I would like to report that Lindt Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate (made in France) is widely available in Sydney. I've just had some. It needs to be kept in the fridge but I now have not the foggiest idea why they can't import the real stuff.
I'm going to get to the bottom of this.
Thursday, 8 February 2007
Freedom is on the Horizon - Hurrah!
After two sleepless nights about the Thai childminder, I threw in the towel and rang the agency to cancel. The problem was in the finer detail. Sure, she plied me with mango, but she didn’t appear too keen to lock her front door or to put Ella on reins if they were walking to the park (insisting she would be fine holding her two year old daughter’s hand). When I rang her back to check things out, she also told me there was only a bed for Ella to sleep in (which is useless because she’ll get straight out of it). When I insisted on a cot, she solved the problem by mentally turfing the 13 month old baby out (and into the bed) or suggesting I buy her an extra cot but told me not to tell the agency, as this was against the rules. I had the impression that she didn’t respect other people’s wishes and that, despite having recently set up her business, she wasn’t intending to follow guidelines, and that’s just not for me.
So we’ve cancelled the arrangement and gone back to the beginning. I slept remarkably well afterwards.
Today I made a list of nurseries from the yellow pages and rang them all (about 20 in total). 50% would not take children below two years of age. The other 50% had waiting lists varying from eighteen months to over two years. Three laughed hysterically and one quoted a waiting list of “well in excess of six hundred children”. I finally came across a nursery with places, but they charge $80 per day, which is the highest rate I’ve seen. We went to look at the place this afternoon and chat with the director. The nursery seems nice; spacious and well-equipped, with a large outside play area, and the director is British so was pretty honest with me. We can enrol right away, so looks like Ella will be getting more of what she needs and I’ll be getting some time and space and might be able to work after all.
Tonight I’ve waved goodbye to the hire car. We’re trusting Illawong Jack to get us to the north shore tomorrow so we can collect the Honda and after that, the world’s our lobster.
So we’ve cancelled the arrangement and gone back to the beginning. I slept remarkably well afterwards.
Today I made a list of nurseries from the yellow pages and rang them all (about 20 in total). 50% would not take children below two years of age. The other 50% had waiting lists varying from eighteen months to over two years. Three laughed hysterically and one quoted a waiting list of “well in excess of six hundred children”. I finally came across a nursery with places, but they charge $80 per day, which is the highest rate I’ve seen. We went to look at the place this afternoon and chat with the director. The nursery seems nice; spacious and well-equipped, with a large outside play area, and the director is British so was pretty honest with me. We can enrol right away, so looks like Ella will be getting more of what she needs and I’ll be getting some time and space and might be able to work after all.
Tonight I’ve waved goodbye to the hire car. We’re trusting Illawong Jack to get us to the north shore tomorrow so we can collect the Honda and after that, the world’s our lobster.
Four Car Family
We bought another car today. This is becoming something of a hobby for us, though not one we have time to give much thought to. Drove up to Manly (across spit bridge – not a great bridge as such, just a fantastic setting) and bought a 1997 Honda CRV for $9,500. It’s manual transmission which I’m actually disappointed about, because despite my previous procrastinations, I was getting quite used to the laziness of the automatic, especially on the hill-starts up and down the eastern suburbs.
It’s a good car with a full service history (every 10,000 km for goodness sake!) but process of purchasing it was more painful than usual as Ella was in a “mischevious” mood and had to be contained inside a Toyota Rav 4 for over half an hour (in a thunderstorm) while Darren did that thing men do – poking about at the car with no particular agenda and taking it for a test drive. The only minus point is that we can’t collect it until Friday because it’s due a service, so we had to have another discussion about whether the hire car was going back tonight and whether this was leaving me with Illawong Jack while Darren works a 12 hour shift on Thursday. The hire car stays – Darren had to start it four times this evening. Personally I think Jack’s age merits a “do not resuscitate” order but that’s the medic for you.
It’s a good car with a full service history (every 10,000 km for goodness sake!) but process of purchasing it was more painful than usual as Ella was in a “mischevious” mood and had to be contained inside a Toyota Rav 4 for over half an hour (in a thunderstorm) while Darren did that thing men do – poking about at the car with no particular agenda and taking it for a test drive. The only minus point is that we can’t collect it until Friday because it’s due a service, so we had to have another discussion about whether the hire car was going back tonight and whether this was leaving me with Illawong Jack while Darren works a 12 hour shift on Thursday. The hire car stays – Darren had to start it four times this evening. Personally I think Jack’s age merits a “do not resuscitate” order but that’s the medic for you.
Tuesday, 6 February 2007
Escaped
I think I might have gone a bit troppo today. The humidity has been getting to me and I suddenly saw the attraction of pegging out the washing in my knickers. You’ll be pleased to learn that I saw sense, but I did do most of the housework in my underwear, not really caring a toss whether anyone could see into the flat. Am turning into a proper Aussie girl already, though am resolutely keeping my northern accent and turning my sentences down at the end.Ella and I joined Playgroups NSW this morning. The Tuesday group is run by a man called Shane in a leather hat. You couldn’t wish for more really, though if I was going to pick holes, I was disappointed that the sing-along didn’t include anything by Banjo Patterson.
