K.K.

Have you ever noticed that other people's families are weird? The Accountant and I have, very smugly, done whatever the hell we wanted for Christmas, every year for 20 years.  Skiing in the States?  Yes thanks.  White Christmas in Stockholm?  Don't mind if we do.  Fabulous Festive in London?  OK then.

Well this Christmas Day there were about 40 of my own family gathered into one space - and it was pretty freaky.  I tried to put myself in the position of the "outsiders", ie. the spouses of my cousins, to see how it would appear to them.  And I must say that yes it would seem quite full-on to be part of the Smith family on Christmas Day.  But not to be missed out on as it was the best fun ever.


Instead of explaining how it all went I have decided instead to give out some awards.  This will make no sense to anyone apart from those who participated in the hotly contested Kris Kringle present extravaganza which took place.  A Christmas gift-giving exercise designed to make one feel excited, euphoric, deeply disappointed and/or violent - but never bored.  So those who didn't take part can sign off now - or keep reading my jolly Christmas rant.

And without further ado, the Awards go to:

Best Present: It has to go to the Scratchcards.
Worst Present: Sophie's very unfortunate crap present which included coasters in the shape of crinkle-cut crisps.
Best Comic Moment: Shaun!  Love this guy - I need him in my hall cupboard, and can pull him out when in the depths of despair to cheer me up.
Loudest Child Scream: Jaide.
Naughtiest Children: The Lyons Boys.
Best Food: A toss between Auntie Deb's gravy and Auntie Bid's Lemon Slice.  Yum.
Second Best Food:  My famous Christmas Biscuits!
Best Christmas Activity: Watching the boys go from trampoline to slip n' slide.
Best Dressed: Sienna.
Most Organised with Baby Stuff: Hope (thanks!)
Best Special Effects: The thunderstorm which raged throughout the Kris Kringle celebrations.
Best Fake Santa: Russell
Best Idea: Me - going to Collingwood the day before to get those two extra cases of wine. We needed it.

Christmas in Christowel

Happy Christmas friends and family all over the world!  It is Christmas Eve in Australia.  The champagne is flowing (a lovely bubbly I got from a Collingwood winery this morning - a little slice of Europe right there on the corner with vine leaves and pots of flowers with a very European looking apartment above. Three cases of an assortment of wine will get us through the festive season and beyond).  As I type this The Accountant and Pom-Pom (Russell - Mother's husband) are setting up the trampoline in the garden.

Tomorrow I am serving bellinis in the garden by 8:30am.  I think even Father Christmas is arriving at 8:00am to give out presents (Pom-Pom dressed appropriately).  Croissants, fruit salad and my speciality - Nigella's spicy biscuits which I usually serve at our Oxford Christmas Party.  Then a big roast lunch with lamb and chicken (fussy eaters).  Out to the bigger family get-together in the late afternoon - just a small family gathering of about 40 guests.

Henry has got himself in such a state about Christmas that he is already in bed - over-tired and a tendency to be annoying to adults.  A bit of a shame as he has made some Reindeer Dust which he was to sprinkle on the path up to the door to enable Santa Claus to find the entrance.  The Dust is a combination of rolled oats and very camp glitter, and was made at school.  These teachers certainly have sense of humour.  Can you imagine the comments in the staffroom at lunchtime?  "Yes Claire I even tricked my Preps into making Reindeer Dust.  They fall for it every year......".

So the big Christmas present for the boys is a trampoline care of Grandparents No. 2 (no offence Father and Jo - it's only because you're not here right now - and I've had a few of the Broken Gate bubbly).  The Accountant and Pom-Pom are putting it together right now in the garden (much male-bonding and beer drinking) and Rufus is happily, and naively helping sans older brother.  At least Henry will have a lovely surprise when he wakes tomorrow morning. 
Merry Christmas every last one of you.

Schools Out For Summer

And Australian women around the country are getting ready for a long hot summer of toys strewn around the house, undies on the floor, tantrums, tempers, thirsty, hungry people following you around asking persistent and annoying questions - and then there's the children to take care of as well!  We have lots to look forward to this Christmas.  Family coming to stay in our lovely Camberwell home.  Me doing a Nigella (Without the breasts. No hang on I am still breastfeeding...).  Holidaying with cousins by the beach at Merimbula. Then up to the mountains, rivers and lakes of Bright.

How many adults does it take to get Henry off to school? Well about 4 of us this morning were literally chasing him around the house trying to get him in uniform, brushed teeth and bike helmet on.  Had a late night with the Grandparents visiting for one night only, and very excited about Christmas and finishing school for holidays. Lord give me strength for the next six weeks.  Already done this once before this year in England - and now the Aussie version.

School Concert

Well last night I learnt that I could count my eyelashes by just using my vivid imagination.  I also learnt that if you sit in row Z of a massive university auditorium - you really can't see a tiny six year old boy singing his heart out.

I turned to my neighbour (literally my neighbour as she lives two houses down from me) and said "This is only Prep.  We've got another six years of this."  Certainly gave her something to think about.

Handmade Christmas Cards

The other night I was chuckling away whilst The Accountant was watching TV.  No hang on, I wasn't just chuckling I was pissing myself, laughing out loud for quite a while.  "What are you laughing at?"  "I'm making homemade Christmas cards that are so terrible.  Everyone is going to think Henry and Rufus helped me."

It was just so sad seeing these disastrous creations come to life.  In my head they were the most cool, handmade designs the Christmas card world has ever seen.  I had cut outs, stickers, ribbon.  It all amounted to nothing.  So if you are the unlucky receiver of such a card - I apologise in advance.  And I can't even blame Henry and Rufus as they were in bed asleep.  Damn those kids, never up when you need an excuse.  Will give some of you bah-humbugs a good laugh anyway.

Two funny things I saw the other night whilst walking to my yoga class.  1.  Some huge reindeer antlers.  ON A CAR. I never want to see such a thing again in my life.  2. A sign which said "Victorian Cheerleaders Club".  Hilarious.  I wanted to go immediately.  "Give me an F!  Give me a U!  Give me a C!...".

