Join the Club

You know it's Sunday when there's Bisto powder all over the worktops. Except it's not Bisto, it's "Gravox", which sounds like something you'd clean the floor with. That's about all it's fit for; it's tasteless.

This time next week I'll have a box of Bisto. Until then, we'll soldier on. It's like Tenko without the ceiling fans.

It rained today, just as we were coming back from the supermarket, having promised Ella we'd go to the park at Maroubra on the way home. We drove straight past instead and by the time we were home she'd fallen asleep. This happens quite a lot. It happened once just as I arrived at Sainsbury's in Warrington so I parked up at the garage and bought a magazine. She slept for an hour and ten minutes, which tested "OK" to it's very limit. I always swore I wouldn't drive around in my car to persuade a child to sleep. I still haven't, but we've made plenty of detours to prevent her from waking up.

This afternoon we went out to join the local RSL club, which, to give you some perspective, is like signing up at the British Legion. Except the RSL has a 25 metre indoor pool, a gym, terrace, tennis courts and a bistro which serves a carvery roast twice a week (for $10 each on a wednesday, which is about £4). The thing that's really missing in our lives is the opportunity to meet the local aussies. I meet other mums, Darren meets lots of British hospital staff. None of this is really giving us much insight into the Australian psyche. I want to talk to the locals, I want to learn how they think.

We turned up at the RSL with our swimming bags, but we'd hit on pretty much the only time in the week the pool is closed. We had a look about the building instead. It was like Penketh labour club on speed; a betting area, a room of "pokies" (betting machines), a function room (which promises "turns" on a Saturday night), and the bistro with today's "all you can eat carvery". A few locals were in. I counted three perms. It's a grand old place. It will be an education.