Filling our boots

A while back I read an article in the West Australian newspaper headed Culture still struggles in WA .  I showed the article to my partner wondering what he would make of it.  He just laughed and said they should "Wear it like a badge!"

Thankfully for those of us who do like a spot of arts participation there are plenty of arts events on offer in WA.  A highlight of the calendar is the annual Perth International Arts Festival which opened on Friday night.  Our whole household went up to Perth for the spectacular free outdoor opening show (above) then my partner and I continued to fill our boots all weekend.

We saw The Red Shoes,

Donka: A Letter to Chekhov,

new dance piece Human Interest Story,

and The Manganiyar Seduction.

I'm too knackered to do proper reviews but it was a fabulous weekend and I was very, very happy with our selections. The festival closes on 7th March and we're living on beans again this week as we plan to get to several more shows yet.  WA audiences do seem to get their act together when supporting this festival as a few shows I've been slack about booking for are long sold out.  Yes, Houston we have a no interactive Mission Control tickets left problem.

Never mind.  I'm sure we'll still get our fill.  Well done to outgoing Artistic Director Shelagh Magadza and her team.  Great to see from the excellent audiences and their enthusiastic responses that we are not alone in our appreciation of their efforts.

(All photos swiped from the Perth Festival website.)

Same, same ... but different

While living here I'm constantly reminded of the fabulous saying "same, same... but different".  I'm forever doing a double-take as I admire Perth-made wares which remind me of similar New Zealand-made ones, discovering Australian writers who remind me of favourite New Zealand ones, and spotting Australian versions of New Zealand native plants (as per the Dianellas from either side of the Tasman above).

Our national days fall into this pattern too.  On the surface Australia Day and Waitangi Day are pretty similar though how these two countries go about marking their national days is quite different.  I didn't know whether Australia Day would mirror New Zealand's usual sombre official commemorations and news-making confrontations, controversies and protests. 

So I asked an Australian woman I'd met recently exactly what Australia Day entailed and how Australians celebrated it. Her answer:  "It's a huge party day.  People wear Australian flag board shorts or Australian flag bikinis, stick Australian flags in their cars, go to a public place, burn sausages, drink alcohol, make fools of themselves then late at night during a massive public fireworks display they either get sentimental or punchy.  The next day they ring in sick to work citing "crook guts from dodgy snarler" when the truth is more likely "monster hangover, third degree sunburn, two black eyes and still in the clink." "

Hmmmm, not really my style.  So I said "No, I mean what do the prissy Australians do?"

"Oh" she said,  "they go on a family picnic!" 

So that is what we did.  Into two cars we packed 5 members of this household, one daughter's friend, 2 kayaks, 2 bulging picnic hampers, 3 boogie boards, a picnic rug, a bucket-sized bottle of industrial-strength sunscreen and masses of swimming gear.  We went to a place my partner and I had both spotted on our respective morning walks which we thought would be just the ticket.  There we met up with our son's friend and his mother. When we arrived at 9.30am the place was already dotted with a few other people with the same idea. 

We set about the business of having fun.  It turns out that the spot we'd chosen was not only perfect for kayaking, swimming and picnicking, but it was also the prime vantage point for viewing the flotilla of decorated boats which cruised past us for hours. 

Throughout the day more and more people arrived and it soon became apparent that our chosen spot was also the prime spot favoured by the folks my friend had described, which meant we also had excellent entertainment laid on all day.  The plod came by regularly to check that all was in order but they didn't once check in with our group.  Maybe our wholemeal vegetarian wraps and lashings of iced tea gave us away as too tame to waste time on.

Dolphins cruised past then swam alongside us while we kayaked.  We swam, chatted, ate and were entertained by frequent chants of "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi".  We watched as even more decorated boats cruised by.

We had a lovely time.   I thought about how nowhere I've ever lived was perfect, but how nice it is to find whatever it is that you love wherever it is that you live, to find like-minded people wherever you live and to actually like where you live.  (Below is my favourite boat of the day: an old, elegant, beautifully made, perfectly maintained and stylishly simple number.) I am sure I was not alone in also thinking about what a great country this is and how lucky we are to live here. 

Then mid-afternoon a portly, crayfish-coloured, RTD-fuelled young chap at the neighbouring picnic who was wearing an Australian flag as a cape, climbed a spindly Casuarina tree and bounced about on a branch above his partner, children and friends. I figured that should an ambulance be required then it could probably make good use of our parking spaces so we packed up and went home.

Later that day I watched TV news coverage of Australia Day protests where indigenous Australians dubbed the day "Invasion Day".  That evening I devoured another book by my latest favourite Australian novelist; I wondered whether Helen Garner and Fiona Farrell have met and if they have whether they got on like a house on fire (I do hope so).  A few days later I dipped into The Press online and read about a young Christchurch City councillor's account of bogans at the beach.  I thought that maybe Australia and New Zealand really are same, same ... but different.

So happy Waitangi Day New Zealanders.  However you mark it, I expect that you too will spare a moment to think about how lucky you are to live in such a great place.

Cyberstalking Bianca

We have a new hobby.  We call it "Cyberstalking Bianca".  This isn't as dodgy as it sounds.  This week we've learned that a cyclone called Bianca is headed our way. See that line where the cyclone's path hits land?  That's where we are.

Every week seems to see Australia copping some "one in ten/twenty/thirty... year" extreme weather event, many of which have devastating consequences.  As a result we have become somewhat weather-obsessed.  The last big cyclone hit this region in 1978 and resulted in the loss of five lives, coastal erosion and widespread damage to property.  Bianca was predicted to be severe and to bring high winds which would cause this region's fire danger risk to go from "extreme" to "catastrophic".