Ho Ho Hot

No blogs for ages my fellow bloggers - and then two in one day!   Henry and Rufus are rather confused about the weather.  They want to know when it is going to cool down so much it snows.  Henry cannot get his head around the fact that it is only two weeks until Christmas, and yet the weather seems to be doing the opposite to normal.

I started explaining about living in the Southern Hemisphere, and it led me to reminisce about our yearly Christmas party.  Last year was the most seasonal fun as only those who could walk, drive a 4x4 or hitch a lift with a confident driver were able to attend the party due to the snow.  We lined our hallway with bathmats and towels as everyone entered in their black tie refinery, took off their wellys and replaced them with evening shoes.

We didn't even need to decorate with lights too much as the snow made everything look festive in the garden, and the log fire was kept burning all night.  Here there is fake snow in the windows of the shops, and people tend not to get proper Christmas trees in case they go brown in the heat.  We did get a Christmas tree on the weekend though, as Melbourne weather is very up and down, and looks great in our front room (the Good Room Australians call it - very Kath and Kim).

It will be nice on Christmas Day, to be having a glass of something cold and bubbly, outside on the verandah, with flowers and butterflies in the garden, whilst wearing a summer maxidress.  And no mittens in sight.

Hippy Dance Thing

I keep receiving emails from Claire Thompson, Dance Officer for Oxford, which keep me updated on dance events in and around Oxford.  I have specifically not asked to be taken off the mailing list as it is nice to see what is going on and even if I am not applying or participating, I still have a little Oxford dance in my heart (altogether now - Ahhhhhh).

Last week I was sent one such dance email regarding an event in Oxford called "Body Cycles, Earth Cycles".  Imagine the hilarity in our house should I shout out to The Accountant "Right love I'm off to my Body Cycles, Earth Cycles workshop now.  Don't wait up."  As if The Accountant needs any more ammuninition when it comes to the left-leaning contemporary dance events in the UK (or anywhere for that matter).  He already thinks my Saturday morning class was filled with women rolling around on a dirty floor (thanks for that East Oxford Community Centre, there are still some bits behind my ears I'll never get clean) talking about our periods.  Why can't these people call their workshops something sensible?  Body cycles + 95% women participation + contemporary dance + local community centre = lots of jokes about bodily functions.

Husband on Ebay

How much do you think I could auction off The Accountant for?  Incoming:the globe-trotting husband (who has done nothing but lie down and read, lie down and eat lie down and sleep since returning).  Outgoing: lovely Mother-in-Law, great conversation over wine, patience of an angel with the children, cooks like Nigella and made our house spic and span without moaning at all.

Last night I tried to get The Accountant to sort out his travelling washing and take out some rubbish.  "Do you know what I've had to do today?" he said with a grin "I've had to lie down in business class and watch two movies and have a sleep."  This is all completely true.

This morning I was up with the birds and the baby, hustling and bustling to ready lunches, breakfasts, school stuff, kindergarten stuff.  All the time yelling out to the three sleeping boys in the house "Get up now!  You are all going to be late!"  I then realised that the only two people who didn't have to be up getting ready - was Jonty and I!  What the hell am I doing?  Any sane person (who wasn't a woman probably) would be languishing in bed.  No job, no dance, no dance classes - and yet I'm the one up and dressed and ready by 8:15am?  What for?  All the ladies put your hands up in the air.....

So anyone want these muppets for a tenner?  That's pounds not dollars - I'm no fool.

Grazia vs Hello

Stop me from buying all these bloody magazines! Hold me back. OK, just the one this week.  Just one posh one and one crap one.  Then maybe a literary one, and a gossip/fashion magazine.  Then a house decor one - STOP THE MADNESS.

But just had to buy a little bit of British gossip.  And your Aussie dollar goes no further than Hello magazine.  Posh and Harper on the cover, what more could a girl want than a flat white and Hello magazine.

Australian newspapers are rubbish, so you read what you can, but spend the rest of the time looking at gorgeous magazines.  Has done nothing for my IQ, let alone kept me abreast of world affairs.  But I did see an International version of The Guardian for $4.00 which looked good. The Accountant, of course, hates The Guardian ("hippy shit"), but then he is to the right of Ghengis Khan.

So I will revel in my Hello magazine whilst Rufus is at Kindergym as lovely Nanny Sue is looking after Jonty, who by the way is very proud of himself for being able to assume the position of all fours, but not actually crawling yet. Still very chuffed.

Bang on the Head Part II

I am not even going to mention the fact that yet again on a Sunday night we had a medical emergency in our house.  Same child. Same head. Same accident. Sunday night!

After dinner Henry and Rufus were playing with the doorbell at the gate in front of the house. They had very sweetly picked flowers for me and wanted me to come out and give them to me.  Nanny Sue and I were inside eating dinner laughing at the fact that we only knew two people who would ring a doorbell 5 times in a row, then about 30 seconds later Henry was running up the driveway screaming.

But it wasn't Henry who was in trouble.  Poor little Rufus had so much blood gushing down his face I couldn't even see what had happened.  He had split his head on a rock and grazed his face badly.  I could see his skull!  Was absolutely awful, much worse than last week.  Again we called the ambulance, and ended up at the same hospital as last week. Even the nice lady doctor did a double-take when she saw the same mother and child in the waiting room.

Luckily whilst at home waiting for an ambulance and kind neighbour from a few houses down just ran into our house, she had heard the screaming, she was Head Nurse at a nearby hospital.  She calmed us all down and applied pressure to Rufus' head to stem the bleeding. 

So poor little Rufus had to have 5 stitches into his forehead last night.  Another late Sunday night at the hospital (I went prepared this time with comforting books and blankets).  He is fine today, and even playing football with Henry and David.  Aside from keeping him in some sort of bubble contraption, we will be keeping an eye on all sharp objects from now on.  I broke an icy pole stick this afternoon (in place of a matchstick) as these things come in threes.  So the broken icy pole stick is the third thing.  Most accidents do happen in the home.

