Just Chill!

It's muggy in Sydney this week. Not that hot, about 27 and my iGoogle weather says it's only 57% humidity but they must be sitting on top of an inland mountain cos it's sweaty conditions out there. I am being aided and abetted I might add by the odd 'waves of warmth' that seem to have kicked in now that my pituitary has actually realised my ovaries are long gone. Interesting sensation that . . .I'm hoping a combination of herbals, Red Clover and Black Cohosh will stem the flushes otherwise I'm going to have to move to a cold country before the motor on my standard fan burns out!

That reminds me. Thommo is packing her backs on Friday and heading off to Japan for the second time in as many years. She's a serious skier, hampered only by the odd rickety knee which she's planning to have fixed upon her return. Her theory is that she might as well make the surgery worthwhile by smashing it to bits on mount 非常に高い山. It's the newest skiing sensation apparently. Ian is popping off to Austria to indulge his habit and whilst I envy them both a few weeks in the chill, I don't care much for skiing . . .or snowboarding . . .or tobogganing.

I took DrummerBoy with me for a snowy weekend when he was about 8. He'd never seen snow, let alone tried skiing so I booked him into 'Kindy Ski School' and myself in for a half day lesson thinking that at least I'd be proficient enough to tackle front valley at Perisher or Friday Flat at Thredbo if I could manage to hang onto the T bar without doing the splits sideways.

He took to it like a duck to water. Mind you the centre of gravity for an 8 year old is like that of a Chinese acrobat. Perfectly proportioned with the middle in the middle. As we grow we seem to get longer in the leg or torso and that means balance isn't as easy. Within four hours, the kid's got no stocks, a crash helmet the size of a watermelon and is competently scooting down the slopes and managing to get on a chair lift, TBar and even a pommer by himself.

Meanwhile, fat biatch is walking like a cripple across the car park in unbendy ski boots (nobody told me to not to put them on until you're actually in the snowy bit). I met up with a charming instructor, all dressed in conspicuous red. She was young, European - probably German or Austrian. In our group were also 8 Japanese, non English speaking tourists. Before we even started the lesson, she took one look at my very expensive shades and asked if I'd bought them in a $2 shop. . . I mean . . .crikey . . they were $250 Raybans! I was determined to look good even if I couldn't ski! So whilst my hackles took their time laying back down on my neck we commenced the lesson and I'd already made up my mind that this girl was going to be a cow of gargantuan proportions.

First thing: learn how to snowplough - that's 'stop' for the uninitiated. Tackled quite well for a beginner I thought until I finally planted myself firmly in the snow. I started to undo my bindings to get the skis off so I could stand up and she shrieked, "Leave you're bindings on. You can't be taking them off every time you fall over!" As if I'm going to ski to Blue Cow unless I can avoid falling over! I'm talking about the front valley, about 1km of gentle slope here! So, I was taught to plant one stock in the snow and get up without removing the bindings. This my friends involves the use of stomach muscles . . .WHAAAT! Besides the enormous embarrassment of admitting that since having children, my belly was less than a six pack - every almost success was flouted by some cocky snowboarder either spraying me with slush or attempting to run me over. Meanwhile, children as young as 3 were careening past me with a "check the retard!" look on their face. I spent the next 40 minutes trying to get myself upright while she diverted her attention and yelled at Japanese tourists. Apparently, if you shout at someone who doesn't understand the language, their powers of comprehension improve tenfold -the hypothesis was not born out. They looked even more confused and became quite animated. They were wandering all over the place, ignoring instructions, trying to translate - meanwhile, our little Germanic guide was visibly losing the plot. She shouted at everyone. Berated us on being the most hopeless and hapless group she had ever had the misfortune to earn $500 from and stormed off about 15 minutes before the lesson was to end. I secretly hoped that her visa was revoked or that she fell off the T Bar 60 feet above the ground.

That my friends, was my first and last foray into the world of the white. Fortunately, our snowfields are littered with cafes and bars. I spend a lot of time in most of them acquiring a taste for butterscotch schnapps whilst DrummerBoy tagged along with competent skiing friends and conquered Mount Perisher. The rest of the long weekend, I resolved to cook and housekeep for the exhausted snowboarders and skiers rather than venture back for more public humiliation. I did do something I'm reasonably good at and went for a wonderful Snowy River trail ride with a guy called Jacko and a horse called Chocolate. I watched a little telly, did a little souvenir shopping, walked around the shores of Lake Jindabyne and generally enjoyed the cold and the solitude.

