4 years in London

May 1st will be four years since I arrived in London. Has it really been 4 years!?! I can't believe it either. It's probably my last one in London for a while too, which is a strange mix of emotions both exciting and sad.

I've done and seen so much this year. London has continued to deliver - the sights, gigs, festivals and experiences are never ending.

I've also seen more of the UK this year with trips to Cambridge, Glastonbury, the Lakes District, Wales and Mart's home county Sussex. Plus there's been the OS trips to Malta, Dublin, Seville and India!

Work has been pretty cool too. Got promoted this year and enjoyed a string of business trips to Zurich, Amsterdam and Frankfurt. What a year!

But the best part of the last year has definitely been all the Aussie visitors - Prestipinos, Robert & Alice and of course Mum and Dad for Christmas with the inlaws... and all that snow!

It's been a pretty amazing year - and is only going to get better. Roll on October!

xx Kel

Boyle not Boil

After long and arduous studies in the arcane genre of genealogy I believe I have firmly nutted my/our relationship to Mary Boyle. On the 26th. of September 1846 John and Mary Boyle (nee Meehan) begat Edward Boyle. Almost twelve years later on the 25th. of March 1858 they begat Michael Boyle. That's not to say they did nothing in between. All told between 1842 and 1858 they managed to begat eight times but Edward at #3 and the last in line Michael are the ones important to our story.

Edward married Ellen McArthey at Jamberoo in 1869 and between then and 1875 when at 25, Ellen died, begat five children the second of which, Emily, would marry John O'Keefe and become my grandmother.

Michael married Johannah Dooley in 1888 at St Peters in Kiama and went on to begat thirteen times the tenth time producing Jerome who with the help of his wife Nancy Walsh begat our Mary Boyle who therefore shares my father's generation though some 42 years younger.

On reflection it seems that this may have been explained to me as a youth and possibly again thereafter. Maybe I felt resentment that my peer could be of my father's generation with a generational advantage. Perhaps the youth unconsciously consciously (youth is capable of trickier stuff) suppressed this memory.

In case some of you might feel envy at the smallness of Edward's family of five in comparison to his brother Michel's Rugby team it's worth noting that subsequent to Ellen's untimely death he married in Bangalow one Lucy Akers who begat another four to bring the total to nine. Four short of thirteen indeed but surely enough for some sort of team.

These four half brothers to my grandmother Emily may be source to the light that shone from a grand homestead that stood on a hill behind its windbreak forest above Bangalow that I visited twice as a child.

Continuing in this line of personal reminiscence it seems odd to me in light that my dad and Mary had grandfathers who were brothers, that I recall only once visiting Mary's home, Marlevale, just a mile away and passed on every trip to school, church or town. Of course I was very young and may have forgotten other visits but I recall the one distinctly as I there learned the game of Euchre and recall that as we children were retiring ghost stories were told.

It was Michael who brought the Boyles to Goolmangar in 1908 establishing with such a brood a large presence that influenced the re-naming of the road many years later. It's my understanding that the O'Keefe presence there was established by my great grandfather, the father of the John O'Keefe who married Emily Boyle. The very fact of my dad's birth date in 1900, at Goolmangar, sets the O'Keefe presence much earlier. Mmm! that helps to make up for the generational advantage.

Yuck! Just woke from a well deserved afternoon nap, topped up my red and in the first sip almost swallowed that blowie I'd noticed lurking on the cushion before the nap. Obviously drank himself to death when he noticed the weather today signal the seasons end for his kind. Where do you suppose blowies go in winter? It's hard to imagine them all flying north, especially with all those ducks and other birds who would relish an in air snack.

Gotta hand it to those channel nine marketing folk don't you? Whoever came up with the idea of bludgeoning Carl Williams to death with the handle bars of an exercise bike in maximum security will hopefully live to get a Logie. Having the only witness on the phone giving a blow by blow recorded account was the coup de grace. I can't wait to see the episode. It's a wonder that it hasn't leaked to U Tube yet.

