For the last few days, Australians have been wondering about the future health of “Molly Meldrum”. A leading figure in the Australian music scene over several decades, he’s been in a coma since falling from a ladder at his home in Melbourne a few days ago.
I met Molly briefly at the opening night of the Australian production of “Mamma Mia” in Melbourne a decade ago.
It was actually Patti Mostyn I met first. She was the legendary Australian publicist who looked after ABBA’s tour of Australia in 1977.
One of my most significant memories of the night was approaching Patti Mostyn, the Australian publicist for ABBA during the 1970s, asking if I could have a photograph with her, explaining that she was a legendary figure in Australian ABBA fandom. “Really?”, she said, seemingly surprised that anyone knew who she was. “Sure”, she said, “But only if you have a picture with Molly (Meldrum) as well”. Reluctantly I agreed.
Glogg, bilar, Kalles Kaviar, crispbread and peach cider
In Swedish class tonight we spent a fair bit of time discussing the differences between the Australian and Swedish school systems.
In Australia. we tend to start school earlier, are more likely to go to religious schools, are more likely to wear school uniforms, and are more likely to study a narrow range of subjects at the end of high school.
The Swedes, it shouldn’t surprise you, are much more into “student democracy”, less discipline, and a broader range of subject choices.
There are, of course, pros and cons with both systems.
It was interesting, though, as we went around the class to look at how much cultural knowledge existed.
The class is made up of a lot of people with Swedish husbands, wives, partners, and ex-partners. Compared with previous classes, Grant and I are most obviously the oldest in the class. And this time around there’s only two of us with children. One has pre-school aged children, the other has a daughter living in Sweden.
And so when the question of when are the school terms in Sweden and Australia, and when are the holidays came up, there was a definite lack of cultural knowledge.
I was surprised as I know these details quite well. Working with a lot of people with school-aged children, I know exactly when the school holidays are. And yet, the younger class members who are mostly in their late 20s, perhaps, seem to have forgotten this information, even though they were at school far more recently than either Grant or I. They, for example, would have lived through four-term years in Australia, whereas when I was at school, we still had three terms.
I missed class last week due to my lovely dinner, and will miss again next week due to holidays.
But I have an added pressure on myself to improve my Swedish skills, especially now that I have booked my ticket for March, and especially now that I have made some contacts to attend work-related conferences while there. With a definite goal now in mind, I’ll need to work hard over the next few months.
As we sat and chatted about school life I was reminded of my own high school years. And university also I guess.
I’ve been lucky to have been reasonably naturally talented with some things. And so for much of my academic life I cruised through without working too much.
Despite my mostly “A” and “B” academic record, at one point in my Year 11, I was given the Grade “D” meaning “more could be expected”, despite having finished in the Top 2 or 3 of my class in English. My teacher was saying, he later told me, “you’re very talented, if you worked harder you could achieve so much more” (or words to that effect).
In some ways it’s been a little the same with my Swedish studies. I think I have a good ear, and I think my pronunciation and translation skills are quite good. I’ve been a bit lazy, though, when it comes to grammar and some of the “hard work” you need to do to take that one step further.
So my philosophy for the next few months will be to try to work harder on the “boring bits”. Hopefully by the time I get to Sweden in March, I’lll no longer have to say, “ursakta mig, jag talar svensk som en barn” (excuse me, i speak swedish like a child).
In essence my philosophy for the next few months is… “needs to try harder”.
You know how ugly those hoardings on construction works can be? Chip-board. “Do not enter” signs. That kind of thing? The other week I noticed there’s a new approach that’s being taken by the City of Sydney.
I first saw it at the old fruit and vegetable shop on Crown Street, Surry Hills, currently under construction. They’ll probably turn it into a cafe, or a nail salon, or a hair-dresser for pets, as seems to be the fashion for everything in my suburb, these days.
But the one thing they have gotten right, is the decision to decorate the construction site hoarding with some terrific public art. I also noticed there’s a construction site in Chippendale with these hoardings also. Very welcome, in my humble opinion. Enjoy.
Conscious that I sometimes share material on other platforms that never makes “the cut” here on my blog, I will start sharing a few bits and pieces here also. These are the tweets, posts, and observations that still seem relevant at the end of each month. Lots of ephemera, but hopefully still quite entertaining.
