like time – only more so …
Archive for October, 2008
The difference between Aussie kids and British kids …
Oct 23rd
Having the SIL and her daughter over from the UK has proved to be a real eye-opener for us – of that there is no doubt. Jack’s cousin Rachel is about a year older than Jack, but she’s always been a bit, ermmm, slow – so the usual ‘girls maturing faster’ thing doesn’t really count in this instance. They’ve always got on incredibly well together – maybe because they’re both only children and they share the same hobgoblin of a grandmother.
So anyway – it’s two and a half years since these two have seen each other. When we left the UK, Jack was nearly five years old and had just finished a year at primary school in the UK. One of the reasons that we moved to this country was because we strongly believe that the British school system, with its obsession with league tables and facts and figures and tests and compartmentalisation – does the kids a disservice. There is ample time to find out about glacial moraines and why the emission of photons leads to visible light when they’re a bit older. At Jack’s age, school should be about the fundamentals – reading and writing and equally as important – getting along with your peers. It should also be fun.
Now I’m not suggesting that they should abandon lessons all together and just plonk the kids down in front of a plasma TV and a DVD of Spiderman 3. But there has to be a better balance struck between the need to learn the all-important social skills, with the need to learn how to read and write. Anyway – I’m getting off the point.
The first thing that struck me about Rachel was that she’s already adopted the British schoolkid shrug. You know the one, usually accompanied by the word ‘dunno’. I’m a master of it myself so it’s very easy to spot. To me it sums up one of the big problems with school over in the UK – namely that it’s terribly bad form to show enthusiasm for anything. This became immediately apparent when the kids were taken to the science centre in Wollongong. Rachel immediately took on this bored demeanour while Jack was running around the place trying stuff out. Tellingly, as soon as the SIL started showing an interest in one particular exhibit, Rachel wanted to get involved too. And if we’re going to let Rachel off the hook by saying that a science centre isn’t a very girly place to go – what does that say about our society and the moulds that kids are squeezed into even at that young age?
The home counties shrug is much in evidence when Rachel’s asked if she wants to do anything. It’s replaced only by the ‘bitter pill’ face when she’s offered something other than baked beans on toast to eat. I’m not saying all British kids are like this – I’m sure there are plenty that eat non-processed foods and enjoy museums – but I do believe they’re the exception and not the rule. I’m also not saying that all Aussie kids are dynamos of fun leaping from one challenge to another like high-on-life space cadets – but there’s sure as shit a lot more in column A than there are in column B. Anyway – I will continue my observations over the next week and report what else I discover.
One in one out …
Oct 22nd
So. Blimey. Not updated the old blog in nearly a month. Life here has been turned upside down somewhat with the month that the parents-in-law were here and then the arrival of Liz’s sister and niece two days after the Little Englanders left.
I see from my last post that things were ticking along somewhat predictably. I had hoped we might have a smoother course of events, but it wasn’t to be. It was always inevitable – or to paraphrase Shakespeare – the world’s grown honest and doomsday’s near. So. Where to begin. Let’s start with …
The rest of the family’s trip to the mountains…
Liz can put up with ‘em on account of the fact that they’re her parents and she’s worked out some sort of coping method – and Jack can put up with ‘em on account of he likes them. So despite the fact that the MIL continued her lifelong project to be the most despressing, soul-sucking, black-hole of a harpie on the face of the earth – they managed to rub along together okay.
They had a rare old time driving *my* car around the snowy mountains. They managed to catch the snowfields before they went green. They fed wild kangeroos. They went on chairlifts through blizzards. Liz described Canberra as “like that place that Hitler’s architect wanted to build – only without so many people”. They all agreed that they’d have been completely fucked without the TomTom to guide them, particularly in Canberra.
On arriving back on the coast on the way back home, they visited Honeymoon bay. The bay is incredibly handsome beach comprising a small arc of perfect white sand – the FIL was taken with it and said, “Isn’t it beautiful, Carrion?” To which Carrion replied, in the manner of a fifth year student who’s been caught wanking during double-history, “S’alright I suppose.”
The MIL fresh from an appearance in Harry Potter
The return …
So they all returned from their trip. Liz spent a lot of time trying to bring some tiny chink of light to the eternal black void that is the MIL’s life. The FIL made himself useful fixing various bits and bobs around the house. Everyone who met them during their stay agreed that the FIL, on his own, would be okay – but that exposure to the MIL should have similar limits applied to it as to, say, plutonium.
I spent most of my time in my office, not because I had lots to do, but because it saved having to spend any time in the poisonous presence of Carrion. Things came to a head on one of the rare nights when I chose to dine with everyone. Liz told Jack off for something and he started laughing. The MIL told him not to laugh when he was being disciplined. I said, “Oh I don’t know – I’d rather he was happy than angry. I mean, given the choice between a bitter nasty kid and a happy kid, I’ll take happy every time.”
