With all of this interest in dust-storms today, and in particular, how bad it’s been in Broken Hill, I’m reminded of the only time I’ve ever been through a dust storm, while living in South Australia.
This photograph was taken from my front door while living in Paringa, on the outskirts of Renmark. At the time I thought it was pretty bad, but it’s actually reasonably mild in comparison to some of the stuff that’s out there.
There was one other occasion when I was travelling between Wagga and Deniliquin when it also got really bad. We actually had to stop on the road for half an hour or so due to low visibility.
But I’ve never lived through one of the really big dust storms.
I had the most wonderful morning today in the Royal Botanic Gardens, arriving there at about 7.30. Although I’ve been in the general area at that time of the morning, especially around the Opera House and around Circular Quay, I’ve never actually been inside the gardens at such an early hour. Mostly, it’s a Saturday or Sunday afternoon when I’m in the gardens. By then the noise of the day has taken over, with weddings and family groups competing with birdlife to see which can be the noisiest.
But at 7.30am, nature is well and truly in charge, with the birds and the bats loudly declaring this was their home. Even the well-arranged plants seemed a little wild, falling just short of taking on “triffid-like” qualities. In the midst of the concrete, sandstone and water that characterises the environment of Sydney’s CBD, it was nice to find somewhere just a little “wild”. Yeah, I know it’s not the Daintree, nor is it Tasmanian Old-Growth, but it’s the closest I get to nature in my neighbourhood. And what a view!
“Who was Alan Harrington?”, I asked the waiter at the Charcoal Restaurant in Canberra last night. “I’ve never met him”, she told me, “But I’ve met his son. He came here from the age of one”, she added. According to the waiter, Alan Harrington lives in Queensland now, but was a regular at the restaurant for many years. He was obviously regular enough to warrant his own name stamp at the restaurant, which I was told today was one of the longest running restaurants in Canberra.
Allan Harrington
There was definitely an olde worlde feel about the Charcoal Restaurant, and that’s what probably attracted me to it in the first place. After work, I was sitting and having a glass of wine and eating some olives at a nearby bar. As I began to look for nearby places to eat, there was nothing which really excited me. Sure, there were restaurants with hats (or should have had hats according to some critics), but there were also restaurants which sounded a little dodgy. My favourite was one which described the drinks as being expensive, but that was okay since it “kept out the riff-raff”. Hehehe.
So I wandered around London Circuit, and upon discovering everything was reasonably busy, I settled for the less busy place. The place where a single man could go in, grab a table, enjoy a meal by himself, read a book, and not have to worry too much about things. That’s how I ended up at Charcoal. To my right there was a group of young blokes keen for a good steak ahead of a night out on the town. Also to my right, there was an Australian bloke and his English partner, along with her parents. In front of me there were a few couples. I didn’t get the impression they were people looking for a sophisticated night out on the town. It didn’t matter too much to me, because I just wanted a quiet meal. One of the waiters was very good, the older woman, though I thought the young bloke, probably a student, seemed a little naive.
The steak was good value. Large. Tasty. Very happy with it all, and I’d definitely recommend Charcoal Restaurant, though I’d note the wine list is reasonably expensive. “It’s popular with lawyers and barristers”, I was told today. I guess it keeps out the riff-raff :)
Steak at the Charcoal Restaurant
I’m home now, after a week of travel. When I went to Canberra on Tuesday night, it was cold and wet, and there was a fair bit of turbulence on the plane. On arriving home tonight, it was much the same, since there have been major storms and flooding in Sydney in the time since I’ve been away.
My other dining experience was at a Thai restaurant in Dickson which was very good, though I’m struggling to remember the name of.
I do, however, remember the name of the place I stayed. I won’t name it here, because that’s my style, though I will say it was on the outskirts of town. ABARE was on this week, so Canberra was pretty heavily booked. Thus, I found myself relegated to accommodation that was actually in NSW, which was nice enough, and had a good shower, had nice blankets etc. But on the downside, was on the fringe of 3g connection (1-bar), and had an unreliable taxi-service. Another woman I spoke to, who was also staying there complained about having to wait 30-45 minutes for pre-booked taxis. “That’s Canberra taxis”, I was told.
That was about the only downside on an otherwise lovely trip to the nation’s capital.
Flying home tonight from Canberra
Oh yeah, and the delays coming home tonight due to the wild weather in Sydney. Still, the people from Qantas were friendly and nice, and I think we all understood the reasons why. And of course, we were all a bit sloshed having spent an hour or two waiting at Canberra Airport.
It’s a windy Sunday night in Surry Hills. The last few days have been extremely busy with a theatre show, a party and a wedding. Weddings, parties, anything? And in the midst of all this, suddenly there is the realisation I’m well and truly back in Sydney.
