Europhile

We may be living in Australia, but this weekend had a distinctly european, if slightly untrendy, flavour to it.

On saturday night went to see Bjorn Again, an Abba Tribute band. They say they're the closest thing to being able to see Abba live. That's probably overstating it a bit, but they were pretty good. We went with some couples we know from church (Sharon and I were the youngest, woo hoo!) who could remember Abba first time around. they played all the old favourites with the right mix of parody and affectionate tribute. I've still got the songs jangling in my head. And, rest assured, I memorised their dance moves as much as possible ready for the next wedding disco I go to.

One thing we thought we would miss when we came to Australia was the annual cheese-fest that is the Eurovision Song Contest. We always had a bit of a gathering for it each year, to listen to Terry Wogan's laconic wit and rants about block voting. We needn't have worried as, bizarrely, it's nearly as popular here as it is in the UK, and we had no trouble at all finding 5 people to come over and watch it with us. One of them brought a Ukrainian flag, despite having no connection with that country whatsoever. The show it on SBS (Special Broadcasting Service - it shows foreign language news during the day and the rest of the programming is from the rest of the world, or is about the rest of the world, earning it the nickname 'Sex Before Soccer') one night later than it was on live.

This year of course, Terry has retired. The 2 Aussie comedians SBS sent instead were actually really good. And the show itself didn't dissappoint. In true Eurovision style, the winner (Norway) was truly awful, and there were some genuine 'what were they thinking?' moments. My favourite was Albania's green gimp and midget breakdancers.

Come to Australia

Something from the Australian Tourist Board to convince you to come here...

It's been a while

Ok, so this is going to be a downbeat posting, but it's real and it happened, and I feel like I need to get it out here before I post anything else.


In February, we had a miscarriage.


It was awful. Having hardly had chance to get used to being pregnant, at about 10 weeks in we lost the baby. I don't think we'd realised how much had grown attached to this invisible person until we lost her (all babies start out female). This was hot on the tails of our dear friend Bev back in England dying of Cancer.

The friends we have made here and people in England proved to be of tremendous support. We didn't have to cook for a whole week, with friends from church dropping off meals and offering practical help. We took plenty of time out to mourn. I found I was trying to walk a line between letting it all out, but not wallowing in self pity. Now, we are getting on with life, learning to live with this very sad time. We are ok.

There. This blog isn't usually this miserable, but I didn't want to pretend this didn't happpen, and now I've got it off my chest I think I'll find it easier to write more.

Happy New Ears

Happy new year, and I hope you had a great Christmas.

Ours went really, really well in the end, although of course we missed all our family and friends in the UK and Italy a great deal.  I missed Manchester, the Christmas markets, Christmas parties and meals, and even the weather a bit.

It was undoubtedly very different having Christmas here, but really nice.  It was good to be able to have Gareth (Sharon’s cousin), Wendy, their 3 children and his Mum and Dad around, especially as they so kindly put us up for a few months when we arrived.  We also has our next door neighbours, Helen and Adam around.  They turned up late, and in a 70’s TV sitcom story line kind of way, we strongly suspect they hadn’t realised they’d been invited to eat and had already had a big Christmas dinner. Helen at least had a good go at finishing hers, and it was good fun watching Adam squirm as he politely declined.

Of great concern to me at 7am on Christmas day was the plan to roast the Turkey in the Webber, a sort of barbecue with a lid where the charcoal goes at the sides, so you can use it like an oven.  Several liberal applications of fire lighters and half a bottle of kerosene later and the briquettes and my eyebrows were well ablaze.

In the end, the Turkey was perfect. In fact, thanks to Sharon’s hard work and military planning, it was all perfect. The weather was great - warm, but not to hot, so that t was really nice eating outside.

Boxing day was really hot, so we went to the beach with our friends the Davies, and did a bit of snorkeling.  It was really gorgeous. Sharon discovered that if you leave your alice crocs on the back shelf of the car on a 35 degrees day, they curl up and shrink by about a third.

