Melbourne Ramblings

moved to wordpress

2009-06-15T22:24:00.002+10:00

Hi - this blog has now moved permanently to a wordpress platform:

www.maireaddoyle.wordpress.com

Hope you visit me there!

Dingle Trip July 2008

2008-10-29T21:50:00.000+11:00

It’s not often that we get a chance to escape the Australian winter and get back to a northern hemisphere summer, but July saw Orlando and me flying off to Europe to the wedding in France of our friends Ariane and Igor. To make the most of our time, Orlando headed back to his beloved hometown while I went to Ireland to catch up with family. The summer had been a changeable one so we were not expecting great weather. After a hectic weekend trying to keep up with my alcoholic brother and sister on the red wine front, Mum and I jumped into the car with Bernard’s children Ashling and Connor for a road trip to Dingle. I had not been to Dingle in about eleven years.

Strangely for this summer, as soon as I arrived in Dublin the weather changed and we had nothing but sunshine most days. This happens quite frequently: Mena went home a couple of years ago for Annette’s birthday in May, and ended up in a heat wave. And I have been pictured in these pages sunbathing on the Antrim coast in April.Late departing Dublin, we headed out the Limerick road, which is motorway as far as Portlaoise these days. When I worked in Cork twenty years ago the good road stopped in Newbridge and it was country roads the rest of the way. The original two-hour drive to Portlaoise was completed in just under an hour.

With my obsession with Irish ham at its zenith, the family had eaten half a pig the day before, and we had the leftovers with us for a picnic. Mountrath (Maighean Ratha – the fort in the bog) is almost exactly halfway to Limerick from Dublin, and we found a lovely picnic area beside the River Whitehorse and the imposing church of St. Fintan. We ate and drank; the kids played a game of football and checked out the playground while Mum and I rambled across a little footbridge to see the old church. They don’t make them like this anymore: high arches, imposing altar, plenty of God and gold on show. Peaceful, though.

Down through Munster we went, tripping past Limerick on the ring road like lightning, and stopping in Tralee for an ice cream. Blennerville’s windmill also warranted a stop: it is the biggest working windmill in the British Isles. During the Great Famine, the pier beside the Blennerville windmill was a major point of emigration for thousands of Kerry and Munster people. Thousands of people were carried on “coffin ships” to the east cost of the USA and Canada. Many did not survive the journey. Now, the coast of Tralee Bay boasts only beautiful views and seafood restaurants to serve the twenty-first tastes of sophisticated residents and tourists. Who’d have thought.

By late afternoon we were approaching Dingle via the Connor Pass – well, what other route do you take if Connor is in the car? This was the only patch of bad weather we encountered. The mists and clouds descended in true Kerry fashion, and we could hardly see the amazing view back west across Brandon Bay.

We scrambled on rocks above a small waterfall, saw a heart-shaped kettle lake and a couple of text-book corrie lakes almost hidden on the side of the valley. Through the thickening fog we saw some old ruins, of which later we were told the legend.

Apparently these had originally been the simple farm buildings of the O’Donnell Brothers, who had travelled south in 1601, like many Ulstermen, to join the Siege of Kinsale. They somehow decided to farm rather than fight, settled in the valley and led a quiet life. Until one of them killed the other with a shovel!

Our B&B was simple but welcoming. Tom (the archaeologist who told us the above story) was a little hesitant but a lovely man, always ready with local information or help with our Irish vocabulary. I insisted that we all spoke as much Irish as possible as soon as we passed the Gaeltacht sign, and we didn’t do too badly.

We had dinner in John Benny Moriarty’s, a famous bar on the harbour front. John Benny is a well-known local accordion player, and his wife a renowned singer. The bar food was simple but delicious, and the live music when it started was excellent.

We wandered down to the pier after dinner, taking photos at 10.30pm in broad daylight. Love it.

Next morning I had a date with the local scuba diving shop, so I was up and out by nine. Eric runs a friendly dive shop, helped by two English girls. I kitted myself out and chatted to the other divers. Padraig was a young local lad who had just qualified as a teacher, and was off bungee jumping the following week.

May (second from right) was a Cork woman about my own age, who had learned to dive with her three children the previous year, and they were all there for the dive: Matthew who was working as an intern in the shop, Caoimhe, a chatty young teenage girl, and Ruairi, the youngest at twelve. What a great thing to do as a family. Two of Eric’s friends from Belgium made up the boatload.

We hopped in the rubber dinghy and set off at alarming speed out of the harbour and into the bay. I was sat up the bow, hanging on for dear life like it was an episode of Miami Vice. It was sensational. We sped along the rugged coastline as if on a roller-coaster for what seems like ages until we stopped at a small headland called Parkmore Point. We broke up into smaller groups and backflipped into the water.Sadly, visibility was not great, but I had an enjoyable dive with Padraig and Sophie our dive master. No great marine life to speak of, but a good wall and lots of sea grasses. And after all my worry about the cold, I was a lot warmer in my double wetsuit than I had been in the dry suit in Melbourne!

The second dive was back in Dingle Harbour itself, an incredibly shallow dive but worth it nonetheless. We anchored up and the first person to backflip in simply stood up to talk to us – we were in about five feet of water. Then almost immediately, Fungie, the local dolphin, arched up out of the water not twenty feet away. We all squealed with delight, and those in the water tried snorkelling to catch a better glimpse.I don’t think I could have done a better dive in such shallow waters. The official name for the area was the Gravelly, but it was better known locally as Thornback Alley. I soon found out why. I must have seen over fifty thornback ray on that dive. They were simply everywhere – floating past one minute, rising suddenly out of the sand below you the next. They were all sizes, up to about a metre wingspan, with the long, thorny tail that gives them their name. Between that and the forest of seagrass we found ourselves in, it was one of the most fun dives I have ever done.Turns out that despite the overcast day, I got seriously sunburnt on my face! So much for Australian education on the dangers of the sun.

Back at shore I was so uplifted and excited by my dives. The rest of the family was at the harbour to welcome us home, and as soon as the paperwork and chores were done we headed off to explore the rest of the peninsula. By this time the sun was out and it was a really lovely day.
We meandered along, down to Ventry Harbour where a small caravan park seemed an idyllic place for summer holiday – as long as the weather was good!

Out further along the coast road, every turn in the road gave us another spectacular view. Slea Head, one of the most western points in Ireland, presented a panoramic view of the Blasket Islands, with a glimpse of the craggy Skelligs away on the horizon. Further along towards Dunquin, the dry stone walls and tiny houses spoke of earlier, poorer, simpler days. And still the sun shone.

A pilgrimage to Louis Mulcahy’s pottery shop was a must. Years ago as a young engineer I visited Louis with a colleague: his kilns used a lot of our gas. I was struck by his unique style even then, and bought myself a small vase. We wandered around the shop twenty years later, Mum and I trying in vain not to buy any jugs...

I gave in, buying a beautiful little white jug in Louis’ new Japanese-influenced style, and Mum bought me a lovely little bowl to match. I was happy. Later in town I bought a beautiful orange-red shawl from his weaver wife, Lisbeth.

Stopping off in Tig Áine, a quaint café near Ballyferriter on the Atlantic coast, we watched as the sea mists rolled in and just as quickly disappeared. It seemed the weather was going to last.
Back across the peninsula on the Bothar Fada, the rear-view mirror now offering spectacular Atlantic views, it was hard not to stop every few hundred yards to take another look. Truly, this country (and I know I am biased) is one of the most beautiful in the world, and even more so when the sun shines.

Dinner this evening was further along the harbour-side, in Paudie’s Bar. Again, the place was thronged with locals and visitors alike. Again, the food was fresh, simple and delicious. My mackerel was to die for. I ate slowly. Again, the live music when it started, was skilled, casual and entertaining. Makes you proud to be Irish.

Next morning the day was even more sunny and warm than before. We took another trip around the peninsula, anti-clockwise this time to pick up Ashling’s sweater she’d left in the café. If it were possible, the views were even more spectacular, the waters bluer, the countryside more rugged. We drove slowly, savouring our last hours in Kerry.

Back through Anascaul along the coast of Dingle Bay this time, we could not help but stop at the spectacular Inch Strand (what is the difference between a strand and a beach? The Irish would tend to use the former).

Three miles long, this beach was used for the filming of “Ryan’s Daughter” years ago. Now, in summer, it is a holiday place, with surfing lessons, cars on the beach, lifeguards perched ridiculously far from the water’s edge, kids in wetsuits, and a little café you can sit outside and watch it all happen.

Ashling and Connor had to go in for a swim. Mum and I ate lunch and watched them from afar. It was after three o’clock. It was a sunny 26C - a rarity in Ireland. It would take seven hours to get home. I needed to be up at four in the morning for my flight to Paris. Do I leave them in the water on the one tropical summer’s day of the year, or do I cut the day short and get us back on the road again? .... No contest. We sat back, relaxed and didn’t leave till after four.

Almost back in Limerick I was flagging. We had just spent half an hour trying to find Matrix Castle (Connor reckoned it was an interesting name) to no avail. I spied a sign for Adare, and turned into Adare Castle instead. At least we could see inside this castle. The gateman let us in and we parked outside one of the most spectacular buildings in Ireland.

Built in the 1830s, Adare Manor has 53 chimneys, 75 fireplaces, a minstrel’s gallery inspired by the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, 850 acres of garden, one 350-year-old cedar of Lebanon… and a championship golf course on the other side of the river.

We sat in the lounge overlooking the manicured gardens, drinking coffee while Ashling and Connor explored. The bar menu was pretty good value – actually not much more expensive than the little beach café we’d eaten at on Inch strand. We will definitely come back another day for high tea, which looks particularly appetising.

Stopping off in Portlaoise for a late dinner, it was almost midnight when we finally got back to Dublin. A pit stop for me: the children helped me unpack and re-pack for the trip to France next morning, before I fell into bed for the three hours sleep I hoped would revive me for a few more hectic days ahead.

follow this link

2007-02-05T13:28:00.001+11:00

This blog is no longer being updated regularly - follow these links to my website and food blog.

Cheers!

Forty Amazing Things

2006-11-23T22:06:00.000+11:00

My sister Annette wrote on her birthday card to me that I should do forty amazing things this year.

I have taken her advice, and this year, before I turn 41, I plan to fulfill that dream.

I have gotten off to a great start too. In the three weeks since my birthday I have managed to experience four amazing things, so I am well on the way to success.

Follow this link for the chronicles of my adventures.

Do It Now

2006-11-23T22:04:00.000+11:00

Breast cancer is the most common form of cancer in the world, and the second biggest kille after lung cancer.

Routine screening is recommended for those over 50, but can (and should in many cases) be done once you are over 40.

I have made my appointment: you should too.

Australia
http://www.breastscreen.org.au/

UK
http://www.cancerscreening.nhs.uk/

Ireland
http://www.breastcheck.ie/

USA
http://www.breastcancer.org/testing_mamm_where.html

Pat Ingoldsby

2006-11-23T22:01:00.000+11:00

Pat Ingoldsby is an Irish phenomenon. Poet and playwright, people of my generation also knew him from his children’s TV programmes such as Pat’s Hat.

His poetry is wonderful: simple and honest, the poems vary from hilariously funny to painfully sad. He is one of my favourite poets, and my favourite of his books is called “Welcome to my Head: Please Remove your Boots”.Ten or so years ago, Pat withdrew from the Irish mass media. He set up his own publishing company, Willow Publications, and appointed his cats to positions of authority such as CEO and Head of Accounts. He sells his books through a small number of bookstores in Ireland, and also sells directly to the public on the streets of Dublin.

His books carry a note that they are protected by the "Bratislava Accord 1993, section 2 cre/009 manifest-minsk", the terms of which allegedly protect his book's content from being included in school textbooks, examinations, elocution classes or anything with the word "Arts" in it.

My mother and I came across him on the corner of O’Connell Bridge in Dublin, when I was over there in October. He was sitting on an upturned milk-crate with his books laid out in front of him. In his trademark Drizabone coat and wide-brimmed hat, he looked comfortable watching the world hurry by. I was star-struck: “That’s Pat Ingoldsby!” I whispered to my mum over the traffic noises. I tried not to stare too much as we walked past to cross the bridge. Then I came to my senses, and retraced my steps.

Shyly I stood before him, pretending to look at the titles of his books. He caught my eye and I asked if he had a copy of “Welcome to my Head”. We got talking and I told him I was a huge fan. He was such a lovely, gentle man, speaking about his books as if they were his children. I introduced myself to him and he said “God, I’m delighted to meet you Máiréad”.

He was charming to my mum. When I told him she was about to celebrate her 80th birthday, he gallantly told her she only looked 64 (later she complained he was three years out as the lowest number she’d been quoted so far was 60).

I bought one of his books and he signed it for me. Mum took a photo of us standing there on Westmoreland Street, and I shook his hand and said goodbye.

If this had happened to me after 25 October, it would certainly have been included in my 40 Amazing Things To Do This Year. But it was about ten days too early. I will have to include it in the Twenty Or So Amazing Things I Did Last Year.

More Sad Times

2006-11-15T23:10:00.000+11:00

This past week has been a sad time for Orlando. As many of you know, his dear mum passed away peacefully on Friday 10 November. He is in London right now for the funeral, and I am holding the fort here at home.

If you see him, give him a hug from me.

One Aussie Year

2006-11-15T11:10:00.000+11:00

Exactly one year ago today, Orlando and I stepped off a plane from Shanghai into our new Aussie life.

The weather was disappointing - chilly and blustery - much like it is today. But within days it heated up and we had a wonderful summer.

When we arrived, we knew very few people not related to me. We had a lovely house, thanks to Lee, but not one stick of furniture. Our belongings got stuck in Customs and we wore our backpacking clothes for a month. We slept on cardboard boxes on the floor, boiled water in a saucepan for tea, and for the first few nights we had no electricity. We had no jobs, and no interviews lined up. But we had funds in the bank, good resumes and a determination to succeed.

One year on I won't say we are completely settled, but we have come a long way. Our house is now a home, filled with our own things and furnished comfortably. We have a small circle of great friends we can rely on to support us. We were both working within a week of arriving, and both got pretty good jobs within a couple of months.

We miss our family and friends back in Europe so much, and it always seems so far away. But our life here is good: our quality of life has certainly improved. We live a Mediterranean lifestyle in a beautiful city famous for its good food, great wines and burgeoning cultural life. We eat out a lot, and I certainly enjoy living so close to some world-class wineries. We work with great people and Orlando gets to see a lot of the country through his job. We rarely experience dreadful cold, or bad traffic, or even bad pizza. Life is good.

Here's to year two.

Billy Joel

2006-11-14T23:09:00.000+11:00

Billy Joel came to town at the weekend, and Eileen, Kelvin, Mena and I went along (you didn't think Orlando came with us, did you?).

The Rod Laver Arena was full: fifteen thousand fans, some of whom have been coming to see Billy Joel perform here for over thirty years.

The concert was fantastic. From the moment the grand piano rose from the belly of the stage he had our complete attention. He played for a solid two hours, hit after hit, jumping from the nineties to the seventies and back again.

He engaged with the people in the "bad" seats behind him, and those in the cheap seats right at the back of the auditorium. He gave the audience the choice of what he would play next.

But most of all he played and sang and entertained. His voice was strong, his backing group awesome, and the light display theatrical. Highlights for me included Allentown, My Life and Movin' Out. He didn't get to play some of my other favourites, but he had so much to choose from.

In a surprise performance, the lead singer of AC/DC joined him on stage (introduced as a guitar roadie getting his first break) and belted out Highway to Hell. The Aussie crowd bellowed its appreciation as Joel took his guitar to the back platform of the stage and did his best impersonation of Angus Young, AC/DC's school-boy lead guitarist.

New York State of Mind was a poignant but powerful memory of the time he performed that song with the helmet of a fallen firefighter on his piano, days after the World Trade Centre attacks.

For me, the pinnacle had to be his final encore - the song we'd been waiting for all night. As he placed the harmonica holder over his head the crowd cheered in anticipation, and the first notes of Piano Man were heard. Fifteen thousand fans sang quietly along with him. word perfect through the first verse. It was just a man and his piano, and he held us all in the palm of his hand.

Desert Island Discs

2006-11-12T23:05:00.000+11:00

www.desertislanddiscs.blogspot.com

Bollywood Movie Stars Party

2006-11-07T23:06:00.000+11:00

It was the party of the year (well, in my diary it was the only party in the year). A Bollywood Movie Stars bash to celebrate my 40th birthday: it doesn’t get any better than this.

Twenty or so of my family and closest friends gathered on 4th November dressed in what can only be described as Bollywood-tastic outfits to dance the night away.

Eileen and Kelvin won the Most Fabulous Outfits award with their stunning outfits from Little India in Dandenong.

My family made a great effort too: Lee looked sophisticated and graceful in a black and silver sari, and Mena had more Bollywood Bling than the rest of us put together.

Orlando looked rugged and handsome in his all-black kurta pajama, and has made such a fuss of me throughout all my birthday celebrations. He is a superstar.

Photo Gallery

Other highlights of the evening included:

Paul Curran as a Bollywood Bad Guy, complete with maximum eyeliner, dark glasses and shark’s tooth medallion

Damien’s Derby Day extreme facial sunburn including a rather fetching white band where his sunglasses had been (it turns out some people thought he'd made himself up to look like that)

The Irish contingent doing the entire (it seemed) Riverdance, then Mena and Mairead’s solo reel, finished by Mena, Mairead, Eileen and Carmel in full Indian regalia doing a full set of the Walls of Limerick

Mena leading the soca dancing into the wee hours (“Follow me – I’m the leader of the parade!”) ("This is the music of my soul!")

Sam’s amazing bum-wiggling dance which reduced all women present to tears

Sam and Paul's talented dance interpretation of the song "A-E-I-O-U" by Freeez: popular consensus is that Paul's "E" was particularly impressive and rendered all audience members helpless with laughter

The main conversation in the back yard about which song you want played as the last song at your funeral (and if you didn't make a choice it was going to be November Rain by Guns N Roses)

Kelvin dancing, full stop

Kelvin almost being tempted to sip some rum instead of red wine

Mena at 5am having a smoke: "I am the oldest one here, the birds are singing and I am the last one partying"

Mena about the Irish dancing - "You are all doing it wrong, here let me show you"

Eileen about the Irish dancing - "You are all doing it wrong, here let me show you"

Lee talking to Orlando - "Now let me guess which food you put out: the cake and the popcorn"

Lee - "The thing I like about this sari is that I can breathe out and it hides my belly"

Carmel - "The thing I like about this sari is that I can breathe out and it hides my belly"

Orlando - "I am going over there to act as a buffer between Sam and the TV"

Paul's AEIOU - " I am not happy with my 'E' I have to rethink this"

Sam about raising children "I have a secret weapon, it is called music"

Mairead talking about cooking for the party - "...So I said to myself, I will show him, I will make the Tandoori chicken red..."

Paul takes off his sunglasses "I thought it was a bit dark in here, and I could not work it out..."

Sam dancing with Carmel - "Grab me from behind"

Paul talks to Orlando about dancing with Sam's wife -"I don't think it is your hands that he is worried about"

Orlando teaching Sam and Amanda soca - "Get in closer, don't be shy, you are married"

Mena (a number of times in the evening) - "I'm back!!!"

Mena (a number of times in the evening) - "Why is it that every time I go to the toilet, all I can hear is people calling 'Where's Mena?'"

The delicious food that everybody brought

Mairead and Eileen trying to do their much-awaited Party Piece, drunk, unprepared, and with at least one Achilles tendon injury; but their smiles never faltered: divas to the last

Paul and Carmel vainly trying to teach Sam and Amanda to twirl properly like Irish dancers

Thanks to all my friends for making such a huge effort on the night. Nobody knew more than one or two other people but you'd never have known it - the noise of the conversation was deafening and the dancing spirited to say the least. Thanks for all my beautiful cards and gifts too - it was the most special birthday for me and I am delighted you could share it!

Back with a Vengeance

2006-11-06T23:02:00.000+11:00

Yes, I?m back after a lengthy absence, but I guess most of you have seen me in one place or another in October so you all know what I've been up to!

After almost exactly a year, it was fantastic to spend a couple of weeks back in Dublin with the family. It was my mother's 80th birthday so there was plenty to celebrate. Joe, Elva and I also got to celebrate our joint 40th - one just past, and two impending - with a wonderful Thai dinner and a glass or two of red.London, on the other hand, was a blur.

I hardly stopped from the moment I arrived, and was glad of the little sleep I got on the flight back to Aus. Fiona was a gracious hostess, even laying on lunch for my visitors, and I loved getting to know her two daughters Harriet and Lottie all over again.

Thanks to all the LAS crew who came to see me in the Stage Door and beyond on the Thursday night. It was really like old times to be back amongst you again. I did panic when the night was over: it was something I had looked forward to for months and suddenly it was all over. There are no photos yet (am waiting for Huggy) but I am sure there will be one or two memorable ones!

The Friday night was no less enjoyable - twenty more close friends ate, drank and talked the evening away in Mar i Terra. I feel as if I didn't have enough time to talk for long enough to everybody, but your presence was so much appreciated. Mo, don't forget the photos!

There are links to the photos of the various nights on the front page so I hope you enjoy going through them.

Finally, congratulations to Lee and Fi on the safe arrival of baby Jake, who completes their trio of beautiful boys. He arrived on 27 October and so joins the ranks of the most powerful beings on earth: Scorpios.

Back here in Melbourne, it has been a hectic but amazing weekend celebrating my Big 4-0 with the Bollywood Movie Stars party on Saturday night. Check out www.maireaddoyle.com for links to the photo galleries.

Normal service will now be resumed, and I promise more website and blog updates in the coming weeks, including the much awaited Desert Island Discs compilation. To those of you who are still outstanding (you know who you are): GET WRITING!

Desert Island Discs

2006-09-26T21:44:00.000+10:00

Well it all started with a conversation I had with Nick Lawrance after the Top Eight Books were published. It went along the lines of:

Nick: So, can we do top ten albums next, then? Can we?
Me: Oh, go on then.

So, here we go then. The rules are:
1. No greatest hits or compilations or various artists except for item 2 below.
2. Soundtracks are allowed (I relented after a serious onslaught by Orlando over a full weekend away in Brisbane).
3. Where possible, be specific about the version of the album you are talking about (eg, the original on vinyl, or the 2004 remastered edition).
4. Albums don't have to be in order (ie favourite at number one), just the ten last albums you would like to be left with in the world.
5. Give a reason as to why it makes your list.
6. List your favourite track on each album if you have one.

Answers by email or comment please. You have until 31 October 2006 to respond, then I will collate the responses and publish here.

I have created my top ten for starters. You will find a link to my list on amazon.co.uk here.

