Blogtrotting

Pickle walking like a pro

2011-06-06T11:47:00.001+01:00

Watch "Pickle walking like a pro" on YouTube

They're racing stripes!

2011-05-21T00:18:00.003+01:00

TOO. MANY. STRIPES!

2011-05-20T23:32:00.001+01:00

Static Head

2011-05-07T04:15:00.001+01:00

Frickin Ants!

2011-04-30T09:44:00.001+01:00

I Eats Me

2011-04-30T09:09:00.001+01:00

Woody Was Naughty

2011-04-09T05:31:00.001+01:00

2011-03-31T01:03:00.001+01:00

Having a Sick Day

2011-03-30T23:54:00.001+01:00

In front of Sesame Street.

Been Busy

2011-03-30T05:04:00.001+01:00

I'd have posted more frequently, but I've been busy.

She sits (mostly) unaided

2010-12-07T12:44:00.000Z

Still a bit bendy in the middle

Another bottle lover

Happy 5 months Rory

2010-12-07T12:40:00.000Z

With less than a week until Rory is 6 months old, it was about time to post these pictures of her on the day she turned 5 months old. It was also the day that Emi turned 8 months old. Bron and I have made it easy on the Davies/Hutchings family, only one date to remember when it comes to birthdays. In this instance 13 is the lucky number. We spend the morning at the West End markets, shopping for fruits and veges and having a leisurely breakfast in the sunshine. Lovely day in all!

Papas and their bubbas

Grandparents doing some kid wrangling

Rory hearts her Su-ma

Rory and Emi go shopping

2010-12-07T12:30:00.000Z

My sister-in-law Bronwyn and I have been spending lots of time together since we returned to Aus, which has been fantastic for us, but also for Rory and Emi who are really starting to bond. We made a trip out to the supermarket a few weeks ago and got a glimpse of what life might be like with twins, or siblings very close in age. How cool are these trolleys? I can't remember whether they have them like this in the UK, probably because I had my groceries delivered (darling, you don't actually go to the shops do you?). It certainly made life easier being able to put both bubbas in the one trolley, even though there were two of us there to do the shopping.

Apprehensive at first

Oh, there's Emi

At just the right distance for patting

Swimming Lessons

2010-12-07T12:20:00.000Z

Rory started swimming lessons a few weeks ago, much to her inner mermaid's delight. As you would expect, there's not much training in the strokes of freestyle (or front crawl for our UK readers) or breast stroke. The lessons focus on water confidence and teaching water safety in the event that they fall in the pool. There are lots of songs, and who doesn't like a little dunk and sing-a-long. We're off to our 5th lesson tomorrow and Rory is yet to have a teary moment. She doesn't seem to mind getting dunked, even when she swallows copious amounts of water. Swallowing loads of water leads to lots of swimming lesson burps, I'm sure the teacher thinks we're hill billies. Looking at these photos, my mouth is open in all of them... if Rory's modelling her swimming face after mine, this might explain why she swallows so much water . Note to self, mouth closed tomorrow!

A bit miffed by all the action

Practising how to rescue herself should she fall backwards into a pool

No, I want to surf, sitting is for babies

Ain't no thang

Pass the bottle

2010-12-07T11:59:00.000Z

All the toys in the world, cleverly designed to stimulate your baby's blah blah blah and help their whatsits develop to genius proportions.... and what do they want to play with? An empty water bottle. I took these pictures a month ago, Rory had just started to do 'baby push ups' and I was one proud mumma! When I look back now and compare these shots to where she is now, it seems like childs play (are puns good journalism?). But, we've been uber slack with the blogging and I am determined to catch up so we have to take baby steps and older posts come first! Oh crikey, more puns!

Do my giant hands detract from my cuteness?

Baby Push Ups - good form and very exciting for first time mums

I WANT it!

If only my patients could problem solve this well

Mine, mine, the Precious is mine!

First day of work

2010-11-30T06:20:00.000Z

All good things must come to an end. And so it was with a heavy heart, Rohan left for the first time since Rory's birth to join the workforce again.

First day of work

The picture below was taken on our last day of work before heading overseas, almost 5 years to the day ago.

Last day of work

Sunday Breakfast

2010-11-30T06:08:00.000Z

Last Sunday we met Kieryn for Breakfast in the Roma Street Parklands. The parklands are reclaimed railway yards that have been redeveloped into the largest subtropical gardens in the southern hemisphere with cafes and apartment blocks to boot.... and all within spitting distance of the city.

Extreme raspberrying with Aunty Kieryn

Rory was in fine form despite not having had a morning nap, there was a slight time bomb factor (as in, when's she going to go Chernobyl) but she held it together. Blowing raspberries was a skill learned about a month ago, then forgotten, and since remembered. She LOVES blowing raspberries! At the end of breakfast we were all slightly damp and I was left wondering if a baby can get dehydrated from extreme raspberrying?

Snuggles... will she or won't she sleep?

With full bellies we took a stroll through the parklands. In hindsight, I would have walked through the parkalnds prior to eating, that way my circulation would have been sending blood to my extremities, ready for fight or flight, rather than sending blood to my tummy to absorb the banana bread and coffeey goodness of my breakfast.

Before the Lizards

Good people, take warning.... the Parklands are over run with scaly, clawed, staring, will I or won't I run up your leg, lizards. See Below. There's no scale for reference but I assure you, he was big enough to strike fear into the hearts of children and adults alike.

Lizard!!!

Rory was asleep in her pram by this stage and for the most part, I could use her as a barrier between me and the lizards. Now that's what you call responsible parenting. All in all, I did pretty well holding my stuff together with only one squealy moment.

Lily Valley

Floating flower pots complete with duckling

In case you missed the last one... Lizard!!!

Photo catch up

2010-11-07T23:00:00.000Z

Playing the Uke with Rohie

Meaningful conversation with Great Grandmother Ardie

Looking cool in Dad's shades

Tummy time is no longer a cry fest

Visiting Roh at work for a lunch date

Hanging out chewing on a muslin cloth, check out those chubby thighs

Trying to get a shot of the teeth, no luck.... but what a smile

Multitasking

Snug as a bug

The Monkey's Uncles

2010-11-07T02:49:00.000Z

Roarus "The Walrus" Davies

2010-11-06T06:44:00.000Z

Acting on an anonymous tip, Police last Thursday stormed the home of a Brisbane resident in an effort to put an end to underground baby wrestling. While punters and bookies scattered, the babies in question seemed unperturbed by the official presence, only stopping their bout after police resorted to tazers and batons. Arrested on the scene was renowned underworld mini-pin Rory Davies (a.k.a. Roarus "the Walrus", a.k.a. Roarificus the Horificus, a.k.a. Miss Squidget Pants) who has been a cute-person of interest to the police for some time. Emi "Destructor" Davies was seen fleeing the scene on grazed knees. She remains a small person at large.

It is not yet known whether Thursdays raid will have much of an impact on the underground baby wrestling scene, but police are certain that it will be some time before Miss Davies sees the inside of a play-gym again. Police Commissioner Ronald Mick Donald had this to say at the scene:

"Baby wrestling is a savage and slobbery sport. While I myself have never witnessed an actual bout, I've been told by undercover police officers that participants are regularly carried away, often with dirty nappies."

The Walrus, one tusk nut.

My Bogan Child

2010-11-01T00:09:00.000Z

She gets around

To some extraordinary places

Getting Her Toes Wet

2010-10-26T12:27:00.000+01:00

Rory has been to the beach a few times since we've been back but hasn't really had much to do with the water. So today we took a walk along Kawana Beach, one of Sarah's old stomping grounds. As we walked along the sand Sarah told me stories about how she and her school chums used to come down between classes and go swimming, sit in rock pools and exude apathy at each other. It was a touching moment.

The water was much warmer than we expected so we decided to roll up Rory's pink corduroys and see how she reacted to the rushing waves. Exuberant apathy is the answer. Glad we conducted this experiment before I forked out the $5 for the mini-Spiderman-boogie-board I saw at K-Mart yesterday.

Beach Babe

2010-10-24T09:48:00.002+01:00

Nom Nom Nom

2010-10-21T07:57:00.000+01:00

Rory and Emi

2010-10-17T11:56:00.000+01:00

The last couple of times we've caught up with Ben, Bron and Emi, Rory has had an absolute blast. She works herself up into cackling fits, laughing and chuckling until she can't take it any more. Literally. She can't take it any more so she starts crying and has to be put in solitary confinement until she calms down. But it makes for some great photos!!

Kisses for her cousin...well, slobbers at any rate.

Whatch'ya doin?

Happiest little bubba

Loving her Aunty Broom!

Rory, you look so tense. Here, let me help you out.

And then I said, where's YOUR octopus!!! Ha Ha Ha Ha!!!

Lou and Eug's Wedding

2010-10-17T11:14:00.000+01:00

And wouldn't you know it, we didn't get any fantastic photos! However, our good friend Dan got some great ones, so I'm hassling him for a copy. Update soon...

Yes...?

Rory, you're doing it wrong!

The only full-body photo we have of Rory in her party dress!

It was a lovely wedding, congratulations Louise and Eugene!

The Grand and the Great

2010-10-17T01:49:00.001+01:00

Another Grandad!! Whoot.

Ardie explaining the finer points of Sophie la Giraffe sucking

Methinks we've found the source of the red tint

Who Are These People?!?

2010-10-16T00:23:00.000+01:00

Being an infant must be tough. You float into any room and instantly you've got one or more people all up in your baby biz-nuss, tugging on your cheeks, squeezing your chunky bits, and messing up your carefully boofed baby-do. If somebody tried to do that to me, well I'd probably chuckle, but THEN I'd be outraged! Coming back to Australia has meant that Rory is meeting new family and friends nearly every day. Perhaps it's her breeding shining through, but she's handled it all with the poise of Grace Kelly, the class of Audrey Hepburn, and the occasional fit of crying, screaming and vomiting of Britney Spears.

I'll also add that it's not until I go to write these blogs that I realise how woeful I've been at capturing the moments. There's family yet to make a photo-appearance, so I'll be out and about with the camera from now on!

Missed her Aunty Bron

Laughing with her Aunty Moo

Jo getting a whiff of that baby goodness

Bath time has become a spectator event

Meeting the Michaels

On A Jet Plane

2010-10-14T02:32:00.001+01:00

Flying with a baby - mine, yours, anyone's - has to be pretty high up there on my list of least favourite things to do in the world. For such tiny people they seem to occupy the space around them with so much crap and chaos. But Rory did us proud on both legs of our fight from London to Brisbane.

Our last photo on UK soil. Rory is still working through her comprehension of the selfy.

When Rory refused to settle at the start of the flight we thought we might be in for a Snakes On A Plane like experience or, even worse, a watching Snakes On A Plane like experience. But as soon as the lights went out she fell asleep and, apart from a snack or two, stayed that way for about six hours. And for anyone looking for a recommendation for flying with an infant, give Cathay Pacific a go. Rory was treated like a First Class passenger, complete with her own bed. None of this string-bassinet rubbish, Rory was spread eagled with centimetres to spare on every side. Very jealous.

Being sensible folk, we decided to split up the 20+ hour flight with a brief stay in Hong Kong. We figured that a day and a half would be plenty of time to see some of the sites, do some shopping, and get ourselves ready for the second flight. What we forgot to include in our figuring was the 14 hour sleep Rohan and Rory decided to have starting from when we checked into our hotel early in the afternoon. While I can't comment on any of Hong Kong's sites, I can unequivocally endorse Hong Kong's room service.