So Carrion fixes me with her dead eyes, picks up her plate and (spitting the food in her gob all over the table as she speaks) says, “I’m not going to be spoken to like that.” And storms off down the corridor with her plate and proceeds to eat her meal in her bedroom. The FIL says, “Carrion, don’t be so bloody stupid.” But she’s long gone. Jack starts laughing.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I figure that for the sake of my wife and son I should try and undo the damage I have done. So I tell Jack to go and say to Grandma that I’m sorry and to come back to the table. Jack does so and she says to him, “Tell him to apologise to me in person and I’ll consider it.” No fucking way I’m doing that, so I tell Jack to come and sit back down with us at the table where we all pick at our food in that post-row way that takes all the pleasure out of the tasty meal.
I manage to avoid much contact with Carrion for the remainder of her visit. The PILs were spending their last night in Oz in a hotel in Sydney on account of a very early flight to Singapore. So the day before their flight Liz and I drove them to Surftown from where they were going to catch the train to Central.
And you know, it was the funniest thing – you have never seen Carrion so cheerful as she was that day. Her torture was at an end and she was giddy and demob happy. She was joking away with me, smiling all the time. It was, in its own way, even more depressing than her in her rather more typical black mood. The happiest any of us had seen her, was the day she was fucking off back to her tedious fucking life in the tedious dormitory town in which they’ve just bought a tedious semi-detached house. If the old bint chooses to come and visit us again I’m moving in with my parents for the duration.
The sister-in-law …
So with the PILs buggered off to Singapore for five days, prior to their return to the Yookay, we have five days of normality prior to the arrival of Liz’s big sister and neice. It takes that long to fumigate the stench of misery out of the spare room.
We decided to spend the night before the SIL’s arrival in a hotel in Sydney. This was on account of two things – first it was my birthday (and therefore also our wedding anniversary) – second, the SIL’s flight was due in very early and we didn’t fancy a 4am wake-up and drive to the airport.
So on the Saturday we got up bright and early and drove up to Sydney. Liz had booked us into the Macleay Serviced Apartment Hotel located just south of the CBD. Due to the fact that we were working to a budget, this was a 3.5star hotel. I had a look at the website before we left and was alarmed at the photos (left) which appeared to show a couple enjoying a terrace meal in prison. I also wondered why they’d only shown half of the swimming pool.
My questions were answered when we checked into the hotel. It was the sort of place that hadn’t been updated much since it was built in the late ’70s. Our room was, ermm, small. The called it an apartment, but in reality it was a small hotel room crammed with cheap household appliances. Our bed was a tiddly double and it was right next to Jack’s single bed. On the plus side, it was clean and it did have a harbour view – of sorts – over the top of the Botanic Gardens. I pressed my face up to the window and spotted the swimming pool which was about 5 metres across and situated next to the carpark and a building site – which explained the photo. Anyway – we weren’t too put out by the room because we only really needed to sleep in it – we had plans for the rest of the day.
So we dumped our stuff and headed out. We decided to travel by public transport – which always sounds like a great idea until you’re faced with the reality of it. The nice lady concierge had told as that the 311 bus ran regularly from outside the hotel and went all the way to Circular Quay. Whether it was just poor timing on our behalf or not – we had to wait 45 minutes for the bus, so by the time we got to Circular Quay it was 11:30am.
We caught the ferry over to Milsons Point and swimming cossies to hand, paid to enter the North Sydney Olympic Pool. This swimming pool must have one of the most sensational views of any pool anywhere on the planet. It’s located underneath the Sydney Harbour Bridge and offers panoramic views of the harbour, the Opera House, the Rocks and all the harbour traffic coming and going. We’d wanted to go for ages but had never got round to it, so it was really nice to finally check it out.
W
e paid our $5.50 each and got changed into our swimming cossies. There are actually several pools there – an indoor 25m job, the outdoor 50m pool and an outdoor kid’s paddling pool. All around it are sun terraces and chairs and benches where you can just sit and drink in the view if you so wish. I did some laps while Jack played in the paddling pool with Liz and then we all had a splash about in the recreational lane of the main pool. Jack took great delight in jumping off the starting blocks from which 86 world records have been set over the years.
After an hour or so, hunger starting getting the better of us and we got changed and headed back on the ferry to Darling Harbour. The cafes along the harbour were heaving, so we decided to get the MonoRail to the city centre and have lunch at the food court under the Sydney Tower. It’s usually quite tricky to find a table or bar stool there because it’s so busy, but there’s such a wide variety of foods to choose from that it’s worth it so that everyone can get what they like best. And anyway, as it happened, we managed to miss the lunchtime rush and had no trouble finding a table. I had chilli chicken with terriyaki noodles, Liz had a spicy egg plant Sambal and Jack had spaghetti with roasted vegtables.
