Wife Swap

We are in Canberra at the moment, on a school holiday road trip.  Lunch yesterday was Bellini's and home made pizza (cooked on the BBQ).  It was a lovely sun-dappled lunch, and with Jonty asleep the two big boys had the adults to themselves and embarked on their usual series of inquisitions.

They were trying to piece together who my parents were out of the six they have to choose from.  Eventually they settled on Nonna and Russell, but then Henry remembered it was actually Grandpa John (with some triumph) who was my dad.  Then one of them said "they did a swap".  And apparently some people swap more than once.

Henry ended the conversation with "some people just keep swapping until they die!".

PS. Have heard back from the directors of the Short + Sweet Festival, and they want to see me in Melbourne this week.  Great, but the only problem is we are in Canberra until Friday.  Do I ditch the family holiday and fly back just for a fifteen minute meeting?  Or do I try to wangle a different time at the risk of sounding difficult?  What are the new rules for a supposed professional dancer/choreographer who has three small children who has moved countries and who has not embarked on furthering her dance career (in Australia) until now?

It was so much fun going to the audition - like being a proper person again!  Walking down hallways (with no children), telling the lady your name (with no children), showing your work (with no children) and talking about your work (with no children).  AND catching public transport WITH NO BLOODY CHILDREN!  Even had a cheeky lunch at a funky cafe, but was disappointed to find myself looking around and thinking "I could even bring the children here!"

Tan Tights

Contemporary dancers still wearing old, well-loved training clothes in the dance studio will feel my pain here.

As far as I'm concerned there are three fashion faux pas which really get my goat.

1.  Massive wide belts of the kind that were in fashion about seven years ago, but which some people still insist on wearing.  Even worse when they are bejwelled with sparkling trinkets.

2.  Fat people wearing leggings.  ANY TIME, ANY PLACE.

3.  Stonewash jeans and a matching jacket.  Just awful.

In the dance studio however there are a whole new set of rules about what is acceptable and what is clearly just poor judgement.  And this week I got into an argument with my teenage dancers about what they could wear for their dance piece.  They wanted to wear tan tights.  TAN TIGHTS!

I told them to move on - it is not 1986, and we are not entering a Beauty Pagent in some mid-western town in the States.  And they are performing an abstract contemporary dance piece, loosely based on some Indigenous Dreamtime themes. 

Just like Edna in The Incredibles ("No Capes!"), I said "No Tan Tights!".

Shop Names

Now I will tell you something I little bit funny.  Australian people will not find this the least bit peculiar because they are used to it - so feel free to ignore this blog post.

In Australia, or Melbourne at least, the shop fronts and signs are HUGE.  Much bigger than they really need to be.  Some of them at least 20 times the size of a normal UK high street retailer.  And this from someone with failing eyesight.  Apart from the actual lettering on the signs entering into some secret competition with the sign next door, what the signs actually represent is even funnier.

A few examples:

Crazy John's - Discount mobile phone store.  I would be a little bit reticent about buying a phone from these guys.

The Badbacks Store - Hilarious!  A store for people with bad backs.  If I had time I would have hung around just to watch poor old bent over people hobbling in to buy themselves a spoon and fork.

Tony le Pony - Would have been great if this had been an equestrian shop, but turned out to be a boring cafe.

Trippy Taco - All those who watched Monkey in the 70's we salute you.  This taco place was packed late one night when The Accountant and I had date night.

Fella Hamilton - Posh ladies dress shop, but the name is very off-putting. Mother and I had a giggle as our old dog from 35 years ago was called Fella, spelling included.

A German friend also took a photo of a sushi shop called Mishi Mishi which apparently, in Germany, is another name for (excuse me) fanny/snatch/fandango.  Smirk.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

When I first skipped gaily into Melbourne over a year ago, I was just a young (ish) girl with dreams of dancing, choreographing and teaching.  I would win everyone over with my humour and general fabulousness before I dance step had even been performed!  My dance peers in the UK were all "Big fish in small pond....", "European modern dance scene...", "Experienced choreographer....".  And the most uttered "You will be different and new".

