Tax Return

Oh Joy!  End of the tax year and so Australians were meant to lodge their tax returns by midnight yesterday.  So of course I was sitting in bed with my laptop at 11:30pm doing the bloody thing.  We are trying to secure another rental property, find out tax information, get the children ready for Halloween and then of course I had to leave amongst all the chaos to go to work in the evening.

First things first.  How crap is Halloween?  I mean really.  Children pull a sheet over their heads and then beg for sweets at various neighbourhood houses.  It is sort of cute and fun, but also a bit shit really.
And our boys did not have proper costumes so they went as a dragon, Spiderman and a Star Wars Stormtrooper.

Our tenancy in our lovely house is coming to an end.  So when a big house almost across the road went up for rent on the weekend we decided to have a look.  Suspiciously it was cheaper rent than our current house.  We soon found out the reason.  A very old house by Australian standards.  Almost reminiscent of The Adams Family.  So I guess I'm going to have to change my entire wardrobe to look like Morticia.  But it is a nice big old house, even though it is very simple in terms of kitchen and bathroom.  Instead of nice shiny floorboards there is carpet everywhere.  I can just imagine the amount of food that will be embedded in that carpet in a few years time.

How bad would plastic on the floor look in the dining room?  Not up to Camberwell standards I'm sure but hey ho.

The tax people ask questions like "Did you, or do you, have you, or have you ever had, a reportable superannuation fund which you may or may not make contributions to, now or in the future and if not why not?"

What?

What Cheeses Me Off

There used to be a rather popular show in Australia when I was a little girl called "Hey, Hey It's Saturday".  The basic premise of the show was a man, Daryl Sommers, and his puppet Ostrich.  Sounds crap but it was very funny.  Anyway, years later it became more of an adult show on a Saturday night.  (For further research watch Australian film "The Castle" for an insight viewers demographic.)

Anywho.  There was a segment on the show called What Cheeses Me Off, and people would write in - literally as this was before email - with their grievances.  I mean this blog is really about that anyway.  And here is another one -

What really cheeses me off is single friends - and by single I mean without children yet, who bemoan their action-packed lives.  Young and carefree, without the constraints of time and dinner-cooking and unpacking and re-packing of lunch boxes (my whole life!).  These Facebook-looking, Twitter-participating, night-club dancing, iPod-listening, iPhone-texting singletons really get my goat.

But let me tell you why.  They will constantly tell you they have literally no time.  That is because they have filled it with all sorts of social media.  Including the time-poor posting of every single second of their lives.  Look a picture of me in my bedroom.  Look a picture of me putting make-up on. Look a picture of me on the loo.  Oops!

I recently went on a girl's holiday with English pal Emma B to Noosa.  She won't mind me telling you that we were both in hysterics over the fact that I was actually enjoying the palm trees, the balmy breeze, the pool, the cafe with the view and she was living it by posting all of it on the internet through various communications.  She was so busy tapping the keyboard, taking photos, sending endless texts that she forgot she was meant to be whale-spotting and missed the bloody whale.

Every week I get extremely short emails from singletons "I've got 2 minutes to say hello...".  Bullshit!  They have hours and hours of free time.  Only they don't know it yet.  Before I had children we didn't even have a TV.  We didn't have social media.  The internet had only just arrived - but I didn't know about YouTube in those days.  What did we do with our free time?  I remember a fair amount of drinking and parties and lying in the garden.  But we also bemoaned the fact that we had no time.

Kiss Me By The Sea

The Accountant and I had a one-night opportunity whilst The Grandparents No. 1 were here to go away.  No dinner to cook.  No nappies to change.  No chasing children around the house at bedtime.  A friend has a lovely B&B in a place called Mount Martha.  The funny thing is - there is no mountain, more of a molehill (ha!), but there is a lovely view of the sea.

We had champagne (some of us had a little too much), spa bath, dinner and quiet time.  We could not get my iPod to work.  The Accountant only has two songs on his iPhone and one of them is Eye of the Tiger.  So we chatted in the moonlight whist Neil Diamond blared from the stereo.

Since I have been back in Melbourne I have had the flu.  Today whilst Jonty had an afternoon nap I thought I would do the same as the headache, sore throat and chills were getting the better of me.

Jesus! The incessant noise of gardening machinery from across the road was deafening.  Even with a pillow over my head I could make out that four different machines were operating at the same time.  If we lived in a less salubrious suburb it would be quieter as these rich folk can afford to have four gardeners working at the same time.

It was two houses at once.  The most annoying people in the street.  "The Flanders" we call them - as they resemble Homer Simpson's Christian neighbours both in tone and character - "HI NEIGHBOUR! Hey diddly Ho!".  And also Mr Obsessive Compulsive.  If one tiny leaf flutters on to the driveway, Mr OCD has to get out The Leaf Blower.  The single most annoying gardening instrument ever made.

I say let nature be natural.  Let the leaves fall, let the grass grow and, god forbid, let those bloody hedges grow in a normal un-box like manner.  Otherwise as a formal protest I will go out in my natural state with a daisy-chain around my head singing appropriate folk songs from yore.