Without grumbling about poisonously loose teeth, ulcerated colons or the ever rising cost of living there seems little else to say this week than how good is this and hope to meet you all here again soon.

I'll see if I've got some snaps.


Just can't decide






When all else fails: the mirror image

Lovely

'Two for one' offer, buy one, get one free

I wish I was back in Europe, in Luca, Barcelona or my favourite Rome, even Paris which visits in recent dreams, but just as often I'm glad for the calm of my hometown Sydney. I know here what the wine will taste like and where to get the best deal. The food is nutritious, varied and predictable. I have a car and local knowledge to facilitate easy logistics. Life is easy and best of all, at this time of year, the weather is perfect, even Kelly would approve. Brisk mornings are followed by temperate days and with the Easter change from daylight saving, sensibly timed magnificent sunsets.

The only cloud on this magnificent horizon would seem to be the dilemma of ageing. My prodigal foot has made a complete recovery I'm pleased to say but there always seems to be something to take its place like the loose and useless top front teeth and their accomplice bottom left Molar threatening root canal therapy. The lower lip aggravation came later this year but it hangs on more determinedly.

These turn to petty annoyances in face of the problems facing some of my peers. My friend Harley had an exhibition of his art works in Melbourne last weekend. Self funded I believe like a self published book. Our friends Walter, Andy and Phil Jack, but not I, took to harness to squire him in his Parkinson's disease riddled body through the rigors of his first exhibition for some forty years since his first exhibition. Yes two exhibitions in the life of this unknown artist. What does that say of his indomitable ego. Ego aside, all participants were soon worn out by the needs of a Harley delusional and undernourished in his attempts to eat solid food with the Parkinson's afflicted jaw in his drug addled body, who hadn't the strength to sit up in a car seat. Peer diagnosis prescribed soup and after a Bouillabaisse or two he had enough strength to mount the podium to the adulation of his children, Ex wives and assembled girlfriends.

Meanwhile on the Richmond river my old mate and notorious rum addict Robbie Campbell reports from East Lismore that our mate Bill Doyle of Upper Ballina, semi retired for most of his life, has become surrogate father to the pre teen brood of four of his partners' unreliable relatives. Unused to initials hammer drilled into car doors and fires amongst his fruit trees he is at his wits end. Cast in this light and in company with the afore mentioned Phil Jacks quest to join the Guinness Book Of Records alumni as the one who lived solely on scotch whisky for the longest time my travails seem minor and thus I hope they shall stay.

let's not dwell on these morbid reflections of the life around us but rather rejoice in the good news provided by statistics that those among us earning most are the least generous when it comes to giving back (a-la charitable) and vice versa. The remarkably good result reported in this item of news was that the citizens of Lakemba and Wiley Park on an average income of $37,590 made an average donation of $216 making them three times more generous than the mine workers of WA. Now we know who live in Lakemba and Wiley Park but do the mine workers of WA?

On another plane I've noted a lot of criticism in the press of Richard Dawkins for his single minded, humourless presentation in support of atheism and I have to ask, when was the last time you heard the Pope tell a joke about contraception? Or paedophilia, cum'on you jornos ask the questions, get the punch lines, bom bom. Researching atheism I came across possibly the only time John Malkovich and Barry Manilow ever appeared next to one another. Watch out now this could appear as a future trivial pursuit question.

Looking around now I'm finding feel good stories spare on the ground. Barnaby Joyce hasn't said anything for what seems like a week now. Tony Abbot has worn a suit jacket, albeit one of mine from St Pats that he picked up from Vinnie's by the look of it, and not a piece of lycra for the same week. Malcolm Turnbull's announcement that he would leave federal politics before the next elections offers no respite as we could not see the other side of his face.

'Underbelly: The golden mile' was hardly edifying on Sunday night and the weekend Herald cover featured Russell Crow's elevation to star in the pavement of Hollywood Boulevard and declining from there. I won't despair though, instead I'll put my head down, read only the Telegraph, watch only football and Spicks n Specks for a week when maybe all will be well.

