Early Morning Farewell

It is hard being a parent sometimes. Especially when you have to wave your child off to school camp.

S has gone up to Canberra for a five day school trip. Seven hours by bus. So we were up very early to be at school by 7.00 am.

Last night I spent time packing his suitcase, labelling all of his clothes and then sorting them into daily wear. I would get a pair of jeans, t-shirt, top, underwear and socks in a neat pile and tie it with a string so that he could just grab it and put it on. I know that is a bit doting but he likes it and so do I.

When I went on any school camp no one packed my suitcase or waved me goodbye. In fact, more than once, as a punishment I was often not allowed to go on a school excursion or camp - all part of teaching me a lesson. Lesson's which have been long forgotten. I am sure that most people would think I may be a soft touch when it comes to mothering my son, as though boys should be tougher than girls or are somehow less worthy of lots of attention and affection. But nothing feels nicer than being cared for and, as most parents would agree, there is something lovely about doing things for your children.

Late last night, just as I was getting ready for be I was called in to speak to S as he was really upset about going on camp. He asked K to get me so he could speak to me about how he was feeling.

I lay next to him as he cried and told me that the camp was too long, he did not want to be away from us and that he would miss us. I told him that it was okay to miss us and it was best to just acknowledge the feeling without letting it get too big. Then I said that if he looked at the fun things he was going to do and to remember that he would be with lots of his school friends seeing new things it would make it easier for him.

"I hate the feeling of missing you. It makes me sad," he said and started to cry again.

"Well, when you love and care for someone it is natural to miss them when they are not around. But it is important to not keep thinking of it all the time or it just gets worse. You can easily get yourself more upset than you need to be. Before long, you will be back on the bus and heading home. Make the most of the trip and don't worry if you have a few moments of feeling sad. That is natural," I replied.

He lay quietly for a while before he finally stopped crying.

"I'll just focus on the good things about the trip. It will be fun. We are going to the War Museum and a science place. I can spend some of my money there and buy some stuff to bring home. I wonder what to food will be like," he mused.

I reassured him that the food would be child friendly with the odd vegetable thrown in and that he was not to let me down and eat it. He started laughing.

I said to him that we would miss him but that as we knew he would be having a good time and was in safe hands it made it easier for us. He then said to me that he probably would not think too much about us when he was away as it would make him sad.

"Do you know why I don't think of you when I am at school? Because when I do it makes me sad and I miss you and want to be with you," he said.

"Yeah, I know that feeling. You just have to learn to live with those sorts of emotions and don't be scared of them. Just feel it and then get on with things. It just is how it is when you love people. Takes ages to get it worked out really," I was recalling what it was like when I was little. Did I think like that? Probably. All the growing up that has to be done.

He chatted a bit more about different things and then asked me if I had been out to the studio today. I replied that I had not.

"I went out there and did a drawing. Well, actually a tracing. It is not that good, but I enjoyed doing it," he told me.

"Do you like going out to the studio?" I asked. He often sits out there on his own for half and hour or so at a time and does a few drawings.

"I love it. It is my happy place. Do you know what a happy place is?" he asks.

"Well I guess that is where you go to just be with yourself'"

"It is where you go and nothing else matters. Where stuff from outside cannot get in and bother you. You can just be happy," he tells me. It is something they talk about at school. The importance of being able to find a place where you can relax and filter out the rubbish going on. I don't recall that sort of stuff being taught when I was at school!

The conversation ended with him telling me that he was fine and was ready to go to sleep. I kissed his soft, freckly cheeks and gave him a hug. He said he loved me, his little voice warm in my ear.

After I went to bed, it took me ages to get to sleep. It seemed that I was having trouble taking my own advice and lay awake thinking how much I would miss him.

This morning we dropped him off and said goodbye. The other few times we have dropped him off I have been happy to just leave him and not wave goodbye to the bus. This time K and I got into the car and started to drive home. I said I needed to wave him off and K turned the car around and we went back to the crowd of students.

"I needed to wave goodbye to you as you went off. It is a mum thing," I told S when he queried me as to why we came back. He was okay with that and went back to talking with his friends.

As they got on the bus, we crossed over the other side of the road so we could see him and wave goodbye. It took a few minutes to get the children settled and then the idling engine of the bus changed as the driver engaged the gears. S looked over at us and waved happily goodbye until we could not see his face anymore.

On the way back to the car I started to cry and then talked about something else to distract me.

I wonder where the bus is now?

Ciao
LC

Om

I went to my first yoga class this morning.

Having decided to no longer run due to the fact it hurts too much, I am heading towards the physical exercise of yoga.

It was a tough ninety minutes and I have to say that I would not like to have done it without being as fit as I am now. I was working hard the whole time with sweat dripping of my radish red face as I held each pose with knees trembling.

The room was small, the only sounds one could hear was the soft voice of the instructor, the odd creak of a bone and the heavy breathing. It was warm, dimly lit and the smell of feet and body odour was all around me.

Some of the people there were incredibly flexible. Even those who were in their 50's so I felt greatly inspired that one day I may be able to sit cross legged and put my forehead on the floor in front.

At the centre they also have Bikram yoga which is held in a hot room. I intend to do this class later this week.

