The Bondi to Coogee Coastal walk

It's winter. It's twenty-four degrees and the sky is slowly turning electric blue. The guy at the Rainforest Habitat was right, we really did screw up when we sent the convicts down here and kept Britain for ourselves.

Today we did the coastal walk along the clifftops from North Bondi down to Coogee (and walked home from there), pausing for lunch at Bronte.

The rocks at the beginning of the walk are pretty spectacular but look at the thin layer of vegetation on top. There's not much soil in Sydney, it's all sandstone rock and sand on top. Now you see why the early settlers had diffculty growing anything.

The Bat Phone Rings - 1

The bat phone rang at 12.35pm and our hero was in the air three minutes later, which is a damn sight faster that he's ever got his backside off the sofa to mow the lawn. Perhaps it's something they're putting in his tea.

The Batmobile followed the line of the M4 motorway and across the Nepean river into the Blue Mountains, where they landed in a field and were escorted in a police 4x4 vehicle complete with their kit bags (you know, long socks, Heinz Beans. Copy of Top Gear Magazine) to a partly-constructed house where a builder had fallen from his scaffolding. The paramedics were already at the scene and though they'd managed to get his blood pressure up, he still wasn't breathing so the Bat crew had to bag him and hook him up to an artifical respirator which they were carrying in the kit.

Within 29 minutes of touching down in the Blue Mountains they had taken off again with the patient on a stretcher and they arrived at the A and E department five minutes later (the helipad is right outside).

What Happened to the Patient?

He had a CT scan which showed he'd broken his neck in six places though his brain seemed to be okay. The medics think he had a cardiac event and this might have caused the fall. The Bat crew probably saved his life, but we won't know until tomorrow how his life is going to look. He's sedated right now but tomorrow they'll stop the drugs and see how he reacts.

All about the Dress

I've been doing housewifey things this morning. Darren's new job means he can occasionally drop Ella at nursery, leaving me free to slope about the flat in pyjamas watching daytime telly over the ironing board until lunchtime; my life is like a dream.

Anyway, I love watching daytime telly in Australia. Firstly, the morning programme on channel 7 (which is Australia's least intellectual channel) comes from a studio in Martin Place in the city centre. The backdrop is a huge plate glass window and as you can probably imagine, this attracts a fair number of tourists and moronic Sydneysiders into turning up and waving and sometimes even carrying banners, which all reminds me of the good old days when Richard and Judy broadcast from the Albert Dock rather than the south bank and the scousers used to stand outside peering in.

Secondly, there's the liberal use of the word "amazing" in relation to the morning's stories, as in after the break we'll tell you the amazing story of how these newly-weds escaped a burning car on the Princes Highway and here's an amazing story of a newsreader in the UK who managed to read the evening bulletin despite the fact he had food poisoning. If you ever watched The Fast Show on the BBC, you might remember the supposedly Australian character who fronted a TV show called "That's Amazing". Now I know where they got the inspiration.

And then there's the stuff you learn about Australian attitudes. At the gym last week I saw the results of a survey indicating that only 67% of Australians thought it was acceptable to breastfeed in public, which I think is incredible, no, hang on, amazing.

This morning they were testing out artifical grass on channel 7, you know, because they're having trouble growing the real stuff since they buggered up their water systems and turned Australia into the world's biggest barbeque (which is the tag line for Victoria Bitter's current commerical). And then they bring on this crisis counsellor who's going to help a bride-to-be because she's having some wedding-related trauma and her bridesmaid has written into the show.

So the bride-to-be in sitting there in her jeans and white tee-shirt and the make-up girls have done a half-arsed job on her face, which makes her look kind of daggy but has the benefit of making the crisis counsellor look twice as organised and glamorous and three times as patronising, in the style of someone I used to work with, the kind of woman who crossed her legs in staff meetings, seemingly unaware she was flashing her underwear at the room (to the point it was almost necessary to wear sunglasses).