Gill Clarke

Great dancer, teacher and mentor Gill Clarke has died.  She was such an inspirational dancer and teacher, and always showed such calmness and poise both in and out of the studio. 

I always loved it when Gill used to, very enthuastically, bring out her odd little drawings of the human skeleton, and together we would all crowd over them as she pointed out various intracacies of the backbone or skull.

I will always be grateful that she allowed me to perform at 7 months pregnant with Rufus, at the Pegasus Theatre.  We all had great fun that week, and she bought out something special in all of our performances, regardless of age, experience or style.

Gill will be greatly missed in the UK, and even here in Australia I feel a huge vaccum of intelligence and information has gone.  In my quiet moments I will think on all Gill has taught me, offered me in dance.  Amongst all the hectic dance studios of the world, Gill's was a thankful, calm and thoughtful place.

Bang on the Head

I was going to write a Blog provisionally titled "Three Outfits in One Day", which was going to be a lovely little ditty about going the market, the beach and having old friends round.  But the latest incident has to take precedence.

Poor little Rufus banged his sweet little head on our marble fireplace last night.  Amongst the high jinx of bedtime stories he rolled off the sofa-bed, right on to the sharp edge.  Much drama and bleeding ensued, and luckily The Grandparents were around to help out with the other children as well.  We waited a dramatic one and a half hours for the ambulance.  They checked him over and then we ended up driving Rufus to Box Hill Hospital at 10:30pm ourselves as they didn't have a child seat in the ambulance.  They did, however, switch on the red and blue flashing lights especially for Rufus - otherwise the bang on the head would have been all for nothing!

Not much seemed to be happening at the Hospital when we got there.  The nurse checked Rufus over, cleaned up the wound, and gave him a completely over-the-top head bandage which we were all very much chuffed with.  How jealous Henry would be!  This was real life. After years of playing doctors  - Rufus was actually in the midst of the action.

We were eventually seen by a nice English lady doctor at 3am.  She glued the wound together, and brave little Rufus only cried right at the end.  So sore, so tired and very much over it.  "I want to go home." he said very quietly and sadly.  No one wants to be in a stinky old hospital 5 minutes longer than necessary, let alone 5 hours in the middle of the night.  He is at the moment, sleeping peacefully, holding lifeline blanket, with a massive bandage wrapped around his head.

The funny thing was the nurses and doctors kept asking Rufus what had happend. 1. To check that he actually remembered the incident and thus was not suffering concussion and 2.  To check that his parents didn't whack him soundly on the way to bed.  They were getting nothing out of him, just a blank stare, wide-eyed bewilderment at the staff.  As soon as they were gone he would rattle on to me non-stop talking, then they would come back and ask the same question "Rufus? Can you tell me what happened tonight?" Nothing. Zip.  Much sucking of fingers and clutching of blanket.  Once I saw his lips move in mumur, but he thought the better of it.  I think he thought it was the naughty children police checking if he was behaving at bedtime.

Eventually an old lady came in with a similiar head injury and bandage.  "What happened to her?" asked Rufus.  "I don't know" I replied, "But I'm guessing she wasn't doing a backwards roll off the sofa-bed".

Frankie

Just as I thought I was losing touch (and hope) with all things cultural and edgy - I found THE coolest, cutest, hip magazine this morning.  Frankie might just have been written especially for me (and Carole). Gorgeous stuff, ecclectic people and lots of information about cool places to go in Melbourne and Australia, which are just delectable.

I was a bit worried, dear readers, that you would think me glass-half-empty after yesterday's Mummsy Blog.  But then this dear magazine had written this editorial by way of introduction:

"We all know that a few dropped stitches in a handmade scarf, or a few scuffmarks on an old book, make it that much more lovable.  So wear your scratches and dents with pride, and be happy to be a bit scrappy around the edges.  There's nothing so boring as perfection."

Mummsy Alert

Is it me or is the whole new age mothering thing a bit dull? Would love to have the opinions of the other mothers of a certain age who have young children.  These Australian mothers are so organised and engrossed in their little ones that they cannot possibly do anything else.  I think if you have time to colour co-ordinate your little tuperware containers for healthy snacks for toddlers, then you simply have no time for anything else.

Or anything very interesting.

Sorry that just slipped out. God I'm a bitch.  But if I see one more of those tuperware containers at a swimming lesson/karate session/kindergym - I'm going to slap someone.

Kulture

I need to get me a bit of Urban.  And I am not talking about the musical genre, but I have been living in a cultural bubble here in sunny Camberwell.  Everything is very nice, everything is very pleasant and middle-class and everything is a little bit Stepford Wives. Scary stuff in the suburbs.

I saw some graffiti the other day, and that was a bit more normal.  But it was very orderly graffiti and it was on the underground part of the train line, which is not visible from the road anyway - so that doesn't even count.

My Cowley Road crew will know exactly what I am talking about.  School pick-up conversations with the yummy mummies are very correct and domesticated.  I am dying to start a conversation with "...so I was at the gig last night, ended up on someone's boat, and we were all so wasted didn't know which way to walk through the field..." or "...that piece by blah blah was fantastic, although the theatrical elements were not dynamic enough for the movement material....".

But I can tell you an excellent website for labels and stickers for the children's belongings.  Lunchboxes, drink bottles, clothes etc.  See - I'm losing it. Gonna get me a bit of urban darlin'.

And Now A Word About The Weather

Melbourne weather is crazy! I mean really out there.  Yesterday was fifteen degrees, drizzly and even I had to have a hot bath in the evening to warm up a bit.  A little interlude here whilst I rephrase the word "hot", as the Australians are so bloody PC that even the hot water here is only 43 degrees at the hottest.  So when we have a shower or bath, we cannot add any cold at all.  Even the children have showers at full pelt.  It sucks.

Back to the weather report: so cold, drizzly - pretty much right up my alley really as I love cold, damp English weather. Then today a more normal 22 degrees. Tomorow 29 degrees and then Sunday a whopping 34.  What's that about?