As a result of my ninety minute bout of spiritual enlightenment today I did not feel like doing anything. In fact, I just hung around the house having cups of tea and reading.

I think a good night's sleep is well on the way.

Om.
LC

The War Museum

It has been a busy couple of weeks and I have not had the time, nor the urge to write anything. Or to do anything much actually. But today I woke up and felt normal again. Sometimes when you get a bit down, well, it can feel like a long time.

Whilst we were in London we went to the Imperial War Museum. I have always had an interest in the history of war. Not so much the political aspects of it (too depressing) but the personal side of war. When there is a war going on people still have to try to live normal lives and get on with things. People always seem to make the best of a most difficult situation - or they did appear to during WW1 and WW2. I may well be deluded by the stories that abound in history books and perhaps the old saying "never let the truth get in the way of a good story" is true, but the anecdotes that abound about the determination of people during the London Blitz always manage to fill me with wonder.

The museum has an impressive range of artillery in the form of suspended aeroplanes, a variety of tanks, mock submarine, jeeps and loads of military paraphernalia.

Although I am not a person who actually would ever own a gun (don't think anyone should really), I have always liked the look of them. Whether it be the smallest hand gun or some big thing like the one below, I just like the mechanical structure of them. It is a pity they do not do something else like make chocolate.

My dream car. A jeep. The word "useful" comes to mind when I look at this one.

One thing that S loved was the mock set up of what it would be like to fight in the trenches. Naturally you could never, ever convey the fear, the stink, the noise and the sensation of being surrounded by death. But the display that was done certainly gave an exciting visual idea of what it may be like. S went through the display a few times, once with the video camera to record his journey.

We spent hours at the museum. One of my favorite parts was the 1940's house that has been set up to show how the average home was during the war time. It met all my expectations of what a house should look like inside. In fact, I sometimes have an idle dream about buying a house that has not changed since that period and then continue to keep it looking that way.

I like the way that the practical needs of life are maintained whilst not compromising the need for a level of visual beauty. The style of the chairs, the exposed timber fittings, the smooth exterior of the radio all have a useful attractiveness about them.

I live in a 1920's house which we have kept fairly original. Most of the furniture is old, the interior has been painted green and the chances of a modern piece of furniture making it's way in is pretty slim. Not that I mind modern but I prefer the old style of old furniture that suits the age of my home.

This photo below is my dream kitchen. It is so personal. It implies that whoever is in here working would be a practical person. At work, we install kitchens in peoples houses that are so unbelievably overloaded with every gadget you can imagine that you wonder if they ever actually are able to get out of the kitchen to enjoy life. People will spend thousands of dollars on having the look. Never have we put a kitchen in a house that made me want to sit down and have a cup of tea in it. No warmth. All the kitchens we do have to be kept tidy to maintain that almost "office" type appearance.

This kitchen below looks inviting. I almost want to go and paint my kitchen cupboards cream - if I were not so lazy. I wonder if I could talk K into doing it for me......

People today always want changes. They cannot work with what they have and add to it or enhance it. In fact, about two years ago we put in a new kitchen at a client's home as part of a huge million dollar renovation we did for her. Six months later she sold the house and moved out. The new owners then pulled down everything we had done (I kid you not), including tossing the new kitchen down the tip (appliances and all). When a neighbour asked why they were doing that they told here they wanted their own style. The ironic thing is, it was not really their own style as the entire new design was done by an architect. Design, colour, furniture, lighting - all picked out by the architect whose work always looks the same.

I love, love, love the bedspreads on these two beds. If I could find one for a double bed I would buy it. Doesn't it make you want to lie on it and feel the smoothness of it. This bedroom is so cosy. It just oozes comfort despite being furnished with fairly cheap furniture.

Love the bathroom. In fact, our main bathroom which we renovated three years ago is very similar to this one. When we finished doing the renovation people kept asking us if the bathroom was original.

I only like pedestal basins. I hate vanity units for a very good reason. Years ago I had a part time job which involved packing people's belongings when they were moving house. People have loads of shit in their homes and it always comes to life when they move. I am not talking interesting stuff either. I am talking crap. Too many clothes, too many shoes, magazines, multiple dinner sets, enough glassware to run a wine bar and enough bedroom linen to run a hotel. But the place where the most rubbish was seemed to be in the bathroom. Whenever I opened the vast doors of some vanity cupboards I was always confronted with so much unnecessary stuff it shocked me.

Make up galore. Loads of used and unused make up, foundations, eye shadows, mascaras and lipsticks would be everywhere. Bottles of old perfume, sometimes twenty or more. Jars and jars of half used face cream that obviously had not delivered what was promised. Every conceivable hair shampoo, conditioner and hair product known that would have dwarfed my collection. Packets of half used leg wax, the sticky concoction on the sides and adhering itself to the shelf of the cupboard. It was gross and it was very, very smelly. It put me off for ever the idea of having a cupboard in a bathroom.

As a result, all I have is one cupboard that is behind the mirror. If what I own cannot fit in that cupboard I figure I don't need it.

We spent quite a few hours walking around and reading the information on hand. I was reminded how war continues and appears to be a constant in the history of the world.