Anyway, she tells us this story about how she saw her dream wedding dress in a shop in Sydney, you know, the sort she'd dreamed about when she was a little girl growing up with nothing but Skippy the Bush Kangaroo to give her hope she'd make it out of the backwater country town she'd lived in. But she couldn't afford the dress, it was out of her price range (a term Jackie keeps using in relation to houses on the north shore and if I hear it again I'll punch her). So she'd had this idea about having the dress made up as a copy by some dress-makers in Bangkok because she was going on holiday there (at which point I wondered why she hadn't spent the holiday money on the dress if she was really so bothered about it, but there you go).

So she goes to Bangkok (and they flash the photos up on the screen to add to the story) and they measure her up and choose the fabric but when the dress-maker sends her a photograph of the dress half-finished it's not what she had in mind at all and she starts referring to it as the lollipop dress because it makes her look like a lollipop, though we can't actually see photos of this because she's due to get married in a fortnight and wants to keep the lollipop under wraps so her fiance doesn't see it.

"You'll be lucky if he goes through with it now he knows you'll be walking up the aisle dressed as a bloody lolliop" I said aloud to the telly, the hard-luck story unfolding being one of those stories that makes you shout advice and good common sense at the screen (or is that just me?).

Well it's obvious how all this is going to turn out and sure enough the presenter comes over even more patronising than the would-be knicker-flasher and says

"Okay Darl, well you know your good friend and bridesmaid Kerry-Anne wrote into the show and told us all the story about the drama with the dress"

The bride-to-be nodded.

"Well she also told us what a lovely girl you are and how you're always doing things for other people and you never ask anything in return"

The bride-to-be is beaming now. She know's what's going to happen.

"That dress is in the bag sister!" I shout at the telly, putting the iron down so I can concentrate on her reaction when they bring it out.

"Well, we've got a surprise for you! We've teamed up with the Peppers Resort and Spa in the Blue Mountains and we're sending you and your fiance for three nights accomodation, all meals included. The Peppers Resort and Spa is a five star property, recently renovated, offering deluxe romatic get-aways, spa treatments from world-trained beauty therapists and first class cuisine, all nestled in the heart of the stunning Blue Mountains National Park".

She might well have been reading direct from the brochure because the screen filled with the hotel's promotional slideshow, images of couples in the romantic jacuzzi and the romantic gardens and warming their backsides on the romantic open fires. And then they cut back to the bride, who was wearing a frozen smile and whispering something through gritted teeth about Kerry-Anne being dead when she got out of this half-arsed make-up.

"She wanted the dress" I shouted at the telly. "Where's the bloody dress?".

I don't like GMTV and I don't like Fiona Phillips but Fiona Phillips would have given her the dress.

Glamourpuss

The cockroach firm turned up at half past eight, though I'd been expecting them earlier. Judging by the smell of the bloke they sent, he'd smoked a whole packet of Lambert and Butler in the half hour I'd been waiting for him, which, combined with an unwashed polo shirt, added up to the appearance of a photofit for BBC's Crimewatch and the impression I'd seen him somewhere before.

"What seems to be the problem?" he said, wafting in through the front door.

"Well there seems to be a problem with cockroaches" I replied. "And they seem to be the size of a West Highland Terrier, though my husband says I exaggerate"

"How big are they?"

"Bigger than my thumb, copper-coloured, shiny and waving tentacles an inch in front of their faces"

"Well they're not a problem. It's the German ones that are a problem. They came on German ships at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Typical isn't it? Wherever there's Germans there's trouble"

"They're a problem to me" I replied

"But not one your landlord has to pay for, they're a Strata problem. The big ones come up though light fittings and small cracks in kitchen units, they're harder to get rid of"

Strata is the name for the company that manage blocks of flats in Sydney. I don't know whether they're one company or whether Strata is a generic term for building management companies but everyone complains about them and they never get round to fixing problems like blown light bulbs and exposed wires so there's no way on this earth they're going to stop cockroaches entering our flat.

"Well we have the German ones too" I lied. I mean, it's not strictly a lie because we have had the German ones, but I haven't seen them for ages, not since Gareth came from Buzz-Off and sent them packing.

"Okay. So you have both types"

"Yes, and the dishwasher won't work and I think it's related because we used to find them in there"

He opened the dishwasher, which consists of two drawers rather than the type we have at home in the UK. It hasn't been opened for weeks because I never know what's going to crawl out, so I stood back a bit while he did his stuff.

