Glamping....Really???

We went OFF ROAD yesterday. Yep we took the monster where it was designed to go and it was bloody marvellous.

We found the beach road at Bribie Island and let some air out of the tyres like professionals and leapt into the unknown. There is a very long lead in to the beach at Bribie and this is maybe the funest part of the ride. We were rocked all around the place and Steve cursed and concentrated on speed and direction and tried not to become airborne more than a couple of times. Bumpy would be an understatement.

The beach opened up like a movie set and it was really beautiful, even on a grey old day. We had done a bit  of a reccie about the tides and so were aware that time was a bit limited so Steve put his foot down and we were off. What a wonderful way to spend time.

It felt just a little naughty cos we weren't driving on the road and there were no line markings or signals or lights or instructions or directions. Just us and the beach and the other folk who were similarly inclined.

As we zipped past camped groups I was led to wondering if I might actually be able to manage to CAMP. The folk looked calm and comfortable and the view was just so serene. We talked about camping gear and what we would need, and we discussed getting a mattress custom made for the Monster.  I managed to par down requirements to an esky and a tarp held up by a couple of sticks. I do believe it was at this point that reality slapped me in the face and I realised that what would be fab would be to drive out all day, swim and eat and enjoy and then go back and stay somewhere with a bath.

I believe in the romantic idea of camping but the absolute knowledge of sand and salt and storms and other people, and the tree over there being the loo, well all that is a reality that is just not for me.

Dinner out!

Last night we went off for a much anticipated dinner date at a place called PONY. Our greatest hope is that we were in fact NOT eating HORSE. I got dressed up and blow dried my hair and even put a face on and Steve wore long pants and a long sleeved shirt - very dapper and for the first time on our 'city break' we looked like maybe we lived here.

It had been disgustingly hot all day, the sort of heat that sees sweat dribble down the back and land in a pool where you know it is just rotting your clothes. A little while before we were due to head off, it started pissing down with a wonderful lightning display. It didn't cool things down but it did mean that the blow dry was complete waste of fucking time! Oh well..

I had booked an outside table, but imagined given the weather that they would have moved us inside automatically, but when we got there the manager tried to foist us out into the rain telling us that it had stopped even though we were the ones walking in with the wet umbrella. We had a quick look and saw that the tables were indeed wet and waited patiently for him to see if he could find us somewhere dry. I reckon the place was about half full and could see no reserved signs so really wondered what the problem was. It can't have been that we were unpresentable, I know this cos I had even bothered to wear 'real shoes' not my tired old thongs.

He selected an empty table and we plonked ourselves down. This place does shared roast dinner plates with side dishes of veg. The way it is served really suits me cos I can eat everything separately and nothing needs to touch on my plate - yeh I know it's a bit nuts but it's just the way it is. The roast was lamb so that's what we had.... YUMMO

A couple of beers and all the yumminess saw us having a lovely time. The storm had passed and we decided to sit outside for dessert. More beers and the poshest lamington I have ever seen were downed as we watched the lightning play about over the bridge. The breeze was blowing up and at one point I had to put my handbag on to keep my dress from flying up over my head. I reckon it was my civic duty to save the other customers from that sight.

Anyway it was all very lovely til we asked for the bill. While Steve was grabbing for his glasses I had a quick look and saw that they had charged an extra 10% because it was sunday. Now that didn't amount to a lot of money, but it was the tip we had planned to leave our lovely waitress from Cornwall. When the manager came to collect the card, I had a little go and said that perhaps that info needed to be noted somewhere and Steve suggested that they print up some sunday menus. Anyway I told him that it was a shame because that was our girl's tip and now she would be going without.

He came back soon enough and graciously told us that he had removed the sunday surcharge because he thought it right that we left a tip.

He had of course added a 1% surcharge for the use of a credit card, but hadn't bothered to mentioned that either.

Venue - excellent
Food - excellent
Service - excellent
Pissing us around - yes
Possibility of returning - not at all sure.

Would a Million be enough?

There's a couple of stories doing the rounds about lucky folk who have won a million bucks in the lottery. Some bloke in the States was sweeping up some leaves and found a ticket and took it home and dried it and it was a winner for 1 million dollars. Now the cynic in me wonders how and why all this happened and the lottery company took a year to investigate it before giving him the cash, but eventually, give it to him they did.

What I wonder is would a million be enough. I remember as a kid thinking that that amount of money would allow you to do ANYTHING you wanted to do. It was the stuff of self indulgent, selfish, extravagant dreams. But today I am not so sure. I imagined that there would be no work, only joyous recreation and of course flash eating and drinking and endless chocolate.