People live and die within the structure of war and still do their best to maintain some sort of normality.

I guess we all need to make the best of things regardless of what chaos is going on around us.

Ciao

LC

Staying With Friends

We stayed with parents of friends we have in England - Peter and Audrey. They have a lovely cottage in a small place called Chicklade which is not far from Salisbury. We have stayed there a couple of times in past years and I am always sorry to leave. I felt a bit spoilt because each morning when we got up, the dining room was set for breakfast. They do have a small bed and breakfast business so I know they are old hands at looking after people. But still, I felt really spoilt. I am inclined to enjoy having things done for me now and then.

The backyard was big, green and S loved being out there. There is nothing like the lushness of the English ground. Soft grass quite unlike anything we have here. Almost spongy, very inviting. Plants have a different reaction to the extreme seasons that occur in the UK. Here you might have a hot Summer that vaguely drifts into a warm Autumn that then rolls into a cooler Winter followed by a temperate and damp Spring before it all starts over again. Unless you live in a particularly cold area in Australia it is unlikely you will see the obvious variations in seasons that you would see overseas. Not that one climate is better than the other, it just is what it is.

Audrey is an artist. Outside is her studio which is a converted glass house. I know she started painting seriously in about her 40's. You know, once the job of getting children to the grown up stage is over a woman can kind of get on with things that she truly needs to do. Now in her early 80's, Audrey is a most inspiring person when it comes to her dedication to art.

About 12 years ago she came over to Australia to embark on some serious painting in the outback mining towns. K and I went to her exhibition in the city. At the time her son was living here and in fact he and I worked together. So that is when I met her.

These days she teaches art to other people as well as constantly doing her own stuff. I loved looking in at her studio. It looked as though it were in a state of movement, just waiting for someone to come in.

Inside their house were a couple of bookshelves that were filled with assorted books on art and other things. But what caught my eye were rows of small sketch books. They were bound in a russet coloured fabric covering the hard front and back covers. Each one was about 3 inches x 4 inches and inside the pages were thick and of the porous nature needed to draw or paint on. I opened a few and looked at the pictures. Small sketches of nature and all sorts of scenery. Some half drawn, others in detail. Many were paintings with the appearance of light brush strokes giving beautiful form.

There were dates on the bottom of most pages, some going back for years. It was lovely to look at something so personal. I hoped that Audrey did not mind for I know I am inclined to pry and peer when it comes to the things that people have on bookshelves. These little studies in each book were like a collection of her views of the world around her. It is nice to think that people see things in the artistic form and then are able to fill the need within to put it on paper. It is a very strong urge to express ones self.

Her husband looked after the house and I am sure was vital to keeping things ticking over whilst she allowed herself to be absorbed in her art. He was a darling man. Couples who make it through the long years of marriage that most people aim for are inclined to just let each other be who they are without unrealistic expectations. It seemed to work for them.

In our house we generally go with the flow as well. Although I do the shopping, cooking, ironing, washing etc, there were many years when K used to find it most irritating that I was untidy and always leaving things around in a haphazard way. Piles of books and magazines. Apple cores in empty cups. I would then, when time allowed me to, have a big clean. I recall hostile silence at my ongoing resistance to constantly tidy after myself.

A few years ago, I had been going through a difficult personal "journey" whilst coming off anti-depressants. It was a time when I had to truly accept what I was like as a person and,as part of that same process, whoever I encountered had to learn to live with that acceptance. Whether that be me being untidy or not.

Essentially it was "my way or the highway". Sounds a bit selfish doesn't it. But it was not, because when you accept a person and all their idiosyncrasies the reward is great. It frees a person to feel they are fine as they are and in that freedom is a sense of joy that is unwittingly shared with those around.

These days I am tidier as I no longer feel the constant pressure to be a neat freak. Sometimes there has to be compromise for things to be successful.

So, I am not about to feel guilty about the apple core that is sitting neatly on top of the stack of magazines on the coffee table.

It is just who I am.

Ciao

LC

Few Days Off

I have had to have a few days off blogging due to a most annoying pile of work that has had to be attended to since I got back from my holiday (which now seems like an age ago).

Then this weekend I had to do a load of bookkeeping and sat on my bottom in front of the computer for the most of Saturday and Sunday. Although I know that I take on this responsibility by choice, I still feel the need to whinge.

Anyway, I paced myself quite well on the weekend and when I got home last night at 8.00pm I felt very good that I had done all that I needed to do in a pleasant manner.

As I stood in the bathroom taking my face off I thought about the weekend coming up and what I would do. Felt really happy. Friday coming up was a day off so I would do some things then. Then I thought about Saturday and Sunday and felt this surge of self indulgent pleasure at the prospect of making up for the weekend I had sacrificed in the name of bookkeeping. Did a little dance around in the bathroom in anticipation and excitement of the upcoming three days to do what I liked.

And then I remembered something I had promised my sister-in-law. I was going to babysit her two boys on this coming Saturday afternoon and evening. They are great boys, just full on, ants in your pants kind of boys. Well behaved, just, well, very active. And being a mother with a fairly easy going boy I find them noisy. My house is quiet. My brother's house is noise, noise and more noise. When you have one child there is less noise.