"Well you're right about that" he said. And then he lay on the floor and pulled the top drawer right out and went fishing about for his screwdriver and suddenly I had a vivid image of him removing the bottom of the drawer and a pile of roaches dropping onto his face like some sort of I'm a Celebrity-type trial.

"The dishwasher housing is covered in cockroach poop" he concluded. "Right here you've got yourself a cockroach toilet - though I don't know where they've gone now. I think they pooped and ran"

"Is it bad?" I asked

"No. If you had a real infestation they'd be crawling around the inside of the LCD display here on the front panel. In bad cases they get into anything warm; even cookers, and they crawl about inside the workings and bugger up the electrics. Sydney is crawling with cockroaches but its not so bad in winter. The summer brings out the worst of the problem. Your dishwasher needs professional help, the roaches have probably short-circuited it"

And then he puffed some magic talc behind the appliances and put gel on the cupboard door hinges and apologised that we hadn't been told it "usually takes more than one treatment to clear the buggers out".

Afterwards I met up with Kate and Bradley for a walk and morning tea at Rushcutters Bay, where there's a little kiosk doing coffee and little boats bobbing on the harbour. We've had another glorious day and the temperature is back up in the twenties again, perfect for a mooch about the parks. I told her about the cockroach problem.

"I've had a few cockroach encounters myself" she said. "We get a lot of them in the garden. You can be sitting out on a summer evening and they'll be ten or eleven of them crawling the wall on the patio. One of the big ones fell on my head from the top of the bookcase last summer. I felt something land but didn't know what it was then Paula said stay still, it's a...and I knew it was a cockroach"

"What did you do?" I asked. Kate pulled out a tub of fizzy snakes from her handbag. Ella dropped her apple on the grass and came running over, having immediately spotted the tub of e-numbers and decided it would be much more fun than a Braeburn.

"Well I shook my head but I couldn't find it. Paula said I should take off my top in case it had gone down there but we couldn't see it. Anyway I went shopping at Bondi Junction, I was gone five hours and when I got home and took off my bra it fell onto the bed. It had been in my bra. In my bra. For five hours. I got in the shower and scrubbed my chest until it bled. I love Sydney you know but I've got to admit the cockroaches are a bit of a problem"

I was still reeling from this story when my phone rang. It was Darren, they wanted him to go out on a job, a change to his schedule. Did I mind if he went?

"Who was that?" asked Kate when I came off the phone

"It was Darren, they want him to go out on a different job"

"Oh they're always doing that to my husband; always changing the route of his bus. Where do they want him to go?"

"Noumea" I replied. "It's in French Caledonia, some islands in the South Pacific, near Fiji".

"Oh" she said, "not quite the same thing as changing drivers with the number 37 then"

"No, I suppose not. He's living life in the fast lane now. He's an international glamourpuss. They'll be no talking to him when he gets back".

Immortalised

That's it, we've made our mark on Sydney.

We're in the phone book.

Tools

Life in Sydney Cove was unbearably tough for the first settlers, forced to build whatever life they were able and fashion tools from what few possessions they had available. Many of the obstacles they faced could not have been anticipated; such problems required creative thinking.

Today's settlers at Sydney Cove face similar tough challenges, like how to remove birthday candles their toddlers have dropped into the air conditioning unit. However, creativity still exists and the settlers remain adept at fashioning tools from their possessions to meet a range of modern-day challenges.

Five Years

Now look, I don't want you getting the impression that I'm preoccupied with Australian insects, though yes, I never put on my Ugg boots without shaking them first and yes, I scan the kitchen floor for cockroaches first thing every morning but today I had the playgroup make some creepy-crawlies out of egg boxes and pipe cleaners and afterwards I closed the door in the staff room and noticed this poster on the back.

Take note of spider number six - that's the mouse spider. Either it's the size of a mouse or it actually eats mice, I don't know which, but there's one thing I won't be trying to suck up the hoover anytime soon.

