After the glorious weather of the last few days, I’ve arrived back in Sydney to a thunderstorm. I like thunderstorms, by the way.
I went in to the Lismore office for work today and got a remarkable amount done. I guess that’s always the way when you’re out of your regular workspace.
Mid afternoon, I headed home and then we made our way to Ballina Airport for the flight home. We actually arrived at the airport about forty-five minutes earlier than expected as the traffic was unexpectedly good.
The Big Prawn at Ballina
With a bit of time to spare, we did a bit of sight-seeing. After years of neglect, it was great to see the Big Prawn has been given a lick of paint. It was also a lovely day at the beach which was nearly deserted, possibly due to strong winds.
Here are some photographs taken during 45 minutes in Ballina.
Pat and Nancy at BallinaBallina, NSW, AustraliaBallina, NSW, Australia
It’s Sunday afternoon and I’ve just awoken from a nap. After some lovely bread and a couple of glasses of wine, and some Italian-style veal for lunch, I needed a little lie down, especially as I’m heading out to dinner tonight.
Yes, lunch was great. This afternoon I went with old schoolfriend, Anthony and his mate, JT, to the Italian Festival in East Sydney, which I enjoyed immensely.
Unlike Norton Street with its large wide streets, this festival based around Stanley Street seems to more genuinely have the feeling of a small Italian street party.
Unlike some cultural festivals, I also thought it had a fairly contemporary feel, even though there was Eurovision-style crooning, and piano accordian/violin folk. When they sang “That’s Amore”, for example, it didn’t feel corny, it felt real and heart felt.
“That’s an Irish name, isn’t it?”. the English bloke guiding the check-in queue at Berlin-Tegel Airport said to me this morning, adding “When was the last time you were in the UK?”. “Nine years ago”, I told him as he looked closely at my passport, adding that I was ninth generation Australian. And then he laughed, perhaps realising how it was probably a stupid comment to make,
But interestingly, I remember a similar comment – the Irish thing – being made back then by the blokes at passport control at both London City and Heathrow Airports, as we travelled to and from the Irish Republic. Coming back from Ireland, I was asked how long I’d been in the Irish republic and what I’d been doing there. At that time, there was a Northern Ireland ceasefire in place, but there was still obviously some tension between the English and the Irish. Nine years later, it surprised me such a common surname would still spark some interest and such a comment.
Oddly enough, coming through UK Customs, there were no questions asked. Well just one. And it was the same question they asked nine years ago, which contrasted the UK and the Irish officials in a very subtle way. In the Irish Republic they asked, “How long are you staying for?”, whereas in the UK, they asked, “When are you leaving?”.
I never ended up leaving the hostel last night. After seven or eight weeks (I’ve lost track) on the road, I’m starting to feel a little bit of travel fatigue. It’s not so much the physical fatigue (though I do feel a little bit of that), it’s more the mental fatigue. That said, I was a bit tired after the big walking tour yesterday, so I just stayed in, hand-washed some clothes, had a few beers, and surfed the internet.
Once again on this trip, quite by accident, I had found myself staying in a hostel with an Australian connection. Most of the staff seemed to be Australians, and so while sitting in the cafe, there was a steady stream of Midnight Oil, Choirboys, etc playing over the sound system. It was also kinda nice to have an understanding laugh from the barman when I explained why I was changing beers… “It’s because the other one takes too long and this one pours faster”. “Only an Australian would say that”, I thought to myself.
And so I read and wrote some emails, looked at Facebook and Youtube, and then read some of the reviews about the hostel I’d booked into in Paris. What I hadn’t realised when I made the booking a few weeks ago is that it was an all-male (read “gay”) hostel. And when I read the reviews, which were very critical of the hostel for both safety, security, and (most of all) cleanliness, I went looking for somewhere else for the first two nights in Paris. The place I’ve found is also a St Christopher’s Inn, and although a little out of the way, all of the reviews I’ve read have been very positive about this new hostel which opened only in January this year.
But here I am in London. And with a couple of hours to fill before I catch up with my mate Paul, I’ve popped into a groovy little bar for some lunch, and to make use of their wifi connection. And guess what? More bloody Australians.