This first became obvious to me on On Thursday night Colin and I went to the Sydney Opera House Playhouse to see latest production by Max Gillies, “The Big Con”. When I left Sydney, Opera Bar was a quiet funky little spot… and so Colin and I had agreed to meet there. How things have changed: on Thursday night Opera Bar was a major yuppie haunt. Any why not… it’s such a “Sydney Spot”.
The last time I’d seen anything of this nature by Gillies was when, in the 1980s, he had his bitingly satirical “Gillies Report” on ABC-Tv which lampooned Bob Hawke. Twenty years later, we have another long-serving political leader and so it’s appropriate that Gillies has returned to this earlier form.
What we both really liked about this show was its uncompromising attitude – bordering on viciousness – to the characters parodied. Although the references to such things as Amanda Vanstone’s weight and Allan Jones alleged sexual preferences were, in some ways obvious, they were carried off with the right aplomb. They weren’t being parodied for paraody’s sake: this was to show these essential human characteristics formed the basis for their public character.
The characterisation was also completely spot on. As Bryce Hallett observed in the Sydney Morning Herald, his portrayal of Vanstone was “as vivid and grotesque as that panto dame of Barry Humphries’s invention, and more wicked given that the source of its inspiration is alive and well”. Highlights include the Vanstone’s character’s consumption of a bucket of KFC and Tony Soprano declaring that in the eyes of America, Australia was “the bitch”. The only weakness was his portrayal of Alexander Downer.
We’d both seen Gillie’s co-star, Eddie Perfect, in Hayden Tee’s late night cabaret at the Stable Theatre. While he was good then, he was great in this. His songwriting skills were more than matched by his performance skills. He was also uncompromising.
What a great show!
For the show, we sat beside Leo Schofield who has been in the news this week, in trouble over his controversial re-working of the National Anthem for New Years Eve. When Colin offered his support to Leo – “don’t worry about what they have to say” – he responded by saying it was just “the anti-Clover brigade”, referring to the Daily Telegraph’s current resentment of the Lord Mayor, Clover Moore. The other celebrity sitting nearby was Bob Ellis, who spent the intermission reading Gore Vidal (yes, seriously!). Oh yes, I’m back in Sydney.
I also went with my friend Sue to see “We Will Rock You”, the Ben Elton musical based on the songs of 1970s rock group, Queen. The show was entertaining, though fairly forgettable. A week later I have no idea about the plotline!
My work Christmas Party was held on Friday night at the Quarryman’s Hotel in Pyrmont. As with previous years it was a particularly boozy affair.
And then today I went to the wedding of a couple I met this year in Perth, Pamela and Geoff. As Geoff and Pam have been together for thirteen years, it was great to go to a wedding where there was no degree of uncertainty about whether or not the relationship will last.
Love is long suffering,
love is kind,
it is not jealous,
love does not boast,
it is not inflated.
It is not discourteous,
it is not selfish,
it is not irritable,
it does not enumerate the evil.
It does not rejoice over the wrong, but rejoices in the truth
It covers all things,
it has faith for all things,
it hopes in all things,
it endures in all things.
It’s Sunday night, the end of another weekend, and I am proud to declare I think I’ve made a few inroads into my case of “weekends anxiety”. “Weekends Anxiety” is a phrase I’ve coined to define the paranoia experienced by those of us who work Monday to Friday, and who are of a “particular age”, that makes us want to cram everything humanly possible into the weekend, just in case we don’t have all that many left. It’s an anxiety based on the fear that if you haven’t organised lunch, brunch and dinner on both days with friends, and haven’t played sport, seen a play, or been to a movie, that a weekend is somehow wasted.
The weekend started, however, with a jolt. I woke yesterday morning to one the most dramatic headlines in the Sydney Morning Herald in living memory. With the SMH declaring, “World Wakes To Calamity”, I’d wondered if I’d woken up and had somehow missed a major natural disaster or a terrorist attack. But no, the SMH headline was about the latest United Nations report on global warming. I wondered if there was something of “the boy who cried wolf” about the headline, with the unfortunate resultant action being the broad populace would go on living in the same way, failing to do anything.
With the headline, however, strong in my mind yesterday afternoon, I wandered around Sydney, observing conspicuous consumption everywhere I looked. Have we survived so long as a species because we do recognise the need for change and adaptation, or is there something inherently selfish about our species that will eventually lead to our undoing?
Hopefully there’s room for optimism that humans do understand a problem when it occurs. Even when I went to the Art Gallery of NSW this afternoon (after a few hours at work), I noticed the nutters at Speakers Corner, were banging on about the environment. So I figure if the group of ratbags regularly found in The Domain on weekends are concerned, there’s room for optimism.
I’d gone to the Art Gallery to see the Anne Landa Award for contemporary art, currently on display up stairs. With an emphasis on video art, the award features artists including Philip Brophy, Daniel Crooks, James Lynch, Tony Schwensen, Grant Stevens, Monika Tichacek, and Daniel von Sturmer. Although I don’t really have the inclination to write a complete review, I was really impressed with most of the art on display.