One week later:

Well that was then and how quickly do things change. The big news of course is the Icelandic volcano that has brought air traffic to a standstill all across Europe. With no clear end in sight I understand Kell and Mart are looking into honeymoon cruise options whilst Chris is considering tethering the caravan for the old overland hippy trail. No Olly you can't come, they eat little doggies over there. The bonus from my point of view is some peace here in the flight path now that traffic has been halved. Every cloud of ash has a silver lining.

Papal Public Relations P/L (they better have limited liability) stumble from failure to fiasco so that Dawkins and Hitchens can't even get bad press. Still no word from Barnaby unless you count the Good Weekend muddle headed, loveable maverick set piece. Chris and Sue might make better speed overland to London than they would to Newcastle and that about sums up the news front.

At a personal level I apologise for not publishing the previous half of this diatribe last week when owing to compliance with my new sober edit policy I missed the Tuesday night deadline. Brain death through the typical Wednesday to Saturday working week precludes intellectual endeavour and even more so in this pre stocktake week. Why they persist with this ludicrous endeavour rather than take a leaf from the ancient Romans book, chop the head off a chicken, measure the blood sprays, dissect the liver, heart and gall, observe the direction of beak and come up with a figure no less arbitrary than that obtained by their present labours. Thank Nigel, whose Alzheimer's became so bad that he forgot how to get to work and hasn't been seen for some time, that my work week begins on Wednesday and the stocktake on Monday. Better for Bunnings really as my contribution to an undertaking like stoctake would likely be as useless, possibly detrimental in toga, sandals and carrying a chook, as that of Nigel's.

I had Alice for company on Friday evening while Jack hosted some men only shenanigans at home. We set out to have a 'remember Europe' night at the new 'Clover' bar in Enmore over a bottle of Prosecco. Clever entrepreneurs have seen as did I that in a part of town with four pubs and a bottle shop within fifty meters there must be a lot of drinkers. Separated from The Queens by only a patisserie and only twenty meters, but across the road from The Duke, Monal provides in a unique atmosphere, inexpensive and graciously presented meals, along with a range of drink you might not expect in the established hostelries. ( Do I get the job? What's the pay?) Ah well time will tell.

On the subject of Cloverisation her new 'Clover ' cycleway along Bourke Street from Taylor's Square I imagine all the way to Gardeners Road Mascot has, only a month after opening, attracted a couple of cyclists. In the words of Shoeless Joe Jackson from Kevin Costner's 'Field of Dreams' "If you build it he will come" That's good enough for me and apparently for Clover too. Who cares if the now reduced to one lane each way busy artery with now no parking lane and now speed humps which has truckies resorting to kidney belts is causing a little bru-ha-ha in local media. Ah well time will tell.

As I look up now and notice that most of you are nodding, some actually snoring I guess it is time to say goodbye and look for some happy photos.

Aunty



Well it's my blog and Ill do what I want to


The girl with the pearl, um bangle



Photo Shop gone mad
Comfy interior could have done with Photo Shop

Pigeons in my flu, no way.
No. 156

Street color

No Blog today

Well Kell, there'll be no blog today. How can you expect me to blog when your parents take up most of my time and all of my energy with entertainments and food and booze. What's left is greedily gobbled by Jack with his ever intriguing questions and movie plots till it's a great relief when he collapses for the night. No there'll be no blog today, not even now with yesterday's nap, last night's deep and satisfying sleep and this morning's nap under my belt. Sure I have been able to somewhat recharge my energy levels but all the excitement and mental activity has left me so brain dead that if for some reason I were to go to hospital they would calling you suggesting that they turn off the machine.

It wasn't the transport that wore me out, no I'm becoming quite fond of country link's ramble through the southern highlands. The only improvement I would suggest would be that the local farmers create a roster to herd their flocks close to the line for the various daylight passings. Perhaps some of the younger lads could show off their riding skills racing the train and jumping falling logs. On the return trip this time I had time and enough sense of ownership to become more familiar with the appointments. I found the chilled water dispenser and the most accommodating, I'm tempted by its scale to call it bathroom though the washing facilities were restricted to hand basin only, shared toilet. I had a cheese and ham croissant with a cup of tea rather than the usual bottle of wine in recognition of my fast rule regarding the yard being past the suns arm. No you could not blame this bloglessness on the train.