Another perfect blue sky today, though Jackie beat me to the office again and switched on the heating, which meant I had to wait until her first patient was in the room before I could go and turn it off. Then Emily came into my office to get a video tape and before I knew it she'd closed the door behind her and we were deep in conversation about life in Sydney, washing powder and where to buy the best coffee in the inner western suburbs, an all-important topic for any serious Sydneysider.

Emily is British, a graduate of Oxford University. She now works at the University here in Sydney conducting research into autism and language and working part-time as a family counsellor. The first thing you notice about Emily is her very upper class British accent and the way it's been coloured by rising inflections after six years down under. Her mother was a teacher and her father was an old Etonian and editor of a daily newspaper in London. We have very different backgrounds but we're united in a longing for Marks and Spencers knickers and a quick scoot around John Lewis every now and then. She's an unlikely expat really, so firmly British. I wonder how she fits in.

"Are you applying for citizenship?" I asked her

"Oh god no. I'd never renounce my naionality. I'm British"

"And what about your kids?"

"Yes well, they're Australian but they know where they come from, where I come from"

"So you'll never go back now, not now you've got kids"

She sighed and sat back in the chair.

"Sometimes I think there's nothing I want more than a cottage in rural Bedfordshire but my husband is Australian and it's not that he wouldn't consider the move, it's just I don't think it would be terribly fair on any of them"

"So you're stateless then"

"That's exactly it. That's exactly how I feel. I'll never be Australian, if you saw my house you'd laugh because I've got all this Spode china and these English bedspreads and I give the children Marmite instead of Vegemite, just to make the point. They taste as bad as one another but it's about bringing some of my childhood into my children's lives. It's important to do that otherwise they feel disconnected with the place you're from"

"Do you fit in when you go home?"

"Not really. The friends I grew up with have made wealth upon wealth. They started with pretty healthy trust funds anyway and that sort of wealth just multiplies. My husband and I, we're academics, we don't earn that sort of money and we'd always be the poor relations, we just can't afford the skiing holidays and all the gear and the second home in Stow-on-the-whatever. That sort of thing matters less in Sydney and we've made different sorts of friends through having the children. I miss the history with the old lot though. Sad really"

Emily reminds me of so many British women I've met. The men are more resolved to stay but the women often live in five-year blocks, re-assessing the situation every few years and never ruling out a return to the mother country. I know how they feel, five years would be my limit as well, cockatoos or no cockatoos, there's only so long you can expect one pair of M&S knickers to last.

Naughty Swear Words and Racist Insults

We have quite a lot of international students at the university and Darren and I have been wondering aloud why we didn't also think of going abroad for our degrees. The money would have been the biggest factor, but there's also a lack of aspiration in comprehensive schools, or there was back then. Perhaps they're reaching for the stars now, but if I'd said I wanted to study in Sydney back in 1991 I suspect they'd have laughed me out of the sixth form common room.

Nobody studied abroad, not unless is was part of the degree. You went to a red brick university because Oxbridge was a bit fancy and you studied a subject that would lead to a job. In my case I studied French, which was fast leading me into being a french teacher and as I never could conjugate the subjunctive tense, the french degree soon began to feel like a road to nowhere, which is part of the reason I jumped ship, or jumped cross-channel ferry, depending on how you look at it.

Anyway, this evening I dropped into the library to look for some travel books. We're going back up north in a few weeks time and the library saves us a fortune in Lonely Planet guides. And then I spotted this (2003) book called Understanding Australia; A Guide for International Students and thought it might provide some more insight into the subtleties of Australian culture that have so far passed me by. I opened it after dinner this evening and thought I'd share it with you, starting with this.

Page 38

WARNING
The following passages contain offensive language. However, to save you from the embarrassment of asking an Australian to explain, the words are written in full here so that you can learn about them in private and avoid using them in public.

Some visitors say that Australians swear a lot and use casual blasphemies. Certainly, conversations often contain words like bugger, wanker, shit and fuck and exclamations of God and Jesus. Such language is never appropriate in public places.

(So just on the radio then)

On the radio and television, the words are covered with a bleep sound or the audience is warned by an announcement at the beginning of the programme.