We did manage to make it out into some of the markets the following day which was a bit of fun. Plenty of people selling plenty of things we didn't need but nonetheless were tempted to buy. Luckily our 400 grams of available luggage weight made us pickier than normal. The street markets had the familiar fermenting-foot smell that kicks you in the face as you walk past and then chases you down the street that we've come to know and love. Rory managed her fair share of attention mounted, as she was, on my chest with the sling. She's going through a phase of gnawing on fingers and thus was generally uninterested in the world that was passing her by. Probably for the best considering the odd sense of entitlement strangers feel they have with regard to their fingers and your baby.

Her Royal Cuteness

Hong Kong at night is something to behold. With the neon light as their mascot, these guys have picked a theme and run with it. Signs project out from every angle from every building, completely obscuring the stars you couldn't see anyway because of the light from seven million suns coming from the neon lights. It's difficult to know whether the ever-present hum is from the lights dangling overhead, from the crowds of teenagers that cover every patch of footpath and road, or from the crowds of teenagers' smartphones vibrating constantly with their tweet-book-face-chatting. I mean, like LOL man...GTFO!

Rory likes shiny things, so she had a ball.

She also likes things that go up and down, so the lift was a treat too.

The last leg of our flight from Hong Kong to Brisbane was, at 8 hours, the short one. Once again, Rory proved her awesome awesomeness by sleeping most of the way. Unfortunately she was less enamoured with the travel cot and more interested in snoozing in our laps, but a sleeping baby on a plane is a sleeping baby on a plane and if that means you're going to eat plane food one handed and balance your coffee on the armrest then that's what you're going to do!

Landing at Brisbane was a bit underwhelming. It was raining, cloudy, and we had middle row bulkhead seats with no windows in site, so we had to visualise our fair city while watching the tiny animated plane make its landing on the tiny animated runway. But it was a great relief to finally have arrived and for the journey to be behind us. Uber-props to Ben for making the midnight run out to the airport to pick us up. There's an extra $5 on your Christmas present this year, $10 family limit be damned!!

More photos but less rambling about family catch ups to follow. We're off to a beach wedding today for our good friends Lou and Eug - the sun has come out and everything - so there'll be photos of Rory in her first cocktail dress too!!

Last weekend in London was out of London

2010-10-06T14:58:00.000+01:00

Orr last weekend in the UK was spent in the Somerset countryside with our lovely friends Kevin, Christine, Oscar and their dog Tootsie. We had a ball - perfect weather, sleep-ins, long lunches and lots of scenic drives...

Wee bridge across a wee waterway

10th century castle with 19th century house... complete with mote

Christine's first cream tea sparked a debate about scones and biscuits.... we say scones, they say biscuits

Rory and Oscar eyeing each other up and down

Another bridge, not quite so wee as the last one

My little Emo baby

Driving the country lanes was like being in a maze with hedgerows this tall

Medieval village in Exmoor national park, with fudge

Daddy daughter cuddles over lunch

Oscar's serious side

Smelling the flowers.... Rory seems to think that humans also smell with their tongues (like lizards)

The Menard Family

Oscar in the moby sling

Pretty Tootsie

Main street of Medieval village whose name escapes me right now

The dream garden

My how they've grown

2010-10-06T13:53:00.000+01:00

We recently had another catch up with our friends from the NCT antenatal course we attended - it was amazing to see how much all the babies had grown since our last get together.

The second baby circle was missing two babies - unfortunately Lucy and Matheus weren't there.... fortunately no random people decided to put their baby's in our baby circle this time. Again the babies are in birth order, anticlockwise from Oscar (in the plain red hat)

Love this kid!

Having meaningful conversation with Jay..... I mean Oscar

DESTRUCTOR!!!!!

2010-09-20T23:20:00.002+01:00

Rory and Sophie

2010-09-20T11:00:00.000+01:00

Sophie the Giraffe, or Sophie La Girafe to be more accurate, has been a traditional gift in France for over fifty years. So many people have grown up with the toy that she is now a bit of an institution. In fact, I recently heard that she was going to challenge Sarkozy in the next election. Rory has had her eye on one ever since Emi was given one during our holiday in France. Upon hearing that Rory was sans girafe, our friend Odile, like any good French person, promptly rectified the situation. As you can see, Rory is loving it! We're still trying to figure out how we'll identify the two Sophie's when the girls get together. Can babies recognise the smell of their own spit?

We Took our Buddha to Pest

2010-09-18T20:13:00.000+01:00

With our departure from London looming, we decided to scour the internets for a last harah! We looked to Ireland (too expensive), Turkey (too hot), Tunisia (too package-holiday-ish) and Fuerteventura (too hard to say...and no, I still don't know where it is). We eventually found some cheap flights and accommodation for Budapest which, combined with the promise of hearty food and post-communist cheer, was all the excuse we needed!

My knowledge of Hungary was dodgy at best but Budapest really took me by surprise. I'm not really sure what I was expecting, more tractors and overalls I guess, but the beautiful city that we saw was a real treat.

The first thing I learnt about Budapest is that it used to be two cities, Buda and Pest, separated by the Danube River. When I first heard this I figured it was just another lie told to tourists, like how Oxford Street used to actually be in Oxford but was dug up, buildings and all, and moved down to London to be more accessible, but it turns out it's actually true. The Buda side is where the wealthy and aristocracy used to live (before the social system was revolutionised and they were all beheaded) and the Pest side is where the rest of us lived (and where we stayed...power to the comrades). It was apparently originally called Pestbuda but then they realised that sounded stupid so they changed it to Budapest.

Rory dibsed the bed.

Every one spoke near-perfect English, which was fortunate considering we could neither speak, mumble, nor mime the most basic sentence in Hungarian. We did get a brief lesson in Hungarian from our walking tour guide but all we could remember was that asking for ten beers sounded something like 't-shirt'. Not helpful.

We had average weather the entire time we were there. If it wasn't raining it was blowing a frosty gale, so we spent most of our time indoors. Fortunately Budapest is brimming with museums, galleries and monuments. It's fair to say that, with the exception of the last 20 years, Hungary has had a pretty shit millennium. There was the Soviet occupation, there was the German occupation, there was being on the wrong side of both World Wars, there was the Austrian occupation, there was the Turkish occupation...and that was just the last few hundred years!

After walking down the main street, a UNESCO world heritage site, and a brief walk through the Post Office Museum (as interesting as it sounds), we visited the House of Terror, so named for the atrocities carried out there by the Communist secret police.

House of Terror. Freakin' 'orrible.

Rory did her usual trick of sleeping through the museum which was probably for the best. Who knows what all the Communist propaganda on display would have done to her sensitive little brain.

Free from propaganda

Where better to breastfeed than behind a giant set of boobs attached to a lion-lady.

Like all good Soviet outposts, Budapest was full of Communist statues and monuments. The city is littered with industrious, sickle wielding men and stern, heavy set women, each one a reminder of the fun times. When the Russians eventually departed the city went a little bit nuts with the street art.

Things were tough under Communist rule. Even the statue of Litz had to pretend it had a piano.

Discombobulating

Judging by the shine he's got on that knee, I'm guessing Sarah's not the first to put the moves on.

Without the power of speech, mime, or interpretive dance, Rory has only a few tools in her repertoire with which to communicate her needs. When she's hungry, she cries. When she's tired, she cries. When she wants the last Tim Tam, she tap dances across the table and recites show tunes. Just kidding, they don't make tap shoes in her size. On this trip she added another bow to her sling, or weapon to her arsenal as may be more appropriate. When she's had enough of the sling and is sick of walking around museums and galleries, she mega-poops. Unable to contain the mega-poop and without sufficient clothing or haz-chem equipment to dispose of it, we have no choice but to call it a day and head for home. Crafty little tike.

It's a birth mark.

You can't see her face, but I can assure you she's grinning.

We're not sure when she ate the 'Do Not Disturb' sign, we're just glad it came out.

Despite years of economic drudgery, Budapest has an impressive collection of landmarks. St Stephens Basilica towers over central Pest and is matched in height only by the Houses of Parliament (more on that below), they are exactly equal which is supposedly meant to symbolise the equality between church and state. Building restrictions are still in place which restrict the construction of buildings of similar height.

That's all well and good, but the most noteworthy thing about this building is that it houses the mummified hand of St Stephen himself. I'm not joking. There is a mummified hand inside that building.

My family in front of the mummified hand building.

We didn't manage to get inside the Houses of Parliament but we did get a pretty impressive view from Castle Hill on the Buda side of the city. If it looks familiar that's because it's almost an exact replica of the Palace of Westminster in London. The only different? It's a metre longer. And yes, that was done on purpose.

Apparently size matters.

During the walking tour we did our guide got all excited when she saw this car on the side of the road. A relic from Communist times, these cars were loved and revered for the freedom they provided. Residents had to put their names down on a list to receive one from the state (I can't remember whether they had to buy it or not) but, once they had it they could drive wherever they liked with whoever they liked (provided they weren't American, Jewish, gay or black). Unfortunately the waiting list was so long that parents of new born babies used to put their child's name on the list so that, by the time they were old enough to drive, they'd be somewhere near the top. Apparently they're made of an advanced cardboard-plastic alloy, have a twin-stroke engine, and run on fuel that must be mixed with oil by the driver and poured straight into the engine. Fun.

Just after this photo was taken Rory sneezed and rolled the car.

The Buda side of the city is built on limestone hills which are full of natural caves. As you can imagine they've been used for all sorts of things over the years by far the most useful of which is to house a wine fountain. We weren't too sure of it's significance, the cultural references, or it's purpose, but we weren't about to say no to a wine fountain. It tasted okay but by the time we got it back to the hotel it had started to smell a bit funny, so I poured it down the sink.

Wine fountain. Yum.

Cute break. Right, back to the blog now.

We were in Budapest for four days and it wasn't nearly long enough to do everything we wanted. Had the weather been nicer we'd have visited the zoo (the natural hot springs under the city are apparently the reason behind the success of the zoo's hippo breeding program), seen some of the city's parks, and maybe even visited one of the baths. I think Budapest will have to go back on the list of places to visit on one of our (hopefully many) return journeys to the Northern hemisphere.

Rory not quite getting the concept of the selfy

A Few Days in London

2010-09-18T17:21:00.000+01:00

After the trip in France we had a few days in London with Ben, Bron, Emi, Su-Ma and Grey-Pa before they all flew back home to Brisbane. It was just enough time to visit the newest addition (at that point, anyways) to the clan, Elliot.

Not even 6 months old and the girls are already swapping clothes. Rory's shoes went perfectly with Emi's outfit. Super Baby indeed.

We've waited all our lives to NOT have to offer our seats to anyone.

Lyon: Closest City to the Sun

2010-09-18T17:11:00.000+01:00

The final leg of our holiday in France was a weekend in Lyon which, at any other time, I'm sure is a lovely place. Unfortunately we had the misfortune of visiting it on the hottest day on record anywhere ever times a million. It was like the Insane Space Monkey was hovering over us with a magnifying glass, frying our tiny brains!

Rory and I, melting.

The Lyon AFL team might not be as good, but their goal posts sure are a lot nicer than ours.

The ladies with heat stroke.

Yes, the map is upside-down.

Despite the heat we had a lovely time seeing the city with our guides David and Manu, who were also kind enough to vacate their flat for the weekend for Ben, Bron, Emi, Sarah, Rory and I.

Bronwyn, speaking Rory

Neither the heat nor being strapped to their stinky, sweaty fathers seemed to bother Rory or Emi. Although they were fantastic excuses for frequent stops for coffee and ice cream.

Emi giving to the paps

Adorable

I'll even sacrifice my dignity to keep my daughter safe and comfortable.

After two days of sweltering heat I decided to pike on the last day of outside site seeing. Instead I insisted on taking in a bit of culture...and air conditioning. I wasn't the only one suffering from the heat though...