The playgroup was lovely. There were at least 3 other Pommie mothers there, including my fried Kat, who I met at the park. I meet lots of people at the park. Everyone is so friendly but it does remind me of being a fresher at University when you immediately make friends with everyone in your hall of residence and spend the next year trying to avoid at least half of them. On Monday I met an Irish woman who immediately introduced herself as a qualified Montessori teacher and mother of three. She was full of unsolicited child-rearing advice and frankly dodgy hints on child development. I kept quiet about my own experience in the field, partly because I didn’t want to appear smug (though plainly was) and partly because whenever I tell people what I do for a living, I get one of three responses:
1. That must be very satisfying (response: not as satisfying as finding trousers that fit)
2. Oh can you change my accent? (response: tut and roll eyes)
3. I once knew someone with a stammer, but I think it turned out to be a stutter (groan)
At half time, the kids all sat down at a long wooden table and helped themselves to a fresh fruit salad. They were all wearing their legionnaire hats; it honestly did look exactly like Australia is supposed to, which made me smile (they probably wondered what I was smiling about but I’ve learnt not to answer that question because people often think my musings are a bit odd – if you are reading this blog, you may be getting the same impression). Ella acted like a thug for the whole two hours – she’s laying into the ockers left right and centre since we arrived, stealing toys and generally pushing them around. She’s turning out to be remarkably bossy and, well, difficult. Can’t think where she gets it from.
This evening I escaped from the flat on my own for the first time. As I drove away I realised I hadn’t spent a single moment apart from Ella in exactly three weeks, which is a record (I was pushing a trolley around Sainsbury’s when she was two days old). To say she is driving me barmy is under-egging the pudding, so it was a relief to go out in search of a second hand hoover I’d seen advertised in the library (which I can’t join until we have a permanent address). After I picked it up I drove down towards Bronte beach, got lost (self-navigating with a rubbish map but I refuse to buy a tom-tom), got found again and parked up on the waterfront. It was a gorgeous evening so I walked along the beach to Bronte baths where there were still people swimming at 9pm (in case you’re not familiar with the baths in Sydney, these are outdoor swimming pools carved into the rocks. When the waves crash against them it’s quite a ride – see the picture). On the way home I could see the skyscrapers downtown illuminated red and blue and the lights of the eastern suburbs bobbing up and down on the hills. It’s a difficult decision to spend your life in the UK when Sydney has all of this to offer. I feel totally at home in Australia after all these years of carping on about the place, but it would never really be home and I’d never give up my British passport, so I guess tells me everything I need to know, doesn’t it?
Australia - Racist? Nous?
What is it about weird people? Do I attract them or do I subconsciously seek them out?
Yesterday I responded to an ad in the Sydney Morning Herald for a Fisher Price dolls’ house at a bargain price. I should have known there would be something dodgy about this because the lady who placed the ad had three of them up for sale and she gave me painstaking directions to her house three times on the phone.
When we arrived, she was standing at the front gate; an enormous lady with no neck and a gargantuan bosom barely contained behind a sweaty grey tee-shirt. The inside of her house was indescribable, but if you remember the BBC series “A Life of Grime” (narrated by the late and lovely John Peel), you might remember Mr Trebus, the old man who hoarded rubbish until it was piled high to the ceiling. This house was not dissimilar; there were children’s toys absolutely everywhere and the furniture was no longer visible under piles of clothes and shoes.
The lady (Cass) claimed that her house was full of her sister’s belongings and that her sister had relocated abroad and left her to sell it all off. She said she had no idea how she would get rid of it all. I have no idea either. At this point, her husband (Ronnie) arrived in his shirt and underpants. The conversation went like this:
Ronnie: Ah g’day – are you another $4000 woman?
Me: Sorry?
Cass: Oh Ronnie, shut up, Sarah won’t understand what that means, she’s from the UK
Ronnie: Ah, well, our stupid government give $4000 to every woman who has a baby, I don’t agree with it but there you are. They reckon the population is falling. I think we need more white people.
Cass: Why are you in Australia?
Me: For my husband’s job
Ronnie: What does he do?
Me: He’s a doctor
Ronnie: Well as long as he’s not an Arab, bloody Arabs, we let them in all the time
Me: Erm, no, he’s not Arab
Ronnie: I’ll tell you something humourous, a friend of ours went to the hospital and saw a doctor – do you know what he was? A bloody Muslim, that’s what. Poor kid was scared half to death
Me: Right. So all of this stuff belongs to your sister-in-law?
Ronnie: Yeah, they’ve got plenty of money
Me: What do you mean?
Ronnie: He’s a crook, but they’ve gone overseas
Me: Where have they gone?
Cass: London
Me: That’s reassuring….
I paid for the dolls’ house and a sit and ride car and Ronnie helped me out with them to the car park across the road (still in his underpants). The flyscreen on the front door was locked shut and I struggled to open it, so for a moment I thought they’d lured us in to kill us but we lived to tell the tale.