1. Boz Scaggs Silk Degrees 1976

This album reminds me of my brother. More specifically, it reminds me of my first ever trip to new York in 1989. I stayed with Bernard and Naomi in their house in Amityville, Long Island (it was right around the corner from the Amityville Horror house) and played his records for three weeks. Almost twenty years later – and a full thirty years after its release - I still listen to this album in its entirety probably every month or more.
Favourite track: Harbour Lights

2. Buena Vista Social Club Buena Vista Social Club 1997
I first heard this album on a hot summer’s afternoon in a friend’s London garden. Even now, the first bars of “Chan Chan” make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Pause and allow the richness of the music to transport you to Cuba. A genuine masterpiece.
Favourite track: Chan Chan

3. Earth, Wind & Fire All ‘n’ All 1979
This was a toss-up between I Am and All ‘n’ All (in the absence of a Greatest Hits). In the end I simply counted the tracks on each I couldn’t do without, and this album won by a hair. EWF make joyful, intelligent, soulful, uplifting music capable of lifting anybody’s spirits.
Favourite track: (if I must) Jupiter

4. Maxwell Urban Hang Suite 1996
This is one of those albums I played on constant loop for months after I bought it. Maxwell’s voice is angelic, and the full-band, heavily-produced R&B sound is rich and sweet.
Favourite track: Whenever Wherever Whatever

5. Michael Jackson Off the Wall 1979
Probably one of the best albums ever made. Destined to make you get up and dance, this was, in my opinion, the best album Michael Jackson ever made. The depth of emotion he conveys in this soulful, funky album is complete: his unselfconscious whoop of laughter in the middle of “Get On The Floor” is completely infectious, and contrasts with his tears whilst singing “She’s Out Of My Life”. The remastered version you can buy now has interesting interviews with Quincy Jones, and a couple of demos where you can hear Michal bickering with his siblings.
Favourite track: sorry, can’t choose

6. Missy Elliott Under Construction 2002
This was the first Missy album I ever bought. I’m not a natural hip-hop fan but I love Missy’s in-your-face attitude, her confidence, her humour. Under Construction is a lot mellower than most of her previous work (she was grieving for her friend Aaliyah at the time) and there are some great old-school-sounding songs on there.
Favourite track: Work It

7. Planxty Live 2004 2004
Never mind U2: Planxty was Ireland’s very first super-group. They broke up in the early 80s and we thought we would never hear them play together again. Twenty years later, they got together for some low-key sessions in Lisdoonvarna, and finally played the tiny Vicar Street in late 2004. It wasn’t enough. The Point Theatre was booked and six nights sold out in one day. Hearing these men play again is like a homecoming for most Irish people: we are privileged to have lived when they collaborated. When Liam Og O'Flynn chimes in with the uileann pipes about a minute into the first track, it's magic.
Favourite track: The Starting Gate

8. Prince Sign o’ The Times 1987
It’s hard to pick just one Prince album when you possess his entire back-catalogue. This is one of his most eclectic albums, from the pure funk of Housequake to the pure romance of Adore. His humour shines through, he doesn’t take himself very seriously, and, above all, his musical genius is all over this album.
Favourite track: Housequake

9. Talking Heads Stop Making Sense 1984
The 1983 movie Stop Making Sense played a midnight show in Dublin’s Ambassador Cinema for years. This was break-through New York conceptual art meets the Top 40 and we loved it. The album (re-released in 1999 with almost all movie tracks on) is still a classic. David Byrne’s reedy voice adds a weirdness to the already complex funk of the melodies. And who can forget the Big Suit?
Favourite track: Girlfriend is Better

10. Luther Vandross Give Me The Reason 1986
Ah, Luther. What will we do without you? This was almost the point at which I broke my own “no greatest hits allowed” rule. How do you choose when considering an artist who was better known for his individual hit singles than his albums? How do you select only a tiny handful to listen to for all time, and forget the rest? This was almost an arbitrary selection in the end, but as seven out of the nine tracks were released as singles, it was the best value I could find. Nobody will ever sing a love song like Luther.
Favourite track: So Amazing

Roy Webb MBE 1945 - 2006

2006-09-11T11:32:00.000+10:00

A great friend, a trusted mentor, a bon vivant

and a sharply-dressed gent

It is a year, almost to the day, since I last saw Roy. It was my last day at London Ambulance Service. Not trusting even our CEO do to the job, Roy delayed one of his early chemo sessions to give the official farewell speech at my leaving do in the boardroom.

As usual, he held the audience in the palm of his hand while he spoke off the cuff, regaling us with tall tales, most of which had Roy in the starring role. He loved the limelight and he was a natural showman. He would have loved the big fuss being made of him today.

At work Roy was no less of a superstar. When Roy said he was passionate about patients, you believed him. He broke all the rules over the years, in the name of better patient care. He often exasperated the rest of us who followed along behind, tidying up after him, and doing the necessary paperwork. But you could never question his motives.He knew more about excellent patient care than anyone, and was known all over London for it. Once we did a survey of hospitals whose contracts we had lost, and asked what they missed about the LAS. One hospital simply replied “Roy Webb”. To many in south-west London, Roy Webb was the LAS.

Last July, we had a managers’ away day which conveniently coincided with Roy’s 60th birthday. Roy turned up in his new Porsche, baseball cap at a rakish angle, grinning from ear to ear. He looked every inch the man who had decided to grow old disgracefully. Roy continued to be the star of the show that evening at a formal dinner in his honour, complete with champagne and birthday cake. Naturally, he lapped up all the attention, and was one of the last to bed.

Two days later was the 7th of July, the London bombings. Roy was the lynchpin of the PTS response. He spent all day running up and down to Gold Control in the boardroom, offering PTS up for anything he thought we could do, then relaying it to us for execution. He was personally responsible for the broad role PTS played on the day, volunteering our ambulances to rescue stranded schoolchildren and elderly people, to get HQ staff home at night and to ferry equipment all over London. He was the one who suggested putting PTS ambulances alongside A&E in the response cells we set up.

He worked over 14 hours straight that day, finally leaving for home at almost eleven o’clock at night. It was for these actions, and many more like them, that Roy was awarded an MBE in the Queen’s New Year’s Honours List.

Here he is with Sue on the day.

Outside work, he was a great friend. Most of all I will remember Roy’s tremendous support when my own father died: Roy was in constant contact, sending me daily, sometimes hourly, text messages, helping to get me through the tough days.

I will always remember Roy’s infectious laugh – he somehow managed to sound roguish and sheepish at the same time.

I will also remember Roy Webb, the Michael Caine impersonator – recently Roy chose a Mini as his new car just so he could pretend he was starring in a remake of The Italian Job. His favourite line was “You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!” and he worked it into every conversation. He even took a photo of it at Buckingham Palace the day he got his MBE.

I will remember Roy as the ultimate sharp-dressed gentleman, his taste in clothing getting more and more expensive and exquisite as the years progressed. He wasn't above doing what it took to hide the baldness, though.

But most of all I will remember Roy’s resolutely upbeat and optimistic take on life. He wrote to me a few months ago telling me how he was getting on. He quoted his doctor who had said “Roy, you know I can’t make you better” to which Roy’s response was “But you can make me better than today”.

The Roy Webb Appreciation Society has a worldwide membership. Sue’s daughter Jo, who also lives here in Melbourne, will be lighting a candle for Roy round about now, to commemorate his life. As for the rest of us here who knew and loved Roy, we will be marking the occasion exactly as Roy would have wished. We have booked a table at an expensive restaurant. We will get all dressed up in our designer gear. We will order a ridiculously expensive bottle of red wine. And as the sun sets across the bay, we will raise our glasses and toast the most wonderful bloke in the world.

Goodbye, mate – we will miss you.

New Food Blog

2006-09-11T11:17:00.000+10:00

Continuing my obsession with all things food and wine, I have started a new food blog where I will be keeping a record of all my favourite recipes, and my epicurean adventures. I would love to hear from you with your signature dishes. We spent this weekend at the Slow Food Festival here in Melbourne, and you can read all about it here too.

Sad News

2006-09-08T14:25:00.000+10:00

We learned this week of the sad loss of my friend Keith’s wife Jan to cancer. Keith was our Director of PTS at the London Ambulance Service for a number of years, and he is a great guy. We have kept in touch since both moving on, and he dropped me a note yesterday to tell of his very sad news. Many of you who read this website will have known and respected Keith – if you wish to drop me a note I will make sure that any messages of sympathy are passed on.

Food & Wine

2006-09-08T14:24:00.000+10:00

We have the annual Taste of Slow festival on in Australia at the moment, organised by the Slow Food movement. It all culminates in Melbourne this weekend with a Slow Food event over two days. There will be a market place, a honey room and a tea room. There will be an Ark of Taste Crypt, where we can go and taste foods that are in danger of becoming extinct, and learn how to save them. There will be a wine library and a cheese tasting area. There will be a slow food canteen and a beer garden. There will be a Generations Room dedicated to the sharing of inter-generational stories, foods and recipes from across the country and across all cultures.
I will be there of course, with an empty backpack to fill with food, and I will tell you all about it when I return.

More Food and Wine
I have updated the website's Melbourne Living pages with more restaurant listings, for those of you who live local to me.

Brisbane, Bollywood, Opera & Jazz

2006-09-08T14:22:00.000+10:00

Orlando has been away interstate (Brisbane and Sydney) for the past month, and you would think I would have found time to update these pages. But no, my diary filled with dinner dates and more. I haven’t had a minute for weeks.

Brisbane
It’s all good, though. I took the opportunity to fly up to Brisbane one weekend instead of Orlando flying home. It was a bit like going to Spain or Italy for a spring weekend in terms of weather, but of course no matter how far you fly you are still in Australia when you get there.

We had great food, and wandered the tiny city on foot (and on river catamaran) seeing the sights. Unfortunately Sunday lunch with friends resulted in a bout of food poisoning for me, but despite this set-back it was good to get out of Melbourne for a few days.

Opera and Jazz
Culture-wise we have had opera at the State Theatre: Porgy and Bess performed by an all-American cast. Dianne Reeves last Sunday evening was probably a little more accessible to me. I have finally soncluded that opera is not really my cup of tea, not even Gershwin. The Diane Reeves concert was brilliant; she was backed by a simple trio and sang a broad range of songs, from the ones made famous by her in the movie Good Night, and God Bless, to a handful of Ella tunes and even a bit of Marvin Gaye. Easily the best gig I have been to all year.

Bollywood Nights
Meanwhile, Eileen and I have taken up Bollywood dancing on a Wednesday night. Somehow I thought it was going to be all form and style and carefully-placed feet. However the focus seems to be on grand extravagant gestures, especially with ones hips, eyes and head, and the whole session is more barefoot high-impact aerobics than dance studio. By the end of the hour we are drenched with sweat, breathless with exhaustion and laughter, and applauding ourselves wildly having vaguely managed to follow the teacher. We have even signed up for performances! Afterwards we go to the little Indian place around the corner for supper and put the world to rights. I love it.

Food & Drink I Miss

2006-08-13T21:35:00.000+10:00

Food & drink I miss about Ireland

Decent sausages
Decent brown bread
Smoked cod from the chipper
Tayto and King crisps
Corned beef
Red lemonade
Liga!
Irish cheddar cheese
Decent apple tart (preferably made by my mother)
Decent fruit scones
Bernard’s meatballs and spaghetti

Food & drink I miss about England

Egg mayonnaise ready-made from the supermarket
Kettle Chips sea salt and back pepper
Walkers roast chicken or prawn cocktail crisps
Diet ginger beer
Diet ANYTHING (it’s not that easy to find unless it’s Diet Coke)
Moet & Chandon champagne at UK prices
Diet tonic water for my gin!
Proper toasted bacon sandwich from a proper London caff
Decent hummus from the supermarket (with the number of Greeks here wouldn’t you think it would be everywhere?)
Spotted dick and custard
Clotted cream
Real Cornish pasties
Suzanne’s mushrooms on toast

Food & drink I miss about Europe

BANANAS (when we get them here we don’t have to worry about Fair Trade bananas – they are all Aussie-grown – but at $15 a kilo I don’t think so)
Kit Kats (haven’t had one here but Orlando says they are not the same chocolate as European ones)
Spanish manchego cheese (you can get it here but it is more expensive than bananas)
Spanish Vina Albali or Pata Negra red wine

Australian food & drink I Love!

Cherry Ripe chocolate bars
Fat-free semi-sundried tomatoes
Shark from the chip shop
Red Rock Deli lime & black pepper crisps
Fresh healthy food for lunch anywhere (I work in the equivalent of Blanchardstown or Watford and can get gluten-free fat-free dairy-free anything at my local caff)
Proper fruit toast (the one with more fruit than bread)
Lemon lime and bitters
Decaf coffee and soy milk EVERYWHERE!
All the Australian wine they keep for themselves and don’t export

Blogging by Mail

2006-08-10T15:57:00.000+10:00

I came across something really interesting on another blog today.

www.bibliocook.com is a great food blog by a woman in Dublin. Following her link to www.thehappysorceress.blogspot.com, I have signed up for Blogging by Mail.

Here's the idea:

Food bloggers from all over the world swap treats and baked good, recipes and more, sending care packages to new friends. Cookies, breads, preserves, condiments, teas and coffees, music, cookbooks, photos...anything you want.

Everyone who joins is paired up with a swap partner to whom they'll send a package.

I'm in... are you?

I'll keep you posted on the outcome!

Culture Shock Update

2006-08-10T15:47:00.000+10:00

Language

The equivalent Aussie terminology for "like O'Connell Street/Piccadilly" is "as busy as Bourke Street Mall". Of course, as soon as Aly and Mena pointed this out to me, I remembered it.

Another great phrase I heard in a meeting today (I had to stop the meeting to ask the context!) was "get a guernsey". The bloke was talking about something being put onto an "urgent" list by a government department, and said we wouldn't know until later in the month whether it got a guernsey.

What the...?

Apparently, it comes from getting a place on the footy team, i.e. you are definitely on the team so they give you the guernsey (jersey/shirt) but you still don't know if you will get to play in the game.

Love it.

Car Maintenance

Another thing I have noticed is the water in the car for washing the windscreen. Back in Ireland or England you have to remember to top up the washer water fairly frequently, especially in winter. There is nothing worse than driving through winter rain in bad traffic with mud flying everywhere, and running out of water for the washer.

We have been here almost exactly nine months, and bought a car two weeks after we arrived. I have not topped up the washer water once. The car was serviced one time and maybe the man topped it up then, but one would expect the reservoir to empty a lot more than that. It just doesn't really rain a lot here, and when it does, it doesn't seem to turn into a mudbath.

I mean, I haven't washed the (white) car all winter and I reckon it will be a month or two before it really needs cleaning.

Internet

Broadband internet here is less than 10% the speed of Europe. It's almost quaint waiting for pages to load. That means for every minute it takes you in the UK or Ireland to download something, it takes almost two hours here. Perhaps not so quaint.
Think of me here trying to update these very pages...

Pellegrini's

2006-08-06T22:52:00.000+10:00

They say Pellegrini's has had one paint job in over fifty years, and it left the place looking exactly the same. I wandered in there one cold Monday night, walking the length of its 1950s bar to the cosy kitchen at the back. The red leather barstools are comfortable enough for a weekday lunchtime or an afternoon macchiato and slice of apple strudel, but the dark evenings make the big communal kitchen table beckon.

There is no menu as such; an old wood veneer menu hangs from the ceiling above the bar. It lists a handful of dishes but there are no prices. Over time you get to know the daily specials - spinach and ricotta cannelloni makes a guest appearance on Tuesdays and gnocchi cameos on Fridays. The waiters charge you whatever they like, but it is always great value.

I sat with a man and his young son to one side of me, and the owner himself on the other, trademark silk kerchief at his neck, apparently being interviewed for an article. The young boy chatted comfortably to the woman at the cooker about his recently deceased pet rabbit, while she cooked him his “usual” and taught him a few more words of Italian.

The cooker was simmering with pots of bolognese and napoli sauces whilst the oven opened briefly to display an enormous lasagne. The cook lady turned out plates of pasta ordered in shouted Italian from the bar beyond, whilst seeming to talk away to herself in between times (in Italian too, so I couldn’t eavesdrop).

My plate of steaming ravioli bolognese came with two freshly buttered doorsteps of bread and a cold glass of water. No alcohol here in Pellegrini’s, but the food is good enough to entice me to eat even without a glass of red in my hand. When asked, the lady happily heaped lots more parmesan onto my already loaded plate from her bowl by the cooker.

I ate slowly, taking in the surroundings. An ancient poster of the Chianti region and an old advertisement for Besana pannetonni adorned the walls, darkened by years of grease and heat. Beyond a hatch in the wall the bar was half-full of diners but it felt sleepier than daylight hours. The oak table was about eight inches thick, and the stools about an inch too low for it. The forks were bent and the white crockery dull and chipped in places, but my supper was sublime.

Later, as I sipped my long macchiato, the cook lady silently left her position at the cooker and came back with a saucer of home-made biscuits for me. I dunked them in my sweet coffee, feeling even more at home. They didn’t charge me for them.

Overworked

2006-08-02T19:08:00.000+10:00

After almost six months of stretching my workdays out at times, things just got interesting. I've been co-opted onto a suite of projects for the Victorian Air Ambulance wing which we also manage. My contract has been extended for a year, and I shall henceforth by known as Project Manager - Major Projects (there's posh). So I've experienced a few weeks of 10-hour days and frantic deadlines, plus got to work with a few great new people. It's all good.

Orlando meanwhile spends most of his time interstate, leaving me alone in a huge bed at night listening to our wooden house rattling and creaking. I am pretty used to it now but it's weird to be separated so much. We will take the opportunity of his full three weeks in Brisbane in August, and I will fly up to join him for the weekend.

We had a night at the opera last weekend: Don Giovanni in the wonderfully old-fashioned venerable Athenaeum Theatre in the city. There was everything from tuxedos and cocktail dresses to people in tracksuit bottoms, but the interval sparkling wine was chilled and you could take your drink back to your seat. Marvellous.

Meanwhile most of you will know by now that the flights are booked and I shall be back in the northern hemisphere in October. I am looking forward to a couple of weeks with the family, my mum's 80th birthday, and a couple of days catching up with the London crowd. Then it's off to the Whitsundays, Australia's answer to the Greek Islands: an archipelago of white-sand beaches in the tropics off Queensland, right beside the Great Barrier Reef. The plan is to celebrate my 40th birthday with some scuba diving and magnificent sunsets. What's not to like?

Culture Shock

2006-08-02T19:07:00.000+10:00

Most people here think that moving to Aus is not such a big change to living in the UK. But, as I explained to my friend Aly the other night, in some ways moving to Australia is more of a culture shock than visiting India or China. Just because The Bill and Neighbours are on TV, the food looks the same and everybody speaks English, many aspects of ordinary life are completely new or sometimes completely impenetrable to foreigners. Here are some examples of what I mean.

Food

Yes, the food is similar. We have fish’n’ chips, meat pies and pasties, takeaway pizza, sausages on the barbie. So far, nothing spectacularly different. But on top of that there are so many new things. Melbourne is a gastronome’s paradise: there is even a permanent newspaper segment called Epicure dedicated to all things gourmet.

There is an infinite number of places to have breakfast in Melbourne, even out in the suburbs. Whilst now and again we miss the honest fare of a good London-Greek caff or a full Irish breakfast (aah, how I miss Irish sausages and decent brown bread), even close to work I can sample divine French toast, fruit-laden raisin breads, omelettes, eggs benedict, home-made muesli, porridge with banana, and of course good coffee.

Melburnians take their coffee extremely seriously. Not for them a Starbucks at every corner: the local cafes and even train stations serve the very best espressos, macchiatos and café lattes. Starbucks is here, but tolerated rather than revered.

Good delis and markets are never far away. Footscray Market is our local, dominated by Vietnamese and Chinese food but boasting the very best fishmongers and butchers not to mention fresh fruit and vegetables. It is mentioned in Rick Stein’s “Food Heroes” book as an excellent source of fresh produce. Victoria, Prahran and South Melbourne Markets are just as good, with famous dim sims at one (larger versions of Chinese dumplings) and a great organic produce section at another.

Melbourne also has a burgeoning Slow Food culture too. The state of Victoria alone has five Slow Food convivia, and coming up soon is A Taste of Slow, two full weeks of quality food and wine, with a focus on seasonal, regional and traditional foods and boutique wineries.

Wine

We live surrounded by vineyards. It is heaven to live in a country where wine is a locally-produced item. Nowadays, even buying a South Australian wine seems pointless when there are so many Victorian wineries I haven’t tried yet. My personal favourite is Candlebark Hill up in the Grampians, in Hanging Rock country (about an hour’s drive from here). But the Yarra Valley and the Mornington Peninsula are no more than an hour’s drive from home, and we haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of these regions or Geographic Indications, the Australian version of “appellations controllées”.

Grape varieties I have never heard of are enthusiasically embraced by boutique wineries. Petit Verdot, Arneis and are wines I could select by the glassthe other night in a small wine bar. Even grape clones are heralded as varieties in their own right: for example the MV6 pinot noir clone so beloved of the Hurley vineyard on the Mornington Peninsula. However I don’t think I will ever be able to bring myself to order a glass of “cab sav”, preferring to give cabernet sauvingnon its full title always, despite not being understood by many waiters.

All in all, food and wine here in Australia is so different in many aspects as to be a completely new experience. I cannot think of one way in which our lives have not been enriched by this aspect of Australian life.

Traffic

No matter what traffic jams we experience here, nothing is as bad as Dublin on a bad day or London on any day. Dreadful traffic here constitutes a ten minute delay. Anything worse is headline news on TV that night. Most of the time at weekends we don’t even bother switching on the car stereo as we are hardly in the car long enough on any journey to bother.

Australians do love their cars, though. I admitted the other day to not having washed our car for over four months: I was confronted with a wall of incomprehension by colleagues who religiously valet their cars every weekend, usually driving to the local car wash where they pay to have somebody else do it while they have a real coffee while they wait (see Food and Wine above).

Personalised number plates are ubiquitous. People of every age soup up their normal suburban hatchbacks and saloons: under-car purple neon lighting, blacked-out windows, huge decals, “sports” exhausts (meaning specially designed to be noisy) adorn the vehicles of forty-comething blokes who should know better. There is no age limit to burning people off at traffic lights or doing spectacular U-turns on dual carriageways. It is a nation of boy racers (and that’s only the shielas).

Language

The old adage about England and America being two countries divided by a common laguage could also be said about England and Australia. Yes, they speak English here, and mostly it is understandable, especially when you get used to the so-called “high-rise terminals” – the ubquitous interrogative tone that make every Australian sentence sound like a question?

People really do use G’day as a greeting, and the phrase “fair dinkum” is commonly used, even by politicians in speeches. But it takes a while to understand words such as sook ( a softy or sulk), rapt (delighted), bogan (somebody who is perceived as being an unfashionable "lower-class" person, typically of British Isles ancestry and living in deprived urban areas), and shonky (dubious, underhanded).

Once you have figured out that shortening any word and ending it with an “o” will make you sound like a local, you’ve made it:

Ambo paramedic
Arvo afternoon
Servo petrol station
Reffo refugee
Rego vehicle registration
Milko milkman

One also has to learn where Woop Woop or the Back of Bourke is (very far away), how to handle a stickybeak (tell them to mind their own business) and find the alternative local phrase to”It’s like Piccadilly/O’Connell Street” when trying to emphasise how busy somewhere is (still looking for that one). One of my favourite alternative local metaphors – the same as a few sandwiches short of a picnic – is “kangaroos loose in the top paddocks”.

On the other hand, if you use a phrase familiar in England or Ireland like “starter for ten” or “I amn’t” or “it was great crack” you are also likely to get mystified looks as if one was speaking a foreign language (which of course one is).

Clothes

It’s Melbourne. Seventy percent of all clothing is black. Get used to it.

Sick Leave

Being well used to EU regulations it never dawned on me that you would have to earn your sick leave. Over here you accumulate sick days at a rate of around one day per month worked. Down side is that many people use them like an extension of their annual leave.

TV and Celebrities

Celebrity TV shows and gossip magazines are totally lost on me. We have no idea who these people are. There are famous people doing TV and billboard ads for stuff like All Bran and Nurofen but we didn’t realise they were famous people – we thought they were just actors. There is a “Fifty Years of TV” exhibition on in the Australian Centre for the Moving Image. Everybody is talking about it. It might be nostalgia to Australians, but it is impenetrable to us.

We don’t know who the famous people in Torvill & Dean’s Dancing on Ice are (is that a show in the UK too???). Celebrity Big Brother will no doubt also be lost on us. We have no idea who the ex-Big Brother housemates are (although a friend of the family is going out with one).