The Bridge to Nowhere

2010-09-18T16:38:00.000+01:00

After our week in Uzes we spent the day in Avignon with our friends Claire and Alex. It was hot. Really hot. So hot the elephants were standing on end.

I know. Crazy.

We did our best to see some of the local sites but spent most of the day at a long lunch sitting in the shade. After a week of mixed responses, Rory decided that Claire and Alex were decent people and gave them some quality time before we bid them farewell.

Take those glasses of THIS instant young lady!

Whatever Dad.

Avignon's most famous attraction is Saint Benezet's Bridge. Alex told us a marvellous story about a young Shepherd, Benezet, who was instructed by the voice of God to construct a bridge over the river Rhone at Avignon. The locals scoffed and laughed at him so, to prove his divine sponsorship, he took a proton energy pill and carried an enormous stone into the river and laid the first of the foundation. That was all the convincing the locals needed so they got down to business and helped Benezet build his bridge.

Take a long walk...

The observant among you will notice that this bridge does not the Rhone cross. Some historical accounts claim that the bridge was in fact completed and did in fact span the entire river originally, but half of it was washed away during some particularly nasty flooding. However, I'm guessing that God was not the best of clients and either didn't pay on time or kept changing the design so the French contractors went on strike.

With A Name Like Uzes You'd Think I Could Come Up With A Better Title Than This

2010-09-17T00:39:00.000+01:00

Uzes, a small village in provincial France awash with history, local character and, for a week in August, us. At the invitation of Madame et Monsieur Hutchings more than twelve (but not quite thirteen) of us descended on the town for a week of coffee, pastries, wine, and the possibility of some site seeing. But mostly for the coffee, pastries and wine.

For us it was also our first trip overseas with Rory. To celebrate we travelled first class on the Eurostar and had delicious breakfast as we flew through the French countryside. Rory slept most of the way in the ample space between our seats (it was first class, darling) so we celebrated that too...with champagne!

Our apartment overlooked the town square and gave us a lovely view of the markets and cafes. There was even a music box man cranking out traditional songs for added Frenchification!

The markets were everything you would expect provincial French markets to be...over priced and full of crap you don't need! But it was French crap we didn't need, which made all the difference. We resisted the urge to fill our bags with trinkets and spent all of our money on cheese instead.

One of the ~~few~~ many advantages of travelling in France with genuine French people is that when you stumble upon a stall like the one in the photo below you can actually ask what it is you are about to buy, thus greatly reducing your chances of buying (and eating) dried tongue or donkey doodle. I don't even know if traditional French cuisine stretches so far as to include dried tongue or donkey doodle, but when faced with wares such as these and with a French vocabulary that barely gets past (or is that passed?) yes, hello, and coffee please, all you are left with are assumptions.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est que ca commandes?"

"Je ne sais pas. Vite! Dis quelque chose en Francais et en point a eux...les Aussies nous regarde!"

The apartment we were staying in was lovely and had plenty of room for everyone to hang out as well as a roof terrace for hanging over. The lady that owned it had a lovely collection of books (minus one copy of The Sicilian by Mario Puzo) and an obsession for portraits of Napoleon which she proudly displayed in the toilet. It was a great space to catch up with and drool on friends and family.

Sarah, speaking Emi

The town of Uzes is actually built on top of a natural spring. Naturally, once the Romans found this out they just had to get their hands on it. Problem was all the Romans were living a good fifty kilometres away in Nimes. What to do, what to do? Well, being the enterprising people that they were, the Romans decided to build a great bit aqueduct all the way from Uzes to Nimes. It stretched over gorges, went through mountains, and flew through valleys, an amazing piece of engineering. And it only took twenty-five years to finish! Barely a blink of the eye of the Roman Empire really. And what did the mighty Romans do with the Uzes spring water once it arrived? They had baths. Yes indeedy, the Nimes elite already had plenty of drinking water so they used the water from the aqueduct to fill their baths. Neato!

Any-rant, most of the aqueduct was destroyed or dismantled during the dark ages so they could build churches. While the its path can still be traced through the mountains and undergrowth, only a few parts remain. But boy, what parts.

The plan had been to go for a swim in the river with the babies, but a quick dip and numb knees suggested it might be best to stay on the beach. The whole thing was slightly surreal, sitting on a river bank with a two thousand year old, three story water-bridge looming over you. Puts Kodak Beach to shame.

Miss Pickle was dressed for the occasion but after her swim was cancelled she then slept through the occasion. Good baby.

The majority of our time in Uzes was spent relaxing and catching up. It was great fun spending time with everyone, especially in such lovely surroundings. This is going to be a bit of a photo dump, but it's the best way (for you and for my tired brain) to share it with you.

Beer at lunch was a good way of settling the buzz from the breakfast espressos

There was plenty of this...

...and an awful lot of this.

The girls got to spend some quality time together. The few times Emi actually looked at Rory while Rory was looking at Emi were usually interrupted by Rory bursting into tears when Emi got too close.

French dudes...looking French.

With both of us running around town with slings people must have been wondering where they could hire the Sherpas from.

Ben and Bron, long time wall enthusiasts

No. Idea.

Perty. The view from our roof terrace.

Jumps into every photo she can. Such a ham.

For beating your way to the front of the croissant line. And yes, there's always a line.

Pickle and me, loitering.

In the medieval gardens they gave us special tea. They said it was herbal.

I think this was before Rory mega-pood all over Su-Ma. I can tell because Su-Ma is still smiling.

It's a trick of the camera. I know they're not really holding hands because that would mean they were touching which would mean Rory would be crying. Girls got Emi issues.

Rory Meet Emi

2010-09-06T23:36:00.002+01:00

There were smiles. There were tears. There were mad plunges into laps and desperate attempts at skirt-eating. But most of all there was drool, lots and lots of drool.

Unfortunately there were no good photos!! Babies move too quick.

Meeting your Uncle for the first time didn't rate highly with either child.

That was my first reaction to Ben too :-D

This was the only way we could calm Rory down...

**It's only a few weeks now until we return home to Australia. Lots to do has meant little time to blog! I promise I'll get the photos and blog up from our trip in France asap...as soon as we're back from Budapest.

Commence Heart Melting Now

2010-08-08T10:04:00.000+01:00

Fit For Our Princess

2010-08-07T23:58:00.000+01:00

The other day we went up river to see Hampton Court Palace, the home of Henry the Eight-Wived that he nicked from a Cardinal and had pimped up the yin-yang. It's not difficult to understand why so many of these royal fellows had their heads chopped off.

They seemed to design their homes on the principle of one function per room. One for sleeping, one for sitting - they're a given. One for reading, one for dressing...I suppose I could get behind those. One for eating alone, one for eating with one's wife, one for eating with one's friends, one for eating with one's friends and all their hangers-on, one for eating with one's enemies, one for eating with one's wive/s, friends, hangers-on and enemies all at once...starting to get silly. One for standing, one for thinking, one for belittling ones subjects, two for hanging (one for clothes, one for traitors), one for cartwheeling, one for hanging square things, one for hanging round things, one for praying, one for being prayed for...I could go on.

I don't know why this guy bothered divorcing (or killing) any of his wives. He'd could have kept them all in different parts of the palace their entire lives and they'd have been unlikely to ever run into each other.

Rory was her usual lovely self. She slept the entire day waking only to remind us that it was time for a coffee break.

Rory and I chilling with our medieval hom(eless)ies

Not sure about this one. Just seemed the right thing to do.

This kid...

...is doomed.

Rory sleeping through the pleasure gardens.

Hanging With The Olds

2010-08-07T23:30:00.000+01:00

Having more Grandparents visit has been lovely. Now that Rory is a bit older we've been able to really take advantage of our time off and see some of the sites. Of course, now that the Grandparents are a bit older sometimes we just end up taking advantage of some chairs. But it's all been lots of fun. Rory is starting to be quite sociable and can spend whole minutes at a time chatting and smiling at her Su-Ma and Gra-Pa.

Then she spends whole hours at a time sleeping on their cushions which is just fine too. A sleeping baby is a popular baby.

Let Me Entertain Me

2010-08-07T23:24:00.000+01:00

The wee missus is starting to enjoy a little alone time where she can contemplate wee baby things and drool in peace. She's even started putting herself to sleep which, I have to say, is bloody brilliant. Now if only she can figure out how to open the fridge and work the stove we can leave her alone for the weekend while we take a romantic trip!

Rory: British Sea Side A Snooze

2010-08-02T22:03:00.000+01:00

Rory went to the beach for the first time EVER this weekend when we went to see our friends Alan, Fiona and Frida. She won't be able to tell you much about it though as she slept through the whole thing! Squawking sea gulls the size of small planes, actual small planes, a helicopter, and a roaring British sea side wind did NAUGHT to interrupt our little beauty's afternoon sleep. Here's the proof nonetheless, Rory at the beach!

These Aunts Aren't Great, They're Super!

2010-08-02T21:55:00.000+01:00

Beautiful Rory

2010-07-26T22:17:00.000+01:00

Sundae In the Park

2010-07-25T11:50:00.000+01:00

We took Rory to her first music festival yesterday, Ben and Jerry's Sundae in the Park. We went a few years ago and saw Florence and The Machine, a little known local band trying to make good. We also had to leave early so that Sarah could be sick in private but I promised her I wouldn't mention that, so let's move on.

Ben and Jerry put on a darn good festival. There's music, great food, lots of rides and, best of all, all the free ice cream you can eat. Personally I think they're over-thinking their concept. They could ditch everything but the free ice cream and still get a good turn out.

Rory was pretty excited about the whole affair.

It was a beautiful, sunny day - perfect ice cream eating weather - which made for very nice sitting about. Nothing like a good sit about to make you feel alive!

Rory and Oscar hit the festival pretty hard. They rampaged through the farm animal enclosure, took the helter skelter by storm, dominated the mosh pit for some of the lesser-known bands, and then crashed out for the afternoon. We tried to tell them to pace themselves, but you know what kids are like!

This photo documents a rare moment when both Rory and Oscar are sleeping. We're not sure what biological, metaphysical or supernatural forces are at play, but whenever we put the two together they react like complete opposites. One is crying, the other is happy. The happy one starts crying, the crying one starts smiling. One is sleeping, the other fights to stay awake. The other eventually drifts off, the sleeping one starts crying. And the cycle repeats. Weird baby magic.

Yep, fold-out chairs. Very rock and roll of us.

Beer and ice cream, the perfect combination.

Rory was kind enough to let Sarah wear her hat while she was sleeping. Sarah was kind enough to wear it.

Sweet little Oscar enjoying a kip out of the sun.

She was comfy, honest.

After his kip, Oscar was keen for a dance. Here you can see him attempting the infamously difficult standing dance.

A Day At The Museum

2010-07-23T21:44:00.000+01:00

Rory is getting an early dose of culture while Su-Ma and Gra-Pa are in town. Tuesday it was the British Museum, today it was the London Museum. Pretty soon she'll have screamed, pooped and fed in all of the Museum's London has to offer!

A day at the museum is tiring. Luckily, Su-Ma and Gra-Pa let Rory have a nap on their bed (provided she was in disposable nappies...they've seen the photos on this blog!!).

Su-Ma and Gra-Pa

2010-07-22T11:59:00.004+01:00

Smiles...Nearly!!

2010-07-19T17:42:00.000+01:00

Collect The Whole Set

2010-07-19T10:26:00.000+01:00

One Month On

2010-07-16T22:14:00.000+01:00

Rory was a month old last Sunday. I look at her when she's sleeping and I'm just in awe. I feel like I've known her my entire life, that she's always been here, but it's only been one month. It's obvious she is growing, we're just starting to put aside the first batch of clothes that no longer fit. But when I look at her I still see a tiny baby, brand new.