But I am looking at a very beautiful pink sunset tonight. Shepherd's Delight.

The Melbourne Cup

Well I only had winning horses in no less than three races people!  Picked the winner for Race 7 (the big one), then had winning horses in the two before as well.  We had a lovely invitation from Auntie Debra to watch the race.  What really made my day was not just the strawberries and champagne on offer, but the bright pink, bejewelled jockey's cap Auntie Debra was wearing.  Much joy! 

Today Auntie Deb will be wearing that very same (very camp) cap to the Ladies Oaks Day.  More live horseracing I am missing out on!  Will get to some country races in the summer months when mothering and housewifery are but a distant memory....

Off to the TAB later to collect on my bets.

Win or Place?

Tomorrow is the day I've been waiting for -  The Melbourne Cup! Every year I celebrate this international horse race, by myself in Oxford, by placing a bet via telephone with my William Hill Card (yes this is really true) and then finding out on Radio 4 news whether my chosen horse was a winner.  This year I will actually be in the city when the famed horse race is taking place.

The downside is that we do not even have a television to watch the thing on.  (Of course we have a bloody television, but we don't have that black-box-thingy that you need these days.  We are lefty-hippies but not that bad.  Well the Accountant is actually so far right he is nearly conservative: "contemporary dance? bloody women rolling around on the floor....").

So if anyone is reading this in Melbourne and they want to have me come round for 15 minutes to watch my horse win or otherwise - I would be much obliged. Cheers.

(Nic's tip: Dunedin or Americain. Can't decide - will sleep on it.)

The Queen....

is in Melbourne!  Lovely Liz was here today and I was nearly going to hook up with her for afternoon tea and explain that I don't get this Australian malarky just as much as she, but I was too busy being a Housewife and Mother.  I cannot believe that the best Melbourne Big Wigs could offer The Queen was a ride on a tram.  That would be like inviting Kylie to Oxford to ride on the No. 15 bus up Morrell Avenue.

Witnessed two accidents whilst out and about today. The first whilst I was driving down to Camberwell, Rufus and I saw a lovely dog being run over.  (David H read no further.) We did not see the actual accident, but witnessed this stupid blonde lady (why do they always have to be blonde and always have to be wearing some hideous concoction of gold jewelry?) trying to either go forwards or backwards in the car - whilst the poor dog was stuck between the front wheel and the rest of the car!

Obviously I stopped my car, wound down the window and screamed out "Stop! There is a dog underneath your car!" As I was doing so I noticed a few other people doing the same.  The poor dog eventually got itself free, limped across the road and howled on the side with its poor leg broken.  Some nice workmen helped out.

(A little interlude whilst I tell you that the reason for my journey in the car to Camberwell is that The Accountant called up with a Henry crisis.  Apparantely it was Bandana Day at the school and every child was wearing a bandana, except for Henry, as we knew nothing about it.  He was very upset at having such useless parents.  So I found an old bandana - from 1995 -  and was racing down to the school for morning playtime, so that Henry would not be mortified at being the only child not wearing Hip Hop headgear from the 90s.  Bandana Day! F**k Me! You see what I am dealing with over here......)

The second accident involved Rufus himself.  As he was speeding down our street in front of me a car reversed out of the driveway, and as Rufus is on a balance bike, he had nothing but his little feet to slow himself down.  It was a choice between riding straight into the car, or into a wall.  He chose the wall but was fine.  The car people got out to see he was OK, gave me a filthy look for pushing a pram and having a second on a bike (didn't even mention the third I was on my way to pick up) and went on their way.

Even worse - on the way home after all this, my flip flop (thongs for Australians) broke, so I limped home with one shoe on, pushing the pram, balancing scooter on top, Henry on bike "I'm too hot", Rufus on bike "I'm too tired", whilst keeping a beady eye on reversing cars and wayward animals (and children!).  I got some funny looks.

Easing into the evening by drinking some white wine and writing this blog....

Dance Class Circa 1996

This week in a newspaper I read that Lake Eildon was full, and it was the first time there was so much water since 1996. So there has been a drought in Australia in two senses.  The environmental one and the cultural one. Or more specifically the Contemporary Dance gap between Europe and Australia has opened even more than I thought possible.

All those not wanting to hear me have a good 'ol bitch about a contemporary dance class which WASN'T taken by me or David H, then please log on again tomorrow.

Thought you would all read on.

Was it the worst dance class I've ever done? No, not that bad. But bloody hell woman - if I want a workout I'll go to the gym, if I want to launch myself at the floor at one hundred miles an hour (several times in a row) I'll join a karate class, if I want to do abdominal exercises and push-ups AT THE END OF A DANCE CLASS PEOPLE - I'll get one of those personal trainer experts and get my butt on the first plane to LA and train with Jennifer Aniston.  AND  at the end of the session the teacher had the audacity to tell us to stretch and warm-down if we felt like it.  Fifteen miserable bucks to warm myself down? Bugger off.  That is one and a half hours I'm never getting back.

Please can I just do one lovely gorgeous sequence and waft around the space feeling like a dancer?  Even a nice plie exercise that makes sense would be good.  I can feel a phone call to the Camberwell City Hall coming on "Do you take hall hire bookings? Good - get me in".  The Nickely Burke Camberwell School of Contemporary Dance Which Is All About Dance And Not About A Bloody Gym Session is not really a catchy name. But it's a start.

PS Hayley - please explain.
PPS David H - thank god you were not there or we would have cracked up and made exhibitions of ourselves.

It's A Family Affair

Great day. Took Rufus and Jonty to Cousin Lauren's house for a family get-together.  The Smith Family have always been about great homemade food and everyone chipping in.  We had a lovely cold lunch, followed by some delectable cakes and goodies.  No one in our family would even think to go and bring a shop-bought cake. Unheard of!  Nice to know that my Nan's recipes haven't disappeared forever, as my Aunties and cousins are doing a jolly good job of carrying on the family tradition.