Popular Music

We have not found any radio station we can listen to on a regular basis as we recognise about 20% of the music (and that’s stuff we would switch off anyway). Spicks and Specks is the Aussie version of Never Mind the Buzzcocks: because we don’t recognise either the famous contestants or the songs they are being quizzed on.

We were in the city on New Year’s Eve and the big midnight fireworks display was accompanied by what sounded to us like random anonymous heavy rock music. We were baffled until somebody told us much later that it had actually been a medley of some of the most famous and best-loved Australian hit songs of recent years.

Wildlife

Everything in the country is trying to kill you. Crocodiles, jellyfish, man-eating sharks, baby-eating dingoes, not to mention the six species of stinging tree, five of the world’s seven most deadly snakes and the nine most poisonous spiders in the world.

Spiders come as big as you like. I have discovered that the three most frightening words in the English language are as follows:

Bird Eating Spider

A friend of ours once saw one. He mistook it for a crab. The female of the species can grow to about 60mm (2.5 inches), and that’s just the diameter of its body.

Funny enough, the smaller the spider, the more deadly it is. Mena tells me that Huntsman spiders (typically 2 inches in diameter) are not really scary as they are more like small furry creatures than spiders. Apparently, it is the tiny redback under the toilet seat I should be more worried about. Now, why did she think any of that would comfort me?

Two Minutes' Silence

2006-07-07T21:00:00.000+10:00

We're still not afraid.

But we will always remember.

That's got to hurt

2006-07-04T17:17:00.000+10:00

Our mate Lee is a bit mad. Man-Lee as he is called (to differentiate him from Woman-Lee and Fami-Lee) looks suspiciously like Beavis (or is it Butthead?), is a dedicated martial arts expert with a bad back, wife to Fi, and father to Fred & Barney. With another child on the way, the jury is out as to whether the new addition will be called Pebbles or Bam-Bam.

To add further to his lunacy, Lee has now decided to do a sponsored bike ride. My idea of being sponsored to do something was my epic 5km Race for Life a few years ago, but Lee has gone one further.

"The 2006 Tour L'Etape is a testing 116 mile Alpine adventure based in the Alps starting at Gap and finishing at the top of the legendary climb of Alpe D'Huez..."

Lee says, "Somehow, Bill persuaded me that this would be a good idea - before the course details were available. I was especially pleased to note that this year's course finished at the top of a very steep hill, where previous versions had a long whizz down at the end. C'est la vie!

"It will probably take about 10 hours so dig deep!Cancer Research UK is a good, self-interested choice - most of my deceased relatives had one form or another, so hopefully they'll find a cure."

Cancer Research UK is my favourite charity too so if you have a spare tenner floating around, log onto www.justgiving.com/leeandbill and pledge some money for the cause. He promises not to take the escape van no matter how tough it gets!

Diamonds Ball

2006-06-30T16:56:00.000+10:00

Thursday night saw me attending one of Melbourne's biggest balls, a women-only event called the Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend ball. It is run every year for the Challenge charity (www.challenge.org.au), an organisation providing services and programs that support children and families living with cancer and other life-threatening blood disorders.

I don't get to wear my saris very often, and this lilac one was a gift from family friend Shara. I hadn't worn it before and I was looking forward to an evening out of the Melbourne uniform of all-black.

Arriving at the Crown Hotel alone, I walked into the 5-storey atrium foyer, a famous Melbourne attraction hosting an award-winning light and sound show. Enormous crystal chandeliers and animated lights move and sway in the cavernous space, accompanied by magical music which keeps children enthralled, especially at Christmas.

Ahead of me lay the Fred-Astaire-and-Ginger-Rogers staircase of black marble with fountains streaming down each side. I lifted my head high and walked as majestically as I could through the tourists, Sugarplum Fairy music in my ears. I picked up my skirts elegantly and glided up the sweeping staircase, concentraing on every step.

One or two Indian members of staff shot me appreciating glances as I arrived. Well, I do take pride in my sari pleats.

Every little girl has imagined herself as Cinderella arriving at the ball, and last night I lived the dream.

Eileen and I have been friends for about 30 years, but living in different countries for so long, the last formal "do" we attended together (apart from her wedding) was our debs dance back in 1983 god help us.

I haven't a photo of that eventful night to hand (but by god I will find one) so here's what we looked like at Eileen's wedding, 15 years ago this month. Happy anniversary, Eileen and Kelvin!

Yes we have no bananas

2006-06-26T14:28:00.000+10:00

How ironic it is that, having finally settled in a country with a tropical zone, I find myself in the middle of a banana famine.

Since Cyclone Larry hit northern Queensland and decimated more than 90% of the banana crop, bananas have been like gold dust. The few tiny withered specimens we find in the supermarkets are retailing at around $13 a kg, which is about 10 times the UK price. I just visited a juice bar at lunchtime, and they have a big sign saying they have no bananas in any of their products until the new crop returns sometime at the end of this year.

Why, one asks, can we just not get bananas from Malaysia or India or any of our other tropical neighbours? Because, says the government, the native banana industry is protected by tariffs and other protectionist measures, and it will take so long to get around these that the Australian banana crops will be almost ready to make a return.

So in the meantime we yearn for banana smoothies, banana with porridge, banana sandwiches, banana in our fruit salad.

And wish there was a Tesco nearby.

Melbourne Food & Wine Show

2006-06-20T13:56:00.000+10:00

Mena and I spent an extremely enjoyable and wine-sozzled day at the Good Food & Wine Show on Saturday.

We pushed through the thronged aisles, sampling all Australia has to offer in terms of gourmet food: Indian spices, seafood pates, jams and preserves, flavoured olive oils, teas and coffees.

The first cookery demonstration we sat through was wonderful. We learned how to make a winter soup and a delicious home-made rocket pesto. An actual member of the McGuigan family talked us through wine matching and handed out samples to taste. We could have gone home then and felt we'd got our money's worth.

The second demonstration was given by Ben O'Donoghue, an Aussie celebrity chef, but he didn't teach us as much as the previous food editor lady. We cut our losses and headed for the wine tasting.

Two hours and dozens of tastings later, we had made lots of new winery friends and pretended to be able to taste the difference between a pinot noir and a sangiovese. I got lost on the way to the loo and went missing for half an hour. Mena opened her purse next morning and found six comedy store tickets where her cash had been. We stood Orlando up in the casino afterwards: he finally found us in a food court unable to remember how we'd arrived there, and still managed to stay civil to us.

Next year I will do three things differently:

I will bring an old lady's shopping trolley on wheels to save my poor shoulders from all those freebies;
I will have a decent lunch before starting the wine tasting section of the day;
I will not stand Orlando up afterwards, but respect his kind offer of a lift home and try not to be a disastrous drunk!

Sydney Winter Weekend

2006-06-19T20:22:00.000+10:00

Australians are fond of looking down their noses on people who choose to settle in Victoria. They smugly announce to us newcomers that Melbourne is the only place in Australia where you actually need an overcoat.

We have just spent a winter weekend in Sydney, and I am here to tell you that this assertion is wrong. Incorrect. Mistaken. False. Living anywhere where a winter weekend in Sydney is even possible is fabulous: we flew in on Friday night in time to catch a great late seafood supper in Chinatown, and spent the next 48 hours enjoying Sydney’s finest (of which more later). But hell, it was cold. Maximum 14C, easily down to 6-7C with wind chill. We brought overcoats, hats, gloves, scarves, and wore them all.

The Vibe Hotel was possibly a booking I made about 15 years too late. A lovely hotel, with funky lilac and black walls, kooky white and spangly lanterns and mirrors above the bed, we were approximately a decade older than the mean resident age. But the location was excellent, somewhere in between Chinatown and the main shopping area.

Sydney is very different to Melbourne. It is more sprawling, more littered, more hectic at night, more bustling by day. It feels like a city. We like it. On a Friday night, Golden Century Seafood Restaurant was a vast Chinese restaurant full of weekend tourists (us), Japanese tourists, local chefs just clocked off, after-work gangs celebrating whatever. The menu was lengthy; the fish tanks almost overflowed with lobster, crayfish, ocean trout, giant crabs, snapper, anything that swam. Waiters caught the fish in nets, weighted them on electronic scales and presented them to the table before whisking them off to the kitchens to be cooked. It is said that the best chefs in Sydney will be found here after hours, taking advantage of the late opening hours and the amazing food.

Saturday morning was spent lying in after a post-supper bottle of champagne. Brunch was a full Irish breakfast in a well-known Irish hotel, the Mercantile, in the Rocks area near the harbour. The rain was beginning to settle in for a “whole wet day” as my mum would say, but we were prepared and didn’t care. The market stalls outside sold chilli chocolate bars and Ned Kelly replica armour (WHO? Who would buy one?) and the restaurants overlooking the Harbour Bridge slowly filled with tourists and local wedding functions.

Even in the persistent drizzle the harbour is spectacular, the bridge and the Opera House eclipsing the grey skies above. We jumped on a local ferry to Manly, a seaside town on the ocean side of the harbour, and walked through the touristy shopping area to Manly Beach, a Pacific Ocean jewel less than half an hour from Sydney city centre. We strolled along, watching a surfing competition and counting the joggers, surfers, walkers and other sundry Sydney-siders intent on keeping their bodies fit throughout the winter months.

We made the trip back as night fell – after all, it is almost mid-winter here in the southern hemisphere. We travelled west past the Sydney Harbour bays – Watson’s Bay, Chowder Bay, Rose Bay, Double Bay. The city skyscrapers were silhouetted against the darkening sky as we passed Bradley’s Head to the north. As we curved towards Fort Denison the view was breathtaking: The Sydney Opera House was lit up against the city skyline, with the unmistakable arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge picked out by street lights and traffic.

I stood outside in the wind and biting rain, taking in the view as the ferry brought us closer to one of the most beautiful city harbours in the world. The Opera House changed shape, its sails shining white in the almost-full moon as we swung round into Circular Quay. The bridge loomed above us, the bright lights of Luna Park sparkling in its shadow on the Kirribilli side. The cold took my breath away and the rain soaked my sensible boat and hat, but my weekend was complete: Sydney Harbour is unforgettable in any weather.

http://www.sydneyferries.info/attractions/index.php

Walking close to the Opera House after our ferry ride, we watched some Beautiful People congregating at Guillaume at Bennelong, one of the best restaurants in Australia - suitably positioned in the Opera House complex. One day, I promised Orlando, we will come for dinner there.

http://www.guillaumeatbennelong.com.au/index.html

A cocktail or two at the Opera Bar made a suitable end to our Harbour Cruise.

http://www.operabar.com.au/htmlfiles/index.html

Sunday was even colder, as we met some London friends for brunch at the Bathers’ Pavilion in Balmoral, on the northern coast of Sydney Harbour.

http://www.batherspavilion.com.au/1.html

Later, our hosts drove us to the North Head to witness a spectacular view of the city and the harbour entrance, as the winter winds whipped up an ocean swell which battered the cliffs on the Pacific side of the heads. It was a view we would never have managed to see ourselves, and despite the biting cold it was a fitting end to our winter weekend.

Homesick

2006-06-05T13:48:00.000+10:00

It's been a weird week. The work-life balance seems a lot lighter on both sides of the scales. I miss my friends and family, and work is frustrating to say the least. The novelty of living in a new country has more than worn off, and it feels like most of what I care most about in life is half a world away. However, we continue to persevere, and Orlando has been great about keeping my spirits up.

We spent an enjoyable winter afternoon yesterday wandering down Chapel Street (a fashionable shopping area east of the city centre), people-watching from our vantage point at the laminated table of a tiny Greek cafe where we feasted on hearty vegetable soup, home-made cakes and good coffee.

Later, after the cinema, we ate in a long-established "cheap eats" place called Tusk which has been around for years (as evidenced by the genuine 1970s decor including a huge palm-trees-at-sunset mural). Maybe life here isn't so bad after all.

Family Birthdays 2

2006-05-30T13:36:00.000+10:00

The Doyle birthday season continues, with Annette (the glamorous sister) celebrating her 50th birthday last week. I missed the party and a weekend of celebrations (that's what jobhunting will cost you) but I'm assured the last party-goer departed at 9am the following morning.

Annette is the person who introduced me to India eight years ago, and has strong links with the country herself. Here she is with little Aishwaria, the youngest addition to a family Annette has been friends with for more than 20 years. She visits the family every time she travels to India (which is twice a year) and she is like the eldest sister. She doesn't ever talk about the assistance she has given this family over the years, such as paying for a well to be dug to irrigate their farm, and contributing to the education fees of most of the family. Her latest idea is to help buy a tractor for the family's village - any ideas, anyone?

However Annette is not just a phianthropist and has been known to be a bit of a party animal too. Here she is after a long night partying in Essex (where else), having convinced the local police to give her and her mates a lift home when they locked the keys in the car. Charming.

Willy LitFest

2006-05-15T22:45:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I participated in the Williamstown Literary Festival. On stage. As a competitor.

I didn't mean to: I thought I had volunteered to read out some other person's work, but apparently I had put my name forward to read my own piece. Later it was further clarified that I would be reading out my offering as part of the People's Choice Awards, to be voted on by the audience on the day.

I spent the day at the festival, sitting in on lectures and workshops. The "Writing Food" talk by a local celebrity chef got the gourmet juices flowing, and now three of his books are on my must-have list. I was ravenous afterwards.

The "Sassy In The City: Writing The Modern Woman" lecture was given by a beautiful young romance writer with glossy curls, a great handbag and a handsome man waiting in the wings for her. Even though she was talking romantic fiction I got quite a few tips from her experiences. A couple of very elderly ladies in tweed and tight curls sat in the front row and muttered quietly to each other, shaking their heads and wondering aloud who this Bridget Jones was that the writer kept referring to.

Back in the Meeting Room of the Mechanics Institute, the wooden plaques around the room lauded past presidents of the Ancient Order of Druids and past Grands of the institute itself. A small group collected for the People's Choice Awards and eleven local writers, myself included, stood and read out their personal pieces. I was the youngest entrant by far, except perhaps for the fresh-faced writer of teenage books whose perfect skin and long glossy auburn hair would have made me envious were he not a bloke.

One of the front-row ladies from the Sassy lecture, a sprightly 80-year-old local woman, stood and read a beautiful and poignant recollection of a Scottish friend, written for his funeral. A younger woman in grey snakeskin drainpipes gave a spirited rendition of her perfectly phrased and rhymed epic poem about the Aussies' favourite horse, Phar Lap. A fashionably-dressed silver-haired woman from the University of the Third Age read out a lovely and amusing piece written from the point of view of a bonsai with a high opinion of itself.

My turn came. I stood at the top of the class, it seemed, and read out a version of my Chengde story from China. I was nervous and I know my voice shook a little at times. It is so different when you are seeking validation of your own words: I might as well have been standing there pleading for them all to like me.

I didn't win of course: the bonsai lady deservedly picked up the first prize. Early this morning when I awoke I realised I'd had no chance - I didn't even give myself top marks in the vote. I had misread the instructions and on my own ballot paper I had placed myself third, beneath the bonsai woman and a fellow writers' group entrant.

Maybe next year.

One Year On

2006-05-08T12:50:00.000+10:00

It is hard to believe that a whole year has gone by since he left. The trip had been a last-minute decision, and in the end we only saw each other for a few hours. Then I kissed him and told him I loved him, and walked out the door. It was the last time I saw him.

I had seen relationships end before, and had experienced heartbreak. This was no different: the chasm hurt like a physical wound. I sat and sobbed to my friends on the phone, bewildered by my abandonment. Despite the anguish it caused me, I continued to talk incessantly about him – even his presence in a conversation was better than nothing. The feeling of closeness I experienced when talking about him almost dulled the pain of losing him, if only for a few minutes.

One thing was different though. When my heart had been broken in the past, my feelings of rejection were difficult to separate from the hurt of the relationship ending. This time all I had to contend with was the knowledge that I would never see him again: I know he loved me. He told me enough times, and more than that, for almost 40 years he demonstrated it in everything he did. He was my father and he loved me. I was his daughter. Nobody could change that.

One year on, on the other side of the planet, I sit with a glass of red wine by the fire, candles glowing in the silence of the evening. This day last year, this very minute, I sat by his bed and watched him drift in and out of sleep. Now he is gone. The treasure of those last hours fills my memories, and the reliving of that night makes me feel close to him still. It is worth the pain I feel to recall the look on his face when he woke in his hospital bed to see me arriving with my little suitcase on wheels, a smile of joy for me despite his suffering. “Ah, Maiready!” He was the only one who ever called me that.

I remember that I went back one last time to kiss him goodnight again, to tell him I loved him again. I didn’t know then that it would be the last time, but it gives me comfort to think back on that impulse now. Nothing was left unsaid.

Today is no different than any other day really. He cannot be more in my thoughts than he has been every day in the past year. I could not miss him more than I have missed him since that day. But still I sit and relive the events of a year ago. It is my way of honouring him I suppose: no church visits for me, no grave to stand beside. For a short time, my sorrow will again be eclipsed by my bittersweet memory of the last time I saw his face. He was my father. I am his daughter and I love him.

Melbourne Restaurants

2006-05-02T13:34:00.000+10:00

Most of these places I have visited, with a smattering recommended by others.

Chinatown

Ding Dong Lounge, 18 Market Lane (close to Chinatown)
Rock 'n' roll meets modern Australian in this decidedly cooler-than-thou bar in central Melbourne. Shades optional.

Flower Drum, 17 Market Lane
Considered to be one of the best restaurants of any cuisine in Australia, the Flower Drum is almost impossible to get a table in. But well worth the wait.

CBD

Ezard at Adelphi 187 Flinders Lane
www.ezard.com.au
Teage Ezard is the gastronomical high priest of Australian fee style food, as he calls it. A visit to this restaurant is less of a night out than a pilgrimage. The eight course tasting menu is recommended.

Bennetts Lane Jazz Club, 25 Bennetts Lane
www.bennettslane.com
The Melbourne equivalent of Ronnie Scotts and the home of the Bennetts Lane International Jazz Festival

Cookie, 252 Swanston Street
You will find an obscenely long bar in this place, with a similarly impressive wine and beer list. The balcony is a good place to people-watch.

Victoria Market, 513 Elizabeth Street
www.qvm.com.au
Victoria Market is a historic landmark in Melbourne – it is the largest open-air market in the southern hemisphere. Originally known as a food market, it is now the place to buy anything from organic fruit and veg, authentic Mediterranean food, hardward and of course Aussie souvenirs. The Night Market takes place on Wednesday nights in summer, Its major focus is on food and entertainment. About 20 food hawkers provide a culturally rich range of food including African, Mexican. Spanish, Malaysian, Indian and Middle Eastern street food – not to mention the wineries who set up stall and sell fantastic wines by the glass or case! A great place to spend a summer’s evening.

Southbank

Miyako
www.miyakocuisine.com.au
Shop UR2, Upper Level, Southbank

Beautiful views of the river from the sheltered balcony, waitresses in kimonos and delicious food. What’s not to like?!

E Gusto
www.egusto.com.au

This is so popular with local office people that the company I'm temping for call it "the boardroom". An easy-going popular place with outside tables right on the river, E Gusto has a good Italian menu and a relaxed feel.

Blue Train
www.bluetrain.com.au

This is a great place to meet with friends as the menu is so wide it pleases everybody. Wood-fired pizzas with original toppings are my favourite, although the Asian fusion dishes are also tempting - try the beef curry. Wine list is short enough but well-chosen with almost everything available by the glass.

Bear Brass
www.bearbrass.com.au

A trendy bar in the Southgate building, it's a great place to people-watch after work or on an early summer's evening. Cocktails are good and bar snacks hit the spot.

Port Melbourne

Campari
www.campari.melbourneaustralia.com.au

Right beside the Tasmanian ferryport, Campari has an interesting mix of Mediterranean food on its wide menu. Tapas are fresh and varied, the paella is authentic and rich, the pastas to die for, and the hot plate dishes are a meat-lover's dream. The inside is not as atmospheric as the outside tables - a bit café-ish - although they are open for breakfast too (try the churros and chocolate). But sit on the deck and watch the passers-by watch you eat with the beautiful people.

Docklands

Man Mo, 42 NewQuay Promenade, Docklands
www.manmo.com.au
This beautiful restaurant with intriguing curtains made of kitchen sieves and tea strainers, offers the very best of Chinese food with excellent views over Melbourne city.

Bhoj, 54 NewQuay Promenade, Docklands
www.bhoj.com.au
This new version of the famous Templestowe original is reputed to have stolen the crown of best Indian restaurant in Melbourne. Certainly looks the part! Looking forward to checking this place out from the inside next time I am in town.

Livebait, 55b New Quay Promenade, Docklands
www.livebait.com.au
Occupying one of the best locations in the new Docklands development, Livebait’s speciality is modern seafood with a strong Mediterranean influence.

Cargo Restaurant & Supper Club, 45 New Quay Promenade Docklands
www.cargodocklands.com
Famous for its unisex electromagnetic toilets, made from transparent glass which only turns opaque when the toilet door is locked! The 270 degree views across the Melbourne skyline are pretty good too.

West of Town

Thien An, Footscray

Little Vietnam is full of cheap and cheerful eateries, many within or beside the cavernous Footscray Market (recommended by no less than Rick Stein for the quality of its fresh produce, meats and seafood). Closer to the train station, though, is a famed little place which has a loyal following - you will see a small crowd of people waiting outside each evening before opening time. It's BYO (bring-your-own) as you would expect, and $20 a head will buy you a substantial three-course feast.

Thai Angels, Barkly Street, West Footscray

Hidden down in West Footscray, this tiny place boasts a lovely coffee shop during the day, but serves up some of the best Thai food in Melbourne at night. The young waiting staff are friendly and attentive, and if you ask for "Thai hot" your taste buds won't be disappointed! It's BYO too although the wine list has plenty of good-value choice too.

Sirens Restaurant, Williamstown Beach
www.sirensrestaurant.com

One of my local favourites – this lovely restaurant in the old art deco bathing pavilion looks out over the bay, and is a great place to watch the sunset or the pelicans flying past

East of Town

Café Sienna, 402 Chapel Street, Prahran
No visit to Chapel Street would be complete without lunch at a café watching all the Melbourne beautiful people going by. Where better than Café Sienna – if there is nobody interesting wakling past you can always watch the clientele… lunchtimes bring a mix of drug dealers, students and rich girls. Caeser salad is pretty good too!

Botanical, 169 Domain Rd South Yarra
www.thebotanical.com.au
Botanical's recent transformation is complete - with its style and exceptional food making it the Good Food Guide Restaurant of the Year. According to their website, the Bubble Bar at the Botanical is the perfect place to take somebody if you wish to seduce them!

Thy Thy 1, 142 Victoria Street, Richmond
“Bloody good cheap grub” is how somebody once described this great local restaurant, upstairs above the shops on Victoria Street. Service is efficient in this slice of Vietnam right in the middle of Melbourne. You won’t get to linger all night – or even have a table to yourself – but the food is worth it every time.

St. Kilda

Stokehouse, 30 Jacka Boulevard, St. Kilda
www.stokehouse.com.au
The Stokehouse is a bit of a Melbourne institution, located right by the water on the St. Kilda beachfront. Downstairs is casual dining and drinks, with an outdoor terrace – great for anytime of the day or night. We used to come here when I had no money and sit for hours over a coffe, watching the St. Kilda people roller-blading by. Upstairs is fine dining, with similar spectacular views across the bay.

Soul Mama, St. Kilda Sea Baths, Jacka Boulevard, St. Kilda
www.soulmama.com.au
Great vegetarian food and fantastic cocktails, with spectacular views across the bay.

Café Tien Tien, 217 Barkly Street, St. Kilda
A wonderful Chinese/Singaporean restaurant with a great wine list and facinating décor including a genuine Buddhist shrine. Food is beautifully presented and service is impeccable.

