Life Goes On In Suburbia?

Just fixed up with my lady friends to go to a spa weekend, literally as soon as I step off the plane in the UK.  Very much looking forward to catching up with the birds and everyone emailing left, right and centre to confirm details.  And I noted that they are off in campervans in the countryside, skiing at glamorous locations in Europe and generally enjoying Spring on the other side of the world.

What did we do this weekend?  We - those Australians who up and left twenty odd years ago to another culture and completely settled in to British/European life - are doing the suburban thing.  I took the two youngest down to Camberwell in the pram and scooter. Went shopping, went to market, went to cafe.  Came home.  And actually it was pretty much like any day of the week.  I suggested to The Accountant that maybe we do something in nature this weekend.  But actually, moving back to Australia, has forced us to give up country pursuits.  We are literally in the thick of it, and it is a few hours drive (at least) to something resembling the real countryside and not just scrubby bush.

Most people in the UK think that Australians would spend every minute outside enjoying the sunshine.  And while I have enjoyed the Melbourne weather lately, I am pining for some real countryside, that can be enjoyed within minutes, not hours, of my door.

So make the most of what you have Oxfordshire friends, as it is very special and does not need to compete with shopping malls, apartment buildings and sprawling suburbia. Although the coffee is very good.......

Chunky Hippie

Went to possibly the strangest contemporary dance class I've been to in a long time.  And I have had my fair share of strange times in the dance world. 

• Performing the Herve duet amongst stuffed animals at the Aylesbury Museum.  The duet was made for a mid-scale size venue and we did it in the space of a cupboard.  
• Many performances in fields across the English countryside (often competing with farm animals and tractors - and farmers!).
• Doing a solo on a rock in Norway.
• Shooting a dance video on haystacks.
• Leaning against endless walls in a contemporary-dance fashion - in 1940s costumes - and being told off by tourists.
• Watching from the wings whilst David Hudson squirmed around on the stage, his legs caught in the ridiculous upstage curtains, which were decorating a backdrop which could only be described as a painting of sperm.
• After teaching a group of Year Two children for a week it was question time.  "Are you a dwarf?" one little boy asked.  The teacher came to my rescue.  "Don't be silly Nathan!  Nickely's all in proportion.  If anything she's a midget!".

Anyway, the teacher of the aforementioned class sported a handlebar moustache, decorated leggings, a v-necked yellow jumper and a disarming smile.  But somehow it worked.  The class was a series of release exercises.  There were only four of us in the class, but at one stage we did have to run around together holding hands.  We found ourselves lying with our bums and legs against the wall ready for some relaxation after wall-related jiggery-pokery.  But then came the moment I had been dreading - "we are now going to use our voices".  Smirk?  I almost choked, because anyone who knows me, knows that I cannot be within three feet of David H. whilst doing voice exercises.

ESPECIALLY when you have to end on a "mmmmmmmm" or "aaaahhhhhh".  Because it always turns to cackling laughter.  Red-faced, trying-to-hold-it-in mirth.  So all I could think about when we started on the voice stuff was "Thank God David isn't here..."  And that made me laugh.

Refreshing to experience beautiful strange in Melbourne.  Strange versus traditional, give me left-of-centre always.

French Fete

It was the annual school fete on Sunday.  French bunting, goodies, wine, rides, show bags (!) and an animal farm.  I did my bit for the school by offering to do leaflet dropping in our local area and making a gluten-free vanilla cake for the big day.  When I say I "offered" I mean that we were glared at by other conscientious mothers to volunteer for something until we broke down in the school courtyard ("I'll do it! I'll do it! Just don't flick your blonde hair at me again..." and every single child was given a plastic bag filled with a big paper plate, french ribbon and cellophane at the end of the week.

A feeling of dread and a weekend in the kitchen was the result of Henry proudly thrusting this package at me with the words "You HAVE to make a cake Mama".  Yes I know darling.