In the afternoon Ella and I we went to visit some childminders. The first was a young army wife who really seemed to be doing it just for the money and said Ella couldn’t bring any of her cuddly toys for comfort because it might lead to the children fighting over them. The second was a lady from Thailand who’s married to an Aussie. She has the usual knack of Thai hospitality (told her I was fond of Thai mango sticky rice and she had a dish of mango in front of me before I had chance to breathe). Ella seemed to like the place – a large swanky open-plan house with teak floors and a garden under a sunshade, though she wasn’t keen on sharing toys with the other two girls. Vecky(the childminder) worked as an air hostess with Qantas for ten years but now stays at home with her daughter. She’s a bit mad, in a good way, so I think we will give her a shot and see how Ella settles in. I’m dreading it because I think Ella will go beserk if I leave her. Our childminders in the UK were wonderful and have set a very high standard that I don’t think anyone will ever match up to, so I’m trying to keep that in mind and not be too anxious about it all.
Yesterday I responded to an ad in the Sydney Morning Herald for a Fisher Price dolls’ house at a bargain price. I should have known there would be something dodgy about this because the lady who placed the ad had three of them up for sale and she gave me painstaking directions to her house three times on the phone.
When we arrived, she was standing at the front gate; an enormous lady with no neck and a gargantuan bosom barely contained behind a sweaty grey tee-shirt. The inside of her house was indescribable, but if you remember the BBC series “A Life of Grime” (narrated by the late and lovely John Peel), you might remember Mr Trebus, the old man who hoarded rubbish until it was piled high to the ceiling. This house was not dissimilar; there were children’s toys absolutely everywhere and the furniture was no longer visible under piles of clothes and shoes.
The lady (Cass) claimed that her house was full of her sister’s belongings and that her sister had relocated abroad and left her to sell it all off. She said she had no idea how she would get rid of it all. I have no idea either. At this point, her husband (Ronnie) arrived in his shirt and underpants. The conversation went like this:
Ronnie: Ah g’day – are you another $4000 woman?
Me: Sorry?
Cass: Oh Ronnie, shut up, Sarah won’t understand what that means, she’s from the UK
Ronnie: Ah, well, our stupid government give $4000 to every woman who has a baby, I don’t agree with it but there you are. They reckon the population is falling. I think we need more white people.
Cass: Why are you in Australia?
Me: For my husband’s job
Ronnie: What does he do?
Me: He’s a doctor
Ronnie: Well as long as he’s not an Arab, bloody Arabs, we let them in all the time
Me: Erm, no, he’s not Arab
Ronnie: I’ll tell you something humourous, a friend of ours went to the hospital and saw a doctor – do you know what he was? A bloody Muslim, that’s what. Poor kid was scared half to death
Me: Right. So all of this stuff belongs to your sister-in-law?
Ronnie: Yeah, they’ve got plenty of money
Me: What do you mean?
Ronnie: He’s a crook, but they’ve gone overseas
Me: Where have they gone?
Cass: London
Me: That’s reassuring….
I paid for the dolls’ house and a sit and ride car and Ronnie helped me out with them to the car park across the road (still in his underpants). The flyscreen on the front door was locked shut and I struggled to open it, so for a moment I thought they’d lured us in to kill us but we lived to tell the tale.
In the afternoon Ella and I we went to visit some childminders. The first was a young army wife who really seemed to be doing it just for the money and said Ella couldn’t bring any of her cuddly toys for comfort because it might lead to the children fighting over them. The second was a lady from Thailand who’s married to an Aussie. She has the usual knack of Thai hospitality (told her I was fond of Thai mango sticky rice and she had a dish of mango in front of me before I had chance to breathe). Ella seemed to like the place – a large swanky open-plan house with teak floors and a garden under a sunshade, though she wasn’t keen on sharing toys with the other two girls. Vecky(the childminder) worked as an air hostess with Qantas for ten years but now stays at home with her daughter. She’s a bit mad, in a good way, so I think we will give her a shot and see how Ella settles in. I’m dreading it because I think Ella will go beserk if I leave her. Our childminders in the UK were wonderful and have set a very high standard that I don’t think anyone will ever match up to, so I’m trying to keep that in mind and not be too anxious about it all.
Sunday, 4 February 2007
Tearing One's Frizzy Hair Out
Sunday night and I’ve survived a whole weekend on my own with Ella without tearing out the frizz-ball that used to be my hair. I’m sure the coming week will be much better because we have some things planned, but weekends are a bit of a trial if Darren is working. Yesterday we went looking for a toyshop that no longer exists. We did however find a much better branch of Coles supermarket with wider aisles and plenty of halogen lighting. Don’t ask me why this makes the shopping experience more pleasant, it just does, and they don’t play piped music like the one in Randwick.
As advised by Jo, I’ve been trying to do the food shopping the old fashioned way, which means meat from the butcher, bread from the baker and so on. Apparently it works out cheaper, which might be true, but at this stage (and in this heat), the idea of Sainsbury’s on a cold January afternoon (with a shopping trolley that steers properly) is enough to make me come over all dreamy. I’m all in favour of the small independent retailer, but it is quite a task to do the shopping this way when you’re also pushing a buggy and when you’re still not sure about the currency. The shopkeepers could be short-changing me left right and centre and I wouldn’t have the foggiest.
Shopping for food is odd because there’s a reduced range of the things you are used to buying and then there’s a whole new world of products you’ve never seen before. The fruit is gorgeous, it all looks and tastes so ripe that I feel much more inclined to eat it, so this week we’ve been having plums, peaches, avocado and mango as well as Lebanese breads and hand-made pesto sauce. The chocolate might be disgusting, but the cakes look amazing and the yoghurts taste more creamy than the ones back home, so it’s not all bad.