Chinta Ria Soul, 92 Acland Street, St. Kilda
This is the first Malaysian restaurant I ever visited, and my niece had to order for me! The food blew me away the first time, and every time since. The music is laid-back, and you don’t have far to fall to find a great cake shop for dessert afterwards.

Café Barcelona
25 Fitzroy St St Kilda 3182
They say the food isn’t completely authentic, but it’s still delicious! Sit on the sidewalk and sip a sangria and let them bring you a parade of tapas as you watch the world go by.

Vineyard
71A Acland St St Kilda 3182
It’s a bit of a see-and-be-seen spot, but a truly democratic crowd from locals to backpackers to people just off the beach. Modern Australian food, a decent winelist and buzzy atmosphere.

Cicciolina
130 Acland St St Kilda 3182
A Melbourne institution, Cicciolina’s is reputed to be the best Italian restaurant in Melbourne. Owned and run by women, this cosy restaurant is the favourite eatery of many of Melbourne’s biggest chefs – and I guess they know their stuff. The back bar is where Melbourne’s finest wait for their (unbookable) table, and the wine list is legendary.

Lygon Street

Lygon Street, Carlton
www.melbourne.com.au/lygon
This famous street specialising in great Italian food is an absolute must. Just pick a restaurant and you won’t be disappointed!

Top Eight Books for Future Leaders

2006-05-02T08:52:00.000+10:00

Imagine your child, your god-child, or perhaps a child you know will become the leader of the free world, can only ever read ten books in their lifetime. What would those books be?

Thanks to all who contributed to the experiment. I received some wonderful lists from people, many of whom also gave their reasons why they chose the books.

In the end, we didn't have a full top ten. There was a handful of books who were nominated a number of times, and a clear number one book. But the rest of the books nominated make such a great collection that I have listed them all here. Click here to buy any or all of the Top Eight from Amazon. Enjoy!

Number 1 – four votes
Animal Farm by George Orwell

Nominated by:

Nick Lawrance
“Read this book firstly as a fairy tale”
“Then to be read a second time immediately after The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx, as an allegory of how power corrupts and all that”

Mairead Doyle
“This book can be read again and again in life to appreciate its many layers”

Katea Downie

Joint 2nd
Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

Nominated by:
Manu Pillai
Katea Downie
Mairead Doyle
“The ultimate cautionary tale for our times”

Joint 2nd
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time by Mark Haddon

Nominated by:

Nick Lawrance
“Because mental health problems are just health problems”

Eileen Kershaw

Mairead Doyle

Joint 4th
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque

Nominated by:

Sam Evans
“Read this book and you won't have a great view of humanity; like no other book it reveals the human cost of wars and why they should never be fought”

Mairead Doyle
“Probably the best war book ever written”

Joint 4th
Cloudstreet by Tim Winton

Nominated by:

Bres
“A modern Australian flavour”

Sam Evans
“An Australian masterpiece, amazingly written book about two poor families in western australia that suffer catastrophies but live on - wonderful use of Australian rural language”

Joint 4th
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Nominated by:

Katea Downie
Katharine Haines

Joint 4th

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Nominated by:

Katea Downie

Mairead Doyle
“A powerful story about growing up in an imperfect world”

Joint 4th
The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama

Nominated by:

Manu Pillai

Sam Evans

“Helped me get perspective - I think I’ll need to re-read this every few years to keep its messages fresh”

Other Nominated Books (Title, Author, Nominated by)

100 Years of Solitude
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Suzanne Parsons

A Shropshire Lad
AE Housman
Katharine Haines

A Well Dressed Gentleman's Pocket Guide
Oscar Lenius
Orlando Gibson

Anna Karenina
Leo Tolstoy
Sam Evans

Art of War
Sun Tzu
Manu Pillai

Between You & I
James Cochrane
Orlando Gibson

Bhowani Junction
John Masters
Hayley Burchill

Bible
Reference
Lesa Campbell

Black Beauty
Anna Sewell
Louise Beechey

Black Dogs
Ian McEwan
Bres

Bonjour Tristesse
Francoise Sagan
Katharine Haines

Brave New World
Aldous Huxley
Manu Pillai

Bridge to Terebithia
Kathrine Patterson
Alison Crimmins

Brotherman
Herb Boyd & Robert Allen
Orlando Gibson

Captain Correlli's Mandolin
Louis de Bernieres
Louise Beechey

Catch 22
Joseph Heller
Nick Lawrance

Catcher in the Rye
J D Salinger
Katea Downey

Change the World
Robert E Quinn
Dean Campbell

Computer Programming for Dummies
Reference
Orlando Gibson

Crime & Punishment
Fyodor Dostoevsky
Louise Beechey

Danny, Champion of the World
Roald Dahl
Nick Lawrance

Definitely Atlas Shrugged
Ayn Rand
Alison Crimmins

Dracula
Bram Stoker
Nick Lawrance

Elizabeth - Red Rose of the House of Tudor
Kathryn Lasky
Kathryn Fridman

Endurance
Alfred Lansing
Sam Evans

Famous Five or Secret Seven
Enid Blyton
Eileen Kershaw

Fast Food Nation
Eric Schlosser
Katharine Haines

Howl's Moving Castle
Diana Wynne Jones
Kathryn Fridman

I Capture the Castle
Dodie Smith
Katharine Haines

I, Coriander
Sally Gardener
Kathryn Fridman

If This Is A Man
Primo Levi
Katharine Haines

In Praise of Slow
Carl Honore
Katharine Haines

In Spain
Ted Walker
Annette Doyle

Journey to the River Sea
Eva Ibbotson
Kathryn Fridman

Les Miserables
Victor Hugo
Louise Beechey

Lord of the Rings
J R R Tolkien
Sam Evans

Lyn: A Diary of Prostitution
Lyn Madden
Annette Doyle

Maid of Buttermere
Melvyn Bragg
Louise Beechey

Martin and Malcolm and America
James H Cone
Orlando Gibson

Master and Commander
Patrick O'Brien
Hayley Burchill

Mayor of Casterbridge
Thomas Hardy
Louise Beechey

Midnight's Children
Salman Rushdie
Mairead Doyle

Mr God This Is Anna
Finn
Mairead Doyle

Northern Lights
Philip Pullman
Kathryn Fridman

Noughts and Crosses
Malorie Blackman
Mairead Doyle

On Her Majesty's Secret Service
Ian Fleming
Nick Lawrance

Oxford English Dictionary
Reference
Orlando Gibson

Parade's End
Ford Madox Ford
Hayley Burchill

Pilgrim's Progress
John Bunyon
Hayley Burchill

Pole to Pole
Michael Palin
Katharine Haines

Puffin Book of Utterly Brilliant Poetry
Various
Louise Beechey

Rachel's Holiday
Marian Keyes
Annette Doyle

RHS Gardening Manual
Reference
Hayley Burchill

Romeo and Juliet
William Shakespeare
Katea Downey

Schindler's Ark
Thomas Kenneally
Mairead Doyle

Sophie's World
Jostein Gaarder
Bres

Teach Yourself Chinese
Reference
Orlando Gibson

Teach Yourself Spanish
Reference
Orlando Gibson

The Butcher Boy
Patrick McCabe
Annette Doyle

The Communist Manifesto
Karl Marx
Nick Lawrance

The Constant Gardener
John le Carre
Suzanne Parsons

The Five People You Meet in Heaven
Mitch Alborn
Bres

The Horse Whisperer
Nicholas Evans
Annette Doyle

The Kite Runner
Khaled Hosseini
Suzanne Parsons

The Lady Grace Mysteries - Assassin
Patricia Finney
Kathryn Fridman

The Lonely Planet - India
Lonely Planet
Annette Doyle

The Lost World of the Kalahari
Laurens van der Post
Katharine Haines

The Mousehole Cat
Antonia Barber
Louise Beechey

The New York Trilogy
Paul Auster
Bres

The Once and Future King
T H White
Katharine Haines

The Piano Tuner
Daniel Mason
Hayley Burchill

The Prophet
Kahlil Gibran
Annette Doyle

The Reader
Bernard Schlink
Nick Lawrance

The Silent World
Jacques Cousteau
Louise Beechey

The Star of Kazan
Eva Ibbotson
Kathryn Fridman

The Treatment
Mo Hayder
Annette Doyle

The Worlds of Chrestomanci - The Magicians of Capriona
Diana Wynne Jones
Kathryn Fridman

Time Bandits
Michael Palin & Terry Gilliam
Orlando Gibson

Twinkle Annual
-
Eileen Kershaw

Veronika Decides to Die
Paul Coelho
Annette Doyle

Vile Victorians (Horrible Histories)
Terry Deary
Kathryn Fridman

Voyage of the Dawn Treader
C S Lewis
Nick Lawrance

Winnie the Pooh - Complete Collection of Poems and Stories
A A Milne
Mairead Doyle

Women's Room
Marilyn French
Annette Doyle

Mornington Wineries

2006-05-01T09:04:00.000+10:00

We cruised down country lanes with the colours of autumn all around us. We saw glorious red and golden vineyards through the trees, and tantalising glimpses of the bay and the Tasman Sea glinting on the horizon, as we hopped from winery to winery tasting the best of the Mornington Peninsula’s wines.

One was Eileen’s favourite winery restaurant. The Montalto vineyard and olive grove also has a sculpture exhibition dotted around the estate which allowed us to enjoy spectacular views across the vineyards whilst inspecting the exhibits. The restaurant terrace certainly looked lovely, and we will visit again one winter afternoon for a fix of sunshine with our food.

My personal favourite was the last place we visited, the Hurley winery at Balnarring, run as a hobby by two pinot noir enthusiasts, lawyer Trish and her QC husband Kevin. They have three vineyards surrounding their house, Lodestone, Garamond and all of which produce a wonderful pinot noir. We sampled the 2004 vintage before Trish gave us a tour of the vineyards, delivering the best short course possible on winemaking in 20 minutes! It was hugely educational, and I was fascinated to see how close together the three vineyards were (they are essentially right beside each other, just separated by wind-breaking trees) given the vast difference between the two wines I’d just tasted. The third vineyard’s wine had not been launched from the 2004 vintage as they were not happy with it.

Back in the tasting barn, Trish gave us a taste of the 2005 vintage which were sitting in oak barrels. This time the three vineyards were represented, and again I was amazed at how different they were. Despite Orlando’s protestations that I buy no more wine, I had to come away with just two of the Lodestone 2004 vintage. However I was eclipsed by Kelvin who bought 10 bottles to make up a full case between us!

The Hurley wines are available at a number of good restaurants across Melbourne, and you can get on their mailing list to keep track of their wines too.

Victoria Wineries: Vines, Wines and Views

2006-04-25T23:00:00.000+10:00

One of the best things about Australia is the wine. And there are plenty of little wineries not too far a drive from the city, where you can fill the boot with great bottles and maybe catch a good bite to eat while you're at it. Many of the wineries have outdoor eating where you can sit back and enjoy a perfect view while you sample their goods.

Domaine Chandon
www.domainechandon.com.au
"Green Point" Maroondah Hwy Coldstream 3775 Victoria
Every day 10.30am to 4.30pm
Guided tours of the winery at 11am, 1pm and 3pm

Yering Station
www.yering.com
Yering Station 38 Melba Highway PO Box 390 Yarra Glen, Victoria 3775
Wine tasting, gift shop, lovely café and fine dining in the new wing
Cellar door 10-5 (6 weekends)
Restaurant from 10.00

Mooroduc Estate
501 Derril Road, Mooroduc 5971 8506
Cellar door 11-5
Dinner Friday – Saturday
Lunch Saturday – Sunday

Crittenden at Dromana
Harrison Road, Dromana 5987 3800
Cellar door 11-4
Café 12-3

Roundstone Winery and Bistro
54 Willow Bend Drive, Yarra Glen9730 1181
Cellar door 10-5 Wed – Sun
Bistro 10-5 Wed – Sun

Mitchelton Wines
Mitchellstown Road, Nagambie 5736 2222
ellar door 11-5
Café from 11.00

Candlebark Hill
www.candlebarkhill.com.au
Fordes Lane, Kyneton, Macedon Ranges 03 98362712
No cellar door but worth calling them for mail order or find them in Victoria Market – it’s one of my favourite wineries!!

2006 Woman of the Year

2006-04-05T09:14:00.000+10:00

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the maireaddoyle.com Woman of the Year - my mother, Margaret Doyle.

Mum has had a long and busy life. Born in Palmerstown (county Dublin as she will always remind us), she lived her early life with her mother and three sisters in a white-washed cottage. Her father died when she was a baby, and my grandmother (Mama) supported her family by working as a seamstress in the Stewarts Hospital nearby.

With a seamstress mother, my mum and the other Donoghue girls were always very well dressed. Mum would boast that she would only need to show Mama a picture of a frock she wanted, and it would be reproduced perfectly.

Mum was also a great dancer, and she went to dances every week with her friends and sisters, often cycling as far away as Leixlip or further to go to the best places. It was at a dance she met my dad (a previous Man of the Year of course!) and they married in 1953. And yes, Mama made the wedding gown.

It was a happy marriage although they both readily admit there were some hard times too. But the annual dinner dance was always something to look forward to, with the men in their best suits and the women dressed in Ginger Rogers-style frocks (my parents are second couple from the right).

Whilst raising four children, she also worked in the local school from when I was about a year old to December 2005 believe it or not - retiring finally, and with a huge party, at age 79. Her sister, my auntie Molly, also worked with her there, and they were very close as a result (this is Mum and Molly at a family wedding in 1973 - great outfits!).Up until her retirement she regularly cycled to the school across the fields at the back of our house, which is why she has better legs than any of her daughters!

My mother has always been a stylish woman, although like myself she doesn't often look well in a hat (or welding helmet as on this occasion).

However this has not stopped her flaunting new creations whenever possible (this is her looking suitably edgy in Camden Market).

But no matter what she wore, my Dad always thought she was gorgeous.

And to confirm their devotion to one another, a huge party was held in celebration of their 50th wedding anniversary in August 2003.

We all inherited our love of food from my mother - a woman who has quoted "reading menus" as one of her pastimes (seen here checking out local cuisine in Cornwall).

But this is the only documented occurence of her buying a drink in a pub.

It was a difficult year or so for my mum: we lost her sister Molly in September 2004, then her best friend and longtime neighbour Marie Kenny in April 2005, just four weeks before my dad died. But, as somebody remarked around that time, she is one classy lady, and she went through those hard weeks and months with determination and dignity.

She has always been welcoming to her prodigal daughters (me and Mena) when we visit, and no matter how far away she is, she is always on the end of the phone if we want to talk to her.

But she relies very much on Annette, who lives in Dublin, and has spent a lot of time with her since Dad died.

However we daughters know we can never hold a candle to her beloved Son Boy - the only son of an Irish woman is hard to beat!

The family visited me in London before we left, and she showed her adventurous side by visiting (and cleaning her plate in) a Chinatown restaurant with her extended family. And she walked rings around her children and grandchildren too!

We are all really proud to have her as a mother, a grandmother, and a mother-in-law. I won't tell her age as she would be mad, but I think all would agree she looks great still. And don't I look just like her?!!!

Hours of Fun

2006-04-03T17:01:00.000+10:00

The internet can be the portal to lots of things apart from cheap flights, free email and news sites. Here are some of my favourite ways to while away half an hour.

en.wikipedia.org
Wikipedia is a multilingual Web-based free-content encyclopedia. It is written collaboratively by volunteers, allowing most articles to be changed by anyone with access to a web browser and an Internet connection. The project began on January 15, 2001,. Wikipedia has more than 3,700,000 articles in many languages, including more than 1,000,000 in the English-language version. Editors are required to uphold a policy of "neutral point of view" under which notable perspectives are summarized without an attempt to determine an objective truth.

www.hypegallery.com
Wander aimlessly through this virtual art gallery like you would a real one, or search for titles or artists.

www.longplayer.org
Longplayer is a 1,000 year long piece of music which started to play on the 1st January 2000 and will continue to play, without repetition, until the 31st December 2999, when it will come back to the point at which it began - and begin again. In its present and original incarnation, as a computer program, it’s been playing since it began in the lighthouse at Trinity Buoy Wharf, London E14.

It’s also playing in the planetarium at the Bibliotheca Alexandria, Alexandria, Egypt, the Powerhouse, Brisbane, Australia and in Rufford Park, near Nottingham, England. Plans are in an advanced stage for other listening posts around the world.

www.google.com.au/language_tools?hl=en
Google’s language tools is a great slow-afternoon-at-work site, where you can have hours of fun translating complex phrases or sentences from English to German, then to French and back to English again to see exactly how much can be lost in translation. Hilarious. For those wishing to improve your language skills, you can use Google in your mother tongue. Choose Lithuanian, Yiddish, Esperanto, Klingon or Elmer Fudd (my personal favourite).

www.thenextbigwriter.com
Read previously unpublished poems, short stories and even novels, and rate the writers’ work. Literary fiction, scifi, spirituality, humour and even westerns are included in the genres up for grabs.

www.podcastdirectory.com
Get into the podcast age and surf what’s available to download and listen to later on your MP3 player. If you want to start with something familiar, try the national radio station podcast sites such as www.abc.net.au/services/podcasting/ for Late Night Live or www.bbc.co.uk/radio/downloadtrial/#programmes for The Archers or I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue!

Yarra Valley Wineries

2006-02-10T19:10:00.000+11:00

It was so different to London on a Friday afternoon: we set off on our journey to the Yarra Valley in prime-time rush hour, expecting the worst. However it seemed that most of Melbourne had already headed home and were relaxing in the garden with a beer. We were out of the suburbs in less than an hour and the low red-tiled houses gave way to gentle hills and smallholdings.The Yarra Valley is a wine buff’s paradise, and a gourmet’s pantry. A network of small towns offer boutique accommodation, spa getaways and gastronomic experiences as well as a plethora of small and no-so-small wineries to tour and sample.

Soon we were well into wine country with vines covering the low hills into the distance. Many of the vines were covered with muslin, and it made some of the fields look like lakes from a distance.

The countryside was gentle but beautiful. The small towns we drove through were modest but attractive, low-rise wooden buildings with generous verandahs lining the wide main streets. Beyond the towns the darkening horizon was broken by the outline of majestic gum trees, their red or silver or fire-blackened spindly arms offering clumping umbrellas of dark green leaves to the enormous sky.

In time we approached our destination. Healesville is home to a famous native animal sanctuary where people can see koala, platypus, wombats and possums up close. We sought out the Sanctuary House Hotel as the sun started to set, and found a retro-looking American-style motel amongst the gum trees, rooms set around a small pool in which a family was splashing.

Our room was waiting for us – a simple but clean room overlooking the pool, straight out of the 70s. We tidied ourselves up and went in search of Katharine and Pete’s campsite, where they were waiting for us in their small but perfectly formed three-berth camper van.After a convivial (and extremely intimate given the surroundings!) evening of pasta, wine and chat, Orlando and I set off again through the darkness to find our hotel again. We stopped at a side road to gaze at the most amazing night sky emblazoned with an infinity of stars. The Southern Cross and Orion were easily picked out, but the most spectacular thing was the white stain of the Milky Way clearly laid out before us.

Morning saw us in search of a winery or two. We headed off through the hills again, clocking up at least one winery sign per kilometre at one stage. Familiar names like de Bortoli and Domaine Chandon jostled amongst tiny family-run vineyards. We stopped at the famous Yering Station, Victoria’s very first winery. The wine tasting area was through a gourmet’s delight of a shop, with everything from fresh sourdough bread, preserves, salamis and chocolate on sale.

Katharine slowed, but I resisted and headed straight for the wine counter. Well, somebody has to show backbone, I reasoned.

Friendly young waiting staff waited until we chose and poured a modest amount of our choices into glasses for us to try. Enthused by a couple of mouthfuls of amazing cabernet sauvignon before 11.30 in the morning, I vowed to try every red they had. Three of four tastings later, I was a slightly confused and not a little tipsy. Steady, I told myself.

I allowed myself to be led outside into the glorious sunshine where we wandered through the gardens and into the restaurant pavilion, where you can peer through well-placed windows into the cellars and wine-making area below. The view from the lawn (and from the restaurant) across the valley was panoramic, with hills echoing into the haze as far as the eye could see.Back at the wine counter I couldn’t resist a bottle or too of one of the loveliest Sangioveses I’ve ever met, and tried a couple more wines while I was waiting for the sale to go through.

I think I’ve found my calling.

Hanging Rock: It's No Picnic

2006-02-08T22:36:00.000+11:00

North and west of Melbourne, the Macedon Ranges are perhaps best known as a wine-making area, and also boasts Australia’s highest concentration of mineral springs making it classic spa country too. Our journey (in convoy, our Honda following Katharine and Pete’s campervan) had as its destination the famous Hanging Rock, a mysterious place where a group of young female students disappeared without a trace way back in 1900 (or did they? Some say it was fiction). The movie Picnic At Hanging Rock told this chilling tale – I remember being taken to see it years ago as a birthday treat.

We parked under the gum trees and spied a lone wallaby or small kangaroo lounging in the shade. He lay quietly and allowed us to pet him; even so, I noticed his powerful rear quarters and the razor-sharp nails on his front paws. Cuddly, but not so cuddly.

The sign said it was a forty-minute return walk to the top of the rock formation. We had plenty of time before the park closed and we headed off up a well-defined footpath. Elderly couples strolled along and children chased each other through the rocks as the path climbed up through the volcanic rock formations.

We were glad of the shade offered by the gum trees. Part way up the actual Hanging Rock crossed the pathway, a huge plinth making a roof for the path and presenting an excellent photo opportunity for those who wish to be seen using amazing strength to keep the rock in place. (Yes, we did).

From the top of the rock formation we had spectacular views in every direction, except that the Macedon Ranges obscured our view of Melbourne city in the distance. Dull gold-coloured fields were littered with copses, and country roads cut dead straight lines through it all. No winding laneways here in this big country.

Time was passing on and it was time to make our descent. Three of us were wearing sensible footwear, while one of our party (OK, it was me) wore fashionable cream-coloured suede flip flops. But this place is a well-trodden tourist attraction and our walk to the summit had been easy and uneventful. There would be no problem.

Then the menfolk saw two teenage girls taking a slightly off-piste path down a tricky bit, and decided not to be outdone. Being ill-prepared shoe-wise for this, and my companion being dressed in a knee-length skirt, we chose the more sedate and modest route and followed the original path. Or so we thought. False start after false start saw us ascending more often than we descended. At one point we found ourselves in yet another dead end, cut off by a sheer descent on one side and a wire fence on the other. So much for taking the less intrepid route, I mused. Not less intrepid, quoth Katharine, just differently trepid.

Eventually, and not after we had both seriously begun to regret our lack of emergency flares and water supplies, we spied something vaguely man-made through the rocks and scrambled down until we found ourselves on tourist ground again. I strode along with my handbag relegated to my neck, rather like (as Katharine kindly pointed out) a St. Bernard dog's brandy barrel. Charming. By this time it was less than ten minutes to the park’s closing time, and we could only hope that our beloved partners would not leave without first raising the alarm of yet more luckless females disappearing on the rock. Would they make a movie about us this time?

We strode along as quickly as we dared, finally reaching the café and shop with moments to spare. In typical country style, they were only tidying up and there seemed no danger of us being locked in for the night. Our men were lounging under an umbrella with cold drinks, looking suspiciously unworried about our plight.

Hanging Rock: it’s no picnic.

Melbourne Summer Sunday

2006-01-15T09:33:00.000+11:00

It was over 30C at 9am on Sunday morning, having not dropped into the twenties for at least 48 hours. Factor 30 sunscreen already applied, I dressed in white linen head to toe, and added a narrow-brimmed straw hat before braving the outdoors. I stood for over half an hour in already searing heat waiting for the bus to take me to the city. People drove past in air-conditioned cars, the windows sealed shut. One woman rollerbladed down the middle of the road at speed, her orange Thai fisherman’s pants billowing.