My Nan's letters to me used to be filled with stories of food.  What she had when she went out, what Mrs Such-and-Such had made etc.  And my Nan wasn't even fat! Just very interested in good food, and the making of good food.

So we had the feast, the family and the laughter.  For my friends in UK/Europe in case you didn't know I do have a never-ending list of cousins so I will tell you right now that there are five Smith girls (one of which is my mother), 15 grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren.  And most of these people live in Melbourne.  Here's to many more family events.

I offered to host the next one - morning tea in a few weeks. Yikes - time to get my Domestic Goddess cookbook out (thanks Nigella - and Carole!).

It's A Slow Death In Suburbia - Part II

It is hot. I mean for Spring, 30 degrees is quite something.  Lovely walking Henry to school today though as the morning was a bit cooler, and the morning walk is in the shade (coming back is lethal at 3:30pm though).

I have started to meet some other Mums in the schoolyard. Half of them live in our street.  They introduced themselves and then informed me that they lived across the road and another two doors down.  Is it me or did I detect a smirk on their faces as they told me where they lived?  I latched on to this knowing look thinking that they have probably heard me in my best Yugoslavian Fisherman's Wife voice yelling out "HENRY!" "RUFUS!"  Usually followed by some sort of "GET OFF THAT FENCE/YOUR BROTHER/CAR/PLASTIC SWORD NOW!"

The Accountant usually plays his best card when dropping Henry off in the morning. Swaggering into the schoolyard in his Saville Row suit, Thomas Pink shirt, sunglasses.  Beaming at all the mothers.  Such a good father - so proud, so involved, so althetic-looking, walking his son to school.

Then I turn up at the end of the day. Haggard. Hair straggling out of a messy bun.  Tired from breastfeeding all night. Rufus and Jonty tired/hungry/thirsty from the walk. Henry nagging me for food straight away.  Three boys to watch and look after at the same time amongst hundreds of children. And these women try and have decent conversation with me and I can almost hear them thinking "Why is he with her? What a wreck!".

It's A Slow Death In Suburbia - Part I

When I first imagined The Accountant and I moving to Australia, I must admit it was with some trepidation.  I pictured us living on the outskirts of one of the major cities.  A red brick, 3-bedroomed, dry, dusty garden, with carport, one gum tree and a wooden letterbox at the end of a hot, lonely concrete path. 

No offence to anyone who does live in such a house - but thank god we moved to gorgeous Camberwell! We are having a ball. Gorgeous. Delightful. Easy. Elegant.  I tortured myself looking at these lovely deco houses on the internet in Oxford, never thinking we would actually be lucky enough to ever live in one.

I highly recommend it.  For those living in the UK - it is a bit like living in North Oxford, in the area of the Dragon School/Cherwell Boathouse. Only better with better coffee shops in walking distance.  It was obviously meant to be as on way my way pick up Henry from school the other day, I noticed that the closest set of shops has a new cafe opening soon.  The Red Bean Cafe - completely gluten free.  There is a God and she is wheat-free in Camberwell.

Early Christmas

Unpacking is so much fun.  The new house is bigger than our house in Oxford, so our furniture is dwarfed in the space.  It is probably not that the house is huge, but there are more rooms, and higher ceilings, and my office is a little outbuilding to the side of the house.

I tried to re-make my dresser just the way I had it in our Oxford sunroom. I nearly forgot where certain pieces of glassware and pottery was placed, and very nearly called up the one person I knew would remember each and every piece.  David H would have had a call early UK time as I could not figure out how I fitted all that stuff in.   In the end I worked it out, and as I did I was looking at each piece thinking "My I have good taste!"  It is nice to have all our things back again, and even though it should be no surprise unwrapping all the things, you find yourself exclaiming and smiling as if you were opening present after present to yourself.

So glad we invested in pieces from around the world whilst on our adventures abroad, as now they are with us, as are the memories.  Henry's teacher commented on my shoes yesterday and asked where they were from. Shoes: New York. Skirt: Sardinia. Top: Australia. Sunglasses: France. Not so much slummy mummy any more.

Worldly Goods

Our stuff arrives tomorrow morning - hurrah!  No more scrabling about on the floor in place of a table and breastfeeding at all hours of the day and night on mattresses on the ground.

As nice as it was for my relatives to lend us old crockery and cutlery, I cannot wait to have a cup of tea in MY cup and saucer. In fact when the van pulls up I will personally rugby tackle the removalists myself, rip open the box and start pouring tea into the very cup I'm thinking about. What a weird fantasy hey?  I think I've been locked up with the children for too long......

First Day of School

It was a very busy, bustling mess getting to school this morning, for Henry's first day at a proper State school (very different from the hippy, fields of flowers, chickens, peacock Montessori school of Oxfordshire!).  It was a lovely sunny morning. But halfway to our destination there was limping, whinging, tantrams - so I surrendered "Oh alright David! I know your foot hurts but get out the way of the bloody pram.".

When we met Henry's Prep teacher, he was EXACTLY LIKE MR. G FROM SUMMER HEIGHTS HIGH.   For those of you who are clueless to Mr. G, look at a clip on You Tube.  The teacher's real name is Mr. Mannam, but David thought it was Madam - very apt.  We got through the journey to school using one pram, two bikes and one scooter - and David and I were not even riding anything so figure that one out. 

And I've just realised that I have to do all of this in reverse this afternoon.  This school/kindergarten malarky will give me more of a workout than the last 20 years of my professional dance career.

Red Back Spider

Our own Deadly 60 presenter came running into the house yesterday with news of yet another trecherous looking spider down the driveway. The Accountant and I wandered out to find that indeed, Henry had actually found a Red Back Spider (Duchess read no further...).

I thought perhaps it was dead, but Henry had seen it scampering along.  He identified the spider as a Red Back (poisonous, deadly but quite small) from his books and from watching episodes of Deadly 60 on BBC iPlayer.  It was a terrific find for a six year old boy who has been looking for Red Backs for two years, even though it was the wrong country back then.

