Tuesday, December 1st

 Marilyn slaved in the kitchen all morning and, as a result, we each enjoyed a slice of Apple and Rhubarb Crumble Cake for afternoon tea.  If you did a time and motion study on the effort which went into the production of the cake you would come to the conclusion that it wasn't worth it.  And that would be a sensible thing to say.  Time would certainly be better spent in doing something else.  There are any number of bakeries out there who do a wonderful job of creating delicacies and who depend on our custom to stay viable. Surely, it's our patriotic duty to buy our cakes rather than bake them ourselves.

And yet, where can you buy an Apple and Rhubarb Crumble Cake?  I'm a great fan of rhubarb even though it seems to have fallen out of fashion.  I think I first enjoyed it back in Scotland where my grandfather grew it in his back yard.  I remember he used to use a wheelbarrow to cover it in bad weather.  I also remember the joke he used to tell, which is just as funny today as it was in 1950.  The man next door looked over the fence and said, "Your rhubarb's looking fine this year, Sandy.  Is it true that you put horse manure on it?"  

"Aye!" said Sandy.

"That's funny," said the neighbour. "We prefer ours with custard."

We've always been lucky that we have known people who grow rhubarb so I haven't had to buy the $5 bunches from Woolworths, but the other week I was given a couple of crowns by a fellow I met while working at the exams so,  as a new adventure I might start growing my own.  I fancy the new above-ground gardens to save the serious bending over and Jamie found a local teenager who is making suitable boxes from recycled pallets.  $40 seems reasonable for a 1m square box.

A 1m x 1m x 60cm box will need 24 Bunnings bags of top soil to fill it; at $4 each bag, that's $96.  But Jamie tells me the local nursery will sell me that volume of soil for $60 and lend me a trailer to bring it home.  That's at least $100 I've spent already, equivalent to at least 20 bunches of Woolies rhubarb which is always fresh and doesn't need any more manual labour that carrying it home.  Have I bitten off more than I can chew?

Saturday, November 29, 2020

 Although I always have one or two fiction books, usually crime novels, on the go, I am always on the lookout for an interesting non-fiction book for a change.  I've enjoyed some of the tell-all books about the disastrous Trump presidency and I like biographies of interesting people.  Sometimes a title will grab my attention as did 'A Brief History of Everyone Who Ever Lived' I stumbled across in one of the classrooms where I was supervising exams the other week.  We're not allowed to read in the exams but I absorbed enough from the cover to know that it was about genes and how they impact on our history.

The clincher was a recommendation on the cover from Brian Cox: 'You will be spellbound', and I was.

Beautifully written by Adam Rutherford, it is over 400 pages long and explores how the human animal has grown and developed and how the study of our genes throws light on our history.  I read it over three days and, genuinely, couldn't put it down.

This is Day 74 since my knee operation and it's fair to say that I am fed up with limping, walking with a stick and dealing with a stiff joint.  I've finished with my group Physio class though I have one more individual session next week.  I may never be able to dance the jitterbug again but I'd just like to have my mobility back as it was.  I'm told that I must be patient; it will be all right in the end.

We've watched some interesting TV recently, including Season 4 of The Crown and Joanna Lumley's latest spectacular, The Silk Road.  Once we moved past Venice and Turkey, which wer a bit ho-hum, we travelled into a part of the world we know very little about, and it is awe-inspiring - the history of Samarkand and the extraordinary modernity of Azerbaijan really opened our eyes.  We thoroughly recommend the show.

November 13, 2020

 Somehow this story has been overlooked so it will end up out of order.  It is an attempt at writing in the Travel Article genre.

BACK ON DRY LAND                                                                              13^th NOVEMBER, 2020

 

Now that we can see that the influence of the Covid Pandemic is starting to wane, many of us are looking at the possibility of overseas travel and are starting to wonder whether there may be bargains to be found as operators desperately  attempt to attract paying customers.  Favourite venues like Bali, Thailand, and New Zealand will no doubt recover well but there is a serious question mark hanging over the Seniors’ Favourite: Cruising.  Pre-Covid, cruise operators could pretty well guarantee filling their enormous ships with elderly passengers who were not too demanding, didn’t insist on entertainment 24 hours a day, went to bed early and didn’t eat much.  It was a relatively easy way to make money and if the crews had the inconvenience of dealing with the body of an occasional ninety-year old who had passed away, so be it.