Goundhog Day

It's a bit like that isn't it?

Some days you wake up in a panic and wonder if you have slept in (Ha!) or if the baby has slept in, or the whole world.  And what on earth is the time.....What day is it....Oh it's only Saturday.  No hang on Friday.  Right everyone up.  Lunches stuffed in bags, drink bottles, reading books, library books, bikes, scooters, pram, helmets, dummy, blanket, purse, phone, keys.  Boys!

The other day I left the house in such a hurry that I told Henry to close the door behind him (still brushing his teeth and putting on his shoes) and I headed down the path with Rufus and Jonty.  At the corner Rufus wondered if I was really going to leave Henry so far behind.  I looked up the street. Finally a small figure came came pedalling down the hill.  When he reached us I asked if he had shut the door.  No he had not.  Back up the hill he went whilst we all waited.

A certain man and his dog pass us every day.  If they pass us around the corner then that is fine - we are on time.  If we see them on our street, then we are late.  Today was going to be one of those days.

We have all noticed that our special school crossing man Michael, has been missing in action for some months now.  First it was rumoured that he was seconded to another school.  Now the latest is that he has retired altogether.  Michael was such a character - he knew everyone's names and their little character traits ("Rufus!  What a legend!").  We are now on our third school crossing man.  As we were  heading to school the other day, we crossed with Man No. 3 and Henry in his most carrying voice said "First it was Michael.  Then Barry.  And now this old guy..." and he nudged his head towards the offended man.  I offered what I thought was a wry smile.

I have started going to yoga early on a Saturday morning with The Cousin.  The class starts at 8:15am.  If we walk there The Cousin needs to be at my house by 7:55am.  She usually knocks on the door looking very jolly and fit at 7:45am.  So really I need to be looking jolly and fit by 7:30am so as not to be caught out.  It never happens.  I usually greet her looking tired and grumpy with one or more children screaming in the background.  One leg in a pair of leggings and one hand putting my bird's nest hair up with the other on a cup of tea.

So Saturdays have become a frenzy of activity, as after yoga is football and gymnastics. There is all this organisation to be done - before you enter the yoga class and are told to lie down again.  Hang on. I've just been doing that for 8 hours, then I made myself wake up, jollied myself up, got myself here with all the thin people - only to be told to lie down and relax.  It is actually harder than it sounds as you know you could just drift off again.....

And after waking from the end of class yogic relaxation I think.....What day is it? Where am I.....

Photo caption: You would think it would be the parents climbing the walls, not the children.  But our boys LITERALLY climb the walls.  Just another day Lyons/Burke household.

House Inspection

Mainly for the International folks.  Here are a couple of pictures of our Melbourne abode, as we had a house inspection the other day and I took some photos whilst it was nice and tidy.  Probably the last time in our lives we would be able to live somewhere as lovely as this.  I did get a Lottery ticket last week but, damn it, the numbers did not come up.  But I did read in the newspaper last week that one Melbourne lady had a memory lapse and put two tickets in on the same day.  And so she won.  Twice.

Gay FM

Let me tell you readers that I am leading such a glamorous new lifestyle in Melbourne.  Last Friday night I was invited to a Cleaning Party.  My usual Friday nights in Oxford veered between a good night out with low lighting, funky music and a glass of something lovely in my right hand, and a cosy night in with The Accountant and the boys.  I am such a dag now that an Enjo party is the highlight of my week.

For the uninitiated these Enjo products are not for the fainthearted.  The sponges alone are $45.  No Tesco 79p cleaning products for these Camberwell ladies.  However, they were developed in Austria by a chap who had the sense to create something which would clean up oil spills in the ocean without Spray n'Wipe.  So you use no cleaning product but just these magical sponges and cloths.

It was being in a reality TV infomercial.  The sceptical among us who arrived just for the champagne and good cheese, scoffed and laughed in the corner for the first 30 seconds.  And then there were "Ooohs" and "Aahhs" from everyone as the Enjo Lady did her stuff.  Suckers.  Of course I snapped up $300 worth of products right then and there.  Do you think I am crazy enough to let this stuff go?

Another funny part of my week was the appearance at my door of the Radio Diary Lady.  She very inconveniently turned up just as I was trying to wedge Jonty into the pram for school pick-up.  I must admit I was a bit off with her.  She wanted me to put down my radio listening regime for the next week.  I tried to explain that mainly I list to BBC podcasts but this did not put her off one bit.

I have yet to find a good radio station in Melbourne and so the other day whilst I was doing my usual radio fiddling in the car, tutting at every bad song and annoying DJ (oh yes please tell us again about your D-list celebrity social event) I found JOY FM.  The news was being read by a particularly camp newsreader, complete with lisp.  I thought it was nice that this station was being so inclusive.  Then the announcer said "JOY FM.  The gayest station in the nation!".  Hilarious.  That cheered me up no end and of course I can't wait to pop that in my Radio Diary.  Disco beats at 8:30am?  Yes please.