Babysitting is a funny thing. When my son was little we never had anyone babysit him. He either came with us to an event, or only one of us would go or neither of us would go. Because I had post natal depression I was of such an anxious nature that I could not leave S alone with anyone for any period of time without suffering great angst.

Friends in the mother's group got together to organise a babysitting club of sorts. The idea being that you would babysit for one mother and she would return the favour. Well that was alright for them. I had one child who was a doddle to look after, easy to put to bed and who slept like an angel (albeit usually in my bed when I got home). However, in return, I got to look after a baby with colic or three children under the age of five.

Being of a particular nature I was compelled to drop out of the babysitting club with the excuse that I never go out. One day S said to me that it would be good if I went out with dad just so he could get a babysitter. So K and I went to the movies now and then and had a young girl look after him. She walked with him down to Macca's where they ate junk food and then came back home and watched DVD's. I think that he quite enjoyed it because he did talk about her quite a bit for the next few days.

I realise I have just digressed from what I was really going to write about - worse than that, it appears that I have forgotten completely what was in my mind when I first started typing.

In that case I shall have to go to bed and think about what it is that I may have forgotten.

Or remember something new.

Or I could go to sleep.

Or just shut up.

Ciao
LC

Travel And The Toilet

I really need to talk about travelling and trips to the toilet (bathroom, dunny, lavatory, can, thunderbox etc). So, if you are bothered by "poo"talk - don't read on.


I am the sort of person who is emotionally connected to my bowel. No other way of putting it. My emotional state affects the physical state and vice versa. Some people think the best thing in life would be a daily massage, I say the best thing in life is a daily dump.

Once I went on a ten day cruise (ghastly) and only had one crap for the entire trip. And that crap was a most insignificant one at that. That was despite eating non stop for the entire trip. There is nothing else to do on a boring ship but eat. Huge breakfast, enormous mid morning tea, giant lunch, oink size afternoon tea and then a gigantic dinner to ensure you get your money's worth. It just kind of built up, like some sort of slow moving glacier. I must have some sort of compacting system in my body because, to this day, I am unsure as to how all the food fit in without making me look like I was about to have twins.

Needless to say, my return to the comfort of my home was a combination of fear and relief.

Below is the ambient toilet at the Victoria and Albert Museum. It warranted a photograph for the sheer beauty of it.


During a normal day I would only "wee" about half a dozen times a day at the most - depending on what liquid has gone it. You know the routine - upon rising you go, after the first coffee you go, maybe once or twice during day etc.. But when I go on holiday I need to go ALL THE TIME. It is as though I am fearful that another toilet will not be around for a long time. I get "Pavlov's Dog" syndrome every time I see a toilet. See toilet and want to have a pee. Now, that is okay if you are travelling in a sunny climate and wearing minimal clothing. But when you are travelling when it is cold that makes going to the toilet really, really COLD.

You know the drill. On holiday carrying a camera, a bag, wearing a coat, a scarf, three or four layers of clothing etc. Get into toilet and take of camera, bag, coat and hope there is a hook to hang it on. As toilet is usually freezing cold as well you can expect your cold hands to make contact with skin. It is just a stressful event for me. Plus there is the public toilet smell, breathing in public toilet germs, the whole germy thing happening which is a completely different area.

Although, see the lovely toilet below. That is the gorgeous ladies bathroom at The Ritz Hotel in lovely London. Where you can sit and relax for a while.

Adding to this is a rather annoying little thing that my husband has seen fit to do for the past twelve years. At any given time I step out from a toilet he takes a video of me making the exit. He tells me he will join all the "toilet exit's" together one day and make a dvd.

I am sure you think that is funny. The amazing thing is, that despite him indulging in this amusing antic for all these years, nine times out of ten I forget that he may well be standing outside the dunny door, camera in hand and filming. So I come out wiping my hands on my clothes to dry them, or pulling some squinty face because the sun is shining, or looking in my handbag, or blowing my nose or just looking like a dufus.

At one place we went to I remembered that he would be outside the door and thought I would climb out the window instead, you know, bypass the voyeur. So I hoisted myself onto the bench where the basins were and then opened the window. Unfortunately the combination of a rather long drop to the ground, the size of the window opening and the amount of clothes I was wearing made me think twice about making my exit in such a sneaky way. I felt that perhaps the possibility of a broken bone was too high, plus the even more awful prospect of getting wedged in the window opening was all too great. When I finally made my way out of the toilet door I was asked by my son two things - "what took me so long?" and "was that you opening the window?".

Below is another view of the pink poo room at The Ritz. Truly, just divine. I really appreciate it when a very utilitarian room is given the same attention as any other part of a place.

So, anyway, back to "poo" talk. Despite the fact that I ate enough fibre to feed a race horse I found my trips to the toilet were of such small significance that I wondered if I would ever have a decent crap again. The more I thought about it, the more reluctant my body seemed to be to let go of anything. It was a very long three weeks.

Once I got home, all was normal - within minutes.

I sometimes think that it would be impossible for me to travel around the world.

There is a limit to how much my body can hang on to.

Ciao

LC

Getting Over A Holiday

You almost need a holiday to recover from one.

