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Published: November 20th 2007
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This ones a bit of a time traveller. Because I didn't get round to publishing this before Debbie's last blog entry its out of sync a bit. My parents are here! Well, they aren't because they're been here and gone home again. This year is just tearing past. After 7 months (which seemed like 36 hours for us) and 36 hours (which seemed like 7 months for them) my parents arrived. I did try to snap them coming into the arrivals hall, but got too excited so the pics were a bit blurry and don't look like much of anything. Mind you no-one looks like much of anything after that much sleep deprivation. We rolled them out of the airport and down to McMahons Point from where one can view bridges, harbours, Opera Houses and the like. Unfortunately their arrival was preceded by a stinkingly soggy weather front so the Opera House wasn't visible through the piddling mist and the harbour was a nice attractive shade of grey. Welcome to Australia. Have a sunny day. Which we did the following day, floating the Virgin zombies across Sydney pond and around the city. Nigel nearly passed out from jet-lag so we gave
him a coke, after which he was fine. Ish. For about an hour, after which he passed out again on the sofa.
2 more days of sleep put them back on the right track, which was probably fortunate as it started raining again. The curse of Oz-Eames-Arrival-Itis. Nevertheless, working yoof had taken 4 days off and were hellbent on showing the tourists our mountains which aren't so much as mountains as valleys with semi-lumpy bits in between, but very lovely notwithstanding. So it was off to the Blueys again and a sleepy little cottage in Blackheath from which epic adventures were mounted. Ok, they weren't that epic, and there were no horses involved either, and my parents were in the same house so no mounting of any sort, ahem... Anyway. It rained. Lots. For 3 days straight. And sideways, and at 45 degrees and every other angle in between. Being English and made of stern stuff we made do with our oiled woollens and colonial spirit and yomped off into the blue yonder a la Boys Own. We had to take girls, but modern times calls for modern thinking don't you know. First port of call, the Grand
Canyon, which is pretty grand and quite canyony, but full of a lot more water than the original one. This made for more than it sounds, it's all rainforest and waterfalls which after a week of solid downpour was quite the fun amble, or wade, to be more specific. My mother danced in a waterfall :o). This isn't odd. My dad joined her. I am the offspring of waterfall dancers, this might explain some things to a few people.
More walking the following day, 7 km in 7 hours, which was more to do with stopping every 100m to gawp at another waterfall rather than all of us being generally unfit. None of it was horizontal either, walking staircases all day takes time. Even more waterfalls the day after, except finally in some sunshine. Much fun also had by digging in pools for Yabbies (creek crayfish), shouting over the noise the Cicadas made, standing under more waterfalls and trying (unsucessfully) to find snakes. Well, I was trying to find snakes, Debbie was trying not to find snakes even though she didn't know she wasn't. I don't mention things like snake-finding to Debbie, she goes interesting shades of green
and doesn't want to go bushwalking any more. I didn't mention it to my mum either, just made her walk in front on the basis she's small enough to be bait. It didn't work, no snakes. No spiders either, or sharks, but they've probably died out because of the waterfalls.
Everyone seems to think Australia is waiting in the branches to sting, bite, crush or claw you to an agonizing death miles from anywhere. Nothing could be farther from the truth. To test this we packed the olds into our car with our camping gear and pointed them north. 4 days later, on the borders of civilization somewhere around Byron Bay, reports filtered through of bush warfare being undertaken. The interlopers, zwei Englisher mit canvas unt hurricane lampe, locked in deadly combat with the arch-enemy
bush-turkey. The bush turkeys won the first round, making off with my dads bag of gluten-free bread, the first he's had in 10 years. Round 2 went to the interlopers, while my dad cooked, my mum stalked turkey, with no intention of eating the buggers either. They also found a python but it was dead, probably due to being harrassed to death by
Bernard Matthews ozzie mates. A leech found Nigel but by this stage he wasn't having any of it and the leech learnt to fly before it got its choppers in. Back to Sydney for night and then we all yomped off south to Berrara where my cousin Fiona & her husband Ross have a beach house. Time off to meet the rellies and do some pottering about and catching up. I met my other cousin Jane & her husband Sammy for the first time which was cool, and managed to stand up on Ross's surfboard. Brief moment of fun when Ross, sitting on the beach with my parents casually asked how many dolphins were playing in the the waves behind me. Answer, two. If it had been one it'd most likely not be a dolphin. I was oblivious, I can't see much without my specs on. Thought I'd be safe, no waterfalls. Nigel managed to collect 2 ticks, not sure Australia is the place for him, most stuff here seems to like the way he tastes. He refused to try surfing so we didn't get to find out if it was dolphins or not.
And finally, some sunburn! We
spent a hot day walking the cliffs near Bondi, some enterprising local started a sculpture trail 11 years ago and its now grown to about 120 sculptures placed along the walk. One minute its giant ants eating a BMW, next a chain of talking shower heads and a garden full of flowers made from hypodermics. Cool. Suffering a bit from sunburn by the end of the day, but thats par for the course. Well, most of me was suffering sunburn, apart from patches around the chin. I'd joined the
Movember Federation, to raise attention and funds for mens health issues (namely depression and prostate cancer), the main requirement of which is to grow yourself a stonking 'tashe over the month of 'M'ovember. Fortunately 7 others at work entered into the pursuit of hirsute, which made me feel slightly better. The walk to work was still excruciatingly embarrasing although made slightly better when you pass someone else who owns a 70's porn star handlebar. There's a kind of sheepish glance that passes between you, a kind of cross between solidarity and cringe. I passed 2 girls, who, asuming I was safely out of earshot, were heard to remark "I'll be so glad
when November is over". Crushing. Anyway the end of November finally descended, the date with the razor loomed and my dad ended up crying with laughter at at the emergence of the naked chin. (He's had a beard since he was about 7). Thanks to all of you who sponsored me, enclosed for your viewing pleasure are the Handlebar, the Magnum, and the Hitler. I raised A$ 150, and our team raised A$ 1600 so not all bad. Now, I know you all want to run off and gro yo mo, but consider a while, its itchy, you still have to shave, people laugh at you in the street, and your partner refuses to come anywhere near you. Just don't do it.
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