On the way down with Alice, Jack, Dot and trivial pursuit, Jack, a seasoned traveller was able to show us how to turn a set of seats to create a comfy four person pod. He also showed us how to get a table and in doing so incite a reprimand from the fascist guard. I think he (Jack) was looking forward to an argument with this fellow about the inconsistencies in first name on the ticketing and his student card (Jack and John) but he (the Guard) chose to ignore checking neither this card nor my seniors card. I suppose it's just too hard to get involved in finding anything wrong with ticketing. On the return trip an old codger and a young punk both boarded with only city rail tickets and the best the guard had to offer was to tell them to get off at the next stop, Campbelltown. The punk got off but the codger went merrily on to Central. Perhaps it's this sense of powerlessness like that of their European brothers who can only harangue in a foreign language those who fail to punch their ticket, that boils to rage over appropriated tables.

Cricket and Movie making were the highlight activities of our weekend, both instigated and driven by Jack. Alice and I were commissioned for a script which we produced on Friday night. I use we loosely here as the best I could remember on Saturday was that there had been a commission. Jack drew a story board and identified sets over breakfast and the movie was cast and shot in time for a leisurely browse in the downtown markets before luncheon at Bryant's pies. A remarkably good Cricket Bat was purchased at Dimmys for six dollars and stocks of alcohol at Wollies for sixes of dollars.

As the afternoon wore on Hugh, Anne and Ross arrived along with a couple of Chris and Sue's friends and their four daughters a total of fifteen and a very formidable cricket force if only the coach could motivate as well as he made movies. The movie was edited, no re-takes required, titles completed and a decision that no contracts would be necessary unanimous. It was viewing time and apart from the fact that it made me look fat the cast viewing was well received. A later viewing for all including Steve and Michelle, Chris and Sues Goulburn friends, went down to tumultuous applause and the only thing missing was popcorn.

Cricket might have been anticlimactic after such festivity but the true spirit of Australia prevailed as we all set off to the abandoned air strip like road across the fence, provided for us through the generosity of developers who have as yet sold only two of the blocks provided. A high bank to right hander's leg side provided a natural backstop to their favoured scoring position, though it was not as well prepared by ground staff as fielders might have wished. A steep bitumous grade down behind stumps saw wides, not so wide fasts and bouncers, missed by keeper, run to long overthrow boundaries. For this feature we were all thankful to the four young teens fielding/running skills. I forgot I was a sixty four year old drunk as I'm prone to do when in possession of either a bat or ball, played well below my age and fitness and had to pay for it thereafter buoyed only by my brilliant one hundred and fifty not out record.


Under normal conditions this would have been enough but your mum and dad know how to do a turn and we returned home (theirs) for BBQ lamb and chicken and all sorts of lovelies along with more unnecessary booze till we dropped to our many and various hutches for sleep. If you ever get a chance Kell, go to one of your folks family dayssss, they rock. Join with me and try to make a mess that lasts more than a few minutes. Try to find an empty fridge or larder. See if you can be bored.

Anyway there'll be no blog today I'm knackered. I write only to say that I received your wedding invitation this week and am appreciative of the tact you showed in waiting till your grandma, my mum was dead and gone from a land where a wedding invitation could exist without a sign of any copperplate cursive form. No imprint, no flower, no parental invitation. "I can't read it" she would have said. I love it and will be happy to attend dependant only on Lotto and the whimsy of finding or being given the winning ticket. If for some reason I can't make it please give me an accurate timetable of events and have your phone tucked into your garter when you walk the walk.

I suppose I could upload a couple of snaps:
The prize

The Pitch

Roos outback

Tubby at the bushranger

Wine cruising

Carbon sequestration
vanishing dawn

these once detachd houses have become close