Now just waiting for my Enjo products to turn up so I can really go crazy in the bathroom.  I might have to wear heels and a dress though so I don't feel like such a complete tosser.

Garsington

It was absolute madness in a bottle.  I was meant to be jet-lagged.  Sarah expecting twins at any moment.  And Robert running about being successful club-owner/expectant father/house renovator.  And yet every night since I arrived in the quiet village of Garsington, all three of us were up until one or two in the morning.  Doing what? Rummaging mainly.  Drinking cups of tea in dressing gowns.  Organising stuff in the wee hours.

Halfway through my visit we moved house. Across the road and up a bit.  So one night I was in my usual guest bed in one house, and the next night I was in exactly the same bed across the road.  All of our belongings magically re-appearing at the new house.

I even found myself making up my dance class at 5:30am in the morning.  Typing out emails.  Making endless lists of projects for the house in Oxford.  During the day I would spend my time between the house and catching up with friends.

I think when you see black scuff marks on your walls, drips of tea and red wine in the kitchen, blackened, mouldy taps in the bathroom and guk you cannot identify in the corner - then you know you are in for a fun week of cleaning.  Don't even get me started on the kitchen ceiling (possibly a pancake Sunday gone horribly wrong?).

On Tuesday it looked like a student house. John Belushi would have been proud.  By yesterday it looked like our family home again.  I found one of the boys' old plastic frogs in a dead pot plant and put it in pride of place on some bricks.  A little welcome for the new tenants.  I also cleaned the house to within an inch of its life.  And left garden flowers in glass jars here and there.  A little reminder to the new tenants that I have a standard (see County Living magazine) and I expect it to stay that way.

I am writing this in Brunei Airport. A place I hope I never have to see again, only because four hours in a tiny airport is not that stimulating, especially having travelled for 16 hours already.  So if you find me ranting with an air of madness in this blog there is a good chance I have already lost the plot.

Jet Lagged

Very surreal to be walking around Oxford, and driving round country lanes as if I had never left.  Went to our old house.  It looked a bit crap to tell you the truth.  The garden was fantastic though; apples, figs and pears all over the place.

Have managed to get a few things done on my list today, including many cups of tea at the houses of surprised friends.  They open the door - and there I am!  Unannounced in every way.  You see I could not top up my sim card this morning. The Orange Top-Up Network had a day off so to speak.  And of course the lady voice recorded on the line sounds so bloody smug as they give you the bad news.

So I was again on a bus from Heathrow to Oxford, with no means of communication whatsoever.  In my bag were two iPods, one laptop and two mobile phones.  And yet I had to borrow a phone from a kind stranger.  You know the words no one wants to hear across the aisle of a bus pelting along the motorway, "Excuse me, would it be possible to.....".  So embarrassing.

I will tell you another thing.  If I never see the inside of Royal Air Brunei again I will die a happy woman.  I think 32 hours of travelling is a bit much really.  Still I have little bit of happy in my step and looking forward to staying up until at least 7:30pm.  Also Grazia magazine is only £1.95.

All Change

I have so many things to write about I don't know where to begin.  Last week I was going to write a blog along the lines of the No. 10 bus never comes, and then 2 buses come at the same time. Regarding the change in Prime Minister.  But I never got around to it.  I was also going to mention that no one ever talks about David Cameron's chest hair or Barack Obama's private parts.  But then, why would you?  Julia Gillard however had to endure all of that, and somehow maintain some kind of dignity amongst the back-stabbing of her own political party.

Other things on my agenda this week are Henry and Rufus' joint birthday party (photos below), where we had a very dishy guy from Reptile Encounters show us everything from stick insects to pythons.  We had 28 children in attendance, and somehow lots of Mums too.  Champagne, lovely reptile man holding a crocodile.  Just a regular Saturday afternoon.

Have had my mother staying (linen cupboard nice and tidy).  We have 3 Guinea Pigs sleeping in our laundry, and the little boys won't see them until they wake up.  Oh and yes I'm packing this evening because I'll be in good ol' Blighty in 48 hours.  See you at Kazbar Friday night.

PS You might think we made two-year old Jonty pose for these photos, but he would not stop volunteering for this stuff.  He may not look enthusiastic but he did not want to miss out on all the fun his big brothers were having.

iday night.

Vanguard

Went to the ballet luvvies to see The Australian Ballet.  Three different choreographers, George Balanchine, Jiri Kylian and Wayne McGregor.  Of course it is always lovely to have a trip to the ballet, but I was slightly disappointed with the interpretation.  The first piece was a little boring for me.  Only because contemporary dance has come along in leaps and bounds (pun intended), and this version of faux jazz ballet and classical ballet pushed me over edge.  I didn't even have any champagne as I was still feeling the effects of a party at the neighbours the day before.

