Last night saw a massive thunderstorm that happened to coincide with my still-jetlagged 4am waking pattern lately. It was pretty spectacular, and I watched for a while, thinking that even though it wasn't quite the weather I'd anticipated from Oz, it was dramatically worth witnessing. Unfortunately it meant the next day was pretty overcast, so we were limited to what could be done during the day (i.e. driving to Kindy rather attempting to walk, thanks to a coverless buggy, and hence no chance for local exploration). Cherie had her first day back at work today too, so it was just me, Paul and Michael in the house. Whilst I was half tending to Michael, half listening to the TV news, they played an old interview with Jessica Watson, the 16 yr old who's just about to return from a solo world sailing trip (and, who is, incidentally, a dead spit for my younger brother's girlfriend). The clip was from just prior to her setting off, and the interviewer opened with the common Aussie greeting 'how are you going?' (or more accurately 'how ya gahn?'), to which my jetlag-and-idiom-addled brain immediately responded 'surely by sail-boat? You literally JUST spoke about it'.
Once I was a bit more awake - thanks in part to my first 'Epic' experience - Paul introducing me to an 80% Belgian hot chocolate from a coffee shop (unsurprisingly) called 'Epic' - we had the dubious pleasure of accompanying Michael to the 'Beach House Café' for Harry's third Birthday, whoever Harry is. The Beach House is a gigantic indoor play centre - somewhat like the UK's Snakes and Ladders if you need a point of reference. Turns out they, along with video hire shops, are a curiously common amenity here - both strange for a country with supposed year-round sun, at least if the perpetual Summer climate of Neighbours is to be believed.
Once I was a bit more awake - thanks in part to my first 'Epic' experience - Paul introducing me to an 80% Belgian hot chocolate from a coffee shop (unsurprisingly) called 'Epic' - we had the dubious pleasure of accompanying Michael to the 'Beach House Café' for Harry's third Birthday, whoever Harry is. The Beach House is a gigantic indoor play centre - somewhat like the UK's Snakes and Ladders if you need a point of reference. Turns out they, along with video hire shops, are a curiously common amenity here - both strange for a country with supposed year-round sun, at least if the perpetual Summer climate of Neighbours is to be believed.
Harry's third Birthday was an interesting affair, in as much as the shenanigans of other people's children ever are. Harry's family are also ex-RAAF, a few months ahead of the same Saudi-move process that the McFaddens are currently in the midst of. Any sympathetic family ties became somewhat strained though when of the plethora of activities available, Michael proved mainly interested in freeing every single ball from the cheery confines of the ball pond, then running around with one in each hand and depositing them in obscure places. We also had the first (and therefore most horrifying) little accident, as my enthusiastically encouraging Michael onto the bouncy castle caused him to fall and cut his lip. In retrospect, a giant, unsteady inflatable already covered in a writhing mass of sugar-fuelled little bodies probably wasn't the best place for someone who's still unsteady even on solid ground. My initial reaction,before I realised he'd actually done himself damage, was some perfunctory soothing, and it wasn't until Paul picked him up that we discovered his mouth was bleeding. Oops. Still, Paul was pretty understanding, and Michael whiled away the rest of Harry's party alternating between maniacal dancing and admiring his own reflection in the shiny walls of the disco room. Often both at once. n.b. his dancing is adorably hilarious: he stands stock still, see-sawing his arms and occasionally stamping his feet in no recognizable rhythm - so pretty much on a par with awkward white men at clubs the world over.
Soon after we returned home (to a bag of clementines hanging on the gate - citrus fruits seem to be a standard method of greeting here) Cherie came back, in an attempt to be helpful, and a last ditch effort for some local area exploration, I offered to take the single buggy and pick up Annie from Kindy. Semi-magnanimous gesture though it was, I unfortunately failed to follow the directions that had seemed oh-so-memorable the day before, took a wrong turn, and couldn't remotely work out how to get back where I needed to be in time. I had to call Cherie to bail me (and Annie) out in the end, confessing that I'd inherited my Mum's horrendously bad sense of direction.
How am I going? Not without a map in future apparently...
How am I going? Not without a map in future apparently...
G'night folks!
A xx
