Honeysuckle

I used to cycle through the Dorset lanes buoyed up by the heady fragrance of honeysuckle. At the time it made a lot of things easier.

Now I cycle to work along the Honeysuckle foreshore in Newcastle. Honeysuckle grew along the banks of the Hunter River (Coquon) long before the settlers came. The wattle birds were attracted to the emitted soft scents and had no inkling of the dirt and destruction that would be caused by the deposits of coal found in this new settlement.

Today the area is paved, the dirty railyards have gone (not in Tighes Hill or Carrington thanks to Port Waratah) The pathway linking the inner city suburbs is fringed with salubrious high rise apartments mostly housing the newly retired coming up from Sydney. They are attracted by the harbour, the beaches and the harbour life.

Old warehouses are being turned into expensive dining options, gyms and museums. Former dockland is being landscaped with sculpture and seating areas around the reclaimed boat sunk in the harbour many years ago.The boat had been used for target practice and was unceremoniously sunk. Now it has a new life, deconstructed and reassembled into an installation wafted by the sweet smell of garlic at a nearby Italian restaurant.

Installations come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and I recently heard that the piles of books or unorganised items loitering around your house could be said to be wondrous art installations. Welcome to my gallery!

Reflections on being a mother

I am a little late, it being nearly a week since the much celebrated Mother's Day. But it is a time when we reflect on what it means to be a mother. Memories rueful, memories laughable, memories poignant and memories ridiculous.
So what do I most remember?
Looking at two little heads covered hopefully with Father Christmas hats fast asleep on their pillows and wishing I had a partner to say, "Come and look, aren't they adorable!"
Peeling onions in the kitchen with my eldest crying tears of laughter as we looked at each other in swimming goggles trying to avoid the tears!
Locking the doors to foil the determined exit of my youngest who complete with pyjamas in her backpack was running away to spend the night on Lewesdon Hill.
So happy to find other parents who actually liked swimming and felt it natural to spend hours in chlorine laced pools watching slim figures slice their way through to the next PB (that stands for personal best, something I did learn).
Reaching the sun gate gazing down at Machu Picchu holding one daughter faint and weak with Montezuma's revenge and smiling at the other with the sheer achievement of it all.
The despair when you are far away and not able to surround them with loving arms and kiss it all better.
The homemade cards and the sentiments within - unconditional love indeed. How you have made my life worthwhile. To my darling daughters, I love you both.

Needing a lift? Wireless bras.

Ok so who thought it was funny to make all wireless bras as dull as ditchwater? There are the most amazing styles and designs of bras out there, not to mention colours and fabrics but if you want comfort and no wire as well , forget it. My sister and I went out for the ultimate intimate apparel shopping experience and came back dejected and jaded. DJs promised a better shopping experience in their newly remodelled store but no,they had no styles that took our fancy. If you want tulle, they have it, if you want lace they have it, if you want any colour from faded lavender to hot pink they have it, if you want daring they have it, if you want black and sexy they have it, if you want cutesy polk dots they have it, if you want any with bows and buttons they have them, if you want silky satin they have it but not if you want to couple any of these with NO UNDERWIRE.



Do the manufacturers think that no wire means no colours other than white, beige or black? Do they think we have lost all interest in our bodies and wish to be strictly utilitarian? Think again Triumph, Berlei and all those Pacific Brands etc. There is a huge market for those who believe that underwire is not the way to go but would still like to cash in on the beautiful designs now available.

It seems I have choices, I can just cut out the underwire and see what happens or I can look at some online products. Meanwhile I will enjoy moaning and waiting for the perfect bra!

Sculpture by the Sea

We were all looking at it. A motley collection of flotsam and jetsam. Broken chairs, umbrellas, pieces of canvas, newspapers and pieces of stick. Were they modelled into a shelter? Was this a comment on the wastage of society, a very blot on the landscape, positioned as they were on the cliff edge? The magnificent coastline stretched out around the installation. A couple were vainly searching through their guide for some information on the sculptor, shaking their heads, no black number sign on this one.

Those of you who read your papers carefully might have realised that this was not a post-post-modern sculpture. This is the abode of a well known homeless man, Peter James Millhouse,who unfortunately has been accused of raping a young woman who was visiting the Sculptures by the Sea festival. So gawpers beware and stick to the path!


Walking against the flowing tide of visitors was not an option. The endless multi-coloured snake made its way around the headland, stopping to look and take the same photos as everyone else.