Kylian and McGregor's pieces I had seen before on their respective companies - Netherlands Dans Theatre and Random Dance Company.  The Australian dancers are obviously well-trained and approached both pieces with their usual professionalism. But having seen these works in Europe I felt the attention to detail in the style, quirkiness and sheer edginess was a bit lost.  Don't get me wrong, The Australian Ballet dancers do what they're told.  And they can kick a leg like nobody's business!

Gorgeous sets and costumes.  But overall slightly lacking in confidence.

What's It All About?

When I had been in Australia only six months, people said it takes about a year to feel better.  Settle in. Call the place home.

At the one year mark I felt considerably worse than during the first week, when it was all new and exciting.  As well as the fact that I was incredibly sleep-deprived from new baby and jet-lag.  A fog of naivety.

By August it will be two years since we came to "The Lucky Country".  Two years!

The other night after a particularly lovely dance class at Chunky Move in the city, I was feeling......happy.  Funny how a walk alone back to your car can bring on thoughts of calmness and serenity.  The city of Melbourne sprawled in front of me, lit up and reminiscent of a New York skyline at night (if you squint a bit).  But I had been at home with sick and/or injured children for about five weeks now, so it was also respite from domesticity and all its responsibilities.

During my day to day business of school drop-offs and pick-ups, the endless after-school activities of gymnastics, swimming, scouts and football, not to mention the entertaining of a two-year old, it is easy to forget that I am meant to be an actual individual person who might like to trapse into the city for a dance class.  A proper adult dance class.  With proper dancers.  Wearing proper dance clothes. And no one wearing an apron or picking up lego.

Sometimes my weekly (or twice weekly if I can trick The Accountant) dance class feel like a weekend to Barbados.  Although obviously without the bikini and cocktail.  That could be interesting though....

Are the scales finally tipping towards my new life here?  My impending trip to the UK to fix our house seemed like a good opportunity to catch up with friends, if only it was one week earlier or later as most people are starting their emails "...I'm so sorry I won't be here when you....". Bugger off.  Well I can tell you one thing.  Me and my other two friends are going to have a great time.

Photo: This was taken on Karen & Fraser's visit of January 2012, but thought it was cute and might get your attention.

The Elimination Round

There are times in your life when you need to start eliminating people who annoy you.  I will not to go into details here and now but let's just say I'm slightly miffed.  And my little black book is somewhat lighter this morning.  And a bit messed up with names scribbled out.

On a happier note: yes that is me in the above picture - drinking, smoking and gambling.  All three vices in one night. You couldn't ask for better entertainment than that when The Accountant takes the bigger boys away for a weekend of camping with father's bonding with their children.

If you look closely at the poker cards I am holding you will see two small heads.  William and Kate (HRHs) playing cards.  So there were two types of camp that weekend.

Climbing Exam

I thought I had hit Blog Writer's Gold last night when I came home from dropping Henry at Cub Scouts and found The Accountant literally attached to one of the kitchen cupboards by climbing rope.  Yes my husband of nearly twenty years was practising looping his climbing rope through a carabiner and back out again.  It was like being in a Lars Von Trier film or something.  He was smirking as he noticed me quietly enter the kitchen and watch this bizarre activity.

"What the..."
"Yes well I have to do a bloody exam to get a climbing gym membership.  And I'm thinking of changing my clipping technique.  Do I do it the old way..." he clipped the carabiner hanging from the kitchen cupboard "...or this way?", he clipped the carabiner again - in exactly the same manner.
"But, you just did the same thing twice."
"No!  They are two very different clipping techniques".

All this was done at eye level.  And yet the climbing rope was tied to his waist.  Where did he think he was going to fall?  In front of the dishwasher?  And then hopefully have to accidently unpack it?

So in one room was little Jonty watching Makka Pakka.  In his bedroom was Rufus talking to himself and his action men.  And The Accountant.  Practising clipping technique in the kitchen.  I suppose having me add to the equation making contemporary dance between hanging out washing is not so mad after all.

God I hope he passes the climbing exam otherwise it will be unbearable.

Namaste

One of my favourite things about Melbourne is my Sunday morning yoga class.  Last week we had another amazing yoga class, filled with sublime calm, exertion and inspiration delivered by this amazing yoga teacher.  And at the end of the class my mouth literally dropped when she announced that this was her last class with us as she was leaving to go back to Western Australia.  "Nooooooo!" I wanted to shout.  However that would not have been very beneficial to the calmness she had just instilled in the class for the last hour.

But I do feel bereft.  I also know exactly how she felt as she looked around with tears in her eyes and thanked everyone for their part in making the class special and welcoming.  It was me leaving my own dance classes all over again.  I nearly cried with her then and there.  "Don't do it" I wanted to tell her, gripping her arm in a fever of desperation "This is as good as it gets".  However, I kept it all inside (as we are taught to do) and gave her a hug and wished her well.

As one door closes though, another standing posture opens and by Monday evening I was in the above pose and feeling good.  But my back was bloody sore on Tuesday.