Shopping for clothes is also a bit of a trial, or rather, a process of trial and error. Almost all of the shops at Bondi Junction’s Westfield centre are unfamiliar to me, aside from Laura Ashley and Crabtree and Evelyn. Clothes shopping becomes quite a humiliating experience because you unwittingly go into (a) shops where you can’t afford anything, (b) shops where nothing would fit you anyway, (c) shops for much younger people, (d) shops for much trendier people and perhaps least painful of the lot (e) shops for much older people (at least you leave the shop feeling smug about something). In order to survive this process with any shred of dignity intact, it becomes necessary to appear completely aloof, even when you have white mosquito-bitten legs and you are wearing a tee-shirt with half of your daughter’s lunch smeared on the shoulder. That’s quite an act to pull off, and it’s a real relief when the lift is empty and you can relax your face muscles between floors.
In the end, we hung about the petshop, which seemed a less painful option. The shop assistant looked about nine years old, so I managed to persuade her to open up the doggy pound and let me hold one of the puppies (a shih-tzu crossed with a poodle – I have no idea why, whether shih-tzus fancy poodles or what the ensuing offspring is called, and being about nine years old, neither did she). The price tag was $1300 so there’s one souvenir we won’t be bringing home.
As advised by Jo, I’ve been trying to do the food shopping the old fashioned way, which means meat from the butcher, bread from the baker and so on. Apparently it works out cheaper, which might be true, but at this stage (and in this heat), the idea of Sainsbury’s on a cold January afternoon (with a shopping trolley that steers properly) is enough to make me come over all dreamy. I’m all in favour of the small independent retailer, but it is quite a task to do the shopping this way when you’re also pushing a buggy and when you’re still not sure about the currency. The shopkeepers could be short-changing me left right and centre and I wouldn’t have the foggiest.
Shopping for food is odd because there’s a reduced range of the things you are used to buying and then there’s a whole new world of products you’ve never seen before. The fruit is gorgeous, it all looks and tastes so ripe that I feel much more inclined to eat it, so this week we’ve been having plums, peaches, avocado and mango as well as Lebanese breads and hand-made pesto sauce. The chocolate might be disgusting, but the cakes look amazing and the yoghurts taste more creamy than the ones back home, so it’s not all bad.
Shopping for clothes is also a bit of a trial, or rather, a process of trial and error. Almost all of the shops at Bondi Junction’s Westfield centre are unfamiliar to me, aside from Laura Ashley and Crabtree and Evelyn. Clothes shopping becomes quite a humiliating experience because you unwittingly go into (a) shops where you can’t afford anything, (b) shops where nothing would fit you anyway, (c) shops for much younger people, (d) shops for much trendier people and perhaps least painful of the lot (e) shops for much older people (at least you leave the shop feeling smug about something). In order to survive this process with any shred of dignity intact, it becomes necessary to appear completely aloof, even when you have white mosquito-bitten legs and you are wearing a tee-shirt with half of your daughter’s lunch smeared on the shoulder. That’s quite an act to pull off, and it’s a real relief when the lift is empty and you can relax your face muscles between floors.
In the end, we hung about the petshop, which seemed a less painful option. The shop assistant looked about nine years old, so I managed to persuade her to open up the doggy pound and let me hold one of the puppies (a shih-tzu crossed with a poodle – I have no idea why, whether shih-tzus fancy poodles or what the ensuing offspring is called, and being about nine years old, neither did she). The price tag was $1300 so there’s one souvenir we won’t be bringing home.
Friday, 2 February 2007
Gone Troppo
This is a term which refers to a certain state of mind experienced by those unfortunate enough to live in the far north of Australia during "the wet" (the summer). Aparently the heat and humidity are enough to send people mad.
I'm not sure the condition is limited to the tropics. This is my nextdoor neightbour, who wears her knickers to take her dustbin out. This evening, the woman across the road was watering the grass on the pavement with a hosepipe, despite the fact that New South Wales is experiencing it's driest summer for 100 years. She was wearing a hairpiece secured with a red scrunchie and a sort of spanish flamenco dancer's dress.
Folks round here ain't completely right in the head. My neighbours at home seem very boring in comparison!
We have a home - take two
We’ve got the flat for $440 a week, so our finances are looking much more promising. The equipment needed to clean the house in Randwick would probably have cost a week’s salary alone. We can move in on February 20th so we’ll stay here until then and carry on buying up second hand furniture to kit it out. We’re both really pleased with the place and relieved not to be paying $600-$700 a week for a hovel.
Darren started work today and returned with the impression that (a) the job carries more responsibility than his job in the UK and (b) the equipment and techniques are more up-to-date (surprise surprise). It’s going to be something of a baptism of fire because he’s got to hit the ground running and he’s not completely au fait with the systems. I wouldn’t go as far as to say he hasn’t a clue what he’s doing, but if I need an operation, I might head to the Royal North Shore.
Ella hasn’t had much attention recently, so at lunchtime we took a picnic to the park at Maroubra Beach. I am now officially a resident of Australia as I am driving the car around on my own and listening to the local radio station. The park at Maroubra is one of the few that you can use in the afternoon because it has a sunshade on top. It was fairly cloudy but I still managed to burn my shoulders, so I look like a proper tourist now, which is hypocritical considering the fuss I’m making of slathering Ella in factor 30 suncream and training her to wear a legionnaire hat.