I was working in the afternoons in between christmas and new year, but in the mornings we did the traditional getting up late and not getting dressed playing with new Lego. Robert and Owen both got huge Star Wars Lego sets off their Grandma and Grandad, so we were all in our element.  They also got scooters of their Taid (welsh for Grandad) which they had a go on the skate park near our house each day.  There’s usually lots of skater dudes there, and I thought they might have been a bit resentful of two young beginners cluttering the place up. As it turned out the other kids were all so nice - showing them tricks, asking about their scooters, saying things like, ‘go ahead, it’s your park as well’.  This is one Australian stereotype - the friendly, helpful strangers - that we have been very pleased to find out is generally true.  The kids all swore like troopers, mind, but they were very good hearted.

I was working until 11:30pm NYE, so Sharon and the boys went to a friend of a friend’s pool party in their back yard. The boys had a great time swimming, their lessons paying off, but Sharon didn’t really know anyone, and isn’t a big NYE fan anyway.  I was on the bus home at midnight, being entertained by dozen or so drunk, but pleasant enough teenagers screeching half-minutely time checks, accompanied by a quiet chap at the back who seemed to smoking South Australia’s biggest and strongest spliff.  All public transport in Adelaide is free from 11:30pm onwards on NYE, with services running all night, which is a great idea.

Now into this new year, we’re starting with getting some key home improvements out of the way - I’ve tidied the shed (moving a few poisonous Red Back Spiders whilst at it) and we have ordered a new solar hot water system and a ducted air conditioning system. Air con will add to the value of the house much like central heating does in England. We are forecast a hotter than average summer. Bring it on!

We still miss you all very much and we think of you often. We hope you have a great 2009.

Christmas is coming, we've got the goose fat

"Ooh, it'll soon be Christmas", my Mum always says. In August. But sure enough, it's nearly Christmas, and our first summertime one.

It was a bit difficult getting into the idea that it was Christmas, as the weather started getting warmer. I was walking down Rundle Street (our equivalent of Market Street, but without the hoodies or Primark. You still get goths, Emo's and Big Issue sellers though) at the start of December wondering why on earth Christmas Carols were being piped through in late spring, before I realised it was me, and not Adelaide city council who was out of sync.

Anyway, I think we consciously decided a hot Christmas was going to be a positive thing and we should just get on with it. I always pump up the x-mas atmos with my 74 track mini-disc full of Christmas cheese. It's the same one I've used for about 4 years, so got me right in the mood. I love all that rubbish, and was pleased to pick up a couple more Cd's in Target for $4.95 (about 2 pound fifty), which include the little known outside Australia track 'Santa never made it into Darwin'. Ho, ho, ho.

Our first Christmas event was our Church's Christmas Carol service. Trinity Bay meets in a community centre, so the carol service was in the local high school. It was fantastic. About 400 came along to see a full choir, band and beautifully transformed hall. It was very professional but accessible. Best of all though, after the service we had fun and festivities on the lawn - a barbecue, bouncy castles and slide, a mobile climbing wall, a gourmet coffee van (not much happens in Australia without the presence of coffee) and the ministers old VW van available for anyone to have a go at painting. All for free!

We also had 2 Gingerbread house making events - one for just women, where Sharon did a bit of a gospel talk, and one for families. Everyone tells me Sharon did really well.

Christmassy words that are different in Australia

1. You don't got to your work's Christmas 'do'. You go to a Christmas 'show'. I couldn't make ours, so I don't know what it is you show, exactly.
   
2. Christmas crackers are called Bon-bons.  But, confusingly, you can still get round sherbet covered sweets that you or I would call bon-bons. 'Lollies', I mean, I must remember, sweets are called 'lollies'.
3. A 'Secret Santa' is called a 'Kris Kringle'. But they've never heard of a Chris-dingle orange with sticks in thingy.