DrummerBoy still enjoys his skiing although our season is short and he didn't make it this year. He's now no stranger to black runs and talking about trying the slopes of New Zealand, Canada or Switzerland sometime. ClareBear has taken to snowboarding and handles herself admirably if the videos from the Dubai Snow Dome are to be believed. Me? . . .I avoid it like the plague but I do miss those chilly walks around Lake Jindabyne . . . especially now as another wave of warmth makes my hands clammy and my brow sweat!

The Invisibles

How can something that comes out of this:

Turn into this:



And make so much noise that it drowns out your "Shoot em Up" action DVD but you can't bloody find it in the tree!

Drop Bears

Recently there have been a number of shark sightings off the northern NSW coast. Apparently packs of the suckers are moving north, following large schools of pilchards and nibbling at surfer's toes and bums as an appetiser. Summer is a dangerous time in Australia. We locals are used to the perils of the wild and the ravages of the sun but the unsuspecting traveller often mistakes the shark alarm for an ice cream van, doesn't know his Taipan from his trouser snake and has absolutely no idea about the danger of drop bears.

Whilst apart from a nasty scratch and the propensity to wee all over your Armani, Koala's are relatively harmless, very secretive and well disguised in the foliage of Australian Eucalypts. A variation on the Koala is the colloquially named "Drop Bear". Drop bears are similar to Koalas. They live in trees, dropping to the ground only when it is necessary to feed. It comes as little surprise that such a strange animal exists amongs the other unique fauna in Australia such as Echidnas, wombats, koalas, kangaroos, wallabies, platypus, bandicoots and potoroos. The Common Drop Bear is found in forested areas across the continent and is thought to in fact venture as far north as Papua New Guinea and Indonesia.

Whilst Drop Bear's are arboreal they are able to walk on two legs, but are much faster on all four, being capable of bursts of speed approaching 60 km/h over short distances.. They posess enlarged canine teeth and upper incisors but unlike their Koala cousins are carnivorous marsupials. They can grow up to a metre and a half in height in the right habitat. Unlike the slow moving, energy conserving Koala, they are extremely strong and due to their largely carniverous diet, far more active.

Because tourism is a booming industry in Austarlia, little is published on the Drop Bear for fear it would deter internationals from visiting and specifically taking advantage of our national parks and coastal hinterlands. German and Swedish tourists, Australian naturalists and vegetarians are particularly fond of hiking in the Australian bush and provide a welcome injecton of tourist dollars to the economy.

There are however, incidences of Drop Bear involvement in various attacks from the disappearance of Azaria Chamberlain, to the disappearance of a group of cross-country skiers in the Victorian Alps, and the deaths of a number of hikers, canoeists, 4WDrivers, campers, sunbathers on the Northern NSW and Gold Coast hinterlands.

These 'accidents' are often reported as crocodile attacks, falls from cliffs, exposure, and in the Chamberlain case, dingos were blamed to dispel rumours of Drop Bear attacks and hide the truth from the public.And the notorious disappearance of Peter Falconio . . his fiance Joanne Lees inventing a tale of abduction rather than face the ridicule she might receive had she told the truth about a central Australian Drop Bear attack.

Their hunting technique is simple and effective. They drop from their arboreal nest and wrap themselves around the body of their unsuspecting prey using asphyxiation as the most efficient method of rendering their subject lifeless.

If seen, Drop Bears should NOT be approached, as they are easily frightened and likely to attack.. Food should not be left in vehicles as they may attempt to retrieve it and camping in Drop Bear areas is not recommended.

There, you've been warned:

A feral goat succumbs to the predatory drop bear

A Sign of the Times

We love our signage in Australia. To the point where everything available is plastered with a billboard or advertisement, it's one thing I noticed when I first came to Australia as a child was the inordinate amount of advertising on shop fronts. This was in the day of the 'main street' when shops aligned the main road disecting the town. Each had a canopy or verandah to shade the shop from the searing heat, something which you don't see in England. Adorning these overhanging canopies were and indeed still are a barage of advertisements. Outside, the shops there would are sandwich boards, the windows are littered with advertisements for the goods inside.