I love that my own father doesn't know my new address yet. So people take note here it comes:
40 Christowel Street, Camberwell, Victoria, 3124. Australia. The  other side of the world.

There's No Place Like New Home

Hey! Finally into our new house people.  Lots to do and obviously have the little tackers running excitedly around whilst trying to clean and unpack. I am truly the Queen of Rummaging and so in my element looking for places to put things. And the shipping freight has not even arrived yet!

Brian (more of him later) and his young and sexy apprentices arrived at the truly godforsaken hour of 6:45am this morning to deliver the rest of our stuff from The Cousin's house.  The Cousin and Second Cousin (Sophie - sister to Jacqui) were little bloody angels last night. Helping with the children, washing dishes, unpacking, drinking Champagne. Was a lovely welcome into our new home.

Sleeping arrangements are all over the place. Boys on lovely camp beds in their own room. Me on airbed in parental room, with Jonty in crib - and The Accountant chose to sleep on the boy's floor wrapped in a duvet. What's that about?

Also I'm online!
Over and out.

Joan Margaret

Very sadly my maternal Grandmother died this week.  Jonty and I are flying down to Melbourne for the funeral.  Nanna Smith, to use her full name, was a lovely, kind and sweet lady.  Nan and Pop's house was always a welcoming, homely place where all of us grandchildren were made to feel safe and warm.

Pop Smith was a funny old man, short and round with false teeth he used to remove for our amusement - and become an ape!

Nanna taught me lots of womanly skills - cooking, sewing and knitting, and she was always bustling around the kitchen baking and cooking. All done with good humour and much humming of Bing Crosby songs.  She was much loved by our big family and will be very much missed.

But as is the way of life after the old comes something new and so congratulations to Monica who has given birth to a baby girl!  Much joy and celebration and who would have thought we would have seven children between us six years ago!

Prodigal Son Returns

The Accountant returned one night early from his travels abroad for work. He was very much in my good books after bringing home some Christian Dior make-up, L'Oreal mascara and two Vogues - one India, one Hong Kong. Much fun.  Browsing through Vogues from other countries is always one of my favourite things. I'm sure Julie Andrews didn't sing about that one though....

The Accountant also bought the boys some crazy Japanese toys, which they love, and they spent all day yesterday zinging these little spinning tops all over the house, whilst wearing an attractive pair of Batman sunglasses. On a cloudy day.

So the favourite son arrives home and lies on the sofa barking out orders for food and drink to The Grandparents, who either happily run about for him or have a "Get it yourself" attitude.

He has just asked me to "help" him unpack his bag. This means me unpacking for him and sorting out his washing and every other bloody thing as well. The problem is he has both a Wife and Mother as captive audience in the same house, so he knows one of us will cave in the end.

1985

OK so it might be paradise out here in sunny Yarralumla, where there are mountains, lakes, trees and flowers, but I took the brave step of driving out to the shopping centre and it was like another world. And not a pretty world.  Walking through Woden Shopping Centre was a bit like the scene in Harry Potter where the Dementors are sucking the very life and soul from him.

Bustling: yes. Pleasant: yes. Boring: my God yes. I am sure I saw a hay bale blow through a deserted courtyard/plaza whilst I walked back to the car.  Shopping centres or malls are not quite my cup of tea in any country, I prefer High Street shopping, but it was all a bit Stepford Wives in there. With a few mullets thrown in for good measure.

I also had to pick myself off the floor when I bought my quite modest L'Oreal mascara. About eight quid in Boots.  "That will be $27 thanks." Fuck me!

The children in general have been coping quite well with the change of countries.  However little Henry (now six) has just started getting severe homesickness. He wants his bed, his house, his friends, his school, his swimming/gymnastics/karate lessons and the Union Jack blowing in an Autumnal breeze.  He is not a happy chap at the moment. I should have known this was coming because on Day Two he remarked to me "You said we were going to be living in Australia. We are not even living.  It's like we're on holiday - only worse." Find a happy place, find a happy place.........

Paradise Refound

Once the two Davids and I were seeing Bob Downe (hilarious Australian camp comedian) at High Wycombe.   He was picking Australians out of the audience to ask where they were from. David L very enthusiastically raised his hand: "Where are you from?" (Me thinking: "Don't say Canberra, whatever you do don't say Canberra".) David L (loudly) "Canberra!"

Without missing a beat Bob Downe came back with "Canberra? Canberra? I don't even have any jokes about Canberra. Canberra is so boring you spike your own drink when you go out in the evening".

So here we are in Canberra, and it might be boring and home to politics, but to us city-weary folks it is bliss.  We are staying at The Grandparents house. More like a 5-star spa retreat really. The sun never stops shining and it is totally gorgeous.  David and I have got time off for good behaviour tonight and going to the lovely Hyatt Hotel for a drink.  The house is right next to the lake, and we can see Black Mountain from the garden.  The birds are chirping (not swooping!) and blossom of all colours adorns the gardens.

Very peaceful and pretty and lots of nature nearby.  This afternoon I am off to Body Balance. Like a workout class with yoga. Girls - me! Off to a funny old workout class!  Will report back on how it went. I even packed LEGGINGS just in case such an opportunity came up. Luckily I haven't posted any photos on this blog yet, and the very thought of me in LEGGINGS sends a shiver down my spine.  Down my nice warm, 23 degree, well-exercised and flat white coffee spine.

Coffee

Whatever else that can be said about Melbourne - they serve the best coffee in the world.  In fact they are quite snobbish about it and they HATE coffee in other places like Queensland.  Melbournians (I just made that up!) have quite a bee in their bonnet about Queensland. But more of that another time.

The coffee is exquisite.  I like to order a flat white, which is not merely black coffee with hot milk added. A true flat white is an art in itself.  My favourite place is Cafe Gaia, just off Toorak road.  A tiny place open from about 7am, with a gorgeous little street terrace and delicious sounding menu.  I've never had time to stay a while but this morning I ordered a flat white, and just to be cheeky some gluten-free toast with gorgeous Peach and Vanilla Bean Jam.