We visited Lobethal, a town in the hills renowned for it's Christmas lights. The number of houses with lights was impressive, and it reminded me of driving through Blackpool Illuminations. We arrived just in time to see the living nativity, complete with a real baby, an uncomfortably over aged Joseph, a heavenly host of children and traditional nativity scene Alpacas.  No donkeys, but a couple of Alpacas.  To be honest, I think I've been spoilt by the unbridled tack of the Christmas lights that festoon houses in Burnage, so this lot seemed a bit low key to me.

We've got Gareth, Wendy, their 3 children, Aunty Bo and Uncle Andy, and our next door neighbours Helen and Adam coming for Christmas dinner. I'll let you know how we go on. One thing's for sure - come hail, rain or shine, I'll be visiting the beach on Christmas day. Just because I can.

People I have been likened to over the years

I've never been particularly flattered by who it is people say I look like, but things (if not my hair growth) are looking up. At work we have name magnets to go on the whiteboard, and my colleagues have attached to mine a picture of a B-movie action hero.

Previous lookey-likies have included:

Robbie off Grange hill


Stan Laurel


Wilfrid Brambell (Albert Steptoe)


Snooker ace Stephen Hendry


and now, a vast improvement, Jason Statham


You may have your own suggestions. Who are you told you look like?

Birthday Boy

It was Robert's 9th Birthday on 11th October.

No, I know it doesn't seem 9 years ago he was born, but 9 he is.

I was on a trade union course at MANCAT. We'd just started the afternoon session when the pager I'd borrowed off Sara Barker went off. "they are injuicing me, come now" it said, the BT operator who sent the message clearly not having the best grasp of spelling. I got up and announced to the class, 'Sorry I've got to go, my wife's in labour'. I got lots of best wishes, a few pats on the back and several predictions that ' that's it now, life will never be the same again'. I got in a taxi outside and I think made the drivers day by giving him an excuse to drive significantly faster than he should have done to St Mary's, via some city centre back streets I never knew existed.

Robert was 4lb 14oz when he was born. You can see from the photo he's had a bit of a growing spurt since being here, and we're always trying to get him to eat more, as he's pretty skinny. He's developed a strong Australian Questioning Inflection, and calls water 'warder' and butter 'Budder'. This is as opposed to Owen, who seems to be more Manc (specifically, Levenshulme) than ever.

They've both settled really well here. They miss people of course, and talk nostalgically about St Andrews, but they enjoy their schools and have made loads of friends, both at school and church. It was them settling in here I was most worried about before we left, so it's been great to watch them get stuck into it, sometimes better than us.

Wish you were here

 I came across this postcard when thinking about Bobby Dazzlers for my last post, on a Levenshulme blog site. It made me chuckle, but also strangely nostalgic for these highlights of the 197 route. Not so nostalgic I'm in a rush to catch it again, you understand.  You'll never see a pet shop with a better name, though.

Sparrow Wars

A great added bonus of our house here is the pergola on the side of the house. It can be closed off each end with transparent cafe blinds which, when it's warmer, makes it like another room.

However, plans to use it as such were threatened by the arrival of sparrows who built 3 nests in the very top of the pergola. I didn't mind that so much as the detritus they littered all over the place, along with the gallons of droppings.

I thought I didn't have the heart to remove them, bless the little creatures. Actually, it turns out I just didn't have the stepladders to remove them. As soon as I'd bought some ($39 from Bunnings), down they came. Thankfully, they were empty.

The sparrows returned the following day looking most put out and with that urgent look you have when you need a really big poo but can't get to the loo. Sure enough, one laid an egg on the beam where the nest used to be, and this just rolled off and smashed.

I felt a little bit bad about that, so when they returned and began rebuilding their nest, I didn't remove it. In the meantime, Sharon had purchased from Cheap as Chips (like Poundstretcher but with less style - if Bobby Dazzler was a chain store, this'd be it) a pair of large plastic crows. We had heard fake snakes might scare the sparrows off, but the crows looked really menacing.