Full again, we did some shopping. I bought some chocolates from the expats shop (Revels for Liz, Chocolate Buttons for Jack and a fucking big bar of Galaxy for me) and a CD. Liz wanted to get some new tops so we headed over to Myers and Jack and I went up the escalators to the fun floors whileLiztried on blouses. On the very top floor they had some sofas in front of 60″ Panasonic plasmas showing Planet Earth, so we sat for about 20 minutes relaxing.
Shopping out of the way, we headed for the hotel. On foot. We stopped off in Hyde Park to eat the choccies and were amazed at the never-ending succession of wedding parties queueing up to take photos in front of the fountain. We walked past the NSW art gallery and down past the naval base and back to the hotel. The plan had been to just chill out at that point but, having had to endure public transport all day, I fancied going for a drive.
So. We decided to go to Bondi Beach. Neither myself, nor Liz, nor indeed Jack had ever been to Bondi and we felt we had to go, at least once, so we could cross it off the list. So I plugged in the address into TomTom and we set off. I luckily managed to get a parking space right on the main street – Campbell Parade.
We walked onto the beach and Jack was totally stoked to see the lifeguard station made famous by Bondi Rescue. It was still very warm and he decided he wanted to have a swim, so he stripped off down to his pants and had a splash around. Then, with the sun going down, we headed back to the car. And as to Bondi – I’m glad I’ve been, but I can’t say it’ll be high up on my list of return vists. It’s a pretty tacky area all things considered – the aussie equivalent of Bournemouth – only with sunshine, obviously.
We got back to the hotel and had a nibbly evening meal. We tried to get Jack to sleep, but with the room so tiny there was no way it was going to happen with the lights on and the TV going. So after repeated attempts to get him to settle we all turned in at 10:00pm.
At 6:00am the next morning we all set off to the airport. The SIL’s flight was on time and their arrival was marred only by the fact that I managed to head off to the bog just as they appeared from the customs zone.
The SIL …
I don’t mind the SIL. She’s a bit stuck-up and she has a tendency to sound like the dreaded MIL on occasion, but at least she’s open to new things. Their stay had proved to be mericfully uneventful until tonight.
Liz had touch footy pratice as usual every Tuesday and I had my spin class. So Liz took Jack, the SIL and the neice with her to practice. Before she went on, Liz gave her jewelery to the SIL as there are strict rules about wearing earrings and rings.
At the end of the practice Liz asked the SIL for her rings and she handed them to her. “Where are the other two?” says Liz. “You only gave me two,” says the SIL. “Ermm no, I gave you four. We’re missing my engagement and wedding rings.” Ooops. The SIL’s lost ‘em. Cue much shoe-gazing searching of a very muddy football pitch.
What could have been a disaster is turned around thanks to the kindness of a couple of Liz’s fellow touch footy players. An off-duty copper and his missus are present and he volunteers to drive over to the Swindon nick (a 20 minute drive each way) to get a metal detector. True to his word he heads off and returns with said metal detector. 15 minutes of sweeping later and they find the rings, embedded well down in the mud where someone’s clearly trodden on them. Needless to say we’ll be buying the bloke a slab of beer by way of a thank-you.
At the weekend, Liz’s big ‘sisters’ event is happening. When she told a couple of her friends that her sister was coming over from the UK, they hatched a plan to have a sister’s piss-up. So basically, about 12 pairs of sisters will be travelling by limousine to the myriad cellar doors at wineries around here this coming Saturday. If you’re in the area, I’d stay inside if I were you – it’s likely to get messy.
House bound …
Oct 4th
The inlaws, as I may have mentioned, are over from England at the moment. Thus far everything has gone fairly predictably – we’re well used to their self-centred ways and have mechanisms in place to deal with them. For instance, my father-in-law is incredibly tight-fisted, but the missus laid out the ground rules prior to their arrival and thus far that side of things have been ticking along okay. They have even split the food bills and the cost of accomodation when they go sight-seeing. There is in fact a tally sheet from which sums (to the nearest 5c) are added and subtracted.
They’re still hypercritical of Jack of course, some things never change. The other day, the boss-eyed biffer that is my MIL was sat on the couch peering over her reading glasses like a vulture inspecting some carrion. Jack asked me if he could watch a film and I said of course he could. So I fire up the media centre PC and we’re picking out a movie whenLizcomes in and asks Jack what he’s up to. He says, “I’m watching a movie,” and the battle-axe says, “Well you’re not watching it yet are you Jackua – it hasn’t even started.” So I said, “What the fuck is this? Pedants corner? Yes, Jack is watching a film.” And I winked at him. He really likes the pair of them and I have no fucking idea why since they spend 99% of their time with him telling him off or correcting him.