 

I have had to chew through the most awful pile of paperwork and backlog of stuff in the office since I got back.

 

On top of that was the realisation that it took me almost a week to physically recover from the jet lag.  Something about getting older perhaps.

 

Finally, I have settled back into some sort of normality and slowly getting back into things. 

 

Now, when looking at the photos I took whilst away, it is almost hard to believe I was even there! 

 

But when I go into my studio and open the lid on my box of Derwent pencils that I bought whilst in the Lake District I feel the thrill of it all. 

 

It is indeed a nice feeling.

 

By the way, I am at work and looking very important whilst typing this email. 

 

He he he.

 

Ciao

LC

Motor Museum Number One

One place that we went to was The National Motor museum situated in the New Forest. I really wanted to go here to see my favorite car, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

When we left Chicklade in the morning it was snowing. Not heavily of course. But those lovely soft, white flakes that drift around in a haphazard way. It was cold, but also very pretty. Quite novel for us as in Australia you have to travel a long way to come across snow.

We drove a fair way and part of the drive took us through a small part of the New Forest. Along the way we saw quite a few animals roaming around near the edge of the road. Apart from horses there were also pigs running around and doing their own thing, big ears all folded over their eyes and flopping around as the made their merry way. There is something so funny (and almost human like) about a pig's bottom as they run along.

At the place where the motor museum was, the daffodils everywhere. The first sign of Spring I suppose. All I know is that I love how vibrant they are.

I could have taken hundreds of photos of them. The stark and naked branches of the trees, the juicy green grass and the cheeky yellow petals of the daffodils just pleased me so much.

Of course, at the museum I was absolutely over the moon to see the car of my childhood dreams.

I have watched the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang at least twenty times, if not more. It fulfills my expectations of a movie one hundred percent.

The movie is a crazy mix of loss, love, discovery, colour, action, fear and both adult and child humour. Plus it has a lovely ending.

Seeing the car up close and personal was great. I am sure it is a copy - but who cares, it made my day. What I would not do for one of those in my garage!

In the museum they have set up a garage as it would have been pre 1970's. I can actually recall the local garage being very much like this. I took a few photos as I just love looking at all that is happening in the photo.

It has the most lovely smell. Grease, dust and other work related smells were hanging around.

It was an absolute visual and olfactory feast.

At the end of the visit we made our way back to the car park. It was starting to rain and the air was so icy. As we got closer to the car I noticed the parking lights were shining feebly out into the cold wind.

I said to K that the lights were on. Actually I said "you left the car lights on". Just had to ascertain that it was not my doing....

Our car was the oldest in the parking lot. In the UK you have to have an MOT done each year once the car reaches three years old, so it seems to be more feasible to get a new car - or at least it seems that way. We had been loaned a 1980's VW diesel Passat which was a bit gutless, but much appreciated by us for the first few days we were there.

Anyway, we get in the car and turn the engine over - sure enough, it was dead as a doornail. Kind of made a pathetic whine before the silence of defeat engulfed the interior. We asked a couple of nearby people if they had jumper leads - but to no avail.

K had to make the trek up to the museum office and see if they could help him.

S and I sat in the car which was very, very cold. Sitting there in my "not very cosy" jacket and freezing in silence I looked down and noticed that my grey scarf had covered my black jumper with bits of grey fluff. Great, cold and scruffy in a car with a flat battery.

Suddenly in the distance I saw K walking towards the car, his step was light and a smile on his face. He had gone to the office and the help provided had been beyond his wildest expectations.

When he told the young staff of the problem they told him not to worry. I mean, where else but at a motor museum would you get help with your car!

They called down to the museum and organised for a man called "Sticksy" to come down with a battery and jumper leads to start the car.

When K queried the name "Sticksy" he was told that the guy had a walking stick and that was what they called him.

"How will he carry the battery and jumper leads if he needs a walking stick?" asked K.

Sticksy just took one of the props from the museum and pedalled down to us. Battery and leads in the basket. Started the car and then jumped back on the grocer's bike and pedalled back to the museum.

I found the whole thing so funny.

All I can say is that we were so thankful to have been in that car park, at that museum when the battery went flat.

Ciao

LC

Sunny Weekend Blab

During Autumn you get some gorgeous weather in Melbourne. Warm and sunny without the bite of heat that seems to be there in Summer. Often the mornings start a little hazy, almost overcast as though unsure whether or not to let the sun shine through. Then suddenly you look up at the sky and it is blue with the promise of a beautiful day.

This weekend was full of that Autumn sunshine.

S and I went for a walk down the street and had some coffee and an iced chocolate.

We then stretched the walk onwards to a park where we did our best to encourage our dog Angus to fetch a stick. He was, however, more interested in things in opposite directions.

But he had fun just running around.

On Sunday S and I then went to a garden centre which has a specialist Bonsai section.

I love bonsai's. They are a representation of timeless patience. I love the way the trees manage to retain their dignified beauty whilst living out their life in a confined space.

The one below is the trunk of a Moreton Bay Fig. They are so well known for their lovely root system. When out of the container they grow to an enormous height and width.