(er, not strictly true)

RACIST INSULTS

Australians can use racist insults either negatively or positively. Pom and Pommy are old terms for English people. These words were negative but can now be used positively. Some negative terms have been given positive meaning by the people they refer to. Wog, which is used for Italians, Greeks and Arabic-speaking people, is an example. These ethnic groups sometimes now refer to themselves humourously as wogs and this has taken much of the offence out of the term.

The once offensive black, meaning an aboriginal, is now mostly used in a neutral way. The word abo is negative if used by a non-aboriginee but positive if used by an aboriginal speaker. Blackfella and whitefella used by aboriginals is not offensive.

The word ethnic used as a noun is insulting, as in she's an ethnic but the adjective ethnic is the preferred way to describe immigrant cultures.

Sadly, international students can be the target of racist insults.

(though judging from this it's hard to know whether you're being insulted, not unless the potential insulter is an aboriginal, who seem to have the right to say anything they please. Sorry, I digress).

Sometimes your fellow students may call you a slope (Asian), a noggy (any dark-skinned person), wog or similar insulting term. Men in particular test any new person to see whether they can fit into the group.

Another type of insult can happen when you are driving a car. If your driving causes another driver to swear at you or yell "Why don't you go home, you wog", don't feel you are being singled out because of your race. A female driver would be abused as a "bloody woman driver" and an elderly man might be called a "stupid old bastard".

WORDS TO AVOID
As a rule, it is better not to use any offensive words, but sometimes that is impossible, especially if you are trying to speak like an Aussie. The following words may be used without causing much offence, but use them rarely and not to strangers: bloody, bullshit, bugger, crap, dickhead, piss and shit.

The next category contains the confusing words. To be on the safe side, don't use them. They include arse, balls, bastard, bitch, dago, fuck, pom, wank, wanker and wog. The insulting terms for Australians are Skip and Skippy.

(So that'll be the last time I tut "what's up skip?" at the CEO then).

Never use the following words as they are always offensive. Abo, boong (dark-skinned), ching-chong, chink (all chinese), coon, grease-ball (Greek), kike (jew), nigger, nip (Japanese), slant, slant-eye, slope, slope-head (all Asian).



This is the best read I've had all year. I can almost imagine the mirth of the proofreaders, can't you?

Butter

"Do you want a brew Susie?” I asked as I passed the reception desk this morning. Susie is our other secretary. Kath’s away on holiday.

“No thanks Sarah, but how kind of you”

Kath always says the same when I offer to make her a drink. Nobody has ever offered to make me one. I’m fast coming to the conclusion they don’t brew up.

I didn’t expect to be at work today because it’s a bank holiday, but apparently that’s not the same as a public holiday. On bank holidays the banks are closed but everything else is open, except some banks, because, well, they choose to stay open. And public holidays are different from state to state; it’s not like at home where we have the same bank holiday weekend whether we live in Cumbria or Cornwall. Nobody tells you any of this, you find out because you hear it on the radio or notice it on your wall planner. If you’re confused, think how I feel not knowing whether I’m supposed to turn up for work

I was feeling a bit sorry for myself having to go in on a bank holiday so today I went off to look for a new coffee house on the way to work and found one grinding its own beans (and probably milking its own cows as well, judging by the price). The girl behind the counter was young and flouncy and wearing one of those fashionable smock tops that make most women look seven months pregnant. Suddenly I missed the woman in the deer-stalker hat.

And then she began a conversation with the girl at the head of the queue.

“What colour is it darl?”.

The Sydneysiders call each other darl all the time; darl as in Sophie Dahl.

“White. I mean, what sort of moron fits a white carpet in a rental property?”

“Oh look darl, I’m convinced they do it on purpose to keep hold of your bond”

“You think?”

“Sure. You spill a cup of coffee on it, they get a thousand bucks. That’s what I call easy money”

I wouldn’t put it past them, I thought. Our landlord still hasn’t been in touch to inspect the damp walls and it turns out the cockroach treatment he paid for was the cheapest one around.