Pamper & Play

Now I've seen everything.  A beauty spa where mothers can obtain all manner of therapies whilst their babies and toddlers are looked after in a creche.  Sounds like heaven I suppose if you are an exhausted mother with no time for anything but cooking, cleaning and nappies.  But in reality I don't know a lot of my friends with children who would be able to afford the luxury of getting a massage with childcare thrown in.

Me.  I just want a bloody job.  I'm so envious of all those working mothers at school looking so slick in their very un-mumsy clothes.  About to swan off in their own cars, listening to music of their choice.  Or reading the paper on the train or even just walking along at their own pace without having to retrieve a thrown dummy, toy or blanket every few steps.  But then again they are probably all sitting in offices looking out on a sunny day wishing they were at the park.  Or having a raucous coffee with other mums, toddlers in tow and moaning about the usual plethora of parenting dislikes - mess, sleep deprivation, eating and bedtime.

A modern parenting annoyance is too much television or related electronic devices.  The problem is we invented these bloody machines, then gave the technology to our children to keep them quite for five minutes.  Now everybody is getting angry because the little blighters won't give it up.  I know the feeling because I went through a Lara Croft phase back in the day when you inserted the CD into your computer and used my gigantic keyboard to make Lara hop, skip and jump through all sorts of adventurous and literally bloody violence.

On any given night you can hear me becoming annoyed as the dinner hour approaches: "Henry! Dinner! Now" and Henry (equally annoyed) "One minute!  I'm in the middle of this game...Oh now you made me lose..."

Now where is the phone number for Pamper & Play....

Poker Face

Does anyone else get emails from Heathrow Airport?  No I thought not, just me then.  Very strange that they always seems to think I want to hang out in their airport.  They try and colour the emails with pictures of happy, smiling people going about their business at Heathrow.  I think that if I was going to Heathrow, it would be for the end destination really, not just to shop and have a coffee at the bloody airport.

I also get emails from "100 Black Men".  They always want me to join their marches and read their leaflets.  Fair enough.

"The Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain" are constantly sending me emails about their gigs.  And ironically I always get emails from Financial Institutions who are under the impression that I actually know what a P&L sheet looks like.

Going to a Girl's Poker Night on Saturday night.  Will try and illustrate my next blog with a photo of me totally trashed with a giant cigar in a seedy-looking smoky room full of hookers.  No?  Really?  That's obviously a Boy's Poker Night.  This will be a bunch of well-dressed middle-class ladies (mums really) eager to get out of the bedtime ritual and sipping lovely cocktails.

It is true about the cigars though.  I was slightly concerned about how high the gambling stakes would be, given the demographic of Camberwell.  And me with my mummy/dancer income - I mean one cancels out the other really.  Then I found out we would be gambling with Lego.  Seriously - Lego.

I'm just going to have to go and sort these girls out on Saturday night - Oxford style.  I'm thinking Sharon Stone circa Basic Instinct (frightening really) and the very savvy Daniel Craig as 007 in Casino Royale.

Multi-tasking

The other night I was cooking dinner whilst making up that evening's Hip Hop routine (if only they knew!).  I was singing along to Lil' Kim's Lighter's Up and Rufus wanted to know what the song was about.  "You know when you're at a gig Rufus, and you're all singing the tune and the crowd puts their lighter's up in the air (and wave your arms like you just don't care...)"  He looked at me blankly.

While this was going on I was helping Henry with another task and every now and then had to run outside and kick the ball with Jonty otherwise I hear "MA! BALL!" constantly.  At the same time I was cleaning out lunch boxes and putting another load of washing on, emptying the dishwasher and ensuring the house was tip top.  Why?  Because The Accountant comes home early on a Thursday so I can go out and earn my keep dancing around to Lil' Kim.  I was also hosting a morning tea the following day and did not want to wake up to the usual disaster area after my night out working.

Everyone makes jokes about women multi-tasking.  But I'm not totally convinced that it is a talent of the fairer sex or just plain necessity that has us running from one thing to the next, wooden spoon in one hand, laptop in the other and yoga kit in the bag and ready to run for the door should the opportunity arise.  It also explains why I often hear the male members of yoga classes snoring away in the relaxation period at the end of the class.  I find it a very useful time to go through My List, every now and then trying to bring myself back to the present and breathing (it's always the breathing...) but really I'm thinking about the fact the Rufus' school uniform is dirty and can no way be clean and dry in time for the morning.

I received a very threatening and aggressive email from Rufus' gymnastics club regarding the late payment of Term 2 fees.  Don't bother paying them now, they smugly stated, you probably won't have a place anymore. And don't bother turning up either as we will have worked our way down the long waiting list blah blah blah.  What the ?  Why don't they just shine a light in my eyes and ask my whereabouts last Monday at 3:25am?  Who are these people anyway? MI6 might need these administrative skills in London.

Anyway I know some people, who know some people who might go in there and and do some finger pointing and middle-naming so don't worry I've got it sorted.