She has started to smile. And not fart-smiles, but genuine poke-me-there-again smiles. However, like her Blue Steel, they are elusive which is why there are no photos yet. But I promise we'll get one soon, even if I have to get her frowning and turn it upside-down in photoshop.

We are also much more active these days. It took us nearly two weeks before we braved the outside world. East London is coarse at the best of times, but it seems so much more savage when you've got your baby strapped to your chest. People need to slow down, speak softer and wash more! At least that was what the old me, pre-Pickle, would have said. Now I'm all like people need to back the hell away from my baby!! My pointy elbows, previously reserved for Oxford Street and Rush Hour, now get a work out almost daily. I nearly pushed over a ten year old on a school trip the other day because he was busy lol-lmao-brb-ing on his damn mobile. Dad-me takes no mercy.

For the most part the Demon-Baby has departed. She still has her moments, but we really couldn't have asked for a nicer, more considerate baby. We get plenty of sleep, nearly ten hours in three shifts most nights (except for Wednesdays when Lolly the cleaner comes, but I'd lose more sleep and an arm before I gave her up). There is the occasional night she decides to buck the system...like this morning. After a fussy feed at 4:00am she lay by Sarah for an hour alternating between air-cycling, waving the planes in, and playing howl-the-cat. By 5:00am Sarah decided to tag out, elbowing me in the back and grunting Dad time! I gave Rory the secret signal and she dropped back to sleep. Or so I thought. It turns out she was simply waiting for me to go back to sleep so she could complete her mission to cover me with poo! She at least had the decency to wait until we were clean before chuckling.

Rory still hates the pram which, considering it cost more than a small car, is just peachy. We've taken it out with us a few times but it serves as little more than a bag with wheels. The kid has a sixth sense. She might be completely out of it, fast asleep in the sling or in our arms, when we put her in the pram. But within seconds one eye will open, the tiny eye brow will arch, and she'll fix us with her what the hell are you doing? stare. We usually get about sixty seconds before she starts screaming for Social Services.

While the she-looks-just-like comments are still varied, it's fairly obvious to anyone with eyes that Rory is tiny replica me. Apart from giving me the existential willies and the satisfaction that I make a pretty cute girl, her likeness has had us peering back at our own baby photos. When you look at the three of them all together it actually becomes quite difficult to see who she is taking after. Any day now her beard will come in though and all doubt will be washed away!

These ones are of me. Note the similar abundance of hair, the piercing eyes, and the cutest tiny mouth ever!

These ones are Sarah. There is a definite like-mother-like-daughter thing going on in these photos. I promise we didn't stage the bath photo.

And Rory-Bel...

I'm going to attempt my own Sarah-Rohan mash-up to see if it produces anything as cute as this!

Pickle Pulls Faces

2010-07-16T21:07:00.000+01:00

The Pickle Twist

2010-07-16T21:03:00.000+01:00

I Got Pood On

2010-07-13T20:16:00.000+01:00

What, me worry?

Possibly a little too graphic. But if I gotta be under it, you gotta see it!

Ninja Training Starts Early

2010-07-12T20:02:00.000+01:00

Living In The Past

2010-07-11T23:05:00.000+01:00

Methinks these two haven't quite let go of their pregnancy days. And yes, their heads are meant to do that.

Party Dress

2010-07-11T23:03:00.000+01:00

Saturday evening we escaped the heat in our flat and, just for a change, went to the park for a cool drink and a chat with friends. While it was too hot for the faux-fur waist coat, Rory looked a number in her pink body-suit with matching tulle tutu. I think that outfit is going to make a few more appearances before she grows out of it - just adorable! Thanks Stephenie and Drean!

Our first selfy.

Rory's best Emi impression.

Rory Loves Her Lo-Ma

2010-07-08T23:43:00.000+01:00

Pickle Pulls Faces

2010-07-08T23:38:00.000+01:00

The Tude

The I'm Not Sleepy

The Stink-Eye

The What You Talkin' Bout

The Finger of Silence

2010-07-08T23:35:00.000+01:00

Rory and Oscar

2010-07-04T21:15:00.002+01:00

Little Pig Goes To Market

2010-07-04T21:13:00.000+01:00

Ladies lunching. And snacking. And munching. And just tasting this one last thing...

The Nannas Are Here

2010-06-30T10:56:00.000+01:00

She Did This

2010-06-29T15:35:00.000+01:00

The Long Arm of the Paw*

2010-06-27T22:52:00.000+01:00

*Gag only works with generous application of drawl

A Demon's Got My Baby

2010-06-27T22:49:00.000+01:00

Rory Isabel Davies is 14 days old. Rohan and Sarah Davies are 28 days older. Those of you that are parents might be nodding your heads at this point, a familiar smile running across your face as you recall with a fondness only the passing of time can bring your own sleepless woes and endless days. Those of you without kids are probably smiling smugly, your big, fat, smug heads bobbing in front of the screen being big. And fat. And smug.

Rory is generally a sweet, well-tempered baby. She sleeps long and peacefully. She sits on your knee and stares at you through a milk-drunk haze, occasionally curling her lips in what might be mistaken as a smile but is probably gas. She likes to cuddle and falls into her deepest sleeps lying on Sarah's chest or splayed across my lap. But already it is obvious that Rory has a will of her own and is not afraid to assert it (remind you of any body...or two?). She doesn't like dirty nappies, child screams. But doesn't like getting her nappy changed, child screams. She doesn't like getting dressed, child screams. But doesn't like being naked, child screams. She doesn't like being awake too long, child screams. But fights sleep for hours, child bellows.

It is in this last state that she truly shows signs of demonic possession. Maybe it was five seasons of The Wire overheard in utero. Maybe it's the noise and pace of the living in the East End. Or maybe it's because Sarah carried her mobile phone right next to her bump for nine months. We'll never know (well, if she starts cursing and asking where the package is we'll know if was The Wire) but this kid has a dark side.

Her rituals begins placidly enough with a vacant stare, usually past your shoulder or at the corner of the room. Her forehead will enliven and wrinkle in a dial-tone to the underworld. Then, once she's made the connection with the correct layer of Hell, she begins her invocation. The face contorts from peace and love to just-stubbed-my-toe anger. The eyes are squeezed so tight that all are left are creased chicken feet and a dusting of blonde eyebrow. The cheeks fill with rage, turning bright red in the process, while the lips peel back to reveal an evil, gummy snarl. Not yet able to dance, she fulfils the movement component of the ritual with bicycle-legs interposed with face clawing and the occasional rounded back. With a thrust of the tongue the possession is complete and Satan himself becomes one with my baby. Then Satan says hello.

In bellows befitting a wounded rooster she screeches and wails. Hell pours forth from her tiny mouth and fills our tinier flat so completely that cracks are beginning to show. When she goes nuclear there is no escape, there is only submission. Rock the baby. Talk to the baby. Walk with the baby. Sing to the baby. Cuddle the baby. Sacrifice lambs to the baby. Aaah, peace. Make unholy gestures at the baby. Retreat from the baby.

The demon sleeps. The mitts are to hide her unholy claws.

Join us...or DIE!!!

2010-06-27T09:58:00.000+01:00

We Go Out

2010-06-24T20:12:00.000+01:00

We successfully managed an outing today! We met our friends Christine and Kevin (of Oscar belly-riding fame) for a BBQ in Victoria Park. The clouds were particularly shiny today so we figured we'd take advantage of the nice weather and get out of the flat. Now that we've mastered getting out and about with-child it's only a matter of time before we become those people in restaurants and cinemas with the screaming baby that completely ruins your day.

This might be the only time Rory has been in her pram and not looked like she was summoning the spirit of Beelzebub (it's the right spelling, I checked) to wreak baby-wrath on us. It didn't last, she cried the entire way home.

She Doesn't Quite Get The Sling

2010-06-24T13:42:00.000+01:00

Sleeping Baby

2010-06-23T20:57:00.000+01:00

Stick a beard on her and she's me!

Rory's Passport Photo Fail

2010-06-23T16:21:00.003+01:00

The objective: to get a picture of Rory looking at the camera with wide, open eyes, mouth closed, hands down, and nothing else near her face (e.g. our hands).

First Bath

2010-06-20T21:17:00.000+01:00

It took us a few days and some targeted whiffing to figure out that the furry-animal smell was coming from Rory. We'd been waiting for her belly button stump to fall off before bathing her (something about infection, according to the midwives) but she was in desperate need. The bath we bought comes recommended by loads of organisations and has won lots of awards. It was definitely those things that influenced our decision to buy it and not the fact that it was the smallest and cheapest. Honest. The instructions (yes there were instructions on how to wash the baby) described the Tummy Tub's 'unique design' as being integral to the baby's bathing pleasure. It's basically a bucket. A very expensive bucket.

Rory was obviously very excited about her impending bath. Not yet possessing the linguistic skills necessary to communicate her enthusiasm she used the only language available to her...pee.

But with a face like this it's hard to hold that against her.

As it turned out her stump fell out during the bath. It looks like a dead snail. Tasted like one too.

Rory loved the bath so much that she said thank you by bellowing and then shitting on her towel. With that out of her system she totally blissed out. I think we'll be trying a bath again very soon.

The gorgeous little thing is pink and tan all over, with chubby little arms and legs. Every time she gets her belly out it gets covered in kisses, hence the expression.

Once she's out she'll sleep in almost any position. The competition is on between Sarah and I to see who can get her sleeping in the strangest position. She was completely unconscious in this photo but still gripped onto my finger when I went to go in and make funny faces.

Home...The Early Days

2010-06-20T20:45:00.000+01:00

Our first few days at home were all about getting some kind of rhythm going...and not killing the baby. The baby is still kicking so I guess we did okay. Rory looks so peaceful when she's sleeping, it's hard not to just sit and stare at her.

She's still of two minds about the cot. We've managed to get her sleeping there in the afternoons, but if we're in the room she'll have none of it. It's really nice that she loves to sleep on us, although it makes sleeping a bit tricky. Sarah does okay - she's got the natural hormone booster that keeps her hyper-alert and in-sync with Pickle. I'm hyper-aware too, but with the roll-over-and-squash-her-terrors. So mostly when she sleeps on me I get to catch up on my Rory-gazing.

Stained wife-beater and passed out in bed...bogan in training.

Sarah is looking fantastic for someone that's recovering from a long labour and major abdominal surgery. If it were me I'd still be in bed whimpering and asking for more ice cream.

We did manage a trip out on Thursday...to the pub. We put Pickle in her sling which was really cool, mostly because it makes me look like a Jedi. She fell asleep immediately. After two ciders at the pub I was deeply envious of her cosy vertical-hammock...and a little drunk.

After a feed and when she doesn't slip into a milk-coma, Rory has about fifteen minutes of alert time. She takes everything in, often staring at us for long periods. It's nice to know she's capable of doing more than just eating, sleeping and pooping. Although, sometimes I just know she's sitting there staring at me planning her next poo.

There, see! I told you! Poo-planning face.

Pickle's Home

2010-06-18T17:22:00.000+01:00

We had a brief stay in hospital, only three days in the end. We scored a private room (I had to grease some wheels) on Monday night which meant that I could sleep over. Well, stay over. Sleeping was intermittent.

The girls had a pretty good night. Rory managed about eight hours sleep, Sarah about four in the end. I got a few hours in the morning having kept myself awake most of the night with the fear of squashing the child sleeping on my chest.

I like this angle. Not only does my moustache look great but you can't see the bags under my eyes.