Anyway, a new coffee stop means a whole new array of breads and cakes, including fig and white chocolate bread, a concept so dizzying I could think about nothing else all morning. I have no idea how the Australians manage to stay so healthy-looking with all this stuff on offer, though given that they can buy Xenical over the counter, perhaps all these thin thighs aren’t quite what they seem (Xenical is a drug that prevents your body from absorbing fat and expels it in a variety of unpleasant ways. I know this because I googled the side-effects when I saw five adverts for it on channel 7 in the space of two hours. Needless to say it’s prescription only in the UK).

When I finally arrived at work (on time for once) Jackie was already at her desk, the heating fan whirring cheerfully away as she sat hunched over her desk in a winter coat and scarf.

“How’s tricks?” I asked

“Oh that’s such an English saying” she replied. “I have friends working in the UK and they send me e-mails saying “Hi Jackie, how’s tricks?”

“Well if you’re going to the UK I’d better teach you a word a week”, I said. “I mean, you’ll need to be up on the lingo if you’re going to fit in”

“Okay, teach me a word. Something I won’t have heard before”.

It was hard not to see the potential in what she’d just said. Like the time I told our French assistant at school about how it was customary to address the police as “pigs” and he wrote it down in his ring binder and I could barely conceal my mirth at the thought he might go and try it out. Yes, I know, it’s hard to believe I was such a mischief-maker at school. I look so angelic in the photos.

Anyway, I came up with the first thing I could think of.

“Well you need to know what minging means. If something’s minging, it’s skanky but then men sometimes call women mingers and that’s really not very nice”

“What does it mean?”

“I suppose it means they’re ugly”

“Well then you might like to call someone a prawn”

“A prawn?”

“Yeah, it’s also a word we apply to women. Nice body, shocking head. Or then there’s a butter”

“A butter?”

“Yeah. Nice body, butter head’s shocking. That one's my favorite”

Winter Schminter

Here's the view from the opera house this afternoon. The only way you can tell it's winter is the way the light is falling on the water as it would be much higher in the sky in summer and the water would seem bluer.

It was beautiful here today, there was even live music in the bar and Ella fell asleep for long enough that we could enjoy it. I've come home with a bit of sunburn on my nose - I'm presuming that's winter over and done with then.

Picnic

It's easy to get swept away with the small stuff and just recently we've been feeling sorry for ourselves with the cold damp flat and the long working hours.

Today we brought a picnic lunch down to the harbour and quickly remembered how lucky we are to be here, it's surely the most beautiful city on earth. I know I'm always putting pictures of cockatoos on here, and yes, I'm a bit obsessesed with looking at them but this one let me get really close and he's so feathery I think he's wasted in the botanical gardens, he really ought to be perched on someone's shoulder.

Postcards

A glorious winter day here in Sydney and we finally got round to coming down to Mrs Macquarie's chair, the best view in Sydney. The Macquaries came to Sydney in 1810, Mr Macquarie being the governor. He planned lots of the roads around this area of town and his wife Elizabeth was particularly fond of the view from here, even in the days before they built either of the famous landmarks (bridge 1932, Opera House 1973). He eventually had a seat carved out of the rock for her to pass her time. Now that's what I call a lady of leisure.

Anyway, we're not sending postcards so here's a blog version. Lovely weather, great food. Wish you were here xx

My Dad the Hero

My Dad's a fully qualified superhero, which is handy because my Mum needs rescuing after these weekends entertaining me.

Bat Graduates

Today was the final day of bat training and they've been out in a farmer's field north west of the city, learning how to do accompanied stretcher transfers, which means winching down from a helicopter with a full medical kit and stretcher, securing the patient, radioing back to the helicopter and getting theselves winched back up again. That's Darren in the photos.

And then they had to wait until it went dark and do it all again, which was much harder.

So that's it, fully qualified batmen and women they are. So now you know who to call, but just bear in mind the time difference (currently GMT +9) before you get on the blower.

Click Go the Shears

And finally, out came Farmer Matt and showed us how to shear a sheep, armed with a fabulous CD of outback Australian favorites like "click go the shears" - very atmospheric.

Sheep shearing season starts in the new year when the shearers cut the wool up in the far north of Queensland (you know, where you can buy ripe chocolate pudding fruits). They make their way down the east coast, arriving in Victoria round about Christmas time and the going rate is about $2.20 per sheep.