The tram to the Australian Open was full (public transport is included in your ticket to the Open and many other sporting events in Melbourne). As we disembarked, a staff member announced by loudhailer that due to the “extreme weather” (now over 40C just before noon) all play was suspended in the outside courts. Undeterred, I brandished my Gold Enclosure ticket and strolled past picnickers and merchandising sellers to the Rod Laver Arena – the “centre court” of the Australian grand slam event.

Being a temp has some advantages: the company I have been working for since December has a big corporate entertainment budget for the Australian Open, and this was one of the things I had been administering during my time with them.

A few days ago the whole of the Sunday afternoon’s allocation pulled out, and the General Manager decided staff would go in their place. Delighted, I joined five other women for a girl’s day out at one of the most prestigious tennis events in the world. Marvellous.

My seat was only five rows from the baseline, and would have been in the shade except, mercifully, they had closed the roof. As the temperature wandered way past 40C outside, I sat with my colleagues in beautiful air-conditioned comfort with an ice-cold bottle of water in hand.
We caught the last set of a men’s doubles match, cheering the US’ Bryan twins to victory. I was just as entertained by the stylised movements of the young ballboys and ballgirls though. The girls borrowed my binoculars to celebrity-hunt in the crowd while I got a text message from one of the very few people I know in Melbourne – I had been spotted on TV!

We broke early to grab a bite to eat in the corporate entertainment area, washed down by a glass or two of chilled champagne of course. Back at our seats we enjoyed the last half of a women’s game between Lindsay Davenport and Russia’s Svetlana Kuznetsova: Davenport won in two fairly easy sets.

Next up was the fourth-round meet between number two seed Andy Roddick (opposite) and the 20-year-old Cypriot unseeded player, Marcos Baghdatis. Roddick was all set to win, of course; he has almost always got at least as far as the quarter-finals in Melbourne. But the young Cypriot had other plans. Sparred on by a small but amazingly vocal blue-and-white army of fans in the gods, he gave as good as he got, breaking Roddick’s serve more than once, and delivering quite a few lengthy volleys not usually seen outside women’s tennis. Hugely entertaining tennis. The underdog won the first set with relative ease, Roddick fighting back in the second.

By the beginning of the third set the atmosphere was electric: many people in the crowd were shouting support for Roddick but nothing could compare to the onslaught of shouting and chanting from Baghdatis’ fans in blue after every point was scored.

I wondered about this: in a city with the biggest Greek population outside Greece, why were they supporting the American? My colleague finaly explained: they were supporting him because he was losing. Australians traditionally support the little guy, it seems, although nobody would have expected world number three Roddick to be cast in that role today.

We were at the edge of our seats as Baghdatis fought back again and again. Each game was hard won, stuck at advantage/deuce for three, four, five plays. Before we knew it we were at the last few games of the fourth set, and Baghdatis had a serious chance. He hit almost as many aces as Rodddick, both men hitting comfortably above 220km/hr most of the time. He ran Rodddick (and himself) ragged, and found himself at two match points.

The crowd held its breath as he won the second last point with a confident play, and then against all the odds he played his last shot (opposite), confounding the number 2 by defeating him. The whole arena was on their feet applauding both men: what a match. I couldn’t have picked a better day to go to the Open.

Back in the Champions Lounge we sipped some more champagne before braving the heat outside. It was almost 6pm and still way over 40C. At home I sat quietly mopping my face (our house has a tin roof which means it positively attracts the heat) until Orlando was ready to go out.

We headed down to the sea at Williamstown listening to the emergency broadcast on the radio: Victoria is fighting bush fires east and west, and a few homes and lives have already been lost. We listened to people giving eye-witness accounts of the fire lines approaching their towns, of volunteer fire fighters working at one end of a fire only to hear the wind had driven the fire to their own home at the other end of town.

Every 15 minutes the announcers gave a formal emergency warning accompanied by sirens: a wild fire is burning in the following areas. Evacuate or activate your bush fire plan. Meanwhile my sister Mena was at home (a little further west than us) with all the windows and doors closed against the thick smoke blowing east from the fires.

Meanwhile in town a cool change was descending: a weird vagary of Melbourne weather, where the wind changes and the temperature drops like a stone without warning. We watched as the car thermostat fell 0.1C every few seconds, down from almost 41C when we left the house to less than 36C when we got out of the car at the beach a few minutes later. Even at 8pm hordes of people were crowded on the beach, in the water, playing ball, hanging out in the picnic areas or on huge rugs. We strolled along, stopping to buy icecream: it was still beautfully warm but with a fresher breeze. A moment later the wind got a little stronger, and the sea a little choppier.

We turned back towards the car as parents started wrapping towels around children and packing their coolboxes. The wind gusted stronger and stronger in seconds, blowing sand, boogie boards and beach towels right across the street as we struggled along. My icecream was blown off my cone and down my back in the confusion. Within about three minutes the thronged beach was almost deserted, the cars were filling up and a traffic jam was starting along the beach road. It got noticeably cooler every few seconds.

By the time we reached the car it was 27C and by the time we got home it was stable at 26.5C. It had dropped over 14C in less than 45 minutes.

Roy Webb gets an MBE

2005-12-30T12:11:00.000+11:00

Message from His Majesty Roy Webb MBE:

"Thank you all so much for making this special day possible. Clearly I could not have achieved such high recognition without an environment in which to flourish and the huge support of colleagues both within and outside the LAS.

I had loads to say to Her Majesty about my passion for the LAS and the huge disadvantages suffered by people with surnames ending in “W” like Windsor (I was the very last to be awarded) but protocol insists that the meeting is at an end when the Queen offers her hand, which came, in my view, far too early for me but in retrospect just about on cue I guess.

My brother was until recently a senior officer in the London Fire Brigade and our careers have run in parallel. Over those years he dealt with every major incident in London from a plane crash through all the rail disasters and quite properly received recognition from the Queen some 3 years ago. The LAS attended all those incidents but rarely got a mention about our vital role. I found this very irritating.

In consequence therefore, I had the pleasure, last night of speaking (electronically, I am not that brave) to my brother, Robert Webb QFSM and saying “ya boo sucks to you” as one is allowed under protocol to ones elder sibling with a lesser award.

Thanks again guys (a non gender specific term of affection)."

Mairead's Christmas Survival Tips

2005-12-02T16:12:00.000+11:00

Stuck for a present for the man/woman who has everything?
Cookery Crisis?
Worried how to get through a crucial Christmas visit without offending anyone?

Find all your answers here! This year I am sharing all my Christmas secrets with you, to make sure we all have comfort AND joy!

Christmas Cards
A good way to give to charity easily is to buy charity Christmas cards and gifts. Buy online at:

Cancer Research UK
RSPCA
St. Luke's Hospital, Dublin
Oxfam

Pressies
If you are truly stuck and can't think of anything to get the sister/partner/mate who has everything, try some of these life-saving websites:

cd-wow.com - CDs, DVDs etc. at rock-bottom prices
unbeatable.co.uk - TV, hifi, computers and gadgets
photobox.com - make gifts out of digital photos
asos.com - designer fashion, grooming and more
iwantoneofthose.co.uk - when you REALLY need inspiration!
figleaves.com - beautiful undies
lastminute.com - weekends away, flights, interesting "red letter" days

Deck The Halls
These great websites will find you the perfect table settings, Christmas decorations and everything else you need for the best Christmas parties ever:

bonnefete.co.uk - table settings for special occasions
christmastreeland.co.uk - the best trees delivered to your door
confetti.co.uk - gifts and ideas
deliaonline.com - any culinary crisis fixed!
lakelandlimited.com - the best kitchenware website in the world
kelly-turkeys.com - order a fresh turkey online
teddingtoncheese.co.uk - specialist cheeses for home or gifts
majestic.co.uk - good deals on bulk-buying of wine
Borough Market - London's larder - the very best of British fresh food
NHS Direct - for when it all goes wrong!!!!

Another great number to keep by the phone is the Turkey Hotline - they will help you with all your turkey-roasting problems, right up until 5pm on Christmas Eve. What a great service!!! Call 0800 783 9994.

Entertainment
How come, even when we have all these satellite channels, there is never anything on TV except Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or Die Hard 45? Here are some tricks to keep you entertained without leaving the house:

digiguide.com - all your TV listings in the one place
screenselect.co.uk - sign up for their free trial and get your DVDs by post!

Good Manners
There is no excuse for good manners, and Christmas is a great time to dust off your old-fashioned gentility. Why not actually write thank-you notes this Christmas for all your lovely pressies? And don't forget that Christmas is only one of the feasts of the holiday season - some of your friends will be celebrating Hannukah or Kwanzaa.

Learn how to act appropriately at your office Christmas party, or how to be the perfect houseguest.

Check out www.ehow.com - it will teach you all this and more!

The China Logs: The Rice Terraces of Dazai

2005-11-10T15:51:00.000+11:00

Yangshuo, that weird and wonderful backpackers' enclave, was beginning to hang heavy on us after a few days, so we got out. Far to the north of Yangshuo, over 4 hours by bus, are 66 square kilometres of amazing rice terraces in an area populated by the Zhuang and Yao minority groups, who have unique clothes and customs and language.

We were picked up at 7.30am by the tour guide (it was going to take a full day rather than four hours to get there on our own steam so we capitulated and booked a tour). The bus was almost full of westerners - Australians, English and Dutch it seemed - and we were on our way fairly quickly. North past Guilin and into the mountains we went, leaving the weird karst hills of the lowlands behind.

The trip there was slow and arduous as we were driving up into very high mountains and the road was less than ideal in places. For the first three hours or so we were on decent highway but we were still going really slowly due to the steep gradient. Then we turned at a hairpin bend, and the guide told us it would take one and a half hours to travel the final 17km as the road was so tough. She wasn't wrong.

We followed a river valley, the road clinging to the valley walls sometimes hundreds of feet above the almost-dry river bed. Narrow wooden houses on spindly stilts lined the roads on the valley side, shored up sometimes by a few huge struts. On the other side of the road - unhelpfully - huge amounts of timber was piled up, reducing the width of the road in places by a third. But it was still a half-decent road with a tarmac coating.

Then at a river crossing, the tarmac road continued left across the bridge and our bus continued straight along onto what I had thought was a building site. This was the state of the road for the rest of the journey - dirt track would be a generous term. In England we would not attempt this road without a state-of-the-art 4x4 genuine off-road vehicle.

The timber was still piled up and this time there was nothing between us and the river valley but fresh air. No barrier, no struts, no bollards, nothing. Landslides, we had read, were frequent in these parts, and the roadway was cluttered with enormous boulders, some of which had clearly only recently smashed down from above. Above us workers continued to cut timber in the heavy forest. At one point Orlando flinched visibly - later he told me that some workers above us had lost control of an enormous bamboo trunk and it was coming towards us end-first. They rescued it at the very last moment before it snooker-cued us off the road and into the valley below.

The steep hills were beginning to show signs of terracing, although much of the land was covered with dense forest. Around the towns small amounts of land were terraced and as we continued, greater and greater areas in the hills had been cut into to make arable land.

Over an hour along this dirt-track, and many numb rear-ends later, we arrived at a ticket office and a car park in the middle of nowhere. A gaggle of local Yao women were waiting for us to sell their handicrafts. These women looked very different from the Han people who make up more than 92% of the Chinese population. Over 2 million Yao people of various sub-groups live in the southern and south-western provinces of China.

The women were mostly dressed in their traditional clothes of highly-coloured embroidered blue and bright pink and yellow and black fabric: plain (some western) tops were worn under collarless hip-length jackets which wrapped over in front like a kimono, belted at the waist with a long embroidered fabric belt which wrapped twice around the waist before tying at the back. Skirts were knee-length and again embroidered, many narrowly pleated, and most wore a knee-length black apron in the front. Jewellery was ornate silver-plate including heavy hoops in the ears which had elongated many of the women's earlobes (apparently long hair and long lobes equal a long life). Some women wore cloth wrapping around their calves like knee-length socks, black with a white tie at the top. All wore standard army-issue green plimsolls on the feet. But most striking was their heads.

The Yao women are famous for their incredibly long hair, which they wear wrapped in ponytails around their head and covered with a kerchief-like black cap. Most women's hair will get close to reaching the ground when unwrapped. Along with their own hair, young women will also have one or two long tails of hair which belonged to their mother, grandmother or great-grandmother. They add this to their own hair to make the ponytail mane even longer. They wrap it a couple of times around their hair like a crown and tie it in a loop at the front.

We were attacked by these friendly but enthusiastic women even before we had disembarked. They chose their prey as we got off, attaching themselves to us - literally - by linking hands and arms with us and starting the most aggressive sales pitch we have encountered so far in China. However, they were really good-natured (many cheeky!) women who were clearly having a laugh as well as trying to do business. They hawked their jewellery, embroidered bags and aprons and blankets, and the inevitable postcards, as we walked along a stony path towards the village that was to be our overnight stay.

Nestled in the middle of surgically-cut terraced hills was the small picturesque village of Dazai, and its beautiful wooden stilt houses. A wooden school for the children was in the middle with a basketball court in the centre. One or two houses also had small shops. We walked across the central open space and started to climb steep stone steps into the dense houses above.

All the time, these wiry women, young and old, tried to get us to allow them to carry our backpacks for us, in the sturdy wicker baskets they carried on their backs. We kept going doggedly, almost missing the beautiful houses and increasingly amazing views around us as we tried not to lose our step.

Twenty or so perspiring minutes later we were at the uppermost reaches of the village, and stopped finally at the Countryside Cafe, the very highest building in this part of the village. We stopped to admire the spectacular view laid out beneath us and the chiselled terraces stretching as far as the eye could see. These terraces are called the Dragon's Backbone terraces, and it is said that the small hills look like snails and the larger ones like waterfalls. It is autumn here (despite the high temperatures) so no rice was growing and most of the terraces were dry, but the sheer scale of the area is enough to make you stare.

We had lunch surrounded by the seller women and then headed off into the hills guided by a handful of the local women to find one of the best viewpoints. We climbed and climbed up these steep stone steps, thankful that we had left our baggage in our room for the night back at the cafe. In the autumn sunshine we sweated and panted our way up and up, past another village where older women were sitting on their balconies in these big wooden houses weaving fabric on foot-powered old looms.

Up and up still, and the views got more and more panoramic and amazing. Everywhere we looked, hill after hill into the distance, was carved out into razor-sharp terraces. Not an inch of land was wasted. We stopped at a make-shift halting point at which - surprise surprise - women were waiting to sell us their wares along with cold drinks. My camera was hardly switched off at all as I clicked away at every new view.

On and on for about an hour, and we finally came to "viewpoint number 3" where still more women, handicrafts and cold drinks awaited. Some of the women offered to take down their famous long hair for a photo, for 5 or 10 yuan, but I declined - it seemed nothing short of prostitution to me (the picture above I took from Google till I can upload more of my own).
We sat and found our breath and marvelled at the panoramic views all around us before setting off on a different, mercifully downhill, path back to Dazai with yet more lovely views.

Those of us who were staying the night parted company from the others on the valley floor as we returned to the village, and returned to the cafe where were sat sipping Sunkist Orange (all those delicious e-numbers!) and eating supper in the yard overlooking the village and valley below, while the sun slowly set and the lights winked on in each homestead in the hills around us.

We slept soundly in our wooden room on stilts (despite no insulation or floor covering so every whisper and footfall was transmitted throughout the house) and woke again to breakfast outdoors before a gentle wander along another pathway and across a small "wind and rain bridge" (think Bridges of Madison County) to the next village of Tiantou.

It was so peaceful strolling by ourselves along these stone pathways through terraces that were cut into the hills more than 700 years ago. We were hundreds of miles - and years - away from the circus of Yangshuo, and it was one of the highlights of the trip for me. As we walked, local people went about their business, tending the fields or carrying goods up and down from the villages in woven baskets carried on bamboo yokes across their shoulders.

In Tiantou itself one or two small guesthouses had covered sedan chairs outside, the kind which two people would carry up and down the pathways with lazy westerners or prosperous Chinese businessmen in, which they must use in the high season to entice the more weary travellers beyond our village of Dazai and up to their businesses.

A wonderful couple of days, and certainly a trip highlight as I said. Back to the "big smoke" of Guilin and on to Shanghai in a day or so for us, on the final few days of this odyssey.

The China Logs: Yangshuo 2

2005-11-07T15:50:00.000+11:00

Yangshuo is not the type of place that grows on you. With two people who don't drink beer at any price (and it is cheaper than tea or water here) we are finding the time a bit heavy on our hands some days, but we are trying to chill out on the balcony and appreciate the inactivity and continuity for a change.

We spent two lovely days out on rented mountain bikes in the countryside around Yangshuo, which is spectacularly lovely especially in the sunshine and unusually high temperatures we've been having. It is easy enough to find your way around with a local map, and even if you get lost you soon find a familiar landmark again.

The local people seem to be used to Westerners who have read Lonely Planet out with the cameras and the bikes trying to find abit of genuine China behind the movie set that is West Street.Water stalls are propped up at every dirt track corner and the prices are not exorbitant. I have been tempted on a number of occasions now to buy one of those pointy woven hats people use when working in the fields but that, I suppose, would be the ultimate in kitsch.
Orlando took the opportunity to have a Chinese lesson yesterday which he really enjoyed, and has made him even more confident. The test will come, I know, once we have left this enclave and can't rely on English menus for everything.

Meanwhile I decided to have a couple of calligraphy classes, and spent a really enjoyable few hours sitting like a schoolgirl at a table in Lisa's cafe being taught gently but firmly by Li Shao Ren, a retired gentleman with a greying buzz-cut and a winning smile who taught locally for 32 years. He has little English but enough to correct my faltering hand: "Strong good. No strong, no good. This (pointing to a feeble attempt at a "han" or "la" stroke) NO good. Again!".

I sat with my tongue sticking out, concentrating on copying my characters onto the squared tracing paper with some sort of confidence. People stood looking over my shoulder at my faltering strokes and laughed with the teacher (in good humour I think) at my enthusiasm and complete lack of ability. I felt as hopeless and as hopeful as a three-year-old.

It is amazing how your mind clears of everything but the paper and the ink and the brush and your posture and trying to get some sort of character into your brushstrokes. I did succeed a number of times in doing something half-decent, and was rewarded with a huge grin, a thumbs-up, a little "correct" mark and an enthusiastic "VERY GOOD!" from Li Shao Ren. So there is hope for me yet!

I also took the opportunity to get some acupuncture for my backwhich was preceded by a strong back massage (I had the bruises from that for two days). Not sure if it did any good but it was worth a try. I went back today for a reflexology session as there is nothing so good as somebody massaging your feet for an hour. I sat first with my trouser bottoms rolled up on a tiny chair with my feet in a big bamboo bucket half-full of warm water in which some herbs had been mixed (or, as we like to call it here, TEA). No matter what one is doing, one always feels slightly ridiculous inr olled-up trousers. It was a lovely hour spent being pummelled and my feet look great although nobody will ever know with these boots on.

Tomorrow we are off to the mountains again, to stay in a farmer's house and see some wonderful rice terraces. This is the last weekof our stay in China, so we will be squeezing every last drop from the time left before we depart for Aus in a week.

The China Logs: Yangshuo 1

2005-11-04T23:47:00.000+11:00

Whilst Yangshuo is certainly a backpackers' haunt, it seems to have become more (or less?) than that too over the years.

There appears to be four different types of visitor to Yangshuo:

Independent travellers like me and Orlando, looking for a bit of R&R and a few days off the road - the original backpackers;
Young tour groups passing through with their "fun" tour guides - often their first stop in China outside Hong Kong - lots of drinking and activities like rock-climbing, cycling etc.;
Well-heeled over-50s tour groups in expensive rambling gear roughing it in "the real China" for a few nights, and enjoying the shopping;
Legions of Chinese tourists who come for the justifiably famous spectacular scenery, and spend their evenings on Xi Jie (West Street or Foreigners Street) watching the westerners watching them.

In a way the town has become a caricature of a genuine backpackers' haunt, which are usually devoid of tourists and tour groups, and very inward-looking. Orlando may be right - this is a bit of a theme park, but it is not "Disney China": this is Disney Lonely Planet Town.

For myself, I can happily disregard what I don't need here and focus on the nice things like places to sit and watch the world go by with a coffee; shopping for cheap trinkets; maybe a cocktail or two; and yes, banana pancakes for breakfast.
Places like this can be a bit of a double-edged sword too. Many of the West

erners here have come up from the warm south and have outfits to suit. I am experiencing a bit of wardrobe envy - or, in these particular circumstances, backpack envy would be the correct term. Here I am with two nice serviceable and warm pairs of trousers; ditto sweaters; ditto footwear (one pair of lightweight waterproof hiking boots and an ancient pair of Dunlop trainers to hang out in). Two thermal vests, a rain jacket and a handful of plain tee-shirts complete my choices. Apart from by bindis and three (ONLY THREE!) pairs of earrings, I have no other adornment.

Then I walk down West Street and see spangly flip flops and knee length floaty dresses on women who have clearly deep-conditioned and coloured their hair far more recently than I. I see younger women doing cool artlessly-tied things with pretty scarves on their heads. I see casual but elegant black ankle-length trousers worn with colourful wrap-around tops.

Now, none of the above would have served me at all in freezing Datong or rainy Xi'an. My fleecy black tea-cosy hat may have made me look like a madwoman but by God I was glad of its thermal rain-proof properties up north. My cheap black corduroy trousers kept me nice and warm especially with an alluring old pair of opaque black tights underneath (thermal vest tucked in of course). I packed well. I hope these women checked the forecast for Beijing before they zipped up their backpacks.

But oh, how I long for something pretty to wear. A skirt, for god's sake. A pair of flip-flops or sandals to wear instead of clumpy boots. More jewellery. A nice colourful lungi or wrap. Nail polish on my toes. I can get fisherman's trousers here (naturally: this is a backpackers' place!). but they are only for the slim-thighed. People with normal (read: generous) proportions such as myself look fine standing up in these wrap-around trousers, but when we sit down they split each side to the hip, giving all and sundry an eyeful of beautifully dimpled pale-blue cellulite on each leg. Perhaps not then.

The evening sellers are setting up opposite our little hotel. I have been watching them avidly like it was Eastenders every night. I sit, literally, on the edge of my seat watching young women unfurl the long coloured scarves of the woman directly opposite our balcony. I agonise over which colour they should choose and silently urge them on to give the lady some early-evening business.

Tonight I may be her first customer. I have my eye on a lovely blue scarf that I saw yesterday. I won't wrap it casually around my head or use it as a sarong. Indeed I may not wear it at all. I may just sit here and dream of my lovely white linen trousers and dark red-and-gold jewelled kaftan and spangly sandals waiting for me in Melbourne, stroke my new purchase lovingly, and chant gently to myself: "ten more days... ten more days..."

The China Logs: Guilin to Yangshuo

2005-11-02T14:46:00.000+11:00

We have finally arrived in Yangshuo, a famous backpackers' haunt in the south of China in Guanxi province. This will be our final stop on our odyssey before heading back to Shanghai and onwards to Aus.

Yangshuo is quite westernised in parts, and is actually advertised on Chinese TV as a place where westerners and Chinese people hang out in western-style cafes. The main drag is actually called West Street (although that is originally because it is on the west shoreof the river that runs through the town).

The landscape around this area is really unusual; karst hills rise out of the land like alien sculptures. We started out in this area in the small but pretty city of Guilin, which has a real holiday feel to it. At last the weather was a bit finer and I was able to discard the thermal vests I have been wearing constantly!

We spent a few days in Guilin seeing the local sights (many of which are these hills) - ElephantTrunk Hill looks like an elephant dipping its trunk into the river, and Camel Hill looks like, well, a camel. It sounds less attractive than it is in reality I promise you!