Rory refuses to put her arms down or have them pinned against her body. She'll gladly sleep in the most contorted of positions provided her harms can flop by her head. I assure you that she does have hands, we've just had to keep them gloved up until we can figure out how to file her nails down.

Tara getting some practice. When Pickle was still womb-side she hated it when other babies got all up in her space. She'd kick and roll until Sarah put the offending child down. Not sure what Pip thinks of it.

Practising her champ pose. She'll take you, any time.

There's just something about baby feet. They're so soft and squishy and absolutely adorable. Until you realise there is poo on them from the super-poop she did the day before.

We managed to leave the hospital on Tuesday evening. Our good friends Stefanie and Drean tolerated the London peak-hour traffic and a lengthy wait (while they organised the drugs we needed to take home) in order to save us the hassle of a cab ride, for which we are eternally grateful.

Grizzle Pickle

2010-06-17T20:34:00.001+01:00

The Girls That I Love

2010-06-13T23:05:00.000+01:00

This will be brief because I'm absolutely knackered and the full story is too good to waste on my frazzled brain.

Sarah went into labour at 12:30 a.m. on Saturday. We'd only just gone to bed having been in the West End to see Grease The Musical (as opposed to grease the axle lubricant). Imagine a stage production so awful that it makes going into labour more preferable.

The labour was long and not at all what we had hoped for. But the end product was, of course, worth it. After 30 hours of labour, two mad dashes to the hospital, and literally hundreds of contractions, Rory Isabel Davies was born by caesarian section at 6:42 a.m. Sunday 13th June.

A big (and I mean BIG) thank you to our London family for being so supportive over the last two days. We couldn't have done it without you (we'd still be waiting for a tube to the hospital). And thank you for all of the love from back home. I had messages coming in literally every few minutes for most of the 30 hours.

The Juju supporters among you will recognise the juggling balls. I'm pleased to say that for the first 17 hours of labour we used nearly every technique in her repertoire with great success and avoided any drugs or gas.

There is always time for love. Always.

Having been awake for nearly 34 hours, 17 of which consisted of near constant contractions (they were five minutes apart when they started and only got closer together as time passed), the epidural allowed for some much needed rest. At least, it did until it fell out. But that's another story.

I spotted this in the cot set up in the corner of our room. The reminder of the end made the means easier to take.

Barely a minute after she was born. She's actually smiling, it's just that all the contractions contorted her face into a permanent grizzle.

She kept going for my nipples, even after discovering what was there. I assumed she was flossing.

Pickle was nekkid except for a nappy most of the day since we wanted as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. We only dressed her late in the afternoon so that we could stop her from scratching at her eyes (watching your newborn claw at its own eyes is the most distressing thing in the world, by the way). It was a great relief to discover that she actually enjoyed being dressed (not the dressing, mind, but can't win them all). She lay in her cot sucking on her fists for ages while Sarah had a sponge bath and I packed all my shit (literally, I brought home a bag full of shit).

We practised the YMCA all afternoon. She was the H.

Love these girls.

The Bump

2010-06-11T16:12:00.000+01:00

Is watching you...

Location : 506-508 Roman Rd, Poplar, Greater London E3 5,

Fee Fi Fo Fum

2010-06-10T20:37:00.001+01:00

Three Days To Go

2010-06-09T20:40:00.000+01:00

Cousin She-It

2010-06-08T19:00:00.000+01:00

Like a male angler fish...

2010-06-07T18:58:00.000+01:00

The Boys Already Love Pickle

2010-06-06T21:50:00.001+01:00

*Special guest appearance by Oscar Mennard

Make it so.

2010-06-03T22:09:00.002+01:00

Things are looking up

2010-06-02T19:18:00.000+01:00

Things that go bump in the night

2010-06-01T19:15:00.000+01:00

Walk the Bump

2010-05-31T11:34:00.002+01:00

What feet?

2010-05-31T11:33:00.002+01:00

One of these things is not like the others

2010-05-28T19:02:00.000+01:00

Box Seats

2010-05-27T22:37:00.000+01:00

The bump enjoys shadow puppetry. Culture starts in the womb.

Camouflage

2010-05-26T15:19:00.000+01:00

In it's natural habitat, the Bump is almost indistinguishable from its surroundings.

Swashington

2007-12-19T17:07:00.001Z

Washington, the centre of the American democracy and the place politicians go to sleep with hookers, denounce science, and wax-hypocritical. Much like the government it represents, the central part of the city - or at least the parts we saw - exists with a veneer of respectability and sophistication. The streets are wide, spacious and perfectly clean. The buildings are tidy and well maintained (or else they're being pulled down). We saw just one homeless person while we were there and even he was immaculate! Like a benchmark for franchise America, the retail strips are a repeated collection of McDonald's and Starbucks.

That's Harry...high pants.

One morning we thought we had discovered a nice, little boutique cafe in which to grab a coffee and some breakfast, only to discover it's nice, little boutique clone on the next corner. As we walked around we joked, nervously, about the snipers and plain clothes police who must be roaming the city and picking off the homeless, poorly dressed, and liberal-minded people. Then we saw the actual snipers on the buildings, so we straightened our clothes and made disparaging remarks about the evidence supporting climate change. I realise I am not painting a desirable picture, but for all it's capitalist pomp and promiscuity, Washington is an amazing place to visit.

We had but two objectives for our trip to their nation's capital: museums and monuments. Still operating on London time we were up and out of bed by 6am on our first day there, Tuesday. Having sat in and walked out of the shift-the-decimal-place-several-spots-to-the-right restaraunt in our hotel the evening before, we set off nice and early to find somewhere more reasonable to grab some breakfast. Which leads me to....

Fun things we have learnt about America:

1. They make all of their cheese a mustard, unnatural yellow colour.

2. They have manufactured a sweet, white water and called it soy milk

3. The smallest size of anything you can get is a large

More of them later...

As we booked all of our accommodation through www.tightarse.co.uk we managed to end up in the financial (i.e. boring) part of town. The plus side was that we were close enough to everything that we could walk everywhere. We started the day with a walk along the National Mall which has the Capitol building (it's the one you think is the White House) at one end and the Washington Memorial (it's the one that looks like a giant doodle) at the other. The Smithsonian museums run down each side which makes it really convenient for people like us that are doing the Monument&Museum tour! The Capital building was very impressive, although we weren't allowed inside (you have to be an American resident).

The Capitol Building

When you walk around central London the traffic consists of mostly busses and black cabs. In Washington it was police cars and school busses. The uniformed police officers are watching the civilians, who might be plane clothes police officers who are watching the uniformed police officers, who are being watched by the guards with the pleased-to-shoot-you machine guns that are standing at every entrance. I did have to wonder about the huge roo-bars on the front of all of the police cars, too. What exactly is it they expect to be hitting at high speeds in the centre of town?

The first stop we made was to the Smithsonian Air and Space museum. Talk about impressive. They had aircraft of every shape and size handing from the ceiling. They had a missile pit, complete with a full set of missiles! And the space travel section had one of the original command capsules, and a replicar of the Hubble teliscope. But being true museum enthusiasts the first thing we checked out were the flight simulators. Strapped into a small capsule, I flew while Sarah manned the guns (she does like to shoot stuff), and the simulator turned us upside down, side to side and every which way I could turn the flying stick. Best 4 and a half minutes $16 can buy!!! We came out with a 'Flying Ace' rank of which we were understandably proud. And Mum thought all that time in front of the playstation slash computer slash Atari 2600 were wasted. Sheesh.

It took almost thirty minutes of nagging but Sarah eventually let me squash a penny and buy some freeze-dried ice cream. Yum (the ice cream, not the penny)!!

Hubble in front of the Hubble.

From the Air and Space museum we walked down towards the Washington Memorial. The closer you get to the thing the more impressive it gets. Standing at over 555 feet (no, I have no idea how many metres that is) its pretty much the tallest structure in the area. Lucky for us the weather was miserable, with fog and cold making it generally unpleasant outdoors, which meant no lines for either the free tickets or entrance to the actual monument. There's an elevator on the inside which takes you up to the observation level at 555 feet (see what I did there). There are only a few small windows on each side to look out of which makes me think that, outside of operating hours, the monument is used by snipers also. The monument has an incredible history, which I don't feel obliged to share with you all, and it's well worth a visit if you're in the area.

The view from the top of the monument...honest.

Ben had put us in touch with a friend of his, Kana, who lives in Washington so we'd been trying to make a time to catch up and get a local's perspective on things. Unfortunately, as we were there mid-week, we couldn't make it happen. However, Kana did give us a long list of good bars and restaraunts to go to. So we headed uptown to a place called Madame's Organ (rest assured Mother's, there were no Madame's or 'organs' in the place) for a few jars of beer (yes, jars) and some pre-dinner drinkies where we learnt the next fun thing about America...

4. If you tip your bar tender she will dutifully over pour your bourbon and coke so that you're good and pissed before you leave the venue

After drinks we walked around the block three times before finding one of the restaraunts Kana had recommended for good sushi. And good sushi it was, too. It was about then, after dinner, that the dreaded lag set in. We were home and in bed by 7pm, snoring like truckers.

The next day was more of the same - more museums and more monuments. We started off by checking out the White House which turned out to be very white and much more like a house than I was expecting. It also had a door bell which we delighted in ringing and running away from.

Welcome to the White House...Push this button...go on, push it :-)

Rohan eating the White House

From the White House we went to the Lincoln Memorial for our Forrest Gump moment and then back up the mall to the Museum of Native Americans. The MNA is a very impressive building which has obviously been designed with traditional shapes and structures in mind.

Like peas...

...and carrots.

We can take a nice one.

Abe.

The view Abe gets...hope he likes it because he's pretty well stuck to that chair.

Unfortunately the museum could do with a little more moo and a little less zzzzz and ummmm. It was more like a living memorial to the various tribal traditions, as told by the surviving members, than a museum. It was interesting, but very light on the 'information' considering the size of the building. It does, however, have an awesome cafe which serves only traditional Native American food. We sampled the corn bread, the frog legs, the squash and duck soup, and, of course, the buffallo jerkey (yummmm!). After the MNA we walked through the sculpture garden and dropped by the National Archives to take a peak at the original copies of the American Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and the First Amendment. At least, that's what the signs said they were...might be time for a bit of refurb on those documents as not much of the ink is left.

I wasn't quit sure what to make of these headless statues...

...until I saw this.

I'm not sure why they ever thought they needed doors this big, but boy they were impressive.

We had an evening flight to Chicago but there was just enough time for a pitcher of beer at the Hooters...tacky yet unrefined (don't ask me what it means, it was written on the back of the waitress' shirts).

There were lots of tourists in Washington, but not everyone was there for the history. Some were there for the party-town atmosphere and the non-stop fun of the National Congress for the Un and Under-insured!!

Father of the year - he's there with his daughters (read the sign above his head).

I have no idea what this means.

White with two. T in the Park anyone?

2007-09-22T19:05:00.000+01:00

About a year ago we purchased some tickets to a festival called T in the Park. We'd bought the tickets on the advice that the festival was meant to be one of the best - up in Scotland, outdoors, a dozen stages, and around 100,000 people. We'd also bought the tickets without knowing who the lineup was going to be. 'Why?', you ask. Because we're tight-asses. Every year they release a limited number of tickets at the previous year's prices - before you know who's playing. Considering the tickets go up a chunk each year they never have any trouble selling them. So, we took a gamble and bought the tickets without knowing who was playing, where the festival was (Scotland is a big place, apparently), or what it was going to be like. And I'm glad we did. Talk about an experience to remember - where to start...