For the past few days we have been following Bianca's progress towards us online.  The weather system has delivered us a run of incredibly hot and disgustingly humid weather - daily highs in the mid-thirties and overnight lows in the high twenties - peppered with electrical storms and a few torrential showers.  I find the high humidity the toughest thing to handle and difficult to find respite from; the sort of air conditioning our rental home has does not work in humid conditions and sitting in the garden is a no-no as Mandurah is currently experiencing an extreme plague of disease-carrying mosquitoes. 

So in what we hoped wouldn't turn into an "evolution at work" situation (like people going down the beach to get photos of an incoming tsunami) we headed to the estuary for a swim, to sit under the shade of a tree and to catch what little breeze was on offer.

The water was as glassy and calm as I've ever seen it.  We were happy just floating or swimming but others found ever more inventive ways to cool off. 

The sky became more and more ominous.  When the thunder and lightning started we headed for home.

Since then we've had cycles of torrential rain, high winds and some eerily calm times.  As the humidity soared I had another desperate poke at the air con system and discovered a fan only setting which gave at least a little respite.

This morning I fired up the computer early to again cyberstalk Bianca and see how long before I should bring in the bins and outdoor furniture.  But Bianca has all but gone.  Just like the many events that were cancelled due to Bianca's imminent arrival, the cyclone warning itself has now been cancelled. 

I can't say I'm disappointed but this will mean that I'll need a new hobby.  A more likely scenario is that I'll return to my old hobby: cyberstalking real estate listings.

My latest favourite place...

I know I said my favourite place was Soldiers Cove.  Well that was for kayaking.  At this time of year Mandurah looks mighty fine so picking just one favourite place would be silly.  I figure I'm allowed a favourite place for each activity I do - so walking slowly, walking quickly, reading novels, reading non-fiction, eating ice blocks, eating ice cream etc.

Tonight when my partner got home from work we went for a walk on a stretch of beach very near to our house. (I'm pleased to report that the patient is no longer a patient; he back to his old working, driving, walking-fast-for-miles self again.) 

This is what it looks like where we went tonight.

 

Can you see why it is now my favourite place for wandering along while wondering what to cook for tea? (Which tonight, strangely enough, was sausages.)

Time to go home.  No doubt I'll find another new favourite place tomorrow.

Galah o'clock

Who needs an alarm clock?  Not us.  (Turn your volume up as high as it will go and you'll still only get a smidgen of the true effect.)

Instead we have this charming young visitor at 4.30am most mornings.  What we used to call the "rusty bedsprings bird" is actually a young galah. The only way it shuts up is if one of its parents pokes something down its cakehole.  Have to say, that particular specimen isn't our favourite garden visitor.

It's a sign

I'm a shocking collector of stuff but I've been trying not to accumulate too much stuff while living here.  This has been made easier due to the tragic fact that apart from op shops (plentiful and not too bad) and one shop selling some nearly new furniture, there is not a single antique, bric-a-brac, collectible, junk, mid-century, retro, vintage or plain old secondhand shop in my new home town.

But I have been collecting something.  The signs of a place tell a story and here are a few from my collection.  Some of these signs perplex us, some amuse us and one saddens us that it even needs to exist. And in case you are wondering, no we haven't been to the restaurant above and yes we still have two children. Every time we drive past that sign those children shriek "Tastes like chicken!".

Mandurah has obviously had a plague of golfers at some stage as these signs are on every bit of public grass bigger than a doormat.

The signs below are common here and have interchangeable panels with "speeding", "seat belts" or "drink drivers".  Over the holiday period this one was edited by someone who I suspect wasn't actually a policeman.  Apparently one in a nearby town was altered to say "fat chicks".  Naughty!

Sadly in this already dry area which has just recorded its driest winter on record, arsonists do exist.  Last week some git set fires along the edge of a major road just south of here near Lake Clifton.  The fire ripped through 2000 hectares of bushland, destroyed nine homes and killed countless domestic and wild animals.

A local business is offering an additional reward.  Good on them for that and for giving me a new favourite phrase.  Hopefully Lake Clifton residents will be able to rebuild their homes, restore their area and again enjoy living in a "lively hood".

And finally, when I fall off my perch, I want one of these below. Imagine a do where attendees crack funnies and everyone goes home with a sore face from all the chitchat and laughing. Irrepressibly chipper people will say "Well at least she went doing what she loved most", which in my case means I'll have carked it in a freak needlework accident.

Sunday at Soldiers Cove

We've been trying out various places to muck around in the new boats. 

Ideal places:
a) are not too far from our house,

b) have parking space near a publicly accessible boat launching area (surprisingly tricky to find),

c) have nice shady spot on shore for the non-kayakers,

d) are safely removed from boat and jetski traffic and wakes ("jetski" has become a dirty word in this house...),

e) are sheltered from strong winds and currents,

f) are relatively contained so that if someone decides to have a rest from paddling and just drift along "enjoying the serenity", they don't get swept or blown to Africa while their mother has kittens back on shore,

and g) give us the chance to spot interesting wildlife. (These pelicans don't really have a miniature village on their island.  I've just accidentally taken a Things Bogans Like-style strange-perspective photo.)

Today we went to a place called Soldiers Cove.  It ticks all the boxes. The cove is sheltered from the main boating motorway by a peninsula reserve covered in samphire plants which is home to many birds. 

After a while the children had a break from kayaking to pretend they were pirates who have walked the plank and must swim to the nearest island.

I took my chance to take off in one of the boats and properly explore my new favourite part of Mandurah.