Then there are the warning signs, everything from girls riding horses, to children crossing, flashing school zone lights and of course the animal warnings on freeways (as if you're going to slow from 110 when a wombat crosses the road - splat!).


I dread driving into Sydney. Small city as it is, it's now littered with tollways and road closures which force you into tunnels where you have to pay a toll. And since I don't have an electronic tag on my windscreen and cash tolls are few and far between, I'm forever being fined for taking the wrong route. And with signage like this how the hell am I supposed to take the right lane?


Our little enclave is a bit Brigadoonish. We live in a single street of five acre blocks. It's a dead end and whilst it's surrounded by a golf course on one side and new suburbs on the others, there is no street lighting, no lanes marked, so the law permits us to drive 100kms - although only the bitch across the road seems to want to do that on a regular basis! Ah, but you know that suburbia is encroaching and changes are on the way when you're woken by the clang of a mattock and two men dressed conspicuously like council workers begin having an erection!


Yep. Obviously takes two - one to pour the cement, the other to hold the pole! Snapped yesterday. Right at the bottom of our driveway now stand two speed warning signs. Well that will keep 'her across the road' from peering over her four wheel drive dashboard as she belts along the middle at 100! Or will it? It's just a matter of time before they paint double yellow lines and put the speed humps in!

And You Thought You Had a Year to Recover?

So the festivities are all over then? Shit no . . . there's one more before Easter and that's on the 26 January - arguably in the middle of one of the hottest month's of the year . . it's Australia day! The idea is to celebrate the British establishment of a penal colony at Botany Bay but many regard it as a shameful day of invasion and exploitation. More about that in another post. Today, the sun is shining, the world is at peace and everyone's nursing their New Year's Eve hangovers so here are some useful facts, hints and tips, should you choose to venture down under for Australia Day celebrations, which I might add, are well worth the trip!











Whatever you do, never, never, never wear one of these
Or be caught alive in a pair of these:

More travel tips available on request including Barbie Ettiquette, How to Treat a Sheila, Footy Tips and how to avoid Drop Bears.

Going Off With a Bang Or Just a Quiet Thud?

I'm not going to write a 2007 retrospective because very little of any significance happened in the Baino household throughout 2007 and all the important events have been reviewed and reviled by the media or posted here throughout the year. Plus I'm one for looking forward rather than back! For us, 'little significance' means no major disasters or family issues, no huge financial setbacks or poor health. But today, I'm at a loose end. ClareBear is in Nambucca Heads with friends enjoying the shark infested waters and will no doubt imbibe tonight to welcome in 2008. DrummerBoy is at work then off to Lemmermans for a party so it's unlikely he and the Fringelet will surface before lunchtime tomorrow. Even then there will be a brief encounter while I drive them to a recovery party at The Mean Fiddler on New Year's Day. BabyBro and Stressany rarely do much on NYE and I for one, don't really see what all the fuss is about but haven't received any invitations to do anything anyway so I'm pretending I don't give a shit.

So, I'm being pathetic, sitting in front of my PC talking people I've never met (not that that's a bad thing mind you), taking my dog for a walk, watching the odd DVD, staring at the three books I should be reading and contemplating tidying my wardrobe or the dreaded bathroom cupboard.

I've had massive New Year celebrations in the past but they've all involved eating a lot, drinking a lot, kissing people I don't really care about at midnight, singing Auld Lang Syne which bores me to tears, then coming home and wondering why we blew so much dosh on a new frock and a date change.

When the kids were smaller, we used to go into the city, picnic at Lady Macquarie's Chair and watch the 9.00pm and midnight fireworks then queue with the other 2 million Sydneysiders to get back home. It was fun and there's no doubt that Sydney puts on a NYE night like no other. A couple of times, a veritable crowd of us booked hotel rooms and had a leisurely walk too and from our viewing vantage point, wading through the drunks and the rubbish left by so many people and telling the kids that 'that nice man is just having a little snooze before the big fireworks go off." All in all, it's a lot of expense and exertion for 15 minutes of fabulous pyrotechnics.We've done the NYE at home thing and that was OK apart from the cleaning up the next day and regular body removal but nothing special about that. It happens whenever the kids have an event! We've done the dinner out thing but it's rather forced and you're usually unceremoniously tossed out at 12:30 just when the party's getting started. I've even done the quiet dinner at home thing with BabyBro and Stressany or Thommo, TheBoss and The Merry Widow and watched the fireworks on telly which is civilised and pleasant but hardly celebratory.