First, the preparation. Once we'd secured the tickets we started looking for details - reviews, forums, articles, blogs - anything we could find that would tell us what to expect. We would be camping with at least 60,000 others so we knew it was going to be a bit rough with all of the predictable hazards: cleanliness, warmth, somewhere dry to sleep, safety and theft - all the usual suspects. After reading some reviews and considering our accommodation options (we didn't have a tent and didn't want to take our $$$ sleeping bags) we decided to take the safe option. A company called Tangerine Fields offers, for the low low price of ninety-five pounds (still no pound key on our keyboard) a pre-pitched tent, two sleeping bags, two air mattresses, and a secure and patrolled camping zone. Smartest money I've ever spent - and that includes the money I spent on Seasons 1 to 7 of Buffy (they're appreciating!). But more of that later.

The festival started on a Friday night which meant travelling most of the day. We flew up to Edinburgh early in the morning from City Airport (ten minutes from our door - it's the one where all the fancy private jets land) with nothing but a change in undies, our toiletries and wearing our daggy-jeans and rubbish t-shirts. Traveling like hobos sure makes things easy. We landed mid-morning and had most of the day before we had to catch our bus up to the festival. This gave us plenty of time to hunt for gumboots (or Wellies, as they're known here. Say gumboots and people think you're nuts). Gumboots are a festival must in these parts unless you want to lose your shoes in the first ten metres, catch herpes in the next ten, and sink into the swampy deep by the third. Unfortunately, gumboot retailers have wised up to this fact and so every year just before the festival they ship off every boot they have to the festival grounds where they know they can charge through the nose. We spent about four hours trawling every back street in central Edinburgh hunting for proper boots only to be told by the last shop that we were waisting our time. So there was nothing left to do but swing by the supermarket for our supplies and hope like hell there were boots left when we got to the grounds.

I realise I'm taking my time to get to the 'actual' festival part of the blog, but it's only because my memory of the 'actual' festival gets a bit blotchy, so I'm giving you everything I've got on the things I can remember.

The bus ride up was just over an hour and you'll be pleased to hear that most people on our bus were already pissed by the time they boarded. As you can imagine this made for a pleasant journey with football songs, stomping and general malarkey from the I've-just-turned-18 crew. When we arrived at the grounds themselves it was all go-time. Buses were streaming into the grounds every minute, all filled with drunken campers desperate to get settled and into the gig. Unfortunately, the weather had other plans. It had been raining pretty constantly all day - that lovely thick drizzle that drenches you in about ten seconds if you're not appropriately attired. All the rain meant that the ground was pretty soggy. Run tens of thousands of people over soggy ground and you get mud. Lots of mud.

The festival is held on an old airfield with the camping zones on the surrounding hills. It was an awesome sight. Thousands and thousands of tents stretched out over the hills - not a patch of ground except the paths had been left uncovered. Mottled blue and yellow and tan and red synthetic bubbles, each pitched about an inch apart, spread as far as the eye could see. I'm not too proud to say that I started to get a little scared. The grounds had been open all day and already they were a mess. People were drunk, covered in mud, and starting to go all tribal. Every now and then a roar would go up in a certain area. It would be picked up and would spread across the entire grounds. Imagine 60,000 people screaming at the top of their lungs, spread over a dozen fields, and you begin to appreciate the magnitude of things. We'd checked the map and found our 'special' zone - all the way on the other side of the camping grounds. I should point out that I was excited. This was to be my first festival and I had been looking forward to it for months. I had been psyching myself up for weeks and was determined to have the time of my life. All the same, when you watch a group of dudes urinate on their neighbour's tent only to have the occupants jump out and return the favour - much to the delight of onlookers, you begin to question the wisdom of your decision. But it was all in vain.

Our camping grounds were in a secluded spot against the high perimeter fences and patrolled 24 hours a days by security staff. Best part - not a spot of mud to be seen - nothing but grass. To say that I sighed in relief would be an understatement. I exhaled with such relief and release of tension that I nearly wet myself...not that it would have mattered, given the company.

This was our little secure area. I don't think there was anyone staying in the cottage in the background. They probably send them off to the Caribbean for the weekend all expenses paid. Our tent was the red one.

Me waiting for Sarah. You can tell I do that a lot by my practiced pose.

Chez Sarah and Rohan for the weekend. Spacious and red.

This was the state of things on the first evening. It got much much worse.

Sarah getting ahead of the crowd. She's nimble in her gummies.

After making camp (I say making camp - camp was already made, we just through our stuff in) we gathered the essentials (TP, sterilising hand wash, gortex jackets, and disposable cameras) and made our way down to the performance grounds. The first night was campers only which made it a much happier and mellow crowd. Everyone was very excited and keen to have a great time so there were no angry faces or agro people, which was nice. The line up for the first night was Lily Allen, Arctic Monkies, Bloc Party, and a few others I hadn't heard of. I won't bore you with the details (they played, we danced and listened) - suffice to say that we had an awesome time and all of the bands were incredible. We finished up around midnight only to find our way into the Duracell dance tent which kept us up till about 2am. We fell into bed in the wee small hours with music from various places playing until about 5am.

It rained for most of the evening, which didn't bother us much since we had our fancy jackets. We were a little surprised at how few people were there for the first night. It wasn't until we got back that we found out that they closed access to the festival because the roads were too muddy. Apparently thousands of people were stuck in traffic for most of the night :-)

You get all sorts at festivals. The people behind this guy loved him, as you can imagine. The crowds stretch on forever in the background. Incredible.

Don't we look nice. Must have been early in the day and weekend.

The next morning it took a while for reality to set in. There were sore heads and crusty faces all 'round and the true depth of filth that was passing as toilets was being discovered. Gross. Very gross. Thank god boys have willies and can pee anywhere because heading into the portable death-pits on a regular basis would have made me ill.

The festival grounds had loads of stages, tents, food trailers, and rides. Much like a three-day...festival.

The second day required a bit more stamina. Things kicked off at 12 and went all the way through to about 11:30 that night. We had an incredible time again and managed to see Kate Nash, Sinead O'Connor (still bald), Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, James, Arcade Fire, Razorlight and The Killers. If it seems as though there aren't enough bands on that list to fill up twelve hours it's because we spent the first three hours of the day waiting in the line to use the ATM's. The ATM's were using the mobile phone network to link to the banks and - so we were told - they were struggling with the inclement weather (although my mobile seemed to work just fine). It could have been a disaster but we managed to sell some of our drink tokens from the previous night which gave us enough cash to eat for the day but still left us enough to enjoy ourselves. Talk about festival disasters - no cash = no drink sales - there were plenty of very sober, very pissed off people.

This was the main stage. I think that's Arcade Fire...they all look the same in our photos anyway.

Before six ciders.

After six ciders.

Sarah getting off to the Scissor Sisters - they were great fun.

The crowds were just amazing. Soooooo many people.

But the bands we saw were incredible. The Killers were easy the best band of the day and absolutely blew the crowd away. I think every person in the place was at the main stage for their set and singing along to every song. Amazing.

The third day fatigue started to set in. Despite assurances that healthy food would be available it was a case of burger or starve, and by day three we were ready to starve.

This was the first time we'd sat down on anything other than the ground since the bus ride there. It was heaven.

I just rested here for a minute. Honest.

That was until we found the Hairy Bikers. In the 'healthy' section (they were classifying sangria as fruit) they were doing cooking demonstrations with celebrity chefs and we managed to stumble along just in time to see the Hairy Bikers cook vegetable fritters (not exactly complicated stuff, but hard enough to do on a camp stove). We even managed to partake in the food which was a blessing. After their set (do celebrity chefs do 'sets'?) we hung around and managed to get a photo and a chat. They were awesome guys - very friendly and good for a laugh. Sarah promised them free fish if they ever went to Buderim.

Sarah's eyes are closed because she was weeping. Yes. Weeping for the Hairy Bikers.

Day three we took a bit easy. We had managed to get cash that day so we spent the first few hours eating (gorging) before hitting the bands. We saw Mika, Scissor Sisters, Editors, The Bravery, Badly Drawn Boy (Sarah cried for his whole set - people were asking her if she was okay, it got embarrassing), Tori Amos, Air, and Damian Rice. We steered clear of the main stage for the close of the festival and I'm glad we did. Damian Rice was incredible and a great way to close out the weekend.

The Monday morning was as bad as you imagine it would be. Tens of thousands of hung-over or still drunk youths trying to get packed up and decamp via bus back to civilisation. Anticipating chaos we roused early and were at the bus by 6:00am. The second best decision we made regarding the weekend (after the tent). We were out of there by 7am. The bus trip back was hard. Most people were still drunk or still sick - I'm certain there were a few instances of window-spewing going on. When we pulled back into Edinburgh about ten people dove off the bus to have a chunder in the gutter. Lovely.

We sat in one of the parks and had some breakfast before making our way back to the airport and home. So, after our first festival what did we learn? Probably the biggest thing was that the bad things tend to happen to the stupid people only. If you keep your wits about you then you're fine and dandy. Secondly, take cash. Not eating for a day isn't as fun as it sounds. Sarah learned to pee in a pint cup, thereby avoiding the lengthy trek to the ladies loo at night, which will no doubt come in handy in the future. And I learned to buy wellies well in advance of arriving at the festival. Not only do you avoid paying the obscene mark-up, but you avoid childish 'I saw them first' arguments with the other poor sods that ruined their sneakers. I did see them first, by the way. What else...keep your hoods up even when it's not raining - people wee in their cups and throw it forward over the crowd. Yuk. Don't where shorts and gumboots either - the top of your boot will chaff your shapely calves.

There are no doubt countless other stories from the weekend that I can't recall just now. You'll just have to pry them from our subconscious next time you buy us a drink.

Where's Wombles?

2007-07-11T18:47:00.000+01:00

Wimbledon. An institution and the only two weeks of the year that English people give more than a moments thought to tennis. To be fair, they are rather crap at it but that's what you get for conquering half the world, sending all of your most athletic people to the furthest reaches, and then granting them independence. Us Aussies are certainly cursing the day we let New Zealand call themselves their own country :-)

We couldn't come to Inger-land without making the trek - and those of you that have braved the District Line will appreciate just how much of a trek it is - to one of the most prestigious tennis tournaments in the world. If you're related to a player, famous, or incredibly rich you can usually manage to secure tickets in advance. For the rest of us it's a case of lining up early and hoping for the best. We arrived just after 7:30am - Michael had already been there half and hour - and joined the queue. When you join the queue you receive a numbered card so that people can't cheat the system and so people can't 'hold places' for late comers. It's a first-in-first-served system. This may sound a little ridiculous but when you see the line stretching off into the distance both in front of you and behind, you can appreciate the need.

We started on coffee then moved onto the champagne - milk and bubbles, the only way to start the day.

As we were nice and early we were in the first 1,500 and so almost guaranteed a ticket. Two and a half hours and a bottle of champagne later (yes, champagne before midday - it's Wimbledon, what're you going to do?) we were through the door. We spent the morning drifting from court to court taking in the singles games. It was a case of find a spot where you could actually see some tennis and hold on to it - the place was packed. Only a few of the courts had actual seating and even then it was very closely managed - one in, one out type stuff. But we didn't mind. We were there for the glitz, glamour and giant Pimms.

The grounds were amazing, as you can imagine, with manicured courts, grass so green that even the other side paled in comparison. We watched a few games from each of the 'lesser' courts (where we could get an actual view of the courts) but even these players were incredible to watch.

I've no idea who this is but she had very good form.

So did her opponent.

It did threaten to rain at various parts of the day but luckily it stayed dry. The previous two days had been washed out so we were stoked when we managed not only no rain but actual sunshine.

The umpire - bet he struggles to keep those white pants clean all day.

Sarah's trying to figure our where the goals are. Michael's trying to figure out why the lady competitors bother hitting the ball about when everybody clear just came to watch them jump up and down.