Hot Honey and Lemon

Which would you rather?  Sitting in a stuffy office with people you do not particularly like - or pushing this little one on the swing on a sunny day?  Yes of course I have my ups and downs ("Henry get OFF the top of the washing line" "WHO unrolled all of these toilet rolls...." "Jonty! Get your finger out of my lipstick" etc etc etc....), but on the whole I am aiming for a bit of mummy and a bit of Nickely.

Parents are always in a race to get some "me" time.  The Accountant would like to have time to himself for most of the day, and indeed he is always snatching cheeky little moments of isolation.  However, I like to get things done and then relax after the children have gone to bed.  So you can imagine what a nasty surprise it is when I finally put my cup of tea on the bedside table and open to covers only to find a small child grinning up at me.  The idea of booking myself into a hotel for a night suddenly becomes very appealing.....

Meanwhile here are a few of my favourite things from the Easter break:

• Easter Egg hunts - all six of them!
• Going to the beach and swimming in the pool in Queensland
• Not making dinner every night (thanks Russell!)
• Reading Harry Potter - again.
• Coming home to all of my lovely female in-laws (clean house, cheerful cups of tea, childcare, children playing nicely together).
• Meeting up with our niece Jasmin today - aged 17 and absolutely rocking a leather jacket, jeans, bronze top and boots in Degrave Place for lunch.
• Eating a gluten, dairy and vegan free lunch and it was bloody delicious!

Things that were not so good:

• Everyone except Henry got sick as soon as the holiday started.
• Jonty on the airplane with ear and throat infection, Rufus and I with colds - sore ears!
• My aim on holiday was to give myself a pedicure and nice new nail polish.  I came home with chipped, un-manicured toes with bits of bright yellow nail polish from weeks ago.  Not a good look in strappy sandals and flip flops.

Physical Jerks

Ever since I have known The Accountant he has been devoted, almost obsessed, with his current physical activity.  First it was rock climbing.  All over the world he climbed, and I sometimes, rather naively followed.  I remember sitting knitting on the foggy Yorkshire moors whilst my boyfriend scaled rocks only 8 feet from the ground.  This is called Bouldering.  It takes all day apparently.

France was more to my liking.  Katy and I could go walking and bike-riding, visit vineyards and lunch in gorgeous villages in Provence.  Australian rock climbing expeditions were just plain hot.  And we always seemed to run out of water in the middle of nowhere.

It was with some relief on my part when The Accountant became really serious about yoga.  You do not need much kit with yoga. And you can practice in your own home.  But did this stop The Accountant from once more embarking on a serious practice?  It did not.  And so to London a couple of mornings a week at 4:00am for two hours Astanga practice before work.  And a brief flirtation with meditation soon after Henry was born, in which The Accountant and German Tom would sit in our garden for an hour and not say one word to each other.  Good times.

Now the latest physical activity requires no ropes, no mats, no classes or even human contact.  Just running shoes.  But not just any old running shoes!  The house is slowing filling up with running "equipment".  How much stuff does this sport need?  Apparently everything under the sun.  And The Accountant has stopped watching normal TV in favour of running documentaries and little videos showing exactly how the arch of the foot should be when it hits the ground.  Eye-wateringly boring but it seems to do the trick, because The Accountant now does funny little jogs around the house testing these tips afterwards.  Much to the amusement of three little boys who think it is time for chasing Poppa.

Nanny Sue came to stay last week, and as it is very hot at the moment, I thought I would go for a walk before sunrise.  The Accountant had the same idea and was very enthusiastic that I should join him on a lovely morning outing together - which never happens.  I was much cheered by this until he said "Let's go now!  You can video me running!".  Never what it seems is it?

M.O.D.

I have just found out a friend has just had baby No. 3.  She is recuperating in hospital after a C-section on Saturday.  My thoughts are with her as I remember the pain and lack of sleep which accompanied Jonty's birth.  One afternoon when my C-section scar was still only 2 days old, The Accountant came wandering in to spend time with mother and baby and commented that Jonty looked a bit like Mr. Magoo.  The pain of trying not to laugh still haunts me to this day.  It is right up there with sneezing and coughing after a major operation.

I was also remembering how much easier it was knowing that my role as a new mother included entirely devoting all of my time to raising my children.  A newborn baby is so time-consuming that you notice little else.  However, after about seven weeks I was ready to don my dance gear and get into the studio again.

Now it is different.  Baby is now about 21 months old, and I have two big boys at school.  But since I do not have 25 hours of dance work waiting, I have been unwittingly sucked into housewifeliness.
It goes like this:

1.  Take care of children.
2.  Operate family taxi/walking service.
3.  Domestic duties (53 of them).
(Numbers 4 - 26 other stuff).
27.  Make dance classes for current work.
28.  Find a job.