I was dismayed the next morning to find the sparrows mockingly plopping away on our plastic pals.

Harmony broke out when I took the decision to let them be and simply catch their poo and nesting materials with shade cloth draped over the beams of the pergola, which has done the trick.

Sharon persevered however, moving the plastic crows of death to the outside bathroom and toilet windowsills. This certainly had the effect of scaring the life out of me, faced with a scene from Omen II or The Birds when I go for my morning tinkle. Time will tell, but I haven't seen the loose bottomed sparrows lately, so the crows might just be earning their keep.

In any case, bird muck has ceased enough to allow me to put up a hammock ($20 from Bunnings), with which I'm rather chuffed.

Lah de Dah

Jo Hardy (see Jo Hardy's African Adventure link on the right of this page) has something in common with us in that she has left Shawbrook Road to live in a far flung corner of the globe, and is writing a blog about it. She has fantastic tales of building schools and improving communities' self sufficiency in Zambia.

I'm afraid all I have to tell you is about how we went touring wineries in the Barossa Valley. It's Australia's most famous wine region, about an hour and half drive out of Adelaide. It's the home of Jacob's Creek (that's actually a place, as well as a brand), Wolf Bass and Penfolds, along with a few hundred others. There's also a pretty good German pie shop in Tanunda, if you get hungry.

The region is spectacularly beautiful, and worth driving around even if the wineries weren't there. But there they are, and most of them have a cellar door where you can taste their wares, usually for free, and usually along with a minibus load of women on Hen weekends in matching T-shirts (I could swear I saw the Rotund Pink Ladies from my City to Bay Run). This will help inform your decision as to what to buy next time you are in Thirsty Camel, Liquor Land, Booze Brothers or whatever other Bottlo you end up in. Don't buy them at the cellar door, because they'll be $5 extra.

Ben and Sarah from church took us in their big car, with the boys happily tucked away in the back watching DVDs. Sharon and Sarah would do the tasting, mostly of port, whilst the rest of us explored the grounds of wherever we were. Most of the ones we visited had beautiful grounds with Barbecues and picnic areas. There are fields full of purple wildflowers at the moment, and these next to row after row of vines was amazing to see. Seppeltsfields was particularly impressive, with avenues lined with 2000 palm trees. We also had a brief visit to the Whispering Wall, which really is impressive when you stand 100m away at the other end and can still hear Robert whispering, "Dad smells of trumps". Civil engineers may be interested to know that it was the first concrete arc dam, built in 1901. Or something.

I'm no connoisseur of wine, and would rather go on pub crawl for beer, but I can see how you'd easily get into it, and Sharon and Sarah certainly had a good go at improving their knowledge of fortified wines. This was because Sarah had bought a barrell in which to age her port, and was trying to decide who's 15 litres to buy.

Anyway, we didn't buy anything (except pies) and so, whilst Jo can share heroic tales of Majority World development, all we contributed to this already rich area was fuel emmisions and a pile of pine cones at Seppeltsfields winery from playing throwing them at a tree.

Now we've been, we can add the Barossa to our list of places to take people when they visit.

For truly impressive stories, see Jo's Blog.

City to Bay

On 21st September I took part in the City to Bay Fun Run. The title refers to the route: we started in Adelaide City centre, and ran 12km to Glenelg, which overlooks Holdfast Bay, i.e. the seaside. As for the 'Fun' bit...well ok, I did enjoy it, in a coping with pain kind of way.

28,000 people either ran or walked it. For us runners, it was a bit crowded all the way along, and I thought they should have split us in to waves like they had done in Manchester. Also, with there being the option of doing the event as a walk, I really couldn't see why 20 metres into the start of the run everyones way was blocked by 5 rotund ladies in pink t-shirts ALREADY WALKING.

I ran it in 1 hour 6 minutes and 28 seconds.

