Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Fair Day
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Early Riser
For most of my life I’ve never been an early riser. From my earliest years I’ve usually struggled to wake up any earlier than seven. I’ve always been a bit of a nightowl. That said, there HAVE been times throughout my life where I have woken early, and I seem to be in one of those phases right now, a phase which has been happening for about six months now. Maybe it’s about getting older?
Amongst the great things about getting up early:
Going to the supermarket at 6.30 when there’s nobody else around.
Going to my local coffee shop for an early morning coffee to catch up with the news and not having to search for a table.
Getting in to work nice and early, and getting a fair bit done.
Amongst the disadvantages:
Having time to catch up with Breakfast television – it’s truly awful.
Nodding off mid-evening in front of the television.
Early to bed and early to rise makes and man healthy, wealthy and wise? Maybe. Let’s see how long this lasts.
Makeover for Muriel
“Can’t the cows milk themselves?”, I asked my friend Paul The Dairy and Goat Farmer on Twitter this morning.
It was early – five-thirty – and I’d just woken up and, pleasingly, it was still dark. For the last few weeks it’s well and truly been daylight by then which has been a bit of a shock to the system.
Apparently the cows CAN milk themselves, Paul told me, “but that causes angst with goats who want the same ‘rights’…and we all know what happened in Animal Farm.”, he went on to say.
Even though my dad was born and raised on a dairy farm, and even though most of my ancestry comes “off the land” – mostly pigs and dairy cattle – I grew up as a “townie”. And with the exception of Uncle Barney who had a farm at Goonengerry (near Mullumbimby), it’s been a long time since anyone in my family had to worry about milking the cows or goats. Thus, I don’t really understand the day to day practicalities of daylight saving and what it means for Paul.
Me? I’m just happy to have a few extra hours of daylight at the end of the day.
In fact, if I had my way, I would dramatically change our current configuration of time-zones. Over the weekend, we moved from three time-zones in Australia to five. In my job that adds an incredible layer of complexity, as some parts of Australia take ABC Radio programs in delay (of up to three hours), and other times, they take them live.
I was chatting with some people in Queensland last night on Twitter about how confusing it can be for them, as the television stations do the same. One of the people I was chatting with noted…
We’ve already missed #antm which Fox8 showed “live” into Qld @ 1830. We’ll tape +2 @ 2030. At least #Qanda earlier now on 24.
And then you have the situation where South Australia is on a 30-minute delay, and the Northern Territory is one a 90-minute delay.
If I was the Prime Minister of Australia, I would declare we had only three time zones in Australia, all equally spaced with a one-hour difference, as in the United States. Or maybe even we could adopt the Chinese model with just one time zone? It would make my life easier, all Australians could watch and listen to the television and radio in “real time” and I am sure it would save the economy millions of dollars. But in the meantime, we have daylight saving in NSW and that suits me fine, especially as it means there’s an extra hour of daylight when I come home.
Today it meant I was able to go for a look at the mural in a nearby park. In the last couple of days I’ve received a couple of letters from City of Sydney about their plans to give the mural a bit of a make-over. I’m a bit of a fan of public art, so I think this is a terrific idea.
Although I have lived in the area for several years, I hadn’t really noticed the mural was in such dire need of a make-over until I went for a look this afternoon. And, of course, if we didn’t have daylight saving I wouldn’t have known that, because I would be trying to look at in the dark :)
Down by the harbour
“The problem is she always keeps falling in love with straight men”, my friend and colleague told me about the lead character (a trans woman) in the play, Triple X which we saw last night at the Sydney Theatre Company. “Tell me about it”, I said with a laugh. “I have the same problem”, I joked.
There are two main characters in the play. There is Dexie, played by the play’s author, Glace Chase who is going through transition from male to female, and who works as a drag queen at a gay bar. The other main character is Scottie, played by Josh McConville. Scott is a fairly conventional bloke, pursuing a business career. Dexie and Scottie meet and have a reasonably intense relationship for almost a year. Though there is obvious passion between them, the relationship comes to an end. And beyond that, I won’t spoil the plot for anyone planning to attend.
Both of us really enjoyed the play very much. There were quite a few laughs, as well as moments of tenderness. “The pace is good, the acting’s great, and the play has a lot of substance”, my friend said at interval. The play provides you with a great insight into some of the issues faced by many people with a trans experience. The play also provides an interesting look at sexual fluidity, that your heart often takes you in directions your head might struggle with.
Neither of us has been to the theatre for quite some time. It was really lovely to be able to go out and enjoy some theatre in the midst of the pandemic. The theatre was close to full. The play got a standing ovation. Highly recommended. Oh, and how good is the view from Sydney Theatre Company (Wharf 4/5)?
As preparation for the play, I had a late afternoon nap. I’d been up quite early, having taken a tram trip down to the Circular Quay.
The Colours of Madrid
For at least ten minutes today I watched a young woman attempt to take a selfie. She tried portrait. She tried landscape. She did a complete 360 twirl to find the right background. She fluffed her hair, applied lipstick and makeup, and tried all manner of facial expression. Eventually she got the shot she wanted, or at least I hope she did. But honestly, it took forever.
