September 2007 Archives

We were lucky to be invited to join our neighbours to have lunch and watch the AFL grand final on television this afternoon, to see the Geelong Cats and Port (Adelaide) Power play at the MCG. The Cats broke a 44 year drought, to win by a record margin in a match where they demonstrated fierce tackling and determination to shut off almost every attempt that the Power players made to turn the game to their advantage.

My late mother, my paternal grandmother and a favourite uncle were Cats fans, and it was a highlight of Grandma P's life to have Gary Ablett Senior visit her at her nursing home to help her celebrate her 100th birthday in 1993, so in a small way I feel a small sense of connection to today's victory, especially as two of Ablett sons played in today's victory...

I have never denied being a passionate supporter of my team, and I am not sure if I am in the same league as a much loved aunt, my Dad's sister, who is a lifelong Geelong fan who finds the mounting pressure of a close match to be too stressful. So her method of coping with these matches is that she video tapes them, and only watches if Geelong wins.

I am absolutely certain she will have great pleasure on hitting the play button, this evening...

You may have noticed that I have omitted to make any recent mention of my beloved Saints (Australian Football League) who finished their campaign a few weeks back after a less inspiring season than the previous few. And, then an internal Board stoush which has degenerated into a revolt against the Board by a rival ticket leaves me despairing as to whether they can ever win another Grand Final while they can’t get the management side of the club in order. On reflection, this situation is not unfamiliar, and despite my head saying that it would be sensible to choose another team to follow, my heart says otherwise.

But, despite the Saints’ troubles, the Grand Final is to be played tomorrow afternoon, between Geelong (the Cats) and Port Adelaide ( Power) at the MCG (In typical Aussie laconic style, this name is shortened to the G)

I cast my mind back to 1995, when the Cats played in a Grand Final against Carlton Blues, when both Aussie Lass (the Blues) and Pink Ukelele (the Cats) were keen football fans, and I recall the two girls sharing one earphone each of the walkman, listening to radio description of play as we were on the way home from somewhere. Alas, for the Cats, 1995 was not the year for them, nor was it in another 4 grand finals, since their last win 44 years ago, but Aussie Lass did get very excited about 1995 as she should have done, when the Blues were victors.

For Aussie Lass, the disappointment of the Cats fan hiding the video we recorded of that match, for it to never to surface again, has probably dissipated a little over the years, but her tormentor has never disclosed what happened to it.

So, to those who are unfamiliar with Melbourne, the day before the grand final, the whole central city stops between 10 am and 4 pm, when a parade of participating players are transported through the city in open cars… This event is one of the last of a series of events held in Grand Final week, and the pace of the city gradually speeds up, with breathless anticipation of that one day in September, and a mounting air of excitement is almost visible, culminating in a mighty roar from the crowd at the G tomorrow as the umpire bounces the ball to start the game at 2.30 pm.

Please don’t call me between 2.30 and 5.15pm tomorrow. I will be busy.

It is encouraging that small steps in my comprehension of the French language, in my classes over the last four and a half years, have reached a point where I can now conduct a conversation, albeit simple, on the telephone.

This break through came yesterday, when, having dealt with the urgent requirements of a particular, demanding customer, I asked him, in French, if he was French, and we concluded the rest of the conversation entirely in French. The next step will be an even bigger one, for he has declared that the next conversation shall be entirely in French. So, a little bit of homework will be necessary, so I can recognise terms and phrases, which are so familiar in English, but of which I have only a limited knowledge in French.

This followed a voice mail message at work last week, which was entirely in French, and which took me many replays to understand the message, with a little help from my French teacher for the last bit; and the lights switching on for a couple of my classmates, who after several years of learning, finally "clicked" that you cannot speak French in the same way as we speak Australian English..., at last!

And, I was also able reply to an email entirely in French this week as well!

I went home yesterday after my French conversation, bubbling with excitement at the progress, and it's reinforced my desire to improve, and to do so as quickly as I can...

Out on the town, for the third week in a row on a Wednesday night… This time, though, the evening does not end with any inebriated gentleman sprawled across our table. Instead Middle Eastern influenced dishes at our local One Chef’s hat restaurant as we dined with the lovely redhead who is about to head off to Europe for work. Farewells to friends are always hard, but all being well we will catch up with her in Les Pays-Bas next year. The only disappointment with the meal was the cheese was not quite as mature as it should have been. But the chocolate bread and butter pudding with Turkish Delight was sublime.