I love this trunk. You would not believe how small it is despite it's ancient appearance. When I look at it, I am sure I can see an elephant peering out at me. The tree itself would be no more than 24 inches in height.

This little Liquid Amber is gorgeous. If I were a fairy I am sure I would want to sit under this tree and enjoy the dappled shade of it.

Below is another Moreton Bay Fig, only this time looking into the foliage.

This one below is one that amazes me. It looks so lofty and yet is only a small one as well.

All in all a nice weekend. S was happy to get out of the house and away from the computer. It was nice to have him just chat away about his views on life and friends. I enjoy these moments as, in the back of my mind, I realise they will not last forever.

Sunday came to an end with one exciting hour of food shopping. I am about to do some ironing.

Can't have everything my way. Can we?

Ciao

LC

The Easter Bunny

Prior to leaving Australia I remembered that the Easter Bunny would have to visit S whilst we were in the UK.

S made a decision to write a letter to the EB to ensure that he would get a visit on Easter Sunday. So he did this and left it on his bed.

I said to my husband that perhaps it would be a good idea to bring an Easter egg with us in the suitcase rather than buy one over their. But K said that it would be easier to pick one up over in the shops once we got to the UK. Okay I say, but really I am thinking "oh, yeah".
On the Saturday that we went to Bath I was conscious in the back of my mind that I had to pick up an Easter egg before the day was out. But I was not too fussed. At about 4.00 pm I said to K that I really needed to find a store that was selling the eggs as I could not bear the thought of S waking up to an eggless Easter Sunday. I also had to make this purchase on the sly as S was walking around with both of us and was watching everything going on.

Firstly I went to a big supermarket to buy something. There was nothing there, at all. There were general chocolates but no eggs. In fact, the shelves looked very ransacked and a few people were hugging the odd egg to their chest like a prize. I spent half an hour running around looking to see if there were any other places they could be in the store.

I come out and K looks at me enquiringly. I shake my head. I feel panic.

We had passed a Thornton's chocolate shop earlier in the day and so decided to walk around looking for it. Any relief I felt upon finding it was dispelled when told that there were no more Easter goodies left. In the meantime the daylight was disappearing and S was complaining about walking around and getting nowhere.

I then chanced upon a rather dishy shop called Leonida's. It sold Belgium chocolates. In I went and asked the desperate question as to whether or not they had an egg left. They did. Just the one.

Look at the photo below of the lovely treat.

Upon enquiry of price I was told it was about $65.00 in Aus dollars. I also had two bags of tiny eggs for the hunt in the morning which bumped the price up to around $85.00 Aus. Which, if you knew the size of the thing, was quite pricey.

Well, she had me by the balls didn't she. I had to buy the egg or else how would I explain the absence of the bunny making a visit. I mean, the bunny is universal isn't it?

I told her to wrap it up and that I would take it. The whole event took forever and at the same time my husband was trying to keep a very nosey child out of the shop.

Finally I came out saying something about getting a box of chocolates for the people we were staying with.

On the long way home in the car we managed to get lost, in the dark. Driving along windy and narrow roads before somehow finding our way to where we were staying. We had no time to hide the smaller eggs outside for the egg hunt the next morning and decided to do it first thing, before S woke up.

The next morning S woke up to the thrill of finding a most beautifully wrapped, boxed and ribboned Easter egg at the end of his bed. I surreptitiously handed a couple of bags of eggs to K and told him to hide them. He hid them around the house and, upon finding the back and front doors locked, was forced to throw handfuls out of the upstairs windows and onto the garden below.

S had a lovely time searching for them and all went well.

However, later on he showed me the red ribbon that was wrapped around the egg. It had the name of the shop written on it.

"Look at that mum. The Easter bunny got the chocolate from the same shop you were in last night!" he told me.

"That is because he knows where I like to shop." I replied. No way was I admitting anything. And no way was he interested in any other answer. Now and then the truth can wait can't it?

The chocolate was exceptionally delicious. Way above what would normally be delivered here at home.

It was worth every cent..

Ciao

LC

Mr Bowler Of Bath

Of course there is so much more to Bath than just - well - a Roman Bath.

We went to a place call the Museum of Bath at Work which features a peek into history of a man called Mr Bowler. It is a small museum that has been set up in an old building which was originally an indoor tennis centre. The building is, I think, a couple of hundred years old.

When K and I came over in 1994 we visited this little museum and decided that it was worth revisiting.

Mr Bowler ran a business in Bath from around 1872. He was a jack of all trades. Engineer, Gas Fitter, Lock Smith, Bell Hanger amongst other things. He also made and repaired soda water machinery and ran a fizzy drinks factory. His grandson continued the business right up until 1969 when the building in which it resided was targeted for demolition to enable the building of a bus terminal. Someone at the time had the foresight to photograph, catalogue and store absolutely everything until a suitable venue could be found in which to display his intriguing collection.

What is most appealing about this man is that he never, ever threw anything out. He would also buy things in bulk, on special or when the item had lost it's fashion appeal and he could get it at rock bottom prices. All books, paper work, receipts and a huge range of equipment is still around and displayed for people now to see.