Around lunch time we saw our first 'famous' tennis player. I assure you that's Sharapova (or whatever she's called) under that visor. She punished her opponent in straight sets I believe. They were both feisty as hell too - the loser get screaming and grunting while Sharapova was giving the crowd 'tude. At one stage she yelled at some guy who was chatting to friends. Way to handle the pressure.

Note the giant Pimms (if nothing else, it will help you take your eyes off Michael's ridiculous face).

We managed to get into one of the stadium-style courts. Not sure who was playing (we didn't recognise them anyway) but it was exciting to do the whole sitting in the stadium and clapping politely between games. Felt very civilised.

A shot of the grounds from up high.

This was our second big match of the day - the Williams sisters playing who-cares. They were amazing to watch (a little scary, to be honest) and as you can imagine it was a one-sided match. We left after forty minutes and already they were up a set and a half.

Bet they were excited when they eventually managed to grow this thing over. Talk about long-term planning.

One of the Williams sisters (yeah, I'm not sure which one either).

The other one.

Late in the afternoon we were settling in at one of the lesser courts to see out the last few hours of daylight. We'd managed to score some good seats in the front row of the upper-level so we had a great view of the courts and this dude who was harassing strangers with his book of autographs.

Then someone walked past asking if we wanted tickets to centre court. What often happens is that people that have been in centre court all morning will leave later in the day and give their tickets to someone else. They can donate them back to the centre to be re-sold for a fiver (proceeds go to charity) but many people just give the away. We managed to fluke three brilliant seats just in time to see the Nadal match (that's him below - check out those guns).

Us pretty happy with ourselves about scoring free seats.

Directly opposite was the Royal Box. It looks more like a sleepover to me. There weren't any 'proper' Royals there, just a bunch of twice-removed third cousins.

Centre court at Wimbledon. Nice.

Oxford, Oxfordshire, England

2007-06-24T14:18:00.000+01:00

In the spirit of travelling and seeing all that is to be seen we took an overnight trip to Oxford last weekend. Our friend Michael knew of an outlet store that stocked a certain brand of cookware he coveted. So as to not look like too much of a pansie, he suggested that we take a trip up there to shop, look about and (of course) experience the night life of this university town. Rohan and I had been to Oxford previously, on a trip to the Cotswolds with the fabulous Miss T in 2006, but were keen to have another look around. Things that we'll miss when we come home: the amazing public transport links both intra and intercity. The Oxford Tube is a coach services that leaves every 10 minutes from London and Oxford and cost just 14 quid return. The coaches are large double-decker things with cushy seats, and if you get in quick, groups of four seats with a table and cup-holders. Rohan informs me that they also offer free Wifi and power points, I told you the coaches were cushy!

We left London from Victoria coach station at 1030 AM Saturday morning on a weekend that was to be plagued by rain and thunder storms. The coach had to reduce speed on several occasions during the 40 mile journey due to poor visibility caused by torrential rain - scary! Our guest house (soon to become known as our sh*t house) was conveniently located for walking into town but that's about as far as I'd go to recommend it. It had a particular au de toilette that can only be described as wet sock mixed with cat box and the patron had a personality that can only be described as, well, wet sock mixed with cat box. Never mind... seasoned travellers such as ourselves know that a room is only somewhere to rest your drunken head and that bed bug bites will heal.

The afternoon of our arrival we headed into town after checking into the sh*t house. The rain hadn't stopped so we found a cosy little cafe to grab some lunch as make a game plan. Priority number one: Find out where all the cool kids go on a Saturday night; Priority number two: Find out where the outlet shops are; Priority number three: Make sure we see *insert tourist attraction here*.

The first priority was met rather quickly as Michael had a friend/patient who lives in Oxford and had agreed to show us around. The place to be was called (rock) The Kazbar (there's one in every city). As testament to our cool radars - we had identified this spot as a place to visit before we were even told it was cool - yay us! (rock) The Kazbar is a tapas restaurant and cocktail bar with a Moroccan feel and very relaxed policy when it came to staff uniforms... Think fisherman's pants and bandannas, long hair essential.

The second priority was not so easily met. We'd asked several locals if they knew where the outlet shops were before we met someone who kinda know what we ment. Apparently the place to go was Bicester. Go on say it out loud... Now you're probably wrong unless of course you pronounced it as Bister. English, the language where nothing is said as it's spelled. More about Bicester later.

The third priority was also difficult to meet. Unbeknownst to us, the weekend we visited Oxford was Graduation weekend for most of the colleges. Here's what gave it away 1) A disproportionate number of sea animals (octopus, squid, prawns) lining the streets of this land locked city, shrapnel from a city wide food fight on the student's Muck Up day 2) Parents waiting beside heavy laden cars while adolescents hugged their friends and promised not to forget them 3) Complete closure to the public of all colleges, cathedrals and libraries :-(. (My frowny face has a below lip piercing).

We headed back to the sh*t house in the late afternoon for a cat nap and to get ready for our night out on the town. On to the pictures.

The cocktails: Kazmopoliton, an espresso based concoction and a fig and cinnamon lined margherita - yum

My charming companions

They assure me this is a nice photo

Later

Laterer

Latererer

Laterest

Sunday morning we were in dire need of an English Breakfast to remedy the headaches we were nursing. Given the standard of the sh*t house we had experienced so far, we should have known better than to expect this would be provided to an acceptable level from them. On the other hand it was free. It's fair to say we got what we paid for. The bacon tasted like cardboard, the sausage tasted like cardboard, the mushrooms tasted like... well you get the idea. I think it's the first and only time Rohan hasn't demolished a free meal. Thoroughly unsatisfied, and still feeling hungover, we checked out and headed back to town in search of something we could actually stomach.We happened upon a lovely cafe bookshop, with a bevy of Sunday papers to choose from and a brunch menu that included Eggs Benedict, who says there's no such thing as fate.

Three hours later, we emerged fed, watered and caffeinated, ready to face the day. After a further wander through the streets to confirm that all the colleges were closed we decided to spend the rest of the day outlet shopping. On our wanders we found some cool gardens and other free to access stuff, see the photos below. Shopping is shopping so I won't bore you with the details, suffice to say Michael didn't find his cookware.

Gardens of Christ Church College

Us in the gardens

Rohan on Magdalen Bridge

Ye Olde water pump

Canal below Magdalen Bridge

Threatening storm clouds in the distance

Church tower

Cathedral face - I'm not sure which one?

Library of Balliol College

Michael: Doesn't have ADHD

Sarah: Entertaining the idea that the squids were rained down in an unexplainable phenomenon

Exhausted, I slept for most of the way back to London on the tube, woken occasionally as my travel buddies either cheered or cursed as the played Fifa 2006 on their game boys. All in all, a fantastic weekend away despite the weather and horrible accommodations.

Alghero. It's Italian for seaweed.

2007-06-19T22:37:00.000+01:00

After a year and a half abroad Sarah has been desparate to visit somewhere with a beach (sorry Brighton, you need actual sand. Syringes and pebbles don't count). Like a junkie, agitated by a withdrawal-twitch, she repeatedly raised the issue during holiday planning conversations. After several denials (in my defence, the beach in Winter was never going to be any fun) she resolved the issue by going ahead and booking it without my knowledge or consent. She was like that when I married her, I've only myself to blame.

So, following our second and final joyful Ryanair experience, we touched down at the local airport, nestled amongst the foothills and abandoned industrial estates. It was sunny, but the wind had an almost-chill to it that left your skin in a simmer of contented warmth rather than an uncomfortable blister. The bus ride into town was successful in that, despite the driver's best efforts, we arrived in one piece and unharmed. It would seem that, whatever the size of the vehicle they are driving, Italians consider all vehicular activity to be some sort of training exercise for their some-day formula one racing debut. This guess was confirmed later on in the holiday, but we'll get to that.

Sarah had misplaced/forgotten the name and directions to our hotel which, for some couples, would be enough to send both parties into a downward spiral of blame and abuse. However, given our vast experience with forgotten, misplaced, and not-made travel plans it was like mortar off an Iraq's back. We calmly and matter-of-factly located a list of all hotels in Alghero, ran through them looking for all of the names that kind of sounded like what we thought our hotel kind of sounded like (very scientific), picked the most likely candidate, and headed off down the road. We'd walked past it twice before we found it, despite it being the largest hotel on the strip, but eventually checked in and switched into chill-out mode.

The Old City, mostly the product of Catalin expansion (google it, I had to) and bombing during World War II, is completely surrounded by the remnants of a large wall. Inland the wall has been mostly dismantled to ease the natural expansion of the town leaving only the large round towers that formerly dotted the wall at regular intervals. Along the coast the wall has been restored and, in parts, replaced by a more modern sea wall and esplanade which has since become home to cafes, restaurants, cats, and African immigrants flogging branded knock-offs.

This is the view from the esplanade in front of the Old City, looking South along the coast.

And the view North...

It's okay, I checked to make sure it wasn't loaded before sticking my face in front of it. It was full of pebbles.

Being sensible people who recognise that the key to a healthy lifestyle includes regular meals and plenty of fluids, we stopped off at this fantastic cafe for beer and ciabattas.

She looks unhappy because I'm standing in between her and the ocean. Plus I drank the last of her beer.

It was too lovely a day to spend lolling in a cafe so we upped it out of there and took a walk along the esplanade. We took lots of pictures at this stage - it was all just so beautiful.

Now this might seem like an odd picture to take, but have a closer look. The person who spots the most wins.

Looking back towards the town, overlooking part of the harbour.

I'd love to say that we made the most of the day. That we strolled down to the beach and went swimming in the crystal-clear water. But, alas, a weekend of party-harding and the early morning travel had left us weary and ready for snoozes (the beers didn't help). Back at the hotel we drifted off to the sound of Alghero traffic, which was surprisingly comforting. Peak hour in Alghero is like peak hour outside our flat: people honking constantly, people yelling, the garbled-tune of the locals swearing at passers-by in a language we don't understand (gotta love East London). As an added bonus we also drifted back to the 1950's with a mobile public address system circling the town squarking out an advertisment for a mayoral candidate (it doesn't matter what language it is, political adds just sound like political adds...it's the sound you can trust!).

Having gone to bed around 4pm the previous day we were up bright and early on Wednesday...around 9:30...for our complementary breakfast (that we pay for in the room price). Breakfast was served each day on the roof terrace, a delightful feature of the hotel with its green astro turf and plastic outdoor furniture. As posh as it sounds it actually turned out to be a very peaceful and serene place to eat each morning and to get out of the sun for a few hours in the afternoon. At breakfast we also discovered that our hotel was the tallest in Alghero. Great for us, not so great for the back-neighbours.

After breakfast we did the only sensible thing. Went to the beach. Travelling light (and not in any way implying that we forgot them) we had to buy some beach towels before we could spread out on the sand. Using our vast and might powers of haggling and negotiation (if you put your ear to the screen you can almost hear it...you call this Egyptian cotton? More like Egyptian straw! It's all scratchy and plastic feeling!...) we managed to pick up two giant-sized towels for 15 Euro. And they weren't scratchy at all, that was what we in the biz call a 'tactic'! Armed with togs, towels and good books we were all ready to lap that beach up, but when I happened past the local hat-man (as in sales) I just couldn't help myself. What's a trip to Italy without an old-school straw hat? You'll see pictures later.

After a couple of hours in the sun (we were smothered in SPF 50+ Mum) we decided we needed a break. A short stroll up the beach and across the road took us to the perfect beach-side cafe. They served sandwiches the size of surf boards and giant beers, all for low low prices. We managed to eat lunch and get two rounds in for less than what we'd spend the day before. The local beer, Ichnusa, turned out to be awfully tasty which was fortunate because, as it was half the price of the only other beer they stocked (Heiniken), it was all we were going to drink.