I was a bit dissapointed that I had to stop and walk a couple of times, really because I was getting too hot. I felt a bit nauseous and started getting goose pimples, which made me worry my heat regulation was going up the swanny. I didn't want to embarrass myself by collapsing and pooing all over the place, as the patient from a half marathon who came in for a ct scan a few weeks ago had done.

Still, I was rather pleased that I managed to beat Dan from work, who is 12 years my junior, about twice as tall, and had tried, in true Aussie fashion, to transform a low key 'let's have a bit of fun' event into some sort of olympic trial.

Another glorious victory for Team GB

Geocaching

During our weekend away, whilst Sharon was discovering tea shops, Robert, Owen and I joined about 10 others for the modern equivalent of a treasure hunt. It's best described by the website:

"Geocaching is a high-tech treasure hunting game played throughout the world by
adventure seekers equipped with GPS devices. The basic idea is to locate hidden
containers, called geocaches, outdoors and then share your experiences online.
Geocaching is enjoyed by people from all age groups, with a strong sense of
community and support for the environment"

A couple of the blokes from church had GPS devices, and a list of co-ordinates from around the area we were staying, so off we set, nerdalator in hand. The locations took us too a place near the beach (we couldn't find that one), a cemetery, the bluff and a surfing beach. Apart from the first one, at each we found a little plastic container with a log book and little trinkets - McDonald's Happy Meal Toy level of value. Apparently you can track your trinkets as people remove and swap them around, logging the movements on line.
It was a really good thing to do, taking us to places we wouldn't have normally gone to (who goes tramping around an abandoned cemetery on a church weekend away?). It was actually quite exciting, giving each bit of walking an adventurous purpose. The GPS get you to with 5m, and then you have to find it. Robert was really chuffed when he found the last one.

If you've got a GPS device, I'd thoroughly recommend it

Weekend Away

A few weeks ago we went on a weekend away with our church, Trinity Bay, to Encounter Bay, about 45 minutes drive from where we are, and where my Mum's cousin Sue lives.

We weren't quite sure what to expect. St Margaret's weekends away back in England were always a rather laid back affair, with the emphasis very much on the fellowship side of things, which was great. The blokes would cook breakfast and there was a bit of a walk on the Saturday, with plenty of time for tea shops, laughing and joking and a few drinks. Sometimes more than a few. The only planned formal time of fellowship was on the Sunday morning.

So it was with some trepidation that I read on the program for Trinity Bay's weekend that there would be 4, yes, 4 talks/times of worship through the weekend. When would we have time for Singstar? And what's more, as the weekend would be held in a Salvation Army conference centre, there'd be no alcohol allowed. On the plus side, it was to be fully catered, Scripture Union were going to look after the children during the adults sessions and, as far as we knew, all water supplies, toilets and showers were fully functional, so there'd be no repeat of St Margaret's dirty weekend. I felt like I'd overdosed on Christian books and talks during my commuting leading up to the weekend, and honestly didn't feel like listening to another 4 talks, but, go with the flow I thought, and tried to go into the weekend deciding to enjoy it.
I didn't have to try very hard. The dorm we were given had the nostalgic smell, look and poor thermoregulation of a Butlins Spring Harvest chalet circa 1988, which with the spring air, made me feel like I was back in Skegness. The food was great, with Tea and Coffee (or 'Christian crack' as Dave from church called it) on tap. The boys had an ace time in their sessions, even if I did manage to spill their crystal making solution they'd made. The worship group (or 'Musos', as John, our Minister, refers to them) were really good. And those talks I'd been dreading were exactly the breath of fresh air I needed - really good, back to the heart of things stuff.