It was a little slice of heaven right there.  Worth getting out of bed for, and of course feeling virtuous after a walk round the Botanic Gardens.  Still keeping an eye on those magpies. A bit scared.

Old Friends

It is nice to begin conversations again with old friends. By old I obviously mean friends I have known for years, not ageing fogies.  So I finally got around to emailing a bunch of Australian friends to announce my arrival in the country.  Why leave it so long? Three weeks I have been here, and you would think I would be dying for some friendly adult contact.

Mainly it has to do with the fact that I have three children to drag around with me, and also that unlike being on holiday, we have to get on with the business of setting up practicalities - job, car, house, school, dance/yoga, phones etc. 

A friend came to live in England years ago and stayed with us in Oxford whilst he went about the practical business of setting up home. However his priorities were in a completely different order: 1. Phone 2. Internet 3. Car 4.House 5. Job.

Anyway back to the friends of yore.  Usually I am very well organised when it comes to socialising and catching up with Australian friends. But then usually it is a holiday and every day is accounted for. I would be back on the plane again by now and already have seen everyone.  But I do need to see my friends, just so I know that everything is well with the world again and that this country is not as conservative/right-wing/bogan (chav) as it appears.  Worst case scenario "Nickely who?"  Over and out.

Hoop Jumping

Moving countries is all very well - packing up all your belongings, saying goodbye and finally making peace with the fact that things will be very different on the other side of the world.  But the amount of paperwork and annoying administration is another matter entirely.  In England it was relatively easy: make a few phone calls, send a letter, write an email - and in the age of the internet it is still going on (sorry Orange. And BT, Southern Electric, National Insurance etc. I will get around to paying those last bills.....ha ha ha you've seen the last of me suckers!).

So the simple task of enrolling Henry into Primary School went like this:
Me: "Hi. Could I please have the forms to enrol my son please?"
Incredibly Large But Happy Woman in School Office: "Certainly Darl. Oh and you need to include passport, birth certificate, proof of address, utility bill and immunisations certificate".
Me: "Ah. Yes about the utility bill. We don't move in until the 5th. School starts on the 10th. I very much doubt we will have a bill by then".
Woman: (very stoic) "We need to see a bill".
Me: "I have Henry's immunisations all signed in his Child Health Care book from UK."
Woman: "No you need to get an Australian Immunisation Certificate. Blah, blah, blah...."
And on it went about how to go about that annoying little task.

Sweet Baby Jesus. Take my heart, draw blood from my veins and sign my name on these bloody forms, and while we are at it get some live chickens and do a little sacrificial enrolling dance with their blood as well.  Should have been a hippy living in a teepee up at Byron Bay. Smelly but no forms up there I'm sure.

Winter/Back to Black

It has suddenly gone from pretend winter to real winter. Of course silly me only packed to stay at The Cousin's for one night and have absolutely no winter clothes. Not even socks! Bloody freezing now. 

The Accountant was picked up from Ferntree Gully train station last night and so we all had a nice night in.  Tucked into a few of The Cousin's cosmopolitans - made specially diluted for breastfeeding women.

Brian! I need a whole chapter just about that one character. Will think about it.

Mountains

Whilst staying at The Cousin's house I am appreciating waking up each morning to a view of the Dandenong Mountains.  Even though it is suburbia out here, it is still a beautiful country setting, and I am woken by the sounds of sqauwking birds and sun filtering through the gum trees.

Out of the city I feel I am really in Australia as I remember it. Lots of trees and bush and views of mountains.

The difference between England and Australia can be explained by the wildlife.  Whilst the birds in the mother country twitter, Australian birds squawk loudly. They are also very brightly coloured. And occasionally dangerous. As Spring approaches I am remembering that it will soon be Magpie Season, which means that unsuspecting walkers will be swooped and possibly pecked by angry males (birds that is, not your man on the street) and will be screaming and running for cover.

The children do not know about this yet, but next week I will have to prepare them as we head up to Canberra to visit The Grandparents.  Canberra is the King of Magpie Season.  People can be seen on the streets of Canberra going for innocent walks equipped with tennis rackets, ice cream containers for hats, bicycle helmets and big sticks.  An afternoon jaunt will never be the same.

Air Freight. Check!

Lovely. All our air freight stuff arrived at 8:30am this morning and is currently in my cousin, Jacqui's, garage. Been so busy with the children I haven't even opened it yet. But my computer is in there and I'm hoping that when I turn it on....it will actually turn on.  And then I will be free woman once more. Connected to the world by technology! With email! And skype!

Unsuspecting Australian relatives and friends greet me and I say "Whatever. Have you got your laptop with you? I need to check my emails and do my blog." Nice.

Is it possible to be this tired? Clang, clang. Clang, clang. That is the sound of me being chained to the kitchen sink. Feminism never happened and I am back to a 1950s role of mother and wife. Not dancer. Not choreographer. Not even Grand Dame of the Oxford Social Scene. But mama. Ball and chain.  At least the Accountant succeeds in having adult conversation and probably a WHOLE cup of HOT coffee or tea per day. I have that mother thing going on where you have three cups of tea on the go. All of them stone cold. (Monica?)

Anyway, staying at The Cousin's house again. Last night we were giving the children their baths at 4:30pm in an attempt to have an early night. The 3/4 year olds finally slept at 9:40pm. The six year olds at 11pm. They got up at 6:10am. We will be drinking heavily tonight. Later.

Thank God for the Grandparents

We have just had David's parents come and stay to help out whilst we looked for houses and schools in Melbourne and it was a huge help. I really don't know how I will carry on and stay sober and sane without them. Gin o'clock starts earlier every day....

Today we are out near the lovely mountains with my cousin and she is a never-ending source of support. Always good to have someone to laugh at the children's tantrums.

Melbourne is totally gluten-free. Everywhere you go there are signs for gluten-free food, and everytime I mention it, the shop-keeper/person on the street/man in the bar is a Coeliac as well. What is up with Australians and this disease? Don't feel like such a freak now. Or maybe even more so.