Anyway – this school holiday we’d planned to go away to Canberra and the mountains. But it evolved into Liz’s parents going too and, since I’d rather spend a weekend alone with Vlad the Impaler in a locked room with 50 sharp stakes, I bowed out. So the holiday party became the MIL and FIL and Jack and Liz. Accomodation was booked and it was decided that they’d take my car – the Kluger – because it’s a comfortable car to drive long distances and, with 4WD, far better suited to the mountains they were heading for.
So the plan was that I’d look after the house, the dog, the cat, the goldish and myself – and I’d drive Liz’s car. So far so good. Then the FIL gets stuck in. He’d been driving Liz’s car since he got here and decided it wasn’t running right. Fair enough – we knew that too – but we’re fucking skint at the moment and therefore didn’t do anything about it. But he takes it on himself to book it into the nearest Mazda dealership – without even consulting either of us. Liz flips out and gets him to cancel it, which he does.
But the FIL convinces Liz that it needs looking at now – so they take it along to our friendly neighbourhood car repair guy. Having stuck it on the computer it is discovered that the injectors are shot. No problem says the repair guy – we can get ‘em sorted in an ultrasonic bath in town. I say to the FIL that I’m concerned that I won’t have the car back in time, but he’s insistent that it’ll all turn out fine, that it’s a very standard job.
Right.
So on the Thursday, the injectors go off to be fixed. Then we get a call – two of the injectors have come up okay (just) but two are shot. So now we’re looking at a new set of injectors. Car guy finds a bloke in Sydney that has a set of reconditioned ones. These are duly arranged to be couriered down overnight. I ask the car guy if they’ll make it on time because I really need the car for the long weekend and he says that they’re usually pretty good, but he can’t promise anything.
Well, guess what, they never turn up. On Friday I’m phoning the guy every hour to see if they injectors had shown up, but they never do. I ask him if he’s open on Saturday and he says no, that he’s off to Orange with his missus, and won’t be back until Tuesday morning. I ask him if he can put the old injectors back in for the weekend and he says he could, but it’s a couple of hours work and another $200 on the bill. I sigh and tell him never mind.
And so that’s how I come to find myself sitting here at home over the long spring weekend, without a car, thanks to my irritating interfering cunt of a father-in-law. Quite why the fuck he couldn’t have left the repairs on Liz’s car for five days, until I get mine back – I don’t know. It was working fine, all-be-it sluggishly, now it’s sat in a garage for the next week. As you can imagine, it’s a bit hard to run a computer business without any form of transportation beyond a mountain bike. I suppose if anything comes up in Barefoot Bay, I can walk round there with my toolkit. I askedLizif he realised the difficulties he’d placed me in and she said, “No, of course he doesn’t,” as if I’d asked her if he knew what the atomic density of beryllium was.
Say hello, wave goodbye …
Anyway, the away trip was scheduled to begin this Saturday morning. Knowing that prolonged exposure to the incessant, non-stop, never-ending shite that my MIL spouts would be enough to drive Ghandi to drug abuse, I fitted the portable DVD player in the car for Jack. I kitted him out with Star Wars and Spiderman movies, got him some noise cancelling headphones, and hooked it up to the car’s 12v power. He will be able to cruise along enjoying fun movies oblivious to the corrosive old baggage sitting next to him.
I also preprogrammed the TomTom for them, with a full itinerary that would take them to the door of their accomodation every day of the trip. This of course, is not good enough for the wife’s father, who believes that his own instincts, with regard a part of the world he’s never clapped eyes on before – are more reliable than a GPS unit with bang up-to-date maps guided by 16 American military satellites stationed in every-vigilant geo-stationary orbit. So, according to a text I received a short while ago – *he* insisted on following some road turning because (and I quote) “It was signposted to Canberra”, despite the fact that TomTom was pointing the other way. So they had a 50km detour through Yass. God he’s a cunt.
Funnily enough, the FIL was like this the last time they came over. They all went down the coast for a weekend and stayed in a cottage. The TomTom said that the fastest route back to the main road (the Princes Highway) was to turn left out of the road the cottage was on and then right. But the FIL with his amazing spider-sense insisted that that made no sense and it was definitely quicker to turn right. So all weekend they dutifully turned right and endured a painfully slow journey of about 45 mintues, along winding little lanes. On the last day Liz insisted on turning left and, what do you know, within 10 minutes they were on the Princes Highway.
Anyway, they were due for the off this morning at 8am. Maybe she was taking pity on me, maybe she was just in the mood (I’m betting on the former), but for whatever reasons, the missus rewarded me with a bit of rough and tumble – the first we’ve had since around the time that they signed the Magna Carta. So I’m still without a car, but at least I don’t sport bollocks like a cowboy’s saddlebag now.
I waved them off at 8am, went back to bed, and was asleep until 11:30am. I got up and, prior to getting into the shower, wiped my bell-end on the MIL’s face cloth.