It was really nice just to hang out with people from church, too. In these post Madeline McCann days, I went to bed when the boys did, but Sharon stayed up late, teaching anyone who would listen how to cheat at cards. The boys played an awful lot of table tennis and could generally just run about the venue. I did a 6:30am run down to the bluff (not in the buff, to the bluff, a rocky prominence on the coastline) with one of the men in preparation for the city to bay 12km race I was doing the following weekend. I'd intended to do 1okm, but had to give up after 8km, unable to keep up with Paul's 1hour/12km pace. We saw a baby whale in the bay whilst we were out, this being a prime nursery site for whales coming up from the south pole. On the Saturday afternoon we did the modern form of treasure hunting: geocaching. More of that later.

All in all, we had a fantastic time that really boosted us all. Well done to the Young Adults Group who organised it all for us.

Royal Adelaide Show

A few weeks ago we, like most people in Adelaide, went to the Royal Adelaide Show.  This annual event lasts about a week and is a bit like a mixture of an agricultural fair, an ideal home exhibition, and Blackpool.  They're much more relaxed here about you bunking your kids off school, which we did. For 2 days.  Many schools have a dedicated 'show day' for this very event anyway.

We watched sheep shearing, Pig racing/diving and woodchopping competitions.  There was formation stunt Ute driving, Ute racing and some really spectacular motorcycle stunts, followed by fireworks.  We went on the ferris wheel, the ghost train and the big dipper.  Robert was particularly chuffed to be big enough to go on the Big Dipper, which went upside down and everything.  I observed that fairground ride staff are much the same the world over - just rough enough looking to worry you about their ability to run a safe ride, but too scary to actually approach for any other reason but to give them your money.

A highlight for the children and, erm, some adults is the show bags. It's the tradition that everyone buys a goody bag from an enormous hall selling an enormous variety of themed showbags.  robert and Owen opted for Wall-e ones. They could have had Ben 10, Superman, Spiderman, Hanna Montana, anything really.  I couldn't resist the 'Don't Hassel the Hoff' David Hasselhoff  theme bag, complete with T-shirt, mug, air freshener, medallion, sweat bands and, the crowning glory, a Hoff wig.  I had great fun embarrassing everyone I was with by sporting as much of the garb as possible immediately, although I did keep under wraps the Hoff Glow in the Dark Love Dice. Ace.

We spent a fortune, but all in all it was good value and we had a really, really good day.

Not being there - clarification

I've given the wrong impression on my last post when I said, 'you have to get that sort of information 3rd hand'.

This reads like I'm saying we're not kept in the loop.

That's absolutely not the case, and not what I was trying to say. My family and everyone have been great at letting us know as much as they do, when they do.

What I meant was Mum, not wanting to bother anybody, always down plays any suffering she goes through. Even when we could call in in person regularly she'd say, "ooh I'm alright". A couple of weeks later she might tell you how rotten she was feeling.

One of the dangers of the written word I suppose.  It was a pretty downbeat posting I wrote, but there is a down side to being here, and I thought that should be reflected in what I write.

In the next one I hope to share with you pictures of the David Hasselhoff wig I bought at the Royal Adelaide Show.

Not being there

We always knew a difficult part of moving to Australia would be missing our families, especially when they're ill (Sharon's Dad, my Mum), giving birth (Sarah in November), getting new glasses (William) or generally bungling around (Emma Beddows).

Sharon's Dad had a vertebroplasty recently (cement injected into a back bone to strengthen it and reduce pain), and now my Mum has just had fairly major abdominal surgery. It was difficult knowing that if we hadn't left, and I was still working at Manchester Royal Infirmary, I could have been just down the corridor from both of them during their hospital stays. Instead, we're 24 hours of travel and a few thousand dollars away.

When we did leave it was knowing there would always be very good reasons not to leave, and to some extent there's a selfish element in us having decided to go anyway. I sometimes feel a bit guilty, and pretty helpless. I'm aware I'm presuming in the rest of my family to 'be there' for Mum. It's even harder for Sharon, as she's an only child and Brian has less people to look put for him.

Thankfully, Brian is in less pain now, and Mum is reportedly recovering well at home. Not that she'd ever tell us if she wasn't so well - you have to get that kind of info 3rd hand off the rest of the family.