This community spirit thing is wearing me down.  This is what David Cameron is banging on about when he talks about England becoming part of The Big Society.  He needs to spend a week in Melbourne being a mother and see if he is so keen when you are stressed that the icing on your cake is not perfect (or dry), the baby is crawling around the kitchen crying because you can't pick him up because there are specific instructions about not giving in HOT CAKES but it has to be there by 4pm.  Or else.

Anyway, it was a lovely Sunday in the end, and probably raised about $60k for the school.  A bit different from the camping/Glastonbury-type festival we used to have at Forest Farm School where entry was either £5.00 or baking a cake.  Bring your own everything.  Sit on blankets listening to local musical talent.  And nobody went to bed before midnight. Including the children god forbid!  Tres extraordinaire!

PS Photo above from Forest Farm from a few years ago.  The boys just tuning their guitars for later on.

Vermin Part II

I have just been in the kitchen screaming "You little bastard! I'm going to kill you! ***k you, you little prick!"  No, I was not talking to the children, but cramming a disgustingly large cockroach into the bin, and then outside.  Rufus just put his fingers in his mouth and observed all this very calmly, then went back to doing what he was doing.

I know some Brits are a bit apprehensive about coming to Australia due to snakes and spiders.  Forget it.  It is like living in a third world cesspit in Camberwell, with the rats and cockroaches.  It is meant to be one of the most sought-after suburbs in Melbourne - but nobody has told these creatures that high rent equals NO VERMIN.

Our gardener is a knowledgeable sort of guy, so I have enlisted his help in my fight against the rodents.  I pondered whether it might be wise to get rid of all of the tomato plants, even though it is a huge waste, I thought it might be attracting them.  "That will slow them down a bit" he grinned at me.  He can smell the fear, but does not want to admit that whatever I do, I am waging a losing battle.

Dene Road might have been smaller, less grand than where we are now.  But at least you could have your morning coffee or an evening glass of sauvingnon blanc in the garden without worrying about scuttling creatures ruining the ambiance.

Hello London

Can't stop smirking as I've finally managed to book my flight to the UK! Yay!  The Accountant has obviously totted up the sums and worked out that if I teach dance classes for 18 hours a day whilst I'm there - then I can pay him back.  So if anyone out there is interested in starting classes at 6:00am - please let me know.

Until then I'm sure I will be able to get some sort of dance job wearing something skimpy and nothing to do with contemporary dance.  I know people who know people.  Will be able to earn the flight money in one night and not a swing exercise in sight.  Except for the swinging on the pole of course.

How could I leave these guys for two weeks? Watch me! Little gorgeouses.

A Night At The Ballet

Went to see The Australian Ballet last week.  Infinity is three works on the company choreographed by contemporary choreographers.  The first piece was by Australia's contemporary dance pioneer Graham Murphy.  Oh dear.  Not a good start, but perhaps that is why they put the most traditional piece first in the hope that the punters would stay to see the more exciting pieces.  There were of course occasional moments of brilliance and exquisite movement, but most of the time I was inwardly shaking my head muttering "Graham, Graham, Graham......".  Anyone who gets a dancer to tap themselves on the head whilst they slide down into middle splits has got to be questioned.

Anywho, on to better things with a hilarious and updated version of Swan Lake called There's Definitely A Prince Involved.  Ex-Artistic Director of Chunky Move (where I take my weekly class in dance and sanity) delivered a very funny, theatrical piece which showcased some gorgeous duets and tantalising movement, nothing at all connected with ballet, but very smartly done.

However, the complete showstopper of the night was Bangarra Dance Theatre, a company which fuses indigenous and contemporary dance culture.  Absolutely mind-blowingly gorgeous piece.  I was interested to see how they would be able to make ballet dancers cope with movement which was raw, mainly floor-based and more grounded than any prima donna would like.  The movement material was modern, edgy and very collaborative.  I take my hat off.

PS. Forgot to update on the dance job front: yes ended up taking on the Thursday night classes.  Added another one on to that beforehand, so have decided to juggle babysitter, karate, The Accountant and dance classes for the sake of keeping my hand (foot, elbow, head, back etc) in the game.