Feb 4 : I had no idea until tonight there was an “original” unreleased version of the Diana Ross album, “Diana”. Upside Down/ComingOut/MyOldPiano etc. Chic did the original. Diana didn’t like it and had it remixed. The original is a bit sexier I think.
Feb 6 : Just had someone on Crown Street ask me for money. Twenty dollars. You mean two? No, I mean twenty, she said. Weimar republic inflation comes to Surry Hills.
Feb 7 : They really didn’t think this through, did they? Feb 7 : Going through some old photographs from Sweden in 2013 and found this. Given the sub-zero temperatures these (presumably) young men endured to create this, you have to admire their commitment to art :)
Feb 8 : Doing some collaborative work with a colleague in Western Australia. Due to the three hour time-zone difference, she suggested I “take a siesta” and we can catch up later this afternoon. What an awesome idea!
Feb 9 : A friend is setting up her home internet with Android devices, TV and Laptop. “The guy from Geeks are us had to come back several times” she said. His answer was “You need Apple TV”. Dodgy and extracting income or plain incompetent?
Feb 10 : Gong hei fat choy
Feb 13 : Friend just told me she once asked for a medium steak, and the newish bar staff member replied, “Sorry, they only come in one size…”
Feb 15 : Currently researching a bit of the gay and lesbian history of Wagga in the early 90s. This made me laugh. Daily Advertiser 1953.
Feb 17 : Going into work on Wednesdays. Biggest downside? I can’t open the window to let the fresh air in.
Feb 18 : Personally, I hate it when friends and family share news stories on Facebook, especially when they’re stupid opinon pieces. My preference is for Facebook to be a place for baby, pet, and holiday photographs.
Feb 19 : Fondly remembering how I spent my Saturday nights twenty years ago.
Feb 22 : Waiting on the arrival in the mail of a DVD from the 90s. Neither my work nor home computers have a DVD player, and I’m not sure where my old DVD player is. OMG.
Feb 27 : Hey @MelanieTait Having lunch with a friend, @gusworldau and thought you would love this shirt he’s wearing.Feb 28 : We’ve known each other 41 years, which was obviously before we were born. We went to school together in Lismore. Catching up in Newcastle.
In contrast to my experience at Madrid Airport the other week (where I made it through security in less than five minutes), it took much, much longer at Delhi Airport. The man at airport security looked me up and down several times and asked me the same questions over and over. Even with documentation, he kept asking me, in various ways, which plane I’d arrived on, where I’d be staying, and when I’d be leaving. Though I truly understand the reasons for high levels of security at Delhi Airport, I thought the whole process seemed unnecessarily time-consuming and overly bureaucratic.
It wasn’t nearly as bad getting a local SIM card. However, that also seemed to include a fair amount of paperwork that needed to be confirmed, photocopied, and signed, and they also took a photograph of me for their records. Getting a local SIM card wasn’t an antidote to some kind of “internet-addiction” thing. Prior to arriving, I’d decided if I was going to head into the middle of Delhi by myself, I’d definitely need a local SIM for Google Maps (just to get around) and phone calls (in case I ran into any trouble). At less than $8 for one gigabyte of data and unlimited calls, I thought it was an absolute bargain.
Even though Sue and I had looked online at a range of short tours I could do in the limited time I had in Delhi, in the end, I concluded I’d much prefer to stay in the hotel for a while, freshen up, and then wander into the city for a bit of a “self-tour”. And besides, I had to wait a few hours for the SIM to be activated. Once that happened, I walked to the nearest public transport stop (Aerocity) and caught the metro into the middle of the city.
Though I had many preconceived ideas about what the centre of Delhi might be like, I wasn’t mentally prepared for the sheer number of people I would see. But then again, what else could I expect of a city with a population that’s larger than that of the whole of Australia?
Also, I hadn’t realised the significance of arriving last night until a man wished me, “Happy Diwali”. As I wandered around the markets and then in the shops, it was a useful opening phrase to have. “You know about Diwali?”, a couple of people asked me. “Yes, and we celebrate it, too, in Australia,” I told them, to their apparent surprise. It was also a terrific greeting at the airport today, prompting quite a few smiles. To coincide with the annual celebration, there were lots and lots of coloured lights, candles, and floral decorations. And everywhere there were some wonderful smells (food, flowers), as well as some not-so-wonderful smells. Tastes too (as I bought a couple of samosa-like treats for dinner) and had a Bira Beer (apparently India’s most popular beer) at a bar to rest my weary legs and to take stock of where I was. I had the wheat beer and would highly recommend it.