The council were putting up a big screen at Maroubra beach for the day-night match at the SCG (Sydney Cricket Ground) this evening. What a great idea – watching cricket on the beach after it goes dark. I can’t believe that England are playing Australia in a one-day international less than two miles away and I haven’t got a ticket. With 36 overs left, Darren is hot-footing down to the SCG in Illawong Jack as England are putting up a fight. By the time Illawong Jack pulls up outside, there might be six balls left, but he’ll be able to say he was there so good luck to him!
Drove into Coogee this afternoon and found a great delicatessen run by and English bloke. He stocks Marmite, Bisto and Hellman’s mayonnaise ($8.99 a jar!). I can’t decide whether I ought to do as the Romans do and stick with Australian products or pay the extra for the British stuff like a proper whingeing pom. I asked him about Dairy Milk – he said he could get his hands on some for the right price (in the manner of a man pedalling cocaine in the backstreets of Soho). He even asked me “what sort of weight do you need”, to which I replied “Two months supply, about 400g” (a conservative estimare really). I’m beginning to wonder whether it’s actually an illegal substance. Bought Ella a bar of Cadbury’s “Furry Friends” (they have a different Australian animal on the front of each bar – chose the Bilby, naturally) and had a bite of it to remind myself how bad it is. It literally has no taste, so it looks like the peddler has himself a deal.
Same rubbish, different channel
This is the local answer to Grananda Reports. I can't imagine that enough happens in Wollongong to justify a whole programme, but the name made me laugh.
Our First Houseguest
How do you like this fella? (Here's one you definitely have to click to enlarge. He dropped in to the kitchen last night. Naturally I hid behind the door while Darren showed him the way out. I think he's just a starter for ten :0
Thursday, 1 February 2007
Upside down or downside up?
I’ve often wondered how come we know that Australia is “down under” and we are “up top”. Map projections would suggest it to be the case, but how to we actually know which way up the earth is relative to space?
Last night I remembered that the man in the moon is upside down in Australia. I hung my head upside down and he looked exactly as he does in the UK. So there’s your proof. I’ll wonder no more.
Last night I remembered that the man in the moon is upside down in Australia. I hung my head upside down and he looked exactly as he does in the UK. So there’s your proof. I’ll wonder no more.
Meet Illawong Jack
This is our new car. If it was a person, it would be an old man with a flat cap and glasses driving slowly and holding up the Sunday traffic on the A49 towards Whitchurch. We have therefore nicknamed him “Jack”, or “Illawong Jack” to give him his full title.
I did in fact drive Illawong Jack this afternoon, only for about a quarter of a mile, but it felt like further. Darren said it would be just like driving my old mark III Golf (ie no power steering) but he was still trying to hoodwink me into returning the hire car. As if!
Another stressful day househunting today, as has become the norm. I’m sick to death of leafing through the UBD (like our A-Z at home) as chief navigator and rear gunner (dealing with Ella in the back). Last night we concluded that a fortnight of stress has resulted in nowhere to live and a 20 year old banger for our troubles. The British Airways 747 was looking good and I even logged onto the BBC news website to catch up on the UK news (if we get cable internet I shall be downloading the Today programme from Radio 4 and watching Corrie within the month).
But today was another day (our last one before Darren starts work) so we made an executive decision to place a deposit on a house in Randwick. This is in fact the first house we saw on the day we arrived (remember? The first cockroach we saw). Somebody else had beaten us to it, but his money transfer hadn’t showed up on the estate agent’s books yet, so we put the cash down and gazumped him. I never thought I’d be gazumping someone for a house with a corrugated iron roof (we took the liberty of spraying it with the hosepipe to simulate rainfall – you should have heard the racket), but as Darren said, “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” and it was better to secure that house until next Friday while we keep looking. The house costs $600 per week. It’s in a good spot but it’s not a great house at all.
This evening we saw a flat for $440 which is absolutely ideal. Isn’t that typical – we’ve got a $600 deposit on a crap house, a banger of a car to get Darren from a house in Bronte that we aren’t renting, and along comes this flat at the (literally) eighteenth hour. It’s in a complex which is a bit like a resort, there’s an outdoor pool and a nice leafy outlook from the (large) balcony. Still only two bedrooms, but gorgeous inside, all new kitchen (just like ours at home but smaller) and no having to do the washing in the shed.
So Darren has been to the estate agent for that place (which is now closed) and put an application and cheque under the door. If we are the first ones to have done so, the flat is ours. Should find out tomorrow.
Wednesday, 31 January 2007
We're homeless again
We’ve got a house! Oh no we haven’t.
Went back to the house in Bronte this afternoon to have a proper look around. The problem with the Australian rental market is that you have to view properties in a 15 minute time slot, so you don’t get chance to cast a critical eye over the place, so it was good to go back and spend more time there.
When we saw the house today, we noted that the hot water pressure is dreadful (a trickle comes out of the tap), the range cooker doesn’t work as it should, there’s no grill, some of the blinds are broken beyond repair and well, it’s not really worth $700 per week of our money, even if it is close to the beach.
As things stand this evening, we have said we won’t pay more than $650 for it, but in all honesty, I don’t think we want to spend such a huge proportion of our income on rent, so it’s back to the drawing board.