I'm toying with the idea of going into the city alone. We have buses running all day every half hour for the special event. I could take the camera and snap some shots but since I lost a pair of $250 Raybans on NYE once, I'm a bit reluctant to take a $1500 worth of camera equipment. Still, I could go and 'oooh' and 'aaaah' with the rest of Sydney but it's not the same on your own. I'd feel a bit like that sad little Leunig cartoon that contemplates loneliness, the univers and his diminutive place within it.

So, I'm on my tod. On my lonesome. Flying solo. It's off to Costi's for a nice little lobster methinks, a bottle of something delish like Verve Cliquot and a disgustingly fattening tub of Norgen Vaas or Grand Marnier, coffee and Chocolate Covered Almond Conoisseur Ice Cream. I might even blow dry the frizz, put on a dress and lay a table for one plus dog. I'll have a very nice little dinner, watch the fireworks on telly and pop my fat ass into bed at 12:05! What a saddo! (now stop feeling sorry for me, I didn't try very hard to get a gig tonight!)

At least I know of one person who's working all night and another who's researching migration to Australia rather than partying hard so I don't feel totally left out. For the rest of you revellers - go hard or go home - well done - enjoy your night, I hope it goes of with a bang (metaphorically speaking) and I'll talk to you all next year.



Happy New Year . . .Crikey . . it's just a number!

Wascally Wabbits

I'm a poor sleeper. Well actually I sleep very well but just not for long. The dawn chorus cranks up at about 5:30am, the dog barks and that's it. I'm wide awake. I lament my inability to sleep in, no matter how late I go to bed but there is a benefit to being up and about that early.

This morning I went for a walk. A habit I've got to get back into and when the weather's hot, the only time to do it is early in the morning. This morning I saw a plethora of wildlife, Myna's - Indian and Noisy, Lorikeets, a White Winged Chuff on it's mud nest while the rest of the family fought with a bunch of magpies. A fox which scampered across the road pursued by birds of all description. There were ducks preening themselves on my swimming pool, cockatoos and corellas making a racket as only large parrots can and rabbits . . . loads of rabbits. Now whilst I love the little fluffy buggers, they're feral here. Introduced by European settlers to satiate their hunting desires they are in plague proportions, overly urbanised and a bloody nuisance. And here's why:

	Rabbits breed from 3-4 months of age,
	Rabbits are pregnant for 30 days and give birth to litters of 4-7 young,
	A mature female rabbit can be continuously pregnant for between 6-8 months per year under favourable conditions,
	A single pair of rabbits can produce 30-40 young per year

And they're all living at my place!

Besides eating everything that's green and leafy, (except Gardenias, I 've found and thankfully they can't reach the hanging baskets filled with Fijian Impatiens) they dig holes in the lawn and have completely undermined our shed and back paddock with metre deep potholes and warrens. They're even worse in the country. So, as I watched the little cottontails scattering in all directions and of course being a gunless pacifist (not that I could hit one if I tried) I mulled over how to get rid of the buggers. The local council will provide pindone bait to people on acreage but its very attractive to dogs. No good, I have three dogs. Plus it works similarly to rat poisoning by preventing blood coagulation and believe me, it's not a good way to die!

Then there's the prospect of just filling in the holes. Clean fill is easy enough to get from excavation sites and there's plenty of that going on around here but then I need a Bobcat to fill the extensive warren in the back paddock then smooth over the top with no guarantee the little feral perils won't dig their way out. In fact, when we build up our bonfire over the year, the rabbits find it a fabulous haven. We have to drop bungers down the warrens to avoid the 1995 fiasco where a sparkling rabbit, resembling something made out of optic fibres, sprang from the inferno and frightened all the little children with it's screams. An unfortunate occasion where a brick came in handy to put the poor thing out of it's misery.