The office below is as if someone has just stepped out for a cup of tea and will be back shortly. The desk, the papers, the cupboards all look so current despite their display purpose only. I really would like my office to be like this. But then I think perhaps I would just sit around admiring all the things rather than do anything productive. Plus, a computer just might seem a bit out of place.

When I look at this, I wonder what people will think of today's office in 100 years. I imagine it may not be quite as visually appealing as this one.

Mr Bowler had a foundry workshop. Plus workshops that involved plumbing and engineering things. I say things because that is my technical level of understanding of what is in that room in the photo below. The workshop was resurrected according to photos of how it had been. The smell of it was lovely. Grease, dust and iron all mingling together. There were so many things to look at whilst standing around. It was a room that would have been full of men with skills, some of which, these days, would now be gone.

He also made soda water machines and sold fizzy drinks. In this photo below you can see the beautiful array of coloured concoctions that would have gone into the soda water. The recipes for the flavours were kept locked away in a safe. The basis of all the drink flavours was a mysterious liquid called Twaddle which was a mix of sugar, saccharine and tartaric acid mixed with water. All the flavoured drinks contained Twaddle.

I love the shimmery colours in the smooth and strangely shaped glass bottles. The table with it's strong, little white legs. The stone jars, the big scales that hang from the ceiling. Even the basket of corks collecting dust under the table have their own silent beauty. I love that these items were used for so many years and now they live a life of stillness for others to admire.

The picture below I think was the office where orders were taken for their mineral waters. I cannot quite remember - pretty sure though. The soda bottle on the counter is the sort that was supplied to pubs and was coin operated. I love the design of it. There is something about being able to incorporate practical uses with beautiful design. As though creativity was always in tune with the day to day needs of life and making money.

Even though the set up is now a display, it is as it was for decades. On the left hand side, on a top shelf is a coffee pot that was apparently used daily for people in the office.

When I look at this, I think I would like this room in my house.

I am being a bit idealistic here.

This is a photo taken from a different angle. I like to look at the structure of the drawers. The labels on the front of various drawers indicate the particular label stored inside. When we went here in 1994 I remember buying a pack of original labels from here. I know I still have them, not sure where I have hidden them. They would still be wrapped in the cellophane pack they were sold to me in. I recall the designs being very appealing.

The way the sun shines into the room of the building and across the chest of drawers highlights the simple design so nicely. The layer of dust, the aged patina makes me want to touch it and feel the warmth that exudes from it.

We also went to a park which was flanked by a small crescent of lovely Georgian houses. I know it is not the famous Royal Mile. It may be called the Circus or something along those lines. By this time of the day the sun was making it's way to the other side of the world, it was chilly and I suddenly recalled that the next day was Easter Sunday.

One more thing we did was to visit the Bath Postal Museum. Although small, it was very interesting. I am always fascinated how far a small stamp can take a letter. Whilst email is instant, there is something quite amazing about the journey of a letter or a postcard.

S was compelled to try on the clothing of yesteryear.

All I can say is, thank goodness those wigs went way out of fashion!

So, that was most of our day in Bath.

A town worth visiting any time at all.

Ciao

LC

My Type Of Bath

One of the first places we visited was the lovely town of Bath. It is famous for it's Georgian architecture and, of course, the Roman Baths which were quite well hidden for a long time before being brought back to some of their former glory during the Victorian period.

It is not the first time I have been here, but I tell you it was the coldest. I may look rugged up standing in the photo below but I was frozen to the skin. The fantastic gortex jacket I bought was about as warm as a singlet. But I could wear it with the full knowledge that if I stood in the rain for 20 hours it would keep me dry. At least I got it on special - 50% off the already inflated price that was on the tag. Still, I am expecting some really heavy rain this winter in Australia so I shall have ample opportunity to experience the "waterproof"value of the coat.

When you visit many of these places you are given the opportunity to use an audio tour thingy which lets you learn a bit about the place. In this section of the baths there was some mention that during the Georgian period people would bathe in this section to relieve numerous skin afflictions and other health issues. Since bathing at home was not the done thing, I can only imagine that the skin problems were related to being a bit unwashed.

Whilst we well may laugh at the peculiar ideas about health during various periods I wonder what people will say hundreds of years from now about the things we do in the name of good health. For example - colonic irrigation - need I say more.

So, having a bath in some hot spring water seems perfectly lovely.

I like the photo below very much. It combines all the things I love about visiting England. The way they just keep the old very much alive. In this picture you can see the Roman baths being enhanced by the Victorian decorative statues and columns and then behind it all, some lovely Georgian architecture. It really appeals to me. All the acknowledgement of people who have long gone. That is the type of footprint people should leave.

These days it seems the only footprints we will be leaving are carbon ones.

Whilst S did enjoy visiting the Baths, he did get bored. Which is natural. I kept getting told off for wandering off and leaving the two of them together. But really, I thought it was the other way around, they were just too slow.

Another photo at the Baths. And, yep, I am still freezing. S was not cold at all. Children just do not have the same whinge factor as grown ups. He was busy going from one place to another taking in all the nooks and crannies. I think I moped around freezing my tits off until I got used the the cold.