So once again we have no home. But we do have a 20 year old Toyota Corolla that we’ve paid about £400 for, which we intend to use as a second car. We bought it because the house in Bronte was too far for Darren to walk to work…..yes, we may not need to have bought it after all. Don’t ask.
The best thing about the old banger is that we had to drive to Illawong this evening to buy it. I’m very fond of Australian place names, so this pleased me greatly (and one day I’ll make it to Wollongong, Dubbo, Wagga Wagga and the Bungle Bungles). The worst thing about the car (and there’s a list) is that I had to drive the hire car back from Illawong at dusk (along the motorway). I’m still not au fait with driving an automatic and the windscreen wipers and indicators are on the opposite side to the UK so the on-off drizzle caused me some difficulty. Oh yes, and we drove back under the runway at Sydney airport, which was quite a distraction.
Darren thinks I’m driving the banger next week because the hire car has to go back tomorrow. He’s wrong – I’m keeping the hire car.
Today, after we decided not to rent the house at Bronte, I must admit, I wanted to come home. It’s all such a faff, I’ve got a perfectly good house in the UK and Darren starts a seven day stretch of work on Friday, so it’s me and Ella against the world after that. When we were driving to Illawong this evening we passed a British Airways 747 taking off from the airport, which made me cry, and I can’t even pack away some Dairy Milk for solace because it tastes rubbish.
Must persevere, must persevere :(
Went back to the house in Bronte this afternoon to have a proper look around. The problem with the Australian rental market is that you have to view properties in a 15 minute time slot, so you don’t get chance to cast a critical eye over the place, so it was good to go back and spend more time there.
When we saw the house today, we noted that the hot water pressure is dreadful (a trickle comes out of the tap), the range cooker doesn’t work as it should, there’s no grill, some of the blinds are broken beyond repair and well, it’s not really worth $700 per week of our money, even if it is close to the beach.
As things stand this evening, we have said we won’t pay more than $650 for it, but in all honesty, I don’t think we want to spend such a huge proportion of our income on rent, so it’s back to the drawing board.
So once again we have no home. But we do have a 20 year old Toyota Corolla that we’ve paid about £400 for, which we intend to use as a second car. We bought it because the house in Bronte was too far for Darren to walk to work…..yes, we may not need to have bought it after all. Don’t ask.
The best thing about the old banger is that we had to drive to Illawong this evening to buy it. I’m very fond of Australian place names, so this pleased me greatly (and one day I’ll make it to Wollongong, Dubbo, Wagga Wagga and the Bungle Bungles). The worst thing about the car (and there’s a list) is that I had to drive the hire car back from Illawong at dusk (along the motorway). I’m still not au fait with driving an automatic and the windscreen wipers and indicators are on the opposite side to the UK so the on-off drizzle caused me some difficulty. Oh yes, and we drove back under the runway at Sydney airport, which was quite a distraction.
Darren thinks I’m driving the banger next week because the hire car has to go back tomorrow. He’s wrong – I’m keeping the hire car.
Today, after we decided not to rent the house at Bronte, I must admit, I wanted to come home. It’s all such a faff, I’ve got a perfectly good house in the UK and Darren starts a seven day stretch of work on Friday, so it’s me and Ella against the world after that. When we were driving to Illawong this evening we passed a British Airways 747 taking off from the airport, which made me cry, and I can’t even pack away some Dairy Milk for solace because it tastes rubbish.
Must persevere, must persevere :(
Tuesday, 30 January 2007
We have a house!
We've been accepted for the house in Bronte, subject to some minor negotiations with the landlady (who looks a bit like Lizzie Birdsworth from Prisoner Cell Block H - yes, I really used to watch it when I was in the sixth form). She wanted us to plumb a toploading washer into the bathroom, which is already small and grotty to begin with without a rusting hulk of Australian engineering in the corner.
But that's enough about Shane Warne (doh, couldn't resist).
So we need to plumb it in elsewhere, but that's not too much hassle. Also, she wants her name on all of the utility bills. We're not sure why. The agent says it's an unusual request, but she's willing to pay 10% of the bills so we're not asking any questions about tax fiddles.
How to describe the house? Well it's all one one level with the windows down the side, as many tend to have. It has polished floorboards right the way through to the kitchen, which is a huge room at the back of the house, a sort of living/kitchen area not dissimilar to our own house, though much bigger and not as new. The back of the house is on a hill so there are patio doors opening onto a balcony and you can see the sea from there. The back garden is a little patio area (which is the bit the owner wants to maintain - it's lovely).
We will have three large bedrooms, one is at the front and has a funny sort of sunroom off it, which runs across the front of the house. The landlady is putting brand new wood venetian blinds in both of those rooms. The bathroom, as I said, is hideous. I won't go into detail because to tell the truth I've blocked the worst of it out of my mind.
We are just down from the beach and Bronte park. The beach has a large kiosk (cafe) and the park behind it has those funny free barbeques open for public use (you just roll up and get cooking, then clean up after yourself - a funny system but it seems to work). There's a playground for Ella at the end of the road and a corner shop which introduces itself as an "Italian Eaterie", but I think it's talking itself up because as far as I can see it sells cans of Milo and it's next to a launderette.