Thanks to all the followers of the blog - Emma and Geraldine! x

Get Dancing Woman!

This is a phrase repeated quite often from The Accountant. Usually at times when we need to save for a holiday or house. Raising three small children and making a living from contemporary dance do not really go hand in hand. But today I made my first teensy baby step towards a career in dance in the new country.

It turns out that you can apply to teach classes and workshops at Dancehouse in Carlton - AND THEY WILL PAY YOU TO DO IT. This is news to me running myself ragged all these years running my own classes and rolling around on the sticky floor or the East Oxford Community Centre. Watch this space I will be flying across that dance floor soon enough biting off the heads of snakes.

Things I miss about England

In no particular order and of course first and foremost I miss my friends terribly.
1. Radio 4 - in particular Woman's Hour and the Afternoon Play. Showing my age. Or my class.
2. Boots, Waitrose, Marks and Spencer.
3. Top Shop!
4. The view of Oxford from South Park.
5. Cowley Road.
6. My Saturday dance class.
7. Monday Hip Hop.
8. The journey from Barton out to Elsfield on the back road. But not Barton itself.
9. Carole's cakes.
10. Our garden.
11. David Hudson and I pissing ourselves about nothing in particular. Usually dance connected but not necessarily. I'm sure David Lyons does not miss it.
12. The Birds! The ones in the trees yes but I actually meant the girls and they know that.

Things I don't miss:
1. The Post Office: Especially that busy one on the Cowley Road that has no tables to put your bloody stuff on AND never has the correct supply of envelopes.

House!

We only got the bloody house! Oh the relief followed by the drinking. I suppose there would have been even more drinking if we hadn't got the house. Not moving in until October so hanging out here, there and everywhere until we get the keys. Maybe I did wear the right outfit after all.

Is it possible for things to seem too Australian?

Yes it is.

House Hunting

The exciting business of house hunting started on Thursday. Two days with our lovely Expat agent Jane was like two days on holiday in Barbados compared with being in a small apartment with three children.  We swanned around lovely Melbourne suburbs dreaming of cosy houses with lovely gardens. Close to cool shops, cafes, beaches, parks and schools.
Today is Saturday and now the whole thing has become a bit dreary as we have seen our dream house, put our names on the never ending list of others who want the same, and have to sit back and wait for the owners to pick us. A bit like being the wallflower at the dance waiting for prince charming. Maybe I should bake one of my famous vanilla cakes and take it over.  Or Frazer's favourite Swedish biscuits?
Melbourne does have amazing coffee. And most disappointments can be healed by drinking it.  Bring on the caffeine.

Springtime

Packed winter clothes ready for colder weather. Have not worn any of them and all of our coats and jumpers are laughing at us from the depths of our suitcases stashed in the hotel cupboards  So it is definintely springtime when it is 20 degrees and sunny every day. I've been out walking early most mornings. Much earlier than usual and feeling very virtuous about it as well - even though really it is just a case of jet lag not wearing off.

What I have noticed about what people are wearing
Melbourne ladies like to wear FULL ON OLYMPIC MARATHON POWER WALKING gear. It is hilarious. I am the only person walking around wearing normal clothes, and these women and yummy mummies are all wearing the same uniform. Long black leggings, with a go-faster stripe usually, black high neck sports top with long sleeves.  There is obviously a trend here for black and they are not letting go.  It is almost a rule. My bright pink pashmina gets some looks. Daggers usually.

You're only going on a walk sweetie, not training for London 2012. Bloody Hell.

Champagne and Woody Allen

Obviously the tears mentioned in my last episode dried up as soon as I cast my beady eyes on the lovely business class seat ready for baby Jonty and I. Seat? More like a little suite. Perhaps because they feel sorry for the person with the baby, but the space was huge for a girl who has only ever done the Flight of Death in economy class.

Due to the excitement of flying business class (and the fact that Jonty fell asleep as the aircraft was taking off) I downed a couple of glasses of excellent champagne, the homesickness just on the edges of my blurry mind. The joy of the champagne and seat was only matched by other two things. A film by Woody Allen staring Owen Wilson. I LOVE Owen Wilson. Midnight in Paris is a lovely little jaunt, a bit silly and very indulgent, but a nice change from ghetto/guns/sex films of late.

The boys were totally dwarfed by their huge seats and spent the first couple of hours in cinema bliss.  Henry noting that the airplane was very nice - "I like this one", he remarked very droll.  We have obviously set them up for future disappointment  regarding air travel after this trip.

The lovely Singapore Airlines hostesses were mesmerised by the children. Rufus even did a rendition of Smoke On The Water at 3am for one of the bemused hostesses, complete with air guitar.

Goodbye Fair England

In the end I didn't cry as much as I thought I would. That's what you get when you are trying to pack up 20 years of your life, being a good wife and mother (pasta three night running) and stupidly agreeing to teach a final few dance classes with a three month old baby at home. Crazy? Yes. Tears? A little.
What really got me going was looking around our lovely, empty house for the last time and seeing that there were no bags hanging on the hooks in the hallway. Nothing. Then the tears in the car in front of the driver taking us to Heathrow.

I guess in the end you start to think about the beginning and I remembered the goodbye tears - but in reverse.  When I first left Australia for England at 22 years of age. Naive but ready for adventure. And no idea at all. Really completely no idea.  David and I threw away the commonsense handbook of travelling around Europe and did our own thing. As young people do.  And it was full of ridiculous situations like having to hand over our passports at a youth hostel in order to get a pot to cook our rice in. And another for the vegetables.
Filling up our petrol tank in Austria, only to find that the petrol station did not take cards (!?) and they were not going to let us go for a few days until the banks opened.  What a lovely very white Christmas we had getting stuck in the snow and spending the coldest night of our lives CAMPING in Florence on New Years Eve.

So dear friends, there were tears in the end, for all the lovely things I will miss about England. Especially you guys reading this now.