Get well soon.

Middle Eastlands

I don't know, I'm out of the country 10 minutes, and overnight Man city become the richest football club in the world.

I can't help thinking that if anyone could stuff up and under perform when backed by trillions of oil dollars, it'd have to be City.

However, I had the misfortune of living in Blackburn when they had millions of pounds pumped in. I had to suffer the indignity of previously oblivious glory hunters pretending to be life long rovers fans as Shearer et al won them the premiership. Crap town, crap team, but several million quid later, the investment paid off.

So one can only hope Robinho, Jo and Yohoho or whoever can adapt to Manchester and bring home some silverware.

Incidentally, it's interesting to note that Australians, who are generally relatively ignorant about 'soccer' automatically presume you're a blue if you are from Manchester, fully understanding that most Utd fans are poxy southerners.

Anyway, the last word on the subject should go to Noel Gallagher, who has clearly retained his
Burnage sense of humour. He told BBC 5Live:

“It’ll be nice to know that every gallon of petrol a Man Utd fan buys will be
going into City’s transfer kitty.”

Read his full comments here

Look a like gag

from Private Eye magazine.

These aren't as good of course as Rob Graham's lookey-likies, which you can see on facebook if you look for photos tagged with his name.

New link

I've added a new link on the right, to 'found magazine'. I've been occasionally checking in on this for a few years now, usually on quiet nights at work. People send in scans of photos, hand written notes, shopping lists etc. I don't know why, but they're fascinating, often funny and sometimes disturbing. I think it's because each entry gives you just a little glimpse into someone else's life, leaving you to imagine the circumstance or what happens next.

I've been spending some of this set of nights trying to find out what has been going on at the Olympics that doesn't involve Australians. Watching Channel 7 here, you could be forgiven for thinking that the Olympics was simply a swimming gala set up for the Australians with a few other sports happening on the side.

Another time killer we played the other night was to Google your own name and see what comes up. I was disturbed to find there's a Colin Taylor on the run in Europe for the worst of crimes, but rather pleased to find out there's a Colin Taylor Band. I wonder what they sing? I bet they dance badly. You can also try searching "Colin likes to" (with the speech marks) and see the top 10 of what your namesakes get up to. Only do it if you're not of a sensitive disposition, though.

I'm off to pen that Number 1 hit for my band.

More tea, vicar?

Sharon has developed a bit of Friday morning routine, which I try my best to gate crash as often as possible.

We go with several of the other parents of children at Owen's school to McDonald's McCafe in Reynella. This is on a corner of a big main road and is referred to locally as 'junk food corner', it having a KFC, Hungry Jacks (Australian version of Burger King), Dominos, Fasta Past (urgh) and of course Maccas, as the golden arched fat fest is known here.

I'm sure the staff at Maccas really look forward to Friday mornings when about 10 of us and what feels like 20 toddlers turn up, asking for coffees which have to be just-so and asking them to turn the heating up/down and generally being a nuisance. I have to hand it to Maccas though, they do really good, relatively cheap coffee. And they've given us key fobs that gets us a free slice of cake with every coffee purchased. Until 2010. That's potentially alot of cake. After the 12k run, naturally.

After that, we go next door to the 'Salvos Op shop'. I'll translate: that's the Salvation Army Charity shop. The sense of adventure is hightened by cutting through the palm tree bushes between them, which makes it feel like you've stumbled upon an abandoned enclave. I've only ever really been to charity shops for fancy dress before. You know, a dress or skirt for a game of football at camp. But this has actually got really quite good stuff, and I've picked up some good shirts. Sharon says they're from the designer boutique 'Sal-vos'. Equally as important though is having a good laugh at some of the crap they have too. Hideous crockery sets, a salt and pepper pot set that say 'atishoo' and 'bless you'. A Barry Crocker album.

It all adds up and has helped us make some good friends.