Across the park there's a bus-stop into the city and a handful of restaurants and cafes. There's a lovely clifftop walk around the headland to Tamarama beach (AKA glamourama, so would be excellent for my mate "Glamour" Hutchinson) - we had an hour there today and felt very inferior (especially when Ella smeared a Cornetto on my white tee shirt - not quite the look the locals go for).
We pay the deposit to orrow and should hopefully move in next weekend - so now we need to get the rest of the furniture!
But that's enough about Shane Warne (doh, couldn't resist).
So we need to plumb it in elsewhere, but that's not too much hassle. Also, she wants her name on all of the utility bills. We're not sure why. The agent says it's an unusual request, but she's willing to pay 10% of the bills so we're not asking any questions about tax fiddles.
How to describe the house? Well it's all one one level with the windows down the side, as many tend to have. It has polished floorboards right the way through to the kitchen, which is a huge room at the back of the house, a sort of living/kitchen area not dissimilar to our own house, though much bigger and not as new. The back of the house is on a hill so there are patio doors opening onto a balcony and you can see the sea from there. The back garden is a little patio area (which is the bit the owner wants to maintain - it's lovely).
We will have three large bedrooms, one is at the front and has a funny sort of sunroom off it, which runs across the front of the house. The landlady is putting brand new wood venetian blinds in both of those rooms. The bathroom, as I said, is hideous. I won't go into detail because to tell the truth I've blocked the worst of it out of my mind.
We are just down from the beach and Bronte park. The beach has a large kiosk (cafe) and the park behind it has those funny free barbeques open for public use (you just roll up and get cooking, then clean up after yourself - a funny system but it seems to work). There's a playground for Ella at the end of the road and a corner shop which introduces itself as an "Italian Eaterie", but I think it's talking itself up because as far as I can see it sells cans of Milo and it's next to a launderette.
Across the park there's a bus-stop into the city and a handful of restaurants and cafes. There's a lovely clifftop walk around the headland to Tamarama beach (AKA glamourama, so would be excellent for my mate "Glamour" Hutchinson) - we had an hour there today and felt very inferior (especially when Ella smeared a Cornetto on my white tee shirt - not quite the look the locals go for).
We pay the deposit to orrow and should hopefully move in next weekend - so now we need to get the rest of the furniture!
Monday, 29 January 2007
We possibly have a home
Saw a house in Bronte today. It's a short walk to a gorgeous beach and park, has three bedrooms and a huge kitchen opening onto a balcony. The owner intends to maintain the garden (it's her pride and joy!).
It's more than we can afford so we'll be living like students again, but students by the sea. We now have to go through the application process and hope she chooses us!
It's more than we can afford so we'll be living like students again, but students by the sea. We now have to go through the application process and hope she chooses us!
Sunday, 28 January 2007
The power of the Internet
This morning:
HARBOUR BRIDGE! HARBOUR BRIDGE! HARBOUR BRIDGE! COATHANGER! YES YES YES!! WHEEEEE!
Ahem hang on while I compose myself.
This morning we drove over the harbour bridge to visit Elizabeth and Rob for a wonderful brunch on their outside terrace, which is suspended high above their trees, cockatoos squarking and possums sniffing about. Ate loads of fresh mangoes and blueberries along with Elizabeth's home-made jam and freshly-baked bagels. Our life is so poor in comparison - how I long to wipe floury hands on my apron.
I "met" Elizabeth on the internet, she's a teacher in Sydney but spent four years living in Oxford where she found the poms hard to get to know. I also "met" Lynda on the same website (a pom who's doing the same as us). Lynda's husband is a geography teacher in Nottingham and they have done a job/home swap with a teacher in Sydney. They arrived earlier this week. They were also invited to Elizabeth and Rob's house today.
Speaking to Lynda, it doesn't sound like a fair swap. Apparently the Sydney couple left fifteen used razors in the bathroom. Anyway, we had a lovely brunch and taught Elizabeth the meaning of various English words like "minger". She and Rob are hoping to relocate to Winchester for a year in September so she needs an update on the lingo. We have foolishly promised to return the brunch favour but now I'm comparing the view of our back garden with the view from their terrace and wondering whether Sainsbury's croissants will cut the mustard.
This afternoon we relieved Gordon and Jo of much of their furniture, which is now stored in our LUG (lock up garage) then headed for Clovelly beach, where Ella had a pleasant tantrum and built five sandcastles. By 6pm I'd had my first vodka and she was in bed at 7pm sharp with only one read-through of "Kipper". The kid's in trouble.
Saturday, 27 January 2007
Sydney Rated as 7th Most Unaffordable City in the World
.....according to today's Sydney Morning Herald (the closest thing we can find to the Sunday Times - today's paper also running the headline "Poms So Bad, Fletch Says Sorry" in relation to the cricket).
Went fishing for an abode again today and saw 11 properties between 9.30am and 1.30pm. Saw five houses in various states of disrepair, all with original 1950s kitchens and dubious bathrooms (think pink toilet, beige/brown patterned tiles and smoked glass sliding shower screen with a crack in it). Saw numerous flats including one very nice flat near to Clovelly beach but with no outside space for Ella.
We did see one very promising house but the landlady was plainly trying to hoodwink us - the place was very dark because the current occupants had put foam up against all the windows to help with the noisy neighbours. One side of the house literally had all the windows blocked up and the landlady tried to act surprised and said she didn't know why they had done it (though the tenants soon arrived and piped up about the noisy neighbours - she must have been livid!).