For my part, I was sitting just metres away having a late lunch at the Chiquita Corner Bar. One of those late lunches were you eat, drink, and watch the world go by. It was the epitome of holiday relaxation.
Due to its proximity to Plaza Mayor, I thought Chiquita was going to be one of those overpriced tourist traps. You know, a great place to watch people, but with poor service, and average over-priced food. How wrong I was. The food was excellent (the best chorizo I’ve had in my life). The service was friendly, but also understated. There was no one staring over at me with that look of “can you please just eat up and move along”. No, it was nothing like that. It was excellent, and I’d highly recommend it.
The only disappointing thing about the experience was the group of four next to me, all of whom smoked. Or should I say, all of whom had cigarettes. That’s the thing I’ve never understood. People light up cigarettes, have an occasional puff, but for the most part let it burn, and then ash it on the floor, as they annoy people like me with their smoke. A small misery, I guess, for such an excellent location.
For me, it was a day of gentle exploration and relaxation, and looking for interesting sights to photograph. I managed to clock up well over 20,000 steps.
There were lots and lots of people around. Many of them were carrying, or were draped in Spanish flags, and there were lots and lots of flags draped from windows. Though I read there was to be a protest in the city AGAINST Catalonian independence, I didn’t see much evidence of anything “organised”. I guess it was probably just a case of wrong time, wrong place. It will be fascinating to head to Barcelona on Wednesday, the day AFTER the planned declaration of independence.
Mid-evening, I came back to my AirBnB, where I’ve spent a few hours reading and relaxing. I’d probably best describe my new neighbourhood as “Madrid’s answer to Darlinghurst”. There are lots of small, older buildings, in an area which seems to have begun the process of gentrification, though it probably has a way to go. There are lots of small hole-in-the-wall bars which I’ll undoubtedly visit over the next few days, and there’s a good nearby corner-shop, where I picked up some food for the next few days. Until Tuesday at least, this is home.
PS: There are no “public toilets” in Madrid. Also, I haven’t seen many garbage bins.
Little Things
In the grand scheme of things these tasks seem simple, but I was especially proud today of myself for simply making a cup of tea and going to the bathroom.
The occupational therapist came to visit this moning to help with further training as part of the rehabilitation process.
Currently, I can get myself from the hospital bed to the kermode, but I still need assistance getting to the toilet. To reduce the risk of injury, I also require supervision.
Today’s exercise was all about building capacity for me to get myself to and from the bathroom. It’s all about slowing down and thinking ahead through the different steps, I realised.
My mind started thinking about those times in the middle of the night when I’ve gone to the bathroom in the dark, half conscious, and with my eyes almost closed. “I won’t be able to do that anymore”, I thought to myself.
With that exercise complete, the occupational therapist asked if I would like a cup of tea. After saying “yes please”, she said to me, “you’ll have to make it yourself”, and so we headed then to nearby hospital kitchen.
As with going to the toilet, I needed to break down the exercise into smaller steps. When you’re standing up and supporting yourself with one harm, you need to carefully think about things, such as reaching up for some things (tea bags) and down for others (cups, milk, kettle). There were, maybe, three or four different movements involved in making the cup of tea.
On top of that, the risks associated with a potentially slippery kitchen floor, for example.
Though it’s still several weeks away, I’m starting to think about the assistance I might need when I return home. To avoid those slippery floors, I’ll need someone to assist with cleaning. Due to the risk of injuring myself, and the complexity of things, I’ll likely need someone to help with meal preparation.
I can use a microwave, so that won’t be a problem, but I’ll probably organise one of those home meal delivery plans for the short-term at least. If you have any recommendations in that space, it would be appreciated, especially for plans which understand the needs of diabetics.
To be starting to think about returning home is a remarkable thing. Five weeks ago I was found semi-conscious by friends and neighbours, and whisked off to hospital with the support of emergency services. Words cannot describe the gratitude I feel for everything that’s happened to get me to this stage.
Heading South
Damo and I had a beer today at the Cronulla Club, the second time I’ve been there.
It’s a nice enough club, with a really fine outlook over the bowling green.
I’d been in Wollongong for the day for work. And rather than come all the way back into the city before heading back down, I jumped out of the car and met Damo at the club for a late afternoon bevvy.
We chatted mostly about travel, as he’s about to embark on his mega-tour of South East Asia, and I’m contemplating my own travel plans for early next year.
We also had a bite to eat at a nearby tapas placed called Stonefish, I think? You can eat well for very little money, let me assure you. You won’t go starving.
On arriving back in Sydney, I got home as quickly as I could and put on the heater.
Great subject and great pics
Thanks. much appreciated. A little different from your pics :) I wouldn’t mind a few of your views. 20 years in the city, and I still feel like a country boy, despite the surroundings.
I am a country girl too James – I have just travelled quite a lot ✈️ lately 👌