Unfortunately in the real world there is no solution to the work/life balance.  There are either women drowning not waving or those who are just getting on with it they best way they can.  
Otherwise it would be like this:
M.O.D. "Hello Ministry of Dance can I help you?"
Me: "Yes please.  I would like a terrific dance artist job which combines my skills as dancer/teacher/choreographer in the Camberwell area."
M.O.D. "Are you a mother?  Would you like flexible hours?"
Me: "Yes that would be great.  I need to be able to pick up the boys from school.  Jonty only goes to childcare 2 mornings a week.  So would need to be pending the place around the corner...."
M.O.D. "We'll fix all that for you and get back to you with about 20 hours of stimulating dance work.  How does that sound?"
Me: "Great!  Thanks a lot. See you next week."

Yoga

I have recently joined a gym for the first time in about twelve years.  Obviously I have not been sitting on my sweet ass all that time, but the amount of dance and yoga I used to participate in made joining a gym unnecessary.

After a not so fruitless search I discovered that the best and cheapest yoga classes were to be had by joining my local gym.  As many sessions as you like for $15.00 a week.  So I would only have to attend one class a week and not feel like it was money down the drain.  I still stand by what I said in one of my first ever blogs about Melbourne.  Ladies who exercise here take their kit seriously.  Only the best and most expensive gear is seen in the yoga class.  And you see hordes of these women having coffee during the week wearing their exercise gear (sweaty!) including matching trainers and leggings WITH PIPING just cut off below the knee (yuk).

Allegedly I dance for a living (ha!) and you would think that after all these years I would own some pretty swanky kit myself.  Every contemporary dancer reading this knows very well how lovely it is to dance in your old favourites.  Ripped, torn, re-stitched and re-fashioned a bit like a well-loved teddy is how I would describe my dance and yoga outfits.

I probably stick out like a sore thumb amongst the very matching outfits sparkling with newness and money.  The yoga teacher is absolutely the coolest lady - mid-fifties, just the right side of hippy, she wears her dangling earrings with flair and her hair loose.  I just love a rule-breaker and anyone who is not conforming to the usual trends.  She is certainly something to aspire to.

There is one irksome thing though.  After every yoga class we have chanted, breathed and stretched our bodies and filled our minds with good and positive thoughts.  The first thing these women do (and it is always women) is get their bloody mobile phones out and start the ritual checking, texting and chatting.  I hold that unless you are Hilary Clinton, NOTHING is that important.  And even Hilary would have the good sense to at least wait until she has rolled up her yoga mat.

Northcote

Last weekend I had a free Saturday night.  Well who doesn't when you have three small children? Sad isn't it?  No but what I mean is that The Accountant was between business trips.  He walked in the door from Hong Kong.  And I walked out to yoga.

By the evening I had my groove on and was dressed up in my favourite outfit of the moment - a funky jumpsuit I bought in Oxford on my last trip back.  Of course my Best Gay Friend said it was fabulous and I just had to have it.  However I can never wear it on date night with The Accountant as apparently I look like an Oompa Loompa (his words not mine).

I was going out in Northcote with two gay men anyway, so I wore it with confidence.  I drove out of the leafy but dull as ditchwater suburbia, and knew I was heading towards something more akin to the Cowley Road of Melbourne when I saw a guy skateboarding.  In the middle of the road.  Wearing a poncho.  I felt right at home.

We had a great night starting with a drink at Kitty Somerset - which sounds like a Bond Girl but is a bar with a cool vintage/art deco vibe.  Then dinner at a vegetarian restaurant.  Fantastic.  Just what the doctor ordered for the lady who has been trapped in the house small boys for company.  You may think me ungrateful but I will give you an example.

Whilst I have been typing this I have had to time Henry as he races around the house and reports back to me after each round.  Rufus has been telling me about his "buddy" from school and how glad he was that he did not get the crazy buddy or the crap buddy.  Jonty shouts out MAMA every now and then.  God knows where The Accountant is, but this is the family's version of leaving me alone.  Everything from brushing my teeth to going to the loo and even doing up my bra has to be done whilst talking or reasoning with a small child, who may or may not be clinging to my legs or going through and slowly wreaking havoc amongst my special things whilst I am otherwise occupied.

I had better make sure that jumpsuit and my heels are ready for another trip soon.  I am going to need it.

Floods

It has been a normal sort of summer by Australian standards.  Some places have been suffering sweltering temperatures of over 40 degrees for a month or more.  Other parts have been enduring bush fires which have devastated communities, livelihoods, homes and wildlife.

And now in Queensland and northern NSW come - the floods.  My mother texted me to say they were OK although no electricity and no phone lines including mobiles.  So I left it a bit before I called her.  Meanwhile whilst checking news reports and watching the news I started to get a little worried.  By the time I called my mother she was in bed. No electricity and no daylight savings in Queensland meant that by 7pm it was dark, and there was nothing else for it but to go to bed with a torch and a book.

She assured me everything was fine in their area, aside from the fact that their pool had flooded and due  to having no electricity, they could not open their remote control doors (to get out the Mercedes Benz the poor things!).  I told mother that I was hoping for more drama, in order that I could get a decent blog written (selfish I know but I am getting the scraps where I can).

She replied that it was a big drama for her - "I haven't had a cup of tea all day!"

