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Dear Sweet Nieces

In her well balanced attempt to make memorable the beginning of my sixty fourth year in this life, Alice treated my yesterday to lunch at Doyle’s Restaurant at Watson’s Bay. Yes for quite a few hours we left our mortal lives in Stanmore and McMahons Point and joined up with the rich tourists, brokers and money launderers to live the high life we were born for. Cajun style barramundi that would have brought tears to the eyes of Ben at The Duke, washed down with a couple of bottles of Jansz convinced us we were the peers of Paris (not seen around much anymore) and the Tozzi twins.

Set to a Magical Mystery Tour theme I met Alice as appointed at Circular Quay and received my first clue by text’d inquiry whether my senior’s ticket covered ferries. As you all know there is no better appetite stimulant than the salt breeze of an ocean voyage so on arrival after stopovers in exotic Double and Rose Bays we were more than ready. Our table indoors on this cloudy though rain free day presented through open doors a perfect and unimpeded aspect of our dynamic CBD across sail studded waters framed by the rolling green cleavage of Middle Head and Vaucluse.

Daughter like father has no concept of enough so we wolfed down more sparkles at the Watson’s Bay Hotel as the ferry came in for the return trip after the obligatory ‘juror’s tour’ inspection of the Gap to inform ourselves as to the alleged guilt of Gordon ‘Gordy’ Woods. Back in town we could not resist the serendipity of our arrival with the departure of the ferry to McMahons Point and after a dry climb up that headland is it any wonder that we needed further bubbles from the conveniently located liquor store next to Alice’s place. Jack had spent the day writing songs and recording them with his brother’s new housemate Gordy, or something like that, who is well past six and a half feet tall and we all played Alice’s new edition of trivial pursuit. I recollect far too many references to Gordy as spear chucker, most of them by myself unfortunately.

We thought it likely that a Doors cover band with me as lizard like Jim Morrison, not reincarnated, more raised zombie like from the dead, could make a killing on the ever growing seniors Nursing Home Circuit. To this end Jack would today buy for me a super duper hand held recording gadget on which I could record the brilliant compositions I dream up on my morning walks. In the cold (no quite hot really) light of day it turns out that with the collapse of the Aussie $ this machine has doubled in price and the new clutch in my five gear, four wheel, three cylinder, one clutch Daihatsu Charade will cost over nine hundred dollars. Though they have fallen in value by some forty percent dollars still must be earned one by one it seems. Last night when I was a master of the universe I clearly remember, as I had rehearsed it many times in my mind, that if it were more than five hundred to put a miserable clutch (isn’t it time technology buried these things) in my seven hundred dollar car, I would buy another. Today I have folded like the bad poker player I am and am going to spend 1.3%+ of the cost price on one component and my Tozzi peerage is in taters. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll win back this money on the Melbourne Cup but as I’m not horse , jockey or punter that too seems unlikley

I wonder do the Tozzis, Murdocks, Packers and their like ever have nights on the piss when they think they are poor waifs condemned to crouch and haul coal carts in thirty degree inclining tunnels to support their families and pay off their debt only to wake to the reality that they are masters of the universe and married to insects.

Yep your right, even I don’t know what I’m on about now. I’ll let these pictures speak instead as I have heard their worth a thousand words.

PS. I suspect Kell that by now you have heard of the Great ‘Gack’ Coogee Bay Hotel Poo scandal but least this has not yet burst the bubble of your life please consult me before you take Mart to your once favourite watering hole.

Aunty


That's us, just out of view behind this shot.


Ah! So it is.

Happy birthday to me

Mmmm! If I were a Bee

Isn't that that, what's his name, Rolf Harris?