In the evenings the river tributaries and city lakes are all lit up, and we spent a pleasant few hours strolling along the banks and across the bridges (allvery Venice-like in places) watching Chinese Opera being performed on a lake island or enjoying the floodlit dancing waters of the lakefountains set to music. On another lake there are twin pagodas, one silver and one gold, sitting on stone lotus flowers beside each other. They are floodlit at night and look beautiful.
We decided on a river boat trip to Yangshuo, as this is the way to travel around here, and anyway it was one of the few modes of travel we hadn't experienced in China. We chose the Chinese tour(Y190 each - about 15 pounds) instead of the English tour (Y500!) as the only difference was that the tour guide spoke English, and all we wanted to do was see the scenery in any case.

As the river level is really low after a dry summer, we were ferried by bus toanother embarkation point downstream where dozens of big flat-bottomed river cruisers were lined up to receive the tourists. Along the river bank local people stood selling fruit and trinkets until the boats departed.

It took about half an hour to get out of the little wharf village (and this is low season!) but when we got underway the scenery was really breathtaking. We slowly wended our way along between the karst hills in the sunshine, surrounded by well-heeled young students from the Beijing no. 55 High School all dressed up in head-to-toe designer gear (not fakes) and dripping in electronics like iPods and digital cameras.

I took dozens of photos of the hills and the people working the river, either selling fruit or gifts from the bamboo rafts they punted alongside the tourist boats on, or fishing or doing their laundry.

We were served lunch - a fairly basic meal of rice, stewed bamboo shoots and some pretty salty tofu, which one could augment by ordering other more expensive dishes, mostly river fish of one type or another.

After about three hours we arrived in the sleepy village of Xingping, where we disembarked amongst an army of sellers and taxi drivers. We managed to find the local bus (Y5.5 toYangshuo for one hour through the countryside) and sat wedged into our narrow seats, backpacks and all, for the ride. The female bus conductor crammed as many people as possible in this bus (up to her legal limit - we were stopped at one point by the police doing as afety check) and she even had little footstools for people to sit on in the standing room. I sat with a local woman beside me on a low stool, a small child harnessed to her back, whilst a long-legged young man sat with his legs folded up under his chin in front of her.

We drove through beautiful countryside, small haystacks punctuating the low fields as small home-made beehives clustered in otheryards. The hillsides around us jutted up into the (at last!) flawlessly blue sky and my all-black travelling outfit seemed far too hot for once.

In time we arrived in Yangshuo and were assaultedfrom all sides by women with pictures of their hotel rooms - one lady had pics of a little place called Fawlty Towers which actually looked lovely and had been recommended to us by an Israeli couple we had chatted to before. We headed for our hotel, the Morning Sun Hotel, which was located off the main drag and would hopefully be a bit quieter than the rest of the town. It is a lovely place, with a little courtyard in the middle, shiny marble in the halls and dark wood polished floors in the rooms.

Our room actually has a balcony overlooking a pedestrianised street below, where the daytime sellers (key-cutting, clocks, beltsetc.) make way for the more touristy sellers at night time (bags, scarves, jewellery). It is a bit of luxury for a change (although in low season right now the prices are great) as we intend to stay here almost a week.

I think Orlando might be a bit unimpressed as this is most certainly not the "real China". Instead, the main Street, Xi Jie(West Street) is lined on both sides with cafes selling Western food (real coffee! French toast! Banana pancakes! Hamburgers!Pizza!) as well as Chinese food (although they are really surprised when you order Chinese). Shops sell every type of trinket and item of clothing. Huge fans are a fashion here (the type which look like a handheld fan but are actually about 6 feet across for hanging on the wall).

There are rock-climbing cafes (Karst Cafe and Spiderman’s!) for the more adventurous, and bike hire everywhere forless than a pound a day. Other places I have been promised offer acupuncture and massage (I fancy a bit of foot massage I think) as well as calligraphy classes or Chinese lessons. I think I will like it here although I suspect Orlando will have to take off on a mountain bike once or twice to get out of here. Never mind. I can shop!!!

The China Logs: Longmen Caves

2005-10-26T18:44:00.000+10:00

I was woken by a gentle "Happy Birthday To You" being sung in my ear by Orlando. We were in a lovely little friendly hotel in a town called Luoyang, (well it has a population of more than 6 million but that feels small by Chinese standards), about 6 hours by fast train east of Xi'an.

After doing some chores like sussing out bus routes for the next day, and booking our train back to Xi'an for later in the week (Orlando really is coming along fabulously with his Chinese!) we hopped on the number 81 bus to the Longmen Caves, which we had been promised were similar to the Yungang caves we had seen earlier in our trip. One hour and Y1 each later we arrived at what was obviously a big tourist place - all car parking and auspicious-looking signage.

The Longmen Caves are a recognised UNESCO World Heritage Site. We ran the gauntlet of a long parade of tourist shops selling the usual stuff, and I stopped to use the loo. For the first time, I was confronted by a real Chinese public toilet: three toilets opposite three, but each separated from the next only by a low tiled wall about a metre high. Each cubicle was open at the front - no doors! Unperturbed (and in desperate need in any case) I got organised to do my business: there was nobody else there so it wasn't too bad.

As soon as I squatted (oh, yes, most toilets here are the ones in the floor over which you squat) another woman came in, but happily chose the stall alongside me. No problem still - there was a modicum of privacy afforded both of us by the dividing wall once we were both in position, so to speak. Then a third lady arrived, and chose the stall opposite me. She was a large enough lady, one of the sellers it seemed from the capacious apron she wore over her tracksuit bottoms. She squatted - or, rather, half-genuflected as best her bulk could allow - and I averted my eyes before the uncompromising view before me became too much.

In time I escaped my baptism of fire, none the worse for wear and with another Chinese first under my belt!

The Longmen Caves were a spectacle. The day was warm with hazy sun trying to break through the ubiquitous Chinese smog, and we spent almost five hours wandering slowly along the river bank from cave to niche. There are over 100,000 carvings here, of various Buddhas and their companions, but tragically Western explorers desecrated most statues in past years by removing them completely or simply by removing the Buddha's head, apparently by a swift upward machete blow.

Some key pieces are in the Metropolitan Museum or Art in New York, and others in the British Museum. Even all those years ago, I cannot imagine anyone coming across this place and not realising its religious, spiritual, and cultural significance. How arrogant we Westerners have been. Of course, the Cultural Revolution also took its toll: Chairman Mao's attack on the "four olds" (old customs, old culture, old thinking, old habits) from 1966 - 1970 resulted in much of China's heritage being destroyed, and the Longmen Caves suffered in this period too.

The caves got bigger and the statues more impressive, but nothing could have prepared us for the sight of the main cave (or niche) - the Fengxiang Si or Ancestor Worshipping Temple. Here, dozens of steep steps above the valley floor, stood a beautiful 17 metre high statue (thankfully almost intact) of the Buddha Losana surrounded by 2 disciples, 2 Bodhisattvas, 2 kings, and 2 protector warriors. The Buddha's face, allegedly modelled on the face of a Tang Dynasty Empress, was serene and benevolent; despite the crowds of tourists I could sense the peace surrounding this place.

We continued on, across the river to yet more carvings and caves, some being worked on by archaeologists and preservation experts. Our last stop was a beautiful temple high on the east river bank, where I threw money (a coin and a note) into a pond promising good health for floating money and longevity for sinking money.

As we enjoyed some birthday ice cream sitting on the temple wall, the sun sank slowly behind the caves on the west bank, and the incense hung in the still air while the monks chanted their meditations. What a lovely way to spend my birthday.

The China Logs: Things I Have Noticed About China Part 1

2005-10-22T19:42:00.000+10:00

Chinese Hygiene
Chinese people are beautifully turned out, and very well presented, the vast majority of them. The hotels foyers are lovely. The malls are highly polished. There is precious little litter on the streets, and armies of street cleaners are in evidence everywhere you look. So how come they still hawk and spit wherever they please? Even indoors on carpets and where people are sitting or eating? In addition, how come you can walk through the poshest of hotels or restaurants, to find the stench of the toilet meeting you way before you see the sign? Why does the stench not get any better even when there is an attendance there whose job it is to clean the place? WHY???

Being Sick In China
The Chinese (Mandarin) for Aspirin is ASR-PEELING. I love it! How come despite a blocked nose impervious to all known medication, once you approach above Chinese toilet to use the facilities, one's nose miraculously unblocks perfectly for the precise time it takes you to use the facilities, so one can appreciate the atrocious smell better, and then blocks right back up once you have walked out?

Chinese Hairdressers
We noticed this more in Beijing, and Datong, but not so much further south. Nice hairdressers all set up to do business in the day, with women getting blow dries and people with curlers in and all that... then the sun goes down and the lights are dimmed. Sometimes even the light bulb is changed to a red or pink one. The hairdressers' clothing gets slinkier and sexier, and there seems to be very little hairdressing going on at all. Indeed, most of the clients are now men. Hmmm.

Chinese Pregnant Women
Pregnancy is a big thing over here, given that you are only supposed to have one child (unless you are a farmer and your first born is a daughter - you can try for a son then). Pregnant women's clothing is all cutesy and cuddly, dominated by the dungaree look (criminal in most other countries) and almost everything is appliquéd with teddy bear, balloons, storks, you get the picture. Fashion Police - quick!!

The One Child Policy
There are huge billboards everywhere advertising (or encouraging) China's one-child policy. Most of the pictures I have seen show a young good-looking couple with their beautiful daughter playing in a park or by a river. I guess this is to also encourage people not to discard their child if it is female, which happens with alarming regularity over here (death by neglect or the orphanage being the two main routes).

Chinese Traffic
Traffic lights are everywhere. Most of them have little green and red men for pedestrians too. Generally the little green man flashes like he is walking. In Xi'an some of them are animated so that he sprints alarmingly when time is running out, encouraging you to do the same. Traffic lights are purely decorative anyway. A red light for traffic doesn't apply if you are (a) a bicycle, (b) a motorbike or other motorised two-wheeler, (c) a truck or bus, (d) turning right (they drive on the right here), (e) turning left. I may have missed a few out. Generally, traffic lights are a suggestion only, and should not be taken too seriously. Orlando has taken (quite chivalrously I would say) to always standing on whichever side of me faces the oncoming traffic, so as to defend me against the onslaught.

The China Logs: Xi'an

2005-10-22T19:41:00.000+10:00

Xi'an was wet and miserable when we got here, but has cheered up since then. Nothing much to report except for the Terracotta Warriors which were predictably a highlight. It is one thing to read about them, and understand how many of them there are (4,000) and how old they are (more than 2,000 years) and that they all have different faces, and that some of the technology used to manufacture them and the other things buried with them have amazed 20th century scientists. But it is another thing entirely to find yourself in an aircraft-hangar-sized complex in the middle of the Chinese countryside and actually behold them with your own eyes.

They reckon it will take another 10 years to fully excavate and research the site, but what they have discovered already is amazing to see. The sellers in the market outside the gates are also amazing in their tenacity.

Upon leaving, we were met by an impenetrable line of them holding up small replica warriors, bits of jade, the usual Chinese tourist stuff, and yelling prices at us. The prices fell rapidly too - within less than one minute I had bargained with one woman for a box with four warriors and a horse in it (they are about 4 inches high, don't panic!) from her initial "One dollar! One dollar!" (Y8, or the price of our dinner some nights) to Y3 (25p). I reckon I could have got her down to Y2 but that would have been churlish.

The China Logs: Chinglish 2

2005-10-22T19:40:00.000+10:00

More Chinglish For You Fans Out There

Sign outside bar in Xi'an: "Sunny Half Past And Friend Changing Club" (any ideas, anyone? We have a few...)
At Terracotta Warriors complex: "Fire Exting Atcher Box" (you can guess this one)
Enormous billboard in Xi'an advertising something I didn't understand: "You can't along with eagle to fly, when you are as high as turkey together." (this is my favourite so far)

The China Logs: Chengde

2005-10-20T15:37:00.000+10:00

Well it's been all up and down since the Great Wall, and we have clocked up quite a few miles too.

I am writing from sunny Xi'an (not! It's been raining for 24 hours now) which is about 1,200km south-west of Beijing. I thought it might be a bit warmer here, and it's certainly not cold, but this incessant pouring rain is getting to me, especially since both of us have come down with inevitable colds.

One of the highlights of the trip so far was last Sunday, when we took a four-hour train journey north of Beijing to spend the night in the mountain resort of Chengde. We travelled in a hard-seat carriage, which certainly doesn't mean sitting on wooden benches - it is a reasonably comfortable carriage with about 150 people to the carriage, sitting 3 opposite 3 or 2 opposite 2 on nicely upholstered seats. Being a Sunday, most of the passengers seemed to be in high spirits, and it was a really enjoyable journey.

The train left promptly at 7.16am and after an hour or so we slowly left the built-up area of Beijing, and the high-rises melted away. The countryside began to take over as we climbed into the craggy mountains. The land looks fairly infertile but it can't be - every spare inch of ground has been cultivated in some way, right up to the train tracks. Mostly the corn crop was dominating, although the harvest was over and all that was left were stalks ready to be cut down to make fuel or to be burnt on the narrow terraces for the next crop. The harvested corn was everywhere, like I saw before, stacked on windowsills and roofs to dry. A good deal of cabbage was being grown on the cleared land, and in the foothills I saw orange, lemon and peach groves covering every possible corner.

The people working the land seemed to have a hard enough life. We are talking 19th century farming methods for the most part: I saw one small tractor in the whole journey. Mostly, the land was being cleared by hand with scythes, or weeded manually with long-handled hoes. Other harvested crops (wheat? rye?) were being threshed by hand by the women, or laid out on the roadways to get the traffic to do the heavy work first. I even saw a traditional stone mill for grinding flour - it looked fairly newly-hewn and was clearly in current use. Nonetheless, there are electricity lines going into most of the dwellings so it's a bit of a mismatch of technology I guess.

The sun shone as the train flew along through this scenery. I caught a rare glimpse of myself like a satellite camera zooming in on my position on the globe - I am so privileged to be able to travel so far in the world and to see these things for myself. There is a one in four billion chance that I was born to be who I am rather than the daughter of one of these subsistence farmers.
My thoughts wandered to my Dad, from whom I inherited my much of my adventurous and inquisitive traits. He was a great armchair traveller and I am sure would have been able to tell me a thing or two about my destinations and what I had seen, as well as being fascinated by the insights I gave him. I thought of all the things I had already seen in our travels that I would never be able to share with him, and how much I missed him still. Sitting there on the train as China passed my window and the sun shone on my face, I wept for all the new conversations I would never have with my wonderful dad.

In time we reached Chengde, and after a hairy hour or so looking for a bed for the night, we got our bearings and jumped on a local bus to take us to the biggest local attraction, a Buddhist monastery with an interesting statue (the book said). After 20 or so minutes crawling through the busy shopping streets of this little city (population approximately 1.4 million!) the shops thinned out into stalls and barrows selling fruit and other local produce. On the outskirts in the hills we could see the pagoda roofs of other local temples (there are eight in the general area) as well as some weird rock formations, one which looked like a club standing vertically (called Club Rock) and another which really looked like a toad (called, predicably, Toad Rock!).

We couldn't have missed our destination though. The bus driver gave us the nod as we reached what looked like a fairly big monastery complex surrounded by touristy stalls selling the usual tat (red Chinese hanging good-luck things, postcards, bits of jade on a string, chopsticks, Fifty Cent tee-shirts???? yes really). We bought our tickets and a young monk let us in through the space-age-looking entrance gates into the ancient-looking complex. We found ourselves in a courtyard surrounded by smaller buildings in the Chinese style, as well as one pagoda housing three large steles (tall stones with calligraphy on). Just behind this building was another larger temple in which we found three buddhas, one representing the past, one the present and one the future. The middle one (the present) was a bit bigger than the other two, and they were all really nice, but nothing hugely exciting.

I looked around a bit more trying to be impressed and then came back out. Hmmm. Wonder which one was the interesting statue?

At the back of this courtyard were huge steep steps up to another gathering of buildings so we climbed up. A much larger courtyard was surrounded by buildings which looked a bit more Tibetan/Buddhist to me. A big trough held central position in which many big incense torches were burning. Young monks sat and chatted in small groups, hugging their maroon robes around them and kicking at the stones with their trainers. They looked like any other group of youngsters except for the shaved heads and monks' habits. Closer to the main temple, a huge building at the back, was a group of much older men playing traditional Chinese instruments and chanting. Being late in the afternoon, there were few others around and I could really appreciate the tranquillity of the place.

We walked into the big temple, which was really high like a pagoda. On the right and left were huge painted statues of mythical warriors which are the protectors of the temple. I was fascinated by these and inspected them closely as they resembled a lot of what I had seen in India. Orlando's bemused face directed my attention to the centre of the temple.

There, behind the monk's prayer benches, above head height, I saw a pair of giant wooden bare feet peeking out from the carved wooden folds of a gown. I stopped in my tracks as I beheld what must have been the bottom quarter of an enormous statue. Even without being able to see the whole of the statue I was frozen to the spot by its presence. Awed, I edged forward and gazed ever upwards until I could see the whole 22m (about 70 feet) of this heart-stopping sight: the Buddhist Goddess of Infinite Mercies, Guanyin, with over 40 arms, carved entirely out of four types of wood, stood in majesty gazing at me from above.

(Strictly speaking, Guanyin is not a goddess (as Buddhists don't worship gods) but a Boddhisattva, which is a person who has reached nirvana but chooses to stay on earth as a guide for others.)

Her head was crowned with an ornate headdress, an enormous necklace of wooden beads hung around her neck and her arms were adorned with what looked like jewelled armbands (but everything was polished red-hued wood). Each of her hands had an eye in the palm; each hand held an implement or object: an urn, a flower, a bow (for throwing arrows), a sword, a goblet.
I was entranced: more, I was overawed, and fought the urge to fall to my knees in front of her. There is only one time in my life that the sight of something has reduced me to tears, and that was the very first time I laid eyes on the Taj Mahal; but my reaction to this magnificent sight was much more profound that a reaction to an object of beauty. I am not sure if thoughts of my father were still fresh in my mind, or if the goddess herself sensed my emotions and understood. I truly felt as if I was in the presence of a divine being. I had no words for Orlando (then or since); I simply stood and wept silently for the second time that day.

The China Logs: The Great Wall

2005-10-15T12:35:00.000+10:00

We hiked the Great Wall a few days ago. The plan was to be dropped off about 11okm north-east of Beijing at the Jinshanling entranceto the Wall, and hike the 10km or so to the Simatai Great Wall portion. Sounds interesting: the Lonely Planet said it was not for the faint-hearted, but would take about 4 hours. I can do that, I said. Let's book it.

We were picked up with a few others from our hostel at 7am and went off in a small minibus. A few more pick-ups later we were on our way. It took about 2 hours to get out of the built-up area of Beijing itself (bear in mind that the metropolitan area of Beijing is about the size of Belgium!) and soon we saw familiar-looking mountains ahead. Just before noon we passed through the gates of the Jinshanling entrance and parked up. It was fairly chilly so I was glad of my rain jacket and sweater.

The entrance place was well organised with a ticket office (Y30 each to get in - about 2.50 sterling) and plenty of stalls selling drinks, food and "I climbed the Great Wall" sweatshirts. We walked along the nicely-landscaped pathway towards the wall (the signs and litter bins brought to mind a nice country park) and finally saw the way up to the Wall itself - a fairly steep set of stone steps.

My heart sank. I hadn't even seen the bloody wall and I was already out of breath and getting too hot. I lagged behind badly from the start. Orlando encouraged me to keep up and said I was not to be "the limping gazelle". That didn't help- all my life I have been the limping bloody gazelle, struggling up a hill whilst some bloke or group yomped happily ahead. Why do I continuously do this to myself???

We reached the wall in about 5 minutes, and I must say it was quite a thrill to set foot on this amazing structure. The wall stretched for miles as far as the eye could see in both directions, with a tower breaking the snakelike route every 100m or so. We stood and gazed and took photos and took in the moment. Then the hard work began. The wall looks like it undulates gently over the hills from tower to tower. It does nothing of the sort. It climbs steadily and relentlessly up and down some of the steepest inclines I have ever seen. The steps are uneneven and range from 4 inches high to about a foot high. It is hard going and unforgiving. I hated it from about 3 minutes in.

My daypack got heavier and heavier, and I ran through its contents in my head to see what could be jettisoned (where? There were no bins and I was hardly going to litter a World Heritage site). Water? First aid kit? Dried fruit for energy? Our last remaining Sainsburys Diet Red Bull-type drink? Lonely Bloody Planet?

Orlando didn't even seem to notice the inclines. I knew those muscular thighs of his were useful for something: now I knew.He gently and patiently waited for me every 10 paces (I do not exaggerate). Vendors swarmed around us trying to sell us books and tee-shirts. They were 10 years older than me, and wearing kung fu slippers, not my Ultra-Lite-Weight mountain hiking boots. They hadn't even broken a sweat, and now and again stretched out their hand to help the poor heaving Western woman up a tricky bit of wall.

Simatai was not to be seen on the horizon. We were still only on a fairly easy stretch. In the distance (about 10 towers ahead) I could see a particularly steep part of the wall going up a hill that looked almost vertical. I was panting like a marathon runner (although I guess they train well and don't have that problem) and my legs were literally shaking with the effort of every step. We had been walking only 45 minutes. We were less than a quarter of the way, and the bus was leaving the other end in three hours and 15 minutes.

The sellers were looking at me with pity, and they stopped Orlando and spoke to him (as the man of the couple, almost all communication is done through him, which is good as street touts ignore me in favour of him, but occasionally hurts my feminine pride). He told me they had said I wasn't going to make it. Apparently we were on a easy section of the wall, and if I was struggling now, I was not going to make it across the next part. There was an easy way to Simatai, they said, off the wall and through a valley alongside. One of them would take me if I bought a book from them. My pride was not too strong to consider this get-out-of-jail card carefully before dismissing it. I really did think I was struggling. But could I face the ignominy of accepting defeat? Also I would be ruining Orlando's experience too.

In the end, Orlando said he would continue on alone and meet me at the other end if I wanted to bail out. I conceded, and we (cheekily) bargained the woman down from Y100 to Y80 to guide me off the wall to the other end. We parted, and I followed the woman off the wall at a nearby tower onto a mountain path heading downhill away from the wall but vaguely going in the same direction. We walked quickly down the hill, the guide walking ahead of me. At first I politely declined her offers of assistance but a one tricky bit I finally accepted her hand and she steadied my progress down the steep and crumbling hill.

Once the pathway evened out I spoke to her. Her name was Li Qui Shu (first two words with a downward tone and the last with an upward tone, like a question or an Australian sentence). She ws 41 years old and a Mongolian farmer. Her husband still lives and works their farm in Mongolia with their oldest 2 children, a 17-year-old girl and a 12-year-old boy. She lives near Beijing with her youngest son who is three, and she sells books and tourist gifts on the wall to make money to keep her children in school. She is 41 years old.

Li Qui Shu led me along a gentle pathway (at a fairly quick pace) which wandered through trees and small crop fields. Whilst walking she helped me with my Chinese pronunciation, gently correcting my numbers and other routine words. The pathway brought us along a small number of houses and smallholdings where corn was growing and people working the fields. She taught me the word for pig (ro), sheep (yang) and chicken (jee). Coming towards us along the path was an ancient-looking person bent almost double with a load of straw on their back and a conical woven hat on their head. All I could see was the crown of the hat and the straw as the person proceeded towards us. As they passed I saw the smiling face of an old woman taking me in - she grinned more broadly and returned my hello.