A mystery: an enigmatic voice mail message when I arrived at work on Tuesday morning: a four second message in French , made me repeat the message about a dozen times before I could begin to understand what was being said. It does make me feel slightly better it took so long to comprehend, when others who are much more fluent than I, comment that telephone conversations are very difficult. At least with a voice mail message, you can repeat it as often as you like until you get it. Understanding what was said does not assist me in comprehending why the message was left, but no matter. As in all of these things, if they really wanted to speak to me, they will call again. Perhaps it was just a wrong number. Or not about ME at all?

Now that we know the identity of the little girl abandoned by her father at Southern Cross Station in Melbourne on the weekend, why do the media persist in calling her Pumpkin?

Is it to try to alleviate the pain we all feel at the thought of an innocent three year old being abandoned, or are we contemplating the distress she will feel when she is older, knowing that her mother was murdered and that she was abandoned? For more information check out “The Age” web site

Oh, yes, we can and should be grateful for even the smallest glimpses of happiness, in the face of the horrors that others endure on a daily basis.

Thoughts of warm weather, the South of France, and a craving for rillettes d’oie (goose rillettes) spread on a fresh baguette, with mâche, sliced tomato and a slice of cheese…

Visions of the Greek Islands, and the island of Santorini, courtesy of a colleague who has been there recently

A page full of reasons for not doing something

A resolution for courage for doing what is right for me…

Sitting at a restaurant table in Richmond, preparing to depart, when a man comes out of a door, trips over a step, and ends up sprawled over our table. Assisted no doubt by the quantity of alcohol previously imbibed, which was being kindly shared with us as he exhaled a haze of alcoholic fumes. It was very hard not to laugh, especially when a quick glance to the other occupied table in this part of the restaurant, where his dining partner studiously refused to look up, and caused us to consider that this might not have been the first time that he had put on a performance in this state.

Much later, waking in the wee small hours, not sure why and thoughts turning to the other side of the world. If there are vibes coming through, and that is what woke me, they’re not bad ones, so try to go back to sleep.

A little while later, still not sleeping, after the normal remedies of tea and toast do not work, the toilet in the en suite flushes and the only live being in the room was Coco the cat…

As usual, when asked what she is doing, she replies: “Yaaaooooow” translated from cat speak as “Nothing, why are you looking at me?”

If you, dear reader, have missed my musings over recent weeks, please accept my apologies, for I seem to have been overloaded, both on the work and the home front, for many weeks…...

Luckily, while the pace of life has not dropped off, last week I was able to enjoy some of the tourist attractions of Melbourne, and all in the guise of work.

On Wednesday night, we hosted some colleagues for dinner at the iconic Young and Jackson’s Hotel on the corner of Flinders and Swanston Streets in the city. Drinks in the upstairs bar, with the feminine charms of “Chloe”, displayed on the wall. It’s hard to see why, in 2007, that this painting created so much fuss in a bygone era, as she does not look in any way a hussy… Maybe, it was just the nudity in an outwardly “prudish” age. Dinner in the upstairs restaurant saw us enjoying the view of Flinders St Station, Federation Square and the bustle and hum of a busy city, and a lovely meal before heading home at a decent hour, with two days of conference in front of us.

Next day, we had lunch at One Fitzroy St, in St Kilda, as part of a team building exercise, with several tram rides during the afternoon, especially for the benefit of our Kiwi visitors, followed by dinner on the Restaurant Tram, which took us on a slow, but relaxing journey round the city and inner suburbs of Melbourne, while we ate and drank with our colleagues. One late starter (to the drinking) demonstrated his capability to catch up quickly with an attempt to cut his steak with the back of his knife.

An animated discussion on the chances of the All Blacks in this year’s World Cup Rugby about to commence in France, did not result in our Kiwi boss promising we could have the week off for celebrations should the All Blacks finally win the World Cup after being hot favourites for every event, but somehow finishing short of the line every time since their last World Cup in 1987.

What I really wanted was the excuse, should the All Blacks finally get over the line, to not turn up at work to hear the Kiwis crowing about a victory at last…As in all matters sporting, it all depends on performance in the games that count, not who they’ve managed to beat in the years between World Cup events. And as a pommy colleague crisply pointed out, that’s the one they really want to win and England is the current holder of the World Cup, an absolutely indisputable fact. So, I guess the crowing, if it comes, will be accompanied by many beverages, so maybe it won’t be soooooo bad….

So, after all of the merriment from these I had to admit defeat at 11.30 pm, and headed for the comfort of bed in a hotel on the edge of the city, while the more extroverted members of our party headed on to the casino for more drinks and frivolity. Clearly, I haven't had enough training in the art of partying on into the wee hours, then being able to present oneself in fine form for early morning sessions the next day, and I think it's too late now to start...!