However, when Covid has, in its turn, passed away, I want to suggest that the thoughts of would-be holiday-makers will not be on the high seas but will come back to dry land, and the more adventurous will be looking beyond the old favourites to see what else might be available. 

We don’t have to fly to the other side of the world to find an enjoyable holiday.  Right on our doorstep is a vast, almost untapped tourist mecca, whose people, mostly, speak English, where a pretty good hotel bed might cost $AU50 and a decent meal can be had for $20.  I’m talking about the Philippines.  Don’t be concerned about the newspaper reports regarding the crime rate and the murderous policies of the President.  If normal care is taken and you take advantage of local guides, your holiday will be one to remember.

First-time travellers will want to see the capital city.  Manila is a sprawling hotch-potch of a city, with enormous slum areas but also some of the world’s best shopping precincts.  Choose a hotel in Makati and employ a local company to show you the sights.  There is plenty to see around Manila Bay, and don’t miss the town of Tagaytay and shopping at the Mall of Asia.

Better still, though, avoid Manila entirely and take a connecting flight from the airport to one of the thousands of islands.  Cebu, with its perfect white sand beaches is always popular with international tourists  but has always been particularly attractive to younger people who enjoy showing off their tanned bodies so, for older people, I recommend Palawan as a much better option for an unforgettable tourist experience.  It’s only a ninety-minute flight from Manila in a modern aircraft but be aware that locals flying home from Manila always take the chance to stock up on Krispy Kreme donuts which take up too much room in the overhead lockers.  You’ll be asked to check in even your cabin baggage for storage in the plane’s hold and it’s a good idea to comply.

Make sure you’ve arranged to be collected at the airport by your guide.  Whole families turn out to welcome back people who’ve been away, and the crowds at the airport can be quite daunting.  You might find yourself booked into an excellent hotel in the capital, Puerta Princesa, or one of the many, cheaper, resorts along the highway leading out of town.  Either is OK.  The resorts are of a lower standard but clean and comfortable for a couple of nights.

There is lots to do but don’t miss the famous Underground River tour. The river flows through limestone so, over the centuries has carved a huge cave which enters the sea not far from the capital city.  You’ll be taken in a traditional outrigger canoe into the cave and navigate a couple of kilometres along its length.  There are bats and other creatures, and the usual features of limestone caves.

Life in these out-of-the-way places in the Philippines hasn’t changed much in hundreds of years and the people haven’t been tainted by the excesses of modern life.  You’ll feel refreshed after your time here and astounded by the beautiful places you have seen.  You can be satisfied, too, that your Australian dollars have made a difference to the lives of people who normally survive on very little.

Monday, November 23, 2020

 I thought I'd get an early start on this week's story and had an idea I'd try a poem.  Unfortunately, it got a bit out of hand and it turned out not to be suitable for that group.  However, here it is.   I'm not sure what the title is all about.

             INVICTUS INTERRUPTUS                                   NOVEMBER, 2020

 

In the fullness of time I shall have my reward

For the difficult road I have travelled

You will see that, at last, my worries have passed

And the knots in my brain have unravelled.

 

It’s no easy task to have chosen this path

But I saw it, at first, as worth doing

I felt that my skills would outweigh the ills

That are part of the life I’m pursuing.

 

It started off fine, all roses and wine

But it didn’t take long to come tumbling.

All the joy that I struck, soon came unstuck

But there’s no point at all in my grumbling.

 

And as years followed year, I saw my hopes disappear

And I watched the demise of my dreaming

My job was a chore, my life was a bore

And some days I just felt like screaming

 

So now every morning I walk through the gate

And I know I will go through the motions

My classes are dull, drive me out of my skull

My despair is as deep as the oceans.

 

My home life’s no better, it lurches along

No highlights to give me some pleasure

There’s no joy in my life, I pity my wife

How long since she called me, “My treasure”?

 

Still, I must look ahead, with no fear or dread

The future’s as bright as I make it

But, when all’s said and done, life is no fun

When you’ve lost all the courage to fake it.

 

And a teacher I’ll stay, ‘till my dying day

Though I’ve lost all the spark and the passion.

I won’t be dismayed by how little I’m paid

And still play my part … in a fashion.

Friday, November 20, 2020

 Life is getting back to normal with the usual; Writing Group today.  I've chosen the topic "How the Other Half Lives'.

HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVES                                                            20 NOVEMBER 2020

 

My first teaching job was at a small privately-owned school in Randwick, NSW.  I wore a good suit to the interview and had always prided myself on my careful speech so I felt that I gave the impression of being an appropriate person to work in a fee-paying school in Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs.  It must have worked as I was appointed to the position and was told I would start the following day.  I didn’t know at the time that the previous teacher had had a heart attack and the Principal was desperate to find a cheap replacement in a hurry.  I was flattered that I might be considered for this position and was happy to accept a salary of 20 pounds per week which was a bit less than I had been earning in my previous job.  I   knew the position had not been advertised and I only knew about it because I had received a phone call from the college where I was studying for my teaching qualification encouraging me to apply.  At that stage I had attended only a handful of lectures so was hardly a prime candidate for the role.

Nonetheless, I was thrown in the deep end, and it was not just in an educational sense: I was being dropped into a different social world from the one I had been brought up in.  My family had emigrated from Britain in the early 1950s.  My parents had both left school at 15 and we had lived in a rundown tenement building near Glasgow in the dark days following World War 2.  Emigration was an escape.  With no capital behind us, we were fortunate to be allocated a house in a Housing Commission suburb in Wollongong and my father travelled on the train each day to the steelworks at Port Kembla.  Most of my friends came from a similar background and yet, suddenly, I was being thrust into living and working in one of the most affluent areas of Australia. 

The parents of my students were all wealthy, educated, professional people who took it as their due that they would have access to the best that money could buy, be it housing or holidays, entertainment or education.  Many parents were from Europe: refugees, mainly from Italy and Greece, Hungary and Palestine.  Coogee Prep. School was hardly in the same class as some of the better-known independent schools but, through some long-standing arrangement, Coogee Prep students had guaranteed access to both Scots College and Sydney Grammar.  Parents who lived around Randwick and Coogee found it convenient to have their young boys at a local school where they would receive a good grounding for their chosen secondary school.

It’s fair to say that I was welcomed warmly by the parents and I received frequent invitations for meals.  Perhaps, some parents had an ulterior motive and were hoping that their child might receive some favoured treatment but I feel the invitations were genuinely given.  When, after a year or two, my wife had joined me and we set up in a flat in Coogee, the invitations increased.

For the first time in my life I saw something beyond the rather narrow horizons of an industrial city built around mining and steel-making.  We saw that not all homes are the same.  When money is taken out of the decision-making process, the opportunities are limitless.  We met people who lived in traditional suburban homes, and grand Federation mansions, in modern architect-designed display homes and high-rise apartments.  We were introduced to the delights of the theatre.  Although we were always on a budget, we had the opportunity to learn about drama and musical-comedy and even ballet and opera.  In our frequent dinner invitations, we learnt about different food styles.  We ate Japanese food for the first time and Greek.  Wine became a normal part of our diet and we learnt how to tell a good wine from a more ordinary one.  We heard different styles of music and broadened our taste beyond the Top 40 and Folk Music we were used to.

As our careers took us to private schools in different parts of Australia we saw more and more of the lifestyle enjoyed by those who had an above-average income.  Better still, we were able to indulge in that lifestyle ourselves.  In Queensland, we sailed in the Twilight Races on Townsville Harbour and caught coral trout on the Great Barrier Reef.  In NSW, we attended a party at Jimmy Barnes’ house and inadvertently ate hash cookies.  We fished for trout in a private lake in the Snowy Mountains.

Through friendship with a pilot, we’ve been upgraded on flights and were guests of honour at a traditional Japanese banquet in Kanazawa where over 50 tiny, exquisite courses were served. One of the richest men in the Philippines invited us to a birthday party on his estate.  He and his wife collect religious art and the walls of his house were covered with priceless paintings rescued from churches in the Philippines and elsewhere.  The food was served, spread out on a table and eaten with the fingers.

At another wealthy man’s dinner party in the Philippines, the dining table incorporated some mechanism which groaned throughout the dinner and flashed coloured lights. The house where we ate is one of several he owns and is only used for dinner parties.  Back in Tasmania, we’ve dined at Government House and spent the weekend at the Governor’s holiday shack at Swanwick, trying to cook scallop soup over an open fire.

They say that it’s dangerous to have champagne tastes on a beer income but we’ve thoroughy enjoyed our experiences with how the other half lives.