could pick from a menu book and request via a hand console. Great fun making our way through Kokomo and such with the two hand held mikes, though a great deal was lost in translation. All the music, Gershwin to Grateful Dead, seemed to have been recorded by an Om-Pah band and the lyric prompt was apt to be out of sink or completely wrong. I don’t expect I shall go back but don’t let me discourage you young’ns. It struck me that it might be well patronised by Asian students who lack the privacy of motor cars and need somewhere to take that special friend. They might then not notice the afore mentioned limitations.

Now it’s Monday, tomorrow was yesterday, (Mmm… good song title, might copyright it) when members of my family took turns preying on my weakness for alcohol. Hugh came to lunch but was late and I was half way through my first beaker when he suggested, positively, that as we were both having red he would get a bottle. That bottle and our meals finished he suggested, positively again, one for the road on my account would even the tables. How reasonable I thought returning with two jorums of house, now if I can just stay above the table. Meanwhile Jack had rung with an invite to watch the grand final at The Observer in The Rocks and not one to disappoint I abandoned my car at Enmore and bussed it to town. Sparkling white is Alice’s favoured drop and she likes to share and as I said I don’t like to disappoint. Luckily I spilt quite a full glass, better out than in as they say, and sparkling is the invisible ink of wines stain wise. Now I’ve spent most of today thinking this head ache would go rather than getting on with it. Thanks folks. Oh and someone won the football, how predictable is that?

Many of you would not be aware that here at this field by the rail line in Petersham they still play a game that was the origin of all field games. The object of the game was and is to dump a member of the opposing team or all members of the opposing team or members of your own team or yourself if all this gets too hard into the mud wallow near the fence. It’s a bit dry and overgrown due to water restrictions now but it’s still very popular in the rain and a great spectator sport especially now with a growing women’s league.

That’s all for now

Aunty