New and different are not words which enter the vocabulary of the Melbourne dance scene.  No capital letters needed for dance scene as there is no such thing here.  No dance community either.  It comes to this.  Either you are highly commercial and can enter your dance style into various performance platforms.  But think old fashioned jazz ballet meets Irish Dancing meets lap dancing.  With funny costumes.

Or you squeeze your way into the highly exclusive contemporary dance scene.  Membership is highly secretive and you can only get in to this from the ground up.  So when you were five years old you did creative dance lessons and moved on from there.

I am obviously in neither of these categories and have been Melbourned into submission to try and join in somehow.  So for the moment I am going to put forward a piece for Short + Sweet Festival.  The only thing is they want a 2 minute preview by next Saturday.  Into the dance studio and out of me tumbled all the creativity I had been saving for one year.  Thank god.

I don't know what to expect, but I'll do my thing, my way, in any case.  The panel might be full of people who were still in high school when I won my first choreographic award in 1996, so I will try my hardest not to laugh.  Or slap them.

Bid

My lovely Auntie Biddy has died at the very young age of 58.  A very sad time for all our family.  But also a time to remember a remarkably brave and insightful person, who uncomplainingly, battled until the end.

Dear Auntie Bid I will forever have you in my heart, and have so many happy memories of you.  In your swimsuit at Lake Buffalo reading the Herald Sun, occasionally remarking on odd happenings (and odd people!) at the lake.  All accompanied with a wry smile.  May you always be paddling on your red lilo down the Ovens River. 

I would have attached a photograph of Biddy at Bright, in her swimmers, with this blog tribute - but I don't know whether she would have entirely approved.

I am very grateful to be in Melbourne at this sad time, recognising what a strong, supportive and loving family we have.

Silver Medals Galore

It is no secret in our house that we are cheering on Team GB.  Due to two-thirds of us being born there, and the other third being a little bit homesick watching the games in London.

But the Australians are so pissed off about all those silver medals. Imagine the disgrace at being second-best in the world in your chosen sport.  Get over it.

Maybe, just maybe, in some weird conspiracy, all the other countries in the world have been training hard for the last four years too?

In other news apparently The Australian Ballet have been taking New York by storm performing their new tour.  And with a piece made by British choreographer Wayne McGregor no less.

Note for all my old OCDS dancers: When I walked into the scout hall I use to teach my very first dance class, guess what my first task was?  Sweeping the bloody floor!  And they say there is no glamour in the arts.  Will it ever end.....

Avon Calling

I have decided to chuck in the dance and become and Avon Lady.  Kidding!  No but I did have a pampering party on Sunday afternoon for a few ladies.  Most of us were related in some way or other.  Would have been a complete success were it not for children coming in and out of my peripheral vision for the last hour. 

Extremely hard to pull of the glamorous yummy mummy glow when you are screaming "Rufus!  Get off the netting on the trampoline! NOW!".  From inside the house.  Right beside the special make-up lady educating us in the difference between day and night creams (one for protecting and the other for correcting girls - and my gayfriend boys).

It is funny the things you do when you no longer have culture on your doorstep.  The make-up lady even tried to encourage me to take on a business.  No for me though.  If I have any spare time available which is not on the mothering/wifely to-do list, it is heading straight for the studio or theatre.

By the way I have indeed started up my first adults contemporary dance class.  It is targeted at school and kindergarten parents after drop-off in the morning.  So of course it is a beginner's class.  And I really had forgotten what it is like to teach absolute beginners who have no experience of contemporary dance, either as a participant or audience member.  So the first week I had 3 mums come along.  The second week 6, then last week 9 people.  They love it. 

One lady commented jubilantly after class: "Well I didn't know what to expect.  But it's like real dancing!"