The world record for shearing a sheep is 36 seconds. Farmer Matt took considerably longer, but he did give us some fresh wool to take home and Ella hasn't stopped talking about the sheep that got a haircut ever since.

Not Wally Gardens

Three sights you won't see at Wally Gardens. I know my make-up's not up to much in the first shot, but this sure beats carrying her on my hip.

The Farm, by Ella

Today my mum took me to the farm to see Mrs Boot and her animals. Mrs Boot was taking the money on the gate but I've gone off her now because she didn't turn round when I shouted her. How rude!

I think my mum has lost it with my dad working all these weekends because today she fed me hotdog and chips for my dinner and let me have a bag of jelly babies afterwards, which I'm not usually allowed to do. I hope she's going to keep this up otherwise I'll have to tell her other mummy friends what she did and I don't think she wants me to do that.

The lambs were okay but I prefer the kangaroo. I'm still trying to find out the best way to get the tics to jump from their fur to mine. Ha! she thinks cockroaches are bad, wait until she has to buy a nit comb in the chemist.

Hungry Camel

City Farm is now a working farm covering 500 acres of land at Abbotsbury, which is about halfway to the Blue Mountains. They farm Merino sheep, cows, pigs and chickens and they shear the sheep for wool on a commercial basis.

So we rode on the tractor and saw the emus and then fed the camel, who was hungrier than I thought because he insisted on eating the paper bag as well as the feed.

The third photo shows the view back to the city, which seems to rise from nowhere like a giant game of tetris. If you click to enlarge you can probably make out the arch of the harbour bridge to the left of the sky scrapers.

City Farm

Another weekend, another weekend alone with Ella, the third consecutive weekend I've had to find something to entertain her. I'm hoping the situation will change soon; the last three weekends fell very unfortunately because Darren worked the last weekend of his six months at the hospital and has been involved in training for the first two weekends of the new job. It's almost as bad as being in the NHS, though there's quite some way to go to beat the entire month he worked in November 2006 without a single day off. That's thirty consecutive days if we're counting. I've no idea how the NHS justify this but they clearly don't care much for their medics having a life outside the hospital.

Anyway, Ella and I headed out woop woop again, this time to Fairfield City Farm. She's been reading the Usborne series of books recently and they all revolve around Apple Tree Farm, Mrs Boot the farmer and a series of animals who get into unfortunate situations, like a pig who gets lost and a pig who gets stuck and a sheep that eats all the flowers for the village fete. I thought a visit to a real farm would help bring it all to life for her.

When Sydney was first settled by the Europeans they found the soils around the harbour were pretty useless for growing the seeds they'd brought from England. Before too long they were setting sail inwards along the river to explore the land further west and this is where they eventually established the first successful farms to feed the new colony.

City farm was bought up in 1947 by a group calling themselves "Big Brother" whose main concern was helping "a splendid type of British youth" emigrate to Australia in order to secure the commonwealth. They paid for their passage then gave them 2-3 months of intensive free training in aspects of farm work before sorting them out with a job on one of these farms out west.

The farm originally covered 240 hectares and four thousand British boys passed through on their way to a new life down under up until 1971. The pictures are from a display in the heritage centre. I wish the two countries really were this close together, I could nip home and hoover the stairs.

Bat School Day Ten

Darren took the camera to work today to show us what he's been up to. From the look of the first photograph they've started filming for some second-rate Australian Drama and for all I know it's called Chopperdocs or Flying Squad and the pilot is having it off with one of the medics. I just hope it's not Darren.

Anyway, they've been winching up into the helicopter today, this is the one they keep at Bankstown and it's the same helicopter he'll be using in Darwin and Orange (Orange is in outback NSW). That's Darren on the left in the bottom photo, pretending to save someone from a crocodile, shortly before he came home and saved me from a cockroach.

After that they taught them some hand signals (because it's noisy with the propellor going around). He showed me the signs over dinner this evening; it's impossible to recreate them here but roughly translated they are "beam me up scotty", "Ouch, mind my balls" and "My wife wants to fly in the chopper over the harbour bridge so sort it out". The latter is the most important one so I'll be making sure he's particularly clear on that one.