After an hour's gentle but brisk walk we turned a corner and there was the wall again. Li Qui Shu pointed out Simatai to me - only two towers away. We did our business (I bought her book) and I thanked her again for her help. She led me along the final approach to the wall and we got back up through another tower. I sat on the edge of the wall and laughed in jubilation - I could see people coming towards me along a fairly dodgy section of wall and thanked my lucky stars I had found an escape route. Li Qui Shu insisted upon waiting with me until my "husband" (Eye-run in Mandarin) caught up with us.

Not 45 minutes later I saw his distinctive figure come into view and a few minutes later we were reunited. He has a few beads of sweat on his forehead but was not even out of breath. What a man. We walked the last stretch of wall before having to come off and down some steep metal stairs to cross a ravine via a cable bridge, as this part of the wall had collapsed. The cable bridge was hairy to say the least - we were miles above a river and the footbridge swung (to my mind) wildly as we crossed. Orlando hummed the Indiana Jones theme tune whilst I tried not to see through the considerable cracks in the planks down to the water far below, and chanted madly to myself that it was all going to be OK.

Half an hour later we were sitting under a tree talking to other travellers, gazing at the wall from a distance. What a day. I was so glad I had come, and even happier that I had escaped the full experience. From Simatai westwards the wall snaked out of view, climbing even steeper inclines that Orlando had walked and I had escaped. I have no comprehension of how the people managed to built this amazing structure, given that I couldn't even walk along it.

On the way home in the bus, we dozed (although it's not like I had exerted myself for too long!). We were booked on an overnight sleeper train to Datong that night, which is where I am writing to you now. Datong doesn't look too big, but apparently 3 million people live here (WHERE? It's really not that big looking). Max temperature yesterday was 9 degrees, and minimum last night was -3 degrees. We are wearing almost all the clothes we possess.

We got back to our hotel room last night and it was freezing. We complained that the room was cold and were given two more duvets: there is no central heating (or to them it not cold enough to switch on - temperatures here in winter get to -30 degrees so they probably think this is nice autumn weather). We have now checked out of out hotel and we have 7 hours to wait until our overnight sleeper gets us out of here back to Beijing and beyond. Hope we can keep warm until then!!!

The China Logs: Chinglish

2005-10-15T12:32:00.000+10:00

A week into our odyssey and I am settling in at last. The past week has been a whirlwind of activity and confusion and excitement and frustration and highs and lows and triumphs and cock-ups. I got to enjoy Shanghai before we left on Monday afternoon - I think my initial shake-up was simply culture shock to be honest. We had a good few days there sightseeing and getting used to the Chinese way of things.

"Chinglish" is the term for the Chinese way of translating things into English with interesting results. Sometimes you can understand the jist; sometimes it is completely unreachable.

Take-away Breakfast translates to Breakfast Outside Send.
Sign at Datong city taxi stand: "The Taxi Stands".
Proclamation outside Beijing central China Post depot: "Post is Profession. Post Bureau is Home. Mail is Life. On-time Delivery is Gold."
Flyer inside a Beijing restaurant menu: "Print the degree throw around flat cake. (A form plays now)." Answers on a postcard please...
Notice on restaurant in Shanghai market: "Carry Forward Diet Civilization!". (I think I get what they want to say)
Lots of words seem to have their "l"s and "r"s mixed up: my favourite was on a cocktail list in our Shanghai hotel where a Glasshopper cocktail was on the list (I really really hope it was genuine and not ironic!) (they also had Chivas Legal listed so I guess they were genuine)

Interesting Things About China Part 1

People wear brushed cotton pyjamas as outer wear in the streets.I mean nice fluffy ones with balloons or teddies or nice paisley patterns on them. One gentleman taking the air in a park on Sunday morning had teamed his blue pyjama top with some nice casual trousers for a new look.
Anything that can be eaten can be put on a skewer and cooked over charcoal: we have seen frog's legs, octopus, lamb, chicken, a whole small bird on a stick (I bet it was NOT chicken), and I swear what Orlando was attempting to buy on a street corner last night was dog.
Police cars drive around with their blues and reds flashing (no sirens) at all times, just so you know they are really cool and important. Police on bicycles have no sirens or lights, but cycle through crowds at speed enthusiastically shouting "LAOW LAOW LAOW"(roughly translates as "excuse me excuse me excuse me!") and that seems to work fine. Somebody might pass this on to the bicycle ambulance team as a cost-saving proposal.

The China Logs: Shanghai

2005-10-09T15:30:00.000+10:00

Yes, friends, the Captain's Log is back (for those of you who remember my original postings online way back in the late 90s). Orlando and I planned to update the websites as we went along in China, but unfortunately we didn't plan for the vagaries of Chinese internet access. We can't access our website write pages!!! Actually, we can't even access the BBC news website so in that context I guess we were hoping for too much. So I will email you all on a regular basis instead, and copy everything later on to the website for posterity. (Nic or Paul please copy to the usual PTS distribution list - thanks)

So, China.

I am getting used to it.

I am not sure if I was just very tired and emotional by the time we got here or whether our marathon 6-hour walking odyssey yesterday did me in completely, but I am struggling at the moment. We arrived here in uneventful style on a perfectly comfortable flight (those of you with China Eastern flights booked, bring plenty of entertainment as all the TV is in Chinese!). It gets dark here at about 5pm so we saw little of the taxi journey to the city.

Our hotel is absolutely lovely - the Pujiang Hotel (or Astor House as it used to be known) is an old colonial Victorian style edifice, all dark wood and marble and vaulted ceilings and old-world east-meets-west charm. Our room is enormous, with a huge desk upon which Orlando writes daily (I prefer the sitting area for my musings), a minibar (Chinese red wine is quite nice, I found on the plane!), a vast TV with cable (ie lots of Chinese stations and CNN) and a huge bathroom which is bigger than some hotel rooms I have stayed in. We love it!

We are about 5 minutes walk to the Bund which is the heart of the city - a river-side walkway along the river Huangpu (a tributary of the Yangtze) which is lined on both sides by amazing buildings: on the old Shanghai side there are venerable old hotels and banking buildings dating back to the 1800s and the height of Shanghai's heyday; on the new Pudong side there is an amazing array of 21st century skyscrapers that outdo anything the west can offer, dominated by the Oriental Pearl Tower, a 430m TV tower which looks for all the world like an inverted hypodermic needle pointing skywards. The Bund is where the whole of Shanghai congregates in the evenings to take in the view and promenade amongst the hawkers selling tacky souvenirs, photo opportunities and a chance to fly a kite shaped like a shark.

The rest of Shanghai is a little weird for me; I guess I was expecting something a little more Oriental and Communist and Chinese and, well, different. But a huge proportion of the city is given over to the worship of consumerism like any big Western city. Elaborate shopping malls jostle for space with smaller stores, all selling Salvatore Ferragamo, Gucci, Prada, Tag Heuer, Levi's - and I mean the genuine article, not rip-offs, all at Western prices. The main shopping areas look like any city centre shopping streets to me, with pedestrian walkways, shopper mini-trains for the weary, nice seating areas, McDonalds, KFC and - yes - even Starbucks Coffee. It's just the fact that most of the signs are in Chinese and most people speak little or no English that gives it away. I am struggling with the language - we both are, but Orlando is making a valiant effort and it is paying off.

I had a bit of a panic attack last night when it was way past time for dinner, and we couldn't find a restaurant with an English menu. We hesitantly approached one place and were finally sent upstairs to the (much more expensive) first floor to read the English menu: my face and my spirits fell when I read lists of such appetising dishes as boiled chicken claws (the one thing I dreaded but it was the nicest thing on the list!), chicken gizzards, stinky tofu in beer, sliced eye fish in sauce... I am quoting directly from the menu. Would we ever find edible food in the city?? I had been haunted since the night before by the memory of lumps of beef fat glistening amongst my noodles at dinner, and had resolved to eat only vegetarian food from now on, but even the veg dishes had sounded worrying.

Thankfully Orlando was still feeling buoyant and he managed to allay my fears until we happened upon a clean, bright, 24-hour fast food place with - wait for it - PICTURES of food in the window (to think I used to deride this practice in Spain). I ran in and found to my delight that they had a list of English words to go with the photos. In bad Chinese and hand gestures we ordered a dish of beef with rice and tea eggs (eggs boiled in tea and star anise - quite tasty it seems) for Orlando, and a simple plate of beef and fried noodles for me. The food came and it looked exactly like it did in the photos!!! I fell on it and devoured my noodles in minutes. Delicious. I was so relieved.

We had a long day yesterday so we are taking it easy today - nothing like lounging on your sofa in your colonial hotel room eating chocolate raisins (Orlando) and drinking coffee (me) and reading magazines and Lonely Planet whilst Shanghai life buzzes outside your window. But not all day - shortly we will take a stroll (not too far today!) and sample a few bars and coffee (sorry, tea) houses before starting today's search for edible dinner. I promise: no visits to Starbucks!!!

Tomorrow we fly off to Beijing where a new city awaits. More then.

Interesting Facts About Australia

2005-09-15T14:55:00.000+10:00

Australia is huge. This is the first thing I have learned about our new home. Its total area is 7.7 million square kilometres.

Australia is about 30 times bigger than the UK, but its population is one-third that of the UK. It is also about three-quarters the size of the USA, but Australia's population is only about 7% of that of the USA.

This really useful website shows how Aus compares to other countries in size.

The state of Victoria, of which Melbourne is the capital, is about the same size as the UK but only has 5 million population as compared to 60 million in the UK. Even still it is Australia's most densely populated state! The Great Ocean Road is one of the state's biggest attractions - the famous 12 Apostles are a central feature of this National Park in western Victoria.

Victoria has quite a diverse landscape - it has desert in the north-west, but the mountains in the north-east are famous for their ski resorts. Not to mention the surf beaches!

The interesting thing about Melbourne is that the city is not Australia's wettest capital city! Sydney, Brisbane, Darwin and Perth all receive much higher annual rainfalls. However, Melbourne does have the highest number of rainy days. Click here for more Melbourne trivia.

One statistic I have in my mind which helps me understand the size of Australia, is that it is almost the same distance from Sydney to Perth as it is from London to Baghdad!

Four out of ten people living in Australia are immigrants or first-generation children of immigrants, so I guess we won't have too much trouble fitting in.

The Australian bank notes are actually made of plastic, which means it is no problem if you forget to empty your pockets before doing the laundry!

The good news is that our life expectancy will increase by about 3 years in Aus, but the bad news is that our average earnings are likely to go down...

Here are a few other interesting links for you to browse:
Detailed map of Australia
Map of the state of Victoria
Australian Geography and History
The Stolen Generations

Slip Slop Slurp

2005-08-15T15:04:00.000+10:00

So, you are in Melbourne and it is a hot summer's day. Us poor northern hemisphere types need somewhere to cool off... perhaps a place where good ice cream is not far away, or where there is a pool of water to dip your hot toes. Here are some of the best spots!

The Half Moon Fish & Chippery
Half Moon Bay
Blackrock

Middle Brighton Baths
251 The Esplanade
Brighton

Fairfield Boathouse
Fairfield Park Drive
Fairfield

Kanteen
The Pavilion
Alexandra Avenue
South Yarra

Portabella Café Bar
129a Beaconsfield Parade
Albert Park

Henderson House Cafe
45 Moreland Street
Footscray

The Pool Café
Aquatic Centre
Essex Street
Prahran

Parkdale Beach Café and Kiosk
Beach Road
Parkdale

Gilligans Fish & Chips
100 Western beach
GeelongPort

Pier Café
6 Pier Street
Port Arlington

In Case of Emergency

2005-07-12T15:54:00.000+10:00

East Anglian Ambulance Service here in the UK have launched a national "In Case of Emergency (ICE) "campaign with the support of Falklands war hero Simon Weston and in association with Vodafone's annual life savers award.

The idea is that you store the word "I C E" in your mobile phone address book, and against it enter the number of the person you would want to be contacted "In Case of Emergency".

In an emergency situation ambulance and hospital staff will then be able to quickly find out who your next of kin are and be able to contact them. It's so simple that everyone can do it. Please do.

Click here for more information!

Life and Death

2005-05-15T15:55:00.000+10:00

My wonderful father, Ben Doyle, died on 7 May 2005. He had been treated for cancer in the last six months, but towards the end his heart gave out and he passed away quickly.

I was so lucky to see him the evening before he died, as I had come over for the weekend to celebrate my nephew Connor’s birthday. So I got to kiss him goodnight only hours before he passed away.Nothing prepares you for hearing the words that somebody close to you has died, but I was amazed to discover how many reserves of courage we all have inside us.

My mother was a superstar. She bore the loss of her husband of 51 years with grace and dignity, and gave me even more to feel proud of. Friends and the wider family came out of nowhere to support us, feed us, comfort us while we cried and share with us when we laughed (and we did, even in the midst of the sorrow).

Over 250 people came to pay tribute to Daddy on the two days of the funeral. As we sat in the front pew of the church on the Tuesday night a seemingly never-ending line of people filed past us, each shaking every family member’s hand, or hugging us if we knew them well. Many didn’t know what to say. Some were crying themselves. But all looked us in the eye, touched our hands and told us in words or in gestures that they shared our sorrow.

Now I understand why it is important to pay your respects like that. In the past I never quite knew whether to approach a family where, for example, I only knew one person. But we had groups of people I had never met before, explaining who they were (colleagues of my brother, co-workers of my mum, people who played bowls with my dad) and every single person meant so much to each of us. The family drew a lot of strength from these people who came to mourn with us.

Similarly, others who could not be with us in person sent messages in many ways. Some called on the phone. Neighbours stopped us on the street. Sympathy cards and mass cards came by hand or by post by the dozen – we received over 150 cards from all over the world. We got emails and even text messages. Every one of the words we heard or read gave us strength and comfort.

Some people didn’t know what to say; we got a lot of standard lines like “I am sorry for your troubles” and “our thoughts and prayers are with you” and “my condolences” and simply “I don’t know what to say”. One neighbour, an old sparring partner of my dad’s, stopped me on the street to shake my hand and offer his sympathies but couldn’t say a word to me as he was crying silently as he stood there.

None of it mattered – all that mattered was that another human being was trying to connect with us, to say that they loved our dad, to say that they were sorry for our sadness, to sympathise and to let us know we are not alone. We remember every face in that crowd of people who came to the church. We pored over every word and every picture in the cards we received. I saved every email and even text message I got. It all mattered so very much to us.

If you are ever concerned about doing the right thing in a situation like this, the right thing to do is to make contact in some way and say you are thinking of the person who has been bereaved. Don’t worry if you don’t know what to say.

Don’t worry if you don’t think you can call - you could send a card or email or even a quick text message. It’s not impersonal at all – in fact it was good have the support coming through in lots of different ways.

For example, sometimes I couldn’t bear to talk either but a quick one-line text from an old mate or work colleague just asking “How are you doing?” or “I am thinking of you” at the strangest times of day gave me a little more strength to get through. Believe me when I say you will never say the wrong thing. All that will be remembered is that you cared enough to make contact.

I wouldn’t recommend this death business to anyone. Now, more than ever, I understand how it feels to have my heart broken. But death is a part of life and I was amazed to discover I had the strength and resilience to survive it.

If you get one message from my experiences, though, it is this: go now and tell the people closest to you that you love them. I am so very fortunate to know that my father heard those words from me before he died. Of course he know I loved him, but it is really comforting for me to know that I told him, many times over, while he was still with me. He was the most wonderful Dad in the world. I miss him.

10 Things To Do To Welcome Summer

2005-05-01T15:57:00.000+10:00

1. Buy new shoes
Nothing says “new season” to any woman more than new shoes. Now is the time to make the shoe shop your favourite haunt, as you browse the new season’s treats, and decide what your wardrobe absolutely cannot do without.(NB handbag obsessives can replace shoes with bags if they absolutely must…)(NB2 have no idea what blokes can do. Maybe buy a new spanner set or something)

2. Spring Clean
Yes I know it might sound weird, but the lovely bright evenings and other changes to the weather bring out the spring cleaner in me. Maybe it is because what we could hide in dark corners in winter, now call out for sorting. In any event, use that new energy you have to attack one room in your house and get it the way you want it.If housework sound the same any way you dress it up, use your enthusiasm to brighten up your garden instead – give yourself an additional room to live in this summer!Check out www.organizedhome.com for tips for indoors.Or follow www.thegardenerschoice.co.uk for garden inspiration.You know you secretly want to!!!

3. Eat fruit
Forget healthy eating – eating fresh exotic fruit is a sure-fire way of feeling summery. Fresh strawberries for dessert, your favourite melon for a weekend breakfast, or a whole pineapple chopped and soaked in rum is what you need to make you feel pampered and tropical.

4. Learn how to make a good rum punch
The old Jamaican rhyme goes:

One of sour
Two of sweet
Three of strong
Four of weak

Sour is lemon or lime juice.

Sweet is (originally) sugar cane juice but we boring Europeans can substitute sugar.

Strong is rum (of course). Preferably a very good quality, and preferably not white rum. Golden or dark rum has a better flavour.

Weak is fruit juice. Better if it is fresh, and a mixture is best. Don’t wimp out and go for straight OJ.

Chill all ingredients beforehand so you don’t have to dilute everything with ice.

And top off with a sprinkle of nutmeg, and a generous dash of grenadine to make the “sunset” colour scheme we all know and love from our holidays.

A mate of mine swears by a good dash of gin to add to the kick. It works.

Finally – don’t skimp on the rum!

5. Book a holiday in the sun
It’ll make you feel better – honest! And it’s a good encouragement to get fit for your new beachwear!

6. Volunteer your time - May is environment month
www.yearofthevolunteer.org
www.volunteering.org.uk
www.idealist.org
www.nationaltrust.org.uk
www.csv.org.uk

7. Reclaim your local open space
Within 5 miles of our house, right in this huge city, is a lovely rare bird sanctuary with a sailing club on a lake (Welsh Harp reservoir), another with ponds you can swim in and a National Trust house (Hampstead Heath), and a protected wetland (Barnes Wetland Centre).There are hundreds of miles of bicycle paths all over London too.Other cities in the world are the same! Get out there and enjoy the open spaces your taxes pay for!
www.londoncyclenetwork.org www.ramblers.org www.visitdublin.com/gardens http://www.melbourne.vic.gov.au/info

8. Celebrate someone who inspires you
Inspiration comes in many forms – and in many aspects of life. We all have people in our lives who inspire us, either with their courage or persistence, or their hard work, or just their ability to see the best in people and make others smile.Let your inspirational person know you are inspired by them! Send a card (even an e-card). Give them flowers, or take them out for coffee. Or just give them a call and tell them you think they are great.

9. Practise elegant economy
It finally hit me a few years ago that the art of living within one’s means is just that — an art. It is all about enjoying, not spending money. Like the ladies in Elizabeth Gaskell’s 1853 comic novel, Cranford, I have tried to learn the art of “elegant economy”. Those ladies would walk home because, they claimed, the night air was refreshing, rather than because they could not afford a carriage. Cotton was nicer than silk, they assured each other, because it washed better, not because they could no longer afford silk.

Here’s a simple way to start: Write down everything you spend, in a little notebook or pocket diary. It works straight away: just as writing down what you eat makes you eat a bit less, writing down what you spend makes you spend a bit less. Then aim to have a few no-spend days a month. After a while, it becomes a game: how can I run my life today without writing anything down in my little blue book? How ingenious can I be?

As you claw your way out of debt, you may notice a strange thing. Money that you actually possess feels completely different from money you owe. When contemplating spending money that is sitting solidly in your account, as opposed to spending money you don’t own on a credit card, the prospect of giving up your hard-earned cash strangely seems to pall.

10. Vote
It’s a big deal for us UK-dwellers right now, with election day right upon us. But even if you are reading this after the fact, or you live in another country, take this reminder to confirm that you are still registered to vote, and at the correct address. Or register for a postal vote so you won’t have any excuse next time!People died to get us our vote. We have a responsibility to use it!

Winter Spiritual Detox

2005-03-07T16:09:00.000+11:00

Make the winter months a time for reflection, not for dieting. Spend some time feeding your mind and soul. Take a day or a weekend – or even a few hours – and nurture your spiritual side.Go for a long walk along the beach. Climb a mountain (if you are in the southern hemispeher and you are not subject to hypothermia!). Book yourself into a spa for a day. Or even find somewhere to learn how to meditate. There are lots of places to go to find a bit of peace. Try some of the places below.

The Amaravati Buddhist Centre, Hemel Hempstead
Amaravati is a monastery in the Theravada tradition of Buddhism and a centre of teaching and practice. Every Saturday afternoon (14:00-16:30), they hold a meditation workshop for beginners with an opportunity for questions to be answered.

The Sanctuary, central London
My favourite way of spending a day alone. Book into this beautiful quiet space, lounge in your white fluffy robe in the Koi carp lounge watching the fish swimming beside you, sleep, think, drink tea. Forget about the body therapies, they will only interrupt your quiet time. I promise you will emerge at 6pm energised and ready to face the world.

Lough Derg – St. Patrick’s Purgatory
Most Irish people will know about Lough Derg, known as a place of peace since the time of St. Patrick. These days they offer one-day retreats as well as the more famous 3-day pilgrimages.

Fo Guang Yuan Art Gallery, Melbourne
The FGY art gallery is Melbourne's major Buddhist art space featuring changing programmes of Chinese and Buddhist Art. Another feature is the meditation hall and regular free 30 minute lunch time meditation. On Friday evenings they have guided meditation/tai chi classes. Try it!!

Tyburn Convent, central London
This convent of contemplative nuns is an amazing place close to Marble Arch in the west end of London. The convent offers “monastic afternoon Sundays” for those seeking some spiritual quiet. Visit the Crypt from 2pm to 5pm.

Retreats All Over the UK
Use this website to find a retreat centre near you. Many offer one-day events including reflections on a theme, or simply quiet days.

Donate Your Time

2005-02-28T16:10:00.000+11:00

We live in a global village, they say, Friends are the new family, they say. So when in your week do you spend time helping others, like we did in the villages and extended families of years ago?

I bet you have a spare hour or two each week, or maybe a week or two each year, that you can give to a cause you believe in.

www.do-it.org.uk
www.timebank.org.uk
www.volunteer.com.au

Get Creative

2005-02-20T16:11:00.000+11:00

Maybe you are already in touch with your spiritual self. Maybe, then, it is time to find the creative being inside you!

Think of something you like to do, and turn it into art.

Actually print some of those digital photos you take by the hundred. Take yourself off to the great outdoors and immerse yourself in nature instead of family snaps. Enlarge your favourite, frame it and make your own work of art.

Here's one I made earlier, called Hard Pause - it is exhibited online at the Hype Gallery www.hype.com .

www.tdds.co.uk will turn your favourite photos into actual art: send them a digital photo and they will send it back to you printed on canvas. They will also turn any original artwork into limited edition prints for you. Why buy art when you can make your own?

www.walkingworld.com offers countless UK walking maps of all distances and difficulty levels. Get out there!

Take the bull by the horms and learn that skill you’ve dreamed of. Take a watercolour painting course, learn to throw a pot, carve your very own sculpture.

Check out www.artcourses.co.uk for inspiration!

Or why not make your holiday something a bit more special?

Responsible Travel was launched in 2001 to help travellers book more real and authentic holidays that also benefit the environment and local people. Visit local tribes in Africa, go swimming with whales in Tonga, or go mountain biking in England. You might even learn something!

2005 Annual Awards

2005-01-02T16:17:00.000+11:00

Book of the Year (non-fiction)
Between You and I: a little book of bad English - James Cochrane
“A cool, disdainfully precise A-Z of linguistic misuse”.
The absolute bible for those of us who abhor misplaced apostrophes, split infinitives and the use of “criteris” as a singular noun. Warning – you will find yourself shouting at this book joyfully as you realise what a kindred spirit the writer is – even if you are on the Tube.

