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.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Roy Webb gets an MBE
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)."
"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)."
Friday, December 02, 2005
Mairead's Christmas Survival Tips
- 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?
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!
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