Felt pretty depressed by lunchtime but cheered up when we joined Jo and Gordon for their leaving BBQ at Grant Reserve, right by the sea at Coogee beach. Plenty of prawns and snags on the barbie. Ella got absolutely filthy, much to my horror. She was last seen digging in mud and drenching herself with water from a tap designed to wash dogs. I would post pictures but was too distressed to take any. Needless to say she was dunked in the bath tout suite and I am now settled with a glass of Rioja to calm my nerves.
Went fishing for an abode again today and saw 11 properties between 9.30am and 1.30pm. Saw five houses in various states of disrepair, all with original 1950s kitchens and dubious bathrooms (think pink toilet, beige/brown patterned tiles and smoked glass sliding shower screen with a crack in it). Saw numerous flats including one very nice flat near to Clovelly beach but with no outside space for Ella.
We did see one very promising house but the landlady was plainly trying to hoodwink us - the place was very dark because the current occupants had put foam up against all the windows to help with the noisy neighbours. One side of the house literally had all the windows blocked up and the landlady tried to act surprised and said she didn't know why they had done it (though the tenants soon arrived and piped up about the noisy neighbours - she must have been livid!).
Felt pretty depressed by lunchtime but cheered up when we joined Jo and Gordon for their leaving BBQ at Grant Reserve, right by the sea at Coogee beach. Plenty of prawns and snags on the barbie. Ella got absolutely filthy, much to my horror. She was last seen digging in mud and drenching herself with water from a tap designed to wash dogs. I would post pictures but was too distressed to take any. Needless to say she was dunked in the bath tout suite and I am now settled with a glass of Rioja to calm my nerves.
Friday, 26 January 2007
Happy Australia Day
Today is Australia Day, a public holiday when the Aussie celebrate themselves and their country. What’s the chance of us getting away with such behaviour in the UK?
As there was absolutely nothing we could do about our homelessness today, we headed into the city this afternoon, straight for Hyde Park and Circular Quay, where we joined with the flag-waving and BBQ eating while Ella threw numerous strops (mainly because she didn’t want to wear a hat and was unhappy with the “shade-a-babe” sunshield being put onto the pushchair as a result (it’s like a burka for pushchairs but without the letter box – don’t worry grannies, yes, you can see out of it)).
Ella was an absolute monster, but it was sufficiently noisy that we could almost forget about the racket she was making. After we had some wine at the café in the Botanical Gardens, we hardly noticed the whinging at all.
Who taught this child to talk? She's putting 4 words together at 18 months, which I can assure you is pretty good, but it's driving us nuts because she can make demands like "Ella want do walking" and "Ella want go beach" and "No - Mummy sing it". She talks incessantly. It's my own fault for talking to her in the first place.
Anyway, if you had any doubt whatsoever that we really are down under, here’s the photographic evidence. Check us right out!
Still homeless
More househunting, still no success. Over the past two days we’ve looked at a house in Edgecliff which was lovely but too far from the hospital, a flat with no balcony, a swanky flat with a huge balcony adjacent to a very noisy road and two large but unkempt houses, both of which had dead cockroaches on the floor (one in the shower – ugly but at least his armpits were clean).
I am also dying of mosquito bites (I have 21 seeing as you asked) but nobody else has any. I am being singled out by racist antipodean insects to add to the misery of homelessness. Please send chocolate.
On a positive note, our air freight arrived from the UK all present and correct, so Ella has some more books and toys, and we found the battery for the short-wave radio, so I can listen to all of the air traffic control signals my heart desires (however, the battery doesn’t seem the same size as the Australian ones, which has worrying implications for continued listening pleasure). We appear to be on the approach flightpath for the airport, so the jumbos are flying right over our head. I’m sure the novelty will wear off eventually.
I am also dying of mosquito bites (I have 21 seeing as you asked) but nobody else has any. I am being singled out by racist antipodean insects to add to the misery of homelessness. Please send chocolate.
On a positive note, our air freight arrived from the UK all present and correct, so Ella has some more books and toys, and we found the battery for the short-wave radio, so I can listen to all of the air traffic control signals my heart desires (however, the battery doesn’t seem the same size as the Australian ones, which has worrying implications for continued listening pleasure). We appear to be on the approach flightpath for the airport, so the jumbos are flying right over our head. I’m sure the novelty will wear off eventually.
Thursday, 25 January 2007
Noodle Doodle Down Under
This is rather an old joke but some of you will know about it. For those who don't, this is a page I ripped from my "dog a day" calendar one year (I have one every year, in place of an actual dog). I left the page in Darren's pocket as a hint that I'd like him to buy me one of these dogs. It's called a Golden Doodle (Golden Retriever crossed with a Poodle) but I prefer to call it a Noodle Doodle.
Since then, the picture is rarely spoken about, but it turns up in unusual places. It has become something of an unspoken game that whoever has possession of the picture has to return it to the other person without making reference to it, so those friends of mine who were in the Cotswolds in May will remember it turning up by registered post to the barn we were staying in.
Since then it has been found in Darren's tax disc pocket when his tax was due (though I spoiled that one by laughing uncontrollably at my own joke) and I'm amused to report that it has been posted to me in Australia with suspiciously familiar handwriting.
Obviously needs quarantine while I think of a response....
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