Monday, November 1st

 

When we were on the North-West Coast the other week, the local paper told us that a theatre group in Ulverstone was putting on a production of ‘Allo Allo’.  Ulverstone is a beautiful little town but we wondered whether it was big enough to carry off such an ambitious project.

 

Nevertheless, we booked and made the 93Km trip today for the matinee.  We had a good lunch on the way at a fish restaurant in Devonport where the seafood chowder was outstanding.  The Leven Theatre in Ulverstone was a surprise.  There was tiered seating for about 100 and the company must have been delighted with the very functional stage.  There was a movable section so they could have several sets arranged which could be moved forward and back as needed.

 

The TV show, ‘Allo ‘Allo, had a great following and I imagine the fans would not have been happy with a second-rate, amateur show.  And I’m pleased to say, Ulverstone did the show proud. Oh, there were the occasional amateurish moments but the ridiculous flavour of the show shone through.

 

It was risqué, politically-incorrect and rude.  The famous old jokes were trotted out: the fallen madonna with the big boobies, the egg whisk and the wet celery, the very camp Lieutenant Gruber with his little tank and so on.

 

The actor who played Rene was very good but the star of the show played Edith, his wife.  She was outstanding.

 

The theatre was full and grey hair was the norm.  The occasional teenager in the audience must have wondered why we were laughing at the weak jokes but we were re-living our youth and much simpler times.  We don’t get enough opportunities to do that.

Thursday, 28th October

 Since my knee operation last year, I’ve had a succession of physiotherapy session and at one of them it was suggested I should wear orthotics.  About 15 years ago, a podiatrist I saw regularly made the same suggestion. At the time, I thought he was simply touting for business but went along with it.  Being measured for them was a messy business with some sort of plastic cement used to make a mould.  I used them for years but, as they wore out I didn’t bother to replace them.  The problem was that I had to buy shoes a half-size bigger and, without the orthotics, the shoes were a bit roomy.  Thicker socks was the best answer I could come up with.

 However, the world moves on, shoes wear out and are replaced, and no more thought is given to that episode in one’s life.

 This time was a bit different.  “Talk to your GP,” said the Physio, “and she’ll give you a letter to take to the Orthotics Department at the Hospital.  They’re the best people to talk to you and there will be no charge.”

 ‘No charge’ is one of my favourite phrases so I duly went through the process.  No messy moulds this time!  My feet were photographed and a couple of weeks later, I received a call to come in and pick them up.  Modern orthotics don’t seem to take up the same amount of room as the old ones.  Perhaps it’s because the new ones are only half the length.  And they certainly make me more stable when I’m walking around.

 While I was there, the orthotics man said I should look at getting some boots which would give me a bit more support.  On his computer, he showed me an ad for Anaconda with big discounts on boots.  I wonder if he is getting a kick-back but the advice seems reasonable so we call in to the local store on the way home.

 It’s all true.  The $90 ones I looked at on-line are not there but there are plenty of others to look at.  While we’re there, Marilyn looked through the Specials rack and I ended up buying a top-quality winter jacket, reduced from $400 to $50.  At the check-out, something went wrong and the price rang up as $25.  We quickly paid and left the store not believing our good luck.

Monday, October 25

 

We’re at home today, enjoying a break after a few days on the North-West Coast.  Nera was working in Smithton, a place we’ve never been, so we took the chance to travel down to see her and do some sight-seeing in between times.  Smithton is not much of town. It’s on the coast so there’s the usual fishing activities, but it’s also the stepping-off point for a lot of the industries of the West Coast.

 

We took a drive south from the town, just following our noses with no clear idea of where we were going or what we would see.  The alternative was to follow the sign to Beaches but they were 50Km away and that sounded a little pointless.  I’m told the beaches are very popular with Extreme Surfers who like the big waves which come in with the Roaring Forties  and the Indian Ocean behind them but we’ll leave that for another day.

 

So we headed south.  We had hoped we might find a remote coffee shop with a good range of home-baked cakes, but there was nothing.  There was a sign pointing us to a bridge whose name I’ve forgotten.  “That must be worth a look,” we thought, so drove for 30-odd Km through rainforest, avoiding huge log trucks to be met with a single-lane concrete crossing of a nondescript river.  Why did they bother naming it?

 

Another sign informed us that 160Km on, at a town called Corinna, there was a ferry to carry us across the Arthur River.  Clearly there was no one living out here so why would they need a ferry?  If we had continued on we would probably have ended up at Zeehan but that didn’t appeal.  We were certainly not intrigued enough to drive on to find out what delights Zeehan might offer so turned around and headed back to Smithton for morning tea.  Looking for a coffee shop which would allow for Archie, we noted one which was advertising Goat Curry.  Maybe another time.

 

Driving around the town in the afternoon, we changed our impression of the place.  We followed signs to a Scenic Lookout and drove through a very attractive suburb with homes that would have graced any city in Australia.  Clearly the population is more focused on their personal living standards and are prepared to tolerate a very shabby little shopping centre where the biggest operation is The Reject Shop.

 

Tasmania is a very small place, but there are vast expanses of emptiness separating the little pockets of population.  We sometimes forget how few humans there are in this place

The West Coast

 Marilyn and I have been on the West Coast of Tasmania this week.  It’s an area we haven’t explored much and we certainly had our eyes opened by the spectacular scenery.  We had the first couple of nights at the northern town of Burnie staying, of course, at one of the few motels who would accept Archie.  Burnie is an industrial town which developed around a huge paper mill.  The mill is closed now and the main industry seems to be wood-chipping, with most of the chip being sold to Japan and China.   

The town is right on the water and the scenery is spectacular.  Cruise ships call in from time to time and the passengers are whisked off by coach to get a taste of Tasmania. 

We were particularly keen to visit the Tulip Farm which is on the top of Table Cape just outside the town.  What an extraordinary place. It’s very early in the season but already many of the fields were in bloom with every conceivable colour on display.  We also travelled up to Stanley which is one of our favourite places in the state. 

 We don’t get here often enough.  From the restaurant where we had lunch, we could see the expanse of Tatlows Beach which circles the bay for what looks like miles – and there was not one person on the sand! 

We then moved down to Queenstown with a stopover in Rosebery for coffee.  The young fellow behind the counter in the café was ready-dressed in his high-vis overalls for an afternoon shift in the mine but made a good fist of preparing ham and cheese toasted sandwiches to keep us going.  Rosebery and Queenstown are both old-fashioned mining towns: mostly tin at Rosebery and copper at Queenstown.  There’s nothing pretty about the towns and the weather they experience is often very grim.  You have to be pretty hardy to survive Tasmania’s west coast. 

We had good accommodation at Queenstown, at the Railway Hotel.  It was advertised as deluxe but I was expecting something from the fifties: all dark colours and musty-smelling.  The landlord, though, was renovating a string of cabins set aside from the main building and I think we were the first occupants of Cabin #2.  Deluxe was a fair description. 

One of the main attractions of this part of the world is the West Coast Railway – it uses the line which was built in the 1890s to transport ore from the mines to the coast at Strahan.  The train uses a rack and pinion system on the steep stretches and the renovated carriages are pulled by a tank engine built in Glasgow in 1898.  We couldn’t get seats on this trip but we’ll go again. 

We drove back to Longford today – I’m not used to a five hours’ stint behind the wheel any more but it was well worth it to experience how different Tasmania is when you get out of the bigger cities.