Book of the Year (fiction)
The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

On her way home from school, 14-year-old Susie Salmon is lured into a cornfield and brutally raped and murdered, the latest victim of a serial killer. The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold's haunting and heartbreaking debut novel, unfolds from heaven, where "life is a perpetual yesterday" and where Susie narrates and keeps watch over her grieving family and friends, as well as her brazen killer and the sad detective working on her case. A moving exploration of loss, mourning and the after-life, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Song of the Year – Joint Award!
Hey Ya – Outkast (from Speakerboxxxx/The Love Below album)

I first heard this song when the video came on TV one night. I was so engrossed in the video, the song went right over my head. But it got played every hour on the radio in Australia when we were there for Christmas. My best memory is trying to dance to this tune cramped in the back seat of my sister’s car coming home one night in the scorching heat of Christmas Week. It’s so infectious, every time I hear it I still want to hand-jive!

Your Game – Will Young (from Friday’s Child album)

My mate Sue said she loved Will Young. I didn’t get it myself, until I heard this song. We spent a cold winter redecorating Orlando’s flat and listening to Kiss (the only radio station we could get for some reason). Again, this song was played hourly but it didn’t matter – I couldn’t get enough of it! I am not sure if it the gospel backing group or the funky music or Will’s own sweet voice, but this song uplifts me every time I hear it! Even if it is about walking away from somebody who hurt him…

Album of the Year
Speakerboxxxx/The Love Below – Outkast

What else could I have chosen? It gave us two out of my Top 3 songs of the year – Hey Ya (see above) and I Like The Way You Move. It was a weird choice for me but I was not disappointed by either album (there are two distinct albums in this, one by Andre 2000 and one by Big Boi). Lyrics are intelligent and funny. I love it!

Restaurant of the Year
La Guarida, Havana, Cuba

Up three long flights of poorly lighted stairs in an old beauty of a building is one of the most famous Havana’s paladars - La Guarida. It owes its renown in equal parts to the wonderful ambience, dependable cuisine, and the starring role it played in several scenes in the Cuban blockbuster film Fresa y Chocolate. The three small rooms of this converted apartment are decorated ornately with huge chandeliers and walls crowded with art. Signed celebrity photos shows you just what a desirable destination it is.

The food is good but not spectacular – La Guarida is more about the ambience, the location, the style and 1920s sophistication of such a place in Castros’ Cuba. Starters include gazpacho, rabbit lasagne, or their signature appetizer of eggplant caviar. Main courses are plentiful, with a good selection of fish, lamb, pork, chicken or rabbit, but you won’t find any beef as only government-owned establishments can serve it!Reservations are necessary as this tiny place gets booked out quickly.Go there!

Movie of the Year
Hero

Already the single most pirated movie of all time, this mythical story is a feast for the eyes and a wonderful concept. A tale of kings, assassins and heros, the tale is told from four different perspectives. Each perspective is depicted in a different dominant colour – white, red, blue, black and green. As the movie progresses you can’t help but analyse each story to decide which one you think is true. Whether you like martial arts movies or not this movie is such a visual spectacular it’s a must-see!

Move Scene of the Year
Will Smith in the shower – I, Robot

Well, let’s face it. Why would you go to the trouble of having your own website and website awards if you can’t completely manipulate both to include your own few moments of 2004 cinematic heaven!!!Mmmm Will Smith in the shower. We like a man who takes his nude scenes seriously enough to work for a body like that.If only I could have found a decent still photo to include here, but sadly nothing is available online. We will all have to wait for the DVD to come out, and then revel in how magnificent the pause button works…

Website of the Year – Joint Award
These two great sites are my current favourites.

www.bookcrossing.comConceived by software developer Ron Hornbaker, this great site encourages everyone to dust off those books you have on your shelves and release them into the wild for someone else to find and read. Each book released is logged on the website so that you can see how far they travel. Furthest travelled so far is a French book of poetry which has been found and passed on 95 times! Log on and perform a Random Act of BookCrossing Kindness (RABCK) today!

www.wearewhatwedo.org
Ever felt a quiver of social responsibility in the depth of your hedonistic soul, but was too damn lazy to do anything about it? Then this website is for you! Click on the link and find 50 quick and easy things to do. Most cost nothing, most take very little time, all make you feel great afterwards! I bet you will be surprised how many of these 50 things you do already – so think about one more you can add to your altruistic list!

Man of the Year
My Dad

Who else could I have picked but the man who has been there from the start?
Follow this link to find out why Ben Doyle Senior is my Man of the Year!

Traffic and Culture

2004-12-13T16:31:00.000+11:00

The State Opening of Parliament may look good on the Six O'Clock News, with snippets of the Queen in her carriage, and Black Rod banging on the door of the Commons, but if you happen to work nearby it is a real nightmare. I got caught in the traffic that morning - I counted more than 10 ambassadors en route in their diplomatic Mercedes - and it took me almost three hours to do the 13 mile trip to work. Remind me next year to take the day off...

The rest of the day really made up for it though. Sue and I met after work on a crowded Shaftesbury Avenue, and went to see famous Latin American novelist Carlos Fuentes being interviewed in the Gielgud Theatre. It was part of the Orange Word festival, which brings famous writers to London each year for discussion and interview. Check out www.orangeword.co.uk.

He was fascinating to listen to - an erudite, philosopical, charming old-world gentleman who had interesting opinions on everything from world literature to world politics, from Mexican history to the art of writing.

Afterwards we had a drink in a great over-the-top cocktail bar on the edge of Soho which was all pink glitter and gothic art. Dinner was eaten in Chinatown, at the Wong Kei where the waiters are all rude to you (they only smile at me!). Then we wandered past Piccadilly Circus and spent an hour or two browsing the books in the big Waterstones which is open till 10pm.

When we got kicked out at closing time we headed back towards Green Park tube at a leisurely pace, passing the Ritz with all its Tinseltown lighting, and Fortum and Mason's Christmas window display. I know it is supposed to be worth a visit every year to see their windows, but this year I thought the baroque-looking smiling and grimacing faces framing the tableaux were a bit scary really!

Home through the (thankfully light) night-time traffic, with Tony Blackburn on Jazz FM playing the Stylistics, Dionne Warwick and other great classic soul. After such an inauspicious start it turned out to be a great day to live in London!

Change The World in Five Minutes

2004-10-19T16:21:00.000+10:00

How have you helped your planet or your fellow man today? Check out the links below for instant ways to change the world!
Come on - you've got 5 minutes to spare don't you? It needn't even cost you money!!!

What you can do TODAY

Instant Inspiration - www.wearewhatwedo.orgS
hare your old books - www.bookcrossing.com
Improve your manners - www.ehow.com
Help cure cancer - www.cancerresearchuk.org

Register for Organ Donation
UK - www.uktransplant.org.uk I
reland - www.ika.ie/irishdonornetwork/
Australia - www.organdonors.com.au/

Give Blood
UK - www.blood.co.uk
Ireland - www.ibts.ie
Australia - www.giveblood.redcross.org.au

The Chieftains in Concert

2004-09-20T16:23:00.000+10:00

What a night. The Chieftains played the London Palladium and Orlando and I were there to see it.

We started the evening in a meat-eater’s paradise called Bodeans BBQ in Poland Street, Soho. Bodean’s is a American-diner-type please and they pretty much only serve up huge slabs of meat! There is a diner downstairs too. Let me tell you, we will never be able to get Orlando out of this place. Excellent food!

Then on to the Palladium to see a fantastic evening of Irish music. The Chieftains are probably the best-known and best-loved traditional Irish musicians.

The Chieftains were joined on stage by a lady taking the late Derek Bell’s place on keyboard and Irish harp, and also by a cellist and a fiddler.

Minutes into the performance another young lean-limbed bloke wandered onto the stage and gave the most amazing high-energy step-dance performance. He was joined half-way through by his borther, the second fiddler on the stage. These young men are the Polanski brothers from Ottawa, Canada and they almost stole the show.

The Chieftains had the place eating out of their hands immediately, but the highlight of the night for me was when the inimitable Paddy Maloney stepped up to the front with his tin whistle. There was total silence in the auditorium as the melancholy notes of Mna na hEireann rang out. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck and I held my breath till the last note. Magical.

In typical style, they had lots of guests helping them along – a young Irish singer and a local London girl on the fiddle; Fergus from Glasgow on the Scottish pipes, and the lead singer from the Fleadh Cowboys.The Polanski boys were also joined by Cara Butler, a champion Irish dancer from Long Island, New York (must be Jean Butler’s sister, she of Riverdance fame).

They sang tracks from their Long Black Veil and Santiago albums. The origin of "Santiago" dates back to 1984 after a Chieftains performance in the seaport of Vigo, in the Galicia region of Spain. It was there that they first heard Carlos Núñez, who, says Moloney, "literally became the seventh member of The Chieftains" on their world tours. Núñez was replaced last night by the Fleadh Cowboys guy, and the 2 or 3 tracks played were an amazing blend of Irish and Spanish traditions.

All in all, an evening of great fun and music and dance. These guys are in the their 42nd year together, so go see them when you can – they won’t last forever!

Paul Curran marries Carmel Bennett

2004-07-31T16:24:00.000+10:00

On Friday 16 July 2004, my dear friend Paul from UCD days married the beautiful Carmel Bennett in Sallynoggin Church. So what better excuse for a bit of a reunion? Joe Dalton and Elva came, and Michael Ward flew in especially from Idaho with wife Kris. Orlando and I made the trip too and it turned out to be a hell of a day.

The church ceremony was lovely, and Carmel looked radiant as she walked up the aisle to her fate. Paul looked so handsome in his formal outfit, and although he insisted that his calm exterior belied the turmoil within, he looked pretty happy to me!

The reception was at the Marriott at Druid's Glen in Newtownmountkennedy, starting with a champagne reception and a coin toss between Joe and Elva to see who was the designated driver.... they took a cab in the end! The menfolk did seem to find the Guinness even more palatable than the champagne too...

We tried taking a photo of the women's fabulous eyes - me with brown, Elva with deep blue, and Kris with iridescent green... but I'm afraid all you can see is our amazing beauty in this shot!

It was so great to catch up, and the bride and groom were not shy in rambling about during the reception, gossiping and generally getting to spend time with their guests. The speeches were perfect - sentimental, funny and not too long - and I have to say the food and wine were fantastic.

The night was a long one, especially for Michael and Kris who had flown in on a 20-hour marathon that morning and had yet to sleep. This did not stop Kris from becoming the queen of the dancefloor before spiralling finally into a deep sleep on Michael's shoulder at about 2am.

All in all, it was so good to get together for such a fantastic occasion. I will admit to a few happy tears toward the end of the evening, as I saw how happy Paul was. And now I can rest - all my "five boys" nicely married off to women with good prospects. I can do no more for them!

Summer Solstice 2004

2004-06-21T16:27:00.000+10:00

In true British style, Midsummer's Day has started out quite chilly thank you very much. At least one person I know had the central heating on last night, and I certainly had the car heater on full this morning.

But Stonehenge didn't let us down. Despite a heavy dew and clouds obscuring the sun, dawn rose majestically over the ancient rocks. More than 21,000 people assembled to see the sun rise on summer solstice morning.

A Christening and a Reunion

2004-06-19T16:26:00.000+10:00

One weekend in June I travelled down to my old home town Maidstone in Kent, for the christening of the third offspring of my old friends Denis and Lizzie. Denis and I were in University College Dublin together, along with the rest of the core group – Joe Dalton, Brian Costello, Paul Curran, Michael Ward, Conor Byrne, and Colin McDonnell, with Manu Pillai joining the gang halfway through.

Denis, Brian and I worked together in Maidstone for several years, and they both got nabbed by local women. Brian still lives there with his wife Alison and their kids Ryan and Kara (in a great big posh house I might add). Denis, on the other hand, convinced Lizzie to move back to the wilds of the Donegal Gaeltacht with him, where they live with their three children, Sam, Eilis and bay Róise.

So Roise was christened in Maidstone on the family’s way to France on holiday. A lovely ceremony was held in the church where Biran and Ali got married about 100 years ago. Brian (god help us all) was godfather to this poor unsuspecting child. Afterwards we all met up in a local church hall to eat food, drink wine and catch up.Turns out there is a rash of ceremonies happening this year.

Paul Curran gets married to the lovely Carmel in a couple of weeks in Wicklow (photos to follow I promise). And Colin McDonnell has been snared by a beautiful Galway woman, we hear, and the nuptials are occurring in October. Looks like 2004 is turning into a great year for a reunion and a few beers!

Like Father.....

Like Sons!!!! Personally I think it is scary how Brian and Denis (above) have passed on their genes to sons Ryan and Sam

I managed to herd the Costello clan to gether for one nice photo but failed to do so for the five wild Ferrys.

If you are reading this and are thinking of your old school or college mates, pick up the phone (or click on your mouse) and get in touch now. You’ll never guess what they’ve been up to…

A Night at the Opera

2004-05-27T16:28:00.000+10:00

This week I had my very first – and then second – trip to the Opera. We booked to see the Barber of Seville followed by the Marriage of Figaro, both in the old Savoy Theatre. The theatre itself is beautiful, and it was the very first public building in the world to be completely lit by electric light more than 100 years ago.

We had great seats and I really enjoyed both performances. The first was done in a modern setting whilst the second was performed in full period costume. It was remarkable how similar both operas are given that they were written by two different composers, and as they were both sung in English (sorry purists!) it meant I had half a chance of figuring out what was going on! A wonderful experience, though, and I will definitely go again.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2004-03-17T16:40:00.000+11:00

Not sure what my compatriots will be doing on Wednesday… well, that’s not strictly true. They will get up, go to the St. Patrick’s Day parade in whatever Irish city they live in, have a few pints and enjoy the day off work.

We in London have to satisfy ourselves with a parade the Sunday before (missed it myself) and a full day’s work.

With the size of the Irish diaspora, it should be a national holiday in all the nations of the world!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
Beannachtaí na Féile Phádraig oraibh go léir!!!

Girls vs Women - Update

2004-03-10T16:35:00.000+11:00

So, we women don’t mind being called girls if the context is right. Or, Bonnie Grier had her knickers in a twist, and the whole thing was political correctness gone mad.

The final result of last week’s poll on Girls vs. Women was a dead heat in favour of these two opinions, and only a small minority thought being called a girl was something to be offended by. Great to see that the women who read this website have their heads firmly screwed on, and their senses of humour in place.

Favourite comments included:

“The term 'girl' can only be seen as condescending if the receiver sees it thus….Have you ever heard a man complain about being called a 'lad' ? Or 'one of the BOYS' ?” (Mena from Melbourne)

“I was going to rant about this harridan's inability to notice that she's living in a different country to the US, and that she should cease the usual American practice of trying to homogenise every "foreign" country into a facsimile of the land of the free as a means of causing less confusion in her tiny little brain.” (Nick from London)

“I think I'll reserve the title 'woman' to when I have earned it...hopefully sometime in my future when I am wiser and can reflect on a more fuller and more participatory life !!! Until then I remain happy to be called 'girl'...so Go Girl! Be proud, be fearless and live life!” (Mel from London)

Thanks for the great debate all!

Girls vs Women - The Debate

2004-03-08T16:37:00.000+11:00

To highlight the ongoing inequality of women on International Women’s Day, US-born Bonnie Grier raised the issue of British women being referred to as girls on this morning’s Today programme. “It was one of the first things I discovered when I moved here 20 years ago”, she said. “I found that quite shocking, to see grown women call themselves girls and to allow themselves to be called girls.”

Politician Ann Widdecombe stoutly defended her right to be called a girl, and branded Bonnie too politically correct, asking “Haven’t we got more important things to worry about?”

See this BBC link for more on this interview.

This was quite a relevant story to me, because as some of you know one of my New Year’s resolutions was to stop referring to myself as a girl and start calling myself a woman. This was for no other reason that I am closer to menopause than puberty and really had to start facing the facts!

So, what are the views of the honourable readership of maireaddoyle.com? Is Bonnie Grier a ridiculous Yank who has let political correctness go to her head, or is Ann Widdecombe ignoring the fact that women continue to be confronted with prejudice and condescension in the workplace? Are words like this so important, or is it all in the context?

Is it OK to refer to women as girls?
This voting was closed on 15.03.2004.

Grier needs to get a life - this is political correctness gone mad!
46,15%

Grier is absolutely right - we must insist on more respect than this.
7,69%

It all depends on the context in which the term is used.
46,15%

Barry Lategan

2004-03-01T16:34:00.000+11:00

Walking back to my office from a meeting today, I stopped at my car to pick up my laptop. A middle-aged man was standing outside our car park with a camera in his hand, considering the wall of the parking lot with some interest. As I walked past, he smiled and said he was glad I had come out, as he needed a bit of elegance for his shot.

We got talking and he explained that he was a photographer, and that whilst travelling in Egypt recently had stumbled on the idea of advertising boards and other hoardings being the artistic backdrop of city life. The wall of our car park had been pasted with a light blue paper, which had been painted with graffiti images of people – an artistic effort rather than an act of vandalism, we assumed.

We waited a moment until a good-looking young girl walked past with some coffees in her hand, and the gentleman took his shot. He showed me the image in his digital camera, shielding the view screen for me with his scarf. The composite image of the girl striding past this unusual backdrop was indeed striking. This man was indeed a photographer and a good one at that.

He asked me if I was Irish (the accent is always a giveaway) and said that Seamus Heaney had just inspired him to notice place names, as he had been listening to him on a radio programme earlier talking about Irish place names. We chatted about this, and I said that Irish names mean nothing to others but to the Irish they are really significant and often beautifully descriptive.

The gentleman pointed out the name of the street we were standing on - Valentine Place - and how the name conjured up such a different image in one's mind to the one he had just captured.

As I made to leave, he tipped his hat to me in an old-fashioned but genuinely natural manner. He extended his had to shake mine as he introduced himself as Barry Lategan, a photographer who took the very first pictures of a young model called Twiggy. I walked back to my office thinking how amazing this part of London is with all its theatres and art houses so close by. Just by wandering about at lunchtime I have bumped into Sir Ian McKellan and now a famous London photographer.

Don’t you just love this city?

Walking in Oxfordshire

2004-03-01T16:33:00.000+11:00

We had a day in the country on Saturday. Despite the cold, we wrapped up warm and headed off into deepest darkest Oxfordshire to See Some Nature. Orlando is a city man at the best of times, so he still looked somewhat urban in attire as we parked the car in Wallingford and wandered off to find the footpath along the Thames.

We walked for almost three hours beside one of the loveliest stretches of river, with lots of wild birds to watch, and the sprouting buds on the weeping willows promising springtime coming soon. We saw bullrushes and wild daffodils, watched Oxford University rowing teams doing their stuff in the water, got followed by a bunch of hungry-looking ducks and drakes, and got covered in mud for our sins. Fantastic.

As we drove up the motorway towards Banbury we were knocked out by an amazing sunset that literally painted the sky red as a huge sun dropped beneath the horizon.

A couple of visits to cosy country pubs completed our day, which was a welcome change from London City.

TV Shows

2004-02-19T16:41:00.000+11:00

One of the great things about living in London is that you can get to see TV programmes getting made. What a great way to spend an evening, and the tickets are always free!A few weeks ago we went to see an episode of the satirical comedy Bremner, Bird and Fortune being made in Wembley near where we live. It was my first time at a TV show recording, and the main thing I remember is that THE STUDIO WAS FREEZING COLD!!! Really entertaining, though. We got to see sketches at their full unedited length, and Rory Bremner was pretty funny between takes too.

Last Thursday night Orlando and I had tickets to see the recording of Tonight with Jonathan Ross (which goes out on a Friday night on the BBC). This was being recorded in the venerable halls of BBC Shepherd’s Bush. Three other shows were being done at the same time, so we shared the waiting room with the audience of Parkinson, Watch with Monkey and some other show we had never heard of called I’d Do Anything. One of the audience for that last show was wearing his underpants over his trousers, so it was pretty clear what he would do…

Anyway, we got great seats right in the front row, directly opposite the host’s desk and the guests’ sofa. Or so we thought. Once things got going two huge cameras and a stills photographers completely blocked our view of most of what was going on… but we got tantalising glimpses of the first guests – John Lydon (formerly Johnny Rotten) and Liza Tarbuck.

Luckily when the big star guests appeared there were two of them, and the cameras changed position, giving us (well me) a perfect view of that stars of the new Starsky and Hutch movie, Owen Wilson and Ben Stiller! They were sitting no more than 20 feet from me! The weird thing was that most of the time Owen Wilson was staring directly at me. I understood that he was probably looking directly into the camera and tried not to get freaked out, but I have to say I spent most of the time feeling a little shy!

Funny thing was, when we saw the show on TV the following night it turned out that Owen Wilson was actually staring beyond the camera for the whole show. Which means ….. that he had actually been looking at me all the time!!! Oh my god, Owen Wilson was staring at me the whole time, probably thinking “I’m a big movie star and that woman with the furry coat on keeps looking at Ben Stiller all the time. What’s wrong with me???!!!”

Anyway, Owen, if you are online and reading this (hey, why wouldn’t he be?) I’m sorry. Even with that funny nose you are still quite cute, and I was a big fan of David Soul’s when I was a kid anyway, so I’m sorry if I gave you a complex on Thursday night.

Gold Coast Sunrise

2004-01-07T16:29:00.000+11:00

Orlando and I are safely home after a month in Australia, which was fantastic. Well, it was fantastic after we both recovered from a four-day bug which laid Orlando low in Surfers Paradise, and me in Melbourne. Not sure whether to blame the change in climate or the damned air-conditioning on airplanes, but is really is irritating to be sick on vacation!

The Gold Coast was lovely (although with Orlando ill we didn't get to do any diving). On my first morning I woke up and realised the sun was about to rise, and I was metres from the Pacific Ocean. I ran down to the beach and sat for hour watching the spectacular scene as the sea and sky changed colour every moment. It was so peaceful just sitting there watching as the ocean slowly came to life and the sky brightened to an impossibly azure blue. What a great way to start a holiday!

Melbourne was great as usual, we had a really relaxing time with Mena my sister and nieces Lee and Amy. As Melbourne is the gourmet capital of Australia, our bellies are certainly a lot bigger now then when we left though!

Check out the Melbourne Restaurants section in the coming days for a new section on my favourite places to eat and drink in Melbourne.

Christmas Day was pretty hot - it was in the low thirties most of the day. Otherwise the day was a traditional one, with some people going to High Mass in St. Patrick's Cathedral in the morning, while others stayed at home to prepare the platters of food for the present-opening. Delicious tiger prawns and other seafood, lots of different pates and cheeses, dips and veggies, all washed down with plenty of Australian sparkling wine (nobody here drinks champagne when the Australian equivalent is so fantastic).

Opening the gifts took about two hours in the end, between photos, refilling the wine glasses and general distractions.

Of course we had the traditional dinner with all the trimmings before spending the evening chatting.When it got a bit cooler, Orlando and I went out for a stroll before it got too dark (around 9pm folks - don't you love a long hot summer's Christmas Day!), wandering through the empty streets where all the houses have Christmas lights outside and a big tree in the window.

Whilst most houses have a discreet string or two of white lights or icicle lights along the veranda, which looks lovely, one house had gone all National Lampoon - it was visible from the other side of the park, with no end to the flashing lights on the palm trees, Santas on the roof, lit-up reindeer in the garden and god knows what else!

But now we are home again to cold wet London. At least we left the house reasonably tidy before we went! Our baggage is lost somewhere between Melbourne, Brisbane, Singapore, Dubai and London, and we are hoping maybe it will turn up today.

Of course, I am writing this at 3 in the morning while the jet lag messe swith my body clock. Tomorrow we will have a Lord of the Rings fest (it only came out in Aus on Boxing Day) right after the laundry fest!!!Oh, it's great to be home....