Crown Street Protest
And from the AGNSW, I wandered down through the Botanic Gardens, had a lie down on the grass, and wandered back through Surry Hills. Walking along Crown Street, I noticed something I’d read about but wasn’t absolutely sure about. I’d read about concerns Sydney Water is about to sell off the old Crown Street Reservoir. It wasn’t til I saw the protest signs that I knew exactly where it was, located closer to Oxford Street. The point the protestors are making is that if the reservoir is no longer needed, it could be turned into a small park with spectacular views.
My friend Colin and I went for dinner last night at RQ, one of my favourite restaurants in Sydney. As usual the food was excellent, but it was also very noisy last night and we waited far too long for the main course. Last night was my ex’s birthday, and oddly enough, his doppelganger was seated at the very next table. Unnerving to say the least.
So yeah, I made it through Saturday confident that I’d made good use of the free time afforded me. Today, however, was a different case.
I’ve spent most of the day watching television and playing around with this website. As you can see, I’ve moved “blog house” again, for the second time in as many years. I was with Netregistry for a few years and they were quite good, but then when they re-focussed away from personal accounts, and wouldn’t allow me to buy extra space, I went looking for another service.
So for the last year or so I’ve been with Byethost, supporting WordPress until this week when I realised what an amateur operation they really were. To be fair, they were trying to improve their service, but in doing so they changed database names and passwords without notification. When I politely suggested they had not communicated the changes well, I received this bullshit excuse… “To prevent mass email abuse, we have not emailed customer to give advanced noticed of the move”. Yeah, sure! Several attempts to make the changes led me to seek ticketed support which was always “half done”, leading to mistakes upon mistakes. So I’ve moved to WordPress where there seems to be much greater customer focus because….. “the customer is always right” (not wrong).
That managed to waste, if you like a few hours. So although Saturday was good in addressing a case of “Weekend Anxiety”, today wasn’t so good. Part of my “work on myself” for the year will be to accept that it’s okay to waste some time on the weekends when my work life is already quite busy. (The tune of Cats in Cradle springs to mind).
If only my social life could be as measured and metred as my work life. Some weekends I don’t have all that much organised, and others I’m so busy I could hardly scratch myself. Take the weekends of February 17 and 18, when I have four social invitations on the Sunday alone. It doesn’t rain, it pours. In all likelihood, I’ll get to only three, since I have to work (of sorts) on the Sunday morning. Still life’s like that, and in the meantime, I must repeat to myself, “I must overcome weekends anxiety”.
It’s Saturday lunchtime and I’m at work for two reasons. First, I had to make a few arrangements, face to face, with one of the presenters. Second, it’s SOOOOOO BLOOOOOOODY HUUUUUMID. I’m not sure what the actual humidity reading is, but speaking with some people here at work, they’ve told me the weather today is very strange… a bit like the “build-up”.
Should I explain the “build-up”? Although aboriginal people in the area have identified up to eight seasons in the Top End (and the Top End refers only to one part of the Northern Territory, not the whole of the NT), white folk here usually just refer to the “wet season”, the “dry season” and the “build up”. While the Dry season is near perfect, with temperatures above 30 every day and not a rain cloud in site, the Wet Season is probably more of an acquired taste. During the Wet season temperatures get a bit higher but, more importantly, the humidity rises sharply. Most locals say the “build up” is the worst. From October to the end of December the heat builds up along with the humidity. Storm clouds form, but very rarely is there any rain. If I can be a little sexual for a moment… it’s like your mother walking into your room when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.
Went out for a drink last night with Penny and a guy called Keith. Keith also lives in my apartment block on Level 8, which, he tells me, is the same level as the brothel! So yes, I was right about prostitution.
Also went to the other local bar, “Throb”, which was a little more exciting than the “Mississippi Queen”. Lots more people and friendlier too. I’ll write a more complete review when I have time.
I’m off for some lunch and then to do the War Tunnels tour that Damien and I didn’t get to do last time we were here.
I went to see singer, actress and dancer, Chloe Dallimore do her first “cabaret” show last night at Sydney’s Statement Bar, and I guess, in all honesty, I was a little disappointed.
She’s has a beautiful voice, she can dance, and she’s gorgeously leggy in that Rhonda Burchmore kind of way, but there was a “certain something” missing from last night’s show.
There were a couple of funny stories, there were a couple of moving songs, but I can honestly say I never really laughed and I never really cried. I guess the closest I came to real emotion was her performance of “My Colouring Book”, a song made famous by both Dusty Springfield and Barbra Streisand. There was also an occasion when she spoke about her late father.
Underlying her performance, I suspect there was a degree of nervousness. I also got the impression she had rehearsed the show to within an inch of its life. The result of this was a technically brilliant show that lacked a degree of sincerity.
That said, she’s so talented that you know she can only get better. Think Rhonda Burchmore in a few years time!