I remember going to Bath in 1994. It was during summer so the weather was divine. There is something lovely about not having to rug up when you are on holiday. We went the the Baths then but we also went to the History of Fashion museum which was outstanding. I recall that after that we went to look around in this huge antique market, full of all sorts of interesting paraphernalia. It was spread over three or four floors. On the top floor was a little cafe where they served a variety of tasty things to eat. I had my first BLT (bacon, lettuce and tomato) toasted sandwich there. I still recall the thin, warm and crisp bacon mixing so well the the tartness of the tomato and the sweetness of the lettuce. The taste was further enhanced with a tiny bit of mustard.

The sun was shining through a glass skylight that was slightly open to let in fresh air. I could hear the noise of life outside. It was very inviting.

When we got outside their were ominous black clouds looming ahead and within a few minutes it was raining so heavily that I was forced to buy an umbrella. It was a huge yellow thing which would not fit in my suitcase on the way home so I carried it back on the plane. For years I kept it until one day it just fell apart.

The shop that I bought the umbrella from was still there when we went this year.

I love it when things don't change.

Ciao

LC

I Don't Get It.

Last night K and I were sitting and watching some twaddle on the television.

It was about Hugh Hefner celebrating his 82nd or 83rd birthday and there he was in his smooth smoking jacket with a couple of the Playboy girls posing around him, all giggly and jiggly.

I made some predictable comment about how it looked a bit creepy, the whole oily manner in which Mr Hefner presides over his mansion. Then I said "what guy would want to have all those girls hanging off him at that age and I don't really believe he shags them anyway".

My comment was met with silence.

Then.......

"Well, actually, I would," says K.

"What?" I said.

"Well I would - now or at 82. I don't mind either age. What 82 year old would not want to have a group of very young, very blond, big breasted women hanging off him? It would be great," he replied (as though I had no idea - which apparently I do not).

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Yes, I am," he said.

"Oh, well then. I want to look like Angelina Jolie and be married to Brad Pitt," I said, as I really thought K was just being facetious.

"That is being silly," K said.

Oh, yes of course. How silly of me. Not him - he really meant it, he would be happy to live the Hugh Hefner life.

Even now I am not sure I get what guys are about.

It seems to be pretty basic though. Deep down.

Ciao
LC

Inside The Aircraft

When you are on a plane, it takes a while to settle in the the inevitable boredom of what is to be a very long flight. The journey from Australia to the UK and other European cities is arduous, to say the least. It almost justifies paying the money to go business class.

After you open the plastic bag that contains the blanket, plus the one that has the headset, read the in flight magazines (how boring are they) and finally accepted that the economy seats have not and never will morph into business class size since your last trip, you just realise how awful being on a plane really is.

That is the trouble with travel - the bits in between.

We had around seven hours to Singapore where we stopped for an hour. Have a look at those pants I am wearing because you will never see them on me ever again.

Though the flight was as expected, I realised something most annoying. Prior to leaving I had purchased a pair of cargo pants from a "up market" camping store. Or should I say lifestyle and hiking store. The pants were heavily reduced which lured me into making the purchase. The tag on them said that they were crease and stain free so I thought they would be ideal for the flight (because I must have been expecting food to fall on me or something). I thought that by wearing these I would step of the plane at the end of the flight with my smooth pants and black t-shirt looking like an extra out of Tomb Raider or some Indiana Jones movie.

The pants were made from some long winded technical chemical based product mixed with a smattering of cotton and they had no give at all. They were a bit too big and also a bit too short and when I sat down the hem rose way above my ankle which disturbed me greatly. As the fabric was of such unnatural properties it reacted with the equally hostile fabric on the narrow economy seat and became like Velcro. Whenever I moved one way the pants would kind of stick to the fabric and move the other way - made all the worse by being too big. I spent the entire trip with twisted trousers that also pulled down past my hips.

After Singapore we had another seven hour flight to Dubai where we stopped for three hours. Dubai airport is very glitzy and has great big duty free stores. We arrived at about 5.30 am and it was packed. There was also only rubbish food to eat. Not that S minded. This photo of him was a sign of things to come as far as his diet went for the next three weeks.

I did the smallest amount of shopping. Too many people, too many perfume pongs and nothing I really wanted anyway.

S asked if the people in Dubai spoke Dublian. I thought that was rather funny.

After Dubai we had another seven hours before we landed at Gatwick airport where a very dear friend picked us up and took us on the three hour drive to get to our "home" for the next four nights.

We were tired.

The view out the window got boring.

Don't be fooled by the alert look on the face of my son. He slept for only about one hour over the entire trip and was wired after eating all sorts of chocolate and other sugary foods that arrived with the kid's meal.

Toilets on planes are gross. Especially toward the end of the journey. Anyone who would find it appealing to join the "mile high" club in one of those stinky cubicles would have to be out of their mind.

I cannot complain about the food as I ordered a fruit platter for the entire stretch and it was great - filled me up for about one hour though. Unfortunately I was so hungry that I had to chew on the stale bread rolls that K and S would not eat. Plus the three bread rolls I took with me on board. Talk about boring.

Once we arrived however, it was all good. The jet lag took about three days to settle.

I did hope that teleporting would be invented before we had to fly back, but no such luck.

We had to do it all again three weeks later.

Ciao

LC