Groovy little bar in London called The Hoxton Pony
The older I get, the more I’ve developed a real appreciation for small bars, compared to the big, impersonal venues I used to frequent.
My first taste of their charm came during a trip to the Netherlands in 2008. I stumbled upon a tiny bar that held maybe 30 people. It turned out to be a karaoke bar run by a couple who belted out Dutch and English songs, encouraging us to join in.
A group of Spanish guys and I decided to bravely attempt a well-known Dutch song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TAB3CnL5yWA We butchered it, of course, but the couple behind the bar were in stitches laughing, and the whole room erupted in laughter. That night, I discovered the magic of a small bar’s intimacy and camaraderie. (See earlier blog post https://thelimbshift.com/2008/08/hello-from-berlin/)
They’ve been around for two or three years now, initially opened by a couple of blokes, Dave and Eric. Dave is no longer an owner, though he helps out from time to time.
It’s a great place to call into a couple of times a week for a chat with Eric, or with random people you might meet at the stool next door. Memorably, I’ll never forget the night when a pro-Trump tourist arrived.
One of the great things they do is provide a venue for live music, including jazz, folk, country and Irish.
And every second Thursday they have sea shanties. Yes, those songs which sound terribly colonial in many respects. In the words of one of the organisers tonight, some of those sounds don’t stand the test of time, but many do, and they provide a wonderful backdrop for an evening over a glass of wine or beer and communal singing.
Every so often on the internet – and in real life – you’ll hear someone say The Simpsons is past its prime, well past its use by date. Mostly I agree, but occasionally, just occasionally there’s an episode which demonstrates what a fantastic, relevant program it continues be. For example, I watched the episode today – the current season in the US – where Smithers convinces Moe to turn Moe’s Tavern into a gay bar, and absolutely loved it.
The premise for the episode is that Smithers discovers he’s not in Mr Burns will because Burns isn’t convinced Smithers has much drive and ambition. Feeling deflated Smithers heads off to the local gay bar – so it’s now confirmed, obviously – and is rejected by the bouncer. Looking across the road he sees Moe’s Tavern where no one is ever rejected. Smithers then convinces Moe to transform Moe’s Tavern into a gay bar for the more ordinary run of the mill – dull – homosexual. It’s quite a hit.
Moe and Smithers kissing on The Simpsons
A lot of people conclude Moe is, himself, gay: something which Moe himself doesn’t deny until he absolutely has to, when he’s on the verge of being elected as Springfield’s first openly gay councillor. It’s an episode which has all of the drama, the irony, and the comedy you expect from The Simpsons. I love the reference of “Tom of Shelbyville” erotic gay art, for example.
Anyway, that’s pretty much how I spent most of the day: watching catch-up tv. I had a bunch of material on the pvr and a bunch of material in the download box that I just haven’t had the time to watch until today. There was nothing else of note in what I watched, and Keanu Reeves was still boring on Graham Norton the second time around :)
The only other bit of excitement in the day was a trip to Officeworks. I have a friend in hospital at the moment and I wanted to buy him a reasonably easy to use mp3 player. He’s a great music fan, and having been in hospital for a few weeks, I thought he would be really missing some of his favourite tunes.
He’s a little older, these days and finding technology a little tougher than he used tro, and so I wanted to find an mp3 player that was pretty straight-forward and easy to use. Do you know how hard that is? They all seem to come with multiple options. You can watch video. You can control the equalisation. You can do anything. But all I really wanted one that had an on-off switch, and simple controls for volume and the next track. I settled on the latest ipod shuffle. It seems to do the trick. Cheap as chips also.
And so the part of the day that wasn’t involved in watching television was involved in selecting some of his favourite music and loading it up.
A further installment in my stumpiversary, with a story from ABC Everyday and ABCQueer on Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/p/C-Envnozu0X/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA== I’m so glad there is interest in this story. I’ll be on ABC Melbourne and ABC Perth tomorrow also. Amputations are increasing significantly in Australia, often related to diabetes, so it’s great to get the word out. Especially love the main image is me on the rainbow crossing and wearing a Lismore t-shirt!!!
Looking handsome James!
That’s very sweet of you to say. I put it down to good surroundings.