If you responsibly spent it on a house instead of sweeties, the house I would choose would come with silly rates and appalling insurance charges and would cost a fortune to maintain, so maybe a house would not be the answer for me anyway.

If Belly won a million, I imagine she would be thrilled. I am not sure how she would spend it, but what I am certain of is that it would definitely not last her a lifetime. She would need to continue to work and pay the bills and cook and care for Zig. It would make life easier for sure but not forever.

How ridiculous it is to be thinking that a million dollars is just not enough.

If I did the lotto thing I can see being thrilled if I won a tenner, cos that little bit of a bonus would be lovely, like finding some folding money in your coat pocket from last winter. If I won a thousand that would be excellent and it would be gone in a spending frenzy of smiles and silly excess - gone in a heartbeat. But the million comes with expectations that you will be grownup and smart. It's too much money to squander and not enough to put your feet up permanently.

It is no surprise to me that stories about winners all too often show them right back where they started. I only hope that they have had a hell of a time along the way on the big shopping excursion.

What would I spend a million on today if it fell from the sky and hit me on the head? I am old fashioned so I reckon bricks and mortar is always a good idea so I reckon a house for Belly and Zig and then I would have to pay the insurance in advance for decades cos I wouldn't want to give her a pain in the future pocket.

And maybe if there was enough leftover I would take Steve off on one of those boat trips down the Danube, but first I would like to see how much it would cost to buy out the whole boat cos I don't travel well with others.

There you see, it's a problem! Will I get a house or go on a boat ride.

I just don't know how much would be enough.

Cai Guo-Qiang Falling Back To Earth

The G.O.M.A is currently hosting this beautiful exhibition, and after sometime in the planning, yesterday we went off to have a look.

The tickets are $15 each which is not for nothing, but as I had seen some pics, I really wanted to be in there and apart of it.

We wandered into the room housing 'Heritage' and instantly I was struck by the calm peaceful quiet. Even though there were plenty of people, there was a comfortable ease and serenity. Steve read about the artist's intention but I have long thought that that stuff is written to shut the organizers up and am more interested in what I feel or think about the art.

It was intriguing that the animals were all made to different scales, and I am pretty sure that Cia Gul-Qiang would have done this deliberately. I was interested to learn a little about how the animal sculptures had been made, and I did notice that there was an occasional drip of water into the pond. I wasn't really interested in WHY this happened, I just liked that it did. All too often the impact of the artwork is diminished for me by all the rhetoric.

Next we looked at the exhibit that had drawn me in, 'Head On'. 99 wolves all running and leaping and flying into a wall and falling back and bouncing off and recovering and running back to have another go. The futility was disturbing, and then I spent time looking at the individual wolves. Some were determined and some were all but defeated. Every one was different in mood and manner. The sense of movement was wonderful.

There was a huge uprooted tree in another room and we spent time trying to working out how it might have been dragged into the place. It was a very tight fit, the meaning of it was of no interest to me, though I did enjoy sitting under it for a little while.

I reckon it's vital that viewers of artworks bring something to the party. We should think and imagine and question and revel and appreciate, not be empty receptacles for curator bullshit.

Life in the big city

I am clearly a city girl...I do so love being here, up high in the sky, watching the world go by. I can hear the bin men and the ambos rushing by and am enjoying watching a big old yacht manoeuvre itself into position perhaps for the cracker night on New Years. There is a constant drone of traffic across the Story Bridge and I find comfort in the movement and noise.

Of course it would mean that Dog would have to go, and that would be a very big shame. I would certainly miss her doggy smell and cuddles on the couch and her lopsided little face as she stares intently trying so so hard to understand English. And Zig might be a less willing visitor, cos I reckon the view would run out of steam for a growing boy after about 2 minutes and then what would I do with him for the rest of the time.

Steve's golf paraphernalia would be difficult to house and I am not sure where he would practice his swing and I certainly can see being more than a little pissed off with him scrubbing the clubs in the kitchen.

It's too flash to spill paint all over the floors and walls so painting might be a no no, and I would miss Avril's coffee and the leisurely walk across the park to get it.

The Big House has fully ducted aircon which we almost never use cos I don't like the dry air - plays havoc with my careful coiffure and fastidious makeup, he he he. I much prefer to open all the windows and move anything the might blow over. I enjoy the smells that waft in and have planted stinky things so they will do just that.

The aircon in the apartment is excellent, especially after you have walked from town in the 33 degree heat. It is like walking back into a fridge. It's very pleasant indeed, but all too soon I am opening windows and doors and getting a breeze through.

It's bit like the Princess and the Pea, never completely happy. What a pain in the arse she was!!