Tired of giant pegs and watches we hoped for the one piece which would stop us in our tracks and cause a break in the flow of people. Many we liked, a few more than others but the winner left me as cold as the granite of which it was made.
So I didn't even take a photo of the winner. A little old lady who spent a lot of time in her garden smoothing facets on the granite. I wonder what she will spend her $60,000 winnings on?
Passing a steel horse I caught this enlightening conversation between two half dressed teenagers.
'I can't believe we know the artist!'
'We've been to his workshed - we saw it in its making,' said several times at an ever-increasing volume to anyone who would listen.
'Have we done looking at the horse now, done by the artist we know?'We didn't know any of the artists but would like to share a few more of the notable sculptures. I am sorry if we have missed your favourites. Follow the leader and fall off the plinth!

Dust storms!

Ok this was a few weeks ago but I am still finding little piles of red dust. Areas I haven't cleaned, ornaments I haven't moved, books on bookshelves bringing a new meaning to dust covers.


I woke to an eerie orange glow coming through the blinds. Armageddon it wasn't but spooky it was. If I hadn't seen the news the night before I might have been forgiven for thinking that climate had changed - well rather more suddenly than the scientists think. But actually it was of course a weather problem, a slipping along the continent of usual red centre life.

Cycling along to work, I was struck by the thought of pea soupers, green fog, and how this was a more modern version, possibly carrot and orange or pumpkin and cumin. Boats loomed out of the cinnamon harbour, waves slapping hollowly against the harbour wall.

Yes, the dust finally lifted and the silly souls who had to rush to the carwash to clean their soiled people movers were feeling even more silly the next day when another storm moved in.

Sydney Harbour Bridge

Some readers may have spotted that the iconic symbol of Sydney recently hosted a picnic on especially brought in turf to celebrate a city-wide food festival. Unfortunately we were not some of the selected 6,000 to enjoy the fresh fruit, live music and ogle the small herd of cows.

But we were lucky when a few years ago it celebrated its 75th birthday. Ho hum, you may yawn but my family and a resident backpacker felt very privileged to take up the challenge and walk across, free from traffic and trains.

‘You’re not even Australian,’ my work colleagues proclaimed, ‘why would you want to be in that crush?’

‘You’ll be a perfect target for terrorists’, said another.
Yes the wave of fear has crested in Oz too. Well we survived as did the 250,000 others who turned out on the lovely Autumn morning of March 18th. Families from every part of Sydney, indeed from all parts of Australia whose origins seemed very diverse walked across. The overall impression was one of order, of civilised behaviour, a unity of purpose.

Some took the opportunity to demonstrate quirky behaviour. For instance there were the three couples who took time out to play a hand of bridge in the middle. Others dressed up. There was a Father Neptune, a brightly dressed young lady with metallic streamers, two silver painted and clothed young men holding high a wonderful sculpture of the bridge.

The rest of us became a living sculpture in our yellow caps. We looked like so many ducks bobbing on the stream of a charity race, an endless ribbon of yellow turning to streamers of light in the evening thanks to the small LEDs on each hat.

There was something strange about walking the bridge, looking down at the harbour beneath a grating, looking up to see helicopters pictured in blue framed by gunmetal grey struts and girders and waving at those fortuitous enough to be walking up over the top.

Next year I want to be chosen to breakfast as this might become an annual event.

Backpackers

Backpackers – how Australia loves them! About 500,000 visit each year and bring in an outstanding $2.4 billion into the country. Over half of them come from Dorset alone; well that’s what my long-suffering Aussie partner has expostulated on more than one occasion. So the Tighes Hill B & B sign has kept swinging as old friends, new friends, cousins, children of friends, cousins of friends have all found refuge over the past few years. Short stops between Cairns-bound buses, a quick barbeque before the next trip, short stays, stays extended by illness, long stays, protracted stays – we’ve had them all.

I blame Richard Branson. He of the acclaimed Virgin Airlines encouraging all those outrageous adventurers. Not content with an island and a visit to space he has recetly commissioned a very large ocean-going super-yacht, anchored in Newcastle Marina at present, to whisk away luxury-loving stars to destinations unknown with hot and cold running champagne. With rental of approximately $100,000 a week you'd want hot and cold running everything! So all those adventurers wing their way here.

Now don’t get me wrong. I love the adventurous gap year, the fluttering of the wings before roosting. I love the Dorset accents, oh yes they now sound like accents. I love to reminisce. I love to catch up on the news. They even help around the house, cook the occasional meal and buy the occasional grocery item. Most off all they love lounging in the sun spotting or evading the Australian wildlife; the quite needlessly large golden-kneed garden orb spiders being the most feared if not the most venomous. Without a doubt our visitors' abiding memory of Tighes Hill will be the prolific guava crop. I have given them guava jam, guava chutney and now guava mixed with apple juice. This latest story may have reached Bridport and what chance do I then have of attracting the visitors I, not my daughters, wish to come to Australia? I had better be quiet on the subject of snakes.