After lunch we retired back to the roof terrace for more beer and snacks (we went to the supermarket) and reclination.

After another afternoon nap we decided to head out for some dinner. Somehow we managed to end up in a fantastic cocktail bar that had cheap tequila drinks and a waitress that kept bringing out free snacks. Brilliant.

If it looks like Sarah is sitting on the road (if you squint you can make our Sarah) it's because she was. Why bother renting more floor space when you can just set up shop anywhere? Keeping in mind what I've already said about Italian drivers. They were fun seats!

From the bar we could look back towards the esplanade of the Old City. Quite lovery after a phew ta-killas...

This is more or less the same shot but taken earlier that day.

Looking South again from the bar.

I tried to put down some of the lyrics from Celine Dion's Titanic song, but every time I tried my computer froze. Come to think of it, everytime I think about the words to that song I freeze a little inside too.

We found a great Italian restaurant for dinner (except they just call them restaurants over there) and gorged ourselves on pasta, seafood and wine. Yum.

The next day we decided it would be a good idea to rent a car. We had visions of sportscar convertables. Of hair streaming out behind us (Sarah's, not mine) as we zoomed around coast-road corners and hill side trails. It was going to be romantic. It was going to be glamarous. It was going to be expensive, but we were on holiday and thought...eh, why not. So we lashed out...

...and got a Fiat Panda. You can hear it roaring right now. It was fuel efficient, cheap and, most importantly, the only car the hire place had left. I think the closest this car would ever get to glamour and romance would be a carpark and some bum cheek prints on the bonnet.

But it did give us the open road and a license to drive wherever 35 litres of fuel and 12 hours of daylight would take us. We headed North, aiming for a spot called Neptune's Caves. Normally tourist boats run out of Alghero to the caves but because of the wind around the island most of the tours had been cancelled. The drive up there was amazing and we had to stop more than a couple of times to take a closer look.

This round tower was stuck out in the middle of nowhere. Seemed like a good a spot as any to take a photo.

A perfectly executed selfy. Well framed, good perspective. Can't ask for much better than that.

Sarah by the seaside.

We arrived at the carpark to the caves roughly around the same time as a tour bus and about thirty cyclists. Fortunately the walk to the caves is about a kilometre, all stairs, and it costs you about 6 Euro to get in. Disincentive a plenty for lazy tourists and tired cyclists alike. We had the walk pretty much to ourselves, which was good because we had to stop every ten minutes or so to enjoy the view (read 'get our breath back'). Considering this was the trp down the stairs we were not looking forward to the return journey.

Selfies were a great way to pretend like we weren't catching our breath (on the way down). I even managed to hold the camera steady for this one!

The cave was an incredible place. It opened up directly onto the ocean, which fed shallow pool inside the cave by an underground hole. The cave opening itself was well above sea level (or so they assured us) and we had moments of fun watching the boats unloading people into the cave entrence.

This is Sarah standing in front of the cave entrance where they were unloading passengers.

The boats would pull up into the cave entrance, pulling a drag behind them, and churn with engines at full blast. A gang-plank would be laid from the nose (I'm sure they have an actual boating name for this, and I'm sure Jo would be very disappointed I don't know it) of the boat on to the cave entrance. With the lapping waves the gang-plank would rock back and forth, rising and falling at least three metres at a time. The tourists were petrified, which made us 'walkies' all the more satisfied.
Inside the cave was absolutely amazing. A few weeks before we'd taken a tour inside the Cheddar Gorge caves, which were impressive but a little...bland. This cave was incredible. The stalagmites and stalag tights were so long, large and developed that they often reached from ceiling to ground. It was, without a doubt, the most impressive cave structure we've seen so far.

There were dozens more. Be glad you only got four :-)

The walk back was far more straight forward. There was, however, a scary moment where I had to hold the rock wall in place so Sarah could pass under.

We thought it would make an amusing photo. However, when people started walking past and thanking me for my efforts, I got a little confused.

The views from the point were amazing. One of the almost beach type shapes you see in the hazy distance is Alghero.

The next town we visited, after much map consulting and wayward driving, was Castelsardo. With a penchant for the challenging, the original inhabitants of this town had decided to build everything on the side of a steep hill that overlooked the ocean. Naturally, a castle sat upon the top of the hill (and charged us to take a look inside!) and had an amazing view of both the inland developments and the coast line.

This is Castelsardo from the incoming road.

I'm sure it looks like I'm taking a rest, but I'm just absorbing the natural wonder and beauty of the place.

A view towards the harbour. Imagine the mooring fees at this place!

Build on the side of a hill, you're going to get steps. Fact of life.

For some reason the Italian people love to nurture the feral cats. Wherever we went we saw dozens of the critters, mangy and dirty but surprisingly well fed. Sarah went to pat this kitten until she saw it had a gunky eye. Gross.

Castelsardo is one of the few places in Italy where you can still buy goods from old ladies on their door step. Most of them sell weaved baskets or bowls and, if they're not napping when you walk past, they'll call out in Itanglish to try and get you to stop and take a look. We walked around for about an hour just strolling up and down narrow walkways. We finally understood why there are so many of those cute little baby trucks (three wheels, about 1.5 metres across, and little more than a mower motor under the hood). There are so many of these tiny towns all over the place where the 'streets' are little more than wide footpaths. People still need to get work and refurbishment done and unless you fancy hiking up and down hills with a wheelbarrow, the perfect solution is a mini-ute. Great in the tiny towns, not so great on the highway.

We eventually started to look for somewhere to have some lunch but everywhere we found was closed for napsies (my word, not theirs). The tricksy part of visiting Italy is that everyday from about 1pm everybody goes and takes a nap. This sounds like a great idea until you want to grab some lunch, buy a drink, or do anything fun. Not everything shuts, just enough to make it annoying. We had little choice but to buy coffee and icecreams and sit at the top of the town overlooking the ocean and relax for a bit.

There was a beautiful old castle on top of the hill (you can see it on that photo we took from the road) that had been repaired and was being used as a museum and function venue (lots of weddings, as I'm sure you can imagine). The museum was less than fascinating, but the view was incredible.

We left Castelsardo and headed slightly inland to Sassari, one of the larger towns (could even be a city) on the island. Now for some commentary on Italian drivers...

Italy, like most of Europe, drive on the right side of the road. It's easier than it sounds provided that when you first get into the car, like checking your mirrors or adjusting the seat, you run 'on the right, on the right, on the right' through your head. As well as adjusting to driving on the wrong side of the road I also had to adjust to the Italian peculiar method of driving: like a maniac. The roads are narrow. Very narrow. When you drive through towns the buildings are the side of the road. Either that, or there will be chairs and tables marking out the road edge. Not nerve-wracking at all. To top it off, Italians consider it best practice to drive right down the centre of the road. You can flash, honk, hell, you can even play chicken, it won't make a difference. They just fly down the middle of the road like monorails along the centre line. On more than one occasion they came so close that I could have lent over and changed the channel on their radio. Sarah spent most of the time shrieking at approaching cars while I just focussed on not hitting anything (I find it's an effective method of driving). Being tourists we stuck more or less to the speed limit. Italians, however, don't have time for speed limits. We were overtaken on long straights, blind corners, in narrow streets, and in busy towns. They fly past doing twice the speed completely nonchalant about the oncoming traffic. You could always spot the tourists because there was a constant weave of traffic around them (plus they were all driving Fiat Pandas). I think we've decided that driving in Europe is something best left to locals and crazy people. It's the bus for us from now on.

When we got back to Alghero it was just after dark. We grabbed some dinner at a local restaurant and strolled along the esplanade by moonlight. Very nice (but no photos, hands were busy (holding)).

The next day, our last, was spent on the beach, in the cafes and in the supermarket (for goodies). Not a lot blog-worthy to report. We did have a nice lunch by the water in a 'posh' restaurant (they had air-conditioning) before jumping on the bus to the airport and flying back in to London.

Apologies if this blog is a bit clunky. I wrote it in about nine separate sittings, during one of which I'm pretty sure I was a bit tipsy. Promise I won't drink and blog again :-)

This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time.

2007-06-19T19:45:00.000+01:00

British Airways Flight BA0443 from Schipol, Amsterdam, touches down at nine-fifteen pm, ten minutes ahead of schedule due to efficient taxiing and a slight tail-wind. Our cabin crew Flight Leader, a drawn tart of a woman named Lisa, reminds us to remain seated until the Captain has turned off the seat belt sign. Four people stand up to retrieve luggage from the overhead lockers and Lisa marches, narrow-stepped, down the aisle to confront each one. Like an IV we drip from the plane, the gravity-pull of a connecting flight or home lining us up single-file and injecting us, through narrow walkways, into passport control. The one place in Europe where not having an EU passport is a blessing. Passengers in possession of an EU passport please join the long, idling queue to your left. Passengers with non-EU passports of a visa to stay in the UK please join the short, blessedly short queue to your right. The sign says it, it must be true.

How long are you staying. How long have you lived here. Where have you come from. What is your occupation. They should be questions, but the customs official deposits them verbally on the desk in front of him with such disinterest that we almost forget to answer. I think they do that on purpose. Hesitate and they look interested. Get the stamp. Retrieve your passport. Look sympathetic at the family of Iranians waiting with that 'I'm being deported' look for the customs supervisor.

Check the screen. BA0443, bag carousel 1. Wait. Bag goes round. Wait. Bag goes round. Wait. Bag goes round. Forty-five minutes of waiting and watching the same black bag go round the carousel. In a country petrified of unattended luggage this is a rare sight. Take a picture. A voice, poised with the perfect combination of I-know-more-than-I'm-saying and I-don't-really-care, delivers the news that our baggage will be another thirty minutes due to an unavoidable delay during the unloading of the aircraft. We find a seat facing away from the carousel. Eyes, thick with a weekend of Amsterdam sun, stick to our eyeballs and sink shut. Eyes closed. Bag goes round.

Eventually our luggage arrives. Laden and too low, we drag our shrunken chariots across tiled arrivals and textured pavement. Stairs. Escalator. Elevator. Platform. Tube. Sixteen stops on the Piccadilly Line to South Kensington. Three stops on the Victoria Line to Green Park. Seven stops to Canary Wharf on the Jubilee Line. Two stops to Westferry on the Docklands Light Roller-coaster. One hour and forty-five minutes. Can't sleep - have to watch the bags. Top the highest score in marathon mode on Tetras. Woohoo!

Crawl off the train. Bags drag us home. It's just after midnight. Cry with joy at the fact that we tidied the house before going away.

Unpack. Put on a load of washing. Have a shower. Hang out washing. Pack. Go to bed. Three am.

Four am. Alarms go off. Soaring high in the sky...he is small but only in size...Astro Boy...Astro Boy...Hatred for that damn theme song gets us out of bed. Check washing. Get dressed. Roll down the stairs and into our taxi. Reflect warmly upon the lovely life we've lead as the driver accelerates at near-light-speeds through traffic and suburbia. Arrive more awake than coffee could manage, adrenalin causing my hand to shake as I, gratefully, pay the crazy-man.

Queue for boarding passes. Queue to pay baggage fee. Queue again for boarding passes. Queue for security. Have coffee, just bought, taken mere millimetres from mouth as I'm told that, as it's over 100mls, I can't take it through security. We pause to reflect upon Ryanair, Stansted airport, and the various stages of queuing. Briefly understand terrorism.

Board plane. Scramble for unallocated adjacent seats. Sit. Recline. Note my nearest exit. Welcome to Ryanair flight 232 to Alghero, Sardinia. Time, six fifteen am.