I’ll admit I felt a little nervous walking around by myself. It wasn’t so much the idea of being led down a darkened alley or of being scammed; it was more the fear of a large, unknown city. And so when a couple of people called out to me, urging me to follow them, I kept my eyes straight forward and walked quietly and confidently ahead.
“Please help a poor old woman?” a poor old woman called out to me. I was about to take a selfie. When she saw me pull out my mobile phone, she quickly retreated. I also spotted a number of people unconscious on the street. It was then the realisation hit me: I’d see more unconscious people and have more people asking me for money on an average day in Sydney than I had in only a couple of hours walking around the centre of Delhi.
I figured it would be faster, safer, and also more interesting to take a car, not the metro, to head back to the airport hotel. As I’d read a fair bit about “surprise fares” and “unauthorised drivers”, I called into a local “tourist office” where they ordered me a car, and where I was able to pre-pay.
Though the traffic seemed erratic by Australian standards, and there were moments when I thought I should close my eyes and say a quiet prayer, I soon realised the driver knew exactly what he was doing and settled in for the ride. Honk. Honk. Left, right. Buses, cars, tuk-tuks, and bicycles all together as one, and with people seemingly, randomly, crossing the street. I’d learned the lessons of crossing these kinds of roads from when I visited Kate in Beijing a few years ago: find a group of locals and cross with them.
In stark contrast to what I’d just seen, I quickly settled back into my fairly nice hotel room. I had a bath, I had a glass of wine, and I Bluetooth-streamed some music to the room’s Bose sound system. You get the picture? I could never afford this type of accommodation in Australia, but it was definitely within my price range here. In a country with such a large population, it wasn’t surprising to see so many people working at the hotel. In stark contrast to some of the indifferent customer service I know all too well from Australia, and which I’d experienced in Spain, the hotel staff were all incredibly helpful and very polite. If you’re ever headed to Delhi, I’d highly recommend the Pullman Aerocity hotel. Yes, it’s a long way from the city, but for my brief stop, its proximity to the airport and the overall level of comfort made it good value.
I woke early and enjoyed the fairly elaborate buffet breakfast (which included every type of meal you might imagine), ahead of repacking my bag and then heading to the airport. Once again, there were lengthy queues at airport security, but I made it through with enough time to sit and relax at the “cricket bar” I called into on my last visit to Delhi.
With only a few hours to go until arriving back in Sydney, I’ve watched a couple of movies and have enjoyed a couple of terrific meals. Though the plane is pretty full, I’m pleased it’s just me and a similarly aged Indian woman over three seats. Bliss. A terrific way to end a wonderful holiday.
“What was your favourite work?”, I asked my friend Sue as we walked away from Sydney’s “White Rabbit Gallery” this afternoon. “It was definitely the video work”, she told me. I had to agree. It’s a beautiful work. Over the course of maybe twenty or thirty minutes, you sit there in a darkened room and watch an artist take delivery of some large stacks of clay, and proceeds to turn those stacks into a human sculpture. Along the way, you get to see the intimate way in which an artist can work with clay. At times, it was if the artist was giving the clay a full body massage. At times, it was as if the clay was an actual human being. One of the most compelling parts is when you watch the artist scoop their hands into the head of the sculpture, removing some clay, creating eyeballs and then putting them back inside. I thought the video was beautifully conceived and shot.
There are several other stand-out works in the current exhibition, “Heavy Artillery” including “The Tank Project”, 2011-2013 by He Xiangyu (a life-size “deflated” tank made from hand-knitted leather); “Armour of Triumph”, 2012 by Wang Lei (knitting); and “European Thousand-Armed Sculpture” (2013–2014) by Xu Zhen (in which massive classical sculptures align in the form of a Buddhist deity). Also memorable was “Guazi Moves Earth”, 2008 by Liu Chengrui (Guazi), a performance piece in which the artist crawls along the ground moving a pile of earth mouthful by mouthful because “not all art should be pretty.”