An early recorded attempt at biological control in Australia was the release in the 1890s of three hundred cats. They were released in an attempt to stop rabbits spreading further into Western Australia. Many of the cats starved, many bred and became part of another feral problem and the rabbits were hardly affected.

Then we introduced the myxoma virus but noticed that it's virulence has changed. I remember having a rabbit blinded by the slow-killing myxomitosis desease, bump straight through the back door and my brother banging it on the head with a shovel as the most readily available form of euthanasia. (We seem to have a history of rabbit thumping!) It was common when we first moved here to see diseased rabbits with their blinded putrid eyes bumbling around the place but not any more. They're healthy enough to clean out Mr McGregor's garden a hundred times over!

Rabbit calicivirus was tested and accidentally released from quarantine in the 90's, proving a fast and effective way of nobbling wabbits but it too seems to have been diluted on the Eastern coast, given the increasing numbers of fluffers in my back yard! It seems that rabbits are among the most resilient of creatures and their immune systems are incredible. Within a couple of generations, these viral controls simply don't work.

I could employ a couple of ferrets . . I once watched a couple of old fellas ferreting rabbits way back when I was a youngling. It was fascinating. They sent the weasels down the hole and dutifully they returned with rabbits. The necks of the fuzzballs were broken and the carcasses gutted and skinned and the little ferrets received the giblets as a reward before being whacked in an old hessian sack. The rabbits were then strung to a shoulder pole and off the old geezers went with dinner and pelts. I don't much care for ferrets, they smell and they bite and . . . well they don't look very nice.

It's weird, if rabbits were spiders, I'd have no problem getting the Flick man in or squishing them with a thong. If they were bull ants, I'd just pour petrol down their nest but they're not. They're cute, fluffy, sweet faced likkle bunny wunny wabbits . . . I can't even run over one when it stands bolt upright in front of a car, blinded by the headlights.

So I guess I'll just have to get used to holes, plant native shrubs and trees and hope that encroaching civilisation will simply reduce their habitat or employ Wallace and Gromit and their handy wabbit gwabber.

Meanwhile, I have 3 acres of lush green paddock after recent rain and can't bring the boys back for fear one of them will stumble in a bloody rabbit hole! The last thing I want is to lose a horse down a rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland. Then again, it would reduce my feed and vet bills . . .mmm . . .more thought required on that one!

. . . and now . . .The Weather . . .

And there's not much more to say about living in Australia today! I think I might get that tan after all!

	CURRENT CONDITIONS SYDNEY Sat, Dec 29 22.5°C Last updated: Wind: Rain: Sunrise: Sunset: 10:00:00 PM 13.0 kph 40° NE from 9am 0.0 mm 05:46 20:09 FORECAST Sun, Dec 30 Mostly sunny min: 19°C max: 27°C Mon, Dec 31 Mostly sunny min: 19°C max: 26°C Tue, Jan 1 Mostly sunny min: 19°C max: 26°C Wed, Jan 2 Mostly sunny min: 20°C max: 27°C

C'mon Everybody Get Wrapping

This Christmas' colour theme is quite obviously - red and gold!

Jack McMad has left his run a little late. Now he's faced with the fine art of gift wrapping for Lady McMad and it's causing a conundrum. So, if you don't have your presents yet . . get cracking. Here are some 'hot tips' on wrapping for morons (read men) who traditionally have as much success wrapping gifts as they do finding a matching pair of socks under their very noses. And before you get your grundies in a twist, this is not a sexist statement - it's entirely factual:

1. Buy jewellery - the jeweller will wrap it for you in a pretty little gift box and we all know what you get when you give a woman jewellery fellas? If you don't, I'm not going to tell you
   
   
2. Buy the gift in a large shopping centre where they offer 'free giftwrapping' at the information counter. Yes, that means you have to do what the rest of us do and drive to the multi level car park, exact road rage on the person who pinches the first space after you've been stalking it's previous inhabitant for half an hour, venture into the mall and actually find a shop that offers a suitable gift. If you spend a set amount within the centre, just present your receipts and two pretty nubile nymphettes will wrap your present for you, smile at you and if you're lucky, provide a glimpse of cleavage from their scanty Santa's Little Helper's wraparound tops.
   
