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.