“European Thousand-Armed Sculpture” (2013–2014) by Xu Zhen
“European Thousand-Armed Sculpture” (2013–2014) by Xu Zhen
“The Tank Project”, 2011-2013 by He Xiangyu
“The Tank Project”, 2011-2013 by He Xiangyu
“Armour of Triumph”, 2012 by Wang Lei
“Guazi Moves Earth”, 2008 by Liu Chengrui (Guazi)
We are so lucky to have such a great gallery in Sydney, open to the public and free of charge, presenting such beautiful, interesting and challenging work.
Even though it looks okay now, I had the haircut from hell last night. On my way to the Capitol Theatre to see Barry Humphries (which I’ll write about later) I decided to pop into a nearby hair dresser for quick haircut. As someone with not all that much hair, it usually only takes a couple of minutes and doesn’t normally cost all that much.
I guess I should have known something was wrong when the salon manager pointed towards me – as the only one sitting on the couch – and I noticed my alloted hairdresser ask “which one?”. Further, I noticed a look of confusion on her face when I gave her my usual fairly simple description, “a number two clipper cut, thanks”. I didn’t worry too much when she brought out the scissors and comb and started trimming my hair, as I thought she might have been preparing it for the trimmer. But after 5 or so minutes of watching her do this, I repeated the instruction, “I’d like a clipper cut, please, a number two clipper cut” with more an insistent tone than the first time. “Oh”, she said, “You want clippers?”.
I had now realised her English language skills were a lot worse than I had immediately imagined. Generally speaking, that doesn’t worry me all that much, as I live and work in a culturally diverse city where you just learn to speak a little more slowly and deliberately at times.
Back of my head
However, even though she now understood the instruction, she seemed to attack the job as if she had never used clippers before. And attack is probably a good word, as my head soon began to resemble a patchwork rug with some areas clippered and others not. After a further 15 minutes or so, she declared my haircut complete, even though clippers had so far not even touched the top of my head. When I asked for a mirror to see what the back of my head looked like, she held the mirror in such a manner that I couldn’t actually see it. I was beginning to wonder if I was on a “candid camera” style program.
I then asked her very politely if she was going to clipper the top as well. “Oh you want that done too?”, she asked. “Yes”, I said, and then almost immediately afterwards I said, “No, forget about it”. “Are you angry with me?”, she asked, and I replied, “No, not with you”. At that point I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered if the bright red of my face was the result of anger, embarrassment or if I was about to burst into tears. At that point I walked over to the manager. Pretty quickly, you could see the look of recognition on his face that something had gone horribly wrong. Although I looked him straight in the eye, he avoided mine, concentrating instead on my temples. “I’ll fix it”, he told me, as I got the impression this wasn’t the first time this had occured. As I sat down for a “repair job”, I felt a huge amount of sympathy for the woman who was by now obviously totally humiliated. And I also felt sympathy for the bloke who was now seated in the chair in front of her.
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I’m a bit fascinated about how the Molly story is featuring so highly in the news. What’s your take on that? (Just silly season news or is it saying something about Molly’s role in Australia’s cultural identity?)
I think it’s a combination of the two. I think the silly season has heightened interest, and if there was something more dramatic happening in the news, it may not have received as much interest. But, on the other side of things, I think we all think we “know” Molly, and so we’re all very concerned. We grew up with him, our parents got to know him through us, and now our kids know him – that kind of thing. I’m also reminded of the “P”s of journalism I was once told by a now retired professor of journalism, meaning you could rate the level of interest in a story in these terms – princes, prices, people, places and then, finally, politics. Molly is a prince. A celebrity.
I’m a bit fascinated about how the Molly story is featuring so highly in the news. What’s your take on that? (Just silly season news or is it saying something about Molly’s role in Australia’s cultural identity?)
I think it’s a combination of the two. I think the silly season has heightened interest, and if there was something more dramatic happening in the news, it may not have received as much interest. But, on the other side of things, I think we all think we “know” Molly, and so we’re all very concerned. We grew up with him, our parents got to know him through us, and now our kids know him – that kind of thing. I’m also reminded of the “P”s of journalism I was once told by a now retired professor of journalism, meaning you could rate the level of interest in a story in these terms – princes, prices, people, places and then, finally, politics. Molly is a prince. A celebrity.