One Aussie Year

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.

Bollywood Movie Stars Party

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!

New Food Blog

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.

Food & Wine

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

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.

Pellegrini's

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.

Diamonds Ball

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!

Melbourne Food & Wine Show

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:

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

Willy LitFest

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.

Melbourne Restaurants

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!

Hanging Rock: It's No Picnic

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

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.