So never mind a few hundred mattresses, this is what I reckon would be close to perfect:

• A big house in the middle of the city on a hill so I can watch my minions wander.
• A park next door for Dog.
• A Golf Club across the way for Steve
• A outdoor pool just for me and Zig and Steve and Dog
• A coffee shop close by with a loyalty programme so every 8th cuppa is free.
• An art gallery and a theatre with an easy walk.
• Restaurants that deliver
• Restaurants to get dressed up for but that don't insist on it.
• The smell of Star Jasmine and Mock Orange blossoms.

It's not a really big big big list is it?

Alright, I know it is, I am not delusional, but perhaps our little look at houses in New Farm will prove fruitful, who knows what 2014 is gonna bring.

Santa is done and dusted.

 

We are staying in the city and yesterday watched the madness of strangers’ festivities, up close and personal, without the use of binoculars or telephoto lenses. People were up at silly o’clocks scrubbing outdoor furniture and setting places. They dressed in their best casual gear as befits some shitty hot temps and then greeted friends and family who all crowded around the too small table. They ate their lunch and then disappeared sometime in the late afternoon leaving the hosts to clean up and wash and put away.

Steve and I on the other hand, dragged out of bed at about 8 and did the HO HO HO and paper rip dance, had a leisurely breakfast of ham and eggs, played a long time with our pressies and then wandered off to the ferry for a little ride on the river which was followed by a fruitless search for a beer. It beggars belief in this day and age, that the only way you can buy a beer in Brisbane on the 25th of Dec, is if you also buy a SUBSTANTIAL MEAL, and not one between us but one each if we both wanted a beer. Steve was doing the xmas roast so we didn’t want a meal, just a beer, so we sat and drank water and whinged for a while about the craziness of it all and then caught a ferry home and had a beer.

Our special meal was at night, cos it is just too hot to eat during the day and Steve doesn’t like to eat lunch anyway. I set the table with a couple of crackers / bonbons and we ate exactly what we like, the way we like it, drank some beer and wine, laughed at the silly jokes. No we didn’t wear the silly paper hats, and we didn’t have matching serviettes. It was all so uncomplicated compared to hustle and hassle we noted across the way.

In the abstract I sometimes envy large families, but the reality of the heat and the work and the tension and fights kicks back in and then I am happy that I can please myself, well Steve and myself. When Bell and Zig come down to the big house for ‘christmas’ on the 5^th of Jan all the pressure will be off so we can have a celebration but again, not of the for the traditional kind.

Shopping tension

I can smugly say that I had finished my shopping about a week ago and so yesterday when Steve wanted, and I use the term loosely, to go ‘up town’ to finish his, I tagged along and spent some time just enjoying the hustle. Actually I don’t reckon it was nearly as busy as I had expected it to be. Maybe all those suburban centres really have drained off the city customers.

People were dragging their children around and sometimes carrying them. I decided that these people were tourists and just out to see as much of the city as they could in the shortest amount of time, otherwise they would have left their kids at home with Ma or the neighbour or tied to the old  Hills hoist. If there was any other option you wouldn’t be carrying a person who is quite capable of putting one foot in front of the other...surely not. So people with little ones were tourists.

Stress heads in suits...yeh, it was stinking hot, but still they wore the suit, these guys must be newly married and trying to prove they know what their woman wants. No secretary shopping for them. They are hustling along, on a mission, probably have rung ahead to make the transaction smooth and painless and the parcel is small enough to fit in their pocket....jewellery is my guess.

There’s the young ones who are trying to ekk out their cash so that everyone gets a little something. They carry many many bags and are enjoying the triumph of the day. They are wearing shorts and sneakers and clearly mean business, all the while smiling with the cheer of the season – or maybe that’s the smile of a long beery lunch.

There are middle aged women with lists and sensible handbags big enough to hold most of the parcels. They are not ‘dressed up for town’ like my Nanna would have been, but they are more carefully put together. Their eyes dart about working out the next plan of attack and then they are off, letting no one or nothing impede their progress.

And then there were the 3 rather sad Irish Dancers who were busking in the top end of the mall. They had no music. They had no group routine. One of them had very little will to be there. They had a sign saying ‘Please help us get to the Irish Dancing world championships’. They took turns flinging their legs around and occasionally someone put some money- silver coins- into a big old Tupperware bowl they had borrowed out of the back of a cupboard. At one stage a young family put a fiver into the bin and I thought the kids were gonna shut up shop and head off to Maccas just like in the ads, but continue to fling they did. I can only imagine that the competition is being held at Woodridge and they needed train fare cos I can’t see how they are ever ever gonna make one plane fare, let alone 3.

On the hunt for some cherries today and then the shopping is DONE at least until Thursday when the sales start... Yippee!