So yes she is suffering.  Although as I watched my own tea bag floating in my cup, I pondered that some people would be watching their houses float down the river.  And perhaps even their car or dog too.

There must be a gag line in here somewhere to do with cups that overfloweth - but I am too damn tired to even think on it.

Australia Day

About ten years ago David and I came back to Australia for what we liked to call a "sabbatical".  In reality David was desperate to come back for a while and I begrudgingly tagged along.  We were living in Sydney for six months and both working (eventually).  On the Australia Day long weekend David went climbing with a friend in the Blue Mountains, whilst I was lucky enough to be invited on a boat on the harbour, with two old university friends Samantha and Juliet and Juliet's new partner.

It was a glorious day filled with swimming in harbourside lagoons, great food and cold champagne  - all taken from the boat.  It was such an adventure and so much fun.  As the sun was setting we were toasting our glasses in front of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House - two very Australian cultural icons - and Juliet was jubiliant in her enthusiasm in celebrating the lovely day we had enjoyed.  She said "To great friends and a great day, and this bloody beautiful country of ours!".  The funny thing was, there was no tongue in cheek or jest as she spoke these words, and they were perfectly true and fitted perfectly with the day we had experienced together.

So as I was watching the tennis the other night, my first experience of Australia Day 2013 was a TV commercial featuring rock music, esky's (cool boxes), men running around playing cricket, men laughing and joking in the sun and all of them drinking VB (beer).  The tagline at the end was "Celebrate this Australia Day with Liqourland!"

On another note it has not been funny to see the media bitching about Victoria Azarenka.  Anyone who is not an absolute idiot could see from the courtside interview that she did not understand the question and launched into a completely different topic.  The media then seized on this and have since been reporting very unsporting comments.  This eventually led to the crowd booing Azarenka when she entered the court for the Women's Final.  Thank god she quieted them by thrashing her opponent.

Ever since Lleyton Hewitt and Bernard Tomic went down the Australian press have been less interested in the Open, all information going from front page to back page overnight.  However, it was very exciting to see Murray and Djokovic going at it last night, even when the poor old Scot went down like a lead balloon in the 4th set (but with a sore toe).  I will need a whole other blog post to even try and explain the outfits worn by the umpire and lines people.  Orange fleece jackets by none other than Lacoste.  Looks like someone may have visited Liqourland before designing them.

George

Here is George on holiday with us at Tathra, on the NSW south coast.  The owners of the holiday resort/park warned us about George and Frank.  I came back from a walk one morning to find Rufus very excited about "the biggest lizard I have ever seen".  Of course all small reptiles seem big to a small five year old boy so I went along with him to see this tiny thing of excitement with a smile on my face.

Bloody hell!  George was of crocodile proportions and had claws of death and could scale a gum tree in seconds.  I could only imagine what he would do to an unsuspecting Jonty with a bit of toast in his hand.

Frank was a smaller and prettier water dragon who liked to hang out at the pool and lake.  Although like George, he would creep up on you just as you were arranging your book and towel.

One night The Accountant and I went to dinner in Merimbula with friends.  The locals warned us about driving back on the road - "watch the wildlife" they said knowingly.  It was like some sort of animal obstacle course on the way back.  Kangaroos everywhere, at the side of the road, on the road, crossing the road, about to cross the road - STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD.  Possums and their entire family crossing the road at a leisurely pace.  I had to drive at 20 miles an hour just to keep the bloody wildlife safely in my headlights.  It was a full moon, so there was a fair amount of craziness.

The holiday was spent at the beach, at the resort playing mini-golf, canoeing on the lake, swimming and walking.  And keeping one eye out for George.

Photo caption: Henry, Rufus and cousin Evie casting a wary eye over new friend George.

Birthday Blog

Is it so bad being 44?  I was so young and happy yesterday, and today I definitely have to tick the mid-forties box.  No blogs for ages due the weariness of the festive season setting in on about December 1st.  The weariness and despair of Christmas was with me throughout December and now nearly half of January.

Whilst my European and UK friends have been toasting the new year in front of cosy sitting room fires, we have been literally sweltering in 40 degree heat with real fires blasting away across Southern Australia.  The road we took from our coastal holiday to Canberra is now closed due to bush fires, and yesterday people in some areas were told not too bother evacuating, but just to find some shelter.  The only shelter available to most people would be to jump in a river or lake.  If there is one.

Thankfully Canberra has cooled down overnight, and where it was still 33 degrees at 10pm, it is now blissfully fresh.

My birthday celebrations are kicking off without The Accountant, who is adding and subtracting numbers in Melbourne and bringing home the bacon.  And although he was not looking forward to going back to the office, he was feeling terribly chuffed about having the house to himself for the week.  Beer.  Sofa.  Take-away dinners.  Peace and quiet.  And leaving his undies and wet towel where he damn pleases thank you very much.

I awoke early this morning to find a lovely birthday breakfast being prepared on the verhandah, and this afternoon lunching at the gallery with my sister and mother.  All this to distract me from the fact that I am officially OLD(ER).