   
3. Buy a gift bag. Make sure it's big enough for your present and has a Christmas theme. Receiving a Christmas gift in a Birthday bag for a five year old (unless you are five) is not cool and it looks like you've recycled which is cheap and tasteless. Whack in the gift, stuff a bit of tisue paper on the top and you're home and hosed.
   
   
4. Buy a voucher/gift card. Any sort of voucher but don't be cheap $10 at the local supermarket is not a Christmas gift. Ramp it up a bit to a $50 or $100 gift voucher for Coles Myer, David Jones or a specialty store where you know she likes to shop. This could be any Jewellery store or Day Spa vouchers for manicures, pedicures, facials and massages. For Pete's sake, don't give her a voucher for Bunnings or the Electronics Boutique unless you know she's a geeky gardener!
   
   
5. Call your mum and ask her to come round in a hurry and wrap it for you but that's lame ass and your significant other will certainly know that the mother in law has had a hand in the wrapping. Plus the mother in law will want to make sure that the significant other KNOWS she had a hand in the wrapping.
   
   
6. The total act of desperation - buy a Christmas card and write "Your Present this year is a weekend in a luxury hotel of your choice and at a time of your choosing". Then she does the hard work and you just flash the credit card when the time comes!

Um just make sure there's no Christmas Beetle crawling on the card when you use it!
This one checked out my number while I was doing some online shopping!

All Hail Aussie Weather!

Today it was warm, 30C, humid and from about 3:00pm there was the distant rumbling of approaching thunder. Enough to make Lily seek refuge wedged between the couch and the little side table. Enough to warn us to get the washing off the line. Enough to advise that there would be a welcome relief to the heat in the way of a summer storm. About 4:30 ish a mighty sweep of wind came billowing in from the north west, the rain began to drive at about 45 degrees and we had hail . . . not just nice little bouncy bits of ice but hail . . golf ball sized hail . . .it was quick, it was hard, it was deafening on the car port roof, violent and it was all over in 10 minutes, leaving nothing but an eery steamy haze over the garden as the heat evapourated these giants.




To give you an idea, Clare and Fringelet were watching this in their bikinis . . it wasn't cold although the water produced by melting hail was. It was HOT. After the storm, it's now about 28C, overcast and humid. There is still ice in our valley gutters and against the laundry wall. This country is weird when it comes to weather.

Cherries for Nuthin and Yer Ham Fer Free

Thommo and The MerryWidow have been banging on about the Castle Hill Growers Markets, normally held on the first Saturday of the month. Being diligent little local grower supporters and lovers of the gourmet and environmental, they get up and at ‘em at 7.00am on each of these Saturdays to peruse the purveyors of fine spuds and smallgoods which are apparently much better than those bought in the shops and for TheMerryWidow to purchase her month's quota of fresh herbs.

I like growers markets, don’t get me wrong. I’m not much of a fan of things ‘baked’ or otherwise ‘prepared’ in someone’s probably slightly insanitary kitchen and am always a little suspicious of the odd blowfly possibly landing in someone’s pickles or preserves while they’re cooling on the sill but otherwise, I like fresh fruit, veg, smallgoods, verjuice, olives and tapanades . . .I just don’t like getting up and out by 7.00am on a Saturday morning.

So, taking pity on her royal groundedness, Thommo delayed her sojourn to the markets this morning and picked me up at 9.00am. Very civilized. We met the MerryWidow there and had a browse. Got to say, I was way impressed. The quality of the stuff was fantastic and tasting was encouraged so for breakfast, and serenaded by a pretty young girl and her violin I had:

• Stuffed Olives
• Kalamata Tapanade
• Champagne leg ham
• Soy roasted organic duck
• Goats cheese
• Chili Parmisan
• Cherries
• 2 flat whites with one . . .

Embarassingly, I bought nothing as a quick visit to the Eftpos machine revealed that I have -$2.54 in my bank account . . .damn the multi access Visa network. Someone held off processing my latest card debit.

Kipfler chat - The MerryWidow Does a Deal with SpudMan

Thommo buys Swiss Browns

Fabulous Flowers

Vampire protecton and sugar snap peas

Organic Breads - Yum!

They're open again on the 22nd so I'm going back to stock up for Christmas goodies! Or maybe I'll take the family and we can go a free Christmas lunch.

Tight arses of the world unite! Come along to the grower's market.